EXPLOSIVE! FRENCH QUEEN AND MINOR COMPOSER MARIE ANTOINETTE EXPERIENCES HANDEL-ESQUE DISASTER AT WEDDING CELEBRATIONS feat. Did You Know? LULLY'S "PERSÉE" INAUGURATES ROYAL OPERA HOUSE AT VERSAILLES

It may just have been the first of many bad omens to come: 

247 years ago today, newlywed royal couple Marie Antoinette, (formerly archduchess of Austria and present Dauphine de France), and Louis-Auguste, (heir to the French throne and the future Louis XVI; both 14 and 15 respectively) would receive the shock of their young lives when, during the final festivities held for the future monarch’s recent nuptials, which had been hosted across Paris for some two weeks straight following the May 16th wedding – an errant firework (a rocket) veered off course and set fire to the Temple de l'Hymen (the Temple of Hymen), a specially constructed and elaborate structure erected especially for the royal couple at the Paris' Place de la Concorde.

The disaster would not only echo the calamity that befell Handel in London of 1749 – which also involved the presence of an elaborate structure (erected to serve as a dazzling backdrop for the display of lights) and it’s destruction by an errant firework – but would also succeed it many times over in scale of sheer catastrophe: whereas the tragedy at St James Park of 1749 only claimed two lives, the present disaster in Paris would number over 132 fatalities by the time the final body count had been tallied.

Below, Marie Antoinette biographer Charles Duke Yonge describes, in horrific detail, the deadly actions of the Parisian people as they went from awe to sheer terror - one moment admiring the pyrotechnic feat (even marveling at the raging inferno that lit up the Temple as the rocket struck, thinking it a newly created special effect), and the next, stomping on the bodies of their neighbors as they frantically clawed their way toward safety, running at full speed toward safe terrain (in as much speed as one might acquire whilst in the midst of a full blown stampede).

Perhaps most disheartening of Yonge’s account is the revelation that most of the victims were of the lowest economic class, who had likely come out to celebrate the union of the future king and queen of France, believing in the heirs to the throne as potential saviors to their financial woes. Many would not live to find out – those who were not trampled or otherwise suffocated in the stampede were callously tossed into a river and left to drown by their fellow spectators as they made a mad dash toward safety.

In any event, fate would see to it that the royal couple could have never served as saviors anyhow – the condemned couple would be famously stripped of their titles, beheaded under the sharp blade of the guillotine at the Place de la Révolution in 1793 Revolutionary France, and their corpses dumped in a common grave at the Cemetery of the Madeline – ironically, the very same resting grounds for the victims of the May 30th disaster at the Place de La Concorde.
 

*CLICK TO ENLARGE* A Contemporary mock-up of the Temple de l'Hymen

From "The Life of Marie Antoinette" by Charles Duke Yonge (1876, Harper & Brothers Publishers, New York):

Little as was the good-will which subsisted between Louis XV and the Parisians, the civic authorities thought their own credit at stake in doing appropriate honor to an occasion so important as the marriage of the heir of the monarchy, and on the 30th of May they closed a succession of balls and banquets by a display of fire-works, in which the ingenuity of the most celebrated artists had been exhausted to outshine all previous displays of the sort. Three sides of the Place Louis XV were filled up with pyramids and colonnades. Here dolphins darted out many-colored flames from their ever-open mouths. There, rivers of fire poured forth cascades spangled with all the variegated brilliancy with which the chemist's art can embellish the work of the pyrotechnist.

The centre was occupied with a gorgeous Temple of Hymen, which seemed to lean for support on the well-known statue of the king, in front of which it was constructed; and which was, as it were, to be carried up to the skies by above three thousand rockets and fire-balls into which it was intended to dissolve. The whole square was packed with spectators, the pedestrians in front, the carriages in the rear, when one of the explosions set fire to a portion of the platforms on which the different figures had been constructed. At first the increase of the blaze was regarded only as an ingenious surprise on the part of the artist. But soon it became clear that the conflagration was undesigned and real; panic-succeeded to delight, and the terror-stricken crowd, seeing themselves surrounded with flames, began to make frantic efforts to escape from the danger; but there was only one side of the square unenclosed, and that was blocked up by carriages.

The uproar and the glare made the horses unmanageable, and in a few moments the whole mass, human beings and animals, was mingled in helpless confusion, making flight impossible by their very eagerness to fly, and trampling one another underfoot in bewildered misery. Of those who did succeed in extricating themselves from the square, half made their way to the road which runs along the bank of the river, and found that they had only exchanged one danger for another, which, though of an opposite character, was equally destructive. Still overwhelmed with terror, though the first peril was over, the fugitives pushed one another into the stream, in which great numbers were drowned. The number of the killed could never be accurately ascertained: but no calculation estimated the number of those who perished at less than six hundred, while those who were grievously injured were at least as many more.

The dauphin and dauphiness were deeply shocked by a disaster so painfully at variance with their own happiness, which, in one sense, had caused it. Their first thought was, as far as they might be able, to mitigate it. Most of the victims were of the poorer class, the grief of whose surviving relatives was, in many instances, aggravated by the loss of the means of livelihood which the labors of those who had been cut off had hitherto supplied; and, to give temporary succor to this distress, the dauphin and dauphiness at once drew out from the royal treasury the sums allowed to them for their private expenses for the month, and sent the money to the municipal authorities to be applied to the relief of the sufferers. But Marie Antoinette did more. She felt that to give money only was but cold benevolence; and she made personal visits to many of those families which had been most grievously afflicted, showing the sincerity of her sympathy by the touching kindness of her language, and by the tears which she mingled with those of the widow and the orphan.

Did You Know?

Inside the Royal Opera House at Versailles

The Temple of Hymen wasn’t the only structure to have been created in anticipation of the royal marriage of the Dauphin to the archduchess. 

In 1770, King Louis XV commissioned the construction of a large event hall at Versailles to serve as a ballroom for the wedding banquet and subsequent wedding related festivities. 

It would also serve as the first opera hall in France built in the shape of an oval. The Opéra Royal, as it was then called, was an architectural and technological wonder: boasting finely sculpted depictions of Greek gods and symbols marking the Zodiac, and a mechanically operated flooring system which could both raise the orchestra flush with the stage during balls, and lower it for more intimate occasions.

The newly installed opera hall at Versailles couldn’t have served as a better gift for the newly minted Dauphine de France - a musician and minor composer herself, who would later serve as musical patron, most notably to her musical hero (and former teacher) Christoph Willibald Gluck.

The first opera Marie Antoinette would have attended at the Royal Opera House (as the hall would later become known) was Jean-Baptiste Lully’s Persée, composed in 1682. It would serve as the inaugural performance for the venue, and the former archduchess of Austria would witness the occasion whilst still Dauphine.

Although the interior mechanism behind the rising floor may
appear rickety by modern standards, the design was considered
state-of-the-art technology in the late 18th century. The
complex system, consisting of winches and hoists, was
designed by the First Theatre Technician to the King,
Blaise-Henri Arnoult.

Although the state-of-the-art opera hall and its breathtaking acoustics – owed largely to the wooden structure of the venue – were considered a marvel and a sight to behold in it’s day, the opera house was expensive to maintain, and was only used some 40 times before the outbreak of the French Revolution.

Memorable performances during this period included Lully’s Persée in 1770 on the day of the royal wedding; a revival of Jean-Philippe Rameau’s Castor et Pollux in honor of the visiting Emperor and brother to the Dauphine, Joseph II in may 1777; and the revivals of Marie-Antoinette favorite composer Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide in late May of 1782 and Armide in June 1784. The latter production saw in attendance the King of Sweden, Gustav III, who was visiting the French court.
 
Listen below to the third act aria from Lully's Persée, "O tranquille sommeil" performed by the American tenor Rockwell Blake:




-Rose.

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MAYHEM BEHIND THE MUSIC X: TRIVIA & HUMOR - (LITERALLY) 'DECONSTRUCTING' MOZART & OTHER SALACIOUS SCANDALS feat. Did You Know?

It’s time for another installment of TRIVIA & HUMOR!

Today’s much overdue feature combines a veritable cornucopia of mystery, scandal and intrigue as Unraveling Musical Myths meanders through the murky mire of the macabre, resting every now and then to regale the reader with tales of mercurial madness – a frequently occurring trait we have come to know and love in our beloved maestros of yore.

“LOWLY” MUSICIAN STATUS SAVES COMPOSER’S NECK

Alleged likeness of Taverner

We begin in the mid-16th century in Tudor England, just prior to the Reformation with the composer and organist John Taverner. Considered to be one of the most important musical figures of his era, Taverner would be appointed First Organist and Master of the Choristers at Cardinal College* (named after it’s ecclesiastical founder and then-Lord Chancellor to Henry VIII, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey).

Taverner, like many an Englishman living under the notoriously volatile monarch’s reign, would find himself in a heap of trouble for allegedly possessing ‘heretical’ manuscripts – books by German theologian Martin Luther - on his person (and possibly stashed in the ‘song school,’ with the intent of teaching them to his pupils in the choir) for which the musician was promptly holed up in the college’s fish cellar (which then served as a makeshift prison until which time further punishment would be executed – pun intended). The word “allegedly” is important here – this was, after all, the most tumultuous period of Henry’s reign, during which time the King sought to have his marriage to his first wife, the Spanish Katherine of Aragon annulled in order to place future consort Queen Anne Boleyn in her stead – a notoriously rocky road for the monarch that saw a highly contested battle of power between the determined English king and Pope Clement VII, and, failing permission by the Holy See to divorce, an eventual break with Rome.

Cardinal Wolsey being counseled by King Henry VIII

Alongside his abrupt shift in power over religious matters of the State, the autocratic ruler installed himself as the Supreme Head of the Church of England, setting forth a tidal wave of reformist activity across the nation.

Accusations of heresy ran wild – whether the party was in fact guilty or an innocent offender (labeling another as a heretic was a quick and convenient way to rid oneself of their enemies in an age where one was considered guilty until proven.. well, guilty).

As it turns out, Taverner himself was a noted reformist. Perhaps armed with this knowledge, or simply having been all-too-aware of the further punishment that his appointee would have undoubtedly suffered if left to rot in the fish cellar, Wolsey neither confirmed nor denied the accusation lobbed on the imprisoned musician, and instead, appealed quite convincingly, to the jailors’ egos by diminishing Taverner’s influence over even the meekest of students, calling him “but a musician” (then equivalent to a servant). 

Apparently, it worked. Taverner would be promptly pardoned by the Cardinal.

Listen below to a gorgeous rendition of Taverner's Dum Tansisset Sabbatum (And When The Sabbath Was Past), Performed by Alamire choir under David Skinner:


*Note: now Christ Church College at Oxford

 

GUNPOWDER, FIRE…ATTEMPTED MURDER?

Talk about a premiere from hell: from the blazing inferno ravaging a large portion of a specially constructed structure funded out-of-pocket by the reigning British King (some £8000 - worth about 1 million in today’s money) and which claimed two lives, to the attempted murder of the Duke of Montagu by an enraged architect (and the latter’s unsurprising - yet highly mortifying - imprisonment), Composer of the Chapel Royal George Frederic Handel’s debut performance of his suite “Music for the Royal Fireworks” would go off with anything but a hitch. 

QUOTE OF THE DAY: FEBRUARY 8, 2018: ANDRÉ GRÉTRY: THE COMPOSER WHO BROKE ALL THE RULES

André Ernest Modeste Grétry

Today’s Quote of the Day comes to us from birthday boy André Ernest Modeste Grétry, born in this 8th day of February 1741 at the Prince-Bishopric of Liège, (present day French-speaking region in southern Belgium), the son of a poor family (his father was a struggling musician who, in all likelihood, assumed the same fate for his son as there existed no means to secure a financial nest for the boy’s future education). André would not only prove his father wrong in terms of future excellence, but would also prove successful where most struggling artists failed – and in a most grand manner – by bravely “breaking the rules” imposed upon society by leading officials during the French Revolutionary war. Certainly, his thought provoking quote: 

“There must be deviations from the rules in order to express almost anything... however only the man who is familiar with the rules may sometimes violate them for he alone can know that in certain cases the rule is not enough.” 

 
…wasn’t solely based on the rigid “rules” of musical style represented by different nations across Europe, but rather – respectively – a strong statement about standing up for oneself, one’s brethren, and the causes near and dear to one’s heart. From the perspective of posterity, Grétry was a man who broke all of the rules – even those that often dictated the son of a pauper and unsuccessful musician would not be taken with any merit should he even attempt to try.

For André, it seemed the rules imposed on society – by those seeking to oppress in order to gain, simply wouldn’t do. He, and he alone would decide what could be accomplished by someone, who by all appearances, would draw the common card of so many in his era - controlled and suppressed through the conventional heavy-handed dictations of an unjust society. Grétry would see before him a series of impenetrable doors, and one by one, smash right through them – not by violence, or threats thereof – but rather, by discipline, perseverance, and by never doubting he would succeed where others had failed.

And succeed, he did: he would find himself in high company (and in high demand), as music tutor to France’s Queen Marie Antoinette (a minor composer herself), who, on more than one occasion would cite the Grétry as her favorite; he would rub shoulders with Voltaire and, notably, would be the first musician who dared to write music for an ancient Roman instrument, previously known as the cornu – in André’s time as the “tuba curva.” 

A Tuba Curva

It was a bold move, especially considering the musical instrument’s stagnant state over millennia – thereby having to improvise on technique in order to make it sing – a chance even accomplished composers wouldn’t dare dram of trying in fear of falling flat on their face and damaging their career. In an age and society – that of Revolutionary Paris – where musicians were still often beggars, paupers, and seen as servants until one could prove himself viable for a handsome wage, to unhaltingly pick up said instrument and give it a go was a huge risk. But it would be a risk that paid off: big time. André would be commissioned to both compose and perform on the tuba curva at Voltaire's internment at the Panthéon.

But how did a man who seemed to have all odds stacked up against him according to the rigid rules of a society that, prior to the revolution, unspokenly dictated that the poor remain poor, and rich become richer?

The first step toward becoming the “most celebrated composer in Paris” in his prime would begin with baby steps: as a youth, it cost the family nothing to send André to the Church of St. Denis back in his hometown of Liège (it would not be until sometime after 1767 that Grétry would relocate to Paris – eventually becoming French citizen). It was there that the former young choirboy became a pupil of some heavy hitters in classical music who, sensing the young man's talent, offered their services in Composition (Jean-Pantaléon Leclerc), lessons on the keyboard (Nicolas Rennekin) – who also offered to André lessons in composition for the instrument, and, as for the pièce de résistance, the up-and-coming music maker was granted tutelage under one Henri Moreau, music master at the collegiate church of St. Paul. 

Below: Sinfonia from Giovanni Battista Pergolesi's "Il Flaminio." The 1735 opera buffa was a major success in Italy, reappearing on the Neapolitan stage over the course of 25 years. This opera - perhaps even this piece - may have been one of the works presented to the student Grétry during his early studies.


As word spread of the André’s increasing musical talents, he was offered a practical tuition after attending a performance produced by an Italian Opera company. Suddenly exposed to the grandeur of Baldassarre Galuppi, Giovanni Battista Pergolesi and their beautiful multi-faceted works, the impressionable (now a young man) decided Italy would be the place he would need to be in order to thrive by undertaking musical education there. Undaunted by the lack of funds provided for such a move, Grétry improvised: I’ll compose a mass, he thought... and I’ll dedicate it to the Canons of the Liège Cathedral – and see what comes of it. The move was a bold one, and the reward was swift: a certain Canon Hurley provided the funds needed for André to not only make his way to Rome, but to study at the capital’s Collège de Liège. For a period of some five years, André studied under the esteemed Italian musician and choirmaster in the Basilica of St. John Lateran, Giovanni Battista Casali.

Under such masterful tutelage, Grétry would compose his first operetta for the Italian stage La Vendemmiatrice, which was met with universal applause. The word about this rags-to-riches-in-process story was now the talk of the town – and not only in Rome or back home in Liège: now, France – the big dog in town for classical music – was calling, inquiring of André: would you consider, perhaps, coming to Paris, and dedicating your life to French comic opera? ... for an appropriate wage, of course. Shortly after New Year’s Day in 1767, André Ernest Modeste Grétry made the move that would change his life forever.

Undaunted by the poverty stricken French capital, Grétry found himself in the company –and in the debt of the nobility, who would provide the composer with all he needed to begin his new life as “the leading composer of comic opera." It would be through the Swedish Ambassador, one Count Gustaff Philip Creutz, that André would be provided with his first libretto- written by the hand of the famed French historian and author Jean-François Marmontel, which, astonishingly, took the Grétry only six weeks to complete. Le Huron, the opera in question, proved to be a smashing success – a trend that seemed to continue with his successive operas – some 50 of them in total during a lifetime marred by an ongoing violent Revolution.

Below: the gorgeous air/duet "Ah! Que tu m'attendris!" from Act II of Grétry's Le Huron:


This is especially significant, as Grétry’s 1784 opera Richard, Coeur-de-lion, a largely “royalist” opera based on the myth of King Richard I of England's captivity at the hands of Leopold, Archduke of Austria and his rescue by the troubadour Blondel de Nesle, Richard’s lowly squire and one determined countess who gathers troops to violently storm the fortress in which the King is imprisoned, and successfully releases him (an opera not exactly in tune with the growing abolitionist and revolutionary movement in France at the time). Undeterred, Grétry was to stand up to his own convictions with the very real possibility he would lose his head in the process, by breaking the cardinal rules of Liberté, égalité, (et) fraternité. Grétry would, unshakingly, allow for an impromptu performance of “O Richard, O mon Roi, l'univers t'abandonne,” an air that appeared in Grétry’s Coeur-de-Lion before a command of French Officers of the Versailles garrison – sung to them by their own bodyguard no less - on October 3, 1789. 

Shockingly, instead of reacting in a state of revilement or erupting into violence (for the air contradicted everything the French Revolutionaries stood for) the Frenchmen commended and, amazingly, respected André’s loyalty to his beliefs and his courage. Of course, one can also see whilst scanning the lyrics of the air similarities to the then-current belief structure in France – although as if reversed through a mirror: it was the opinion of the French, most of whom lived in utter squalor and were rapt by hunger and disease, that the “Austrian” invader (Queen Marie Antoinette) was largely responsible by using state funds to indulge in luxury back at her private apartments at the Palace of Versailles – further stripping the already fragile economy to it’s core. (Just as in Grétry's opera, it was an Austrian Royal who was the villain); and, of course, there is the “lowly” (i.e. pauper) squire who set off the incidences for the Countess – a female warrior (égalité) – to form a band of troops in order to “storm” the fortress which held hostage a man deemed innocent of any crime. If one compares this to the famous storming of the Bastille by the citizens of France, one might come to understand why this bizarre reaction of gratitude was so bestowed upon the composer.

Below: the air “O Richard, O mon Roi, l'univers t'abandonne,” from Grétry's 1784 opera Richard, Coeur-de-lion:


In fact, this incident alone would set in place the beginning of an enduring legacy: The fédérés (volunteers) of the French revolution, after hearing about the brazen incident, would march into the city of Paris, singing in unison what is now known as the French National Anthem: The Marseilaise, so inspired were they by the expression of loyalty displayed in Grétry’s opera – even though the Monarchy went against everything they believed in. 

Grétry wearing his Légion d'honneur medal,
presented to him by Napoleon.

As happens in war, much of one’s property would become destroyed, held hostage, or looted. In Grétry’s case (whose quizzical public adoration in Paris was unlike any other phenomenon witnessed in the midst of the French Terror), his status as a brave man did not render him exempt from this rule. But, as Grétry so eloquently stated in the quote above, rules are made to be broken. 

For reasons that many still don’t fully understand today, the successive governments of France would protect the life of the composer by vying for the public to hold him in high regard, regardless of political differences. He would receive numerous distinctions and awards during this period, and the newly formed Republic itself would make him an Inspector of the Conservatoire, and even Napoleon himself granted unto André the much distinguished cross of the legion of honour and gave him a pension to boot!

On July 14, 1795, The Convention accepted “La Marseillaise”, heavily inspired by Grétry’s opera and bravery as the Official National Anthem of France, making it the nation’s first ever anthem. Another rule –and record – “broken” to add to Grétry’s heavily laden belt of successes. The Anthem would experience a brief ban by Louis XVIII and Charles X, and, following this, would be briefly reinstated after the July Revolution of 1830.

At the end of Grétry’s fantastical life, another war would emerge, another “rule” – perhaps inspired by the man himself - smashed though, when the composer was laid to rest in Paris’ famed Père Lachaise Cemetery, much to the chagrin of those residing in the late composer’s hometown of Liège, who incessantly demanded the return of his body.

Bronze statue of André Grétry which contains the composer's heart at Liège.

Parisian and French authorities wouldn’t budge. So heavily steeped in their history, the body of André Grétry was now theirs to keep. 

This led to a litany of lawsuits that lasted some fifteen years until a final (and rather macabre) comprise was made: much like Frédéric Chopin, whose body lay at rest in ­­­­­­­the Père Lachaise Cemetery and his heart (allegedly) ensconced within a pillar at a church in the composer’s hometown of Warsaw (Poland), Grétry’s hometown would precede (and perhaps even influence the Chopin affair) by building from scratch a large bronze statue in the likeness of the composer, ensconced within it: André Grétry's heart - after having been removed from now long dead corpse (which itself would continue to lay at rest in Paris, at the very same future final resting place of Chopin). Finished in 1842, the un-beating heart whose music and tenacity beats heavily in our breast – and the lifelike statue in which it is contained - stands at the forecourt of the Théâtre Royal in Liège.
  
-Rose.

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TODAY IN HISTORY - MAY 14, 2017: ENGLISH PHYSICIAN DISCOVERS SMALLPOX VACCINATION, NEARLY 3 DECADES AFTER EPIDEMIC ALMOST KILLS MOZART feat. Did You Know?

Doctor Edward Jenner

221 years ago today an English country physician by the name of Edward Jenner would unexpectedly discover a crucial breakthrough in the annals of medical science and instill into the history books a newfound terminology: “vaccination" – or, "vaccine.”

The year was 1796, and Europe was in the throes of a full-blown epidemic. The culprit was the highly infectious – and often deadly – respiratory disease variola virus, otherwise known as “smallpox.”

The prognosis for those unfortunate souls inflicted by the 18th century viral scourge was as horrendous as it was catastrophic: some 400,000 Europeans perished annually from the disease; with infant fatalities skyrocketing to 80-98 percent in London and in Berlin by the close of the millennium.

The classical music sphere nearly lost one of it’s most prized representatives of the genre in the autumn of 1767, when an 11-year old Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, having recently traveled to Vienna – on tour with his sister, “Nannerl,” his father, Leopold, and mother Anna Maria – became infected with the smallpox virus after fleeing the pox-ravaged city a touch too late upon arrival. Nannerl, Mozart’s co-prodigy on this family tour, would also become stricken by the pox.

Both would survive – in Mozart’s case, just barely. Statistically, one-third of those infected with the smallpox virus in 18th century Europe would survive with some – or many forms - of handicap. The most notable side effect of overcoming the disease was a total and/or permanent loss of vision. Again, in the case of Mozart, lady chance would prevail: the young musician had only suffered ‘blindness’ for the duration of nine days, according to the writings of sister Nannerl:
 

“He caught the smallpox, which made him so ill that he could see nothing for nine days and had to spare his eyes for several weeks after his recovery.”

For some two weeks (three for Nannerl), a feverish Mozart would toe the line between life and the very real possibility of death as he battled the virus now coursing through his veins. For Leopold, who had gripes about the status of his employment and financial status back in Salzburg (where the family would hastily return upon receiving word in Vienna of the outbreak), Mozart’s illness could not have come at a worse time – the senior Mozart had high hopes of repeating the scale of adulation recently lauded upon his children at the royal courts of England, France and Holland at the Imperial Capital. He had planned to wow the Viennese with his wunderkind son during the celebrations for the marriage of the Archduchess Maria Josepha – daughter to Empress Maria Theresa. Mozart had already entertained the Empress and her daughter Maria Antonia (later Marie Antoinette, Queen of France) some five years earlier when he famously performed for the royal court as a keyboardist. Now was the time to curry favor as a composer. Unfortunately, the Mozart clan had been forced to flee Vienna weeks before the royal marriage took place and would not return to the city and the Imperial court until some four months later, in January of 1768.

Above: a portrait of a young boy once thought to
be Mozart is now believed by leading scholars to
have no association with the Salzburgian wonder.

The Empress herself was not safe from the pox: proving that virulent strains of infectious disease knows no class distinctions, the otherwise robust ruler would lose three of her own children to the disease by the time the Mozarts returned to Vienna.

It would cause Maria Theresa to do something Leopold Mozart would not: convert to the concept and practice of inoculation.
 
In the days preceding Dr. Jenner’s discovery of the smallpox vaccine, the only safeguard against the disease lay in the primitive practice of variolation (inoculation). The procedure was far from a cure-all – quite by contrast, it functioned only as a preventative measure against the virus, and was therefore administered only to the non-infected. It was also a risky undertaking for both doctor and patient: the rather crude method of insertion involved instilling into the veins infected pus from the lesion of a poxxed individual under the skin by means of a lancet. In an age of dicey hygienic awareness, the accidental transmission of other bloodborne, potentially fatal diseases – such as syphilis – was an inevitable possibility.

Whilst “anti-vaxxers” may look to Leopold, who refused to inoculate a healthy Mozart (and Nannerl) before either child contracted the virus, as somewhat of a heroic figure, given that both children survived (with minimal long-term side effects, save for pockmarks on the face of his son), care must be taken to consider the facts:

a) no other effective preventative, nor treatment, was made available the time; and 

b) the risks associated with instilling into a healthy subject diseased matter from an infected individual carried with it the possibility of disease and, especially where children were concerned, death. The fact that the Mozart children survived at all is purely the result of serendipity. Had there been an effective treatment for an already affected individual, it is highly probable that Leopold would have changed his tune - given the tenure of the following extract - taken from the personal correspondence of the senior Mozart to his landlord and friend Lorenz Hagenauer in February of 1764:

“They are trying to persuade me to let my boy be inoculated with smallpox. But as I have expressed sufficiently clearly my aversion to this impertinence they are leaving me in peace. Here inoculation is the general fashion. But for my part I leave the matter to the grace of God. It depends on His grace whether He wishes to keep this prodigy of nature in this world in which He placed it or to take it to Himself”

In the video below, British historian Dan Snow depicts a reenactment of the primitive inoculation procedure (at 50 minutes, 12 secs in, and ends at 53:07) whist researching life in revolutionary Paris, itself ravaged by smallpox. It is easy to see why such a brute method would instill fear into the father Mozart:

It would be some three decades following the contraction of smallpox by the Mozart children that Dr. Jenner would put to the test an age-old hypothesis: that of inoculating a healthy patient with cowpox (note: not "small" pox), scraped from the infected pustule of a bovine udder in order to induce in the patient a potential immunity from the disease (as is the case with survivors of smallpox).

Dr. Jenner inoculating James Phipps

The doctor had developed an interest in cowpox prevention during his student years, after having heard tales of dairymaids who developed an immunity to the disease after having handled the teats of infected cows and subsequently becoming infected themselves. He surmised that if cowpox pus could prevent cowpox itself in healthy individual, then it stood to reason that the same procedure could also prevent smallpox. 

To put his theory to the test, Dr. Jenner would procure pus from the infected lesions of a dairymaid, called Sarah Nelms, and instill it under the skin of an 8-year-old boy by the name of James Phipps. Phipps would fall ill for some ten days following the procedure, after which point he recovered. Jenner would then infect the boy with pus from a smallpox (note: not "cow" pox) lesion, fully expecting that the child’s newfound immunity to cowpox would double over and prevent him from falling ill to the smallpox matter now coursing through his body.

As it turned out, little James Phipps never did develop the disease, and thus, the vaccination was born.

Did You Know?

• Dr. Jenner coined his procedure “vaccination” after the Latin word for the source of his thesis: the cow (vacca), and after the Latin term for cowpox (vaccinia).

• Mozart, in spite of having previously been confined to a sickbed for some four months in Salzburg after becoming stricken with smallpox and resulting temporary loss of vision, never skipped a beat upon his recovery: by January 16, 1768, 12-year old Mozart would complete his Symphony no. 7 in D major (KV45) - just three days after his arrival back in Vienna! Listen to a recording of the work below:

-Rose.

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TODAY IN CLASSICAL MUSIC HISTORY: NOTED PHILOSOPHER ROUSSEAU “HANGED” FOR HIS SERVICE TO FRENCH MUSIC – THE MAYHEM BEHIND LE DEVIN DU VILLAGE

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

264 years ago today, on October 18, 1752, France would bear witness to what may be arguably described as a Prelude to a Musical Revolution. It would begin at the royal court of King Louis XV of France – it’s chief instigator, the esteemed Swiss-born philosopher and composer Jean-Jacques Rousseau. His arme de choix: a pandering, self authored pamphlet “Lettre sur la Musique Française” - a churlish treatise against the music of France (of which he contested was in poorly scant supply of anything revelatory), and of it’s musical future (of which he insisted would never come into existence) - not withstanding the “unfit” nature of the French language itself, which the emerging musician found most uncouth for distinguished ears.

How odd then, it must have appeared to the King, and later, to the French public, to have been introduced on that fateful autumn day to “Le Devin du Village”* an opera performed in French, and written in French by one of the nations most vocal adversaries, Rousseau himself. 

The introduction of Le Devin marked a turning point for 18th century musical France, a nation already in conteste with Italy – chiefly with it’s infiltration on national operatic culture and customs. Reigning King of the tragédie lyrique (the preferred form of musical stage drama for the French), Jean-Philippe Rameau, with his soul-wrenching oeuvre, was made to bear witness to the injection of the customs of the Italians, in the form of Italian burlettas (intermezzi) – light comic relief, performed in the Italian tongue, to balance out the serious nature of French libretti.

French king Louis XV was an early
supporter of Rousseau's composing
endeavors. He famously offered (and
was refused) life-long patronage of the
philosopher-cum-composer.

Results were immediate, and public reaction was as hotly divided as it was swift: French opera connoisseurs split into two sects: those who favored the change, and those who rallied against it – sometimes though violence. The public, it seemed, had no choice but to endure the makings of a revolution: the Italian company responsible for the musical interjection had officially received permission in 1752 to use what wiles they possessed to attempt to integrate the two very different formats. 

The answer to the question of the philosopher-cum-composer's true musical allegiance that must have plagued members of Louis' royal court would soon be revealed: Rousseau, in a most ingenious fashion (and undeniably spurned on by a raging competitive spirit following the successful run of young Giovanni Battista Pergolesi’s comic opera La Serva Padrona – an Italian opera, by an Italian composer, performed by a visiting Italian troupe no less - which had held its premiere in Paris just two months prior to Le Devin’s premiere at Fontainebleau) would present his latest work as a sort of hybrid: designed and touted as an opera for the French, Le Devin would incorporate facets of the Italian opera buffa throughout – most notably in the use of recitative, and in it’s Overture, which employed the Italian style of fast, slow, fast in it's sections. The pandering to French interests on behalf of the composer would be further emphasized by the press, who were quick to point out that the libretto for the opera, written in the country’s native tongue, held the distinction of being the first operatic text to have been written by the composer of the same work. Almost immediately following Le Devin's public premiere, Rousseau's most important musical ally, Jean-Philippe Rameau - who was presently the undisputed king of opera in France - would turn into a rival. Compounding the matter was the fact that, according to Rameau - who had previously corresponded on a semi-frequent basis with the Swiss composer - Rousseau had once expressed through his letters to the Frenchman a showing of espousal to French traditions. The production, then, of Le Devin, using popular Italian styles was undoubtedly viewed by Rameau as the ultimate betrayal. It seemed Rousseau was making enemies in high places.

Public fallout - albeit temporarily - would quickly follow.
 

Overture of Le Devin, in the Italian Style: Allegro, Lent et gai, Allegro 

Rousseau may have thought his machinations infallible - soon however, just as we have seen in the fractured relationship between the two former allies, the operatic newcomer Rousseau’s ‘allegiance’ became inevitably blurred in the eyes and ears of the Parisian melophiles.

So heated was the public divide, it has been recorded by contemporary historians in the time of Rousseau that his own orchestra detested not only their maestro’s views on their countrymen, which they considered an attack on France itself – but also, of the composer’s rampant hypocrisy. It is said following a performance of Le Devin, the musicians took to the theater lobby, erecting hastily fashioned gallows, whereupon they proceeded to “burn” the composer in effigy!

The periodical “The Athenaeum Journal of Nature, Science, and the Fine Arts" payed homage to the event in the coming century by running a detail describing the vitriolic occasion (as originally recorded by the 18th century Belgian-turned-French composer André Grétry):

"In how severe a strife "Le Devin" was nurtured we may judge from the circumstance of the French orchestral players conspiring - so Gretry tells us - to hang Jean Jacques in effigy. "Well," replied the Swiss, "I don't wonder they should hang me now, after having so long put me to the torture." But the fiddlers built their gallows in vain..."

-pp. 455

FROM OBSCURITY TO LIGHT - CLASSICAL ERA: Martín y Soler, Clementi & Righini

18th Century composer Vicente Martín y Soler

In Profile: VICENTE MARTÍN Y SOLER

This little-known (in modern times) Spanish composer was the delight of 18th century aristocracy and left an indelible artistic footprint across Europe with his selection of ballets in Naples, a slew of opera buffas in Vienna (which he composed with texts from one of the most prolific and beloved librettists of the period, Lorenzo da Ponte (of Mozart fame)) all of which were ravishing triumphs, and finally Martín y Soler would earn a lifetime post at the Court of Catherine the Great at St Petersburg, in 'European Russia', where he would even collaborate on his 1789 Russian-language opera “The Unfortunate Hero Kosmetovich” with the Empress herself, who co-wrote the libretto for the work in a jested affront to her cousin, the reigning King of Sweden, Gustav III. This opera in particular was such a resounding success amongst the Imperial rulers, it is said the Great Princes Alexander and Konstantin could recite the opera from memory alone!

Martín y Soler’s time spent in Vienna was especially fruitful. Later dubbed the “Valencian Mozart”, this contemporary of Wolfgang Mozart and Antonio Salieri and other famed composers of the period (the likes of Joseph Haydn and Christoph Gluck) worked both in tandem, and in competition with, the present era’s most well known artists of the classical period. Although posterity has seen to it that the works of this prolific and immensely talented composer would fade into relative obscurity, Vicente arguably saw more success in the latter part of the 18th century than that of his operatic counterpart, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, when his operas “Una Cosa Rara” and “Il Burbero di Buon Cuore”, both of which premiered at Vienna’s Burgtheater within ten months of each other, outshone Mozart’s epic opera buffa “Le Nozze di Figaro” which would premier in that same year, and which also shared da Ponte as librettist (compare Martín y Soler’s “Una Cosa Rara”, which had it’s premiere in mid November of 1786 and would be shown a whopping 78 times in Vienna, with Mozart’s "Le Nozze di Figaro", which premiered less than six months after Cosa Rara in May with a total of only 9 performances in Austria’s Capital that year).

Catherine the Great, Russia's longest ruling Leader.

Whilst Mozart was still petitioning the Emperor of Austria, Joseph II for a court appointment and brooding over the lack of Imperial support (he would not achieve his much sought after post at the Viennese court until over a year later, at the end of 1787 - as Court Composer, and even then, only to fill the void left by the passing of Christoph Willibald Gluck in November that year, who had previously held the position), Martín y Soler was already making friends in high places. Fresh off the heels of his success with Una Cosa Rara, Vicente would quite rapidly (comparatively speaking) find himself in Russia in late 1788, under the direct employment of another Imperial Ruler in the Empress Catherine the Great. It had taken Wolfgang Mozart some six years to accomplish his goal of a steady post and employment at Court (since his arrival in Vienna in March of 1781, following Joseph II’s accession as ruler of the Habsburg lands following the death of Holy Roman Empress and Archduchess of Austria Maria Theresa). Vicente Martín y Soler had accomplished his tenure to Royalty in less than half that time with scant effort on his part: his works were so valued amongst the European aristocracy, he had actually been summoned to the Russian Court where he held the title Mozart had so long fought for (and that his father Leopold had been fighting for since his son’s first foray into music as a young wunderkind back in Salzburg): "Court Composer "– a title and position Martín y Soler would hold until his death some 18 years later, on January 30, 1806.

It’s high time we rescue this once-beloved composer from the abysmal depths of Western Classical Music Obscurity and place him back amongst the blinding light where he so rightfully belongs. Listen below to the delightful aria "Dolce mi parve un di" from Una Cosa Rara, (this beautiful aria was originally sung by Nancy Storace, the doyenne of 18th century Sopranos).^[1]

The opera in full is available on youtube and is well worth a listen. If the music in the work sounds familiar, it is with good reason. Mozart would later pay tribute to Martín y Soler in 1787 with his opera Don Giovanni, in which Wolfgang would quote^[2] music from Una Cosa Rara at the end of his opera in the ensemble aria “O quanto in sì bel giubilo”. 
  


*Una Cosa Rara is quite significant in yet another way: it featured one of the first stagings in Vienna of a new form of sound and dance at the end of the second act of the opera, in which Martín y Soler had included a short, two-couple waltz - something entirely new to Viennese audiences. It was by all accounts, received most exuberantly amongst operatic circles and Martín y Soler himself would go on to be credited with introducing the waltz to the Austrian Capital (an attribution that would later be adopted - and made famous by - Johann Strauss II in the 19th century).

^[1]Storace was much admired for her vocal prowess amongst the leading composers of the period. She had both song and roles written exclusively for her, and would be cast as the first “Susanna” in Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro.

^[2]“Quoting” could imply the direct sampling of music from another compositional source (another artist), by musical theme or in whole; it could also imply a theme on which another composer would perform variations. A composer could also, and often would, “quote” from himself in addition to, or exclusive of, the works of other artists.

OTHER LESSER KNOWN (in modern times) COMPOSERS, CONSIDERED HIGHLY REGARDED IN THEIR DAY (despite what wikipedia says!)

^{Composer & Pianist Muzio Clementi.}

Muzio Clementi, who had a birthday this January 24th, was an immensely well respected composer, pianist and conductor of his day – he was considered to be second only in talent and genius to the internationally celebrated Joseph Haydn, who is still considered one of the greatest musical minds to have ever walked this planet to this very day.

Clementi’s travels would place him among the world's leading musical spheres, where he would find himself in much esteemed company, performing for the Royal likes of the Archduchess and future Queen Consort to the throne of France, one Marie Antoinette during a visit to Paris in 1780 whilst on his European Tour; and at the Imperial Court of Vienna, where he would perform alongside Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart for the French Queen's brother, the Holy Roman Emperor Joseph II of Austria.

Clementi was also an astutely skilled pianist. His innovations on the instrument would influence many contemporaneous and later composers of note that you will almost certainly recognize by name: Giacomo Meyerbeer and Ludwig van Beethoven, just to mention a few.

Certainly, if we can attribute much glory and fanfare to the prolific and mesmerizing works of Meyerbeer and Beethoven, it is seems only right to pay homage to their objet d'inspiration, Muzio Clementi: the spark who lit the flame.

Buon compleanno maestro!



Famed Pianist Vladimir Horowitz plays Clementi's (then) famous Sonata no. V (video 1 of 3).

Composer Vincenzo Righini.

VINCENZO RIGHINI – Let’s set the record straight on this one. Despite being incorrectly cast as an unoriginal thief, this one time Italian choirboy, one time successful tenor (even holding the distinction of membership in the Bustelli Opera troupe in Prague) and eventual composer was highly regarded in Vienna as both a composer and singing teacher and as director of the Austrian Capital’s Italian Opera. He would also serve as Kapellmeister in Mainz and Berlin, and would be appointed the same post of the court theatre in 1811. As we have already seen with Martín y Soler and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, ‘borrowing’ music from other artists, in particular amongst contemporaries, was a well-known practice of the period, and was generally considered to be a high honor and achievement for the sampled musician. There exist plenty of works in all eras of classical music where composers draw on, perform variations on, or directly sample from (including from the works of Righini himself) the compositions of previous or contemporaneous artists whose music they admired.

Righini could count amongst his supporters and peers many of the Classical period’s most noted Composers and performers, even securing for himself a placement amongst Western Classical Music’s elite with a performance of his cantata Il Natale D’Apollo at the highly exclusive Tonkünstler-Societät (the Society of Musicians), a privately run organization founded by Florian Gassmann (the same teacher who had brought Antonio Salieri to the Viennese Court of Emperor Joseph II in 1766) in the effort to support ‘musicians and their families’, and which boasted the works of such well-loved composers as Felix Mendelssohn and Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf and was host to such prolific clientele as Antonio Salieri, Joseph Haydn, Ludwig van Beethoven and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. It’s famed and wealthy patrons included many persons of aristocracy, including the Empress Maria Theresa.

Righini also shares a birthday this month of January, he was born in Bologna on January 22, just five days before Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, in 1756.

What an era!

Buon compleanno!

^{Listen below to the exquisite "Ombra Dolente" from Righini's cantata "Il Natale D'Apollo". This is one of my absolute favorite pieces from this period. 21st century soprano and coloratura diva Diana Damrau can be credited with helping to bring the works of this often overlooked Composer back to the forefront of the mind and ears of modern classical era aficionados.} 



-Rose.

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HISTORY MADE: FIRST COMPLETE SKELETON OF CASTRATO EVER STUDIED YIELDS UNPRECEDENTED RESULTS, CONFIRMS ANTIQUATED BELIEFS ON BIOLOGICAL/PHYSIOLOGICAL ABERRATIONS

Gaspare Pacchierotti: skull (L) and portrait (R)

The results of extensive research concerning the remains of famed 18th century castrato Gaspare Pacchierotti of Fabriano, Italy, unearthed in July of 2013, were officially released to the public Thursday (July 28th, 2016), and reveal for the first time^[1] the biological profile of perhaps one of the most famous practitioners of the now extinct vocal class of male singers.

The remains of Pacchierotti, a child soprano and later adult mezzo-soprano, hold the distinction of being the world’s foremost intact skeletal subject of a castrato made available for scientific research. Prior to the landmark study, which was promoted by the Medical Humanities’ Research Group at the University of Padua, Italy, the only attempt made at discovering the biological profile of a castrato using modern techniques was performed on the remains of infamous 18th century singer Carlo Maria Michelangelo Nicola Broschi (otherwise known as the Italian phenomenon “Farinelli”) in 2006, however analysis of Broshi's skeletal remains proved the existence of several bones of a separate biological origin – making the remains of Pacchierotti the first ever complete skeleton of a castrato ever studied.

The skeletal remains of Pacchierotti

What resulted from the analysis of his bones was a profile consistent with what has long been known about the occupational markers of opera singers, and beliefs long held about the biological structure of men post-castration, which have been known since antiquity.^[2]

The sopranists Farinelli and Pacchierotti, vocalists of the grandest stature, nonetheless lived and flourished in a place and time of great artistic refrain. It was the tail end of admonishment by the Catholic Church regarding the presence of females on the Italian stage, a ban enforced nearly a century and a half earlier by then-ruling Pontiff Pope Sixtus V, which effectively prohibited the presence of females – and therefore the soprano voice – from appearing on any public stage for purposes of singing and/or acting.^[3] The ban, officially issued as a Papal Bull in 1588, would persist, with periodic – and remarkably brief – episodes of abatement and re-instatements until the mid 18th century.^[4] 

Following the advancements of Caccini and Monteverdi on Peri’s model of the art form of Opera,^[5] which increasingly drew demands for solo vocal parts to perform both recitatives and arias, the necessity for a male substitute to sing the soprano role became of tantamount importance to both composers and audiences alike. It was a desire that showed no hint of yielding to the passage of time, with megalithic composers of the ilk of Bach and Händel^[6] creating roles in their respective works specifically for that of the castrati.

The pressure felt by the paternal figures of high ranking choir boys must have been tremendous: in an age where public performance - even by that of males - was viewed by the higher classes as unsavory and unbecoming of a proper gentleman, the singer, and his family - often paupers - would rely on an exhaustive effort of touring and pandering to world leaders and the nobility in order to eke out a livable existence. The birth of the castrato – where opera is concerned – however, was something otherworldly to audiences of high art and to music aficionados: the castrati exuded a sort of freak-show status – and, whether admired or reviled, the ‘new’ vocal type, and peculiar physical stature of the performers themselves – was a subject on the lips of every Italian, and stories of the grand spectacle would soon spread rapidly across Europe. Public curiosity alone would have been a major motivating factor for the parents of a gifted son – for where there lies curiosity, there lies controversy – and controversy – it seemed, could be very profitable.

A caricature of equally renowned castrato Farinelli in
female garb, c. 1724

The skilled boy soprano therefore, would be of utmost importance to the Church choirmaster, who would keep a close eye on the pre-pubescent student. Before the age of 12 (usually at a median age of nine years), with parental consent – almost always the fathers sole consent^[7] - the boy, selected for castration, would be led by an elder into a motley brew of scalding hot water, herbs and spices, in which his nether region would be immersed, before being forcibly ‘manipulated’ in the hands of the choirmaster (or other ’practitioner’), who would break down the delicate structure of the testes through a series of pinching and rolling - this before severing the spermatic cord with a rustic pair of clippers. Whether the child remained conscious throughout the procedure, and by what method – if any- he may have been anesthetized is uncertain, however there has been some suggestion made toward the compression of the carotid artery to induce syncope in the victim.

The physical results of pre-pubescent castration were catastrophic, as Pacchierotti’s skeletal remains confirm. Extensive testing showed the presence of advanced Osteoporosis, a bone-degenerating disease highly responsive to fluctuating levels of sex hormones. The report, found here, cites a ten-fold increase in bone loss following castration in men – equivalent to that of a post-menopausal woman. The resulting levels of bone degeneration would have undoubtedly proved problematic for Pacchierotti - tests showed a significant amount of erosion to the cervical vertebrae and other areas of the spine, which would have left the singer in an almost constant state of (possibly excruciating) pain resulting from the compression of the sciatic nerve.

*CLICK IMAGE TO ENLARGE* "Persistence of Epiphyseal Line" in the Iliac Crest;
Pacchierotti remains (L), Diagram (R)

Aberrations of significance involved the pelvic region of Pacchierotti, and confirmed the long held belief of delayed epiphyseal fusion of the Iliac crest (presenting itself with a tell-tale "epiphyseal line:" see diagram above), a process usually completed by the age of 23 – with “no traces” of the epiphyseal line found in “90-100 percent of males over the age of 35.” Pacchierotti was 81 at the time of death.

In contrast to such developmental delays were aberrations of the upper torso, highlighted by the “insertion of three important respiratory muscles on the second ribs, the scalenus posterior, which elevates the second rib, the serratus anterior, which can lift the ribs and assist in respiration, and the serratus posterior superior, that elevates second to fifth ribs and aids deep inspiration..."  
and that "...both scapulae had a marked infraglenoid tubercle due to a strong insertion of the long head of the triceps brachii muscle, which acts on the shoulder joint and is involved in retroversion and adduction of the arm. Probably Pacchierotti was using a lot his arms to act during his performances.”  Such aberrations previously existed as speculative occupational markers known to that of castrati, who have long been noted to possess “a large barrel-shaped chest..."  this, in addition to an "infantile larynx [and] long, spindly legs.” 

*CLICK IMAGE TO ENLARGE* Anatomy - Skeletal, Muscular - Male

It had been observed for some time by both contemporary intelligentsia and their predecessors that the limbs of a castrato, which suffer from the delay/absence of fusion and/or hardening at the joints due to lack of testosterone (a direct result of pre-pubescent castration) experience a growth markedly longer than that of a pubescent male. This aberration, quite fortunately for the adult male soprano, included the ribs. The evidentiary findings of highly developed muscles supporting the ribcage as found in the remains of Pacchierotti, are therefore significant for the anatomist/musicologist seeking to understand the lung power and breath capacity of an adult male versus an adult female singing in a soprano’s vocal range. The two appear incomparable – from Wikipedia: 

“...thus the limbs of the castrati often grew unusually long, as did the bones of their ribs. This, combined with intensive training, gave them unrivalled lung-power and breath capacity. Operating through small, child-sized vocal cords, their voices were also extraordinarily flexible, and quite different from the equivalent adult female voice. Their vocal range was higher than that of the uncastrated adult male...”

Whilst one cannot duplicate the physical stature and biological makeup of a true castrato in the present era, perhaps the closest known example of the timbre of the castrato voice lay in the performances of 20th/21st century Romanian/Moldavian sopranist Radu Marian, a so-called "endocrinological castrato" or "natural castrato" - a male vocalist who has never experienced the onset of puberty or the so-called “broken” voice caused by the release of sex hormones by the testes during reproductive age:

Radu Marian, a endocrinological castrato, performs the soprano aria “Lascia, Ch’io Pianga” (Allow me to Weep) from Händel’s 1711 Opera Rinaldo:



Compare Radu’s rendition with that of a ‘natural-born female’ soprano voice (in Cecilia Bartoli, who, like Pacchierotti before her, is classified as a “mezzo-soprano”:



..and that of the modern era’s answer to the castrato: the countertenor (who sings in a mixture of a falsetto and "chest voice" in the ranges of female contralto or mezzo-soprano voice. Sung here by Philippe Jaroussky):



Highlighted among these, and other notable findings on the remains of Pacchierotti, is a glimpse into the psychological profile of the singer: tests showed a high level of hygienic observance by the castrato, particularly where the mouth is concerned. Evidence of “abrasive brushing” and the use of some early form of dental floss have been linked to the relatively well preserved condition of the subject’s teeth (although, the report also notes the presence of dental erosion due to a chronic case of bruxism (grinding of the teeth), that researchers liken to a habitual response to early childhood trauma – the castration itself.

The "well preserved" teeth of
Gaspare Pacchierotti

The researchers compare the “compulsion” of teeth grinding to the “psychic distress…as it happens in prisoners or people forced to do something.” The observance of hygiene by Pacchierotti in 18th century Europe is significant in and of itself: conceivably the celebrated vocalist may have taken cue from one of his royal patrons – perhaps the French Queen Marie Antoinette – just one of the elite faction of musical society in whom Pacchierotti found himself rubbing shoulders. The Queen was a notorious outcast from the marginalized Parisian public, not only for her Austrian heritage and seemingly endless spending - she indulged in what was then viewed as the most peculiar, highly unnecessary extravagance: spending hours immersed in the bath. In an age where even the glorious Galerie des Glaces (Hall of Mirrors) at the Palace of Versailles, where she and reigning King Louis XVI held court functioned as meeting ground, zoo, and open latrine – the concept and practice of cleanliness was considered a strange taboo – the connection between poor hygiene and disease still decades away (see germ-disease connection: Louis Pasteur here at unravelingmusicalmyths). 

In some ways, we can consider Pacchierotti’s conscious effort to preserve his most valuable asset (or at least part of it) an early foray into the realm of germ theory.

In many ways, this ancient, now extinct art form, much like the late Pacchierotti, existed in an era centuries ahead of it's time. 


External Links:

• Read the full report here: (Scientific Reports, Nature)
• Anatomy - Pelvis - Male: (at Healthline) 
• Gaspare Pacchierotti - Life and Work (at Wikipedia)

Footnotes / Internal Links:

^[1] in the body of a castrato; full remains of

^[2] It has for many centuries been observed that the elongated limbs of Eunuchs were part and parcel of castration – and existed as a direct result of the primitive “operation.”

^[3] It is believed the motivating factors for the Pope lay in Scripture. Discover which passages influenced the Papal Bull here at unravelingmusicalmyths

^[4] Although this era effectively saw the ban of the archaic practice of castration for purposes of preserving the treble (or, boy soprano) voice, the “operation” continued to exist in occulto across Italy, with the last known castrato, one Alessandro Moreschi, even surviving into the dawn of the recording age. While certainly not considered pleasing to the modern ear, his rendition of Bach’s setting of Ave Maria is nonetheless legendary. View it here at unravelingmusicalmyths

^[5] Explore the birth of modern opera at unravelingmusicalmyths

^[6] Händel would later prove to be instrumental in the quest to seek for the Italian stage female performers, creating roles in later operatic compositions officially scored for castrati, yet sneaking onto the stage females in drag for the performance. See: “trouser roles" (footnotes)  here at unravelingmusicalmyths

^[7] Parental consent was not always required for the galling choirmaster: Prolific composer Joseph Haydn (1732-1809) narrowly escaped the clippers as a young star soprano when his father caught wind of the offer of castration made to his young son by the Church in the early 18th century. Read more about it here at unravelingmusicalmyths

-Rose.

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