REMEMBERING HER MAJESTY, QUEEN ELIZABETH II: THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE / MERCI POUR VOTRE SERVICE

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 1:27:53 to hear Purcell's funeral sentence Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts (Jean Tubéry conducts La Fenice):

- Rose.

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AUTHOR'S CHOICE: COUNTDOWN TO HALLOWEEN - 13 MOST CHILLING COMPOSITIONS PART II

 Unraveling Musical Myths

Unraveling Musical Myths is proud to present PART II of "13 SINISTER SPECIMENS YOU WON'T FIND ON A TYPICAL HALLOWEEN PLAYLIST (BUT YOU SHOULD)"

Let's finish where we left off with a little Shostakovich. Grab your safety blankets, you'll soon be cowering underneath them!

PART II: VII-XIII*

VII. ALLEGRO MOLTO – String Quartet No. 8 in C Minor, Op. 100 (Mvmt. 2) - Dmitri Shostakovich

This ravenous quartet for strings boasts a back story as frenzied and unsettling as its mania-inducing rapid tempi.

Shostakovich’s 8th, the so-called “War Requiem” was composed bearing a heavily burdened and fearful mindset by the 54-year old musician in just three days at Dresden in 1960.
Not only had the Soviet composer been recently diagnosed with an incurable affliction of the heart and a motor neuron disease (now known as Lou Gehrig’s disease), Shostakovich was fresh off the heels of joining - with much hesitation - the Communist party of the Soviet Union. The 8th quartet, in particular it’s allegro molto was fashioned by the emotionally overwhelmed composer as an exposé on the brutality and the destructive nature of war.

Shostakovich, who dedicated the piece to victims of war and fascism, was said to have become so overwhelmed by memories of wartime, that he buried his face in his hands and openly sobbed upon hearing the work performed for the first time. Led Lebedinsky, a confidante of the composer, would later claim the work to be a manifesto for the composers’ suicide, which Lebedinsky believed was imminent.

TRIVIA & HUMOR: Did You Know? (Fun Opera Facts part II)

It’s time for another installment of fun (and macabre) facts related to Classical music and Opera!
 

La Danse Macabre, Michael Wolgemut

From naughty schoolboys receiving their just desserts in the end, to rivaling musicians and those whose talents were a gift – or curse – from the darkest depths of hell, and the ancient Latin hymn later set to the Requiem Mass in the hope of guiding a recently deceased soul peacefully into the great beyond (the work itself being a depiction of the placement of souls on the Biblical "Last Day of Judgment") that would become associated with terror, morbid delirium and horrific respite in the coming centuries - to masterpieces composed by drunkards and drug addicts.

 
The reader is sure to find in this months’ Trivia Post something for his or her every sinful curiosity.


*Featuring grave robbers and missing body parts.

FUNNY RIVALS VS. TEMPORARY AMNESIA

A Rival throws coffee into the face of a "frenemy";
from Vulgus Brittanicus, 18th century.

There is something to be said about getting old. Nothing seems to work like it used to, even with strenuous and extensive efforts. The memory is no exception to the laws of aging. Sometimes we walk into a room and forget why we walked into it in the first place. Sometimes we lose focus mid-sentence and completely lose our train of thought. And sometimes, as in the case of megalithic late 19th (and early 20th century) romantic composer Giacomo Puccini, we forget we are in a full blown battle with our on-again, off-again “frenemy.”

It was on one very festive Christmas in the 19th century that composer Giacomo Puccini was struck by the giving spirit of the season. Thinking of his friend and frequent musical collaborator, the iconic living legend, conductor Arturo Toscanini, Puccini at once sent for a surprise gift of Panettone (a delicious Italian bread and traditional holiday gift of the era) to his ‘brother’ in music. It was only after the gift had been duly dispatched that the absent-minded composer remembered that he and the maestro were fully engaged in one of their all-too-frequent quarrels and weren’t actually supposed to even be speaking to one another!

Daunted, but not too mortified to deliver one last punch, the hapless Puccini at once telegrammed his nemesis Toscanini, declaring in the exchange his error in but five simple words:

“PANETTONE SENT BY MISTAKE. PUCCINI.”

Toscanini, the wry little devil, seized upon the opportunity with a one-two punch of his own, when he sent a return telegram to Puccini in the same vein:

“PANETTONE EATEN BY MISTAKE. TOSCANINI.”

BEETHOVEN VS. NEIGHBORS

Many a great composer had equally robust reputations that seemed to precede them in their heyday. 18-19th century German composer Ludwig van Beethoven was no exception. Even in the years prior to the famed pianists’ descent into total deafness, Beethoven was engaged in war with his landlords and neighbors, who complained about everything from the composer’s hygienic habits (he was said to have lived in near squalor, with rotting food on spoiled dishes piled up in stacks and strewn about the abode, causing ungodly stenches that would permeate through the walls and into the streets) to being unceremoniously serenaded by Beethoven’s late night practice sessions on his piano, which he would play loudly into the wee hours of the morning. He was also becoming increasingly paranoid, a symptomatic condition that would only see an increase after the composer experienced the first onset of auditory paracusia (a precursor to deafness), in the few years to come.

It was during one of those late night sessions at the piano that Beethoven roused the neighbors from their slumber when the composer flew into a rage, flipping over furniture, tapestries, carpets - and everything else in reaching distance - whilst shouting obscenities over a maid who he was sure had stolen from him his prized golden penny. That incident would go on to become a grand tale of popular folklore when it was discovered that the enraged Beethoven had been composing the Rondo e Capriccio on that very evening, just prior to his total meltdown. The locals dubbed the Rondo “Rage Over the Lost Penny,” ^[1] a delightfully comical pseudonym that is still used by fans of the temperamental composer to this day.

The Rondo (or 'Rage'):


Footnote:

^[1]"Rage Over the Lost Penny" is actually a shortened translation of a quotation which first appeared on Beethoven's "Rondo e Capriccio" autograph (manuscript), which had been auctioned off some seven months after the composer's death in November of 1827 by Diabelli & Co. 

The original quote:"Die Wuth über den verlornen Groschen, ausgetobt in einer Caprice" is translated into English as "Rage at the loss of a Groat (a penny) stormed out in a caprice (a huff)." It's authorship is unknown, however what is certain is that the scrawl was not from the hand of Beethoven (there is some evidence to suggest the afterthought may have originated from the hand of biographer and confidante to the composer Anton Schindler.

The Rondo manuscript also guarded one more secret: it would later be revealed that the work was an incomplete project. It is said Anton Diabelli (of Diabelli & Co.) himself completed the fragmented work before putting it up for auction.

MAJOR WORKS WRITTEN 'UNDER THE INFLUENCE' & MAJOR DISASTERS CAUSED BY DRINK

As we have already seen in my post on Suicides, Schizophrenia & Syphlitics, the use of drugs and drink amongst many of the most prolific composers, librettists and musicians of their day would rob from the stage and theatre many a talent well before their time (a trend that is still going strong today, most notably in the genres of pop and rock music).

Below we look at some of Western Classical Music’s most beloved compositions - works that continue to dominate the symphonic and operatic repertoire to this very day - all of which were composed ‘under the influence’.

LA SYMPHONIE FANTASTIQUE

This grandiose symphony of unrequited desire has been mentioned frequently here at unravelingmusicalmyths.blogspot.ca. The masterpiece - in particular it’s final movement - however, deserves further discussion, as it not only sets the tone for the entire work, but Berlioz’ morbid manipulation of sacred music into something one hears in their worst nightmares would go on to not only influence an entire genre of dark music in modern film, the final movement itself would personify it’s manipulateur, Hector Berlioz, as the tortured, love-crazed, slightly sadistic psychopath he was known to morph into during one of his famous self-harming episodes.

Named the “fantastical symphony” with good reason, La Symphonie Fantastique’s final and horrific ‘scene’ is best enjoyed alongside the works’ penultimate movement, "Marche au supplice" (the march to the scaffold). While the works’ fifth and final movement is set in a hellish enclave during a witches’ Sabbath, the fourth movement sets the tone for the terrifying scene to come.

Troubled French composer Hector Berlioz

In the Fantastique's fourth, the love-sick protagonist that inspired the piece (believed to be an autobiographical character), downs a large amount of Opium in an attempt to commit suicide, so distraught is he at being the object of unrequited romance. His idée fixe, much like in the composers’ real life, didn’t seem to know he was even alive from romance's perspective – and the only solution for such a miserable fortune was for the brokenhearted to paint the final brushstroke on that dismal painting, and simply..not exist. Unfortunately for the pieces’ character (again, much like the symphony’s own composer) the overdose failed to kill the lovelorn, and, as the drug’s soporific effects began to take hold of its host, the protagonist steeps in and out of a brew of lucid deliriums – which display themselves in a cruel mélange of abundant love and a morbid delusion of marching toward a scaffold – a punishment to fit the crime of homicide (the condemned becomes convinced he has slain his beloved) – with the hallucination and the movement itself finally culminating in a horrific orchestral display of it’s protagonists head, rolling off the scaffold and bouncing down the steps after being unceremoniously hacked off by the sharp blade of the guillotine.

The movement ultimus is where things really get ‘trippy’ (Berlioz was said to have composed the entire work under the influence of Opium, a drug of which he proudly propitiated).

In this movement, the protagonist finds himself in his own twisted version of hell: a Witches’ Sabbath, complete with such grotesquery as can be found in every child’s hidden-under-lock-and-key mental vault of ghosts and goblins – all of whom have arrived as guests at the protagonists’ (Berlioz’) own funeral. Amongst the witches, shades, and monsters, who are collectively engaged in a sadistic orgy, is the shade of the protagonists idée-fixe (based on Berlioz’ own, one Harriet Smithson): formerly represented in the symphony’s earlier movements by a placid, pleasant, dream-like melodic theme - now grotesquely shrieking as an ominous series of funeral bells begin to toll, and a creepishly slow moving and bastardized version (Berlioz describes it as a "burlesque parody") of the Dies Irae, a 13th century Latin hymn depicting the "Final day of Judgment" horrifically repeats itself before engaging in it’s own twisted musical orgy with the dance of the witches, probably focusing on the hymns darker themes of souls uninvited into heaven and cast into the fires of hell.

It was this movement that would inspire countless composers to come, including prolific composer and pianist Franz Liszt, who took from from Berlioz’ macabre imagination the idea of transforming the ancient Gregorian melody of the Dies Irae into something both frightening and horrifyingly sinister:

Liszt’s play on this theme was displayed most alarmingly in his gooseflesh-inducing “Totentanz” (“Dance of the Dead”):


Other composers who wrote some of their most erudite masterpieces under the influence of drink and drug include Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who wrote the Overture for his wildly famous opera Don Giovanni completely in the throes of an alcoholic induced ‘massive hangover’, to Edward Elgar - whose highly prized “Cello Concerto” that made the likes of iconic musicians Jacqueline du Pré and Daniel Barenboim household names – and whose main theme was first imagined and quickly written down on a napkin immediately upon it’s composer awakening from dental surgery!

When it came to the consumption – and over consumption – of alcohol, even conductors were thrown into the mix – it is said that Russian Composer and Pianist Sergei Rachmaninoff was so horrified by the actions of conductor Alexander Glazunov – who led the orchestra at the composers’ premiere performance of his Symphony 1 in d minor, and who performed his duties whilst completely drunk – that Rachmaninoff refused to compose his next symphony until a full decade later! Needless to say, the premiere of the 1st was a total disaster.

Apparently drink alone wasn’t enough to kill some composers straight off the bat - but when combined with an unfortunate set of fateful happenstances, it’s effects would often contribute to an early visit with the reaper:

Henry Purcell, one of 17th century England’s most famed composers, was such an advocate of drink, he dedicated a not insignificant amount of compositions entirely to his precious liquid gold in a series of bawdy drinking songs (many of them x-rated), in an ode to his much loved pastime of frequenting the town’s inns and public drinking houses - stomping grounds notorious for fellow playboys about town who enjoyed regaling - in the form of song - tales of vast and varied carnal exploits and other raucous debauchery over a pint of ale. 

Perhaps due to an honest mistake, or perhaps fed up with his late hours, Purcell’s wife is believed to have locked her husband out of their abode one particularly frigid evening, directly contributing to the composers’ ultimately fatal case of pneumonia.

PAGANINI & TARTINI’S “DANSE MACABRE”

The 18th century violinist and conman Niccolò Paganini, known for his famous virtuosic talent on the instrument wasn’t the only the musician said to have acquired his skills after a quick tango with the devil. 

Did you know?

Another musician living in the 18th century, composer Giuseppe Tartini, was also known for engaging in a danse macabre with Beelzebub.

Tartini’s most celebrated work, his Violin Sonata in G minor, was famously coined the “Devils’ Trill” after it’s composer was alleged to have experienced a ‘visit from Lucifer’ in the form of a pseudo-nightmare.

Tartini would relate the dream to the French astronomer Jérôme Lalande:

Tartini's Dream - Louis-Léopold Boilly, 1824

"One night, in the year 1713 I dreamed I had made a pact with the devil for my soul. Everything went as I wished: my new servant anticipated my every desire. Among other things, I gave him my violin to see if he could play. How great was my astonishment on hearing a sonata so wonderful and so beautiful, played with such great art and intelligence, as I had never even conceived in my boldest flights of fantasy. I felt enraptured, transported, enchanted: my breath failed me, and - I awoke. I immediately grasped my violin in order to retain, in part at least, the impression of my dream. In vain! The music which I at this time composed is indeed the best that I ever wrote, and I still call it the "Devil's Trill", but the difference between it and that which so moved me is so great that I would have destroyed my instrument and have said farewell to music forever if it had been possible for me to live without the enjoyment it affords me." 

Listen to the "Devil's Trill" Sonata:

While tales of selling one’s soul to the devil were abundant folklore well before the age of poets like Goethe, who made them famous with his epic magnum opus Faust in the beginning of the following century, the dark mystique of the violin itself dates back even further. The piercing ranges capable of the instrument had long been assumed to be a product of something unearthly (and therefore devilishly sinister) for many centuries previous across the European continent.

THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF MISSING TEETH & FRANZ JOSEPH’S SKULL PLAYING HAYDN SEEK (Yep, I said it!)

The obsessive Anton Bruckner

It seems Anton Bruckner may not have been the only one with an (alleged) morbid fascination with the decayed body parts of composer’s past. Anton, who was present at pianist Franz Schubert’s exhumation (he famously embraced the deceased’s skull at the first opportunity he could seize - or sneak), before proclaiming Schubert ‘the master’ (poor Wagner, Bruckner had attached the same honorific to his living hero Richard backstage at an opera theatre immediately following one of the German composers’ titanic operatic productions, embarrassing the stout Wagner by falling to his hands and knees, grasping his idols hands into his own and declaring Wagner to be his “Meister”); Bruckner was also present at the exhumation of yet another ‘master’ to the obsessive composer: Ludwig van Beethoven (as previously mentioned in my post on mental health here on unravelingmusicalmyths.blogspot.ca).
 Little did Bruckner know, that in the name of science, Beethoven’s skull would have become so damaged, dissected and exchange so many hands through the coming centuries that the latest fragments of the composers’ skull were believed to have been discovered in the present century and were even curated into the Ira F. Brilliant Center for Beethoven Studies at California's San Jose State University in 2005! (This finding, unfortunately, was later debunked through vigorous and modern DNA testing nearly a decade later). The story, nonetheless stirred up great public interest and renewed admiration for the late German composer (allegedly, the skull fragments were even considered for a possible trip to the famed Christie's auction block in 2010).

The modern era, of course, still has a morbid fascination with the cadavers of musical icons past:

In July of 2012, authorities in Austria reported the graves of 19th century Classical giants Johannes Brahms and Johann Strauss II had not only been unceremoniously disturbed but also ransacked by a modern grave robber who made off, bizarrely, only with both composers’ teeth. Why a modern ‘resurrectionist’  would seek to steal from his cadaverous victims only their teeth remains unclear.

For reasons of respect to the dead, the identity of the robber will not be mentioned on unravelingmusicalmyths.blogspot.ca, however he did become known to authorities after posting a series of videos on the internet's video-sharing hub Youtube, showcasing his ‘finds’ and bragging about his stolen ‘relics.' Unfortunately for our beloved composers, the strong arm of Lady Law continues to evade the grave robber: the evidence in question (the videos depicting the body parts) were believed to have been made in 2002, making the crime itself “too old to prosecute” under current Austrian Law.

Phrenology, Princes and Police Chases (oh my).

Franz Joseph Haydn

Finally, we come to the mysterious case of Franz Joseph Haydn, the grandfather and reigning King of the Classical Era.

It was 1820 when Hungarian Prince Esterházy, Nikolaus II, issued an order for Haydn’s remains to be transferred from their burial place in Austria’s Capital of Vienna to Eisenstadt (the seat of the Eszterházy Hungarian noble family). No one was expecting (especially the Prince) what they would find upon exhuming the body and opening the coffin: there lay the skeletal remains of Joseph Haydn…minus the composers’ skull!

After much dismay and a grand amount of sleuthing, it was discovered that the skull of the composer had been lifted from the coffin under the cloak of night and the cunning hand of bribery in the name of the pseudo-science of “phrenology” – another of the many quackeries to be found in medicine of times past.

This bogus “science” was formed on the thesis that the individual characteristics of man such as personality and intelligence were directly related to the proportions and mass of the skull. Two followers of the phrenology cult were Joseph Carl Rosenbaum (who appallingly, had befriended Haydn during his lifetime) and his partner in crime, a thief named Johann Nepomuk Peter.

Haydn's ever illusive skull.

The nefarious pair had almost lost possession of the stolen relic when they fell under suspicion of authorities in the mid-19th century. On one particularly unfruitful visit to the home of Rosenbaum (which he shared with his wife), authorities found the Mrs. curled up in the fetal position on her bed. She couldn’t get up, she informed the officers, because it was “that time of the month”. In reality, it wasn’t a case of crippling cramps doing her in – the lady Rosenbaum, alerted to the presence of the police at her door, had rushed into her bedchamber, stuffing Haydn's skull under the mattress on which she now lay. "That time of the month" was a most formidable excuse by the Mrs. – the bodily functions of ladies, at the time, were considered a topic too taboo for public - or even private - discussion and doing so was considered an assault on decency. The blushing officers simply took the Rosenbaums’ wife at her word, and at once vacated the premises, empty handed, and none-the-wiser for their noble efforts.

Monetary gain did not seem to be the focus of the Rosenbaums in illegally hoarding the skull. The Prince Eszterházy, himself convinced of the couple’s guilty hidden treasure, famously offered a substantial payment to the nefarious duo in exchange for Haydn’s head, with the intent to reunite and re-bury it with it’s host. Rosenbaum did indeed accept the money and in turn offer up a skull to the Prince for reburial – just not the head Eszterházy was hoping for. Unbeknownst to Nikolaus and those attending the reburial ceremony, Joseph Haydn’s body was re-interred into the earth – complete with someone else’s head!

This baffling case of Haydn seek would not see a resolution until the mid-20th century, when, through the hands of centuries worth of inheritors (almost all belonging to the medical sector), Haydn’s skull was finally returned to it’s rightful host in 1954 – but not before a select group of admirers held for the composers’ head a public procession (featuring almost 100 automobiles). The skull had been appropriately dressed in a peony-covered urn for the occasion. 

They say "Two Heads are Better than One": 
 
To add further macabre details to this bizarre story, it is said the skull of Haydn, now peacefully resting, fully intact with it's host cadaver, was re-buried...alongside the bogus cranium, leaving the composer permanently at rest - with two skulls!

Some say the case of Haydn's traveling skull was a comically overzealous retribution of just desserts for the composer, who, as a notoriously naughty young lad was known to taunt the heads of fellow pupils with a sharp pair of scissors - once earning for himself the distinction of being expelled from school after unceremoniously hacking off a student's ponytail! 

Now that is a revenge-filled conclusion of operatic proportions, indeed.

   
Who said classical music was boring?


-Rose.

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ENSEMBLE SPOTLIGHT: VOX LUMINIS

This album can be purchased online here

This month’s Ensemble Spotlight goes to Vox Luminis (a name you are going to want to remember), a thirteen-member early vocal music ensemble founded in Belgium and featuring a cast (according to the ensemble’s current website) of four sopranos and one mezzo-soprano, three counter-tenors, two tenors and baritones and one bass (and accompanying continuo on viola da gamba and organ).

The 2012 Gramophone award winning ensemble features a repertoire that covers a wide range of 16th – 18th century vocal works from across the European continent and which span across the ages, from the early sacred music of Franco-Flemish composers Josquin Des Prez and Roland (Orlande) de Lassus of the mid-late Renaissance (two of 16th century Europe’s most influential composers) to the period of English Reformation (and counter-reformation), featuring the works of madrigalist composers Thomas Morley and Henry Purcell of Britain.

Among the gems to be found within the Vox Luminis catalogue are the sacred and secular works of Bach (and sons), the ethereal works of obscure early baroque master Samuel Scheidt and the early German Passions of Joachim von Burck (himself a predecessor to Johann Sebastian Bach) and some of my favorite pieces -from the early Tudor-era vocal repertoire - in the form of the exquisite personal pleas of William Cornysh (in the beautifully rendered “Ah Robin, Gentle Robin”) and even works composed by the King Henry VIII himself are included in the Vox Luminis discography.

I’ve selected this ensemble for a spotlight for reasons of sociological impact and physiological effect: exquisitely transcendent in pitch and velvety lush in both individual and collective vocal lustre, Vox Luminis, is, in my opinion, an absolute top contender in vocal ensembles, and are as significant from a historical standpoint as they are instrumental to a continuing present and future, rich with mid to late renaissance era performance and appreciation.

Upon hearing Vox Luminis’ surprisingly vast repertoire, one is almost compelled (I know I am) to seek to re-discover more about the composers, their rulers, and the social, political and dogmatic times in which they lived, thrived, suffered, and created such exquisite beauty, and, discover, in the process, how much times have progressed, and just how much has remained the same. To understand the historical backdrop of each era presented to us by our favorite composers and musicians is to understand the struggles, the sacrifices, and the inspirational sources of our creative ancestors. It is to comprehend, experience, and appreciate the furthest reaches of the sheer cosmic beauty found in each piece.

Listen below to the glorious Ah Robin, Gentle Robin – a composition that is as ever-present in sound and in subject today as it was when it was composed some five centuries ago:



Bonus (somewhat miscellaneous) video commentary: Tudor enthusiasts, this secular work exists in your favored era! While not written by or for the King in question, this melancholic piece was probably written whilst the ever fickle-in-love Henry VIII sat upon the throne of England.

When discovering music for the first – or the first of many – times, I find it especially enriching to the listening experience to imagine the world in which the composition was written. What was happening in the country? On the continent? This lugubrious plea dates from an notoriously chaotic time in British history. One marvels at the thought of Cornysh’s true source of inspiration in authoring the piece! "Ah, Robin, Gentle Robin," is sung from the perspective of an emotionally fragile and spiritually broken male, so desperate to discover the romantic status and inner feelings of his unrequited love, he begs the service of a messenger – in this case, a Robin – such enquiry is, of course, a futile hypothetical: the lovelorn answers his own fate “my lady is unkind..alack, why is she so?....She loveth another better than me, and yet she will say no…”

Sound familiar?

Text (public domain)

Ah, Robin, gentle Robin,
Tell me how thy leman doth,
And thou shalt know of mine.
My lady is unkind I wis, Alack why is she so? 
She lov'th another better than me, 
and yet she will say no.

Ah, Robin, gentle, Robin,
Tell me how thy leman doth
and thou shalt know of mine. 
I cannot think such doubleness 
for I find women true, 
In faith my lady lov'th me well 
she will change for no new.

Ah, Robin, gentle, Robin,
Tell me how thy leman doth
and thou shalt know of mine. 

-William Cornysh, c.1465 - c.1523 

-Rose. 

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EXPERTS ALLEGE (AGAIN) CHOPIN’S “ROMANTIC DEATH” CAUSED BY THE WHITE PLAGUE TO BE CONSIDERED “CASE CLOSED” AFTER RECENT "EXAMINATION" OF A NEARLY TWO CENTURIES' OLD HEART, PRESERVED IN COGNAC, MAKES THE PAGES OF THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF MEDICINE

"The Death of Chopin." Chopin surrounded himself with close family and friends (including
his physician) whilst on his deathbed. Among them were George Sand's daughter
Solange, and one Princess Marcelina Czartoryska, pictured at the head of the bed. This
engraving, after the painting by Félix Joseph Barrias, re-tells the pitiable scene recalled by
Solange: "One October evening in 1849, the 16th, approximately twenty people were
fearfully waiting in the living room..Chopin had someone ask whether Countess
Potocka was also in the living room, and if she would sing. The piano was moved closer,
the doors were opened, and the beautiful countess began to sing. She sang with a
broken heart, a voice full of tears! The gathered guests fell on their knees, stifling a sob."

17th of October, 1849, Place Vendôme 12, Paris, sometime after midnight: a grievously ailing Frédéric Chopin lay on his deathbed, soaked in sweat and appearing gaunt and pale in his sickly pallor (telltale signs of advanced "consumption" - the colloquial term for Tuberculosis - that highly “romantic” yet exceedingly infectious disease which earned its moniker from the sufferer appearing to onlookers to be "consuming from the inside." 

It was considered a "fashionable" pestilence, beloved by an uninformed public who bore witness to the various stages of “beauty”  which the vile scourge would temporarily extol in it’s victims - many of them poets, artists, writers, composers - stricken during the so-called “romantic era” of music and art: those poor victims who, as the disease progressed, would experience a brief period of external grandeur: a tauter waistline (due to anemia) and more porcelain complexion. It seemed a gift from heaven for men and women alike seeking to edge off a few years - an otherworldly elixir of youth.

For actual suffers of the disease, however, the slow moving contagion was anything but a gift from the gods. Chopin knew this all too well: when prompted that fateful autumnal evening at the Place Vendôme, the very mortal Chopin had seemingly accepted his early mortality and must have known the end was drawing near. He at once informed his physician, who had gathered at his deathbed, that he was suffering “no longer”.

Within hours, he would be dead.

With his passing, the Polish-born, French idol joined a large cast of artistic carriers of the disease, all of whom expired before their time, and before the advent of penicillin (antibiotics) (see: Louis Pasteur here at Unraveling Musical Myths) and the discovery of the illness’s progression by German physician and microbiologist Robert Koch (pictured below, right) in the late 19th century.

Prior to Koch’s discovery in the 1882 of the slow growing bacterium Mycobacterium tuberculosis, it was widely believed amongst the public (and even among physicians themselves) that “TB” (code for Tuberculosis) was an inherited disease – the public taking it one step further, claiming it a disease inherited only by the minds of great men, and could be “healed” only by the divine touch of a Royal Monarch (which quite a few Kings were known to have taken advantage of, providing the "healing service" - for a pretty penny, of course). Parisian women and men alike were known to mask their faces in a veil of lead-ridden white paint (makeup: a disaster of its own), starve themselves and tighten their corsets to the point of asphyxiation and repeated cases of syncope to mimic the mysterious disease which inflicted their exalted idols.

With his passing, Chopin found himself in the company of fellow composers Alfredo Catalani – the Italian mastermind behind the 1892 opera La Wally; The exquisitely gifted and much admired German composer and musician Carl Maria von Weber of Der Freischütz fame; the young and immensely talented Giovanni Batista Pergolesi - just 26 when he perished from the infernal white plague, and whose glorious Stabat Mater remains to this day one of the greatest sacred works ever composed; Igor Stravinsky – that Russian-born mover and shaker that revolutionized the modern orchestra and ballet not only in Paris but around the globe, and, just over a century and a half earlier to Chopin’s demise, the great English composer Henry Purcell, beloved – and employed by - Britain’s reigning Royal family – and that's just to name a few.

Listen below to the exquisite voice of Renata Tebaldi as she sings from Catalani's opera La Wally "Ebben! Ne andrò lontana:"



Tuberculosis, Consumption, Phthisis, The White Plague, The White Death, “TB” - a disease of many names - even made appearances on the theatrical and operatic stage. Italian composer Giacomo Puccini famously (and erroneously) referred to it as a “social disease,” in his 1896 opera La bohème: abandoned by her lover for fear of catching TB via sexual transmission, the opera’s heroine, Mimi, ashamed, ailed, and anguished, perishes without seeking medical intervention.

IN MEMORIAM: QUEEN ELIZABETH II (APRIL 21, 1926 - SEPTEMBER 8, 2022)

 

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. 

God Save the Queen. 

Long Live King Charles III.

See more: St Paul's Service of Thanksgiving to Honour the Queen

-Rose.

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COVENT GARDEN’S CALAMITOUS HISTORY: PRIZEFIGHTERS, HITMEN AND FIRES (OH MY): THE OP RIOTS

Today Unraveling Musical Myths takes a look back at the surprisingly calamitous early history of Londons’ [The] Royal Opera House, and the riotous band of brutes and repeated fires that threatened to snuff out the theatre from the world’s cultural map.

[Fig. I] "Killing no Murder. as Performing at the Grand National Theatre" by caricaturist Issac Robert Cruikshank.

We know the Royal Opera House – or, more casually "Covent Garden" – today as one of the operatic sphere’s most esteemed theatres, Britain’s musical Mecca and the launching pad that would catapult into the stratosphere some of the world’s most beloved operatic talent – the likes of Joan Sutherland and Jon Vickers. The ROH is coveted by both singers and dancers across the globe as a "must-perform-at" venue; even so, it wasn’t always a bed of roses for the theatre’s managers (much less for it’s patrons) during it’s many years on British soil.

Originally named the “Theatre Royal,” the Opera House we know and patronize today is actually the third theatre to have been built in its location since the first theatre’s construction in 1732. The theatre that patrons of the arts knew then boasted a repertoire of predominately pantomime and other acting engagements. Ballet and Opera did indeed have a presence at the venue during this period, but they existed only in a minor role. The venue's most notable pioneer of the Operatic genre would be the composer George Frederick Handel – a recently made citizen and émigré from Halle in Germany.^[1] Handel would open the theatre’s first season of operas in 1735, and would premiere many an opera and oratorio at the location, almost all of which the composer had written specifically for the theatre. The Theatre Royal, as it were, would gain much prominence as only one of two theatres (the other being Drury Lane, which opened its doors 69 years earlier, in 1663) to be granted permission to present spoken drama, operating under Patents Royal issued by then-reigning King Charles II* in 1662/63 ( *in the case of Drury Lane; the patent for the Theatre at Covent Garden having been issued prior to the building’s construction).^{*[see footnotes: learn more].}

[Fig. II] Interior view of Covent Garden Theatre #1

By all accounts, the Theatre Royal seemed to be a thriving venue during its early reign. Popular performances of the day, however, would soon come to a most unwelcome halt in 1808, when, due to the extremely risky practice of employing candlelight to illuminate the theatre (a first resort for lighting during that era), the theatre, along with the costumes, scenery and manuscripts contained within, burned to the ground. The response was chaotic – the theatre must be rebuilt, and quickly, at that.

And quickly rebuilt it was: With an estimated damage of some £250,000, a plan had to be executed to recover the costs of rebuilding. The British nobility would swiftly step in to help facilitate the funding of such an enterprising endeavor. Acting under King George III, the Dukes of York and Northumberland would contribute a sizable donation to the pot (an amount of £76,000), whilst simultaneously introducing a “public subscription,” to be paid by visitors to the theatre until which time costs could be recouped.

This new financial agenda, however, would prove to be most unfortuitous. Patrons of the theatre were incensed with building management for increasing the costs of seating (from six shillings to seven for the boxes and from 3 shillings and sixpence to four shillings for the pit), not to mention converting the theatre’s entire third tier into private boxes, which would be made accessible only by agreeing to pay a wage of £300 per annum in rent - a wage the middle class could scarcely afford, and which the wealthy - who intended to remain wealthy, thankyouverymuch - refused to pay.

So vitriolic was the public's reaction, theatre-goers attending opening night in September 1809 would erupt into an all-out riot during a performance of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, interrupting the performance by beating sticks on the back of seats, stomping the floor, and breaking out into a hysteria of excessive booing and hissing – at one point even engaging in a frenzied dance of mockery. Police had to be called in by theatre manager John Philip Kemble just to empty the venue as enraged patrons held fast to their seats, refusing to leave the theatre in a defiant act of protest.

[Fig. III] *CLICK IMAGE TO ENLARGE "Acting Magistrates" read "The Riot Act"
to an incensed crowd in this contemporary illustration.

The already escalating situation at The Theatre Royal would only continue to get worse for both manager and venue following the theatres' calamitous second debut: bands of attendees would purposely arrive mid-way through a performance in an effort to pay a half-priced fare – and they would not arrive quietly. The frustrated patrons continued to chide theatre management by a issuing a barrage of insults, boos, banging and hissing – and for good measure, took to defacing the theatre itself with the early 19th century’s form of graffiti – hanging placards and banners adorned with crass language. ^{[see Fig III]}  A coffin was even brought into the theatre with a not-inconspicuous threat attached proclaiming the “death” of the fare-hike by "whooping cough" [i.e. by loud - and violent - protest].

Kemble was not one to respond to threats. In retaliation, the theatre manager hired the English prizefighter Daniel Mendoza (alongside the boxer’s personally selected band of brutes) to use as an intimidation tactic in a bold effort to silence the rioters (who now had a name: the “Old Pricers” - or, the "OPs"). Rumor had it Mendoza and his ‘hitmen’ took the illusion of inexorability quite seriously - by taking to both clubs and fists upon the face of any demonstrator who dared voice his disapproval for the fare increase.

Contemporary caricaturist Isaac Robert Cruikshank would immortalize the theatre’s most disruptive period (which lasted some three months before Kemble finally relented, temporarily lowering the price of admission and issuing a formal apology to theatregoers) in a an etching he called “Killing No Murder as Performing at the Grand National Theatre.” Mendoza serves as the focal point of the image: dead center, with club in hand, he can be seen stomping on the chest of a bloodied protestor, whilst angrily shouting the words “Down down to [Hell] with all OPs & say ‘twas Dan that sent thee there.” ^{[Fig I]}

Kemble, it seems, did not learn very quickly. By the opening of the theatre’s next season, he attempted, in vain, to preserve half of the private boxes he had designated "rental" seats in the venues' most popular third tier during the OP riots, which only served to re-incense patrons and re-kindle the riots until such time as he came to his senses and once more yielded to public demand.

English Prizefighter Daniel Mendoza was famously
hired as a de-facto bouncer for the ROH during the
infamous "OP Riots." The boxer, in addition to his
hired band of brutes were alleged to have used both
threats and fists to temper the theatre's rowdy crowds.

Surprisingly, the events of 1808-1809 would not be the last series of calamities thrust upon the ROH. The theatre would again succumb to fire in 1856 – a common occurrence for theatres of this era who had to rely on the lighting and display of candles or the use of limelight (the latter introduced in 1837, which was comprised of a highly combustible mixture of quicklime, oxygen and hydrogen flame) to illuminate both theatre and stage. Both methods of lighting were notoriously risky for their venues (and for the people within it), not to mention highly flammable in their application. The third, and final theatre would be constructed in 1858. It would be converted into a furniture storehouse during the first world war and made into a dance hall during WWII, and would not host an opera or ballet until 1946, when it was reopened as The Royal Opera.^[2] The newly established Royal Ballet marked the theatres' 3rd official debut with a production of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's The Sleeping Beauty, followed by a joint venture with the also freshly-established Covent Garden Opera Company for a production of English composer Henry Purcell’s The Fairy Queen in December of opening year - which would itself be followed by the theatres’ first full opera performance in the new year: with French composer Georges Bizet’s Carmen.

Enjoy below the beautiful aria “Lontan del mio tesoro” from George Frederick Handel’s 1734 opera Il Pastor Fido. The opera would be the first of many penned by the composer to be performed at the Theatre Royal. Il Pastor…would be followed by premiere performances of Operas Ariodante in 1735, followed by both Alcina, and Atalanta the following year, and a royal performance of Messiah in 1743.




Footnotes:

^[1]George Frederick Handel, formerly Georg Frideric Händel, would become a naturalized British citizen on the 20th of February, 1727 in accordance with immigration laws under Kings George I and II which required the German native obtain citizenship to continue on in his role as a composer of Britain and as Composer of the Chapel Royal. 

Read more about this pivotal event in Herr Handel’s history right here on Unraveling Musical Myths:

• TODAY IN MUSIC HISTORY: Georg Frideric Händel becomes British, becomes George Frederick Handel
  

^[2] The Royal Opera (second theatre) would, for a brief period, be known as the “Royal Italian Opera” following the dissolution in 1843 of the Letter Patent previously issued by King Charles II which had decreed the Theatre Royal* as just one of two theatres to have held a monopoly on the production of spoken and serious drama. During this period competitor venues would at last be made aloud to thrive. The theater scored a major boon in 1843 when the revered composer Michael Costa joined the venue, bringing with him a large band of singers. It would prove to be a fortuitous move for the theatre, and following a period of operatic performances sung only in the Italian tongue - from the 1847 performance of Gioachino Rossini’s Semiramide to the year 1892, when composer and conductor Gustav Mahler debuted Richard Wagner’s German language Ring Cycle, at which point the word “Italian” was dropped from the name.

* Learn more (external link):

To discover more about the Letters Patent issued by King Charles II, and to learn more about the process, visit http://www.british-history.ac.uk

-Rose.

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