Читать книгу The Influence of the Organ in History - Buck Dudley - Страница 2

The organ nomenclature has, as is the way of the world, changed somewhat from age to age. In accounts of the old English organ, we frequently find this and that church being referred to as possessing a "payre of organs." This has been variously interpreted, some supposing it to refer to organs of two manuals, which explanation seems natural enough; but the best authorities explain it as meaning an organ which possesses more than one rank of pipes, or more than one stop. Rimbault, who takes this view, says the expression is to be regarded as a phrase of nearly obsolete English, and to be taken in the same sense as we still sometimes say "a pair of stairs," instead of a "flight of stairs." One proof of this interpretation that he cites is interesting. During the great Cromwellian rebellion, and the rule of the Roundheads in England, a great many organs were destroyed by the soldiery, who considered them a relic of Popery. At this time, a certain Mr. Pepys, whose diary is still extant, travelled about considerably and interested himself in the organ, as well as some other matters, as will be seen from the following extract from the aforesaid diary. The point to us (although by no means the only one to him) lies in the fact that he uses the words "the organ" and the "pair of organs" as evidently, synonymous. He writes as follows: —

April 5, 1667. "To Hackney: where good beef tongue, and things to eat and drink, and very merry, the weather being mighty pleasant; and here I was told, that at their church they have a fair PAIR OF ORGANS, which play while the people sing, which I am mighty glad of wishing the like at our church at London, and would give £50 towards it."

April 21, 1667. "To Hackney church, where very full, and found much difficulty to get pews. I offered the sexton money, and he could not help me… That which I chiefly went to see was the young ladies of the schools, whereof there is great store, very pretty" (you see how history repeats itself); "and ALSO the ORGAN, which is handsome and tunes the psalms, and plays with the people; which is mighty pretty, and makes me mighty earnest to have a pair at our church, I having almost a mind to give them a pair, if they would settle a maintenance on them for it."

Mr. Pepys' heart was evidently in the right place, and the thought of having the church provide a fund for the proper tuning and repair of the organ, not only sensible, but, to quote his own words, "a mighty pretty" idea.

The invention of the pedal key-board, that most important and characteristic part of the organ, seems to have occurred about the beginning of the fourteenth century. There is no reliable account of who first made this addition, it being claimed by various parties. The sixteenth century was the period when the arts of sculpture, painting, and architecture had gained what might almost be termed a modern artistic polish, in not a few instances, indeed, surpassing all that the moderns have accomplished. The early school of church painters had become modified. Grace and relative refinement had largely taken the place of the early stiffness of design and execution, and in sculpture and architecture were witnessed many of the results which are still the wonder of the world. With this refinement came a taste for luxury and a love of ornament which in the seventeenth and early part of the eighteenth century had extended to and affected organ-building, at least externally.

Seidel, in his work on the organ, gives this excellent account of the tendency referred to: —

"At this time, great industry and expense was bestowed upon the external decoration of the organ. The entire case was ornamented with statues, heads of angels, vases, foliage, and even figures of animals. Sometimes the front pipes were painted with grotesque figures, and the lips of the pipes made to resemble lions' jaws. They went further, and threw away the money, which might have been expended in a worthier manner, on the display of the most tasteless and absurd tricks of art, degrading thereby – doubtless unintentionally – a noble instrument, intended for sacred purposes, into a raree-show. Among these ornaments, the figures of angels played a very conspicuous part; trumpets were placed in their hands, which by means of mechanism could be moved to and from the mouth. Carillons (bells) too, and kettle-drums, were performed upon by the movable arms of angels." (Think of an angel playing upon a kettle-drum!). "In the midst of this heavenly host, sometimes a gigantic angel would be exhibited hovering in a 'glory' over the organ, beating time with his bâton as conductor of this super-earthly orchestra!

"Under such circumstances, the firmament, of course, could not be dispensed with. So we had wandering suns and moons, and jingling stars in motion. Even the animal kingdom was summoned to activity. Cuckoos, nightingales, and every species of bird, singing, or rather chirping, glorified the festival of Christmas, and announced to the assembled congregation the birth of the Redeemer. Eagles flapped their wings, or flew towards an artificial sun. The climax, however, of all these rarities, was the fox-tail. It was intended to frighten away from the organ all such inquisitive persons as had no business near it. Thus, when they pulled out this draw-stop, suddenly a large fox-tail flew into their faces! It is clear that by such absurd practices, curiosity was much rather excited than stopped, and that all this host of moving figures, and their ridiculous jingling, disturbed meditation, excited the curiosity of the congregation, and thus disparaged the sublimity of divine service."

Of course all this nonsense in due time brought its own cure with it. The money expended was diverted towards its worthy and legitimate object, and to-day, in Europe, but few such relics of the past can be found, and those generally in out-of-the-way places. I have myself seen but one organ containing any of these absurdities. That was in a small town of Camin, on the Baltic sea-coast of North Prussia, and I was informed by the old organist (as Seidel says) that these things were reserved for Christmas and Easter!

While the power, compass, and variety of organ tone, as well as the mechanism of the instrument, made steady progress throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the science of harmony in the largest sense kept even pace with it, and, perhaps, received even a greater relative development. Meantime, the orchestral instruments of the day had received a fair share of improvement. The harpsichord had been invented, and sufficiently perfected to be worthy of the powers of such a master as Sebastian Bach. With the appearance of this great man the art of counterpoint reached its culmination, never surpassed, if even equalled in isolated instances, by any subsequent writer. His organ compositions cover every resource, both in design and execution, possible to the organ of his day; and yet, I do not think it too much to say that, had Bach never written a single organ piece, his claims for recognition as a great composer would remain substantially the same. His greatest works are to be found among his vocal and orchestral writings. Let us examine for a moment the reason for this, and of the influence of the "king of instruments" upon musical composition at this time.

We have seen that contrapuntal treatment, so-called, owed its origin to the nature of the organ. Vocal music, at the time of which we speak, felt the same influence and followed the same form. Now, if we open one of the vocal and orchestral scores of Bach, we shall see that while he gives the instruments more freedom than his predecessors, in consequence of their largely increased powers and the proportional increased ability of the executants of his day, yet the contrapuntal influence is everywhere visible. It was the period of strict form. As we count back such cycles, it was but a relatively short time since music had been "without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep," artistically speaking. Music was a serious matter. They revelled in fugue, and even danced contrapuntally. Although not a direct influence, perhaps, is not this state of things, after all, a sufficient proof of the absolutism of the organ in a derived manner, – the regal sway of the king of instruments at this period? Bach breathed new life into these dry and purely scientific forms, and it is his greatest glory that in many, if not all, of his profoundest works, his genius enabled him to unite the emotional and æsthetic element with the purely intellectual and scientific.

While the improvement of the organ, as respects both tone, mechanism and general capabilities, continued, and still continues at the present day, it is noteworthy that from the time of Bach, of all others, the influence of the organ upon music at large began to diminish. From this point we have to consider the decline of this influence, showing that music began to emancipate itself, each instrument claiming and receiving its own especial rights and treatment, long before a similar dawn of liberty began in the political world. Two reasons conduced to this change.

First, the requirements of music, which found no prototype in the organ of that day. As the instruments were then built, they possessed but little variety of tone, the swelling or diminishing of which was an impossibility; nor had the organist any mechanical assistance whatever to enable him to vary the combinations of stops.

Second, the invention of the harpsichord. This instrument, the avant-courier of the pianoforte, to which we have already referred, had already become sufficiently popular to make its own peculiar influence felt. This consisted in the power of crescendo and diminuendo according to the force exerted by the player, and a light touch which offered no impediment to rapid execution, besides certain other effects through its characteristic tone impossible upon the organ.

The light touch of the harpsichord, as compared with the heavy and fatiguing action of the organs of that day, was necessarily a source of great attraction; and the instrument itself, although far from finding a home in every household, as the piano has in our time, yet possessed the merit of being portable.

It was not long before the transition period began, – that period in which musicians and composers tested and decided upon that which was best and most fitting in the treatment of these respective instruments. Nowhere can we find more evident signs of this time of experiment, this gradually leaving old landmarks and seeking a new form of expression, than in the works of Bach himself.

In the "Well-Tempered Clavier" we find preludes and fugues impossible to properly interpret on any other instrument except the piano, placed side by side with those whose real significance can only be developed upon the organ. In a portion of the pieces written especially for the organ, we find, on the other hand, passages which to modern ears are only fit for and tolerable on the piano. The dividing lines of effect, not to say possibility, had not as yet been fully marked out. The organ was no more disposed to give up its long sway, and be narrowed to its own particular sphere, than any other sovereign, when the limiting influences of modern times first began to make themselves felt. Like them, however, it was obliged to yield. Little by little the piano emancipated itself from the strict contrapuntal chain which bound it to the organ, until, in the sonatas of Mozart and Beethoven, it emerged into a new life.

Here it was strengthened by the free contrapuntal treatment it received, like the fruits of early education showing themselves in new and original forms, – speaking a language founded indeed on the past, but new, fresh, and sparkling; or, when adopting the strict style, taking it up as a matter of choice, but not of compulsion. Such results followed the invention of the harpsichord, – the early piano, – and here we must leave it. It would, however, be an interesting subject to trace this development down to Chopin, Liszt, and the modern Titans of the piano, showing how gradually the mutual treatment of piano and organ disappeared and what was substituted in their place. It could, however, only be satisfactorily done by musical examples.

Meanwhile the orchestra blossomed into a new significance. To us moderns who read its history, or look back into the scores which antedate this time, it does not seem so much a period to be described, as that of progress, as that of a veritable new birth itself, a new creation. And this is, indeed, the fact; for no improvements in ancient instruments, although they took place, nor addition of new ones, can account for the change which now occurred in the orchestra. Here it was the man, not the instrument; and the name of Joseph Haydn will always be quoted as "Father of the Modern Orchestra."

The organ lost nothing of real value to itself by this increased significance of other branches of instrumental music. Its sphere became defined, and in Germany quite limited, as to this day it is but rarely employed there in the way of accompaniment beyond supporting the choral song of the congregation. In France and England it has been different, the organ having been employed to accompany many anthems and other extended pieces of music, which in Germany (at least in the larger cities) would be given with the orchestra. It should be noticed that to England we owe one great improvement, which, especially for the rôle the organ is called upon to fill in this country, can scarcely be overrated. I refer to the invention of the swell, and the great variety of effects we are enabled to achieve by its means in both accompaniment and solo playing.