The Cambridge Companion to the Organ

This Companion is an essential guide to all aspects of the organ and

its music. It examines in turn the instrument, the player and the
repertoire. The early chapters tell of the instrument’s history and
construction, identify the scientific basis of its sounds and the
development of its pitch and tuning, examine the history of the organ
case, and consider the current trends and conflicts within the world
of organ building. Central chapters investigate the practical art of
learning and playing the organ, introduce the complex area of
performance practice, and outline the connection between organ
playing and the liturgy of the church. The final section explores the
vast repertoire of organ music in relation to the instruments for
which it was written, focusing on a selection of the most important
traditions. The essays, all newly commissioned, are written by experts
in their field, making this the most authoritative reference book
currently available.

Nicholas Thistlethwaite is author of The Making of the Victorian

Organ (1990).

Geoffrey Webber is Precentor and Director of Studies in Music at

Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge, and author of North German
Church Music in the Age of Buxtehude (1996).
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The Cambridge Companion to the

O RG A N
 
Nicholas Thistlethwaite and Geoffrey Webber
  
Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, Sa~ o Paulo

Cambridge University Press

The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK

Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York
www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521575843
© Cambridge University Press 1998
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception
and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements,
no reproduction of any part may take place without
the written permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published 1998
Sixth printing 2007
Printed in the United Kingdom at the University Press, Cambridge
A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library
Library of Congress cataloguing in publication data
The Cambridge companion to the organ / edited by Nicholas
Thistlethwaite and Geoffrey Webber.
p. cm. – (Cambridge companions to music)
Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index.
ISBN 0 521 57309 2 (hardback). – ISBN 0 521 57584 2 (paperback)
1. Organ. 2. Organ music – History and criticism.
I. Thistlethwaite, Nicholas. II. Webber, Geoffrey. III. Series.
ML550.C35 1998
786.5 – dc21 97-41723 CIP

ISBN 978-0-521-57584-3 paperback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy

of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication,
and does not gaurantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.
 Contents

List of figures [page vii]

Notes on contributors [ix]
Preface [xi]

Part I The instrument

1 Origins and development of the organ Nicholas Thistlethwaite [1]
2 Organ construction Stephen Bicknell [18]
3 The physics of the organ John Mainstone [31]
4 Temperament and pitch Christopher Kent [42]
5 The organ case Stephen Bicknell [55]
6 Organ building today Stephen Bicknell [82]

Part II The player

7 The fundamentals of organ playing Kimberly Marshall [93]
8 A survey of historical performance practices Kimberly Marshall [113]
9 Organ music and the liturgy Edward Higginbottom [130]

Part III Selected repertoires

10 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi Christopher Stembridge [148]
11 Iberian organ music before 1700 James Dalton [164]
12 The French classical organ school Edward Higginbottom [176]
13 English organ music to c1700 Geoffrey Cox [190]
14 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c1800 Patrick Russill [204]
15 The north German organ school Geoffrey Webber [219]
16 The organ music of J. S. Bach David Yearsley [236]
17 German organ music after 1800 Graham Barber [250]
18 French and Belgian organ music after 1800 Gerard Brooks [263]
19 British organ music after 1800 Andrew McCrea [279]
20 North American organ music after 1800 Douglas Reed [299]
Appendix The modes (toni) and their attributes according to Zarlino
Christopher Stembridge [316]

Notes [319] Bibliography [322] Index [332]

 Figures

1.1 Positive organ: Book of Hours of King Alonso of Naples (Aragon, 1442) [2]
1.2 The manual and pedal keyboards of the organ at Halberstadt Cathedral, believed to
date from the work of Faber in 1361 [6]
1.3 The Rückpositiv keyboard of the organ at the Aegidienkirche in Brunswick
(1456) [7]
2.1 Three types of bellows commonly found in organs [19]
2.2 View of a slider soundboard partly cut away to show the construction [21]
2.3 The two main types of mechanical key action [22]
2.4 A typical open flue pipe of the principal family [26]
2.5 A typical reed pipe of the trumpet family [28]
2.6 Various forms of organ pipe [29]
3.1 Acoustic wave produced by a single wave [35]
5.1 The Cathedral of Notre Dame, Valère sur Sion, Switzerland (c1425) [57]
5.2 Organ at Oosthuizen in the Netherlands, built in 1530 by Jan van Covelen [59]
5.3 Organ case from St Nicolaas, Utrecht, now in the Koorkerk, Middelburg, in the
Netherlands [61]
5.4 Early sixteenth-century organ at Santa Maria della Scala in Siena, Italy [62]
5.5 The west-end organ in the Jakobikirche, Lübeck, Germany as it existed prior to
destruction by bombing during the Second World War. [63]
5.6 The organ of the Marienkirche, Stralsund, Germany, built by F. Stellwagen in
1659 [65]
5.7 The Epistle Organ in the Cathedral of Segovia, Spain, built in 1702 [67]
5.8 The organ in St Gervais, Paris, played by successive members of the Couperin
family [68]
5.9 St Mary, Rotherhithe, London, built by John Byfield II in 1764–5 [69]
5.10 The Christian Müller organ of 1735–8 at the Bavokerk, Haarlem, in the
Netherlands [70]
5.11 The west-end organ at Weingarten, Germany, built by Joseph Gabler in
1737–50 [72]
5.12 The Clicquot organ at the Cathedral of Poitiers, France (completed 1790) [73]
5.13 Engraving of the E. F. Walcker organ at the Pauliskirche, Frankfurt, Germany
(1829–33) [75]
5.14 The Alexandra Palace, London: the organ by Henry Willis (1875) [76]
5.15 The organ built by Hilborne L. Roosevelt in 1883 for the First Congregational
Church, Great Barrington, Massachusetts, USA [77]
5.16 Holtkamp organ at the University of Syracuse, New York, USA (1950) [79]
5.17 Organ at Doetinchem in the Netherlands built by Dirk Flentrop in 1952 [80]
6.1 Taylor & Boody organ at Ferris Ladies College, Japan (1989) [90]
7.1 Table of organ articulations [100]
[vii] 10.1 Palazzo Pubblico, Siena: organ by Giovanni Piffero [151]
viii List of figures

12.1 The case of the organ by the Flemish builder Crespin Carlier in St Ouen, in
Rouen, France (1630) [182]
13.1 Gloucester Cathedral, England, cases by Robert Dallam (1639–41) and Thomas
Harris (1666) [197]
14.1 The organ in the abbey at Melk, Austria, built by G. Sonnholz in 1731–2 [205]
15.1 The organ in the Jacobikirche, Hamburg, Germany, rebuilt by Arp Schnitger in
1690–3 [220]
16.1 The organ at Altenburg, Germany, built by Trost in 1735–9 [243]
16.2 Gottfried Silbermann organ in the cathedral of Freiberg, Germany
(1714) [247]
18.1 Cavaillé-Coll’s organ for the Abbey of St Denis, Paris (1841) [268]
18.2 Detail of the Cavaillé-Coll console (1890) at St Ouen, Rouen [272]
20.1 Organ by Hook & Hastings for the Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia
(1876) [303]

Acknowledgements
The editors would like to express their thanks to the following individuals,
institutions and firms who have kindly made photographs available for this
volume:

Stephen Bicknell (2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 2.4, 2.5, 2.6); John Brennan (5.9); The British Library
(1.1); Gerard Brooks (18.2); Flentrop Orgelbouw (5.17); Fotografia Lensini Fabio
(10.1); Dean and Chapter of Gloucester Cathedral (13.1); Volkmaar Herre (5.5);
The Holtkamp Organ Company (5.16); The Jakobikirche, Hamburg (15.1); Alan
Lauffman (5.15); John Mainstone (3.1); George Taylor (6.1); Pierre Vallotton (5.1,
5.2, 5.3, 5.4, 5.7, 5.8, 5.10, 5.11, 12.1, 14.1, 16.1, 16.2); Klaus Walcker-Mayer (5.13).

Musical examples from editions in copyright have been reproduced from

publications by the following:

Bärenreiter (17.1, © 1993); Editions Bornemann (18.2, 18.3); Editions Chanvrelin

(18.1); Editions Henry Lemoine (18.5); C. F. Peters Corporation (20.6, © 1980, used
by permission of C. F. Peters Corporation on behalf of Henmar Press Inc.); F. E. C.
Leuckart (17.3); Möseler Verlag (17.4, © 1978); Musikverlag Alfred Coppenrath
(17.2, © 1973); Stainer & Bell (19.6, © 1916 Stainer & Bell, London, England);
Schott & Co. (19.4, © 1914 Schott & Co. (London) reproduced by permission);
Theodore Presser Co. (20.5, © 1969 Societé des Editions Jobert, used by permission
of the publisher; sole representative U.S.A. Theodore Presser Company); Warner
Bros. Communication (20.2, 20.3, 20.4).
 Contributors

Graham Barber is Professor of Performance Studies, Department of Music,

University of Leeds, and Senior Tutor in Organ Studies, The Royal Northern
College of Music.
Stephen Bicknell is the author of The History of the English Organ (Cambridge 1996).
Gerard Brooks is Associate Director of Music, All Souls, Langham Place, and
Organist, St James’ Church, Clerkenwell, London.
Geoffrey Cox is Associate Professor at the Australian Catholic University, and
Assistant Organist at St Patrick’s Cathedral, Melbourne.
James Dalton is former Organist and Tutor in Music at The Queen’s College, Oxford.
Edward Higginbottom is Organist and Tutor in Music at New College, Oxford.
Christopher Kent is Senior Lecturer in Music at the University of Reading and
coordinator of The Lady Susi Jeans Centre for Organ Historiography.
John Mainstone is Head of the Department of Physics at the University of
Queensland, Brisbane, Australia.
Kimberly Marshall, formerly Dean of Postgraduate Studies at the Royal Academy of
Music, London, is Associate Professor of Music at Arizona State University.
Andrew McCrea is a music tutor for London University’s Extra-Mural Department
(Birkbeck College), and the Open University. He is also Assistant Librarian to the
Royal College of Organists.
Douglas Reed is Professor of Music and University Organist at the University of
Evansville, Indiana.
Patrick Russill is Head of Choral Direction and Church Music at the Royal Academy
of Music, London and Organist of the London Oratory.
Christopher Stembridge lives and works in Italy, where he holds regular courses on
historic organs in Arezzo, Brescia and Siena.
Nicholas Thistlethwaite is a member of the Music Faculty, University of Cambridge,
and author of The Making of the Victorian Organ (Cambridge 1990).
Geoffrey Webber is Precentor and Director of Studies in Music at Gonville and Caius
College, Cambridge.
David Yearsley is Assistant Professor of Music at Cornell University, New York State.

[ix]
 Preface

But oh! what art can teach,

What human voice can reach,
The sacred organ’s praise?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.
  (‘    ’ ’, 1687)

For Dryden there was no doubt: the organ had no equal in the exercise of
music. Indeed, throughout the ages the organ has been granted an ele-
vated status in the minds of both writers and musicians. Its most lofty
eminence has been in association with the patron saint of music, St
Cecilia, who, in W. H. Auden’s description, ‘constructed an organ to
enlarge her prayer’. Medieval writers appealed to the Book of Psalms, or
to Psalm commentaries by the Church Fathers, arguing that there was no
more worthy instrument for the praise of God. Later writers saw other
opportunities for relating the instrument to things monumental or even
elemental. The seventeenth-century polymath Athanasius Kircher repre-
sented the six days of creation as an organ, illustrating each as a stop on an
instrument which as an ensemble depicted the Harmonia nascentis mundi
(the harmony of the world’s creation). Such noble metaphors are only
rarely balanced by more temporal references, though the earliest printed
book on the organ, Arnolt Schlick’s Spiegel der Orgel-macher und
Organisten (Mirror of Organ-builders and Organists) of 1511 refers not
just to its role in praising God and assisting singing, but also to its capac-
ity to provide refreshment for the human spirit and its woes. But in
general, the organ rests unimpeachable as the King of Instruments, an
epithet enunciated by Praetorius, Mozart and many others.
But there is also a negative side to this stereotype of the organ as that
‘wond’rous machine’ (to use another description by Dryden). For the
instrument placed above all others and reflecting the harmony of whole
creation may perhaps have little to say at the mundane level of human
feelings and emotions. In the vocabulary of many a writer through the
ages the organ simply thunders, swells, peals or throbs, echoing only a
limited field of human experience. At best, this manner of description is
complimentary, but at times the sentiment seems less positive, as when
Tennyson wrote that ‘the great organ almost burst his pipes, groaning for
power’, or as in the following couplet by the eighteenth-century poet John
[xi] Wolcot: ‘Loud groaned the organ through his hundred pipes, / As if the
xii Preface

poor machine had got the gripes.’ But players of most musical instru-
ments hope to appeal to a varied palette of human emotions, and there
can be little reason for the organist to be satisfied with a lesser challenge.
To make music on the organ, to communicate effectively through music
rather than merely to provide an ecclesiastical atmosphere, carries great
responsibilities for both the organ builder and the performer. The builder
must ensure that the instrument functions properly and that the wind
supply matches the demands of the player (as J. S. Bach was so keen to do
when he examined new instruments), whilst the organist must ensure
that the music is given shape and form, not degenerating into a seamless
stream of sound. This latter difficulty lies behind perhaps the most
famous criticism of the organ uttered this century – Igor Stravinsky’s
comment that ‘the monster never breathes’. In this regard it is salutary to
recall that in only a fraction of the instrument’s history has the wind
supply been provided by mechanical means. Perhaps when one person or
indeed several people were required to pump the wind into the pipes,
organists may have perceived more keenly their machine as a living
musical instrument. In his brief poem ‘On the Musique of Organs’, the
early seventeenth-century poet Francis Quarles portrays organ music as a
partnership between blower and player: ‘They both concurre: Each acts
his severall part, / Th’one gives it Breath; the other lends it Art.’ Today that
breath is available at the end of an electric switch, but players do well to
remember the ultimate source of their music-making, as they work to
breathe life into the music forming in their minds or in the musical notes
laid out before them.
The organ’s credentials as a versatile musical instrument have thus
continually been under threat. But in recent times the organ has faced an
even greater challenge with the rise of devices (in the shape of an organ
console) that electronically reproduce recorded sound. In these the
breath that gives life to the music has been extinguished altogether; the
wind supply, portrayed by Michael Praetorius as the ‘soul of the organ’,
has been cut off. Seduced by a cheaper initial outlay, many committees
have embraced an electronic instrument that becomes obsolete against a
newer and better model almost as soon as it arrives. But although such
instruments have their particular role to play, it is a testament to the value
of the traditional instrument that so few organ firms have been forced out
of business by the rise of electronic substitutes. New organs are still being
built in large numbers across the world, either in churches or in concert
halls or private residences. But if the general future of the traditional pipe
organ seems for the moment secure, its future lines of development are far
from clear. Both the instrument and its music face many questions about
style and function which have no simple or single answer. The history of
xiii Preface

organ building and playing is one of more or less continuous parallel pro-
gression with the occasional crossing of boundaries between the principal
schools, but after the watershed of the early part of this century when the
organ could get no larger without repeating itself, and when the organist
had come to imitate all the orchestra had to offer, this continuity col-
lapsed. The restoration of old instruments and the building of new
instruments according to old principles has become commonplace,
reflecting the wider interest in historically aware musical performance,
and the natural symbiotic relationship between the instrument and its
music has thus largely broken down. There is no current prevailing single
style of organ building, and there is no current prevailing single style of
organ composition. As a natural component of the current climate of cul-
tural eclecticism this need not signal a major crisis for the organ, but it
certainly raises challenging questions regarding the way the organ and its
music will develop in the next century.

This Companion is designed as a general guide for all those who share
Dryden’s enthusiasm for the organ. The early chapters tell of the instru-
ment’s history and construction, identify the scientific basis of its sounds
and the development of its pitch and tuning, examine the history of the
organ case and consider current trends and conflicts within the world of
organ building. In the central chapters the focus changes to the player:
here the practical art of learning the organ is considered, encompassing
both elementary and advanced problems, the complex area of per-
formance practice is introduced, and the relationship between organ
playing and the liturgy of the church is outlined. In the final section of the
book, the emphasis turns to the vast repertoire of organ music, high-
lighting a selection of the most important traditions. Every chapter in the
book should be read as an introduction to the subject it treats, and it is
hoped that the bibliography will encourage readers to pursue their own
particular interests. Other books in this series published by Cambridge
University Press have dealt with instruments considerably younger and
less multifarious than the organ, and the reader is encouraged to accept
the limitations of the book’s scope with understanding. In particular,
certain areas of repertoire have been omitted entirely or barely men-
tioned, as is the case with the music of the late medieval and early renais-
sance periods and of the contemporary sphere. Moreover, the desire to
treat certain areas in reasonable detail has inevitably led to the exclusion
of important areas of the repertoire within the principal period covered
between c1550 and 1950, such as the Italian school after Frescobaldi or the
romantic and modern Scandinavian repertoire. But the specific intention
of the repertoire chapters, however restricted in scope, is to consider the
xiv Preface

development of organ music within each school in relation to the

development of the instrument itself. Many books and articles have been
written which concentrate principally on the developments of either
organ building or of organ music in isolation. In reality the two aspects
have developed in tandem, and at times the ambitions of organ players
may have dictated changes in organ design, whilst at others the
technological advances of the designers have presented new challenges
and possibilities to composers and players. This book attempts to respect
the mutual dependency of organ builder and organ player, so that even if
the modern player is unable to play a particular piece on the most
appropriate type of organ, he or she will be able to understand to a fair
extent the music as it was conceived for a particular school of organ
design and thus be able to re-interpret it as required on the instrument
available. Similarly, the examination of the role of organ playing in the
liturgy helps to explain the development of particular organ schools
where understanding the function of the organist as improviser illumi-
nates the nature of the written-down, composed repertoire.
The editors offer their thanks to all the contributors who so will-
ingly parted with their time and expertise, but owe a particular debt to
Stephen Bicknell, who – besides contributing three chapters – undertook
the arduous and protracted task of assembling the illustrations. Our
thanks also go to our respective Tessas, and to all others who have helped
or encouraged the project, including Joseph Alcantara, Gavin Alexander,
Robin Goodall, Lynda Stratford and Pierre Vallotton. To Penny Souster,
Lucy Carolan and other members of staff at Cambridge University Press
we must extend our grateful thanks for much helpful advice and a great
deal of patience.
 1 Origins and development of the organ
Nicholas Thistlethwaite

Organ . . . the name of the largest, most comprehensive, and harmonious of musical instruments;
on which account it is called ‘the organ’, organon, ‘the instrument’ by way of excellence.
(Charles Burney, writing in A. Rees, The Cyclopaedia, or Universal Dictionary of Arts,
Sciences, and Literature, London 1819)

Although modern etymologists would question Burney’s appropriation

of a Greek word with a general meaning (organon seems to have meant a
tool with which to do a job of work) for so specific a purpose, it would be
hard to deny that the pipe organ in its most developed form is structurally
the largest, and (for sheer variety of effect) musically the most compre-
hensive of all instruments. And if by ‘harmonious’ is meant the capacity to
order diverse elements and bring them into concord with one another for
a common purpose, then Burney’s claim for the organ, with its multiplic-
ity of sound-producing and mechanical parts, can surely be sub-
stantiated.

At its most basic, the organ is a simple wind instrument. It consists of a

grooved chest supporting a set of pipes, bellows to supply wind to the
pipes, and some sort of mechanism to cause the pipes to sound. Though
such simplicity is now rare it perfectly well describes the sort of organ
depicted in medieval illuminated manuscripts (Figure 1.1). The path
from such modest instruments to giant modern organs boasting four or
five keyboards, 32′ pipes, dozens of registers, sophisticated stop controls
and electrical blowing apparatus encompasses a complex and fascinating
process of development in which music, technology, architecture, liturgy,
industrial organisation and changing taste all play a part.
Certain things follow from this long historical development.
First, at any given period, styles of organ throughout Europe (and it is
Europe with which we are principally concerned before 1850) varied
considerably. Fifty years ago it was widely assumed that any pre-nine-
teenth-century German organ was suitable for the performance of Bach.
Today, we are becoming more aware of the distinct characteristics of
organs built in Swabia and the Rhineland, Hamburg and Westphalia – and
perhaps none of them is altogether appropriate for Bach, who spent most
of his working life in Thuringia and Saxony. Repertoire must be related
[1] carefully to the type of instrument for which it was conceived: not
2 Nicholas Thistlethwaite

Figure 1.1 A detail of an illuminated initial from a Book of Hours of King Alfonso V of Naples
(Aragon, 1442; British Library MS Add. 28962, fol. 281v). This portrayal of a positive organ
appears immediately below a scene depicting the celebration of a mass in the royal chapel of the
Aragonese court, and is probably indicative of the type of instrument used in such circumstances.

because this determines how it must be played today (which it does not)
but because it offers an opportunity to understand more fully the inten-
tions of the composer and the experience of the original player. From this
informed position intelligent decisions can be made about modern per-
formance.
Secondly, historic organs (with few exceptions) possess their own
building history. We still know little about the ‘ageing’ process as it affects
organs; change must be assumed in the molecular structure of pipe metal,
and that may affect the tone. More obvious is change brought about by
human intervention. Compasses, temperament, pitch, wind pressure and
voicing are all matters that can be altered relatively easily in response to
changing fashion, even when more drastic alterations are avoided. Nor is
restoration necessarily a guarantee of authenticity. Old organs restored in
the 1950s and 60s are now being restored again. (The famous F. C.
Schnitger organ of 1723–6 in St Laurents, Alkmaar was restored by
Flentrop in 1947–9, and again in 1982–6 to more exacting standards.)
Whether current restoration techniques will be regarded as adequate in
3 Origins and development of the organ

another fifty years time remains to be seen. Claims to historical correct-

ness should always therefore be treated with some caution, though few
old organs will fail to yield some valuable insights for the player.
Thirdly, with a documented history going back at least a thousand
years, and an archaeological history spanning six centuries – setting aside
such fragmentary remains as the cache of medieval organ pipes found at
Bethlehem (Williams 1993: 348–9) and the earlier Graeco-Roman organ
found at Aquincum in Hungary (Perrot 1971: 109–16) – the organ has
benefited from a succession of technological innovations. At the end of
the medieval period new techniques of carpentry, metalwork and
bellows-making were exploited by organ builders for their own purposes
(Williams 1993: 314–35). Four hundred years later, their successors were
using steam-driven machinery in their workshops, and experimenting
with pneumatics and electricity (Thistlethwaite 1990: 61, 351–61). Today,
many organ builders take advantage of computer technology in both the
design (computer-simulation in the drawing office) and equipping
(multi-level memory systems, playback facilities, transmission) of
organs. This suggests the wisdom of keeping an open mind about such
technological developments. The pneumatic lever, for instance, is an inte-
gral feature of the nineteenth-century Cavaillé-Coll organ, which itself
inspired an important school of organ composers at least in part because
of the flexibility the pneumatic motors gave to these ambitious instru-
ments. For the same reason, contemporary console developments in new
organs are not to be condemned out of hand just because there is no
precedent for them in the organ’s earlier history. Probably the strongest
objection that can be made to them is that they can seem to diminish the
gap between the legitimate pipe organ and a variety of electronic key-
board instruments which endeavour to reproduce its effects.
In the following chapters, a good deal of attention will be devoted to
particular repertoires and the instruments for which they were written. It
may therefore be found helpful to have a brief summary of the organ’s his-
torical evolution with special reference to those technological innova-
tions which created new opportunities for composers and performers,
and which, taken together, assist us in defining the genius of this ‘largest,
most comprehensive, and harmonious of musical instruments’.

The medieval organ

The origins of organ technology and the type of instruments to which it
gave rise in the earlier medieval period have been discussed elsewhere,
notably by Jean Perrot (1971) and Peter Williams (1993). Here, it must
4 Nicholas Thistlethwaite

suffice to say that organs had found their way into churches by the end of
the tenth century, when several Anglo-Saxon monasteries (Malmesbury,
Ramsey, Winchester) are known to have possessed them. However, their
construction and the uses to which they were put (signalling devices, like
bells; the expression of jubilation in the liturgy?) remain obscure.
Organs gradually spread throughout Europe, though the date of
reception and the degree of mechanical sophistication must have varied
considerably from one region to another. Probably the Benedictine order,
with its interest in the useful arts, technology and science, played an
important part in disseminating knowledge about organs. If so, it should
not surprise us that the most comprehensive account of organ-building
before the fifteenth century was written by a monk named Theophilus,
who seems to have lived in what later became Westphalia in the period
1110–40. His treatise (which is part of a much longer work entitled
Diversarum Artium Schedule) describes the manufacture of copper pipes,
a wind-chest with seven or eight notes, wooden sliders projecting from
the chest and lettered so that the player knew which note he was sounding,
bellows, a wind collector (conflatorium) and a hollow wooden duct to
convey wind to the chest (Perrot 1971: 232–52).
The evolution over the next three centuries of this simple (but in its
own terms doubtless effective) sound-producing instrument into the
early modern organ with its multi-ranked Hauptwerk, a Rückpositiv with
separately-drawn registers, Pedal trompes (bourdons), extensive key-
board compasses and a variety of pipe constructions was a complex
process which there is not space to discuss here (but see Williams 1993:
336–57). However, certain crucial developments need to be briefly men-
tioned.
The soundboard is a large box on which the pipes are mounted, and
which supplies them with wind. In early organs, wind was admitted to the
pipes by means of sliders running in grooves beneath each pipe or set of
pipes and operated directly by the player. By c1400 (possibly earlier)
pallets had made their appearance. A small wooden clack-valve was
located beneath each groove; when the player caused this pallet to open,
wind entered the groove and the pipe(s) sounded. The connection
between key and pallet was made by means of linkages known as trackers,
and with the development of rollerboards to convey the action sideways it
became possible to arrange the pipes in a different sequence from that
dictated by the keyboard. It also enabled organ builders to make larger
soundboards and to accommodate more and bigger pipes on them.
Ultimately, these technological developments encouraged the multiplica-
tion of soundboards in an instrument; sometimes they were connected
to a single keyboard, but in north-west Europe after c1450 it became
5 Origins and development of the organ

increasingly common to find organs with two or three keyboards and a

Pedal division.
Meanwhile sliders found a new role in enabling the player to shut off
individual registers or groups of pipes. The large church organs of the
later medieval period incorporated massive choruses (Blockwerk) in
which each note sounded multi-ranked unisons and quints. Henri Arnaut
de Zwolle (c1450) describes organs with between six and twenty-six pipes
to a note (inevitably including much duplication of pitches). By his time
some attempts were being made to split up the Blockwerk into groups of
pipes, for example, a division into three: principals (8′s ⫹ 4′s), low-
pitched mixture, high-pitched mixture. By making soundboards with
sliders running at right angles to the grooves, organ builders gave players
the means of shutting off groups of pipes. Only after 1500 did ‘stops’ come
to be thought of as bringing registers on rather than shutting them off.
In some parts of Europe (notably Italy) a second set of pallets was pre-
ferred to the slider. Each note of a register had its own spring-loaded
pallet which opened when the player brought the stop on. As soon as the
player released the lever or knob the springs closed the pallets, silencing
the register. Soundboards of this type were known as spring-chests. They
were seldom made outside Italy after the sixteenth century.
Keyboards and compasses evolved in response to the changing technol-
ogy of soundboards and actions, and the desire of musicians to play
polyphony. It is not known whether keys were ever ‘thumped’ with the
whole fist as used to be suggested, but there can be little doubt that the
early organs with their crude engineering would require some force to
operate, whether the player pulled sliders or pressed keys. Theophilus’s
organ had seven or eight notes operated by sliders. Over the next three
centuries compasses gradually expanded, the diatonic scale with B
added
to accommodate plainsong giving way after c1300 to (sometimes incom-
plete) chromatic compasses. By c1450 a compass of rather more than
three octaves (F–a2) was widespread, though pitch varied greatly, and
some of these organs were undoubtedly transposing instruments. An
example was Anthony Duddyngton’s new organ for All Hallows, Barking,
London (1519); the keyboard had C as its lowest key, but the note it
sounded was F (5′) or FF (10′). It is important to realise that compasses
and keyboards are not necessarily all that they appear to be in the years
before 1650, and sometimes later.
The introduction of pallets in place of sliders enabled organ-builders
to develop keyboards which could be both elegant in appearance and
subtle in action. The Halberstadt keys (Figure 1.2) perhaps represent a
transitional phase (the upper set still resemble the pull-push levers of
earlier illustrations) but another picture in Praetorius’s Syntagma
6 Nicholas Thistlethwaite

Figure 1.2 An illustration from Michael Praetorius’s Syntagma Musicum of 1619, showing the
manual and pedal keyboards of the organ at Halberstadt Cathedral, which he believed to date from
the work of Faber in 1361.

musicum (Figure 1.3) shows a style of keyboard for the Rückpositiv at the
Aegidienkirche, Brunswick (1456) which would not change radically
before the nineteenth century.
Other significant developments included the appearance of new pipe
forms including reeds (the earliest firm evidence is c1450) and wooden
registers (possibly at a similar period, though equally possibly much
earlier). In part this was due to increasing confidence in the manufacture
of pipework, in part to the growing taste for novel tonal colours (in some
regions, at least) to which Arnolt Schlick’s Spiegel der Orgelmacher und
7 Origins and development of the organ

Figure 1.3 The Rückpositiv keyboard of the organ at the Aegidienkirche in Brunswick (1456) from
Praetorius’s Syntagma Musicum; note that the keys approximate to the modern form.

Organisten (Mainz 1511) was later to bear impressive testimony. Organ

cases probably began to appear in the thirteenth century (Williams 1993:
322–3). If organs were not located on the floor near the singers – as most
positive organs were – they would be placed in wooden galleries from
which the organist could command a view of the liturgical action
(reflecting the organ’s growing importance in liturgy). These instruments
whether raised or at floor level required architectural treatment, and sur-
viving cases such as those at Sion (c1435), the Jakobikirche, Lübeck
(c1480) and San Petronio, Bologna (1474–83) illustrate the relish with
8 Nicholas Thistlethwaite

which carpenters and decorative artists approached the task. The design
of bellows must have been refined to meet the needs of the large organs
being built by the mid-fifteenth century, though little is known about this.
Small forge-bellows made of animal skins gave way to larger wedge-
bellows with ribs and boards, raised by levers. Ropes seem also to have
been used, but whatever the method, the fact that the wind was fed
directly into the chest must have led to considerable unsteadiness of
speech – a problem that was not overcome until the introduction of the
reservoir in the eighteenth century.
Yet for all its imperfections, the technology of the early modern organ
was essentially complete by c1450. It is a remarkable tribute to medieval
enterprise and craftsmanship that no significant innovations in the basic
design of the organ were made for the next three centuries.

The early modern organ (1500–1740)

Any scrutiny of organ schemes from the first half of the sixteenth century
reveals great diversity of practice. Despite this, two ‘families’ of organ
types can be distinguished. In Italy and southern France, organs with a
single keyboard, spring chests and separately drawn registers were the
norm; this ‘southern’ type was also influential in parts of Spain and south-
ern Germany. In the north (the Netherlands, northern France,
Scandinavia and much of Germany) larger organs with two or three key-
boards, multiple chests, pedals, multi-ranked principal choruses and an
extensive selection of colour stops – often imitations of other instruments
– were common. (A variant of this ‘northern’ type was found in Spain
during the years of Spanish rule in the Netherlands.)
The sixteenth century was a period of intense activity and bold experi-
mentation in organ building. Builders explored, refined and extended the
techniques of their medieval forebears to meet new demands. In many
wealthy towns of northern Europe organs became status symbols, pro-
vided, maintained and played under the direction of the civic authorities;
tonal novelties, daring mechanical layouts and splendid casework were
deployed to add lustre to the town’s reputation.
Organ builders often travelled widely in pursuit of work and new
ideas. In particular, builders from the Low Countries – that cradle of
European organ building – worked extensively outside their native
region. Hendrik Niehoff built influential organs in Hamburg (1550) and
Lüneburg (1552), Nicolaas Niehoff at Cologne (1573). Nicolaas Maas
spent the majority of his working life (1590–1615) in Denmark. The
Brebos family built important organs in Spain (1579–92) whilst Jan and
9 Origins and development of the organ

Matthijs Langhedul and Crespin Carlier laid the foundations of the

French classical organ in the years to either side of 1600. Altogether, these
Dutch and Flemish craftsmen had a vital influence on the regional
schools of organ-building which (like the corresponding nation states)
had begun to emerge before the end of the sixteenth century.
Organ-building was not unaffected by politics (the existence of the
Habsburg Empire facilitated a free trade in ideas between craftsmen and
artists within its borders). But it was more immediately and directly
influenced by religious change – of which there was a great deal in the six-
teenth and seventeenth centuries. The upheavals of the Protestant
Reformation and Catholicism’s spirited response, the Counter-
Reformation, had profound implications for the role of the organ in
worship (see below, Chapter 9). Design is driven by function, and the par-
ticular ecclesiastical demands of the different traditions played a major
part in determining the character of regional organ schools.
This can be illustrated by comparing four different organ cultures.
The Netherlands experienced some destruction of organs in the riots
of 1566, and more were removed from churches in succeeding years
under the influence of the Calvinists. However, the fact that they were
usually the property of the town helped to protect many organs, and
although the Reformed Church at first refused to countenance their use
in worship, in most towns they continued to be played before and after
the service and in weekday recitals that had long been a feature of Dutch
municipal life. So organs were built and repaired, and distinguished
players such as J. P. Sweelinck were able to exploit the resources of the
Dutch organ (weighty plenum; flutes, reeds and imitative registers in
Rugpositief and Bovenwerk; Pedal solo stops) in variations on psalm
tunes, decorated transcriptions of vocal pieces, and improvisations
(Peeters and Vente 1971: 88–122).
In England, by contrast, the Puritans (radical Calvinists) had all but
succeeded in having organs banned from churches in 1563. They failed,
but organ building languished for most of Elizabeth’s reign until the
emergence in the 1590s of a party determined to restore something of ‘the
beauty of holiness’ to the worship of the Established Church. The primary
role of organs built under its influence was the accompaniment of the sur-
viving cathedral and collegiate choirs in the daily services of Matins and
Evensong. The instruments were correspondingly unadventurous. They
lacked pedals, and relied instead on long manual compasses. Most had a
single keyboard with five or six stops, though the occasional provision of
a Chair Organ extended the scope a little. There were no mixtures, muta-
tions or reeds, but duplication of chorus registers was usual. Such an
instrument provided adequate accompaniment for a small group of
10 Nicholas Thistlethwaite

singers and permitted the performance of short voluntaries – which was

all that was required (Bicknell 1996: 69–90).
Lutheranism had no single view about the appropriateness of organ
music in worship. Where it was permitted (perhaps the majority of
Lutheran churches) the organist was encouraged to play preludes – some-
times at considerable length – before the congregation sang an unaccom-
panied chorale. Interluding between verses, alternatim performance, and
choir accompaniment were also common requirements. The organs of
northern and central Germany, with their large Pedal divisions, massive
plenums, and subsidiary manuals stocked with flutes, mutations and
reeds, equipped the organists for a multitude of liturgical tasks, and the
strongly marked distinction of pitch, placement and tone between the
different departments was particularly valuable in an instrument
required to be so versatile.
The French organ also relied upon colour and contrast, but for
different reasons. France had remained within the Catholic fold, and
French organs were required to accompany the mass and other liturgical
offices, performing music in which plainsong themes figured promi-
nently. In particular, the organ performed movements of the mass in
alternation with voices (see Chapter 9). Solo registrations were function-
ally important for ‘bringing out’ a plainsong theme (hence, for example,
the Tierce en taille, the flûtes and trompettes 8′ of the Pédale, the popular-
ity of the Cornet and the appearance of short-compass solo divisions –
Écho and Récit – in the early seventeenth century) and rigid conventions
grew up concerning the use of particular registrations for particular
movements of the mass.‘Every stop in a French organ of about 1700 came
to have an appointed purpose’ (Williams and Owen 1988: 105) and this
purpose was entirely dictated by liturgical use.
These brief summaries give an indication of the highly specific back-
ground to the emergence of regional schools of organ construction,
design, composition and performance in post-Reformation Europe. They
will be discussed more fully below, in relation to the repertoires. Many of
the organ types they fostered came to maturity in the second half of the
seventeenth century: the Hamburg Werkprinzip organ in the work of Arp
Schnitger (fl. 1666–1719), the French classical organ at the hands of Pierre
and Alexandre Thierry and Robert Clicquot (from the 1650s), the
Spanish baroque organ with its horizontal reeds and echo organs made by
various builders after 1680, and the English long-compass organ devel-
oped – in conscious rivalry with one another – by Bernard Smith and
Renatus Harris during the 1670s and 80s. In other parts of Europe taste,
relative affluence, liturgical priorities, musical innovation and news of
developments elsewhere had an impact on local traditions. By 1700 a
11 Origins and development of the organ

comparison of organs in leading European cities would reveal extraordi-

nary contrasts of scale, disposition, effect and function, and yet, despite
unmistakable regional characteristics and local preferences (suspended
key actions in France, separate Pedal cases in Hamburg, en chamade reeds
in Spain and Portugal) the technology of the organ remained essentially
that inherited from the late-mediaeval builders. Some innovations had
been tried (couplers, ventils, tremulants, toy stops, transmission) and, of
course, tonally, the organ of 1700 was radically different from that of 1500
in many respects, but the technology was essentially the same and pro-
vided a foundation upon which the leading builders of the late seven-
teenth century raised regional organ cultures of great refinement and
distinction.
In the period which was to follow, however, players and builders alike
would increasingly feel its limitations.

The Golden Age, 1740–90

By the mid-eighteenth century, certain trends were manifesting them-
selves in many parts of Europe which serve to distinguish the period from
what came before and anticipate developments in the nineteenth century.
Inevitably, their impact varied considerably from one region to another,
and some traditions changed only slowly (Holland after 1770) or scarcely
at all (England before 1820). Yet in most places priorities shifted deci-
sively between 1710 and 1750. Generalisations are dangerous, but it
would not be too wide of the mark to say that in Protestant communities
there was a desire for more power (perhaps in response to the increasing
use of the organ in congregational accompaniment) whereas in Catholic
areas the new taste was for colour effects – solo flutes, strings, undulating
registers, imitative reeds, echo departments, percussion stops and other
musical gadgetry. Both trends radically revised the balances between
different departments of the organ (as compared with, for example, the
classic Werkprinzip scheme) and the fashion for intensity of effect, sup-
ported by the growing practice – made possible by more resourceful wind
systems – of drawing handfuls of stops all at once, led in many areas to the
superseding of the discriminating registration practices of previous
generations.
Although large organs were by no means unknown before the eight-
eenth century (Schnitger’s 1687 organ for the Nicolaikirche, Hamburg
had sixty-seven stops) the period saw the construction of numerous
instruments which impress by their sheer size, tonal range, complexity of
action and monumental visual effect. They are to be found across Europe.
12 Nicholas Thistlethwaite

Christian Müller’s Haarlem organ (1735–8) with its sixty stops; the
Hamburg Michaeliskirche (1762–7) by J. G. Hildebrandt with a 32′ front
and fifteen-stop Brustwerk, François Thierry’s five-manual for Notre
Dame, Paris (1730–33); Christ Church, Spitalfields, London (Richard
Bridge, 1730) with its sixteen-stop Great containing duplicated trumpets;
Toledo Cathedral (José Verdalonga, 1796–7) with enclosed and unen-
closed reeds from 32′ to 2′ pitch – these represent a breed of organ which,
in the course of the eighteenth century, attained a novel degree of scale
and sophistication.
Some of the most spectacular organs were those of southern Germany
and Austria, particularly the organs of the great abbey churches. This was
an area which had always favoured colour stops (Schlick’s Spiegel is early
evidence), and the taste was sustained by the requirement that the organ-
ist play quiet interludes at various points during the mass. The logical
conclusion was an instrument like Gabler’s Chororgel at Weingarten
(1739): the eleven-stop Hauptwerk contained seven 8′ registers (Prinzipal,
Violoncello, Salizional, Hohlflöte, Unda maris, Coppel and Quintatön),
the second division was an Echo of ‘quiet and pleasant stops’, and
(characteristically for this region) there was not a reed or mutation in
sight. Gabler had the opportunity to expand his repertoire of fanciful
colour stops when he built the west-end organ at Weingarten – including,
for example, a flageolet of ivory, conical pipes made of cherrywood, bells
and glittering multi-ranked mixtures – but its fame is as much due to its
astonishing visual effect, the cases appearing suspended in mid-air, sup-
ported by cherubim and angels, and surrounded by light from the
windows behind (see Figure 5.11).
Gabler’s concern with colour, and his desire to make the organ a more
flexible musical instrument, was reflected elsewhere in Europe. Even in
Protestant regions the period saw a move towards subtlety, refinement
and tonal variety which in some instances (G. Silbermann at Freiberg,
1710–14; J. Moreau at Gouda, 1733–6) involved drawing on French ideas.
In all but the most conservative areas less and less importance was
attached to providing balanced choruses in all departments; ‘terracing’ of
dynamics offered the possibility of those dramatic contrasts for which a
taste steadily developed during the course of the century. The same taste
was the ultimate beneficiary of Jordan’s ‘invention’ of the Swell (St
Magnus the Martyr, London Bridge, 1712); this offered the prospect of
greater expressiveness – initially for a handful of short-compass stops,
later for the entire organ (Samuel Green at St George’s Chapel, Windsor,
1790) – and other peripheral traditions (Italy, Spain) also experimented
with echoes, swells and tonal novelties.
Power, too, was increasingly sought. When in 1738 J. C. Müller rebuilt
13 Origins and development of the organ

the 1724 Vater organ in the Oude Kerk, Amsterdam he took steps to
improve the wind supply, increased the pressures, doubled chorus ranks
in the treble, added further ranks to the mixtures, re-made the reeds and
added stops to strengthen the plenum. Perhaps Vater’s organ was not a
very good organ anyway. But these were the sorts of changes builders were
making all over Europe in order to enhance the organ’s power. The
Bavokerk at Haarlem (1735–8) with its big mixtures and more chorus
reeds than would have been found a generation earlier is indicative of the
same trend, and Zacharias Hildebrandt’s Naumburg organ (1743–6) –
approved (perhaps inspired) by J.S. Bach – is remarkable for its strength
of tone (especially in the bass) allied to brilliant mixtures and solid reeds.
But then Hildebrandt was a pupil of Gottfried Silbermann, who at the
Dresden Hofkirche (1754) specified a Hauptwerk of ‘large and heavy
scaling’ to be supported by a ‘forceful and penetrating’ Pedal. Even in the
rather different circumstances of France, where organs were not required
to accompany hearty congregational singing, the introduction of the
Bombarde division (Notre Dame, Paris, 1733), the doubling of 8′
Trompettes, the addition of 8′ and 4′ chorus reeds to the Positif, and the
gradual expansion of the Pédale bore witness to similar priorities.
All of this testifies to the emergence of preoccupations which were to
become central to the evolution of the organ in the nineteenth century.

The triumph of technology (1790–1890)

By the end of the eighteenth centry, the aspirations of the builders had
overtaken the available technology. The Weingarten organ, for instance,
with its five manual and two pedal departments strewn (apparently
effortlessly) across the west end of the church, and played from what may
have been the world’s first permanent detached console, must have pre-
sented formidable problems of action layout to its builder. It was to be
another century before the technology was invented which would assist
organ-builders in managing long tracker runs to huge soundboards, and
a further generation on from that before builders were released altogether
from the need to connect keys to pallets with levers and rods.
Priority in introducing the pneumatic lever is disputed
(Thistlethwaite 1990: 351–7) but there is no doubt that it was the
Englishman C. S. Barker and the great French builder Aristide Cavaillé-
Coll who first brought it to a reliable form. It was used in Cavaillé-Coll’s
earliest triumph, the organ for St Denis (1841), in which pneumatic
motors, located between key and pallet pull-down, assisted what was oth-
erwise a complete tracker system, enabling the builder to increase the
14 Nicholas Thistlethwaite

number of chests and raise wind pressures. Pneumatic levers were widely
used in the largest organs in France, England and Germany within three
decades. The next development was tubular-pneumatic action, in which
the motion of the player was transmitted not by way of wooden rods but
by air under pressure travelling through lead tubes and inflating motors
connected to the pallet pull-downs. (An early but imperfect version was
made by P. Moitessier during the 1840s.) By freeing the builder to arrange
chests, console and mechanism in hitherto unconventional ways, this
form of action was of the greatest use to a builder such as the Englishman
Henry Willis (1821–1901), confronted with an organist’s demand for a
large organ and the architect’s refusal to accommodate it. By pioneering
the division of a cathedral organ on either side of the choir at St Paul’s,
London in 1872, Willis at once overcame a difficulty and created an
opportunity for abuse which other builders and players were quick to
exploit. The system was popular in England, where it was extensively
made between 1875 and 1925. Electric action was the next logical step.
The possibility of using electro-magnets to open pallets had been recog-
nised as early as the 1840s by Wilkinson, an English builder, but it was not
until the collaboration of Péschard and Barker in the 1860s that a work-
able electro-pneumatic system was made. Organs powered entirely by
electric actions appeared in Paris and London in 1868, and New York in
1869. Electric action became particularly important in the USA through
the pioneering work of Hilborne Roosevelt (1849–86); by the 1890s most
companies were experimenting with it, and it was in the States that Robert
Hope-Jones (1859–1914) found the welcome for his improved electric
action that had been largely denied him in England.
A revealing snapshot of the state of organ technology in the 1880s is
afforded by a comparison of three instruments that competed for the title
of ‘the largest organ in the world’. E. F. Walcker’s 124-stop organ for the
Riga Dom (1883) had mechanical action with some assistance from
pneumatic levers. Roosevelt’s 114-stop instrument for the Cathedral of
the Incarnation, Garden City, Long Island (also completed in 1883) had
rather more than half its stops on electric action, whilst Hill & Son’s
magnum opus, Sydney Town Hall (1889), with 126 stops and the famous
64′ reed, had mechanical coupling, pneumatic levers to the Great and
tubular-pneumatic action to all other departments.
Innovation equipped the builders of the nineteenth century with the
technology they needed to pursue objectives (power, dramatic contrasts,
orchestral registrations, proliferation of chests, detached keyboards, the
physical separation of divisions of the organ) already to be identified in
the most ambitious instruments of the previous century. Console gad-
getry, novel soundboards (e.g. the German Kegellade, or cone chest),
15 Origins and development of the organ

steam-powered, hydraulic or electric blowing machines, horizontal

bellows to steady the wind (widely used in England after 1800), dispersion
of reservoirs throughout the organ, ventils (for admitting or denying
wind to selected chests and fundamental to an understanding of the
French nineteenth-century organ), pneumatic thumb pistons (patented
by Henry Willis in 1851 and equally essential to an understanding of the
English organ of the period), relief pallets to reduce the weight of touch,
crescendo pedals (including the Rollschweller, implied in many of Reger’s
registrations), sforzando pedals – these, and a multitude of other
‘improvements’ provided the technological foundation upon which to
erect a nineteenth-century organ aesthetic. It represented a considerable
achievement – the transformation of a technology little altered in funda-
mentals for three centuries – but at a price: although the organist had
greater resources at his command and more control over registration, he
had less control over key touch and might (particularly in England and
the USA) be separated by a considerable distance from the sound-pro-
ducing parts of his instrument.
The musical character of the organ which this technology made possi-
ble paradoxically expressed both the fulfilment of the ideals of pro-
gressive eighteenth-century builders and their eclipse. E. F. Walcker’s
important organ for the Paulskirche, Frankfurt (1827–33) continued the
fashion for massive choruses with thickening quints, a 32′ Hauptwerk and
solid reeds. The fourteen-stop Swell and the generous provision of south
German colour stops (strings, dulcianas and flutes) is a further link with
tradition. However, the free reeds and Pedal mutations owe something to
the ‘simplification system’ pedalled around Europe by the Abbé Vogler in
the 1780s and 90s, and the divided Pedal section (with two pedal boards,
one above the other) served a contemporary preoccupation with dynamic
variation. Other German builders might prefer more conservative tonal
schemes (J. F. Schulze, Marienkirche, Lübeck, 1858; F. Ladegast,
Merseburg Cathedral, 1855) but Walcker’s Frankfurt organ sketched the
lines along which German organ-building would run in the nineteenth
century and foreshadowed the firm’s later mammoth organs for Ulm
(1856), Boston (1863) and Riga (1883).
In England, something more radical was needed. Under the influence
of the Bach revival on the one hand, and the taste for orchestral transcrip-
tions on the other, William Hill (1789–1870) introduced the ‘German
System’ organ – an instrument with C-compasses, 16′ manual choruses
and a comprehensive Pedal Organ. Tonally, it represented a fusion of
traditional English choruses, ‘German’ flutes and strings, and modern
reeds. The latter included Hill’s invention, the ophicleide or tuba
mirabilis – a solo reed of commanding power, speaking on around 10″
16 Nicholas Thistlethwaite

wind pressure (Birmingham Town Hall, 1840). Other builders looked to

France for inspiration (Gray & Davison at the Crystal Palace, 1857) until
Henry Willis finally solved the quest for power and orchestral colour with
his organs for the Alexandra Palace (1868) and the Royal Albert Hall
(1871).
The organ built by Cavaillé-Coll for St Denis still owed much to the
French classical tradition. Five years later (1846), at La Madeleine, Paris,
the debt was much less apparent. The proliferation of harmonic stops
(flutes and reeds), the inclusion of strings and a céleste, the disappearance
of cornets and mutations, the transformation of the Positif into a
mixtureless colour department, and the provision of ventils for the
various jeux de combinaison all pointed to the romantic-symphonic organ
of the 1850s and 60s. With its immaculately blended jeux de fonds, peerless
reeds (harmonic, and with varying pressures throughout the range),
luxurious consoles and finely engineered actions, this instrument has
good claim to be regarded as the summit of the nineteenth-century
organ-building achievement, not least because (unlike Willis’s instru-
ments) it inspired a school of distinguished organist-composers.

Epilogue: the romantic twilight (1890–1950)

It may seem both churlish and arbitrary to dismiss several decades of
European and American organ building in what must appear little more
than an addendum. The fact remains, however, that by the 1890s
influences were making themselves felt which increasingly separated the
organ from much of its legitimate repertoire. Hope-Jones’s reduction of
the organ to a series of extreme tonalities controlled from an electric
console bristling with accessories prepared the way for the cinema organ.
G. A. Audsley’s The Art of Organ-Building (New York 1905) revelled in the
minutiae of the voicing, construction and design of the romantic organ,
whilst asserting the desirability of extensive enclosure including even a
portion of the Pedal. On both sides of the Atlantic, builders exploited the
technical possibilities of electric action, among them, the construction of
unit chests enabling one set of pipes to be made available at several
pitches. (It was in the tradition of Vogler and his ‘simplification system’,
and appealed to factory organ builders anxious to build cheap organs.)
Some leading firms of the nineteenth century continued to build dis-
tinguished organs in their respective house styles – Hill in London,
Cavaillé-Coll (under Mutin) in Paris, Sauer in Frankfurt among them.
For them all, the First World War proved a watershed. Others endeav-
oured to take the romantic-orchestral organ on a stage further from the
17 Origins and development of the organ

work of the great nineteenth-century masters. In England, Harrison &

Harrison dominated the scene, whilst on the other side of the Atlantic,
Ernest M. Skinner and John T. Austin developed a more thoroughgoing
orchestral instrument. Yet despite the undoubted integrity of the best
organs of this period there were those who felt that the true nature of the
organ had become obscured. Albert Schweitzer was one of the first, and
the views he expressed in the early 1900s paved the way for that gradual
and often painful recovery of ‘true principles’ which is discussed in
Chapter 6.
 2 Organ construction
Stephen Bicknell

The craft of organ building remains today essentially the same as it was
during the development of the organ in the middle ages. Although
machinery can be employed to save time and perform repetitive tasks, the
core crafts of woodwork and metalwork remain at the heart of the indus-
try. Moreover, although the metal pipes are the most distinctive feature of
an organ, it is the wooden structure of the instrument that absorbs the
bulk of the organ builder’s time and effort. Wood remains an astonish-
ingly useful and versatile material. Weight for weight, it is stronger than
steel. Despite the alarming deforestation of the planet, a conscientious
workshop can find supplies of many different species and grades of
timber from renewable sources. Timber is the ideal material for custom-
building anything; with relatively simple equipment it can be formed into
virtually any shape and adapted to almost any purpose – including, in
organ building, complex air-tight components containing many moving
parts.
The structure of an organ consists of a frame (usually still of solid
timber, though some builders use steel) and a case. Very often, especially
in small instruments or those inspired by historic precedent, the frame
and case are integrated in a monocoque structure. In the Anglo-American
tradition of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries organ builders
did not concern themselves much with casework – its design often left to
architects and its construction to specialist joiners – but still used wood
for supporting framework. Even an organ with no case, such as those built
by Walter Holtkamp and others with the pipes on open display (mid-
twentieth century) will still have the familiar wooden structure within.
The various components that occupy the interior of the instrument
can take many forms, and have been subject to continuing change and
development during the course of the organ’s long history.
We may start with the lungs of the organ – its winding system. An
organ requires a copious supply of air at a pressure only a little higher
than that of the atmosphere. Organ wind is typically at only about 50 to
100 mm water-gauge. Supplying an organ with enough air has never been
a great problem (even a large eighteenth-century organ could be blown by
two or three men at the feeder bellows); but finding a way of making the
[18] supply steady has been more of a challenge.
19 Organ construction

Figure 2.1 Three types of bellows commonly

found. From top to bottom: single-fold
diagonal bellows typical of northern Europe
in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries;
multi-fold diagonal bellows typical of classical
practice in France and the south; the
horizontal bellows with inverted folds
developed in England round 1800 and used
extensively thereafter in many countries.

Weighted diagonal or ‘wedge’ bellows, filled one after the other and
allowed to drop under their own weight, are the traditional solution
(Figure 2.1). Almost universal until the mid-nineteenth century, they are
now being made again, especially in organs designed for the performance
of pre-romantic music. The musical results of using diagonal bellows
vary a great deal, but their inherent unsteadiness is not always a defect,
and at its best the slight fluctuations in pressure and therefore pitch give a
beautiful and complex result not unlike the sound of many players in an
instrumental ensemble.
The English developed the horizontal bellows in the early nineteenth
century, and it is the preferred winding system for instruments catering
for the romantic repertoire. The horizontal bellows is more properly a
reservoir, used for storing wind supplied by feeder bellows or a blowing
motor. With this system it becomes possible to supply wind at different
pressures to different parts of the organ: a reservoir weighted to provide
the highest pressure required in the organ can be connected to others via
control valves reducing the pressure by stages. Horizontal reservoirs may
be found in single-rise and double-rise forms, the latter usually having
20 Stephen Bicknell

one set of ribs folding inwards and one outwards, cancelling out the ten-
dency of the pressure to drop as the bellows collapses. The wind supply
may be further steadied by the introduction of small concussion bellows or
winkers (Am.) on the wind trunks; these are small sprung bellows that act
as shock absorbers.
The development of more sensitive control valves for the wind system
has made it possible to reduce the size of reservoirs, and ultimately to
install them as compact wind regulator units in the soundboard or chest
itself. The most commonly used of these is the schwimmer regulator,
popular with most European neo-classical builders at one time or another
over the last forty years. The schwimmer regulator gives, at low cost, a
wind supply of astonishing steadiness; so steady in fact as to be considered
lifeless and mechanical by some builders, who have therefore retained, or
re-introduced, traditional bellows or reservoir systems.
Today wind for an organ is rarely supplied by mechanical labour; the
task is usually performed by an electric motor driving a fan.
Each manual or pedal keyboard is usually represented by a separate
soundboard or chest (Am.) inside the organ. On this stand the various
ranks of pipes representing the stops brought into play by the performer.
Each receives wind at the appropriate pressure for that division. Inside the
soundboard there is a valve or pallet for each note on the keyboard: the
linkage between pallet and key is the key action. When a key is pressed, the
pallet opens and wind is admitted to a channel corresponding to that
note. When the key is released a spring under the pallet closes it and raises
the key again.
On each soundboard there must be a mechanism for isolating or
silencing individual ranks to allow the performer to choose which he
wishes to sound and which to remain silent. The traditional and most
widespread system is that provided by slider soundboards (Figure 2.2).
The pallet admits wind to a channel that supplies all the pipes for that
note. Each rank is arranged in note order over the channels in the sound-
board. A perforated slider between the top of the soundboard or table and
the upperboards or toeboards (Am.) is linked to the stop knob, and can be
moved so that it either admits wind to the pipes above (on) or prevents
them from speaking (off).
In a large or complex organ there may be more than one soundboard
per division, as well as subsidiary chests, all of which require their own
mechanism. Alternatives to the slider soundboard are the archaic spring
chest, found especially in the organs of Italy, and various forms of slider-
less chest. Sliderless chests – in which every pipe has its own valve linked to
the key action for that note and in which the ranks are brought into play
by admitting wind to a channel for that stop – were developed in the nine-
21 Organ construction

Figure 2.2 View of a slider soundboard partly cut away to show the construction. The example
shown has four slides, one for each of the following stops (from back to front): Chimney Flute 8⬘,
Principal 4⬘, Octave 2⬘, Krummhorn 8⬘. The pipes in this example are arranged in diatonic order,
the basses at the ends and the trebles in the middle. Only the pipes of the lowest notes on one side
are shown.

teenth century, the best-known early type being the cone-valve chest or
Kegellade introduced by E. F. Walcker of Ludwigsburg. Through the nine-
teenth and early twentieth centuries further types of sliderless chest were
devised, many of them to patent designs. Other well known types are the
Roosevelt chest, named after the American organ builder Hilborne
Roosevelt (1849–86) who invented it, and the Pitman chest, developed by
E. M. Skinner around 1900 and still highly prized in parts of the American
organ building industry.
Though it is possible to link the many small valves in a sliderless chest
22 Stephen Bicknell

Suspended action

Balanced action

Figure 2.3 The two main types of mechanical key action. Left: suspended action, with the key
pivoted at the tail and the action pick-up forward of the half-way point. Right: balanced action,
with the key pivoted near the centre and the action pick-up at the tail. The use of a rollerboard
between the keys and the soundboard allows the notes to be spread into a more convenient spacing
or order.

with a mechanical action this is in fact rarely done, and the use of
sliderless chests usually presupposes a non-mechanical key action. The
slider chest is difficult to design and make and, until the use of man-made
materials in its construction became practical and widespread after
c1950, it was not well suited to extremes of temperature and humidity.
However, the provision of one channel per note is considered to assist
blend and, of course, automatically gives absolute unanimity of speech.
The sliderless chest is cheaper and allows a much faster stop-action; it is
typically associated with late romantic instruments where quick changes
of registration are considered desirable.
The key action provides the link between keyboard and soundboard
(Figure 2.3). At its most simple, the key is pivoted at the tail. From the key a
wire or wooden tracker rises directly to the pallet. This is known as
suspended action. If the spacing of the pallets on the soundboard is wider
than the keyboard, then the trackers may need to be fanned or splayed. If,
as in all but the smallest organs, the pipes on the soundboard are arranged
symmetrically, rather than in chromatic order, then a rollerboard is needed
to transfer the movement laterally and rearrange it into soundboard order.
23 Organ construction

Suspended action is associated with particular types of organ: early

instruments in general, and the organs of the French, Spanish and Italian
classical schools. It is used today by some builders who appreciate its
simplicity and the precise and responsive touch it offers.
It is also possible to provide a key pivoted in the middle, with the key
action picking up off the tail: a balanced action. From the key tail the
movement is transferred via a tracker or sticker to a row of levers or back-
falls to the soundboard. Again there may be a rollerboard if required.
Mechanical key actions of the balanced or suspended types may be made
to change direction by introducing further sets of backfalls or squares
(small bell-cranks). The pedal keys, where provided, operate in a similar
way to the manuals. Further developments include couplers, making it
possible to play two separate departments from one keyboard.
In the middle of the nineteenth century it became possible to harness
the power of the wind already in the organ to assist the key action: espe-
cially useful in large organs where the key action was becoming increas-
ingly heavy. At first, pneumatic power was used in conjunction with
mechanical linkages: the pneumatic lever or Barker lever. Here the
mechanical action from the keys admits wind via a valve to a small pneu-
matic power bellows or motor. This is connected in turn to the sound-
board pallet by mechanical linkages. The appearance is essentially similar
to an all-mechanical action, only the bank of pneumatic motors or Barker
machine interrupting the link between key and soundboard.
Replacing the mechanical linkages with small-bore tubing – the
message travelling down the tube as a charge of air – gave late-nineteenth
century builders much greater flexibility in arranging the internal com-
ponents of the organ. Such systems were understood in the early nine-
teenth century, but did not start appearing regularly until the end of the
1860s, usually still in conjunction with mechanical couplers. By the mid-
1880s the English builders were developing all-tubular actions in which
even the couplers were pneumatically actuated. This tubular pneumatic
action comes in many different forms, each builder developing his own
system. Broadly speaking the various types may be divided into charge
pneumatic actions – the earlier, simpler variety – and exhaust pneumatic
actions – more complex and arguably more sophisticated. In the charge
action pressing the key admits air under pressure to the tube, and this
charge operates a small bellows or pneumatic motor that opens the pallet.
In the exhaust system the key opens a valve at the end of the tube allowing
a motor enclosed in the wind at the other end to be exhausted to the
atmosphere, causing it to collapse and open the pallet as before.
Intervening small motors or relays are used to improve speed and
repetition.
24 Stephen Bicknell

As a result of much experiment in the second half of the nineteenth

century it eventually became possible to replace the pneumatic tubing
with an electric cable: by 1900 electro-pneumatic actions (the opening of
the pallet still effected by a pneumatic motor) were being attempted on a
regular basis. Their success depended on the use of precision-made
magnets in which the armature acted also as the valve of the primary
pneumatic; on the use of low voltages which made low demands on
batteries (until they were replaced by generators); and on the develop-
ment of self-cleaning key contacts. All-electric key action has always been
rare, being mostly restricted to very small organs and one or two
American firms who have made a speciality of the technique. In the
heyday of electro-pneumatic action, from 1920 to 1960, it became usual
for almost all the mechanical functions of the organ to be carried out
through electrical switchgear, even if the final stages of the movement
remained pneumatic.
Since 1960 there has been a considerable revival of the use of all-
mechanical actions. The application of modern engineering to the design
of pallets and to the development of low-friction bearings has made it
possible to provide all-mechanical actions even in quite large instruments
without producing an unduly heavy touch, though sometimes the quality
of touch is maintained by using pneumatic assistance (balancers) in the
bass. A limited number of builders resort to electric action for the manual
couplers. A further refinement in modern times has been the introduc-
tion of self-regulating actions, which are able to react to changes in cli-
matic conditions, taking up the slack in the key action as the major
components expand and contract with changes in temperature and
humidity.
The stop action links the stop knobs at the keys with the soundboards
or chests within, allowing different ranks of pipes to be brought into play.
A simple mechanical system of squares and rods may be used. With such
systems it is possible to introduce a limited range of devices to allow
groups of stops to be changed quickly, usually by pressing a pedal.
Amongst these are registration devices found in Iberia, where stops on
subsidiary chests may be silenced by pressing a pedal controlling a single
isolating slider; similar devices are found in England where they were
called shifting movements. The more elaborate French ventil system works
in a similar way; individual sections of the organ have wind admitted to
them only when the appropriate pédale de combinaison is pressed, allow-
ing new registrations to be prepared in advance and brought into play
when required. A composition pedal is usually a mechanical device that
moves the stop knobs according to certain pre-determined combinations.
The introduction of pneumatics allowed further refinements. By 1851
25 Organ construction

Willis in England had developed a pneumatic stop action in which rapid

changes of registration could be effected at the press of a button or thumb
piston, mounted in the keyslip; this system is now widespread. By 1890
some organs were provided with a limited kind of memory system, allow-
ing the organist to reset the combination of stops brought into play by
combination pedals or pistons. The advent of electro-pneumatic mecha-
nisms allowed much more sophisticated systems for stop changing, and
all-electric adjustable combinations become a feature during the 1930s,
eventually to be transistorised in the 1960s and finally reduced to pro-
grammable silicon chips in the 1980s. There is now a movement in some
quarters towards the simplicity and reliability of all-mechanical systems.
Keys, pedals, stops all meet under the player’s control at the console or
keydesk; simple in early organs, but increasingly complex after 1850 and
in those modern instruments not specifically built in imitation of historic
styles. With the advent of pneumatic and electro-pneumatic actions it has
become possible to detach the console from the organ itself (as well as
spreading the instrument into different and sometimes unlikely parts of
the building); the console then becomes a highly sophisticated piece of
apparatus in its own right.
In English organs from 1712 onwards an important feature has been
the swell box, completely enclosing one or more soundboards and the
pipes that stand on them (probably derived from similar though more
simple devices in Spanish and Portuguese organs). The front of the swell
box consists of movable shutters connected to a pedal, allowing the
organist to make the sound louder or softer. The use of the swell spread to
the rest of the organ-building world in the nineteenth century and is now
a widespread feature. The obvious value of such a device in performing
romantic music means that instruments that are built for the perfomance
of a wide repertoire may have two or more departments enclosed. In the
large, sprawling organs found in parts of the English-speaking world,
especially North America, enclosure in swell boxes may extend to almost
all divisions of the organ.
Finally, the pipes. From the middle ages the most common material
for organ pipes has been an amalgam (not strictly speaking an alloy) of tin
and lead, sometimes with traces of other metals such as bismuth, copper
or antimony. An alloy with a high proportion of tin is hard and can be pol-
ished, especially useful for front pipes. Pipe metal is cast in sheets, usually
on a stone casting bench. The parts of the pipe are cut out of the sheet,
beaten into shape round a former or mandrel, and then soldered together.
Pipes can also be made out of wood, again with the possibility of choosing
a particular species of timber to help in the production of a particular
tone quality. Metal pipes are also sometimes made of zinc or copper,
26 Stephen Bicknell

Figure 2.4 A typical open flue pipe of the

principal family. Left: general view. Right:
section through mouth and foot.

usually with an eye to economy, and other materials as diverse as glass,

ivory, aluminium and paper have occasionally been used.
The backbone of organ sound is a chorus of cylindrical open metal
pipes (Figure 2.4) playing at various different pitches from each key. The
principal chorus of the modern organ is distantly descended from the
medieval Blockwerk. Perhaps related to the early medieval practice of
sung organum, a melody sung in parallel fourths or fifths, perhaps
because of an intuitive understanding of the rudiments of harmonics, the
Blockwerk chorus might include ranks pitched at the fifth as well as
unisons and octaves. As the scale ascended and it became more difficult to
make small pipes for the higher-pitched ranks, these might break back to
lower pitches duplicating other ranks. The various pipes at different
pitches reinforced the natural harmonic structure of the unison: the
complex interplay of harmonic corroboration between pipes harmon-
ically related to one another is one of the most characteristic features of
organ sound.
Once the development of soundboard mechanisms allowed the
Blockwerk to be split up into individual ranks, these would each represent
a particular pitch: unison, octave, octave quint, superoctave etc.
Remaining high partials might be grouped together as a Mixture stop,
each key playing a cluster of small pipes. In a modern organ each rank is
identified by a characteristic name and by the length in feet of the speak-
ing part of the longest pipe in the rank, indicating its pitch. Unison pitch
on the modern keyboard, with C as its lowest note, is described as 8′ pitch,
27 Organ construction

and this standard is almost universal today, though other pitches were
once current and are important to the earlier English organ. Note that a
second pipe twice as long as the first will have a frequency half that of the
first, sounding exactly an octave lower; thus the use of length to identify
pitch is easy to understand at a glance. A simple organ chorus might
consist of:
Principal 8′ Unison⫽first partial
Octave 4′ One octave higher⫽second partial
Quint 232 ′ One octave and a fifth higher⫽third partial
Superoctave 2′ Two octaves higher⫽fourth partial
Mixture IV Four pipes per note, various harmonics

The Mixture, following the pattern of the early Blockwerk, will emphasise
high harmonics at the low end of the keyboard; as the notes ascend these
may break back successively to lower harmonics, duplicating the other
pitches. A scheme for the four-rank mixture shown above might be:
C–B 12 notes 113 ′ 1′ 2
3′
1
2′
c–b 12 notes 2′ 113 ′ 1′ 2
3′
c1–b1 12 notes 223 ′ 2′ 131 ′ 1′
c2–b2 12 notes 4′ 223 ′ 2′ 131 ′
c2–top note 8′ 4′ 223 ′ 2′

As well as unisons and quints it is also possible to introduce third-sound

ranks or tierces, representing the fifth harmonic in the series. Sub-unisons
are also common. Other more remote harmonics, especially the seventh
and ninth partials, have been explored in the twentieth century.
During the middle ages considerable effort was expended on develop-
ing new pipe forms to answer the demand for variety of timbre. Pipes
might be made tapered rather than cylindrical. It was found that by stop-
ping the end of a pipe it could be made to sound an octave lower than an
open pipe of the same length, with a change in the tone (we now know
that the harmonic structure of a single stopped pipe includes only the
odd-numbered partials). The use of different alloys or even of wood
further varied the possibilities.
To these flue pipes, whether open or stopped, were added reed pipes
(Figure 2.5), in which a brass tongue vibrating against an opening in
a tube (the shallot) generates the sound, amplified and controlled by a
resonator.
The extensive variety of pipe forms thus produced (Figure 2.6)
required a vast repertoire of names, some practical, some fanciful. Many
are descriptive of a supposed comparison to another instrument: thus
amongst the flue stops we find various kinds of flute; amongst the reeds
Trumpet, Bassoon or Fagott, Oboe and Krummhorn, and even the Vox
28 Stephen Bicknell

Figure 2.5 A typical reed pipe of the Trumpet

family. Left: general view with the boot
removed; right: section through boot, block
and base of resonator showing shallot, tongue
and tuning wire in position.

humana. Other names are descriptive of form – the Chimney Flute or

Rohrflöte has indeed got a chimney on each pipe; some are evocative
(Tuba mirabilis, Voix célestes); others esoteric (Terpodion, Zauberflöte);
some mysterious (Vox Candida; Omphiangelon). Nomenclature has no
recognised limits, and beyond identifying the characteristic traditions of
each organ-building nation there is little in the way of taxonomic science
at work.
The precise manufacturing dimensions of the pipes may be varied
almost infinitely, and the art of determining details of form, construction
and especially diameter of pipes from bass to treble, or from one rank to
another, is known as scaling. This has always required a degree of
appreciation of mathematics, even at a time when literacy itself was not
taken for granted.
The organ builder has a free hand in deciding what stops or ranks of
pipes to provide in an organ. He may draw up a list of stops or
specification that reflects current fashion, the intended use of the organ
he is building and his own artistic intentions.
When the pipes are put into the organ, they are voiced: the exact tone
and speech of each must be adjusted and balanced with the rest of the
organ. The scaling of the pipes will determine certain broad features of
the sound – for example the diameters of the pipes, the width of the
mouths compared to the diameters, and so on. Pipes of a large relative
diameter will give a broader sound and/or greater power; pipes of a
smaller diameter will be keener in sound and/or softer. Decisions about
29 Organ construction

Figure 2.6 Various forms of organ pipe. All the pipes shown play c1 (middle c) – the length, in feet,
given after the name of an organ stop indicates the nominal length at the lowest note on the
keyboard, C.

wind-pressure, the layout of the pipes in the organ and the position of the
organ in the building will also have a significant impact. The process of
voicing allows considerable further leeway in determining the finished
sound, as well as adding a final polish to the instrument. As pipe metal is
soft and can easily be bent or cut with a knife, adjustments are physically
quite easy to make, though requiring great skill of hand, eye and ear. The
precise height to which the mouth of a flue pipe is cut in relation to the
width is a vital factor – the cut-up. The vast repertoire of voicing tech-
niques includes manipulation of the upper and lower lips, the languid
and the foot-hole, chamfering the upper lip, nicking the languid and/or
lower lip, introducing slots of various dimensions near the top of the
pipe, and so on. All these techniques are for flue pipes: reeds have their
own extensive battery of voicing methods, much attention being lavished
on the proportions and shape of the shallot and the exact thickness, hard-
ness and curvature of the brass tongue, as well as on the form, scale and
length of the resonator.
As the voicing progresses the pipes will be brought gradually nearer to
their final pitch, until they are finely tuned. At its simplest, pipes are
flattened by making them longer, sharpened by making them shorter.
This may also be achieved on smaller open pipes by hitting them with a
30 Stephen Bicknell

brass cone: flaring the end of the pipe sharpens; closing the end of the pipe
flattens. Tuning may also be achieved with flaps, caps, cylindrical tuning
slides and slots. Stopped pipes are tuned by moving the stopper or by
shading the mouth with soft metal ears. Reeds are tuned at the tuning
spring on the tongue, though the exact length of the resonator is also
important in securing the right pitch and tone, and some resonators are
equipped with some form of regulation.
In a large organ of several thousand pipes it will be appreciated that
the possibilities afforded by the design of the organ and its specification,
its layout and construction, and the materials, scaling and voicing of the
pipes are almost endless. From this bottomless store of variety and inven-
tion arises the fact that no two organs are remotely similar to each other.
The organ builder creates a completely individual and new musical
instrument at every attempt. Herein lies the enduring fascination of the
organ and the special importance of its history.
 3 The physics of the organ
John Mainstone

Introduction
The ancient Greek philosopher Zeno of Citium (c335–263 BC) tells us
that the reason we have two ears and only one mouth is so that we may
hear more and speak less. We could dismiss this utterance from the
founder of the Stoics in Athens as mere wishful thinking on the part of
one who argued that the elements of physics and logic must serve the
element of ethics; we might even declare it to be rubbish! Paradoxically,
there are some grains of truth in his statement. Two ears do hear more
than one; we experience binaural summation. At least for moderate inten-
sities, a sound heard in two ears at once does seem to be about twice as
loud as the same sound heard in one ear only. Our hearing system must
obviously be ‘wired’ differently from our seeing system – closing one eye
does not change the brightness of the scene in front of us. Nevertheless,
binaural summation really has little to do with the main purpose of the
two-eared system we have inherited.
We have two ears so that we may hear more, but in the late twentieth
century AD the word ‘more’ has to be interpreted in a subtle way. Our ears
allow us to use, quite unconsciously, very small time differences (and, at
high frequencies, intensity differences) associated with the binaural
reception of sound, for location and discrimination within a complex
acoustic environment. A solo violin or clarinet represents a localised
source of sound for the listener, who is able to recognise the particular
type of instrument through its tone quality or timbre. The whole orches-
tra acts as a distributed source, with a number of different mechanisms
(bowing, striking, blowing and so on) contributing to the production of
the total sound output. Each mechanism tends to have a characteristic
initial transient, which assists the ear–brain system in its identification of
the source.
The organ must also be regarded as a distributed source, even if the
pipes are confined to one organ case, but the basic mechanism for sound
production is the same throughout the instrument – blowing. The array
of open and stopped pipes, some metal and some made of wood, which
constitutes the organ is able to produce sounds possessing a very impres-
[31] sive range of timbre. Our ear–brain system allows us to make a distinction
32 John Mainstone

between the sound from flue pipes and reed pipes, and within the flue-
pipe family between diapason, flute and so-called string pipes.
Over the years many different materials have been tried in the
construction of organ pipes. It has been found that what is of prime
importance is high mechanical rigidity of the pipe walls, resulting in neg-
ligible sound radiation from them when the pipe speaks; the material
itself has only a minor effect on the tone quality of the pipe. Such rigid
pipe walls will also produce minimal disturbance to the acoustic standing
wave pattern in the pipe, which is integral to the pipe excitation. A rectan-
gular pipe constructed from thin metal will generally not satisfy this
criterion, even though a cylindrical pipe made of the same material does
so. For rectangular pipes the organ builder uses thick wooden walls, of
well-seasoned timber. The tin-lead alloys sometimes known as ‘organ
metal’ (having a range of about 30–90 per cent tin) which are used for
most metal pipes have to be malleable enough to allow easy nicking when
voicing is being carried out, yet hard enough not to collapse when the pipe
is placed in a vertical position, unsupported except at the foot.
If tone quality is not determined to any great extent by the pipe
material itself, we must look to other physical parameters for explana-
tions. A set of pipes corresponding to the compass of the organ keyboard,
containing a range from relatively long and large-diameter pipes down to
very narrow short pipes can be made to exhibit a uniform tone quality.
This assemblage is known as a rank, the organ having diapason or princi-
pal ranks as its tonal foundation. Another rank, with different tone
quality, might have much narrower pipes throughout (giving string tone)
or a set of broader pipes with narrow mouths and softly voiced, producing
a flute tone. Flute pipes may even be tapered towards the top, rather than
cylindrical. Yet other ranks which have varying forms of conical pipe
provide distinctive reed tones. Since the perceived timbre of an instru-
ment reflects the characteristic admixture of fundamental and partials
(overtones) present in the sound, the art of the organ builder must lie in
the achievement of the appropriate mix by judicious choice of such phys-
ical parameters as the pipe geometry, the wind pressure and the dimen-
sions of the mouth opening.
From the point of view of the basic physics, organ pipes are of two
kinds. The first is the flue pipe (Fig. 2.4), in which an air jet traversing the
mouth of the pipe drives the resonant modes associated with a cylindrical
tube (or one with a square, or even rectangular, cross-section). The
second is the reed pipe (Fig. 2.5), where a lightly damped metal reed is
tuned to the frequency of the note which is to be played, and a conical or
cylindrical tube acts as an essentially passive acoustic resonator (i.e. it
determines the loudness and tone quality).
33 The physics of the organ

It would be unwise to imagine that any treatment of the physics of the

organ could do more than suggest a rather basic framework for under-
standing a highly complex situation. The very presence of other pipes
within an organ case can have a significant effect on the sound produced
by a particular pipe or rank of pipes. It is not unknown for considerable
re-voicing of ‘interior’ ranks to be required after the installation of the
display pipes, particularly where, for instance, an 8′, 4′ and 2′ chorus is
involved. In addition, the acoustic radiation pattern for the sound coming
from an open pipe, having sources at both the mouth and the open end, is
quite different from that for the closed pipe, which has a single radiating
source at the mouth. The further the listener is away from the organ in a
reasonably ‘live’ acoustic environment, the more such subtleties in the
source will be masked by the response of the auditorium. A recording
made with microphones placed quite close to the pipes, however, may
well give the listener an impression of the organ which is markedly
different from that gained in situ.

Sound waves
Sound involves motion. For sound to travel through the air, air molecules
have to be set in motion. At room temperature these molecules are already
moving very energetically with an average speed comparable with that at
which sound travels in air. Yet the human ear can detect sound on the
threshold of hearing involving a molecular motion with a vibration
amplitude which matches typical atomic dimensions – less than 10
10 m.
A musical sound begins with a vibrating source which either directly
(as in the case of a drum) or indirectly (as in the violin) disturbs the adja-
cent air in a periodic manner, alternately compressing it and then allow-
ing it to expand again. The air molecules in proximity to the source,
having been set vibrating, are able to compress and then release the next
layer of molecules in the same periodic fashion, and so on. The result is a
wave which travels out from the source, able to transmit energy without
the need for any net transfer of matter. An individual particle simply
vibrates backwards and forwards in the direction of propagation of the
wave, which is therefore known as a longitudinal wave. Most of the waves
propagating in a stretched string, on the other hand, are transverse waves
because the individual particles oscillate in a plane perpendicular to the
direction of propagation of the wave itself.
A small parcel of air repetitively displaced by about as little as one hun-
dredth of a millimetre either side of its equilibrium position as the ‘com-
pressions’ and ‘rarefactions’ due to the sound wave affect it, would be
34 John Mainstone

associated with the loudest sound actually tolerated by the human ear. On
the threshold of audibility the amplitude of the oscillation is some one
million times less than this! It might seem strange, then, that we can hear
the ppp of the Swell strings, say, without an accompanying buzz or hiss in
our ears arising from the thermal motion of the air molecules as they dart
backwards and forwards and collide with one another. The answer lies in
the ordered nature of the molecular motion which is produced by the
musical tone, compared with the random, chaotic thermal motion – to
which our ear–brain system is, rather fortunately, not sensitive.
For a mechanical wave to propagate through a medium, that medium
must possess both inertia (mass) and elastic properties. In the case of the
longitudinal sound waves the basic elastic requirement is that the
medium be compressible. Air is certainly compressible, as we can easily
demonstrate through observation of phenomena encountered in every-
day life. Sound can also travel through water quite readily, implying that it
too is compressible to some extent. The same is true for solid materials
such as steel or rock.
A detailed knowledge of the inertial and elastic properties of the air,
and some facility with thermodynamics, enables the prediction that at a
temperature of 15°C sound should travel at a speed v340 m s
1, at sea
level; in fact this is in agreement with experiment. Specification of the
temperature turns out to be very important, for it is the dependence of the
speed of sound on the ambient temperature which ultimately leads to
significant tuning problems with organ pipes, since v turns out to be
directly proportional to 冑T, where T is the absolute or Kelvin temperature
(0°C273 K, and each °C step corresponds to 1 K). Over a range of tem-
perature from 0°C to 30°C the speed of sound in air would be expected to
rise from about 331 m s
1 to about 349 m s
1.
A wave is a periodic (in most cases) disturbance within a medium, or
along a boundary between two media, such that a snap-shot taken at a
particular instant would show the disposition of the wave in space and
hence allow determination of the wavelength ; monitoring of the time
variation of the disturbance at a particular location would enable the
period T (and hence frequency f, the reciprocal of the period) to be
found. The speed of the wave, its frequency, and its wavelength are related
through
v f ,

implying that over one period T the wave advances one wavelength .
When a longitudinal acoustic wave is produced by a single tone, its wave-
length is the spacing between successive compressions or successive
rarefactions (Figure 3.1).
35 The physics of the organ

Figure 3.1

The sound from a speaking pipe reaches the ear via a travelling wave,
but within the pipe itself the acoustic disturbance takes the form of a
‘standing’ wave. Such a standing wave can arise whenever a travelling
wave is reflected back on itself. For both open and stopped pipes this
reflection takes place at the upper end of the pipe, but clearly under quite
different conditions in the two cases, viz. from a rigid boundary in the
stopped pipe and a ‘free’ boundary in the open pipe.

Standing waves
Reflection from a rigid boundary
There cannot be any net movement of the air molecules in the direction
perpendicular to a completely rigid boundary when reflection of a wave
occurs. Any air particle motion due to the incident wave is exactly can-
celled, at all times, by that due to the reflected wave at this point on the
boundary, which thus becomes a particle displacement node. One quarter
of a wavelength (4 ) away from the rigid boundary the incident and
reflected waves reinforce one another to produce a particle displacement
antinode, the amplitude of the oscillation at this antinodal point being a
maximum at all times. At a distance of 2 from the boundary the
conditions again correspond to a displacement node, i.e. zero
disturbance at all times; a further 4 away, and another antinode position is
reached. A spatial pattern of regularly varying amplitude of particle
oscillation, marked by nodes (N) and antinodes (A) which are 4 apart,
is set up as the two waves propagating in opposite directions traverse
the medium. The net effect of the superposition of the travelling waves is
to produce a ‘standing’ wave with a structure NANANA . . . as distance
from the boundary increases. Within a stopped (i.e. one end closed)
organ pipe such standing waves may be set up.
36 John Mainstone

Reflection from a free boundary

Whilst reflection of a wave from a rigid boundary is easy to visualise, it is
perhaps a little harder to see why a ‘free’ boundary will also allow
reflection of a wave. Actually the wave has to be laterally constrained – as
in a pipe – if such free boundary reflection (from an open end) is to occur.
The ratio D/, where D is the pipe diameter, is crucial. For D the
waves essentially pass straight out of the end of the tube, suffering virtu-
ally no reflection at all. If D, the waves which actually emerge from
the open end are ‘diffracted’ over a wide angle, so that the propagation
conditions outside are greatly different from those inside the pipe.
Consequently most of the energy is reflected back into the pipe. It is clear
that the open end cannot impose much constraint on the particle motion
and so represents a particle displacement antinode, quite the opposite of
what occurs with a rigid boundary. The standing wave which ensues has a
similar spatial pattern to the closed-end case, with nodes and antinodes 
apart, but in the sequence ANANAN. . . .
In theory the pressure ‘amplitude’ at a closed end will be a maximum
(because the molecules influenced by the incident wave experience
maximum change of momentum during the wave reflection process) and
correspondingly at an open end it will be zero. In practice the pressure
node at an open end does not coincide with the physical boundary, but
instead lies just outside. This factor assumes quantitative significance
when related to the ‘end-correction’ for the open end of an open organ
pipe, and the analogous correction for the mouth of both the open and
the stopped pipe. The physical length of the pipe itself is not that used for
detailed calculations of its acoustical characteristics.
The requirement that there be an ordered pattern of nodes and anti-
nodes in both the open and the stopped organ pipe imposes major restric-
tions on the conditions under which each is able to resonate, and thus give
rise to a stable sound.

Resonant modes of a cylindrical tube

Cylindrical tube of length ᐉ open at both ends
A wave disturbance generated in a tube open at both ends will be reflected
from the ends, at which the conditions are those of a particle displace-
ment antinode (or pressure node). The simplest standing wave possible
under these constraints is one which has a single displacement node at the
mid-point, the pattern ANA occupying the whole length ᐉ. Since nodes
and antinodes are 4 apart, the antinodes at the open ends of the tube will
have to be 2 apart, requiring ᐉ  2 or   2ᐉ. The first known public
37 The physics of the organ

statement of this important relationship between the wavelength  of the

sound produced when such a tube is excited in its fundamental mode and
the length ᐉ of the tube was given somewhat tentatively by Newton in the
first edition of his Principia, published in 1687. It appears that Huygens
had probably come to the same conclusion about the   2ᐉ relationship
independently.
The pattern ANA, which we now recognise as corresponding to the
fundamental for the open tube, is not the only solution satisfying the
requirement of having an antinode at each end. For example, the pattern
ANANA should be equally acceptable, as also should ANANANA, and so
on. These patterns represent the resonant modes of the tube, whose fre-
quencies may be readily deduced:
1 v v
ANA 1 node ᐍ f1  
2  1 2艎
v v
ANANA 2 nodes ᐍ  2 f2  
2 艎
3 v v
ANANANA 3 nodes ᐍ3 f3 3
2 3 2艎
v v
ANANANANA 4 nodes ᐍ  24 f4  2
4 艎
The frequencies of these modes may be written as
f1 v/2ᐍ, f2 2v/2ᐍ, f3 3v/2ᐍ, f4 4v/2ᐍ, … fn nv/2ᐍ.

The frequencies of the overtones f2, f3, f4 … fn represent integral multiples

of f1, i.e. they are exact harmonics of the fundamental. Both the even har-
monic series (second, fourth, sixth . . .) and the odd harmonics (third,
fifth, seventh . . .) are included in the overall spectrum.

Cylindrical tube of length ᐍ closed at one end

A similar analysis, but taking into account the necessity for a particle dis-
placement node at the closed end and an antinode at the open end, leads
to patterns of the form AN, ANAN, ANANAN. . . . The fundamental mode
is characterised by the requirement that ᐍ  4 . The first overtone, with the
ANAN pattern, requires ᐍ  34 . Thus its wavelength is 4ᐍ/3, whereas that
of the fundamental is 4ᐍ. The corresponding frequencies are therefore in
the ratio 3:1, implying that the first overtone is the third harmonic of the
fundamental. In fact the even harmonics are entirely missing, and the fre-
quency spectrum consists of the fundamental and the odd harmonic
series only.
When the two tubes are compared it is clear that for the same length ᐍ,
the one which is open at both ends has a fundamental at the frequency
38 John Mainstone

f1 open v/2ᐍ which is twice that found when one end is closed,
f1 closed v/4ᐍ. The closed tube therefore sounds, in terms of pitch inter-
vals, one octave below the open tube of the same length. The latter is much
richer in harmonics, and the quality or timbre of the sound produced is
distinctly ‘brighter’.
In both open and closed tubes the wavelength  is determined by the
pipe length ᐍ, which is relatively insensitive to temperature change. The
frequency f which corresponds to that , however, increases quite appre-
ciably with increasing temperature because the speed of sound v is pro-
portional to 冑T. The result is a sharpening of the pitch as the temperature
rises, and a problem with the tuning of the flue pipe ranks relative to the
reeds.

Conical tubes
The behaviour of a conical tube with little or no truncation of the apex,
but in any case closed at the narrow end, matches very closely that of a
cylindrical tube of the same length open at both ends: all harmonics are
present. The half-wavelength conical resonators commonly used for
certain of the reed stops exploit this characteristic. As the truncation of
the apex becomes more severe, the harmonic nature of the overtones is
lost, but the higher frequency modes resemble the odd-harmonic struc-
ture of the ‘closed’ cylindrical tube.

Flue-pipe excitation
A representation of the mouth structure for a typical cylindrical metal
flue pipe is shown above in Figure 2.4. The mouth opening is cut into a
section of the pipe wall which has been flattened. An air jet flow is pro-
duced when air under pressure – typically 0.5 to 0.8 kPa – enters the foot
of the pipe and is forced to emerge from the flue slit, travelling in the
direction of the upper lip. The first real attempt to study the interaction
between this jet and the oscillating air column was made by Sir John
Herschel in 1830. Helmholtz and Rayleigh both tried to solve the problem
in a slightly more quantitative manner later in the nineteenth century;
they came to differing conclusions as to the precise mechanism of the
interaction. Their models are generally referred to as the ‘volume drive’
and the ‘momentum drive’ mechanisms respectively.
The Helmholtz argument is that if the jet is to contribute maximum
energy to the air column oscillation, the volume of flow into the pipe
39 The physics of the organ

represented by the jet input has to be a maximum. Entry of the jet into the
pipe has to occur at those times when the acoustic pressure is a maximum,
and the acoustic oscillatory flow is therefore zero. Rayleigh argued that
maximum energy transfer from jet to pipe should occur when the
acoustic pressure at the point of entry is zero, and hence the acoustic flow
is a maximum. The instants specified for greatest effectiveness of each of
these mechanisms are separated by one quarter of the oscillation period T
of the air column. A helpful analogy is that of the child’s swing, which may
be induced to oscillate with a constant amplitude by pushing in the right
direction when it is at an extremity (Helmholtz) or when moving at its
maximum speed at the bottom of the arc (Rayleigh). Modern laboratory
measurements indicate that the Helmholtz mechanism is predominant
under normal conditions, but that both mechanisms certainly play a part
when the whole range of pipe speaking conditions is examined.
In order to give it a high degree of stability, the jet flow is made deliber-
ately turbulent rather than laminar (streamline). During its passage
across the mouth, the jet broadens and also slows down. In fact the flow
velocity in its central plane has to be inversely proportional to the square
root of the distance from the flue slit. When the pipe is speaking steadily,
there will be a strong acoustic flow in and out of the mouth, with the result
that the jet is subjected to a strong transverse oscillatory motion. At the
flue slit itself the net transverse motion of the jet must obviously be zero at
all times. The only way in which this can happen is for an equal and oppo-
site motion to be imposed on the jet at the slit. This means that a dis-
turbance which is characterised by the acoustic frequency spectrum of
the flow in the mouth has to move up the jet once it has been initiated at
the slit. The result is a sinuous oscillation in the jet, which travels upwards
at around half the speed of the jet. That speed is not constant, because
there is deceleration. If energy is to be supplied to the air column to over-
come the losses due to the combined effects of viscosity, heat flow,
acoustic radiation and so on, the timing of the arrival of each pulse-like
burst inside the lip is crucial.
The sinuous oscillation grows in amplitude roughly exponentially as it
propagates along the jet, so long as its wavelength is considerably greater
than the width of the jet. This condition provides a natural selective filter,
ensuring that only the low frequency components in the original dis-
turbance reach the upper lip with a large amplitude. These components
then dominate the acoustic flow oscillations. The tip of the jet traverses
the lip (horizontally) with a simple harmonic motion corresponding to
the fundamental frequency of the pipe, unaffected by the contributions to
the acoustic flow in the mouth which are made by the higher-order
modes. This does not mean that the jet flow into the pipe is ‘sinusoidal’ at
40 John Mainstone

the fundamental frequency. The flow has a complex waveform, with flat
tops and bottoms due to its saturation whenever it is directed entirely
either inside or outside the pipe. This is just the condition for the wave-
form to be rich in harmonics of the fundamental. The fact remains,
however, that whereas the pipe is an active element in the generation of
the fundamental, it behaves essentially as a passive resonator for the
higher harmonics.
If the upper lip were to be placed exactly on the centre-line of the jet,
the even harmonics could easily be suppressed, leading to an undesirable
situation with an open pipe, which has a full set of harmonic resonances.
In practice, therefore, the jet is directed slightly outside the lip and the
open pipe is able to respond to a harmonically rich jet inflow under
normal speaking conditions, and to behave as a mode-locked system, thus
ensuring a steady output waveform.

Reed pipes
In an organ reed pipe, the reed itself is a thin flexible brass tongue which
closes against the shallot (see Figure 2.5 above). Tuning is accomplished
by varying the vibrating length of the tongue by means of a stiff wire
which presses it firmly against the shallot. In general the longer the
tongue, the lower the frequency. Air under pressure enters the foot of the
pipe and passes through the opening in the shallot, setting the reed-
tongue into its characteristic vibrational mode. The pipe, which may be
conical or cylindrical, acts as an essentially passive resonator in its role of
determining the loudness and timbre, since the sharply resonant reed is
hardly affected by the actual tuning of the pipe. A conical pipe which is
half a wavelength long supports all the harmonics generated by the reed,
and hence is the appropriate resonator for a Trumpet stop. The vibrating
reed has the effect of making the narrow end of the conical resonator
behave as if ‘closed’.

End-corrections and scaling

The effective length for a cylindrical open flue pipe of length L is
L1 L  e  m, where e is the end-correction for the open end and m is
that for the mouth of the pipe. At low frequencies e ⬃ 0.6 r, where r is the
radius of the pipe, but it decreases smoothly as the frequency increases.
For the higher-order modes of the pipe where the behaviour is largely that
of a passive resonant filter, e is less significant. The correction m is much
41 The physics of the organ

harder to quantify, but is generally rather larger than e (perhaps by as

much as five times) at the low frequency end. The net effect of the end-
corrections is to produce a significant sharpening of the upper resonances
of the pipe, which are thus de-tuned with respect to the fundamental. In
the case of the stopped pipe, m is the only end-correction to be applied.
An extension of these ideas leads to the conclusion that the ratio of
diameter to length for the pipes in a rank should be kept constant – they
should be geometrically similar. This implies doubling the radius of the
pipe every octave, or ‘doubling on the twelfth pipe’. In practice this is not
very satisfactory; the bass pipes need to be narrower, the treble pipes
wider, than this rule suggests. Organ builders have developed rules of
thumb to try to ensure reasonable tonal similarity across a whole rank. It
is interesting that when the physicist calculates the quality factor Q
expected for the various resonant modes of the pipe (a quantitative indi-
cator of the sharpness of the resonance, and hence of the relative ampli-
tude of response), typical modern scaling with doubling on about the
sixteenth pipe turns out to have fairly good theoretical justification. For
those who are a little sceptical, perhaps this is a case where our ears should
be allowed to make the final judgment.
For further reading see Campbell and Greated 1987, Coltman 1969,
Fletcher and Rossing 1991, Fletcher and Thwaites 1983, Mainstone 1992,
and Sumner 1973.
 4 Temperament and pitch
Christopher Kent

Temperament
It is not improbable that a high proportion of the readership of this book
will have accepted early in their musical education the principle of an
octave being divided into twelve semitones of equal size, implicit within
this being the notion of enharmonic notes and equal temperament
tuning. Yet the second half of the twentieth century has seen an increasing
preoccupation on the part of musicians with matters relating to height-
ened stylistic awareness in performance. Amongst players and makers of
keyboard instruments quests for ‘historically informed’ or ‘authentic’
performances include the issues of pitch and temperament. For the
organ, unlike the pianoforte, equal temperament tuning has been the
universal norm for barely a century, but the current desire for enlight-
ened performances of the pre-romantic repertoire has seen the
rehabilitation of historically appropriate systems of tuning. As the key-
board instrument with the widest repertoire, the organ also has the
richest heritage of historic instruments and artefacts. The issue of
temperament is therefore of considerable significance with regard to
restorations and for new instruments which seek to replicate historical
styles.
The scope of this chapter is such that it can only attempt to provide an
introduction to the concept and history of a very large and complex
subject. The plan is threefold: first, to consider the principles of tempera-
ment, secondly, to consider three historically important systems (equal
temperament, mean-tone temperaments, irregular temperaments), and
thirdly, to consider the subject chronologically in relation to the reper-
toire and modern performance conditions.
Much of the literature of temperament is mathematical and theoret-
ical, describing systems which may not have seen practical application. In
reality, gulfs existed between theory and practice, and many musicians
tuned, or expected instruments to be tuned, to match their own particular
requirements. It may therefore be risky, if not simplistic, to argue an
association between one composer or repertoire area and a particular
temperament. Although today’s electronic tuning aids and electrically
[42] driven winding systems make the exploration of different temperaments
43 Temperament and pitch

relatively easy, their subtleties may still be undermined by changes in tem-

perature and humidity.
The need for temperament arises from a physical property of the notes
of the harmonic series in which the cardinal consonances (i.e. the octave,
fifth and major third) are pure intervals. A comparative understanding of
different temperaments requires a convenient mathematical method of
measuring the sizes of intervals. This can be achieved either through
ratios, as employed by Pythagoras (fl. c570–540 BC) and Ptolemy, an
octave being 1:2 as represented by the doubling of the frequency (e.g.
a ⫽220 Hz and a1 ⫽ 440 Hz) and the diatonic scale thus:
C D E F G A B c
1 9/8 5/4 4/3 3/2 5/3 15/8 2

or, as is customary today, by measurements in cents, where an equally

tempered semitone⫽100 cents, as introduced by Ellis in his translation of
Helmholtz’s Sensations of Tone (1885).
Through experiments with a monochord it became evident to
Pythagoras that a cycle of twelve pure ascending fifths through seven
octaves (i.e. C–G–D–A–E–B–F
–C
–G
/A –E –B –F–C) would result in a
sharpwards ‘overshoot’ of almost a quarter of a semitone (23.46 cents).
This is commonly known as the ‘Comma of Pythagoras’. The practice of
temperament exists to assimilate this overshoot by making all or some
consonances slightly impure. For example, the system known as equal
temperament dictates a uniform flattening (‘tempering’) of each fifth by
1
12 of the Pythagorean comma (1.955 cents), as well as the tempering of
thirds and sixths. This latter necessity arises from the fact that a sequence
of three pure ascending thirds (e.g. C–E–G
–B
) falls flat of a pure octave
by an error of 41.06 cents, known the Lesser Diesis, whereas four pure
minor thirds descending (C–A–F
–D
–B
) are sharp of an octave by an
excess of 62.57 cents, known as the Greater Diesis. Equal temperament
enables all keys to be uniformly serviceable, all intervals except the octave
being slightly out of tune, but it fails to provide the contrasts in key char-
acter implicit in unequally tempered systems.
Equal temperament may have been advocated in theory by
Aristoxenus (c350 BC) and was first employed during the sixteenth
century by some players of fretted instruments such as the lute and viol.
Notwithstanding its endorsement by Zarlino (1588), the ageing
Frescobaldi (late 1630s) and Froberger, it met with differing responses
from organists, organ builders and theorists: it was advocated by
Mersenne (1637), it was held at arm’s length by some, and became a
subject of intense discourse among others.
The practice of mean-tone temperament stems from the ‘Syntonic
44 Christopher Kent

Comma’ or the ‘Comma of Didymus.’ Here, a sequence of four pure fifths

through two octaves and a pure major third (i.e. C–G–D–A–E⫽701.955
cents⫻4⫽2807.82 cents) results in a sharpwards overshoot when the
same interval is calculated over two octaves and a major third (i.e.
C–C–E ⫽ 1200 cents ⫻ 2 ⫹ 386.14 ⫽ 2786.314 cents). The difference
between them (i.e. 21.506 cents, only slightly smaller than the
Pythagorean Comma) is known as the Syntonic Comma. Some regular
systems of mean-tone temperament are designed to accommodate this
excess.
In quarter comma mean-tone, widely used in Europe during the six-
teenth and seventeenth centuries, eleven intervals of the cycle of fifths are
flattened (696.58 cents) by 14 of the Syntonic Comma, leaving a very sharp
(‘wolf ’ ) interval between G
and E  (737.64 cents). There are eight out of
twelve pure (or ‘just’) major thirds and the same number of minor sixths,
but augmented fourths and minor sevenths are consistently inaccurate.
The major keys of: C, D, F, G, A and B  and the minor keys of d, g, and a are
excellent. E , E, c, c
, e, f
and b are mediocre, but D , F
, A  and B, e , f, g

and b  are unusable. In fifth comma mean-tone eleven of the cycle of fifths
are flattened by 15 of the Syntonic Comma with the ‘wolf ’ also between G

and E ; only four keys are unusable (D , F
, A  and e ). It was used exten-
sively from the mid-seventeenth century in England (chamber organ at
Wollaton Hall; see Bicknell 1982) and in France, where it gave excellent
tunings in the keys stemming from the eight liturgical modes, viz. I (d), II
(g), III (a), IV (e), V (C), VI (F), VII (D), VIII (G), as in the Livres d’Orgue
of Jacques Boyvin (1649–1706). A sixth comma mean-tone temperament
associated with the organ builder Gottfried Silbermann (1683–1753) has
eleven fifths flattened by 16 of the Pythagorean Comma with a similar
‘wolf ’ in which the keys of D , F
, A  and e  are unusable. Table 4.1 gives a
comparative table of the key qualities in quarter, fifth and sixth comma
mean-tone systems.
Irregular temperaments contain pure and tempered intervals with the
errors of the Pythagorean and/or Syntonic commas being accommodated
by varying amounts. They give access to greater ranges of keys than
regular mean-tone systems. One of the most familiar is Werckmeister III
(Musicalische Temperatur, Frankfurt and Leipzig, 1691). Here, the
Pythagorean Comma is absorbed by flattening four fifths of the cycle:
C–G, G–D, D–A and B–F
, leaving the remaining eight pure. There are
also six pure minor sevenths and six pure major seconds. Five of the thirds
are purer than those of equal temperament. The keys of C, e, F, a and B  are
very good; d, E , e , G, g
, b  are better than in equal temperament; c
, D, E,
f, f
, A and b are inferior to equal temperament, and c, D  and F
are gener-
ally poor.
45 Temperament and pitch

Table 4.1
The key qualities of three systems of mean-tone tuning compared

In each equally tempered scale the errors total 49 cents if compared with
the measurements for the acoustically pure intervals. Thus the lowest
figures in the tables below (reckoned in each case from the tonic upwards),
drawn from the study by Padgham (1986), signify particularly good
intonation and the highest very poor intonation.

Temperament
1/4 comma 1/5 comma 1/6 comma
Key Major Minor Major Minor Major Minor

C 132 173 130 158 133 157

D 164 182 126 169 111 165

D 132 132 130 130 133 133

E 163 145 150 106 149 196

E 163 163 158 158 157 157

F 132 114 130 186 133 180

F
145 163 115 158 103 157

G 132 132 130 130 133 133

A 195 113 145 189 127 180

A 132 132 130 130 133 133

B 132 114 130 186 133 180

B 104 163 186 158 180 156

The suggestion that organs were tuned to the Pythagorean system

from the medieval period until the advent of mean-tone systems at the
end of the sixteenth century may be ill-founded (Padgham 1986: 93).
Pythagorean tuning (as codified by Arnaut de Zwolle, c1450) gives pure
octaves, fourths and fifths, whilst eight out of the twelve major thirds are
intolerably sharp, but Bartolomeo Ramos de Pareia (Musica practica,
Bologna, 1482) in relating tuning to compositional practice with lists of
‘good’ and ‘bad’ intervals (major and minor semitones, whole tones,
major and minor thirds) suggests a less severe system. Split keys were
applied at Lucca Cathedral, Italy (1484) for the major and minor semi-
tones (e.g. A /G
), and also to the da Prato organ (1475) at San Petronio,
Bologna, in 1528 (restored in 1982: [Adamoli et al.] 1982). By 1496,
Franchinus Gaffurius (Practica Musicae, Milan) noted that organists were
in the habit of slightly flattening fifths ‘by a very small and hidden and
somewhat uncertain quantity’ (Riemann 1898, trans. 1962: 282–90).
Arnolt Schlick (1511) described an ingenious hybrid method of
 46 Christopher Kent

Ex. 4.1 Sweelinck, Mixolydian Fantasia

(a)

(b)

(c)

tuning, apparently the first to encompass every note of the chromatic

scale, which entailed both the tempering of fifths (ten flattened and two
sharpened) and thirds (twelve sharpened). Barbour (1951) describes this
as an irregular temperament with aspects of both the equal and mean-
tone systems, and Lindley (1980) as ‘an artful variant of regular meantone
with major thirds slightly larger than pure’. Schlick was also pragmatic
enough to concede that some organists might prefer a less compromising
regular mean-tone system, such as those prescribed for the harpsichord
by Aaron (1523) and for the clavichord by Santa María (1565).
Quarter comma mean-tone was first codified mathematically, and
described as ‘un novo temperamento’ by Zarlino in 1571; in Germany it
was termed ‘Praetorianische Temperatur’ after the description by Michael
Praetorius in De organographia (1619). Some of its qualities can be appre-
ciated in the Mixolydian Fantasia (No. 8 in M. Seiffert’s edition) by
Sweelinck (1562–1621), as illustrated by Example 4.1. In (a) the major
third of the triad of G is perfect, but the fifth is flat by a quarter comma,
and there is inequality in the sizes of the semitones: C–C
is narrower than
C
–D; in (b) the predominantly pure minor sixths and almost pure major
sixths add lustre to Sweelinck’s sequences, and in (c) there are strong har-
monic contrasts, the purity of E and a versus the piquancy of the chord B.
47 Temperament and pitch

Praetorius in his Syntagma Musicum (1619) recommended the adding

of trills to camouflage such imperfections in intonation. Quarter comma
mean-tone, with its predominance of pure major thirds, is well suited to
cornet solos, sesquialtera mixtures or the Récit de Tierce. From 1682/3
until 1879 the Father Smith organ at the Temple Church, London, used by
John Stanley (1712–86) had split keys (E /D
and A /G
) to facilitate the
keys of E  and E.
Andreas Werckmeister (1645–1706), author of Orgel-Probe
(Frankfurt and Leipzig, 1681/1698), devised several irregular ‘well-tem-
pered’ systems permitting unrestricted access to all keys. The high pro-
portion of pure fifths (eight out of twelve) in his third system enhance
quint mixtures and mutations. Latterly it has been widely applied to new
instruments. A collection which relates well to this system is the
Hexachordum Apollinis (Nuremberg 1699) of Pachelbel (1653–1706)
where the key scheme employs its five purest keys (C, e, F, a and B ) and
others with distinctive characteristics (d, G, g, f and A ) as follows:

Aria Tonic Modulation

I d F
II e G
III F C
IV g B
V a C
VI f A

The re-tuning of Buxtehude’s two organs in the Marienkirche, Lübeck

in 1683, (over a period of thirty-six days) to a ‘new temperament’ of
Werckmeister (Snyder 1987: 84) has altered the perspective of tempera-
ment questions posed by some passages in his music (e.g. Praeludium in
F
minor BuxVW 146, bb. 49–90). Before this, the lack of holograph MSS
had prompted discussions as to whether copyists from central Germany
had transposed the music from the original keys that were purer in
‘Praetorianische Temperatur’ (see Beckmann 1987).
J. S. Bach lived at the time of the greatest plurality in tuning systems.
His contemporaries Johann Georg Neidhardt (c1685–1739, Kapellmeister
in Königsberg) and Georg Andreas Sorge (1703–78, organist in
Lobenstein) each advanced different methods of subtly nuanced unequal
temperament. They also advocated a range of systems, simple for rural
churches, increasingly sophisticated for municipal churches and of the
greatest finesse for courts. There is no evidence to suggest that Bach pre-
ferred any one particular system of temperament, nor is it ever likely that
any single scheme of tuning can be devised to address satisfactorily every
facet of his demanding harmonic and melodic language. Bach is believed
48 Christopher Kent

to have worked pragmatically; like most professional musicians of his age

he tuned by ear, rather than according to a mathematical system: ‘In
tuning harpsichords he knew how to temper so exactly and correctly that
all keys sounded handsome and agreeable’ (Mizler 1754: 172–3). There is
no reason to suspect that his mature requirements for the organ were any
different. Indeed, his writing for the instrument in some contexts may not
suggest the acceptance of any modulatory or chromatic limitations.
Neidhardt devised several good temperaments in which all keys are
serviceable. These, particularly his system of 1724 (Sectio Canonis
Harmonici, Königsberg 1724) in which only the key of E major is
indifferent though not unbearable, were approved of by Kuhnau, Bach’s
predecessor as Kantor at the Thomaskirche. Referring to Bach’s work with
the organ builder Zacharias Hildebrandt at the Wenzelkirche, Naumburg
(1743–6), Bach’s son-in-law, J. C. Altnikol wrote: ‘In tempering he follows
Neidhardt and one can modulate very well in all keys without presenting
the ear with anything repugnant – which for today’s taste in music is the
most beautiful’ (Dähnert 1962, p. 115; cited by Lindley 1985).
Although it may be tempting to consider the chromaticisms and
enharmonic pivot of bb. 32–9 of the Fantasia in G minor (BWV 542) as a
suggestion of equal temperament, these progressions, often revolving
around diminished sevenths (i.e. accumulations of minor thirds), can be
reasonably related to Werckmeister III (Williams 1984: 186, 191), where
five of the minor thirds are as in equal temperament, and all but one of the
remainder are slightly flatter. The chromaticisms of the Kleines harmonis-
ches Labyrinth (BWV 591), although scarcely attributable to Bach
(Williams 1980: 281–2), are a measure of the fascination that unrestricted
temperaments held for his contemporaries and successors. Table 4.2 com-
pares the key qualities of Werckmeister III and Neidhardt (1724).
The challenge of Bach’s style has motivated several recent researchers
to evolve their own ‘well tempered’ systems. One such example, by Mark
Lindley, is applied to the organ by Goetze & Gwynne at St Helen
Bishopsgate, London (1995).
In eighteenth-century France, the two Tempérament Ordinaire
tunings were derived from the quarter and sixth comma mean-tone
systems respectively. In the first system, as reconstructed by Mark Lindley,
there were probably six or seven flattened fifths, three or four pure fifths
and two or three sharp ones. The second system (Padgham 1986: 79–82)
gives excellent tunings for the keys of C, D, F, G and A and varying degrees
of piquancy elsewhere. E , F
, A  and B are uncomfortable, but B , c
, d, e
and a are better in quality than in equal temperament. The major and
minor thirds vary sharpwards and flatwards of the equal temperament
norms, and this gives subtle variety to tierce-based registrations.
49 Temperament and pitch

Table 4.2
The Key qualities of two unrestricted irregular temperaments compared

Werckmeister III Neidhardt 1724

Key Major Minor Major Minor

C 29 65 31 53

D 64 53 55 51

D 53 47 47 53

E 47 47 53 55

E 53 35 61 41

F 23 53 33 45

F
70 53 57 43

G 47 59 39 55

A 59 47 55 57

A 53 29 55 47

B 29 47 43 47
B 59 53 57 41

Although both Werckmeister (Musicalische Paradoxal-Discourse,

Quedlinburg 1707) and Neidhardt (Gäntzlich erschöpfte mathematische
Abteilungen . . . , Königsberg 1732) approved of equal temperament in
principle, they both preferred some variety in the tunings of major and
minor thirds. The system as promulgated by Barthold Fritz (Anweisung,
wie man Claviere, Clavecins, und Orgeln, nach einer mechanischen Art, in
allen zwölf Tönen gleich rein stimmen könne, vol. II, Leipzig 1756) was
approved by C. P. E. Bach (1762), who noted that equal temperament was
more widely applied to mid-eighteenth century German clavichords and
pianos than to organs. Further impetus to the spread of equal tempera-
ment followed with F. W. Marpurg (Versuch über die musikalische
Temperatur, Breslau 1776). Although it was initally welcomed by Rameau
(Génération harmonique, Paris 1737) on account of wider opportunities
for modulation, it was less readily accepted in France during the later
eighteenth century to the extent that the first organs of Cavaillé-Coll were
tuned unequally (c1840).
The major nineteenth-century organ composers of mainland Europe
were also pianists and their attidude to temperament was influenced by
the already established equal tuning of the latter instrument. Yet it is
interesting to note that Mendelssohn’s Three Preludes and Fugues Op. 37
50 Christopher Kent

(composed 1835–7 and dedicated to Thomas Attwood of St Paul’s

Cathedral, London) do not make excessive demands of an unequal tuning
system, whereas in the Six Sonatas Op. 65, particularly no. 1, there are
more testing harmonic progressions (Kent 1990: 31–3). With the major
organ works of Liszt and Franck – associated with the organs of Ladegast
at Merseburg Cathedral (1859–62) and Cavaillé-Coll at St Clothilde, Paris
(1859–60), respectively – equal temperament tuning is a prerequisite.
In England, equal temperament was also viewed cautiously and its
imperfections became a source of contention (Williams 1968: 60).
Experiments to allow the use of ‘extreme keys’ included an invention by
Robert Smith (Harmonics, or the Philosophy of Musical Sounds, London,
1759) where, instead of divided sharps, a system of stop levers either side
of the keyboard allowed the selection of separate pipes for the ‘demitones’
of C
/D , D
/E  and F
/G  etc. It is likely that Smith’s device was applied by
Parker to the organ of the Foundling Hospital Chapel (1769) and there is
a similar example in a chamber organ now in the Russell Collection at the
University of Edinburgh.
By 1800 Samuel Wesley (1766–1837) noted that the pressure for a
system which permitted the use of a greater number of keys had arisen
from the appearance of much German music, and in his Practical Tuner
for the Organ or Pianoforte (London 1819) Benjamin Flight Jun.
(1767–1847) observed two systems: ‘tuning by unequal temperament, is
used for Church Organs . . . Pianofortes and Organs, used for the Concert-
room, are tuned by equal temperament . . .’ In the same source Flight
described an unequal system very similar to quarter comma mean-tone
(Kent 1990: 33). However, further to Flight’s comment on the piano, it
should be noted that it was not until 1846 that Broadwoods of London
began to tune their instruments equally.
There was little general acceptance of equal temperament for organs
in England until after the Great Exhibition of 1851. Of the fourteen
organs displayed at this event only the instrument by Edmund Schulze
was tuned equally. Although Hopkins (Hopkins and Rimbault 1855:
140–57) described both the unequal and equal systems, he, along with
other disciples of German organs, advocated a change to the latter. The
advanced harmonic language of the repertoire of Town Hall organists
(transcriptions, and works with choir and orchestra), made this particu-
larly desirable. The first Gray & Davison organ tuned to equal tempera-
ment left their works in 1853, the same year in which William Hill
(1789–1870) used the system for the ‘Grand Organ’ erected in the Royal
Panopticon, Leicester Square. Joseph Walker (1802–70) followed in 1856,
but in 1863 Thomas Lewis (1833–1915) boldly claimed his organs to be
‘the only English instruments that are tuned with a mathematically just
51 Temperament and pitch

temperament’ (Musical Standard vol. 2, no. 31: 2 November 1863).

Apparent opposition came from the mature S. S. Wesley (1810–76), in
whose organ music there are some harmonically ambitious contexts that
may arguably be related to an irregular and unrestricted temperament.
Examples include the Prelude and Fugue in C
minor, Larghetto in F

minor, and bb. 57–65 and 85–8 of the Andante in F. A rare survival of such
a tuning exists at Frilsham, Berkshire (Bower 1995) in an organ of c1860
by George Maydwell Holdich (1816–96). It is similar to the third system of
J. P. Kirnberger (1721–83) in which the fifths C–G, G–D, D–A and A–E are
flattened and those for E–B, B–F
, D –A , D
–A
, remain pure (Bower
1995, and Padgham 1986: 68–9). However, it was typical of Wesley’s
contradictory personality to write passages in his early anthems (Horton
1993: xxvi-ii) which suggest that he may have been acquiescent towards
equal temperament, as in The Wilderness (bb. 122–7), composed in 1832
for the re-opening of the organ in Hereford Cathedral as rebuilt by J. C.
Bishop. (Yet it is known that at this time the instrument had not been
tuned to equal temperament.)
Henry Willis (1821–1901), according to S. S. Wesley, was initially
opposed to equal temperament, although he employed it by request at
Carlisle Cathedral in 1856. His organ at St George’s Hall, Liverpool was at
first tuned unequally at Wesley’s insistence, until W. T. Best’s desire for
equal temperament prevailed in 1867. The gradual adoption of equal
temperament caused English organ builders to question the continued
existence of tierce mixtures. William Hill compromised in his later instru-
ments by terminating the Tierce rank at g (Thistlethwaite 1990: 244, 405).
Although equal temperament had became common for new organs by the
1860s, the conversion of existing instruments was a slower process, the
organ at Wells Cathedral remaining in unequal tuning until 1895.
Today, the increasing availability of a choice of temperaments
demands judicious decisions of performers, particularly in relation to the
romantic and twentieth-century repertoires. In an era of authenticities it
may be as questionable to perform music conceived in terms of equal
temperament, such as works by Liszt, Hindemith, Messiaen or Reger, on
an instrument tuned to an eighteenth-century Italian temperament, as to
deny the pertinence of a stylistically appropriate tuning for music of
earlier periods.

Pitch
Although the evidence of history militates against the notion of any
degree of standardisation of organ pitch there have been periods of
52 Christopher Kent

greater stability than the past 150 years. For example, some pitch levels
dating from the early sixteenth century remained in use for up to 300
years. Much historical data has been gleaned from dimensional and calli-
graphic studies of organ pipes, as well as from written sources, in which
the publications of Alexander Ellis (1880) and Arthur Mendel (1968,
1978) remain seminal.
Arnolt Schlick (1511) gave two standards: one for an organ at F pitch,
where a1 has been estimated to have been in the range of 374–392 Hz, and
a second for a C organ at a1 ⫽510 Hz, pitched a fourth higher (or a fifth
lower) than the F organ. Instruments within the range of Schlick’s first
(low) pitch were built in France and Italy until the middle of the nine-
teenth century. For example, Dom Bédos de Celles in L’art du facteur
d’orgues (Paris 1766–78) establishes a1 at 376.5 Hz and the tuning fork
of the Versailles Chapel organ (1795), by Dallery & Clicquot, gives a1 as
390 Hz.
A century after Schlick, Praetorius (1619) mentions three pitches for
organs. First, he established a high pitch of medieval origin, giving the
example of the organ at Halberstadt Cathedral (1361/1495), which he
estimated to be a minor third higher than his second pitch. This was his
Cammer & Chor-Thon pitch (for concerted music, sacred or secular),
which he illustrated with an octave of organ pipes; the measurements of
these indicate a1 to have been 425 Hz at 15°C. This ‘standard’ pitch level
remained in use for up to 300 years, being used for Ruckers harpsichords,
and it is close to the tuning fork used by Handel in 1740 (a1 ⫽422.5 Hz). A
number of examples survive in English chamber organs of the eighteenth
century, including those by John Byfield at Finchcocks and Snetzler at
Kedleston Hall; both date from 1766 and are pitched at a1 ⫽425 Hz.
However, chamber organs built at the end of the eighteenth century show
a slight rise in pitch (Attingham Park, Samuel Green 1788, a1 ⫽ 433.9 Hz;
Oakes Park, England & Son 1790, a1 ⫽431 Hz).
The third organ pitch mentioned by Praetorius was a minor third
lower than his second (‘standard’) pitch. This low pitch (a1 ⫽c360 Hz)
was used in England for the 1611 Thomas Dallam organ at Worcester
Cathedral played by Thomas Tomkins. As it was a fourth lower than the
choir pitch (which was then a tone higher than Praetorius’s ‘standard’),
the discrepancy was overcome by organists transposing accompaniments
(up a fourth with a 5′ stop, or down a fifth with a 10′ stop), or by means of
transposing keyboards. Referring to the Worcester organ, Tomkins’s son,
Nathaniel, explained in a letter of 1665 that a 10′ Open Diapason which
sounded FF at choir pitch was played from the C key. This dual system of
‘quire pitch’ and ‘organ pitch’ existed in England throughout the sixteenth
century and continued into the 1660s, when new organs began to be built
53 Temperament and pitch

with the pitch of the keys corresponding to that of the pipes (Gwynn
1985).
The higher organ pitch described by Schlick continued to be used until
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Its co-existence with the lower
Cammer & Chor-Thon pitch required dual provision as in the Schnitger
organ at the Jacobikirche in Hamburg (1690–93). Here the entire instru-
ment was tuned to a1 ⫽ 490 except for a Gedackt stop for continuo pur-
poses which was a minor third lower at a1 ⫽411. There are also English
references to dual-pitch organs, as in the ‘anthem stop’ proposed for New
College, Oxford (1661), or the ‘one Recorder of tin unison to the voice’ at
York Minster (1634).
J. S. Bach was well accustomed to varying pitch levels. In his cantata
performances at Weimar, the strings tuned to the high organ pitch, and
the woodwinds transposed their parts. At the Thomaskirche, Leipzig it
was the organ that was treated as a transposing instrument. He had inher-
ited the arrangement established by Kuhnau in 1682, when the organ had
been tuned sharp of Cammer & Chor-Thon (but differently from the
Chorton pitch of the eighteenth century). This required Bach to continue
Kuhnau’s practice of transposing or writing some cantata organ parts one
tone lower than the sound required so that they matched the lower pitch
of the orchestra and harpsichord. The Schnitger organ that he played at
the Katharinenkirche, Hamburg in 1720 was tuned a minor third higher
(to high Chorton pitch) than the Silbermann instruments at Cammerton
pitch that he played in Dresden in 1725, 1731 and 1736. The organ at the
Marienkirche, Mühlhausen, rebuilt in 1738 by Johann Friedrich Wender,
which Bach had been asked to visit three years earlier, had what appears to
have been a transposing device, described as ‘two chamber couplers, one
for the large, and one for small chamber pitch throughout the entire
organ’. The new organ at Naumburg which Bach and Gottfried
Silbermann proved in 1746 was tuned to choir pitch.
In post-Restoration England, a conflict between low French and
higher German organ pitches was evident in the work of Renatus Harris
and Bernard Smith. Harris’s organ at St Andrew Undershaft, London
(1696) was tuned to a1 ⫽427.7 Hz, whereas Smith’s instrument at
Durham Cathedral (1684–5) was at a1 ⫽c474.1 Hz (Ellis 1880, cited by
Gwynn 1985: 70). An unaltered example of an organ at intermediate pitch
(a1 ⫽446.7 Hz), possibly of the late seventeenth century, exists at
Wollaton Hall (Bicknell 1982: 57). There are a number of cases in which
Smith’s pitches were subsequently lowered, particularly his organ at
Trinity College, Cambridge (1708), which was lowered to the pitch of an
Italian tuning fork (a1 ⫽395.2 Hz) in 1750. The sharpness of Smith’s
organ at St Paul’s Cathedral was noted in the English Musical Gazette in
54 Christopher Kent

January 1819: ‘It is a remarkable thing that all Schmidt’s instruments were
a quarter, and some even a half tone above pitch: this was so severely felt
by the wind instuments, at the performances of the Sons of the Clergy,
that they could not get near the pitch of the organ.’
The tendency for pitch to rise during the first half of the nineteenth
century was led by European opera houses, most notably La Scala, Milan,
where by 1856 it had exceeded a1 ⫽451 Hz. The most successful attempt at
moderation came with the French ‘Diapason Normal’ pitch of a1 ⫽435
Hz, legally enforced by the Government in 1859 (though in practice the
official tuning forks emerged at 435.5 Hz). In England, the organ of St
James’s Hall was re-tuned to this pitch for Barnby’s 1869 season of
Oratorio Concerts, but it was not until 1895, after much chaos and
contradiction between organ and orchestral pitches particularly at pro-
vincial festivals, that the Philharmonic Society formally endorsed
‘Diapason Normal’ as the ‘New Philharmonic Pitch’. Notwithstanding,
the conversion of organs was a slow process: even the instrument in the
Royal Albert Hall remained sharp of this standard until 1923, so in a per-
formance of Bach’s Mass in B minor in 1908 the organist H. A. L. Balfour
had to transpose his entire part (Scholes 1944: 406–9).‘Diapason Normal’
was generally adopted by organ builders for new instruments, as by
Norman & Beard at the Usher Hall, Edinburgh in 1912.
Although first proposed as an international standard pitch in Vienna
in 1885, the present-day norm of a1 ⫽440 Hz was not followed by the
British Standards Institution until 1938. In the period immediately fol-
lowing World War II many organs were raised to this new standard, as at
Gloucester Cathedral in 1947. In 1955 and 1975 it was re-confirmed by
the International Organisation for Standardisation, but as the century
draws to a close there has been a tendency for standard orchestral pitch to
rise again. Conversely, the requirements of early music ensembles playing
period instruments have led to new continuo organs being tuned to his-
torically correct pitches (e.g. a1 ⫽415).
It is now very rare for an historic organ to have retained its original
temperament or pitch; where either or both do survive, they are deserving
of scrupulous conservation.
 5 The organ case
Stephen Bicknell

The organ is unique amongst musical instruments in that it makes an

architectural contribution to the building in which it stands. This is not
solely on account of size: the layout and decoration of organ cases has
traditionally been a branch of architectural design with its own grammar
and traditions, but still allowing free interpretation according to chang-
ing fashions, local influences, and the skills of the designer and organ
builder.
The organ case has an effect on the sound of the organ, though this
may be difficult to define. For the neo-classical builders of the mid-twen-
tieth century the revival of the traditional organ case – with side walls,
back and roof – was an important argument in the ideology of organ
reform. The casework was believed to focus the sound, assist the blend of
the various ranks of pipes and project the sound into the room (usually
down the main axis of the building). There is still considerable debate as
to whether the organ case is essentially a passive structure, like a loud-
speaker cabinet, or whether it has an active role as a resonator, bringing it
more into line with other musical instruments where the body or sound-
board is vital in creating power and timbre.
In practice many variations are possible, and as with other factors in
the design and building of organs, success is not dependent on this
element alone. If one allows that good organs exist in many forms and
from many different periods, then one must acknowledge the success, on
their own terms, of organs built in less than ideal cases or indeed without
any case at all.
Indeed it seems that the early medieval organ had no case, the pipes
being exposed to view as in the classical hydraulis, though not enough
documentation survives to be certain. In 1286 the organ at Exeter
Cathedral in England was the object of the expenditure of 4 shillings ‘in
expensis circa organa claudenda’, and although it is not clear whether this
‘clothing’ of the instrument is truly a case or not, it is from this time
onwards that organ casework becomes an entity in its own right. The ear-
liest illustration of an organ case seems to be mid-fourteenth century (see
Jakob et al. 1991), and this is more or less contemporary with the earliest
surviving examples or fragments – the remains of positive organs from
[55] Sundre (1370) and Norrlanda (c1390) in Sweden (Kjersgaard 1987 and
56 Stephen Bicknell

1988), the organ case at Salamanca in Spain (variously dated from c1380
to c1500; de Graaf 1982), and the instrument usually described as the
oldest organ in the world at Sion in Switzerland, dating from c1435
(Figure 5.1).
Why did casework become a necessary and integrally important part
of the fully developed European organ tradition? The functional reasons
are obvious enough: an instrument as delicate as an organ needed to be
protected from interference, theft, the elements (not all churches had
glazed windows throughout), dust and vermin (rats and mice are fond of
bellows leather and will even gnaw their way through metal pipes when
circumstances are propitious). As part of this need for protection, so the
early organ also acquired doors which closed over the one remaining
open face – the front. From this it is obvious that preparing the organ for
use would have been something of a ceremony in its own right, not least
because it would have required someone learned in the art to sit at the
keys and others to pump the bellows.
As the use of music in the church is laden with symbolic meaning, so
the very presence of the organ can be used as part of the symbolic appara-
tus and it becomes essential to ask which particular symbols may have
been uppermost in the minds of those who commissioned these instru-
ments and of those who made and installed them.
The organ at Sion, in its original form (the row of tall wooden pipes at
the back is assumed to be a later addition), seems to have been typical. It is
largely symmetrical, with the pipes arranged in towers with intervening
flat compartments; the front itself is flat, with the pipes arranged in a tidy
and ordered form – not necessarily the chromatic order of the notes on
the keyboard. Decorative carving embellishes the case and carved shades
relieve the row of naked pipe tops. The case is surmounted not just with
carved decoration but in particular with crenellation. Finally it has a pair
of doors that can close over the front, on which can be painted appropri-
ate images. The same approach can be seen in other whole or part surviv-
ing instruments at Salamanca in Spain (fifteenth century?), at the
Cathedral in Zaragoza in Spain (1443), at Calatayud in Spain (c1480), at
San Petronio in Bologna, Italy (the gothic organ of c1480 partly hidden
inside a later stone case), in the portative illustrated by Schlick (1511) and
in representations of other organs now lost.
The crenellations or battlements are perhaps a clue to the iconography
being evoked. The organ case houses a ‘population’ of pipes, all different
from each other and quite individual in every respect, but all governed by
an overall precise order (the notes of the scale determining the length of
the pipes and the relative diameter scaling determining the quality of the
sound). This is a neat model of the medieval world view, and one is
57 The organ case

Figure 5.1 The organ on the west wall of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, Valère sur Sion,
Switzerland, generally regarded as the oldest playable organ in the world. The case and much
pipework date from c 1435 (though earlier dates have been mentioned); the present position and
the wood pipes projecting behind the organ are the result of later changes. The doors over the face
of a medieval organ are practical, keeping out dust and vermin and preventing accidental damage,
but also emphasise the instrument’s iconographic status – as would the doors of an altar-piece.
58 Stephen Bicknell

immediately struck by the idea of a parallel with the Augustinian notion

of the City of God or with the image of the Heavenly Jerusalem; hence,
perhaps, the battlements. The pipes are of course a representative
example of God’s creation on earth, all the more potent because their
order and manufacture is governed by the semi-magical properties of
mathematics and geometry. To the medieval mind there would have been
a profound symbolic link between this and concepts such as the music of
the spheres and the idea that through music fallen man may access, albeit
in a transitory way, the pure truth of heaven.
The image of the organ as a model of a city is surprisingly useful,
though it may seem at first to stretch a point. It helps explain the alterna-
tion of towers (or turrets) and flats (or walls); it gives an insight into how
the craftsman gave a notional order to the many pipes standing in their
house; it explains the application, in several languages, of terms normally
reserved for body parts to the pipes themselves – the mouth, the foot, the
lips, the tongue (languid) and so on. Indeed it helps to explain why some
medieval organs have faces painted on the pipe mouths. It also helps to
illustrate that there was a strong metaphysical vision of the organ and of
its role in worship.
The simple iconography explained here was to survive as the basis of
all organ case design right down to the present day: the alternation of
towers and flats has survived every change in architectural or decorative
fashion and is still the starting point for the design of an organ case many
hundreds of years later, long after the original symbolism has been
forgotten.
Part of the reason for this enduring pattern was sheer practicality. The
medieval organ was inevitably a simple functional structure. Dividing the
pipes symmetrically – involving the use of a rollerboard to transmit the
movement of the key action sideways – distributed weight evenly, made
the wind supply more consistent, and made the tuning easier (adjacent
pipes speaking adjacent semitones will rarely speak in good tune with
each other). The lower part of the organ was narrower than the part con-
taining the pipes, for much the same reasons that call for the same plan in
a timber-framed house. The overhang allows simple cantilevering of the
upper structure and therefore larger overall dimensions, and gives plenty
of room for access at ground level (Figure 5.2).
It was not long before the original plan, with all its forceful simplicity,
was developed in order to celebrate in a more down-to-earth way the joys
of decorative craftsmanship. To the modern mind the function of a
musical instrument may be its sound. With the organ this is not the case:
it is a total art object in which its size, scope, form, appearance, manufac-
ture, installation and use are all part of the creative experience. For much
59 The organ case

Figure 5.2 The organ at Oosthuizen in the Netherlands, built in 1530 by Jan van Covelen,
probably in association with his pupil Hendrik Niehoff. The work of these two builders marks the
emergence of the influential and innovative north Brabant school of organ building. This small
instrument (one manual from F, seven stops) is an impressively little-altered survivor from the
period, well-known for its powerful ringing chorus. The casework begins to bridge the gap
between the last of flamboyant Gothic and the opening of new Mannerism, a style that was
to have limitless potential in organ design.
60 Stephen Bicknell

of its life an organ is silent – and yet, through its appearance, it continues
to make a vital contribution to the building in which it stands.
By the late medieval period, the flat-faced towers had begun to form
groups; these were now often semi-circular or pointed in plan; battle-
ments were joined by pinnacles or even carved cresting, both abstract and
figurative; pipeshades lost their architectural quality and joined the riot
of decoration (Figure 5.3). With all this celebration going on, the line
drawn by the pipe mouths changed from straight (in early instruments)
to contrary: as if imitating the rules of musical counterpoint the lowest
pipes in a particular group usually have the shortest feet, and the higher
pipes the longest.
With the coming of the renaissance the craft of organ building began
to separate into its various national schools, most immediately obvious
(from the point of view of case design and layout) in Italy.
For the Italian renaissance designer the ‘building’ housing the organ
pipes mutated into a Roman triumphal arch – the connection with the
former iconography being maintained in a new guise. Once established,
this ‘arch’ pattern of case was to last, unchanged in principle, for the entire
duration of the native Italian school of organ building (Figure 5.4). The
instruments themselves never grew very big, and classical architecture
and design ruled Italian taste in organ cases from the fifteenth century
until modern times.
Meanwhile in northern Europe, particularly in an area centred round
Hamburg (but with tendrils reaching as far as Poland in the North and
Bohemia in the South), the development of a sophisticated and colourful
style of organ building and the construction of many large instruments
led to a style of organ case in which rigorous logic is applied to form, func-
tion and embellishment. A twentieth-century term describes organs of
this type – the Werkprinzip (work-principle; explained below).
Once the idea of having an instrument of more than one manual was
established, it was natural that some kind of visual and structural order
should be sought for the various components. The relationship of one
manual division to another was clear enough when the first positive organ
was placed behind the back of a player seated at a larger fixed instrument.
The organist could now turn round and play the ‘baby’ organ for contrast
in pitch, placement and thus tone; from this developed the Rückpositiv.
An organ further enlarged to include large trompes (bass pipes from
which the pedal organ is ultimately derived) would display them as separ-
ate towers to right and left, with their own structure (Figure 5.5). Another
small instrument, effectively a regal, might also be at the early player’s
command: from this developed a tiny division, with its own keyboard,
placed behind or immediately above the music desk: the Brustwerk. In a
61 The organ case

Figure 5.3 Organ case from St Nicolaas Utrecht, now in the Koorkerk, Middleburg (Netherlands).
The main case was built in 1479–80 by Peter Gerritsz to house an instrument of the Blockwerk type
(the chest survives). The smaller Rugwerk case was added in 1580, and shows a developing interest
in casework elaborated in plan as well as in elevation, moving away from the castellated ‘houses’ of
earlier instruments.
62 Stephen Bicknell

Figure 5.4 By the end of the middle ages the Italian organ was developing along lines different
from the rest of Europe. This example at Santa Maria della Scala in Siena in about 1515, was built
by a team of local craftsmen of which the organ builder was only one member. The classical case, in
the form of a triumphal arch, had already become the standard form for Italian organs, and would
remain so until modern times. The instruments, usually of one-manual only, were intended for a
particular role in the celebration of the mass rather than for any ostentatious musical display, and
remained modest in size.
63 The organ case

Figure 5.5 The west-end organ of the Jakobikirche, Lübeck, Germany, as it existed prior to
destruction by bombing during the second world war. Typical of ostentatious instruments in the
prosperous cities on the coast of northern Europe, it also demonstrates the development of the
Werkprinzip ideal during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The flat-fronted main case
(Hauptwerk) was built to house an organ of 1504; the more florid Rückpositiv dates from 1637, and
the detached and separated pedal towers from 1673.
64 Stephen Bicknell

very large instrument the main Werk or Hauptwerk might have been split
into two chests, lower and upper: the upper one became the Oberwerk
(Figure 5.6).
Different combinations of these various Werke were possible: a two-
manual and pedal organ might have Hauptwerk, Rückpositiv and Pedal or
Hauptwerk, Brustwerk and Pedal, and so on with larger instruments.
Because of the different sizes of the departments they naturally differed in
pitch (or at least in pitch emphasis) from each other. A typical (but by no
means universal) convention is to have the Pedal an octave lower than the
Hauptwerk (therefore with front pipes twice as long), the Rückpositiv an
octave higher (with front pipes half as long) and the diminutive
Brustwerk an octave higher still (usually with the delicate Schnarrwerk of
regal stops at the front where the pipes could be tuned easily – and often).
However, this octave differentiation, though customary, is not a strict rule
and there are many variations, especially in later examples from the eight-
eenth century.
The development of the Werkprinzip organ reached its peak in the
work of Arp Schnitger (1648–1719); the cases of his organs are repre-
sentative of the fully-developed Hamburg school (see Figure 15.1, p. 220).
Schnitger’s art reflected the rise of the independent Friesian middle-
classes, and many of them stand in churches built with farmers’ money.
The Schnitger organ is not ‘high’ academic art: it is an extremely rich and
sophisticated flowering of a folk art that had gained intellectual approval.
His cases are exuberant and bucolic; the instruments themselves had
popular appeal and the music making of the period must have made
church worship almost irresistibly entertaining, as well as uplifting.
In surrounding areas there were variations on the theme. In the north-
ern Low Countries the Hauptwerk (Dutch Hoofdwerk) and Pedal were
more likely to be built in a single block, and organ builders were more
likely to work with others on the case design (Schnitger seems to have
designed almost all his cases himself). Whilst organs round Hamburg
kept their gothic form intact (even though mouldings and carvings fol-
lowed classical taste from the early seventeenth century onwards), further
south organ cases began to incorporate more formal arrangements of
pillars, entablatures and pediments – though keeping the arrangement of
pipes in towers and flats and stopping short of the fully classical inter-
pretation introduced by the Italians. In Catholic areas the dry
intellectuality of the Werkprinzip was not followed with such precision;
attached pedal towers are common and the Rückpositiv – where it appears
– is often tiny.
In the Iberian states that make up modern Spain and Portugal the
organ did not become the complex multi-keyboard instrument common
65 The organ case

Figure 5.6 The case of the organ in the Marienkirche, Stralsund, Germany, built by F. Stellwagen
in 1659. Though predating the work of Arp Schnitger, this is already a fully developed and
exceptionally large Werkprinzip organ, with the various departments, Hauptwerk,
Rückpositiv, Oberwerk and pedal, clearly identifiable in the complex mannerist design.

further north (perhaps partly because of a comparative shortage of good

timber from which to make numbers of large soundboards for each
department). Iberian organ casework tended therefore to remain as a
single unit without pedal towers and with only the occasional Rückpositiv
(Cadireta). The decorative scheme of these instruments, in keeping with
66 Stephen Bicknell

progress in the architecture of the churches where they stood, moved in

orderly progression from the gothic, through the renaissance, to the spec-
tacular and mannerist local version of baroque classical taste known as
churrigueresque. Spanish and Portuguese organs sometimes stand in pairs
on either side of the choir, occupying the arches dividing the chancel from
the aisles. They therefore have to be shallow and are usually flat in overall
plan. Apart from the usual projecting towers, some three dimensional
interest is provided by the provision of batteries of horizontal reed pipes
(the trompeteria) from about the end of the seventeenth century onwards
(Figure 5.7).
The full flowering of the French classical school of organ building took
place in the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In its mature form
the French organ consisted of two large departments, the Grand Orgue
and Positif de Dos (Rückpositiv); other manual divisions and the pedal
organ were subsidiary. The French organ case is usually simple in overall
form, having a large single-storey main case with the Positif in front
(Figure 5.8). A typical French arrangement for the main case is to have five
towers with four flats between, but there are variations including seven-
and even nine-tower cases.
Prolonged religious and political upheavals in the British Isles pre-
vented any coherent and long-lasting school of organ building from
emerging until after the Civil War and Commonwealth of 1642–60. Even
then, the English organ remained a small instrument until the nineteenth
century. Perhaps the most individual feature of the English case is the
application of high-quality cabinet making and the wide use of
mahogany in the second half of the eighteenth century. The best examples
have the exquisite quality of fine furniture, but executed on a grander
scale (Figure 5.9).
In a general essay it is not possible to concentrate on the special fea-
tures of individual instruments, though some useful comments will be
found in the captions accompanying the illustrations in this volume. It is
perhaps worth drawing attention to the best-known of all classical organ
cases, that gracing the four-manual Christian Müller organ of 1735–8 in
the Bavokerk, Haarlem in the Netherlands (Figure 5.10).
This is an immensely complex and sophisticated structure; it is also
huge in scale, well over 20 metres tall (the largest pipes on display form the
bass of a 32′ pedal stop). It was designed by Müller, working with
Hendrick de Werff (the town architect), the painter Hendrick van
Limborch and the carvers Jan van Logteren and Jan Baptist Xaverij
(Wilson 1979: 29). The basic form of the case is still traditional, with
alternating towers and flats reminding the viewer of the gothic origins of
the organ. The execution is in opulent baroque taste and it is immediately
67 The organ case

Figure 5.7 The Epistle organ in the Cathedral of Segovia, Spain, built in 1702. In 1772 it was
joined by an identically cased Gospel organ opposite, an arrangement typical of larger Iberian
churches. By the beginning of the eighteenth century the extraordinary trompeteria had also
become a standard feature: batteries of horizontally mounted trumpet (and regal) stops providing
spectacular aural and visual effects backed up by lavish baroque detailing in the casework. The
highly inventive and elaborate design typical of Iberian baroque was matched in the organs
themselves, which placed strong emphasis on solo and echo effects. Stops are usually divided to
operate in the treble or bass only. Manual departments are divided up amongst numbers of small
soundboards and sub-soundboards, linked by tubes: a method well suited to the hot southern
climate.

apparent that a strict mathematical system of proportion has been used to

lay out the whole, as in all good classical architecture. The result is as near
perfect as can be: balance, order and harmony are handled with truly
remarkable skill. The function of the various parts is immediately appar-
ent, for this is an instrument still more or less in the Werkprinzip tradition
of northern Europe. The Hoofdwerk stands in the centre, with the
Bovenwerk above and the pedal divided in great towers on either side. The
Rugwerk stands on the gallery front, concealing the organist (whose role is
surely regarded as quite subsidiary to the music he makes).
It could be argued that the great Werkprinzip organ cases of the seven-
teenth and eighteenth centuries combine the structure of the medieval
craft of organ building with classical principles of design and decoration,
68 Stephen Bicknell

Figure 5.8 The organ in St Gervais, Paris, played by successive generations of the Couperin family,
including François Couperin le grand. The case, dating essentially from 1758–9, incorporates some
material from an earlier one of 1601.
69 The organ case

Figure 5.9 The organ in the church of St Mary, Rotherhithe (then a riverside village on the south-
east edge of London), built by John Byfield II in 1764-5. This modest three-manual instrument is
typical of those that proliferated in prosperous town churches in England during the eighteenth
century, built for the accompaniment of congregational psalm-singing and for the performance
of solo voluntaries. The exquisite cabinet-made mahogany casework and gilded front pipes are
typical of the period, as is an emphasis on sweet and refined tone.
70 Stephen Bicknell

Figure 5.10 The wealthy towns of the Low Countries vied with each other over the building
of large new organs in the eighteenth century, vigorously displaying wealth, civic pride and
craftsmanship of the highest order. The organ in the Bavokerk, Haarlem, the Netherlands,
was built by the immigrant German Christian Müller in 1735-8, and is justly one of the most
celebrated organs in the world. When new it was played on by the young Mozart. Despite some
alterations in twentieth-century neo-classical taste, it still draws visiting organists from all over
the world. The case, in which the traditional forms of towers and flats have been elaborated into a
quasi-classical structure of immense complexity and subtlety, was designed by Hendrik de Werff,
the town architect of Haarlem. It is painted deep red and heavily gilded, the front pipes being of
polished tin. The design is notable for its confident application of harmonic proportion and,
with pipes of 32′ speaking length in the façade, the total effect is one of unrivalled majesty.
71 The organ case

the two moulded and controlled by a strong sense of rhetoric – a science

which stood at the foundation of contemporary education and both
intellectual and artistic endeavour. The result is an astonishingly power-
ful and independent branch of architectural decoration, well worth
serious study in its own right. With the coming of baroque and rococo
styles in the eighteenth century there was the potential for greater
freedom, and in various places this was exercised to the full.
The case of the organ built by Josef Gabler in 1737–50 for the
Benedictine Abbey at Weingarten in south Germany is astonishingly
different from that at Haarlem, though they are almost contemporary
(Figure 5.11). Here the vocabulary of classical design is treated with wild
exuberance and freedom, while still retaining the principles of balance
and harmony. The result, as far as the organ is concerned, is a riot of form
and decoration: this remains the most spectacular organ case ever made.
Full use is made of shapes as complex in plan as they are in elevation. The
ideas of the Werkprinzip have been stretched to the limit: the parts of the
organ are not just notionally separate from each other, they have actually
exploded to allow the insertion of no less than six windows between
different sections of the organ. There are two Rückpositive (one is a sec-
ondary Pedal section) and a diminutive Kronwerk high above the central
window. The whole instrument (and only a few pipes in the case are
dummies inserted for show) is played from a free-standing detached four-
manual console in the centre of the gallery, from where devious and
complex mechanical linkages spread out to the various independent
sections.
While the baroque and rococo cases of south Germany show a delight-
ful and quite untamed freedom of expression, in other countries the taste
for more elaborate and dynamic decoration was mostly accommodated
in organ cases of traditional layout and structure. Some of the best exam-
ples are to be found in France, standing as witness to the extravagant and
accomplished artistic standards that marked the heyday of the ancien
régime (Figure 5.12).
However, it was the advent of severe neo-classical taste at the end of the
eighteenth century that at last began to break down the traditional
appearance of the organ case and introduce some new and original forms.
When François-Henri Clicquot built an organ for St Sulpice in Paris
(completed in 1779), the case was designed by Jean-François Chalgrin
(better known as the architect of the Arc de Triomphe) (Wilson 1979:
58–9). Chalgrin’s case was no longer a composition of alternating towers
and flats, but a version of a classical temple in which curtains of pipes of
(apparently) identical length and diameter filled up the spaces between
the giant columns. This is perhaps the most extreme example – there seem
72 Stephen Bicknell

Figure 5.11 In Catholic south Germany and Austria Counter-Reformation and rococo came
together in some of the most astonishing organ designs ever created. Pre-eminent among them is
the celebrated organ in the Abbey at Weingarten, Germany, built by Joseph Gabler in 1737-50. The
organ is divided into sections round no less than six windows (the upper row of three visible here)
in casework appearing as a reef-like encrustation on the west wall of the building. All sections
function, including the two Rückpositive and the diminutive Kronwerk above the central window.
The tonal disposition is as lavish and experimental as is the case, incorporating pipes made of glass
and ivory and a number of entertaining musical toys, in addition to a tutti of Blockwerk-like scope
but interpreted with delightful baroque prettiness.
73 The organ case

Figure 5.12 The organ at the Cathedral of Poitiers, France, built by François-Henri Clicquot and
his sons and completed in 1790. This instrument, one of the last completed before the Revolution,
survives with few alterations and it exhibits the extraordinary richness and confidence of the
French school at its very best. The whole organ is voiced on a pressure rather higher than would
have been normal in other countries (here 125 mm water-gauge; 75–90 mm being more usual in
the eighteenth century). The voicing of the reed stops is especially notable (details were published
at the time of the organ’s completion) and the Grand Jeu is an effect of considerable splendour
and éclat.
74 Stephen Bicknell

to have been few other instances where an organ builder was persuaded to
build an instrument behind an almost impenetrable wall of polished tin.
However, the loss of the desire to show pipes in their natural order of
length and diameter was significant, and it is a trend that can be seen right
across the organ-building world.
While one might regret the decline of interest in an honest display of
functional front pipes of natural length, there are many very fine neo-
classical cases from the end of the eighteenth century and the first half of
the nineteenth century. The cabinet maker’s casework in England has
been mentioned; the serenely calm painted and gilded cases of Sweden are
also worthy of note. However, with the loss of an external expression of
the organ’s interior layout came a period of experiment and uncertainty.
Some organ cases tried hard to be in some way novel or just strictly archi-
tectural (i.e. actually looking like a building rather than merely symbol-
ising one); the result varies from the odd (Michaeliskirche, Hamburg, J.
G. Hildebrandt 1762–7) to the lumpen and ugly (Paulskirche, Frankfurt,
E. F. Walcker 1827–33: Figure 5.13).
The result of this period of change is most apparent in the cases devel-
oped in industrial Britain after 1850. While a few high-minded English
writers and architects continued to defend the traditional organ case – at
least in as much as it served to screen the mechanism and pipes in an
architecturally acceptable way – various commercial and artistic pres-
sures led most English organ builders to abandon the organ case alto-
gether. At the Great Exhibition held in London in 1851 the organ
exhibited by the firm of Gray & Davison (now in the church of St Anne
Limehouse in east London) had no woodwork surrounding the pipes
(Bicknell 1996: 244). Other builders soon followed this example.
There were different forces at work here. First, the commercial climate
of nineteenth-century organ building led inevitably to economies: the
British builders had to survive in an atmosphere of cut-throat competi-
tion. Secondly, the gothic revival led to some small organs being built with
no casework in the manner of the ancient portative; at some point the
idea seems to have been appropriated to large organs also. Thirdly, in
Britain there was no consistent tradition of building large organs, and the
architectural vocabulary for clothing them had to be invented. Fourthly,
in a country where industry was the life-blood of the economy the
machine-like aspects of the organ were enthusiastically encouraged: it
was natural to place the pipes on open display as they were the very com-
ponents that made an organ so remarkable. By the time Henry Willis built
his two great four-manual organs for the Royal Albert Hall and Alexandra
Palace in London (1871 and 1875) he not only left them with no upper
casework but also allowed the audience to see the inside pipes in their bare
75 The organ case

Figure 5.13 The German organ of the early nineteenth century was the first to exhibit both
romantic taste and a new scientifically informed approach to design and construction. Foremost
amongst the first generation of romantic builders was Eberhard Friederich Walcker. This
instrument, built for the Paulskirche in Frankfurt, Germany, in 1827–33, secured him an
international reputation. New rational principles, some derived from the theories of Abbé Vogler,
were extensively applied, even (presumably) affecting the design of the case. With no less than
seventy-four stops this instrument opened the possibility of building organs far larger than had
hitherto been possible, and by 1850 or so the magic figure of one hundred speaking stops was
within sight.

functional order through arches made in the façade for the purpose
(Bicknell 1996: 265, 267: Figure 5.14).
In the rest of the world the conventions of traditional casework held
sway for longer, but were gradually eroded by the rampant eclecticism of
nineteenth-century taste in design. There was certainly no connection
between the layout of the organ and its appearance, as there had been in
the past; the decline of the Rückpositiv as a separate cased division and the
increased use of manual divisions enclosed in swell-boxes (and therefore
having no pipes available for display) hastened the trend. Where tradi-
tional casework was still employed (as for instance in that designed by Dr
A. G. Hill for the Hill & Son organ of 1890 in Sydney Town Hall) it was
now solely as an architectural screen to the contents within.
From 1900 this was increasingly obvious in organs in the English-
speaking world, where the widespread custom of installing organs in
chambers (rather than as free-standing furniture) actually would have
made it impossible to construct conventional casework. In many
76 Stephen Bicknell

Figure 5.14 Henry Willis’s organ in the Alexandra Palace, London, completed in 1875. It replaced
an almost identical instrument which went up in flames within a few days of its opening in 1873.
This was one of London’s grandest concert organs, with eighty-seven stops, six pneumatic pistons
to each manual division, and a set of ventils in the French manner. The appearance was striking,
with a massive wooden base supporting 32′ pipes and a large central archway affording a view of
the Great pipework.

instances the visual component of the design consisted solely of arrang-

ing a curtain of front pipes in some kind of order. An organ by the
American builder Hilborne L. Roosevelt for the First Congregational
Church, Great Barrington (1883) illustrates the point (Figure 5.15).
With the start of a classical revival in the twentieth century came new
attitudes towards the appearance of the organ. Though instruments built
by proponents of organ reform were often classed as ‘neo-baroque’ or
77 The organ case

Figure 5.15 The organ built by Hilborne L. Roosevelt in 1883 for the First Congregational Church,
Great Barrington, Massachusetts, USA. The case was designed by the organ theorist and architect
George Ashdown Audsley; its decorated pipes on open display are typical of both British and
American organs in the second half of the nineteenth century. This instrument included one of the
first successful electro-pneumatic key actions, though the limited capacity of the batteries used for
the supply of current before the invention of the electric generator rendered that success
somewhat intermittent. Tonal influences on the American organ of the period were cosmopolitan,
but the basic layout and character owed much to origins as a colonial branch of the English school.
78 Stephen Bicknell

held to revive the artistic principles and character of a forgotten ‘golden

age’ in organ building, it should not be forgotten that the first stirrings of
revival are contemporary with the modern movement in design and
architecture and reflect many aspects of the then fashionable functional
approach.
This is most obvious in the work of the American builder Walter
Holtkamp, whose most characteristic instruments from the 1930s
onwards consisted of pipework entirely on open display (Figure 5.16),
even to the extent of having the large pipes at the back and the smaller
ranks of upperwork at the front (the exact opposite of traditional prac-
tice). When skilfully handled (and few builders other than Holtkamp
himself ever took the trouble to cast a designer’s eye over the effect of this
functional array) the result is striking, original and harmonious, though
the tonal disadvantages of having mixtures in such an exposed location
have arguably never quite been overcome.
In northern Europe the pioneering neo-classical builders (notably
Frobenius and Marcussen in Denmark and Flentrop in the Netherlands)
sought more detailed inspiration from instruments that conformed to
the Werkprinzip ideal (though in fact the term was itself coined in the
twentieth century). The decorative details of seventeenth- and eight-
eenth-century cases were not considered to be of much interest, but the
idea that the structure and appearance of the instrument should express
its design and layout in visual terms became an important plank of their
revolutionary argument. In this they were of course suggesting that form
should strictly follow function, complying with the principles established
by the Bauhaus and the new vanguard of designers and architects. For
Danish builders, coming from a country where modern design was an
everyday language understood by all, this was a natural path. Flentrop
(trained by Frobenius) found another appreciative market in the
Netherlands (Figure 5.17). By the 1950s and 60s the ideals were spreading
through Germany and onto the international stage.
The revival of casework as part of the new ‘classical’ organ brought
several perceived advantages. The organ was again protected from dust
and interference. The relatively mild low-pressure voicing of the pipes
could be heard to its best advantage enclosed in a cabinet with roof, walls
and back, which tends to suppress high frequencies and boost lower
ones.1 The various manual departments all stood at the front of the organ
where they could be seen and heard clearly; remotely placed divisions or
departments enclosed in swell boxes were falling out of favour again.
Where such designs were executed with care the results were as splen-
did as anything created in previous centuries, although the absence of
much in the way of decorative detail gives all good modern cases a Spartan
79 The organ case

Figure 5.16 The twentieth-century classical revival in North America was spearheaded by two
builders. G. Donald Harrison of the Aeolian-Skinner company drew from an eclectic inspiration.
The organs of Walter Holtkamp were at once more Germanic and more strictly modern. In this
instrument of 1950 at Crouse College Auditorium at the University of Syracuse the modern
movement inspiration for the functional display of pipework is clear, and this was a hallmark of
Holtkamp’s most typical work. The key action was electro-pneumatic, and in this the American
classical revival differed from its European equivalent, where mechanical action held sway. The
habit of arranging the pipes with the smallest to the front, a break with tradition, accentuated the
upperwork and mixture stops at the expense of the foundation, emphasising the anti-romantic
character of instruments so treated.
80 Stephen Bicknell

Figure 5.17 The success of the first wave of the twentieth-century classical revival in organ
building was largely due to the fine work of three builders: Marcussen and Frobenius in Denmark,
and Flentrop in the Netherlands. This instrument, at Doetinchem in the Netherlands, built by Dirk
Flentrop in 1952 illustrates well how the revived classical tradition was tempered by modern
movement principles. The case is in fact treated more decoratively than most at this time. The
underlying Werkprinzip layout is clearly visible, and indicates that this is a high-minded
instrument eschewing all romantic influence.
81 The organ case

and ascetic flavour – quite appropriate given the intellectual rigour and
evangelistic fervour of the proponents of the new style. In the writings of
Poul-Gerhard Andersen, a one-time employee of Marcussen and an expe-
rienced and successful case designer, one can see the importance of order,
balance and proportion (Andersen 1956). Careful study of these guiding
principles allowed adventurous designers to introduce some truly innov-
ative patterns of case design, and several remarkable asymmetrical cases
have been produced.
Sadly in the great majority of examples late twentieth-century organ
builders saw no need to provide anything other than a series of wooden
boxes of various shapes, starved of any guiding influence or decorative
theme that might have given order or beauty to the result. A disappoint-
ingly large number of neo-classical organs are completely without any
visual embellishment and in this they fall far short of the high ideals of the
period they were intended to emulate.
In an age when materials are cheap and labour expensive, decoration
of any kind is a luxury. Yet, in the second wave of organ revival, where a
much closer interest in the stylistic qualities of old organs is taken for
granted and where rigid adherence to modern movement ideals has been
pushed firmly into the background, it has again been possible for organ
builders to persuade their clients to pay for both the enclosing wooden
structure of an organ case and its accompanying mouldings and carving.
Nothing quite as opulent as Haarlem or Weingarten has been produced in
the twentieth century, but we are at least permitted to enjoy the elaborate
appearance of an organ as a feature in its own right. The next generation
of craftsmen may well be able to press for a full revival of the traditional
organ case and, as in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, indulge in
a joyful and exuberant architectural expression of their art.

Further reading
The principles of case design are discussed in a number of influential
modern texts of which the most accessible include Blanton 1957 and
1965, Andersen 1956/1969 and Klais 1990. A more historical approach
will be found in Hill 1883–91, Servières 1928 and Wilson 1979.
 6 Organ building today
Stephen Bicknell

Albert Schweitzer’s status as a guru of twentieth-century organ building

remains undiminished as the century draws to a close. The application of
his intellect to an obscure musical craft remains a surprise to those who
know him more as a philosopher, missionary and philanthropist. In fact
the study of Bach and the organ was the major preoccupation of his early
career and was a matter that he took as seriously as any other intellectual
endeavour.

The work and worry that fell to my lot through the practical interest I took
in organ-building made me wish that I had never troubled myself about it,
but if I did not give it up the reason is that the struggle for the good organ is
to me a part of the struggle for the truth. (Schweitzer 1931)

In this personal admission Schweitzer explains in the simplest possible

terms why the organ, dependent on the technology and craft techniques
of the middle ages and, at best, a complex and intractable means of
making music, remains of enduring interest in a later age where entirely
different technologies rule our daily lives (see Joy 1953: 186–213).
Twenty years ago – indeed perhaps at any time between 1930 and 1980
– it would have been obvious to explain Schweitzer’s mission in terms of
the classical revival: the Orgelbewegung or organ reform movement, built
round the rediscovery of early instruments and the corresponding reper-
toire. In fact, though Schweitzer deplored the heaviness and (as he saw it)
crudity of the average organ of c1900, he also had a message that links him
to Ruskin and William Morris. Underlying his use of the works of Bach as
a means to rediscovering the tonalities and balance taken for granted in
the pre-romantic era is a keen sense of disappointment at the fact that
organ building was ruled by commercial considerations. In fact, by 1900
the industrial ethos had invaded organ building to such an extent that the
machine-like qualities of new instruments were as much a matter of pride
and admiration as their artistic content. When Schweitzer visited the
Cavaillé-Coll workshop in Paris in 1914 he saw the vast four-manual
organ built for the Baron de l’Epée’s castle in Biarritz in 1898, temporarily
re-erected before delivery to the Basilica of Sacré-Coeur in Paris where it
still stands. Schweitzer pronounced it the ideal instrument for Bach,
[82] despite its avowedly Wagnerian resources. The reason perhaps is this: the
83 Organ building today

Cavaillé-Coll workshop, by then run by Charles Mutin and, until the First
World War, maintaining the standards established by the founder, was an
artisan workshop not a factory. The sixty or so staff employed gave a sense
of judicious artistry compared to the one hundred or more employees
milling round a German or English organ plant at the same period. The
materials remained luxurious, even extravagant, and each organ was
given a personal and individual stamp by the French tradition of employ-
ing noted voicer-finishers to carry out the great task of ‘harmonisation’ on
site. In England Schweitzer’s admiration was bestowed on the organs of
Harrison & Harrison: instruments of deeply late-romantic character
given a powerful artistic charge by the exquisitely detailed personal
finishing of Arthur Harrison.
In this context it becomes clear that an important part of Schweitzer’s
message was his insistence that only the highest artistic standards were
good enough for a musical instrument and that anything that smacked of
standard commercial practice was deeply suspect. For some of the neo-
classical builders inspired by Schweitzer, by the seminal conferences of
the 1920s, by the rediscovery of old instruments and their associated
repertoire this ‘art’ aspect was well understood, and in the instruments of
Flentrop, Marcussen and Frobenius Schweitzer’s concerns are well articu-
lated – albeit with an overall impression of austerity spilling over from the
emerging modern movement in design.
Schweitzer could not have anticipated that the modern movement
would renew emphasis on function not decoration, and would highlight
virtues of design and manufacture rather than those of pure art. None of
the organ builders of the early classical revival escaped the influence of
modernist thinking. In the work of the builders mentioned above the
principles of modern design were executed to the highest standards of
individuality and quality. In German-speaking Europe the picture was
slightly different. Rudolph von Beckerath, the leading neo-classical
builder in Germany after the Second World War, shared many sources of
inspiration with his Scandinavian and Dutch colleagues, but did not have
their visual sense, usually being content to interpret casework in the form
of giant boxes reminiscent of commercial office blocks or even banks of
loudspeakers. Rieger, Schuke, Ott, Klais, Kleuker and others celebrated
the modern world with enthusiasm, incorporating new materials, experi-
mental tonalities, and revelling in the opportunities offered by, for
example, daring and radical layout or electric console gadgetry (even
though mechanical key action had been revived for its twin virtues of
simplicity and purity).
However, for the vast majority of organ builders, survival depended
not on some great artistic statement but on good commercial sense. In
84 Stephen Bicknell

West Germany, for example, the post-war boom and the classical revival
conspired to produce new organs in great numbers and to generally high
standards. To say that there are relatively few bright stars in this galaxy of
actvity would not be entirely unfair. With characteristic thoroughness
German master organ builders are trained at a government college at
Ludwigsburg and their style is somewhat homogenised as a result. Also,
though the number of firms is many and their size modest (at least com-
pared to a century ago), the commercial pressures of a boom period have
meant that few have been encouraged to divert resources towards pure art
– making such a statement at a time of stiff competition is simply too
extravagant. One of the few styles to contrast with the norm of German
organ building has come from the firm of Klais, where a more individual
family tradition survived the neo-classical revolution. For those who still
took refuge in romantic organ music (much decried by the hard-line clas-
sicists) the extraordinarily bold and rich palette of a big Klais proved the
ideal vehicle for the full modernisation of great nineteenth-century
works (see Klais 1975).
Though the classical revival may have been all-conquering in central
northern Europe its activities were more than matched elsewhere. In
America, where the organ building boom started before the Second
World War and continued through it, commercial pressures were high. G.
Donald Harrison and Walter Holtkamp pioneered the classicisation of
the American organ, and the undeniable artistic quality of their instru-
ments lies in the fact that both builders devoted their lives to tonal ques-
tions (although retaining the electro-pneumatic actions of factory organ
building, and working in a manner that absolved them from all serious
consideration of how to make an organ an object of architectural interest:
the pipes were either hidden in chambers or totally exposed in a simple
‘functional’ display).
In France and Britain no economic boom ever quite managed to lift
the organ industry out of a pattern of rebuilding and repairs into the
world of organ building proper, and although it should be noted that in
France the classical revival was more warmly received than it was in
Britain, it is difficult to identify any twentieth-century builders of world
class from either country (with the possible exception of Harrison and
Harrison in the Arthur Harrison era). In Italy and Spain, where for much
of the century the real pressure has been that of poverty, organ building
has seemed still more halting and sporadic.
The continuing pressures of commerce on the one hand and modern
design on the other have prevented organ building from continuing in the
luxurious manner practised by Cavaillé-Coll in the nineteenth century or
by Harrison and Harrison in the early twentieth. Even the most obviously
85 Organ building today

artistic of the mainstream neo-classical organs of the period 1950–80

have few concessions to luxury and at every level the abiding impression is
of austerity and restraint, even if sometimes carried out on a grand scale
(for neo-classical organs in Britain, see Rowntree and Brennan 1975, 1979
and 1993).
Thus it has scarcely been possible to judge twentieth-century organ
building in terms of artistic standards. There have been outstanding
instruments, and the names of organ builders given above will give a clue
as to where the masterpieces of the mid-twentieth century are to be
found. However, the great majority of builders have stuck to their own
local modern style, often displaying many virtues in design or manufac-
ture, but rarely rising above the utilitarian virtues expected of any
modern factory product.
Most analyses of our own period therefore tend to concentrate on the
nature of the classical revival and judge progress and quality in terms of
design virtues. The modernist approach is readily evident in the writings
of Zachariassen (1969), Andersen (1956/1969) and Jancke (1977), in the
organs of Flentrop and von Beckerath, and still more so in the futurism of
Jean Guillou and German theorists such as Hans Klotz. Even to a writer
like Peter Williams, where reference to a hypothetical ‘golden age’ in the
past is maintained with dogged continuity, modernism is evident both in
the concentration on the virtues of the Werkprinzip and in the deter-
mined exclusion from the Communion of Saints of anything with the
remotest romantic taint.
Yet Williams’s keen interest in the historic roots of the organ have per-
mitted him to grasp an emerging new movement in organ building
without quite realising that its most remarkable feature is the way in
which it offers fulfilment to Schweitzer’s hope of an artistic revival.
Though the American organ building scene has remained for the most
part a wholly commercial concern, a vocal minority has emerged to re-
state the ‘art’ position with more earnestness and intensity than any of
their predecessors.
American tracker builders were keen to distance themselves from
instruments that had classical tonal schemes but electro-pneumatic
action and no real case – standard fare in the USA until arrival of a few
European imports in the late 1950s. By 1970 it was clear that three were
pre-eminent, Fisk, Noack and Andover. Of these three Charles Fisk
rapidly became the most respected; though the instruments he built until
his early death in 1983 (his colleagues continue his tradition under the
Fisk name) were original and clearly modern in style, his deep intellectual
awareness of the importance of history, his grasp of the underlying phi-
losophy of style, and his totally individual approach to every organ build-
86 Stephen Bicknell

ing problem allowed him to stand head and shoulders above his contem-
poraries. By 1975 the emergence of John Brombaugh’s first organs in close
imitation of north German instruments of the early seventeenth century
had further widened the picture and had brought a seriously ‘authentic’
builder into the limelight.
For Williams the work of Brombaugh – intractably correct in almost
every historical detail – offered justification of his belief that the future of
the organ lay in its past. The nearest equivalent in Europe lay in the work
of Ahrend in Germany and Metzler in Switzerland, yet neither of these
two builders could be seen to have escaped quite so far from the pure
asceticism of modern movement principles. A Brombaugh organ had all
the virtues of purity, plus elaborately carved historical casework, luxuri-
ous details executed in precious timbers, and many exuberantly cranky
touches in direct imitation of the eccentricities of the renaissance and
early baroque – amongst them unsteady or ‘free’ wind and unequal
temperament. The fact that the success of the Brombaugh type quickly
spawned a number of offshoots and imitators (Taylor & Boody, Paul
Fritts, Ralph Richards and others) could easily lead one to believe that it
was the extent of the authenticity that was their most distinguishing
feature. In fact it may be worth arguing that the most significant element
of their work is their success in reviving the notion of organ building as a
total hand-craft enterprise in which the application of any economy in
materials or decoration is seen as undesirable – if there is only a little
money the customer gets a small organ, but still a very beautiful one.
Singular dedication to principles is not however the reserve of neo-
classical builders, and the appearance late in the century of several ‘art’
builders with romantic leanings has shifted the picture a great deal.
The seminal instrument in this movement was the organ by Åcker-
mann & Lund in the Katarina Kyrka, Stockholm, built in 1975 (since
destroyed by fire) and incorporating some eighteenth-century and much
nineteenth-century material. This was a thoroughly romantic instrument
owing a very considerable debt to the work of Cavaillé-Coll. Regarded as a
‘naughty treat’ by many neo-classically trained players, it was nevertheless
admired hugely for its sheer tonal beauty, conveyed very well in a number
of recordings.
The Cavaillé-Coll ‘bug’ was already spreading quickly in 1976, and
became even more apparent in 1984 when the young Dutch firm of van
den Heuvel built, amid controversy, a mighty eighty-stop instrument at
Katwijk-aan-Zee also inspired by Cavaillé-Coll. In these instruments and
others it has become clear that the question of quality no longer resides in
allegiance to a neo-classical ideal (and indeed may never quite have done
so). In Britain, new organs by Mander have broken the classical mould,
87 Organ building today

and in America the work of Rosales, Jaeckel, Noack and others confidently
celebrates aspects of the romantic tradition.
Whatever these builders are up to, it has to be made clear that the
majority picture is that of continuing commercial organ building,
whether of relatively standardised encased tracker organs in Germany or
of showy electro-pneumatic instruments in the United States and
Canada. In North America, where the huge size and affluence of the con-
tinent allows a view of the entire potential of modern organ building, it
may be that we have a glimpse into the future.
Between the commercial American organ builder and the manufac-
turer of the electronic substitute the differences are now slight. Both
offer the same kind of tonal schemes and a similar playing experience,
with the only significant and obvious contrast being the provision of
pipes in the one and loudspeakers in the other. However, the difference
between the joint armies of commercial organ building (both pipe and
electronic) and the art builders is substantially clear and widening. At the
pinnacle of the latter, perhaps, stands Munetaka Yokota, who built the
Gottfried Silbermann-inspired organ for California State University at
Chico using entirely local labour and materials, and working for several
years on site just as a seventeenth- or eighteenth-century master might
have done.
While this extravagantly slow but perfectionist method of working –
and the patronage and patience required to sponsor it – may remain
exceptional, the principles of care and attention to detail it illustrates are
common to the highest levels of organ building round the world. Such
instruments are often, but not always, related to a specific historical style.
This need not necessarily be archaic – the appearance of strong romantic
and contemporary influence in the work of Rosales or van den Heuvel is
notable, as is the relaxation of the neo-classical rule that only mechanical
action is acceptable. Fisk and van den Heuvel, amongst others, have
revived the use of the pneumatic lever and, with renewed interest in the
romantic repertoire and the large organs that go with it, there is a now a
very real prospect that the debate over the virtues of electro-pneumatic
action in ‘art’ organ building may revive. Elaborate and showy casework,
complete with carving and decorative mouldings, is returning to organ
building with a force and enthusiasm not seen since the middle of the
nineteenth century. The most serious-minded builders have also been
prepared to divorce themselves from the standardised pipework of the
nineteenth- and twentieth-century organ factories, rediscovering the
many constructional details that contributed to the art of voicing in the
more distant past. The new (or revived) tonal worlds that have been
opened up have been stimulating, and have stood well alongside the
88 Stephen Bicknell

revival of slightly unsteady or ‘live’ bellows winding systems and experi-

ments with unequal temperaments. Keen interest in the restoration of old
organs, centred round the many surviving early instruments in Europe,
has fuelled the new movement with its massive input of technical details
and unfamiliar organ building recipes.
For the European builders who rose to fame during the pure classical
revival of the 1950s and 60s the picture has changed. In Germany, the
Netherlands and Scandinavia the local firms have built enough reliable
new organs to have flooded their home markets. The old avant-garde,
represented by firms such as Marcussen, Frobenius, Flentrop, von
Beckerath, Rieger and others, has been obliged to take the international
market seriously and to modify its former purist stance. All the firms
mentioned have made attempts to introduce a more eclectic style,
perhaps moving towards some of the romanticism evident in the work of
Klais and joining the latter company in its international success. However,
this has introduced an element of hard competitiveness not apparent a
generation ago. Most of these companies have made only partial progress
in the revival of more artistic casework, still using simple modern move-
ment principles albeit sometimes overlaid with extra decoration. Nor
have they cared to pursue the kind of detailed historical research that has
distinguished some of the newer firms, tending to stick with ultra steady
regulator wind systems, equal temperament, and the inherited conven-
tions of neo-classical tonal schemes and pipework. With some the chal-
lenge of building really large multi-purpose organs has led to a ready
acceptance of the idea that, though mechanical action may be desirable
for individual departments, the manual couplers may be operated by a
direct-electric system. This suggests a discontinuity in their logic – one
that is being exploited by those prepared to reconsider the requirements
of the romantic and modern repertoire from the ground up with an eye to
technical and artistic consistency. For the more serious-minded builders
mechanical action means mechanical coupling too – for exactly the same
philosphical reasons – and, where an organ is too big to be operated
mechanically, pneumatic assistance is now being explored as in the nine-
teenth century.
However, the joint production of these different groups adds up to a
broader picture of world organ building, dominated by the surviving
neo-classical builders and their post-modern progeny (the latter, inciden-
tally, forming an exact parallel with the world of architecture, where the
modernists appear to be in organised retreat from various waves of post-
modern eclecticism, classicism and vernacularism). The countries of the
old world still dominate in many ways. Germany (now incorporating the
slightly different tradition of the former East Germany), the Netherlands
89 Organ building today

and Scandinavia lead the field, with France and (at last) Great Britain
entering the world picture. Organ building in Belgium, Iberia and Italy
operates on a slightly smaller scale with fewer excursions into the interna-
tional arena. Typical organ building companies are much smaller than
they were a hundred years ago, a workforce of fifty representing a sub-
stantial and successful workshop, and with numerous firms as small as
three or four staff making a significant contribution to the overall picture.
Outside Europe pockets of activity are to be found in Australasia and
Japan. Japan has introduced the pipe organ with characteristic serious-
ness and thoroughness as part of its general cultural borrowing from the
west, importing instruments in large numbers from the most famous
European and American firms (Figure 6.1), and developing a small but
interesting organ building industry of its own.
However, it is to North America that one must turn for the most stim-
ulating and varied insight into the world of contemporary organ build-
ing. The market is huge, partly fuelled by the many rival religious
denominations, competing openly for the financial support of their regu-
larly attending members and operating at a level of professionalism that is
the envy of their European counterparts (even in countries where the
church is assisted by the state). The bulk of the market is one of intense
commercial competition, and the most common North American organ
is an instrument with electro-pneumatic action sold to the customer on
the basis of the completeness of its paper scheme and the provision of an
up-to-date console bristling with the latest gadgetry. Such instruments
may be swelled in size by some extension or borrowing, may sometimes
have electronic voices in place of expensive and space-consuming pedal
basses, and may now be fitted with MIDI interfaces allowing an even
wider exploration of modern musical technology. The largest instru-
ments of this type may be split into several sections, with subsidiary or
‘floating’ antiphonal departments that can be switched in and out at will.
Alongside these instruments, where the purchaser’s equation is clearly
one that relates the number of stop knobs at the console to the expendi-
ture in dollars, the custom-built electronic organ has had a very
significant impact. As mentioned above, the two types of organ offer a
very similar musical experience, the difference between those with pipes
and those without not being as clear-cut as one might imagine – except to
notice that a large custom-built electronic instrument is likely to cost less
than half its counterpart with pipes and electro-pneumatic action.
A much smaller sector of the American market is occupied by the quite
different instruments of the ‘art’ builders, who exist in considerable
numbers despite the commercial pressures of the market as a whole
(their prices are a prohibitive 50–100 per cent higher than those of the
90 Stephen Bicknell

Figure 6.1 The organ built by the American builders George Taylor and John Boody for Ferris
Ladies College, Yokohama, Japan in 1989. The pipe organ has only existed in Japan since 1900, but
since 1950 there has been considerable interest in the instrument and many organs have been built,
usually in concert halls, and often ordered from the better-known European neo-classical builders.
This instrument, built by one of the new wave of North American builders working in a well-
researched and confident style based closely on historic principles, shows Japanese awareness of
new trends. Such instruments have revived not just the elaborate casework but also the musical
beauty of the finest instruments of the past, and have restored to the pipe organ some of the
artistic and decorative qualities discouraged during the earlier classical revival.
91 Organ building today

commercial firms). The contribution of these companies, some of whom

have already been mentioned, has revolutionised the world organ build-
ing scene, offering glimpses into a world of craft perfection and intellec-
tual and artistic seriousness that exceeds even the bravest efforts of the
neo-classical movement and goes some way to justifying the stance taken
by Schweitzer at the beginning of the century.
Thus it is clear that the outstanding contribution to the craft is being
made by those builders who are devoting their attention to fine details; as
in any other period the names that will become part of future histories
and will be identified by our descendants as the ‘greats’ are not those who
are simply competing bravely for a market share (and this now includes
the former avant-garde of neo-classical builders), but those who have
secured their place through artistic endeavour. Until its recent closure the
largest organ building concern in the world was claimed to be that of
Möller of Hagerstown, Maryland USA, building eclectic unencased
American Classic instruments at highly competitive prices. However,
such a firm, despite its obvious influence and importance, could hardly be
described as having made a contribution to the the progress of organ
building – its entire operation was avowedly commercial and the many
economies of manufacture prevented any attempt to convey an artistic
message; moreover if there had been a message to convey it would have
been a profoundly conservative one.
Those who are successfully making that attempt are no longer
attracted only by the sounds of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
Their interests have widened to include much of the romantic (though
still hardly daring to explore the palette offered by the symphonic organs
of the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries) and, moreover, to
incorporate as an integral part of their work the provision of beautiful
and artistic cases (these being a far cry from the bare undecorated boxes of
the less handsome neo-classical organs). This decorative element is not
merely the provision of expensive frills: a builder who can make a beauti-
ful case shows a real vision of organ building in the round, where every
aspect of design and construction makes a contribution to the success of
the whole.
It is therefore not unreasonable to claim that the organ has recovered
its position as a most remarkable hand-crafted object after its century-
long affiliation with the worlds of industry, commerce and manufacture.
This fact has a singular importance that lifts the pipe organ out of the
world of music into a wider one of general artistic expression. To commis-
sion a new instrument and watch it arrive is, for the client, a unique expe-
rience and one that has no parallel in the modern world. This
extraordinary object – arcane, complex and custom-designed – is the
92 Stephen Bicknell

joint effort of a group of people whose hand skills are quite beyond the
daily experience or comprehension of modern man. The process of
installation, often lasting many months and culminating in the assiduous
and individual tonal finishing of every one of several thousand pipes, is a
notable performance in its own right. The resulting creation combines
musical potential with a permanent architectural contribution. Few
commissioned works offer such potential at a readily accessible level,
especially today when fine art is hideously expensive and arguably very
difficult for all but the expert to understand. Few works of art offer us the
opportunity to listen, through the medium of music, to the individual,
varied and complementary voices of their creators.
 7 The fundamentals of organ playing
Kimberly Marshall

There is nothing remarkable about it. All one has to do is hit the right notes at the right time, and
the instrument plays itself.
(Comment attributed to Bach by J. F. Köhler, Historia Scholarum Lipsiensium, p. 94;
cited in Spitta 1880 ii: 744)

J. S. Bach’s modest response to compliments on his organ playing is

perhaps the most authoritative and succinct account of that art. However,
playing ‘the right notes at the right time’ on the organ is more complicated
than it may at first appear. Although organists do not produce the tone of
their instrument and are unable to create variations of dynamics and
timbre through touch, crafting a musical line from the static quality of
organ sound demands an extremely sensitive approach to articulation
and to timing the notes that make a musical phrase. The art of playing the
organ resides almost exclusively in articulation and timing; these nuances
are what distinguishes the organist’s technique of touch from that of
typists and stenographers, who are also concerned with striking the right
keys. For the latter, the way the keys are depressed and released matters
little as long as the text is captured in print as quickly as possible. In order
to make music on the organ, however, a mechanical approach to accuracy
is insufficient; the organist must cultivate different ways of depressing
and releasing keys to create the musical nuances possible in other instru-
ments where the tone is produced by the player.
The dynamic stability of the organ makes it ideal for the performance
of counterpoint since each line is heard at approximately the same loud-
ness and timbre throughout the compass of any combination of stops. It
is not surprising that the instrument’s most cherished repertoire is
contrapuntal, because the independence of the parts is brought out by the
uniformity of organ tone. The player’s task is to articulate each line of
polyphony so that it can be heard clearly, even in reverberant acoustical
settings. The organist is like a one-person ensemble, or even orchestra,
and this demands a finely tuned musical ear that can isolate individual
voices. In many instances of two- or three- or four-part counterpoint, the
voices are most clearly discernible when each is played on its own key-
board with separate rank(s) of pipes fulfilling the roles of separate instru-
ments. In dense polyphonic textures, such as the six-part Ricercar from
[93] Bach’s Musical Offering, the demands on touch are even greater. The
94 Kimberly Marshall

musician who performs polyphonic scores of up to ten or more parts with

both hands and feet must also possess great technical prowess over the
instrument’s multiple manuals and pedalboard. The following sections
focus on the fundamental issues, both musical and technical, involved in
playing the organ.

Position at the instrument

Most writers on organ technique stress the importance of a relaxed posi-
tion at the console, with the body in the middle of the keyboard and the
hands and feet poised lightly, as if floating, upon the keys and pedals. The
spine should be straight, not stiff, with the head poised upright upon it. To
find this ideal posture, one might imagine being a marionette that is
gently pulled by a string from the top of the head; the axis of support from
the two pelvic bones to the head enables the arms and legs to move freely
over the keyboards and pedals, providing a centre from which the multi-
farious activities of organ playing can radiate. Artists practising and per-
forming under pressure are prone to hunching the shoulders and bending
the neck back, thereby breaking this vertical line and putting stress on
muscles that are not designed to maintain a state of contraction for long
periods. But this natural tendency should not be countered with another
type of tension, such as pulling the shoulders back or pushing the chin
down. Rather, the posture is achieved by finding the right alignment
between body parts so that there is no unnecessary muscular strain and
the limbs can move freely.
In the Preface to his first Livre d’Orgue, Guillaume-Gabriel Nivers
explains: ‘To play agreeably, you must play easily; to play easily you must
play comfortably; and for this effect place the fingers on the keyboard
gracefully, comfortably and evenly, curving the fingers a little, mainly the
longer ones, to make them even with the shorter ones’ (Nivers 1665:
preface, n.p.). A natural relaxed position, where the hand is shaped like a
cup with the fingers curved gently over the keys, is advocated throughout
the technical literature. The wrist should be in line with the arm and
hand. Diruta laments the ‘poorly-trained hands’ of organists who ‘hold
the arm so low that it is under the keyboard’ making the hands seem as
though they were ‘hanging from the keys’ (Diruta 1593: 5r; 1984: 53). He
considers the most significant of all the rules to be that the arm must
guide the hand, so that the hand and arm are always directly in front of the
key that is sounding. In this way, the position of the hand is not distorted
in lateral movements and the fingers remain parallel to the keyboard,
ready to depress the keys. Diruta specifies that ‘the fingers must press
95 The fundamentals of organ playing

rather than strike the key, lifting only as much as the key rises’. Over two
centuries later Forkel instructs those wishing to imitate J. S. Bach’s key-
board playing ‘that no finger must fall upon its key, or (as also often
happens) be thrown on it, but only needs to be placed upon it with a
certain consciousness of the internal power and command over the
motion’. (David and Mendel 1945: 307). Organists who raise the hand
unnecessarily to strike the keys lose control moving from one note to
another, and this can produce choppy playing that undermines the fluid
projection of melody. The extra time needed for the raised finger to reach
the key also hinders the execution of fast passagework. Economy of move-
ment permits greater virtuosity, and warnings against excess motion
abound in the organ tutors of all times. The fingers should work inde-
pendently with small gestures primarily from the joints. Agility and
suppleness are more vital in organ playing than actual strength, and to
maintain fine technical control one must avoid expending too much
energy at the keyboard. These very features are stressed by Forkel in his
description of Bach’s organ technique: ‘Seb. Bach is said to have played
with so easy and small a motion of the fingers that it was hardly percepti-
ble. Only the first joints of the fingers were in motion; the hand retained
even in the most difficult passages its rounded form; the fingers rose very
little from the keys, hardly more than in a shake [trill], and when one was
employed, the other remained quietly in its position. Still less did the
other parts of his body take any share in his play, as happens with many
whose hand is not light enough’ (David and Mendel 1945: 308).

Position at the pedals

In the preface to his influential Ecole d’orgue, Jacques-Nicolas Lemmens
writes: ‘If the organ is the king of instruments, let us observe that it is also
the most complicated and the most difficult. The player must join to the
movement of the hands that of the feet’ (Lemmens 1862: 1). The per-
formance of musical lines by the feet is what most obviously distinguishes
the organ from other keyboard instruments. This physical co-ordination
demands many hours of practice to develop a pedal technique that is
fluent and assured. The organist’s body should be positioned solidly on
the bench, forward far enough to allow the legs to be easily pivoted to the
right or left, as necessitated by the pedal line. The bench height is crucial
to the comfortable position of the feet, with both heels and toes resting
lightly on the pedals. (The benches of many historical organs are too high
for the heels to lie on the keys, and in these cases it is very difficult to use
the heels when playing.) The angle between the thigh on the bench and
96 Kimberly Marshall

the shin leading down to the pedals should be at least 90° to prevent
unnecessary tension in the thigh muscles. When intervals of about a fifth
or less are being played, the legs should be held loosely together with the
knees touching, but for larger intervals, the knees will separate naturally.
Still, the legs generally move together and should execute melodic lines as
a unit, like the fingers of a hand. Just as the arm guides the hand to posi-
tion the fingers over the keys, so the leg guides the ankles and feet into
position over the pedals. The feet move downwards from the ankle to
depress and release the pedals with small efficient movements, like those
used by the fingers to play the keys. The control over articulation will be
better if one plays on the inside edge of each foot (only possible for the
right foot in the upper half of the pedalboard and the left foot for the
lower half), so the ankles should be turned in slightly to facilitate this. As
with the fingers, the amount of motion is kept to a minimum, so that the
feet remain close to the pedals at all times. Even J. S. Bach’s greatest critic,
Johann Adolph Scheibe, marvelled at the ease of his co-ordination
between hands and feet: ‘One is amazed at his ability and can hardly con-
ceive how it is possible for him to achieve such agility, with his fingers and
his feet, in the crossings, extensions, and extreme jumps that he manages
without mixing in a single wrong tone or displacing his body by any
violent movement’ (David and Mendel 1945: 238).

Accents
The eminent virtuoso Charles-Marie Widor is said to have told his stu-
dents that if he were to open the windows of his apartment in the middle
of the night and play a short chord on the tutti of his house organ, no one
would notice, but that a sustained chord on the softest stop would have his
neighbours looking out to see what was wrong (Geer 1957: 106). Thus the
master demonstrated a fundamental principle of organ playing: pro-
longing a sound intensifies its effect. This is especially true in a reverber-
ant acoustic, but even in a dry room, surface reflection supports a
sustained tone. Since organists cannot use dynamic variations to empha-
sise metrically or thematically important notes, they take advantage of
acoustical properties to define pulse and to make accents. Preceding a
note with silence or delaying a note rhythmically makes it stand out more
vividly than others, while lengthening a note relative to others makes it
sound stronger. The skilful use of silence and sound enables the organist
to create the impression of upbeats and downbeats within a musical
phrase.
Many treatises on music before the nineteenth century describe
97 The fundamentals of organ playing

articulation as a way to clarify the succession of strong and weak beats

within a musical pulse (Houle 1987: Chapter 5). The construction of
most early music relies on short figures that maintain rhythmic flow in
equally notated beats. But in performance, variations in importance must
be made to avoid a monotonous succession of evenly spaced beats. As
early as the sixteenth century, treatises on instrumental performance dis-
tinguish notes of equal value as ‘good’ or strong and ‘bad’ or weak,
depending on their position within the metric pattern of the music.
(Diruta 1593 is the first writer on keyboard music to make this distinc-
tion.) The international musician Georg Muffat explains in the preface to
his Florilegium secundum (1698): ‘Good notes are those that seem natu-
rally to give the ear a little repose. Such notes are longer, those that come
on the beat or essential subdivisions of measures, those that have a dot
after them, and (among equal small notes) those that are odd-numbered
and are ordinarily played down-bow. The bad notes are all the others,
which like passing notes, do not satisfy the ear so well, and leave after them
a desire to go on’ (transl. from Houle 1987: 82). Successions of ‘good’ and
‘bad’ notes underscore the metre of a piece, with the first beat of each bar
being the strongest note and the upbeat to the next bar the weakest. This
hierarchy of good and bad notes extends to the subdivisions of the beat, so
that in a group of four semiquavers the first and third (Muffat’s ‘odd-
numbered’ notes) are stronger than the second and fourth. The organist
creates this metrical stress and release within each bar by lengthening the
strong beats and shortening the weaker beats. F. W. Marpurg concurs with
Muffat’s statement that good notes are of longer duration: ‘The good
notes are called long and the bad, short, according to their intrinsic quan-
tity [determined by the position the note occupies in the metric scheme]’
(Marpurg 1756: 23).
It can be beneficial to compare musical structure to the forms used in
speech. Each note is like a syllable: its attack resembles a consonant, while
its duration is a vowel sound. Just as notes are organised according to
beats, syllables are grouped together as words, and both words and
musical beats constitute larger structures known as phrases. To be intelli-
gible, language is accentuated by syllables with differing degrees of stress,
just as the notes in a musical phrase must be articulated according to their
metre. This is achieved on wind instruments by tonguing with different
syllables to obtain varying attacks, and on stringed instruments by using
different bowing techniques. (The historical information about these
instrumental articulations is summarised in Erig 1979: 30–58.) Organists
create a sense of metre by holding downbeats longer than upbeats, so that
a passage notated in duple rhythm as might be performed as
or even . The subtle alteration of note
98 Kimberly Marshall

values enables the organist to emphasise metrically or melodically impor-

tant notes; the amount and type of alteration will vary greatly depending
on the style of the music and the acoustic in which it is performed. The
player must develop a keen ear and a flexible touch to adapt to these
differences in performance, and this requires years of practice and atten-
tive listening. A good exercise for experimenting with varied note values
at the organ is to imitate the accentuation of a word or phrase by repeating
a note with the same finger. ‘Cambridge Companion to the Organ’ would
look something like this in rhythmic notation: ,
but in organ playing it is possible to create much finer degrees of distinc-
tion, even imitating the minute differences in accentuation between indi-
vidual voices. Once one is attuned to the rhythmic fluctuations within
spoken phrases, the ear will easily guide the fingers in the performance of
a musical phrase with a regular metre.
Lengthening a note relative to others makes it seem louder although it
is played at the same dynamic level. Another way to create an accent on the
organ is by delaying a note. This is ideal for emphasising the top note in a
phrase or an unexpected dissonance, and it represents an important type
of rhythmic flexibility that has characterised the performance of organ
music for centuries. Such metric freedom can be used at specific times or
more generally throughout a piece, when it is known as tempo rubato
(‘robbed time’). A melody played freely over an accompaniment in strict
time is effective in performing homophonic textures. This type of rubato
was greatly prized during the second half of the eighteenth century, when
it was described by C. P. E. Bach (1753/rev. 1787: 161–2) and Daniel
Gottlob Türk (1789/1982: 363–4). More relevant to organ performance is
rubato that affects all parts of a composition as they move together freely
in accordance with the mood and texture of the music. Such fluctuations
of tempo were recommended by Frescobaldi in his preface to Fiori musi-
cali (1635), and they later became a hallmark of romantic performance
practice, where changing tempi reflected spontaneous expressions of
emotion.

Attacks and releases

The tone and tuning of the organ are determined by the builder and pipe
voicer, so that it is not possible to vary the quality or intensity of tone
through touch, as on the clavichord or piano. Yet unlike these other key-
board instruments, where the sound fades as soon as the string has been
struck, organ sound is maintained as long as the corresponding key is
depressed. In addition to its notated duration, each note has a beginning
99 The fundamentals of organ playing

and an end, and the quality of these attacks and releases is affected by the
speed with which the pallet admits or stops the flow of wind to the pipes.
Mechanical action transfers the depression and release of the key into the
opening and closing of the pallet underneath the pipes. This control over
the pallet enables organists, like players of wind instruments, to vary
attacks and releases when shaping musical lines. Several of the different
ways to connect any two notes are depicted in the table of organ articula-
tions shown in Figure 7.1 (this table is based upon a diagram used by
Harald Vogel in his teaching). Releases that are widely spaced produce a
staccato effect, shorter breaks between the release of one note and the
attack of the next create a non-legato, and no interruption of the sound
between release and attack yields a legato line. Varying degrees of legato
are achieved by overlapping the attack of each note with the release of the
note preceding it. The ability to realise these subtle nuances of touch in
the articulation of a musical line is the essence of organ playing.
Although written sources rarely provide unambiguous descriptions of
organ playing, historical documents suggest that over time an increas-
ingly close articulation between notes was used. Surviving sixteenth-
century treatises suggest that the usual touch allowed the attacks and
releases of each note to be heard. Santa María explains in L’arte de tañer
fantasia: ‘in the striking of the fingers on the keys, one should always lift
the finger that has first struck before striking with the one immediately
following, both ascending and descending. And one should always
proceed thus, for otherwise the fingers will overtake one another, and
with this overtaking of the fingers, the tones will overlap and cover one
another as if one were striking 2nds. From such overlapping and covering
up of one tone by another, it follows that whatever one plays will be
muddy and slovenly, and neither purity nor distinctness of tones is
achieved’ (Santa María 1565: 38v; 1991: 97). This concern with clarity is
echoed through the centuries, but rarely is the desirable relationship
between notes so explicitly stated. Each note is fully released before the
next is played, yielding the articulation depicted as ‘structured legato’ in
the table of articulations. This is the predominant articulation to be used
in music composed before the nineteenth century, allowing each note to
be heard clearly without any silence breaking the musical line. There will
nevertheless be fluctuations in the sound, created by the slight diminu-
endo of the release as the pallet closes and by the speaking noise of the fol-
lowing note as wind enters the pipe(s). These nuances create a vibrant
musicality, although they may seem to break the ‘legato line’ for ears that
are unaccustomed to hearing the attacks and releases of organ sound
because of the overlapping articulations featured in later music.
The structured legato is most easily illustrated by the close repetition
100 Kimberly Marshall

Figure 7.1

Table of organ articulations

Key A Key B
Key A Key B

Key A: Key B:
end of release beginning of attack

beginning of release end of attack

Key A Key B
depressed depressed

KEY A KEY B

beginning of attack on Key B

Combination of key movement

1 staccato

2 non-legato

3 structured legato

4 balanced legato

5 modern legato

6 over-legato
101 The fundamentals of organ playing

of a single note, where the release of the key leads immediately into the
attack of the repetition. By repeating the note with the same finger, the
organist develops a feeling for the depth of the keybed and the speed with
which the pallet can be made to open and close. There should be no gaps
between the notes, although the attacks and releases should be audible.
This technique produces a relaxed feeling of being suspended on the key;
weight is applied to depress the key, but the action will release the note as
soon as the weight is removed, effectively pushing the finger back up with
the key.
The next stage in learning the structured legato touch is to apply it to a
series of consecutive notes using the same finger, as shown in the next
exercise, where a scale is played with one finger only. Again, there should
be no break in the sound of these scale passages, where the release of each
note leads directly into the attack of the next. The player will feel the key
rise up as the weight is removed, and the arm should guide the finger into
the position for the next note:
5 5 5
4 4 4
3 3 3 etc.
2 2 1 1 1
2 1 1 1
1 1

To play a simple line beautifully, the hands and fingers must be relaxed so
that the move from release to attack is effected smoothly and without
effort. Diruta gives a useful analogy for this: ‘When one slaps in anger, one
uses great force, but when one wants to caress and charm one does not use
force but holds the hand lightly in the way we are accustomed to fondle a
child’ (Diruta 1593: 5r; 1984: 53). Much control is required for this gentle
touch, and the organist should listen carefully to the pipe speech in the
acoustic to determine the most effective speed for the attacks and releases.
For performing diminutions, Diruta suggests a slightly closer connec-
tion between notes than that advocated by Santa María: ‘Remember that
the fingers clearly articulate the keys so that one does not strike another
key until the finger rises from the previous one. One raises and lowers the
fingers at exactly the same time’ (Diruta 1593: 8r; 1984: 63). This articula-
tion, where the release of one key and the attack of the next overlap, is
illustrated in the table of organ articulations as the ‘balanced legato’, and it
is ideal for the execution of ornamentation and slurred passages in early
music. With this articulation, the initial transient noise of the subsequent
pipe masks the release of the preceding note. Care must be given to
fingering when using the balanced legato, since it is not possible to play
consecutive notes with the same finger as in the articulations discussed
above. One should imagine the slurred notes being played with one bow-
stroke on a stringed instrument or with one breath on a wind instrument.
102 Kimberly Marshall

On the organ, this is reflected by partially obscuring the releases of each

key by the following attack so that the notes sound closer together. Short
figures taken from renaissance and baroque music can be employed to
practise the technique.
Descriptions of keyboard touch by later writers such as Mattheson
(1735: 72) and Türk (1789: 356; 1982: 345) suggest that the structured
and balanced legato were still the usual approaches to articulating organ
sound during the baroque. Forkel may be referring to a similar technique
in his description of Bach’s keyboard playing, where the finger is not
raised perpendicularly, but glides off the forepart of the key by drawing
the tip of the finger back towards the palm of the hand: ‘In the transition
from one key to another, this gliding off causes the quantity of force or
pressure with which the first tone has been kept up to be transferred with
the greatest rapidity to the next finger, so that the two tones are neither
disjoined from each other nor blended together’ (David and Mendel
1945: 38). This yields the proper amount of clarity without sacrificing lyr-
icism in melodic projection. As late as 1775, Engramelle’s instructions for
pinning mechanical organs, based on the playing styles of renowned
organists, call for a ‘silence d’articulation’ following every note of a per-
formance (Engramelle 1775: 18).
The use of musical slurs increased greatly during the nineteenth
century, when organ music became more melodically, rather than metri-
cally, orientated. Already before Bach’s death, the motoric rhythmic
figuration and imitative polyphony of the baroque were giving way to the
galant style, with its incorporation of more varied note values and elegant
homophonic textures. Pleasing melodies were greatly prized in the new
style, and with the advent of romanticism in the nineteenth century, the
projection of expansive and emotive melodies became a central concern
for all musicians. To imitate the singing line produced by the orchestra,
where many instruments playing together created a flowing sound of
unparallelled power, organists developed a closer overlapping articula-
tion where each key was released only after the following note had been
sounded. This is depicted as the ‘modern legato’ in the table of articula-
tions. Neither attacks nor releases are heard because they are masked at
either end by the sounding of the preceding and subsequent notes in a
melody. The modern legato is ideally suited to the long, sinewy lines of
romantic music, since it links together a series of pitches sounding at full
force without any transient noises between them.
This is the articulation that formed the basis for the legato school of
playing established by the Belgian organist Jacques-Nicolas Lemmens,
whose technical ideas were adopted at the Paris Conservatoire and
exerted enormous influence on organ performance worldwide through
103 The fundamentals of organ playing

such disciples as Widor and Guilmant, and their students Vierne,

Schweitzer, and Dupré. Lemmens provided a systematic description of
the legato technique in his 1862 organ method, Ecole d’orgue basée sur le
plain-chant romain. As implied by its title, the book’s aim was to enable
the organist to play the fluid melodies of Gregorian chant with ease and
comfort. But the legato method is much more versatile than this might
suggest; it can be applied successfully to most organ music written after
1750, providing great technical security on different types of action. The
modern legato touch is well suited for tracker-pneumatic or electro-
pneumatic actions where the organist has no control over the speed of
attacks and releases, and it helps to compensate for imperfections in pipe
voicing, such as delayed speech. But it does not work well on most seven-
teenth- to nineteenth-century instruments or replicas in which pipe
voicing emphasises transient tones for attacks. The changes in musical
style and organ-building that arose during the second half of the nine-
teenth century created a new aesthetic in performance, and the modern
legato supplanted the structured legato as the usual way of articulating
musical lines.

Fingering
To achieve control over the fundamentals of articulation and timing as
discussed above, one must find the most expedient technical means of
executing the notes in question. Throughout the long history of organ
music there have been many systems of fingering, and each was designed
to create the most natural way to perform a specific repertoire with
appropriate nuance and accentuation. The general principle for systems
before the eighteenth century was to find patterns of fingering that corre-
sponded to the short motives of the music. For example, figuration com-
prising the interval of a third would be played by the index, third and ring
fingers, regardless of which notes were included in the figure:

2 3 4 2 2 3 4 3 2 4 3 2 2 3 2 4

Longer figures such as scales would be divided into smaller groups and
played with fingerings designed to stress metrically strong notes with
‘strong’ fingers. (Although the conception of strong notes was consistent
in the different national styles of writing for the organ, different fingers
were used as ‘strong’ fingers, so it is not possible to generalise here.) This
resulted in paired fingerings, where the arm would guide the hand to a
new position as the second finger of each pair released its key:
104 Kimberly Marshall

4 3 4
3 4 3
1 2
1 2 1
2 1 2
4 3

Such systems were very effective in rendering musical motives in the most
frequently used keys, which did not exceed three or four sharps or flats,
but as organist-composers began to modulate to more distant keys, a
different type of fingering was developed to accommodate the more fre-
quent use of black keys. Here, the thumb was turned underneath the
fingers to lead the hand to a new position. J. S. Bach is often credited as the
inventor of the ‘thumb-under’ system, which enabled him to play fluently
in all the major and minor keys, as required by the Preludes and Fugues in
his Well-Tempered Clavier. The first printed tutor to advocate modern
fingerings exclusively was Lorenz Mizler’s Beginning Principles of Figured
Bass, published in Leipzig in 1739. But the earlier approach to fingering
clearly remained in use concurrently with the new system, since C. P. E.
Bach includes both ways to finger scales in his Essay on the True Art of
Keyboard Playing:

2 3 4
2 3 1 4 3
3 4 1 3 4 3 1
1 2 4 3 4 1 2 3
•1 2 3 2 3 4
2 3 1 2
•1 1 4 3
1 3 2 3 2 1
4 3 2 3 2 1 1 2
5 2 1 4 2 1 2
•4 3 1 2 1
•4 3 2

These variants demonstrate the transition from early to modern

fingerings that was being made in the mid-eighteenth century, and they
remind us that there is no one ‘correct’ fingering for any given passage.
Rather, the organist must determine the most natural way to produce the
type of sound desired, varying the spaces between notes and the connec-
tions between them to create an expressive rhythmic flow.
When used continuously, the modern legato requires carefully
planned fingering, since the same finger cannot be used on consecutive
notes in any voice. To avoid ‘running out of fingers’ in long melodies, the
organist must make frequent use of finger substitution, where fingers are
exchanged on a key after it has been depressed to prepare for the following
note or passage. The mastery of this technique is vital in the performance
of music conceived for the sustained modern legato touch. To change
fingers on a key, the shorter finger should either move, or find itself in
position, under the longer one. The substitution should be made quickly,
with as little movement as possible, to prepare the necessary finger
immediately to depress the next key. A simple scale can be practised in
many ways to gain experience in substituting fingers:
 105 The fundamentals of organ playing

4 5-4
3 4-3 etc.
2 3-2 2-1 2-1 2-1 2-1 2 1-2 1-2 1-2
r.h. 1 2- 1 2-1 2-1 1-2 1-2 1-2 1-2 1

l.h. 2 1-2 1-2 1-2 1-2 1-2 1-2 1-2 1 2-1 2-1 2-1 2-1 2-1 2-1 2-1 2
3 2-3 etc.
4 3-4
5 4-5

Substituting fingers on chords is also needed in places to create a smooth

harmonic line. In this case each substitution takes place separately, as
shown below:
4 5 4 5
5 4 5 3 4 3 4
3 3 2 4 2 3 2 3
2 3 2 4 2 2 1 2 1 2 1 2
1 2 1 2 1

5
5

2 1 2 1 1 2 2 1 2 1
4 2 4 2 2 2 4 2 3 2
3 3 3 4 3
5 3 5 4
5 4 5 4

Another useful technique in achieving a fluid legato line is the glissando,

where fingers slide from one key to another. Most commonly, the finger or
thumb slides off a black key onto the white key directly above or below it.
This relaxed sliding motion can greatly facilitate fingerings and should be
practised by every finger to assure independence. For the thumb, the tip
should be used on the black keys, moving to or from the base of the thumb
on the white keys. The following variation on a chromatic scale covers the
necessary movements, with most fingers sliding both up and down from a
black key:

Although the fingers generally do not slide from one white key to another
in legato playing, in many places it is expedient for the thumb to do so.
The technique involves a co-ordinated raising and lowering of the wrist to
permit pivoting from one key to another using the base and tip of the
thumb. In order to ascend with the left thumb and descend with the right,
the base of the thumb is placed on the first white key, with the tip of the
thumb over the next. By raising the wrist quickly, the movement from
106 Kimberly Marshall

base to tip can be effected without breaking contact between the keys. For
descending left-hand and ascending right-hand passages, the tip of the
thumb is placed on the first key, with the wrist raised. A swift downward
motion of the wrist will enable the organist to move from the tip to the
base of the thumb smoothly. Again, a diatonic scale passage furnishes a
good exercise for the thumb glissando:

In this way, independent melodic lines can be played by the thumbs alone,
creeping skilfully along the keys while the fingers perform the other parts
of a composition.

Pedalling
The organist’s feet must become as skilful as the hands, and a primary
consideration is learning to find the intervals on the pedalboard without
looking at the feet. Touching the knees and heels provides a gauge for
playing intervals between the two feet, and each foot must also be capable
of playing seconds and thirds independently, requiring flexible ankles and
secure positioning of the foot on each pedal. The various types of
articulation discussed above should be practised using the toes of both
feet so that the same flexibility of touch will be heard in melodic lines per-
formed on the pedals. Written documents as well as the high benches and
short pedal keys of many historical organs suggest that until the eight-
eenth century, the basic pedal technique was to play adjacent notes with
the same toe and to alternate the toes of both feet in more figurative pas-
sages. (Heels were certainly used in special cases, since as early as 1511
Arnolt Schlick describes the performance of two parts by one foot.) The
changing aesthetic towards a closer legato during the nineteenth century
led to greater use of the heel in pedalling, although like the move towards
modern fingerings, this was a gradual process. In his Practical Organ-
School (1818), Johann Christian Rinck indicates two ways of pedalling
scales, the old method, alternating the toes of both feet, and the newer
method, using the toe and heel of the same foot. Most of his pedal exer-
cises are still for alternate toes, however, and in some figurations he goes
so far as to cross the toe of one foot over the other to avoid using the heel
and toe of one foot (Rinck 1818/1870: 32–3).
107 The fundamentals of organ playing

To achieve the modern legato on the pedals, the techniques of sub-

stitution and glissando must be learned by the feet. The principles are the
same as in the fingering examples, to use the smallest gestures possible
and to perform these quickly. In toes-only pedalling, the substituting toe
should be placed on the depressed pedal directly behind the other toe to
liberate it for the next note to be played. When heels are used, it is gener-
ally best to keep them forward on the key, with the substituting toe placed
slightly behind. Since pedal substitution is most frequently needed in
lines with large intervals, practising this technique with scales is not very
useful. The following exercise based on open fifths and fourths is more
suitable:

In gliding from a black key to a white key, the toe should be placed at
the edge closest to the white key to minimise the distance of the glissando.
The chromatic exercise given above for the hands can be used to practise
this with the feet. Glissandi with one foot between two black keys are also
required in some repertoire; for this one slides on the toes, turning the
heel in the direction of the slide to assist the motion.
The ear is always the most important arbiter in determining the best
way to finger or pedal any given passage of organ music. The technical
advice included here is meant merely as a guide to finding the most
efficient and comfortable way of approaching the keyboard. Nevertheless,
people and organs have their idiosyncrasies, and what works on one
instrument with one organist may not be suitable in another context.
Technical complexities of organ playing should not take precedence over
musical considerations; precepts of fingering and pedalling need to be
continually reassessed to ensure that they produce the type of sound
desired by the organist.

Registration
A vital aspect of organ playing is the choice of timbres, controlled by reg-
isters, for different musical moods and textures. There are no easy gener-
alisations to be made about registration, for it demands a thorough
knowledge of historical instruments and treatises, an ear that is well
attuned to instrumental colour, and a vivid musical imagination and
108 Kimberly Marshall

sense of style. Facile statements that registration should ‘bring out the
musical structure’ or ‘suit the musical style’ tell us little about a practical
approach to this elusive art. The type of instrument and function for
which the music was originally conceived provide some guideposts for
the modern performer. Historical sources usually recommend specific
combinations of stops for three general purposes which are musically
interlinked: (1) to imitate other sounds, such as canaries, little bells or
military trumpets; (2) to create a suitable mood for the mode, liturgical
function or expressive content of the music; and (3) to ‘orchestrate’ the
musical texture with sounds that blend well together and are well bal-
anced dynamically.
The typical late medieval organ was a Blockwerk, literally a ‘block’ of
sound that could not be separated. To obtain variety between the founda-
tion sounds and the higher pitched mixtures, two general approaches
were first adopted: to construct multiple keyboards, each controlling a
specific type of sound, and to divide the windchest so that by means of a
ventil the organist could control the flow of wind to various sets of pipes.
These methods have continually been adopted in different styles of organ
building, but the most significant way to isolate organ colour became the
use of registers, or stops, to control the flow of wind to individual ranks of
pipes. This was first introduced in Italy towards the end of the fifteenth
century, allowing the individual sounds of the medieval Blockwerk to be
mixed together at the organist’s discretion. This chorus of principal
sounds at octave and fifth pitches constitutes the basis of most styles of
organ building, and until the nineteenth century the standard Italian
organ design was a succession of separable principals to which were
added one or two flutes.
During the renaissance, Flemish builders augmented the principal
chorus with a variety of colourful flute and reed stops, usually introduced
on secondary manual divisions. German composers made full use of
these new possibilities to bring out plainsong or chorale melodies with
distinctive organ timbres on multiple manuals and pedal. During the
second half of the seventeenth century, the French developed registra-
tional schemes for organs with from two to five keyboards and pedal.
These combinations were intrinsically related to the textures adopted in
organ music, where specific colours were featured on different manual
divisions (see Chapter 12). The Spanish and English, on the other hand,
exploited the new sounds on one keyboard by controlling different regis-
ters for the treble and for the bass. In this way, it was possible to isolate a
melody performed on a reed or cornet sound from the foundation
accompaniment played in the other half of the keyboard compass.
The gradual inclusion of flute and string stops into the principal
109 The fundamentals of organ playing

chorus during the course of the eighteenth century led to the ‘tutti’
concept in registration, where the entire organ was employed as a musical
entity, like a large orchestra. Rather than contrasting different colours in
terraced dynamics and solo–accompaniment textures, the new aesthetic
called for a smooth crescendo from the softest foundation stops to the full
organ. The fundamental pitch was emphasised by the inclusion of more 8′
registers, while pneumatic devices enabled the organist to play using
manual and suboctave couplers. Enclosed divisions of pipes permitted
gradual dynamic progressions, and sudden contrasts of sound were
effected by quick registrational changes, made possible by ventils and,
later, by electric combination action. This romantic approach to organ
sound makes different demands on the organist, requiring more frequent
changes of timbre and the sensitive use of the swell pedal.
This general overview only hints at the many factors that influence an
organist’s choice of registration. National styles of composition and
different aesthetics of organ sound are treated in much greater detail in
the subsequent chapters of this book. But the most important advice con-
cerning registration is often overlooked: since the organist rarely hears
the instrument at the console the way it sounds in the room, it is necessary
to listen while someone else plays to experience the organ in its acoustic.
Only in this way can the performer determine which registrations are
most effective and well-balanced. Listening from the audience’s point of
view can also inform the organist about the most suitable type and
amount of articulation.

Practical concerns
Most teachers suggest that a solid keyboard technique be acquired on the
clavichord, harpsichord or piano before a student begins to study the
organ. Lemmens recommended that a young musician practise the piano
for finger dexterity, and this view has been strongly established in organ
curricula throughout the world, where prospective students must often
pass a piano proficiency examination. Although it is highly desirable for
beginning organ students to be familiar with other keyboard instru-
ments, one should not forget that the approach to playing the keys of an
organ, a wind instrument, is almost diametrically opposed to that of the
piano, a percussion instrument. Organists must focus on releasing the
keys to create breathing space in the musical line, whereas pianists are
more concerned with attacking the keys, using varying degrees of arm
and body weight to produce different types of tone.
Great strength is not usually needed to depress the keys of an organ,
110 Kimberly Marshall

but some pressure must be continually expended to keep the key

depressed for the duration of the note. The maintenance of this small,
albeit constant, pressure presents the danger of repetitive strain injury for
organists who are not fully relaxed when playing. This can be especially
painful in the upper forearm and should be checked early to avoid
complications that can require long periods of rest and even surgery. A
good way to assess and control muscular stress in the arm when playing a
given passage is to rate the amount of tension on a scale from 1 to 10. Then
try to vary the tension by making the arm more and less tense when
playing. Organists are often surprised when asked to become more tense,
but this is a useful method for learning to control the exertion of the arm
muscles. As Frederick Alexander and others have demonstrated, there is
no point in ‘trying to relax’, because the very act of trying creates another
sort of tension which can be as detrimental as that which one sought to
eradicate in the first place. Awareness of one’s body while playing is an
important step towards using it effectively and without injury. Many
types of physical therapy can be helpful to organists, including the
Alexander Technique, as well as more ancient techniques of creating
harmony between mind and body, such as yoga and t’ai chi.
Stravinsky’s criticism of the organ, mentioned in the Preface, was that
‘the monster never breathes’. To sound musical and human, organists
must give the illusion of breathing, by using sensitive articulations and
shaping melodic phrases. Singing in a choir or playing a wind, brass or
stringed instrument can help to develop a keen ear for melody that can
then be transferred to organ playing. Most importantly, organists should
listen frequently to vocal repertoire and to music for other instruments so
that they are familiar with different combinations of timbre and ways of
projecting musical ideas to an audience.
Although one usually feels more virtuous the longer one works, it is
best to practise in short frequent sessions instead of protracted ones at
longer intervals. This is a real problem for organists, who rarely have an
instrument that is readily accessible to them. But short breaks during the
course of a practice session will help to keep the mind and body alert. It is
also possible to reinforce organ practice with work at home on the clavi-
chord, harpsichord or piano, or indeed by ‘thinking through’ a piece
without playing any keyboard at all.
To make the quickest progress in learning new techniques and reper-
toire, one must be creative when practising, rather than mindlessly
repeating pieces over and over again. Slow practice is invaluable in train-
ing the body to perform accurately, in a relaxed position with enough
time to prepare each note properly. Once you feel comfortable at a slow
speed, the tempo can be gradually increased so that the feeling of ease and
111 The fundamentals of organ playing

security are preserved as the hands and feet move faster. The danger of
playing slowly is that it demands intense and continuous concentration
on details, else the mind may start to wander and sloppiness creep in. To
prevent this, slow practice should be employed in short but frequent
doses throughout a practice session.
When tackling a new piece, it is best to divide the music into short sec-
tions and to focus on each of these individually for a while rather than
playing through an entire work repeatedly. This helps to understand the
structure of the piece and how the sections relate to each other. It also
permits you to isolate the most difficult passages so that you can concen-
trate on these when you are fresh and your mind is most ready to learn.
Learning a piece backwards is a good way to focus on individual sections.
With this technique, you begin by studying the last part of a piece and
then proceed backwards by section to the opening. Since the conclusion
of a work generally includes some degree of recapitulation, knowing the
end can be of assistance in learning the beginning. Practising backwards
also offers a psychological advantage when you perform the piece from
the beginning, since you are always playing into the music you know best.
The process of dividing a musical work into small sections for practice
also helps to analyse its structure and to determine its salient features,
which should be brought out in performance. Is the piece based on a pre-
existing melody, and if so, how are the melodic contours enhanced by the
figuration and harmony? The performer needs to prioritise aspects of the
musical structure to emphasise in performance so that the guiding ges-
tures of a piece are conveyed clearly to the listener, with a balance between
fore-, middle- and background elements.
In contrapuntal music, the independence of parts should be reflected
in your practice routines. It is best to take the music apart so that each
individual line is learned first, played with the same fingering or pedalling
that will be used when everything is put together. One can then separate
the music played by each hand and pedal, later combining the two hands
alone and each hand with pedal, and finally putting all the parts back
together.
To gain technical assurance in difficult passagework, try varying the
rhythms systematically. A seemingly endless sequence of semiquavers is
learned more thoroughly if it is broken down into smaller groups and
practised in rhythmic units: first, as an alternation of ‘long–short’
rhythms, then reversed as ‘short–long’, then ‘long–short–short–short’,
and finally its reversal, ‘short–short–short–long’. The hand should be
relaxed on the long notes, and you should not begin to play the short notes
until the fingers are prepared to move quickly and without interruption
to the next long note.
112 Kimberly Marshall

To ensure that the articulation in one hand or pedal does not suffer
when all the parts are united, practise with a mute manual or pedal, so
that as you perform the full texture, your ear will be drawn only to the
voice that is played where stops are drawn. This is a good way to develop
listening skills so that you are able to hear all voices clearly. Singing one
voice while playing the others is another method for learning contra-
puntal music and refining the ear. And for the very ambitious, try playing
a melody on another instrument while accompanying yourself with the
pedals of the organ! (The north German composer Nicolaus Bruhns is
said to have done this while playing the violin.) The more creative you are
in finding ways to challenge yourself while practising, the more successful
will be your quest to learn and perform the organ repertoire. The goal
must surely be to achieve the sort of facility and freedom exhibited by J. S.
Bach, the master organist who enabled each instrument to ‘play itself ’.
 8 A survey of historical performance practices
Kimberly Marshall

In my opinion, there are faults in our way of writing music, which correspond to the way in which
we write our language. That is, we write things differently from the way in which we execute them;
which means that foreigners play our music less well than we play theirs.
(François Couperin 1717: 39)

The notation of music is at best an approximation of the timbre, quality

and placement of sounds in time. Musicians universally rely upon aural
traditions to fill in notational gaps, and this is especially true in keyboard
training, which usually takes place in individual lessons where the teacher
instructs the pupil through verbal descriptions and practical demonstra-
tions. Traditions of interpretation are passed from generation to genera-
tion through this personal contact where ambiguities arising from the
descriptions can be clarified by the demonstrations. Over time, changing
musical aesthetics are reflected in changing approaches to interpretation,
so that the performance traditions for earlier musics are gradually trans-
formed. This is especially true for the organ’s vast repertoire, which spans
a wide chronological and geographical spectrum with many variations in
musical style and organ building. To perform this music convincingly
today, it may be helpful to assess relevant information preserved in histor-
ical organs, treatises on keyboard technique, and sources of music. This
chapter presents a selective historical overview of fingering, ornamenta-
tion and rhythmic alteration as practised in the performance of organ
music until the time of Bach.

Sixteenth-century German sources

The first written sources to describe aspects of organ-playing technique
date from the sixteenth century, when instrumental music was developing
independently of vocal forms and printing enabled experts to disseminate
their teaching through practical tutors. The earliest of these for organists
was published in Mainz in 1511 by Arnolt Schlick. Entitled Spiegel der
Orgelmacher und Organisten, the treatise deals with such pragmatic issues
as constructing a smooth responsive action and voicing pipes well. His
infrequent remarks on performance concern the organist’s position at the
[113] instrument and provide guidelines on registration. The proper bench
114 Kimberly Marshall

height ensures a relaxed position of the hands and feet so that the top
manual of a two-manual organ is at the height of the organist’s ‘stomach
and belt’ and so that the feet ‘hang or hover’ over the pedals (Schlick 1511:
ciii v; 1980: 49). If the bench is too low, the organist must lift the feet off the
pedals, which does not permit ‘scales or running passages in the contra-
bass’. Schlick stresses the importance of finding ‘a seemly average size’ for
the pedal keys, so that two parts can be played with one foot (Schlick 1511:
cii v; 1980: 45). This suggests that German organists made full use of the
pedal in the early sixteenth century, as confirmed in another place by
Schlick, who reports that the pedal can take two or three voices to enable
organists to realise fully the voice parts of polyphonic compositions
(Schlick 1511: bii v; 1980: 29). Such sophisticated pedalling was required
in at least one work by Schlick, his ten-part setting of the hymn Ascendo ad
Patrem meum, where four of the voices are executed by the feet.
Hans Buchner’s Fundamentum of c1520 is the earliest known treatise
to describe fingering at the keyboard. His nine rules employ the second
and fourth fingers for strong beats, using 2–3–4 in both hands for
figuration involving the interval of a third, 2–3–2–3 for ascending pas-
sages in the right hand and descending passages in the left, and 4–3–2–3
for descending passages in the right hand and ascending ones in the left.
Buchner’s description of the execution of the mordent is unusual: the
written note is played and held as the lower auxiliary is played and
released. The third finger is predominantly used on notes with this orna-
ment in the fingered arrangement of the hymn Quem terra pontus that is
appended to the treatise. The suggested fingerings are impossible if one
tries to hold the keys for their full notated value, but an interesting
characterisation of the three voice parts results from releasing the notes as
soon as they become awkward to hold. The use of the same finger in
succession for notes in the top voice suggests the use of a structured legato
to bring out the cantus firmus. The middle voice of the composition is
shared between right and left hands, creating a more open articulation,
while there are large breaks between the notes of the bass. When he cau-
tions organists to hold notes according to their notated values, Buchner is
probably proscribing a haphazard approach to articulation, so this state-
ment does not necessarily contradict the early releases required by his
systematic fingerings.

Sixteenth-century Spanish treatises

After mid-century, there was a proliferation of music publication in
Spain, including the detailed treatise of Santa María referred to in the
115 A survey of historical performance practices

previous chapter. Santa María is the only Spanish author to discuss

position at the keyboard, and he recommends holding the fingers
higher than the hand, with the second, third and fourth fingers close
together over the keys and the thumb dropped below and partially
curved under the palm. The low wrist and contracted fingers of this
position are shown in Netherlandish paintings of organists from the
preceding century (Soderlund 1986: 22), so this way of holding the
hand had a long history in performance before it was documented in
print. Santa María advocates releasing each key before the next is
depressed in order to produce a clear distinct sound (see above, p. 99),
and he provides detailed fingerings to realise this articulation, accord-
ing to the note values and the degree of ornamentation appropriate to
them. A succession of semibreves or minims, requiring extensive orna-
mentation, should be executed by the principal fingers, the third finger
of the right hand and the second or third finger of the left hand.
Shorter notes do not allow time for using the same finger on successive
keys: paired fingerings are best suited to passages of minims or crotch-
ets, while patterns of three and four consecutive fingers permit the
speed required in runs of consecutive quavers or semiquavers. The
paired fingerings for crotchets that Santa María recommends are 3–4
for the right hand ascending, 3–2 for the right hand descending, 2–1 for
the left hand ascending and 3–4 for the left hand descending. For semi-
quavers he advocates the use of 4–3–2–1 and 1–2–3–4 in both hands.
Although Santa María does not stipulate that the fingers cross over the
thumb, the low position of the thumb and its use in fast passagework
suggest that this may have been the case. A Spanish contemporary,
Venegas, is the earliest writer to describe the third finger crossing over
the thumb, and this is shown in his scale fingerings for the right hand
descending and the left hand ascending (Sachs/Ife 1981: 69). Bermudo’s
fingerings are exclusively in four-note groups, proceeding from the
thumb to the fourth finger and vice versa, which Cabezón replicates for
the left hand, while reiterating Santa María’s paired fingerings for the
right hand.
Santa María considers ornamentation to be an obligatory facet of key-
board interpretation, and he describes a great variety of embellishments
which he divides into three categories, redobles, quiebros and glosas. The
simple redoble can be likened to a turn,

and the reiterated redoble concludes with a trill on the upper auxiliary:
116 Kimberly Marshall

Santa María cautions that redobles should never be very long, ‘for that
would make the music ugly’ (Santa María 1565: 47r; 1991: I, 123). The
simple quiebro alternates the note with its upper or lower auxiliary,

while the reiterated quiebro is like a trill:

Hernando de Cabezón seems to favour the simple quiebro when he writes

that quiebros should be played quickly, to accent the note written in the
score (Sachs/Ife 1981: 67). Both the redoble and the reiterated quiebro may
also begin before the beat on the upper auxiliary, a practice that was
current when Santa María described it as ‘very stylish’. All of these orna-
ments are played with the principal fingers on the main notes. Santa
María concludes his discussion of ornaments with an extensive table of
glosas, or divisions, with which to decorate all ascending and descending
intervals. He stipulates that glosas are to be played only on semibreves,
minims and less frequently on crotchets, and that all voices should be
given an equal number of glosas, with imitating voices decorated identi-
cally, if possible (Santa María 1565: 58r; 1991: I, 157).
Three types of rhythmic alteration for playing with good style a group
of four equal notes are discussed by Santa María. The first type creates a
succession of ‘long-short’ patterns by lingering on the first note a bit
longer than its notated value, shortening the second, lingering on the
third and shortening the fourth. This is the way that passages of crotchets
should be performed and it is the first of three ways for executing quavers.
The second way to play groups of quavers is the reverse: shortening the
first, lingering on the second, shortening the third and lingering on the
fourth. Santa María considers this to be much more elegant than the first
method. The third and final way to perform quavers is to hurry through
three of them and linger on the fourth, grouping the notes in fours, ‘as if
three of the quavers were semiquavers and the fourth quaver were dotted’.
The example of dotted notes is probably not meant to be taken too liter-
ally, since Santa María later cautions that the holding back and hurrying
should not be excessive, but only in moderation (Santa María 1565:
45v–46r; 1991: I, 118–20). The author considers this type of alteration to
be the most elegant of all, although there is ambiguity as to whether the
long quaver falls on or off the beat. Certainly, it is more instinctive to
lengthen the downbeat and shorten the upbeats, and this may have been
what Santa María intended to describe (Sachs/Ife 1981: 32, note 6).
117 A survey of historical performance practices

Italian sources of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries

The first writer to relate keyboard fingering to musical accentuation is
Girolamo Diruta, who presented his treatise as a dialogue between
himself as teacher and an aspiring keyboard player from Transylvania,
hence its title, Il Transilvano. The first part of this work, published in 1593
and reprinted several times, contains discussions of notation, the musical
scale, fingering and ornamentation, and thus is relevant to a considera-
tion of performance practice. Diruta opens his remarks on organ playing
by describing to his student the proper position at the instrument. The
organist should sit in the middle of the keyboard and allow the arm to
guide the hand, which should be level with the arm and shaped like a cup,
with the fingers curved. This hand position is more natural than the one
advocated by Santa María and became predominant in later styles of per-
formance. Diruta’s method of fingering is organised according to the
rhythmic position of each note. Notes which fall on the beat are consid-
ered to be ‘good’, and they are played by the ‘good’ fingers, or the second
and fourth fingers of each hand. When the first note of a scale is on the
beat, it is played 2–3–4–3–4–3–4 by the right hand and 4–3–2–3–2–3–2
by the left. A ‘bad’ finger, either the thumb or fifth finger, begins a scale
that starts off the beat. Descending scales on the beat are played
4–3–2–3–2–3–2 by the right hand; since Diruta considers the fourth
finger of the left hand to be weaker than that of the right, he proposes the
regular pairing of 2–3–2–3–2–3–2 for the left hand. He avoids using
2–1–2–1 in ascending passages by the left hand because this could place
the thumb on a black key (Diruta 1593: 6r and 6v). Although the principle
of ‘good’ fingers on ‘good’ notes might seem to create a ‘hiccup’ pattern of
articulation emphasising the downbeat, this does not occur because in
moving from the ‘good’ to the ‘bad’ finger of each pairing, the hand must
shift position. This creates a surprisingly clear and even execution of the
short notes in fast passages and should remind us that early fingering pat-
terns do not dictate a specific type of phrasing. One would imagine that a
similar approach would have been practised by Adriano Banchieri, a con-
temporary and admirer of Diruta, although the scale fingerings he pro-
poses begin with the third finger, alternating with the second or fourth
finger depending on the hand employed and the direction of the scale
(Banchieri 1608: 62; 1982: 52). Banchieri does not make a ‘good–bad’ dis-
tinction with regard to metric placement, and the barring of the examples
he gives suggests that the third finger of both hands was used on down-
beats. Despite these differences, he seems to have had great respect for
Diruta’s method, and he contributed two of his own ricercars to Il
Transilvano.
118 Kimberly Marshall

Diruta provides exercises for the student to gain familiarity in

fingering stepwise scale passages and those with leaps, both on and off the
beat, thereby requiring different fingerings. He advocates practising the
hands separately, always keeping them light and relaxed (Diruta 1593: 8r
and 8v).The exercises are followed by a discussion of two types of orna-
ment, the groppo and the tremolo. Groppi are figures used to ornament
long notes so that they connect gracefully. Diruta gives many examples to
show how characteristic melodic formulas can be embellished with
shorter notes. As its name implies, the tremolo is a trill, beginning on the
main note and alternating with the upper auxiliary. The tremoletto, a
short tremolo, is reported to have been employed by Claudio Merulo to
decorate notes descending by step. It is composed of one or two alterna-
tions with the upper note, like Santa María’s simple quiebro. Diruta rec-
ommends that tremoli be added at the beginning of a ricercar, canzona or
other work, as well as in single lines played by one hand when the other
hand has several parts. Banchieri recommends for tremoli the use of the
third and fourth fingers of the right hand and the first and second of the
left (Banchieri 1608: 63; 1982: 53). Diruta does not believe that the
correlation between fingering and metric placement can always be
applied to tremoli, and he gives the player guidelines to ensure that pas-
sages following tremoli are executed correctly (Diruta 1593: 9v–11v).
The ornaments used in Italian instrumental music imitate those heard
in vocal music, and the main-note trills and melodic patterns of the
groppi serve to enhance the lyricism of the musical line. The cultivation of
a cantabile style is of paramount importance, and composers either left
these crucial decisions entirely to the performer, in which case no
embellishments were notated, or they wrote out the embellishments in
mensural notation with the assumption that the performer would recog-
nise the ornamental function of these notes and play them with the
freedom of an improvised decoration. The intricate figures in Italian
organ music are designed to elicit certain emotional responses from the
listener, and the sensitive performer will express the underlying mood of
the music by articulating its rhythmic gestures.
Diruta does not mention any type of rhythmic alteration to enliven
the performance of keyboard music, although his discourse on registra-
tion shows his concern with evoking the moods associated with the
musical modes (see the Appendix, pp. 316–18 below). It is nevertheless
clear that a flexible approach to metre is required to enhance the expres-
sive content of Italian music, especially in free forms such as the toccata.
Frescobaldi recommends rhythmic freedom in several places, including
the famous excerpt from the preface to his First Book of Toccatas (1616):
‘This manner of playing must not be subject to a beat, as we see practised
119 A survey of historical performance practices

in modern madrigals, which however difficult, are facilitated by means of

the beat, conducting it now slow, now rapid, and even suspending it in the
air, according to their affetti, or sense of the words’ (transl. Hammond
1983: 225). The changing keyboard figures in Italian toccatas are thus
analogous to the emotions expressed in madrigals. Frescobaldi’s key-
board intabulation of Arcadelt’s madrigal Ancidetemi pur, included in his
Second Book of Toccatas (1627), provides a concrete realisation of this
tradition, illuminating the emotive language of abstract keyboard music.

Fingering and ornaments in early English keyboard music

There are no known treatises on organ performance from which to cull
information about early English practices; however, fingerings are
included in many sources of English keyboard music, dating from as early
as 1530. These are very similar to the Spanish methods, where the third
finger of the right hand alternates with the fourth and second fingers in
ascending and descending scales, and the left hand pairs the thumb and
second finger (although with 2 on the beat instead of 1) for ascending pas-
sages and the third and fourth for descending. Contemporary fingerings
of music by such composers as John Bull and Orlando Gibbons are pub-
lished in Lindley and Boxall c1992. Although often known collectively as
the ‘virginalists’, English composers wrote much music for the organ, such
as the In Nomine, Miserere and Felix namque settings based on sacred
cantus firmi (see Chapter 13). Secular keyboard music was played on both
plucked stringed instruments and chamber organs, requiring the player
to change the performing style to suit the different types of sound and
acoustical settings. Since much of the same music served for virginals and
organs, the same fingering patterns were probably adopted on all key-
board instruments. Although there are no surviving descriptions of the
hand position used by English organists, representations on the title
pages of Parthenia and Musicks Hand-maide depict virginalists holding
the wrist slightly higher than the hand and fingers, suggesting that Santa
María’s antiquated hand position had not been disseminated with his
fingerings.
There are no contemporary instructions regarding the performance of
ornaments in the early English repertoire, as indicated by either single or
double strokes through the note stems. (For notes without stems, the
strokes are placed above, below or through the note.) An ornament table
in British Library Add. MS 31403, dating from c1680–1700 and attributed
to the composer Edward Bevin, presents four ornaments, including the
single stroke realised as an ascending third, and three compound
120 Kimberly Marshall

symbols, two of which are variants on the double stroke (Ferguson 1975:
144–5). The usefulness of this information is undermined, however, by
the late date of the source and the idiosyncratic nature of the compound
ornaments, none of which appear in surviving keyboard music. The best
approach to realising ornaments indicated by strokes is to determine a
suitable decoration based on the context and the length of the note. Clues
may be found in the ornaments from Spain and Italy: the quiebro works
well on alternate notes using either upper or lower auxiliaries, and the
tremolo provides punctuation at cadences. The twelve ornaments
explained in Christopher Simpson’s The Division-Violist of 1659 (repro-
duced in J. A. Sadie 1990: 427) might also provide ideas for realising the
single and double strokes of the keyboard music, and further guidance
may be gleaned from studying written-out ornaments in particular
sources (see Hunter 1992 and Wulstan 1985: 125–55).
The influence of French embellishment practices was keenly felt in
English music following Charles II’s restoration of the monarchy in 1660.
This is evident in the upper-note shakes of the ornament table attributed
to Henry Purcell in the ‘Instructions for beginners’ included in some edi-
tions of his posthumous Choice Collection of Lessons for the Harpsichord or
Spinnet (London 1696). There has been debate over the realisation of the
English beat, which appears as a compound ornament resembling the
port de voix with pincé that is ubiquitous in contemporary French music.
Ferguson argues that the beat should be performed as a mordent, because
the realisation appearing after the name ‘beat’ in the table is actually the
compound ornament ‘forefall and beat’, whose label was omitted due to a
printing error (Ferguson 1975: 149–52). However reasonable this
hypothesis may seem, it is undermined by the inclusion in Nivers’s orna-
ment table of the agrément, an ornament similar to the compound beat, as
well as by the infrequent appearance of the forefall and beat in Purcell’s
music.

Fingering, ornamentation and pedalling in German music:

1570–1700
The earliest publication of music in new German tablature, Elias
Nikolaus Ammerbach’s Orgel oder Instrument Tabulatur of 1571, opens
with a short introduction that discusses fingering and ornamentation.
Ammerbach was influenced by Venetian musical style, and his fingerings
for the descending right hand (4–3–2–3–2) and left hand (2–3–2–3) are
identical to those published slightly later by Diruta. He differs from
Diruta in his recommendations for ascending passages, pairing 2–3 for
121 A survey of historical performance practices

the right hand and using the consecutive 4–3–2–1 for the left hand. The
frequent turn figure is played 3–2–3–4 by the right hand, and surprisingly
incorporates the thumb in the left hand fingering 2–3–2–1, occasionally
causing the thumb to play a black key, a situation that does not seem to
bother the author (Ammerbach 1571/1984: lxxxii–lxxxviii). Like his
fingerings, Ammerbach’s ornaments betray Italian influence, and he
includes the same two types as Diruta. The groppi are sequential
figurations with which to decorate the music, and the tremoli are ascend-
ing and descending mordents.
There are no extant tutors to provide insight into the performance of
music by Sweelinck and his German students, Samuel Scheidt and
Heinrich Scheidemann. Contemporary manuscript copies include
fingerings, and these reflect aspects of both Spanish and Italian practice,
with the paired fingerings for the right hand originating from the third
finger as 3–4 ascending and 3–2 descending, and those for the left hand
starting on the second finger as 2–1 ascending and 2–3 descending. Of
special interest is the use of the second, third and fourth fingers in
figuration spanning the interval of the third, so that the second and
fourth fingers of both hands often appear on the beat. The fifth variation
of Scheidt’s Ach du feiner Reiter (Tabulatura nova, 1624) includes
fingerings for repeated notes in both hands, alternating 3 with 2 in the
right hand and 2 with 1 in the left hand, so that the principal finger plays
on the beat.
In the third volume of his Syntagma musicum (1619), Michael
Praetorius describes four types of ornament to be used in the new Italian
style: (1) the accentus, different patterns for connecting two long notes at
different intervals, (2) the tremulo and tremoletto, main-note trills that
alternate the ornamented note with either its upper or lower auxiliary, (3)
the groppo, a tremulo with the upper note concluding with a turn and (4)
the tirata, a quick scale passage. Although these ornaments are discussed
in a chapter on singing, Praetorius writes that the tremuli are called ‘mor-
danten’ by organists and that they sound better on the organ and plucked
instruments than in the voice. He likewise defines the tirata as a long, fast
scalewise run up or down the keyboard, so it seems to have been con-
ceived for an instrumental context. Praetorius acknowledges the help of
Giulio Caccini and Giovanni Battista Bovicelli, whose Regole Passaggi di
Musica Madrigali furnished some of the examples in Syntagma musicum.
Similar Italianate ornaments are found in the writings of later German
theorists, such as Johann Andreas Herbst (1653), Johann Crüger (1660)
and Christoph Bernhard (c1660).
By the beginning of the eighteenth century, French musical practices,
including the use of the French agréments, were taken up by some German
122 Kimberly Marshall

composers of organ music. J. C. F. Fischer provided a table for the French

ornaments he adopted in his Musicalisches Blumenbüschlein of 1696, and
Johann Gottfried Walther gave similar examples of trills and mordents in
his Praecepta der musicalischen Composition of 1708. The transition from
Italianate decoration, which continued to feature in German music, to
French-based agréments was not universal or clearly defined, and this
poses a problem in performing the music of Buxtehude and his contem-
poraries (see Neenan 1987). One finds written-out trills starting on the
main note in the organ music of Buxtehude, yet many of the manuscript
sources include French ornament symbols. Since most of these were
copied much later than the music was composed, the agréments probably
reflect the performance style of the copyist rather than that of Buxtehude.
The difference between the Italian and French approaches is represented
in extant copies of Nicolaus Bruhns’s chorale fantasia Nun komm’ der
Heiden Heiland. Walther’s copy contains only the Italianate ornamenta-
tion of the original, while in others based on a copy by Agricola, the
musical text is overladen with French agréments (see Radulescu 1993).
These sources reflect different traditions of ornamentation that probably
co-existed in eighteenth-century Germany, given the amount of cultural
interchange in the Hanseatic cities and the propensity of German musi-
cians to incorporate diverse aspects of foreign musical styles. There are
therefore no easy answers for the modern performer, who should assess
the context of each ornament to determine how most effectively to render
it.
Other ambiguities in the performance of German baroque music
concern the transcription of the original tablature notation, where hori-
zontal rows of letters indicate the notes in each part, into mensural nota-
tion, where notes are positioned on staves. Tablature was used by German
organists well into the eighteenth century, and it sometimes contains
information about the division of the music between the hands that may
be lost in modern staff notation. Because the different octaves are indi-
cated by special signs that are easily left out or misread, confusion can
arise concerning the correct octave placement of some notes. Finally,
although each voice part occupies a continuous horizontal row in tabla-
ture, the use of pedal is not usually indicated, so that this decision was left
to the performer. (This is also the case with organ music that was notated
in staff notation, since the usual format was on two staves only.)
Whenever possible, facsimiles of the original sources should be consulted
to help organists evaluate the decisions made by modern editors in tran-
scribing the music.
123 A survey of historical performance practices

French classical style

The Sun King Louis XIV, who reigned from 1661 until his death in 1715,
was a great patron of the arts, and during this time many organists pub-
lished their works, often including instructions for registration, tables
explaining the symbols for ornaments, and additional information about
how to perform the music stylishly. French composers delighted in the
rich sounds of their instruments, as shown in titles such as Récit de
Cromorne, Basse de Trompette, and Tierce en taille (see Chapter 12). In
this codified repertoire, the mood, rhythmic flow and shape of the
melodic lines were conceived according to standard registrational
schemes, and the close link between music and timbre must be realised to
achieve a convincing interpretation. More general aspects of French
musical style had great influence throughout Europe. The French system
of agréments, small symbols in the score indicating the type and place-
ment of ornaments, was avidly taken up by composers from other coun-
tries, including J. S. Bach. Predominant among these embellishments was
the trill, known in French as cadence or tremblement, which was dis-
tinctive in beginning on the upper auxiliary rather than upon the note to
be ornamented. The French trill puts dissonance on the beat, as opposed
to the Italian trillo, exemplified in the music of Frescobaldi, where the
ornament begins on the main note.
Guillaume-Gabriel Nivers provides one of the most detailed prefaces
in his Livre d’Orgue of 1665. He advocates paired fingerings for the right
hand originating from the third finger (3–4 ascending and 3–2 descend-
ing) and for the left hand (2–1 ascending and 3–4 descending). These
same fingerings are reiterated in Monsieur de Saint-Lambert’s treatise,
Les Principes du Clavecin (1702), as well as in the influential Art de toucher
le clavecin of François Couperin (1717), where only right-hand scales are
given. Although these are methods for harpsichord playing, the remarks
on fingering are relevant to organists since they represent a general
approach to the keyboard that would have been taught to beginners. The
metric values of the fingering examples in all three sources are ambigu-
ous, and there does not appear to have been a correlation between
‘strong’ fingers and ‘strong’ beats in the French systems. Couperin
acknowledges the complexity of the subject when he writes: ‘The manner
of fingering does much for good playing; but, as it would require a
volume filled with remarks and varied passages to illustrate what I think
and what I make my pupils practise, I will give only a general idea here’
(Couperin 1717: 10). His remarks provide a bridge between earlier and
later approaches, particularly in his advocacy of legato playing and the
124 Kimberly Marshall

use of finger substitution in stepwise passages of ornamented slurred

notes:
l.h. 2 - 1 2-1 2-1 2-1 2

r.h. 3 - 2 3 - 2 3-2 3-2 3

In addition to paired fingerings for scales in the right hand, he gives alter-
native fingerings for scales with several sharps or flats, and he also
includes special fingerings to accommodate specific difficult passages in
his music. In the preface to his Pièces de Clavecin (1724) Jean Philippe
Rameau advises passing the thumb underneath the other fingers to
execute extended running passages, a method that he considers to be
‘excellent, especially when there are sharps and flats to play’ (Rameau
1724: 5; 1979: 18). This is an important document for the use of thumb-
under fingerings in France at about the same time that J. S. Bach and
others were introducing them in Germany, although most French classi-
cal organ music was composed prior to this time.
Nivers’ table of ornaments is the earliest to be published, and it
includes five types of embellishment that were to become standard in the
French repertoire: the cadence beginning on the upper note; the double
cadence, or trill with termination; the coulade, filling in the middle note of
an open third; the port de voix, an appoggiatura coming from above or
below the note; and the ascending port de voix with pincé, called ‘agré-
ment’ by Nivers, a combined ornament where a lower appoggiatura leads
into a mordent. (A similar combination for the English ‘beat’ is attributed
to Henry Purcell in posthumous editions of his Choice Collection of
Lessons; see above, p. 120.) The realisations of these ornaments does not
make it clear whether they begin on the beat, although later French tables
consistently show this to be the case, despite differences in the nomencla-
ture and the variety of embellishments included. The table preceding
Jean-Henri d’Anglebert’s Pièces de Clavecin of 1689 was especially
influential, since it was referred to by Saint-Lambert and copied by J. S.
Bach. Some of the ornaments are more applicable to the harpsichord
than the organ, but those in the opening group, shown in Example 8.1, are
suitable for both instruments, and were frequently found in German
sources.
Despite the schematic rendering of trills in such tables, Couperin
makes clear that in performance they should begin more slowly than they
end, with an imperceptible acceleration. For trills of any considerable
length he recommends the following three parts: stress, or dwelling on the
upper auxiliary, the repercussions of the trill, and the point d’arrêt or
stopping point (Couperin 1717: 23–4). The mechanical rhythms of the
realisations should therefore be rendered with appropriate flexibility and
 125 A survey of historical performance practices

Ex. 8.1 The opening of d’Anglebert’s ornament table of 1689

Tremblement Tremblement
simple appuyé Cadence autre

Double cadence autre

a sense for the context in which each ornament occurs. The number of
alternations varies according to the context and duration of the note.
Nivers writes that the organist should imitate the nuances of the
human voice, demarcating all the notes while subtly slurring some. To
distinguish clearly each note in diminutions or in running scale passages,
he advises the organist to lift each note quickly while playing the next
note, but for the ports de voix and slurred passages, ‘the fingers are not
raised so promptly’, creating an articulation ‘between distinction and
confusion’ that ‘partakes a bit of each’ (Nivers 1665: preface, n.p.). These
descriptions suggest that running passages were played with a structured
or balanced legato, while slurs indicated a more overlapping touch. The
frequency of paired fingerings and the limited use of finger substitution
in Couperin’s treatise suggest that he employed both structured and bal-
anced legato, while Rameau seems to be describing the latter when he
writes: ‘the finger that has just pressed a note leaves it at the instant that its
neighbour presses another; for raising one finger and pressing with
another should be performed at the same instant’ (Rameau 1724: 4; 1979:
17).
The pre-eminence of dancing at the French court exerted a strong
effect on the rhythmic conception of instrumental music. André Raison
makes clear that even when playing sacred music organists should
observe the movement and character of the various dance metres, ‘except
that the beat should be a bit slower because of the sanctity of the place’.
Couperin makes a distinction between mesure, or the number of beats in
a bar, and cadence, or movement, the combination of tempo, accent and
phrasing that creates the expression of a piece of music (Couperin 1717:
40). In order to convey French music convincingly, one must infuse the
equal beats of the measure with cadence, the feeling intended by the com-
126 Kimberly Marshall

poser. Such nuances of timing and accentuation are taught by example

and cannot be captured in notation, leading to the problem stated by
Couperin in the excerpt opening this chapter, ‘that foreigners play our
music less well than we play theirs’.
The types of rhythmic alteration employed by the French are generally
referred to as notes inégales. Lourer, the most commonly employed, was
used to enhance the performance of a melodic line moving by step in
notes of equal value. Rather than playing the notes as written, one would
make them unequal by lingering on the downbeat and passing more
quickly through the upbeat. This is a natural way to define metre when
playing the organ, and the uneveness should be subtle and spontaneous.
The amount of inequality is determined by the character of the music,
and it should be slightly varied so that it does not create a repetitive rhyth-
mic pattern. The use of inégal louré is not appropriate in quick tempi, for
passages marked égal or marqué, for disjunct melodies, for notes
marked with dots, dashes or lines above them, or for repetitions of a single
note.
When pairs of equal notes are marked with a slur and a dot, or in some
cases only slurred, they should be performed ‘short–long’, or coulé. This
rhythmic convention was widely used outside of France; it is described by
Santa María and Frescobaldi, and is also known as the Lombardic rhythm
or Scotch snap. It produces a distinct expressivity in melodic lines and was
not as commonly employed in French organ music as inégal louré. For
citations from the many sources on rhythmic inequality, see Donington
1992: 452–63.
The third principal rhythmic alteration practised in French classical
music is overdotting, notes pointées or piquées. It was used for works in the
style of the French overture, where successions of dotted rhythms added
majesty to the opening and closing sections. Such passages were rendered
even more incisive in performance by lengthening the dotted notes and
shortening the upbeat scale passages so that they were left as late as possi-
ble and executed very quickly. This type of performance may have origi-
nated with Lully’s Vingt-quatre violons du roi, from which it was
disseminated, along with French musical style, throughout Europe (see
Donington 1992: 448–51). Overdotting can be an ideal way to enliven
organ works in the French overture style.

Fingering and ornamentation in the organ music of J. S. Bach

Bach’s works for organ are considered by many to be the apogee of writing
for the instrument, so it is vital to search for performance conventions
127 A survey of historical performance practices

Ex. 8.2 The ‘Explanation of musical signs’ provided by J. S. Bach for his son Wilhelm Friedemann

Trillo mordant trillo und mordant cadence

doppelt-cadence idem doppelt-cadence idem

und mordant

accent accent accent und

steigend fallend mordant accent und trillo idem

pertaining to his music. His compositions incorporate aspects from

various national schools, notably the Italian and French, which suggests
his acquaintance with these styles of performance, but it is difficult to
apply any system of fingering, ornamentation or rhythmic alteration too
rigidly because Bach’s music is a unique and complex synthesis that defies
easy categorisation. The composer wrote instructions concerning
fingering and ornamentation in a notebook that he compiled for his son
Wilhelm Friedemann in 1720. The fingering is found in two short pieces,
entitled Applicatio and Praeambulum, where the movement progresses in
quavers, with mainly conjunct melodies in the former and disjunct
arpeggiation in the latter. The paired fingerings that Bach indicates for
both hands in the C major Applicatio seem rather old-fashioned when
compared to reports of Bach’s playing, attributing to him ‘the new mode
of fingering’ in which the thumb was made a principal finger (David and
Mendel 1945: 309). But in the G minor Praeambulum, where there is a
greater frequency of black keys, the thumb is indicated before the second
finger plays a black key, suggesting the use of the thumb-under technique.
This is admittedly very little evidence upon which to assess Bach’s key-
board fingerings, but it demonstrates the co-existence of old and new
systems depending on the requirements of the music. C. P. E. Bach
describes both approaches to fingering in his Versuch of 1753, and ele-
ments of both are found in a copy of the Prelude and Fugue in C major
from the Well-Tempered Clavier II with fingerings by Johann Caspar
128 Kimberly Marshall

Vogler, one of Bach’s oldest pupils. (This is published in Soderlund 1986:

127–9.)
The table of ornaments that Bach included in the Clavier-Büchlein for
Wilhelm Friedemann, shown in Example 8.2, contains the most impor-
tant French agréments, with some differences in nomenclature from stan-
dard French practice. (Facsimile reproductions of Bach’s ornament table
alongside that of Jean-Henri d’Anglebert are found in Ritchie and
Stauffer 1992: 318.) The French tremblement is called trillo in Bach’s table;
the pincé, mordant (which should not be confused with the modern
definition of this term); and the cheute or port de voix, accent. The salient
features of these ornaments are the same, reflecting the influence of the
French performance style on the music of Bach and his German contem-
poraries. Italianate embellishment that is written into the score by the
composer is also found in some of Bach’s organ works. As with the music
of Frescobaldi, the performer must render the notated ornaments with
spontaneity, so that they decorate rather than dominate the melodic line.
The subtleties of the human voice provide an excellent model to the
organist, who must beware losing the music’s singing quality to achieve
mechanical precision in executing the ornaments.

Postscript for modern organists

Concern with recreating the original conditions of musical performance
is a relatively recent phenomenon with many potential dangers. Nuances
of aural expression are even more difficult to convey in words than in
notation, yet the historian of performance practices relies largely on
written descriptions to determine how music was created by past inter-
preters. Ten minutes at the keyboard with any one of these would be far
more illuminating than a surviving treatise or table of ornaments. Many
of the historical sources that inform us about earlier practices raise more
questions than they answer, and the preceding sketch is merely an attempt
to identify some of the most important documents and to summarise
their contents relating to performance at the organ. While this author is
painfully aware of the lacunae in her essay, a more fundamental short-
coming would be the implication that one can learn to play the organ
beautifully by assimilating the rules and methods described in early trea-
tises. One is reminded of Forkel’s warning after his attempt to capture in
words the elements of Bach’s keyboard technique: ‘A person may,
however, possess all these advantages, and yet be a very indifferent per-
former on the clavier, in the same manner as a man may have a very clear
and fine pronunciation, and yet be a bad declaimer or orator’ (David and
129 A survey of historical performance practices

Mendel 1945: 308). Especially futile for the modern performer is the
application of a performance style that is inappropriate to the organ
being played, for example attempting to follow Couperin’s instructions to
harpsichordists on mammoth romantic organs, or using Lemmens’s
organ technique on a moderately-sized baroque instrument or replica.
The bits of information distilled here are not meant as a recipe for per-
formance, but rather as a compilation of cooking ideas from eminent
chefs of the past. It is hoped that they might inspire, rather than constrict,
the creativity of organists today.
 9 Organ music and the liturgy
Edward Higginbottom

The organ and liturgy stand in close relationship. The construction of

organs in the churches of Western Christendom, and their use in its litur-
gies, is the phenomenon to which is owed the existence of most of our
organ literature. Our critical appreciation of organ music is deeply
coloured by a knowledge of the context of its composition and per-
formance, including inevitably the liturgical conditions which gave it
purpose and shape. Without such knowledge some of the repertory can
be unintelligible, and much of it less rich in significance.
There are obvious reasons why the organ was developed within the
context of liturgical buildings and liturgical purpose. In the history of
Western civilisation it was the only single instrument capable of pro-
viding an adequate level and diversity of sound in large and sometimes
acoustically intractable buildings. This is still true today, if we except
electro-acoustic options. To produce this mass of sound, it had the advan-
tage of relative ease of operation though not of construction. Its place in
ecclesiastical buildings was underwritten by scriptural authority, notably
Psalm 150 with its reference to ‘laudate eum in chordis et organo’, what-
ever the significance of the vulgate term ‘organo’ is against the Hebrew
original. As to its desirable effect on the faithful, Cardinal Bona had little
doubt: ‘the sound of the organ’, he wrote in his De divina psalmodia (Paris,
1663), ‘brings joy to the sorrowful soul, evokes the happiness of the heav-
enly city, rouses the lazy, refreshes the watchful, induces love in the just,
and brings the sinner to repentance’.
In this account of the organ’s relation to the liturgy a broad distinction
has to be made between the Roman Catholic Church and the Reformed
Churches. The musical needs arising in the Reformed liturgies were very
different. Indeed there are parts of the Reformed Church, including the
Calvinists, which refused altogether the use of the organ in divine office.
The English Puritans were to take the same (destructive) view. They were
of course an extreme sect of the English Reformed Church, and their
views lasted only as long as the Commonwealth, from 1649 to 1660.
Thereafter, organs were re-established as a desirable piece of furniture in
the Anglican Church. The Roman Catholics themselves recognised
[130] environments where the organ was honoured in its absence, including the
131 Organ music and the liturgy

Sistine Chapel and the Primatial Cathedral of Lyons (referred to in

Benedict XIV’s bull Annus qui of 1749). Charles Burney was to comment
on the unembellished and organless liturgy of Lyons Cathedral as he
passed through the city in 1770. And religious orders distinguished for
the austere character of their monastic life and liturgical practice, such as
the Carthusians, often dispensed with the organ in divine worship. But
broadly speaking the Roman Catholic Church made extensive use of the
instrument in its offices and sacraments, notably the Mass, as did the
reformed Lutheran Church, enriching their liturgies, and therefore the
organ literature, with music of all sorts. Thus, between the main historical
division of the Western Church, the Roman Catholic and the Reformed or
Protestant, there is not a distinction which accords to one a liturgical use
of the organ and to the other none. Nor is the organ literature of one more
extensive than the other. However, between the two main branches of
Western Christendom we can point to a distinctive manner in which the
organ was integrated into the liturgy, and it is this manner of integration,
shaping the literature so decisively, that claims our attention.
It is best to view matters in their chronological order, and to start with
the practices of the Roman Catholic Church, in whose ecclesiastical
buildings organs began to appear from the tenth century onwards. To
understand how the organ was used we have to wait for the earliest surviv-
ing examples of liturgical organ music, dating from the end of the four-
teenth century. Importantly, a source of c1400 known as the Faenza
Codex (of Italian provenance), contains the first extant settings for organ
of the Kyrie and Gloria of the Mass. This is a good starting point to grasp
the essential nature of organ music within the Roman Catholic liturgy.
The source contains a number of short pieces for the Kyrie and Gloria
which were clearly intended to alternate with voices. The nature of the
alternation is made clear by the composition itself: the left hand carries a
plainchant line (the setting Cunctipotens genitor Deus) against which a
florid right-hand part provides an elaborate discantus. The portions of
the plainchant quoted in the left hand indicate the exact extent of the
organ’s participation. In the second Kyrie–Gloria set the organ plays the
following sections of the text (shown in bold), implying a sung rendition
of the remainder:
Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Christe eleison.
Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison.
[Intonation: Gloria in excelsis Deo]. Et in terra pax hominibus bonae
voluntatis. Laudamus te. Benedicimus te. Adoramus te. Glorificamus te.
Gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam. Domine Deus, Rex
caelestis, Deus Pater omnipotens. Domine Fili, unigenite Jesu Christe.
Domine Deus, Agnus Dei, Filius Patris. Qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere
132 Edward Higginbottom

nobis. Qui tollis peccata mundi, suscipe deprecationem nostram. Qui sedes
ad dexteram Patris, miserere nobis. Quoniam tu solus sanctus. Tu solus
Dominus. Tu solus altissimus, Jesu Christe. Cum sancto spiritu. In gloria
Dei Patris. Amen.

This method of presenting a liturgical text is called ‘alternatim’, and to

our certain knowledge it was employed as early as the fourteenth century,
and continued until the early years of the twentieth. It is essential to
understand that the practice was not one in which the organ provided
preludes, interludes and postludes, leaving the liturgical text complete;
rather it was a practice in which half the text was subsumed by the ‘versets’
played by the organist, and where therefore the organ was an essential
partner in the complete presentation of the text. The usage was extended
to all the major sung liturgical items, including the Ordinary of the Mass
(but generally not the Credo – at least after the Counter-Reformation),
items of the Proper (often the Gradual ⫹ Alleluia and invariably the
Offertory), the canticles at Lauds and Vespers (Benedictus and
Magnificat), the Te Deum at Matins, the hymns at these and sometimes at
other offices as well, the psalm antiphons (and on feasts of the first class
the psalms themselves), and responsorial chants. The manner in which
the liturgical text was divided between organ and voices might often vary,
but in strophic items (e.g. hymns and canticles) it followed the verse
structure. For non-strophic items such as the Mass Ordinary, the division
between organ and choir depended upon the manner in which the Kyriale
(or the Graduale for the Proper) divided the texts. The ninefold Kyrie
would always fall into so many sections, permitting five verses for the
organ and four for the choir. The Gloria on the other hand saw a wide
diversity of presentations, ranging from the twelve sections in the setting
by Philip ap Rhys (fl. 1545–60) yielding six organ versets, to the twenty-
four sections of the troped (i.e. extended with special textual additions)
Gloria of Girolamo Cavazzoni’s Missa de beata virgine (Intabulatura
d’organo, libro secondo, 1543), giving twelve versets for the organ. In
between comes the design encountered in the French classical school
where the text is divided into eighteen sections, nine of which are taken by
the organist (normally the same nine as in the Faenza example above).
Arrangements for the Sanctus and Benedictus might be complicated by
the role of the organ during the Prayer of Consecration and at the
Elevation. A difference in approach is found between Roman sources (see
Table 9.1 below) which prefer the organ to be played during the Elevation,
and French sources (see Table 9.3 below) which expect the Benedictus to
feature in the alternatim arrangements. Thus François Couperin’s Messe
pour les couvents (1690), following the Roman rite for monastic houses,
contains an Elevation verset, whereas his Messe pour les paroisses (1690),
133 Organ music and the liturgy

in accordance with Parisian usage, has a Benedictus verset. This evidence

simplifies a complex liturgical environment in which some French organ
masses might contain both Benedictus and Elevation versets (de Grigny
and Raison), and in which the Benedictus and Elevation could, as it were,
be run together (the Benedictus was taken as a single unit in the alterna-
tim scheme by this time). The situation appears more straightforward in
seventeenth-century Italian sources, where a tradition of expressive
Elevation toccatas responds to both the letter and spirit of the prescrip-
tion of the Caeremoniale episcoporum (see below) for ‘more serious and
softer’ music at this point in the Mass. The Elevation toccatas of Girolamo
Frescobaldi (1583–1643) are distinguished examples in the genre.
At first sight this manner of presenting a liturgical text may appear
peculiar, especially to the Protestant mind. What are we to make of only
half a text? What benefit does the practice afford? Occasionally these
basic questions are addressed in the official prescriptions of the practice.
Its raison d’être, we are told, stemmed from the laudable wish to elaborate
the liturgy. And its utility lay in allowing the community to worship
without the fatigue of reciting liturgical texts in their entirety (thus the
1582 Dominican Ordinal envisages alternatim organ music ‘ad levamen
chori’). The ancient practice of singing psalms antiphonally responded to
this need; the organ followed suit, displaying its capacity for musical
elaboration: the Faenza Codex shows the organ pouring out an intricate
right-hand discantus above a left-hand cantus firmus. In the same way as
gothic architecture, stained glass, vestments and ceremony elaborated
liturgy, the organ added its decorative voice. It was a voice which set up a
dynamic spatial and stylistic relationship with the singers. It was also a
partner which offered an economy of means compared with alternatim
practices contrasting various vocal dispositions (such as polyphony
against plainchant).
If it were only the surviving sources of liturgical organ music from
which we were able to judge things, our understanding of alternatim
practice would be imperfect, even misleading. Fortunately, we are not
dependent on the music alone for our information: we have other
sources, notably the ceremonials issued by the Church to regulate liturgi-
cal practice, including the participation of the organist. The earliest
official text to prescribe the organist’s role, though not the earliest author-
itative text to mention in detail the practice, is the Caeremoniale episcop-
orum, the bishops’ ceremonial, published in Rome in 1600. This, and
many other official publications of the time (graduals, antiphoners, pro-
cessionals) speak of the intention of the counter-reformers to bring order
and good practice into the liturgical life of the Church. However,
although it is the authoritative statement for the Roman (Tridentine) rite,
134 Edward Higginbottom

Table 9.1
Prescriptions of the Caeremoniale episcoporum (Rome, 1600)
concerning the use of the organ in the liturgy

Office / Mass Liturgical item

Matins (‘from the beginning’). ‘from the Te Deum, as in Vespers’. (Deo gratias).

Lauds ‘at the end of the psalms’. Hymn. Benedictus.

Vespers (Procession). ‘at the end of psalms’. Hymn. Magnificat. Deo gratias. (Procession).

Mass (Procession as far as Introit). Kyrie. Gloria. ‘at the end of the Epistle’. Offertory.
Sanctus. Elevation. Agnus. Communion antiphon. ‘at the end of Mass’.
         : Credo. Benedictus.

Terce Hymn. ‘after any psalm’.

Compline Nunc dimittis.

passim Processions.

the bishops’ ceremonial was by no means the only text of its sort. The reli-
gious orders also began to publish ceremonials, among them the
Benedictines (including the important French reform of St Maur),
Franciscans, Dominicans, Cistercians and Premonstratensians. A
number of dioceses were also active in this field, particularly in France
under the impulse of neo-Gallicanism. An analysis of these texts provides
the best and certainly the most comprehensive view of alternatim prac-
tice. (For further reading, see Higginbottom 1976 and 1980, and Van Wye
1980.) Tables 9.1–9.3 summarise the prescriptions of three key sources,
the 1600 Caeremoniale episcoporum, the Caeremoniale divini officii, secun-
dum ordinem fratrum BVM de monte Carmeli, published in Rome in 1616
for the use of the Carmelite order, and the Caeremoniale Parisiense of
1662, published for use in the diocese of Paris. The tables record the litur-
gical items in which the organist’s participation was prescribed. Items
in brackets were included only on occasions of special solemnity.
Otherwise, broadly speaking, the prescriptions applied to feasts of the
first and second class, and down to double majors.
What view do these tables afford of alternatim practice? They reveal
among other things that the extant repertory of liturgical organ music
gives us only a partial insight into the practice. Where for instance is the
extensive repertory we would expect for the canticles at Lauds
(Benedictus) and Compline (Nunc dimittis)? Where are the seventeenth-
and eighteenth-century settings of the Introit and Gradual ⫹ Alleluia of
the Mass (though they exist in the literature of the fifteenth and sixteenth
135 Organ music and the liturgy

Table 9.2
Prescriptions of the Caeremoniale divini officii secundum ordinem fratrum
B. Virginis Mariae de monte Carmeli (Rome, 1616) concerning the use of
the organ in the liturgy

Office / Mass Liturgical item

Matins all antiphons after psalms. Te Deum. Responsories.

Lauds all antiphons after psalms. Benedictus ⫹ antiphon. Deo gratias.

Vespers all antiphons after psalms. Magnificat ⫹ antiphon. Responsory. Deo gratias.

Mass Introit. Kyrie. Gloria. Gradual (first Alleluia in Eastertide). Alleluia. Prose.
Offertory to Preface. Sanctus. Benedictus to Pater noster. Agnus to
Communion. Deo gratias.
         : Credo.

Little hours all antiphons after psalms.

Compline all antiphons after psalms. Nunc dimittis ⫹antiphon. Marian antiphon.

passim Processions.
offices of the dead      

Table 9.3
Prescriptions of the Caeremoniale Parisiense (Paris, 1662)
concerning the use of the organ in the liturgy

Office / Mass Liturgical item

Matins Invitatory. Hymn. (3rd, 6th, 9th antiphons).

(3rd, 6th) ⫹ 9th responsories. Te Deum.

Lauds ‘as at Vespers’

Vespers 1st, 3rd, 5th antiphons. (5th psalm). Responsory. Hymn.

Magnificat ⫹antiphon. Benedicamus Domino.

Mass Kyrie. Gloria. Alleluia. Prose. Offertory to preface. Sanctus. Benedictus to

Pater noster. Agnus. during communion. Deo gratias. Domine salvum.
         : Credo.

Terce 

Compline Hymn. Nunc dimittis ⫹antiphon. Marian antiphon.

Station after Vespers Responsory / Prose / Antiphon. Benedicamus Domino.

Benediction 

passim Processions.
136 Edward Higginbottom

centuries)? Where are the settings of the antiphons and responsories

referred to in the ceremonials?
The Proper of the Mass offers an especially intriguing area of study
when we attempt to relate extant musical examples to ecclesiastical pre-
scription. For the Introit we possess a strikingly rich pre-1600 repertory
(examples are found in the Buxheimer Orgelbuch c1470, Buchner’s
Fundamentum c1520, the Lublin Tablature, 1537–48, and the Leopolita
Tablature c1580, this last source boasting all of forty-seven settings).
However, following the appearance of the Caeremoniale episcoporum, and
other seventeenth-century ceremonials, the picture becomes confused.
Though the bishops’ ceremonial is silent on the subject, and though
Introit settings after 1600 are wanting, three important monastic
ceremonials refer to alternatim Introits, including the Carmelite ceremo-
nial analysed above in Table 9.2 (the other two texts are for German
Benedictines and Recollects, respectively the Caeremoniale Benedictinum
. . . monasteriorum Germaniae, Dillingen, 1641, and the Caeremoniale ff.
minorum recollect. almae nostrae provinciae Germaniae inferioris,
Brussels, 1675). Benedictine organists in German houses were permitted
to play two versets, one replacing the psalm verse and the other for the
repeat of the Introit after the ‘Gloria Patri’. As for the instruction of the
Caeremoniale episcoporum ‘at the end of the Epistle’, this conceals a diver-
sity of usage, both before and after 1600. Table 9.4 gives an idea of practice
prescribed by French ceremonials of the seventeenth and eighteenth cen-
turies. When Frescobaldi includes a ‘Canzon dopo la Pistola’ in his Fiori
musicali, it is likely that it substituted entirely for the Gradual. Adriano
Banchieri (Conclusioni, 1609, and L’organo suonarino, 4/1638) mentions
this practice, and also that of playing the repeat of the Alleluia after the
verse.
The Sequence (Prose in French sources) was often played alternatim,
following its strophic pattern. Among the extant musical sources, the
French classical school furnishes a number of examples (see in particular
Nivers, 2. livre d’orgue, 1667). But far more numerous are the extant set-
tings of the Offertory, pointing to the universal practice of providing
musical cover for the extended liturgical ceremonies at this point in the
Mass. English pre-Reformation examples, of which there are several,
show a number of approaches to integrating the chant; all show the
intonation taken by the cantor. Later in time, there is evidence to suggest
that the Offertory verset was often free-standing, substituting for the
whole of the Offertory chant. Indeed, its free-standing nature accounts
for its frequent appearance in the extant literature. Even if this item were
intoned, the organist was free to continue as he liked, at least when plain-
chant cantus-firmus settings were no longer the norm. In French
137 Organ music and the liturgy

Table 9.4
Alternatim patterns for the Gradual and Alleluia as prescribed by a number of
French ceremonials of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries

Gradual Alleluia

Source R⁄ V⁄ Allel. ii⫹jubilus V⁄ Allel. jubilus

Ord. ... O O
Praemonstratensis (1635)

Caer. ...cong. S. Mauri cc O

ord. S. Benedicti (1645) O

Caer. Paris. (1662) O O

Cér. des religieuses O

de ... Montmartre (1669)

Caer. ... ff. min. (1669) cc

O

Rit. Cisterciense (1689) O C O

Caer. monast. ord. S. O O

Benedicti (1695)

Cer. de Toul       O

Ord. ... O O
Praemonstratensis (1739)

Cér. de S. Pierre de O c cc O ?
Remiremont (1750)

Key: O⫽organ verset R⁄ ⫽respond

c(c)⫽cantor(s) V⁄ ⫽verse
C⫽choir jubilus⫽melismatic flourish at end of alleluia
Note: absence of a symbol implies a sung performance

churches the custom of intoning the Offertory before the organist contin-
ued went on well into the nineteenth century, despite the protestations of
Abbé Poisson (Traité theorique et pratique du plain-chant, Paris, 1750) and
de La Fage (Cours complet de plain-chant, 1855–6) that it would be better
to omit the intonation altogether if only two or three words of the chant
were to be heard. The practice of taking the Offertory ‘tout entier’ is
explicitly prescribed by the Cérémonial monastique des religieuses de
l’Abbaye Royale de Montmartre (Paris, 1669) and the diocesan Cérémonial
du diocese de Besançon (Besançon, 1682), and was no doubt envisaged by
others. As for the Communion, among the practices sanctioned by the
ceremonials organ music might be provided for the antiphon itself, fol-
lowing Roman usage, or during the distribution (preceding but excluding
the antiphon), preferred in French seventeenth- and eighteenth-century
sources, and presumably envisaged by Nicolas de Grigny’s verset ‘pour la
communion’ (Premier livre d’orgue, 1699).
138 Edward Higginbottom

When we consider these practices relating to the Proper of the Mass, it

can easily be appreciated that the more an alternatim exchange is associ-
ated with liturgical chants appearing maybe only once a year (for a partic-
ular feast), the less likely it is that we shall find extant literature relating to
it: organists naturally preferred to leave examples of their work with a
broader application. This is true also of the office antiphons and respon-
sories, items in which the organist was also clearly involved. For example,
the Caeremoniale Parisiense (see Table 9.3 above) gives the following
alternatim pattern for the Vespers responsory:

Intonation: cantors // R⁄ to Repetendum: organ // Repetendum:

choir // V
⁄ : cantors // Repetendum: organ // ‘Gloria Patri’:

cantors // R⁄ : choir
(NB Repetendum is the second portion of the respond)

From a reading of these and other analyses of ecclesiastical prescrip-

tion, we get a better idea of what the extant repertory represents, and
when it departs from the formulae established by the ecclesiastical
sources, what may be the reasons. For instance, the organ masses of
Girolamo Frescobaldi from the collection Fiori musicali contain an irreg-
ular number of versets for the Kyrie, as many as twelve for the Messa della
Domenica, and none at all for the other parts of the Ordinary of the Mass
(Gloria, Sanctus and Agnus). Ordinarily five versets are required for an
alternatim Kyrie. The explanation for Frescobaldi’s provision lies not in
an unorthodox alternatim pattern, but more simply in the provision of
versets showing a range of compositional procedures from which five
might be chosen. Frescobaldi’s omissions for the other items of the
Ordinary are no more significant than François Couperin’s omission of
versets in his organ masses for the Gradual/Alleluia, Prose and
Communion. It does not mean that none of these items was played by the
organist: he would have supplied them as a matter of course, no doubt
directed if not also inspired by the techniques exemplified in the versets to
hand. Furthermore, when Clérambault publishes two organ suites (1710)
without liturgical affiliation, it does not mean that they could not be used
for the Magnificat (mode of antiphon permitting). And when Manuel
Rodrigues Coelho publishes sets of four versets for the Benedictus and
Magnificat when generally six are required (Flores de musica, 1620), he
does not intend a new form of alternation, but proposes to demonstrate
the musical techniques involved in incorporating the psalm tone succes-
sively in each of the four voices of the polyphonic texture.
Ecclesiastical prescription also tells us many other things about the
practice: when the organist was expected to attend (according to the
solemnity of the feast), how he was expected to tailor his music to the
139 Organ music and the liturgy

liturgy, when he was expected to play in a particularly devotional style,

sometimes employing the plainchant as a cantus firmus on such occa-
sions. When organ music is used in alternation with plainchant (in
passing it is worth noting that references are to be found of alternatim
practices involving various forms of vocal polyphony) it has to conform
to a number of specific requirements. In the early days of the practice it
was normal, indeed de rigueur, that the organ verset incorporated the
plainchant itself, as a cantus firmus in textures of various degrees of poly-
phonic elaboration. As polyphonic styles yielded to freer concertante
idioms, the cantus-firmus technique was retained (sometimes in
response to ecclesiastical prescription) for the initial versets, or for versets
of particular solemnity. At all times the organist had to respect the mode
of the chant in use, a discipline which led to a codification of ‘tones’
appropriate to this or that mode, and to cadences which provided endings
analogous to those of the replaced section of chant (Howell 1958). The
collections of French classical organ music grouped according to ‘ton
d’église’ reflect this requirement. These and other collections, sometimes
called ‘suites’, are a pragmatic way of dealing with the organist’s role, pro-
viding him with sets of versets appropriate not for this or that item in par-
ticular, but for any item in general, depending upon the mode, and
barring reference to a specific plainchant (a particular mass setting or
hymn, for example). The advantage of not tying down a set of versets to a
particular item could indeed be a selling point: André Raison provides
five organ masses in his first Livre d’orgue (1688), but by avoiding refer-
ence to specific plainchants not only does he make his masses polyvalent
(having nevertheless to respect the mode of the alternatim plainchant),
he also squeezes three Magnificat sets out of each mass (21 versets⫼3⫽7
allowing also for the Magnificat antiphon), yielding fifteen Magnificats
in all.
In addition, the organist was expected to observe the timing of the
liturgy: he could only elaborate when liturgical circumstances permitted,
as (and notably) at the Offertory of the Mass. Here the large-scale
offerings of the French classical school show what could be achieved in
propitious circumstances. To comment adversely on the brevity of inven-
tion elsewhere in the French repertory, or in any other alternatim reper-
tory, is to miss the point completely. Where, in the same repertory, we
might expect to encounter large-scale pieces for before and after the ser-
vices, none exists. Indeed, apart from the possibility of processional
music, there is no evidence for the use of the organ in this context, and the
concluding Deo gratias movements from the masses of the French school
are as short as any other verset.
Behind the practice lay the art of improvisation. No organist was
140 Edward Higginbottom

appointed to his task without being able to demonstrate fluency in

improvisation. In the early years of the sixteenth century at St Mark’s
Venice, the tests for candidates comprised improvising a strict four-part
fantasia on a given theme, the improvised treatment of another theme,
passing the cantus prius successively through all four voices of the
texture, and responding extempore and alternatim to the choir. Given the
number of days when the organist had to attend, the number of services at
which he played and the number of versets required at each, it is scarcely
surprising that improvisatory skills were a sine qua non. (A calculation
for Nicholas Lebègue, organist at the Parisian church of St Merry in the
second half of the seventeenth century, brings his annual total of versets
to c8,000.) What is surprising is the appearance of published (and indeed
manuscript) collections of liturgical organ music. What was their
purpose? Most likely to provide an exemplar for those wishing to learn the
art, as well as a source for those whose inspiration might not be on the
highest level. At the same time, the surviving music is but a minute frac-
tion of what was improvised over the centuries in the context of alterna-
tim practice, and in some respects it may be unrepresentative of the
practice, inclined to greater complexity (for pedagogical and ‘artistic’
purposes) than the commonplaces of improvisation. Thus in 1690
François Couperin published his two organ masses to demonstrate to the
world at large his compositional skills in the musical genre then best
known to him. We may be grateful that he did not restrict himself to the
dimensions of the organ masses contained in the Thierry MS, though
these modest efforts may resemble much more closely the alternatim
practice in Parisian churches of his time.

And what of the text? It is clear that in the era before the reforms and
counter-reforms of the sixteenth century the notion of text in liturgy was
different. Audibility was not a prerequisite. There are numerous examples
of ‘inaudible’ texts in Latin church music, from Notre-Dame organum
and melismatic plainchant to the dense early sixteenth-century counter-
point that Erasmus (among others) objected to. The work of the reform-
ers in bringing the text to our attention by translating it, by laying it
simply before us, and the work of the counter-reformers in excising
melisma from plainchant (in the so-called Medici editions of the anti-
phoner and gradual) and calling for a more straightforward polyphonic
style, speak of a quite different attitude from that displayed by the
medieval and early renaissance mind. At the inception of alternatim prac-
tice, the text was seen not as revelation but as incantation. It was there, and
profoundly there, even when not heard. Its manner of being conveyed by
the organ fitted this outlook perfectly. The history of alternatim organ
141 Organ music and the liturgy

music from the seventeenth century betrays a change which in its way fails
to recognise the pre-Reformation condition of alternatim practice. Thus
when Pope Benedict XIV refers in his bull Annus qui of 1749 to the impor-
tance of instrumental music in the liturgy ‘adding to the force of the text
so that its significance penetrates the minds of the faithful, moving the
latter to consider spiritual matters’, and when in the same year the French
theoretician Cousin de Contamine writes that ‘the organist must strive to
convey the text passed over in silence by the choir’ (Traité critique du
plain-chant, Paris, 1749), they are giving to the text a status it previously
did not enjoy, and which, if it had, would not have sought alternatim
organ music as a means of liturgical elaboration.
The difficulty of the ‘omitted’ text is regularly referred to in
seventeenth- and eighteenth-century ceremonials. These sources often
propose that the text taken by the organ should be recited ‘intelligibili
voce’ (i.e. in a manner understood by those attending the service) during
the organ verset. The phrase ‘intelligibili voce’ underlines the central
purpose of the directive: not only to ensure the continuous presence of
the liturgical text, but to make it audible and fully comprehensible to
those attending divine worship. When the Caeremoniale episcoporum uses
the phrase ‘intelligibili voce’, we cannot be sure whether its prescription
applies to the Mass as well as to the offices. French sources tend to exempt
the Mass, but they mention in greater detail another manner of pre-
senting omitted office texts hinted at in the Caeremoniale episcoporum:
that the texts might be sung ‘along with the organ’. This proposal (we can
find it incorporated in a group of Magnificat versets in Coelho’s Flores de
musica) undermines the very notion of alternatim organ music. There is
little evidence that performances of organ versets with sung cantus firmi
were widespread, notwithstanding the plausibility of the idea when
cantus-firmus settings were the norm. What is much more likely is that
the choir member appointed to declaim the ‘omitted’ text might have
sung it on a reciting tone. The practice is referred to in at least two French
ceremonials of the seventeenth century, and also by Nivers in his
Dissertation sur le chant gregorien (Paris, 1683), who recommends pitches
to be used for each of the church tones to avoid the worst of the harmonic
confusion arising from the procedure.
The view of the organ as a provider of music against which a text was
recited was eventually to bring about the end of the practice, a point
reached in ecclesiastical legislation when Pope Pius X proscribed alterna-
tim organ music in his Motu proprio of 1903. Nonetheless, the practice
continued for a while, particularly in France, receiving its coup de grâce
only as a result of the sweeping liturgical reforms of the Second Vatican
Council (1962–5). Before then, Olivier Messiaen’s Messe de la Pentecôte
142 Edward Higginbottom

(1951), following Tournemire’s scheme (see below) offers no more than

five movements standing in a loose liturgical relation to the Mass:‘Entrée’,
‘Offertoire’, ‘Consécration’, ‘Communion’, ‘Sortie’. What might be inter-
preted as Propers are nothing of the sort, but pieces of liturgically ‘inci-
dental’ organ music.

If we define liturgical organ music strictly, as denoting music whose omis-

sion would lead to the loss of an integral and necessary part of the liturgi-
cal text or action, then we can see how the term suits alternatim practice
but fits less well contexts in which liturgical texts are presented in their
entirety. These are the contexts more commonly and eventually exclu-
sively encountered in the liturgies of the Reformed Church, principally
the Lutheran and Anglican. To these we now turn.

The German principalities were rich in fine organs at the time of the
Reformation: a tradition of building on a grand scale was well established,
and organ music was part and parcel of people’s experience of the liturgy.
If we except the doctrinal differences, much that appears in the reformed
liturgy of the Lutheran Church has its roots firmly in the Roman Catholic
practice. Even with respect to language, Latin continued to be used for
certain items of the liturgy, such as the Gloria in excelsis and the
Magnificat. In accordance with this traditional stance towards the liturgy,
it is perhaps not so surprising to find cases of alternatim practice hanging
over into the Lutheran. For instance Samuel Scheidt’s Tabulatura nova
(1624) contains examples of alternatim Magnificats and hymns, Heinrich
Scheidemann (c1596–1663) and Matthias Weckmann (1621–74) have left
us with examples of alternatim Magnificats, and J. S. Bach an alternatim
Te Deum in its Lutheran translation Herr Gott, dich loben wir (BWV 725).
However, there are definite limits to the interpretation of J. S. Bach’s organ
music in the light of alternatim practice: the oft-cited notion that Part III
of the Clavierübung (1739) is an organ mass is entirely erroneous, confus-
ing the presence of chorale-prelude settings of chants for the Kyrie and
the Gloria (both items being retained in the Lutheran Mass) with alterna-
tim workings. Indeed, apart from the Te Deum, nothing by Bach con-
forms inescapably to alternatim practice, and much is liturgical only in a
looser sense: the sense in which chorale preludes clearly relate to liturgical
sung items and (certainly in their manifestation in the Orgelbüchlein)
might be played as preludes to a vocal rendition of the chorale within the
Gottesdienst.
The general picture for Lutheran practice is varied, and complicated
furthermore by the use in many churches of choirs and instrumentalists
whose participation in the liturgy became a distinguishing feature of
143 Organ music and the liturgy

German reformed practice. It has to be remembered that even in Roman

Catholic contexts there were places and times when choirs took over the
organ’s role. The Cérémonial de Toul of 1700 tells us how, when the
Ordinary was sung ‘en musique’ (i.e. in a polyphonic setting), the organ-
ist’s role was reduced to playing preludes and interludes. In the Lutheran
orbit, such might also be the organist’s role. A description of a service at St
Lorenz, Nuremberg in the late seventeenth century refers to the organist
playing ‘interludes’ for the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus and Agnus. Likewise at
Vespers, when the Magnificat was sung with vocal and instrumental
forces, the need was removed for independent organ music, except
perhaps as a prelude. When J. S. Bach wrote a ‘Fuga sopra il Magnificat’
(BWV 733), he was certainly not providing a liturgical item, though he
might have been providing an extended prelude to it.
Within a varied and sometimes ill-defined picture in the Lutheran
Church we can glimpse some irrefutable facts. The first is that alternatim
practice continued for some time, and perhaps longer than we might
imagine. In the early seventeenth century Michael Praetorius
(c1571–1621) refers more than once to the advantages of alternatim
organ/choir performances of his music. The existence of alternatim
Magnificats by Scheidemann, Buxtehude, and others provides evidence
for later in the century. And descriptions of Matins in Leipzig in the early
eighteenth century include reference to an alternatim Te Deum (exempli-
fied also in BWV 725).
The second is that chorale preludes were used to introduce the chorale
melody to the congregation, and that these preludes may have been on an
extensive scale, though when on the scale of the chorale preludes of Bach’s
Clavierübung III, given the didactic and recreational purpose of that
collection, it is as likely that they were performed outside as inside a litur-
gical context. The extensive use of hymns in the Lutheran liturgy (at the
Hauptgottesdienst – the main Sunday morning service with sermon and
communion – as many as ten might be sung) meant that the duty of pre-
luding before the hymn became the most significant of the organist’s
duties, analogous in this respect to the Roman Catholic’s alternatim
duties, and depending like them on a fluent improvisatory skill. There is
no knowing what tolerance priests and congregations showed towards
long and elaborate chorale preludes, such as Bach has left us. The argu-
ments advanced in the seventeenth century for and against organ music
in the Gottesdienst tell us only that practice might vary considerably. J. C.
Voigt (Gespräch von der Musik, 1742) and J. Adlung (Anleitung zur
musikalischen Gelahrtheit, 2/1783) pleaded that the preludes announcing
the chorales be to the point, using always the chorale melody (Williams
1984: 22); so it is clear that some organists were self-indulgent. It is also
144 Edward Higginbottom

difficult to determine for sure the status of chorale verses, though they
may have been used as interludes between hymn verses if not as alterna-
tim versets. It was also the practice to fill in certain moments of the
service, as for instance between the hymn and the sermon, when a chorale
‘Nachspiel’ would have been in order, and before a cantata to cover the
preparation of the musicians (including tuning!), here the organist
choosing the key and chorale of the cantata. If in this area there is any
development to note over the seventeenth to the nineteenth centuries, it is
that the role of the organist as accompanist became increasingly impor-
tant. In the early days of the Reform, chorales were sung unaccompanied
and often unharmonised. As the organist took up the task of accompany-
ing (and therefore also harmonising them), so his independent role
became less important. To judge from Burney’s report of a service in
Bremen Cathedral in 1772 the tradition of unaccompanied singing sur-
vived in some places well on into the eighteenth century, but to judge also
from the surviving literature, the art of preluding on the chorale fell well
short of the accomplishment shown in the earlier part of the century.
The third fact to note is that the preludes, toccatas and fugues of the
great Lutheran school of organists, Franz Tunder (1614–67), Vincent
Lübeck (1654–1740), Georg Böhm (1661–1733), Nicolaus Bruhns
(1665–97), Dieterich Buxtehude and of course J. S. Bach, may have
belonged to extra-liturgical contexts as much as to liturgical ones. There
is no evidence for their regular use as preludes and postludes to
Hauptgottesdienst and Vespers until we get some way into the eighteenth
century. J. A. Scheibe, perhaps from his experience of Hamburg practice,
refers in 1745 (Der critische Musikus) to the fact that organists who played
at the beginning and end of services had an opportunity to reveal their
talents to the full. Such terms of reference strongly suggest the possibility
of extended compositions in the free style (such as preludes and fugues).
Earlier in the century, the descriptions we have of ‘preluding’ before the
services at St Thomas Leipzig are extremely vague, and do not indicate the
type of organ music used. The patchy evidence before this time allows us
to say only that in certain places such may have been the practice, as it
appears to have been at Danzig (where a surviving Order of Service of
1706 for the Catherinenkirche refers explicitly to organ music after the
service). Lest it should be thought that this creates a crisis of context for
an important part of the organ repertory, it should be remembered that
public recitals, auditions and demonstrations were part of the musical
culture of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century northern Europe.
The subject of Anglican organ music provides a footnote to the fore-
going survey. James Clifford, in The Divine Services and Anthems usually
sung in His Majesties Chappell (1663 and 1664) suggests that before the
145 Organ music and the liturgy

Civil War voluntaries were played immediately before the first lesson at
Matins and at Evensong. Edward Gibbons (organist at Exeter Cathedral
before the Civil War) has left us ‘A Prelude upon the Organ, as was then
used before the Anthem’ (Morehen 1995: 44). These and other references
to the use of the organ at the Offertory of the Mass have nothing to do
with organ music integral to the liturgy, i.e. without which the liturgy
would be incomplete: the organ lent its voice in a purely optional and
additional fashion, apart from the practice of ‘giving out’ psalm and hymn
tunes (Burchell 1992). Here a tradition arose which has something in
common with the Lutheran, though much more modest in scope, involv-
ing a decorated presentation of the congregation’s melody prior to
singing. In the eighteenth century this practice was extended to include
short organ interludes between verses. Such music however scarcely
counts as organ repertory, though the Voluntary on the Old 100th by
Henry Purcell, which may have had a preludial function, shows how it
might have been raised to an artistic level. The freely composed organ vol-
untary became in the eighteenth century the staple fare of English organ
composition, and served a generalised need for ‘incidental’ organ music
in the liturgy.

Little has been said about the organ literature of the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries. We know that alternatim practices continued into
the early years of the twentieth century in the Roman Catholic liturgy, but
such practices were no longer at the heart of things. In the French school
we remember not so much Justin for his L’organiste à la messe . . . 11
messes: plainchant alternant avec l’orgue (1870) as César Franck for his
chorals (1890). The French were part of a wider tendency in the nine-
teenth century to give the organ a repertory belonging more to the
concert than to the liturgy. If Mendelssohn’s organ sonatas, Franck’s
chorals and Widor’s symphonies might be heard in church, it was not the
liturgy which had inspired them, nor the liturgy which had a particular
use for them. Rather it was the instrument that brought them to life, and a
belief that the organ had its place in the musical world at large alongside
the piano, the string quartet and the symphony orchestra. The organ itself
found a place in secular institutions, in the large public halls of Europe,
affirming that strictly musical purposes were being served in writing for
it. This change of focus continues into and through the twentieth century
in the works of Marcel Dupré and Paul Hindemith, Louis Vierne and Max
Reger, Jehan Alain and Kenneth Leighton. Much of this music might have
a place in church services of both the Catholic and the Protestant persua-
sion, but only as para-liturgical offerings, filling in gaps in the liturgy, or
preceding and then concluding a service. A closer affinity to the liturgy
146 Edward Higginbottom

may be descried in the music of Charles Tournemire, whose L’orgue mys-

tique (1927–32) takes us through the church’s liturgical year, and shows a
deep musical affiliation to plainchant. However, it is more in design and
style that his music appears to be liturgical than in its precise role in the
liturgy, where it serves, like so much other music, as fillers. In itself, the use
of plainchant as melodic material is no guarantee of liturgical usefulness,
as we may see from a work such as Maurice Duruflé’s triptych on Veni
creator spiritus (op. 4). And a deeply felt religious dimension, as in
Messiaen’s organ music, is no indicator of liturgical purpose, his music
being essentially a matter for the concert hall rather than the church, or
more precisely for the recital rather than the service.
A knowledge of liturgical context can lead to a wish to respect that
context in the presentation of organ music in modern performance.
Outside the domain of liturgical practice itself, various levels of liturgical
reconstruction are possible, from alternatim organ masses performed
with plainchant choir to German chorale preludes introducing per-
formances of the chorale itself. Care is needed in any of these circum-
stances. For instance, the wholesale musical reconstruction of an organ
mass raises as many problems as it apparently solves: the alternation of
organ and voices is not a musical matter alone; it is a form of antiphony in
which both parties enjoin in a ritualistic presentation of a sacramental
text. In addition there are problems reconciling the stylistic juxtaposition
of keyboard styles and plainchant (even taking into account relevant per-
forming styles for the chant), problems that do not exist in the ritualistic
context of divine worship. Still less obvious is the desirability of playing a
whole organ mass from one end to the other without the intervening
chants, as though it were some self-contained musical form. This practice
does the music a grave disservice. For much of the repertory, at least that
belonging to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, a better solution is
to select a group of tonally related but stylistically varied versets from a
mass, and present them as a surrogate suite. Thus, for the classical French
repertory, six or seven versets from a Gloria setting would represent a
viable ‘concert’ option, in line with Clérambault’s formulation in his
organ suites. To turn to the German Lutheran tradition, the manner of
assembling collections of its organ music has little to do with performing
contexts or intentions: J. S. Bach clearly did not intend the Clavierübung
III to be played as some sort of unified whole, though from a composi-
tional point of view there is an extraordinary degree of design, balance
and coherence in the collection. Few players would imagine (and rightly)
a chorale prelude to be somehow musically incomplete without a vocal
performance of the chorale. Whether or not the repertory hinges closely
on liturgical contexts, most contexts of modern performance suggest a
147 Organ music and the liturgy

necessary dissociation of organ music from the liturgy, apart perhaps for
those pieces, dating largely from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries,
where the cantus firmus of the organ verset provides a plainchant line
demanding completion in an alternatim pattern.
 10 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi
Christopher Stembridge

Introduction
Frescobaldi is obviously central to any discussion of Italian organ music.
What is sometimes forgotten is that, like J. S. Bach, he comes at the end of
a great tradition – at least as far as Italy is concerned. His most important
pupil and follower was Froberger. Through him, and indirectly through
others such as Kerll, Frescobaldi was to exercise considerable influence on
German keyboard music, not least on Bach himself.
The great age of Italian organ building was already in decline when
Frescobaldi was born in 1583. The last large instrument to be built was
that by Luca Blasi for St John Lateran in Rome in 1598. The new enor-
mous basilica of St Peter’s where Frescobaldi was to serve most of his life-
time never had an organ commensurate with its size, its importance or the
stature of its organist. Most seventeenth-century Italian organs do not
extend below 8′ C and have a range of four octaves (C/E–a2 or c3).
Virtually all Frescobaldi’s music can be played on such an instrument
quite satisfactorily. This has given rise to the idea that the Italian organ
was always a small instrument, especially since many such organs still
exist and because the basic format remained unchanged for another two
centuries. The bulk of this chapter will therefore attempt to explain the
Italian scene up to Frescobaldi, relating its music not only to the large
instruments that survive (e.g. San Petronio, Bologna, 1471; Arezzo
Cathedral, 1534; San Giuseppe, Brescia, 1581; St John Lateran, Rome,
1598 – all of these based on 16′ or 24′ principali) but also smaller 6′ and 4′
organs.1

The beginnings
The earliest Italian source of organ music is the Faenza Codex of c1420.
Like other organ music of the period, the pieces, which represent both
sacred and secular forms, are composed for two voices, almost certainly
intended to be played on organs in Pythagorean tuning (i.e. with perfect
fifths and all but one or two major thirds virtually unusably wide). The
[148] music is written on two six-line staves. Like the English, the Italians pre-
149 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi

ferred staff notation to letter or number tablature and were later to

develop their own keyboard notation retaining the six-line stave for the
right hand while adding first a seventh and later an eighth line to the left-
hand stave in order to avoid adding leger-lines. This notation is normally
called ‘Italian keyboard tablature’. While it would appear to be closer to
ordinary notation than to other types of tablature, the use of the word
‘tablature’ is justified by the fact that the system makes no attempt to
demonstrate the integrity of the part-writing in polyphonic music –
instead it merely informs the player which notes to play, while the division
of the music between the upper and lower staves indicates quite clearly
which notes are to be played by the right and left hand respectively. This
system, with the left-hand stave growing to seven and then eight lines,
remained in use even for printed music well into the seventeenth century.
Example 10.1 shows part of a polyphonic verse from Frescobaldi’s 1627
Second Book of Toccatas.
Unfortunately no organ music by the most famous fourteenth-
century Italian organist-composer, Francesco Landini (c1325–97), is
known to have survived. It is also particularly disappointing that no later
fifteenth-century Italian organ music has come down to us, since all the
evidence points to there having been a remarkable development. This
is suggested not only by the stature of Marc’Antonio Cavazzoni’s
Recerchari, motetti, canzoni . . . libro primo of 1523, but also by the fact that
some very grand organs had been built by 1500, notably that by Lorenzo
da Prato for San Petronio, Bologna (1471) which still survives, as well as
the well-documented instrument by Fra Urbano in St Mark’s, Venice
(1489).2 Both these organs were based on a principale of 24′.
Furthermore, the well-known requirements for candidates seeking
employment as organist in St Mark’s show that the standard of musician-
ship amongst players was very high (see p. 140).

The development of the sixteenth-century organ

It would be interesting to know not only what sort of music was played in
the late fifteenth century, but also how the transition was effected from
the organ tuned in perfect fifths to the sixteenth-century preference for a
mean-tone temperament with good major thirds, which is clearly
required for all music from Cavazzoni to Frescobaldi. (Notice the Italian
predilection for placing the major third on top of chords.) As early as 1468
the first known split keys for additional semitones were added to the
organ of Cesena Cathedral (see Wraight and Stembridge 1994). It may be
assumed that these were to provide G
in addition to A .3
 150 Christopher Stembridge

Ex. 10.1 Frescobaldi, Ave maris stella, verse 4

(a) Facsimile of original edition of 1627

(end of verse 3 and start of verse 4)

(b) Transcription into modern keyboard score

(c) Performing edition

The co-existence of sacred and secular forms already noted in the

Faenza Codex is a feature that is typical of published books of organ
music throughout the sixteenth and well into the seventeenth century.
Marc’Antonio Cavazzoni, his son Girolamo and Frescobaldi all produced
books in which both hymns and secular songs, madrigals or dance move-
ments provided the basis of organ compositions. Toccatas, unless
specified ‘da sonarsi all’Elevazione’ (to be played during the consecration
at Mass), and ricercars were neutral in this respect. Most Italian keyboard
music of the period was designed to be played on any keyboard instru-
ment and may work equally well on organ or harpsichord – much of it
even on the clavichord as well. The organ was not confined to church use
but, particularly in the case of smaller instruments, was employed in
secular music-making. There was even a kind of organ designed for
private use – the equivalent, in organ terms, of the clavichord. This was
the small single or two-rank instrument with paper pipes. One of these is
151 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi

Figure 10.1 Organ in the Palazzo Pubblico, Siena, built by Giovanni Piffero.

represented in the intarsia of the Duke of Urbino’s studiolo (c1475).

Another, made by Lorenzo da Pavia in 1494, has partially survived; this
had a principale 6′ and an ottava (see Donati 1993: 277, n. 5). An organ
clearly intended for both secular and liturgical use is the 4′ instrument by
Giovanni Piffero still to be seen and heard in the Palazzo Pubblico (for-
merly the Curia) in Siena where it is positioned between the chapel and
the great hall – Sala del Mappamondo (see Figure 10.1).
The sixteenth-century organ in Italy could be based on either C or F.
Typical ranges were F–f 3 or a3 without F
, G
or g
3 (i.e. a 6′ instrument) or
152 Christopher Stembridge

the same an octave lower (FF–f 2) (cf. e.g. Santa Maria della Scala, Siena, G.
Piffero, 1517, shown in Figure 5.4) or FF–a2 (e.g. San Petronio, Bologna,
Lorenzo da Prato, 1471, which has a 24′ principale effectively FFF–a1).
Smaller organs based on c (4′) might, like the 1519 instrument in the
Palazzo Pubblico, Siena, have a range of c–a3 (without c
or g
3); larger (8′
or 16′) organs would normally have the same range extended by an octave
(e.g. Arezzo Cathedral, Luca da Cortona, 1534: CC–a2, without CC
or
g
2).
When assessing the capabilities of the larger instruments, today’s
organist should avoid making the mistake of assuming that the presence
of only one keyboard, an octave of pedal pull-downs and a small number
of stops (basically a principal-based ripieno and a flute) pose strict limita-
tions. Given a 16′ or 24′ principale, a keyboard range of nearly five
octaves, doubling or even trebling of the basic ranks in the treble range
together with a shallow case designed to project the sound, the grandeur
leaves little to be desired. As for variety, the range of keyboard makes it
possible to use the principale, both on its own or in combination with
other stops, at either 16′ or 8′ pitch. Similarly the ottava may be used at 8′
(as a smaller principale) or 4′ pitch. The XV (fifteenth) can be used as a 4′.
The flauto in XV may be used on its own or in conjunction with any of
these three. The fact that the upper harmonics are nearly always to be
drawn separately obviously increases their usefulness and provides far
more variety than a single mixture stop could do. Thus an organ with only
seven stops will have between thirty and forty possible registrations.
Italian organ-stop nomenclature is quite easy to understand once the
basics have been grasped. The ripieno is normally made up of a principale
(open diapason) and an unbroken series of upper ranks, each of which
can usually be drawn separately, unlike north European mixture stops.
(Exceptions exist: Piffero tends to group XIX and XXVI, XXII and XXIX.)
Note that the twelfth was not present in the Italian ripieno until the late
baroque period. Given an 8′ principale the other stops would be:

Written Italian term English equivalent Pitch

VIII ottava Octave 4′
XV decimaquinta or quintadecima Fifteenth 2′
XIX decimanona Nineteenth 113 ′
XXII vigesimaseconda Twenty-Second 1′
2
XXVI vigesimasesta Twenty-Sixth 3′
1
XXIX vigesimanona Twenty-Ninth 2′
1
XXXIII trigesimaterza Thirty-Third 3′
1
XXXVI trigesimasesta Thirty-Sixth 4′

and so on.
153 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi

Given a 16′ principale the VIII would be at 8′ pitch, the XV at 4′ pitch,

etc. A 12′ principale means that the keyboard begins at FF. The relation-
ship of the upper ranks to the principale remains the same, as also in the
case of instruments based on 24′, 6′ or 4′ principale. The upper ranks (i.e.
above XV) normally break back in the upper octaves; XXVI and above will
break back twice.
The open flute ranks were not to be used in the ripieno but either
singly or in conjunction with the principale, also in some compound
registrations (see Antegnati’s directions below). A small organ would
normally have one flute stop pitched at an octave, a twelfth, or two octaves
above the principale: flauto in VIII (flauto in ottava), flauto in XII (flauto
in duodecima), flauto in XV (flauto in decimaquinta). Larger organs had
two or even three flutes. Sometimes in later sixteenth-century organs the
flauto in VIII and the principale were divided into treble and bass sec-
tions. Larger sixteenth-century instruments had two (occasionally three)
pipes for each note in the treble of the principale, the VIII and sometimes
the XV.
The tremulant (tremolo) was also a common feature of the earlier six-
teenth century, for use mainly with the solo principale. Towards the end of
the century it tended to be replaced by the fiffaro or voce umana, a second
rank of principale pipes on a separate slide, for the treble half of the key-
board only, tuned slightly sharp to give a beating effect.

Advice concerning registration

L’arte organica by the organist and organ builder Costanzo Antegnati,
published in Brescia in 1608, is an invaluable source of information about
registration. This brief treatise is in the form of a dialogue between
Antegnati and his son. In discussing various organs made by his illustri-
ous family, he recommends certain combinations of stops; in most cases
he also adds some useful comments. Since he reveals himself to be of a
rather conservative nature – an image that is supported by his stile antico
ricercars published the same year – we may with reason safely assume that
his views reflect those typical of Italian organists of the second half of the
sixteenth century. His instructions may be codified as follows:
11. Ripieno: Use for all Intonationi, introits, the beginning and end of Mass when a
toccata should be played, using the pedals.
12. Mezzo-ripieno: principale, VIII, flauto in VIII, XXIX, XXXIII or, when there is
no XXXIII on the organ (even if there is a XXIX) the quasi mezzo-ripieno:
principale, VIII, flauto in VIII, XXII, and XXVI.
13. principale, VIII and flauto in VIII.
154 Christopher Stembridge

14. principale and flauto in VIII. This combination is good for all kinds of music
and for accompanying motets.
15. principale, VIII and flauto in XII. This is very good for all kinds of things, but
especially for canzonas and music with divisions.
16. principale and flauto in XII. For music with divisions and fast pieces like
canzonas.
17. principale and flauto in XV. For music with divisions.
18. principale, VIII and flauto in XV. This is also very effective for music with
divisions.
19. VIII and flauto in VIII. This is wonderful for music with divisions and for
canzonas; very good for all kinds of things.
10. principale solo. Most delicate. I usually use this for playing during the
consecration at Mass. Also for accompanying motets with few voices.
11. flauto in VIII solo.
12. VIII solo. This may be used on its own only in large [i.e. 12′ – FF compass]
organs where it is like the principale of a small organ. Otherwise the principale
and the flauto in VIII are the only stops used on their own.
13. principale solo with tremulant. This is only for playing adagio and without
divisions.
14. flauto in VIII with tremulant. As for no. 13 above.
15. VIII and flauto in VIII with tremulant. As for nos. 13 & 14 above. [When
Costanzo Antegnati’s son interrupts the dialogue to say that he has heard
canzonas with divisions played on this combination of stops (even with the
tremulant) by worthy men, Costanzo replies that they must pardon his saying
so, but they have no understanding or taste, because playing fast on this
registration only creates confusion.]
16. principale and fiffaro. The fiffaro is often called voci umane and rightly so
because of its sweet sound. It is used exclusively with the principale and without
adding any other stops as otherwise everything would sound out of tune. This
combination is for slow music played adagio and as legato as possible.

In addition, Antegnati mentions two stops on the Duomo Vecchio organ

(i.e. the old cathedral in Brescia, still extant but rebuilt by Serassi) that are
rarely found. The first is a second principale, also found at San Marco in
Milan. This stop was divided so that the treble played on the keyboard, the
bass only in the pedal. When used together with the flauto in VIII, the
treble half of the keyboard played both stops together while the bass half
had the flute on its own. If played one octave lower, the flute (4′ pitch)
replied at the same pitch as the treble (8′ ⫹ 4′). It was therefore possible to
play a dialogue that could be accompanied on the pedal.4 Finally,
Antegnati recommends changing registrations just as the music might
pass from one style to another, returning at the end to the initial regis-
tration.
155 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi

Other aspects of performance

Transposition and split keys
The co-existence during the sixteenth century of F-range and C-range
organs suggests that transposition was common practice. Such a supposi-
tion is supported by the fact that Giovanni Gabrieli included transposed
versions of his fairly simple intonationi alongside untransposed ones in
his publication of 1593. He was presumably thereby helping the inexperi-
enced organist to cope with an everyday problem.5 The importance of
mean-tone tuning has already been mentioned. (Costanzo Antegnati
gives a method in L’arte organica which insists on good – if not perfect –
major thirds; see Stembridge 1993.) Such a system restricted transposi-
tion to a certain extent. To solve this problem many Italian organs were
provided with extra chromatic (split) keys throughout the sixteenth
century and, particularly in the South and in Sicily, until the second half
of the seventeenth century (see Wraight and Stembridge 1994). There
were usually two extra keys in each of the middle octaves: a  and either d 
or d
. Clearly, the need for these extra keys was determined by the require-
ment to play at pitches suitable for singers and possibly other instru-
ments. Some organs had as many as four extra chromatic keys to the
octave. The development was taken to its extreme in the arciorgano
designed by Nicola Vicentino and built by Vincenzo Colombo in 1561.
This, similar in construction to Vicentino’s archicembalo, has thirty-one
notes to the octave. The fact that at least five such organs are known to
have existed belies the notion that such an invention represented only the
aspirations of the lunatic fringe (see Stembridge 1993: 55–7). The impor-
tance of truly consonant major thirds was and remains vital to sixteenth-
century (and much seventeenth-century) Italian organ music.6
Very little extant organ music of the period strays beyond the confines
of normal mean-tone tuning, i.e. it is very rare to find chromatic notes
other than f
, c
, g
, b  and e . Some seventeenth-century music does seem
to make use of the fact that many organs did in fact have extra keys,
notably the Recercar con obligo del Basso come appare in Frescobaldi’s Fiori
Musicali (Venice, 1635). Other instances are to be found in Banchieri and
the Neapolitan school, especially in Giovanni Salvatore’s book of 1641.

Pedals
While there is documentary evidence for virtuoso pedal playing at an
early date in Italy, indications for the use of pedals in Italian organ music
are rare (see Tagliavini 1992: 187). In a manuscript source dating from the
first half of the sixteenth century, the player is told, in one piece, to play
the lowest notes on the pedals (transcribed in Göllner 1982: 49). In the
156 Christopher Stembridge

1604 print of Annibale Padovano’s Toccate et ricercari d’organo pedal

notes are indicated by letters placed beneath the music system.
Frescobaldi’s directions for the Toccata Quinta and Toccata Sesta (1627
book) ‘sopra i pedali, e senza’ leave the door open for manualiter per-
formance. The same kind of indication is given by Gregorio Strozzi,
Capricci da sonare cembali, et organi (1687). Clearly pedals were often
used to hold a pedal-point, leaving the left hand free to do more inter-
esting things. On a large organ the pedal pull-downs would play at 16′
pitch while one might play at 8′ pitch on the manual. Contrabbassi, which
were sometimes added as independent pedal stops, were pitched in
unison with the principale. (Not until the eighteenth century was it
normal for Italian organs based on an 8′ principale to have a 16′ contrab-
basso playable on the pedals.) On a large organ this meant, when playing
at 8′ pitch, that the pedal could effectively double the bass line at 16′ pitch
– if it were not moving fast.

The modes
There is today an unfortunate tendency to disregard the importance of
the modes. Through overuse of hindsight all modes tend to be perceived
as simply either major or minor, albeit with some antiquated character-
istics that they were soon to lose. In this one-ended view of progress a
notable dimension of the music becomes lost. The Frescobaldi who wrote
innovatory toccatas was the same Frescobaldi who composed sets of fan-
tasias and ricercars in the twelve modes codified by Glareanus and
Zarlino or who, in his last publication, the Fiori musicali (1635), adhered
to the tradition of using only the third and fourth modes for elevation
toccatas. We can appreciate the full significance and musical effect of
innovatory modulations – not only in Neapolitan stravaganze but also in
the much earlier Recerchari of Marc’Antonio Cavazzoni – or the
extended voice-ranges (as in, for example, Giovanni Gabrieli’s Ricercar
del VIIo e VIIIo tono) only if we have some inkling of how the modes
functioned. Virtually all polyphonic music, whether canzonas or ricer-
cars, as well as most toccatas, is composed in a particular mode; this is of
considerable help to the performer in understanding the character of a
particular composition. Vocal music, sacred and secular alike, normally
shows a very clear correlation between text and choice of mode. For a
summary of the modes and their attributes, see the Appendix, pp. 316–18
below.
157 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi

The repertoire by genres

The ricercar
In the first quarter of the sixteenth century, pieces composed in a rela-
tively free style without a fixed number of voices are often labelled
‘Ricercar’, ‘Recercada’ or similar. These range from the small-scale
compositions by Fogliano in the Castell’Arquato manuscript to the two
big improvisatory ‘Recerchari’ in Marc’Antonio Cavazzoni’s publication
of 1523; these latter use the full range of a four-octave keyboard (F–f 3)
and modulate to such an extent that all the available semitones in normal
mean-tone tuning are required. The writing suggests that they were con-
ceived primarily for a large organ and were therefore probably performed
on a 12′ ripieno (FF–f 2). (They cannot be played on a four-octave C
compass without being transposed.) Their elusive sense of form and
extensive use of passaggi relate them to subsequent toccatas (see below).
Marc’Antonio’s son, Girolamo Cavazzoni, published his first book of
Ricercars, Canzonas and Hymns in 1543. The four ricercars are the earli-
est keyboard pieces of the genre in strictly imitative style. They use several
subjects, in succession rather than simultaneously, and introduce divi-
sions well suited to the keyboard. Others, such as Jacob Buus, Andrea and
Giovanni Gabrieli, composed monothematic ricercars, while in the
South, Giovanni de Macque and his pupils Mayone and Trabaci based
their ricercars on two, three and sometimes four subjects treated concur-
rently. Frescobaldi’s Fantasie of 1608 fall into the same category just as
much as his Ricercari of 1615.
Nearly all these pieces are written for four voices; the range of each of
these is normally confined to the same extent (little more than an octave)
that it would be in vocal music. The mode is usually implicit where it is
not mentioned in the title. While the ricercars of the Neapolitan school
and Frescobaldi are written predominantly in white notation, some of
those of the Venetian school contain varying incidence of tremoli, trills
and divisions. A comparison of Buus’s Recercar Primo from his
Intabolatura of 1549 with the simpler version in the part-books of his
Secondo Libro of the same year throws light on keyboard performance, as
shown in Example 10.2. A reassessment of Diruta’s comments on
embellishment in his Transilvano suggests that contrapuntal music of the
period should be embellished at the keyboard considerably more than
current performance practice would generally admit.7
While the north Italian ricercar after Luzzaschi is often of a rather
improvisatory nature, evident in its somewhat loose structure (see espe-
cially Giovanni Gabrieli), a more rigorous approach came from the Low
Countries. Of major importance are the twelve ricercars of Giovanni
 158 Christopher Stembridge

Ex. 10.2 Buus, Recercar Primo

(a) Part books, 1549

(b) Intabolatura, 1549

(a) cont.

(b) cont.

(Jean) de Macque, a student of Philippe de Monte. These compositions

contain very little material not based on one of their (normally three)
subjects. Closest in style to these are Frescobaldi’s Fantasie.
A cantus firmus such as the Re di Spagna or a hymn such as Ave maris
stella was often used as the basis of a fantasia or ricercar by the
Neapolitans (cf. Rodio, Mayone and Trabaci). Buus, Andrea Gabrieli,
Macque and Frescobaldi sometimes used a subject in augmentation as a
cantus firmus in their ricercars. Many hymns and versetti (e.g. in organ
masses) are in effect miniature ricercars; the same divergent tendencies
towards inclusion of written-out ornamentation (e.g. in Merulo) or not
(e.g. Frescobaldi) apply.

The canzona
The earliest published Italian keyboard music was Andrea Antico’s book
of Frottole (1517). These are keyboard arrangements of fairly straightfor-
ward homophonic vocal compositions, mainly by Bartolomeo
Tromboncino and Marchetto Cara. In Marc’Antonio Cavazzoni’s 1523
book we find, alongside intabulations of motets, arrangements of chan-
sons, including one of Josquin’s Plusieurs regretz. Girolamo Cavazzoni
159 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi

(1543) also used Josquin as well as Passereau chansons as models. The

Italian practice of playing French chansons on four instruments led to
original ensemble compositions being written in the same style. Claudio
Merulo and Giovanni Gabrieli wrote such pieces which were then some-
times re-arranged for keyboard (cf. Merulo’s 1592 book and Gabrieli’s La
Spiritata in Diruta’s Transilvano). Andrea Gabrieli, like Merulo and
others, wrote quite richly embellished keyboard versions of chansons
(Qui la dira, Orsus au coup, Petit Jacquet etc.) but also ‘Ricercari ariosi’, a
kind of hybrid form with rhythmic figuration of the canzona type used in
an imitative polyphonic composition. Somewhat similar pieces by Rocco
Rodio are entitled ‘Ricercar’, cf. also de Macque’s Ricercar Vo tono. The
term ‘fuga’ was also used for such pieces (cf. Giovanni Gabrieli). De
Macque, Mayone and Trabaci wrote canzonas often in two or more sec-
tions, usually thematically related. Frescobaldi further developed such
forms in his second book of toccatas (1627) and Fiori Musicali (1635),
adding as bridge passages extended cadences (cadenzas) in toccata style.

The capriccio
The word ‘capriccio’ was used as a generic term for keyboard pieces in the
title of publications by Mayone and Trabaci. It was also used for composi-
tions of a basically polyphonic nature, having much in common with the
ricercar, fantasia and canzona, but usually treating one subject only.
Outstanding examples include de Macque’s Capriccio sopra re fa mi sol
and Frescobaldi’s 1624 set.

The Toccata
In order to establish the mode before a vocal work was sung, the church
organist would play. As we know from the lutenist Dalza’s ‘tastar de corde’,
secular vocal or instrumental music was similarly introduced. Andrea
Gabrieli’s Intonationi are mini-toccatas intended to serve this purpose.
Giovanni Gabrieli’s set consists of pieces that are even shorter. The book
in which Giovanni published all these Intonationi in 1593 also contains
three of Andrea’s toccatas.
Marc’Antonio’s Recerchari discussed above are perhaps to all intents
and purposes toccatas. The manuscript example which begins in mode III
and finishes in mode I may well have been designed for liturgical use as a
bridge between vocal items sung in these two modes. It is conceivable that
the longer printed Recerchari were also used in this way by simply termi-
nating at an intermediate cadence rather than playing from beginning to
end – an approach sanctioned by Frescobaldi in the introduction to his
books of toccatas a century later. The modulatory nature of Cavazzoni’s
pieces would seem to support this hypothesis. While these large-scale
160 Christopher Stembridge

pieces, like some of Giovanni Gabrieli’s toccatas (see especially that in

mode I), appear to have been conceived for the ripieno of a large
Renaissance organ, the intricate passagework of Claudio Merulo’s toc-
catas suggest a smaller instrument – perhaps a 4′ organ or a harpsichord
or even a combination of the two: claviorganum.8 The texture of these
works is often that of a solo part – reminiscent of virtuoso passaggi
written for a solo instrument such as a cornet or a viol – which passes
from one hand to the other, while the free hand provides accompanying
chords in the nature of a continuo realisation. For contrast, Merulo intro-
duces imitative polyphonic sections into his toccatas. That these should
be played more slowly, with respect to the written note-values, than the
free-style sections is suggested by the fact that a manuscript version has
minims in such sections where the print has crochets (see Example 10.3).
The same manuscript often omits such polyphonic sections entirely; this
could, like Frescobaldi’s suggested curtailing of his toccatas, be the result
of an accepted tradition which treated compositions in a slightly cavalier
fashion not so acceptable to later generations – on the other hand, these
omissions might well reflect earlier versions of Merulo’s toccatas, the
polyphonic sections being perhaps added at a later stage. Comparison of
two versions of the Toccata Ottava from Merulo’s second book (Rome
1604), seen in Example 10.3, show how the composer developed passaggi,
or perhaps simply provided more notes in the print reflecting what his
students would have added when playing from the simpler manuscript
version.
Merulo’s printed toccatas (contained in the two books he prepared at
the end of his life, published in 1598 and 1604) are ordered according to
the modes, with two, sometimes three, pieces in each of the ten modes
used in Venice. Although each of Frescobaldi’s books (1615 and 1627)
contains twelve toccatas, these are not ordered by mode, unlike the same
composer’s sets of Fantasie (1608) and Ricercari (1615). In his second
book, Frescobaldi includes an embellished madrigal in place of a twelfth
toccata; this, together with the comparison that he draws in his foreword
between the ‘modern madrigal’ and the toccata – both requiring the same
rhythmic freedom in performance – brings the toccata into the realm of
vocally inspired keyboard music, alongside the ricercar and the canzona.
The significant juxtaposition of madrigale passaggiato and toccata in
fact pre-dates Frescobaldi, since it is found in both of Ascanio Mayone’s
books of Diversi Capricci (Naples, 1603 and 1609). (Mayone organised
each book to reflect a stylistic development from stile antico ricercars,
some based on cantus firmi, through canzonas, madrigal and toccatas to
exuberant virtuoso variations in the latest style.) Mayone’s toccatas are
well structured, often ending with a ricercar section. The Toccata Seconda
 161 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi

Ex. 10.3 Merulo, Toccata Ottava

(a) Manuscript version (Turin, Giordano II)
Comparing this with the 1604 print, this illustrates presumably an earlier stage. In the print there is a little more
passagework; quaver passages (b. 40) are dotted or embellished. The note-values for the Ricercar section starting in
b. 42 have been halved in the print.

40

42

(b) Published version of 1604

40

42

.
162 Christopher Stembridge

(1603 book), the most convincing of this ‘prelude and fugue’ type, makes
considerable demands on the player and seems to require pedals. It is pos-
sible that Mayone sometimes had a non-keyboard instrument in mind
when he wrote wide intervals and exotic scale passages: he is known to
have been an accomplished player of the chromatic harp. (A ricercar in
the second book is specifically designated for harp.)
Giovanni de Macque was perhaps the first keyboard composer to
develop the durezze e ligature style – slow-moving sustained four-part
writing with long-held dissonances, though Ercole Pasquini uses it too.
One of the most striking pieces in this style is Trabaci’s Consonanze strav-
aganti (1603). It occurs in Mayone, Banchieri and of course Frescobaldi. A
favourite dissonance was the diminished fourth, which requires mean-
tone temperament if it is to be distinguishable from a major third.
Frescobaldi’s toccatas demonstrate his acquaintance with most of the
music so far discussed, yet he developed his own particular style to the
extent that it is easily recognisable. His passaggi seem to be more specific
to the keyboard than those of Merulo. His expressive use of chromaticism
and dissonance is more conservative than that of the Neapolitans. The
logical mind of the great contrapuntist is never abandoned in the flights
of fancy that enabled him to bring the toccata to perfection.

Recommended editions
Of the many facsimile editions now available, two are worth special
mention because they are good reasonably priced reproductions of
beautifully engraved editions of keyboard music made with the com-
posers’ collaboration. They are published by Studio per edizioni scelte,
Florence:
C. Merulo, Toccate d’intavolatura d’organo (Rome, l598 and 1604, repr. in one
volume, 1981)
G. Frescobaldi, Toccate . . . Libro Primo (Rome, 1637, repr. 1978)
G. Frescobaldi, Toccate . . . Libro Secondo (Rome, 1627, repr. 1978)

Experienced players should find it worth while becoming familiar with

reading the Italian keyboard tablature (two extended staves). In the case
of Merulo the only other available edition is Ricordi, which has mod-
ernised the beaming and often suppressed the information given in the
source which indicates which hand should play what. In the case of
Frescobaldi there are modern alternatives:
1. Suvini-Zerboni, the Opera Omnia, vols. 2 and 3
2. Zanibon (containing only the toccatas from these collections)
163 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi

For Frescobaldi’s other works

Fantasie, Canzoni, Orgelwerke I (Bärenreiter)
Capricci, Canzoni, Ricercari, Orgelwerke II (Bärenreiter)
Capricci, in open score with old clefs (Suvini-Zerboni)
Fiori Musicali (a) in open score with old clefs (De Santis, Rome)
Fiori Musicali (b) in open score with modern clefs (Armelin, Padua)
Fiori Musicali (c) two-stave reduction, Orgelwerke V (Bärenreiter)

Other music
Anthologies
Die italienische Orgelmusik am Anfang des Cinquecento, ed. K. Jeppesen
(Hansen)
Faber Early Organ Series, vols 16–18, ed. J. Dalton (Faber)
Neapolitan Keyboard Composers, ed. R. Jackson (Corpus of Early Keyboard
Music (CEKM 24)

Composers
A. Antico, Frottole (Doblinger)
G. Cavazzoni, Orgelwerke (2 vols., Schott)
M.-A. Cavazzoni, Recerchari . . ., publ. in Jeppesen (see above). New edition
planned 1998 (Armelin, Padua)
G. Cavaccio, Sudori musicali (CEKM 43)
A. Gabrieli, Orgelwerke (5 vols., Bärenreiter)
A. Gabrieli, 3 Messe per organo (Ricordi)
G. Gabrieli, Composizioni per organo (Ricordi)
G. de Macque, Ricercari sui 12 toni (Zanibon)
A. Mayone, Diversi Capricci per sonare (2 vols., Zanibon)
A. Padovano, Toccate e Ricercari (Zanibon, but also CEKM 34)
E. Pasquini, Collected Keyboard Works (CEKM 12)
T. Merula, Composizioni per organo e cembalo (Paideia / Bärenreiter)
C. Merulo, Messe d’intavolatura d’organo (CEKM 47, also Doblinger)
G. Salvatore, Collected Keyboard Works (CEKM 3)
G. M. Trabaci, Composizioni per organo e cembalo (2 vols., Paideia / Bärenreiter)

Further music of the period is available in other volumes of CEKM,

including C. Antegnati (vol. 9, note-values halved), F. Bianciardi and C.
Porta (41), O. Bariolla (46), Bertholdo (67), G. M. Cima (20), and
Frescobaldi’s works preserved in manuscripts (3 vols., 30).
For music after Frescobaldi see in particular the following (CEKM
unless otherwise indicated): L. Battiferi (42), B. Pasquini (6 vols., 5), M.
Rossi (Zanibon), A. Scarlatti (Paideia / Bärenreiter), D. Scarlatti
(Bärenreiter), B. Storace (7), G. Strozzi (11) and D. Zipoli (Müller).
 11 Iberian organ music before 1700
James Dalton

Introduction
Iberian organ music to c1700 is traditional, in that the principles of
composition in the works of composers of the siglo de oro, such as Morales
and Victoria, are essentially maintained in the various types of organ
music through the seventeenth century. There is the lasting impression
that, although ornamentation and registration are becoming increasingly
elaborate, the musical motet style of c1500 provides the basic technical
structure right up to Cabanilles; colour and elaboration are applied
within this style rather than constituting a part of some new way of com-
posing, as in French or German late seventeenth-century organ music.
Iberian composers, however they may compare for progressiveness and
even technical ability with their contemporaries in other European coun-
tries, show tremendous musical expressiveness and conviction in their
works. It is conspicuous that composers of vocal music (e.g. Morales,
Guerrero, Cebollas, Victoria) and those for organ described here are
almost mutually exclusive. Organists did not always occupy the position
of maestro de capilla: Cabezón was musico de cámara y capilla to Philip II,
Aguilera’s position in Huesca (Aragon) was designated Portionarius et
organis praeceptor, while Correa de Arauxo and Cabanilles were organists
in Seville and Valencia respectively. Most likely there were regional
characteristics: Francisco Peraza, Diego del Castillo as well as Correa lived
in Seville, while Aguilera, Jimenez and Bruna were active in Zaragoza, but
because of the relatively small quantity of surviving music and instru-
ments any definite conclusions could be misleading.

Organs
The scale of the Iberian organ before the eighteenth century was generally
not very big, and the instrument can best be appreciated in the context of
the music written for it. It is not unexpected to find that a good number of
organ builders from the Netherlands were active in different parts of
Spain in the sixteenth century, just as they were in France and Germany
[164] and other European countries. Organs in the cathedrals of Seville, Lérida
165 Iberian organ music before 1700

and Barcelona were made by Netherlanders before 1550, and the Flemish
organ builder Gilles Brebos built four organs for the huge conventual
church at El Escorial between 1579 and 1585. Juan Brebos made organs
for Toledo cathedral in 1592, and for the Alcazar in Madrid in 1590 and
1606. Although the introduction of stops such as Rohrflute and
Quintadena, and particularly reeds – Chirimía (Schalmei), Orlos
(Krumhorn), Dulzayna (Regal) – was a Flemish contribution to the
Spanish organ, the main constituent of the instrument was its Principal
chorus – Lleno – and this can be seen in instruments of all sizes, the extra
stops in large organs being reeds and others for variety. An instrument
from the mid-sixteenth century, made by Gaspar de Soto, is in the Capilla
del Condestable of Burgos Cathedral and has the following specification:
Bass (C/E–c1)
Flautado de 13 palmos Principal 8′
Octava Octave 4′
Quincena Fifteenth 2′
1
Diez y novena Nineteenth 13 ′
Tapadillo Stopped Flute 4′
Lleno III Mixture III
Treble (c
1–c3)
Flautado de 13 palmos Principal 8′
Octava Octave 4′
Quincena Fifteenth 2′
2
Docena Twelfth 23 ′
Diez y setena Seventeenth 135 ′
Flauta principal II (?undulating) Principal II
Lleno III Mixture III
Pedal 8′ notes with short keys (they are pull-downs); notes in the same order
as short octave manual.

In Iberian organs generally the stops are divided at c1/c
1; sometimes the
two parts belong to the same stop, e.g. Flautado 13 in the Burgos
specification, and sometimes they are of different stops, e.g. the Diez y
novena (bass) and the Docena (treble) in the same organ. This arrange-
ment enables different registrations to be used for bass and treble parts of
the keyboard, making possible a solo registration in the right hand with
accompaniment in the left, and vice versa. It is a feature well known from
organs of other countries, notably England, the Netherlands and Italy, but
one that has been turned to particular advantage by Spanish organ com-
posers; throughout the seventeenth century particularly there is an
incomparable wealth of pieces de medio registro, composed to exploit the
registrational possibilities of the divided keyboard. The pedal board is
likely to be limited to one octave, and the notes would be played by
166 James Dalton

pressing studs or short keys. On small organs the notes would only be
pull-downs attached to the lowest octave of the manual; larger organs
may have a rank of independent pipes of 16′ pitch in addition to the
coupler. In either case the function of the pedals would be limited to
holding long notes (Contras). One look at an old Spanish pedal board is
enough to eliminate any question of an elaborate independent part!
Here is a similar design from the early seventeenth century, at
Garganta la Olla (Cáceres). This organ, which dates from about 1625, was
originally in the Convent of Yuste. The horizontal Clarín is from c1700:
Bass (C/E–c1)
Flautado Principal 8′
8a Octave 4′
2
12a Twelfth 23 ′
15a Fifteenth 2′
Lleno Mixture
Cimbale Cimbel
Trompeta real Trumpet (vertical, 8′ in case)
Treble (c1
–c3)
Flautado Principal 8′
8a Octave 4′
2
12a Twelfth 23 ′
15a Fifteenth 2′
Lleno Mixture
Cimbal Cimbel
Octavin Octavin 1′
Tapadillo Stopped Flute 4′
Corneta real Cornet V
Clarín Clarín (horizontal) 8′

Finally a rather more splendid design from later in the century, still
however with one manual and essentially traditional: San Juan Bautista of
Mondragón by Joseph de Echevarría, ‘Maestro artifice de hacer órganos’,
with the assistance of Padre Maestro Joseph de Hechevarría ‘de la Orden
Seráfica de nuestro Padre San Francisco’. The contract is dated 20
November 1677:
With these stops is made the plenum of a good organ, and said stops are very
necessary.
Bass
Flautado principal de 13 Principal 8′
Octava Octave 4′
2
Docena clara Twelfth 23 ′
Quincena Fifteenth 2′
167 Iberian organ music before 1700

Decimanona Nineteenth 113 ′

Compuestas de lleno Mixture
Zimbala Cimbel
Treble
Flautado principal de 13 Principal 8′
Octava Octave 4′
Docena clara Twelfth 232 ′
Quincena Fifteenth 2′
Decimanona Nineteenth 113 ′
Compuestas de lleno Mixture
Zimbala Cimbel

The stops outside the plenum of the organ:

Bass
Trompetas reales Trumpet (vertical) 8′
Trompetas reales Trumpet (vertical) 8′
Dulzainas Regal 8′
Treble
Corneta real Cornet
Trompetas reales Trumpet 8′
Dulzainas Regal 8′
Clarines Clarín (horizontal) 8′

Additional stops because the church lacks sufficient echo:

Bass
Segundo flautado abierto Second Principal (open) 8′
Sobre zimbala High Cimbel
Nazarda mayor Nazard
Treble
Segundo flautado abierto Second Principal (open) 8′
Sobre zimbala High Cimbel
Nazarda mayor Nazard

And the following juguetes alegres [toy stops]:

Cascabeladas little bells
Jugueros moving figures in the case
Bordones de la Gaita Zamorana bagpipe drones
Atabales drums

A register of great brilliance will be the treble half-stop of clarines, a stop

which has been built in no organ except in the organ which I have now made
in the convent of San Diego de Alcalá de Henares (Eibar, 1659), and by its
excellence it will be seen as great novelty. . . . The [pipes] will be placed in the
main cornice like cannons, which will beautify all the façade of the organ.
168 James Dalton

In character, Iberian organs of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries

are gentle-sounding, their richness achieved by the variety of registers,
rather than by force – Vente and Kok state that the ‘smallest organs always
have a full chorus of flautado stops . . . an interior trompeta real [vertical,
inside the case] and for bigger instruments two horizontal half-stop reeds
and a treble cornet, and so on’ (Vente and Kok 1970: 142). As far as tonal
impressions can be explained technically, various points in Iberian organ
building are consistent with the sound produced by the ‘vocal, gentle,
fluework’ (Andersen 1969: 157). Taking the renaissance organ in Evora
cathedral (Vente and Flentrop 1970: 5), the wind pressure at 56 mm is low
(it may well have been even lower originally), pipe scales are small, with
e.g. c1 on the Flautado de 12 palmos having a diameter of 48 mm, com-
pared to c52 mm in Töpfer’s ‘normal scale’; the mouth width at 0.21 of
circumference is smaller than the conventional 0.25, and the cut up is
around one third of the width, more than a quarter, consequentially
reducing the brightness of tone. The reeds also are quite ‘free of any
suggestion of heaviness’ (Andersen 1969: 167). They are thin-tongued,
and frequently horizontally laid out – Regals no less than Claríns – and
can speak with precision and colour.

Sources of music
Printed sources
11. Juan Bermudo: Declaración de instrumentos musicales (1555)
150 folios; 14 keyboard pieces
facsimile ed. M. S. Kastner, Bärenreiter (1957)
12. Luis Venegas de Henestrosa: Libro de Cifra nueva para tecla, harpa, y vihuela . . .
(1557)
78 folios; 138 compositions, including more than 40 by Antonio de Cabezón
modern edition in Monumentos de la música española (MME) 2, ed. H. Anglès
(1944)
13. Tomás de Santa María: Libro llamado Arte de tañer Fantasia, asi para Tecla como
para Vihuela, y todo instrumeto . . . (1565)
two books 94 ⫹ 124 folios
facsimile ed. D. Stevens, Gregg reprint (1972)
14. Antonio de Cabezón: Obras de musica para tecla arpa y vihuela recopiladas y
puestas en cifra por Hernando de Cabeçon su hijo (1578)
213 folios; 129 compositions, including versos, fabordones, Magnificats on each
of the eight tones, Kyries, 12 tientos, many ornamented motets, canciones à 4, 5,
6, nine sets of diferencias (variations)
modern edition in MME 27–9, ed. H. Anglès (1966)
15. Manuel Rodrigues Coelho: Flores de Musica pera o instrumento de Tecla, &
Harpa (1620)
169 Iberian organ music before 1700

241 folios; 24 tentos, sets of versos for all the tones

modern edition in Portugaliae musica (PM) 1 and 3, ed. M. S. Kastner (1959,
1961)
16. Francisco Correa de Arauxo: Libro de Tientos y Discursos de Musica Practica, y
Theorica de Organo, intitulado Facultad organica . . . (1626)

1–12: Tientos for complete (undivided) stops on tones I–XII

13–24: Tientos for complete stops on various tones; easier than nos. 1–12
25–51: Tientos for half stops (medio registro) (pieces with solo for treble or bass)
52–7: Tientos à 5 – one undivided, two with two tiples (right-hand solos), three
with two baxones (left-hand solos)
58–61: Pieces with demisemiquaver movement – two with one tiple, one with
one baxon, one Susana (ornamented chanson)
62–5: Pieces in triple time – two undivided, one with one tiple, one Guárdame
las vacas (ornamented variations)
66: Gaybergier (Crecquillon) – ornamented chanson
67–9: Plainchant settings
modern edition in MME 6 and 12, ed. M. S. Kastner (1948, 1952)

Manuscript sources
17. Coimbra M242
184 folios containing 230 compositions, including works by Antonio Carreira
and Heliadorus de Paiva
modern edition (partial, but including the tentos of Carreira) in PM 19,
ed. M. S. Kastner (1969)
18. El Escorial LP29 (formerly MS 2186)
Seventeenth-century copy; 131 folios; 58 compositions, the majority of which
are anonymous; a number by Diego de Torrijos, one tiento by Aguilera de
Heredia, many versos
19. El Escorial LP30 (formerly MS 2187)
Seventeenth-century copy; 106 folios; 67 compositions, the main source for
Aguilera and Jimenez, and includes several pieces by Bruna as well as the
celebrated Medio Registro alto by Peraza.
10. Porto MM42 (formerly 1577)
Although located in Portugal, this MS contains Spanish compositions in cifra
(number) notation. The most frequently named composers are Bartolomé de
Olague and Andrés de Sola, while many of the pieces are anonymous. There are
isolated works by Aguilera and Bruna.
11. Braga MS 964
a manuscript of 259 folios, compiled in the first part of the eighteenth century,
including most of the known works of Pedro de Araujo. The collection includes
a large proportion of Rodrigues Coelho’s Flores de Musica published in 1620.
modern edition (incomplete) in PM 25, ed. G. Doderer (1974) and 11 (ed.
K. Speer (1967)
12. Madrid MSS 1357, 1358, 1359 and 1360
170 James Dalton

The four volumes of Flores de música, an enormous anthology of organ music

compiled from 1706 to 1709 by Antonio Martín y Coll (?1660–?1740), a
Franciscan friar, then organist of the monastery of San Francisco el Grande at
Madrid. They run to more than 1,800 pages in total, and besides containing
examples of the various styles of seventeenth-century Spanish organ music,
include a large amount of secular music. Although the great majority of the
pieces are unattributed in the manuscript, a considerable number have now
been identified as the work of Aguilera, Bruna, Cabanilles, various Italian and
French composers, and particularly of Andrés Lorente (1624–1703), organist of
the monastery of San Diego at Alcalá de Henares and Martín y Coll’s teacher.
Lorente’s contribution occupies the first 80 folios of the second volume of
Flores, which are written in cifra tablature.
13. Barcelona EBc M729, 751
199 folios and 432 pages respectively
These are the main sources, along with El Escorial LP30 of compositions by
Pablo Bruna.
modern edition: see under Performing Editions.
14. Barcelona EBc M386
360 pages; the manuscript, dated 1722, contains 98 compositions by Cabanilles,
the copy made by a fervent admirer.
15. Barcelona EBc M387
424 folios; dating from 1694–7, the manuscript consists of 500 works, almost
entirely by Cabanilles.

Music
The main type of composition, tiento (Portuguese tento), or obra, based
on polyphonic motet style, occurs through the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries while, fairly closely derived from it, come the Tiento de medio
registro, Tiento de falsas, Tiento de contras, and the profusion of versos for
Mass and particularly Office music. Hymn settings, based on plainchant
cantus firmus, often appear, and from Bermudo (1555) to Cabanilles the
‘Spanish’ Pange lingua (a Mozarabic melody, occurring in a setting by the
late fifteenth-century composer Johannes Urreda). There are, in addition
to these, keyboard intabulations of chansons, already much practised by
German composers of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, settings and
transcriptions of canciones and dances in the late seventeenth century,
which reflect current tastes in music, and occasional passacalles and
batalla compositions.
As to notation, almost all pieces are written in open score, further
indication of the traditional approach to composition. In Italy, for
example, score notation was general until the early seventeenth century,
but thereafter was employed only for contrapuntal pieces such as capric-
171 Iberian organ music before 1700

cios and canzonas, while for keyboard toccatas the two-stave system was
used; however, even the most flamboyant of the keyboard works by
Cabanilles are notated in score. Only in the books by Bermudo and Santa
María, which are primarily of musical instruction and explanation, are
the compositions printed in parts; in Santa María’s case they are intended
as demonstrations of the technique of composing, while Bermudo
describes his short pieces as being written for organ. The first printed
music using cifra (number) notation, which is definitely a kind of
score, is the Libro de cifra nueva (1557) of Venegas. It includes works by
many composers, among them Cabezón, Mudarra, Palero, although there
is no mention of Venegas himself as a composer; he may have seen his
function as editor and arranger, acting as transcriber of pieces by
Janequin, Morales, Clemens non Papa etc.1 Cabezón’s Obras, published
by his son in 1578, also uses cifra, as does Facultad Organica of Correa de
Arauxo.
Correa’s practical advice concerning registration applies to the tientos
de medio registro, described as a new type of composition, ‘célebre inven-
ción’ and much used in the kingdoms of Castille, although not known
elsewhere. He explains that there are four types: one with a solo for the
right hand accompanied by the left, and vice versa; and one with two parts
for the right hand accompanied by the left, and its reciprocal. Altogether
there are eighteen de tiple (R.H. solo), thirteen de baxon (L.H. solo), two
de dos tiples (R.H. à 2), and three de dos baxones (L.H. à 2). The one-
manual organ, with stops divided at c1/c
1, lends itself to this technique of
composition. For registration of the solo parts, Correa relies largely on
the discretion and judgement of the organist. In the three glosas (varia-
tions) on the Canto Lleno de La Immaculada Concepción, no. 69, which is a
medio registro de tiple, he assigns the lower parts to the Flautado and for
the treble the Mixtura which seems best to the organist. This ‘mixture’
means a combination of stops, not necessarily the Lleno register, as in his
prologo punto noveno Correa refers to the Mixtura de flautado and the
Mixtura de lleno. Furthermore, in describing the method of performance
of the pieces with two solo voices (medio registro de dos tiples or dos
baxones) he writes, in the note to No. 54 that when the solo parts are in the
treble they may be played on the Lleno, with the accompaniment on
Flautado; but when in the bass they may use Lleno or Trompetas, with the
treble accompanying parts again on Flautado, and adding for good
measure that the registration must not cause the parts to become con-
fused so as to make the bass sound above the treble. Example 11.1, from
Tiento de 1o tono de mano derecha by Bruna, provides a clear demonstra-
tion of the system for a right-hand solo; it also shows, in bars 11, 19 and 22
the characteristic rhythmic feature of 3 ⫹ 3 ⫹ 2 quavers in  time,
 172 James Dalton

Ex. 11.1 Bruna, Tiento de Io tono de mano derecha

10

20

noticeable throughout the seventeenth century in Spanish organ

composition.
Most of the later seventeenth-century music is traditional in form and
registrational means: Tiento lleno, Tiento de Falsas (meaning suspensions,
equivalent to the Italian ligature e durezze), Diferencias etc. A type which is
apparently new, although it had probably existed in improvisation for
some time, is the Tiento de Contras, in which the notes of the pedal are
used for long holding notes or pedal points, the stops being 16′ and 8′
Contras (open flue pipes). These provide the staple types of composition
in Cabanilles, notwithstanding his striking harmonies and figurations. In
the first volume of the collected edition by H. Anglés, which contains bio-
graphical information as well as detailed descriptions of sources of music
and organs, the various types of tiento appear, fundamentally traditional,
yet characteristically evolved. For example, the Tiento (X) lleno 3o tono is
essentially ricercar-like in its opening section, although thematic inter-
vals and figuration are individual; thereafter (bar 80) comes a section in
triple metre using the main theme, with the final bars (127–37) back in 
time, as shown in Example 11.2a, b and c respectively.
The opening of Tiento de 6o tono de falsas (XIX), shown in Example
 173 Iberian organ music before 1700

Ex. 11.2 Cabanilles, Tiento lleno 3o tono

(a)

(b)
80

(c)
127

11.3, demonstrates the start of a potentially eternal progression of

suspensions, continuing as seems to be general in falsas pieces for slightly
over 100 bars.
Also characteristic in this respect is the Tiento de 1o tono de Contras
(VI) which lasts for well over 200 bars and alternates between duple and
triple metre over sustained pedal notes – the opening D (see Example
11.4) lasts for 33 bars, and further sections use E, A, C, G, F and d, most of
them more than once.
The medio registro type of arrangement is now described as partido de
mano derecha (or izquierda) and makes use of the existing seventeenth-
century apparatus for virtuosic and extended work: Tiento de 3o tono.
 174 James Dalton

Ex. 11.3 Cabanilles, Tiento de 6o tono de falsas

Ex. 11.4 Cabanilles, Tiento de 1o tono de Contras

Ped.

Partido de Mano Izquierda (XI) or Tiento Partido de dos Tiples de 4o tono

(XIV) produces more than 200 bars in the normal mould, while Tiento
(XXI) de Batalla, partido de mano derecha could be thought of as for the
horizontal Clarín half-stop (from c
1 upwards) provided for the Valencia
Cathedral organ in 1693;2 but this does not imply that batalla composi-
tions in the seventeenth century were intended for the lenguetería – these
bristling batteries of horizontal reeds flourished from 1700 onwards and
were quite unknown to Correa, Jimenez, Bruna and Cabanilles himself,
all of them batalla composers.
175 Iberian organ music before 1700

Performing editions (see also under Sources of music)

Anthologies
Liber Organi XI: Orgelmusik des spanischen Barock, ed. J. Wyly, Schott (1966)
includes pieces for Clarín from the Martín y Coll collection, and three pieces
by Josef Elías, a pupil of Cabanilles
Antología de Organistas clásicos siglos XVI–XVII, ed. L. Villalba Muñoz (1914),
rev. S. Rubio, UME (1971)
includes twenty-three short pieces by Tomás de Santa María, otherwise works
from El Escorial MSS with works by Peraza and Clavijo de Castillo, and ten by
Aguilera de Herédia
Seventeenth-Century Spanish Organ Music from ‘Huerto ameno de varias flores de
musica’ (2 vols.), ed. S. Fortino, Universal Edition (1986, 1987)
a score of works from the Martín y Coll collection, vol. 1 identified as
Cabanilles, Bruna, etc., vol. 2 anonymous
Composizioni Inedite dai ‘Flores de Musica’ di Antonio Martín y Coll, ed. C. Stella
and V. Vinay, Suvini Zerboni (1979)
20 pieces from the collection, including five by Andrés Lorente
Spanish Organ Masters after Antonio de Cabezón (Corpus of Early Keyboard
Music 14), ed. Willi Apel, American Institute of Musicology (1971)
particularly notable for the inclusion of almost all (seventeen) of Aguilera’s
known compositions for organ
Faber Early Organ Series, vols. 4, 5 and 6, ed. J. Dalton, Faber Music (1987)
Vol. 4 includes music by the Portuguese composers, Antonio Carreira,
Heliadorus de Paiva and Rodrigues Coelho, as well as sixteenth-century
Spaniards; vol. 5 includes five substantial works by Aguilera and Correa, and
the majority of vol. 6 consists of compositions by Bruna and Cabanilles

Individual composers
Sebastián Aguilera de Herédia, Obras para Organo, ed. L. Siemens Hernandez,
Editorial Alpuerto (1977)
preferable to Corpus of Early Keyboard Music 14, although difficult to obtain
Obras Completas para Organo de Pablo Bruna, ed. J. Sagasta Galdos, Institución
‘Fernando el Católico’ Zaragoza (1979)
twenty-two tientos etc., three sets of versos, seven Pange lingua settings
J. Cabanilles, Musici Organici Opera Omnia, ed. H. Anglès, Barcelona, Biblioteca
Central, seccion de musica, 4, 8, 13, 17 (1927–56)
J. Jimenez, Collected organ compositions, ed. W. Apel (Corpus of Early Keyboard
Music 31), American Institute of Musicology (1975)
 12 The French classical organ school
Edward Higginbottom

A survey of French organ music before 1800 is bound to recognise the

unique flowering of the years 1660 to 1740. The repertory of this period is
often referred to as ‘classical’, the term ‘baroque’ ill suiting, according to
some commentators, the essential nature of its musical language. The
corpus of extant music is large and includes music by well-known and
versatile composers such as Guillaume-Gabriel Nivers (1632–1714),
François Couperin (1668–1733) and Louis-Nicolas Clérambault
(1676–1749). Others, such as Jacques Boyvin (1653–1706), André Raison
(d. 1719) and Pierre Dumage (1674–1751), are known only for their
organ music. The work of these composers merits pride of place in an
account of French organ music of the seventeenth and eighteenth cen-
turies.

The publications of the last forty years of the seventeenth century stand
out as the central monument in the classical school (see Table 12.1). They
emanate from the period in French history when Louis XIV outstripped
all his European rivals in cultural endeavour. The beginning of his reign,
from 1660, marks the coming of age of French baroque music. The Italian
artists and musicians, imported by Cardinal Mazarin (1602–61) to boost
the claims of Italian culture over French, left in the early 1660s, bereft of
their patron. The more or less final manifestation of their struggle was the
performance in Paris in 1662 of Cavalli’s Ercole amante, an event noted for
the success of the additional dance music by the young Jean-Baptiste Lully
rather than Cavalli’s score. The moment was ripe for a resurgence of
national identity and pride in French art. In the musical domain Lully was
the predominant voice in this process, aided by the privileges granted him
by the King, and the institutions Louis XIV patronised. Some of the
composers whose organ music we possess also basked in the King’s
patronage: Nivers, François Couperin, Nicolas Lebègue (1631–1702) and
Louis Marchand (1669–1732) were all ‘organistes du roi’. But the whole of
Paris caught some glancing rays of his brilliance. The fashioning of the
French classical style during this period made the city the equal of any in
Europe for its organ music: the Court (Nivers, François Couperin,
[176] Lebègue, Louis Marchand), the metropolitan cathedral (Antoine
177 The French classical organ school

Table 12.1
Parisian organ publications 1660–1740

1660 F. Roberday Fugues et caprices

1665 G.-G. Nivers Livre d’orgue contenant cent pieces de tous les tons

1667 G.-G. Nivers 2. livre d’orgue contenant la messe et les hymnes

1675 G.-G. Nivers 3. livre d’orgue des huits tons de l’eglise

1676 N. Lebègue Les pièces d’orgue

[1678] N. Lebègue Second livre d’orgue . . . contenant des pièces . . . sur les huits
tons . . . et la messe

1682 N. Gigault Livre de musique (2 vols.)

1685 N. Gigault Livre de musique . . . contenant plus de 180 pièces . . . plusieurs

messes, quelques hymnes

[1685] N. Lebègue Troisieme livre d’orgue . . . contenant des grandes offertoires et

des elevations; et tous les noëls les plus connus

1688 A. Raison Livre d’orgue contenant cinq messes

1689 J. H. d’Anglebert Pièces de clavecin . . . quelques fugues pour l’orgue . . . livre

premier

1690 J. Boyvin Premier livre d’orgue contenant les huit tons à l’usage ordinaire

1690 F. Couperin Pièces d’orgue consistantes en deux messes

1690 G. Jullien Premier livre d’orgue

1699 N. de Grigny Premier livre d’orgue contenant une messe et les hymnes

1700 J. Boyvin Second livre d’orgue contenant les huit tons à l’usage ordinaire

1703 G. Corrette Messe du 8e ton pour l’orgue

1706 Guilain Pieces d’orgue pour le Magnificat [original edn lost, survives
only in part in a later transcription]

1708 P. Dumage 1er livre d’orgue contenant une suite du premier ton

1710 L.-N. Clérambault Premier livre d’orgue contenant deux suites

1712 C. Piroye Pièces choisies . . . tant pour l’orgue et le clavecin

1714 A. Raison Second livre d’orgue

1714 P. d’Andrieu Noëls, O Filii, chansons de Saint Jacques

[1732] L. Marchand Pièces choisies pour l’orgue

[<1733] J.-F. d’Andrieu Noëls, O Filii, chansons de Saint Jacques [rev. edn of 1714]

1737 M. Corrette Premier livre d’orgue contenant quatre Magnificats

n.d. J.-F. d’Andrieu Premier livre de pièces d’orgue

n.d. L.-C. d’Aquin Nouveau livre de noëls pour l’orgue

[c1740] M. Corrette Nouveau livre de noëls

178 Edward Higginbottom

Calvière, 1695–1755), the grand and fashionable churches of St Merry

(Lebègue), St Gervais (François Couperin), St Sulpice (Nivers), St
Nicolas-des-Champs (Gigault), the communities of religious, such as the
Franciscans (Louis Marchand) or the community of the Abbey of Ste
Geneviève (Raison), all played host to richly talented players. Not that the
provincial cathedrals lacked their celebrities: Jacques Boyvin at Rouen,
Nicholas de Grigny (1672–1703) at Rheims, Gilles Jullien (1653–1703) at
Chartres, Dumage at the collegial church of St Quentin.
The moment was propitious for other reasons: in the first half of Louis
XIV’s reign the French economy flourished as never before; cathedrals
and churches could afford magnificent instruments, publishers could
reckon on a return, organists were well rewarded for their labours. These
social, economic and political springs to the production of organ music
are important to grasp: they explain why we possess relatively so much
(and so much of value) from the period of Louis XIV’s reign, and rela-
tively so little from either before or after. And they explain why the music
celebrates an art in the ascendancy, where new idioms are exploited with
vigour and panache.
Table 12.1 lists all the publications of French organists over the period
1660 to 1740. It gives us a very clear idea of the composers who were most
prolific. Nivers and Lebègue stand out. Moreover, the Livres d’orgue of
these two are sizeable affairs, containing at least 50 pieces each, and some-
times as many as 100. They represent the most influential part of the reper-
tory, setting models of compositional and improvisatory practice for their
own generation as well as the succeeding. Roughly speaking the publica-
tions divide into collections of versets by ton de l’église and by liturgical
item. In use they overlap, and the distinction is not as significant as it might
appear. Where the collections are by tons de l’église the publication takes
the form of groups of six to nine short pieces gathered by key in a sequence
that almost always sees a Plein Jeu beginning and a Grand Jeu ending (see
below for a discussion of these types), with a varied selection of more inti-
mately registered pieces in between. The individual pieces are generally no
more than a page or two long. Where the collections are organised around
a liturgical item the organisation of individual pieces is not much
different: each liturgical item will have its required number of versets in
the appropriate key (ton de l’église), with occasionally the emergence of the
relevant plainchant as a cantus firmus or as the basis of the melodic
material of the verset. Without exception all this music provides for the
alternatim practice of the day, discussed in detail in Chapter 9. Whilst
Nivers and Lebègue are undeniably the most prolific composers of such
music (with Boyvin not far behind), it is the next generation which brings
their work to full maturity, notably François Couperin and de Grigny. In
179 The French classical organ school

terms of invention and scale nothing surpasses the organ masses of

François Couperin or the mass and hymns of de Grigny’s Livre d’orgue of
1699. Clérambault’s Livre, though extremely attractive, is much smaller in
scope. And d’Aquin’s noëls, though brilliant, have little of the depth of
François Couperin and de Grigny. Against these publications a number of
manuscript sources merit our attention, notably the collection of Louis
Couperin’s (c1626–61) organ pieces owned by Guy Oldham (Oldham
1960), the Louis Marchand manuscripts conserved in the Bibliothèque
Municipale at Versailles (Dufourcq 1972: 122), and the Montreal Livre
d’orgue, containing nearly 400 pieces of Parisian provenance from the
second half of the seventeenth century (Gallat-Morin 1988).
One of the effects brought about by the music’s liturgical role is its
brevity: the music needed to be concise to fulfil its liturgical purpose. At
the same time, even outside a liturgical context the French did not culti-
vate large-scale movements in the same way as their Italian and German
contemporaries, and it is generally true that they made a virtue out of
proceeding discretely from one musical event to another rather than
organising these events into overarching architectural designs. In addi-
tion, the French were explicit in their view that music had an overriding
purpose: to engender thoughts and feelings of an unambiguous and well-
defined nature. They were not interested in music whose impact was
general, and they had a horror of technical devices rigorously applied and
obviously stated, as well as a horror of the overstated. In pursuing their
principal objective, and recalling Le Cerf de la Viéville’s dictum that ‘La
science de la Musique . . . n’est autre chose que la science d’émouvoir vive-
ment et à propos’ (1706; see Le Cerf de la Viéville 1725: iv, 60), French
composers lavished care and attention on individual musical gesture, on a
languishing port de voix here, a graceful melodic inflection there, an ani-
mated dotted figure a bar later. The moment, exquisitely shaped, was as
important as the architecture of the whole. These concerns played upon
the French organ repertory. In one very obvious respect Gigault could
mark in several pieces in his 1685 publication the point at which versets
might end earlier than the final bar, without fearing damage to the struc-
ture of the verset. But more significantly, the French organist invariably
sought to encapsulate a mood in the clearest terms by observing a musical
code of gesture and effect. And their work was judged on the effectiveness
of the portrait drawn as much as on the ingenuity and craft revealed. This
was colourful and evocative music, and in making it the French organists
were greatly aided in their task by the instruments they played.

The French classical organ was like no other. As exemplified by the instru-
ment completed in 1687 by A. Thierry for St Louis-des-Invalides, Paris, it
180 Edward Higginbottom

displays several unique characteristics: an almost endless supply of solo

effects in its Bourdons and Flûtes, colourful and dominating reeds, and a
principal chorus noted for its depth and warmth rather than its trans-
parency and brilliance.

St Louis-des-Invalides, Paris, A. Thierry (1679–87)

Grand Orgue (C–c3) Positif (C–c3)
Montre 16′ Montre I 8′
Bourdon 16′ Bourdon I 8′
Montre 18′ Prestant I 4′
Bourdon 18′ Flûte I 4′
Prestant 14′ Nasard I 232 ′
Flûte 14′ Doublette I 2′
Grosse Tierce 1315 ′ Tierce I 153 ′
Nasard 1223 ′ Larigot I 131 ′
Doublette 12′ Fourniture III
Quarte de Nasard 12′ Cymbale III
Tierce 1135 ′ Cromorne I 8′
Fourniture 1V Voix humaine I 8′
Cymbale IV
Cornet 1V Echo (c1–c3)
Trompette 18′ Bourdon I 8′
Clairon 14′ Flûte I 4′
Voix humaine 18′ Nasard I 223 ′
Quarte I 2′
3
Récit (c1–c3) Tierce I 15 ′
Cornet 1V Cymbale III
Trompette 18′ Cromorne I 8′

Pédale (AA–f)
Flûte 18′
Trompette 18′

The instrument was imposing both in size and in sound, matching the
dimension of instruments belonging to the great German organ-building
schools of the same period. Four manual divisions (Grand Orgue, Positif,
Récit and Echo) were a commonplace in the larger churches and the cathe-
drals of the kingdom. But the Pedal was not part of the lavish provision: it
contained often only two or three 8′ stops (Trompette, Bourdon and/or
Flûte). Significantly, until the second part of the eighteenth century, the
16′ stops (Bourdons, Montres and Bombardes) were found on the manual
divisions, not the Pedal. The Pedal had only a minor role to play in the
music written for the French organ. The Récit and Echo divisions were
short compass. The Cornet (a five-rank stop sounding 8′, 4′, 232 ′, 2′ and 135 ′)
181 The French classical organ school

was ubiquitous, appearing as an upper-compass register on the Grand

Orgue, Récit and Echo (though some Echos had a separately drawn Jeu de
Tierce), and as a composite sonority (i.e. separately drawn stops of the
same pitches, known as the Jeu de Tierce) on the Grand Orgue and Positif.
The Jeu de Tierce ran from top to bottom of the manual compass. The
Cornet and Jeu de Tierce derived their special timbre from the
‘Sesquialtera’ colouring of the twelfth and seventeenth ranks, as well as
from their wide scaling.
The guiding principle in French organ design was the provision of a
large and varied palette of registrations. So many and so important did
these registrations become that composers often referred to them in
considerable detail in the prefaces to their publications. These so-called
‘Mélanges des jeux’ draw attention to the unusual sensitivity of the
French organist towards colour: the performance of French organ music
was nothing if not a careful and judicious setting forth of the various
registration possibilities of the instrument.
The attributes and roles of the registrations are best considered in the
context of an examination of the compositional genres with which they
are associated. The linking of musical genre to registration, not unknown
in other schools of course, is in the French case taken to the point where
the two are inseparable. We need to distinguish the following main
compositional types in the French classical tradition: Plein Jeu, Grand
Jeu, Fugue, Duo, Trio, Récit, Dialogue and Fond d’orgue. The Plein Jeu,
Grand Jeu and Fond d’orgue are terms which plainly describe a registra-
tion scheme. In other genres, registration schemes may either be pre-
scribed in the title of the piece, as for instance ‘Duo sur les Tierces’ and
‘Récit de Cromorne en Taille’, or understood from the many references in
the Mélanges des jeux. Thus when a composer failed to specify a registra-
tional scheme, the player knew what was intended from the musical
genre, and would not traduce the idiom by playing on an inappropriate
registration.

Plein Jeu
Plein Jeu refers to the registration scheme employing the principal chorus
of the Grand Orgue (sometimes ‘Grand Plein Jeu’) and/or the Positif
(‘Petit Plein Jeu’). It was good practice to couple the Positif to the Grand
Orgue. The Plein Jeu runs from the lowest sounding pitch of the chorus (a
Montre 16′ on a large instrument) to the highest (the Fourniture and
Cymbale, together comprising a mixture combination of seven or more
ranks). The tonal quality of the individual stops is crucial: the principal
182 Edward Higginbottom

Figure 12.1 At the church of St Ouen in Rouen, France, the Flemish builder Crespin Carlier built,
in 1630, the organ whose case survives today. The introduction of the south Brabant school of
organ building to France in the early seventeenth century, encouraged by the composer Jehan
Titelouze, was profoundly influential in the development of the French classical organ. The case
establishes a preference in France for a traditional structure of Grand Orgue and Postif de Dos,
with the pipes in each arranged in single stories. The small Récit, Echo or occasional Bombarde
divisions were not expressed in the layout of the main façade. The case now contains a large and
well-preserved instrument of 1890 by the great nineteenth-century French builder Aristide
Cavaillé-Coll.
183 The French classical organ school

ranks are relatively wide-scaled, as are the mixture ranks. This gives to the
French Plein Jeu its characteristic breadth and warmth (allowing also the
stopped ranks, the Bourdons, to blend easily when drawn with the princi-
pal foundations). The arrangement of the breaks in the Fourniture and
Cymbale, dropping back earlier than in (for instance) north German
instruments, produced distinctive effects in each register: in the bass,
unusual strength and clarity; in the middle register, weight; and in the
treble, particular richness, as the breaking ranks doubled and redoubled
the independent ranks of the chorus and lower ranks of the mixtures. The
registration was all about weight and fullness, and it gave rise to a
compositional style that strove for the same effect: a full-voiced (four or
five parts), loosely-knit polyphonic texture, not fugal but showing never-
theless its genesis in the fantasia style of the late renaissance, not least
through its alla breve notation. The registration is conceived with a
continuous mass of sound in view, where clarity of line is not a pre-
requisite. Indeed, independent lines above g2 tended to become sub-
merged in the overlapping upperwork of lower voices. When fugal
textures were encountered the player turned to other registrations (see
below).
The Plein Jeu was without exception the piece which opened a liturgi-
cal item, and it often incorporated as a cantus firmus the plainchant
which it replaced. This might be the complete melody of a hymn, or the
opening Kyrie of the Mass. Here the Pedal Trompette 8′ was drawn, and
the chant played as an extra voice in the texture, sometimes in the bass
register, more often in the tenor voice, the left hand providing the bass
part. Just as (at the time) the plainchant was sung in slow even notes, so its
incorporation in the Plein Jeu proceeded on the lines of long equal notes,
highlighted by this distinctive timbre. Thus, not only was the mode of the
chant announced, but specific reference was made to the melody of the
chant to be taken up by the congregation.

Grand Jeu
The Grand Jeu stands at the other end of the registration spectrum: the
flue chorus gives way to the reeds. The practice of combining reeds and
the principal chorus in a grand tutti effect was altogether alien to the
French classical tradition (and difficult to achieve on French winding).
Where the Plein Jeu aimed at weight and plenitude, the Grand Jeu embod-
ied brilliance and panache. The reeds of the French classical organ are of
three distinctive types: the Trompettes (including the 4′ Clairon) with
full-length resonators; the lighter Cromorne, with half-length; and the
184 Edward Higginbottom

plaintive Voix Humaine, having a quarter or less. The first two types are
employed in the Grand Jeu, the Trompettes, with their vivid attack and
massy volume, dominating the texture. Where they weaken and become
less reliable in the treble, the Cornet stop was drawn to compensate. Thus
the Grand Jeu normally comprised Trompette and Clairon (8′ and 4′),
Cromorne and Cornet and Jeu de Tierce registers. A foundation stop or
two (not 16′ unless there was a 16′ reed) was commonly added to stabilise
the reeds.
Just as the Grand Jeu sounded totally distinctive from the Plein Jeu, so
did its associated musical style: the genre is noted for its vigorous and
declamatory manner; fanfare figures abound, and the registration allows
for brilliant exchanges between manuals (sometimes moving back and
forth every bar) or between right and left hand, in dialogue fashion. It was
possible for the exchanges to be conducted over three or even four
manuals, employing the Récit Trompette or Cornet as a third participant,
and the Echo as a fourth. The ‘Offertoire sur les Grands Jeux’ of de Grigny
(see extract in Example 12.1) shows this manner, as well as the general
brio of the Grand Jeu style.
Appropriately enough, the Grand Jeu was placed at the end of an alter-
natim sequence, and its use at the Offertory of the Mass was de rigueur.
The Offertoires of Nivers, de Grigny, Couperin, Marchand and others are
the pièces de résistance of the French classical tradition, written on a large
scale (liturgical ceremony at this point requiring between five and ten
minutes), displaying the highest levels of brilliance, power and resource.
The organist naturally turned to the Grand Jeu at this moment because it
offered the most varied and exciting timbral display of any.

Fugue
In between the Plein Jeu and the Grand Jeu are found a number of genres
having more intimate registrations and styles. They tend to follow a par-
ticular order within the context of a suite or a liturgical item, and the first
of them is often the Fugue. The French were not keen on demonstrations
of technical accomplishment in their Fugues, and to make comparison
with Bach in this respect is futile; the French Fugue is a modest display of
contrapuntal craft. But what it lacked in craft it made up for in personal-
ity: subjects were eloquent, often vocal in character, and set in a manner
which threw their appearances into expressive relief. The music is dis-
course rather than technique. The organist played the Fugue not on the
principal chorus, which lacked voice-leading clarity (and also the per-
sonal touch), but on the reeds, the Trompettes of the Grand Orgue for the
 185 The French classical organ school

Ex. 12.1 De Grigny, Offertoire sur les Grands Jeux

Fugue grave, the Cromorne of the Positif for the Fugue gai. Surprisingly,
drawn by themselves (with the steadying influence of a principal rank or
Bourdon), the reeds could be played in a quite intimate style. Sometimes
for four-part textures, reeds and a Jeu de Tierce could be drawn on separ-
ate manuals for left and right hands; still more kaleidoscopic effects across
three divisions might be achieved for the Quatuor with the addition of the
8′ Pedal Flûte.

Duo, Trio
The Duo and Trio are precisely that: movements in two- and three-part
textures, the Duo in a loosely contrapuntal style with motives passed from
one hand to the other, the Trio more like a trio sonata, with the left-hand
functioning as a continuo bass. François Couperin’s ‘Dialogue en trio du
Cornet et de la Tierce’ (from the Gloria of the Messe pour les Paroisses)
provides an example of this type with each upper voice differentiated by
the registration scheme, and the Pedal (eventually) providing the bass
 186 Edward Higginbottom

Ex. 12.2 Clérambault, Trio (Suite du premier ton)

line. However, Couperin’s verset (a veritable ‘Trio à trois claviers’) is more

elaborate than most in the genre. More commonly the upper voices share
a right-hand registration, and (in line with the French manner of treating
the Italian trio idiom) the second part tends to shadow the first, providing
harmonic depth and perspective rather than an independent contour. In
these cases (the ‘Trio à Deux Dessus’), the registration scheme sets off the
dessus parts against the bass, perhaps Cromorne 8′ in the right hand and
a Jeu de Tierce in the left, as so elegantly displayed in Clérambault’s Trio
from his Suite du premier ton (see Example 12.2); equally, the scheme
could be reversed, with a reed in the left hand and the Jeu de Nasard or de
Tierce in the right.
These schemes gave the Trio a very personal tone, not unlike the effect
achieved in a diversely registered Fugue. They were part and parcel of a
genre which emphasised ‘le gracieux’. The schemes for the Duo tended to
reflect a more boisterous musical language. Duos were commonly
marked ‘gai’ or ‘vite’, and revelled in vigorous rhythms and dashing
fingerwork. Nothing suited this more than the Jeu de Tierce combinations
of the Grand Orgue and Positif (as Couperin prescribes in his ‘Duo sur les
Tierces’ from the Gloria of his Messe pour les Paroisses) which on a large
187 The French classical organ school

1
instrument might include for the left hand the Grosse Tierce (35 ′) of the
Grand Orgue (built up from the 16′ Bourdon). Alternatively the left hand
might be played on the Grand Orgue Trompette or Positif Cromorne.

Récit
The Jeu de Tierce or Cornet may be counted the soul of the French classi-
cal organ. Whilst it played an essential role in the Grand Jeu, bolstering
the trebles of the reeds and lending body and luminosity to the texture as
a whole, it was more especially prized for its capability as a solo colour,
being the chief registration option for the numerous Récits of the French
school. Here the solo hand took on the eloquence of the human voice, the
musical gestures derived from the vocal idioms of opera and motet, by
turns declamatory and lyrical, richly invested with expressive ornaments
(notably the port de voix and tremblement appuyé). In a word, the Récit
sings. It also incorporated decorative figuration, for the Jeu de Tierce was
valued for its quicksilver mobility. François Couperin gathers these
various qualities together in the celebrated ‘Tierce en Taille’ from the
Gloria of his Messe pour les Paroisses, in which the récit line appears in the
tenor voice (the taille) surrounded by the gentle haze of Bourdons and
Flûtes of the jeu doux. Dumage exemplifies the same features in his
equally expressive ‘Tierce en Taille’ from his 1er livre d’orgue (see Example
12.3).
When the Cromorne is featured en taille, the style is even more vocal
(mélanges often refer to ‘a singing style’ in connection with the
Cromorne). And the Voix Humaine, drawn for the most intimate essays in
the Récit style, and always supported by a Bourdon 8′, comes closer still to
the voice. When the Positif is used for these solo lines, it makes good use of
its position: at the back of the player, hanging over the gallery rail, in inti-
mate relationship with the listener (see Fig. 5.8, p. 68 above).
A different and distinctive type of Récit is the Basse de Trompette or
Cromorne, in which the pungency of the reeds in the bass register is put to
a quite different musical use: pieces in this genre are vigorous, full of bold
melodic contours and heroic gestures.

Dialogue
When the solo line of the Récit moved from one hand to another, or from
one registration to another, the term ‘Dialogue’ was often used, denoting
 188 Edward Higginbottom

Ex. 12.3 Dumage, Tierce en Taille (Suite du premier ton)

the conversational aspect of the composition. The Dialogues of the

French school are as many and as various as the simpler Récits. They
range from the Basse et Dessus type (where right and left hand exchange
the solo line), to the Récit en Dialogue (where the conversation is between
two timbres, often Cornet and Cromorne) to the ‘Récit en Dialogue avec
Echo’ (requiring a fourth manual). These pieces show just how aware
composers were of the individual character of each solo timbre, crafting
the solo line to produce the best effect on the jeu assigned to it. The
Dialogues are among the most idiomatic pieces in a highly idiomatic
school of organ composition.

Fond d’orgue
The most luxuriant mélange of the French school is the fond d’orgue,
drawing on the foundation stops, both Montres and Bourdons, some-
times coupling Positif to Grand Orgue. The effect comes close to the
fiffaro registration used in the Italian school for Elevation versets: it is
deeply harmonious, serving impeccably the durezze e ligature style of the
music written for it. Louis Marchand has left us a sublime example of the
type in his Fond d’orgue in E minor from the Versailles MS. At a less inten-
189 The French classical organ school

sively expressive level, the combination is used to create the jeu doux or
accompanying mélange (as in Example 12.3).

Although space precludes an account of late eighteenth-century French

organ music (Claude Balbastre is its leading figure), we cannot pass over
in silence the accomplishments of earlier composers. Five publications stand
as beacons in an otherwise nearly deserted landscape in the centuries
preceding the classical school: three anthologies of anonymous organ
music from the presses of the Parisian publisher Attaingnant, all appearing
in the year 1531, and nearly one hundred years later, in 1623, a collection
of hymns by Jehan Titelouze (organist of Rouen Cathedral), followed
in 1626 by his Magnificat versets. The Attaingnant prints are in effect the
first extant examples of French keyboard music. Two volumes comprise
organ masses and versets for the Te Deum and Magnificat, the third, motet
and chanson intabulations. The Titelouze collections serve only the offices,
but with such a display of craft that they stand beside the work of Scheidt
and Sweelinck in the field of early seventeenth-century contrapuntal
writing for the organ. This highly conservative and impressive style is
glimpsed only briefly in the shreds and patches of extant literature between
1626 and 1660. Music by Charles Racquet (conserved by Mersenne in his
Harmonie universelle, 1636–7), by Jean-Henri d’Anglebert (Pièces de
clavecin, 1689 – containing organ fugues from the early 1660s), and by
Roberday shows the polyphonic idiom still in good voice. At the hinge of
the new age stands the music of Louis Couperin, miraculously preserved in
manuscript. His extraordinary achievement provides us with the key to
understanding how the old polyphonic style of Titelouze, Racquet and
Roberday was transformed into the dazzling variety of genres of the
classical school.

Recommended editions
Authoritative complete editions of the organ music of Louis and François
Couperin are published by L’Oiseau Lyre, and of de Grigny by Heugel. Of
the Archives des maîtres de l’orgue des XVIe, XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles (ed. A.
Guilmant and A. Pirro), which appeared at the beginning of the century,
and which contain a great many of the authors of the classical school,
Titelouze included, many have been re-issued under the Kalmus and the
Schott imprints. Nivers has been published by Bornemann, Schola
Cantorum and Heugel (the three Livres respectively), Boyvin’s two Livres
by les Editions Ouvrières, and Clérambault’s single Livre by Schola
Cantorum. For an anthology of music from the period, see vols 7–9 of the
Faber Early Organ Series, ed. J. Dalton
 13 English organ music to c1700
Geoffrey Cox

Pre-Reformation organ music

No English organ music from before 1500 has survived. There are a few
earlier instances that are sometimes cited, but they can all be discounted
for one reason or another. The pieces in the Robertsbridge Codex, which
date from about 1320, are probably of French or Italian origin, despite the
fact that they have been preserved in England (Caldwell 1973: 1–9). The
Buxheimer Orgelbuch, compiled in Germany about 1470, includes
transcriptions of some sacred and secular vocal pieces by John Dunstable,
but these are only intabulations by a German organist and not original
keyboard settings by Dunstable. One other piece sometimes thought to be
an early example of English organ music is an anonymous Felix namque
copied about 1420 (Dart 1954: 201; Caldwell 1973: 14), but this is more
likely to be a simple piece of vocal discant.
It is not until the first half of the sixteenth century that a large corpus
of genuine English organ music is to be found. In this pre-Reformation
period in England, most of the organ music is strictly liturgical in func-
tion, being designed for performance at specific points during the Mass
and Office. The pre-Reformation period can be said to extend up to the
accession of Elizabeth I in 1558, for, despite the introduction of the first
Book of Common Prayer in 1549, the Latin rite was fully restored in the
reign of Mary (1553–8). The main two composers around the middle of
the century were John Redford (c1486–1547) and Thomas Preston (active
in the 1540s and 50s), who were followed by Thomas Tallis (c1505–85)
and William Blitheman (died 1591), most of whose liturgical organ music
probably dates from the reign of Mary.
Liturgical organ music used plainsong as its basis, being intended for
performance at points in the liturgy in place of the sung chant. During the
Mass, for instance, the chants of both the Ordinary and the Proper could
be set for the organ. The only complete English organ setting of the Mass
Ordinary that survives is one by Philip ap Rhys, and even this omits the
Credo. A few other isolated mass movements by other composers survive,
such as the Agnus Dei by John Redford shown in Example 13.1, in which
the chant is given out in long notes in the right hand. As Redford sets only
[190] the portion of the chant normally sung for the first and third petitions, it
 191 English organ music to c1700

Ex. 13.1 Redford, Agnus Dei

[]
[ ] 6.1

can be assumed that his setting, like so many others of the period, was
intended for alternatim performance with sung portions of the original
chant (see Chapter 9).
The Proper of the Mass (Introit, Gradual, Alleluia, Offertory, etc.)
seems to have been set more often for the organ, and organ settings of the
Marian offertory Felix namque appear to have been especially popular.
Redford’s younger contemporary, Thomas Preston, who was active in the
reign of Queen Mary, wrote at least eight organ settings of this chant, in
which only the opening word ‘Felix’ was normally sung, leaving the
remainder of the chant to be incorporated into the organ setting.
As well as in the Mass, the organ was heard at the daily Offices at
Matins, Lauds, Vespers and Compline. For these, organ music included
settings of the canticles (Te Deum, Magnificat, etc.) hymns (Ecce tempus,
Veni redemptor, Iste confessor, etc.) and antiphons (Lucem tuam, Gloria
tibi Trinitas, etc.). In the hymns, it appears that the organ must have per-
formed alternate verses only, the others being sung. Hymn, canticle and
mass versets are generally short, in keeping with their alternatim func-
tion.
Not all English keyboard music before the Reformation was based on
plainchant. From the first half of the sixteenth century there also survive
dance pieces by Hugh Aston and others, an anonymous Uppon la mi re,
and other pieces that appear to be freely composed. Some non-liturgical
works are to be found in the Mulliner Book, a valuable source of pre-
Reformation organ music compiled by Thomas Mulliner, Almoner of St
Paul’s Cathedral. As this volume was not completed until about 1570 or
later, it is difficult in the case of some of its contents to say whether they
date from before or after the accession of Elizabeth. One such piece in
Mulliner’s collection is the one entitled Voluntary by Richard Allwood.
This is the earliest known piece using this title, which has remained an
192 Geoffrey Cox

English peculiarity to this day. Originally it seems to have denoted a type

of organ music not based on plainchant, but on any freely composed
theme or ‘point’.
Another interesting title attached to several pieces in the Mulliner
Book and afterwards is ‘In nomine’. Almost all of the works bearing this
title are based on the chant Gloria tibi Trinitas, and the practice of using
the title ‘In nomine’ appears to stem from the popularity of the In nomine
Domini section of Taverner’s Missa Gloria tibi Trinitas, where the chant
appears as the cantus firmus. Surviving mid-sixteenth-century instru-
mental transcriptions of this section of Taverner’s mass include two for
strings and two for keyboard, one of the latter being in the Mulliner Book.
Subsequent settings of the chant retained the title ‘In nomine’, even when
they were not derived directly from Taverner’s mass. The peculiar tradi-
tion of writing such works extended well into the seventeenth century, for
example with works by John Bull (c1562/63–1628), who wrote all of his In
nomine settings in England before he departed for the Netherlands in
1613. Indeed, the tradition of the In nomine probably belongs more to the
period following the Reformation than to the period before it. It is
significant that no pieces titled ‘In nomine’ can be dated with certainty
before 1558.

English organ music from the Reformation to the Restoration

With the accession of Elizabeth in 1558, the Latin rite was again sup-
pressed, and a further revision of the Prayer Book was authorised with an
Act of Uniformity in 1559. Thus the old liturgy in which the organ had
played such an integral part disappeared, and the function of organ music
in the English church changed. In the early years of the seventeenth
century, the organ was often heard in the Chapel Royal playing an
‘offertorye’ during the Communion service, but it also developed entirely
new roles. One composition by Edward Gibbons of Exeter, dated 1611, is
described as ‘A Prelude upon ye Organ, as was then usuall before ye
Anthem’, from which it would appear that organ music was customary
before the anthem at Morning and Evening Prayer. There is also evidence
to suggest that the practice of playing a voluntary between the psalms and
the first lesson at these services dates from this period (see Morehen
1995).
The most important outcome of these new uses of the organ was that
composers were encouraged to write organ music that was not based on
plainchant. Lacking a fully developed English tradition in this field, it
seems likely that English composers at the time looked to foreign models,
193 English organ music to c1700

particularly from Italy and Spain. Antonio de Cabezón, the greatest

Spanish keyboard composer of his day, spent more than a year in England
in 1554–5 in his capacity as court organist to Philip II of Spain, and his
tientos (some of which were published in 1557 and 1578) were possibly
models for the fancies and voluntaries of William Byrd (c1543–1623) and
others. Whatever the case, the freely imitative forms in England entered a
period of tremendous growth, and the resulting compositions were
known variously as fancies, verses and voluntaries – terms that were
largely interchangeable.
Thomas Morley described the fantasy as a piece in which ‘a musician
taketh a point at his pleasure and wresteth and turneth it as he list’ (A
Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke, 1597). The ‘point’ need
not necessarily be original or even the composer’s own, for some fantasias
are reworkings of vocal pieces or of string fantasias. Furthermore, each
fantasia need not be based on a single point throughout; most of those by
Orlando Gibbons (1583–1625), for example, take several points and treat
them imitatively in turn. Some fantasias by Byrd and others fall into
several contrasted sections which include dance-like passages and bril-
liant toccata writing, as well as purely contrapuntal sections. It is often
difficult to decide which of these pieces were written for use on church
organs and which were more appropriate for the virginals or perhaps the
domestic chamber organ.
One form certainly intended for the organ was the Fancy or Voluntary
for Double Organ, the earliest surviving example of which appears to be a
piece by Orlando Gibbons (see Example 13.2). ‘Double’ in this context
refers simply to an organ of two manuals – ‘Great’ and ‘Chair’. The terms
‘ten’ and ‘base’ are used to distinguish between the two in Benjamin
Cosyn’s virginal book, which is the only surviving source for Gibbons’
piece. The left hand is given a series of intermittent solos on the Great
Organ while the right hand plays continuously on the Chair Organ,
although both hands play on the Great at the end. It is doubtful, however,
that Gibbons intended this particular work to be played in this way: the
clumsy arrangement of the manual changes towards the end has forced
different editors to adopt various solutions, and the assigning of left-hand
solos throughout the work does not always suit the musical texture. It is
significant that Cosyn also attempted to arrange the piece following this
one in his manuscript as a double-organ piece, but abandoned the
attempt after twelve bars. It seems likely that the style of using left-hand
solos on a louder registration could have been suggested to English
composers (or arrangers, in the case of Cosyn) by the medio registro
(divided stop) pieces of Francisco Correa de Arauxo, published in Spain
in 1626. Gibbons could hardly have known these pieces before his death in
 194 Geoffrey Cox

Ex. 13.2 O. Gibbons, Fantasia (arranged for Double Organ by Cosyn)

base

ten

base

ten

base

1625, but Cosyn (who lived until 1652 or later) could conceivably have
arranged Gibbons’ piece in imitation of the Spanish models.
Leaving aside this peculiar Gibbons/Cosyn arrangement, some
genuine pre-Restoration double-organ voluntaries by John Lugge (d.
c1647) and Richard Portman (d. c1655) have survived. Lugge wrote three
such works, all using left-hand solos as in Cosyn’s arrangement of
Gibbons, while the latter part of Portman’s Verse for Double Organ
reflects the influence of the French dialogue de deux chœurs style, in which
both hands alternate simultaneously between the two manuals (see
Example 13.3).
As well as freely imitative pieces, composers continued to write set-
tings of plainsong (including the In nomine), though the increasing ten-
dency after the Reformation was to set the plainsong melodies in long
unembellished notes against highly figurative accompanying parts. Many
of these pieces give the impression more of being exercises in composi-
tional technique than of fulfilling a liturgical function, and like most key-
board music of the period they are as likely to have been played on the
harpsichord as on the organ. Among the earliest examples after the acces-
sion of Elizabeth are two settings of Felix namque by Tallis, dated 1562
and 1564. Blitheman’s pupil John Bull, together with Thomas Tomkins
(1572–1656), continued the tradition of writing plainsong settings right
up to the time of the Commonwealth, after which it was discontinued.
Settings of other pre-existing melodies also became popular – notably
 195 English organ music to c1700

Ex. 13.3 Portman, Verse for Double Organ

[]
Single

40

Double both hands

those on the hexachord (Ut re mi fa sol la). Here the techniques were
similar to those employed in plainsong settings, and some pieces – espe-
cially those by Bull – display remarkable rhythmic complexity. In one of
Byrd’s settings of Ut re mee fa sol la, part of the song ‘Will you walk the
woods so wild’ is introduced in the third variation against the rising and
falling six-note scale (C–A). This piece is also an early example of a key-
board duet, for in the only surviving copy (in the hand of Tomkins) the
notes of the hexachord are written out separately at the end of the piece
with a direction for ‘the playne song Briefes to be played by a Second
person’. Later keyboard duets dating from the period include A Verse for
two to play on one virginall or organs by Nicholas Carleton (d. 1630), which
is actually an In nomine setting, and A Fancy for two to play by Tomkins. In
addition to the above-mentioned forms, composers produced sets of
variations, grounds, and dance movements for keyboard. All of this music
was probably intended for the virginal, although some of it could also
have been played on domestic chamber organs.
Of the English organist-composers who left England and worked
abroad, John Bull deserves special mention for his contribution to the
keyboard repertory, although much of his music lies just outside the
mainstream of the English tradition. Many of his fantasias probably date
from after 1613, when he settled in the Netherlands, as also do his two set-
tings of the Salve Regina, which was not normally set by English compos-
ers on account of its Catholic text. Bull’s keyboard settings of the Dutch
carols ‘Een Kindeken is ons geboren’ and ‘Laet ons met herten reijne’ are
notable for their simplicity and charm, as well as interesting for the few
registration instructions (not for English organs) that the latter contains.
Very little is known about the practice of registration in English organ
music up to this time. English church organs were only of modest size,
196 Geoffrey Cox

with no mixtures and no reeds. Thomas Dallam’s well-known organ for

Worcester Cathedral in 1613 may be taken as typical of its period, and
here the highest-pitched stop on the chair organ was the ‘two &
Twentieth (or squeelers) of mettal’ which would have sounded at 1-foot
pitch:
The specification of Thomas Dallam’s organ for Worcester Cathedral in
1613, incorporating details given by Nathaniel Tomkins in a letter to John
Sayer dated 22 May 1665 (Oxford, Bodleian Library, Add. MS C.304a, f. 141)
Great Organ
Two open diapasons of metall. CC fa ut a pipe 10 foot long. [8′ and 8′]
Two principals of metal (octave to ye diapasons) (all in sight) [4′ and 4′]
Two small principals or 15ths of metal [2′ and 2′]
2
One twelfth of metall [23 ′]
One recorder of metall, a stopt pipe [8′]
Chaire Organ
One principal of mettal ( a five foot pipe in front) [4′]
One (stopt) diapason of wood [8′]
One flute of wood (unison to ye principal) [4′]
One small principal or fifteenth of mettal [2′]
One two & twentieth (or squeelers) of metal [1′]

None of the early Dallam ‘double organs’ have survived, but the
Gloucester Cathedral organ, with its cases by Robert Dallam and his son-
in-law Thomas Harris, is representative of instruments of this type (see
Figure 13.1). Pedal ‘pull-downs’ operating the lowest manual notes may
have been known in some places (for example at Jesus College,
Cambridge, in 1635) but the evidence for this is scanty, and certainly no
independent pedal stops were provided. Other fascinating problems for
the modern performer include the question of pitch (see Chapter 4, also
Caldwell 1970 and Clark 1974), and the interpretation of the contempo-
rary ornament signs (see Chapter 8, also Le Huray 1981 and Hunter
1992).

Restoration organ music

Throughout the period following the Reformation, the use of organs in
worship had been regarded by many as a superstitious and popish prac-
tice. Puritan opposition had mounted steadily until two ordinances
issued by Parliament in 1644 finally called for their destruction. Very few
church or cathedral organs were left standing during the Commonwealth,
197 English organ music to c1700

Figure 13.1 The small two-manual pedal-less organs associated with the English choral service in
the seventeenth century have all been removed, but here at Gloucester Cathedral the double case
survives with its original decorated front pipes. The smaller Chaire case was probably built by
Robert Dallam in 1639-41 and exhibits craftsmanship of exceptional quality. The main or Great
case, erected by Dallam’s son-in-law Thomas Harris in 1666, follows a more confident classical
design, but its coarser workmanship reflects the urgency of the period immediately following the
restoration of the monarchy in 1660. The instrument inside the case has been altered frequently as
fashions in liturgy have changed. In the nineteenth century it was a typical work from the factory
of Henry Willis, for much of the twentieth century it has been known as a large romantic
instrument by Harrison & Harrison. In 1971 it was rebuilt on neo-classical lines (but with electric
action) by Hill, Norman and Beard in consultation with the organ expert Ralph Downes.
198 Geoffrey Cox

and it was not until the restoration of the monarchy in 1660 that they were
heard again. The demand for new organs at this time must have been
great, and several builders who had worked abroad now introduced new
ideas into English organ building. As early as around 1661 Robert Dallam,
who had spent the years of the Commonwealth in France, recommended
the inclusion of mixtures and reeds in his proposed organ for New
College, Oxford. These stops and other new ones such as the cornet were
also found on the organs of Bernard Smith and Renatus Harris, the two
builders who dominated the English scene for the remainder of the
century. Harris had spent his early years in France, while Smith appears to
have worked in Holland before settling in England. The organ built by
Smith for Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, in 1680 is fairly typical of the
period:

Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, B. Smith (1680)

Great Organ (GG–c3) Choir Organ (GG–c3)
Open diapason 8′ Stopped diapason 8′
Stopped diapason 8′ Principal 4′
Principal 4′ Flute 4′
Twelfth 223 ′ Fifteenth 2′
Fifteenth 2′
Tierce 135 ′
Sesquialtera III
Cornet (c
1) IV
Trumpet 8′

English organ music also took a new direction at this time. The main
organist/composers in the early years following the Restoration were
Matthew Locke (c1622–77) and Christopher Gibbons (1615–76), to
whom may be added the less significant names of Benjamin Rogers
(1614–98), Albertus Bryne (c1621–c70) and John Hingston (d. 1683). The
organ works of John Blow (1649–1708) and Henry Purcell (1659–95) rep-
resent the most important contributions to the English repertory of the
late seventeenth century.
Most organ works of the Restoration period were simply called
‘voluntary’ or ‘verse’, titles that had been familiar also before the
Commonwealth. Several styles were represented, however, and these now
displayed the characteristics of the early baroque. The Commonwealth
and Puritan opposition in general had seriously retarded the growth of
English organ music by the middle of the century, and developments
abroad – especially in Italy – had left it far behind. Not surprisingly, there-
fore, continental influences played a large part in bringing English organ
music up to date after the Restoration.
199 English organ music to c1700

One of the most significant influences came through the keyboard

music of Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583–1643) and his school. In a pub-
lished essay of 1672, Matthew Locke named Frescobaldi and his south
German follower J. J. Froberger (c1616–67) as two of the most worthy
keyboard composers, and there is abundant evidence not only that organ
music by Italian and south German composers was known in England
during the second half of the seventeenth century, but also that it
influenced the work of English composers. Froberger himself visited
England as early as 1651 or 1652, and a number of foreign organists
working in England after the Restoration could also have helped to intro-
duce new styles (Cox 1989: 21–34). Frescobaldi’s organ works were obvi-
ously known to Blow, who boldly ‘incorporated’ parts of several of them
into works of his own.
Although English pieces rarely copied the overall forms of the Italian
or south German organ canzona, ricercar or toccata, they frequently
employed styles that derived from them. Blow’s Chromatic Voluntary in D
minor, for instance, clearly shows the style of the contemporary ricercar,
although decorated and enlivened according to contemporary English
taste. Compared with earlier English organ music, the Restoration volun-
tary and verse tended towards monothematicism, with fewer imitative
sections and the sections becoming increasingly differentiated in style.
The second section of Purcell’s Voluntary in G for instance, is written in
canzona style, while the first section uses the characteristic durezze e liga-
ture (dissonances and ties) style deriving from Frescobaldi (see Example
13.4).
One result of the development of English organs at this period was an
increased interest in types of organ music employing specific registra-
tions. Voluntaries for double organ continued the pre-Commonwealth
tradition, but introduced new features such as solos for the right hand,
and dialogue between the two manuals, which appear to derive from
French models. Two Voluntaries for Double Organ in D minor, one by
Purcell and the other anonymous (edited in Early English Organ Music,
vol. 2, ed. R. Langley 1986), are among the finest English works of the
period. The earliest English cornet voluntaries, written by Blow, appear to
have been intended for single-manual organs with a cornet half-stop in
the treble, perhaps deriving from Spanish or Belgian models (Cox 1983:
4–17). The writing for the right-hand cornet solos is generally very florid,
while the left hand plays on the accompanying stops which sound in the
lower manual compass up to c1, as can be seen in Example 13.5, from
Blow’s Cornet Voluntary in A minor. This work uses two parts on the
cornet stop towards the end, as do some Belgian and French works, but
Blow’s works for cornet stop are remote from the récit de cornet style. The
 200 Geoffrey Cox

Ex. 13.4 Purcell, Voluntary in G

[]

earliest English trumpet voluntaries in the latter half of the seventeenth

century were written in a crude style, possibly in imitation of ceremonial
ensemble music for trumpets and drums, and remotely related to the
Iberian battalla (Cox 1995: 30–45).
Although French influence in English organ music at this time was
minimal in the general sense, it was very strong with regard to the style of
ornamentation. This may be attributable to the fact that a large quantity
of French harpsichord music had found its way into English sources by
the middle of the seventeenth century (Caldwell 1973: 151–2, 164).
Although the signs and names of the English ornaments differed from the
French, it is clear that the style of ornamentation used in English organ
music after the Restoration (Ferguson 1975: 148–52) was based on French
practice.
Blow’s death in 1708 marks the end of the Restoration period in
English organ music. After this, a standard two-movement form became
widely used in which an introductory slow chordal movement (usually
designated ‘diapasons’ or ‘full organ’) was followed by a quick movement
in Italian concerto style, often merely in two parts and exploiting such
solo stops as the trumpet or cornet. Late baroque style, stemming from
the sonatas and concertos of Corelli and others, had found its way to the
English organ loft, and the superficiality of the fast movements in volun-
taries gave rise to much contemporary criticism. Some blamed the play-
 201 English organ music to c1700

Ex. 13.5 Blow, Cornet Voluntary in A minor

20

[]
Single

[]

[ ] [ ]

Cornett

[]

[] []
[] []

houses, or ‘Synagogues of Satan’ for the light-hearted and wanton airs

that greeted eighteenth-century ears in church. Arthur Bedford in his
Great Abuse of Musick (1711) lamented the decline of fugal writing and
the lack of dissonances in works by the most modern composers.
‘Discords’, he claimed, ‘are like some sharp Sawces, which whet the
Appetite, and make the Meat relish the better . . . This Art hath languish’d
since the Death of Dr Blow.’ The transition to the new style of the eight-
eenth century is evident in the works of William Croft (1678–1727),
Philip Hart (c1676–1749) and John Reading (1677–1764), and it is but a
short step from these to the more familiar eighteenth-century works of
Stanley, Greene and Boyce.

Recommended editions
Anthologies
Alte Englische Orgelmeister/Old English Organ Masters, Liber Organi 10,
ed. G. Phillips (Schott, 1958)
Early English Organ Music: An anthology from Tudor and Stuart times in
two volumes, ed. R. Langley (Oxford University Press, 1986)
English Organ Music: An Anthology from Four Centuries in Ten Volumes,
ed. R. Langley, vols. 1–2 (Novello, 1987–88)
202 Geoffrey Cox

Faber Early Organ Series: European Organ Music of the Sixteenth &
Seventeenth Centuries, vols. 1–3: England, ed. G. Cox (Faber Music,
1986)
Old English Organ Music for Manuals, 6 vols., ed. C. H. Trevor (Oxford
University Press, 1966–72)

Pre-Reformation
Early Tudor Organ Music I: Music for the Office, Early English Church
Music 6, ed. J. Caldwell (Stainer & Bell, 1966)
Early Tudor Organ Music II: Music for the Mass, Early English Church
Music 10, ed. D. Stevens (Stainer & Bell, 1969)
The Mulliner Book, Musica Britannica 1, ed. D. Stevens (2nd edition,
Stainer & Bell, 1954)
Tudor Keyboard Music c.1520–1580, Musica Britannica 66, ed. J. Caldwell
(Stainer & Bell, 1995)

Reformation to the Restoration

Altenglische Duette / For Two to Play, ed. F. Goebels (Bärenreiter, 1973)
John Bull, Keyboard Music: I, Musica Britannica 14, ed. J. Steele and F.
Cameron (2nd edition, Stainer & Bell, 1967)
William Byrd, Tallis to Wesley 8, ed. P. Ledger (Hinrichsen, 1968)
William Byrd, Keyboard Music: I and II, Musica Britannica 27 and 28, ed.
A. Brown (Stainer & Bell, 1969 and 1971)
Benjamin Cosyn, Three Voluntaries, Early Organ Music 14, ed. J. Steele
(Novello, 1959)
Orlando Gibbons, Tallis to Wesley 9, ed. G. Phillips (Hinrichsen, 1957)
Orlando Gibbons, Keyboard Music, Musica Britannica 20, ed. G. Hendrie
(2nd edition, Stainer & Bell, 1967)
John Lugge, Three Voluntaries for Double Organ, ed. S. Jeans and J. Steele
(Novello, 1956)
Thomas Tomkins, Keyboard Music, Musica Britannica 5, ed. S. Tuttle (2nd
edition, Stainer & Bell, 1964)

Post-Restoration
John Blow, Thirty Voluntaries and Verses for the Organ, ed. W. Shaw (2nd
edition, Schott, 1972)
John Blow, Complete Organ Music, Musica Britannica 69, ed. B. Cooper
(Stainer & Bell, 1996)
Christopher Gibbons, Keyboard Compositions, Corpus of Early Keyboard
Music 18, ed. C. Rayner, rev. J. Caldwell (Hänssler/AMC, 1989)
Matthew Locke, Seven Pieces from ‘Melothesia’ (1673) for Organ or
Harpsichord, Tallis to Wesley 6, ed. G. Phillips (Hinrichsen, 1957)
203 English organ music to c1700

Matthew Locke, Organ Voluntaries, ed. T. Dart (2nd edition, Stainer &
Bell, 1968)
Matthew Locke, Melothesia (1673), ed. C. Hogwood (Oxford University
Press, 1987)
Henry Purcell, Organ Works, ed. H. McLean (2nd edition, Novello, 1967)
Benjamin Rogers, Voluntary for the Organ, Early Organ Music 11, ed. S.
Jeans (Novello, 1962)
 14 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c1800
Patrick Russill

In 1648 the devastating Thirty Years War was ended by the Peace of
Westphalia. Though this left some Catholic areas in essentially Lutheran
north and central Germany (and southern Protestant areas too, like
Nuremberg and Württemberg, including Stuttgart) it was in the south
that the Catholic heartlands lay. From Baden in the south-west, they ran
through parts of Swabia (including the publishing centre of Augsburg)
and Bavaria (Munich pre-eminent) with the large bishoprics of Passau
and Salzburg leading to the expanses of the Austrian Empire in which
Vienna and Prague were the major centres. These areas had always looked
south of the Alps for trade and culture. After the War, with the revival of
Catholic Counter-Reformation confidence, Italian baroque art-forms
were eagerly adopted, while the desire of many German princelings for
monarchical splendour, in the style of Louis XIV, made their courts
increasingly receptive to French taste also. The raising of the Turkish siege
of Vienna in 1683 and ensuing victories reinforced both the prestige of
the imperial Viennese court and the mood of religious triumph in Austria
and her supporting German principalities. This was reflected in the many
powerful monasteries, such as Melk, Weingarten and Ottobeuren, rebuilt
in the first half of the eighteenth century in a dazzling conjunction of
princely and celestial glory – artistically, the climax of a process of origi-
nal re-interpretation of forms invented in Italy and France (the organ at
Melk is shown in Figure 14.1).
A similar process of stylistic absorption and re-interpretation
characterises the south German keyboard school (though its curve of
achievement follows a somewhat different trajectory). Acting as a creative
bridge between traditions, it produced beautiful, distinctive work – too
little known today – and importantly influenced the development of
European keyboard music generally. The Viennese court provided the
focal point for a generation who vigorously developed forms inherited
from Italy and whose music was widely disseminated – Johann Jacob
Froberger (1616–67) above all, also Alessandro Poglietti (d. 1683) and
Johann Kaspar Kerll (1627–93). Georg Muffat (1653–1704) and Johann
Caspar Ferdinand Fischer (c1662–1746) integrated a new range of cos-
[204] mopolitan idioms with southern Catholic tradition. Late baroque and
205 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c1800

Figure 14.1 The organ in the abbey at Melk, Austria, built by G. Sonnholz in 1731-2. In Catholic
southern Germany and Austria the spatial separation of departments elaborated as a musical
principle in Hamburg and the north was interpreted, instead, as a matter of architectural style.
Instruments were frequently divided on either side of a window (or indeed windows),
requiring a detached keydesk or console for the player.
206 Patrick Russill

rococo features were absorbed by Muffat’s son, Gottlieb (1690–1770), and

Johann Ernst Eberlin (1702–62). But ironically, as German baroque
architecture reached its apogee in the mid-eighteenth century, with stun-
ning organs to match, more vapid styles were infiltrating organ galleries,
leaving composers like Joseph Seger (1716–82) of Prague and Johann
Georg Albrechtsberger (1736–1809) holding out doggedly against the
erosion of compositional ideals and functional integrity.

Instrument and style

The symbiotic relationship between a characteristic organ type and an
idiomatic repertoire – highly sophisticated in baroque France, northern
Germany and even England, for example, and fundamental to all baroque
organ schools – appears much looser in Catholic Germany and Austria.
Yet this was a crucial factor assisting the international currency of much
south German music in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, in con-
trast to other more idiosyncratic repertories.
That southern Catholic composers traditionally favoured a spectrum
of one-manual textures, and a range of forms, transferable between organ
and strung keyboard instruments is due not to instrumental deficiences –
far from it – but to an essentially ‘open’ attitude to the keyboard family.
(Only the sustained pedal-point and durezze idioms were exclusive to the
organ.) So the relationship between organ and style depended not on
specific timbres matched to specific idioms, but rather on fundamental,
unidiosyncratic virtues: a vibrant, sustained chordal sound neither
obscuring, nor troubled by, busy figuration above or below; a promptness
of attack and equality of balance as effective in tight-knit, voluble
counterpoint as in more fractured textures; transparency in vocal-style
polyphony. Such simple virtues – also found in other European organ
types, though speaking in very different accents – are embodied with a
brilliant, relaxed boldness by many south German baroque instruments,
large and small.
Much of this repertoire can be delivered in as authentic (if gently
spoken) a vernacular by the little 1693 choir organ (by Paulus Prescher of
Nördlingen) in the monastery of Mönchsdeggingen, Swabia (Fischer and
Wohnhaas 1982: 176) –
Manual: 8.4.4.2.112 .1
Pedal: permanently coupled (16′ added 1757)

– as by the thrillingly restored 1634 Putz/1708 Egedacher organ in Schlägl

Abbey, Upper Austria:
207 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c1800

Hauptwerk (C/E–c3) Unterpositiv (C/E–c3)

[upper manual] [lower manual]
Principal 8′ Copln 18′
Copl 8′ Principal 14′
Octav 4′ Flauta 14′
Spitzfletten 4′ Octav 12′
Quint 3′ Quint 1112 ′
Superoctav 2′ Cymbalum III
Mixtur VII–X
Cymbel II
Pusaundl 8′ Pedal (C/E–b
)
Principal 16′
Octav 18′
Tremulant (for the whole organ) Octav 14′
Mixtur V
Grosspusaun 16′
Octavpusaun 18′

Minus the luxury of the manual 8′ reed and the pedal 16′ reed, this is the
sort of scheme, typical of moderate to large churches throughout the
seventeenth century, for which Poglietti mapped out a comprehensive
exploration of registrational possibilities in his Compendium of 1676 (see
Faber Early Organ Series 15, p. vi). He includes various permutations at 8′
alone (sometimes including tremulant), (16) 8.8, (16) 8.8.4, (16) 8.4.4
and (16) 8.8.4.223 , registrations of 4.4.2, 4′ or even 2′ alone, ‘open’ regist-
rations of 8.8.232 , 8.2 and 8.4.4.113 as well as plenums with doubled pitches
– hardly prescription, rather encouragement to be imaginative and
varied.

Liturgical verset collections

The south German organ is rooted in liturgical alternatim practice (see
Chapter 9). If its harvest appears meagre in scope compared with the
liturgical riches of France or Protestant Germany, it is still highly charac-
teristic. Only a small amount of music specifically for the Mass survives,1
but virtually every notable composer (Froberger and Georg Muffat
excepted) produced sets of tiny versets for the Office, with remarkable
consistency of approach, from Sebastian Scherer (1631–1712) in 1664 to
Albrechtsberger a century later.
Kerll’s Modulatio Organica (1686), a collection of Magnificat versets in
each of the eight church tones (see Appendix, pp. 316–18 below), was
intended and regarded as a model both in function and in technique. Each
 208 Patrick Russill

Ex. 14.1 Kerll, Magnificat Secundi Toni

20

tone, topped and tailed by brief Italianate intonazioni, is provided with

five fughettas (in many later collections, six or more), none usually longer
than fifteen bars. They seem to distil the limitations of the tradition: no
specified manual changes or alternation; no manual solos; no specified
linkage of idiom and registration; a range of idioms largely conditioned
by neatly laid-out, hand-comfortable counterpoint; the pedals (if indi-
cated at all) restricted almost entirely to Italian-style pedal-points. They
also seem unappealingly stunted, with little exploitation of the chant (in
later collections, usually none at all, thus making them liturgically all-
purpose) and no strong devotional response to the text.
However, a different perspective is gained if versets from the best
collections – the Modulatio itself, the Octi-Tonium Novum Organicum
(1696) of Franz Xaver Murschhauser (1663–1738), a pupil of Kerll at St
Stephen’s Cathedral, Vienna, Gottlieb Muffat’s 72 Versetl samt 12 Toccaten
(1726), Fischer’s Blumen-Strauss (1732 or earlier) or Eberlin’s 65 Vor-und
Nachspiele (manuscript c1740) – are even only partially restored to a litur-
gical context. Interleaved with the proper chant and registered according
to Poglietti’s advice, these little contrapuntal cat’s-cradles, woven from
pithy motivic invention, form witty and elegantly proportioned liturgical
units. The sparkling Magnificat fugues of Johann Pachelbel (1653–1706),
parts of whose training and output are intimately linked to Catholic
organ culture, seem far closer to this tradition than to his own Protestant
heritage.2 This succinct fugal technique became an integral part of south
German compositional study: the playful counterpoint of Kerll’s
Magnificat Secundi Toni (see Example 14.1) resonates as strongly in
Haydn’s and Mozart’s string quartet development sections and racy
finales as in the manualiter preludes of Bach’s Clavierübung III and
‘Kirnberger’ collection (BWV 696–9, 701, 703–4).
209 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c1800

Free forms in the mid-seventeenth century

The traditional debt to Italy of keyboard music in southern Germany and
Austria was given a fresh aspect by Froberger’s dynamic transplantation
of Frescobaldi’s techniques and intensity north of the Alps, following his
studies with the Roman master between 1637 and 1640 or 1641. His impe-
rial presentation autographs, of 1649 and 1656 for Ferdinand III (reigned
1637–57) and a smaller volume for the newly crowned Leopold I (reigned
1658–1705) around 1658, develop the familiar Frescobaldian toccata and
contrapuntal templates (alongside ‘French’ harpsichord suites and a
Netherlandish variation-set) not just with Germanic concern for struc-
ture and thematic organisation, but with concern also for poetic content.
Froberger is most boldly Roman in the Bernini-esque gestures of the
two toccatas alla levatione of the 1649 book (FbWV 105 and 106)3 and
Toccata V of 1656 (FbWV 111) in the same style. More thoroughly
Germanic re-interpretations of this durezze e ligature style come from his
followers: Kerll’s Toccata IV subsumes chromaticisms and dissonances
within a shifting contrapuntal texture, while Pachelbel left two examples
of outstanding delicacy, the ‘Fantasias’ in E
and G minor, one melodic in
impulse, the other harmonic.
Froberger is essentially a contrapuntal thinker, even in his multi-sec-
tional toccatas (Butt 1995: 183–8). The long, sustained pedal-point is just
not part of his musical character – unlike Frescobaldi or his sturdy acolyte
at Ulm, Scherer, or even Kerll or Pachelbel. In a development significant
for the later north German praeludium, Froberger uses unpredictably
embellished chordal rhetoric, not as an expressive end in itself, but to
generate tension which is then released in a series of contrapuntal sections
related by thematic transformation. The first two toccatas (FbWV 101 and
102) of 1649 are particularly fine, especially the second – perfectly bal-
anced formally and possessing a stirring, cumulative chromatic intensity.
As for Froberger’s strict contrapuntal works, a Bach-dominated his-
torical hindsight (Buelow 1985: 161) does not do justice to the music itself
– the steely, accelerating vigour of Canzona II of 1649 (FbVW 302), the
nobly single-minded working-out of subject and counter-subject of
Ricercar I of 1658 (FbVW 401) or the consistently high order of keyboard
polyphony and thematic transformation throughout the ricercars and
capriccios of 1656 (FbVW 407–12 and 507–12). Amongst these are such
splendid things as the swirling chromatic slippages in Capriccio II
(FbVW 508), the pathetic grandeur of Ricercar I (FbVW 407) – given in
an extended variant by François Roberday in his Fugues et caprices (1660),
the earliest publication of the French baroque organ – and the poignant
Ricercar V (FbVW 411).4
210 Patrick Russill

Froberger undoubtedly confirmed south German keyboard music on

its cosmopolitan course. His travels point towards other routes of his
influence, north and west, in his own day. As well as visiting Brussels and
Cromwellian London, he forged close contacts with the north German
Matthias Weckmann in Dresden (see p. 226), and with Louis Couperin,
Roberday and leading clavecinistes in Paris. Thirty years after his death,
the appearance of large printed anthologies and manuscript copies as well
(Silbiger 1993)5 testify to his renewed significance for a musical Europe by
then avidly debating issues of national style and stylistic synthesis.
His younger colleagues Kerll (who had also studied in Rome, with
Carissimi and possibly with Frescobaldi) and Poglietti (whose recorded
career is exclusively Viennese) also exercised international influence
through manuscript copies and prints, even into the eighteenth century.
Kerll’s canzonas are entertaining jeux d’esprit, quite unlike Froberger’s in
aim and technique. His toccatas (more fantastical and less architectural
than Froberger’s) and Poglietti’s twelve ricercars,6 though at opposite
ends of the formal spectrum, highlight two important issues affecting
performance of much of this repertoire.
First, the music often places a high premium on the player piercing
through the patina of the notation – whether it be the seemingly unre-
lieved virtuosity of the toccatas or the apparently calm polyphonic flow of
the ricercars – to search out the affect of the moment, distinguishing
between stasis and mobility, finding lyricism in the midst of virtuosity
and rhetoric in counterpoint, in order to convey an eventful narrative.
Secondly, the accepted inter-changeability of instruments, particu-
larly in toccata, contrapuntal and ostinato forms, often demands decisive
interpretation in apparently non-committal notational areas. Kerll’s
Toccata V tutta de salti appears particularly suitable for harpsichord,
while Toccata VI per li pedali is obviously for organ. But other toccatas
positively invite performance on either. According to instrument: should
full chords be plain, broken or embellished? Should tied notes be restruck
or notes of the same pitch tied? Should ornaments be retained or added?
On the organ: where should there be manual changes? When (rather than
whether) should the pedals be added for cadential reinforcement and
pedal-points (including implied ones)? How might Kerll have handled
these issues in playing Toccata VII (see Example 14.2) on the great 1642
Freundt organ, which he must surely have known, in Klosterneuburg
Abbey, just outside Vienna?
Uniquely luxurious for the period (Williams 1966: 68, 71),
Klosterneuburg canonised characteristics typical of substantial organs of
the region for 150 years to come: a shimmering, dominating Hauptwerk, a
complete but often uncoupleable Pedal department, secondary manuals
 211 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c1800

Ex. 14.2 Kerll, Toccata VII

for colouristic contrast rather than as a complement to the tutti, a huge

variety of 8′ and 4′ colours and an absence of mutations:
[Haupt]Werk (C/E–c3) Rückpositiv (C/E–c3)
[middle manual] [bottom manual]

Principal 18′ Nachthorn gedackt 18′

Principal flöten 18′ Principal 14′
Copl 18′ Spitzflöten 14′
Quintadena 18′ Klein Copl 14′
Octav 14′ Octav 12′
Octav Copl 14′ Superoctav 11′
Offene flöten 14′ Cimbl scharf II
Dulcian (flue) 14′ Krumbhorn 18′
Quint 13′
Superoctav 12′
Mixtur XII–XIV Pedal (C/E–b
)
Cimbl gross II
Dulcian 16′ Portun Principal 16′
Pusaun 18′ Subbass 16′
Octav 18′
Choralflöten 18′
Brustwerk (C/E–c3) Superoctav 14′
[top manual] Mixtur VII–VIII
Rauschwerk III
Coplflöten 14′ Grosspusaun 16′
Superoctav 12′ Octav Pusaun 18′
Spitzflöten 12′
Regal 18′
Tremulant Rp/Hw
212 Patrick Russill

The late seventeenth century

In the last quarter of the seventeenth century, as new French fashions and
Italianate styles met at the south German cultural crossroads, one volume
of keyboard music stands out: Georg Muffat’s Apparatus musico-organis-
ticus published in 1690, the year he moved from Salzburg Cathedral to the
court of the Bishop of Passau. Proud of his studies with Lully in Paris and
Pasquini in Rome (where he had also been part of Corelli’s circle), Muffat
openly advertised his cosmopolitan zeal.7 The twelve toccatas of the
Apparatus combine acquired styles – Corellian concerto and sonata,
Lullian overture, Pasquinian keyboard style – with his inherited south
German tradition, in sectionalised, varied, balanced designs: an original
and ambitious concept. The best are grand creations – in an entirely
different league from the modest, though attractive toccatas of Johann
Speth’s contemporary Ars magna (1693) – and are worthy Catholic
counterparts to Buxtehude’s praeludia (see Radulescu 1980).
Toccata VI enshrines an individualistic tribute to the expressive
rhetoric of Frescobaldi’s elevation toccatas. Nos. VIII, IX, X and XI display
even greater subtlety of stylistic fusion, suggesting a range of timbres and
textures spreading across regional boundaries: the adaptation of French
and Italian orchestral idioms, mixed with durezze e ligature style, for the
openings of nos. VIII, X (Example 14.3) and XI (Example 14.4) brings the
German plenum and Italian ripieno within hailing distance of the French
Grand jeu and Plein jeu conventions.
Ideal the Schlägl and Klosterneuburg organs may be for the Apparatus,
but the music almost appeals for the inspired eclecticism of south
German instruments of the mid-eighteenth century, or for the
Frenchified organs of Andreas Silbermann in Muffat’s childhood Alsace
(itself a region of mixed culture) at Marmoutier (1709) and
Ebersmünster (1728) – never more so than at the end of Toccata III from
which de Grigny ‘borrowed’ some bars for the Point d’orgue of his 1699
Livre d’orgue.
The Apparatus has two important period companions, the first being
the seven capriccios and two ricercars of Nicolaus Adam Strungk
(1640–1700). Though his major appointments were in Hamburg and
Saxony, these works, written while he was in Vienna and Italy in the mid-
1680s, are cast from the strict, open-score Catholic mould, deploying
double and triple counterpoint of surprising scale, ingenuity and vigour.
Outstanding are a lyrical Capriccio sopra il Corale Ich dank dir schon,
dated 1684, and an austere ricercar on the death of his mother written in
Venice in 1685.8
 213 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c1800

Ex. 14.3 Georg Muffat, Toccata X

t t t t

Ped.

t t
t

Ex. 14.4 Georg Muffat, Toccata XI

P. m. [‘Pedale ad libitum’]

t
t

The second is a forerunner of Bach’s ‘48’, the Ariadne musica (1702) by

the Francophile Kapellmeister of the Baden court, J. C. F. Fischer (see
Walter 1990). Its twenty tiny preludes and fugues, in most of the major
and minor keys, consistently present the prelude–fugue coupling
(perhaps for the first time) as a balanced, complementary diptych. Pedal
indications and the inclusion of five seasonal chorale ricercars point to a
liturgical intent, perhaps as a more ‘modern’ counterpart to his equally
fastidious, but more traditional verset collection Blumen-Strauss. The
refined organisation and warmth of his motivically patterned textures
make it no surprise that C. P. E. Bach included this stylish, mature com-
poser with Strungk amongst the south German masters (headed by
Froberger, Kerll and Pachelbel) who had a formative influence on his
father (David and Mendel 1945: 278).
214 Patrick Russill

Ostinato forms
Despite Buxtehude’s two ciaconas and passacaglia, ‘keyboard ostinato
pieces were cultivated mainly in Italy and South Germany, not in the
north’ (Snyder 1987: 236). Though the southern works may be texturally
slighter and formally more loose-limbed than Buxtehude’s, they are
delectable and varied (see Kee 1988). Kerll’s Passacaglia, possibly the ear-
liest German example, treats its simple, descending four-bar bass with a
sophistication accommodating both continuity and contrast (best regis-
tered simply, like most of this repertory, to avoid over-emphasising the
ostinato unit). Muffat however uses double-bars and repeat signs to sec-
tionalise his two examples in the Apparatus: a winsome Ciacona in G
major and a spacious Passacaglia in G minor, which punctuates Italianate
variations with a grand eight-bar progression, served up en rondeau every
sixth statement.
This southern repertory often cunningly exploits the idiomatic diver-
sity the ostinato form invites. While Pachelbel’s chamber music-like
Ciacona in D minor demands pedals – which need not rule out per-
formance on a domestic instrument – his little-played F major and
wonderful F minor ciaconas both effectively thwart exclusive
identification with just one instrument. Harpsichordists rightly do not
hesitate to play Muffat’s two ostinato works from the Apparatus musico-
organisticus. Similarly, organists should have no compunction in
appropriating Fischer’s delicate Chaconne in G and expansive Passacaglia
in D minor, the final works in his harpsichord collections, Musicalisches
Blumen-Büschlein (1696) and Musicalischer Parnassus (1738 or earlier):
they inhabit just the same textural territory.

The eighteenth century

Georg Muffat’s evident Viennese court ambitions (he formally presented
the Apparatus to Emperor Leopold I) were fulfilled by his son, Gottlieb,
who served as court organist 1717–63. Appraisal of this significant com-
poser is sorely hampered by the lack of a complete edition. Though his
harpsichord suites (raided by Handel) and liturgical versets are available,
only a few of his large-scale organ works have been published. There are
hidden riches here. The contrapuntal works – including thirty-two ricer-
cars and nineteen canzonas, which even in their open-score layout (like
Bach’s Art of Fugue) perpetuate the strict traditions of the previous
century – are strong, thematically distinguished and without the stiffness
215 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c1800

Ex. 14.5 Gottlieb Muffat, Capriccio XV ‘desperato’

of his famous teacher, Johann Fux. Comparison of his twenty-four

toccatas and capriccios (an original coupling) with the more bullish,
extrovert toccatas of his father is fascinating: Gottlieb tends to introspec-
tion and retrospection, delving far back into the old Italianate toccata
tradition (he made his own copies of Froberger’s works) but also exploit-
ing French clavecin ornamentation and up-to-date instrumental idioms.
Perhaps the atmosphere of the court of Emperor Karl VI (reigned
1711–40), with its curious adoption of Spanish court formalities, played
some part in Gottlieb’s highly personal mixture of archaic austerity and
delicate emotional sensibility, as in the Toccatas and Capriccios nos.
X–XII and the Capriccio XV ‘desperato’ (see Example 14.5).
Such moodiness contrasts with the vibrant new churches of the late
German baroque and the glamorous new organs sited amidst their
exuberant stucco-work and swirling frescoes. Key aspects of the period
include: the airy disposition of cases around a west window, stunningly so
at Weingarten Abbey (Gabler, 1737–50, shown in Figure 5.11); the
innovation of free-standing, reversed consoles, giving players a com-
manding view of the liturgical action; the glorious rapprochement
between the south German plenum and the reeds and mutations of the
classical French organ as at the abbeys of Ottobeuren (Riepp’s Trinity
organ, 1761–6), Amorbach (Stumm brothers, 1774–82) and Neresheim
(Holzhay, 1792–7) (Williams 1966: 79–84).
A generous, moderately-sized instrument would still typically possess
two or three mixtures on the Hauptwerk, no mutations and a reed fre-
quently only in the pedal, but also now various strings at 8′ and even 4′
(often double-ranked), undulants and flutes of various pitches, construc-
tion and scaling. Balthasar Freiwiss’s 1752–4 organ in the former abbey of
Irsee, Swabia, is a lovely example (Fischer and Wohnhaas 1982: 122):
216 Patrick Russill

Haubt-Manuale (C–c3) Brust-Positive-Manuale (C–c3)

Subprincipal (stopped, wood) 16′ Flautta dolce 18′
Principal 18′ Coppl 18′
Copl 18′ Principal 14′
Quintadena 18′ Fugara 14′
Solicinal 18′ Fletten gedeckht 14′
Viola de Gamba (2 ranks) 18′ Viola (2 ranks) 14′
Octav 14′ Super-Octav 12′
Flötten offen 14′ Mixtur V
Spiz-Fletten 14′
Rohr-Fletten 14′ Pedal (C-f)
Sesquialtera II
Principal-Bass 16′
Mixtur VI
Sub-Bass gedeckt 16′
Cymbalum IV
Octav-Bass (wood) 18′
Violon-Bass (2 ranks) 18′
Quint 16′
Bp/Hm
Hohlflautten 14′
Cornet V
Fagott 18′

The rococo affective elements and late baroque contrapuntal energy of

the IX Toccate e Fughe (1747) by the Salzburg Kapellmeister Eberlin are
finely judged for the sonorities of the period instrument – the brilliant
but internally complex plenum, the treble emphasis of the various flutes
and strings, the lyric foundational warmth of combined stops of widely
diverse scaling – as mediated by both a rich, plaster-vaulted acoustic and
an expressive unequal temperament: hence the riskily extended
sequences (for example, Toccatas I and III and Fugue VI), the high pro-
portion of two and three-part writing in four-voice fugues, compensating
rhythmic drive (as in the double Fugue II), chromatic incident (at high
speed in Fugue III) and gentle dissonance (above all in the sensuous, syn-
copated durezze e ligature Toccata VI, whose immediate progenitor is
Gottlieb Muffat’s Capriccio XII).
By this time serious organ composition was already being undermined
by the taste for lighter styles and for naïve programmatic and colouristic
effects, famously peddled by Vogler and Knecht later in the century. Even
a liturgical verset collection can throw up astounding moments: the
Sturm und Drang of the Praeludium Tertium from Certamen Aonium
(1733) by the monk-organist of Asbach Abbey Carlmann Kolb (1703–65)
veers dizzily between wild rococo ecstasy and eccentric sensationalism.
Seger by contrast maintains a more old-fashioned, generally sober
style, in the orderly textural tradition of Fischer (who was probably also of
217 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c1800

Bohemian origins), as in his 8 Toccaten und Fugen, published post-

humously in 1793.9 The picture of an energetic school in Prague, headed
by Seger and his pupils, including Brixi, Kopriva and Kuchar, is blurred
somewhat by problems of attribution and reliability of sources.
Educated at the abbeys of Klosterneuburg and Melk, Albrechtsberger
was perhaps the last composer formed by the baroque south German
organ tradition. His Octo toni ecclesiastici, probably written while he was
organist at Melk, 1759–65, is in the classic south German alternatim
verset format, but with each tone rounded off by a full-scale fugue: those
for tones III, IV and V are outstanding. Both Mozart (in appreciations of
Albrechtsberger and Eberlin) and Haydn (in sending Beethoven to
Albrechtsberger in 1794–5) openly acknowledged the vital, unpedantic
counterpoint of the south German tradition as an essential ingredient in
the synthesis that was the mature Viennese classical style.
While Albrechtsberger’s later preludial and fugal works, from his time
at St Stephen’s Cathedral, Vienna, illustrate a tradition becalmed, his
Organ Concerto (1762) reminds us that those same changes in musical
styles and tastes that eroded the solo role of the organ in church promoted
its concertante role, in Masses and instrumental works by Mozart, Michael
and Joseph Haydn, Brixi and Vanhal amongst others. It is ironically
indicative of general decline that the finest solo organ works of the south
German late eighteenth century, Mozart’s Fantasias K 594 and K 608, have
nothing to do with the regional organ gallery traditions: written for a
‘mechanical’ (i.e. machine) organ, they were neither inspired by nor
intended for a conventional instrument, nor even conceived to be played
by human hands.

Recommended editions
The indefatigable Rudolf Walter has edited the verset collections of Kerll,
Murschauser, Fischer, Kolb, and Albrechtsberger, Muffat’s Apparatus and
Eberlin’s IX Toccate e Fughe for Alfred Coppenrath of Altötting and
Eberlin’s 65 Vor- und Nachspiele for Doblinger. However, for the complete
Kerll and for Muffat’s Apparatus the editions of John O’Donnell and
Michael Radulescu respectively for Doblinger should be preferred.
Werra’s 1901 edition of Fischer’s complete keyboard works (Breitkopf)
remains desirable. Gottlieb Muffat’s 72 Versetl are edited by Walter
Upmeyer (Bärenreiter), while other selected works of his come from
Kistner & Siegel’s Die Orgel, Series II (nos. 8, 10, 13 and 16) edited by F. W.
Riedel, as do Poglietti’s 12 Ricerari (nos. 5 and 6). Seger’s 8 Toccaten und
Fugen are published in the same house’s Organum series (no. 22).
218 Patrick Russill

Impecunious students will give thanks for the single-volume Dover

reprint of the Adler edition of Froberger’s organ works (and also for
Dover’s Pachelbel volume) but they should not use it without at least con-
sulting Siegbert Rampe’s new four-volume complete edition (Bärenreiter,
still in progress) and Silbiger’s 1993 article.
 15 The north German organ school
Geoffrey Webber

When J. S. Bach applied for the post of organist at the Jakobikirche in

Hamburg in 1720 he had hoped to inherit one of the most famous organs
in north Germany (see Figure 15.1). Like many of the finest organs of the
period it was an instrument that had been enlarged several times over,
most recently by the most famous of all north German builders, Arp
Schnitger. Earlier builders including members of the Scherer family had
contributed to the fifty-three-stop instrument of three manuals and
pedals recorded by Michael Praetorius (Praetorius 1619/1985: 168),1 and
in 1635 Gottfried Fritzsche had added a fourth manual and new
Rückpositiv. Schnitger, who had just completed an enormous instrument
for the nearby Nikolaikirche (four manuals, with sixty-seven stops
including a 32′ Posaune as well as a 32′ Principal for the case), completely
replaced all the workings of the organ, keeping most of the flue pipework
but adding a new set of fourteen reed stops. Bach made no secret of his
admiration for the north German organs he encountered, and had the
greatest respect for particular celebrated combinations of player and
instrument, notably Johann Reincken at the Katharinenkirche in
Hamburg, Georg Böhm at the Johanniskirche in Lüneburg, and Dieterich
Buxtehude at the Marienkirche in Lübeck.
Recently it has once again become possible to experience something of
the overwhelming power and beauty of one of these large north German
instruments that Bach knew. The organ at the Jakobikirche in Hamburg
survived the Second World War by being temporarily dismantled, and in
1993, exactly 300 years after Schnitger finished his work on the instru-
ment, Jürgen Ahrend rebuilt the organ in its Schnitger form, having
already benefited from the experience of restoring other notable
Schnitger instruments in the Netherlands and Germany. An organ such as
this reflects the full spectrum of the surviving music of the north German
organ school, encompassing both the colossal effects and extreme deli-
cacy suggested by the surviving repertoire. The specification of the organ
as restored by Ahrend is shown below.

[219]
220 Geoffrey Webber

Figure 15.1 The organ in the Jacobikirche, Hamburg, Germany, rebuilt by Arp Schnitger in
1690–3. After various changes and upheavals this instrument has been restored close to its original
state by Jürgen Ahrend (1993). The survival of this and other such instruments is central to our
understanding of north German music of the seventeenth century. The main case holds a large
chorus at 16′ pitch; the Rückpositiv is at 8′ pitch, and the 32′ pedal is divided in towers on either
side. The case is a modern replica of the one destroyed in 1944 and the prospect pipes are by
Ahrend.
221 The north German organ school

Hamburg, Jakobikirche
Scherer, Fritzsche, Schnitger, Lehner; restored 1993 by Ahrend
Werk (C/E–c3) Oberpositiv (C/E–c3)
Principal 16′ Principal 8′
Quintadehn 16′ Rohrflöht 8′
Octava 18′ Holtzflöht 8′
Spitzflöht 18′ Spitzflöht 4′
Viola di Gamba 18′ Octava 4′
Octava 14′ Nasat 3′
Rohrflöht 14′ Octava 2′
Flachflöht 12′ Gemshorn 2′
Super Octav 12′ Scharff IV–VI
Rauschpfeiff II Cimbel III
Mixtur VI–VIII Trommet 8′
Trommet 16′ Vox humana 8′
Trommet 4′
Rückpositiv (C,D,E–c3) Brustpositiv (C/E–c3)
Principal 18′ Principal 8′
Gedackt 18′ Octav 4′
Quintadehna 18′ Hollflöht 4′
Octava 14′ Waldtflöht 4′
Blockflöht 14′ Sexquialtera II
Querpfeiff 12′ Scharff IV–VI
Octava 12′ Dulcian 8′
Sexquialtera II Trechter Regal 8′
Scharff VI–VIII
Siffloit 1112 ′
Dulcian 16′
Bahrpfeiffe 18′
Trommet 18′
Pedal (C,D–d1)
Principal 32′ 2 Tremulants
Octava 16′ Cimbelstern
Subbaß 16′ Trommel
Octava 18′ Couplers BP/W, OP/W
Octava 14′
Nachthorn 12′
Rauschpfeiff III
Mixture VI–VIII
Posaune 32′
Posaune 16′
Dulcian 16′
Trommet 18′
Trommet 14′
Cornet 12′
222 Geoffrey Webber

Certain features stand out from this specification as characteristic of

Schnitger’s work and that of other north German builders of the period:
the large number of reeds of different types, the relatively small number
of mutation stops (though including the high Siffloit), the substantial
mixtures, and the well-stocked Pedal and Rückpositiv departments,
crucial for conveying chorale melodies. It is notable that even with a pedal
department of fourteen stops, no room was found for a pedal 8′ flute. This
is probably because the main solo timbres on the Rückpositiv are so pow-
erful that only the 8′ Octava provides sufficient support. Other typically
north German sounds include the Quintadena stops, often found at 16′,
8′ and 4′ pitches on the same organ, the short-length reeds, the narrow-
scale Sexquialtera and the 2′ pedal solo stops – the bright Cornet (a single
reed stop) and the wide-scaled Nachthorn. Toy stops were also included
in many instruments, the Trommel (drum) effect being created by placing
two low-pitched pipes next to each other so that the sound from their
mouths creates a heavy beating. The similarly large instrument in the
Marienkirche in Stralsund (shown in Figure 5.6) also contains a bird-
stop: a high-pitched pipe placed in water.
The principal duty of the north German organist of the seventeenth
century was to play chorales and chants in conjunction with the choir
and/or congregation, either preluding beforehand, or providing verses on
the organ alone, or even improvising flourishes between each line of a
sung verse.2 The art was essentially one of improvisation, but the surviv-
ing written-down examples of the forms give us some impression of the
styles of playing employed by the organists week by week. In alternatim
settings of the same chorale (or chant) by different composers the
number of verses provided often differs, suggesting that either the partic-
ular tradition of performance varied very widely, or perhaps alternatively
that the compositions were written down not for specific liturgical use
but rather just as examples of the art for purely artistic or didactic
reasons.
The earliest sources of music from the north German organ school
date from around the turn of the seventeenth century, and contain
mostly chorale and chant settings for alternatim performance with choir
or congregation (see Chapter 9). Most of the repertoire in the main
sources, such as the Celle and Visby Tablatures, is anonymous, but the first
major figure to emerge is Hieronymus Praetorius, organist of the
Jakobikirche in Hamburg at a time when the fifty-three-stop instrument
was in use. The style of this period has rightly been called monumental;
four- and five-part textures are built around a slow-moving cantus
firmus, the harmony enriched with many passing notes. However, lighter
textures are also to be found, along with flamboyant cadential flourishes
 223 The north German organ school

Ex. 15.1 H. Praetorius, Magnificat (tone vi)

for the right hand. Example 15.1 shows the conclusion of the Magnificat
on the Sixth Tone.
During the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries close links
existed between organ builders in Germany and the Netherlands, and the
fame of the Dutch builders was such that some German churches even
commissioned Dutch organs to be built and shipped to Germany. A paral-
lel line of influence was evident in organ playing and composition, for in
the person of Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck the Netherlands boasted an
organist who matched the reputation of the organs themselves. Although
Sweelinck’s finest compositions are arguably his fantasias, it was his work
in the field of cantus firmus elaboration that was to have the most
significant effect on contemporary German composers. Several Germans
studied with Sweelinck, a fact that is neatly exemplified in a surviving
variation set on the chorale Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr which contains
verses composed by his pupils Andreas Düben, Peter Hasse and Gottfried
(brother of Samuel) Scheidt.3 But the finest German composers to benefit
from study in Amsterdam were Jacob Praetorius (son of Hieronymus)
and Heinrich Scheidemann from Hamburg, and Samuel Scheidt from
Halle. If the music of Hieronymus Praetorius and his contemporaries
reflects an already flourishing school of organ playing at the turn of the
seventeenth century, the work of this Sweelinck-influenced trio marked
the beginnings of the great period of north German organ music that
lasted throughout the seventeenth century.
224 Geoffrey Webber

The principal achievement of the Sweelinck-influenced organists and

their contemporaries was to expand the north German style through the
use of a wider range of textures from the two-part bicinium upwards, the
development of more varied figurative passagework, and the use of echo
techniques involving up to three manuals. Along with this development
of particular textures and styles came the crystallisation of particular stop
combinations, some universal and others peculiar to individual players
and instruments. The surviving indications of particular registrations
found in the introduction to Samuel Scheidt’s Tabulatura nova (1624)
and other sources such as the Lüneburg tablatures illustrate the care with
which the organists made use of the huge range of possibilities available
on the German instruments. One example is reported as having been a
favourite of Jacob Praetorius (who was organist of the Petrikirche in
Hamburg), and indicates a specific playing style in which the cantus
firmus is elaborated simultaneously on the manual and the Pedal:4

Oberwerk: Trumpet 8′, Zink 8′, Nasard 3′, Gemshorn 2′, Hohlflute 4′
Rückpositiv: Principal 8′, Octave 4′
Pedal: Principal-Bass 24′, Posaune 16′, Trumpet 8′, Trumpet 4′,
Cornet 2′

A specific registration such as this, which could scarcely be copied on

instruments outside the north German sphere, nevertheless serves to
demonstrate the reed-dominated combinations employed in cantus
firmus performance, and also reveals that although the solo line was nor-
mally presented on the Rückpositiv, nearest the congregation, this was not
always the case. For the modern player, the most important matter to
solve when performing the chorale works of this period is the allocation
of the appropriate pitch and division to the cantus firmus part. Scheidt’s
instructions are essential in this regard, revealing, for example, the
common practice of playing the cantus firmus on the pedals at 4′ pitch.
Another specific technique, uniquely north German, consisted of giving
extra weight to the cantus firmus line by playing it simultaneously on the
manuals (in the tenor voice) and in the upper of two pedal parts.5
The large cantus firmus repertoire of music by Jacob Praetorius,
Scheidemann and Scheidt is a vivid testimony to the organ playing skills
for which these composers were renowned in their lifetimes. Much of
their music reflects an approach to organ playing which stemmed largely
from the application of pre-conceived devices and figures which were
common material amongst organists of the time, analogous to the addi-
tion of diminutions and ornamental figures recommended by the singing
treatises of the period. At times the continuous repetition of particular
melodic patterns or echo passages seems over-zealous to the modern ear,
225 The north German organ school

but the rewards are rich for those who seek out the finest music of this
repertoire. Scheidt’s often vocally inspired counterpoint brings great
beauty to many of his chorale and chant versets, and masterpieces such as
his six-verse setting of the communion chorale Jesus Christus, unser
Heiland show to good advantage the highly ordered and consistent
manner in which he manipulated the standard organ textures employed
by Sweelinck. By contrast, the chorale settings by Jacob Praetorius and
Scheidemann betray a greater freedom of style. A composition such as the
seven-verse setting of Vater unser im Himmelreich by Praetorius contains
a multitude of idioms, together with a sense of adventure that allows him
to write a chromatic passage in verse 3 that could only be played on
instruments with extra notes providing sub-semitones (see Vogel 1986a:
240). The chief vehicle for this improvisatory mode of performance was
the so-called chorale fantasia. As the name suggests, the organist elabo-
rated upon a melody in a free manner, changing style and presentation of
the melody in a continuous movement of considerable length. Although
it is tempting to think that such enormous works in this genre could not
possibly have been intended for liturgical use, it is clear from the contem-
porary accounts that organists were indeed minded at times to improvise
on a chorale for up to a quarter of an hour or more, at the risk of incurring
the wrath of the clergy (see Webber 1992). Playing continuously for this
length of time demanded the use of contrasting registrations, normally
achieved by the alternation of manuals with echo effects, but one source
specifically calls for changes of stops within the work itself, a practice that
is mentioned in a report on the playing of Jacob Praetorius (Davidsson
1991: 49). Only a fragment survives of a chorale fantasia by Praetorius,
the beginning of a setting of Durch Adams Fall ist ganz verderbt, but this is
enough to show that three manuals and pedals were required, the chief
melody line sounding on the Rückpositiv, the echos on the Oberwerk, and
the accompanying harmony played on the Brustwerk. Example 15.2
demonstrates this alternation between Rückpositiv and Oberwerk in a
passage containing characteristically fluid rhythms.
Scheidemann’s large and impressive surviving output contains both
extended chorale fantasias, such as Ein feste Burg and Wir glauben all an
einen Gott, and, at the other end of the spectrum, single-verse chorale set-
tings which stand at the beginning of the tradition of the simple chorale
prelude that gathered pace towards the end of the seventeenth century. In
this particular format the melody is presented as a delicately embellished
cantus firmus in the soprano voice, set against lower voices that pre-
imitate each line of the melody in turn, as in Nun bitten wir den heiligen
Geist. Finally, Scheidemann’s output also contains a number of arrange-
ments of vocal works by Lassus, Hassler and others, a result of the demand
 226 Geoffrey Webber

Ex. 15.2 J. Praetorius, Durch Adams Fall ist ganz verdebt

20
R 6 6 O

[B]

6 R
6

6 6 6
6
3 3 3

3 3
3

made on organists to perform motets liturgically as solo organ pieces on

occasions when no choir was present.
The next generation of north German composers, principally
Matthias Weckmann and Franz Tunder, continued to cultivate the two
main forms of chorale verset and chorale fantasia. Matthias Weckmann’s
surviving compositions mark the final outpouring of the Sweelinck/
Scheidt style of patterned figuration, made at times even more intense
through the use of strict canon. Hans Davidsson has proposed that the
monumental cycles on Es ist das Heil uns kommen her and O lux beata
Trinitas were composed to fulfil unusually grand metaphysical concep-
tions, a possibility that is suggested not least by the fact that Weckmann
composed a total of six verses on the three-verse hymn O lux beata
Trinitas (Davidsson 1991: 123–60). Weckmann also developed even
further the rich textures and flamboyant cadences of the Hamburg tradi-
tion, as seen in the concluding section of the fantasia that comprises the
sixth verse of Es ist das Heil uns kommen her, in which the texture becomes
seven-part (with double pedalling), culminating in the final chord which
stretches from the top note of the manuals to the bottom of the pedals (c3
to C). Tunder’s chorale music is scarcely less spectacular, and although his
surviving output suggests a marked preference for the chorale fantasia
style, one of his best compositions is a three-verse setting of Jesus Christus
unser Heiland, notable in particular for the opening pedal flourish (prob-
ably the earliest surviving example of an opening pedal solo in an organ
work, seen here as a logical grafting of the manual technique of
 227 The north German organ school

Ex. 15.3 Tunder, Jesus Christus unser Heiland

introducing the first note of a chorale with a run of semiquavers) and for
the appearance at the conclusion of the piece, shown in Example 15.3, of
the secondary leading-note (i.e. rising by semitone to the fifth as well as
the octave of the chord), techniques that were both to be more fully
exploited by Dieterich Buxtehude.
Chorale settings that survive from the last quarter of the seventeenth
century indicate a rise in popularity of the simple chorale prelude,6 a
development that coincided with the beginning of the gradual decline in
the use of alternatim versets. The great master of this generation is, of
course, Dieterich Buxtehude, who in 1668 succeeded Tunder at the
Marienkirche in Lübeck, one of the tallest and most gracefully propor-
tioned churches of the Hanseatic cities, which housed two three-manual
organs, a large west-end instrument with fifty-two stops and a smaller
instrument in a side chapel (Snyder 1987: 78–87). The most conservative
of Buxtehude’s settings are those in the format of chorale versets, contin-
uing the tradition of Scheidemann and Weckmann (though avoiding the
scale of Weckmann’s larger cycles), but Buxtehude’s individual voice is
arguably heard more clearly in the freedom of the fantasias and in the
more intimate surroundings of the chorale prelude. Moreover,
Buxtehude seems to have experimented with novel approaches, as seen in
his settings of the chants of the Magnificat and Te Deum, where aspects of
the verset, fantasia and even praeludium traditions are combined in
unusual ways, and in his use of a chorale for the composition of a key-
board suite. One of his most attractive chorale works to display a wide
 228 Geoffrey Webber

Ex. 15.4 Buxtehude, Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern

variety of approaches is his setting of the Epiphany chorale Wie schön

leuchtet der Morgenstern. The composition comprises three different sec-
tions in triple time (6/4, 6/8, 12/8, probably implying a gradual increase in
tempo) broken up by a single passage in common time which concludes
with a free cadential section, similar to connecting passages in the con-
temporary praeludium. Stylistically there are both conservative and
modern elements, the former evident in the demisemiquaver flourishes
and echos, the latter in the modern harmonic sequences and gigue-like
idiom adopted in the concluding sections, reflecting the cross-over of
sacred and secular styles seen in the chorale suite. At the opening of the
work Buxtehude leaves the characteristic rising fifth of the chorale
melody clearly audible before introducing a lilting pastorale idiom in the
upper voices, as shown in Example 15.4.
In the short chorale preludes Buxtehude embellishes the chorale
melodies with rhetorical yet subtle decorations, underpinned by carefully
chosen dissonances in the accompanying voices, serving to enhance the
expression inherent in the chorale melodies themselves without ever
overpowering them. Amongst the more poignant settings of penitential
chorales, that of Ach Herr, mich armen Sünder (the melody of which is
familiar today to the words ‘O sacred head sore wounded’) is one of the
finest examples. It is notable at the outset that Buxtehude chooses to keep
the first phrase of the chorale completely without elaboration, making the
rhetorical entry of the second phrase, beginning a fourth higher than the
 229 The north German organ school

Ex. 15.5 Buxtehude, Ach Herr, mich armen Sünder

melody itself and entering after a rest, all the more effective (see Example
15.5).
Buxtehude’s contemporaries such as Vincent Lübeck, Johann
Reincken and Nicolaus Bruhns also produced fine works based on
chorales and chants, with Reincken’s colossal fantasia on An Wasserflüssen
Babylon being one of the last great peaks of this genre, and the old scheme
of chorale versets discovered a new lease of life in the guise of the chorale
partita, of which the Lüneburg organist Georg Böhm left several exam-
ples. Like Buxtehude’s chorale suite these represent a meeting of secular
and sacred keyboard idioms. Some, like Ach wie nichtig, ach wie flüchtig,
were probably intended for the harpsichord (as is suggested by the use of
broken-chord figuration and a low AA), but others may have been
intended for the organ as they call for the use of pedals. Böhm also set
chorale verses in a more traditional manner, and showed further innova-
tion in one of his settings of Vater unser im Himmelreich in which he
introduced prominent Italian and French features, the former seen in the
pedal part in continuous quavers (based on the Italian repeated-note
string style), and the latter in the florid ornamentation of the embellished
chorale line.
During the first half of the seventeenth century organ playing unre-
lated to liturgical melodies seems to have had a relatively low priority,
particularly as the contemporary service books often expressly forbade
the playing of organ music that had no relation to a sacred text, but the
principal genre employed by the generation of Scheidemann and Jacob
230 Geoffrey Webber

Praetorius was the praeambulum or praeludium. The style was generally

restrained and the length of works often brief, consisting of either a single
section in homophonic style, or a homophonic section leading into an
imitative one, in the same way that several chorale works of the period
developed from a homophonic to a more imitative style. If such pieces
were used in services it was probably to set the key for sung items such as
concertato motets. A few more substantial free works do survive from the
first half of the century, but these have a greater affinity with sixteenth-
century forms such as the fantasia than with the emerging praeludium, or
take the form of extended abstract works using idioms more familiar
from the chorale tradition, such as Scheidemann’s Toccata in G which
opens in the manner of a chorale setting with a semiquaver run leading to
a held note.
The expansion of the praeludium form around the middle of the
century came about through substantial structural and stylistic develop-
ments that originated both within the north German school itself and
outside. The indigenous transformation consisted of the gradual disin-
tegration of the uniform and continuous textures of the earlier part of the
century through the increasing use of rests and rhetorical chordal ges-
tures, a feature no doubt connected with the large reverberation times
found in the spacious north German churches, producing a more varied
and virtuosic idiom. This is first seen in the music of minor composers
such as Jacob Bölsche and Christian Flor, and also in the praeludia by
Franz Tunder. The external influence at this time was that of contempo-
rary Italian keyboard music, which both modified the structural basis of
the praeludium and provided new stylistic elements as well. The crucial
Italian genre in this respect was the variation canzona. A number of such
works were composed by German organists around the middle of the
century, notably Scheidemann, Tunder and the Copenhagen organist
Martin Radeck. The vital ingredients are the use of duple- and triple-time
sections based on the same theme, and in Radeck’s work, the use of an
improvisatory connecting passage between two sections in an expressive
chordal idiom derived from the Italian style of durezze e ligature (dis-
sonances and ties).7 The amalgamation of the praeludium and variation
canzona can be seen to emerge in the surviving compositions of
Weckmann – a transitional stage that is reflected in the assorted terminol-
ogy employed in the sources: Fantasia, Fuga and Praeambulum.
Weckmann is known to have had a great interest in Italian music, and
during his time at the Dresden Court he came into contact with many
Italian musicians and struck up a friendship with the visiting south
German pupil of Frescobaldi, Johann Froberger. Weckmann’s indebted-
ness to Froberger is clear from his toccatas and canzonas for manuals only
231 The north German organ school

(probably intended more for the harpsichord than organ). Two crucial
new features appear in Weckmann’s free works for organ with pedals:
first, the use of several fugal sections after the manner of the variation
canzona in conjunction with free improvisatory passages, and second, the
use of specific stylistic idioms originating in the organ music of
Frescobaldi, including the rapid ascending scale followed by a large
downward leap, snapped rhythms and written-out trills that gradually
increase in speed.
The great age of the north German praeludium in the final two
decades of the seventeenth century was dominated by Buxtehude.8 His
extensive surviving output of praeludia shows a constantly changing
approach to the genre, with few fixed designs beyond the basic alternation
of free and related fugal sections. As well as developing further the kind of
improvisatory free writing seen in Tunder’s praeludia (particularly in his
cultivation of the pedals), Buxtehude made his own many of the
Frescobaldian idioms seen in Weckmann’s works. He also adopted addi-
tional styles from the same south European tradition, such as the fugato
style based on brief upbeat themes in duple or triple time (as can be seen
in the ‘Presto’ section of the Praeludium in E major, BuxWV 141). In par-
ticular, Buxtehude showed great initiative in seeking out new types of
fugal theme from the Italian and south German schools, injecting a far
wider variety of themes than was part of the earlier praeludium style. As
well as providing a multitude of canzona-based themes he also embraced
the traditions of the chromatic ricercar and fugal gigue, as can be seen in
one his finest works, the Praeludium in E minor (BuxWV 142).
Buxtehude also showed himself alive to more contemporary Italian styles
such as the string writing of Corelli, seen both in his adoption of string-
like themes and figuration, and in the use of tonally oriented sequences.
An apparent innovation on Buxtehude’s part can be seen in his
incorporation of an ostinato bass, seen most effectively in his Praeludium
in C major (BuxWV 137) and Praeludium in G minor (BuxWV 148). In
addition to the praeludia with pedals and three separate ostinato works,
we also have an assortment of works by Buxtehude for manuals only,
either in full praeludium form or shorter works entitled Canzona,
Canzonetta or simply Fuga (as in the case of the popular gigue-like fugue,
BuxWV 174). A few works are entitled Toccata, the implications of which
are clearly shown in the Toccata in D minor (with pedals, BuxWV 155) by
a particularly substantial quantity of keyboard figuration (as also seen in
Johann Reincken’s Toccata in G for manuals only), here including exam-
ples of the stile brisé and demisemiquaver arpeggio figuration. This
remarkable work also contains a fugal section using triple counterpoint
and a notably sublime example of the connecting passage in durezze e
 232 Geoffrey Webber

Ex. 15.6 Buxtehude, Toccata in D minor

60

ligature style, introduced here by a typically north German flourish and

carefully paced through a gradual increase in harmonic dissonance
9–8 double suspension before the final cadence (see
leading to the final 7–6
Example 15.6).
Whilst the late seventeenth-century praeludium was dominated by the
figure of Buxtehude, several fine compositions can be found in the surviv-
ing output of Bruhns, Böhm and Lübeck. Nicolaus Bruhns, a pupil of
Buxtehude who died in his early thirties, was an outstanding violinist as
well as organist, a feature that is evident in the string-like figurations of
his great Praeludium in E minor (Butt 1995: 207–9). Further imaginative
touches are evident in the fugal sections of this work. The first juxtaposes
elements of the ricercar and canzona traditions in an unusual manner:
although other composers, including Buxtehude, had mingled the two
traditions in a single theme, combining the thematic outline of a chro-
matic ricercar with the repeated-note quavers of a canzona (as in the
Praeludium in G minor BuxWV 148), Bruhns chose instead to juxtapose
the two, preserving the subject quasi ricercar and the counter-subject
quasi canzona (see Example 15.7a). The second fugue subject involves a
melodic shape derived from Italian vocal music, an unexpected rest
(again similar to a vocal tradition, this time the dramatic sigh or suspira-
tio) and the hemiola rhythm (see Example 15.7b).
Lübeck’s Praeludium in E major is one of most exuberant and melodi-
ous works in the repertoire, and contains the same successful balance of
north German and Italian styles that occurs in Buxtehude’s finest works.
 233 The north German organ school

Ex. 15.7 Bruhns, Praeludium in E minor

(a)

30

(b) ( )

( ) ( )

135

The manuscript source of this praeludium contains a rare indication of

registration in this genre: the fugato section in semiquavers (in a similar
style to many passages in Buxtehude’s works) is marked ‘Rückpositiv
scharff’. Although the large-scale effects found in the free sections of the
praeludia of Buxtehude and his contemporaries were clearly designed for
the organo pleno registration (which, according to Mattheson, did not
include reeds in the manuals), the stop combinations that were employed
for the fugal sections are less easy to determine. One particular possibility
234 Geoffrey Webber

which relates clearly to the organs of the period is the use of consort
registrations in imitation of contemporary instrumental ensembles, rec-
ommended by Michael Praetorius. Here, similar stops are combined at
different pitches, such as the same type of reed, quintadena, flute or prin-
cipal stops at combinations of 16′, 8′ and 4′ pitches (Vogel 1986b: 32–4).
In the early eighteenth century the north German organ school soon
began to decline. A growing reliance on lengthy vapid passagework seems
to have been a particular problem, especially in those works which were
cast in the increasingly popular bipartite prelude and fugue structure, but
equally there was an apparent lack of organists of the calibre found in the
previous generation. Good composers were indeed to be found, but as in
the case of the leading Hamburg composers Reinhard Keiser and Georg
Philipp Telemann, they were more inclined to put their energy into
secular musical activities, in opera or instrumental music, than into
organ and church music. The legacy of the north German organ school,
however, can be found in the organ music of J. S. Bach, who despite failing
to secure the post of organist at the Jakobikirche – it went to an organist
who made a large financial donation to the church – absorbed the essen-
tial elements of the style into his own music, and also continued the quest
to enrich the German tradition with ingredients from contemporary
French and Italian music.

Recommended editions
Volumes 10–12 of the Faber Early Organ Series (ed. Glahn and Elmer)
present a varied selection from the entire north German organ school
from Hieronymus Praetorius to Böhm. The complete cycle of Magnificats
by Praetorius is available in an edition of the Visby (Petri) Tablature by
Jeffery Kite-Powell (Heinrichshofen’s Verlag) and separately in Corpus of
Early Keyboard Music 4, ed. C. Rayner. Sweelinck’s keyboard music is
cheaply accessible in a single volume from Dover, though a more modern
scholarly edition exists in the Opera Omnia (Alfons Annegarn, ed.
Leonhardt). Scheidt’s complete Tabulatura nova is currently being pub-
lished by Harald Vogel for Breitkopf, but is already available complete in
earlier editions including the Denkmäler deutscher Tonkunst, vol. 1
(revised in 1958 by H. Moser), and a healthy selection is available in a
single volume from Peters (ed. H. Keller). Two of the most prominent
editors of the repertoire in recent years have been Werner Breig, working
for Bärenreiter, and Klaus Beckmann, for Breitkopf. From Breig comes a
three-volume set of Scheidemann (with G. Fock), and the chorale works
of Jacob Praetorius and Matthias Weckmann. Beckmann has edited the
235 The north German organ school

complete works of Tunder, Bruhns, Böhm, Lübeck and Reincken, as well

as of many lesser composers, and provided two important anthologies of
chorale works and free works by various authors. The free organ works of
Weckmann have been edited both by Hans Davidsson (Gehrmans
Musikförlag) and S. Rampe (Bärenreiter).
It is an unfortunate fact that most of the surviving sources of the north
German school are of central German rather than north German origin,
and the approach of many editors has been to accept them as partially
corrupt and try to restore what may have been the original composer’s
intentions – a task as hazardous as it is noble. For this reason players are
encouraged to study different editions of a single composer where they
are available, as in the case of the two recent editions of the music of
Bruhns, by Beckmann and M. Radulescu (Doblinger). The problem is
particularly acute concerning Buxtehude. Hedar’s edition for Hansen
aims to reproduce the sources as they stand, and should be used with
caution. Beckmann (Breitkopf) and Christoph Albrecht (Bärenreiter)
offer differing solutions, and both should ideally be consulted.
(Beckmann’s revised edition of 1995–7 is much to be preferred to his pio-
neering 1971 edition, which lacks a critical commentary alongside the
music.)
 16 The organ music of J. S. Bach
David Yearsley

Johann Sebastian Bach spent almost his entire life in a small region of
central Germany whose boundaries are marked by the town of his birth,
Eisenach in Thuringia, and the place of his death, the Saxon city of
Leipzig, which lies only one hundred miles to the east. Unlike his famous
contemporary Handel, who was also born in the region, Bach did not
venture beyond this relatively confined area save for two years spent as a
chorister in the north German city of Lüneburg, and occasional trips to
the important musical centres of Lübeck, Hamburg, Dresden and Berlin.
But Bach’s music stands in counterpoint to the provinciality of his biog-
raphy; his organ works encompass an unprecedented range of diverse
traditions, demonstrating a mastery of the organ art that flourished in his
native Thuringia, a fluency in the flamboyant language of north German
organ playing of the preceding generation, and a profound knowledge of
French and Italian idioms, the dominant national styles of the eighteenth
century. Bach transformed and synthesised techniques and styles ranging
from the stile antico of renaissance polyphony to the most up-to-date
thrills of Italian orchestral writing.
According to C. P. E. Bach his father had been exposed to a wide range
of music from an early age: he had studied the music of ‘some old and
good Frenchmen’, Italian and south German composers of the seven-
teenth century including Girolamo Frescobaldi, Johann Pachelbel,
Johann Jakob Froberger, Johann Caspar Kerll, Nicolaus Adam Strungk,
and the most important north German organists of the period –
Dieterich Buxtehude, Johann Adam Reincken, Nicolaus Bruhns, and
Georg Böhm (David and Mendel 1966: 278). Bach received his initial key-
board training from his brother Johann Christoph, with whom he went to
live after being orphaned at the age of ten. Johann Christoph had been a
student of Pachelbel, one of the most important influences on the organ
music of central Germany, and Bach became acquainted with a wide
variety of keyboard music through his brother’s collection of manu-
scripts. As the famous anecdote about his copying of a forbidden manu-
script by moonlight suggests, the young Bach was an avid copyist and
Johann Christoph’s collection of keyboard music provided his introduc-
[236] tion to far-flung styles.
237 The organ music of J. S. Bach

The Lutheran chorale and its elaboration formed the foundation of

the central German tradition of organ composition that Bach would have
learned from his older brother, and the earliest surviving examples of
Bach’s music are pieces of this type. These early chorale settings are to be
found in the so-called Neumeister chorales, a collection of music from the
inner Bach circle brought to light again in 1985. The Neumeister chorales
are written in the conservative central German style prevalent around
1700, and some of the pieces in the collection may even date as far back as
Bach’s studies with his brother. Although the settings are essentially
central German in orientation, Bach moves beyond the conservative har-
monic and formal parameters of his native tradition by introducing ele-
ments of the more extrovert North German style, as, for example, in the
setting of Herr Gott nun schleuss den Himmel auf BWV 1092, where
rhetorical chordal treatment of the chorale melody alternates with quick
improvisatory flourishes which reach their apotheosis in a free, impro-
visatory peroration expressive of the central theme of the chorale text, the
unlocking of heaven. The Neumeister chorales reflect the young Bach’s
exposure to the instruments and compositional styles of both north and
central Germany, early signs perhaps of his ability to draw on various
idioms.
It was as a chorister at the Michaeliskirche in Lüneburg (c1700–2) that
Bach gained first-hand knowledge of the compositional methods and
performance techniques of the north German organ tradition. The
famous organist Georg Böhm played regularly in the city’s main church,
the Johanniskirche, which housed a large instrument originally built by
Hendrik Niehof from 1551 to 1553 and rebuilt by Friederich Stellwagen a
century later. The variation types found in Bach’s partitas on chorale
melodies (BWV 766–8), which probably date from 1705–6, show the
influence of Böhm. From Lüneburg Bach made excursions to the nearby
city of Hamburg to hear one of the great organists of the day, Johann
Adam Reincken. Bach first heard the large organs of Hamburg during his
formative years as an organist, and the instruments made a lasting
impression on him. According to his student J. F. Agricola, Bach greatly
admired Reincken’s organ in the Katharinenkirche, an instrument very
different from those found in Thuringia. Agricola relates that Bach ‘could
not praise [the organ] enough’ for its plentiful and distinctive reeds,
sixteen spread out over its four manuals (Adlung 1768: 187). The organ
had a massive plenum on the Hauptwerk crowned by a ten-rank mixture
and a plentiful Pedal division of some seventeen stops including a
Principal 32′ and Posaune 32′. This instrument and that at the
Jakobikirche (see Chapter 15 and Figure 15.1) possessed the qualities
emphasised in surviving accounts of Bach’s organ aesthetic: both had
238 David Yearsley

large, strong Pedal divisions – Bach was especially impressed by the 32′
stops at the Katharinenkirche – which provided the instruments with
sufficient gravity (a concept better connoted by the German word
Gravität); each had a powerful principal chorus capped by strong mix-
tures and a profusion of reed stops, such as the colourful Dulcians and
Regals, and the powerful 16′ Trompette on the Hauptwerk of both organs.
Bach spent his professional career playing organs very different from
those in the great northern churches, but the sound of these instruments
remained with him.
By the beginning of the eighteenth century the layout of most
Thuringian instruments no longer followed the so-called Werkprinzip
which continued to dominate in north German organs such as those in
Hamburg. Central German organs generally lacked a Rückpositiv and
housed all divisions within one deep case. In Thuringian organs the pedal
was placed not in side towers, as was the practice in the north, but on a
chest behind the main case. In order to compensate for the acoustical
problems inherent in its placement, the pedal had to be large and capable
of producing a strong, heavy sound. Thuringian organs were in general
less brilliant than their northern counterparts and had far fewer reeds,
with a much greater percentage of soft flue stops, particularly strings. The
instrument that Bach played as organist of St Blasius’ church in
Mühlhausen was rebuilt in 1708–9 by J. F. Wender according to Bach’s
directions and exhibits only some of these Thuringian features. The
organ had a Rückpositiv, a legacy of the seveteenth century (the instru-
ment was originally built in 1687–91), but was characteristically
Thuringian in its concentration on subdued flue stops, such as the cus-
tomary Viola di Gamba on the Hauptwerk, and the group of colour stops
(Gedackt 8′, Quintatön 8′, Salicional 4′) on the Rückpositiv. Among the
twenty-seven manual stops on the Mühlhausen organ there was only one
reed. The tonal scheme of this instrument is indicative of the central
German desire for stops appropriate to expressive chorale settings such as
those of the Neumeister set. The Mühlhausen organ also had a consider-
able pedal division of nine stops ranging from 32′ to 1′.
In the winter of 1705–6 Bach left his first post as organist in the town of
Arnstadt and journeyed to Lübeck, where he heard Buxtehude display his
mastery of the north German organ art. Buxtehude’s flamboyant style
may have had an immediate influence on Bach’s music for when he
returned to Arnstadt, having extended his four-week leave into four
months, the church council found much to complain about in his organ
playing. The hymn accompaniments BWV 715, 722 and 732, with their
severe chromaticism and improvisatory flourishes interpolated between
the lines of the chorale, may be the pieces for which Bach received a
239 The organ music of J. S. Bach

reprimand from the council, unhappy with his ‘curious’ playing which
included ‘many strange tones’ (David and Mendel 1966: 52).
Some of the more important lessons Bach learned from Buxtehude
and his contemporaries are to be heard in Bach’s youthful mastery of the
large-scale praeludium, the centrepiece of the north German tradition.
Like its northern models, the Praeludium in E major BWV 566 (the piece
is also transmitted in a version in C major; see Williams 1980, I: 222) is
laid out in sections, beginning with a typically northern introduction in
improvisatory style. The opening section is bold and gestural, with
exuberant figuration, organ points, pedal solo and sustained chords
which venture into keys more remote than those explored by Buxtehude.
This opening gambit is followed by a lengthy fugue treating a repeated-
note subject similar in affect to those found in many northern praeludia.
After an improvisatory interlude in the stylus phantasticus (a contempo-
rary term for music written in a free style; see Snyder 1987: 248–57), Bach
returns to the same fugue subject, now altering it from duple to triple
time, and overlaying the counterpoint with virtuosic passagework as the
piece careers towards its final cadence. Although less grandiose, the
Praeludium in A minor BWV 551 follows more closely the five-part struc-
ture found in a number of Buxtehude’s praeludia: opening and conclud-
ing sections in an improvisatory style surround two fugues which enclose
a central free section. The great Passacaglia in C minor BWV 582 also
traces its origins to the north, although it far surpasses any of its models in
length, motivic variation and dramatic scope. After twenty-one passes
through the lengthy passacagalia theme which produce a full-scale piece
totalling some 168 bars, a massive fugue breaks out; Bach uses the pas-
sacaglia bass-line as the fugue subject and adds in two countersubjects,
pursuing the contrapuntal permutations of these themes for more than
100 bars. The formal plan here marks a reversal of the strategy seen in
Buxtehude’s praeludia of having the passacaglia follow the fugue. The
chorale fantasia on Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern BWV 739, com-
posed at Arnstadt in 1705 or 1706, likewise borrows heavily from the
north German tradition in its use of manual changes and sectional treat-
ment of the lines of the cantus firmus.
As C. P. E. Bach noted, Bach also looked south for models, both to Italy
and to France (see Williams 1984: 91–102). The Canzona BWV 588 and
the Pastorale BWV 590, both of which forsake independent pedal (only
the drones of the opening movement of BWV 590 require the use of the
pedal), have much in common with the Italian composers and late seven-
teenth-century south Germans such as Kerll. The five-part writing of the
central section of the Pièce d’Orgue BWV 572 reflects French influence
with its interlocking suspensions, a harmonic idiom derived from the
240 David Yearsley

French Plein Jeu which Bach learned by copying the organ books of ‘old
French masters’, such as Nicolas de Grigny.
In 1708 Bach became court organist to the Duke of Weimar and it is
here that he produced most of his organ music. The ducal chapel was a
tall, narrow building with the organ placed high above the altar in the
third gallery and recessed from the balustrade. Just below the third gallery
was a special roof which could be closed in order to make a private organ
practice studio. The Duke himself took great pleasure in Bach’s playing,
encouraging his court organist ‘to try every possible artistry in his treat-
ment of the organ’ (David and Mendel 1966: 218). The precise makeup of
the Weimar organ during Bach’s tenure is not known, although it is clear
that the instrument displayed some of the prominent features of contem-
porary central German organ building. It was a modest instrument
(twenty-three stops, two manuals and pedal) of suitable size for a ducal
chapel. The organ was crowded below the roof of the chapel and, in con-
trast to the vertical aspect of northern instruments, was spread out hori-
zontally in one case with no Rückpositiv (Williams 1984: 124–5). By
comparison with the rest of the organ, the pedal division, which was
placed behind the main case, was rather large, and even included a 32′
Gross Untersatz, along with the Violone 16′ and Posaune 16′, both of
which are nearly ubiquitous in Thuringian organs of the early eighteenth
century. The predominance of 8′ flues (three on the Hauptwerk, and four
on the Positiv) and the inclusion of 4′ colour stops (the Quintadena on the
Hauptwerk, and the Klein Gedact on the Positiv) allowed for an array of
subdued combinations. Gentler but less brilliant than the northern
organs, the instrument had only one manual reed, a Trompete 8′ on the
Positiv. Characteristic, too, is the Glockenspiel, a row of bells hanging
from the outside of the case generally just above the keyboards and played
from the top half of the Hauptwerk keyboard.
Early versions of the first seventeen of the so-called Great Eighteen
Organ Chorales (BWV 651–7) date from Bach’s Weimar years, and show
the continued influence of Buxtehude, Böhm and Pachelbel on his
development as an organ composer. The chorales employ a wide variety
of textures and cantus firmus techniques, and demand a level of technical
accomplishment far surpassing that of the contemporary organ reper-
toire. In contrast to these generally retrospective large-scale settings stand
the exquisite miniatures of the Orgelbüchlein, the first of Bach’s unique
contributions to the history of organ genres. Probably written between
the years 1713 and 1716, the Orgelbüchlein chorales demonstrate Bach’s
command of motivic and harmonic expression within finely wrought
contrapuntal textures, in several cases including strict canonic writing.
With its subtle variation of colours and distant placement high above the
241 The organ music of J. S. Bach

congregation, the Weimar organ would have been ideally suited to the
expressive chorales of the Orgelbüchlein. On the title-page of the collec-
tion Bach articulates his overriding concern with the importance of
obbligato pedal in organ pedagogy and chorale composition.
The concentration of musical material found in the Orgelbüchlein
complements the other great development of Bach’s Weimar years, his
adoption of compositional techniques learned from Antonio Vivaldi.
Copies of Vivaldi’s concertos had been brought back to Weimar by the
young Duke Johann Ernst in 1713, and from these pieces Bach learned the
essential tools that he would use for the expansion and transformation of
seventeenth-century genres into large-scale forms. Bach transcribed
three of Vivaldi’s concertos (BWV 593, 594, 596) for organ with obbligato
pedal, along with several others for manuals alone, making careful study
in the process of Vivaldi’s hard-driving motivic energy, his use of
extended circle-of-fifths harmonic sequences, and the formal organising
principles based on the alternation of tutti and solo sections. Vivaldian
ritornello structure, in which the opening theme (the ritornello) returns
in different keys during the course of the piece, provides the often lengthy
movements of Bach’s later Weimar works with clearly marked formal
articulation and a unifying narrative logic.
With such powerful conceptual tools Bach moved away from the
multi-sectional layout of the northern praeludium towards the paradig-
matic prelude and fugue pair found in his later works. The Toccata and
Fugue in D minor BWV 538, the so-called ‘Dorian’, was probably com-
posed during the Weimar years, and the Toccata clearly reflects Bach’s
exposure to Vivaldi’s music, with its concerto form and indicated manual
changes for the ‘tutti’ ritornellos and the ‘solo’ episodes. The Toccata in C
BWV 564 witnesses the importation of Vivaldian orchestral writing into a
genre once reserved for the improvisatory conceits of the north German
style. The piece begins with virtuosic manual figures derived from the
northern idiom; these exhortations give way to a demanding pedal solo
which leads directly into a furious concerto-like movement of an
Italianate cast. The Prelude in G major BWV 541 can also be seen as an
integration of northern elements and Vivaldian techniques: the piece
opens with solo passagework vaguely reminiscent of the north German
style, but this figuration runs unbroken into an exuberant movement in
simple ritornello form. The expansive Toccata in F BWV 540 begins as an
organ point toccata, a favoured genre of Johann Pachelbel and other
south German composers, but Bach takes the genre far beyond the range
of his predecessors, as he lets loose a pair of canonic voices which chase
each other above a sustained pedal note until the drone launches into a
lengthy pedal solo built on the opening thematic material. The canonic
242 David Yearsley

voices have another go-round, and a second pedal solo leads right into a
full-blown ritornello movement of unsurpassed energy, this truly
modern music bursting out of the more ‘traditional’ generic limits of the
opening.
The formal cohesion of these pieces contrasts with the irregular
texture of the Prelude in A minor BWV 543, whose improvisatory
freedom recalls the stylus phantasticus of Bach’s northern precursors. The
motoric fugue that follows owes much to the instrumental music of
Reincken, as does the lively Fugue in G minor BWV 542, which may be
associated with Bach’s visit to Hamburg in 1720 to audition for the post of
organist at the Jacobikirche. After a two-hour concert given by Bach at the
Katharinenkirche, the ninety-seven-year-old Reincken proclaimed that
the traditions of the north German organ art were not dead, but ‘lived on’
in Bach (David and Mendel 1966: 304). That Bach was an innovator
would have been clear to the aged Reincken, but his comment expresses
the equally important point that the lineaments of the north German
tradition continued to be evident in Bach’s music throughout his career,
even after the transformations made possible through those lessons
learnt from Vivaldi.
The compilation and composition of the six Trio Sonatas BWV
525–30 date from Bach’s years at Leipzig, where he served as Director of
Music from 1723 until his death in 1750. The set was assembled around
1727 and at least two of the movements – and most likely several more –
are transcriptions of Bach’s own chamber works. Bach had studied more
modest trio textures in French organ music and had explored the organ
trio already in the Weimar versions of two chorales from the Great
Eighteen, the trios on Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr BWV 664a and Herr
Jesu Christ, dich zu uns wend BWV 655. But the six Trio Sonatas mark yet
another of Bach’s singular contributions to organ composition in their
more highly profiled continuo bass-lines, idiomatic manual writing, and
use of ritornello structures. Bach’s trios went far beyond the rather more
staid and generally shorter genre represented by his French models, and
have no antecedents in the modest three-part chorales of Buxtehude and
Pachelbel. The Trio Sonatas soon became a benchmark of technical
control as they require the organist to manage three independent, and
often very demanding, lines divided between two manuals and pedal.
Even while discharging his duties as Director of Music in Leipzig, Bach
continued to pursue an active career as recitalist and as organ expert,
examining and inaugurating a number of new organs (see Dähnert 1986).
An excellent example of contemporary trends in central German organ
building during Bach’s mature years survives in the Schlosskirche at
Altenburg, about thirty miles south of Leipzig (see Figure 16.1). The
243 The organ music of J. S. Bach

Figure 16.1 The organ at Altenburg, Germany, built by Tobias Heinrich Gottfried Trost in 1735–9.
This is one of two surviving instruments associated with the Bach family and installed in castle
chapels (the other being the Herbst organ of 1732 at Lahm-in-Itzgrund). Both have only two
manuals, but are developed with considerable emphasis on Gravität, incorporating massive
choruses and 32′ pedal stops. In addition a wide choice of solo registers, including semi-
imitative string ranks, allows for a new approach to colour and texture anticipating the
galant. The Altenburg organ was approved by J.S. Bach on completion.
244 David Yearsley

organ was built from 1735 to 1739 by Tobias Heinrich Gottfried Trost,
and in September 1738 (or 1739) Bach examined the organ, approving its
sound construction and remarking on the great beauty of each stop. The
instrument has no Rückpositiv, and its forty-five stops are divided
between two manuals and pedal in one long case.
Schlosskirche, Altenburg, Trost, 1735–39, II/46 (Dähnert 1980: 22)
Hauptwerk (C–c3) Oberwerk (C–c3)
Groß Quintadena 16′ Geigen-Principal 8′
Flaute travers 16′ Quintadena 8′
Principal 18′ Vugara 8′
Bordun 18′ Lieblich Gedackt 8′
Rohr-Flöte 18′ Hohl-Flöte 8′
Spitz-Flöte 18′ Gemshorn 4′
Viola di Gamba 18′ Flaute douce 4′
Octava 14′ Naßat 3′
Klein-Gedackt 14′ Octava 2′
Quinta 13′ Wald-Flöte 2′
Super Octava 12′ Super Octava 1′
Block-Flöte 12′ Cornett V
Sesquialtera II Mixtur IV–V
Mixtura VI–IX Vox humana 8′
Trompete 18′
1
Glockenspiel (c )
Pedal (C–c1)
Principalbaß 16′
Violonbaß 16′
Subbaß 16′
Octavbaß 18′
Posaunenbaß 32′
Posaunenbaß 16′
Posaunenbaß 18′
(Transmissions from Hw:)
Quintadenbaß 16′
Bordunbaß 18′
Flaute traversenbaß 16′
Octavbaß 14′
Mixturbaß VI–VII
Ow–Hw
Hw–Pedal
Tremulant (both manuals)
Tremulant to Vox humana (connected to Vox humana stopknob)

The most remarkable aspect of this characteristically Thuringian dis-

position is the profusion of 8′ string and flute stops in addition to the
245 The organ music of J. S. Bach

principals, all of which allow for an inexhaustible range of highly nuanced

registrational possibilities, ideal for trios and expressive chorales. There
are a total of only two reeds on the manuals: the Trompete on the
Hauptwerk and the Vox humana on the Oberwerk. The Altenburg instru-
ment possesses a substantial plenum which is darker and less brilliant
than those of north German organs. The abundance of eight-foot stops
and the inclusion of thirds in the Mixtures – a common feature in
Thuringian organs – allows for plena which render with great clarity the
dense polyphony of Bach’s Preludes and Fugues, specifically written for
organo pleno. Thuringian organs of the period bear a much closer resem-
blance to the symphonic organs of the nineteenth century both in the pre-
ponderance of 8′ foundation stops and in the horizontal layout of the
organ. But lest empirical observations on the sound quality of these
instruments lead to conclusions about the true ‘Bach organ’, one should
remember Bach’s praise of the very different Hamburg organs (see
Dähnert 1970). Bach was apparently less lavish in his praise for the more
famous organs of Gottfried Silbermann; although he found no major
faults in these instruments, he criticised them for having mixtures that
were ‘all too weak’, and questioned Silbermann’s unwillingness to build
new stops, presumably meaning the colourful string stops found on many
Thuringian organs such as those by Trost (Williams 1984: 118). Bach’s
praise for aspects of north and central German organ building is embod-
ied in the large organ of three manuals and fifty-three stops in the
Wenzelskirche in Naumburg built by Silbermann’s student Zacharias
Hildebrandt in 1743–6. Bach, who may have been responsible for
Hildebrandt obtaining this important contract, examined and approved
the instrument in 1746. The Naumburg organ has a powerful Rückpositiv
(Hildebrandt used the old case), strong reeds that add considerable force
to the large plena (without thirds in the mixtures), a massive pedal and a
variety of string stops (see Dähnert 1970). Hildebrandt’s ability to draw
on influences taken from Silbermann, Hamburg and contemporary
trends in Thuringian organ building parallels Bach’s own genius for
synthesising disparate styles.
Wenzelskirche, Naumburg, Hildebrandt, 1743–6, III/53 (Dähnert 1962:
93–5; 192)
Hauptwerk (C,D–c3) Oberwerk (C,D–c3)
Principal 16′ Burdun 16′
Quintadehn 16′ Principal 18′
Octav 18′ Hollflött 18′
Spillflött 18′ Praestant 14′
Gedackt 18′ Gemshorn 14′
Octav 14′ Quinta 13′
246 David Yearsley

Hauptwerk Oberwerk
Spillflött 14′ Octav 12′
3
Quinta 13′ Tertia 115 ′
Weit Pfeiffe 12′ Waldflött 12′
Octav 12′ Quinta 1113 ′
Sex quintaltra II Süfflött 11′
Cornet IV Scharff V
Mixtur VIII Vox humana 18′
Bombart 16′ Unda maris 18′
Trompet 18′
Rückpositiv (C,D–c3) Pedal (C,D–d1)
Principal 18′ Principal 16′
Quintadehn 18′ Violon 16′
Rohrflött 18′ Subbaß 16′
Violdigamba 18′ Octav 18′
Praestant 14′ Violon 18′
Rohrflött 14′ Octav 14′
Fugara 14′ Nachthorn 12′
Nassat 13′ Mixtur VII
Octav 12′ Posaune 32′
Rausch Pfeiffe II Posaune 16′
Cimbel V Trompett 18′
Fagott 16′ Clarin 14′
Tremulant (Rp)
Wind coupler

The Preludes and Fugues composed by Bach during his Leipzig years
exemplify his mature organ art at its most cerebral, highly controlled yet
thrilling. Whereas Bach’s early praeludia are filled with a discursive har-
monic daring derived from the improvisatory style of the north German
organists, the chromatic and contrapuntal explorations of the late pieces
take place within a highly wrought and thoroughly thought-out frame-
work; although these mature works are often exuberant there is nothing
of the spontaneous here. All of the late preludes use ritornello technique
to erect expansive formal structures, from the detailed motivic fabric of
the buoyant Prelude in C BWV 547 to the labyrinthine architecture of the
Prelude in E minor BWV 548. The fugues too demonstrate a range of
formal approaches. In the Fugue in C BWV 547 Bach subjects the bar-
long theme to an astounding array of procedures (inversion, augmenta-
tion, and inversion with augmentation) in formulating a truly compelling
contrapuntal argument. The angular chromaticism of the subject of the
great ‘Wedge’ Fugue in E minor BWV 548 is itself singular, but it is Bach’s
formal strategy which maps Vivaldian ritornello techniques onto a da
capo aria form that marks another of his unique contributions to the
history of organ composition.
247 The organ music of J. S. Bach

Figure 16.2 Within a few years of returning to his native Saxony from journeymanship in France,
the young Gottfried Silbermann was given the contract to build his masterpiece for the Cathedral
at Freiberg, Germany. The instrument, completed in 1714, survives with few alterations and was
known to J.S. Bach. It exhibits a confident synthesis of local and imported traditions, the most
notable of the outside influences being French. The case, incorporating the whole instrument in
one homogeneous unit and doing away with the obstruction caused by the old Rückpositiv, was
designed by the organist, Elias Lindner.
248 David Yearsley

The experiments in form and style evident in the ‘Wedge’ Fugue paral-
lel the ageing Bach’s attempt to produce encyclopedias of musical knowl-
edge. This effort is embodied in the first of the three printed collections of
organ music that Bach produced in his last decade, the third part of the
Clavierübung (Keyboard Practice), published in 1739. This magisterial
compendium consists of a total of twenty-one chorale settings (BWV
669–89) and four duets (BWV 802–5) framed by the Prelude and Fugue in
E
BWV 552. The Prelude is itself a synthesis of several national styles; it is
a French Overture in Italian ritornello form, with the episodes con-
structed from an intellectual double fugue. The collection traverses the
history of organ music, from the archaic polyphony of the Kyrie BWV
669–71, and the retrospective double-pedal setting of Aus tiefer Not BWV
686, to the modern Italianate trio on Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr BWV
676, and the mixture of extreme chromaticism with galant touches in
Vater unser im Himmelreich BWV 682. Following each of the nine large-
scale chorale preludes Bach includes shorter manualiter settings that con-
stitute a thorough summation of the small forms first explored in the
Neumeister set. The collection closes with the monumental Fugue in E

(BWV 552) which is in three sections, with the opening stile antico subject
returning in both subsequent fugues.
The encyclopedic ambitions of the Clavierübung III contrast with the
aim of the so-called ‘Schübler’ chorales BWV 645–50, published in the
last two years of Bach’s life. The set is made up almost entirely of arrange-
ments of movements from Bach’s own cantatas; by no means easy to play,
the Schübler chorales are, however, less demanding technically than the
Clavierübung III and may reflect a desire on Bach’s part to produce a more
popular collection. The Canonic Variations on Vom Himmel hoch BWV
769 published in 1748, comprise another chapter in the Bach encyclope-
dia of strict contrapuntal techniques, the project that dominates his last
years. But the variations are much more than an artificial exercise in
canonic writing, as Bach adapts the antiquated device of canon to the pro-
gressive musical style of the mid-eighteenth century. The collection
marks Bach’s attempt to synthesise fashionable music with counterpoint,
transforming both in the process. Bach’s late works crystallise the over-
arching theme of his organ music, demonstrating as they do his unique
genius for taking from the old in his pursuit of the new.

Editions
The most authoritative and thoroughly researched edition of Bach’s
organ works is the Neue Bach-Ausgabe, published by Bärenreiter, whose
249 The organ music of J. S. Bach

well-presented volumes mark the pinnacle of scholarly achievement.

There is one caveat, however: the editorial decision to regularise the
beaming in many instances obscures what are often helpful notational
hints as to how to divide passagework between the two hands, an issue
that arises frequently in the early free works. Nor does the NBA include
many pieces that have recently come off the ‘spurious’ list and are now
considered genuine works of J. S. Bach. The place to find these pieces is the
first edition of the complete works of J. S. Bach produced in the nine-
teenth century by the Bach Gesellschaft, which, in its entirety, is available
only in research libraries. Fortunately, Dover has reprinted several cheap
and practical volumes from the Bach Gesellschaft, which only occasionally
offer readings that differ from those of the NBA. The Dover books provide
an affordable and compact way to assemble a large collection of Bach
organ music, although the print is rather small and in the volume of
chorale preludes tenor and alto clefs crop up quite frequently, a frustra-
tion for many, but good practice nonetheless. The first complete edition
of Bach’s organ works, edited by Friedrich Griepenkerl for Peters, is still
available, as is a cheaper Kalmus reprint of it. Although the more expen-
sive NBA is to be recommended, the Peters is a good edition of consider-
able historical importance and offers some alternative readings based on
now-lost sources. Questions as to which of Bach’s keyboard pieces belong
to the organ repertory are partially addressed by Heinz Lohmann, who
edited the complete edition of Bach’s organ music for Breitkopf & Härtel.
This edition includes many pieces generally played now only on stringed-
keyboard instruments, for example some of the manualiter concerto
transcriptions. The Novello, Schirmer (ed. Albert Schweitzer) and
Bornemann (ed. Marcel Dupré) complete sets present highly edited texts
and are to be avoided as playing editions.
 17 German organ music after 1800
Graham Barber

In 1845, Félix Danjou, the director of the French firm of organ builders
Daublaine-Callinet, writing in the first edition of his magazine Revue de
la musique réligieuse, populaire et classique, commented on the state of
German organ composition:
In Germany, not a step has been taken since Seb. Bach: the compositions of
Adolphe Hesse and of Rinck always belong to the legato fugal style which
Bach used exclusively in his works. Without doubt there is more freedom,
less constraint, from the standpoint of the use of the legato style, in the
compositions of Seb. Bach than is to be seen in the works of modern
German composers. (quoted in Kooiman 1995: 57)

Danjou’s generalisations on the music of the Thuringian Christian

Heinrich Rinck (1770–1846) and the Silesian Adolf Friedrich Hesse
(1809–1863), composers who might be said to have laid the foundations
for nineteenth-century German organ music, while having an element of
truth, are one-sided and not entirely accurate – for example, both
composers wrote in equal measure in the legato fugal style and in the free
variation manner. If organ music had failed to maintain the lofty stan-
dards of J. S. Bach, one has to look at least a hundred years earlier and to
forces external to music for the causes of decline. Movements in philoso-
phy and the arts such as Aufklärung (Enlightenment) and Empfindsamkeit
(sensibility) had challenged accepted norms and traditions.1 The Church
lost its centrality in society, and had to compete with man’s growing belief
in his own self-sufficiency, as well as with a rise in nationalistic fervour. At
the same time the demise of the Holy Roman Empire contributed to the
impoverishment of the Church and its functions. Georg Feder neatly
sums up the combined effect of all this on the early nineteenth-century
German (Protestant) church music scene: ‘congregational singing that
dragged along laboriously; an impoverished liturgy in which music
fulfilled a role of questionable value; organ music and organ playing
which either cultivated a galant, pianistic style or was stiff and pompous;
cantatas of slight musical value and choral music that was sentimental or
bombastic’ (Blume 1975: 376).
Certainly, in German organ music of the first part of the nineteenth
[250] century, works of real stature are rare, though there are many carefully
251 German organ music after 1800

crafted compositions which serve well their function as Gebrauchsmusik.2

Rinck, who was born at Elgersburg, in Thuringia, was a pupil of Johann
Christian Kittel (1732–1809), who himself was a pupil of J. S. Bach in
Leipzig. For most of his working life Rinck was Stadtkantor and
Hoforganist at Darmstadt in the Grand Duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt (see
Donat 1933). In Part 6 of his Praktische Orgelschule Op. 55 (1819–21) he
expresses the hope ‘that I have not completely failed in my intention to
promote a sense of the seriousness of the Church Style, so that beginners
at the organ can profit’. Rinck’s suggested specification for a two-manual
and pedal instrument already shows reliance on the 8′ register as the main
sound ideal:

I.Man: 16.8.8.8.8(or 4).4.4.3.2.2.IV.8

II.Man: 8.8.4.4.2.III
Ped: 16.8.8.4

Wolfgang Stockmeier comments thus on Rinck’s style in the Foreword to

his edition of Rinck’s Flute Concerto Op. 55: ‘two features in particular
stand out: on the one hand the strong interdependence of the Baroque
polyphony, and on the other, the pursuit of “modernity” in the manner of
Haydn and Mozart’. Rinck undoubtedly shows an assured grasp of the
gestural resources of classical concerto form, as well as a fluent technique
of melodic extension. The texture is dominated by the top line, and is
pianistic in manner, with Alberti basses accompanying the solo lines. As
was customary at the time, the pedals merely emphasise the harmonic
direction and add textural intensification, as with the double basses in the
orchestra.3 There is certainly much to enjoy, in contrast to the earnestness
of Rinck’s sacred works. In a later work, the ‘Introduction with Four Easy
Variations and Finale on a Theme of Corelli’ Op. 108, Rinck takes as his
model the classical Viennese pianoforte variation. After the Introduction
he prefaces each section with an indication of tone colour: Thema:
Andante. Mit sanften Stimmen; Variation 1: Andante. Mit Prinzipal und
Gedackt 8 Fuss; Variation 2: Andante con moto. Mit starken Stimmen;
Variation 3: Andante. Für 2 Klaviere (Dolce); Variation 4: Minore. Largo.
Mit starken Stimmen; Finale: Allegro moderato. Für volle Orgel. Towards
the end of the Finale Rinck marks a sudden change – Adagio. Mit Gedackt
und Gamba 8 Fuss – as the music surprisingly modulates from D major
(the dominant of the home key) to E
major (see Example 17.1). This
betrays evidence of the romantic impulse which occasionally surfaces in
Rinck’s works.
Rinck never quite shook off the shadow of the academic, serious style –
indeed, he positively cultivated it. His œuvre is heterogenous, exhibiting
baroque features of figuration and sequential treatment, early classical
 252 Graham Barber

Ex. 17.1 Rinck, Finale from ‘Introduction with Four Easy Variations and Finale on a Theme of Corelli’

Adagio. Mit Gedackt und Gamba 8 Fuss

155

galant elements, and traces of romantic yearning. Hesse on the other hand
– a generation younger – is clearly a child of the romantic period. He was
born in Breslau (present-day Wrocl-aw) and studied with Friedrich
Wilhelm Berner (1780–1827), a great-grandpupil of J. S. Bach. Later he
had lessons with Rinck at Darmstadt, before being appointed organist of
the Bernhardinerkirche in Breslau. There, in 1831, he inherited an organ
built by Adam Horatius Casparini dating from 1705–9, which had just
been completely rebuilt by Hartig.
Bernhardinerkirche, Breslau, 1831, A. H. Casparini, rebuilt Hartig
Hauptwerk Oberwerk
Quintatön 16′ Principal 8′
Quintatön 18′ Flaut amabile 8′
Principal 18′ Salicet 8′
Flaut major 18′ Octave 4′
Spitzflöte 18′ Flaut minor 4′
2
Gemshorn 14′ Quinta 23 ′
Doppelflöte 14′ Doppelflöte 8′
Superoctave 12′ Mixtur IV
Mixtur V Cymbel II
Cymbel II Oboe 8′
Trompete 18′
Pedal
Majorbass 32′
Principal 16′
Subbass 16′
253 German organ music after 1800

Pedal (continued)
Violon 16′
Major-Quint 12′
Violon 18′
Quintatön 18′
Superoctave 14′
Trompete 18′
Manualkoppel
Pedalkoppel

Hesse altered the organ during his tenure, replacing the Spitzflöte 8′,
Quintatön 8′ and Gemshorn 4′ on the Hauptwerk with Portunal 8′,
Bourdon 16′ and Gamba 8′ respectively, and adding a Posaune 32′ to the
Pedal.4 Hesse’s music is finely wrought and begins to make greater techni-
cal demands on the player. His Variations on an Original Theme Op. 34
are elegant and refined, while the Fantasie in F minor Op. 57 No.1 is a free-
form piece alternating rhetorical, expressive and contrapuntal elements
in an organic construction. Hesse’s Introduction to Graun’s Tod Jesu Op.
84 deserves more detailed commentary. It begins in a solemn E
minor
marked Volles Werk and proceeds to exploit the power of the instrument
in massive chords separated by rhetorical pauses. A chromatically con-
ceived five-voiced fugue unfolds in strict manner before being subjected
to a series of tortuous modulations, finally arriving at a stretto above a
dominant pedal, before a statement of the chorale O Haupt voll Blut und
Wunden. The melody is marked to be played on the Hauptwerk on an 8′
stop together with Trompete 8′, and accompanied on Flaut and Salicet 8′,
with Pedal Subbass 16′ and Flautbass 8′. This is an impressive piece with
no real precedents. In its subjective internalisation of the Passion theme,
it demonstrates how the organ could be fully integrated into the main-
stream of romanticism. After the Napoleonic Wars, liturgical reform led
to the reinstatement of the Protestant chorale which assumed an increas-
ingly central role in the development of German organ music. However,
instead of being a pure, objective phenomenon as in the past, it became
the vehicle for fantasy, emotion and mystic vision.

As in the baroque period, two types of composition evolved in parallel:

the short, liturgical work, usually styled Choralvorspiel and suitable for
the Divine Service, and the long, complex Choralfantasie, for church or
concert use. In addition, composers saw the creative possibilities of incor-
porating the chorale into the organ sonata.5 Four of the six sonatas by
Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy have chorale elements, though in each case
the chorale has a different function. In Sonata 1 (first movement), the
chorale Was mein Gott will gescheh’ allzeit is a distant continuum of
254 Graham Barber

sound, which acts to calm and eventually subdue the Sturm und Drang
substance of the main musical discourse; Aus tiefer Not underpins the
central minore section of the first movement of Sonata 3; Sonata 5 is pref-
aced by a simple unadorned chorale; Sonata 6 is a fully developed set of
variations on Vater unser im Himmelreich, with a fugue based on the
opening motif – only the concluding Andante is unconnected with the
chorale.
Mendelssohn’s organ sonatas continued to exercise an influence over
organ composers for the rest of the century. Tracing the legacy of chorale
sonatas alone one can find examples in the works of Jan Albert van Eyken,
Gustav Merkel, Christian Fink and Josef Labor; echoes are even heard as
late as Camillo Schumann (1874–1946). The model is usually
Mendelssohn’s Sonata 1 first movement, with the second subject function
given to the chorale. In this role, the plain, unadorned chorale melody,
possessing ‘values rooted in historic uniqueness’ (Hilgemann and Kinder
1978: 32) is used as an agent to ‘dissolve the conflicts between nature and
the spiritual’ (ibid.). There is a direct parallel in the works of the most
important Catholic composer for the organ, Josef Rheinberger
(1839–1901), whose twenty sonatas are a pivotal achievement. The nine-
teenth-century repertoire based on Gregorian cantus firmus material is
largely ephemeral, consisting of simple versets, preludes and postludes on
the main hymns and antiphons. However, in his Pastoral-Sonate (No. 3)
Op. 88 in G major (1875) Rheinberger uses the eighth Psalm Tone as a
formal device in exactly the same way as in Lutheran chorale sonatas – in
the last movement it functions as a second subject in the manner of
Mendelssohn’s Sonata 1, being heard in both ethereal and triumphant
guise. In his Sonata No. 4 Op. 98 in A minor (1876) he uses the ninth
Psalm Tone, the so-called Tonus Peregrinus, which again functions as a
second subject (in the first movement) and, metamorphosed in the
manner of Liszt, as final peroration in the concluding Fuga cromatica.
Max Reger (1873–1916) in his Sonata in D minor Op. 60 of 1901, while
not using the chorale in a structural way, introduces Vom Himmel hoch, da
komm ich her with the indication ‘sehr lichte Registrierung’ as a palliative
to the emotional turmoil of the second movement, Invokation.
The same romantic concept of triumph over adversity governs the
development of the chorale fantasia. Arising out of chorale settings in the
baroque period, it acquired new programmatic connotations, notably in
the hands of the composer and organ building theorist Johann Gottlob
Töpfer, whose three essays of 1859 in the form – which he styles Concert-
Fantasie – evolve continuously in a highly subjective manner. They are the
vehicle for considerable technical display, with demanding manual and
pedal semiquaver figuration. Both Jesu meine Freude and Was mein Gott
255 German organ music after 1800

will, das g’scheh’ allzeit end with a full-scale fugue, the subject derived
from the chorale melody. The latter, with its clear, tripartite form is in
effect a chorale sonata. Töpfer’s mastery lies in his strong counterpoint,
his refined instinct for registral effect, and his fully integrated, rhetorical
style. He undoubtedly drew inspiration from the music of Franz Liszt
whose three major works for organ, the Fantasy and Fugue on the chorale
Ad nos, ad salutarem undam (1850), Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H
(1855/1870) and Variations on Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen (1863),
while standing at the opposite pole to Mendelssohn, had an equally pow-
erful influence. Liszt’s predilection for the mystical, and his daring experi-
ments with both harmony and form left no composer of the second half
of the nineteenth century untouched. Ad nos contains in extended and
exaggerated guise all the gestural resources of the the chorale fantasia.
Weinen, Klagen, while essentially a passacaglia presaging Reger’s own
towering examples, also has the chorale Was Gott tut, das ist wohl getan at
the end to resolve the conflict inherent in the chromatic, ostinato theme.6
Heinrich Reimann (1850–1906) took the form of chorale fantasia a
stage further in his Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern Op. 25 (1895),
when he underlaid successive statements of the chorale theme with the
verses of the chorale text, thereby bringing the correlation between verbal
sentiment and musical commentary into sharp focus. As organist of the
newly dedicated Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche he became a potent
force in the musical life of Berlin, founding a Bach Society and holding
regular weekly concerts to promote the Thomaskantor’s works. Among
his students was Karl Straube (1873–1950), who was to become exceed-
ingly influential in the German organ music scene. Wie schön is a cleverly
constructed piece which functions as a template for Reger’s own works.
Reimann shows a strong grasp of Tristanesque harmony as well as a sure
contrapuntal instinct. The instrument he had in mind was the large, con-
temporary organ, of which the firms Walcker, Sauer and Steinmeyer were
the leading exponents, stating in the Preface that the Walze (the twelve-
stage crescendo pedal which became de rigueur on the late Romantic
organ) was indispensable to the performance of the work.
The chorale fantasia reaches its zenith in the seven chorale fantasias of
Max Reger, written 1898–1900. The difference between Reger and his pre-
decessors is that his works are longer, more complex, more demanding
technically and written in that explosively charged style of emotional
extremes which characterises all his music. As an example, Straf ’ mich
nicht in deinem Zorn (1899) is typical, though it does not have the usual
Schlussfuge. The text is a free paraphrase of the penitential Psalm 6. The
chorale statements are framed and interspersed by freely composed
material and the pulse of the music alternately races and slows down in
256 Graham Barber

response to the evocative text. The extrovert style of writing makes pro-
digious technical demands on the player, as Reger himself was only too
well aware. Writing to Georg Stolz he admitted ‘it is a miserably difficult
piece of music! It couldn’t have turned out any easier simply because of
my inclination towards the mystical’ (Hase-Koehler 1928: 91). After
Reger, Sigfrid Karg-Elert, Heinrich Kaminski and Karl Hoyer added their
own distinctive voices to the chorale fantasia. Reger, however, for his part
had exhausted the form and did not return to it again.7 The Choralvorspiel
evolved slowly through the nineteenth century in parallel with the
Choral-Fantasie. It has often been considered that such works were of
little value, and it is true that they sometimes became routine and formu-
laic. However, these small-scale pieces form an important commentary
on the development of the extended concert works.8

Despite wide-ranging historical movements and trends in twentieth-

century music – neo-classicism, expressionism, modernism and so on –
the organ music of Max Reger continued to dominate the development of
German organ music. Moreover, it showed remarkable resilience, many
works being completely remodelled by Karl Straube on neo-baroque
lines, and transmitted in this manner through new editions to a whole
generation of performers (see Röhring 1974: 21–29). This process of
‘purification’, which was in keeping with the Zeitgeist, related precisely to
the Orgelbewegung (‘Organ Reform Movement’) with its emphasis on
clear, classical tone and its rejection of exaggeration and excess. Reger’s
pupils continued to emulate their master’s style while reacting subtly to
new ideals of sound and substance. Joseph Haas wrote free-form works in
the spirit of Reger’s Sonata Op. 60 and Suite Op. 92, contributing a Sonata
in C minor Op. 12 (1907), dedicated to Reger, and two Suites in A
major
Op. 20 (1908) and A major Op. 25 (1909). The Variations on an Original
Theme Op. 31 (1910) are mainly reflective in character (see Example
17.2) and eschew the temptation of a tempestuous fugal finale in favour of
a sustained crescendo over a dominant pedal point.
Haas’s harmonic style, while complex and intense, is somewhat less
eliptical than his master’s. The texture has the transparency of Reger’s
middle to late works, and the thematic language tends towards the aphor-
istic. Haas’s Ten Chorale Preludes for Organ Op. 3 (1904–5) are directly
modelled on his teacher’s 52 Easy Chorale Preludes Op. 67. Karl Hasse
studied with Reger and Felix Mottl in Munich. His Suite in E minor Op. 10
(1913) is in four movements – Improvisation, Larghetto, Capriccio and
Ciacona. The Larghetto (see Example 17.3) shows how completely Hasse
had absorbed Reger’s technique of tonal obfuscation within the func-
tional harmonic system.
 257 German organ music after 1800

Ex. 17.2 Haas, Theme from ‘Variations on an Original Theme’

Andante cantabile

Man.
III

strin gen do
sostenuto

cre scen do

Con moto
a tempo rit.
Man. III

Man. I (8′)
(gut hervortretend)

Whereas Haas and Hasse remained wedded to the Reger style, Karl
Hoyer was able to break free of the mould and forge an individual voice
(see Hilmes 1996). While his Introduction, Variations and Fugue on the
Chorale Jerusalem, du hochgebaute Stadt Op. 3 (1913) is a fully fledged
chorale fantasia in the style of his teacher, his Memento Mori! Op. 22
(1922), four pieces on the subject of death entitled Trauerzug, Totenklage,
Totentanz and Verklärung, inhabits a completely different sound world in
which the predominant influence is Gustav Mahler. Clearly Hoyer had
stepped back from the brink of atonality to pursue further the symphonic
development of tonal themes.9 Sigfrid Karg-Elert, though not formally a
pupil of Reger, being only four years his junior, nevertheless came under
his spell. While he borrows features from Reger in such works as his
 258 Graham Barber

Ex. 17.3 Hasse, Larghetto (Suite in E minor)

Vorwiegend mit streichenden

und schwebenden Stimmen
(mit 4′)

legato

legato

molto

Symphonic Chorale Jesu, meine Freude Op. 87 No. 2 and in his 66 Choral-
Improvisationen Op. 65, the similarities are only surface deep. Karg-Elert
does not belong to the Beethoven/Brahms tradition as Reger does: he is a
musical chameleon, turning effortlessly from Grieg-influenced folk-song
to experimental expressionism, from colouristic impressionism to the
neo-baroque. Only occasionally does Karg-Elert consciously strive
towards an organic process of composition, as in his Symphony for Organ
259 German organ music after 1800

Op. 143 (1930) (see Barber 1989: 769–71). More typically he gains
inspiration from external sources, as in his remarkable Seven Pastels from
the Lake of Constance of 1921.
While Reger’s pupils and others continued to explore the margins of
tonality, new trends and fashions in music had unshakeably asserted
themselves. In terms of organ music, neo-classicism rather than serial
composition became the dominant force, and in this context Paul
Hindemith (1895–1963) is a seminal figure. Despite a contribution of just
three sonatas and two concertos, he epitomises the change in emphasis
from the organ as rhetorical machine to the organ as chamber instrument.
That is not to say that he was immune to the Reger influence – on the con-
trary, he considered it a key element in his musical development, stating
that ‘I owe thanks to Reger more than Bach’. However, in place of the pro-
fusion of notes, the unrelieved texture, the white heat of passion one finds
an economy of gesture, transparency and coolness. These characteristics
were in keeping with the wind of change which had affected the design of
organs under the influence of the Orgelbewegung. The fact that both
Sonata I (1937) and Sonata II (1937) end quietly is indicative of the new
aesthetic. Although not a composer of religious music, Hindemith
influenced several church musicians directly as Professor of Composition
at the Hochschule für Musik in Berlin, where among his pupils were Hans
Friedrich Micheelsen and Harald Genzmer. The next generation of
composers, who were more directly under the spell of serialism, also
benefited from the clear sonorities of the Organ Reform Movement.
Wolfgang Stockmeier (b. 1931) has combined inter alia dodecaphonic
procedures with traditional forms, notably in a series of ten sonatas, of
which Sonata V (1976/7) is representative (see Example 17.4).
Since World War II Germany has been the crucible for much avant-
garde activity, and the presence of György Ligeti in Hamburg, Mauricio
Kagel in Cologne and Arvo Pärt in Berlin has exercised a powerful
influence on composers of the younger generation. Despite this, the
unbroken thread of liturgical organ composition has remained essen-
tially within the conservative Lutheran chorale tradition.10 As in previous
periods, composers have written in large forms – though moving away
from the chorale fantasy in favour of the baroque-style chorale partita
and chorale concerto – as well as cultivating the short chorale prelude.
Significant contributions have also been made in the twentieth century to
music based on Gregorian themes.11

A survey such as this can only give a flavour of the richness of the nine-
teenth- and twentieth-century German repertory for organ. Certain
pivotal figures inevitably dominate the period: Mendelssohn, Liszt
 260 Graham Barber

Ex. 17.4 Stockmeier, 1st movement of Sonata V

Abläufe
Lebhaft

II

(Hungarian by birth, but living and working in Weimar from 1848) and
Reger. In the twentieth century there have been many important organist-
composers, though, with the exception of Hindemith, few have occupied
a position in the mainstream of Western musical development. The last
sixty years have seen a huge upsurge in compositional activity which
Adam Adrio attributes to the effect of the Orgelbewegung (Blume 1975:
483–95). Certainly, new sound ideals, rooted at least notionally in the
past, inspired composers to begin to write in a style that was more rele-
vant to the modern age. Restoration of old, that is, pre-nineteenth-
century organs became a priority and has remained so. At the twilight of
the twentieth century the situation has come full circle, with the vast
261 German organ music after 1800

organs of the late romantic period, once condemned as bombastic,

decadent and irrelevant, being systematically restored to their original
condition.

Editions
There are several works in modern editions by Rinck and Hesse. A selec-
tion of Rinck’s works are in: J. C. H. Rinck, Selected Works, ed. Hofmann,
1993, Kassel (Bärenreiter) and of Hesse’s works in: Adolph Hesse, Organ
Works, ed. Stockmeier, 1975, Wolfenbüttel (Möseler). There are two com-
plete editions of Mendelssohn’s works: in five volumes, ed. Little, 1989,
London (Novello); and in two volumes ed. Albrecht, 1993, Kassel
(Bärenreiter). Similarly there are two complete editions of Liszt’s works:
ed. Margittay, 1970, Budapest/London (Editio Musica Budapest/ Boosey
& Hawkes); ed. M. Haselböck, 1985, Vienna (Universal). The most
authoritative edition of the works of Brahms (see Pascall 1995) is: ed.
Bozarth, 1988, Munich (Henle). The complete sonatas of Rheinberger
(reproduction of the original editions) are available ed. Bretschneider,
1991, St. Augustin (Dr. J. Butz Musikverlag) and the complete sonatas of
Gustav Merkel, ed. Depenheuer, 1991, St. Augustin (Dr. J. Butz
Musikverlag). Selected organ works by Töpfer are available ed. Busch,
1977, Bonn (Rob. Forberg Musikverlag); also Reimann’s Fantasy on the
Chorale Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, ed. Dorfmüller, 1977, Bonn
(Rob. Forberg Musikverlag). The complete works of Max Reger, Volumes
I–VII, are available ed. Weyer, Wiesbaden (Breitkopf), after the Reger
Collected Edition, ed. Klotz. Karg-Elert’s works (see Gerlach 1984) are
available from various publishers including Leuckart, Breitkopf, Möseler,
Novello. The Symphony in F  minor Op. 143 is published by Peters
edition (ed. Hartmann). There are several collected volumes of indicative
material: The Mendelssohn School, a collection of organ music by students
and colleagues, ed. Leupold, 1979, New York (McAfee); Leipziger
Orgelmusik des 19. Jahrhunderts, ed. Gurgel, 1995, Wiesbaden
(Breitkopf); Chorale Preludes by Pupils of Reger, ed. Busch, 1991, Mainz
(Schott). Publishing houses specialising in lesser-known repertoire from
the nineteenth century are Möseler (Wolfenbüttel), Rob. Forberg
Musikverlag (Bonn), Dr. J. Butz Musikverlag (St. Augustin), and
Musikverlag Alfred Coppenrath (Altötting). Publishers of the main
composers of the twentieth century are as follows: Ahrens (Schott, Willy
Müller – Süddeutscher Musikverlag), Bornefeld (Bärenreiter, Universal),
Burkhard (Bärenreiter, Schott), David (Peters), Distler (Bärenreiter),
Genzmer (Peters), Heiller (Doblinger), Hindemith (Schott), Höller
262 Graham Barber

(Schott, Leuckart), Kaminski (Universal, Bärenreiter), Micheelsen

(Bärenreiter), Pepping (Schott), Ramin (Peters), Raphael (Breitkopf),
Reda (Bärenreiter), Schmidt (Universal, Leuckart, Weinberger,
Doblinger), Schroeder (Schott), Stockmeier (Möseler, Kistner & Siegel).
 18 French and Belgian organ music after 1800
Gerard Brooks

The symphonic tradition in French organ music that was to find its first
real expression in the works of César Franck had its roots in the period
that followed the French Revolution of 1789.
This so-called ‘post-classical’ era has often been criticised as a time
when musical quality fell sharply after the glories of the ‘Grand Siècle’,
but there were important cultural reasons for the changes in public taste
that many organists felt obliged to follow. Furthermore, one must dis-
tinguish between the music that composers published (often very light in
character) and their reputations as performers and improvisers.
The ‘Terror’ that followed the revolution, when thousands were exe-
cuted or arrested as ‘enemies of the Revolution’ also marked the secular-
isation of the Church: her assets were seized and services abolished,
leaving organists (and organ builders) without a livelihood. The churches
themselves were used as storerooms, barracks or stables and many organs
were sold or destroyed. Stories abound of organists trying to save their
instruments by playing patriotic songs, thus following a musical trend
that was to reflect the political and military mood of the time. The
foundation of the Conservatoire in 1795 and the increasing interest in
opera heralded a musical liberation that would mark a decline in solemn
church music. Napoleon was not slow to appreciate the power of music as
a propaganda tool, asking composers to write music that would glorify his
armies: this was the era of ‘battle’ pieces that were by no means confined to
the orchestra. One of the leading organist-composers of the day was
Jacques-Marie Beauvarlet-Charpentier (1766–1834), whose ‘Victoire de
l’Armée d’Italie ou Bataille de Montenotte’ (1796) contains all the
expected elements (as well as the inevitable dedication to ‘Citizen
Bonaparte!): sunrise, reveille, assembling of the troops, departure for
battle and so on. To our ears, these sound like precursors of silent film
music, and on the large Clicquot organs (such as that in St Sulpice, Paris)
the effect would have been sensational. Claude Balbastre (1727–99),
writer of a famous set of variations on the Marseillaise, was another com-
poser who had to adapt to changing musical taste of the day.
The beginning of the nineteenth century marked some important
[263] musical developments: in 1802, Napoleon installed instrumentalists at
 264 Gerard Brooks

Ex. 18.1 Fessy, Offertoire

Andante Positif

Grand
Chœur

the Royal Chapel of the Tuileries – gone were the grand motets in favour
of music much more in the style of Haydn’s masses, with important parts
for soloists; in 1803, the Prix de Rome was created to encourage compos-
ers; and in 1805, the Concert Spirituel (a series of sacred and instrumental
music started in 1725) was reinstated. The musical style of the time took
its lead from the opera – melodies in thirds, staccato bass notes with off-
beat chords for example – and it was perhaps inevitable that the organ
would follow: the subtleties of the Tierce en taille and the Plein Jeu of the
previous era disappeared in favour of a simpler, more pianistic style, with
short repeated melodic phrases, interrupted cadences followed by codas
and so on, as illustrated by Example 18.1, from the Offertoire by
Alexandre-Charles Fessy.
One of the most successful organists of the time, Nicolas Sejan
(1745–1819) is also credited with being one of the founders of the French
piano school. This is not to say that more conservative forms were com-
pletely absent – fugues, which had always been an established feature of
French organ music were still being written, but much more popular with
the public was the variation style that found voice in the Noëls and in
pieces inspired by the Te Deum, especially the text Judex Crederis. This
was an extended fantasy rather like the ‘battle’ pieces, but depicting the
human condition before and after the final judgement of the Last Trump:
thunder effects, diminished chords and fanfares were liberally used to
dramatic effect. (Thunder effects were achieved by putting a plank across
the bottom octave of the pedal and pushing down as required: it is worth
noting that the organ builder Cavaillé-Coll included a thunder-effect
lever (‘tonnerre’) throughout the nineteenth century, which produced
much the same effect.) It was a matter of some honour that organists of
the day improvised their own ‘Judex Crederis’, so unfortunately few were
ever written down; one that survives (by the otherwise serious-minded
 265 French and Belgian organ music after 1800

Ex. 18.2 Boëly, Judex Crederis

Allegro agitato

Ped.

30

composer Alexandre-Pierre-François Boëly) gives an idea of the style (see

Example 18.2).
Guillaume Lasceux (1740–1831) also wrote down his own Judex
Crederis but much more important to our understanding of organ
playing of the time is his Essai théorique et pratique sur l’art de l’orgue
(1809) in which he gives a useful account of performance practice and
registrations used by organists of his day: these show that while eigh-
teenth-century sonorities were still used, the practice of drawing founda-
tion stops with reeds – often thought to have started with Franck – was
already established.
The sketchiness of some of Lasceux’s music also suggests that good
organists were both adept at and used to elaborating given material, indi-
cating that the standard of playing was higher than some of the printed
music might suggest. Although the compositions of Charles-Alexander
Fessy (1804–56) and Louis-James-Alfred Lefébure-Wely (1817–69)
reflect the public desire for simple and accessible music, both were highly
accomplished performers – Saint-Saëns praised Lefébure-Wely’s
improvisations in particular. Both were pupils of François Benoist
(1794–1878) who became professor of organ at the newly reorganised
Paris Conservatoire in 1819 and was an important figure in the evolution
of the traditional French organ school (along with Louis Niedermeyer,
who founded his ‘Ecole de Musique religieuse et classique’ in 1853).
Benoist was an early winner of the Prix de Rome, and also taught César
Franck, Saint-Saëns and Bizet.
While spectacular elements of storm and battle pieces would continue
to find echoes in later French organ music, the musical roots of Franck,
Guilmant and later Vierne and Widor are to be found in those who held
more firmly to the traditional if less appreciated values of harmony and
 266 Gerard Brooks

Ex. 18.3 Boëly, Fantasia and Fugue in B

Allegro

counterpoint: in particular, Franck’s teacher Benoist, Alexandre-Pierre-

Francois Boëly (1785–1858) and the Belgian Jacques-Nicolas Lemmens
(1823–81). Boëly especially was admired by the minority who deplored
the current trends in church music, and he stands out as one who, for the
most part, refused to give in to the demands of contemporary taste. He
was one of the first French composers to give a prominent part to the
pedals, and one of the few who revered and regularly played the works of
J. S. Bach (something that was to be his undoing, for in 1851 he was sacked
from his post at St Gervais for playing music that was deemed too
serious). His abilities as a piano composer are evident in his organ music,
in which lyrical melodies and use of sonata form sit happily alongside his
more contrapuntal works. Of particular note are his Toccata in B minor
and the Fantaisie and Fugue in B
major (see Example 18.3).
The opposition that Boëly faced in his church situation reflects the
secularisation of his time. The decline in polyphonic music meant that
the organs of Clicquot were less appropriate to what was being played: the
contemporary critic Ortigue noted that the public considered ‘the waltz
and opera overture the perfect Introit and Offertory . . . this was the price
the organ had paid for attempting to imitate the orchestra’ (Gorenstein
1993). Many of the old instruments had been destroyed or damaged in the
Revolution, and the general trend adopted by builders such as Daublaine-
Callinet was towards a more orchestral style of instrument: the suppres-
sion of high mixtures in favour of powerful foundation tone and
sonorous reeds. A new style of organ was certainly born at this time, but
267 French and Belgian organ music after 1800

this in itself was not responsible for the change in musical taste – rather
builders responded to the mood of the day. One name was to dominate
the entire nineteenth century, that of Aristide Cavaillé-Coll.

Aristide Cavaillé-Coll (1811–99)

Cavaillé-Coll’s reputation was launched by the organ he built in 1841 for
the abbey of St Denis near Paris, which signalled the beginning of the
symphonic style of organ building in France. Although this new move-
ment meant that the character of many old organs was lost for ever when
Cavaillé-Coll rebuilt them (a fate that overtook Cavaillé-Coll’s own
instruments in the twentieth century), few were in a playable state, and as
the most advanced and able builder of his generation, Cavaillé-Coll pro-
duced organs that were to stand as masterpieces in their own right. In
1932, Widor summed it up: ‘Our school owes its creation – I say it without
reservation – to the special, magical sound of these instruments’ (quoted
in preface to Widor and Schweitzer’s Bach editions).
Cavaillé-Coll was only twenty-two years old when he was awarded the
important contract at St Denis in 1833 (see Figure 18.1), defeating several
important organ builders of the day, including the Englishman John
Abbey. The delay of nine years in completing the organ offers an intri-
guing insight into Cavaillé-Coll’s early development: the original plan to
rebuild the Clicquot/Lefèvre instrument of five manuals with seventy-
one stops, including cornets, mutations and twenty-two reeds together
with various theatrical effects, was different from the plan of 1841, which
incorporated many of the new devices that he had learned from other
builders and traditions: improved reservoir bellows, Barker’s pneumatic
lever, Abbey’s venetian shutters for the swell, composition pedals and full
manual compasses. A talented engineer, he refined all these elements and
made them serve his purposes.
St Denis, Paris, Cavaillé-Coll, 1841
Grand Orgue (C–f 3, second manual) Positif (C–f 3, first manual)
Montre (from 2nd oct.) 32′ Bourdon 16′
Montre 16′ Bourdon 18′
Bourdon 16′ Salicional 18′
Montre 18′ Flûte 18′
Bourdon 18′ Prestant 14′
Viole 18′ Flûte 14′
Flûte traversière 18′ Prestant 14′
Prestant 14′ Doublette 12′
Flûte traversière 14′ Flageolet 12′
268 Gerard Brooks

Figure 18.1 The case of the Cavaillé-Coll organ in St Denis. Cavaillé-Coll won the contract in
1833 with a five-manual scheme along essentially classical lines, but with the incorporation of a
few of the theatrical effects popular in the early 1800s. By the time the instrument was completed
in 1841 a more romantic note was apparent with the reduction of mutations and the introduction
of strings and overblowing harmonic stops. The use of Barker’s pneumatic lever, as refined by
Cavaillé-Coll, permitted the employment of varied wind pressures and enabled the builder to
multiply the number of chests. It was the forerunner of a whole series of large and increasingly
sophisticated organs from this most influential of nineteenth-century builders.
269 French and Belgian organ music after 1800

Grand Orgue (continued) Positif (continued)

Nasard ou Quinte 1232 ′ Tierce 1135 ′
Doublette 12′ Fourniture IV
Grande Fourniture IV Cymbale IV
Petite Fourniture IV Trompette 18′
Grande Cymbale IV Cor d’Harmonie 18′
Petite Cymbale IV Hautboy 18′
Cornet à Pavillon IV Cromorne 18′
Trompette 18′ Clairon 14′
Trompette 18′ Tremblant
Basson 18′ (bass)
Bombarde (C–f 3, played
Cor Anglais 18′ (treble)
from the second manual)
Clairon 14′
Bourdon 16′
Récit (C–f 3, third manual) Bourdon 18′
Bourdon 18′ Flûte 18′
Flûte 18′ Prestant 14′
Flûte 14′ Nasard ou Quinte 1223 ′
Quinte 1223 ′ Doublette 12′
Octavin 12′ Cornet VII
Trompette 18′ Bombarde 16′
Voix Humaine 18′ Trompette 18′
Clairon 14′ Trompette 18′
Clairon 4′
Pédale (FF–f, i.e. 16′ stops effectively 24′) 1
Clairon 4′
Flûte ouverte 32′ (from CC) 1
Flûte 16′
Flûte 18′
1
Nasard 153 ′
Flûte 14′
Basse-contre 16′
Bombarde 16′
Basson 18′
Trompette 18′
Trompette 18′
Clairon 14′
Clairon 14′
Combination pedals and accessories:
Swell pedal
Récit/Grand Orgue
Bombarde on Grand Orgue
Grand Orgue on/off
Positif/Grand Orgue fonds
Positif/Grand Orgue reeds treble
Positif/Grand Orgue reeds bass
manuals to pedal
sub-octave to all manuals
270 Gerard Brooks

Although St Denis contained overblowing ‘harmonic’ stops and strident

strings, the specification is still a compromise between the old and the
new; Cavaillé-Coll was soon building instruments of a more balanced,
‘orchestral’ nature. A comparison with the famous organ he built at the
church of St Clotilde in 1859 (where Franck was appointed Organist)
shows how far behind he left the organ of St Denis:
St Clotilde, Paris, Cavaillé-Coll, 1859
Grand Orgue (C–f 3, first manual) Positif (C–f 3, second manual)
Montre 16′ Bourdon 16′
Bourdon 16′ Montre 18′
Montre 18′ Flûte harmonique 18′
Flûte Harmonique 18′ Bourdon 18′
Gambe 18′ Gambe 18′
Bourdon 18′ Salicional 18′
Prestant 14′ Prestant 14′
*Octave 14′ *Quinte 1223 ′
*Quinte 1223 ′ *Doublette 12′
*Doublette 12′ *Clarinette 18′
*Plein Jeu VI *Trompette 18′
*Bombarde 16′ *Clairon 14′
*Trompette 18′
*Clairon 14′
Récit (C–f 3, third manual) Pédale (C–d1)
Flûte harmonique 18′ Soubasse 32′
Bourdon 18′ Contrebasse 16′
Viole de gambe 18′ Flûte 18′
Voix celeste 18′ Octave 14′
Basson-hautbois 18′ *Basson 16′
Voix humaine 18′ *Bombarde 16′
*Flûte octaviante 14′ *Trompette 18′
*Octavin 12′ *Clairon 14′
*Trompette harmonique 18′
*Clairon 14′
(starred stops are controlled by the ‘anches’ pedals)
Couplers:
Tirasse Grand Orgue (Great to pedal)
Tirasse Positif
Tirasse Récit
Grand Orgue sur machine (Grand Orgue on)
Copula Positif sur Grand Orgue
Copula Récit sur Positif
Octaves Graves Grand Orgue (Grand Orgue sub-octave)
Octave Graves Positif
271 French and Belgian organ music after 1800

Octave Graves Récit

Anches Pédale
Anches Grand Orgue
Anches Positif
Anches Récit
Tremblant Récit (Récit tremulant)
Expression Récit (swell pedal)

Here we see characteristics of the more mature Cavaillé-Coll style: a

Positif that is effectively a second Grand Orgue (which has particular
significance when interpreting romantic French music on English organs
with their much gentler Choir departments), and the generous provision
of varied foundation tone. The Pedal department on these organs was
voiced with particular care to give it sonority and independence, despite
the apparent lack of 16′ flue stops; even relatively small instruments have
reeds and flues at 16′, 8′ and 4′ pitch, all designed to have a robust tone and
to speak promptly (again, this has implications when playing French
repertoire on organs with gentler Pedal flue departments). The manuals
are in a different order from the English system (which can pose problems
where quick or complex changes between Positif and Récit are indicated):
France England/America
Top Récit Swell
Positif Great
Bottom Grand orgue Choir

The only exception to this is when the Positif is in a case behind the
player’s back; it is then playable from the lowest manual, for mechanical
reasons. Cavaillé-Coll made considerable use of the Barker lever (named
after its inventor, Charles Barker), a pneumatic device which assisted the
key action – particularly on larger instruments – and also enabled him to
experiment with different wind pressures for certain stops. It also enabled
him to construct double chests for the manual departments, enabling the
reeds and mixtures to be brought on separately from the foundation stops
with a series of combination pedals; in addition, the Grand Orgue has its
own combination pedal, all of which enables the player to achieve a
crescendo from pp to full organ without having to change manuals or take
his hands away from the keyboard. (To achieve this all the stops are
drawn, but the combination pedals remain in the unhitched position; the
player plays on the Grand Orgue manual with the Récit coupled through
with the box shut. He then progressively hitches down the pedals that add
the Positif/Grand Orgue coupler, the Grand Orgue itself, and then the
reeds of the various departments in turn.) The ‘Jeux de Combinaison’ that
are brought on by the ‘anches’ pedals can be pre-set in any desired
272 Gerard Brooks

Figure 18.2 Layout of combination pedals at St Ouen, Rouen (Cavaillé-Coll, 1890), explained in
Table 18.1, opposite.

combination of reeds and upperwork. This system (invented before the

days of adjustable pistons), together with the unique sound of the
Cavaillé-Coll organ, has exercised an influence that cannot be over-
estimated on all French organ composers of the romantic period and
beyond (see Figure 18.2 and Table 18.1).

Franck and Lemmens

While minor composers were quite able to dazzle their listeners with
thunderous effects on the new style of organ that Cavaillé-Coll began to
build in the 1840s, it took a new generation of composers to exploit the
true value of his symphonic instruments. The two most influential early
figures of the nineteenth-century French organ school were not French at
all but Belgian. César Franck (1822–90) was born in Liège and moved to
Paris in 1835, taking up his famous appointment as organist at St Clotilde
in 1859 and at the Paris Conservatoire as Professor of Organ in 1872, suc-
ceeding Benoist. Franck developed relatively late as a composer, having
spent his earlier years teaching and performing. His preference for
orchestral and chamber music (rather than the more popular form of
opera) kept him from being a mainstream composer, but it also meant
that he was familiar with the symphonic poems of Liszt. These had a
decided influence on his music, including the organ works (particularly
the Grande Pièce Symphonique). Liszt’s mastery of thematic transforma-
273 French and Belgian organ music after 1800

Table 18.1
Combination Pedals at St Ouen, Rouen

From left to right

Pedal Couplers GO/Ped Pos/Ped Rec/Ped

Reeds or ‘Jeux de Combinaison’ Ped Bombarde Positif Récit

Sub-octave couplers GO Rec/GO

Swell Pedal

Couplers to GO GO/GO Pos/GO R/GO B/GO

Sub-octave coupler R/R

Tremulant R

Coupler Pos/R (sic)

Super-octave coupler R/R

Coupler B/R

tion is constantly echoed in Franck’s music: Franck’s device of increasing

the interval of a simple phrase, thereby creating a sense of yearning, is an
integral feature of his style, seen here in the Prélude, Fugue et Variation
(Example 18.4).
He wrote only a dozen major works for the organ: the Six Pièces of
1860–2 (admired by Liszt, who heard Franck play them in 1866), which
include the Prélude, Fugue et Variation and the Grande Pièce
Symphonique; the Trois Pièces of 1878; and the Trois Chorals (his best
known organ pieces), completed just before his death in 1890. Franck’s
organ music, with its powerful chromatic harmony serving emotionally
charged melodic themes, owes much to his spiritual nature, somehow
fusing together a sacred vision with a secular style that is not far from
Wagner, and which was to be further developed in the music of his pupil
Louis Vierne.
Jacques-Nicolas Lemmens (1823–81) was appointed Professor of
Organ at the Brussels Conservatoire in 1849, and created a considerable
impression with his playing in Paris in the 1850s. Both men were fervent
advocates of Bach (Lemmens was a pupil of the German organist Adolf
Hesse, who could claim a teacher–pupil relationship that led directly back
to Bach), but while Franck is said to have played with a good deal of
rubato (particularly in his own works), Lemmens’s style was more
 274 Gerard Brooks

Ex. 18.4 Franck, theme from Prélude, Fugue et Variation

serious: ‘purity, elegance and clarity’ (Archbold and Peterson 1995: 51)
were the words that contemporary critics used to describe his playing
(words that would later be applied to his pupil Guilmant). Benoist spoke
of his ‘calm and religious grandeur and strictness of style which suited
God’s temple so well . . . In these days it is a virtue to stay faithful to the . . .
true art of the organ’ – a veiled criticism of the popular style of the day
adopted by Lefébure-Wely and others (although Lefébure-Wely was just
as quick to compliment Lemmens on his playing). While Franck’s teach-
ing at the Conservatoire had more to do with musical interpretation and
improvisation than technique, Lemmens’s principal contribution to the
history of the French organ school was an organ method, his Ecole d’orgue
(1862), in which he advocated a legato style of playing that required a sure
and supple technique: toes and heels in the pedal, finger substitution, sur-
reptitious sliding from note to note, subtle tying of notes together in the
manuals and so on. Lemmens is also remembered as the teacher of
Guilmant and Widor.

The organ symphony: Guilmant, Widor, Vierne and Dupré

Several influential organist-composers emerged in the 1860s and 1870s in
Paris: Saint-Saëns at La Madeleine, Gigout at St Augustine, Guilmant at
La Trinité and Widor at St Sulpice. Camille Saint-Saëns (1835–1921) as a
pupil of Benoist was very much a traditionalist with a knowledge and love
of his musical heritage, and this is reflected in his organ music; he resisted
many of Cavaillé-Coll’s proposed changes to the Clicquot organ at St
Merry (where he was appointed in 1858), and encouraged his pupils at the
Niedermeyer School to study Bach as a preparation for their own
composition. Gigout, best known for his Toccata in B minor and the
Grand Chœur Dialogué, also wrote pieces in quieter style using Gregorian
themes. It is however to Félix-Alexandre Guilmant (1837–1911) and
Charles-Marie Widor (1844–1937) that we owe the creation of the so-
called ‘organ symphony’ (‘suite’ better describes the nature of these
multi-movement works). Both men came from organist families, were
taught by Lemmens and acknowledged their debt to the instruments of
Cavaillé-Coll. (Widor even went so far as to say that the Cavaillé-Coll
275 French and Belgian organ music after 1800

organ was the perfect Bach organ – a view that would not find favour
today.) They both had a lasting effect on their generation of pupils, and
although both were rigorous in their academic approach to organ study,
their musical characters were different. Widor was a visionary, wanting to
take the musical language of the organ to new heights: ‘the modern organ
is essentially symphonic; the new instrument needs a new language, a
different ideal from that of textbook polyphony’. Guilmant, on the other
hand, looked more to the masters of the past, knowledge of whom enabled
him to achieve an elegance in his compositions which made up for a slight
lack of originality. Although Guilmant was the more wordly of the two,
well travelled as a performer, he confined his writing to the organ, whereas
Widor’s organ music only accounts for about 10 per cent of his output.
Guilmant’s organ music is divided into concert music (including eight
symphonies), and the comprehensive sets of liturgical music for use in
services. His concert music is vigorous in style, combining a lightness of
touch with a keen ear for popular taste, often creating exciting music from
modest themes. The wit and good humour found in Guilmant is also
found in Widor, but there is a heightened sense of drama, achieved
through marked use of contrasting timbres together with a vigorous use
of rhythm, from dramatic pause to the use of staccato (in which a note is
halved in value, following the teaching of Lemmens) – notably in his
famous Toccata from the Fifth Symphony. Widor wrote ten organ sym-
phonies, the last two being in a different style: Symphonie Gothique (1895)
and Symphonie Romane (1900) are both based on plainsong themes and
share an intensely spiritual and timeless quality. More than any other
composer, Widor succeeded in marrying together the different divisions
(reeds, strings and flues) of the Cavaillé-Coll organ into a single huge
‘orchestra’ without sacrificing its nobleness of character. Louis Vierne
(1870–1937) judged Guilmant to ‘know the organ best’, but Widor he
considered ‘the greatest French organist’.
Vierne was a pupil of both Franck and Widor and, as assistant to
Guilmant at the Conservatoire, had an important influence as a teacher.
Although Vierne’s music has all the qualities he learned from Widor and
Franck – lyrical themes and a strong sense of architecture among them –
there is an added dimension of powerful chromatic harmony; moreover,
there is an overwhelming sense that the sadnesses of Vierne’s personal life
were projected through his music in a way not found in Widor or
Guilmant, resulting in music that is at times joyful, at times restless and
tormented, particularly towards the end of his life, as seen at the outset of
his Sixth Symphony (Example 18.5).
As well as six symphonies, Vierne composed sets of Pièces en Style Libre
and Pièces de Fantaisie, which are often descriptive in character (‘Sur le
 276 Gerard Brooks

Ex. 18.5 Vierne, 1st movement of Symphony No. 6

Poco agitato e a piacere

R.

P.R.

Rhin’, ‘Fantômes’, ‘Carillon de Westminster’). Vierne was not alone in

writing descriptive music: the new century saw the emergence of a new
school of organ composition in France influenced by the success of
Debussy’s impressionist music; this ‘colourist’ school produced descrip-
tive works often based around visual impressions: Ermend Bonnal’s
Paysage Euskariens is one of the best examples.
Although there were many highly accomplished organist-composers
in the early part of the nineteenth century – among them Joseph Bonnet
(1884–1944) and the short-lived Auguste Barié (1883–1915) – the most
important figure and the man who was to renew the language of the sym-
phonic organ was Marcel Dupré (1886–1971), who succeeded Widor at St
Sulpice in 1934. Dupré was hailed all over the world as a performer and
improviser, and had an immense influence through his many pupils. His
style is unashamedly virtuosic (the Three Preludes and Fugues of 1920
were at first deemed unplayable), combining a sparkling dexterity in early
works with an increasing harmonic intellectualism later on; above all, he
had an absolute mastery of form and counterpoint. He often used
Gregorian themes, notably in his Symphonie-Passion (1924). Le chemin de
la croix (1932), which depicts the stations of the cross, is a brilliant if
austere series of tone pictures. His Second Symphony (1929) is a land-
mark of original twentieth-century symphonic style. Dupré was also very
active as an editor, producing his own editions of most of the standard
organ repertoire. A near contemporary and fellow symphonist was the
277 French and Belgian organ music after 1800

Belgian organist and teacher Joseph Jongen (1873–1953), best remem-

bered for his Sonata Eroica (1930).

Tournemire, Alain and Messiaen

If Dupré was the natural successor to the symphonic school of Widor,
then Charles Tournemire (1870–1939), a pupil of Franck (and his even-
tual successor at St Clotilde), dominated the liturgical movement in early
twentieth-century French organ music. His L’Orgue Mystique (a set of
fifty-one Catholic ‘Offices’ each comprising five movements) used plain-
chant in a new way combining symphonic and liturgical traditions, but in
the grand variation style of Beethoven rather than that of Widor. With its
freedom of ebb and flow, the spirit of improvisation – of which
Tournemire was a master – is never far from this music.
The mysticism of Tournemire is also found in the music of Jehan Alain
(1911–40), whose career was cut short by the Second World War. Alain’s
highly original style, combining a limpid freshness with a passionate joy
and sense of commitment, has no basis in any particular school, and
although rhythm plays a fundamental role (as in his most famous piece
Litanies), the music demands to be freed from any sense of metronomic
confinement, just as the formal titles Alain used (Prelude and Fugue,
Variations etc.) are treated with considerable freedom. His greatest work,
Trois Danses, originally intended for orchestra, is intense music that seeks
to reflect the human conditions of joy, grief and struggle (‘Joies’, ‘Deuils’,
‘Luttes’). While Tournemire and Dupré remained faithful to the sym-
phonic ideal of the Cavaillé-Coll organ, Alain sought new colours that
sprang from his love of the classical organ of the past. Olivier Messiaen
(1908–92) was also able to draw on sonorities resulting from a new style
of organ building that reacted against Cavaillé-Coll and his followers and
returned to the ideals of the eighteenth century (often by attempting to
adapt existing symphonic instruments, with predictably poor results).
Like Alain, Messiaen created his own distinctive style outside of the
symphonic tradition, exploiting even further the atmospheric, static
qualities of which only the organ is capable: this is well illustrated in his
early work Le Banquet Céleste (1928) and in L’Ascension (1933).
Messiaen’s music makes much use of religious imagery, often through the
use of specific texts. His treatment of harmony as a decoration rather than
as a means of progression is matched by his unusual treatment of form, in
which a theme often grows out of development (rather than the other way
round); this ‘development–exposition’ is seen in La Nativité du Seigneur,
in which Messiaen also first used rhythmic motifs developed from Indian
278 Gerard Brooks

models. A third important element is his system of ‘modes of limited

transposition’, a series of scales that form the basis for composition
(rather as the twelve-tone row did for Schoenberg). The imitative use of
birdsong in later works – Messe de la Pentecôte (1950) and Livre d’Orgue
(1951) among them – makes peculiarly effective use of the high-pitched
mutation stops of the contemporary organ.
Two other important composers of the twentieth century were
Tournemire’s prolific successor Jean Langlais (1907–91) and Maurice
Duruflé (1903–85). Langlais’s dramatic and colourful use of religious and
poetic themes found particular voice in relatively short works such as his
Trois Paraphrases Gregoriens (1934); in later years he also experimented
with more contemporary techniques. Duruflé’s subtle registrations,
impressionistic style and distinctive use of Gregorian themes owes much
to his teachers Tournemire and Vierne. He produced just a handful of
masterly pieces, among them the Suite (1934). Mention should also be
made of the Belgian Flor Peeters (1903–86), whose works combine both
French and Flemish characteristics with an appealing use of modal
harmony.
After a period of reaction against the symphonic organ, the late
twentieth century has seen a re-evaluation of the symphonic instruments
of Cavaillé-Coll and his followers alongside the organs of the classical age;
this, together with the construction of historical copies as well as the sym-
pathetic restoration of existing instruments, has led to a greater respect
for the romantic style of organ building and related composition, assur-
ing its place as an indispensable part of the French organ tradition.

Editions
All of the principal composers are published by the French publishing
houses Durand, Leduc, Lemoine and Hamelle. There are also American
editions of Vierne and Widor by Kalmus (which are photocopies of the
original French edition) of Franck by Dover (a copy of the Durand land-
scape edition) and a new edition of Widor by AR Editions (ed. Near).
Langlais is published by Leduc, Bornemann and Combre, Tournemire by
Heugel. The complete works of Boëly may be found in Bornemann. Of the
minor composers, some of Lefébure-Wely’s music is published by
Harmonia-Uitgave and Oxford University Press, and that of Fessy and
Beauvarlet-Charpentier by Chanvrelin.
 19 British organ music after 1800
Andrew McCrea

In 1812, A. F. C. Kollmann, the German-born theorist and organist at the

Royal German Chapel, St James’s Palace, summarised the state of organ
music in Britain as follows:
Though very fine compositions for the organ have been published by Mr. S.
Wesley, and by other able masters, they are still for manual keys only, and the
use of obligato [sic] pedals is not yet promoted by them. But a true idea of
the latter begins now to become pretty general, by increasing circulation of
Sebastian Bach’s Organ Trios, and of other works for the Organ, published
by Messrs. S. Wesley and Horn. (Kollmann 1812: 15)

Kollmann’s expression of confidence in Bachian textures as models for

the future development of a British organ repertoire is not surprising
given his profound interest in his countryman’s music. He found it
remarkable, however, that despite London’s importance as ‘the most
opulent city on the face of the globe’, there was not a single instrument
equal to the organs of Germany and the Netherlands, and that even some
of the most populous and richest churches in England lacked an organ.
He further lamented the general inadequacy of an organist’s remunera-
tion and concluded that organ playing as a ‘particular study’ was not
encouraged as on the continent (Kollmann 1812: 21).
Kollmann’s thirty-year residency in London notwithstanding, the
typical British organ must have remained ineffectual in his opinion when
compared with the continental giants at Haarlem, Weingarten and
Hamburg (Michaeliskirche), and the laissez-faire attitudes to the art of
organ playing perplexing. The extant 1764 John Byfield organ at St
Mary’s, Rotherhithe (restored by Noel Mander in 1959; see Figure 5.9,
p. 69) provides an excellent opportunity to see what Kollmann knew as a
large indigenous organ around the time of his arrival, an instrument fully
commensurate with the full and solo-stop voluntaries of Stanley, Boyce,
Walond and their imitators then in circulation. However, things were not
at a standstill at the time Kollmann was writing. The extant 1821 Henry
Lincoln organ built for St John’s Chapel, Bedford Row, London (now at
Thaxted Parish Church, Essex) shows – as the only largely unaltered organ
[279] from the opening of the nineteenth century – a stop-list similar to those of
280 Andrew McCrea

its forebears but with some innovatory shifts. Although not enough to
satisfy a European viewpoint, it did however demonstrate a change in
musical sensibilities. Its additional unison pedal pipes, fortification of 8′
Open Diapason tone, and shift away from the mounted Cornet stop –
used previously for movements which, according to William Crotch’s
contemporaneous comment, were ‘vulgar, trifling and ridiculous’ –
reflected orchestrally inspired concerns for strength and timbral cohesion
(Thistlethwaite 1990: 3–48).

Thaxted Parish Church, Essex, Henry Lincoln, 1821

Great Organ (FF,GG–f 3)
Open Diapason Front 8′
Open Diapason (C) 8′
Stopped Diapason 8′
Principal 4′
Twelfth 223 ′
Fifteenth 2′
Sesquialtra (FF–b) IV
Cornet (c1–f 3) IV–III
Mixture II
Trumpet 8′
Choir Organ (FF,GG–f 3)
Dulciana (FF–e grooved) 8′
Stopped Diapason 8′
Principal 4′
Flute 4′
Fifteenth 2′
Bassoon 8′
Swell Organ (e–f 3)
Open Diapason 8′
Stopped Diapason 8′
Principal 4′
Cremona 8′
Hautboy 8′
Trumpet 8′
Pedals (FF–c)
Pedal pipes 8′ [open wood pipes]
Swell/Great
Great/Pedal
Choir/Pedal

Nevertheless, Kollmann did acknowledge the skills of ‘numerous

able performers’. Though unnamed, William Russell (1777–1813) would
281 British organ music after 1800

presumably have ranked in his estimation as one of them. As a naturalised

subject, Kollmann must have been familiar with a professional like
Russell: perhaps a not untypical British ‘jobbing’ musician whose eclectic
way of life – not confined to one ‘particular study’ – was reflected in the
scope and proficiency of the music he wrote. Russell held a number of
church appointments, eventually becoming the organist at St Anne’s,
Limehouse in 1798 and (from 1801) at the Foundling Hospital. He fol-
lowed his teacher Samuel Arnold in mixing sacred and secular employ-
ment by becoming composer and pianist to Sadler’s Wells Theatre and
Covent Garden.
Samuel Wesley (1766–1837), a friend and colleague, lauded Russell’s
abilities as an organist and highlighted his commanding powers as an
improviser and accompanist. Commenting on the two sets of Twelve
Voluntaries, for the Organ or Piano Forte (1805 and 1812), he found them
to be ‘distinguished by Richness, Elegance and Variety’, and the fugues to
be the product of successful study.1 The substantial instruments (with
pull-down pedals) at both Limehouse and the Foundling Hospital,
together with Russell’s youthful immersion in the concert and theatrical
mainstream, assured the maintenance of his wide musical palette. The
eighth Voluntary from the first set provides an interesting bridge from the
eighteenth to the nineteenth centuries: a dignified Diapason movement
and a fugue surround a decorous Andantino for Hautboy and Cremona
stops. These stops are twice combined and supported by pedal to form a
trio texture (see Example 19.1). A separate stave for pedal was used by
Russell in the second set.
The first appearance of published organ music by Samuel Wesley, the
Op. 6 Voluntaries, occurred between 1805 and 1808.2 Following soon after
Russell’s first set, nine voluntaries were published separately during this
period and three more appeared between 1814 and 1817, the whole set
being reissued together as Twelve Voluntaries (1819). The composer’s
attempt to encapsulate many varied moods within this traditional genre
speaks of his broad interests and searching imagination. These multi-sec-
tional works, together with the Duett for the Organ of 1812, explore the
full extent of the organ of the period: slow and expressive movements for
the Diapasons, occasional trumpet tunes, cantabile movements for Swell
stops, and fugues for Full Organ (with or without the Trumpet) in the
spirited Handelian manner or in a graver, more archaic style.
Wesley’s taste for fluid changes of dynamic – approaching the supple-
ness of contemporary pianoforte writing – is clearly to be seen in the deft
manual changes and use of the swell box in the first and second move-
ments of Voluntary No. 5, and his sense of grave splendour – presumably
helped by his familiarity with the European sacred vocal music
 282 Andrew McCrea

Ex. 19.1 Russell, 2nd movement ‘Andantino’ of Voluntary No. 8 (Set 1)

20 Hautboy

Cremona

Hautboy

Pedal

performed at the Portuguese Embassy Chapel – can be heard in the C

minor ‘Prelude’ and ‘Fugue’ which stand as No. 3. Voluntary No. 9 in G
minor/major, and the later No. 10 in F major (1814) are both multi-
sectional but nonetheless coherent pieces ending in energetic fugues, and
No. 11 in A major is a grandiose prelude followed by a fugue whose tonal
excursions presage the chromatic writing of his son, Samuel Sebastian
Wesley, in his Introduction and Fugue [in C
minor] (published in 1836,
rev. 1869).
Wesley’s contribution to the British organ concerto should not be
overlooked.3 The last flowering of a genre closely associated with Handel
and his performances of oratorios, Wesley followed his brother Charles’s
lead (he composed fourteen concertos between 1775 and 1780) with five
concertos, of which only the second and third survive intact. The second
in D major (or possibly the first in B ?) was performed at the first per-
formance of Haydn’s Creation under Salomon. It was a popular work and
received a considerable number of performances and alterations over the
years, including the addition of Bach’s D major Fugue from Book I of the
‘48’ in 1809.
283 British organ music after 1800

This Concerto – once more with the Bach Fugue – made a further
appearance in 1810 at Covent Garden during a performance of The
Messiah, and a similar arrangement of Bach’s E  Prelude BWV 552i by
Wesley’s colleague Vincent Novello (1781–1861), for the former to play at
the Hanover Square Rooms in 1812, continued the fashion for orchestrat-
ing such works. Wesley’s introductory duet to Bach’s ‘St Anne’ Fugue
BWV 552ii, performed at the benefit concert for William Russell’s wife
and children in 1814, is a good example of the period’s sense of freedom in
reinventing repertoire, Wesley’s indefatigable advocacy of Bach’s music
and the ways in which the shortcomings of the British organ were circum-
vented (see Example 19.2).4
Thomas Adams (1785–1858) was renowned as both a performer and a
composer. Although he was revered as a virtuoso player of transcriptions
and as an extempore player, his published music for organ – apart from a
handful of pieces which exude the concert platform quite plainly – is
often extremely learned in character. The Six Fugues for the Organ or
Piano Forte (1820) demonstrate Adams’s knowledge of strict, book-learnt
fugal writing in preference to older, scantier imitative counterpoint. The
involved textures, dense and often awkward, imply the use of pedal pull-
downs as a helping ‘third’ hand, and the various subjects delineate quite
different moods in each case: the Handelian repeated idea of the third, the
solid stile antico of the fourth in F minor, and the lyrical grazioso theme of
the sixth in E major. Fugal writing became a central feature of his later
works, for example the Six Organ Pieces (l825) dedicated to Thomas
Attwood (1765–1838; composer, Organist of St Paul’s Cathedral, friend of
Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy and dedicatee of the latter’s Preludes and
Fugues Op. 37), as did Mozartian expressiveness in slower movements.
The ‘Pastorale’ of the second Organ Piece notates the pedal part on a
separate stave.
Keen to achieve a new status for an instrument increasingly seen as
inadequate, the organ building and organ playing progressives gradually
formulated their plans for larger and timbrally richer instruments.
Although inspired by renowned continental organs, such plans usually
showed their clear derivation from older home-grown instruments. The
dissemination of J. S. Bach’s organ works, and their adoption as models of
all that was laudable in writing for the organ (the earlier efforts of Samuel
Wesley and his so-called ‘Sebastian Squad’ coming to fruition with
Mendelssohn’s performances of Bach in England in the 1830s and 40s),
also contributed to the mood for change. Their importance as a catalyst
for the recalibration of organ technique and compositional aspirations
cannot be underestimated. Travel abroad played its part too. The London
critic Edward Holmes visited Dresden in 1827 and heard the famous
 284 Andrew McCrea

Ex. 19.2 S. Wesley, ‘Introduction to Bach’s “St Anne” Fugue’

Full

I Full

Full

II
Full

30

II

II

I Choir

Swell

II Choir
285 British organ music after 1800

Johann Schneider play Bach (fugues from the ‘48’). His first-hand oppor-
tunity to sample the capacity of the Silbermann organ to realise the poly-
phonic wholesomeness of Bach’s music and observe Schneider’s pedal
technique was something that Samuel Wesley’s generation had been
denied. Holmes remained in control of his enthusiasm however. Wishing
to preserve national identity, he asked if there existed a mechanic able to
unite this foreign magnificence with the ‘sweet cathedral [Holmes’ italics]
quality of tone for which those [organs] of the Temple, Westminster
Abbey, &c. are noted’ (Holmes 1828: 193). Builders like William Hill and
Frederick Davison were eventually in a position to make real Holmes’s
vision: practical men whose domestication of continental organs really
meant surpassing them in ‘purity, power, and grandeur of tone’ (Hill’s
words in his Circular, 1841), whilst defending what the preface to
Hamilton’s Catechism called ‘the superiority of make and voicing of the
pipes in the English organs’ (Warren 1842: iv).
The British organ world of the second half of the nineteenth century
was thus a changed place, and it displayed its metamorphosis in several
ways: through organs based on continental principles (often termed the
‘German System’: C rather than FF or GG manual and pedal compasses
(Thistlethwaite 1990: 181–214), coherent choruses augmented by addi-
tional colourstops, and equal temperament); through the availability of
German and French organ music (overtly didactic in the case of Rinck’s
Practical Organ School, edited by Samuel Wesley and W. T. Best, amongst
others); through works of more general inspiration to the British by
Mendelssohn, Hesse, Merkel and later Rheinberger; and through the
practitioners (composers for the organ were invariably organists) for
whom obbligato pedal playing was the norm.
Samuel Sebastian Wesley’s organ playing was considered to be ‘similar
to Mendelssohn’s, and . . . distinguished by its classical purity’ (The
Musical World 18, 1843: 311) but, as the heir to his father and Adams
(under whose influence he came in the 1830s), he was every inch the
culmination of indigenous trends as well as an important link to the
future. Eccentric in his retention of GG compass though involved in the
design of new organs, and vehement in his opposition to the introduction
of equal temperament despite the often acute chromaticism of his music,
he possessed a creative and high-principled musicianship – an inspira-
tion to his contemporaries and the next generation – which ultimately
outweighed the idiosyncrasies.
Wesley was unparalleled as an extempore player, his published music
often, as it were, ‘photographing’ the wayward part-playing, virtuosity
and spontaneous shift from idea to idea. The two sets of Three Pieces for a
Chamber Organ (1842) evince his spontaneity and search for an
286 Andrew McCrea

expressiveness (as in the Larghetto in F
minor from the second set) that
the organ had hitherto not shown at the hands of his father or Adams. A
young Hubert Parry heard Wesley improvise in 1865 and his report helps
us recapture the robust counterpoint and note-spinning which would
inevitably have had Bachian connotations:
He began the accompaniment in crotchets alone, and then gradually worked
into quavers, then triplets and lastly semiquavers. It was quite marvellous.
The powerful old subject came stalking in right and left with the running
accompaniment entwined with it – all in the style of old Bach.
(Graves 1926: I, 56–7)

Despite the republication of Wesley’s works with alterations for new C

compass organs, it was left to the new entrepreneurs of the organ, Henry
Smart (1813–79), W. T. Best (1826–97), and a host of others working in
the aftermath of Mendelssohn’s visits to England, including Edmund
Chipp, Edward J. Hopkins and Sir Frederick Gore Ouseley, to explore new
frontiers. Through their music they codified technique, implied good
taste and thereby allowed the reconstituted instrument to come of age.
For ‘particular study’, the lack of which Kollmann had earlier regretted,
the College of Organists (from 1893 the Royal College of Organists) was
founded in 1864.
Smart’s music was, like Wesley’s, born of improvisation. His biogra-
pher, William Spark (the organist, and with Smart, the designer of the new
Leeds Town Hall organ by Gray & Davison), said of his improvisation on
‘God Save the Queen’ at the opening of the Leeds organ in 1859 that it had:
the cunning hand of my old master, Dr. Samuel Sebastian Wesley; the subtle
craft of Professor Haupt, in Berlin; the brilliant fancy of Lefébure Wely; the
graceful melodies of Edward John Hopkins; [and] the thoughtful imagery of
Alexandre Guilmant. The variations did not include the customary scale and
arpeggio passages, but all were in due form and proportion – imitative,
brilliant, diatonic, chromatic, canonic, choral, and fugal. (Spark 1881: 209)
Leeds Town Hall, Gray & Davison, 1859
Great Organ (C–c4)
             
Double Diapason, metal 16′ Bourdon 16′
Open Diapason 18′ Flute à Pavillon 18′
Spitz Gamba 18′ Viola 18′
Stopped Diapason 18′ Flute Harmonic 18′
Octave 14′ Quint 1513 ′
Wald Flöte 14′ Octave 14′
Twelfth 1223 ′ Flute Octaviante 14′
Fifteenth 12′ Piccolo Harmonic 12′
Quint Mixture IV Cymbal III
Tierce Mixture V Furniture IV
287 British organ music after 1800

Great Organ (continued)

             
Trumpet 18′ Contra Trombone 16′
Clarion 14′ Trombone 18′
Trumpet Harmonic 18′
Tenor Trombone 14′
Swell Organ (C–c4) Choir Organ (C–c4)
Bourdon 16′ Sub Dulciana 16′
Open Diapason 18′ Open Diapason 18′
Stopped Diapason, bass Stopped Diapason, bass,
and treble 18′ C–B 18′
Keraulophon 18′ Rohr Flute, metal (c) 18′
Harmonic Flute 18′ Salcional 18′
Octave 14′ Viol de Gamba (c) 18′
Gemshorn 14′ Octave 14′
Wood Flute 14′ Suabe Flute 14′
Twelfth 1232 ′ Flute Harmonic 14′
Fifteenth 12′ Twelfth 1223 ′
Piccolo 12′ Fifteenth 12′
Sesquialtra IV Ottavino, wood 12′
Mixture III Dulciana Mixture V
Contra Fagotto 16′ Euphone, free reed 16′
Trumpet 18′ Trumpet 18′
Cornopean 18′ Clarion 14′
Oboe 18′
Vox Humana 18′
Clarion 14′
Echo Organ (C–c4)a Pedal Organ (C–f 1)
Bourdon 16′ Sub-Bass, open metal 32′
Dulciana 18′ Contra Bourdon, wood 32′
Lieblich Gedact, wood 18′ Open Diapason, wood 16′
Flute Traverso, wood 14′ Open Diapason, metal 16′
Flute d’Amour 14′ Violin, wood 16′
Dulciana Mixture IV Bourdon, wood 16′
2
Carillons (f–c4) Quint, open wood 103 ′
Octave 18′
Orchestral Solo Organ (C–c4) Violoncello 18′
1
Bourdon 18′ Twelfth 153 ′
Concert Flute Harmonic 18′ Fifteenth 14′
Piccolo Harmonic 14′ Mixture IV
Ottavino Harmonic 12′ Contra Bombard, free reed 32′
Clarinet 18′ Bombard 16′
Oboe 18′ Fagotto 16′
Cor Anglais and Bassoon 18′ Clarion 18′
Tromba 18′
Ophicleide 18′
288 Andrew McCrea

Orchestral Solo Organ (continued)

By mechanical combination:
Clarinet and Flute, in octaves
Oboe and Flute, in octaves
Clarinet and Bassoon, in octaves
Clarinet and Oboe, in octaves
Oboe and Bassoon, in octaves
Flute, Clarinet and Bassoon, in double octaves
Flute, Oboe and Bassoon, in double octaves
Solo to Great Swell pedals to Swell and Solo
Great to Solo Tremulant to Echo
Solo Super Octave Tremulant to Swell (by pedal)
Solo Sub Octave Ventil to Back Great
Swell to Great Pedal to couple Back Great to Swell
Swell to Great, Super Octave Crescendo and diminuendo pedals
Swell to Great, Sub Octave Wind couplers to composition
Swell to Choir pedals
Choir to Great
Great to Pedal
Swell to Pedal
Choir to Pedal
Solo to Pedal
Echo to Solo
Echo to Choir
Full Pedal Organ

4 adjustable composition pedals, each with an index for setting to desired

combination of stops

a The Echo Organ was part of the original scheme but was not added until
1865.

Smart was the master of short mood pieces. Not combined in the sense
of the Mendelssohn Sonatas Op. 65, nor really imitating Bachian move-
ments, Smart’s numerous preludes, postludes, marches, andantes, inter-
ludes (with mood indications to distinguish each piece) were written for
every occasion with simple, easily remembered forms.5 The layout of the
Allegro maestoso from the Fantasia with Choral (A Series of Organ Pieces
in Various Styles, No. 3) shows Smart to be completely at home with the
modern Pedal organ at the second appearance of the strong ritornello
theme, shown in Example 19.3.
The legacy left by Smart’s contemporary William Thomas Best is
centred more on his transcriptions,6 his organ methods and his edition of
Bach’s organ works (commenced in 1885), than his own pieces for organ.
His Sonatas in G major and D minor, and a miscellany of concert pieces
 289 British organ music after 1800

Ex. 19.3 Smart, Fantasia with Choral

15

do, however, epitomise his position as a concert organist: their unabstruse

structures, technically demanding writing and inventive use of organ
timbre were to have a lasting effect on original organ repertoire for
concert use. They may be little known today but the management of the
organ was substantially redefined by Best in these pieces (as it was in his
arrangements). S. S. Wesley might have been praised for his pedalling but
Best was a thoroughbred of a new generation, a generation with tech-
nique learnt at the cutting edge of choral accompaniment, arranging, and
concert hall entertainment. Technologically the organ changed rapidly
(pneumatic assistance and action, expanding tonal resources and a
plethora of registrational aids) but the high technical standards nurtured
by Best and his imitators aided their professional adaptation and survival.
Debates about the relative merits of transcriptions and original reper-
toire appeared at regular intervals. Sir Walter Parratt (1841–1924; organ-
ist of St George’s Chapel (1882), Master of the Queen’s Music (1893), and
influential organ teacher), whilst acknowledging Best’s performing skills,
thought transcriptions to be anachronistic examples of ‘misapplied skill’,
left over from a time with little original organ music, and moreover
lamented the less-than-enthusiastic reception for works by prominent
living composers; he includes Best with Sir Frederick Bridge, Edouard
Silas, Francis Gladstone, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, Sir C. Hubert Parry
and Sir Charles V. Stanford (Parratt 1892: 107). However, arrangements
did popularise large tracts of often inaccessible repertoire, and showy
concert divertissements, despite high-minded ideals, clearly had their
290 Andrew McCrea

aesthetic and secular role to play (see Clark 1994: 126–36). Town halls,
concert halls and eventually cinemas saw the benefits of a now unrepeat-
able acceptance of the organ and its music in the public’s collective
imagination. Distinctions blurred, and it comes as no surprise to read an
advertisement for Paxton’s The Organ Loft from the 1920s which claims to
be ‘a series of 12 organ volumes [mostly original music] suitable for
church, recital or cinema’. Calling for a better understanding of concert
repertoire in a lecture to the Royal College of Organists in 1910, the blind
organist Alfred Hollins urged more concert repertoire in order ‘to bring
out the capabilities of a modern concert organ to its fullest extent’. With
numerous others (including Hollins, Purcell J. Mansfield, William
Wolstenholme and William Faulkes), Edwin Lemare (1865–1934) and
later Percy Whitlock (1903–46), as inheritors of the W. T. Best tradition,
did just that with their concert overtures, sonatas, suites, scherzos, toc-
catas and innumerable characteristic pieces.
Lemare’s Symphony Op. 35 and Sonata No. 1 Op. 95 show, as does
Whitlock’s Sonata in C minor, a broad orchestral sweep in which quasi-
orchestral sonorities and differentiated moods take precedence over the-
matic processes. Although Whitlock’s harmonic language is more
chromatically charged, the Lemare and Whitlock Sonatas parallel one
another in many respects: an agitated animato opening movement (pref-
aced by a graver introduction), a slow lyrical second movement, a
cunning scherzo (see Example 19.4; Lemare uses his favourite sforzando
off-beat chords), and an accumulative finale.
A large number of Lemare’s characteristic pieces explore a variety of
techniques. His well-known Andantino in D  – later adapted as the song
‘Moonlight and Roses’ – uses a favourite device where the thumb is
required to play on the manual below the rest of the hand. Lemare’s
Summer Sketches Op. 73 also shows his advanced harmonic thinking and
a conception of organ sonority – rather redolent of some of Karg-Elert’s
atmospheric pieces – undoubtedly developed through the production of
his revered Wagner transcriptions.
The preference of Parratt’s ‘classicists’ for form and compositional
erudition over mood and virtuosity was the most significant difference
with the concert composers (Grace 1926–7). Traditional genres – the
prelude/fantasia/toccata and fugue, the chorale prelude and fantasia
(including works based on plainsong), and the ostinato work – were all
employed to ‘advance’ music and convey a lineage from the past, albeit an
imported Germanic past. Stanford’s early Prelude and Fugue in E minor
for instance,7 said to have been composed during his studies in Leipzig
(Grace 1926–7: 1/2, 44), encapsulates a new ‘symphonic’ fluency and
spontaneity which many of his older contemporaries were unable to
 291 British organ music after 1800

Ex. 19.4 Lemare, Scherzo from Sonata No. 1

III Swell (Celeste, Lieb 8′, Viol d’Orchestre & Trem.)

II Great (Wald Flöte 8′) - III
I Choir (Soft 8′ & 4′) - III
Pedal (Bourdon, Open Wood 16′ & soft 8′) - III

Scherzo
Giocoso = 108

III

(Open in) (add Open)

simile

achieve in their formularistic schemes (see Example 19.5, showing the

openings of (a) the Prelude and (b) the Fugue).
The effortless lyricism of the Prelude (the theme is constantly ‘re-
orchestrated’ against a moto perpetuo semiquaver figure) and the more
solid and thematically reminiscent Fugue testify to a creativity in writing
for the organ which came to full fruition in the better-known Fantasia
and Toccata in D minor Op. 57. Here adventurous harmonies, Brahmsian
melodiousness, and wit meet in thrilling proportions. By contrast, Parry’s
free works, the Fantasia and Fugue in G major and the Toccata and Fugue
in G ‘The Wanderer’, with Reger-like fantasy and Brahmsian rhythmical
skill, have much of the ‘Bach reborn’ feeling about them.
With the Sixteen Preludes ‘Founded on Melodies from the English and
Scottish Psalters’ by Charles Wood and Parry’s two sets of Chorale
Preludes, the chorale prelude also became a firm fixture in composers’
thinking for organ. A result of an increasing awareness on the part of
organists of examples by Bach, and an increased appreciation of
hymnody, these preludes were quite apart from the introductions and
interludes to metrical psalm tunes of previous generations and played a
joint role in both church service and recital. Harold Darke with his Three
Chorale Preludes and Ralph Vaughan Williams in his Three Preludes
 292 Andrew McCrea

Ex. 19.5 Stanford, Prelude and Fugue in E minor

(a)
Andante con moto
Gt

Ch. Gt 16ftt & 4ftt coupled to Sw.

Sw.

(b)
Moderato
293 British organ music after 1800

Founded on Welsh Hymn Tunes confirmed the genre. Parry’s Chorale

Fantasias and the pieces based on plainsong by Sir Edward Bairstow,
Prelude on ‘Vexilla Regis’ and Toccata-Prelude on ‘Pange Lingua’, are some
of the most powerful expositions on liturgical melodies in the British
repertoire.
The sonata, and with it the ethos of presenting and developing themes,
occupied many composing for organ at the turn of the century. More than
for Smart’s generation or the concert composer-organists, it was the
authority of the form and the transformation processes it encouraged
which were of importance. The Sonata in C
minor Op. 5 by Basil
Harwood, from 1886, is redolent of Rheinberger – not particularly sur-
prising given the popularity of the latter in Britain – in its textures and
structure, particularly in the fugal third movement, and in its inclusion of
a plainsong melody as extra-thematic material. Harwood’s allusion to
orchestral sonorities is essentially an organist looking outwards rather
than an orchestral composer looking inwards. The Sonata in G major Op.
28 by Sir Edward Elgar is a unique case of the latter; the language, rhetoric
and pacing are thoroughly orchestral throughout, so much so that
detailed echoes of it in the music of others are hard to find. The five
Sonatas by Stanford (published between 1917 and 1921) and Bairstow’s
Sonata in E  also contributed further interpretations of the genre.
Of those writing for the organ in the years between the Wars, it was
Herbert Howells who remained unparalleled. A skilled organist and, cru-
cially, a composer whose horizons extended well beyond the organ loft, he
was able to synthesise many elements towards a highly personal but pro-
foundly idiomatic organ style. Again, as with S. S. Wesley, many traits were
born of improvisation: the supple and rapid shifts in dynamic (available
with the symphonic organs of Willis, Hill and Harrison), the expansion of
a single seed-like idea over long periods, and the ability to encapsulate – in
the sense of a tone poem – an atmospheric ‘programme’. Filled with the
contours of Elizabethan polyphony, but at times French in its impression-
istic harmonies, or bitingly twentieth-century in its use of dissonance,
Howells’s home-grown music has captured the imaginations of countless
British organists. His Psalm Preludes, in two sets, and the Six Pieces convey
the feeling of large pieces but in microcosm, as do the aptly-named Three
Rhapsodies. Example 19.6 is taken from the first Rhapsody’s crescendo
where the D  tonality is grandly asserted in glutinous but shifting chords;
the texture could not be thicker, the ‘tenor’ right foot in the pedal binding
the tutti together.
Curiosity about other cultures has always remained deeply rooted in
the British psyche. Like Gauntlett and Smart in the 1840s and 50s
(through their adopted builders), a few individuals from the 1930s
 294 Andrew McCrea

Ex. 19.6 Howells, Rhapsody No. 1

con anima
3

allarg. a tempo

3
30

onwards – in particular the organist Ralph Downes – transmitted ‘classi-

cal’ organ building principles to Britain (see Chapter 6). Ultimately it was
not so much the German Orgelbewegung instrument which established
itself as de rigueur but an eclectic, all-purpose instrument whose sonor-
ities – more often than not a Dutch/German principal chorus with French
reedwork – were grafted onto the existing format. The obverse of changes
a century before, it gave sound precedence over technology; a return to
mechanical action and a more uncompromising policy on classical
organ-building (as with Maurice Forsyth-Grant) did not come about
until the 1960s and 1970s. The eclectic style can be seen in the following
specification of the Walker organ of 1952 designed by Downes for
Brompton Oratory:

London, Brompton Oratory, J. W. Walker & Sons, 1952

Great Organ (C–a3) Choir Organ (C–a3)
Quintadena 16′ Gedackt 18′
Principal 18′ Principal 14′
Rohrflöte 18′ Rohrflöte 14′
295 British organ music after 1800

Great Organ (continued) Choir Organ (continued)

Octave 14′ Octave 12′
Gemshorn 14′ Waldflöte 12′
Quint 1232 ′ Larigot 1113 ′
Superoctave 12′ Sesquialtera II
Tertian II Scharf IV
Mixture IV–V Cromorne 18′
Trumpet 18′ Tremulant
Swell Organ (C–a3) Pedal Organ (C–g1)
Baarpyp 18′ Principal 16′
Quintadena 18′ Sub Bass 16′
Viola 18′ Quintflöte 1023 ′
Celeste 18′ Octave 18′
Principal 14′ Gedackt 18′
Gedacktflöte 14′ Rohrquint 1513 ′
Nazard 1223 ′ Octave 14′
Octave 12′ Nachthorn 12′
Gemshorn 12′ Mixture IV
Tierce 1135 ′ Bombarde 16′
Mixture IV Trumpet 18′
Cymbel III Trumpet 12′
Echo Trumpet 18′
Vox Humana 18′
Tremulant
Great Sub Octave Great and Pedal Combinations Coupled
Choir to Pedal
Great to Pedal
Swell to Pedal
Swell to Great
Swell to Choir
Choir to Great

In tandem with post-war developments in organ building, British

composers for the organ responded with works which not only reflected
the compositional mainstream (quartal harmony, free chromatic
counterpoint, serial techniques, rhythmic experimentation etc.) but were
distilled from the keenly voiced timbres classical voicing brought (e.g.
characteristic reed and mutation stops, strong mixtures and ‘terraced’
choruses), but were clothed in genres which reunited the organ with its
pre-romantic past. The organ has hardly been at the forefront of musical
change in Britain, but the degree to which composers for it either took a
clear internationalist stance during this period,8 or sought, whilst still
adapting to external currents in some way, to connect themselves with a
more home-grown outlook, now provides a useful differentiation when
looking back on the immediate past.
296 Andrew McCrea

Belonging to the first group, Peter Racine Fricker made his mark
during the 1950s and 60s with works inspired by the classical organ’s
contrapuntal clarity and coruscatory power. His Ricercare Op. 40, written
for the Schnitger organ at Zwolle (The Netherlands), centres on the the-
matic expansion (in a duet, trio and fantasy-recitative) of a germinal
motive. Fricker’s granite-like ‘emancipated’ harmonies in the Ricercare
reappear in the Praeludium Op. 60. The gestural spelling-out of chords
and the linear trio sections in the latter piece demonstrate his preoccupa-
tion with intervals and their ability, as building blocks, to expand or con-
tract into melodic lines or chords respectively.
The 1960s brought a number of experimental compositions for the
organ. Born of a desire to be connected with the continental avant-garde,
and making distinct departures from established neo-classical ‘modern’
styles, they now appear somewhat solitary works in their avoidance of
traditional organ textures and techniques; for the most part they remain
unknown. Peter Maxwell Davies ends his carol cycle O Magnum
Mysterium with one such work, the Fantasia on O Magnum Mysterium, in
which he unites his early fascinations with serial and medieval tech-
niques. With the manual and pedals freed from traditional roles, the intri-
cate interlocking of melodic lines and chords (three- to five- part chords
are frequently used in the pedal) – all originating in the plainsong frag-
ment – draws the listener into an inner world of varying densities.
Nicholas Maw in his Essay and Hugh Wood in his Capriccio Op. 8 both
employ serialist principles to generate the material and diffuse it (like
Davies) across a wide area of pitch-space. Wood’s use of glittering
figuration with fluctuating metre and lyrical melody in Capriccio has
something of Messiaen about it. John Lambert similarly disperses his
thoughts across a wide ‘pitch-canvas’ in the Organ Mass; contrapuntal or
chordal, the finely-chiselled webs of sound are here synonymous with the
colours of the neo-classical organ. Each of these works, even if highly
organised, furthered a cause, that of liberating pitch, timbre and rhythm
from well-established routines. As an antidote to such organised and
‘constructed’ music, aleatoric principles have seen little impact. Games by
Paul Patterson, one of the few works to employ aleatoricism, isolates (in
any order the player wishes) musical elements so as to concentrate on
each one separately.
Sebastian Forbes has provided a small but individual contribution to
the organ repertoire with works which revel in the pointillist character of
the neo-classical organ. Concerned with kaleidoscopic figuration and
uncompromising contrasts, the Sonata, Haec Dies and Capriccio all
delight in linear or chordal patterns which change articulation, speed,
and registration. The Sonata, first performed in 1969 on the Flentrop
297 British organ music after 1800

organ at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, London, has a clear sense of sonata-
form symmetry and, with its fragmentary opening presented with subtle
variations in speed, is reminiscent of Tippett’s ground-breaking Piano
Sonata No. 2 of 1962.
A less acerbic (and therefore more accessible) stance since the 1960s
has come from those composers who have appeared to remain on accept-
able stylistic territory, and thus in tune with established traditions.
Incorporating ‘modernisms’ but, through the frequency of their publica-
tions, establishing their own lingua franca, they have provided a body of
music which is informed by the sounds and forms of neo-classicism but
equally suitable for instruments built in other traditions. Kenneth
Leighton, William Mathias and John McCabe in their early published
works for organ (e.g. Prelude, Scherzo and Passacaglia Op. 41, Partita Op.
19 and Sinfonia Op. 6 respectively) might all show their working familiar-
ity with the sound-world of Hindemith or Bartók, but they refuse to deny
a pragmatism from closer to home. Leighton’s composition is notably
abstract but passionate in its lyrical working-out of minute motivic ideas
in each movement, and the Partita by Mathias is stylish in its evocation of
the baroque suite. Through their accessible writing and considerable
involvement with church music, they have become the epitome of British
modernity. Malcolm Williamson, in his Symphony, also attempted to
balance strict compositional procedures (a chromatic chant-like melody
is used as a series, contour, mode, and ‘rhythmic regulator’) with varied
and familiar styles; a strong visionary element has been frequently
present in his music.
Giles Swayne, Judith Weir and Francis Pott emerged as organ compos-
ers during the 1980s. Pott’s monumental Christus: Passion Symphony in
Five Movements is a programmatic work with evocative, rather expres-
sionistic mood changes cast in predominantly chromatic and contra-
puntal music, and Swayne’s minimalistic Riff-Raff taps into a major
contemporary current. The duet repertoire has been augmented by two
British works in recent times: Leighton’s Martyrs, based on the Scottish
Psalter melody, and the mesmeric Kyoto by a pupil of Leighton, Stephen
Oliver.

Editions
Helpful in providing an accessible picture of early nineteenth-century
British repertoire, Novello’s recent English Organ Music series (ed. R.
Langley, 1988) – particularly vols. 6–10 – and the same editor’s editions of
William Russell and Samuel Wesley (Oxford University Press, 1980 and
298 Andrew McCrea

1981 respectively) give useful cross-sections of organ styles and genres.

Much of Samuel Wesley’s music, along with that of many other nine-
teenth-century British composers, remains unavailable in modern edi-
tions, though his Duett for the Organ is available from Novello. For the
twentieth-century repertoire, the following list indicates the publishers of
the principal composers mentioned in the chapter: Ascherberg,
Hopwood & Crew (Lambert), Augener (Bairstow, Howells, Stanford),
Boosey & Hawkes (Maw), Novello (Darke, Elgar, Howells, Leighton,
Lemare, McCabe, Oliver, Parry, Swayne, Williamson, H. Wood), Oxford
University Press (Bairstow, Forbes, Fricker, Mathias, Whitlock), Schott
(Fricker, Harwood, Lemare, Maxwell Davies), Stainer & Bell (Stanford,
Vaughan Williams, C. Wood), UMP (Pott) and Josef Weinberger
(Patterson). Some major composers have been granted retrospective
albums of representative works (e.g. Novello’s Parry Albums) or reissues
of significant works (e.g. Whitlock’s Sonata by Basil Ramsey in associa-
tion with the Whitlock Trust).
 20 North American organ music after 1800
Douglas Reed

The early nineteenth century

In her major study of American organ building, Orpha Ochse notes that
‘the early nineteenth-century American organ was an instrument
without a repertoire’ (Ochse 1975: 111ff.). Although various method
books included examples of original organ compositions, improvisation
was a mainstay of church organists well into the nineteenth century.
Nineteenth-century organ builders inherited traditions of eighteenth-
century organ building in the English and German styles. David
Tannenberg’s last organ, built in 1804 for Christ Lutheran Church, York,
Pennsylvania, shows his German heritage (Armstrong 1967: 110). An
early three-manual instrument by William Goodrich of Boston for the
First Presbyterian Church, New Orleans, Louisiana (1815–20) shows
English influence (Owen 1979: 425):
Great: 8.8.4.223 .2.III (bass).IV (treble)
Swell: 8.8.4.8.8
Choir: 8.8.4.8

The roots of eclecticism, the juxtaposition and reconciliation of

diverse elements, run deep in American society. The mixture of various
national traditions, fascination with technical complexity, innovation
and experimentation (‘tinkering’) were natural parts of an organ culture
separated from the regional traditions of Europe. For example, William
Goodrich owned a copy of Dom Bédos’s L’Art du Facteur d’Orgues. With
regard to organ building traditions in New England, Owen points out
that ‘the teachers were American and the subject matter was English, but
the textbook was French’ (Owen 1979: 45).
By mid-century, American-born musicians had written and pub-
lished a repertoire of literature and instruction books (Owen 1979: 109ff.;
Owen 1975–91). American Church Organ Voluntaries, published in 1856
by A. N. Johnson, was the first anthology of organ music compiled and
published by an American-born composer. The volume includes original
compositions by the editor and European composers, indications for the
proper use of the printed selections for opening and closing voluntaries,
[299] sample organ stop lists, and instructions on the proper use of the stops.
 300 Douglas Reed

Ex. 20.1 Johnson, Voluntary No. 1

Johnson begins the anthology with simple diatonic music arranged in

short, repetitive phrases (see Example 20.1). He gradually introduces
imitation and chromaticism, manual indications, dynamics, use of the
swell, specific stop indications and the use of organ pedals.
Like Johnson’s Voluntaries, much early nineteenth-century American
printed repertoire was simple and predictable, attributes which made the
music practical for keyboard players of less than advanced skills, for
limited instruments of whatever style, and for congregations distrustful
of ‘display’.
The secular use of the organ expanded by mid-century with the
construction of concert halls with organs. Like the church organ, the
concert organ often accompanied vocal music. However, it was in the
concert hall that music like The Thunderstorm by Thomas Ryder
(1836–87) could flourish (Owen 1975–91, vol. IV). Ryder’s detailed
instructions for slowly pulling and pushing stops while sustaining several
adjacent notes (a ‘cluster’ in late twentieth-century terminology) show a
type of invention not to be heard again in American organ composition
until the 1970s (see Example 20.2).

The later nineteenth century

By 1846, Boston had numerous three-manual church organs (Ochse
1975: 115), and by 1853 the city had its first four-manual concert organ,
built by E. & G. G. Hook (Owen 1979: 447). Although the stop-list of the
1864 E. & G. G. Hook in Mechanics’ Hall, Worcester, Massachusetts is
conservative compared with the larger Boston Music Hall organ built in
1863 by the German Walcker company (Owen 1979: 459ff), the Worcester
organ still plays in its original location as restored in 1982 (Edwards 1992:
205).
Mechanics’ Hall, Worcester, Massachusetts
E. & G. G. Hook, Opus 334, 1864
Great (C–a3) Swell (C–a3)
Open Diapason 16′ Bourdon 16′
Open Diapason 18′ Open Diapason 18′
 301 North American organ music after 1800

Ex. 20.2 Ryder, The Thunderstorm

“While holding the Pedals, quickly shut off swell stops, draw Gt to Swell coupler, then hold the notes
as below on the Great manual and slowly draw the designated stop, then push back slowly.
N.B. Be sure to hold the keys before drawing the stops.”

“Draw Sw. St. Diap. then “Draw Sw. St. Diap. then add Sw. Op. Diap;
shut off again.” then shut off Op. Diap. followed by St. Diap.”

“Gt C. D. C together”

“Ped.” “Leave Ped:”

“Draw Gt Op. Diap. clear out and

“Draw Gt Op. Diap. half out and back.” back, two or three times, before
going to next measure.”

“While holding Ped: quickly

draw full organ, without
coupling pedals to keys”

“Draw full Ped:”

Great (continued) Swell (continued)

Viola Da Gamba 18′ Stopped Diapason 18′
Stopped Diapason 18′ Viol d’Amour 18′
Claribella 18′ Principal 14′
Principal 14′ Flute Octaviante 14′
Flute Harmonique 14′ Violin 14′
Twelfth 1232 ′ Twelfth 1223 ′
Fifteenth 12′ Fifteenth 12′
Mixture III Mixture V
Trumpet 16′ Trumpet 16′
Trumpet 18′ Cornopean 18′
Clarion 14′ Oboe 18′
Clarion 14′
Vox Humana 18′
302 Douglas Reed

Solo (C–a3) Choir (C–a3)

Philomela 18′ Aeolina & Bourdon 16′
Salicional 18′ Open Diapason 18′
Hohl Pfeife 14′ Melodia 18′
Picolo 12′ Dulciana 18′
Tuba 18′ Keraulophon 18′
Corno Inglese 18′ Flauto Traverso 14′
Violin 14′
Picolo 12′
Pedale (C–f 1) Mixture III
Open Diapason 16′ Clarinet 18′
Violone 16′
Bourdon 16′
Violoncello 18′
Quinte 1034 ′ [sic]
Flute 18′
Posaune 16′

Mechanical Registers Combination Pedals

Swell to Great Coupler Great Manual Forte
Swell to Choir Coupler Great Manual Piano
Choir to Great Coupler Swell Manual Forte
Solo to Great Coupler Swell Manual Piano
Choir to Solo Coupler Choir Manual Forte
Great to Pedale Coupler Choir Manual Piano
Choir to Pedale Coupler (Pedale) operates on Open
Choir to Pedale Coupler Diapason, Quinte, Flute
(super octaves) and Posaune, and
Solo to Pedale Coupler with the aid of Ventils,
Swell to Pedale Coupler allows various
Tremulant (‘Swell’) combinations.
Bellows signal Couplers Forte
Pedale Check Couplers Piano
Ventil (for Open Diapason in ‘Great to Pedale’ Coupler
Pedale)
Ventil (for Quinte, Flute, and Balanced Swell Pedal, with
Posaune in Pedale) double action

Like many of their contemporaries, John Knowles Paine (1839–1906) and

Dudley Buck (1839–1909) studied in both America and Germany. Paine’s
early works, performed and published as early as 1861, present a dramat-
ically different picture of organ composition and repertoire from
American Church Organ Voluntaries (1856). Marked by fluent if predict-
able countrapuntal writing, Paine’s various sets of ‘concert’ variations
require an advanced manual and pedal technique. Buck’s The Last Rose of
Summer (Op. 59, publ. 1877) employs imitation, species counterpoint
303 North American organ music after 1800

Figure 20.1 The organ built by Hook & Hastings of Boston for the Centennial Exhibition in
Philadelphia (1876). It was provided with walkways and staircases, and there were glass panels
in the sides of some of the wind-chests so that the public could inspect the mechanism. There
were four keyboards and forty-one stops, including a two-stop Solo Organ.

and canon to generate a concise and dramatic form (see Example 20.3 for
the opening of the Introduction).
Variations II, IV and VII call for high levels of virtuosity in the manual
and pedal departments. Articulation marks throughout the piece show
the composer’s regard for the possibilities of contemporary mechanical
actions. The introduction, statement of the theme and penultimate
(minor) variation call for subtle or complex stop changes which beg for
an adjustable electrical combination action, the development of which
was but a few years away.
 304 Douglas Reed

Ex. 20.3 Buck, Introduction from The Last Rose of Summer

GREAT ORGAN: Op. Diap. Gamba. Flute 8 ft Prin. and Flute 4 ft

SWELL ORGAN: Vox Humana (or Oboe) and St. Diap.
REGISTRATION:
CHOIR ORGAN: Dulciana and (or) Stopped Diap.
PEDAL ORGAN: 16 and 8 ft coupled to Gr. and Ch.

Introduction Con moto rall.

L.H.
Gt

4 ft off

CharlesIves(1874–1954) composedthefamiliarVariationson‘America’
in 1891. Irreverent humour, daring key changes and polytonal additions
dating from 1894 distinguish the work, the high point of a genre of later
nineteenth-century American compositions based on familiar hymn, folk
andpatriotictunes(Arnold1984I:272).TheMechanics’HallHookorganis
anidealmediumfortheperformanceof thisrepertoire.HilborneRoosevelt
(1849–86),who had used electricity in an American organ action as early as
1869, had become the most highly respected and innovative American
builder by the 1880s. His organ for the 1876 Philadelphia Centennial
Exposition (Figure 20.1) employed adjustable combination action, elec-
tric key action and electric motors to supply the wind (Ochse 1975: 267–8;
for the organ at Great Barrington, Mass. of 1883, see Figure 5.15). The
Farrand & Votey company, who bought the Roosevelt patents, built two
instruments for Chicago’s 1893 Columbian Exposition,the larger of which
was purchased by the University of Michigan (Wilkes 1995: 1). This organ,
like the entire Exposition,featured state-of-the-art use of electricity.

The early twentieth century

Composers whose careers bridged the turn of the century include George
Chadwick (1854–1931), Arthur Foote (1853–1937) and Horatio Parker
(1853–1919). Parker’s Canon in the Fifth, Op. 68 No. 1 and Revery, Op. 66
No. 2 show imaginative command of contrapuntal and chromatic musical
language. In the 1910s and 20s, many cities built municipal organs, sources
of entertainment, education and civic pride for many people. Often pre-
dating the establishment of community orchestras, municipal organs
were ideally suited to transcriptions of orchestral, vocal and piano music.
Related developments included the unit organ, promoted by Robert Hope
Jones, and the theatre organ, perfected by the Wurlitzer company.
305 North American organ music after 1800

Transcriptions and improvised music for silent films did not consti-
tute the entire repertoire of the orchestral organists, however. Joseph
Clokey (1890–1960), one of the leading composers of original music for
the orchestral organ, wrote several suites which provide a hint of the
folksy, popular spirit of much repertoire of this period. His Fireside
Fancies Op. 29, include the following musical vignettes: A Cheerful Fire;
The Wind In The Chimney; Grandfather’s Wooden Leg (Humoresque);
Grandmother, Knitting; The Cat (She purrs, meows, takes a sip of milk,
and goes to sleep.); Old Aunty Chloe; The Kettle Boils.
In the 1890s, Ernest M. Skinner (1866–1960) began work with the
Hutchings organ factory of Boston, a firm well known for its use of elec-
tric actions. Skinner, whose work demonstrated the highest artistic ideals,
became the most successful and respected American organ builder of the
early twentieth century. He invented numerous organ stops (Erzähler,
Kleine Erzähler, French Horn, English Horn, Dulcet II, Corno di Bassetto,
Heckelphone, Flauto Mirabilis, Flute Triangulaire, and others) which
suited the art of the orchestral transcription, contemporary organ litera-
ture and contemporary worship patterns. Key concepts were beauty (as
perceived by musicians of the time), mystery and unfocused sound. True
to the American spirit of reconciliation of contrasting points of view,
Skinner sought an all-purpose organ which could convincingly play liter-
ally any music including the masterworks of J. S. Bach.
Skinner built major instruments for churches and educational institu-
tions across the United States. His art reached its zenith in three large
organs built in 1928: University of Chicago (Rockefeller Memorial
Chapel); University of Michigan (Hill Auditorium); and Princeton
University Chapel. Of these three, the Hill Auditorium organ was
uniquely situated in an ideal placement where it spoke directly into a res-
onant 5,000-seat hall. In Skinner’s words, ‘The acoustics are magnificent.
The organ is of the first magnitude which, together with the acoustical
advantages, presents the realization of an ideal rarely found’ (Skinner
1981: 188). A two-page advertisement in The Diapason magazine pro-
claimed that the ‘Renaissance of Mixtures’ reached ‘a culmination’ in the
Hill Auditorium organ (Holden 1985: 127).
University of Michigan, Hill Auditorium
E. M. Skinner, 1928
All manual compasses: C–c4
Pedal Compass: C–g1

Great Organ (61 notes) Swell Organ (73 notes)*** Choir Organ (73 notes)***
Violone 32′ Dulciana 16′ Contra Gamba 16′
Diapason 16′ Bourdon 16′ Diapason 18′
Bourdon 16′ Diapason 18′ Concert Flute 18′
Diapason 18′ Clarabella 18′ Gamba 18′
Diapason 18′ Rohrflöte 18′ Dulcet II 18′
306 Douglas Reed

**Diapason 18′ Viol d’Orchestre 18′ Dulciana 18′

Stopped Diapason 18′ Voix Celeste 18′ Kleine Erzähler 18′
**Claribel Flute 18′ Echo Dulcet 18′ Gemshorn 14′
Erzähler 18′ *String Organ 18′ Flute 14′
*String Organ VI 18′ Flauto Dolce 18′ Nazard 1232 ′
Quint 1513 ′ Flute Celeste 18′ Piccolo 12′
Octave 14′ Octave 14′ Tierce 1135 ′
Principal 14′ Flute Triangulaire 14′ Septieme 1171 ′
Flute 14′ Unda Maris II 14′ *String Mixture
Tenth 1315 ′ Flautino 12′ Heckelphone (Solo) 16′
Twelfth 1223 ′ Mixture V 12′ Bassoon 16′
Fifteenth 12′ Cornet V 18′ French Horn (Solo) 18′
Mixture V 12′ *String Mixture English Horn 18′
Harmonics IV 1153 ′ Posaune 16′
Harmonica 18′
*String Mixture IV 8′ Trumpet 18′
Heckelphone (Solo) 18′
Trombone 16′ Cornopean 18′
Bassoon 18′
**Orchestral Trumpet 18′
Clarion 14′
Clarinet 18′
Tromba 18′
Oboe 18′ Celesta
Clarion 14′
Vox Humana 18′ Harp
Celesta Tremolo Tremolo
Harp
Piano 18′
Piano 14′

Solo Organ (73 notes)*** Pedal Organ (32 notes)

Stentorphone 18′ Diapason 32′
Flauto Mirabilis 18′ Violone 32′
Gamba 18′ Diapason 16′
*String Organ VI 18′ Diapason (bearded)16′
Octave 14′ Diapason (Gt) 16′
Orchestral Flute 14′ Violone 16′
*String Mixture IV Gamba (Ch) 16′
Contra Tuba 16′
Dulciana (Sw) 16
Tuba Mirabilis 18′
Bourdon 16′
Tuba 18′
Echo Lieblich (Sw) 16′
Clarion 14′
Quint 1032 ′
Heckelphone 16′ Principal 18′
Heckelphone 18′ Octave 18′
Corno di Bassetto 18′ Gedeckt 18′
French Horn 18′ Still Gedeckt (Sw) 18′
Orchestral Oboe 18′ Cello 18′
Chimes Twelfth 1513 ′
Tremolo Flute 14′
Tierce 1315 ′
Echo Septieme 1227 ′
Gedeckt 18′ Mixture IV 12′
Muted Viol 18′ Bombarde 32′

Unda Maris 18′ Ophicleide 16′

Vox Humana 18′ Posaune (Sw) 16′
Bassoon (Ch) 16′
Quint Trombone 1023 ′
(Gt)
* In separate box, floating Tromba 18′

** Enclosed Clarion 14′


Heavy wind Bass Drum
*** In expression boxes Tympani [roll]
Piano 16′
Piano 18′
Chimes
307 North American organ music after 1800

A generation of major American composers born around the turn of

the century wrote a small amount of organ repertoire: Virgil Thomson
(1896–1989), Aaron Copland (1900–90), Roy Harris (1898–1979),
Harry Partsch (1901–74), Walter Piston (1894–1976), Roger Sessions
(1896–1985), Wallingford Riegger (1885–1961), Douglas Moore (1893–
1969), Quincy Porter (1897–1966), Henry Cowell (1897–1965). The most
significant item of this repertoire is Copland’s Symphony for Organ and
Orchestra, commissioned by Nadia Boulanger for her American concert
tour in 1925 (Kratzenstein 1980: 183).
Unlike his contemporaries, Leo Sowerby (1895–1968) wrote a large
repertoire of organ music (Crociata 1995: 53). His early works are idio-
matically related to the sounds of the contemporary organ epitomised by
the work of E. M. Skinner. Requiescat in Pace (1920) is a highly motivic,
concise statement in honour of those who perished in World War I. It calls
for dynamic extremes (ppp to fff), a wash of delicate orchestral colour, a
variety of string tone at 16′, 8′ and 4′ pitch, chimes, and celesta. The
musical effect depends on seamless, gradual crescendos and diminuendos
which demand the availability of numerous combination pistons and
multiple swell boxes. Quick successions of unusual combinations (e.g.
Dulcet 8′
Picc. 2′ and Voix Celeste, Vox Humana, Flautino 2′, Trem.)
presuppose the availability of adjustable combination pistons and una-
gressive upperwork (see Example 20.4).
Sowerby’s Canadian contemporary Healey Willan (1880–1968), born
in England, left a number of organ works including the massive
Introduction, Passacaglia, and Fugue (1916), a major landmark in
Canadian organ literature.
By the 1920s, a few leading American organists were calling for alter-
natives to orchestral organ sound and for a return to clearer ensembles for
the performance of Bach and other early music (see Owen 1986). The
demise of the orchestral organ and its literature, beginning in the 1930s,
coincided with the rise of historically oriented performance. Consisting
primarily of historic repertoire, Alexandre Guilmant’s recital series for
the 1904 St Louis World’s Fair anticipated what would become the
primary focus of performance repertoire by mid-century (Kroeger 1904).
Elements which contributed to the development of historically oriented
music making and organ building reform included: (1) rising standards
of music education at the growing number of university music schools
and conservatories throughout the United States and Canada, (2)
increased availability of historic manuscripts and printed music, (3)
improved electronic communication including radio broadcasts which
began in the 1920s and (4) concerts and teaching by visiting European
organists (Guilmant, 1903; Bonnet, 1917; Dupré, 1921).
 308 Douglas Reed

Ex. 20.4 Sowerby, Requiescat in Pace

Reduce Sw. Solo quietly

Sw. Chimes

Sw.

3 Voix Celeste
Sw. Vox Humana
Reduce Ped. Flautino 2' Trem.

calm and peacefully

Solo Sw. Soft Flutes 8' + 4'
Chimes

Flautino 2' off

Sw. Sw.

Ch. Celesta 8'

Ped. Soft 16'
Ch. to Ped.
Sw. to Ped. off

The Method of Organ Playing by Harold Gleason (1892–1980), former

professor of organ at the Eastman School of Music of the University of
Rochester, New York, illustrates the early emphasis on an historic and
scholarly approach to music making on the organ. The Method incorpo-
rated much early music, information about historic instruments and per-
formance practices, and contemporary repertoire in its many editions
from the mid-1930s onwards.
In 1927 Ernest Skinner invited G. Donald Harrison of the English
Willis firm to join his company. The ‘Renaissance of Mixtures’ for the
Michigan organ was only a hint of the revolution at hand. Under
Harrison’s direction, the American Classic Organ as built by the
Aeolian–Skinner company reached early maturity in less than a decade
(Callahan 1990). Harrison created an all-purpose instrument with a
decidedly French accent which would perform all historic and contempo-
rary music in a convincing if not precisely authentic manner. The stop-
list of the Aeolian–Skinner organ built for Strong Auditorium, University
of Rochester is a prime example of the American Classic style as it had
developed by 1937 (Ochse 1975: 383).
309 North American organ music after 1800

Strong Auditorium, University of Rochester

Aeolian–Skinner (G. Donald Harrison), 1937
2
Great: 16.8.8.8.8.4.4.23 .2.2.IV.IV.III
2 3 1
Rück-Positiv: 8.8.4.4.23 .2.15 .13 .1.IV.III.8
2
Swell: 16.8.8.8.8.4.4.4.23 .2.IV.IV.16.8.8.4
Choir: 16.8.8.8.8.4.223 .2.15 .8.Chimes
3

Solo: 8.8.4
Pedal: 16.16.16.16.16.16.8.8.8.8.8.4.4.III.II.16.8.8.4

American-born Walter Holtkamp, Sr. was the most radical, indepen-

dent, and innovative reformer of the period. Also dedicated to a practical,
all-purpose organ for the historic and contemporary repertoire,
Holtkamp focused on a sound which would illuminate contrapuntal
musical styles. With his insistence on the placement of architecturally
arranged pipework near the player within the acoustical environment of
the room, Holtkamp made an enduring stamp on the course of Ameri-
can organ reform (Ferguson 1979). His organ for Crouse Auditorium,
Syracuse University (1950) remains one of his most striking visual
designs (see Figure 5.16). The last organ completed by the senior
Holtkamp shows a typical three-manual design which the Holtkamp
company continued to build under the leadership of Walter Holtkamp, Jr.
St. John’s Abbey, Collegeville, Minnesota
Holtkamp Organ, 1961
2
Gt: 16.8.8.8.4.4.2.13 .IV.III.8.
Sw: 8.8.8.8.4.4.2.1.II (Sesq.).IV.16.8.4
Pos: 8.4.4.223 .2.2.15 .III.8
3
2
Ped: 16.16.16.103 .8.8.4.4.IV.32.16.8.4.

The later twentieth century

After World War II, a more comprehensive American organ reform move-
ment, tied to the demand for the ‘right’ sound for historic repertoire,
rediscovered and applied a number of historic elements (e.g. mechanical
key action, encasement) largely ignored by the reformers of previous
decades (Pape 1978: 26). European organs by Flentrop, Rieger, and von
Beckerath installed in churches in the United States and Canada strongly
influenced American organ building in the 1960s (Fesperman 1982).
Recordings of European and American instruments and American litera-
ture on various aspects of the historic organ fuelled the organ reform
movement (see Blanton 1957, 1965; Fesperman 1962).
In 1963, the Canadian Casavant company installed its first mechanical
310 Douglas Reed

action organ built since the turn of the century in Wolfville, Nova Scotia.
Since then, numerous Canadian achievements include an instrument in
the French classical style for McGill University in 1981 (Mackey 1981)
and a mean-tone organ for the University of Toronto (1991), both built by
Helmut Wolff (Edwards 1992). Bengt Hambraeus (b. 1928), who led the
development of avant-garde organ composition in Sweden in the late
1950s before moving to Canada, wrote a Livre d’orgue (1980–1) for the
inauguration of the McGill University organ.
In the early decades of the twentieth century several major European
composers moved to the United States where they wrote a few solo organ
works or ensemble works calling for organ: Paul Hindemith (1895–1963),
Darius Milhaud (1892–1974), Arnold Schoenberg (1874–1951), and
Edgard Varèse (1883–1965). Leading American-born composers who
have written organ music in various neo-classical and neo-romantic
styles include Samuel Barber (1910–81), Ross Lee Finney (b. 1906), Alan
Hovhaness (b. 1911), Vincent Persichetti (1915–87), and Ned Rorem (b.
1923). Most of this repertoire is tied to electro-pneumatic instruments
such as those built by Aeolian–Skinner and Holtkamp.
In the 1970s a Contemporary Organ Music Workshop at Hartt
College of Music highlighted the work of a new generation of American
composers whose approach to the organ ranged from conservative to
radically experimental (Kratzenstein 1980: 188ff). Among these more
progressive composers are William Albright (b. 1944), William Bolcom
(b. 1938), Sydney Hodkinson (Canadian, b. 1934), and Daniel Pinkham
(b. 1923).
Since 1970 two important strands characterise leading contemporary
American organ building: (1) an eclectic approach (the attempt to recon-
cile various national styles, tuning systems, case designs, action types),
best exemplified in the work of Charles Fisk and John Brombaugh, and
(2) the refinement of a single style (especially north German and Dutch),
epitomised by the work of George Taylor and John Boody. During the
1980s and 90s, several other American builders (Bedient, Brombaugh,
Fisk, Rosales, Wolff and others) built instruments in specific styles (e.g.
early Spanish, north German mean-tone, Cavaillé-Coll, early Italian,
French classical) in an attempt to better illuminate the historic organ
repertoire.
The Westfield Center for Early Keyboard Studies, in co-operation with
Arizona State University, sponsored a 1992 symposium, ‘The Historical
Organ in America’, in celebration of the inauguration of the new Paul
Fritts organ at the University. A companion document by the same name
(Edwards 1992) demonstrates two important facets of leading American
organ building craft in the late twentieth century: (1) the attention to
311 North American organ music after 1800

specific details of historic organ building practice as guides for current

practice, and (2) the sharing of information among colleagues. The sym-
posium included the premiere of Arizona Visions: A Concerto for Organ
and Cassette Tape with an Audience Handout of Computer Generated
Graphics by Robert Bates.
Since 1965, William Albright has emerged as the most significant and
innovative composer in North America who has written a large repertoire
for the organ (Reed 1976; Reed 1993). Several of Albright’s early solo
organ works relate to the large 1928 E. M. Skinner organ at the University
of Michigan, rebuilt by the Aeolian–Skinner company in 1955 (Wilkes
1995: 21ff). The composer’s detailed registrations for Juba, Pneuma,
Organbook I, and Organbook II call for a vast sound-scape ranging from a
nearly inaudible pianissimo to the loudest fortissimo. The final move-
ment of Organbook II expands the sound of the organ through the
medium of electronic tape. Many of Ernest Skinner’s subtle, orchestral
colours including Harp, Chimes, and Celesta, which survive in the mini-
mally altered Swell, Choir, Solo and Echo divisions, play important roles
in all of these early works.
Albright’s Organbook I (1967), a major landmark of twentieth-century
American organ literature, includes four movements: ‘Benediction’,
‘Melisma’, ‘Fanfare’, and ‘Recessional’. Although the piece can be success-
fully performed on smaller, classically oriented instruments, the original
concept of ‘Benediction’ calls for many subtle 8′ colours, numerous
combination pistons, and remote sounds. The spatially notated rhythmic
structure evolves from slowly paced events at the beginning to the even-
tual climax with quick, evenly pulsed chords (Example 20.5). An under-
lying tonal structure (V–I in E) contributes to the musical organisation of
the work (Hantz 1973).
Melisma, basically a single line which grows in range and density,
explores a variety of flute colours on four manuals. Here, traditional
organ technique expands to include clusters and cluster glissandos.
Spatial separation of the sounds, possible on the Hill Auditorium organ
and on many encased mechanical action organs, enhances the musical
effect. In the preface to Organbook III (1977–8), Albright writes ‘although
in origin intended for organs of limited resources . . . Organbook III may
be adapted to larger instruments’. A set of twelve études, Organbook III
marks the intersection of his work and the contemporary American
mechanical action organ. As in his earlier Organbooks, Albright juxta-
poses extremes of all musical parameters. For example, as the organist co-
ordinates metrical and non-metrical material among the hands and feet,
fleeting diatonic harmonies emerge from the densely chromatic, gluti-
nous sound created by over-legato touch in Underground Stream. In stark
Ex. 20.5 Albright, Benediction

Gt (Gt) Sw. Sw. 5

(short)
Ch. 5

Ped. 2

Faster = 76 Plus vite senza rit.

molto with thumb avec le pouce
legato ad lib. number of repetitions
of this figure Sw. 4 3 2 1
Sw.

Gt
Ch.

Ch. + Sw. 12 Ch. 4 3 2 1

with thumb

Ex. 20.6 Albright, Finale from Organbook III

(hasty)

5
313 North American organ music after 1800

contrast, Finale – The Offering features a ‘syncopated and delirious’ savage

dance which recalls American ragtime rhythm (Example 20.6).
Organbook III, performable without compromise on nearly any recent
or earlier organ type, would find a suitable home on the Taylor & Boody
organ at the Mount St Joseph Ursuline Motherhouse at Maple Mount,
Kentucky:
Mount St Joseph Ursuline Motherhouse, Maple Mount, Kentucky
Taylor & Boody, Opus 25, 1995
Manual compass: C–g3 (56 notes)
Pedal compass: C–f 1 (30 notes)
Great: 8.8.8.4.2.III.8
Choir: 8.4.3.II.2.8
Pedal: 16.8.8

For a more noble and dramatic voice, it could be adapted to the large
concert organ built by C. B. Fisk, Inc. for the Myerson Symphony Center,
Dallas, Texas:
The Lay Family Concert Organ, Meyerson Symphony Center, Dallas, Texas
C. B. Fisk, Inc., Opus 100, 1992

Manual compass: C–c4 (61 notes)

Pedal compass: C–g1 (32 notes)

Résonance (I Positive (II) Tuba (IV)

and/or IV) Bourdon 16′ Tuba Magna 16′
Prestant 32′ Principal 18′ Tuba 18′
Montre 16′ Dulcian 18′ Royal Trumpet 18′
Montre 18′ Gedackt 18′ Tuba Clarion 14′
Violoncelle 18′ Octave 14′
Flûte harmonique 18′ Baarpijp 14′ Pedal
Bourdon 18′ Nazard 1232 ′ Prestant 32′
1
Quinte 153 ′ Doublette 12′ Untersatz 32′
Prestant 14′ Tierce 12′ and 153 ′ Prestant 16′
Octave 14′ Sharp VI–VIII Contrebasse 16′
Quinte 1223 ′ Trompette 18′ Montre 16′
les Octaves III Cromorne 18′ Bourdon 16′
les Quintes VI Trechterregal 18′ Quinte 1023 ′
Plein jeu VIII Montre 18′

Bombarde 16′ Swell (III) Flûte 18′
Trompette 18′ Flûte traversière 18′ Violoncelle 18′

Clairon 14′ Viole de gambe 18′ Flûte harmonique 18′

Voix céleste 18′ Bourdon 18′

1
Great (I) Bourdon 18′ Quinte 153 ′

Principal 16′ Prestant 14′ Prestant 14′

Quintadehn 16′ Flûte octaviante 14′ Octave 14′

2
Octava 18′ Octavin 12′ Quinte 123 ′

Spillpfeife 18′ Cornet III Mixture VI

Octava 14′ Basson 16′ Tuba Profunda 32′
Rohrflöte 14′ Trompette 18′ Bombarde 16′

Superoctava 12′ Hautbois 18′ Tuba Magna 16′
Mixtur VIII–XII Voix humaine 18′ Posaune 16′
314 Douglas Reed

Trommeten 16′ Clairon 14′ Trompette ⫹

18′
Trommeten 18′ Tuba 18′
Royal Trumpet 18′
Couplers Ventils Clairon ⫹
14′
Great to Résonance Pedal reeds off
Positive to Résonance Résonance reeds off
Swell to Résonance Great reeds off
Tuba to Résonance Positive reeds off
Résonance octaves graves Swell reeds off
Positive to Great Résonance off
Swell to Great
Tuba to Great
Swell to Positive
Résonance to Pedal
Great to Pedal
Positive to Pedal
Swell to Pedal
Swell 4′ to Pedal

General Tremulant, Résonance Flue Tremulant

Mechanical key action, electric stop action, combination action by SSL

⫹Alternating stops may be used in either the Résonance or the Pedal but not both
simultaneously unless the Résonance to Pedal coupler is drawn.

The action, placement, scaling, winding, voicing, eclectic stop list and
many other details of the Meyerson organ spring from European and
American historical models. C. B. Fisk’s highly refined synthesis of diverse
elements presents an appropriate medium for historic repertoire, con-
temporary composition and improvisation.
Albright’s eight-movement suite Flights of Fancy (1991–2), commis-
sioned for the 1992 Atlanta American Guild of Organists National
Convention, juxtaposes various dance types including the tango and the
shimmy. The work climaxes with the ‘A.G.O. Fight Song’, which has been
transcribed for a new carousel band organ in Missoula, Montana (1995).
Since 1985 several new organ method books have addressed issues of
performance practice raised both by recent composition and by early
music research (Brock 1988; Gleason and Crozier 1996; Soderlund 1986;
Ritchie and Stauffer 1992). In response to recent renewed interest in the
art of improvisation, several new improvisation method books have been
published, the most auspicious by Gerre Hancock (Hancock 1994). The
American Guild of Organists is a major force in the creation of new organ
repertoire. The Guild published a major anthology of contemporary
American organ music on the occasion of its ninetieth anniversary (AGO
Anthology 1986); during its centennial year, it has initiated the publica-
tion of a second anthology, the ECS/AGO African-American Organ
Series. The AGO has commissioned leading American composers, such as
George Crumb (b. 1929) for its regional and national conventions. Since
1986, the AGO has sponsored an annual Composer of the Year pro-
315 North American organ music after 1800

gramme which has recognised Samuel Adler (b. 1927), William Albright
(b. 1944), Dominick Argento (b. 1927), Emma Lou Diemer (b. 1927), Don
Locklair (b. 1949), Daniel Pinkham (b. 1923), Ned Rorem (b. 1923),
Conrad Susa (b. 1935) and Virgil Thomson (1896–1989). In association
with the AGO, the Holtkamp Organ Company provides an annual
Holtkamp–AGO Award in Organ Composition. At the dawn of the
twenty-first century, North American organ repertoire reflects a possible
emerging ideal of a balanced emphasis on (1) informed performance of
historic repertoire on church and concert hall instruments inspired by
historic building practice, (2) fostering the composition of new organ
repertoire, and (3) the art of improvisation.

Editions
Performing editions are available from Boosey & Hawkes (Copland,
Rorem); Canadian Music Centre (Hambraeus); Elkan–Vogel Company
(Albright, Persichetti); H. W. Gray/Belwin (Sowerby, Thomson); Jobert
(Albright, Bolcom); Wayne Leupold Editions, Inc./ECS Publishing
(Bates, Foote, Paine, Parker); Edward B. Marks/Hal Leonard (Bolcom);
McAfee Music Corporation (Buck, Foote, Paine); Mercury Music (Ives);
Oxford University Press (Sowerby, Willan); C. F. Peters Corp./Henmar
Press, Inc. (Albright, Crumb, Finney, Hovhaness, Pinkham); Theodore
Presser Company/Merion Music, Inc. (Hodkinson); E. C. Schirmer
Publishing (Pinkham); G. Schirmer, Inc. (Barber). Anthologies are avail-
able from Oxford University Press (AGO Anthology of American Organ
Music), H. W. Gray/Belwin (Contemporary Masterworks for Organ and A
Century of American Organ Music, Vols. I–IV).
 Appendix
The modes (toni) and their attributes
according to Zarlino
Summary by Christopher Stembridge

The following summary may serve as an introduction to the modes, the basis of all
organ music through to the seventeenth century. The voice-ranges of the twelve
modes are given, the white note being the key-note. All are in their untransposed
state with the exception of modes II and XI, which have been transposed
respectively up a fourth and down a fifth, reflecting common usage. All pairs of
modes function regularly: in the odd-numbered modes Tenor (and Soprano) use
the authentic scale, Alto and Bass the plagal scale. In the even-numbered modes the
roles are reversed except in the case of mode IV, which is often almost
indistinguishable from mode III, having sometimes a smaller range, sometimes a
larger one, especially at the upper end of the Soprano. In all cases it is quite normal
to extend the voice-range occasionally by one or possibly two notes. For further
reading see Meier 1992 and the present writer’s introduction to his edition of
Giovanni de Macque’s Ricercari sui Dodici Toni. Unless otherwise stated, the
descriptions represent a précis of the widely-known account of the modes given by
Gioseffo Zarlino in his Le istitutioni harmoniche of 1558.

S A T B
Mode I:
8

The sound of this mode, since it has a minor third above both d and a, is
about mid-way between being sad and being cheerful. It is good for setting
a serious text.

S A T B
Mode II:
8

Traditionally used for laments and sad subjects. However, it is nearly always
transposed up a fourth.

S A T B
Mode III:
8

This mode has been used for lamentations and texts of a doleful nature.
Its essentially rather hard character is normally tempered by cadences
on a, which bring it close to Mode IX.
S A T B
Mode IV:
[316]
8
317 Appendix: the church modes

This is wonderfully suited to lamentations, entreaties and texts full of

flattery. It is rather sadder than Mode II, especially when it has a falling
melodic line and a slow tempo.

S A T B
Mode V*:
8

As this mode is considered harsh, it is little used today [1558]. Solace,

happiness, triumph are some of its attributes.

S A T B
Mode VI*:
8

Not very cheerful or elegant. Serious and devout.

S A T B
Mode VII:
8

Cheerfulness, but lust and anger also.

S A T B
Mode VIII:
8

This mode has a natural grace and sweetness, filling the listener with pure
joy.

S A T B
Mode IX:
8

Since this mode combines simplicity with an unusual soft sweetness, it is

suitable for setting lyric poetry.

S A T B
Mode X:
8

Similar to Modes II and IV. According to Diruta (Diruta 1609: IV/22),

somewhat sad.

S A T B
Mode XI*:
8

By nature very suitable for dance music. There is also much church music in
this mode.

S A T B
Mode XII*:
8

A certain sadness, suitable for plaints and love-songs.

*There is some confusion about these modes: V and VI as described by

Glareanus and Zarlino are based on a Lydian scale (i.e. F–F with the raised
318 Christopher Stembridge

fourth B
natural), However, many composers, including Claudio Merulo

and both Gabrielis, used exclusively B
in these modes, so that they become
identical with modes XI and XII respectively. The ‘harsh’ Lydian version is
however used by, amongst others, Frescobaldi in both his Fantasie (1608)
and his Ricercari (1615). (In the latter he does not in fact use XI or XII.)

While it became normal in Germany to use the ‘ancient’ names for the modes in
the wake of Glarean’s Dodecachordon, this nomenclature was rejected in sixteenth-
century Italy and elsewhere since the modes understood by these names were not
identical to those referred to by the same names in ancient music theory. The
numerical system was more generally used and is simple to grasp. For those who are
more familiar with the modes by these names, the following list may be helpful:

I Dorian
II Hypodorian
III Phrygian
IV Hypophrygian
V Lydian
VI Hypolydian
VII Mixolydian
VIII Hypomixolydian
IX Aeolian
X Hypoaeolian
XI Ionian
XII Hypoionian
 Notes

5 The organ case equal temperament. The light and shade

1 Practical experiments show clearly that this is occasioned by passing from one chord to
true; for example, in results of tests carried out another would be reduced to a monotonous
by the American builder B. Batty, grey, like a poor photocopy of an artist’s
communicated privately to the author in May photograph. The musical line would be lost as
1996. cadences become non-events.
7 Diruta states that the beginning of any
10 Italian organ music to Frescobaldi ricercar or canzona should be embellished, as
1 For further discussion of the music by this should any voice given as a solo to one hand
composer, the reader is encouraged to consult (Diruta 1593: 10v). In Spain a similar practice is
Judd 1995, Apel 1972 and Hammond l983. clearly implied by Correa de Arauxo (Correa
2 This organ was still extant in the mid 1626: 16v), who states that a minim may
eighteenth century. Mattheson (Mattheson occasionally be left unembellished.
1739: 466, §62) gives a second-hand description 8 A 4’ organ generally reputed to have been
of it. He assumed that the small number of built by Merulo himself is preserved at Parma
stops implied a small instrument, a basic Conservatory. (Doubt has however been
mistake perpetuated even in recent expressed concerning its authenticity.) At
publications. Parma there were two claviorgana at the
3 This assumes that mean-tone temperament Farnese court according to an inventory dated
was being used at such an early date. It is 1587 – the year after Merulo took up duties as
interesting to note that an organ keyboard in an organist to the Duke. (I am indebted to Robert
intarsia in Assisi, Basilica of San Francesco, Judd for passing on this information to me.)
shows an extra natural key between E and F.
Since other details in this intarsia, such as the 11 Iberian organ music before 1700
proportion of the pipes, suggest accuracy on the 1 See the anthology Spain and Portugal
part of the artist (Apollonio da Ripatransone, c.1550–1620 (Faber Early Organ Series 4, ed. J.
1471), this extra key, which is shown in both Dalton, 1987), nos. 6, 7, 12, 13 and 14, for some
octaves of the two-octave keyboard, cannot indication of the system.
easily be dismissed as an error. It would seem to 2. See J. Cabanilles, Musici Organici Opera
the author that the purpose of such a key might Omnia 1, ed. H. Anglès (1927).
have been to provide a solution for the wolf-
fifth in Pythagorean tuning – albeit in an 14 Catholic Germany and Austria 1648–c 1800
unusual place (i.e. a second e or f). 1 Gottlieb Muffat’s alternatim Masses in F and
4 Unfortunately no music written for such a C (incomplete), ed. Rudolf Walter (Doblinger
registration has survived. Antegnati also 1980) and Poglietti’s Toccatina per l’Introito
mentions that a similar arrangement existed at (Faber Early Organ Series 15, no. 5) are rare
San Marco, Milan, where, at the request of examples of Mass music. The Muffat works give
Ottavio Bariolla and Ruggiero Trofeo the valuable insight into the role the organ could
principale, the VIII and the f1auto in VIII play at Mass. In addition, the large-scale
were divided into treble and bass. Antegnati toccatas and contrapuntal forms of the period
was unused to divided stops; he relates how he (or sections of them) were evidently used as
was taken by surprise when he encountered introits, graduals, offertories, elevations and
the divided principale at S. Giuseppe in communions along lines familiar from
Brescia. Frescobaldi’s Fiori musicali (1635). A promising
5 In the Turin manuscript Giordano II, southern cantus firmus tradition, exemplified
Merulo’s Toccata Ottava del Quarto tono by Christian Erbach (Corpus of Early Keyboard
appears in an untransposed form – i.e. a fourth Music 36) and Johann Ulrich Steigleder
lower than the version in the 1598 print of (CEKM 13), did not survive the Thirty Years
Merulo’s Toccatas. War.
6 It would, for instance, seem to the present 2 See Faber Early Organ Series 14, p. 15 for a
writer a rather pointless exercise to play a fine example by Pachelbel’s Nuremberg
[319] Toccata by Merulo on an instrument tuned in predecessor, Kindermann. Catholic aspects of
320 Notes to pages 208–53

Pachelbel’s training included study with a Kerll 9 Classical Organ Music, vol. 1, ed. R. Langley
pupil, Kaspar Prenz, while in Catholic (Oxford University Press 1986) gives another
Regensburg at the Protestant Gymnasium there good example of Seger and a fine introduction
from 1670, and the post of deputy organist at St to this troubled period for the organ.
Stephen’s Cathedral, Vienna in 1673–7, most of
the time under Kerll himself. The Nuremberg 15 The north German organ school
organ Magnificat practice varied between the 1 Michael Praetorius’s treatise of 1619 is the
preludial and the alternatim according to most important single document regarding the
liturgical occasion. The exact relationship of north German organ in the early seventeenth
Pachelbel’s ninety-five Magnificat fugues to the century, containing specifications of thirty-four
Nuremberg liturgy remains uncertain. Nolte’s contemporary organs from all over Germany.
excellent article in The New Grove Dictionary 2 For a general survey of the duties and social
remains the only readily available overview of position of the north German organist during
Pachelbel in English. the seventeenth century, see Edler 1985.
3 The FbWV numbering in Johann Jacob 3 The work is included in the complete edition
Froberger, New Edition of the Complete of Sweelinck’s works (see under Editions,
Keyboard and Organ Works, ed. S. Rampe p. 234).
(Bärenreiter 1994–) adopts the item numbering 4 This registration associated with Jacob
of Guido Adler’s historic 1897–1903 edition for Praetorius is taken from an account of Matthias
Denkmäler der Tonkunst in Österreich, adding a Weckmann’s audition for the post of organist at
centesimal digit according to genre: toccatas the Jakobikirche in Hamburg, as recorded by
101–, fantasias 201–, canzonas 301–, ricercars Johann Kortkamp in his ‘Organistenchroniek’.
401–, capriccios 501–. For details see Davidsson 1991: 51.
4 The third note of Rampe’s edition of the 5 Scheidt’s instructions can be found in the
Ricercar FbVW 411 should be corrected to f1. edition of his Tabulatura nova (1624), and for a
5 Silbiger evaluates the authenticity of the non- general guide to registrations in the cantus
autograph works contained in the first printed firmus repertoire see Davidsson 1991: 47–58.
Froberger anthologies, of 1693, 1697 (Mainz) 6 The practice of playing a single chorale verse
and 1698 (Amsterdam), and the posthumous before the congregation begins to sing the
manuscript copies. He also assesses the relative chorale is specifically mentioned in a
authority of the sources. A fascinating example Braunschweig–Lüneburg church book of 1709
of Froberger’s (and south German) influence in (see Glabbatz 1909: 18).
England can be seen in John Blow’s Anthology 7 Radeck’s Canzona is included in Beckmann’s
ed. Thurston Dart rev. Davitt Moroney (Stainer collection of miscellaneous free compositions:
& Bell, 1978), which in addition to much Freie Orgelwerke des norddeutschen Barocks
Froberger also includes music by Fischer and (Wiesbaden 1988).
Strungk. Webber 1986 illustrates aspects of 8 For a more thorough survey of Buxtehude’s
north German assimilation. organ works, see Snyder 1987: 227–73.
6 Though Poglietti’s twelve ricercars circulated
widely as a complete set, Ricercar IV was in fact 17 German organ music after 1800
printed as early as 1650 in Rome in Kircher’s 1 Immanuel Kant defined Aufklärung as the
Musurgia Universalis, attributed to Kerll. The courage to use one’s reason to think
attribution of Ricercar XI is also doubtful. independently and critically, refusing to accept
7 Wollenberg’s article on Georg Muffat for The the tutelage of another’s authority.
New Grove Dictionary remains the only Empfindsamkeit was a cultural movement
authoritative general consideration of the focusing on inner experience and individual
composer in English – likewise her articles on development, seen as having its origins in
Fischer and Gottlieb Muffat. Pietism. See M. Fulbrook, A Concise History of
8 Six capriccios and one ricercar by Strungk are Germany (Cambridge 1990), pp. 88 and 92.
published in Denkmäler der Tonkunst in 2 Literally, ‘useful’ music; by implication,
Österreich, xiii, 2 (vol. 27, 1906) erroneously music which served a functional purpose.
attributed to Georg Reutter the elder (see Apel 3 They were often marked ad libitum. This may
1972: 575–6). The Capriccio sopra Ich dank dir have been pragmatic on the part of composers,
schon and the ricercar on the death of his especially in South Germany and Austria. Many
mother are published in Kistner & Siegel’s organs had a short octave and compass (up to a2).
Organum Series IV, No. 2, ed. M. Seiffert. 4 This information and specification are given
Sections from both works were ‘borrowed’ by by Ewald Kooiman in the Preface to his edition
Handel for Israel in Egypt and Saul respectively. of Hesse’s Variations on ‘God Save the King!’
A good complete edition of Strungk’s keyboard (Harmonia 1995).
works is badly needed. 5 A full survey of the nineteenth- and twentieth-
321 Notes to pages 253–95

century organ sonata is beyond the scope of this 10 The leading protaganists have been
essay. The reader is directed to examples by Hermann Grabner, Heinrich Kaminski, Arno
composers, inter alia, in the following Landmann, Johann Nepomuk David, Günther
chronological list: Johann Georg Herzog, Johann Ramin, Willy Burkhard, Ernst Pepping, Hans
Gottlob Töpfer, Franz Lachner, August Gottfried Friedrich Micheelsen, Gunther Raphael, Josef
Ritter, Jan Albert van Eyken, Gustav Merkel, Ahrens, Helmut Bornefeld, Karl Höller, Helmut
Christian Fink, Rudolf Bibl, Julius Reubke, Josef Walcha, Hugo Distler, Kurt Hessenberg, Harald
Rheinberger, Josef Labor, Ludwig Neuhoff, Hans Genzmer, Siegfried Rega, Johannes Driessler,
Fährmann, Ludwig Thuille, Max Reger, Camillo Anton Heiller and Wolfgang Stockmeier.
Schumann, Sigfrid Karg-Elert (Sonatina in A 11 Notably by Hermann Grabner, Ernst
minor), Josef Haas, Heinrich Kaminski Pepping, Georg Trexler, Hermann Schroeder
(Choralsonate 1925), Gottfried Rüdinger, Paul and Joseph Ahrens.
Hindemith, Ernst Krenek, Conrad Beck,
Günther Raphael, Hermann Schroeder, Helmut 19 British organ music after 1800
Bornefeld, Hugo Distler, Kurt Hessenberg, 1 British Library, Add. MS 27953.
Harald Genzmer, Johannes Driessler, Anton 2 The worklist for Wesley’s organ compositions
Heiller, Wolfgang Stockmeier. A comprehensive in The New Grove Dictionary has since been
list of organ sonatas written between 1960 and thoroughly revised; see Langley 1993: 102–16.
1983 is given in Dorfmüller 1983: 199–240. See Langley’s preface to his selected edition of
also Weyer 1969, Lucas 1986 and Beckmann Wesley’s organ music Six Voluntaries and Fugues
1994. In addition to the sonata composers for Organ (Oxford University Press 1981) also
continued to write other types of extended, free- gives further details of sources and the original
form piece throughout the nineteenth and publication of some of the works.
twentieth centuries – prelude and fugue, fantasy 3 For an over-view of the eighteenth and early
and fugue, toccata and fugue, passacaglia and nineteenth-century organ concerto, see
fugue, theme and variations – as well as short, Cudworth 1953: 51–60.
occasional pieces of a mainly functional nature. 4 Wesley’s Bach duet is in the British Library,
6 Liszt’s monumental Piano Sonata in B minor Add. MS 14340. For an early résumé of Bach’s
(1852–3) was also to prove one of the most music in Britain, see Edwards 1896: 585–7,
influential works of the period. In his Sonata on 652–7, 722–6, 797–800. Williams (1963:
the 94th Psalm Julius Reubke (1834–58) adopts 140–51) gives an excellent critique of the
his mentor’s single-movement, monothematic impact of Bach on composers for organ, and
procedure, subjecting an angular, chromatic Dirst (1995: 64–8) details Wesley’s propagation
theme to a series of arresting metamorphoses. of Bach’s music. Thistlethwaite (1990: 163–80)
7 Further examples of the chorale fantasy are: also investigates the burgeoning interest in Bach
Heinrich Karl Breidenstein, Ein’ feste Burg ist during the opening decades of the nineteenth
unser Gott; Christian Heinrich Fink, Ein’ feste century.
Burg ist unser Gott Op. 23; Heinrich von 5 Henry Smart’s Organ Book (Boosey 1873),
Herzogenberg, Nun komm, der heiden Heiland reissued by Edwin Lemare in 1911 as Henry
Op. 39 and Nun danket alle Gott Op. 46; Hans Smart’s Twelve Pieces (Boosey), and Novello’s
Fährmann, Ein’ fest Burg ist unser Gott Op. 28; conflation of its previous Smart edition with
Hugo Kaun, Morgenglanz der Ewigkeit; Arno pieces from The Organist’s Quarterly Journal
Landmann, Herzliebster Jesu, was hast du (ed. Spark) as Henry Smart’s Original
verbrochen. Compositions for Organ, provide a good picture
8 Well-crafted examples may be found in the of Smart’s work.
works of Johann Gottlob Töpfer, Carl 6 Published by Novello under the general title
Ferdinand Becker, Ernst Friedrich Richter, of Arrangements from the Scores of the Masters,
August Gottfried Ritter, Jan Albert van Eyken, stretching to 100 numbers.
Wilhelm Rust, Robert Papperitz, Gustav 7 Forgotten in recent times (not helped by its
Merkel, Christian Fink, Johannes Brahms, absence from the worklists currently available),
Heinrich von Herzogenberg, Carl Piutti, this work appeared originally in William
Theophil Forchhammer, Arnold Mendelssohn, Spark’s The Organist’s Quarterly Journal (no.
Felix Woyrsch, Max Reger, Franz Schmidt, 29) and was later republished by Novello (1887)
Sigfrid Karg-Elert, Alfred Sittard, Josef Haas, in their series Original Compositions for the
Johanna Senfter, Karl Hasse, Hermann Ernst Organ (no. 89).
Koch, Arno Landmann and Karl Hoyer. 8 The increasing impact of overseas recitalists
9 Other pupils of Reger were Johanna Senfter, in Britain during the twentieth century and the
Hermann Ernst Koch, Gottfried Rüdinger, not inconsiderable influence of recorded sound
Hermann Grabner, Arno Landmann, Fritz should not be overlooked.
Lubrich (jun.) and Rudolf Moser.
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 Index

Italicised entries refer to figures.

Abbey, John, 267 Bach, Johann Sebastian, 123, 126–8, 142, 143,
Åckermann & Lund, 86 144, 146, 148, 184, 208, 213, 219, 234,
Adams, Thomas, 283, 285 236–49, 250, 251, 255, 259, 266, 273,
Adlung, Jakob, 143 274, 282, 286, 288, 305, 307
Aeolian-Skinner Organ Company, 79, 308, 310, Bach organ, 1, 13, 237–8, 240, 242–6
311 Bach revival, 15, 279, 283–5, 321
Agricola, Johann Friedrich, 122, 237 fingering, 126–7
Aguilera de Herédia, Sebastián, 164, 169, 170, ornamentation, 124, 128
175 pitch, 53
Ahrend, Jürgen, 86, 219, 220 technique, 95, 96, 102, 104, 112, 124, 128
Alain, Jehan, 145, 277 views on temperament, 47–8
Albrechtsberger, Johann Georg, 206, 207, 217 Bach, Wilhelm Friedemann, 127, 128
Albright, William, 310, 311–13 backfall, 23
Alexander Technique, 110 Bairstow, Edward, 293
Alkmaar, St Laurents, 2 balancers, 24
Allwood, Richard, 191 Balbastre, Claude, 189, 263
Altenburg, Schlosskirche, 242–5, 243 Banchieri, Adriano, 117, 118, 136, 155, 162
alternatim, 10, 131–8, 142, 145, 146, 178, 184, Barber, Samuel, 310
191, 207, 217, 222, 227 Barcelona, 165
Ammerbach, Elias Nikolaus, 120 Barié, Auguste, 276
Amorbach, 215 Barker, Charles Spackman, 13–14, 23, 267, 268,
Amsterdam, Oude Kerk, 13 271; see also pneumatic lever
Andersen, Poul-Gerhard, 81 Bates, Robert, 311
Andover Organ Company, 85 ‘battle’ music, 174, 263–5
Anglicanism, 130, 144–5 Beauvarlet-Charpentier, Jacques-Marie, 263,
Antegnati, Costanzo, 153–4, 155, 319 278
Antico, Andrea, 158 Beckerath, Rudolf von, 83, 85, 88, 309
Ap Rhys, Philip, 132, 140 Bédos de Celles, Dom François, 52, 299
Aquincum, 3 Beethoven, Ludwig van, 217, 277
Araujo, Pedro de, 169 bellows, 4, 8, 15, 18–20, 19, 267; see also
Arauxo, Francisco Correa de, 164, 169, 171, 174, concussion bellows; wind system
175, 193–4, 319 Benedictine order, 4
Arezzo Cathedral, 148, 152 Benoist, François, 265, 266, 272, 274
Aristoxenus, 43 Berlin, 236, 255, 259
Arizona State University, 310–11 Bermudo, Juan, 115, 168, 170, 171
Arnaut de Zwolle, Henri, 5, 45 Berner, Friedrich Wilhelm, 252
Arnold, Samuel, 281 Bernhard, Christoph, 121
Arnstadt, 283–4 Best, William Thomas, 51, 285, 286, 288–90
articulation, 96–103, 115, 118, 125–6 Bethlehem, 3
Assisi, Basilica of San Francesco, 319 Bevin, Edward, 119
Aston, Hugh, 191 Birmingham, 16
Attingham Park, 52 Bishop, James Chapman, 50
Attwood, Thomas, 50, 283 Bizet, Georges, 265
Audsley, George Ashdown, 16, 77 Blasi, Luca, 148
Austin, John Turnell, 17 Blitheman, William, 190, 194
Austria, 12, 204–18 Blockwerk, 5, 26–7, 108
Blow, John, 198–201, 202, 320
Bach, Carl Philipp Emanuel, 49, 98, 104, 127, Boëly, Alexandre-Pierre-François, 264–5, 266,
213, 236, 239 278
[332] Bach, Johann Christoph, 236 Bohemia, 60
333 Index

Böhm, Georg, 144, 219, 229, 232, 235, 236–7, Cavazzoni, Girolamo, 132, 150, 157, 158–9
240 Cavazzoni, Marco Antonio, 149, 150, 156, 157,
Bolcom, William, 310 158
Bologna, S. Petronio, 7, 45, 56, 148, 149, 152 Cesena Cathedral, 149
Bölsche, Jacob, 230 Chadwick, George, 304
Bombarde, 13, 180 Chair Organ, 9, 193, 197
Bonnal, Ermend, 276 Chartres, 178
Bonnet, Joseph, 276, 307 Chicago, 304, 305
Boston, Mass., 15, 299, 300 Chipp, Edmund, 286
bourdon, 180, 183, 187, 188 chorale fantasia, 225, 226–8, 239, 253, 254–6,
Bovicelli, Battista, 121 293, 321
Boyce, William, 201, 279 chorale partita, 229, 237
Boyvin, Jacques, 44, 176, 177, 178, 189 chorale prelude, 142–4, 146–7, 222, 224–5,
Brahms, Johannes, 258, 261, 291 227–9, 237, 240–1, 242, 248, 253–4,
Brebos (family of organ-builders), 8, 165 291–3
Bremen, 144 cinema organ, 16
Brescia, 148, 154, 319 claviorganum, 160
Breslau, 252–3 Clérambault, Louis-Nicolas, 138, 146, 176, 177,
Bridge, Richard, 12 179, 186, 189
Brombaugh, John, 86, 310 Clicquot, François-Henri, 71, 73
Bruhns, Nicolaus, 112, 122, 144, 229, 232–3, Clicquot, Robert, 10, 263, 266, 267, 274
235, 236 Clokey, Joseph, 305
Bruna, Pablo, 164, 169, 170, 171–2, 174, 175 Coelho, Manuel Rodrigues, 138, 141, 168–9,
Brussels, 273 175
Brustwerk, 60 Collegeville, Minnesota, 309
Buchner, Hans, 114, 136 Cologne, 8
Buck, Dudley, 302–4 Colombo, Vincenzo, 155
Bull, John, 119, 192, 194, 195, 202 compasses, 5, 151–2, 157, 267, 285
Burgos Cathedral, 165 composition pedal, 24, 267
Burney, Charles, 1, 131, 144 concussion bellows, 20
Buus, Jacob, 157, 158 cone chest, see Kegellade
Buxheimer Orgelbuch, 136, 190 console, 3, 13, 16, 25, 71, 83, 89, 215
Buxtehude, Dieterich, 47, 122, 142, 143, 144, Copland, Aaron, 307
212, 214, 219, 227–32, 233, 235, 236, Corelli, Arcangelo, 200, 212, 231
238–9, 240, 242, 320 cornet, 180–1, 184, 187, 188, 280
Byfield, John, 52, 69, 279 cornet voluntary, 199
Byrd, William, 193, 202 Corrette, Gaspard, 177
Corrette, Michel, 177
Cabanilles, Juan, 164, 170, 171, 172–4, 175 Cosyn, Benjamin, 193–4, 202
Cabezón, Antonio de, 164, 168, 171, 193 Couperin, François (le grand), 68, 113, 123–4,
Cabezón, Hernando de, 115 125, 126, 129, 132–3, 138, 140, 176, 177,
Caccini, Ginlio, 121 178, 179, 184, 185, 186, 187, 189
Calatayud, 56 Couperin, Louis, 179, 189, 210
California State University, 87 couplers, 11, 23, 24, 88
Calvière, Antoine, 176–7 crescendo pedal, 15, 255
Cambridge, 53, 196 Croft, William, 201
Canada, 307, 309–10 cromorne, 183–4, 186, 187, 188
canzona, 158–9, 199, 210, 215, 230, 231, 232, 239 Crotch, William, 280
capriccio, 159, 209, 212, 215 Crüger, Johann, 121
Carissimi, Giacomo, 210
Carlier, Crespin, 9, 182 Dallam, Robert, 196, 197, 198
Carlisle Cathedral, 51 Dallam, Thomas, 52, 196
Carreira, Antonio, 169 Dallas, USA, 313
Casavant Frères, 309–10 D’Anglebert, Jean-Henri, 124, 125, 128, 177,
Casparini, Adam Horatius, 252 189
Castillo, Diego del, 164 Danjou, Félix, 250
Cavaillé-Coll, Aristide, 3, 13–14, 16, 49, 50, Danzig, 144
82–3, 84, 86, 182, 267–72, 274, 275, 277, D’Aquin, Louis-Claude, 177, 179
278, 310 Darke, Harold, 291
334 Index

Darmstadt, 251 Forsyth-Grant, Maurice, 294

Daublaine-Callinet, 250, 266 France, 8, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, 19, 23, 44, 48, 54, 66,
Davies, Peter Maxwell, 296 71, 74, 84, 121–2, 123–6, 132–3, 176–89,
Davison, Frederick, 285 194, 200, 204, 212, 239–40, 242, 263–78
Debussy, Achille-Claude, 276 Franck, César, 50, 145, 263, 265, 272–3, 274,
Denmark, 8 275, 277, 278
Diruta, Girolamo, 94–5, 97, 101, 117–18, 120–1, Frankfurt, Paulskirche, 15, 74, 75
157, 159, 319 Freiberg Cathedral, 12, 247
Doetinchem, 80 Freiwiss, Balthasar, 216
double organ, 193, 196–7, 199 Frescobaldi, Girolamo, 43, 98, 118, 123, 126,
Downes, Ralph, 197, 294 128, 133, 136, 138, 148–50, 155, 156,
Dresden, 13, 53, 210, 230, 236, 283 157–62, 199, 209, 210, 212, 230–1, 236,
Duddyngton, Anthony, 5 317
Dumage, Pierre, 176, 177, 178, 187, 188 Freundt, Johann Georg, 210
Dunstable, John, 190 Fricker, Peter Racine, 296
Dupré, Marcel, 103, 145, 276–7, 307 Frilsham, St Frideswide, 51
Durham Cathedral, 53 Fritts, Paul, 86, 310
Duruflé, Maurice, 146, 278 Fritz, Barthold, 49
Fritzsche, Gottfried, 219
Eberlin, Johann Ernst, 206, 208, 216, 217 Frobenius, 78, 80, 83, 88
Ebersmünster, 212 Froberger, Johann Jacob, 43, 148, 199, 204, 207,
Edinburgh, 50, 54 209–10, 214, 215, 218, 230, 236, 320
Echevarría, Joseph de, 166 Fux, Johann, 215
Egedacher, Johann Christoph, 206
Eisenach, 236 Gabler, Joseph, 12, 71, 72
electric action, 14, 16, 24, 77, 79, 88, 89, 304, Gabrieli, Andrea, 157, 158, 317
305 Gabrieli, Giovanni, 155, 156, 157, 159–60, 317
electronic organ, 89 Gaffurius, Franchinus, 45
Elgar, Edward, 293 Garganta la Olla, 166
England, 9–10, 11, 15, 17, 19, 27, 52–3, 53–4, 66, Germany, 8, 10, 12, 82–3, 113–14, 120–22,
74–5, 84, 119–20, 165, 190–203, 279–98, 204–18, 219–35, 250–62, 299
299 Gibbons, Christopher, 198, 202
Engramelle, M.-D.-J., 102 Gibbons, Edward, 145, 192
Escorial, El, 165 Gibbons, Orlando, 119, 193, 194, 202
Evora Cathedral, 168 Gigault, Nicolas, 177, 178, 179
Exeter Cathedral, 55, 145, 192 Gigout, Eugène, 274
Eyken, Jan Albert van, 254 Gleason, Harold, 308
Gloucester Cathedral, 54, 196, 197
Faenza Codex, 148–9, 150 Goetze & Gwynne, 48
fancy, 193 Goodrich, William, 299
fantasia, 193, 195, 223, 230 Gouda, St Jan, 12
Farrand & Votey, 304 Grand Jeu, 178, 183–4, 187
Fessy, Alexandre-Charles, 264, 265, 278 Gray & Davison, 16, 50, 74, 286
fiffaro, 153, 154, 188 Great Barrington, USA, First Congregational
fingering, 101, 103–6, 114, 115, 117, 120–1, Church, 76, 77
123–4 Green, Samuel, 12, 52
Fink, Christian, 254 Greene, Maurice, 201
Finney, Ross Lee, 310 grid (see also soundboard), 21
Fischer, Johann Caspar Ferdinand, 122, 204, Grigny, Nicolas de, 133, 137, 177, 178, 179, 184,
208, 213–14, 217, 320 185, 189, 212, 240
Fisk, Charles, 85–6, 87, 310, 313 groove (see also soundboard), 4, 5
Flentrop Orgelbouw, 2, 78, 80, 83, 85, 88, 309 Guillou, Jean, 85
Flight, Benjamin junior, 50 Guilmant, Félix-Alexandre, 103, 265, 274–5,
flue pipe, 25–30, 26 286, 307
flutes, 27, 29
Fogliano, Giacomo,157 Haarlem, Bavokerk, 12, 13, 66–7, 70, 71, 81
Flor, Christian, 230 Haas, Joseph, 256–7
Foote, Arthur, 304 Halberstadt Cathedral, 5, 6, 7, 52
Forbes, Sebastian, 296–7 Hambraeus, Bengt, 310
335 Index

Hamburg, 8, 10, 11, 60, 64, 205, 212, 234, 236–8, Japan, 89, 90
245 Jimenez, José, 164, 169, 174, 175
Jacobikirche, 53, 219–22, 220, 234, 237–8, 242 Johnson, A. N., 299–300
Katharinenkirche, 53, 219, 237–8, 242 Jongen, Joseph, 276–7
Michaeliskirche, 12, 74 Jordan, Abraham, 12
Nicolaikirche, 11, 219 Judex Crederis, 264–5
Petrikirche, 224 Jullien, Gilles, 177, 178
Handel, George Frederick, 52, 236, 281, 282, 283
hand position, 94–5, 114, 115, 117, 119 Kagel, Mauricio, 259
harmonic registers, 16, 268, 270 Kaminski, Heinrich, 256
harmonics, 26–7 Karg-Elert, Sigfrid, 256, 257–9, 261, 290
Harris, Renatus, 10, 53, 198 Kutwijk-aan-Zee, 86
Harris, Thomas, 196, 197 Kedleston Hall, 52
Harrison, G. Donald, 79, 84, 308 Kegellade, 14, 21–2
Harrison & Harrison, 17, 83, 84, 197, 293 Keiser, Reinhard, 234
Hart, Philip, 201 Kerll, Johann Kaspar, 148, 204, 207–8, 209, 210,
Harwood, Basil, 293 214, 217, 236, 239
Hasse, Karl, 256–7, 258, key action
Hauptwerk, 13, 64 balanced, 22, 23
Haydn, Joseph, 208, 217, 251, 264, 282 suspended, 11, 22, 23
Helmholtz, Hermann von, 38–9, 43 keyboard, 4, 5–7, 20, 22, 22–4, 50
Henestrosa, Luis Venegas de, 168 split keys, 47, 149, 155
Herbst, Johann Andreas, 121 Kittel, Johann Christian, 251
Hereford Cathedral, 51 Klais Orgelbau, 83, 84, 88
Herschel, Sir John, 38 Klosterneuburg, 210–11, 212, 217
Hesse, Adolph Friedrich, 250, 252–3, 261, 273, Klotz, Hans, 85
285 Knecht, Justin Heinrich, 216
Heuvel, van den, 86, 87 Kolb, Carlmann, 216, 217
Hildebrandt, Johann Gottfried, 12, 74 Kollman, Augustus Frederick Christopher,
Hildebrandt, Zacharias, 13, 48, 245–6 279–81, 286
Hill & Son, 14, 16, 293 krummhorn, 27, 29
William Hill, 15–16, 50, 51, 285 Kuhnau, Johann, 48, 53
Arthur George Hill, 75
Hill, Norman & Beard, 197 Labor, Josef, 254
Hindemith, Paul, 51, 145, 259, 260, 297, 310 Ladegast, Friedrich, 15, 50
Hodkinson, Sidney, 310 Lahm-in-Itzgrund, 243
Holdich, George Maydwell, 51 Lambert, John, 296
Holland (see also Netherlands), 11, 78 Landini, Francesco, 149
Hollins, Alfred, 290 Langlais, Jean, 278
Holmes, Edward, 283–5 Lasceux, Guillaume, 265
Holtkamp, Walter, 18, 78, 79, 84, 309, 310, 315 Langhedul, Matthijs, 9
Holzhay, Johann Nepomuk, 215 Lebègue, Nicholas, 140, 176, 177, 178
Hook & Hastings, 300–2 Leeds Town Hall, 286–8
Hope-Jones, Robert, 14, 16, 304 Lefébure-Wely, Louis-James-Alfred, 265, 274,
Hopkins, Edward John, 50, 286 278, 286
Hovhaness, Alan, 310 Leighton, Kenneth, 145, 297
Howells, Herbert, 293–4 Leipzig, 143, 236, 251
Hoyer, Karl, 256, 257 Thomaskirche, 48, 53, 144, 242
Hutchings, George Sherburn, 305 Lemare, Edwin, 290
Lemmens, Jacques-Nicolas, 95, 102–3, 109, 129,
improvisation, 9, 139–40, 143 266, 273–4
Irsee, 216 Lérida, 164
Italy, 5, 8, 12, 23, 60, 84, 108, 117–19, 121, 133, Lewis, Thomas Christopher, 50–1
148–63, 165, 188, 198–9, 204, 209, 212, Liège, 272
230, 234 Ligeti, György, 259
Ives, Charles, 304 Lincoln, Henry Cephas, 279–80
Lindley, Mark, 48
Jaekel, 87 Liszt, Franz, 50, 51, 254, 255, 259, 261, 273, 321
Jancke, 85 liturgical modes, 44
336 Index

Liverpool, St George’s Hall, 51 Merseburg Cathedral, 15, 50

Locke, Matthew, 198, 199, 202–3 Mersenne, Marin, 43, 189
London, 14, 210, 279 Merulo, Claudio, 118, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162,
Alexandra Palace, 16, 74–5, 76 317, 319
All Hallows, Barking, 5 Messiaen, Olivier, 51, 141–2, 146, 277–8, 296
Brompton Oratory, 294–5 Metzler Orgelbau, 86
Christ Church, Spitalfields, 12 Michigan, University of, 304, 305–6, 311
Crystal Palace, 16 Middelburg, Koorkerk, 61
Foundling Hospital Chapel, 50, 281 Milan, 154, 319
Great Exhibition (1851), 50, 74 Milhaud, Darius, 310
Portuguese Embassy Chapel, 282 mixtures, 5, 13, 26, 181–3, 198, 245, 266, 305
Royal Albert Hall, 16, 54, 74–5 Mizler, Lorenz, 104
Royal Panopticon, 50 modes, 156, 316–18, 159, 160, 316–18
St Andrew Undershaft, 53 Moitessier, P.-A., 14
St Anne, Limehouse, 74, 281 Möller, 91
St Helen Bishopgate, 48 Mönchsdeggingen, 206
St James’s Hall, 54 Mondragón, San Juan Bautista, 166
St Magnus the Martyr, London Bridge, 12 montre, 180, 181, 188
St Mary, Rotherhithe, 69, 279 Montreal Livre d’orgue, 179
St Paul’s Cathedral, 14, 53–4, 191, 283 Morales, Christóbal de, 164, 171
Temple Church, 47, 285 Moreau, Jean, 12
Westminster Abbey, 285 Morley, Thomas, 193
Long Island, USA,Cathedral of the Incarnation, Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 70, 208, 217, 251
14 Muffat, Georg, 204, 207, 212–13, 214, 217,
Lorente, Andrés, 170, 175 320
Lübeck, 236, 238 Muffat, Gottlieb, 206, 208, 214–15, 216, 217,
Jakobikirche, 7, 63 319, 320
Marienkirche, 15, 47, 219, 227 Mühlhausen, 53, 238
Lübeck, Vincent, 144, 229, 232–3, 235 Müller, Christian, 12, 66–7, 70
Lucca Cathedral, 45 Müller, Johann Caspar, 12–13
Lugge, John, 194, 202 Mulliner Book, 191–2
Lully, Jean-Baptiste, 126, 176, 212 Murschhauser, Franz Xaver, 208, 217
Lüneburg, 8, 219, 224, 229, 236, 237 Mutin, Charles, 16, 83
Lutheranism, 10, 131, 142–4, 146
Luzzaschi, Luzzasco, 157 Naumburg, Wenzelskirche, 13, 48, 53, 245–6
Lyons Cathedral, 131 Neidhardt, Johann Georg, 47, 48, 49
Neresheim, 215
Maas, Nicolaas, 8 Netherlands, 8, 9, 164–5, 195, 223
Macque, Giovanni de, 157, 158, 159, 162, 316 New Orleans, USA, 299
Madrid, 165 New York, 14
Mahler, Gustav, 257 Niedermeyer, Louis, 265, 274
Malmesbury, 4 Niehoff, Hendrik, 8, 59, 237
Mander, N. P., 86 Niehoff, Nicolaas, 8
Marchand, Louis, 176, 177, 178, 179, 184, 188 Nivers, Guillaume-Gabriel, 94, 120, 123, 124–5,
Maple Mount, Kentucky, USA, 313 136, 141, 176, 177, 178, 184, 189
Marcussen, 78, 80, 83, 88 Noack, Fritz, 85, 87
Marmoutier, 212 noëls, 177, 179, 264
Marpurg, Friedrich Wilhelm, 49, 97 Norman & Beard, 54
Martín y Coll, Antonio, 170, 175 Norrlanda, 55
Mathias, William, 297 Novello, Vincent, 283
Mattheson, Johann, 102, 233–4 Nuremberg, 143
Maw, Nicholas, 296
Mayne, Ascanio, 158, 159, 160–1 Oberwerk, 64
McCabe, John, 297 Offertory, 134, 135, 184, 266
McGill University, Canada, 310 Oliver, Stephen, 297
Melk Abbey, 204, 205, 217 Oosthuizen, 59
Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Felix, 49–50, 145, organ
253–4, 255, 259, 261, 283, 285, 286 blower, 15, 19, 20
Merkel, Gustav, 254, 261, 285 case, 7–8, 18, 55–81, 87
337 Index

concerto, 217, 241, 259, 282–3, 321 Sacré-Coeur, 82

construction, 18–30 St Augustine, 274
etymology, 1 St Clothilde, 50, 270–1, 272, 277
iconography, 56–8 St Gervais, 68, 178, 266
liturgical use, 4, 7, 9–10, 11, 130–47, 179, 183, St Louis-des-Invalides, 179–80
190, 192, 207, 215, 222, 225–6, 229–30, St Merry, 140, 178, 274
250, 253 St Nicolas-des-Champs, 178
medieval, 1, 2, 3–8, 11, 18, 26–7, 45, 52, St Sulpice, 71, 74, 178, 263, 274
55–60, 108 Tuileries, 264
positive, 2, 7 Parker, Horatio, 304
pipes, 5–6, 25–30 Parma, 319
construction, 27, 28, 29, 32 Parratt, Walter, 289, 290
ears, 30 Parry, Charles Hubert Hastings, 286, 289, 291,
materials, 32 293
metal, 25, 32 Pärt, Arvo, 259
physics of, 31–41 Pasquini, Ercole, 162, 212
scaling, 28, 168, 181–3 Passau, 212
stopped, 27, 30 Patterson, Paul, 296
tuning, 29–30 Pavia, Lorenzo da, 151
voicing, 28–9, 168 Pedal Organ, 5, 11, 13, 15, 16, 180, 226–7,
pistons, 15, 24–5 237–8, 251, 280
reeds, 10, 11, 12, 13, 27–8, 28, 165, 168, pedal technique, 95–6, 106–7, 114
183–4, 198, 219 pedal pull-downs, 196
free, 15 pedals, 6, 20, 23, 155–6, 165–6, 283
harmonic, 16 Peeters, Flor, 278
high-pressure, 15–16 Perazo, Francisco, 164, 169, 175
horizontal, 66, 67, 167, 174 Persichetti, Vincent, 310
physics of, 32, 40 Péschard, Dr Albert, 14
resonator, 27, 28, 29, 30 Philadelphia, USA, Centennial Exhibition, 303,
shallot, 27, 29 304
tongue, 28, 29, 30 Piffero, Giovanni, 151, 152
restoration, 2–3, 88, 260–1, 278 Pinkham, Daniel, 310
mass, 138–42, 146, 158, 177, 179, 181–6, pitch, 51–4
189 Pitman chest, 21
sonata, 253, 254, 293, 320–1 Plein Jeu, 178, 181–3, 240, 264
symphony, 274–7 pneumatic lever, 3, 13–14, 23, 87, 88, 267, 271,
transposing, 52–3, 155 289
organum, 26 pistons, 15, 24–5
Orgelbewegung, 82, 256, 259, 260, 294 Poglietti, Alessandro, 204, 207, 208, 210, 218,
ornamentation, 114, 115–16, 118, 119–20, 319, 320
121–2, 124–5, 157, 187, 196, 200, 210, Poitiers, 73
215 Poland, 60
Ott, Paul, 83 polyphony, 5
Ottobeuren Abbey, 204, 215 Portman, Richard, 194–5
Ouseley, Frederick Arthur Gore, 286 Portugal, 11, 64–6, 164–75
Oxford, 53, 198 posture of organist, 94–5, 113–14, 117
Pott, Francis, 297
Pachelbel, Johann, 47, 208, 209, 214, 218, 236, Praetorius, Hieronymous, 222–3, 234
240–1, 242, 319 Praetorius, Jacob, 223–5, 235
Padovano, Annibale, 156 Praetorius, Michael, xii, 5–7, 46, 47, 52, 121,
Paine, John Knowles, 302 143, 219, 234, 320
pallet (see also soundboard), 4, 5, 13, 15, 20, 21, Prague, 204, 206, 217
22, 23, 24, 99, 101 prelude (praeludium), 10, 144, 209, 213, 227,
pallet box, 21 230–4, 239, 241–2, 245, 246, 247
Paris, 14, 176, 210, 212 Prescher, Paulus, 206
Conservatoire, 102, 263, 265, 272, 274 Preston, Thomas, 190–1
La Madeleine, 16, 274 Princeton University, 305
La Trinité, 274 principals, 5, 26–7
Notre Dame, 12, 13, 176–7 Ptolemy, 43
338 Index

Purcell, Henry, 120, 124, 145, 198–200, 203 Santa María, Tomás de, 99, 101, 114–16, 117,
Puritans, 9, 130, 196, 198 118, 119, 126, 168, 171, 175
Pythagoras, 43, 44, 45 Sauer, Wilhelm, 16, 255
Scandinavia, 8
quintadena, 222 Scheibe, Johann Adolph, 96, 144
Scheidemann, Heinrich, 121, 142, 143, 223–5,
Racquet, Charles, 189 230, 235
Radeck, Martin, 230 Scheidt, Samuel, 121, 142, 189, 223–5, 234, 320
Raison, André, 125, 133, 139, 176, 177, 178 Scherer family, 207, 209, 219
Ramos de Pareia, Bartolomeo, 45 Schlägl Abbey, 206–7, 212
Rameau, Jean Philippe, 49, 124, 125 Schlick, Arnolt, xi, 5–6, 12, 45–6, 52, 53, 56, 106,
Ramsey Abbey, 4 113–14
Reading, John, 201 Schneider, Johann, 285
Récit, 180, 184–5, 187–8 Schnitger, Arp, 10, 11, 53, 64, 219–22
Redford, John, 190–1 Schnitger, Franz Caspar, 2, 296
Reformation, 9–10 Schoenberg, Arnold, 278, 310
regal, 60, 84 Schuke Orgelbau, 83
Reger, Max, 15, 51, 145, 255–7, 260, 261, 291 Schulze, Edmund, 50
registration, 107–9, 123, 153–4, 181–9, 195–6, Schulze, Johann Friedrich, 15
207, 224, 225, 233–4, 244–5, 265 Schumann, Camillo, 254
Reimann, Heinrich, 255, 261 Schweitzer, Albert, 17, 82–3, 103
Reincken, Johann, 219, 229, 231, 235, 236–7, Schwimmer, 20
242–3 Seger, Joseph, 206, 217, 218, 320
reservoir (see also bellows), 19–20 Séjan, Nicolas, 264
Reubke, Julius, 321 Seville, 164
Rheims, 178 sforzando pedal, 15
Rheinberger, Josef, 254, 261, 285, 293 shifting movement, 24
ricercar, 157–8, 172, 199, 209, 210, 212, 214–15, Siena, 62, 151, 152
231–2 Silbermann, Andreas, 212
Richards, Ralph, 86 Silbermann, Gottfried, 12, 13, 44, 53, 87, 245,
Rieger Orgelbau, 83, 88, 309 247, 285
Riepp, Karl Joseph, 215 Simpson, Christopher, 120
Riga, 14, 15 Sion, Cathedral of Notre Dame, 7, 56, 57
Rinck, Johann Christian Heinrich, 106, 250–2, Skinner, Ernest M., 17, 21, 305–7, 308
261, 285 slider (or slide), 4, 5, 20, 21
Roberday, François, 177, 189, 209, 210 sliderless chest (see also Kegellade and Pitman
Robertsbridge Codex, 190 chest), 20–2
Rochester, USA, 308–9 Smart, Henry, 286–8, 293, 321
Rodio, Rocco, 158, 159 Smith, Bernard (‘Father’), 10, 47, 53–4, 198
Rogers, Benjamin, 198, 203 Smith, Robert, 50
rollerboard, 4, 22, 23, 58 Snetzler, John, 52
Rollschweller, 15 Sorge, Georg Andreas, 47
Roman Catholic Church, 130, 131–42, 145–6 Soto, Gaspar de, 165
Rome, 131, 148 soundboard (see also spring chest), 4–5, 20–2,
Roosevelt, Hilborne, 14, 21, 76, 304 21, 22–4, 25
Roosevelt chest, 21 Sowerby, Leo, 307, 308
Rorem, Ned, 310 Spain, 8, 10, 12, 23, 24, 25, 64–6, 84, 114–16,
Rosales, Manuel, 87, 310 164–75, 193, 199
Rouen, 178, 182, 189 Spark, William, 286
Rückpositiv, 60, 64, 75, 224, 238, 244, 245 Spoth, Johann, 212
Russell, William, 280–1, 282, 283, 297 spring, 20
Ryder, Thomas, 300–1 spring chest, 5, 8, 20
square, 23, 24
St Denis, 13–14, 16, 267–70, 268 Stanford, Charles Villiers, 289, 290–1, 292, 293
St Quentin, 178 Stanley, John, 47, 201, 279
Saint-Saëns, Charles Camille, 265, 274 Steinmeyer, Georg Friedrich, 255
Salamanca, 56 Stellwagen, Friederich, 65, 237
Salvatore, Giovanni, 155 sticker, 23
Salzburg, 212 Stockholm, Katarina Kyrka, 86
339 Index

Stockmeier, Wolfgang, 259, 260 tubular-pneumatic action, 14, 23

stops, 5, 20 Tunder, Franz, 144, 226, 227, 230, 231, 235
action, 24–5 Türk, Daniel Gottlob, 98, 102
divided stops, 165, 171
Stralsund, Marienkirche, 65, 222 Ulm Minster, 15
Straube, Karl, 255, 256 United States of America, 15, 17, 21, 24, 25,
Stravinsky, Igor, xii, 110 75–6, 77, 78, 84, 85–6, 87, 89–91,
string-toned registers, 215, 238, 244, 245, 268, 299–315
270 upperboard, 20, 21
Strozzi, Gregorio, 156
Strungk, Nicolaus Adam, 212–13, 236, 320 Valencia Cathedral, 174
Stumm, Johann Heinrich and Johann Philipp, Varèse, Edgar, 310
215 Vater, Christian, 13
Sundre, 55 Venegas, 115
Swayne, Giles, 297 Venice, 140, 149
Sweelinck, Jan Pieterszoon, 9, 46, 121, 189, ventils, 11, 16, 24
223–4, 234 Verdalonga, José, 12
Swell Organ, 12, 15, 25, 75, 78, 267 Versailles, 52
Sydney Town Hall, 14, 75 Vienna, 54
Syracuse, USA, 79, 309 Vierne, Louis-Victor-Jules, 103, 145, 265, 273,
275–6, 278
Tallis, Thomas, 190, 194 Vicentino, Nicola, 155
Tannenberg, David, 299 Vienna, 204, 208, 212, 217
Taverner, John, 192 Vivaldi, 241, 246
Taylor & Boody, 86, 90, 310, 313 voce umana, 153
Telemann, Georg Philipp, 234 Vogel, Harald, 99
temperament, 42–51, 54, 86, 148, 155, 157, 216, Vogler, Georg Joseph, 15, 16, 216
285 Vogler, Johann Caspar, 127–8
Thaxted, 279–80 Voigt, J. C., 143
Theophilus, 4, 5 voix humaine, 27–8, 29, 183, 187
Thierry, Alexandre, 10, 179–80 voluntary, 10, 145, 191–3, 199–201, 299–300,
Thierry, François, 12 302
Thierry, Pierre, 10 vox humana, see voix humaine
thunder pedal, 264
tiento, 170–4, 193 Wagner, Richard, 255, 273, 290
tierce, 27, 51, 181, 184, 185, 186, 187, 264 Walcker, Eberhard Friedrich, 14, 15, 21, 74, 75,
Tippett, Michael, 297 255, 300
Titelouze, 182, 189 Walker, J. W. & Sons Ltd, 50, 294
toccata, 118–19, 133, 144, 150, 153, 156, 157, Walond, William, 279
159–62, 209, 210, 212–13, 215, 230, 231, Walther, Johann Gottfried, 122
241, 274–5 Weckmann, Matthias, 210, 226, 227, 230–1, 235,
Toledo Cathedral, 12, 165 320
Tomkins, Nathaniel, 52 Weimar, 240, 241, 242, 260
Tomkins, Thomas, 52, 194, 195, 202 Weingarten Abbey, 12, 13, 71, 72, 81, 204, 215
Töpfer, Johann Gottlob, 168, 254–5, 261 Weir, Judith, 297
Toronto, 310 Wells Cathedral, 51
Tournemire, Charles-Arnould, 142, 146, 277, Wender, Johann Friedrich, 53, 238
278 Werckmeister, Andreas, 44, 47, 48, 49
toy stops, 11, 167, 222 Werkprinzip, 10, 11, 60–4, 67, 71, 78, 80, 85, 238
tracker action, 4, 13, 22–4, 22, 99 Wesley, Charles, 282
Trabaci, Giovanni Maria, 158, 159, 162 Wesley, Samuel, 50, 279, 281–5, 297–8, 321
tremulant, 11, 153, 154 Wesley, Samuel Sebastian, 51, 282, 285–6, 289,
trio sonata, 242 293
trompes, 4, 60 Whitlock, Percy, 290
trompette, 183–4, 187 Widor, Charles-Marie, 96, 103, 145, 265, 267,
Trost, Tobias Heinrich Gottfried, 243–4 274–5, 277, 278
trumpet, 27, 28, 29 Wilkinson, William, 14
voluntary, 199–200 Willan, James Healey, 307
tuba mirabilis, 15–16, 28 Williams, Peter, 85
340 Index

Williams, Ralph Vaughan, 291–3 Worcester Cathedral, 52, 196

Williamson, Malcolm, 297 Worcester, USA, 300–2, 304
Willis, Henry, 14, 15, 16, 25, 51, 74–5, 76, 197, Wurlitzer, 304
293, 308
Winchester, 4 Yokota, Munetaka, 87
wind chest (see also soundboard), 4, 20 Yokohama, Japan, 90
wind pressure, 168 York Minster, 53
wind system (see also bellows), 11, 13, 18–20, 88 York, Pennsylvania, USA, 299
Windsor, St George’s Chapel, 12 Yuste, Convent of, 166
winkers, see concussion bellows
Wolff, Helmut, 310 Zachariassen, Sybrand Jürgen, 85
Wolfville, Nova Scotia, 310 Zaragoza, 56, 164
Wollaton Hall, 44, 53 Zarlino, 43, 46, 156, 316–17
Wood, Charles, 291 Zeno of Citium, 31
Wood, Hugh, 296 Zwolle, 296