Scan 10
Musical Courier 1893-12-27: Vol 27 Iss 720, 1893
57 lines. Read by computer on 21 September 2026. Printed page 11. See the scan on archive.org.
1ORGAN LOFT WHISPERINGS
3ORGAN STUDY IN PARIS.
5"Sans la force la délicatesse dépérira bien vite!"—C. M. PHILBERT.
6"Let the harmony penetrate even into the very bone! You know Bach; you know all."—WIDOR.
8IN New York the "Paris Conservatoire" is a harem of sweet sounds, carpets, curtains, perfume, fountains, elegant furniture, softly clad men and women, polished railings, glittering lights, heat, courtly gallants and knightly autocrats of harmony in becoming thrones of dignified state—Fame in the foreground.
10In Paris the real "Conservatoire" is a convent—bare, desolate, cold, dreary—in which monks and nuns "called" to "Career" agonize with Talent, Tradition and Time, and come forth equipped for the artistic battle.
12A prize at the Conservatoire means "a prize"—a thing to be captured. It means a test of knowledge and power on entrance that would constitute an artist elsewhere. It means grind in a mill of unrelenting conscience under men to whom Art is a religion, Perfection, heaven, and pupils so many souls to be saved. It means growth, development, acquisition, executive, mental and spiritual; to be measured again by a standard of taste in the hands of giants of Art, strength and severity, in whom dwells the spirit described by Victor Hugo in his "92"—of the father who sentenced his own son to death for a negligence in naval discipline. There is neither luxury, petting nor partiality in the Paris Conservatoire.
14A square stone paved court bounded by solid gray walls, that make you tremble lest the one small entrance close behind you and you are imprisoned for life. A "concierge" in uniform, with snapping black eyes under low brow and officer's cap, sees everything and hears all while deaf, dumb and blind, and the noisy group of students gathered around the doors of a dark archway, similar to the bridges in Central Park, know it. It is 9 A. M., as two flirtatious damsels, peeping over one of the stone roofs, the graceful towers of a near-by church sweetly chime the hour, and a gruff clock high up in the courtway condescends to acknowledge the truth of the remark, though with an air that assures them there is no possible chance of further parley.
16The doors open and the small company evaporates. A bare, dark hall, a bleak narrow stairway, a small passage, a narrow door and—Widor's classroom. The place looks unclothed in dying tones of green; long, narrow, lit by six primitive four pane dull-glass windows near the ceiling. A tiny gallery in light green rests on a pink granite wall. Immediately inside of the door is a table shaped like a bracket (T), covered with old green cloth, punctuated with round white ink wells, scraps of copying paper, pens and pencils, a few hard chairs inside the bracket. A grand piano and more chairs lie aimlessly farther on till a small stage is reached, old, worn, wooden, uncarpeted; a piano tucked away in one corner and more monastery chairs.
18The curving end is an organ, two manual, eighteen stops; overhead brown, open slat-work that makes one think of a chicken coop or dove cote: old, heavy, dark green curtains clothe the balance of the wooden curve from floor to ceiling. Directly back of the organ bench is a music stand; behind that a hard leather covered rung-backed chair; behind that a long, low, hard, canvas covered school bench, a noble, well inserted patch, indicating the French frugality, further accentuated by the few chairs and the total absence of anything else.
20A young man about the age and very like your Mr. Kusdo, the violinist, with a bound copy of J. S. Bach under his arm, slips quietly upon the organ bench and, without ado or more than a glance at the enormous innovation of a woman in the case, plunges into the midst of a Bach fugue.
22Once, twice, thrice the same "deedle, deedle, deedle, dee, dee, dee," with grave "tum, tum, tum" from the pedals. What is he at? Every time different, now the accent here, again there, one time this note is short, next time long, here a flute, there an oboe. At last he is satisfied, the strain is joined to another and the fugue flows on. He has no book. The boys who get into this room know their Bach by heart and improvise their own fugues from a couple of notes of motive. "Know Bach, you know all" is the motto here. By this time some 15 men between the ages of 18 and 35 have dropped in, all with books or manuscripts, all with turned up trousers and mud, one with rubber boots on. All are neatly dressed and groomed but have not looked in a glass since removing hat and muffler, so that with the exception of one bristling blonde German, the soft flaky hair lies at narrow angles. Three remain at the table scraping and jotting on MSS, the others clustering round the organ, are buried in their companion's work, humming, differing, keeping time, suggesting.
24"Trop vite! Trop vite!! Trop-vite!!! Still and startling as a new tone in a combination, Widor is in the chair with the rungs and the leather seat, the boys fill up on the patched bench and chairs behind him, the heads all clustered together over the one Bach copy on the music stand.
26The same short coat and tie, the grey trousers are tucked up once, the neat shoes indicate an ability to pick one's way skillfully through mud, the erect form is independent of chair back, the neck is clean and red above the neat blue coat and white collar, the slight hair is polished to the round head, and one slender hand is beating the other, in that agony of rhythm restriction, which only the master of music teaching can know.
28The lesson lasted 2 1/2 hours. In all that time the burden of comment was "Go slow!" The last word as the first was "trop vite!" The master's conception of Bach can be conveyed in these two words as well as though a volume were written. "Slowness" is the first principle of the "Bach style" as Widor sees it.
30"Pum-pum-pum pa-pa-pa-a-a!" One could feel the nerve strife between teacher and pupil—the former tranquil, over-looking, understanding, art-ripe, the other nervous, self-conscious, comparatively crude, though an artist, and with the student haste.
32"Slow-slow-slow, time-enough-for-hasty-movement, where-will-be-your climax?" all in rhythm with the music. Useless; the nervous tempo keeps up, and young colt might lead the elder by a half head, up hill, down dale through brushwood of cadence and harmony. Twice a veritable halt is called by peremptory slapping of the hands, "Stop, stop, you are playing Bach not opéra-bouffe, allez-lente-lente!"
34The execution was perfect, not a break, not a failure, the thought was intelligent, accents defined, yet it was like a light water color sketch of a mountain landscape. Nothing was quite enough except speed, which was too much. One could see the end coming in the growing anxiety on the faces of the group. At last it came. A damaged trill and a muddled cadence—
36Widor speaks so continuously in rhythmic shape that it is a small cyclone when the pretty monologue of French correction and suggestion is broken by a sudden slapping of the hands, a torrent of French words and a "stop." It is as if some machinery tangled and broke down.
38"Arrêté, arrêté, toute suite! See, see, it is disgraceful. It is like a lot of bourgeois tumbling out of an omnibus, falling over one another!" With abashed air and crimson points to his cheeks, the player is called to a seat close beside the master, while a more exemplary one is invited to proceed. A short, sharp discourse of about seven terse sentences, then "Allez!" as the winding and knitting of thinking harmonies continues. The master's best attention is given to the delinquent, in low, gentle tone, quiet, impressive manner, with pointed expression, finger now on coat collar, again on sleeve, times toward the floor, again toward the organ, earnestly, rhythmically, clearly, quietly, forcing upon his intelligence the article of the Bach creed. He had little fault to find with the second pupil. He had been chosen to assist in teaching the first. He gave, however, a few suggestions for change of color, use of pedal and lengthening of introduction to climax.
40"Voyez, c'est un véritable cadence—1—2—3—4—5—6," himself singing the trill and turn once, twice, thrice, till perfectly done. You should hear him guard that trill. It was a lesson in itself. Till a baby could count the number of turns and feel whether the cadenza began on the upper or lower note, it was not passed by.
42(Ah, dear choirmasters, getting to the next measure is a small part of doing one measure well!)
44He insists on uniformity between right and left hands in making a trill. Should the left hand be but half as skillful as the right, the latter must retard sufficiently, so that both hands are as one. There must be no jumble or wobble. As for omitting the left hand—
46The next player lacks melodic appreciation. "Fa, fa, sol, sol, mi," the teacher sings, many strains dwelling on the melody notes. By the way he constantly employs do, re, mi, &c., indicating the hold that the solfeg system, begun with harmony at the age of seven in the schools, has upon the musical mind here. Twice he slipped from his seat to the bench to force the importance of what he said, and the melody was brought out with several different stops.
48He frequently insisted upon "breathing" with the organ as a means of phrasing. As in singing he taught them to watch for beginning and end of a thought and "respire," though not marked in the work. He also taught the separation of organ point from phrase, an illustration of which may be found in Sonata 2, page 11, Peters' edition, where the first two pedal eighth notes are joined together and quarter notes in bass and treble. He showed how useless and unmeaning to connect the two pedal notes together just to make a majestic "pom pom" of calling attention, the bass and treble notes at same time separated from the following phrase which ends on f. The fourth measure on page 13 he called "beautiful superb harmony," when dwelt upon and listened to, how it was but an indifferent and neutral link when slurred over or played rapidly. "And it was so."
50"You must put yourself in the circuit," he said, "when playing Bach. You must feel the music not the notes. You must feel the color; you must think of the sounds of the instruments and what instruments Bach intended to be used and also how he missed the instruments not yet created! If there is any flaw in Bach it is due to the insufficient instrumentation of his day!"
52"Long crescendos! In Bach a crescendo or diminuendo should occupy five or six bars. It is a crime to make it in one." Strong accents are insisted upon and illustrated. "Plus et plus grandement" was said over and over. "Continuity," "gravity," "depth" were spoken of as if material qualities. "Make responses." "How rich that idea—see it." "Supe-r-b-e!" "Enter into that thought quick, quick, quick." It is inlaid." "Make it like writing for c-l-e-a-r-ness." "When you play Bach fast it is like wheels going around without belts in the machinery—a whirr without action." "You pull like a horse running away; why is this?" were some of his sentences in French, that is yet twice as forceful.
54He does not bear a whisper or inattention. Once two turned their heads at the arrival of some one in the room "What is it who arrives!" he said sadly. If he hears a whisper he looks in its direction without seeming to look at the person, as one disturbed in sleep—so wrapt is he in the work.
56At a page of thirty-second notes and nothing else, he insisted on "exactness," "tranquility," "continuous legato," "equality," "precision," "strong accent where the theme arrived" and once indicated loose wrist motion. He spoke of the relation between strains as a matter of "thought," spoke of "growth," "mounting," "climbing" in going toward climax. An ever majestic pedal intent, and
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