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Hyperion Records

CDA67815 - Saint-Saëns: Organ Music, Vol. 2 – La Madeleine, Paris
Exterior view of La Madeleine, Paris by Philippe Benoist (1813-c1905)
Musée de la Ville de Paris, Musée Carnavalet, Paris / Lauros / Giraudon / Bridgeman Art Library, London
CDA67815

Recording details: May 2009
La Madeleine, Paris, France
Produced by Michael Hedley
Engineered by Dick Koomans
Release date: August 2011
DISCID: E811D010
Total duration: 75 minutes 53 seconds

'O lucky Saint-Saëns! Lucky three times over! First, fortunate to have presided over Cavaillé-Coll's magnificent organ in La Madeleine; second, blessed with friends and pupils who revered him and inspired his improvisations; and third, surely grateful now to have in Andrew-John Smith an advocate who understands just how to lift from the printed page and project this remarkably rigorous yet beguiling music. The combination of this artist playing this music in such an authentic setting proves to be unbeatable' (Gramophone)

'Recorded on the Cavaillé-Coll instrument in Paris’s La Madeleine, where Saint-Saëns was organist for two decades, this programme centres on the sort of improvisations that spurred Liszt to describe Saint-Saëns as the finest organist in the world' (The Daily Telegraph)

'The preludes and fugues make a sharply contrasted trio: the first and last, in D minor and C, are grand in scale and conception; the second, in G, is much more compact and relaxed. Smith makes full use of the resources of the Madeleine instrument to colour them all' (The Guardian)

Organ Music, Vol. 2 – La Madeleine, Paris
Prelude  [3'08]
Fugue  [6'27]
A major  [3'45]
Prelude  [2'19]
Fugue  [3'56]
Pro defunctis  [8'53]
E flat major  [5'32]
Prelude  [4'46]
Fugue  [5'49]
Pro martyribus  [6'07]
E major  [10'58]
A minor  [4'25]

British organist Andrew-John Smith once again brings his compelling artistry to the service of Camille Saint-Saëns. Smith’s commanding sense of architecture, breathtaking musicality and astonishing control of dynamics and nuance is thrilling. As with Volume 1, this disc provides a rare opportunity to hear Saint-Saëns’s organ works played on the very instrument for which they were composed—the magnificent Cavaillé-Coll at La Madeleine, Paris.

The art of improvisation was essential for French organists and huge importance was placed on the development of this skill. Saint-Saëns was renowned for his extraordinary organ improvisations and it was said that ‘his genius was of an indescribable splendour’. In committing these extensive improvisations to paper he offers an insight into his instinctive musical logic and dazzling virtuosity. The Preludes and Fugues bear witness to the composer’s improvisatory flare and demonstrate the extent of his vastly imaginative compositional skills.


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The fine art of improvisation, so French and in my opinion so necessary … (Camille Saint-Saëns, 1911)

Though he was, in his earlier years, a great promoter of German music, Saint-Saëns remained fiercely patriotic throughout his life and became a founding member of the Société Nationale in February 1871. Under its motto ars gallica this organization set about the promotion of French music and the establishment of a national style in those difficult years that followed the Franco-Prussian war. Despite considerable distinction Saint-Saëns was never far from controversy and for the last forty years or so of his life was perhaps known as much for his intransigence and outspoken views as for his musical accomplishments.

Saint-Saëns was one of music’s truly great prodigies. Following the death of his father two months after his birth he was brought up by a doting mother and great-aunt. At just two-and-a-half years of age he began playing the piano and was composing by the time he was five. In 1846 he gave his public debut at the Salle Pleyel. On this occasion he performed concertos by Mozart and Beethoven, a Bach Prelude and Fugue and works by Handel and Kalkbrenner. Not only did he perform without reference to scores, but for an encore he invited the audience to choose any one of the thirty-two Beethoven piano sonatas which he had also committed to memory! It is easy to see how such a precocious talent came to be compared with that of Mozart, whose music he adored, along with Bach, Haydn, Schubert and Mendelssohn. This list is revealingly conservative, and Reynaldo Hahn and Alfred Bruneau were not alone in describing him as ‘musical art’s last great classicist’. Saint-Saëns himself later recollected how ‘everything in my youth seemed calculated to keep me far removed from romanticism’.

He was one of the first significant composers to write solo music for the harmonium, and amongst the first French composers of the nineteenth century to write chamber music. Credited with almost single-handedly developing the solo concerto in France, he was also one of the first to incorporate genuine Arabic melodies into his scores, such as those in Samson et Dalila, or the Suite algérienne, Op 60. In 1908 he became the first notable composer to write a film score, with L’assassinet du Duc de Guise, Op 128, and was honoured as a member of the German Association of Musicians, a Grand Officer of the Légion d’honneur and a member of the Académie des Beaux-Arts. He was also awarded the German Order of Merit, an honorary doctorate from Cambridge University, the Cross of the Order of Victoria and had a museum devoted to him in Dieppe. A largely self-taught polymath, his interests and publications were as wide ranging as his career. They vary from astronomy, geology, archaeology, history, sculpture, painting and mathematics to anthropology, zoology, animal welfare and travel.

Accounts of Saint-Saëns’ improvisation are unanimous in their praise. Joseph Bonnet wrote that ‘no one who had the pleasure of hearing him will ever forget his extraordinary improvisations, so authentically classic in style and so dazzling in their virtuosity’, and several commentators, Joseph Ermend-Bonnal among them, remarked upon the impossibility of distinguishing these improvisations from written works. We are fortunate to have a number of early twentieth-century piano rolls which testify to this. It is from Jean Huré, however, that we learn the most of his improvisation at the organ:

Saint-Saëns’ genius as an improviser has often been praised, but these eulogies have always seemed insufficient to me. His genius was of an indescribable splendour … Following a marvellously ordered plan, he improvised counterpoint in two, three or four voices with such a purity and logic in the progression of parts that the most erudite musician with the most experienced ear believed he was hearing a thoughtfully, carefully written-down composition. So difficult were certain of these impromptus that it would have taken a year of assiduous work for our most skilled organists to play them.
For example, for the Sortie of the High Mass Saint-Saëns would improvise a strict fugue in three voices on the manuals. The clean, clear, incisive subject, the surprisingly ingenious countersubject, the exquisitely imaginative and inventive episodes would continue imperturbably in a vertiginous movement when all of a sudden in the stretto the last motet sung by the choir was heard in the pedal and continued as the entrances came closer and closer together until a dazzling conclusion. This he called a ‘little joke’. Lastly, I heard him improvise an Offertoire in which the right hand moved in legato fifths and sixths, the left hand arpeggiated wide chords from one keyboard to another while the pedal sang the melody in the tenor. And the rhythm did not falter for an instant.

The Sept Improvisations, Op 150, can best be understood not as free or whimsical pieces but as both a retrospective of the kind of performances he had given and as a template for good improvisatory practice. Why then did Saint-Saëns consider improvisation ‘so necessary’ and what did he regard as ‘so French’ about it?

From the earliest surviving keyboard music it is clear that improvisation was not just necessary but intrinsic to musical performance, and the two earliest extant sources, the Robertsbridge codex (c1360) and the Faenza codex (c1400), can be considered notated examples of a common improvisatory practice. Ornamentation, the stilus fantasticus, Italian partimento, English divisional practice and the realization of figured bass all speak of a long tradition of improvisation in performance, and though it is by no means confined to them, keyboard instruments are clearly particularly well suited to it. It need not surprise us therefore, that in a culture of improvisation as composition so many distinguished composers were revered for their improvisatory skills, Sweelinck, Buxtehude, Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt, Hummel and Chopin amongst them. Interestingly, in a number of cases contemporary comment suggests that improvisatory skill was sometimes even more impressive than the notated works. Saint-Saëns himself observed that it was often the case that lesser composers were more impressive spontaneously than on paper. He thought, for example that his predecessor at La Madeleine, Louis Lefébure-Wély, was a ‘magnificent’ improviser.

The early years of the nineteenth century witnessed a meteoric rise in the popularity of improvisation in response to the public taste for sensation and virtuosity. These, however, were the same characteristics which encouraged its decline as artistic originality was eclipsed by what John Rink has described as an ‘apotheosis of bad taste’. The rise of the performer as interpreter, as evidenced by the solo recital’s coming of age, and the attendant separation of composition from performance together with the adoption of improvisatory elements into compositional procedure, did nothing for the status of the art of pure improvisation. Whereas Czerny laid down formal procedures in his 1829 Systematische Anleitung zum Fantasieren aus dem Pianoforte, by the time the young Saint-Saëns entered the Paris conservatoire its use had become largely restricted to the organ loft.

Numerous improvisatory forms were developed exclusively for the church. These include the Prelude, Toccata and Intonazione, which were used as a constituent part of the Catholic liturgy, either as a means to establish tonality for the singers or to alternate with them. The Mass movements of Frescobaldi, for example, clearly demonstrate improvisatory origins. The strict auditions for organists at St Mark’s, Venice, in the early seventeenth century confirm the pervasive nature of this alternatim practice and the rigour with which it was to be treated, and as late as 1903 Pope Pius X was to reassert this in the moto proprio. Following the Reformation, Protestant countries developed their own alternatives to plainchant in the psalm or chorale and, whilst liturgical requirements were certainly different, the necessity for improvisation was not.

It is clear then that improvisation was demonstrably not a solely ‘French’ discipline. There are nonetheless various elements which lead to the notion of a national school. These arise first and foremost from the idiosyncrasies of French liturgy, use of plainchant, the reform of church music and the development of the symphonic instrument.

For at least two hundred years improvisation was a liturgical necessity in France and it became deeply ingrained in the musical culture. Permitted by a Papal bull of 1568, France developed its own ‘neo-gallican’ liturgy independently of Rome from the 1630s onwards. Begun by the Oratorians and later enforced as a policy of Louis XIV, this movement was in effect an attempt to assert Gallic heritage through the development of new liturgies, of which the Parisian was both the most important and the only one for which organ music survives. From a musical perspective the most significant difference between Paris and Rome was the requirement for organ music to include plainchant. Writing in 1844 Justin Cadaux, organist at Toulouse Cathedral, explained that whilst in France organ versets must always be upon chant, in the Roman rite they were entirely free. Though not the first document to lay down the rubric for this, the Caeremoniale parisienne (1662) was nonetheless the most important to do so. Abbé Leboeuf produced the Paris Antiphoner (1737) and the Paris gradual (1738) which contain a repertoire of both new and traditional chants. They remained the foundation of successive editions until the last was produced in 1846. The new style of chant, plainchant musical, blended traditional elements with modern melodic, harmonic and rhythmic convention. For example, the original version of the most famous Mass setting in this style by Henry Dumont (1699) had sharpened leading note ficta and mensural notation. Such settings could have no functional use beyond the rite for which they were written, and consequently there was a small amount of repertoire published for it.

Whilst there are examples of such repertoire by Fessy, Miné and, most significantly, Saint-Saëns’ early mentor Boëly, they are relatively few and tend to be straightforward in the extreme. With the notable exception of Boëly, published examples are often simple harmonizations of the chant with the cantus firmus presented in the lowest voice. Printed works were clearly aimed at the less accomplished player at a time when most organists improvised their own. As Varcollier noted, the organist not only needed technical command of his instrument but skill in harmony and counterpoint and the ability to improvise all that he played. The sheer amount of music that an organist was required to play under the Parisian rite necessitated a lot of improvisation. Nicolas Lebègue (c1631–1702) calculated that at St Merry, where Saint-Saëns later held his first position, he was required to play in the region of 8,000 versets a year. Both Mass and Office required organ versets performed in alternatim with plainchant sung by the choir as well as various pieces of incidental music. The Elevation, Communion, Offertory and Sortie all required solo organ music and though the character of each contribution was to change as the century progressed, the requirement for it did not.

In addition to the stipulation that certain versets should present the chant unaltered, various traditions were observed such as the provision of a fugue for the second verset of the Kyrie and hymns. At Vespers the organist contributed a verset after the first, third and fifth psalm and in some parishes after each psalm as well as in the hymn and the Magnificat. At the end of the service the organist played the Benedicamus and was often required to provide both introit and voluntary. If a Te Deum was required for an important occasion or feast day then the organist needed to provide sixteen versets for this alone. The popularity of the Te Deum, and in particular its constituent Judex crederis, was widespread in France at the end of the eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth centuries but given this culture of liturgical improvisation it should come as no surprise to learn that there are relatively few written examples.

In addition to the clear practical necessity for the French organist to improvise, for Saint-Saëns there was a second, more important imperative for it:

… it is improvisation alone which permits one to employ all the resources of a large instrument, and to adapt one’s self to the infinite variety of organs; only improvisation frequently develops faculties of invention which, without it, would have remained latent. I have spoken of Lefébure-Wély, whose published works for organ possess such scant interest, and who was a marvellous improviser; I might mention others whose improvisations were superior to their written compositions. Necessity, and the inspiring character of the instrument, sometimes accomplishes what premeditation is unable to achieve. It may excite surprise to learn that the Andante of my first Sonata for piano and cello and the conclusion to my Symphony in C minor were created on the manuals of the organ.

The importance placed upon improvisation and its relation to plainchant is reflected in the auditioning process for organists’ positions in the nineteenth century. Alexis Chauvet’s appointment at St Merry in 1864, for which Saint-Saëns was on the jury, required the performance of either an improvisation or a prepared piece, a fugue with pedals (chosen by the candidate), a plainchant accompaniment and an improvisation on a theme provided by Saint-Saëns. Similarly, when Widor was overseeing the selection of a new organist at St Denis in 1896 candidates were required to accompany plainchant, improvise a fugue, improvise a symphonic piece and perform a work of Bach from memory. For Vierne’s appointment at Notre Dame in 1900, under the supervision of Dubois, this was expanded to involve the obligatory plainchant accompaniment, improvised fugue, improvised free piece and now a memorized performance of a masterwork chosen by the jury from five offered by the candidate. Likewise, the organ competition at the Paris Conservatoire centred on improvisatory skills which in 1834 involved the improvisation of a four-part plainchant accompaniment and an improvised four-part fugue. In 1851 the chant was required to be placed in the soprano and bass successively. In fact the stipulation for the performance of a memorized fugue in 1852 was the first time anything other than improvisation was required. Categorized with harmony and counterpoint, the organ was found by an 1848 conservatoire commission to be ‘intended principally for improvisation’ and until Widor took the helm in 1890 most of the week’s teaching time was devoted to it. So prevalent was the practice that numerous contemporary observers, Danjou and Schmidt among them, were keen to point out that there was often no guarantee that an organist could actually play!

As the nineteenth century progressed the Roman rite was gradually reintroduced into French churches and shortly after Saint-Saëns’ first appointment at St Merry it was officially restored in Paris. The chapter of Notre Dame agreed its use in 1855 and made this mandatory in 1874, a year before Orléans completed the national process. This provoked the question, however, of precisely which chant to restore. As early as 1811 the chants used in the Roman rite since the fifteenth century were criticized as a corruption of those known from medieval manuscript sources. Reforms were begun in the 1830s by the Benedictines at Solesmes and were reflected in the publication of various treatises concerning plainchant theory and performance such as the Traité théorique et pratique (1855) of Louis Niedermeyer and Joseph d’Ortigue, and the Cours complet de plain chant (1855–6) of Adrien de La Fage. The performance of plainchant and the importance of earlier styles in restoring standards to church music were often prime concerns for the various institutions which arose for the promotion of church music. Chief among them were the Institution royale de musique religieuse, founded by Alexandre-Étienne Choron in 1825; the École Niedermeyer, founded by Louis Niedermeyer in 1853; the École d’orgue, d’improvisation et de plainchant, founded by Gigout in 1885; and the Schola Cantorum, École de chant liturgique et de musique religieuse, founded by Bordes, Guilmant and d’Indy in 1894.

It was at the Niedermeyer school that, as a piano teacher, Saint-Saëns held the only official teaching post of his life, from 1861 to 1865, and where he taught and later became lifelong friends with Gabriel Fauré, Eugène Gigout and Albert Périlhou. It is the Schola Cantorum, however, that can be regarded as the cornerstone of nineteenth-century efforts to reform French church music. It was begun with four main aims: to improve plainchant performance, to restore the style of Palestrina to the church, to create a modern repertoire inspired by these, and to improve the relevance of organ repertoire in relation to each of these three. Though applauding the intention, Saint-Saëns was critical of the Schola for promoting chant and the style of Palestrina at the exclusion of all else. Despite the fact that, at least for the Offertory, Saint-Saëns almost always used plainchant themes for his liturgical improvisations he was typically outspoken on the subject of chant. Confessing himself a sceptic of the reforms of Solesmes he questioned what he thought a futile attempt to rediscover the ‘primitive purity’ of chant. Nonetheless, he considered that their work would ‘doubtless be of great benefit’ and in fact he was far from opposing the use of either Palestrina or plainchant but argued, as he did so often, for balance. What he questioned was the limitation to earlier models at the exclusion of modern music and for this reason he also criticized the moto proprio: ‘Every epoch has the right to express religious sentiment in its own way.’ Nevertheless, he considered such limitations ‘a hundred times preferable to that drivel inflicted on us daily to the detriment of art and to the benefit of no one’.

Though plainchant was no longer a requirement in organ music it was still used to give order to the liturgy just as it had done for the Gallican rite. In reality the changes effected by the restoration were therefore those of style rather than ritual. The importance of chant to the distinctive French character of which Saint-Saëns wrote is reflected in Guilmant’s observation: ‘The German organists have composed pieces based on the melodies of chorales, forming a particularly rich organ literature; shouldn’t we do likewise with our Catholic melodies?’

In Italy and Germany these efforts were paralleled by the Caecilian movement as exemplified in the church music of Liszt and Bruckner. Whereas the Caecilians sought to revive the use of chant, however, the French tradition had been built around it. By the end of the century chant had so permeated musical consciousness that Widor was unable to perceive any French organ music as sacred unless consecrated by Gregorian chant. Nevertheless, from the 1870s onwards the organ began to enjoy new status as a concert instrument in France and repertoire appeared to support this. Where previously performances outside the church had been limited very largely to either inaugural concerts or ‘auditions’ at builders’ workshops, the increase in both the standard and integrity of organists began to win a new audience for the instrument. As both Saint-Saëns and Widor observed, the symphonic instruments of Aristide Cavaillé-Coll required new treatment and a new repertoire. The tradition of using plainchant themes for this, which began in the written works of Alkan, Lemmens, Gigout and Guilmant, continued via the music of Tournemire, Dupré, Duruflé, Langlais and Messiaen to the present day. In praise of the Niedermeyer system of chant accompaniment which preserved the modal character of melody, Saint-Saëns himself gave an apt summation: ‘His system has made its way throughout France, and has even surpassed its aim by showing us the possibilities of introducing the ancient modes into modern harmony, thus enriching it in an unexpected manner.’

Both the Prélude in F major and the two untitled miniatures recorded here survive only in manuscript sources at the Bibliothèque nationale. All three were printed for the first time in Otto Depenheuer’s 1991 edition where the miniatures acquired the working title of Deux Versets. Though they don’t belong together this is a good description of both the function and content of the pieces. As free works they might be used in all manner of liturgical situations and are surely typical, if youthful, examples of Saint-Saëns’ small-scale improvisations. Only seventeen bars long, motivic material is gently worked with exquisite craftsmanship. The slightly longer Prélude may also be used in this way though Depenheuer concludes that from a break in the manuscript it was originally intended to be part of a larger work.

Saint-Saëns wrote his Sept Improvisations, Op 150, between 9 December 1916 and 12 February 1917 whilst recovering in bed from bronchitis and gave their first performances in Marseille, Nice and Lyon a month or so later. With the exception of the Fantaisie pour Orgue-Aeolian of 1906 they are his first organ works since the Trois Préludes et Fugues, Op 109, written eighteen years earlier. It is to Périlhou, his friend and former pupil from the Neidermeyer school, that we should be eternally grateful for reawakening Saint-Saëns’ interest in the organ following his disillusionment and ultimate resignation from La Madeleine in 1878. Subsequent to the appointment of Périlhou as Organiste Titulaire of Saint-Sevérin at the beginning of 1891 Saint-Saëns was in the habit, accompanied by Fauré, of visiting him at the tribune each Sunday he was in Paris. The three friends would each contribute improvisations to the service before going out to lunch, Saint-Saëns often ‘dazzling his hearers with the magic of his magnificent improvisations’, according to Félix Raugel. Louis Vierne wrote of how Saint-Saëns loved to play the instrument at Saint-Sevérin and his contribution was clearly considered significant enough that in November 1897 he was given the title of honorary organist.

On completion of the Improvisations and before their first public performance Saint-Saëns went with Périlhou to the organ of the Temple de l’Étoile to play through them. The church’s organist, Alexandre Cellier, recalled in 1954 how Saint-Saëns had remarked on this occasion how enjoyable it was to play the organ; a comment he would scarcely have made in the years between 1878 and 1891. Whilst it would not be at all surprising to find the Op 150 set dedicated to Périlhou, it was in fact Gigout that received their dedication. Gigout, another of his Neidermeyer friends, was regarded by Saint-Saëns as one of the finest improvisers of his generation. Périlhou had retired in 1914 and as Gigout had been professor of organ at the Paris Conservatoire since 1911, where he included Saint-Saëns’ works among the repertoire, it seems at least possible that the set was intended to have some didactic value. Three of the set are titled and use plainchant themes. ‘Feria Pentecostes’ is based on the first hymn of Lauds for Pentecost, Beata nobis gaudia; ‘Pro martyribus’ employs three phrases from the Offertory of the Mass for a martyr, Gloria et honore coronasti eum; ‘Pro defunctis’ quotes from the Offertory of the Requiem, Domine Jesu Christe. It is interesting to note that in these movements Saint-Saëns colours his harmony with the mixolydian or aeolian modes whilst in the freely written pieces his language is more contemporary. Not since the Messe, Op 4, and the Six Duos, Op 8, had he used chant in his written compositions. The first piece is similarly unusual for its ambiguous whole-tone tonality.

The Trois Préludes et Fugues, Op 109, were completed in February 1898 at Las Palmas and are dedicated respectively to Fauré, Périlhou and Henri Dallier, who since 1879 had been organist of St Eustache and was to succeed Fauré at La Madeleine in 1905. On the receipt of a complimentary copy of the newly published work, Fauré wrote to Saint-Saëns: ‘Upon my return from London I found the superb Préludes et Fugues for organ which I will never be able to play properly, and I had the great joy of seeing my name at the head of one of them. I thank you a thousand times for this pleasant and flattering surprise.’

Saint-Saëns was renowned for his improvised fugues and Op 109 demonstrates well the ‘clean, clear, incisive subject, the surprisingly ingenious countersubject, the exquisitely imaginative and inventive episodes’ of which Huré wrote. Saint-Saëns himself related the anecdote of the bride who shocked him with the request not to play fugues at her wedding as they were too serious, and whilst Op 150 reveals an array of improvisatory possibilities, Op 109 attests also to the variety of his fugues. The first and third of Op 109, in D minor and C major respectively, are certainly cast in the grand style that he advocated for the instrument, though with varying characters. The G major, however, is full of the charm, grace and balance found in so much of his music. Vierne praised the works for their form and colour and asserted that they should be ‘… in the repertoire of any organist truly worthy of the name, as much for their superb style as for their virtuosic demands’.

Saint-Saëns’ contribution to national culture was as remarkable as his combination of improvisatory flare and intellectual rigour was rare. Less fashionable now than once it was, much of his music still awaits the full consideration that it deserves. For anyone that cares to look, however, it will surely be found both ‘so French’ and ‘so necessary’.

Andrew-John Smith © 2011


Other albums in this series
'Saint-Saëns: Organ Music, Vol. 1 – La Madeleine, Paris' (CDA67713)
Saint-Saëns: Organ Music, Vol. 1 – La Madeleine, Paris
Buy by post £10.50 CDA67713 
'Saint-Saëns: Organ Music, Vol. 3 – La Madeleine, Paris' (CDA67922)
Saint-Saëns: Organ Music, Vol. 3 – La Madeleine, Paris
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