We’ve already heard that legends such as Haydn and Handel composed on the harpsichord, and even Queen Elizabeth had one, but let’s now take a look at some of the other famous composers who used this instrument to make their music.
Note: these are sketches of the composers, not necessarily what they composed on the harpsichord, but an overall view of their music and lives.
William Byrd (1539, 1540 or 1543 - 1623)
Organist and master of the choristers at Lincoln Cathedral, Byrd got into some trouble with the Dean, for “certain matters alleged against him”, though given this area was under the strict control of the Puritans, this could have been anything from playing too elaborate music to, I don’t know, whistling on a Tuesday? As this was the late sixteenth century, naturally the music he composed was of a liturgical or sacred type - masses, hymns, glorias etc - and his pieces were certainly appreciated, as he indulged in what could only be termed an embryonic form of royalty payment four hundred years before such a thing was even considered. When he left Lincoln he was paid by the Dean on condition he continued to send the cathedral his compositions, a situation which would have been, to quote the great twentieth century philosopher Arthur Daley, a nice little earner.
Gaining the post of Gentleman of the Chapel Royal in 1572 he may very well have met the queen, who was an avid keyboard player herself, and had little time for the doom and gloom of Puritanism. Certainly, he had to petition Her Majesty when a joint effort between himself and fellow composer Thomas Tallis to publish and sell books of music proved a non-starter and on which both men lost their doublets. The queen came to their rescue, granting them land that would tide them over and make good their losses. However he doesn’t seem to have been that grateful, as later he appears to have converted from Anglicanism to Catholicism and even been identified with the plot to overthrow the queen and replace her with her cousin, Mary Queen of Scots, and even the Gunpowder Plot. He became, not quite an outlaw, but certainly on the list of those suspected of crimes against the State, and his Gentlemanship was revoked.
In turn, he became basically the hero or poster boy for Catholics, writing and performing masses when such practices were at best frowned upon, at worst illegal under Elizabeth and later James. This of course got him into trouble, but perhaps due to his relationship with the queen he did not end up in jail, though he paid heavy fines for non-attendance at Anglican mass. He then compounded his defiance by penning pieces for two Catholic nobles, one of which was his patron, Sir John Petre. He must have regained favour in later life though, as some of his keyboard pieces were included in the collection
Parthenia, compiled to celebrate the upcoming marriage of James I’s daughter Princess Elizabeth to Frederick V, King of Bohemia in 1613.
[b]Christoph Graupner (1683 - 1760)]/b]
If William Byrd rubbed shoulders with some giants, the same could be said of Graupner, who began his musical career playing the harpsichord in the Hamburg Opera in 1705, alongside a little-known young violinist by the name of Handel. While in Hamburg he composed six operas, but in 1709 he moved to Hesse-Darmstadt, then a state of the Holy Roman Empire, and two years later was granted the title of court chapel master. He was however no wandering minstrel, remaining at the court and composing music for the chapel there for forty-five years, until he went blind in 1754, and passed away six years later.
That, however, is nowhere near the whole story.
A court it may have been at Hesse-Darmstadt, but it was not a paying one. Belts were tightened, and, as is usual, he who had to tighten most was the working man, in this case court musicians. Graupner sued for his wages, having a wife and a whole bunch of squealers to support, and, whether a ploy or not, this is how he prised money out of the court. He applied to be kantor in Leipzig, and got the job. However his patron, the Landgrave Ernst Ludwig, was reluctant to let him go, recognising his worth and probably thinking
those philistines in Leipzig wouldn’t know a good motet if it got up and blessed them in the name of the father, son and holy spirit! or something no doubt similarly religious and not at all unbecoming, and so crowbarred the locks off the court coffers and dug in his pockets to pay his chapel master. Not only was Graupner paid, but the got a raise and a promise to be kept on no matter what. As a side-effect, this cleared the way for Bach to take the job Graupner now declined. Everybody wins!
Again I have to imagine the conversation, as Graupner goes to see the Landgrave.
“Land, me old buddy, it’s been fun here and I’ve enjoyed my time, but my wife and sprogs can’t live on air, so I took a peek through the want ads and found a better position in Leipzig. Hell, they’ll even pay me! With real money!”
The Landgrave, visions in his head of a cow trailing gold marks or whatever they used in sixteenth century Germany, leaving and leaping over fences labelled “Hesse-Darmstadt” holds up his pudgy hands. (I assume they’re pudgy since, well, I imagine old Landy don’t do much work): “Cool yer jets there, mein herr. Your pay is on the way, just got stuck in the system. No need to leave. They’re a bunch of stuck-up bastards in Leipzig anyway. You wouldn’t like it there.”
Graupner, realising he has the Landgrave now by das short und kurlies: “Yeah well, you know, now I think about it, I really was hoping for a raise…”
Landgrave: “Done.”
Graupner: “But then again, what about job security? That’s important when you have six kids - maybe seven; she don’t know it but she will soon. Leipzig told me I’d have a job there for life.”
Landgrave (shuffling feet in a most un-noble way): “Well, okay. Your job here is safe, guaranteed forever, or at least until Hesse-Darmstadt merges with all the other states into one big country, and I don’t see
that happening!”
(From round the corner peeps Bach, winking)
Bach: “Good on yer mate. I really wanted that job. Cheers!”
In fact, this may actually have been a common ploy among court musicians, as it seems George Philipp Telemann had also applied for the post previously, squeezed money out of the court at Hamburg, and then said “Nah it’s all right mate, I’ll stay where I am, thanks all the same.” Surprising in a way that the Landgrave Ernst didn’t suss out what his chapel master was at, considering it had been done before. Maybe he wasn’t aware, but you would think Landgraves in general would keep their finger on the pulse and make it their business to know. What’s a landgrave? Opposite of being buried at sea, I expect. No seriously though: it was a royal title used in the HRE, kind of equal in rank to a duke. Fat rich bastard, basically. Sorry. Fat rich
German bastard, I do beg your pardon.
Having heard that the man to take the place he had turned down was to be Johann Sebastian Bach, Graupner lost no time writing him a testimonial, advising the city council of Leipzig of his credentials and how he was a wonderful choice. Graupner was a prolific composer, with about 2,000 pieces he wrote still surviving today, including over fifty for harpsichord. However, again mirroring what often happens when a musician or other star dies, and assuming there was no will made, his heirs became embroiled in a bitter battle for custody and copyright of his music, the court at Hesse-Darmstadt insisting that the music was their property. After a long, protracted legal battle, the courts sided with the nobility (oh how surprising) and Graupner’s descendants were prohibited from distributing or publishing his music, the greedy Landgrave hoarding it and refusing to allow the public to hear it.
Selfish and short-sighted this undoubtedly was, and prevented the name of Christoph Graupner from taking its rightful place alongside Bach, Telemann and Handel, but it did serve to keep all of the composer’s music together, preserved for future ages. It wasn’t until the 1920s that new research turned up Graupner’s music, and now he is beginning to get the sort of recognition he was prevented from receiving for two hundred years after his death.
Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583 - 1643)
Born in Ferrari, sorry Ferrara in Italy, Frescobaldi’s music was an influence on the likes of Bach and Henry Purcell, and he was considered one of the great musicians of the seventeenth century. He was one of only a select few who could play and compose on the archicembalo, basically a larger version of the harpsichord with more keys and strings, and another one who never left his native country, except once when he travelled to (stupid) Flanders in the company of the Archbishop of Rhodes. No relation to the Colossus, I would assume. On his return to Rome, Frescobaldi found he had been elected as organist in St. Peter’s Basilica. He fell foul though of the superpowerful Medici family, who were in dispute with the Archbishop, and was temporarily ousted from his position, though he returned and did end up holding it up to his death.
He married in 1613 but obviously couldn’t wait to do the nasty as his wife-to-be had two illegitimate children prior to then, having five in all. Guess he had to exercise his organ! Sorry sorry sorry. He must have patched things up with the Medicis though, as he ended up working for one, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, in Florence in 1628, the highest paid musician in the state. He stayed there till 1634, when the equivalent of playing for Leeds and getting an offer to join Barcelona came his way: the Pope, Urban VI, called him to back to Rome to be his official organist.
Frescobaldi was different to many of his contemporaries in his devotion to the development of instrumental music, rather than the liturgical masses most other Italians, and Europeans, concentrated on writing music for. He is known as one of the fathers of Italian music, and one of the greatest composers of keyboard music.
Louis Marchand (1669 - 1732)
Just goes to show that even in a potentially and on the surface boring and dull subject such as the biographies of harpsichord players, history comes up trumps again. All the guys I’ve picked out so far have had interesting lives, and when I see the words “violent temper” and “scandal” in the write-up on this lad, I know he’ll be no less fun to talk about. If Frescobaldi had the honour of being organist to the Pope, Marchand went one better, and was one of four men employed by the King of France, however his family was obviously born under a bad star, as it were, as his uncle Jean was accused and convicted of abduction and rape in 1676, and sentenced to death. This was commuted though, to servitude for life on the galleys, where he died in 1694. Not a good start for the kid, who would have been only seven when Uncle Jean was sentenced.
At the age of twenty he married the daughter of a famous harpsichord maker, Jean Denis and in 1708 attained the position of one of the
Organists du roi. There seem to be many rumours, stories and scandals that followed him through his life, some of which are unsubstantiated and may be merely rumour, or even lies put about by his enemies, of which he had many. Some are however documented and confirmed, among them his attempt to take the post of organist-priest at St. Bartelemy, a position he wanted, by paying a sixteen-year old girl to say the priest, Pierre Dandrieu, was the father of her child. This accusation was later withdrawn, and though it doesn’t say so, I assume Marchand did not get the post.
He had a violent temper, and was known to beat his wife, who divorced him in 1701, having suffered his abuse for over ten years. Marchand did not reserve his temper for his wife alone though; he even went so far as to insult the king, Louis XIV, who had made some derogatory remark about his hands, to which Marchand responded by commenting on His Majesty’s ears. Personal insults were fine when you were the king - you could do what you liked then, being an absolute monarch - but it absolutely did not work the other way around, and Marchand had to go on the run, fleeing to Germany, chased no doubt by his suffering ex-wife’s curses.
Another account claims that His Majesty, surely aware of the composer’s fiery temper and brutal treatment of her, announced that half of Marchand’s salary be paid to his wife, whereupon the organist broke off in the middle of a mass, sneering that if his wife was to get half his salary he would only play half the service. I suppose you have to grudgingly admire the old bastard’s cheek: back then, insulting or even correcting the king, or talking out of turn could lead you to a very messy end. Still, it wasn’t all bad. Louis-Abel de Bonafous, abbot of Fontenay, related how Marchand, while yet quite young, entered the chapel of the College of Louis le Grand, penniless and friendless, as the mass was beginning and asked to be allowed to play the organ. Distrustful of his talent, they nevertheless gave him a go, and were “quite astonished” at his skill and knowledge. They took him in and trained him to be a truly great musician.
Georg Telemann (1681 - 1767)
Not certain what his father would have thought about it, as he died when Telemann was only four years old, but his remaining parent, and all other family were against him becoming a composer, or even having anything to do with music. The fact that he is now considered not only one of the masters, but the most prolific composers ever, is testament to his perseverance, studying and somehow composing in secret. An odd fact I’ve discovered in my research is that many composers - not all, but quite a few - seem to have studied law before turning to music. I don’t see the connection myself, but there it is, and Telemann was one such, though in his case you’d have to consider the possibility that he went to law school to either appease or fool his family. He of course then ended up having a glittering career in music, despite their protests, though whether or not they continued to frown on his composing after he became famous I don’t know.
Having moved to Poland to take up a position at the court of Count Edman II in 1705, he only lasted here a year due to the ongoing Great Northern War spilling over its frontiers, and returned to Germany where he composed for Duke Johann Wilhelm in Eisenach, the birthplace of J.S. Bach, and in 1709 married one of the countess’s ladies-in-waiting, who bore him a daughter two years later, but sadly did not survive the birth herself. This threw Telemann, as you might expect, into a fit of deep depression. It would be three years before he would marry again, but this time his marriage would be blessed by nine children, making ten in all. As we’ve seen, he went for the post of kantor at Leipzig city, but though the job was his he declined, as he had managed to squeeze more money out of his current employer, leaving the way free for Chrisoph Graupner, who pulled the same stunt, leaving Bach to take up the position.
Productive and fertile his second wife may have been, but she didn’t mind spreading it around, and her infidelities, coupled with a passion for gambling (and losing) drove Telemann to distraction, to the point that he and his wife separated around 1736, but his troubles didn’t end there. His eldest son died in 1755, and Telemann, now in his mid-seventies, took on the demanding task of raising his son, Telemann’s grandson, but it may have all been too much for him, and he died of a chest complaint twelve years later.