Panat in postcardThe Ranums'

Panat Times

Volume 1, redone Dec. 2014

Contents

Volume 1

Panat

Orest's Pages

Patricia's Musings

Marc-Antoine

Charpentier

Musical Rhetoric

Transcribed Sources


 

Question C — How did Charpentier come to set to music the Latin poem by Pierre Portes?

Return to the introduction to my Musings about the word "Mélanges"
(This Musing dates from circa 1995)

 Jean Duron's recent article on the neo-Latin poets who penned devotional texts in the 1670s and 1680s ("Les 'Paroles de Musique': quelques réflexions sur la poésie religieuse néo-latine en France sous le règne de Louis XIV," Plain-chant et liturgie en France au XVIIe siècle, Paris, Klincksieck, 1997, pp. 125-184) revived my musings the question of how Pierre Portes's poem Canticum lamentationis de morte augustissismæ Mariæ Theresiæ Reginæ Galliæ, came to be set to music by two composers circa August-September 1683 (see above, Question A).

As a parenthetical remark, let me first observe that it should be possible to learn which of the two versions was performed first. Charpentier's Luctus was almost surely performed between August 16 and September 13, because it forms a pair with a motet in honor of Saint Louis. In other words, one can surmise that it was composed for a service to be held circa August 25, that is, approximately three weeks after the Queen's death. Now, Mme de Guise — who, the Florentine resident in Paris observed, had not yet attended any services in honor of her late friend the Queen — came to Paris from Alençon circa August 16 to spend "four" days in the capital. Did she time her visit to coincide with a service that would simultaneously honor the Queen's memory and, a few days ahead of schedule, honor the feast day of her royal cousin Louis XIV? That is the only plausible explanation for the brief stay Paris — and it would help us understand why the Florentine's mind turned in such a general way to services for the Queen. If that is the raison d'être of the Luctus, Charpentier's version would seem to have antedated Daniélis's, and indeed would seem to be one of the earliest such services organized in Paris. True, masses were said for the late Queen, but references to special services at the different provincial cathedrals (Vannes is not specifically mentioned) do not begin to appear in the Gazette until well into September. It is also interesting that the fathers at the Mercy, where Mlle de Guise had a chapel, held a service for the late Queen on September 13. It cannot therefore be ruled out that the Luctus was used — or reused — that day.

A clue — and maybe even an answer — to the conundrum of how Charpentier came to use the same text as Daniélis is to be found the article by Duron's cited above, on Latin poetry: the "M. Dubois de l'Hôtel de Guise" who composed the music for Jean-Baptiste Santeul's poem, Matris intactæ (reproduced on p. 169), is of course, Philippe Goibault des Bois, known as "M. Du Bois," who was not only the director of the Guise music but a respected latinist. It is easy to deduce the milieu where Du Bois encountered Santeul and his brother Claude Santeul during the early 1680s: Moreri's Dictionnaire (ed. of 1759), informs us that Claude was as a consultant for the translations of Augustine being supervised by the monks of Saint-Maur: "Il fut consulté plusieurs fois sur les différentes leçons du texte de saint Augustin, quand les RR.PP. Bénédictins de la congrégation de S. Maur entreprirent de nous en donner une edition plus belle et plus correcte. Il y a même rétabli plusieurs passages extrêmement embrouillés." Now, Du Bois was working with this group of translators — as his translation of the letters of St. Augustine, for which he was granted a royal privilège in October 1682, states on its title page. A bit of digging in Jansenist scholarship would probably reveal that Du Bois encountered Jean-Baptise de Santeul in the Port-Royal circle: for until the 1680s Du Bois was a longtime friend of the Jansenists: he had participated in the translation of the New Testament of Mons, and he remembered Port-Royal in an early will. (He later turned his collar, striking Port-Royal from his final will and testament.) To this link to the Santeuls should doubtlessly be added ties to a variety of neo-Latinists who must have belonged to the circle of Du Bois's close friend, Gabriel de Roquette, bishop of Autun (some of his contemporaries called Roquette Mlle de Guise's "Tartuffe"). And, in the 1670s and 1680s, Roquette was working closely with François Harlay de Champvallon, archbishop of Paris (and himself a respected latinist), first concerning the assemblies of the clergy and then the conversion of Huguenots. None of this is, however, my subject of research: so I present these links as clues for other scholars.

Instead, I would like to focus on a more overarching question. Since we know that Du Bois had longtime links to the translators of the New Testament of Mons, to the Santeuls and to Roquette, it would seem appropriate to revise the question we have been asking: "How did Charpentier come to use Portes's poem in 1683?" The fact that Du Bois was not only the "maître de chapelle" of the Hôtel de Guise (that is the title, maestro di cappella, he was given by the Florentine resident in Paris circa 1685) but also the principal literary protégé of Marie de Lorraine suggests that it was he (or perhaps Roquette, Her Highness's spiritual advisor), not Charpentier, who either obtained Portes' permission to use the Canticum lamentationis de morte augustissismæ Mariæ Theresiæ Reginæ Galliæ or else pirated the poem that Daniélis was using for Vannes.

Yes, the more I think about it, the more strongly I believe it is a question mal-posée to wonder how or why Charpentier came to chose Pierre Portes's poem rather than another. Or to wonder why Charpentier chose one theme rather than another when wrote a motet. I am convinced that the question should be re-framed, re-focused. We should ask: "How did M. Du Bois gain access to that poem?" We should ask: "What type of religious service did Du Bois — or Roquette, if he happened to be in town — organize to honor the late Queen?" (Just as we might be wise to ask, re the service at Vannes: "Did the canons of the cathedral of Vannes commission the poem? Or was it a benefactor — perhaps a rich native of Vannes serving the King in the capital or at court — who commissioned the poem from Portes, hired Daniélis to set it to music, then dispatched the score, the partbooks and the bundle of printed libretti to the maître de chapelle of Vannes? Or, owing to constraints of time and distance, did the person or persons who engaged Daniélis authorize him to select a suitable text?")

All of which suggests that we would be wise to rethink our image of Charpentier's position in the Guise household — a question that is not totally divorced from "My Views" on Guise patronage.
Jean Duron's provocative and thought-provoking images of a Charpentier who works and reworks many of his compositions in a continual striving for perfection; who spends more time copying out the works of others for his collection of "mélanges" than he does composing; and who casts around for texts to set to music and for events to commemorate, are to some extent linked to the nineteenth- and twentieth-century image of the composer as a tormented soul, an intellectual-and- collector (or, perhaps, a desperate artist who, when inspiration fails him, turns to his collection of pirated works and presents one of them as his own), and above all, an artist whose genius shapes every step of the creative act. This is not the seventeenth-century image of the creative person. An artiste— irrespective of whether he worked with a chisel, a paintbrush, a pen or a musical instrument — was a sort of artisan. He was a craftsman who worked in the fine arts, while craftsmen such as goldsmiths, jewellers, swordpolishers, or woodworkers worked in the manual arts. Whatever their particular art, much of the production of these skilled craftsmen was determined by what the individuals who placed orders with them had in mind. Suppose, for example, that the royal artist Charles Le Brun had gotten the idea of simplifying furniture and hangings — in a word, had developed into a precursor of the Art Deco style of the 1930s. If his stripped-down style did not appeal to Louis XIV, Le Brun would have been wasting his time planning Art Deco cartoons for the tapestries at the Gobelins factory and sketching Art Deco furniture for Boule's workshop. In like manner, if Charpentier had been sheltered by a worldly noble who detested things Italian, not only would the composer have striven to avoid all italianisms, he would have been kept so busy writing airs de cour and dance tunes that — even if he had had time to write devotional oratorios in Latin — he would not have dared to alienate his master/protector by secretly peddling these religious pieces to a devout italianophile. In sum, just like the artisan-artist who produced swords or tapestries or clothes, the composer more often than not awaited specific instructions from his superiors, then created an object that would meet those criteria; or, if he knew his superior's preferences, he might surprise him by producing an object before anyone got around to ordering it.

For this reason, it is essential to restate some of the questions we ask about the works of seventeenth-century composers. We must try to learn more about the preferences and the preoccupations of their patrons. We must strive to learn more about a specific composer's position in the social or religious hierarchy within which he and his master or protector moved from day to day.

For Charpentier studies, restating the question is essential, for there is considerable evidence that his works were not only expected to embody the Guise preferences and the Guise devotions, they were expected to correspond to M. Du Bois's persona (and even Roquette's persona) and to his understanding of what the music sponsored by these pious princesses should be. Take, for example, the letter that Mlle de Guise penned from Liesse in the fall of 1680, in which she portrays Du Bois as preoccupied with his musical duties:the singers are performing continually, sometimes at the pilgrimage church of Liesse and sometimes in the salon of Mlle de Guise's nearby chateau, Marchais. And Du Bois is the conductor:it is he who "makes the musicians sing," even though a haute-contre (surely Charpentier) appears to be singing with the musicians. (This correspondence is quoted in "A Sweet Servitude," pp. 355-356.)

In Charpentier's notebooks an intriguing bit of evidence suggests the extent to which Du Bois dictated Charpentier's output for the Guises. In March 1677, Du Bois underwent an operation, was fortunate enough to survive, but was bedridden for at least three months. During those months (see his notebook 16) Charpentier penned a succession of pieces calling for an haute-contre, doubtlessly himself. Prior to that date, he had manage to write himself into only two motets in cahier 8, and into the Petite Pastorale of 1676 (notebook 13). Then, having completed a motet for haute-contre in honor of Saint Louis (to be sung on or about August 25) and another for Saint Laurence (August 10), he returned to composing for the two female voices and singing bass that characterized the Guise chapel. It would seem that the mouse was not only substituting for the ailing cat, he was singing and continued to do so until the cat returned and silenced him. Not until 1679 would Charpentier write another part for himself in the new antiphon for Notre Dame de la Mercy, cahier 22; and not until the early 1680s, and the heyday of the ensemble, did Charpentier begin to perform rather regularly with the Guise musicians. Chalk it up to M. Du Bois's view of social bienséance (did he, for example, deem it inappropriate for Charpentier to sing with the paid household musician-servants?). Or chalk it up to someone's distaste for this high male voice. Or to simple jealousy. Whatever the explanation, it is clear that Du Bois had something to do with the paucity of works involving an haute-contre

There is other evidence that it was Du Bois who rule over the musique of the Guises and dictated what would be performed. Du Bois had won Marie de Lorraine's deep affection and, as the years went by, he (and Bishop Roquette) gained an ascendancy over her: all Paris would be aghast at the huge legacy the princess left him in her will. (Roquette received even more; but Charpentier was not remembered in this document, apparently because he had moved on to the Jesuits and had been rewarded with a precious object or a purse full of coins when he vacated his "apartment" at the Hôtel de Guise.) Wittingly or unwittingly, Du Bois was incarnating a rather archaic model: the gentleman-musician-impresario who could be found in most princely households of the late-sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. A minor noble, Du Bois doubtlessly felt entitled to impose his preferences upon Charpentier; for, despite the younger man's affective or family ties to powerful Parisian families, he was but the son of a modest calligrapher who seems to have worked for financiers, judges, lawyers, procureurs. Indeed, the sources tell us that it was M. Du Bois, not Charpentier, who decided when Mlle de Guise's musicians would entertain her; it was M. Du Bois, not Charpentier, who "faisoit chanter" (i.e., directed) the group; it was Du Bois who was considered an authority on the type of music that noblewomen like to hear (this during the 1660s, when Charpentier was in Rome); it was Du Bois, not Charpentier, who kept urging the Florentines to ship volumes of Mazzaferrata's vocal music to Mlle de Guise; and it was Du Bois, not Charpentier, who in the role of Mlle de Guise's maestro di capella, asked the Florentine resident to transmit to the Grand Duke's musicians a manuscript that was sure to interest them (the date and the context suggest that it was one of Charpentier's oratorios honoring Saint Cecilia).

It is therefore quite likely that Du Bois selected the subjects about which the Guise musicians (or the large choirs and orchestras hired by Their Highnesses) would sing, then supplied Charpentier with the appropriate Latin texts. Some of these texts doubtlessly were penned by Du Bois himself, while the rest were supplied by latinist friends such as Claude Santeuil (d. 1684) — whose family inherited, says Moreri's Dictionnaire, "deux volumes manuscrits, contenans plus de trois cens hymnes, qui n'ont pas encore [en 1759] été publiés, et que l'on conserve dans la famille de ce nom, comme un reste précieux de ses dépouilles." Or perhaps Du Bois obtained texts from someone in Bishop Roquette's entourage — or why not, from a certain Pierre Portes.
Duron's article on the neo-latinists brings the first proof that M. Du Bois also tried his hand at composition, as a maître de chapelle would be expected to do. This bit of information is crucial to our understanding of the works that Charpentier copied into his "French" notebooks between 1670 and 1687 (notebooks 1-50). Not only was the musician Etienne Loulié an expert on the rules of composition, not only did Henri de Baussen compose airs for haute-contre (which suggests that he wrote them for Charpentier), not only did Montailly, the group's Bacilly-trained singing teacher compose airs, and not only did Charpentier compose the flood of works that have been preserved in these fifty notebooks — the "chapel master" himself was deemed a competent enough composer for one of his hymn settings to appear beside those of Henri Dumont, Pierre Robert and Jean Mignon. In other words, the works that Charpentier copied out into his "French" notebooks represent but a portion of the music performed at the Hôtel de Guise.

As his collaboration with the two Santeuls demonstrates, Du Bois was close to the neo-latinists of the realm. A close friend of Bishop Roquette, he can be presumed to have been acquainted with a great number of clergymen who were eager to supply him with Latin devotional texts. A close friend also of the powerful Jesuit, Père de La Chaise, Du Bois presumably knew Father Commire and young Father Le Jay. This, in addition to the Charpentier family's own ties to the Jesuits, helps in part explain why Charpentier was asked to set several of Commire's texts to music during the years he resided at the Hôtel de Guise. But does the Jesuit-Du Bois-Charpentier connection shed any light on Commire's willingness to write a Latin inscription for the Duke of Richelieu's Feste de Ruel in 1687? (Both Brossard and Charpentier wrote operas for this event.)