Boccherini’s Body

Boccherini’s Body
An Essay in Carnal Musicology

Elisabeth Le Guin

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS Berkeley Los Angeles London

University of California Press, one of the most distinguished university presses in the United States, enriches lives around the world by advancing scholarship in the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences. Its activities are supported by the UC Press Foundation and by philanthropic contributions from individuals and institutions. For more information, visit www.ucpress.edu. University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles, California University of California Press, Ltd. London, England © 2006 by Elisabeth Le Guin Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Le Guin, Elisabeth, 1957– Boccherini’s body : an essay in carnal musicology / Elisabeth Le Guin. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 0-520-24017-0 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Boccherini, Luigi, 1743–1805—Criticism and interpretation. 2. Music—Interpretation (Phrasing, dynamics, etc.) I. Title. ml410.b66l4 2006 780'.92—dc22 2005023224 Manufactured in the United States of America 13 10 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 09 08 07 5 4 3 2 06 1

This book is printed on Natures Book, which contains 50% post-consumer waste and meets the minimum requirements of ansi/niso z39.48-1992 (r 1997) (Permanence of Paper).8

But what do my cold and exaggerated expressions mean, my lines without character and without life, these lines that I have just traced, one on top of the other? Nothing, nothing at all; one must see the thing. Mais que signifient mes expressions exagérées et froides, mes lignes sans caractères et sans vie, ces lignes que je viens de tracer les unes au-dessus des autres? Rien, mais rien du tout; il faut voir la chose.
denis diderot, “Vernet,” Salon of 1767

carnal Latin carnalis, fleshly; med. Latin, blood-relationship 1. Of or pertaining to the flesh; fleshly, bodily, corporeal 2. Related by blood 3. a. Pertaining to the body as the seat of passions or appetites; fleshly, sensual b. Sexual 4. Not spiritual, in a negative sense: material, temporal, secular 5. Not spiritual, in a privative sense: unregenerate 6. Carnivorous, bloody, murderous
Oxford English Dictionary

Fuori Catalogo 14 Reciprocity of relationship between performer and dead composer— framing the cellist-body—a carnal reading of the first half of the movement in question— thumb-position—pleasure in repetition—cellistic bel canto—the predominance of reflective and pathetic affects— communicability and reciprocality—Rousseau on the role of the performer—subjectivity as a necessity—the second half of the movement—relationships between musical form and carnal experience—Boccherini’s “celestial” topos—carnality and compositional process—the importance of the visual—in conclusion: the necessary ambivalence of my descriptions and analyses .contents l i s t o f f i g u r e s xi l i s t o f m u s i c e x a m p l e s xiii c d p l a y l i s t xv a c k n o w l e d g m e n t s xxi Introduction 1 The origins of this project—Boccherini’s generally acknowledged merits—some less generally acknowledged qualities—“carnal musicology” as based in the performer’s viewpoint—brief digests of each chapter to come—excursus: historicizing the terms of embodiment—kinesthesia— Condillac—fact and fiction 1. “Cello-and-Bow Thinking”: The First Movement of Boccherini’s Cello Sonata in E b Major.

1770—the Spanish musical and cultural climate—Boccherini’s adeptness at finding a place within it 3. Virtuality. and fandangos—Boccherini’s complex relations to Spanish style—“Instrumentalist. “As My Works Show Me to Be”: Biographical 38 Boccherini’s self-representation in his letters—the lack of solid firsthand biographical evidence—the divergence of his performer and composer identities—period anxieties over those identities—early years in Lucca—familial emphasis on dance—travels to Vienna. boleros. G. 17— cyclicity in Boccherini’s works—inter-generic recycling of themes and movements—unconscious recycling of subsidiary passages—the influence of tactile experience on this level of composition—etymologies of the word idiom—the sonatas within Boccherini’s oeuvre—virtuosi— philosophical problems posed by virtuosity—virtuosity contra sensibilité—the grotesque—actorly virtuosity—the automatic and mechanical—bodily training toward perfection—the paradox of the actor . Virtuosity.2. Virtue 105 A theatricalized reading of the Cello Sonata in C Major. 1757–63— possibilities of further touring—possible Viennese influences on Boccherini—Paris. what do you want of me?”: problems in the relation of performance to text 4. Gestures and Tableaux 65 The importance of visuality to period reception—its subsequent decline—the effect of this decline on Boccherini’s posthumous reputation—Spohr: “This does not deserve to be called music!”—a passage that might have provoked such a reaction—Boccherinian stasis and repetitiousness—Boccherinian sensibilité—the paintings of Luis Paret—the predominance of soft dynamics—hyper-precision in performance directions—the lacuna as sensible strategy—Boccherinian abandonment of melody in favor of texture—the influence of acoustics— tableaux in period theater and painting—their relations to sensibilité—absorption—suppressed eroticism—tragedy and the tableau— the reform body: Angiolini’s classifications of motion styles—Spanish dance and gesture—seguidillas. 1768: the musical and cultural climate—Parisian virtuoso cellists—circumstantial evidence of meetings between Boccherini and Jean-Pierre Duport—Boccherini’s especial success with Parisian publishers—Spain. 1769—Boccherini’s first court post.

G. no.5. 8. 9. The Perfect Listener: A Recreation 254 Boccherini and Haydn’s attempt at correspondence—period comparison of the two composers—using carnal musicology on composers other than Boccherini—the Perfect Listener: re-creating “listener performance practice”—the Perfect Listener attends a performance of Haydn’s G-major keyboard sonata. G. “It Is All Cloth of the Same Piece”: The Early String Quartets 207 An overview of Boccherini’s work in this genre—style periodization: Boccherini’s relatively unchanging style—woven music: his penchant for texture over melody—recycling the idea of recycling—the problem of “repetition” in ensemble contexts—sublimated caresses—the rococo—address to a sforzando—two analyses of the String Quartet in E Major. op. no. the “white death”—musical melancholies—Boccherinian melancholy—Edward Young’s Night Thoughts—a melancholic reading of the String Quartet in C Minor. 171. op. 15. op. G. Allegro—melancholic labyrinths—from Galen to Descartes—sympathetic vibration as a cause of or cure for melancholy—various consumptions—life and art: some animadversions—satiric melancholy—the performance direction con smorfia—other consumptions—Enlightenment anxieties about nocturnal pollution and consumption—the Marquis de Sade— a melancholic reading of the String Quartet in G Minor. no. Hob. Grave—hypochondria as an aspect of musical hermeneutics 6. A Melancholy Anatomy 160 Reports of the 1993 exhumation and autopsy of Boccherini’s body— TB. 179—peculiarities of the work—the first analysis (relatively conventional)—readerly relationships to analysis— the second analysis (experimental) 7. 168. 4. XVI:39—cadential remarks appendix: chronological table o f s t r i n g q u a r t e t s 271 n o t e s 273 b i b l i o g r a p h y 331 i n d e x 345 . 1. 3.

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Baile a orillas del rio Manzanares 63 Luis Paret y Alcázar. “Incómoda elegancia” 142 Anon. El entierro de la sardina 140 Francisco de Goya. Night the Third: Narcissa 164 xi . 2. Left Hand in Thumb-Position 20 Italian school.. Portrait of Luigi Boccherini 41 Eighteenth-century map of Castilla y León 56 Francisco de Goya. 5. 6. Ensayo de una comedia 72 Jean-Baptiste Greuze. 4. 7. 10. Lyra Howell. 9. eighteenth century.list of figures 1. Portrait of Luigi Boccherini 40 Jean-Étienne Liotard. 8. 3. La Mère bien-aimée 84 Francisco de Goya.

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op. 1. 8. String Quintet in C Major. no. 374. ii (Minuetto a modo di sighidiglia spagnola). 2. iii (Allegro maestoso). Cello Concerto in C Major. i (Allegro). G. 159. ii (Largo cantabile). 5. op. opening bars of first-violin part to words from Cambini’s Nouvelle Méthode 88 9. no. Transcription of music sketches in Liotard’s Portrait of Luigi Boccherini 42 4a. first half of movement 15 2. i (Allegro brillante). 1. G. G. fuori catalogo. second half of movement 28 3. op. Jean-Pierre Duport. 18. 15. String Quartet in A Major. bars 11–17 67 6. no. xiii . i (Allegro). String Quartet in A Major. 6. 50. String Quartet in C Minor. no. op. op. 8. no. iv (Allegro assai). String Quintet in C Minor. G. G. 6. 573. String Quartet in F Major. 170. 2. fuori catalogo. i (Allegretto con grazia). G. bars 104–12 73 7.list of music examples Cello Sonata in E b Major. bars 1–13 98 1. bars 13–20 54 4b. bars 48–57 74 8. opening bars 54 5. 178. 170. 283. Étude in D Major. bars 67–75 89 10. op. i (Allegro comodo). Cello Sonata in E b Major. no. G.

G. 1. G. i (Andantino) 225 String Quartet in E Major. ii (Adagio). 165. no. no. bars 37–49. op. cello 1. G. no. G. viola. i (Largo [soto (sic) voce]). ii (Allegro [I pastori e li cacciatori]). cello 2 144 Chord formations from Brunetti 151 String Quintet in E Major. bars 8–14 214 String Quartet in E b Major. 5. 23b. op. 276. 275. 17. 18. bars 50–51 130 Cello Sonata in G Major. G. iii (Tempo di minuetto). 3. 22. 9. 169. 5.17. 8. G. 9. 21. 15b. op. no 4. G. i (Moderato) 106 Cello Sonata in C Major. G. G. no. 4. no. 15. G. Cello Sonata in C Major. 11. 17. 5. 13. 5. 174. 8. 14. 3. bars 85–96 213 String Quartet in F Major. no. 179. ii (Prestissimo) 231 . bars 22–25 218 String Quartet in E Major. 23a. op. opening 158 String Quartet in C Minor. 5. 19. 168. 11. 6. ii (Allegro). 20. op. 8. G. iii (Minuetto). 171. ii (Adagio) 113 Cello Sonata in C Major. G. 15a. no. trio 177 String Quartet in D Major. 3. 179. op. G.” G. 8. op. 27. 167. iii (Rondò) 118 Cello Sonata in G Major. 5. bars 13–18 216 String Quartet in E b Major. opening 130 String Quintet in D Major. 26. 24. bars 32–35 191 String Quartet in G Minor. 16. op. i (Allegro) 166 String Quartet in F Major.17. G. ii (Largo). 25. i (Allegro militare). 12. 8. no. G. G. 169. 169. no. no. 8. i (Adagio). op. no. iii (Tempo di minuetto). bars 5–8 to words from Metastasio’s Didone abbandonata 115 Cello Sonata in C Major. op. ii (Grave) 197 String Quartet in F Major. op. 17. “L’uccelliera. G.xiv list of music examples 11. 1. op. 15. i (Allegro assai).

6. Charles Sherman (hps). Cello Sonata in E b Major. Charles Sherman (hps). Length: 0:12. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Examples 1 and 2. Katherine Kyme. Example 1. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). fuori catalogo. Cello Sonata in E b Major. bars 8–11. fuori catalogo. Length: 0:11. Length: 0:16. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Length: 6:46. cello. Example 1. fuori catalogo. i (Allegro). 3. i (Allegro). Example 1. bars 11–18. 7. i (Allegro). Cello Sonata in E b Major. fuori catalogo. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). bars 5–7. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Charles Sherman (hps). Charles Sherman (hps). i (Allegro). and Elisabeth Le Guin. Cello Sonata in E b Major.cd playlist All selections are by Luigi Boccherini. Cello Sonata in E b Major. Length: 0:32. i (Allegro). Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). 4. i (Allegro). bars 18–22. Charles Sherman (hps). xv 2. violin/viola. Cello Sonata in E b Major. fuori catalogo. 5. fuori catalogo. and Anthony Martin. Length: 0:15. 1. Example 1. fuori catalogo. Cello Sonata in E b Major. . Example 1. The Artaria String Quartet is made up of Elizabeth Blumenstock. bars 26–29. i (Allegro). Charles Sherman (hps).

9. Length: 7:12. bars 45–51. G. G. No example. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Example 22. Example 2. 6.xvi cd playlist 8. i (Moderato). 12. . op. bar 5. No example. No example. 8. Charles Sherman (hps). 172. Length: 0:36. bars 36–38. 9. No example. Artaria String Quartet. Artaria String Quartet. 9. 8. Charles Sherman (hps). no. 170. bars 48–57. Length: 1:26. Charles Sherman (hps). 2. String Quartet in G Minor. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). op. i (Allegro brillante). ii (Adagio). G. String Quartet in E b Major. 4. opening. 165. Length: 0:37. i (Allegro). 1. opening. Length: 2:11. ii (Grave). Length: 0:16. 16. 174. G. 4. String Quartet in A Major. Example 11. Artaria String Quartet. op. Cello Sonata in C Major. bars 59–62. Artaria String Quartet. i (Grave). bars 13–23. Length: 0:32. bars 11–17. op. Length: 0:35. Example 2. opening. String Quartet in D Major. Length: 0:32. bar 27. ii (Larghetto). Length: 0:57. Artaria String Quartet. 17. 8. Example 2. no. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). no. no. G. 17. Example 5. 8. i (Moderato). op. op. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). op. bars 1–38. 9. 10. fuori catalogo. 171. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). i (Allegro). Charles Sherman (hps). Cello Sonata in E b Major. fuori catalogo. 168. i (Moderato). 2. Cello Sonata in E b Major. i (Adagio). no. no. 11. 18. 170. G. 9. G. G. Length: 0:12. 20. iii (Allegro maestoso). Length: 0:19. Cello Sonata in C Major. op. Artaria String Quartet. no. 15. No example. String Quartet in A Major. Example 11. 17. Length: 0:05. 6. Example 7. G. G. 19. Artaria String Quartet. Charles Sherman (hps). 13. bars 28–34. String Quartet in D Minor. String Quartet in C Minor. Artaria String Quartet. ii (Larghetto). no. 1. 17. 172. G. Cello Sonata in C Major. String Quartet in D Minor. 14.

17. 17. fuori catalogo. ii (Adagio). G. Example 11. 17. Example 12. Length: 0:35. Length: 4:13. i (Moderato). Example 11. 17. Charles Sherman (hps). i (Moderato). Length: 0:18. 23. bars 23–25. Example 14. bars 45–46. G. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Charles Sherman (hps). G. Length: 0:45. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Charles Sherman (hps). Length: 3:13. G. ii (Adagio). Example 14. fuori catalogo. Length: 0:17. 30. 17. G. 27. Cello Sonata in C Major. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Example 12. Cello Sonata in C Major. 33. Charles Sherman (hps). bars 13–16. Cello Sonata in C Major. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). iii (Rondò). G. 29. Length: 0:23. bars 112–51. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). G. Cello Sonata in C Major. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). 22. Cello Sonata in E b Major. Length: 0:11. Charles Sherman (hps). Cello Sonata in C Major. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). 25. Charles Sherman (hps). 24. ii (Largo assai). Charles Sherman (hps). bars 35–38. Length: 0:26. G. Cello Sonata in E b Major. 31. Cello Sonata in C Major. 28. Example 11. Cello Sonata in C Major. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). 32. G. 17. Length: 5:58. 17. Example 12.cd playlist xvii 21. Charles Sherman (hps). bars 5–8. G. Length: 0:30. 26. Cello Sonata in C Major. Example 12. Cello Sonata in C Major. Length: 0:05. Charles Sherman (hps). bars 9–11. ii (Adagio). No example. Charles Sherman (hps). Length: 0:17. 17. 17. iii (Rondò). Example 11. iii (Allegretto . Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Charles Sherman (hps). ii (Adagio). bars 18–23. Charles Sherman (hps). Example 12. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). Cello Sonata in C Major. ii (Adagio). G. 17. 17. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). ii (Adagio). Charles Sherman (hps). Cello Sonata in C Major. i (Moderato). bars 33–34. Example 12.

no. Length: 0:24. 41. trio. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). 9. i (Allegro). no. G. 173. String Quartet in C Minor. trio. 169. 3. 173. bars 45–51. no. Length: 1:05. G. 42. String Quartet in F Major. iii . 3. i (Allegro). G. 3. no. no. Length: 5:48. no. iii (Tempo di minuetto). minuet D. Length: 1:20. 8. op. 8. op. Example 19. op. Length: 0:14. 173. 5. 9. Example 19. String Quartet in F Major. Artaria String Quartet. 45. 5. Length: 0:26. 9. op. No example. op. 43. Example 20. No example. 39. String Quartet in F Major. String Quartet in F Major. String Quartet in F Major. Artaria String Quartet. iii (Tempo di minuetto). 9. 1. i (Allegro). Length: 0:32. op. 3. Length: 0:28. bars 44–47. G.C. 38. 35. bars 45–52. 44. 5. String Quartet in F Major. 36. iii (Tempo di minuetto). iii (Tempo di minuetto). iii (Tempo di minuetto). trio. no. Artaria String Quartet. bars 32–38. bars 46–50. 169. Charles Sherman (hps). Charles Sherman (hps). Artaria String Quartet. op. minuet. bars 37–44. 9. bars 38–41. G. 46. op. no. Artaria String Quartet. No example. String Quartet in F Major. no. G. Artaria String Quartet. Length: 0:25. 5. 1. no. fuori catalogo. 171. 1. Artaria String Quartet. 9. G. String Quartet in C Minor. String Quartet in C Minor. Elisabeth Le Guin (vcl). 8. 173. G. 1. Example 19. 37. String Quartet in C Minor. 9.xviii cd playlist 34. 171. Artaria String Quartet. Artaria String Quartet. 171. 169. Length: 0:13. Example 20. Example 2. iii (Tempo di minuetto). Artaria String Quartet. i (Allegro). 9. iii (Tempo di minuetto). G. 40. Length: 0:09. bars 53–60. op. trio. op. 8. assai). Artaria String Quartet. G. 169. i (Allegro). trio. No example. Cello Sonata in E b Major. G. Example 19. Example 20. 171. Length: 2:03. op. no. opening. op. No example. Length: 0:24. no. G. String Quartet in F Major.

174. bars 6–10. 4. op. bars 29–36. i (Allegro assai). 5. 8. 171. op. Example 24. String Quartet in G Minor. op. 8. Length: 0:42. 57. no. 167. Artaria String Quartet. String Quartet in E b Major. 168. Length: 5:05. 4. G. Artaria String Quartet. G. op. bars 4–5. ii (Grave). Length: 0:21. G. no. 56. Example 19. 8. String Quartet in G Minor. G. 169. Artaria String Quartet. String Quartet in F Major. (Tempo di minuetto). Example 22. G. 55. 165. 169. Artaria String Quartet. 54. String Quartet in C Minor. Example 22. 49. Example 23a. Length: 0:17. String Quartet in G Minor. Example 21. trio. op. 8. ii (Grave). String Quartet in G Minor. 8. 51. i . Length: 0:13. bars 61–94. no. String Quartet in D Major. Length: 0:50. bars 7–15. 4. 5. String Quartet in G Minor. Length: 0:15. op. G. 48. Example 22. 3. ii (Grave). 8. 53. 168. Artaria String Quartet. String Quartet in E b Major. no. 8. Length: 0:15. Artaria String Quartet. G. no. 168. 8. bar 2. iii (Tempo di minuetto). Length: 0:09. Example 23b. 4. Artaria String Quartet. Example 20. 168. ii (Grave). 168. String Quartet in G Minor. Example 22. Artaria String Quartet. 8. G. op. op. 4. 4. no. Artaria String Quartet. Length: 0:32. 1. 58. 168. no. bars 15–21. Example 22. op. G. Example 22. ii (Grave). no. 9. bars 85–96. 59. 50. 1. bars 13–19. op. String Quartet in F Major. G. op. 168. ii (Grave). G. Example 22. Artaria String Quartet. 8. no. no. Artaria String Quartet. ii (Grave). no. no. i (Adagio). G. Length: 0:13. G. String Quartet in G Minor. Artaria String Quartet. 4. ii (Allegro). 4. no. bars 38–42. Artaria String Quartet. bars 58–60. 8. op. Length: 0:50. bars 13–14.cd playlist xix 47. 9. i (Allegro). Length: 0:24. op. 52.

179. Length: 0:15. bars 54–60. Length: 0:17. Artaria String Quartet. G. Example 27. (Largo [soto (sic) voce]). 179. G. 179. Artaria String Quartet. ii (Prestissimo). no. Length: 0:09. Length: 0:13. String Quartet in E Major. G. i (Andantino). i (Andantino). op. Length: 0:23. no. 3. Length: 0:12. Example 26. bars 29–36. no. String Quartet in E Major. 179. Example 27. 3. String Quartet in E Major. 68. 15. String Quartet in E Major. Artaria String Quartet. Artaria String Quartet. bars 43–54. Length: 2:21. 15. 3. Artaria String Quartet. 179. String Quartet in E Major. Example 26. G. Example 25. 66. no. 61. bars 94–98. String Quartet in E Major. op. bars 14–19. G. Example 26. op. . ii (Prestissimo). 179. 69. op. G. 179. 15. Artaria String Quartet. 15. bars 23–50. no. i (Andantino). Length: 0:10. String Quartet in E Major. Example 26. Length: 0:23. Length: 0:16. 70. 65. 15. Example 26. op. 15. no. op. no. Length: 6:55. 3. no. Artaria String Quartet. 63. i (Andantino). 3. bars 63–73.xx cd playlist 60. i (Andantino). op. no. op. 67. bars 23–28. op. String Quartet in E Major. G. 3. 3. Example 27. Artaria String Quartet. 62. 179. 15. Artaria String Quartet. 15. String Quartet in E Major. bars 86–92. Artaria String Quartet. String Quartet in E Major. G. no. 3. op. 3. Length: 0:25. bars 22–24. 15. Artaria String Quartet. 179. G. op. Example 26. G. G. no. Example 26. i (Andantino). 3. Artaria String Quartet. i (Andantino). 179. 15. String Quartet in E Major. 15. 3. 64. ii (Prestissimo). Example 26. 179. i (Andantino).

and 4 appear in vol. Germán Labrador.acknowledgments Surely. whose work and mentoring profoundly and forever changed how I hear and understand eighteenth-century music. Madrid. Sergio Pagán. To Wendy Allanbrook. Bianca Hernández. but One xxi . the true importance of a project like this lies in the wonderful human contacts for which it has served as pretext. 55. Elizabeth Blumenstock. Victor Pagán. Emilio Moreno. 3. To Joseph Auner. and for providing much conversational food for thought: Josep Bassal. Herewith. and his redoubtable assistant Catherine Gjerdingen. José Carlos Gosálvez. 2 (fall 2002) in an article entitled “‘One Says That One Weeps. and Jaime Tortella. To my fellow members of the Artaria String Quartet. Katherine Kyme. To the anonymous readers for UC Press. without which the book would never have been written. To the American Musicological Society Subvention Fund. no. whose strenuous objections to the manuscript (and eventual recusal from the project) triggered major revisions. and Anthony Martin. José Antonio Boccherini. “final” draft. former editor of JAMS. and for cheerfully putting up with years of alternate pontificating and woolgathering on my part. for their meticulous and perspicacious reading of drafts early and late. for their beautiful playing in the recorded examples of quartet music and their willingness to be paraphrased and fictionalized in chapter 6. which made possible the editing and mastering of the CD bound into this book. for generous fellowship assistance. To the Junta of the Asociación Luigi Boccherini. this is a much better book as a result. Portions of chapters 1. and to one particular anonymous reader of a later. my heartfelt thanks. for welcoming me into the Asociación’s formative process. To the American Council of Learned Societies. served up in alphabetical order.

xxii acknowledgments Does Not Weep’: Sensible. for allowing me to reproduce the Liotard portrait of Boccherini. To Luigi Boccherini himself. for tolerating my preoccupation with this project through much of her childhood. even after ten years of immersion. for recording and editing the Artaria Quartet’s renditions of Boccherini’s opp. 3. To Ian Honeyman. when no child should have to demonstrate patience. amiable ability to head off panic attacks and keep me on track. I will always strive to emulate.” To Umberto Belfiore. and for her fine drawing of my left hand. To José Antonio Boccherini Sánchez and Christina Slot Wiefkers. for early editing and mastering of the book’s CD.” To my parents. and Mechanical Embodiments in Boccherini’s Chamber Music. To Gerhard Christmann. and for the final editing and mastering of all of the music examples. 8. sine qua non. and . whose music (and whose presence within it) continues to delight me profoundly. which he owns. To Bonnie Hampton. Mary Francis and Dore Brown. I would be remiss indeed not to thank him for it here. and 5 appear (in Spanish) in vol. and for the gift of an exquisite porcelain bust of the composer. for scholarship that I very much admire. which appears as figure 1. 9. who read early drafts of several chapters. and who was always generous about answering questions that no one else on the planet could have answered. who taught me not only how to play the cello. To Mary Hunter. 1 (2004) in an article entitled “Luigi Boccherini y la teatralidad. Ursula and Charles Le Guin. To Mariano Lambea. To Lolly Lewis. for recording the two sonatas included on the book’s CD. for the conversation lessons without which the Spanish wing of this project could never have flown. producer. who deftly advised the dissertation from which this book emerged. and of history in general. To Daniel Heartz. for graciously welcoming my sometimes clumsy enthusiasm. engineer. and Paul Stubblebine. and for her warm support and encouragement. To my editors at UC Press. To my daughter. Lyra Howell. Grotesque. editor of Revista de musicología. To Denis Diderot. for their clearsighted. my other non-living companion for so much of this project. To Marisol Castillo. To Laura Davey and Edith Gladstone. who copyedited a difficult mess of a manuscript with grace and precision. whose weaving together of intellect and sentiment remains my ideal both as writer and as human being. since I claim so strenuously to have a living relationship with him. Portions of chapters 1. To Bruce Brown. and whose spacious and gracious understanding of the eighteenth century. but how to think about playing it.

for supplying the scores of op. encouragement. for his warm interest in an extremely junior colleague. Feijóvian skepticism in the face of my enthusiasms and excesses. and for enlightening and always surprising conversations.acknowledgments xxiii 15 in 1995 and 1996. and in particular for providing me with a copy of the Brunetti MS. for their invaluable help in negotiating my 2002 purchase of the subsequently mothballed recordings from Naxos International. for sharing with me her unpublished work on Scarlatti Caroline O’Meara. for his own embodiments of and reflections upon eighteenth-century music. To Emilio Moreno. 3. Louis Niebur. unstinting wisdom. To Robert Stevenson. for really extraordinary generosity and collegiality. for his inspirational performances of Scarlatti. 15. To Jaime Tortella. for generously reading and commenting on an early draft of the introduction Mitchell Morris. for helping me to establish many crucial Spanish contacts. To James Turner. and to Victor and Marina Ledin. and Glenn Pillsbury. To Charles Sherman. and role-modeling Rob Walser. El Jefe Supremo. dream colleagues: Susan McClary. grand old man of Hispanic musicology. for sharing with me an unpublished essay on melancholy. for unfailing. and for beautifully adapting Boccherini’s basso parts to the harpsichord in the two sonatas included on the book’s CD. and for making my academic life smooth in ways I’m sure I don’t even know about Tom Beghin. for assistance with the bibliography . for challenging my every impulse to be reductive. for well-timed advice. and for his friendship Tamara Levitz. To Elaine Sisman. whose influence bears upon this book in myriad ways. Bettie Jo Hoffmann. and vigilant. who at an early stage of this project made clear to me (largely through his personal embodiment of the concept) the central importance of sensibilité to any understanding of the eighteenth century. warm friendship. support. To George Thompson and Michelle Dulak. To Craig Russell. no. for an ever-ready generosity. quite simply. for being. that appear as music examples 26 and 27. Raymond Knapp. To my colleagues at UCLA. Robert Fink. for their elegant work in the music-processing program Finale Sara Gross. Elizabeth Upton: all conversationalists of a positively eighteenth-century virtuosity. all UCLA graduate students at the time: Kate Bartel. To the following.

Cecilia Sun.xxiv acknowledgments Jacqueline Warwick. Maria Cizmic. for vital and impressively efficient assistance in the copyediting phase. To Mary Ann Vorasky. and tactful advice about my own efforts at translation Jonathan Greenberg. no. for generous fellowship assistance. and the staff of Echo: A Music-centered Journal. 1 (1999) Marcie Ray. for her patience and support. . without which the book would never have been finished. An earlier version of chapter 1 appeared in vol. Olivia Mather. for crucial and always amiable assistance in a variety of small matters. To the UC President’s Research Fellowship in the Humanities. 1. she is formative at every level of this project by virtue of her fierce insistence that no academic work is worth doing that cannot speak to those outside the Academy. for her handsome translations of Diderot.

he would prove it in this genre. or at least in sharing the glory with him. I should say: as a cellist. “ What a beautiful work this is!” it seems to me even more so to hear them add. as I saw it. In this way they almost succeed in stealing the applause from the composer. they must come together. letter of 8 July 1799 to Marie-Joseph Chénier When I first came upon this passage. and then there was the tiresome inevitability. on the theory that if Boccherini were a serious composer. I. the unimaginativeness. circumstantial familiarity had made me frankly reluctant to undertake anything musicological on Boccherini’s behalf. merely to study music by another cellist. then execute his works. a music-historical also-ran.1 That cursory. highly regarded in his own day. I chose to study the symphonies. My investigation of these works had not gone far before I found that my initial reluctance had evaporated. Studying him as a musicologist. then they must feel in their hearts all that he has notated. I had been studying Boccherini for less than a year. as student cellists still routinely do. with all its grand critical and philosophical potential. have considerable reason. using musicology. can be found in the work of most Boccherini scholars. and they. investigate. rehearse. This gave me some of the zeal of the reclaimer and rehabilitator. He did not seem terribly interesting—a Kleinmeister. finally study the mind of the author. Thus when Daniel Heartz first steered me toward Boccherini in a proseminar at UC Berkeley. Boccherini was indeed “serious.Introduction The composer achieves nothing without executants: these must be well-disposed toward the author. Boccherini was prolific.” but the terms of his seriousness were not at all what I had expected them to be. and 1 . how angelically they have executed it!” luigi boccherini. for while it is pleasing to hear people say. sometimes crossing the line into passionate partisanship. I had known his work for years before musicology entered the picture. of myself. to varying degrees a similar energy. having learned one or two of the sonatas. “Oh. a cellist. living in the provinces and writing virtuoso (which to me meant second-rate) music.

and 15. I got a peerlessly intimate sense of what it meant to perform Boccherini. There is more. and genre. Moving from the symphonies to the chamber music (as I did in my own research). are proof of the conceptual pudding. in 2005. 9. became involved in a project to record his string quartets opp. he was one of the first composers of instrumental music to explore the psychological subtleties of inter-movement cyclic construction. and an unusually rich palette of introverted and mournful affects. and his idiosyncratic harmonic language anticipates the substitutions and evasions of the tonic-dominant relationship generally attributed to later generations. an affection for extended passages with fascinating textures but virtually no melodic line. I emphasize that this CD is not incidental to my project. paths . a unique ear for sonority. As well as “backing up” many of the score examples. By great good fortune. in order to make my work more accessible to those who do not read music. exceed) that of the quartet. Among these qualities were an astonishing repetitiveness. Diderot put it neatly: “A piece is created less to be read than to be performed. In the course of the recording project. Did they add up to something more? Did they reflect some forgotten aspect of eighteenth-century musical esthetics? In pursuit of the answers to these questions. and about which no scholar had written in any coherent way. That intimacy and those works (along with the sonatas. has produced an interesting crop of commemorations scholarly and artistic. included in a CD of sound examples.”2 My ideal reader. The bicentenary of Boccherini’s death. which I was exploring on my own) were to become the conceptual core of this book. as I envision her. and that he confirmed the string quintet as a genre with expressive potential to rival (some would say. form. during the period of my initial interest in Boccherini’s music a period-instrument group in which I played.2 introduction a significant innovator: to name but a few generally agreed-upon matters. will listen with this book in one hand and the other hand on the controls of her stereo system. qualities that made it unlike any other eighteenth-century music I had ever known. highly characterized part-writing that was to become the hallmark of classic chamber music. I came to feel that there were qualities in Boccherini’s music that intrigued me far more than his acknowledged innovations in style. Through this project. one can add to this list the fact that his string trios and quartets from the 1760s are among the very first compositions in these genres to explore the independent. They gave Boccherini an unmistakable profile both to the ear and under the hand. it contains numerous sound-illustrations of crucial points for which there are no score examples. as it were. documented in a modest but continuing burgeoning of Boccherini scholarship. I have chosen to do this in order to assert the centrality of performance. while excerpts from the recordings. 8. the Artaria String Quartet. which lasted about two years. an obsession with soft dynamics. I followed two paths.

thoroughly scholarly biography of Boccherini available in English. Until quite recently. of course. is to generate interest in the explications that will follow). or about matters related to it. In 1781 Joseph Haydn attempted unsuccessfully to send a letter to Boccherini. Boccherini spent thirty-six of his sixty-two years there. this wisdom also seems apt for extended works in prose. Vienna. again as in sonata composition. Thus in chapter 1 I demonstrate my interpretive method through one short movement. On the other. who at the time was living in Arenas de San Pedro. and virtually all of them are in Spanish.4 Tortella’s work is scrupulously comprehensive. west of Madrid. no one had written anything of much use or insight about this at all: no small omission. As such it has several purposes. Specific correctives—that is to say. and memorable. One it shares with a number of similar recent efforts: it is a partial corrective. Haydn complained to their mutual publisher Artaria. On the one hand. which is that “carnal musicology” bears witness to a genuinely reciprocal relationship between performer and composer—even where the latter is no longer living.” A Vienna-centered view was natural enough to the Viennese. Lucca. and Paris. I offer some fruits of this latter approach—the “carnal musicology” of this book’s title—in my first chapter. I am concerned less with comprehensiveness than with those events and circumstances that best illuminate the history of embodiment and its perfor- .3 Another purpose—which it does not share with any extant work in English— is to cast a particular emphasis upon Boccherini’s years in Spain. rehearsalinterrupting attention—to the sensations and experiences of playing it. which is its third purpose. Chapter 2 is a chunk of biography in the midst of an interpretive ocean. A full-length Boccherini biography in Spanish by the historian Jaime Tortella was published in 2002. but one side effect of its nineteenth-century crystallization into a dominating music-critical position has been a remarkable dismissiveness about the Spanish period (and the arguably Spanish nature) of Boccherini’s life and works. for as of this writing there is no fulllength. (The intention here.introduction 3 which roughly paralleled the identities of musicologist and musician. simple. an opening should generally be bold. Accordingly I have given special attention to considerations of Spanish musical culture in chapter 2 (and in sundry other places in the book) on the assumption that this culture will almost certainly be less familiar to the English-speaking reader than those of the other places where Boccherini lived. “No one here can tell me where this place Arenas is. I began reading the works of those of his contemporaries who wrote directly about Boccherini’s music. and it throws new light on many aspects of the composer’s life. work on Boccherini as a specifically Spanish composer—are recent. According to late eighteenth-century theorists of sonata composition. I began paying very close attention indeed—note-taking. and I use it to make a radical assertion. thus I have felt free to give my biographical essay a very particular slant.

it is interesting.4 introduction mances. How did these performances distinguish themselves? What truck might Boccherini have had with them?—or. reference to the theater. However. later. as my main period tools for uncovering the pictures in Boccherini’s music. time and again in contemporary criticism of Boccherini’s music we find references to tragedy. friendship and—very important indeed—a history of one’s activity and a heredity. In chapter 3. on the streets of cities. hoping thereby to do as astronomers do. what troc. they also brought to my attention another Boccherinian quality that I had not noticed on my own: they praised his music repeatedly for a visual clarity of character or expressive intent. By focusing on the fabric around those holes. but theater itself was conflated with painting by means of the tableau vivant. I have assembled and translated it on a Web site in the hope that its availability will encourage further interpretive work on Boccherini. More speculatively. reassurance. I pursue pictures suggested by . . these writings confirmed some of my own perceptions—the melancholy. the articulation of ideas. the eschewal of melody. . and find better visual acuity by looking “off the object. first and foremost. the softness—and utterly failed to confirm others—the repetitiveness. in ballrooms and drawing rooms. intellectual nurture and. vernacular visual [and in this case aural] skills. in theaters. and there are some heartbreaking holes in the documentation of Boccherini’s.” for it pointed to the profound visuality of the eighteenthcentury relationship to music. I choose the suggestive over the demonstrative. provocation and irritation of stimulating kinds. Well-known paintings were enacted by living bodies carefully disposed upon the stage.7 As usually happens when one uses historical sources to address latter-day questions. Visuality in instrumental music meant. . one finds quite a body of prose (and occasionally poetry) about Boccherini’s music from his own time. popular all over Europe but nowhere more than in Paris. and far-flung. in Michael Baxandall’s formulation. I discuss these discourses of visuality in some detail in chapter 3. a tableau-like quality. as well as sometimes money acting both as a token of some of these and a means to continuing performance.”6 Looking not very far off the object at all. and on Gasparo Angiolini’s descriptions of pantomime dance. asserts—and indeed. I rely on Diderot’s works. while painters regularly strove to convey the snapshotlike immediacy of key moments in drama. In the end it was this quality that suggested how many of the other Boccherinian peculiarities might indeed “add up. [web of] approval. Troc is intended not as an explanatory model but as an unassertive facility for the inferential criticism of particulars. complex. cultural intercourse. theorist par excellence of this complex synesthetic culture.5 A precise documentation of any life is at best problematic. Tableaux vivants were most deeply characteristic of tragedy—or so Denis Diderot.

I focus extensively on theatrical music throughout this book. the really interesting genre of composition. explicitly or implicitly. in particular its evocations of serious opera. friction. of Madrilenian musical cultures. music for the stage was the fashionable. this appeared to lead toward a class of experience the very names of which are unwieldy and unfamiliar: kinesthesia. however. Virtuosity would seem to be the epitome of unity between inner impulse and outer execution: performative perfection. In his violin treatise of 1803 the violinist and composer Giuseppe Cambini. and muscular distribution having profound structural and affectual consequences. popular as these undoubtedly were. which pursues the topic of Boccherini’s virtuosity as it manifests in his solo sonatas. the be-right-here-rightnow-ness of phenomenology. to theatrical practice. and in this I was not anomalous but typical. pressure.”8 Among my other purposes here. in dealing with a composer whose great strength was his instrumental music. Ultimately. I was increasingly convinced that certain qualities in Boccherini’s music were best explained. whether it was serious or comic. Nor did this necessarily mean medleys of questionable taste on the latest air. Another is simply a matter of historicity. on occasion. or even solely explicable. tactility. puts it well: he tells us that “the dramatic art has always inspired [the] great masters. was secondary to the fact of its being staged. several of whose writings proudly inform us of his acquaintance with Boccherini. the prestigious. In Boccherini’s day. through the invisible embodied experiences of playing it. imported or vernacular. Instrumental music tended to be successful with listeners and buyers of printed editions to the extent that it referred. Yet of course it was precisely his virtuosity that initially caused me to mistrust Boccherini as a composer worthy of study. and. Why is virtuosity so often and so roundly dismissed by critics both of Boccherini’s age and of ours? As Diderot so memorably articulated in his “Paradoxe sur le comédien. in every country in which he lived and worked. Yet even as the centrality of a visual listening was becoming evident to me. I mean to present Boccherini’s work as an example of the subtle and ingenious ways in which eighteenth-century instrumental composers acknowledged and incorporated the theatrical. even in works which are not presented upon the stage. No music I have ever played seems so to invite and dwell upon the nuances of physical experience as does Boccherini’s: one can count on tiny variations of position.” the virtuoso’s visibility raises uneasy questions of where sincerity resides in performance—and ultimately this entails the larger ques- . weight.introduction 5 some of the music’s stylistic features. In its intense subjectivity. it seemed also to resist a historical approach. proprioception. I explore this in chapter 4. of sensibilité. As a path of inquiry within this book. this sense of being torn between the two opposed methodologies of the visible and the invisible proved to be itself historical. The visual bias of the eighteenth century is one reason why. indeed a key preoccupation of Boccherini’s day.

images. can only be approached through what it means within the culture that introduced that body to itself in the first place. excursus: historicizing the terms of embodiment The mind-body problem is by no means resolved in contemporary culture. Boccherini exhibits unmistakable signs of being aware of the philosophical stakes here. Remarkably. In chapter 5 I use a number of quartet movements to demonstrate the delicacy and ingenuity with which Boccherini’s consumptive/melancholic music explores the “fault zone” of mind-body relations. what we see is ever really what we get. consumption and melancholy represented. that people react to an unexpected pinprick today exactly as they did in Boccherini’s time. The fascinatingly macabre reports of this work are my starting point for a discussion of tuberculosis (which the autopsy proved Boccherini to have had) and its complex cultural associations with melancholy (one of his signal qualities as a composer. An eighteenth-century sense of embodiment is a realm both familiar and unfamiliar to us now. In certain sonatas. all of them historically and culturally bound. yet resisting solipsism through the ancient metaphor of sympathetic vibration—had a lively relationship to such questions. Diderot acknowledged this relativity succinctly: . rising moisture in the burial vault at the Chiesa di San Francesco in Lucca necessitated the exhumation of Boccherini’s corpse. by means respectively physical and psychic. we have many of the same preoccupations and blind spots as our eighteenthcentury colleagues. by reflexively jerking away—but we must equally note that the sensation itself is not describable in any objective way. associations. Chapter 5 repeats the outward-to-inward trajectory of chapter 4. he distances and ironizes the performer in specific regard to his virtuosity. for instance. Instrumental music by its nature—forever partially invisible. in the human realm. We can only resort to analogies. the deadly moment where subjectivity begins to consume itself in solipsism. thereby making a sophisticated contribution to the Enlightenment dialogue between self and appearance. In the late Enlightenment. In 1993. But not all of them. I explore these works in some detail in chapter 4. but in a medical mode. for that reason they raised the question of the mind-body relation with particular urgency. in a singular observation of the fact that 1993 was the 150th anniversary of the composer’s birth. the terms of its influence difficult to assess. In the end what a bodily sensation is. a team of medical examiners at the University of Pisa performed a paleopathological autopsy on the body. as an experience. I spend some time in chapter 5 discussing period medical theories about both conditions.6 introduction tion of whether. However. Thus we might note certain basic commonalities of response—it’s a given. both in my opinion and in that of his contemporaries).

. This feeling and her I are consequently the same thing in origin. What Hübner and I call kinesthesia. This thoughtexperiment is both lengthy and rigorous. Men are nothing but a communal effect. and you necessarily change me. to which we.” Our statue. she depends on it alone. which occurs by means of the nerves generally distributed throughout the body. Throughout this book I generally refer to the sense of embodiment with the term kinesthesia.”10 His use of the word was new. the more clearly to observe the operations and the consequences of each in the formation of a self. which comes from the Greek.”11 The Abbé Étienne Bonnot de Condillac (1714–80) expanded on this model in his Traité des sensations of 1754. We will tend to attach human significance to sensations that arise from causes outside of human agency (tuberculosis being a good example here) and as agents we will more or less deliberately pursue certain sensations as modes of relation. of sight. Christian Friedrich Hübner. . one profession’s irritating jab might well be another’s inviting piquancy.introduction 7 “Change the whole. The author. . Condillac’s scrupulous compartmentalization of the human sensorium. . This work proposes a statue made of marble. Condillac called “fundamental feeling. Hübner defined the term as that faculty “by means of which the soul is informed of the state of its body. and limited to the sense of touch. a similar spelling persists in modern French (cénesthésie) and Spanish (cinestesia). but by 1794 the concept had been bruited about for some decades as a kind of “sixth sense”: roughly.12 . his insistence on tracing each sense from its origins through to its results. spelled it cenesthesia. . I will call it fundamental feeling. . then and now. There are more still that we pursue on our own behalf. is the arts. the source of the pinprick will have something to do with this.” and he specified its physicality: “The heart is made. the individual’s sense of himself as sensing. the economy of his language. one social class’s. and seems to have been first used in a doctoral dissertation defended in 1794 in Halle. Of course. of hearing. it is organized [to be affected by] .”9 As acculturated humans we have the capacity and every motivation to interpretively modify even our most basic responses: one era’s. as modes of self-acculturation. are all earnestly scientistic. . in his Réflexions critiques sur la poésie et la peinture of 1719. may vouchsafe one sense at a time. the experimenters. touching objects. The Abbé Du Bos. His statue provided me with a well-articulated historical model for my initial intuition that physical sensation was a key to Boccherini’s music. of taste. because it is with this play of the machine that the life of the animal begins. posited a “sixth sense which is in us. now exists through the feeling she has of the action of the parts of her body one upon the other—above all the movements of respiration: and this is the least degree of feeling to which one may reduce her. . deprived of smell. A chief arena for this many-layered sensory engagement with identity.

this was in accord with current theories of nerve action. in the extent of the intestines. selfconsciousness. which make it always present to us. tells us.”15 But allow the statue the experience of hearing first one sound.14 The “sixth sense” is the body aware of itself without external intervention of any kind.8 introduction The idea of fundamental feeling seems to have run through the Parisian intellectual community like an electric current during the 1750s. “This internal sense would seem above all to reside around the region of the stomach. of experiencing one as pleasant. sonus est qui vivit in illa. nausea. in fine. the “sixth sense” was given a rather less abstract articulation by AnneRobert-Jacques Turgot in the Encyclopédie. atemporal experience of musical sound. desire. thirst. does music effectively model the very process of self-constitution. writing only a few years later. the outward motion (émotion) that accompanies all the passions. another as less so. she will become the sensation which she experiences. I make of these sensations a particular class. the malaise that precedes fainting. She will be like the echo of which Ovid says. even in the bones themselves. it is the sound which lives in her. and the self located squarely in that body: the matrix of all Enlightened embodied experience. shivers. The absolute. But at the very moment of granting his statue the ability to react to sensation with mo- . things become more interesting still for the statue. pleasure is always in some way expansive. Selfhood is thus essentially temporalized in Condillac’s system. hunger. pleasure. and which for this reason some metaphysicians have called the sense of bodily coexistence. and among them I count those pains which one feels sometimes in the interior of the flesh.”13 And after Condillac’s Traité. which circumscribe our body in some way. In Condillac’s system. As soon as Condillac permits her bodily movement. is more like that of smell: “ When her ear is struck. D’Alembert. pain always contractive. then another. however. in Condillac’s model. entwined reactions. selfhood. whether of grief or of voluptuousness. All of these qualities come about through the succession of sensory impressions. No sooner does she move than she begins to encounter pleasure and pain and their entrained. relation to an outside world. by the name of interior touch or sixth sense. and of conceiving desire from her memory of the difference (this being a rough digest of Condillac’s progression). To this fundamental state Condillac methodically adds each of the qualities that in his view define embodiment: the five other senses. and finally language. and “the desires of our statue will not be limited to having a sound as their object: she will wish to become an entire air. and the interaction of memory with that succession. that multitude of confused sensations which never abandon us.”16 Thus. pain. and this gives it a particularly interesting kinship with music.

the question it poses is not idle at all. it provided me with a way of historicizing Boccherini’s repetitiveness and his tendency to write passages devoid of the narrativity of melodic impulse. It does not expand or contract. holding her in abeyance. but we.18 This is an active and an interactive state. or at least good art as we are accustomed to think of it.” a usage which died out in English in the very period in question here. such as was enjoyed in much of Europe during much of the eighteenth century. support. Comfort is the ideal state. But an older meaning of the word comes from the Latin root com + fortis: it once meant “Strengthening: encouragement. Perhaps because it is immune to desire. In chapter 3. they are the closest a player can come to enacting eudaemonism (what John Locke called “indolency”) from within a necessarily moving and desiring body. are ourselves strengthened. incitement. but kinesthetically. nor seek to become greater or to alleviate itself. supremely unwilling to get up. comfort as artistic currency is a notion that has gone somewhat out of style— art. and at long last. not being a neutral or an indolent matter. The period of Boccherini’s maturity was . but as a theory of music-making it provides a framework for some nice insights. As a social theory. not only is the mute and helpless text upon the page given essential support through our living performance.introduction 9 tion. suggests that the motionless “fundamental feeling” might itself be pleasant. and so poses a crucial question. one imagines that the statue will be able to enjoy it by keeping every part of her body exactly where it was. Through them Boccherini implies what the slugabed and the statue know: the matrix of embodied experience is a comfortable place to be. the assumption that what feels good must be good. incited. What is implied here is eudaemonism. eudaemonism turns upon itself cannibalistically and in short order. In a motionless state. Why should she want to move?—the existential challenge posed by the slugabed in her tangle of warm blankets. succour. Both Condillac and Boccherini exemplify the hopefulness of their era by presenting the self ’s fundamental state as a pleasant one. . passages that unmistakeably and deliciously recall the statue’s happy inertia. countenance . Though this state is the epitome of idleness. to note the following: “If [Nature] gives her an agreeable sensation. A persistent effect of Boccherini’s music in and upon the hands of a performer is delight in this sense of comfort. and not infrequently given aid in the course of grappling with the demands of performance. the statue is comfortable. performing it. that which strengthens and supports. Such a cheerful and trusting view of the world could perhaps only have come into its own during a period of general prosperity. and this would tend to maintain repose rather than produce movement. Condillac pauses. resident at the very heart of her mobility. aid. I offer an alternative explanation of these passages as a sonic form of of the visual tableau. encouraged.”17 This conservative or inertial tendency. . In particular.

their bodies were burned to ashes. two years before Boccherini moved back to Madrid after years in the provinces. relief from even a very low level of pain is as near as the bathroom cabinet.’ of something being against one. In the France and Spain of Boccherini’s maturity. . physical pain does not. pain tended to be ignored whenever possible: natural enough. a nearly constant reality in late eighteenth-century Europe.”19 But the conceptual intractability of pain is key to its main cultural function: pain is the limit. His fame was literally built upon it. in the form of free trade) would result in every good—refinement. an immediate sensory rendering of ‘against. peace. the authorities.”22 These public displays of torture constantly and terrifyingly implied the many more that were conducted in the secrecy of Revolutionary or Inquisitional tribunals. Pain is a pure physical experience of negation. cannot loom as large in Western culture now as it did two hundred years ago. . the sanguine belief that letting people pursue their natural bent toward pleasure (most especially. Most of Boccherini’s chamber music was published for the swelling amateur market that had grown up with that capitalism. For the readers of this book. of shrinking from it. and of something one must be against. given the neurologically unavoidable reaction. The location of that edge has changed significantly between the late eighteenth century and today: it is easy for us to forget the complete unavailability of anesthetics and the relative scarcity of what we now call painkillers in the eighteenth century. commercially fueled optimism quite literally making itself felt. both before and during the Revolution. Such music needed to exhibit a pretty clear relationship to comfort. In this eighteenth-century culture of pleasure and the pleasant. . while a fourth was made to watch. the . which derives from poena. the most essential aspect of pain is its sheer aversiveness. The execution lasted [from ten thirty] until half past five in the afternoon. for those living at that time. the edge. safe medicines whose only purpose is palliation. the defining moment of embodied experience. three counterfeiters were garroted there. . “The first. justice.21 Public executions still took place in Madrid’s Plaza Mayor until 1790. . in the form of readily available. modeled for us by the statue. In 1783. virtue. or it simply would not sell. As Elaine Scarry puts it. whoever they might be at a particular time and place. what potential it held.10 introduction also that of capitalism’s first flush.20 The very commonplaceness of pain in the eighteenth century must reframe our understanding of what all sensation meant. “directly they were pronounced dead. punishment)—and its logical end in torture. . It obliges us all over again to acknowledge the continuity between pain and abuse—that is. regularly used torture both physical and psychological. have been copiously documented. of course. The easy sensualism of galant music was this infectious. And then there was war. Parisian public punishments. pain used punitively (a sense built into the very word. To name only those most likely encountered by Boccherini. By and large.

conducted by underequipped. 8. The dire extremities of agony would appear to be all but absent from the expressive world in which Boccherini’s music moves. certainly we look in vain for their direct representation. we see that she models this for us. and that musician eventually become a composer utterly characteristic of his age. Their culmination in the heartbreaking popular resistance to Napoleon. reiterated and expanded over years. 15. The “conventional” approach attempts a blend of the visualistic ideas I develop earlier in the book with considerations of musical rhetoric. for me.23 So does sensation inform action. op. The more she exercises her judgment upon this subject. she judges them. and then proceed to a pair of linked analyses—one more or less conventional and one experimental—of a short quartet in E major. does the journeyman become a master musician. topoi. and little by little she will be rendered capable of discerning the finest nuances in a single quality. Agony. 9. no. which need not be directly inflicted nor even directly recalled to be powerfully evoked through the exquisite sensitivity that it leaves in embodied memory. ferocious commoners—the original guerrillas—took place on the streets of Madrid during the last period of Boccherini’s life. however.introduction 11 Seven Years’ War (1756–63) between Prussia and Austria took place during the years in which he was visiting Vienna. the more her touch will acquire delicacy. while in Spain he could scarcely have avoided the many violent uprisings and counter-uprisings in reaction to the French Revolution. In galant music-making the definitional capacity of pain had a delicate threshhold indeed. she compares them. I want to propose. The experimental approach originated in my desire to develop a kinesthetic analytical framework. Because she encounters in turn solidity and fluidity. perpetually contains and calibrates sensibilité. Returning to the statue. In chapter 6 I return to what was. Her original experiential polarity of pleasure/pain interacts with her memory to shape a range of experiential and performative possibilities. and 15. an original experiential site of these historically embedded processes that I think make Boccherini so utterly characteristic: the string quartets opp. heat and cold. It is based on a number of informal interviews . and a smattering of harmonic analysis: I mean it to show the kinds of insight that can result from combining various methods. and these are the ideas by which she learns to distinguish bodies. that this delicacy was in no way a denial or evasion of the realities of agony. 3. she gives her attention to these differences. I begin with a loose overview of those features of the quartets that first caught my attention and set me upon the path of writing this book. hardness and softness. by this same basic process. filtered through that memory. starving.

indeed. In everyday speech. perhaps inevitably. While I have taken care to tie their every substantive assertion to historical sources by means of that ultimate anti-fictional device. I asked them to describe the experience of executing the piece in terms of pleasure or unpleasantness.12 introduction with the members of the Artaria Quartet. I might seem to be asserting here that scholarship is an act of fiction. I have put my words in the mouths of real people. like Condillac. invent. Obviously this not the sense in which I am interested. Rather. I had one more question to address: what would happen if I tried to generalize further. in order to address a single. and put words in her mouth in order to make points of my own.” an eighteenth-century counterpart to myself and my reader. fiction comes from the Latin fictus. these chapters are nonetheless departures. while fact comes from factus. in the sense in which I use it here. Thus. the results of an informal interview process are presented as a dialogue that in fact never happened. I had not expected that they would be otherwise. Thus each of the final two chapters of this book contains an essay in historical fiction: in chapter 6. How could I be scientific when one member of the group that I interviewed was none other than myself ? It seemed appropriate that my inquiries into Boccherini’s music should conclude with such a demonstration of the equivocalities that must arise in generalizing from individual embodied experience. but scarcely scientific. past participle of fingere (to shape. the footnote. beautiful or ugly results. and apply my ideas to music other than Boccherini’s? In chapter 7 I hypothesize a “Perfect Listener. And in a sense. Etymologically. Intellectual open-endedness is in large part both my means and my goal. in which. and connection or disconnection with other ensemble members. The polarities I used in the interview questions are susceptible of endless conflations and negotiations between supposedly opposite terms. past participle of facere (to do or . the root of any original idea at all. fiction is what happens after the assemblage of data is complete. we tend to think of fiction as another word for falsehood. that is what I mean to assert. and in chapter 7 an experience that did happen (my hearing of a performance of Haydn) is presented as the experience of an invented. working within parameters loosely derived from Condillac. In the end I opted to present the interview results in the semi-fictionalized dialogue form that Diderot used so marvelously when he wished to make a point while retaining a sense of its full complexity. ease or difficulty. I am scientistic.24 The results of the interviews were complicated and ambiguous. feign). it is the drawing of even the most cautious inferences. Fiction is often juxtaposed with Truth. composite listener. By these lights. real-time performance of a keyboard sonata by Haydn. I have invented someone outright. and so.

I had written an entire book based pretty exactly on the premise Boccherini states so neatly. In the process. and of my some years’ labor on its and on his behalf. I had found myself inventing a methodology—and sometimes dis-inventing one. vitally important. being something to which any habitué of either a conservatory or a university music department can readily testify. nevertheless. more or less accidentally. Again and again I had felt called upon to explain why I was doing what I was doing. had been taken aback at the unwieldiness and stridency that such explanations can impart. To put the performer always first. Coming to it the second time. throwing out days or weeks of labor because the results had proven untenable. . in reading my explanations to myself. and then. The level of word-origins suggests a relation much subtler and more problematic than the weary old opposition. no longer obvious. Again and again during this project. how do we determine where making leaves off and becomes invention? It was only late in the project that I returned. inverts an established order of musicological thinking. But in rediscovering Boccherini’s dictum. I had gained a much more detailed sense of why what he says is. front and center. for in the end. This had passed me by completely the first time because the statement had seemed so obvious: of course the composer achieves nothing without executants!25 But in the period between my two encounters with the passage quoted. to the remark by Boccherini that opens this introduction. Fiction or Fact. in fact.introduction 13 make). I was struck by its quiet radicalism. Taking the performative point of view profoundly complicates the whole enterprise of talking coherently about music. It is not news. this difficulty. a raw—sense of how difficult it is to unite performance and musicology into one discourse. and that order was established for some good reasons. I was gratified to find in it so genteel a confirmation of my enduring conviction that this unification is. Thus I had also gained an intimate—I might even say.

containing as it does the potential for possession or invasion. incidental. since. into concepts that are usefully transferable to other works. In making such a claim I can do no better than show the reader the scene of one of my own trysts with Signor Boccherini. I remain at the granular level of translation from sensation to concept. It is the rendering of this knowledge. I will contend two things here: first. of such an assessment has been acknowledged for a long time: it corresponds to the intellectio of classical 14 . (See example 1. so often the composer is long dead. in Western classical music. and eventually to points of contact with other composers altogether that will concern me for the remainder of this book. implying that it is somehow reciprocal. The identification can be a haunting or an irritating experience. however.) Because the performer’s relationship to the work of art must have an extensively explored bodily element. as it were. to other points of contact with the composer. revelatory. It can and should be a primary source of knowledge about the performed work of art. at its best and sweetest we might call it intimate. or inessential to musicology. The necessity. that this relationship is not fantastic. or at least advisability. the very sheets and the stains upon them. a performing identification with a composer is based on a particular type of knowledge which could be called carnal. that the sense of reciprocity in this process of identification is not entirely wistful or metaphorical. In this chapter. voyeuristic. shot through with sorrow. but functions as real relationship. which by its nature contains an extremely fine grain of detail. the performer will engage in a brief preliminary assessment of what she is about to do. Fuori Catalogo Anyone who performs old music or who has written about its history can attest to identifying with composers. Confronted with the necessity of executing the first part of a sonata. and second. CD track 1.Chapter 1 “Cello-and-Bow Thinking” The First Movement of Boccherini’s Cello Sonata in E b Major.

first half of movement. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœ œ œ.. œ œ . œ.. . n œ œ œ œjœ œ œ œœ œ .Example 1. œ bœ bœ J J J œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ. bœ œ . œœœ œ œ . œ œœœ œ œ œ bb b c J J & ? bb c ‰ ‰ b b œ & b b œœœ œ J 3 j œ œœJjœ œ œ œ œœœ J œ œ basso œ j œ œœœ œ œœœ J œ j œ œ. j œ ? bb œœ œœ b œœ (continued) 15 . j œ œ.. œ œ ¯ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ a loco Ÿ Ÿ Ÿ Ÿ b & b b œ œ n œ œ b œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ n œ œ b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ w w Ÿ œŸ œ Ÿ œŸ œ ? bb œ œœ œ œ œœ ˙ œœœ œœœ b b &bb 12 (√) j œ j . œœ. œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ j œ œ J ? bb ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b (√) 6 √ r. i (Allegro).. œ œ œ . . œ œ œ œ œ nœ . Cello Sonata in E b Major. . . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ ? bb œ b 9 œ œ œ ‰ œ J œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œjœ œ œ j . œ œ j bœ œ .. . œ œ... œœœ œ .œ œj ‰ & œ . . b œ œ œ r œœ ... œ œ œ . . œ œ . œ œ . œ œ œ œ J œ. œ œ.. œ œ œ œ œ . œ œ . fuori catalogo. .œ œ œ . œ œ œ œ. œ œ ?œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œœ . . œ œœ œ. œ œ ‰ J œ œ œ œœ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œjœ œ œ œœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ . œ œ. œ œ ‰ œ œ nœ œ œ œ .. œ œ. & b b œ .œ œ nœ œ œ . œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ. œnœ œ œj n œ œ œ œjœ œ b œ œ ‰ b œj [b ] œ œ . vc. .

(continued) r œ œ b œ n œ œ nœ bœ œ œ œ œ b œ œ b œ œ œ b œ n œ œ œ b œ œ œ b œ œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ œœ œ œ œ b bb œ & 15 ? bb 18 b nœ Œ n˙ œ œ nœ ‰ J ‰ bœ œ J ‰ œ bœ œ J œ nœ œœ œœœ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w b œœ œ œ œ œJ œw œœ œ œ œ & b b nœ œ œ ‰ B œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ œ œjœ œœ œ œ œ ? bb œ ‰ Ó œ b œœ n˙ 22 œœ w œœœ œ Œ n˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ œ œ n œ œ œ œ# œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ B b bb œJ ˙ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œœ ? b b œjœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b 25 ˙ ˙ B b bb ˙ ˙ 3 œœ œ œ 3 œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ nœ œ œ œ œ œ 3 3 ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œœ j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œœ œ œœ œœ œ J J œ ? bb œ b œ œ œ n œ œ œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œn œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ 28 œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ Ÿ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B b bb œ ? bb bœ Œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ. œ œ 16 .Example 1.

Many. in fact most. he will always play a better accompaniment. the engagement of that cellistbody in movement and doing.. writing in 1607. Luigi Boccherini. There may be some kind of who-what-when. He is also generally remembered as some sort of precursor to the style of Haydn and Mozart. a sub-verbal. A certain basic position is mandated: seated on a chair.” the latter in this case being an unfigured bass line. vocalization. a rough and ready musicology: the composer. On this level. It is in the act of playing the instrument. leg motion of any kind. physical possibilities are excluded. back) . Boccherini is generally remembered today as having been a great virtuoso cellist. What do I need to do in order to play this? Where will I put my hands. waving the arms in the air.œ œ . with the instrument between the legs. Further context may arrive with this information.. fingers) competing muscle groups (hands. sub-intellectual assessment of questions such as. and a certain degree of showiness. For a prospective performer. because in understanding the nature of that music. perusal of the score becomes an anticipatory kinesthesia. œ œ œ œ rhetoric. lived in the second half of the eighteenth century. J J 30 ? bb b œ œn œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ . what we have before us is the first half of a first movement of a sonata for cello and “basso. “the nature of that music” is also inescapably physical. Lodovico Viadana. such as standing up. mobility (arms. arms. (continued) 17 œ œ œ 6 Ÿ œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ B b bb œ œ œœœ œœœ œœœ œ œœœ œœœ œœ œœœœœ œœœœœ œœ œœ nœœœœ œœœœ œœœœœœ œ œ œ œ . and the bow held in the right hand. we might expect a sonata-form procedure. Suddenly we are involved with implications such as the following: fixity vs.”1 “The nature of that music” can mean quite a few things. For instance. By these lights. a mulling-over and consideration of the topic at hand. this is at first a visual act. and so on. that the enterprise becomes fraught with complexity. When the performance involves a score. its neck to the left of the face. offers a reading musician’s version: “It will be good if the organist has first looked over the concerto which is to be sung. and how will I move them? The most basic physical terms within which this question operates—the framing of a cellist-body—are fairly easy to articulate.“cello-and-bow thinking” Example 1.

the bow can be moved “in. not in the cello’s more ordinary bass or tenor register. Simultaneously. grateful. to read this clef down an octave. psychologically. and then two more an octave lower. a half-inch or so. bow hair on string. the right hand holding the bow must move minutely inward as well.18 “cello-and-bow thinking” muscular extension and contraction joint extension. accustomed to reading treble clef at pitch. which is a kind of drawing-in toward a center: from its initial extension. the bow hair is positioned on the strings rather close to the bridge. toward home. welcoming. between muscle groups) use of or resistance to weight. while the dotted rhythms of bars 2 and 4 connote something of the martial. but in the soprano range.” technically speaking. are still general.” again toward the body’s center. such descending lines connote withdrawal. where there is quite a bit of frictive resistance to the bow. What of the piece at hand. detailed as they are. unfamiliar enough that most cellists will have to find and secure the position for the left hand before beginning to play. But then add to this the physical experience of playing this passage. and the strings’ resistance diminishes considerably. as it was the custom in most solo cello music of his day. pleasant. and its specific demands? How will the cellist’s body configure itself according to the solo line of this sonata? And—an integral part of my project—how may we read these configurations for meaning? the first half of the movement The first specific thing the performer is likely to notice in assessing this page of music may well come with a little lurch of alarm: the piece begins “out there. physically speaking. the left arm moves steadily in toward the chest. the lurch of alarm will be unnecessarily intense: it was Boccherini’s custom. Topically speaking. For both hands this is an experience of increasing ease and relaxation. and probably relief. the familiar pastures of the tenor and bass ranges. (For the latter-day cellist. From this topical mixture one might construct a scenario of a rapidly subsiding bravado. as the pitches descend. Thus the retreat from the screwed-up courage of the opening is. being resisted with brief shows of rigidity. steady descent for two bars. contraction. and. In order to play with a clear sound in a high register. and rotation motion of limbs or digits toward or away from the center of the body friction and the release of friction (left-hand fingers on string. gravity These matters.) From this somewhat precarious starting point comes a measured. If we combine the physical experience of the passage with its topical/ .

having made the piece’s first full statement. Thumb-stopped notes will also have a tone quality somewhat different from those stopped by the other fingers. muscle memory will help.) At this point. Thumb tone could be described as rather hard and bald. and bars 83–10 being examples—is written so that one can just twiddle around within a position. A b –C. Gratification is associated with a withdrawing motion. Since thumb-position is a technique used only by cellists and virtuoso contrabassists. Each upper-neighbor third provides a brief moment in which to lift and adjust the position of the thumb. allowing the right hand to repeatedly confirm its position. which murmurs itself away into a cadence. without the luxury of being able to find the position outside of musical time.2 the upper-neighbor third. This starts out brilliant. but it is perfectly characteristic of him in . finally by halfway through bar 8 landing on a dominant drone. with its cascading triplets. The minor third G–B b. usually the top two. militate against this esthetic of introversion. as a “bar. short-long.“cello-and-bow thinking” 19 gestural significations. for the passagework that follows. with each thirty-second–dotted-sixteenth pair. In negotiating this leap. is most sensibly played by the left thumb and second finger. but should that memory prove less than perfect. Vibrato becomes more difficult. oriented around the fixed and immobile left thumb. since it is the side of the thumb that makes contact with the string. (Yet they are subtly comforting as well: the execution of dotted rhythms such as these involves minute rooting-inward motions of the right hand on each thirty-second note followed by slightly longer releases into the air after each sixteenth. but begins to droop by bar 7. and then another.3 The pitches produced by a pair of thumb-stopped strings will always be a perfect fifth apart. and there is less flesh on the side of a digit. on which the new phrase begins. Boccherini immediately offers two opportunities to regroup and correct the intonation. by first and third fingers.” or artificial nut (see figure 1). the thumb position reset a step lower. Much of this passagework—the figuration of bars 5 and 6. this should permit everything to be all set. which become increasingly gruff in sound with the descent in pitch. by the third beat of bar 5. a brief reversion to the level of framing the basic cellist-body may be in order here. Unless there has been a really gross initial miscalculation. Thumb-position involves placing the right side of the left thumb across two strings. if formulaic. This sonata is rather unusual for Boccherini in the amount of thumb movement implied in its first eight bars. and the two-and-a-half-octave jump to the soprano register go awry. short-long. since the strings themselves are tuned in fifths. joints are considerably less flexible under sideways pressure. the performer must return abruptly to the high place in which the piece began—this time. we get a complicated little picture: retreat and subsiding manifest as desirable. and since it is central to Boccherini’s idiom. Meanwhile the persistent dotted rhythms.

Left Hand in Thumb-Position.Figure 1. Photo copyright Lyra S. Lyra Howell. 2003. Charcoal. 2003. chalk. Howell. Howell. Copyright Lyra S. pencil. .

which are responsible for the pronation (inward rotation) that sinks the arm weight into the strings. further resistance takes place between muscle groups: the deltoid and biceps. since making such a sound involves a greater submission to gravity. The repetitions toward . one which is definitely pleasant to work at. as in bars 83–10 here. they invite a sound that seeks resonance without seeking much projection. of a substantial cast of characters. less effort by the arm and shoulder muscles. The repetitions in the pastoral mode are introverted and calm. Typically. Boccherini will signal both the beginning and the end of a fixed-thumb-position passage with a clef change.4 The elegance of this system of implying (without ever dictating) the most convenient or appropriate means of execution. In terms of sensation. mezzo-soprano. to the sonorous momentum of bars 263–27 and 293–30 (CD track 5). the remaining fingers can fill in the pitches of a diatonic or chromatic scale around and within the thumb’s barfifth. is lost in every modern edition I have encountered. this gives the performer plenty of time in which to find the requisite muscular balance. and he often uses a different clef to signal the placement of the thumb. tenor). as well as the rather daunting invention of tenor-clef-up-an-octave. Boccherinian technique more typically involves “planting” the thumb in a convenient location for part or all of an extended passage. together with the sense it gives. carrying sound. and can. This plays out as physical calmness. in the upper registers. bright. each with its own voice. Boccherini invites an exploration of the pleasure of making resonant sound through the amount of repetition he provides. ways of increasing the harmonious vibrations coming out of the instrument (and disguising the bald tone of the thumb-stopped notes!) but they will function in this way only if the performer is very conscious and deft with the balance of friction and release in the right hand. This appears at many levels: from the micro-repetitions of bars 5–6 (CD track 2). to my knowledge unique to Boccherini. In addition to bass and “old tenor clef ” (treble-clef-downan-octave) this included all the C clefs (soprano. With the thumb planted. If the performer gets this balance of resistances right. Because thumb technique orients the left hand around a stopped fifth. extend to a tenth or even further above the bottom note of the bar. alto. an addition Boccherini often exploits. playing two strings at once will offer increased resistance to the right hand and arm. In the sonata movement at hand. thus fixing register for that passage’s duration. since all avoid the rich variety of clefs an eighteenth-century cellist was assumed to be able to read. it also lends itself to the addition of a drone or pedal point. Double-stopping and drones are written-out resonators. war subtly with the trapezius and back muscles that are responsible for the lateral motion across them. it will result in a warm.“cello-and-bow thinking” 21 the fact that this movement is always downward in pitch. on the page as well as to the ear. to the pastoral musette music of bars 83–10 (CD track 3) and its slightly more dreamy cousin in bars 183–223 (CD track 4).

22 “cello-and-bow thinking” the end of the movement are more urgent. implying a crescendo of sound and muscular activity. mimes the melodic “shapes” created by the invisible shortening and lengthening of vocal cords. In his violin treatise of 1787. lazy descending line and a rather indolent cadence. and which is not based on layered repetitive gestures. Put the piano-knowing hand over a child’s-sized toy keyboard. Leopold Mozart tells us that tremolo [his word for vibrato] is an ornament that springs from nature itself. without the thumb on the strings. a much more commonplace cellistic technique. issues only in a delicate. The whole passage falls within the most grateful. Here the left hand must move up and down the neck of the instrument to follow the line of the melody. rather in the manner of a hologram. David Sudnow remarks that a central process in learning an instrument is the acquisition of “a general style of bodily movement . and the feet learn their ways and the pedal’s spaces faster than the feet of a body without a piano-knowing hand. more “natural” tone. we then hear a certain wave-like beating (ondeggiamento) of the tone we have struck. of a complexity that in no way can be readily reduced to some existing equation” and which has the signal feature of generalizability to (and from) the rest of the body. Put a pencil in the knowing hand and watch a scale get played. by progressively shortening and lengthening the strings. can be experienced by the string player nowhere so intimately as in the physical analogies of tone production for voice. producing a warmer. “singing” register of the instrument. Nature itself is the teacher for this: when we strike a loose string or a bell sharply. and in a few moments the piano-knowing hand displays perfect familiarity in moving about. This ability of our bodies to generalize such an activity from one situation or body part to another. . . This is not friction toward a climax. our marvelous self-analogizing propensity. Both passages in their different ways incite and encourage the performer to explore different pathways toward a frictive physical pleasure. a melody picked out. Even the tumult of bars 263–27. and then again 293–30.5 Shifting up and down the instrument’s neck. seems only to be adequately described by reference to the experience of singing. and not only a good instrumentalist but also a skillful singer can make it an appropriate adornment for a long note. however. and we call this shuddering aftersound tremolo or tremoleto. There is in fact only one complete phrase on this page that is not written in thumb-position. Put a person with a piano-knowing hand above major-scale pedals on the floor of an organ. That scale and its distances are thoroughly incorporated for the . and its vocality is further emphasized by the fact that. To be launched upon a melody. airborne among the expressive and muscular demands of shaping it. This is in bars 113–182 (CD track 6). it is much easier to use vibrato.

And when fingers in particular learn piano spaces in particular. as flexibly characteristic as the sounds that issue from her larynx. as it were.” however produced. melancholy. nor on the apparent type of body playing it: fine players can produce “their” sound on a wide variety of instruments. Such drawings-in are always toward a center. every instrumental “voice. in the form of descending chromatics (bar 14) and an augmented second (bar 15). what is so characteristic is the way in which those associations are physically welded. even in a major-mode Allegro. there are invitations to explore pleasure in the sliding and resistance of muscle fibers. this too subsides. and anxiety are set apart and emphasized through their vocalistic ex- . Kinesthetically. with a number of its topical attendants: pathos. the performer’s basic aplomb upon his instrument tended to be manifested in pathos or sentimental reflection. To recapitulate and summarize these combinations of physical experience with topos and affect. a mature string player develops a tone that is identifiably her own. conveyed by the syncopations (bars 16–17). We can confirm this reading again and again in the course of exploring this sonata. step by step. CD track 6 contains an abrupt turn into the minor mode (bar 133). the minor-mode affects of pathos. both reflective and cumulative. this is a motion toward the center of balance. small people sometimes have a huge. and it is a notable feature in all its kindred works. and so on. to one of the most fundamental acts of playing the instrument at all. will have its own stamp. toward the heart. Boccherini’s exploration of cellistic bel canto delivers the most personal part of the piece so far. and gesturally it references the motion associated in classical oratory with heartfelt sincerity. and anxiety or unrest. and in the instrumental resonances that go into developing tone. in the drone passages. A music-making body is being fashioned. potential discomfort (the large leap upward) is mitigated by some musically simple but technically sophisticated repetitions. The passage that begins at bar 133 uses plangent chromaticism to confirm the inward bent of the whole movement: in order to play this descending line—to make a G become a G b —the left hand must move. something showy follows that is not at all difficult to play. Pathetic connotations to chromatic passages and descending lines are scarcely peculiar to Boccherini. robust tone. these sizes. then: a daring beginning proves to be the beginning of a retreat. but of physical efficiency and balance. This is not wholly dependent upon the particular instrument being played. however minutely.6 23 And as in singing. of course. much more is in fact being learned about than fingers. in the passage from bars 113 through 182. It seems that for Boccherini as he manifests himself to us in the sonatas for cello and basso. not only of sentiment.“cello-and-bow thinking” body. in bar 5. this keyboard. an inner acquisition of spaces somehow arrayed all over as an ever-present potential.

The first norm we encounter here is the one that says. I turn to Rousseau’s Dictionnaire de musique. the entry on execution. that which is supposed in the voice of the executant. composer. I do in this wise become him. much of the verifiability and transferability of this carnal approach to musicology must rest upon unpacking and discussing those norms. the distinction of its phrases. and are a proper. hence. of its connection with the sense of the words. None of these kinesthetic associations can ever be really free. evoking that central eighteenth-century understanding of the voice as the ideal marker of a feeling selfhood. communicability and reciprocality In a live performance (and to some extent in a recorded one) not only will the performer feel things such as those I have described. the energy which the composer has given to the poet. this book was published in Paris in 1768. My role constitutes itself as follows: as living performer of Boccherini’s sonata. but his binding agent. the continuity. Then relax your organs to all the fire which their considerations may have inspired you with. the consciousness. in a very reasonable voice. do the same as you would. As for Boccherini’s role in this endeavor. but the listenerobserver will feel them too. on account of Western culture’s powerfully normative. And my experience of becoming him is grounded in and expressed through the medium of the tactile. or will at least feel that the performer feels them. if always only contingent. the necessary daily fiction of establishing and keeping a hold on identity.7 . a work which he wrote for himself to play. in kind. it is only a step over from the work of maintaining my own person as some kind of unitary thing. actor and singer. Rousseau is addressing the performer of vocal music in terms that mandate a radical identification with the composer. part of the performed work of art. I think. powerfully tacit understandings of embodiment. Begin then by a complete knowledge of the character of the air which you are going to render. I am aware of acting the connection between parts of someone who cannot be here in the flesh. The act is different perhaps in urgency and accuracy. were you at the same time poet.24 “cello-and-bow thinking” ecution. but not. Yet I do claim it as reciprocal. in much the same manner as I become myself. and those [energies] which in turn you also can give the composer. the year in which Boccherini visited that city. you cannot have a physically reciprocal relationship with someone no longer living. through the subtle physical identification that comes with proximity and close attention to another human being. I have become not just his hands. the accent which it has peculiar to itself. Such matters communicate themselves entirely without the benefit of a verbal exegesis. As this composer’s agent in performance.

It may appear that I have chosen only fingerings and bowings that reinforce my interpretive points. the most fully human language. rather than a retreating. Rather.” 9 Rousseau explicitly invokes sentire in performance. but inhabiting my body.” plainly that performer is myself. This is. evolving in detail and precision through the course of learning to play a piece. . the unmistakable sensation of someone here—and not only here. I maintain. trajectory? Doesn’t the descent into the lowest register bring with it connotations of increasing mas- . . change the very way things feel. and it is this vivid experience of being pierced and pervaded by Boccherini. its usefulness. is it not possible to construe the opening of this sonata as a triumphal.” What can this mean but the composer’s reliance on knowledge of. And what of its subjectivity? Despite my carefully generic locutions about the experiences of “the performer. then visual. and first and most frequently for hearing.“cello-and-bow thinking” 25 The recommended trajectory of attention is from an educated listening inward. I come to know what the composer supposed me to be. and that what appears above is not musicology. It is used for some senses in particular. It is never used for simple perceptions of sight and hearing. it resembles the process I have been describing in this chapter: initially abstract. to feel. the performer?—who can only make the acquaintance of this ghostly version of themselves “supposed” in the work through a careful evaluation of what it is like to execute it. or rather the feel. increasingly kinesthetic. . these changes occur in the image. . not history. here introduced by that extraordinary phrase: “that which is supposed in the voice of the executant. was “to receive some impression by means of the senses . and toward a level of experience neither conventional nor well understood. impressions . full of poignance. the primary meaning of sentir. through a grasp of conventions. In Rousseau’s native French.”8 In the Italian that he championed as the ideal. Here. I would suggest. of someone else. Through this. that constitutes the reciprocity of our relationship. but an exercise in narcissistic free association by a particularly verbose performer. change one’s choices. This is a vivid experience. I become aware of a poignance of presence. the detailed assessments of possible physical experience in playing this page of music derive directly from what I felt (both sentir and sentire ) as I learned to play it. or assumptions about. It is a commonplace in any kind of physical education that intensive involvement with certain bodily configurations will change one’s habits. . They delineate him with an uncanny and entirely un-visual clarity. then.10 As I practice sentire in Boccherini’s music. To take only one example. sentire had a crucially different usage: “A generic term with which one commonly expresses the suffering or receiving of . as I educate myself physically about the highly characterized work of this composer. the musical. . not primarily an auditory matter. that every such point I have made is thoroughly arguable as to its generalizability.

involving as it does a motion upward. in and through all of these. and. If we accept this (and doing so is fundamental to the epistemology of a carnal musicology) the whole simplistic and ultimately rather boring notion of an authoritative reading simply auto-digests. as well as suggesting further terms for and conceptions of the Boccherinian character. one intuits an appealing and most interesting character. and taught as a kind of gospel ever since. One of its side effects has been a certain deafness to earlier or non-Viennese models. culturally speaking. leaving us with its compost: that complex layering of interpretations that builds up around any work of art. The prerogative I have taken of interpreting it in another light would go unquestioned in performance. with its marked tendency to gravitate toward ease and comfort—there is something positively gentlemanly about the way he refuses to sacrifice the performer’s ease to virtuosic excitement—toward introversion. toward melancholy. constitutes the nourishment it must have in order to survive.26 “cello-and-bow thinking” culinity and thus authority. of course. supported by the attendant increase in resonance and volume from the instrument? And doesn’t the gradual progress of the performer’s left hand from soprano to bass registers inflect this with an additional rigidity. in historical context. which actually requires more muscular contraction in the upper arm as the phrase continues? The answer. It’s a rather nice reading of the passage. Through the music. Explorations of his music’s placement within its cultural milieu confirm these executional readings. we must still have plausibility. theorized in loving detail by German critics of the first part of the nineteenth century. Eschewing authoritativeness. even highly educated ones. the second half of the movement To return to the sonata: if the section we have considered so far suggests Boccherini’s character to us through its physical and experiential elements. against gravity. Twentieth-century ears. is yes. Much of this book will be given over to placing that character. a particular “template” of first-movement sonata form. an act which is both art and science. toward an unorthodox kind of goal-less pleasure. laid out in elegant practice by Haydn and Mozart. and it comes readily enough if we focus more historically on the composer at hand. in fact. I propose performance and analysis as two faces of interpretation. Boccherini is one of . and those intuitions. and. will have been raised on a diet of Viennese conventions in late eighteenth-century music. resulting at worst in their interpretation as incomplete or clumsy attempts at the “real thing”—an inevitable result of elevating a certain stylistic moment as classic. how does its second half continue or build upon this process? Special caution is required here. has a hold over modern expectations that should not be underestimated. however.

but to the hand. has been shown. The longed-for exit from the fixed-thumb position takes place gradually in the course of the phrase’s descent (a characteristic piece of Boccherinian tech- . By this halfway point in the movement. This half of the piece begins with the opening theme in the dominant (upbeat to bar 33). for it is the same register and the same position in which the preceding fourteen and a half bars have taken place—the thumb has been planted across the B b –F fifth ever since bar 183. and its very familiarity may encourage us to “take it as read. its small repetitions and its pitch confirmations rounding off into quasi-martial dotted rhythms are likewise familiar. serving as a kind of rubric to announce the beginning of a new section. as it does for much of his music. it has become more or less personified. Thus our question has become. however. It is melodically familiar. or at least hand-strain: maintaining a fixed-thumb position for extended periods is not particularly comfortable. “ What do you have to show me?” since that “what. there is much more that is familiar than that is new about the register in which they appear. We no longer confront the piece with the implicit question. the prospective performer. Executionally. to locate our expectations within some broadly defined parameters of the way sonatas behave. Is such exposition even susceptible of development? Do narrative structures of characterization and expectation operate on a kinesthetic level? Some of the possible intersections between a listening and a performing engagement with a work play out in the opening bars of the second half of the sonata. keeps asking the same question as at the beginning: “ What do you have to show me?” Thus the performer continues to engage with the second half of a sonata in its expository capacity. Our listening interest and engagement will henceforth center around the progress of this sonic being through certain vicissitudes. and our expectation will focus on an eventual return to or reconciliation with its initial aspect. Such familiarity is in danger of breeding contempt. and by this point not only attention but considerable desire is likely to be focused on getting somewhere else. however. Late Viennese sonata form makes a sadly Procrustean bed for the piece under consideration here. which begins at 4:14 on CD track 1 (see example 2). whose primary concern is physical exigency. In the process.” in the form of the sonata’s theme or Main Idea. “ What is going to happen to you?” In contrast to the listener.“cello-and-bow thinking” 27 a number of eighteenth-century composers whose instrumental music suggests other pathways to coherence. It is safe enough. so that we will be likely to regard it not as “what” but as “whom” (such personification is of course especially clear in a solo sonata). the descending trajectory of the tune. our outlook as listeners (or as the kind of sublimated or deferred listeners that readers of musicological description perforce become) will differ from what it was at the outset.” directing our attention toward what is to come: presumably a section of vicissitudes. meanwhile.

œ œ. œ œ œ œ œœœ œ J œœ œ œ. œ . œ œ ? œ œ œ B b ˙ œ œ n œ œ œ . vc. Cello Sonata in E b Major. .œ œ . œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œnœ œ . nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œœ b . . œ œ . œ œ & œ œ w œ. i (Allegro). basso œ œ œ œ œj œœjœ œ œ œj œ . œ œ œ œ œ œj œ œ œ Jœœœ j b bb c J & œ œ. œ #œ œ n œ œ œ bœ œ # œ œ œ . œœ œ.œ p œ œ œ œ Œ ‰ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ ? b b œ .œ œ . ˙ œ œœ œœœ œœœ œ œ 1 ? bb 46 b œ œ œ bœ œ nœ œ j j ˙ bœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B Œ dolce j œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ‰ œ ‰ œ J œ œ œ jœ j b bb œj œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J B J j œ œœ ? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ J œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J b J 1 Probably: ? bb b œ œœ œ œœ œœœ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ œ œ J 28 . œ œ .. œ œ 33 J œ J J œœ nœ œ œ œ œ ? bb c ‰ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ .œ œ ‰ Œ œ b J ˙ bœ 36 40 œ j œ œ B b bb b œ œ œœ œœ œœ œ œœœ ? jB œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ n œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ n œ b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ? bb œ œ œ œ ‰ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œj œ b nœ œ B b bb 43 œ œœ œœ œœ œœœ j œ œœ n˙ œ . œ œ.Example 2. œ. œ œ . fuori catalogo. œœ nœ œ nœ œ b bb . second half of movement.

Example 2. (continued) b b œ œ œjœ œ œ œ B b 50 œ œ œ œj œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ bœ nœ œ bœ bœ œ ? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bb œ œ œ b œœ œ b œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ ˙ œœ œ œœ B b œ b œ œ œ œ b œœ œ 53 ‰ œ œ ‰ b œj J œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ ˙ ˙ œœ œ œœ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ ˙ œ œ ? bb œ ‰ œbœ J b 56 œ œ nœ œ œ œ Ó œ œœ˙ œ ˙ bb ˙ B b œJ œ œ œ œ œ œ j ? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ œ ˙ œ Œ ˙ œ J j œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œœœ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ œ œœ œ 3 ˙ b b œ œ œ œœ bœ œ œœ œ œ œ œ˙ b B œ 59 3 ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ? bb œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b 3 ˙ b bb ˙˙ B ˙ 62 œ jœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œœ œœœ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J J ? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b 64 B b bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ œ œ Ÿ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œœœœœœœ œ œ œ jœ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœœ œœ ? b œ bb œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ (continued) 29 .

in the two-octave arpeggio that sweeps upward out of the closing gestures. developments—vicissitudes. as bars 35 and 36 make clear. just in time for the martial gestures of bar 34. it is both relief and pleasure in that relief: how thoughtful of the composer to continue the phrase in a known place. in a known manner. the abrupt return to the opening idea in the tonic and in a familiar register may constitute a disappointment: this is scarcely new! Or it may be a puzzlement: is this some sort of premature recapitulation? But for the performer. “ Where now?” But the desires motivating that question in the two parties are quite different. most promisingly. Meanwhile the ear’s eagerness for newness. At the end of bar 34.30 “cello-and-bow thinking” Example 2. both listener and performer will be chiefly focused on the question. in a word. as we encounter them in this piece—will tend to be of this elusive type. Bar 37 is unprecedentedly static. gesturally speaking: straight off a cliff. resolving leisurely in the second half. suspended for an endless-seeming half a bar. seems to be acknowledged in the omission of the double-stops. Now we would appear to be going somewhere!—and so we do. at the end of the phrase (bar 362) and then. an unexpected dominant of A b major. (continued) 6 bbb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œœœœœœœœ B J J 66 ? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b Ÿ b bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B 68 Œ œ œ œ œ œ ? œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ? bb œ b œ. therefore. is a new level and extent of comfort or comfortingness. with their settling effect. Novelties. . and marked piano (CD track 7). Thumb-position is finally abandoned altogether in the last half-beat of bar 33. To the listener. œ œ œ œ nical courtesy. the first quantity to be developed. its stepwise motion downward allowing a gradual release of the accumulated hand tension). intensified by having been checked. giving a few seconds of additional time for the muscles of the left hand and arm to recover themselves! Thus for the performer the first novelty offered. hanging over the third in the bass.

Harmonically. positionally. Dare we expect a reprise? Perhaps the question ought to be. . The exigencies of finding this position. the listener receives the modulation to C minor that closes in bar 38. We are primed to hear . momentum is checked. and allowed to maneuver around the neck of the instrument in its best register.11 Too much momentum in that rising arpeggio in bar 36. it proceeds in a clear and characteristic direction. we are not to expect some sort of pioneering foray away from the introversions of the first half of the piece. To the ear. will be pretty strongly ensconced in the player’s muscle memory. this type of writing is scarce enough in this piece to feel really distinctive when it arrives. distinctive enough that we might speak of it as an executionally constituted theme.“cello-and-bow thinking” 31 What has happened to the sense of momentum? The hand. Both passages generate pleasure through the moving-inward gestures involved in executing descending melodies and chromaticisms: in the earlier passage this was most clearly shown in the shift to the minor mode that began in bar 133. in a chastened spirit. In this second half of the piece. has been achieved by the time we arrive at the cadence in bar 44. and it will be difficult to brake with the larger muscles that control a slow bow. thereby sending a strong formal signal.” or at least homeward. a much slower bow speed than hitherto required in the piece will be necessary to sustain this double-stop for an entire bar. in much the same manner as in bars 113–182 (CD track 6) in the exposition. something. for to the extent that it is accomplished through execution. a “moving inward. The performer will be inclined to make the arpeggio decrescendo and perhaps slow down slightly. especially if the first-half repeat has been taken. it has taken a scant five bars for the same scenario to play itself out twice: at precisely that part of the piece where an appetite for newness might be keenest. E b –B b above middle C (a fact somewhat obscured by the use of “old tenor clef ” at the beginning and soprano clef here). in the context of this sonata. but rather an intensification of them. As a consequence of this. measure and collect itself. too. Kinesthetically. there is no obvious thematic resemblance between these passages. and the new tune that begins at 384. has been summarily arrested. which makes a firm statement in the original dominant. a reprise of what? The passage that begins in bar 45 implies that the left thumb will be positioned on the same barfifth as the one used at the beginning of the piece. but to the hand the resemblance is very strong. . at precisely the moment when the listener is primed to desire the opposite. one could call them development of a sort. while in this episode trajectories of descent can be traced through bars 39–40. and again in 41–42. boldness restrained. this does indeed feel very . These are indeed vicissitudes. Clearly. desire firmly redirected inward. especially the right hand. and Boccherini’s earlier compositional gyrations around those exigencies. In the next six bars the left hand is given an enjoyable respite from fixed positions of any kind.

the experience is of a cessation of newness suggests a subtle meaning: the sweetest. with the following commentary. the “out-thereness” of this high position will have been supplanted by a sensation of familiarity peculiar to this piece. and things would shut down altogether. In the executional sense this position. it is not only sweet but serene. every rhythmic value touches the right chord. every note. calm vision of new horizons. Too unanimous a sense of return at this point. while from the left hand’s “home position” issues a brand-new melody (CD track 8). for the hand’s enactment of return to the E b –B b bar-fifth brings to the ear a brief. Bars 45–46 and 47–48 constitute a beautifully balanced antecedent-consequent pair. repetitions. response. physically. the sonata would die of premature closure. and bars 49–51 sail out unabashedly cantabile over a newly rich and flowing accompaniment texture. The use of an unprecedented clef is not casual: in any vocal score of the period. the audible features of the passage mitigate the kinetic reprise in a way that is psychologically astute. beginning a discourse that finds an immediate echo in the soul. and repetition such as is usual in the music of the Classical period. Meanwhile. in the context of a piece so characterized by myriad little pullingsin. In his book on Boccherini’s symphonies. . independent of the context and in any case not part of a preordained system of statement. In this sense. Its features are in themselves telling. it is decisively maintained. an interpretation supported by the fact that the left hand does not move from it again until the final two chords of the movement: once this return has been accomplished. itself of a curiously eighteenth-century flavor: The suavity of Boccherini’s melodies . in the basso part.32 “cello-and-bow thinking” much like a return. . most Arcadian face of the new is located in what we know best.12 The whole passage distinguishes delicately between the acts of returning and of retreating. sometimes assumes the “open” form of a celestial message announced in the middle of a work. Affectually. But we know that earthly paradise is also inevitably unstable and tempo- . Luigi Della Croce includes a short section entitled “Il ‘cielo’ di Boccherini” in which he offers a collection of passages reminiscent of this one. and confirmations. merely as a position. bar 45 is very much a reprise. and not an E b. And sing she does: this is the first and only time in the entire piece that the soprano register is used with no hint of retreat. it would imply that a new character is singing. And so in bar 45 Boccherini destabilizes the harmonic return by the use of a G. could be said to constitute a theme. They are phrases at once elaborate and simple. The whole passage receives the only explicit expressive marking of the whole sonata: dolce. That it comes at exactly the point where.

originality. and this displaced performance of the self feeds an idiosyncratic vitality into his depictions. in bar 52: and what should return here. and of a formative nature: Boccherini was performing in public by the age of fourteen.“cello-and-bow thinking” 33 rary.”14 This characterization of the paintings of the elder Tiepolo (an elderly resident of Madrid when the young musician arrived there in 1768) seems uncommonly apt for Boccherini. carnality and compositional process This sonata is but one of more than thirty such works which hold a special pride of place in Boccherini’s oeuvre by virtue of their beauty. that their composer did not include any of the pieces in the catalog of his own works that he made retroactive to 1760. and distinctive technical demands. fixed-thumb stability making a fitting resolution to the instability of the preceding section. . From here to the end of the movement. but the most anxious. and being gratefully written to sound considerably more difficult than it is. Boccherini’s sonatas are central because of the way they evoke the physiognomy of the personal. even as it begs important questions. from bars 183–32. in fact. His figures act out his creative process in the shape they have taken. when the piece’s second theme arrives in the proper and expected tonic. They are central in the sense that they are probably mostly early works.13 For the purposes of a carnal musicology. In this case its disintegration comes precisely at the moment that the ear detects a familiar melody. evading as they do the centering and settling of the right hand involved in emphasizing a beat. its bagpipe-like. . and his main stock in trade as a youthful concert artist seems to have been sonatas of his own composition. Certainly they are in a personal vein: one so entirely personal. and through their centrality to an understanding of him as a composer. and through the evidence they offer of the influence of physical action and sensation upon artistic production. “An earlier process has been internalized into the finished forms of the figures . In the case of Boccherini’s music. repetitive flourishes and accumulations of resonance proceed along exactly the same lines as in the first half. both to hand and to ear: the minute syncopations are not gratifying to execute. spinning forth and blithely repeating cadential formulae. Only in the second half of bar 54 do these nine bars of fruitful disparity between auditional expectation and executional sensation come to an end. unstable gestures of the whole piece? Being thus recalled to “reality” is an uneasy sensation. that “performance of the self ” displaces . as well as an earthier version of the Arcadian ideal. nor does the ear have a happy time making melodic sense of the apparent whole-tone scale produced through chromatic alterations in the first half of bar 52. Enough of exquisitely conflicted subtleties: this closing material both sounds and feels facile.

fool around on his cello while seated next to a writing desk. Vivid it may be. Because this process was. but it is also momentary. his process one of a more or less deliberate reflection on and reprocessing of earlier cellistic forays? Or did he improvise. but would have to emerge from some kind of dialogue between kinesthetic inventio and deliberate reflection upon the requirements of distinctiveness and a clear character in a good opening theme. the cello across the room. especially in the way one theme or gesture moves into another. for instance.34 “cello-and-bow thinking” itself directly onto or into the living performer. I will submit that it was also usually not conscious. to whom there is such poignant experience available through attention to physical sensation.15 There is evidence of both these kinds of composerly engagement with execution in this sonata. experiment. it is entirely defined by its function. how was that process initiated and sustained? Did Boccherini just imagine playing. That this passage is not memorable melodically and never recurs (except in the taking of the repeat) is of its physicalistic essence: it consists of noodling. later translating that touch through a quill pen) as the suitable. it is the level of inventio. the comfortable thing to do in just such a place. for this composer. corresponds to the process of dispositio described by musical rhetoricians: the positioning and transpositioning of themes into certain places in a movement. which is to settle the hand to the more public business of the piece. formally speaking. subsidiary passages. little gestural ingrainments. As such. One . to generate: such gestures do not rush to the fingers for their comfort or their obviousness. and how and why other themes might relate to them. The little repetitions. The first. leaving much about Boccherini’s process still opaque. particularly the way continuity and contrast are achieved. a micro-level. The sonata’s opening bars are much more difficult to execute and. The second level is of more interest to me. sound and feel like those grateful turns of the hand that instrumentalists typically do unthinkingly as part of warming up: habits. one surmises. so kinesthetic. Its re-creation involves fixing our imagination and our surmise upon what were at best elusive states. and when something fine came to his fingers. and it is of its essence that its most characteristic manifestations occur in what are. having to do with why themes are the way they are. particularly as it pertains to the issue of the way one idea arises from another. fugitive acts. quickly grasp a pen and write it down? Each approach would be likely to produce different results. a kind of cellistic subvocalization informing his decisions—writing seated at a desk. If the themes in this sonata movement are conceived through a process of physicalistic association and transmutation of gesture. with the design in this case strongly suggested by certain conventions of first-movement form. desk-seated process of deliberation and design. the lightly descending scales. how a passage like bars 5–6 of this sonata might have rushed into the composer’s fingers (first upon the instrument. One imagines. a conscious. a kind of macro-level.

and of the powerful notion of absolute music that emerged from it. There is one place in the movement under discussion where the visual el- . and conventional exigencies of form.“cello-and-bow thinking” 35 can postulate that. more even than physical sensation. their particular characters read through a series of visual associations with physical gesture. that of sentiment— neither bold nor fond of difficulty. especially in the case of a composer like Boccherini. and responding gesturally to the implicit need for boldness. Boccherini reached high and far down the neck of the instrument. affect. of aural and kinesthetic impulses. and it is also a fact that the visible element of a musical idea will function in varying degrees for the listener-observer. the virtuoso’s natural impulse to show off. but consoling and compassionate—thus drawing from that initial flamboyance an artful but unmistakable trajectory of retreat. confirming or resisting that idea’s sonic presentation. but it is important to distinguish between their functional secondariness in the creative process.” This invites our consideration of a third level of compositional process: besides unconscious kinesthetic invention and conscious aural deliberation. with the self-consciousness attendant upon the near inevitability of being seen. and an account of a dance or set of oratorical gestures. A performance. and will frequently do so with real artfulness. and not sources. In Boccherini’s case. it will often do the latter. such as “moving the arms in toward the torso connotes heartfeltness. and for reasons no less artful.) In terms of compositional process. say. in the case of. a legacy of the German idealism that was developing during Boccherini’s own day. Beethoven. even if only in order to restrain themselves from gestural excess and thereby simulate transparency. One can further postulate from such a scenario a particularly Boccherinian set of tensions among the sensible esthetic of mid-eighteenthcentury music. Themes sometimes become pictures of themselves. and their very considerable problematization in latter-day understandings of instrumental music. but once the act of playing began. Yet the fact remains that all experienced performers develop considerable awareness of what they look like in performance. There is similarity here between the carnal description of music that I am proposing. undertook the physical enactment of a different mandate. the composer-performer contends. who as an Italian of his generation was only minimally under such restraints as we have subsequently invented. seated at the cello under this mandate. even repellent. and presentation. (Organists and offstage trumpeters are the only soloists regularly exempt from this aspect of performance. the visual images created by the physical gestures of playing will tend to be by-products. it will generally tend to do the former. Our disdain of theatricalization and visualization in instrumental performance runs deep.and body-oriented musicology is positively obliged to account for the visible. more or less consciously. the notion of visual effect as intrinsic to the instrumental work is likely to seem excessive.

Twice on each second and fourth beat in these passages. in conclusion The act of describing and interpreting this aggregate of fleshly phenomena called a sonata is a complex one.36 “cello-and-bow thinking” ement is particularly striking and goes some distance toward explaining a passage that is simultaneously aurally static and physically awkward: this is in bars 233–262. linguistically. or primarily seen. it has a sharp. rapid grabbing or stabbing motions outward. It is certainly appropriate that such ambivalent language should be used to propose the habits and features of this man with whom I have arrived at so peculiar an intimacy. But on the even-numbered beats of this passage. and omit the other direction. at a simple tonic-dominant arpeggiation. (The question must and should arise as to how far it is meaningful to subscribe to the notion of their separability in the first place). a man who cannot be here to confirm or deny my accuracy. I have been using this sonata movement for the traces it offers of the way choice may have been encountered. in order to “catch” a downbow and then an upbow motion from the top down. The arpeggiation pattern set up in 233 (the ensuing shorthand notation implies that it should continue throughout the passage) is not a simple one. and engaged. perceptually. or primarily felt. Simple arpeggiation across strings alternates upward and downward motion. up and down. however powerful or ingrained these things might appear to have been.16 This alternation of the pattern is admittedly more interesting to the ear than would be twelve solid beats of sawing away. He had chosen and developed this inventive medium after years of experiment with . These alarmingly flashy gestures alert us to the arrival of the cadential material. bars 593–622 (CD track 9). the arpeggios move only from high to low. obliging the performer to make two different. and again in the commensurate place in the second half of the movement. the tip of the bow—if it is a bow such as Boccherini used. mean that I can never be sure whether the experience I am describing is primarily heard. swan-like head—moves through the air like an épée. It is not that his designs are in any strong sense medium-determined. Because of the huge privilege I enjoy in this situation—that of being alive—I am obliged to assert here that at no time do I wish my descriptions to imply that Boccherini’s creative choices were made for him by his habits or his character. its continuation into interactions with auditional expectation and visual spectacle. up and down. allowing the right arm to move fluidly and continuously away from and back toward the torso. considered. epistemologically. The shading over of sentir into sentire implied by Rousseau. but it finds further justification in the fact that it is really arresting visually.

Yet clearly in these inventions there is an element of pen-and-wash thinking. unlike the Tiepolo described here. . . . . The following chapters will trace some of his processes in the years of experiment that were to come. of reflecting through the wrist. . in them one cannot rightly credit him with the mature artist’s “years of experiment” so much as a healthy and versatile faculty of experimental intuition. . When he wrote his sonatas. Such forms are at least mediumreinforced.“cello-and-bow thinking” options. was a young man. .17 37 Of course there are differences. Boccherini. and the evolution and attenuation of his “cello-and-bow thinking” into other compositional media.

most of which is politely reserved in tone. and more accessible to the amateur.1 This last presumption was apparently the most difficult for Boccherini to stomach. All those who know me and who have dealings with me do me the honor of judging me a man of probity.) Pleyel had been publishing Boccherini’s music in Paris since 1796. No.3 These self-declarations are striking in the context of Boccherini’s correspondence. Boccherini sat down to write a letter to his publisher Ignaz Pleyel. sending payments late or incomplete. I am the same for all. it exasperated him out of his habitual retiring manner to write the following: I have been a writer for nearly forty years. and I would not be Boccherini if I had written as you advise me to do. it seems that Pleyel took increasing numbers of professional liberties. the Pleyel that you are. we infer. putting limits on his ideas and imagination. also responding to Pleyel—this time. (We must infer this from Boccherini’s reply. briefer. . who had asked him to produce works that were simpler. honest.2 A little more than a year earlier. It would be truly strange if for Pleyel alone I had changed my nature. since Pleyel’s letters are lost. on 4 January 1798. sensitive. to an accusation of “unfriendliness” and inconsiderateness—Boccherini had written. sweet-natured and affectionate. They are further striking in their absolute and uncompromising welding of selfhood to art. at the age of fifty-six. . Bear in mind that there is nothing worse than binding the hands of a poor author—that is. failing to return manuscripts. and requesting changes in musical style to suit the market. What we are to understand from this is that Boccherini does not write music the 38 .Chapter 2 “As My Works Show Me to Be” Biographical On 18 March 1799. . no more would you be Pleyel. By 1799 their relationship had become strained. as my works of music show me to be. my friend.

9 The long-limbed young man with his cello is about to begin an upbow stroke. has recently been authenticated through the energetic efforts of Dr. In his Mémoires secrets. getting ready to play F above middle C with his second finger.10 Another portrait in oil. It is by Jean-Étienne Liotard (1702– 89). and that writer. This chapter is an account of forces and events that corroborate Boccherini’s summing-up of his life into musical works. Germany.”8 Anything more illuminating on his playing we must more or less imaginatively infer from Boccherini’s idiomatic writing for his own instrument. Boccherini is Boccherini because he writes the way he does. Long attributed to Boccherini’s fellow Lucchese. it is now more safely described as “Italian school. laments “the fundamental difficulties inherent in the problem of providing documentation and also compiling a biography of Boccherini. Yves Gérard. or thinks it will have the best effect.”7 and the like— only one writer who heard Boccherini play thought to write down any details of what he heard. In the matter of portraiture we have been rather more fortunate. the Parisian memoirist Louis Petit de Bachaumont (1690–1771). More surprisingly. “M. This turns out to be a roundabout affair. first-hand records of Boccherini’s person and character. Australia (see figure 2). by the look of things. who has a more comprehensive and thorough knowledge of Boccherini sources than anyone else alive. its owner since 1991 (see figure 3). he gazes out at the viewer with a poised and inviting expression. a Swiss portraitist in pastels and oils. eighteenth century.” (Later. While there are plentiful indications of its having been held in high esteem—“much applauded. In addition to a number of engravings. those quoted above are by far the most complete. Pompeo Batoni (1708–87). his left hand is positioned somewhere in the alto register. there exist two fine. his works show him to be. Bachaumont gave Boccherini’s friend and traveling companion the violinist Filippo Manfredi a mixed review and then remarked. Gerhard Christmann of Budenheim. he calls it an “infernal labyrinth. was terse and quite unflattering. expressive oil paintings of Boccherini.” characterizing them as twofold: locating original documents.” and dated 1764–67.11 The painter’s signature hovers . in an entry for 2 April 1768.”6 “this most worthy proponent of the cello. first-hand accounts of Boccherini’s cello playing are almost entirely lacking.“as my works show me to be” 39 way he does because he likes to. and finding first-hand corroboration of what he calls a “solid mass of second-hand information. and his chords inharmonious.”5 “an exquisite cellist. who enchanted especially through his incomparable tone and expressive singing on his instrument. dated 1764–68. his sounds seemed shrill to the ears.”)4 Of the occasional self-revelations in Boccherini’s letters. Boccherini played the violoncello to similarly little applause. What he is. Dressed and wigged very elegantly. The most famous of these now hangs in the National Gallery of Victoria in Melbourne. or believes it to be the best way. for we have no reliable.

Australia.7 cm. . National Gallery of Victoria. 1961. Everard Studley Miller Bequest.Figure 2. Oil on canvas. 1764–67.8 × 90. Portrait of Luigi Boccherini. c. Italian school. eighteenth century. Melbourne. 133.

the arched. are replaced by something graver. Portrait of Luigi Boccherini. faintly over the subject’s right shoulder. 81 × 65 cm. Gerhard Christmann. The extroversion of the first portrait. 1764–68. But his cello is nowhere in sight. Photo copyright Dr. tapering fingers he holds several sheets of music manuscript. Private collection of Dr. his face seems to be the same face as the one in the first portrait. as Luigi Boccherini.12 He appears in sober finery.“as my works show me to be” 41 Figure 3. with some degree of certainty. Gerhard Christmann. its sense of being at the very point of making sound. and that subject has been identified. Oil on canvas. Budenheim. In those long. his gaze is assured. Jean-Étienne Liotard. Germany. expectant eyebrows of the young man’s gaze. though slightly more filled out and possibly a little older. less mobile. more .

In the second half of the eighteenth century.13 Civic documents from the eighteenth century attest to a well-developed and well-supported musical culture. for these scraps of melody and accompaniment look like sketches (see example 3). its population in the 1744 census was about twenty thousand. he no longer had to appear in person as a performer to be perfectly familiar—a household guest. this period marked the annual Festa di Santa Croce. Transcription of music sketches in Liotard’s Portrait of Luigi Boccherini. somewhat out-of-the-way city. suggest that his relation to questions of this kind was neither casual nor unexamined. He holds in his hand not his tools but his works. 3 œ œ œ œ œ œ J œ #œ self-contained. Lucca was. musical.42 “as my works show me to be” Example 3. How and within what parameters was the performance evidence of the person? To whom was any given performance properly directed? Many circumstances of Boccherini’s career. a medium-sized. lucca At the time of Boccherini’s birth there in February 1743. much as it is today. the printing of music and its distribution to a swelling middle-class amateur market was redefining what a composer was. Even as he produced music that beautifully demonstrates the interdependence of performer and composer. as it were—to a very large public indeed. j œ j œ œ œ œ œ œjœ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ #œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ nœ J &b c œ œ œ œ œ ‰ [ ] œ j œ ? b c œ #œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ ‰ [# ]œ J œ œ #œ œ ‰ œ Andante &b œ œ ? b œ.14 During the late summer and early autumn. the offerings were at their richest. the terms of this interdependence were being reconfigured in European musical culture. This was only one arena of society in which ideas of performance (whether theatrical. or works in the making. or social) and its proper relationship to personal identity were shifting with worrying rapidity. as well as details of his music. in which ven- . Most importantly. The differences between these two portraits suggest a crucial distinction in the identity of this artist.

The choice of a bass stringed instrument for Luigi makes perfectly conventional sense as a passing down of a valuable skill from one generation to the next. Giuseppe Salomone in 1758. Luigi’s instrument would not ordinarily have lent itself to a career either theatrical or prestigious in any way.15 Luigi and his elder brother Giovanni Gastone (b. He was thereby also encouraging his children to leave Lucca.” a supplementary bass player in the civic orchestra. In any case. while a few of them would appear later still in Madrid. and that most usefully explains.17 Both the two eldest children and two of the youngest. Leopoldo was directing his children toward the maximally prestigious careers modeled for them every year by the singers and dancers imported into Lucca for its opera productions. it is not unlikely that Luigi himself received some early exposure to dance training. in 1757. At mid-century. hearing mostly pasticcio operas that featured arias by some of the foremost composers in the serious style (Hasse. as dancers in the corps de ballet at the Teatro Pubblico.18 This cannot be proven. but it is a possibility worthy of mention in view of the hyper-conscious. in 1755 and 1761 respectively. Over the first part of the century it had become Luccan tradition to stage an opera seria by Metastasio at Lucca’s Teatro Pubblico during the festa. said to date from Roman times. Given the familial emphasis on dance. however. We can thereby suppose that the Boccherini children attended them. the eldest (b. Galuppi. 1744) and Riccarda (b.16 Maria Ester. 1747). to name only the superstars). and seeing ballets by leading choreographers of the time (Antoine Pitrot in 1757. Gluck. and consequently he played in some of these productions. Pitrot himself. since such careers were built upon touring. and Giovanni Gastone appeared once each. Leopoldo Boccherini. 1741). and his consort Mimi Favier in 1757. whose 1751 setting of L’Artaserse was given whole and without interpolations) performed by distinguished singers (Gaetano Guadagni in 1757 and Caterina Gabrielli in 1758 and 1761. 1742) began singing. of whom Luigi was the third. Traetta. provided the pretext for city-wide spectacles. in the chorus for Lucca’s yearly festa in 1751. as soprano and contralto respectively. and he was energetic about training all of them in the performing arts. and. in all but the very largest . Francesco Turchi. There seems to have been quite a bit more at stake. Anna Matilda (b. Luigi’s father. the training of all of the Boccherini brood was pretty squarely focused on arts pertaining to the theater. Onorato Viganò). Vincent Saunier in 1761) performed by fine soloists (in 1755. Leopoldo had seven children. highly visualized management of bodily gesture that such training ingrains—a consciousness that can be seen to inform.“as my works show me to be” 43 eration of an impressively hoary wooden cross. and in 1761. many aspects of his compositions. In doing this. were later to appear as dancers during the family sojourns in Vienna. Boccherini would later encounter a number of these luminaries in Vienna and Paris. was a “contrabbassista soprannumerario.

and for Leopoldo and Luigi.19 There is a record from August 1756 of the thirteen-yearold’s performing a “Concerto di Violoncello” of his own composition for Giacomo Puccini.26 in Giovanni’s stint as chief poet and artistic director at the Burgtheater from 1769 to 1775. organist of the cathedral. especially the three eldest. among the lowest paid musicians in an orchestra that ranked second to the orchestra of the Burgtheater in prestige. This can be seen in a strong endorsement of his talents by Raniero de’ Calzabigi. he continued to live in Vienna. a place of enormous potential for anyone with ambitions in the performing arts. On 4 August 1756 Mass and Vespers set to music at the monastery of San Domenico. for the feast of that saint. and an ancestor of the more famous bearer of that name. Luigi was clearly being introduced to the itinerant life of the virtuoso. at different times. . Luigi and Leopoldo ( joined. where he was to achieve considerable success. but became a theatrical poet. Lucca’s maestro di cappella. and played again to oblige me at Mass and Vespers. Giovanni Gastone did not pursue his initial career as a dancer.20 In addition to other solo appearances in his native city.] after the first psalm. in December 1757. .”24 However grueling and inglorious. construction. it was only beginning to be considered a virtuoso instrument in the hands of a few extraordinary players. by various of the other children) made the first of what would eventually be three forays over the Alps to work in Vienna. dancing. This latter was fairly humble employment: “ We can assume that they were . They returned to Lucca in September 1758. playing in the orchestra of the German theater at the Kärntnertor.23 Meanwhile. this work maintained father and son in Vienna. departing again for Vienna in April 1760 and staying until March 1761. He may have performed as far afield as Rome and Venice. All the Boccherini children made good use of that potential.25 She subsequently toured as a soloist to Bologna and Trieste. the cello was at best inconsistently distinguishable from the bass in matters of size. appearing regularly in pas de quatre and pas de deux. Maria Ester was to become one of the Burgtheater’s handful of featured dancers. Luigi Boccherini [was paid] for a violoncello concerto which he played on the day[. . and they were there again from April 1763 to April of the following year. . Yet we see Luigi bidding fair to join their ranks from a very early age. and in remuneration. . vienna The financial basis of these journeys was theatrical work: for the other children.21 in March 1761 he performed a cello concerto “in an entirely new style” to enthusiastic applause between the two parts of an oratorio by Jommelli in Florence. in his .22 and there is a further mention of his appearing in Modena in 1762.44 “as my works show me to be” musical centers. and role within ensembles.

32 with him we may at least allow that by 1760 Boccherini might have toured from Vienna as far as Munich.” replacing the usual director of these events. since there is absolutely no corroboration for it (and since Boccherini states in the same sentence that from Lucca he had been “twice called to Vienna. concerts of non-theatrical music given every Friday (and three times a week during Lent) on the stage of the Burgtheater. while Florian Gassmann “appeared as an accompanist for the first time. in part evidence of resistance to them: the Empress Maria Theresa was given to strenuous interventions in her subjects’ taste. and the castrato Gaetano Guadagni. of contact with some of the leading virtuosi of the day. In a letter of 1760 he boldly asserts that he “visited all the other electoral courts of the Empire.”31 This is a very impressive claim. Berlin. and among whom his ideas of musical effectiveness were shaped during a formative period of his life? Viennese musical culture in the 1750s and 1760s was very centralized. Daniel Heartz has examined this claim meticulously. Mannheim. where he received great compliments on his violoncello playing.”28 Two other records date from April and October of 1763. But to return to Vienna proper: what sort of public were these famously.29 Such appearances before the Viennese public were a good source of both prestige and income. before whom Boccherini had a notable degree of success for one so young. Boccherini may have used Vienna as a base for further touring as a soloist. and. Evidence . Munich. formidably sophisticated Viennese. and—interestingly in their potential as role models—the Italian cellists Francischello (Francesco Alborea) and Antonio Vallotti. and in the fact that his libretti were regularly used by the court composer Salieri. Giovan Battista Sardini. there are four extant Viennese records of solo performances at the Academien. sang in the April 1763 Academien in which Boccherini also played.“as my works show me to be” 45 eventual election to the Arcadian Academy in Rome. for it takes Boccherini to Prague. and Cologne by the age of eighteen. among others. and another from 1764. Trier.” rather a dressing-up of the circumstances of the Vienna journeys) it must be treated with caution.27 As for Luigi. At the time of Luigi’s visits to Vienna. not incidentally. who premièred the role of Gluck’s Orfeo. The prima donna Caterina Gabrielli was regularly featured during these years. The first is in a letter written by the Luccan ambassador to Vienna. where he would have been heard by members of the Dresden and Cologne courts taking refuge there from the Seven Years’ War. Hanover. Dresden. its “theatricality and cosmopolitanism” was enacted almost entirely in the court theaters and in a handful of noble salons. Christoph von Gluck himself. some of these were fine players indeed: the violinists Pietro Nardini and Karl Ditters.33 This culture was in part a reflection of Imperial preferences. on 9 March 1758: “[Leopoldo’s] son who plays the bassetto in the concerts at the court theater is much applauded.30 the horn player (and friend of the Mozart family) Joseph Leutgeb. Mainz.

there was little sign of this attempt at elevating Viennese taste through restriction. Luigi would have played. Italian comic opera presented by itinerant troupes. Silly and serious. as it was called: impromptu comedy. and.34 The Burgtheater alone offered an overwhelmingly eclectic mixture of the musical.”)36 Speaking merely quantitatively. deft characterization. hearing her accounts of the spectacles in which she took part. short and long. they accompanied performances in every other genre. and no amount of Imperial censorship was going to suppress it for long. he rarely composed in any folk style. the dramatic. If we judge by sheer number of representations. and. potential irony.46 “as my works show me to be” places Luigi in the intense rehearsal and performance schedule of the Kärntnertortheater. important marriages. accompanying her there to listen and observe from the parterre noble of the Burgtheater.35 It is not easy to assess the nature of the influence of the Stegreifkomödie on Luigi’s choices as a composer. a reform that consolidated some radical shifts in the whole idea of embodied performance. The most interesting and profound Viennese influence on Luigi’s artistic development. time permitting. even spoken drama. virtuoso physicality. used ceremonially to mark Imperial birthdays. This vulgar. But he was certainly well versed in its dramatic strengths. and the like. With the exception of a few explicit evocations of Spanish peasant music and his generic affection for drones and bagpipelike effects (which I have linked to certain technical aspects of string playing in chapter 1). came through happy circumstance: the very years of his family’s involvement with the Imperial city’s dance culture were also those of this culture’s most famous reform. The music was pasticcio drawn from Italian comic opera and German and Austrian folk music. The German theater in which Luigi worked operated in particular tension with Imperial taste. let alone in the bauerisch mode used with such gusto by Haydn and other Viennese composers. the ruling Viennese passion of the day was for ballets. restricting the number of performances and censoring the German theater’s main repertorial fodder. (The records of Philipp Gumpenhuber specify that “two ballets are performed every day on which there is a show in each of the two theaters. ambiguity. and so most of the records of the Kärntnertor performances do not name a composer. bold experiments in dance by Starzer and Gluck. topical. the Stegreifkomödie. and grotesquerie. however. Hilverding and Angiolini (of which more below). after 1759. semi-improvised genre had roots as deep in popular affections as in the commedia dell’arte. troc places him also at his sister Maria Ester’s side. self-referentiality. then. Parisian opéra-comique adapted by Gluck for a Viennese audience. Maria Theresa had “cracked down” on its offerings in 1752. which are the strengths of the comic style everywhere: rapid. however. By the time of the Boccherinis’ employment there only five years later. and the terpsichorean: French classical spoken drama. and heard more dance music than anything . the occasional Metastasian opera seria. seen.

Yet it is certain that he knew this piece. was one of a personal identification with the dancers. it would not have been difficult for Luigi to make the work’s acquaintance: its immediate and lasting success meant that scores circulated widely and that instrumental performances—of its demonic music in particular—continued to be very popular in Viennese venues both public and private. virtually all ballets in both theaters were choreographed by Franz Hilverding. as they called it.”38 The relationship sought by the audience. This was a taste that ran toward the improvised buffoonery of the German comedy. Maria Ester Boccherini danced in it. but in so doing ran also toward an embodied stage practice based upon everyday human gestures. changing fellow selves whose embodiment. Their first thoroughly coordinated collaboration. premièred in October 1761.40 One can readily imagine parodied or vulgarized versions of it appearing on the boards of the Kärntnertortheater itself. his eventual realizations of some of . and transformed bodies from symbols to protagonists: suffering. an unprecedented coordination of choreographer and composer). and consolidated in “a true bond of affection between the actors and their audience. In developing the pantomime ballet. on the near side of the footlights. that of Orfeo in October 1762. because he later based a movement of a symphony upon the striking music with which Gluck portrays Don Juan’s entry into Hell. but in this case we may infer his knowledge of what was arguably the most influential stage work of his generation from the fact that it was still in repertory when he arrived in Vienna the following April. observing rehearsals or performances from the parterre noble of the French theater. These men had begun developing the stately. evoked or provoked the bodies watching and breathing in sympathy from under wigs and within corsets. Nor was Luigi present in Vienna for the next and most famous première. the full-length narrative ballet Don Juan. Luigi was not in Vienna at the time. these Viennese reformers built upon this identification between performer and audience.37 Hilverding and Starzer’s reforms were to some degree a practical response to their audiences’ less-than-abstracted taste. ou Le Festin de pierre. nor did he return there in time for any of the recorded repeat performances that season. displayed upon the stage. The embodied implications of pantomime ballet were to inform Luigi’s subsequent development as an artist.“as my works show me to be” 47 else. Hilverding and Starzer’s work was continued in the later 1750s and into the 1760s by the dancer and choreographer Gasparo Angiolini and the composer Christoph von Gluck. or in the hypothetical position we have assigned him. then. with music composed by Joseph Starzer. abstracted French danse noble toward some degree of narrative coherence and coordination of dramatic action with musical events (necessitating. During Luigi’s first visits to Vienna. whether in the course of his duties at the German theater.39 Despite his absence for the première of Don Juan.

they seem to bear witness to a process of composition that refers to the specific talents of his colleagues. his works could be counted among the more direct realizations of the pantomime reform that we now possess. but always in search of heightened dramatic effect. . who tells us that he played and toured in a string quartet with Boccherini. among them. Boccherini’s own catalog tells us that his first opus of string quartets. where an official post as “eletto suonatore di violoncello” (for which Luigi had been angling from as early as the 1760 letter quoted above) had materialized. His son continued to perform all over northern Italy. for from these red-letter years in the history of dance scarcely any choreography survives. organized to honor a visit by the Habsburg Archduke Leopold and his wife. and timbres. observed their connection and correspondence. visualistic expressiveness of many of his melodies. which suggest that he precisely “observed [gestures’] connection and correspondence. Their virtuosity is acknowledged in a degree of independence and showiness of all four parts that was very unusual for the time. its reliance on the foursquare phrase construction that is the dancer’s touchstone. acknowledged by Angiolini when he speaks of the necessity of choreography that analyzed “the meaning of gestures. confident periodicity of Boccherini’s music. As it happens. and by the honorary designation “Professori. and they attain at times a dramatic. By 1764 the Boccherinis. 2. For these events.42 These descriptions testify to the very developed powers of physical observation and gestural reading-in being cultivated at this time. an orchestra of sixty musicians from all over northern Italy was assembled. quasi-Angiolinian vividness of expression. op. harmonies. and Filippo Manfredi—the very first recorded instance of this configuration of instruments as a discrete ensemble with its own special repertory and expressive powers. had returned to Lucca. That the two continued to be energetic about regional touring is evident from records of their participation in orchestral concerts in Pavia and Cremona in 1765 under the direction of Giovanni Battista Sammartini. reform choreographers seem to have relied on elaborate descriptions in which the gestural process of an entire ballet is laid out in prose. recogniz[ing] their value and harmony” just as Angiolini recommended. among his most important contributions as a composer. One of Luigi’s most interesting activities during this period was attested to many years later by the violinist Giuseppe Cambini.48 “as my works show me to be” these implications are.”45 Leopoldo Boccherini died suddenly of a stroke in 1766. I would argue. father and son. Pietro Nardini. implying a curtailed or extended physical gesture that could more vividly convey an emotional reality. recognized their value and harmony. Luigi and his father were distinguished by having come the farthest. Thus Boccherini’s occasional abandonment of periodicity is never casual.”43 The mark of dance in general can be felt in the steady. was written in 1765.41 In large part.44 The mark of the pantomime style in particular can be felt in the telegraphic.

when the impresario Durazzo and the poet and playwright Favart established a “pipeline” through which Parisian ballets and opéras-comiques made their way directly to the Austrian capital. and an impressively high rate of literacy to accommodate the attendant flood of discussion. or counter-move in an unstable. its negotiations between social classes and political positions. The period of his visit to Paris was scarcely less interesting. which was generally acknowledged to be an inadequate and awkwardly located space. the greatest concentration of cello virtuosi in any one place at that time. Perhaps most importantly. traveling with his fellow Luccan. the Académie Royale de Musique—the redoubtable Opéra—had been performing in a temporary structure built upon the stage of the huge. the 1767–68 season of Boccherini’s arrival was one of especial precariousness. and was performing in the sixteenth-century theater of the Hôtel de Bourgogne.” but always potentially a statement. it was the seat of a veritable dynasty of peers. Boccherini had had the good fortune to be present in Vienna during one of the most interesting passages in its illustrious musical history. Although the famous Querelle des Bouffons had taken place more than a decade before Boccherini’s arrival in Paris. move. the reconstructed theater was not to be finished until 1769. assertion. Since the previous year. remained emblematic of the Parisian cultural climate: a climate filled with urgent inquiries into the representation of human nature. In the 1760s. which were finding much of their best and clearest expression through explicit reference to music-making. For “official” musical theater in Paris. in view of the subsequent development of Boccherini’s career.“as my works show me to be” 49 paris Throughout these years of his early manhood we can assume that Boccherini’s ambitions also turned toward Paris. moreover. box-shaped Salle des Machines in the Tuileries Palace. staged as a polarity between French and Italian style. Paris was probably the largest city in Europe. The Parisian scene was far-flung and heterogenous. The company’s old home had burned in 1763. this meant that what one did was never safely “just music. with musical events to suit the taste of every social class.50 The Théâtre-Italien was struggling with dwindling audiences and attendant financial problems. the violinist Filippo Manfredi. Parisian influence had been strong indeed in Vienna since 1759.46 and a point of intersection and cross-pollination for all the major musical styles of the day. In late 1767 Boccherini made the journey to Paris via Genoa. passionate arena of public discourse about human nature and human rights.49 For anyone engaged in performing music. Paris was the undisputed capital of music publishing. however. From the viewpoint of an ambitious young cellist. despite the inevitable royal efforts at control and centralization of musical culture. .48 Both performance and discourse about performance had broad reception.47 He stayed there until the following April.

consolidated and brought indoors many of the grass-roots events of the ancient outdoor fair theaters. But the Opéra was a different story. the tone of lament which reigns perpetually in our opera. stunts. or indeed subsequent.52 . experience. and their critics spared no invective in saying exactly why. On ne s’avise jamais de tout. These offerings changed nightly. Luigi might have paid a franc for entry to the standing-room in the parterre and seen new works such as Les Moissonneurs of Favart and Duni. During the 1767–68 season. to say the least. one or more of the various kinds of opéras-comiques. and—thanks to continual efforts by the royal academies to restrict any infringements on their monopolies in opera and spoken theater—increasingly serious experiments in narrative ballet. or L’Île sonnante of Collé and Monsigny. so named because they were being established along the outlying boulevards of the fast-growing city. some of them perhaps familiar to Boccherini from their appearances on the Vienna stage: Rose et Colas. and. nothing much more than ten years old appeared on its boards during the 1767–68 season. maintaining a loose rotation of fifty or more works over a period of several months. he would have heard and seen something quite different from anything in his previous. nothing is as dragging. or Le Roi et le fermier. Tragédies-lyriques were deeply old-fashioned by 1768. wicked satires of current offerings at the Opéra. the inflexibility of our voices. nor in the bass. both of which were premièred during this period. as languishing as these beautiful monologues which everyone admires while yawning. Even as the officially sanctioned theaters attempted to put limits on the popular theaters’ burgeoning success. they would be sad. going well beyond the practicality of revivals into profound retentiveness. contortionists. Not only Rameau’s but also Lully’s centuryold tragédies-lyriques were still in repertory at the Opéra in the 1770s. acrobatics. or popular older works. Their offerings were. While skirting frank spectacularity. and only afflict the ears. they would touch the heart. and since the beat cannot be felt in the song.51 If Boccherini took the opportunity to join the parterre crowd during one of these performances. nor in the accompaniment. animal acts. albeit with certain features (notably the dance music) updated. Very much older repertories were offered along with the new. The dragging character of the language. vernacular drama with interpolated singing. and are boring. in a strange Parisian mixture found nowhere else in musical theater of the time. give nearly all the French monologues a slow tempo. the offerings at the Théâtre-Italien in the mid-1760s certainly favored variety: a typical evening’s entertainment contained a comic play in Italian.50 “as my works show me to be” Meanwhile the boulevard theaters. eclectic: commedia dell’arte. more often than not. they imitated them. While the Théâtre-Italien recycled its repertory energetically. as lax. an entertainment in the new pantomime style of dance as well.

frequently using its soloists and orchestra. the serious-comic polarity was arguably the central axis of musical tastes in Europe in general at this time. and was to draw on both serious and comic traditions throughout his life. as in Vienna. he played his own concerti and sonatas up to eleven times a season. was under no such deafening obligation. A review of 1762 lavishes praise upon him in terms that give a nice idea of what the Parisian public valued in an instrumental soloist: a speaking quality. it renders everything [at a level] beyond that charm one had believed reserved exclusively for the violin. Although lacking the politically volatile potential of staged narrative. and ease: “M. on the other hand. who had debuted at the Concerts Spirituels in 1755. Whether politically supercharged. all of whom played their own compositions. and has won new admiration. At the time of Boccherini’s visit to Paris.”54 In 1768 the younger Duport. However. or his genius for matching musical motions to danced ones.”53 Jean-Pierre Duport had debuted at the Concerts Spirituels in 1761. and functioning only when the Opéra did not. the concerts were notably dominated by cellists. the main showcase for instrumentalists in the 1760s. as in Paris. was at the peak of his very considerable success there by the mid-1760s. rhythmic. it expresses. The instrument is no longer recognizable in his hands: it speaks. existed as a counterpart to the Opéra. a review from 1767 stated that “[he manages] the violoncello with such a degree of superiority that he always surprises and charms at the same time. Jean-Louis. especially Jean-Baptiste Jansson l’aîné (1742–1803) and the Duport brothers Jean-Pierre (1741–1818) and Jean-Louis (1749–1819). Politically speaking. that their opposite number can be pretty precisely inferred by simple reversal: Italian style (and by this he meant Italian comic style) was lively. implicitly republican. made his debut at the Concerts . expressive immediacy. polemics about it tended to simplify or even bypass the sound of the music involved. Boccherini. and expressive of the voices of real people—which is to say. Jansson. instrumental music was also immensely popular in Paris. a genius perhaps rivaled only by Gluck. So polarized and polarizing are the critical terms here exemplified by Rousseau. playing solos of his own composition six or seven times a season. or more generically symbolic of social class. The records of programs given at the Concerts Spirituels and the reviews of them published in the endlessly garrulous Parisian press provide some sense of the hornet’s nest of cellistic competition into which Boccherini had plunged. and was held in great favor thereafter. Rousseau could not afford to acknowledge Rameau’s peerless ear for dramatic excitement and instrumental color.“as my works show me to be” 51 That tragédie-lyrique remained in repertory was emblematic of Parisian conflations of the musical and the political: tragédie-lyrique had been invented to glorify royalty. and it continued to represent it almost to the bitter end of 1789. The Concerts Spirituels. touching. Duport has performed new works upon the violoncello every day.

The Duc d’Orléans also kept an orchestra on retainer. a full.”55 Six weeks later Boccherini appeared before these same Parisian connoisseurs. and featured many current luminaries. upon the violoncello. He was evidently fond of taking part in his own concerts as a violinist. performed in a masterly fashion. but preferred to present musicians in a more intimate setting: “Every Friday during the winter Baage [sic] . following the death of La Pouplinière in 1762 and the dissolution of his famous orchestra. but if he stayed there it seems fair to as- . which flourished from about 1761 at the Hôtel du Temple. by Fétis and others for his peccadillo of paying virtuosi to “take lessons” with him. flexible. At the very least. the violinists Gaviniés and Capron. both instrumental and vocal.52 “as my works show me to be” Spirituels at the age of eighteen: “A precise. He was heard with admiration by the connoisseurs. already known through his trios and quartets. was the salon of the Prince de Conti. sure style announce the greatest talent and a virtuoso who is of an age usually given over to study. . a sonata of his own composition.”59 François-Joseph Gossec. including such up-to-the-minute instruments as clarinets. We can only speculate as to whether he ever performed at them. . Boccherini is especially likely to have appeared at the salon of the Baron de Bagge. and then claiming them as his students. many of which had long featured music on a regular basis. and was mentioned (with lamentable lack of descriptive detail) in the Mercure de France: “Boccherini. If the account of Boccherini’s biographer Picquot is correct.60 The baron seems to have been something of a character.”57 It had a large wind section. holds at his house one of the finest private concerts in this capital. where his skills left something to be desired. from 1764. from 1766. and the publishers Vénier and La Chevardière were regulars at Bagge’s salon from about 1760. “one of the best and most complete that one could see. brilliant. Conti’s roster of employees included Jansson. which are very effective. as soloists (it was this salon that the ten-year-old Mozart visited in 1766). where musicians were often treated as guests rather than servants. preeminent during this period. The prince maintained an excellent orchestra. playing one of his own sonatas. none too kindly. He is also remembered. astonishing execution. Boccherini probably attended events at such establishments. This could have happened at one of the city’s redoubtable salons.”56 Although we have only this one published review. following an introduction by the publisher La Chevardière. gratifying sound and a bold. both Duports. Luigi’s playing must have found other Parisian audiences than those of the Concerts Spirituels. It gives him pleasure to admit all the foreign and amateur virtuosos who wish to debut in this capital and to make themselves known by their talents.58 The baron did not maintain an orchestra. Boccherini may possibly have resided with him during his Parisian sojourn.61 Boccherini did not dedicate any works to Bagge. and the elder Duport. and Bachaumont’s unhelpful mention of the same occasion (see above).

She likewise composes and she was so obliging as to play several of her own pieces on the harpsichord and piano forte accompanied with the violin by M. Pagin. G. or in Austenian English. the accompaniment to the solo part is entirely self-provided: the cello double-stops its own bass (see example 4a). and left us a report of her person and her musical tastes. In this C-major concerto. One cello concerto by Boccherini. perhaps that of Bagge.“as my works show me to be” 53 sume that he would have performed for (and thus with) this eccentric but evidently generous amateur. 573. very oddly indeed. et sur la conduite de l’archet. sensibility had quivered at the heart of the English middle classes for more than a generation. presents an interesting circumstantial case for a meeting between Boccherini and the elder Duport at some Parisian salon. . Essai sur le doigté du violoncelle. One of these. tearful sensation. who resided in Passy. the deliberate cultivation of physical and emotional hyper-receptivity to tender.62 It is tempting to suppose that this similarity represents a little compositional badinage between Boccherini and the elder Duport. sensibility—the sentimental style. Duport the younger includes two études by his elder brother.63 In June 1770. As epitomized in the novels of Samuel Richardson. and it vibrated in sympathy with many other areas of mid-century art and thought. She plays with great ease. Similarly circumstantial evidence exists for Boccherini’s presence in 1768 at the household of another saloniste.64 Parisian salon environments at this time overflowed with a cultural current which I believe Boccherini to have imbibed: sensibilité. While these two pieces are but vaguely similar to the ear. Madame Brillon de Jouy. . executionally they are strikingly so: this is an unusual and difficult technique. including pantomime ballet and opéra-comique. of which I was convinced by her executing some of my own music. taste. The orchestration of the movement is also odd: except for a short tutti introduction and postlude. and feeling—is an excellent sightswoman. is a piece in D major which dispenses with the other études’ second-cello accompaniment in favor of a self-provided one (see example 4b). Madame Brillon . it is unaccompanied—or rather. the eighth in the book. Boccherini . According to his catalog. dedicate a Madama Brillon de Jouy. da Luigi Boccherini di Lucca. then on the outskirts of Paris. in which the horizontally executed cantilena of the melody must be maintained unruffled despite the constant vertical dipping motions involved in executing the accompaniment. the slow movement (Largo cantabile) is. it found wide Continental reception through translations of Richardson’s novels. in D major. played a great deal and I found that she had not acquired her reputation in music without meriting it. published the following year by Vénier as Sei sonate di cembalo e violino. intimate. In his violoncello treatise of 1813 (published in 1820). Boccherini wrote six keyboard-and-violin sonatas for her. Charles Burney also visited Madame Brillon. In fact.

Jean-Pierre Duport. from .54 “as my works show me to be” Example 4a. a pervasive element in European culture. opening bars. by the 1760s. and in the intimate nature of works written for only a few performers. While Boccherini’s reception as a virtuoso performer in Paris seems. a particularly excellent moral fiber. Such exquisite susceptibilities found their truest register in the intimate settings of salons. 573. œ œ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ J ‰ J ‰ Œ J J œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ Œ could scarcely have avoided some troc with what was. G. but in Parisian salons he would have encountered its social manifestations at full strength. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 3 œ œ œ 3 B # # œj œ œ 3 œ œ œ œ œjœ œ œ ‰ œ 3 œ œ œ œ œ? œ ‰ œ œ œ 3 œ J œ œ œ œj œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ 17 ? ## œ œ œ œ œ œ ? ## œ œ j œ œ œ 3 œ œ jœ œ œ œ œœ 19 œ œ œ œ œj œ œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ œ œ Example 4b. we know this because they were proud of the fact. Parisian audiences really did weep at concerts and operas. # & # cœ # & # w Œ 3 6 Adagio cantabile w Œ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ J œ œ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ œ Ó œ œ œ ? œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ ‰ J ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ Œ J J J J J & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ ‰ ‰ ‰ œ ‰ J J J J ? ## œ œ œ ‰ œ J J œ œ œ œ œ œ. bars 13–20. and wrote about it in their diaries and correspondence. Étude in D Major. These ready tears were the badge of a sensitivity that was treasured as evidence of a finely tuned organism. Largo cantabile 13 B ## 2 œ 4 J 15 solo œœœœœ œ œ ‰ œ. Cello Concerto in C Major. ii (Largo cantabile).

such successes in publishing did not constitute a secure livelihood. spain For all the productivity and popularity to which they attest. as Gérard has done. If we add to this list. professional success. Conde de Fuentes. sending his compositions to publishers well before making the journey himself. the period’s largest and most competitive music-publishing market. Boccherini and his traveling companion Manfredi evidently had plans to continue from Paris on to London. in their way. Joaquín Pignatelli de Aragón y Moncalvo.68 But other prospects seem to have intervened.65 in the same year. provided Boccherini and Manfredi with letters of recommendation to the court at Madrid. After six months in Paris. beginning with Picquot. have suggested that the Spanish ambassador in Paris. In April 1767. steady patronage was no more forthcoming for Boccherini than it was for Mozart when on a similar quest ten years later. and certainly his most lasting. his compositions for small ensemble were warmly received there from the very beginning. had secured a contract with the Spanish royal house to present Italian opera at the Sitios Reales. Spain was a rather less obvious destination than London careerwise. and arrangements. From 1768 through the first third of the nineteenth century. joining Boccherini somewhat later. the great majority of which were brought out in Paris. a generation after his death. In 1768 the expatriate Italian impresario and music publisher Luigi Marescalchi and a partner. both pirated and legitimate—all of these being testimonies. Since these letters cannot be found. the multiple reprintings of some works. he was “already known through his trios and quartets. which are very effective. Numerous biographers. In the end neither one of them went to London. some months before his arrival in Paris. a set of six string trios was published by Bailleux (in July)66 and Grangé brought out a Sinfonia in D. As even his sole published performance review testifies.67 This astute entry into the publishing world resulted in Boccherini’s first really resounding. The table in the appendix lists only first editions of his music. to have been rather mixed. the “royal .“as my works show me to be” 55 the scanty available evidence. Boccherini was a steady presence in the Parisian publishing world. while Manfredi remained in Paris. and the young virtuosi parted company for a while. Francisco Creus.” It is telling that Boccherini had evidently taken careful steps to ensure his Parisian reception as a composer. the Mercure de France had announced Vénier’s publication of an opus of six string quartets by “Bouqueriny”. works that were attributed to but probably not written by him. and we can only guess at the specific enticements. where Italian stringed-instrument virtuosi had enjoyed especial popularity for several generations. Tortella has presented an alternative theory. to his popularity—this authorial presence on the Parisian scene becomes a substantial one. Boccherini traveled to Madrid.

sites”—rural palaces situated within a day or two’s ride of Madrid.56 “as my works show me to be” Figure 4.69 The company so formed was christened the Compañía de Ópera Italiana de los Sitios Reales. in . Eighteenth-century map of Castilla y León. among which the Spanish royal entourage circulated during much of the year. and it was responsible for two kinds of production: French spoken theater (both tragedies and comedies). and Italian “singing and dance. Private collection of the author.” We may suppose Boccherini was invited to participate in this company. Photo copyright UCLA Photo Services.

eighteenthcentury “Spain” was a nominal assemblage of wildly diverse cultures and peoples. but a principal object of eighteenth-century musicianly ambition. there were stays in Talavera.74 Luis’s new palace there was not habitable until 1783. Boccherini and his family included.“as my works show me to be” 57 any case. his household forbidden to reside in or near Madrid. As a result Don Luis was essentially banished. it was even further off the beaten track of European musical culture than Eszterháza. his name appears as composer of an insertion aria in the libretto printed for their performances of Gian Francesco Majo’s L’Almería at Aranjuez in the spring of 1768. There followed more than a year of wandering in search of a suitable new home. It made one a person of substance and it cemented one’s prospects. and Cadalso de los Vidrios between 1776 and 1777.75 Its music-making was characterized by a series of sharp dislocations and parallelisms. “No one here can tell me where this place Arenas is”— to him. and. along lines of social class. which is reproduced at the beginning of chapter 7. A measure of their cultural isolation in the eighteenth century can be found in the attempted exchange of letters between Boccherini and Joseph Haydn. economic exigency. Perhaps to an even greater extent than most large countries.”72 Up to this point Boccherini had negotiated a career as international virtuoso/composer with reasonable success. about eighty miles west of Toledo (see figure 4). a less foreseeable part of the bargain was the degree of his subsequent isolation. Haydn laments.73 While this exchange of freedom for security had been Boccherini’s object throughout. Luis’s entire court wandered with him. and remain fairly remote to this day. After it he became. Within a few years of his appointment there unfolded a complex set of machinations on the part of the king to exclude his brother’s children from succession to the throne. Most of these towns were too small to figure on period maps. national identity. after about two years of membership in Marescalchi’s company (doubtless supplemented by free-lancing). and religious custom. as “virtuoso da cámara y compositor de música. a member of the court of the Infante. one entered such service with the expectation of remaining there for life. Boccherini was to marry a Clementina Pelicha in San Ildefonso. This was no casual employment.71 In the spring of 1770. another of the Sitios Reales. the Infante Don Luis de Borbón. Velada. as befitted royalty. when Luis decided to settle in Arenas de San Pedro on the Rio Tiétar.70 We may also suppose that he undertook this work in Spain in order to support himself while pursuing a more personal goal. Torrijos. and French influence was to be felt in every activity of the Spanish upper classes: visual . and its construction was never completed. Among the singers for Marescalchi’s company was an Italian soprano named Clementina Pelliccia. in August 1769.76 The Borbón royalty were French. as to the Austrian postal service. as the titles on his publications proudly attest. Boccherini was officially hired by the king’s brother.

architecture.78 Its delicious interaction of obbligato cello with soprano voice suggests a musical portrait of Boccherini’s affectionate yet professional relationship with Clementina Pelliccia. Carlo Broschi.80 This musical currency with the rest of Europe was testimony to the speed with which the Borbones. and morals. It was her son Fernando (r.” “Son Regina. 1746–59) and even more significantly his musical queen María Bárbara who encouraged Farinelli to develop an opera company. manners. With the taste to hear [from] such famous singers the best arias from Italy. There was scarcely a youth. to a text from Metastasio’s Artaserse. the favored music of the royal house was Italian. especially Carlos III (r. an office boy who did not know and sing from memory “Misero pargoletto. His insertion aria for Majo’s L’Almería is unfortunately lost. rather more than their Borbón husbands. 557. for the first time in his life.” “Padre perdona. The creative and financial license given to Farinelli by Fernando was almost infinite.” which I would propose as an another likely composition from this period. 1714–46). from scratch. It is characteristic of this period that the queens. there spread through Madrid the new taste for their music. 1746–1758).77 Through his participation in the Compañía de los Sitios Reales Boccherini had been. to Spain in 1737. 1759–88) and his ministers. a young woman. largely through the influence of the music-loving Queen Isabella Farnese (reigned alongside Felipe V.79 Spanish royal and noble audiences were thus quite well versed in Italian theatrical music of all kinds. Galuppi. had brought Spain into the latest phases of Enlightenment. detto Farinelli. and [this] decided enthusiasm instantly ran through all the provincial capitals. Yet. dance. were the real music-lovers and to a great extent the arbiters of royal musical taste. So this taste (by now the taste of fashion) ran through the drawing rooms at every private or domestic function. and others. That this eclecticism extended to the middle classes is suggested in a retrospective memoir of 1785.” “Se tutti i mali miei.58 “as my works show me to be” art. while the unavoidable Serva padrona of Pergolesi had been in repertory since the days of Farinelli. and Farinelli’s efforts on behalf of serious opera were so substantial that by the end of his twenty-two-year residence in Spain he had succeeded in making Madrid. directly involved in playing and composing opera seria. G. Spanish continuities with Boccherini’s prior musical experiences are many. thus the queen of Fernando VI. couture. María Bárbara de Braganza (r. Isabella Farnese had brought that most famous of all Italian singers. During the period of Luigi’s association with the Compañía the group presented not only serious operas but also comic and larmoyant works by Piccinni. There exists a concert aria (aria accademica) in B b Major. Yet one . the most obvious is in opera seria. one of the most important of all venues for this quintessentially Italian art.” etc. is justly famous for her patronage of Domenico Scarlatti. “Se d’un amor tiranno.

Chief among them was the monk Benito Jerónimo de Feijóo y Montenegro (1676–1764). as well as in a host of shorter works. and. For example. His works enjoyed multiple reprintings after his death. Padre Feijóo treated of literature. In his monumental Theatro crítico universal and the later Cartas eruditas. (They included numerous canvasses by Titian and Rubens. Carlos IV fortunately disobeyed the order. spokesman por excelencia of Spanish critical thinking. music.85 Extremists like La Mettrie were “all but unknown south of the Pyrenees.84 Thus did Church and State support one another in maintaining an extremely conservative intellectual climate. according to which all the paintings in the royal collection which featured nudes were to be summarily destroyed. an insistence on figuring out for himself how and why things worked: “I. law. and the only ones that really thrived were those that operated with royal support. will always listen to that which reason and experience dictate to me. Throughout the eighteenth century.”86 The ancient Spanish university system taught little natural science or medicine beyond the systems elaborated by Aristotle. was much inhibited under such conditions. to the very end of the century there were relatively few printing presses in Madrid. the infamous Inquisition. medicine. It is typical of the complexities of Spanish culture at this time that the taking of religious orders was one of the routes by which educated Spaniards could get information about . neither a slave of Aristotle nor an ally of his enemies.”87 Feijóo was treasured by his own countrymen for these very qualities. Diderot’s Encyclopédie was put on the Index of prohibited books in 1759. with the advent of the French Revolution. not incidentally. as he himself attested.” a uniquely Spanish Enlightenment. He drew upon the latest work available from the rest of Europe but maintained. Another striking example of a deep conservatism in the midst of modernization can be seen in a decree issued by Carlos III shortly before his death. a habitual independentmindedness and skepticism. citizen of the Republic of Letters. and little theology beyond Thomas Aquinas.)82 Print culture. natural philosophy. in preference to all private authority. indeed.81 (None of these printed music until the mid-1770s. physics.)83 The Catholic Church had retained a greater presence and authority in Spain than in other parts of Europe. largely through the Santo Oficio. and even then printing was fitful. There were nevertheless individuals and a few cultural institutions that worked around this repressive climate toward a real “Ilustración.“as my works show me to be” 59 does not have to look far to come up hard against evidence of attitudes that were quite distinct from the general European moment. the Inquisition continued to proscribe many central works of Enlightenment thought. lifeblood of Enlightenment and subversion alike. Inquisitional censorship assumed a central responsibility in royal efforts to prevent the Spanish public from being “infected” by republican sentiment. all of Rousseau’s works were similarly censored in 1764. so that in the textual sense he is very much a contemporary of Boccherini.

“Minister Plenipotentiary from France to the court of Madrid.” and Enlightenment proceeded in an uneasy dialogue with it. a philosophe who approached materialism in great detail through the sensations and actions of the human body. in a peculiar sense. seems. and the most serious discussions. its representational fluidity making it an effective carrier of certain Enlightenment ideas. In addition. As a monk. This is most especially conspicuous every evening. these conditions make it the more interesting to speculate on the function of instrumental music in Spanish culture. black or white. to be the parade of Castilian gravity. they instantly uncover their heads. even in the lives of those privileged and Parisianized Spaniards for whom Boccherini worked. wrapped up in huge cloaks of a dark colour.60 “as my works show me to be” the Enlightenment. even outright denial is a powerful form of currency. Baron Jean-François Bourgoing (1748–1811).” remarked on Madrid’s grand central promenade. whose sainetes (short vernacular comedies) offer a wonderfully penetrating glimpse . Madrid was literally being remade before the eyes of Boccherini’s generation into a city on the model of Vienna and Paris. for the most part. Yet. however beautiful it may be. But it was subject to very divergent estimations. you only behold on foot at the Prado. as follows: In [place of] that motley variety of apparel and head-dresses. flying handily beneath the Inquisitional radar. The playwright Ramón de la Cruz (1731–94). muffled up in long veils.88 As part of the Ilustración. and whose theories inform several sections of this book. and men.90 As Bourgoing’s account makes clear. galanterie was penetrated with a solemn severity. abruptly breaking off the most tender discourse. a “gravity. this scarcely means that they did not flow at all. make a sudden stop. as if arrested by some invisible hand. the 1780s saw considerable Spanish circulation and paraphrasing of the works of the Abbé Étienne Bonnot de Condillac (1714–80). when the first solemn sounds of the angelus invade the ears of the pedestrians. women dressed in an uniform style. which conceal part of their faces. while the currents of Enlightenment thought flowed rather differently in Spain than elsewhere. agreeably diversify the scene. insomuch that the Prado. Music was not subject to proscription as long as it avoided objectionable texts or theatrical associations: the instrumental chamber music in which Boccherini specialized was never in any danger. which in other public places of Europe. the Prado. Feijóo had legitimate access to Indexed works and was thus able to provide a taste of their intellectual wares to his readers.”89 Yet the differences between Madrid and its models remained profound. “a delightful place of amusement which could be frequented in all seasons with safety and pleasure. though sometimes rather heavily salted with disapproval. In another remarkable example of the fallibility of repressive systems. in order to devote a few minutes to prayer.

the Condesa-Duquesa de Benavente-Osuna. makes it clear that not everyone in Madrid shared the craze for imported music. and chicken.”91 And in the Diario de Madrid for 5 September 1795 there appeared an interesting discourse on musical style. . 9. and the contract eventually devolved into . and.“as my works show me to be” 61 into Madrilenian customs in the last quarter of the century. could never be forgotten. consequently. The most aggressively Francophile. Dilettanti di Madrid”). . Boccherini’s op. . with conversation. . and other dances. to dance. establishments had frequent personal connections with Parisian. . This rate proved impossible to maintain. or tertulias. Thanks are due to all who still preserve some of the charm of Spanish music in their boleros. tiranas. as they were called in Madrid. they met in private gatherings and disported themselves with chamber music. expressive national melodies. and with food. graceful.” at a rate of twelve per year. and. ham. Pray. English. in this period in Spain. and it ran through many levels of Spanish society at this time. which were true to our character and touched us so deeply. and foreign art and music that were otherwise difficult to come by. once heard. finally. was written in 1770 and published in Paris in 1772 by Vénier. caught at the ear and the heart. housed yet further cultural cross-currents. If it were not for these. . “There are those who fall asleep when an Italian aria is sung. . I cannot bear to think that this Italian music has perverted our simple. The opus bears the unique dedication “to the Gentlemen Music-lovers of Madrid” (“Alli Sig. good access to proscribed literature. instead of mutton. amused us. This tension and intrication between the imported and the indigenous is the most important characteristic of art and music.92 Spanish style is connected by Cruz to an irresistible desire to move. to indelible memory. and. and by the anonymous author of the Diario article to the heart. or afrancesado.93 The number of noblemen in Madrid was considerable in 1770. These salons.94 like their counterparts in the other big cities of Europe. and our olla podrida [a traditional stew with several different kinds of meat] would be seeking macaroni and spaghetti . and are lifted from their seats on hearing a seguidilla. . The apposition is of a disembodied artificiality (imported culture) with a physicalized genuineness (indigenous culture). his third group of six string quartets. and Viennese circles. officially discouraged ideas. A characteristic example of this is the contract with Joseph Haydn negotiated by María Josefa. . to the difference between processed foodstuffs and flesh. . . even our cooks would by now be singing Italian arias. indeed of life in general. what effect can gabbling Italian music produce? Only the very fleeting pleasure of hearing a combination of infinite sounds which never reach the heart. Through her representative in Vienna the Condesa-Duquesa attempted to get Haydn to send nothing less than “all his musical compositions. in 1783.

as far as symphonies go. examines. and the free mixture of spoken dialogue. consistently takes the prize from the Italian. At the same time. I play viola . when Boccherini was hired as music director there.”97 Within a generation this complaint had consolidated itself into an artistic position. The tonadilla had its heyday in Madrid during the second half of the eighteenth century. were real connoisseurs with considerable.. for when I don’t play the violin. hands-on experience of the music they heard. and amateur musician Tomás de Iriarte composed a verse description of a musical evening which gives some idea of afrancesado musical taste and practices. the Benavente-Osuna establishment owned a substantial number of chamber and orchestral works by Haydn that were to be found nowhere else in Madrid.” the Italian solely concerned with flattering the senses.. My contribution is neither much nor very little and thus among them I take a decent place. As early as 1742 the influential Catalan composer and theorist Francisco Valls had complained of foreign musical styles as “invaders. and not infrequently coming from the same circles. the French with the intellect. Thus with kindness the participants hear my own sinfonias concertantes. Self-conscious “Spanishness” appeared perhaps most characteristically in the tonadilla escénica. The use of local color and casts of characters recognizable from daily life. the “signori dilettanti di Madrid” for whom Boccherini composed. To judge by Iriarte’s report. intellectual. simple recitative. and assesses it. but the net effect was that by 1786. proved itself “more scientific and more solid. which boasted a professional rather than amateur orchestra. the amateur orchestra tries. assertions of a self-consciously Spanish musical taste were to be found.95 The poet. If someone dedicates himself to counterpoint and brings in any of his work.96 Iriarte was also a regular at the Benavente tertulias. which. the satirical tone. a short comic genre. the Spanish.. by uniting the two realms. statesman. that orchestra’s audience. We sample an abundant collection of modern German music. and through-composition in tonadillas and in zarzuelas suggest that Spanish composers had made a kind of stylistic end-run .62 “as my works show me to be” a piecemeal arrangement. There are nights when one can find congregated twenty or maybe more aficionados who play their part all at once. generally sung throughout.

and by the 1760s were producing dramatic music that was fully up to the European moment: that moment being. Goya’s early cartoons for tapestries in the various Sitios Reales show us the details of the majo costume while offering a subtle interpretation of its gestural accompaniments (see figure 5). . above all. Francisco de Goya. Madrid. Museo del Prado. Oil on canvas. around the conservatism of the imported opera seria. dance. 1777. one which further distinguishes this period of Spanish cultural history. Afrancesismo had a counterpoint which took a singular form. Goya’s majos and majas have shed their “huge cloaks of a dark colour” in order to play outdoor games. This is majismo. the opposite number of the majo and a frequent object of derision and disdain. Madrid. the comic and sentimental styles. Majismo was a deliberate response to the perceived artificiality of the upper-class afrancesados as epitomized in the petimetre (petit-maître). Photo copyright Museo del Prado.“as my works show me to be” 63 Figure 5. the deliberate assumption of Spanish working-class garb and manners. a bourgeois dandy. Baile a orillas del rio Manzanares.

Boccherini was well set up to maintain such competency. By virtue of his training and his exposure through travel to different kinds of music. Yet all the while there were other gatherings. from royalty to nobility and the merchant classes. Increasingly as the century progressed. Felipe V had introduced French courtly dance to Spain. which featured the indigenous dances. and “modern German music”. Any simplistic class-opposition of majismo and afrancesismo was much complicated during the later part of the century. so that one might find a fandango danced in the state-sponsored balls of the 1760s. those gatherings were imitated by the wealthy. Such complex webs of opposition and alliance played out not only in dress and gesture. but theatrical conventions serious. Composing successfully for this complex and ambivalent Spanish musical landscape meant being fluent in a great range of styles: not only majismo and afrancesismo. Although Goya’s models are nameless. fleshliness. but French (as opposed to Frenchified). from staged representations to an embodied social currency. majo gatherings. As in France. they bend only to accommodate gravity.64 “as my works show me to be” or enjoy the sunshine. comic. whether these be stilt-walking or the subtle adjustments of posture involved in balancing a jug of water on the head. and the chief language of social hierarchy and gender within them. and in between. and even encouraged by official culture. when the costumes of majo and maja were taken up by the upper classes to signify repudiation of French culture—in effect an early kind of sartorial nationalism. not only dance. or a seguidillas boleras as the pièce de résistance at a nobleman’s party in the 1780s. they are often a bit too real. Italian. but in dance as well. courtly dance became the pretext for formal gatherings. their faces and gestures rather too vividly expressive. and he used it to good advantage throughout his career in Spain—which is to say. this art spread from theaters to private establishments. visibly distributed and controlled through their musculature. for their iconic function as pastoral decoration on the walls of palaces. informing the trajectory and extent of their gestures. the rest of his life: for we do not know him to have left the Iberian peninsula again.98 . On the French model. These people have weight. grandson of Louis XIV that he was. They share a “naturalness” which manifests as substance. One sees none of the drooping signifiers of melancholy in their poses.

But neither do we want very much in the way of gestures and visible expressivity. . This degree of constraint upon the visual element represents a sea-change 65 .Chapter 3 Gestures and Tableaux If [dancers’] motions and features are in perfect consonance with their inward feelings. Lettres sur la danse et sur les ballets. as it were. and instrumentalists were not exempt from this expectation. 1753 Eighteenth-century treatises on performance contain frequent apostrophes to performers to lend their attention to the visible elements of their performances. at the climax. The performer who makes expressive sounds through his instrument but does not supply us with these elements will likely seem cold or inhuman. “Vom Vortrage. with all the panache of an opera seria producer. it was largely the extent to which his performances were spectacles that brought him into disrepute with connoisseurs. and persuades them best in this manner through sympathy. the lightning that foretells the thunder of the passions! jean-georges noverre. no matter how impassioned the sounds he is making: one has only to think of Jascha Heifetz. We like to see some evidence that the instrumentalist is moved by what he is doing: the in-drawn breath. we may be perceived as rather lowbrow. the furrowed brow. by making their feeling selves available to sight. 1760 Since a musician cannot move others if he be not himself moved. who. das Clavier zu spielen.” in Versuch über die wahre Art. and genius be. imaginations should be enflamed. To be successful in dramatic compositions. or if we do. a sweeping follow-through with the hands. the soul must feel and be powerfully moved. their expression will be so of course. The latter-day terminus here would be Liberace. perhaps. . he must necessarily cause in himself every affect which he would arouse in his hearers. we approximate this in current concert practice. used costume and set design to expand upon an already lavish gestural style at his instrument. Up to a point. carl philipp emanuel bach. . a tasteful grimace. thus he gives them their own sentiments to understand. and give life to the representation.

which reached a nadir within only a generation or so of his death.2 We do not know which of Boccherini’s works it was that Spohr so disdained. and nowhere more radically than in the German-speaking lands from which Spohr hailed. or set of related changes. first for four bars in the tenor octave and then for four in the bass. heightened by repetition. was responsible for a precipitous decline in his posthumous reputation. They invite the . The viola repeats a bar-long figure with several small contour variations.” he answered. but we might imagine his expostulation coming in response to a passage of the sort shown in example 5 (CD track 10). both small. and (in relation to the upper parts) more consonant G #. during a musical gathering. The cellist moves again and again. All these layered. less resonant.and large-scale. while reiterating a short-longshort rhythm at every half-bar. the intonation pure enough to permit a timbral blend) and ensemble (the frisson of playing appoggiature together). Above this. interactive repetitions do not escalate. but it is repeated to an unusual degree. the violins begin at the half-bar. like most pleasures. trading off syncopated melodic gestures and arpeggiated figures (which. the upper parts create a complex texture of interlocking repetitions. against which is stacked an entire triad with which it forms multiple.66 gestures and tableaux in the reception of instrumental music. in addition to the halfbar alternations of harmonic friction with release which underlie the passage. on the micro-level. be returned to often enough. to the much weaker. “that this does not deserve to be called music!”1 What “music” was supposed to be changed a good deal between the end of the eighteenth century and 1835. Germany disdains his naive simplicity. one which was already under way during the final decades of Boccherini’s life. The same change. In 1835 Fétis reported that Boccherini is now known only in France. The cellist’s tactile-acoustical experience of resistance and release in this situation is. The third-inversion 1 chord (the piece having modulated to E major by this point) and its resolution to a first-inversion tonic cannot. For the violinists. Scarcely an unusual harmonic gambit. one of the most resonant pitches on the instrument. it seems. where some of the Italian master’s quintets had just been played. The celebrated German violinist and composer was asked what he thought: “I think. while their lockstep thirds raise the issues of balancing the sonority (the lower voice slightly firmer and louder than the upper. rich dissonances. their small frictions and overlappings do not even suggest a direction. there are myriad small interactive melodic opportunities: in their tradingsoff there is the subtle pleasure of trying to mimic one another exactly. then. from A. and the opinion of him held by the artists of that land may be summarized in words pronounced by Spohr in Paris. contain many repetitions of the note B). in the second half of the passage (halfway through bar 14) they drop together into the alto register to play a melodic figure in lockstep thirds that repeats every bar.

15 œ œ œœ œ œ ## #œ & # œj œj œ œ œ œ œ . œ œ œ œ œ œ ## œ œ œ œ œj# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & # œ œœ œœ p p R. ˙ œ p B ### c œ œ # œ œ œ œ œ œ ? ### c # # œj & # #œ 13 j ‰ œ œ œ #œ œœœœ cresc.Example 5. ˙ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ p mo. 2 ## & # c Dolce vla. œœœ œ œj œ œ œ œ J f ### j j œ j j & œj# œ œ œ œ œ œ . 8. bars 11–17. œœœ œ œj# œjœ œ œ œjœ œ œ œ œ œj # œj œ œ œ œ œ œ f # ‰ B ## ‰ œj œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œœ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œœœ œ ? ### ˙ p #˙ ˙ #˙ ˙ ˙ ‰ œj f 67 . f œ œ œ œ œ #˙ ? ### ˙ œ œ œ p cresc. œœœ œ œj œjœ œ œ œ œ . cresc. œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ #˙ R. 170. f R. 1 # # œj œœ œœœœœ & # c #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 11 Allegro brillante œœœœœœœœœœ cresc. œ œœœ vn. ‰ #œ ˙ œ œ œ œ vc. String Quartet in A Major. 6. op. G. vn. i (Allegro brillante). ### ‰ # œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ B p mo. no.

” Thus Boccherini offers a plate of momentary delicacies to the players. If the players of the quartet quoted in example 5 take the notated repeats. step. but so conventional are these traits. In either case the effect is similar: the music circles serenely in place. This music goes nowhere except where it already is. to make of such music? We can rationalize it easily enough: it is simply and unambiguously periodic.” insofar as a modulation to the relative major will have been achieved by the end of the first half. 172. when Boccherini’s reputation was already in decline. and so pronounced the repetitiveness. But neither Speck nor any other writer on Boccherini has really addressed the topic of his repetitiveness. in the eighteenth-century sense of the Main Idea. In a latter-day extension of this kind of understanding. king of Spain and an amateur violinist. Do si. It is flatly incredible that they would not have noticed it. do si: these two rapidly flowing notes are repeated to the point of covering . even a whole section of a movement) could be characterized as weak and antecedent. subtle (albeit reiterated) variations. A whole phrase (later. or strong and consequent. Christian Speck uses a number of quasi-architectural terms—Schlußstein. According to this story. as listeners and observers. It is typical of Boccherini that such an inward focus occurs in the middle of an apparently extraverted first movement. Writing in 1845. Boccherini can most certainly do that too. mortared by the near-infallible periodicity of the “italienische Zweitakter. Although this is not repetition in the strictest sense. Stufe. Boccherini had been given the opportunity in Madrid to play chamber music with Carlos IV. no. containing as it does a host of small. written in the “bright” key of A major and marked “Allegro brillante. the static seven-bar passage in question occurs four times at this pitch level and four times a fifth lower. 9. op. scaffolding)—in his detailed descriptions of how such blocks work together in Boccherini’s music. Carlos takes up his bow: he always played the first violin part. Gerüstbau (keystone. it participates in the arsis-thesis phrase construction that late eighteenth-century theorists regarded as governing both the localized structure of the bar and the disposition of sizable chunks of music. 2. The composer brought along an opus of quintets. G. on occasion. Henri Castil-Blaze related a story that suggests that even in the composer’s lifetime such writing had.” the two-bar unit basic to the Italian style (and to nearly all dance music). now there appears in this part a figure of great repetitiveness and complete monotony. that it is surely the stasis itself that is most memorable—most thematic. consist very largely of a chain of such circles (CD track 11). Movements such as the Larghetto of the Quartet in D Minor. but what are we. melodic events will consent to be parsed according to an extended binary form. Eckpfeiler. There is “motion. corner-post. been a problem.68 gestures and tableaux player’s ear and eye toward nothing beyond himself and his colleagues in the intimate act of playing.

if it would please Your Majesty to lend your ear to the play of the second violin and viola parts. do si. boccherinian sensibilité “The world in which we live is the setting of the scene. do si. his characters are taken from the middle of society. Christian Speck has written on the logic and structure of Boccherini’s phrasing. Boucher himself does not seem to have been regarded as a particularly sober or veracious character. do si!” “Sire. continues. finally. and a bad student at that. his personages have all possible reality. although he became king in 1788. one with which the listener in all his (presumed) ordinariness can identify. and lends this story a kind of circumstantial authority. delightful conversation! Music of a student. abandoning the labor that has been tiring him. The king attacks them bravely.gestures and tableaux half a page. with which the transition from one level to another can be examined.” “Do si. Gradually a richness reveals itself. the ingenious harmonies.”6 Diderot writes here of Richardson. “This is miserable. the source of his drama is true. the quintet referred to here cannot be identified. He becomes impatient. It is not verified by any other source. his incidents concern the customs of all civilized nations. The description of the way repetition frames a textural and harmonic “conversation” rings true for any number of such passages. a full ten years before Boucher’s arrival in Spain. While Castil-Blaze attributes it to the violinist Alexandre Boucher (1778– 1861). He does not offer examples of the more peculiar edifices that Boccherini was wont to produce by effectively eschewing any larger-scale relationships. the passions he paints are those I experience in myself. his bad humor crescendos. This is the unsuspected richness of the everyday. introduced above and below this interior pedal. for instance. a student would write thus: Do si. Carlos is called prince of the Asturias. Moreover. 2 –3. and that for almost half an hour! Do si. over and over again. and it is tempting to suppose that had he heard Boccherini’s music in its repetitive . he might equally have written this of Greuze.”5 This eyeglass is lovingly trained on a small and extremely ordinary event: in example 5.4 Yet for all its questionableness Castil-Blaze’s story points very nicely at the nature of the interest generated by Boccherini’s repetitive music: an interest constituted in performative interaction.”3 69 Now this story is problematic at best. so to speak. but he is so absorbed by attention to his part that he does not hear the designs. pursues the discourse. he rises and says in an angry tone. or to the pizzicato presented by the violoncello while I keep the first violin on this uniform figure. but he acknowledges the way in which such passages assume an esthetic identity in their own right: “The listener has been offered an acoustical eyeglass. his voice joins his bow in articulating the monotonous figure in a ridiculous manner. The figure loses its monotony as the other instruments enter and mingle in the conversation.

His sonatas and quartets are rich in these engagements at every level. which are easily read as representations of inwardness. to give it the French name by which Boccherini would have known it. Maynard Solomon has pursued a similar idea in reference to Mozart. sensibilité. they can be heard all together at the beginning of the slow movement of op. and located at the temporal “heart” of the sonata as a whole—sets forth its Main Sentiment. even torment—which Solomon memorably dubs “trouble in Paradise.70 gestures and tableaux vein he would have included it in his estimation. Conceptually speaking. interrupting the narrative flow of an otherwise conventional movement. and the central culture of that world was that of sentimentality—or. Texturally. the most highly marked sensible passages in Boccherini’s slow movements serve a rather different purpose: whether occurring as distinct episodes with independent thematic material. the drawing room. arrived at after the ritual of theses and antitheses. the tertulia. Another convention associated with the sensible in music is its tendency to manifest in slow movements. the world of Boccherini’s biggest and most avid public. he frequently employs throbbing accompaniments. doubt. Boccherini tends toward larger melodic trajectories of descent and subsiding. however. By the end of the eighteenth century a delicate tangle of topoi had grown up around the musical presentation of sensibilité. and we know that he took those opportunities because his engagements with the sensible style contain some of his most distinctive traits as a composer. 1 (CD track 12). rather than the opening Allegro. while a first movement sets forth a sonata’s Main Idea (as any number of late eighteenthcentury theorists make sure to tell us). All of these features are sufficiently common in Boccherini’s early work that they can be found almost at random in the quartets opp. he suggests that Mozart developed an “adagio/andante archetype” in which a slow movement delivered the main emotional impact of an entire sonata. no. or constituting an entire movement built in this manner from the beginning. the primary vocalistic signifiers of heightened feeling. its slow movement—less immediate. 8 and 9. As suggested in chapter 1. within compositions from the sensible tradition. 8. The “world in which we live” that he evokes so casually is the world of the salon. To begin with the obvious: among his favored signifiers are melodic “sighs. . all contain a drastic contrast between an initial sweetness or repose and some darker state—anxiety. so too his marked penchant for the minor mode. He favors diminished-seventh harmonies for their conventional associations with tender anxiety. slow tempi simply allow more time for sentimental reflection to be elicited.”7 By these lights.” ports de voix or portamenti. stringplaying enactments of the sensible protagonist’s palpitating heart. The movements Solomon cites. especially in the realm of theatrical music. from the conventional to the deeply idiosyncratic. they are yet sweeter than what surrounds them. Practically speaking. Boccherini would have had any number of opportunities to become acquainted with its roots. An argument could be made here for the primacy of the Adagio.

We find an ambience of spectral evocations. they move within a strange bluish twilight. the manner of its execution contingent upon what the other parts are doing. to fear. at the very beginning of the Quartet op. soave.”10 We find an interesting parallel to Boccherini’s hyper-precise dynamic instructions in the dramatic works of his brother. and achieved principally in reference to the human body. of the most delicate tonalities. con soavità. and through his verbal and graphic inventiveness in doing so. a selfhood delicately written upon the stance and countenance (see figure 6). enfolded in and sometimes eclipsed by exuberant swathes of satiny fabric. but he distinguishes himself from his contemporaries through the frequency with which he admonishes the instrumental performer to play quietly. overwhelming the instantaneity of the model. like the palpitating residue of a dream-reality. perhaps. the result of a mobile diaphragm. even the most incidental person has his or her own particular expression. dolce. brilliantly rendered for its reflection of light. a tension shot through with melancholy. to tremble. 53. Boccherini is extremely partial to soft dynamics—a fairly predictable concern. This affection for fine degrees of softness is further inflected by the marking rinforzando (or “Rf ”). pianissimo. mezza voce. a lively imagination. Within their luminous cocoons. however. dolcissimo. achieved around or in spite of the apparent subject of the work through nonrepresentational means such as color. delicate of wrist and ankle. Such intimate contextualities. These images can take on a magical aura: “Out of an apparently conventional practical structure arise. morendo —even. or an accent. indeed an almost precious attention to the gestures involved in playing emerges through such particular distinctions. who entered the employ of Don Luis de Borbón at about the same time as Boccherini. Giovanni Gastone.gestures and tableaux 71 In the paintings of Luis Paret y Alcázar. smorzando. Boccherini also exploits sensible conventions in ways distinctive to himself which tend to foreground the physical experience of those involved in making the music. evanescences. Paret’s bodies are minutely rendered as to character. In renditions of group scenes. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the matter of dynamics. And in all of these there is much refinement. an ambiguous direction which can mean a momentary crescendo. calando. Paret’s human figures are most distinctive. delicate nerves. diminuendo. to weep. suspended between points of repose. we can see what might best be called a French sensible style profoundly and subtly interpenetrated with a certain Spanish fleshliness. that is inclined to feel pity. to admire. che appena si senta (scarcely audible): an exquisite. a longer swell. developing “that disposition linked to weak organs. Willowy.”8 The parallels with Boccherini’s work are irresistible: a tender evocativeness. are invitations to the performer to embody sensibilité.9 Piano. to become agitated. teneramente. given the sweetness and softness characteristic of sensibilité. Gabriella . fluctuating from moment to moment. to faint. 1. no. sotto voce. flashes and raptures of great lyricism.

Single.” “in a transport of happiness.” “avoids him without looking at him”) and qualities of motion and of speech are lovingly invested with specific feeling (“rises in wonder and scorn. keeping all involved within a harmonic .72 gestures and tableaux Figure 6.12 His highly developed and personable sense of line is one of his most distinctive features as a composer. is only intermittently to be found (CD track 13).” “tenderly. Biagi-Ravenni has pointed out Giovanni’s “particularly attentive care” to minute details of stage direction in his libretti. Luis Paret y Alcázar. 1772. Madrid.). Madrid. as Biagi-Ravenni notes. she adds. a singable line or profile to the whole. Oil on canvas.” etc. So numerous and detailed are these directions that the dramatic progress of a scene can be intuited from reading them alone. movements. “Such precise attention to everything that can be communicated in the theater by means of images. Ensayo de una comedia. He accomplishes this through nearly constant registral displacement and free imitation of short fragments among the parts. and gestures is small wonder in a librettist who was also a dancer working in Vienna in the years in which the pantomime ballet saw its greatest triumphs.”11 Boccherini offers another musical representation of sensibilité in certain repetitive passages in which a definable single melody. but in passages like these he forsakes or explodes it. Museo del Prado. Photo copyright Museo del Prado. crucial gestures are prescribed (“lowers her eyebrows.

b &b &b Bb ?b ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ œjœœ œ œ œ œ ≈œœœ . bars 104–12. a telegraphic painting done in a very short space of . with the top voice sonically separated into a “holding pattern” of repetitive melody (see example 6)..gestures and tableaux Example 6. as a way of inviting rather than directing attention. . and the rapidissimo or fa presto. . Not providing quite enough information is integral to the style. String Quartet in F Major. 178.. . and within a rhythmic field “stamped. we have the evocative emptiness of landscape. In painting. a stretto without stress. CD track 14). The distinction of melodic foreground from accompanimental background has collapsed.14 This can involve just the lower voices. . . we have also a midcentury cult for the non finito. a painting deliberately left unfinished. . j œœ œ œ œ œ œj ‰ j œ œ bœ œ œ œ bœ œ œ Ÿ f œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ bœ f œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ field.. . G. .” as Speck puts it. and we are suspended in an amiable kind of Brownian motion-without-direction. i (Allegretto con grazia). within a group tessitura (with considerable exchange of individual tessiture). œ Ÿf R. 15. 73 vn. .. no. or all four voices may be equally involved (see example 7. 2. 1 2 &b 4 œ &b Bb ? 109 104 Allegretto con grazia vn. op. vc. . The abandonment of melodic narrative in these passages enacts a tendency in all sensible art to leave lacunae. . p Ÿ ( p) f 2 4 œ œ b œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ b œ œ œj œjœœ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ p' f p 2 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœ œ 4 œ œœ p p œ bœ œ bœ œ bœ f œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ 2œ œ œ 4 p (p ) f œœ œœœœ œ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ œjœ œ œ œ R . . 2 vla.13 and reliably contained within periodic phrase structure. by the rhythmic profile of the fragments involved.

op. œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ Ó œ Œ œ J œ#œ œ j nœ ## œ œ #œ Œ & # #œ œ œ œ œ œ f f B ### ˙ ∑ Ó œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ ˙ œ Œ Ó œ œ f œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ#œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ B ## #œ # f f 56 # # & # œœœ œœœ œ Œ œ œ ## Ó & # ˙ œ Œ Ó ˙ œ œ œœœœœ œ œ œ B ### f B ### œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ 74 . no. String Quartet in A Major. 2 vla. 8. vn. 170. ? ### c ## ˙ & # 52 ˙ Ó œ œ œœœ œœœ œœœœœ f f œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ # œ œj œ f f œ# œ ˙ Ó Ó ‰ œ ˙ œ œ œ ∑ Œ Bœ œ f œ œœœ œ œ #œ œ # œ œ œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ # œ œ . 1 vn. 6. bars 48–57. iii (Allegro maestoso). ## & # cœœœ œœœ œ Œ œ f f ## ˙ œ œ œœœœœ œ & # c f ### c œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B 48 Allegro maestoso vc. G.Example 7.

and reception for almost two hundred years.”17 Elsewhere.” The most characteristic come in slow movements (CD track 15). performance. In vocal music.”16 I would submit that the musical analogy here is to a particular mode of sensible performance in which the viewer/listener is every bit as active and sensitized as the painter/executant. the vaguer the expression of the arts. which according to my current situation may be serious. Diderot is perfectly clear about the likeness of this mutualized sensible viewing to musical reception—and he locates it specifically in instrumental music. Such works left open an esthetic space into which viewers inserted themselves. they do not describe the accidents of particular form. it is rare that the expression I assign to [instrumental] sounds. I can make a well-made symphony express almost anything I want. No one in particular is speaking to us here. in order to actually participate in the making of the painting. With this disappearance of line we lose all sense of piece-as-oration. The timbral ambiguity (it is virtually impossible for a listener to distinguish which instrument in the ensem- . It is somewhat the same with sketches and pictures. the rhetorical metaphor that had informed composition. The sonata or symphony whose wordlessness so taxed generations of French rationalists is the perfect vessel for this kind of reception. A performance so constituted is very much a mutual undertaking by artist and recipient—a joint “speculation.gestures and tableaux 75 time (Fragonard was perhaps the greatest master of this style). They are not generated by immediate study of nature. the pencil of the expert draftsman. and since I know better than anyone else how I can be moved. I see in the picture something pronounced: in the sketch. by virtue of its semiotic lack. . “The opportunity provided by laconic imagery [made] every perceiver into an artist—a personne d’esprit.” as it were. one must hear what is being expressed. tender. because of my experience of my own heart. “These lines do not so much chart the intended position of an edge as speculate about what a lively form of edge thereabouts might be.”15 Diderot’s considerations of sketches and rapidissimi read very much like considerations of improvised music-making: “Sketches often have a fire that a painting does not. and putative completions. assumptions. . the more the imagination is at ease. lineless music offers many such passages that invite the listener to suppose something “barely announced. What is being improvised on the spot is not any particular configuration of tones but rather the relationship between the parties involved. the orator has apparently stepped down from his podium to take a stroll beside us. with all of their suppositions. has an air of running and playing. or gay. Rapid thought characterizes in one stroke. will fail to touch me more profoundly than one that is not so much of my choice. The pen of the poet. exchanging disjointed sweet nothings in a twilit garden. . how many things may I suppose that are barely announced!18 Boccherini’s textural.

For a performer at Tiepolo’s level this is not simply a matter of “good light. One would move about the room(s) in search of their “sweet spots”. with an urgent story to tell and able only to sing. Even in his cello concerti the soloist sometimes shows an abstracted tendency to wander away from his podium. It is much more a matter of structure and liveliness.76 gestures and tableaux ble is responsible for which sound). or bounce. including (crucially in terms of resonance) wall tapestries and heavy drapes. its upper-register uncanniness and pathos trumping the orator by evoking a specific nocturnal singer. one would try the piece with an audience present. The solo cello’s voice occasionally emerges from such a textural matrix. The good lighting ambience is positive enough [i. An appropriate space exists: there are rooms in the palace of El Pardo outside Madrid which remain in their eighteenth-century condition.19 While their metaphorical and imagistic origins are many and rich.20 Ideally. Such exquisite passages are not peculiar to Boccherini’s quartets. One would use the very instruments for which Boccherini conceived the work. the nightingale. such passages also have some genesis in a kinesthetic response to the real-world realm of acoustics. one would play a quartet there many times.. and do it with loving detail. and without. The acoustics of a room can affect virtually every aspect of the way a passage sounds and feels and what it evokes. CD track 16). and the soft dynamic create topical resonances: such passages are evocations of the nocturnal. patroness of the wordless expressivity of instrumental music (example 22. but can be found in the slow movements of his instrumental ensemble music in all genres. Ideally. full of nuance. The fresco painter negotiates this ambient element intimately and precisely in planning and executing his work. one that would give back to Boccherini’s textural music some of its own irreducible substance—something like the following: . as a presence or factor in the creation of the artwork] to present a problem [in the sense of something to be extensively chewed on and digested into forms and decisions]. as Alpers and Baxandall do in their considerations of the effects of light and shadow on Tiepolo’s painted surfaces in the Treppenhaus at Würzburg. one would pursue this sight-to-sound analogy with an acoustical account of a room in which Boccherini worked. tongueless and speechless. A painter working on the walls and ceilings of large interior spaces naturally lit may respond to a lighting ambience rather as a musician responds to the acoustic of the space in which he performs.” in the simple sense of sufficient illumination for the work to be seen. the relaxed tempo. the mixed and sourceless voices of summer nights. One would eventually arrive at a thick description. of suggestion and the necessary stimulation of difficulty. or the story of Philomel. This bird’s sweet but eerily disembodied song entails a complex and ancient set of associations: mourning for the dead. or endless complaint over lost love.e. bars 28–34.

In Act 2 of Beaumarchais’s Mariage de Figaro. There are also briefer and more accidental moments of fine complexity— such as an electrifying occasional five minutes in late afternoon when the sun is low enough in the west both to shine direct through the west windows and to reflect back strongly from the east wall on which it falls. During this period the troc between the visual and the performing arts was most characteristically expressed in a choreographic and dramatic penchant for tableaux vivants. or altered beyond recognition. but it is noticeable that it looks better in the morning. when the lighting from both sides is at its more complex and paradoxical. Yet in this near-motionlessness there is a subtle theatricality at work. apparently anti-theatrical. in soft and repetitive passages the player’s appearance. as well as by the frequent involvement of painters in set design. The current whereabouts of Boccherini’s Stainer cello are unknown.”23 Examples are legion. and widely diffused by means of engravings. that of the tableau.’” The engraving of this 1755 painting by Carle Van Loo (1705–65) is by Beauvarlet. not in the afternoon. by the development of a theatrical painting style in the peinture morale of Greuze. of course. in a sense. the most explicitly painterly of theatrical devices. heavily constrained. since “once the work was painted. and finally given a continuous musical setting in 1786 by Da Ponte and Mozart. is a number of different pictures and would be hard to exhaust. of the medium. Such was the conflation of stage with canvas that it is often impossible to determine which image came first. and concomitantly.21 77 But here. El Pardo is now used by the Spanish royal family and their illustrious guests. transposed to a staged tableau with song. it served as inspiration in its turn for the staging and designing of later creations in the theater. the actors are instructed to arrange themselves “as in the print after Vanloo called ‘Conversation espagnole.gestures and tableaux The picture. Here we have an image of music-making.22 tableaux From the standpoint of the listener-observer. We have scores and instruments (the latter often much altered) but the bodies and the sounds they made are long silenced. most of the rooms for which we may reasonably assume Boccherini’s chamber music was initially conceived are simply gone. but serves to illustrate the cross-currents of influence during this period. in the scene in which Chérubin serenades the countess. when the simpler and fully licensed west light source gives its plain reading. and thus the degree of material survival. is the definitive difference between painting and music-making: the degree of materiality. What is more. is undemonstrative. first performed in 1784. the most famous is probably outside of Boccherini’s sphere of experience. or in ruins. . and is not readily available for impressionistic musicological experiments.

We love it when pleasure lasts. which had graced the 1749 edition of Molière’s play. played a hundred times. painter. Tableaux historiques.”29 and thus mirroring the critical turn of fortune that their colleagues in music dealt to Boccherini. and you will hear all the fluctuations of a demanding woman who employs by turns sweetness and reproach. expose and then cover themselves. One almost desires to put words to it. august harmony which invites recollection. Baillot also makes an association between Boccherini’s music and the Swiss poet. however. an emblem for a visualistic listening. Gessner covered . He even became. and even immoral. The more subtle-minded Diderot went so far as to personify an opposition to legibility in women who behave in this manner: “ We don’t want to know everything at once.”28 Boucher and Fragonard both admired and copied Albani.”26 Another association of Boccherini’s music with painting was made by Pierre Baillot.”25 Some of the ambivalence at work within the eighteenth-century fascination with the tableau is evident here. Women are aware of this: they agree and then refuse. it must therefore have some progression.”27 “Albane” is the Italian painter Francesco Albani (1578–1660). Here again. nineteenth-century art critics were to turn upon him. regarding his pastoral elegance and his emphasis on pearly-skinned.24 They remained so for many decades: the reader may recall that such activities were a central focus at Mr. In the following extract a Parisian pamphleteer writes from the midst of the maelstrom of the 1770s “Querelle des gluckistes et piccinnistes”. it is the naive sensibility of Gessner. it still presents the same meaning and the same image. and pose plastiche. Boccherini’s ability to provoke and satisfy the drawing-room taste for the tableau is frequently attested to in period criticism of his compositions. which displayed moods or states of mind. were popular drawing-room entertainments throughout Europe. Boccherini’s music is being pressed into service in an argument for the very concept of music’s having “a fixed and true meaning”: “Play the fifth sonata of Boccherini’s op. sun-dappled naked bodies as “shallow. Rochester’s house-party in Charlotte Brontë’s 1847 Jane Eyre. it is the grace of Albane. or which fixes it upon enchanting tableaux. decorative. who wrote circa 1804 that Boccherini’s quintets presented a “full. The writer’s image is neither fixed nor particularly “true”: the woman he has imagined is above all changeable. This practice of conflating representational media was by no means confined to professional circles. which displayed famous events. in this case Boucher’s engraving of the encounter between Don Juan and the statue. staged practice had been influenced by engraved image. whose work had enjoyed considerable popularity in eighteenth-century France on the basis of certain “small cabinet pictures with graceful figures in sunny landscapes. which casts the imagination into a sweet reverie. on occasion. but he might have seen a revival of Don Juan in Angiolini’s Vienna staging. and engraver Salomon Gessner (1730–88).78 gestures and tableaux Boccherini probably missed Figaro. 5.

he smiled back for the last time through the light haze. One simply put oneself into the deliberate emptiness of these scenes and imagined things. as I peacefully fell asleep. Gessner and his contemporaries. I’ll be tranquil and safe at your feet like this dog. Daphnis. groves. Chloe. . feckless innocence of such a response became a difficult business for critics within only a generation or two. our ears will not disdain the rustic sounds of this cowherd. he called a number of his longer pieces “songs. the simplistic. Philomel. constant companion of his master’s life and faithful guardian of his herd.gestures and tableaux 79 much the same pastoral ground in all the media of which he was master. Let’s rest. how beautiful nature is in this little canton! Let’s stop here. One might well ask where the embodiment was in such a genre. the shepherd. the birds sang to him the last song. the conversation of this herdsman and this peasant girl will amuse us. played his evening song as he returned to his hut. and how sensibilité could be supposed to operate without it. It remains . Diderot’s 1763 account of an unidentifiable Loutherbourg paysage models this process through a Gessnerian ellipsis. through your tender song—has a lurking woodland god awakened me. and in pairs sought their safe nests. who charms the silence of this solitude and relieves the weariness of his condition by playing the flute. Have you. gathered glistening around distant vineyards. let’s lie down alongside these animals. you’ll be beside me. Silent Night! how deliciously you steal over me here! here on this mossy rock. and pastures. accompanied by long shadows. More than in any other manifestation of sensibilité. embodiment in the pastoral landscape seems to have been the responsibility of the observer or reader: it was almost entirely introjected. as he lost himself behind the crags of those mountains. satisfied. tended to dwarf the people in their landscapes into insignificance. Ah! My friend. the heat of the day is beginning to make itself felt.” and had the characters in them— Phillis. or a nymph. and the delicious hour we’ve spent here. which. . painters like Vernet and Loutherbourg. mainly the Old Testament or the pastorals of Theocritus and Virgil. The eye is everywhere arrested. His engravings of landscapes in particular convey a tranquil nostalgia. . Milon. In imitation of the latter. like golden gauze. I saw yet Phoebus. entertained. and in a more distant time we’ll still recall this enchanted spot. and the like—“sing” instead of speak. And while we’re admiring the work of the Creator. His métier as a writer was prose-poetry emulating works of antiquity. that rustles shyly through the bushes? Oh! how lovely everything is in its mild beauty! How still the country slumbers around me! What rapture! What gentle ecstasy flows through my fluttering heart!30 In painting and engraving. and when the weight of the day has fallen away we’ll continue on our way.31 As we have seen. all of Nature saluted his departure in the soft purple after-light that glowed upon the streaky clouds.

producing a more emotionally and morally intense effect than was possible through a single glance. and they are among the clearest emblems we have of period understandings of embodiment. accessible to being rationalized in a way that a living. I say “would seem” because there is a crucial and problematic assumption here: sensory experience is assumed to make its most powerful impact by means of the tableau. hung. Both require time. ideal synoptic moment. Gessner’s work is not ideally represented through short extracts. exquisitely uneventful duration.32 Of course we cannot know for a fact that he was there.33 Diderot took a dif- . untrammeled leisure it bespeaks have always been more of an ideal than a reality. and Diderot’s sentimentality than to enter candidly into their scenarios. they were further disseminated to the public by means of engraved reproductions (which Boccherini easily could have seen). a brand seared upon the mind of the observer. similarly. where narrative and indeed any temporality at all give way to an insuperably intense impression. and framed again by the Parisian tradition of copious intertextual discourse.80 gestures and tableaux rather easier for us to snicker at Albani’s. which “strike redoubled blows” to the senses.” which he produced from 1759 to 1781. but in any case the works exhibited there were a very active part of the troc within which Boccherini moved in Paris. themselves entitled “Salons. The paintings of the Salons were framed. They present bodies seen. mid-gesture. moving body—or the sounds it makes—constantly eludes. a type of reception that is in considerably shorter supply today than when Gessner and Boccherini were writing. and a willingness to let one’s attention unmoor itself within time. The clarity and suggestiveness of the criticism surrounding these images reaches a pinnacle in Diderot’s marvelous descriptive accounts. All the same. Such clarity would seem naturally to result from the way painting presents bodies not in motion. as if it were a cumulation of internally constructed apparitions or tableaux. but frozen in time. Rousseau called it the “most vigorous” form of language. Arcadia is by its very nature forever somewhere else and long ago. and so evoke the modes of seeing elicited by bodies. The tableau posits a mysterious. it must be admitted that such time and the untroubled. Gessner’s. the obverse of “the world in which we live.” tableaux and sensible reception It is just barely possible that Boccherini arrived in Paris in time to visit the Salon of 1767. which was open for public viewing up through early October of that year. This moment is at the heart of much mid-eighteenth-century discourse on the transmission of meaning. the peacefulness of a Boccherini quintet movement best emerges through its full. and went so far as to use it to explain the very power of narrative. Being in a contemplative style.

In his thinking. Audience members arrived at states of weepy dishabille. even by the omniscient narrator. Clarissa) is the crucial maneuver of the sensible style. he utters cries like a desolate man. on the peak of a rugged mountain. because it was helpless. epitomized for Diderot. the tableau freezes narrative action.”36 Such erratic behavior was a badge of unselfconsciousness or “naturalness. Werther spends some last despairing hours unseen. he sobs.”35 The sensible reader (or viewer or audience member or player) entered actively into these stories. one approves. with the palpitating behavior of his characters: “There he is— he seizes the book. briefly but with great intensity. one is irritated. Greuze’s renditions of scholars or maidens or patriarchs absorbed in various objects of contemplation are themselves fetishes of this receptive process. this absorption of the receiver (audience member. regardless of the role one has [in life]. In all the arts. sonata player. Thus tableaux shift responsibility for meaning onto and into the viewer. he breaks off. construct their futures: “In the first moments of vision. but of our feeling reaction to things.gestures and tableaux 81 ferent tack. one admires. one is affected by a multitude of confused sensations. in the novels of Samuel Richardson: “Oh Richardson! One takes. but also engaged to be entered into. but read into its figures those events that surround the represented moment. but it also summarizes it. Accounts of Richardson’s readers run together. Yet the theatricality of these sensible manifestations makes it clear that the competing and older requirement of legibility had by no means been superseded. not of things. a role in your works. Thus internalized. one blames. such as performative self-consciousness or exaggeration. observer and observed will be most convincingly collapsed if any reminders of their separateness. The whole situation was more than a little paradoxical. as for so many others. suddenly he gets up. in style and in tone. novel reader) into the received (opéra-comique. In terms of the absorptive ideal.” the reader’s or observer’s assurance that a highly stylized way of reacting to the world was genuine. one joins in the conversation. are . retires into a corner and reads.”34 Reflection. Salon-goer. We not only read. the reader of Clarissa knows not where he walks.” Hieroglyphs in turn require further reflective unpacking and analysis (amply demonstrated by his narrative ellipses in the “Salons”) in order to attain their fullest meaning in dialogue with reason. tableaux become representations. influenced. which untangle themselves only with time and through habitual reflection on what is taking place within us. and he addresses the bitterest reproaches to all the Harlowe family [of Richardson’s Clarissa]. changed by them. he walks without knowing where he is going. the “descent into oneself. one becomes indignant.” serves the necessary function of grounding the received image in the viewer’s subjectivity. Boccherini violin sonata. Diderot called them “hieroglyphs. we imaginatively improvise their histories. I watch him: first I see tears flow. Greuze canvas.

often with the side-effect of creating a higher degree of illusion and a stronger emotional impact. and the amateur chamber music performer became available for sensible absorption by his listeners. immune to any awareness of being seen that might manifest as distraction or self-consciousness. The nature of his role was profoundly unclear. There is potential here—one might suspect a deliberate invitation—for a listener’s absorption to become an erotic one. not so in theatrical genres. they too absorbed in the act of performance. he appeared to be merely himself. the mutually sustained fiction that he was not interesting to watch. their refusal to acknowledge any sight-based relationship “eliminat[ing] the beholder from in front of the work. To those who would know the interior of another. the issue of who was performing what (and upon whom) in this equation could be evaded easily enough.”39 In viewing painting. In the following extract from Richardson’s Clarissa. that made him capable of delivering the most powerful emotional impact of all. experience: “It seems to me that those who want to infer a knowledge of souls from a consideration of faces invert the order of nature. resisted by his heroine. bosom heaving in a revealing white gown. it was the muted gestural palette of the saloniste at music. breathing images of theatrical tableaux operated under the same restriction. He was engaged in an activity that displayed his body in its most exquisite capacity for interactive responsiveness.41 There the performer entered into sensibilité with a few very close associates. but with even a few non-playing listeners in the room. in fact an anti-visual.38 Ideally. the whole experience then with a confident ostensibility being assigned to the service of morality. the living. Thus some accounts of sensibilité present it as an emphatically non-visual. nor separated from his listeners by a proscenium. They gaze anywhere but at the viewer. and despite her own delicious vacillations. Yet he was not costumed. but to hear him. as in reading fiction. and of her subsequent near-rape at his hands: . where seduction is always. or at least not there to be looked at. nor veiled by a fictional narrative. or in her poignant personification by Sophie Arnould. theatricalized. This finds echoes in the expertly borderline salaciousness of some of Richardson’s scenarios. in the end.40 And by this logic. Nature made the eyes to register bodies.82 gestures and tableaux suppressed. the hero/villain Lovelace gives a male confidant an account of his rescue of Clarissa from a house fire. the ears to examine souls. and without verbal mediation. what is most important is not to see him.”37 Visual art of the 1750s and 1760s increasingly emphasizes images of people who are intensely absorbed in their own actions and feelings. Boccherini’s published chamber music was chiefly intended to be played and enjoyed in salons. the equation was changed. which thoroughly and deliciously problematized the issue of whether one’s absorption was in the plight of the mythical Iphigenia. because they give the eyes an office which pertains principally to the ears.

“ would stop [before this painting] for a long time”. By the early nineteenth century. One response to the uneasiness of this situation appears in changing protocols for concert behavior. the players. true. her lips. sunk. and her streaming eyes. the Salon]. madam— Indeed you are! The worst of villains! Help! Dear blessed people! And screamed. once they have tuned their instruments. there are passages in incredible tones. This inevitable receptive conflation of the sensual with the sensuous is the place where sensibilité and virtuosity collide. in the silence of the grave. that reclining attitude. If I am a villain—And then my grasping.e. It is quite beautiful.”44 True and wise and deeply risqué. as it were. and reminds one of it. must refrain from those preludes so unpleasant to every sensitive ear.gestures and tableaux Wicked wretch! Insolent villain!—Yes. it teaches one to see nature. that voluptuous mixture of pain and pleasure. One must see the details of that swelling neck. however.. advice such as the following was becoming increasingly common: “The listeners must sit at some distance from the players. By 1809. her cheeks. her forehead. and not speak of them. and wise. “That half-open mouth. madam? Am I then a villain. she continuing kneeling at my feet. grand effect which such stillness and surprise call up so wonderfully.”45 This advice was offered by Johann Baptist Schaul in 1809 and directed specifically to listeners to Boccherini’s string quartets. and from the forehead onto the cheeks. Of the 1765 canvas La Mère bien-aimée (see figure 7). offering to raise her to my bounding heart. that swelling neck. no!—and yet you are!42 83 This vividly rendered speech is not set off by quotation marks. although so much in my power! And for what?—only for kissing (with passion indeed) her inimitable neck. and from the cheeks toward the throat. as I sat. Diderot was honest enough to acknowledge that men. Oh. further begging the question of where sensible absorption ends and prurience begins. he said. nowhere more . Diderot wrote with fascinated censure. or indeed whether they speak or merely think: boundaries of self are blurred. but trembling hand—I hope I did not hurt the tenderest and loveliest of all her beauties—If I am a villain. as this assemblage of beauties offered itself at once to my ravished sight. on the other hand. Some of Diderot’s accounts of Greuze walk this blurry line for pages at a stretch. both on and off the page. so that it is frequently unclear who is speaking.”43 Women might blush. they would. No help for a poor creature! Am I then a villain. she called me insolent villain. will make all virtuous women lower their gaze and blush in that place [i. be drawn and confused by the sheer painterly virtuosity: “On her forehead. say you? And clasped both my arms about her. so as not to weaken the beautiful. those swimming eyes. so that they cause neither distraction nor disturbance.

in which performing bodies were by no means erased. among which merits its embodied visibility is emphatically not counted. or narrative. and thus neatly channel the uneasy intimacy of chamber-music performance into references to theatrical conventions. . engraved by Jean Massard (père). 1765. Jean-Baptiste Greuze. Boccherini does seem at times to have walked that blurry erotic line painted by Albani and Greuze. inviting the non-playing listener to create in his or her mind’s eye that missing costume. such audience behavior was becoming a ritual enactment of a Kantian “disinterested contemplation. 1772. This erasure has become something quite different from the original absorptive maneuver. than in Germany and nowhere more fetishistically than around string quartets. Copyright The British Museum. but he also partook very ingeniously of a fund of sensible topoi developed in the theater. and inscribed by Diderot and Richardson. La Mère bien-aimée. but rather deliberately conflated with the observer’s own.84 gestures and tableaux Figure 7.” Schaul calls such listening “the capacity to value [music] according to its merits” (“um sie nach Verdienst zu schätzen”). proscenium.

From the audience’s point of view. & Tragedy. we discover a more serious vein in Boccherini’s work. Thomas Twining. its focus downward. more violent passions often entailed a static staging of tableau-like images. and are deeply alien to us now. through the tableau. but with a very charming old man underneath it. G. an association perceived by a number of contemporary connoisseurs. But tragedy? The incomprehension is not our fault. the affective impact of serious opera resided in a chain of discrete events. the arias. op. is much oftener charming than Boccherini. sensibilité. the perfect willingness to be decorative.gestures and tableaux 85 tragedy The most consistent theatrical reference in Boccherini’s music was to tragedy. its limbs contorted. perhaps. above all opera seria. we hear and respond to the charm. Yet when Boccherini is at his best. wrote in 1783. and Lady Macbeth’s somnambulistic hand-washing.”48 When Diderot wishes to convince us of the expressive power of gesture in general. there is a force of serious expression.”46 This is likely to surprise us now. he does so with a series of snapshot-like images drawn exclusively from tragedy: highly charged confrontations from Corneille. or vengefulness. in a word. . the sweetness. each one crafted to present a single character’s particular emotional or psychological state as vividly as possible. the expressive and formal conventions of which informed so much eighteenth-century musical reception. Twining meant the tradition of serious opera. that is not so much Haydn’s fort. 6. Seized by hatred. We can readily identify the galant in Boccherini.” we nevertheless recognize his estimation. a musical enthusiast and correspondent of Charles Burney. the theatrical genres that Twining refers to had all but disappeared by the time of Mendelssohn’s birth. jealousy. he is all earnestness. The way the reviewer conflates tragedy. no. is taken up by a French reviewer for its specifically tragic mode of expression. I think. “Haydn.47 With application. and visuality is absolutely typical of the time.” In order to feel the impact of something. nor Mendelssohn’s. one must “see” it. terror. and a mirror to Boccherini’s “unsmiling face. I think. “Portrayal of the stronger. I never see a smile upon Boccherini’s face. a pathos. the body became rooted. 294 (1775). Their impact chiefly came not through cumulation or the logic of narrative but.49 That eighteenth-century audiences heard/saw serious opera in Boccherini’s music is made explicit by the following passage. 20. the tableau had a specific relation to tragedy. While we might take exception to Felix Mendelssohn’s dismissiveness in describing a quintet by Boccherini as “a peruke. The sequence of these events and the material connecting them were of secondary or even negligible importance in performance. In spoken theater and in pantomime dance. in which a phrase from the Quintet in A Minor.

G. . Unjustly accused of treason and murder. They have the following exchange: . and not a violinist.86 gestures and tableaux A young man had just played the following phrase for the first time. dynamics. œ ˙ #œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ & ˙ œ œ œœœœ t œœœœ˙ The bow falls from his hands. Act 1. . Cambini takes the reader from the “meaningless and raucous noise” of uninflected execution. he pleads for consideration from his lover Mandane. ‘What! You know that I am innocent. Thus to its conventional melodic significations we can add timbral associations: the tune emerges from an unexpected quarter within the ensemble texture. no. Ariadne. the young man of the account is presumably a cellist. Giuseppe Cambini invoked operatic tableaux in his examples of how to play expressively. through the basics of expressive playing—appropriate fingerings and articulations. . its falling and retracing of a diminished seventh across its first three bars accomplished with no fewer than three sighing gestures: one rising in yearning. two falling in resignation. he has reason to believe she knows better than to condemn him. The voice and the character implied could be that. at the moment when she was abandoned upon the island of Naxos! Fontenelle would have said: Sonata. but she is not yet softened. in a voice made the more plangent and disturbing by being well out of its usual range. with the assurance born of a lifetime’s familiarity with the expressive conventions of serious opera. 159 (1761). 2. so that your bow becomes your tongue and your countenance. 1. you see me as unhappy! And you will not deign to console me!’”52 Cambini does not specify the source of his text. of Arbace in Metastasio’s Artaserse. electrify your arm with the fire of this thought . does not expect to be abandoned. her grief is fresh with wounded astonishment. for example. from one of the less well known and less often quoted of [Boccherini’s] quintets. as we might otherwise assume. Scene 14. what do you want of me? Haydn and Boccherini reply: We want a soul. In his violin method of circa 1803. Poco Adagio sostenuto &c 5 ˙ œ œ ˙ œ. Using the opening firstviolin line of Boccherini’s Quartet in C Minor.50 The line is elegantly mournful. quite possibly he invented it. . think that you wish to move me . it is played by the second cello.51 The unexpectedness is a perfect touch. Somewhat unusually. and finally imagery: “Above all. so that it tells me. and he cries out: Behold the first accent of Ariadne’s grief. op. and you have only wit: go write your epigrams and your calculations. after all.

”55 Nina demonstrates that when sensibilité .”54 Sensibilité is registered through the breath: something patently invisible. Other contemporary writers heard and saw the comédie-larmoyante in Boccherini’s music. In learning to exercise it. its terms are quite clearly defined. in allowing ourselves its license and its particular excess. Such an elaborate response to a single line of music may seem far-fetched. to the music of Paisiello and in the person of the actress and singer Celeste Coltellini (1760–1829). repetition. Nina (or her actress) performs absorption to the limit. we reclaim a central mode of reception for Boccherini’s music and for that of his contemporaries. losing her reason on stage and to music.” “gaps even inside words. italics). broken syntax. repetition. exclamation points. it is you who deceived me. For the reader of a text it is recreated by means of “interrupted phrases. disrupted rhythm.gestures and tableaux Arbace: Mandane: You are deceived— Then. and I loved you. She did so first in 1786. sentimentality found a kind of apotheosis there in the 1780s. to the music of Dalayrac and in the person of the dancer and romantic lead Louise-Rosalie Dugazon (1755–1821). dashes. in the character of Nina. indeed. worthless one!53 A: And you are— A: And you want— At this highly charged moment comes Arbace’s aria. Stefano Castelvecchi has explored Paisiello’s arsenal of compositional devices in this influential scene. But Cambini’s example presents evidence that this is exactly the kind of association that was made by Boccherini’s public. for you seemed faithful. or tear-choked issuance in the voice. communicated aurally by means of agitated reversals. “a fragmentary and incomplete quality. and Boccherini’s plangent phrase as the setting (see example 8). A: And you will not believe me? M: And I will not believe you. We can imagine Cambini’s lines (suitably transposed to his native Italian) as its text. Of all theatrical genres this was the most explicitly sentimental. treacherous one. chief among them are strategies of interruption and incompletion. I abhor you! Your enemy! Your death! That first affection— 87 A: And so now— M: M: M: A: M: Is all changed to disdain. typographical exuberance (ellipses. Thinking her lover lost to her. and then in 1789. It is not free-association.

its terminus. incomplete delivery that had come to be the sonic icon of Nina’s disastrous sensibilité (see example 9). as her feelings grow the more insupportable. of 1774. at the Opéra in 1813. It is known that the authors of these sorts of works readily made use of the most celebrated composers. Furthermore. and “pathos. opening bars of first-violin part to words from Cambini’s Nouvelle Méthode. it becomes actual derangement. tu mi ve . He first staged his pasticcio ballet.se . and while the most distinguished connoisseurs were vying with each other in congratulating the author of the ballet.ro! E non mi con . Yet she is not histrionic. Some of Boccherini’s palpitating. 1. 1. violinist. gasping. op. the less sonically demonstrative. and a disorder which painted admirably the state of the unfortunate Nina. In terms of the absorptive ideal. 18. the precursor to her madness.57 . G. Persuis had staged his charming ballet Nina in Vienna.88 gestures and tableaux Example 8. the work of a musician for whom you have but little regard. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œÆ œ J son in . Here. in the second section of this tempestuous piece comes a passage that evokes the fragmentary. b &bb c œ Che! œ tu nœ sai œ che Æ œ œ . with all coherence drowned in reactivity. String Quartet in C Minor. even a coherent melody was too much of a fiction. 2. “The piece which so justly excites your enthusiasm is. 159.di j Æ œ œ œ J J j Æ œ œ œ œ œœ œ Œ J J J mi . learning of the death of her lover. This beautiful conception was greeted with unanimous enthusiasm. borrowing from their works those pieces which they judged most appropriate to the situation they sought to render.so .li! is taken to its limit. fragmentary instrumental gestures would readily have recalled such images to a period listener. i (Allegro comodo). becoming the more disjointed. was expressed by the orchestra with a pathos. it is taken in its entirety from a quintet by Boccherini. ou La Folle pour amour. the scene in which Nina. and went on to revive it in Vienna. observer and observed will be most convincingly collapsed if any reminders of their separateness—such as performative self-consciousness or symbolic exaggeration—are suppressed. op. G. no. however. energy. abandons herself to somber despair. her music essentially implodes from its own heartfeltness. 17 [sic: within Picquot’s cataloging system] that had secured this triumph for the author of Nina. Louis-Luc Persuis (1769–1819). Nina.no -cen-te. Persuis said to them. provides us with a late example of this response. In Nina’s case. 283. an energy. composer.” And in fact it was the finale of the Quintet in C Minor of op. and disorder” describe it well. no.56 The piece Persuis used was the last movement of Boccherini’s Quintet in C Minor. and from 1817 briefly director of the Paris Opéra.

String Quintet in C Minor. G. 1 fp œ œ œ ? b b c œ ‰ J ‰ œ ‰ J ‰ J ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ J b J J J p œ œ ? b c œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ J ‰ J ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ j ‰ j ‰ bb J J J J J œ œ p b œ œ ‰ œ. 283. œ œ ‰ j n œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ # œ n œ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ j J J &b b œ J J J J #œ #œ 70 vc. . op. 2 œ b & b b ‰ œ nœ ‰ œ #œ œ B bbb ‰ œ œ œ ‰ #œ œ nœ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ n œj ‰ œj ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ n œj J J J œ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ J ‰ œ J j ‰ j ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œ œ j j j j œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ j j œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ J ‰ œ J œ ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ J j œ ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ (continued) ? b b œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ b ? b œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ bb 89 . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . 1 vn. 18. bars 67–75. œ ‰ J ‰ J ‰ œ œ œ ‰ J œ œ ‰ J ‰ J J œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ nœ ‰ œ œ #œ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ #œ œ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ p œ œ œ ‰ vc. vn.Example 9. no. . b &b b c œ p b &b b c œ f œ B bbb c 67 Allegro assai œ . . 2 vla. iv (Allegro assai). 1. .

and could thus theoretically have been available to Dalayrac and Paisello) but of a shared expressive terrain. The question here is not of direct influence (although the quintet had been published in Paris in 1775. we glimpse Enlightenment tensions between society and the individual being worked out as tensions between legibility and passion.” in the attempts to fix meaning—whether musical or verbal—that underlie the endless Querelles. Persuis used the forty-year-old quintet to set the dramatic moment they had made famous. But nowhere is passion epitomized more clearly than in “the dancing body in the relentlessness of its motion and the inevitability of its evanescence. In the mid-century debates about the theater and the meanings of “naturalness.”59 Choreographers in Boccherini’s day struggled to find new methods for articulating human passion within the beautiful but formidable abstractions of . the reform body All of these modes of representation and reception hark back. with varying degrees of conflict. a topos. about twenty-five years after them. (continued) b œ œ #œ nœ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ j J & b b nœ œ ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J J #œ œ Œ 73 j j j j b j œ & b b ‰ œ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ nœ ‰ œ ‰ J ‰ œ ‰ nœ œ Œ B bbb ‰ œ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ J J ? b j ‰ œj ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ bb œ J J ? bb j œ b œj ‰ œ ‰ J ‰ œ ‰ J j ‰ œj ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ œ Œ J J œ ‰ œj ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ J œ Œ J J œ ‰ œj ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ Œ J œ J J Boccherini’s quintet predated Dalayrac’s setting of Nina by twelve years and Paisiello’s by fifteen. the “desire to have the physical face of the world converted into signs. and. a topos shared freely between the domains of theatrical and chamber music.”58 which had long set the French (and so in large part the European) critical standard for any account of human nature in any medium.90 gestures and tableaux Example 9. most importantly. to that deeply ingrained insistence on legibility.

. but for the everyday bodily experience of a great many people—certainly every class of person involved in either the production or the reception of music such as Boccherini’s. encased in armatures to ensure and to emphasize this posture. harmonic. Hogarth. He enlarges. he corrects forms. That neither the proper number of musical events nor their proper affectual correspondences could ever be clearly stated. made of them models for the watching individuals’ very experience of being embodied within the ambitus of the passions. The sight of dancing bodies trained toward articulating certain movements inscribed those movements as ideals. we might suggest to Diderot that it is not only the “great artist” who communicates those frameworks). as Noverre put it. so there were a certain number of possible melodic. or at least know the times (temps). motion had taken place around this core. and rhythmic events. he exaggerates. post-Revolutionary republicans that we have since become. . . and every effort was made to fix their significations in advance. “line” meant ink on paper. and in the context of our discussion of instrumental music their remarks are worth quoting at length. As there were five stances and seven movements. characters. Period writers on esthetics took it almost for granted that this architecture of the visible structured the experience of the audible as well: in the persistent synesthetic semi-logic that informs Batteux. . Although he wrote relatively little for the stage. adorning it with carefully codified gestural traceries without ever altering its unity and dignity. and their ilk.” 60 Boccherini is a very particular case of this. was of course the rock of difference from other media on which Enlightenment music theory was eventually to wreck . as visibly expressed through the belle danse. “The eye of the people conforms to the eye of the great artist. . Westerners experience self within the representational frameworks of what is seen (though. his was a terpsichorean family. as they could for ballet or painting. and . As Diderot puts it. It is my further thesis here that this visual-kinesthetic matrix of experience was borne out in the acts of hearing and interpreting music.” 61 To a very great degree. . Sulzer. exaggeration makes the resemblance complete. It is the figure which he has painted that will remain in the memory of people to come. . had been above all erect. Both were articulate and eloquent writers. . and almost no dance music per se. since. for him. An ideal early eighteenth-century body. and passions. and his sister danced as a partner of none other than Angiolini himself. Kinesthetic experience of selfhood is indelibly affected by sight.gestures and tableaux 91 the belle danse that they had inherited from the preceding century. as it meant hand and arm through space. The ideal body types and movement types described by Angiolini and Noverre speak not only for the theater. “A composer of music should understand dancing. and the possibility of introducing such motions as are suitable to the different styles. as it meant melody through aural memory. this was the project of the reform ballet of Angiolini and his contemporary JeanGeorges Noverre.

and can even make us laugh sometimes. it presents pastoral. this style can move hearts in the same manner as a happy dénouement at the opera.92 gestures and tableaux itself. actions quite beautiful and true. with what he calls the grotesque style: “These buffoons proceed entirely by leaps and bounds. by artistically turning into grimaces the facial contractions made necessary by their efforts. It is here that the arms (if I may be permitted that expression) begin to enter into dance. Angiolini’s discussion begins at the antipodes of expressivity. they sacrifice it willingly to their perilous leaps. subjects such as (he tells us) the Opéra furnishes to choreographers. shepherds. and . Yet whatever its theoretical contradictions.” he was not contradicting his own earlier emphasis on the expressive truth of the tragic tableau so much as praising the liveliness of comic works. properly and delicately presented.”63 Angiolini compares the creators and dancers of such ballets with the authors and actors of farces. Corsetry and tonnelets were being abandoned. an action another. . Anacreontic. and grace. . attitudes are false and small. as they see their fellow creatures risk their lives at every instant. or the reading of a novel: “It requires of those who execute it precision. and usually out of time. Like the grotesque style. . there can be no doubt as to the hegemony of this general style of reception. It excites in the spectators only astonishment mixed with fear. . Angiolini provides his own classification of contemporary theatrical dance. if skillful. comic. equilibrium. in which four basic styles are identified in order to praise a fifth. softness. These dances and their dancers present an athletic rather than a poetic embodiment. and exotic national dances. The comic dancers’ agility makes it clear that the kind of dramatic truth that could properly be located in stillness or in motion was a matter of genre—that is. can make us admire strength joined with precision and lightness. He also informs us that. Angiolini’s comic treats of villagers. He credits it for its virtuosity. These comic dancers. but its execution is quite different: “As to [comic] dancers. or Roman subjects.64 The third style Angiolini calls the demi-caractère. whether the medium involved was intended as tragic. but to this he firmly links a paucity of signification. which he exhorted dancers to cultivate and to render visible. lightness. they do not permit themselves the tours de force employed by the grotesques. Thus when Diderot asserted that “an attitude is one thing. and dutifully reminds us that Molière himself wrote in this style. in which elaborate classification and compartmentalization served an unquestioned core of experience. . or pastoral. the new flexibility signaled permeability.”62 Angiolini also likens this style of execution and choreography to the commedia dell’arte. . a susceptibility to emotions. the pantomime style that he was instrumental in developing (and that was at its heart a rejection of the classification of experience).

the most elegant. and terror speak within us.67 Thus these dancers were responsible not only for mastery of positions and steps and styles. as we have said.e. be able to express all the passions. and that is not all: the art of gesture brought to a supreme degree must accompany the majesty. the grotesque and the comic] they count for nothing. shuddering. a tragedy of the most grimly unremitting kind. sighing. pity. its dancers had to be “strongly affected. But pantomime dance that dares to rise to the representation of the great tragic events is without doubt the most sublime. substantive. He must be strongly affected by everything he would represent. the key physical condition of sensibilité.” However. in seeking to convey the affective impact of his paintings he repeats and dwells lovingly on the very term. and moelleux also means pithy.. is mentioned. but for communicating passions to the observer. who tells us that “Less attention should be given to the legs. emotional communication is something done with the upper half of the body. Everything the belle danse asks of a Duprés and a Vestris. The fourth category is the august danse noble or belle danse. And yet this tragedy had not the stern stiffness of execution of its French classical model.gestures and tableaux 93 they must be supple and graceful. must indeed experience it. moelle is also marrow. on account of the custom of masking the dancers. and act effectively: the spectators’ “pity and terror” is a clear reference to classical tragedy. . This entire discourse on movement styles appears in Angiolini’s preface to his and Gluck’s pantomime treatment of Voltaire’s Sémiramis. for which this highest and most difficult kind of dance was reserved. and must make the spectators feel those internal tremblings that are the language with which horror. he also criticizes this style as having expressed little to spectators. save perhaps a certain generalized voluptuousness. and all the movements of the soul. and more care bestowed on the arms. Angiolini acknowledges this as “the most beautiful. Angiolini delivers his culminating praises of pantomime style by reference to the works of his colleague and competitor Noverre. and delicacy of the belle danse —and even that does not suffice: the pantomime dancer must.”65 This is the first style for which “softness. The emphasis on the arms is echoed by Noverre. whether of discourse or of wine. lingering. and bursting into tears. [pantomime dance] demands of its dancers.” Le moelleux had become the key. the heart of the bone. In the first two genres [i.” “le moèleux” [sic]. elegance. The chief sense in which writers of this period use the word is “softness”. and that bring us to the point of growing pale. cabrioles should give way to expressive gestures. Diderot’s favorite exemplar of le moelleux is usually Greuze. It had to be heartfelt. and also the most difficult. With characteristic fair-mindedness. Dancers must also act.”66 This befits a style that is concerned with touching hearts.

the juxtaposition of light and shade.”70 As classification of experience was rejected. positions. Diderot called this ideal “conspiration”: “It is not in school that one learns the general conspiration of movements. penetrated by its own slightest tendency. One is chiaroscuro. stiff. conspiration felt. penetrable. the “actions. and explicitly. and we might point to several particular traits in this regard. . and the facial contortions resulting from such efforts—is the precise degree of removal from expressivity. comic and tragic.94 gestures and tableaux a light. .69 In Angiolini’s text. Boccherini’s ability to call up tragedy for his listeners without benefit of staged action suggests that he well understood Gluck’s musical-dramatic techniques. the truest transparencies68 This is moelleux of a velvety. all her limbs respond to that weight. conspirational ideal. A mid-century reform body was ideal to the very extent that it felt and instantly conveyed transparency—or. using the latter’s Don Juan of 1761 (see chapter 2). . fleshly] inflection in all her figure and in all her members. recommended by Angiolini as a “pass[ing] instantaneously from white to black. and thus of the listening ear. and false. Boccherini also shared Gluck’s genius for refining the . If a woman lets her head fall forward. it is the blood beneath that skin. cold figures” of the belle danse. the susceptibility of that flesh to emotion. and an infinite softness . penetrability. truth of flesh. extending and coiling from the head to the feet. We have seen that Boccherini went so far as to borrow from Gluck on one occasion. Such “true” flesh in its ideal presentation was often female. if she lifts it and holds it upright. radically redefining the “actions and positions” of musical motion in the process. making themselves penetrable. but it is also. meaty sort—the delicate drag of napped fabric against the skin of the caressing finger. and taking pride and pleasure in so doing. it is the finest half-tints. who developed vivid sonic analogies to this new. Movements were not visibly articulated nor isolated from one another. the resistant yielding of the breast to the palm of a pressing hand. Another feature of the reform body was its integrality. seen. . soft [full.71 Angiolini’s genius found its match in that of Gluck. it is flesh. ridiculous. the same response from the rest of the machine. but a remarkable feature of this period in the history of embodiment is the degree to which men sought to conform themselves to this ideal. so that the whole of the organism appeared affected. the degree of physical hardness—the muscular strength required to leap in the grotesque style or perform quick. up to and including the intense emotion of tragedy. mechanically repeated intricate movements in the comic. so was classification of movement. which fills her with grace and truth .”72 This is at times rendered instrumentally by Boccherini as drastic contrasts of tender and violent. to use another word favored by writers of this period.

Instead. his skill demonstrates the truth of Angiolini’s perceptive remarks on instrumentation: “In order to awaken terror. [Here is the language of the poet. . Rather. The “Ariadne” opening to the A-minor quintet cited above. shuddering. when it is the result of feeling.”73 Boccherini had an unerring instinct for the expressive qualities of instrumental tessitura in assigning a melody. and not the note.gestures and tableaux 95 nuances of gravitas through tone color. sighing. human: “We and the painters must make [our characters] recognizable. that produces the effect: the melody.]—Just so the Ballet-master must rehearse over again a scene. . and bursting into tears” merely at their timbre (CD track 17). movement styles became more and more personalized. everyone knows the indifference of spectators to unknown personages. till the performers have reached that degree of natural expression common to all men. ideal form. As pantomime dance became more popular and sensible reception took firmer hold of public response. By the 1770s and 1780s. . but in this third you do not act with sufficient spirit. but more to give advice than to lay down precepts. or courage. it is in vain that one uses flutes. .”75 This increasing individuality was also reflected in changes in the process by which professional dancers learned a ballet. they will observe. It is the instrument. is a striking example. and the various motives must contribute to it. and implicitly rely on the actors[’] discernment. and which displays itself with equal truth and energy. A skilful Ballet-master must act in this case as some poets do . the crucial art of doubling and voicing. above all.”74 Only when a performer demonstrates human commonality with the viewer is the absorptive maneuver possible. erratically fruitful working environment that must have resulted from this extraordinary eighteenthcentury adumbration of method acting. but without the correct and varied application of the instruments one cannot hope to attain a particular effect. cellos. where the second cello sings in an alien and troubled alto register. Such a scene. We are reduced to guessing how such . violins. He also had a matchless skill in matters of sonority. so that its object is not fully answered. They assist at those rehearsals it is true. “dancers’ performances were no longer compared to a single. Angiolini stresses that the characters in a pantomime should be. and humanity was increasingly understood to reside in the irreducible peculiarity of the individual. some passages have such evocative power on this basis alone that one can imagine “growing pale. is weakly expressed: in this other you are perfectly at home. exciting. dancers were perceived as initiating their own styles. Rehearsals were reconceived to foster dramatic engagement: Noverre went so far as to advocate that dancers should not have their actions taught to them mechanically by the ballet master.76 One can only imagine the chaotic. the modulation. .

and decorative display would scarcely retain an audience. even as it offered increasingly refined opportunities for absorptive identification with the performer. We call these subtle movements gesture. It simultaneously encouraged spectators to practice their own. that person. But it is important to recognize that such radical practices took place in a context where the stories being staged were taken from the familiar pastures of mythology or classical drama. This. Early in the century the Borbón dynasty had introduced the belle danse to Spain. This natural representation cannot consist in anything but various. is a character or person only insofar as he performs himself physically. subtle. regularity and stereotype may very well be essential. Indeed that character. . . a genre fully as regular as a classical ballet. and delicate movements which the different dispositions of the soul cause in the body. as in France. regularity even in irregularity. by mid-century. especially the face. Then as now. together with the practice of publishing written accounts of the action to be staged. highly controlled versions of penetrability by identifying with the archetypal characters. frame. As Noverre puts it. in actual practice these choreographers and their contemporaries never rejected the older gestural values outright. and as stereotypical as any myth. “I will have . we glimpse here the possibility that the whole concept of “rehearsal” as we now understand it has changed beyond all recognition. but to a “reform listener. skill for its own sake. As Noverre tells us. who adumbrates postmodernism by two centuries and makes the radical argument that identity does not reside in physiognomy: “The lineaments of the body or of the face do not naturally signify the dispositions of the soul. . but the stakes were quite different. . These were substantially the same as the French preoccupations. a ballet that did not engage in some symmetry. and above all the eyes. seeking their own human commonalities with even the dreadful Don Juan or Sémiramis. where it developed into a repertory of courtly dances known as danzas. For all the eloquence expended by Angiolini and Noverre in the service of dramatic progress and bodily reconfiguration. according to Feijóo.” they are essential chiefly as vessel.”78 spanish dance and gesture Feijóo wrote against the background of Spanish preoccupations with performance and human nature.96 gestures and tableaux an approach might have translated into professional music-making. . the artifice of this gestural repertory was beginning to suggest a fa- . . . . parergon to the vital business of giving an account of the sentiments and the character of the person performing it.”77 One can infer along these lines how the same audiences might have shaped their way of listening to a sonata. reduced the choreographers’ and dancers’ burden of legibility.

doesn’t merit the least applause. Heartfeltness. were practiced in increasingly self-conscious tension with the danzas over the course of the eighteenth century. but if you knew them as sensibilité. Emblematic of this resistiveness was the practice of the bien-parado. you were an afrancesado and by definition divided against your own people. penetrability—all had their place in Spanish society. giving Spanish contributions to later-century theories about the performing arts a peculiarly nationalistic flavor. bailes. the focal point of late eighteenth-century “Spanishness” and the opposite number of afrancesismo. or to authority in general. the body reveals even the smallest movements of the face with tranquility and restfulness. even at the end of sections or phrases—the dancers froze. Angiolini would have appreciated these dancers’ physical control. The second half of the century was witness to an extraordinary process whereby features both gestural and musical of many earlier bailes were combined. clarity. and the tirana. which gave them not only the aerial dexterity of . But it also inevitably represented foreignness. The indigenous or “low” dances. sir: the best dancer who doesn’t know how to stop himself at his moment (a su tiempo). and to the beat. softness. slowing the beat down as the decorative gestures multiplied. the jota. or “wellstopped. holding elegant and artful poses. holding itself immobile. It is not difficult to read into this deliberately maintained tension a picture of the majo’s proud refusal to attain or submit—whether to the next strong beat. Serenity in difficult steps and moods is the first thing which must be observed in this dance. with grace.81 Not everyone can do those diverting bien-parados in which. human commonality. competing for cries of “Bien parado!” from the onlookers. by performers and theorists alike. though he execute wonders. but increasingly complex.gestures and tableaux 97 tal inauthenticity. In the bien-parado is combined almost all the science of the bolerological art.82 This was a virtuoso tradition. a stately triple meter is so subdivided that it poises tensely on the edge of disintegration into a series of smaller gestures (see example 10). of which Boccherini’s may serve as a good example. is palpable—in fact by some accounts it is defined—in the evolution of the seguidillas into the bolero. became extraordinarily successful in representing (and inevitably reducing) the Spanish national character in the ensuing centuries. In late-stage. To know them as inherently Spanish qualities was to participate in an active construction of embodied “tradition” that marks this period. into a scant handful of signature dances: the fandango. Majismo. “bolerified” seguidillas. absorptive strategies.” At the end of a dance—in some accounts. Yes. showy choreography worked against musical momentum.80 Seguidillas were originally in a rather fast triple meter.79 These few bailes. the seguidillas (with its descendant the bolero). together with the highly professionalized flamenco practices consolidated around the same time.

3 B4 œ œ Minuetto a modo de sighidiglia spagnola œ œ . sempre p 3 &4 ‰ œ œ œ . op. ‰ œ œ œ œ #œ J œ œ œ œ . sempre p 3 ?4 œ œ œ 4 œ œ œ œ œ. ii (Minuetto a modo di sighidiglia spagnola). . 374. 98 . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ vla. . . œ Œ œœœœ J 3 œ ˙.Example 10. œœœœ J 3 & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B œ œ œ œ œ œ & ˙ ? œ j ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . . œœœœ 3 œœœœ 3 ˙. . . String Quintet in C Major. bars 1–13. #œ ‰ œ œ œ œ . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. 2 3 &4 ‰ œ œ œ œ œ . . . . œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ 3 . . . no. 2 3 &4 ‰ œ œ œ . 1 vc. vn. 50. 5. G. œ J œ œœœ 3 & ˙ j ‰ œ . œ œ . vc. 1 vn.

& œœ œ œ œ œ Œ Œ œ œ Œ Œ 1. œ œ œ bœ œ Œ œ Œ œ Œ bœ Œ œ b˙ Œ œ bœ œ œ œ #œ Œ œ Œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ œ Œ 99 .. 11 œ œ & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ B œ & Œ ? ˙ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ j œ j œ. .Example 10... (continued) 7 . & œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ 2. . œ ‰Jœ œ J ˙ œ œ œ œ œ Œ j œœœœ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœœœ Œ Œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B œ œ œ œ #œ œ . .. & œ œ œ œ œ.. . ? œ Œ ˙ œ Œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ .

539. at a level of detail that makes his fascination clear. 30. Considerable psychological tension builds up over this subversion of the most basic relationship of tonality. and helplessly seek resolution on la. the reluctance to attain or submit. how she is pursued. sections of the dance alternated between major-mode tonality and the modal cadencia andaluza. Dancerly virtuosity was less important than in the bolero. The characteristic harmonic profile of the fandango reenacted this deferral. how the different emotions which they feel are expressed by their looks. revives all at once to escape her pursuer. with a blush. religious processions. not even with their hands. what our military engagements are in time of peace to the true display of the art of war. A set of villancicos (short unstaged dramas for performance during the Christmas season). The final of the cadencia is on mi. and their attitudes—you cannot help observing. Frenchmen in Spain tended to find this even more overt than in France.84 For all that his essays in these dance types are wonderfully characteristic. at the moment when her languor indicates a near defeat. he made one excursion into a mimetic representation of Spanishness. these “freezes” made bodies legible. 540. by turns retreating to a distance. Bourgoing provides eroticized accounts of several Spanish dances. has been tentatively dated to 1783 by Gérard. blind beggars. their gestures. Traditionally. majismo tension played out rather through a dramatic fiction of infinite deferral and restraint. the Quintet in C Major. and in her turn pursues him. His single zarzuela. 324. and advancing closely again. but such resolution is not to be. who never touch one another. It will even be encouraged to do so by the tonal sections of the dance. which served the same basic purpose as the tableau vivant: however briefly. bienparados seem to have served quite unambiguously to mark and heighten the dance’s erotic progress. no. Boccherini wrote but the one fandango. manolos (another kind of majo). G. that these scenes are to the engagements of Cytherea. but to see them provoke one another. and the one seguidillas I have presented . to see how the woman. The fandango resembled the seguidillas in tempo (quick to moderate) and meter (triple). based on the descending tetrachord la–sol–fa–mi. Spanish tendencies were much the same as French. 6. but the physical aplomb to suspend motion abruptly and yet expressively. Boccherini composed very few works in specifically Spanish styles.100 gestures and tableaux his comic dancers. In the arena of instrumental music. He would also have recognized the dramatic effectiveness of the bien-parado. La Clementina. and a military regiment’s advance and retreat. As for what was read into that legibility. was written in 1786 at the request of the Condesa-Duquesa de Benavente-Osuna. repeated over and over and over again. G. op.83 Again. A tonal ear will hear this as a dominant. The fandango is danced by only two people. of 1780. which is entitled La musica notturna delle strade di Madrid and which contains depictions of Madrid street life: church bells. G. As far as bailes go.

profitable. which might plausibly be heard as an extension of the basic idea of the cadencia andaluza —or. For over half of his life. just as he had done with the signal features of Viennese or Parisian style.”85 One might assume from this that. By means of or- . he incorporated these matters into his music on many levels beside that of the mimetic or self-conscious. Boccherini was. where imported and indigenous linguistic cultures begin to develop a common new vocabulary. equally plausibly. At their most truly enlightened. I wish to reiterate. In a letter of 10 July 1797. or we may focus on the connections that arose. 30 you will find one that bears the title Night music of the streets of Madrid. Boccherini expressed reservations to Pleyel about publishing La musica notturna: “Among the quintettini of op. It is simplistic to assume that he remained an outsider to Spanish music all his life. Such a focus is perhaps more difficult. the title of the seguidillas is incorrigibly Italian: Minuetto a modo di sighidiglia spagnola. This piece is totally useless. matters of display and restraint. to do so is to locate that musical culture exclusively in its more highly marked indigenous practices. or beautiful.) Each is exemplary of a style. confident that their adoption into Spanish culture was in itself enough to eventually ensure Spanishness even as it redefined it. At a subtle level—a level. “spaghetti” and “mutton. (And as in the case of the Musica notturna. for all that he could write a rousing fandango.gestures and tableaux 101 here. that has little to do with the posturings of a nationalistic musical jargon—“Spanish” traits can be found in most features of Boccherini’s compositional style. and even ridiculous outside Spain. but certainly more interesting. he does not seem to have had much confidence in explicitly Spanish music on an international market. the transitory. a Spaniard. but it cannot be argued that these pieces represent the composer in any central way. frivolity and gravity. His “pidgin” might include his affection for seemingly endless “vamping” on dominant harmonies. Yet I doubt that Boccherini was alienated. stance.” Rather. Boccherini was somewhat alienated from the musical culture of the country in which he lived for over half his life. Listeners will never be able to understand its meaning. We in turn may focus on the divisions so created. as an extension of the yearning implicit in sensibilité. Indeed. to fall into the trap of equating authenticity with folk music: the very trap which the advocates of majismo and flamenco were energetically digging for themselves. I doubt very much that he was resistant to the Spanishness that manifested in the small and telling matters of daily embodiment: gesture. to all intents and purposes. The latter tend to the interstitial. any more than the executants will be capable of playing it as it should be played. the thinkers and the artists of the Ilustración—among whom I would count Boccherini—avoided this trap by freely importing and developing influences from outside the Iberian peninsula that seemed beneficial. the un-institutionalized: they resemble the development of a pidgin.

or an elusive Protean changeability. we do well to assume our nearly constant role as portals into visualistic fantasies on the part of our audience. radically. certain of his complications of the ideals of legibility and transparency. Perhaps most globally. the nightingale from an ornamental cello solo. we will inevitably encounter problems in this venture. who wrote volubly and brilliantly about the experience. soft above all. in this guise. Depending on the kinetic tradition we wish to invoke. As performers in search of richer understandings of this repertory. and he blames its inappropriate charm on the fact that the painter’s wife. but there is also the tragic aria. what do you want of me? Throughout this chapter I have been at pains to suggest that as listeners we join our eighteenth-century counterparts in “reading” apparently sonic events for imagistic or tactile associations. Dance types are the most obvious example of this. he interprets and reinterprets the play with restraint and momentum that characterizes the bailes. and periodicity. his persistent executional preoccupation with the particularities of fleshly experience would have been understood by any Spaniard of the day as a Spanish preoccupation. frighteningly flexible and permeable. and. and expressive in direct proportion to our softness. In his 1767 “Salon” Diderot gives extended consideration to a portrait of himself by Louis-Michel Van Loo. Madame Van Loo. harmonic rhythm. be prepared to offer ourselves as (always carefully unacknowledged) erotic objects. Diderot is unhappy with the likeness for several reasons.102 gestures and tableaux namentation. and as I will suggest in coming chapters. have a peculiarly Spanish cast to them. the memory of velvety skin called up by a diminishedseventh sonority.86 He avers that the portrait would have had an entirely different tone. engaged Diderot in raillery while he sat for it. or of vested interest. We know we will encounter them because this is what happened to our eighteenth-century predecessors. one more characteristic of “le . Ultimately. the nationality we assign to such traits becomes a matter of preference. or the intermittent legibility of freeze-frames. His skill with the tableau could as well be called a skill with the bien-parado. we might comport ourselves as expressive gestures around a stable core. Depending on the tradition of appearance being referenced in the piece of music at hand. He says his own children would not recognize the “old coquette” it portrays. Yet whether we are performers or listener-observers. we might further experiment with configuring and understanding our own performing bodies in a range of new ways. or as operating on a continuum from regal/stately to athletic/grotesque. as well as his cultivation of a particular vein of satiric melancholy. we might assume our own continual legibility. instrumentalist. or as newly.

tender. Icons of unreadability. impassioned. better yet. then in some measure their truth will be in their invisibility. so thoroughly conflating how he looks with the ever-changing flow of how he feels himself to be.87 This would seem to be an invocation of the tragic. too tableaulike: “I had in one day a hundred diverse physiognomies. the particular affect of Van Loo’s portrait is not only wrong. ingrato. is interpretable only through a tension between appearances and an interiority not ultimately accessible to display. . and if these arise from the recesses of the individual soul. In many cases—most cases. sung Non ha ragione. or. according to what was affecting me. for it must be admitted that. the eye of the painter will not find me the same from one moment to the next.gestures and tableaux 103 philosophe sensible. enthusiastic. for all the visual imagination that the performer or his audience brings to the performance. they gestured tantalizingly on the edge of the abyss of the unfathomably subjective. In the consummately . that crown jewel of sensible Enlightenment. Consequently. and signals nothing at all except what it actually is: the physical movements necessary for making certain sounds on the apparatus at hand. sad. violent. The challenge had been implicit from the beginning in the cultivation of sentiment in the arts: if the truest and most interesting meanings are those of individual human passions. .”88 “Much more difficult” scarcely describes the impossible charge Diderot has assigned to the painter here. He has taken the absorptive maneuver so far. it is too fixed. I was serene. that his own body has receded into unpaintability. Un core abbandonato “or some other piece of the same genre”—that genre being Metastasian opera seria. his task becomes much more difficult than he thinks.” had she gone to her clavecin and preluded for him. one of the most urgent matters represented on stages public and private by Boccherini and his colleagues was their challenge to the very idea of being legible. Individual selfhood. dreamy. not every movement an instrumentalist makes is legible. But for Diderot. its stark tableaux eliciting a truer image of selfhood. truth be told—what the string player does makes no sense as pantomime. This tension has a particular application to instrumental music. The impressions of my soul succeeding one another very rapidly and all painting themselves on my face. arising from the ultimate indistinguishability of such descriptions from fiction. Feijóo and many others acknowledged this. . Norman Bryson has chronicled Diderot’s progress from the overflowing descriptive enthusiasm of the early “Salons”—surely some of the greatest flights of visualistic language ever produced—to a profound disillusionment later in life. but its implications are most poignantly demonstrated by the course of Diderot’s career as a critic of the visual arts.

irresponsible. and all at once. the tangles redouble themselves.90 We recognize this as the problem of performance as it relates to text. The paintbrush takes time to execute that which the eye of the painter embraces all at once. Yet an actual instrumentalist has never had the luxury to be immobilized by insoluble dilemmas. as does its expression. Boccherini’s career is particularly interesting for the course he took.89 As early as 1751. the spirit does not go by measured steps. our explanation of it. the total and instantaneous sensation of that state. to explicate it. but it exists whole. and for the philosophical issues that swirl in his wake. another. Diderot had adumbrated this crisis in a famous and elegant lament. Issues of text and performance. authority and permeability.104 gestures and tableaux brilliant and earnest pursuit of transparency. Our soul is a moving picture. accurate description is mandatory for anyone who is serious about making sense of the experience of art. he chooses a course of action and follows it. opacity had been produced. we spend a good deal of time in rendering it faithfully. whether to ourselves or to others. and yet musicology’s modest pretensions to science involve an unavoidable obligation to this very thing. and the limits of the legible are most interestingly demonstrated in his relation to his own virtuoso status as a performer. as he encountered it in the realm of the descriptive. . In instrumental music. another. Where does textual authority end? Where does performance become excessive. whose visible realization is forever half-formed. another. after which we paint ceaselessly. The state of our soul is one thing. as it was for Noverre. “libertine”? Even Diderot’s voluble genius ultimately foundered on the problem of the nature and extent permissible to performance. to come to understand it. the successive and detailed attention we are forced to give it in order to analyze it. As it was for Diderot.

” circa 1770 The first movement of the Cello Sonata in C Major. by the fact of its retiringness (downward reading as inward). One soon learns to look for such fingerings. Virtuality. each arguing for and supporting the other. intimate rather than demonstrative in timbre. 17. the whole melody through bar 4 lies nicely under the hand. or even an entire section of a piece. has long been a favorite of mine on account of its opening phrase (see example 11.Chapter 4 Virtuosity. It reappears in the tonic in bar 27. CD track 18). The graceful decorativeness marks it immediately as galant. if they are not always the only possible solution to a passage. physical convenience and sensibilité entangle themselves. and frequently the most interesting as well. G. Virtue Would you not state categorically that true sensitivity and performed sensitivity are two very different things? denis diderot. as the overall trajectory of the phrase descends over two bars. early in the second 105 . It can be conveniently executed with the left thumb set across the fifth C–G. This fingering makes most of it sound on the lower strings of the instrument. Two descending sextuplet groups outline an elegant. As noted in chapter 1. they are almost always the most mechanically logical. it emerges as sensible too. several periods. from there. and incorporates sensibilité all over again by making the restingplaces on every first and third beat increasingly throaty and soft. In this example. Boccherini is fond of passagework that organizes itself in this way around a single positioning of the left thumb to encompass a phrase. He uses it in bar 5 to affirm the modulation to the dominant (CD track 19). tender gesture of descent. and again in bar 16 to initiate the closing gestures of the first half of the movement. for it recurs much more often within this movement than is usual in such pieces. “Paradoxe sur le comédien. Boccherini himself seems to have been exceptionally fond of his opening idea. because they are so often to be found.

17. an octave lower than written.Example 11. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œj œ . œ œ œ Bcœ ?c ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ Moderato œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ . Cello Sonata in C Major. i (Moderato). œ œ B œ . 1 vc. G. œ œ œœ œ œ œ .œ œ œ œ œ œœ J œ B œ œ œ œ# œ œœ œ œ œ p ? ˙ œ œ ‰ œ #œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ#œ œ œœœ œ p œ œ #œ ‰ j œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ ‰ ‰ œ #œ œ Bœ rf 10 œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ ?‰ j œ œ ‰ œ œ j œ œ ‰ œ J 12 œœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ n œ ? œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œn œ œ œ œ ? B œœ# œœœ œ œB ?‰ 1 j œ œ ‰ œj œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ Presumably the lowest pitch here should be an open C — that is.. 106 . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ j œ œjœ œ . œ #œ œ œ œ œœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œj B œœœ œœœ œ œ #œ œ œœ #œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œJ ?œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ˙ ˙ œ œ rf œ œœ œ œ Œ 7 œ œœ œ œ œ œ B œ œ œ . œ œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙ basso œ œ œœ ˙ 4 œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ .

Example 11. (continued)

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Example 11. (continued)

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œ nœ bœ œ œ œ œ ’ ~~~ œ œ ˙

B

œ œ œ œ ( b) œ # œ œ œ n œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ? œ œ nœ œ œ . bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ

108

Example 11. (continued)

b b œ œœœœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . B b œœ
36

6

œœ

œ

œœœœœœœœœœœœœœœœœœœœœ
6

? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bb b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . œ œ B
38

6

œ œ œœ œœ œœ œ œ œœ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ œœ œœ ;œ ;œ n œ œ bœ œ œ . . . . . . . . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

? bb œ b
40

œ

œ œ ‰ J œ œbœœœ œ

b b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ;œ ;œ nœ œ b œ œ B b œ œ œ œ ? bb œ b bb b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B
41

œ

. œ

. œ

. œ

. œ

. œ

. œ

. œ

. œ

; œ œ; œ n œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ; œ ;œ n œ œ b œ œ
œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

? bb œ b
42

œ

œ

œ

bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B b œœ œœ ? bb œ b 4 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ
QQ Q

œbœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 4 ≈ œ œ œnœ ≈ œ œ œbœ
(continued)

œ

Presumably:

109

Example 11. (continued)

œ b b œœ œ œ œ œ n œ œœ # œ B b
44

bœ j œ œ n œ œ œœ œ n œ œ œ # œ

U œ œœ nœ œ œœ nœ. œœ U œ

B

nnn nnn

? bb ≈ œ œ œ # œ b
47 Bœ œ œ

œœ œ œ n œ œ œ n œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ n œ œ œ# œ œ œœ

œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ

?‰

j œ œ

œ

œ œ

‰ œj œ

49 B œ œœ œœœ œœ œ œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ œ œ œ

œ œ œœ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ . œ œœœœœ œ œ ‰ j œ œ œ œ ‰

?‰

j œ œ

œ

œ œ

œ

51 B œ œ œ œ œœ6œ œœ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ ? œ B œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ ?

?œ œ

œ œ

œ œ

Œ

œ œ

œ œ

œ œ œ œœœœœœ œ. #œ œ

Œ œœœœœ

53 ? œ B œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œB œ œ œ œ . œ

?œ œ

œ œ

œ œ

j œ

œ

œ œ

110

virtuosity, virtuality, virtue Example 11. (continued)

111

K K K r r r œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B
55

?œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ U œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œœœœœœœœ œœœ œœœ œœœ œœœ œœœ œœœ B
57

Œ Ó

œ œ.

œ

. . . . . . . . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

U ˙

59 œœ œ œœœ j ? œ. œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ B # œ œ œ .# œ œ .œ œ . œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œœ B œ œ œ œ œ

? Ó ≈œ œ œ œ≈œ œ œ œ

‰ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ
?

‰ j œ œ œ œ œ

œœ œ œ

B

62

œ

œ œ œ œ‰ œ œ

?œ œ œ œ

œœœœ

œ œ œ‰ œ œ œ
Segue

half (CD track 20), where it functions as a kind of portal to a set of fervent expostulations and lamenting replies in C minor. When these have subsided, sobbing, into a half-cadence on G in bar 34 (CD track 21), we are well primed to hear a reprise: the histrionics require resolution into the steady tenderness of the opening idea, the harmony invites resolution into the home key. Sure enough, the idea appears in bar 35, as sweetly decorative as before, its

112

virtuosity, virtuality, virtue

technical presentation identical to that of its first appearance: one plays it with the left thumb set in a bar-fifth, and the whole period lies elegantly under the hand (CD track 22). But that hand and all its elegance are apparently misplaced: the bar-fifth is a minor third too high, and the whole passage lies in E b major. The key is scarcely prepared and most certainly unexpected. Its character is wholly different from the traditional candor and forthrightness of C major—qualities particularly pronounced on the cello, which resonates at its fullest in this key. And, as Boccherini carefully signals with his use of clefs, this minorthird displacement marks the difference between an alto and a soprano tessitura; in any opera one might care to name, this alone would signal profound differences in character. Apparently an entirely different person, a soprano with a softer, reedier, more covered voice, has suddenly stepped into the lead role. She holds the stage (and the E b –B b bar-fifth position) for ten or so bars, long enough to really establish herself in a piece sixty-two bars in length; she relinquishes her position only through some rather reluctant modulations and changes of thumb-position, which end in bar 46 with another half-cadence on G (CD track 23). Its resolution is the right and proper one, into the home key. From there to the end of the movement there are no further untoward events; the interloper has disappeared; the opening idea even appears one more time, in bar 54, in its original location and tessitura, as a closing idea. Yet a memory of the irruption lingers; however delicately, it has cast a shadow of question over the whole idea of reprise. The second movement embraces that shadowiness by beginning in C minor (see example 12; CD track 24), in the eighteenth century one of the most emotionally charged of all tonalities, associated with pain, pathos, grief (and of course, in functional-harmonic terms, with the interloper E b major). The countenance of this particular C minor immediately takes us far past any ordinary pain and deep into tragedy: it is an anguished lament, almost demanding that we assign it a persona from among the classic heroines in order to contain its most un-salon-like passion. The tessitura of this voice is a low mezzo (Boccherini has assigned it the tenor clef ), which gives it a certain gravity: let us call her Dido, queen of Carthage, regal even in her extremity. Her second utterance, in bar 5, is a heartbreakingly long messa di voce, six and a half beats in an Adagio tempo, very nearly impossible to execute without acute discomfort and constraint upon the right arm. From it she ascends in bar 7 into her uppermost register in an agonized direct address (CD track 25). The cellist cannot execute this gesture with any secure strategy like thumbposition, but must use an unsupported portamento up the neck of the instrument, its technical riskiness a perfect gestural enactment of Dido’s

Example 12. Cello Sonata in C Major, G.17, ii (Adagio). Adagio
vc.

B b bb C ˙ ? bb C œ b

œ œj œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ œ

nœ. œ ˙ œ œ. œ œ

œ. œ œ. œ œ œ w œ nœ

j œ

œ œ œœ

basso

œ

œ

4 j B b bb œ œ œ œ ˙ .

? bb

b œ

œ . œ œ . œ œ . œ nœ . œ œ . œ œ . œ œ œ œ œ œn œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œn œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ J U #˙ ˙ œ.
6

6 B b bb ˙

U ‰ œ nœ. J ˙ ˙

œ œ J Ó

Œ

B

U ? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ bœ b˙ b
9

B

b bb œ
dol:

œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ .
6

œ œ

œ œ œœœœœœœ

œ œœ œ œœ œœ

? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b 5
This seems more likely to be a B b than a C.

5

(continued)

113

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ œ œ œ B œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ≈œœœ ( ) ? bb 17 B b bb œ . U M m œ œ œ J j j œ œ œ œ nœ bœ b œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ ? bb U œ œ nœ ˙ b œ bœ œ. œ bœ œ œ œ nœ œ œ J Nœœ œ œ 20 j B b bb œ œ n ˙ œ œ œ bœ œ œ Aœ œ J A œœ J œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œœ ? bb b œ œ œ bœ #œ œ 114 ..Example 12.. b œœ œ œ b œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ ? b b œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b b b bœ œ œ B b w 13 œœœœœœœ j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œJ œ J œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ? bb œ b 15 œ œ œ bœ B b bb œ J b œ œœ œœ œœœ œ œœ œ œœ œ J œ œ œJ œ J œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ œ . . B b 11 œ œ œ œ œ n œœn œ œ . (continued) b b œ .(b) œ œ œœœ œœœ œœ œ . œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ n œ œ n œ œ .

of course. an augmented-sixth intensification of the standard Phrygian question-cadence communicates her urgency. There is. virtuality. no answer (see example 13). by logic both formal and emotional. di chi mi fi - œ œ J de . di chi mi fiderò Se tu m’ingann’? Ah. bars 5–8 to words from Metastasio’s Didone abbandonata.rò. virtue Example 12.gann’? vulnerability. in whom shall I trust If you deceive me? What follows must.virtuosity. (continued) 23 B bb b n œ J 115 B œ ˙ œ bœ J œ nœ œ œ œ. supply some relief from this extreme pitch of feeling. G. U ‰ œ nœ. B bb b w Ah œ œ œ œ œ œ. ii (Adagio). 17. Dido will lapse into sad reflection. J Se tu œ J œ Œ m’in . . nœ œ w ˙ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ ? bb Œ b w B bb b 25 œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ œœ œ œœ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ ? bb œ b œ 27 œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ B bb b œœœœœœ ? bb œ b U U œ œ œ # œ œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ #œ œ œ œ œ Ó J ≈ ≈ U U œ œ œ œ œœ ¯ œ bœ œnœ œ œ œ bœ œnœ œ œ œ œ ˙ Ó Example 13. Ah. Cello Sonata in C Major. Beneath it.

. what will I do? Must I then die Without finding pity? And is there such cowardice in my breast?2 In bar 23 the harmony rights itself back toward C minor. and the cool hardness of thumb tone here takes on a frightening connotation. may I die . .1 And what better material to accomplish such reflection than something we have heard before (CD track 26)? The resemblance is unmistakable: bar 9 gives us the key.116 virtuosity. . but then . but this one has a para-dramatic aptness. as it would be a strange opera. She subsides in apparent resignation in bar 17. modulations abort themselves (bars 18–23. —and thus her last. Boccherini signals a new thumb-position. I go . . I could not live Among such sorrows. even Metastasio’s terrifying rendition . but with a sudden chill: by placing the clef change on the pivotal G. no. . only to break out again in lamentations so extravagant that she seems to have lost her reason: sob throngs upon sob. . It would be a strange sonata indeed. virtuality. passing quotation of the galant melody in the second half of bar 24 has become an imprecation— . the very stuff of human connection? And are they not just the sort of memories to which an abandoned lover would helplessly. Inter-movement returns like this are not the usual stuff of eighteenth-century sonatas. . CD track 27). and may the faithless Aeneas Take with him on his journey The deathly omen of my fate. No. first with exquisite delicacy (bars 11–12). then with increasing obsession (bars 13–16. the tessitura. Dido continues to dwell within their gestural and harmonic orbit. virtue In bidding you goodbye I would lose my life. In a tonality borrowed from an unthinkable future. and the melodic contour of the anti-reprise at bar 35 of the first movement (compare CD track 22). . chromaticism upon chromaticism. .3 The movement closes with a half-cadence on G. it expresses artless tenderness and candor: are these qualities not the heart of love as it is lived. It is even subject to the same placement of the left hand. The first movement’s puzzling anti-reprise now takes its place as a foreshadowing of Dido’s wretched fate. but where? Oh God! I stay . CD track 28). Dido has made up her mind (CD track 29). that did not resolve the tensions of its early events in its late ones. hopelessly return? Indeed. . she interrupts herself with a near-shriek.

or perhaps the rapid shuttle of an automatic brocade-loom. reactive. (One has only to look at the first movement of this very sonata to see this principle at work. The exorcism is both sonic and visual. There. The operative image is not even human. anathema to the sensible ideal of physical softness. any other fingering would be perverse).): .virtuosity. But so has any connection to sensibilité. for which the cellist’s right arm must be articulated at the elbow. the rondo theme of the third movement is registrally limited and very repetitive. becoming in the process a kind of frame or proscenium. levers. preferably something uncomplicated—and Boccherini delivers it (see example 14. in music no less than in drama. the characters or events of the drama. In the second episode of Boccherini’s rondo. there is above all a specific significance to his or her every appearance. for she is clothed in consummate strangeness. repeated string-crossings. It may take a few seconds to recognize her (CD track 31). It is not only her agony that has been obliterated. But in a rondo it recurs an indeterminate number of times— something no protagonist would ever do. Every cellist will work this out slightly differently (some might prefer the chief articulation to occur at the right wrist). but they do so in a way that is nearly the inverse of how a first movement behaves. expressive body. so that its upper and lower halves operate in opposite directions in relation to that central fulcrum. and to the pantomime ideal of a unified. fulcrums. its fixed set of motions producing a handsome if formulaic texture. The left hand position mandates rapid.4 Although her melodic and harmonic lineaments and her tessitura are identical. CD track 30). By this analogy. the opening idea is readily. we had every reason to believe that we would never see or hear from her again. Not just uncomplicated. the fingers of that hand strike and release the string rapidly in order to enunciate the tune around the fixed thumb pitches. but it is certain to produce a visible effect of constraint as well as a segmented. Rondos by their very structure further analogize the theater.) In rondos the opening idea functions mainly to contain the episodes. virtue 117 of Didone’s suicide is followed by a serenely distanced licenza. Thus this halfcadence poises us to hear something extravert. forcing it to visibly mimic hammers. it is the episodes that emerge as the real matter in question. The passage must be executed with the left thumb once again set on the original bar-fifth C –G (and here there really is no choice. but rather the escapement in a clock. but any memory of her tenderness as well. but rather fixed. virtuality. substituting a flurry of minimally directional motion for any memorable shape. traditionally. The passage is marked a punta d’arco al ponte e piano (strisc. Hammer-like. akimbo angularity. some brusque Cminor gestures introduce a very peculiar character. It is completely unsingable: the ghost of Dido’s uncomfortable vocality has been exorcized entirely. Is this an invitation to nostalgia? An impossible reunion? We hardly know. The rondo theme mechanizes the player’s body in an explicitly theatrical way. at bar 108. and fruitfully identified with the protagonist.

Example 14. Cello Sonata in C Major, G. 17, iii (Rondò). Rondò
vc.

œœœœœ œœ œœœœœœœœ 2 B 4 œœœœœœœœ œœœœœœœœ œœœœœœœœ œ
Allegro dol:

basso

?4 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 2 . . . . . .

œ

Œ

œ œ œ œ . .

6 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ …œ œ œ …œ œ œ œ œ B œœœœœœœœ œœœœœœœœ œœœœœœ

?œ œ œ œ . .

œ œ œ œ . .

œ

œ

. . . œ œ œ œ

œ œ œ œ

11 œ œ œ œ B œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ …œ œ …œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

?œ œ œ œ B œ ?œ œ J ?œ
16

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

œ œ œ œ

œ œ œ œ

œ œ œ œ

B

... œ #œ œ œ . . . œ œœœ œ . #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ J . . . . . œ œ œ . . Œ Œ ‰ j œ œ. ˙ œ œ œœœœ j œ

œ œ œ œ œœœœœœ œ nœ œ œœœ ˙ œ œ

B #œ ˙

21

b˙ ˙

? œ#œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ#œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ#œ œ œ œ œ œ

118

Example 14. (continued)

B #œ ˙

25

œ œ œ œ œ ˙

œ

b˙ ˙

œ œ

œ

.. œœœ

? œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B
29

#œ œ œ œ

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ

?œ œ
33

. . . . . . . . . . œ œ œ . . œ œ œ œœœ œœœ œœœ œœœ B œ. & œ œ œ œ œ œ ? œ œ #œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœœ

œ J œ

j j j j j j œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ &
37

j œœœœ œ œ œ

? œ œ #œ œ #œœ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ . œ
43

œ œ œ #œ œ #œœ œ œ œ œ J

j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ… œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & ?#œ œ œ œ . œ œ J #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ
(continued)

119

Example 14. (continued)

œ œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ &œœ œœ
48

?œ œ œ œ . &œ
52

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

#œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ [œ œ

œ nœ œ œ œ œ J
dol:

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ

œ œ

?#œ œ œ œ
58

œ œ œ #œ œ œ

&œœœœœœœœ ˙ Mm ?œ ‰ œj ˙

œ. œ œ œ

j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

63 œ œ œ œ œ#œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ #œ œ #œ & œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

? #œ œ œ œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ œ œ œ œ. & œ #œ œ œ
67

œ nœ œ œ œ œ J œ œ œ #œ œ

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ

dol:

?#œ

œ

œ

œ

#œ œ œ œ

120

Example 14. (continued)

&œ ?œ

72

œ œ

œ #œ œ œ œ œœœœœœœœ ˙ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ
j œ

œ B‰ 6

( )œJ
B
dol:

œ œ œ nœ

‰ œj ˙

‰ œj œ n œ œ œ œ œ

( B) œ
78

j œ

œ

œ œ

()
B

œ f œ œ

œœœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœœœœœ œ Œ œ œ œ œ


83

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

œ. Bœœœœœœœœ œ ? œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

88 œ Bœ œ

œœœœœ œ œ

B

Œ

B

œœœœœœœœ

?

œ

œœœœ œ œ œ œ . .

93 œœœœœ œœ œœœœœœœœ œœœœœœœœ Bœœœœœœœœ œœœœœœœœ œ

?œ œ œ œ . . 6

œ œ œ œ . .

œ

Œ

œ œ œ œ . .

œ œ œ œ . .
(continued)

This is notated as alto clef in the MS, incorrect until m. 80.

121

Example 14. (continued)

œœ B œœœœœœœœ œœœœœœ
98

œ œ œ œ œ œ …œ œ œ …œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b bb

?œ œ œ œ . .

œ

œ

103 œ œ œ œ B œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ …œ œ …œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ?

œ œ

œ

?œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ
108 ? bb œ b œ œ œ

œ œbœ œ b bb œ œ

œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ nœ

j œ

œ

œ œ œ

œ œ

œ

? bb œ b ? bb n œ b
113

nœ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ.

œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ

œ

bœ #œ

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

7

B

? bb œ œ œ œ œ b œ
119

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. œ œœ œœœœ œ œ œ œ

A punta d'arco al ponte e piano (strisc.)

B

b bb œ

œ

œ œ

œ œ œ œ

j œ

œ œ

œ œ œ œ

? bb œ œ œ œ b 7

œ œ œ

Or "strasc.": unclear in MS.

122

Example 14. (continued)

bb œ B b
124

œ.

œ œ œ

œ. œ œ œ

œ œ

œ.

œ ˙ œ œ œ œ

œ

œ. œ œ œ

œ

œ œ ? bb œ œ b bb œ B b
129

œ œ œ œ

œ

œ.

œ œ

œ.

œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ

œœ

œ œ

œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

œ œ ? bb œ œ b bb B b ? bb
139 134

œ œ œ œ

œœ

œ œ

œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

œœ

œ . œ œj œ

œ œ

œ

œ œ

b

œ œ œ œ

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

bb B b ? bb
144

r œ

˙

œœ

œ œ

œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

œœ

œ œ

œ œ œ b œ
œœ

bb B b ? bb b

œ

œ œ

j œ

œ

œ œ

œ œ

œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

œœ

œ

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

œ

(continued)

123

Example 14. (continued)
149

B

bb b œ

œ œ œ

œ œ ˙

?

œ œ œ œ

œ œ œ œ

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

œ œ ? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b ? bb ? bb
154

b

œ

œ œ

œ

œ œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ œ œ

œ #œ

œ

b nœ œ œ œ
B‰

œ œ œ œ nnn

œ œ œ œ

œ œ œ œ

œ 159 ? bb n œ b œ

œ J

j j j œ œ œ œ œœœœœ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J

? bb œ œ b œ œ

nnn œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . j œ œ œ œ œœœœ œ≈ œ œ J œ œ œ œ œ. j œ

j j 164 œ œ œ B œ œ œ œ œœœœœ œ ?œ œ œ œ œœœœœ œ

:… œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ
œ œ œ œ

169 œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Bœœ œœœ œ œœœœœœœœ œœ œœ

œ œ

œ

œ œ œ œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

œ

124

Example 14. 178 Bœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœœœœœ ˙ ˙ ‰ œ ! J ≈≈ … : j œ ?œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 184 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ B œœœœœœœœ œ œœœ œ œœœœœœœœ œ œ œ œ ?œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 189 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. (continued) 173 œ œ œ œ œ# œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . œ B œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J œ œ J œ œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ ? œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. B œ #œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ J œ J œ œ œ œ œ ? œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. 194 Bœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ t œœœœœœœœ ˙ ˙ ‰ œ ! J œ œ œœœœ œ Œ ?œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ (continued) 125 .

œ j œ œ œ œ #˙ œ œ œ œ U ˙ œ œ œ œ œ. œ j œ œ œ œ ? #˙ œ œ œ B #˙ 206 œ œ œ œ U Œ U Œ œœœœœœœœ œœœœœœœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ? œ œ œ œ 211 œœœœœ œ œ œœœœœœœœ œœœœœœœœ œœœœœœœœ B œœœœœœœœ œ ?œ œ œ œ œœ B œœœœœœ 216 œ Œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ …œ œ œ …œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ?œ œ 221 œ œ œ œ B œ œ œ …œ œ …œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ B œ. œ? œ. œ #˙ œ. (continued) 200 B œ œ. œ œ œ.Example 14. œ œ ?œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœœ œœœ œ œ œ œ œœ œ 126 .

This character has acquired an actively unpleasant edge through the brittle glassiness of the ponticello tone. When she comes to execute reminiscence in this episode. the question must arise as to how such a creature can feel anything resembling nostalgia. That it is ostensibly contained by the blithely mechanical rondo theme amounts to a twist of the knife. and a notably stilted execution on account of the restriction on the amount of bow. for our questions to vanish smiling into a tonic cadence. flashy gestures erasing any lingering questions with sheer panache. at the bridge. and on very different planes: Was the cyclic use of themes between movements. and distant tone. could mean either strisciato. by no means . œ. in bar 152 she exits as abruptly as she had entered. choked. which one an actorly assumption? Recourse to the player’s own experience will not be of much help in answering these questions: she is distanced from her own body in the rondo by the necessity of segmenting it in order to execute the theme. except. and softly (sliding)/(dragged). appealingly brilliant in execution. then. Except. sliding. Now the episode is striking enough by itself. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ?œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ this last word. except. or. The rondo has framed the executant to the listener-observer as a quasi-automaton. possibly (and most unsentimentally) ironic. and that strangeness too clearly intentional. the final. There are a few more brusque gestures in C minor—as if a curtain had closed upon her somewhat unceremoniously—and from there all is well to the end of the sonata: it is cheerful in affect. distanced from itself. entirely unsurprising in form. strascinato. To mention only two. Which is this cellist’s true nature. and you get a glassy. “at the point of the bow.. and from her capacity to feel by the constraints of the elaborate and uncomfortable performance directions. it plays as somehow contaminated. man-machine or sensible kindred spirit? Which state is her genuine one. indistinct in the manuscript. If this is nostalgia. as well as a precisely scripted gestural constraint or awkwardness.”5 Follow this extraordinary concatenation of directions. virtuality. (continued) 127 œ 226 ?œ œ œ Œ œ œ œ œ œ. There has simply been too much strangeness in this piece. if strasc.virtuosity. This question is then positively begged by the overdetermined grotesquerie of the ponticello and the sliding or dragging. dragged: thus. Even as we puzzle over her nature. virtue Example 14.

elsewhere entire movements or sections of movements are repeated. virtue common practice during this period. however. cyclic reappearance after two intervening movements initiates a second complete rondo movement built upon the same idea. and notwithstanding these exercises. I know of only one other example of full-fledged cyclicity in these works. acknowledging its uniqueness. also in C major. 13. when he wanted to. and taken over the piece. an isolated experiment? And what was Boccherini doing. rather. In this piece a peculiar plan unfolds around a stately slow introduction and a gaily tripping rondo theme. Thus the whole concept of rondo has proliferated. The first theme of the Sonata in A Major. he uses it more. for ex- . or so that a central movement is presented with the same music following as preceding it. Stanley Sadie offers a typology of Boccherini’s many cyclic usages: “The linking of two movements with a common slow introduction. and as such are obviously quite deliberate. I would call it an art of recycling. if not in subtlety. because of a problem nested in the allegro tune. But by and large he did not want to. it is already thoroughly dedicated to multiple reappearances. crown jewel of Enlightenment—interested Boccherini very much. engage in a particular species of “cleverness” usually assigned to Haydn. G. their multivalent complexity suggests that Boccherini could. 569 any proper identity as a sonata and called it a capriccio instead. but they form a relatively small part of his oeuvre. by so courting irony and alienation? The cyclicity was no isolated experiment. Each of these two ideas reappears cyclically—the slow one several times—during the course of the sonata. The one factor that he usually retains as a constant is key. it does not appear that wit in itself—pinnacle of self-consciousness. from the cyclic reappearances in G. but the “unity” so produced ends up sabotaging the sonata’s very viability within its genre. genre is no obstacle. the basis of excessive unification—some period listeners would have denied G. most usually so that a fast movement already heard reappears as a finale. I know of no other eighteenth-century instrumental piece with this feature. Its further. arch-sensible composer and sublimated tragedian that I have averred him to be. Several Boccherini scholars have addressed his experiments with it in every genre of instrumental music. Very often. overrun its boundaries. By virtue of being a rondo theme. 569. Sometimes even more complex schemes appear. On this basis—ironically. which can vary a good deal. there is no conventional first-movement form at all. nor the extent of the recycling. the Sonata G. He may have written an unusual number of cyclic works.7 Such a witty plan differs in purpose.128 virtuosity. virtuality. Both are essays in the complex effects of memory and expectation upon the listener’s perceptions. Much more typical of him is a certain type of reappearance that is ill served by the term “cyclic”.”6 Such devices are uncommon in the sonatas. than any other composer of his generation. and more consistently and inventively. In general. Boccherini shares themes and passages between entirely different works. 17.

through years of exposure to opera seria. a theme or passage introduced in one movement of a work reappears in a subsequent movement. 557 was by far the most popular metric choice among authors of Metastasian-style libretti. Boccherini used the opening theme of this movement more or less verbatim in the slow movement of the Sinfonia in C Major for large orchestra. 557. “Se d’un amor tiranno. Rich and interesting as that first movement may be. which appears briefly in the second half shortly after the reprise (see example 15a). There. can be found in the correspondence between the jaunty opening theme of the second movement of the Sonata in A Major. G. Its typical association with certain rhythmic configurations in melodies. would have been kinesthetically ingrained for Boccherini. The player who is fortunate enough to be acquainted with both works may well find that there is interpretational “bleed-through”: the immense earnestness of the sonata will turn the rather conventional pompousness of . G. but an entirely new tune. it does not constitute the main theme of the movement. so that its affectual residue is at best fleeting (see example 15b). the first movement of the Sextet in C Major. G. as for all composers of his generation. 17 (discussed above). 466. and the concert aria (aria accademica) in B b Major. G. the first movement of which I discussed in detail in chapter 1. It is logical and elegant to infer from this that the aria came first. however. Boccherini dates the sextet 1773 in his catalog. differing in affect from everything else in the movement. virtue 129 ample. This association is reinforced. for instance. The strong but fluid pulse of the settenari (seven-syllable lines) of G. dates the sonata and the aria to around the same time. Gérard. noted by Gérard. appears as the first theme of the Concerto in A Major. Here even the usual commonality of key has been abandoned. there is a similarity between the beginning of the C-minor second movement of the Sonata in C Major. G. fuori catalogo. 475. or vice versa. by Friedrich Lippmann’s theories of the influence of metric verse upon melodic construction in instrumental music. G. the emotional and technical showpiece of the sonata as a whole is its profoundly dramatic C-minor slow movement (CD track 32). Something quite like it opens the ensuing Largo. but the resemblance is never reiterated nor confirmed. and a further chronology for it suggested. of 1770.virtuosity. virtuality. 4. as noted by Christian Speck. In the Sonata in G Major. 491. while.” G. exhaustively documented by Lippmann. reading thematic association as temporal. 5.8 In other cases. more extended and more complex example of this sort of inter-generic recycling. 95. but a main idea may reappear as a subsidiary one. G.9 Striking examples of both inter-generic and inter-movement recycling may be found in the Sonata in E b Major. but is the basis for an extended excursion upon an unprecedented theme by the solo cello. and that of the C-minor second movement of the String Trio in F Major. Another. the material in question is neither the main nor the secondary idea.

a reiterative chunk tossed in to fill out periodicity. Cello Sonata in G Major. clothed in an unprecedented theme (see example 2. virtuality. œ ˙ ! œ œ. After the hair-tearing intensity of the sonata’s slow movement. any firmly established chronology would be a hindrance upon the play of interpretational association. This involves the reiteration of material that. 5. Through this delicate piece of recycling. vc. B # c œ . bars 50–51. but transitional. i (Allegro militare). A formal incongruity—an inexplicable moment. the innocence of the opening idea of the third movement might at first seem feckless (CD track 33).. reappear in many different works. virtue Example 15a. B# œ Largo œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 6œ œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ basso œ ?# œ the sinfonia movement toward deeply serious reflection. She legitimates herself through “hindsight”. 17. the offhand figuration that closes a phrase—passages of this sort. G. A modulating passage. where the tonic harmony returned. however lovely—reappears. . sometimes amounting to no more than half a bar. œ 50 Allegro militare œ œ . vc. while striking. œ œ ˙ ! basso piano ? # c !˙ œ œ #œ œ ‰ J ‰ œ . Boccherini inflects expectation with memory. Lacking the logic of a derivation from poetic meter. clothed conventionally as a principal theme. is not properly speaking thematic at all. and yet more endemic. but her very nature is infected by the prodigy of her birth. 5.. G. œ J œ œ œ œ œ J Example 15b. opening. very much as he does throughout the Sonata G.130 virtuosity. But reflection proves it otherwise. This theme is itself a reminiscence of that memorable “celestial” event at bar 45 of the first movement. Galatea has been dressed and taught manners. Cello Sonata in G Major. ii (Largo). She has the haunting quality of a déjà vu: we might call this Boccherini’s art of the déjà entendu. while the memory of the symphonic setting will inflect subsequent renditions of the sonata with an element of grandeur. In cases like this. œ œ. I would propose yet a third category of recycling in Boccherini’s music.. one which is even more fleeting. CD track 34).

Each had his own. distinct. But we can use it to suggest an alternative to teleological models of artistic development. across five or fifty years. Boccherini resorted to his hands’ memory of what had worked well in a similar place before—and then.13 as manifested in dialect (e. (To offer one small example of this: in my orchestra days. The Greek combining form idio. and too capriciously. ease. many times.”10 And in the sonatas above all. remarkably. as much as or more than any putative progress toward innovation.12 But some closely related forms may also take on different nuances emphasizing the quality of distinctness. the Spanish idiotismo. but neither are they conscious or self-conscious in the same way that a cyclic reappearance is. or transcendence.g.. “exhibit the process of their making. particular construction of some phrase or particle.. peculiar.”11 In European languages.g. or greater complexity. Left to their own devices. even a virtuosic hand.) Released from the exigencies of a particular inventio. I used to identify different oboists by the melodic patterns they played when testing out reeds. “the inflection of any verb. pleasure are paramount. “the common tongue. hands remember too readily. in the end. nouns deriving from the Greek noun form idioma generally refer directly to language itself (e. They represent not Boccherini’s dispositio —the deliberate arrangement of consciously invented material for an oration or a composition— but his actio. and always somewhat independently from the ear.denotes any native property: “own. proper and particular to any nation”). playing the sonatas. he wrote it down. his delivery of it. I think it is the fact that one notices these shared traits while playing that is. it seems that idiom is the shaping force in creation. In certain cases.. And yet one notices them. They are not accidental at all. The stakes are different. The recurrences seem almost accidental. and does not follow the general rule of the na- . A hand. the key to their meaning. This word idiom and the delicate tangle of concepts and questions it entrains are deserving of a little scrutiny. We cannot use such a mode of creation for the dating or periodization of works.virtuosity. no one such passage can reasonably claim primogeniture over another. the bodily means by which Boccherini approached his instrument. whether of a whole language (e.g. virtue 131 lacking even the definition of being a complete idea. which has some irregularity. “a manner of speaking adapted to the proper genius of a particular language”). personal. private. familiarity. These moments within the sonatas. of the gestures that produce characteristic patterns of melodic and rhythmic figuration. the French idiotisme. makes music rather differently than a conscious intellect. with certain artists. They represent the contribution of his hand. separate. hands will tend to reiterate certain familiar patterns many. the Spanish idioma. negotiating the transitional space before the next one. that making was grounded in and referred to Boccherini’s own virtuosity. virtuality. like Tiepolo’s ink drawings. and never varied it. They are a constant and appealing feature of learning this body of work.

virtuality. it is used only in some province or part thereof ”).”18 If models of progress or development can even be applied to this as a compositional process. peculiar.14 or as manifested in general comportment (e.g. dating from the composer’s very early years in Vienna. this might be received as proof either of his idiocy. incommunicable to any other idiom. by some lights. it can be moving indeed: a faithful rendering of quirks and asymmetries. private. distinct mode of utterance. of the marks of life’s passage upon a single countenance. which means property. and since he was primarily an itinerant virtuoso during this period. his early output is rich in music for solo cello. virtue tion. or the nature proper to every thing”). Yet idiomatic creation need not devolve to the idiocy of solipsism. including twenty-four sonatas for solo cello and basso. personal. .”16 As a creative principle. In musical works driven by idiotism. ultimately representing to us that tender and awful moment of the self ’s self-recognition in the face of its own evanescence. the Spanish idioteo/a. but from a particularly constituted one made up of the utterer’s own irreducible habits.19 If historical inquiry can be applied to idiomatic process. or idiots.132 virtuosity. the composer’s process would involve the presentation of his own.20 Christian Speck is of the opinion that more sonatas. to himself. singular. or of his genius— genius being. As a form of self-portraiture.15 We cannot help but see the loaded word idiot peering out from these forms. and eight or nine concerti for cello and orchestra. The association of peculiarity with stupidity or social incompetence is not new— nor is it unique to English: the primary definition of idiotismo given in the 1726 Diccionario de la lengua castellana is “the universality of the ignorant. the word imposes certain restraints. which have no current equivalent in English. rather. and proving of those ideas and gestures that sum up the thinker. its distinctness not necessarily deriving from any generally constituted standard of originality or novelty. or from the general laws of language . testing. Gérard estimates that Boccherini had written a hundred works by 1770.17 Idiotism is by its nature untranslatable: “distanced from ordinary usages. From the Greek idiotetos. “proper. it will just as surely tend toward an elucidation of how selfhood was constituted during the period and the places involved. private. the sonatas within boccherini’s oeuvre Boccherini had composed energetically in the years prior to being hired by Don Luis de Borbón in 1770. the most advanced state of virtue. . the gesturer. I propose that they would tend toward precisely the sort of economizing and self-confirming practices that we see in Boccherini’s virtuoso music: a lifelong finding. are to be found in monastery archives at Seitensetten in Austria. as even my brief etymological excursion suggests. separate.21 These numbers are neces- . Within the world at large..

it still thrives: concertgoers and consumers of recordings speak. he identified airs from operas composed sixty and seventy years earlier by their singers.virtuosity. to the great majority of people who engage with music in any way. is plaintive. virtuality. reinterpretable “thing” we call a work. pleasing. because although Boccherini kept a catalog of his own works from 1760. for Faustina.” 26 This attitude persisted through and beyond the period of the genesis of the “ work-concept. When Burney wrote his General History of Music in the 1780s.” Indeed. It is useful to assume. .23 this is reinforced by a perusal of the offerings of any major concert series of the day—the Viennese Academien. . And the second . it suggests that. essentially personal and circumstantial: vehicles. . the Concerts Spirituels. In the first half of the eighteenth century. but rather as accessories to performance. given the very nature of such music. of “Callas’s Iphigénie. which was emblematic of the inextricable relation of composed work to performed version. with an affectionate fetishism very similar to Burney’s. it is not really completable. cello sonatas.” Such a persistence reflects a common understanding of musical events that has continued to exist apart from and simultaneously with the painfully patrician Kantian separation of the work-ideal from its specific instantiation. the Hanover Square concerts in London—from which it is clear that an instrumental virtuoso by definition performed his or her own compositions. . and original. if they circulated at all. In a traditional eighteenth-century view—and not just an Italian one—the very identity of an opera rested on performers and performative occasions. characteristic event—“sonata” in the exact sense of “played. Ré d’Inghilterra from 1727 he wrote.”24 with publication gradually becoming a norm for such music only in the second half of the century. virtue 133 sarily conjectural. “The first air for Cuzzoni . Of Handel and Rolli’s Ricardo primo. the idea of separating it from its performance is absurd. and vocal music. Nowhere is the liminal status of virtuoso music better demonstrated than in opera. is the most agreeable song of execution of the times.” “concerto” in the sense of “given in concert”—to the reproducible. virtuoso concerti and sonatas “circulated. This would not have been a peculiar attitude.22 Why such a substantial omission from what was otherwise a meticulous catalog? Gérard explains it by saying that Boccherini “reserved [these works] for his own use”.” “Bylsma’s Boccherini.” “Schnabel’s Pathétique. saw a profound metamorphosis in the concept of a composition from an irreproducible. then. he omitted from it his concerti.25 In the case of virtuoso music this metamorphosis was at best incomplete. the period of Boccherini’s working life. in manuscript parts. that Boccherini did not consider these omitted pieces as “ works” in the sense we understand today. . This latter period.

In 1770 Boccherini was hired by the Infante Don Luis as “violón y compositor”—that is. The contests took place at every imaginable level. a composer with a handsome permanent appointment—Boccherini was doing no more than any other ambitious young cantor of his time would have done. In the first. the expert. They are a kind of para-artist. but were obliged to supplement their earnings in the Infante’s household with such theatrical and orchestral work as they could scare up in Madrid. and especially performance as personified in the virtuoso. reproduced in chapter 2. Furthermore. Font and his three sons. was one of the most intense cultural preoccupations of Boccherini’s day.000 in 1772. in 1784. received cautious raises. and this makes them unfit to engage in poiesis.27 By making efforts to advance to the status of musicus—that is. from the most quotidian to the airiest regions of philosophy. aware of its theory and its effects. when Boccherini was finally appointed Don Luis’s “Compositor de Música. From the Middle Ages also came the routine presumption that cantores have little perspective on what it is they are doing. virtuality. Boccherini appears before us cello-less with inscribed sheets of music paper.134 virtuosity. In the second portrait. But as with Mozart. thereby identified as the opposite number of the cantor.000 reales de vellón a year. the musicus. the evidence of those efforts provided . his career concerns resemble those of Mozart’s early manhood. but more fundamentally. a musician physically engaged in the production of music. with a raise to 18. This identifies him as an instrumentalist version of what in the Middle Ages would have been called a cantor. non-composing musicians in the establishment. To note only the most obvious parallel.000 a year just for compositions. earned 9. for his skills as both cantor and musicus—at the rate of 14. the nature of those performers was a fiercely contested topic in the eighteenth century. Some typical quotidian contests are implied in the differences between Boccherini’s two oil portraits. his contract stipulated that he receive an additional 12. It is in this fraught context that his exquisite play with form and idiom assumes its full importance. creation. it would not be off the mark to say that performance. a singer or choral director. cantores lifelong. the violist Francisco Font. We can see it in the payroll records for Boccherini’s first post in Spain. and thus licensed to create. virtue virtuosi For all that a performer-centered understanding of music may have been and may still be the commonest (not to say most commonsensical) view. concerned with the textual aspects of music. They lack theoretical knowledge. the most senior of whom.” a title that denotes a full-fledged musicus. he is playing his cello. This ancient distinction still operated pervasively and powerfully in the lives of eighteenth-century musicians. This combination of skills placed his pay well above that of the other.000 reales de vellón a year.

For the things we have to learn before we can do them. In particular. with performance. virtuality. become them. It may also be unattainable. doing. Why should this matter? The stakes in the cantor-musicus distinction turn out to be high indeed.”28 “ While making has an end other than itself. brave by doing brave acts. they exist in seed form in our natures. making clear that within that separation there coils a paradox. confound the old cantor-musicus divide.g. He tells us that the two kinds of virtue. the “thing made. are acquired through habitual exercise. . but we acquire them. and you get not vivid expression but atrocity. and yet it demonstrates Aristotle’s keen attunement to the profound intrication of human nature. because we engage in it toward the end of making something. take end as means. so too we become just by doing just acts. This uncomfortable possibility emerges more or less immediately.virtuosity. we learn by doing them. ethics and esthetics. collapses into phronesis. and only in. . its continued performance. But is this right? Was Boccherini a more vir- . “by first exercising them. thus the virtuoso is obviously one in whom virtue is being enacted with particular perfection. poiesis: it is always other than phronesis. Poiesis is forever privileged. it alone among human activities may freely subsume means into end. It is the virtuoso more than any other kind of musician who can confuse the separation. “Neither is acting making nor is making acting. practical wisdom. making. and the degree of his critical and financial success as a composer on these terms. temperate by doing temperate acts. men become builders by building and lyre-players by playing the lyre.” is the action itself. The creation. even if we take the whole discussion back quite a bit further than the Middle Ages. be it virtuous or lyre-playing. shackles upon the spirit. for good action itself is its end. he muddies the distinction by characterizing human virtue specifically in terms of artistic practice. e. moral and intellectual.”30 The curiously tautological. action cannot.”29 But in talking about life and how it is to be ethically lived. In the Nicomachean Ethics. both materially (through the payroll) and ethically: it is exempt from the restrictions and obligations of the moral life. Virtue is found in. virtue 135 by the compositions is both ambiguous and complex. ethike. Subject art to ethical rules and you get not the grandeur of human harmony but censorship. as also happens in the case of the arts. the extremely personal and idiomatic ways in which Boccherini kept execution and performance central to his composerly thinking. Treat life as if it were art. . Aristotle makes the distinction when he speaks about art. “bootstrap” quality of this construction of virtue comes close to self-contradiction. activate them. knowing how to do. nothing less than the differentiation of life and art. A rubric for their distinction is nothing less than vital. It needs to keep being enacted. For when an art is constituted in such a manner that its performance is its chief glory and reason for being—its end—poiesis. We know these stakes as vividly today as ever before.

The contradictions thus generated are apparent in Rousseau’s 1754–63 Essai sur l’origine des langues. This whole idea of the relation between speaking and singing is. for instance. the positions of these areas are held and maintained more or less consciously— and if anything. gesture. the newly conceived common man. the virtue of another being. central player of both democracy and sensibilité. Rousseau characterizes anger as palate. pleasure. although the most immediate form of communication. than in speaking. virtue tuous man than Francisco Font. and consonants “require attention and practice” and as such represent the interventions and distancings of artifice.33 In Western vocal technique. virtuosity contra sensibilité The culprit. Only expression through the voice (and its reception through sentire) can make available the full richness. lips. physiologically idiosyncratic. where the highest and most “natural” passions are those of tenderness. virtuality.136 virtuosity. of course. and the difference in their pay inscribed just such an answer in the registers of social status. and oral cavities. was the discrete. has at best a sporadic connection to the heart and the imagination.” distanced from original passion. but they are painstakingly configured as capacities rather than performances.32 Rousseau’s idealized throat is open and uncomplicated. or teeth—is “enervating. the full otherness. as transparent to passion as (he says) perfect language is to its object. they are minimally produced or performed. . According to him (and pace Noverre and Angiolini!). This candid melismatic language is characterized by its effortlessness. and effortlessness is ever the marker of the “natural.” Anything that interferes with this throatliness—even the tongue. Both of these sciences are in the end anti-virtuosic. But this voice has certain strongly marked peculiarities. noisy. nasal. Its utterances are “genuine” to the exact extent that they rely on those sounds which “emerge naturally from the throat”—that is. feeling self. if we take muscle tone as a form of effort. much less effortlessly. to put it mildly. and he characterizes the voice of deficient passion with words like rude. which can issue adequately from a much more variable range of tensions and bodily positions. But of course it is a central characteristic of the eighteenth century that thinking people were increasingly constrained from drawing such conclusions.31 Rousseau proposed a set of bodily markers of human virtue. while tenderness is glottal. the actual difference has less to do with any “openness” of the throat than with a degree of sustained support or tension in diaphragm. both locate human virtue in capacity rather than in performance of that capacity. larynx. Yes. croaking. because he played with more facility and chose to compose? Aristotle would presumably have said.and tongue-formed. in a sense. harsh. and self-sufficiency. individual.34 What matters here. diphthongs. Thus. Complex vowels. or representing a lesser type of passion. and muffled. coarse.

everything genuine and passionate resided in the physiologies and languages of “southern lands”—his code for Italians—while cold artifice and harsh croaking characterized “northerners”—that is. and seems to say to the audience. but I have no satisfaction in his performance. as always addressed to the heart: their proper language is the language of sentiment. but it will make a very great noise: and I have been studying it these twenty years! ” Plaudits arise from all parts of the theatre. “Gentlemen.—this passage is extremely difficult. and though he doubtless exercises his fingers very dextrously. . display-oriented.35 Noverre offers the following anecdote. and foundational to reform choreography: Italian = virtuosic. whose voice should be pathetic. and he becomes celebrated for a prodigy.virtuosity. In its absence. . it will not flatter your ear. For Rousseau. and penetrability into a single act—arguably the central act of the performing arts. nor has his music given them the least pleasure. though nobody understands him. absolutely foreign and superfluous in these arts. but their eyes have been amused. which is not optional. all the world runs after him. it is universally expressive and seducing. this piece of machinery. you tell me is an admirable one. the “address to the heart” via the ears and the understanding. French (by implication) = feeling-oriented. and his fingers run with amazing celerity from the neck to the bridge of his instrument: he accompanies all these dexterities with a thousand aukward [sic] distortions of his body. An Italian performer. he contorts. but do not listen to me. . and therefore superficial. Frenchmen. as a mere jargon. he affords me no pleasure. nor creates in me the least sensation. softness. I consider these curious and difficult passages. indeed of performance in any conceivable sense. look at me. both in music and dancing. yet this automaton. virtue 137 is not accurate physiology so much as the eighteenth-century conventions of bodily imaging that were focused in Rousseau’s influential account. audible. virtuality. such as I have described comes to Paris. His national polarization of genuineness and artifice was exactly the reverse of that of Noverre. Taste is seldom compatible with difficult exertions. he is an “homme . as it is universally understood. Their ears have enjoyed no satisfaction in his performance. writing in Paris but forever and congenitally at odds with his surroundings. visual. .36 Whatever their conflicting nationalistic biases. . receives all that approbation which is constantly refused to a French Performer. that of voicing the passions—and it does so by making an elaborate end-run around the very possibility of virtuosity. and intrinsic. Such a performer on the violin. His idea of vocal openness and indolence concentrates the sensible values of bodily flexibility. . and most particularly his anathema Rameau. who presented these polarities in a manner more typical for a Frenchman. he handles the bow with much address. not only the merit of the performance but the very humanity of the performer is called in question: he croaks. Noverre’s and Rousseau’s accounts are fundamentally linked by their emphasis on pathos.

according to which the musicus was explicitly privileged through his production of written and. it is the written. depends particularly on two things: first. The huge popularity of virtuosic performances of all types during the eighteenth century—indeed it was a period in which many new kinds of virtuosity were invented or perfected— suggests that alienation exercised a seductive force every bit as powerful as sensible commonality. and phrasing it at sight. for by its nature it makes the absorptive maneuver impossible. as such it is not far from alienation. Boccherini of course knew this. fatal loss of artistic vitality. secondly. that poiesis. and fingering of his instrument. [on] a perfect knowledge of the touch. virtuality. amazement specifically provoked by the visibility of their virtuosic bodies: “Gentlemen. Creature of his age. If for Rousseau the pronunciation of consonants represented a devolution from the pure melisma of passion. and it is to the operations and typology of alienation.” that epitomizes Rousseau’s antivisuality. for while we see separate notes. virtuosity inevitably confronts the watcher with the gulf of their difference from the watched. ultimately. Rousseau asserts. but do not listen to me. “the sign. In characterizing virtuosity as Other. Execution . This is a perfect inversion of the ancient system of values inscribed by Boccherini’s portraits and career. went so far as to refer to an athletic and extraverted physical virtuosity as the grotesque style. true creation. one accomplishes a certain distancing from it. To audiences of this period. look at me. his sonatas show just how ingenious he was in using his own virtuosity as a means to explore it. . and its threat to Enlightenment visions of human commonality. Both Noverre’s violinist and Angiolini’s “buffoons” destroy sentiment through amazement. However spiced by wonder and pleasure. . and in placing the thing itself in place of the sign. he makes repeated identifications of visuality with superficiality or expressive inadequacy. we always hesitate in the pronunciation. the codification of sound into written symbols was a final. virtue machine et sans tête.38 Famously. It is only in moving past the seen.138 virtuosity.” Rousseau’s location of expressive authenticity in a vocal process that is fundamentally invisible is no accident.” an automaton. In interpreting virtuosity as grotesquerie. automatism. [on] a long custom in reading music. published works.37 We have already seen that Angiolini. that all these characterizations of virtuosity speak. . these high-minded French-speaking writers pointed directly at the sources of its power over late eighteenth-century minds. we acquire a great facility in execution only by uniting them in the common sense which they ought to form. or foreignness. virtuosity was indeed the perfect antithesis of sensibilité. In the Dictionnaire de musique of 1768. can take place. a location of its seductive wonders into categories where human feeling is presumed to be distorted or void. to whom pathos was equally central. and.

little else was presented in the way of dance but this style. virtuality. All day long the city is overrun by these boisterous and insolent hordes. when little Wolfgang Mozart appeared in Paris for the Prince de Conti in 1764. does not break his ankle. his hosts delighted in administering tests to the boy. That he does not fall. . it had specific connotations. At its head. But it was on the streets of Madrid that some the most vivid grotesquerie of the entire eighteenth century could be found (see figure 8). The thrill is that of being confronted by difference. but beyond this rudimentary exercise in absorption we cannot go with him. while acrobats performed stunts between theatrical works or the acts thereof.virtuosity. and his strangeness lies in what he does with his body—things we cannot do. bands of grotesquely masked boys and alluring girls invade the streets. on which is . however. and made him play extremely difficult music at sight. for feats that exceeded what had previously been thought possible. fire-swallowers. On another level. They placed a kerchief over the keys. leaping and frolicking about. What sort of body can this be? Can it possibly be natural? Thus carefully administered and tightly controlled. . Behind them. . contrived a variety of dictation or memory exercises for him. In the evening. a burlesque procession takes place in Madrid. was undoubtedly provided by the boulevard theaters of Paris. contortionists. On Ash Wednesday . The grotesque dancer is obviously an impressive athlete in Angiolini’s account. of course. From the morning onward. rolling his raging eyes beneath his mask. dressed from head to foot—the pelele. a procession forms.40 The corrales (public theaters) of Madrid catered to a similar taste in Spanish audiences. find positively distorted or disturbing— and by the very same token. in which the gamut of human physical possibility was well and truly run—tightrope dancers. Sensible attempts to identify with him result in our fearing for his safety. . androgynes. and further attests to the period’s appetite for prodigies.”39 led to regular speculation as to whether the boy was a species of automaton. a gigantic mannequin made of straw. He is too strange to us. the girl Chusca. virtue 139 the grotesque There was. wild and provocative. At the Kärntnertortheater in Vienna where Luigi and Leopoldo Boccherini worked. . our fear of difference is of course also a delicious attraction. three traditional characters: Uncle Chispas. would not want to do. The most comprehensive exhibition of grotesque virtuosity available during Boccherini’s lifetime. a precedent for such virtuosity in pantomime dance. A well-developed appetite for illusion had long been cultivated in an entire genre of magic plays. is perhaps a source of relief. Juanillo. thrilling. where as we have seen. did not know were possible. we are moved to astonishment at his daring leaps. hunched in his cloak and with the air of the court executioner. This gave Mozart’s childhood performances what Maynard Solomon has called a “vaudeville character.

El entierro de la sardina. Francisco de Goya. 1812–19. Museo de la Real Academia de San Fernando. Madrid.Figure 8. Oil on canvas. .

Boccherini’s commitment to “serious” styles was strong enough that he never conflated such showmanship with his compositional main idea. well off the end of an eighteenth-century fingerboard. In the glimmer of the torches. while above them the pelele burns on a stake. For example. jumping.41 The grotesque was linked to the Spanish aristocracy’s fascination with majismo. and loose women of the capital.42 Boccherini’s cello sonatas and a few of his quintets contain moments of registral prodigiousness that qualify as grotesque. others still in pointed san benitos [the long peaked caps worn by those accused by the Inquisition]. simply by virtue of the fact that no one had written such high pitches for the cello before. shopkeepers’ dwarves. in the last movement of the Sonata in B b Major. all these disarticulated puppets. virtue 141 hung a small sardine. is one of a series of drawings in which various members of Spanish society face mirrors that contain distorted images (see figure 9). others in penitents’ hoods. virtuality. however circumspectly. as climaxes within secondary themes. Thus passages of this type all share a similar positioning in the sonatas. conventional dress. porters. to the dull beating of zambombas [earthenware drums] . After him. the soloist arpeggiates a G-minor harmony upward. While it is not all that difficult to play. and overflowing with pranks (lazzi).” a study for an unengraved Capricho. normal by mid-eighteenth-century standards) by at least two octaves. quartets.) This moment exceeds the tessitura of the rest of the piece by an octave or more. just like the conventions of sensibilité. amid the noise of firecrackers. and once outside solemnly bury the sardine in the earth. 17. some in grimacing masks. Goya. into question. This is something Boccherini cannot be said to do— unless we expand the ambitus of such criticism to include any art in which the stability of Enlightenment selfhood is called. pass through it. or the formal impeccability of the rondo in Boccherini’s Sonata G. it is most certainly arresting to hear. fruit and vegetable merchants. G. shouting. shopgirls. and the tessitura “natural” to the instrument (which is to say. unemployed valets. used the grotesque in an ironic manner. They are all dressed up. followed by sizable silences (he sometimes marks the subsequent . At the same time. . (There is an irresistible likeness between the left hand at this moment and an acrobat walking a tightrope. is revealed through reflection as a site of extreme constraint and discomfort. seems to have had a particular taste for it. It was she who commissioned what is one of the most famous repositories of grotesque imagery in Western culture. paper kites floating above them. fishwives. and then upward again. for his part. water carriers. he ends on a g999 above the staff in treble clef. seemingly unable to stop himself. Goya’s “Incómoda elegancia. .virtuosity. Goya’s 1799 Caprichos. Condesa-Duquesa de Benavente-Osuna and Boccherini’s employer for a few years in the later 1780s. tumble noisily down to the Puerto de Toledo [one of Madrid’s city gates]. and quintets that contain them. as a means of social criticism. The gentleman’s elegant. 565. María Josefa Pimentel. come all the apprentices.

Photo copyright Museo del Prado.Figure 9.” sketch for an unengraved Capricho. Francisco de Goya. 1790. Madrid. “Incómoda elegancia. Museo del Prado. c. . Madrid.

Its grotesquerie.” the first cello and viola are. but they are memorable: they exceed any reasonable expectation. In the passage shown in example 16. also a virtuoso in the instrument’s upper registers. and around whose figure the problem of alienation crystallized most urgently in the eighteenth century. and in this respect they participate in another feature of the grotesque. (In this vein. They are oddly hoarse and substanceless hunters. But virtuosity it is nevertheless: this is the virtuosity of the actor. then. at least in the traditional musical sense of that word. that of naturalness: and certainly. the hunters. (The viola is playing normally. however. Thus might the cellist mime that gesture of astonishment made famous by David Garrick in his portrayal of Hamlet. even when played masterfully. is somewhat independent of virtuosity. “Sir. One might go so far as to suggest . virtue 143 rests aspettar molto.44 This sort of passage is fairly easy to play. while the cesura sonically mimes the silencing effect of such untoward statements upon discursive “business as usual. but will presumably seek to blend with the cello timbre.”)43 Other examples of this sort of cellistic metamorphosis occur in passages written entirely in natural harmonics. So too is another esthetic ideal.virtuosity. the striking effect is not strongly tied to any athletic level of executional prowess. which is embedded in a movement entitled “I pastori e li cacciatori. whose prowess and whose unnaturalness constitute themselves through his doubleness. and the bringing of it back toward a normal playing position. The silences that follow these alarming excursions are opportunities for purest gestural dramatization: a slow retrieval of the left hand (perhaps the right with it. the assumption of personae not his own. the moral implications of this state are not difficult to follow. Doubleness is but a hair’s breadth away from duplicity. “ wait a long time”). but these passages go well beyond even that vocal range. This is an Ovidian transformation. They mark an ongoing discourse. as much as by any hornlike qualities.” Moments like this are not common in Boccherini’s work. for effect?) through the air at the end of the passage.” Here one might be tempted to invoke that eighteenth-century paradigm of altered vocality and sublimated grotesquerie. you make me believe in miracles: you know how to turn an ox into a nightingale. but never set its tone.) We are struck by how unlike itself the instrument sounds. in which beauty is explicitly perverted as an esthetic standard. virtuality. not into an altered human but into some other sort of creature altogether: a most unlikely bird. presumably. Voltaire is said to have remarked to Boccherini’s contemporary Jean-Louis Duport. such passages exceed the capacity of the instrument to sound “like itself. on account of the passage being situated among rather high harmonics on the cello’s bottom strings. the castrato. They also exceed the capacity of the instrument to sound beautiful.

276. String Quintet in D Major. cello 2. bars 37–49.Example 16. O O. œ . viola. Ó Ó j O O O O O Ó O OOO œ .œ O O Execution O. œ . cello 1.œ œ . op. Ó œ œ vc. œ. œ. B œ. “L’uccelliera.1 a sulla a . Allegro ( I pastori e li cacciatori) vla.” G. O œ œ œ œ B œ. 6. ? Ó ? 47 42 j œ œ œ œ œ œ J œ œ œ œ Ó O J œ œ ‰ O O O œ œ œ J œ ‰ O O O œ œœœ œ œ œ œœ œ Ó O O O O O bœ œ œ œ O œ œ j j œ ‰ œ ‰ O œ. ii (Allegro [I pastori e li cacciatori]). O O bœ J O œ œ B:œ B œ ? œj ? O O 144 . no. B 2 armonici œ . O ˙ O O O. B2 4 37 Ó Ó Ó Ó œ p œ.2 ?2 4 ?2 4 O Ó O. Œ O. 3œ e 4 œcorda vicino al ponticello œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 4 œ J p vc. O . 11.

all informed by an apparent absorptive furor.” To undo this assertion. and one would find this very suggestion bodied forth in the unforgettable protagonist of Diderot’s Neveu de Rameau. are invitations to the performer to embody sensibilité. no naturalness. circa 1761. virtue 145 that its apotheosis in the alienated nature of the great player constitutes a grotesque on the level of morality. singers. to fear. in playing mezzo-forte. momentum must be constantly inhibited. In spite of ourselves we begin to wonder. that is inclined to feel pity. to tremble. say. distorted. is wildly grotesque and uncannily vivid. instrumentalists. to faint. legato. The Neveu is a virtuoso player. his extremely delicate shadings of soft dynamics. There is no indolence here. full-fledged doubt is not even necessary.virtuosity. prostitutes. delicate nerves. Merely looked at a little more kinesthetically and a little less Rousseauistically. Thus this may not be absorption at all—or it is absorption in the wrong thing: his interlocutor finally bursts out in desperation. The trouble with admitting characters like Boccherini’s Dido-gargoyle or the Neveu de Rameau to one’s music-critical banquet is that in with them blows the wind of doubt. no transparency. making it ultimately impossible to determine his moral locus. but producing them for extended stretches takes quite a bit of effort. the result of a mobile diaphragm. Every gesture must be restrained at the source. a lively imagination. only careful scrutiny. I suggested that such intimate contextualities. The player’s general muscle tone will be much more tense than it is when playing full-out—just as the singer’s production of the Rousseauvian melisma turns out to require careful placement and focus. dolcissimo writing proves to embody a nearly complete disjuncture between executional and receptive experience. On stringed instruments. beyond a doubt. His single-handed mimicry of actors. the experience of the physical production of soft dynamics closely . “Is this irony or truthfulness?”—exactly the question we might pose to Boccherini in the second episode of the rondo of G. to admire. In my discussion of this feature of Boccherini’s music in chapter 3. developing “that disposition linked to weak organs. 17. we get a distinctly unsettling answer. even in the heart of the most lucid sweetness: is this all it appears to be? Does the performer mean it? (Will she mean it five minutes from now?) And if we ask this about one of Boccherini’s most patently sensible practices. and hence his sincerity. entire opera companies. virtuality. He throws himself with equal relish into highflown tragedy and into the most contemptible qualities of human nature. to become agitated. in contradistinction to the comfortable state of a “natural” style of playing (such as one would experience. in the alto range of the instrument). soft dynamics may give the velvety sound of sensible indolence. shocking reappearance. when the first movement’s main idea makes its stilted. to weep. fluctuating from moment to moment. In fact. But the tacit restriction of sensible absorption to “the middle of society” is not for him.

It is followed. alienation manages to infect the sweet little minuet upon its return (CD track 38). He has marked it piano and con grazia (CD track 35). Thus does doubt blow in through the open door and chill our favorite delicacies. until a cruel message is physically inscribed on both players and listeners: do not trust what feels soft and grateful. G. but it is so very strange. “on the bridge. a pleasure to play. and the supporting harmonies. the discomfort is not immediately audible to the listener. as if wincing in protest. In the case of dolcissimo. 3. it separates the players from their accustomed ways with such subtle violence. no. a conventional site of alterity. of Mendelssohn’s “peruke”). in learning not to do it. the reiterated accents (fussily marked poco FP in the parts) annoying. it is. by a trio marked ponticello (CD track 36). for instance. ponticello. col legno —of which Boccherini is likewise very fond. all of them involving a delicate backing-off. marked dolce —but it descends and pulls into itself too gladly and too far. the heart of Boccherini’s sweetness turns out to be an alienated state. op. The piece is gratefully written. moving through three different diminished-seventh chords in as many bars (CD track 37). virtuality. the repetitive gestures precious. and also to hear.146 virtuosity. virtue resembles that of certain unusual playing techniques—armonici. a making-strange of the player’s habitual physical contact with his instrument. the first violin line becoming increasingly infested by flats. Boccherini seemingly dramatizes the physical rigidity required in executing ponticello by awkward. if only because of all the countless hours spent. In the case of ponticello and its kin. however. Sul ponticello. early on in the process of framing one’s body to playing the instrument. We notice a self-consciousness we missed the first time around: why. it seems to summon precisely that elusive aplomb after which countless dancing masters and earnest pupils had been striving throughout the century. 173.” is a special effect caused by bowing so close to the bridge that the fundamental tone is eclipsed by its upper partials. In the minuet and trio pair of the Quartet in F Major. Boccherini has carefully confined all of this bizzarria to a trio. to begin a quintessential Boccherinian trajectory of descent. We exit this after only a few bars. rapid scurrying gestures. when he could very easily have kept it to a normative . In short. Executionally speaking. Its juxtaposition with ponticello recurs several times in the course of the trio. We cannot help it: this second time. The whole phrase crosses the line from le moelleux into a musical enactment of decay. does Boccherini give us a thirteen-bar period in the first half of the minuet (and end the second half with it as well). the minuet gives us Boccherini at his most genteel and ingratiating (this is the Boccherini. the marking con grazia now seems a bit much (is grace not sufficiently implied by the minuet type?). we imagine. 9. It is difficult to maintain. that neither they nor we can recover in time. a distancing. each part nicely placed upon its individual instrument and the voicing among the four ensuring an easy clarity and resonance.

the automatic and mechanical At the Burgtheater during the period of the Boccherini family’s visits to Vienna even those events that were most tragic (in Angiolini’s definition. and flashing like diamonds of the finest water.” at the end of the trio. and transparent. the marvels made possible through mechanical execution— in this case. and other reformers themselves ever as distinct from matters of spectacle as their theoretical writings. Automata. this is a “straight” reprise. such questions.46 These fusions of technology with artistic purpose were continually refined.— And then Gluck’s god-like music!45 Here artisanship achieves the magical.virtuosity. acquired a gravitas during the nineteenth century that was alien to the eighteenth. and the gulf between art and craft that they presuppose. as antipodal to grotesque). and lastly the rainbow-like colours repeated by hundreds of prisms. Incredibly elaborate stage machines were nothing new. Gluck. and for the confirmation they gave to the Enlightenment’s swelling sense of confidence in human knowledge and human attainment. virtue 147 twelve? Profound as it is. For the most part. and their posthumous reputations. whose dramatic function was to inspire a rather un-tragic amazement. indicated only by the abbreviation “D. this alienation is not notated in any way. The most vivid fancy will fall short of the real magic. The reader must imagine the reflected brilliancy of the azure-coloured meadows of lacquer. and were carefully fitted into one another in empty places. No pen can describe the surpassing and astounding brilliancy of these prisms when lit up by innumerable lamps. and achieved a certain pinnacle during the eighteenth century in the work of Jacques Vaucanson . had been designed and built for centuries. they had been a feature of theatrical entertainments since ancient Greek times. Workers in lacquer. carpenters and gilders had lavished all their resources upon them. the glitter of the gilded foliage. Nor was the work of Angiolini. but their chief brilliancy depended on prismatic poles of glass. might lead us to believe. were rife with showy special effects created by stage machines. we would likely be greeted by bafflement. But is it art? Were we to confront Ditters with this question. previously soaked in coloured oils. the precision and expertise of those Bohemian craftsmen—were enthusiastically welcomed into eighteenth-century esthetics for their capacity to promote the sense of wonder. which had been polished by Bohemian craftsmen. too. which is to say the opere serie staged in observation of Imperial ceremonies. Witness Karl Ditters’s description of the bewitching stage sets for Metastasio and Gluck’s 1754 comedy Le cinesi: Quaglio’s decorations were quite in the Chinese taste. virtuality.C.

On the level of music-making. Some of us may be disturbed (as were a great many people in the eighteenth century) by its frank substitution of mechanical laws for an animating divine principle. the conscious or master self employs askesis along exactly the same . In 1755 Fernando VI undertook to have several automata built for him—a “gabinete armónico” containing musical statues. not just of instruments but of the bodies operating them. a flute player that played tunes with the correct embouchure and fingerings. Newtonian understandings of embodiment manifested themselves in the development of newly methodical. in the case of Xenophon. will encounter ahistorical difficulties. As all these ancient Greek writers make clear by frequently employing horses or dogs as metaphors (or. a decisive reframing of nearly every basic principle in the ancient humoric model. perhaps. More of us. that newly minted view of the universe and human nature within it as one gigantic and splendidly regulated machine. and an “árbol de Diana. and askesis. virtue (1709–82). Along with the grotesque.148 virtuosity. Here mechanical processes. the most intimate reaches of personhood and of art.47 The same fascination was evident in Spain. Aristotle and his contemporaries make use of the linked concepts of enkrateia. Newtonianism informed not only the remarkable creations of Quaglio and Vaucanson. virtuality. as a new set of topoi concerned with images and experiences of this efficiency. post-sensible) notions of ineffable selfhood. On the level of medicine. Our view is shaped both by Romantic (that is. but of the two it is mechanism that is likely to be the more difficult for us to comprehend. the systematic self-training of sensation and reaction into virtue (whence the English word ascetic). but. particularly. the late eighteenth century saw a huge increase in the production and publication of instructional treatises for every instrument.” a mechanical tree complete with singing birds. or self-mastery. and by our postindustrial mistrust of machines. mechanism can be counted among anti-sensible currents of thought in the eighteenth century. and consequently shaped. efficient approaches to pedagogy. an explicitly master-servant relation of conscious self to bodily sensation.48 These enchanting creations were an efflorescence into art of Newtonian mechanics. a Parisian builder of automata. it was a revolution. who created real wonders—most famously. were conceptualized and systematized. finding oppressive rather than liberatory the materialist presumption that all human actions and reactions can be reduced to logical and mechanical explanations. many eighteenth-century understandings of the human body. increasingly. In England and France. and metaphorically. While we may not go so far as to regard them as “the poisonous engines that have blighted the modern landscape and dehumanized modern relations. and here we find also a rebirth of ideals of individual bodily efficiency first explored in ancient Greece. by writing actual treatises on training these creatures).”49 neither are we entirely comfortable with the degree to which machines have intricated themselves into.

keeping the knee and instep stretched without any bend whatsoever and. its unique conformation. inculcating good habits through strategically administered punishments and rewards.”51 The individual body. dancers had configured themselves toward carefully constructed generic ideals of beauty and “naturalness. but it is important to remember that the ruling concept—that of there being bodily ideals at all—was by no means destroyed. after studying his pupils’ anatomical peculiarities—their physical idiom. its strengths and weaknesses. Newtonianism increasingly encouraged them to configure themselves toward an awareness of individual comfort.52 The sensations produced by walking around for “a few hours daily” at the extreme of tiptoe cannot be very far off those produced by some of the corrective measures of the old style of pedagogy. correcting their defects and reinforcing their advantages.” through which great effort was meticulously concealed. Its radical individualism modified and to some extent broke down the old classifications of movement type and character. For this he should use a remedy and make them do a long daily exercise practicing walking around the room only on the balls of their feet. virtuality. and a quite different naturalness. The difference is one of the degree of active participation of the body involved. and of an unprecedentedly thorough assimilation of that individuality to preexisting ideals. virtue 149 lines as would the animal trainer. The mechanistic dancer takes it upon herself to reconfigure her body through strategic exercise. right. for she has become it.virtuosity. Thus pedagogical mechanism was a means both of physical individuation. in a sense—was the better equipped to amend them toward the “perfections” they lacked. was the point of departure for this new pedagogy. The master should observe whether some are weak in the knees and the insteps or in one of these two said parts. Nowhere was this ambivalence of purpose more thoroughly .50 In the belle danse of the first half of the eighteenth century. The dancer will not need to don it as she would a corset: she will feel unease at not doing it. Thus the dancing master. such as wearing a tight whalebone corset. the weak parts will be fortified. The London dancing master Giovanni Andrea Gallini articulated this shift toward an increasing personalization of movement style: “ Who does not know that almost every individual learner requires different instructions? The laying of a stress on some particular motion or air which may be proper to be recommended to one must be strictly forbidden to another. thus exercising for a few hours daily. one based in the individual experience of ease and in the mechanical efficiency of movement. In many ways mechanism served to reinforce it the more subtly and efficiently. there is an implication that because such exercise is mechanically “correct” it will sooner or later come to feel “fortified”: comfortable.

none of them may move in a circular manner without slightly bringing with it from the same side that it moves one of the shoulders and because. far better serves the purposes of the State. standing out from the shoulders. indeed perhaps impossible. sitting perpendicularly between them. around the middle of the eighteenth century. neither do I wish to relinquish it. merely by recourse to movements that felt right. It must be turned neither to the left nor the right. Michel Foucault uses the above example as part of his mountainously thorough exegesis of Enlightenment physical disciplines as systems for a strategically internalized coercion of the individual: the efficiently moving soldier. unprecedentedly complete. yet we know it existed: the fundamental hopefulness of the Enlightenment. the soldier can no longer walk straight in front of him or serve as a point of alignment. in view of the correspondence between the vertebrae of the neck and the shoulder-blade to which they are attached. at least for present purposes of understanding. multiplied by thousands. the mechanistically trained dancer represented the delights of social docility and obedience upon the stage with an ease that erased the degree of self-restraint and pain with which they had been achieved from the experience of the dancer herself. virtue demonstrated than in the training of soldiers’ bodies. The head must be erect. Instrumentalists’ regimes for the strengthening of weak body parts can be traced in the method books and collections of études that begin to appear in France. most universal manifestations of humanness—could finally be explained in all their marvelousness. we would find the position and the bearing that nature clearly prescribes for the soldier. In the case of stringed-instrument methods. We cannot readily (or advisably!) forget Foucault’s characterization of this attentiveness as a new. because. mechanistic embodiment was an expression of a belief that bodies—those most opaque.54 Similarly. implicitly malevolent level of surveillance. the degree of mechanical explicitness varies pretty widely. But it is harder still.53 There is an inescapable logic to such accounts: ease is hard to argue with. little more is conveyed than the conventional num- . virtuality. as shown in this extract from a military treatise of 1772: If we studied the intention of nature and the construction of the human body. In the treatises of the 1740s and 1750s. We may not be able to regain such hopefulness now but. for the postmodern reader to accept this model of embodied acculturation without deep moral queasiness. The operative layer here is almost inaccessible to us now.150 virtuosity. Yet I wish to bear in mind some of its other layers of meaning. Thus illness would be conquered. thus the most cherished human communications would at long last become infallible. thus dancers and instrumentalists would be able to achieve perfect expressivity. followed by England and other countries. In this spirit. the body no longer being placed squarely.

But as the century progressed musicians began to show a more refined consciousness of kinetic efficiency that recalls that of the dancing masters.” Beginning cellists spend some time learning first to articulate. then to associate the index and ring fingers. the foot a classically elegant one. For instance. Chord formations from Brunetti. virtuality. Although stringed instruments are built and tuned to make tonal formations accessible to the hand. an index finger across three strings will produce a non-tonal chord. in order to produce this formation “automatically. This is done through alternation of the two positions. a major triad. each scale is accompanied by a short “warm-up. to tonality.virtuosity. Repetition is the main avenue for the askesis that will eventually make the hand a tonal. but desire for a particular result must inform every repetition. teaching the hand to find the more unfamiliar extension through association with the familiar.and triple-stopped chords. concentrates on the first-position backward extension of the first finger (necessary in this key on three of the cello’s four strings) and its positional relationship with a normal. the next finger over (the ring finger) must be used instead. while the five positions of classical ballet have some basis in “natural” human movement. while to make the most basic tonal formation. graduated exercises follow a basic principle of askesis: the development of physical learning through the adding-on of complexities.”56 Similarly. One system’s “basic” is another’s “moderately artificial. moving away from C major by gradually adding sharps and flats. for instance. 151 ? 1˙ 1˙ 1˙ 2 b˙ 1˙ 1˙ 3 n˙ 1˙ 1˙ bering of the fingers and their correspondence to notated pitches.” a sort of proto-étude which focuses on areas of that key that may pose problems as to intonation or left-hand positioning. Duport’s in particular. they are not an inevitable result of it. I use as my exemplar here a manuscript cello method by Francisco Brunetti. “closed” left-hand position. kinetically speaking. to make something tonal of it. produced in Madrid around 1800. Brunetti’s method resembles others of this period. chordal technique uses reiteration to shape it to a system—most fundamentally. which extends and braces the hand ever so slightly (see example 17). This is the minutest. The warm-up for E b major. By repeatedly framing the left hand over certain groups of simultaneously sounding pitches. they do not make them inevitable. bear little direct relationship to tonality. most incremental level of the Aristo- . in part because its author almost certainly knew Boccherini himself.55 Brunetti begins with scales. the adjacent finger must be added. in being rich in double. the very simplest chord-framings. virtue Example 17.

“bootstrap” terms for the acquisition of virtue. and. incidentally. the same for all. What is properly efficient will work for everyone. If one were to say that there are as many kinds of expression as there are players. each having to have his own. and even in spite of the player. and a little further away when it diminishes. . which is entirely mechanical. virtue telian.”57 In a treatise of 1797. “up” pitchwise although downward in space) and then the thumb drops silently onto the C–G bar-fifth behind the rest of the hand. true intonation—can ensue.61 Duport refers to “l’aplomb des doigts” or “l’aplomb des mains. virtuality. Although they make copious use of it. (This transverse “descent” is. and intention. To such an overtrained body. thumb-position. rather than back down the neck. is essential to art: “Taste is seldom compatible with difficult exertions. if ever. he does this by reference to a “unity of principles” in matters of technique.” to mean that natural state of balanced ease from which proper. mechanism is elevated to a status intrinsic to art. the Parisian cellist Jean-Marie Raoul (1766–1837) promotes askesis through mechanical metaphor. belief.60 When the bow is kept at the same point on the string as much as possible.” in much the same fashion as Angiolini and Noverre use the term “aplomb. in acquiring character. For the scale’s descent. he systematizes skills that would rarely. Duport and his Parisian contemporaries do not discuss the mechanics of that quintessential Boccherinian technique.152 virtuosity. Jean-Louis Duport produced a magisterial treatise for advanced players. nevertheless. I would reply that that is natural. where it remains for the rest of the exercise. move a little closer to the bridge when the sound increases.” Late in his long life. but a cognitive shaping of desires through perception. Here. These capacities are involved in acting from character. he likens the action of the left-hand fingers to little hammers. and ease. terms by which “habituation is not a mindless drill. that is to say. precisely the maneuver implied in the opening bars of Boccherini’s Sonata G. be used in playing the repertory of his day. in which his explicit concern is to correct common bad habits. Raoul’s graduated exercises for the bow are beyond exhaustive.58 He describes the correct positioning of the left hand in terms of balance: “The thumb is a fulcrum and point of reference for the whole length of the fingerboard”. but for fingering. expressive movement— or in Duport’s case. or the appearance of it. more ordinary difficulties will seem easy. to a different extent and degree. it seems to me that there must be only one.59 and like several other writers. and especially in relation to the left hand. Brunetti dictates that the thumb should be kept in place while the fingers move across to the lower strings. Brunetti’s treatise sketchily demonstrates one way to approach and establish this position: the hand moves up the neck (which is to say. it will. 17).

efficient body to work in order to produce a theatricalization of mechanism is quite another. In this treatise mechanical exigency comes full circle onto a dancer-like. in the manner prescribed in the preceding sections. easy attitude. in its range of cheerfully frenetic affects.virtuosity. we would say that it is extremely rare and almost impossible to see a virtuoso who charms the ears and offends the eyes at the same time. setting that trained. This focus. by rendering the more shocking the contrast he presents all at once between his playing and his attitude. energetic repetitiveness. is the way the keyboardist’s eyes and attention must be so fiercely focused upon the keyboard. its prevailing hopefulness as a view of the world. that seems to contradict everything he might do with expression and grace. it makes those listening to him suffer. the right hand and arm. profusion. however. visualized self-awareness. makes it plain how tightly harnessed and controlled that bodilyness must be. by Spaniards and foreigners alike.”63 Almost as striking to the observer as these aerial gestures. although of course the two realms can intersect. works dedicated to his patroness Queen María Bárbara de Braganza. virtue 153 In 1804 a cello method was jointly produced by a team of string instructors—prominent among them Pierre Baillot. one must hold the head and the body upright. with bodilyness: the proverbial “mutton” as opposed to “spaghetti. Indeed. [so that] if the latter is offended. Some really peerless examples of such intersection can be found in the solo keyboard sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti. the left hand and arm. repeated hand-crossings. virtuality. and redundant precision so marked and exuberant as to constitute a kind of topos of mechanism—including.64 . Once care has been taken to place the violoncello. the bow. Thus these sonatas make the body flamboyant and constrain it at the same time. and conceivably encountered by Boccherini during his early years in the orbit of the Spanish royal court. one of several post-Revolutionary phases in the development of what finally became the Paris Conservatoire. and very wide leaps across space in each hand—as instrumental-gestural dramatizations of the particular physicality of Spanish dance. who has already appeared in these pages as a champion of Boccherini—at the newly established Conservatoire Impérial de Musique. Sara Gross has interpreted Scarlatti’s penchant for a certain class of showy techniques—rapid. She suggests that these were read by observers (or by their royal executant) as an invocation of that eighteenth-century idea of “Spanishness” that was more or less equated. pressing gesture into the service of a rapidity. if someone perceives something constrained or careless in the posture of the performer. avoiding anything in one’s attitude that could have the air of negligence or affectation.62 Programs for the training of the body to a universalized set of mechanical principles are one thing. there is a secret relationship between the sense of hearing and that of sight. It cannot be recommended too strongly to students that they seek to take up a noble. vital to pitch accuracy.

his animadversions on the relations between inspiration and technique. levers. Such topoi are much more of a special effect in Boccherini’s chamber music. when it occurs. and feeble organs of sensibilité.” Its thesis is that a great actor—or. levers. Declaiming en haut voix for hours and for nights upon end presumed a sheer physical toughness which militated against the softness. then. “mechanizes” the player’s body. The “Paradoxe. indolence. a great player—must be the very opposite of sensible: “I insist. sensibilité and virtuosity. the heart one imagines for oneself is not the heart one has. These players were able to present passions vividly and believably. night after night. one is another through imitation. who had visited Paris in 1764. sunk as it so often is in the anti-mechanics of sentimental absorption.” which had its genesis during the 1760s and was circulated through Grimm’s Correspondance littéraire in the 1770s. it is mediocre sensitivity that creates a multitude of bad actors. virtue Scarlattian mechanism. the paradox of the actor “One is oneself by nature. forcing it to visibly mimic those hammers. further forcing upon it the necessity of strengthening certain organic weaknesses—notably. fulcrums. to use the more evocative eighteenthcentury term. But as we have seen in the rondo theme of the Sonata G. and the frequency with which he resorts to it. and it is an absolute lack of sensitivity that forms sublime actors. 17. and on command. virtuality. Diderot went on to assert that it is in fact incompatible with greatness in any walk of life: “The . is an extreme. and I say: It is extreme sensitivity that creates mediocre actors. Claire-Joseph Léris (1723–1803). and played as it is upon stringed instruments. that of the left thumb under sideways pressure—in order to achieve this mimicry.68 Such a physically situated susceptibility was clearly incompatible with the stringent physical requirements of professional playing. whose visible presentation of mechanism is quite a bit less obvious than the keys.”67 These are very different terms than those in which he praised Greuze! Diderot’s reasons for this reversal are simple: he had observed the virtuosity demonstrated by professional players like Henri-Louis Lekain (1729–78). and plectra or hammers of a keyboard instrument. Boccherinian mechanism.” and above all the Englishman David Garrick (1717–79). they also did so dependably. known as “La Clairon.”65 In his “Paradoxe sur le comédien.66 represents a turning-away from the thinking of the arch-sensible Diderot of the early “Salons.” Diderot treated performative alienation with a fullness and provocativeness that has never been matched. Boccherini’s automaton has suffered a fatal alienation. being professionals. and it does all of this in order to perform a view of the world that differs crucially from Scarlatti’s uncomplicated good cheer.154 virtuosity. and (by extension) self and performance continue to inspire discussion and debate to the present day.

and in whose body the overly personal references became readable. a great judge. Although she was highly esteemed for her passionate. a just man.e. in essence. This watchful. different personalities] because they have none. the tonadillera María Antonia Vallejo Fernández (1750–87). the librettist and composer with whom she worked most closely. “It would. was very much implicated: she was. together with his face. Diderot. no intrinsic identity: “They are suited to play them all [i.” cold-bloodedness: the very inverse of sensibilité. reappearing each time entirely and unnervingly transformed. but a deliberately achieved state of abdication from identity. she became quite another creature during the 1779 scandal involving Pablo Esteve.”72 This is not the blank slate of innocence. and consequently a sublime imitator of nature. Esteve had been insufficiently circumspect in some sarcastic dramatic references to his patronesses. “be a singular abuse of words to call this ability to render all natures. however. On one famous occasion Garrick performed a sequence of violently characterized emotions for a salon audience merely by removing his face behind a doorway for a few seconds between expressions. and that she had too . A more quintessential presentation of the notion of the dramatic tableau would be hard to imagine. La Caramba. A fine example of actorly sang-froid is to be found in the person of La Caramba. the one who performed the sarcasm. ever the thinker-through to causes. La Caramba was called before the authorities. even ferocious ones. Diderot tells us. a perceptive observer.”69 If players’ bodies were not particularly transparent or penetrable.”71 He went on to develop the idea that this very ability meant that players have. together with the music they also gave her. a great politician. virtue 155 sensitive man is too much at the mercy of his diaphragm to be a great king. this kind of gamut? I don’t believe it at all. impulsive stage persona.”70 Garrick’s was an extreme example of the representational versatility required of professional players. after all. During the ensuing legal proceedings against Esteve. by “sang-froid.” he tells us. a state of being in which the actors are “suspended between nature and their rough draft”73 in order to make the executional choices that will best delineate the character of the moment. sensitivity. and neither do you. could not square the facility of this demonstration with any notion of sensible transparency in the performer: “Has his soul been able to experience all these feelings and perform.. but defended herself wisely by saying that she—poor little thing—did no more than sing the words they put before her. deliberative. their souls were entirely opaque. a removal or separation of self from action. alienated state at its most effective is characterized.virtuosity. virtuality. which troubled Diderot even in its more ordinary manifestations. the Duquesa de Alba and the Condesa-Duquesa de BenaventeOsuna.

for that matter. and spent time in jail. nor a harp. but one does not weep when one is pursuing an effective adjective that eludes one. that her business was to sing. so with the poet: “One says that one weeps.156 virtuosity. Everyone.”77 And as with the player or man of society. she did not enter into it. Nor would the instrumentalist have been exempt from this condition. and the parallel is sustained in reverse by Diderot. gamut or scale) to describe Garrick’s salon performance is telling: the Englishman played himself. like an instrument. one gives in to feeling and one ceases to compose. His use of musical terminology (gamme. virtue much to do learning the one and the other. nor a harpsichord. (No less a figure than Gaspar Melchor de Jovellanos [1744–1811]. When later on in the “Paradoxe” Diderot asserts that “a great actor is neither a pianoforte.”79 he does so in order to make the point that the player is not identified with any one timbre. Diderot makes use of the metaphor on multiple levels. and indeed of any person in society. in whose model the actor’s relationship to his own body and the feelings expressible through it is very like the relationship of an instrumentalist to his instrument. to make herself a follower of what she said. the moment he moderates or forces that cry. what with the continual changes of repertory. but one does not weep while occupied in making one’s verse harmonious: or if tears flow. but through his alienated competency is capable of them all: “He has no harmony which . he reminds us.75 In the late eighteenth century actors were what they had been for centuries—a class of people much mistrusted and maligned. and quite separate in status from the societies for which they performed. with very little education and no means of self-improvement. or role. moral brinkmanship such as La Caramba’s would understandably reinforce their ostracism. nor a cello. the great courtesan— maintains a perpetual doubleness. one of the literary and social architects of the Spanish Ilustración.”78 Thus the great player or poet—or. he is not himself. acts and manufactures feeling at least some of the time: “The sensitive man obeys the impulses of nature. the quill falls from the hand. nor a violin. his own body. but that of any performer. nevertheless felt called upon to point out that it was precisely because they were held in social and economic contempt that actors tended to be the lowest sort of people. Esteve could (or would) invoke no such separation from his craft. I have been at pains to show that some eighteenth-century instrumental music-making referred much more constantly and explicitly to theatrical practice than subsequent criticism has been in the habit of acknowledging. when she said something. virtuality. but an actor playing a part. one says that one weeps.)76 And Diderot made it clear with painful honesty that the paradox is not only the actor’s burden. and renders truthfully only the cry of his heart.74 La Caramba escaped punishment. or set of possibilities.

op.”80 Diderot “accords [a] dignity of corporeal memory to the actor playing a role on the instrument of his body. G. Over a serenade-like plucked accompaniment. through years of rigorous. to us. For all that Boccherini tells us that he was “as my music shows me to be. simply by virtue of being acculturated. This ambivalent state finds its perfect representation in the figure of the virtuoso instrumentalist. he was inevitably so. and yet it is the very instrument of his expression. quasi-mechanical discipline. undifferentiated rigidity—a mechanical topos—is produced through an equally understated virtuosity of muscular subtlety and flexibility—a state of apparent physical “sensitivity. he too was an alienated and self-conscious creature.” a network of fibres which he also likens to a spider web. virtue 157 is his own. but he takes on the harmony and the tone that are appropriate to his part. the “Celebrated Minuet. which appears to be enacting a private little purgatory of mechanistic fixity and inexpressivity (see example 18). The second violinist simply has no time for galanterie.” the third movement of the Quintet in E Major. The balance between hand and arm muscles is slightly different for every inch of the bow from frog to tip and back again. His relation to it is separate yet not separate.”81 Yet he is not fully identified with that body. yet in the next instant they are plainly without expressive significance. the physical presence of the instrument would seem to interfere with our capacity to identify with him. written in 1771.virtuosity. within the single most famous piece of music by Boccherini. the personable charm of the tune is registrally embedded in and expressively veiled by the second violin part. 5. Inevitably also.” and for all that his music was appreciated by his contemporaries for precisely this quality of transparency. and he knows how to adapt himself to all of them. which may or may not be his own. 275. his gestures seem sometimes to signal him. readable yet not readable. but the notated figure changes not in the least to accommodate or acknowledge this. no. the player-spider a detached consciousness uttering itself through those fibres—and yet always already separate from them. In the “Rêve de d’Alembert” of 1769. Another particularly evocative example of this resistance hides in plain sight. . we cannot be sure. virtuality. There is irony all over again (though this time it could not have been intended by Boccherini) in the fact that he presents this distancing maneuver to us in the very piece that was to become such a latter-day icon of ancien régime preciousness.” itself achieved. as the composer knew very well. In Diderotic terms. as it were. who conveys such astonishingly vivid emotions and images. but he is remarkable in the way he occasionally resists and ironizes sensible transparency through that same virtuosity. Diderot develops the idea of the nervous system as a “sensitive instrument. 11. he must concentrate on keeping the constant stringcrossings reasonably even through the length of the bow. Thus a heard effect of understated. his virtuosity made him emblematic of this divided state.

11. iii (Minuetto).. 1 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ pizz. I believe Boccherini’s physicalistic bent makes a particularly attractive gateway to considerations of how his contemporaries handled the same kinds of issues. opening. œ œ ‰ j ‰ œj ‰ œ œ J J It is utterly characteristic of this composer that cultural tensions were played out.158 virtuosity. like tendencies. œ œ #œ œ œ œ. ## œ & # #œ œ œ œ j œ ‰ . nor even. virtue Example 18. t œ œ œ œ œ œ 5 œ. in exquisitely calibrated physical tensions in the performing individual. vn. a tendency there. Characteristic. j ‰ . no. The relations of like passages. vc. œ vn. but not unique to his work. quite literally. In music-making it is the nature of embodiment to demonstrate itself somewhat episodically—a passage here. op.. 275. G. ## & # œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . be- . vc.. in the end. vla. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ # œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ B ## B ### œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ? # # # œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ . 1 # # 3 œœœœ œ J œ & # 4 t Minuetto œ œ œ œ œ J œœœœ œ J œ t œ œ œ œ œ J œ. 2 j j j j j j œ œ œ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ J ‰ J ‰ J ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œj ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ œ ‰ pizz. 5. œ ‰ . all that peculiar to it.. J j . String Quintet in E Major. virtuality. 2 ## 3 & # 4 Œ # 3 B ## 4 Œ 3 B ### 4 Œ 3 ? ### 4 Œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ pizz.

elegant tune. nationalities. is the problem. this will never be a finished map. Boccherini’s Celebrated Minuet is iconic of this fact. audiences. . are only beginning to be mapped. familiar to us twice over by virtue of its classically simple structure and its countless appearances in film and advertising. on stage. and the closer we listener-observers listen and look. grows a dense. enacted by the second violinist (whose “inessential” part is almost always omitted in transcriptions and adaptations). virtuality. the more entangled we become. And yet. just to the left of the obvious. delicate thicket of contradiction and ambivalence. styles. Around the famous. for all the Enlightenment’s faith in knowability. The more attention we players pay to what or whom we perform. virtue 159 tween composers. There.virtuosity.

Chapter 5

A Melancholy Anatomy

In 1993, doctors at the University of Pisa honored the 250th anniversary of Boccherini’s birth in a rather unusual way. They exhumed his “quasimummified” corpse from the Chiesa di San Francesco in Lucca, where it had been since 1927, took it to Pisa, and there performed “a complete paleopathological examination” of it.1 Among the observations contained in the doctors’ official report is the following: “The soft tissue examination revealed severe aortic arteriosclerosis and pleural and nodal calcifications, confirming the biographical data of Boccherini’s death from tuberculosis.” A 1996 report on this event, from the local newspaper Il Tirreno, adds that Boccherini was
about 1.65 meters tall, and of a rather delicate appearance. [The scientists] consider the more serious pathologies, besides cervical arthritis, to have been calcifications at the thoracic and pulmonary level, which confirm the diagnosis of tubercular pleurisy. “The condition of the teeth, nearly all fallen out, was extremely bad,” explained Professor Fornaciari, “a sign that the master neglected oral hygiene. In addition, the musician suffered from arteriosclerosis, and from particular pathologies linked to his activities as a violoncellist.”

The “more serious pathologies” signaled consumption, the White Death, what we now call pulmonary tuberculosis: a dependable killer at the time, and even into living memory. While tuberculosis had been around for millennia, it took the growth of the modern city and the unprecedentedly close press of the people within it to give the bacillus its full infective scope. David Barnes has estimated that in the early nineteenth century as much as 80 percent of the population in large urban centers like Paris was infected.2 The bacterial basis for this infection, and thus the basis for its effective prevention, was not discovered until 1882; a cure did not become available until
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the discovery of penicillin in 1928, and even then antibiotics did not come into general use until the time of the Second World War. Explanatory structures were urgently needed for a disease so endemic and so deadly. In the late eighteenth century these structures bifurcated along the lines of social class. On the one hand, the high incidence of consumption in the poorest, most densely populated sectors of cities inspired an endless series of quarantines; these often strenuous official interventions in the movements and assemblies of common people inevitably took on a tone of political suppression. The masses had the potential to infect all of society with the dangerous fruits of their association; containment was imperative.3 On the other hand, consumption among the upper classes could be read as evidence (or cause) of a sensitive, artistic, refined nature, and as such implicitly desirable. This conflation was to continue into the nineteenth century and to find its apotheosis there, becoming a veritable cult of the tubercular, a cult which was “not simply an invention of Romantic poets and opera librettists but a wide-spread attitude.”4 In her essay on the metaphors bound up in illnesses, Susan Sontag positions tuberculosis (by which she means the upper-class version of the disease) as the disease of visibility: “TB makes the body transparent. . . . TB is understood to be, from early on, rich in visible symptoms (progressive emaciation, coughing, languidness, fever), and can be suddenly and dramatically revealed (the blood on the handkerchief ).”5 Like sensibilité, this disease seemed to unite inside and outside. Like sensibilité, it could be linked equally to weak, shrinking delicacy or insupportable excitement, pale invalidism or the hectic bloom on the cheeks. And like sensibilité, in the labile variability of its symptoms it made an excellent theater for the endlessly compelling idea that a person had a public outside and a private inside, which might or might not coincide.6 But consumption lent Diderot’s paradox an urgency that ultimately exceeded anything to do with sensibilité, for the condition was organic, not behavioral. It killed the very people it seemed to explain, and it did so with perfect opacity: nobody really knew why. As such this disease marks the boundary—porous, negotiable, arguable, but boundary nonetheless— between the bodily realms of visible and invisible, culturally malleable and biologically mandated. This consumptive man, the Boccherini of the body, regularly presented and irregularly resisted sensibilité through the body of his works. What I wish to pursue here are the ways in which Boccherini encouraged his audience to read his (or their own) consumption through this sensible window, thus invoking a very particularly inflected and infected embodiment. If we regard consumption, eighteenth-century style, as a deranged terminus of sensibilité, then we will find it summoned above all in musical representations of melancholy, which is something Boccherini’s peers frequently heard and described in his music. This maze of metaphorical associations is itself a kind

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of metaphor for the period’s labyrinthine understandings of mind, body, and their proper relationships.

musical melancholies
In ancient and early modern medical writings, music is most generally considered apposite to melancholy, a cure for it rather than a participant in it. Music’s cheering, rousing qualities are routinely praised, and all the familiar old anecdotes—Orpheus, Amphion, Timotheus—trotted out in support. A famous example of this use of music took place in Spain in 1737. Melancholy was something of a hereditary problem among the Borbón royalty. Their passion for hunting, and for the frequent changes of habitation that that passion required, seems to have been one version of that “continual business . . . [to] distract their cogitations” of which Robert Burton speaks, a standard prescription for cure.7 One might be tempted to ascribe a similar distracting function to the hyperactivity of some of Domenico Scarlatti’s keyboard sonatas; less speculatively, the circumstances attending the arrival of Farinelli at the Spanish court are a documented case of the use of music precisely for its ability to chase away melancholy.
It has often been related, and generally believed, that Philip V, King of Spain, being seized with a total dejection of spirits, which made him refuse to be shaved, and rendered him incapable of attending council or transacting affairs of state, the Queen . . . determined that an experiment should be made of the effects of Music upon the King her husband, who was extremely sensible to its charms. Upon the arrival of Farinelli . . . Her Majesty contrived that there should be a concert in a room adjoining to the King’s apartment, in which this singer performed one of his most captivating songs. Philip appeared at first surprised, then moved; and at the end of the second air, made the virtuoso enter the royal apartment, loading him with compliments and caresses; asked him how he could reward such talents; assuring him that he could refuse him nothing. Farinelli, previously instructed, only begged that His Majesty would permit his attendants to shave and dress him, and that he would endeavour to appear in council as usual. From this time the King’s disease gave way to medicine; and the singer had all the honor of the cure.8

Queen and musician-servant were engaged in a perfectly pragmatic musical medicine for the king’s condition; that it was effective is indicated by the enormous privilege that Farinelli subsequently enjoyed. As Burney puts it, “By singing to His Majesty every evening, [Farinelli’s] favour increased to such a degree that he was regarded as first minister.” Rarely do period writers acknowledge that music might have a more ambiguous relationship to melancholy. In one place only in his great 1621 compendium The Anatomy of Melancholy does Robert Burton suggest this: “As [music] is acceptable and conducing to most, so especially to a melancholy

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man. . . . In such cases music is most pernicious, as to spur a free horse will make him run himself blind, or break his wind. . . . It will make such melancholy persons mad, and the sound of those jigs and hornpipes will not be removed out of the ears a week after.”9

boccherinian melancholy
At first pass, the idea of Boccherini’s music as melancholy would seem to have been a posthumous development, for the word itself first appears only among his early nineteenth-century critics.
Baillot (1804): If all five instruments are made to speak at the same time, it is with a full, august harmony which . . . takes on a somber and melancholy tint, it goes directly to the heart by means so sweet, that tears fall without our being aware of it. Schaul (1809): But what a difference between a Mozart and a Boccherini! The former leads us between jagged rocks in a thorny forest . . . the latter, in contrast, into a smiling country, graced with blooming pastures, clear, flowing brooks, thick groves, wherein the spirit gives itself up with pleasure to sweet melancholy. Carpani (1808): The style of the Luccan master retained something of the ecclesiastic and of the fugato; nor did it ever divest itself, even in excited pieces, of that color of tender melancholy which is proper to mild and honest men. Fétis (1835): His ideas, always graceful, often melancholy, possess an inexpressible charm through their naivety.10

These critics’ idea of melancholy is tied to innocence, to an untrammeled heart, and to the Gessnerian vein of pastoral nostalgia. This is what I might call a species of proto-melancholy. It is a state of absorption, but not consumption; it is sad, but not deeply so; there is nothing deranged about it. One has the impression that Baillot will have no difficulty picking up and carrying on, feeling much the better for his spate of involuntary tears. The graver kind of melancholy, the kind that enfolds consumption, is never named by Boccherini’s critics, but it is strongly implied by them through several different metaphorical channels. Somberness, darkness, gloom, all central melancholic qualities, are repeatedly referenced, even in the earliest critical writings. Thus the Parisian pamphleteer Boyé in 1779: “The quartets of Boccherini have something, I know not what, of somberness which makes them comparable to the Nights of Young.”11 This is a reference to Night Thoughts, a work by the English poet Edward Young. Now nearly forgotten, it was first published in 1741, and went through innumerable editions in English and in French in the course of the ensuing hundred years.12 Night Thoughts consists of nine long poems, really homilies in poem form, ostensibly written during nine sleepless nights; they ruminate,

Figure 10. Anon., Night the Third: Narcissa, engraving to illustrate Edward Young’s Night Thoughts, German translation of 1767. William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, University of California, Los Angeles. Photo copyright UCLA Photo Services.

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apostrophize, and agonize upon death and the fear of death, through topics like “Life, Death, and Immortality,” “Time, Death, and Friendship,” “The Relapse,” “Consolation” (see figure 10). The tone of the work is somber, as Boyé avers, but also sentimental, fretful, devout, and terribly introverted, a dose of sensible, consumptive melancholy concentrated to the point of nearindigestibility for the modern reader.13
From short (as usual) and disturb’d repose, I wake: how happy they, who wake no more! Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave. I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams Tumultuous; where my wreck’d desponding thought, From wave to wave of fancied misery, At random drove, her helm of reason lost. Though now restor’d, ’tis only change of pain: (A bitter change!) severer for severe: The day too short for my distress; and night, Even in the zenith of her dark domain, Is sunshine to the colour of my fate. Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o’er a slumbering world. Silence how dead! and darkness how profound! Nor eye, nor listening ear, an object finds: Creation sleeps. ’Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and nature made a pause; An awful pause! prophetic of her end. And let her prophecy be soon fulfill’d: Fate! drop the curtain; I can lose no more.

Boyé wisely says it is “I know not what” in this poetry that reminds him of Boccherini’s quartets. We might suggest that it is just somberness, darkness, and gloom, and leave it at that; or more theatrically (and less wisely) pursue a detailed mimetic correspondence. The opening lines of the poem, with their imagery of a reluctant awakening, find an answer in the main idea of the first movement of the Quartet in C Minor, op. 9, no. 1, G. 171 (see example 19; CD track 39). The lower parts murmur disconsolately, “a sea of dreams / Tumultuous,” and from them awakens the first violin line, whose melody after an abrupt arousal is nothing but tired and tiresome little sighs, over and over again: whether the dreamer’s “ wreck’d desponding thought” descending “From wave to wave of fancied misery,” or the waking mind’s obsessive grief matters little, “ ’tis only change of pain.” A similar quality of hopelessness attends most of the ensuing passages. Where the movement is forceful, it is rigidly, insistently, and futilely so (as in bar 5, or bars 14 and 15), while the second theme (bars 8–11) bears a deadly resemblance to the

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first, consisting of an emphatic gesture that turns almost immediately into a long string of sighs. The closing theme, beginning with the pickup to bar 16, is frozen into near- immobility, a disquieting echo of those “dreams [that] infest the grave” suggested by the peculiar, hollow voicing of the rinforzando chords on the third beats of bars 16 and 17. In the second part of the movement the misery intensifies: in bars 33–38, the harmony spirals helplessly toward the flat side of the spectrum, the dominant of F minor resolving to that of B b minor, and this in turn resolving to that of E b minor (CD track 40). E b minor is a truly outré key area, rarely used even in passing; a period description describes it as “mocking God and the world; discontented with itself and with everything; preparation for suicide sounds in this key.”14 This descent from wave to wave of misery both fancied and executional—E b minor being “little practiced on account of its great difficulty in performance”15—

Example 19. String Quartet in C Minor, op. 9, no. 1, G. 171, i (Allegro).

vn. 1

vn. 2

b j &bb c œ B b bb c œ J œ ? bb c J b

j œ

j œ œ œ œ œ œ
j œ

F.

j œ ‰ œ ‰ J
P.

m. P. j œ

P.

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vla.

œ œ œ œ œj œ œ J

R.do

nœ œ œ œ œ œ

vc.

œ œ nœ bœ œ

R. do

b j & b b œœ
F.

œ œ œ

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œ œ œ

j œ

j œ œ œ œ J œ œ

P.

B b bb œ
j œ

j œ

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P.

• œ nœ bœ œ œ œ œ

? bb n œ b
F.

Æ

Æ Æ

b &bb

3

Ó

‰ œœ œœ

Æ œ œ œÆ Æ Æ Æ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœœœœ œ j œ œ œ œ œ œ j ‰ nœ œ œ œ

Æ

Æ Æ

b &bb c ‰

Allegro

Ó

‰ œ œœœ

œ œÆ œÆ œÆ œ Æ Æ n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœ

œœœ

œœœ œ n œ. j j j ? b œ œ œ œ b b œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ. œ œœ œ œ. P. P. R. b & b b œ œœ œ œ œ œ b & b b œ œœœ œ œ œ R. œ œ œ ‰ ≈ œ œjœ . F. P. Ÿ œ bœ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ œ œ B b bb n œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ . P.m œœ b œ œ œ .Example 19. œ œ œ œ F. œœœ œ œœ œœ r ≈R ≈ R œ ≈ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ R œœœ R. F. 5 B b bb ≈ œ n œ . ‰ œjœ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœ œ œ R. P. (continued) bœ b &bb œœ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ n œ nœ œ œ œ # œ œ œ nœ nœ œ œ œ F. P. œ œ œ ‰ J J R R m F. œ œ œ ‰ J R Ÿ œ J ‰ œ œ œ œ j œ ≈œœœœ œ œ P. ? b b œjœ b R. nœ œ œ œ œ . œ œ R. n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ F. bb ≈ r j‰ ≈ r j ‰ ≈ r &b œ nœ. bœ œ# œ œ œ ‰ œjœ . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœ R. 10 œœœ œ. ≈ œ nœ . œ œ r ≈ R œ ≈ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ œ bœ R R ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœ œœœœ œ œ P. œ œ œ j œ œ ˙! P. P. ˙ œ P. œ nœ œ œ ? b J ‰ ‰ J J ‰ ‰ J bb b &bb œ b &bb 7 F. œœ b œ œ œœœ œ œ P. œ j B b bb œ œ œ œ œ R. (continued) 167 Æ Æ ÆÆ Æ . F.

F. F. œ œ. j nœ j nœ Æ Æ & b bb R. œ œ P. œœ œ j œ Æ Æ b j & b b œœ œ Æ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ.œ œ œ œ j & b œ œ bb B bb b ˙ P. B b bb ? b œ bb J F. F. 16 F. ˙ œ ˙ R. P. œœœœ œ œœœ œ œ j œ œ R. œ J ‰ œ œ œ J ‰ œ J ‰ œ J ‰ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ b & b b œ œ . ? bb œ b 168 Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ b & b b œjœ œœœ œ Æ Æ œ œ œ œœ œ œ P. P.œ œ œ œ ~~~~~~~~~~ R. j œœœœ œ œ ˙ œ P. œ œœœœœ œœœ œœœœœœœ œ œœœœœ œœœ œœœœœœœ Æ Æ œ œ œ b & b b nœ œ œ œ nœ œ nœ œ œ œ œ bœ nœ œ œ œ nœ œ nœ œ œ 12 œ bœ . ˙ œ ˙ R. j œ œ R. P. (continued) j ‰ B b bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœœ œœœ œœœœœ ? bb 14 b œ œ œ œ œ œœ j ‰ ‰ œ J œ j œ œ œœ ‰ œ J œ œ œœœ j œ ‰ J œ Æ œ Æ œ œ œ œœ œ œ P. P. P. P. P. ∑ ‰ F. j œ œœœ Æ œ œœœ œÆ œ œœ ∑ œ œ œ J œ ‰ j œ œœœœœœœœ œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ . F. R. œ. F. F. P. F. œ D. P. j œœœœ œ œ P. P. j œ F.Example 19.

œœœœ œ œ œ œ œ P. (continued) b & b b œ. œ œ P. œ œ . F. œœœœ œœœœ P. B b bb œ ? bb œ b 21 œ œ œœ œ œj ‰ œ œ ‰ ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ R. œ œjœ . œ œ œ œ œ (continued) B b bb œ œ œ œ œ œ . b &bb R. œ œ œ . j nœ j nœ ˙ œ ˙ R.Example 19. 23 m œ j œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ. & b bb 19 j œŸ j œ œj ‰ Ÿ ‰ œ. œ œjœ . œ œj ‰ œ ‰ œ. b & b b œ. œ œ œ F. œ œ œ R. œ. œ œ œ P. œ œ j œ œ R. œœ œ œ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ b j &bb œ œ B b bb ˙ ? bb œ b P. œ œ œ œ œ 169 . œ œjœ . œ œ œ j j œ œ ‰ œ œjœ . œ œ œ . œ ? bb œ œ œ œ œ b œ œ F. œ œ œ œ œ œ j œ. R. j œ ‰ œ œ j œ œ œ. œ œ P. œ P. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ R. œ. j œ œ R. œ. œ œ F. b & b b œ œ . j œœœœ œ œ P. j œ œœœœœœœœ œ œ œ.

œ œjœ .. ‰ . ‰ œ œ œ Æ Æ Æ œ œœœ œ œ œ œ ‰ ‰ œ J œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ R. . j œ b œ . œ œjœ .. ‰ œœ Æ œ b œ œ œ œÆ œÆ ‰ œœ P. ˙ Ó j œ œ œ nœ Æ Æ b œ Æ Æ & b b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œj b &bb œ j B b bb œ œ P. B b bb n œ b œ ? bb n œ b œ b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ 170 . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ &bb B b bb œ ? bb 27 œ œ œ œ œ Æ Æ œ œ œ œ . œ œj œ . œ J P. . œ œ œ œ œjœ œ J œ œ œ œ œjœ œ J œ ‰ j œ œ œ œ j œ R.. . . œ J R.. œ œjœ .. j œ Ó F. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœœœœœœœœœœœ œ ˙ D.Example 19.. (continued) b &bb 25 œ œ . œ œ œ . b &bb ‰ j œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ P..do ? bb œ b œ b b &bb 29 ˙ œ œnœ œ œnœ œ œ Æ Æ œ œ œ œ œ n œ œ b œÆ œ Æ Æ Æ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ P.. œ œ œ œ œjœ œ J œ œ œ œ œjœ œ J œ . œ J R.

bœ J œ. b & b b œ œ œœœœœ œ œœ œœœ œœ œ j œ bœ B bb b ˙ ? bb 33 œ J œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ nœ œ œ œ bœ b œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ b œ œ n œÆ œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ œÆ œ n œ œ œ œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ &bb b &bb œ B bb b ‰ ? bb ˙ b ˙ b & b b bœ P. œ œ œ œ Æ Æ nœ œ œ œ nœ nœ J œ œ nœ J œ œ ˙ ˙ bœ œ œ nœ œ œ nœ œ.Example 19. Æ Æ Æ Æ bœ œ œ œ Æ Æ Æ Æ b œœœœœ & b b œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ B bb b ‰ ? bb b ˙ œ j œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ œÆ œ œ œ b œÆ ‰ ˙ œ j œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ (continued) 171 . œ œ œ œ bœ J œ ‰ œ œ œ nœ œ. nœ œ F. 35 œ œ œ nœ œ. j œœ œ œ nœ nœ œ Œ nœ œ F. (continued) b n œ œ œn œ œ œ œ b œ œ b œ œj b œ & b b œ bœ œ œ 31 œ œ œ œjœ n œ œ œ œjœ .

œ œ œ ‰ b ˙ D. ‰ œ ˙ œœ m nœ nœ œ j nœ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ j nœ nœ œ œ œ œ œœ m F. b bb j ‰ ≈ r j‰ ≈r & œ n œ n œœ œ œ œ œ œœ F. œ œ œ F. m B b bb œ ‰ ≈ œn œ œ œ œ ‰ ≈œ œ œœ J J R R F. n œ n œœ P. j œ ‰ œ b & b b bœ œ œ nœ B b bb ‰ œ ? bb 39 œ. j nœ F. œ œ 172 Æ œ J ‰ ‰ œ nœ œ œ œ œ J œ œ œ œ Æ Æ b & b b œ œ œœ œ œœ œ œ F.n œn œœ P. nœ ‰ J œ P.œ œ q P. j bœ j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b ˙ Æ Æ Æ œÆ œ œ œÆ œÆ œ Æ œ œ œ Æ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ b œœ nœ œ m & b b œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ nœ nœœ & b bœ B b bb ‰ ? bb 41 bb œ œ #œ œ œ. m œ nœ œ ? bb ‰ n œ J ‰ J b œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ. j ‰ œ ‰ œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ œ œ . m F. (continued) Æ Æ b œ œ œÆ œÆ œ œ œÆ b œ œ œ œÆ œÆ œ œ œÆ œ &bb 37 Æ œ œ œÆ œÆ œ œ œÆ b œ œ œ œÆ œÆ œ œ n œÆ œÆ bœ œ œ nœ ‰ œ ˙ œ.Example 19. œ œ œ #œ œ F.

Æ Æ b & b b œ n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ ‰ b &bb œ B b bb Ó ? bb 47 Ó j œ œ œ œœ ‰ œœœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ Œ ‰ œ b œ œ nœ bœ œ b bœ & b b nœ œ b & b b œj œ B bb b ‰ B bb b œ J Æ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ j œ œj œ œ œ œ J ‰ œ J Æ œ œ Æ Æ Æ œ œ J R. j œ j œ œ J œ œ nœ R. R. j œ j œ Ó ‰ œœœœ F.Example 19. R. œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ j œ œ œ œ J j œ œ ‰ œ J Æ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœ j œ ‰ œ œ œ J ‰ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ ?œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ ‰ ‰ (continued) 173 . œ œ j œ P.do œ b œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ J P. œ œ œÆ œ Æ j œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ Æ Æ Æ j œ œ œ œ œjœ œ œ œ œ œ œjœ œ J B b bb n œ œ œ œ œ ? bb 45 œ œ ‰ œ J œ œ j œ œ ‰ J œ œ R. (continued) b &bb œ & b bb 43 œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ ‰ œj R. œ œ j œ œ œ œ J œB œ .

. P. ˙ œ P. œœ œ œ ~~~~~~~~~~ R. m j j œœ œ F. P. P. ∑ j œ ‰ œ œ œ j œ ‰ j œ ‰ ? b b œj ‰ b P. j œ P. œ œ œ. œœœœ ˙ ˙ R. œ œ œ œ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ R. 51 b & b b œ œ . bb œ œ œ œ œ œ . œ œ œ ‰ ˙ œ P. j œ j œ œœœœ P. F. j œ œ R. P. P. j œ. ˙ œ ‰ ˙ R. F. œ œ œ œœ j œ œ œ œ œœœ œ j j œ œ œ œF. P. B b bb P. j œ œ R. œ. B b bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J ? bb b œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ j œ œ R. œ œ P. R. œ. œœ œ. œ œ œ œ œnœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ ∑ œ œ œ œ j œ œœœœœœœœ œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ Æ Æ b & b b œjœ 49 œ œ œœ j œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ j œ œ œœ F. œ 174 Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ Æ & b bb F. œ œœœ j œ fi œ œ œ œœ œ œ P. P. ? bb œ b 54 & & b bb b bb P. (continued) F. P. œ œœ œ œ œ. j œœœœ œ œ P.Example 19. œœ œ œ ~~~~~~~~~~ R. F. P. F. œ P. & b œj œ B b bb ˙ P. ˙ œ ˙ R. j œœœœ œ œ P. P.œ œ œ œ F. œ. .

œ œ œ œ œ j œœœœ œ œ P.. œ œjœ . b œ P. œ œjœ . j œ œœœœœœœœ j œ œ. œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ. œ. œ œjœ . n œ œj œ œ œ œ . b &bb j œ j œ œ œ œ F. (continued) b & b b œ œ. . œ. j œ ‰ œ F. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ b &bb F. 56 œœœœ œ P. œ œ œ œ œ F. œ. j œ j œ B bb b ˙ ? bb 58 ˙ œ t œ. . œ œ œ œ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ R. n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b œ &bb B bb b œ ? bb œ b œ 175 .. œ œ œ . œ œ . œ œjœ . . œ œ œ j ‰ œ œ œ œnœ œ œ œ œ R. œ œjœ . œ œ.. œ P. œ œjœ . œ œjœ . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. b & b b œ. œ œ œ. b j & b b œj œ œ œ R. œœ œ. ˙ R. œ œ œ j ‰ œ ‰ œ . œ œ œ ..Example 19. œ œ œ . B bb b œ ? bb 60 œ œ œ œ œ F. œ œjœ .

Here the violin lines swirl and cross one another scalewise. 5. 8. contains a remarkable representation of melancholic excess (see example 20). the dominant of C minor (CD track 41). Junker disliked Boccherini’s dark qualities. It comes on gently enough: the first period’s successive imitations of a two-bar figure at the unison or octave seem merely a bit unimaginative (CD track 43). and regardless of how he allows morbid doubts to infect the conventional associations of form thereby. and has plainly crossed the line from failure of imagination into obsession (CD track 44). Boccherini frames these dark excursions. and. very often fixated upon a single idea to the exclusion of anything else. is scarcely a comfortable or rewarding place to return to (CD track 42). moving by fifths. “quarantining” them in those formal situations where excess and alterity are most securely contained: in the modulating sections (what we now call the developments) of first movements. regained in bars 44–45. very often in flat keys. which begins at the upbeat to bar 44. Unlike his French colleagues. in the trios of minuet-trio pairs. It gasps and circles at the unison. But the second period introduces a new point of imitation: it is an unexpected tonic minor. The quartets opp. and he disliked them in a particular way. whose product (on the whole) can excite sensory pleasure in me. Be it now a decision to be labyrinthine. this trio cannot contain its own imploding bent within normal binary structure. futile and with a slightly furtive affect—the result of the walking on technical eggshells entailed in playing in this key (CD track 45). too dark. most typically of all. The whole concept of reprise in such a context takes on a dire quality. an embedded section in the very unusual key of D b major. inward-spiraling construction of this piece recalls the 1776 Boccherini criticism of Carl Junker (1748–97). 8 and 9 are especially rich in queer. Op. too morose. and indeed this deranged shift heralds a retransition to the reprise. And yet regardless of the vividness with which he can evoke an obsession that seems veritably to consume itself. “(A bitter change!) severer for severe. whose thread (when he even has one) I can follow tirelessly. but with the next chord change the helm of harmonic reason is entirely lost: the dominant of E b minor “resolves” to G-major harmony. obsessive trios. no. a helpless return to the main thread of an obsession. in order to achieve merit through . The unusual. as here.” The main idea of this movement. Having crossed that invisible line. really not my man.176 a melancholy anatomy has at least been logical. Boccherini is really not the man I listen to for long with heart’s delight. ever-subsiding downward. because to me he is too shadowed. The lower voices of the quartet return to their “disturb’d repose” and the first violin resumes its litany of sighs. and this time only three beats long. and spawns its own trio-within-a-trio. a Swiss critic of music and art. C minor is the home key of the movement.

œ. vc. 8. œ B bb Œ Œ œ . iii (Tempo di minuetto). vn.m œ œ B bb œ . Œ ∑ œ œ œ b & b œ. œ . b œ n œ œ ∑ p (continued) 177 .œ œ œ œ œ œ . trio. Œ ... ∑ ∑ ˙. œ ∑ ∑ ˙. œ œ. ∑ œ Œ . String Quartet in F Major. G. . œ œ œ œ nœ b œ œ . œ œ œ ∑ Dol. nœ ˙ bœ bœ œ. œœœ œ Œ p nœ b . Tempo di minuetto (Trio) vn.nœ ˙ & b œ bœ œ b &b œ œ œ œ b œ bœ œ. Œ . no. œ œ. 169. œ œ œ .nœ ˙ Œ Œ B œ. b œ . œ œ œ œ œ nœ bœ bœ œ. Dolce œ œ œ . 5. œ Œ Œ œ. œ œ œ œ Œ ? b b 46 Œ Œ œ . bœ p ∑ ∑ œ bœ œ.œ œ œ œ .n œ ˙ p œ nœ ? bb œ bœ œ.œ œ œ œ . œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ . œ ∑ Œ Œ Dol. œ. œ œ . b œ n œ b œ œ b œ œ..Example 20. œ b 3 &b 4 Œ 3 B bb 4 Œ ? bb 4 Œ 3 b &b œ œ œ 41 37 œ.œ œ œ œ . nœ ∑ Œ Œ œ. 2 vla. 1 b 3 & b 4 œ. op..

œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ t œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. b bb bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœ œ P mo.. . b bb bb Œ & b œ bœ œ œ bœ œ B bb n œ œ œ œ œ ˙ B bb b œ b œ œ œ œ n œ œ b & b b bb b & b b bb B b bb bb ? bb b b b ˙. p ? bb b b b nœ p œ œ œ ˙ ˙ œ Œ œ œ bœ Œ œ œ bœ œ œ nœ œ nœ ˙ œ œ Œ œ Œ œ Œ 178 Æ Æ Æ ˙ œ Œ œ œ ˙ ˙ . b bb b Œ b ?. œ œ œ œ œ œœœ œ œ œ œ Pmo.. .... ∑ ˙. . b bb bb Œ t œœœœœ œœœœœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. . ∑ ˙.. ˙.. Œ . .Example 20. œ œ . œ & b bb b œ œ œ n œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ œ b & b bb b ˙ p B bb bb b ˙ . b Œ . . . ... Œ ∑ P mo. . œ b œ nœ œ nœ œ œ œ œ. 61 56 œ œœœœ œœœœœœ œ œ œ œœ œœ ∑ ˙. œ œ œ œ œ œ. (continued) 51 &b b ˙ nœ ˙ œ œ œ œœ ... ∑ œ œ œ p œ Œ Œ . Œ .

n b Œ œ .. . bœ nœ œ ∑ nœ œ œ œ. œ œ. œ. œ œ. œ. œ nœ œ p ˙ œ œ œ. (continued) bb & b b b nœ œ 65 œ œ bœ œ . œ œ Œ œ.œ œ œ œ . œ ∑ Œ Œ œ. œ œ . œ nœ bb œ & b b b Œ Œ œ. œ œ. n n n b b Œ Dol. nœ ˙ œ Œ Œ B œ. œ n œ œ œ œ œ ˙ B bb bb b ˙ b & b :œ œ œ b &b Œ B bb œ ? bb Œ œ ∑ p 75 ˙. nœ ˙ & b bb b œ b œ œ œ b & b bb b n œ œ . n n n b b œ . p ∑ œ ˙. œ œ œ :œ œ œ œ. nœ œ B b bb bb ? bb b bb 71 œ œ œ. n n n b b Œ . nœ bœ bœ œ œ œ œ ? . ∑ ∑ j œ œ œ :œ œ ˙ œ œ œ . n nb j œ œ œ :œ œ ˙ œ œ œ. œ (continued) 179 .. œ nœ œ œ nœ bœ œ œ . œ ˙. nœ ˙ œ ∑ ∑ Œ Œ œ.. œ œ œ ∑ œ œ nœ œ œ ˙ B bb bb b b œ b œ œ . nœ b . nœ ˙ œ nœ Æ bœ bœ œ.Example 20.

œ œ œ œ & b :œ œ œœœœ 3 œ œ œœ œ œ œÆ F. Œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . p œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ .˙ œœœœœ œœ œ œœ œ œœœ Æ p R. ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ . b œ œ œ œ œÆ œ Œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . (continued) 80 &b b ˙. œ œ. œ ˙. œ œ . œ œ. ˙. œ œ ˙ Œ Œ œ. b & b :œ 85 Œ œ. ? bb œ .Example 20. œ œ ∑ Œ b &b œ œ B bb œ . œ Œ Œ œœœœ Œ œ œ ˙ œ Œ B bb ∑ p œœœœœ œ œ œ ? bb œ œ œ ∑ œ œ œ Æ œ œÆ œ bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & 91 œÆ b &b œœœœœœœ œ œ 3 3 B bb ? bb ∑ ∑ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Æ Æ Æ Œ Œ p p œ œ œ œ œ œ . Æ œ œ œ :œ œ ˙ œ Æ Æ œœœ œ œ œ.œ œ œ . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ .œ œ œ œ . 3 p 3 R.œ œ œ . œ œ . D.C. il M. ˙ Œ œ Smorz. nb nb nb nb T T Æ Æ Æ œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙ T T 180 .

how often he sacrifices all to art there! It is true that development is pleasing to the searching spirit. he torments the ear without gratifying the heart. gradual transition. If the composer needlessly entangles himself in difficulties. and he interrupts the course of the sentiments’ story. E.16 In addition to the obligatory darkness and gloominess. 8. be it too much inclination toward his own favorite instrument. repetitive obsession.” is accomplished through diminished-seventh-chord modulations and enharmonic progressions. inward-spiraling. but his ability as a composer to combine them into nuanced “descriptions” of the melancholic condition might have been the envy of many a doctor. is well suited. gloom” but a good many refinements upon it: death and the fear of death. and its untying. futility—the catalog is endless. long a pictorial emblem of the melancholic’s tortured and tortuous redoublings of mind.17 The skill and subtlety of Bach’s harmonic emergence from this labyrinth of regret and sorrow—the gradual untying of the knot. Junker makes reference to the labyrinth. Elaine Sisman has shown how in C. Boccherini/Young or Boccherini/Junker calls forth not only the standard-issue melancholic “somberness. This is a topos to which the temporal nature of music. in the last few bars before the da capo he introduces a rising-triplet cadential figure. but you really must not tangle things up unnecessarily. These qualities are none of them peculiar to Boccherini. We may use his music quite as freely as any period medical text for a catalog of melancholic . the helpless return to the main thread of an obsession.a melancholy anatomy 181 novelty . Having carefully retraced his steps from the nearly dissolved state of D b major. . daylight piece in F major. P. Bach’s 1781 rondo Abschied von meinem Silbermannischen Claviere (“Farewell to My Silbermann Clavier”) a winding trail of harmonies. or irresistible natural impulse. for endings are themselves anti-melancholic. . tiredness and tiresomeness. no. In works like the two I have excerpted here. taken from the minuet itself. a cheerful. Thus he “unties” the whole affair with a “gradual transition” (CD track 46). and therefore also its complicated course. morbid doubts. fretfulness and extreme introversion. One imagines that Junker would feel encouraged by the clever way in which Boccherini extracts himself from his own flat-infested harmonic labyrinth in the trio of op. a “descent within. The connoisseur may decide how often this happens with Boccherini. darkness. and Boccherini was in good company in using it. 5. fixation upon a single idea to the exclusion of anything else. labyrinthine regret and sorrow. as Junker would have it— were particularly praised by contemporary connoisseurs. devotion. wandering so far from the original key area that one begins to doubt the possibility of return (a “feeling that no Ariadne’s thread is to be found”). a knot should be nothing but contrast. a decline into the dark minor mode. obsessive repetition. through B b minor and B b major (and their former points of imitation). and the ineluctably consequent nature of tonal music in particular.

The shift was ponderous and inconsistent. toward a more mechanical and systematic understanding of bodies. its uniquely apt explanatory power was deeply woven into Western thought and language. phlegm. Equilibrium of these potentially stagnant juices defines health. a few symptoms. especially on the Continent.182 a melancholy anatomy symptoms. during his training. In Spain. choler or yellow bile. living or dead. Thus can the historian of eighteenth-century music happily dabble in realms of physiology and psychology now considered distant indeed from her rightful bailiwick. and a diagnosis could confidently be prepared. as all possible categories of embodiment had been set forth long since by the ancients. initially marked well back in the seventeenth century by the work of William Harvey and René Descartes. it remained a general or implicit model far longer. Between sponges there is seepage. The Galenic doctor spent precious little time in contact with bodies. for instance. Joseph Roach gives a vivid summary of the humoric body: it “resembles a large bag containing juice-filled sponges of various shapes and sizes. a little holding of the patient’s wrist in order to assess the pulse.) In the Galenic system an individual derives both physical nature and temperament from the relative endowment of each humor. One of the finest fascinations of eighteenth-century studies is the way that music and critical discourse about music are sometimes the bearers of vital information and theory about very basic operations of human experience. was minimally based on empirical observation. one of Feijóo’s most impassioned missions was his campaign against this official sanctioning of a scientific system that he knew to have been superseded—and which. For this same reason such a doctor was not much concerned with actually looking at his patients.19 . from galen to descartes The eighteenth-century understanding of melancholy that Boccherini models for us had developed over many centuries and in his day was still undergoing a radical shift. furthermore. and general sloshing about. sketchily gathered by report. Galenic medicine had been in place for a very long time. from the ancient Greek humoric system summarized in the second century by Galen. to their excesses or deficiencies all disorders of mind and body can be traced. but not the regular cleansing action of continuous circulation. and melancholer or black bile. dissection as a way of teaching anatomy or physiology was considered not only abhorrent but methodologically unnecessary. (It remains so today: English is still full of Galenic idioms based on the four humors or cardinal fluids—blood.”18 This was the ruling conception of the human organism until the discovery of the circulation of the blood by William Harvey in 1628. percolation. an unadulterated humoric medicine was still taught to medical students in the universities well into the eighteenth century.

muscle fibers continued to respond to stimulation. finally. reception. the beating of the heart and of the arteries. they resisted being theorized as a system. Fluctuating within their fibrous tangle of nerves. To be fair to Descartes. and in their elusiveness. so that when they occur one need not conceive in it any soul either vegetative or sensitive. Nerves were “like little threads or little tubes. such as the digestion of food. breathing. no more nor less than the movements of a clock. and of such other qualities into the organs of the exterior senses. Dutch. which is called the animal spirits. Chief among these metaphors were the twins refinement and sensitivity. who reported that for some hours following the death and dissection of the creature from which they were taken. the materiality and specificity of the Cartesian approach still informs my own inquiries into the musical functioning of this “machine. the impression of their ideas upon the organ of common sense and the imagination. however. he knew this. wakening. I would like you to consider. and French doctors to question Galen and get their hands bloody. (It also goes some way toward giving his system the poetic richness that makes the humoric system so convincing. which all come from the brain and which like the brain contain a certain very subtle air or wind. sensation.) According to this theory. I would like you to consider . that all these functions result naturally in this machine solely from the disposition of its organs. who has been demonized often enough for splitting up body and soul. that all the functions which I have attributed to this machine. the passage of light. other than that of its blood and its spirits agitated by the heat of that fire which burns continually in its heart. the nourishment and the growth of the members.22 and this was echoed by a chorus of doctors in other countries of Europe. .”21 Animal spirits thus somewhat resembled humors in their origins in the blood. Descartes’s scrupulous separation of physical and mental functions is immensely and notoriously problematic. or some other automaton. . his theory of “animal spirits” is an attempt to resolve the logical problems that result. which he called . of odors. my conclusions. of tastes.20 Close to four hundred years later. the retention or the imprint of these ideas within the memory. . he considered this property. and sleep. of heat. . of sounds. the exterior movements of all the members. and. and whose nature is no different from that of all the fires which are in inanimate bodies. but invited a whole host of new metaphorical engagements. nor any principle of movement and life. . I say. That animal spirits pervaded the organism down to its minutest part was demonstrated in 1672 by Francis Glisson.a melancholy anatomy 183 Descartes offers the best-known model of the new physiology that was to result from the willingness of seventeenth-century English. Descartes tells us that only “the most active and finest parts” of the blood contribute to animal spirits. and their reactive impulses to the body’s members were conveyed and reconveyed through the body by the nerves. the interior movements of the appetites and of the passions.” Not. result from that of its counterweights and its wheels.

29 Yet Boccherini also composed toward a heightened awareness. . not only with God or with the organization of the universe. ’tis not of the nature of a wind-instrument of music.184 a melancholy anatomy “irritability. but rather resembles a string-instrument. Music can express this . and he singles out Boccherini as especially adept at this special effect. -receiving.”27 The metaphor still resonates during Boccherini’s day: “Now if we consider the human mind. Diderot’s friend (and mouthpiece in the “Rêve de d’Alembert”). we shall find.c. “ We might consider the unison and even the octave as the most appropriate expression of sympathy. and come from nearly every theater of eighteenth-century discourse on human nature. the likening of nerve fibers to vibrating strings. “Irritability” was called “sensitivity” by other scientists in France and the Netherlands. since it is the result of a perfect concord. since the mechanical system of the original organism had been so thoroughly interrupted and dispersed. however. Théophile Bordeu.” became itself an extended metaphor for a hypersensitized and self-conscious model of community. an expression in some way above harmony itself. is its emphasis on the idea of bodies resonating. of this vibrational community.” innate and non-mechanical. airy. Plato had used the stringed instrument as a metaphor for human corporeal responsiveness to the divine in the “Phaedo”. In his violin treatise of 1835 Pierre Baillot discusses the “Effect of Unisons and Simultaneous Octaves in Quintets” as a representation of sensibilité through the idea of sympathetic vibration. among executants and listeners alike. a kind or particular degree of sentiment. or perhaps was resident in. Dante referred to the beatified body as “that sweet lyre . in Canto 15 of the Paradiso. but in sympathy with one another. Boccherini too uses the metaphor—how could he not? since music represented a sensible selfhood simply by being sound. and it seems that the members of that community recognized what he was doing. Examples are legion.”24 Such fibrous. wrote that “each organic part of the living body has nerves which have a sensibilité.e. stretched and released by the right hand of Heaven.) memorably depicted Christ’s crucified body as a psaltery. sensitive bodies lent themselves very readily to musical metaphors—in particular.26 while in a happier vein. and of the frame that housed them to the resonant cavity of a stringed instrument. where after each stroke the vibrations still retain some sound. and as such was the metaphor’s source. and -conceptualizing.25 Cassiodorus (born c.23 Some vital. his agony embodied in the tension of its strings as they vibrate to God’s word. supra-mechanical principle seemed to reside in even the smallest parts of the whole. . 490 c. On this level.e. that with regard to the passions. refined. the complex Christopher Small calls “musicking. the nerves.”28 What is new in the eighteenth-century use of this metaphor. This was scarcely a new fund of imagery. which in running over all the notes loses sound after the breath ceases. remarking. In the fourth century b. it seemed to be conducted by. however. the whole complex of acts and behaviors around music-making. which gradually and insensibly decays.

melancholy. who personifies exactly those elements: an attractive young woman who has been unhinged by her grief at being abandoned. “I do not regret that I am melancholy. and startles at destruction—mere pomp of words!—but that I feel some generous joys and generous cares beyond myself—all comes from thee. She is. respectively.”35 And in 1733 the physician George Cheyne opined that melancholy . therefore. It is the temperament of tender hearts. and tuned to an exquisite pitch. great sensorium of the world! which vibrates.a melancholy anatomy 185 sympathy at any time. Her condition is clearly caused by her immense susceptibility. the ancient and the eighteenth-century terms for it) the notion of refinement—the refiner’s fire of adustion or the excitation of invisibly delicate animal spirits—inevitably parlayed itself into notions about the refinement of persons. We swelled and trembled as he did. strange melancholies. and especially pernicious. in the remotest desert of thy creation. nothing must be neglected. . in some sad and sickening moments.”31 And thus Laurence Sterne’s 1768 apotheosis of the sensible condition: Dear sensibility! source inexhausted of all that’s precious in our joys. In Galenic terms. depraved imaginings. if a hair of our heads but falls upon the ground. of noble souls. hers is an “adust melancholy. she has become a shepherdess without a flock. or costly in our sorrows! thou chainest thy martyr down upon his bed of straw—and ’tis thou who lifts him up to heaven—eternal foundation of our feelings!—’tis here I trace thee—and this is thy divinity which stirs within me—not that. or the arts are manifestly melancholic?”34 Boswell.”33 In Cartesian terms. poetry. This notion received an influential early articulation in Problem 30 of (pseudo-)Aristotle: “ Why is it that all the men who have been exceptional in philosophy. . Thus a 1754 account of an actor playing Othello: “ We not only see the character thus before our eyes. and various furors and manic thoughts. the science of government. “caused by adustion and burning of choler [which] causes great illnesses such as madnesses. and nowhere more than in England.” active. stated. literature. With adust or sensible melancholy (to use. in a word. like strings which are so perfectly concordant. Not for her the coagulation and stagnation of black bile. reactive. and this identifies her as a particular kind of melancholic. which not only causes her affliction but causes Sterne to catch it from her by sympathetic vibration. in making all its beauty felt. given to sitting about weeping under trees. . tho’ distant. her nerve fibers are fine indeed. The very frame and substance of our hearts is shaken. and its criticism. that one being struck. but his ravings are brought about by the story of Maria of Moulines. the other answers. but we feel with him. . and a severe case too.”30 The metaphor likewise flooded the pages of sensible art.32 Sterne protests strenuously against the sad and shrinking elements of sensibilité. great. my soul shrinks back upon herself. . . writing to Rousseau in 1764.

to any but those of the liveliest and quickest natural parts. were understood to cause one another. but this “English consumption” is clearly not pulmonary tuberculosis. were “either innate or born with us. and indeed French medical writers of the time called it “la consomption angloise. It is neatly summed up in a word that has (tellingly) become rather archaic in English: affliction.”36 Here the equation of melancholy with consumption is strongly implied. similarly. the flesh becoming shrunken and consumed. indigestion. equally capable of being caused by constitution or by behavior. whose faculties are the brightest and most spiritual. and great weakness. Pulmonary tuberculosis was included in this complex. earthy. Affliction ordinarily produces chronic maladies. pulmonary consumption.” a condition which proceeded “without fever. the badge of that impressionable nature that was the defining characteristic of upper-class late eighteenth-century selfhood. both of Pleasure and Pain. like virtues. Rather. or any great difficulty in respiration. To use the term “consumption” in an eighteenth-century sense is to invoke any or all phthisic conditions. Through their detailed descriptions of this condition. to varying degrees.”38 Boccherini’s own affliction. Today. Not merely a dangerous excess of black bile. and tabes dorsalis (what we now call syphilis). or adventitious and acquisite”37— that is. which. both as to symptom and as to cause. pooling in the stomach or some even humbler part of the body. with loss of appetite. sensible melancholy was elevating. English physicians ensured that it would be reliably diagnosed among their countrymen. consumptions Cheyne’s 1733 book about melancholy was entitled The English Malady. Thus it shared with consumption both a labile relation to visibility and the potential to be deadly: for it laid its sufferer open to the possibility of incurable madness. according to the author of the article. but in the eighteenth century they were considered to be related. and whose Genius is most keen and penetrating. “vapors” (an overly lively imagination brought on by boredom and exacerbated by excess). and particularly where there is the most delicate Sensation and Taste. could thus have . we classify these illnesses in very different ways. one of a complex of maladies characterized by phthisis. “a passion of the soul which has much influence on the body. phthisis is often the result of great affliction. The concept of consumption as neither completely physical nor completely psychological recalls the Aristotelean/Galenic idea that humors. this is phtisie nerveuse. all had causal relationships with sensibilité and with melancholy. So equally are the good and bad things of this state distributed! For I seldom if ever observ’d a heavy. dull. much troubled with nervous Disorders. without cough. wasting.186 a melancholy anatomy I think never happens or can happen. but so were marasmus (weight loss). clod-pated Clown.

are attended by real and unfeigned Sufferings. it is easy enough to suppose that pain. Boccherini was. too much solitude. and whose Spirits are over keen and active. physically “thin and meagre. while not fatal. such as . the invisible air. I say. which. It was most often deemed hereditary. In these characterizations we see the moelleux. and liable to feverish Heats . writing in 1724. and they present his final years as a sad story indeed. we might decide that Boccherini had for “many years labored under a sad Series of painful Symptoms. that enfeeble the Body. . and more fancifully. must in later life have been his constant companion: we might point to the other physical conditions detailed in the 1993 autopsy (including bad teeth. from venereal disease.39 or it could result from the oversensitivity and obsessiveness of melancholy. is something we cannot know. it could also enter the lungs through a neglected cold or catarrh. destiny is at least as old as the humoric system itself. to the deaths of his first wife in 1785 and of all of his daughters by 1804.” Similarly. whose “disposition linked to weak organs. as it were. . penetrable body. which. perhaps. besides many other Distempers. wakeful Nights .” Did he also habitually stay up too late at night? Was he overfond of solitude? Whether Boccherini himself suffered any consumptive symptoms at all. can be excruciating). indulgence in anxious thoughts— all weaken the nerves. whose very function is concerned with that finest of the four elements. to the suppressed pain of the lifelong expatriate. . these Patients. physical and emotional.a melancholy anatomy 187 been understood to derive from a number of things. or migrate upward. Sensible permeability is aptly epitomized in the lungs. do sometimes fall into a true Consumption. . at least by modern standards. Swiftness. tells us that when the Patient is thin and meagre. Sir Richard Blackmore. We would be in good company in making these associations and using them to talk about Boccherini’s creative process. The idea that bodily constitution is. the texture of whose Fibres and membranes is too fine and delicate. their Vigour and Blood being exhausted. life and art: some animadversions According to the 1993 autopsy. to some degree. however. or exhibited the personality traits associated with them.” with potentially disastrous results. and Vivacity. and dissipate the Spirits. great Inquietudes. By recourse to the kind of interpretive freedom employed above in relation to Young’s poetry and Boccherini’s quartet. .”41 accounted for in terms partly Galenic— hypochondria and hysteria—and partly Cartesian—delicate fibers. all his earliest biographers do it. the result of a mobile diaphragm.40 Too much study. Any reluctance to generalize on this basis must itself be his- . when they have many years labored under a sad Series of painful Symptoms. . depriving them of their “Strength. overactive spirits.

In any case. dear Pleyel. As Georges Gusdorf notes. any proposed causality would also be hopelessly full of gaps and misfires. the sort of steadiness that argues for good humoric balance. in its rather grisly level of detail it is by far the most detailed direct evidence we possess about the body that is the subject of this book—we postmoderns are forever constrained from making any handy “geometry” between this embodied condition and its sufferer’s behavior (much less his creative process). that manifest ability to balance exquisitely fine physical tolerances with the varied and demanding situations of performance. [3 July 1797] Adieu.”43 Even though Boccherini’s pulmonary consumption has been proven— indeed. [12 September 1796] To respond fully to what you ask.46 Invoking suffering will tend to produce a Romantic portrait of the artist . in no sense permit me to dedicate myself to commercial speculations. whom I have the honor to serve. such materials as we possess tend to imply with some persuasiveness that Boccherini was just the opposite of sadly ailing. even if we were to try.188 a melancholy anatomy toricized. it is a commonplace of Enlightenment philosophy that “every personal life can be broken down into factors that are common. Essaying a freely melancholic interpretation of a piece of music and doing the same about its composer’s life must and should remain two very different things. He refers to discomfort or incapacitation in only one or two of his letters to Pleyel. his having entered into two marriages and raised seven children. It is borne out by his sociability. homogenous. From a perusal of his business correspondence and his management of his financial situations we get a sense of a calm sobriety in his dealings with the world. interchangeable between one individual and another. and then obliquely.44 In general Boccherini was a man who exhibited an exemplary steadiness in every area of his life. It is perhaps most decisively borne out by his very large catalog of works. there was little such reluctance. Speaking biographically. I can continue no further. and compatible with each other. a level-headedness quite antithetical to the extremes of melancholia. Or at least he was uncomplaining. whatever they might be. I must tell you that the state of my health and the obligation under which I find myself to compose at all times for the king of Prussia.”42 We move very cautiously along these pathways now. itself an anti-melancholic trait. In the period that is our concern. produced with remarkable frequency and regularity through all but a few of his adult years. “the triumph of this smooth geometry is only possible through the neutralization of all personal dissidences. for my health is not good and my nerves cause me to suffer a great deal.45 This is further borne out by his virtuosity. for they have led to political situations that we do not care to repeat.

What is more. leading one to suspect that they had first-hand knowledge of their condition. Robert Burton took this trope a good deal further. what they meant.” the spiraling fears of consumptive melancholy. the realm of physical experience becomes something to which the creative spirit is merely subjected. copiously. sometimes to the point of being very uncomfortable indeed. pastoral and discontented reverie. and in matters of the body it is a veritable lens. Whether or not he was himself ever subject to sad disquietudes. or an obstacle to be risen above: this may serve to locate and manage the problem of pain. his music could call them forth most expertly in his public. satiric melancholy The melancholic persona is characterized by doubleness. It is precisely this that Boccherini refused to do. His explorations of pain and melancholy excess are thorough. the “sueños turbulentes.a melancholy anatomy 189 as either prostrated before or triumphing over the vicissitudes of his embodiment. each swing of the pendulum of unbalanced humor a little wider than the last: he alternates between sweet and regretful imaginings. Boccherini used his compositions to explore a range of relations to physical sensation far subtler than those of mere obsessiveness or transcendence. and authenticity.48 . but in the end they are no more thorough than his explorations of sensuousness and pleasure. Boccherini clearly knew what they were. until we are so discomfited that we are half disposed to laugh. Consistently.47 Boccherini’s work is a window onto his world. Medical writers on melancholy often expressed considerable empathy with their subjects.” and introducing his book with an “abstract” in verse which traverses the affectual range of melancholy over and over again. serene love and tortured longing. which had an especially long tradition of concern with issues of authorial voice. Even scholarly works participated in this doubleness. Some of his most interesting contributions take place around the melancholy-consumption complex. and finally manic hubris and suicidal torment. fictionalizing his own authorial presence as the arch-melancholic “Democritus. and how to evoke them for his listeners and his executants. Whether or to what degree he ever experienced the night sweats. visibility. minutely. celestial and demonic phantasy. on occasion he goes some distance past a mimetic rendering of the embodied condition in order directly to contest the conditions of mimesis—of bodily representation at all—as they arise in the course of performance. they evince the very finest grain of what Roy Porter calls the “this-worldness” of the Enlightenment. In such a view. but it inevitably coarsens any consideration of pleasure by ignoring the full geography of embodied experience itself. any state of mind that involves much reflection will produce a certain dividedness against the self. right to the end of his life. a difficulty to be succumbed to.

as are the wry faces among Angiolini’s comic dancers. as in the passage shown in example 21 (CD track 47). Love-melancholy enters the picture when the beloved is unattainable. But there is a good deal that is like it in period theatrical genres. also similarly. neglect of responsibility. We first hear the figure that opens bar 33 in bar 31.51 Like the dolcissimo register in Boccherini’s music. one suspects that Burton is being satirical— a strange suspicion to entertain about a medical text. In bar 33. on occasion. the satiric-melancholic muse had come into its own during the seventeenth century. ought they to be “infected” and participate in the wryness. and quite possibly from his fellow players as well. dolcissimo. will likely seem the more peculiar? Smorfioso would seem to be wholly pantomimic in a way that specifically emphasizes the disjuncture between visual and aural modes of communication. “grimacing. a rising appoggiatura becomes a whine. the golden age of Spanish drama. A further question of performance practice arises: only one member of the quartet is instructed to play smorfioso. as if in a satirical double take. and the lover’s procession of symptoms furls itself around the beloved. through a performance indication which I believe to be unique to him. it may poke fun at some performers’ excessive facial telegraphy. or around her image: fixation to the exclusion of anything else. It may be indicative of unseemly effort. encouraging the player to visually telegraph a certain alienation from the sounds he is making. I know of nothing like it in instrumental music until the advent of “performance art” in the late twentieth century. or should they remain a corps de ballet against whose serenity the grimaces. Here I want to suggest that Boccherini actually acknowledges this dividedness in a satiric-melancholic vein.”50 The passages adorned with this direction—which he uses quite regularly—do not offer any immediate clues as to its “purely musical” meaning. B n becomes B #. while in chapter 4 I considered the ways in which these admonitions can. and so on. and gratifying. erratic behavior. the very idea of ever performing anything heartfelt at all. This syndrome of the melan- . neglect of self.” “prissily. or tempo. Diderot-like. soft.” or “with a wry face. This will naturally be visible to his companions. produce a divided or alienated state in the performer. In Spain. Smorfioso is a really extraordinary direction to the performer. and the first violin is instructed to employ the wry face. Boccherini sometimes associates the wry face with extreme sweetness. excesses of Diderot’s Neveu de Rameau come to mind. This is the direction con smorfia or smorfioso —literally. without chromatic alteration. where doubleness and alienation infected the melancholy lover in particular. love and love-making ought to be nothing but sweet. both sonic and visible.49 In chapter 3 I discussed Boccherini’s arsenal of extremely detailed written admonitions to the performer as a sensible tactic. It may call in question. key. harmony.190 a melancholy anatomy The very similar. uncontrollable spasms of grief. and similarly disturbing. while at other times it seems to be linked to particular gestures. they have no obvious commonalities as to melody.

choly lover was still familiar to Boccherini’s audiences. 1 # & # c & ## c Allegro assai œ œ œ . B ## c ? ## c ! ˙ ˙ ˙! vc. “not himself. œ F. but an actor playing a part. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ. . œ œ # & # ˙ w B ## œ ? ## w ˙ #˙ œ ˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ R. 191 vn. 34 œ œ . vn. # & # #œ. in Diderot’s words. Yet the “and so on” that I am able to use with such confidence in describing it is precisely what opens love-melancholy up to questions about sincerity. op. 1. faced with the possibility of rejection. œœ œ œ œœ œ œ F. 8. . œ œ œ œ œ F. 2 œ # œ nœ ˙ w œ R. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ F. String Quartet in D Major. G. for Calderón was still in repertory in Madrid in the late eighteenth century. would not indulge in at least a little affectation of this handy. #˙ ˙ ˙! ˙ w œ w ˙ #˙ œ vla. i (Allegro assai). and perhaps inducing sympathy? Thus becoming. What lover. as a way of emphasizing his own condition.a melancholy anatomy Example 21.œ 32 .” A satirical atti- . . well-known vocabulary of symptoms. œ œ Smorfioso # œ œ œ œ. #œ œ œ œ #œ. bars 32–35. no. 165.

without any necessary subjection to it at all. it seems to him that he only half exists. satirical addresses made directly to the audience—made. is in fact the diabolical terminus of the doubleness in love-melancholy. Here doubleness doubles consumptively upon itself with a vengeance: Saturn. other consumptions If phtisie nerveuse was the national disease of the eighteenth-century English upper classes. These characters further enacted doubleness through the comic tradition of asides. I would propose that Boccherini uses the violinist’s wry face gracioso -style. the formulae of love-melancholy issue from the lips of a stock character. his mode becomes sarcasm. (Da Ponte and Mozart’s brilliance in their treatment of this theme is the same as Tirso’s: it lies in the fact that even as we recognize this about the Don. consumptive stages of the condition—but believe him at your peril. haunted expression. the sufferer is plunged into a kind of annihilation. we imagine. rarely ever “sweet. his reversion to lovesickness. a servant or clown called a gracioso. Goya’s unforgiving vision of his contemporaries came at the price of a no less unforgiving vision of himself: he painted this dreadful image upon the walls of his own house.192 a melancholy anatomy tude follows not far behind. that terrible idea which retraces ceaselessly his weakness and his nothingness. The Encyclopédie supplies an account of the progress of this condition which recalls Young’s poetry in the way it displays the nether reaches of the melancholic-consumptive condition. was the god who ate his own children. smorfioso. icon of melancholy from ancient times. the sufferer’s fate was sealed. extreme languor takes possession of all his senses. syphilis. But at times his critical portrayals of the foibles of Spanish society are too harsh to be labeled mere satire. to signal that he knows very well that his yearning chromatic appoggiatura. “the familiar result and just punishment of excessive debauchery.) Another eighteenth-century locus of satirical melancholy can be found in Goya’s work. then that of the French was phtisie dorsale. and gratifying. Once the habit was established. Don Juan. he uses the familiar melancholic vocabulary as a tool. is a stock device. his mooning moment in the midst of a busy Allegro. and a precious one at that. soft. we find ourselves half wanting to believe him. his eyes grow dim. horrified. Its apotheosis appears in Goya’s Black Painting of a gargantuan figure with a horrifying.”52 which could also be brought on by masturbation. which is to tear flesh. in fact. in the root meaning of that word. He may affect the late. tearing a bleeding human body with its teeth. by the usual unhappy conjunction of “vicious disposition” and excessive habits.” In some of these Spanish plays. After these ejaculations which interrupt his sleep. A deadly imbalance was caused in the body by the immoderate loss of seminal fluid. first set upon the boards by Tirso de Molina in 1630. which often brings with . perhaps spurred by the bitterness of finding that love is.

. further sleep brings yet further ejaculations and further. receptivity to sensation. and within eighteenth-century music. they lose their appetite. which represents to him the lifted arm. pleasure whose mere existence. dejected. What is never actually admitted is that the excess involved is simply pleasure: pleasure that is in no way productive or constructive. a slow fever sets in.” so vividly presented here. scarcely is he asleep when the most voluptuous dreams present lewd objects to his inflamed imagination.a melancholy anatomy 193 it the image of impending death. . the sufferer becoming a string out of tune with the larger social sounding body. A limit makes itself apparent here. the body] follows its natural bent. their eyes sunken. music—source of the sympathetic-vibration metaphor and of some very sensual pleasure indeed—walks this line with an exquisite balance. an interior fire devours them . their vision is weak. even as its exact location remains impossible to determine. depressed. and still more to the morbid disposition by which they are attacked. Boccherini was at times a high-wire artist. feeble desires awake forthwith. has always this potential to vibrate itself into excess. within the condition of pleasure the danger of crossing from sensibilité into consumption remains ever present because the crossing is itself pleasant. the problem around which melancholic obsession and desire both circle. lacking in vigor and verve. are dreadful indeed. the scythe ready to reap his days. is whether . almost all their functions are altered. puts an end to his cruel reflections. the grim result of excess in the evacuation of semen. As the Encyclopédie emphasized so urgently. socially speaking. most egregious and socially irredeemable form. for his frankly indulgent play with sensuality through repetition and gorgeous timbres. The “just punishments. and little by little lays the foundations of a dreadful melancholy.e. even more terrible torments. the sufferer is awakened by pleasure or by pain. is an excess. sophisticated writers. pleasure in its purest. Sensitivity. barely able to stand up. their memory is no longer active .. but this only brings him new material. the new fire which is lit is not slow to bring about that evacuation which is its seal and its end. a frightful thinness disfigures them. how must these sufferers feel during the day? They look pale. soon vague pains extend through different parts of the body. After a number of similar nights. and finally phtisie dorsale. . the more so perhaps for being so entirely imaginary. their digestion is disordered. The mere consideration of the ready availability of such pleasure evidently provoked nothing short of panic among these highly educated.53 All the engagements in the Encyclopédie with the topics of masturbation and nocturnal emission share this tone. conceals him from himself. and relapses with yet more force into the horrible annihilation which he has already experienced. the central difficulty. [that idea] plunges him into an overwhelming sadness. but more promptly still the parts which must satisfy them yield to these impressions. nearly frantic with anxiety. Of all the arts. sleep comes—it shuts his eyes anew. writers whose work in the Encyclopédie represents the very culmination of the Enlightenment. . the machine [i. In some.

Even as sensibilité informed cultural understanding as the type. but are mere testaments to psychosis. Does the caress quiet or awaken pleasure? For all the quaintness of the above account of masturbation. Sade’s Monsieur Curval or Monsieur Dolmancé. and who remains notorious for doing so: Donatien-Alphonse-François. display or falsity— beyond all the existential problems inherent in representation. no more. it is the moral detachment of this antisensibilité. the real. the model of human embodiment. and sensible identification proves. In this capacity Sade explored agony in particular as a desperate attempt to get beyond sympathetic vibration. asking again and again: Where is the self ? Where is the center? How to draw the map? Sade makes it clear why. he feels it as domination.54 Perfectly understandable as this dismissal may be. in the end. as an integral component of their power over others. through the mechanisms of obsessive-consumptive desire. the question is no idle one. the abominable possibleness of simply bypassing the absorptive maneuver. like obsessive thought. and insistently personified this solipsism. it dismisses also Sade’s quintessentially melancholic ability to personify some of the primary anxieties of his age. merest fiction. and our complicity in it. does not feel the victim’s pain as pain. one took the signs of . sympathetic vibration is a social construction. It can be protested that Sade’s works “explore” no issues. The torturer. but the extent and the urgency of his generation’s anxiety. In so doing he demonstrates that. in the final analysis. and it gives him pleasure. His dreadful repetitiousness (beside which Boccherini’s repetitiousness pales into insignificance) bespeaks not only his personal pathology. is purest foolhardiness. of acting or rhetoric. deliberately. It is with this fact that Sade’s work takes its power over those of us who would prefer to be immune to it. We do well to remember that the very generation of Frenchmen who wrote the Encyclopédie included one who earnestly. that we will tend to find most obscene. and as such marks the place at which autonomous selfhood spins off into the abyss of solipsism. can renew itself endlessly. Denying this. More than the sexualized imagery in which Sade habitually couches it. to move us beyond any possibility of doubleness. Sade (who was a passionate admirer of Richardson) was compulsively involved in exploring its ultimate potential. there is nothing that physiologically compels him to share his victim’s agony. to know the final. Marquis de Sade (1740–1814). The two reflect one another endlessly.194 a melancholy anatomy indulgence dissipates or intensifies the condition. in the eighteenth century. and the potential attractions thereof—is to deny that such detachment is practiced by a great many people a great deal of the time. mired in obsessive horribleness. for desire. But to high-mindedly deny its possibility—indeed. the bottom of the bottomlessness of sensibilité. the inarguable configuration of the self. inscribing and reinscribing the “moral stupidity” of torture. its convenience.

But in the poem. aggressively defiant. just as satisfaction is inherently inimical to desire. takes place in and because of silence and solitude. “severer for severe. causing him to fall into a real consumption. It is at this impossible juncture that Boccherini abruptly departs from the melancholic. enacted mimetically. to frame the condition is to become free of it at last. It endangered both the individual and the social fabric. Another. Here the relation of melancholy to music becomes especially delicate.a melancholy anatomy 195 love-melancholy seriously. Even when there were no signs.” These may be entirely fictional and quite brutal: Burton suggests telling the melancholic “that his house is on fire.56 Nor is this pulseless dead silence. Melancholy’s metaphorical aspects. Both Young’s unwelcome return from sleep into waking. must accomplish the ending. must finally put a stop to the whole process. his best friends dead. waking is followed again by Night.” whose primary characteristic in Young’s poem is dead silence. Similarly.” and Boccherini’s return to his mournful. Bach’s Abschied. and endings are inherently inimical to melancholy. the “sable goddess.”55 The deadly spinning-off.” a mere cesura. the consequent consumption of selfhood and strength. and the fire with which it burns it devours the substance of the one affected by this passion. the parting. punctuated by full chords in all the parts and propelled by emphatic. that is being so exquisitely delayed through mourning about it in the first place. but have become its frame. which are. almost martial dotted rhythms (CD track 48). is entirely and deliberately conjectural: I have taken Boyé’s vague reference and run with it). 1 (which. a final cadence becomes a matter for apprehensive dread rather than any normal closure or resolution of tension. untying. it would seem to be enacting Burton’s recommendation that the sufferer from love-melancholy be “diverted by some contrary passion. P. if we continue our parallel reading of Edward Young’s poem and Boccherini’s Quartet op. and in the peculiar mechanics of melancholy. which in this case can mean only death. sometimes it keeps itself hidden in the heart. enacted through cadences. the danger was still grave: “Immoderate love does not always announce itself by evident signs. this “awful pause. after all. It is antithetical to music. however. This music makes a sudden and violent attempt at a cure. its only possible mimetic representation is the end of the piece. futile opening idea are as short as they are bitter.”57 The final chords of this movement do not participate in the melancholy tableau. the skill and subtlety with which he untangles his modulations is attended by considerable reluctance: for conclusion. run up against the performative aspect. It is difficult to know the cause of all the bad effects which [the consumption] produces in silence. no. I wish to reemphasize. for instance. harsh. The final gestures of the movement are loud. In the musical-melancholic labyrinth of C. gentler cure for love-melancholy is the simple diversion of ex- . Approached in such a way. 9. E. we encounter the same difficulty. endings. his money stolen.

The movement is notable for the way Boccherini voices many chords with a loving attention to where and how they will resonate among the various instruments. or some degree of backbone). By the time of the part-crossings at the end of bar 13 into bar 14. the tune is nicely defined in four phrases. unpenetrating note. 4. then this elegantly reflective melody gives him a chance to voice intimate longing and sorrow over it—and yet do it in a measured. it begins with dotted rhythms (possibly connoting discipline. For example. on the cello a soft. In bar 2 all four instruments are in a low tessitura. the third made up of two two-beat sequential modules. anti-melancholic way. the members of the quartet will be caught up in balancing and voicing certain low sonorities. the first violin. [to] distract [his] cogitations. it had a tonic and a prophylactic function. The upper instruments must adjust to allow the harmonic urgency of the 4 voicing to interact with the throatiness of its timbre. . and in general it does not display Boccherini’s very deepest tints of blue. 8. must take especial care with transparency of tone. nor even in the throbbing of the second violin. for no better reason than to intensify the timbral possibilities in a closely .” Conviviality. accordingly they might be rather cautious about the minor mode and slow movements. now somewhat separated from the sonority. It first consumes periodicity: essentially.” it is in the major mode. In this case the seventh is an A b. no. 168. Thus the second movement of the Quartet in G Minor. op. was thus potentially much more than idleness. so as not to distract from the main interest of this passage. delicious devolution from A n to A b (CD track 51). Halfway through bar 6. . in both bar 2 and bar 5 Boccherini uses a favorite voicing. which lies (I submit. They would have known that they were taking the risk that music might intensify his obsession rather than interrupt it. shown in example 22. the cellist is presented with a tune in his most grateful and sonorous register. more or less automatically blending the chord into the bass (CD track 50). Although marked “Grave. but in the cello’s slow. a half-bar extension of the phrase occurs at this point. The two opportunities to do this are slightly different. sensible in the consoling sense. Burton’s “continual business . if he is the afflicted member of the group. the first two both four beats long and sequentially constructed. would not at the outset have seemed particularly risky (CD track 49).196 a melancholy anatomy pressive intercourse with others. full. as a way of helping in his cure. and thus begin the consumptive cycle anew. galanterie. consumption has entered the picture. a dominant harmony with the seventh in the bass. But at the end of bar 4 into bar 5. cellist that I am) not in his part at all. G. A circle of mideighteenth-century friends might well have invited an afflicted member to the distractions of music-making. and the last a six-beat cadential phrase (CD track 52). In rehearsing and playing such a passage. its orbit is more pathetic and familial. contained. It is only after this that it begins to appear that the melancholy cellist has managed to infect his companions.

.. 3 p mo f œ …œ . œ _ .. no 4. .. 2 vla. œœ .Example 22. b œ œœœœ J œ œœ œ J & b b c œ .. vn. ˙ œ _ p f b œ ‰ œ … œ œ œ œ œ œj ‰ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ &bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ. Solo b & b b ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ≈ œ n œ œ œj b &bb ≈ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ Œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B b bb œ … B b bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J œ œ œ …œ J œ œœœ œ œ œ ~~~~~~ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ#œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œœ œ œ œ (continued) 197 . œ œ . G. Ÿ Ÿ pmo 3 bb j ‰≈ j & b œ œ œj œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œj œ œ œ j œœœœœœ œ . œ. ? bb c œ .. œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ ‰ J œ. ii (Grave). 8. p mo j œ B b b b c œ .. œ œ ‰ œ œœ œ ˙ œ Œ Ó b .. œœ ‰J œ & J œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ 3 R. 168. .. . œ œœ . … œ. . vc.. œœ . 1 vn. f . String Quartet in G Minor. . œ œ j œ œœœœ b b b c œ . op. œ œ . œ œ . f . m œœ Grave 4 B bb b œ œ œ œ ˙ ? bb œ œ œ œ b n˙ 7 ˙ b˙ œ œ œ œ œj ‰ œ œ œ p œ œ J ‰ œ œ œ œ œ B œ. œ œ œ œ ˙ Œ ‰ œ œ Œ ‰ J œ œ p p R.

œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ J œœ œ nœ œ ‰ B b bb Œ ? b #œ bb ‰ œ œ J œ œ. œ œ œ J œ œ b &bb j œ B bb b œ ≈ œ œ œ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ n œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ &b n S p mo 12 œ œ nœ œ ? #œ f œ J j bœ œ p mo B nœ p œ œ nœ œ bœ œ œ œœœœ œ.Example 22. œ n œ œ B bb b œ œ n œ œ b œ œ œ œ œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ œ .œ b &bb œ 10 œ œ œ œ œ œ 6 ‰ ‰ ‰ œ J j œ j œ Ÿ œ œ œ nœ J œ ‰ œœ b &bb œ B bb b œ j œ ‰ j œ B bb b œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ œ n œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ …œn œ œ œ œ œ S p j œ œ nœ œ … #œ œ œ œ œ p S j œ n œ # œj Œ œ S œ œ p œ J j œ nœ#œ œ œ œ œ b œ œ n œ # œ œ b Ÿ. (continued) Æ b & b b ≈ nœ 9 œ ‰ œ œ j œ ‰ ‰ œ n œ. œ œ œ & b b œ œ œ nœ œ Ÿ pmo bb S˙ œ. œ œ J œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ 198 .

. œ œ B b bb ˙ p mo œ œœ œ œœ morendo ? bb 18 b ˙ ˙ p œ œ œ œ morendo b & b b œ nœ. p œ œ œ ~~~~~ . œ œ ‰ J œœœœœœœœœœœ ~~~~~ Æ . . (continued) . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ B bb b ‰ œ œ œ œ œ B bb b œ nœ p œ J b & b b n˙ ˙ 16 . . œ œ j œ ‰ Œ Æ ? j ‰ œ œœœ ~~~~~~ . œ. œ. œ œ œœ œ .. . œ nœ œ œ . . œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ j œ ‰ œ œ œ œ ‰ œ œ & b bb Æ morendo œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ ®œœ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ® œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Æ Æ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó Ó Ó Ó smorz. . .. œ.. œ œ œ. (continued) b &bb 14 b &bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ ~~~~~~~~~ . . œ œ œ. . . œ œ œ œ œ b &bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . . . B b bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ? b œ bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ mmmm 199 . œ œ œ≈ œ œ œ ≈œœœ≈ . œ œ. .Example 22. n˙ ˙ œ n œ. n œ. œ œ. œ.. .

œ œ b &bb ˙ ˙ bœ B b bb J ? bb b nœ œ œ J œ ‰ j œ n œ . (continued) b &bb œ œ J 20 r œ œ œ œbœ œ r œ œœ œ œœ 3 œ œ œ œrœ œ œ œ 3 œ œ œÆ œ J b &bb ≈œ B b bb ˙ ? bb 22 œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ b˙ œ œ œ œ J œ œ œ œ J b œ œ œ b œ & b b b œ œ œ œ œ n œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ n œ œ ˙ ˙ b &bb ˙ ˙ bœ B b bb J ? bb 23 œ bœ œ œ œ œ n œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J œ b nœ œ œ b œ & b b b œ œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ b œ . œœ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ .Example 22. œ œ œ œ nœ œ œœ bœœ ‰ œ œ œ nœ œ œ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ j j j j j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ bœ œ œ ‰ œ œ œ ‰ bœ œ œ œ bœ J œ œ œ 200 .

w B b œ ‰ J œ ‰ œj œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœœœœ œœ (continued) 201 . œ œ j j œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œœœœ ÿ j œ b &bb ‰ B b bb œj ? bb ‰ b b &bb 27 œ . œ. r œ t œ œ œ œ œrœj œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœ œ r j œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ t j œ œ j œœ œœ Œ j œ Pmo. œ. œ j ‰ œ R. R.œ œ œ œ . œ œ œ . ˙ R. b nœ œ t œ b œœ œ œ t Œ Ó B & bb b r j œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b &bb j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ r œ t t œ œ œ œ œœœœœœ j œ B bb b œ b b Solo. œ œ . ˙ j œ w Pmo. j œ ˙ œ œ J Pmo. r œ œ œ œrœ . œ œ œ nœ œ j œ b &bb B b bb ? bb 29 j bœ œ œjœ œ œrœ .Example 22. (continued) b œ œ œ œ œ œ œj œ œ & b bœ œœœ œ œ œ œ œ 25 œ bœ.

(continued) b &bb œ 31 Œ œ . B bb b œ B 32 œ œ œ œ œ Æ œ nœ œ œ j œ bb b n œ œ œ bœ ‰ œ b &bb œ b &bb ˙ œ. œ . ≈ nœ œ œ œ nœ œ œ ÿ œ œ b˙ j œ œ r œ b &bb œ . œ . œ œ œ œ bb œ œ B b œ œ œ Æ b œ & b b ≈ œ œ œj ‰ 33 r œ œ œ b œ œ œ œ œ œr œ œ œ œr œ n œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ. œ œ œ Œ j œ ~~~~~~~~~~~ ≈ œ œ œ œ œ œ B bb b œ t œ.Example 22. œ œ j œ b & b b œj B bb b œ ‰ œ ~~~~~~ ≈œ œ œ œ œ œ m œ œ œ œœ œ j‰ œ nœ b œ œ œr œ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œj œ œ œœœœ ?‰ œ œ nœ œ œ œœ bb b œr œ œ œ œr œ œ œ œr œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ œ œœ œ œœ œnœœ B œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ 3 3 nœœœ 202 .

p œœœœœ œœ ‰˙ ˙ j œ ‰ œ R. (continued) b œr œœ &bb œœœ 35 b œ œ œ œ œ œ œrœ œ J J nœ œ J Œ R. . ~~~~~. . ~~~~~~~~ .œ œ œ bœ J œ œ bœ t b œ &bb œœœœ p p œ ˙ R. . œ . œ~~~~~~ œ œ . . bœ J B bb b œ p œ. œ œ. Pmo. . ≈ ≈ bœ œ œ œ œ . j bœ bœ œ œ œ bœ n œ œ œ œœ ? bb 37 b œ œ œ œ p ‰ nœ œ R. œœ œ œœ r t œ œ . R..Example 22. Pmo. Pmo. œ œ p b & b b b œ œ œ b œ œ œ n œ œ œ b œ œ œ bœ b œ b œ bœ œ bœ &bb bœ œ œ n œ œ œ œ œ R. . ≈ œ œ. œ œ œ B bb b b œ n œ œ ‰ ‰ bœ ? bb œ œ b b &bb œ 39 œ œ œ bœ œ b œ~~~~~~~~œ ≈ œ œ œ ≈ œ œ œ ≈ œœ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~ p . p j œ ‰ Œ ˙ ˙ j œ ‰ j œ ‰ j œ b &bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ®œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ œœ œ œœœ œ nœ ÿ ÿ B bb b œn œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ ÿ ÿ ? bb b œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œœ œ œ œ ®œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ ÿ œ œ œ œ œ œ œœ ÿ œœ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ ÿ ÿ œ œ œ œ ˙ (continued) 203 . ~~~~~. œ œ œ œ ≈ bœ. œ œ bJ œ . œ ≈ p œ œ œ . œ.. b œ œ. œ œ œ œ. . œ . œ. . .

perhaps. . and I use these tactile memories as my source of information on what the piece is about. With these remarks. the listener will identify with the instruments as fellow sounding bodies. the whole tenor of my commentary has changed. . makes reference. the absorptive maneuver. the chord is an ambiguous. might the player of an instrument consciously use it as a particularly apt “sounding body.” an instrument not only of sounds but of explicit connection with his listeners. to some prior physical experience of diminished-seventh chords: their complex. Harmonic ambiguity is extended into ambiguous part-writing: the whole chord swirls through three different voicings of closed position in the first two beats of bar 14. .. rolled back into my head: I am remembering the experience of having rehearsed and recorded this piece.” Of course such memories are present in all music criticism. Here the quartet members embody the very contradictoriness of melancholy. as it were. .. as the inevitable element of corporeal subvocalization. . in seeing that diminished-seventh chord spun out upon the page. conflicted density of timbre in closed position upon a keyboard. So. indeed. This is the sensible at work in music criticism. into their darkest registers. My critical eyes have left the score and. œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ ˙ .. In a Sternian vein. In terms of conventional harmonic function. (continued) b œ &bb 41 œ.204 a melancholy anatomy Example 22. its impossible conjunctions of mania and gloom. . while the violins simultaneously descend below it.. & bb b morendo œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ morendo B bb b j œ morendo œ œ j œ j œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ ˙ ? bb b œ morendo voiced diminished-seventh chord (CD track 53). œ œ œ. but its anxiety is sharpened by the way the cello pushes at the upper limit of its tenor range. is central . œ œ œ. she who chooses not to listen to the recorded examples. Identification. vibrating universal sensorium. anxious chord anyway. her nerves set vibrating as are their fibrous strings. Even my silent score-reader. she might further identify both herself and them with the great. what I think it expresses: a different sort of “score. œ œ œ.

no. it does so in an unforeseen key. the more in tune with them we have become. [we] think [we] see.a melancholy anatomy 205 here. There is obvious epistemological danger in such deliberate immersions in experience. to become herself a body whose every fluctuation of the animal spirits in the heart and breath is instantly communicated throughout its members. 1. exquisite sensitivity to pleasure is necessarily defenseless against pain. The silence that follows is actually notated by a half-bar rest. our “most active and finest parts” have been engaged in the music’s “most delicate Sensation and Taste. I can lose no more. There are no framing.” When the second half of the movement picks up after this appalling lapse. bodily.” Such criticism obviously has little to do with rational structures of proof or even of demonstration. if not beyond them to other bodies entirely. we might interpret the piece’s conventional reprise to its home key as another example of Boccherini’s strategic ability to disentangle himself (and us) from melancholy. the more intimately. by an excruciatingly active. Bodies so finely attuned can become martyrs to their own sympathies. Boccherini points directly into the abyss in the way he ends each half of this slow movement. A b major. but of course. 9. arrived at by the dream-logic of a third-related progression (CD track 55). but it does not spiral off endlessly: the progression returns us in a reasonably timely manner to the home key of E b major. Any direct reply to utter desolation would be crass. smell. much-repeated chords that finally subside into silence. rather. only the hypothetical. hear. hypochondriacally fantastical our reading of musical passages like this. and everything to do with the listener’s willingness to submit to the sensible genius. sympathetic responses. “all [our] senses are troubled. This A b major gives way gradually to more diminished-seventh anxieties over the next few bars. fictional vein will do. and touch that which [we] do not.”58 The more fanciful. an ideally sensible composer like Boccherini knows them well. as there are in op. even necessarily. Extreme subjectivity and volatility are of the essence in this sort of criticism. “Fate! drop the curtain. the dream of what might happen after we cease to be. at the anti-cadence at the end of the first half (bars 17–19) Boccherini has marked three of the parts morendo. and writes directly toward exciting them in his audience. but the risk of which I wish to speak here is a medical one. the more hypersensitive. melodically and tex- . distancing cadences. and a fourth smorzando. which in this Grave tempo feels and sounds almost unbearably long in performance. by virtue of these half-involuntary. The ideally sensible listener is always a participant. Lest the performers miss the reference. In submission to pleasure lies dormant the labyrinth of melancholy. This is not an activity without risk. birthplace of melancholy and resting place of its unchecked course (CD track 54). each half ends with a muttering-off into dark-timbred. Harmonically. resonant nervous system. By rights.

I have already discussed this reprise in chapter 3 (CD track 16). disembodied. may smile at such quaint warnings. How the afflicted performer or listener reads such a passage. and in fact as bass it executed the conventional falling-fifth gesture that returned us to the tonic—and marked as unearthly. utterly unexpected—only a bar before it was playing the bass. inoculated against a cultural variety that would have stunned Burton or Boccherini. writing and hearing in a pastoral mode.206 a melancholy anatomy turally it is something else again. whose “sweet but eerily disembodied song brings a complex and ancient set of associations to European ears: mourning for the dead. or endless complaint over lost love. To attempt to cross the gulf is. The hardy postmodernist reader. whether we find in it the possibility of redemption or only of an exquisite heightening of torment. and by a means peculiar to its composer: the cello sings again. This return to the home key is no earthly reprise. In chapter 3. the values with which we invest it. but a transmutation. Music can “make such melancholy persons mad. . We simply can no longer believe that too fine an attention to a melancholic piece of music might result in physical illness. and in this inability we see the gulf of our difference from the culture that produced and consumed such music. By a lovely timbral and orchestrational sleight of hand. the cello emerges out of the ensemble sound from some Place we could never have imagined. by being this time in the soprano register: a visitation. writing and hearing from a protracted engagement with melancholy. I referred to this same passage as an evocation of the nightingale. to lay ourselves open to the possibility of making ourselves ill. refusing to be direct or affirmative in the face of unspeakable loss. In its inherent susceptibility the melancholy body is dangerously vulnerable.” or it can save them from themselves. at least in theory. will have a good deal to do with our condition at the time of listening.” Now. but in so doing betray the extent to which her own culture has divorced soul and body—an extent undreamed of by Descartes himself. I hear the mourning and the complaint more acutely.

. written in the previous decade and published in Paris.” After a series of musings in an early Romantic vein on the technical and spiritual obligations of the four musicians came the following passage: Three great masters—Manfredi. and in any case none of the works listed had been composed by 1765! The Divertimenti opp. .” 1769 In August 1804. did me the honor of accepting me as a violist among them. would have been available. and 21 [sic] ). and some by Boccherini which he had just written and which one still hears with such pleasure. and 20 quartets. 17. “Le Rêve d’Alembert. though that record consists in Cambini’s word alone. whose merits are well enough known.2 We cannot accept Cambini’s brave claim that the group played some of Haydn’s opp. In this manner we studied quartets by Haydn (those which now make up opp. presumably they are what Cambini meant. it is a claim ill-served by his mistaking the last of the three opus numbers. and how does the conscience of a whole result from all these losses? Mademoiselle de L ’Espinasse: It seems to me that contact suffices. denis diderot. not being verified by any other source. 17.Chapter 6 “It Is All Cloth of the Same Piece” The Early String Quartets Bordeu: Every sensible molecule [once] had its “me” . The quartets by Boccherini himself are the only repertory that we can 207 . 9. Nardini. Leipzig’s Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung published an article on the performance of string quartets.1 The happy time recalled by Cambini took place in 1765. in Milan. signed “Cambini in Paris. 1 and 2. His constellation of luminaries formed the first professional string quartet of which we have any record. 9. and Boccherini. but how did it lose it. the foremost violinist in all Italy with respect to orchestral and quartet playing. who has become so famous as a virtuoso through the perfection of his playing.

and symphonies. 2 with no fewer than eighty-five more works in the same genre. and often to shorter movements within that format.”5 This is an interesting claim. he connects op. 33 of 1781 for their interpretations and approximations of Viennese Classical style. 249. just as he implies. written. He gives op. Boccherini’s own typically diffident acknowledgment of this complex and distinctive unity in his work—“it is all cloth of the same piece”—might not be made either by or on behalf of many other composers. style periodization In view of the homogeneity that Boccherini himself asserts. and is a great friend of the whole esthetic of the tableau. according to the composer. 53 of 1796. Boccherini also employed a lighter. op.208 “it is all cloth of the same piece” solidly identify with that 1765 meeting of masters: these would have been op.6 The short format lends itself to concision and immediacy. especially as regards their forays into motivic and thematic development. This is Boccherini’s own usage. Some of the most affecting and characteristic music in the quartets can be found among the quartettini. Slightly over half Boccherini’s works in the string quartet medium are called quartettini.. But. He also calls them opere piccole. One might assume that in restricting himself to a shorter format.3 The diminutive indicates a shorter piece. the reduced length of the quartettini does not have a consistent relationship with level of invention or seriousness of tone. in a letter to Don Carlo Andreoli of 22 September 1780: “I divide the works into small and large. any attempt at style periodization must be a peculiarly frustrating task. movements] in each quintet. The string quartets are outnumbered—though scarcely out-diversified—only by the quintets. 2 solitary pride of place as an extraordinary youthful effort (an estimation with which I tend to agree). quintets. His string quartets span his entire creative life in twenty opus numbers. The only feature of the opere grandi that is somewhat rarer in the quartettini is the fully developed slow movement. perhaps even his own coinage. and the small of two and no more. no. An interesting stylistic division of the quartets has been proposed by Christian Speck. 39 of 1787 through op. in this case Artaria] will be able to select as they please. 8 of 1769 through op.or four-movement plan are opere grandi. more inconsequential style. which he also employed among his trios. one of his very last manuscripts is the unfinished Quartet in D Major. 64. From these they [the publishers. this is not the case. all initially . he groups together op. because the large ones consist of four pieces [i. Boccherini followed the six of op. often but not always in two movements.4 The composer mentions this distinction. as it is all cloth of the same piece. and first published in Paris in 1767.e. between 1760 and 1762. 2. G. other works with a more conventional three. Boccherini’s first six string quartets. 2.

. with Boccherini as a sort of ancien-régime fly in amber—someone whom the march of stylistic progress had no choice but to leave behind. is the man. and he had no imitators. that one is tempted to believe that he knew no other music than his own.9 It is further in Boccherini’s nature that his engagements with the quartet genre—indeed with any genre—are only rarely what we would call.” recasts the same situations over and over with infinite variation of characters but very little change in fundamental purpose.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 209 written for the king of Prussia (with some later published by Pleyel). Today. public at every stage. to think. By accepting Boccherini’s own pronouncement I pursue a different particularity than Speck. praise of [him] tends to be tinged with apology along such lines.”8 It should be obvious by now that I emphasize the peculiar samenesses of Boccherini’s work as an exhortation to rethink these still current nineteenth-century notions of what style and artistic development mean. . The homogeneity observed among a large group of Boccherini’s works is paralleled by his repetitiveness within individual works. and the late opp. coming at the end of a tradition in art. It was not a disguise he hid behind. but they are. Surely. Either feature can be used as a way of characterizing his production as artistically stunted. to perform. much less interesting than the remarkable samenesses. . . . The stylistic developments that Speck descries in the quartets are certainly verifiable. by their “pleasant and brilliant style” and relative absence of motivic processes. after all. from a style-historical perspective. and in [his] case it was to an extraordinary degree through his style that he was able to see. a bit decadent. Such a point of view is nascent even in sympathetic evaluations like Fétis’s: “His works [are] so remarkable in every respect. and it was never outgrown. . frequently reuses favorite “solutions. And yet neither could we deny that he is original. often profoundly so. notoriously unreliable when speaking about their own work) but simply because upon examination of the quartets I agree with him: they are indeed remarkably similar to one another in style. One can scarcely imagine Boccherini as the founder of a “school” of composition. innovative. I do this not because I think it essential to take Boccherini literally (composers are. . I think. To say that [he] was forgotten because of a change in taste has the effect of placing him in a certain light—[composer] to a dying class. certainly . works of his old age reveal a greater seriousness and more depth. 58 and 64 he finds to be quasi-orchestral and very much dominated by the first violin. the . . the plea is made.7 Any periodization serves to clarify certain features of an artist’s work at the expense of others. But the style. Throughout the forty years of their composition Boccherini returns again and again to certain questions.

the cello suddenly behaves like a second violin. for all ninety-one of Boccherini’s quartets. “ We should be extremely reluctant. In so doing I will presume to let my conclusions speak. and occasionally for his work in other ensemble media. what had been “the bass” could abruptly assume any one of the four roles in the ensemble. . to multiply styles by departing from the maxim. I will make no attempt to be comprehensive. Boccherini writes only one prominent cello solo in the second opus of quartets (in the slow movement of op. It seems possible that Boccherini developed this distinctive kind of writing out of his notably soloistic use of the cello in the earliest opus of quartets.210 “it is all cloth of the same piece” he was widely acknowledged to be so in his own day. with the second violin doubling that bass as a viola more typically does. discussed at the end of the last chapter). 9. such part-mixing was a stronger inspiration than the urge to write solos for his own instrument. the first quartets written after Boccherini’s visit to Paris. If. Here I will confine myself to proposing their genesis. on characteristic ideas to which he returns often. and 15. . on the simple presumption that they are what interested him most. playing melody in thirds with the first. 2. As the art historian and philosopher Richard Wollheim puts it. In chapter 3 I discussed his penchant for forsaking or exploding any singable melodic line in favor of a kind of textural. the viola perforce becomes a bass. Moreover. for instance. There. indeed in all his ensemble music.”10 woven music Boccherini’s cloth metaphor works on more than one level. inviting reverie rather than directing attention. and there are none at all in the next . I have offered several related readings of these textural passages: as sonic lacunae. one style. If the sheer number of instances is indicative. but will again follow the composer’s lead. textile-like approach to ensemble sound. no. While he continues to experiment with crossing ranges within the quartet. as evocation of landscape. 8. and it is often allied to a marked degree of repetitiveness. In this chapter I will draw on examples from three early opere. 4. This is beyond doubt one of Boccherini’s most consistent preoccupations in the quartets. the SSAB registral roles of the conventional sonata a quattro were periodically disrupted by the virtuosity of the cello part. . without evidence of massive psychological disturbance. I think this approach is consonant with eighteenth-century ideas of artistic voice and its development. and focus where he focuses: that is. One artist. Surely an artist’s style should be no more thought of as susceptible to fragmentation or fission than his personality. of 1770. As well as best representing Boccherini’s marked stylistic centeredness. 8. op. and (importantly in terms of his intended audience) after his establishment of firm relations with publishers there. Few composers so aptly demonstrate the gulf between originality and innovation. as foregrounding the performers’ bodies. however generally.

and blending them. but moreover. its capacity for individual expression sacrificed in exchange for the capacity to become many others at once. mixing. This is nowhere so clear as around the phenomena of repetition and reminiscence. 9 and 15. how sensation might be supposed to transform into concept—calls itself in question. for in ensemble music of the period violins rarely played higher than the highest passages in his cello sonatas. an all-encompassing Leviathan Instrument. speaking kinetically. a sonic and simultaneous Proteus. Consciousness not only gives us a knowledge of our perceptions. published in London from 1766. Instead. one has only to compare these early works with the obbligato quartets of Boccherini’s fellow virtuoso Giambattista Cirri. if those perceptions be repeated. Thus. In these works the impulse to sing is exercised much more conventionally through the violin parts. the whole framework of idea-making—what originates in what. in the matrix of a composer’s own half-articulated relationship to his body’s ability to execute music. or even a symphonic group. Thus Boccherini seems to be moving away from any concertante identity for his own instrument within the quartet medium.12 The huge range of the cello as Boccherini used it encompasses that of an entire quartet. as a process of kinetic self-confirmation. From an idea that may have been conceived kinetically.11 Textile-like writing is prominent in the early string trios as well as the quartets. Thus it is not surprising that some of the finest examples of his textural genius come not from the realm of chamber music. an ensemble treatment metamorphoses neither as simple continuation nor as more complex genealogy. and becomes yet more subtle and complex in the quintets (even as he maintains the concertante cello writing there): the more parts. the more possibilities Boccherini uncovers for crossing. but from the expanded resources of a symphony—which Boccherini had a fascinating penchant for “breaking down” into temporary concertante. even as he developed some of its sonic implications. The deliberate or half-deliberate recycling of a passage seems to model that temporally constructed notion of the self proposed by Condillac. one might conceive this solo-cello-to-mixed-ensembletexture process as the evolution of a meta-cello. chamber-musical subgroupings. it frequently informs us that we had them . recycling the idea of recycling In chapter 4 I discussed Boccherini’s related tendencies to repeat himself and to recycle his own ideas in light of the concept of idiom. or with examples of the flashy Parisian quatuor concertant style exemplified by Cambini’s works. to see the extent to which Boccherini was deliberately forgoing his own virtuosity in his chamber music.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 211 two opere.

melodic-gestural (chains of falling minor thirds). its identity utterly changed. . . 8.13 But such a construction immediately comes apart in an ensemble setting. What do we call it when a “repetition” is taken by a different instrument in the ensemble? If there is a bodily center upon which this process converges. it can also be a query or parody. The reader need only imagine the minute adjustments it would take facially. the listener-observer will most likely interpret the sequence of utterances as dialogue. Without [these functions] every moment of our life would seem the first of our existence.212 “it is all cloth of the same piece” before. Dialogue is a broad field indeed. Enter the cello and any lingering conceit of sameness becomes untenable: the figure is down an octave. if not before. since although the figure is still at the unison. even an untrained ear will have little trouble hearing the minute differences of tone and articulation between the two violinists. 5 (CD tracks 56 and 57). Any supposed identity disintegrates in performance: for all the hours or years the quartet may have lavished on unifying their individual styles. and in articulation and nuances of tone to make the second violin’s “echo” an unkind comment upon the first violin’s proposal. it is profoundly compromised through the fact of its social enactment: the corporate both is. in body posture. and is not. it lies in a different tessitura on that instrument: it will have an urgency of timbre on the viola that is absent on the violins. While it can confirm. an expansion. The passage offers a beautiful enactment of the problem of “repetition” in ensembles. none of them are notated. what the passages share is harmonic (a diminished seventh secondary dominant in both cases. nor can they be. and has no obvious relationship to the movement’s main or secondary ideas. 8. I shall call it reminiscence. reduction. and both arriving suddenly out of much blander harmonies). Examples 23a and 23b hail from the second and third movements respectively of op. . a being that is always the same self. and as affecting. In the first period of the trio of the Quartet in F Major. Intrinsic though such performed adjustments may be to the passage’s meaning. Enter the viola. a two-bar-long idea is treated imitatively at the unison (see example 20. or “correction” of the original statement. and represents them as belonging to us. At this point. 5. no. G. notwithstanding their variety and succession. and our knowledge would never extend beyond a first perception. In each case the passage comes from the modulating section in the second half of the movement. Beyond this rough commonality. no. As in the sonatas. CD track 43). . within it. so in the quartets Boccherini sometimes offers us “reminiscences” between movements accomplished through tertiary ideas. discussed in the previous chapter. and the difference becomes marked. 169. op. the repetition of a statement can function very diversely. Which of these very different options it becomes is almost entirely a matter of how the figure is executed. the corporeal.

& b œ œ œn œ œ œ œ b œ œ œ n œ b œ Œ Ó & b bœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ B b bœ ˙ ?b œ 95 90 œb œ œ œ n œ œ bœ œ n œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ w f w w n˙. 5.Example 23a. bars 85–96. 8. b œ ˙ Ÿ Ÿ œ œ . œœ nœ bœ ˙ b œ . 2 vla. œœ f nœ bœ ∑ ˙ b œ . vc. ˙ ˙ f bœ œ œ bœ œ œ bœ œ œ B b C nœ œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œœ p p f f nw w w ?b C w w w f bœ . œœ ˙ nœ bœ b œ . œœ ˙ nœ bœ ˙ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ nw w nw w nw w œ œ œ nw w f & b b œ œ œ bœ œ œ n œ b œ œb œ œ œ n œ œ œ œ &b bœ ≤ nœ bœ B b œbœ œ œ œ œ bœ Œ w ? n˙. 1 &b C &b C b œ . String Quartet in F Major. œœ J Ó b˙ 213 . œœ ‰ œ œ . œœ ˙ nœ bœ b œ œ œb œ œ œn œb œ vn. G. œ œ nœ bœ ˙ ˙ bœ . 85 Allegro vn. œœ ˙ nœ bœ ˙ b œ. no. œ bœ. ii (Allegro). op. 169.

169. œ #œ bœ f Ÿ œœœ œœ #˙ & b œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ b ˙ p f f œœœ #œ b œ Œ ˙. op. which play entirely different lines in the two extracts. œ ˙. However. they share neither pitches. reminiscence is not always or only confirmatory. iii (Tempo di minuetto). bœ cresc. Allegro passage is in common time with a six-bar phrase structure. and a corporeal reminiscence can be teased out only through melodic transposition and a somewhat Procrustean rhythmic adaptation in the violin parts. G. the life that necessarily involves others. It is clearly no longer possible to do as I did in discussing such resemblances in the sonatas. bœ ∑ vla. no. R. &b ˙ R. Bb ∑ Œ œ ?b œ œ œ œ f R. vn. nor meter. or to any sort of comforting or confirmatory kinetic impulse. œ vc. These reminiscences are not consistently corporeal. 8. The first. It can be perceptual destabilization. the uncontrollable . 5. bœ œ œ œ œ œ Ÿ œ # œ. They are not at all so in the cello or viola. nor periodic structure. œ œ œ b œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ #˙ œ p) ( œ œœœ œ nœ #œ œ and textural (imitation at the unison between the violins). 1 3 & b 4 œ œ# œ b ˙ 8 œ œ œ #˙ 3 #œ œ œ f œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ #œ #œ œ p œ œ #œ œ œ R. Tempo di minuetto vn. and attribute the likenesses to the transcribed reflexivity of a pair of expert hands. ˙. Thus does Boccherini go Condillac one better: he reminds us that in real life. f n˙. String Quartet in F Major.214 “it is all cloth of the same piece” Example 23b. bars 8–14. 2 3 &b 4 Œ 3 Bb 4 Œ ?b 4 3 11 bœ œ œ #œ R. while the passage from the Tempo di minuetto is in triple meter and four-bar phrases.

no. This is the simplest and yet the most opaque solo-to-quartet “translation”: a favorite type of physical-melodic gesture is used primarily for its sound and its affectual associations. 8. over the course of the Sonata in C Major. where the most urgent tone in an urgent harmony. to disabuse us of our fond notion. lies in the bass (CD track 58). that in the passage from the Quartet in A Major. however. for instance. G. On a violin.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 215 permeability of current experience by the past.” More markedly. but its gestural associations have the potential to work across this grain. regardless of the instrument playing that melody. or the main theme. and cyclicity shows his sensitivity to the paradox that lies at the heart of the notion of “repetition. fuori catalogo. transmutational games around reprises similarly calls in question any notion of psychological or musical “structure” accomplished through memory. and similarly within the slow movement of the Quartet in G Minor. it takes only the presence of others. executing themes and motives and da capos with all the inevitable or deliberate inconsistency of live performance. ever really make the same impression upon us the second time around. Its sensible. unfamiliar. the rinforzando dissolves as well. G. reinforced by its resemblance to the vocalistic trope of the sigh. enacting a subtle tension-to-release gesture. In the fourth bar of example 24.” His penchant for evasive. op. When the bass “pulls in” by the obligatory half-step descent in the next bar. 168. or yet the motive. 17 reminiscences are transformed from piercing nostalgia into bitter sarcasm. op. the “same” half-step descent moves the left hand away from the body. nor does the da capo (even should we elect not to ornament it). 6. thematic reminiscence. But meanwhile the first violin has executed its . the entire quartet executes a throbbing rinforzando that emphasizes the harmonic tension in Boccherini’s favorite 4 voicing. 4. much-repeated half-step descent “pulls in” physically on the cello. reprise is transformed into an unearthly. all this is as expected. sublimated caresses Characteristic melodic devices which Boccherini had developed in the sonatas often carry over to his melody writing in the quartets. In ensemble settings in particular. 8. 170. tender associations remain. We cannot step in the same river twice. Through the glass of repetitiveness he forces us to watch not only the progress but the inevitable slippage of the “same” thought—and thus the “same” self—as a direct result of its socialization. since its tactility will have been profoundly altered through being executed on another instrument. no. but consoling “substitute. Should we begin to imagine that we can do these things. In the preceding chapters we encountered a number of examples: between movements in the Sonata in E b Major. I suggested in chapter 3. shown in example 5 (CD track 10) sonic and affectual resonances are in some measure determined by the way a slow. G. the seventh of a dominant. Boccherini’s handling of repetition.

String Quartet in E b Major. no. 4. cresc. 174. B bbb R. p 216 . 9. G. i (Adagio). 3 B bbb 4 œ œ Œ Œ œœœœœœ vc. 3 b n˙. ? b 3 bb 4 œ œ œ œ œ œ œœœœœœ p œ. op. 2 œ bœ ˙ œ œ œ vla. &bb cresc. 1 b 3 &bb 4 œ b 3 &bb 4 œ 14 Adagio Œ Œ j œ œ b˙ ˙ œ œ j œ b˙ œ œ bœ vn. 17 b˙ œ œ J ˙. p œ p p j œ œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ 3 3 b &bb œœ J ˙.Example 24. vn. bars 13–18. œ œ œ œœœ œ œ j œ œ œœ œ œ ‰ j ? b b b œ œ œ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ œ œ ‰ Œ cresc.

whose urgent F #. but Boccherini has the first violin take the resolution down an octave.” more muted E b major. The second cadence. Thus the first violin mimes the expected tenderness of release through melody and volume. (See the reduction in example 24. potent distraction and interpersonal displacement. subjected as they are to temporal deferral. only a bar later. which sounds like release. strongly implied but not executed. as well as by the immeasurable abyss between persons: for the first violin’s A only becomes an A b in the hands of the second violin. on the violin. two successive perfect cadences are linked by two possible pathways of half-step descent (CD track 59). Boccherini frequently associates the half-step descent with a distinctive bowing style: a . meanwhile. the resolving D is best executed with an open string—that is. A more complete release comes in the next bar. in the much “softer. by means of a sort of third relation that is very characteristic of the composer. characteristically Boccherinian “sideways” approach to a reprise of the movement’s opening idea. even as he incrementally resists release through harmony and gesture: the violinist’s hand has not “pulled in” but expanded ever so slightly out from his torso. moving from E n to E b. Further foregrounding their sensibilité. no.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 217 own half-step descent. 8. makes a curious.14 In the world of tonal harmony. In so paralleling the bass’s descent. by briefly releasing the left hand from its duties altogether. a sweet (if always temporary) alternative to logic or to fate: we have seen another example of this in the beginning of the second half of the Grave of the quartet op. Descending-half-step motion is implied between the two dominant harmonies: the D-major dominant’s A and F # are respectively supplanted by A b and F n in the B b -major dominant. 4. its lingering affect of longing? These last examples come from slow movements. discussed in chapter 5. They are further interrupted by the physical space between bodies. the sensible hearts of their respective quartets. a little further still from the center of the body. but requires increased restraint. and thus. it becomes the seventh of a new dominant harmony. But these trajectories are interrupted by three intervening beats which contain a series of other pitch events (including the complete resolution of the first dominant). In example 25. while “release” is further complicated by the addition of a subito piano. Voice-leading decrees that the first violin’s E b seventh should resolve downward in another half-step descent.) It is a stretch to maintain that these are coherent gestures in any way. Yet the stretch is precisely the point: how better to explain this reprise’s immense gentleness. has been melted into an F n and dropped an octave by the viola. The first cadence confirms a modulation to G minor. So central is the half-step descending gesture to Boccherini’s thinking that it becomes at times a mere ideal. He uses this convention here to suggest a set of delicately subliminal tensions. and has a slightly “hard” quality due to its predominance of open strings. In this register. third-relations often summon the might-have-been.

218 “it is all cloth of the same piece” Example 25. . . . 8. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . nœ b &bb œ 6 24 œ 6 ˙ ‰ ‰ œ Œ Œ œ œ ˙ œ œ • œ œ œ œ œ b j & b b œ œ œ œ œ œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ œ . . 167. variously notated by slurred staccati (as in example 25) or by a wavy line over the note heads. . . . . . . . . share the kinesthetic profile of the caress. . . œœœœœœ 6 œœœœœœœ . . . . &bb c œ 22 Largo (Soto voce) vn. . . . . . . nœ œ . . . the other in the left and involving pitch. 3. no. 1 œœ œ 6 6 t œœ œ œ # œ n œ œ œ œ n œj œ œ œ ‰ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ vn. . . . The tremolando bowing and the half-step descent have affectual kinship—both vocalistically evoke the softly palpitating viscera toward which the original cellistic withdrawing gesture moved—but there is also a kinetic resemblance that is perceptible on the violin or viola every bit as much as on the cello: both these usages. . bars 22–25. . . op. G. . . . . . vc. . B bb b œ œ j œ . . . the one in the right hand and involving articulation. . i (Largo [soto (sic) voce]). œœœœœœ œ œ œ œ œ œœ 6 6 6 vla. . . j b œ œ œ #œ nœ œ œ œ nœ œ œ œ œ. 2 b j &bb c œ B bb b c œ ? bb c b œ ‰ ‰ œ J j œ ‰ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . ? bb œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ b 6 6 œ b &bb ? b bb Bar 23 w w w # nw w w w Bar 24 w w bw w nw w w w w right-hand tremolando. String Quartet in E b Major.

It seems to have had an odor of dismissal to it almost from the beginning. context. Natoire. this “interest in the duplicity of the image. in the absence of any compelling thematic information—in eighteenth-century analytical terms. what we now call timbre. drama. and so functions as an impediment to erotic absorption. especially nudes or trysts. and of the painter’s and viewer’s own bodies summoned toward one another through a lambent Venus.”16 Overly accurate location creates distance. The word rococo comes from rocaille. “to gratify and to be consumed in the moment of the glance.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 219 rococo These musical caresses epitomize the hedonistic quality in Boccherini’s work. “uneasiness”—arise is abandoned by these artists. the listener’s focus shifts to the immediate. yet what is enjoyed here is only peripherally “a woman. a quality which resonates with certain values of the rococo. a space that arises from the focus on erotic objects. indeed overwhelmed. The word is French. Venus-like. relativity. unproblematized doubleness. the temporal structuration of listening is dissolved. Our ears’ attention readily settles upon the immediacy of sound. which through their repetitiveness efface any sense of aural “perspective” or “location” within a phrase or period. in favor of a presentation of bodilyness “uniquely made to gratify and to be consumed in the moment of the glance.”17 is one of the most deeply characteristic attitudes of the French painterly rococo. Boccherini invites and plays with the listener’s attention through the static passages in his music. consuming and consumed by its silky finish. There is no nervous modernist distancing from signification: all this sensual delight is served to the eye through the conventional signifier of a woman’s naked body. Confronted by a Boucher Venus. and the performers’ bodies emerge. critics of every age are fond of attacking what they feel to be excessively ornamental. any strong “idea”—hearing itself could be said to be “visualized” through this maneuver.” What is more. discourse—in a word. and several other French rococo painters as presenting a different kind of space from the perspectival. the bewitching para-luminosity of tones that can come only from the patient application of layer upon layer of oil pigment. but in the French of Boccherini’s day its meaning was only sec- . “shellwork.” meaning the architectural and painterly cultivation of the decorative curlicue for its own sake.15 I use the term here with particular reference to Norman Bryson’s characterization of Boucher. change. we will be caught up. But we must also admit that this apotheosis of materiality is representational. This makes it explicit that frankly erotic gazing is intended and appropriate. its exquisitely modulated transitions of color. The existence of perspectival space as the space in which interaction. Bryson suggests that this happy. by the surface of the paint.” Just as present and far more physical are the facts of the exquisitely handled act of painting itself. It inhabits certain kinds of music as well.

the multiplicitous physics of the harmonic series were well understood at the time Rousseau was writing. only with reference to timbre are we able to determine the rather crucial matter of which “feeling being” has announced itself to us. To do as Boccherini does. But the longer one [listens] the more one is enchanted. the more the specificity. For all that we seem to accomplish this instantaneously. is not just absolute or untranslatable: it is “inanimate. the personhood of those feeling/sounding beings. everything is [heard] with the first [sounds]. to the ear. the voice announces a feeling being. We are well accustomed to doing so. the “luminous” properties of a particular consonance. on the contrary. is to invite the ear to what Rousseau calls the eye’s behavior: “All the riches of color are displayed simultaneously on the face of the earth. calling it a “false analogy between colors and sounds. . Musical performance makes these beings even more personable and available than painting. but sounds announce movement. she dictates melody. or a mechanical flutist from a living one. and the relative proportions of those harmonics determine its “color. thanks largely to the work of his nemesis Rameau: an apparently single tone contains any number of harmonics.” The longer one admires and contemplates a Boccherinian timbral tableau. all matter is colored.” its identity.18 The momentary rich “darkness” of a dissonance. should we want it. . to make an account of what she .19 For Rousseau the atemporal immediacy of sensory impression. she is hidden. But the longer one looks the more one is enchanted. not chords. or indeed one living flutist from another—is contained in those harmonics. the luxury of being able to talk to Venus. its executants. one has only to admire and contemplate ceaselessly. Colors are the ornament of inanimate beings. not harmony.” watermarks on legal paper. It is not so with sound.” inexpressive. We have. and linger in this realm of the sonically immediate. nature does not analyze it nor separate out its harmonics. within the appearance of the unison. he evades the fact that everything about the nature of that tone—everything that enables us to distinguish by ear a violin from a flute. everything is seen with the first glance. . the “silky luster” of a certain violinist’s mid-range tone—we routinely use visualistic terminology to get at certain aspects of musical sensuousness. She inspires songs. Although he maintains with some correctness that we do not as a rule distinguish the individual harmonics within a tone. will body forth. the maker’s mark attached to pieces of lace. Its primary meanings were visual: “imprint” or “impression. Rousseau scrappily contested this synesthetic maneuver. one has only to admire and contemplate ceaselessly. within a perception of singleness.” All the riches of color are displayed simultaneously on the face of the earth. in English we use the even more frankly visualistic term tone color interchangeably with timbre.220 “it is all cloth of the same piece” ondarily a musical one. represented in this passage by color.

then. minute crescendo. (The corollary. Forzare is “to make an effort” or “to force” in Italian. The s-prefix. But immediately a question arises: to what extent is this a direction to simply play a note more loudly. yet one I feel is required by the very presence of the music. for instance. the acting-upon represented by causing a string to vibrate. or with a sharper attack. to hand). for this would be a letting-go of tension. if scarcely perceptible delicacy at its beginning: without which it would not be a tone. sforzando. “getting at it” with a detail and finegrainedness that will even begin to gesture at the experience of hearing or playing it (no question of capturing or securing it: should I begin to dream of such success. and the company she keeps—including the strangers who gaze at her so raptly. of course. And this delicacy is also to be heard at the end of every tone. the tenuto. labile modifier that often resists or conflicts with the meaning of the ensuing word. this sforzando requires me to resist the impulse to set the string violently vibrating through sheer momentum. I submit: for in playing a stringed instrument. “it would [then] not be a tone. and all those especially beloved terms for playing softly—dolce. Perhaps.” Instead I must employ an infinitesimally brief restraint in the ini- . but rather only a disagreeable and unintelligible noise. Describing this music experientially. dolcissimo. which very readily becomes sonically counterproductive. here intensifies it: sforzare. the unnotated forte implied by a subsequent piano. there is Diderot’s despair to remind me of my hubris). is to make a strong effort. the player asks of the string in courtesy. is the phenomenon discussed in chapter 4: extremely soft dynamics require a surprising amount of muscular tension). the strategically placed forte. this sensible receptivity parlays itself into almost infinite detail: how do we distinguish the rinforzando. every single time I play Boccherini I am moved to try anew. then. a curious. Taken to heart (or more properly. How do I execute the tone notated on the score before me? How did Boccherini execute the F he is forever about to play in his Italian portrait? Leopold Mozart tells us how he began it: “Even the most strongly begun tone has a small. is a constant struggle. and furthermore. which is as fibrous and as visceral as Sterne could ever have wished: the purified and stretched intestine of a sheep. one finds that increased sound bears at best a complex relationship to increased effort. than its fellows? Very little. the player feels for the cooperative métier of the string’s very substance. but rather only a disagreeable and unintelligible noise. and decrescendo (or are they accent marks? What actually is the difference?).”20 Even in the apparently straightforward agency. soave.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 221 thinks about the landscape in which she finds herself. sotto voce —so liberally salted into Boccherini’s scores? address to a sforzando Let us take a sforzando. the player is a supplicant.

The character of the sforzando conceived and executed in isolation alters as soon as others are in the room. how further to account for the element in its sound that is so important to good chambermusic making in general. which forms the great bulk of his output.222 “it is all cloth of the same piece” tial speed of contact between bow hair and string. since stringed instruments resonate so differently in sharp and flat keys. has meaning of its own. The very term chamber music—musica da camera— . a space purpose-built to project sound outward and enhance its clarity. Boccherini wrote all of his music with the intention that it be performed. The design of a bow such as Boccherini used. as Boccherini did in his early years in Lucca.” if it is conceived and executed with express reference to those others. half full of gentlemen in capes and ladies in petticoated. bespeaks his concern with it as an extended metaphor for what the sforzando so microscopically embodies: social interaction. and of course the resistance. Obviously. Such a literalistic sforzando is indeed far more effortful to execute than one created by merely releasing kinetic energy. and on the stage of the Burgtheater in Vienna. Neither brash nor harsh. for reasons of projection. And then. carefully considered and fully controlled. where one might perform instrumental music between parts of a Mass. with the stick curved slightly outward from the hair. lends itself well to these tiny expressive withholdings and mitigated releases of energy. It will sound as well as look that way. the physical constraint in the sound production. and much lighter at the tip than at the frog. Also the difference between making it in a small room with plaster walls. and between making it in the tenor register and the bass. sound-absorbing skirts and mantles—like rooms in the Spanish palaces in which Boccherini worked in the second half of his life. and particularly essential to playing Boccherini’s music—that is. in an enormously resonant chapel with fifty-foot ceilings. the player is apt to find herself further entangled in resistance to her very equipment. a room such as those in which Boccherini lived and probably did some of his rehearsing. in the ensemble context in which this sforzando perforce appears (this marking is not to be found in the solo music). the making of a sound that is transparent enough to allow other parts to emerge more clearly? I must take account of the difference between making that sound in D major and making it in E b major. as Diderot tells us in the “Paradoxe. in a fine large sitting room with draped windows on one wall and tapestries on the other three. His lifelong gravitation toward chamber music. where Boccherini played several times between 1757 and 1764. This is the sense in which we still understand and valorize chamber music today. built to make a more direct attack and projected sustain. for all its strength. the mechanics of getting along. it is altered at the root. With a bow of later design. the negotiations between urgency and decorum. faced in marble. four or five musicians crammed in together—that is. this is a strong emphasis that is. so others are present at the heart of even his most deeply introverted moments.

written in 1772 and dedicated to the Infante Don Luis de Borbón. and is. And in the matter of really understanding this music. naming its affect. but unlike most examples of this effacement of the melodic impulse it is marked “Prestissimo” and is far from dreamy (see example 26). the shorter works that were ultimately to comprise over half of his quartet output. 15. and a further hour to revise. 15. In the eighteenth century it became a more detailed mimesis of social behavior. it is also no less than essential. two analyses: op. a site of that period’s anxiety over what happened to selfhood when it encountered society: the Social Contract in tones.21 On occasion these little pieces present some of their composer’s most characteristic musical thinking in a kind of strippeddown form. This movement exhibits a typical Boccherinian “exploded” melodic line for much of its duration. op. no. any that deals with Boccherini’s large vocabulary of articulational terms. no. This is a type of attention that is out of the reach of most of us. These pieces form Boccherini’s first opus of quartettini. I have already mentioned that in Boccherini’s case brevity does not consistently imply lightness or inconsequentiality. while being the only true bearing-out of the critical apparatus that I have assembled over the preceding chapters. neither should the published title be taken to mean that they are less serious or personal works. expressive—saying what it is. Also characteristically. Any more extended such account. 3. run into insuperable problems around the incommensurability of act and description. and they are entitled “Divertimenti” in the first edition. is a more difficult matter. awkward chunk of perpetuum mobile? Can it be a dead- . a single word. and as such it bespeaks the very social class for which most of Boccherini’s chamber music was published. Being able to spend such time on a small and delicate thing was. 3 The six quartets of op. 179. were published in Paris the following year by Vénier. It requires real leisure. this thinking is at its most idiosyncratic not at the beginning of the work. This partial and still abstract address to a single sforzando took an hour and a half to write. We are especially taxed by passages such as bars 25–48 (CD track 60). whose pace of life and onslaught of necessities scarcely permit such extended reveries over a single act. 15. but tucked away in an episode in the second movement.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 223 had long signified music made privately (and thus. G. will. as it were. While it is easy enough to describe the movement in terms of what it is not—melodic. each one unique by virtue of its peculiar tactile configuration in the context of a specific piece. nor indeed in the first movement at all. until the present age. the most delicious luxury. pretty much necessarily by the well-to-do). peaceful. and topos. character. in the Quartet in E Major. How are we to interpret this strange.

but its tessitura remains above that of the second violin. then bemusement. is the attempt to distill this essence by description. and the viola consistently above the second violin. or in brief lockstep with the second violin or cello. and interpretation. In a handful of bars the violins play in octaves. and listenermemory that form one of the highest achievements of the so-called Classical style? Such readings scarcely acknowledge the high-mindedness and subtlety that I have been at pains to demonstrate in Boccherini. for I was convinced that its peculiarity was not anomalous. it is all in the “extended two-part texture” remarked upon by Speck and Amsterdam. the melodic and rhythmic (it is largely in conjunct sixteenth-note motion). with the viola moving more conventionally below the second violin. but with the beginning—the first movement of the quartet. fifty-three are voiced with the violins playing a tune in octaves. pianissimo. or soave).22 The tune flows along unhindered. There is no four-part writing proper in this entire movement. it happens to be the one that first caught my attention in the course of reading through op. Breathing places at the ends of the tune’s phrases. line. The piece is even continuous on the most basic level of all. (For the reader who is using the CD. the violins continue to play the tune in octaves. such as at bars 16 and 36. reproduced in its entirety in example 26—I will practice analysis conventionally. tend . while the viola detaches itself to play independently. track 61. sotto voce. and the articulational (almost all of it falls under four-note or eight-note slurs). The only extended passage in which the violins do not carry the tune is the eight bars at the beginning of the second half (bars 45–52). where the prevalent texture is essentially reversed: the viola and cello play a tune in parallel sixths to the accompaniment of drones and arpeggios from the violins (CD track 62). but some kind of Boccherinian essence. in parallel thirds or sixths with the tune. before reading my discussion of it. linear expectations? Can it be a kind of motoric simple-mindedness. as I propose to practice it here. My initial reaction was amusement at its oddity and opacity.224 “it is all cloth of the same piece” pan sense of humor reflected upon us and our melodic.) The movement is a striking exercise in certain samenesses. comparison. In a further thirty-four bars. Out of its ninety-eight bars.15. an inability to perceive and use those sophisticated interactions between periodicity. it will work best to listen to the entire first movement at this point. reinforcing its textural and timbral continuity on multiple levels: the dynamic (all but twelve of its ninety-eight bars are piano. that of making sound as opposed to silence. Analysis 1 To the extent that I will begin not with what I find most interesting. Analysis. The passage in question is only one of a number of difficulties and contradictions with which this little quartet confronts us.

sotto voce pp 7 13 (continued) 225 . 179.Example 26. G. i (Andantino). String Quartet in E Major. op. no. 15. 3.

Example 26. (continued) 19 25 Dolce Dolce Dolce Dolce 31 39 226 .

Example 26. (continued) 46 52 rf 59 65 soave soave (continued) 227 .

Example 26. (continued) 72 78 Dolce Dolce Dolce 84 sf 92 228 .

In rehearsal. with another answering silence. resulting in a very different rhetoric of satisfaction and fulfillment. 55 and 57. we are alerted to them by the way the respective preceding bars. These small areas of contest aside. as an explicit and affirmative answer to the first. but in speech the difference between the two is perfectly clear to the listener. 55–58. in decisive cadential eighth-notes (CD track 63). the music resumes on the same harmony (with an added seventh) and in the same register. musical silences are equivalent to punctuation in speech. This can be interpreted as the pathetic rhetoric of the unanswered question or entreaty. are the movement’s only foray into a demonstrativeness that might be taken as speechlike. accomplished through a two-bar 5 /V→V formula. disrupt the prevalent harmonic rhythm. in that they were the site of some contention over interpretation. With the brief exception of the interruptions described above. minimizing the hiatus. repeated once. There is essentially only one object of interest here—the tune—but its very smoothness. It does not change its countenance. a motion so utterly conventional as to barely qualify as motion at all). in the case of bars 28 and 82. this is a single-minded piece. The four bars punctuated by silences. Within the framework of the general seventeenth. and. “The pause and falling of pitch for a comma.” A piece as sonically continuous as this movement of Boccherini’s has moved far from any speechlikeness. its insistence on continuousness. With the resumption of continuous sound in bar 59 begins a retransition to the reprise. is repeated in bars 57–581 at a lower pitch and level of conviction (the harmonies being less tense). may be only a fraction of a second shorter than the pause and fall for the semicolon at its end. nor move us anywhere new (save to the dominant key area and back. toward something really unrhetorical. bars 55–58 proved disruptive in another sense.and eighteenth-century understanding of music as speechlike. as follows: the statement in bars 55–561 meets silence. and the whole profile becomes the very portrait of resignation. with its harmonic closure on the E tonic. The silences in bars 56 and 58 constitute the only significant interruptions of sound or gesture in the entire movement. and both are distinct from the longer pause and fall occasioned by a full stop such as the one with which this statement closes. as for the ones punctuating this clause.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 229 to be filled in by melodic figures from lower voices. tiny gradations carry a good deal of meaning. or. this tune fails to tell much of a story about any- . effaces it affectually and even perceptually. and followed by a sad little breath (end of bar 62). those four bars are then repeated note for note. rousing it from sleepy halves and quarters to move. as in speech. Another interpretation of the passage saw the second statement-and-silence (bars 57–58). in the second half of each bar. The pathetic reading proposed above was not accepted by all quartet members. and further confirmed by the subsequent retransition. One has only to speak the next sentence aloud to demonstrate this.

CD track 64. the second violin’s opening gesture—loud (see example 27). the listening reader will do well to listen to the entire piece. and sequencing (bars 57–60 and 61–64). then. here it is sharply distinguished. teleology is chiefly striking here because of its rarity. a living picture of melodiousness. They are unremarkable harmonies indeed: two two-bar antecedent-consequent pairs. On the governing eight-bar level. or four-bar blocks in the proto-architectural manner described by Speck (see chapter 3 above). in the ambient B major. 11–12. it is the quiet sections of this piece that prove most memorable. The reprise of the movement’s opening arrives with the upbeat to bar 49. Whereas in the first movement phrasing is maximally smoothed and elided. respectively open (6 –I) and closed (V–I). There is a return of the opening idea at the upbeat to bar 49. The piano that marks the upbeat to bar 65 serves as a classic subito beginning for a crescendo. staccato. by virtue of sitting exactly in the middle of them. repetition with “open” and “closed” endings (bars 1–4 and 5–8). communication or interrelation between sections is kept to a minimum. though it dominates the texture. can scarcely be called a melody. This entire period is then repeated. momentary vicissitudes. followed by two four-bar blocks that cadence. The second movement’s obvious contrasts with the first begin immediately: it is extremely rapid. The first violin’s bird-like comments are hopelessly snarled in the second’s triplets. 67 and 68. and 13–14. Most of these phrases are further divided into one-. or between bars 65 and 66. and—excepting. or bars 25– 26 and 27–28). and one other return of a device (the second violin triplets at bar 25 reappear. The effect is a tableau vivant. even by the somewhat relaxed standards of melodic interest and engagingness set by the movement to this point. There is exact repetition (as between bars 9–10. is one of simple succession.23 the antecedent-consequent relationship (bars 17–20 and 21–24. the one that originally recommended this quartet to my closer attention (CD track 62). though less prominently. What direction the passage has comes through the harmonies outlined in the cello and viola parts. without benefit of any perceptible preparation. The ruling principle. but that is all. For all its noisiness. before engaging with my discussion of it. Where the first movement was an indolent tableau vivant.) As for the passage that begins in bar 25. the entire piece parses into unambiguous eight-bar phrases defined by clear cadences and sharp articulations.230 “it is all cloth of the same piece” thing except its own small. (As before. this is a chain . a crescendo links the section at bars 65–72 with that at bars 73–80. and makes the only really forceful connection between two successive eight-bar blocks in the piece (CD track 65). both rhythmically and registrally. (As in the first movement. and so on). These smaller chunks communicate with one another in various ways. however. two-.) The movement is as brash as the first movement is suave: sixty-two out of eighty-eight bars are forte or fortissimo. from bar 73 to the end). the second violin line. curiously.

179. ii (Prestissimo).Example 27. no. 15. op. 10 17 24 (continued) 231 . G. 3. String Quartet in E Major.

(continued) 31 37 43 49 232 .Example 27.

75 82 233 .Example 27. 67 cres. (continued) 58 cres. cres. cres.

nor to finish. breathing experience of the bodies that perform the quartet. he too is cut off from the living.and gesture-bound experience of embodiment in either analytical performance. silently subvocalizing cooperation in this project produces a strange “performance. you mean. By virtue of the tracking of my examples on the CD. since they are forever. he can in fact mimic many of the score-reader’s atemporal habits. and although his being able to hear this music brings it a giant step closer on the corporeal plane. For clarity. nor to begin at the beginning.” heard only in the mind’s ear. Our topical progress through this little carnival has an unpredictable quality. Second Violinist: It’s true. The analytical listener to the enclosed recording exists in a curious. The suggestions I have made as to the work’s structure and expressive purposes are verifiable (or deniable) chiefly through the reader’s reference to these examples. she can repeat other sections obsessively. For the musically educated reader who elects to read the score and not to listen. she can juxtapose widely separated sections of the piece as though they were adjacent. and temporally unbound: it is obliged neither to proceed in order. distanced in time and place (the recording was made in San Francisco in 1996). frenetic workings of a mysterious piece of musical clockwork. and increasingly. Author: Yes.234 “it is all cloth of the same piece” of miniature tableaux joined by little save rhythmic propulsiveness and a prevailing atmosphere of slightly wild gaiety—a hurried visit to a fair or circus. . visually constituted and confirmed. either. but I want to split off the cellist from the author. you know. we several times round a corner onto a scene of unexplained celebration. First Violinist: Four of us. obviously there are four of you . The analysis I have so far presented is readable through the music examples printed within this chapter. If you are going to address the experience of bodies in this analysis then I think you should attach them to people. the visual. Analysis 2 Violist: There is very little of us. The score-reader can “fast-forward” through the parts already understood or considered uninteresting. There is ultimately very little of the necessarily time. In a quartet. That’s how they come in real life. As in a real carnival. Violist: Isn’t that contrary to your whole project? . . Perhaps I should introduce you all to the reader. liminal relationship to the score-reader. such surprises are an integral part of the experience’s charm. and in the passage at bars 25–48 are granted one extended peek at the hushed. You are one of us. and its main points audible through the performance of the quartet included on the CD. Author: You’re right.

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Cellist/Author: Well, um . . . I must say it’s quite uncomfortable to do it this way. Um, so, I was going to introduce you—I mean us. We’ve played together for a long time. Second Violinist: As Cambini says, we’ve “often repeat[ed] the foremost works in this style, thereby learning all the nuances of the intended execution.” Cellist/Author: There are four of us, and then there are the ghostly, composite bodies of our interactions. These would include the quartet as a unit, and various subsets and temporary alliances within it; mathematically, this breaks down to six potential pairs and four trios. First Violinist: Then there’s Boccherini, or is it his ghost? I mean his virtual presence, the one you propose in chapter 1? Cellist/Author: Yes, he’s here too, and very important, though he can only speak through us. Second Violinist: And don’t forget the bodies of your listeners and readers, and the physical fact of the score and parts. Cellist/Author: All right. So there are quite a few of us on the stage right now! Violist: I hope you know what you’re doing. Cellist/Author: Well, there’s certainly a fine potential for confusion. To try to contain it somewhat, I took notes during our rehearsals. Violist: Yes, you certainly did. Every time I looked over, there you were, scribbling. It got annoying. Cellist/Author: I’m sorry, I know it did. Whatever structure this conversation is going to have came from that, though. Second Violinist: (to the Violist) Don’t be too hard on her. There’s just no way to use a bow and a pencil at the same time. (to me) So what did these notes tell you? Cellist/Author: Well, predictably enough, the first thing I found in my note taking was that the two main sources of information on which I had relied in examining the sonatas had shifted in relative importance and in nature. Violist: And those were? Cellist/Author: I called them “eyes-closed” and “eyes-open”: what I felt kinesthetically, and what I could see in a mirror. “Eyesclosed” information—passages oriented to my body-sense, and essentially inward-turned—the places where what I

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First Violinist: Cellist/Author: Violist: Cellist/Author:

First Violinist:

Cellist/Author:

Violist: Second Violinist: Cellist/Author: Violist: Cellist/Author:

surmise to have been Boccherini’s own technical comfort or enjoyment was the clearest motivation for a gesture or passage: well, this was still to be found, but it was always mitigated in some way by the, the, um—group situations. You mean, by our being there with you. Yes. Certainly closing one’s eyes in a room with others is quite a different matter from doing it while alone. “Eyes-open” information came, obviously, from looking and was confirmed by asking. However, looking at the three of you play, I was never “simply observing,” but was constantly projecting myself into your actions, making a kind of cellistic subvocalization or translation all the while. I can see how you’d do that. The cello and the violins sound and are held very differently, but their tuning, fingering, and tone production are all part of the same system. One sort of knows roughly how it’s done: I can “get around” on your instrument, or you on mine. And so while playing, in your presence, my comfort or pleasure was no longer entirely of my own creation; what each of you did, the sounds you made, and even, I think, the feelings you had in making them, all figured in my resulting experience. That sounds exactly like the sensible permeability you keep talking about. Yes, and I think I see arising from it a third class of information: interaction, communication, cooperation. Diderot is so eloquent on just this point, and since he is the presiding genius of this dialogue, I can’t resist . . . (to the reader, resignedly) She does this all the time. Diderot’s image is of the corporate entity of the hive, arising from the several and specific actions of individual bees. Here’s Mademoiselle de L’Espinasse. She’s giving us an account of her friend d’Alembert’s strange spoken dream, and her waking responses to it. (reads)
He began to shout: “Mademoiselle de L’Espinasse! Mademoiselle de L’Espinasse!—What do you want?—Have you ever seen a swarm of bees leave their hive? . . . The World, or the general mass of matter, that’s the hive. . . . Have

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you seen them go and form, at the tip of a branch of a tree, a long cluster of little winged animals, all linked to one another by their feet? This cluster is a being, an individual, some form of animal. . . . If one of these bees decides to somehow sting one of the bees to which it is linked, what do you believe will happen? Tell me.—I’ve no idea. . . . —That bee will sting the next one; it will arouse as many sensations in the cluster as there are little animals. . . . The whole will become agitated, will move about, change situation and form; a noise will arise, little cries. . . . Anyone who had never seen such a swarm arranging itself would be tempted to take it for a single animal with five or six hundred heads and a thousand or twelve hundred wings.”24

First Violinist: So an account of “a quartet,” which is really a group activity, will end up being an account of the minute actions of the individual beings in that group. Second Violinist: How we stung one another, and how we reacted. Cellist/Author: Exactly. The minuter, the better. Violist: I hate to be a troublemaker here, but can’t that easily go overboard? I mean, is the reader really going to want to know that I played out of tune just here because my nose was itching fiercely—I wanted to scratch it, oh, how I wanted to scratch it—I lost my concentration and some bad notes popped out—and then you played flat all that next phrase, something you often do in reaction, it seems to me— Cellist/Author: (laughing) Yes, it becomes clear right away that there have to be some guidelines. I’ve spent a goodly amount of time working out what those might be. Violist: That’s right—let me see: pleasure/unpleasantness, and ease/difficulty. First Violinist: And the beehive image suggests another continuum. What about connection/isolation? Second Violinist: Well, what about another one, very important, it seems to me: good or bad results? Cellist/Author: You know we have a few days of rehearsals ahead of us . . . First Violinist: Yes, goodness, we have to learn all six of these op. 15 quartets, so we can record them. It’s a bit alarming. Violist: Fortunately they’re the opera piccola kind—only two movements apiece. Cellist/Author: What I’d like to propose is this. Let’s keep those four

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Violist: Cellist/Author:

Second Violinist: Cellist/Author: First Violinist:

continua in mind as we work. I’ll take notes the whole time— Just kindly remember you have some notes to play, too! And then at the end, I’d like to do one complete playthrough of the E-major quartet—you already know I find that one particularly interesting. And I’ll ask you— I mean, us—some explicit questions based on those continua, and we’ll continue this discussion from there. So this analysis will not be temporally unbound at all, but specific to that one performance of the piece. Yes; but within the context of our long association, and our having learned it together previously. This sounds fine, but I’m getting worried about learning all this music. Let’s begin straight away.

(There follow three days of rehearsal, interspersed by tea and coffee breaks, at the end of which the quartet gathers, a little nervously, for the “analysis.”) Cellist/Author: So I have written down a series of questions. Really, it came out a sort of questionnaire. I want us to direct our attention to them before we play through, and then try to answer them specifically right after we play each movement. (Hands out sheets of paper with the following questions on them; the quartet spends some minutes in perusal.)
Questionnaire: Quartet Bodies
1. What part (i.e., violin 1 or 2, viola, cello) are you playing in this quartet? 2a. Where in each movement do you feel the strongest connection to another instrumental part? 2b. Which part in each case? 2c. With which element in your body do you most strongly feel that connection in each case? 2d. To what element in the body of that other part’s player do you feel the strongest connection in each case? 2e. What is happening structurally in the music at each point? 3. Where in each movement do you feel the least connection to the other parts? What does this feel like physically in each case? 4a. If the quartet as a whole is a metaphorical “body,” what part of or element in it is your part? 4b. Is this different for Boccherini than for other composers? How?

“it is all cloth of the same piece” 5a. What is the most physically pleasant moment for you in each movement? Where in your body do you feel this pleasure? 5b. What is the most physically unpleasant moment in each movement? Where in your body? 6a. What is the easiest thing you have to play in each movement? 6b. What is the hardest thing in each movement? 7a. What is the best-sounding moment in your part in each movement? What makes it sound good? 7b. What is the worst-sounding moment in each? Why?

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Second Violinist: Well, I can see the four continua here— First Violinist: But what is this business about a “metaphorical body”? I mean questions 4a and 4b. Cellist/Author: That’s the beehive, you know, our sense of the whole . . . Violist: This is a lot to keep in mind while playing. Cellist/Author: I do know that. I mean us to use these questions as guidelines, as starting points for discussion. It’s scarcely meant to be a scientific survey. Violist: Fair enough. So. Shall we play? Cellist/Author: Just the first movement for now. (The quartet plays through the first movement of op. 15, no. 3, and then each member spends fifteen minutes writing down some responses to the questionnaire.) First Violinist: Well! What a hard piece. And thinking about all that stuff tied me up terribly . . . Cellist/Author: All right, here I go: tell us where it was hard. And why. First Violinist: Ummm. . . . That would be in bar 43. Yuk, that’s where I sound the worst too. Cellist/Author: Where in your body do you feel that? First Violinist: Well, in my torso, I guess. (gesturing at her midriff ) Where one feels revulsion. Cellist/Author: I have to say I thought that was one of the worst-sounding places too. But I thought it was just me, actually. I always tense up and sound scratchy at that sudden forte in bar 43: I hold my breath in my chest. Did anyone else feel this was a special locus of difficulty or bad sound? Violist: No—for me that comes in bars 17 and 18. Cellist/Author: Really? Whatever for? Violist: Right there it’s hard to be “in” my part, to play it in tune,

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“it is all cloth of the same piece”

First Violinist:

Cellist/Author: Second Violinist:

First Violinist:

Violist: First Violinist:

Cellist/Author: Second Violinist: First Violinist:

Cellist/Author:

Violist: Cellist/Author: Violist:

to know how to balance with the other parts. Not only is this the hardest and worst-sounding place, it’s also the most unpleasant for me. (CD track 66) Good heavens, I had no idea you were experiencing that! In fact it’s just before that—let’s see, bars 15–17—that I felt especially connected with the group—and it was really quite pleasant. One of my favorite passages. (to the Second Violinist) So where was it most difficult for you? Oh, that would have to be in bars 25 to 27. All those trills, too many sharps, I have to keep shifting position to play any of it—it’s really awkward writing. I experience it as the most unpleasant place too, and I suspect it’s where I sound worst. (CD track 67) I noticed I sound bad there too—my E string feels so strident. But since we’re in octaves, maybe it’s not me at all. (to the Second Violinist) You’re fluffing around there in an unresonant part of your violin, and not helping support my tone, the way the lower octave ought to do. This seems as if you two are feeling connected through something that feels bad. Yes . . . I guess I’m pretty aware that he’s struggling over there. It doesn’t help me out. Sort of a negative connection, a misconnection, as it were. Is the feeling of misconnection mutual? Not at all. I’m so caught up in my part right there, I wasn’t the least bit aware of her. That’s an interesting distinction, isn’t it: no connection at all, versus misconnection. And I suspect that the one plays some part in causing the other. I’m struck by how our discussion immediately gravitated to the things that went badly. It’s what musicians always do. Well, we’re trained to, aren’t we? It’s how we know what to improve. Yes, but you know we go well beyond that into being obsessive about it. I’m also struck by how things going badly was so welded to unpleasantness for each of us.

“it is all cloth of the same piece”

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Second Violinist: Well, it would be a strange player who enjoyed it when things went wrong! Cellist/Author: True enough. But I’m wondering if those experiences are always necessarily connected. Did anyone experience unpleasantness on any other basis? Violist: Well—there are a few places in this piece where I’m finding it unpleasant, but not because of my execution, or any of yours either. In the place I mentioned before, bars 18 and 19, I think I’m having trouble because the harmonies and the voice-leading are tricky—no, I’ll be frank, I think they’re inept. Passages like these just don’t feel good, even when we play them well. Cellist/Author: You’re saying that the one who’s doing badly in those places is old Luigi himself, with his non-textbook handling of the 2 chord—both the seventh and the third of the chord resolve in parts and octaves other than where they first appear. Violist: I’m afraid I am. Cellist/Author: Let’s turn to things that were pleasant, or went well, or feel particularly connected; I’m assuming that these criteria are linked, just as their opposites were. (to the First Violinist) How about you? First Violinist: As I said before, I very much enjoyed bars 15–17. Cellist/Author: And did you think they sounded especially good? First Violinist: Well, to be honest, not especially so. The pleasure there was more interactional than sonic. It came through my sense of connection to your part. Cellist/Author: With what part of your body did you feel it? First Violinist: Oh, in my chest, in my heart. I imagined it connecting with your chest too. Didn’t you feel that at all? Cellist/Author: I have to say I wasn’t aware of it. It’s interesting, though. Just before the passage you’ve pointed out, I experienced a long stretch—bars 5–12—in which I was feeling quite disconnected from all of you, frankly. Solid, independent, marching to my own drummer. I was taking considerable pleasure in the fact. Violist: And you stopped feeling “independent” shortly before the first violin felt particularly connected to you? Cellist/Author: Yes. . . . Could it be, I wonder, that she picked up my “rejoining the group” subliminally?

First Violinist: Oh. right? Violist: Right. Cellist/Author: (to the Second Violinist) So. (to the Second Violinist) Just out of curiosity—did you feel any reciprocal sense of connection to her there? Second Violinist: At bar 90? No. ungrounded—why. do you think? Violist: Just there at bar 90. Cellist/Author: Where before you felt a general independence. how strange. (CD track 68) Cellist/Author: Where in your body . Cellist/Author: (to the Violist) And how about for you? Violist: I think I get the most active pleasure in bars 88–90. it feels like it’s my voice at first. First Violinist: I’m starting to wonder if there were any places at all where all of us felt the same thing. Cellist/Author: Why the change. my face. . I can’t say I did. A breathing place. I think in bar 56. a separateness. so I feel I’m contributing something of my own for once. Because that’s really a very unpleasant place for me—I feel terribly unconnected there. we could speculate endlessly about that sort of thing. relief. . Just. First Violinist: But that bar’s mostly silence! Second Violinist: Exactly. where did you feel especial pleasure? Second Violinist: Oh. Cellist/Author: So with a change of role within the group. came a change of locus of pleasure within the individual. the locus of pleasure in my body changed to my heart.242 “it is all cloth of the same piece” Second Violinist: Well. I start to feel a strong connection with the second violin part. and then we finish together with that nice little lockstep gesture in bar 90. (to the Second Violinist) I’ve been playing above you there.) Cellist/Author: What sort of pleasure was it? Where in your body did you feel it? Second Violinist: I felt it all over my upper body. I hold my breath in that silence. But then—it’s curious—in bar 90. well. . and my eyes. My part is a little more independent there than it is for most of this piece. and syncopated and suspended against your line. (This can be heard in CD track 63. ? Violist: Well.

I’ve just reemerged into a sense of connection. This induces the suspicion that we felt at least as much constrained as enabled because of the samenesses between our parts: the plentiful octaves between the violins. where the resonance between our parts is particularly nice. felt I sounded bad and felt unpleasant in bar 43. In my torso again. after my little difficult. . Second Violinist: In the latter of those two places. which you said were particularly pleasant for you. it’s as if my ear were glued to her voice. A certain level of tension between individuality and cooperation seems to become a theme of this piece as—and only as—expressed in performance. So there’s a kind of simultaneity between us at bar 29. and so was I in mine. I felt it in my stomach. on a certain level. which take real vigilance to balance and to tune. First Violinist: What about at the cadences at the end of each half ? Had we any simple unity of feeling there? I. Second Violinist: Well. If you want body parts. there are a few places where I feel connected to you too—bar 9. So it was simultaneous pleasure. I do feel uniformly connected to the First Violinist throughout almost all of this piece. but not connected pleasure. Violist: Unless you want to say that there is a certain tacit level of connection in the agreement to pursue separate pleasures at certain times.) . or bar 29. disconnected episode in bars 25–27. Cellist/Author: It’s ironic that so many of our most similar experiences cluster around those rare places where the music’s texture or character becomes less “similar”—that is. or her left hand. for one.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 243 Violist: Or even similar things. Or whether we were ever aware of our simultaneities of feeling as a sense of connection. (This can be heard in CD track 62. though for slightly different reasons. since I have to double her part so much. First Violinist: While I can’t say I have such a constant sense. less homogenous. at the top of the line. for instance. . But you said you were taking pleasure in your part’s separateness there. unpleasant. . Violist: (to me) What about you and me? Cellist/Author: Well. I too took pleasure in bars 88–90. (CD track 69) First Violinist: Which bars I had also experienced as unpleasant and sounding bad.

and so on. (CD track 70) Second Violinist: That wasn’t really my experience. alas. They seem to be getting at the cheerful many-voicedness of the comic finale as a way of explaining these disjunctures and misconnections. Violist: It is only one short piece. and failed connections. . . active crowd scenes. They make for a particular kind of performance which is theatrical but anti-dramatic. or even of all of Boccherini. after all. Fine distinctions are made between levels of attention and address. though. In their effort to make sense of this tendency in Tiepolo’s paintings.244 “it is all cloth of the same piece” Cellist/Author: So did I—right in my stomach.25 Doesn’t that sound like us? . nor are subsidiary states of being. . and pretty dismaying to my analytic compulsion for order! Furthermore. It is less what they say than the pitch or pose with which they say it (or perhaps sing it?) that matters. Second Violinist: And even as detailed as they are. It still seems that there was no one place where all of us felt the same thing. They all carry on at once. it can’t be a microcosm of all chamber music. . Here’s another quote: They do not exchange expressive glances with each other or in any usual sense interact. Not necessarily anyway. They focus only on the poles of each continuum. the worstsounding passage. there is a certain crudity to these questions. He paints those big. Violist: Are you saying they’re alienated from each other? And that we are too? Cellist/Author: No. it is sobering to put my own sensible assumptions about the nature of making chamber music next to this evidence of the profound extent to which a single “piece” of ensemble music can be an experiential patchwork of tenuously related impressions. but no one in them is looking at anyone else. and so our accounts consist of isolated points and episodes—the most pleasurable moment. Baxandall and Alpers suggest a scenario based on Goldoni. Transitions between experiences are not represented. . And similarly in bar 97. The heterogeneity of our responses is striking. Cellist/Author: I’m thinking of my friend Tiepolo again. . Cellist/Author: You’re right. assumptions.

“it is all cloth of the same piece” 245 Violist: I suppose the comic finale. and also in that place in bars 18 and 19 where you so disliked . like in riding a horse: the site of balance and placement. No hands or arms. to articulate it all. First Violinist: Nevertheless. shadings. along the lines of the traditional metaphorical use of “high” and “low. Second Violinist: I was a head. But we haven’t time. and you violinists well above it. an attempt to elicit some sense of a unitary quartet “body” from its members. stomach. The inner source of encouragement and confidence. . and different “feeling-styles. the voice . as much as anything. Cellist/Author: Yes. Cellist/Author: I felt I was the seat. . . your questions did clarify some other tendencies you haven’t mentioned. the doublings and treblings of intention and response. whether it’s in words or in tones . .” (to me) You and I favor chest. Each one of us seems to favor very personal sites for our sensations. Here. the webwork of thought that happens in a group dialogue. (to the Violist) And your self-identification as “connective tissue” makes sense because in this movement your part is so thoroughly intricated between the violins’. That brings me to my question 4a. The part that sings . (to the Second Violinist and Violist) and you two seem to locate a lot of your experiences in your ears and hands. but bodily proximity to the ground. does get at all those broken lines of questioning. . that’s true. . Violist: I was connective tissue. and sub-narratives of actual performing experience. ever. I identified below the waist. Cellist/Author: Nevertheless there is a certain orderliness in these responses. First Violinist: Yes. I mean that physically and psychologically. Cellist/Author: I wish we could take better account of all the myriad contradictions. Second Violinist: That’s a pretty peculiar body.” which seem to indicate not only range. What part of the quartet “body” were you? First Violinist: Um. A sleepy head. what on earth were you asking for? Cellist/Author: Perhaps I’ll know better what I was asking for by seeing what I got. the heart. Violist: Nor legs. and torso as sites of experience.

and into self-obliteration. . I suppose I do. you take what I would have called a “structural feature of the music” as a bodily experience.” So—did you experience this as connection with me? And was it pleasant or otherwise? Violist: Well. . felt quite similar— if not a seat. you’re in octaves with me much of the time. In this piece I’m the feet. Let’s play that. Yes. on that note: what about the second movement? Yes. Not even a head! But I can see some reason for some of this. which would be bars 25 through 48.) Cellist/Author: Well.” metaphorically you’d be something. well. That goes well beyond the chamber music ideal of blended individuality. . lower down. in which the piece becomes an articulation of the performer’s own body—its learned responses and its physical quiddity—marks a difficult boundary in the framing of my questions: it is the edge of the deep woods of irreducible subjectivity. I felt enslaved to you. Also the knees . As indeed you were: “feet and knees” to my “leg. . First Violinist: I was. Instead of being welded to the violins. let’s start by seeing how the quartet “body” has changed for this piece. I was a leg. it varied. This degree of identification. I. um—the stomach.246 “it is all cloth of the same piece” Violist: Cellist/Author: Second Violinist: Violist: Boccherini’s part-writing. (general laughter) Cellist/Author: Well this “body” is even odder than the first movement’s. a caffeinated torso. plays through the second movement. Well. Violist: I seem to have shifted a bit. for one. and muscles in them . . but a rider’s leg: maintaining balance and support. But I’d say that the most extended passage of connection. So I can see that instead of being “connective tissue. Hm. and see if it has anything to add. Second Violinist: Here I’m a torso—a very agitated. (CD track 60) Cellist/Author: Enslaved! That’s a radical form of connection. (The quartet tunes. (to the Violist) Your part is so different in this movement. were an experience of connection all right. and writes down its responses. but not actually providing locomotion.

I fear. (to the Second Violinist) What about you? You’ve been awfully quiet over there. I might add. well. I’m going to leave it at that. . It was you who articulated it as a master-slave relation. . heavens. First Violinist: What made them so easy? Cellist/Author: The texture separation—my part is far below the others there. Cellist/Author: Well . I’m curious about what was going on during bars 25–48 with the violins. there’s . . . Cellist/Author: Is it a site of connection? First Violinist: Well. I can tell you’re hanging back on something. and that during it I sounded particularly good to myself. . Violist: Or is feeling in control of others really a particular kind of connection? Cellist/Author: I don’t know. Anyway. . I don’t know. First Violinist: Well. And then there’s . The Marquis de Sade is hovering around this somewhere. I can hear myself clearly. I enjoy “bouncing off ” your part. First Violinist: You mean. Violist: What? First Violinist: Come on. Not enough to bother me. . I feel I get to be “in the driver’s seat” in phrasing that whole passage. With you. It’s easy to play. Violist: You don’t feel you’re being controlled by the cello part? As if she’s taking you over somehow? First Violinist: Oh. . So for me it’s a site of pleasure as well. actually.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 247 Violist: (to me) What did you feel through there? I do hope it wasn’t mastery! Cellist/Author: Well. lies well on the instrument. you get to control things? Violist: Ah! I knew it! You do feel mastery there! I bet you even enjoy it! Cellist/Author: I’ll just say that the passage suggests to me that there’s a particular kind of disconnection from others that comes from feeling in control. oh. yes. I suspect control relationships involve strategic amounts of both connection and disconnection—and on both parties’ parts. I felt those bars were one of the easiest places for me to sound good. . I feel I sound good through there too. .

. First Violinist: Worst? In what way? Second Violinist: It’s a terrible passage. Cellist/Author: I’m tempted to continue both his and your analogies. By far the hardest thing in the quartet—almost impossible to make it sound good— the extreme awkwardness of the writing. you know. You said you felt “in the driver’s seat” throughout this passage. Cellist/Author: So. yet you automatically adjust to his part. I’m thinking that this passage suggests yet another analytic continuum. Cellist/Author: Any particular bodily site of unpleasantness? Second Violinist: Well. but it’s in my left index finger. . The way it’s written. I am. and then there’s a domino effect on the rest of you. we can tell it’s awkward for you. that finger is likely to stumble. In its way. . . will attempt to drive around the mines. You’re afraid of having a bad effect on us. we generally adjust the rhythm. . though. that I end up feeling completely disconnected from the rest of you. and say that any sane driver. Violist: Hmmm. . What else are we supposed to do? Cellist/Author: If you do stumble. you seem mightily unconcerned about my struggles. all the more awkward for having to be contained and suppressed within piano. That’s just so basic to this kind of music-making that we don’t have any strong feelings about it. makes it really unpleasant to play. it’s a motivation to make it through the passage. And I get so wrapped up in just trying to get through this—this minefield. all the negative qualities rolled into one passage. and then I lose the rhythm. eh? Second Violinist: Very much so. What about experiential consonance/dissonance? . while in a minefield.248 “it is all cloth of the same piece” Second Violinist: You know very well you’re talking about the worst part of the whole piece for me. But what about all of you? From all you’ve been saying about control and mastery and feeling connected to each other. Second Violinist: Yes. First Violinist: (uncomfortably) Well. it sounds silly. Violist: (to me) That’s interesting. Violist: So I think you do feel a sense of connection: I’d call it apprehensive connection.

The cellist and First Violinist each enjoy experiences of ease and of sounding good to themselves—experiences that seem rather solipsistic and insensible. I enter into a helplessly mechanical relation to the cellist— Cellist/Author: Interesting that you’d call it “mechanical. we’re doing that when we talk about the passage. the antithesis of the string quartet ideal. First Violinist: Why. Cellist/Author: For that very reason I think we must suppose that this cruel piece of writing is not composerly carelessness but a finely calculated effect. but radically different ones. First Violinist: But why do you suppose Boccherini wrote those bars so awkwardly? He is so sensitive to the capabilities of stringed instruments.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 249 Second Violinist: How so? Violist: Well. And if we do so. Don’t take it personally. let alone play it! . a further range of meanings becomes available to us. Second Violinist: That’s a pretty problematic mechanism.” since in my preliminary analysis of this piece I suggested a mechanical-clock topos for this passage. Violist: I’m not so sure—I think he’s uncannily well cast in it— Cellist/Author: (speaking over the others) And the quartet even enacts a brief. I’d call that experiential dissonance. during this peculiar passage. given the simultaneous physical and social struggles of the Second Violinist: Meanwhile.” nor my difficulty and unpleasantness are generally recognized features of mechanism—to the contrary. we’re each having pretty vivid experiences. Some potential incompatibilities of the mechanism topos with fallible human nature are rather heavily underlined. sharp picture of disaffection and disconnection within itself. the carnival topos is enriched by the addition of a clown or grotesque— Second Violinist: Oh. thank you very much! Really! First Violinist: It’s only a role. in fact: a mechanism is something presumably not open to subjective vagaries at all. Violist: The more troubling to be a human being forced into a mechanical role. (to the Violist) Neither your “enslavement. these bars 25–48. then.

and structural ordinariness. certainly. affects. even banality. has just finished listening to playbacks of the — first edit.250 “it is all cloth of the same piece” Cellist/Author: But perhaps we can recollect ourselves enough to agree that such music. that’s what editing is. Suite de la Conversation (Several weeks later. The quartet has now recorded the piece discussed above. etc. in the making. and. And it seems to me that L——— is in the perfect position to point them . Violist: Ease/difficulty. But what about the other parameters? Second Violinist: Well. I’d be especially interested to do so in reference to some of the parameters we worked out through my questionnaire. My initial analysis was intended to show how attention to the piece’s textures. Violist: Well we just finished making a long series of decisions about what sounded good or bad. Producer: So shall we compare notes? Cellist/Author: Yes. You remember. the producer. absolutely. I suppose in the end the recording itself is the clearest testimony to that process. thematic. we find a mode of interpretation that has something like the complexity and conflictedness of the puzzling little piece itself. surely we all noticed that there were some very clear sites of difficulty in the recording process. I think such a method can begin to articulate the elusive qualities in Boccherini’s genius. Cellist/Author: True enough. Indeed. good/bad. all that stuff ? Cellist/Author: Yes. But in referring to performed physical experience. is far indeed from simple-minded? Others: Yes. I’d go so far as to say that there are many hitherto elusive qualities in eighteenth-century music in general that can find new articulation through such an approach. Cellist/Author: (to the reader) A good deal of the interest and charm of this little quartet is opaque to traditional analytic methods. With care and refinement. that was edifying. in company with L— —. Not to say excruciating. and topoi can suggest a more adequate explanatory language.) Violist: Well. since it contains little save harmonic.

there’s a very simple level on which I can address that: my list here shows how many “takes. (peering over L— —’s shoulder at the list of takes) — Nevertheless. But I seem to remember that one of the problems we were dealing with in recording that final cadence was the difficulty of coming up with an ending that sounded emphatic and demonstrative enough. times through. Yes. Yes. The most takes and retakes happened around the double-bar repeat signs. And six of those last eleven were simply in order to get the last bar’s final cadence right. we chose so many passages from . That’s a fact of modern studio recording: things are usually stitched together out of many different shorter takes. I mean—and eleven takes for the second time. it’s interesting to me how in stitching together our first edit. and so sometimes you have to sort of re-create coherence and momentum.) Yes. But I think it was more than that—the worst problem at those places was ensemble. exactly. You did seven takes of that the first time around—in order to take the repeat. . in order to end the movement. it’s that an executional “coming together” isn’t a particularly inevitable or natural process.” that is. despite our tendency to idealistically assume so. just look at the last sixteen bars of the piece. there were persistent intonation and tone quality issues. Well. Well. If our prior experience with these questions has taught us anything. that certainly reinforces my unhappy experience of bars 43 and 44. . Ouch . since she was taking notes in the score every time we played. bar 83 to the end.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 251 Producer: First Violinist: Producer: Violist: Cellist/Author: Producer: Violist: Producer: Cellist/Author: out. when in fact we hadn’t actually played the whole movement prior to it. That should be a pretty direct indicator of ease and difficulty! (shuffling through her notes) Let’s talk about the first movement. you all needed in order to record each passage adequately. that’s true. (This can be heard in CD track 62. That was true whether they repeated. Really! Right where we all come together in the same cadential gestures! Well. or went on to the following section.

I guess. Five takes for the repeat. All right. . that was interesting. I’m afraid not . at least sometimes. yes. Dare I suppose that the cadence issue was more problematic in recording than was my “minefield” passage? Oh. Six takes to get that right. it is. (CD track 63) This is making me curious about the second movement. but the cadence at the end of the movement was still much the most problematic. give me the bad news. of course. since it’s anything but flowing and continuous. (likewise peering at the producer’s notes) I notice that that gnarly passage that begins in bar 25. . What I’m noticing here is that this seems to go two ways. That suggests to me that continuity of execution can. wasn’t so problematic in recording. . where the second violin and I experienced so much unpleasantness and difficulty in rehearsal. Isn’t that exactly what we practice for? I mean. . it creates difficulties: hence our problems recording the cadences. no. In the end. thirteen. “carry” us through quite a lot of a piece’s difficulties. I’d say about two thirds of this whole first edit came from the same four or five longer takes. the passage with the silences. and that bears out in the difficulties you had with bars 55–58. All told. that the “flow” of a piece not be broken by its difficulties? Well. that’s interesting too.” but they’re also inevitably where energy disperses. When the piece stops flowing. Not all of them complete. Yes. six for the ending. How many takes? Well . It’s occurring to me that cadences may be “where we all come together. takes where we’d played an entire half of a movement at a stretch. (CD track 67) We used the longer. And how many of those did we end up using in the edit? Well. earlier takes in our edit. Well now.252 “it is all cloth of the same piece” Producer: First Violinist: Second Violinist: Violist: Cellist/Author: Producer: Second Violinist: Producer: First Violinist: Violist: Second Violinist: Producer: Second Violinist: Producer: Second Violinist: Producer: the longer takes. we pretty much . It’s endings. So it’s not just continuity-versus-cadences that’s the issue here. No wonder they’re problematic. The piece is a choppy one with a lot of internal cadences. Yes.

and there goes the whole hive . . little cries . ” (The group moves into the kitchen for tea. . . . to the metaphor of the bees. your fourth time through the passage. through repetition. we all went with you. I guess. There’s a down side. and the conversation turns to gossip.“it is all cloth of the same piece” 253 First Violinist: Second Violinist: Violist: Producer: Cellist/Author: Second Violinist: stuck with just one take. . not better. when you hit the neurological wall and started messing up. “a noise will arise. (in exasperation) Then why ever did we record nine further takes? There’s definitely a point of diminishing returns in dependably executing passagework of that kind. Yes. or you’ll be the one stung . four were false starts. One bee loses it. You better be careful about insulting me any more. Out of the last five takes.) . that was really striking: the whole ensemble got worse. . (to the Second Violinist) The funny part was how. where you couldn’t even begin together. and it just took us a while to realize that I’d passed that point.

Chapter 7 The Perfect Listener A Recreation In 1781 Boccherini sent the following inquiry through the Viennese publishing house Artaria. writer. as far as we know. [27 May 1781] I send herewith the letter from Herr Boccherini. so that I can write to Herr Boccherini myself. No one here can tell me where this place Arenas is. who is held in the highest regard by me and by all others. please give my most dutiful compliments to him in return. which here receive all the acclaim that in strict justice they deserve.2 [late July 1782] Accordingly I send both letters. we can be fairly sure that the two men never made direct contact.3 Despite assertions of their subsequent enduring friendship in the obituary for Boccherini that appeared in the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung and elsewhere. saying that I am one of the most passionate connoisseurs and admirers both of his genius and of his musical compositions.1 Haydn tried more than once to follow through by writing back to Artaria but. with whom he had just established a working relationship: February 1781 I hope you will do me a favor. if you will pay my most devoted respects to his honorable self at a convenient time. It must not be far from Madrid. regretting only that I cannot write to Herr Boccherini with my own hand at this time. but please let me know this. to no avail.4 But Haydn would have had plenty of opportunities to become acquainted with Boccherini’s music. and it is that if one of you gentlemen (as is probable) should be acquainted with Signor Joseph Haydn. I shall be obliged to you. Boccherini first made his name in Aus254 . you might offer him my respects. which I will value greatly.

By 1781. quartets. trios.”6 Not just in Vienna. introverted-extraverted. sold extremely well there. we can assume that he would have had opportunities to hear Haydn’s symphonies and chamber music in Paris in 1769. we do not know the extent to which Haydn was acquainted with Boccherini’s music.8 Haydn was a pet of the afrancesados. . copying. the year of Boccherini’s first attempt to communicate with him. the sonatas for violin and keyboard. . Late-century music-lovers variously represent the HaydnBoccherini polarity as light-dark. here receive all the acclaim that in strict justice they deserve”). The channels of its arrival and distribution in that country have been thoroughly documented. intellect-sensibility.1 and 2. more speculatively. in the end.”5 Once Boccherini began to be printed in Vienna in the mid-1780s. which formed the most complete Haydn collection in Spain. and performing the numerous works by Haydn held in their library. he became responsible for choosing. a few years later. But his most extended contact with Haydn’s works undoubtedly came in Spain. Although we cannot be sure of the precise extent of their knowledge of each other’s work. admired. Boccherini’s trios and quartets (these must have been opp. As early as 1769. and his reputation was maintained there by means of scores in Parisian editions. which began in that year. male-female. Haydn’s music was known and esteemed in Spain (“his musical compositions . and from 1776 Artaria itself offered for sale the Parisian prints of “an entire series of Boccherini’s compositions. made available through Viennese music-sellers. Thus Burney takes Twining to . there savored. his music. The opportunities were there. and inevitably compared with each other. and naturally the more thoughtful writers tend to be more nuanced about it. respectively) were being sold at the Viennese establishment of the copyist Simon Haschke. I have examined a few of these comparisons above. however. especially the string quartets. but in London too: by the time of Haydn’s first visit to the English capital in 1791–92 he would scarcely have been able to avoid Boccherini’s presence there in editions both legitimate and pirated.7 That Boccherini’s music had been popular in London as early as 1781 is attested by the exchange between Burney and Twining regarding its merits.the perfect listener 255 tria through his early appearances in Vienna. professional and amateur. putting him “in the first rank of quartet composers. comic-tragic. from 1771 to 1776. and some symphonies were purveyed by the bookseller Hermann Joseph Krüchten. then. and this more than anything else would have put his work in Boccherini’s path—and not casually either. printed embodiments the two composers were fellow guests in countless musical establishments large and small. rehearsing. in their virtual. Cambini tells us that Boccherini had performed Haydn’s music as early as 1765 in northern Italy. they have varying degrees of subtlety. We can be more sure of the other side of the equation. when Boccherini assumed the duties of music director for the Benavente-Osuna household.

“in contrast. he would have that of Boccherini played to him”. and meaningful engagement with.” while Boccherini’s works. At its most bald and least useful. and Twining Burney for his failure to acknowledge Boccherini’s strengths. Cambini. artificial. we have evidence—much more direct evidence than for Boccherini— that Haydn approached composition through execution. Haydn made it clear that he incorporated the idiom of his main instrument into his inventio. Charles Chênedollé wrote in 1808 that Boccherini “is more intoxicating than Haydn”. an endless vocabulary of surprises) is one of his best-known and best-documented features as a composer. to treat his music as evidence of. In one fascinating pair of linked statements. By engaging in a more detailed and experientially grounded consideration in this book. Further.11 Pierre Baillot continued this vein of comparison somewhat more poetically by telling us that Haydn “embraces all creation in one glance” while Boccherini “seeks to return us to our primitive innocence. His delight in performative play (pauses. and strikingness” that was to be found in Haydn’s. as we have seen in chapter 3.13 the violinist Jean-Baptiste Cartier is recorded as having remarked. What then of the Haydn end of this much-inscribed polarity? It works well to look at Haydn’s music through the Boccherinian lens I have been grinding: that is. quoted by his early biographer Griesinger. “If God wished to speak to men. agitated. we have Haydn as comic. of willful construction. scope. and cleverly structured at the expense of depth. there is the remark of the Italian violinist Giovanni Puppo: “Boccherini is the wife of Haydn. soft. associates Boccherini with tragedy.9 and in 1809 Johann Baptist Schaul allowed Haydn’s quartets “a satisfaction of the intellect. and learned. and Boccherini as introverted. and a specific one at that: Rousseau’s Le Devin du village.” as against “the melodic element” in Boccherini. double entendres. and if he wished to listen to music. cast into restless motion. most famously and most lamentably. set [one] aquiver. and Haydn’s instrumental music not just with comedy but with the comédie-larmoyante. In 1799 an anonymous reviewer for the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung denied Boccherini’s quartets “that greatness of bold genius in layout. and finally. witty. he would make use of the music of Haydn. and morbid at the expense of plan and design.”10 The 1805 obituary of Boccherini in the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung implied that Haydn’s music was “difficult.”12 Others were more poetic still.256 the perfect listener task for his underestimation of Haydn. I have tried to give empiricism a chance to do what it does so well: to muddy the pristine waters of stereotype. and that he regarded first-hand experience of vocal idiom as essential to compositional mastery.”14 Puppo’s reductio ad absurdum (and its regrettable repetition in Boccherini criticism ever since) emphasizes the limited usefulness and interest of critical polarities. the physical processes of execution and performance. or downright aphoristic. One could even read him as implying that .

by virtue of the fact—baldly simple to assert. “is almost to be counted among the lost arts. The listener has also her processes of execution. I:6.17 I leave such tempting projects for another time or place. of 1783. endlessly complex to describe— that playing a keyboard uses the body in different ways than playing a stringed instrument. It is instead the position of the listener. Thus did I seek to help myself. and identification. Boccherini was a virtuoso string player. More surprisingly.” he said. the kinesthetic outsider. differed in many telling particulars from that of Anton Kraft. and it is this which so many of our new composers lack. The kinesthetic inventio which informs Haydn’s compositional decisions differs from Boccherini’s. Haydn. my whole endeavor went into executing and sustaining it according to the rules of art. Haydn always composed (dichtete [the same word as that used for composing poetry]) his works at the keyboard. his writing for the cello—which he did not play—shows a really extraordinary sensitivity to matters of sonority and technique.the perfect listener 257 the coherence of his ideas was due in some measure to their executional genesis and working-through. . Diderotic part of the executant’s mind that hears and judges even as she plays. they string one bit after another. It would not be difficult at all to show how Haydn’s cello writing from different periods constitutes a series of executional “portraits” of the cellists with whom he worked: Joseph Weigl’s virtuosity. and does so in her body. evaluation. memorialized in the Cello Concerto in D Major. Furthermore. “I sat myself down and began to fantasize. and instead of song one allows instruments to dominate. 7. When I got hold of an idea. or as that separate person who sits and listens to another’s efforts (and whose separateness is utterly compromised by sensible absorption). as represented in the “Times of Day” symphonies of 1761 (Hob. serious or trifling. is not remembered as a virtuoso. although plainly a very good keyboardist. since I hope that I have by now sufficiently adumbrated a methodology. after all: she executes reception. “Singing. there are some radical differences to be noted here. they break off when they have scarcely begun: but when one has heard [their work].16 Contemporary accounts as well as his grateful and inventive writing for the instrument make it plain that Haydn was also no mean violinist. nothing rests in the heart.” He also disapproved that these days so many musicians compose who have never learned to sing. There is a potential world of difference in this distinction.”15 Would that we had such reliable anecdotes for Boccherini! Nevertheless. Hob. perhaps. that I wish to develop at this point—that “outsider” who is no outsider at all. according to whether my mood was sad or happy. and 8). whether as that coolly evaluative. however. VIIb:2. being in fact intrinsic to the whole performative equation.

In this sense. What I wish to do here is to bring them into a more active dialogue with their living counterparts. She will judge things as we do only when she has all our senses and all our experience.258 the perfect listener the perfect listener As we adjust our speech to the one spoken to. You must begin to exist with her. so did that of the listeners. or of “lower” kinds of theater—or does she prefer private venues? The honorific “Perfect” is of course ironic. the whole affair of performance is one of repeated mutual confirmation. become her. I therefore advise that it is very important to put yourself exactly in the place of the statue which we are going to observe. others will confront me with innumerable difficulties. and refinement of the hypothesis: This is a body and this is what it means to have one. I believe that those readers who put themselves exactly in her place will have no difficulty in understanding this work. you must be only what she is. . The bodies of eighteenth-century listeners have frequented this book with some consistency. I theorize and perform the Perfect Listener with the express understanding that my reader (you who are. The age of an “absolute” music created with explicit disregard for matters of listeners’ taste (even as that disregard simply implied other tastes. then. I make here the same demand of my reader as did Condillac in the preface to his Traité des sensations. In effect. contracting only those habits that she contracts: in a word. if anything has . so the composer-performer of Boccherini’s generation shaped sound and action to the tastes of a more or less precisely imagined audience. We have a bewildering range of choice: shall we take the Parisian. This is. At even a moderate level of detail. Just as the composerperformer’s embodied experience informed musical choices on every level. the Perfect Reader!) will make some attempt to accommodate her. absorptively engage with her: in the last degree. having but one sole sense when she has but one. or British. The following passage stands as a gateway to all that follows. or Viennese sensible amateur as our model? The Madrilenian tertulista with populist affectations? Is she melancholy? consumptive? Has she some proficiency on the instruments involved or is she innocent of it? Is she a habituée of the opera. a form of historical performance practice. as I write to a particular imagined reader. however. acquiring only those ideas which she acquires. in his book and in my chapter. Important Advice to the Reader . tastes for abstraction and disinterestedness) was yet to come. negation. and every bit as constantly and essentially. .18 The Perfect Listener is. and we will judge as she does only when we suppose ourselves deprived of all that she lacks. adapt to her. hydra-headed. the differences between her faces become as significant as the commonalities. of course.

quite close to other listeners. The only places to which it is entirely acceptable to direct our gaze are the floor. and this persists for the duration of the event. More importantly. There is also considerable restriction on looking directly at the other listeners. .the perfect listener 259 emerged clearly in this book so far it is that acts of trans-historical identification are necessarily gross compromises. bob our heads. some of whom we know and some of whom we don’t. The requisite de- . Our experiment begins with walking into the performance space. which would disrupt our tacit contract of mutual peripherality. although we may respond physically to what we hear. Let us posit an intimate but still public concert.20 For all its vexation. Other people are probably here already. The illusionary world in the picture. an act which has its sonic reenactment a few minutes later when the sonata begins. having read thus far you would seem to be a willing participant in extended thoughtexperiments about musical meaning. physical possibilities are excluded. We are not free to vocalize. All this amounts to a severe containment of our listening bodies’ exteriority. and by extension. As viewers. but not tap our feet. submission to these restrictions on a viewing or listening performance has its own complex satisfactions. . The fact is that they can see us. The picture in this tradition is bossy. “a certain basic position is mandated. perhaps. for us listeners many. by contrast. as we them. and certainly not while the music is sounding. which may come at the end of a sonata but not between its movements. appears unchanging. . in front of it. it must be painstakingly learned. The Perfect Listener’s living manifestation is. as any young person can attest. We are not free to wander about. The axis on which we stand is determined. the ceiling (though there is an aura of affectation to this). Very much as for the players. middle-class (by adoption if not by origin). We listeners cooperate in doing this to one another. making them nearly (but. in fact most. being pretty much confined to shifting within that seated position. the range of acceptable response is very circumscribed indeed. Taken in and taken over.”19 We are seated on chairs. not completely) invisible and inaudible to others. a discreet amount of rhythmic response (we may twitch our toes. in this unlike the real world. crucially. academic. Its unchanging aspect is a value in the culture. It resembles a style of engaging with paintings which arose along with the development of perspectival illusion. immobilized. the insides of our eyelids. or the executant. pretty definable: you are almost certainly musically educated. I would dare infer from this (and certainly hope!) that you value speculation as an intellectual tool. but not regularly or too often). and this has a good deal to do with the next level of physical framing. We are faintly and immediately self-conscious at their presence. we are accustomed to stop and stand still. It can be vexing and taxing to do. and applause. restrained facial expressions. we lose ourselves (forgetting our situation) in the illusion.

the facial expressions of my fellow guests (“to see whether Mr. Richardson’s example points further. intellectualized musical experiences. all of us. and above all the attire. by and large. a Diderotic synesthetic freedom—and a ready fluency in bringing them to bear upon what was heard and seen. My fond thesis is that these modes allowed a vividness of embodied experience beyond the reach of the strait-laced modern concertgoer. . the postures. What would an alternative be? What would it be like if looking at a painting took place. Lacking radios. or it may be the interior of our listening bodies.260 the perfect listener emphasis of exteriority forces our focus willy-nilly toward interiority. and of the concept of the soundtrack. Turandot. made accessible through a diversity of internal metaphors for interpreting a performance—painterly. sculpture-like. the heart rate. the conceptualization of which was brought to a pinnacle by Heinrich Schenker. we can and do do just this. skyscrapers. I find I am free to spend a fair amount of time looking about at the accoutrements of the room. almost every day. rather freer than we are to engage in them at live performances. and maniac drivers slip by. What I wish to emphasize here is that both these musical experiences arise out of already established traditions of embodied gesture. danced-kinesthetic. and evidence suggests that they were. as we move by?21 In listening. our eighteenth-century counterparts had still their own mobile and environmental modes of reception. dramatic. delineated by a sensible hyper-consciousness of the breath. in which the depicted objects and figures appear to move and change. of course we can! Since the advent of sound recording. in the ordinary conditions of our moving about in the world? Can we imagine a painting as part of the environment. radically and effortlessly. into intellectually and emotionally promiscuous experiments with transposing listeners’ reactions into the mind of the composer-performer. I think of myself driving on the freeways of Los Angeles. hyper-alert. and the delicate sensations that follow upon changes in these semi-autonomic functions. In re-creating my eighteenthcentury counterpart. letting a CD of a Boccherini quintet provide me with a transparent. and whether her dress was in better taste than the one she had worn the previous day . ”). gracious reality through which the warehouses. instead.22 I am as much a creature of eyes as of ears. . I think of my father happily making bread of a Sunday morning to the Metropolitan Opera broadcasts—Meistersinger. My attention flits here and there among various attractive objects. A vigilant. So and So was accompanying Miss So and So. that hierarchy of pitch relationships both heard and implied. physically immobilized listener will tend to produce minutely selfconscious. and in so doing we reconceive what “pieces” are. . researching the possibility of food or drink. and other works one might not at first associate with culinary domesticity. This may be the “interior” of a sonata.

. would occasion an attention every bit as absorbed as Diderot could wish. In salons the Perfect Listener has considerable freedom to get up and move about. Firstly. [and to] make signs and gestures to the [players] during the performance. Inevitably. in a small gathering like this one. albeit a complex and problematic one. suppressed mobility of a standing posture. I want to acknowledge this activity as another mode of listening. at the theater. We are preeminently mobile in relationship to the act of listening. . As invited guests we share values about such things. since attendance is by invitation. given the type of music that is my concern here. that is. or with the immediacy of their presentation of ideas that are of value to us or to our community. or gesture in response to it. Re-creating this mobility poses several problematic possibilities. mentally if not physically. In the tertulia it might be the minuet that attracts us. attentionally speaking. we typically inhabit the mosquetería or parterre. Not. In the Parisian salon a favorite movement. or ask something of us that we are not interested in exploring. we might be “lifted from [our] seats. and not for others. If.the perfect listener 261 Whether I speak during the music. . . I would like to broaden out from this. or remind us that we are hungry—and off we would go. in most latter-day public concert situations there are insuperable constraints on this kind of behavior. unless we are as bold as brass. I began to think about asparagus with mayonnaise for lunch . whenever concentration slips: “During the third movement. We might choose to sit attentively for one sonata or for one movement of a sonata. and our choices would probably have to do with our own prior familiarity with the selections offered. a Perfect Salon. willing group of people to be found? A second problem is that I would seem to be moving toward an account of a Perfect Listening that simply vacates the premises. in search of more relevant fare. rather than simultaneous ones. In either case. unless such an at- . one which the audience is as fully cognizant of performing as are the instrumentalists. a Perfect Concert begins to suggest itself: really.24 There is an assumption here. though our attention to it might be less “absorbed” than physically galvanized. perhaps.”23 Barbara Hanning has argued persuasively that paintings and engravings of apparently talkative audiences in eighteenth-century salons represent the range of possible behaviors at the gatherings. then into the banked. treasured for its sentiment. There can be no doubt that talking to a friend while music is being played is very different than doing so without that sonic and visual accompaniment.”25 if not precisely to dance. savvy. to be a matter of social rank—something I will probably have in common with the other guests at this salon. that talking during the sonata is not a form of listening to it. seems. “ Surely this sort of thing is not useful to include in my account. Where is such a handy. the very next movement might bore. however. then the unlucky performer at this tertulia or salon can pretty well expect us “to take advantage of the opportunity to chat with friends .

one deserving of careful assessment. and rushes in with whatever may be available. an interesting problem arises with regard to the presentation of this book. but attention strategically. for instance. In regard to the visual. It is a sorely tempting business: the non-linear playfulness. which paints from a more restricted palette than opera. The recent availability of supportive visual media has made revolutionary immediacies possible. Opera seria audiences. and has a repertory of information he can supply to regain them: enhanced physical gesture. what rushes in may be a plate of asparagus. such presentation reconfigures and electrifies the whole literary relationship. the descriptive mode. and I want to suggest that in the end it is no mere stopgap on the way to a hypothetical future “interactive edition. This is the literary practice of ekphrasis. But should that listener be somewhat less than Perfect. illustration. through modeling the reflective. enhanced sonic contrasts (dynamics. tended to converse during recitatives and to be silent during arias. even ritually distributed. receptive “descent within”.26 In a performance of instrumental music. It is not ideal. A skilled performer will instantly sense when he is “losing” his audience. and that such a descent is quite difficult to attain through interactive media. ornamentation. As we have seen. the spark of thought and association arcing across the suggestive gaps of a multi-media presentation—hyper-text. Boccherini at times pushed this envelope rather hard by resorting to “laconic imagery” in his music. Martha Feldman has characterized this intermittent style of engagement with music as no mere inattentiveness. not theatrical or poetic. especially those sung by popular principals. In re-creating a Perfect Listener who better incorporates visualized responses to what she hears. Much of the music discussed in this book is included on a bound-in CD of sound examples—a wonderful luxury. but must needs envision them through his prose.262 the perfect listener tentional ellipsis were to occur consistently at a certain juncture or type of juncture: this is a very different class of event. but its presence as a potential response underlines the tendency of embodied beings to gravitate directly toward pleasure and the fulfillment of desires: and in performance this is what the composer-performer has to work with. film clip. inattention tends to arise around moments of insufficient information within a performance. and yet for all that. attack).” who could not see the paintings described.” I would even suggest that ekphrasis is capable of reconstituting embodied musical relationships in a specifically eighteenth-century way. making real the very performativity I seek to reconstitute here. He will get one: attentional nature abhors such vacuums. sound example. deliberately withholding information in order to prompt a response from his listener. or crude but occasionally necessary measures like omitting repeats. we are thrown back into precisely the relation of Diderot and the far-flung subscribers to his “Salons. utterly inadequate to address the visual component. By hugely expanding the reader’s agency. The computer-user’s impatience with .

number all my Smiles. nor is it included on the accompanying CD. with Haydn’s. that I might the more freely experiment with a listener’s mobility. possible question-asking. this is clearly mandated by any number of eighteenth-century models. thanks to television and the cinema. Angiolini warns of “the indifference of spectators to unknown personages. and fidgetiness might or might not approximate the Perfect Listener’s attentional mobility.the perfect listener 263 reflection. is very much to my point. to refine the absorptive maneuver. and in so doing they will be as specific as possible. Glances. Lastly. of 1780. ultimately. the Rise and Falling of my Voice. both visual and auditory. the slippery slope on which any historical re-creation inevitably finds itself. All the efforts I have been making throughout the writing of this book. Interruption. Turnings pale. and inventive re-creation. while I do not presume to Diderot’s virtuosity. & every Gesture. In support of this exercise. attentional variety. Pauses. seeking after stimulation. One more issue requires explanation. as Angiolini suggests. then I am at a distinct disadvantage.”28 I have spent this book developing receptive contexts and practices for Boccherini’s music in order to end. but my experience is pitifully tiny as compared to the experience of my historical counterpart. of course. It was performed for me by a colleague as a private event. I visualize Bessie Smith? What if my Galatea looks and acts like Audrey Hepburn? Surely the relative immediacy of these transposed associations will outweigh their anachronism? This is. For the present. What will happen to this exercise if. I have seen some classical tragedy.”27 But if familiarity with a dramatic character is of primary importance. and distilling into this chapter—to collapse distances historical and epistemological. to find ways for musical performance to perform itself anew through . my imagination is populated with quite a host of classical tragedy’s great-grandchildren. Numerous eighteenth-century accounts of listening to instrumental music show us that the Perfect Listener’s visualistic responses will tend to refer to the stage. Full-stops. and the inevitable note-taking. and some of its eighteenth-century derivatives. every Motion of my Eyes. looking outward toward only the most obvious of many other pastures. On the other hand. not only as to visual but as to kinesthetic response. Blushes. Half-smiles. absurd: to “relate exactly every Change of my Countenance. but the identities possibly contained in such an approximation are matter for another exploration than this one. the ekphrastic exercise in sustained. instead of painstakingly reconstructing Dido. XVI:39. in re-creating my counterpart I must achieve great descriptive detail in my accounts of my listening. Hob. The piece I have chosen is Haydn’s G-major keyboard sonata. The ideal here is. Here another difficulty presents itself. energetic. the Haydn piece I discuss in this chapter does not appear here in score.

Using the accoutrements of this space host-fashion. You. You have refined long and hard. and have considerable experience of your united being as well. presenting not only every tone but every expressive gesture with great clarity. to enlarge upon me in the most complementary way possible. in the end. I have worked quite a bit with each of you independently. is no longer an option. it is in some measure an inspiration to my own efforts in prose. I may no longer use the narrative nor reflective forms of address. . The indistinguishability in English of the second person singular and plural permits me to play with this ambiguity. even the thinghood of an event. intellectual and physical. and their consequence (in both senses of that word: their procession one to the next. crucially. paraphrasing. action—these are the things that belong to you. You seem to have a good. I seem to be well known to the both of you. And yet. Haydn. To which of you shall I address this letter? In the end it must be each. indeed sometimes uncanny. from Diderot. to achieve a superb marriage of virtuosity with sensible transparency in Haydn’s work. and it is these that strike us. the composer-performer. The very virtuosities. performing nothing more than yourself in a state of heightened presence and concentration. the character and countenance of themes. you make it your express duty to anticipate me. perhaps. of course. . To talk of musicmaking as if it were in any way a thing. you have not achieved it: for it is unachievable. seem the most natural things in the world. idea of the ways in which certain of my expectations for a performance can be most worthily played out. “Voice.264 the perfect listener prose: all this means that now. things like consonance and dissonance. as such it demands direct address. but not coterminous with either of you. . making my desires and responses. It is you who give the discourse all its energy. basic tonal functionality. their actor. make you your own man. I think—or rather both. each and both. November 2001 Dear Colleague/Dear Haydn. gesture. All this I know and expect already from my acquaintance with the Haydn-side of your incorporation. and their importance). They are too distanced. which you have brought to play in this endeavor ultimately make you opaque to it. periodicity. you who convey to our ears the force and the verity of its accent. are a fine host to this performative “space” within which I am a guest: extremely attentive and responsive. using all the resources of a formidable intellect and musicianship. a corporate being enscripted by the one and embodied by the other. From my acquaintance with the performer-side I know and expect a fiercely delicate precision. tone. . Ordinary enough with a living colleague. You are well known to me. Furthermore. less easy to explain with a longdead one. If music-making is an interaction among persons.”29 Here I borrow once again. but it often seems so when Haydn is involved.

My own competence within it is faintly unnerving. this piece comes fifth. The tune at the opening is so simple. that you are seated here playing it—all ensure my attention. familiar. Hearing does not give me any sense of an object situated at a certain distance. I have asked you to play me this particular sonata.31 Perhaps in order to reinforce decorum. I will be like the echo of which Ovid says. Hob. in reproaching her lover for the infidelity which she has so little merited. and I could scarcely be said to be entering fully into this experiment if this prospect did not make me tremble at my own temerity. that display of elegance behind which I may summon my composure. I will become the sensation which I experience. in C minor. “ When my ear is struck. but just as I know what poetry like this will say without really having to read it. Mine. that it is sounding where a moment before there was no sound. . .34 But why. The invitation presented by this opening is the gentlest possible: the advent of the familiar. it is doubly so by virtue of its position within a series of six sonatas. but I find myself resorting to them at those times when the situation arouses more discursive intimacy than I can support. and says only the following words: What! You could be unfaithful to me! Who will love you more than I? You may find me less beautiful. XVI:20). as to be almost a blank slate perceptually. Give her a character even more naive than that of Colette in Le Devin du village. published together and possibly conceived as a cycle. do I know it as well as I do? Why this sense of rediscovery? The experience is akin to hearing a language learned in childhood and not spoken since. Its calm. It would be so conventionally. so candid.the perfect listener 265 who theorized the dualities of performance long ago and unsurpassably. She knows nothing of spite. You begin. in fact. my fan. is nothing less than your doubly embodied presences as they act within and upon my own.” 33 The fact that she speaks right at the beginning of the piece. sonus est qui vivit in illa.32 Within the cycle. But is my heart nothing to you? —or something similar. This is a particular sort of laconicism created by the utterly conventional. a piece more pastoral than impassioned. by virtue of some of its topoi and its key alone. . still a virgin. I do not need to hear this first phrase even once to know how it will end. listens only to her affection. which proceeds ineluctably from carefreeness to tragedy (in the form of the final sonata. then. For what I seek to capture here. but not mine. . Not only do his fine words facilitate my own. yet mysterious. it is the sound which lives in her. what I am bound to by the nature of my whole project. “Let us—by its means—enter into the naive and tender sentiment experienced by a pretty village girl.”30 Thus I reserve the right to a doubleness of my own: to let Diderot and his compatriots be my voice betimes. is the calm before the storm. their eloquence serving as my screen.

For all that I am actively trying not to devolve into an ahistorical “structural hearing.” I find that you do irresistibly invite that particular comparison of past and present event. like a great many others. when you resolve a challenge cleverly or unexpectedly. short intake of breath (sensual heightening). tune. The periodic phrase structure and the building-up of phrases through identifiable. so is it a kind of self-constitution. because I “already know” the tune there is no confusion as to what constitutes it. and at those pay-offs. I also sit (or stand) very still. so crucial to this style of receptive engagement. This is a simple form of an activity for which I. I shift position and breathe at “structural” breaks. my physical fixity can be quite abruptly and pleasantly broken—the diaphragm. Haydn.266 the perfect listener The tune’s very familiarity proves an ideal canvas. so as better to focus on this rapid. serve to return me briefly “to myself. recollections. or harmonic rhythm. there is no certain way (short of recourse to the score. also serve an important function in providing relief from this diaphragmatic intensity: frankly. and my attention is incrementally renewed thereafter. “The more frequently the memory is used. they keep the listening experience from becoming too anaerobic. whether they are short cesurasilences. Indeed there is some small satisfaction in the exercise of comparing the variations to the original that is so effortlessly held in my mind’s ear as a sort of template. rather rigidly in fact. the better it works. These moments. As it is a kind of listening. they . upon which the lines and arabesques of variations can be drawn with due clarity. For another. and they are tiring if maintained for long. releases with a snort (surprise. or clear-cut changes of texture. which I have eschewed) that I can know which of you is responsible for which decorative nicety. amusement) or a sigh (gratification). You pay off the exhaustingness of listening at this level very handsomely. within the conventions of variations. of course. These are classic physical enactments of concentrated consciousness. hallmarks of late-century Viennese music and exceptionally clear in this simplistic tune. The variations also produce another sort of canvas-painting. tense before. For one thing. It is in this way that I form the habit of recalling without effort the changes through which I have passed. constant dialogue between events. though the variations are scarcely virtuosic. and what now emerges as decoration. have so often found Haydn’s music the ideal theater: the play with a listener’s memory and expectation.” out of the piece altogether. and of dividing my attention between what I am. and expectations. For a habit is nothing more than facility acquired through the reiteration of actions. backgroundforeground relationship: your performing embodiment steps discreetly forward through the formal procedure.”35 Physically this invitation to compare past and present produces an almost breathlessly attentive stance: I tend to hold my breath when something unexpected and challenging is happening (which with you. and what I have been. discrete sections. is quite often). or a soft.

. traverse fertile fields with slow steps . has awakened in me. becoming at once a tableau of Ariadne’s wounded incredulity and the personification of my question. unmoving save for the breaths that buoy along my fantasy. I may mingle my tears with the crystal of a fountain. for all its face of innocence. and so directing my own as if to say. “This is no soundtrack to your reminiscences: this is being performed. The village virgin appears to have donned a tragic mantle. And as the question stretches anxiously into the sound’s decay.” I am entirely ready to relax myself back. On the axis of that one tone. Rather that. where did Ariadne come from. Now the slow movement. for all its urgency. . “It is the season where the Earth is covered with the gifts that she bestows upon the travail and sweat of men. the interestingly fluid motions of your right hand out away from the center of your body (a muted. you strike a severely earnest pose on a long. as well. and stepped before us in a manner more staged than candid. to stretch out. the scene shifts neatly back to the village green and the sonata’s unadorned G-major opening tune and harmony. undisturbed felicity”37 suggested to me by the spaciousness of opening gestures. the regular opportunities they provide to breathe. I shut my eyes. a sidestepping of the issue through the fortuitous commonality of a single pitch. the key relaxed into C major. to simply leave behind the little disquiets which the first movement. My chest is raised. stylized. only just in time (perhaps tipped off by the wry tilt of your head as you move your arm across space to begin the next phrase). did not receive an answer: rather an evasion. I guess the answer—remembering. an unforeseen new tune reveals itself to me. Perhaps there was not much choice: how could such innocence even begin to address Ariadne’s anguish? But then. flee into the depths of forests. the better to unite with the “quiet rest and gentle.”38 I hesitate among these delicious choices.” Toward the end of the movement there is an episode in E minor in which your tender accents become insistent. . that B is the pitch with which the movement began. low B. And indeed I am disposed to do so.the perfect listener 267 are significantly more active than what has gone before. your own gaze. the slight leaning forward. the hesitation is itself delicious. “I abandon myself to the spectacle of nature. ostentatious. tread light-footed upon the tender grass of the meadow. I am drawn to notice your gestures. the tempo relaxed into an Adagio. and I am the one performing it. and a sweet one.”36 I am reminded that adagiarsi means “to lie down. What does this mean? At just the point where my puzzlement has grown acute. It is a welcome shift. but unmistakable version of the expository gestures of the orator). I am under a spell. But not that I may sleep.”39 And as I stand in this enchanted suspension. I breathe with force . “following the attraction of my heart. the better to allow Night to steal over me. and why? You invite me to forget such troubling questions for the bucolic remainder of the movement. directed now for a few moments at the keyboard. . but also curious. The . That question.

so unexpected is it. this does not erase the memory of rudeness. that rustles shyly through the bushes?”40 Unforeseen but not unfamiliar. registrally descending cadential preparations. the refraction of perception and memory it has caused in me. we will continue to stretch out our arms without fear. if you had simply made a mistake in execution. my eyes flew open: I wanted to see if this could possibly have been right. Philomel. Why. The countenance metamorphosed from former life. through this tender song—has a lurking woodland god awakened me. in the form of gentle. At the equivalent cadential preparations in the second half of the move- .268 the perfect listener spell is dissipated. So meditating on the strangeness of familiarity.41 In the end. There is again in this second tune that specter of an unbidden familiarity. I am brought up hard! There is a stone. harsh refusal of a repose you had given me every reason to expect. Doubt has entered the idyll. and with it. you hung upon the contracted voicing of that sonority with a contracted posture. and further obscured by a grinding double appoggiatura. but rather its effect: the slight dislocation. how can I know it as if I had known it before?—So might her former companions inquire before the laurel that was Daphne. Or this might merely be a type of reflective second theme of which I have heard a great many. the nature of this hearkening does not matter. The tune has an unbroken accompaniment against which unfold sweetly fantastical peals of song. alas. but at the first pinprick. At that deceptive cadence. I continue toward the resting place you now offer me. I shift. I submit. no breath of dismay in the movement up to now. This is the dark side of those processes of memory by which we come to a sense of ourselves. We walk around the world nursing and shielding our wounds. might. “Have you. the resemblance of one laurel tree to all laurels. held through the ensuing cesura) do I identify it: a deceptive cadence. the lineaments of a dear face translated into wood and foliage. Plainly you had not. Not all memories are happy ones.”42 Although you promptly soften the pain with the proper resolution and cadence formulaically delivered. or a nymph. be proven to be a motivic relationship. the familiarity of species. not all hurts can be forgotten. voiced low and dark so that its pitch content is obscure. with time and reference to a score. the way pain suspends the desire to move. enacting its painfulness. the brief. Only in my shocked aftermath (sharp intake of breath. trained upon such delectable interior vistas. It is only here that I think to wonder where you had been while I had my eyes shut. I prepare to seat myself on this mossy bank: and as my weight gives way into its verdure. vigilance. this confidence will desert us and we will remain motionless. something—all I perceive at first is its wrongness. there has been no warning. an edge. unmindful of where I go. no longer can I wander trackless. “So long as the objects we touch do not hurt us. I sigh.

my human presence. I would then have to admit that it was high time I was reminded of your presence in the room. or rather it is caught up and transformed in my kinetic response to the infectiousness of the implied dance. I will admit.”43 Should I admit to this. listener. and that it has been corrupted in your person. Yet as I watch and listen. but not so discreetly now. This kind of embodiment achieves its resolutions of doubt and of doubleness through my willing surrender of memory and anticipation into immediacy of sensation. dance permits me to forget. my resentment abates by degrees. and filled with disjunct. Such men as you. (I am pacing to and fro as you begin. become through sheer momentum their own reverie. my earlier mobility is curtailed by fascination with yours. this reminder has something in it of reproach: This is being performed. a short cadential phrase. before I forgot all propriety. given your unexpected transformations in the first movement—is this really a desirable resolution? I have not time to reflect on this possibility: the movement is simply too fast. do you never abuse your art in the seduction of receptive persons?”44 I enter the last movement with this protesting question strong in my mind. that it was expected this time does not make it welcome. At the end of each half I am checked in my surrender by a curious little maneuver. Why must it be so? What peril could there have been in my obliviousness? Perhaps. my gradually elevated heart rate. manic hopping gestures. but of cultivating by every means possible the talent of deceiving people. It only confirms that the pastoral illusion has been corrupted. quiet. The fast. the hurrying-on from one beat to the next. therefore. I am tensed against the possible arrival of another such deceptive cadence. which are then satisfied at the expense of virtue. It comes. complex gestures of your hands. now that I think of it. I am the one performing it—and you. cause nothing but harm elsewhere. visually attention-getting to the point of obtrusiveness. legato utter- .the perfect listener 269 ment. so well got up. forget my embodiment. So again your performing embodiment has stepped forward. precise. by your execution of a painful event. But why then lead me thither? Why invite me to tarry in such loveliness. at your peril. my pacing becomes lightly rhythmicized. I am summoned to a dancerly embodiment. being innocent only in the context of performance. so well practiced in the tone of galanterie and in the accents of passion. As it does for the rustics who have been politely waiting in the wings of this pastoral. target of my question and disrupter of my reverie. a neatly arpeggiated. and yet further invite me to forget that it and I are literally held in your two hands? “I do not accuse you of being a trickster precisely.) Your objectionable performative person. and of practicing habits which. is very much in the foreground now: the movement is a Prestissimo. Given the betrayal I have recently suffered at your hands—indeed. it is that my reverie had “disposed my soul to feelings that are too tender.

and I think: This piece has in it a severe problematization of cadences. Rather I have been dealt a comic slyness. then. not yet believing it. will be very nearly as if it never was. Our vicissitudes within it. it must do so. its innocence is recalled rather than uncritically embodied. This sonata will end. But even without that knowledge. I think. in your now-concluded double embodiment. I find I am now quite regretfully at the end of my experiment. For after it will come— something else.270 the perfect listener ance enunciated in octaves between your two hands. Its vistas are toward a forsaken past. there is that face of the pastoral that knows itself already irrecoverable. some tortuous melancholic evasion of ending. a prefiguration of that eventual fact. What does such conflictedness about closure bespeak? It is not. This charmed world in which we have dallied will disperse. on my own. slipping past with sardonic ease. I reflect afterward. at crucial moments this relationship does not proceed normally. So the piece ends. wondering if you intended this final gesture as the evasion I hear in it: the evasion of any sort of honest. at the very end. but a more general problematization. it proceeds far too easily. and in a more distant time we’ll still recall this enchanted spot. probably not music. entirely apt. Then. have no longer any obligation to answer them. And after it will come—what? As it happens. all will be but faint memories. what comes after is certifiably dire. I am left between one breath and the next. Much more than in other media. I must contend with my lingering questions. what we nowadays call dominant to tonic. each internal cadence is a little acknowledgment. clutching my questions unspent. And furthermore this is a pastoral piece. indignations. Its ambivalence is. emphatic ending. an ending in which I could feel resolution. And this sonata resists such nostalgia even as it offers it. Tension to release. “And when the weight of the day has fallen away we’ll continue on our way. softenings.”45 Thanking you each and both. I think. Elisabeth . if we conceive these sonatas as a cycle. and the delicious hour we’ve passed here. our moments of enthusiasm. my doubts inevitably renewed at the very point where you. and so of this book. for with these observations on ending. that tormented piece in C minor. this difficulty with cadences reminds me that there is a problem with the afterlife of any sonata. I remain Your humble servant. the fine resolves and new vistas. the surprises. the pastoral in music encourages such reflections upon the evanescence of experience and the knowledge gained thereby. departure to return.

op. Pleyel (as op.195–200): 6 quartettini op. Vénier (as op. Artaria (as op. 207–12): 6 quartettini (part of ) op. 32) (see also note to op. 11) 1776. 52 (G. 58) unpublished in Boccherini’s lifetime 271 . 58 (G. 249): 2 quartets (second unfinished) First Edition 1767. 41 (G. Paris. Vénier (as op. 44 (G. Paris. 53 (G. 32 (G. Vénier (as op. Sieber (as op. Paris. 220–25): 6 quartettini op. 189–94): 6 quartets op. 232–35): 4 quartets op. Paris. 9 (G. 27) 1781. 171–76): 6 quartets op. Paris. Pleyel (as part of op. 39)2 1798. 10) 1773. 33) unpublished in Boccherini’s lifetime 1798. 217): 2 quartettini op. Artaria (as op. 33 (G. 40) 1803. 242–47): 6 quartets op. Paris. Pleyel (as part of op. 215): 2 quartets op. 43 (G. 177–82): 6 quartettini op. 248. Vienna. Vienna. 8 (G. 159–64): 6 quartets op. 165–70): 6 quartets op. 15 (G. 42 (G. Paris. 213): 1 quartet1 (part of ) op.appendix Chronological Table of String Quartets Date of Composition 1760–62 1768–70 1770 1772 1775 1776 1778 1780 1781 1787 1788 1789 1790 1792 1794 1795 1796 1799 1804 Opus and Gérard No. Vénier (as op. Paris. 26) 1778. 64 (G. Sieber (as op. 6) 1772. 39) 1782. La Chevardière (as op. 214. 22 (G. 226–31): 6 quartettini op. 218. 1) 1769. 48 (G. 26 (G. 39) 1798. 24 (G. 2 (G. 183–88): 6 quartettini op. 39 (G. Paris. 39) unpublished in Boccherini’s lifetime unpublished in Boccherini’s lifetime unpublished in Boccherini’s lifetime unpublished in Boccherini’s lifetime 1798. 201–6): 6 quartets op. Paris. 219): 2 quartettini op. 216. Paris. 236–41): 6 quartettini op. Pleyel (as part of op.

.

André Billy (Paris: Éditions Gallimard. studiar finalmente la mente dell’autore. op. The most useful to an English speaker is Christian Speck’s summary in the New Grove. Allora che si arrivano quasi a togliere l’applauso al compositore. Christian Speck and Stanley Sadie. 2000–). what is inexcusable is that it is still regularly taught.notes introduction Epigraph: “Nulla ottiene il compositore senza gl’esecutori: questi è necessario che siano ben affetti all’autore. 1. but not book length. six quartets. the Artaria Quartet Boccherini recordings are only now (ten years later) in the process of commercial release. Due to a parting of ways with the original record label.1974). poi eseguirne le opere. 9. 1988). 273 . ed. For an interesting contextualization of Grützmacher’s life and work. (Ridolfo) Luigi. a Frankensteinian pastiche by the nineteenth-century cellist Friedrich Grützmacher (1832–1903). Il divino Boccherini: vita. www. indagare. 2.grovemusic.” Denis Diderot. This work has merits all its own. unirsi. Bonnie Hampton.com. that I never did learn “the” Boccherini Concerto in B b Major. which is accurate and up to date. poi devono sentire nel cuore tutto ciò che questi à notato. Bosse Verlag. performed. che angelicamente l’anno eseguita!” Quoted in Luigi Della Croce. 1205. see Ludolf Lützen. 3. se è pregio sentir dire. “Une pièce [de théâtre] est moins faite pour être lue que pour être représentée. o almeno a partir la gloria con lui. will appear in summer 2005 on the label of the Festival de Aranjuez. mentre che. With the help of the Asociación Luigi Boccherini (Madrid). oh. opere. provare. It is hoped that the other two opere will appear in the next couple of years. “Entretiens sur ‘Le Fils naturel’” (1757). “Boccherini. epistolario (Padua: Zanibon. 1951). 274. I owe it to the unusual scrupulousness of my undergraduate cello teacher.” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians Online (London: Macmillan. in Oeuvres. and even recorded as Boccherini’s composition. Hälfte des 19. che bell’opera è questa! parmi che sia di più sentire aggiungere. Die Violoncell-Transkriptionen Friedrich Grützmachers: Untersuchungen zur Transkription in Sicht und Handhabung der 2. Jahrhunderts (Regensburg: G.

298. sec. existe d’abord par le sentiment qu’elle a de l’action des parties de son corps les unes sur les autres. Geneva: Minkoff. sec. Reil.” Baxandall. vous me changez nécessairement. 5. and Nadia Tazi (New York: Zone. 1740). “Ce sixième sens qui est en nous . 301. 2. Paris: Fayard. il est organisé pour . “Du moindre degré de sentiment où l’on peut réduire un homme borné au sens du toucher. 1. & j’y rangerai les douleurs qu’on ressent quelquefois dans l’intérieur des chairs. Richard N. . Quoted in Georges Gusdorf. du goût. 22. “Notre statue.” in Fragments for a History of the Human Body. “Sentiment fondamental de la statue”. de l’ouïe. 1951). . 1972). “L’art dramatique a toujours inspiré ces grands maîtres. Jaime Tortella. la faim. . pro gradu doctoris” (Ph. .” Giuseppe Maria Cambini. Christian Friedrich Hübner. . “Changez le tout. . 48. l’émotion qui accompagne toutes les passions. & dans les os mêmes. ed. Nouvelle Méthode théorique et pratique pour le violon (Paris: Naderman. See http://epub. 6. reprint. Essai sur les éléments de philosophie (1795). Naissance de la conscience romantique au siècle des lumières (Paris: Payot. 11. 14. 1984). Je l’appellerai sentiment fondamental. enfin cette multitude de sensations confuses qui ne nous abandonnent jamais. Olms.. Traité des sensations (1754. Patterns of Intention. 1803. ed. 1976). Luigi Boccherini: un músico italiano en la España ilustrada (Madrid: Sociedad Española de Musicología. 1. 6. & que par cette raison quelques metaphysiciens ont appellées .” Étienne Bonnot de Condillac. C. . “Le Rêve de d’Alembert” (1769). André Billy (Paris: Éditions Gallimard. soit de douleur.D. 8.” Jean-Baptiste Du Bos (abbé). 3. . objets touchants. 2. “Il est susceptible de modifications”.edu/leguin/boccherini.” Jean le Rond d’Alembert. parce que c’est à ce jeu de la machine que commence la vie de l’animal: elle en dépend uniquement. 10. Michael Baxandall.” 89–90. “C’est vers la région de l’estomac que ce sens interne paraît surtout résider. . because acuity or sharpness are greater away from the centre. “Il est la même chose que le moi. la soif. . et bornée au sens de toucher. pt. les frissonnemens. in Oeuvres. Michel Feher. soit de volupté. dans la capacité des intestins. “Je ferai de ces sensations une classe particulière. diss. Réflexions critiques sur la poésie et sur la peinture (Paris: Chez Mariette. et surtout des mouvements de la respiration: voilà le moindre degré de sentiment où l’on puisse la réduire. Quoted in Gusdorf. 1794). Quoted and translated in Jean Starobinski. les nausées. Naissance de la conscience romantique.library. ed. chap. 179. 12. dissertatio . qui nous le rendent toûjours présent. University of Halle. Patterns of Intention: On the Historical Explanation of Pictures (New Haven: Yale University Press. 2002). sous le nom de tact intérieur ou sixième sens. .” Denis Diderot. L’homme n’est qu’un effet commun. Schwab (Hildesheim: G.” sec. “A Short History of Bodily Sensation. Ce sentiment et son moi ne sont par conséquent dans l’origine qu’une même chose. “ We talk and think ‘off ’ the object rather as an astronomer looks ‘off ’ a star. facsimile reprint. 2:353. 899. 1965). . de la vue. 13. le mal-aise [sic] qui précède l’évanoüissement. 9. quam praeside J. même dans les ouvrages où elle ne peut se montrer aux yeux. qui nous circonscrivent en quelque sorte notre corps. 1989). privée de l’odorat. 7.ucla.274 notes to pages 3–8 4. 1985). Le coeur est fait. “Coenasthesis. c. Ramona Naddaff.

1985).” 59. “Parce qu’elle rencontre tour-à-tour de la solidité et de la fluidité. the reader is referred to Fanny Burney’s account of her mastectomy. de la douleur. 300.v. “Comment un homme borné au toucher découvre son corps et apprend qu’il y a quelque chose hors de lui. “Observations propres à faciliter l’intelligence de ce qui sera dit en traitant de la vue.uchicago. “Existence.lib. 20.” Condillac.” sec. “Les plaisirs de l’oreille. de la chaleur et du froid. 18. 1932). Foucault’s Discipline and Punish is the classic presentation and analysis of this topic. 17 vols. Traité des sensations. 17. “comfort. ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences. Traité des sensations. dates this article 1756. For an unbearably vivid (and artistically brilliant) demonstration of just how large it could loom. consistent principalement dans la mélodie. 4.” sec. 2. The Iron Pen: Frances Burney and the Politics of Women’s Writing (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. “Premières idées qu’elle acquiert. chap. ed. des arts et des métiers. elle donne son attention à ces différences. www. chap. Gusdorf. “La statue bornée au sens de l’ouïe est tout ce qu’elle entend.com.oed. Plus elle exercera ses jugemens à ce sujet. Naissance de la conscience romantique. 2. Baron de L’Aulne. Elaine Scarry. chap. 21. 1751–72).” Condillac. chap. 68–70. et une pareille paroit tendre à maintenir le repos plutôt qu’à produir le mouvement. 1972–84). “D’un homme borné au sens de l’ouïe. 111. We find a precursor to this acknowledgment of embodied refinement in the writings of the extraordinary Benito Jerónimo de Feijóo: “There are a great many . 1. de la dureté et de la mollesse. Joyce Hemlow et al. 1989). en conservant toutes les parties de son corps dans la situation où elles se trouvent. sens de la coexistence de notre corps. Searchable online at the University of Chicago ARTFL Project.” http://dictionary. plus son tact acquerra de finesse. 22. 1. “Du plaisir. 1750–1800 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.” Condillac. ed. elle en juge. Life and Manners in Madrid. Quoted in Julia Epstein. 19. 8. The Oxford English Dictionary Online. 8. pt. et ce son autant d’idées par où elle apprend à distinguer les corps. (New York: Vintage Books. 2. 5. pt. “Les desirs de notre statue ne se borneront donc pas à avoir un son pour objet. et elle souhaitera de redevenir un air entier. Denis Diderot and Jean le Rond d’Alembert. s.” 101. 8. 52. 2nd ed. des besoins et des désirs d’un homme borné au sens de toucher. elle les compare. (Oxford: Clarendon Press. Alan Sheridan. elle deviendra la sensation qu’elle éprouvera. The Journals and Letters of Fanny Burney (Madame d’Arblay). “Si [la Nature] lui donne une sensation agréable.” Condillac. “D’un homme borné au sens de l’ouïe. 1995). 16. c’est le son qui vit en elle. 1. pt. et elle se rendra peu-à-peu capable de discerner dans une même qualité jusqu’aux nuances les plus légères. on conçoit que la statue en pourra jouir.edu/efts/ARTFL/projects/encyc.” in Encyclopédie. Traité des sensations. Traité des sensations. Elle sera comme l’echo dont Ovide dit: sonus est qui vivit in illa. (Paris: Briasson. performed in 1811 without benefit of anesthesia.” sec.” 61.” Anne-Robert-Jacques Turgot.notes to pages 8–11 275 15. The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World (New York: Oxford University Press. Michel Foucault. pt.” 120–21. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. trans. Charles Emil Kany. 6. 6:612–13. 23.” sec. “Lorsque son oreille sera frappée.

“cello-and-bow thinking” 1. Cambini asserts something very similar: “I have always thought that he who said. which being of very inferior size. che l’Organista habbia prima data un’occhiata à quel Concerto. que por su delicadeza solo se dexan descubrir á una perspectiva muy reflexiva. sonata. . . sondern auch von geschickten Sänger. Die Natur selbst ist die Lehrmeisterin hiervon. 5. Denn wenn wir eine schlaffe Seyte oder eine Glocke stark anschlagen. sonate tu m’émeus . solo se descubren á favor de la ingeniosa. que aun al vulgo se ponen de manifiesto. farà sempre meglio gli accompagnimenti. . He uses it more than anyone else. middle = 2. 15. 2. 24. 5:66. are only discovered thanks to the ingenious or happy invention of the telescope: in the same way with our bodies. Cento concerti ecclesiastici (1607. sonata. While obvious. l’homme d’esprit n’eut pas eu le tems d’en avoir. Mantua: Istituto Carlo d’Arco per la Storia di Mantova. he would instead have cried out. . . reprint. What is true is that Boccherini exploited. 3. . who first pointed this out to me.” Lodovico Viadana. you touch me . “Sarà se non bene. Bréval. and especially the Duports that the use of the left thumb in the upper register was already a familiar technique. 25. that man of wit would not have had the time to take exception. que me veux tu? n’avoit raison que parce que la musicien producteur et exécuteur de la sonate avoit tort. 122. 3.276 notes to pages 12–22 more stars. ring = 3. il se fut plûtot écrié. 4. index = 1. This is not strictly true. bey einer langen Note zierlich kann angebracht werden. Nouvelle Méthode. chapter 1. since I consider the producer’s experiences to be fully as integral to the recorded product as those of any of the artists. che si ha da cantare. . que por ser de muy inferior tamaño. fuera de aquellas señales de los afectos del ánimo. Had it been otherwise. “Der Tremolo ist eine Auszierung die aus der Natur selbst entspringet. there are many others which by their delicacy can only be discovered with a very reflective perspective. ò feliz invencion del telescopio: del mismo modo en nuestro cuerpo. tu m’attendris!”) Cambini. . und die nicht nur von guten Instrumentisten. I included a fifth party in a short additional conversation: the producer of our recording of op.” (“Hay muchísimos mas [Astros]. what do you want of me? was right only because the musician who produced and executed the sonata was at fault. .”) Fray Benito Jerónimo de Feijóo. 22. you move me!” (“J’ai toujours pensé que celui qui disoit. I am grateful to Steven Lehning. sonate. and emphasized thumb-position to an exceptional degree. Boccherini has an informal reputation among cellists as the inventor of thumb-position on the cello. there is plentiful evidence in the works of Boccherini’s Parisian contemporaries Jansson. 1964). “Nuevo arte physiognomico. hay otras muchas. it is probably worth mentioning that my numbering of fingers refers to string-playing and not keyboard-playing custom: thus thumb = unnumbered. so hören wir nach dem Schlage eine gewisse wellenweise Schwebung . expanded. Along with his countryman Francischello (Francesco Alborea). beyond those signs of the affects of the soul which even common people display. it is very much his signature. perché intendendo la natura di quella musica. . 1773). S’il en eut été autrement. pinky = 4.” in Theatro crítico universal (Madrid: Imprenta Real de la Gazeta. no.

to pierce. introduction by Pina Carmirelli (Turin: Eda. s. 1780). the Latin pungere.” Francesco Alberti di Villanuova. avviando un discorso che trova un’immediata eco nell’anima. Si dice più particolarmente d’alcuni sensi. l’Acteur & le Chanteur. 1994). 1966). “sentir. “Commencez donc par bien connoître le caractère du chant que vous avez à rendre. . Le trenta-tre sinfonie di Boccherini: guida e analisi critica. replica e ripetizione. faites ce que vous feriez si vous étiez à la fois le Poëte.v. 51. continue particularly to practice. indipendente dal contesto e in ogni caso non inserito in un sistema preordinato di proposta. 10. Gründliche Violinschule (1787. trans. For . David Sudnow. so does the meaning of the Latin root of poignance hover around this word in English: what is now sharpness and keenness to the emotions derives from a physical action. trans. 1779). 14. assume talvolta la forma “aperta” di messaggio celestiale annunciato al centro di un’opera. ogni nota. . . 1811). the whole-note E b below it indicates that the bar should be played with a single bow stroke. e più frequentemente. 9.notes to pages 23–34 277 6. Nuovo dizionario italiano-francese (Nice: Gabriele Floteront. Ways of the Hand: The Organization of Improvised Conduct (Cambridge. Vienna. le Compositeur. col quale si esprime communemente il soffrire. “Exécution. ogni valore ritmico tocca la corda giusta. Mass. dell’udire. s. 15. Grand Dictionnaire français-italien (Bassano: Remondini. While the manuscript does not show a slur over the top line. Alors livrez vos organes à toute la chaleur que ces considérations vous auront inspirée. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue of the Works of Luigi Boccherini. “Execution. o ricevere tutte quelle impressioni. Il ne se dit point des simples perceptions de la vue & de l’ouie. “Recevoir quelque impression par le moyen des sens. 11.” Jean-Jacques Rousseau. l’Accent qu’il a par lui-même. The “Chronological Table of Compositions” begins on 671. Thematic. . celui qu’il suppose dans la voix de l’Exécutant. 7. French. Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence (New Haven: Yale University Press.: MIT Press. Sono frasi ad un tempo elaborate e semplici. sec. . 237. Svetlana Alpers and Michael Baxandall.” Leopold Mozart. E prima. come è d’uso nella musica del periodo classico.” in Dictionnaire de musique (Paris: veuve Duchesne. William Waring. 11. (ondeggiamento) des angeschlagenen Tones: Und diesen zitterenden Nachklang nennet man Tremolo.H. la distinction de ses phrases. when at the keyboard. “sentire. Andreas Mayor (London: Oxford University Press. & celle que vous pouvez donnez à votre tour au Compositeur. Leipzig: Deutscher Verlag für Musik. “La soavità delle melodie di Boccherini . 12.” Just as unspoken cognates hover around Rousseau’s directions to the executant. 1979). 153.” Luigi Della Croce. 1969).v. chap.” “Termine generico. son rapport au sens des paroles. 8.” in A Dictionary of Music (London: J.” François d’Alberti de Villeneuve. 1993). A rare glimpse into composerly engagement with these processes is provided to us by Beethoven. 243.I. l’énergie que le Compositeur a donnée au Poëte. . Yves Gérard. . 1. oder Tremoleto. 13. . immediately writing down those fleeting inspirations that may come to you. 1 June 1823 Let Y. 1768). facsimile reprint. writing to a distinguished pupil: To the Archduke Rudolph.

downbows move out from the center of the body. e quel Pleyel che siete. 208. doux. when one finds oneself so absorbed in the midst of art. the Italian originals of this and certain other letters. and in Yves Gérard. chapter 2.edu/leguin/boccherini. and 405–6.ucla. 1988). “Tous ceux qui me connaissent et qui ont des rapports avec moi. 206.” the word for a writer or poet.278 notes to pages 36–38 this a small table belongs near the keyboard. Durch dergleichen wird die Phantasie nicht allein gestärkt. 80. opere. wenn man sich so selbst mitten in der Kunst erblickt. Beethovens Briefe. By this means not only is the imagination strengthened. have been lost. but rather. is a measure of the seriousness with which he approached his work. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue of the Works of Luigi Boccherini. 17. il serait vraiment drôle que pour le seul Pleyel j’eusse changé ma nature! Non. Ohne Clavier zu schreiben ist ebenfalls nöthig und manchmal eine einfache Melodie Choral mit einfachen und wieder mit verschiedenen Figuren nach den Contrapuncten und auch darüber hinaus durchführen. mon ami. honnête. It is also necessary to write without a keyboard. “Sono presto 40 anni che sono scrittore. besonders sich zu üben.” Quoted in Germaine de Rothschild. An Erzherzog Rudolph: Wien. wird J. Hirth. sensible. 1962). ja eher. Visually speaking. gleich am Clavier Ihre Einfälle flüchtig kurz niederzuschreiben. a great satisfaction.library. . 16. Thematic. Boccherini’s use of the term “scrittore. 71. je suis le même pour tous. sicher kein Kopfweh verursachen. 270. but also one learns how to instantly secure the most remote ideas.K.I. Luigi Boccherini: sa vie et son oeuvre (Paris: Plon. tel que mes oeuvres de musique me révèlent. 1924). Tenete presente che non vi è cosa peggio che legare le mani ad un povero autore. me font l’honneur de me juger homme probe. trans. with simple. the most authoritative text we have for them is this. 3. The further (very extensive) editorial liberties that Pleyel took with the works that he received are discussed at http://epub. “as my works show me to be” 1. 1969). and even beyond that. sondern man lernt auch die entlegensten Ideen augenblicklich festhalten. According to Della Croce. nur fort. Andreas Mayor (London: Oxford University Press. 64–65. Translated by Andreas Mayor as Luigi Boccherini: His Life and Work (London: Oxford University Press. 53. ed. aimant. Alpers and Baxandall. . Richard Elchinger (Munich: G.K. Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence. will surely give Y. no headache. ein großes Vergnügen. e non sarei Boccherini se avessi scritto come voi mi consigliate. . am 1. once contained in the Pleyel archive. cioè metter limite all’idea e immaginazione di questo. né voi sareste Pleyel.” Quoted in Luigi Della Croce. Juni 1823 Fahren E. epistolario (Padua: Zanibon.H. . 1965). 2. Hiezu gehört ein kleines Tischchen ans Clavier.H. upbows in toward it. Il divino Boccherini: vita.H. or again with various figures according to counterpoint. and sometimes to develop a simple choral melody.

8. 243.” Journal of Musicology 13. 13. Luigi Boccherini. A useful compendium of Luccan musical activities can be found in Amachilde Pellegrini. .” Obituary. Luigi Boccherini: un músico italiano en la España ilustrada (Madrid: Sociedad Española de Musicología. see http://epub. and Manners in France and Italy (1770). Charles Burney met and socialized with Batoni in Rome during his Italian tour of 1770. Christmann’s process of identifying Boccherini as the sitter for the portrait was a fascinating one. 1969). but as of 2004.” Quoted in Rothschild. Boccherini: sa vie et son oeuvre. “The Young Boccherini: Lucca. 5. . 1 (March 1995): 104. 70. Luigi Boccherini: un músico italiano. See Jaime Tortella. captured the dashing. see http://epub. and Jaime Tortella’s work has since gone some way toward redressing the situation.” The Consort 24 (1967): 294–95. 2002). involving police forensic experts who compared the face in the portrait to the bone structure of Boccherini’s exhumed skull. “Questo valentissimo professore di violoncello. Gérard wrote this at a time when it was still difficult to gain access to Spanish archives. extrovert qualities of the solo cellist who pushed the technical limits of his instrument to new heights. Mayor. Germaine de Rothschild’s 1962 French translation. who is always visited by the great. 9. we still have no reliable first-hand personal accounts. 1992). Music. but here the attribution is firm. . ovvero Lettere sulla vita e le opere del celebre maestro Giuseppe Haydn (1808.edu/leguin/boccherini.” Daniel Heartz. Yves Gérard. he writes. Le Haydine. 6. 1969). (Milan: Zanibon. “ We went together to the celebrated painter Il Cavalier Battoni. ses sons ont paru aigres aux oreilles et ses accords peu harmonieux. See Jaime Tortella. 25. 12. 33. 15. Le sieur Boccherini a joué du violoncelle avec aussi peu d’applaudissements. ed. “Luigi Boccherini and Madame Sophie Gail. la Toscana e Vienna.ucla. 21 August 1805. Men. He has a very large house and lives in a great way. See note 28 below. no. For the full text. and their having been commissioned at all bespeaks Boccherini’s standing among his contemporaries— or (and this may be more likely) his and his father’s considerable ambition. 14. H.” in La figura e l’opera di Ranieri de’ Calzabigi. Della Croce. 1914). 11. and the Electoral Courts. if it was Batoni. Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung.” Charles Burney. The disparity between Boccherini’s and Batoni’s fame and status at that time makes the attribution unlikely. Gabriella Biagi-Ravenni.notes to pages 39–43 279 4. Angiolini.library. Trans. Edmund Poole (London: Folio Society.ucla. 33. 1989). Vienna. 10. ed. 149. Il divino Boccherini.” Giuseppe Carpani. chapters 1–4. “Ein trefflicher Violoncellist.library . der besonders durch unvergleichlichen Ton und ausdrucksvollen Gesang auf seinem Instrument bezauberte. Daniel Heartz has remarked that “Batoni. The quality of both these portraits is very high. “Calzabigi e dintorni: Boccherini. Remigio Coli. 16. Bologna.edu/ leguin/boccherini. 2nd ed. “Le 2 Avril 1768. For the full text. Spettacoli lucchesi nei secoli xvii–xix (Lucca: Regia Accademia Lucchese. . Dr. Liotard’s contemporary prestige rivaled that of Batoni. Federico Marri (Florence: Olschki. Luigi Boccherini: His Life and Work. Forni Editore. 7.

. See also Pellegrini. 19. 451 ff. Heartz. the ‘celebre suonatore di Violoncello’ earned much applause for a concert of music by himself.” in which. Die Wiener Theater nächst der Burg und nächst dem Kärntnerthor von 1747 bis 1776 (Vienna: Böhlau im Komm. Much of the following section draws upon this concise and thoughtful reconsideration of the composer’s early biography. 21. At the première of Don Juan in 1761. . (Ridolfo) Luigi. Archivio di Stato di Lucca. . 25.grovemusic. 3 December 2001. 20.” which could be translated as either “compose” or “perform. 22 November 2001. See Heartz. 24. which makes one wonder about the extent to which the eldest Boccherini child’s professional troc with the dance . Quoted in Gustav Zechmeister. dal Anno 1748. 18. 1971). “The Young Boccherini. its mode of composition being described by the diarist who mentions it as being ‘of a completely new kind’ (‘d’una maniera del tutto nuova’. . a Messa e Vespro. Heartz. Ospizio dei Melani Ms. www. Coli mentions a record from November 1753. which states that Leopoldo has been granted a seven-month leave of absence by his employers. (This despite Coli’s assertion that “Nel 1757. a Carnevale e a Pasqua. 23. Luigi Boccherini.” Luigi Boccherini [1988]. I-Fas.” Christian Speck and Stanley Sadie.ro di Cappla della Seren. “A dì 4 di Agosto 1756 Messa. The records of permission granted for Leopoldo’s 1757 journeys to Venice make no mention of any of his children. Both ballerini had appeared at Lucca some years previously. “On 19 March 1761. a member of the corps de ballet]” (“ein Ludwig Boccherini war schon von 1759 bis 1764 als Figurant tätig”). Daniel Heartz has pointed out Puccini’s interesting use of the word “fare. “Libro delle Musiche Annue ed Avventizie fatte da me Giacomo Puccini M. 29. p.34.” 39.. Quoted in BiagiRavenni.) 22. he adds.” Giacomo Puccini.280 notes to pages 43–44 17. in Florence. Zechmeister tells us that “a Ludwig Boccherini was already engaged from 1759 to 1764 as a figurant [i.e. the Signoria of Lucca. Remigio Coli. Bruce Brown has remarked that “Zechmeister was probably conflating various entries in the Hofzahlamtsbücher (HZAB).” 103. Maria Ester danced in such a capacity opposite Francesco Turchi.a Repubblica di Lucca . 331. “The Young Boccherini. housed in the Viennese Hofkammerarchiv. foreword Emilio Maggini (Lucca: Maria Pacini Fazzi. 2000–). personal communication. . as could a record of a similar absence three years later. per fare un Concerto di Violoncello che Lo fece il giorno dopo il Primo Salmo e suonò ancora per favorir me. is lumped together so that it’s impossible to tell who [among the Boccherinis] got how much. There is as yet no firm evidence for this.com.” Brown.” and in this case probably meant both. Spettacoli lucchesi. but this can nowhere be corroborated. Ibid. avendo ivi accompagnato il figlio a studio. “ [salary] info.” 107.” 3 vols. 1988). “Boccherini. “Calzabigi e dintorni. and in 1763 she married Onorato Viganò. personal communication.” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians Online (London: Macmillan. Leopoldo è a Venezia certo insieme al figlio. e Vespro in Musica al Monastero di San Domenico per la Festa di detto Santo . Luigi Boccherini. “per essere a Roma. 230).” but this could just as easily refer to Luigi’s elder brother Giovanni. o agli figli. 29.

Il ritorno di Tobia.” Gumpenhuber.” Biagi-Ravenni. in 1764. Hs. composed for this. N. Quoted in Brown.” 51–52. “Ditters von Dittersdorf. 1770. 32. . “Répertoire de tous les spectacles qui ont été donnés au Théâtre près de la Cour” (1761–63). 1991). Ibid.: Prentice Hall. 96. Heartz comments. divertimento teatrale. and Biagi-Ravenni. 96. Finally. Lucca.” 106. “Calzabigi e dintorni. “Concert a joué le Sr Boccherini le fils sur le violoncel. 2.. Register of the deliberations of the Council. Salieri set Don Chisciotte. “E chiamato per due volte a Vienna passò in seguito presso tutte le altre Corti Eletorali [sic] dell’Impero. 1770.” Lucca: Rassegna del comune 6 (1962): 13–23.” 109. surely risky. I rovinati. Quoted and translated in Heartz. Ludwig. dramma giocoso.”) Quoted in Heartz. Violoncelli componiertes Concert. La secchia rapita. “Concerts ont joué . 36. “The Young Boccherini.” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians Online. . which were performed at the Burgtheater. 102. Gluck and the French Theatre in Vienna (Oxford: Clarendon Press. Carl. and for one concerto for two violoncelli. when he received the patent of nobility.” app. Brown. Le donne letterate. Quoted in Bruce Alan Brown. “The Young Boccherini. Gluck and the French Theatre. Performers with complimentary tickets sat in this section of the hall. in 1774. in which Signor Boccherini played upon the violoncello.” in The Classical Era: From the 1740s to the End of the Eighteenth Century. 28. was set by Gassmann in 1772. and La fiera di Venezia.” (“Concert in which Boccherini the son played upon the violoncello. 31. Neal Zaslaw (Englewood Cliffs. violoncellist. Mus. See Thomas Bauman. 33. heroischkomische Oper.” 109. by denen Music Academien und 1. familial journey to Vienna.notes to pages 44–46 281 26.” (made to “Boccherini. See Gino Arrighi.” MS. 99. 1989).J. “The Young Boccherini. Il tamburo notturno. This was his surname until 1773. On 15 April. dove ha riportato tutto il compatimento nel suono del Violoncello. elite of her day may have been responsible for that first. Archivio di Stato.” 99. 29. “Calzabigi e dintorni. 1775. ed. by Paisiello in 1774. The two records of 1763 are contained in an account of activities at the court theaters from 1758 to 1763 written by Philipp Gumpenhuber. presented in Mannheim as Der geraubte Eymer. “Maria Theresa’s Vienna. hierzu auf 2.” Heartz. “Calzabigi e dintorni. 1764. . dramma giocoso. for concerts played at the Music Academies. Vienna. “Maria Theresa’s Vienna. “To win applause at these concerts.”) Philippe [sic] Gumpenhuber. . 35. commedia per musica. 1772.” (“Concerts . 27. 60–71. Österreichische Nationalbibliothek. 34580a–c. Biagi-Ravenni. The phrase comes from Bruce Alan Brown. 115. . “Il suo figlio che suona il Bassetto nelli Concerti nel Teatro della Corte è molto applaudito.ere fois après son retour. 34. for the first time since his return. by Joseph Haydn in 1774–75.” 44. 30. pour le 1. becoming Ditters von Dittersdorf. mit Inbegriff. “Giovan Gastone Boccherini. dramma eroicomico. “On exécute régulièrement deux Ballets chaque jour de Spectacle. the accounts of the Viennese Hofkammerarchiv mention payment “dem Bocherini [sic] Ludwig Violoncellisten für gespielte Concerts. commedia per musica. Luigi must have been performing as a soloist. “Répertoire de tous les spectacles” (1761–63). sur les deux Théâtres. and an azione sacra.”) and on 21 October. le Sr Boccherini sur le violoncel.

45. the popular theaters “displayed amazing ingenuity in forging a tortuous path around repression. und frühen 19. Marie Evans and Gwynne Lewis (Leamington Spa: Berg.” International Review of the Aesthetics and Sociology of Music 9 (1978): 295. “Boccheriniana. or to Durazzo (general director of productions at both the Burg. 1. 325. vor allem aber. Gluck and the French Theatre. 39. no. 48. Gluck and the French Theatre. . 22 November 2001 and 15 August 2003. Gluck.” Chigiana. op.” Gasparo Angiolini. . Der Einfluß der Ballettmusik auf Boccherinis kompositorische Schaffen scheint mir eine wichtige . 575. trans.”) Christian Speck. 49. “Il ritrovamiento dell’Oratorio ‘Il Giuseppe riconosciuto. 39–40. Als Komponisten der Ballettmusik fungierten Gassmann. 46. for the more “serious” and exalted reform phase.” Robert Isherwood. 43. seguitato il loro legamento. . That the two young men first visited Genoa has been established by Coli. G. Joseph Starzer. personal communications. Gassmann. “Popular Musical Entertainment in Eighteenth-century Paris. 39. quantitatively speaking. 4). 15. no. See Daniel Roche. 2 (1959): 126. 506. 42. 29. According to Bruce Brown. 38. 1987). Gluck and the French Theatre. The different census methods employed at this time make such statements perpetually arguable. 40. to be of great importance. . 47. . “As a cellist at the Kärntnertortheater Boccherini played almost exclusively ballet music. The last movement of the Symphony in D Minor. The People of Paris: An Essay in Popular Culture in the Eighteenth Century. Christian Speck has examined this feature in considerable detail. See Luigi Boccherini (1992).’” Gérard.282 notes to pages 47–49 37. “La significazione de’ gesti. “Boccherini und die Verbreitung seiner Musik in europäische Musikzentren des 18.and Kärntnertortheaters) for vetting before a production proceeded. Jahrhunderts.” pt. 23 (1993): 111. 285.. quantitativ überwiegend. The influence of ballet music on Boccherini’s work seems to me . e la loro corrispondenza. Gluck and the French Theatre. The other candidate for largest-city status was Naples. Lettere di Gasparo Angiolini a Monsieur Noverre sopra i balli pantomimi (Milan: G. 163. 71. See his Boccherinis Streichquartette: Studien zur Kompositionsweise und gattungsgeschichtlichen Stellung (Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag.” (“Boccherini spielte als Violoncellist am Kärntnertortheater fast ausschließlich Ballettmusik. Bruce Brown. Thematic. Some of these descriptions may have been prescriptive material supplied by the choreographers to the composers. Rassegna musicale 29. 2. is “an Allegro con molto [sic] described (in the first edition and in the eighteenthcentury MS copy in Milan) as ‘Chaconne qui représente l’enfer et qui a été faite à l’imitation de celle de M. Starzer served as composers of ballet music. there exist only verbal descriptions. Guglielmo Barblan. In response to the endless series of restrictions placed upon them by the royally sanctioned institutions. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue. 1987). and his analyses of Boccherini’s phrase structure acknowledge the influence of dance. Brown. a manuscript from the 1780s by Ferrère is one of the very few sources of actual choreography for pantomime ballet. 12. B. Brown. Gluck dans le Festin de pierre. 1773). 4. Brown. of 1771.’” appeared in vol. 44. Große zu sein.s. (Its pt. conosciutone il valore. Gluck. Quoted and translated in Brown. Bianchi. 41. n. e l’armonia. and above all.

et le ton lamentable qui règne perpétuellement dans notre opéra. 1975). 2 (spring 1984): 175. Bouffonidor. que ces beaux monologues que tout le monde admire en bâillant: ils voudroient être tristes. maîtresses. “The Contemporaneity of Eighteenth-century Musical Taste. de ses ministres. mettent presque tous les monologues françois sur un mouvement lent. enlarged by Georges de Saint-Foix as Boccherini: notes et documents (Paris: Legouix. 1740–1840 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. “Une exécution précise. suivie du catalogue raisonné de toutes ses oeuvres (1851).” Jean-Jacques Rousseau. que par ses incroyables prétentions comme violoniste.” Mercure de France. ni dans l’accompagnement. et comme la mesure ne s’y fait sentir ni dans le chant. sa vie et son oeuvre. 199. 55. 56. annoncent le plus grand talent et un virtuose dans l’âge destiné à l’étude. 214. sur le violoncelle. 51.” Musical Quarterly 70.” Mercure de France. Quoted in Pierre.notes to pages 49–52 283 50. des sons pleins. tient tous les Vendredis en son hôtel.” Early Music 21.. Cet instrument n’est plus reconnaissable entre ses mains: il parle. 33. exprime. et ne sont qu’ennuyeux. see Valerie Walden. no. 53. Il a été entendu avec l’admiration par les connaisseurs. Quoted and translated in Herbert Turrentine. April 1762. “Lettre sur la musique française” (1753). Duport a fait entendre tous les jours sur le violoncelle de nouveaux produits et a mérité une nouvelle admiration. ni dans le basse. 56. généraux. “The Concert Spirituel in the Tuileries Palace. ou s’y faire connoître par leurs talens. et autres personnages de son regne (Ville-Franche: Chez la veuve Liberté. no. 148. si lâche. 1997). William Weber. Daniel Heartz. 59. 1891). 52. “Baage (Baron de) Amateur. si languissant. “Boccherini déjà connu par ses trios et ses quatuors. Histoire du Concert spirituel. il rend tout au-delà de ce charme qu’on croyait exclusivement réservé au violon. aussi célèbre par la protection qu’il accordait aux artistes. For a helpful summary of the careers of the Duport brothers. no. who was as well known for his patronage of artists as for his incredible pretensions as a violinist. “Le caractère traînant de la langue. Lachevardière les présenta au fameux baron de Bagge. “M. 6:190. et ne font qu’affliger les oreilles. Quoted in Pierre. “The music publisher Lachevardière [sic] presented [Boccherini and Manfredi] to the famous Baron de Bagge. Notice sur la vie et les ouvrages de Luigi Boccherini.”) Louis Picquot. One Hundred Years of Violoncello: A History of Technique and Performance Practice. 127. 2nd ed. flatteurs. “The Prince de Conti: A Royal Patron of Music. Histoire du Concert spirituel. 3 ( July 1968): 311. un jeu sur et hardi. Boccherini. in Oeuvres complètes de JeanJacques Rousseau (Paris: Hachette.” Musical Quarterly 54 . 189. une sonate de sa composition. February 1768. 1930).” Tablettes de renommée des musi- . 57. 54. qui sont d’un grand effet. étonnante. April 1768. 1783). ils voudroient toucher le coeur. “[Il porte] le violoncel à un tel degré du supériorité qu’il étonne toujours et charme à la fois. rien n’est si traînant. a exécuté en maître. pendant l’hiver un des plus beaux Concerto particulier de cette Capitalle. moelleux. 2 (May 1993): 240–48. brillante. Histoire du Concert spirituel 1725–1790 (Paris: Société Française de Musicologie.” Mercure de France. Les Fastes de Louis xv. le peu de flexibilité de nos voix.” Avant-coureur. 716. 149. 1767. 58. Quoted in Constant Pierre. Il s’y fait un plaisir d’admettre tous les Virtuoses étrangers & amateurs qui désirent débuter en cette Capitale. Quoted in Rothschild.” (“L’éditeur de musique.

“Note introduttive. 1957). 1995). il croyait être de la première force . discussing different kinds of franc-aleu (franc-aleu naturel. Gérard. and G. et. Music. 61. with Abaco. (1873. they are op. the royal retinue left Madrid for nearby El Pardo. 62. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue.e. returning to Madrid only by December. 63. pour servir à L’Almanach-Dauphin (Paris: Cailleau. 1785). “Paris: The End of the Ancien Regime.uchicago. they are op. Quoted and translated in Jean Mongrédien.p. 77–82 in Gérard. about this time [the 1730s] brought the violoncello into favour. noble. on 28 July they departed Aranjuez for the mountains and the castle of San Ildefonso de la Granja. 159–64 in Gérard. New York: Dover. 67. and Manners. 60. In January.’” (“Il avait appris à jouer le violon. The Italianness of London virtuosi is beautifully demonstrated by Charles Burney’s 1789 roster of the city’s virtuoso cellists around 1730: “The elder Cervetto . on the banks of the Manzanares. par titre. I have never heard anyone play the violin like you. quoiqu’il jouàt [sic] faux. At Easter they traveled to Aranjuez. 1751–65). baron de).” in The Classical Era. This similarity has also been noted by Aldo Pais. Denis Diderot and Jean le Rond d’Alembert (Paris: Briasson. Lanzetti. During the reign of Carlos III (1759–88). ed. . Burney. Georges Cucuel. Luigi Boccherini (1988). Closer to Boccherini’s own age would have been Giovanni Battista Cirri (1724–1808). 2. 69. and in October they removed to El Escorial. A General History of Music. L’empereur Joseph II lui dit un jour: Baron. and “coûtumes de franc-aleu”). Fétis appears to be using the term as a metaphor for laying claim to a title one has done nothing to earn.” in Biographie universelle des musiciens. 1005. 500 in Gérard. par privilége. like El Pardo. this circulation became regularized. The Encyclopédie boasts no fewer than six articles by Boucher d’Argis. 2”. des arts et des métiers. Searchable online at the University of Chicago ARTFL Project.” L’Année musicale 1 (1911): 145. editor of the commendable Zanibon edition of Boccherini’s works. 19–20. and made us nice judges of the instrument. Boccherini does not list this work in his catalog. “Le Baron de Bagge et son temps. 41–42. n. Boucher d’Argis. As “op. 64. 1972). . from the Earliest Ages to the Present Period.edu/ efts/ARTFL/projects/ency. As “op. 1”. This ridiculousness [i. who debuted in London in 1764. (1776–89. virtuoses . Thematic.” in Boccherini: concerto n. 1 in Boccherini’s catalog. compositeurs. . 66. and although he played badly. 2nd ed. See Coli. Duchesne. 25–30. facsimile reprint. et al. 65. . paying professionals to take lessons with him] earned him the name of ‘the Francaleu [see below] of the violin. “He had learned to play the violin. . auteurs.284 notes to pages 52–56 ciens. . and G. 2 vols. G. it is G. was heavily wooded..lib. Pasqualini and Caporale.” in Encyclopédie. vol. reprint. je n’ai jamais entendu personne jouer le violon comme vous. ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences.” Charles Burney. Franc-aleu was a legal term referring to the inheritance of property. Ce ridicule lui fit donner le nom de Francaleu du violon.. roturier. Men. . G. believed himself to be of the first rank. 573 (Padua: Zanibon.’ Emperor Joseph II once said to him. www. . 11 in do maggiore. Brussels: Culture et Civilisation.”) François-Joseph Fétis. 2 in Boccherini’s personal catalog. which. ‘Baron. returning after a few weeks. 68. “Francaleu. 71. “Bagge (Charles-Ernest. . .

1917). without being very particular as to the instrument involved. the presumption here is that Casanova was acknowledging the virtuosity. There exists a corroboration— like all corroborations in Boccherini’s biography. 29–31. 74. 72. the productions] and the entire company that worked in the Sitios Reales. A. un músico italiano. even if unable to work. Tortella has established that the formal contract between the Infante and Boccherini postdates the beginning of their relationship by some months. See Tortella. her younger sister (whom Casanova does not name but who was in fact Clementina).” (“Il est . Orígenes y establecimiento de la ópera en España hasta 1800 (Madrid: Tipografía de la Revista de Archivos. until his death.” Nuova rivista musicale italiana 4 (1993): 557–62. 199n1.”) Jacques Chastenet. “ With regard to the beginning of Boccherini’s employment by the Infante. The libretto of this work tells us that “the final aria of the second act was composed and accompanied on solo cello by Signor Luigi Boccherini of Lucca” (“el aria final del acto segundo es compuesta y acompañada con el violoncello a solo del Sr. Boccherini. . 34.. Bibliotecas. understood that one who enters into the service of a nobleman stays there.e.notes to page 57 285 70. In 1769 the city of Valencia contracted Marescalchi and Creus to establish a season of comic theater there. . A “primo violon” could be the leader of an orchestra. See Remigio Coli. “It is . que no es más que la fecha contenida en un decreto de S. y Museos. dando algunos intermedios de [la] mejor música [y sirviendo] ‘con las óperas y entera compañía que trabajaba en los Sitios Reales. .” and using “the operas [i. or even a virtuoso cellist. which is no more than the date contained in His Highness’s decree. giving a number of intermedios of the best music. Boccherini.”) Tortella. who recounts a meeting in Valencia in September 1768 with a María Teresa Pelliccia—also a singer in the Compañía—her husband. même impotent. . or a virtuoso violinist. Boccherini. in entering into . 1966). un músico italiano. and not 8 November. un músico italiano. La Vie quotidienne en Espagne au temps de Goya (Paris: Hachette.” (“‘adornar las comedias con bailarines costosos y mejor con decoraciones del teatro. See also Tortella. 46: “[Whether he was] conscious or not of the future. 73. La música en tiempos de Carlos III: ensayo sobre el pensamiento musical ilustrado (Madrid: Alianza Editorial. 1988). See Tortella.” (“En cuanto al inicio de la relación de servicio de Boccherini con el infante. hay que situarlo en la primavera de 1770.’”) Antonio Gallego. “Casanova incontra Boccherini: i primi anni del musicista in Spagna (1768–1771). it must be dated to the spring of 1770. 71. jusqu’à sa mort. no el 8 de noviembre. Boccherini. the two partners offering “to adorn the plays with costly dancers and even with stage decorations. Presque aussi rigoureuse est la règle qui veut que les enfants d’un serviteur trouvent toujours vivre et couvert dans la maison seigneuriale. Emilio Cotarelo y Morí. 52. Almost as rigorous is the rule which holds that the children of a servant may always find livelihood and shelter in the lord’s house. Luis Boccherini. it is tantalizingly indirect—of this sequence of events in the memoirs of Giacomo Casanova. un músico italiano. 28–29. luqués”). entendu que [celui] qui est entré au service d’un grand y demeure. and “a famous first violin who was to marry her some time afterward” (“un celebre primo violon che la sposerà qualche tempo dopo”).

“The choice of a few determined genres of music. un músico italiano. The first. un oficial mozo que no supiese y cantase de memoria el Misero pargoletto. .” (“[Madrid era] una de las más importantes cortes europeas en lo que al cultivo de la ópera italiana se refiere. 542 is “Larve pallide e funeste. this piece is undated by the composer.” (“Consciente o no del futuro. the text for G. pero con una particularidad: no hay.”) Antonio Martín Moreno. nor did there exist a [single] Spanish specificity. second. 1 of Alaveses en la historia. However.” “Niccolò Piccinni’s La buona figliuola was given in Aranjuez in the spring of 1769 with Boccherini’s overture G. is. based on the Symphony G. 364. As with all Boccherini’s vocal music. al igual que el traje y el vocabulario.” Christian Speck and Stanley Sadie. así como de maneras concretas de cantarlas y tañerlas es. 1985). 77. una señorita. un modo de distinción de clases. este gusto (ya hecho gusto de moda) por los estrados en todas las funciones particulares o caseras. es probable que empezara a concebir una estancia prolongada. el Padre perdona. 111. 78. as well as concrete manners of singing and playing them.” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians Online. 542 (the Almería insertion aria) are one and the same piece. 35. (Ridolfo) Luigi. 527. il y a. vol. ed. 4: Siglo XIII. rather instead pride and continual desires for reaffirmation. 1993) he goes so far as to suggest that this and G.”) Chastenet.”) Gallego. avons-nous dit. as much as are costume and vocabulary. while in his liner notes to a recording of it by Christoph Coin and the Ensemble Baroque de Limoges (Astrée Auvidis. there are no special complexes about that choice. the third from Didone abbandonata. La música en tiempos de Carlos III. Historia de la música española. Joaquín Alvárez Barrientos. “Madrid was one of the most important European courts as far as the cultivation of Italian opera. “At the end of the eighteenth century as at the beginning of the nineteenth.”) Tortella considers these places and the fortunes of Luis’s court among them in some detail. and fourth of these Metastasian aria texts come from Demofoonte. 4. se extendió por Madrid el nuevo gusto de su música. there was. Memorias cronológicas sobre el teatro en España (1785). etc. Apenas habrá un joven. el Son Regina. y su decidida afición corrió al instante por todas las capitales de provincia.” (“La elección de unos determinados géneros de música. al entrar el servicio de don Luis. 490. 3. a way of distinguishing classes—but with one peculiarity: with rare exceptions. 76. Historia de la música española. La Vie quotidienne. especiales complejos ante esa elección. pues. and María del Carmen Sánchez García (Vitoria: Diputación. chaps. “Boccherini. vol. and 5.” José Antonio Armona y Murga. Pablo López de Osaba (Madrid: Alianza Editorial. 75. ed. as we have said. more a variety of Spains than one Spain. Se tutti i mali miei. Boccherini. 74. 355. 79. plutôt des Espagnes qu’une Espagne: il n’en existe pas moins une spécificité espagnole. salvo raras excepciones. 273. “Con el gusto de oír a tantos cantores famosos las mejores arias de Italia. sino más bien orgullo y continuos deseos de reafirmación. Quoted in Martín Moreno. Emilio Palacio Fernández. E8517.” (“À la fin du xviiie siècle comme au début du xixe. Gérard has assigned it a tentative date of 1775 in his catalog. Corrió.286 notes to pages 57–58 the service of Don Luis it is probable that he had begun to conceive a long stay there. 80. 1988).

les conversations les plus tendres. See ibid. escucharé siempre con preferencia a toda autoridad privada lo que me dicten la razón y la experiencia. 1958). 262. 84. se découvrent. en sorte le théâtre de la gravité castillane. 70–71. and did not obey it. 91. 6 and 7. ciudadano de la República Literaria. Ibarra. couvertes de grands voiles.” Fray Benito Jerónimo de Feijóo. He limited himself to having those paintings placed in a restricted hall at the Academy of Fine Arts. esp. accessible only to those whose work required their study.”) José Del Corral. . que des femmes uniformément vêtues. on ne voit à pied. which gives a version of the theory . Maupertuis’s Essai de philosophie morale. dans les autres lieux publics de l’Europe. baron de Bourgoing. 1765–73). “A Spanish translation was published in 1784 of [Condillac’s] La logique [ . . 82. que des hommes enveloppés dans leurs vastes manteaux de couleur sombre pour la plupart. “Au lieu de cette bigarrure de vêtemens et de coîffures. For a useful account of this crucial alliance between monarchy and Church. 90.” (“El gran drama de la música español del siglo xviii es el de la falta de una eficiente imprenta de música. comme paralysés par une main invisible. accesible sólo a quienes por su obra precisaran de su estudio. In the same volume was included . ].. “The great drama of Spanish music in the eighteenth century is that of the lack of an efficient printer of music. in Cinco sainetes inéditos de Don Ramón de la Cruz. 1750–1800 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. . 3.notes to pages 59–61 287 81. 87. “ Yo. “Los ay quando se cantan las arias. ni esclavo de Aristóteles ni aliado de sus enemigos. au premier coup de l’angelus. “Fortunately. 1808). 1:267–68. Ibid. Il le paraît surtout. 1932). chaps. 73. Carlos IV did not take into account his father’s last order. tous les promeneurs. see Richard Herr. Life and Manners in Madrid. Eighteenth-century Revolution in Spain. 5:33. ed. 17–18. that morality is based on the natural desire to seek pleasure and avoid pain. pour se recueillir pendant quelques minutes. . 88.”) Martín Moreno. 1:248. 85. 2000). qui. J.” in Theatro crítico universal (Madrid. jette une variété sans laquelle il n’y a point de plaisir. Historia de la música española. . Tableau de l’Espagne moderne (Paris: Tourneisen fils. “Physionomía. 89. La vida cotidiana en el Madrid del siglo xviii (Madrid: Ediciones La Librería. Translated as Modern State of Spain (London: J. Stockdale. Del Corral points out that not even the hyper-religious Felipe IV of the preceding century had gone so far.” Ramón de la Cruz.. 86. con otro a él atribuido. Charles Emil Kany. Kany. lorsque chaque soir. The Eighteenth-century Revolution in Spain (Princeton: Princeton University Press.” (“Afortunadamente. Carlos IV no tuvo en cuenta la última orden de su padre y no la obedeció. Charles Emil Kany (New . s’arrêtent subitement.” Herr. sans exception. qui dérobent une partie de leurs traits. 1807). 83. están durmiendo. Los payos críticos (1770). noirs ou blancs. Within two years a portion of his Cours d’études pour l’instruction du prince de Parme devoted to his epistemology also appeared in translation. not one of his most famous works but one that summarized his philosophy. 79–80. chap. Life and Manners in Madrid. au Prado. en oyendo seguidillas se levantan del asiento. 24. . Se limitó a hacer colocar estos cuadros en una sala reservada de la Academia de Bellas Artes.” Jean-François. interrompent les discussions les plus animées.

. Quoted and translated in Kany. examina y califica y con benignidad los circunstantes oyen mis sinfonías concertantes. La vida cotidiana. Historia de la música española. 336. “Las relaciones de Haydn con la casa de Benavente. Madrid’s noble population was rather more sizable than that of other cities: the Planimetría de Madrid. cuando no el violín. que divertia. pidiesen macarones. que intentaba.” Diario de Madrid. graciosa. 97–98. 35. Quoted and translated in Kany. la aficionada orquesta se la prueba. It is puzzling that this charmingly republican dedication should have been used when Boccherini was. &c. . que nos conservan todavia algunas gracias de la Musica Española en sus boleras. 93. que movia los afectos. a survey of municipal property ownership initiated in 1750. Mi manejo no es mucho ni muy poco y entre ellos logro así lugar decente. . quoted in Gallego. fideos. la viola toco .. &c. From a letter written by Tomás de Iriarte. 276–79. see Tortella. . Si alguno al contrapunto se dedica y cualquier obra suya manifiesta. Life and Manners in Madrid. 1924). Yo no puedo sufrir que esta Musica Italiana haya corrompido nuestra Musica nacional.”Anuario musical 2 (1947): 87. sencilla. . jamon. que se pegaba al corazon. 337. La música en tiempos de Carlos III. En fin. que interesaba. propio de nuestra caracter. en vez de carnero. gallina. “Ahora bien. Nicolás Solar-Quintes. que á no ser por ellos. ya cantarian nuestros cocineras arias Italianas con riesgo evidente de que nuestras ollas podridas. tiranas &c. Gozamos de un depósito abundante de la moderna música alemana. Gallego remarks. 108. Noches hay que se hallan congregados veinte y acaso más aficionados que su parte ejecutan de repente. 5 September 1795.. ¿qué efecto produce ni puede producir la algarabia de la Musica Italiana! Sacamos acaso de ella más utilidad que el placer pasagero de oir una infinidad de combinaciones de sonidos. 96. 14. Life and Manners in Madrid. according to the catalog of his works prepared by his grandson Alfredo Boccherini y Calonje.. Del Corral. 94. and Martín Moreno. que en la parte sinfónica es constante que arrebató la palma a la italiana. y se conservaba en la memoria con sola una vez que se oyese. “This refers to that new. Boccherini.288 notes to pages 61–62 York and Paris. already in the Infante’s exclusive service. Enlightened bour- 92. 95. un músico italiano. expresiva. pues. que nada dicen al alma ni al corazon? . indicates that those claiming noble blood made up no less than 8 percent of the total population of the city. . For a consideration of possible reasons for this. gracias a los idiotas en la Musica.

(This is my reworking of Mitchell’s translation. was more scientific and more solid. dans une réunion musicale. and the French.) 1. y a la francesca. which he values even above the Italian.notes to pages 62–66 289 geosie which is fond of music and not only listens to it. 1978). trans. das Clavier zu spielen (1753. & que le génie éclaire. There has been much speculation among biographers about Boccherini’s supposed visit to Prussia in the late 1780s (during which period the general lack of information about the composer becomes a veritable blackout). er sey dann selbst gerührt. (1873. 1:55.” in Versuch über die wahre Art. que l’imagination est embrasée. 98. L’Allemagne dédaigne sa simplicité naïve et l’opinion qu’en ont les artistes de ce pays se résume dans un mot prononcé par Spohr à Paris.” Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. que cela ne mérite pas le nom de musique!” François-Joseph Fétis. New York: Broude Brothers. mere flatterer of the intellect: the Spanish. . Translated as The Works of Monsieur Noverre (1782–83. Mitchell. but performs it” (“Se refiere a esa nueva burguesía ilustrada que es aficionada a la música y no sólo la oye.” Jean-Georges Noverre. 97. since Boccherini had been engaged by Friedrich Wilhelm II as a composer of chamber music. “Boccherini (Louis). but there is. 122. facsimile reprint. 1994). la interpreta”). 1:122. sólo preocupada de halagar los sentidos. l’expression qui en résultera sera celle du sentiment. répondit-il. facsimile reprint. . que l’âme est vivement émue. gestures and tableaux Epigraph 1: “Si leurs gestes & leurs physionomies sont sans cesse d’accord avec leur âme. 58–59. in the end. . Boccherini. era más científica y más sólida. William J. facsimile reprint.”) Gallego. 31. 2nd ed. Gallego summarizes Valls’s position in the Mapa armónico-práctico as follows: “He shows himself to be especially proud of the Spanish practice of his day. a la que reputa incluso superior a la italiana. only preoccupied with flattering the senses. bringing together both qualities. See Tortella. er giebt ihnen seine Empfindungen zu verstehen und bewegt sie solchergestallt am besten zur Mit-Empfindung. New York: AMS Press. “Boccherini n’est connu maintenant qu’en France. Essay on the True Art of Playing Keyboard Instruments (New York: Norton. On ne réussit dans les compositions théâtrales qu’autant que le coeur est agité. Lettres sur la danse et sur les ballets (1760. reuniendo ambas cualidades. There is a certain logic to such speculation. La música en tiempos de Carlos III. . facsimile reprint. chapter 3.” (“Se muestra especialmente orgulloso de la práctica española de su tiempo. “Vom Vortrage. un músico italiano. Epigraph 2: “Indem ein Musickus nicht anders rühren kann. 1967). Kassel: Bärenreiter. On demandait au célèbre violoniste et compositeur allemand ce qu’il en pensait: je pense. and Tortella has ammassed enough circumstantial evidence to pretty well demolish it.” in Biographie universelle des musiciens. no hard evidence to support it. 1949). où l’on venait d’exécuter quelques-uns des quintetti du maître italien. 251–62. mera halagadora del intelecto: la española. 1972). so muss er nothwendig sich selbst in alle Affekten setzen können welche er bey seinen Zuhörern erregen will. que les passions tonnent. Brussels: Culture et Civilisation. & vivifiera votre ouvrage.

if melody is an intruder and grace an orphan.. continue. 10.” Revue de Paris. Quoted in Picquot. Earlier writers’ delight in Boccherini’s tender. qu’il n’entend pas les dessins.290 notes to pages 66–69 2. au pizzicato que le violoncelle fait entendre en même temps que je retiens le premier violon sur un trait uniforme. ut si: ces deux notes rapidement coulées. written in 1851. 2nd ed. if the divine breath which animates all this is itself but a digression. si le souffle divin qui anime tout cela est lui-même un hors-d’oeuvre. a Frenchman. always effects. that danger being personified by Spohr. offers Boccherini as an example of values that are in danger of being lost to the musical world. la grâce une fille de peu. abandonnant enfin le travail que le fatiguait. si l’imagination et le sentiment doivent en être bannis. car elle n’a rien de commun avec vos pénibles et indigestes élucubrations!”) Louis Picquot. 3. inward. que Votre Majesté veuille bien prêter l’oreille aux jeux que le second violon et la viole exécutent. a Walloon (that is. une superfluité. he admonishes Beethoven for having strayed too far in his last quartets from “la poétique musicale” and passionately damns Spohr (without going so far as to name him—Spohr was still alive). la musique de Boccherini n’est pas de la musique. while commending Boccherini in the following terms: “If music is no longer made to please and to touch us.” Henri Castil-Blaze. Notice sur la vie et les ouvrages de Luigi Boccherini. Ce trait perd sa monotonie dès que les autres instruments sont entrés et se mêlent à la conversation. nothing but effects”. se répétaient au point de couvrir la moitié d’une page. railing against the decadence of a modern music dominated by ignorance and “effects. No- . oh! alors vous avez raison. it could well be said to inform the work of most of the Boccherini scholars working in their wake. —Ut si. Fétis’s estimation sets a noticeably defensive tone. a French-speaking native of the Low Countries). As a position of implicit resistance to canonicity. the music of Boccherini is not music. “Alexandre Boucher. including myself. for it has nothing in common with your laborious and indigestible pedantries!” (“Si la musique n’est plus faite pour plaire et pour toucher. et cela pendant d’une demi-heure! Ut si. Ut si. In Boccherini’s first full-length biography. The stakes here have only partly to do with Boccherini. and quite a lot to do with nationalism. si la mélodie est une intruse. enlarged by Georges de Saint-Foix as Boccherini: notes et documents (Paris: Legouix. ut si! —Sire. il se lève et dit avec accent de la colère: —C’est misérable. Le roi les attaque bravement. un écolier en ferait autant: ut si. Louis Picquot. les accords ingénieux. Some of Picquot’s fervor carries over into the work of both Georges de Saint-Foix and Germaine de Rothschild. “Charles prend son archet: il tenait toujours la partie de premier violon. sa mauvaise humeur va crescendo. Fétis. mais il est tellement absorbé par l’attention donnée à sa partie. et de mauvais écolier. takes flight from the Spohr anecdote for several outraged pages. 1930). ut si. Il s’impatiente. oh! then you are right. if imagination and sentiment are to be banished from it. introduits au-dessus comme audessous de cette pédale intérieure. sa voix se joint à son archet pour articuler ridiculement le trait monotone. or. suivie du catalogue raisonné de toutes ses oeuvres (1851). writing well into this century. a superfluity. célèbre virtuose. 102. and songful qualities has here taken on a rather polemical tone. poursuit ce discours. a German. May 1845. plaisante conversation! Musique d’écolier. ut si. dans cette partie figurait un trait d’une extrême longueur et d’une complète monotonie.

tice sur la vie et les ouvrages de Luigi Boccherini. I am not the first to have noticed this. 171.” and the cello is not pizzicato. no. 30. on the grounds that “the second violin and viola parts of the Larghetto consist of the note A repeated without variation throughout the movement. de la vivacité de l’imagination. “Éloge de Richardson” (1761). 7. in Oeuvres esthétiques. 9. movimenti e gesti. since the Boccherini of the story mentions only four instruments. sin embargo. “Le monde où nous vivons est la lieu de la scène. “Un’attenzione così puntuale per tutto quello che in teatro si può comunicare tramite immagini. G. op. 1997). 1987).” The question arises as to whether the piece was in fact a quartet rather than a quintet. à pleurer. 9. qui incline à compatir. fulgores y raptos de gran lirismo. 1969). the monotonous figure consists of two notes rather than one and is played by the first violin. ed. 8. “Cette disposition compagne de la faiblesse des organes. Paul Vernière (Paris: Bordas. trans. una tensión impregnada de melancolía. de la délicatesse des nerfs. à admirer. à s’évanouir. de las más delicadas entonaciones. In Castil-Blaze’s story. 1968). where the first violin plays eleven bars of F # and E. But this is scarcely “half a page. op. evanescencias. 11.” Ellen Iris Amsterdam. Gérard has suggested that the piece in question was the Quintet in A Major. 308 (1779). surgen.” Denis Diderot. 64–65. 5. les passions qu’il peint sont telles que je les éprouve en moi. The most likely candidate I have been able to find is the second movement of the Quintet in A Major.D. though these pitches are of course a tone apart rather than the half-step implied by “do si. um den Übergang von der einen zur anderen Stufe verfolgen zu können. non meraviglia affatto in un librettista che era anche un ballerino operante a Vienna negli anni del trionfo del ballo pan- .. G. à craindre. “Dem Hörer wird sozusagen eine akustische Lupe gereicht. 28. Luis Paret: vida y obra (Zaragoza: Aneto Publicaciones. Encontramos un ambiente de evocaciones espectrales.” Christian Speck. diss. however. where the first violin repeats A–B b eight times in rapid succession (bars 40–48). University of California at Berkeley. 1. 6. 2. 1770). Maynard Solomon. ses incidents sont dans les moeurs de toutes les nations policées. 59.” José Luis Morales y Marín. There is a passage in the last movement of the Quartet in C Minor. as Boccherini: notes et documents. ses caractères sont pris du milieu de la société. Mozart: A Life (New York: Harper Perennial. 10. G.” “De una estructura práctica aparentemente convencional. ses personnages ont toute la réalité possible. “The String Quintets of Luigi Boccherini” (Ph. Andreas Mayor (London: Oxford University Press. le fond de son drame est vrai. 281 (1772). in Oeuvres esthétiques. 5. sorprendiendo la instantaneidad del modelo.” Yves Gérard. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue of the Works of Luigi Boccherini. “Boccherini seems to have been very much concerned with gradations of piano dynamics. 343. 13. op.” Denis Diderot. Thematic. Y en todos ellos hay mucha distinción. 1988). no. à se troubler. no. 346. 1995). 12.. Boccherinis Streichquartette: Studien zur Kompositionsweise und gattungsgeschichtlichen Stellung (Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. “Paradoxe sur le comédien” (c. 97. 2nd ed.notes to pages 69–72 291 4. à frissonner. “Trouble in Paradise. como el resíduo palpitante de una realidad onírica. 39. chap. suite de la mobilité du diaphragme.

1768). . Boccherinis Streichquartette. La pensée rapide caractérise d’un trait. . but not that the melody should never pass from one part to another. le crayon du dessinateur habile. la Toscana e Vienna. without being in any part. wherein the melody. place.” http://dictionary. . Je vois dans le tableau une chose prononcée: combien dans l’esquisse y supposeje de choses qui y sont à peine annoncées!” Diderot.” in an attempt to create sonic parity with the three Aristotelian dramatic unities (time. William Waring. . plus l’imagination est à l’aise. 14. sans être dans aucune Partie.”) Jean-Jacques Rousseau.” Denis Diderot. ou gaie. . La plume du poète. .” Salon of 1765.” (“Un mot sur Robert.”) Ibid. Il en est à peu près de même de l’esquisse et du tableau. ne me touche plus qu’une autre qui serait moins à mon choix.” The Oxford English Dictionary Online. analogue à ma situation actuelle. Svetlana Alpers and Michael Baxandall.v. Word and Image: French Painting of the Ancien Régime (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1981). “Il faut entendre dans la musique vocale ce qu’elle exprime. 12. and well managed. s. 58. 50. par l’expérience que j’ai de mon propre coeur. “Calzabigi e dintorni: Boccherini.oed. Rousseau went so far as to proffer a somewhat hare-brained (but very influential) idea of the “Unity of Melody. et comme je sais mieux que personne la manière de m’affecter.” (“L’Unité de Mélodie exige bien qu’on n’entende jamais deux Mélodies à la fois. 1994). “Les esquisses ont communément un feu que le tableau n’a pas. Angiolini. tendre.” rhythmic impression or stamp. plus l’expression des arts est vague. “Brownian movement. 1779). trans. also famous for his sketches: “A word on Robert. “Brownian movement: the irregular oscillatory movement observed in microscopic particles or ‘molecules’ of all kinds suspended in a limpid fluid. Norman Bryson. As a direct analogy to the requirement of visual legibility.” Gabriella Biagi-Ravenni. où la mélodie.” in La figura e l’opera di Ranieri de’ Calzabigi. If this artist continues to sketch he will lose the ability to finish. 652.. résulte seulement de l’effet du tout. his head and his hand will become libertines. results only from the effect of the whole. 542–43.com. Si cet artiste continue à esquisser. 1989). 15.” in Dictionnaire de musique (Paris: veuve Duchesne. “Unité de mélodie. . indeed of art in general. French. Federico Marri (Florence: Olschki.” 544. “Unity of Melody. Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence (New Haven: Yale University Press. sa tête et sa main deviendront libertines.292 notes to pages 72–75 tomimo. however. 17. . He calls it “rhythmischen Ausprägung. or. one finds a cautionary apostrophe to Hubert Robert. . 109. “La Mère bien-aimée (esquisse). 18. sérieuse. 13. See Speck. ed. Je fais dire à une symphonie bien faite presque ce qu’il me plaît. Later in the same essay. .” in A Dictionary of Music (London: J. Il y a même des Harmonies savantes & bien ménagées. ont l’air de courir et de se jouer. theorists from Batteux to Rousseau insisted on a clear line as the sine qua non of musical art. in Oeuvres esthétiques. il est rare que l’expression que je donne aux sons. There is even harmony ingenious. 176. mais non pas que la Mélodie ne passe jamais d’une Partie à l’autre: au contraire. action): “The unity of melody requires that we never hear two melodies at a time. “La Mère bien-aimée (esquisse). 16. il perdra l’habitude de finir.

elle offre toujours le même sens & la même image. 25–30.” in Enciclopedia dello spettacolo. possibly five-stringed instrument (personal communication. A 1709 Stradivari cello was identified as Boccherini’s by the Spanish virtuoso cellist Gaspar Cassadó. While there is certainly no reason to assume that Boccherini did not own this instrument at some point in his life. 480. seems to be based upon inference. the composer’s descendant José Antonio Boccherini Sánchez has discovered earlier versions of Boccherini’s will in which he names his instruments: an “Estayner” (Stainer). “The Theâtre Italien from Watteau to Fragonard. GCD 920306.” More recently. “probably carried out in Paris towards the end of the 18th century. 2001. dedicated to Madame Brillon de Jouy in 1768 (see chapter 2). A fine recording of op. There are many examples. It has since been used as such by the German cellist Julius Berger for his recording of Boccherini’s cello concerti (Boccherini: concerti per violoncello. no. See also José Antonio Boccherini Sánchez. 477. 25. vous y sentirez tous les mouvemens d’une femme qui demande & qui emploie tour à tour la douceur & le reproche. “Quadro vivente. Unfortunately the name of the purchaser is unknown and we have no trace of the ’cello again until the middle of the 19th century. “Entretiens sur l’état actuel de l’Opéra de Paris. and a “violonchelo chico”—a small. in which the cello solo and the first violin play in lockstep thirds (the cello above the violin). Atlas (New York: Pendragon.” Claude-Philibert Coquéau. 22. “Exécutez la Sonate 5e de l’Oeuvre V de Boccherini. Alpers and Baxandall. François Lesure (Geneva: Minkoff.” in Querelle des gluckistes et piccinnistes. 9 vols.. 6055–57 EBS). 92–93. 1988 [?]. Alan W. 20. 23. It is worth mentioning that in the eighteenth century Stradivari instruments did not have the enormous prestige they have now.” which leads Cassadó to speculate that “Boccherini was obliged by his straitened circumstances in the last years of his life to sell his Stradivarius. 72. “Los testamentos de Boccherini. G. I draw all the correspondences that follow from Heartz’s entertaining and thought-provoking essay. cent fois exécutée. among my favorites are the slow movement of the Concerto in C Major. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue. 21. 82. (Rome: Le Maschere. Thematic. Cassadó’s account. 29. where the first entry of the solo cello is virtually indistinguishable from the violin parts that surround it (bars 14–20). Ibid.notes to pages 76–78 293 19.” Revista de musicología 22. the six sonatas op. 1961).” in Music in the Classic Period: Essays in Honor of Barry S. Silvio D’Amico. 5. when it reappears in the important collection of old instruments belonging to the Infante Don Sebastian de Bourbon [sic]. 1984). . the top-flight instrument of choice for a virtuoso was in fact more likely to have been a Stainer than a Strad. 2 (1999): 93. Glossa. ed. and much of the first movement of the Concerto in G Major. Qualiton Imports. the documentation is vague. June 2003). 2:476–77. ed. On a presque envie d’y mettre des paroles. Daniel Heartz. Brook. 1985). Boccherini: Six Sonatas for Harpsichord and Violin. G. facing illustration 12. 24. G. Lucien Rimels. had been published in Paris by Vénier in 1769. 5 may be heard on Jacques Ogg and Emilio Moreno. G. Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence. as reprinted in Gérard. This is the Violin Sonata in G Minor. who died in 1966. ed. The instrument has some alterations.

” (“La jolie élégie! Le charmant poème! La belle idylle que Gessner en ferait! C’est la vignette d’un morceau de ce poète. 30. .edu/leguin/boccherini. die ganze Natur feyerte im sanften Wiederschein des Purpurs. il y faut donc quelque progrès. “Nous ne voulons pas tout savoir à la fois.” in Schriften (Vienna: Johann Thomas Edlen von Trattnern. der Hirt. 62–63. Francesco Albani (New Haven: Yale University Press. wie ein göldner Flor. “Hast du. 67. “Sur les Tableaux. der. See also http://epub. “Loutherbourg: paysage avec figures et animaux. récréé. la conversation de ce pâtre et de cette paysanne nous amusera. . comme ce chien. Philomele! durch dein zärtliches Lied. qui jette l’imagination dans une douce rêverie.294 notes to pages 78–79 26. Puglisi. vous serez à côté de moi. Geneva: Minkoff.” 615. c’est la grâce de l’Albane.library. die schüchtern durchs Gebüsche rauscht? “O! wie schön ist alles in der sänfteren Schönheit! Wie still schlummert die Gegend um mich! Welche Entzücken! Welch sanfter Taumel fließt durch mein wallendes Herz!” Salomon Gessner. “Harmonie pleine et auguste qui invite au recueillement. entfernte Weinberge. Ibid.library.” Salon of 1765. “Stille Nacht! wie lieblich überfällst du mich hier! hier am bemosten Stein. satisfait. in Oeuvres esthétiques. 1765).” Denis Diderot. Ich sah noch den Phöbus. “La Mère bien-aimée (esquisse). qui charme le silence de cette solitude et trompe les ennuis de sa condition en jouant de la flûte. . Les femmes ne l’ignorent pas. Tandis que nous admirerons l’ouvrage du Créateur. c’est la naïve sensibilité de Gessner. See http://epub. and Charles-Nicolas Baudiot. the Jeune Fille qui pleure son oiseau mort: “The pretty elegy! The charming poem! The lovely idyll which Gessner might have written! It is the sketch of a piece by that poet. 610. als ich hier sanft entschlief. et dans un temps plus éloigné.ucla. vom längern Schatten begleitet. 29. er lachte das letzte Mal zürück durch den leichten Nebel.”) Denis Diderot. die Vögel sangen ihm das letzte Lied. 1804. Diderot was reminded of Gessner by what is now Greuze’s most famous painting. je serai à vos pieds tranquille et en sûreté. der auf streifichten Wolken flammte. “Die Nacht. sein Abendlied. ou qui la fixe sur des tableaux enchanteurs. 533. facsimile reprint. wie er hinter den Stuffen jener Berge sich verlohr. The passage in which this description occurs is remarkable throughout for its poetic fervor. Émile Levasseur. que la nature est belle dans ce petit canton! Arrêtons-nous-y. Haine und Fluren glänzend umschlich. nos oreilles ne dédaigneront pas les sons rustiques de ce bouvier. la chaleur du jour commence à se faire sentir..ucla . Nous aimons que la plaisir dure. 27.edu/leguin/boccherini for the entire passage. hat ein lauschender Waltgott mich geweckt.” Pierre-Marie-François de Sales Baillot. seinen Abzug. Ah! Mon ami. Charles-Simon Catel. Reposons-nous. Baillot wrote very evocatively. 28. 2:130. nach seiner Hütte gehend. blies. “Greuze. 31. nous nous rappellerons encore cet endroit enchanté et l’heure délicieuse que nous y avons passée. 1999).” Salon of 1763. und suchten gepaart die sichern Nester. oder eine Nymphe. elles exposent et dérobent. 1974). . 3. elles accordent et refusent. See Catherine R. et lorsque le poids du jour sera tombé nous continuerons notre route. “L’oeil est partout arrêté.” Diderot.”Méthode de violoncelle et de basse d’accompagnement (c. couchons-nous le long de ces animaux. compagnon assidu de la vie de son maître et garde fidèle de son troupeau.

los oídos para examinar las almas. “De divers moyens de communiquer nos pensées.” Benito Jerónimo de Feijóo. où d’un coup d’oeil vous avez tout vu. chap.” in Theatro crítico universal (Madrid: J. 1988). Absorption. revues sur les éditions originales. and hair swept up: the very figure of womanly nobility—with one breast bared. reprint. the first of the two letters cited at the beginning of chapter 2. Stefano Castelvecchi. La Chevardière. “L’impression successive du discours. eyes cast heavenward. Absorption and Theatricality: Painting and Beholder in the Age of Diderot. 2nd ed. Boyer. Hizo la naturaleza los ojos para registrar los cuerpos. malgré qu’on en ait. qui frappe à coups redoublés. Essai sur l’origine des langues (1754–63. In addition. no. lo que mas importa no es verle. que los que de la consideracion de las facciones quieren inferir el conocimiento de las almas. sino oírle. on admire. on s’indigne. tout à coup il se lève. who premièred the role of Iphigénie in Gluck’s Parisian operas on that theme.” 30. 1875). 41. Ibarra. ed. Luigi Boccherini. il s’interrompt. “Lettre sur les aveugles. 1:320. on approuve. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press. “Qu’on n’est affecté. we can infer from some of Boccherini’s correspondence with Pleyel that he was being urged to keep his music accessible to an amateur public—and was irritated by the request. This was the norm for chamber music published by the Parisian houses with whom Boccherini chiefly dealt (Vénier. “From Nina to Nina: Psychodrama. The classic analysis of this phenomenon is in Michael Fried. on blâme.” Cambridge Opera Journal 8. 40. dans les premiers instants de la vision.” Denis Diderot. mentions a letter of recommendation from an English musical amateur. que toca principalmente á los oídos. Je l’examinais: d’abord je vois couler des pleurs. Remigio Coli. 37. see.notes to pages 80–82 295 32. il marche sans savoir où il va. written in Nice on 5 October 1767. porque fian á los ojos un oficio. 2 (1996): 97. 33. which suggests that by that time Boccherini and Manfredi were on their way to Paris. 36. Thus the window of opportunity for Boccherini to visit the Salon would certainly have been small. et il adresse les reproches les plus amers à toute la famille des Harlove. on s’irrite. 38. à l’usage de ceux qui voient” (1751). Pleyel). “O Richardson! on prend. un rôle dans tes ouvrages. 1988) 49. foreword by Emilio Maggini (Lucca: Maria Pacini Fazzi. Paris: L’École. in Oeuvres complètes de Diderot. invierten el orden de la naturaleza. que d’une multitude de sensations confuses qui ne se débrouillent qu’avec le temps et par la réflexion habituelle sur ce qui se passe en nous. . vous donne bien une autre émotion que la présence de l’objet même. Coli asserts that they had certainly arrived in Paris by the end of that month. “Le voilà qui s’empare des cahiers. on se mêle à la conversation.” Ibid. Jules Assézat (Paris: Garnier.” Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Arnould (1740–1802). qui se retire dans un coin et qui lit. 39.” 76. 1765–73).” Diderot. 1987).. for example. 1. “Éloge de Richardson. A quien quisiere conocer el interior del otro. a sash across her front emblazoned with a star and moon. il pousse des cris comme un homme désolé. “Physionomía. 44. 34. il sanglote. and Sentiment in the 1780s. was memorialized by the sculptor Jean-Antoine Houdon in white marble. “Pareceme á mí. 5:33. 35.

ed. wenn sie ihre Instrumente gestimmt haben. alten Herrn darunter. by André-Modeste Grétry. 1996). welche Stille und Überraschung so wunderbar hervorzubringen wissen. Journal des savans. Boccherini’s orig- . ou Essais sur la musique. que me veux-tu? Haydn et Boccherini répondent: Nous voulons une âme et tu n’as que de l’esprit: fais des epigrammes et des calculs. et des joues vers la gorge. müssen sich des. et du front sur les joues. ed. 46. jedem empfindlichen Ohre.” Felix Mendelssohn. était en même temps professeur de la langue italienne”). who died on 23 August 1822. ce mélange voluptueux de peine et de plaisir. perhaps influenced by melodic contour and timbral association. Clarissa.” Ibid. “Un jeune homme venoit d’exécuter pour la première fois le trait suivant. cette attitude renversée. diese aber. des passages de tons incroyables. mort à Stuttgard le 23 août 1822. 30 ventôse an VI (1797). l’un des moins connus et des moins cités de ses Quintetti. dann forderten die Leute eine Sonata von Bach.ucla. “Die Zuhörer müssen. [music example] L’archet lui tombe des mains.” in Biographie universelle. font baisser les yeux et rougir toutes les honnêtes femmes dans cet endroit.”) of Mémoires.edu/ leguin/boccherini. gleichsam in Todesstille versunken. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Il faut voir les détails de ce cou gonflé. Thomas Twining. 1862). vrai et savant. 1991). “La Mère bienaimée (esquisse). 1:354–56. 48. Cela est tout à fait beau. Briefe über den Geschmack in der Musik (Carlsruhe. 47.296 notes to pages 83–86 42. 171. letter of 5–6 July 1783. 51.library. Fétis tells us that Schaul was “a musician at the royal court in Wurtemberg. 49. 292. “Il y a au front. “Schaul ( Jean-Baptiste). This translation is by Jonathan Greenberg. 1950). “Cette bouche entr’ouverte. 2nd ed. von den Spielenden entfernt sitzen. in Reisebriefe aus den Jahren 1830 bis 1832. Alvaro Ribeiro (1751–84. edited and abridged by John Angus Burrell (New York: Modern Library. “Lettre sur les sourds et muets” (1751). The Briefe was Schaul’s only published work on music.” Anonymous review (signed “P. um sie nicht der Zerstreuung und Störung auszusetzen. 1809). 50. aber mit einem ganz liebenswürdigen. eine Perrücke. Fétis. Paul Mendelssohn Bartholdy. [who] was at the same time a professor of the Italian language” (“musicien du cour du roi de Wurtemberg. 44. 116.” 544–45. Choreography and Narrative: Ballet’s Staging of Story and Desire (Bloomington: Indiana University Press. describing a soirée at Baillot’s in a letter to his sister Rebecka. in The Letters of Charles Burney. Denis Diderot. or The History of a Young Lady (1748). Susan Foster. et vous la rappelle. in Oeuvres complètes. au moment où elle fut délaissée dans l’île de Naxos! Fontenelle aurait dit: Sonate. I have reproduced the line as the reviewer has given it. 20 December 1831. et il s’écrie: Voilà le premier accent de la douleur d’Ariadne. has played an interesting trick on him. so unange-nehmen Präludirens enthalten. 372–73. See http://epub. with the tempo as “Poco adagio sostenuto” and in common time. cela vous apprend à voir la nature.” Johann Baptist Schaul. et n’en pas parler. The treble clef should be read down an octave. ces yeux nageants. “Den Anfang machte ein Quintett von Bocherini. ce cou gonflé. 43. Samuel Richardson. um die schöne und große Wirkung nicht zu schwächen.” Diderot. 45. The reviewer’s memory. 376–400. (Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn.

Perfido. 52. Or.edu/leguin/ boccherini. il est tiré tout entier d’un . 103. For a translation of the entire passage upon which I draw here. Le morceau qui excite si justement votre enthousiasme. and in the exploration of that range through wide-arching arpeggios. et comme les connaisseurs les plus distingués en félicitaient à l’envi de l’auteur du ballet. cette scène était exprimée par l’orchestre avec une pathétique. moves in note values half as large.ucla. Arbace: E pur t’ingannai— Mandane: All’ora. Artaserse (1730). Franco Mollia (Milan: Garzanti. it was set to music over ninety times. 56. Geneva: Minkoff. 55. 53. The “first accents of her grief ” in the aria “Ah che morir vorrei” are in the major mode and do not feature Boccherini’s Seufzer. On sait que les auteurs de ces sortes d’ouvrages mettaient volontiers à contribution les plus célèbres compositeurs et puisaient dans leurs oeuvres les morceaux qu’ils jugeaient les mieux appropriés à la situation qu’ils avaient à rendre. 54. “Persuis avait monté à Vienne son charmant ballet de Nina. précurseur de sa folie. Ibid. un désordre qui peignaient admirablement l’état de l’infortunée Nina. “From Nina to Nina.e. 1972). m’ingannai che fedel mi sembrasti. Scene 14 A: E vuoi— M: Tutto è cangiato in sdegno. Act 1. however. Un transport unanime accueillit cette belle conception. indegno! Pietro Metastasio.library. leur répondit Persuis. Giuseppe Maria Cambini.” and while also in common time. 1979). apprenant la mort de son amant. la scène où Nina. Artaserse was the most popular of all Metastasio’s libretti. ed. une énergie. Nouvelle Méthode théorique et pratique pour le violon (c. Haydn’s 1789 Arianna (Hob. the last in the 1840s. s’abandonne au sombre désespoir. see http://epub. facsimile reprint. 19–22..notes to pages 86–88 297 inal. i. in Opere.. but there is a marked similarity in the wide range of each melody (about an octave and a half ). Castelvecchi. XXVIb:2) makes an interesting contrast with this Ariadne. in quarters and eighths—rather a jaunty feel for the tragic scenario proposed. T’abborro! La tua nemica! La morte tua! Quel primo affetto— A: Dunque adesso— M: A: E sei— M: M: A: A: E non mi credi? M: E non ti credo. 1803. is marked “Allegro moderato. e ch’io t’amai.” 102 and 104. est pourtant l’oeuvre d’un musicien que vous n’estimez guère.

peuvent faire admirer la force jointe à la précision et la légèreté. “Autre chose est une attitude. “Persuis (Louis-Luc). 163. 1:151. . for he has written charming music for some of them” (“si Persuis manqua d’effet dramatique dans ses opéras. 63. he was more fortunate in his ballets.” Noverre. “Un Compositeur de Musique devroit savoir la Danse. . “L’oeil du peuple se conforme à l’oeil du grand artiste. facsimile reprint.” Noverre. Milan: Civica Raccolta delle Stampe Achille Bertarelli. car il a fait de la musique charmante pour quelques-uns”). Salon de 1767. 60. “Essais sur la peinture” (1765). “From Nina to Nina. Il agrandit. 2nd ed. de la légèreté. de la justesse. . il corrige les formes. Fétis remarks that “if Persuis lacked dramatic effect in his operas. & le plus souvent hors de cadence. En effet. 261. C’est ici. & cela ne suffit pas encore: il faut. Translated as Works of Monsieur Noverre. Translated as Works of Monsieur Noverre. à chaque caractere & à chaque passion. Dissertation sur les ballets pantomimes des anciens. . Choreography and Narrative. & même faire rire quelquefois en tournant artistement en grimaces les gestes de contraction qui leur sont indispensables pour leurs efforts. Les attitudes sont fausses et petites. 62. Castelvecchi. 507–8. . “Ces Baladins ne vont que par sauts & par bonds. les actions toutes belles et vraies.” Picquot. . Lettres sur la danse et sur les ballets. ils se ne permettent pas les tours de force employés par les Grotesques. . c’était la finale du quintetto en ut mineur de l’oeuvre 17 ci-dessus qui avait procuré ce triomphe à l’auteur de Nina. 1956). . et .. 59. Notice sur la vie et les ouvrages de Luigi Boccherini. C’est la figure qu’il a peinte qui restera dans la mémoire des hommes à venir. as Boccherini: notes et documents. Bryson. Word and Image. in Oeuvres esthétiques. en voyant leurs semblables exposés à se tuer à chaque instant.” in Biographie universelle. 46. “Il faudroit donc si nous voulons rapprocher notre Art de la vérité. on du moins connoître les temps & la possibilité des mouvements qui sont propres à chaque genre. le délicat de la belle danse. 671. l’exagération laisse pour lui la resemblance entière. 61. 58. 11. 64. Foster. 65. s’ils sont habiles. il fut plus heureux dans ses ballets. Tout ce que la belle danse exige des Dupré. “Elle exige de ceux qui l’exécutent.” Denis Diderot. des Vestris.298 notes to pages 88–93 quintetto de Boccherini. . “Mais la danse pantomime qui ose s’élever jusqu’à représenter les grands événements tragiques est sans contredit la plus sublime. . in Oeuvres esthétiques. n. 2:6. . & plus de soin aux bras. 119–20. Lettres sur la danse et sur les ballets. il exagère. l’élégant. Dans les deux premiers genres ils seroient comptés par rien.p. comme nous 57. autre chose une action. les grâces. 67. Il ne peut exciter dans les Spectateurs qu’un étonnement mêlé de crainte. “Quant au Danseurs. l’équilibre. Ces Danseurs comiques.” 97. le moelleux.” Ibid. & ce n’est pas tout: l’art du geste porté au suprême degré doit accompagner le majestueux. & on les demande souples & gracieux. .” Angiolini.” Gasparo Angiolini. Fétis. celle-ci le demande à ses Danseurs. 66. . il[s] la sacrifient même volontiers à leurs sauts périlleux. pour servir de programme au ballet pantomime tragique de Sémiramis (1765. donner moins d’attention aux jambes.” Denis Diderot. . que les bras (qu’on me passe cette expression) commencent à entrer en danse. . Dissertation.

& toutes les mouvemens de l’âme. celle-ci n’est pas jouée avec assez de feu. apprêtées. Quoted and translated in Bruce Alan Brown. c’est de la chair. “Ce n’est pas dans l’école qu’on apprend la conspiration générale des mouvements. 74. Choreography and Narrative.notes to pages 94–95 299 avons dit. même obéissance du reste de la machine. 73. Gluck and the French Theatre. une légère et molle inflexion dans toute sa figure et dans tous ses membres qui la remplit de grâce et de vérité . ed i variati moti devon concorrervi. & nous secouent au point de pâlir. de soupirer. qui se voit. pamphlet to accompany the pantomime ballet Citera assediata (1762). aux répétitions. Lettere di Gasparo Angiolini a Monsieur Noverre sopra i balli pantomimi (Milan: G. Il faut qu’il soit fortement affecté de tout ce qu’il veut représenter. e variata applicazione degl’Instrumenti mai non si speri un particolar effetto. Bianchi. e non la nota che produce l’effetto: La Melodia. direz-vous. chap. c’est du sang sous cette peau. Qu’une femme laisse tomber sa tête en devant. et un moelleux infini . . perhaps most notably in the “Lettre à M. Cette Scène me paroit rendue foiblement. 71. “D’actions. . Dissertation. j’en conviens. la pitié. les transparences les plus vraies . 102. conspiration qui se sent. i Violini. mais ils donnent moins de préceptes que de conseils. & le Tableau qui résulte de telle situation me laisse quelque chose à desirer: Voilà le langage du Poëte. 1773). vérité de chair. ce que font la plupart des Poëtes .” 670. . B. Ils assistent. . i Violoncelli. que le Danseur Pantomime puisse exprimer toutes les passions. & de verser des larmes. È lo strumento. ce sont les demi-teintes les plus fines. de positions et de figures fausses. 15–19. 539. 69. esp. “Per isvegliar terrore. These extracts are from Diderot’s Salons. “Les Peintres & nous. Le Maître de Ballets. in Oeuvres complètes. 76. . o pur coraggio in vano adopransi i Flauti. 1991). . à son exemple. 5 (Paris: Gallimard. Gasparo Angiolini. dans cette circonstance. qu’il éprouve enfin & qu’il fasse sentir aux Spectateurs ces frémissemens intérieurs. vous ne mettez pas assez de débit dans telle autre. 72. and 556 respectively. Foster. & s’abandonnent entièrement à l’intelligence des Comédiens. 2.” Ibid.” Gasparo Angiolini. 521. qui s’étend et serpente de la tête aux pieds. qui sont le langage avec quel l’horreur. 327. 68. . Quoted and translated in Brown. . nous ne pouvons que les faire reconnoître. ma senza la giusta. la terreur parlent au-dedans de nous. qu’elle la relève et la tienne droite. . d’Alembert sur son article ‘Genève’” (1758). ridicules et froides. doit faire recommencer une . “Essais sur la peinture. . “Un Maître de Ballets sensé doit faire. Rousseau’s works contain famous examples of backlash to this. in Oeuvres esthétiques.” Angiolini. Gluck and the French Theatre in Vienna (Oxford: Clarendon Press.” Diderot.” Angiolini. 70. Dissertation. . & tout le monde sait l’indifférence des Spectateurs pour des Personnages inconnus. tous ses membres obéissent à ce poids. vol. la Modulazzione. 1994). Dena Goodman has pointed out that the strenuousness of Rousseau’s protest may be read as indirect evidence of the pervasiveness of the trend. 75. 1995). See her The Republic of Letters: A Cultural History of the French Enlightenment (Ithaca: Cornell University Press. de tressaillir. 285.

. 80. “Bolero. que en varios. que las varias disposiciones del alma resultan al cuerpo.” “Le fandango ne se danse qu’entre deux personnes. Tableau de l’Espagne moderne (Paris: Tourneisen fils. y será en todos tiempos el de maja. 82. otros elementes diseminados por danzas como la folía. sutiles. especialmente al rostro.” in Diccionario de la música española. 5:67. 78. “Je veux . . . 44. baron de Bourgoing. crystallize in the fandango.”) Faustino Nuñez. . aunque ejecute primores. Translated as Modern State of Spain (London: J.” Ibid. 14. 1820). despejo y compás. leur gestes. the sarabande. . 83. con gracia. Lettres sur la danse et sur les ballets 13. the chaconne. Estos movimientos sutiles . Stockdale. . which has been. que ces scènes sont aux véritables combats de Cythère. Works of Monsieur Noverre.” Noverre. 79. . Bolerología (Philadelphia: Zachariah Poulsen. lorsqu’il est produit par le sentiment. même de la main. 2:300–301. cristalizan en el fandango. quedándose inmoviles. y delicados movimientos.”(“El bolero tiene su traje peculiar y propio. señor: el mejor bailarín que no sepa pararse a su tiempo. “The bolero has its own. la chacona. The bracketed sentence does not appear in the published translation. . y sobre todos á los ojos. Esta representacion natural no puede consistir en otra cosa. 1999–). ce que sont nos évolutions militaires en temps de paix.” Noverre. ú del rostro. au moment où sa langueur annonce une prochaine défaite.” Jean-François. en rougissant. and will forever be that of the maja. .”) Rodríguez Calderón. instant précieux qui se montre toujours avec autant de force que de vérité. 81. que ha sido. “No todos tienen aquellos bienparados graciosos. on ne peut s’empêcher d’observer. el cuerpo descubre con tranquilidad y descanso hasta las más pequeñas gesticulaciones del rostro. “En el bien-parado se reúne casi toda la ciencia del arte bolerológico. no merece el más pequeño aplauso. “Bolero. aient rencontré cet instant de naturel inné chez tous les hommes. 1807). Quoted in Suárez-Pajares. La serenidad en los pasos y mudanzas dificiles es la primera cosa que se debe observar en este baile. mais en les voyant s’agacer.” in Theatro crítico universal. 2:360–61. 1808). no significan naturalmente las disposiciones del ánimo. Sí. with José López-Calo and Ismael Fernández de la Cuesta ([Madrid?]: Sociedad General de Autores y Editores. “Nuevo arte physiognomico. 1807). “Fandango. “Los lineamentos del cuerpo. en donde. . el canario. en voyant comment la danseuse. es. 77. peculiar costume.” in Diccionario de la música española e hispanoamericana.” Feijóo. leurs attitudes. disseminated through dances such as the folía. se ranime tout-à-coup pour échapper à son vainqueur. comment celui-ci la poursuit. la zarabanda y otras del siglo xvii. . llamamos gesto. est poursuivi à son tour. jusqu’à ce qu’enfin ceux qui l’exécutent.” (“Probablemente. and others of the seventeenth century. is. Compendio de las principales reglas del baile (Madrid. 13.300 notes to pages 96–100 Scène en action. que la régularité se trouve dans l’irrégularité même. For instance: “Probably other elements.” Antonio Cairon. Translated as Works of Monsieur Noverre. Quoted in Javier Suárez-Pajares. general editor Emilio Casares Rodicio. Lettres sur la danse. comment les différentes émotions qu’ils éprouvent sont exprimées par leurs regards. s’éloigner tour à tour et se rapprocher. 1:16–17. qui jamais ne se touchent. au véritable déploiement de l’art de la guerre.

” 369. 89. pas plus que les exécutants ne seraient capables de le jouer comme il se doit. Ce morceau est totalement inutile. Scene 4. “Dans l’Opus 30: Quintettini. “Paradoxe sur le comédien” (c. Act 1. autre chose. la manifester et nous faire entendre. 110. 1988). Metastasio’s Didone addresses Enea in Act 2. “Diderot and the Word. 1770). 453) and once for piano quintet (G. Il divino Boccherini: vita. 85. 2 (summer 2002): 311. sa tâche devienne beaucoup plus difficile qu’il ne la croyait. I thank Daniel Heartz for tracking down the performing identity of Madame Van Loo for me. tendre. 86. 1988). “From Scarlatti to ‘Guantanamera’: Dual Tonicity in Spanish and Latin American Music. rêveur. Le pinceau n’exécute qu’à la longue ce que l’oeil du peintre embrasse tout d’un coup. 88. Notre âme est un tableau mouvant. selon la chose dont j’étais affecté. . no. once for guitar quintet (G. epistolario (Padua: Zanibon. opere.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 55. autre chose. “Van Loo. 510–11. virtue Epigraph: “Ne prononcez-vous pas nettement que la sensibilité vraie et la sensibilité jouée sont deux choses fort différentes?” Denis Diderot. et même ridicule hors d’Espagne.notes to pages 100–116 301 84. vous en trouverez un qui porte le titre: Musique nocturne des rues de Madrid.” Salon of 1767. “Autre chose est l’état de notre âme. “Lettre sur les sourds et muets. 1. The quotation is from Didone abbandonata. This was Christine Somis. chapter 4.” Diderot. virtuosity. 87. 261–62. See Georges Cucuel. violent. Whatever reservations Boccherini might have had.” Quoted in Luigi Della Croce. et tout à la fois: l’esprit ne va pas à pas comptés comme l’expression. See Peter Manuel. soit à nous-même. autre chose. See Bryson. “J’avais en une journée cent physionomies diverses. in Oeuvres esthétiques. I thank Bruce Brown for identifying this for me.” 90. one of the preeminent tragic sopranos in Paris at the time. la sensation totale et instantanée de cet état. d’après lequel nous peignons sans cesse: nous employons bien du temps à le rendre avec fidélité: mais il existe en entier. 6. Scene 17. le compte que nous en rendons. in Oeuvres esthétiques. 1913). chap. Word and Image. La Pouplinière et la musique de chambre au xviiie siècle (Paris: Fischbacher. J’étais serein. 418). soit aux autres. Bell’idol mio: Di chi mi fiderò. which bespeaks a pragmatic acceptance of its level of general popularity. Se tu m’inganni? . passionné. ed. enthousiaste. Paul Vernière (Paris: Bordas. triste. . virtuality. Les impressions de mon âme se succédant très rapidement et se peignant toutes sur mon visage. he ended up transcribing the piece twice. Les auditeurs n’arriveraient jamais à en comprendre la signification. with the following words: Ah! non lasciarmi. 357. l’attention successive et détaillée que nous sommes forcés d’y donner pour l’analyser. l’oeil du peintre ne me retrouvant pas le même d’un instant à l’autre. . no.” Diderot.

much longer than that. . Aldo Pais.302 notes to pages 116–127 Di vita mancherei Nel dirti addio. 5. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue. . 1969). No. in the scena G. ed. Pietro Metastasio. 1 (Padua: Zanibon. Boccherini’s actual setting is in quite a different vein than the one I have proposed. no. which contains nineteen sonatas and is the only source for some of them. Act 3. trans. these directions appear not in the solo part but in the basso. . Andreas Mayor (London: Oxford University Press. Didone abbandonata. I should admit that it took me. learning to play this sonata. 1979). . as “Autograph (?). it can be heard in several commercial recordings of this piece. Scena ultima 3. See Boccherini: quindici arie accademiche per soprano e orchestra. Ma poi . I have used this am- . gaps within words. Didone abbandonata (1724). 4. For this passage. which is set in an eminently sensible style: a melting Andante non tanto in E b major and 0 meter. . The result is quite different. ma dove? Oh Dio! Resto . which Gérard tells us was written “between 1786 and 1797. Vado . Only when I played the passages side by side did the thematic resemblances dawn on me. I initially “recognized” this passage by dint of a kinesthetic rather than sonic reminiscence: it occurred to me that I had played passages organized around this same E b -major bar-fifth in both the other movements. 544. 3. See Gérard. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue of the Works of Luigi Boccherini. fasc. my source was the Duke of Hamilton MS rather than the Milan Conservatorio MS. Franco Mollia (Milan: Garzanti. Thematic. in order to maximize affectual contrast with the aria. . in Opere. 2. ed.” and in his comments upon it explains his doubts as to its autograph status—although not as to its authorship—wisely refraining from any attempt to resolve them. Gérard lists the Milan Conservatorio MS. and that this was odd in a C-major sonata. as for the piece as a whole. He includes a sizable chunk of the preceding recitative. si mora. notably that by Richard Lester and David Watkin on Hyperion CDA 66719. 634. Act 2. in which the queen gives vent to irony. e l’infedele Enea Abbia nel mio destino Un augurio funesto al suo cammino. che fo? Dunque morir dovrò Senza trovar pietà? E v’è tanta viltà nel petto mio? Metastasio.” Yves Gérard. Scene 4 We know that Boccherini was familiar with this text because he set it. the melody’s anti-virtuosic “simplicity” marked by numerous appoggiature. In the latter. Thematic. 1988). and a great many falling or sighing gestures. which for the duration of this episode moves in triplet arpeggiations rather than in the duple motion of the Hamilton version. Ché viver non potrei Fra tanti affanni.

Perché avvedermi fai Che invan lo bramo? If I believed I had triumphed Over a tyrannical love. If hatred is my duty. The Oxford English Dictionary Online.. “Structural Anomalies in the Symphonies of Boccherini” (Ph. 4:47 9. Gérard gives the order of movements in this sonata as Allegro. http://epub.ucla.edu/leguin/boccherini. Largo.” http://dictionary. Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence (New Haven: Yale University Press. “Der italienische Vers und der musikalische Rhythmus. Madison.s. Lasciami lusingar Che più non amo. dissertation.grovemusic. addresses her sister-in-law Semira.” Analecta musicologica 12 (1973): 363. 8. 557 is from Metastasio’s Artaserse. “Aspects of the Cycle and Tonal Relationships in Luigi Boccherini’s String Trios. “Boccherini. Friedrich Lippmann. Se d’un amor tiranno Credei di trionfar. 7. University of Wisconsin. Christian Speck and Stanley Sadie. www . but Semira has reminded her that she once loved him. 23 (1993): 157–69. Mandane professes to hate Arbace. in Opere di Pietro Metastasio (Florence: Per Gius. and Miriam Tchernowitz-Neustadtl.oed.” Chigiana. who has just caused her to doubt the nature of her passions. Mandane. Why do you make me realize That I long for it in vain? Pietro Metastasio. The text of the aria G. 569 may be heard on the Web site for this book. 2000–). Noonan. Cruel one. 11. See . Leave me deceived. 51. based on the possibly autograph Milan Conservatorio MS. s. 1996). 10. and you know it.” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians Online (London: Macmillan. it is interesting to note how this reversal changes one’s perception of the meaning and the importance of the self-quotation. (Ridolfo) Luigi. Act 2. angry and confused. many of the later eighteenth-century editions of this sonata reverse the order of the first two movements. “idiom.v. However.com.com. Se l’odio è il mio dovere Barbara. See also Timothy P. Scene 6. Artaserse (1730). n.library. Svetlana Alpers and Michael Baxandall. 1994). and 15 (1975): 298. 1832). Let me flatter myself That I love no more. Lasciami nell’inganno.D. e tu lo sai. My recording of the sonata G. 6. Formigli. Minuetto. 14 (1974): 324.notes to pages 128–131 303 biguous source situation as my license to play and discuss the version of the sonata that I find the more interesting.

v.304 notes to pages 131–133 also Diccionario de la lengua castellana (1726. ou Dictionnaire raisonné. Viene del Griego Idiotetos. tout l’anime & tout s’y conserve. própria y particular de qualquier Nación.” Speck and Sadie. “genio”: “The natural inclination. s. ed. ou des lois générales du langage . to such an extent that in his late music he sometimes seems to be repeating himself (even if more subtly). Searchable online at the University of Chicago ARTFL Project. does not receive one idea that does not awaken a sentiment. one of the encyclopedia’s principal editors. (Ridolfo) Luigi. 21. however. ò idiotas. arte.” (“Es voz griega. que significa propriedad. Thematic. “Eloignée des usages ordinaires. published as Diccionario de autoridades.” The relation of the idea of genius to that of virtue is particularly evident in the Diccionario de la lengua castellana. . art. gusto. taste. s.v. 17 vols. construcción particular de alguna phrase o particula que tiene alguna irregularidad.” in Encyclopédie. 16.” Ibid.” “Une façon de parler adaptée au génie propre d’une langue particulière. Denis Diderot and Jean le Rond d’Alembert. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue..” (“L’homme de génie est celui dont l’âme plus étendue. “Idiotisme.v. 19. incommunicable à tout autre idiome. or manufacture.lib. (Paris: Briasson.edu/efts/ARTFL/projects/encyc. “idiotismo. disposition and interior affinity for something. y no es segun la regla general de la Nación. “La universalided de los ignorantes. 1991). The second is a famous paean to sensibilité: “The man of genius is one in whom the expanded soul. 15. everything animates it. editorial preface to Sonata in A minor by Luigi Boccherini (Mainz: B. 22. “idioma”: “It is a Greek word that means ‘property’. interested in all that there is in nature. ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences. Madrid: Editorial Gredos.” M.”) “La lengua vulgár. “idiotismo. “En la Gramatica es la inflexión de qualquier verbo.” (“Genio es una virtúd especifica ò propriedad particular de cada uno que vive.uchicago. privativo.”) In the Encyclopédie the two main entries for “Génie” are by the chevalier de Jaucourt (1704–79). and everything is conserved there. ne reçoit pas une idée qu’elle n’éveille un sentiment. sino que está solo en uso en alguna Provincia ò parte de ella. 17. 20. intéressée à tout ce qui est dans la nature. que significa propriedad. s. 27 December 1798: “Since 1760.”) The literary example given for this meaning is from Garcilaso: “Genius is a specific virtue or particular property of everyone who lives. singulár. . facsimile reprint. s. this was evidently an uncommon form: “Es voz de poco uso” (ibid.” in Encyclopédie.). Gérard.v.” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians Online. “idioteo/a. . s.v.” “Proprio. frappée par les sensations de tous les êtres. 1963). www. des arts et des métiers. the year in which I be- 12.” M. “idioma. Boccherini to Pleyel. Thus Stanley Sadie: “His style became increasingly personal and even idiosyncratic over the 44 years in which he composed. ò la naturaleza propria de cada cosa.v.” (“La naturál inclinacion. o manifactúra. such as science. 18. struck by the sensations of all beings.”) “Génie (2). Christian Speck. 671. “Idiotisme.” In 1726. disposicion y proporcion interior para alguna cosa: como de ciencia.” Diccionario de la lengua castellana. “Boccherini.” Diccionario de la lengua castellana. de Beauzée.” Ibid. de Beauzée. 1751–65). 14.. s. 13. Schotts Söhne.” in ibid.

année où je commençai à écrire. 30. 1.notes to pages 133–136 305 23. 5.” (“Les simples sons sortent naturellement du gosier. 31. Aristotle. chap. Martha Feldman. 683. 1879). bk. one never does them unintentionally. 3. 194. Chappell White. 1992). bk. Epistolario. no. 29. To be fair to Rousseau. 6. and Isabel Lozano Martínez.. 2nd ed. de l’exercice. ed. For a definitive treatment of the philosophical roots and ramifications of this metamorphosis. et des changements qu’elle dut éprouver. the loss of the original catalog during the Spanish civil war. 5. The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: An Essay in the Philosophy of Music (New York: Oxford University Press. Richard McKeon. “Un manoscrito autógrafo de Boccherini en la Biblioteca Nacional (Madrid). but the modifications of the tongue and palate.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 49. 26. exigent de l’attention. 1 (2002): 225. 6. a segment of it. 267.”) See Della Croce. 1140b.” Revista de musicología 25. “Relación de los individuos del Cuarto que fue del Sermo.” 83. Infante Don Luis” (1770). Historia de la música española.”) Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Sr. bk. Rodero. on ne les fait point sans vouloir de faire. in his treatment of the Essai in Of Grammatology. à qui je les vendis. 22. chap. has resurfaced in Madrid. all children must learn them. trans.” (“Depuis 1760. along with a number of Boccherini’s manuscripts and personal effects. noting the year in which I wrote them. quoted in Antonio Martín Moreno. 27. trans. qui font articuler. the mouth is naturally more or less open. Pablo López de Osaba (Madrid: Alianza Editorial. no. 33. ed. 1973). chap. Essai sur l’origine des langues (1754–63. 1985). 1987). 1976). “Magic Mirrors and the ‘Seria’ Stage: Thoughts toward a Ritual View. require attention and practice. avec l’année où je les écrivis. “Simple sounds emerge naturally from the throat. 28. 4. and the person to whom I sold them. Ibid. we should also distinguish it from his much more practical descriptions of the difference between speech and song in the Dictionnaire . 1992). Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue. This catalog was transcribed and published by the composer’s grandson. See Alfredo Boccherini y Calonje. From Vivaldi to Viotti: A History of the Early Classical Violin Concerto (Philadelphia: Gordon and Breach. 2. Luis Boccherini: apuntes biográficos y catálogo de las obras de este célebre maestro publicados por su biznieto (Madrid: Imprenta y Litografía de A. 30 (my emphasis). 1140a. Paris: L’École. is one of the most heartbreaking of the many accidents to befall the composer’s legacy. 1103a. 241–42. it has been my practice to keep a catalog of all my works. reprint. “Des caractères distinctifs de la première langue. These translations are from Introduction to Aristotle. la bouche est naturellement plus ou moins ouverte. see Lydia Goehr. Alfredo Boccherini y Calonje. Thematic. chap. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press. gan to write. 25. 20. transcribed by the composer into a letter to Pleyel. Gayatri Spivak (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. et plusieurs n’y parviennent pas aisément. mais les modifications de la langue et du palais. that create articulation. Nichomachean Ethics. More recently. and many do not come by them easily. 32. Ibid. 24. Gérard. The earlier date according to Jacques Derrida. j’ai eu l’habitude de tenir un catalogue de toutes mes oeuvres. William David Ross. tous les enfants ont besoin de les apprendre.. 3 (fall 1995): 470.

meisterlich—it shifts hopelessly. 35. 34. ù obra segun ella. le langage qui leur est propre est celui . I am much obliged to my colleague Mitchell Morris for clarifying these distinctions to me. ou pour loüer ceux à qui la Providence a bien voulu donner cette excellence ou cette supériorité. Aplicase tambien à las mismas acciones. d’adresse ou d’habileté. au feminin virtuosa. the word presumably acquired the connotations described by Brossard. est un Virtuoso.” in Dictionnaire de musique: contenant une explication des termes grecs. skill. virtu veut dire en Italien non seulement cette habitude de l’âme qui nous rend agréables à Dieu & nous fait agir selon les règles de la droite raison: mais aussi cette Supériorité de génie. In Sebastien de Brossard’s Dictionnaire de musique of 1703 we read that in Italian.” (“Él que exercita en la virtud. (Paris: C.” “Song. Ballard. Throughout its history. 1705) In early eighteenth-century Spanish. dont même ils sont souvent des Substantifs pour nommer. 36. Ainsi selon eux un excellent Peintre. &c. leurs voix doivent être touchantes. It is also applied to the actions themselves.” in Dictionnaire de musique (Paris: veuve Duchesne. 1779). virtu means not only that disposition of the soul which renders us agreeable to God and makes us act according to the principles of sound reason: but also that superiority of genius. Thus according to them an excellent painter. . “Opera. Je regarde les difficultés multipliées de la Musique & de la Danse comme un jargon qui leur est absolument étranger. “virtuoso. which are often used as nouns for naming or praising those to whom Providence has chosen to give this excellence or superiority.” in A Dictionary of Music (London: J. although the word is spelled identically to the Italian. 2nd ed. its meaning did not carry any particular artistic or musical emphasis: “One who operates according to it. C’est de-là que les Italiens ont formé les Adjectifs virtuoso. . etc. Sebastien de Brossard.” As French and Italian musical cultures established themselves ever more firmly in Spain during the course of the century. whatever the country of its use. un habile Architecte. As soon as it is translated—virtuous. a skillful architect. but more commonly and more particularly they give this fine epithet to excellent musicians. See the articles “Opéra” and “Chant. soit dans la Pratique des beaux Arts au-dessus de ceux qui s’y appliquent aussi bien que nous. c’est toujours au coeur qu’elles doivent parler. ou virtudioso. in meaning. il ne se trouve jamais avec elles. is a virtuoso. It is from this that the Italians have formed the adjectives virtuoso. qui nous fait exceller soit dans la Théorie.v. or competence which makes us excel in either the theory or the practice of the fine arts beyond those who have applied themselves as much as we have. s. the word virtuoso remains in Italian. and tellingly. vertueux. latins. italiens. “Virtuoso. “Le goût fuit toujours les difficultés.. trans. or virtudioso. William Waring. . in the feminine virtuosa.306 notes to pages 136–137 of 1768. French.”) Diccionario de la lengua castellana. mais ils donnent plus communément & plus spécialement cette belle Épithète aux excellens Musiciens. 1768).

Histoire du Concert spirituel. trans. muscles. 125. . Translated in Works of Monsieur Noverre. I have not been able to identify the violinist whom Noverre excoriates here. quoiqu’il fasse grand bruit. It is only fair to Noverre to acknowledge that more generally he participated in his generation’s enthusiasm for the mechanical. . que dis-je? Il a été jusqu’au chevalet. les bras & les doigts méritent des éloges. Histoire du Concert spirituel 1725–1790 (Paris: Société Française de Musicologie. 12–16. regardez-moi. “Execution. ce que l’on refusera constamment de donner à un Violon François.” in Dictionnaire de musique. Ferrari was particularly esteemed for his use of showy “tricks” like harmonics and extremes of register. mais il y a vingt ans que je l’étudie. William Waring. mais il ne me fait aucun plaisir. “Exécution. un goût au-dessus de tout éloge. he remarks. il ne flattera pas votre oreille. ses doigts ont parcouru le manche avec légèreté. 1975). on hésite toujours à les prononcer: on n’acquiert la grande facilité de l’Exécution. d’une grande habitude de lire la Musique & de phraser en la regardant: car tant qu’on ne voit que des Notes isolées. il ne me flatte point. weight. the years immediately prior to the publication of Noverre’s Lettres in 1760 were not rich in such visitors. balance. il a accompagné ces difficultés de plusieurs contortions qui étoient autant d’invitations.” in A Dictio- . Messieurs. “Dancers must . . “Les oreilles n’ont point été flattées de son jeu. [with] a knowledge. laissant le champ libre aux artistes français”). . Lettres sur la danse et sur les ballets (1760. His letters 11 and 12 contain a good deal of precise and voluble information about the correct deployment of joints. In Paris. “L’exécution . 183. mais ne m’écoutez pas: ce passage est diabolique. “L’applaudissement part. and a taste above all praise” (“des grâces infinies. who (along with Pugnani and a number of other Italians) had a triumphant season at the Concert Spirituel in 1754. follow the same regime as Athletes” (“Les Danseurs devroient . & en mettant la chose à la place du signe. . . . une sagesse. “Un grand Violon d’Italie arrive-t-il à Paris.notes to page 138 307 du sentiment. & il ne me cause aucune sensation. Constant Pierre remarks of the period 1755–62 that “foreign visitors suspended their visits. un savoir. 37. and refers repeatedly and pragmatically to the body as a machine.” Jean-Georges Noverre. “Tel Violon est admirable. parce qu’il est entendu généralement de toutes les Nations. & on accorde à l’homme machine & sans tête. Lettres sur la danse et sur les ballets. cependant on crie au miracle. tendons. leaving the field open to French artists”(“les violonistes étrangers suspendirent leurs visites. d’une habitude parfaite de la touche & du doigter de son Instrument. . il séduit généralement. In May of that year the Mercure de Paris referred to him as an “homme célèbre” and praised him rather fulsomely for “infinite graces. & qui vouloient dire.” Quoted in Pierre. 325. 270–74. . 1967).” Rousseau. Noverre. en second lieu. tout le monde le court & personne ne l’entend. The most likely candidate for Noverre’s disdain would seem to be Domenico Ferrari. suivre le même régime que les Athlètes”). ses sons n’ont point touché. 38. me dirai-t-on. cela se peut. il a démanché avec adresse. dépend surtout de deux choses: premièrement. facsimile reprint. mais les yeux se sont amusés. New York: Broude Brothers. qu’en les unissant par le sens commun qu’elles doivent former. a wisdom.

” Jacques Chastenet. 43. qui de masques grimaçants.” Music and Letters 80.” This is wonderfully audible on a 1988 recording by Anner Bylsma and the Smithsonian Chamber Players. La Vie quotidienne en Espagne au temps de Goya (Paris: Hachette. au-delà. Further evidence that the two men were acquainted is presented in Jaime Tortella. 137. sur une bûcher. auf das Auge hervorbrachten. remains “untraceable. trois personnages traditionnels: l’oncle Chispas.und Sonnenschein eine große Wirkung tun. It is quite possible that Goya and Boccherini knew each other. 1966). valets en rupture de service. . Aber was der dekoration den größten Glanz gab. vêtu de haut en bas. sonst buntfarbig mit Öl getränkt werden. ausgestattet. höchst überraschenden Anblick diese von unzähligen Lichtern erleuchteten Prismen. a lieu. . welchen prächtigen. 2002). dans un bruit de pétards. porteurs d’eau. no. . since both were employed by Don Luis de Borbón during 1770–72. was ihre Kunst vermochte. le pelele. I have modified Waring’s translation slightly. harengères. 6. le Juanillo. une procession burlesque . la franchissent et. le pelele brûle haut. Lackierer. 4–6. Derrière. French. 40. tous les compagnons d’artisans. Dès le matin des bandes de gars grotesquement masqués et des filles aguichantes envahissent les rues en gambadissant et folâtrant. This appears in Richard Aldrich’s foreword to the 1902 Schirmer edition of Duport’s Études. En tête. 48. Man stelle sich den Spiegelglanz der azurfarblackierten Felder. “Le mercredi des Cendres . . embossé dans sa cape et à allure de bourreau des cours. tous ces pantins désarticulés. den Schimmer des vergoldeten Laub- 39. enfouissent solennellement la sardine en terre tandis que. un cortège se forme. endiablée et provocante. . Le soir. Ils et elles sont affublés. . Mozart: A Life (New York: Harper Perennial. dévalent en vociférant vers la porte de Tolède. 1779). “Die Dekoration von Quaglio war völlig im chinesischen Geschmack und transparent. genau ineinander gepaßt. “Automatic Genius: Mozart and the Mechanical Sublime. vociférant et prodiguant des lazzi. qui encore de san benitos pointus. Toute la journée ces troupes bruyantes et insolentes sont maîtresses de la ville. Luigi Boccherini: un músico italiano en la España ilustrada (Madrid: Sociedad española de musicología. Es ist unbeschreiblich. esp. . à Madrid. die schon im bloßen Licht. Maynard Solomon. Goya as a seasonal employee. 41. un gigantesque mannequin de paille. 45. 11. au sourd tam-tam de zambombas . Lewis Lockwood remarked that the anecdote. Luigi Boccherini Quintets op.308 notes to pages 139–147 nary of Music (London: J. see Annette Richards. auquel est accrochée une petite sardine. chap. Derrière encore. roulant sous son masque des yeux furibonds. marchands de fruits et de légumes. courtauds de boutiques. qui de cagoules de pénitents. die in böhmischen Glashütten geschlissen worden waren und. 42. A la lueur des torches. For a sensitive exploration of Mozart’s relation to period concepts of mechanism. commises et femmes légères de la capitale. die. At a colloquium at UC Berkeley in 1995. 1995). however delicious. waren prismatische gläserne Stäbe. gambadant. la fille Chusca. in die leergelassenen Flecke gesetzt wurden. 3 (August 1999): 366–89. Deutsche Harmonia Mundi RD 77159. portefaix. replacing the word “from” with “on” in two places. Boccherini as a permanent member of the Infante’s household. Bildhauer und Vergolder hatten sie reichlich mit alledem. au-dessus desquels flottent des cerfs-volants. 44.

die so viele hundert Prismata mannigfaltig. Roach. Becket. 1. le soldat ne peut plus marcher droit devant lui. London: Associated University Presses. Ditters’s description is of the première performance at the summer residence of the Prince von Hildburghausen. ed. Crescendo of the Virtuoso: Spectacle. & qu’alors le corps n’étant plus placé quarrément. 49. A useful and concise account of the history of stage mechanisms and automata appears in Joseph R. ed. and Nichol. une des branches de l’épaule. Karen Raber (New York: Palgrave. 66. he subsequently tells us that the sets never quite achieved the same effect when they were transferred to the Burgtheater. Philip Thurtle (London: Routledge. tenendo il ginocchio.” Gennaro Magri. . . parce que vu la correspondance qu’il y a entre les vertebres du col & l’omoplate auxquelles elles sont attachées. 53. I explore the relationship of early modern animal training to Enlightenment self-constitution in “Man and Horse in Harmony. dégagée hors des épaules. 1762). and also in Kingdoms of the Horse: The Culture of the Horse in the Early Modern World. e così esercitandolo per qualche ora al giorno. 2003). Usi per ciò un rimedio. 52. “Osservi pure il Maestro se taluni sono deboli ne’ ginocchi . The Autobiography of Karl von Dittersdorf (London: Bentley and Son. Arthur Duke Coleridge. e facci a quel tale fare un lungo esercizio al giorno di caminar per la stanza su la sola punta delli piedi.notes to pages 147–150 309 46. 70–71. & nous trouverons la position & la contenance qu’elle prescrit clairement de donner au soldat. 1779). Historia de la música española. Elle doit n’être tournée ni à droite ni à gauche. 48. Trattato teorico-prattico di ballo (Naples: V. For a fascinating exploration of automata in mid-century Paris.” . Giovanni Andrea Gallini. Choreography and Narrative: Ballet’s Staging of Story and Desire (Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Und nun die göttliche Musik von einem Gluck!” Karl Ditters von Dittersdorf. . 2:11. e nel collo de’ piedi. & assise perpendiculairement au milieu d’elles. Eugen Schmitz (Regensburg: Gustav Bosse Verlag. A Treatise on the Art of Dancing (London: Dodsley. 1998). but by Angelo Pompeati. ed. 111. Quoted in Susan Foster. werks und endlich die regenbogenartigen Farben. o in una di dette due parti. La tête doit être droite. 166. chap. 50. see Paul Metzner. Skill. 1996). vor. 1896). aucune d’elles ne peut agir circulairement sans entraîner légérement du même côté qu’elle agit. Orsino. ni servir de point d’alignement. 1940). gleich Brillanten vom ersten Wasser. und die stärkste Einbildungskraft wird hinter diesem Zauber zurückbleiben müssen.” in Data Made Flesh: Embodying Information. and Self-Promotion in Paris during the Age of Revolution (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. “Étudions l’intention de la nature dans la construction du corps humain. 47. Martín Moreno. 81. 2004). Lebensbeschreibung (1799). ed il collo de’ piedi distesi senza piegatura alcuna. Player’s Passion. 111. Antonio Martín Moreno tells us that it is not clear whether these particular automata were ever constructed. but others were built for the Alba household in the following generation. spielten. Choreography and Narrative. Schmitz cites Anton Schmid’s biography of Gluck to assert that these decorations were in fact not by Quaglio at all. 51. trans. Roach. Quoted and translated in Foster. 233–34. verrà fortificato nelle parti deboli. The Player’s Passion: Studies in the Science of Acting (Newark: University of Delaware Press. 1985).

Brunetti was born around 1770. 154–55. 56. the detailed testimonies and discussions presented at an OSHA Forum at the University of Chicago. 302. 1972). Gaetano had done the impossible in order to protect his son. Luigi Boccherini: un músico italiano. [he] conceived the project of reclaiming the bass viol from the oblivion into which it had fallen. In attempting to determine whether there is any truth in the oft-repeated stories of Gaetano Brunetti’s animus toward Boccherini. comte de Guibert. Madrid. 44 and 246. In 1810 the violinist Melchor Ronzi proposed formation of a Spanish conservatory system “como los de París o Napoles. Fétis gives these dates for Raoul. Essai général de tactique: précédé d’un discours sur l’état actuel de la politique (London: Les Libraires Associés. and won. 1800). Quoted in Michel Foucault. 57. a composer of no mean gifts. the son of Boccherini’s contemporary Gaetano Brunetti (1744–98). www.” and mentioned the indigence of “los profesores de música de Madrid. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. 55. trans. signature 1/7041 (10). He has often been presented by Boccherini biographers as a rival.”) François-Joseph Fétis. Guibert’s account. 2nd ed. Biblioteca del Conservatorio Superior de Música.310 notes to pages 150–152 François-Apolline.. “Método de violoncello” (c.” But this did not occur until 1836. He was evidently also a musical antiquarian: “Around 1810. who was violinist and composer of chamber music to the Spanish court. held this extremely desirable professional position throughout his life—a position for which Boccherini would otherwise have been eligible. Francisco Brunetti competed with Boccherini for a position in the Capilla Real. Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. Despite the evidence of systematic askesis in works like Brunetti’s. a sort of ergonomics avant la lettre. See. 2003). 58..osha. Historia de la música española. once again. In 1785. (New York: Vintage Books.” (“Vers 1810. I am indebted to Emilio Moreno for bringing this treatise to my attention and very kindly providing me with a copy. the institutionalization of musical efficiency in a conservatory system comparable to the Paris Conservatoire did not evolve in Spain until much later. 7. Nancy Sherman. The Fabric of Character: Aristotle’s Theory of Virtue (Oxford: Clarendon Press. Brussels: Culture et Civilisation.” (Ph. (1873. 54. “Gaetano Brunetti: un músico en la corte de Carlos IV. Raoul conçut le projet de tirer la basse de viole de l’oubli où elle était tombée. Martín Moreno. or the important 1756 treatise by the violinist José de Herrando (1720/21–63).gov/ergonomics-standard/index. Tortella. 2nd ed. . 22–23. and despite the utilitarian bent of the Borbón monarchy. and not a well-disposed one. Tortella points out that “neither would it be strange to think that. de nuevo. Francisco [?] Brunetti. faced with a candidate of Boccherini’s importance” (“tampoco sería extraño pensar que. bears an eerie resemblance to some recent discussions sponsored by the Occupational Safety and Health Administration about the precise relation of workplace conditions to musculoskeletal injuries. autograph [?] manuscript.” in Biographie universelle des musiciens. 1995). 20 July 2001. 1773). 1989). 618 ff. facsimile reprint. Also see Germán Labrador. diss. and informs us that he was an amateur cellist employed as a legal counsel (avocat) to the king. for instance. Gaetano hiciera los imposibles por proteger a su hijo frente a un candidato de la envergadura de Boccherini”).D.html. “Raoul ( Jean-Marie). The elder Brunetti. Alan Sheridan.

Méthode de violoncelle (1797. il me semble qu’il doit être un. facsimile reprint. Geneva: Minkoff. 5. “On est soi de nature. le même pour tous. 1974). 8–9. chacun devant avoir la sienne. It was not printed in the longer version upon which I have drawn until 1830. et je dis: C’est l’extrême sensibilité qui fait les acteurs médiocres. Player’s Passion. mais pour le doigté qui est tout-à-fait mécanique. 60. il éxiste un rapport secret entre le sens de l’ouie et celui de la vue. 158 (the passage recurs on 163 for emphasis). et c’est le manque absolu de sensibilité qui prépare les acteurs sublimes. 61.” Diderot. I am grateful to Charles Sherman. qui semble contredire tout ce qu’il peut faire avec expression et avec grace. la main et le bras droit de la manière prescrite par les articles précédens. 65. Essai sur le doigté du violoncelle. University of San Francisco). 1. 63. dedié aux professeurs de violoncelle (Paris: Imbault. on est un autre d’imitation. Geneva: Minkoff.” 358. 1820). 2 May 2004. “The Paradoxe was best known through the early version that was privately disseminated in Grimm’s Correspondance littéraire in 1770 and then popularly reprinted in 1812–13. il approchera néanmoins et même malgré le joueur.” Duport. 62.” telegraphic acting styles arose in part because of the sheer size of the newer playhouses. et s’en éloignera de même. 1804. “Disons plus. “Scarlatti and the Spanish Body: On National Character in the Keyboard Works of Domenico Scarlatti” (paper. Méthode de violoncelle et de basse d’accompagnement (c. la main et le bras gauche. Sara Gross.” Diderot. le coeur qu’on se suppose n’est pas le coeur qu’on a.” 313. Charles-Simon Catel and Charles-Nicolas Baudiot. il fait souffrir ceux qui l’écoutent en rendant d’autant plus choquant le contraste qu’il présente à la fois entre son jeu et son attitude.” Jean-Marie Raoul.” Pierre-Marie-François de Sales Baillot.” Roach. c’est-àdire. “En conservant autant que possible l’archet sur la même place de la corde. facsimile reprint. On ne saurait trop recommander aux élèves de chercher à prendre une attitude noble et aisée. 67. “Le pouce n’est qu’un point d’appui et de direction pour toute la longueur du manche. si l’on apperçoit dans la pose de l’exécutant quelque chose de contraint ou de negligé. 68. l’archet. je répondrois que cela est dans la nature. c’est la sensibilité médiocre qui fait la multitude des mauvais acteurs. il faut tenir la tête et le corps droits. “Si l’on disoit que il y a autant de différentes expressions qu’il y a de joueurs. the 1791 rebuilt version of London’s Drury Lane seated . winner of 2004 Ingolf Dahl Award at joint meeting of the Northern California and Pacific Southwest chapters of the American Musicological Society. 157. “J’insiste donc.notes to pages 152–154 311 59. 66. “Paradoxe sur le comédien. whose vivid performance of some of these sonatas in Los Angeles in April 2001 first presented the idea of a mechanistic topos to me. “Lorsqu’on a eu soin de placer le Violoncelle. 1980). Émile Levasseur. quand on le diminuera. et éviter dans son attitude tout ce qui pourrait avoir l’air ou de la négligence ou de l’affectation.” Jean-Louis Duport. un peu de chevalet quand on augmentera le son. il est extrêmement rare et presqu’impossible de voir en même tems un virtuose charmer les oreilles et blesser les yeux. si celui-ci est blessé. 64. “Avant-propos. “Naturalistic.” in Essai sur le doigté du violoncelle et sur la conduite de l’archet. “Paradoxe sur le comédien.

n’est-il pas une qualité qui ne peut exister dans les hommes que l’imagination maîtrise? cette qualité n’est-elle pas absolument opposée au génie? “Génie (2). La vida cotidiana en el Madrid del siglo xviii (Madrid: Ediciones La Librería. 70. See Martín Moreno. ella no entraba en ello. sans lequel on manqueroit de la présence d’esprit. ni vous non plus. “L’homme sensible obéit aux impulsions de la nature et ne rend précisément . See Roy Porter. sans lequel on seroit sujet aux inconséquences. Life and Manners in Madrid. sans lequel on feroit rarement une application juste des moyens aux circonstances. que lo suyo era cantar. sang-froid. without which one would rarely make a just application of means to circumstances.. “Ils ne sont propres à les jouer tous que parce qu’ils n’en ont point. that quality that is so necessary to those who govern. writing about genius in the Encyclopédie: Sang-froid. 2000). in drunkenness. which submits the activity of the soul to reason.” Ibid. 75. Quoted in Charles Emil Kany. cette qualité si nécessaire à ceux qui gouvernent. in haste. ou Dictionnaire raisonné 69.. pobrecita de ella. 1967). without which one would be subject to imprudence. Camilo González Suárez-Llanos (Salamanca: Ediciones Anaya. con los cambios continuos de piezas. “La caramba fue llamada por las autoridades. ed. de concert avec son visage. 350. 1932). 309. Compare Jaucourt.” in Encyclopédie.312 notes to pages 155–156 3. “L’homme sensible est trop abandonné à la merci de son diaphragme pour être un grand roi[.” in Espectáculos y diversiones públicas en España (1790). and which is preserved in all events. y que bastante trabajo tenía en aprenderse una y otra.” Ibid. 1996). ed. de l’yvresse. & qui préserve dans tous les évenemens. “Suspendus entre la nature et leur ébauche. pero se defendió sabiamente diciendo que ella. without which one would lack presence of mind (la présence d’esprit). 73.611 souls. y que se algo decía. un homme juste. con la música que también le daban.” José Del Corral.” Ibid. de la précipitation. no hacía más que cantar las letras que le ponían delante. 113–15.” in Pleasure in the Eighteenth Century. et conséquemment un sublime imitateur de la nature. para fijarse siguiera en qué es lo que decía. 72. 1750–1800 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.” 362. is it not a quality which could not exist in those men whom imagination governs? This quality. 76. 343. “Medios para lograr la reforma. Historia de la música española. un profond observateur. un grand magistrat. “Est-ce que son âme a pu éprouver toutes ces sensations et exécuter. 29. 307. cette espèce de gamme? Je n’en crois rien. 74. de la crainte.] un grand politique. 407. mêmes les natures féroces. 328. Gaspar Melchor de Jovellanos. is it not absolutely opposed to genius? Le sang froid. 77. 71..” Ibid. Roy Porter and Marie Mulvey Porter (Basingstoke: Macmillan. “Ce serait un singulier abus des mots que d’appeler sensibilité cette facilité de rendre toutes natures. “Material Pleasures in the Consumer Society.. “Paradoxe sur le comédien.” Diderot. in fear. 154–56. le sang froid qui soumet l’activité de l’âme à la raison.

chap.” (“Il est aussi très-difficile de bien connoître cette maladie. Player’s Passion. Causes. and Several Cures of It (1621). 12. www. 145. 333–34. “On dit qu’on pleure. 30. “Tubercule.uchicago. My transcriptions of the reports on this examination may be found at http://epub. ni un violoncelle. 80.lib. mais on ne pleure pas lorsqu’on poursuit une épithète énergique qui se refuse... Denis Diderot and Jean le Rond d’Alembert (Paris: Briasson.notes to pages 156–162 313 78. “Paleopathology of an Eighteenth-Century Italian Musician: The Case of Luigi Boccherini (1743– 1805). 81. The Making of a Social Disease: Tuberculosis in Nineteenth-Century France (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. mais il prend l’accord et le ton qui conviennent à sa partie. Moore. a melancholy anatomy 1. Prognostics. ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences. Ibid. ni un clavecin. 3. Antonio Gallego writes of Carlos III: “Knowing by experience that his family was prone to fall into melancholy. Malouin. on se livre à son sentiment et l’on cesse de composer. sec.library. Marielva Torino. ed. “Un grand comédien n’est ni un piano-forté. 4.. See Gino Fornaciari. Symptoms. 1995). Susan Sontag. que le cri de son coeur. “It is also very difficult to know this malady well. 6. He knew that the best means or. Illness as Metaphor (New York: Farrar. “Boccherini ucciso dalla tisi: l’esito degli esami della commissione che ha riesumato la salma. and fearing its harmful results. Barnes.” Il Friuli Medico.” Ibid. the only means to achieve this was to flee from idleness and to be always employed and in the most violent action possible. he always took great care to avoid it. ni un violon.” (“Conociendo por experiencia que su familia era expuesta a caer .” 335. on dit qu’on pleure. W. “Paradoxe sur le comédien. Roach. 347. and Luciano Gallo. la plume tombe des mains. 11 June 1996. 1978). Alpe Adria Journal of Medicine. mais on ne pleure pas lorsqu’on s’occupe à rendre son vers harmonieux: ou si les larmes coulent. 1751–65).”) M. 1854). c’est un comédien qui joue. The Anatomy of Melancholy: What It Is. ce n’est plus lui. and very common to see it confused by doctors who judge with too much haste. & il est très-ordinaire de la voir confondre par des médecins qui jugent avec trop de précipitation. 2. with All the Kinds.” 308. Ibid.edu/leguin/ boccherini. Robert Burton. and Francesco Mallegni. mem. 5. See David S. Searchable online at the University of Chicago ARTFL Project. 2. 14 April 1996.” Il Tirreno. “Exercise Rectified of Body and Mind. “Il n’a point d’accord qui lui soit propre. Dramatic as this statistic is.” in Encyclopédie. 79.. chapter 5. and Giroux. et il sait se prêter à toutes. it does not mean that everyone infected died of the disease: TB was most often present in a relatively quiescent or passive form.ucla.edu/efts/ ARTFL/projects/encyc. 4.” Ibid.” Diderot. to which he had seen his parents and brothers fall victim. ni une harpe. pt. des arts et des métiers. rather. 7. with translations of classical texts by “Democritus Minor” (Philadelphia: J. however he could.” Ibid. new ed. au moment où il tempère ou force ce cri. 2. Straus. 1.

111. 1969). Le Haydine. “Boccherini (Louis). Anatomy of Melancholy. 1972). 6. mit blumigen Auen.” Johann Baptist Schaul. located Boccherini’s somberness and gloominess in a specific piece. facsimile reprint. Minkoff. dieser hingegen in lachende Gegenden. de que había visto sus padres y hermanos habían sido las víctimas. dichten Haynen bedeckt. mem. 2:815. 1984). it “expresses most singularly the impact of a somber and profound grief ” (“exprime singulièrement l’atteinte d’une douleur sombre & profonde”). New York: Dover. como lo consiguió.” PierreMarie-François de Sales Baillot. Burton. nè spoglio era giammai. 15.” Giuseppe Carpani. je ne sais quoi. 3. (1873. “S’il fait parler à la fois les cinq instruments. por mejor decir. que les larmes coulent sans qu’on s’en aperçoive. 1988). characterized by a gently undulating cantabile. Charles-Simon Catel. el único para conseguirlo. facsimile reprint. the first movement of the Violin Sonata in B b Major. c’est avec une harmonie pleine et auguste qui . il va droit au coeur par des moyens si doux. . Émile Levasseur. era el huir la ociosidad y estar siempre empleado y en acción violenta en lo posible. de quel colore di tenera melanconia che è proprio degli uomini mansueti e dabbene.edu/leguin/boccherini.” in Biographie universelle des musiciens. subsec. y temiendo sus malas resultas. Geneva: Minkoff. 1779. . Méthode de violoncelle et de basse d’accompagnement (c. G. 2:477. Quoted in François Lesure.”) Antonio Gallego. no. Sabía que el mejor medio o. All of these quotations may be found in context at http://epub. reprint. 11. Claude-Philibert Coquéau. de sombre qui les ont fait comparer aux Nuits d’Young. Bologna: Forni Editore. 8. he calls it a Largo. L’Expression musicale. worinn sich der Geist mit Vergnügen der süßen Schwermuth überläßt.ucla. I suspect Coquéau was referring to a different piece. “Ses pensées toujours gracieuses. however. 5. La música en tiempos de Carlos III: ensayo sobre el pensamiento musical ilustrado (Madrid: Alianza Editorial. klaren. Brussels: Culture et Civilisation. Querelle des gluckistes et piccinnistes (Geneva. “Les Quatuors de Bocherini ont. pt. 1957). although it is marked “Moderato” in the score. Entretiens sur l’état actuel de l’Opéra de Paris. 7. procuró siempre evitarla con gran cuidado.314 notes to pages 162–163 en la melancolía. I cannot find anything profoundly gloomy in the piece. 27.library.” Moreover. 3. 1809). 70. from the Earliest Ages to the Present Period (1776–89.” Boyé. . 9. ont une charme inexprimable par leur naïveté. It is sweet. sec. 3. 1804. The movement named is in a major key. “Music a Remedy. 2. “Lo stile del maestro lucchese teneva alquanto dell’ecclesiastico e del fugato. Briefe über den Geschmack in der Musik (Carlsruhe. Amsterdam. . prend une teinte sombre et mélancolique. Clear as Coquéau’s characterization is.. 1779). galant. and Charles-Nicolas Baudiot. Charles Burney. anche nei pezzi concitati. and lacks all of the conventional signifiers of “une douleur sombre & profonde. “Aber welch ein Unterschied zwischen einem Mozart und einem Boccherini! Jener führt uns zwischen schroffen Felsen in einem stachlichen Wald .” François-Joseph Fétis. 2. rieselnden Bächen. ClaudePhilibert Coquéau. 100. souvent mélancoliques. A General History of Music. another Parisian pamphleteer writing in 1779. ovvero Lettere sulla vita e le opere del celebre maestro Giuseppe Haydn (1808. mise au rang des chimères (Amsterdam. ed. op.” 336. 10. 1974). 2nd ed. .

ucla. A longer extract from this first poem may be found at http:// epub. dolce. Der Kenner bestimme die Vielheit dieser Fälle bey Boccherini. die mir den Faden .library.e. und unterbricht den Fortgang der Empfindungsgeschichte. und die Auflösung desselben. Fall ins finstere Moll. Joaquín Marco (Barcelona: Planeta. Sisman for sharing her work with me. 1791–96). aber ich kann die Ariadne nicht finden.” (“Ich bewundere die sinnreiche Kunst jenes musikalischen Dedalus. 13. Moquerien gegen Gott und die Welt. allmähliger Übergang. 291. ed. Hartford: Silas Andrus. or Night Thoughts (1741. zu finster zu mürrisch ist. Johann Baptist Schaul uses exactly this metaphor to describe Mozart’s music as undesirably labyrinthine. Quoted and translated in Steblin. who has understood how to build such great. und um deswillen auch oft verworrener Gang. alles der Kunst auf! “ Wahr ists Entwicklung ist für den forschenden Geist angenehm. . è un Tono tenero. 262. A History of Key Characteristics in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries. aber schürzen sollst du doch nicht ohne Noth. effeminato. but I cannot find the Ariadne to show me the thread by which to find the entrance. “Bey allen diesen Vorrechten.—wahrhaftig nicht mein Mann. 2:249. Mißvergnügen mit sich und allem.” Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart. (im Ganzen genommen) sinnliches Wohlgefallen in mir erregen könnte. Wenn der Setzer ohne Noth sich in Schwierigkeiten verwickelt. Paul Alfred Merbach (Leipzig: Wolkenwanderer. 1823). Ideen zu einer Ästhetik der Tonkunst (1784). . Mozart]. dem ich so aus Herzens Wonne lange zuhören.—oder unwiederstehlicher Drang der Natur. much less the exit. Quoted and translated in Rita Steblin. Interestingly. 16. atto ad esprimer trasporti d’amore. Knoten soll nichts als Contrast seyn.edu/leguin/boccherini. whose Noches lúgubres of 1789. seys zu viel bestimmende Neigung furs Lieblingsinstrument. 17–18. 14. Ein Sonderling. molle..notes to pages 163–181 315 12. “B-Moll. um sich durch Neuheit zu empfehlen .—dessen Faden. mehrenteils in das Gewand der Nacht gekleidet.—dessen Produkt. Er ist etwas mürrisch und nimmt höchst selten eine gefällige Miene an. “imitando el estilo de las que escribió en inglés el Doctor Young.” Francesco Galeazzi. Vorbereitung zum Selbstmord hallen in diesem Tone. (wenn er anders einen hat) ich unermüdet nachgehen.” was very popular among Spanish readers well into the nineteenth century. I am grateful to Dr. See the editorial preface to Cadalso. “Bb.” Carl Ludwig Junker.—weil er mir zu schatticht. (Rochester: University of Rochester Press. die der Italiäner überhaupt haben kann. 2002). 291 (appendix A). in explicit comparison to Boccherini’s: “I marvel at the ingenious art of this musical Daedalus [i. History of Key Characteristics. Elaine Sisman. der so große. Young had an important Spanish imitator in José Cadalso. ohne’s Herz zu befriedigen. undurchdringliche Labyrinthe zu bauen gewußt hat. labyrinthisch zu sein. Il suo minore poco si pratica per la troppa difficoltà. “The Labyrinth of Melancholy” (paper). e grazie. 17. 1924). Edward Young. Elementi teorico-pratici di musica (Rome: Pilucchi Cracas. vezzi. Noches lúgubres (1789). ed. reprint. ist Boccherini doch wohl wahrhaftig nicht der Mann. 1985). so quält er’s Ohr. 2nd ed. 15. wie oft opfert er da. Zwanzig Componisten: eine Skizze (Bern. “Seys nun Entschluß. The Complaint. 1776). impenetrable labyrinths.

um den Eingang. et de telles autres qualités dans les organes des sens extérieurs. . l’impression de leurs idées dans l’organe du sens commun et de l’imagination.316 notes to pages 182–184 reicht. “Nerfs . in Oeuvres de Descartes. sont comme de petits filets ou comme de petits tuyaux qui viennent tous du cerveau. 138. in Les Classiques français. “From Homme machine to Homme sensible. “Ce sont des corps très petits et qui se meuvent très vite. “Chaque partie organique du corps vivant a des nerfs qui ont une sensibilité. ou autre automate. les mouvemens extérieurs de tous les membres. ed. 19. que vous considériez que ces fonctions suivent toutes naturellement en cette machine de la seule disposition de ses organes.” Théophile Bordeu. Briefe über den Geschmack in der Musik.edu/leguin/boccherini. les mouvemens intérieurs des appétits et des passions. la nourriture et la croissance des membres. or its strings cut or snapped.” René Descartes. Francis Glisson. see http://epub . Julien Benda (Mulhouse: Bader-Dufour. . la respiration de la lumière. la respiration. que son sang et ses esprits agités par la chaleur du feu qui brûle continuellement dans son coeur. . la rétention ou l’impreinte de ces idées dans la mémoire. “Je désire que vous considériez . 1948). Joseph R. According to your theory 18.” Descartes. de celle de ses contre-poids et de ses roues. des odeurs. ne plus ne moins que font les mouvemens d’une horloge. ni aucun autre principe de mouvemen et de vie. 25. Les Passions de l’âme. publiées par Victor Cousin (Paris: La Chevardière Fils. enfin. 22. 1824). Je désire. and located in the tuned instrument. while the instrument itself and its strings are material and corporeal and composite and earthly and closely related to what is mortal. la veille et le sommeil. et contiennent ainsi que lui un certain air ou vent trés subtil qu’on nomme les esprits animaux. .”) Schaul.” Journal of the History of Ideas 39 (1978): 48. 21. Recherches sur les pouls. comme la digestion des viandes. Quoted in Aram Vartanian. Now suppose that the instrument is broken. 1953). 1985). . quoted in Moravia. . “ What I mean is this. Roach. (1756). dis-je. discussed in Sergio Moravia. des goûts. et qui n’est point d’autre nature que tous les feux qui sont dans les corps inanimés. en sorte qu’il ne faut point à leur occasion conçevoir en elle aucune autre âme végétative ni sensitive. 23. 4:427–28. Diderot and Descartes: A Study of Scientific Naturalism in the Enlightenment (Princeton: Princeton University Press. for the complete extract.” 55. 140. You might say the same thing about tuning the strings of a musical instrument. noch weniger den Ausgang entdecken. que toutes les fonctions que j’ai attribuées à cette machine. Traité de l’homme (1632). 38. 213. 10.library. “From Homme machine to Homme sensible: Changing Eighteenthcentury Models of Man’s Image. de la chaleur. said Simmias. De naturae substantia energetica (1672). . This style of medicine is concisely portrayed (and expertly skewered) in Molière’s last play. 20. le battement du coeur et des artères. par rapport aux crises . that the attunement is something invisible and incorporeal and splendid and divine. une espèce ou un degré particulier du sentiment. . et. des sons. The Player’s Passion: Studies in the Science of Acting (Newark: University of Delaware Press. . 24. Le Malade imaginaire (1673). London: Associated University Presses. . Les Passions de l’âme (1646– 50).ucla.” René Descartes.

” 487. 85–86. with an introduction by Ernest Mossner (London: Penguin Books. 10. “Of the Will and Direct Passions. esp chap. John Hill’s account of Spranger Barry as Othello in The Actor. 207. or A Treatise on the Art of Playing (London: R. The Harp and the Soul: Essays in Medieval Music (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press. Bk. fol. 1989). “Of the Passions. Including the Letters. canto 15. trans. 32.H.” Dante Alighieri. Book 3. 30. 381. Graham Petrie (London: Penguin Classics. L’Art du violon (Paris: Dépôt Central de la Musique. 31. Si los melancólicos pueden saber lo que está por venir (1605). and sound according as they are struck by each successive emotion” (De Oratore. ed. 1942].: University Press of New England. the attunement must still exist—it cannot have been destroyed. Player’s Passion. Musicking: The Meaning of Performing and Listening (Hanover. David Hume. 28. Rackham. which shares the nature and characteristics of the divine and immortal. 2:172). Laurence Sterne. Paradiso. A Sentimental Journey (1768). ed. should still exist.” in The Art of the Violin (Evanston: Northwestern University Press.” Alonso de Freylas. “Of the Direct Passions. N. “Quella dolce lira . “On peut considérer l’unisson et même l’octave comme l’expression la plus juste de la sympathie. Fredi Chiappelli (Milan: Mursia.” Plato. expression supérieure en quelque sorte à l’harmonie même. la musique ne saurait inspirer trop souvent cette sympathie: il faut donc ne rien négliger pour en faire sentir tout le charme. with De Fato. 29. 33. should exist no longer. . Quoted in Roger Bartra. or. 1966). 1986). 60. “The Cithara as Symbolum: Augustine vs. 102.” sec. I am indebted to Professor James Turner for bringing this passage to my attention. see Nancy van Deusen. “Phaedo. and the attunement.” pt. 413. 1984). ed. . 2. ed. 140–41. Lane Cooper et al. depravadas imaginaciones. See Christopher Small. 2001). For a thorough treatment of Cassiodorus’ theological interpretations of the stringed-instrument imagery in the Psalms. having predeceased its mortal counterpart. and the whole of a person’s frame and every look on his face and every utterance of his voice are like the strings of a harp. Translated by Louise Goldberg as “Effect and Means of Effect. melancolías extrañas. pusiqu’elle est le résultat d’une concordance parfaite. y varios furores y pensamientos maniacos. Paradoxa Storicorum. che la destra del cielo allenta e tira. La divina commedia. Cassiodorus on the Subject of Musical Instruments. which have a mortal nature. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. [London: Heinemann. Griffiths. De Partitione Oratoria. because it would be inconceivable that when the strings are broken the instrument and the strings themselves. H. Cultura y melancolía: los enfermedades del alma en la España del Siglo de Oro (Barcelona: Editorial Anagrama. Quoted in Roach. “Melancolía negra causada por adustión y encendimiento de cólera [la cual] causa grande enfermedades como son locuras.” To the chorus of ancients on this topic we might also add Cicero: “For nature has assigned to every emotion a particular look and tone of voice and bearing of its own. 27. 1991). Bartra tells us that “Se trata de un .” Pierre-Marie-François de Sales Baillot. 1835).notes to pages 184–185 317 26.” in The Collected Dialogues of Plato. 1998). trans. 1755). (New York: Pantheon Books. 3. A Treatise on Human Nature (1739). lines 4 and 6. i–v. 9. 6. 1971). 2 vols.

see chapter 3. ou Dictionnaire raisonné. “Paradoxe sur le comédien” (c. 285–86. ou Dictionnaire raisonné.” in Encyclopédie. indigestion & grande foiblesse. Conocimiento. il peut se faire aussi que les rheumes négligés.” Anonymous. “Tubercule. 1998). “La cause la plus commune des tubercules est une disposition héréditaire qui affecte également les tumeurs & le tissu des poumons. Anatomy of Melancholy. su 34. mem. 65. 1988).” Denis Diderot. during every other year of his working life as a composer—that is. 1988). Spirits. 43. les autres affections de poitrine. 1988). Sentiment and Sociability: The Language of Feeling in the Eighteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press. in “Los testamentos de Boccherini. in “Boccherini. 1724). 44. 2. This and the following quotation appear in John Mullan.” in Encyclopédie. Jaime Tortella has examined the patterns of Boccherini’s creativity. les catarrhes. no. Naissance de la conscience romantique au siècle des lumières (Paris: Payot. “Phtisie nerveuse. 37. qui influe beaucoup sur le corps. “Passion de l’âme. 35. A Treatise of Consumptions and Other Distempers Belonging to the Breast and Lungs (London: John Pemberton. 36. “Sans fièvre.” in Encyclopédie. added to the end of Freylas’ Knowledge of. 1976). cure of. les virus vénériens & scrophuleux. in Luigi Boccherini y el Banco de San Carlos: un aspecto inédito (Madrid: Editorial Tecnos. 40. 343. 39.”) Quoted in Bartra. 1791. 42. 45. Sir Richard Blackmore. with its own foliation. et substituables d’un individu à l’autre. subsec. and protection from the plague. in Oeuvres esthétiques. Demonstrating this prudent aspect of Boccherini’s character is the more or less explicit concern of both Jaime Tortella. sec. Burton. les chairs étant fondues & consumées. 2 (1999): 93–121.” Revista de musicología 22. 1770).” Georges Gusdorf.” 95. leur donnent naissance. curación. Cultura y melancolía. above. note 10. 1. Denis Diderot. “Affliction. Malouin. Paul Vernière (Paris: Bordas. and 1800. 245 and 259–60. y preservación de la peste. “Chaque vie personnelle peut être décomposée en facteurs communs. Boccherini wrote very little during the years 1777. sans toux. 45. 38. opere. ni difficulté de respirer qui soit considérable. 209 and 211. pt. L’affliction produit ordinairement les maladies chroniques. 2. 1783–84. cher Pleyel. ed. Humours. con foliación propia pero añadido al final del libro de Freylas.” “Adieu. Il divino Boccherini: vita. homogènes et compatibles entre eux. ou Dictionnaire raisonné. “Pour répondre d’une manière complète à ce que vous me demandez. from 1768 to 1805—he never wrote fewer than six pieces annually. “Le triomphe de cette géométrie plane n’est possible que grâce à une neutralisation de toutes les dissidences personelles. je ne puis m’étendre davantage car ma santé n’est pas bonne et mes nerfs me font beaucoup souffrir.” (“This is a text. 46.318 notes to pages 185–188 texto. je dois vous dire que l’état de ma santé et l’obligation où je me trouve d’écrire toujours pour le roi de Prusse que j’ai l’honneur de servir. epistolario (Padua: Zanibon. . 1.” Ibid.” M. and José Antonio Boccherini Sánchez. 41. and the biographical reasons for them. avec perte d’appétit.” Quoted in Luigi Della Croce. ne me permettent en aucune manière de m’adonner à des spéculations commerciales quelles qu’elles soient. “Division of the Body. La phtisie est souvent la suite d’une grande affliction. and he not infrequently produced as many as fifteen.

1990). le malade est plongé dans une espèce d’anéantissement. tercera crisis de creación y el Conde de Aranda: una hipótesis explicativa. “The Author’s Abstract of Melancholy. the only writer on music I know of to use this term beside Boccherini himself. Roy Porter. un nouveau sommeil prépare encore de nouvelles éjaculations & de nou- .” and chap.” in Pleasure in the Eighteenth Century. published as Diccionario de autoridades.notes to pages 189–193 319 47. le malade se réveille par le plaisir ou par la douleur. Baillot. Diakoco . ou Dictionnaire raisonné. “Love Melancholy (Lope. met fin à ses cruelles réflexions. qui la lui représente le bras levé. no.v. Burton. le nouveau feu qui s’allume ne tarde pas à procurer l’évacuation qui en est le sceau & la fin. The entry “ptísico/a” in the Diccionario de la lengua castellana describes a consumption that may be either pulmonary or syphilitic. le plonge dans une tristesse accablante. “Phtisie. “The Melancholy Malcontent (The Picaresque). des foibles désirs naissent aussi-tôt. 11. mais plus promptement encore les parties qui doivent les satisfaire obeissent à ces impressions. Madrid: Editorial Gredos. 1963). Melancholy and the Secular Mind in Spanish Golden Age Literature (Columbia: University of Missouri Press. ce n’est que pour lui en procurer une nouvelle matière. 110–13.” “La phtisie dorsale est la suite familière & la juste punition des débauches outrées. chap. The Spanish attitude to this condition seems to have been a good deal more straightforward than the French or English. Roy Porter and Marie Mulvey Porter (Basingstoke: Macmillan. 4. que les songes les plus voluptueux présentent à son imagination échauffée des objets lascifs. & retombe avec plus de force dans l’anéantissement horrible qu’il avoit deja éprouvé. facsimile reprint. à-peine est-il endormi. ed.” (“Enfermedad causada por tener alguna llaga en los pulmónes ò livianos.” Anon. “Musical Character and the Accent That Determines It. qui souvent entraîne avec elle l’image d’une mort prochaine. originating in an acrid and corrosive humor which has arisen in those organs. and causing in the patient a cough accompanied by slow heat which attenuates and consumes him little by little. 48. includes it as an indication of simplicity or naivety—and uses Boccherini’s music to exemplify it. esp.” “Après ces éjaculations qui interrompent son sommeil.. Dans quelquesuns. cette terrible idée qui lui retrace sans cesse sa foiblesse & son néant. s. y causa el paciente tos accompañada de calentúra lenta. chap. 2 (1998): 179–94. que le va atenuando y consumiendo poco à poco. une langueur extrème s’empare de tous ses sens.” in Encyclopédie.” I draw here upon Soufas’s Melancholy and the Secular Mind.”) Diccionario de la lengua castellana (1726. & jette peuà-peu les fondemens d’une affreuse mélancolie. “Enlightenment and Pleasure. 53. le dérobe à lui-même. 51. esp. ses yeux s’obscurcissent. la machine suit sa pente naturelle. 3. que ha caído a ellos. 23. 49. Anatomy of Melancholy. See Baillot. 52. Calderón). 50. 1996). but it engages in no associative flights of fancy: “Illness caused by having some lesion in the lungs or genitals. le sommeil vient—il ferme de nouveau sa paupière. A useful discussion of Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy as a work of literature can be found in Teresa Scott Soufas. originada de humor acre y corrosivo. & plus encore à la disposition maladive dont elles sont attaquées. “ptísico/a.” Nassarre (Revista aragonesa de musicología) 14. la faux déployée prête à moissonner ses jours. Art of the Violin. il lui semble n’exister qu’à-demi.” xiv.

Although Rousseau allows for the representation of “silence” through musical sound. la mémoire n’a plus sa vivacité . 28. celui qui la contemple ne dort pas. il se tient quelquefois caché dans le coeur. Paris: L’École. Après avoir passé de pareilles nuits. les yeux enfoncés. 54.” (“Que tout la nature soit endormie.” Burton. in Absicht auf Orchester. 3. dévore la substance de celui qui est affecté de cette passion. mais comment l’a-t-elle perdu. “L’amour démesuré ne s’annonce cependant pas toûjours par des signes évidens. . sec. Essai sur l’origine des langues (1754–63. Nardini.und Quartettspiel. ou Dictionnaire raisonné. le feu dont il le brûle. Malouin.. une maigreur épouvantable les défigure. sans force & sans éclat. 897 1. suite funeste des excès dans l’évacuation de la semence. and the art of the musician consists in substituting for the inaudible image of the object that of the movements which its presence excites in the heart of the contemplator. 2. André Billy (Paris: Éditions Gallimard.” 532. “it is all cloth of the same piece” Epigraph: Bordeu: Chaque molécule sensible avait son moi . he who contemplates it sleeps not. mornes. presque toutes les fonctions s’alterent.” in Encyclopédie. smell.” M. et l’art du musicien consiste à substituer à l’image insensible de l’objet celle des mouvements que sa présence excite dans le coeur du contemplateur. der als Virtuos durch die Vol- . or Signs of Melancholy in the Body. . la fièvre lente survient.” Anon.”) Jean-Jacques Rousseau. . . hear. “Drey grosse Meister—Manfredi. chapter 6.” in Encyclopédie.” 130. . and touch that which they do not. 16. Denis Diderot. 55. chap. 2. 56. it is through a kind of representational sleight of hand. in Oeuvres. abattus. The phrase is Elaine Scarry’s. les digestions sont dérangées. 1. sec.320 notes to pages 194–207 veaux tourmens encore plus terribles. “Érotique mélancolie. 1. leur appétit se perd. mem. from The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World (New York: Oxford University Press. subsec. et comment de toutes ces pertes en est-il résulté la conscience d’un tout? Mademoiselle de L’Espinasse: Il me semble que le contact suffit. mem. subsec. he surely is not referring to the kind of absolute pall that Young describes: “Though all Nature may sleep. “Pollution nocturne. pt. 5. quelle doit être la situation des malades pendant le jour? on les voit pâles. bien-tôt des douleurs vagues se répandent dans différentes parties du corps. “Symptoms. & enfin la phtisie dorsale. Burton. 1951). pt. un feu intérieur les dévore . 1987). “Cure of LoveMelancholy. Anatomy of Melancholy. “Fausse analogie entre les couleurs et les sons. 1. Anatomy of Melancholy. “All their senses are troubled. 57. 3. . ayant de la peine à se soutenir. ed. der vorzüglichste Violinist in ganz Italien. reprint. leur vûe s’affoiblit.” 232. 1985). 58. ou Dictionnaire raisonné. & le fait tomber dans une vraie consomption: il est difficile de connoître la cause de tous les mauvais effets qu’elle produit en silence. they think they see. “Le Rêve de d’Alembert” (1769).

see http://epub.” (“Für diese Klassifizierung in opere “grandi” und “piccole” scheint es im Streichquartett keinen Vorläufer zu geben. Geneva: Minkoff. Wir studirten auf die angegebne Weise Quartetten von Haydn (die. par Manfredi. we might add to this name that of the Mannheimer Franz Xaver Richter (1709–89). und von Boccherini. et moi. c. 17 und 21 ausmachen). Further opportunities would have existed for him to play and acquire copies of their works.ucla. 1987).” as direct influences and models for the young Boccherini’s string quartets. flute. entendu exécuter les quatuors de Boccherini. Boccherinis Streichquartette: Studien zur Kompositionsweise und gattungsgeschichtlichen Stellung. 5.”) Christian Speck. Haydn. 4. e grandi. 1803. and bass.” Giuseppe Maria Cambini. facsimile reprint. vol. 22. there would have been opportunities for him to meet all these quartet-writing gentlemen in person. For the full text and translation. Milan’s doyen composer. “Ausführung der Instrumentalquartetten. Boccherini. qui étois trop heureux de faire l’alto!”) Giuseppe Maria Cambini. comme moi. erzeigten mir die Ehre. 3. 16. de Haydn. and myself. welche jetzt in der Suite Op. impossible to date. and other celebrated masters played by Manfredi. only too happy to play the viola!” (“Hélas! que ceux qui ne regardent pas la musique instrumentale que comme un vain bruit n’ont-ils. 7 of Studien zur Musik.notes to pages 207–208 321 2. 22 August 1804. two violins. “Distinguo le opere in piccole. ed. X can stand for either the Latin or the Italian term. und Boccherini. 1972). perché le grandi constano di quattro . as can its plural opp.” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung. I propose to bypass it through the use of the standard abbreviations: op. mich als Bratschisten unter sich aufzunehmen. Closer to Boccherini’s own generation was the Viennese Joseph Starzer (1728–87). Rudolf Bockholdt (Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. whose six quartets op. Through Boccherini’s documented travels to Vienna. whose twenty-six works for string quartet are. Cambini also mentions this group in his violin treatise of 1803: “Alas! that those who regard instrumental music as no more than a meaningless noise did not hear. Nardini. Another peculiar usage emerges here: Boccherini’s use of the Italian opera to mean a single work (where most use the Latin opus). Boccherini. There is obviously excellent potential for confusion here. probably included Giovanni Battista Sammartini (1700/1701–75). 9. unfortunately. and his possible travels to Munich and Mannheim.edu/leguin/boccherini. die dieser damals eben schrieb und man noch immer so gern hört. et de quelques autres maîtres célèbres.library. who by 1765 had produced at least twenty-one works in a variety of quartet configurations (three violins and bass. 5 were published in 1768 (though they may have been written as early as 1757). quartets by Boccherini. Nouvelle Méthode théorique et pratique pour le violon (Paris: Naderman. The “autres maîtres célèbres. dessen Verdienste bekannt genug sind. “It seems there are no precedents in the quartet genre for these classifications into large and small works. and the “standard” string quartet). lendung seines Spiels so berühmt geworden. as I did. On the assumption that works were often available in manuscript well before their appearance in print. Nardini. and its plural opere to indicate more than one work (where most use the Latin opera).

Brussels: Culture et Civilisation.” Analecta musicologica 12 (1973): 227–52. chap. the year he composed op. .322 notes to pages 208–212 pezzi cada quintetto.” Chigiana. By 1775. facsimile reprint. 1988). 15. Vrin. most atypical for the composer. See Guido Salvetti. e non più. 1994). . Boccherinis Streichquartette.” François-Joseph Fétis. Boccherini had presumably established enough confidence in his marketability to begin reinserting virtuosity into the equation. 1. Being a Supplement to Mr. 2002). si elles se répètent. sec. Il divino Boccherini: vita.s. (1873.” Quoted in Luigi Della Croce.. contains numerous puzzling inaccuracies of language and fact. The “he” in this passage is once again the painter Giambattista Tiepolo.: Scholars’ Facsimiles and Reprints. 1972). A judicious number of cello solos appear in each quartet opus from that year forward. 22 appeared.” (“Nell’ ‘opera grande’ s’impone il valore dei tempi lenti [e quindi di una certa volontà di canto].”) Guido Salvetti. présentation de Aliénor Bertrand. “Luigi Boccherini nell’ambito del quartetto italiano del secondo settecento. n. Sans elles. . 25. 36. 243–44. un être qui est constamment le même nous. 7. 23 (1993): 337–53. Della Croce points out that this isolated early letter. with an introduction by Robert G. 8. et notre connoissance ne s’étendroit jamais au-delà d’une première perception: je la nommerai réminiscence. “Entwicklung in Boccherinis Quartettschaffen. 6. epistolario (Padua: Zanibon. 2nd ed. evidently sent from Arenas. e le piccole di due. elle nous avertit souvent que nous les avon déjà eues. qu’on serait tenté de croire qu’il ne connaissait point d’autre musique que la sienne. 1971). 12. sec. malgré leur variété et leur succession. Painting as an Art (Princeton: Princeton University Press. Fra queste potranno scegliere a loro piacere postoché tutto è panno dell’istessa pezza. “In the ‘opera grande’ slow tempi (and thus a certain songfulness) get the upper hand. mais encore. et ses ourages sont si remarquables sous ce rapport. “Boccherini (Louis). “Camerismo sinfonico e sinfonismo cameristico: alla ricerca di un approccio analitico pertinente. “Non seulement la conscience nous donne connoissance de nos perceptions. 7. . Richard Wollheim. 1987). 2. when op. Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence (New Haven: Yale University Press. opere. chaque moment de la vie nous paroîtroit le premier de notre existence. et nous les fait connoître comme étant à nous. Paris: Librairie philosophique J. Essai sur l’origine des connoissances humaines: ouvrage où l’on réduit à un seul principe tout ce qui concerne l’entendement humain (1746. ou comme affectant. and for the next few years probably had technical accessibility (an important component of saleability to his amateur market) in mind. reprint. 13. Boccherini had only just established his publishing “pipeline” from Spain to Paris. 10. 9.” “Ses idées sont tout individuelles. Svetlana Alpers and Michael Baxandall.” in Biographie universelle des musiciens. Translated by Thomas Nugent as An Essay on the Origin of Human Knowledge. 35. Weyant (1756. Locke’s Essay on the Human Understanding.” Étienne Bonnot de Condillac. Fla. We can postulate commercial as well as artistic reasons for this demotion of the cello from the spotlight: by 1769. 11. 8. Gainesville. See Speck. 3. chap.

54.” Leopold Mozart. www. 2000–). where (as Sheriff noted) it was used ‘to denigrate the painting produced during the reign of Louis XV. “The String Quintets of Luigi Boccherini” (Ph. calls this technique “erweiterter Zweistimmigkeit. sous l’apparence de l’unisson. 22. “Timbre (2). 53–54. “One refers in a quite similar sense to the timbre of a bell. 1968). 15. Ibid. ‘shellwork’) is post facto and pejorative. pour sa résonance. mais les sons annoncent le mouvement. University of California at Berkeley. Mais plus on regarde et plus on est enchanté. Paris: L’École. 1987).” Journal of the American Musicological Society 27. Boccherinis Streichquartette. Gründliche Violinschule (1787. des arts et des métiers. . facsimile reprint. le timbre d’une cloche. 16.” JeanJacques Rousseau. du premier coup de l’oeil tout est vu. like most critical descriptions of the style. “Fausse analogie entre les couleurs et les sons. au contraire. la nature ne l’analyse point et n’en sépare point les harmoniques: elle est cachée. Les couleurs sont la parure des êtres inanimés. 121..” (“On dit en un sens assez voisin. diss. “Il n’en est pas ainsi du son.uchicago. (Condemnation of the more ‘feminized’ features of the Rococo style was routine until recent times. Elle inspire des chants et non des accords. “Towards a History of Viennese Chamber Music in the Early Classical Period. See Ellen Iris Amsterdam.” Amsterdam. 17. d’airain ou de métal. 2 (summer 1974): 212. 92. “Rococo. Eben diese Schwäche ist an dem Ende iedes Tones zu hören. Searchable online at the University of Chicago ARTFL Project. 1966). 3. www. ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences. Other writers have discussed a similar deceptiveness in the title “Divertimento.edu/efts/ARTFL/projects/encyc. 21.” 32.)” Daniel Heartz and Bruce Alan Brown. la voix annonce un être sensible.grovemusic. chap.notes to pages 217–224 323 14.com. sondern nur ein unangenehmer und unverständlicher Laut seyn.” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians Online (London: Macmillan. the timbre of a musical instrument. 5. The term seems to have originated around 1796–7 as artists’ jargon in the studio of Jacques-Louis David. 18. when Mme de Pompadour was an arbiter of taste’. il ne faut plus qu’admirer et contempler sans cesse.” Writing of the quintets.D. Norman Bryson. reprint. 20.lib. . “The derivation of the term (rocaille.” in Encyclopédie. toute matière est colorée. of bronze or metal. le timbre de la voix. Essai sur l’origine des langues (1754–63. chevalier de Jaucourt. . “The String Quintets of Luigi Boccherini. le timbre d’un instrument musical. Word and Image: French Painting of the Ancien Régime (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Speck. Denis Diderot and Jean le Rond d’Alembert (Paris: Briasson. 1751–65). 1981). chap. Ellen Amsterdam has noted Boccherini’s marked affinity for third-related harmonies in the quintets. Leipzig: Deutscher Verlag für Musik. sec. the timbre of the voice. “Jeder auch auf das stärkeste ergriffene Ton hat eine kleine obwohl kaum merkliche Schwäche vor sich: sonst würde es kein Ton. for its resonance. 103. 16.”) Louis. Amsterdam refers to Boccherini’s “common reinforcement of harmonic textures through octave doubling and the employment of parallel thirds and sixths. no.. “Toutes les richesses du coloris s’étalent à la fois sur la face de la terre. 19.” 127–28. ed.” See James Webster. elle dicte de la mélodie et non de l’harmonie. .

Si l’une de ces abeilles s’avise de pincer d’une façon quelconque abeille à laquelle elle s’est accrochée. bitte demnach mir diese zu wissen zu machen. chapter 7. Le tout s’agitera. 45. . . 52. . I distinguish open-closed relationships from antecedent-consequent ones as follows: in the former. 3. . gli offra i miei rispetti. 1988). unter Benützung der Quellensammlung.324 notes to pages 230–254 23. da me e da tutti apprezzato al maggior segno. Es muß doch unweit Madrid seyn. . . tous accrochés les uns aux autres par les pattes? . un animal quelconque. with a reference to Pohl. . a descent to the tonic in bar 8). Alpers and Baxandall. 1965). . 1878). que croyez-vous qu’il en arrive? Dites donc. serait tenté de la prendre pour un animal à cinq ou six cents têtes et à mille ou douze cents ailes.” Joseph Haydn. daß ich dermahlen an Herrn . Celui qui n’aurait jamais vu une pareille grappe s’arranger. . dicendoli che sono uno de i suoi più appassionati stimatori e ammiratori insieme del suo Genio. Niemand bey uns weiß mir zu sagen: wo dieser Orth Arenas ligt. ed. changera de situation et de forme. . un individu. 24. 25. est la ruche. Cette grappe est un être. [il] s’élèvera de bruit. [il] s’excitera dans toute la grappe autant des sensations qu’il y a de petits animaux. . bitte mein gehorsambstes Gegencompliment an denselben. but appears in Germaine de Rothschild’s Luigi Boccherini: sa vie et son oeuvre (Paris: Plon. “Il s’est mis à crier: ‘Mademoiselle de L’Espinasse! mademoiselle de L’Espinasse!— Que voulez-vous?—Avez-vous vu quelquefois un essaim d’abeilles s’échapper de leur ruche? . Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence. 97. The authors are discussing the curious perspectival and affective disjointures among the figures in Tiepolo’s The Finding of Moses (late 1730s). C. the harmony remains the same in both blocks (as between bars 3–4 and 7–8. scrittore.—Je n’en sais rien. se remuera. —Celle-ci pincera la suivante. . Les avez-vous vues s’en aller former à l’extrémité de la branche d’un arbre une longue grappe de petits animaux ailés. . bedaure nur. e Musicali componimenti de quali qui si fà tutto quel apprezzo. . che in rigor di Giustizia si meritano. “Le Rêve de d’Alembert. both V–I in root position). “Übersende zugleich den Brief von Herrn Boccherini. .” Carl Ferdinand Pohl. . de petits cris. Robbins Landon (Kassel: Bärenreiter. . . “Übersende demnach beide briefe. Le Monde. “Febbraio 1781. 2:180–81n6. Joseph Haydn (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel. Dénes Bartha and H. This letter is not included in the Epistolario of Luigi Della Croce’s Il divino Boccherini (Padua: Zanibon. ou la masse générale de la matière. 2. the perfect listener 1. . 1962). che io stimerò moltissimo ed è che se alcuno di lor Signori (come e probabile) conoscesse il Signor Giuseppe Haidn.’” Diderot. indem ich selbst dem Herrn Boccherini schreiben werde.” 889. the distinction between phrases being made melodically (an upward-turning tune in bar 4. Spero mi faranno un favore. Boccherini’s original letter presumably belongs to Artaria and Co. Gesammelte Briefe und Aufzeichnungen.

ucla. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue of the Works of Luigi Boccherini.. 7. Thematic. “Boccherini und die Verbreitung seiner Musik in europäische Musikzentren des 18. Longman-Lukey. “Die Entwicklung der Musikberrichterstattung im Wienerischen Diarium von 1703– 1780” (Ph. and William Napier) six string quartets op. 13. und nahm von den Fortschritten derselben. Joseph Dale. dissertation. “Boccherini und die Verbreitung seiner Musik. trans. Speck. Jahrhunderts. 37” (Hamilton) a “Periodical Overture no. Christian Speck. 115. and Robert Stevenson. Forster) the sonatas for violin and keyboard (editions by Clementi. he progressed with the times and with the development of composition in Germany. but very much in his own style. the first three opere of string quartets. some also by Longman-Lukey. Preston/Preston and Son. and Welcker) the first three opere of string trios.” Inter-American Music Review 4.s.” Ibid. bewirkt oder veranlasst wurden. the time of Haydn’s second visit. 5. werden Sie mich verbinden. in sein Wesen auf. Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung. so viel ohne Verleugnung seiner Individualität geschehen konnte.” Chigiana. wollen Sie bey gelegener zeit mein Ergebensten Respect an Hochdemselben übermachen. 55” (=Sinfonia G. http://epub. “Gegen die Gewohnheit seiner Landsleute ging er mit der Zeit und der Ausbildung der Tonkunst auch in Deutschland fort. 1. Joseph Haydn.” 120. no. See Nicolás Solar-Quintes. 494. “ Wenn den Boccherinischen Quartetts auch im Ganzen das Große in der Anlage und Reich und Frappante der liberalen Durchführung eines Kühnern Genies . 2 (spring–summer 1982): 3.D. 1969). University of Vienna.” Anuario musical 2 (1947): 81–104. Welcker. Speck tells us that he derives this information from Wilfried Scheib. G. in particular those developments inspired or invented by his old friend Joseph Haydn. 696. and 4 (editions by Bremner.” (“Contrary to the custom of his countrymen.. London printings of Boccherini’s music issued by 1795. the first three opere of string quintets (editions by Bremner. 6. besonders in wiefern sie von seinem alten Freunde.edu/leguin/boccherini. 504 and 506 (Longman and Broderip) I derive this list from the “Index of Publishers of Boccherini’s Works” in Yves Gérard. 1950). without denying his own individuality. Longman and Broderip.notes to pages 254–256 325 4. Boccherini nicht eigenhändig schreiben kann. Bremner) two symphonies. 5. 756–58. 6. 32 ( John Bland. 23 (1993): 119–20. Forster. 21 August 1805. “Las relaciones de Haydn con la casa de Benavente. For the full text of this article.”) Anonymous obituary. und frühen 19. n. “Haydn’s Iberian World Connections. 9. 8. Campbell. 33 ( John Kerpen) six assorted string quintets as “op. include the following: six cello sonatas. G. Andreas Mayor (London: Oxford University Press. see the Web site.library. 10. no known extant copy) six string quartets op.

il se ferait jouer celle de Boccherini. 21 August 1805. s’il voulait entendre de la musique. “Le compositeur pénétré de son sujet étend ou resserre ses idées dans un cercle plus ou moins grand. sie reihen ein Stückchen an das andere. il s’élève jusqu’aux cieux pour implorer un dieu elément [clément?] en faveur des morts au jour de jugement dernier: comme Haydn. Geneva: Minkoff.” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung. hat man in lieb und hält ihn in Ehren. “Boccherini (Luigi).library. M. so ging mein ganzes Bestreben dahin. So suchte ich mir zu helfen. il peint le génie de l’homme émané de la divinité. ou ramené vers la terre. comme Boccherini. “Ich leugne nicht. wenn sie kaum angefangen haben: aber es bleibt auch nichts im Herzen sitzen. facsimile reprint. Charles-Simon Catel.” Johann Baptist Schaul.ucla. willkührliche Auslegung. Hatte ich eine Idee erhascht. 13. und fühlt noch lange nachher die tiefen Eindrücke seiner Zaubertöne. “Haydn dichtete seine Werke immer vor dem Klavier. in seiner jetzigen Vorliebe für das Schwierigere. sie den regeln der Kunst gemäß auszuführen und zu souteniren. 99–100. 11. das man an den mehresten Haydn’ und Mozart’schen. daß jetzt so viele Tonmeister komponiren. ‘das Singen sey beynahe unter die verlorenen Künste zu rech- 10. 1974).326 notes to pages 256–257 abgeht. bestimmte Grundidee. entry for 4 February 1808. sie brechen ab. 1810).edu/leguin/ boccherini. Boccherinis Werke hingegen haben immer ein herrschende. Puppo les a très-bien appréciés aussi. il cherche à nous rappeller à notre primitive innocence. 6.” Alexandre Choron and François Joseph Marie Fayolle. 10. ernst oder tändelnd gestimmt war. je nachdem mein Gemüth traurig oder fröhlich. J. 14. es ist ein Vergnügen des Verstands. Boccherini: sa vie et son oeuvre. interessante Bilder darstellt. Émile Levasseur. Künstlichere. Quoted in Rothschild. and of the sources cited in the following six notes. 1809). comme Mozart.’ “Er tadelte es auch.” The journal of Charles-Julien Lioult de Chênedollé. die nie singen gelernt hätten. “M. wenn man es angehört hat. das Herz wird hingerissen. ou bien enfin. B. in unruhige Bewegung versetzt. 15. choisissant un moins vaste théâtre et se repliant sur lui même. Méthode de violoncelle et de basse d’accompagnement (c. 1 June 1799. daß Haydns Quartette unter allen neuen Compositionen dieser Art nur das meiste Vergnügen gewähren. und das ist es. Gelehrtere. ‘Ich setzte mich hin.” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung. 586. il présente. Cartier a dit d’une manière très-originale: Si Dieu voulait parler aux hommes. en disant: Boccherini est la femme d’Haydn.” PierreMarie-François de Sales Baillot. was so vielen unserer neuen Komponisten fehlt. comme Gluck. fing an zu fantasieren. die gleichartige. man wird dadurch erschüttert. may be found at http://epub. ihn noch zu wenig zu kennen: wo man ihn aber kennet und besonders den melodischen Theil seiner Werke zu geniessen und zu würdigen verstehet. 1804. il embrasse d’un coup d’oeil la création entière. il se servirait de la musique d’Haydn. 12. “Deutschland scheint. le tableau des passions qui nous agitent sur la scène du monde. gerührt. et.” in Dictionnaire historique des musiciens (Paris: Valade. “Il est plus enivrant qu’Haydn. The complete text and translation of this review. and Charles-Nicolas Baudiot. . Briefe über den Geschmack in der Musik (Carlsruhe.

n’acquerir que les idées qu’elle acquiert. His Dedicatee. 21 October 1999. and the storehouse of meanings the exigencies entail. Her Instrument: Thoughts on Performing Haydn’s Keyboard Sonatas. . and Musical Imagining. and 37 (1997): 95–109. Svetlana Alpers and Michael Baxandall. 1984). in Cinco sainetes inéditos de Don Ramón . See.” Perspectives of New Music 32. 1994). que quand nous nous supposerons privés de tout ce qui lui manque.com. 18. Analysis. and David Code. 16. Je crois que les lecteurs. Biographische Notizen über Joseph Haydn (1810. Tiepolo and the Pictorial Intelligence (New Haven: Yale University Press. www. and also “Delivery. Leuven. tone and expressiveness. 1981). ed. ed. Charles Fisk. und anstatt des Gesanges lasse man die Instrumente dominiren.” Othmar Wessely and Suzanne Wijsman. J’avertis donc qu’il est très-important de se mettre exactement à la place de la statue que nous allons observer. Charles Rosen. suggesting a high degree of collaboration between Kraft and Haydn. et nous ne jugerons comme elle. Elle ne jugera des choses comme nous.” College Music Symposium 36 (1996): 59–72. To date. ne contracter que les habitudes qu’elle contracte: en un mot. “Performance. who to date has produced two fascinating exegeses of the mutual influences among Haydn and his executants historical and living: “A Composer. Sander Goldberg. 114–15. que quand elle aura tous nos sens et tout notre expérience. Traité des sensations (1754. qui se mettront exactement à sa place. Ibid. 9 19.notes to pages 257–260 327 nen. “Parting the Veil of Debussy’s Voiles” (unpublished paper delivered at the meeting of the International Musicological Society. I am not the writer to bring Haydn’s keyboard music into this fold. n’auront pas de peine à entendre cette ouvrage. . forthcoming). who devotes a thoughtful and extended discussion to the ways in which playing Schumann informed his analyses. Étienne Bonnot de Condillac.” in Cambridge Companion to Haydn. Delivery. n’avoir qu’un seul sens. El pueblo quejoso (1770). 20. 17. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg Verlag. for example. and vice versa. Tom Beghin. facsimile reprint. and the Mind/Body Problem (Towards a Feminist Music Theory). les autres m’opposeront des difficultés sans nombre. who speaks evocatively about meanings to be found in the act of playing Bach on the organ. no. Music Theory. 8–9. 21. il faut n’être que ce qu’elle est.” New York Times Review of Books. keyboards have been the subject of a greater amount of kinesthetic description and theorizing than any other instrumental medium. “Feminist Theory.” in Engaging Rhetoric: Essays on Haydn and Performance. Paris: Fayard. “On Playing the Piano. and Elisabeth Le Guin (publication under review). Suzanne Cusick. Ramón de la Cruz. reprint. See my remarks about the physical framing of the performer in chapter 1. “Kraft. 2000–). Belgium. who focuses on the peculiarly exigent task of playing Beethoven. Il faut commencer d’exister avec elle. 22. Delivery! Crowning the Rhetorical Process of Haydn’s Keyboard Sonatas. Caryl Clark (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Avis Important au Lecteur . “Its style and special effects give ample opportunity for the soloist to display virtuosity.grovemusic. That honor should go to Tom Beghin. August 2002). Anton” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians Online (London: Macmillan. quand elle n’en a qu’un. As a non-keyboardist.’” Georg August Griesinger. 1 (1994): 8–27.

facsimile reprint. 25. 1803.” 59. “Entretiens sur ‘Le Fils naturel’” (1757). elle ne dit que les paroles suivantes. André Billy (Paris: Éditions Gallimard. 24. Elle sera comme l’echo dont Ovide dit: sonus est qui vivit in illa. “Lorsque son oreille sera frappée. 4 (1989): 512–28. qu’une jolie villageoise. I will often paraphrase my eighteenth-century sources in what follows. Sentiment and Sociability: The Language of Feeling in the Eighteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press. . elle n’écoute que sa tendresse. 28. 26. no. le ton. 31. d’abord. pt. 99. facsimile reprint. I take this idea from the program notes to a performance of the complete cycle by Tom Beghin at UCLA’s Clark Library in June 2000. 1924). Charles Emil Kany (New York and Paris. Plainly not every middleclass woman subscribed to the sensible style. 336. 1932). le geste. For grace of style (and for deliberate conflation of voices). Ibid.” sec. 30. C’est l’acteur qui donne au discours tout ce qu’il a d’énergie. c’est le son qui vit en elle. 8. C’est lui qui porte aux oreilles la force et la vérité de l’accent. . “Pénétrez vous. a note will present the original text. Life and Manners in Madrid. Charlotte Lennox. 33. en reprochant à son amoureux l’infidélité qu’elle méritoit si peu. Nouvelle Méthode théorique et pratique pour le violon Paris: Naderman.” Denis Diderot. ed. . 3 (fall 1995): 423–85. et c’est ce qui nous frappe. Gasparo Angiolini.” Condillac. . . encore vierge. elle deviendra la sensation qu’elle éprouvera. “La voix. 1956). l’action. L’ouïe ne lui donne l’idée d’aucun objet situé à une certaine distance. Quoted and translated in Kany.” Giuseppe Maria Cambini. “D’un homme borné au sens de l’ouïe. Life and Manners in Madrid. 32. Traité des sensations. Millar.p. Quoted in John Mullan. 1. Milan: Civica Raccolta delle Stampe Achille Bertarelli. Martha Feldman. 29. éprouve. . 1972. . “Magic Mirrors and the ‘Seria’ Stage: Thoughts toward a Ritual View. The Female Quixote (London: A. 1752). 1951). Quoted and translated in Charles Emil Kany. Geneva: Minkoff. 296–97. pour servir de programme au ballet pantomime tragique de Sémiramis (1765. 1988). Quoi! tu peux m’être infidèle! Qui t’aimera plus que moi! Si je te parois moins belle. In each case. con otro a él atribuido. c. 21 23. Mon coeur n’est il rien pour toi! —Ou quelque chose de semblable. 1. in Oeuvres. Los payos críticos (1770). Ramón de la Cruz. voilà ce qui appartient à l’acteur. Barbara Hanning. no. Dissertation sur les ballets pantomimes des anciens. 1750– 1800 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. ed. 1:185. chap.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 49. “Conversation and Musical Style in the Late Eighteenthcentury Parisian Salon. 27. “La statue bornée au sense de l’ouïe est tout ce qu’elle entend. n. 1:220. Supposez-lui un caractère encore plus naïf que celui de Colette dans le Devin du Village: elle ne connoit pas le dépit.328 notes to pages 261–265 de la Cruz. du sentiment naïf et tendre.” Eighteenth-Century Studies 22.

13.notes to pages 265–268 329 34. die schüchtern durchs Gebüsche rauscht?” Salomon Gessner. 42. à la première piqûre. as imagined by Diderot.” The other piece that uses this tune is the second movement of the second sonata in the set. Andreas Giger and Thomas J. . “Die Nacht.” Diderot. XVI:37. (I do not think that I myself was reacting to a memory of the other piece. 38. which I had not heard for well over a year). 7. à mêler ses pleurs au cristal d’une fontaine. presque sans le vouloir: ‘Il est sous le charme. (Lincoln : University of Nebraska Press. Mathiesen. 5.” Condillac. Il respirait avec force. pt. elle continuera d’étendre les bras sans défiance: mais. chap. plus elle agira avec facilité. des campagnes fertiles . It would seem from this that Haydn was consciously playing with the tune’s cast of familiarity. . This is a response to a not dissimilar phrase of Haydn. et elle demeurera immobile. I:53.’” 1:220.” in Schriften (Vienna: Johann Thomas Edlen von Trattnern.’” 1:222. Traité des sensations. Je m’écriai. 2. “Entretiens sur ‘Le Fils naturel. .” Diderot. 35. . . 41. selon l’attrait de son coeur. to show different methods of execution. 1. in C # minor. et de partager son attention entre ce qu’elle est et ce qu’elle a été. . chap. I am inspired to use this Ovidian imagery by Wye Allanbrook. You subsequently reminded me that it is this very tune to which Haydn refers in the “Avertissement” published with this group of sonatas. 2001). “La mémoire devient en elle une habitude.” 21. “Il aime. “Hast du. à fuir au fond des forêts. Il avait la poitrine élevée. hat ein lauschender Waltgott mich geweckt. 2:130. C’est par là que la statue se fera une habitude de se rappeler sans effort les changemens par où elle a passé. . oder eine Nymphe. See “Theorizing the Comic Surface. “C’était la saison où la terre est couverte des biens qu’elle accorde au travail et à la sueur des hommes.” Salomon Gessner. “Des idées que peut acquérir un homme borné au sens de toucher. 3:6. 37. “Idyllen: an den Leser. “Il s’était abandonné au spectacle de la nature. Atlanta. 39.” sec. “Entretiens sur ‘Le Fils naturel. This is a description of Diderot’s character Dorval. Hob. à pas lents. cette confiance l’abandonnera. “Cependant plus la mémoire aura occasion de s’exercer. the first opening violin line of the Andante of his Symphony no. 2. 36.” in Schriften. ed. “Si cependant elle n’a point encore été blessée par les corps sur lesquels elle a porté la main. as follows: “Among these six sonatas there are two single movements in which the same idea occurs through several bars: the author has done this intentionally. 2002). . à fouler d’un pied léger l’herbe tendre de la prairie. pt. 1765). 53. Hob. who has pioneered its use as an exegetical tool. and “Haydn and the Rhetoric of Comic Metamorphosis” (paper delivered at the national meeting of the American Musicological Society.” in Music in the Mirror : Reflections on the History of Music Theory and Literature for the Twenty-first Century.’” Ibid. Car une habitude n’est que la facilité s’acquiert par la réitération des actes. “Alle Gemählde von stiller Ruhe und sanftem ungestöhrtem Glücke müßen Leuten von edler Denkart gefallen. Philomele! durch dein zärtliches Lied. 40. . Georgia. à traverser.” 116. “Des opérations de l’entendement .” sec. Traité des sensations.” Condillac. “La douleur suspend le désir qu’elle a de se mouvoir.

39 comprises first editions of the quartets from Boccherini’s opp. 1987) for the basic idea and structure of this table. 1969). si bien exercés au ton de la galanterie et aux accens de la passion.” Denis Diderot. “Et lorsque le poids du jour sera tombé nous continuerons notre route. appendix I am indebted to Christian Speck’s Boccherinis Streichquartette: Studien zur Kompositionsweise und gattungsgeschichtlichen Stellung (Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. n’abuseront-ils jamais de cet art pour séduire de [ jeunes] personnes?” Ibid. symphonies. qu’on satisfait ensuite aux dépens de la vertu. and reprints some of his op. in Oeuvres esthétiques. 32. in Oeuvres complètes (Paris: Gallimard. 39 and 41 are “mixed” opere. Paul Vernière (Paris: Bordas. and other works in addition to quartets. “[Le mal qu’on reproche au théatre n’est pas précisement d’inspirer des passions criminelles. “Lettre à M.” Jean-Jacques Rousseau. containing quintets. d’Alembert sur son article ‘Genève’” (1758). 1. Thematic. .. “Je n’accuse pas [le comédien] d’être précisément un trompeur. nous nous rappellerons encore cet endroit enchanté et l’heure délicieuse que nous y avons passée. 610. appears on 205. Pleyel’s op. et dans un temps plus éloigné. 45. trans. 73. Bibliographical and Critical Catalogue of the Works of Luigi Boccherini. Boccherini’s opp. 5:42. and 52. 259.” Salon of 1763.330 notes to pages 269–271 43. et de s’exercer à des habitudes qui ne pouvant être innocentes qu’au théâtre. 1995). 2. See Yves Gérard. his version. 39. mais] de disposer l’âme à des sentimens trop tendres. “Loutherbourg: paysage avec figures et animaux. ne servent par tout ailleurs qu’à mal faire. ed. which also compares the composition and publication dates of Haydn’s and Mozart’s quartets with those of Boccherini’s. 41. 44. Ces hommes si bien parés. 1988). mais de cultiver pour tout métier le talent de tromper les hommes. Andreas Mayor (London: Oxford University Press.

G. MS.ucla. Z. Conservatorio G. Secondary sources referring directly to Boccherini E. (Autograph?) Sonata in G Major. Contextual secondary sources a. Contextual primary sources (to 1900) D. Milan. 5. 1982. Bremner. Sources used for the musical examples and for the performances recorded on the CD B. Primary sources (to 1900) referring directly to Boccherini. G. sources used for the musical examples and for the performances recorded on the cd Cello Concertos Concerto in C Major. 573. 331 . G. 11 in do maggiore. this bibliography is divided into five sections: A. 1995.library. Edited by Aldo Pais. Cello Sonatas Sonata in E b Major. 1770–75. Discovered A. 573.bibliography For ease of reference. The relevant passages of many of these sources appear in http://epub.edu/leguin/boccherini C. London: R. Verdi. fuori catalogo. Padua: Zanibon. Laterza. Boccherini: concerto n.

1820. G. G. 1818. 177–82. 1991). MS.) String Quartets Quartets op. (NB: Boyer reused the original Vénier plates from 1772. Paris: Imbault. . Paris: Janet et Cotelle. (Autograph?) Duport. G. William. 374 (1795). (Gérard: “MS Copies: [score]”. 5. 171–76. Facsimile reprint. Paris: Janet et Cotelle. Quintet in D Major. 8. Collection des quintetti de Boccherini. Baillot. 15. Geneva: Minkoff. Bentley. 11. Biblioteca del Conservatorio Superior de Música. op. Translated by Louise Goldberg as The Art of the Violin (Evanston: Northwestern University Press. MS. String Quintets Quintet in E Major. 11).) Quartets op. “Método de violoncello” (c. London: R. Quartets op. op. 16 vols. Collection des quintetti de Boccherini. 3e trimestre (1798): 525. “L’uccelliera. 6. April 1773 (as op. op. collection of the Duke of Hamilton. 1835. 1818. (Francisco?). 275 (1771). December 1769 (as op. 6). G. 1). 6. 8. 1. 9. Baillot. Quartets op. Paris: Janet et Cotelle. 283 (1774).” G. op. 1790 (as op. no. 159–64. Jean-Louis. 16 vols. no. 1834. Paris: Boyer. and Charles-Nicolas Baudiot. 10). 5. L’Art du violon. c. 17. Collection des quintetti de Boccherini. Madrid. Paris: Vénier. 1818. b. 18. Beckford. Quintet in A Minor. Charles-Simon Catel. 165–70. 1800). c. Pierre-Marie-François de Sales. 20. 16 vols. no. Pierre-Marie-François de Sales. 16 vols. 50.332 bibliography Sonata in C Major. G. G. signature 1/7041 (10). dedié aux professeurs de violoncelle. Paris: Vénier. no. primary sources referring directly to boccherini “Anecdotes sur Viotti. Paris: Vénier. Méthode de violoncelle et de basse d’accompagnement. Lennoxlove. 1818. Quintet in C Major. 1974. 2. 294 (1775). Works by Composers Other Than Boccherini Brunetti. Émile Levasseur. 16 vols. G. Scotland. Paris: Janet et Cotelle.” Le Décade philosophique 6. with Sketches of Spain and Portugal. 276 (1771). Paris: Dépôt Central de la Musique. Essai sur le doigté du violoncelle et sur la conduite de l’archet. 1804. 2. 11. Étude no. Quintet in C Minor. op. Vol. Paris: Janet et Cotelle. Italy. G. G. no. April 1767 (as op. Collection des quintetti de Boccherini. Collection des quintetti de Boccherini. 1818.

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46–48. Giovanni Gastone. Anna Matilda. 163. cello possibly owned by. 71–72 Boccherini. Svetlana. and Haydn. 219. 97. 187–88. 94. 23 Biagi-Ravenni. 33–36. 224 analysis through performance. 48 Boccherini. 256. See also pantomime ballet Barnes. 32. compositional process. contemporary comparison with Haydn. 153. 1. 48. Ellen Iris.. 43 Boccherini. accounts of his cello playing.E. Don Juan. Gasparo. Gabriella. 100 Blackmore. 55 Baillot. anecdotes about. 210. 39–42. 135–36 Artaria (publisher). influence of Viennese style on. 130. 255–57. 42–44. Richard. 160. “celestial” topos. 255–56.index acoustics. 72–73. Ludwig van. 68–69. 65. 88. 277–78n15 bel canto. 4. 97. 12 automata. 38. Luigi: abandonment of melodic line. on performers. in Lucca. 187–88. 160 Batoni. 187 Boccherini. in Paris. 91–96. 55. autograph catalog. 184. 181. 71. 61. 160. autopsy of. interdependence of composer and performer identities. David. 42. 93 Aristotle. 163. Michael. 43–45. 61. Pompeo. 77 Beethoven. Louis Petit de. 195 Bachaumont. partiality to soft dynamics. 63–64. Le Mariage de Figaro. hedonistic quality in his music. 254. 255 Artaria Quartet. health. 255 Albani. 78. 71–72 bien-parado. 78–79. 208 Angiolini. publications. 39 Bagge. 138–39. 234–53 Andreoli. cellistic. his music associated with painting. omission of virtuoso works. 223–24. Carlo. 47. 39 Baxandall. ou Le Festin de pierre. on making and doing. portraits of. Francesco. 43–44. 147–48 Bach. 52 Bailleux (publisher). 49–55. 325n7. 293n22. 204–6. 78 Alborea. contemporary writings on. Sémiramis. influence of dance music on. Francesco. 133. 263. relations with Pleyel. 75–76. Baron de. See Francischello Alpers. 66. 46–48. 4. 162–82. posthumous reputation. 134. See under Diderot afrancesismo. self- 345 . and melancholy. Abschied von meinem Silbermannischen Claviere. 76. C. 39. 244 Beaumarchais. Leopoldo. on composition.P. 76–77 acting. 244 Amsterdam. 222. 76. 255. 319n50 ballet. influence of. Pierre. 68.

pain. 215. op. G. 5. 179. Madame. 189–90. no. no. humors. 17. 8. training of toward perfection. 67. Cello Sonata in G Major. 43–44. 102– 4. as performer. 1. 22–23 bolero. Quartet in F Major. Quartet in F Major. Concerto in A Major. 1. 215. 18. no. 314n11. 9. G. 55–64. 190–91. Cello Sonata in C Major. 2. 178. Quartet in C Minor. 573. op. Quintet in C Major. 162–63. 21. 291n4. 129. 3. G. 43 body: and dance. . G. G. 129. G. Sinfonia in C Major. Cello Concerto in B b Major. G. 5. in Spain. G. G. Luigi. no. 145. 165–76. no. 85. 6. G. 18. technical. G. 163. mechanization of. 185 Boucher. Quartet in F Major. 144. 284n68 Burton. G. 128. Sonata in G Major. no. no. G. 5. Riccarda. Quintet in D Major. Cello Sonata in E b Major. 176–80. op. no. 86. no. 117. 196–204. Sonata in C Major. See also comfort: technical. op. 157–59. nerves likened to strings. 14– 37. 29. 46–47 Boccherini. 3. no. 1. 71. Sextet in C Major. Sonata in A Major. 11. 168. 187. 174. 315n12 Calderón de la Barca. his works as a reflection of his character. G. 207–53. 85– 90. 100. 248. tension and release body. 191 Calzabigi. 219 boulevard theaters. 281. 88–90. G. 13. 74. G. Quartet in D Major. 4. Paris. G. string quartets. 28. 171–76. 293n19. Quintet in C Major. 6. 2. 215–17. op. 3. 273n1. style periodization. 169. Sonata in C Major. 208–210. 9. 4. 1. G. 308. 170. Quartet in E b Major. Violin Sonata in B b Major. Quintet in A Minor. G. Quartet in G Minor. 491. 171. 88. 235. 5. Carlo (Farinelli). 47. G. G. 466. G. 100–102. 95. 162 Brunetti. 2. Quartet in E Major. fuori catalogo. Jean-François. G. 50. Théophile. 279n9. 133 Boccherini. José. 8. op. 60 Boyé. Quintet in E Major. G. 15. Quartets op. 310n55 Bryson. Sonata in E b Major. 544. 6. 133. 183. 147. 38–39. G. 565. 215. kinesthesia. G. Pedro. op. op. Alexandre. 58. op. 132–33. 53. Violin Sonata in G Minor. works omitted from his catalog. 97 Bordeu. 5. Norman. James. 11. G. 276n25 Boccherini. historical conceptions of. tours of northern Italy. G. Robert. 477. 258–63. 223–53. 255–56. 50 Bourgoing. no. 184. Giuseppe. G. 57–58. stringed instruments associated with body. op. virtuosity. op. 98–99. G. 100. 53. Charles. no. 8. inward movement. G. 151–54 Brunetti. Quartet in C Minor. 3. op. G. 271. 293n19. works: aria “Se d’un amor tiranno” in B b Major. physiology according to Descartes. op. 53. 208–9. Quartet op. 5. 129. 129. G. op. performing: muscular resistance. works in Spanish style. Raniero de. 222 Burney. in Vienna. 159. no. 5. Quintet in A Major. no. 3. 15. 130. 173. 13. Sonata in B b Major. 103. no. string quartets. 70. no. 48. 152. 38. 557. 207 Boswell. 44–55. embodiment. François.346 index 302n1. 73. 100–101. 146–47. 236. 27. G. 6. 165. 374. Luigi (continued ) presentation in letters. G. Quintet in A Major. 94–95. 86–87. 293n25 Boccherini. 5–6. 95. 255–56. 141. Cello Concerto in C Major. 5. early. 566. 8. G. 53 Broschi. Gaetano. Francisco. Trio in F Major. 569. no. 44 Cambini. Concerto in G Major. 165 Brillon de Jouy. 275. 30. 61. 283. G. Maria Ester. 69 Boucher. no. 154. G. op. Concerto in C Major. 129. sonatas in his oeuvre. 48. 17. 291n4. 9. tragedy in his music. 294. op. 8. Quartet in E b Major. G. La Clementina. 215. transfer of styles. 20. 129. 219 Burgtheater (Vienna). 211. tactile experience and composition. 480. op. 129. and performance. use of instrumental tessitura. of listeners. G. G. 95. 78. 128. chronology of. villancicos. 276. 291n4. 129. 195–96 Cadalso. 207. 162. 129. scena. 239. 134. 324 (La musica notturna delle strade di Madrid). G. op. bodily. Sonata in A Major. no. 217–18. G. discomfort. Quartet in A Major. 1. 245–46. 540. 195. 539. wife (first). Quintet in C Minor. 4. 44–46. 58. op. op. 9. 212–15. no. 475. 148–54. 167. 105–29. no.

52 Carlos III. Francisco. technical. different between listener and performer. 128. 163 Cartier. 41 chromaticism. 241–42. 30. 58 compositional process and execution. on tableaux. 285n71 Cruz. 248–49. 96–102. methods. Le Neveu de Rameau. 5. anti-sensible ideas. 64. on attitudes and actions. 313n7 Carlos IV. 45. 71. 43 Feijóo y Montenegro. 26. 87 Duport. 154–57. in performance. Marie-Joseph. Charles Simon. on performance. 51–53. Benito Jerónimo de. 3. 51–52 Condillac. 87 Castil-Blaze. Mimi. 53. 155–56 eudaemonism. 87 comfort. 90–96. and the body. 83–84 Concerts Spirituels. on expressive power of gesture. 127–28. French. 1 Cheyne. 219 Esteve. 102–3. 243–44. 8. 58–59. 79. 86 fact and fiction. 184 Castelvecchi. 211 Clairon. See also discomfort. 154–55. paradox of the actor. 258 con smorfia. 49 dynamics. 95–96. 2. on body and culture. 222. on “conspiration” of movements. 75. 112.index cantor–musicus distinction. 186. on sketches. 92–93. 143. See also body eroticism. 58 Favart. 68–69 carnal musicology. in Spain. 46–47 Della Croce. 182. 264–65. 9–10. 147 Don Juan. Giambattista. 145–46. Karl. Gerhard. 87. technical Compañía de Ópera Italiana de los Sitios Reales. Carlo Farnese. 145 embodiment. 43–44. 139 Coquéau. 211–12. 32. technical Ditters. on a Loutherbourg paysage. Jean-Baptiste. 6–11. 262. beehive image. Étienne Bonnot de. 134–35 Capron. influence on Boccherini. Claude-Philibert. Luigi. 95. rehearsals. 239. 6–7. 347 Spanish. 83. 21. 49 Favier. Ramón de la. Nina. 149. See also comfort. classification of motions in. 80– 81. 239–41. Nicolas-Marie. 21 Dugazon. Charles. 236. Henri. 154. Jean-Pierre. 149. 56. 59. Louise-Rosalie. See smorfioso “conspiration. 82–83. 30–31 expressive playing. Jean le Rond. 183 descending tetrachord. 59–60. 32 Descartes. on le moelleux. George. 33 Carpani. Giuseppe. King of Spain. 7–9. 52. 21 Coltellini. 127. Celeste. 12–13 fandango. 11. Denis. 60–61 cyclicity: of movements. 285n71 Cassiodorus. 275–76n23 Feldman. 94. 4–5. technical. 256 Chénier. 51–54 Durazzo. See Broschi. 93. 314n11 Correspondance littéraire (Grimm). 23 Cirri. 145. 256 Casanova. 151 drone. King of Spain. 30–31. 43. 154 Creus. as signals for thumb placement. 262 . 236–37. 192 double-stopping. 26–27. La (Claire -Joseph Léris).” 94 consumptions.” 80. 19. 9. 151–52 Duport. historical conceptions of. Queen Isabella. Giacomo. 154 clefs. 210– 11. on Richardson. Viennese reform of. portrait by Louis-Michel Van Loo. pathetic connotations of. 100. 85. on Greuze. on understanding the soul. Stefano. 190. 60. 185–86 Christmann. 105. Giacomo. Jean-Louis. 55. 236 dance. Pablo. personal styles. See also recycling Dalayrac. 9 expectations. 116. 39. Nicolas. physical production of. 100 Diderot. 90 D’Alembert. Prince de. 156–57. 96. “Salons. 104 discomfort. 51–52 cello: as virtuoso instrument. 251–52. 192–93 Conti. 68–69 cellists in Paris. René. of themes between movements. 33–34 concert behavior. 69–70. 100 Farinelli. Martha. 207. 151–54 Chênedollé. 92.

in music. 18–19. 192 Grangé (publisher). Daniel. 70. 162 Fernando VI. 31. 27. Philipp. to convey emotion. 139 majismo. 134. Friedrich. 265. 261–62. 182–83 Gallini. 139–41. Don Juan. Jean-Étienne. Joseph. Gaetano. 215–16 Iriarte. Philippe Jacques de. 133 Gessner. 44. La Leutgeb. 257 labyrinth. 52 lacuna. 257 Heartz. eighteenthcentury. 223 Madrid. 57 María Bárbara de Braganza. 155 Maria Theresa. 45 Liotard. 75 Lekain. Caterina. 63. Anton. Carlo. 57. See Clairon. William. Luigi. 75 Francischello (Francesco Alborea). 25. 47. Joseph. King of Spain. 153 grotesque style. 52 Goya. 183–84 Gluck. 220 Harvey. 153–54. 207. 45 Gumpenhuber. 157 Felipe V. 3. inattention. Infante Don. as antidote to love-melancholy. 129 listeners and listening. cello. 257. 256–57 Grimm.348 index mance of. 129. 131–32 instrumentation. 43. l’aîné. XVI:39. 138–47. as sensible strategy. and creation. 181 Kärtnertortheater (Vienna). 76. Condesa-Duquesa de Benavente-Osuna. 85. 42–44 Luis de Borbón. Empress. 60 galant style. 307n36 Fétis. 215–18 Hanning. 154 Léris. Georg August. L’almería. See also concert behavior Loutherbourg. 244 Gossec. François-Joseph. 63. 94. Claire-Joseph. Jean-Baptiste. 261 harmonics. 256–57. 276 “fundamental feeling. Filippo. 143. Barbara. 45 Hilverding. 58 María Josefa. 57. 39. Yves. in Spain. 61–62. 149 Galuppi. 24–25 idiom. Jean-Baptiste. 78–80 Glisson. Francis. 192–94 mechanism. 136 Foucault. Michel. 94–95. Friedrich. 55. perfor- . Carl. 7. 84. Franz. 147. 188 half-step descent. 45 genius and virtue. ou Le Festin de pierre. 141. 132 Gérard. 196. Sara. Gian Francesco. 249. 134. Florian. 51–52 Jovellanos. 81. 45. 55. 45 galanterie. 182 Haydn. 55 Greuze. Christian Friedrich. 254– 57. in dance. François-Joseph. Jean-Honoré. 139 kinesthesia. 60–62. 150 Fragonard. Salomon. 207 Marescalchi. 39. 83– 84. 154–55 Gassmann. Georges. 141 Majo. 95 inward movement. Le cinesi. 43 Garrick. the perfect. Henri-Louis. Gaspar Melchor de. G-major keyboard sonata. See also embodiment Kraft. Queen. 148 Ferrari. Baldassare. 58. 209 fingerings. Domenico. 47. 39. 260. 69. 281n29 Gusdorf. 93 Goldoni. bodily. Tomás de. in music. David. writing for strings. 10 Galen. 79 Lucca. 156 Junker. 57–58 Manfredi. Arianna. 71. 105. 268. 100. 77. L’Artaserse. 48–49. 64. 62 Jansson. See Correspondance littéraire Gross. 141. 143–47 Grützmacher. 181 La Chevardière (publisher). Sémiramis. 176. 23. 263–70. 182 identification with composer. 45–46 masturbation. on singing. 46–47. 61–62. Hob. 43. 297n51. 41 Lippmann. 152 Font. harmonic. Francisco de. 93 Griesinger. composition through execution. 97. Francisco. 46. King of Spain. 73. 139. 148–49. Christoph von. 46. Giovanni Andrea. 1. 258–63. familiarity. 52. 140–42. in art. 46–47 Hübner. Orfeo. 273n1 Guadagni. 7 humors.” 7 Gabrielli.

192–93 nocturnal music. Luis. pleasure in. 138. 163. 127 Porter. 194–95 Sadie. on language and emotions. 256 Schenker. 219–21 rondos. Artaserse. as dialogue. See also cyclicity reminiscence. smorfioso Pergolesi. Jean-Georges. Nina. 10–11 Paisiello. 70. See inward movement movement. 71–72 Paris. 48. 57–58 Pelliccia. 285n71 performance: assessment of stages in. 151. Jean-Jacques. 188 ponticello tone. 292n16 rococo. thematic. 65. Marquis de. 148–49 night. 90 pantomime ballet. sensible. 128–30. 223 349 Rameau. 266–70 performance directions. on the role of the performer. 68. 212. Wolfgang. 303n8. Felix. 46. 95. 55. body and. 229 Richardson. 86–87. 50–51. 290n2 Pitrot. in ensembles. 44 Puppo. 136–38. 88 phrasing. 50 oration. 234 recording and editing performance. 165 nightingale. 50–51 Raoul. 138. 128 Salieri. See also cyclicity rhetorical metaphor in music. 48. 165–66. 153. 69. on performance. See ponticello tone. 206 nocturnal emission. 93. 139. 215. 184 Pleyel. 30 Noverre. 93.index melancholy: equated with consumption. 101. Giovanni. 207 narrative. María Teresa. 321n2 Sardini. 14. Vincent. See under Diderot Paret y Alcázar. 75 Orléans. 50. 212–15 repetition. musical metaphor of. Samuel. 76 novelty. Hubert. 2. desire for. 187 motion toward center. 58. Ignaz. 149 Mozart. 260 . 190–92. le. 83–84. 17–18. 139 paradox of the actor. 182 Robert. 46–47. inter-movement. 53. 185 Puccini. 256 quartet-playing. Stanley. Domenico. 43 Plato. 212. 185–86 memory. from Galen to Descartes. Leopold. 80. 186– 87. Giacomo. 48. 211–15. 115–16 moelleux. 68 Persuis. 72. 81–83 Richter. Didone abbandonata. and music. Le Devin du village. satiric. 256. 45 Saunier. See tableaux vivants nerves likened to strings. 185. 130–31. Clementina. 265–66 Mendelssohn. 189 pseudo-Aristotle. 76. 152 readers and reading: relationship to CD examples. 95–96. Pietro. 52 pain. audience behavior during. 237–53 quartettini. of transitional material. 59. Jean-Marie. 69 Picquot. Antonio. 182–86. 49–50 opéra-comique. Franz Xaver. Giovanni Battista. 58 periodicity. Giuseppe. 208. personalization of. 162 Schaul. antivisuality. Heinrich. 221 Mozart. Nina. 209. 17–18. inter-generic. 189–92. 292n12 Sade. 230. La serva padrona. 45 Salomone. 117. 315n17 Nardini. ou La Folle pour amour. Louis. Antoine. Giovanni. on virtuosity. on tragédie-lyrique. Jean-Philippe. 21–22. 258– 63. Duc d’. 24–25. 195. 43 Sammartini. 66. Joseph. 147. 162–82. Roy. Giovan Battista. 128 Rousseau. 22. Johann Baptist. 321n2 Roach. 52. 45. on synesthesia. interaction in. Le cinesi. 87. 85 Metastasio. 43. 38. 91. on unity of melody. 163. on tableaux. 93. 49–55 Pelliccia. relationships to analysis. and listening to music. Giovanni Battista. 184 Newtonianism. 43 Scarlatti. effect on listener. 250–53 recycling. 137–38 Opéra (Paris). 129–30. 220. Louis-Luc. love-melancholy.

112. 22 Vienna. 176. 105. 70. 65– 66. 62–63 Tortella. 153–54. 280n25 virtue. 66 Starzer. and the tableau. 143. 184 syphilis. 221–23 silences. 49–50 theatricalized reading of instrumental music. Louis-Michel. in dance. 93 Weigl. Madrid. Francesco. 48. 184 string quartet: early history of ensemble. Jean Baptiste. Sémiramis. 68 Stegreif komödie. Maynard. 135–36 virtuosi. stage. 8 Twining. 207 subjectivity as a necessity. 17 vibrato. Lodovico. 128 Wollheim. 55 sixth sense. 19–22. 166. 81–82. 145 sentir/sentire and performance. 210–11 Théâtre-Italien. 61. Antonio. 6. 87. 321n2 stasis. listening. 211. 62 Van Loo. 30. 23 tonadilla escénica. in art. María Antonia (La Caramba). Anne-Robert-Jacques. 134–36. esthetics of. 129. 30. Night Thoughts. 95. 190. 139 sonata form: expectations. 304n17. 210 work and performance. Giambattista. 155–56 Vallotti. 82. 266–67. 44–55. Christopher. 223 Viadana. 93. personal. and sensible reception. 276n3 Tiepolo. 75 slow movements and sensible style. 136–38 visuality: and instrumental music. 186–87. 161. See timbre Spain. 204–6. 27. Thomas. 55–64. 75. 103. 55. 35–36 visualization of hearing. and sensible reception. 79. 152. 116–17. 205. 73. 27. physical gestures of performer. 37 timbral ambiguity. 52–53. first professional. Laurence. 208–9. 4. 53–54.350 index third-relations. 219–20 Voltaire. Jaime. in literature. 112. 219–20. 58. 160–61. 43 Turgot. Susan. 66 tessitura. 133 Young. 25–26 Sudnow. 80–84 tactile experience and composition. Richard. in instrumental music. 97. Italian music in. 115–17 . and melancholy. 105. Joseph. 161. 161 sound. Joseph. Onorato. personal. Jacques. 46 Sterne. 27 Sontag. 95. 157 virtuosity contra sensibilité. 111–12. 139 Viganò. 230 spectacle. in music. 163–65. 195. inseparability of. 55 torture. 184–85 sensible style: in acting. 134. 112. Christian. 55–56. 147 Spohr. 192–93 tableaux vivants. 185. Edward. 133 work-concept. 50–51 tragedy: in Boccherini’s music. Francisco. 61 Speck. 190 Solomon. 95. 7–8 sketches. See embodiment. 70–72. 70. 255–56 unusual keys. 3. 77–84. 111–12. 85–90. David. 115–16. 229 Sisman. 85. metaphorical associations. 4. 141 textile-like writing. 131 tension and release. 30. Carle. 43. 77 Van Loo. 71. 184 smorfioso. sixth sense sensibilité. 75 timbre. 217 thumb-position. Elaine. personification in. 181 Vallejo Fernández. Louis. 94– 95. 85–90 tuberculosis. 10 tragédie-lyrique. 102–3 Vaucanson. 262–63. 84. 80–84 Turchi. 224. 185 stringed instruments associated with body. 132. 181 Sitios Reales. 70 Small. 147–48 Vénier. 22 sympathetic vibration. 68–69. extreme. 45 Valls. 195 seguidillas. 46–47. 257 wit in music. 100–101 senses. 25 sforzando. represented by sympathetic vibration.