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i

DEBUSSY’S LEGACY AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF REPUTATION

ii
iii

Debussy’s Legacy and

the Construction of Reputation
Marianne Wheeldon

1
iv

1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America.

© Oxford University Press 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction
rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data

Name: Wheeldon, Marianne, author.
Title: Debussy’s legacy and the construction of reputation /​
Marianne Wheeldon.
Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, 2017. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016045660| ISBN 9780190631222 (hardcover) |
ISBN 9780190631246 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Debussy, Claude, 1862–​1918—Appreciation—History—
20th century. | Music—​France—20th century—History and criticism.
Classification: LCC ML410.D28 W47 2017 | DDC 780.92—​dc23
LC record available at https://​lccn.loc.gov/​2016045660

This publication is made possible in part by the Dragan Plamenac Endowment of the American
Musicological Society, funded in part by the National Endowment for the Humanities and the
Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
v

For Eric
vi
vi

Contents
Acknowledgments ix

1 The Construction of Reputation and the Case of Debussy 1

2 Reputational Entrepreneurs 29

3 Debussyism, Anti-​debussyism, Neoclassicism 65

4 The Controversy over the Ode à la France 98

5 Collective Memory and the Material Shaping of Debussy’s Legacy 133

Appendix: Le Florilège de Claude Debussy 169

Notes 189
Works Cited 209
Index 217

vii
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ix

Acknowledgments

This book would never have been written without the generous assistance
I received from numerous institutions and individuals. My research was made
possible through various departments at the University of Texas at Austin. Two
sabbaticals from the Faculty Development Program proved invaluable, the first
for providing the initial impetus to embark on this project and the second for the
much-​needed time to complete the manuscript. In addition, support from a uni-
versity research grant, two creative research grants from the College of Fine Arts,
and a Sarah and Ernest Butler Faculty Development Award from the Butler School
of Music funded research trips to libraries and archives, without which this type
of project would have been impossible. Throughout my travels, I benefited greatly
from the expertise of librarians and archivists, who helped me access the materi-
als I needed and shared their knowledge of the collections. I thank all those who
assisted me at the Archives de Paris, the Médiathèque Musicale Mahler, the music
department of the Bibliothèque nationale de France, and the Fonds ancien of the
Bibliothèque municipale de Lyon. Closer to home, I received invaluable assistance
from the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin, the New York
Public Library, and the Frick Art Reference Library at the Frick Collection, where
my dear friend and archivist, Julie Ludwig, helped me with my request.
My project has benefited immensely from friends and colleagues who offered
crucial feedback at the various stages of this book’s preparation, from grant

ix
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x Acknowledgments
proposals and conference presentations to article and chapter drafts. My sincere
thanks go to Denis Herlin, Roy Howat, Barbara Kelly, Tamara Levitz, Christopher
Moore, Jann Pasler, Marie Rolf, Philip Rupprecht, and John Turci-​Escobar for
their time, support, and astute commentary. Once again, I am extremely grate-
ful to my editor, Suzanne Ryan, for her expertise and enthusiasm as she ushered
my book through the publication process—​I am delighted to be working with her
again. Diane Gervais, director of the Alliance Française d’Austin, was indispen-
sable for her expertise in matters of translation and for helping me to decipher
illegible handwriting on the various documents I brought to her. Finally, I thank
Ryan Beavers, Scott Schumann, and Christopher Prosser for their meticulous work
in preparing the music examples.
My colleagues at the Butler School of Music provided me with moral support
and humorous respites throughout the entire process of writing this book. In par-
ticular, I thank John Turci-​Escobar and the stalwarts of happy hour, Jim Buhler,
Charles Carson, Eric Drott, and Hannah Lewis. Finally, to my husband and col-
league, Eric Drott, once again I am indebted for more than I can say. It was much
more fun researching and writing this book with him in my life. His support, en-
couragement, and advice have helped to shape my project from the initial idea to
the final manuscript. Debussy’s Legacy is dedicated to him.
xi

DEBUSSY’S LEGACY AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF REPUTATION

xi
1

1
The Construction of Reputation and the Case of Debussy

On 17 June 1932, a monument to Debussy was unveiled near his home in the
sixteenth arrondissement on the outskirts of Paris. The creation of the sculptors
Jan and Joël Martel, this tribute to the composer comprised a large stone triptych
with two statues framing a central panel, all of which was mirrored in a reflecting
pool that extended to the front of the monument (see Figure 5.6 in Chapter 5).
Commentators were immediately drawn to the intricate design of the central
panel, entitled La grande tapisserie de pierre (the large stone tapestry). Louis Laloy,
for example, noted how its “bas-​reliefs can be deciphered like hieroglyphics” and
he went on to identify “Saint Sébastien in his armor, Mélisande’s hair, the Faun
with his slanting flute, the waves of the sea engulfing the cathedral” (Figure 1.1).1
In his description, Gabriel Astruc provided even more detail, adding Pelléas be-
neath the evocation of Mélisande and her flowing hair, an enamored nymph below
the Faun, and angels next to the figure of Saint Sébastien, who was tied to a laurel
tree, an arrow piercing his heart. Astruc also noted the waves of La Mer, a mer-
maid representing “Sirènes” (Nocturnes), the pagoda from Estampes, the fish of
“Poissons d’or” (Images), and the toy figures of La Boîte à joujoux.2
In addition to describing the details on the face of the monument, several writers
commented on the numerous features that adorned the back of the central panel.
There was a quotation from the composer, writing as Monsieur Croche: “Search for
discipline within freedom. Listen to no-​one’s advice except that of the wind that

1
2

Figure 1.1. Jan and Joël Martel, “The large stone tapestry,” Monument à Debussy (1932). By
permission of the Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas at Austin.
3

The Construction of Reputation 3

passes and recounts the history of the world.”3 Beneath this textual citation was a
musical one, the flute solo from the opening measures of the Prélude à l’après-​midi
d’un faune. And directly below that appeared a lengthy inscription identifying all
the governmental offices that had patronized the project, followed in alphabetical
order by the names of the fifty French towns and eighty foreign cities that had
donated money to the monument.
But perhaps most striking of all, featured on the upper part of the central panel,
was a portrait of the composer at the piano surrounded by a group of musicians
(Figure 1.2). Astruc identified some of the figures that graced the monument’s re-
verse, recognizing “the features of André Messager and Ernest Chausson, Gabriel
Pierné and Paul Dukas, and twenty others still—​musicians, poets, painters, vir-
tuosi, critics, and choral conductors who, from Claude Debussy’s beginnings to
his death, were witnesses to his artistic life and knew his moments of sadness and
joy.”4 In the commemorative brochure published for the monument’s inauguration,
Emile Vuillermoz identified a few more personalities: the violinist Eugène Ysaÿe,
whose eponymous ensemble premiered Debussy’s string quartet; Albert Carré, the
administrator of the Opéra-​Comique when Pelléas et Mélisande premiered; Jean
Périer, Hector-​Robert Dufranne, Félix Vieuille, the creators of the roles of Pelléas,
Golaud, and Arkel, respectively; the pianist Alfred Cortot; and finally the monu-
ment committee, its presidents Messager and Paul Léon, and its members Astruc,
Roger-​Ducasse, Dukas, and Vuillermoz himself.5 Vuillermoz titled this group por-
trait “le concert symbolique” and described its significance as follows:

A musical apotheosis, realized in the form of an orchestral and choral perfor-

mance, offers homage of a particularly sentimental value to the memory of
Debussy. The author of Pelléas sits at the piano and all the instrumentalists
that surround him have the faces of his friends and his favorite performers.
This curious composition will be of exceptional interest to historians and
musicologists of the future.6

Vuillermoz’s final sentence proved to be prophetic because this “curious compo-

sition” immediately raises questions central to the investigation of Debussy’s post-
humous reputation and the early formation of his legacy. Why did the composer’s
devotees figure so prominently on this section of the monument? Who among
them were considered so necessary for his commemoration that their portraits
were carved on the monument’s reverse? What actions did these supporters take
on behalf of the composer and were they successful? What compelled them to act
and were their motivations entirely disinterested? Considering the monument as
a whole, the prominent position afforded to Debussy’s supporters on the back of
4

Figure 1.2. Jan and Joël Martel, “The symbolic concert,” Monument à Debussy (1932).
Photograph by Debretagne. By permission of the Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas at
Austin.
5

The Construction of Reputation 5

the central panel readily adds another dimension to Vuillermoz’s interpretation of
“the symbolic concert.” If the front of the monument commemorated the works of
the composer, then the reverse clearly celebrated his devotees—​the debussystes—​
who had worked so tirelessly to promote his music during his lifetime and after
his death. Both the stone tapestry and the symbolic concert comprised the monu-
ment’s central panel, with the montage of the composer’s works preeminent on
its face, but with the debussyists—​symbolically and literally—​supporting this
oeuvre from behind. Depending on whether the monument was viewed from the
front or the back even changed its commemorative intent: the front represented
the principal tribute to the composer and functioned solely as a Debussy monu-
ment; the reverse recognized the composer’s supporters and functioned more as a
tribute to the debussyists.
The particularities of the Martel monument embody in microcosm many of the
themes encountered and examined throughout this study. This is perhaps not un-
expected. In the same way that raising a monument is a collective endeavor, so too
the construction of reputation “evolves through a social and collective process.”7
Even in cases where artists achieved great acclaim during their lifetime, this did
not absolve the need for collective action after their death:

Once an artist dies, his or her reputation comes to rest irrevocably in other
hands. Only a small minority will have achieved the renown and gained a
following sufficient to carry them through the ages. The remembrance of
most . . . is highly dependent on survivors with an emotional and/​or financial
stake in the perpetuation of their reputation.8

In Debussy’s case, it could be argued that he possessed both the renown and a
following that should have guaranteed a smooth transition from a living to a post-
humous reputation. But as documented throughout this book, these were not suf-
ficient in themselves. Since most studies of Debussy understandably end with his
death, few scholars take note of the vitriolic backlash against the composer in the
years after the First World War and the decade-​long campaign that fought to keep
his musical aesthetic relevant in an era when it was characterized as outmoded,
decadent, and even harmful for the future of French music. To overturn such per-
ceptions entailed the actions of numerous individuals who devoted the time and
effort necessary to combat the downturn in the composer’s posthumous fortunes.
Howard S. Becker elaborates further on this collective process, stating that
“lasting [is] a crucial criterion of artistic greatness, that is to say, of reputation”
and that “artistic work lasts when it has an organizational basis that preserves
and protects it.”9 Becker emphasizes the need for a “network of cooperating
6

6 Debussy’s Legacy
people” whose activities are essential not only during the artist’s lifetime, but
also, even more so, after the artist’s death.10 Identifying Debussy’s network is a
straightforward matter, since in the latter part of his life it was well established
and efficient. It included Jacques Durand, who had an exclusive contract to pub-
lish and distribute the composer’s works from 1906 on.11 When pressed for time
and facing a fixed deadline, Debussy or Durand looked to colleagues for support in
the final stages of composition, recruiting assistance for tasks such as correcting
proofs, creating piano reductions, and completing orchestrations. The compos-
ers André Caplet and, on one occasion, Charles Koechlin performed such tasks.12
Once completed, the scores made their way to the impresarios, conductors, and
performers responsible for rehearsing and directing the premiere. Through their
professional standing, Debussy gained access to orchestras, ensembles, venues,
concert subscription series, and publicity, all of which ensured that tickets for the
event would be sold. At this point, critics sympathetic to the composer entered
the network, writing both to promote the work in advance of its performance
and to shape its reception afterward. Thus, Debussy worked at the “center of a
network of cooperating people” that aided him in the completion, distribution,
performance, and reception of his compositions, “all of whose work [was] essen-
tial to the final outcome.”13
After the composer’s death in 1918, this same network continued to operate,
the members of his cooperative circle simply retaining the roles and functions
they had performed during his lifetime. Both their sustained activity and their
ability to marshal a wide range of professional resources ensured that Debussy’s
music remained a permanent fixture on concert programs, facilitating high-​profile
events featuring his music, restaging his theatrical works, and introducing nu-
merous unpublished compositions to concert audiences (discussed further below).
An important condition of this productivity, Bruno Latour asserts, is “the multi-
plicity of objects any course of action mobilizes along its trail.” For Latour, “objects
too have agency” and “any thing that does modify a state of affairs by making a dif-
ference is an actor.”14 From this perspective, the work of the members of Debussy’s
cooperative network depended not only on their capacity to mobilize the varied
resources at their disposal, but also on the generation of new entities such efforts
left in their wake. Whether it was the orchestrations, scores, concert programs,
and articles outlined previously or the plaques, monuments, and festivals dis-
cussed in Chapter 5, these artifacts made a difference, the steady accumulation of
objects large and small serving to anchor Debussy’s memory in the postwar years.
In this way, a concept as illusive and capricious as reputation—​which resides solely
in the perceptions and opinions of others—​was rendered visible, accrued a mate-
rial presence, and left a trace. Taken together, the ventures of this cooperative
7

The Construction of Reputation 7

network, their deployment of resources, and their gradual amassing of material
objects in the composer’s name laid the groundwork for the early formation of his
legacy.
Thus, to examine the construction of Debussy’s posthumous reputation, it is
necessary to identify the personalities, endeavors, and material practices of this
cooperative circle. Without Debussy instigating what was heard, where, how, and
by whom, other individuals stepped up to fulfill these functions. And in so doing,
members of the network who had played supporting roles during the compos-
er’s lifetime became much more prominent after his death. What they chose to
publish, perform, and produce proved vital for perpetuating his legacy. But their
actions on behalf of the composer formed only one part of the process; equally sig-
nificant were their reactions to the ever-​changing musical milieu of postwar Paris.
The arrival of new artists or aesthetic tendencies on the Parisian scene had sig-
nificant implications for the composer’s posthumous reception as his supporters
were compelled to reconsider the recent musical past and to reshape it in accord-
ance with present-​day concerns. How they responded and adapted to these con-
tingencies determined whether Debussy’s music fell foul of changing taste cycles
or whether his musical contribution was favorably reinterpreted with regard to
contemporaneous attitudes. Thus, processes essential for Debussy’s consecration
were both active and reactive in nature: active in that the dogged persistence of
certain individuals helped to combat the negative press surrounding the composer
after his death; reactive in that Debussy’s posthumous reputation was affected
just as profoundly by the musical developments of the 1920s, developments that
the composer could in no way have predicted and for which the debussyists would
have to find the appropriate response.
Considering the endeavors of the debussyists on behalf of the composer offers a
perspective that differs from existing studies of Debussy’s artistic longevity, most
of which focus on the enduring musical and aesthetic contributions of his com-
positions. This body of scholarship assumes that such value is inherent and, as
such, guarantees its perpetuation. What this does not take into account (to par-
aphrase Becker) is the organizational basis that worked to preserve and protect
it. Rather than view Debussy’s artistic greatness as the sole cause of his enduring
legacy—​a position well represented in the musicological literature to date—​this
study intentionally takes the opposite stance and considers it as an effect. That is,
to examine the issues involved in reputation and legacy building, it is necessary to
foreground the maneuvers, mobilizations, propaganda, and cultural politics that
sought to stabilize the reception of the composer’s music at a time when it was
most precarious. Instead of assuming that such aesthetic value is immanent, for
the study of reputation what is necessary is to trace the manifold processes that
8

8 Debussy’s Legacy
shaped how Debussy’s music was received after his death and how its aesthetic
worth was consolidated.
Chapter 1 considers some of the general mechanisms by which artistic figures
are consecrated and weighs their relative contribution to the construction of
Debussy’s reputation. Drawing on Gladys Engel Lang and Kurt Lang’s analysis of
the survival of reputation in the fine arts, four areas emerge that would seem to be
particularly relevant to the case of Debussy: (1) the initiatives undertaken by the
composer to establish his own legacy; (2) the posthumous reception of the corpus
of works left behind; (3) the actions of heirs and family members on behalf of the
deceased; and (4) the efforts of the composer’s close friends and collaborators.
Examining each of these categories in turn, however, suggests that the first two
prove to be the most unreliable for securing the composer’s early legacy. As Tia
DeNora observes, “a reputation that rests on what an individual says and does to
maintain it is perpetually vulnerable, however culturally powerful that individual
may be.”15 Such was the case for Debussy and, consequently, the two remaining
groups—​heirs and family members on the one hand, friends and colleagues on the
other—​played a significant and often antagonistic role in shaping the composer’s
posthumous fortunes.

The Composer’s Initiatives

There is no better evidence of Debussy’s preoccupation with his legacy than the
works that emerged during the last years of his life. Diagnosed with cancer in
1909, he was increasingly aware that his final years were approaching and this,
in combination with the heightened nationalism of the First World War, forced a
new level of introspection. In the last four years of his life, he engaged with mu-
sical traditions he had previously shunned and self-​consciously worked to define
himself as a “musicien français” by connecting his works to key figures in France’s
artistic patrimony. The compositions that emerged in these years exhibited cer-
tain characteristics that suggested that Debussy was acutely aware of the issues
involved in reputation building. First, his choice of genre was significant in that
he decided to enter into and leave his imprint on some of the more densely popu-
lated areas of the musical canon. In 1915, the instrumental sonata and piano etude
were new to Debussy and both represented a volte-​face from his previous disdain
for the continued use of traditional forms in contemporary composition. Second,
their prefaces and dedications (as well as the composer’s correspondence) evinced
Debussy’s concern for the historical affiliations of his works and the specific gene-
alogy of the genre with which he wished to be associated. By linking the sonatas
9

The Construction of Reputation 9

and etudes—​and, by extension, himself—​to the figures of Rameau, Couperin, and
Chopin, Debussy selected his preferred French forebears from two centuries of
music history and positioned himself as their successor. Finally, if such maneu-
vers were too subtle, then the words “Claude Debussy, musicien français,” boldly
announced on the cover, would leave little doubt as to his desired connection to a
national heritage. Such concerns confronted issues of posterity and provide some
insight into how Debussy intended to define his own musical legacy and ensure his
entry into the pantheon of French composers.16
In most cases, such efforts would have played a significant role in shaping a
legacy. But as this study reveals, Debussy’s initiatives in this domain were largely
ignored, issuing as they did from the problematic war years. Lang and Lang em-
phasize how external factors—​social catastrophe, war, economic depression—​can
severely affect the path to posterity.17 The fact that the last four years of Debussy’s
life were coterminous with the duration of the First World War compromised
early efforts to consecrate the composer. Rather than view his final years as an
apotheosis—​representing the crowning achievements of a creative career—​the
compositions issuing from Debussy’s last years were either depreciated or dis-
regarded. For those assessing the composer’s late works shortly after his death,
their views were colored negatively by the exigencies of their wartime context,
the realities of the composer’s illness and physical decline, or both in combina-
tion.18 Those who bypassed these works altogether revealed their reluctance to en-
gage with this period of French music history and to elevate the claims of music
or musicians above the urgent concerns of a nation at war. For most writers on
Debussy—​supporters and detractors alike—​the First World War presented a per-
sistent problem, with many choosing to omit or minimize these years in their por-
trayals of the composer in particular or French music in general.
Several accounts of contemporary French music demonstrate the various ways
in which composers circumnavigated the war years. One example comes from the
correspondence of Albert Roussel, who wrote in 1916,

All that, it will be now “the things before the war,” that is to say things will be
separated from us by a wall, a true wall… . It will be necessary to begin again
to live, on a new conception of life, which does not mean that all that was
made before the war will be forgotten, but that all things made after must be
otherwise.19

Roussel’s letter acknowledged the huge schism brought about by the First World
War and how these four years would henceforth be bracketed from consideration,
with musical life leading up to 1914—​“the things before the war”—​separated from
01

10 Debussy’s Legacy
1919 and “all things made after.” Darius Milhaud elaborates on this view with a
narrative that similarly bypassed the war years by jumping directly from 1913 to
1919, but in this instance incorporating the figure of Erik Satie as a link between
the two dates: “After the shock produced by the premiere of Le sacre du printemps,
Satie reaches his full potential and brings music back to simplicity, thus opening
the way for the young musicians who formed the postwar French school.”20 On
the one hand, Milhaud’s account is admittedly self-​serving, as he characterizes
Le sacre as the musical forerunner to the postwar French school, of which he is a
member. On the other hand, there is a delicate dance to be performed with regard
to Satie, who provides the only connection to the recent French musical past. In
his account, Milhaud takes care to emphasize Satie’s activities prior to the war
and his leadership role after the war. With a single sentence, he touches lightly on
the wartime premiere of Parade (1917) before swiftly moving on to devote the re-
mainder and majority of the paragraph to the premiere of Socrate (1919).21
Debussy’s death in the final months of the war served only to consolidate this
bifurcated view of recent French music history. Alongside the historical watershed
marked by the end of the war, the death of the leader of the prewar musical avant-​
garde came to symbolize the end of an era, punctuating the close of one period and
the commencement of another. Georges Auric commented on this symbolism when
he wrote, “The historical importance of Debussy is such that he marks, I believe,
both the end of a style and the beginning of a new one.”22 But acknowledging the
divide between prewar and postwar musical life was only one part of the agenda.
As evident from Roussel’s letter cited above, the other was to magnify the differ-
ences between them. Debussy’s death at the end of the war, therefore, not only
signaled the end of an era, but also provided a convenient foil for a new generation
of composers seeking to find their place in the Parisian musical milieu. As Auric put
it, “Debussy remains a valued musician despite the upheaval that appears to me
to disrupt and destroy his aesthetic.”23 Looking back at the immediate postwar pe-
riod from the vantage point of 1926, Roussel commented on “this natural reaction
against existing trends,” noting how “the recent cataclysm that we witnessed” [ . . .]
has “not been negligible in influencing the current orientation of the arts.”24 Ravel,
who had been a frequent target in the backlash against the prewar avant-​garde,
described this musical reaction in much stronger language than Roussel, employing
terms of aggression, violence, destruction, and demolition:

There are the postwar “young people,” in other words, the restless, rash,
and somewhat aggressive adolescents, who had to begin afresh the work of
musical civilization on a completely topsy-​turvy planet. Their task was dif-
ficult and ungrateful. They felt an instinctive need to break violently with
1

The Construction of Reputation 11

the tradition of their elders. They found themselves in social and intellectual
conditions so different from those that existed before 1914, that they were
led, almost automatically, to adopt the attitudes, methods, and the style of
iconoclasts. In all revolutions, there is a period devoted to destruction. For a
while, we had, in music, demolition squads.25

In emphasizing the rift and antagonisms between prewar and postwar musical
life, such narratives simply omitted the war years. As the above citations demon-
strate, Roussel, Milhaud, and Ravel all chose to contrast either 1913 or 1914 with
1919 and, in the process, consigned the intervening years to oblivion.
Surprisingly, the debussyists were equally complicit in bypassing the war years
in their accounts of the composer’s life and works. Rather than challenge the stark
pre-​and postwar dichotomy of recent music history, the debussyists reinforced it
by performing a similar maneuver of their own. But whereas the next generation
of composers disregarded the war years to move forward, the composer’s support-
ers disregarded these same years to return to the past. Thus, in remembering the
composer, they chose to forget: the past they elevated was a highly selective and
edited portion of the composer’s entire career. Vuillermoz’s outline of the land-
marks of Debussy’s oeuvre is revealing in this respect, as he traversed from “the
Quartet to the Prélude à l’Après-​Midi d’un Faune, from the Faune to the Nocturnes,
from the Nocturnes to Pelléas, from Pelléas to La Mer, and from La Mer to Le Martyre
de Saint Sébastien!”26 According to Vuillermoz’s summary, the masterworks worthy
of mention come to a halt in 1911, with Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien considered
the last example of the composer in his prime. Vuillermoz was not alone in his ex-
alted view of this work. In the same year, Laloy wrote, “The truth is that the music
of Le Martyre, which is more accomplished than that of Pelléas, is no less animated,
and radiates a celestial clarity which was foreign to the entirely human and earthly
Pelléas.”27 For Laloy, Le Martyre stood out not only in Debussy’s oeuvre, but also
in the history of theatrical works in general. Alongside Stravinsky’s Rossignol, he
asserted that “only the revelations of Parsifal, Boris Godunov, Pelléas et Mélisande
and Saint Sébastien [were] comparable.”28
If Debussy’s detractors tended to treat his career as having all but ended by 1913
or 1914, his supporters selected an even earlier date, choosing the 1911 premiere of
Le Martyre as the culmination of his musical oeuvre. Le Martyre was fashioned into
a swansong, its elevation occurring at the expense of the remaining seven years
of Debussy’s compositional career.29 But there were other reasons why Le Martyre
assumed such a prominent position in the minds of many debussyists. Like Pelléas
before, it was a theatrical work in which they played a decisive role. Just as their
attendance and activism were largely responsible for keeping Pelléas et Mélisande
21

12 Debussy’s Legacy
in the theater after its premiere, their practical contributions to Le Martyre were
largely responsible for delivering it to the theater in the first place. Accounts of
the rehearsal period recall how the composer’s “cooperative network” shifted into
high gear to prepare the work for its first performance: Astruc was the impre-
sario responsible for managing the enterprise and promoter of La grande Saison
de Paris in which the work was to appear; Debussy, working on a tight schedule of
four months, delivered the manuscript in fragments to Durand, who engraved and
published the parts as soon as they appeared; Caplet helped Debussy to orches-
trate the score, rehearsed the orchestra, and conducted the premiere; Vuillermoz
and Inghelbrecht directed the chorus during rehearsals, and Inghelbrecht con-
ducted the chorus for the premiere.30 Given this level of participation, the debussy-
ists’ championing of Le Martyre went beyond aesthetic preferences to elevate a
work in which their contributions were essential. Thus, in remembering the com-
poser, they were remembering themselves: their truncated view of Debussy’s ca-
reer emphasized precisely those works in which they were the most active and
consequently their memories were the most vivid. Astruc’s reminiscences confirm
this, with his overview of Debussy’s career prioritizing less the works themselves
and more the controversies associated with them: “After the skirmishes of the pre-
mieres at Lamoureux and Colonne, after the great battle of Pelléas and the unique
combat of the Faune, came the affair of Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien.”31 Despite its
chronological precedence—​the “unique combat of the Faune” referring to the 1912
Ballets Russes production of L’Après-​midi d’un faune—​Astruc placed Le Martyre at
the end of his account, its premiere representing the final point of combat and, by
implication, the final highpoint of the composer’s career.
For better and for worse, Debussy’s early legacy was shaped in response to this
“collective amnesia,” the selective forgetting and remembering generally empha-
sizing the years 1902 to 1911—​that is, from the premiere of Pelléas et Mélisande to
the premiere of Le Martyre.32 The ramifications of this foreshortening of historical
perspective were twofold. First, it had the unfortunate consequence of emphasiz-
ing precisely those works by Debussy that were in the process of being devalued
by the next generation of composers and critics: lengthy theatrical works with
symbolist or mystical libretti and large orchestral compositions with picturesque
titles and programs. Indeed, by continually promoting Le Martyre, the debussyists
exhibited a certain lack of musical acuity, demonstrating how tone-​deaf they were
to the concerns of postwar musical aesthetics. Second, the truncation of Debussy’s
creative career omitted from consideration the last years of the composer’s life,
the years that embodied a total reorientation of his creative endeavors and mani-
fested his self-​conscious attempts to define his musical legacy. If the debussyists
had a habit of highlighting their own interactions with the composer, then his
31

The Construction of Reputation 13

final years—​the ones most crucial for the personal shaping of his legacy—​were
no different in this regard. Their communication with Debussy between 1914 and
1918 was minimal. When contact was made, it was of a personal nature rather
than a musical one, with friends and colleagues visiting him when he was suffering
from the final stages of the cancer that would eventually take his life. Not wanting
to dwell on such an image of the composer, they turned instead to his glory days—​
which were likewise their glory days—​when they fought on his behalf against con-
servative critics and uncomprehending audiences.
With both Debussy’s detractors and supporters curtailing his creative career, it
is hardly surprising that the composer’s initiatives for establishing his legacy were
overlooked. Ironically, had either constituency considered Debussy’s last chamber
works, the composer’s artistic priorities would not have been so far removed from
those that were emerging in the postwar years: both adopted the genres of ab-
solute music, shorn of all programs and picturesque titles, with reduced instru-
mental forces and stripped-​down textures. The debussyists, however, preferred to
elevate the composer’s theatrical and orchestral works and disregarded the reori-
entation of style that attended the wartime works—​all of which put them out of
step with current aesthetic preferences. Their view of the composer’s legacy was
not only at cross-​purposes with the next generation of musicians; it also diverged
significantly from Debussy’s own.

The Works Themselves

If the war and reactions to it compromised the early formation of Debussy’s

legacy, they also exacerbated the posthumous reception of his music. Although
the vicissitudes of the taste cycle may make it inevitable that a composer’s
style will be depreciated after his death, this was intensified in Debussy’s case.
Pronouncements on his aesthetic were rendered all the more extreme by the desire
of the postwar generation to completely overturn the musical priorities of the pre-
ceding generation. In the 1920s, for example, it was not uncommon to see phrases
such as “la torpeur debussyste,” “la formule debussyste,” and “l’impasse debus-
syste” scattered throughout the music criticism of newspapers and specialist jour-
nals.33 Debussy’s music was denounced for its neglect of melody and counterpoint,
his harmonic language and orchestration were censured for the clichés they intro-
duced to contemporary composition, and his musical aesthetic was denigrated as
rarified, precious, and vague (see Chapter 3). But it was not just the perceived aes-
thetic qualities of Debussy’s works that were in flux—​also in question was their
number. The composer’s oeuvre was not fixed for perpetuity as consisting solely of
41

14 Debussy’s Legacy
those works that were published during his lifetime. In reality, the boundaries of
his oeuvre were just as variable as was opinion on his aesthetic. As we have seen,
the number of his compositions was continually subject to contraction, with the
various curtailments of his creative career. At the same time, however, his oeuvre
was also subject to expansion, with the discovery, distribution, and performance
of previously unpublished manuscripts. Table 1.1 lists the posthumous premieres
in the first decade after Debussy’s death, demonstrating how his corpus of works
was far from stable, with ten “new” compositions appearing in as many years.34
Table 1.1 also illustrates the efficacy of Debussy’s organizational network,
which continued to produce works despite the absence of the composer. Debussy’s
former friends and colleagues maintained their roles as orchestrators, conductors,
and soloists to bring previously unpublished compositions to the concert stage.
But not all of these posthumous premieres were viewed positively. The members
of Debussy’s cooperative circle had reputations too, and the individual reputations
of those involved at each step in the process contributed to the overall acceptance
or rejection of the work. At one end of the spectrum, the posthumous premieres
of La Boîte à joujoux and Khamma caused little consternation, both because of the
state of the compositions and because of the accepted authority of the personnel
who made the first performance possible. The piano versions of La Boîte à joujoux
and Khamma had been completed by the composer and published by Durand dur-
ing his lifetime. Moreover, Debussy had started the orchestration of both works,
and their completion by Caplet and Koechlin, respectively, aroused no cause for
concern. It was widely known that Caplet had orchestrated for Debussy before
and, although many were unaware that Koechlin had performed this service for
Khamma, it was announced in the press that its orchestration was completed
during the composer’s lifetime, under his supervision, and with his complete ap-
proval.35 The authority of Durand to publish these works was never questioned;
neither was the appropriateness of Caplet and Gabriel Pierné to conduct their
first performances, both of whom had worked numerous times with the composer
before. With each composition, the reputations of publisher, orchestrator, and
conductor came together to ensure the legitimacy and propriety of the posthu-
mous premiere. At the other end of the spectrum, however, were the first perfor-
mances of 1928, which included three works from Debussy’s student years and
his final composition, the Ode à la France, incomplete at the time of his death.
The decision to publish and perform these compositions, the questionable state of
the manuscripts, and the choice of publisher, in addition to the qualifications of
the composer selected to “finish” these works and conduct the premiere, all com-
bined to cast doubt on the concert. The names of Choudens and Marius-​François
51

Table 1.1.

Posthumous premieres of Debussy’s compositions

Year Work and premiere
1919 Rapsodie pour orchestre et saxophone (Durand, 1919)
Composed 1901–​1911; orchestration completed by Jean Roger-​Ducasse
Premiered 14 May 1919, conductor André Caplet
1919 Fantaisie pour piano et orchestre (Fromont, 1920)
Premiere, London, 9 November 1919, soloist Alfred Cortot, conductor Albert Coates
French premiere, Paris, 7 December 1919, soloist Marguerite Long, conductor André
Messager
French premiere, Lyon, 7 December 1919, soloist Alfred Cortot, conductor Georges
Martin Witkowski
1919 La Boîte à joujoux (Durand, 1920)
Debussy completed the piano score (Durand, 1913); orchestration completed by
André Caplet
Premiered 10 December 1919, conductor D. E. Inghelbrecht
1924 Khamma
Debussy completed the piano score (Durand, 1912); orchestration completed in 1913
by Charles Koechlin, under Debussy’s supervision
Premiered 15 November 1924, conductor Gabriel Pierné
1926 Lindaraja for two pianos, four hands (Jobert, 1926)
Composed in 1901
Premiered 28 October 1926, Jean Roger-​Ducasse and Marguerite Long (pianos)
1926 Le Roi Lear, stage music for orchestra (Jobert, 1926)
Composed in 1904; orchestrated by Jean Roger-​Ducasse
Premiered 30 October 1926, conductor Albert Wolff
1928 Invocation, for male chorus and orchestra
Composed in 1883; piano four-​hand transcription (Choudens, 1928)
Premiered 2 April 1928, conductor Marius-​François Gaillard
1928 Le Printemps, chorus for female voices and orchestra
Composed in 1882; voice and piano transcription (Choudens, 1928)
Premiered 2 April 1928, conductor Marius-​François Gaillard
1928 Le Triomphe de Bacchus, orchestral suite
Composed in 1882; orchestrated by Marius-​François Gaillard
Voice and piano transcription (Choudens, 1928)
Premiered 2 April 1928, conductor Marius-​François Gaillard
1928 Ode à la France, for solo, chorus, and orchestra
Composed 1916–​1917; completed and orchestrated by Marius-​François Gaillard
Voice and piano transcription (Choudens, 1928)
Premiered 2 April 1928, conductor Marius-​François Gaillard
61

16 Debussy’s Legacy
Gaillard were new to this enterprise and went well beyond the cooperative net-
work sanctioned by the composer.
The posthumous premieres of the 1920s represented a double-​edged sword
with regard to Debussy’s legacy. On the one hand, they had a negative effect
in that they reminded the younger generation of composers and critics exactly
what it was they were trying to renounce, a state of affairs made ever more
apparent with less successful compositions from Debussy’s oeuvre. André
Schaeffner enunciated this view: “The first performance of unpublished works
by Debussy (Le Roi Lear, Lindaraja) offered only the employment of procedures
that Debussy had been the first to abuse.”36 On the other hand, the excitement
generated by a newly discovered composition was positive, keeping Debussy’s
name in newspapers, in music periodicals, and on concert programs. The
rounds of publicity that attended each “new” work were, in this respect, bene-
ficial for the perpetuation of his legacy. Furthermore, it was a clear indicator of
renown that any composition that carried his name was automatically consid-
ered worthy of interest. In his review of the 1928 posthumous premieres, for
example, Henry Prunières asserted, “nothing that Debussy composed should
leave us indifferent.” But he immediately followed this statement with an-
other: “I admit that the student works that were revealed to us contribute
little to his glory.”37
Prunières’s second statement was a common refrain among reviews of the post-
humous premieres and perhaps represented the most neutral comment a critic
could make. Vuillermoz uttered practically the same phrase concerning Le Roi Lear
and Lindaraja: “these exhumations, as well as the Fantaisie pour piano, [ . . .] will
add nothing to the glory of the author.” Maurice Boucher, reviewing the same com-
positions, presented a slight variation on this theme: “they add absolutely noth-
ing to the admiration that we have for Debussy.”38 Although seemingly innocuous
(and evidently part of the critical lexicon), this phrase tacitly acknowledged what
Becker refers to as the works “counted up in the balance of [a]‌reputation.” Becker
describes how “artists’ reputations are a sum of the values we assign to the works
they have produced. Each work that can definitely be attributed to [Debussy] adds
to or subtracts from the total on the basis of which we decide how great an art-
ist [Debussy] was.”39 Thus, the statements of Prunières, Vuillermoz, and Boucher
were perhaps more than merely neutral: that is, they refused to allow these works
to count in assessments of the composer’s reputation. In some instances, the post-
humous premieres were even judged to “subtract” from the balance of Debussy’s
reputation. By 1928, Vuillermoz feared that these endless “exhumations” had the
potential to damage the composer’s legacy: “The friends of Debussy are begin-
ning to get alarmed by this unexpected swelling of posthumous works, which one
Another random document with
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 CHAPTER III
CRUSTACEA (CONTINUED): COPEPODA

Order II. Copepoda.

The Copepods are small Crustacea, composed typically of about sixteen

segments, in which the biramous type of limb predominates. They are
devoid of a carapace. Development proceeds gradually by the addition
posteriorly of segments to a Nauplius larval form. Paired compound eyes
are absent, except in Branchiura, the adult retaining the simple eye of the
Nauplius.
In a typical Copepod, such as Calanus hyperboreus (Fig. 25), we can
distinguish the following segments with their appendages: a
cephalothorax, carrying a pair of uniramous first antennae (1st Ant.); a
pair of biramous second antennae (2nd Ant.); mandibles (Md.) with biting
gnathobases and a palp, and a pair of foliaceous first maxillae (Mx.1). Two
pairs of appendages follow, which were looked upon as the two branches
of the second maxillae, but it is now certain that they represent two pairs
of appendages, which may be called second maxillae (Mx.2) and
maxillipedes (Mxp.) respectively. Behind these are five pairs of biramous
swimming feet, the first pair (Th.1) attached to the cephalothorax, the
succeeding four pairs to four distinct thoracic somites. Behind the thorax
is a clearly delimited abdomen composed of five segments, the first of
which (Abd.1) carries the genital opening, and the last a caudal furca.
The Copepods exhibit a great variety of structure, and their
classification is attended with great difficulties. Claus[36] based his
attempt at a natural classification on the character of the mouth and its
appendages, dividing the free-living and semi-parasitic forms as
Gnathostomata from the true parasites or Siphonostomata. This division,
although convenient, breaks down in many places, and it is clear that the
parasitic mode of life has been acquired more than once in the history of
Copepod evolution, while the free-living groups do not constitute a
natural assemblage.
Fig. 25.—Calanus hyperboreus, × 30. Abd1, First abdominal segment;
1st Ant, 2nd Ant, 1st and 2nd antennae; Md, mandible; Mx1, Mx2, 1st
 and 2nd maxillae; Mxp, maxillipede; Th1, 1st thoracic appendage.
(After Giesbrecht.)

Giesbrecht has more recently[37] founded a classification of the free-

living pelagic Copepods upon the segmentation of the body and certain
secondary sexual characters, and he has hinted[38] that this scheme of
classification applies to the semi-parasitic and parasitic forms. Although
much detail remains to be worked out and the position of some families is
doubtful, Giesbrecht’s scheme is the most satisfactory that has hitherto
been suggested, and will be adopted in this chapter.
The peculiarity in structure of the Argulidae, a small group of
ectoparasites on fresh water fish, necessitates their separation from the
rest of the Copepods (Eucopepoda) as a separate Branch, Branchiura.

BRANCH I. EUCOPEPODA.

Sub-Order 1. Gymnoplea.

The division between the front and hind part of the body falls
immediately in front of the genital openings and behind the fifth thoracic
feet. The latter in the male are modified into an asymmetrical copulatory
organ.

TRIBE I. AMPHASCANDRIA.

The first antennae of the male are symmetrical, with highly-developed

sensory hairs.
Fam. Calanidae.—The Calanidae are exclusively marine Crustacea,
and form a common feature of the pelagic plankton in all parts of the
world. Some species of the genus Calanus often occur in vast shoals,
making the sea appear blood-red, and they furnish a most important
article of fish food. These swarms appear to consist chiefly of females, the
males being taken rarely, and only at certain seasons of the year. Some of
the Calanidae are animals of delicate and curious form, owing to the
development of plumed iridescent hairs from various parts of their body,
which may often exhibit a marked asymmetry, as in the species figured,
Calocalanus plumulosus (Fig. 26), from the Mediterranean.
 Sars makes a curious
[39]
observation with regard to the
distribution of certain Calanidae.
He reports that along the whole
route of the “Fram,” species such
as Calanus hyperboreus and
Euchaeta norwegica were taken
at the surface, which, in the
Norwegian fjords, only occur at
depths of over 100 fathoms. He
suggests that the Norwegian
individuals, instead of migrating
northwards as the warmer
climate supervened, have sought
boreal conditions of temperature
by sinking into the deeper waters.

Fig. 26.—Calocalanus plumulosus, ×

15. (After Giesbrecht.)

TRIBE II.
HETERARTHRANDRIA.

The first antennae of the male are asymmetrical, one, usually the
right, being used as a clasping organ.
The males of the Centropagidae, Candacidae and Pontellidae,
besides possessing the asymmetrically modified thoracic limbs of the
fifth pair also exhibit a modification of one of the first antennae,
which is generally thickened in the middle, and has a peculiar joint in
it, or geniculation, which enables it to be flexed and so used as a
clasping organ for holding the female.
Fam. 1.—Centropagidae.—These Copepods are very common
in the pelagic plankton, and some of the species vie with the
Calanidae in plumed ornaments, e.g. Augaptilus filigerus, figured by
Giesbrecht in his monograph. The use of these ornaments, which are
possessed by so many pelagic Copepods, is entirely obscure.[40]
Certain of the Centropagidae live in fresh water. Thus Diaptomus is
an exclusively fresh-water genus, and forms a most important
constituent of lake-plankton; various species of Heterocope occur in
the great continental lakes, and certain Eurytemora go up the
estuaries of rivers into brackish water.
An excellent work on the fresh-water Copepods of Germany has
been written by Schmeil,[41] who gives analytical tables for
distinguishing various genera and species. The three fresh-water
families are the Centropagidae, Cyclopidae, and Harpacticidae (see
p. 62). The Centropagidae may be sharply distinguished from the
other fresh-water families by the following characters:—The
cephalothorax is distinctly separated from the abdomen; the first
antennae are long and composed of 24–25 segments, in the male
only a single antenna (generally the right) being geniculated and
used as a clasping organ. The fifth pair of limbs are not rudimentary;
a heart is present, and only one egg-sac is found in the female. The
second antennae are distinctly biramous.
Diaptomus.—The furcal processes are short, at most three times as
long as broad; endopodite of the first swimming appendage 2–
jointed, endopodites of succeeding legs 3–jointed.
Heterocope.—The furcal processes are short, at most twice as long
as broad; endopodites of all swimming legs 1–jointed.
Eurytemora.—The furcal processes are long, at least three and a
half times as long as broad; the endopodite of the first pair of legs
1–jointed, those of the other pairs 2–jointed.
It has been known for a long time that some of the marine
Copepods are phosphorescent, and, indeed, owing to their numbers
in the plankton, contribute very largely to bring about that liquid
illumination which will always excite the admiration of seafarers. In
northern seas the chief phosphorescent Copepods belong to
Metridia, a genus of the Centropagidae; but in the Bay of Naples
Giesbrecht[42] states that the phosphorescent species are the
following Centropagids: Pleuromma abdominale and P. gracile,
Leuckartia flavicornis and Heterochaeta papilligera; Oncaea
conifera is also phosphorescent. It is often stated that Sapphirina (p.
69) is phosphorescent, but its wonderful iridescent blue colour is
purely due to interference
colours, and has nothing to do
with phosphorescence.
Giesbrecht has observed that the
phosphorescence is due to a
substance secreted in special
skin-glands, which is jerked into
the water, and on coming into
contact with it emits a
phosphorescent glow. This
substance can be dried up
completely in a desiccated
specimen and yet preserve its
phosphorescent properties, the
essential condition for the actual
emission of light being contact
with water. Similarly, specimens
preserved in glycerine for a long
period will phosphoresce when
compressed in distilled water.
From this last experiment
Giesbrecht concludes that the
phosphorescence can hardly be
due to an oxidation process, but
the nature of the chemical
reaction remains obscure.
Fam. 2. Candacidae.—This
family comprises the single genus
Candace, with numerous species
distributed in the plankton of all
seas. Some species, e.g. C.
pectinata, Brady, have a
practically world-wide
distribution, this species being
recorded from the Shetlands and
from the Philippines.
Fam. 3. Pontellidae.—This is
a larger family also comprising
 widely distributed species found
Fig. 27.—Dorsal view of Anomalocera
pattersoni, ♂, × 20. (After Sars.)in the marine plankton.
Anomalocera pattersoni (Fig. 27)
is one of the commonest elements in the plankton of the North Sea.

Sub-Order 2. Podoplea.

The boundary between the fore and hind part of the body falls in
front of the fifth thoracic segment. The appendages of the fifth
thoracic pair in the male are never modified as copulatory organs.

TRIBE I. AMPHARTHRANDRIA.

The first antennae in the male differ greatly from those in the
female, being often geniculated and acting as prehensile organs.
Fams. 1–2. Cyclopidae and Harpacticidae, and other allied
families, are purely free-living forms; they are not usually pelagic in
habit, but prefer creeping among algae in the littoral zone or on the
sea-bottom, or especially in tidal pools. Some genera are,
nevertheless, pelagic; e.g. Oithona among Cyclopidae; Setella,
Clytemnestra, and Aegisthus among Harpacticidae.
The sketch (Fig. 28) of Euterpe acutifrons ♀ , a species widely
distributed in the Mediterranean and northern seas, exhibits the
structure of a typical Harpacticid, while Fig. 29 shows the form of the
first antenna in the male.
Several fresh-water representatives of these free-living families
occur. The genus Cyclops (Cyclopidae) is exclusively fresh-water,
while many Harpacticidae go up into brackish waters: for example
on the Norfolk Broads, Mr. Robert Gurney has taken Tachidius
brevicornis, Müller, and T. littoralis, Poppe; Ophiocamptus
brevipes, Sars; Mesochra lilljeborgi, Boeck; Laophonte littorale, T.
and A. Scott; L. mohammed, Blanchard and Richard; and
Dactylopus tisboides, Claus.
Schmeil[43] gives the following scheme for identifying the fresh-
water Cyclopidae and Harpacticidae (see diagnosis of Centropagidae
on p. 59):—
 Fam. 1. Cyclopidae.—The
cephalothorax is clearly separated
from the abdomen. The first
antennae of the female when bent
back do not stretch beyond the
cephalothorax; in the male both
of them are clasping organs. The
second antennae are without an
exopodite. The fifth pair of limbs
are rudimentary, there is no
heart, and the female carries two
egg-sacs.
Cyclops.—Numerous species, split
up according to segmentation of
rudimentary fifth pair of legs,
number of joints in antennae, etc.
Fam. 2. Harpacticidae.—
The cephalothorax is not clearly
separated from the abdomen. The
first antennae are short in both
sexes, both being clasping organs
in the male. The second antennae
have a rudimentary exopodite.
The fifth pair of limbs are
rudimentary and plate-shaped; a
heart is absent, and the egg-sacs
Fig. 28.—Euterpe acutifrons, ♀ , × 70. of the female may be one or two
Abd.1, 1st abdominal segment; Th.5, in number.
5th thoracic segment. (After
Giesbrecht.) 1. Ophiocamptus (Moraria).—Body
worm-shaped; first antennae of
female 7–jointed, rostrum
forming a broad plate.
2. Body not worm-shaped; first antennae of female 8–jointed,
rostrum short and sharp.
(a) Endopodites of all thoracic limbs 3–jointed. The first
antennae in female distinctly bent after the second joint.
Nitocra.
 (b) Endopodite of at least
the fourth limb 2–jointed;
first antennae in female
not bent. Canthocamptus.
3. Ectinosoma.—Body as in
2, but first antennae are very
short, and the maxillipede
does not carry a terminal
hooked seta as in 1 and 2.
Fam. 3. Peltiidae.[44]—This is
an interesting family, allied to the
Harpacticidae, and includes
species with flattened bodies
somewhat resembling Isopods,
and a similar habit of rolling
themselves up into balls. No
parasitic forms are known,
though Sunaristes paguri on the
French and Scottish coasts is said
to live commensally with hermit-
crabs.

Fig. 29.—First antenna of Euterpe

We have now enumerated the acutifrons, ♂. (After Giesbrecht.)
chief families of free-living
Copepods; the rest are either true
parasites or else spend a part of their lives as such. A number of the
semi-parasitic and parasitic Copepods can be placed in the tribe
Ampharthrandria owing to the characters of their antennae; but it
must be remembered that many parasitic forms have given up using
the antennae as clasping organs; however, the sexual differences in
the antennae, and the fact that many of the species which have lost
the prehensile antennae in the male have near relations which
preserve it, enable us to proceed with some certainty. The adoption
of this classification necessitates our separating many families which
superficially may seem to resemble one another, e.g. the semi-
parasitic families Lichomolgidae and Ascidicolidae, and the
Dichelestiidae from the other fish-parasites; it also necessitates our
treating the presence of a sucking mouth as of secondary importance.
This characteristic must certainly, however, have been acquired more
than once in the history of the Copepods, for instance in the
Asterocheridae and in the fish-parasites, while it sometimes happens
that genera belonging to a typically Siphonostomatous group possess
a gnathostome, or biting mouth, e.g. Ratania among the
Asterocheridae. Again, it is impossible even if we use the character of
the mouth as a criterion to place together all the true parasites on
fishes in one natural group, because the Bomolochidae and
Chondracanthidae, which are otherwise closely similar to the rest of
the fish-parasites, possess no siphon. It seems plain, therefore, that
the parasitic habit has been acquired several times separately by
diverging stocks of free-swimming Copepods, and that it has resulted
in the formation of convergent structures.
Fam. 4. Monstrillidae.[45]—These are closely related to the
Harpacticidae. The members of this curious family are parasitic
during larval life and actively free-swimming when adult. There are
three genera, Monstrilla, Haemocera, and Thaumaleus. The best
known type is Haemocera danae (often described as Monstrilla
danae). In the adult state (Fig. 30) there are no mouth-parts; the
mouth is exceedingly small and leads into a very small stomach,
which ends blindly, while the whole body contains reserve food-
material in the form of brown oil-drops. The sole appendages on the
head are the first antennae; but on the thorax biramous feet are
present by means of which the animal can swim with great rapidity.
This anomalous organisation receives an explanation from the
remarkable development through which the larva passes. The larva is
liberated from the parent as a Nauplius with the structure shown in
Fig. 31; it does not possess an alimentary canal. It makes its way to a
specimen of the Serpulid worm, Salmacina dysteri, into the
epidermis of which it penetrates by movements of the antennae,
hanging on all the time by means of the hooks on the mandibles.
From the epidermis it passes through the muscles into the coelom of
the worm, and thence into the blood-vessels, usually coming to rest
in the ventral blood-vessel. As the Nauplius migrates, apparently by
amoeboid movements of the whole body, it loses all its appendages,
the eye degenerates, and the body is reduced to a minute ovoid mass
of cells, representing ectoderm and endo-mesoderm, surrounded by
a chitinous membrane (Fig. 32, A). Arrived in the ventral blood-
 vessel it begins to grow, and the
first organ formed is a pair of
fleshy outgrowths representing
the second antennae (Fig. 32, B),
which act as a nutrient organ
intermediary between host and
parasite. The adult organs now
begin to be differentiated, as
shown in Fig. 32, C, from the
undifferentiated cellular elements
of the Nauplius, the future adult
organism being enclosed in a
spiny coat from which it escapes.
At this stage it occupies a large
part of its host’s body, lying in the
distended ventral blood-vessel,
and it escapes to the outside
world by rupturing the body-wall
of the worm, leaving behind it the
second antennae, which have
Fig. 30.—Haemocera danae, × 40. A, performed their function as a
Side view ♀ ; B, ventral view ♂ . Ant.1, kind of placenta. Malaquin, to
1st antenna; e, eye; ov, ovary; ovd, whom we owe this account,
oviduct; St, stomach; Th.1, 1st thoracic
appendage; Th.5, 5th thoracic segment;
makes the remarkable statement
vd, vas deferens. (After Malaquin.) that if two or three Monstrillid
Nauplii develop together in the
same host they are always males,
if only one it may be either male or female. The only parallel to this
extraordinary life-history is found in the Rhizocephala (see pp. 96–
99).
Fig. 31.—Free-swimming Nauplius
larva of Haemocera danae; Ant.1,
Ant.2, 1st and 2nd antennae; e, remains
of eye; Md, mandible. (After Malaquin.)
Fig. 32.—Later stages in the development of Haemocera danae.
Abd, Abdomen; Ant.1, Ant.2, 1st and 2nd antennae; ch, chitinous
investment; e, eye; Ect, ectoderm; En, endoderm; Mes,
mesoderm; Mes & en, mesoderm and endoderm; R, rostrum; St,
mouth and stomach; Th, thoracic appendages. (After Malaquin.)
 Fam. 5. Ascidicolidae.[46]—
Although the members of this
family, which live
semiparasitically in the branchial
sac or the gut of Ascidians, betray
their Ampharthrandrian nature
by the sexual differences of their
first antennae, only two genera,
Notodelphys and Agnathaner,
possess true prehensile antennae.
According as the parasitism is
Fig. 33.—Side view of Doropygus
pulex, ♀ , × 106. Abd.1, 1st abdominal more or less complete, the buccal
segment; Ant.1, 1st antenna; b.p, appendages either retain their
brood-pouch; Th.1, 1st thoracic masticatory structure or else
appendage; Th.4, 4th thoracic segment. become reduced to mere organs
(After Canu.) of fixation. In Notodelphys both
sexes can swim actively and
retain normal mouth-parts; they live parasitically, or perhaps
commensally, in the branchial cavities of Simple or Compound
Ascidians, feeding on the particles swept into the respiratory
chamber of the host. They leave their host at will in search of a new
home, and are frequently taken in the plankton.
Doropygus (Fig. 33), a genus widely distributed in the North Sea
and Mediterranean, also inhabiting the branchial sac of Ascidians, is
more completely parasitic, and the female cannot swim actively.
Forms still more degraded by a parasitic habit are Ascidicola rosea
(especially abundant in the stomach of Ascidiella scabra at
Concarneau), in which the female has lost its segmentation, the
mouth-parts and thoracic legs being purely prehensile, and various
species of Enterocola, parasitic in the stomach of Compound
Ascidians, in which the female is a mere sac incapable of free motion,
while the male preserves its swimming powers and a general
Cyclops-form (Fig. 34). We have here the first instance of the
remarkable parallelism between the degree of parasitism and the
degree of sexual dimorphism, a parallelism which holds with great
regularity among the Copepoda, and can be also extended to other
classes of parasitic animals.
 Fam. 6. Asterocheridae.[47]
—These forms retain the power of
swimming actively, and are very
little modified in outward
appearance by their parasitic
mode of life (Fig. 35), though they
possess a true siphon in which the
styliform mandibles work. The
siphon is formed by the upper
and lower lips, which are
produced into a tube with three
longitudinal ridges; in the outer
grooves are the mandibles, while
the inner groove forms the
sucking siphon (see transverse
section, Fig. 36). In Ratania,
however, there is no siphon. The
Fig. 34.—Enterocola fulgens. A, first antennae possess a great
Ventral view of ♀, × 35; B, side view of number of joints, and may be
♂ , × 106. Abd.1, 1st abdominal geniculated in the male
segment; Ant.1, Ant.2, 1st and 2nd (Cancerilla). The members of this
antennae; c.m, gland-cells; n, ventral family live as ectoparasites on
nerve-cord; og, oviducal gland; ov, various species of Echinoderms,
ovary; po, vagina; Th.1, 1st thoracic Sponges, and Ascidians, but they
appendage; Th.4, Th.5, 4th and 5th
thoracic segments. (After Canu.) frequently change their hosts, and
it appears that one and the same
species may indifferently suck the
juices of very various animals, and even of Algae. Cancerilla
tubulata, however, appears to live only on the Brittle Starfish,
Amphiura squamata.
Fam. 7. Dichelestiidae.—The males and females are similarly
parasitic, and the body in both is highly deformed, the segmentation
being suppressed and the thoracic limbs being produced into
formless fleshy lobes; they are placed among the Ampharthrandria
owing to sexual differences in the form of the first antennae. There is
a well-developed siphon in which the mandibular stylets work,
except in Lamproglena, parasitic on the gills of Cyprinoid fishes; the
succeeding mouth-parts are prehensile.
 The majority of the species are
parasitic on the gills of various
fish (Dichelestium on the
[48]
Sturgeon, Lernanthropus on
Labrax lupus, Serranus scriba,
etc.), but Steuer[49] has recently
described a Dichelestiid
(Mytilicola) from the gut of
Mytilus galloprovincialis off
Trieste. This animal and
Lernanthropus are unique among
Crustacea through the possession
of a completely closed blood-
vascular system which contains a
red fluid; the older observers
believed this fluid to contain
haemoglobin, but Steuer, as the
result of careful analysis, denies
this. The parasite on the gills of
the Lobster, Nicothoe astaci,
possibly belongs here.
The inclusion of Nicothoe and
the Dichelestiidae among the Fig. 35.—Asterocheres violaceus, ♀ ,
Ampharthrandria rests on a with egg-sacs, × 57. (After Giesbrecht.)
somewhat slender basis; this
basis is afforded by the fact that
none of the parasitic Isokerandria have more than seven joints in the
first antennae, whereas Nicothoe and some of the Dichelestiidae[50]
have more numerous joints. In most of the Dichelestiidae, however,
the number of joints is less than seven and practically equal in the
two sexes.
Fig. 36.—Diagrammatic transverse
section through the distal part of the
siphon of Rhynchomyzon
purpurocinctum (Asterocheridae). Md,
mandible. (After Giesbrecht.)

TRIBE II. ISOKERANDRIA.

The first antennae are short, similar in the two sexes, and are
never used by the male as clasping organs. This function may be
subserved by the second maxillae.
Fams. Oncaeidae, Corycaeidae, Lichomolgidae, Ergasilidae,
Bomolochidae, Chondracanthidae, Philichthyidae,
Nereicolidae, Hersiliidae, Caligidae, Lernaeidae,
Lernaeopodidae, Choniostomatidae.
The families Oncaeidae and Corycaeidae contain pelagic forms of
flattened shape and great swimming powers, but the structure of the
mouth-parts in the Corycaeidae points to a semi-parasitic habit.
Fam. 1. Oncaeidae.—This family, including the genera Oncaea,
Pachysoma, etc., does not possess the elaborate eyes of the next
family, nor is the sexual dimorphism so marked.
Fam. 2. Corycaeidae.—These are distinguished from the
Oncaeidae, not only by their greater beauty, but also by the
possession of very elaborate eyes, which are furnished with two
lenses, one at each end of a fairly long tube. The females of
Sapphirina are occasionally found in the branchial cavity of Salps,
and their alimentary canal never contains solid particles, but is filled
with a fluid substance perhaps derived by suction from their prey. S.
opalina may occur in large shoals, when the wonderful iridescent
blue colour of the males makes the water sparkle as it were with a
sort of diurnal phosphorescence. The animal, however, despite the
opinion of the older observers, is not truly phosphorescent. It may be
that the ornamental nature of some of the males is correlated with
the presence of the curious visual organs, which are on the whole
better developed in the females than in the males. As in so many
pelagic Copepods, the body and limbs may bear plumed setae of
great elaboration and beautiful colour, e.g. Copilia vitrea (Fig. 37).
We now pass on to the rest of the parasitic Copepods,[51] which
probably belong to the tribe Isokerandria, and we meet with the
same variety of degrees of parasitism as in the Ampharthrandria,
often leading to very similar results.
 Fig. 37.—Copilia vitrea (Corycaeidae), ♀, × 20. (After Giesbrecht.)

In the first seven families mentioned below there is no siphon. The

Lichomolgidae and Ergasilidae have not much departed from the
free-living forms just considered, retaining their segmentation,
though in the Ergasilidae the body may be somewhat distorted (Fig.
39). In both families the thoracic swimming feet are of normal
constitution.
Fam. 3. Lichomolgidae.[52]
—These are semi-parasitic in a
number of animals living on the
sea-bottom, such as Actinians,
Echinoderms, Annelids, Molluscs,
and Tunicates. Lichomolgus
agilis (Fig. 38) occurs in the
North Sea, Atlantic, and
Mediterranean, on the gills of
large species of the Nudibranch,
Doris, while L. albeus is found in
the peribranchial cavity and
cloaca of various Ascidians.
Sabelliphilus may infect the gills
of Annelids such as Sabella, and
is common at Liverpool.
Fam. 4. Ergasilidae.—
Thersites (Fig. 39) is parasitic on
the gills of various fishes, e.g. T.
gasterostei, which is common on
Gasterosteus aculeatus on the
French and North Sea coasts, and
may even be found on specimens
of the fish that have run up the
River Forth into fresh water. The
animal possesses claw-like
second antennae by which it
clings to its host.
Fig. 38.—Lichomolgus agilis, × 10.
Abd. 1, 1st abdominal segment; cpth,
cephalothorax; Th.1, 1st thoracic
segment; Th.5, 5th thoracic appendage.
(After Canu.)