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TFanny_Hensel_1842oday it’s the birthday of composer Fanny Mendelssohn, born November 14 1805. She’s only recently been recognized as the genius she was and as a composer who may have been more talented than her famous younger brother Felix.

She came from an intellectual wealthy Jewish family, the eldest of four children. Her banker father Abraham (1776-1835), son of the Jewish philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, shared a passionate love of music with his wife Lea, a gifted amateur pianist and singer. At Fanny’s birth, Abraham proudly reported “Lea says that the child has Bach-fugue fingers.” Sure enough, when Fanny was 13 she played from memory 24 preludes from Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier as a birthday present for her father.

Fanny and Felix were very close, musical collaborators and critics. Yet while Felix received his family’s wholehearted support, Fanny received advice such as this:

Music will perhaps become his profession, whilst for you it can and must only be an ornament, never the root of your being and doing

Yet the Mendelssohn family strongly believed that Fanny should receive a good education and encouraged her musical activities within the family. In 1812, the Mendelssohns moved to the less tolerant city of Berlin. In 1816 the children were baptized and Abraham and Leo converted to Christianity in 1822. Abraham changed the family name to Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, but it never really stuck. The family became the center of the city’s intellectual life, with writers such as Grimm, Hoffman, and Heine, and composers such as von Weber and Spohr frequent guests. In 1822 they started presenting musicales, starring the Mendelssohn children–Felix and Fanny on piano, Rebecca singing, and Paul on the cello–to which prominent musicians were invited. It was around this time that Fanny met the poet Goethe and set several of his poems to music.

Felix_Mendelssohn_Bartholdy_-_Wilhelm_Hensel_1847Abraham, and also sadly Felix, were both strongly opposed to Fanny publishing her compositions, mostly lieder, although Felix compromised by publishing six of her works under his own name. Ironically they became some of “his” most popular compositions. In 1829, Fanny married Wilhelm Hensel, a court painter in Berlin (she composed both the organ processional and recessional for the wedding), and had a son Sebastian the following year. Her musical activities declined, with Felix criticizing the larger scale compositions she attempted, possibly because he thought such works were improper for a woman. She devoted herself once more to the musicales, but they discontinued at Abraham’s death in 1835. She was not as close now to Felix, who was busy in Leipzig as a successful composer and conductor. She defied her brother by publishing her song Die Schiffende under her own name, and although he allowed he was wrong when she received critical success, it wasn’t until 1846 that she published again.

Her career revived when she and her husband traveled to Italy and she met Gounod who described her as a …musician beyond comparison, a remarkable pianist, and a woman of superior mind . . . .She was gifted with rare ability as a composer. Encouraged by his support, she found the courage to compose and publish once more, but under her married name, writing these telling words to Felix:

I’m afraid of my brothers at age forty, as I was of Father at age fourteen–or, more aptly expressed, desirous of pleasing you and everyone I’ve loved throughout my life.

Sadly she died suddenly in 1847, and you can’t help but wonder what she could have gone on to achieve. She’s known mostly as a composer of lieder, piano and chamber works although we know that she attempted at least one large choral piece, written in 1831 in response to the cholera epidemics that raged through Europe–the Scenes from the Bible Oratorio, the Cholera Music. It was performed at a musicale, with Fanny conducting. You can read the American Symphony Orchestra’s program notes here.

For a smartass version of Fanny’s diaries check out this:

I go up to him and I’m all, “Why shouldn’t I be able to like publish?” and he’s all ” Blah, blah, blah (something in Hebrew) ” and I’m all, “Grandpa we converted to Christianity, remember, we wanted to fit in.” So he like didn’t have anything to say and after, like two minutes of bizarre awkward silence he asked me if I would like, bake him a strudel, and I was all, like, “No way.” More

And here’s a performance of one her song settings, Die Meinacht

I’m guest blogging today at History Undressed talking about–what else–clothes, and there’s an excerpt from A Certain Latitude. Please come on over and say hi!

Posted in History, Music | Tagged | 2 Replies

Last week I talked about the Regency pianofortes I saw at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Here are a few more intriguing items from their collection of musical instruments.

violadamoreMy daughters play violin, so they were wondering about this. It looks like a violin or viola but instead of the usual four strings, it has twelve! It turns out it’s a viola d’amore, which can have twelve or fourteen strings. The top set are played in similar fashion to a regular violin or viola; the lower set vibrates sympathetically.

The viola d’amore was popular in the Baroque period. It probably wasn’t played much during the Regency, except perhaps at Concerts of Ancient Music put on by the London Concert Society (1776-1848).

Here’s the Vivaldi Concerto for viola d’amore and lute with soloists Enrico Onofri and Luca Pianca. The viola d’amore comes in at about 1:10. I love this performance!

lyreguitarThis beautiful instrument is a lyre guitar, circa 1810, clearly showing the classical influence popular during the Regency. The plaque dismissively calls it a “fad” but a Regency heroine could definitely have played one. In this video, John Doan provides a history of the instrument, illustrated with some period portraits. At around 2:50 you can hear him play.

ditalharpThis instrument was labeled the dital harp, circa 1820. I’ve also seen it called a harp/lute. This is another instrument that could have been played by a Regency lady. I was able to find this charming video of Sarah Deere-Jones singing a popular Regency song, “The Last Rose of Summer”, in Regency garb, and accompanying herself with a Regency era harp/lute. Enjoy!

Did any of you know about these instruments before? Do you have any favorite unusual instruments?

Elena

www.elenagreene.com

Since Amanda is busy moving (hope it’s all going well, Amanda!) I promised to switch days with her. And promptly forgot, in the havoc of getting back from the New Jersey Romance Writers conference and trying to get the family and household back on track!

BroadwoodpianoAnyway, I’m here now. Back in the summer, I had the chance to visit the vast and wonderful Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. There were many highlights to the visit, but an unexpected one was their varied collection of musical instruments. I’ve been meaning to blog about it ever since, but it went onto the back burner as I was finishing Fly with a Rogue and taking my oldest on college visits.

One of the most striking pieces in the collection is this superb grand piano. It was made in 1796 by John Broadwood & Sons for Manual de Godoy, ambassador to King Carlos IV of Spain. The decoration was designed by Thomas Sheraton and the jasperware cameos are by Josiah Wedgewood. I took some pictures of the details. Apologies for the fuzziness, but you can get an idea anyway.

Broadwood2

Broadwood3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is certainly the sort of instrument one could imagine in the house of one of our fictional dukes.

squarepianoAt the other end of the room, there was this square piano, made around 1770 in England by Johann Christoph Zume and Gabriel Buntebart. At about 5 octaves, this was the first type of piano to be commercially successful and became very popular. A vicar’s daughter type heroine could have afforded to play a piano like this one.

Here is Vladimir Pleshakov playing Bonifacio Asioli’s 1795 Sonata on a 1795 Broadwood grand. According to the comments, the pianoforte pictured is actually of a later date, unfortunately.

Next week I’ll post about some of the more esoteric instruments in the collection.

Can any of you picture yourselves playing these instruments? I can–in my Regency fantasies!

Elena
www.elenagreene.com

DominicCooper.AllenIn honor of Verdi, whose 200th birthday is today, I’m giving you an excerpt (slightly cleaned up) from my soon-to-be released erotic historical A Certain Latitude. The very vague connection is that there is mention of an opera here. The picture is not of Verdi but of Dominic Cooper as Willoughby in the latest BBC adaptation of Sense & Sensibility, who looks something like my hero.

Note that both hero and heroine are in a, uh, horizontal position.

“Tell me about your mistress.”
“Which one?”
“How many have there been? To start with, the one whose husband chased you to the dock.”
“Ah. Lady Ann. A dreadful woman.”
“Then, why on earth—”
“This part of me—” he thrust upward—“did the thinking. And if her husband had sued for divorce, I would have been named and then obliged to marry her.”
“But it doesn’t seem fair. What will her husband do to her?”
Allen ran his hand over her neck, pushing hair aside. “Expect her to be more discreet next time. It’s the way of the world.”
His breathing became faster. Already she knew the signs; she had learned the lessons of his body.
“Who else?”
“Who else what?”
“Who else have you bedded?”
“Hmm. You wish for the whole list?”
“List?” She put her lips to his ear and sang, “Ma in Ispagna son già mille e tre … mille e tre.”
Beneath her, he rumbled with laugher. “Not in Spain, but in Bristol maybe.”
“A thousand and three in one city? You mean you outdid Don Giovanni himself?”
He shrugged and fell silent.
“Is my singing so dreadful?”
He muttered, “I shouldn’t—I had this bad habit of seducing merchants’ wives. Silly, bored, rich women, for whom I was a consolation, an entertainment. I didn’t like any of them particularly. I don’t think they liked me much, either. Each one at first presented a challenge, a mystery, but afterward I found I was lonelier—” He stopped and turned his head away.
“Allen—”
“Except,” he added, “this never happened with them.” He laughed, a dry, ironic chuckle. “You may tell me it doesn’t matter. I believe that’s the acceptable, sympathetic thing for a woman to say under the circumstances. God knows it’s never happened before, so I’m not quite sure of the etiquette the situation demands. But, by all means coo something sweet while pitying me—even though you suspect this happens all the time.”
“A moment.” Clarissa eased herself onto her elbows. “May I borrow your writing slope? I must make note of this for any future encounters.”
He laughed and gripped her arms, turning his face to hers. “Don’t move. Do you know, Clarissa, I think you may be the only woman I’ve had that I actually liked?”
“How appalling.” She rubbed her nose against his. “Have you ever been in love?”
He shrugged. “Quite frequently, but it faded. I proposed to a couple of women, but fortunately they turned me down. I suspect I’m a little in love with you, Miss Onslowe, but have no fear. The condition will pass.”
“I rejoice to hear it.” Was it disappointment or relief she felt? “Love might well be a complication for us both. You are quite right.”

Any opera fans out there? Any favorite operas? Favorite Verdi operas? I vote for La Traviata.

Henrietta_SmithsonFirst I must explain that I’m in a place with dodgy internet and I intended to do all this earlier, but I had a doctor and an electrician to deal with. Right now I have a great big falling apart sandwich beckoning to me (it has bacon! avocado! yum) and I’m trying to write while eating it and not spilling it all over the keyboard. And potato chips.

berliozTalking of deliciousness, here’s a lovely young couple, he having a bad hair day. Hector Berlioz and Irish actress Harriet Smithson, who married on this day in 1833. They’d met a few years before–or rather, he’d stalked her–when she was acting Shakespeare in Paris, and Berlioz became infatuated with her, scaring her by a deluge of love letters. He also wrote the Symphonie Fantastique as a tribute to her (it includes a witch’s sabbath and a march to the scaffold. What girl wouldn’t be flattered?)

Now the problem was that he didn’t speak much English, she didn’t speak much French. Her career in Paris suffered as a result so possibly she agreed to marry Berlioz so she’d have a means of support. Ha, marry a musician for financial security. It must have been true love. Or he made a good sandwich, or something.

They were together for seven years. It’s a sad story. There’s an account of their relationship on a website about Irish communities in Paris here. Or, if you want more, I heartily recommend Jude Morgan’s novel Symphony.

Back to the sandwich. And then back to the writing. What are you up to today?

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