LEADING FROM THE HARPSICHORD

A HISTORICALLY INFORMED APPROACH TO CONDUCTING

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

1. LEADING WITH SOUND

      1.1. The Instrument

      1.2. Influence on the Basso Continuo Realization

2. OTHER NON-VERBAL COMMUNICATION DEVICES

      2.1. Chironomy

      2.2. Conducting Patterns

      2.3. Conduct and Demeanor

3. TO DROP, OR NOT TO DROP

CONCLUSIONS

BIBLIOGRAPHY

INTRODUCTION

      The question of early forms of musical leadership is a complex – yet fascinating – topic because of the diversity of examples, the heterogeneous nature of the profession, and the great variability found in the sources that arrived to our days. That is the case of the figure of the harpsichordist/leader during the High Baroque, where leadership from the keyboard appears to have been a predominant practice ^[2]. Although it certainly did not occur in isolation, but coexisted with other practices such as time-beating ^[3] – with a roll of paper or a stick, both audibly –, dual leadership ^[4] between the first violin and the keyboardist and – particularly by mid to late 18th century –, leading from the first violin ^[5] exclusively. For the present study, we are narrowing down the focus to exclusively the harpsichord, not only because it seems to have been the favored instrument ^[6] at the time for this activity, but also because including other instruments such as the organ or – later – the fortepiano would force us to encompass a larger time period and value other considerations that would drive us away from the core of this research.

      Since the profession was multifaceted in essence, so is this research. The leader of the ensemble was first and foremost a player – at least during the performance –, so it is only logical to start our journey discovering all the elements related to the sonic aspect of the activity, such as the basso continuo that the leader would be realizing, and with it influencing the performance of the rest of the ensemble. Since the leader would as well be using other non-verbal devices to influence the performance, the second chapter of this research is a discussion of the gestures that he or she would be using at the time. These two disciplines would have been at times in opposition – either playing or gesturing –, or they would have occurred simultaneously in other ocassions, giving birth to mixed practices; the third and last chapter is an artistic speculation on how sound and gesture could have coexisted.

      In order to tackle all these questions, we count with several sources written by harpsichordists that also led ensembles, and that explicitly mention some of the topics relevant for us – being the most notorious examples Carl Philip Emmanuel Bach’s Versuch über die wahre Art das Clavier zu spielen ^[7] or Johann Mattheson’s Der volkommene Capellmeister ^[8] –. Complementary to this category, other documents of the time provide us with the other side of the coin, namely treatises about other disciplines written by contemporaries that allow us to be aware of possible biases, contemplate alternative practices and, in definitive, read between the lines – such is the case of Johann Joachim Quantz’ Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte traversiere zu spielen ^[9], that gives us the perspective of not only a contemporary of C. P. E Bach, but someone that led performances in which the later was the harpsichordist –. This kind of documentation provides us with invaluable information to help m form a global picture of how the harpsichordist would have exerted leadership over the ensemble. There are several comprehensive and reputable studies written in the recent decades on the history of conducting that also helped us navigate the bast amount of information including conducting patterns, performance accounts, and other historical and musicological facts useful to complement and contextualize the documents used as primary sources for this research. Finally, I extracted conclusions from my own experience leading from the keyboard as well as conversations with other maestri al cembalo in order to fill in the blanks, based on the rather safe supposition that the practical issues that a leader faced in the 17th century while keeping the ensemble together and building a convincing performance cannot be completely removed from what a 21st century harpsichordist in the same position experiences.

      I approach this enterprise from the perspective of having led ensembles – mostly modern orchestras – for some time now, and in the process of doing a journey back in time substituting the precision of the baton for the richness of the keyboard. This research is motivated by this trip, and the necessity to explore the new palette of possibilities that opened up as a result. Similarly, it is my hope that this study is equally relevant for people in a situation similar to my own, and even people doing the journey in the opposite direction – musicians with an Early Music background, particularly in keyboardists, interested in leading larger forces –. Another motivation for this study is the fact that the practice of leading from the keyboard is often labeled as a transitional practice ^[10] or, in other terms, a primitive and undeveloped form of conducting, and it is never dissected and analyzed with the same rigor as later forms of leadership. It is my believe that not only this is a misconception but, contrarily, this is a form of leadership in its own right with its advantages for the repertoire that it was designed to lead.

1. LEADING WITH SOUND

1.1. The Instrument

      There does not seem to have been an overwhelming consensus about the best suited instrument for leadership. Johann Joachim Quantz (1697 - 1773) was famously a strong advocate for the first violinist – and even other soprano instrumentalists – as the leader of the ensemble. One cannot avoid being under the impression that he had a certain bias towards promoting an alternative leadership to that of the keyboardist – giving the fact that he himself was a celebrated flutist and leader – when he wrote in his Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte traversiere zu spielen ^[11] “whether a leader plays this or that instrument may be of no importance.” ^[12] However, following this seemingly democratizing statement, he goes on to give several recommendations about the best disposition for an ensemble, all of which have the harpsichord as the reference point:

“In a composition for a large ensemble, performed either in a hall or in some other large place where there is no stage, the tip of the harpsichord may be directed towards the listeners. So that none of the musicians turns his back to the listeners, the first violins may stand in a row next to the harpsichord, with the leader on the right of the keyboard player, who has the two bass instruments playing on either side of him. […] In a small chamber ensemble the harpsichord may be placed by the wall on the left of its player, but far enough removed from it so that all the accompanying instruments except the basses have room between him and the wall.” ^[13]

So even when he favors a leader that does not necessarily sit at the keyboard, Quantz acknowledges the preponderant role of the harpsichord, and even considers it a necessary element in any collective performance: “I assume that the harpsichord will be included in all ensembles, whether large or small.” ^[14]

      In his Versuch über die wahre Art das Clavier zu spielen ^[15], Carl Philip Emmanuel Bach – another Kammermusikus in the court of Frederick the Great alongside with Quantz, Gaun and Benda, among others ^[16] – takes the opposite stance and openly supports the harpsichord as the instrument best suited for leadership:

“The keyboard [Klavier] ^[17], entrusted by our fathers with full command, is in the best position to assist not only the other bass instruments but the entire ensemble in maintaining a uniform pace.” ^[18]

Even when C. P. E. Bach and Quantz may have disagreed on what the leader should play, both recognize the special position the harpsichord occupies in the ensemble. This relevance may be motivated by the sound quality of the harpsichord – that naturally displays a sharp immediate attack, with certain innate percussive qualities –, and its facility to convey the beat as opposed to other instruments:

“The tone of the keyboard [Klavier] which, correctly placed, stands in the center of the ensemble, can be heard clearly by all. And I know that even diffuse, elaborate compositions played by impromptu, average performers can be held together simply by its tone.” ^[19]

However, as a result of the description of the acoustic qualities of this instrument, and its role in the ensemble it is safe to assume that C. P. E. Bach was thinking of the harpsichord when he wrote the word klavier.

      This ability to unify the performance by the nature of its tone can also be its downside, particularly during intimate or airy passages, as C. P. E. Bach warns us in his chapter dedicated to accompaniment: “The harpsichord, which sounds loud to those close to it, especially when it has a penetrating tone, can easily disrupt orderliness.” ^[20] So, the same qualities that make it a great unifier can also make it a nuisance under the wrong hands. ^[21] As Quantz did before, C. P. E. Bach also noted the necessity for the proximity of the first violinist and the harpsichord in order to guaranty the cohesion of the ensemble: “If the first violinist stands nears the keyboard as he should, disorder cannot easily spread.” ^[22] The connection between the bass and the soprano via an instrument as “commanding" ^[23] as the harpsichord seemed to be a given, as a mechanism to maintain togetherness, cohesion in the performance, and overall order. Giving the special position in which the harpsichord was as an instrument – for both the ones that favored keyboardists as directors and those who preferred others to lead –, it followed that the harpsichordist had the responsibility of being an audible source of the beat during the performance:

“Should someone hasten or drag, he can be most readily corrected by the keyboardist, for the others will be too much concerned with their own figures and syncopations to be of any assistance. Especially those parts that employ the tempo rubato will find herein a welcome, emphatic beat. Finally, it is easy (and often necessary) to make minor changes of tempo by this means because exact perception will not be hindered by the keyboard’s excessive noise.” ^[24]

Another added responsibility of the harpsichordist was that of unifying the ensemble during the accompaniment in order to give freedom to the soloist:

"In arias, the singer’s burden is lightened by our means when the tempo changes precipitately, or when all parts scramble while the voice alone has long notes or triplets which because of their division demand a clear beat.” ^[25]

In this scenario, the keyboardist was entrusted to follow the singer closely and bring the ensemble together to support the solo part. As we can see, no matter whether the harpsichordist was a de facto leader or just one more member of the ensemble, he or she would have had at least, for all intents and purposes, the role of a vigilante. For all the reasons above, and as Mattheson put it, “the clavier is to be recommended as the main instrument of all and should be available daily [to the Kapellmeister]” ^[26].

      Another proponent of the keyboardist-leader – and one himself –, Mattheson discusses here the best keyboard instrument to carry out this function:

“Here the regals are of no use, and it amazes me that these rasping, irksome instruments are still used here and there. The clavicembalo, Steertstücke or harpsichord is fine everywhere’s and is much nicer than the former: Though it would not be bad for a number of reasons if nice and quickly-speaking small positive organs without the reed stop could be united with the clavicembalo in churches, or even if a pair of the last- named were present, if there is a strong chorus.” ^[27]

Once again we see that the fast attack of the instrument – or “quickly-speaking” ^[28]– is the main characteristic why an instrument is preferred over another when discussing basso continuo keyboard instruments, as it is the main element in conveying the beat to what the other instruments should lock in. Still, Mattheson regards the harpsichord as the main instrument for the Kapellmeister to lead from, and gives the “small positive organ” ^[29] the role of a mere compliment to the former. ^[30] Scholars seem to be united behind the idea that leadership from most church organs would be impractical ^[31] given that the organist would be facing the opposite direction of the ensemble, hence “in the worst possible position to oversee the orchestra.” ^[32] Even when we count with a few sources that point that leadership from the organ indeed occurred ^[33], it does not seem to have been an extended practice, and certainly is a less pragmatic approach than leading from the harpsichord while facing the ensemble.

1.2. Influence on the Basso Continuo Realization

“A good leader must try […] to develop and maintain a good and uniform execution in the orchestra. Just as he himself must have good execution, he must also seek to make that of his colleagues alike and always uniform with his own.” ^[34]

Therefore, this is leadership by example or, in other terms, leadership using sound as the main carrier of the information conveyed to the ensemble ^[35]. This contrasts greatly with what conducting became by mid to late 19th century, where it was purely gestural, and therefore included no production of sound by the director. We could say that modern conducting is purely metaphorical – gestures are analogous to musical objects ^[36] – whereas in 18th century leadership there was a direct identification – that did not need any translation by those being led – between what the leader did and what the ensemble ought to do. In order to promote this relatedness, the leader at the keyboard adjusted the basso continuo realization to match what he or she expected to hear from the ensemble. In other words, the continuo realization is how leadership is transmitted, at least to a large extent. Obviously, proficiency at basso continuo was a requirement to those in this position^[37], and we have numerous accounts that give us some insight into the high degree of sophistication and nuance some Kapellmeister ^[38] achieved in their realizations.

       Because of the nature of the harpsichord, the dynamic dimension of the continuo realization is probably one of the most challenging elements to attain, and one of the most crucial if we intend to obtain the aforementioned identification:

“The leader must see to it that all of his associates always play with him with uniform loudness or softness, as each idea requires, and especially that all express the alternations of Piano and Forte and their different degrees simultaneously at the notes where they are indicated. He himself must be regulated by whether the concertante part is loud or soft.” ^[39]

This idea is expounded and implemented by C. P. E. Bach in his Versuch, to a degree of detail that can seem, perhaps, unpractical and even artificial, but gives us insight into the degree of specificity that basso continuo had acquired by the mid 1700s in terms of dynamic range. ^[40]

      Nevertheless, dynamics were the first element sacrificed in the name of something more fundamental: togetherness. Since sound is conceived as the medium through which leadership is exerted, the continuo realization must be heard, particularly in moments that need clear input from the leader:

“The first note after a fermata or general pause is struck loudly. Even if the note is marked piano, a certain weight is given to it by means of a moderately strong attack. Such liberty is especially needed when the bass alone breaks the silence. It is better to play one note somewhat louder than indicated and thereby retain order in the ensemble, than to observe all indications with exaggerated exactness and fail to give an indispensable signal to the others.” ^[41]

Interestingly, C. P. E. Bach bestows the responsibility of “retain[ing] order in the ensemble” ^[42] and “give an indispensable signal to others” ^[43] on the accompanist. It is noticeable that the roles of leader and accompanist, clearly differentiated and even diametrically opposed nowadays, were not so at that point in time. Additionally, dynamics were also altered to facilitate unity in reaching closing cadences, ^[44] and it appears safe to assume that the preparation of any tempo change would have been reinforced this way. In the same fashion, voice leading – another fundamental trait of the continuo realization – can be temporarily forfeited in order to aid with ensemble difficulties:

“Although it is poor constantly to duplicate the melody of the principal part in the accompaniment, there are times at the beginning of rapid pieces when it is necessary and hence permissible, especially when they are in two parts. Both hands thereby pick up the tempo in the same manner, and the audience will not miss any part of the beginning, for it will be uniform and orderly. This is an expedient which may be employed by weak musicians, whether accompanists or leaders, at any point in a composition as a means of retrieving a uniform beat, once it has been lost.” ^[45]

In this case, C. P. E. Bach is very careful to make clear that this is a trick “employed by weak musicians” and not a serious strategy to be used in normal circumstances.

      The elephant in the room is that all the changes in the continuo realization described up to here would require immediacy on the part of the ensemble members for them to have a real impact in the performance. In reality, any unrehearsed direction conveyed by means of changes in the continuo realization would be reacted to by the ensemble with a time lag, with the subsequent detriment to ensemble homogeneity. The only ways to achieve such an instant reaction would be to use the realization as a reinforcement of previously rehearsed concepts, or aiding the predictability with some kind of anticipatory gesture. Nevertheless, certain textural changes do create a sense of predictability that can help to lead the ensemble ahead of the desired effect:

“On the entrance of an elaborated cadence, the accompanist, regardless of whether a fermata appears over the bass, holds the six-four chord for a while and then pauses until the principal part, at the end of its cadenza, plays a trio or some other figure which requires resolution of the chord. At this point the triad is struck at the keyboard, the seventh being taken as a fifth part. From adagio molto to andante the six-four chord and the succeeding triad are arpeggiated upward either slowly or rather rapidly according to the requirements of tempo and affect.” ^[46]

Here, C. P. E. Bach hints at a device that can be used to anticipate certain musical events – such as the end of a cadenza – by the speed a chord is arpeggiated or rolled, which gives the ensemble the possibility to predict when the next beat is going arrive. This technique can be extrapolated to other unstable situations such as tempo rubato or tempo changes of any sort. Another preemptive musical gesture to aid togetherness after a short pause is the use of a chord that serves as a trigger – or auditive cue – to the ensemble:

“Chords struck during short rests achieve a distinct weight and greatly assist the other performers, for it is generally acknowledged that, except for the keyboard, such rests present considerable difficulties. This last suggestion applies to all passages in which short rests appear.” ^[47]

This procedure is particularly useful with larger instrumentations, faster tempi, and large distances such as the ones found in opera:

“A chord over the rest is indispensable, especially when this example appears in a piece for a large, heavily doubled orchestra in which all instruments enter on the rapid notes. This situation is commonly found in operas, where it occurs in dramatic, accompanied recitatives, with singers who, because of the constant, vigorous action, may be declaiming upstage, downstage, at the sides, or in the center, with additional noises to boot. Here the accompanist must take the lead and, on the short rest, give his cue with as heavy an attack as possible.” ^[48]

Once again, the harpsichordist is not only following and accompanying the soloist and/or the ensemble, but he or she "must take the lead” ^[49] in order to guarantee the ensemble’s togetherness. This type of sound cues serve the same purpose as a visual cue given by a conductor in the same circumstance, which is clearly placing the beat so the ensemble members can predict when to play their off-beat parts. Other changes in texture – such as repeating a chord – can contribute to maintaining the flow of the tempo and reinforce the rhythmic aspect in certain situations:

“In a concerto or any heavily scored piece, when the bass and ripien parts hold a tone while the principal part continues with its own motion, even varying it at times with syncopations, it is wise for the accompanist to maintain the beat and guide the other performers by playing a chord with the right hand on the divisions of the bar even though the harmony does not change. If the bass alone has the held note, the accompanist may repeat solely the bass note just as it dies out. But this must not be done against the beat, as the expression goes. In a duple bar the repetitions may occur at the beginning and in the middle, according to its divisions and the pace. In a triple bar only the downbeat is played. But if in the course of a passage a forte appears after a piano, the accompanists should give up the prescribed division and, observing closely, play the bass in the left hand and the chord in the right directly on the entrance of the forte in a fortissimo both hands take a full chord.” ^[50]

However, no matter how specific and personalized the continuo realization is, C. P. E. Bach insists that it must be simple, as the most important priority must be maintaining the tempo and the vigor of the work:

“The less the bass is preoccupied with difficult, involved runs, the more easily will it be able to maintain a steady pace; the more it is, the more frequent will be the spectacle of compositions starting more vigorously than they end.” ^[51]

For all intents and purposes, the harpsichord became the perfect tool for the leader, particularly because of its facility to convey the beat to the ensemble. This, in addition to the possibility to play a harmonic shorthand of the work – with the insight this provides on the inner workings of the composition –, explains the central role of the harpsichord in collective performances, and why it was considered by some – perhaps somewhat superlatively – the “lord of all the instruments in the world.” ^[52]

2. OTHER NON-VERBAL COMMUNICATION DEVICES

      Certain visual means of communication seemed to have emerged out of necessity when the subtlety of sound was not enough to lead the ensemble, particularly because of the difficulty to convey predictability. ^[53] C. P. E. Bach introduces this notion almost as a side comment while discussing how to bring back the ensemble after a cadenza; here, the body – presumably head and upper body if the leader is seating while playing on the keyboard – becomes an addition to the sound produced by the harpsichord, and contributes to the predictability of the musical gesture:

“At times the bass enters immediately after the conclusion of a cadenza or a cadence prolonged simply by means of an extended trill. The entrance must be made with firmness and an assured resumption of the tempo as soon as it is observed that the trill in the principal part has been sufficiently extended and if continued may grow weak. The tones which the bass plays must be performed strongly and loudly, even in the absence of an indication, so that the other performers will grasp the restoration of the normal tempo. If such bass notes are marked piano […] at least the first of the tones which precede the approaching bar should be struck loudly, or some motion of the body should be made as a means of indication the division of the bar. [bold added for emphasis]” ^[54]

We can speculate that the “means of indication” C. P. E. Bach refers to is an up and down motion that serves as a metaphor of the aforementioned “division of the bar”, as if an imaginary line were to be traced starting and ending down, where the beat is. The reason why that is the most obvious candidate is the pervasiveness throughout the centuries of European music of the first beat – the strongest – to be down ^[55]. This is perhaps the most basic, yet instinctive and easily recognizable gesture a maestro al cembalo can produce to place the beat without stopping playing.

      From our 21st century perspective, it may seem only logical that the leader should primarily use gestures to convey his or her ideas, since we are constantly exposed to the figure of the orchestra conductor exclusively using nonverbal communication devices and without emitting any sound – at least during the performance –. Contrarily, that is not what a leader would be expected to do at the time when leadership from the harpsichord was an extended practice. In the previous example, C. P. E. Bach conceives gesture as a secondary communication device, being sound produced at the harpsichord the primary carrier of the information. Similarly, Biedermann ^[56] describes the use of other nonverbal communication devices – such as gestures or even audible time-beating – as a necessary evil when the ensemble – because of the lack of prowess of its members – does not respond appropriately to a purely sonic input from the leader:

“But when an orchestra is not so well placed, nor so well equipped, the direction becomes audible, visible, and more strained. The cembalist and the bass players, on whose part the harmony rests, have to be kept in constant activity, and, in order that the playing of the orchestra may not fall into disorder, they have to play their parts so forcibly that it is easily heard by all the other players, who then can add their own parts to complete the harmony. This can hardly be done unless the bass players make all sorts of movements with their bodies, and the playing then becomes strained and forced.” ^[57]

Interestingly, some of the gestures used to lead were not made ex profeso, but simply a result of playing the keyboard:

“Those performers located in front of or beside the keyboard will find in the simultaneous motion of both hands an inescapable, visual portrayal of the beat.” ^[58]

      C. P. E. Bach goes further to recommend a rather visual way of playing, also justified by an ideal of sound production, more into the key:

“In accompaniments, just as much as in solos, a constant playing on the surface of the keys must be avoided; rather they should be depressed with definite force. This will not occur unless the hands are raised somewhat. Provided this is not done in the manner of a woodchopper, the raised hands are not only not wrong, but necessary and good, in that they provide a simple way of indicating the tempo to the other performers and make it possible to strike the keys with proper weight so that the tones will sound clear, in accord with the rules of good performance.” ^[59]

Expectedly, any kind of time-beating that also involved a production of noise by pounding with a stick ^[60] or a paper roll ^[61] was considered even more suboptimal than pure gesticulation:

“It has already been mentioned in the Organisten-Probe what to think of the useless stamping, din and pounding with sticks, keys and feet, and, if I am right, it has been read not without benefit: because since that time not so much has been perceived of this abuse. Without being overly contentious, I am of the opinion that a little sign, not only with the hand but merely with the eyes and gestures, could accomplish most of this; if only the performers would assiduously keep their eyes on the director.” ^[62]

Here we start to observe the seeds of what will become a purely visual form of leadership in subsequent generations. It also touches on an eternal dialectical issue in ensemble playing, namely how much to rely on auditive input versus visual cues.

2.1. Chironomy

      Composer, Kapellmeister, and Music Theorist, Johann Mattheson (1681 - 1764) dedicates a section of his renown Der Vollkommene Kapellmeister to the ancient discipline of Chironomy ^[63] or Cheironomy. Traceable back to ancient Egypt, it probably reached Mattheson through the writings of Latin thinkers such as Cicero ^[64]. The term Chironomy evolved to embrace multiple roles throughout history, from supporting gestures during oratory to a form of musical leadership ^[65]. Interestingly, Mattheson does not make explicit the specific use the Complete Kapellmeister should make of this subject – from coaching the singers at the Opera Theater on acting to using specific gestures to convey a particular affect –. We can only speculate, but one can hardly believe that Mattheson would have avoided using certain chironomic techniques if he had the need to influence the ensemble at a certain point during the performance.

      Certainly, Kapellmeister Mattheson showed a great conviction in the power of non-verbal communication such as facial expression:

“Words do not move a person who does not understand the language; discriminating words are good only for discriminating minds; but everyone understands the well-used facial expression, even young children with whom neither words nor beatings have as much effect as a glance.” ^[66]

The versatility of the body – in its totality –, in addition to the instinctive recognition of certain gestures such as a “glance”, seems to be the quality that makes chironomy a significant addition to the tools of the Kapellmeister: “words have only the tongue as a tool; gestures, however, can make use of all parts of the body.” ^[67] Chironomy is conceived, then, as an addition to other communicative elements such as music itself and words to convey a certain affect to the audience:

“The aim of this whole discipline is this, that gesticulation, words and sounds form a three-part braid, and should perfectly harmonize with each other to the goal that the feeling of the listener be stirred.” ^[68]

      One of the most relevant and systematic studies on Chironomy during the years in which the leadership at the harpsichord was an extended practice was Chirologia: or the Naturall Language of the Hand by English physician and natural philosopher John Bolwer in 1644. Once again, and in the same line of thought as Mattheson, Bolwer points at the intelligibility of the hand versus the more bewildering nature of the minde:

“In all the declarative conceits of Gesture, whereby the Body, instructed by Nature, can emphatically vent, and communicate a thought, and in the propriety of its utterance express the silent agitations of the minde; the Hand, that bus instrument, is most talkative, whose language is as easily perceived and understood, as if Man had another mouth or fountain of discourse in his Hand. So proper and apt to make signes, and work great matters is the Hand of Man;” ^[69]

Curiously – probably as a result of a rather narrow Eurocentric view of the world – Bowler confers Chironomy the quality of universality, trespassing all the limits of national differences and languages due to being “natural to Man”:

“It speakes all languages, and as an universall character of Reason, is generally understood and knowne by all Nations, among the formall differences of their Tongue. And being the only speech that is natural to Man, it may well be called the Tongue and generall language of Humane Nature; which, without teaching, men in all regions of the habitable world doe at the first fight most easily understand.” ^[70]

Be as it may, Bolwer recognizes the immediacy, communicability, and power of a gesture, as Mattheson came to believe a few decades later: ^[71]

“The Hand […] takes oftentimes the thoughts from the forestalled Tongue, making a more quick dispatch by gesture: for when the fancy hath once wrought upon the Hand, our conceptions are display’d and utter’d in the very moment of a thought. For, the gesture of the Hand many times gives a hint of our intention, and speakes out a good part of our meaning, before our words, which accompany or follow it, can put themselves into a vocal posture to be understood.” ^[72]

      Bowler’s Chirologia includes a comprehensive compendium of gestures, some of which can potentially have a direct application in the context of music leadership. One of the most fundamental roles of the leader is that of affecting the balance of the ensemble by incentivizing one voice over another. The gesture Invito transmits precisely that sense of appealing for more – in this case sound – that is so useful in both rehearsal and performance situations:

“To shew forth the Hand, and so forthwith to call backe as it were and bring it again unto us with waving motion, is a naturall Gesture, and a vulgar compellation, which we significantly use in calling for men whom we bid to come near and approch unto us, which alluring habit in this matter is very naturall, ready, and commodious to explain our minde and will, wherein there is a certain kind of forme or semblance of the thing signified. For wee seeme by this gesture to draw them to us.” ^[74]

This seems to be a positive and agreeable gesture that contributes to a certain camaraderie between leader and ensemble members. The same concept, but with a more intense pleading connotation is found in Supplico:

“The stretching out of the hands is a naturall expression of gesture, wherein wee are significantly importunate, intreat, refuel, sue, solicite, beseech, and ask mercy and grace at the Hands of others. […]. And Plutarch in that notable description of Aemilius triumph relates, how King Perseus children were led prisoners with the train of their Schoolmasters and other Officers and their servants, weeping and lamenting, HOLDING OUT THEIR HANDS unto the people that looked upon them, and taught the Kings young children to doe the like, to ask mercy and grace at the peoples Hands. ” ^[75]

Perhaps the most intensive of the loud gestures is Triumpho. Here there is a very apparent affect indication, a jubilating connotation so commonly found in the baroque music literature:

“To put out the raised hand, and to shake it as it were into a shout, is their naturall expression who errant, brag, boak, triumph, and by exultant gesture expresse the raptures of their joy; they also who would declare their high applause, or would congratulate; and they who have drunke, doe commonly use the same gesture. In congratulatory exclamations either in the behalf of our selves or others welfare, it is usually and naturall.” ^[76]

      The other side of the coin is the set of gestures used to request less, dismiss, or discourage. Dimito conveys precisely the opposite instruction to Invito – the desire for a softer, more intimate sound –:

“To wag and wave the hand from us, is an expression by gesture significant to prohibit, bid one be gone, keepe off, forbid, dismisse, and bid farewell and adieu: in which there is a certain forme of the thing signified; for we seeme by this gesture to put from us.” ^[77]

This gesture can be intensified to the extreme requesting – almost – silence:

“The becking with the raised hand hath Beene ever with all Nations accounted a signe of craving audience, and intreating a favourable silence. And how considerable an expression this gesture of the Hand was ever accounted in this businesse, may be collected out of the office of the common Cryer, whom wee finde in the monuments of the Ancients commanding silence by the Hand alone, without the voice.” ^[78]

      The previous are just a few examples of useful gestures to affect the dynamic dimension of the performance, but a similar approach could potentially be applied to other parameters – such as articulation – with a specificity that depends on the degree of detail wished by the leader. Chironomy proves to be a powerful ally of the maestro al cembalo, although the implementation of which may be challenging ^[79] – giving the fact that the leader’s hands are mostly occupied with the continuo realization –. Nevertheless, as hinted by the fact that Mattheson – a maestro al cembalo ^[80] himself – dedicates a chapter of his work to this discipline, it is does not seem implausible that both activities could coexist, or even alternate as tools for leadership.

2.2. Conducting Patterns ^[81]

      If the maestro al cembalo stopped playing basso continuo in order to start beating time – and that is a big if ^[82]– it follows logically that he or she would have used the beat patterns most commonly known and understood at the time and place – when in Rome… –. Even when the position of Kapellmeister seems to have been rather local, with rare mobility – particularly outside of the national confines, and certainly far from the global mobility conductors experience nowadays – there was great variability of conducting patterns, particularly before mid 19th century ^[83]. Nevertheless, the pervasiveness of the first beat of the bar being down seems to be a constant throughout history – with rare exceptions –. Some have connected this phenomenon with gravity, as if the fact that things fall down adds to the importance of the first beat being precisely there. ^[84] Maybe, more simply, the strongest beat was down because, occasionally, the leader would literally beat with or against some object ^[85] in order to produce sound and keep the ensemble together. Be as it may, this phenomenon has been traced back to Greek antiquity: “The Giver of Time beat with his stave up and down in equal movements so that all might keep together.” ^[86]

      One of the most detailed descriptions of the inner structure of a bar by the time basso continuo emerges appears in Spain by the hand of Fray Tomás de Sancta María (ca. 1570) in his Libro llamado de tañer fantasia:

“Thus, in order to divide and split the measure in two half bars, it is divided and it splits with the beat that strikes up [upbeat], in such a way that the [beginning of the] bar always strikes down, and the half bar [does so] up, and thus, half a bar is the amount or measurement, or length of time, that exists between the downbeat and the upbeat. Note that there is no more time between downbeat and upbeat –which is half a bar– than between upbeat and downbeat –which is the other half–. The way to demonstrate this is signaling the points within a measure in a wall from up to down, in which it will be shown clearly that there is not more distance between the lowest point to the top point, [and vice versa].” ^[87]

This is indeed an exhaustive description of how to conduct a binary bar. All movements reported are placed in an imaginary vertical line, being the two beats in the bar placed at its nadir and zenith.

      However, things get considerably more hazy the more beats per bar we encounter. It is here that we find more variability. In the case of three beats per bar, Sancta María opts for beating twice the downbeat and once the upbeat:

“There are two ways of measure [beating time] in practical music. The first, the measure (as we have mentioned) is divided and split in two equal parts, and in the other in tree parts, as well equal. This is the measure also known as Ternary, in which of the three parts it possesses, two are spent on the downbeat and the other on the upbeat. This is carried out singing two semibreves in the downbeat and one in the upbeat, or two Minims in the downbeat and one in the upbeat.” ^[88]

       Meanwhile in Italy, the inner beats of a bar were produced with what was known as ondeggiare – litterally waving –. This is not completely unsimilar to what Sancta María suggested but, contrarily, it ocurred on the up beat. The following is a description by Lorenzo Penna, Maestro of the Carmelite Monastery in Parma, on how to beat three and four beats in a bar:

“The procedure has four parts; the first is to beat downwards, and the second is to stop [at the bottom], the third is in the up-beat and the fourth in the stopping at the top. In small note values each of the four parts of the beating will distinguish itself well, because the first is in the [down] beat, the second in lifting the hand with a little ondeggiare, the third is at the top, and the fourth is stationary. In triple meter, three motions are made; the first in the down-beat, the second in lifting and waving [ondeggiare] and the third in stopping at the top.” ^[89]

We observe here that the interest of this system is in the downbeat, being the rest of the beats in the bar just a slow ascent to the upbeat, to descend again. We could speculate that this was deviced to clearly show strong beats, being the rest almost accessory.

      The first ^[90] appearance of the patterns that are more commonly used nowadays can be found, surprisingly, in a treatise about the harpsichord. Les Principes du Clavecin (1702) by the unknown Moinsieur de Saint-Lambert contains a detailed and graphic description of the conducting patterns more commonly used in France at the turn of the century. Here, we can observe the horizontal displacement of the inner beats (in bars with 3 or more beats) that pervades patterns currently.

Interestingly, the pattern for the Major Time Signature (4/4) has beat 2 and 3 in the opposite sides of what is commonly used nowadays. Saint-Lambert also makes clear that gestures “are usually made with the right hand for the sake of grace” ^[92]. This convention continued well into the 20th century, when we find the first examples of conductors holding their baton with the left hand ^[93]. It is utterly interesting that Monsieur de Saint Lambert explains in so much detail how to beat the different time signatures in a treatise dedicated to the harpsichord. Even when he does not explicitly mention it, we can safely assume that Saint Lambert wanted to equip those harpsichordists that read his treatise with some conducting notions that they would certainly need when working with ensembles. Probably, this is the smoking gun that demonstrates that the harpsichord occupied a special place in the ensemble, and the harpsichordist was generally entrusted with the responsibility to lead as part of his or her functions in the ensemble.

2.3. Conduct and Demeanor

      Another set of non-verbal communication devices are those derived from the behavior and attitude of the leader. The personal aura, the way the leader carries himself or herself out, and the reaction to the circumstances of the performance are, arguably, part of the Kapellmeister’s non-verbal toolbox. Unsurprisingly, a quick review of the historical sources that discuss the personal qualities of a leader shows that there is nothing new under the sun ^[94] in this regard; many of the aspects we expect to find in a leader nowadays appear to have been also relevant during the time when leadership from the harpsichord was an common practice.

      The 18th century author that deepened the most into the psychological and behavioral side of music leadership was, perhaps, Johann Mattheson in his Der Vollkommene Capellmeister; for Mattheson – a maestro al cembalo himself – authority derives naturally from a righteous conduct and a good reputation ^[95] – proficiency seems to be a given –. Yet, this authority should not serve to create a distance between the leader and the players; conversely, the leader should strive for a certain level of camaraderie with the ensemble members, but without getting too acquainted with them – in other words, “friendly, but not friends” ^[96] –:

“Affability is considered a most favored and rewarding virtue by people in all ranks: a director then should of course also strive for it, and should be very gregarious, sociable and obliging: especially when he is not performing his official tasks. In his official duties, becoming seriousness and precise observation of them probably does more service than too great familiarity.” ^[97]

Authority is conceived as a medium to inspire or – in Mattheson’s words – “elevate the spirit of the ensemble” ^[98], leaving aside the leader’s own tribulations. A Kapellmeister must lead an ascetic life, quasi priestly, devoting all of his or her energy to the exercise of the profession:

“[…] a composer and director of music [must] be of a vigorous, high-spirited, indefatigable, diligent, and energetic nature; yet also orderly: yet most often the most active are deficient in this last. Idleness must be hated as a devil, because it is his place of repose. A great deal of sleep is of no value here; much less a superfluity of joys of the table, or an otherwise lascivious life.” ^[99]

      All of the above behavioral guidelines seem to be designed to create a special dynamic between the players and their leader, where the later deploys all of his or her interpersonal tools to energize – or fire up – the ensemble in order to maximize the results during the performance. Interestingly, it does not go one way exclusively, but the relationship with the ensemble seems to be synergetic insofar as the leader also refuels from it:

“A master must have the heart in such circumstances to set a cheerful example for others, and must know how to create in himself so many pleasures from this noble pursuit that he would always be in the position, all obstacles notwithstanding, of finding his greatest peace in harmony and of reviving his spirit.” ^[100]

This is, then, an autotelic experience ^[101] for the Kapellmeister, who must find in the practice of the profession itself the motivation to endure the certain difficulties that stem from it. It is precisely the yearning for the artistic experience that is a deciding factor – in Mattheson’s eyes – in determining someone’s success as a leader:

“One sometimes encounters fine minds without true desire and love for it. […]. Natural ability, desire, and diligence, are, in inseparable ways, highly necessary and requisite to a composer and director.” ^[102]

Consequently, a leader with this kind of mindset will communicate to the ensemble a type of leadership that will not be read as authoritarian by the players, but as motivational and participative ^[103] – by sheer example –, given the dialectic nature of the dynamic created – both parts stimulate each other –.

      As for the mental state of the leader, interestingly, Mattheson encourages a mindful attitude during the performance where not too much enthusiasm is present, but a serene yet sharply attentive state:

“Calmness and speedy decision are also necessary attributes for the direction of a performance. For, excessive ardor, when one has too much zeal, is of little service; especially where an equal passion is not present with the performers, which may be rather seldom. Thus one can better find oneself, think, avoid confusion, and perceive everything much more precisely if the spirits are finely kept together and are not scattered.” ^[104]

Doubling down on the idea of calm attention, Mattheson recommends a stoic attitude towards the profession, being an overly emotional response undesirable:

“Neither impatience nor a sudden flush of emotion serves any purpose here. If one does not have enough desire or deep-felt love for the thing so that he can suppress many a displeasure over it and so that adversity cannot alienate him from his noble plan; then he is not well suited for the exercise of this discipline and its sphere of duties.” ^[105]

Finally, the attitude and the decisions of the leader should be characterized by a certain flexibility and adaptability to the changing nature of rehearsal and performances, being rigidity and dogmatism undesirable:

“Some minds are like wax and others are like stone. Now though the one which is hewn in stone is most durable, in music we prefer a brain which is more like wax than stone: because it grasps things more easily, and has a more pliable nature.” ^[106]

Consequently, a leader in this mind state would inherently transmit to the ensemble a sense of stability, reliability, and attentive listening that would have a positive impact on the performance. The ensemble members are put in a position in which each of them gives the best in themselves, because they feel heard, and they trust and rely on the leader. Thus, authority is not generated by power, but by proficiency, positive feedback, and projecting stability.

3. TO DROP, OR NOT TO DROP

      The reality of the profession seems to have been way more multifaceted, ever-changing and versatile than what our overly clear-cut previous classification ^[107] can lead us to believe. Most accounts show Kapellmeister encompassing a variety of activities, most likely switching from one to another depending on the particular necessities of each moment. The following account of J. S. Bach as a leader describes perfectly the diversity of tasks undertaken by him during the performance:

“If you could see him […] singing with one voice and playing his own parts, but watching over everything and bringing back to the rhythm and the beat, out of thirty or even forty musicians, the one with a nod, another by tapping the foot, the third with a warning finger, giving the right note to one from the top of his voice, to another from the bottom, and to a third from the middle of it – all alone, in the midst of the greatest din made by all the participants, and, although he is executing the most difficult parts himself^[108], noticing at once whenever and wherever a mistake occurs, holding everyone together, taking precautions everywhere and repairing any unsteadiness, full of rhythm in every part of his body – this one man taking in all these harmonies with his keen ear and emitting with his voice alone the tone of all the voices.” ^[109]

Here, we can get an image of Bach’s hands-on leadership, being constantly proactive, and juggling all the different facets: singing, playing, beating time (with gestures or tapping his foot), giving cues, and overlooking the performance (giving pitches, correcting mistakes, and keeping the ensemble together).

      This account is consistent with other sources of the time. Mattheson advocates as well for a leadership that is multifaceted, in this case playing and singing:

“As regards performance, a Capellmeister should, next to singing, also be able to play the clavier, and in fact quite well, because in performance he can best accompany all of the others and direct at the same time. I have always fared better when I have played as well as sung along, rather than merely stood there to give the beat. The choir is very encouraged when one joins in the playing and singing, and one can animate people much better.” ^[110]

Here we observe the emergence of a hierarchy, where singing and playing at the keyboard at the same time are preferable to just playing, and particularly superior to exclusively beating time.

      Not all activities involved in leadership had the same significance, and each of them was supposed to be used in different circumstances. Supporting this concept, the Biedermann gives the most detailed description of this hierarchy, where the top priority or the most desirable scenario is that the listener is completely unaware of any leadership being carried out, and the ensemble seems to function by itself:

“1. When an orchestra is so arranged that all the players can see and hear one another, when they are all efficient, when the composer has provided adequate marks of expression, when the tempo is understood, and when the piece has been properly rehearsed, it needs no further directing; it then directs itself, and goes like a clock which has been wound up. This is the true and free way of directing an orchestra, of which the listener knows little or nothing.” ^[111]

The first association that comes to mind is that of a murmuration of starlings flying in perfect synchrony, even without a clear leader. Each bird is moving in perfect harmony with the rest of the group as each member knows exactly its role, creating as a result beautiful formations ^[112]. In the same fashion, each member of the ensemble is able to perform their role in perfect harmony with the rest of the group without a clear leader.

      As we saw before ^[113] gesture emerges out of necessity when the ensemble is not able to function properly being led by sound only. This kind of leadership is understood, thus, a necessary evil, not as a desired outcome:

“2. But when an orchestra is not so well placed, nor so well equipped, the direction becomes audible, visible, and more strained. The cembalist and the bass players, on whose part the harmony rests, have to be kept in constant activity, and, in order that the playing of the orchestra may not fall into disorder, they have to play their parts so forcibly that it is easily heard by all the other players, who then can add their own parts to complete the harmony. This can hardly be done unless the bass players make all sorts of movements with their bodies, and the playing then becomes strained and forced." ^[114]

In this scenario, the metaphor of a flock of birds flying in perfect and democratic harmony no longer applies, and it becomes a more authoritarian system enforced by beating time – both gesturally and sonically –. The new order can even be noticed on the actual music-making since the situation forces some players to play louder – perhaps even with a more forceful articulation – than they would in a more favorable situation.

      We can safely discard time-beating full time – as it is the case in modern conducting – as an accepted practice. It seems to have been conceived only as an aid, particularly suitable for students, but tedious for professionals:

“Beating time for good musicians is mere pedantry, as it is in the Opéra at Paris, and doesn’t help matters one bit, because it often leads only to absurdity; it is, however, necessary for apprentices (students).” ^[115]

There are numerous accounts of kapellmeister beating time when difficulties arise, but it did not seem to be a default practice:

“[There is a Kapellmeister who] labors with his head, hands, and feet all at once to keep the tempo and the beat — indeed he is often obliged to leave off leading from the keyboard altogether and hack at the air with both hands” ^[116]

In fact, we can feel a certain sense of mockery when certain authors decided to use certain gestures to conduct – “[…] the convulsive gestures of the director constitute an amusing side-show for attentive spectators” ^[117] – giving the impression that they considered it more of an entertainment for the audience than a useful tool for the ensemble.

      Since time-beating was not the default technique used to lead the ensemble, we can speculate that it was used exclusively in those situations in which the continuo realization was too subtle to keep the ensemble together – tempo changes of any sort (rubato, subito tempo changes, accelerandi, rallentandi, fermatas, sudden changes in recitativi accompagnati, etc.), fast fugal entrances that needed cueing, sudden dynamic changes that needed special attention, etc. –. We can also conjecture that dropping both hands to start conducting would have been avoided as much as possible due to the sudden drop in sound. If so, which hand would stop playing to start gesturing would be a matter of context. If the harpsichord was the only instrument playing the bass, the left hand would remain on the keyboard and the right would raise over the harpsichord to communicate to the ensemble the necessary instructions. Contrarily, if there are other continuo instruments the priority would be to keep playing chords on the right hand and drop the left hand, so the harmonic content of the continuo realization remains as intact as possible ^[118]. Of course this problem does not exist if there is a second harpsichord in the ensemble – which tends to occur more often in larger productions – or if the harpsichord was already not playing in a specific section due to instrumental changes in the continuo section.

CONCLUSIONS

      In this journey from the 21st century back in time to the High Baroque in order to discover how the maestro al cembalo would have led the ensemble, we encountered some guidelines that can help us inform our decisions when leading ensembles from the harpsichord:

• The harpsichord seems to have been the most favored instrument to lead the ensemble, because of its fast attack and percussive qualities. This made the harpsichord the perfect tool for the leader.

• The basso continuo realization is the main carrier of information transmitted by the leader, who shapes it to convey his or her interpretation to the rest of the ensemble. Sources give us invaluable information on how to modify the realization in order to cause a reaction in the ensemble.

• Other non-verbal devices emerge as an aid when the sound of the continuo realization does not suffice to keep the ensemble together. There was a large palette of gestures available to the leader to choose from in order to convey beat, and the different affects. Complementary, the demeanor of the leader was a relevant factor in creating a positive dynamic within the ensemble.

• Leadership was a multifaceted enterprise, and the maestro al cembalo would be adjusting to the changing nature of the music depending on the circumstances. There is no one formula that can be prescribed to all situations, but we can observe a set of priorities that would have guided the decisions of the leader.
  
  

      On a personal level, this research changed my perspective on several levels. My idea of a maestro al cembalo used to be shaped by the images of many modern Early Music conductors leading ensembles and orchestras using mostly their hands; however, the sources seem to coincide on reinforcing the idea that gesture is only an aid to sound, and that we should aim to carry out our task of leading the ensemble from this perspective. From personal experience, this has a huge impact on the dynamic of the ensemble, changing how each of the members relate to each other, and increasing the collaboration between members – as opposed to a mostly unidirectional communication, from conductor to the ensemble, as in a modern orchestra –. It empowers each of the members, and allows for a more democratic dynamic, where everybody listens to the others and react accordingly, as opposed to watching the gesture of the conductor and respond to a set of visual inputs disregarding, at times, what they hear in favor of what they see.

      The aim of this work is to provide a set of guidelines, not to exhaust the topic completely. There is much to expound, particularly on the side of the basso continuo realization, given the innumerable sources available. The ones used in the present work are the ones that explicitly mention the leader of the ensemble, but that does not mean that other sources cannot be used to complement what is mentioned here. Others – particularly Galkin (1986) and Bowen (2003) – did an excellent job documenting the history and evolution of conducting patterns – even when they tend to regard the figure of the maestro al cembalo as a developmental stage to modern conducting, not as a category on its own –. What appears in this paper is merely an overall view of the gestures that may have been used at the time.

      In the future, this research could be expanded to other areas, such as the educational background of the leader, the rehearsal techniques, and even the historic development of the profession. Some of these areas remain vaguely researched, and it would be worth exploring them because of the profound impact they might have on the ensemble and the artistic significance of this.

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