Intermezzo: I wish I knew less
The title of this section should have been Practicing as a flute student of the Real Collegio in the 1810s. Its goal would have been to conduct artistic research to get into the mind of a Neapolitan flute student of the time. In this way, I could have interpreted Mercadante’s works (mainly written in the 1810s)1 through a lens that was as historical as possible.
In order to achieve that, I decided to explore all the possibilities that could bring me closer to such a student. I enjoyed his broad education by practicing Tritto’s partimenti2 and doing some declamation exercises from Morrocchesi’s Lezioni.3 I then started systematically following Hugot-Wunderlich’s flute Méthode, which is kept in the conservatory library and was recommended by the school board in 1816. After getting acquainted with the required technical skills and the illustrated performance practice elements, I would then have applied them to the French études from the library and to the attested flute repertoire played in Naples in the 1810s.
However, when I tried to scientifically sustain my choices, some problems arose.
Firstly, I could not find any evidence that flute students actually practiced partimenti and declamation. In fact, it seems that by this time partimenti were meant for composers only. Mercadante, for instance, started studying them only when switching from violin studies to composition.4 Moreover, only singers received declamation lessons due to its close connections with text expression.5
Secondly, I could not trace any flute repertoire played in Naples in the 1810s. The only available documentation concerning programs of instrumental concerts in or outside the conservatory starts from the 1820s.6
Despite this unpromising beginning, I could still save the core of my thesis: I could reconstruct the performance practice of Mercadante’s flute works by applying the indications and suggestions in Hugot-Wunderlich’s method. Certainly less fascinating and holistic, but still logical and consistent.
And then… The coup de grace!
On December 2nd, 2022, I had a video call with Rosa Cafiero, an expert on the Neapolitan conservatory in the first half of the 19th century. I wished to know whether she was aware of any didactic material concerning flute teaching around 1810. Specifically, I was looking for sketches or notes that would help me to integrate the performance practice elements from the Hugot-Wunderlich. However, not only she confirmed that no such material seems to have reached the 21st century, but she also explained how the above-mentioned Parisian methods were a mere imposition of the French government for political reasons. This, of course, was not well received by local teachers, which probably kept instructing their students orally, disregarding the foreign texts and the “slackness of the French school”.7 Proof of such rejection is the fact that such French methods reached our days still in brand-new condition, as nobody ever used them as teaching material.8
The one and only element that was still keeping my thesis together was gone.
I wish I knew less.
The disappointment was enormous. How could I sustain a thesis without any evidence from the sources? How could I write about the performance practice of Mercadante’s flute works? How could I even play them?!
Since I started playing historical flutes, I always wished to be as historically informed as possible: I love looking for inspiration from sources that are connected to the music I am practicing. Furthermore, I always try to challenge my biases through the available evidence and to ask myself whether I make certain choices because they sound “normal” and “correct” or because they actually reflect the taste of a certain place and time. Knowing that I could justify many of my choices according to some documentation made me feel at peace with my conscience. Idealistically, I was joining ethics and aesthetics.
However, when I tried to create a perfectly logical and consistent world through this thesis, I hit the wall of dealing with a way more complex reality. My Early Music utopia turned out to be a dystopia.
I started wondering: how can I call myself a “historically informed flute player” if I play music for which there is no way to reconstruct its performance practice in an empirical way? Does it even make sense to make Early Music as I intend it? Do I still believe in the Early Music ideal? The ghost of nihilism accompanied me for the rest of that evening.
The following day I had a conversation about such topics with my supervisor Inês de Avena Braga. At a certain point in our long talk, I had a big insight: if I wish I knew less, it meant that I knew something; actually, that I knew a lot about the topic. Therefore, I was indeed historically informed! I just did not find the information I was expecting!
My identity as a performer was saved. The next step was saving the thesis as well.
As Inês pointed out, Mercadante’s flute works exist and were certainly played in his time. My wish as a post-modern player is to make these sound again in a convincing way, despite the lack of consistency and evidence around it. To do that, I must solve an artistic problem and come up with some ideas to play such music. In fact, this is what HIP musicians (admittedly, myself included) do very often, especially when little time to research is available.
Encouraged by this realisation, I put my pioneer hat on. I decided to adventurously create my own pathway into the lost world of Mercadante’s flute works. I would have to move into an open and unchartered territory, full of uncertainty, possible biases and very, very kitsch choices. Nevertheless, I packed up some trust in my taste and inspiration from other 19th-century sources and started off on a journey of artistic experimentation. Act 5 illustrates the process and the results.
But first, Mercadante.
[To Act 3]