A recurring theme in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century cello treatises is the necessity of a thorough grasp of harmony and counterpoint. Michel Corrette’s method contains the earliest known discussion of the significance of harmony for cellists. This source is also considered to be the first published treatise dedicated specifically to the violoncello:
"If all countries give preference to the cello to play the basso continuo it is not without reason, the bass being the foundation of the harmony. It is thus necessary to choose the bass instrument which is the most sonorous and with which one can play all sorts of music: powerful, simple, figured, etc. Because a music which lacks a strong bass becomes insipid in such a way that the music without bass always leaves much to be desired by the ear. Those jealous of the cello will always lose their arguments against the progress which it makes every day. To all others, the cello satisfies ears sensitive to harmony..."1
According to Corrette, the instrument’s capacity to provide a resonant sound and solid harmonic support may have contributed to the cello’s rise over the viola da gamba, bassoon, and other instruments that played the basso continuo part.
Numerous other cello methods from the Classical and Romantic periods further underscore the importance of knowing harmony, through both verbal descriptions and musical examples. These include treatises by Ferdinand Kauer (1788), Dominique Bideau (1802), Jean-Baptiste Sebastien Bréval (1804), Charles Baudiot (1826–1828), Frederick Crouch (1827), and Bernard Stiastny (1829).
The emphasis on harmony is undeniable. But what makes harmonic understanding so vital for cello performance? While all musicians would have benefited from contrapuntal awareness, cellists were actually expected to realize figured basses, putting their knowledge of harmony into practice by playing chords. This requirement is reinforced in the methods of Baumgartner, Gunn, Raoul, Baudiot, Stiastny, Romberg, Merrick, and those tied to the Paris Conservatoire.2
In the beginning stages of my research, I had turned to these treatises with the aim of deepening my understanding of chordal accompaniment on the cello — particularly in the context of early 18th-century recitativi from various operas by Handel. These investigations sparked my curiosity: what were the origins of the practice of chordal cello realization? I began to wonder, and gradually my research pointed me to Naples as a musical center that became fundamental for the development of this practice.
Many of the aforementioned treatises held ties to the Paris Conservatoire, where the realization of figured bass was systematically taught to cellists. The strong musical connection between Paris and Naples is evident in various pedagogical sources. Several Parisian methods were comprised of manuscripts from the Neapolitan conservatorii. A prime example is the Solfèges d'Italie, a collection of Neapolitan solfeggi composed by esteemed maestri such as Leonardo Leo, Francesco Durante, and Nicola Porpora, among others. This connection between the two cultural centres made me question whether aspects of Neapolitan cello pedagogy had directly influenced the development of Parisian cello methods.
Accordingly, my research seeks to compile and analyze all of the available Neapolitan sources explicitly written for the cello. For a comprehensive examination of the cello’s organological development in Naples, Bettina Hoffmann provides an extensive discussion in her writings.3
Training the Maestros of Naples: The 10-Year Plan and the Role of the Maestro:
In the heart of Naples, young boys—many with nowhere else to turn—stepped into the world of music through a gruelling 10-year training program. From dawn to dusk, they sang, played, and composed, their days filled with solfeggio, counterpoint, and partimenti. By the time they left, they weren’t just musicians—they were masters, ready to improvise at the keyboard, lead choirs, and compose music that would echo through cathedrals and courts.
Guiding them through this transformation was the Maestro di Cappella, the wise and demanding master who held their futures in his hands. Each conservatory had its Primo Maestro (First Master) and Secondo Maestro (Second Master), but the real magic happened through the Mastricelli ("little masters")—advanced students who passed down their knowledge like an unbroken musical lineage.
It was a world of discipline and devotion, where music was survival, and mastery was destiny. The Maestro wasn’t just a teacher—he was a mentor, a guide, sometimes even a father figure. Under his watchful eye, these boys became something greater than themselves: the next generation of musical virtuosos, shaping the sound of an era.4
Many testimonies and studies have established the central role played by Neapolitan virtuosi in the dissemination of a solo repertory for the cello and the advancement of its technical possibilities in the eighteenth century. There is no doubt that their exceptional success contributed greatly to the dissemination of the “classical” cello — the standardization of its tuning, position and performance practices.
Some of these virtuosi have kept a reputation to this day: Francesco Alborea (1691 - 1739), Francesco Paolo Supriani (1678 - 1753) and Salvatore Lanzetti (1710 - c. 1780), for example. These musicians were trained in the Neapolitan conservatories and then went on to work in some of the biggest European courts, such as those in Paris and Vienna.
The remarkable virtuosity exhibited by these Baroque cellists was not merely the result of technical proficiency but rather a reflection of their rigorous training in improvisation and, more significantly, in counterpoint.
Some accounts have reached us of “Franceschiello” creating beautiful extemporaneous lines when accompanying violinists (without a keyboard instrument) and of Vandini providing the accompaniment for Tartini on several tours. These testimonies suggest that cellists were well-accustomed to basso continuo realization and were called upon the duty of playing bass lines in a creative way after their training in Napoli.5 Hopefully this research project can bring us closer to their musical spirit through an investigation of these musicians' own pedagogical improvisation exercises.
"The violoncellist must take care not to garnish the bass with graces, as some great violoncellists were formerly in the habit of doing; he must not try to show his skill at an inappropriate time. ... It is impossible for one player always to divine the thoughts of the other, even if both have equal insight. ... It is undeniable that some melodic and concertante bass parts in solos allow something in the way of additions, if the performer of the bass has sufficient insight, and knows where it may be done; it is likewise true that the piece becomes more perfect if on such occasions a few embellishments are added in a skillful manner. But if the violoncellist cannot rely sufficiently upon his knowledge, he is advised to play the bass as the composer has written it, rather than risk of ignorantly adding many absurd and discordant notes."6