68. Gingerbread fashions

The Christmas windows in the grands magasins are alight, and the space in front of them is packed. The children stand on a little platform at the front and admire the dancing rabbits, bears, gingerbread people et al. and the adults cluster behind them and admire their outfits. You see, the Christmas windows are sponsored by the big label fashion designers, who get to dress the participants. So we have rag-dolls in Chanel, rabbits in Lacroix and gingerbread people wearing Yves Saint Laurent (now that’s something we never tried for our Christmas tree…). A mother explains the teddybears riding a big ice-creature to her ten year-old: ‘See the chemises marinieres they’re wearing? That’s so Jean-Paul Gaulthier!’

So Paris at Christmas is… stylish.

The shop-awnings along our rue des Martyrs are hung with greenery – no plastic trees here, but big branches of real ones, adorned with richly coloured  baubles or sprayed with ’snow’. They look beautiful, and nobody seems to mind the pine-needles on the footpaths and the floors.

Whilst I have recently come to realise that I am rather enjoying living in England now, on Tuesday, wandering around Paris, my senses came alive in a way they never do in London. Perhaps because the ordinary business of living takes more effort here — because of the language — I seem to notice and feel things more intensely; I use all my senses all the time, in a much more alert and concentrated way. This city makes me feel alive and engaged and very present and real. It is always a gift.

Here is Roy giving a talk on his book to a packed-out Shakespeare and Company on Monday evening. It was very good fun.

67. In praise of scholarship

Following two glowing reviews for our Fauré CD (in International Record Review and International Piano) ­– both extended, very detailed pieces, by distinguished reviewers – the review in this month’s Gramophone, although we expected it, brought us down to earth with a thump.

I’m not going to go into details here, except to say that the review and the reviewer demonstrably fail to meet the standards of critical reviewing for an international publication (names confused, dogmatism, subjectivity far beyond any reviewer’s mandate, utter failure to identify the salient features and clearly expressed purpose of the recording; plus the abjuration of proper editorial procedure in the publication of the review). What I’m interested in is a broader issue, one that Roy has been contending with for years. The main message of the Gramphone review was that the CD is ‘dull’. This opinion was formed not so much on the merits of the CD itself, but on Roy’s reputation as an eminent scholar. The publication of the review implies that this premise was unquestioningly accepted by the magazine’s editors.

For some reason it is acceptable (actually, pretty well essential) for a specialist in early music, for example, to be both a scholar and a performer, but for a pianist the title of ‘scholar’ is a damaging one. Pianists should be young, pretty and compliant (and, preferably, Russian).  There is quite a large issue here, concerning the perception of musical scholarship in the music industry, particularly the bits of it made up by those who are neither performers nor scholars (those that can’t do… review for magazines like Gramophone).

Being a scholar means comparing manuscripts and early editions and discovering errors that have lain uncorrected for a century. Being a scholar means gathering the testimony of performers who worked with composers, historic recordings, letters and articles written by the composers themselves, to put together an image of how the composers thought about their own music and wanted it played. Being a scholar means doing things like playing all of Debussy’s piano music to Debussy’s step-daughter, and listening to her talk about how her step-father played his own music. Being a scholar means having piano lessons with teachers who worked, studied and performed with the composers. Being a scholar means letting all of these sources and experiences feed into one’s own performance, so that the music is clarified, strengthened, enlivened, refreshed.

In Roy’s Fauré CD the rhythms are sharper, the contours clearer, the tempi more dancing, the dynamics sharper-etched, the drama more acute, than in any other recording of this music I’ve heard. Anybody who calls it dull either hasn’t been listening or has a hidden agendum. In this case, Gramophone prefers the word of a scholarly incompetent who doesn’t perform (that is, the reviewer, whose previous offerings include identifying Joyce Hatto as his ‘desert island pianist’ of choice) to a reputable scholar who does. The sad irony of this is that the album was designed specifically to bring to life music that’s often considered ‘dull’ in any case, by performers and audiences alike. If this review turns listeners away, it’s Fauré’s music that suffers most.

Two related examples are worth mentioning here.

First, I am reminded of my entry into the UK last September, when I admitted to the immigration officer that I might like, from time to time, to spend a day in the British Library. ‘Research! You’re not here to do research’, she hissed, ‘You’re here for an extended period of cultural enrichment!’

The non sequitur did not seem to bother her greatly.

Second (prompted by recent happenings in Australian politics): I find it extraordinary that large parts of the population, including senior political figures, have so little respect for scholars and scholarship that they will assert that hundreds of distinguished scientists are engaged in bad science, or – what was it, Nick Minchin? –  a conspiracy by ‘the extreme left’ to ‘de-industrialise the Western world’. (Yes, that is verbatim.)

I love being, and am proud to be, a scholar. I learn new stuff every day. I write about and perform what I learn so that other people can learn about it too. These are good things to do, and nobody’s ever going to tell me otherwise.

Ps: that CD is Belle Époque: A Portrait of Gabriel Fauré. It’s available through ABC Classics

We console ourselves with the knowledge that our composers had to deal with the same sort of scurrilous critiques. Here’s Ravel writing to the editor of Le temps in March 1907:

Sir,

I have received an article published in Le temps on March 19, in which my name appears very often. M. Pierre Lalo, with his consumate skill which is well known, attempts once again to prove that I have no personality. That is all very well and good…

66. A bit more Bath

After a moment’s pause he said, ‘Though I came only yesterday, I have  equipped myself properly for Bath already, you see,’ (pointing to a new umbrella) ‘I wish you would make use of it, if you are determined to walk…’

65. On British traditions

On the BBC website today, I watched the State Opening of Parliament, which took place on Wednesday. It is possibly the weirdest thing I have ever seen, certainly the weirdest thing involving large groups of people in silly costumes. Take note, Yeoman of the Guard: I don’t believe that Henry VII giving you your charter is a legitimate reason to continue wearing the costumes he presumably handed out at the same time. There were also far too many man in bright red tights. And the Ceremonial Changing of the Cushion*? Honestly.

On an entirely different subject, I have had a revelation about brussels sprouts. I was congratulating myself on having developed a way to prepare them in which they don’t taste awful. Then I realised that this was not sufficient. A vegetable that is merely palatable after careful (and not unskilled) preparation has not justified its continued existence in my kitchen.

 

*The Cushion upon which the Crown sits when it arrives (in its personal state coach) is not the Cushion upon which it is carried into some Gallery or other. Perhaps the Travelling Cushion gets dirty.

 

64. Marvellous Maurice

Ravel is not just good at covering his compositional tracks, he turns the process into something like Japanese gravel gardening, where footprints are subsumed beneath beautifully raked patterns. But sometimes you can scrape away at the gravel and suddenly find those footprints again, and my goodness that’s a nice feeling. When senior and respected music analysts use words such as ‘undistinguished’, ‘naive’ and ‘dull’ of an early song, it’s rather satisfying to start shifting the gravel and getting the shivers because you realise just how sophisticated he is, and just how much of the form and imagery of the (complex, Symbolist, almost Wagnerian) poem he’s evoking. Ravel was just 21 years old when he composed his setting of Mallarmé’s Sainte – and he was never, ever undistinguished.

A thrilling discovery and a walk in the late-autumnal park, quiet writing and study interspersed with Sévérac and Couperin on the Steinway downstairs, slowly cooking stacks of good vegetables for dinner, a glass of South Australian wine (Coriole no less), a detective story and a cup of tea. These things make for a pleasant afternoon and evening.

Poor Roy has not had an entirely pleasant afternoon, being at present marooned somewhere in Cumbria; he’s heading for Glasgow on the train and parts of the line have been washed away by flooding. Lucky for him I put an apple in his backpack.

63. On op-shopping in snobby suburbs

There is a woman living in Wimbledon Village or thereabouts who only wears her clothes once. Then she takes them to the Oxfam on Wimbledon Village High Street. Perhaps that is her concession to a social conscience. That, at any rate, is the opinion of the fortunate woman who happens to be of the same size, shape and colouring, and who visits Wimbledon Willage Oxfam every Monday morning to see what’s come in. Apparently, there is always something.

I can’t say I’ve yet found myself a Wimbledon fairy godmother of designer clothing, but yesterday I did acquire two rather beautiful thick, warm, cuddly winter jumpers, both good brands, pure wool and barely worn. Two weeks ago I bought a knee-length trench coat, also beautifully made, and unworn (it still had the tags). Op-shopping in Wimbledon village is rather more expensive than, for example, in Drouin, but it is infinitely more interesting.

A few of the places Edwina and I have enjoyed over the past fortnight:

PS – Mr Darcy and High Tea photos now added to Bath post below…

62. Jane Austen’s Bath

Bath is beautiful. Jane may have referred to it as ‘a bowl of soup’ (because it is in a valley, hills all around, and with a tendency to fog), but she was hauled off there against her will and hated it. ‘Another stupid party’, she wrote to Cassandra, ‘…I cannot anyhow continue to find people agreable’.

So we wandered around Bath, with Jane’s acerbity for company (‘Mrs Hall of Sherbourn was brought to bed yesterday of a dead child, some weeks before she expected, oweing to a fright – I suppose she happened unawares to look at her husband.’), and Edwina and I squeaking in excitement at every street corner.

Finding ourselves near Laura Place, we’d look at each other, quote, in unison, ‘Our cousins in Laura Place!’, and dash off – and the boys would exchange long-suffering looks and fall into line behind us. ‘Westgate Buildings! And who is Miss Anne Elliot to be visiting in Westgate Buildings?’

There are no milliners left on Milsom Street, though there is one just around the corner; we peeped into the Pump Room but didn’t taste the waters, and had two very nice coffees in the Assembly Rooms – where we could have, but didn’t, inscribe our names in the Visitors’ Book (no longer the Master of Ceremonies’ Book…).

Do you think that when Colin Firth signed up to play Mr Darcy, he realised that he was going to have his face framed in the ladies’ lavatory of the Jane Austen Centre, and his and Elizabeth Ehles’ faces identifying the Ladies’ and Gentlemen’s respectively? And that if you order ‘High Tea with Mr Darcy’ (cucumber sandwiches, scones, cake, tea, served on tiered plates) in the Regency Tea Rooms, you eat your High Tea gazing at an even larger oil portrait (also gold-framed) of him?

And why would you want High Tea with Mr Darcy anyway? Surely he’d be a grump…

But the scones were superb (West Country clotted cream is wicked stuff), and there was a four-page menu of teas – no tea-bags here – so we were very happy, despite Mr Darcy’s smouldering looks.

The gift shop (fortunately not a giffte shoppe) at the Jane Austen Centre also does a nice line in ‘I love Mr Darcy’ carrier bags, teatowels, mugs, keyrings and bookmarks. Also a good selection of take-off Austen pseudo-literature. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies? Choose your own Jane Austen Adventure? Prawns and Prejudice (soon to be followed, surely, by Shrimps and Sensibility)? Mr Darcy, Vampyre? Mr Knightley’s Diary? Edmund Bertram’s Diary? (and, of course) Mr Darcy’s Diary? The title of this post is a book waiting to be written. I could make my fortune.

‘Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me…’, I quoted, secure in my scholarly snobbishness, with my complete, collected, edited, annotated Letters safe in my backpack.

61. Stairways to Heaven

Memorial tablets on the wall of Bath Abbey

Elizabeth Winckley (1719–1756)

Her underſtanding was excellent, Her genius innocently sprightly, Her heart sincere and generous, Her converſation agreeable, Her friendſhip conſtant, Her mind and perſon equally amiable…

Dr John Marten Butt, 1738–1769

He was a friendly, popular and ſucceſsfull Phyſician.  As a writer he was eaſy, elegant, methodical animated & ingenious, In converſation inexprſſibly candid, never oppreſſive, more inclined to hear than to be heard, yet quick in invention, fluent in elocution, and & endued with a peculiar livelineſs, & ſocial ſenſibility. In his moral character he was a ſincere Christian, & was equally led by the fineſt affections as well as the pureſt principles to diſcharge the ſeveral charities & duties of life, he fulfilled them all with equal beauty and energy     & therefore died Univerſally lamented…

Sir Nigel Bowyer Gresley, 7^th Bart. of Drakelow House in the County of Derby, who died March 26, 1808. By his descent from the famous Rolla, Duke of Normandy and Roger de Torre, Standard Bearer to William at the period of the conquest, the Honours which Sir Nigel Gresley derived from a long line of ancestors rendered the nobility of his family conspicuous: – whilst the elegance of his manners the accomplishment of his mind & the refinement of his taste gave additional ſplendour to the dignity of his birth. By his first marriage to Wilmot Gresley his cousin and an Heireſs he reunited the title with the estates of Drakelow and he had three daughters Wilmot Maria, Emma Sophia, and Elizabeth Augusta: by his ſecond Wife Maria Eliza Garway (also an Heireſs) and descended from Sir Henry Garway [...] in 1611 [?1811], he had Almeria, Georgiana Maria (who died young), Louisa Maria, Georgiana; Roger (the present Baronet) & Nigel, who died in 1816…

Granado Piggott, 1731–1802

A Man who supported through Life what he was entitled to by Birth:  The true Character of An English Gentleman; That he was sincere to his Friends, Affable to his Inferiors, and benevolent to all…

Ambrose Norton, a worthy and Loyal Deſcendant of worthy and Loyal Anceſtors. Her ſerv’d the Crowne of England aboue 40 year in Employments both Civil and Military in which he Ever acquitted himself faithfully and as a man of Honour. He was Exceeding graceful in perſon and behaviour, His luſtrice Gentleneſs and ſweetneſs of diſpoſition were equall to his Courage, and he Crown’d all his other virtues with a moſt Exemplary Piety. He was a Branch of the Antient Family of the Nortons of Somerſetſhire, and Couſin-Garman to S^R Georg Norton of Abbot’s Leigh in that County, a houſe happily Renouned in hiſtory for y^e Concealment and Preſervation of King Charles the 2^d at the Fatal Battle of Worceſtor…

In Memory of C.M. [d. 1765]

One of the moſt valuable Women that ever lived; Whoſe principal Happineſs conſiſted (altho’ ſhe was of ſome rank) in a real & unbounded Affection & Tenderneſs for her Huſband and Children…

Mrs Anne Welch of Aylesbury [d. 1810]

…Affectionate to her Friends, beloved by her Acquaintance, bleſsed with diſtinguiſhed Abilities, ſhe was ſo improved by the Knowledge of various Languages and Sciences that Elegance of Diction, Beauty of Sentiment, the Majeſty of Wiſdom, and the Grace of Perſuaſion ever hung upon her Lips: the Bonds of Life being gradually diſsolved, ſhe winged her Flight from this world in expectation of a better…

Two gentlemen whose inscriptionswere less noteworthy but whose names are certainly worthy of inclusion here:

Marmaduke Peacocke

and

Sir Manley Power.

I think I’d rather spend a dinner part with Anne, John and Elizabeth than C.M., Granado or Sir Nigel (Bart.).

60. Richmond Park

We are very much enjoying having Edwina and Andrew with us this week, and we’ve had some nice excursions. Richmond Park in late autumn sunlight is glorious. Phrases about mellow fruitfulness spring irresistibly to mind.

PS. I’ve discovered sorrel.

59. Foundlings

Yesterday we were treated to lunch at the Foundling Museum. We ate gruel (and other things too).

Here’s a story to break your heart, a petition from a mother whose baby was taken in by the Foundling Hospital:

[Dear Sir / I am the unfortunate woman that now lies under sentence of death in Newgatt I had a child put in here before when I was sent here his name is James Larney and this his name is John Larney and he was born the King’s Coronation Day 1758 and Dear Sir I beg for the tender mercy of God to let them know one and other for Dear Sir I hear you are a very good Gentleman and God Blessing and Name be with you and they for ever / Sir I am you humble / Servant Margaret Larney]

Margaret Larney was indeed under sentence of death: she was burned at the stake for high treason. She had been scraping the gold from the edges of coins (ie, adulterating the currency).

It seems likely that Roy and I will be giving a recital at the Foundling Museum sometime in the not-too-distant future. If we do, we’ll be part of a rather extraordinary tradition, since one Mr G. F. Handel staged a benefit performance of Messiah for the Foundling Hospital every year from 1749 until his death in 1759 (he was also on the Board of Governors).