»Avec discrétion«: Rethinking Froberger, ed. Andreas Vejvar and Markus Grassl, Wiener Veröffentlichungen zur Musikgeschichte 14 (Vienna: Böhlau, 2018), 544 pp. € 69.00, ISBN 978-3-205-20740-5
https://www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com/themen-entdecken/literatur-sprach-und-kulturwissenschaften/musikwissenschaft/38960/avec-discretion/
It is always exhilarating when the efforts of planning, organizing, and holding a conference not only lead to a successful event but later to an edited volume, in which the contributions are preserved for those unable to attend. In autumn 2016 a conference was held jointly in Vienna, Stuttgart, and Rome to celebrate the four-hundredth birthday of Johann Jacob Froberger (1616–1667), one of the most extraordinary composers of keyboard music of all time. Given that information about Froberger’s life is scarce and partly ambiguous, this volume aims to sum up all relevant information and sources from and about Froberger. It also offers the most up-to-date research concerning the composer, his works, and the time and circumstances in which he lived. »Avec discrétion«. Rethinking Froberger consists of nineteen articles as wells as an extensive appendix with documents such as letters, entries in “Stammbüchern” (German alba amicorum or friendship books), registers of surviving sources and editions, and an extended bibliography covering four-hundred years of writings on Froberger. Ultimately, Rethinking Froberger has the potential to become the new standard reference for all those who wish to familiarize themselves with the composer. The question is: does the book fulfill its promise to “rethink Froberger” throughout?
The articles can be roughly divided into four groups based on their main topics:
- Notation, style, or interpretation of Froberger’s works
- Biography
- Historical setting
- Organology / editions
There are naturally some thematic overlaps. In particular, accounts of Froberger’s life must often rely on general information about the historical circumstances in which he lived, drawing conclusions of varying accuracy. Therefore, certain articles may fit more than one category. Nevertheless, this categorization provides some useful guidance: nine articles primarily deal with questions of notation, style, or interpretation; two discuss new biographical details; five expand their focus to social, scientific, and geographical issues; and three address organological and editorial questions and principles.
1. Notation, Style, or Interpretation of Froberger’s Works
The opening essay by Markus Grassl, one of Rethinking Froberger’s two editors, is among the volume’s most substantial. Its title, “Froberger der Diskrete” (Froberger the Discrete, 11–51), refers to the playing instruction “(se joue) avec discrétion” or “(se joue) à discrétion,” which appears more than twenty times in Froberger’s keyboard works. This rather curious instruction is commonly interpreted as a simple order to play the marked passages without following the strictly notated meter and rhythms, thus being a purely agogic instruction. While this common interpretation is not wrong, Grassl convincingly argues that it is by no means complete. There is more to Froberger’s discretion than an initial glance (and most secondary literature) suggests.
Grassl observes that there are unnoticed similarities between the instructions “avec discrétion” and “adagio.” Both appear at comparable structural places within compositions, and although “adagio” may have become a plain tempo indication in later times, it was used to denote a certain manner of playing in early seicento. This manner was also loosened from a strict beat, allowing players to handle notated rhythms in a liberated way. For example, the use of “adagio” by Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583–1643) seems comparable to Frobergers “avec discrétion.” Since Froberger was a student of Frescobaldi, it remains unclear why Froberger did not use the same instruction as his teacher. Furthermore, why does Froberger’s instruction always appear in French rather than Italian? Clearly, he had reasons for choosing a different playing instruction than the more common Italian one.
Grassl traces this noticeable feature back to the influence of French lutenists and their newly developed style of playing, which was relatively well-received in German-speaking territories and probably known to Froberger even before his travels to Paris. But then again, there is more to it. Grassl begins his insightful historical analysis of the concept of “discrétion” by examining historical musical literature such as piano tutors, music encyclopedias, or prefaces that offer some explanations and definitions of “discrétion” or “discrezione.” Three main meanings can be distinguished from these sources: a) an average tempo, b) a loose tempo skillfully organized by a performer, and c) a certain manner of accompanying fellow, possibly less skilled musicians in an appropriate and tasteful way. The main problem with these sources is that they all date back to the time after Froberger’s death, reflecting a possibly changed understanding of “discrétion.”
To solve the mysteries of Froberger’s “discrétion,” Grassl takes a different approach: he expands his research to non-musical literature, tracing the term back to its ancient Greek roots. The history of the term opens up a broad range of meanings in different fields and languages, leading to its usage in religious discourses through the Middle Ages and in courtly contexts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. While the semantic field of the Latin “discretio” eventually aims at a God-pleasing life, the courtly virtue of “discrezione” or “discrétion” is described as the power of judgment to assess all situations appropriately and hence to act adequately. These definitions illustrate the relationship between discretion and other virtues such as prudence, gallantry, honesty, and moderation. The most substantial expansion of the term is probably found in Baltasar Gracián’s El discreto (1646), where it encompasses all the desirable qualities of a courtier as a kind of super-virtue. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of discretion in this broad sense is that it can only be achieved by observation and the imitation of role models. It is clearly a practical virtue.
These accounts of the historical concept of discretion allows Grassl to distinguish different functions and applications of the instruction “avec discrétion” in Froberger’s keyboard compositions. Firstly, it is used as a pun twice. In those cases (FbWV 613 and 614), the “avec discrétion” collides with programmatic titles or additions given by Froberger. For example, in the Lamentation sur ce, que j’ayêtévolé, FbWV 614 (Lamentation over what has been stolen from me), the player should show more discretion than the thieves. Secondly, it has varying musical impacts that must be realized by a performer with respect to the piece, good taste, and performance situation. This dimension evades precise notation and can only be learned through concrete examples. In this sphere, we can locate the liberated and less metrical manner of playing usually connected with Froberger’s “discrétion.” Thirdly, “discrétion” is not only restricted to the temporal level of music, i.e., the tempo, but it can and should be extended to the level of (ex tempore) ornamentation. Taken together, playing “avec discrétion” is more than just an agogic indication; it represents an attitude based on the fundamentals of religious and courtly culture. In this highly enlightening and methodically unusual article, Grassl demonstrates how highly rewarding a thorough analysis of seemingly simple and uncomplicated instructions can be. With his careful reappraisal of the historical term “discrétion,” he introduces innovative approaches for musicologists as well as musicians interested in the works of Froberger.
The other articles in the first group are equally worth reading and cover a wide range of different approaches to Froberger’s music. For instance, Cory M. Gavito, in “In Search of the Improvising Froberger” (187–203), explores the complex relationship between written and unwritten musical traditions. Gavito initially observes that the vocabulary used to describe sections of different textures in Froberger’s compositions is somewhat misleading: the term “improvisatory” is often used to describe passagework, while the contrasting “contrapuntal” sections all seem to be precomposed. But is this contrasting juxtaposition correct?
To answer this question, Gavito examines manuals on keyboard improvisation, especially Nova Instructio by Spiridione a Monte Carmelo (Johannes Henning, c.1615–1685). In this four-part keyboard method, published between 1669 and 1672, Spiridione focuses on “cadentiae,” fundamental bass figures with different additional melodic and harmonic material. These collected “cadentiae” are not all composed by Spiridione but are extracted from the works of Frescobaldi, Froberger, and others. Gavito’s key point is that Spiridione’s “cadentiae” serve as a basis for contrapuntal improvisation. Once learned, these musical fragments or modules can be shuffled and combined in virtually infinite ways, providing a standard vocabulary for composers that cannot be traced back to any one single figure. For this reason, Spiridione’s manual is not unique in focusing on these schematic principles; similar content can be found in other manuals and methods.
Thus, composition, improvisation, and memorization form a complex, interdependent network that is neither fully oral nor fully written. In this short essay, Gavito illuminates the intricate relationships between written and unwritten traditions, composing and memorizing, improvising and performing. While not an exhaustive treatment of the matter, it is continuously stimulating to read.
Although the title “Learning the Trade. What did Froberger do in Rome?” (205–21) chosen by Naomi J. Barker suggests a biographical topic, the article mainly deals with the manuscript Ms Chigi Q.IV.25. Her initial research questions—why did Froberger go to Rome and what did it mean to study with a person at that time—are somewhat misleading, as she does not devote much attention to either question. Instead, Barker provides a revealing analysis of the toccatas in the aforementioned manuscript. This introduction is bewildering and unfortunately lessens the excellent impression of the rest of the article.
Ms Chigi Q.IV.25 is a remarkable source of keyboard music, and debates have long sought to determine the authorship of the pieces, especially the three final toccatas. The flyleaf attributes the manuscript to Girolamo Frescobaldi, but only a short exercise is in his hand. The main part was written by Nicolò Borbone, a Roman composer, organist, publisher, and engraver, who issued seven editions of Frescobaldi’s work. To determine the author of the three toccatas, Barker applies a two-step analysis: firstly, a graphic overview of the textural contents of the three toccatas of the Chigi manuscript in comparison to a group of forty toccatas by Frescobaldi, Rossi, Froberger, and others. Barker categorizes the possible textures of the toccatas as either chordal, contrapuntal, or passaggi, but a statistical difference or accordance with one of the named composers cannot be detected.
This calls for a more detailed analysis of motivic and figural material of the toccatas, which Barker does not fail to deliver. She identifies several figural patterns and gestures that are part of all toccatas regardless of the originator. This is hardly surprising, since Barker agrees with Gavito that the keyboard repertoire of the early seventeenth century is transitioning from an oral to a written culture and, therefore, highly stereotyped. The second step of her analysis aims to reveal and discuss potential individual traits in the toccatas which can hint at their respective composers. Even though Barker is able to identify some possible differentiators in the works of Frescobaldi, Froberger, and Rossi, none of them are strikingly visible in the manuscript toccatas. Barker concludes that these toccatas are the work of a student who has the technical ability to handle the common figural patterns of the toccata but has not yet mastered the genre. This hypothetical student could have been Froberger himself, but any other of Frescobaldi’s students remains a viable candidate. Apart from this incoherence, Barker’s study is highly readable and concise, showing some unusual but promising methodical approaches.
The next two articles of group one form a unit, as they both address Froberger’s travels and relations to France and French music. The first is Pieter Dirksen’s “Froberger und die frühen Clavecinisten” (Froberger and the early clavecinists, 223–37), and the second is “Froberger and the Lute”(239–59) by David Ledbetter. Both emphasize the importance of French lute music for the development of Froberger’s keyboard style, which is surprising since Froberger’s first traceable visit to Paris took place in 1652, whereas his travels and longer stays in Italy—including training with Frescobaldi—occurred in the late 1630s and 40s. However, as Dirksen points out, the influences in Froberger’s first surviving autograph, the Libro Secondo from 1649, are predominantly French rather than Italian.
What kind of French music could Froberger have known? Letters indicate that Froberger had not heard of the most famous French harpsichordist of the first half of the seventeenth century, Jacques Champion de Chambonnières (c.1601/2–1672), as late as 1649, making it unlikely that Froberger was familiar with lesser-known French harpsichordists at that time. Instead, he was evidently acquainted with the works and style of French lutenists such as René Mesangeau (c.1567–1638), Pierre Gaultier (c.1599–1638), and Francois Dufaut (c.1604–1672), whose works were well disseminated in Europe from the 1630s. Dirksen demonstrates that knowledge of the French lute repertoire clearly influenced Froberger’s works: his gigues use duple meter, like those for lute, while harpsichord gigues consistently use triple meter, unless they are transcriptions of lute gigues or composed “à l’imitation du luth.” This led to the curious situation that when Froberger visited Paris in 1652, he had already adopted the modern and elegant French style brisé of the lute to keyboard instruments before French harpsichordists did. As Dirksen concludes, Froberger became a pioneer for French clavecinists, as proven by the fact that Louis Couperin (1626–1661), the leading figure of the 1650s, composed a Prélude à l’imitation de Mr. Froberger.
While Dirksen is obliged to make lute music a subject of discussion, Ledbetter’s essay purposefully searches for connections between Froberger and lutenists. Ledbetter begins his survey with the observation that the young Froberger probably had the opportunity to hear lutenists at the Württemberg court, where his father served as Kapellmeister. One of the Froberger boys even had lute lessons, but unfortunately, it is unclear if it was Johann Jakob or one of his brothers. The next major indication already refers to Froberger’s stay in Rome in the late 1630s. At that time, Rome hosted two eminent lutenists, Girolamo Kapsberger and Pierre Gaultier. Kapsberger’s lute and theorbo works are of particular interest. Ledbetter suggests that since lute tablatures provide exact fingerings and arpeggio patterns, some lute techniques could have been transferred to keyboard music. He exemplifies this using a lute toccata by Kapsberger and one for keyboard by Froberger, showing that they have comparable opening and chordal sections, such that the additional information of the lute piece could also apply to the keyboard composition.
Another suggestion is that some idiosyncrasies of Froberger’s keyboard music could be imitations of lute ornaments such as vibrato, which were used by Pierre Gaultier and other French lutenists. Froberger’s knowledge of French lute music has been mentioned before, but it is naturally challenging to determine which pieces and composers he certainly knew. He definitely met Jacques de Saint-Luc (c.1616–1710), court lutenist in Brussels, and some Parisian lutenists, most likely Denis Gaultier, Francois Dufaut, Charles Fleury, Sieur de Blancrocher (c.1605–1652)—on whose death Froberger composed a tombeau (FbWV 632)—and the court lutenist Germain Pinel (c.1600–1661). Of greater significance than the question of who knew whom is Ledbetter’s observation of the close interrelation between lute and harpsichord music in France in general, despite the fundamental differences between the two instruments. Both authors, Dirksen and Ledbetter, offer a fresh perspective on the keyboard music of the seventeenth century and underline the connections and influences that keyboard composers received from their colleagues playing plucked instruments. This is particularly meritorious since the lute offers an important supplement to the development of keyboard music, one that is often neglected, ignored, or not recognized at all.
Another approach to Froberger’s music is offered by Akira Ishii, who traces Froberger’s stylus phantasticus back to his allemande movements (261–74). Ishii begins with a brief recount of how different theorists defined the stylus phantasticus as the highest kind of instrumental music, composed without words or any structural frame, following just the composer’s imagination and fantasy. Since the important polymath and acquaintance of Froberger, Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680), uses a fantasia from Froberger’s Libro Secondo to exemplify his notion of the stylus phantasticus, there can be little doubt that Froberger was indeed regarded as a representative of this style. However, as Ishii argues, the stylus phantasticus with its contrapuntal craftmanship is not restricted to the usual genres in Froberger’s oeuvre, namely fantasias, ricercars, capriccios, or toccatas, but is also included in dance movements. It is hardly surprising that Ishii also claims this inclusion to be indicated through the playing instruction “avec discrétion,” which he interprets as an unambiguous sign of the stylus phantasticus and which appears in contrapuntal and dance compositions. This leads Ishii to conclude that Froberger aimed to equalize the rank of his contrapuntal and dance music and to elevate the latter. All in all, Ishii’s argumentation is somewhat unsatisfactory, since he refrains from detailed analysis of longer sections, not to mention whole pieces, leaving his assertions too often unproven.
Karin Paulsmeier’s “Aufzeichnungsweisen bei Froberger vor dem Hintergrund der Notationsentwicklung im 17. Jahrhundert” (Froberger’s notation methods in the context of seventeenth-century notational development, 275–88) and Francecsco Cera’s “Notiert und nicht notiert. Der Fermaten-Punkt von Frescobaldi bis Froberger” (Notated and unnotated: The fermata-dot from Frescobaldi to Froberger, 301–309) both address issues of rhythmic notation. While Cera focuses on the “fermata-dot,” a dotted eighth or sixteenth note usually followed by a scale or run, Paulsmeier discusses changes in the understanding of proportion and meter.
Cera identifies dotted notes at the beginning of passageworks as signals to play in a quasi-improvisational style, meaning not to stick strictly to the beat. This notational manner is explained in the preface of Frescobaldi’s Libro Primo from 1615, since no better way of writing down tempo fluctuations existed at the time. Since Frescobaldi writes that a player should stop on the first note of a passage, Cera calls this suspension phenomenon the “fermata-dot.” The same notational feature can be found in many of Froberger’s toccatas and other works, albeit without further explanation. Thus, Cera concludes that Froberger’s “fermata-dots” should plausibly be executed as described by Frescobaldi. Since “fermata-dots” and the famous “discrétion” instruction frequently appear together, Cera further concludes that both serve the same purpose: to hint at a manner of playing that cannot be adequately expressed by regular notation. Paulsmeier, on the other hand, shows how notational conventions changed over the course of the seventeenth century and how these changes are reflected in Froberger’s notational habits. Her dense and illuminating study highlights the shift from the laws of proportion to the modern beat-related understanding of meter. Taken together, both studies complement each other: Cera’s microstudy, focusing on a single writing convention, is contextualized by Paulsmeier’s broad outline of alterations in rhythmic notation.
Yet another approach to Froberger’s music is offered by Florian Bassani in his insightful article “Überlegungen zur tasteninstrumentalen Praxis anhand eines Gesangstraktats: La belle Methode von Jean Millet (1666)” (Reflections on keyboard performance practice based on a singing manual: Jean Millet’s La belle Methode (1666), 311–22). Using Jean Millet’s manual for singers, Bassani tries to retrieve information about the performance practice of keyboard music. Bassani’s approach originates from the fundamental problem that keyboard compositions are often written down in plain versions and should be enriched by the performer during execution. Suitable execution was learned through imitation and was therefore not written down. This, of course, leads to problems for contemporary interpreters who want to perform these pieces in the proper style. Since nearly all keyboard compositions (with the exception of Jean-Henri d’Anglebert’s Pieces de clavecin from 1689) leave embellishment up to the performer, while didactic keyboard sources from the mid-seventeenth century focus on aspects other than ornamentation, Bassani suggests investigating singing manuals and transferring the principles of melodic ornamentation to keyboard music. With this procedure, Bassani hopes to move closer to a proper reconstruction of historical ornamentation. Fortunately, the author is aware of the methodical problems that could arise, as keyboard music and vocal music are quite different. But, as Bassani argues, Millet treats melodies as purely musical entities, not considering the words that are sung. In comparison, embellished vocal melodies in Millet’s manual are quite similar to embellished keyboard melodies in d’Anglebert’s Pieces de clavecin. Clearly, the same principles of ornamentation were applied to both vocal and instrumental music. Bassani’s concise and instructive study opens up new horizons for further research and exploration of the virtually inexhaustible field of performance practices in both past and present times.
2. Biography
Two short biographical articles present new findings concerning Froberger’s life. It is telling of the overall situation that these comparatively minor findings are discussed and evaluated at some length. Marko Deisinger presents two new sources in the article “Johann Jacob Frobergers Karriere als Organist Kaiser Ferdinands III. im Lichte neuer Quellen” (Johann Jacob Froberger’s career as Emperor Ferdinand III’s organist in light of new sources, 149–61). The first source is a short passage from a letter dated 24 April 1638, written by Scipio Gonzaga to Ferdinand III. In this letter, Gonzaga informs the emperor that Froberger has become a Catholic, moved into the house of his teacher Frescobaldi, and made great progress in the art of playing the harpsichord. The letter mainly confirms facts that have already been known or presumed: Froberger became a Catholic in Rome, not Vienna, and studied harpsichord rather than organ with Frescobaldi. Shortly after his arrival in Rome, he moved in with Frescobaldi in April 1638 and moved out in 1640, as deduced from other sources.
The second new source is a copy of a request by Froberger asking for re-employment in the service of the emperor. After his stay in Rome, Froberger returned to Vienna in 1641 and was employed as court organist until 1645. The next few years are poorly documented, but Froberger was in Vienna in 1649 and began an extended trip through Europe in the following years. He was re-employed in the court orchestra of Ferdinand III in April 1653, and thus Froberger’s request was evidently accepted. Deisinger convincingly dates the undated request to March 1653 and extracts further information: Froberger was apparently not working as a diplomat or spy for the emperor but was providing himself with a musical education on his trips. Also, in the request Froberger mentions only one opus, which can be identified as his Libro Secondo, raising new questions about his unpreserved Libro Terzo. Deisinger speculates about the genesis of the Libro Terzo, which was probably dedicated to another employer sometime between 1649 and 1653.
The second article, “Amor docet musicam. Neue Funde und Spuren zu Sautter und Froberger” (Amor docet musicam: New findings and traces concerning Sautter and Froberger, 171–85), presents the earliest previously unknown autograph of Froberger. Its authors, Marko Deisinger and Andreas Vejvar, discovered the autograph in the Stammbuch (German album amicorumor “friendship book”) of the Nuremberg patrician Georg Andreas Harsdorfer (1616–1700). Harsdorfer visited Vienna in 1642 and had eight people commemorate themselves in his Stammbuch. On 28 January 1642, two men did so, namely Froberger and Johann Friedrich Sautter (1605– ?). While both entries testify to the high degree of education of their respective authors, they offer little information of biographical value. Instead, Deisinger and Vejvar explore the relation between Froberger and Sautter, since the latter illustrated Froberger’s Libro secondo and qvarto. Both were born in Stuttgart and probably knew each other since childhood. Little more can be said with certainty, but some hints indicate that Sautter and Froberger were closely attached not only to each other, but also to their families.
Both articles can be seen as small puzzle pieces inserted into the blurry picture of Froberger’s biography. However, the Stammbuch entries, in particular, have more historical than informational value and can be regarded as an invitation to explore Froberger’s life and his relationships to contemporaries.
3. Historical Setting
In “Staunenswerte Experimente. Die einheitlichen Gesetze von Akustik, Optik und Magnetismus in Athanasius Kirchers Phonurgia nova (1673)” (Astonishing experiments: Uniform laws of acoustics, optics, and magnetism in Athanasius Kircher’s Phonurgia nova (1673), 53–73), Sergius Kodera introduces the reader to the dazzling personality of Athanasius Kircher. Kircher, a polymath, Jesuit, and acquaintance of Froberger, was an important intellectual figure of the seventeenth century, whose works were widely read and sometimes faced harsh criticism. Criticism was easily expressed, since Kircher’s works were a heterogenous mixture of scientific research, religious beliefs, superstition, and speculation. Given Kircher’s wide-ranging interests, it is not surprising that he also wrote about music and related sciences, such as acoustics, the medicinal effects of music, and even telecommunication. In his essay, Kodera presents some of the music-related passages from Kircher’s lesser-known Phonurgia nova, which contains descriptions of peculiar practical and hypothetical thought experiments. For instance, Kircher already considers possibilities of preserving sound or guiding it in certain directions and over distances. Although these ideas seem fairly modern, Kircher’s thoughts are embedded in an ancient world of conceptions with strict hierarchies and a strong belief in miracles. Kodera maps out some impressive examples: Kircher visited the curiosity cabinet of Michele Todini di Savoia (1616–1690), who built a music machine that allowed a harpsichordist to play several instruments simultaneously. By pressing the keys of the harpsichord, all sorts of instruments somehow magically played together without additional players. Instead of investigating how this music machine works, Kircher was rather more fascinated by the effects it had on the audience and the unusual harmonies it produced.
Most of the experiments described have no direct link to Froberger, but they hint at the intellectual interests of educated people in the seventeenth century. Froberger, being a well-educated and widely travelled musician and acquaintance of Kircher, was certainly familiar with at least some of his ideas. Indeed, Kircher personally instructed Froberger on how to use his own invention, a composing machine called the Arca musurgia, which Froberger in turn presented to the emperor. While Kodera writes entertainingly about the astonishing aspects of the Phonurgia, he unfortunately refrains from further investigations: How did the music and composing machines work? What kinds of music could be produced with them? Why were educated people such as Froberger fascinated by these sorts of gimmicks?
A completely different perspective is examined in Matej Santi’s “Johann Jacob Froberger: ein Reisender im Raum des 17. Jahrhunderts” (Johann Jacob Froberger: A traveler of the seventeenth century, 75–90). Froberger was a man who travelled extensively, even by modern standards. He visited Rome, Brussels, Paris, London, Madrid, Dresden, Cologne, and other cities, and was employed at the Viennese court three times. Seventeenth-century Europe differed considerably from today’s Europe, as there were no sovereign states, no democratic nations, and, of course, no Schengen area, which makes travelling much easier and safer than it was in the past. Since travelling was a substantial and time-consuming part of Froberger’s life, Santi examines the conditions and notions of traveling in the seventeenth century.
His study first takes a closer look at maps, recognizing that borders within Europe were not a common feature of seventeenth-century maps. Instead, important traveling routes can be found, as well as dashed lines provisionally marking territorial dominion. This leads Santi to observe that travelers of the seventeenth century did not simply travel from one place or country to another, but stepwise from place to place. The destinations that had to be passed were of great importance and were used for brief stopovers. This made travelling time-consuming, but the time required was not the only thing that differed. Santi points out that languages had a greater variety of dialects and could therefore not serve as sources of joint identity. Only scholars or the nobility could communicate throughout Europe, using Latin or French, respectively. Among these privileged social classes, Santi observes something like a pan-European sense of community, which was not limited to a specific geographic region. As Santi continues, he notes that the now less influential dynasties were a main factor of power in the seventeenth century, creating alliances between different geographical regions via marriages and military conflicts. This led to a completely different understanding of “space,” since the categories in which people thought, wrote, and certainly talked were not those of nation-states or political systems. In conclusion, Santi criticizes the application of later categories and key concepts to earlier times when those concepts did not exist. With this overall critique, Santi reminds readers to select methodical tools carefully and to question established categories of historical narratives such as nation, border, or even Europe.
Santi explores the broad meaning of space in the seventeenth century, while Arnaldo Morelli takes the opposite approach, concentrating on a single location in Europe: Rome. In his brief essay “La maggiore di tutte le corti: Frobergers Rom” (La maggiore di tutte le corti: Froberger’s Rome, 91–99), he emphasizes several particular features of mid-seventeenth-century Rome. Unlike other important cities, Rome held two centers of power: a secular one and a religious one. On the one hand, it was the residence of the Pope and the Papal state; on the other hand, Rome was a secular principality with political and ecological interests. This unique structure attracted many people and resulted in the coexistence of numerous courts in Rome: the court of the Pope, the courts of cardinals, and the courts of an international nobility.
Being a musician in this city almost always meant being or becoming a courtier of some kind, as Morelli points out. This was clearly in the interest of the musicians, since patrons and sinecures were important sources of income. Morelli’s main concern is to clarify the often ambiguous concept of the court. The court was not merely a physical location but a virtual one: it comprised etiquette, rituals, symbols, or in short, its own complex culture. Musicians were part of this culture, serving as representatives for their courts in various functions. Since Froberger’s visits to Rome took place while he was employed at the Viennese and Brussels courts, respectively, Morelli suggests that he was not only studying in Rome but also performing certain tasks for his employers. Regrettably, the nature of those tasks remains speculative. Nevertheless, Morelli offers valuable insights into the political, social, and cultural dimensions of mid-seventeenth-century Rome.
Yet another approach is offered by Andreas Vejvar in his lengthy study “Phänomen Froberger” (Phenomenon Froberger, 101–48). Vejvar characterizes his approach as “kontextuelle Recherchen” (contextual research, 146), meaning that he tries to gather diverse information on characteristic aspects of seventeenth-century life that might be reflected in Froberger’s music. The essay’s rather incoherent structure makes it challenging for the reader to follow, which is especially unfortunate as it detracts from the carefully researched and well-presented details.
The first part of the study focuses mainly on baroque festivities, which naturally included music, huge crowds, pomp, and often fireworks. Reports of these events were crucial since they preserved and codified the impressions of the participants. Many of these descriptions have been preserved, and three are of particular interest to Vejvar, as they describe festivities in which Froberger either participated or may have participated. In analyzing these reports, Vejvar concludes that certain typical metaphors and standardized vocabulary were employed to convey the participants’ impressions, thereby taming and channeling the splendors of a great feast through retrospective narration. While the analysis itself is filled with interesting details—for example, the use of certain instruments during festivities was linked to the social status of the organizer—it is only poorly connected to Froberger. Vejvar tries to identify elements of the festivity reports in the playing instructions of Froberger’s musical works but fails to do so convincingly. Additionally, his brief digressions about the reception of Froberger’s life in later times, incorporated into the first part of the study, do not provide the missing link.
The second part of the study focuses on Froberger’s last years in the rural regions of Württemberg, where he lived in Château d’Héricourt, the residence of the dowager Duchess of Mömpelgard (modern-day Montbéliard), Sybilla (1620–1707). Until now, biographical studies have not satisfactorily answered the question of why Froberger withdrew from public life in his last years. It has been suggested that Froberger’s fame faded quickly toward the end of his life, prompting him to withdraw from the world in seclusion. Vejvar seeks different explanations, arguing that while Mömpelgard and the surrounding region may seem provincial, they were actually home to interesting personalities, rich in intellectual output, and offered opportunities for contemplation. Vejvar introduces little-known historical figures, such as the writer Christoph Forstner (1598–1667), the physician and scholar Christoph Schorer (1618–1671), and the sisters of Duchess Sybilla, Antonia and Anna Johanna, who were possibly known personally by Froberger. Furthermore, he pays attention to popular religious books that could have been known by Froberger or people in his social circle, thus reflecting their mindsets. This rather speculative contextual research leads Vejvar to the conclusion that life in Château d’Héricourt was not as provincial as has been previously described and that Froberger may have chosen to live there because of the specific cultural climate he found.
The last article in this group deals with the question of why an accomplished composer such as Froberger did not compose any operas. In her concise study, “Froberger und die Oper: versäumte Gelegenheit, bewusste Entscheidung, unvereinbare Wege?” (Froberger and the Opera: Missed opportunity, conscious decision, incompatible paths?, 163–70), Angela Romagnoli traces Froberger’s links to vocal music and explains why he probably did not compose operas. The author’s approach follows a classic method of weighing pros and cons, starting with the positives. Firstly, Romagnoli notes that Froberger did compose vocal music, citing two motets for three voices, two violins, and basso continuo among his known works. It is also possible that other compositions have been lost over time. Additionally, there are reports about the beautiful voice of the young Froberger, who surely had a thorough musical education including voice training, being the son of a court musician. His family background further supports reasonable speculation, given that his father, Basilius Froberger, had a well-stocked music library, which the young Froberger surely explored. Moreover, Froberger could have had an interest in composing vocal music, especially operas, having lived in cities that were major centers of musical theater in the seventeenth century, such as Rome and Vienna.
But why did he not compose any operas? During Froberger’s lifetime, opera was still a relatively recent development and had not yet spread across Europe. Instead, it was primarily an Italian affair, both in terms of the location and the language. Outside Italy, only courts with close Italian connections performed operas before 1650. As Romagnoli points out, opera had not yet become the most prestigious genre of music in Froberger’s lifetime and therefore was not an absolute must for aspiring composers. Another reason Froberger did not compose operas was that he was employed as a court organist and not as a court composer or "Kapellmeister," so his remit involved duties other than composing vocal music. A final observation concludes Romagnoli’s argument: during his second stay in Rome in the 1640s, Froberger did not meet or study with the famous teacher and composer Giacomo Carissimi (1605–1674), but met Athanasius Kircher, who instructed him in the use of his composing machine. This indicates that Froberger was more interested in the craft or mathematical aspects of composing rather than exploring word-music relationships. In her study, Romagnoli is able to answer her research question satisfactorily while providing a concise history of the dissemination of early operas.
4. Organology / Editions
The first article of this group, Martin Kirnbauer’s “Der vieltönige Froberger” (The multi-tonal Froberger, 289–99), could just as well fit in the first since it deals with notational aspects of Froberger’s music, but it contains much more, starting with Kirnbauer’s observation of an extraordinary accidental in some of Froberger’s manuscripts. In addition to the common sharp and flat, Froberger uses a third accidental that looks like an x. Interestingly, no modern edition since the late nineteenth century reproduces this sign in the musical text. Instead, it is relegated to the commentaries, even though the first modern editor, Guido Adler (1855–1941), clearly recognized its specific function: the x was used to indicate that the following note is to be played higher, and it was only written before the notes a, e, and b. Kirnbauer traces the use of this accidental back to the sixteenth century, where it was introduced as an indicator for the diesis enarmonica, a defined microinterval. The x divides a large semitone into two unequal parts and is based on an understanding of the octave that does not divide it into twelve equal semitones. This means, for example, that bx and c are not enharmonically interchangeable like the common b-sharp and c. Kirnbauer calls this phenomenon “Vieltönigkeit” (multi-tonality), since the term “microtonality” carries a different meaning in contemporary usage.
Froberger was by no means the only composer to use this accidental. It can also be found in the works of Jacopo Peri (1561–1633), Domenico Mazzocchi (1592–1665), and others. Most intriguing is Kirnbauer’s key finding that there were keyboard instruments capable of playing these kinds of microintervals. This is proven by theoretical works depicting instruments such as the cimbalocromatico, which had nineteen keys in one octave and could therefore realize all notes indicated by the x. Unfortunately, not a single cimbalocromatico has been preserved, but the fact that Froberger frequently differentiates between the notes a-, e-, and b-sharp as well as ax, ex, and bx, indicates that he used instruments capable of producing these notes. As Kirnbauer states, contemporary interpreters have yet to explore Froberger’s music on reproductions of such instruments; instead, regular harpsichords with twelve keys per octave are frequently used in concerts or recordings. The merits of Kirnbauer’s essay are to uncover this widespread oversight and open the reader’s eyes to even seemingly incidental details.
While Kirnbauer makes the case for the cimbalo cromatico, Eugène Michelangeli draws attention to another underrepresented instrument: the clavichord. In his essay “Johann Jacob Frobergers süßes Clavichordium” (Johann Jacob Froberger’s sweet clavichord, 323–47), he verifies the historical use and circulation of the instrument and shares his own playing experiences with a reconstructed clavichord. The clavichord is of interest in connection with Froberger because he left no indication of which instrument his compositions should be played on. Given the variety of keyboard instruments in the seventeenth century, Michelangeli argues that the clavichord should also be considered a valid candidate for interpreting Froberger’s works. The clavichord was a popular instrument, especially in German-speaking regions. This is proven by both music theoretical works and fictional literature. One example is by the then-famous author Christian Weise (1642–1702), who wrote a story about a man who travels around with his clavichord in addition to poems about the instrument. Michelangeli draws from these sources to highlight the qualities that made the clavichord popular. Beyond its musical and entertainment value, the clavichord was also used as a teaching instrument in educational settings.
Regarding Froberger’s works, Michelangeli notes that not all pieces are equally suited to the clavichord. Due to its limited range, compositions requiring a low bass register are unplayable on the clavichord and actually require a harpsichord. However, pieces that use the middle register are well-suited for the clavichord. To realize some of those pieces, Michelangeli commissioned Alfons Huber to build a new clavichord based on historical models. The process of designing and building this instrument is thoroughly documented in the article, and the appendix includes pictures in color of the completed result. In his essay, Michelangeli demonstrates how collaboration between musicology and practical music, as well as between musicology and instrument-making, can lead to productive outcomes.
The last article of Rethinking Froberger is by Siegbert Rampe, the editor of the New Edition of the Complete Works of Froberger. In his report “Die Neue Froberger-Ausgabe: Geschichte Systematik, Methodik und Werkverzeichnis” (The New Froberger Edition: History, classification, methodology, and a catalogue of works, 349–63), Rampe documents the development and implementation of new editorial guidelines for the Froberger edition. According to Rampe, the new edition was long overdue due to flaws in past editions. His initial goal was to create a comprehensible and complete edition of all of Froberger’s works. When the project began in the early 1990s, the editor did not anticipate the extensive work required. Instead of the originally planned four volumes, the edition now comprises eleven volumes and remains incomplete. These volumes are classified by source type and genre. Since there are no authentic prints of Froberger’s music, all sources are either autographs or handwritten copies of manuscripts, while the genres are divided into keyboard and ensemble compositions. A major challenge is managing the many textual variants found in these sources, which requires thorough source evaluation since they are not all equally trustworthy.
Rampe has created a meritorious, thoughtful, and comprehensive edition of Froberger’s works, which can be considered the most accurate and trustworthy edition available. Nevertheless, in the context of the monograph, it is bewildering that Rampe has not addressed direct criticism from Kirnbauer, who notes that the unusual accidental x is not present in its notation, despite the edition’s claim to include all original accidentals. At this point, a professional exchange would have been desirable.
5. Appendix
The appendix (366–544) of Rethinking Froberger, edited by Markus Grassl and Andreas Vejvar, is highly informative and useful, including its first part, which gathers together all known historical documents on Froberger (367–454). Here the reader can find the famous letter of Duchess Sibylla (which is quoted in every other article on Froberger), several letters from Constantijn Huygens—one describing his meeting with Froberger in Mainz, another mentioning his transcription of a gigue by Froberger for the lute —and, of course, all surviving letters of Froberger himself. Additionally, the appendix includes several dedications, journal and Stammbuch entries, and even a picture of Duchess Sibylla’s sarcophagus. Each document has a short accompanying text by Vejvar with useful explanations and additional references, and the high image quality further enhances the overall impression.
Besides the documents, two catalogues are included: a catalogue of sources containing compositions by Froberger (455–64) and a catalogue of editions of Froberger’s works (465–76). Both catalogues, compiled by Markus Grassl, will prove useful tools for future research on Froberger. The same is true for the extensive bibliography (477–503), which provides a comprehensive list of sources on Froberger spanning the last four hundred years. The appendix concludes with the conference schedule, which also lists detailed programs of the concerts that accompanied it. Needless to say, the appendix is an extremely helpful and expedient tool that will facilitate all future research on Froberger.
6. Conclusion
»Avec discrétion«. Rethinking Froberger is indeed the new standard reference for Johann Jakob Froberger’s life and works, albeit with minor reservations. For example, a significant gap is the absence of a chronological overview of all securely datable events in Froberger’s life. Instead, many authors provide their own accounts of Froberger’s life and travels, sometimes enriched with speculations about his whereabouts during certain timeframes. This can be confusing and occasionally blurs the line between fact and fiction. A simple timeline could have clarified these confusions. However, this is a minor complaint considering the overall quality of Rethinking Froberger, which compiles high-level research and valuable resources. Especially noteworthy is the excellent appendix with additional documents, catalogues, and a bibliography. By virtue of the appendix alone, the volume is, and will continue to be, an indispensable resource for all Froberger aficionados.
The last question now is whether the promise of the title “to rethink” Froberger is fulfilled in the individual contributions. The clear answer is: yes and no! This edited volume, like most others, offers a full range of different approaches and various areas of focus, resulting in essays that are more or less worthwhile depending on the interests of the reader. We can find real essayistic gems, like Grassl’s “Froberger der Diskrete” or Kirnbauer’s “Der vieltönige Froberger,” surprising studies like Gavito’s “In Search of the Improvising Froberger” or the studies by Dirksen and Ledbetter, and methodologically inventive approaches such as Barker’s “Learning the Trade.”
At the same time, it should be honestly acknowledged that not every article fundamentally rethinks its respective topic. To demand such a thing would be unrealistic. Some articles offer fresh and innovative perspectives on certain aspects of Froberger’s compositions and can rightfully claim to rethink their respective topics, but this does not mean that the rest of the articles are of lesser value. On the contrary, they provide what is equally or even more important: solid research with highly reliable results. All in all, Rethinking Froberger is a highly recommended conference proceedings volume that presents cutting-edge research on music-historical concepts, extending well beyond the scope of one single composer.
0009-0001-9137-3552
»Avec discrétion«: Rethinking Froberger, ed. Andreas Vejvar and Markus Grassl, Wiener Veröffentlichungen zur Musikgeschichte 14 (Vienna: Böhlau, 2018), 544 pp. € 69.00, ISBN 978-3-205-20740-5
https://www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com/themen-entdecken/literatur-sprach-und-kulturwissenschaften/musikwissenschaft/38960/avec-discretion/
It is always exhilarating when the efforts of planning, organizing, and holding a conference not only lead to a successful event but later to an edited volume, in which the contributions are preserved for those unable to attend. In autumn 2016 a conference was held jointly in Vienna, Stuttgart, and Rome to celebrate the four-hundredth birthday of Johann Jacob Froberger (1616–1667), one of the most extraordinary composers of keyboard music of all time. Given that information about Froberger’s life is scarce and partly ambiguous, this volume aims to sum up all relevant information and sources from and about Froberger. It also offers the most up-to-date research concerning the composer, his works, and the time and circumstances in which he lived. »Avec discrétion«. Rethinking Froberger consists of nineteen articles as wells as an extensive appendix with documents such as letters, entries in “Stammbüchern” (German alba amicorum or friendship books), registers of surviving sources and editions, and an extended bibliography covering four-hundred years of writings on Froberger. Ultimately, Rethinking Froberger has the potential to become the new standard reference for all those who wish to familiarize themselves with the composer. The question is: does the book fulfill its promise to “rethink Froberger” throughout?
The articles can be roughly divided into four groups based on their main topics:
There are naturally some thematic overlaps. In particular, accounts of Froberger’s life must often rely on general information about the historical circumstances in which he lived, drawing conclusions of varying accuracy. Therefore, certain articles may fit more than one category. Nevertheless, this categorization provides some useful guidance: nine articles primarily deal with questions of notation, style, or interpretation; two discuss new biographical details; five expand their focus to social, scientific, and geographical issues; and three address organological and editorial questions and principles.
1. Notation, Style, or Interpretation of Froberger’s Works
The opening essay by Markus Grassl, one of Rethinking Froberger’s two editors, is among the volume’s most substantial. Its title, “Froberger der Diskrete” (Froberger the Discrete, 11–51), refers to the playing instruction “(se joue) avec discrétion” or “(se joue) à discrétion,” which appears more than twenty times in Froberger’s keyboard works. This rather curious instruction is commonly interpreted as a simple order to play the marked passages without following the strictly notated meter and rhythms, thus being a purely agogic instruction. While this common interpretation is not wrong, Grassl convincingly argues that it is by no means complete. There is more to Froberger’s discretion than an initial glance (and most secondary literature) suggests.
Grassl observes that there are unnoticed similarities between the instructions “avec discrétion” and “adagio.” Both appear at comparable structural places within compositions, and although “adagio” may have become a plain tempo indication in later times, it was used to denote a certain manner of playing in early seicento. This manner was also loosened from a strict beat, allowing players to handle notated rhythms in a liberated way. For example, the use of “adagio” by Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583–1643) seems comparable to Frobergers “avec discrétion.” Since Froberger was a student of Frescobaldi, it remains unclear why Froberger did not use the same instruction as his teacher. Furthermore, why does Froberger’s instruction always appear in French rather than Italian? Clearly, he had reasons for choosing a different playing instruction than the more common Italian one.
Grassl traces this noticeable feature back to the influence of French lutenists and their newly developed style of playing, which was relatively well-received in German-speaking territories and probably known to Froberger even before his travels to Paris. But then again, there is more to it. Grassl begins his insightful historical analysis of the concept of “discrétion” by examining historical musical literature such as piano tutors, music encyclopedias, or prefaces that offer some explanations and definitions of “discrétion” or “discrezione.” Three main meanings can be distinguished from these sources: a) an average tempo, b) a loose tempo skillfully organized by a performer, and c) a certain manner of accompanying fellow, possibly less skilled musicians in an appropriate and tasteful way. The main problem with these sources is that they all date back to the time after Froberger’s death, reflecting a possibly changed understanding of “discrétion.”
To solve the mysteries of Froberger’s “discrétion,” Grassl takes a different approach: he expands his research to non-musical literature, tracing the term back to its ancient Greek roots. The history of the term opens up a broad range of meanings in different fields and languages, leading to its usage in religious discourses through the Middle Ages and in courtly contexts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. While the semantic field of the Latin “discretio” eventually aims at a God-pleasing life, the courtly virtue of “discrezione” or “discrétion” is described as the power of judgment to assess all situations appropriately and hence to act adequately. These definitions illustrate the relationship between discretion and other virtues such as prudence, gallantry, honesty, and moderation. The most substantial expansion of the term is probably found in Baltasar Gracián’s El discreto (1646), where it encompasses all the desirable qualities of a courtier as a kind of super-virtue. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of discretion in this broad sense is that it can only be achieved by observation and the imitation of role models. It is clearly a practical virtue.
These accounts of the historical concept of discretion allows Grassl to distinguish different functions and applications of the instruction “avec discrétion” in Froberger’s keyboard compositions. Firstly, it is used as a pun twice. In those cases (FbWV 613 and 614), the “avec discrétion” collides with programmatic titles or additions given by Froberger. For example, in the Lamentation sur ce, que j’ayêtévolé, FbWV 614 (Lamentation over what has been stolen from me), the player should show more discretion than the thieves. Secondly, it has varying musical impacts that must be realized by a performer with respect to the piece, good taste, and performance situation. This dimension evades precise notation and can only be learned through concrete examples. In this sphere, we can locate the liberated and less metrical manner of playing usually connected with Froberger’s “discrétion.” Thirdly, “discrétion” is not only restricted to the temporal level of music, i.e., the tempo, but it can and should be extended to the level of (ex tempore) ornamentation. Taken together, playing “avec discrétion” is more than just an agogic indication; it represents an attitude based on the fundamentals of religious and courtly culture. In this highly enlightening and methodically unusual article, Grassl demonstrates how highly rewarding a thorough analysis of seemingly simple and uncomplicated instructions can be. With his careful reappraisal of the historical term “discrétion,” he introduces innovative approaches for musicologists as well as musicians interested in the works of Froberger.
The other articles in the first group are equally worth reading and cover a wide range of different approaches to Froberger’s music. For instance, Cory M. Gavito, in “In Search of the Improvising Froberger” (187–203), explores the complex relationship between written and unwritten musical traditions. Gavito initially observes that the vocabulary used to describe sections of different textures in Froberger’s compositions is somewhat misleading: the term “improvisatory” is often used to describe passagework, while the contrasting “contrapuntal” sections all seem to be precomposed. But is this contrasting juxtaposition correct?
To answer this question, Gavito examines manuals on keyboard improvisation, especially Nova Instructio by Spiridione a Monte Carmelo (Johannes Henning, c.1615–1685). In this four-part keyboard method, published between 1669 and 1672, Spiridione focuses on “cadentiae,” fundamental bass figures with different additional melodic and harmonic material. These collected “cadentiae” are not all composed by Spiridione but are extracted from the works of Frescobaldi, Froberger, and others. Gavito’s key point is that Spiridione’s “cadentiae” serve as a basis for contrapuntal improvisation. Once learned, these musical fragments or modules can be shuffled and combined in virtually infinite ways, providing a standard vocabulary for composers that cannot be traced back to any one single figure. For this reason, Spiridione’s manual is not unique in focusing on these schematic principles; similar content can be found in other manuals and methods.
Thus, composition, improvisation, and memorization form a complex, interdependent network that is neither fully oral nor fully written. In this short essay, Gavito illuminates the intricate relationships between written and unwritten traditions, composing and memorizing, improvising and performing. While not an exhaustive treatment of the matter, it is continuously stimulating to read.
Although the title “Learning the Trade. What did Froberger do in Rome?” (205–21) chosen by Naomi J. Barker suggests a biographical topic, the article mainly deals with the manuscript Ms Chigi Q.IV.25. Her initial research questions—why did Froberger go to Rome and what did it mean to study with a person at that time—are somewhat misleading, as she does not devote much attention to either question. Instead, Barker provides a revealing analysis of the toccatas in the aforementioned manuscript. This introduction is bewildering and unfortunately lessens the excellent impression of the rest of the article.
Ms Chigi Q.IV.25 is a remarkable source of keyboard music, and debates have long sought to determine the authorship of the pieces, especially the three final toccatas. The flyleaf attributes the manuscript to Girolamo Frescobaldi, but only a short exercise is in his hand. The main part was written by Nicolò Borbone, a Roman composer, organist, publisher, and engraver, who issued seven editions of Frescobaldi’s work. To determine the author of the three toccatas, Barker applies a two-step analysis: firstly, a graphic overview of the textural contents of the three toccatas of the Chigi manuscript in comparison to a group of forty toccatas by Frescobaldi, Rossi, Froberger, and others. Barker categorizes the possible textures of the toccatas as either chordal, contrapuntal, or passaggi, but a statistical difference or accordance with one of the named composers cannot be detected.
This calls for a more detailed analysis of motivic and figural material of the toccatas, which Barker does not fail to deliver. She identifies several figural patterns and gestures that are part of all toccatas regardless of the originator. This is hardly surprising, since Barker agrees with Gavito that the keyboard repertoire of the early seventeenth century is transitioning from an oral to a written culture and, therefore, highly stereotyped. The second step of her analysis aims to reveal and discuss potential individual traits in the toccatas which can hint at their respective composers. Even though Barker is able to identify some possible differentiators in the works of Frescobaldi, Froberger, and Rossi, none of them are strikingly visible in the manuscript toccatas. Barker concludes that these toccatas are the work of a student who has the technical ability to handle the common figural patterns of the toccata but has not yet mastered the genre. This hypothetical student could have been Froberger himself, but any other of Frescobaldi’s students remains a viable candidate. Apart from this incoherence, Barker’s study is highly readable and concise, showing some unusual but promising methodical approaches.
The next two articles of group one form a unit, as they both address Froberger’s travels and relations to France and French music. The first is Pieter Dirksen’s “Froberger und die frühen Clavecinisten” (Froberger and the early clavecinists, 223–37), and the second is “Froberger and the Lute”(239–59) by David Ledbetter. Both emphasize the importance of French lute music for the development of Froberger’s keyboard style, which is surprising since Froberger’s first traceable visit to Paris took place in 1652, whereas his travels and longer stays in Italy—including training with Frescobaldi—occurred in the late 1630s and 40s. However, as Dirksen points out, the influences in Froberger’s first surviving autograph, the Libro Secondo from 1649, are predominantly French rather than Italian.
What kind of French music could Froberger have known? Letters indicate that Froberger had not heard of the most famous French harpsichordist of the first half of the seventeenth century, Jacques Champion de Chambonnières (c.1601/2–1672), as late as 1649, making it unlikely that Froberger was familiar with lesser-known French harpsichordists at that time. Instead, he was evidently acquainted with the works and style of French lutenists such as René Mesangeau (c.1567–1638), Pierre Gaultier (c.1599–1638), and Francois Dufaut (c.1604–1672), whose works were well disseminated in Europe from the 1630s. Dirksen demonstrates that knowledge of the French lute repertoire clearly influenced Froberger’s works: his gigues use duple meter, like those for lute, while harpsichord gigues consistently use triple meter, unless they are transcriptions of lute gigues or composed “à l’imitation du luth.” This led to the curious situation that when Froberger visited Paris in 1652, he had already adopted the modern and elegant French style brisé of the lute to keyboard instruments before French harpsichordists did. As Dirksen concludes, Froberger became a pioneer for French clavecinists, as proven by the fact that Louis Couperin (1626–1661), the leading figure of the 1650s, composed a Prélude à l’imitation de Mr. Froberger.
While Dirksen is obliged to make lute music a subject of discussion, Ledbetter’s essay purposefully searches for connections between Froberger and lutenists. Ledbetter begins his survey with the observation that the young Froberger probably had the opportunity to hear lutenists at the Württemberg court, where his father served as Kapellmeister. One of the Froberger boys even had lute lessons, but unfortunately, it is unclear if it was Johann Jakob or one of his brothers. The next major indication already refers to Froberger’s stay in Rome in the late 1630s. At that time, Rome hosted two eminent lutenists, Girolamo Kapsberger and Pierre Gaultier. Kapsberger’s lute and theorbo works are of particular interest. Ledbetter suggests that since lute tablatures provide exact fingerings and arpeggio patterns, some lute techniques could have been transferred to keyboard music. He exemplifies this using a lute toccata by Kapsberger and one for keyboard by Froberger, showing that they have comparable opening and chordal sections, such that the additional information of the lute piece could also apply to the keyboard composition.
Another suggestion is that some idiosyncrasies of Froberger’s keyboard music could be imitations of lute ornaments such as vibrato, which were used by Pierre Gaultier and other French lutenists. Froberger’s knowledge of French lute music has been mentioned before, but it is naturally challenging to determine which pieces and composers he certainly knew. He definitely met Jacques de Saint-Luc (c.1616–1710), court lutenist in Brussels, and some Parisian lutenists, most likely Denis Gaultier, Francois Dufaut, Charles Fleury, Sieur de Blancrocher (c.1605–1652)—on whose death Froberger composed a tombeau (FbWV 632)—and the court lutenist Germain Pinel (c.1600–1661). Of greater significance than the question of who knew whom is Ledbetter’s observation of the close interrelation between lute and harpsichord music in France in general, despite the fundamental differences between the two instruments. Both authors, Dirksen and Ledbetter, offer a fresh perspective on the keyboard music of the seventeenth century and underline the connections and influences that keyboard composers received from their colleagues playing plucked instruments. This is particularly meritorious since the lute offers an important supplement to the development of keyboard music, one that is often neglected, ignored, or not recognized at all.
Another approach to Froberger’s music is offered by Akira Ishii, who traces Froberger’s stylus phantasticus back to his allemande movements (261–74). Ishii begins with a brief recount of how different theorists defined the stylus phantasticus as the highest kind of instrumental music, composed without words or any structural frame, following just the composer’s imagination and fantasy. Since the important polymath and acquaintance of Froberger, Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680), uses a fantasia from Froberger’s Libro Secondo to exemplify his notion of the stylus phantasticus, there can be little doubt that Froberger was indeed regarded as a representative of this style. However, as Ishii argues, the stylus phantasticus with its contrapuntal craftmanship is not restricted to the usual genres in Froberger’s oeuvre, namely fantasias, ricercars, capriccios, or toccatas, but is also included in dance movements. It is hardly surprising that Ishii also claims this inclusion to be indicated through the playing instruction “avec discrétion,” which he interprets as an unambiguous sign of the stylus phantasticus and which appears in contrapuntal and dance compositions. This leads Ishii to conclude that Froberger aimed to equalize the rank of his contrapuntal and dance music and to elevate the latter. All in all, Ishii’s argumentation is somewhat unsatisfactory, since he refrains from detailed analysis of longer sections, not to mention whole pieces, leaving his assertions too often unproven.
Karin Paulsmeier’s “Aufzeichnungsweisen bei Froberger vor dem Hintergrund der Notationsentwicklung im 17. Jahrhundert” (Froberger’s notation methods in the context of seventeenth-century notational development, 275–88) and Francecsco Cera’s “Notiert und nicht notiert. Der Fermaten-Punkt von Frescobaldi bis Froberger” (Notated and unnotated: The fermata-dot from Frescobaldi to Froberger, 301–309) both address issues of rhythmic notation. While Cera focuses on the “fermata-dot,” a dotted eighth or sixteenth note usually followed by a scale or run, Paulsmeier discusses changes in the understanding of proportion and meter.
Cera identifies dotted notes at the beginning of passageworks as signals to play in a quasi-improvisational style, meaning not to stick strictly to the beat. This notational manner is explained in the preface of Frescobaldi’s Libro Primo from 1615, since no better way of writing down tempo fluctuations existed at the time. Since Frescobaldi writes that a player should stop on the first note of a passage, Cera calls this suspension phenomenon the “fermata-dot.” The same notational feature can be found in many of Froberger’s toccatas and other works, albeit without further explanation. Thus, Cera concludes that Froberger’s “fermata-dots” should plausibly be executed as described by Frescobaldi. Since “fermata-dots” and the famous “discrétion” instruction frequently appear together, Cera further concludes that both serve the same purpose: to hint at a manner of playing that cannot be adequately expressed by regular notation. Paulsmeier, on the other hand, shows how notational conventions changed over the course of the seventeenth century and how these changes are reflected in Froberger’s notational habits. Her dense and illuminating study highlights the shift from the laws of proportion to the modern beat-related understanding of meter. Taken together, both studies complement each other: Cera’s microstudy, focusing on a single writing convention, is contextualized by Paulsmeier’s broad outline of alterations in rhythmic notation.
Yet another approach to Froberger’s music is offered by Florian Bassani in his insightful article “Überlegungen zur tasteninstrumentalen Praxis anhand eines Gesangstraktats: La belle Methode von Jean Millet (1666)” (Reflections on keyboard performance practice based on a singing manual: Jean Millet’s La belle Methode (1666), 311–22). Using Jean Millet’s manual for singers, Bassani tries to retrieve information about the performance practice of keyboard music. Bassani’s approach originates from the fundamental problem that keyboard compositions are often written down in plain versions and should be enriched by the performer during execution. Suitable execution was learned through imitation and was therefore not written down. This, of course, leads to problems for contemporary interpreters who want to perform these pieces in the proper style. Since nearly all keyboard compositions (with the exception of Jean-Henri d’Anglebert’s Pieces de clavecin from 1689) leave embellishment up to the performer, while didactic keyboard sources from the mid-seventeenth century focus on aspects other than ornamentation, Bassani suggests investigating singing manuals and transferring the principles of melodic ornamentation to keyboard music. With this procedure, Bassani hopes to move closer to a proper reconstruction of historical ornamentation. Fortunately, the author is aware of the methodical problems that could arise, as keyboard music and vocal music are quite different. But, as Bassani argues, Millet treats melodies as purely musical entities, not considering the words that are sung. In comparison, embellished vocal melodies in Millet’s manual are quite similar to embellished keyboard melodies in d’Anglebert’s Pieces de clavecin. Clearly, the same principles of ornamentation were applied to both vocal and instrumental music. Bassani’s concise and instructive study opens up new horizons for further research and exploration of the virtually inexhaustible field of performance practices in both past and present times.
2. Biography
Two short biographical articles present new findings concerning Froberger’s life. It is telling of the overall situation that these comparatively minor findings are discussed and evaluated at some length. Marko Deisinger presents two new sources in the article “Johann Jacob Frobergers Karriere als Organist Kaiser Ferdinands III. im Lichte neuer Quellen” (Johann Jacob Froberger’s career as Emperor Ferdinand III’s organist in light of new sources, 149–61). The first source is a short passage from a letter dated 24 April 1638, written by Scipio Gonzaga to Ferdinand III. In this letter, Gonzaga informs the emperor that Froberger has become a Catholic, moved into the house of his teacher Frescobaldi, and made great progress in the art of playing the harpsichord. The letter mainly confirms facts that have already been known or presumed: Froberger became a Catholic in Rome, not Vienna, and studied harpsichord rather than organ with Frescobaldi. Shortly after his arrival in Rome, he moved in with Frescobaldi in April 1638 and moved out in 1640, as deduced from other sources.
The second new source is a copy of a request by Froberger asking for re-employment in the service of the emperor. After his stay in Rome, Froberger returned to Vienna in 1641 and was employed as court organist until 1645. The next few years are poorly documented, but Froberger was in Vienna in 1649 and began an extended trip through Europe in the following years. He was re-employed in the court orchestra of Ferdinand III in April 1653, and thus Froberger’s request was evidently accepted. Deisinger convincingly dates the undated request to March 1653 and extracts further information: Froberger was apparently not working as a diplomat or spy for the emperor but was providing himself with a musical education on his trips. Also, in the request Froberger mentions only one opus, which can be identified as his Libro Secondo, raising new questions about his unpreserved Libro Terzo. Deisinger speculates about the genesis of the Libro Terzo, which was probably dedicated to another employer sometime between 1649 and 1653.
The second article, “Amor docet musicam. Neue Funde und Spuren zu Sautter und Froberger” (Amor docet musicam: New findings and traces concerning Sautter and Froberger, 171–85), presents the earliest previously unknown autograph of Froberger. Its authors, Marko Deisinger and Andreas Vejvar, discovered the autograph in the Stammbuch (German album amicorumor “friendship book”) of the Nuremberg patrician Georg Andreas Harsdorfer (1616–1700). Harsdorfer visited Vienna in 1642 and had eight people commemorate themselves in his Stammbuch. On 28 January 1642, two men did so, namely Froberger and Johann Friedrich Sautter (1605– ?). While both entries testify to the high degree of education of their respective authors, they offer little information of biographical value. Instead, Deisinger and Vejvar explore the relation between Froberger and Sautter, since the latter illustrated Froberger’s Libro secondo and qvarto. Both were born in Stuttgart and probably knew each other since childhood. Little more can be said with certainty, but some hints indicate that Sautter and Froberger were closely attached not only to each other, but also to their families.
Both articles can be seen as small puzzle pieces inserted into the blurry picture of Froberger’s biography. However, the Stammbuch entries, in particular, have more historical than informational value and can be regarded as an invitation to explore Froberger’s life and his relationships to contemporaries.
3. Historical Setting
In “Staunenswerte Experimente. Die einheitlichen Gesetze von Akustik, Optik und Magnetismus in Athanasius Kirchers Phonurgia nova (1673)” (Astonishing experiments: Uniform laws of acoustics, optics, and magnetism in Athanasius Kircher’s Phonurgia nova (1673), 53–73), Sergius Kodera introduces the reader to the dazzling personality of Athanasius Kircher. Kircher, a polymath, Jesuit, and acquaintance of Froberger, was an important intellectual figure of the seventeenth century, whose works were widely read and sometimes faced harsh criticism. Criticism was easily expressed, since Kircher’s works were a heterogenous mixture of scientific research, religious beliefs, superstition, and speculation. Given Kircher’s wide-ranging interests, it is not surprising that he also wrote about music and related sciences, such as acoustics, the medicinal effects of music, and even telecommunication. In his essay, Kodera presents some of the music-related passages from Kircher’s lesser-known Phonurgia nova, which contains descriptions of peculiar practical and hypothetical thought experiments. For instance, Kircher already considers possibilities of preserving sound or guiding it in certain directions and over distances. Although these ideas seem fairly modern, Kircher’s thoughts are embedded in an ancient world of conceptions with strict hierarchies and a strong belief in miracles. Kodera maps out some impressive examples: Kircher visited the curiosity cabinet of Michele Todini di Savoia (1616–1690), who built a music machine that allowed a harpsichordist to play several instruments simultaneously. By pressing the keys of the harpsichord, all sorts of instruments somehow magically played together without additional players. Instead of investigating how this music machine works, Kircher was rather more fascinated by the effects it had on the audience and the unusual harmonies it produced.
Most of the experiments described have no direct link to Froberger, but they hint at the intellectual interests of educated people in the seventeenth century. Froberger, being a well-educated and widely travelled musician and acquaintance of Kircher, was certainly familiar with at least some of his ideas. Indeed, Kircher personally instructed Froberger on how to use his own invention, a composing machine called the Arca musurgia, which Froberger in turn presented to the emperor. While Kodera writes entertainingly about the astonishing aspects of the Phonurgia, he unfortunately refrains from further investigations: How did the music and composing machines work? What kinds of music could be produced with them? Why were educated people such as Froberger fascinated by these sorts of gimmicks?
A completely different perspective is examined in Matej Santi’s “Johann Jacob Froberger: ein Reisender im Raum des 17. Jahrhunderts” (Johann Jacob Froberger: A traveler of the seventeenth century, 75–90). Froberger was a man who travelled extensively, even by modern standards. He visited Rome, Brussels, Paris, London, Madrid, Dresden, Cologne, and other cities, and was employed at the Viennese court three times. Seventeenth-century Europe differed considerably from today’s Europe, as there were no sovereign states, no democratic nations, and, of course, no Schengen area, which makes travelling much easier and safer than it was in the past. Since travelling was a substantial and time-consuming part of Froberger’s life, Santi examines the conditions and notions of traveling in the seventeenth century.
His study first takes a closer look at maps, recognizing that borders within Europe were not a common feature of seventeenth-century maps. Instead, important traveling routes can be found, as well as dashed lines provisionally marking territorial dominion. This leads Santi to observe that travelers of the seventeenth century did not simply travel from one place or country to another, but stepwise from place to place. The destinations that had to be passed were of great importance and were used for brief stopovers. This made travelling time-consuming, but the time required was not the only thing that differed. Santi points out that languages had a greater variety of dialects and could therefore not serve as sources of joint identity. Only scholars or the nobility could communicate throughout Europe, using Latin or French, respectively. Among these privileged social classes, Santi observes something like a pan-European sense of community, which was not limited to a specific geographic region. As Santi continues, he notes that the now less influential dynasties were a main factor of power in the seventeenth century, creating alliances between different geographical regions via marriages and military conflicts. This led to a completely different understanding of “space,” since the categories in which people thought, wrote, and certainly talked were not those of nation-states or political systems. In conclusion, Santi criticizes the application of later categories and key concepts to earlier times when those concepts did not exist. With this overall critique, Santi reminds readers to select methodical tools carefully and to question established categories of historical narratives such as nation, border, or even Europe.
Santi explores the broad meaning of space in the seventeenth century, while Arnaldo Morelli takes the opposite approach, concentrating on a single location in Europe: Rome. In his brief essay “La maggiore di tutte le corti: Frobergers Rom” (La maggiore di tutte le corti: Froberger’s Rome, 91–99), he emphasizes several particular features of mid-seventeenth-century Rome. Unlike other important cities, Rome held two centers of power: a secular one and a religious one. On the one hand, it was the residence of the Pope and the Papal state; on the other hand, Rome was a secular principality with political and ecological interests. This unique structure attracted many people and resulted in the coexistence of numerous courts in Rome: the court of the Pope, the courts of cardinals, and the courts of an international nobility.
Being a musician in this city almost always meant being or becoming a courtier of some kind, as Morelli points out. This was clearly in the interest of the musicians, since patrons and sinecures were important sources of income. Morelli’s main concern is to clarify the often ambiguous concept of the court. The court was not merely a physical location but a virtual one: it comprised etiquette, rituals, symbols, or in short, its own complex culture. Musicians were part of this culture, serving as representatives for their courts in various functions. Since Froberger’s visits to Rome took place while he was employed at the Viennese and Brussels courts, respectively, Morelli suggests that he was not only studying in Rome but also performing certain tasks for his employers. Regrettably, the nature of those tasks remains speculative. Nevertheless, Morelli offers valuable insights into the political, social, and cultural dimensions of mid-seventeenth-century Rome.
Yet another approach is offered by Andreas Vejvar in his lengthy study “Phänomen Froberger” (Phenomenon Froberger, 101–48). Vejvar characterizes his approach as “kontextuelle Recherchen” (contextual research, 146), meaning that he tries to gather diverse information on characteristic aspects of seventeenth-century life that might be reflected in Froberger’s music. The essay’s rather incoherent structure makes it challenging for the reader to follow, which is especially unfortunate as it detracts from the carefully researched and well-presented details.
The first part of the study focuses mainly on baroque festivities, which naturally included music, huge crowds, pomp, and often fireworks. Reports of these events were crucial since they preserved and codified the impressions of the participants. Many of these descriptions have been preserved, and three are of particular interest to Vejvar, as they describe festivities in which Froberger either participated or may have participated. In analyzing these reports, Vejvar concludes that certain typical metaphors and standardized vocabulary were employed to convey the participants’ impressions, thereby taming and channeling the splendors of a great feast through retrospective narration. While the analysis itself is filled with interesting details—for example, the use of certain instruments during festivities was linked to the social status of the organizer—it is only poorly connected to Froberger. Vejvar tries to identify elements of the festivity reports in the playing instructions of Froberger’s musical works but fails to do so convincingly. Additionally, his brief digressions about the reception of Froberger’s life in later times, incorporated into the first part of the study, do not provide the missing link.
The second part of the study focuses on Froberger’s last years in the rural regions of Württemberg, where he lived in Château d’Héricourt, the residence of the dowager Duchess of Mömpelgard (modern-day Montbéliard), Sybilla (1620–1707). Until now, biographical studies have not satisfactorily answered the question of why Froberger withdrew from public life in his last years. It has been suggested that Froberger’s fame faded quickly toward the end of his life, prompting him to withdraw from the world in seclusion. Vejvar seeks different explanations, arguing that while Mömpelgard and the surrounding region may seem provincial, they were actually home to interesting personalities, rich in intellectual output, and offered opportunities for contemplation. Vejvar introduces little-known historical figures, such as the writer Christoph Forstner (1598–1667), the physician and scholar Christoph Schorer (1618–1671), and the sisters of Duchess Sybilla, Antonia and Anna Johanna, who were possibly known personally by Froberger. Furthermore, he pays attention to popular religious books that could have been known by Froberger or people in his social circle, thus reflecting their mindsets. This rather speculative contextual research leads Vejvar to the conclusion that life in Château d’Héricourt was not as provincial as has been previously described and that Froberger may have chosen to live there because of the specific cultural climate he found.
The last article in this group deals with the question of why an accomplished composer such as Froberger did not compose any operas. In her concise study, “Froberger und die Oper: versäumte Gelegenheit, bewusste Entscheidung, unvereinbare Wege?” (Froberger and the Opera: Missed opportunity, conscious decision, incompatible paths?, 163–70), Angela Romagnoli traces Froberger’s links to vocal music and explains why he probably did not compose operas. The author’s approach follows a classic method of weighing pros and cons, starting with the positives. Firstly, Romagnoli notes that Froberger did compose vocal music, citing two motets for three voices, two violins, and basso continuo among his known works. It is also possible that other compositions have been lost over time. Additionally, there are reports about the beautiful voice of the young Froberger, who surely had a thorough musical education including voice training, being the son of a court musician. His family background further supports reasonable speculation, given that his father, Basilius Froberger, had a well-stocked music library, which the young Froberger surely explored. Moreover, Froberger could have had an interest in composing vocal music, especially operas, having lived in cities that were major centers of musical theater in the seventeenth century, such as Rome and Vienna.
But why did he not compose any operas? During Froberger’s lifetime, opera was still a relatively recent development and had not yet spread across Europe. Instead, it was primarily an Italian affair, both in terms of the location and the language. Outside Italy, only courts with close Italian connections performed operas before 1650. As Romagnoli points out, opera had not yet become the most prestigious genre of music in Froberger’s lifetime and therefore was not an absolute must for aspiring composers. Another reason Froberger did not compose operas was that he was employed as a court organist and not as a court composer or "Kapellmeister," so his remit involved duties other than composing vocal music. A final observation concludes Romagnoli’s argument: during his second stay in Rome in the 1640s, Froberger did not meet or study with the famous teacher and composer Giacomo Carissimi (1605–1674), but met Athanasius Kircher, who instructed him in the use of his composing machine. This indicates that Froberger was more interested in the craft or mathematical aspects of composing rather than exploring word-music relationships. In her study, Romagnoli is able to answer her research question satisfactorily while providing a concise history of the dissemination of early operas.
4. Organology / Editions
The first article of this group, Martin Kirnbauer’s “Der vieltönige Froberger” (The multi-tonal Froberger, 289–99), could just as well fit in the first since it deals with notational aspects of Froberger’s music, but it contains much more, starting with Kirnbauer’s observation of an extraordinary accidental in some of Froberger’s manuscripts. In addition to the common sharp and flat, Froberger uses a third accidental that looks like an x. Interestingly, no modern edition since the late nineteenth century reproduces this sign in the musical text. Instead, it is relegated to the commentaries, even though the first modern editor, Guido Adler (1855–1941), clearly recognized its specific function: the x was used to indicate that the following note is to be played higher, and it was only written before the notes a, e, and b. Kirnbauer traces the use of this accidental back to the sixteenth century, where it was introduced as an indicator for the diesis enarmonica, a defined microinterval. The x divides a large semitone into two unequal parts and is based on an understanding of the octave that does not divide it into twelve equal semitones. This means, for example, that bx and c are not enharmonically interchangeable like the common b-sharp and c. Kirnbauer calls this phenomenon “Vieltönigkeit” (multi-tonality), since the term “microtonality” carries a different meaning in contemporary usage.
Froberger was by no means the only composer to use this accidental. It can also be found in the works of Jacopo Peri (1561–1633), Domenico Mazzocchi (1592–1665), and others. Most intriguing is Kirnbauer’s key finding that there were keyboard instruments capable of playing these kinds of microintervals. This is proven by theoretical works depicting instruments such as the cimbalocromatico, which had nineteen keys in one octave and could therefore realize all notes indicated by the x. Unfortunately, not a single cimbalocromatico has been preserved, but the fact that Froberger frequently differentiates between the notes a-, e-, and b-sharp as well as ax, ex, and bx, indicates that he used instruments capable of producing these notes. As Kirnbauer states, contemporary interpreters have yet to explore Froberger’s music on reproductions of such instruments; instead, regular harpsichords with twelve keys per octave are frequently used in concerts or recordings. The merits of Kirnbauer’s essay are to uncover this widespread oversight and open the reader’s eyes to even seemingly incidental details.
While Kirnbauer makes the case for the cimbalo cromatico, Eugène Michelangeli draws attention to another underrepresented instrument: the clavichord. In his essay “Johann Jacob Frobergers süßes Clavichordium” (Johann Jacob Froberger’s sweet clavichord, 323–47), he verifies the historical use and circulation of the instrument and shares his own playing experiences with a reconstructed clavichord. The clavichord is of interest in connection with Froberger because he left no indication of which instrument his compositions should be played on. Given the variety of keyboard instruments in the seventeenth century, Michelangeli argues that the clavichord should also be considered a valid candidate for interpreting Froberger’s works. The clavichord was a popular instrument, especially in German-speaking regions. This is proven by both music theoretical works and fictional literature. One example is by the then-famous author Christian Weise (1642–1702), who wrote a story about a man who travels around with his clavichord in addition to poems about the instrument. Michelangeli draws from these sources to highlight the qualities that made the clavichord popular. Beyond its musical and entertainment value, the clavichord was also used as a teaching instrument in educational settings.
Regarding Froberger’s works, Michelangeli notes that not all pieces are equally suited to the clavichord. Due to its limited range, compositions requiring a low bass register are unplayable on the clavichord and actually require a harpsichord. However, pieces that use the middle register are well-suited for the clavichord. To realize some of those pieces, Michelangeli commissioned Alfons Huber to build a new clavichord based on historical models. The process of designing and building this instrument is thoroughly documented in the article, and the appendix includes pictures in color of the completed result. In his essay, Michelangeli demonstrates how collaboration between musicology and practical music, as well as between musicology and instrument-making, can lead to productive outcomes.
The last article of Rethinking Froberger is by Siegbert Rampe, the editor of the New Edition of the Complete Works of Froberger. In his report “Die Neue Froberger-Ausgabe: Geschichte Systematik, Methodik und Werkverzeichnis” (The New Froberger Edition: History, classification, methodology, and a catalogue of works, 349–63), Rampe documents the development and implementation of new editorial guidelines for the Froberger edition. According to Rampe, the new edition was long overdue due to flaws in past editions. His initial goal was to create a comprehensible and complete edition of all of Froberger’s works. When the project began in the early 1990s, the editor did not anticipate the extensive work required. Instead of the originally planned four volumes, the edition now comprises eleven volumes and remains incomplete. These volumes are classified by source type and genre. Since there are no authentic prints of Froberger’s music, all sources are either autographs or handwritten copies of manuscripts, while the genres are divided into keyboard and ensemble compositions. A major challenge is managing the many textual variants found in these sources, which requires thorough source evaluation since they are not all equally trustworthy.
Rampe has created a meritorious, thoughtful, and comprehensive edition of Froberger’s works, which can be considered the most accurate and trustworthy edition available. Nevertheless, in the context of the monograph, it is bewildering that Rampe has not addressed direct criticism from Kirnbauer, who notes that the unusual accidental x is not present in its notation, despite the edition’s claim to include all original accidentals. At this point, a professional exchange would have been desirable.
5. Appendix
The appendix (366–544) of Rethinking Froberger, edited by Markus Grassl and Andreas Vejvar, is highly informative and useful, including its first part, which gathers together all known historical documents on Froberger (367–454). Here the reader can find the famous letter of Duchess Sibylla (which is quoted in every other article on Froberger), several letters from Constantijn Huygens—one describing his meeting with Froberger in Mainz, another mentioning his transcription of a gigue by Froberger for the lute —and, of course, all surviving letters of Froberger himself. Additionally, the appendix includes several dedications, journal and Stammbuch entries, and even a picture of Duchess Sibylla’s sarcophagus. Each document has a short accompanying text by Vejvar with useful explanations and additional references, and the high image quality further enhances the overall impression.
Besides the documents, two catalogues are included: a catalogue of sources containing compositions by Froberger (455–64) and a catalogue of editions of Froberger’s works (465–76). Both catalogues, compiled by Markus Grassl, will prove useful tools for future research on Froberger. The same is true for the extensive bibliography (477–503), which provides a comprehensive list of sources on Froberger spanning the last four hundred years. The appendix concludes with the conference schedule, which also lists detailed programs of the concerts that accompanied it. Needless to say, the appendix is an extremely helpful and expedient tool that will facilitate all future research on Froberger.
6. Conclusion
»Avec discrétion«. Rethinking Froberger is indeed the new standard reference for Johann Jakob Froberger’s life and works, albeit with minor reservations. For example, a significant gap is the absence of a chronological overview of all securely datable events in Froberger’s life. Instead, many authors provide their own accounts of Froberger’s life and travels, sometimes enriched with speculations about his whereabouts during certain timeframes. This can be confusing and occasionally blurs the line between fact and fiction. A simple timeline could have clarified these confusions. However, this is a minor complaint considering the overall quality of Rethinking Froberger, which compiles high-level research and valuable resources. Especially noteworthy is the excellent appendix with additional documents, catalogues, and a bibliography. By virtue of the appendix alone, the volume is, and will continue to be, an indispensable resource for all Froberger aficionados.
The last question now is whether the promise of the title “to rethink” Froberger is fulfilled in the individual contributions. The clear answer is: yes and no! This edited volume, like most others, offers a full range of different approaches and various areas of focus, resulting in essays that are more or less worthwhile depending on the interests of the reader. We can find real essayistic gems, like Grassl’s “Froberger der Diskrete” or Kirnbauer’s “Der vieltönige Froberger,” surprising studies like Gavito’s “In Search of the Improvising Froberger” or the studies by Dirksen and Ledbetter, and methodologically inventive approaches such as Barker’s “Learning the Trade.”
At the same time, it should be honestly acknowledged that not every article fundamentally rethinks its respective topic. To demand such a thing would be unrealistic. Some articles offer fresh and innovative perspectives on certain aspects of Froberger’s compositions and can rightfully claim to rethink their respective topics, but this does not mean that the rest of the articles are of lesser value. On the contrary, they provide what is equally or even more important: solid research with highly reliable results. All in all, Rethinking Froberger is a highly recommended conference proceedings volume that presents cutting-edge research on music-historical concepts, extending well beyond the scope of one single composer.