Sacred, Secular, and Political:

Dance Rhythms in French grands motets under Louis XIV

Lindsey O’Brien

University of Florida

Gainesville, Florida

April 20, 2012 O’Brien 1

Any form of art reflects the values of the society in which it is created. Because contemporary society tends to focus on the ‘self’ and personal identity, to a great extent the arts of today are a vehicle of self-expression. However, this was not always the case. Before it served as a means of self-expression, art played a much different role: rather than serving the artist alone, the art served the interests of an institution, such as the church or a particular monarch. As a result, prior to the Romantic era, the majority of professional and highly esteemed artists made a living by working either within the Catholic Church or at a noble court,1 institutions that served as training grounds and helped define both local and national artistic aesthetics. Whereas religious art reinforcing God’s omnipresence and supremacy was the primary focus of the church, royal courts produced politically charged art reminding all courtiers of the monarch’s ubiquity and infallibility throughout his kingdom. Rather than serving God and the church institution, artists now directly served a single person: a king who possessed a higher social standing than all of his subjects, including the artists. All art forms filled the social and political function of extolling the monarch. Two that did this particularly well (and often in conjunction with one another) in seventeenth century France under the reign of Louis XIV are music and dance.

1According to Michael Hurd, “Those composers who existed without patronage—the uneducated man with a natural instinct for music, the lapsed cleric unwilling to submit to church authority—were social outcasts who earned a living precariously as wandering minstrels or general entertainers.” This suggests that as early as the Middle Ages there was a distinction between art of true aesthetic value that served some greater role in society and art for entertainment’s sake. Hurd also acknowledges that working under the direct patronage of the church was a practice that began to fall out of vogue in the 15th century, with the rise in importance of individual monarchs. Although the rise of monarchs freed composers, musicians, and other artists from the confines of working for the church, they were still confined to working for someone and were not at liberty to practice their art for personal expression. As Hurd explains, although they were liberated from the church, “it cannot be said that composers were freer agents,” nor did they produce for themselves. Consequently, artists, who entered master-servant relationships with their patrons, were bound to produce according to the political agendas and aesthetic desires of royal courts, whose primary objective was the glorification of the court. See Michael Hurd, “patronage,” in The Oxford Companion to Music, edited by Alison Latham, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/opr/t114/e5038 (accessed April 10, 2012). O’Brien 2

Secular served as a way of asserting social dominance and authority; musical events were

“lavish display[s] to enhance the standing of the noble or aristocratic household.”2 Musical entertainment was of great importance in the Versailles court of Louis XIV, and the king himself oversaw its development and genesis. As a courtly and political art in France, music was under the constant scrutiny of the monarchy. The monarch’s direct involvement in music has a long history that predates Louis XIV: According to the French Baroque scholar James R. Anthony,

François I, the “most pleasure-loving of the Valois kings, who was receptive both to spectacular fêtes and to more intimate and contemplative arts,”3 divided music into two categories, Music of the Chamber and Music of the Stable, for which he personally selected virtuosi from among the most adept musicians in all of France. In this way, as music became regulated by the king rather than by the church, it played an increasingly political role that suited the king’s personal preferences.

Dance, a quintessentially French art form, has always been associated with music: ballets de cour were popular forms of aristocratic entertainment as early as the reign of Henry III.4

These productions, which became more elaborate over time, served as a means of affirming and glorifying the ever-increasing royal power and prestige. As the monarchy’s presence continued to grow, so too did the importance of state arts, including both music and dance. To date, most scholarship has not acknowledged the political role of the ceremonial bal de cour, instead focusing on the choreography, staging, and music of the more theatrical ballet de cour.

Nonetheless, it is important to acknowledge the social role of the bal de cour as well as the

2 Hurd, “patronage.” 3 James R. Anthony, French Baroque Music: from Beaujoyeulx to Rameau, (Amadeus Press: Portland, 1997): 20. 4 James R. Anthony, “Ballet de cour” in Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/01894 (accessed April 9, 2012). O’Brien 3 various ways in which dance idioms, both rhythmic and melodic, permeated all genres of seventeenth century French music, including the grands motets sung in the Chapelle Royale.

Seventeenth century Europe witnessed great political changes, perhaps most notably the expansion of sovereign power that ultimately lead to the emergence of the Age of Absolutism.

Absolute monarchs, either a unique sovereign or a ruling body whose power was not confined to constitutional limits, attempted to impose a variety of codes and regulations in order to simultaneously glorify the nobility and maintain social stability. Although not an invention of the 1600s, absolutism swept across Europe and dominated seventeenth century French political theory as rulers such as Louis XIII and, more significantly, Louis XIV, who reigned from 1643 to 1715, centralized and expanded royal authority.5

For centuries, monarchs had derived their power from God,6 but it was not until the seventeenth century, the grand siècle, after both the Protestant Reformation and the Council of

Trent of the sixteenth century and in the wake of numerous religious and political conflicts, that this power transcended, and became separate from, papal authority. Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet, a

French bishop and orator, was one of the most influential advocates of absolute monarchy by

5 In 1567, the prominent French political thinker Jean Bodin published his Six Books of Commonwealth or Les Six livres de la République in which he argued for a sovereign state in which the monarch was not bound to pre- existing legal codes, but rather, to divine power. See Mario Turchetti, “Jean Bodin,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2010 Edition), Edward N. Zalta, ed., http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2010/entries/bodin/ (accessed June 16, 2011) Throughout this paper, I will draw from Bodin’s definition of absolutism to refer to a system of government by which a ruler’s power is, in theory, regulated by some sort of higher laws, either positive or divine. In reality, absolutist leaders acknowledge the existence of higher laws, but consciously and freely choose to act against or above them. See Paul W. Fox, “Louis XIV and the Theories of Absolutism and Divine Right,” The Canadian Journal of Economics and Political Science / Revue canadienne d’Economique et de Science politique, Vol. 26, Number 1(1960): 128-42. 6 The foundations for secular absolutism stem from the Romans, but the religious aspect of authority was added during the Middle Ages with Christianity’s increasing importance. The early Catholic Church believed that political power came directly from God, who then in turn bequeathed power to the pope, and other ecclesiastics. This hierarchical church structure then acted as a model for medieval political thought, which relied upon the concept of the Great Chain of Being, a hierarchy with the king positioned at the metaphorical head of the political body he ruled. Just as the pope ruled by divine right, so too did the king, according to medieval philosophy. See Fox, 128-42. O’Brien 4 divine right, drawing parallels between King Louis XIV’s France and King David’s Israel.

Furthermore, Bossuet drew a distinction between un gouvernement absolu and un gouvernement arbitraire, reminding Louis XIV that his political powers came directly from God, and were therefore regulated by God.7

Thus, with scriptural justification, the absolute monarch was seen as an extension of God, and religious services glorified not only God, but also the symbolic God of France, Louis XIV.

In the Mémoires pour l’instruction du Dauphin, a work in which he explains his personal political theory to his son, Louis XIV states, “To tell you the truth, my son, we lack not only gratitude and justice, but also prudence and common sense, when we lack veneration for Him of whom we are but lieutenants. Our submission to Him is the model and example of that which is due to us,”8 an indication of his personal belief of his proximity to God.9 To affirm his legitimacy as a truly divine ruler, Louis XIV sought to control all aspects of state affairs, including cultural and religious endeavors.

Examples of this search for power can be seen not only through policy changes, e.g., the expansion of the academies to include an Académie Royale de Musique in 1669, but also in the

Royal Court’s permanent move to Versailles in 1682. At the newly constructed Palace of

Versailles, removed from the ongoing political tensions in Paris exposed during the civil wars known as the Fronde, Louis XIV found refuge at the former hunting lodge of his predecessor,

Louis XIII. It was also here that Louis XIV oversaw the construction of five Chapelles Royales,

7 Martha Mel Stumberg Edmunds, Piety and Politics: Imagining Divine Kingship in Louis XIV’s Chapel at Versailles, (University of Deleware Press: Newark, 2002): 40-43. 8 Mémoires pour l’instruction du Dauphin, this translation and all translations to follow are my own. “À vous dire la vérité, mon fils, nous ne manquons pas seulement de reconnaissance et de justice, mais de prudence et de bon sense, quand nous manquons de veneration pour Celui dont nous ne sommes que les lieutenants. Notre soumission pour lui est la règle et l’exemple de celle qui nous est due.” 9 The King was considered to be the closest to God in the hierarchical chain and, as a result, derived his power from God. While it is evident that the King was a devout Catholic, it must also be acknowledged that he believed himself to be a sacred being worthy of ceremonial praise. O’Brien 5 each more opulent than the previous, culminating with the construction of the present-day

Chapelle Royale.10 As a result of this political consolidation, le Très-Chrétien had more control over religious matters at Versailles than he did in Paris.11 Although monarchs had long been patrons of the arts, Louis XIV’s move to Versailles allowed him to more effectively manage every aspect of his court on a microcosmic level. This desire for power manifested itself in the king’s sponsorship of many artistic endeavors, including personally approving music for religious occasions, and hosting national competitions to seek out the most talented musicians and composers for his own court.12 Influenced by Cardinal Mazarin, Louis XIV’s musical preference superimposed theatrical and dramatic Italianate features upon pre-existing French musical trends.

10 Recently, scholars have disagreed over the exact number of chapels erected at Versailles. While Jean- Paul C. Montagnier states that there were five chapels in total, Martha Mel Stumberg Edmunds says that “based on recent archaeological findings we can say with some certainty that five chapels preceded the chapel of 1710,” meaning there were six chapels in total. Throughout this paper, I will use Edmunds’ number of five Royal Chapels, as her research is more current than Montagnier’s. See Jean-Paul C. Montagnier, “Modèles choréographiques dans les grands et petits motets français,” in Le mouvement en musique à l’époque baroque, ed. Hervé Lacombe (Editions Serpenoise: Metz, 1996): 141-143 and Edmunds, 70. 11 The Very Christian King. This expression in reference to the King of France had been in use well before the time of Louis XIV, and has its origins with Clovis I, the first king of the Franks. Following his baptism and conversion to Christianity, Clovis was seen as a symbolic uniting power and a champion of Christian faith, qualities that subsequent kings also possessed. The title of ‘very Christian’ is one of power, as the king’s piety and role within the Church invested him with political and divine authority. See Nathalie Nabert, “La reference à Clovis chez Jean Gerson,” in Le baptême de Clovis, son echo à travers l’histoire, ed. Michael Rouche (Presses de l’Université de Paris-Sorbonne: Paris, 1997): 231-248. In addition, 1682 marked the year that the “Église Gallican declared its virtual independence from Rome … [making] the Catholic church in France … subservient to the will and manner of the Roi Soleil.” See Anthony, French Baroque Music, 217. 12 In 1683, following the retirement of the sous-maîtres de la musique, Henri Du Mont and Pierre Robert, as well as the king’s move to Versailles, Louis XIV proposed, held, and presided over an elaborate competition to replace the court composers and to reform the music system. This permitted Louis XIV to personally select the best composers from among the most talented 35 in all of France. Following the preliminary round, in which the 35 composers presented a composition of their own to be played before the king, 16 were selected as semifinalists, from which 4 were to be selected as finalists. The 16 semifinalists each had to compose a grand motet set to Psalm 32, Beati quorum. These compositions were performed, and the four winners (Nicolas Coupillet, Pascal Collasse, Guillaume Minoret, and Michel-Richard de Lalande) were selected based solely on the quality of these compositions. According to James R. Anthony “outside influences determined the choice of most of the sous- maîtres. The first three were ‘safe’ composers who offered no threat to Lully. Nicolas Coupillet was a mediocre composer [involved] in a scandal that cost him his job in 1693,” and that of all the sous-maîtres, Lalande was the only composer who showed promise. As a result, this paper will not focus on the first three composers even though they were sous-maîtres under Louis XIV, but will instead focus on composers whose music was favored by the king. For more information on the concours of 1683, see Anthony, French Baroque Music, 226 and George J. Buelow, A History of Baroque Music, (Indiana University Press: Bloomington, 2004): 176-177. O’Brien 6

For Louis XIV, who saw himself as a vice-God and the representation of God on earth, music served as political propaganda. Perhaps more than any other musical genre that was met with the royal imprimatur of the Sun King, the grands motets of the seventeenth century served not only a religious purpose but also functioned as a vehicle of self-aggrandizement. As Jean-

Paul C. Montagnier has demonstrated,13 both the text and musical setting of the grands motets, most notably the use of Psalms and of the Te Deum as a state motet, functioned to glorify both the monarch and the establishment of absolute monarchy.14

The aim of this paper is neither to reproduce the research of Jean-Paul C. Montagnier, nor to trace the history or daily life of the Chapelle Royale,15 but rather to shed light on a lesser- explored aspect of the grands motets: the relationship of the grand motet to French dance music.

While Montagnier has explored the significance of the dance idiom as applied to French grands and petits motets,16 his brief study has not considered the effect of dance rhythms or forms on a motet in its entirety. Nor has he explored the implications of monarchical power resulting from the connection between music, dance rhythms, and spectacle as exemplified through religious

13 Jean-Paul C. Montagnier has researched this topic extensively, including cataloguing which Psalm texts were most frequently set as grands motets and explaining the textual manipulation in French translations of the motets. For more information on this topic, see Jean-Paul C. Montagnier, “Chanter Dieu en la Chapelle Royale: Le grand motet et ses supports littéraires,” Revue de Musicologie, T. 86e, No. 2e, (2000): 217-263. Another area Montagnier has extensively researched is the use of the Te Deum, the most frequently sung hymn of the Ancien Regime, as political propaganda based on its text as well as the “Sanctus motive,” which reaffirmed the king’s holiness and justified divine right. For further information see Jean-Paul C. Montagnier, “Le Te Deum en France à l’époque baroque: Un emblem royal,” Revue de Musicologie, T. 84, No. 2e (1998): 199-233. 14 It is important to note that certain grands motets drew their text from non-scriptural sources, but rather used specially composed text, and that the use of the Te Deum as a state motet, both inside and outside the Church, was not unique to France: other countries and courts also used the Te Deum, a laudatory motet, to glorify the monarchy and to commemorate special occasions. The Te Deum had a long history of connection to the monarchy, which served as precedent for its use in the laudatory grands motets during the time of Louis XIV. Kate van Orden explains that in France, the Te Deum ceremonial, which incorporated a number of the laudatory Psalms, predates Louis XIV. The Te Deum was used both to commemorate military victories and to praise the monarchy because of its text. According to Kate van Orden “the Te Deum [was] a battle hymn of eucharistic devotion, and, ultimately, of Catholic kingship in France” during the times of Henry III. See Kate van Orden, Music, Discipline, and Arms in Early Modern France, (The University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 2005): 161. 15 In his recent book La Chapelle Royale de Versailles sous Louis XIV: cérémonial, liturgie et musique, (Sprimont: Mardaga, 2002), Alexandre Maral provides an in-depth explanation of the function of the Chapelle Royale in the context of Louis XIV’s daily life. 16 Montagnier, “Modèles choréographiques,” 141-156. O’Brien 7 music, which is what I hope to explain. In this paper, I will first trace the historical development of dance in French court life under Louis XIV in order to explain its central importance as a social and political art. Next, I will analyze various grands motets by three esteemed composers:

Jean-Baptiste Lully, Michel-Richard de Lalande, and Marc-Antoine Charpentier. This analysis will be conducted through a lens that incorporates previous scholarship and frames the motets in terms of the social and courtly dance forms. Finally, I will synthesize the information, explaining the political and social implications of the dance forms, the grands motets, and their place in French society.

The Relationship between Dance and Music

During the reign of Louis XIV, dance became not only the national pastime of France, but also a required area of study for each member of the royal court.17 As Fiona Garlick states in her dissertation, at Versailles, dance served “to encode the behaviour, deportment, and etiquette essential for a life at court.”18 The idea that dance or other forms of organized physical recreation contributed to the development of a person’s character was not an innovation of seventeenth century France; in fact, Ancient Greek philosophy placed an equal emphasis on physical development and mental or intellectual development, represented by dance and music

(along with other athletic and cerebral pursuits), respectively. Although music today is created primarily for pleasure’s sake, this was not the case during the times of Antiquity. In his

Republic, Plato explained the importance of balancing a musical education with a physical education to prevent an excess of either form of learning: “He who mingles music with

17 It is worth noting that dance in France was not an invention of Louis XIV, and that by the sixteenth century, dance held an important place in French society. In her book Music, Discipline, and Arms in Early Modern France, Kate van Orden explains the importance of the ballet de cour and its relationship to the militaristic society of the sixteenth century. 18 Fiona Garlick, “A Measure of Decorum: Social Order and the Dance Suite in the Reign of Louis XIV,” Ph.D. diss., University of New South Wales (1992), 2. O’Brien 8 gymnastic in the fairest proportions, and best attempers them to the soul, may be rightly called the true musician and harmonist in a far higher sense than the tuner of the strings.”19 Music, then, was not rooted in pleasure, performance, or entertainment, but rather, served a didactic and moral purpose. According to both Plato’s philosophy and the laws of Ancient Greece, music was an art form intrinsically linked to dance, which itself intended to replicate the motion of the heavenly spheres in order to strengthen both the body and the mind; music, rhythm, text, and melody were viewed holistically. The dissemination of these ideas, along with modifications and adaptations of them, persisted throughout the Middle Ages and Renaissance, serving as the foundation for musical thought.20

Likewise, the Baroque period drew much of its musical aesthetics and philosophy from the Ancient Greeks: the doctrine of affections, which purported that music had the ability to arouse certain emotional and physiological states of being due to intangible harmonic or melodic qualities, was largely based on the Pythagorean, and later Platonic, concept of the celestial spheres.21 The influence of Antiquity extended further, and played a significant role in the various theories of both dance and music that prevailed in Baroque France. For example, in his treatise Harmonie universelle, Marin Mersenne drew from his contemporary, Réné Descartes, and examined all areas of music from a scientific and historical background, an approach that stretched back to Antiquity. In doing so, Mersenne “likened harmonic principles to the principles

19 As quoted from Plato’s Republic in Robert M. Isherwood’s Music in the Service of the King: France in the Seventeenth Century, (Cornell University Press: Ithaca, 1973), 7. 20 For a comprehensive chronological description of musical philosophy and education, see Chapter 1 of Isherwood. 21 One of the means by which this musical aesthetic, which had its roots with Pythagoras, spread into the Renaissance, and consequently the Baroque age, was Marsilio Ficino, an Italian humanist and Neo-Platonist. Italian humanists, such as Ficino, viewed music as an expression of universal harmony and a means of linking “man physically, intellectually, and morally to the celestial bodies and intelligences.” Music was intended to elevate the mind, body, and soul to the divine and sublime level of the harmonious celestial spheres. See Isherwood, 16-22. O’Brien 9 governing astronomical motion, bodily functions, poetic meters, and architectural design,”22 explaining the fundamental role of music as an art and its capacity to establish social order.

Throughout the sections on dance, Mersenne distinguishes between the various rhythmic patterns, adapting Greek symbols and concepts of poetic scansion for application to dance rhythms.23 Similarly to Plato, Mersenne viewed rhythm as a means of instilling virtue, both physically and morally. As Meredith Little has stated, under the reign of Louis XIV, “dance was at one with the other arts of the realm such as literature, poetry, drama, painting, and architecture,”24 showing an extension of the Greco-Roman belief that all art forms are connected through the heavenly realm of the spheres. Likewise, to illustrate the prevalent influence of dance on musical forms Montagnier has stated that “it is not at all surprising that every French composer [of the seventeenth century] expressed, consciously or not, his best ideas through the framework of popular choreographic models.”25

At the court of Louis XIV, as during the times of Antiquity,26 learning the various dances served as a form of moral education, as each dance had a particular character that was determined by the music, rhythm, tempo, and intricate, yet subtly different, choreographic motions. In fact, the court ball was one of the most important social functions at Versailles during the reign of Louis XIV. According to Isherwood, “the French court attached enormous

22 Isherwood, 3. 23 Importantly, these same Greek scansion symbols are later used to represent both musical and poetic rhythms in Harmonie universelle. 24 Meredith Ellis Little, “Dance Under Louis XIV and XV: Some implications for the Musician,” in Early Music vol. 3, (1975): 331-340. 25 “Il n’est donc guère étonnant que tout compositeur français de cette époque exprime, sciemment ou non, ses meilleures idées dans le cadre des modèles chorégraphiques en vogue,” Jean-Paul C. Montagnier, “Modèles chorégraphiques,” 141. 26 According to Isherwood, “the ancients devised three distinctive styles of dancing: a noble and grave style to express glory and heroism; a free style to represent the varying customs of men; and a lively style danced by sylvans and satyrs to represent peace and joy,” 39. O’Brien 10 social prestige to dancing skills,”27 since the facility with which one performed was an indication of one’s physical and moral character. As Garlick explains, courtly dance functioned as a means of proving one’s noble standing. Whereas a “natural, polished performance could bring admiration and acclaim” within the court of Versailles,28 a lack of mastery and inadequate presentation would cast doubt as to the “authenticity and virtue of [one’s] noble character.”29

Apart from the social engagement the court ball necessitated, there was political element underlying the court ball and French dance in general. Louis XIV, who is often referred to as a

‘dancer king,’ was an accomplished ballet dancer who regularly played the lead role in ballets, and fostered dance as a national art in France. In 1661, Louis XIV used the model of the

Académies de Peinture et Sculpture, created in 1648, as a precedent for the Académie Royale de

Danse. The foundation of this institution marked an effort to redefine organized dance instruction, which had suffered drastic decline during and after the Fronde.30 The Académie

Royale de Danse was the result of an administrative reform, spurred in part by dance teachers themselves, but also a result of Louis XIV’s personal ambitions. The Académie codified choreographies of particular dance types, requiring new dances or dance steps to be approved, and standardized the requirements for dance instructors, maîtres à danser,31 who were expected to be musicians, teachers, and dancers simultaneously. With the reform of dance came a new emphasis on the art as culturally significant, and also an emphasis on Louis XIV, who

“personally set the standard for noble dance … thereby perpetuating a royal model for the

27 Isherwood, 48. 28 Garlick, 51. 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid., 70. 31 Dance masters; before the reform, many dance studios existed in which the instructors were incompetent regarding the nuances of the different forms of dance, and some private dance studios in Paris may have been brothels. Through the enforcement of standards for the dance instructors, dance became a royal endeavor as Louis XIV had a reserve of “professional teachers and dancers for his own use.” See Garlick, 59-75. O’Brien 11 nobility.”32 In fact, Louis XIV named himself the official protector of the newly formed

Académie Royale de Danse, indicating his position of authority as king and model dancer, showing his vested interest in the art of dance, and reflecting his place in society as the supreme leader of France.

The Ceremonial Bal du Roi

Echoing both the social hierarchy and the organization of the Académie Royale de Danse was the structure of the court balls, which were serious dances, in contrast with the more theatrical ballets and bals masqués. Throughout the reign of Louis XIV, the ritualistic pomp of court life was of utmost importance. According to Garlick, le ceremonial, an elaborate spectacle or display of wealth and grandeur, was considered to be “the vehicle for the transmission of honour through the feudal hierarchy.”33

In his recent book Versailles: A Biography of a Palace, Tony Spawforth explains the inherent relationship between appearance and social etiquette. The ritualistic pageantry of

Versailles served at once as a means of entertainment and as a means of establishing the rules of courtly life: “The famous etiquette of Versailles was a theatrical system for showing respect. By means of words or actions, individuals formally acknowledged each other’s place, and asserted their own, on the tiered pyramid of French society.”34 One’s rank dictated how one was treated, so that the higher one’s rank, the more intricate and elaborate actions directed to them would be.

For example, as Spawforth states, “Louis XIV would doff his hat for a prince of the blood, lift it for a nobleman, but merely touch it for a gentleman.”35 As a result, appearances became a very important means of distinguishing one’s place in society. Collectively, the outward appearance

32 Ibid., 60. 33 Ibid., 23. 34 Tony Spawforth, Versailles: A Biography of a Palace, (St. Martin’s Press: New York, 2008), 70. 35 Ibid., 72. O’Brien 12 of the nobility determined the prestige and international reception of France. Amongst the nobility, the various degrees of distinction, or rank, were of great significance, as those of higher rank would receive greater social benefits. Although courtiers established a rigid social hierarchy amongst themselves, all forms of ceremony ultimately served to glorify Louis XIV.

Dance was no different in this respect. The opulent and ostentatious “grand bal du Roi was a signal to the court, to the country, and to the world at large that all was well with the monarch and his state.”36 If ceremony was understood to be the semblance of rational order through elaborate outward appearances, then dance exemplified another way of ordering and structuring the world: choreographed steps were executed in an orderly way, serving as a metaphor for the regulated, hierarchical society.

All aspects of the grand bal du Roi symbolized the monarch’s (and consequently, everyone else’s) place in society, including the configuration of the ballroom itself. During the bal du Roi, bal de cérémonie, or bal réglé,37 the ballroom, salle du bal, would be filled with chandeliers and candles in various arrangements. This abundance of light during a time when there would be a dearth of natural lighting (balls usually took place in the winter and during the evening hours), was itself symbolic of the presence of the Sun King, who possessed the capacity to light up the ballroom. In fact, the imagery of fire and light, symbolic of power and revelry, stretches far back to Antiquity: Ancient Greek and Roman gods traditionally held flaming torches as a symbol of festivity and authority.

The ballroom’s physical configuration held great significance: it was arranged in a rectangle, with the nobility seated in chairs that encircled the dance floor. The entire ball

36 Garlick, 143. 37 All of these refer to the same event, however, it is worth noting that their English translations demonstrate the importance and design of the ceremony: King’s ball, ceremonial ball, and organized or orderly ball, respectively. O’Brien 13 ceremony was organized based on the principle of the social hierarchy. In any ceremony, seating arrangements were of great importance, as they indicated one’s rank in society. As Garlick has explained, the ball was organized “strictly according to the rank of those who took an active part” in the festivities,38 in imitation of the established social hierarchy of the court. Those seated closer to the king were also closer to him in terms of social status. Even preparing the seating arrangement was a monumental task, undertaken by the royal ushers. According to

Spawforth, the royal “ushers arranged stools around the walls or in semicircles with a royal armchair in the middle” for the monarch,39 illustrating the central role and importance of the king. On either side of Louis XIV would be seated those closest to him in the hierarchy. The princes and princesses of the blood would be seated on stools nearest to the king, followed by the other members of the royal family up to the petit-fils de France, the king’s grandchildren. The men, including princes of the blood, sat on the end of the rectangle across from the king. On the long ends of the rectangle would be titled ladies, who, personally selected by the king to dance whatever dances he had in mind for them, were separated from the other ladies. Each line would be arranged according to social standing, and these lines would be of significance once the dancing began.

During the ball, the king served as the model dancer. According to Fiona Garlick, just as he led the people of France by divine right, Louis XIV led the dancers in the opening branles during the court balls: “At the grand bal du Roi, the King began the dancing. Later, when he had retired from the dance floor, this right passed to his son, the Dauphin, then to his grandson, the

Duc to Bourgogne.”40 After the entire royal family had danced, the nobles would begin to dance

38 Furthermore, not all who attended the bal would actually take part in the dancing; dancers were more elite and chosen by the king. See Garlick, 152 and 164. 39 Spawforth, 71. 40 Ibid., 170. O’Brien 14 in a particular succession, based on their title of distinction and their seating arrangement. The orderly nature of the grand bal du Roi was an imitation and reflection, in miniature, of the order of the French state as a whole. In addition, the ball was wrought with theatrical allegory and symbolism. The king led the branles, much in the way that Apollo, the Greco-Roman god he embodied, led the choreia of Greece.41 Furthermore, the ball itself was referred to as the bal des astres, or ball of the spheres, with Louis, the sun, presiding as the central figure. Thus, the

French court ball was simultaneously linked to Plato’s aesthetics,42 the music of the spheres, and reinforced the social hierarchy and concept of rank amongst the nobility.

The branles, a suite of six dances that opened the ball, were circular or choral dances in which side-to-side movements to the left predominated. When the dancers turned inwards, their motion imitated the clockwise motion of the sun, the metaphorical king, while literally mimicking the motions of the king, the dance leader. Each branle had a different character that was determined by rhythm, steps, and meter. In his Harmonie universelle, Marin Marsenne lists the six types of branle and their respective meters, using Greek poetic scansion. Of the six branles, the first (branle simple), and the last (gavotte) were of most importance. During the branle simple, a duple-time dance that combined marching steps with solemn processional steps, the king was the first to dance. The king and queen concluded the gavotte, the last formal dance of the ball. During this dance, the king and queen began the ceremony of leaving the ball, and all dancing couples followed in turn.

It is evident that dancing played a significant role in defining the social hierarchy of seventeenth century Versailles, as all dancing paid respect to and honored Louis XIV. Each gesture of each dance was an imitation of the king, a reflection of the king’s centrality, and a

41 The choreia was the dance of the spheres in Ancient Greece; it was a circular dance whose movements echoed the celestial harmonies. See Garlick, 37-38. 42 And earlier, Pythagoras’s idea. O’Brien 15 metaphorical illustration of the noble subjects’ dependence on the king. The branles also served a role of uniting the nobility and the royal family in a sacred sphere, reminiscent of Greek dancing. The balls, although social engagements where the courtiers were meant to enjoy themselves, effectively united Christian and Classical ideology with the militaristic and social constructs of the French court, all in order to pay honor to the King, and thus served two different social roles.

Figure 1: The ceremonial grand bal du Roi, engraving by Pierre Rameau from Le Maître à danser (1725, new edition, Paris: J. Viellette, 1734, 53).

O’Brien 16

The Spectacle of the Chapelle Royale

Much in the same way, the religious music of seventeenth century France served a dual societal purpose. As previously mentioned, according to Marin Mersenne, music was an essential art that provided the basis for all other arts and contributed to an orderly society. Music was considered a divine science that instilled desirable moral virtues; during “the second half of the seventeenth century, the assumptions of . . . musical philosophy [appeared] regularly in the pages of the Mercure galant,”43 a magazine that documented court life, gossip, and aesthetics through a series of essays and articles. Linked to both social propriety and the maintenance of the hierarchy, morality fostered the glorification of the monarchy through spectacles,

“expressions of the public joy in the king’s conquests.”44 Religion, of great importance to the

French state, served as a means of instilling morals and reaffirming the hierarchical social order.

The notion of pageantry was not excluded to secular events: the spectacle, which served as a means of honoring the monarch, was an important element of religious ceremony. As with all aspects of his daily life, Louis XIV’s attendance at Mass took place under the public eye, and established the king as a sacred being, invested with divine powers.45 One must consider both the proceedings and venue of a typical Mass at Versailles in order to understand the significance of the opulent and extravagant religious ceremony. To fulfill his duties as le Très-Chrétien,

Louis XIV partook in a series of daily rituals that displayed his faith. In her recent study of architectural symbolism in the Chapelle Royale, Martha Mel Stumberg Edmund elaborates upon the king’s faith: “Each day, Louis XIV followed a routine that began with Mass read to him

43 Isherwood, 38. 44 Ibid., 43. 45 Louis XIV was a miracle-working king, invested with the power to heal scrofula, a common form of tuberculosis. This power was transmitted from monarch to monarch during the coronation ceremony and was referred to as “the royal touch.” The king would touch the afflicted person stating, “The king touches you, God cures you,” indicating his capacity as “a sort of conductor for God’s healing power.” Spawforth, 36, 84. O’Brien 17 while he was in bed,”46 and later attended a low Mass, or Messe basse solenelle, at the Chapelle

Royale, serving as the model of utmost piety. According to Montagnier, “at 10am during the reign of Louis XIV . . . a procession of courtiers [in order of rank] formed in the Hall of Mirrors and was led by the monarch through the Grand Apartment” and to the Chapelle Royale.47

Once inside the chapel, the king entered the royal tribune with his family, where he processed through rows of Swiss Guards, les Cent Suisses, playing fifes and drums in his honor.

The courtiers descended to the nave of the Chapelle Royale, where they stood one floor below the tribune, and consequently, both literally and symbolically, one floor below the king. For major religious events, such as feast days, Louis XIV went down to the nave, on the same floor as the altar and the courtiers. However, Louis’s descent to the ground floor did not indicate a lowering of rank: as a display of his grandeur and nobility, the king positioned himself at the front and center of the nave, with velvet footstools behind him reserved for the royal family.

Lesser courtiers stood on the ground in order of rank (if they were ranked at all), and knelt directly on the marble floor.

The hierarchical configuration of the Chapelle Royale, just as that of the ballroom, served as a reminder of one’s place in society. Contemporary sources make note of the symbolism apparent in this religious spectacle. In his whimsical and satirical 1688 Les Caractères, reflecting the common person’s place in society and view of the ostentatious monarchical ceremony, Jean de La Bruyère states that this custom suggests “a type of subordination; as the people appeared to worship the king; and the king worshipped God.”48 By virtue of architectural design, believers were obligated to recognize Louis XIV as a supreme being who presided above

46 Edmund, 57. 47 Jean-Paul C. Montagnier, “French grands motets and their use at the Chapelle Royale from Louis XIV to Louis XVI,” The Musical Times, Vol. 146, Number 1891, (2005): 48. 48 As quoted from Jean de La Bruyère’s Les Caractères in Edmund, 17. O’Brien 18 his courtiers both physically and socially. Through their physical position in the chapel, the courtiers expressed their devotion and subservience to God and, by extension, the king, as they knelt in his presence.

Throughout most of his reign at Versailles, Louis XIV attended daily Mass at the temporary fifth Chapelle Royale, “consecrated [as all the Chapelles Royales were] to Saint

Louis, . . . Louis IX of France, the French monarchy’s crusader king,”49 a depiction of the monarch’s triple role as divinely inspired sovereign, warrior, and model of piety. The fifth

Chapelle Royale was in use from 1682, the year of the court’s permanent move to Versailles, until 1710, when the sixth and present-day Chapelle Royale was constructed, five years before the king’s death. Although the fifth chapel is no longer extant and lacked many of the artistic and structural adornments of its successor, it is important to consider the architectural features of the temporary Chapelle Royale that served as the official place of worship for most of Louis

XIV’s life at Versailles.

Versailles had always been home to a royal chapel since its origins as a modest hunting lodge located in the marshy lands outside Paris. With Louis XIV’s ascension to the throne and hopes of turning Versailles into a more prestigious and permanent palace, a massive construction effort began, resulting in the creation of five different royal chapels. Each successive chapel was more luxurious than the previous, establishing Louis XIV as a pious monarch and patron of ecclesiastical building projects, a tradition dating back to Solomon’s Temple at Jerusalem. The fifth chapel, which occupied the present-day salon d’Hercule, was a traditional two-story paladin-style chapel. Although never intended as a permanent structure, the fifth chapel was nonetheless more opulent than any of its predecessors, and foreshadowed the luxury of the more

49 Ibid., 47. O’Brien 19 spectacular final chapel. This provisional chapel was decorated with framed paintings recounting the Biblical stories from both the Old and New Testaments and an altar, adorned with ornate carvings and gilded wood.50

Today, the Palace of Versailles is known for its immaculate gardens, sprawling grounds, and ornate architecture. Each aspect of the palace incorporates politically symbolic elements, for example, the Apollo Fountain in the gardens that serves as an allegorical representation of the

Sun King. In spite of its seemingly petite stature when compared to the sprawling complex of

Versailles, the architectural gem that is the two-story Chapelle Royale of 1710 remains one of the palace’s most recognizable features. Because its planning began during the lifetime of Louis

XIV, many of the chapel’s physical attributes are undoubtedly a reflection of the King’s personal aesthetic preferences, imbued with both religious and monarchical symbolism. The ground floor, tiled with multicolored marble including a symbolic ‘SL’ inlay in homage to Saint Louis, housed the nave, the master altar, multiple side altars with bronze reliefs, and sculpted reliefs on the stone walls. The master altar, adorned in gilded bronze, features ‘SL’ and ‘LL’, honoring

Saint Louis and Louis XIV, respectively. Although built at the dawn of the 18th century, architecturally, the cathedral is “simultaneously gothic and baroque. Its floor plan, loftiness, stained glass, pointed roof and gargoyles all hark back to medieval cathedrals,” such as Louis

IX’s iconic Sainte-Chapelle in Paris and the revered Charlemagne’s chapel at Aachen, whereas the “carved pillars, pointed vaults, and coloured marble tiling” are idiomatic of the early 1700s.51

The expansive upper level, the royal tribune, was attached to the king’s apartments. Equally as decorous, featuring elaborate colonnades, this is where the king typically would have sat, presiding over the courtiers and positioned closer to God.

50 Although more ornate than those that preceded it, because this chapel was never intended as a permanent structure, it did not have a painted ceiling. 51 Montagnier, “French grands motets,” 48. O’Brien 20

One of the most striking features of the chapel’s interior is the ceiling (see Figure 3), which features a number of paintings by the preeminent artists Coypel, La Fosse, and Jouvenet.

The central and most impressive painting is Antoine Coypel’s God the Father in Glory, covering the barrel vault over the nave. The central focus of the painting is “God the Father in human form [with] yellow light that surrounds him [highlighting] his white hair,”52 which becomes a sun-like image. The image of sunlight is important since it was associated with both Louis XIV, the Sun King, and Apollo, the Sun God. As a result of this feature, Christian and Classic symbols coexist, implying that Louis XIV’s status is that of a supreme monarch, one who combines features of God, Apollo, and an absolute ruler. Furthermore, portraying God as a realistic human figure allowed for some verisimilitude to be drawn between God and Louis XIV, the mortal and yet simultaneously superhuman ruler of France.

On the ceiling pedestals, twelve prophets surround God the Father on either side, their position determined by chronological appearance in the Old Testament. As Edmunds explains:

Closest to the figure of God the Father at the center are the four earliest patriarchs, Abraham and Jacob, and the predecessors of Christ, Moses and David. Those who came later in the Bible are at either end: Zechariah, Micah, Malachi, and Joel at the west; and Isaiah, Daniel, Jeremiah, and Haggai at the east [with] Latin texts inscribed in gold letters on gold framed blue cartouches … directly above them, [announcing] the Messiah and [establishing] the identity of individual prophets.53

The physical relationship between God the Father and these Old Testament prophets is strikingly reminiscent of that between Louis XIV and the courtiers at the ceremonial bal de cour.

Evidently, this did not go unnoticed by Louis XIV. According to Antoine Coypel’s son, upon viewing the ceiling for the first time, the king “was struck by an arrangement so noble, so rich,

52 Edmunds, 136. 53 Ibid., 139. O’Brien 21 and so important,”54 and undoubtedly associated his own prestige with the power the painting portrayed.

Figure 2: Photograph of the east end of the Chapelle Royale, taken from the royal tribune and perspective of the king, showing the organ, arround which the musicians would have stood, the multicolored marble floor, main altar, and part of the painted ceiling. (Photo RMN-Grand Palais (Château de Versailles) / Harry Bréjat)

54 As quoted in Edmunds, 140. O’Brien 22

Throughout the chapel, other decorative works of art also draw parallels to Louis XIV.

The figure whose presence predominates the most is Christ, who was also associated with the king. According to Edmund, the association with Christ was a political one, and one that had linguistic backing: “The word Christ means anointed, and, as early as Carolingian times,

Christus had a double meaning as either Christ, the son of God, or as the anointed earthly king.”55 The courtiers of Versailles would have been aware of the symbolic association between

Christ and Louis XIV; in seeing images of Christ, they would have been reminded of the king’s absolute presence and power.

Another important element of the Chapelle Royale is the organ (see Figure 2), located on the tribune level, where the king would have sat. Around the organ, there was space for the numerous musicians who performed at the religious services. The organ played an important role in demonstrating the importance of music to Louis XIV, but the organ case also held particular significance. The artwork on the case presents the image of “King David playing the harp, based on Domenichino’s well-known painting of about 1620, which Louis XIV owned and displayed at Versailles.”56 This is of great importance because it draws a parallel between Louis

XIV’s and King David of Israel. Furthermore, the artwork gives historical precedence for Louis

XIV’s incorporation of decorous music to accompany religious services.

55 Ibid., 191. 56 Ibid., 160. O’Brien 23

Figure 3: Photograph of the ceiling of the Chapelle Royale, displaying Antoine Coypel’s God the Father in Glory. (Photo RMN-Grand Palais (Château de Versailles) / Gérard Blot)

O’Brien 24

Music of the Chapelle Royale and the Development of the ‘Versailles style’

Dramatic and elaborate religious music glorified the king, much in the same way as the bals. In Harmonie universelle, Mersenne distinguishes between religious music and secular music. He also divides song into three categories: “le Vaudeville ou la Chanson, … Motet ou la

Fantaisie, & le troisiesme genre contient toutes les especes des Danseries,”57 showing that each of these genres served a unique purpose. In regards to motets, Mersenne reminds us that the

Latin text existed prior to the music, and that the numerous musical settings of the texts serve as precedent for seventeenth-century composers, stating that “on peut voir le chant de tous les

Motets qui ont esté imprimez depuis que l’on a commencé à chanter à plusieurs parties.”58 In

“Modèles choréographiques dans les grands et petits motets français,” Montagnier elaborates upon the fact that psalm text predated music, which might indicate that musical rhythm is directly related to textual rhythm.

Although Montagnier has already explored the political implications of the psalm texts in depth explaining, “the singing of psalms in the Chapelle Royale was often no more than a laudatory metaphor to the glory of His Majesty,” it is worth considering music and text within the context of dance rhythms. In his study of choreographic models and the motet, Montagnier notes that dance rhythms in triple meter appear to exert some influence on the composition of the grands and petits motets, perhaps because of the symbolic meanings of both the dances in courtly life and the motets in the religious services.59 However, it is not solely traces of the triple-meter dances that appear in the music of the seventeenth century grands motets: the motets constantly

57 “Vaudeville and Chanson, … Motet or Fantasie, and the third genre is comprised of all sorts of dance tunes.” See Marin Mersenne, “Traitez de la voix et des chants,” Harmonie universelle, Paris: Sébastian Cramoisy, 1636; facs. Paris: CNRS, 1975, vol. 2, 95. 58 “One can see the song [manuscript] of each of the Motets that have been printed since the dawn of polyphonic singing,” Ibid., 96. 59 “… le chant des psaumes en la Chapelle Royale n’etait souvent qu’une metaphore louangeuse a la gloire de Sa Majeste.” See Jean-Paul C. Montagnier, “Chanter Dieu,” 217. O’Brien 25 change meter, often in accordance with changes of text, and one can see influences of the suite de bal, the uninterrupted sequence of music played at the ceremonial bal de cour and which incorporated a variety of dances such as the allemande, the branles, the minuet, and the gavotte.60

At the lavish Palace of Versailles, the French grand motet quickly became Louis XIV’s preferred genre of religious music, holding a significant position throughout the theatrical and spectacular grand siècle. The grand motet as a genre is very different from the motets of the

Middle Ages, but it is worth mentioning its long history and briefly tracing its medieval roots.

The motet, a word derived from the Latin m!tus meaning ‘motion’,61 originated in France during the thirteenth century as a liturgical trope. According to Grove Music Online, “the medieval motet was a polyphonic composition in which the fundamental voice (tenor) was usually arranged in a pattern of reiterated rhythmic configurations, while the upper voice or voices …, nearly always with different Lain or French texts, … moved at a faster rate.” Often, these additional texts were secular in nature, coming from well-known French poems. Consequently, since its establishment, the genre integrated both sacred and secular elements.

While the grands motets bear little resemblance to the early thirteenth century motets, bar their use of Latin text, they, too, combine elements of the sacred and the secular. By incorporating the more theatrical elements of French spectacle and concertato elements inherited from Italian music, the grand motet became the archetypal and defining genre of the Versailles style, the “ne plus ultra of French Baroque religious music.”62 When compared to earlier

Franco-Flemish influenced music, which was said to be conservative in nature, the mid and late

60 Montagnier cites P.M. Ranum as saying that the dance characters of song “sont liés aux paroles (are linked to the words).” See Montagnier, “Modèles choréographiques,” 152. 61 The word motet undoubtedly refers to the increased rhythmic activity of the upper voices, although such heightened motion was also seen in discant sections, which were notated in modal rhythm. Because the motet as a genre first developed in France, it is possible that the word also refers to the addition of text, as the French word mot, derived from the Latin muttum, means word. 62 Anthony, French Baroque Music, 25. O’Brien 26 seventeenth-century French grands motets, with their roots in Henri Du Mont’s motets à double choeur, extend and elaborate upon preexisting conventions: they epitomize Versailles style and are lengthier and musically more interesting than their forerunners, with both richer harmonic language and more varied textures. The motet Versaillais, which reached its apex as a genre under the talent of Michel-Richard de Lalande, is characterized by unprecedented length (Lully’s

Te Deum, for instance, has over 1200 bars) and a sectional structure that incorporates the alternation of a grand choeur with a petit choeur comprised of (at least four) soloists. As a grandiose genre, the grand motet “took on the aspects of a sacred concert right from its inception,”63 lacking the liturgical significance of the first medieval motets, and serving more as a way of signifying the grandeur associated with Versailles and the king’s image.

During the low Mass the king attended daily, music played the role of parading the opulence and prestige of the French court: music and secular elements of spectacle were at least equally as important, if not more important than, the actual religious service itself. According to

Anthony, “The format of the low Mass gave [Louis XIV] a chance to hear at least one grand motet,”64 although it is uncertain if these were performed each day. In the preface to his Cantica pro Capella Regis, a collection of his original motet texts used at the Chapelle Royale, Abbé

Pierre Perrin has described the use of grands motets as follows:

For the King’s Mass, there are ordinarily three [motets] sung: a grand, a petit for the Elevation, and a Domine salvum fac Regem.65 I have made the grands long enough, so that they can last a quarter of an hour … and occupy the beginning of the Mass up to the Elevation. Those of the Elevation are smaller and can last up to the Post-Communion where the Domine begins.66

63 Ibid., French Baroque Music, 247. 64 Ibid., 217. 65 Lord save the King. 66 As quoted from Pierre Perrin’s Cantica pro Capella Regis in Anthony, French Baroque Music, 217. O’Brien 27

Evidently, the grand motet did not have a fixed chronological position in the musically elaborate low Mass, but rather, served as a means decorating the liturgical service. Instead of serving a liturgical purpose, the grand motet served as a private concert sacré for the king: it would be sung and played by the Chapelle musicians, all of whom would be seated directly across from the king, while the celebrant spoke the low Mass from the altar, located in the nave, below the king. The positions of the celebrant on the ground level of the chapel (the same level as all the other courtiers) and the king, above the altar facing the musicians, indicates that the music was, above all, intended specifically for Louis XIV and his personal pleasure.

Because those who composed grand motets were personally by Louis XIV, they often incorporated laudatory text, drawn from psalms, as a means blurring the boundaries of sacred and secular. And although most probably not a conscious effort on the parts of the composers, the grands motets incorporate elements of dance. Because the grands motets were written expressly to suit the king’s aesthetics and soon became the monarch’s favorite genre of religious music, the composers under his patronage would have made every possible effort to please their employer, the all-powerful Louis XIV. Furthermore, given the king’s vested interest in dance, and given that the composers were chosen to work for the Chapelle Royale by the king himself, it is plausible that the simultaneity of dance elements within the religious grand motet functioned as an additional way of revering the Sun King.

Musicians of the Chapelle Royale

Until Louis XIV initiated reforms of the musical structure of the Royal Chapel, the institution was “a stronghold of musical conservatism,”67 reflecting the relatively unchanged state of music in France since the times of François I. The Chapelle Royale that Louis XIV

67 Anthony, French Baroque Music, 24. O’Brien 28 inherited consisted of a relatively small number of musicians, one of the reasons why French religious music prior to the his reign lacked the lavishness and theatrical opulence that came to characterize the late seventeenth century. According to Guillaume de Peyrat, in 1645, the Royal

Chapel musicians included “two sous-maîtres, six boy sopranos, a first cornettist [cornet ordinaire], another cornettist, two falsettists [dessus mués], eight basses, eight tenors, eight hautes-contres, eight chaplains, four chapel clerks, and two grammar instructors for the children,”68 and would have lacked the numbers to perform more elaborate and challenging musical compositions, such as the grands motets.

By the time Louis XIV had established his court at the Palace of Versailles, Europe’s most powerful monarch had made numerous reforms to the musical institution of the Royal

Chapel. In 1708, according to the État de la France, the Chapelle Royale’s musical forces included “eleven sopranos, eighteen hautes-contres, twenty-three tenors, twenty-four baritones, and fourteen basses,”69 over double those of sixty years prior. According to James R. Anthony, instrumentalists, symphonists or concertants, did not become regular members of the musical ensembles until the 1660s, when the grand motet as a genre was introduced.70 It is also around this time that Louis XIV began formulating his plans to expand Versailles. Clearly, music played an important function in the royal chapel of Louis XIV. Like his predecessors, the Sun

King had the most talented musicians known to him at his disposal. The following section will explore the sacred music of two of the most famous court musicians, Jean-Baptiste Lully and

Michel-Richard de Lalande, as well as the prolific, talented, and highly esteemed composer,

68 As quoted in Anthony, French Baroque Music, 24. 69 Ibid., 25. 70 By 1666, the Chapelle Royale’s repertory included 31 of Henri Du Mont’s grands motets, which were considered the first of the genre. See James R. Anthony, “Motet.” in Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.lp.hscl.ufl.edu/subscriber/article/grove/music/40086pg3 (accessed April 9, 2012). O’Brien 29

Marc-Antoine Charpentier, who maintained ties with, but never worked directly for, the French court.

Jean-Baptiste Lully

Today, Jean-Baptiste Lully is often regarded as the preeminent composer of Louis XIV’s court. As a result, his place in history overshadows that of his contemporaries. Although Louis

XIV and Lully had a special rapport with one another, and Lully was granted the esteemed position of surintendant de la musique de la chambre du roi in 1661, in terms of his sacred music, Lully’s output paled in comparison to Lalande or Charpentier. Known more for his theatrical works, such as his operas and ballets, Lully’s status as a composer of sacred music is not always considered. Nevertheless, as William Powell Cole notes in his dissertation, Lully composed approximately twenty-four motets in his lifetime, and “writing motets occupied a significant position in [his] creative activity for some twenty years.”71 Although by numbers, his output of grands motets was much less significant than the other composers discussed in this paper, given his stature as a composer, his proximity to Louis XIV, and the popularity and quality of his music in general, Lully’s contributions to the genre ought not to be overlooked.

In “The Motets of Jean-Baptiste Lully,” Cole discusses the rhythmic settings of Lully’s motets, among other formal aspects. According to Cole, “Lully does not stress standard dance rhythms in his motet writing [but] he does show a fondness for some characteristics of the allemande and the sarabande,”72 evidently as a means of establishing affective contrast. Once again, this shows that while the dances in their pure forms are not necessarily present in the grands motets, the implications of dance rhythms and forms can be seen throughout.

71 William Powell Cole, “The Motets of Jean-Baptiste Lully,” Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan (1967). 72 Cole, 163. O’Brien 30

The allemande, a dance of German origin,73 would have been known in France as early as the 16th century, when evidence of its existence appears in Arbeau’s Orchésographie of 1588.

Presumably, it would have been one of the many couple dances, or danses à deux, performed during the second half of the bal de cour, when couples danced in descending rank order.

Although originally a duple-meter dance, in France, the allemande was often modified, as increased ornamentation and rhythmic variety were added.

The Symphonie that begins Lully’s Exaudiat te Dominus, which draws its text from

Psalm 19, is an example of allemande-inspired rhythm, although it does not strictly follow the model of an allemande, as shown in Example 2. The highly regular metric pattern of this symphonic opening for violins, violas, and continuo displays dance-like features. For instance, each instrument’s entrance is anacrusis, showing similarities to the allemande, which also often began with a pickup (compare Examples 1 and 2). The same rhythmic pattern is used in each voice, but the staggered entrances create an imitative effect, even though the prevailing texture is homophonic, another characteristic of the allemande. Furthermore, it is striking that the opening section exhibits allemande qualities, and this may be suggestive of the dance’s German influence. According to Grove Music Online, “Early 17th-century composers such as H.L.

Hassler, Melchior Franck and Schedit used the allemande to open a set of dances;”74 it would appear that Lully incorporated this rhythm for the same effect. The dotted rhythm, which is also seen in Example 2, provides energy, glory, and suggests a dance-like quality. Significantly, the rhythmic pattern continues with the entrance of the soprano solo, showing a correspondence between text setting and dance rhythm.

73 In French, the word “allemande” is the feminine form of the adjective meaning “German.” The use of the feminine form would imply that it modifies the feminine noun la danse. 74 Meredith Ellis Little and Suzanne G. Cusick, “Allemande,” in Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/00613 (accessed April 9, 2012). O’Brien 31

Example 1: Lully, Symphonie, “Exaudiat te Dominus,” mm 1-8

Example 2: J. Pachelbel, Allemande from Sonata for 2 violins and continuo

Example 3: Lully, Soprano Solo, “Exaudiat te Dominus,” mm 14-15

O’Brien 32

Rhythmically, the soprano solo shown in Example 3 is identical to the second violin and second viola, entering at the pickup to beat three. Musical rhythm and text rhythm correspond to one another. Just as the music starts on a weak beat, as well as the weak portion of the beat, the first syllable of the text is unstressed. The strong syllabic beats line up exactly with the strong musical beats in the Latin Exaudiat, exaudiat te dominus.75 Furthermore, the longest syllable of the word exaudiat also receives a longer rhythmic value, demonstrating Lully’s awareness of text and his conscious awareness of text declamation. This pattern of relating music and text rhythmically continues throughout the piece; each time the word exaudiat enters in the same manner with the longest rhythmic value on the second syllable.

Homophony dominates the final verse of Psalm text, “Domine, salvum fac regem, et exaudi nos in die qua invocaverimus te,”76 as soloists join the choir to sing to the king’s well being and salvation. Once again, the dotted rhythm presents itself, reminiscent of the allemande rhythm (compare Examples 2 and 4). Although this time the pattern begins on the beat, the syllabic stress continues to align with the musical rhythm. This verse, which appears immediately following a very spirited and active section of music, marks a change in terms of texture, rhythm, and key. Shifting to a minor mode creates a sense of contrast, a quality that characterized the dance suites of the bal de cour.

75 May the Lord hear you. 76 Lord, save our king, and hear us on the day when we will call upon you. O’Brien 33

Example 4: Lully, “Exaudiat te dominus,” p. 29 mm 3-5

The motet concludes with a more energetic and spirited setting of the lesser doxology,“Gloria patri.” This serves as a means of integrating the Psalm text into the Christian faith and liturgical ceremony, but may also relate directly to Louis XIV, who was commonly associated with the Son of God, Christ. The first half of the lesser doxology, “Gloria patri et filio et spiritu sancto,”77 is set syllabically and monophonically. As elsewhere, the dotted rhythm corresponds to text declamation, as stressed syllables and stressed beats align with one another.

The dotted rhythm in triple meter that contrasts with straight triple meter is reminiscent of the menuet, a stately yet relaxed French dance in triple meter (compare Examples 5 and 6).

77 Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. O’Brien 34

Example 5: Lully, Gloria section, Exaudiat te dominus, p. 33, mm 1-4

Example 6: Lully, Entr’actes d’Oedipe (1664), Menuet des Thébains

A popular social dance, the menuet would have appeared frequently at the court of Louis

XIV during the bal de cour. This excerpt also bears a striking resemblance to the branle double de Poitu (see Example 7), a Renaissance dance, which, according to Grove Music Online, was believed to be the predecessor of the menuet.78 Perhaps, apart from serving to set the text in a

78 Although in her Grove Music Online article, Meredith Ellis Little states that “Praetorious is now thought to have erred in claiming [the minuet] to be a descendent of the branle de Poitou,” and that “there is virtually no point of resemblance between the two dances.” However, the article also cites an instrumental minuet by Lully (the “Menuet des Thébains” from his 1664 opera Oedipe) that bears striking rhythmic similarity to the branle de Poitou, perhaps suggesting that there is some connection between the two dances, albeit if only a rhythmic one. Both the minuet and the branle de Poitou are in triple meter, and in the example given of Lully’s minuet, the rhythmic pattern corresponds to that of the branle de Poitou. See Meredith Ellis Little, “Minuet,” in Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/18751 (accessed March 27, 2012). O’Brien 35 way that is natural, Lully’s deliberate decision to set this particular text in triple meter is an indication of the triple manifestation of God: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy

Spirit. Furthermore, it may also be a means of showing the triple representation of Louis XIV:

Divinely inspired King of France and descendent of Saint Louis, model of piety, and model warrior of France.

Example 7: Claude Gervaise, Bransle gay i, Cinquièsme livre de danceries

Michel-Richard de Lalande

As the leading and master composer of the French grand motet during his lifetime,

Lalande composed approximately 75 works of the genre, and was celebrated for his compositional talent both during and after his life. Prior to the concours de sous-maître of 1683,

Lalande worked as an organist in Paris. Although he had met with the king once before, seeking employment as the organiste du roi in 1678, according to Grove Music Online, “Louis XIV thought [Lalande] too young to be appointed” to this important position.79 The king had a change of opinion when, upon making his talent as a composer known, Lalande entered the security of royal patronage and was named one of the four sous-maîtres de la musique.

Subsequently, in 1689, Lalande became “surintendant de la musique de la chambre, the most coveted musical post at court,”80 at the age of 31.

79 James R. Anthony and Lionel Sawkins, “Lalande, Michel-Richard de,” in Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/15860 (accessed May 3, 2011). 80 Ibid. O’Brien 36

According to Lionel Sawkins, who has devoted his life to cataloguing and studying the works of Lalande, his compositional style represents a fusion of Italianate and French musical idioms. By “1690 … Lalande was already exploring the use of Italian idioms,” such as motivic transformation and development within a single motet.81 Lalande became the model composer of music in the ‘Versailles style,’ the archetypically French compositional style that infused theatrical elements, and, above all, paid homage to the king. As a result, while certain elements of his grands motets undoubtedly reflect an Italian influence,82 other elements show an extension of widely accepted French aesthetic models, such as traces of dance.

As Jean-Paul C. Montagnier has illustrated, Lalande’s setting of Domine salvum fac

Regem,83 text from the last verse of Psalm 19, which appears in the Philidor atelier, F-V, M.M.

18, is similar to the branle de Poitou, due to its triple meter and consistent dotted rhythm

(compare Examples 7 and 8).

81 According to Sawkins, the orchestral introductions and interludes found in Lalande’s grands motets is an Italianate feature, reminiscent of Italian opera, but it is worth mentioning that the use of orchestral solos and ritournelle passages was not isolated to Lalande. In fact, in Henri Du Mont’s motets à double choeur, which entered the repertory of the Chapelle Royale in 1666, served as the basis of the grands motets and predated the music of Lalande, one sees the inclusion of orchestral introductions and interludes. Neither is the use of motives strictly an invention of Lalande. Although one of his later motets à double choeur, DuMont’s 1686 Confitebimur tibi Deus, whose text comes from Psalm 74, features both rhythmic and melodic motives or patterns that occur throughout the piece. At this point in time, Lalande would have just been starting as a court composer; to say that changing material at a text change was a “new approach” on the part of Lalande, brought about by Italianate influence, is perhaps to simplify the situation, as Du Mont shows the same technique, although to a lesser degree than Lalande. Although Lalande’s grands motets certainly brought something new to the genre, to claim his approaches as entirely new is rather bold, and it is perhaps best to consider Lalande’s innovations as a manifestation formal expansion and development of preexisting forms. One of the examples Sawkins mentions as having an Italianate influence is Lalande’s La Grande Pièce royale S161. He says that this bears a striking resemblance to the Giga from Corelli’s Sonata da Camera a trè, op. 2, no. 6. Indeed, Lalande’s composition appears to exhibit common rhythmic characteristics with Corelli’s. The Giga of Corelli’s Sonata is the Italian derivative of the French Gigue, which has its roots in the British Isles. While Lalande was probably familiar with Corelli’s trio sonatas, it would not be surprising if he had composed his instrumental gigue independently of Corelli’s. Undoubtedly, the more theatrical and spectacular elements of Italian Baroque music had an effect on Lalande’s compositional style, and helped transform the grand motet into a very theatrical and spectacular genre of music. See Lionel Sawkins, “Exotic nectar transformed: the grands motets of Lalande’s maturity,” Early Music, Vol. 35, Number 4 (2007): 559. 82 Sawkins mentions the influence that Corelli extended upon French musicians of this time, and that Italian music was in vogue in France, perhaps because of the elements of exoticism and ‘otherness.’ See Sawkins, “Exotic nectar.” 83 Lord save our king. O’Brien 37

Example 8: Lalande, “Domine salvum fac Regem,” in Motets, F-V, M.M. 18, p. 172, mm 1-5

This section in triple meter features a regular rhythmic pattern that directly corresponds to the text stress according to linguists.84 In other words, the implicit textual rhythm is the same as that which Lalande chose for his music. However, rather than contradicting or negating the hypothesis that dance rhythms appear in the grands motets, this might suggest an inherent correspondence between dance rhythms and prosaic text rhythms, which would explain Marin

Mersenne’s application of Greek poetic scansion to dance forms.

Other grands motets by Lalande also exemplify certain dance-inspired qualities, but in a less direct way. For example, in his 1689 grand motet that incorporates the text of Psalm 130,

Domine, non est exaltatum cor meum (S. 28),85 Lalande incorporates metric changes almost immediately, a testament to the Baroque aesthetic of contrast, which was also a defining characteristic of the bal de cour. Whereas the introductory Symphonie is in duple meter, the first trio of vocalists enters with a passage in a triple meter. Interestingly, the trio does not seem to follow any one dance form in particular: the dotted rhythm that appears throughout is not suggestive of one isolated dance, but rather of the influence of dance rhythms on the grand motet as a whole, and therefore, demonstrates the extent to which dance aesthetic permeated the musical trends of seventeenth century France.

84 As according to P. M. Ranum, as cited in Montagnier, “Modèles choréographiques,” 150. 85 Lord, my heart is not exalted. O’Brien 38

Example 9: Lalande, “Domine, non est exaltatum cor meum (S. 28),” mm 19-25

The texture of this example is primarily homophonic, with a few alterations and embellishments in the tenor part. Although no specific triple meter dance exhibits these particular rhythmic characteristics, Example 8 suggests that elements of various dances seem to have influenced the rhythm. For example, there are four repeated rhythmic patterns, but the irregularity of their repetitions says nothing in regards to dance type. Upon examining the correspondence between the textual rhythm and the musical rhythm, it becomes clear that the two seem at odds with one another, in constrast with the rhythmic setting of “Domine salvum fac

Regem.” In fact, were the passage to be barred in a duple or quadruple meter, the strong beats of musical and textual rhythm would seem to match more closely. Whereas the downbeat of a triple meter pattern falls on beat one, the textual downbeat seems to fall on beat two. The word

“domine,” for instance, has a stressed first syllable, lining up with the second beat of the measure. It is not until the word “exaltatum” that the music and text align rhythmically.

Because beat two is stressed, particularly in measures 19 and 20, this may suggest the influence of a sarabande rhythm.

Of course, as James Dunn has noted, “it is not necessary to assume in each case that the composer was making a conscious reference to a specific dance, but only to recognize that dance O’Brien 39 rhythms were undoubtedly directly or indirectly utilized.”86 This particular passage may be an instance where Lalande did not make a conscious choice to employ dancelike rhythms, but rather, subconsciously incorporated his awareness of dance rhythms in his innovative

Marc-Antoine Charpentier

The least known of the three composers mentioned, Marc-Antoine Charpentier was never employed at the French court. In spite of this, he was a prolific and respected composer in his own lifetime whose talents “won him important posts in Paris and considerable renown” during the late 1670s,87 when his professional positions included composing music for both Louis XIV’s son, le Dauphin, and Molière’s theatrical troupe, the Troupe du Roy, later renamed la Comédie française. During the 1683 competition, Charpentier, Lully’s primary rival, was considered among favorites to win the post of sous-maître de la musique. Unfortunately for Charpentier, although “one of 16 who survived the first round of 35 competitors,”88 he was forced to withdraw from the competition due to illness. In spite of this, Charpentier received a pension from Louis

XIV, showing his obvious talent and amicable relationship with the king.

Given Charpentier’s close and favorable relationship with Louis XIV, images of royal symbolism are surely present in his music. Because his music was never intended for performance at the Versailles Chapelle Royale, but rather at the church of Saint-Louis in Paris, the symbolism in Charpentier’s music may be than in that of Lully or de Lalande. Among his abundant output, Charpentier left over 200 motets and at least 60 grands motets, placing him as one of the foremost composers of this genre. The following section will incorporate an analysis

86 As quoted in Montagnier, “Modèles choréographiques,” 156. 87 H. Wiley Hitchcock, “Charpentier, Marc-Antoine,” in Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/05471 (accessed May 3, 2011). 88 Hitchcock. O’Brien 40 of two of Charpentier’s grands motets: Exaudiat te Dominus (H. 162) and In honorem sancti xaverii canticum (H. 355).

Charpentier’s setting of Psalm 19, Exaudiat te Dominus, scored for two choirs of four voices each, violins, flutes, and organ, begins with a Prelude in duple meter. The opening motive starts on a weak beat and incorporates a variety of rhythmic and musical figures, including dotted rhythm, eighth notes, and suspensions.

Example 10: Charpentier, “Exaudiat te Dominus,” mm 1-11

As is evident in Example 10, the various instrumental parts enter in inexact imitation of one another. The first measure appears to serve as the rhythmic genesis of the entire symphonic opening, establishing a dotted rhythmic motive, as a dotted quarter note often appears on the second half of the measure. Throughout the instrumental introduction, this dotted quarter note pattern remains relatively consistent, although there are a few measures where it is absent, such as in measures 7 and 8. Perhaps this rhythmic pattern, although mostly regular, points to the omnipresence of dance in seventeenth century France rather than to any particular dance form. O’Brien 41

The opening motive recurs with the soprano soloist’s entrance at measure 58, although there is a metric change. The dotted rhythm becomes more prevalent throughout, but remains relatively regular. Such regularity might be an indication of the influence of dance on music, in an abstract, aesthetic rather than concrete, functional sense. It is important to acknowledge that the text is set in a way that parallels the music, or vice versa. On the word “exaudiat,” the long syllable, the second syllable, corresponds to the note with the longer rhythmic value, rendering the text declamation more natural, just as spoken Latin.

Other rhythmic motives occur frequently with a regularity that is likewise indicative of dance forms. The highly regular and repetitious rhythmic pattern in Example 11 bears more similarity to a typical dance rhythm than does that of Example 10.

Example 11: Charpentier, “Exaudiat te Dominus,” p. 12, mm 9-12

This rhythm in triple meter references the branle du Poitou (see Example 7), with a homophonic texture, and a dotted first note that appears on the beat. Strikingly, the text again fits the rhythm perfectly. The word impleat receives stress on the first syllable, both in spoken O’Brien 42

Latin and in Charpentier’s musical setting, showing Charpentier’s awareness of text declamation.

In such an example, the natural speech rhythm corresponds not only with the text setting, but also with one of the dance rhythms. This is something that Montagnier has noted, stating that triple meter allows for the greatest rhythmic flexibility, and that with a preexisting knowledge of the text, composers such as Charpentier were able to deliberately choose a rhythm that would allow for precise text declamation, following the rules of spoken Latin.

Another example resembling the branle de Poitou occurs in Charpentier’s In honorem sancti xaverii canticum (compare Examples 7 and 12). Here, following an abrupt shift to triple meter, the soprano and alto soloists sing a duet on the text “populi sedentes in tenebris, habitantes in umbra mortis, accedite ad eum et illuminami et erudimini.”89

Example 12: Charpentier, “In honorem sancti xaverii canticum” (H. 355), mm 88-93

89 People sitting in darkness, dwelling in the shadow of death, come to Him, be enlightened and instructed. O’Brien 43

The two soloists enter in imitation of each other and conclude the phrase homphonically, perhaps as a symbol of the ‘people sitting in darkness’. It is important to remember that during the bal du cour the branles would have commenced with the king, so a reference to the branle dance form is clearly a means of acknowledging Louis XIV’s supremacy as the dancer king.

Furthermore, the text to which this rhythm is ascribed creates a sense of ambiguity. While He clearly refers to God, the pronoun could also refer to King Louis XIV, the bearer of knowledge, wisdom, and absolute authority over the realm of France to whom the people come for advice.

Even though Charpentier never served the court of Versailles, and therefore never composed for the Chapelle Royale, his more subtle inclusion of monarchical adulation and potentially dance rhythms and motives in his grands motets shows the magnitude to which Louis

XIV was venerated throughout the French realm. As the music of Charpentier demonstrates, outside of Versailles and removed from the direct presence of the Sun King, the Catholic Church of France sang to honor Louis XIV. Just as the sun that covers the entirety of France simultaneously, Louis XIV’s authority extended throughout France, even to areas where he was not immediately present.

Conclusion

In many cases it is impossible to determine if a composer had a particular dance in mind when writing a grand motet. However, as a result of the apparent correspondences among dance, text, and music, the omnipresence and significant social role of dance in seventeenth century

France is indisputable. As an art form given preferential treatment and sponsorship by the king himself, dance was a personal endeavor for Louis XIV, and one that he took seriously. Given the king’s natural talent for dance, particularly in the ballets de cour in which he often played the lead role, it is logical that any public representation of dance served to glorify the king and his O’Brien 44 abilities as a master dancer. Moreover, dance at the court of Louis XIV served a moral purpose: it helped establish courtly decorum, poise, and rules of etiquette, all of which were of utmost importance in a society that valued hierarchical rank based on appearance.

A ruler who sought to control all aspects of his realm, the Sun King exerted an influence on the arts that reflected his preference for the grandiloquent spectacle, which has come to be associated with Louis XIV’s shortsighted and lavish expenditures that ultimately ran the French monarchy into debt. In fashioning the entire Palace of Versailles as the ultimate venue of spectacle and the cérémonial, Louis XIV and his team of architects, artists, and musicians created an artificial environment of security, in which every aspect served to glorify the central presence of the monarch. From the design of the palace itself, to the decorations, to the numerous expansions and additions of various architectural features, the Palace of Versailles was a safe haven and a microcosmic world in which the king could hold court.

To historians today, the symbolic implications of music, dance, and Versailles itself are clear: they served as a vehicle of self-aggrandizement for Louis XIV. Moreover, the importance of dance as a national and cultural pastime is also apparent. Louis XIV blurred the lines between secular and sacred, incorporating secular dance and theatrical elements into the religious service and ensuring that every aspect of Versailles projected the splendor of the monarch and of his kingdom. The inherent link between dance and musical rhythms in sacred texted music, never intended to be danced to, is parallel to that between dance rhythms and sacred textual rhythms.

This brief study is incomplete, and further scholarship would be required to answer many remaining questions. For instance, is there a stronger connection between religious music composed under royal patronage (such as the music of Lully and Lalande) and dance elements versus that composed for other religious institutions (such as the music of Charpentier)? Is there O’Brien 45 a connection between the Latin text of seventeenth century religious music and dance forms?

And are dance elements present in other forms of religious music of the era, not solely the grands motets or petits motets?

Further scholarship that addresses the aforementioned questions will aid in a better understanding of the fluid and simultaneous nature of sacred and secular, and the extent to which

Louis XIV’s attendance at the concerts spirituels was self-serving. Although it is difficult, if not impossible, to acquire the subconscious and innate awareness of dance idioms that pervaded seventeenth century French society, it is important to explore the fundamental role that dance exerted on music as a political device in the Age of Absolutism, both explicitly and implicitly.

O’Brien 46

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