Dance Rhythms in Mozart's AriasAuthor(s): Wye J. Allanbrook and Wendy HiltonSource: Early Music, Vol. 20, No. 1, Performing Mozart's Music II (Feb., 1992), pp. 142-149Published by: Oxford University PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3127676 .Accessed: 03/02/2011 09:29

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which starts alla breve and prestissimo ends up in 2/4 and only allegro assai.

To realize Mozart's tempo indications as accurately as possible in all their subtlety therefore requires both a knowledge of 18th-century tempo conventions and a careful examination of every element of the musical structure. This is one of the performer's most chal- lenging and stimulating tasks. Upon his or her success depends the listener's perception of that particular

organization of time that is at the heart of Mozart's crea- tive act.

Jean-Pierre Marty, composer, conductor and pianist, is the Director of the American Conservatory in Fontainebleau. He has been working on the question of Mozart's tempo indications since 1966, and has published The Tempo Indications of Mozart (Yale University Press, 1988).

Wye J. Allanbrook and Wendy Hilton

Dance rhythms in Mozart's arias

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Mozart and the dance WYE J. ALLANBROOK

Music written for the dance is a familiar presence in the music of the high Baroque. The rhythms of social dance saturate French opera, for example, and the dance suites and partitas of the late 17th and early 18th centuries. Mat- theson's exhaustive discussions of particular dances and their affects, Kirnberger's exhortation to composers and

performers to use the social dance forms as a textbook for the study of rhythm and character in music'-these texts and others like them are part of our standard ana- lytical equipment, and seem no more out of the way to us than those writers' instructions in thoroughbass and counterpoint. Hence we scarcely raise an eyebrow at analyses that seek to set the more 'abstract' music of the period in a dance framework: to identify a Bach fugue

142 EARLY MUSIC FEBRUARY 1992

subject as a bourr&e, for example, or a Handel aria as a sarabande seems fully legitimate.

But as the 18th century moves toward its end, our per- spective suffers an abrupt change: we are reluctant to speak of dance patterns as animating the music of Mozart; what seemed nobly expressive in Baroque music suddenly appears mundane, and a needless contracting of his expressive horizon. This reluctance does entail a certain disregard for the evidence. We know from Con- stanze Mozart, for example, via the memoirs of the tenor Michael Kelly, that Mozart loved to dance, and that he often said that 'his talent lay in that art rather than in music'.' We know that Mozart wrote dance music all through his life, most intensely toward its end, when, in his capacity as Royal Imperial Chamber Composer, he composed for the ballrooms of the Viennese many rich sets of minuets, contredanses and German dances. (The last two types, the dances of the hour, had eclipsed the stern hierarchy of the French court couple dances, and were performed on social occasions along with the more genteel minuet, which remained an important pres- ence.) We know that a movement called 'minuet' con- ventionally graced most symphonies and chamber works, and that the last movements of these same works frequently took their quick comic grace from the con- tredanse in its 2/4 version (although this has not helped us to recognize that this habitual employment in 'seri- ous' music of the popular dances then danced in the dance halls made the symphony into a kind of analogue to the Baroque dance suite). Finally, if we look closely we see scattered throughout Mozart's works unmistakable rhythmic references to dances old and dances newly popular, to dances he enjoyed performing in daily life and those old-fashioned ones the sense for which he had absorbed from his classical Kapellmeister training. So the evidence is that dance had as lively a presence in Classic music as it had had in the Baroque; the old ways had just changed with the times, and taken on new manifestations. Nevertheless, something stills our fac- ulty for comparison here: I suspect it is the notion, inherited from our 19th-century predecessors, of the limpid purity of Mozart's music, the notion of a Mozart who, while childlike, nevertheless kept his eye on the otherwordly and the absolute.

I must immediately confess that in this litany of our failings I am setting up something of a straw man. Things are changing rapidly in Mozart analysis; writers are coming more and more to accept-indeed embrace-a Mozart whose music was grounded in the then and there, in the ways of the world he inhabited. I

am sure that we all have changes we would hope, either overtly or covertly, to see come about from this bicen- tennial second look at Mozart's music. My hope-one that I have hardly kept covert-is that our notion of the 'absolute' Mozart may finally disappear and the Mozart who used his music as a mirror to catch glints of the many-faceted world around him may take its place. For I think that this is not to demean but to celebrate a man who had an intense love for the social pleasures of his life, and whose music would have had far less animation if it had been cut off from them. More materially, if we ourselves come to understand more about the living sources of this animation, our performances can only become more directed, more lively and more illuminating.

Turning to vocal music specifically, in the mid-18th century the critical tide was turning against the intrusion in opera of the old-fashioned divertissements that con- sisted of a succession of social dances with little or no connection to the plot. It was now good taste to require more dramatic dances, which emphasized the virtuoso dancer and bore an explicit link to the plot. By the 1760s dance was beginning to separate from opera as a serious art in its own right; witness the popularity of the pan- tomime ballets of Noverre and Angiolini, with their attempts to be directly mimetic of the action (as if such a thing were ever fully possible without some mediation of conventional gesture). In Mozart's operas, however, social dance did not disappear; it went, so to speak, underground, to become part of the musical material of the arias and ensembles of his mature operas. And it was not divorced from expression, as were the social dances interspersed with the action in the tragddie lyrique. For the patterns of social dance were in themselves, as Mat- theson stressed, bearers of affect; written to accompany dances performed on social occasions, they mirrored the social and affective hierarchy.

Although I will forbear mentioning every dance pat- tern that found its way into Mozart's music, a quick view of a spectrum of dances from slow to fast would start with the austere triple pattern of the sarabande, all restraint and Spanish hauteur. In the middle would stand the quicker, evenly accented triple of the com- plaisant minuet, which in its noble congeniality became known as the 'Queen of all the

dances'. Quicker triple measures were often bound together into compound duple, or 6/8, where a duple beat on a higher level con- trolled the lower-level pulse of the lilting triple; the gigue in 6/4 (later 6/8), although a court dance, had strong rustic connotations, and habitually appeared in operas

EARLY MUSIC FEBRUARY 1992 143

as the metre of peasant choruses. The gigue had two sis- ters, slower versions of 6/8: the so-called pastorale, mod- erate-tempoed and legato,3 and the siciliano, slower than the pastorale, and typically in dotted rhythms; both had strong Arcadian associations. The gavotte, a moderate- tempoed dance in duple metre, also had a history of association with the pastoral mode, and with its com- panion, the amorous.4 The rhythmic pattern of its usual music is an inversion of the 'pedestrian' rhythmic pat- tern of the march, in which a simple i 1 2 3 4 1 becomes 3 4 1 1 2. It articulates a complex rhythmic arch across the bar-line to establish a coy beating rhythm that could be said to mirror the pastoral mode in its most artificial manifestations; the gavotte frequently comes with a musette bass, as for example, in the gavottes of Bach's English Suites. These and other dance rhythms would have been familiar to Mozart's audiences, as also would have been their affective connotations. They formed a powerful vocabulary of expression, which Mozart fre- quently employed to choreograph character in the arias and ensembles of his mature Italian operas.

We will illustrate this union of dance and character in Mozart's Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni by con-

sidering two of those dances-the minuet and the

gavotte-first as danced, and then as employed in vari- ous operatic contexts. We hope to give a sense for the dance patterns themselves, and then to show how the

understanding that grows from absorbing the gestures of these dances-internalizing them, as it were-can direct the singer to both a style of execution and a bear-

ing on stage; these patterns can be read as virtual 'stage directions'. We do not propose that the steps of the dances should be directly translated into the singer's motion; the dance rhythms in Mozart's arias were styl- ized, and it is the ethos of the dance gestures rather than the steps of a particular choreography that the singer must hope to absorb.

Dancing the minuet WENDY HILTON

The minuet and the gavotte survived, each in its own

way, during Mozart's lifetime. In the ballroom at least, they continued to be danced with some of the basic steps first described in early 18th-century dance publications beginning with Raoul Auger Feuillet's textbook on dance notation, Choregraphie, published in Paris in 1700.

The ballroom menuet ordinaire, which gained favour at the court of Louis XIV during the 166os and sub-

sequently throughout European artistocratic society, was described and notated by numerous dancing

masters. The most comprehensive accounts are found in books by four masters of different nationalities: Gott- fried Taubert, Rechtschaffener Tanz-Meister (Leipzig, 1717); Pierre Rameau, Le maitre a danser (Paris, 1725); Kellom Tomlinson, The Art of Dancing (London, 1735); and Gennaro Magri, Trattoro teorico-prattico di ballo (Naples, 1779).

While Taubert and Tomlinson seem to have made careers in their native countries, Rameau was dancing master at the Spanish court at the time his book was published. Magri was a highly skilled theatrical dancer who performed mostly in Naples and Venice, but in both 1759 and 1763/4 he was engaged at the Burgtheater in Vienna.

Given the long life and widespread popularity of the minuet it is to be expected that it was not danced in exactly the same way everywhere or at all times. But while the descriptions and notated scores of the dance show certain differences, the three basic essentials of the minuet remain the same: one pas de menuet equals two measures of 3/4 time (or one of 6/4, as the music is some- times written), the spatial figures follow each other in a prescribed order, and a good performance of the dance must be distinguished not merely by a good technique but through the fine air and carriage of the dancers.

The minuet was the epitome of the aristocratic danse '

deux, designed to be performed by one couple alone at a time in order of social precedence. Simpler technically and choreographically than the other popular Baroque danses a* deux, the bourrees, gavottes, sarabandes, gigues and so forth, the minuet is nevertheless far from easy. The better the dancer's technique the easier it appears, and the greatest difficulty in performing the minuet

impressively lies in its apparent simplicity. As Kellom Tomlinson expressed it: The minuet is one of the most graceful as well as difficult Dances to arrive at a Mastery of, through the Plainness of the Step and the Air and Address of the Body that are requisite to its Embellishment. In upper-class society, learning the minuet was con- sidered to be essential. Its study enabled young persons to develop the impressive yet unostentatious air which would distinguish them in society. No action in everyday formal life was left to chance, yet the ultimate aim was to

appear supremely natural. This ideal was expressed suc-

cinctly in The Spectator as: 'Good breeding shows itself most . . . where it appears the least.'5

The ideals of self-presentation as given by the dancing masters lay in an erect, yet never stiff, carriage of the head, a steady waist to keep the body upright and

144 EARLY MUSIC FEBRUARY 1992

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2 Before the ball, c.1780, copperplate engraving (Vienna, Archiv der Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde)

centred, and a complete lack of affectation at all times. In his account of the minuet Magri expresses the same

ideals as the earlier masters. He describes the minuet as a sustained dance, the technical execution of which requires 'ambitious feet' and a 'hidden control'. The dancers should maintain open, relaxed expressions, their mouths smiling slightly to express a certain cheer- fulness. The arms must move as though naturally, but above all the dancing must be distinguished by good taste, and a noble carriage and air.6

There were several basic pas de menuet. The one prob- ably used most frequently as the 18th century progressed was the pas de menuet a deux mouvements; that is a step- unit in which the knees are bent and stretched twice. Each stretching of the knees provides a rhythmic stress within the step-unit. Most characteristically the bends and stretches are distributed to provide a cross-rhythm between steps and music.

While Rameau, Taubert and Tomlinson, who all

wrote their accounts in the first half of the 18th century, provide diagrams of the minuet figures, Gennato Magri, writing in 1779, unfortunately relies on verbal descrip- tions, which makes his intentions difficult to understand at certain points. However, his descriptions of the steps are reasonably clear. He describes places where a foot touches the ground lightly, or slides along the floor when closing toward the other foot. So the steps are stylisti- cally different from those given by the earlier masters. Magri does not use the cross-rhythm between steps and music; instead the two bends and stretches are distri- buted so that an accent occurs on the first beat of each measure.

The minuet in Mozart's arias WYE J. ALLANBROOK

Let us now review a few of the many passages in Le nozze di Figaro that use minuet rhythms to dramatic purpose. One of the most notable is the first part of Figaro's aria

EARLY MUSIC FEBRUARY 1992 145

'Se vuol ballare' early in Act 1, where Figaro imagines a vivid social revenge against Count Almaviva for his cuckolding intentions (as revealed to Figaro by Susanna a moment before). The aria is in two parts, which in their ordering imitate current practice in the ball- room-first a taut and elegant minuet, in which Figaro darkly promises to 'teach the little Count how to dance', and then a quick 2/4 contredanse in which he enumer- ates the machines of revenge.

Another aria, one actually labelled Tempo di Menuetto, is Marcellina's important but rarely performed solo in Act 4 of Figaro, which opens in civil minuet rhythms as she sings of the civil mating habits of the beasts of the field. (This is in contradistinction to the second part of the aria, where in march-like duple rhythms she describes the crude behaviour that males of the human species exhibit toward their significant others.)

The ballroom scene in the Act i finale of Don Giovanni presents a microcosm of the social world of the opera in dance imagery-the clumsy peasant Teitsch or German dance stumbled through by Leporello and Masetto, the bourgeois contredanse assumed by the aristocratic seducer who betrays his rank, and the minuet danced by the maskers, the only true aristocrats in this ordered tur- moil. A minuet with the same rhythms as the Don Gio-

vanni minuet turns up at a crucial moment in Le nozze di Figaro, but not in this case as a mere identifier of social class. Instead it is inflected in order to transfer the gen- ealogical word 'noble' (as in 'noble-born') into the domain of moral character. It occurs at that telling moment when the Count, trapping the Countess, he suspects, in flagrante delicto with Cherubino and press- ing his advantage with ignoble bullying, opens the door to the Countess's closet to find not Cherubino but Sus- anna, who has cleverly managed the substitution in the nick of time. 'My lord,' she says simply, 'what is this bemusement? Take your sword; kill the page! That cursed page-see him here.' Molto andante, in 3/8 time, the strings play the unadorned accompaniment to a minuet that follows the rhythmic pattern of the Don Giovanni paradigm-a crotchet and four quavers per bar. There is no melody at first; the strings project instead the 'essence of minuet'. As Susanna gains strength from her triumph, her vocal line gradually takes on greater articulation and ornament. The moment is a

quintessential 'shock tutti' to use the vocabulary John Platoff has urged on us.7 Susanna is in complete control; she has taken the Count's aristocratic dance and made it her own. It is difficult not to leap to the conclusion that she is noble, and that he is not. The Susanna here must

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not be the pert servant girl we have sometimes witnessed in the opera, but fully graced, and gracious in her sar- casm, catching the gestures of the dance in her every movement and utterance. The dance's 100-year history of civility and decorum lies behind the meaning of this extraordinary moment; it is distilled into Susanna's car- riage. As she sings against the background of the rhythms of the 'Queen of all the dances', we are moved by her evident nobility, and assured of the propriety of her friendship with the gentle Countess.

Dancing the gavotte WENDY HILTON

We have some gavottes which were published in dance notation during the early 18th century. Some are ball- room dances for one couple; others are for the theatre, where there was a frequent use of the gavotte in rustic scenes. Many of the ballroom contredanses which became increasingly popular during the 18th century were also gavottes. Many of the most beautiful were those composed by Mozart.

In the gavotte, as in the minuet, there is an unusual relationship between the steps and the music, which begins on the half-bar. The shortest musical unit is 3 4 1 2 but the step-unit proceeds I 1 2 3 4 1. So the

step-units and musical units constantly overlap, until the half-cadence and cadence bars, where choreograph- ically a step-unit is used to resolve the conflict-if I may use so strong a word-and reach a momentary sense of resolution. Basic gavotte step-sequences consist of three step-units followed by a spring joining the feet together, called a pas assemblde. This step, which is commonly used to complete a phrase, is likened by Kellom Tomlinson to a full stop in writing. It is usually followed by a half-bar rest. The pas assembld is used in the gavotte to reflect the half-cadence or cadence measures. A typical gavotte step-sequence would consist of one contretemps de gavotte, a pas de bourree, another contretemps de gavotte and a pas assembled.

Sometimes a preliminary step-bend is used to reflect the two upbeats in the music. In more complex choreog- raphies the pas assemblds will be replaced by a step-unit (such as a pas coupd) which moves throughout the bar but reflects the cadence by being slower than the other step-units.

The gavotte in Mozart's arias WYE J. ALLANBROOK

There are some wonderful moments in Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni that use gavotte scansions.

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Leporello's foot march in 'Notte e giorno faticar' of Act 1i is momentarily metamorphosed into a gavotte when he thinks of that 'caro galantuomo' Don Giovanni inside making love to his 'bella'; the flirtatious rhythms strike just the right note of salon preciosity as the servant imi- tates aristocrats at play. The gavotte rhythms emerge in clear contrast to those of the 'footmarch' that opens the aria, and what might be called a 'cavalry charge' that fol- lows, horns and all, to reflect the military (and perhaps covertly the erotic) side of the aristocrat's pursuits.

Figaro inflects a gavotte after march rhythms to some- what the same effect in the beginning of his Act i hymn to Cherubino, 'Non pii andrai': after a martial con- tredanse in which he addresses the 'amorous butterfly', he grafts an erotic metaphor to the military as he describes the page's plumed cap and-here the mincing beat of the gavotte is especially appropriate-his 'blush- ing, womanly complexion'.

In Act 2 of Figaro the gavotte shapes one entire and very important section of its magnificent finale (bars 398ff.). First the Count, confronting Figaro with a piece of damning evidence, takes up the gavotte with a disin-

genuous innocence that barely masks his malevolent intent. By the end of this section (bars 441ff.) the co-

conspirators-the Countess, Susanna and Figaro-have

made the gavotte their own, turning it into a pastoral hymn set in full vocal splendour, and embellished with a musette bass; this pedal point rolls out like an organ note to ground and deepen the coy gavotte, whose innocence no longer seems a mask.

In all these instances it is crucial that the singer or singers be sensitized to the brief passage of gavotte scan- sion and project it clearly, otherwise the point is lost; often, as in the first two cases, the point is made by con- trast with another rhythm, here that of the march, and the differences must be projected clearly.

The gavotte appears in a more central role in the first part of Zerlina's aria 'Batti, batti, bel Masetto', near the end of Act 1 of Don Giovanni; this aria is her 'reseduc- tion' of Masetto after Elvira has given her a hard look at the dangers of trusting roving cavaliers. Guilty for having wanted to stray, but saved from the actual fall, she refuses to beg, but must cajole Masetto back. Her solu- tion is an arch parody of submission that is intensely sexual:

Beat, o beat, my fine Masetto, your poor Zerlina: I shall stand here like a little lamb awaiting your blows. I'll let you pull out my hair, I'll let you carve out my eyes; and then I'll be happy to kiss your dear little hands.

Her appeal is couched in a mixture of musical idioms,

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which must be, so to speak, deconstructed; it comes in two parts, the gavotte rhythms and the powerful under-

lay of a cello obbligato. Leaving aside the obbligato for a moment, we can focus on the force of the gavotte rhythms. The first line is a kind of lascivious pun: its plo- sive consonants are onomatopoetic, and the crisp beat-

ing effect of the dance rhythms carries the pun over into the music. To perform the aria deadpan, as a serious invitation to the action Zerlina is proposing, would be to render it grotesque. (This, however, is frequently done; Peter Sellars's Zerlina sings the aria in the stairwell of her basement apartment in Spanish Harlem, her eyes cours-

ing with tears.) It is not a sado-masochistic fantasy, but a

playful apology in which a parody of sexual submission serves as a promise of a more profound surrender-a

willing return to the world Zerlina had briefly thought to flee. The first two lines of the text have gavotte artic- ulations, and the violins are given gavotte bowings. Although later in the section the outlines of the dance become slightly blurred, its clarity at the outset makes it the dominant conceit of the 2/4 section.

The faux-naifgavotte with its sexual overtones may in this context suggest the courtesan. Perhaps it is in order to mitigate this impression that Mozart introduces the cello obbligato, whose bowings within the bar rather than across the bar-line set up cross-rhythms against the gavotte. Its deep sonorities and fluid legato moderate the effect of the Alberti bass; the obbligato smooths and softens the mincing rhythms of the dance. It is a second

layer of affect, grafted onto the gavotte, and plumbing a deeper level of passion; perhaps it suggests Zerlina's loyalty to and abiding affection for Masetto, which make her perverse little act of seduction finally right-minded. It is important for the singer to separate the two levels of gesture in her first readings of the piece, and to maintain the gavotte rhythms against the flowing patterns of the cello, at the same time finding a carriage and gestures that help to reflect the affect of the dance. This complex rhythmic layering is joyfully resolved in the second sec- tion of the aria, which breaks into the relaxed and lilting rhythms of the 6/8 pastorale, evoking the Arcadian bliss Zerlina envisions for the two of them: 'Peace, peace, O my life! In joy and contentment we'll pass our nights and days.' The cello obbligato continues, but no longer seems

superimposed; assimilated into the thinner texture of the 6/8, it now supports the structure of the dance pat- tern. Coquettishness has yielded to heartfelt joy.

This text was presented at the New York conference as a lec- ture-demonstration, with vocal illustrations provided by

Danielle Strauss, soprano, accompanied by Ursula Heck- mann and Kenneth Merrill. Demonstrations of the minuet and gavotte were given by Riccardo lazzetta, Luis Peral, Sabrina Sandvi and Chen Yu Tseui, students of the Juil- liard Dance Division. Costumes were designed by Thomas

Augustine.

Wye J. Allanbrook is on the faculty of St John's College in

Annapolis, Maryland. She is the author ofRhythmic Ges- ture in Mozart: Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni. She is currently working on a study of expression in the instru- mental works of Mozart.

Wendy Hilton is on the faculty of the Juilliard School, and teaches an annual Baroque Dance Workshop for Stanford University. She is the author of Dance of Court and The- ater: The French Noble Style, 1690-1725 and general editor of the Dance and Music series for the Pendragon Press.

'Johann Mattheson, Der vollkommene Capellmeister (Hamburg, 1739), ii, chap. 13, ss.8o-135; Johann Philipp Kirnberger, Die Kunst des reinen Satzes in der Musik (Berlin, 1774-9), i, p.202 and n.78

2Michael Kelly, Reminiscences of Michael Kelly (New York, 1969), i, p.223

3The pastorale was not strictly a dance, but a style of music; the compound duple metre, legato and drone bass are documented from the early 17th century; see 'Pastorale' New Grove. By the later 18th cen- tury, however, it had commonly come to be assumed that the pastorale was a dance; see Johann Georg Sulzer, Allgemeine Theorie der sch6nen Kainste (Leipzig, 2/1786-7), iii, p.6o; Daniel Gottlob TUrk, Clavierschule (Leipzig and Halle, 1789), trans. R.H. Haggh (Lincoln, Nebraska, 1982), P.395. Heinrich Christoph Koch in his Musikalisches Lexikon (Frank- furt-on-Main, 1802) does not accept this notion, but instead defines the pastorale as 'a piece that expresses the song of the idealized world of

shepherds'. For a further discussion of dance types in compound duple

meter, see W.J. Allanbrook, Rhythmic Gesture in Mozart (Chicago, 1983), pp.40-45.

4The gavotte was in some of its versions a kissing dance; see M.E. Little,

'Gavotte, New Grove.

5The Spectator, 17 July 1711 6See Gennaro Magri, Theoretical and Practical Treatise on Dancing,

trans. M. Skeaping with A. Ivanova and I.E. Berry, ed. I.E. Berry and A. Fox (London, 1988), pp.187-8.

7J. Platoff, 'Musical and Dramatic Structure in the Opera Buffa Finale' Journal of Musicology, vii (1989), pp.219-25

EARLY MUSIC FEBRUARY 1992 149