On the Execution of Music, and Principally of Ancient Music — Background and Themes

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In Category - Music History
Saint-Saëns, Camille, 1835-1921, Bowie, Henry P., 1848-1921 [Translator] Project Gutenberg 2009 Not confirmed
Music appreciation; Gregorian chants -- History and criticism Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 8,057
Reading time 36 min
Text sections 1

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Camille Saint-Saëns's 1915 lecture, translated by Henry P. Bowie, argues for historically informed performance of early music, critiquing modern vibrato and advocating interpretive freedom within stylistic boundaries, using Plain Song, Palestrina, and Mozart as key examples.
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llet had obtained his inspiration for this from a fanciful painting which he had seen somewhere.

Expression was introduced into music by the chord of the dominant seventh, the invention of which is attributed to Monteverde. However, Palestrina had already employed that chord in his "Adoremus," but probably without understanding its importance or divining its future.

Before this invention the interval of three whole tones (Triton) was considered an intolerable dissonance and was called "the devil in music." The dominant seventh has been the open door to all dissonances and to the domain of expression. It was a death blow to that learned music of the sixteenth century; it was the arrival of the reign of melody--of the development of the art of singing. Very often the song or the solo instrument would be accompanied by a simple, ciphered bass, the ciphers indicating the chords which he who accompanied should play as well as he could, either on the harpsichord or the theorbe. The theorbe was an admirable instrument which is now to be found only in museums,--a sort of enormous guitar with a long neck and multiple strings which offered great opportunities to a skilful artist.

It is curious to note that in ancient times there was not attributed to the minor and major keys the same character as is assigned them to-day.[2] The joyous canticle of the Catholic church, "O Filii et Filiæ," is in the minor. "The Romanesca," a dance air of the sixteenth century, is equally in the minor, just like all the dance airs of Lully, and of Rameau, and the gavottes of Sebastian Bach. The celebrated "Funeral March" of Haendel, reproduced in many of his works, is in C Major. The delicious love duo of Acis and Galathee, which changes to a trio by the addition of the part of Polyphemus, is in A Minor. When Galathee weeps afterward over the death of Acis, the air is in F Major. It is only recently that we find dance airs in the major mood or key.

From the seventeenth century on, music entered into everyday life, never again to be separated from it. Thus music has remained in favor, and we are continually hearing executed the works of Bach, of Haendel, of Hayden, of Mozart and of Beethoven. How are such works executed? Are they executed as they should be? That is another question.

One source of error is found in the evolution which musical instruments have undergone. In the time of Bach and Haendel the bow truly merited its Italian name of "arco." It was curved like an arc--the hairs of the bow constituted the chord of the arc, a very great flexibility resulting which allowed the strings of the instrument to be enveloped and to be played simultaneously. The bow seldom quitted the strings, doing so only in rare cases and when especially indicated. On this account it happens that the indication of "legato" is very rare. Even though there was a separate stroke of the bow for each note, the notes were not separated one from the other. Nowadays the form of the bow is completely changed. The execution of the music is based upon the detached bow, and although it is easy to keep the bow upon the strings just as they did at the commencement of the nineteenth century, performers have lost the habit of it. The result is that they give to ancient music a character of perpetually jumping, which completely destroys its nature.

The very opposite movement has been produced in instruments of the key or piano type. The precise indications of Mozart show that "non-legato," which doesn't mean at all "staccato," was the ordinary way of playing the instrument, and that the veritable "legato" was played only where the author specially indicated it. The clavecin or harpsichord, which preceded the piano, when complete with two banks of keys, many registers giving the octaves and different tone qualities, oftentimes like the organ with a key for pedals, offered resources which the piano does not possess. A Polish lady, Madame Landowska, has studied thoroughly these resources, and has shown us how pieces written for this instrument thus disclosed elements of variety which are totally missing when the same are played upon the piano; but the clavecin tone lacked fulness, and shadings or nuances were out of the question.

Camille Saint-Saëns delivered this lecture in 1915 at the Panama-Pacific International Exposition, addressing the performance of ancient music with a composer's practical insight. He opens by describing the evolution of musical notation from indecipherable scrawls to square notes, immediately grounding his argument in concrete historical detail. The text is a translator's edition, with Henry P. Bowie adding explanatory notes that clarify terms like Plain Song and the modes.

Saint-Saëns does not offer a neutral survey; he takes firm positions. He criticizes modern performance practices—especially the constant vibrato among violinists and cellists—as a fashion born of depraved public taste. His own concerto, with its calm central movement, serves as a test case: performers who vibrate throughout miss the intended contrast. The lecture thus weaves historical evidence with personal experience, making it both a scholarly argument and a performer's manifesto.

Plain Song and the Problem of Prolixity

Saint-Saëns traces the difficulty of restoring Plain Song to its primitive purity, citing its prodigious prolixity—long series of notes repeating the same musical forms. He turns to St. Isidore's treatise, which recommends high, sweet, clear voices for execution, directly contrary to the modern use of heavy, low voices. This observation leads him to infer an Oriental origin for these chants, comparing them to the songs of Muezzins. The argument is careful: he does not assert certainty but presents inference grounded in textual evidence. The translator's note adds that Plain Song was originally unison, without rhythm or accompaniment, and used modes lacking the leading seventh note. Saint-Saëns's method here is typical of the lecture: he uses a specific historical problem to challenge modern assumptions, always tying his claims to named sources.

The Palestrina School and the Limits of Expression

Discussing the sixteenth century, Saint-Saëns notes that the Palestrina school used only triads or perfect chords, which prevented absolutely all expression, though he concedes traces appear in the Stabat Mater. He emphasizes that this music was ecclesiastical in character, and trying to introduce modern expression would be chimerical. The passage reveals his respect for historical context: he does not judge early music by later standards but insists on understanding its own aesthetic. He also mentions Pope Marcellus's favor toward Palestrina for breaking from the practice of adapting popular songs to church music—a detail that shows Saint-Saëns's interest in the social and institutional forces shaping musical style. The section exemplifies his balanced approach: acknowledging limitations while defending the integrity of older practices.

Vibrato, Reprises, and the Spirit vs. the Letter

Saint-Saëns devotes considerable attention to the modern craze for constant vibrato, which he distinguishes from the involuntary quiver of a fatigued voice. He names specific performers—Franchomme, Sarasate, Sivori, Joachim—as models of restraint, contrasting them with contemporary violinists who vibrate on calm passages as well as passionate ones. His own concerto's lake-between-mountains structure is invoked to illustrate the loss of contrast. On the other hand, he defends interpretive liberty in older music: Mozart's concertos often left room for improvisation, and literal execution can kill the spirit. Yet he warns against excess, citing Kalkbrenner's rewriting of Mozart's C Major concerto as a step too far. The lecture thus navigates between two extremes, advocating a studied, historically informed flexibility—what he calls the spirit vivifies.

Saint-Saëns's lecture is best read as a working musician's reflection rather than a systematic treatise. His examples are drawn from his own experience—his concerto, his performances of Mozart—and his judgments are pointed but never dogmatic. The translator's notes provide essential context for terms like Plain Song and the modes, but the core argument stands on Saint-Saëns's own authority. Readers interested in performance practice will find a concise, opinionated introduction to debates that remain current: how much freedom should a performer take? How do we balance historical fidelity with expressive vitality? The lecture offers no final answer, but it poses the questions with uncommon clarity.

Reading Saint-Saëns’s lecture, I felt the same quiet patience he asks of us, the way a melody settles when we stop forcing it. It reminded me of an afternoon with A Short History of English Music — Reading Companion, where old tunes seemed to breathe at their own pace, unhurried. That book has a gentle way of letting history simply be present.

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