14 December 1999

A COMPENIUS FANTASY: AN ORGAN DREAM

Last night I must have gone to bed with my head full of small organ designs, for I had a dream - though it seemed almost too real to be called a nocturnal phantasy.

I found myself standing in a large, palatially appointed room. It was as though I was in an old castle, for in size and sumptuousness it had an air of the princely about it. The room was in some disarray; chairs and books of music were scattered almost haphazardly, and a couple of viols lay casually on their sides, as if their players had left only a few minutes before. As I glanced about, my eye was drawn to the magnificently ornate organ standing against one wall. It seemed strangely familiar in appearance; then I realised that it was the celebrated instrument which Esaias Compenius built for Duke Heinrich Julius here at Hessen Castle in 1608-10. (After his death it was moved to the chapel of Frederiksborg Castle, where it stands to this day.)

I walked - strangely slowly, as happens in dreams - closer to the organ. Yes, there was no doubt that this was the famous instrument in which all the flue pipes were made from wood and all the reed pipes from ivory; in which the stop-knobs were of solid silver and even the pedals of ivory and ebony. I reached out a hand to touch the keys - but stopped short, for I could hear, from a distant room, the sound of another organ being played. My curiosity was aroused, and I turned to one of the great doors. It was as though my feet knew the way of their own accord; I glided through dimly lit corridors, hung with heavy tapestries, and through a succession of small chambers until, turning a corner, I found myself in a room not dissimilar to the great Music Room, but much more intimate. In the air was a subtle suggestion of perfume, as though - again! - someone had left just a moment ago. Imagine my astonishment as I saw yet another organ, much smaller this time. It must have been the source of the spectral music I had heard...

Again I moved closer. Although similar in general appearance, and in the lavish use of fretwork, carving and inlay, this instrument seemed to lack the sheer luxuriance of its larger brother. Imagine my astonishment as I realised that there were no less than four manual keyboards, with a pedalboard (plain wood this time). My body carried me of its own accord onto the organ bench. I looked at the small stop-knobs above the top manual and found the following 8-stop disposition:

MANUAL I (lowest clavier)
8 Prinzipal
4 Offenflöit

MANUAL II
8 Quintadehna
2 Klein Octava

MANUAL III
8 Gemshorn
4 Rohrflöit

MANUAL IV (top clavier)
8 Jungfrawen Regal

PEDAL
16 Gedacktflöit Bass

And now I knew for certain that some ghostly agency was at work, for as I drew a stop and touched the keys, the pipes spoke though there was no-one at the bellows handle. So, aware that time is often short in the world of dreams, I began to play on each stop in turn.

Now - several hours later - the memory of those exquisite miniature tonalities is, alas, fading quickly. But several things I do remember - for I was also shown, by unseen hands, the interior of this little organ.

There was the 4ft. Offenflöit on Manual I, a wooden principal. Compenius inserted one of these in his 1615 organ at Bückeberg; a contemporary described it as "sehr eng und lieblich", and its mild, almost stringy character fitted that description well. There was the 8ft. Quintadehna on Manual II, with its nasal, earthy sound; the spray of harmonics in its voice reached up to the 2ft. Klein Octava and united the two stops in a sparkling little effect. On Manual III the Gemshorn was a wide-scale conical flute, an excellent contrast to the gentle 8ft. Principal on Manual I. The 4ft. Rohrflöit had the chiming intonation of the best renaissance examples.

The 8ft. Jungfrawen Regal on Manual IV was a delicate, slightly stringy reed, a tonal chameleon when coupled through to either the Gemshorn or the Rohrflöit below. I wondered about the picturesque name of this stop, and received the impression that it had something to do with the peculiarly attractive hourglass curves of the resonators.

Finally, I was shown the tapered pipes of the Pedal 16ft. Gedacktflöiten Bass; and this formation (as with the Gedackts in the Frederiksborg instrument) must have accounted for its attractively luminous tone.

While playing I noticed that, as on many old instruments, the shortness of the natural keys and, of course, the lack of buttons between themanuals, meant that the whole keydesk was shallower and more compact - and indeed more comfortable - than on many modern organs. The fourth manual here was as easily played as our Swell manuals.

The dream was beginning to fade around me, but I still had the time to notice that there was a strangely generous array of unison couplers:

IV-III
IV-II,III-II
IV-I, III-I, II-I
IV-Pd, III-Pd, II-Pd, I-Pd

This must have stretched early 17th-century technology to its limit: for, as we know, organs of the period had few couplers, and sometimes none to Pedal. But this peculiar stoplist was obviously designed to be used with the manuals coupled fairly frequently in various combinations.

Now, back in the mundanity of the waking world, I'm not so sure that this 8-stop 4-manual scheme was as silly as we might at first assume. Unfortunately, I have little time to puzzle it over, as I have to leave immediately for a concert in Switzerland, and won't be back for some days.