From its origins in the Elizabethan Protestant Reformation,
to its final extinction amidst the guns of the First World War,
the Art of Funerary Violin was characterised by many unique and
frequently misunderstood qualities that set it quite apart from
all other forms of music. Indeed it is these distinctive characteristics
that make it a truly unique genre, with its own specific concerns,
aesthetic and function. Throughout the many changes in culture and
society between the foundation of the Guild of Funerary Violinists
in 1580 and the death of Niklaus Friedhaber (the last of the practicing
official Funerary Violinists) in 1915, it retained a trueness to
its origins and function, and a commitment to purity of form and
mode, unparalleled in any other Western European musical tradition:
due, in part, to the exclusive social role it played in relating
the greatness of the higher classes directly to the ears of the
lower classes.
This unique combination of pomp, ritual and spiritual
expression was originally born out of the protestant removal of
the concept of intercession (that man, specifically a priest, can
intercede with God on behalf of the soul of the deceased) from the
funerary ritual, leaving a spiritual vacuum which was filled by
the playing of the violin. How this shift happened so suddenly and
so smoothly remains unknown, but at the time the violin had been
in England for around 40 years and was rapidly becoming noticed
for its ability to be expressive both indoors, and outdoors, and
George Babcotte (the founder of the Guild in 1586) was undoubted
a man of considerable political intelligence and charisma. Much
like the inevitable success of pop music in the 1950s, the cultural
hole was there to be filled, and the time was right; and within
two generations each town, and even village, had its own Funerary
Violinist (usually part time, and often doubling as a carpenter
and coffin-maker) and larger towns and Parish Councils would have
a full time official post with a modest annual salary (much of their
income was made through tips from the family and friends of the
deceased). By the end of the 17th century the practice had spread
across much of Europe, particularly in the protestant heartlands,
but it had also taken root in France, Saxony, and many other more
Catholic areas. Though at times reduced to village folk music, the
tone was set at court: it was the great improvisers, and later,
composer-performers employed by the richest and most cultured in
the land who carved out the distinct musical language that was to
give us, not only the familiar funeral marches of today, but many
more subtle forms of spiritual and commemorative musics whose influence
is cast over much of the more familiar classical repertoire of the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
There are a number of much-quoted written accounts
of performances by Funerary Violinists, dating right back to George
Babcotte’s performance at the funeral of Sir Philip Sidney
in 1586, many of them profoundly moving and deeply tantalising,
but until the end of the 17th century it was an entirely improvised
tradition, and so has left no trace other than these tragically
inadequate yet historically invaluable descriptions in words. The
earliest known written example of Funerary Violin music is a short
suite by Friedrich Heidebrecht dated 1670. Heidebrecht was a German
trained Funerary Violinist working for the court of Louis XIV, and
it is thought that he was inspired to fix his compositions (rather
than freely improvise) by his knowledge of the success, amongst
lutenists at court, of the form of the Tombeau, a commemorative
piece dedicated to a specific deceased person. These Tombeaux were
a courtly adaptation of the music Funerary Violinists, such as Heidebrecht,
had been playing, and he clearly saw the advantages gained by authorship
first hand. What is puzzling is that these early composed representations
of the form (by Heidebrecht, Addleston, Meunier, Faustmann etc.)
bear such little resemblance to the accounts of improvised performances,
often by the same artists. It can only be assumed that the transition
to the written form proved a difficult process, and that success
on paper, and its intention of spreading the work amongst many other
players, depended upon a general gentrification of form, structure
and melody. Though many of these late 17th and 18th century pieces
are of considerable interest and occasionally display some of the
more unusual modal and rhythmic characteristic associated with Funerary
Violin, their courtly manners belie the true spirit of the tradition.
It is not until the emergence of Herr Hieronymous
Gratchenfleiss, in the 1770s, that a composed form of the music
finally emerges that embodies the full impact of the earliest written
accounts. Though schooled in the contemporary harmony of his day
by G.K.Bach in Hildesheim, Saxony, he soon abandoned it in favour
of the bold rootedness of more modal writing. Almost all of his
pieces are rooted on G, the lowest open string of the violin, which
he often uses rhythmically like a bass drum. But not all his pieces
take on the essence of a march. He crystallised the other more spiritual
elements of the Funerary Violinist’s function, evolving pieces
to depict the panic of death, the seductive qualities of death,
the dizzy confusion of death etc: what survives of what must have
been a prodigious output, is more of an epic exploration of Man’s
relationship with his own mortality than a set of functional ritual
pieces. In his day his success as a sought-after Funerary Violinist
brought him considerable fame, renown, and wealth, despite his many
eccentricities, and his works were rapidly spread (though in very
small quantities) around Europe, profoundly influencing the works
of the next generation.
By the beginning of the nineteenth century Romanticism
was well under way, and artists had become prophets, death had become
fashionable, and spiritual contemplation was no longer the province
of religion alone. The 1810s in France saw the sudden appearance
of popular funerary duals amongst funerary violinists (the soon
to be deceased would leave a fragment of melody with his will, and
two Funerary Violinists would improvise in turn upon the theme at
the funeral, each attempting to draw more tragedy from it than his
opponent – the winner being the artist who drew the most tears
from the assembled crowd) and in England, Funerary Violinists such
as Charles Sudbury, were accepted as part of London’s artistic
establishment, and the spiritual philosophy that underlay the art
had evolved into a semi-religious cult that briefly caught the imagination
of all Europe. But, tragically, all this was to soon come to an
end, as the Great Funerary Purges were about to sweep across Europe,
eradicating almost every trace of this once flourishing art.
Scholars are, as yet, uncertain of the specific causes
of the Great Funerary Purges, and many varied arguments have been
posited and discredited over time. It is, of course, possible that
the answer lies in the archives of the Vatican, and that one-day
these archives will reveal their secrets, but officially the Vatican
has always denied all knowledge of the events. What is known is
that it started spreading across Europe steadily in 1833, and that
it originated in orders from Rome itself. The first signs went unnoticed:
books went missing from libraries and private collections; there
were a series of apparently unconnected burglaries in which paintings
of Funerary Violinists were all that was taken; old violins with
the traditional death’s head scrolls were either vandalised
or stolen, (only to reappear years later “restored”
with a traditional scroll); and many pamphlets were circulated which
condemned Funerary Violin as the music of the Devil: but ultimately
it amounted to the wholesale destruction of the Funerary Violin
tradition, which had stretched back over 300 years, and the subsequent
removal of any references to it. It is doubtful whether such repression
could have taken place, or such results been achieved without the
support and cooperation of government officials throughout Europe,
but so little evidence remains that it is impossible to say. What
little we do know has been painstakingly pieced together from a
handful of fragments, and unsubstantiated and often unspoken rumours.
Until a number of recent discoveries (such as the Hildesheim trunk,
the writings of Charles Sudbury and the Chichester Suites etc.)
there was little solid evidence that such a rich tradition had existed
at all.
*****
There have always been two strains of Funerary Violin
music. Firstly the ceremonial march, which was originally in 3 time
to symbolise the broken stride of the deceased, and to distinguish
it from religious music which was in 4 time. Many of today’s
funeral marches are descended from the works of Funerary Violinists,
and the form has remained largely unchanged over the years. Though
many such marches were composed and performed for the nobility and
the cultured, they were always aimed at the subjects, the tradesmen,
the servants etc, as an affirmation of the social structure, and
as such they were never allowed to become too abstract, or suffer
the many indignities of overdone artistry. Secondly, there is the
more cathartic spiritual element, usually performed as part of the
oration or service. The actual function and duration of this element
of the Funerary Violinist’s role has varied considerably over
the centuries, from the simplest of evocative hymns, to monumental
seven movement suites, designed to appease the spirit of the newly
dead, drive off the devils, cleanse the Soul, and send it on to
the Lord. At times of Catholic suppression, Funerary Violinists
would slip musical references to the banned liturgy into their performance
to highlight the spiritual essence of their performance, but it
was rarely presented so specifically. What comes across most clearly
in the surviving descriptions of their performances, is the intense
directness of their playing; how it seems to reach into the very
hearts of those who are present.
To understand the true essence of the tradition let
us consider for a moment what a Funerary Violinist would have actually
done, not from a practical, but from an emotional perspective, for
though manners and ideologies may have changed considerably over
the years, emotions are unchanging, death remains death, and man’s
concern with it is unerring. The key to this is spiritual sensitivity.
The Chapel of Rest, church or graveside is filled with strangers
(to the violinist), all in a highly emotional and sometimes desperate
state, the coffin containing their loved one is laid out at the
front, and whilst everyone is still stirring the violinist takes
up his bow and begins the ritual. This moment is crucial and if
misjudged can lead to disaster. In his tone he must first convey
the deep grief that is present in the room and then transform it
into a thing of beauty. By the time he is finished a deep and plaintive
calm should have descended upon the room, and the bereaved should
be ready to hear the eulogy. To achieve this the music must be simple.
Any hint of flashiness, even the slightest breath of ego will destroy
the spell. This is music as magic, with the ability to transform
the mood and perceptions of the audience in a way far beyond the
concert hall – and it only works on such a deep level because
the audience is in a heightened emotional state. It is a position
of great responsibility, akin in many ways to a priest or shaman,
and should not be taken lightly.
It is for these reasons that the genre of Funerary
Violin evolved in its own distinct manner, following a path of rooted
modality and direct expression, and eschewing all displays of virtuosity,
both in terms of performance and compositional artistry, to simply
and honestly explore our relationship with our own and others mortality,
in all the many and varied aspects that history and culture has
thrown at it. Had it survived until today who knows how it would
have reflected our current disowning of death as a painful memory,
but it is certain that it would have proved more profound and deeply
cathartic than the contemporary tendency towards recorded music
played on a ghetto blaster. But then maybe a spiritless age deserves
a spiritless death. It is not for me to judge.
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