Secrets of the Second Arrondissement

This one's for the musicologists.

Next to the Mairie (town hall) of the 2nd arrondissement, you'll find a fairly unobtrusive, run-of-the-mill Baroque church called Notre-Dame-des-Victoires.

It's not the most interesting of churches, even for enthusiasts. Constructed between 1629 and 1737 by Augustinian monks, the church offers fairly standard Baroque architecture, excepting the transept's spherical roof. And the only non-architectural feature deemed worthy of mention in the Wikipedia article on the church are the thousands of ex voto offerings plastered to its walls - basically a bunch of plaques expressing gratitude for the fulfillment of some prayer.


But a stroll through the aisles reveals that the church has another claim to fame.

Uncharacteristically, one of the aisle arches is squared off by a wood piece (seen above), from which protrudes a bust.

The bust looked familiar enough to me that I made an effort to read the Latin text etched in stone on the underside of the wood piece.

My Latin isn't so good, but the only two words I needed to see were "mors" and "Lullius" to know that this plaque - and the bust above it - mark the grave of Giovanni-Baptista Lulli, aka Jean-Baptiste Lully, aka the man generally credited with inventing French opera. (If anyone can fully translate this epitaph, I'd be grateful.)

Lully (1632-87) came to France from Florence in the mid-17th century and soon became Louis XIV's unofficial "Minister of Music." He conducted the King's orchestra, composed and performed in ballets, collaborated with Molière, and became the second director of the Paris Opéra. Lully died when, after striking his foot with the massive staff then used to keep time during musical performances, he contracted gangrene and refused amputation. Nice.

I'm probably biased, but I feel like there should be more of a to-do around Lully's grave. After all, there are maps of the Paris graves of other celebrities (Jim Morrison owes a lot to Lully, right?). On the other hand, I liked finding this unassuming, nearly unmarked monument on my own. Hopefully this post won't spoil what currently seems like one of many well-kept secrets of the Second Arrondissement.

Wagner Lived Here

This post is dedicated to Frank, who believes strongly enough in Wagner's importance (in music history, in life) that he's got me thinking about it too.

Richard Wagner's operas have been argued over, adored, boycotted, banned, and embraced by Parisians ever since the Jockey Club first torpedoed an 1861 performance of Tannhäuser, Wagner's first in the city. But all's well that ends well, and today, for proof that Wagner is firmly entrenched in Parisian musical culture, we can look beyond programs for concert series and the Opéra, which are both obvious and superficial. More permanent evidence can be found in the "Wagner Lived Here" plaques that have sprung up around the city.

The plaque on the left tells us that Wagner lived in this building on Rue Jacob in the St.-Germain-des-Prés area of the 6th arrondissement from October 30, 1841, to April 7, 1842. He moved to Paris in 1839 - still waiting to come across the other plaque(s) to learn about where he lived. Another period missing is his 1849 visit, which occurred when he fled Dresden after participating in the revolutionary fervor that swept Europe around that time. The plaque on the right commemorates Wagner's residence between October, 1860 and July, 1861 in this building on the Rue d'Aumale (just around the corner from the salon that hosted my concert two weeks ago). During this stint, he oversaw preparations for the Parisian premiere of Tannhäuser - organized by the Princesse de Metternich and offered as a "command" performance of Emperor Napoleon III - which ultimately ended in scandal, failure, and Wagner's hasty departure from the city. The third time was the charm, apparently, as he never returned.

If you look closely enough at the plaques, you'll see that the first one was put up by "Les Amis de Richard Wagner," and the second by "Les Cercles Wagner de France." Talk about a rock star - Wagner has had multiple fan clubs in Paris. Do you think my various fan clubs will put plaques up at all of my Paris/Vincennes residences in 150 years?

Musicology is Fun

This blog claims to be about musicology, but mostly I subject you to boring anecdotes about research. Today, all that changes. For your amusement (or more likely, your utter bewilderment and/or disgust), I present a list of the 27 best film title/composer puns several of my classmates and I could come up with. (The total list consisted of 78, so be glad I'm only publishing 27.) We are/this is the future of musicology.

Bach to the Future

Correline

De Falla The Roman Empire

Ferris Bueller's Day Orff

James and the Giant Piccinni

The Fantastic Mr. Fux

Weill You Were Sleeping

Yankee Doodle D'Indy

Purcellpolis

Faure Weddings and a Funeral

You, Me, and DuFay

Bruch-Bach Mountain

The Da Vinci Kodaly

You Don't Messiaen with the Zohan

Charlotte's Webern

Close Encounters of the Byrd Kind

Korngoldfinger

Battle of Britten

Haydn Fidelity

The Joy Gluck Club

16 Josquindles

Mouton Rouge

Scarlatti Face

Milhaud Myself and Irene

The Stepford Ives

12 Angry Mendelssohn

This strikes me as an amusing - if potentially ineffective - method for teaching students how to (mis)pronounce composer's names, even if it doesn't teach them anything about the composers themselves or music in general. If you can think of any more, let me know!