Charles-Marie Widor: Complete Organ Symphonies Vol. 3

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The nineteenth century was imbued with positivism, the myth of progress, the advances of industrialization which were illuding the citizens of that time with the idea that a bright future was just behind the corner, and that the successes of technique were ushering in a new era. To be sure, the wellbeing enjoyed by many inhabitants of today’s Western world is indebted to, and derived from, those explorations and experiments which were carried out in the nineteenth century. What our ancestors could not guess (or perhaps only a few of them could prophesy, from the vantage point of a wisdom above average) was that that wellbeing was not to produce a happier society. These philosophical considerations aside, the myth of progress was not missing even from the world of music. True, as Kenneth Hamilton has masterfully narrated in his After the Golden Age, the myth of progress was competing with another myth, i.e. that of a now-lost era where great geniuses were at work. Still, from the intertwining of these two myths a very distinct, and somewhat bizarre, conviction arose: that the past was blessed with great minds, but that they were somehow hampered by the lack of appropriate means for expressing their talent. Newer generations had those means their forefathers lacked, and could therefore bring to perfection the art of both the past and the present.
These two myths, and their intertwining, do surface from a highly interesting and rather unusual document, i.e. the preface Charles-Marie Widor wrote to the publication of his first eight Symphonies. Widor stated (I will cite from David Kosviner’s excellent translation): “Earlier instruments had almost no reed stops: two colors, white and black, foundation stops and mixtures – that was the entire palette. Added to this was the fact that each and every transition from white to black, and vice versa, was clumsy and coarse: there was no way of regulating the sound mass in a graduated manner. As a result, Bach and his contemporaries considered it unnecessary to provide registrations for their works as the mixtures were traditionally used for the fast movements and the foundation stops for pieces of a sustained character”. Something changed, Widor argues, with the invention of the swell box in the late eighteenth century, but this was far from the ideal solution, in his eyes. “One had to wait until 1839 for the problem to be solved. This honor must be awarded to the French industry and the glory to Mr. A. Cavaillé-Coll”. Widor then details the numerous innovations brought by Cavaillé-Coll to organ building, and eventually becomes rhapsodic in his praise of what these organs afford to both composers and players: “This results in: the possibility of accommodating the entire organ in a sonorous prison that can be opened or closed at will, the freedom of mixing timbres, the means with which to either amplify or incrementally reduce them, the independence in the choice of tempos, the sureness of attack, the equilibrium of opposites and finally a veritable blossoming of sumptuous timbres, a rich palette of the most varied sounds: harmonic f lutes, gambas, bassoons, cors anglais, trumpets, voix célestes, flue and reed stops of a quality and variety that was unknown up to now”. From these innovations, there comes Widor’s main thesis, boldly and succinctly stated in that same foreword: “The modern organ is thus symphonic in essence”. This short sentence sums up, as we will shortly see, the entire compositional concept of Widor, who then expands this view: “The new instrument demands a new language, an ideal differing from scholastic polyphony. We no longer make reference to the Bach of the fugue, but to the impassioned melodist, the expressive master par excellence of the Preludes, the Magnificat, the B minor mass, the cantatas and the St. Matthew Passion”.
From the preceding excerpt we may observe some significant points. The first is that Widor professed clearly his admiration for J. S. Bach, who represented the organ’s golden age. Widor himself had studied organ under the guidance of Lemmens, a Belgian organist whose musical ancestry (another concept ironically and informatively discussed by Hamilton) could claim to go back to Bach himself. And in his own teaching, which was to educate many of the most important organist/composers of twentieth century France, Widor was relentless in recommending the study of Bach. Suffice it to say that, among these students, Albert Schweitzer was one of the most brilliant, and that Schweitzer’s writing of his epoch-making biography of the German master had been greatly encouraged by Widor himself.
However, as we just read, Widor believed that the instruments Bach had at his disposal were inadequate for expressing his genius (and this although Bach was a great expert in organ building and his advice was eagerly sought by the builders of his time). The ideal organ was, for Widor, the modern organ, and in particular the one designed and created by Cavaillé-Coll. The eulogy we just read may suspiciously sound as a commercial advert, and one may be puzzled by its inclusion in a preface to the publication of a collection of musical works. From the one side, however, the very idea of a verbal preface to such a publication was highly unconventional, as we stated earlier. From the other, Widor could feel justified in his acclaim for more than one reason. Indeed, it was undeniable that Cavaillé-Coll had done much more than simply to perfect the existing techniques of organ-building: he had actually created something new, almost a new instrument, with a potential undreamt-of until then. Furthermore, Widor himself owed much to Cavaillé-Coll, and therefore that public tribute is at least understandable, if not outright due.
As a child, Widor had received his first musical education from his father, who was an organist and organ-builder himself, in Lyon. And when he was barely 11, Charles-Marie had already begun to substitute for his father when the need arose, playing to a professional level even as a child. Noticed by Cavaillé-Coll, the boy was sent to Brussels where, as stated, he studied the organ with Lemmens and composition with Fétis. It should be said that the pace of the teenager’s days was extremely intense. He practised on the organ from eight in the morning to the late afternoon, received daily instruction from his organ teacher (he had to play by memory a new piece every day, preferably by Bach), and in the evening he had to compose a four-part fugue to submit to his composition teacher. This alone should dispel any doubts that the young man’s later career was due to the good offices of his patrons rather than to his talent and efforts. While that career was, therefore, fully deserved and patiently earned, it is also undeniable that Widor’s quick ascent in the ladders of organ playing was in fact due to the esteem and support of some influential figures. It was to the joint action of Camille Saint-Saëns, Charles Gounod and – here he comes again – Aristide Cavaillé-Coll that the twenty-five y.o. organist and composer owed his sensational appointment. Initially chosen for a one-year probationary time – which, ironically, was never to be officially converted into a permanent position – Widor became the titular organist of the most splendid and newest organ in France, the organ of the St.-Sulpice Church in Paris. Needless to say, that organ was a magnificent and majestic Cavaillé-Coll.
Widor was to play from that organ lobby for the subsequent 64 years (!), making his tenure the longest ever at St.-Sulpice. During that time, he was to compose extensively, to teach a plethora of gifted students at the Conservatoire (at first in the organ class, then in that of composition, though with perhaps less memorable results), and to concertize internationally. But the heart of his inspiration was always to be found in his St.-Sulpice organ, in his Cavaillé-Coll. He would state that leaving no room for ambiguity: “If I had not experienced the seduction of these timbres or the mystical attraction of this wave of sound, I would never have written organ music”. There was therefore almost an identification between Widor and “his” Cavaillé-Coll, which provided him with both inspiration and the means to realize it.
And from that same preface quoted earlier we derive another foundational concept, i.e. that the organs by Cavaillé-Coll were “symphonic” by their very nature. This also explains the otherwise puzzling title by which Widor’s ten masterpieces are known. At his time, in fact, the term “symphony” was reserved for multi-movement orchestral pieces; he was the first to employ it for organ works (although César Franck had somewhat anticipated him).
His first four symphonies do not resemble orchestral “symphonies” even in terms of their form, since they may more accurately be described as suites. The op. 42 symphonies, whence the three recorded here are taken, are instead closer to Romantic orchestral symphonies as concerns their structure. The fifth is probably Widor’s best-known composition, due particularly to the concluding Toccata, which has memorably concluded many royal weddings and has become a staple in the organ repertoire at both concerts (where it frequently appears as an encore) and worships, especially nuptials. As happened with most of his works, this too was subject to many revisions in the years following its composition and its first publication. The sixth was premiered by Widor as the piece “baptizing” the (secular) organ – a Cavaillé-Coll, obviously – built in the Trocadéro Palais in Paris. This symphony is the one which reveals more clearly the influence of Richard Wagner’s music on Widor, who wrote it just after his stay in Bayreuth, where he witnessed the Ring’s premiere. The Seventh opens and closes with two movements in triple time and in the Sonata form (which therefore echo more closely the “symphonic” model). Particularly fascinating is the Choral, offered as the second movement, whilst the influence of Mendelssohn surfaces in the third movement. There is also a cyclical concept underlying this work, with the Chorale’s theme acting as a unifying leitmotiv.
These three majestic works represent some of the most important, complex, and foundational achievements of late-Romantic organ music, and fully demonstrate how strictly musical inspiration can depend on the instruments – quite literally – “at hand”.
Chiara Bertoglio © 2025