Pini di Roma (Pines of Rome)

I Pini di Villa Borghese (The Pines of the Villa Borghese)

I Pini presso una catacomba (Pines near a Catacomb)

I Pini del Gianicolo (The Pines of the Janiculum)

I Pini della Via Appia (The Pines of the Appian Way)

Whatever the status of Respighi’s reputation at any given time – and it has varied enormously, depending on the political and aesthetic values of the day – his three Roman tone poems have always retained their popular appeal. It is true that the Fountains of Rome could scarcely have been regarded as progressive even in 1916, still less the Pines of Rome in 1923 and Roman Festivals in 1928. It is also true that, while Respighi’s musical language remained much the same in the three works, his view of the city of Rome changed in accordance with the developing imperialist politics of those years. But Respighi was no Fascist –Toscanini would not have been so keen on performing the Roman tone poems if he had suspected anything of the kind – and he wasn’t entirely reactionary in his music either even if, paradoxically, he progressed by turning back to Gregorian plainsong for fresh inspiration. He was also as expert in orchestration as any composer of his generation.

All that is missing from the Pines of Rome is the pines. The true subject of The Pines of the Villa Borghese is not the trees which adorn Rome’s largest public park but the popular tunes associated with the place and presented by Respighi in much the same way as the Russian folk songs in Stravinsky’s Petrushka. There is a shadow of pine-trees on muted lower strings round the opening of the catacomb in the second movement but the true subject here is modal melody, above all the Gregorian chant which enters sotto voce and rises to a climax in the middle of the movement. The pines on the Janiculum, the hill overlooking Rome to the west, inspire a luxuriously synthesised kind of impressionism with an actual recording of the song of the nightingale integrated into the closing bars. As for the pines of the Appian Way, if they are present at all it is as retainers of ancient echoes of the marching feet and the splendour of Roman trumpets as the consular army makes its way to the Capitol.

The four movements follow each other without a break.

I Pini di Villa Borghese (The Pines of the Villa Borghese)

I Pini presso una catacomba (Pines near a Catacomb)

I Pini del Gianicolo (The Pines of the Janiculum)

I Pini della Via Appia (The Pines of the Appian Way)

Whatever the status of Respighi’s reputation at any given time – and it has varied enormously, depending on the political and aesthetic values of the day – his three Roman tone poems have always retained their popular appeal. It is true that the Fountains of Rome could scarcely have been regarded as progressive even in 1916, still less the Pines of Rome in 1923 and Roman Festivals in 1928. It is also true that, while Respighi’s musical language remained much the same in the three works, his view of the city of Rome changed in accordance with the developing imperialist politics of those years. But Respighi was no Fascist –Toscanini would not have been so keen on performing the Roman tone poems if he had suspected anything of the kind – and he wasn’t entirely reactionary in his music either, even if he progressed by turning back Gregorian plainsong for fresh inspiration. He was also as expert in orchestration as any composer of his generation.

All that is missing from the Pines of Rome is the pines. The true subject of The Pines of the Villa Borghese is not the trees which adorn Rome’s largest public park but the popular tunes associated with the place and presented by Respighi in much the same way as the Russian folk songs in Stravinsky’s Petrushka. There is a shadow of pine-trees on muted lower strings round the opening of the catacomb in the second movement but the true subject here is modal melody, above all the Gregorian chant which enters sotto voce and rises to a climax in the middle of the movement. The pines on the Janiculum, the hill overlooking Rome to the west, inspire a luxuriously synthesised kind of impressionism with an actual recording of the song of the nightingale integrated into the closing bars. As for the pines of the Appian Way, if they are present at all it is as retainers of ancient echoes of the marching feet and the splendour of Roman trumpets as the consular army makes its way to the Capitol.

Respighi’s own description of the programmatic thinking behind the four movements (which follow each other without a break) is as follows:

Children are at play in the pine groves of the Villa Borghese: they dance round in circles, they play at soldiers, marching and fighting, they are wrought-up by their own cries like swallows at evening, they come and go in swarms. Suddenly the scene changes and…

…we see the shades of the pine trees fringing the entrance to a catacomb. From the depths rises the sound of mournful plainsong, floating through the air like a solemn hymn, and gradually and mysteriously dispersing.

The air quivers: the pines of the Janiculum stand distinctly outlined in the clear light of a full moon. A nightingale is singing.

Misty dawn on the Appian Way: solitary pine trees guarding the magic landscape: the muffled ceaseless rhythm of unending footsteps. The poet has a fantastic vision of bygone glories: trumpets sound and, in the brilliance of the newly risen sun, a consular army bursts forth towards the Sacred Way, mounting in triumph to the Capitol.

I Pini di Villa Borghese (The Pines of the Villa Borghese) –

I Pini presso una catacomba (Pines near a Catacomb) –

I Pini del Gianicolo (The Pines of the Janiculum) –

I Pini della Via Appia (The Pines of the Appian Way)

All that is missing from I Pini di Roma is the pines. The second of Respighi’s three Roman tone poems, it is inspired by four places in or near the city where pine trees are prominent in the landscape but – unlike the first in the series, Fontane di Roma, where the splashing water of the fountains is a persistent feature – it reflects not so much the sounds of his chosen subjects as their historical associations and the life around them. If that includes something of the new political atmosphere following Mussolini’s seizure of power in Italy in 1922, there is no more than a hint here of the imperialism so colourfully celebrated in the positively grandiose Feste Romane five years later in 1928. Respighi was not himself a Fascist – Toscanini would certainly not have championed his works abroad if he had been – but he was clearly sensitive to the mood of the times as well as being abundantly endowed with the means to express it. Like its two companion tone poems, Pini di Roma is divided into four movements, each one supplemented with the composer’s own description in an introduction to the score (and printed in italics below).

Children are at play in the pine groves of the Villa Borghese: they dance round in circles, they play at soldiers, marching and fighting, they are wrought-up by their own cries like swallows at evening, they come and go in swarms. The true subject here is not the trees that adorn Rome’s largest public park but the popular tunes associated with the place and presented by Respighi in much the same way as the Russian folk songs in Petrushka. While Stravinsky is an obvious influence, however, Respighi did achieve the distinction here of writing what is probably the most vital and the most brilliant depiction of children at play in the orchestral repertoire, including Ravel’s arrangement of the Tuileries movement in Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition.   

We see the shades of the pine trees fringing the entrance to a catacomb. From the depths rises the sound of mournful plainsong, floating through the air like a solemn hymn, and gradually and mysteriously dispersing. There is a shadow of pine-trees on muted lower strings round the opening of the catacomb in the second movement but the true subject here is modal melody, above all the Gregorian chant which enters sotto voce and rises to a climax in the middle of the movement. Coloured by muted horns two octaves apart near the beginning, by a distant trumpet solo, and by the fervently chanting strings and woodwind, it is a particularly effective example of Respighi’s use of the old church modes that were to be a regular part of his vocabulary from this time onwards.

The air quivers: the pines of the Janiculum stand distinctly outlined in the clear light of a full moon. A nightingale is singing. The pines on the Janiculum, the hill overlooking Rome to the west, inspire a luxuriantly synthesised kind of nocturnal impressionism with rapturously eloquent clarinet, solo strings illuminated by moonlit harmonies on celesta and, in the closing bars, an actual recording of a nightingale integrated with a last echo of the clarinet soliloquy.

Misty dawn on the Appian Way: solitary pine trees guarding the magic landscape: the muffled ceaseless rhythm of unending footsteps. The poet has a fantastic vision of bygone glories: trumpets sound and, in the brilliance of the newly risen sun, a consular army bursts forth towards the Sacred Way, mounting in triumph to the Capitol. This is where imperial Rome comes in. If the pines of the Appian Way are present at all it is as retainers of ancient reverberations of the marching feet and the splendour of Roman trumpets as the consular army makes its way to the Capitol.

Gerald Larner ©2004

I Pini di Villa Borghese (The Pines of the Villa Borghese)

I Pini presso una catacomba (Pines near a Catacomb)

I Pini del Gianicolo (The Pines of the Janiculum)

I Pini della Via Appia (The Pines of the Appian Way)

Whatever the status of Respighi’s reputation at any given time - and it has varied enormously, depending on the political and aesthetic values of the day - his three Roman tone poems have always retained their popular appeal.

It is true that the Fountains of Rome could scarcely have been regarded as progressive even in 1916, still less the Pines of Rome in 1923 and Roman Festivals in 1928. It is also true that, while Respighi’s musical language remained much the same in the three works, his view of the city of Rome changed in accordance with the developing imperialist politics of those years. But Respighi was no Fascist - Toscanini would not have been so keen on performing the Roman tone poems if he had suspected anything of the kind - and he wasn’t entirely reactionary in his music either. He was well ahead of his contemporaries in turning to classical and baroque sources for fresh inspiration and, while he was far from being the first to adopt ancient modes to enrich his harmonic vocabulary, he did make a special study of Gregorian plainsong and he used it extensively in his music. He was also as expert in orchestration as any composer of his generation.

All that is missing from the Pines of Rome is the pines. The true subject of The Pines of the Villa Borghese is not the trees which adorn Rome’s largest public park but the popular tunes associated with the place and presented by Respighi in much the same way as the Russian folk songs in Stravinsky’s Petrushka. There is a shadow of pine-trees on muted lower strings round the opening of the catacomb in the second movement but the true subject here is modal melody, above all the Gregorian chant which enters sotto voce and rises to a climax in the middle of the movement. The pines on the Janiculum, the hill overlooking Rome to the west, inspire a luxuriously synthesised kind of impressionism with an actual recording of the song of the nightingale integrated into the closing bars. As for the pines of the Appian Way, if they are present at all it is as retainers of ancient echoes of the marching feet and the splendour of Roman trumpets as the consular army makes its way to the Capitol.

Respighi’s own description of the programmatic thinking behind the four movements (which follow each other without a break) is as follows:

Children are at play in the pine groves of the Villa Borghese: they dance round in circles, they play at soldiers, marching and fighting, they are wrought-up by their own cries like swallows at evening, they come and go in swarms. Suddenly the scene changes and…

…we see the shades of the pine trees fringing the entrance to a catacomb. From the depths rises the sound of mournful plainsong, floating through the air like a solemn hymn, and gradually and mysteriously dispersing.

The air quivers: the pines of the Janiculum stand distinctly outlined in the clear light of a full moon. A nightingale is singing.

Misty dawn on the Appian Way: solitary pine trees guarding the magic landscape: the muffled ceaseless rhythm of unending footsteps. The poet has a fantastic vision of bygone glories: trumpets sound and, in the brilliance of the newly risen sun, a consular army bursts forth towards the Sacred Way, mounting in triumph to the Capitol.

Gerald Larner©

Gerald Larner is a writer and critic associated mainly with The Times. His study of the life and music of Maurice Ravel is published by Phaidon Press.