A Study in Dissonance and Harmony

A Study in Dissonance and Harmony

It was a cold Monday morning in March 1901 at the Conservatoire de l'Élysée, a prestigious conservatory of music for women cloistered high in the French Alps, far from the distractions of city life and isolated from the paths of men. It attracted the most talented young female musicians from all over Europe.

The head of the composition faculty, Nathalie Poitier, called all of her students to the main auditorium where the annual gala had taken place the previous Friday evening. It was an imposing room with the high, arched ceilings of a cathedral and ornate dark wooden walls embellished with complex carvings of scenes from the history of women in music from Hildegard of Bingen to Clara Schumann. At the center of the stage stood an Érard concert grand piano personally donated by the great Cecile Charminade.

Nora Carter, a promising new composition student, 20 years of age from Cardiff, Wales, had recently won the conservatory's famed composition competition. The rules of the contest were simple: the previous year's winner was ineligible to compete and was tasked with composing an eight-measure theme. The students received the theme early on a Monday morning in a sealed envelope and had 48 hours to write a piano sonata based on it. A jury of esteemed composers from outside the conservatory reviewed the anonymized scores and voted on a winner; the jury returned the scores and written feedback to Professor Poitier, who returned all the scores except the winner's to the students. The month after the competition, the winning score would be published in a widely distributed music magazine and performed at the conservatory gala the same day as the magazine hit the stands. That performance attracted critics from as far away as Paris, Berlin, and London; it could put a young composer on the map and start an international career.

Friday night's gala was the first time anyone other than the jury or the magazine publishers had heard or seen the winning composition. Everyone expected Professor Poitier to praise young Nora for her accomplishment, but the professor's demeanor was distinctly rigid and stoic. It seemed odd for the occasion.

She thanked everyone for joining her in the auditorium and called Nora to the front. Nora rose with an air of elated pride. She was from a poorer family than many of the conservatory's students and was there on a full scholarship. Relatively new to the serious study of composition, she had previously focused on violin performance, but her compositional talent was apparent. Still, everyone was surprised that she won until they heard the winning piece performed; its beauty captivated them all. Nora was having a moment.

Professor Poitier opened the recently published magazine to the winning score and placed it on the piano. She addressed Nora in a flat, emotionless tone. "Nora, this work that you submitted was complex and sophisticated; it was so polished, so mature, it is astounding that it was composed in 48 hours by someone as young as 20, especially by someone who only recently began transitioning her studies from performance to composition."

"Thank you Professor. That means so much."

"The closing theme. So clever. It's based on a retrograde of the assigned theme, yes?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Oh sorry, my mistake, it was an inversion, not a retrograde. Isn't that right?"

Nora looked confused for a moment but then nodded, "Yes of course."

"Nora, could you sing the closing theme for us? It's so beautiful."

She sang, but Professor Poitier looked back at her blankly. "Hmm, well, that's not quite what you wrote. Close, but not exactly." The esteemed Professor sat at the piano and played the closing theme of the winning composition at the piano. Everyone looked at each other confused.

The young composer's previously proud posture began to shrink. "I wrote it very quickly, Professor," she replied.

"Yes, much more quickly than you've written anything else since you've been here."

"Time pressures can have that effect, Professor."

"Of course. And this bass line under the closing theme when it's played a second time in the recapitulation, so chromatic." She played it on the piano. "The bass line is a transformation of the opening notes of the main theme. Fascinating counterpoint. How would you describe it?"

"It's, um, counterpoint, madam."

"Oh yes, of course it is. I just said that. What kind of counterpoint?"

"I'm... it's...very contrapuntal counterpoint, madam."

"Oh yes, it's a double canon at the third over an augmentation in inversion of the opening six notes recast as a basso ostinato, so 'very contrapuntal counterpoint indeed,' isn't it?"

"Yes, that's correct madam."

"You don't know the names of these very sophisticated techniques you used?"

"I suppose not, madam. I approached it very intuitively."

"Well, your gift for writing intuitively is why you're here. But I must say, technical sophistication of this caliber...doesn't often happen by accident."

"Madam, please forgive me if this is untoward, but may I ask what you're suggesting?"

"Nora, this work sounds an awful lot like another of my students, doesn't it?"

The professor played the closing theme again, accentuating the chromatic lines and subtle dissonance. Then she played a theme from a recent composition that Geneviève Laurent had previously published. Everyone in the room recognized the stylistic similarities.

Geneviève was the oldest student in the studio at 25, a daughter of nobility, and a graduate student with a solid international reputation already underway. She was the shining star of the composition studio, the Professor's lead assistant instructor, and the personal tutor to most of the younger composers in the studio, including Nora.

Geneviève was the previous year's competition winner and the creator of this year's opening theme. She was well known for her sophisticated mastery of linear chromaticism and counterpoint, far above the technical acumen of any other student. She had a personal, distinctive style, an inimitable sound, a unique artistic voice--an artistic voice that sounded like the closing theme from this year's winning sonata. There could be no doubt about what the Professor was insinuating.

"Geneviève's works inspire me, Professor. I can't deny the influence of her style," Nora stated in defeated tones, her voice beginning to crack.

"Oh yes, of course--no denying her brilliance is there?"

Geneviève's face turned pale and she looked straight ahead, her large brown eyes not making contact with anyone.

"Geneviève, dear, isn't this lovely?" The Professor played another excerpt from the winning composition. "Wouldn't you say this is one of your finer works?"

Eventually, Nora looked to Geneviève as if to seek guidance. Their eyes locked silently as everyone fixed their gaze upon them.

Nora opened her mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Geneviève subtly shook her head no.

Nora tried to speak again and could only muster "I, ... please, Professor, I, ... we..."

Geneviève interrupted her. "Nora wrote...." After a pause she continued, "most of it."

Nora initially gave Geneviève a look of disbelief, but Geneviève silently assured her with her eyes and a calming hand gesture that she was stepping up to assume full responsibility. She would never throw Nora to the wolves.

The professor glared at Geneviève in silence, unable to hide the satisfied expression of a chess master checkmating a worthy adversary.

"Most of it?" she asked.

"I helped.... I helped a great deal."

All eyes fell upon her.

"Dearest Geneviève, you won this competition last year, so you were familiar with the rules, were you not?"

"Yes, Professor."

"And was it your understanding that the rules allowed for outside help?"

"No, Professor."

"How exactly did you 'help?'"

Geneviève took a long pause and exhaled, realizing that holding any detail back at this point would only make matters worse. "Three months before the competition began, I left the theme on Nora's practice piano, along with handwritten notes about all the ways it could be transformed into other themes--including the closing theme you played earlier. Nora said didn't want my help, but I was persistent. I did my best to make it irresistible. I went through her notebooks and found drafts of a piece based on what I had given her, and then I marked them up with detailed suggestions and edits. When I saw what she had created I couldn't stop myself from improving upon it. Once I started contributing my ideas, I was invested in the compositional process. I couldn't stop. In the end, I edited six complete drafts of her piece before the competition even started. The structure, the form, the development, all of that is all hers. But my contributions were significant; the counterpoint you mentioned earlier, yes, that was my idea. I cannot deny that this all started because I wanted her to win. I enticed her to cheat, and I helped her do so. I know it was wrong, and I have no defense."

The professor turned to Nora and asked, "anything to add?"

She shook her head and buried them in her hands, unable to face her peers.

"And why, Geneviève, would you help young Nora at the expense of your other mentees?"

She paused again before making another revelation. "Because she is the love of my life." Collective gasps filled the air. "I wanted to give her this victory. She does not come from a life of advantages. I do. I wanted to share with her any advantage I could impart. I know this was not the right way, but it was the way I chose. I am sorry."

The other students sat silently, their mouths uniformly agape as they continued to process these revelations. Certainly, some of them had clandestinely relieved their netherly itches with other women, but they would never come out and say so!

"Well I'm not here to judge you for who you love," the professor said while marking a crucifix on her torso. Everyone else in the room followed her lead and crossed their chest as well upon the revelation of this forbidden relationship.

"The good Lord can judge that at the end of your days. But that's how you love? You help her cheat and lie so she can win something she didn't earn?"

Geneviève replied calmly, "It wasn't well advised, Madam. I regret it, but yes, that is what I did."

"Well, you should both be expelled. Integrity and honesty are the very foundations of this institution."

Nora broke into an audible cry and begged through tears for mercy. "I'll never be able to face my family again. I was the first in my line ever to chance following a dream. I've squandered it. I'll never see Geneviève again!"

Geneviève added calmly, "Please, Professor. I alone should receive whatever punishment you see fit. Punish me enough for both of us. I am Nora's mentor, her superior. I was the sole origin of this dishonest scheme, and she could not have cheated without me. She went along, yes, but I encouraged it. I only ask, recognizing that I am in no position to make demands, that the punishment you impose be anything, anything, other than expulsion. I implore you, Madam. Permit me to suffer the penance for us both but allow us to stay."

Nora felt quite moved by Nora's offer. She tried to say something but failed to conjure any words.

Professor Poitier, however, remained decidedly unmoved. "You have both cheated everyone in this room, including yourselves and each other, but no one has suffered more directly from your dishonesty than Anja Roth. The competition jury awarded her honest work only two points fewer than Nora's. She would have won but for your scheme. Anja was your mentee, too, Geneviève, your protogée. Obviously, this year's competition was a waste of everyone's time and effort, and Anja cannot resteal her rightful thunder after the winning composition--deceitful though it was--has already been published and premiered. How can I permit you two to share a studio with her after your shameful theft of her victory?"

Anja spoke up in a soft and gentle voice. "If I may, madam? They have confessed. Please don't expel them on my account. I am only here to learn and master the craft of composition. I am not here to win competitions, though I am grateful for your concern for my receipt of what I earned. I even still want to study under Geneviève's tutorship. I learn so much from her. I feel deeply hurt by her betrayal, but I can forgive this if she atones adequately. Fairness requires that she be punished severely, to be sure, but to the extent my preference matters, I would prefer that she stay. I can forgive Nora, too, if she publicly confesses what she has done."

"You would accept critique from an admitted cheat?" the professor quipped.

"Yes. Her works are so beautiful! Respectfully madam, her works are more beautiful than some faculty members', yours excluded of course. We all make poor decisions. We should be able to face their consequences and move on. Geneviève has hurt us all, but she has accepted responsibility. If she is willing to suffer for both her and Nora's sins, I will respect her courage and welcome her fully."

The professor replied, "and you would willingly sit in class beside Nora, who stole the laurels that were rightfully yours?"

She looked at Nora. "I would, madam. She is clearly ashamed," she said, gesturing toward the openly sobbing young composer still standing in front of the room with her face planted in her palms. "She should confess everything in a letter to the magazine, renounce the prize, and send them my work. They can choose to publish it or not. But if she does that, I would be satisfied, and I would happily learn alongside her."

The professor thought for a moment. "You are a most thoughtful and gracious young woman, Anja. Nora, are you willing to do what Anja suggests?"

Nora nodded, still unable to speak.

"Very well. Sit down. If you write and send your letter by the end of today, I won't recommend any further disciplinary action against you to the board, and you can remain my pupil."

"Thank you, madam," Nora muttered. "And thank you Anja," she continued, as she exited the stage and took a seat in the front row, away from the other students, whose eyes remained fixed on her.

The professor addressed Anja again. "And what about your admittedly dishonest tutor, Geneviève? You said she should be punished 'severely'--for both of them--but not expelled. How would you punish her then?"

"She has confessed her sins, but they are much more serious than Nora's. She abused her position of power, knowledge, and trust. I believe she should atone with her flesh, Professor."

The other students enthusiastically and unanimously voiced their agreement.

"Aye, the flesh!" exclaimed Sarah McCallan, the rowdy Irish student of 21, with an inappropriately high level of enthusiasm.

"I assume you mean corporal discipline, Anja," the professor asked.

"Correct, madam," Anja replied. "When I was coming along in Bavaria, my governess would correct my most serious transgressions with a switch that I had to cut and prepare myself. That way, I participated in my own discipline and owned what was to come. I believe Geneviève should do the same and receive her punishment in front of us all."

The professor tilted her head while considering this possibility and after a moment, addressed the room. "Anyone disagree?"

No one spoke.

"Geneviève, from your silence, I take it you agree as well?"

"Yes, Professor. I am so sorry for the harm I have done to everyone in this room, and I want to demonstrate my contrition to all of you. I value this community so dearly and I desire more than anything to remain a part of it. I place myself completely at the mercy of all of you, and I will not be satisfied until I have atoned fully for what I have done and what I enticed Nora to do. If you believe that proper atonement should be with my flesh, then it gladly awaits whatever you feel just to befall it."

The professor pondered for a moment. "Anja, as the most directly aggrieved, would you be willing to administer Geneviève's physical discipline--enough for both her and Nora--on behalf of all of us?"

She paused to think for a moment. "It would be a task of great responsibility, Professor. I am honored that you would consider entrusting it to me. Though I must confess some reluctance, if you ask me to do so, I will oblige."

"Very well. I will approve of physical discipline in lieu of expulsion under these conditions. Anja, you will administer whatever corporal punishment to Geneviève you deem fit. Geneviève, you will obey Anja's commands without question and submit to her completely. You may end your discipline at any time with the word 'cessez,' but if you end it before Anja decides it is over, then I will recommend to the board that you be expelled for academic fraud. Do you understand?"

"Yes madam, and thank you."

"Do you consent?"

"Yes madam, and thank you."

"Anja, you understand that if Geneviève successfully endures whatever punishment you administer, she will once again be your tutor and your superior?"

"Yes, madam."

"The floor is yours, Anja."

"Right now?" She asked, a little startled.

"Right now."

Anja slowly rose, took the center of the stage, and stood before her studio mates. She fumbled nervously at first, but closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and channeled the memory of her strict former governess, Hilda von Stein, who had so expertly ritualized the administration of discipline to her Anja and her siblings.

Anja exhaled and seized the moment; she shed her characteristic gentillesse and embodied Hilda's stern and authoritative stance. She stood straight, pointed her index finger at her aristocratic mentor and addressed her by her full name in a measured tone. "Geneviève Laurent de la Rochefoucauld, go fetch a switch from the woods. I expect it to be suitable for the gravity of the sins you committed and the sins you suborned. Do not take too long. We will wait here for your return."

Geneviève rose gracefully, pressed her hands together, and bowed her head toward Anja and then Professor Poitier in gestures of thanks. She walked briskly out of the conservatory building, stopped by her dormitory to fetch a small pocket knife, and ventured into the snowy woods in search of a suitable tree. Eventually she came upon a young hazel sprouting new green growth on its thin branches, a sign of the nascent spring.

The tree suddenly reified the physicality of her impending discipline. Her upbringing had been gentle, almost coddling. She had certainly never been switched and had not been spanked since the age of six. Even then, it was never with anything but an open hand over her clothes with just enough force to register disapproval. But she recalled her older second cousin Pauline's vivid description of being switched: "like you step on a hive of bees, and one by one, they take revenge on your bare hiney," she had said, demonstrating with winced eyes and lips forming a silent but prolonged "oo" vowel while wiggling her bottom, but then giggling with a slight twinkle in her eye. Pauline had seemed almost nostalgic in recounting the experience and believed that there would be fewer problems in society if such punishment were doled out more liberally.

The visual memory of Pauline's demonstration replayed in Geneviève's mind as she inspected each of the hazel tree's branches. She found one that seemed appropriately straight, unknotted, and round, so she cut it with her knife, tested its flexibility, and cut away its twigs. She removed one of her woolen mittens and gave her open palm a test strike. It stung, but not as sharply as she expected. "I hope this is suitable," she thought, unsure of exactly what made for a good switch. She reassured herself that if Pauline could endure a switching and wist fondly about it years later, so could she.