Over the past 20 years, music library shelves have seen a resurgence in one of the most traditional and practical research formats: the thematic catalogue. As a gathering of musical incipits, source materials and historical context for each piece in a composer's œuvre, this genre is of immense value to those preparing programme notes, concert talks or recitals, and to music enthusiasts in general. Existing ‘classic’ volumes, including those published in the nineteenth century, have been joined by catalogues reflecting new research on such figures as Schumann,Footnote ¹ MendelssohnFootnote ² and Beethoven.Footnote ³ Other composers have been given similar attention through this format for the first time, for example, Saint-SaënsFootnote ⁴ (Oxford University Press, 2002 and 2012) and Britten.Footnote ⁵ The latter exemplifies what many would consider a natural move toward digital formats, joining numerous online resources that have become the first (and, in some cases, last) stop for so many consumers. However, printed volumes – and especially true thematic catalogues – are considerably rarer today, and for that very reason they are worthy of note. The most recent example is the thematic catalogue of Gabriel Fauré, published in 2018 as the underpinning volume of Bärenreiter's critical edition, Gabriel Fauré Œuvres complètes, prepared under the general direction of Jean-Michel Nectoux and Nicolas Southon. Once complete, this immense collection will include approximately 30 volumes of Fauré's music, spanning more than 60 years of composition. While various editors have been charged with the musical works, the catalogue itself was compiled by Nectoux, whose contributions to the field of Fauré studies cannot be overstated. He was among the first to organize the composer's archives for the Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF), and through his numerous writings he has established a solid path of research to inform the work of subsequent generations of scholars. As he outlines in this catalogue, early attempts were made to chronologize Fauré's music, namely a volume by Octave Séré (1911), a special issue of La Revue musicale (1922) and a biography by Fauré's son, Philippe Fauré-Fremiet (1954) (pp. xx and xxii). Modern ‘go-to’ sources, particularly Robert Orledge's Gabriel Fauré (1979) and Nectoux's own Gabriel Fauré: A Musical Life (1991), also include chronological works lists.Footnote ⁶ However, this new volume – the only comprehensive thematic catalogue of Fauré's music to date – offers an effective practical resource, with an elegant format and clarity of content.

In the introduction (given in French, English and German) Nectoux explains his primary goal, which is to establish as accurate a chronology as possible for Fauré's music. In some cases this means asserting a date of composition for the first time, correcting a previously accepted date or allocating works omitted from prior catalogues. To compile his findings into a usable resource, he has assigned an ‘N’ (Nectoux) number to each composition to identify its chronological position within Fauré's œuvre. Later revisions and other versions are folded into the entry, as in the Requiem, op. 48 (N 97a: church version with small orchestra, and N 97b: concert version with symphony orchestra) or the song cycle La Bonne Chanson, op. 61 (N 119a: with piano; and N 119b: with piano and string quartet) (p. xxiii). While confident in his accuracy for this volume, Nectoux acknowledges the difficulty in ascertaining dates for some pieces, even in Fauré's time. In fact, he suggests that the composer ‘probably did not remember the chronology of his early works’ (p. xix), and that the opus numbers are ‘only a partial and somewhat patchy reflection of this chronology’ (p. xxiii). Fauré's surviving manuscripts and other documents have helped to secure composition and revision dates, and the archival records of his main publishers, Hamelle, Heugel and Durand, have proven essential in determining business aspects, including contract dates, first editions and reprints. Such points can help to illuminate trends in popularity during and after the composer's life.

Even before turning to the catalogue, the reader is brought closer to Fauré's practical side through details concerning the publishing business. Quotations from a variety of correspondence demonstrate the flattery a composer might express to those responsible for distributing his music, and also emphasize his understandable frustration regarding delays in publication, and other factors beyond his control. For example, Fauré's nearly passionate thanks to Camille ClercFootnote ⁷ in facilitating the publication of the 1^re Sonate pour violon et piano, op. 13, through Breitkopf & Härtel (1876): ‘I am really most grateful to you. I am delighted to accept the offer of publication without royalties in order to have the honour of appearing in the most glorious of catalogues, and I accept without misgivings since it is what [Hubert] LeonardFootnote ⁸ [sic] thinks I should do’ (p. xvii). Yet, as he wrote to Julien Hamelle in 1896,

As these themes become more apparent throughout the catalogue, they do much to humanize Fauré by extricating him from the image of a pensive, dapper gentleman so familiar through portraiture – for example, John Singer Sargent's pencil sketch (1896), shown at the beginning of the volume. A tangible connection to Fauré is further encouraged by Nectoux's fond remembrances of meeting the composer's elder son, Emmanuel Fauré-Fremiet (1883–1971), and Blanche Fauré-Fremiet (1895–1983), widow of his younger son, Philippe Fauré-Fremiet (1889–1954), as a young scholar, and his unique perspective on having been among the first to catalogue his documents for the BnF (p. xxi). Forty years later, his memories of this time remain vivid and close to his heart, with a deep respect that is palpable in his work here, as in his other writings.

Prefatory material includes a select bibliography, a table of RISM sigla and a general table of musical and editorial terminology. (The latter, again given in French, English and German, is convenient for those just beginning to utilize multilingual resources.) Select pages from Hamelle's published editions are also of interest here, as they demonstrate the extent of Fauré's catalogue known to the Belle Époque consumer: the back cover used for editions c. 1896–97 enumerates Fauré's available titles and their respective prices; a similar table from the third edition of his songs (1908) gives the selections available specifically in that genre. Back matter includes six indices to facilitate navigation of the catalogue from a variety of perspectives: works organized by title and genre, literary incipits, the names of Fauré's authors and translators, dedicatees and a general index of names.

Of course the raison-d’être of this volume is the catalogue itself (given exclusively in French). The main portion spans the familiar ‘bookend’ pieces, from Le Papillon et la fleur (op. 1, no. 1, N 1), composed in 1861 by the 16-year-old Fauré at the École Niedermeyer, to his final composition, the Quatuor à cordes (op. 121, N 195), completed two months prior to his death in 1924. Pedagogical works composed primarily for use at the Paris Conservatoire are given separately; the N numbers continue there (beginning with N 196) but are placed within their own chronology. Each entry of the catalogue includes identifying elements (scoring, musical incipit, original key, approximate duration), composition and performance history (text sources, extant manuscripts, dates of composition and revision, dedicatee, first performance), publishing history (contracts, editions, transcriptions) and important bibliographical references. A section of commentary for each entry illuminates the circumstances of the composition or revision process, publication, and even Fauré's thoughts on his music; in some cases, this includes advice offered to specific performers. The catalogued works are followed by extant sketchbooks, authorized editions, works falsely attributed to Fauré, his reductions and transcriptions of other composers’ music, and his editorial work on larger collections. Of this bounty of practical information, the performance durations could be very useful in planning concert programmes, although there are some minor inaccuracies. For instance, the Requiem is given as approximately 45 minutes (p. 160), which contradicts Fauré's own estimate of 30–35 minutes ‘at the most’ (p. 166);Footnote ⁹ the Œuvres complètes critical edition suggests approximately 30 minutes.Footnote ¹⁰ As there is no reason suggested for the divergence in the catalogue, one could assume that it is simply a misprint. Most other compositions are estimated generally as one would expect.

Regarding the chronological ordering, a significant benefit is that it contextualizes Fauré's compositions to demonstrate their alignment with surrounding works. Catalogues often favour an organization by genre, and then by chronological order or opus number within it. And while volumes by Orledge and Nectoux both include a chronological listing, as indicated above, these and most other Fauré resources also tend to prioritize genre. To be sure, a genre grouping can facilitate a quick visual review or a more in-depth perusal of a certain repertoire; indeed, even in the present volume one might consult the genre index first, and then proceed from there as desired. However, the chronology can bring into sharper focus Fauré's compositional activities at particular stages, to clarify the relationships of some works, or even to illuminate the disjunction of others. For instance, admirers of his mélodies or piano solos will be reminded that these compositions were widely distributed across his career, from talented young student, to revered figure in French musical life. As these selections are so often performed and discussed collectively, one easily forgets that they came into existence amid chamber music, orchestral suites, choral music, stage works and so on, and were often unrelated to each other by time and circumstance. The chronology further illuminates not only when Fauré composed a particular work, but in some cases how he later reused that music. For example, Nectoux observes that the Petite fugue for solo piano was most likely composed as a student exercise c. 1863, with a revised version published in 1902 as part of the Pièces Brèves, op. 84, no. 3. (pp. 18, 301–2). These are listed separately as N 15 and N 147.3, respectively.

Compositions with well-established dates generally appear in the catalogue where expected, although some curiosities are present. For example, the first version of Fauré's award-winning choral work, the Cantique de Jean Racine, op. 11 (with organ or piano accompaniment), was completed in 1865, his final year as a Niedermeyer student. A second version (with harmonium and strings) was made the following year, and a third (with orchestra) c. 1905. These dates are given accurately in the catalogue, but the piece is listed among Fauré's vocal works from the 1870s, as N 42. There, it falls between Puisqu'ici-bas toute âme, op. 10, no. 1 (N 40) and Tarentelle, op. 10, no. 2 (N 41), and Les Djinns, op. 12 (N 43). To be sure, the opus numbers of these and the Cantique do appear sequentially, and the latter was first published in 1876 near Les Djinns. However, since the catalogue is otherwise organized by date of composition (not publication), one should find the Cantique among the other works from the 1860s, as it appears in Nectoux's A Musical Life.Footnote ¹¹ (Interestingly, N 11 would be a more accurate catalogue number for the Cantique, a rare instance in which this number would match its opus number, quite by coincidence.Footnote ¹²) Regardless of whether its misplacement in the catalogue is attributable to simple error, or perhaps reflects an earlier organizational plan, this and other small discrepancies are understandable, given the complex composition and publication history addressed here.

The catalogue contains a wealth of practical information that could be used on its own, or as a point of departure for further exploration of Fauré's rich œuvre. Given the ongoing popularity of the Requiem in a variety of contexts, I considered this entry from the perspective of one preparing a programme note or concert talk. Of interest are the numerous extant sources, including complete manuscripts, fragments, and hand-copied parts used at the Madeleine church in Paris, as well as the orchestral score annotated by Nadia Boulanger (with Fauré's dedication). Details such as Fauré's widely quoted description of the Requiem as ‘a lullaby of death’ that he composed ‘for pleasure’ will be familiar to many (pp. 163–4). Even more captivating are two contrasting sides of Fauré that emerge through the commentary. One is the master composer and dedicated teacher, whose extraordinary generosity in discussing his music is expressed through years of correspondence with performers. His advice is as valuable today as it was then concerning the duration of the piece, instrumentation, articulation, placement of the singers, and the quality of voices desired for the soprano and bass solos (pp. 166–67). Those familiar with the ‘Pie Jesu’ will be interested in Fauré's response to soprano Claire Croiza, in which he explains that the movement was originally for a child's voice, and observes with humour that the boy soprano for the 1888 premiere was by 1922 a grown man with a ‘robust moustache’ (p. 167).Footnote ¹³ But another side of Fauré – one fiercely protective of his music – is revealed through correspondence two years later with Edgard Hamelle concerning his handling of the Requiem. This Fauré promises to carry a grudge ‘until his last day’ against the publisher for having extracted the ‘Pie Jesu’ for individual sale, and thus rendering it vulgar (p. 167). He defends the popularity of the complete work, enumerating recent and upcoming performances as opportunities for audiences to hear it intact. He insists that the ‘Pie Jesu’ has its context within the Requiem, and that it loses its significance when performed alone; he even goes as far as to suggest that Hamelle ‘kills’ it by making it so available, referring to the poor interpretations regularly heard in churches (p. 167). It is entertaining and satisfying to see Fauré take his publisher to task in this way (although surely some readers who have performed or admired the ‘Pie Jesu’ in recital will feel a twinge of guilt!).

Numeric data concerning Fauré's publication history is unique to this volume and will be of interest to those considering performance trends. Continuing with the Requiem, Hamelle's first edition (piano/vocal score, 1900) was followed by reprints ranging from a modest 200 copies (1909) to an immense 10,000 copies (1979). Additional runs produced 300–5,000 prints at various times; the publication of the orchestral and pocket scores occurred separately. The 1979 run reflects not only the substantial popularity of the Requiem, but also a surge of interest in Fauré shortly after the 50-year anniversary of his death. (The early scholarship of Nectoux and Orledge was becoming available, new recordings of Fauré's music were released, and audiences were either ‘discovering’ his work for the first time or reevaluating their opinions.Footnote ¹⁴) Similar trends can be observed through other works as well.

One might ask, how does the catalogue align with the larger Œuvres complètes edition? The other volumes – prepared by individual editors and issued through a staggered release – prioritize the musical scores, while the catalogue compiles a variety of elements to create a broader picture of each composition. Still, one would hope to observe a fairly consistent intersection of primary sources and other essential details. Indeed, this appears to be the case, as illustrated by a volume of Fauré's orchestral music, edited by Robin Tait.Footnote ¹⁵ Regarding the suite Pelléas et Mélisande, op. 80 (N 142b), for example, Tait and Nectoux identify the same principal sources and offer similar historical context. The ordering of manuscripts varies, and Tait addresses the related incidental music in conjunction with the suite, while Nectoux delineates the former with a separate entry, N 142a. (The edition of incidental music is in progress at the time of this review.) However, such variances are inconsequential from a practical standpoint, as the volumes should be considered complementary, rather than mutually reliant. A ‘bonus’ feature apparently exclusive to the catalogue is the inclusion of links (for manual entry) to digital facsimiles of Fauré's manuscripts available on the BnF Gallica site. This facilitates the experience of viewing the composer's elegant notation and allows the reader to pursue details addressed in the catalogue, or the respective volume (presuming continued accessibility of these links).Footnote ¹⁶

Without question, this new thematic catalogue is an important addition to the growing number of resources available to scholars, performers and Fauré enthusiasts. Beyond the finely crafted historical documentation, and a world of engaging details within the commentary, no other resource consistently includes a musical incipit for each composition. This is the very hallmark of a thematic catalogue, and, indeed, the incipits are as handsomely presented as the text. While some readers lacking facility with the French language might gravitate toward other Fauré volumes, most will recognize the inherent value of this catalogue. Financially, it is well worth the investment for any reference collection, even apart from the rest of the Bärenreiter edition. Listed at €249, the cost is essentially comparable to other clothbound hardcover catalogues, particularly those issued as part of a complete works edition (for instance, the Schumann thematic catalogue, at 1040 pages, is €328.)Footnote ¹⁷ Some might dispute the value of a printed resource in today's digital world, as online materials can theoretically be amended as needed to reflect new research or to make corrections. However, most are aware that even formal online resources are not updated regularly. (Like so many articles on Grove Music, the works list for Fauré was last edited soon after its initial online publication, in 2001.Footnote ¹⁸) Other sources are potentially unreliable, even when maintained with good intentions. It also bears reminding that the tangible experience of turning pages encourages a different style of browsing that often leads to unexpected discoveries, and the observation of details that one might easily overlook while scrolling online. Furthermore, there is a particular elegance in a printed volume, especially one so carefully prepared, and steeped in a well-established tradition of research. Nectoux himself recognizes that this catalogue is, in reality, an ongoing project, and predicts the discovery of new Fauré materials in the future (p. xxii). However, those intimately familiar with existing volumes, and attuned to the expanding world of Fauré studies, should welcome the catalogue with admiration for this immense undertaking, and an appreciation for its practical value and overall effect.