Their method had, indeed, undergone great improvement: Josquin des Près and his more expressive style had achieved tremendous popularity throughout Europe.[106]Toward the end of the fifteenth century these masters cultivated the secular forms more and more, always, of course, in their wonted contrapuntal method. They would frequently take the melody of a favorite folk-song, use it as their tenor (the middle part) around which they wove an artful counterpoint. In Germany the ‘harmonization’ of popular melodies, or melodies in the popular vein, had been going forward for some time, and it is a noteworthy fact that Heinrich Isaac, one of those most prominently engaged in this work, was organist in Florence from 1484 to 1494 and again after 1514. The style of writing adopted in these popular settings was a simple ‘note against note,’ which emphasized chord progressions rather than melodic integrity.
Definite ideas of harmony were beginning to take root about this time. Ramis de Pareja, the Spanish theoretician, in 1482 had, by his new mathematical definitions of the ratio of intervals, established the consonant nature of the triad; Franchino Gafori and Ludovico Fogliano (d. 1539) had insisted upon the same principle. In 1558 Gioseffo Zarlino[107]gave to theworld hisInstitutioni harmoniche, which, following the Ptolomean determination of intervals, established the natural relations of the tones of the major triad (divisione armonica) and in the course of the century his ideas of harmony became the common property of musicians. With harmony as the predominating principle of music, with ‘vertical’ hearing rather than ‘horizontal’ as the prevailing habit, and the constantly freer use of chromatics, the doom of ecclesiastical modes was sounded, even if not fully accomplished till later, and the real advent of modern music had been reached.
The Italians, from early times as to-day primarily and essentially melodists, never found great appeal in the barbarous descant and counterpoint of the Netherlanders. ‘But they could not but perceive the charm of harmony, once it had been cleansed of its dross, when composers no longer worked for the eye of their expert colleagues alone, but for the ears of the people as well.’ Hence polyphonic music was gradually accepted in the place of the native monodies which had now lost caste, and it became fashionable to perform motets for the entertainment of one’s guests. However, the number of native singers able to perform this ‘learned’ music was insufficient to supply even the churches outside of Rome, much less the palaces of the aristocracy, until the increased influx of Netherlanders as singers and teachers spread their art among the musicians of Italy. During the sixteenth century the simplification of notation made the art of reading music accessible to thedilettanti, who nowformed musical coteries for the performance of polyphonic songs. Native composers busied themselves to supply the demand and their products were spread broadcast by enterprising publishers, for meantime, in 1476, the art of printing had been introduced in Rome.[108]The first of these publishers was Ottaviano dei Petrucci, who, though not its inventor, so advanced the art of music printing as to render it a practical medium. His office in Venice produced in 1501 a collection of ninety-six songs written by various composers. Thus he brought polyphonic music to the people and so caused the old monodies of the lutenists and earlier masters to pass still farther into oblivion.
Among the native products of Petrucci’s press we see a number of four-part songs of lighter genre calledfrottole. This was a simple popular form akin to theballataand usually supposed to be of humorous content. Thefrottolawas essentially a street song, originally sung to an improvised accompaniment, and did not really belong to thea capellaspecies. But in Petrucci’s collection (between 1504 and 1509 he published nine books offrottole) they appear as polyphonic pieces in a manner of the time.[109]In this guise they were stepping stones to a nobler form which was to achieve immense popularity and, practised by the more educated circles of amateurs, became the ‘chamber music’ of the period. This was the madrigal or, to be precise, thenewmadrigal, for though the oldverses of Dante, Petrarch, etc., served as bases, its musical structure had little to do with the earlier form (see above, p. 264).
This, in fact, was the only excuse for adopting the name madrigal for this new type of composition. Composers were weary of the short forms with their endless repetition of phrases and, recognizing the superiority of the old classic poems both in sentiment and structure, proceeded to apply to them their polyphonic skill. Like in the motet the setting was continuous (durchkomponiert), with or without reiteration of musical ideas, but, unlike that stereotyped form, the madrigal was the child of free invention throughout, not a contrapuntal exercise upon a givencantus firmus. The tenor was not more prominent than the other voices; neither, on the other hand, was the treble a real ‘melody’ in the modern sense, being the result of simultaneous calculation. The madrigal was thea capellacompositionpar excellenceand, as the secular counterpart of the motet, became the standard form in which the pure vocal style was developed.
Adrian Willaert (1480-1562), the founder of the so-called Venetian school, whose activities as a church composer we shall recount in the next chapter, is generally considered the father of the new madrigal. Though others went before him, it was he who endowed it with the freshness and vitality which made its extraordinary vogue possible. Master Adrian, says Ambros, ‘found in the smallerfrottoleof a Marco Caro and others many noble, serious expressions of sentiment. Thiscolorit, this peculiar tone, he retained, together with the manner of treating Italian verse; but in place of the timid, poor and often clumsy techniqueof the Italians he applied to them the entire Netherland mastery of accomplished counterpoint—and the madrigal was ready.... The madrigal was to express only the pure and the profound. Thecor gentilewas the center of this poetry and music—the heart moved by noble love, with its joys and pains, its love, hope, longing, suffering and anger. The ‘tone’ of the madrigal is ever one of tender emotion, never of vehement passion.... It should never burst out in unbeautiful, violent expressions.’ Analyzing one of his madrigals, Riemann say that ‘on the whole there is so much originality, so much individual endeavor, that the lack of flowering fancy and warm blood is willingly overlooked. We feel as one does in the case of moderns, for instance Berlioz, that we are in the presence of a distinguished personality.... Willaert is great by virtue of the various impulses that he gave, as teacher, as eminent artist, but not really because of his compositions. If we compare him to the passionate Verdelot, the daring Arcadelt, the solemn Festa, the supple Gero, or the genial Rore, commanding all the nuances of expression, any one of these will be found more telling, but ... in all of the works of these, his pupils, we find the traces of his genius.’ Riemann has here named the greatest of the madrigalists, some of whom we must now consider further. They were all not only learned contrapuntists, but consummate masters of style, as is shown by the restraint with which they applied their skill, and they have left us works ‘which for purity of style and graceful flow of melody can scarcely be exceeded.’
Philippe Verdelot’s madrigals appeared even before those of Willaert (1538), but few have been preserved with all parts complete. He probably lived in Italy during 1525-1565 (Florence and Venice). His second book of five-part madrigals appeared in 1536 and in the same year Willaert published lute arrangementsof Verdelot’s madrigals. Besides nine books of madrigals (four to six parts) he left motets for up to eight parts and a large mass,Philomena.
But the success of his madrigals was even surpassed by those of Jacques Arcadelt. A native of the Netherlands (b. 1514), the latter died in Paris after 1557. He appears as singer at the court of Florence from 1540 to 1549, when he became one of the papal singers of the Sistine Chapel in Rome and singing master to the boys at St. Peter’s. Besides compositions which appeared in miscellaneous collections, he published independently five books of four-part madrigals (1537-1544), another for three parts, all of which went rapidly through many editions, besides three masses and a book of motets. One of his madrigals,Il bianco et dolce cigno, a notable example of the style, is reprinted by Burney.[110]The well-knownAve Maria, which has been edited by Sir Henry Bishop and transcribed by Liszt, is now thought to be of doubtful authorship.
Constanzo Festa, of Rome (where he was papal chapel singer from 1517 till his death in 1545), the first Italian representative of the imitative vocal style in church composition, is with Willaert and Verdelot the originator of the new madrigal; hisAmor che mi consigli, published in 1531, even points to him as the first in the field. His works are distinguished by rhythm, grace, elegance, simplicity and purity of harmony. Burney further assures us that ‘the subjects of imitation in it are as modern, and that the parts sing as well as if they were a production of the eighteenth century.’ His madrigalQuando ritrovo la mia pastorella(‘Down in a Flow’ry Vale’) was for a long time the most popular piece of its kind in England. He was less happy in his motets, in which he followed the absurd custom of setting the voice to different texts. A celebratedTe Deumby him is still sung bythe pontifical choir upon the election of a new pope. Festa attained the dignity ofmaestroat the Vatican, being at that time the only Italian to hold such a position.
The most distinguished pupil of Willaert was Cipriano di Rore (b.ca.1516 at Mechlin or Antwerp). After leaving Willaert’s tutelage in Venice he went to the court of Hercules II at Ferrara in 1542, where, in the same year, his first book of madrigals was brought out. After sundry travels in his native country, he was mademaestro di capellato Duke Ottavio Farnese at Parma, returning to Venice as Willaert’s successor upon the latter’s death. He enjoyed great distinction as a composer of originality—of his ecclesiastical works we shall speak in Chapter X. As a composer of madrigals andricercari(see Chap. XI, p. 356) he followed in his master’s footsteps. Eight books of four to five-part madrigals, published from 1542 to 1565, of which the four-part ones were issued in score form in 1577 as an aid to the study of counterpoint, constitute the bulk of his secular works. It will be well to mention here that Monteverdi, a half century later, acclaimed ‘the divine Cipriano di Rore’ as the founder of the new art, because of his endeavors in establishing the supremacy of melody.[111]
Luca Marenzio (b. near Brescia, 1550-1560) was probably the most distinguished of all the madrigalists, though he by no means limited himself to this field. His contemporaries called himil piu dolce cigna(the sweetest swan),divino compositore, etc., and he enjoyed the highest musical eminence. About 1584 he wasmaestroto Cardinal d’Este, later at the court of Sigismund III of Poland received the unusual salaryof 1,000scudi, and was organist of the papal chapel in Rome from 1585 till his death in 1594, caused, it was said, by a broken heart because of his love for a relative of Cardinal Aldobrandini whom he could not marry. His printed compositions comprise no less than eighteen books of madrigals (4 to 6 voices) and many ecclesiastical works.
Of further names we need only mention Constanzo Porta, of Padua (1530-1601); Giovanni Croce, of Venice (1557-1609); Andrea and Giovanni Gabrieli (of whom we shall speak in a later chapter); Claudio Merulo, of Correggio (1553-1604), and Carlo Gesualdo, Prince of Venosa (1560-1614), ‘the most daring and most genial harmonist of the sixteenth century,’, and finally the princely Lassus and the great Palestrina himself, as a few of the endless host of madrigal writers. Not thousands, but tens of thousands of madrigals were composed in this period; it was the accepted medium for the expression of every poetic idea, every pretty sentiment. People sang madrigals at home and abroad, in society and for private pastime; in short, its popularity has not been surpassed even by the modern song.
A distinct departure from the madrigal of Willaert, and one in which historians are wont to see a direct step toward the opera, is seen in the descriptive, or dramatic, madrigals of Allessandro Striggio (b. Mantua, 1535) and Orazio Vecchi. The descriptive element had indeed invaded song composition much earlier. The French ‘programchansons,’ notably those of Clement Jannequin, who attempted to reproduce in vocal music the song of birds and the noise of battle, were, perhaps, the most remarkable phenomena of this kind. Though not an Italian, Jannequin deservesnotice here because of his influence in this direction. He was a pupil of Josquin and, besides a varied lot of sacred works, issued a great number ofchansonswhich became popular as bravura pieces in instrumental form, being printed in Italy without texts in 1577 (partite in caselle per sonar). His great chansons (inventions), which stamp himtheprogrammistic composer of the sixteenth century, includeLa bataille(on the battle of Marignano [1515]),La guerre,Le caquet des femmes(women’s gossip),La jalousie,La chasse au lièvre(rabbit hunt), etc., etc. A curious example is the excerpt reprinted in our supplement. In it the cuckoo’s call, the nightingale’s song, the notes of the thrush and other sounds of nature’s music are introduced simultaneously.[112]
Verdelot’s realistic description of the chase, Eckhard’s tumult of the people at St. Mark’s and Striggio’s dispute of the washerwomen at the brook are additional instances in which vocal music appropriated the dramatic elements of action, movement—the passing shapes and the play of colors. In the hands of these composers, the madrigal became a vehicle for humorous or whimsical moods no less than for the expression of tender sentiments, or ‘a charming, picturesque and dramatic symphony,’ for which Romain Rolland finds an analogy in the ‘Romeo and Juliet’ symphony of Berlioz. Such are Orazio Vecchi’sLa selva di varia ricreatone(1590), ‘Musical Banquet’ (1597) andAmfiparnasso. They are in reality series of madrigals which follow out a continuous idea as in dramatic action, their text comprising the dramatic forms of monologue and dialogue, but, curious as it may seem, never set to music in the way that seems natural to us—as solos, duets, etc.—but always in madrigalesque polyphony. Thus, instead of having thesingers represent the different characters of the piece, the actual practice was to have the monologue sections sung by all of them, while the dialogue would be carried on between sets of two or three singers each. For example, if Isabella (inAmfiparnasso) speaks to her lover Lucio, a group of three voices represents each of them; Isabella is characterized by a soprano and supported by an alto and a ‘quinto,’ Lucio represented by a tenor sustained by a quinto and a bass. Never did it occur to the composer, even when the text was markedLucio solo, actually to write for a solo voice! By this we may understand what a revolution was necessary in men’s minds to accomplish the essential step to dramatic fidelity.
The following is Romain Rolland’s pen picture of the most interesting exponent of the dramatic madrigal: ‘Orazio Vecchi (b. Modena 1550; d. there 1605) was a man of the Renaissance. He possessed its superabundance of vigor, the desire for action, and a robust good humor. Chapel master at Modena, we find him on the highways and by-ways of Italy, indoors only to take part in brawls andcoltellate. Commissioned as archdeacon of Correggio to correct the Gradual of the Roman Catholic church; he is occupied in 1591 with directing private and public masquerades in Modena. A writer of celebrated masses, he becomes at the same time the creator ofopera buffa. Three times the Bishop of Reggio dismissed him from his function, but his reputation was enormous—the house of Este and the great Italian lords extended their favor to him, while his name spread to Austria, to Denmark and to Poland. At his death in 1605 he was regarded not only as one of the foremost musicians of the century and the inventor of musical comedy, but as one of the greatest geniuses of the age.’ Comedy is, indeed, his sphere; rarely does he ascend to the height of pathos or passion, though he amply proves himself capable ofportraying earnest sentiment and sometimes pathos; but the question whether he merits the reputation of having created comic opera or not we shall leave to the judgment of the reader.
First we shall let him speak for himself. ‘I know well,’ he says, ‘that peradventure some will consider my “caprices” as unworthy and light, but they should learn that as much grace, art and fidelity is required to trace a comic part as in representing an old reasoning sage.’ And elsewhere, ‘Music is poetry by the same right as poetry itself.’ That the conscious purpose of his music was the expression of ideas is evident from these directions which preface hisAmfiparnasso: ‘Everything here has a precise purpose; it is necessary to find this, and only by expressing it well and intelligently will you give life to the performance.... The moral import [of the piece] is of less consequence than the simple comedy; since music appeals to the emotions rather than the intellect, I have been obliged to compress the development of the action into the smallest space, for speech is more rapid than song. Hence it is necessary to condense, contract, suppress detail and only to take the capital situations, the moments characteristic to the subject. The imagination must supply the rest.’
Vecchi’s disciple, Banchieri, gives a clear account of the manner of performing these madrigals in the preface toLa comedia di prudenza giovenile: ‘Before the music one of the singers will read in a loud voice the name of the scene, the names of the characters and the argument. The place of performance is a room of medium size, as closed-in as possible (for the sake of acoustics); in one corner of the room two large carpets are laid on the floor and an agreeable decoration is used for the background. Two seats are placed at the right and left respectively. Behind the “back-drop” are benches for the singers, who mustturn toward the audience and be seated at a hand’s breadth from each other. Behind them is an orchestra of lutes,clavicembali, etc., attuned to the voices. Above is a large sheet which hides both singers and musicians. The singers (invisible) follow the music of their parts; there should be three (or better six) at a time. They must give animation to the cheerful words, pathos to the sad ones, and enunciate loudly and intelligibly. The reciting actors (alone on the scene) must prepare their rôles, know them well by heart and follow the music closely. It would not be amiss to have a prompter aid the singers, instrumentalists and reciters.’
These ‘actors’ do not, as may be supposed, perform pantomime; they simply pronounce the prologue and announce the scenes. At the end they would, perhaps, dance a few ballet steps in order to leave the spectator in a happy frame of mind. By way of example we shall briefly recount the plot of Vecchi’schef-d’œuvre, thatcommedia armonicaof the strangely inexplicable titleAmfiparnasso. The story centers around the love intrigue of Lucio and Isabella, the daughter of Pantalone, who has determined to marry her to the pedantic Gratiano. Lucio attempts to commit suicide but is saved. Isabella, about to follow him into death, declares her love. They are married and in the last scene receive the forced consent and the presents of all concerned. Meantime, Pantalone serenades and is rejected by the courtesan Hortensia, Lelio pursues another adventure with the beautiful Nisa, and the captain, Cardone, believing himself loved by Isabella, makes advances and is promptly rebuked. Doctor Gratiano sings absurd serenades while Francatrippa, the valet of Pantalone, goes to borrow money at the Jews’ house, who reject him under pretext of the Sabbath. The book for this amazing comedy, as indeed for all the others, was written by Vecchi himself. Hemakes all his characters speak in their various dialects and the ‘score’ is full of humorous descriptions and characterizations. The piece had great success and, while there were many adverse criticisms, the number of his imitators attests the continued popularity of the form which he developed.
Adriano Banchieri of Bologna (1567-1634) was Vecchi’s chief disciple and one of his great admirers. He frankly imitated him in hisStudio dilettevolefor three voices (1603), while in hisSaviezza giovenilehe yields to the influence of the Florentine reform (of which later) and endeavors to present a compromise between the ‘representative’ and the polyphonic styles. He was, moreover, a musician of great merit, composed, like Vecchi, numerous organ pieces and was the author of a number of theoretic works and polemics. The vogue of the dramatic madrigal continued throughout the north of Italy for twenty years after Vecchi’s death; in Bologna it survived to the end of the seventeenth century. Whatever its importance in the development of the opera, however far removed from realistic action, the dramatic principle is there—we have, in fact, a musical drama, or, at least, a dramatic symphony, especially if we regard the voices which accompany the characters in the nature of instruments.
And here it behooves us to record another peculiar fact: These minor voice parts were often actually played on instruments, not only in the dramatic madrigal, but in the other vocal forms as well; sometimes because of the lack of singers and sometimes for the sake of variety. The first recorded instance of this kind of solo singing was supposed to have occurred in 1539 when Sileno sang in anintermediothe upper part of a madrigal by Francesco Corteccia (d. 1571), accompanying himself on the violone, while the other parts, representing satyrs, were taken by wind instruments. Caccini, the reputed inventor of‘monody,’ in an intermezzo by Pietro Strozzi performed at the marriage of Duke Francesco and Bianca Capello (1579), himself sang the rôle of Night with an accompaniment of viols. These instances are, however, not isolated. The experiment proved popular and became common practice. A number of thefrottole,villanelle, madrigals, etc., which came from Petrucci’s press, appeared, indeed, in the guise of lute arrangements.[113]
But all this was as far from true ‘monody,’ or solo melody, as the dramatic madrigal was removed from opera, for the mere emphasizing of an upper part, which was developed out of, or as counterpart to, another, could not make it express the sentiment intended by the text or follow the accents and natural inflections of the spoken word. Monody was as much a lost art as the Greek tragedy, which the ‘inventors’ of opera thought they were reviving from a slumber of well-nigh two thousand years. Its reinstatement was the result of a deliberate reform, a revolt against the prevailing polyphonic method, accomplished by a limited number of individuals. Even if the analytical historian must reject the possibility of the sudden invention of an artistic form, we cannot deny the merit of the most definite step toward the creation of opera to the Florentinecamerata, an account of whose activities we shall reserve for a later chapter. Our object inthis discussion has been to emphasize the fact that monody, the most natural form of musical expression, wasnotan arbitrary invention such as the contrapuntal style evidently was; that it lay, indeed, at the very foundation of that style, but was so effectually displaced by it that only the faintest memories of it survived. It was from these memories that the new art of the seventeenth century, with its new dramatic significance, sprang—just as theArs nova, the new art of the fifteenth century, had sprung from their source. The intervening space of two centuries was a period of prodigious development both in secular and church music, and of the most active exchange between the two. But in this exchange the church unquestionably remained the debtor, for it acquired from the secular art most of its really vital elements, even dramatic force. Only thus could it become the ideal expression of that new religious spirit with which both the Catholic and Protestant faiths were to be imbued. The development of this religious art, which forms the parallel to the movements just described, is our next subject.
C. S.