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 him il piu dolce cigna (the sweetest swan), divino compositore, etc., and he enjoyed the highest musical eminence. About 1584 he was maestro to Cardinal d’Este, later at the court of Sigismund III of Poland received the unusual salary of 1,000 scudi, 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.
IV
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 ‘program chansons,’ 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 deserves notice 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 of chansons which 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 him the programmistic composer of the sixteenth century, include La 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’s La selva di varia ricreatone (1590), ‘Musical Banquet’ (1597) and Amfiparnasso. 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 the singers 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 (in Amfiparnasso) 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 marked Lucio 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 and coltellate. 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 of opera 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 of portraying 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 his Amfiparnasso: ‘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 to La 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 must turn 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’s chef-d’œuvre, that commedia armonica of the strangely inexplicable title Amfiparnasso. 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. He makes 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 his Studio dilettevole for three voices (1603), while in his Saviezza giovenile he 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.