Each movement was divided into two nearly equal parts, and each of these parts was repeated. The first began in the tonic key and modulated to the dominant; the second began in the dominant and modulated back to the tonic. Thus there was an harmonic basis which in these movements, as in the movements of the perfected sonata da chiesa of the Italians, was an essential element of the design. The division of the definite movements, which was from the beginning one of the features of the suite, probably had some influence upon the Italian composers and led them to the step of cutting the canzona, too, into definite movements.
All through the century composers in England and in Germany were experimenting with these combinations of dance tunes for groups of instruments. Among the English experimenters should be mentioned Matthew Locke with his collection of suites for strings called ‘The Little Consort of Three Parts’ (1656), each of which contains a pavan, an ayre, a ‘corant,’ and a sarabande; and Benjamin Rogers, one of the most famous composers of his day. Among the Germans, Johann Jacob Löwen with his Sinfonien (1658), which are sets of dance tunes, and Dietrich Becker with ‘Musical Spring Fruit’ (1658), among which is a suite made up in the conventional order of allemande, courante, sarabande, and gigue. One cannot but be astonished to find how closely the suite of the northern masters and the canzona of the Italians kept pace with one another. As proof one has only to note that Becker’s work with its orthodox suite is but a year later than Vitali’s first sonata da chiesa.
Thus by the beginning of the last quarter of the century musicians had developed an instrument style for groups of string instruments and for the organ; they had devised fitting forms independent of words for their musical ideas, they had studied melody and acquired the art of handling it, and they had admitted the stir of rhythm into their most serious work, thereby giving it an animation which would have been summarily condemned a century before. There still lacked men of the highest order of genius to take up the work thus prepared for them.
V
One style of instrumental music is still to be discussed, namely, that for the harpsichord. This instrument had been brought to a high state of perfection by the family of Ruckers in Antwerp about the turn of the sixteenth century. It was known by various names—clavecin in France, harpsichord in England, clavicembalo in Italy, and was made in various forms and sizes. Though a keyboard instrument, it can hardly be considered an ancestor of the piano, for the tones of it were caused by the plucking of the strings, by jacks attached to levers operated by the keys and not by the pressing or striking of them. Such variety of tone shading as could be got from it was chiefly through the working of stops, which brought a new series of strings into play, or of pedals, which dampened the strings; and the larger harpsichords were furnished with two or more manuals which operated upon separate sets of strings.
The extraordinary output of music for the virginals in England just before the beginning and during the first few years of the century gave way to interest in ‘Fancies,’ and later in suites for strings, and the Germans were absorbed in music for the organ or for an ensemble of strings. The Italians were given almost wholly to the cultivation of music for the violin. To the French must be given the credit of having developed the art of the harpsichord to a high state of excellence and beauty during the course of the first half of the century. The Germans were content to publish some pieces for the ‘harpsichord or organ,’ the Italians likewise; the French were the first to realize the fundamental differences between the two instruments. A great deal is due to the influence of the famous French lutenists of the mid-century, among whom Denys Gaultier deserves first mention. His collection of pieces called La rhétorique des dieux is one of the most charming records of music in Europe during the seventeenth century. While composers for organ, for groups of string instruments, and even for the voice, were still struggling with problems of style and form, these little pieces made their appearance, in which there is no trace of experiment nor hesitation, but complete mastery of a style both delicate and in every way suitable. The lute still held its place as the most generally used of all instruments during the greater part of the century, not only as accompaniment to voices and as foundation for groups of instruments, but as a solo instrument. Even works by Corelli at the very end of the century are written over a Figured Bass, which may be played either by harpsichord or lute. That it at last gave way to the harpsichord is probably owing to the great difficulty of playing it. After the time of Gaultier, special cultivation of it rapidly waned, but Gaultier had lasting influence upon subsequent composers for the harpsichord, both in France and Germany. La rhétorique des dieux contains many sets of little pieces, most of which conform to the style of dance pieces then cultivated, all bearing fanciful names such as Phæton foudroyé, Diana, Ulysses, Mars superbe, Juno, ou La jalouse, La coquette virtuose, etc. They are light and graceful and quite free of the heaviness of the polyphonic style.
The first of the great French composers for the harpsichord was Jacques Champion Chambonnières, brilliant son of a family of musicians. His two books of pieces published in 1670 contain several sets of dances which are arranged in the order already established as orthodox; allemande, courante, sarabande, and gigue. The place of the allemande is sometimes taken by two pavans, several of the courantes are followed by doubles, and sometimes a minuet or a galliard takes the place of the gigue. The style is obviously influenced by Gaultier’s music for the lute, and is marked by perfect ease and an elegant clearness and grace. And like Gaultier’s pieces, many of them have dainty, fanciful names, such as Iris la toute belle, L’entretien des dieux, Jeunes zéphirs, etc. Already in the preface to these sets of pieces we come across directions for playing those little ornaments which were to become one of the most characteristic features of music for the harpsichord in the next century, and the subject of many a treatise.
In Germany harpsichord music was set free from organ music by Froberger, whose works for the organ we have already mentioned. Though his harpsichord pieces first appeared in print in 1693 and 1696, several manuscripts bear the date of 1649; and one upon the death of Ferdinand IV must belong near 1654. Froberger must have seen something of Gaultier and Chambonnières while he was in Paris, but the fact that none of his pieces bore names after the fashion of the French composers shows that he did not wish to be considered an imitator of them, and indeed his style is still rather heavy and compact and more akin to the early English style than to the light transparent style of the French.
VI
The history of opera during the seventeenth century is brilliantly fascinating because it reflects so much the social life of those times; yet the contribution of opera composers to the art of music is not great. We have seen in a previous chapter what Monteverdi accomplished for opera; that he had a grasp and comprehension of those principles of opera upon which Gluck and Wagner later based their music dramas; that his music, though often rashly experimental and crude, on the other hand was often genuinely dramatic and strong in emotional feeling. But even before his death composers of opera had turned their backs upon the road toward which Monteverdi had pointed, and were well started on their way toward an opera in which all dramatic power, all genuine feeling was to be stifled in a mass of formal vocalism and scenic display. Upon opera more than upon any other form of music the influence of fashion and public taste made itself felt. The rush of opera into a state of utter falseness was indeed headlong. Let us quote from Dr. Burney’s history. After stating that during the years between 1662 and 1680 there were nearly a hundred different operas performed in Venice alone, and giving the names of many composers now quite forgotten, he says: ‘During this period it seldom happens indeed that the names of poets, composers, or singers are recorded in printed copies of these dramas, though that of the machinist is never omitted; and much greater care seems to have been taken to amuse the eye than the ears or the intellect of those who attended these spectacles.’ He gives a list of the paraphernalia used in the performance of an opera on the subject of Berenice at Padua in 1680. The list includes choruses of one hundred virgins, one hundred soldiers, one hundred horsemen in iron armor, forty cornets of horse, six trumpeters on horse-back, six drummers, six ensigns, six trombones, six flutes, six minstrels playing on Turkish instruments, six others on octave flutes, six pages, three sergeants, six cymballists, twelve huntsmen, twelve grooms, six coachmen for the triumph, six others for the procession, two lions led by two Turks, two elephants by two others, Berenice’s triumphal car drawn by four horses, six other cars with prisoners and spoils drawn by twelve horses, and six coaches for the procession. Among the scenes in the first act was a vast plain with two triumphal arches, another with pavilions and tents, a square prepared for the entrance of triumph; in act two, Berenice’s royal apartments; in act three, a royal dressing-room, completely furnished, stables with one hundred live horses, and besides representations of every species of chase, as of wild boar, stag, deer, and bears. Obviously in such a spectacle true dramatic art and true musicianship found little place. Yet some of the opera composers of the century should not pass unnoticed even in a general history of music. Their operas, it is true, are now no longer heard, are indeed practically forgotten, but their efforts invented new vocal forms which have held a prominent place in the art of music, not only in opera.