La Venexiana

Musical Wars of Love

Madrigals by Barbara Strozzi and Claudio Monteverdi

Michael Horst

A musical homage to their hometown: Venice is at the center of today’s concert by La Venexiana. More than anyone else in the years after 1600, Claudio Monteverdi was the dominating figure of musical life in the city on the lagoon, until his death in 1647. The focus of La Venexiana’s program, however, is on works by Barbara Strozzi, the remarkable woman who used her talent, wits, and perseverance to gain access to the male-dominated areas of musical life. Her 400th birthday, which is celebrated this year, offers a welcome opportunity to examine the life and work of this extraordinary composer.

The artfully assembled program is bookended by two madrigals of the older Monteverdi. Many years had passed since his First Book of Madrigals in 1587—years in which music underwent profound change. While early in his career Monteverdi still paid homage to contrapuntal polyphony designed along horizontal lines, after 1600 he became one of the progenitors of the seconda pratica, the new style that emphasized vertical, clear harmonic structures constructed on the foundation of the basso continuo that would become the hallmark of Baroque music. The poetic title Madrigali guerrieri et amorosi (“Madrigals of War and Love”) graces the Eighth Book of Madrigals, which the composer published in 1638, at the advanced age of 71. But there was no sign of weakening with age, on the contrary: two years later the opera Il ritorno d’Ulisse in patria and in 1642 L’incoronazione di Poppea followed, works that, together with L’Orfeo of 1607—only these three have been preserved—justify Monteverdi’s fame as one of the inventors of musical drama. The Eighth Book of Madrigals, which includes the dramatic scene Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda and the Ballo delle Ingrate as a grand finale, shows the composer at the height of his powers.

The ancient theme of the battle of the sexes is the subject of the madrigal Altri canti di Marte: while others may sing of Mars and his terrible triumphs, the poet prefers to tell “a wretched but true tale” of his soul troubled by love, and the “bitter tears” that flow on this battlefield instead of blood. Monteverdi unfolds an entire musical panorama, paying tribute to the warlike character of the text’s beginning while also extensively celebrating the words “io canto” (I sing). Various themes blend into one another, and the imitation of voices enlivens the movement as much as a bass solo. Again and again, the composer surprises his listeners with new turns, which serve to transform old material from the polyphonic era into the modern form. Chiome d’oro (Golden Tresses) from the Seventh Book of Madrigals of 1619, on the other hand, is utterly charming, and its generic title “concerto” alludes to the multitude of forms and combinations of voices and instruments at which Monteverdi here tried his hand for the first time. The piece plays with two voices and two violins, whose ritornellos frame the cheerful praise of his beautiful beloved’s hair, eyes, and lips.

Variation and Improvisation

As instrumental intermezzi, La Venexiana has chosen works by a non-Venetian, Tarquinio Merula. His Canzoni, overo sonate per Chiesa e Camera Op. 12, however, were published in Venice as well, one year before Monteverdi’s Eighth Book of Madrigals. Born in Busseto—which rose to fame in the 19th century because of Giuseppe Verdi—Merula spent his life as a composer and organist traveling between Bergamo, Cremona and Warsaw. His early vocal works were followed by instrumental pieces later in life, and like his Opus 12, they were intended for use at court and in church. The 24 Canzoni are notable not only for their unusual titles such as La gallina (The Hen), La strada (The Street), La Biancha (The White Woman), and even La Merula; they also show a striking enjoyment of polished musical brilliance, as far as this is possible when working with only two or three voices. In Ruggiero, Merula uses the same principle he expressly names in the Ciaccona: repeated melodic variation over a bass that stays the same—a form known as chaconne, which originated in dance music but was taken to the point of highest virtuosity in Baroque art music. Each new variation features further foreshortening of notes; the two violins reach dizzying tempi, behind which the concertizing violone does not stand back in “its” variation. In the middle of the composition, the measure changes from two to three—and the game begins anew. Merula drives this strict principle of variation to the extreme in the Ciaccona, in which the bass theme, comprising a mere two measures, is repeated no fewer than 32 times, with the two violins and violone contributing melodies in ever-different rhythms. The Ballo detto Eccardo is far more relaxed; here the drawn-out bass theme consisting of three separate sections is presented only twice, with plenty of room in the upper voices for additional improvisation, as each individual section is repeated.

A “New Sappho”

Many aspects of Barbara Strozzi’s life and output are remarkable. It begins with her illegitimate birth, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. After all, her presumptive biological father, Giulio Strozzi, not only adopted the girl, but also ensured that she received the best training available as a singer and composer. Having come to renown in Venice as a poet and translator, but especially as the librettist of operas by Monteverdi, Cavalli, and Sacrati, the elder Strozzi even founded his own private musical salon, the “Accademia degli unison,” in order to provide Barbara with a platform for her vocal performances. This experience probably contributed much to the fact that Strozzi’s madrigals, arias, and cantatas are highly inventive, especially in terms of vocal quality.

Barbara Strozzi’s adult life, however, is no less interesting: unmarried all her life, she had four children—three of them from a long-term liaison with a son of the wealthy Venetian Vidman family. According to recent research, Barbara, who was praised for her great beauty, may have also made a living as a courtesan. On the other hand, she managed to secure dedications to high-ranking members of the nobility for each of the nine publications of her works—from the Grand Duchess of Tuscany for Opus 1 (here Giulio’s old connections in Florence may have played a decisive role) to the Arias Op. 8, which were dedicated to Duchess Sophia of Braunschweig-Lüneburg, a music enthusiast and patron of the arts who was undertaking a grand tour of Italy.

But Strozzi was by no means the first woman to present her own madrigals to the public. This honor belongs to Maddalena Casulana from Florence, who published her Primo libro di madrigali in Venice in 1568. In 1593, she was followed by a certain Vittoria Aleotti from Ferrara, four years later by Cesarina Ricci from Ancona—for both of them, however, these remained one-time attempts. Her ambitious father Giulio Strozzi set a higher standard for Barbara Strozzi’s Opus 1, published about 50 years thereafter: not only did he write all the texts himself, entitling the penultimate work La Vittoria (Victory, but also a reverence to the dedicatee, Vittoria della Rovere), but in the first madrigal, which is conceived as a programmatic introduction, he prophetically describes Barbara as “Saffo novella”, or the “new Sappho.”

Jealousy and Chaste Love

Later, Barbara would write poetry herself as well, but initially, she limited herself to composing—doing so in such a highly imaginative manner that she proved herself a brilliantly original heiress to Monteverdi. The inventive subject of Al battitor di bronzo (To the Brass Door-Knocker), for example, seems to have posed a particular challenge to Strozzi: in an artful duet, tenor and bass describe all the desperate and angry attacks on this mute witness to unrequited love. Strozzi loves playing with individual words: the repetitions of “quante volte” (how many times), the vocal errantry on “errar” (to err), the forte accents on “colpi gelosi” (jealous blows), the trills on “altrui riso” (the laughter of others). Only in the sonnet’s last tercet (“ma tu perdona”), the character changes, and the madrigal dwindles away in melancholy resignation. In L’amante modesto (The Modest Lover), the notes seem to fly away in the beginning, and calm only returns after a reference to “ossequiosi amori” (subservient love). This “chaste love” is reflected by a tender canon between soprano and tenor, while the sensuous love of the successful competitor is illustrated with five vocal parts. The final sequence, “diverso è il nostro stato,” chromatically darkened, takes up much space: having juxtaposed “unchaste” and “chaste” love, the latter fades in sweetest harmony.

One prime example of Barbara Strozzi’s musical interpretation of words is Consiglio amoroso (Advice on Love). Whether “soffrire” (to suffer), “fuggire” (flee), or “tacer sempre” (be forever silent), whether “pianti” (tears), “lamenti” (laments), or “dimostranze acerbe” (bitter recriminations): the notes “speak” for themselves. Only in the middle of the piece does the atmosphere veer toward the cheerful, and the madrigal ends with dance-like verve, enjoying the punishment meted out to the unfaithful beloved. In Priego ad Amore (Prayer to Amor), Strozzi divides the verses: first the five-voice address to “pietosissimo Amor” (the most merciful Amor), then the god’s characteristics listed individually, and finally the lament of the male voices about “morir” (dying) and “languir” (languishing)—and finally, as a play of words on her own name, the hymn to “Barbara,” the cruel one, repeated several times. Gli amanti falliti (The Fading Lovers) adopts a more humorous tone; note that the sufferings of the spurned lover are entrusted mainly to the male voices. The harmonic daring employed at the words “miseri e dolenti” (miserable and suffering) stands out, before coloratura fireworks embellish the requests to Amor to finally give up his pointless games.

20 years later, in 1664, Barbara Strozzi’s eighth anthology was published with the simple title Arie a voce sola (Arias for solo voice). The experience and development the composer has undergone is clearly audible—especially in the voluminous “serenata con violini” Hor che Apollo è a Theti in seno (Now that Apollo Rests against Thetis’ Breast). Apart from the ritornellos in both violins, which provide the piece’s framework, it is mainly the recitative-like sections of the soprano—in a trouser role, so to speak—which are much more artful in design and execution than in earlier works. Her, or rather his, hope of being chosen by his beloved after all (“Mira al piè tante catene”) is expressed in an eloquent aria. The change at the words “isfogatevi, spriggionatevi” (vent yourselves, be liberated) comes as a surprise, as the beloved shows no compassion whatsoever, even in sleep—reflected by the monotonous voice leading. The rest of this grand scene is a heart-rending farewell, a profound lament that ensures a place for Barbara Strozzi as one of the great composers of her time.

For the end of the program, we return once more to Monteverdi: Ohimè, dov’è il mio ben from his Seventh Book of Madrigals is conceived by the composer as a genuine duet for two female voices who keep interrupting one another or unite their voices in continuous sighs of plaintive harmony, expressing the sorrow of knowing their beloved far away. For the finale, La Venexiana has chosen Hor che’l ciel e la terra from the Eighth Book of Madrigals: Monteverdi fully matches the artfulness of Francesco Petrarca’s sonnet in a colorful setting. Beginning in complete monotony as the nocturnal motionlessness of humankind and nature is described, it then awakens in lively interplay between the voices, describing how the sleepless, pondering lover “wakes, thinks, burns, and weeps”— only to end with an enormous, powerful final coloratura on the last word, “lunge” (far away), spread over three and a half octaves from low bass to high soprano.

Translation: Alexa Nieschlag