Alwes, Chester Lee-A History of Western Choral Music, Volume 1-Oxford University Press (2015)

A History of Western
Choral Music
A History of
Western Choral
Music
FROM MEDIEVAL FOUNDATIONS
TO THE ROMANTIC AGE
Volume 1
CHESTER L. ALWES
1
1
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Alwes, Chester Lee, 1947- author.
A history of Western choral music / Chester L. Alwes.
volumes cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978–0–19–517742–8 (v. 1, hardback : alk. paper) — ISBN 978–0–19–936193–9 (v. 1, pbk. : alk. paper) —
ISBN 978–0–19–937699–5 (v. 2, hardback : alk. paper) — ISBN 978–0–19–937700–8
(v. 2, pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Choral music. I. Title.
ML1500.A46 2014
782.509—dc23
2013042784
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper
IN MEMORIAM
RICHARD F. FRENCH
(1915–2001)
Contents
Preface ix
Acknowledgments xi
Abbreviations xiii
1. Western Choral Music—Medieval Foundations 1

• Liturgy • Modality • Polyphony
2. Sacred Choral Music of the Renaissance, I (1425–1525) 25
• Motet and Mass Cycles • Josquin des Prez
3. Secular Choral Music of the Renaissance (1440–1625) 60
• Chanson, Lied, and Psalter • Italian Madrigal • English Madrigal
• Madrigal Comedy and Intermedium
4. Sacred Choral Music of the Renaissance, II (1525–1600) 93
• The Rise of the Parody Mass • Palestrina, Lassus, and Victoria
• Other Choral Genres
5. Sacred Choral Music in England (1450–1650) 127
• Pre-Reformation England • Tallis and Byrd • Anglican Church Music
6. Choral Music of the Italian Baroque (1600–1725) 157
• Gabrieli and the Polychoral Concerto • Carissimi and the Oratorio
• Claudio Monteverdi • Italian Sacred Music after Monteverdi
7. Choral Music in Germany from Hassler to Buxtehude 194
• Foundations of German Baroque Choral Style • Heinrich Schütz
• Angst der Hellen und Friede der Seelen (1623) • Evolution of the German
Church Cantata
8. French Baroque Music (1650–1750) 222
• Lully and Louis XIV • Charpentier and LaLande • Couperin and Rameau
9. Choral Music in England from the Restoration to Handel 245
• Henry Purcell • George Frideric Handel
10. The Choral Music of Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750) 280
• Motets • Cantatas • Masses • Passions
11. Aspects of Classicism and Romanticism in Choral Music 317
• Transitions from Baroque to Classicism • Stile antico to stile moderno to
Empfindsamkeit • Enlightenment and Romanticism
12. The Mass (1750–1900) 334
• Symphonic Mass from Haydn to Beethoven • Nineteenth-Century
Mass Composers
13. Romanticism and the Requiems of Mozart, Berlioz, Verdi, and Brahms 370
• Latin Requiems: Mozart, Berlioz, and Verdi • Ein Deutsches Requiem
vii
viii Contents
14. Sacred Choral Music from Mozart to Liszt 395

• German Protestant Composers • Nineteenth-Century Catholic Composers
• Music in Victorian England
Notes 433
Art Credits 465
Bibliography 467
Index 477
Preface
When I went to New York to work on my masters degree in 1969 I discovered, to my dismay,

that the authors of the text books I had read as an undergraduate were either retired or dead.
Having labored for ten years on this book, I now understand why. For years, my students have
urged me to write this book, but I demurred due to a mixture of doubt, fear, and common sense.
At some point in one’s career, however, the urge arises to make some definitive statement of
one’s accomplishment as a hedge against mortality. The coincidence of these two forces is the
catalyst for this book, which represents the content of courses on the history of choral literature
taught to hundreds of upper-level undergraduate and graduate students during my tenure at the
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (1982 to 2011).
I must admit that even contemplating writing a book that purports to survey the
immense body of choral music in the Western world requires a certain degree of hubris. Had
I not had the experiences of trying to codify the bare bones of this subject to respond to students’
questions about and critiques about these works, I would never have contemplated, much less
completed, the task. That I did so is a testament to the students with whom I have been so for-
tunate to work in both academic and performance venues.
I routinely tell each new generation of graduate students that while I understand that
they expect me to give them the “answers,” my job is to teach them to ask the right questions, to
which they, like me, will find their own answers. I also seek to encourage them by pointing out
that the breadth of my knowledge was not gained from any single class or teacher but as part
of an ongoing fascination with choral music in all its diversity, the various factors that shape
how any given composer exercises his art, and the continual challenge of effecting a synthesis
between academic knowledge and performance. The classes were always multisemester units—
two for the master’s of music survey and four for the doctor of musical arts seminar (one class
devoted to each of the four major historical periods). One advantage of teaching these classes
was that my students were very forgiving of the inevitable omissions. Rather, the emphasis
was on covering representative composers and genres to establish paradigms that would serve
these students throughout their careers. While these classes never came close to covering all
of the music assayed in these volumes, I felt that putting the content of these classes into writ-
ing afforded no such luxury; I am constantly, often painfully, aware of how much is left unsaid,
despite the genuine desire to be as thorough as possible. Aware of these necessary omissions,
I apologize in advance to those readers who find that one of their favorite composers or pieces
has been overlooked. In my classes, such gaps were routinely filled by individual research proj-
ects, and I expect the same result to ensue here.
The following list might serve as the necessary foundation for understanding my pro-
cess in the two volumes into which this history of choral music has morphed:
1. Choral music, by its very nature, depends on and derives from text. Like the art
of choral performance, my goal has been to reconstruct the composer’s process,
to understand how words have inspired their choices regarding form, harmony,
texture, and melody.
2. Another essential part of the process involves the art of analysis, that is, under-
standing by whatever means available why composers made the choices they
ix
x Preface
did and how their process must inform ours as conductors. To that end, the
array of analytical techniques proffered within will serve as examples of how to
approach the music of any given era, acknowledging the reality that no single
approach will likely be the sole explanation for how music works.
3. Like any type of history, the study of choral music requires due consideration of
various contexts—political, religious, cultural, philosophical, aesthetic, techno-
logical—that have shaped each artwork into a unique creation.
This volume begins with a necessary survey of those aspects of medieval music that
have continued to affect choral music even to this day—the concepts of liturgy and modal-
ity. The Renaissance takes up the next four chapters, which cover the growth of sacred music
up to Josquin (chap. 2), the rise of secular music (chap. 3), sacred polyphony from Josquin to
Palestrina and his contemporaries (chap. 4), and the sacred and secular choral repertory unique
to England (chap. 5).
The Baroque era is dealt with primarily according to geography, starting, as did the
period itself, with Italy (chap. 6), spreading to Germany (chap. 7), France (chap. 8), and ulti-
mately England (chap. 9), which combines the eras of Purcell and Handel in recognition of the
latter composer’s manifold indebtedness to the former. Then I devote an entire chapter to the
music of J. S. Bach (chap. 10).
Given the rather awkward overlap between the deaths of Bach and Handel and the
beginnings of what would become Classical music, the next four chapters examine the aes-
thetic foundations of both Classical and Romantic music (chap. 11) and then proceed to explore
the major choral genres common to both periods—Mass (chap. 12), Requiem (chap. 13), and,
finally, smaller sacred works both Protestant and Catholic (chap. 14). The historical narrative
resumes in volume 2, examining other nineteenth-century genres (oratorio, part song, dramatic
music, and choral symphony) before tackling the incredibly diverse content of the contempo-
rary period.
Finally, I would exhort anyone who reads this book (and its companion volume) to
remember that this information began as musings about and analysis of actual music. It must
be read with that fact in mind and, hopefully, with ready access to the many scores that were
the starting point for my own scholarly journey. This is not an attempt to provide students with
pithy, quotable statements to use in papers but with a wide range of approaches to understand-
ing the scores that we, as conductors, deal with on a daily basis.
Chester L. Alwes
Mahomet, IL
May 2014
Acknowledgments
Any proper list of acknowledgments must begin with one’s teachers. I am indebted to the many
musicians and scholars who have exercised such a profound and generous influence on me,
whether direct or indirect, acknowledged or unknown. This list would have to include my pri-
mary mentors—Richard Spalding, J. David Wagner, Richard French, Gerhard Herz, Richard
Gore, Harold J. Decker, Leonard Rumery, Herbert Kellman, Nicholas Temperley, Alexander
Ringer, and Tom Ward. Among my mentors none has had a more lasting influence than my dear
friend Arnold Epley, who has nurtured and assisted my musical development from my teenage
years to the present. Finally, there are the many friends and colleagues both near (Katharine
Syer, Steven Taylor, Tom Ward, and Stephen Zank) and far (Bill Brooks, Pamela Elrod, Xiantang
Hong, and John Leman) who have generously read and offered invaluable insights into many
of the book’s chapters.
I am obviously grateful to my alma mater and employer, the University of Illinois at
Urbana-Champaign for providing me with a world-class education, access to stimulating col-
leagues and students, an incredibly rich body of resources for research, teaching, and perfor-
mance opportunities and financial support (in the form of a research assistant) that made the
completion of this book possible. One glance at the bibliography will reveal the important role
that dissertations written at Illinois have played not only in my research but also in the work of
scholars throughout the world. As I prepared this manuscript for publication, I realized once
again of the immense riches contained in the libraries of the University of Illinois and the ease
of access that they so graciously provide. I am indebted to the staff of the music library and
the Performing Arts library: John Wagstaff, head bibrarian (who also read some of the chap-
ters), Marlys Scarbrough, Kirsten Dougan, William Buss, Chris Pawlicki, and others. They have
accepted my presence in their work space with grace, essentially granting me unfettered access
to this invaluable resource.
I am indebted to Suzanne Ryan, Norman Hirschy, Madelyn Sutton, Caelyn Cobb, and
Adam Cohen of Oxford University Press for believing in this project and being supportive of
my efforts, even when I wrote too much and took too long. All have been unfailingly gracious,
answering the many questions that any first-time author needs answered. I would also like to
acknowledge with gratitude and respect the initial editing of this massive manuscript by David
Pear; not only did he treat the text with care and respect but was also quick to offer many appre-
ciated suggestions for photos to break up the otherwise barren expanse of text and even cita-
tions for articles, which proved most enlightening. For the wonderful images that realized Mr.
Pear’s ideas, I am indebted to Toby Greenberg, who meticulously researched a treasure trove of
possible images and secured all the necessary licenses. Her assistance has gone far beyond that
of one employed to do a job; indeed, she has been a source of encouragement, invaluable advice,
and a model of professionalism. Finally, I am indebted beyond words to my copy editor, Mary
Sutherland, who more than any other single person helped bring this book to print. A fellow
Louisvillian (what a small world it is!), Mary has become a trusted friend and constant source
of helpful advice. Although we have not yet met face to face, we have shared so much in this
process that I cannot imagine having anyone else as my editor.
I am likewise grateful to the many publishers of both music and books who have
generously allowed me to use their publications to enrich this book. I have taken pains to
xi
xii Acknowledgments
acknowledge their assistance wherever possible but would specifically acknowledge the gener-
osity of Fehrmann Gennica (Finland), Stainer and Bell (London), Faber Music (London), Musica
Russica, Belmont Music (United States), and the Stockhausen Foundation, all of which have
allowed me to use materials they own at no charge.
Finally, there is a small group of people without whom this project could never have
been successfully completed. To Wes Alexander, I am indebted for his patience and hard work
assisting me in the preparation of the many musical examples that elucidate aspects of musi-
cal style. I would not have been able to complete the finished manuscript without the careful
and patient editing of these examples by Derryl Singley, whose keen eye for detail and knowl-
edge of how publishers operate were of inestimable value. I am grateful to Nelly Matova, who,
for two years, worked as my research assistant; her unflinching and meticulous attention to
detail have assured that the bibliography, notes, tables, and index are as accurate as possible.
I also want to thank my son Jonathan, whose expertise in computer science at the University of
Illinois-Springfield came to the rescue of his technologically challenged father on many occa-
sions. Finally, I must acknowledge the many contributions to literally every aspect of this project
made by my wife, Marlys Scarbrough, whose brilliance as a music librarian and Internet guru
are surpassed only by her unwavering emotional support and belief that I could actually finish
this book.
Abbreviations
m./mm. measure/measures
MM metronome marks
BM Baroque Music
BWV Bach-Werke-Verzeichnis
CM Choral Music: A Norton Historical Anthology
CMM Corpus Mensurabilis Musicae
CRM Classic and Romantic Music: A Comprehensive Survey (Blume, ed.)
DC Das Chorwerke (Blume, ed.)
DDT Denkmäler der Deutschen Tonkunst
DGG Deutsche Grammophon Gesellschaft
DTÖ Denkmäler der Tonkunst in Österreich
DTV Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag
ESM European Sacred Music (Rutter, ed.)
GH Gustav Holst: The Man and his Music
H. Hitchcock catalogue (Charpentier)
HAM 1 and 2 Historical Anthology of Music
Hob. Hoboken catalog (Haydn)
HVW Händel-Werke-Verzeichnis
JAMS Journal of the American Musicological Society
JB Johannes Brahms: A Biography
JBL Kongressbericht Jean-Baptiste Lully: Actes du colloque/Kongressbericht (1987).
K. Köchel catalogue (Mozart)
LU Liber Usualis. Benedictines of Solesmes.
LWV Lully Werke Verzeichnis
MBE Music in the Baroque Era: From Monteverdi to Bach
MGG Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart
MQ Musical Quarterly
MR Music in the Renaissance (Reese)
MRen Music in the Renaissance (Brown)
MRE Music in the Romantic Era (Einstein)
NAWM Norton Anthology of Western Music, 3rd ed. (1996)
NBA Neue Bach-Ausgabe sämtlicher Werke (Bach)
Neoclassicism
Neoclassicism in Music: From the Genesis of the Concept through the
Schoenberg/Stravinsky Polemic (Messing, ed.)
NG The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (1980)
NG2 The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed. (2001)
NSA NeueSchütz-Ausgabe sämtlicher Werke (Schütz)
OUP Oxford University Press
PCM Protestant Church Music (Blume, ed.)
PRMA Proceedings of the Royal Musicological Association
RISM International Inventory of Musical Sources (Répertoire International des
Sources Musicales)
RV Ryom-Verzeichnis (Vivaldi)
xiii
xiv Abbreviations
SW Samtliche Werke (Hassler)

SWV Schütz-werke-verzeichnis
Tagebücher 2 Tagebücher, Band II: 1836–1854 (Shumann)
WAB Werkverzeichnis Anton Bruckners
Z. Zimmerman catalogue (Purcell)
A History of Western
Choral Music
1
Western Choral Music—Medieval

Foundations
The Liturgical Year and the Monastic Hours

Scholars generally agree that choral music (i.e., multiple singers singing the parts of a polyphonic
composition) first appears in the first quarter of the fifteenth century.1 Before that time, polyphonic
settings based on Gregorian chant were the sole province of trained solo singers. Although poly-
phonic vocal music existed as early as the eleventh century, choral music (understood as the perfor-
mance of polyphony by multiple singers on each part) first flowered in the Renaissance (ca. early
fifteenth century–late sixteenth century). To understand the Masses and motets of the fifteenth
century requires an awareness of the history and liturgy of preceding centuries. Our historical
survey of Western choral music thus begins with an exploration of liturgical and theoretical bases.
The earliest Roman Catholic liturgical music was monophonic, generically known
as plainsong or chant. The latter term often carries the qualifier “Gregorian,” honoring Pope
Gregory I (r. 590–604), even though the oldest extant manuscript sources postdated his papacy
by some three centuries. The existence of these chant manuscripts harks back to Charlemagne’s
decision to embrace Christianity. To accomplish his goal, he acquired Roman liturgical books,
which commingled with the extant body of Frankish music known as Gallican chant. The result-
ing repertory, copied in the early ninth century, often included the introductory text Gregorius
praesul as a way of currying favor with Rome and establishing the new faith’s bona fides.2
1
2 A History of Western Choral Music
As liturgical monody grew in size, complexity, and diversity of function, its preservation
increasingly relied on developing a standardized pitch notation. Simple shapes reminded sing-
ers of a given chant’s melodic contour, but as polyphony grew more sophisticated, increasingly
precise notations of pitch and rhythm were needed. Any discussion of early Renaissance choral
polyphony requires an understanding of such terminology as trope, ligature, neume, and men-
sural notation. Since medieval polyphony was inextricably tied to chant (via the use of Gregorian
cantus firmi), we must understand the liturgy that summoned this music into existence; this
includes the system of calendric organization that governed the performance of that music.
The medieval mind was fascinated with number and organization, a tendency reflected
in the organization of worship, especially in monastic settings where the daily routine included
a full regimen of services. Liturgical organization operated on both macrocosmic (the liturgical
year) and microcosmic (the liturgical day) levels.
Table 1.1 The Liturgical Year

The Pre-Christmas Season
Advent I—IV (The four Sundays preceding Christmas)
A penitential season during which the Gloria of the Mass was deleted
The Christmas Season—Christmas (12/25) to Epiphany (1/6)
Christmas Day (12/25)
Feast of Saint Stephen (12/26)
Feast of Saint John (12/27)
Sunday within the Octave of Christmas
Feast of the Circumcision (1/1)
Conversion of Paul (1/2)
Epiphany—the celebration of the arrival of the Wise Men
Feast of the Epiphany (1/6)
The Sundays after Epiphany (variable in number from two to eight)
Feast of the Purification/Presentation (2/2)
Pre-Lent—formerly the three Sundays (Septuagesima, Sexagesima, and Quinquagesima) prior to
Ash Wednesday
The Latin titles of these three Sundays (no longer celebrated) were Latin ordinals indicating
seventy, sixty, and fifty days before Easter; though not arithmetically accurate, the titles followed
the Latin designation of Lent proper as Quadrigesima (forty days).
Lent—the six Sundays prior to Easter
Ash Wednesday—The penitential season of Lent begins with the imposition of ashes to signify
repentance. The forty days of Lent represent the forty days Jesus spent fasting in the desert,
his temptation by Satan and, metaphorically, the forty years that the Israelites wandered in the
desert after the Exodus from Egypt. Historically, the five Sundays prior to Palm Sunday were
assigned names based on the incipit of their Latin Introits:
Invocabit
Laetare
Oculi
Reminiscere
Judica
Palmarum
Maundy Thursday
Western Choral Music—Medieval Foundations 3
Table 1.1 Continued
Good Friday
Holy Saturday
Easter—Paschal Time
Easter is the first Sunday following the first full moon after the vernal equinox. The date of Easter
is not fixed (as Christmas is) but fluctuates between March 23 and April 22. Precisely where it
falls in the calendar determines both the number of Sundays in Epiphany and after Pentecost.
Easter Sunday
Easter Monday
Easter Tuesday
Quasimodogeniti
Misericordias Domini
Jubilate
Cantate
Rogate
The Latin names of the Sundays in Paschal Time derive from the opening word of the de tempore
Introit.
Pentecost
Depending on the date of Easter (a moveable feast, first codified by the Venerable Bede, ca.
673–735), the season of Pentecost consists of from twenty-two to twenty-eight Sundays. The
Feast of the Ascension falls on the Thursday thirteen days prior to Pentecost. Pentecost (fifty
days after Easter) marks the descent of the Holy Spirit as mentioned in the Gospels. Like
Christmas and Easter, Pentecost is celebrated liturgically for three days (Sunday, Monday, and
Tuesday).3 Following the Council of Nicaea in 325, the Feast of the Holy Trinity was added to
the liturgical calendar as the Sunday following Pentecost. The remaining Sundays of the litur-
gical year are now referred to as Sundays after Pentecost or Sundays after Trinity.
Monasteries organized themselves around a series of daily services corporately known
as the “Offices” or “Hours.” These comprised two levels—the “Greater Hours” and the “Lesser
Hours”:
Table 1.2 The Liturgical Day

Greater Hours Lesser Hours
Matins (3 a.m.)
Lauds (6 a.m.) Prime (6 a.m.)
Terce (9 a.m.)
Sext (12 noon)
None (3 p.m.)
Vespers (ca. 6 p.m.)
Compline (ca. 9 p.m.)
Table 1.3 Greater Hours—Canticles

Service Canticle
Matins Jubilate Deo or Te Deum
Lauds Benedictus Dominus Deus Israel
Canticle of Zachariah—Lk 1:68–79

Vespers Magnificat
Canticle of B.V.M.—Lk 1:46–55

Compline Nunc Dimittis
Canticle of Simeon—Lk 2:29–32
The Greater Hours required the entire community’s attendance; since the Lesser Hours were
not obligatory they tended to be simpler and therefore less musically significant. The musical
centerpiece of the Greater Hours was the canticle proper to each service.
The familiarity of the Magnificat canticle (or “Song of Mary” [Lk 1:46–55]) resulted from
the designation of Vespers as the only liturgical Office to allow polyphonic music. Accordingly,
the choral repertory includes numerous settings of this text, including cycles of settings in each
of the eight modes (e.g., the cycles by Leonhard Lechner, Cristobal de Morales, and others). Such
settings typically featured the alternation of chant (for the odd-numbered verses) and polyphony
(for the even-numbered verses), a technique known as “Alternatimpraxis.” Compositional inter-
est in this particular Office eventually extended beyond the canticle to include settings of the
entire service:
Structure of Vespers:
5 psalms (taken from psalms 110–1474) with their antiphons
Hymn
Magnificat
The Mass
The principal liturgical ritual is the Mass, which has two levels both liturgically and musically.
The first level introduces one of the most important concepts in liturgy, the complementary
notions of “Proper” and “Ordinary.” The Proper of the Mass reflects the church’s seasons and
celebrations, and it changes accordingly; the Ordinary is exactly that: it remains the same for any
Mass regardless of season or degree of solemnity. The second layer of the Mass’s musical orga-
nization categorizes music either as chanted/intoned by a priest or sung, either by the soloist or
ensemble.
Polyphonic settings of the sung Ordinary texts (Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus/
Benedictus, and Agnus Dei) of the Mass are directly tied to the emergence of polyphonic Mass
cycles in the Renaissance. Composers initially applied polyphony to the Propers of the Mass
because these chants featured soloists, and it was the solo portions of a chant that received
polyphonic treatment. Responsorial chants, such as Benedicamus Domino (ex. 1.1), appeared
most frequently as the tenor (see n. 13), the essential foundation of any polyphonic structure.
Table 1.4 The Roman Mass

Intoned Chanted
Proper Ordinary Proper Ordinary
1. Introit
2. Kyrie
3. Gloria
4. Collect
5. Epistle
6. Gradual
7. Tract/Alleluia
8. Gospel
9. Credo
10. Offertory
11. Offertory Prayers
12. Secret
13. Preface
14. Sanctus/Benedictus
15. Canon
16. Pater Noster
17. Agnus Dei
18. Ite missa est
Example 1.1 Benedicamus Domino
In this example, the number “2” preceding the chant indicates that its range is that
of mode 2, Hypodorian on D. The total range (ambitus) of this chant is A to A.5 There are two
separate parts: the verse Benedicamus Domino, and the Respond (or Responsory) Deo gratias,
both of which have same pitch content. The ambitus of the chant (A–A) and prominent role of
the final on D confirm a Hypodorian modal profile.
Modality
Modality facilitated the classification of different chant melodies. Initially, these chants adhered to
one of four profiles, each based on a shared final and two different ranges. We now call these modes
(adopted ca. the fifth century) the “authentic” modes; in the sixth century, an additional four (called
“plagal”) were added. While retaining the same final as their respective predecessors, each had dif-
ferent reciting tones and ranges.
Table 1.5 Modes
Mode Final Reciting Tone Range
1. Dorian D A D–D′
2. Hypodorian D F A–A
3. Phrygian E C E–E′
4. Hypophrygian E A A–A
5. Lydian F C F–F′
6. Hypolydian F A C–C′
7. Mixolydian G D G–G′
8. Hypomixolydian G C D–D′
The presence of only four finals confirms the eight scales as four pairs that share a
common final but are otherwise different. In treatises these pairs were frequently given generic
numerical names—Protus, Deuterus, Tritus, and Tetrardus. While the final of modes 1 and 2
(Dorian and Hypodorian) was D, chants in each mode had different ranges: Dorian using D–D′
and Hypodorian A–A. The lower range of mode 2 reminds us that the original performers of
this music were male. The range of mode 2 was a fourth below that of mode 1, leading to its
designation as “plagal” (the subdominant, IV).6 Conversely, mode 1 was “authentic” because its
range encompassed the octave above the final. This complementary relationship applied to all
four modal pairs.
Each mode (ex. 1.2) had its own “reciting tone,” which was generally the fifth scale-degree
of the authentic octave, a third lower in the plagal mode.
Example 1.2 Modal Profiles
The two deviations from this model both occurred to avoid the pitch on B. For
example, the reciting tone of Phrygian mode (on E) should be B, but this pitch’s difficult
association with tritones, (e.g., F–B, an augmented 4th, not only hard to sing but impos-
sible to tune correctly) caused a relocation of its reciting tone to C′ (mode 3) and A (mode
4). Similarly, in Hypomixolydian mode, the final would have fallen on B, requiring its
movement to C′.
The range of Benedicamus Domino is A–A, but its final is D. There are no reciting tones
in this chant but the melodic prominence of F confirms the chant’s modality as Hypodorian.
Although the melodies of the solo polyphony and the choral response (Deo gratias) are the same,
untrained singers needed a process whereby they could decipher and remember their pitches.
Guido d’Arezzo (ca. 991/992–ca. 1033) devised a system of three overlapping hexachords to
identify each individual pitch. The entire range of possible notes was arranged as a scale of
overlapping hexachords (ex. 1.3) because it began on G (written as the Greek letter Γ or gamma,
which was the first and lowest possible ut, hence gamma ut, which became the word “gamut,”
signifying the whole range):
Example 1.3 Guido’s Gamut Solmized
Each specific pitch designation consists of the pitch name and the solmization syllable/s associ-
ated with it; a note used in two hexachords uses both solmization syllables, the first being the
lower position. Thus, the first C in e xample 1.3 is called C fa-ut because it first occurs as fa in
the G hexachord.
Each hexachord has the same diatonic pitch collection but receives a different name: the
hexachord beginning on C is called “natural;” the other two both contain the pitch B, their
names reflecting how they use it. The hexachord on F is called “soft” (Hexachordum mollum)
because its fourth scale degree must be B♭ (hence fa), while in the G hexachord B appears as the
third scale degree (mi) requiring B♮ and earning the designation “hard” (Hexachordum durum).7
To read Benedicamus Domino, singers took the starting pitch given by the cantor as
sol because the first series of pitches fit within the G hexachord. For that reason, Benedicamus
Domino lacks a signed B♭. Using this hexachord the singers could read the melody as far as the
first syllable of Domino. The appearance of F, a note not available in the G hexachord, requires
the singers to change hexachords in order to continue, a process called “mutation.” The only
mutation possible is to the C hexachord, which accommodates all of the pitches save the last.
Example 1.4 re-creates a likely solmization of the Benedicamus Domino melody.
Example 1.4 Benedicamus Domino Solmized
Another variable of modality was transposition. The most common transposition was up a
fourth, indicated by a signed B♭. Thus, any composition (monophonic or polyphonic) with a G final
and a signed B♭ had to be some form of Dorian mode transposed to G; to decide which (mode 1 or
mode 2) required assessing the range and reciting tone, which are, like the final, transposed. Thus,
any composer writing a Dorian melody had four possible permutations from which to choose:
1. Dorian on D D D–D′ A no signed B♭

2. Hypodorian on D D A–A F no signed B♭
3. Dorian on G G G–G′ D signed B♭
4. Hypodorian on G G D–D′ B♭ signed B♭
Dorian on D and Hypodorian on G have the same range, while G Dorian and D Hypodorian
are quite similar.
Modality in Polyphonic Music

In 1547, the Swiss theorist Glareanus published a treatise titled Dodekachordon (“12 tones”), in which
he proposed expanding the eight-mode system to a twelve-mode system by adding Aeolian mode (i.e.,
natural minor on A) and Ionian mode (“major” on C). These new modes operated in precisely the
same fashion as the first eight, each having its common final, separate range, and reciting tone, and
the like. His advocacy of these two new modes resulted in a general realignment of the twelve modes
into two constellations—one that emulates the “major” modality (Ionian, Lydian, and Mixolydian),
and one that favors the “minor” modality (Aeolian, Dorian, and, to a lesser extent, Phrygian).
As polyphonic compositions became normative, the modal system needed to apply
to multiple voices. Therefore, the four standard voices (soprano, alto, tenor, and bass) were
arranged as pairs (soprano-tenor and alto-bass) with comparable ranges. Current scholarship
has referred to these pairs as “conterminous” because the highest note of the lower voice is
identical with the lowest note of the upper voice. This pairing (ex. 1.5) also took advantage of
the existence of the two modal octaves (authentic and plagal), assigning one vocal pair to each.
Example 1.5 Conterminous Modal Pairs
The melodic relatedness of the two related forms of the mode and the desire of printers to
avoid ledger lines produced another marker of modal identity, the use of distinctive clefs. The ranges
of the conterminous vocal pairs for mode 1 (on D) allowed the use of “low clefs” (C1, C3, C4, F4), the
“authentic” octave (D–D′) forming the range of the soprano and tenor, and the “plagal” (A–A′) that
of the alto and bass.8 Mode 2 reversed these ranges (S/T: G–G; A/B: D–D), necessitating the use of a
different set of clefs for the soprano/tenor pair; these are typically called “high clefs” or chiavette (G,
C2, C3, and F3 or C4).9 Transposition of Dorian mode to G (ex. 1.6) reversed the positions of these
vocal ranges and the clefs them—mode 1, the soprano/tenor pair now had the range G–G, requiring
“high clefs,” while the shift of range in mode 2 allowed “low clefs” (D–D).
Example 1.6 Clefs for Dorian (modes 1 and 2) on d and g
The final aspect of modal identity, unique to polyphonic music, was the creation of a
hierarchy of cadential pitches. In the parlance of modal counterpoint, a cadence involved two
voices proceeding in stepwise motion from an imperfect consonance to a perfect consonance
(ex. 1.7). A perfect cadence is one in which the soprano and tenor move by stepwise motion
to the final of the mode.10 The ascending voice (half step) is called “sopranizans,” regard-
less of which voice part it occurs in; similarly, the descending voice (whole step) is called
“tenorizans.” In the Renaissance the advent of a voice part beneath the tenor provided a new
harmonic feature; the only possible consonance beneath a modal cadence was the fifth below
the descending voice, the presence of which created what we now call the V–I cadence. The
third cadence in example 1.7 illustrates what Heinrich Besseler calls the “octave leap” cadence
(Oktavsprungsprungkadenz).11 Here, the bass part harmonizes the first note of the cadence with
the dominant but leaps an octave to avoid having all three voices arrive at the cadential pitch.
Other characteristics further qualified the perfect cadence—a 4–3 suspension in the soprano,
dominant–tonic (V–I) motion in the bass, and the participation of the entire vocal texture.
Any departure from this ideal cadence created cadences that had less value as markers of
formal structure. By charting the modal cadences of a composition—the pitches to which
cadences are made, the voices involved, the total number of voices sounding, the presence or
absence of suspension, and V–I motion in the bass—the relationship between cadential qual-
ity and formal structure became more varied, allowing for greater subtlety in the unfolding
musical form.
Example 1.7 Mode V, Modal Cadences
The increasing importance of contrapuntal modal cadences also guided the appli-
cation of musica ficta (i.e., sharpening or flattening of certain notes; the significance of the
pitch involved in the overall modal scheme often determined the propriety of applying ficta). In
Dorian mode on D, for example, a cadence to the modal final (D) was possible only by changing
the diatonic C to C♯. A direct correlation developed between the need to create a cadence and
the syntax (punctuation) of the text, the strongest cadences being reserved to demarcate major
textual divisions.
The Origins of Polyphony

The oldest surviving sources of polyphony date from the same period as Gregorian chant—
the late ninth century. Two treatises—Musica enchiriadis and Scholia enchiriadis—contain the
first theoretical examples of this new art. From the outset, polyphony was dependent on the
chant in an almost parasitical way, strict organum being nothing more than the simultaneous
presentation of the chant melody at one of the perfect consonances—octave, fifth, fourth, and
compounds. Example 1.8 shows how a portion of Benedicamus Domino might be performed as
simple organum. The chant (ex. 1-8a), sung by the lowest voice (vox principalis) and decorated
by the higher voice (vox organalis), mirrored its contours at the fifth (ex. 1-8b), fourth (ex. 1-8c)
and, finally, doubled at the octave to produce compound organum. Strict organum is not actu-
ally polyphony in the modern sense of the term since the two vocal lines merely mirror one
another.12 Fairly quickly, organa that introduced greater textural and harmonic variety began to
appear; Guido d’Arezzo’s treatise Micrologus (ca. 1040), the first significant treatment of polyph-
ony since Musica enchiriadis, was an early source of this more advanced organum.
The next stage of development was the repertory of melismatic organum (ex. 1.9) asso-
ciated with pilgrimage churches like St. Martial de Limoges and Santiago de Compostella. The
organal voice decorates the chant by overlaying it with melismas (a group of notes sung to one
syllable), increasing the duration of each pitch of the chant melody. Modern attempts to per-
form such music quickly reveal a problem—there is no rhythm to assist the singers in aligning
their parts or anticipating the principal (chant) voice’s movement to a new pitch. The increas-
ing length of the melisma above any chant pitch made aural identification of the chant melody
increasingly difficult. The lower, chant-bearing voice therefore became called the “tenor” as
it “held” the principal melody.13 The flats above some of the B’s in the example represent the
possible application of musica ficta either to eliminate harmonic tritones or to implement the
solmization rule “una nota super la, semper est canendem fa.” (One note above la [A in the C hexa-
chord] is always sung as fa [B♭].)
Example 1.8 Strict Organum
Example 1.9 Melismatic Organum
Prior to the mid-twelfth century, polyphony was largely a provincial art. By that time
Paris had already attained a status as the principal educational center of medieval Europe. The
University of Paris boasted such intellectual luminaries as Peter Abelard, Bernard of Clairvaux,
and Peter Lombard. What we now call France was a comparatively stable area politically under
the reigns of Louis VI and VII. The cathedral of Notre Dame rapidly became one of the leading
churches in Christendom outside of Rome; it is no surprise then that a school of composers
destined to create the next compositional watershed in the history of polyphonic music flour-
ished there. The main innovation of the Notre Dame School was the introduction of “modal
rhythm” as a solution to the problems posed by melismatic organum. Various rhythmic modes
were adopted from Latin and French verse and translated into mensural units based on the
alternation of longs and shorts in a ratio of 2:1 (the sum representing the Trinity and thus per-
fection in the medieval mind-set). Each of these modes was identified by its own specific pattern
of ligatures and rhythmic combinations:14
1. Trochaic Long-Breve-Long-Breve
2. Iambic Breve-Long-Breve-Long
3. Dactylic Long-Breve-Breve
4. Anapestic Breve-Breve-Long
5. Spondeic Long-Long
6. Tribrachic Breve-Breve-Breve-Breve-Breve-Breve
In modes 1 and 2, both long and breve were read as imperfect (i.e., duple) creating the pat-
tern half note–quarter note; half note–quarter note (reversed for 2) in modern transcription.
In modes 3 and 4 the longs were perfect (dotted half note), and the two breves were unequal,
the second being longer than the first (i.e., quarter note–half note). In mode 5, both longs
were perfect (2 dotted half notes), while in mode 6 all the breves were imperfect (six quarter
notes).
The compositional process involved in creating organum of the Notre Dame type can
be summarized as:
1. A Proper chant was selected.

2. The solo portions of the chant were set polyphonically, the choral sections sung
in unison.
3. The polyphonic sections assumed one of two textures—melismatic organum or
discantus.
4. Pieces normally began with melismatic organum, the duplum15 almost always
using rhythmic mode 1.
Wherever the original chant contained a melisma sung by a soloist, composers applied discantus
(note-against-note) texture to the upper voice(s) and modal rhythm (usually mode 5) to the tenor.
The resulting synchronous texture was therefore called discantus.
This description typifies the music of the first named composer of polyphony—
Magister Leoninus. The sole surviving description of Leonin’s music appears in a treatise
written by an unknown thirteenth-century English scribe (Anonymous IV, a name that
may apply to either the author or the manuscript or both) studying in Paris. Of Leonin, he
writes:
And note that Magister Leoninus, so it has been said, was the best worker with
organum [optimus organista], who made [fecit] the great book of polyphony [mag-
nus liber organi] on the gradual and antiphonary to embellish the divine service.16
Recent scholarship has identified Leonin as a member of the Notre Dame Cathedral staff in the
second half of the twelfth century. By 1192 he is referred to in cathedral documents as “magis-
ter Leonius presbyter,” indicating that in addition to his musical duties, he was also a priest.17
While there is general consensus that the Magnus Liber Organi was at least initiated by
Leonin, doubt exists as to exactly how much of its music Leonin actually composed and when.
Nonetheless, the book is a musical milestone—the first publication of polyphonic settings of
the Proper chants of the Mass and Office for the entire liturgical year. There is agreement that
Leonin’s music consists primarily of two-part organum, in which both melismatic and discant
styles appear (ex. 1.10). Leonin begins with melismatic organum, the duplum cast in mode 1. The
duplum has a melodic curve shaped, in some cases, by sequence. The melody is also contrived
to make cadences involving perfect consonances with the individual pitches of the tenor. At the
tenor’s fifth note (the syllable “di-” of “Benedicamus”), Leonin uses the second rhythmic mode in
the duplum. When the tenor melisma on “Domino” begins, Leonin creates discantus texture by
casting the tenor in mode 5. In addition, there is a rhythmic pattern (note–note–note–rest–note–
rest) that commences on the second note of the tenor and repeats six times (a seventh statement
is truncated). At the conclusion of the chant melisma, Leonin reverts to melismatic style, the tenor
sustaining its final pitch (D) while the duplum wends it way sequentially to its completion.
Example 1.10 Leonin: Benedicamus Domino, clausula
Of Leonin’s successor, Perotin (le Grande), the Anonymous IV source writes:
[This liber] was in use up to the time of Perotinus, who made a redaction of it
[“abbreviavit eundem”] and made many better clausulas that is puncta, he being
the best discantor and better (at discant) than Leoninus was. . . . This Magister
Perotinus made the best quadrupla, such as Viderunt and Sederunt, with an abun-
dance of striking musical embellishments [“colores armonicae artis”]; likewise,
the noblest tripla, such as Alleluia, Posui adiutorium and [Alleluia] Nativitas.18
This brief quote introduces the term clausula, defined as “an independent polyphonic composition
that employs a short chant melisma as a cantus firmus.” Anonymous IV states that Perotin “made a
redaction” of the Magnus Liber Organi (i.e., a new and ostensibly better edition). His editing might
have resulted in shorter, hence “better” clausulae (or puncta) as mentioned by Anonymous IV, as well
as the new compositions specifically cited. In making new clausulae, Perotin introduced repetitive
rhythmic patterns into the tenor; these evolved into the “isorhythmic technique” of the fourteenth
century, as example 1.11 shows. Perotin formalizes Leonin’s occasional use of rhythmic tenor patterns
into a short repetitive pattern collectively known as ordines (sing. ordo). This particular ordo is four
“measures” long, repeating the pattern L / B–B rest / B–B / B–B rest (L = Longa [usually transcribed as
a dotted half], B = Breve [dotted quarter]). This pattern, which appears five times, contains slots for five
pitches and two rests. Since the chant melisma has thirty pitches, the final five cannot be used in this
construction (mm. 1–20). Comparing Perotin’s tenor with the chant reveals that the pattern concludes
(as the editorial text underlay suggests) with the first note of the final syllable “-no.” Thereafter Perotin
repeats the entire melisma using a new ordo that reverses the two halves of the original (B–B / B–B–
rest / L / B–B rest). By repeating the chant melisma, (a process described as a double cursus from the
Latin cursere = to run) Perotin is able to create a longer, more complex composition.
Example 1.11 Perotin: Benedicamus omino
Despite the impressive and novel organa tripla and quadrupla described by Anonymous IV,
Perotin’s greater historical accomplishment was refurbishing Leonin’s clausulae. These improve-
ments established the precedent of “substitute clausulae,” in which composers upgraded the most
interesting parts of the organum, meaning those portions that set the chant melisma in discantus
style. The burgeoning popularity of these substitute clausula created a supply of music greater than
the liturgical demand, thus leading to a new genre, the motet, which was essentially a clausula with
a texted duplum (see ex. 1.12).19
Example 1.12 Motet: Domini fidelium/Domino, mm. 1–22

Like the necessary musical agreement of the new voice and the inherited chant, the
motettus text referenced the tenor text. In this example, the tenor incipit “Domino” begets a text
in which the attributes of “the Lord” are amplified: “Domino fidelium omnium fidelis devocio
Laudis cum preconio Jubilet in gaudio.” (“To the faithful Lord of all, let the voices of the faithful
devoted ones cry out in joy.”).
Perotin’s expansion of polyphonic organum to three and four voices opened up the
possibility of motets with two texted upper voices (triplum and motettus). Their melodic and
textual differences reinforced the hierarchical construction of medieval polyphony as separate
layers written consecutively. Without the plainsong tenor this new musical edifice could not
exist either musically or liturgically. Example 1.12 shows that the texts of both upper voices were
glosses on the tenor text. Like medieval architects, who were forced to invent new forms of sup-
port (e.g., the “flying buttress”) to build ever taller cathedrals, composers who sought to build
more complex musical structures first had to create a foundation of common reference that
supported the whole.
By the late thirteenth century, the format of the motet stabilized as may be seen
in the works of such composers as Petrus de Cruce (Pierre de la Croix, fl. late thirteenth
century) and Franco of Cologne (fl. mid thirteenth century). In these motets, the triplum
and motettus typically have French texts and the tenor (if not a freely composed melody) is
a mere vestige of the original chant melisma. The upper voices grew increasingly complex,
retaining the hierarchy that assigned more text and music to the triplum than the motettus.
This change prompted the invention of “choirbook format,” in which all three vocal parts
appear on facing pages.
Figure 1.1 Choirbook format

In this figure (Ockeghem’s chanson L’autre dantan taken from the Mellon Chansonnier),
the triplum occupies the entire left-hand page (verso), while the shorter motettus and tenor
appear on the right-hand (recto) page. We see a particularly striking example of this trend in
Petrus de Cruce’s motet Aucun—Lonc tans—Annuntiates, in which sextuplets and other com-
plex rhythms appear in the triplum but not in the motettus.20
The Ars Nova

The advent of the fourteenth century (It., Trecento) was indeed a watershed event in Western
European culture. The hegemony of the Roman Catholic Church—celebrated by the Great
Jubilee proclaimed by Pope Boniface VII—disintegrated, signaling the end of the church’s
domination of culture and political institutions. This decline culminated in the Babylonian
Captivity (1305–79) and the Great Schism (1378–1417), in which there were two rival popes, one
in France and one in Rome. In 1338 England and France engaged in a conflict (later known as
the Hundred Years War, 1338–1453) over ownership of lands in the north of France, a war that
wreaked havoc on both kingdoms. At the same time Italy was racked by internal strife between
the Guelphs (middle-class partisans of the papacy and popular rule) and the Ghibellines (sup-
porters of the Holy Roman Empire). The bubonic plague, or “black death,” significantly reduced
the population of Europe, causing chaos and fear that fueled the breakdown of the established
social order. The transition from the thirteenth to the fourteenth century witnessed many devel-
opments in the literary and plastic arts that led historians to call this century a “renaissance.” In
Italy, the Italian painter Giotto (1266–1337) introduced a new style of painting using “perspec-
tive.” The literary outputs of Dante (1265–1321), Petrarch (1307–74), and Boccaccio (1313–75) were
acclaimed as the “dolce stile nuove.” In England, unsuccessful attempts at reformation by Jon
Wycliffe (1320–84) and the literary works of Geoffrey Chaucer (1340–1400) signaled the arrival
of a new era as well.
Although the beginning of the musical renaissance was nearly a century away,
something new was clearly afoot in the fourteenth century. Among the foremost musicians
of the time was Philippe de Vitry (1291–1361), whose treatise Ars Nova defined the age. The
treatise advocated the coequal use of duple mensuration. Whereas Notre Dame polyphony
essentially recognized only one level of mensuration—the division of the longa into either
two or three breves (modus)—Vitry added two new classifications known as tempus (the divi-
sion of the breve into semibreves) and prolatio (the division of the semibreve into minims).
Figure 1.2 shows a synopsis of de Vitry’s system taken from Franchinus Gaffurius’s treatise,
Practica musicae (Milan, 1496).21
These two staves each contain both types of tempus—perfect (triple) and imperfect
(duple). The first staff illustrates perfect prolation (i.e., three-part division of the semibreve into
minims) under both perfect and imperfect time (tempus). The second changes to imperfect or
minor prolation. Tucked between the clefs and the actual musical notation are four different men-
sural signs. These consist of a circle and semicircle (“C”) indicating perfect (triple) and imperfect
(duple) time (tempus) respectively, as well as the addition of a dot to these same figures to indicate
perfect and imperfect prolation. These four options for metric notation may be thought of, in mod-
ern metrical terms, as 9/8, 6/8, 3/4, and 2/4 (reading from left top to right bottom in fig. 1.2). Like
modern meter signatures, the presence of one of these signs indicated division of the “measure”
(tactus) into either two (imperfect) or three (perfect) parts, each of which may be divided in the
same fashion.
Figure 1.2 Mensural Proportions, Francinus Gaffurius, Practica

Musicae, 1496
Isorhythm
A principal focal point of Ars Nova composition was the organization (first undertaken by
Leonin and Perotin) of the Gregorian cantus firmus into a series of repeated rhythmic units.
The result was isorhythm, a multitiered rhythmic organization, in which the tenor pitch con-
tent (color) was organized into a series of repeating rhythmic formulae. The composer’s first
task was to select a chant melisma (in this case, the setting of “Do-” from Benedicamus Domino,
ex. 1.4) viewed only as a collection of pitches. Next, the composer would design a rhythmic
pattern, repetition of which would accommodate the pitch content in a series of whole state-
ments comprised of both pitches and rests. In its simplest form, a direct, arithmetic relation-
ship existed between the number of pitches in the color and the number of “slots” available
in the ordo or talea. For example, if there were sixteen pitches in the color, the isorhythmic
pattern might well distribute the four pitches to four statements of the rhythmic pattern. In
more complicated examples, composers often created a deliberate imbalance between the
number of pitches and the structure of the isorhythmic pattern. The same sixteen pitches
might be doubled to thirty-two by using a double cursus. In such a case, a composer might
create an eleven-pitch isorhythmic pattern. In this hypothetical scenario, the first twenty-two
pitches are each factored into two long taleae; the remaining ten notes of the chant would
form a third by repeating the final note of the color. Isorhythm was first applied to the tenor;
eventually, it spread to other parts, especially the contratenor bassus in a four-part texture.
We can see the application of this process in de Vitry’s isorhythmic motet Tuba sacre
fidei / In arboris / VIRGO SUM. (The trumpet of the sacred faith / On top of the tree / I am a
virgin) The triplum and motettus have different Latin texts, while the textless tenor retains only
the incipit Virgo sum to indicate its plainsong source. The two Latin texts, though different in
quantity and content, embellish the incipit text (“I am a virgin”) of the tenor.
Table 1.6 Vitry, Tuba sacre fidei/In arboris, Text

Triplum Text Translation
Tuba sacre fidei, proprie dicta Dei. The trumpet of holy faith is properly called
Praeca arcanorum in theatris clamitat God’s word. The preacher of secret things
Quod ratio hesitat, basis peccatorum Repeatedly shouts in assemblies what reason,
Fatendum simpliciter credendumque on which sinners rely, hates to admit, but which
firmiter morive necesse: must be said simply and believed firmly: the One
Deum unum in tribus personibus God is three equal persons and the three are
equalibus et tres unum esse; one; that the Virgin, conceived not by the seed of
Virgine non semine viri sed spiramine man, but by the breath of the word, is always the
verbi concepisse; ipsam semper Virginem virgin who bore God as a man into the world; but
Deum atque hominem mundo perperisse; since all of these supernatural things are life to
Sed trans naturalia ista cum sint omnia the believer (but) death to those who ignore, let
credentibus vita neces neglicentibus, that which reason acquired by rational steps give
Natura quod gressibus ratio potita in birth to doubt and prediction; It should therefore
permissis dubium gignat et augurium; be avoided and faith, by which the divine way to
igitur vitetur et fides per quam via apud secret things is clearer, always followed.
archana rea clarior habitur, semper imitetur.
Motettus
In arboris empiro prospere virginitatis sedet; Virginity sits auspiciously at the top of the tree.
puerpere mdiatrix fides in medio, cum stipite Faith, the mediatrix of the one who has borne
cecata ratio insecuta septem sororibus, sophismata the child, sits in the middle on the stump of
sua foventibus; blinded reason, followed by its seven sisters, who
Haec ut scandat dum magis nititur ebilitas try to ascend but can’t be supported by the weak
ramorum frangitur. Petat ergo fidei dexteram vel branches. Therefore, let he seek the right hand of
eternum nitetur perperam. faith, or else strive eternally in vain.
Clearly, this text is neither biblical nor liturgical but a preachment against reason’s attempts to
replace faith. The text is organized into strophes, each comprised of three terzets with the syl-
lable count 7–7–6 and the rhyme scheme aab.22
The text of the motettus is similar in content and organization (five pairs of ten-syllable
rhyming lines). Like the triplum, its text refers to the Virgin Mary as the common theological
raison d’être for the composition, reflecting her role as mediatrix between God and human
beings.
De Vitry arranged the twenty-four pitches of the chant melisma (ex. 1.13) into six groups
of four divided by rests.
Example 1.13 Vitry: In arboris/Tuba sacre fidei/Virgo sum, color

Leo Schrade believed that the motet had six taleae, each accommodating eight
pitches of the color.23 In reality, Schrade’s six are actually two groups of three, the second
being a diminution of the first. The first three taleae each underlay twenty-four “measures”
of the upper voices, a duration halved in the final three presentations. Here, we give the
rhythmic pattern of the second version (ex. 1.14) because its notation is easier to visualize
than the first.
Example 1.14 Vitry: In Arboris/Tuba sacre fidei/Virgo sum, talea 2
The openings of both upper voices (exx. 1.15a and b) suggest derivation from the tenor
melody and illustrate the similarity of the motettus to the tenor; examples 1.15 c and d show the
triplum’s derivation from the tenor.
Example 1.15 Vitry: Tuba sacre fidei/In arboris/Virgo sum

(a) Motettus, mm. 1–8
(b) Tenor, mm. 13–20
(c) Triplum, mm. 7–13
(d) Tenor, mm. 37–44

Despite being composed successively, the triplum and motettus are both consonant with the
tenor and feature the use of sequence (ex. 1.16a) and the contrapuntal device of inversion
(ex. 1.16b).
Example 1.16 Vitry: In arboris/Tuba sacre fidei/Virgo sum

(a) Triplum, mm. 56–60
(b) mm. 95–101
Herein lay both the art and the artifice of the isorhythmic motet. While the texts of
the upper parts were different in form and size, both were derived from the implied meaning
of the tenor’s incipit. Their musical realization was coordinated but yet seemingly unrelated.
Likewise, any melodic design in the tenor was deliberately obfuscated by the rhythmic con-
struction of the taleae—the second an exact diminution of the first. And, of course, the dura-
tion imposed by the rhythmic format of the talea and the distribution of the color within it
had a decided impact on the organization and progress of the upper parts, rhythmically and
melodically.
Guillaume de Machaut (ca. 1300–1377)

The life of Guillaume de Machaut reflected the opposing cultural tendencies of his time. Evidence
of his education from the Roman Church appeared in the first document to acknowledge his
existence—a papal bull issued by Pope John XXII in 1330 announced Machaut’s appointment
as a canon at Verdun Cathedral. This appointment emanated from Machaut’s employer, King
John of Bohemia, whom Machaut served as secretary and notary. In this capacity Machaut trav-
eled widely through Europe, explaining the number of preferments (honorary positions that
paid him even though he was neither in residence nor fulfilling any responsibilities!) accorded
him. Known primarily as the first composer to set the entire Ordinary of the Mass, Machaut also
composed secular vocal compositions (isorhythmic motets and polyphonic settings of formes
Figure 1.3 Guillaume de Machaut Receiving Nature
fixes poetry), the breadth and quality of which was remarkable. For choral musicians, however,
the Messe de Notre Dame formed the cornerstone of Machaut’s fame. The musicologist Richard
Hoppin has summarized its significance:
It is his largest single musical work and the only one with a strictly liturgical
function. . . . It is the first complete setting of the Ordinary that is known to
have been written as a unit by one composer. In length it far exceeds any of
the compilations of individual movements that make up other Masses in the
fourteenth century. Machaut’s Mass was the only one of its kind, and not until
some fifty years after his death did complete Masses begin to appear in the
works of early Renaissance composers.24
The origins of this composition remain shrouded in mystery, there being no scholarly
agreement about either its date of composition or the occasion for which it was written. Daniel
Leech-Wilkinson has posited a relatively late genesis (ca. 1350–72) and the likelihood that the
work was a “Lady Mass” sung in honor of Machaut at the Church of Our Lady in Reims.25
Like other anonymous fourteenth-century Mass settings (e.g., the Mass of Tournai), Machaut’s
setting lacked modal unity; it also followed the contemporary precedent of using isorhythmic
structure for the Kyrie, Sanctus/Agnus Dei, and Ite missa est, and discantus style for the longer
Gloria and Credo texts.26 The complexity of the isorhythmic structures and the sophisticated
layout of the discantus movements indicate that Machaut’s composition was more advanced
than the earlier, anonymous polyphonic masses.
Example 1.17 illustrates Machaut’s use of isorhythm. Machaut chose a Dorian chant, the
four musical phrases of which serve the principal text divisions—Kyrie 1, Christe, Kyrie 2, and Kyrie 3.
These chants shared similar ranges and melodic gestures yet demonstrate an increasing degree
of complexity. Machaut seems to have viewed the chants for the first Kyrie and the Christe and
the final two Kyrie chants as pairs. Liturgy required three statements of each text, the Kyrie 1 and
Christe three times, the Kyrie 2 twice and the final Kyrie once. Accordingly, Machaut provided
a polyphonic setting for each of the separate chant phrases. The performer was left with the
choice of either using the polyphonic segments throughout or alternating them with the plain-
song. The latter choice would result in this sequence:
Kyrie 1: polyphony
Kyrie 1: plainsong
Kyrie 1: polyphony
Christe: plainsong
Christe: polyphony
Christe: plainsong
Kyrie 2: polyphony
Kyrie 2: plainsong
Kyrie 3: polyphony
Example 1.17 Machaut: Messe de Notre Dame, Kyrie chants
Since each chant was different in length, Machaut created isorhythmic patterns that
emphasized the similarities of the chant pairs. Machaut arranged the twenty-eight pitches of
Kyrie 1 (ex. 1.17) in the simplest possible mathematical arrangement—four pitches for each of
the seven rhythmic patterns. He countered this simple structure by creating a contratenor that
had a talea equal to three statements of the tenor. Unfortunately, the tenor had seven (not six!)
statements, necessitating a third partial statement of the contratenor’s talea. In a similar manner,
Machaut divided the twenty-five pitches of the Christe asymmetrically (three times eight pitches
plus one, rather than five times five), doubling the length of the Kyrie’s isorhythmic pattern.
The four-measure pattern of Kyrie 1 generated the patterns of the other movements. Its
four rhythmic components (abac) were rearranged for Kyrie 2 (acbaabba) and Kyrie 3 (acbaeba).
Since Kyrie 3 had a seven-measure talea (not eight like Kyrie 2), its final three measures related to
the final four of Kyrie 2 in a complex series of variations: the first measure was omitted while the
final two were the same (ba); the second measure of 2 was replaced either by the second measure
of Kyrie 2 (c) or, in alternating taleae, by an entirely new pattern (e). Thus, Daniel Leech-Wilkinson
concludes that the four sections of the Kyrie are closely related:
In addition, there are some grounds for believing that they were composed in
the order in which they stand: the Christe expands the Kyrie I talea, and Kyrie
II that of the Christe, while Kyrie III adapts the structure of Kyrie II in order to
accommodate the expanded chant.27
Of course, knowing the mathematical layout of the taleae does not provide a complete
picture of the “sound” of the movement. The talea and color of the tenor are matched with the
talea of the contratenor and a series of pitches chosen so as to make cadences with the tenor
(ex. 1.18). To this contrapuntal pair, Machaut adds rhythmically and melodically freer voices (the
triplum and motettus). They are interwoven with the supporting duet of tenor and contratenor
(ex. 1.19) to provide a musical structure that sounds enormously complicated and, to modern
ears, shockingly dissonant.
Example 1.18 Machaut: Messe de Notre Dame, Kyrie taleas
Example 1.19 Machaut: Messe de Notre Dame, Kyrie I, mm. 16–19
No quantitative analysis can aptly convey the aural impression of this music. To mod-
ern ears, the impression is one of a stark and complex beauty dominated by the ebb and flow
of consonance and dissonance. These changing harmonies reflect the successive composition
of the tenor/contratenor, motettus and, finally, triplum, the latter voices being consonant with
the tenor but not necessarily with each other. Of note is the frequent appearance of the “double
leading tone” cadence (mm. 4–5, 6–7, 10–11, 16–17, and 26–27).
The length and complexity of the Gloria and Credo texts forced Machaut to adopt a
less intricate musical texture—the note-against-note style known as discantus. Otto Gombosi
noted a similarity of structure (as well as texture) in these movements.28 He posited four “stan-
zas” within the Gloria, each divisible into three periods based on cadences to the final (clos)
or another pitch (ouvert). While Daniel Leech-Wilkinson acknowledges Gombosi’s logic, he
points out that this analysis fails to account for some significant repetitions of melodic material.
Alternatively, he suggests a sevenfold structure based not on cadence type but on the melodic/
harmonic contour (ex. 1.20).29 Apart from the obvious similarity of these melodic units, the
strength of this formal plan is that it places the nontexted, “linking” measures (∞) in a constant
place within the larger form. Further, the marked similarity of C and D permit the use of one or
both segments (as the text requires) without changing significantly the larger formal structure
of the movement. Once the text of the Gloria has been set in this more compact, homophonic
style, Machaut reverts to isorhythm to set the concluding Amen.
Example 1.20 Machaut: Messe de Notre Dame, Gloria
While earlier Mass settings had employed a similar textural shift due to text length,
Machaut’s setting exceeded these in both structural complexity and the ingenuity with which
it is applied. Even though Machaut’s Messe de Notre Dame lacked the kind of musical unity that
became normative in the fifteenth century, it stands as the first indisputable masterpiece of that
genre, claiming a deserved place of importance in the history of choral music.
Conclusion
While the material discussed in this chapter might be considered tedious at times, it
is absolutely essential that students understand the vital roles that liturgy and modality played
in the evolution of Western choral music. In essence, the history of Western music up to the
Protestant Reformation is largely the history of the music conceived to serve the needs of the
Roman liturgy. We cannot adequately understand the intended function of religious music in
the Renaissance (and beyond) without a basic understanding of its role within liturgical wor-
ship. As for modality, too many conductors perform the motets and masses of the sixteenth cen-
tury as if they were tonal pieces with some notes that sound “wrong” (at least within the tonal
system adopted in music written after 1700). Our modern system of meter and rhythm derives
directly from the mensural system adopted as early as the fourteenth century, and many more
contemporary notational practices have their origins in medieval music when notation became
an essential if not universal component of performance.
2
Sacred Choral Music of the

Renaissance, I (1425–1525)
F or most of the fine arts, the artistic movement known as the Renaissance began some-
where around the fourteenth century. While fourteenth-century musicians recognized
a new aesthetic impulse that de Vitry called the Ars nova, the musical renaissance proper
began in the early fifteenth century. This chronology is based both on documents that specify
a fundamental change in composition and aesthetics around this time, and on the simultane-
ous rise of true choral singing, the musical unification of the Mass Ordinary cycle, and the
appearance of a fundamentally new sound, famously, though questionably, dubbed “le con-
tenance angloise” (translated as something like “The English Way of Doing Things Musically”)
by the French cleric and poet Martin le Franc. Nineteenth-century historians had dated the
Renaissance as occurring between 1453 and 1517, these years marking two pivotal events in the
reawakening of European culture: the fall of Constantinople to the Turks, and the Protestant
Reformation. The intervening years saw the voyages of exploration by Columbus, Magellan,
and others, and Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press with moveable type (ca. 1450). All
of these events were manifestations of a new, inquisitive spirit that elevated the importance
of the human intellect.
In music, we know that something new was at work from the writings of the humanist
theorist and scholar Johannes Tinctoris (ca. 1435–1511), who tells us that a significant break with
25
the past has taken place. Consider the following excerpts from two of his treatises—Proportion-
ales Musices (ca. 1476) and Liber de arte contrapuncti (ca. 1477):
At this time, consequently, the possibilities of our music have been so marvel-
ously increased that there appears to be a new art, if I may so call it, whose
fount and origin is held to be among the English, of whom Dunstable stood
forth as chief. Contemporary with him in France were Dufay [sic] and Binchoys
to whom directly succeeded the moderns Ockeghem, Busnoys, Regis and
Caron, who are the most excellent of all the composers I have ever heard. Nor
can the English, who are popularly said to shout while the French sing, stand
comparison with them. For the French contrive music in the newest manner
for the new times, while the English continue to use one and the same style
of composition, which shows a wretched poverty of invention. . . . Further,
although it seems beyond belief, there does not exist a single piece of music,
not composed within the last forty years that is regarded by the learned as
worth hearing.1
These statements indicate that Continental musicians acknowledged a “new art,” the origin of
which was English. This new art was developed first by Guillaume Du Fay (ca. 1400–74) and Giles
Binchois (ca. 1400–60) and expanded upon by the succeeding generation of Franco-Flemish
composers—Johannes Ockeghem (ca. 1410–97), Antoine Busnoys (ca. 1430–96), Johannes
Regis (ca. 1430–83), and Firminus Caron (fl. ca. 1460–75). Just how fundamental this change
was is indicated by Tinctoris’s striking use of forms of the verb “to hear,” as he more fully
explained in his treatise Liber de arte contrapuncti (1477). Music had moved from the speculative
realm of medieval philosophy (number, ratio, etc.) into the world of sound and aural beauty. The
success of a composition now depended more on what it sounded like than on its structural
foundations and symmetries (viz. the art of isorhythm).
Tinctoris believed that this change had happened approximately forty years earlier,
around 1435. This is the same date cited by Bukofzer as the terminus ante quem for the begin-
nings of polyphonic compositions expressly written to be sung by an ensemble rather than
by soloists (as had been the case in the medieval period).2 The manuscripts that constitute
the primary sources of the evolving Mass Ordinary cycle began to be assembled on the
Continent at approximately the same time.3 Examining the history of the time, we find that
the English (the “fount and origin” of this new style) and the French (who succeed them)
are locked in combat with one another for the seemingly interminable Hundred Year’s War
(1338–1453). This conflict provided the conduit through which the “contenance angloise”
was transmitted to the Continent.4 It also explains the technical difference between the
English style and the French attempts to emulate it without fully understanding how it
worked. Thus, the English “contenance angloise” became known in France as “fauxbour-
don” (“false bass”), alluding to the predominance of chords in “first inversion,” (i.e., with-
out a true bass).
Heinrich Besseler has argued that the term fauxbourdon is first used in the Communion
(Vos qui secuti estis) of Du Fay’s Missa Sancti Jacobi (ex. 2.1).5
Sacred Choral Music I, 1425–1525 27
Example 2.1 DuFay: Missa Sancti Jacobi, Communio, mm. 2–5
In this movement, only the superius and tenor are notated; the existence of a middle voice is
indicated only by the rubric “aux fauxbourdon,” indicating the middle voice sings the superius
part a perfect fourth lower. Irrespective of the accuracy of Besseler’s assumption, this piece is a
rare example of strict fauxbourdon. Strict examples of this technique are fairly common in the
1420s and 1430s, although relatively less frequent in the compositions of Du Fay.6 More com-
mon and important are the effects that fauxbourdon exerts on the contrapuntal and harmonic
procedures of the age and in the adaptations of this technique found in the small, homophonic
motets of the early fifteenth century.
Early Fifteenth-Century Motet

The advent of the musical Renaissance affects the motet more obviously than the Mass; at the
turn of the fifteenth century, the motet is clearly the more progressive genre. While there are
more Mass compositions dating from the early fifteenth century than in the preceding century,
the earliest Mass compositions—partial or complete—owe their physiognomy to the motet.
Machaut’s La Messe de Nostre Dame uses the structural principles of the isorhythmic motet,
except when the long texts of the Gloria and Credo make its use impractical. Fifteenth-century
composers avoid the complexity of isorhythm and the almost inevitable use of multiple texts
that result from it (perhaps a result of the Renaissance’s emerging humanistic concern for tex-
tual clarity). That Du Fay and his contemporaries continued to compose isorhythmic motets for
occasions of great solemnity or festivity indicates the perceived stature of the inherited style. The
“contenance angloise” is most evident in and easily applied to pieces that are smaller, simpler
and less intricate (both contrapuntally and mensurally) than their fourteenth-century forebears.
These simpler motets show some consistent tendencies—a three-voice texture; the
concomitant independence from liturgical cantus firmus; movement away from the artifice
of isorhythm; texts and musical settings that reflect an intimacy of style (often associated with
veneration of the Virgin Mary), and a musical organization based more on vertical consonance
and careful control of dissonance than on contrapuntal procedure. These trends are all visible
in the song motets of Dunstable and Du Fay (to name only the most prominent figures among
a substantial group of composers). The increased concern with vertical construction culminat-
ing in the dominance of the superius melody defines the new, pan-consonant style that char-
acterizes the musical Renaissance.7 A frequently cited exemplar is Dunstable’s Quam pulchra
es.8 Strictly speaking, this shows neither English discant nor fauxbourdon: it contains three
notated parts, is freely composed, and highlights the superius by clearly separating it from the
two lower voices. In Dunstable’s motet this is the only line with text. The textless lower voices
(contratenor and tenor) contain many ligatures (indicated in modern critical by the presence of
brackets above the notes) that most likely indicate instrumental performance. Often, the lower
voices have a signed B♭, while there is none in the superius (a phenomenon known as a “partial
signature”). These lower voices tend to have the same range, crossing one another frequently so
that neither one forms a true “bass.” For these reasons, Quam pulchra es and pieces like it are
said to be in “cantilena” style, a term that reflects the influence of the secular solo song.
This same style permeates motets composed by Continental composers such as Guillaume
Du Fay. His setting of the Marian antiphon Alma Redemptoris Mater is, for the most part, scored
for three voices (ex. 2.2a and b). The superius sings a transposed, paraphrased version of the anti-
phon’s Gregorian melody. The two lower voices are clearly subordinate to the superius; they seem
intended for instrumental performance, generally displaying the same characteristics found in
Dunstable’s motet. One intriguing feature of this composition is the use of fermati to produce a
solemn presentation of the final invocation and the expansion to four parts for the final cadence.
Example 2.2 Alma Redemptoris Mater

(a) Gregorian Melody
(b) DuFay, motet, mm. 1–8
In a setting of the Marian antiphon, Ave regina coelorum (ex. 2.3), Du Fay eschewed both
the Gregorian cantus firmus and fauxbourdon in the literal sense. He did, however, shape the con-
trapuntal design of both the superius and contratenor by his awareness of the emerging co-equality
of the third and sixth as pitches used to make concords with the tenor and with each other. Some
features of the antiphon’s style (ex. 2.3) suggest antiquity, for example, the “double leading tone”
cadences (mm. 3–4, 6–7, 11–12) with parallel fifths and the frequent voice crossings between the
contratenor and tenor. Yet, the voices that create these cadences exhibit the typical melodic flow
of parallel first-inversion triads found in pieces that use fauxbourdon style.
Example 2.3 DuFay: Ave regina cœlorum III, mm. 1–12

Johannes Tinctoris is among the first to recognize the third and sixth as consonances,
writing in his treatise Liber de Arte Contrapuncti: “If there be any third, either perfect or imper-
fect, either superior or inferior, it is in itself of the highest smoothness, adaptable in the most
consonant way to all notes, those at the extremes or medium.”9
This new concern for consonance even affects the isorhythmic motet, a largely medi-
eval genre that continues to have utility in the fifteenth century whenever the occasion requires
solemnity. Two outstanding examples of this synergy are Veni Sancte Spiritus by John Dunstable
and Guillaume Du Fay’s Nuper rosarum flores, composed for the dedication of Santa Maria del
Fiore in Florence on the Feast of the Annunciation (March 25) in 1436. Pope Eugenius IV him-
self officiated at the dedication of this newly completed church, crowned by a dome of previously
unimaginable dimensions designed by Filippo Brunelleschi (1377–1446). Observing liturgical
tradition, Du Fay used the Introit Terribilis est locus iste, a text designated for the dedication of
churches (“Awesome is this place”), as the cantus firmus of his motet. He assigns the chant to
both the tenor and contratenor bassus, who sing it in canon at the fifth, providing an architec-
tural foundation no less impressive than Brunelleschi’s accomplishment. The two upper voices
sang a poem celebrating the presence of the pope and his placement of a gilded rose on the
altar, a gesture signifying that this cathedral served Florence—the “city of flowers.”
The poem’s four strophes provided Du Fay the opportunity to use the same isorhythmic
structure in all four basic mensurations. The cantus firmus, appears complete in each verse
once, notated in a basic rhythm (integer valor) that the performers have to adjust to conform to
changes from one mensuration to another. In other words, at sight, they have to read the same
notation as if it were written successively in four different meters, each note shape having a dif-
ferent quantity depending on the mensural sign. The actual notation of the tenor cantus firmus
is given in ex. 2.4a (the signature includes all four basic mensural signs).10
The simplest metric expression of this proportion is the length of the four sections in modern
notation:
Section 1 (3/2) Section 2 (2/2) Section 3 (6/4) Section 4 (2/4)

56 measures 56 measures 28 measures 28 measures (+2)
The first two meter signatures produce musical sections that are exactly twice as long as the
second pair, this diminution indicated by the vertical slash in the last two signs (C-slash and
Circle-slash). Another indicator of this proportional relationship is the number of rests preced-
ing each appearance of the tenor. While all four presentations have fourteen measures of rest
preceding the initial entry of the tenor, the diminution of the final two results in half that dura-
tion. This number of rests had to remain constant to allow for a single notated statement of
Table 2.1 The Mensural Notation System

Tempus Prolatio Sign Semibreves Minims Modern
1:4 1:2 1:1
Perfectum Maior 𝇇 𝆹𝆹𝆹 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 9/8 9/4 9/2
Perfectum Minor 𝇈 𝆹𝆹𝆹 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 3/4 3/2 3/1
imperfectum Maior 𝇊 𝆹𝆹 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 6/8 6/4 6/2
imperfectum Minor 𝇋 𝆹𝆹 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 𝆹𝅥𝆹𝅥 2/4 2/2 2/1
the tenor (ex. 2.4a) and contratenor to be performed four times. Examples 2.4 b–e give the first
several notes of the tenor in each of its four appearances to illustrate this proportional relation-
ship. The first notes of each (ex. 2.4 b–e) have durations of dotted whole notes (ex. 2.4b), whole
notes (ex. 2.4c), half notes (ex. 2.4d), and dotted half notes (ex. 2.4e) respectively; the singer(s)
performing the part realized these changes of mensuration by visually altering the notated can-
tus firmus. Mathematically, the relationship between the resulting versions of the cantus firmus
is 3:2: 1:1.5, or using whole numbers 6–4–2–3.
Example 2.4 DuFay: Nuper rosarum flores, Cantus Firmus proportions

(a) Integer valor
(b) Tempus perfectum
(c) Tempus imperfectum
(d) Tempus imperfectum diminutum
(e) Tempus perfectum diminutum
Given the isorhythmic intricacies of the tenor, Du Fay’s construction of the upper
voices is often overlooked. In each segment of his motet, Du Fay faced the challenge of filling
the rests prior to the entry of the tenor/contratenor pair with freely composed music; once
the tenor/contratenor pair entered, it effectively limited the pitch content of the superius and
contratenor altus to the harmonies implied by the lower voices. One might reasonably expect
to find a correlation between the melodies of these voices within triple and duple mensural
pairs. Comparison of the altus parts of sections 1 and 2 just after the tenor entrance (at the
text “tuus te Florencie”) reveals a nearly identical pitch correspondence between the final twelve
“measures” of the parts (despite the change of mensuration). This discovery suggests that Du
Fay took pains to create these melodies to mirror the larger formal design of the isorhythmic
tenor/contratenor.
Origin of the Cyclic Mass

Prior to the Renaissance, there was no compelling need to unify the Mass Ordinary musically;
indeed, such musical unification of the Ordinary texts was a matter of little liturgical concern.
Even Machaut’s Messe de Notre Dame, despite its prominence as the first Mass Ordinary by
a single composer, lacks such intrasectional unification (mode, cantus firmus, etc.). Manfred
Bukofzer discussed the beginning of the cyclic Mass as part of a larger musico-liturgical study
of the Caput Masses—those built on a cantus firmus consisting of the melisma used to set
the word caput (head) in the antiphon (Venit ad Petrum) used during foot-washing ritual on
Maunday Thursday.11
Contrary to logic and previous historical surveys, current scholarship now believes
that polyphonic settings of Mass texts existed concurrently as separate movements, paired
movements (most often Gloria/Credo or Sanctus/Agnus pairs12) and complete cycles.
Bukofzer’s description of early methods of unification in Mass pairs (either Gloria/Credo or
Sanctus/Agnus) specifies two techniques, one associated with Continental composers and
the other with English composers. The practice preferred on the Continent involved use of
the same “motto” to begin each movement. The English favored a chant melody common
to both movements, an idea of far greater significance in Mass composition. In his 1966
JAMS article, Philip Gossett mentions similarity of mode, mensural sign/s, and clefs as pri-
mary means of unifying Mass pairs, even works written separately or by different composers.
Obviously, these methods of unification are not of the same order of significance as motto
and cantus firmus technique. We must even acknowledge the possibility that Mass pairs and
even full cycles were the creation of the scribes tasked with assembling a manuscript, regard-
less of the original intention of the composer.
Ultimately, Renaissance Masses assume one of two archetypes—cantus firmus and
parody. A cantus firmus Mass uses the same monophonic melody at least once in each move-
ment. In the early fifteenth century, this melody is typically a liturgical chant deployed in the
tenor. These so-called tenor Masses dominate the early Mass cycles, beginning with English
composers like John Dunstable (ca. 1490–53) and Leonel Power (d. 1445). Their Masses reveal
different approaches to cantus firmus use. In Power’s Missa Alma Redemptoris Mater, for exam-
ple, the Marian antiphon appears in the same rhythmic and intervallic form in each movement.
Dunstable’s Missa Rex Seculorum, however, elaborates the melody differently in each movement
(some sources even attribute this work to Power).
Shortly after midcentury, the sources of tenor melody were expanded to include
secular chansons. Since many of these were polyphonic compositions, Masses based on
them naturally began to borrow more than a single voice.13 This procedure marked the
beginning of what was to become the parody Mass—one that used a polyphonic rather
than a monophonic model.14 This process dominated the majority of Masses by Orlandus
Lassus (1532–94), Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (ca. 1525–94), and Tomas Luis da Victoria
(1549–1611).
Masses of Guillaume Du Fay

Between the periods dominated by tenor Mass and parody Mass was one in which Mass
composition began to expand the sources and manipulation of the cantus firmus. Around
1450, the most important composers of Masses resided on the Continent. Guillaume Du Fay
and such contemporaries as Johannes de Lymburghia, Johannes Ciconia, and Arnold and
Hugo de Lantins assumed leadership positions, even though their models were still primar-
ily English.15 Du Fay’s seven complete Masses were of two principal types: plenary Masses,
which set not only the Ordinary texts but also the Propers, and full Ordinary cycles. Du Fay’s
Missa Sancti Jacobi and Missa Sti. Anthonii de Padua, both written in the 1430s, exemplify the
first type, three-voice settings of both the Proper and Ordinary texts. By midcentury Du Fay
had composed two Masses based on secular cantus firmi—the Missa Se la face ay pale (using
the tenor of his own ballade of the same name) and what some regard as among the first
in the long series of Masses based on L’Homme Armé. These were followed by two Marian
Masses—the Missa Ave regina coelorum (based on Du Fay’s four-voice motet) and the Missa
Ecce ancilla Domini.
In addition to the increasing variety of tenor melodies, Du Fay’s Masses show differ-
ent approaches to what was still, nominally, a tenor Mass. His first step involved the deliber-
ate omission of the cantus firmus for portions of certain movements. This trend most often
affected the Kyrie, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei, movements with brief and formally simple schemes
that typify Du Fay and other composers. The result was a musical form primarily based on the
presence or absence of the cantus firmus:
Kyrie: cantus firmus/full texture

Christe: no cantus firmus/reduced texture
Kyrie: cantus firmus/full texture
Sanctus: cantus firmus/full texture

Pleni sunt: no cantus firmus/reduced texture
Osanna: cantus firmus/full texture
Benedictus: no cantus firmus/reduced texture
Osanna: cantus firmus/full texture
Agnus Dei 1: cantus firmus/full texture

Agnus Dei 2: no cantus firmus/reduced texture
Agnus Dei 3: cantus firmus/full texture
The pattern of textual division (and hence cantus firmus deployment) is less predictable in
the Gloria and Credo; their longer texts afford composers more options in creating internal
subdivisions.
Du Fay’s approach to the cyclic tenor Mass is typified by his Missa Se la face ay pale.16 Du
Fay scored the Mass for four voices (SATB), adding the contratenor bassus (“low contratenor”)
voice beneath the tenor to allow a wider array of harmonies than would have been available if
the cantus firmus were the lowest voice. In addition to the presence of the cantus firmus, Du
Fay began each movement with a melodic head motive (ex. 2.5a–f).
Example 2.5 DuFay: Missa Se la face ay pale

(a) Kyrie, mm. 1–3
(b) Gloria, mm. 1–4
(c) Credo, mm. 1–4
(d) Sanctus, mm. 1–4
(e) Agnus Dei I, mm. 1–3
(f ) Agnus Dei II, mm. 1–4
For the Kyrie, Du Fay divided his cantus firmus into two roughly equal parts, which
were deployed as the flanking Kyrie sections, omitting the cantus firmus in the Christe (ex. 2.6).
Example 2.6 DuFay: Se la face ay pale, tenor

Du Fay’s decision to avoid the cantus firmus in the Christe required a change of compositional
approach. Initially, Du Fay used his motto theme (ex. 2.7a) to create a contrapuntal duo (S and A).
A later duo contains some incipient imitation (ex. 2.7b) and concludes with a three-part,
fauxbourdon-like passage. For the tripartite Agnus Dei, Du Fay deployed the cantus firmus in
the same way. The Sanctus is similar in design, its five sections alternating between full (with
tenor) and reduced (without tenor) textures. Here, Du Fay needed a tripartite division of the
cantus firmus, which he created by subdividing the first binary segment into two parts (marked
with + sign in ex. 2.6).
Example 2.7 DuFay: Missa Se la face ay pale, Christe

(a) mm. 1–4
(b) mm. 45–51
Du Fay—Missa Se la face a pale, Sanctus

Sanctus (Full): CF uses first thirty-six pitches of the tenor
Pleni (S, A, B trio): No cantus firmus
Osanna (Full): Cantus firmus starts at + (repeating the final eleven pitches used in the
Kyrie) and concludes just before *
Benedictus (S, A, B Trio): No cantus firmus
Osanna (Full): Cantus firmus from * to the end
This plan produces a small overlap in the use of the tenor cantus firmus; the Sanctus ends with
the eleven pitches (after the +) that is the beginning of the tenor in the final Osanna.
The differences in text length that had led Machaut to forsake isorhythm in favor of
discantus technique in the Gloria and Credo of his Messe de Notre Dame prompted Du Fay to
alter his cantus firmus use. In both movements, the tenor is notated once with the following
Latin rubric:
Tenor ter dicitur. Primo quaelibet figura crescit in triplo, secundo in duplo, tertia ut jacet.
The tenor sounds three times. The first statement is tripled in length, the second is
doubled, the third sung as it “lies” (i.e., integer valor)
This phenomenon is clearly visible in the manuscript version of the Mass (fig. 2.1)
currently housed in the Sistine Chapel library. The illustration shows folio 99 recto, which
Figure 2.1 Du Fay, Missa Se la face ay pale, tenor, CS 14

contains the conclusion of the bassus (first two lines), the contratenor altus (lines 3–8), and
the beginning of the tenor (“Adoramus te”). The tenor begins with the cantus firmus in inte-
ger valor (as notated in the Ballade), but, as instructed by the rubric sings it so that “half note”
of the original are now equal to an entire “measure” of the surrounding voices, thus, three
times as long.
This illustration affords us the opportunity to examine some aspects of Du Fay’s
notational practices. Typically, his notation is described as “white, mensural notation”; the
adjective “white” referring to the prominence of “void” notational shapes (not black), while
“mensural” refers to the layered system of rhythmic notation in service since the late thir-
teenth century.
Reading the notation of Renaissance music, whether manuscript or printed, requires
understanding the notation of clefs, mensural signs, notes of various shapes and their corre-
sponding rests, ligatures, and coloration. The clefs are, for the most part, C clefs—the line on
which the clef (shaped like the letter C) appears becomes middle C. The bass part is usually
notated with an F clef, which usually appears on the fourth line of the staff (but in chiavette or
“high” clefs on line 3). The mensural system, described in chapter 1, became simpler in the fif-
teenth century because of the elimination of the “modus” layer (i.e., the division of the longae
into breves); music of this period typically deals only with the levels of tempus and prolation,
which, as shown in the figure, can be either perfect or imperfect. “Perfection” indicates the ter-
nary division of the principal unit (breve for tempus, semibreve for prolation), while imperfect
dictated duple division.
The most frequently encountered notational shapes are the breve, semibreve, minim,
and semiminim (transcribed, in modern editions, as whole, half, quarter, and eighth notes
respectively). Imperfect “time” was indicated by a semicircle (C) and perfect time by a closed
circle (O). In earlier mensural notation, the insertion of a dot within either of these signs indi-
cated “perfect” prolation.
There were specific rests for each of notational values (breve, semibreve, minim, and
semiminim) that applied regardless of the mensuration (ex. 2.8). Figure 2.1 contained mul-
tiple breve rests, notated in groups of four that resemble “railroad tracks” (ex. 2.9). The use
of ligatures goes back to the oldest known notation (neumes); as the etymology of the word
implies, ligatures were multiple note forms that are “tied together.” In the notational system
used throughout the Renaissance, ligatures had several practical implications, the most impor-
tant being the way the ligature’s shape affected the value of each constituent note. For the most
accessible summary of these rules see Willi Apel’s landmark study of notation.17 Here is a syn-
opsis of some general rules commonly applicable to ligatures:
Example 2.8 Rests
Example 2.9 Group of rests

Rules regarding ligatures
1. Normal ligatures have the values of breve and long in specific ascending or
descending shapes.
2. If a descending stem is added or deleted the value of that part gaining or losing
the stem is changed from long to breve or breve to long.
3. All internal notes are breves.
4. If the final note is an oblique, it is a breve.
5. An initial ascending stem makes the first two values semibreves.
Another subject raised by the facsimile of Du Fay’s Missa Se la face ay pale (fig. 2.1) is coloration,
a complex subject, prone to exceptions that make any generalization difficult. In theory, color-
ation (either red or black) reduced the affected notes to two-thirds of its original value; in prac-
tice, then, three blackened semibreves would be equal to in duration to two normal semibreves
(hence, the colored semibreves are a “triplet” of the uncolored semibreves). Coloration was
sometimes used (especially in madrigals) to indicate emotion without affecting the duration of
the note/s. In some cases, coloration of a single note of a ligature simply means that the two
notes are transcribed unequally (e.g., as dotted quarter and eighth).
Using these tools, we can now transcribe a portion of the tenor of the Gloria of Du
Fay’s Missa Se la face ay pale (ex. 2.10a–c).
Example 2.10 Dufay: Missa Se la face ay pale, Gloria

(a) Transcribed as “Integer Valor,” mm. 165–170
(b) Transcribed as “Crescit in duplo,” mm. 125–140
(c) Transcribed as “Crescit in triplo,” mm. 19–35
Du Fay’s rubric regarding the manipulation of the tenor in the Gloria and Credo
movements now comes fully into play. The notated tenor appears “as it lies” in the final mea-
sures of the Gloria (ex. 2.10a). It is preceded by versions that are two (ex. 2.10b) and three times
as long (ex. 2.10c) but notated the same. If one compares the modern version of the tenor
opening with the integer valor version seen in CS 14 (Figure 2.1), the six measures of rest in the
tenor (the two parallel lines that extend from the top staff line to the fourth) equal eighteen
measures in the other parts (hence “crescit in triplo”). To perform this part from the manu-
script required one to read one tactus (beat) of the other three parts as one-third of the tenor’s
measure (thus six notated measures of rest in the tenor are equivalent to eighteen measures
of rest in the other parts).
Composing a tenor or cantus firmus Mass involved balancing unity (i.e., presenting
the cantus firmus intact) and variety. The composers of the generation following Du Fay tended
to compose more Mass cycles than their predecessors. Although they paid lip service to the use
of a cantus firmus, they tended to explore a wider range of options for its use, some of which
minimized its importance while others treated in increasingly novel ways. Such Masses create
difficulties of taxonomy (classification) and chronology in the Masses of Johannes Ockeghem
and his contemporaries, all of whom struggled to find increasingly varied ways to compose
Masses. One obvious change was the increased use of secular cantus firmi. Five of Ockeghem’s
fourteen Masses took at least one voice part from contemporary chansons (by Ockeghem him-
self or someone else); these include the Masses on Fors seulement (à 5), Ma maitresse, De plus
en plus, Au travail suis, and, of course, L’Homme Armé. The use of only the tenor of a secular
polyphonic model was no longer a given; Ockeghem used both the superius and tenor of his
chanson Ma maistresse in his Mass based on that chanson.
The Ockeghem Generation

Such manipulations of the cantus firmus became common in the second half of the fifteenth
and early sixteenth centuries. To get a sense of how diverse these practices were, one need
only examine the Masses on L’Homme Armé by Du Fay, Ockeghem, Busnoys, Jakob Obrecht
(ca. 1457–1505), and others that dominate the central body of Renaissance manuscripts. As an
example, fig. 2.2 shows a single folio of the famous Chigi Manuscripts, which gives the tenor of
the Agnus Dei of Ockeghem’s Missa L’Homme Armé.
The superius part that appears above the tenor contains two separate statements
of the text, while the tenor uses the first portion of the tune without any text. Ockeghem
set the three Agnus Dei texts as separate movements, the tenor being tacet (silent) for
the second. Ockeghem also appended a rubric (descendo in dyapason) indicating that the
tenor’s melody should be performed an octave lower than written, effectively becoming the
bass voice of the texture. The facsimile also reveals that the tenor’s mensural sign is duple
(compared to the “triple” time used in the other three parts); the dot inside the C indicates
that the notated part must be performed in augmentation. Such willful manipulations of
the cantus firmus suggest that these Masses resulted from a kind of competition among
composers.
As several scholars have noted, Mass composers tended to set the L’Homme Armé
tune in remarkably similar ways.18 A principal point of comparison involved the composer’s
division of the text and how much (if any) of the borrowed melody was used. As early
as 1936, Oliver Strunk noted structural similarities between the L’Homme Armé Masses
of Obrecht and Busnoys. It is now generally accepted that Obrecht deliberately based his
Mass’s structure on Busnoys’s Mass. These two Masses agree in their division of the texts,
the mensural scheme associated with each division, and the deployment of the cantus fir-
mus within that segment.19
Figure 2.2 Ockeghem, Missa L’Homme Armé, Agnus Dei, Chigi Codex VIII. 234
Support for Busnoys as composer of the tune L’Homme Armé appears as early as Pietro
Aaron’s treatise Toscanella in Musica (1523). In the early twentieth century, Dragan Plamenac
noted resemblances between the L’Homme Armé melody and the tenor of Ockeghem’s chan-
son, L’autre dantan. While that chanson’s tenor does not quote the tune directly, the prominent
descending fourth (mm. 8–9, 14–15) and scalar descent from D′ to G (mm. 10–14) are clearly
reminiscent of L’Homme Armé. As Louis Lockwood suspected and Leeman Perkins has proved,
the chanson’s influence transcends these melodic similarities. Example 2.11a–f show correspon-
dences between the opening of L’autre dantan and themes found in the L’Homme Armé Masses
by Ockeghem and Busnoys.
Example 2.11 L’Autre d’antan in the L’Homme armé masses

of Ockeghem and Busnoys
(a) Ockeghem, Kyrie 1, mm. 1–2
(b) Busnoys, Benedictus, mm. 1–2
(c) Busnoys, Gloria, mm. 53–58
(d) Ockeghem, Gloria, mm. 125–126
(e) Busnoys, Sanctus, mm. 13–15
(f ) Ockeghem, Agnus Dei, III, mm. 1–2
In his Journal of Musicology article (1984) Leeman Perkins suggested that a second chanson, Il
sera pour vous by Robert Morton, also provided Ockeghem with themes (ex. 2.12a–d) and, in one
case, an entire polyphonic passage used as a nascent form of “parody.”
Example 2.12 Il sera pour vous in the L’Homme armé masses

of Ockeghem and Busnoys
(a) Morton: Il sera pour vous
Example 2.12 Continued
(b) Ockeghem: Christe, mm. 18–24
(c) Busnoys: Credo, mm. 3–5
(d) Ockeghem: Credo, mm. 135–139
Another manifestation of the increasingly flexible use of the cantus firmus is its migra-
tion from the tenor to another voice part. In the Kyrie of his Missa Fors seulement, for example,
Ockeghem uses the first half of the chanson tenor for the two segments of the Kyrie; for the
final Kyrie, however, Ockeghem relocates the cantus firmus to the contratenor (preceded by a
quotation of the chanson’s superius) (ex. 2.13a and b).
Example 2.13 Ockeghem: Fors seulement
(a) Chanson, tenor
(Continued)
(b) Ockeghem: Missa Fors seulement, Kyrie
Table 2.2 Ockeghem, Missa Prolationum

Movement Interval of canonic separation
Kyrie Unison
Christe Second
Kyrie II Third
Gloria Fourth
Credo Fifth
Sanctus Sixth
Pleni Seventh
Osanna Octave
Benedictus Fourth
Agnus Dei I Fourth
Agnus Dei II Fifth
Agnus Dei III Fifth
Among his contemporaries Ockeghem was held in high esteem for contrapuntal dex-
terity and arcane manipulations of the mensural system. In the Missa Prolationum, for example,
Ockeghem uses pairs of canonic voices separated by increasingly larger intervals in successive
movements.
Even more impressive is Ockeghem’s use of different mensurations (meters) for each
voice (ex. 2.14). The superius and altus sing the same melody in 2/4 (S) and 3/4 (A), while the
tenor and bassus sing a different melody simultaneously in 6/8 and 9/8. Ockeghem writes out
only the two leading voices, providing each with two different mensural signs. Each notated
melody generates a partner (S/A, T/B) based on the multiple clefs and mensural signs given to
each. Example 2.14 gives only the superius/altus pair, realized in the same meter for clarity. The
first six notes of each are the same pitches but with durations of a half note (superius) and dot-
ted half (altus) respectively. At this point (marked by asterisk in the example), the voices begin
to use the same rhythms and pitches. Nowhere in the Mass does Ockeghem sustain the initial
mensural difference for the entire movement.
Example 2.14 Ockeghem: Missa Prolationum, Kyrie I, mm. 1–9
Another Mass that affirmed Ockeghem’s reputation as the preeminent contrapuntist

of his day was the Missa cuiusvis toni. This title literally means “of whichever mode,” prompting
Glareanus to comment:
Ockeghem also has composed a Missa ad omnem Tonum (for so he called it),
although it should be sung according to three tones only, corresponding to the
three fourth-species; no clef is placed at the beginning, but only a circle with a
question mark indicating either a line or a space . . . the reader would see that
the tenor can begin on ut, re or mi.20
In theory, three unique species (combinations of whole and half steps) of the interval of the
fourth exist, labeled according to which pitches of the hexachord they contain: ut–fa (C–F),
re–sol (D–G), and mi–la (E–A). Given its title, modern editions of the Mass use all four modes
(Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, and Mixolydian). Indeed, I have heard a performance in which each
movement was sung in its own mode, and George Houle has issued an edition that realizes the
entire Mass thus.21 But perhaps Glareanus’s clear statement that the tenor begins on “ut, re, or
mi” should be taken as prohibiting mode four altogether. By doing literally what Glareanus says,
that is, by reading the first note of the tenor as either “ut, re, or mi” (solmizing the parts on F,
G and A respectively), one arrives at three distinctly different versions of the Mass with minimal
harmonic flaws. There is no clear version of choice (despite a preference expressed by recent
performers for Phyrgian), as the first six measures (ex. 2.15) of the Kyrie in Dorian, Phrygian,
and Lydian show. Glareanus affirmed that Ockeghem “loved the catholica in song, that is, songs
composed so that they would be sung in many ways, almost according to the will of the singers,
yet so that the relationship of the harmony and the consonances would be observed no less.”22
Example 2.15 Ockeghem: Missa Cujusivus Toni Kyrie I

(a) Dorian
(b) Phrygian
(c) Lydian
Another important composer of Mass Ordinaries at this time was Jakob Obrecht.23
Destined to succeed Josquin at Ferrara in 1504, Obrecht died of bubonic plague the follow-
ing year. Nonetheless, the range of cantus firmus treatment in the twenty-seven Masses
attributed to him show his awareness of the accomplishments of Busnoys and Ockeghem.
Obrecht’s most prolific period was ca. 1488–91, during which time he composed some fifteen
Mass cycles. Even when the cantus firmus is strictly retained, Obrecht distracts the listener
by creating a stream of melodic invention that marginalizes the aural presence of the cantus
firmus. Tenor structures begin to include contrapuntal manipulations such as retrograde
(seen in his Missa L’Homme Armé, for example) and a technique that involves segmenting
the borrowed tune into discrete melodic units. Obrecht repeats and alters these to create the
underpinning melody of an entire Mass text without recourse to additional material from
the cantus firmus.
Josquin des Prez: Masses

It is in the compositions of Josquin des Prez (ca. 1440–1521) that the Renaissance Mass reached
its first high-water mark. Like Obrecht, Josquin seems aware of all preexisting techniques of Mass
composition and is able to find innovative ways of dealing with borrowed material. While Josquin’s
Figure 2.3 Josquin des Prez, woodcut (sixteenth century)
Mass output is smaller than his contemporaries, Ottaviano Petrucci devoted three publications
(1502, 1505, and 1514) exclusively to Josquin’s works, but it would be imprudent to base any chro-
nology or stylistic evolution on the content of these publications. Indeed, the array of technical
devices used in any given Mass makes classification extremely difficult, but there are layers discern-
ible within his output. Jeremy Noble suggests two principal divisions—early Masses and mature
Masses (to which two more are appended as the “last” Masses).24 These groupings prompt the
following general observations:
1. Excluding the “last Masses,” Josquin seems to favor secular cantus firmi, using
chansons for eight of his fifteen Masses.
2. Of the eight Masses not based on secular cantus firmi, five have Latin titles
indicative of a liturgical connection.25 The titles of the remaining four (Ad
fugam, Sine nomine, Hercules dux Ferrariae, and La sol fa re mi) seem to offer no
clear information regarding their source of preexistent material.
3. With the exception of the Missa ad fugam (a canonic Mass), the title of any single
Mass lends no insight into the technical procedures used.
4. Even including the last two Masses, there is no apparent connection between
type of model and chronology.
The inability to reconcile stylistic evolution with chronology bespeaks an unprece-

dented integration of compositional technique. As Jeremy Noble notes, dominance of a specific
technique or formal principle cannot be assumed even within a single Mass: “In general his
instinct, at least in his mature works, seems to be to extract as much variety as possible from his
given musical material, sacred or secular, by any appropriate means.”26
L’ami Baudichon is generally regarded as among Josquin’s earliest Masses due to its
simple cantus firmus (restricted to the tenor) and consistent use of a head motive. In later
Masses, he experiments with the amount of borrowed material he uses, in which voice/s it is
placed, the melodic integrity or clarity of the material, and the degree to which the borrowed
material is structurally or aurally prominent. Early on, the borrowed secular tune is dispersed to
voices other than the tenor (Una Musque de Biscaye, Di Dadi). Josquin also feels free to use any
of the chanson model’s three voices as his cantus firmus, usually placing it in the corresponding
voice. Occasionally, more than one of the voices is even quoted briefly as a type of contrafactum
(Fortuna desperata). Most apparent is Josquin’s planning of the entire Mass composition so that
the Agnus Dei becomes its climactic moment. This climax takes a variety of forms: (1) in Faisant
regretz, Josquin combines the four-note ostinato (derived from Walter Frye’s rondeau) with a
complete statement of the chanson’s superius; (2) in Mater Patris, all three voices of Brumel’s
motet are quoted, accompanied by two new voices; (3) a climactic increase in vocal texture (not
used elsewhere in the Mass) accomplished by the use of canon is a notable feature of Mater
Patris, Malheur me bat, Hercules Dux Ferrariae, and, most impressively, L’Homme Armé sexti toni.
These mature Masses also contain examples of a technical mastery akin to that of
Ockeghem.27 Jeremy Noble points out that “Like Fortuna desperata it [Malheur me bat] is based on
a chanson . . . and again makes very literal use of all three voice parts, separately and occasionally
together, in an idiosyncratic linking of cantus firmus and incipient parody techniques.”28 This
particular Mass represents a clear advance in the use of canonic expansion (to six parts) in the
Agnus Dei, the increase in the amount of imitative writing independent of the cantus firmus,
and especially the manipulation of the tenor cantus firmus. In the Gloria, Josquin presents two
complete statements of the tune. Multiple statements of the cantus firmus are not anything new
or special. In this case, however, Josquin segments the melody (à la Obrecht), repeating all or
part of each phrase of the cantus firmus immediately before proceeding to the next.
In the Credo, the cantus firmus appears in the superius at both normal speed and
in augmentation. But the real tour de force is reserved for the Agnus Dei. The tenor part of
Agnus bears the rubric “De minimis non curat pretor,” which instructs the tenor to ignore any
minims in the melody, singing only those notes a semibreve (or longer) in length. The result-
ing series of pitches are sung as a succession of breves (whole notes), without regard for their
original rhythmic value. The final Agnus presents the cantus firmus in canon between tenor
and superius, accompanied by pairs of fuga ad minimum (canons a single quarter note apart).
These are achieved by creating canonic partners for both the altus and bassus, expanding the
texture from four parts to six. Josquin also reintroduces the rather unpredictable alternation of
rhythmic versions of the cantus firmus originally found in the Credo.
In a Mass written to honor his patron, Ercole, the duke of Ferrara, Josquin creates
a cantus firmus by converting the vowels of his patron’s name and title to pitches, a process
known as soggetto cavato dell’ parole. He does this by viewing each vowel as one of the solmiza-
tion syllables:
Her–cu–les, Dux Fer–ra–ri–ae

Re–Ut–Re–Ut–Re–Fa–Mi–Re
D–C–D–C–D–F–E–D
This unremarkable Dorian melody prompts Josquin to confine it to one voice (usually the
tenor), focusing his attention on the creation on a succession of themes presented in imitation.
Josquin’s indebtedness to his predecessors is evident in his composition of not one but
two Masses based on L’Homme Armé. As the title of the first suggests, Josquin uses the “voces
musicales,” (i.e., the solmization syllables), each movement starting the cantus firmus melody
on successively higher pitches of the natural hexachord:
Josquin—Missa L’Homme Armé super voces musicales

Kyrie Ut (C)
Gloria Re (D)
Credo Mi (E)
Sanctus Fa (F)
Benedictus Sol (G)
Agnus Dei La (A)
The overall persistence of Dorian mode throughout challenges Josquin’s ability to fit the trans-
positions of the tune into that consistent harmonic framework. In the Kyrie, Josquin’s demon-
strates his skill in writing canons. For each text segment Josquin composes a mensural canon
between the tenor (presenting successive portions of the melody) and each of the other three
voices in turn (a procedure repeated in the Benedictus).
The Missa L’Homme Armé sexti toni treats the cantus firmus much less rigorously. “Sexti
toni” refers to Josquin’s decision to cast the melody mode 6 (Hypolydian), resulting in an F final
instead of the usual G and a more major than minor harmonic feel. Like Obrecht’s L’Homme
Armé Mass, Josquin uses both direct and retrograde versions of the tune.29 But Josquin presents
the two versions simultaneously in the lowest voices, adorning this scaffold with pairs of close
canons like those used in Hercules Dux Ferrariae.
An important aspect of the tenor is the rhythmic freedom Josquin supplies to the
pitches of the cantus firmus. In the Gloria, he alters the familiar rhythm of the tune to accom-
modate the pitches to the surrounding imitation (rather than the other way around). Even when
present, the cantus firmus recedes into the sonic background of the accompanying voices,
eclipsing the melody to which it owes it existence.30 This development represents a de facto
change in compositional philosophy; gradually, cantus firmus technique gives way to a new
basis for musical unification—syntactic imitation.
This transformation is confirmed by the two exceptional “later” Masses—Ave maris
stella and Pange lingua—in which Josquin abandons secular sources in favor of Gregorian hymn
tunes. But his handling of the chant has little to do with traditional cantus firmus technique.
Nowhere in either Mass does Josquin present the chant as a long-note tenor. Instead, he para-
phrases the Gregorian melodies, embellishing them to create new melodies.31 Example 2.16a
gives the opening chant phrase (in G Dorian) followed by paraphrases used in later movements
(ex. 2.16b–e).
Example 2.16 Josquin: Missa Ave Maris Stella

(a) Cantus Firmus
(Continued)
(b) Hosanna, mm. 1–20
(c) Credo, mm. 129–140
(d) Credo, mm. 77–85
(e) Agnus Dei, III, mm. 4–11
These paraphrases of the hymn’s first phrase use between fourteen and twenty-four
pitches. The Osanna and the Confiteor are closest in melodic contour to the hymn; in the
latter, Josquin uses long notes to emphasize the dogma of this text (“I confess one baptism
for the remission of sin.”). The remaining examples reveal greater melodic freedom, perhaps
induced by the desire to use strict imitation. Contextually, the tenor melody combines equal
parts melodic verisimilitude and contrapuntal accommodation. To illustrate this new paradigm,
we need to examine hymn usage in the Credo as a whole.
The text of the Nicene Creed is the Mass’s longest and most complex text. How a
composer decides to divide this long text affected subsequent cantus firmus use. Josquin’s
division of the text is, by and large, traditional, especially in his use of homophony for “et
incarnatus est,” to acknowledge the liturgical requirement that all genuflect when these
words are spoken.
“Et resurrexit” occasions a return to triple meter in the lower three voices; the inac-
tive soprano remains in C-slash, reading each binary tactus as one “measure” (proportio
tripla). At “Et ascendit” the lower voices rejoin the soprano’s meter. Mensuration alone sug-
gests a binary design (triple, duple, triple, and duple). In reality, the issue of form is more
Table 2.3 Josquin, Missa Ave Maris Stella, Credo, Formal Structure

I II III
Patrem omnipotentem. . . Et incarnatus est. . .et sepultus est. Et resurrexit. . . Et ascendit
descendit de coelis.
3/2 (O) C-slash 3—C-slash
mm. 1–47 (47) mm. 48–75 (28) 76–84 (8) 84–158 (74)
complicated. Since Josquin does not treat the Gregorian hymn as a cantus firmus, the nature of
its appearances is not as important as in the tenor Masses. Nonetheless, Josquin scrupulously
includes at least one statement of the entire melody, even following the hymn’s phrase order.
Like earlier composers, Josquin’s Credo begins with an extended duo (S, A) that imi-
tates the hymn melody (ex. 2.17).32 The long notes of the initial tenor entry resemble a cantus
firmus, but Josquin abandons this treatment after m. 22 (ex. 2.18), allowing the tenor to join the
other voices in imitating the hymn melody. Example 2.19 features canonic imitation between the
tenor and bass a texture that Josquin abandons so fluidly that no disruption results. In the Credo,
Josquin uses the entire hymn three times (in phrase order); that his repetition is not obvious
reflects Josquin’s continuing yet flexible use of paraphrase and imitation. Even the literal render-
ing of the hymn at “Confiteor” (ex. 2.20) is trumped by ostinato-like, imitative entries in the other
three parts that divert the listener’s attention from the hymn melody in the tenor.33
Example 2.17 Josquin: Missa Ave Maris Stella, Credo, mm. 1–6


Whereas Du Fay clearly differentiates between sections where the cantus firmus is
present and those where it is not, Josquin reduces the cantus firmus to a source of melodies
suitable for imitation. That this is the compositional “wave of the future” becomes especially
clear in the evolution of Josquin’s motets.
Josquin’s Motets
The contrapuntal heritage of the fourteenth century had to wait for the developments accom-
plished in cyclic Mass composition to be assimilated with the new emphasis on consonance
that lay at the heart of the artistic Renaissance. After 1450, the lessons learned in composing
Mass cycles now allowed reintroduction of cantus firmi into the motet. Du Fay’s Ave regina
coelorum (III) is in the vanguard of works of this kind. As in his Masses, Du Fay prefigures the
tenor presentations of the antiphon with extended duos. Similarly, the division of the motet
into two partes under contrasting mensural signs, the presence of a voice beneath the tenor and
the bi-textuality that results from DuFay’s very personal trope (Miserere tui labentis Du Fay) give
testimony to the influence that Mass cycles exerted on Du Fay’s late style. That he decided to
quote from this particular motet within the context of a cyclic Mass (especially the striking use
of the pitch E♭ for portions of the Mass text that corresponded to his personal plea for mercy in
the motet) indicates that the style has come full circle.
In the late fifteenth century, motets like Du Fay’s fired the imaginations of
Ockeghem and his contemporaries. Their time witnessed a decline in the number of
motets, many of which were notably occasional, as, for example, Ockeghem’s lament on
the death of Binchois (1460), Mort tu as navre; Busnoys’s motet In hydraulis (an “homage”
to Ockeghem); and Josquin’s setting of Molinet’s Déploration sur le mort de Jean Ockeghem
(Nymphes des bois). Another such “tribute” is Loyset Compère’s motet, Omnium bonorum
plena (ca. 1472), in which Du Fay’s name is mentioned prominently. Compère employs the
tenor of Hayne von Ghizeghem’s rondeau De tous biens plaine (which could rightly lay claim
to being one of the “top ten” tunes of the day) as a cantus firmus, resulting in both French
and Latin texts. A trend toward contrapuntal severity culminates in the five-voice motets
with cantus firmi by Ockeghem, Busnoys, Regis, Compère, Werbecke, and Josquin, all of
whom share a fascination with the Marian antiphons (especially Salve Regina, Ave regina
coelorum, and Regina coeli).34
Like his Masses, Josquin’s motets constitute a summary of the extant compositional
devices known to him. Unlike his predecessors or contemporaries, however, Josquin seems
to revel in the challenges posed by this genre. Josquin’s motets go well beyond simply recap-
ping preexistent motet styles, establishing the foundation (especially in his later works) for the
genre’s development throughout the sixteenth century. Josquin’s two settings of Salve Regina,
one for four voices and the other for five, typify this changing approach. In both, Josquin’s use
of the Marian antiphon melody (ex. 2.21a–c) is limited to its opening motive.
Example 2.21 Josquin: Salve Regina
(a) Chant
(Continued)
(b) Salve Regina à 4, mm. 1–4
(c) Salve Regina à 5, mm. 4–14
The four-voice setting is a double canon at the fourth; like Ockeghem’s Missa Prolationum, only
two voices are printed, each given two different clefs to indicate the range of the second voice.
The five-voice setting is considerably more complex. Beyond the simple expansion of texture,
Josquin uses the chant’s head motive as an ostinato in the quinta vox. He also decides to sepa-
rate the antiphon’s text into three distinct portions, which become the prima, secunda, and tertia
partes of the motet. In each of these segments, the antiphon’s text is set by the four voices that
do not contain the chant ostinato.
Example 2.22 Josquin: Salve Regina à 5, mm. 87–98

Josquin begins with a threefold canonic presentation of the head motive in the
soprano, tenor (on D), and quinta vox (on G). With one exception (mm. 162–66), this motive
appears only in the quinta vox for the remainder of the composition, alternating between the
pitches D′ and G′. These statements are separated by three “measures” of rest, leaving the con-
tinuity of the motet to the other voices. The resulting “stencil” (three measures rest—motto on
G′ [ four measures]—three measures of rest—motto on D′ [ four measures]) appears six times
in the prima pars, twice in the secunda pars (see Ex. 2.22), and four times in the final section.
Josquin makes no reference to the chant melody in the other voice parts, which are freely com-
posed but tend toward repeated pairs.
One finds similar ostinati in some of Josquin’s most famous motets, among which
Psalm 51, Miserere mei, Deus (ex. 2.23), is especially interesting because of its supposed use of
Antoine Busnoys’s motet In Hydraulis as a model. In the three parts of Josquin’s psalm motet,
he presents a psalm tone–like cantus firmus twenty-one times—eight times (descending in the
prima pars then ascending in the secunda pars) on the pitches of the Phrygian octave (E′ to E).
The final pars contains five statements of the motive, descending from E′ to A. As in the Salve
Regina, this motive operates independently of the other voices, leaving the setting of the psalm
text exclusively to them. This famous motet is a virtual summation of all of the different textures
available to the motet composer at that time.
Example 2.23 Josquin: Miserere mei, Deus, ostinato
Another famous example of Josquin’s use of ostinato is the motet Illibata Dei, Virgo
nutrix, the anonymous text of which includes an acrostic (see bold letters) for Josquin’s name
as its first verse.35 Also fascinating is the text’s mixture of reverence for the Virgin with Greek
mythology (“mother of Olympus’s ruler”), the latter perhaps symptomatic of the growing influ-
ence of humanism. Josquin uses five voices—STTTB (clefs are C1, C4, C4, C4, and F4)—the
middle voice presenting an unusual three-note cantus firmus that alternates (like Salve Regina
à 5) between two different pitch levels (ex. 2.24). The tenor’s statements of D′–A–D′ and its
Table 2.4 Josquin, Illibata dei virgo nutrix, Text

Illibata Dei virgo nutrix, Inviolate nurse, mother of God.
Olympi tu regis o genitrix, Mother of Olympus’s ruler;
Sola parens Verbi puerpera You alone gave birth to the Word,
Quae fuisti Evae reparatrix, Made good the sin of Eve, and became
Viri nefa tuta mediatrix, Mediatrix for man’s evil, as the
Illud clare luce dat scriptura. Scripture clearly tells us.
Nata nati, alma genitura, Daughter of your son, nursing descendant,
Des ut laeta musorum factura Grant that the nurses’ pious handiwork
Prevaleat hymnus et sit ave, May prevail against Hell, and be an Ave.
Roborando sonos, ut gluttura Grant that, with strengthened sounds, our
Effligitent laude teque pura throats may pour forth your praises and
Zelotica arte clamet Ave. hail you with zealous art.
transposition, G–D–G are separated by an invariable number of rests, which, in the prima pars
leads to an arithmetic symmetry reminiscent of isorhythm:
Example 2.24 Josquin: Illibata dei virgo nutrix, cantus firmus
18 mm 9 mm 18 mm 9 mm 18 mm 9 mm

Free CF on D Free CF on G Free CF on D
A B A B′ A B
Despite a change to duple mensuration to begin the secunda pars, Josquin continues
the pattern using reduced durations. He also creates an acceleration of the tenor throughout the
course of the motet. In the prima pars, each tenor pitch is a “perfect long.” The change to duple
mensuration makes each note of the tenor ostinato a breve, equivalent to one measure of the
surrounding parts (ex. 2.25), a fact Josquin exploits to create antiphonal exchanges. Later on,
Josquin halves the tenor’s note values to semibreves, effectively doubling the speed of its pre-
sentation. After two repetitions of this pattern, Josquin reintroduces triple mensuration (now
as proportio sesquialtera, three semibreves of the new triple meter equaling two of the preceding
duple).36 While the notation of the parts remains the same (semibreves), the actual speed of this
note value increases by one-third:
C-slash: Breve = MM 60, semibreves (2) = MM 120

3: Breve = MM 60, semibreves (3) = MM 180
Example 2.25 Josquin: Illibata dei virgo nutrix, mm. 82–86
After four statements of the tenor cantus firmus, Josquin returns to duple meter but diminishes
the length of the tenor. The sheer difficulty of explaining this structure (or understanding the
explanation) reveals a mentality on Josquin’s part equal to that of Du Fay and Ockeghem.
Despite this arithmetic intricacy and brilliance of design, Josquin creates expressive
music. Initially, he does so by surrounding the cantus firmus with fluid, imitative counterpoint
in the other voices. A most sublime moment occurs near the end of the motet in conjunction
with the text:
Salve tu sola consola amica, la mi la canentes in tua laude

Hail to you, sole consoling friend, from those who sing “la mi la” in praise of you.
“La-mi-la” are the only words the tenor ever sings. Their meaning becomes clear when one
extracts the vowels of “[Ave] Maria”:
Ma–ri–a
la–mi–la
Example 2.26 Josquin: Illibata dei virgo nutrix, mm. 40–49

This conjunction of vowel and solmization syllables also explains the pitch content of the tenor
part. The first version (D′–A–D′) would be solmized as “la–mi–la” in the F (soft) hexachord (nor-
mative given the B♭ signature). Thus, the tenor sings “Ave Maria” using not only the vowels of
those words but also the pitches they suggest derived as soggetto cavato (as in the Missa Hercules
Dux Ferrariae). But since, in the text “la mi la canentes in tua laude” the verb (canentes) is plural,
Josquin takes this opportunity to have all the voices sing the tenor’s motive in praise of the
Virgin, metaphorically representing all mankind (ex. 2.26).
As impressive and sublime as this piece is, its technique is retrospective. The true
fame of Josquin, the motet composer, lies in his replacement of cantus firmus with a new syntax
based on imitation (ex. 2.27a and b). A succinct discussion of Josquin’s motets notes:
As syntactic imitation became increasingly important, Josquin applied the

technique to the handling of pre-existing as well as original melodic mate-
rial. The voices were then assimilated to each other both melodically and
rhythmically and the cantus firmus permeated the entire contrapuntal fab-
ric, as in his four-voice setting of the antiphon Virgo prudentissima and the
sequence Mittit ad Virginem. This development was virtually inevitable for
Josquin, who consistently retained with any liturgical text the melody tradi-
tionally associated with it. Thus in his four-voice Ave Maria . . . virgo serena,
an early work copied into the choir book (D-Mbs Mus. ms. 3154) by 1484, he
derived the melodic material for the opening salutation of the angel Gabriel
from the related chant providing a fourfold statement of it as a series of regu-
lar points of imitation.37
Example 2.27 Josquin: Ave Maria. . .virgo serena

(a) Chant
(b) Motet
The remainder of the motet’s text praises the Virgin, each of the poem’s five stanzas commemo-
rating one of her principal feasts (words in bold in table 2.5). In order to achieve variety of style
and texture given a text of such uniformity, Josquin turns to various sorts of imitative writing.
The simplest of these are vocal pairs in which one pair repeats the music of the other literally
(as in strophe one). When the male voices repeat the soprano–alto duet, Josquin adds the alto
to create a fauxbourdon-like texture. The precedent of such textural accretion dictates the sub-
sequent use of all four voices. Arguably, Josquin reserves this full, homophonic texture for the
text “Full of solemn joy” (ex. 2.28).
Table 2.5 Josquin, Ave Maria . . . virgo serena

Ave cujus conceptio, Solemni plena gaudio, Coelestia, terrestria, Nova replete laetitio.
Conception (12/8)
Ave cujus nativitas, Nostra fuit solemnitas, Ut lucifer lux oriens, Verum solem praeveniens.
Nativity (9/8)
Ave pia humilitas, Sino viro virginitas, Cujus annunciatio Nostra fuit salvatio.
Annunciation (3/25)
Ave vera virginitas, Immaculata castitas, Cujus purificatio, Nostra fuit purgatio.
Purification (2/2)
Ave praeclara omnibus Angelicis virtutibus, Cujus fuit assumptio, Nostra glorificatio.
Assumption (8/15)
Example 2.28 Josquin: Ave Maria. . .virgo serena, mm. 16–29
The second strophe (Ave cujus nativitas) also starts with repeated pairs, the male voices
singing different text than the upper voices. Josquin adds no additional voice for the third
phrase, and his four-part writing is imitative, reminiscent of the motet’s opening. Josquin sets
each line of the third strophe as a simple duet, the new pair’s entrance barely overlapping the
end of its predecessor.
For the strophe concerning the Feast of the Purification (Ave vera virginitas), Josquin
changes to perfect mensuration and indulges his fondness for canon. The wonderfully simple
dance of the superius, altus, and bassus trio disguises the canon at the fifth between superius
and tenor a semibreve apart. In Petrucci’s print of this motet, Josquin uses seemingly conflict-
ing mensural notation at this point. For the tenor and bass parts Josquin indicates a change
to triple mensuration both by inserting a “3” in the part and having three semibreves visu-
ally grouped together. In the soprano and alto parts, however, there is no mensural change;
instead, Josquin notates these parts using coloration (i.e., blackened forms of normally white
or void notes) to indicate triplets. If performers of the tenor and bass parts might be tempted to
realize their parts as proportio tripla, the use of coloration within duple meter for soprano and
alto unequivocally indicates that the proportion should be sesquialtera (i.e., three in the time of
two).38 Aside from the imitative exordium and the homophonic closing petition, this is the only
extended segment of the motet scored for all four voices. The final strophe returns to duple
mensuration and paired voices; however, the pairings overlap giving the impression of fuller,
more independent texture.
In his landmark treatise, Dodekachordon (1547), the Swiss theorist Glareanus specif-
ically praises this motet, calling it “skillful and lovely.” Josquin’s contemporaries apparently
agreed, for it appears in thirteen manuscript sources and is the object of a grand recomposition
by Ludwig Senfl. Glareanus’s praise may have been engendered by the motet’s clear and exem-
plary use of Ionian mode (after all, Dodekachordon promoted the expansion of the eight-mode
system to twelve by adding Aeolian and Ionian and their plagal forms); it seems equally likely
that Josquin’s use of texture and imitation to create a new kind of motet also impressed him.
If indeed Ave Maria . . . virgo serena is an early work, it previews what will become the
dominant feature of Josquin’s eventual maturity. In an impressive series of motets on biblical
texts (In principio erat verbum and others), Josquin no longer makes allusion to cantus firmus
or any retrospective device. These motets derive their form almost exclusively from the text’s
syntax, changing text inflections, meaning, and, above all, rhetorical possibilities. Rhetoric had
always been important but was often subordinated to the cantus firmus or other constructive
techniques in earlier compositions. Now, rhetoric provides the means of differentiating one sec-
tion of imitative music from the next.
An interesting example of this means of unification occurs in Josquin’s Dominus reg-
navit, a setting of Psalm 93, which, like the aforementioned four-voice Salve Regina, is a double
canon. Josquin divides the psalm’s text into two partes, the first of which presents two prominent
melodies (ex. 2.29a and b). The octave leap used to set the text “elevaverunt” is in itself a clear
example of rhetoric. However, Josquin does not limit himself to this rather obvious gesture,
but reuses this same polyphonic elaboration to set “sicut erat in principio” (part of the Lesser
Doxology). Taking advantage of the Doxology’s phrase “as it was in the beginning,” Josquin
reprises the earlier music (a practice found in J. S. Bach’s Magnificat [BWV 243] and many of
the psalms of Mozart’s Vespers [K. 339]).39 A more subtle piece of craftsmanship is his blending
of these diverse melodies (ex. 2.30) to form the opening melodic motive of the secunda pars.
Example 2.29 Josquin: Dominus regnavit
(a) mm. 1–4
(b) mm. 59–63

Example 2.30 Josquin: Dominus regnavit, mm. 85–89
The deliberate combination of the two most prominent melodic motives of the prima
pars as the melodic basis of the opening point of imitation for the secunda pars illustrates
Josquin’s awareness of the need to create a new synergy to support the ascension of imitation
as the primary basis for formal structure in this new type of motet. Conscious reference to
material heard earlier in the composition also demonstrates the brilliant economy of Josquin’s
inventiveness. Similarly clever and intricate use of textual syntax and meaning as the basis of
melodic and formal construction comes to characterize not only the sixteenth-century motet but
also the more progressive Italian madrigal.
Conclusion
Within this chapter on Latin sacred music in the first half of the Renaissance, we have seen a
fundamental shift in the philosophy of composition: syntactic imitation, the language of the
motet, gradually replaces cantus firmus as the predominant organizational device. Within the
evolution of the polyphonic Mass Ordinary from Du Fay to Josquin, there is a notable decline in
the hegemony of a preexistent, monophonic cantus firmus. Gradually, the strictness with which
the earlier sacrosanct cantus firmus operated, allows the addition of a true bass part beneath it,
the migration of this formal scaffold to other voice parts, the addition of melodic notes (“para-
phrase”), and even the composition of Masses in which there is no cantus firmus. All of these
subtle variations in terms of how the cantus firmus is treated are found in the Masses of Josquin
des Prez. The result of this evolution within the Mass is the emergence of a new type of motet
driven by the structure and meaning of the text rather than an overarching melodic design.
Such an approach to composition allowed, indeed forced, composers to utilize imitation as the
primary engine of compositional development. Each text phrase could now have its own melody
that appeared (strictly or with modifications) in each of the voices. It is the increasing popular-
ity of this process that reshapes Mass composition, resulting in the overwhelming preference
in the generations following Josquin for composing Masses based on a polyphonic rather than
a monophonic model, which could be either sacred or secular, borrowed or newly composed.
This preference for starting with a polyphonic model leads to the myriad variations of its vocal
complex that we have, for better or worse, dubbed “parody.”
3
Secular Choral Music of the Renaissance

(1440–1625)
T he preceding chapter established Josquin des Prez as the first high-water mark of
Renaissance music. His sacred output not only summarized the compositional trends
that preceded him but also effected a development that would shape the remainder of the
century—the replacement of a cantus firmus as the dominant aspect of musical form and
unification by the use of points of imitation. In Josquin’s Masses and motets, one can find
every imaginable type of cantus firmus manipulation. His use, particularly in his biblical
motets, of imitation based on the syntax and meaning of the texts eventually became a model
for his successors. The significance of his relatively small output of secular music has, how-
ever, been somewhat overlooked. Josquin was not a creator of popular chanson melodies like
Ockeghem or Busnoys. He was more the consummate arranger, especially in the area of the
chanson. He also composed several frottole (including the well-known El Grillo) that connect
him with the beginning of what will become the dominant vocal genre of the sixteenth cen-
tury—the madrigal.
Josquin’s importance in the area of secular music results as much from his fortuitous
place in history as from the quality or novelty of his music. The humanistic values engendered
by the age in which he lived led to a rise of education, a new interest in secular literature and
60
Secular Choral Music, 1440–1625 61
thought, and finally to musical settings of vernacular texts. “Unity of style” in the Renaissance
likely resided in common understanding of Latin prosody. But as composers began setting
vernacular texts, their music became as different as their native languages. A Latin motet or
Mass by a Spanish composer sounded virtually the same as any other European composer
because of Latin’s universality and the conventions surrounding its use. But when a Spanish
composer set secular Spanish poetry to music, the unique accents and flavors of that language
emerged. Starting from this premise, let us examine the musical forms dependent on the new
importance of vernacular music—the chanson in France, the Tenorlied in Germany, and, most
importantly, the madrigal in Italy.
French Chanson
The chanson, from the beginnings of recorded history, is an important form of vocal chamber
music. We know of the medieval Troubadours and Trouveres, the Minne- and Meistersingers, jon-
gleurs, and similar characters, all of whom entertained at courts and in cities across Europe,
singing music that was largely improvisational in style and soloistic. In the fourteenth cen-
tury, Machaut, Landini, and their contemporaries composed elaborate musical settings based
on common verse types. We call these the formes fixes—monophonic songs consisting of a
verse setting that used two musical ideas. The ballade (AAB), virelai (A bba A), and rondeau
(AB aA ab AB) were dominant in France, but they had analogues in other countries (e.g., the
ballata in Italy). Polyphonic settings of these text types were still used by fifteenth- and early
sixteenth-century composers like Guillaume Du Fay, Giles Binchois, Johannes Ockeghem,
Antoine Busnoys, and their contemporaries.
At the beginning of the sixteenth century, printed music began to replace manu-
script collections, a process pioneered in Italy by Ottaviano Petrucci and soon taken up by
printers in many major European cities. At approximately the same time, composition trea-
tises, instrumental primers, and domestic music, both vocal and instrumental, all emerged
to serve a new, middle-class market.1 The demand for this simple, accessible new music led
to the appearance of numerous printed collections of simple secular music; generically called
chansons in France, they were the product of a group of composers closely associated with the
French royal court:
Claudin de Sermisy (ca. 1490–1562)

Pierre Certon (ca. 1515–72)
Thomas Crecquillon (fl. 1540–57)
Pierre Sandrin (fl. 1538–ca. 1561)
Pierre Passareau (fl. ca. 1509–47)
These were the successors to the Franco-Flemish composers who followed

Josquin—Alexander Agricola (ca. 1446–1506), Antoine de Févin (ca. 1470–1512), Jean Mouton
(ca. 1460–1522), and Thomas Richafort (ca. 1490–1548). In contrast to the conservative style
of their chansons, the newer Parisian chansons (exemplified by the music of Sermisy, see ex.
3.1) were simpler and more melodic. Sermisy’s setting of Tant que vivrai is almost completely
homophonic and declamatory, a texture in which the top line becomes the primary melody,
save for the use of a text-derived rhythm based on a quantitive differentiation of stressed (2) and
unstressed (1) syllables: Tant que vi–vrai. Sermisy’s composition is stylistically indistinguishable
from the frottole being written in Italy. So common was this rhythmic pattern that it became
standard in instrumental canzoni, even after these works had ceased to be transcriptions of
vocal music. Sermisy’s setting also exhibits another contemporary Italian practice—repetition
of the final phrase to close the work.
Example 3.1 Sermisy: Tant que vivrai, mm. 1–12
We tend to think of this group as writing primarily lighter pieces, an impression fos-
tered by such popular pieces as Passareau’s Il est bel et bon or Certon’s La, la, la, Je ne lose dire.2
This generation was also capable of more serious compositions as seen in Certon’s setting of Je
suis deshéritée.3 Published in an anthology of chansons published by Nicholas de Chemin (1570),
Certon expanded the original composition, attributed variously to either Lupus (Hellinck? [ca.
1494–ca. 1541]) or Pierre Cadéac (fl 1538–66), from four to six voices (SSATTB).4 Due perhaps to
this expansion, Certon abandoned the original’s presentation of the superius’s melody in tan-
dem with a strict pre-imitation in the tenor part. His setting doubled the length of the model,
the superius melody effectively becoming a cantus firmus, the phrases of which are separated
to accommodate the increased vocal texture.
The most celebrated composer of chansons at this time is Clément Janequin (ca. 1485–
1558), whose fame stems from one particular type of chanson—the “program chanson.” These
pieces use vocal onomatopoeia to produce an early form of “environmental” music, that is, music
that attempts to reproduce the sounds (natural and otherwise) we hear around us. The concept
was not Janequin’s, there being precedent in the caccia (chasse in France) of the Italian trecento.
The highly imitative, even canonic, texture of the two upper voices literally represent the hunter’s
“chase” of the hunted. Janequin composed such a piece (La Chasse), but his pieces emulating the
songs of birds (Le Chant des Oiseaux5 and Le Chant du Rossignol) and his re-creation (La Guerre)
of the Battle of Marignan (September 13–14, 1515, in which King Francois I defeated the Italian
forces of the duke of Milan, Maximilian Sforza) have proved more enduring. Example 3.2 from
Janequin’s Le Chant des Oiseaux illustrates his unique, onomatopoetic style.
Example 3.2 Janequin: Le Chant des Oiseaux, mm. 71–76
More significant for the future were the experiments in writing and setting French poetry
in imitation of antique models conducted by La Pléiade, a circle of intellectuals associated with the
French royal court. The individual first associated with this change in style was Clément Marot
(?1496–?1544). Like similar humanistic groups, these men explored Greek and Roman poetry,
developing a system of quantitative stress that they believed was an integral part of the style of
the antiques. Joachim Du Bellay, a poet, literary critic, and member of La Pléiade, wrote in 1549:
Sing to me those odes, yet unknown to the French muse,

On a lute well tuned to the sound of the Greek and Roman lyre . . .
Above all, take care that the type of poetry be far from the vulgar, enriched and
made illustrious with proper words and vigorous epithets, adorned with grave
sentences, and varied with all manner of colorful and poetic ornaments.6
Stressed and unstressed syllables were differentiated quantitatively as longs and shorts. The
resulting style was called vers mesurée a l’antique (“measured verse like the antique [poet]s”); a
well-known example is the poem Revoici venir du printemps by Jean-Antoine de Baïf, the mem-
ber of La Pléiade who was this style’s prime exponent.7 Baïf organized his poem into a verse
(Chant) and refrain (Réchant) format, assigning long or short quantities based on accent. The
result was a scansion, or verse analysis showing meter, which mixed both iambic (short–long)
and anapestic (short–short–long) feet.
Table 3.1 Scansion of Revoici venir du printemps

Re-voi-ci ve-nir du prin-temps
L’a-mou-reuse et bel—le sai-son.
Claude Le Jeune (ca. 1530–ca. 1600) translated this poetic scansion into alternating “measures”
of 6/4 and 3/2 (ex. 3.3).
Example 3.3 Le Jeune: Revoici venir du printemps, mm. 1–4
The verses, though longer, retained a similar rhythmic aspect, adding a new voice to the original
duet for each successive verse.
The Psalter
Though religious in nature, psalters were produced by the same people who had invented
vers mesurée. By paraphrasing biblical psalms into vernacular poetic texts suitable for sing-
ing, these collections grew into the principal music of non-Lutheran Protestant worship.
The Geneva Psalter (1556–62), produced for John Calvin’s services, followed the model of the
English Puritan Psalter of Sternhold and Hopkins (1553). The French texts, written by Clément
Marot and Théodore de Beze (1519–1605), were set to melodies by Louis Bourgeois, the prin-
cipal musician in Geneva from 1541 to ca. 1557. Bourgeois’s melodies still occupy a prominent
place in Protestant hymnals, the most famous being his tune for Psalm 134 (ex. 3.4), which the
English-speaking world knows as “Old Hundredth.”8
Example 3.4 Bourgeois: Or sus, serviteurs du Seigneur
Bourgeois’s musical settings were superseded by the more sophisticated arrangements

of Claude Goudimel (d. 1572) in 1564 and 1565, and later by Claude LeJeune. LeJeune did not
set all of the psalm melodies, but his arrangements (especially those published in Dodecacorde
[1598], which are settings of twelve psalms, one for each mode advocated by Zarlino) are indeed
more intricate polyphonically than their predecessors (see ex. 3.5).9 Although the earliest poly-
phonic psalters retained the psalm tune in the tenor, composers soon transferred it to the
superius where it was more audible. This relocation later affected chorale settings in Lutheran
Germany, replacing the Tenorlied with the soprano-dominated psalter. An early example of
this development was Antonius Lobwasser’s German translation of the Geneva Psalter (pub.
1572). Eventually, the Reformed Psalter affected Hesse-Kassel, a midsized German state,
where, in 1607, the Landgrave Moritz published a version of Lobwasser’s translations set
to his own melodies harmonized in four parts. This psalter ultimately affected the style of
the Becker Psalter, composed by the Landgrave’s “star pupil,” Heinrich Schütz. In the end,
the appearance of the Reformed Psalter in Germany was less important for championing
the Genevan melodies than for moving the hymn melody to the superius and adopting vers
mesurée rhythms, as we see in Schütz’s use of the Lutheran melody, Ein’ feste Burg (ex. 3.6)
for Psalm 46 in his Becker Psalter (op. 5).
Example 3.5 Goudimel: Or sus, serviteurs du Seigneur, mm. 1–14
Example 3.6 Schütz: Ein feste Burg (Psalm 46)

The German Lied

The retention of the polyphonic Lied tradition in German secular music accounts for the rel-
atively conservative nature of secular compared to contemporary music in France and Italy.
Among the first humanists in Germany is the poet Konrad Celtes, who taught his students to
write Latin poems using the metric patterns of the Horatian odes. The poems, subsequently set
to simple, four-part music, incorporate the shifting accentual patterns of the French vers mesu-
rée. The composers of such pieces included Heinrich Finck (ca. 1445–1527), Paulus Hofhaimer
(1459–1537), and Ludwig Senfl (ca. 1486–ca. 1543). The new style also permeates the dramas
staged in German humanist schools, another contributing factor to the reshaping of Protestant
hymnody. Among the earliest collections of German secular polyphony are those published
by Johannes Ott (1534) and Georg Forster’s series, Frische teutsche Lieder (1540 and subsequent
years). These anthologies contain works by the same mix of Protestant and Catholic composers
who contributed to the Protestant liturgical prints published in sixteenth-century Nuremberg.
The featured composers include Heinrich Isaac (ca. 1450–1517), his pupil Ludwig Senfl, Arnoldus
de Bruck (ca. 1500–54), Thomas Stoltzer (ca. 1480–1526), Sixt Dietrich (ca. 1493–1548), Lupus
Hellinck (ca. 1494–1541), Stephan Mahu (ca. 1490–1531?), and Leonhard Päminger (1495–1567).
In general, their Lieder followed the Tenorlied tradition of Hofhaimer, Finck, and Isaac in which
a cantus firmus–like melody appeared in the tenor (hence, the name), surrounded by deco-
rative, freely imitative counterpoint. Heinrich Isaac’s Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen (ex. 3.7)
became the gold standard of the Lied genre.10
Example 3.7 Isaac: Innsbruck ich muss dich lassen, mm. 1–9
Ludwig Senfl not only finished his teacher’s monumental collection of sacred
polyphony for the Cathedral of Constance (the Choralis Constantinus) but also furthered the
development of the Lied. Among Senfl’s more notable compositions is the delightful “tone
poem” Das G’leut zu Speyer (“The Bells of Speyer”). Scored for six parts but using only
three chords, this Lied is the German equivalent of the programmatic chansons of Janequin.
A more typical example of Senfl’s Lieder is Ich stund an einem Morgen, in which only the
tenor was texted (ex. 3.8).
Example 3.8 Senfl: Ich stund an einem Morgen, mm. 9–20
Gustave Reese wrote that the publication of Senfl’s music marked the end of the
German Lied.11 By Senfl’s death in 1556, an influx of Italian music and musicians had already
begun to fuel the popularity of lighter forms of Italian secular music. This trend began in 1566
with the publication of Il primo libro delle Canzone Napoletane, the first exclusively Italian pub-
lication in Germany. The composer was Antonio Scandello (1517–80), Schütz’s predecessor as
Kapellmeister in Dresden.
About that same time, Orlando di Lasso (1532–94) assumed leadership of Duke Albert
V of Bavaria’s court chapel. Lassus’s music became the compositional model for German com-
posers almost immediately. Lassus’s first collection of German secular music, Newe Teutsche
Liedlein mit fünff Stimmen, appeared in 1567, followed by similar collections in 1572, 1573, 1576,
1583, and 1590. These collections—all hybrid mixtures of madrigal, villanelle, and chanson—
tended to include both sacred and secular songs. While Lassus occasionally arranged existing
melodies (e.g. Suzanne frumb modeled on Suzanne un jour), he was more likely to invent his
own; his German Lieder often did not follow the Tenorlied tradition, as Ich waiss mir ein meidlein
clearly demonstrates (see ex. 3.9).
Example 3.9 Lassus: Ich waiss mir ein meidlein hübsch und fein, mm. 1–9
The depth of Lassus’s influence in Germany is seen in the Lieder collections of Ivo
de Vento (ca. 1540–75, a colleague at the Bavarian court), Jakob Regnart (d. 1600), and most
directly in the music of his two primary pupils, Johannes Eccard (1553–1611) and Leonhard
Lechner (1553–1606).12 But the ultimate synthesis of German and Italian elements was made
by Hans Leo Hassler (1564–1612), whose publications span the last decade of the sixteenth
century into the first part of the seventeenth. His secular collection, Lustgarten neuer teutscher
Gesang, Balletti, Galliarden und Intraden (1601), contained one of his best-known pieces,
Tanzen und springen (ex. 3.10), which Hassler himself described as a Galliard.13 The homo-
phonic style, dance rhythms (especially the use of hemiola), and most distinctively the “fa la
la” refrain all pointed toward Hassler’s assimilation of the Italian dance songs (Balletti) made
famous by Giovanni Gastoldi (ca. 1554–1609).
Example 3.10 Hassler: Tanzen und springen
Italian Secular Music

Both France and Italy already had a secular art music tradition prior to the beginning
of the Renaissance. But the fifteenth-century influx of the oltremontani (Franco-Flemish
composer-singers) impeded the development of indigenous Italian composition. Some of
these northern composers at least dabbled in Italian song, as isolated pieces like Du Fay’s
Vergine bella, the Scaramella settings by Compère and Josquin, and titles that allude to Italian
names (presumably patrons) attest. The most common type of Italian secular music in the
fifteenth-century was the ballata, a setting identical in form to the virelai (A bba A). Italy also
had a tradition of traveling musicians who improvised songs in fixed poetic schemes and
accompanied themselves on the lute. One of the more common types was the strambotto, a
poem comprised of eight-line stanzas with extremely simple rhyme schemes. The improvisa-
tory nature of the music did not require or want sophisticated texts. The musical style was
itself uncomplicated, befitting its narrative-purposed, improvised performance, and entertain-
ment function.
By the end of the fifteenth century, Italian composers of some stature began to appear
along side of their Franco-Flemish rivals. Their repertory, as simple and direct as their predeces-
sors, took myriad names depending on the locations in which they were produced. Generically,
this late fifteenth century Italian secular music bore the designation frottola, although that title
denoted a specific form of lyric poetic similar to the ballata, the barzaletta. The frottola was asso-
ciated with the northern Italian city of Mantua and the patroness of its court, Isabella d’Este (d.
1539), the Ferrarese wife of Francesco Gonzaga (1466–1519). Two composers associated with the
Mantuan court became the primary advocates of the frottola—Bartolomeo Tromboncino (ca.
1470–after 1535) and Marchetto Cara (ca. 1464–1525).14
The real significance of the frottola lay in Ottaviano Petrucci’s publication of these
pieces—in eleven books—between 1505 and 1514. Cara’s Io non compro più speranza (ex. 3.11),
published in Petrucci’s first book (1504), typified the genre.15 The limited melodic range and
Example 3.11 Cara: Io non compro più speranza, mm. 1–12
Table 3.2 Text and Formal Structure of Io non compro più speranza

Music Poetic lines Rhyme Poetic form
mm. 1–3 Io non compro più speranza a Ripresa
mm. 4–6 Ché gli è falsa mercancia b
mm. 7–9 A dar sol attendo via b
mm. 10–12 Quella poca che m’avanza. a
Stanza 1
mm. 1–3 Cara un tempo la comprai c Piede
mm. 4–6 Hor la vendo a bon mercato d
mm. 1–3 E consiglio ben che mai c Piede
mm. 4–6 Non ne compri un sventurato d
mm. 7–9 Ma piu presto nel suo stato d Volta
mm. 10–12 Se ne resti con costanza. a

lute accompaniment, comprised almost entirely of root position chords, project an impression
of simplicity. The vocal line employs stepwise movement and melodic repetition (e.g., the reap-
pearance of the opening melody with the same text in m. 13). The similarity of this structure to
the formes fixes is no coincidence as the entire piece uses only two melodic and poetic segments.
The twenty-seven measures of music sounded once as Ripresa and refrain, and a second time
(with restatement of the first six bars) for the Volta and reprise of the refrain. In this barzaletta,
each stanza of text and repetition of the refrain requires performance of the entire musical
structure of this verse form.
Obviously, neither music nor text was very sophisticated. Translation of the Italian text
shows why this was often referred to simply as poesia per musica (words to set to music), imply-
ing that the text was more suited for singing than for reading as a meaningful poem.
Il non compro più speranza

English translation:
I’ll buy no more hope, for it is worthless goods;
I can’t wait to give away the little that I have.
Once it cost me dearly, but now I sell it cheap;
And I would never advise the wretched to buy it,
But stay constant in their wretchedness.
I’ll buy no more hope . . .
To hope is like a dream that mostly results in nothing;
Hope is the craving need of one who plays the wind,
And often annihilates the one who continues to dance with it.
Cara contrived a lively interplay between accompaniment (barred in four in the print)
and the melody’s dancelike alternation of 6/4 and 3/2. Also of interest is the refrain’s melis-
matic close, in which a melodic sequence is organized as groups of triple meter against the
prevailingly duple mensuration.
The transition from frottola to madrigal is gradual and difficult to trace.16 Often, one
type of music appeared in a collection ostensibly restricted (by title) to the other. The first
printed collection to use the designation “madrigal” was Madrigali de diversi musici: libro primo
de la Serena (1530), a collection containing eight of these so-called madrigals by Phillippe
Verdelot, two by each of the Festa brothers (Constanzo and Sebastiano), and one by Maistre
Jhan, a Ferrarese composer. In addition to these putative madrigals, the print contained
other types of lighter Italian verse and several French chansons. This anthology’s eclecti-
cism typified the problem posed by these early publications—the lack of textual and musical
consistency.
Verdelot and Arcadelt

In general, the oltremontani dominated the emergence of the true madrigal. Even when
Bernardo Pisano and the Festa brothers began setting more serious texts (the hallmark of the
true madrigal), their compositions were formulaic, reminiscent of the earlier improvisational
style. As poets increasingly imitated the style of Petrarch and produced madrigal poetry (defined
as containing an indeterminate number of seven or eleven syllable lines without a clear rhyme
scheme), greater compositional sophistication and flexibility became essential. The resulting
stylistic changes were most evident in the madrigals of oltremontani like Philippe Verdelot (ca.
1480–ca. 1530) and Jacob Arcadelt (ca.1504–1568).
Verdelot, the principal composer of the Madrigali de diversi musici, published three
books of four-voice madrigals in the mid-1530s, as well as four books for five voices (1535 and
1540).17 His madrigals represented a stylistic confluence that Alfred Einstein described as “poly-
phonically animated homophony,” that is, a balanced mix of both chordal and imitative style.18
Typical of Verdelot’s style is I vostri acuti dardi” (table 3.3)19 The apparent regularity of the paired
rhyming lines is offset by variance in syllable count (aBaBBaBaaa [a = heptasyllabic lines;
B = ondecasyllabic lines]) lending this text greater intricacy than the preceding frottola text.
While still modal (Lydian on F), Verdelot’s madrigal has some unexpected features:
1. The clefs are mixed—the soprano and alto (C1 and C3) have “low clefs,” while
the tenor and bass clefs (C4 and F4) are associated with “high clefs” (or chiavette).
2. The soprano (F′–D′′) and alto (F–B-flat′) ranges probably account for the
mixed-clef system, since the tenor (F–F′) and bass (C–C′) ranges are normative.
3. There are more avoided modal cadences (due to the four-voice texture) than one
expects; despite the numerous cadences to the modal final (F), Verdelot avoided
the secondary cadential pitches (A, C, B♭, G, and E♭) associated with the mode in
sacred polyphony.20
4. Like the French chanson, Verdelot repeats the final textual/melodic phrase.
Gustav Reese’s analysis points out the madrigal’s bipartite design based on melodic
repetition.21 Despite the work’s brevity (fifty-one measures), Verdelot reuses the opening melody
in the penultimate phrase. Verdelot also indulges in a “solmization” pun to accomplish a rela-
tively rare example of text painting. In the second line of text, “Mi fa(n),” Verdelot used A′ and
B♭′ (i.e., “mi” and “fa” in the F hexachord) in the Cantus (ex. 3.12).
Example 3.12 Verdelot: I vostri acuti dardi, mm. 1–8

Table 3.3 Verdelot, I vostri acuti dardi, Text structure
Text Syllables Rhyme
I vostri acuti dardi 7 a
Mi fan’, ahyme, Madonna, di languire, 11 B
Ch’io son giunt’ al morire 7 b
Non piu veloci son ma ben’ si tardi 11 A
I pasti ch’aquetavano el mio core; 11 C
Ond’ io, lasso. Son fore 7 c
Da desiati vostri dolci squardi. 11 D
Et pur, convien ch’io guardi 7 d
Il duol, eh Dio, ch’io sento, 7 e
Che mai sara i contento. 7 e
Figure 3.1 Cardinal Pietro Bembo, Titian, 1540

The main difference between Verdelot’s madrigal and the compositions of Jacob Arcadelt
is text choice; Arcadelt favored poems taken either directly from Petrarch and his contemporaries,
or from texts written in imitation of them. An influential figure in this aspect of the madrigal’s
evolution is the Venetian nobleman, scholar, and cardinal Pietro Bembo (1470–1547). An ardent
Petrarchist, Bembo helped establish the Tuscan dialect as the literary language of contemporary
Italy. In his treatise, Prosa della vulgar lingua (1525), Bembo emphasizes the poet’s mastery of
technique, use of proper imagery, and the composer’s need to pay attention to the sounds of the
words. He summed up these qualities in the twin concepts of piacevolezza (suavity) and gravita
(solemnity). Although Bembo’s injunctions are intended for poets, they also suggest that compos-
ers content themselves not merely with proper word accents and harmonic constructions but also
employ every available device to realize the emotional imagery latent in the words.
Superficially, Jacob Arcadelt’s madrigal, Il bianco e dolce cigno, may seem little dif-
ferent from those of Verdelot.22 It was his use of the sophisticated and innovative texts advo-
cated by Bembo that established Arcadelt as the leading madrigalist of his day. His setting of
d’Avalos’s poem about the swan’s last song—supposedly its most beautiful—appeared in his
Libro primo di madrigali (1538). The principal thrust of the poem involves a double entendre
common to poetry of the period: madrigal poets used the word “death” (here, “little death”)
as a metaphor for sexual fulfillment. Thus, Arcadelt’s use of imitation to represent “mille
morte” was precisely the kind of subtle “tone painting” (ex. 3.13) advocated by Bembo.
Example 3.13 Arcadelt: Il bianco e dolce cigno, mm. 29–41

Cipriano de Rore
The stylistic evolution within the first generation of madrigalists was largely text-driven.
Despite his relatively conservative training in church music composition from Adrian
Willaert, Cypriano de Rore (1516–65) emerged as the leading madrigalist of his day. No less
an authority than Giulio Cesare Monteverdi (the brother of Claudio) called Rore the “first
renovator of the second practice” because he was “a faithful servant of the text, without
which these compositions would remain bodies without souls.”23 One of the works specifi-
cally praised by Giulio Cesare is Da le belle contrade d’Oriente (HAM 1, 131). For his text Rore
uses a Petrarchan sonnet, the fourteen lines of which comprise two quatrains (both ABBA
in rhyme scheme) and a sestina (CDECDE) (table 3.4). Rore’s musical setting respects the
sonnet’s form by making cadences after each quatrain (the second more pronounced than
the first). His setting of the two quatrains is similar lengthwise; more intriguing is the nearly
identical length of the sestina.
Rore sets the straightforward text in a traditional manner; in the music of the sec-
ond quatrain, however, he introduces strange and interesting harmonies. The words “ardent
sigh” (mm. 24–25) evokes a Phrygian cadence to D (harmonized as a major chord), while
for “sweet desire” (mm. 29–30) he employs a wrenchingly deceptive cadence: What ini-
tially seems to be a perfect (V–I) cadence to G minor turns instead to IV, (DM–CM). The
lover’s announced departure prompts a textural disintegration, a Phrygian cadence to the
pitch A (again harmonized as major) and a descending minor 7th in the bass (ex. 3.14). But
Rore is hardly finished here, setting the phrase “sola mi lasci!” for the soprano alone, aban-
doned by the other voices. Rore realized the solmization puns embedded in the text (“sola
mi lasci” = sol–la–mi) by giving having the soprano sing multiple A’s that would have been
interpreted as “la” in the C hexachord and “mi” in the F hexachord. The lover’s exchange
of farewells (Addio!) is represented twice, cadencing first to C (V–I) and then to F. The rare
occurrence of a rest in all parts emphasizes not only the cadence to the final but also bids
farewell to the mode, for the final text phrase (“Che sara qui di me scur’ e dolente?”) begins in E
Table 3.4 Rore, Da le belle contrade d’Oriente, Text

Da le belle contrade d’Oriente From the fair regions of the East, clearly and
Chiar’ e lieta sergea Cyprigna ed io, brightly breaks the dawn and I, in the arms of
Fruiva in bracchio al divin idol mio my divine idol, tasted joys that transcend human
Quel piacer che non cape umana mente; understanding;
Quando senti dopp’ un sospir ardente; When, after an ardent sigh, I heard her say:
“Speranza del mio cor, dolce desio, “Hope of my heart, sweet desire, Alas, you are going,
T’en vai, oihme, Sola mi lasci’ Addio! leaving me all alone? Farewell! What will become
Che sera qui di me scura e dolente? of me, sad and gloomy?
Ahi, crud’ Amor. Ben son dubbio s’e corte Oh, cruel love, your joys are uncertain and brief, and,
Le tue dolcezze poi ch’ancor ti godi, after you have tasted them, the pleasure ultimately
Che l’estremo piacer finisci’in pianto.” ends in tears.”
Ne potendo dir piu cinseme forte Unable to say more, she held me close, her arms
Iterando gl’ampless’ in tanti nodi twining me in embraces such as ivy or acanthus
Che giamai ne fer piu l’edr’o l’acanto. never formed.
major. The ensuing harmonies have even less to do with F, as Rore symbolizes the emotional
6
tension by ending the first half of the sonnet’s text with a half-cadence (I 4 –V) to D minor.
Example 3.14 Rore: Da le belle contrade d’Oriente, mm. 26–40
Before the musical setting of the sestina begins, Rore inserts another rest to allow
the concluding A-major sonority to dissipate. When the music does resumes, Rore empha-
sizes love’s cruelty (“Ahi, crud’ Amor”) with a chord (C minor), which creates two chro-
matic cross-relationships with the preceding A-major harmony. Following A major with C
minor obliterates any harmonic connection, creating a “cruel” transition indeed for singers
trained in the modal hexachords and which is, therefore, aptly expressive of the text. In
the ensuing text, Rore returns to the F mode by logical, if less than doctrinaire, motion,
repeating it to eradicate the harmony brought on by the conclusion of the sonnet’s first half.
His return to F continues, descending through flat keys to the “sweet” D♭-major chords at
“dolcezze,” only to return to A major to symbolize the “pleasure that ultimately ends in
tears.” Another inserted rest allowed Rore to make an abrupt return to the F mode for the
madrigal’s conclusion.
Although one cannot infer that Rore was thinking tonally, his harmonic realizations
of textual contrast often produced harmonies that were decidedly non-modal. The mode (F) is
most evident in the opening and closing texts—the first quatrain (mm. 1–21) and the final terzet
of the sestina (mm. 56–80). In between, Rore effectively suppresses the mode in favor of more
exotic harmonies to interpret the text. Claude Palisca’s comments on another Rore madrigal
apply equally well to this masterpiece:
It pays to dwell on this masterpiece [O Sonno (1557)], for it epitomizes the

esthetic goals and musical apparatus of the emergent baroque style. The com-
poser loses no opportunity to make his representation of the text vivid and
moving. Sacrificing the homogeneity of style admired by the Renaissance, he
creates a mélange that has been fittingly called mannerism. With breathless
abandon he goes from one rhythmic scheme to another, from diatonicism to
chromaticism, from root chords to sixth chords, from sharp keys to flat keys.
Still, there is coherence, because de Rore is careful to return to the principal
degrees of the tonality at frequent cadence points and to relate the end to the
beginning.24
Marenzio, Wert, and Gesualdo

Given the sheer volume of his output and the breadth of his influence throughout Europe, the
next major madrigalist from the latter half of the sixteenth century must be Luca Marenzio
(1533–99). Marenzio, as the locus classicus of the Renaissance madrigal even in his early madri-
gals, uses the pastoral verse and nature metaphors of his forebears in a style both accessible to
the amateur singers (who accounted for an increasingly substantial demand for such music)
and still capable of the era’s de rigeur vivid text painting.
This synthesis is evident in Già torna a rallegrar l’aria, published in Marenzio’s
second book of madrigals for five voices (1581).25 The eight-line poem by an unknown author
uses only eleven-syllable lines and an obvious rhyme scheme (ABABABCC). This is one of
those Arcadian texts, filled with images of nature (“Spring returns,” “the sea calms,” “frost
flying underground,” “the shepherds frolic,” and the like) that make up the core of madrigal
poetry.26 Marenzio realized these textual images by using conventional madrigalisms. For
example, he depicts the calm sea (“il mar s’acqueta,” line 3) (ex. 3.15) with an unexpected
B-major chord and the virtual cessation of musical motion. The next image (“il giel fuge sot-
terra”) evokes rapid, descending passages in vocal pairs, which, one assumes, literally chills
the singers.
Table 3.5 Marenzio, Già torna a rallegrar, Text

Già torna a rallegrar l’aria e le terra A Now returns to brighten the air and the sky
Il giovanetto April carco di fiori, B Young April, laden with flowers. The sea becomes
Il mar s’aqueta, il giel fugge sotterra, A calm, the frost flies underground,
Scherzan le vaghe Ninfe e i lor Pastori; B The pretty nymphs and their shepherds frolic;
Tornan gli augelli a l’amorosa Guerra A The birds return to amorous war,
Lieti a cantar nei matutini albori. B Happy to sing in the morning dawn.
Et io piango la notte e son dolente C And I mourn the night and am sorrowful
Tosto che’l sol si scopre in Oriente. C As soon as the sun reveals itself in the East.
Example 3.15 Marenzio: Già torna a rallegrar, mm. 13–20
The late works of Marenzio, like those of Don Carlo Gesualdo (ca. 1561–1613)
and Giaches de Wert (1535–96), displace the classical “nature” texts of Petrarch, Ariosto,
Sannazaro, and others with poetry of a far gloomier, almost neurotic cant. The new poets
of choice are now Torquato Tasso (author of the epic poem Gerusalemme liberata) and
Giambattista Guarini, whose pastoral play Il Pastor fido became the preeminent text source
for late sixteenth-century madrigals. This poetry’s obsessive fascination with death and
other such emotionally charged, epigrammatic language spawn increasingly chromatic,
formally unpredictable music. Wert, the last great Netherlander to compose madrigals,
is also the first to set texts from Tasso’s Gerusalemme liberata. 27 Texts such as Tancredi’s
lament, Giunto alla tomba and poems like Ah, dolente partita by Guarini thus become the
hallmarks of contemporary taste. In Giunto alla tomba, for example, Wert begins with
dark, low-pitched declamatory music, which, while nominally modal (Aeolian), reveals
hints of tonal thinking. Wert’s music mirrors the poem’s intense emotions by means of
unexpected changes of style and texture (ex. 3.16). Wert’s music is also progressive in its
lack of word repetition and melismatic embellishment. Texts like these prefigure those used
later by Claudio Monteverdi. Indeed, Wert’s setting of Ah, dolente partita (1595) preceded
Monteverdi’s (Book 4, 1603) by less than a decade. Even if Monteverdi failed to include
Giunto alla tomba in his famous Lagrimae cycle (Book 6), his indebtedness to both Tasso and
Wert was obvious.
Example 3.16 Wert: Giunto alla tomba, mm 1–7
Don Carlo Gesualdo, prince of Venosa (ca. 1561–1613), is probably the most famous fin
de siècle madrigalist. Gesualdo’s accomplishments as a composer have been obscured by his
reputation as the murderer of his unfaithful wife, her lover, and a child of dubious paternity.
Depending on one’s point of view, this deed either brands Gesualdo as a psychopathic criminal
or depicts an entitled noble. The latter possibility is intriguing, especially in light of the synchro-
nism between musica reservata as “secret chromatic art,”28 the rise of the humanist academies
in Italy,29 and the chromatic experiments of Nicolo Vicentino (1511–72).
One marvels at the willful use of chromaticism that has secured Gesualdo’s place in
music history. But this position projects an isolated, royal, eccentric dilettante, whose music may
embody the end of modal counterpoint and the rise of the secunda prattica. His already manner-
istic treatment of poetry seems, at times, capricious. He completely omits the last twelve lines
of Guarini’s Tirsi morir volea, and his musical setting is relatively non-chromatic.30 Gesualdo’s
preference for epigrammatic texts is critical to a compositional approach that repeats clauses or
phrases without regard for their syntactic use in the original text. If Gesualdo’s chromaticism and
discontinuity of texture are more radical than Rore’s, the rationale is the same—expression of
the text.Table 3-6 shows Gesualdo’s well-known madrigal Moro lasso, the text of which is typically
brief. The five lines seem to rearrange the same words (note the similarity of lines 2 and 5). Lines
2–3 and 4–5 are paired by rhyme and quantity (7, 11, 7, and 11). The entire poem is a conundrum,
a play on words that, taken literally, makes little sense. Taken metaphorically, however, it pres-
ents the sexual double entendres encountered in madrigal poetry, stripped of all unessential ver-
biage. Despite an almost minimalist mannerism, Gesualdo manages to parlay the basic textual
Table 3.6 Gesualdo, Moro lasso, Musical Form

Text Location (mm.) “Tonal” center
Moro lasso al mio duolo (I) 1–6; (II) 23–28 (I) c♯–a (II) f♯–D
E chi mi puo dar vita (I) 6–13 (II) 28–34 (I) C (II) d–F
Ahi! Che m’ancide e non vuol (I) 13–22 (II) 35–44 (I) c–D (II)b♭–C
darmi aita.
O dolorosa sorte mm. 45–48 & 49–52 C–E & E (C+6)–B
Chi dar vita mi puo, mm. 53–69 & 70–86 e–A
ahi mi da morte
irony into two distinct musical ideas, depicting the pain of death with chromatic homophony,
and life with animated, diatonic counterpoint (ex. 3.17). Both of these are incorporated in the
opening measures of the piece.
Example 3.17 Gesualdo: Moro lasso, mm. 1–6
Gesualdo’s non-literal repetition of these two contrasting sections reveals a great deal
about his compositional philosophy. As striking as the sections are separately, it is their repeti-
tion that proves more crucial to understanding the Gesualdo’s approach to the madrigal. He
deconstructs the first sentence into three contrasting musical gestures, repeated in altered form
to provide another view of the same words.
In terms of overall form we note the following:
1. The two settings of the text are identical in length (22 mm. each).
2. The lengths of the three pairs of segments, while not identical are very proxi-
mate—I: 6 mm. vs. 6 mm.; II: 8 mm vs. 7 mm.; III: 10 mm. vs. 10 mm.31
3. The “tonal centers” of each pair reveal that the first two are transposed up a
fourth, while the final segment is transposed down a whole tone.
The remaining text is set as two musical sections, each repeated immediately. The
length and style of these repetitions differ noticeably. In the first, Gesualdo repeats a single
four-measure phrase sequentially. Common to both is the lowest voice, the bass of the first
(mm. 45–48) becoming the tenor of the second (mm. 49–52). Such antiphony is a common-
place in motets and madrigals of the latter sixteenth century; Gesualdo not only transposes
the bass to the tenor but also rearranges the other voices (the second soprano and alto of the
first statement become the first soprano and alto of the second, while the tenor is relocated to
the second soprano) to disguise their similarity (ex. 3.18).32 This passage’s transposition of the
lowest voice and its focus on harmony foreshadow basso continuo practice.
Example 3.18 Gesualdo: Moro lasso, mm. 45–52
The second text unit is considerably longer than the first, uses repeat signs, and, after a
homophonic treatment of the first text (“Chi dar vita mi puo”), uses traditional imitative writing
for the remaining text. Again, Gesualdo employs harmonic sequence (transposing the repeat of
his closing imitation) to create a musical shape that transcends the diversity of its constituent
elements. Such pieces mark not only the end of the madrigal’s stylistic evolution but also signify
the demise of modal counterpoint as a formal device.33
Gastoldi and the Balletto

Another aspect of the madrigal genre was the persistence of the simple dance songs variously
called villanesche or villanelle, Napolitane, and the canzonetta; but the most influential type was
the balletti. Giovanni Giacomo Gastoldi (ca. 1554–1609) gets top billing for the important place
of this subgenre; even if he didn’t invent the form, he certainly established it as an enduring
staple of choral music. The balletti use strophic texts set in a rhythmically vigorous, homopho-
nic style. The exceptions to this description were the “fa la la” refrains that became the piece’s
defining characteristic (ex. 3.19). Gastoldi’s Il bell’ umore exemplifies the style.34
Example 3.19 Gastoldi: Il bell’umore, mm. 1–9
The balletti were characterized by binary form (with repeats), declamatory chordal
texture, and relatively innocuous, insubstantial texts. These dance songs permeated European
secular music in the later sixteenth– and early seventeenth centuries (e.g., Hassler’s Tanzen und
springen) and became historically significant as a staple of the various precursors of opera—the
madrigal comedy and the intermedium—and of composers like Thomas Morley, who trans-
lated them into a transalpine English equivalent of the madrigal.
Musica Transalpina: The English “Madrigal”

In 1588, the English singer and publisher Nicholas Yonge (1560–1619) edited a collection of
Italian madrigals, providing them with English singing translations. The collection, Musica
Transalpina, was the first in a series of such anthologies that defined the emergence of what
we now call the English madrigal. Yonge’s publication drew on Flemish anthologies of Italian
madrigals that were already a generation out of date when they were printed in Holland.
Yonge’s collection included pieces for four, five, and six voices by such composers as Alfonso
Ferrabosco (1543–88), Luca Marenzio (ca. 1553–99), Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (1525–
94), Orlandus Lassus (1532–94), and Philippe de Monte (1521–1603), and included a single
composition (“The Fair Young Virgin”) by William Byrd (ca. 1539–1623). Byrd’s composition
excepted, these pieces are all Yonge’s translations of Italian madrigals and the occasional
French chanson. In his flowery dedicatory epistle, Yonge describes the popularity such songs
enjoyed among amateur singers in England. He also notes that the opposition of William Byrd
(who still held the royal patent for publishing music) to music that lacked the necessary “grav-
ity” was a significant impediment to publication. Yonge and others (Thomas Watson, Italian
Figure 3.2 Title page, tenor partbook, Thomas Morley’s The Triumphes of Oriana, 1601
Madrigals Englished, 1590) forged ahead with publications of translated madrigals, chiefly by
Marenzio and Alphonso Ferrabosco.
The driving force behind the assimilation of this new secular style was Thomas
Morley (1558–1603), whose publications of “madrigals, canzonets, and ballets” provided a sub-
stantial foundation for subsequent efforts. Despite their popularity and frequent performance
as “madrigals,” works like “Sing we and chant it,” “My bonny lass she smileth,” and “Shoot
false love, I care not” are ballets. Indeed, Morley’s “Sing we and chant it” was essentially a
translation of Gastoldi’s composition “A lieta vieta.” This discovery does nothing to diminish
Morley’s significance or to disqualify this piece as a prime example of current fashion. In this
case, homophonic texture and triple meter tend to give the English text metric accents on
unaccented syllables. In order to alleviate the problem and illustrate the ballet’s connection to
dance music, I suggest re-barring this passage, introducing hemiola to reflect the word stress
as example 3.20 shows.
Example 3.20 Morley: Sing we and chant it, mm. 8–15
Other famous English madrigals are similarly flawed. Orlando Gibbons’s “The Silver
Swan” was actually a consort song—a uniquely English genre of secular music performed by
soloist and a consort of viols. Accordingly, this familiar piece is far more successful if the top
line is sung and the lower voices played by strings.35 Edmund Fellowes’s extensive historical
collection, The Elizabethan Madrigalists, reinforced the somewhat misleading notion of the
so-called English madrigal, as actual madrigals (in the truest sense of the term) emerged in the
generation of Thomas Weelkes (ca. 1575–23), Thomas Tompkins (1572–1656), and John Wilbye
(1574–1638).
Weelkes is generally regarded as the superior madrigal composer; he published four
books, three of which appeared between 1597 and 1600:
1597: Madrigals to 3.4.5. & 6. Voices

1598: Balletts and Madrigals to Five Voices
1600: Madrigals of 5. and 6. Parts, apt for viols and voices
The 1598 collection of Balletts and Madrigals is clearly indebted to Morley. What
Weelkes may lack in contrapuntal facility, he compensates for in sharp contrasts and a wide
expressive range. The popular, strophic ballet, “Harke, all yee lovely saintes above,” reveals
its dance heritage in its alternating compound duple (6/4) and simple ternary (3/2) meters.
The piece is unabashedly homophonic, relying on rhythmic verve and interesting harmony
(especially in the final refrain); only the following passage (ex. 3.21) shows any inclination
toward counterpoint.
Example 3.21 Weelkes: Harke, all yee lovely saintes above, mm. 11–18
Weelkes’s Madrigals of 5. and 6. Parts ranks among the foremost English publications
of the era. Their essentially contrapuntal aspect is apparent from the rubric “apt for viols and
voices.” Compared to Tomkins, Weelkes wrote comparatively little consort music, but works
like “O Care thou wilt Dispatch me” and “Thule, the period of Cosmography” reveal an impres-
sive grasp of the genre’s contrapuntal possibilities. Weelkes’s output was also notable for the
high literary quality of the texts he chose. The poem, “O Care, thou wilt Dispatch me” contains
eight pairs of seven-syllable lines. Weelkes’s insertion of “fa-la-las” at the each line deftly blend
elements of the literary madrigal and the ballet. He divides the four lines into pairs to create
two partes, each of which begin with “learned” counterpoint. Some rather adventurous chro-
maticism lends additional weight to the dolorous text “So deadly dost thou sting me.” While
relatively rare in the prima pars, chromaticism plays an important role in elevating the second,
“Hence, Care, thou art too cruel,” to new expressive heights. Joseph Kerman notes that the
opening of the second part
actually consists of five cadential formulas in a row, the first four of which
are not allowed to resolve. Weelkes handles them with delicate care. The last
two form an exact sequence, and the second is very similar, though not iden-
tical; the third, which stands between them, employs a beautiful dark aug-
mented triad in first inversion over the lowest bass note of the whole section.
Moreover, Weelkes skillfully arranges the modulation so that the implied tonic
centers, revealed by the six-four chords which precede the interruption of the
cadences, are all in the minor up to the last one, which is major, causing the
whole chain at last to resolve perfectly in the mediant key.36
Second-inversion (six-four) triads in the second half of measures 7, 9, 12, and 15

suggest cadences (complete with V–I bass motion and 4–3 suspensions) that Weelkes consis-
tently manages to avoid until the text’s final word (ex. 3.22). Weelkes’s music paints the text
(“too cruel”) by avoiding cadential resolutions and distancing the passage from the work’s G
Dorian modality.
Example 3.22 Weelkes: Hence, Care, thou art too cruel, mm. 4–9
Also deserving mention is “As Vesta was from Latmos hill descending,” Weelkes’s
contribution to Thomas Morley’s anthology The Triumphs of Oriana (1601). Like so many
aspects of the English madrigal (especially where Morley was involved), this collection owed
its existence to an Italian model, Il Trionfo di Dori (1592). A Venetian gentleman by the name of
Leonardo Sanudo commissioned twenty-nine Italian poets and composers to produce madri-
gals, which he published in honor of his bride, who is given a mythological name, Doris, after
the wife of the sea god, Nereus.37 Each of the madrigal texts was to end with the line, “Viva la
bella Dori!” Morley’s anthology followed form by employing the closing refrain, “Thus sang
the shepherds and nymphs of Diana: Long live fair Oriana.” So heartfelt were Weelkes’s good
wishes for his queen (or so obsequious the composer) that he devoted thirty-two measures to
this single phrase of text.
Compared to these magnificent collections, Weelkes’s final publication, Ayeres or
Phantasticke Spirites for Three Voices (1608), initially seems disappointing. The vocal scoring
alone renders the use of the rich harmony and counterpoint of the preceding book an impos-
sibility. But these disarmingly simple pieces suggest an awareness of the Italian monodic style.
Duets for the upper voices with an accompanying bass line and a novel emphasis on sequential
repetition seem nearly prescient. Among these works, the popular “Strike it up tabor” and
“Come sirrah Jack hoe” present a typical English ruggedness of style.
Madrigal Comedy and Intermedium

These two types of Italian secular music, both of which include solo and polyphonic settings
of Italian verse designed to entertain, play an important role in the rise of opera. In “madrigal
comedy” a variety of different choral forms are organized around a unifying theme or plot, often
drawn from the stock characters and story lines of the Commedia dell’Arte. Lacking staging,
the individual movements are often preceded by a descriptive title or “argumento,” describ-
ing the impending action to the audience. The life span of this genre—approximately sixty
years, roughly from the late 1560s to the 1620s—features four principal composers: Allesandro
Striggio the Elder (1535–ca.1595), Giovanni Croce (1560–1609), Orazzio Vecchi (1550–1605), and
Adriano Banchieri (1568–1634). The genre divides into basic types that either derive the plots
from Commedia dell’Arte or do not.
The works of Banchieri, especially Il Festino, set the standard. Of the twenty composi-
tions that comprise Il Festino, the most famous is “Contraponto bestiale alla mente.” Its scoring
(SSATB), homophonic texture, and reliance on the outlandish comedic premise of animals
improvising counterpoint above a cantus firmus are all unique. This composition opens and
closes with a twelve-measure “refrain” built on three homophonic “fa-la-las” (ex. 3.23). The
metrical regularity, parallel rhythmic construction, simple chordal progressions, and dominant
Table 3.7 Madrigal Comedies

Commedia dell’Arte
1597: Orazio Vecchi L’Ampfiparnasso “The Slopes of Parnassus”
1598: Adriano Banchieri La Pazzia senile “The Folly of Old Age”
1600: Banchieri Il Studio dilettevole “The Delightful Study”
1601: Banchieri Il Metamorfosi musicale “The Musical Transformation”
1607: Banchieri La prudenza Giovenile “Youthful Prudence”
1628: Banchieri Saviezza Giovenile “Youthful Wisdom”
Non-Commedia dell’Arte
1567: Alessandro Striggio La Caccia “The Hunt”
1567: Striggio Il Cicalamento delle donne “Chattering Old Washer
al bucato Women”
1590: Giovanni Croce Mascherate piacevole et “Pleasant and Ridiculous
ridicolose per il carnivale Masquerades for the Carnival”
1590: Vecchi Selva di varia recreazione “The Grove of Various
Re-creations”
1595: Croce Triaca Musicale “Musical Meditation”
1597: Vecchi Convito Musicale “Musical Banquet”
1604: Vecchi Le Veglie di Siena “The Vigils of Sienna”
1604: Banchieri Il Zabalone Musicale “Musical Egg Nog”
1604: Banchieri Barca di Venezia per Padua “Boat from Venice to Padua”
1608: Banchieri Il Festino nella sera del “The Party on the Evening
giovedi grasso avanti cere of Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras)
Before Dinner”
outer lines remind one of the frottola and its various descendants. The narrator introduces this
“serious” music as follows:
Example 3.23 Banchieri: Contrapunto bestiale alla mente, mm. 1–6
Un Cane, un Cucco, un Gatto, e un Chiu per spasso Fan contraponto a

mente sopra un Basso.
A dog, a cuckoo, a cat, and a civet for fun make counterpoint at sight
above a bass.
The comedy is multilayered, the most obvious being the prospect of four animals singing (still
alive in TV commercials and movies).38 Furthermore, Banchieri intended that his counterpoint
be rendered using sounds associated with animals. Even funnier is the concept that these four
animals are improvising (alla mente) counterpoint above a cantus firmus, a procedure routinely
discussed in composition treatises. Banchieri presented his cantus firmus (an innocuous dia-
tonic melody) in appropriately “long” notes. Keeping with the comedic intent of the music, the
text of Banchieri’s cantus firmus forms yet another layer of farcical humor:
Nulla fides gobbis similiter est zopis, si querzus bonus, bonus est super
annalia scribe.
Don’t put your trust in hunchbacks; the same goes for the lame. If the
cross-eyed are any good at all, write it in your annals.
Table 3.8 Banchieri, Il Festino, Overview

1. Il Diletto moderno per introduzione 1. Modern Pleasure invites all to an opera of current
and popular taste.
2. Justiniana di Vecchietti Chiozzotti 2. Song of the Lively Old Men (Pantalone)
3. Mascherata di Vilanella 3. Villanella sung by masked girls
4. Seguita la detta Mascherata 4. The country girls sing another song to Cupid
5. Madrigale a un dolce usignolo 5. Madrigal to a sweet swan
6. Mascherata d’Amanti 6. The Masked Lovers (textless)
7. Gl’Amanti Morescano 7. The lovers dance a moresca
8. Gli Amanti cantano un Madrigale 8. The moresca done, the lovers sing an artful
madrigal
9. Gli Amanti cantano una canzonetta 9. All the lovers sing a canzonet
10. La Zia Bernadina racconta una novella 10. Aunt Bernadina recounts a story
11. Capricciata a tre voci 11. A caprice for three voices (imitative introduction to):
12. Contrappunto betiale alla mente 12. The counterpoint of the animals
13. Gli Cervellini cantano un madrigale 13. All the animals sing a madrigal
14. Intermedio di venditori di fusi 14. An intermezzo by the spindle vendors
15. Gli fusari cantano un madrigale 15. The spindle vendors sing a madrigal
16. Gioco del Conte 16. Tongue-twister interrupted as clock strikes 3 p.m.
17. Gli Festinanti 17. All the guests sing a dance song as they go to
dinner
18. Vinata di brindesi e ragioni 18. Song of “Toasts”
19. Sproposito di Goffi (pero di gusto) 19. Song of the Match vendors
20. Il Diletto moderno licenza et di novo invita 20. Modern pleasure bids the guests farewell
Banchieri’s use of mangled Latin and preposterous non sequiturs made his scenario only
more absurdly humorous. But this “counterpoint” was only one of the twenty compositions in
Banchieri’s entertainment; the titles of the others and an overview of their texts follow: Banchieri
constructs Il Festino as a series of mini-entertainments (intermezzi), each with its own distinc-
tive flavor and musical unity. In the first two, masked performers sing a variety of popular song
types all discussing love. The first intermezzo (mvts. 2–5) describes the exploits of Pantalone
and some country girls. The first song is a giustiniana, a set piece in Venetian dialect that relates
Pantalone’s mishaps in dancing and other activities. The following villanella is a knowingly
naïve song for soprano and alto, accompanied by an onomatopoetic rendition of Jew’s harp and
lute sung by the tenors and bass. All five singers then unite in a song urging Cupid to enter
their hearts. This first “act” concludes with the first of four true madrigals, “Dolce usignolo.” The
subsequent “scenes” presents a similar sequence of events.
Despite the work’s subdivision into separate movements, Banchieri imparts a sense
of unity based on his choice of pitch centers. The work’s framing tonality is F (Lydian, Ionian,
or major), the “final” of the five movements that frame the comedy. For the second scene,
Banchieri used G Dorian (represented in table 3.8 by G). A G Mixolydian movement (#10) pre-
cedes three compositions in C (Ionian), suggesting the sound of a dominant–tonic progression.
A brief intermezzo (mvts. 14–15) using G Mixolydian and A Aeolian precedes the completion of
Banchieri’s tonal arch.
A second type of madrigalesque entertainment is known as the “intermedium,” a term
used as early as 1513 to describe musical interludes in a comic play.39 The essential components
are secular texts set in simple, dancelike musical scenes with instrumental participation. When
these entertainments outgrew their connections to the theater, they became a staple of such
major social events as royal weddings. The first instance of an intermedium performed in con-
junction with a royal wedding was conceived for the nuptials of Cosimo de’ Medici and Eleonora
of Toledo in Florence (1539). The madrigalian texts supplied by Giulio Strozzi (1583–1652) were
composed by Francesco Corteccia (d. 1561), an early exponent of the madrigal. Like the madrigal
comedy, participants in the intermedii were costumed to represent characters and supported by
instrumental accompaniment. The format, which given its associations with nobility attracted
many of the same poets and composers involved with the madrigal, scarcely changed through
the sixteenth century.
The most famous intermedium took place at the wedding of another Medici, Ferdinand,
to Christine of Lorraine in 1589. A total of six intermedii were contrived, their subjects reflect-
ing the union of poetry and music that constituted the philosophy of the numerous academies
springing up in France and Italy. The 1589 production, known as La Pellegrina, was notable for
the prominent roles played by members of the Florentine Camerata, a group of like-minded
litterati, musicians, philosophers, and the like who gathered at the estate of Count Giovanni
de’ Bardi (1534–1612). Overall direction of the entertainment was shared by Bardi and Emilio
de’ Cavalieri (ca. 1550–1602), who also composed music for the event. The principal compos-
ers were Cristofano Malvezzi (1517–599) and Luca Marenzio, although single compositions by
Jacopo Peri (1561–1633), Giulio Caccini (1551–1618), and Bardi himself found their way into the
mix. The majority of the poetic texts were written by Ottavio Rinuccini (1562–1621), although,
again, there were individual texts by Bardi and Giovambattista Strozzi. The details of text,
music, and subject are outlined in table 3.9.40
This table suggests both the collaborative nature of this production and the connection
between the Florentine intelligentsia and other major figures of contemporary Italian poetry
(Rinucinni) and music (Marenzio). What it cannot begin to convey is the lavish splendor of
these entertainments that affected all aspects of the production—scenery, costumes, singers,
instrumentalists, and the like. The elegance of these events was evident in the musical forces
Marenzio required in the second intermedium:
Sinfonia: 2 harps, 2 lyres, 2 lutes, 1 chitarrone, 1 violin, 1 viola bastarda, 1 bass viol
Madrigal: Belle ne fe natura—3 voices (SSA), accompanied by harp and 2 lyres
Madrigal: Che dal delfino—6 voices (SSATBB), accompanied by grand lute, chitaronne,
and bass viol
Madrigal: Se nelle voci nostre—12 voices in two choirs (SSATBB; SSATTB), same
instrumentation
Madrigal: O figlie di Piero—18 voices in three choirs (SSATBB; SSATBB; SSATTB) plus
the complete instrumental ensemble
In terms of vocal style, Marenzio is probably among the more conservative composers; he uses
primarily homophonic texture in the multichoir pieces and relatively little imitation in the
smaller, more traditional madrigals. But the music of the other intermedii (1, 4, 5, and 6) dis-
plays a still wider range of style, ranging from Nuove musiche style monodies (especially in
the music of Caccini, Peri, and Archilei) to concerted music even more grandiose than that of
Marenzio’s—most notably, Malvezzi’s setting of Rinuccini’s O fortunate giorno, scored for seven
choirs, no two of which have the same scoring!41
Table 3.9 La Pellegrina (1589), formal outline

Intermedium Text Music
The Harmony of the Spheres
1. Dalle più alte sfere
2. Noi che cantando Giovanni di Bardi Antonio Archilei or
Sinfonia Emilio de Cavalieri
3. Dolcissime Sirene
Ottavio Rinucinni Cristofano Malvezzi
4. Coppia gentil
A. G. Malvezzi
The Rivalry of the Muses and Pierides Ottavio Rinuccini Luca Marenzio
Sinfonia
1. Bella ne fe natura
2. Chi dal delfino
3. Se nelle voci nostre
4. O figlie di Piero
Apollo conquers the Dragon Ottavio Rinuccini Luca Marenzio
1. Qui di carne si sfama
Sinfonia
2. O valoroso Dio
3. O mille volte
Prophecies of the Age of Gold and the Giovambattista Strozzi Giulio Caccini
Sadness of the Underworld
1. Io che dal ciel cader
Sinfonia Malvezzi
2. Or che le due grand’ Alme Malvezzi
3. Miseri haitator del cieco Averno Bardi
1. Io che lónde raffreno

2. E noi con questa bella diva Rinucinni Malvezzi
Bardi Malvezzi
Sinfonia
3. Dunque fra torbid’ onde Rinucinni Malvezzi
Jacopo Peri
4. Liete solcando il mare Arion Malvezzi
The Descent of Rhythm and Harmony Rinuccini Malvezzi
1. Dal vago a bel sereno
2. O qual risplende nube
3. O fortunate giorno
4. O che nuovo miracolo
The music of both intermedium and the madrigal comedy begs the question of how
“choral” this music was. While both require vocal ensembles, the use of multiple singers for
any given part—while not impossible, especially given the grand scale and homophonic style
employed for many of the pieces—was not likely to be an accurate description of the work’s
original performance.
Conclusion
Whatever working definition of the term “choral” one adopts, the influence on the development
of any history of choral music of the forms discussed here is undeniable. The Renaissance was
a period in which secularism and vernacular language began to erode the prior dominance of
Latin sacred polyphony. Of the various national musics, that of Italy, especially the madrigal,
was the most important and influential. While Latin motets conveyed little, if any, sense of the
composer’s nationality, any pretense of stylistic unity in the Renaissance vanished when com-
posers began setting vernacular poetry. Secular music prospered largely due to humanism’s
efforts to broaden education and to understand the inherited artistic objects of the past. The
establishment of academies to study the poetry and art of ancient Greece and Rome (largely
known in Europe due to the fall of Constantinople in 1453 and the resulting influx of artifacts
from the eastern capital of the Roman Empire) became a common European phenomenon.
Whether we look at the circle of French intellectuals around Ronsard, the work of the German
Konrad Celtes, or Italian academies like the Florentine Camerata, we come to the conclusion
that they all shared the same underlying impulse—a quest for hitherto forbidden knowledge.
Ultimately, none of the genres of secular vocal music was as significant for the development of
choral music as was the madrigal. Even though it increasingly became the province of specially
trained, virtuoso singers, it created an atmosphere favorable to the ongoing experiments in
the various ways in which music interprets text. It was this radical focus on text, even down to
specific words, that became the laboratory from which emerged the basic of tenets of monody.
4
Sacred Choral Music of the

Renaissance, II (1525–1600)
I f the madrigal was the vehicle for stylistic innovation in the sixteenth century, sacred music
represented stylistic continuity. After Josquin’s death, the next generation of Franco-Flemish
composers was content to explore the “syntactic imitation” introduced in his later works.
Composers like Antoine de Févin (1474–1512), Pierre de la Rue (ca. 1460–1518), and Jean Mouton
(1459–1522) defined this new style by the sheer quantity and quality of their works. In the music
of Josquin’s younger contemporaries, imitation was elevated to the role previously played by the
cantus firmus in shaping Masses and motets.
Josquin’s contemporaries
Pierre de la Rue composed twenty-three motets and thirty Masses (including one on L’Homme
Armé). The opening of his motet Lauda anima mea Dominum (ex. 4.1) reveals that even amid
the rush to use imitation, cantus firmus technique (in this case, a Gregorian psalm tone in the
tenor) still had a role to play.
93
Example 4.1 de la Rue: Lauda anima mea, mm. 1–11
Historically, de la Rue’s Requiem, which set both Proper and Ordinary texts (Introit,
Kyrie, Tract [Si ambulem], Offertory, Sanctus, Agnus Dei, and Communion) is quite significant.
Like Ockeghem, de la Rue resisted the allure of Italy, a biographic detail that profoundly affected
the sonority of his Requiem. Both the Introit (ex. 4.2) and Kyrie feature an ensemble of male
voices, the lowest of which frequently descends to a notated B♭. Even transposed up a perfect
fourth (as here), this music exudes a dark, somber mood. Adding to this gravitas and seeming
antiquity is de la Rue’s use of three against two in mm. 11–14.
Jean Mouton also remained in France, serving the French royal court under both
Louis XII and Francis I. A primary source of Mouton’s historical importance was the suc-
cess of his pupil Adrian Willaert, who in 1527 became Maestro di Capella at San Marco in
Venice. Glareanus praised Mouton highly, describing his music as “facili fluentum filo can-
tum” (“melody flowing in a supple thread”). Gustav Reese observed that Mouton “shows
particular interest in reworking motivic material.”1 In this sense, Mouton reveals himself
as a true and worthy successor of Josquin, who also reworked the music of others, reveal-
ing hitherto unimagined possibilities. Like Josquin, Mouton often uses canon to add sub-
stance to his arrangements. Of his nearly one hundred motets, one of the more impressive
is Nesciens Mater virgo virum, a quadruple canon in which each of the four printed voices
(C, A, T, B) serve as dux to a canonic partner, which follows a fifth higher and a measure
later (ex. 4.3).2
Example 4.2 de la Rue: Requiem, Introit, mm. 1–19
Example 4.3 Mouton: Nesciens Mater, mm. 1–3

The Rise of the Parody Mass

The growing trend toward the use of imitation solidified in the generation of composers that
included Nicolas Gombert (ca. 1500–ca. 1556), Jacob Clemens non Papa (ca. 1510–ca. 1556/8)
(designated as such by his publisher Tylman Susato to avoid confusing the composer with Pope
Clement VII), and Adrian Willaert (ca. 1490–1562). Of Gombert, the German theorist Hermann
Finck wrote: “In this new time, there are innovators among whom is Nicolas Gombert, pupil of
Josquin of blessed memory, who shows all musicians the way to construct music according to
variable fugues (points of imitation).”3 Indeed, Gombert elevated pervasive imitation to a new
status in his ten Masses, 150 motets, and numerous chansons. The motet Beati omnes (ex. 4.4)
illustrates how imitation functioned.
Example 4.4 Gombert: Beati omnes, mm. 1–14
Unlike Josquin, Gombert maintained a full vocal texture most of the time, eschewing
the paired voices and textural clarity that marked Josquin’s style in favor of a thicker, more active
texture. Gombert forsook the complex formal devices used by Josquin (canon, soggetto cavato,
chant paraphrase, etc.) in favor of imitation of a common theme in all five voices. However,
Gombert’s textural continuity and expansion of the normative vocal texture made maintaining
the integrity of imitative theme’s distinctive profile increasingly difficult.
Sacred Choral Music II, 1525–1600 97
The motets of Clemens and Willaert also tended toward pervasive imitation within a rig-
orously maintained, full vocal texture. As with Gombert, this approach initially created problems
of thematic integrity, misplaced text accent, dissonant clashes, and voice-leading problems. These
led to a new role for musical ficta; previously used to remedy tritones and cross relationships, this
practice sometimes produced a level of chromaticism that prompted the musicologist Edward
Lowinsky to write The Secret Chromatic Art in the Netherlands Motet.4 Lowinsky believed these
increases in chromatic inflection raised the possibility that a composition might have existed in
two versions—(1) a straightforward version for public consumption and (2) a reading reserved
for the cognoscenti in which the insertion of ficta spiraled into highly chromatic music. Though
largely discredited by current scholarship, Lowinsky’s view did provide a plausible connection
between the Franco-Flemish imitative style and the experiments of Italian theorists and compos-
ers like Vicentino and Gesualdo. Examples of the consequences of this interpretation abound
in Jacob Clemens’s motet Fremuit spiritu Jesu. This six-part motet has a partial signature, mean-
ing that the second bass part has two flats compared to one in the other five parts. Example 4.5
shows the signed presence of E♭ in this part prompted their explicit (as in the “signed” E♭ of bass
1 in m. 3) or implicit (e.g., the “need” for the soprano 1 to flat their A′ to avoid creating a tritone
with the bass 1’s E♭) use in other voices. Thus applied, the ficta produces a cascade of accidentals,
reaching the previously unimaginable prospect of four flats by m. 9.
Example 4.5 Clemens: Fremuit spiritu Jesu, mm. 1–10

We need to look at some historically significant details in the careers of Clemens and
Willaert. Clemens’s signature collection, Souterliedkins (“Psalter [Souter] Songs [Liedkins]”), was
the earliest published polyphonic psalter (1540), predating the more famous Geneva Psalter by
nearly twenty years (ex. 4.6). Clemens set all 150 psalms for three voices in twenty-six different
combinations. He routinely used borrowed melodies, the majority being Dutch secular tunes,
which he placed in the tenor part. The cantus firmus of this psalm is Ick seg adieu, a popular
tune drawn from a four-part Lied published by Georg Forster in the anthology Der zweite Teil der
kurtzweiligen guten frischen teutschen Liedlein (1540).5
Example 4.6 Clemens: Psalm 65 (Souterliedkins), mm. 1–5
Among the steady stream of Franco-Flemish composers who crossed the Alps (the
oltremontani) Adrian Willaert assumed an especially prominent status as the Maestro di cappella
at St. Mark’s Cathedral in Venice (1527) and as the composer of Musica nova (1559), probably the
first collection that contained both madrigals and motets. Willaert’s talent and status attracted a
series of talented pupils that began with Cypriano de Rore; due to his fame and vision, the line
of compositional succession at San Marco included both Andrea and Giovanni Gabrieli, and
ultimately Claudio Monteverdi.
Parody Mass
The commitment to pervasive imitation made by Josquin’s contemporaries and successors
resulted in the emergence of a significant new type of Mass setting, which historians have
dubbed “parody” Mass. Unlike earlier Masses based only on a borrowed melody, this type of
Mass took a preexisting polyphonic composition as its point of departure. For many reasons,
the term has proved an unfortunate designation; not only was it not used by composers to
describe what they were doing, but it has also blurred the boundary between imagination and
appropriation.6
Despite these drawbacks, the parody process dominated sixteenth-century Mass com-
position. Nearly all of Gombert’s Masses took motets or chansons as their starting points,
including a Mass on his own motet, Beati omnes. Gombert was also one of at least six composers
(including Lassus and Palestrina) to base a Mass on the chanson Je suis désheritée.7 This particu-
lar chanson (ex. 4.7) was attractive primarily because of its distinctive melody and the imitative
relationship between the superius and tenor present in the model. Apparently, the preponder-
ance of attributions in contemporary sources are to Pierre Cadéac (fl. 1538–58).
Example 4.7 Cadéac: Je suis désheritée
The chanson’s first four melodic phrases formed two identical pairs (AB/AB) based on
a Hypodorian melodic shape. Though identical in tessitura (A′–F′′, the next three phrases had a
distinctly “major” (Lydian) feel. Like many secular compositions of this era, the chanson closed
with a double statement of its final phrase. Had he so chosen, Gombert could have used this
melody as the basis of a more traditional cantus firmus or paraphrase Mass. Instead, he (and
others) chose to use the entire polyphonic fabric—notably the imitative relationship between
tenor and superius, the “modulation” to “F major” in the chanson’s central portion, and repeti-
tion of the concluding melodic phrase including the chanson’s harmonies—as principal fea-
tures in his Mass. Like many of his contemporaries, Gombert avoided the wholesale, literal use
of the model (i.e., contrafactum). To understand Gombert’s use of this chanson in his Mass, let
us examine how he crafted the Kyrie from the music of the chanson (table 4.1).
Some Masses based on this chanson applied the superius’s ternary shape (including
the modulation from D to F and back) directly to the Kyrie’s tripartite text (exx. 4.8a–d) Gombert
Table 4.1 Gombert, Missa Je suis désheritée, Parody techniques

1. The superius of Kyrie I quotes the initial chanson melody literally, followed by three different
elaborations of the second phrase, the third of which clearly alludes to the model’s concluding
phrases (ex. 4–8a).
2. Another obvious correspondence is the final cadence of Kyrie I (mm. 19–20), which, save for the
tenor, duplicates the chanson model (ex. 4–8b).
3. While Gombert’s tenor initially mimics the chanson, he connects the second phrase directly to
the end of the first (omitting the model’s intervening rests). Starting in m. 10, the mass’s tenor
repeats the chanson’s initial pair of phrases, adding a restatement of the second in the final
cadence.
4. Neither the alto nor the bass contain any direct quotations from the model. The closest
resemblance appears in the alto, in which mm. 9–16 of the mass’s Kyrie (ex. 4–8c) correspond to
mm.6–8 of the chanson. Both parts (but especially the bass) disregard their chanson analogues in
favor of imitating the opening melody.
5. While the Christe begins with a melody strikingly similar to C (mm. 17–20), the resemblance
stops there. For the remainder of the movement, Gombert simply imitates the phrase’s opening
until the appearance of a melody clearly derived from the penultimate phrase of the chanson
appears in the superius (mm. 34–39).
6. The second Kyrie begins with a four-part imitation of the chanson’s first phrase. No other
material is referenced until the superius sings the final phrase (and its repeat) to close the Kyrie
(ex. 4–9). The three lower voices, though clearly derived from the same passage, do not replicate
the chanson’s counterpoint.
apparently found such an obvious solution unsatisfactory, opting for the following range of tech-
niques. The four excerpts in example 4.8 illustrate rather direct borrowings of both melodic
and contrapuntal material from the chanson. We can find a similar preoccupation with parody
technique in the Masses of Jacob Clemens non Papa, Adrian Willaert, and Cristobal de Morales
Example 4.8 Gombert: Mis sa Je suis désheritée, Kyrie

(a) mm. 15–20
(b) mm. 19–20
(c) mm. 9–16
(d) mm. 58–66

(ca. 1500–1553). All fourteen of Clemens’s Masses (not counting his Requiem) and seven of
Willaert’s eight adopt this procedure. Morales shows more variety of approach; despite the
prominence of motet models (including motets by Mouton, Gombert, and others), Morales
composes two Masses on L’Homme Armé, an impressive six-part Mass based on Josquin’s chan-
son Mille regretz, and two Masses based on Spanish melodies. Verifying that these composers
do not use the term “parody Mass,” all of these Masses use the formulaic titles Missa ad imita-
tionem moduli (for motets) or Missa ad imitationem cantilena (for secular models).
The popularity of parody Mass composition increased throughout the sixteenth cen-
tury. Three of the four major composers of the late Renaissance—Palestrina, Lassus, and
Victoria—used this technique with astonishing variety and frequency.8 Even the progres-
sive Claudio Monteverdi placed a parody Mass on Nicholas Gombert’s motet In illo tempore
loquente Jesus at the beginning of the print containing the 1610 Vespers.9 More important than
any musical detail was the reality that the parody Masses of the second half of the century
no longer recognized cantus firmus technique as a viable process for sacred music composi-
tion. The parody Mass’s reliance upon imitation of a polyphonic composition highlighted the
extent to which imitation had supplanted use of a cantus firmus in both sacred and secular
compositions.
Palestrina, Lassus, and Victoria

The European High Renaissance (ca. 1550–1600) is dominated, if not defined, by the work of
these three composers. Though each have a different nationality, their music absorbs those
qualities that define the era to an unprecedented degree. All are closely associated with Italy,
Victoria being the only one with an important predecessor—Cristobal de Morales—to whom he
was indebted. Nonetheless, we cannot easily identify a single compositional influence for either
Lassus or Palestrina. Upon his arrival at the Bavarian court in 1556, Lassus immediately became
the leading composer in Germany. With Palestrina, the problem was just the opposite—his
predecessors were too numerous to list.
All three of these Renaissance masters made substantive contributions to the Mass
Ordinary genre. As true representatives of their era, they were preoccupied with parody tech-
nique. This was especially true of Palestrina (half of whose one-hundred-plus Masses were of
this type10), and Lassus (for whom the percentage, though not the quantity, was even higher).
Victoria shared their preoccupation, but his comparatively few Masses were based mainly on
his own motets. While these composers exhibit consistent stylistic similarity there was no
shared experience that would allow direct comparison. Of them, Lassus was the more cos-
mopolitan, standing apart from Palestrina and Victoria principally in the size and diversity
of his secular music that encompassed German Lied, French chanson, and various types of
Italian secular composition (madrigal, villanella, etc.). Conversely, Victoria composed no secu-
lar music, while Palestrina wrote a relatively small, generally conservative body of madrigals
(two books à 4, two books à 5).
Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina

Palestrina and Renaissance music are, for many, synonymous. Indeed, Palestrina (ca. 1525–94)
was one of the very few composers whose music continued to be performed and discussed after
his death. His influence was first apparent in the acknowledgment of a “Palestrina School,”
Figure 4.1 Palestrina presenting his First Book of Masses to Pope Julius III
referring to those Italian composers who either studied directly with or were strongly influ-
enced by him. The perfection of his style has led authors throughout history to make him the
focus of studies of Renaissance counterpoint and dissonance treatment. The first was Johann
Joseph Fux, whose treatise Gradus ad Parnassum (1725) quantified Palestrina’s style into a series
of contrapuntal rules. In the nineteenth century, Palestrina inspired the Caecilian Movement’s
attempts to reform church music. For the founders and adherents of that movement, Palestrina
was not only a model to emulate but was also regarded as the “Savior of Church Music.”11 His
complete works, edited and published in the late nineteenth century, were preceded only by
those of Bach and Handel. During the twentieth century Knud Jeppesen (The Style of Palestrina
and the Dissonance [1925]) and H. K. Andrews (An Introduction to the Technique of Palestrina [1958])
contributed important studies of his style. Concerning the uniqueness of Palestrina’s style:
Palestrina’s perfection of his predecessors’ technique results, in large measure,

from his willingness to confine himself to the single-minded task of integrat-
ing modal counterpoint with the mid-sixteenth century predilection for textual
clarity (i.e., syllabic style) and an increasing attention to vertical sonorities for
their own sake. Thus, his technique is fluent and effortless, giving the impres-
sion of “the absence of visible means.”12 All musical elements are in balance—
perfectly symmetrical melodic curves, the counter-weighting of a leap in one
direction answered by a scalar passage in the opposite direction, sections in
imitative counterpoint intermingled with antiphonal homophony—so that
one is tempted to believe that the composer’s primary goal is the avoidance
of any personal preference that might draw attention away from the music.13
Such balance is evident in Palestrina’s well-known motet, Sicut cervus (ex. 4.9).
Originally published in a book of four-voiced motets (1584), this composition demonstrates
balance in its melodic shapes and distribution of imitative material. The opening tenor melody
exemplifies the famous “Palestrina curve,” the modal final (F) counterweighted by descent and
ascent of a perfect fourth.14 Closer examination suggests that the melody actually begins with
a three-beat “measure,” without which the text accentuation conflicts with the barlines found
in modern editions. Like most of his contemporaries, Palestrina composed counterpoint based
on both pitch and rhythm. Regardless of where a given part enters (vis-à-vis the modern bar-
line), the half note on “cer-” must be performed as if it were a downbeat. The presence of
such rhythmic counterpoint in Palestrina’s music is most apparent in the superius’s final line
(ex. 4.10). Though written in duple meter, the line consists entirely of triple groupings—at the
level of both the half and quarter note—based on text accent. This accent is more readily appar-
ent in the melody’s original notation and in partbook format (without barlines).
Example 4.9 Palestrina: Sicut cervus, mm. 1–6
Example 4.10 Palestrina: Sicut cervus, mm. 49–55
To some extent, the retrospective, contrapuntal style of Sicut cervus may have resulted
from Palestrina’s use of only four voices. Motets employing larger forces, such as the six-voice
setting of Tu es Petrus, tend to behave differently.15 While this expanded scoring (SSATBB) may
have inhibited the use of strict linear counterpoint, it seemingly encouraged a new type of imi-
tation based on the antiphonal interaction of subgroups of the vocal texture. The motet opens
with the upper three voices (SSA), followed by a repetition of their music in the three lower
voices (ex. 4.11). In lieu of the conventional linear imitation found in Sicut cervus, Palestrina uses
the same melody successively in the second soprano and the first tenor, each harmonized by the
same music in the other two voices, which can clearly be heard in the TBB repetition of this trio
as an imitation of the preceding material.
Example 4.11 Palestrina: Tu es Petrus, mm. 1–6
Palestrina sets the second text phrase aedificabo Ecclesiam meam three times
(ex. 4.12). The first phrases use different combinations of four voices—S1, A, T, B2 (mm.
15–20) and S2, A, T, B1 (mm. 20–24), while the third uses all six to create a full close to this imi-
tation. Initially, the two four-voice statements seem to be different; closer examination reveals
that both contain one common melody, the first bass (mm. 20–24) being a literal repeat of the
second bass (mm. 15–20). This melodic restatement in the bass parts does not carry over to
the other parts. Consequently, Palestrina creates two presentations, which are simultaneously
similar and different.
The crucial element in this alchemy is the presence of two bass parts. For the next
text phrase (et portae inferi), Palestrina uses both literal and transposed versions of the bass
line (ex. 4.14), each accompanied by its own varied accompaniment of three or four higher
voices. This antiphonal presentation with homophonic texture insured the textual intelligi-
bility insisted upon by the Council of Trent (1545) and yet creates a sense of musical variety,
since the number of voices and what they sing is constantly changing. The unifying presence
of the bass voice repetitions reflects the increasing importance of the bass line in general as
music gradually transitions from the modal polyphony of the past to the monodic music of
the future.16
Tu es Petrus exhibits another feature found in many of Palestrina’s other motets,

namely its bipartite form. The motet’s two partes begin with different music but end with
exactly the same text and music. In m. 46 of the secunda pars, Palestrina begins a literal repeat
of the text Quodcumque ligaveris and the same music he used in the prima pars (mm. 51–84).
Palestrina does this to honor the text’s original liturgical function as a Responsory, which
typically had an ABCB textual structure.17 Similar reprises of text and music appear in the
Responsory motets Dum compleruntur dies Pentecostes, Ascendo ad Patrem meum, Fuit homo,
and Assumpta es Maria.
While he generally avoided Gregorian melodies, Palestrina occasionally based his imi-
tative themes either wholly or in part on Gregorian chant. Most often Palestrina paraphrased
the older melody to adapt it for imitative use, as was the case in his settings of Alma redemptoris
mater and Ave Regina coelorum. Chant melodies also appear in his settings of those sequences
retained by the Council of Trent (e.g., Veni Sancte Spiritus, Lauda Sion, and Victimae paschali
laudes). But his famous eight-part motet on the sequence Stabat Mater retained neither the
structure nor the melody of the Gregorian original.
In terms of specific collections, two motet prints stand out by virtue of their textual
and musical unity. In 1584 Palestrina published his fourth book of motets à 5, all based on texts
from the Song of Solomon (Canticum canticorum). The Roman Church viewed these texts as
allegorical, but Palestrina’s settings abound with madrigalisms prompted by the text’s vivid
imagery. Also noteworthy was his publication of Offertories (all scored for five voices) for the
entire liturgical year. The collection’s significance lay as much in Palestrina’s decision to pres-
ent the motets in groups using the same modality as in the beautiful, if somewhat restrained,
music they contained.
But the centerpiece of Palestrina’s compositional output is in his 105 settings of the
Mass Ordinary, which are quantified according to the following types:
Parody 52
Paraphrase 34
Cantus Firmus 8
Free 6
Canonic 518
While fewer than half were published during the composer’s lifetime, these Masses were con-
sistent in every way with contemporary style and practice.
A Mass that enjoyed great popularity and frequent performance after Palestrina’s death
was the Missa Brevis for four voices (pub. 1570); this freely composed Mass lacked any obvious
means of unification. Another significant free setting was the six-voice Missa Papae Marcelli
(1567), which nineteenth-century commentaries erroneously connected to Pope Marcellus II
(d. 1555) and the reforms of the Council of Trent (even if Palestrina’s intent was to indicate his
acceptance of the Pope’s proposed reforms). Beyond its adherence to the syllabic style favored
by Trent, the Mass’s scoring (SSATBB) and compositional practice mirrored those used in the
motet Tu es Petrus. In the opening segment of the Credo, for example, Palestrina used nearly
every conceivable division of the six-voice texture; perhaps Palestrina regarded this continual
change of voicing as an antidote to the predominantly homophonic, chordal textures he used to
promote textual intelligibility.
Among the group of Masses that utilize paraphrase technique, there is an almost
even split between ordinary and proper chants (hymns/antiphons). Among Palestrina’s best
known paraphrase Masses are those published in 1590, especially Aeterna Christi munera,19
Iste confessor, and Jam Christus astra ascenderat. In his study of Palestrina’s paraphrase Masses
based on hymns, Robert Marshall notes that hymn melodies are typically shorter and more
Figure 4.2 The Council of Trent

syllabic than other types of melodies used for Mass composition.20 Textually, they consist of
four octo-syllabic lines that may or may not rhyme. The case of Aeterna Christi munera (ex. 4.14)
is somewhat unusual in that its opening and closing melody are the same (most hymns being
through-composed).
Example 4.14 Aetérna Christi Múnera
Palestrina’s principal concern in Masses based on hymns is finding a melody suit-

able for imitation. While the pitch content of the hymn is usually followed scrupulously
(at least for the opening statement), differences in prosody often caused incorrect accents
of the Mass text, as found in the opening of the Gloria of the Missa Aeterna Christi munera
(ex. 4.15). Another potential problem occurs when the hymn’s melodic structure does not
transfer easily to tripartite Mass texts like the Kyrie and Agnus Dei. In the Missa Aeterna
Christi munera, Palestrina takes advantage of the hymn’s repetition of the opening melodic
line as its conclusion. For his Kyrie, he uses only the first three phrases of the hymn. For
the Agnus Dei, he employs the first two phrases for the common texts (Agnus Dei and qui
tollis peccata mundi), using the final two to set the different concluding texts (Miserere nobis
and Dona nobis pacem). The return of the hymn’s initial phrase at the end of the Agnus Dei
provides a sense of musical closure to both this movement and the Mass as a whole. Because
of its larger number of textual units, the Sanctus poses a different set of problems. Palestrina
again uses the identity of the first and last lines of the hymn to create a double statement for
the textual complex:
Example 4.15 Palestrina: Missa Aéterna Christi Múnera, Gloria, mm. 1–6
Text Sanctus Dominus Deus Pleni Osanna Benedictus in nomine Osanna

Hymn Phrase 1 2 3 4 (=1) 2 3 4(=1)
To compensate for the hymn’s relatively modest melodic resources, Palestrina often
varies the voice in which motives from it are presented as well as the pitches on which the voices
enter and the distance between entries. In the Sanctus (ex. 4.16), the distance between entries
expands from one semibreve to three and eventually to six. Palestrina did in fact compose a few
cantus firmus Masses. In most cases, the melody used is a chant, but not even Palestrina can
resist L’Homme Armé (1570) or the challenges posed by a solmization Mass (Missa Ut re mi fa sol
la). It is perhaps significant that the opening Mass in Palestrina’s first published collection is a
tenor Mass on Ecce sacerdos magnus.21
Example 4.16 Palestrina: Missa Aéterna Christi Múnera, Sanctus, mm. 1–10
Palestrina conformed to the sixteenth century’s preference for parody Masses based
on conservative motets drawn from the established repertory of the Sistine Chapel. But as
early as 1582, he printed the first (Missa Lauda Sion) of eighteen Masses based on his own
motets. As he matured, he increasingly chose more contemporary models. His impressive
body of parody Masses includes the four eight-voice Masses (Missa Confitebor tibi, Laudate
Dominum, Fratres enim ego accepi, and Hodie Christus natus est) and a group of Masses uni-
versally regarded as among his finest creations. These include the six-part Masses on Tu es
Petrus, Assumpta est Maria, and Dum compleruntur dies pentecostes, and one for five parts on
Ascendo ad Patrem.
In Ascendo ad Patrem, Palestrina used the motet’s distinctive opening point of imita-
tion to begin the Kyrie, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei (exx. 4.17a–d).22 Palestrina also used other
distinctive motet themes, the most obvious being the triple-meter setting (ex. 4.18) of Et gaud-
ebit cor vestrum, (“And your heart shall rejoice”), which appears in both of the motet’s partes.
This occasional use of triple meter to represent joy in all movements, save the Kyrie, stands out
aurally and visually.
Example 4.17 Palestrina: Ascendo ad Patrem
(a) Motet, mm. 1–7
(b) Mass, Kyrie, mm. 1–7
(c) Mass, Sanctus, mm. 6–11
(d) Mass, Agnus Dei, mm. 1–4
Example 4.18 Palestrina: Ascendo ad Patrem, mm. 69–80
The nature of the parody process discouraged literal use of the model in favor of creat-
ing new harmonic combinations and contrapuntal dispositions of the model’s polyphony; these
are often so subtle that it is difficult to differentiate between the original and its alter ego. Aside
from distinctive features like the motet’s opening theme or use of triple meter, Palestrina’s
parody involves a nearly seamless re-weaving of themes that share the mode and meter of the
model. This process, though not as easily detected as the use of triple meter, is far from ran-
dom. The Kyrie of the Missa Ascendo ad Patrem contains direct correspondences to the motet.
These correspondences are not absolute, but their derivation from the corresponding section
of the motet is undeniable. In spite of guidelines like those found in Domenico Pietro Cerone’s
treatise, El Melopeo y Maestro (“The Art of Music and the Instructor” [Naples, 1613]), construct-
ing a parody Mass is not easily reduced to a set of rules or procedures.23 If such Masses do not
literally defy analysis, they certainly leave unresolved questions about the relevance or utility of
such comparisons.
Orlandus Lassus
Palestrina’s music may provide succeeding generations of composers (both in the Renaissance
and beyond) with a consensus of Renaissance style, but Orlandus Lassus (1532–94)—aka
Orlando di Lasso or Rolande de Lassus—equals his output in nearly every respect. While
Palestrina’s career is centered in Rome (in various papal chapels and colleges), Lassus is the
more cosmopolitan, worldly figure. Born in the Netherlands, Lassus was kidnapped twice
because of his beautiful singing voice. He ensured his personal safety by entering the service of
Figure 4.3 Orlandus Lassus

Ferdinand Gonzaga, the viceroy of Sicily and one of the premiere noble families in Italy. In this
milieu Lassus gained early exposure to the modern musical developments unique to Italy. In
1554/55 Lassus returned to Antwerp to oversee his first publication—a collection of chansons,
madrigals, villanesche, and motets. At the same time, his compositions also appeared in print in
Venice, marking the beginning of his perennial presence in the catalogues of the major publish-
ing houses of Paris, Rome, Milan, Nuremberg, and Munich.
If there is a Palestrina School comprised of students and young composers in
Rome (Giovanni Franceso, Felice Anerio, Giovanni Bernadino, Giovanni Maria Nanino,
Marc-Antonio Ingegniri, Francesco Soriano, and Ruggiero Giovanelli), there is an equally
impressive and diverse group of composers generically referred to as Lasso Nachfolger
(“Disciples of Lassus”). In addition to his actual pupils (of whom the most notable were
Johannes Eccard [1553–1611] and Leonhard Lechner [ca. 1550–1606]), many German compos-
ers, whether Catholic or Protestant, claim Lassus as a mentor. While Palestrina is known
almost exclusively for his sacred music, Lassus exhibits a broader grasp of languages and
stylistic idioms. His secular works include 148 chansons, approximately 135 German Lieder (a
typical mixture of sacred and secular texts), and nearly three hundred Italian madrigals and
villanelle. Lassus’s sacred music output consists of more than five hundred motets, about
sixty Masses, one hundred Magnificats, thirty-eight hymns, twelve litanies, four Passions,
two settings of lessons from Job, the seven penitential psalms, and assorted settings of litur-
gical Propers. This enormous body of music nearly matches and in some cases exceeds that
of his Italian contemporary.
Comparing Lassus to Palestrina is a difficult, perhaps even counterproductive exer-
cise. Both composers show a marked predilection for parody technique in their Masses and, in
24
Lassus’s case, nearly half of his Magnificats. Lassus’s Masses rely more heavily on secular mod-
els, tend to be more literal in their parody, and use his own music less frequently. Tsutomu Ota
points out that Lassus’s Mass on Je suis désheritée is shorter, less imitative, and more inclined
toward literal use of the model (especially in the Kyrie and Agnus Dei) than Palestrina’s Mass
on the same chanson.25 In general, Lassus eschews the grand, imitative structures Palestrina
erects, producing Masses that are less liturgically pretentious.
Lassus’s motets also tend to be shorter than Palestrina’s, due in large measure to his less
consistent use of imitation. Lassus typically constructs shorter, less melismatic melodic curves
than Palestrina, whose lines are more conjunct and less distinctive rhythmically. Lassus shows
even less interest than Palestrina in chant melodies, perhaps because they restricted his dramatic
impulses. Though Italian, Palestrina thrives on the Franco-Flemish imitative style, while Lassus,
a Netherlander by birth, is more interested in the innovative aspects of sixteenth-century Italian
secular music than in pursuing the contrapuntal discipline that was his birthright.
In his landmark study, Protestant Church Music, Friedrich Blume asserted that Lassus’s
principal accomplishment was his “madrigalization of the motet.”26 Blume infers that Lassus
revitalized the motet by applying to it the innovations of the madrigal; foremost among these
was his radical use of what we now call “tone painting.” Another term used for the expressive
setting of text is musica reservata, the precise meaning of which remains elusive and conten-
tious. The most cogent description is given by Samuel Quickelberg, Lassus’s colleague at the
Court in Munich. Commenting on Lassus’s Penitential Psalms, Quickelberg wrote:
He expressed [the content] so aptly with lamenting and plaintive melody,

adapting where it was necessary [the music] to the subject and the words,
expressing the power of the different emotions, presenting the subject as if

acted before the eyes, [so] that one cannot know whether the sweetness of the
emotions more adorns the plaintive melodies or the plaintive melodies the
sweetness of the emotions. This kind of music they call musica reservata, and
in it Orlandus proved the excellence of his genius to posterity just as marvel-
lously [sic] as in his other works, which are almost innumerable.27
Gustav Reese linked the term to Vicentino’s notion that such music was literally “reserved” for
sophisticated and educated auditors.28 The chromatic inflections, sudden changes in texture
and rhythm, and elaborate rhetoric of the madrigal fit such an understanding of the term.
Given the sheer size of Lassus’s motet output, finding a single representative work is
difficult. With regard to modality, Lassus is both doctrinaire and progressive. Like Palestrina,
he published collections of modally ordered pieces—most notably the Seven Penitential
Psalms29 and Le Lagrime di San Pietro.30 In both collections, Lassus uses only seven of the
modes, omitting Hypophrygian. To complete the modal order of the Penitential Psalms,
Lassus adds a setting of Psalm 150 in mode 8. In the Lagrime cycle, a Latin motet shows up as
the twenty-first motet (along with setting of twenty Italian texts) in order to facilitate a three-
fold set of the seven modes (3 x 7).31 Lassus was, however, less inclined than Palestrina or his
Franco-Flemish predecessors to explicate the mode by an opening point of imitation based
on the species of the mode.
His motets seem driven less by obligatory use of imitation (or any other technique)
than by his response, generic or specific, to the words. The motet Cum essem parvulus exempli-
fies Lassus’s dependence on the words to generate his musical texture (ex. 4.19).32 Here, Lassus
sets the text’s familiar opening (“When I was a child, I spake as a child,” 1 Cor 13:11) as antiphony
between the two upper voices (i.e., the “child”) and the lower four (the “man”).
Example 4.19 Lassus: Cum essem parvulus, mm. 1–6
The text that concludes the motet’s first part—videmus nunc perspeculum in aenigmate,
tunc autem facie ad faciem (“Now we see through a glass darkly [literally enigmatic mirror], but
then face to face,” 1 Cor 13:12)—prompts another madrigalism in which Lassus uses harmonies
outside the primary mode to represent the “enigmatic mirror,” while setting “face to face” as
declamatory homophonic chords (ex. 4.20).
Example 4.20 Lassus: Cum essem parvulus, mm. 32–43
An even more obvious madrigalistic approach appears in Lassus’s Passion motet,

Tristis est anima mea. To portray the crowd encircling Jesus (et circumdabit me) Lassus crafts a
melody that literally surrounds a central pitch. The text predicting the disciple’s flight (vos fugam
capietis) summons a relatively rare use of strict imitation (suggested by the etymological similar-
ity of the Latin verb fugam and its musical cognate, fugue).
Comparing Lassus to Palestrina, one is tempted to say that Palestrina’s music is more
regular or balanced, whereas Lassus often surprises the listener with sudden changes of har-
mony, texture, or rhythm. Gustav Reese notes that “Whereas Palestrina is apt to maintain
homogenous rhythmic activity for a considerable time—even throughout a whole work—the
Netherlander [Lassus] is often inclined to break up a composition into fairly small sections with
markedly different rhythmic patterns.”33
A similarly localized use of chromatic inflection is found in the six-voice motet Timor et
Tremor (Fear and Trembling).34 Though it may well be exceptional, this motet is rife with chro-
maticism. The first appearance of the word “tremor” occasions a harmonic shift from C to A;
Lassus immediately repeats the same progression on D and B♭ triads intending it as a harmonic
sequence, an assertion of the intent of the gesture or both (ex. 4.21). While the words certainly
invite such pictorial chromaticism, other appearances of the device involve less emotionally charged
text as the harmonic reduction of Lassus’s setting of deprecationem meam in mm. 47–51 illustrates.
These instances suggest that Lassus simply liked the sound (ex. 4.22).
Example 4.21 Lassus: Timor er tremor, mm. 3–8
The motet concludes with a harmonic and contrapuntal tour de force, apparently sug-
gested by the text. Ironically, Lassus’s setting of non confundar (“don’t be confused”) seems to
musically portray confusion (ex. 4.23). Above a quasi-Baroque harmonic bass line, Lassus writes
a more convoluted version of the bass’s melody and rhythm. Lassus’s sacred music is most
accurately represented by three extraordinary compositions: Prophetiae Sybillarum (pub. 1600);
Psalmi Davidis poenitentiales (1584), and Le Lagrime di San Pietro (1595).
In spite of the indicated dates of publication, the first two collections are almost cer-
tainly early products of Lassus’s early years in Munich (ca. 1560); conversely, the third collection
dates from the very end of his life.35 Of the three, the Penitential Psalms cycle was most signifi-
cant historically. If not the first such collection chronologically, Lassus’s setting (Psalms 6, 32,
38, 51, 102, 130, and 14236) was certainly the most important. According to legend, Duke Albert
commissioned these pieces to restore solemnity and morality to his court. Long a treasure of
the Bavarian nobility, Lassus’s music is preserved in two elegant manuscript choir books, each
page adorned with miniature paintings by Hans Mielich.
Lassus realized each psalm text as a series of separate motets, each based on a verse
of the psalm (plus the Doxology). While five voices (SATTB) was normative, Lassus varied the
texture of movements in a way that seemingly defied any pre-compositional analytical logic. For
the sixth psalm (Ps 130, De Profundis) he composed ten small motets:
Table 4.2 Lassus, De profundis clamavi (Ps 130)

1. De profundis SATTB
2. Fiant aures SATTB
3. Si iniquitatem SATTB
4. Quia apud te ATB
5. Sustinuit anima mea SATTB
6. A custodia matutina SATTB
7. Quia apud Dominum SAT
8. Et ipse redemit ATTB
9. Gloria Patri SATTB
10. Sicut erat SATTB
The brevity of this psalm is atypical of the collection. Consequently, Lassus uses fewer
reductions in vocal texture than in the longer psalms. Most significant is his singular use of
the Gregorian psalm tone (ex. 4.24) designated for mode 6. Unlike the Masses of the early
Renaissance, reduction of vocal texture does not imply absence of the cantus firmus; the psalm
tone does, however, migrate to different voice parts (e.g., the bass in v. 5, soprano in v. 7, alto
in v. 8) and thus appears in transposition down a fourth (vv. 6 and 8) to accommodate these
deliberate changes of vocal color. Most striking is Lassus’s use of canon between the alto and
tenor at a distance of one measure in movements two and three. In v. 2, the canon involves both
transposed (tenor) and natural (alto) versions of the psalm tone. The canon in v. 3 uses inversion
of psalm tone in the alto part.
Example 4.24 Lassus: De Profundis, mm. 1–13
The other two collections have common elements, despite different dates of composi-
tion. The Prophetiae Sibyllarum is generally regarded as an early work, perhaps composed when
the young Lassus first encounters the experiments of Vicentino and the pioneering madrigals of
Cypriano de Rore. The texts invoke the Sibyls, those ancient seers the sixteenth century believed
had prophesied the coming of Christ. The titles of the twelve prophecies reflect the geographical
origins of the seers, whom people in antiquity considered “. . . women who in a state of ecstasy
proclaimed coming events, generally unpleasant, spontaneously and without being asked or
being connected with any particular oracle site.”37 These six-line Latin poems are preceded by a
prologue, the text of which is thought by many to have been written by Lassus himself.
Lassus sets these lines using the four-voice, homophonic texture common to the collec-
tion. There are clear caesurae at the end of each musical line marked by rests and cadences to G,
C, and G. The clef scheme (low), final, and vocal ranges (S/T: D–D; A/B: G–G) all suggest mode
8 (Hypomixolydian). But Lassus’s harmonies are so chromatic that some scholars have actually
viewed this music as atonal.38 Indeed, the pervasive chromaticism (all twelve notes of the chromatic
scale appear in the first line of music) hardly seems either modal or tonal, making it difficult to
explain this remarkable sequence of harmonies (ex. 4.25). The cadences to G, C, and G that close
the three lines of text represent the final, reciting tone and final of mode 8. But no contemporary
modal theory can explain the chromaticism. Examining only the first phrase (mm. 1–9), one can
detect a pattern of harmonic movement based on pitches a fifth apart (table 4.3).
Example 4.25 Lassus: Prophetiae Sibyllarum, Prologue, mm. 1–18

Table 4.3 Lassus, Prophetiae Sibyllarum, prologue, tonal centers

Measure Triad Pitch Class Harmonic Relationship V-1 progressions
(C as [0]‌) G as modal final
1 CEG 0,4,7 IV I
2 GBD 7,11,2 I V
3 BD#F# 11,3,6 Chromatic shift V
(“chromatico”)
4 C#EG# 1,4,8 Minor V
EG#B 4,8,11 I
5 EG#B 6,9,1
F#AC#
6 F#AC# Minor I
F#AD 6,9,2 Circle of Fifths V6
GBD 7,11,2 D I V
G I V
7 CEG 0,4,7 C I V
FAC 5,9,0 F I
B-flatDF 10,2,5 B-flat
8 DF#A 2,6,9 Chromatic shift
CE-flatG 0,3,7 (“modulata”)
DF#A 2,6,9 V
9 GBD 7,11,2 I
The construction of this phrase may be viewed as a series of unrelated V–I pro-
gressions, none of which (save for the first and last) fit with either Mixolydian mode or G
major. Lassus’s setting of the word modulata (mm. 6–8) appropriately moves through chords
on G–C–F–B♭, a progression derived from the circle of fifths. The two critical points in this
sequence involve ascending root movement by major third, resulting in two major triads that
produce a chromatic cross relation; these occur on the word chromatico (G to B) and to recon-
nect the aforementioned progression of fifths to the final cadence. Such progressions were an
important part of the emerging rhetoric of the madrigal ca. 1550.39 One senses in this prologue
the exposition of a larger harmonic plan that permeates the entire cycle, bending but not break-
ing its modal coherence.
Examination of the finals of the twelve compositions reveals that Lassus uses only
the pre-Glareanus system of eight modes as shown in the modal profile of the Prophetiae
Sibyllarum (table 4.4). Although the modes do not occur in their traditional numerical order,
the publication is modally ordered. Half of the modal finals are G (1–4, 6, and 8), followed by
two on D and one each on A E, C, and F. Taken in this sequence (ignoring the alternation of
G and D in mvts. 4–8), the finals produce the same set of pitch relationships found in phrase
1—a circle of fifths (G–D–A–E), broken by a major third root movement to C, then resumed in
one final V–I progression (C–F). Another amazing similarity connects this series of finals to the
Table 4.4 Lassus—Prophetiae Sibyllarum, Formal Structure

Movement Final Clef system Signature Ranges Mode
1. Persica G c1 c3 c4 F4 (low) Cantus durus S/T: d–d 8
No signature A/B: g–g
2. Libyca G c1 c3 c4 F4 Cantus durus S/T: d–d 8
A/B: g–g
3. Delphica G g2 c2 c3 F3 (high) Cantus mollis S/T: g–g 1
(B♭) A/B: d–d
4. Cymmeria G g2 c2 c3 F3 Cantus mollis S/T: g–g 1
A/B: d–d
5. Samia D c1 c3 c4 F4 Cantus mollis S/T: d–d 2
A/B: a–a
6. Cumana G c1 c3 c4 F4 Cantus mollis S/T: d–d 2
A/B: g–g
7. Hellespontica D g2 c2 c3 F3 Cantus durus S/T: a–g 7
A/B: d–d
8. Phrygia G g2 c2 c3 F3 Cantus durus S/T: g–g 7
A/B: d–d
9. Europaca A c3 c4 c4 F5 Cantus durus S/T: e–e 3
A: d–d
10. Tiburtina E c3 c4 c4 F5 Cantus durus B: E–a 3
S/T: a–g
11. Erythraca C c1 c3 c4 F4 Cantus mollis A/B: e–e 6
S/T: c–c
12. Agrippa F g2 c2 c3 F3 Cantus mollis A/B: f–f 5
S/T: c–c
A/B: f–f
harmonies of the prologue’s second phrase (Haec sunt illa). Lassus sets this line with triads on
C, E, A, D, and G, the retrograde of the sequence of finals (omitting F).
The final member of this trilogy is Le Lagrime di San Pietro (“The Tears of St.
Peter”), which meditates on Peter’s betrayal of Christ. Lassus sets twenty meditations on
this text by Luigi Tansillo (d. 1568). The first twelve deal with Peter’s betrayal and the emo-
tions triggered within him when he makes eye contact with Jesus.40 The next eight texts
change to first person to convey Peter’s remorse and self-degradation. To these, Lassus
appends a concluding Latin motet (Vide homo) in order to create a total of twenty-one pieces,
the numerical product of the mystical number seven (the number of deadly sins, cardinal
virtues, the joys and sorrows of Mary, penitential psalms, etc.) and three (signifying the
Trinity). In addition to this number symbolism, Lassus employs the unusual vocal texture
of seven parts (SSAATTB).41
These twenty-one compositions allow Lassus to create a modal order within the col-
lection. His omission of Hypophrygian mode (typical in Renaissance polyphony) leaves seven
modes, six of which Lassus deploys as follows:
Movement Mode
1–4 Dorian
5–8 Hypodorian
9–12 Phrgyian
13–15 Lydian
16–18 Hypolydian
19–21 Mixolydian
The first twelve texts are grouped as four each of Dorian, Hypodorian, and Phrygian. For
the remaining nine texts Lassus organizes them as triads of the remaining modes—Lydian,
Hypolydian, and Mixolydian (omitting mode 8).42
Lassus manipulates these traditional modal parameters so to reflect the expressive
content of the text. The musicologist Robert Luoma states, “To those properly instructed in
sixteenth-century theory . . . Lagrimae is a treasure trove of links between music and poetry
expressed largely in its treatment of mode. Infractions of the rules and even deviations from
strictest convention mirror negative feelings or ideas in the verse.”43 Nowhere is this clearer
than in the final Latin motet Vide homo.44
Like the Italian poems that preceded it, this Latin text has eight ten-syllable lines, all
of which have with the same end rhyme (“-ior”). This poetical conceit and the absence of any
forgiveness for those responsible for Jesus’s death lend enormous emotional weight to this
final poem.
Concerning this motet, Robert Luoma writes: “It represents not only the emotional
apex of this great work, but a formal summary as well. A kaleidoscopic allusion to protus,
deuterus, tritis, and tetrardus elements epitomizes the modal content of the entire cycle, and
at the same time the distortion of intense feeling.”45 The most puzzling aspect of the motet
is its modal final (A) among a series of Mixolydian pieces. While this pitch is “the most com-
mon termination for psalm and canticle tones in mode 7” (LU, 217), Luoma points out that
the final cadence to A may have a larger, textual significance. The text for which this cadence
is used contains the word ingratum (“ungrateful”), suggesting that this unusual final is a way
of painting that particular word (ex. 4.26).46 Blume’s belief that Lassus madrigalized the motet
finds ultimate confirmation in this, the final work of Lassus’s career (completed three weeks
Table 4.5 Lassus, Le Lagrime di San Pietro, Vide Homo, Text

Vide homo, quae pro te patior! Behold, man, all that I suffer for you!
Ad te clamo, qui pro te morior. I, who am dying for you, cry to you.
Vidi poenas quibus afficior! See the torments with which I am afflicted!
Vide clavos, quibus confodior! Behold the nails with which I am pierced!
Non est dolor sicut quo crucior? Is there any suffering to compare with crucifixion?
Et cum sit tantus exterior, And however great the physical pain, it cannot compare to the
Intus tamen dolor est gravior torment I feel when I discover your ingratitude.
Tam ingratum cum te experior.
Example 4.26 Lassus: Lagrime, Vide homo, mm. 42–51
Table 4.6 Lassus, Lagrimae, Vide Homo, Modal cadence profile

A E C G F B♭ B♮
2 3 4 1 5 1 1
before his death and published posthumously). After twenty Italian “spiritual madrigals,” the
cycle ends with a Latin motet that, in terms of modality and text expression, operates more
like a madrigal than a motet. Expressly madrigalesque is Lassus’s use of a harmonic language,
which lies conspicuously outside the modal parameters associated with the assigned mode (A
Mixolydian). Typically, this mode would make cadences to A (the final), E (the reciting tone),
C (the reciting tone of the plagal mode), and G (the dominant of C). Within the diatonic com-
pass of the mode, only cadences to E and C are possible without the addition of musica ficta.
Any cadence to A could only be made by inserting G♯ (or making a melodic descent from B♭)
to create a Phrygian cadence (in a Mixolydian piece). But of seventeen modal cadences, only
two are made to the final (table 4.6). While the number of cadences to C and E correspond
with modal expectation, the prominence of F is completely inexplicable. But Lassus’s array of
cadence pitches does indeed summarize the collection’s larger modal context. This innovative
expansion of traditional modality and use of major triads (even when the mode’s diatonic con-
tent precludes them) combine to create madrigal-like harmonies that prefigure the transition
from modality to tonality.
Tomas Luis da Victoria

As Howard Mayer Brown notes, Francesco Guerrero (1527/8–1599) was the only member of
the trio of great Spanish composers to remain in Spain for his entire career.47 The other two,
Cristobal de Morales and Tomas Luis da Victoria (ca. 1548–1611) both spent their maturity in
Rome. At age nineteen, Victoria was sent to Rome by King Philip II of Spain to be educated by
the church. After study at the Collegium Germanicum (a Jesuit institution founded to combat
the German Reformation), Victoria served as music director for the Collegium Romanum (suc-
ceeding Palestrina) and, eventually, went back to the Collegium Germanicum. In 1578, after five
years as maestro di capella at his alma mater, Victoria returned home to serve the Empress Maria
(sister of Philip II and wife of the deceased Holy Roman Emperor Maxmillian).
Victoria’s inclusion as a member of this triumvirate of Renaissance masters is not
based on the size or the diversity of his output. He composed twenty Masses, fewer than fifty
motets, and a similarly modest body of other liturgical music (Magnificats, Lamentations,
Passions, and hymns). He wrote no secular music at all, devoting himself, in the words of
the Spanish musicologist Higini Angles, to singing the praise “of the Cross and the mys-
teries of the Redemption, using means uncontaminated by profane art.”48 In fact, Victoria
seems to combine stylistic aspects of both Lassus and Palestrina. Trained in Rome (perhaps
by Palestrina himself), Victoria’s style shows an understandable affinity to the Roman master.
Yet Victoria, like Lassus, is a servant of the word, imbuing his music with a harmonic palette
that is distinctly different from that of Palestrina. Victoria’s use of chromatic inflections has led
some to compare his music to the vivid use of color and occasional distortions of perspective
in the painting of El Greco.49
Several of Victoria’s motets—O vos omnes, O magnum mysterium, O quam gloriosum,

Jesu dulcis memoria, and Ave Maria—have become staples of the choral repertory. The justly
famous Christmas motet, O magnum mysterium, opens with a traditional imitative exordium,
all four voices presenting versions of the modal theme. Victoria’s asymmetrical pattern of vocal
entries (e.g., the alto enters after three “beats”), and deliberate obfuscation of mode hint at his
subtle approach to creating the “mystery” of which the text speaks. The irregular spacing of
entries points toward an implicit polymetricism embedded within his theme. Despite the duple
mensuration (tactus alla breve), Victoria tends to set the text (especially in the bass) as if he were
using ternary meter (ex. 4.27).
Example 4.27 Victoria: O magnum mysterium, mm. 10–19
We see the same affect in his setting of the salutation O beata Virgine, which not only sets
the words with clarity but mediates between the implied ternary shape of the imitative opening and
the explicit triple meter of the concluding Alleluia. This conclusion has raised frequent questions
among performers regarding its speed relative to the preceding music (tactus alla breve). While
both proportio sesquialtera (three semibreves in the time of two) and proportio tripla (three semi-
breves in the time of one) work, Victoria’s use of the mensural sign O 3/2 indicates sesquialtera.50
The motet O vos omnes, though shorter and less contrapuntal, is remarkable for its
emotional presentation of the text: “O all you who pass by, behold and see if there is any sorrow
like my sorrow.” Victoria’s deliberate use of homogeneous rhythm and texture focuses atten-
tion on the expressive harmony and his carefully disguised, concentrated use of imitation.
Although this work is a Dorian piece, the first phrase ends with an F-major triad, the second
to the modal final harmonized with a Picardy third.51 Though contrary to the modal scale, the
F-sharp reflected the late sixteenth century’s preference for cadential chords with raised third.
That these harmonic goals seem inevitable and sound right has less to do with any
sense of harmonic progression than with the atypical imitation between the soprano and bass.
Victoria compresses this imitation into the melodic/harmonic interaction of the traditional
modal pairs. The alto and bass open with the Dorian fifth (D–A), followed by a medial cadence
on F (the alto leaping down to C′ to avoid parallel octaves with the bass). The melodies of the
soprano and tenor are similar, both employing ascent of a third (minor in the tenor, major in
the soprano) followed by half-step motion (tenor descending, soprano ascending) in lieu of the
perfect fifth. The measure of Victoria’s brilliance is that almost any combination of paired voices
is convincingly modal and yet harmonically expressive.
Victoria’s treatment of the textual repeat mandated by the Responsory text is subtly
different from Palestrina’s approach.
Victoria—O vos omnes, text

O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte si est dolor similes sicut dolor
meus. Attendite universi populi et videte dolorem meam: si est dolor similes sicut
dolor meus.
“O all you who pass this way, behold and see if there is any sorrow similar to
my sorrow. Behold, all people, and see my sorrow: is there any sorrow similar
to my sorrow?”
Victoria sets the text si est dolor similes sicut dolor meus to the same music both times (save for
a cadence to the final to end the motet). What is new and inspired is his decision to repeat the
text that directly precedes it as well. He creates an unexpected musical link between these two
similar texts; though he uses the same interval, the second setting (m. 34ff.) is at a much higher
tessitura than the first (m. 11ff.).
Like Palestrina, Victoria prefers parody Masses; while Victoria’s Masses display a variety
of model similar to Palestrina, motets by other composers (Guerrero, Palestrina, and Morales)
are less prominent than his own (Ascendens Christus, Dum complerentur, O magnum mysterium,
O quam gloriosum, Quam pulchri sunt, Trahe me post te, and Vidi speciosam). His most intriguing
parody involves the use of Janequin’s chanson La Guerre as the basis of his Missa pro Victoria (for
nine voices in two choirs), Victoria’s only Mass based on a secular model. Victoria differs from
Palestrina’s approach in deciding what material from the model to use and what to omit. The
Missa O magnum mysterium is among the most spare in its borrowings, using the distinctive open-
ing motto of the motet only for the Kyrie and (significantly reworked) the Sanctus. Nor does he
feel obliged to present the model’s motives systematically, using the motet’s themes where they
best fit the Mass text. In the Missa O quam gloriosum, Victoria bases each of the Kyrie’s three sec-
tions on a single segment of the motet. For the first Kyrie (ex. 4.28a) he uses in quo cum Christo (ex.
4.28b), while the Christe (ex. 4.28c) features the motet’s distinctive closing material (quocumque
ierit, ex. 4.28d). The final Kyrie (ex. 4.28e) uses melody of the motet’s penultimate phrase, sequun-
tur Agnum (ex. 4.28f).
Example 4.28 Victoria: O quam gloriosum

(a) Kyrie, mm. 1–4
(b) motet, mm. 10–12
(c) Christe, mm. 13–18
(d) motet, mm. 47–52
(Continued)
(e) Kyrie II, mm. 29–35
(f ) motet, mm. 39–46
Victoria regards the motet as the preeminent vehicle for text expression, clearly heard
in his settings of the Lamentations of Jeremiah, the Nine Lessons for Tenebrae, and his setting of
the Officium Defunctorum; for these expressive texts Victoria is content to use the language and
style of the motet to create compact settings that respect both the liturgy and his personal aes-
thetic goals instead of turning, as Lassus had, to madrigalisms.
Requiems, Penitential Psalms, Passions, Lamentations

Of the other choral genres of Renaissance sacred music, the most important is the Requiem Mass,
which does not attain final liturgical form until the Council of Trent (1545–63), despite the fact that
the last text accepted into the liturgical template was the Dies Irae sequence, composed in the four-
teenth century. Prior to Trent, the text of the Requiem varied markedly. For example, the famous
Requiem by Pierre de la Rue used a text (Si ambulem) from Psalm 23 in lieu of the sequence. The
Requiem by Jean Richafort (1480–1547) is scored for six voices, two of which sing a canon based
on the Sarum chant Circumdederunt me gemitus mortis dolores inferni.52 Richafort’s use of a melody
favored by Josquin,53 as well as a canon based on Josquin’s chanson Faulte d’Argent, would seem
to suggest that Richafort’s work commemorated his teacher.54 In the latter part of the sixteenth
century Palestrina, Lassus, and Victoria all made notable contributions to the Requiem genre.
Composing all seven Penitential Psalms became fashionable after the publication of
Lassus’s groundbreaking setting (pub. 1584). Three of Lassus’s disciples—Jacob Reiner (1586),
Leonhard Lechner (1587), and Georg Schwaiger (1588)—made significant contributions to this
genre. Other composers include Giovanni Croce (Musica sacra, (1608), Andrea Gabrieli (Psalmi
Davidici, 1583), and Melchior Franck (Threnodiae Davidicae, 1615). Poetic paraphrases of these
psalms inspired a diverse group of composers including William Byrd (Songs of Sundrie Natures,
1589), John Dowland (Mr. Henry No’ell, his funeral psalms, 1597), and William Hunnis (Seven Sobs of
a Sorrowful Soule for Sinne, 1583).55
Another choral genre that attracted the attention of Renaissance composers was the
Passion, the recitation of which had its roots in antiquity. As music intended for liturgical use,
the Passion settings of the Renaissance essentially retained the structure of the medieval model,
becoming what the musicologist Basil Smallman has referred to as “dramatic passions.”56
These works retain the so-called Passion tones (i.e., recitation formulae unique to the Passion)
and assign the principal roles to soloists (ex. 4.29). Liturgical tradition assigns the role of Jesus
to a bass, the Evangelist to a tenor, and the other minor characters (Judas, Peter, Pilate, etc.) to
higher voices (the synagoga). These assignments reflect the ranges made available by mixing the
authentic and plagal octaves of the mode.
Example 4.29 Vocal Ranges of the Gregorian “Passion Tones”
The Renaissance’s increasing focus on polyphony led to the use of a chorus to rep-
resent the crowd (turba). While such polyphonic settings gained a measure of realism due to
their vocal pluralism, the actual music was far less dramatic than that found in the Passions of
J. S. Bach. Nearly all major Renaissance composers—Orlandus Lassus, Jakob Handl, Francesco
Guerrero, Tomas Luis da Victoria, Jan Nasco, Francesco Soriano, Vincenzo Ruffo, Palestrina,
and William Byrd—composed Passions of this type.
The “motet-Passion” took this choral participation to a new level, dispensing with solo-
ists in favor of continuous polyphony. The exemplar of the motet-Passion was the so-called
Obrecht-Longuevaal Passion, a Matthew Passion from the early sixteenth century. Such works
became extremely popular in Protestant Germany, using both Latin and German texts by such
composers as Johannes Galliculus (1538(, Balthasar Resinarius (1545), and Ludwig Daser (1578),
Joachim von Burck (1568), Bartolomäus Gesius (1588), Leonhard Lechner (1593), and Christoph
Demantius (1631). A popular feature of the motet-Passion was its conclusion with the “Seven
Last Words” harmonized from the various Gospel accounts.
Possibly the finest motet-Passion is Leonhard Lechner’s Johannespassion scored for
four-part chorus.57 Lechner uses the Lydian mode to accommodate the traditional chant for-
mulae used for the Passion recitation, and he includes this mode as a cantus firmus that
migrates from part to part. In this brief excerpt, the chant first appears in the tenor, moving
to the bass for Jesus’s question, Wen suchet ihr? (ex. 4.30). The crowd’s reply, Sie antworten
ihm: Jesum von Nazareth involves the upper three voices in the range designated for the turba.
The motet-Passion’s use of changing vocal texture as a means of defining characters appears as
early as the St. John Passion of Cypriano de Rore (1557).
Example 4.30 Lechner: Johannespassion, mm. 50–64

The final subgenre of sacred choral music that attain prominence in the Renaissance
are settings of the Lamentations of Jeremiah. For the Matins services for the triduum (Maundy
Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday), the Roman liturgy prescribed three sets of three
lessons drawn from Lamentations. Each of the three texts is preceded by a letter of the Hebrew
alphabet.58 The distinctive features of these musical Lamentations are the often-elaborate poly-
phonic settings of the Hebrew letters (analogous to the illuminated capitals found in medieval
and Renaissance manuscripts), and the use of the expressive refrain Jerusalem, Jerusalem, con-
vertere ad Dominum, Deum tuum (Jerusalem, Jerusalem, return to the Lord your God” [Hos 14:1])
that conclude each group.
Within the earliest layer of musical Lamentations the most important setting is that
of Elezéar Genet (ca. 1470–1548), more commonly known as Carpentras. His name appears in
Papal Chapel documents as early as 1508, and he served there as maestro di capella from 1514
to 1521. His setting of Lamentations (1532) remained the setting of choice in the Sistine Chapel
until Palestrina’s (1587).59 These emotionally charged texts inspired composers such as Morales,
Victoria (1581), Lassus (1585), and Byrd (1585–88). Yet, for many, Thomas Tallis’s setting from the
mid-1560s remains the benchmark against which all other settings are judged.60
Conclusion
The second half of the Renaissance sees nearly universal validation for the process of syntactic
imitation as the technique of choice in writing sacred choral music. The rise of imitation caused
a decline in the use of the array of techniques associated with the cantus firmus. Initially, this
stylistic shift resulted in the emergence of the motet as the primary choral genre. In turn, the
motet’s dependence on imitation led to a revival of Mass composition in the form of the parody
Mass. Concurrently, humanism’s insistence on clear, careful declamation, loomed ominously,
eventually forcing composers (most notably Palestrina) to adopt a new type of imitation based
on the antiphonal re-presentation of the same or similar material. In effect, Josquin’s imitative
vocal pairs have simply been enlarged, adding the maintenance of the lowest voice (at pitch or
transposed) of each group as a new form of musical continuity. Eventually, this new verticality
caused the demise of modal counterpoint, which was the foundation of Renaissance style, thus
paving the way for monody with its indispensable basso continuo.
5
Sacred Choral Music in England (1450–1650)
T he generation of English composers led by John Dunstable (ca. 1370–1453) and Leonel
Power (d. 1445) was critical to the advent of the musical Renaissance. However, the conclu-
sion of the Hundred Years’ War marked the end of any significant English musical presence
on the Continent for the remainder of the Renaissance. The development of English sacred
Renaissance music is, therefore, a separate narrative, and an essential part of that narrative
is the division created by the political falling-out between Henry VIII and Pope Clement VII
in 1529. Ultimately, this conflict of wills led Henry to renounce Catholicism and create the
Anglican Church as the Church of England. The musical consequences of this “reformation”
were dramatic, in that composers who had formerly composed florid Latin polyphony now had
to adopt a much less ornate style and the syllabic setting of English texts. The first part of this
chapter surveys the choral music written by English Roman Catholic composers in the second
half of the fifteenth century. Only then can we survey the composers who constructed the body
of English choral music, which is well known and revered.
The Choral Music of English Catholicism (1450–1530)

The presence of Robert Morton (ca. 1440–75) at the Burgundian Court was anomalous; on
the Continent the prominence of Power and Dunstable in important manuscripts like the
Trent Codices belied the fact that by the 1450s, English choral music had become an insular
127
phenomenon. Our knowledge of composers after Dunstable has remained sketchy due
largely to the paucity of primary sources. Until the Tudor dynasty’s rise near the end of the
fifteenth century, the most prominent extant source was the manuscript Egerton 3307, which
contains the earliest polyphonic Passion setting and many English carols. Slightly later came
the Eton Choirbooks (ca. 1500), a collection now thought to be less than half its original
size. Since very few of the pre-Reformation choir books survived Henry VIII’s anti-Catholic
purges, Eton has become the source of our knowledge of early Tudor polyphony.1 Its com-
positions were liturgical with a strong Marian emphasis,2 especially the Magnificat, since
nearly a quarter of the original contents of the Eton Mss. consisted of settings of that can-
ticle.3 These works were typically scored for from four to six voices with an emphasis on the
lower voices, and the large festive motets that were so popular exploited extremes of range,
rhythmic design, and vocal texture, having up to six partes. Composers tended to alternate
subdivisions of the full vocal texture with strategically placed tuttis, creating a texture-defined
formal structure. Imitation, the emerging technique of choice of contemporary Continental
composers, was noticeably absent from this music. The conservative nature of this repertory
was evident in its retention of cantus firmus technique at a time its presence in contempo-
rary music was waning.
The principal composer of the Eton Choir Books was Robert Fayrfax (1464–1521),
who possessed doctorates in music from both Cambridge and Oxford.4 His known output
consisted of six Masses, twelve motets, two Magnificats, and some secular songs. His two
significant Masses were the Missa O bone Jesus (probably the first English parody Mass) and
the large, festive Missa Albanus, named for the patron saint of the abbey Fayrfax served.
Typical of English Masses for the Sarum Rite, the Missa Albanus had no Kyrie.5 The four
extant movements used a nine-note cantus firmus taken from the antiphon Albanus Domini
laudens mirabili nomen.6 Frank Ll. Harrison suggested that due to the brevity of its can-
tus firmus, this Mass fell “into a category which may be described as ostinato-cantus fir-
mus on account of the number of repetitions of the theme in the full sections, where it
appears forty times.”7 Further unity was provided by a three-voice head motto to open each
movement (reminiscent of Du Fay’s Masses). Fayrfax’s most famous composition is the
Regali Magnificat, a setting à 5 (treble, mean [cantus firmus], alto, tenor, bass) of the canticle’s
even-numbered verses.8 Fayrfax used the sixth psalm tone less as a cantus firmus than as a
source of melodies to use imitatively. Only the first and third verses have even the semblance
of a cantus firmus.
Fayrfax’s contemporaries included William Cornysh (d. 1523), John Browne (fl.
ca. 1490), Richard Hygons (ca. 1435–ca. 1509), Robert Carver (ca. 1470–1554), and Robert
Johnson (b. ca. 1491). Like Fayrfax, Cornysh was a Gentleman of the Chapel Royal. Confined
to the relative isolation of Wells Cathedral in southwestern England, Richard Hygons’s
only contribution to the Eton Choir Books was a Salve Regina, which contained substantive
quotations of the same antiphon (Venit ad Petrum) used as a cantus firmus in the series of
Caput Masses by Du Fay, Ockeghem, and others.9 Carver and Johnson were both Scottish
musicians, the former best known for a Mass on the L’Homme Armé melody;10 the latter,
according to old accounts, for having fled to England “lang before Reformation . . . for
accusation of heresy.”11
Sacred Choral Music in England, 1450–1650 129
John Taverner
The dominant pre-Reformation English composer was John Taverner (ca. 1495–1545) who began
his musical career as Master of the Choristers at Tattershall (near Lincoln). When Thomas
Cardinal Wolsey, who was by this time the triple-titled archbishop of York, prince bishop of
Durham, and Lord High Chancellor of England, founded Cardinal College (now Christ Church,
Oxford) in 1526, Taverner became the college’s first organist. Taverner’s association with the
pro-Lutheran faction at Oxford combined with Wolsey’s fall from power in 1529 led to Taverner’s
dismissal in 1530. He then became an agent for Thomas Cromwell (who became Henry VIII’s
chief minister two years later), surveying Catholic properties prior to confiscation. Taverner’s
output mirrored the contents of the Eton Choir Books: eight Masses, numerous motets (includ-
ing four settings of the Easter Responsory Dum transisset Sabbathum), Magnificats, and Te
Deums, all based on cantus firmi.
All eight Masses lacked a polyphonic Kyrie and varying amounts of the Credo. Two
Masses (Western Wynde and Playn Song12) were scored for four voices; the remaining Masses
were divided into groups for five (Mater Christi, Sine nomine, and Small Devotion13) or six (Gloria
tibi Trinitas, Corona spinea, and O Michael) voices. Another distinction commonly drawn within
this repertory separated the “festal” Masses and motets from those that were shorter and more
simply scored.
Taverner’s two most important Masses are Western Wynde (likely the first English
Mass based on a secular tune) and Gloria tibi Trinitas (based on the Sarum antiphon for Trinity
Sunday). In addition to Taverner, Christopher Tye (ca.1500–1573) and John Sheppard (ca.1520–
63) also composed Masses on Western Wynde, all three using the popular song as an ostinato
(ex. 5.1), presented at the same pitch level but not always in the same voice part.14 Taverner
stated the melody nine times in each movement, its appearances varied by the occasional
use of F♯ and change of meter. Thus, his placement of the melody became a formal device
unifying the Gloria/Credo and Sanctus/Agnus pairs.15 He consistently divided the melody
into three phrases consisting of eight, seven, and eight measures. While Taverner altered
the rhythm to accommodate the Mass text, he retained this formula throughout, the sole
exception being a compression of the melody to fifteen measures in the seventh and ninth
segments of the Gloria due to a shorter text (7) and the use of triple meter (9) (table 5.1). The
layout of the cantus firmus in the Gloria/Credo pair confirms their kinship.
Example 5.1 Westron Wynde

Table 5.1 Taverner, Western Wynde Mass, Cantus Firmus usage

Gloria
Text Length Cantus firmus voice Texture
1. Et in terra 1–24 (24) S à4
2. Gratias agimus 25–47 (23) S à2
3. Domine Deus, 48–72 (24) T à4
Rex caelestis
4. Domine Deus, Agnus Dei 73–96 (24) S à4
5. Qui tollis . . .miserere nobis 97–120 (23) S à2
6. Qui tollis. . . 121–43 (23) T à3
deprecationem nostram
7. Qui sedes 144–58 (15) S à4
8. Quoniam–Jesu Christe 158–81 (24) T à3
9. Cum sancto Spiritu–Amen. 182–96 (15) S à4
Credo
Text Length Cantus firmus voice Texture
1. Patrem . . . 3–18 (16) T à4
Invisibilium
2. Et in unum . . . 19–42 (24) S à3
saecula.
3. Deum de Deo . . . omnia facta 43–65 (23) S à4
sunt
4. Qui propter . . . 66–88 (23) T à4
de caelis.
5. Et incarnatus est . . . 89–111 (23) S à3
homo factus est
6. Crucifixus . . . 112–34 (23) B à3
et sepultus est.
7. Et rsurrexit . . . 134–58 (25) T à4
ad dexteram Patris
8. Et iterum . . . 158–81 (24) S a3
non erit finis.
9. Et expecto . . . Amen. 182–205 (24) S à4
In both movements, Taverner constructed two large paragraphs comprised of four

consecutive statements of the melody set off by a fermata; he concluded both the Gloria
and Credo with a final melodic presentation in triple meter. Other interesting commonali-
ties are Taverner’s use of à 4 texture in the same five segments (1, 3, 4, 7, and 9) of each
movement, the similarity of the melody’s vocal placement (in sets of three sections) in each
movement, and his retention of the cantus firmus even when the vocal texture is reduced
to three parts.
Despite its substantial musical strengths, Western Wynde pales in comparison to the Missa
Gloria tibi Trinitas, the six voices of which allow a considerable increase in textural variety. For his
cantus firmus (ex. 5.2) Taverner used the Gregorian antiphon for Trinity Sunday (Second Vespers).16
Unlike Western Wynde, Taverner retained the chant exclusively in the mean (alto), even though
he frequently changed its rhythmicization. The first three movements present the cantus fir-
mus in a manner reminiscent of Du Fay’s Missa Se la face ay pale: the chant appears three
times—in triple mensuration, duple meter, and in diminution. In the Agnus Dei, Taverner
restricts the cantus firmus to the outer movements (first in triple meter and finally in diminu-
tion), composing the second Agnus Dei in a freely imitative style.
Example 5.2 Gloria tibi Trinitas
Like his Continental counterparts, Taverner uses a “head motto” derived from the
chant, to initiate each movement of the Mass and thus unify its whole (exx. 5.3a–d). In both
the Gloria and Credo Taverner presents the melody as an ostinato, accounting in part for their
greater length compared with the Sanctus/Agnus pair.
Example 5.3 Taverner: Missa Gloria tibi Trinitas

(a) Gloria
(b) Credo
(c) Sanctus
(d) Agnus Dei
Despite an external resemblance to Continental Masses, Taverner uses more freely

composed music between statements of the cantus firmus, reducing its unifying effect. In this
practice, Taverner harkens back to earlier English composers, who used such fluctuations in
vocal texture both to achieve variety and create formal structure. The greater length and virtu-
osity of sections in which the cantus firmus is absent produced a commonplace of Taverner’s
style—long melismas whose tracery seemed to match the vast architectural spaces of the Gothic
churches where they were sung (ex. 5.4).
Example 5.4 Taverner: Missa Gloria tibi Trinitas, Credo, mm. 34–42
Unlike Western Wynde, the Mass on Gloria Tibi Trinitas used its borrowed chant as both
a cantus firmus and a basis of imitation:
Taverner’s writing in the larger forms still retained much of the melodic elabo-
ration and rhythmic interplay of the earlier style, while adding to it new ele-
ments of repetition and symmetry in the details of the polyphonic patterns.
These elements appeared in his work in two important ways: imitation, or the
offset repetition of a melody in different parts, and sequence, or the succes-
sive repetition of a melody in the same part. The technical problem of using
imitation in composition on a cantus firmus is that of making the point [i.e.,
the theme] of imitation fit different parts of the preexisting melody, and the
difficulty of the problem was increased when the composer derived the points
from the cantus firmus (thereby furthering the integration of the polyphony)
rather than devising points which were independent of the cantus firmus.17
Taverner’s use of sequential repetition and florid melodies became a hallmark of his style.
Owing to his elaborate melodic style, imitative texture remained exceptional. Irrespective of
the source of its inspiration, this virtuosity is reminiscent of a time when polyphony was solely
an adornment of the ritual plainsong. Taverner also extends vocal ranges in both directions.
Another aspect of Taverner’s virtuosity lay in his extension of the vocal range in both direc-
tions; despite the depth and greater number of lower voices, it was the mean (cantus firmus)
and soaring treble lines that imbued Taverner’s music with a sense of “otherworldliness.”
There is a historical aside regarding the role of this particular Gloria Tibi Trinitas Mass
in the genesis of instrumental music. Early sixteenth-century instrumental pieces bearing the
title “In Nomine” grew from transcriptions of Taverner’s elaboration of the cantus firmus at the
words In nomine Domini in the Benedictus. After an introductory passage of thirteen measures,
Taverner composed a twenty-nine-measure segment (scored for cantus, mean, countertenor 1,

and bass), which contains the cantus firmus in half notes surrounded by simple imitative coun-
terpoint. It was, perhaps, the novelty (or beauty?) of this imitation that led Taverner to transcribe
it for viols, this transcription serving as the point of departure for numerous other compositions
that imitated it.
The development of English Catholic church music reached its apex in the next
generation of composers—Thomas Tallis, Christopher Tye, Robert White (d. 1574), and John
Sheppard. Unfortunately, the intervention of the English Reformation quite literally altered
the lives and music of these composers. Except for the brief Catholic interregnum led by Mary
Tudor (1553–58), the Church of England was a fait accompli as of 1534. The new liturgy’s most
obvious effect was the replacement of Latin texts with English ones. Composers raised and
trained as Roman Catholics were forced to learn a new compositional language for the English
anthems and service music in a simple, syllabic style.
Thomas Tallis (ca. 1505–85)

Despite the demise of Roman Catholicism, composers continued to write Latin music (at first
with the approval of the Crown, later in defiance of the Act of Uniformity). While the Reformation
involved singing literally a “new song,” choral settings of traditional Latin texts did not simply
disappear. Compared with the four composers mentioned earlier (Taverner, Tye, White, and
Sheppard), Tallis seems to have had the most difficulty making this transition. He continued
to write Latin church music focusing on Marian motets, Latin antiphons like Dum transisset
Sabbathum and Audivi, Masses (e.g., the Missa Salve intemerata based on his own motet), and
Office hymns. The crowning achievements of his career were his Lamentations of Jeremiah (ca.
1560) and his collaboration with William Byrd in composing the Cantiones, quae ab argumento
sacrae vocantur (“Songs, which may, for the sake of argument, be called sacred,” 1575), all of which
were Latin motets postdating the unconditional acceptance of the Anglican liturgy. In the New
Grove article on Tallis, the authors came to the conclusion that Tallis was either a recusant (like
Byrd) or that he maintained his Catholicism while bowing to the practical realities of the new
era.18 Comparing the amount of Latin church music Tallis composed and its expressive grandeur
relative to his English church music output does nothing to invalidate their hypothesis.
A notable feature of the Latin sacred music is Tallis’s use of simultaneous cross rela-
tionships, like the one at the end of O nata lux de lumine (ex. 5.5). The superius sings F♯′ to
Example 5.5 Tallis: O nata lux de lumine, mm. 13–17

complete a modal cadence to G′; simultaneously, the tenor descends to D through F♮ and E♭. The
resulting harmonic clash highlights the quite plausible voice leading of each part and their metric
disparity, the superius’s 6/4 conflicting with the tenor’s 3/2.
Audivi vocem de coelo is another important, if somewhat problematic. liturgical
motet by Tallis. Edmund H. Fellowes identified this text as the eighth respond at Matins
on All Saint’s Day in the Sarum Rite.19 The Historical Anthology of Music, however, called
the text a Responsory for any “Feast of Multiple Virgins.”20 Fellowes’s failure to include the
plainsong portion of the work only made matters worse. While Apel and Davison provided
the chant, they failed to account for the liturgical source of the word Audivi. Paul Fugler gives
the text as:
Responsory: Audivi (vocem de coelo venientem: venite omnes virginis sapientis-

sime; oleum recondite in vasis vestris dum sponsus advenit.)
Verse: Media nocte clamor factus est: ecce sponsus venit.
Respond: . . . oleum recondite in vasis vestris dum sponsus advenit.21
The text is a conflation of two biblical quotations—the opening word (Audivi/”I heard a voice
from heaven” Rev 14:2) and portions of the parable of the wise and foolish virgins(Matt 25:1–13).
Fugler has also noted that three of Tallis’s nine surviving responds for four voices—
Audivi, Hodie nobis, and In pace, in idipsum—provide polyphony for the sections of the chant
originally sung by soloists.22 But Tallis did not set these solo chants for reduced forces as
Taverner had done nor did he locate the cantus firmus in a single voice, preferring to use it imi-
tatively. The chant-based themes Tallis used for Audivi vocem reveal the influence of the “re–la”
fifth of Dorian mode (ex. 5.6).
Example 5.6 Tallis: Audivi media nocte
Tallis’s setting of texts from Lamentations is generally acknowledged to be his mas-

terpiece. Written late in his life, when these texts no longer had liturgical utility,23 the work’s
very existence has fueled speculation that Tallis composed these for the Catholic sympathiz-
ers known as recusants. The expressive yet economic style and elaborate settings of the
Hebrew letters of the original text’s acrostic do nothing to dissuade this supposition (ex.
5.7).24 These settings—similar to the artistic illumination of capital letters in manuscripts—
are surpassed only by the refrain: Jerusalem! Jerusalem, convertere ad Dominum Deum tuum!
(“Jerusalem! Jerusalem, return to the Lord, your God!” [Hos 14:1]); here Tallis’s setting rises
to heights of rhetorical expressivity that surpass his other music. The passage’s power lies in
Tallis’s transposed repetition of text and music a fourth lower, lending both gravitas and emo-
tion to these words.
Example 5.7 Tallis: Lamentations of Jeremiah, I, mm. 36–39
William Byrd
According to contemporary accounts, William Byrd (1543–1623) was “bred up to music under
Tallis.”25 Regardless of whether or not Byrd was Tallis’s student, their relationship derived
from their service at the Chapel Royal and the exclusive patent to print music in England they
received from Queen Elizabeth I in 1575.26 One of Byrd’s contemporaries lauded him as “the
most celebrated musician and organist of the English nation.”27
Figure 5.1 Title page, tenor part, Tallis and Byrd’s Cantiones, quae ab argumento sacrae vocantur, 1575
Byrd’s compositional output surpassed Tallis’s in size and historical import, perhaps
because the open “secret” of his Catholicism spared him from persecution and the midlife sty-
listic change that Tallis underwent. Remaining faithful to Rome also allowed Byrd to produce a
large, important body of Latin sacred music found in the following publications:
1575 Cantiones sacrae (with Tallis)

1585 Cantiones sacrae à 5
1589 Cantiones sacrae à 5 and à 6
1605 Gradualia I
1607 Gradualia II
Both Tallis and Byrd contributed seventeen compositions to the 1575 Cantiones, a num-
ber that perhaps alludes to its publication in the seventeenth year of Elizabeth’s reign.28 John
Harley has suggested that the modalities of Byrd’s contributions, while creating a separate for-
mal layer, were designed to dovetail with the modes of the older composer’s motets.29 The first
three motets in G Dorian (cantus mollis) are followed by trios of pieces in G Mixolydian (cantus
durus) and F Lydian, while the two final groups use Aeolian and Ionian mode (the latter featur-
ing three different finals).
Byrd’s first composition, Emendemus in melius / Adiuva nos Deus, sets the Roman
response for the first Sunday in Lent, the same liturgical occasion as Tallis’s expressive motet,
In ieiunio. Byrd’s motet employs high clefs (G2, C2, C3, C4, F3) and a signature of two flats that
mixes G Dorian (one flat) and twice-transposed Aeolian mode (two flats). Byrd eschewed coun-
terpoint here, relying on expressive chordal harmony as seen in e xample 5.8. From the opening
G chord, Byrd moves to E♭ and then B♭. Instead of outlining the modal final and reciting tones
(G, D, and B♭) in a melody suitable for imitation, Byrd makes these tones the pitch centers of his
first three cadences (in major!). Such chordal texture and syllabic declamation emphasizes the
importance of these particular cadential pitches.
Example 5.8 Byrd: Emendemus in melius, mm. 1–4
All of the cadences (save one to C that opens the secunda pars) involve the principal
modal pitches (G–D–B♭) in a hierarchy (four to G, five to D, two to B♭) consistent with traditional
modal practice. Contrapuntal cadences to other pitches occur within phrases, but Byrd uses
Table 5.2 Byrd, Emendemus in melius, cadences

Measure Cadence pitch Cadence Type
4 G Half cadence (IV–I)
8–9 D V–I (4–3 suspension)
14–15 B♭ V–I (4–3 unornamented)
18 D Half cadence (I–V)
21–22 G Half cadence (IV–I)
24 D V–I (4–3 unornamented)
26–27 B♭ V–I (4–3 unornamented)
31–32 D Half cadence (I–V)
34–35 G Half cadence (IV–I)
42–43 C V–I (ornamented 4–3)
51–52 D V–I (unornamented 4–3)
58–59 G V–I (unornamented)
harmonic cadences to confirm his chosen modality. Somewhat surprisingly, the only “perfect”
cadence to the modal final is reserved for the motet’s conclusion; all the other cadences to G are
plagal, reached via a C-minor chord. Although the motet’s final cadence is to G harmonically,
modally it is a Phrygian cadence to D.30 More striking still are the number of instances (6) in
which Byrd followsd the cadence chord with one that creates a cross relation to it. The boldest
of these occur at the beginning of the secunda pars; Byrd follows the G-major chord that ends
part 1 with two major chords (E♭ and C) producing the aforementioned cross relations (ex. 5.9).
The countertenor’s scalar ascent (B♭ to E♮) highlights the tritone contained within the opening
chords (E♭, C major).
Example 5.9 Byrd: Emendemus in melius, mm. 35–37
The second and third volumes of Cantiones sacrae contain a total of thirty-seven
motets (sixteen in Book 1 and twenty-one in Book 2).31 Byrd scored the motets of Book 1 (1589)
for five voices, while Book 2 (1591) included eight motets for six voices. John Harley notes
that there is no necessary link between date of publication and date of composition. At least
eight of the motets published in 1591 date from the same period (1577–82) as the older layer of
Book 1, with roughly equal numbers of each book (seven in Book 1, eight in Book 2) composed
between 1582 and 1589.32
By restricting Book 1 to five-voice motets, Byrd eliminates the possibility of ordering the
print according to texture; instead, he uses modal finals (irrespective of clef scheme) to create
formal structure (table 5.3).
Table 5.3 Byrd, Cantiones sacrae I (1589)

Motet No. Title System Final
1. Deficit in dolore No Signature A
2. Domine praestolamur — A
3. O Domine adjuva me — A
4. Tristititia et anxietas — A
5. Memento Domine One flat A
6. Vide Domine afflictionem One flat D
7. Deus venerunt gentes One flat D
8. Domine tu jurasti — A
9. Vigilate One flat D
10. In resurrectione tua One flat A
11. Aspice Domine de sede One flat D
Respice, Domine One flat F
12. Ne irascaris Domine One flat F
13. O quam gloriosum One flat F
14. Tribulationes civitatum Two Flats G
15. Domine secundum multitudinem — C
16. Laetentur coeli One flat F
The first eleven motets end on either D or A, the final and reciting tone of Dorian mode; the
conclusion of the secunda pars of the eleventh motet initiates a series of three motets that end
on the other significant pitch of that mode, F.
Byrd’s choice of texts in the first nine motets emphasize themes (God as protector of
his people, fear and anxiety, captivity and adversity, and lamentation for the loss of Jerusalem)
sure to resonate within the persecuted Catholic recusant community. Only the motets for Easter,
All Saints, and Advent 1 (nos. 10, 13, and 16) have texts that transcend that gloomy mood.
Ne irascaris/Civitas sancti tui (no. 12) represents the musical aspects of the entire col-
lection. The text of its two partes comes from Isaiah 64:9–10. Philip Brett believed that H. B.
Collins, writing in 1913, already understood the significance of this motet’s text within the col-
lection as a whole:
From the point of view of Byrd’s attitude towards the old Church, it
[Civitas sancti tui] may be looked upon as a counterpart to Tallis’s Lamentations.
In fact, several of the Cantiones Sacrae appear to contain allusions to events of
which Byrd had been a witness . . . and the whole work is remarkable for the
sombre character of the words chosen.33
Byrd uses range—superius (C′–D′′); medius (F–G′); contratenor (C–F′); tenor (B♭–E♭′), and bass
(F–B♭)—more than mode (F Hypolydian) to create the gravitas appropriate for the text. Ne iras-
caris, Domine (152 mm.) is conspicuously longer than Emendemus in melius (59 mm.) mainly
because of its antiphony, imitation, and frequent word repetition. The opening text phrase
alone is sung three times—by low voices (contratenor, tenor, and bass), then high (superius,
medius, contratenor), and finally by all five voices (ex. 5.10). The first two settings are identical
melodically with only slight variations in their accompanying voices. Byrd retains this approach
throughout the prima pars (mm. 1–74), but opens the secunda pars with irregularly spaced imita-
tive entries.34 His settings (ex. 5.11) of the text Sion deserta facta est (mm. 106–10, 111–15) return to
the mood of Emendemus in melius as well as provide harmonies similar to the end of the prima
pars (Ecce, respice).
Example 5.10 Byrd: Ne irascaris, mm. 1–7
Example 5.11 Byrd: Ne irascaris, mm. 106–110
Book 2 of the Cantiones sacrae (1591) confirms that Byrd’s predilection for imitation and
thematically related texts is not unique to Book 1. Also similar to Book 1 is Byrd’s organization
of modal finals according to the circle of fifths (table 5.4). He also takes pains to create tonal
relationships between motets, the opening notes of Afflicti pro peccatis recalling the B♭ center of
Infelix ergo despite being cast in G Mixolydian in cantus durus (which requires B♮). While gener-
ally somber, gone is the persistent gloom that permeates Book 1, as the opening motet’s para-
phrase of Psalm 150 makes clear. The collection’s signature work is its last, the Easter motet,
Haec dies quam fecit Dominus.
(A) Haec dies quam fecit Dominus; (B) exultemus et laetemur in ea. (C) Alleluya.
“This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. Alleluia.”
Each portion of the text becomes a separate musical section.
A B C
mm.1–22 mm. 23–42 mm. 43–80
Table 5.4 Byrd, Cantiones sacrae II (1591)

Motet No. Title System Final
1. Laudibus in sanctis No signature C
2. Quis est homo One flat F
3. Fac cum servo tuo One flat F
4. Salve Regina — A
5. Tribulatio proxima est — A
6. Domine exaudi — A
7. Apparebit in finem — A
8. Haec dicit Dominus One flat D
9. Circumdederunt me — D
10. Levemus corda Two flats G
11. Recordare Domine Two flats G
12. Exsurge Domine Two flats G
13. Miserere mei, Deus Two flats G
14. Descendit de coelis One flat D
15. Domine non sum dignus One flat D
16. Infelix ego Two flats Bb
17. Afflicti pro peccatis — G
18. Cantate Domino Two flats G
19. Cunctis diebus Two flats G
20. Domine salva nos — C
21. Haec Dies One flat F
The motet’s first two sections are roughly the same size; taken together, they match the length
of the “Alleluia” (C). Byrd uses the traditional tactus alla breve in sections A and C, reserv-
ing triple meter for the joyous texts of B. Haec dies is one of only three motets in Book II
that employs triple proportion, a change of mensuration notated with two signs stacked one
upon the other—C with a dot and 3. In his preface to volume 3 of the Byrd Edition, Philip
Brett asserts that this conjunction of duple and triple mensuration surely was interpreted as
“proportio sesquialtera,” the two half-notes of duple meter are equal to three half-notes of the
triple. If proportio tripla is used, the setting of “et laetemur” wouldbe excessively fast (ex. 5.12).35
Once again, Byrd juxtaposes different combinations of the six voices to create antipho-
nal effects. In example 5-12 Exultemus is sung first by the four upper voices in (B♭), followed
immediately by a transposed repetition on F, which combines the superius with the three
lowest voices.
mm. 23–24 Superius = mm. 25–26 Tenor
Medius = Superius
Contratenor = Sextus
Tenor = Bass
Example 5.12 Byrd: Haec Dies, mm. 22–27
Another stylistic parallel between the two books of Cantiones is Byrd’s repetition of
small motivic modules at difference pitch levels with different voicings. The lengthy setting of
Alleluia (mm. 43–80) is built on different groupings of three voices, one presenting a cantus
firmus–like theme accompanied by the other voices singing in thirds (ex. 5.13). While not the
composition most representative of this publication, Byrd’s setting of this portion of an Easter
gradual brings this impressive series of motets to a rousing conclusion.
Byrd’s better known Latin motets are found in the two volumes of music known
as the Gradualia.36 Published in 1605 and 1607, these books provide a total of eighty-four
(Book I, thirty-eight; Book II, forty-six) Latin motets for Catholic recusants to sing in pri-
vate worship. The dedication of the Gradualia to Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton,
and John, Lord Petre of Writtle, two of Byrd’s more ardent Catholic patrons, confirms this
purpose. Byrd arranged both volumes according to number of voices, although the quanti-
ties and pattern differ. The thirty-eight motets of Book 1 divide into seven five-voice motets,
twenty motets for four voices, and eleven motets for three voices. In Book 2, Byrd reverses
this pattern, arranging the print according to increasing numbers of voices—à 4 (motets
1–19), à 5 (motets 20–37), and à 6 (motets 38–46). Indices in the manuscript version indicat-
ing an overall liturgical plan were either deleted after the failed Gunpowder Plot of 1605 or
simply misunderstood by the printer. Byrd, however, alludes to his intentions in the preface
to Book 1:
The Offices for the whole year which are appropriate to the principal feasts
of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of All Saints are set out for your use, together
with some other songs for five voices with their words drawn from the fount
of sacred writings. Here too is the Office for the feast day of Corpus Christi,
together with the more solemn antiphons of the same Blessed Virgin and
other similar songs for four voices, and also all the hymns composed in praise
of the Virgin.37
Example 5.13 Byrd: Haec Dies, mm. 42–49
Here, Byrd describes a collection of pieces that, if combined in various ways, provides poly-
phonic settings of the Propers of the Mass for the complete liturgical year. Full realization of
these latent possibilities did not occur until such twentieth-century scholars as James Jackman,
Joseph Kerman, and Philip Brett deduced Byrd’s scheme.38 For example, the thirty-two à 5
motets of Book I set texts Proper for Marian Masses on the Feast of the Purification [1–5] and
Nativity of the Virgin (6–11), Advent (12–15), Christmas (16–19), the Annunciation (20–22), the
Assumption (23–28), and All Saints (29–32). The first eight motets à 4 all are usable for Corpus
Christi, but the remaining twelve are miscellaneous Marian texts suitable for numerous occa-
sions. Similarly varied are the three-voice motets, which even include Byrd’s setting of the St.
John Passion.
The most familiar motet in either book is Ave verum corpus (Gradualia I, 37), one
of the antiphons and hymns for Corpus Christi. This motet signals a change from music
intended for public worship (requiring the presence of a priest) to music for private devotion,
a function confirmed by Byrd’s choice of homophonic texture and a lack of word repetition.39
The popularity of Ave verum corpus may have sprung from the proximity between its modality
(Aeolian on G) and modern tonality (G minor).40 Byrd dramatically underscores his belief in
the Roman Catholic doctrine of Transubstantiation (“Hail, true body”) by contradicting that
modality with successive major triads on D and F, the latter chord setting the first syllable
of verum (“true”). To compensate for the work’s necessary brevity, Byrd creates the illusion of
polyphony (ex. 5.14).
Example 5.14 Byrd: Ave verum corpus, mm. 45–50
In Book 2, Byrd’s intended use of the motets is clearer; in addition to ordering

them by increasing number of voices, they are arranged to provide polyphonic settings of
the Mass Propers for a series of liturgical occasions (table 5.5). The final five-voice motet
and “Mass Proper” is Non vos relinquam orphanos (Gradualia II, 37). Byrd presents the
motet’s text (“I will not leave you comfortless”) in thirty-five measures; its absence from
the Anglican liturgy provides further proof of Byrd’s staunch Catholicism. While the first
two phrases (minus their alleluias) appear (in English) in the Book of Common Prayer’s
Gospel for Pentecost (Jn 14:15–31), it is only in the Liber Usualis that these are combined
with the concluding text (Jn 16:22).41 To achieve the wonted brevity, Byrd combines these
texts in the cantus primus (highest part or canto), accompanied by pre-imitations of the
concluding alleluia, the melody of which reflects the species of G Dorian mode (ex. 5.15).
Table 5.5 Byrd, Gradualia II
à4
Mass of the Nativity (12/25) 1–9
Mass of the Epiphany (1/6) 10–15
Music for Corpus Christi and
Mass of the Blessed Sacrament 16–18
Hymn for Ascension 19
à5
Mass for Easter Day 20–24
Mass of the Ascension 25–30
Mass of Pentecost 31–37
à6
Feast of SS Peter and Paul 38–44
Miscellaneous motets 45–46
The other important theme is the appropriately effusive melody used to set the concluding
alleluia (ex. 5.16).
Example 5.15 Byrd: Non vos relinquam, mm. 1–4
Example 5.16 Byrd: Non vos relinquam, mm. 25–28
Prior to the publication of the Gradualia, Byrd had published Masses scored for three,
four, and five voices respectively. To conceal his identity, they were published without title pages,
suggesting a small print-run for circulation among fellow Catholic sympathizers. The only obvi-
ous means of unification found (so far) in all three is the presence of a head motto, seen most
prominently in the Mass for Five Voices. Peter Clulow has shown that Byrd’s regular printer
(Thomas East) issued the Masses in the following order and approximate chronology:
Mass for Four Voices 1592–93

Mass for Three Voices 1593–94
Mass for Five Voices 1594–9542
At this point in English history, Latin Masses had not been composed for many years.
The absence of models or even the assurance of familiarity with the Latin words among sing-
ers made Byrd’s task even more daunting. Philip Brett suggests that the Mass for Four Voices
is modeled on John Taverner’s Meane Mass.43 Concerning this possible relationship, John
Harley states:
The choice of Taverner’s Mass cannot have been casual. It was not only a direct
link with pre-Reformation tradition, it had long ago served as a model for Masses
by Tye, Shepherd and Tallis, all of which Byrd is likely to have know and perhaps
sung in his youth. And it had the virtue, for Byrd’s purpose, of brevity.44
Byrd’s debt to Taverner is explicit in the Sanctus of the Mass for Four Voices; like Taverner’s
Sanctus, Byrd’s opens with imitation in sets of paired voices (exx. 5.17a and b). Less obvious is
Example 5.17 (a) Taverner: Meane Mass, Sanctus, mm. 1–6
(b) Byrd: Mass for Four Voices, Sanctus, mm. 1–8

Byrd’s use of multiple sections differentiated by changes in scoring, meter, and the like. And
again, Byrd’s adaptation of Tavener’s scheme depends less on metric or textural change than on
the fluid connection of one “point” to the next.
Other English Composers of Latin Church Music

A direct product of Byrd’s influence is Thomas Morley (1557–1603), known more today for his
secular music and the treatise A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musick (1597) than for
his sacred compositions. Morley served several London churches, including the old St. Paul’s
Cathedral, as organist prior to his 1592 appointment to the Chapel Royal. His output of Latin
motets was slight, the most well known being an Agnus Dei, one of five examples to appear in
his treatise.
After Byrd, the most talented Catholic composers are Richard Deering (d. 1630) and
Peter Philips (ca.1560–ca.1633), both of whom fled England for the safety of the Continent; ini-
tially Deering and Philips resided in Italy, from whence they sent back music written in what
Henry Peacham called the “Italian veine.”45 Both eventually settled in Brussels where four vol-
umes of Cantiones sacrae by Deering and two by Philips (à 5 in 1612, and à 8 in 1613) appeared in
print under the aegis of Pierre Phalese of Antwerp.46
Music for the Anglican Church

The church created in response to Henry VIII’s break with Rome in 1534 initially lacked a
clear sense of liturgical and musical direction. Starting from Roman Catholic roots, the English
church became increasingly Protestant during the reigns of Edward VI and (after the Catholic
interregnum under Mary Tudor) Elizabeth I. The publication of the the English Bible (1539),
the famous edict of Archbishop Cranmer (“for every syllable, one note,” 1548), and his produc-
tion of the Book of Common Prayer (1549), all marked pivotal points in the evolution of the new
Anglican liturgy. Its music took two primary forms—services and anthems. The former were
musical settings of the canticles for Morning Prayer or Matins (a conflation of Matins and
Lauds) and Evening Prayer or Evensong (Vespers/Compline). Separately, these constituted the
Morning and Evening services; when combined with the Kyrie, Credo, Sanctus, and Gloria of
the Communion they formed a “Great” service.47
Composers adopted one of two forms, the “Short Service” (akin to the Catholic missa
brevis) or the “Full Service.” The former featured homophonic texture with little or no text
repetition; its musical variety came from a uniquely English antiphony, involving the two
separate yet equal choirs typically found in contemporary English collegiate churches and
cathedrals. Their names—decani and cantoris—referred to the choirs’ location in the church.
The decani group sat on the southern side of the choir (the side of the deacon, or the Epistle
side), while the cantoris ensemble sat directly across from them on the cantor’s (or pre-
centor’s, Gospel side) side.48 The first service to exploit this division was Thomas Tallis’s
“Dorian” service (see ex. 5.18).
Example 5.18 Tallis: O Come, let us sing unto the Lord (Venite), mm. 35–45
Figure 5.2 Queen Elizabeth I, ca. 1588

Table 5.6 The Anglican Services

Morning Prayer Evening Prayer
Venite (Ps 95) Magnificat (or Cantate Domino [Ps 98])
Te Deum (or Benedicite) Nunc Dimittis (or Deus Misereatur [Ps 67])
Benedictus Dominus Deus Israel (or Jubilate Deo [Ps 100])
William Byrd composed four services, the second of which (the Short Service) was,
according to Watkins Shaw, “the finest short service not only of this period, but of all time.”49
Two of Byrd’s three remaining services contain only the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis, but the
fourth, the Great Service, is Byrd’s largest composition of any kind and is “great” both textur-
ally and musically. Composed for two five-part choirs a cappella, the Great Service occupies
nearly one hundred pages of volume 2 of Tudor Church Music.50 Unlike Tallis and others, Byrd
often overlapped the decani and cantoris, often producing eight “real” parts. Such enhanced
sonorities allowed Byrd to create a kaleidoscopic array of sound (especially in the Te Deum).
Scholarly opinion tends to view this service more as an anthology than as a liturgical whole.51
However it may have been used, the contrapuntal mastery Byrd was able to marshal when
brevity was not a concern is “great” indeed. The concluding words of the Magnificat, “world
without end, Amen,” summon forth music that shows how comfortably Byrd donned the cloak
of Anglicanism.
The early seventeenth century brought a new cohesiveness within the Anglican Church
and a consequent increase in the production of both service music and anthems. English
anthems like Thomas Tallis’s If ye love me and Hear the voice and prayer, Christopher Tye’s I will
exalt Thee, Richard Farrant’s Hide not thou thy face, and the popular anonymous anthem Lord, for
thy tender mercies sake are products of the earliest generation of the Reformation. Even William
Byrd produced English anthems; some were contrafacts of earlier Latin motets (e.g., Ne irascaris
/ Civitas sancti tui becomes O Lord, turn thy wrath and Bow thine ear, O Lord), while others with
English texts like Sing Joyfully were new compositions.
But the real treasures of the Anglican Church were produced by Thomas Tompkins
(1573–1656), Thomas Weelkes (1576–1623), and Orlando Gibbons (1583–1625), composers
who, for the first time, were “not concerned with the Latin rite.”52 Although Gibbons wrote
only two services, the one known as “Gibbons in F” remains in use to the present day.
Conversely, Weelkes and Tompkins produced seventeen services, all of which emphasized
the distinction between “verse” and “full.” Anthems were roughly the English equivalent of
the Continental motet. In the 1662 revision of the Book of Common Prayer, use of the anthem
was specifically indicated by the rubric “In Quires and places where they sing, here followeth
the anthem.”
Orlando Gibbons
Orlando Gibbons, the first acknowledged master of the Anglican anthem, composed
eight full anthems and fifteen verse anthems, all of which drew their texts from the Bible
or from the Book of Common Prayer (table 5.7). Eight anthems (seven verse and one full)
were “occasional,” that is, written for a specific occasion, which helps establish their
chronology (table 5.8).53
Figure 5.3 Orlando Gibbons
Full anthems are most clearly linked to England’s musical past as this opinion from
Charles Burney makes clear:
though the purists, on account of the confusion arising from all the parts sing-
ing different words at the same time, pronounce the style, in which the full
anthems are composed, to be vicious; yet the lovers of fugue, ingenious con-
trivance and rich, simple, and pleasing harmony, must regard them as admi-
rable productions, alla Palestrina, a style in which Tallis and Bird [sic] acquired
so much renown.54
Two of Gibbons’s full anthems are still performed today. Though simple in scoring and dimen-
sion, Almighty and everlasting God is a masterpiece by any reckoning, each vocal line graceful to
sing, the counterpoint elegantly wrought, and the expression of the text sincere and heartfelt.
Totally different in style is Hosanna to the Son of David for six voices. Some manuscript sources
posit solo performance for parts of the anthem.55 Conversely, Peter Le Huray and John Harley
classify the work as a full anthem.56 The text is associated with the Palm Sunday liturgy, conflat-
ing three parallel Gospel accounts of Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem into a single text.
The first sentence is from Matthew 21:9; the remainder most closely resembles that of
Luke 19:38 (it being the only source for the phrase “Peace in heaven.”). Of the three, only Mark’s
account (Mk 11:9–10) contains the construction “blessed be the king(dom).”
Table 5.7 Anthems of Orlando Gibbons
Full Anthems
Almighty and everlasting God à 4 Collect for Epiphany 3
Deliver us, O Lord à 5 Ps 106:47–48
Hosanna to the Son of David à 7 Mt 21:9, Mk 11:10, Lk 19:38
I am the resurrection à 5 Jn 11:25–26 (Burial Service)
Lift up your heads à 6 Ps 24:7–8, 10
O clap your hands à 8 Ps 47
O Lord, in Thee is all my trust à 5 Sternhold and Hopkins Psalter
O Lord in the wrath à 6 Ps 6:1–4
Verse Anthems
Almighty God, who by thy Son Collect for Feast of St. Peter
Behold, I bring you good tidings Lk 2:10–11, 14
Behold, thou hast made my days Ps 39:6–8, 13–15
Blessed are all they that fear the Lord Ps 128:1–4
Glorious and Powerful God Consecration of a Church (1664)
Grant, O Holy Trinity Anon.
Great King of Gods H. R. Bramley
If ye be risen again with Christ Col 3:1–4
Lord, grant grace Collect for All Saints
O thou the central orb H. R. Bramley
O God, the king of glory Collect for Sunday after Ascension
See, see the word is incarnate Dr. Godfrey Goodman
Sing unto the Lord Ps 30:4–10
This is the record of John Jn 1:19–23
We praise thee, O Father Based on collects of Easter season
Table 5.8 Occasional anthems by Gibbons

Anthem Title Occasion of Composition Date
This is the record of John “This anthem was made for Dr Laud presedent of 1611 or after
Sant John’s, Oxford”
Blessed are all they that “A Weddinge Anthem first made for my lord of December,
fear the Lord Summersett” 1613
See, see the word is “The words were made by Dr. Goodman, Dean of before 1616
incarnate Rochester (Cathedral)”
Sing unto the Lord “Psalme 30: Anthem of 5 voc: was made for Doc(tor) 1615 (or later?)
Marshall”
Great King of Gods “This anthem was made for ye kings being in 1617
Scottland”
Behold, thou hast made my “This anthem was made at the entretie of Doctor 1618
days “Maxcie the same day sennight before his death.”
O all true faithful hearts “A thanks Giving for the Kings happie recoverie April 1619
from a great dangerous sicknes.”
O clap your hands “Dr. Hether’s Commencem(ent). Song sett by Mr. 1622?
Orlando Gibbons.
Table 5.9 Gibbons—Hosanna to the Son of David, Form

Section Text Length (in breves)
1 Hosanna to the Son of David. 22
2. Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord. 20
3. Blessed be the king of Israel; Blessed be the Kingdom, 33
Blessed be the King that cometh in the name of the Lord
4. Peace in Heav’n and glory in the highest places. 27
5. Hosanna in the highest heavens! 33
Gibbons chose to use six voices (in high clefs) and Ionian mode (C). Labeled differently
in the various sources, the six voices divide into four treble and two lower parts. The sources
are similarly split on the use of decani–cantoris antiphony in some (or all) voices. Untransposed,
the voices form three pairs of similar range: Medius 1/2: C′–C′′–Contratenor 1/2: G–G′– Tenor
1/2: C–C′. After seven measures, the second “tenor” becomes a true bass part, a distribution that
remains until to the reprise of the opening material. In the edition published in Tudor Church
Music, bar lines are inconsistently placed; after the third measure, Gibbons changed the content
of his measures from four breves to three, remaining thus for the rest of the anthem.57 The
clearest notion of musical form resides in Gibbons’s linkage of specific texts and motives; based
on this reading, the anthem has five principal sections.
The first twenty-two breves of section 5 repeat section 1. Amid a largely word-driven
imitative setting, the antiphonal homophonic setting of “Peace in heaven” is most distinctive
(ex. 5.19). Despite changes of text and motive, the remainder of the anthem remains unvaried;
the similarity of Gibbons’s themes work both to create a sense of unity and to obscure any
musical form.
Example 5.19 Gibbons: Hosanna to the Son of David, mm. 35–39
According to Watkins Shaw, early twentieth-century critics regarded Gibbons’s verse

anthems as inferior to his full anthems: “There used to be a tendency to give faint praise to
verse anthems of this period in general, and Gibbons’ in particular, as ‘pioneer work.’”58 In the
second half of the century, though, Gibbons’s verse anthems emerged as perhaps his greatest
achievements. Although others composed verse anthems, Gibbons was the genre’s first true
champion; had he not died so young, Gibbons’s visionary status would doubtless have been
more firmly established.
Despite its popularity, the verse anthem This is the record of John, is atypical due to its
narrative text and single vocal soloist.59 The textual layout clearly shows alternation between
the solo verse and the full choir sections. Despite the full ensemble’s repetition of all the
text of section 2 and the conclusion of section 3, Gibbons avoids repetition of the complete
text or exact music used by the verse. The verse portions require instrumental accompani-
ment (viols and/or keyboard). Harley points to organ parts (contained in separate books) for
all (or nearly so) of the complete verse anthems, concluding that although the organ parts
must closely follow the voice parts in the full sections, they need not be simple reductions
of them.60 Other sources, most notably Christ Church MS Mus. 21, raise the possible use of
instruments other than the organ. These sources contain parts without text that substantially
agree with the anthem’s extant organ accompaniment. Ultimately, the question becomes
one of ecclesiastical propriety—was it possible to use instruments instead of the organ to
accompany sacred choral music? Harley and others think not.61 Watkins Shaw believed the
existence of viol parts for ten of Gibbons’s verse anthems reflected “an exceptional resource
available in the Chapel Royal.”62 In her study of Christ Church MSS Mus. 56–60, Kathryn
Smith notes: “Concerning the verse anthem, which achieved such widespread popularity
during the Jacobean era, the accompaniment during services was provided by an organ.” But
Smith goes on to elucidate the central issue of this controversy:
Thus, when discussing this genre, it is extremely important to remember one

fact: in general, only cathedrals and collegiate establishments owned organs.
In other words, the ordinary parish church had no resources with which to
perform this popular form of anthem. Certainly this fact provided special
incentive for clergy and parish church members—who were also amateur
musicians—to perform verse anthems at home.63
All sources agree that verse anthems performed in church—the unique situation of the Chapel
Royal aside—had organ accompaniment. Some cathedral records exist documenting the use
of viols, but these were typically restricted to pedagogical and dramatic (the sixteenth-century
choirboy plays) usage.
Another source of confusion was the similarity between verse anthems and the con-
sort songs of Byrd, Gibbons, and others that definitely used viols. John Harley notes:
Although there is no solid evidence to support the conjecture, there is little

difficulty in believing that some of Gibbons’ verse anthems were composed, or
may from time to time have been arranged, as consort songs with choruses.64
One has but to listen to Gibbons’s consort music to hear the similarity between this instru-
mental idiom and the verse portions of anthems. In the case of This is the record of John, the
principal difference between the verse and full sections is not simply the number of voices but
the distinct changes of texture.
Kathryn Smith points out that Christ Church MSS 56–60 contains only one anthem
by Gibbons—See, see the Word is incarnate. Unlike This is the record of John, the full chorus of
this anthem never repeats words sung by the soloists. In the successive verses of the poem by
Godfrey Goodman, dean of Rochester Cathedral, Gibbons increases the vocal complement of
the preceding verse by one voice (save for the final one, which reverts to the single-voice format
of the beginning). Given the poetic text, which Smith describes as “an impressionistic descrip-
tion of the life of Christ . . . in miniature form,” and the assumption of domestic use, the work’s
persistent five-part texture seemingly requires viols.65
This brief explication of two of Gibbons’s verse anthems demonstrates the impossibil-
ity of generalizing “normative” procedures for such a diverse repertory. John Harley summa-
rizes this varied body of music:
The verse style allowed Gibbons the freedom to use a large number of com-
positional elements, and to do so in ways which he found most congenial.
It further permitted him to vary and combine these elements into patterns
which were never repeated. In consequence, Gibbons’s verse anthems display
the full scope of his musical imagination and the technical skills which give
it form.66
Tomkins and Weelkes

Of these two anthem composers, the more prolific is Thomas Tompkins. According to Denis
Stevens, Tomkins went to London in the mid-1590s in order to study with William Byrd.67 This
status is confirmed by his dedication of the song “Too much I once lamented” to his “ancient
and much reverenced master, William Byrd.”68 By 1596 he had joined the staff of Worcester
Cathedral, subsequently contributing a madrigal to Morley’s The Triumphs of Oriana (1601). In
1621 he joined the Chapel Royal—the body of chaplains, musicians, and singers responsible for
the spiritual welfare of the royal household. He held both positions until his death. Tompkins’s
sacred music appeared in the posthumous print, Musica Deo Sacra et Ecclesia Anglicanae: or
Music dedicated to the Honour and Service of God, and to the Use of Cathedral and other Churches of
England, especially of the Chapel of King Charles the First. This anthology of services and anthems,
published in 1668, contained five services, five psalm tunes, the Preces, two proper psalms, and
ninety-four anthems.
Tomkins’s anthems divide into the traditional types, full and verse, the latter called
“songs to the organ” (supporting the use of organ accompaniment for performance in church).
In the main, texts were taken from the Psalms, including such metrical paraphrases as Thomas
Sternhold and John Hopkins’s My Shepherd is the living Lord.69 The scoring of the full anthems
ranged from three male voices to twelve voices. According to Stevens, the finest are the fif-
teen anthems scored for five voices, a group that included the laments When David heard that
Absalom was slain and Then David mourned (ex. 5.20). The conclusion of When David heard
exhibits little of the plangent harmony that has made this remarkable anthem famous, but it
does demonstrate Tompkins’s ability to balance contrapuntal rigor with the vertically oriented
harmony of the nascent English Baroque.70
Example 5.20 Tomkins: When David heard, mm. 64–70
The first appearance of Thomas Weelkes in the documentary record is the publica-
tion of his First Book of Madrigals in 1597. The following year, he took the post of organist at
Winchester Cathedral. Like Tomkins, Weelkes earned his B.Mus. degree at Oxford (1602); by
1608 he referred to himself as a “Gentleman of the Chapel Royal” (although definitive evidence
for his claim is lacking). Unlike Tomkins, Weelkes’s cathedral service was short, marred by
reprimands for drunkenness and “bad language,” and a scandal that led to his dismissal by
the bishop in 1617, followed by his untimely death in 1623. Since virtually all of his church
music was published posthumously, establishing its chronology is difficult indeed. The major-
ity of Weelkes’s completed anthems are of the verse type, but, like Tomkins, Weelkes is more
esteemed for his full anthems.71 Of these, his laments on the deaths of Absalom and Jonathan
are sterling examples of the successful application of madrigalistic word expression to sacred
texts. Another full anthem of note is Hosanna to the Son of David, which David Brown describes
as “one of the most sonorous and powerful pieces in the English repertory.”72
Conclusion
The principal event in the history of English Renaissance sacred music was Henry VIII’s forcible
repression of the Catholic Church and the rich heritage, both musical and otherwise, associated
with it. Composers like Thomas Tallis and Christopher Tye had to assume a completely new
musical persona, giving up the melismatically complex Latin music of their forebears in favor of
syllabic settings of English texts. While Peter Philips and Richard Deering fled England rather
than abandon their faith, others, but most notably Byrd, survived by making some degree of
accommodation with the new faith, continuing to practice Catholicism in private. Indeed, Byrd’s
religious persuasion was one of worst kept secrets of the day, but he managed to avoid persecu-
tion by virtue of royal favor and talent. By the end of Elizabeth’s reign, the Church of England
was a fait accompli. Thus, the next generation of composers steadfastly turned their attention to
meeting the new liturgical needs it presented, each striking his own personal balance between
the full and verse styles. At the end of this era there lurked a Civil War and another complete (if
temporary) change of national faith. The execution of Charles I in 1649 ushered in the radical
Puritan regimen of the Commonwealth, during which neither monarchy nor figural church
music had any place. Indeed, it was under the reign of Oliver Cromwell that the most significant
destruction of organs and elimination of “popish practices” reached their height. The end of
Cromwell’s Commonwealth and the restitution of the monarchy in 1660 found English compos-
ers in even more dire straits than under Henry VIII, who, for all his faults, at least managed to
keep a viable musical establishment in place to continue the development of English music.
The English Reformation: A Timeline

1509: Henry VIII is crowned king; he marries Catharine of Aragon, the
daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain.
1525: Henry seeks annulment of his marriage because Catharine has not
borne him a male heir.
1529: Henry divorces Catharine without the pope’s permission; he marries
Anne Boleyn, and declares himself head of the Church of England.
1532: Henry appoints Thomas Cranmer as archbishop of Canterbury.
Parliament passes the Act in Restraint of Appeals, prohibiting appeals
to the pope.
1534: Parliament passes the Act of Succession, requiring all to swear alle-
giance to Henry as head of the English Church. Henry’s prime min-
ister, Thomas More, refuses and is executed in 1535.
1536: Anne Boleyn (mother of the future Queen Elizabeth) executed; Henry
marries Jane Seymour (the mother of Henry’s successor, Edward VI).
Henry moves to destroy all monasteries and absorb Roman Catholic
assets.
1537: Edward VI born; Jane Seymour dies in childbirth.
1540: Henry marries, then divorces Anne of Cleaves; he executes Thomas
Cromwell, then marries Katharine Howard.
1541: Suppression of Roman Catholic Abbeys fully underway (most notably
Bury St. Edmunds, Glastonbury, St. Albans, and Waltham)
1543: Katherine Howard is executed; Henry marries Katharine Parr.
1544: Thomas Cranmer instructed to write an English prayer book.
1545: The Council of Trent opens.
1547: Henry dies and is succeeded by his nine-year-old son, Edward VI.
1548: Suppression of the chantries (injunction against the use of organs
and florid polyphony) begins in earnest.1548(?): Publication of the
Psalms in English Metre.
1549: Cranmer’s Book of Common Prayer introduced.
1550: Booke of Common Praier Noted by John Merbecke.

1553: Forty-two Articles drafted. Edward dies; the militant Roman Catholic
Mary Tudor ascends the throne and marries Philip II of Spain, incit-
ing the persecution of Protestants.
1558: Mary Tudor dies and is replaced by Elizabeth I, who announces toler-
ance of all Protestant sects.
1559: Ordination of Matthew Parker as archbishop of Canterbury; revision
of the Book of Common Prayer.
1570: Excommunication of Queen Elizabenth I by Pope Pius V.
6
Choral Music of the Italian Baroque

(1600–1725)
E ven if the precise beginning of the Baroque period is elusive, it is clear that Italian cul-
ture and composers form its source. The secunda prattica evolved from developments in
the Italian madrigal dating back to the middle of the sixteenth century. Though not a native
Italian, the prime mover in this innovation was Cypriano de Rore (1516–65), pupil of Adrian
Willaert. Rore and the composers who succeed him at San Marco—Andrea Gabrieli (ca.
1532–86), Annibale Padovano (1527–75), Claudio Merulo (1533–1604), Giovanni Gabrieli (ca.
1556–1612), and eventually Claudio Monteverdi (1564–1643)—established Venice as the premier
center of transition from Renaissance to Baroque.
In Venice the focus was clearly on church music, specifically on the integration of the
new techniques developed in the madrigal and, later, monody into the music of the church.
Church music already had a viable style, the prima prattica (or stile antico). Claude Palisca sum-
marized Mario Scacchi’s description of the stylistic options for church music near the middle
of the seventeenth century as: (1) traditional sacred choral music (Masses, motets, etc.) for four
to eight voices without organ; (2) the same types of pieces with organ continuo, sometimes
extended to multiple choirs; (3) similar compositions in concerto (i.e., multiple choirs with
instrumental participation), and (4) motets and concertos in the modern style. 1 A major feature
of the emerging style was its use of antiphonal choirs, a process grounded in the Venetian
157
Figure 6.1 Interior of the Basilica di San Marco, Venice
The Italian Baroque, 1600–1725 159
tradition of salmi spezzati (lit. “broken psalms”). This style first appeared in the Vesper psalms
of Adrian Willaert (pub. 1550). Unique neither to Venice nor Willaert, this polychoral psalmody
provided a texture well suited to the Baroque ideal of contrast. Baroque polychoral writing truly
began with Giovanni Gabrieli, especially in his publications Sacrae Symphoniae (1597 and 1615),
which revivify Willaert’s Cori spezzati. Willaert’s psalms (e.g., In convertendo, Ps 125) treated the
two choirs as separate ensembles, overlapping only at cadence points to preserve modal and
textural continuity.2
Gabrieli revamped his format by discarding the equality of Willaert’s choirs, creat-
ing a relationship best described by the term “concerto.” This term first appeared in the title
of a collection of music, Concerti . . . per voci et stromenti (1587), a joint publication of motets
for voices and instruments by Giovanni Gabrieli and his uncle, Andrea. Before this publica-
tion, the employment of instruments in church music was sporadic, limited to the practice
of doubling (or in some cases replacing) voice parts (colla parte). Since specific instruments
were not named, the parts they played were not significantly different from the voice parts
they doubled or replaced.3 Polychoral compositions began to be more than a simple multipli-
cation of the choral texture when they involved instruments that expanded the total available
range, both higher and lower. Progressive composers diversified the sound of the constituent
ensembles, lending credence to the notion that a “concerto” implied some sort of competi-
tion. 4 One way of creating this variety was to replace the traditional low and high clefs of
modal polyphony with mixed clefs. By the 1580s, the interchangeable use of instruments and
singers in multiple choirs was common for festive liturgical and social occasions. One such
event was the lavish wedding of Christine of Lorraine and the Grand Duke Ferdinand I in
Florence in 1589 (Fig. 6.1).5
Venice’s importance in the musical world was tied directly to its status as the primary
port linking Europe with the East, its near invulnerability to attack, and the resulting political
stability. Scholars long believed that the proliferation of polychoral compositions at San Marco
was due to its unique architecture, namely, the existence of two balconies (each with its own
organ) on either side of the nave. But the scholarship of the musicologist James H. Moore,
more recently articulated by David Bryant, has convincingly demonstrated that these balconies
were not the likely location of opposing choirs.6 The spatial separation of ensembles provided
an important element in the role of such works as components of the evolving notion of the
concerto. But, the unique acoustics of San Marco (a reverberation time of approximately four
seconds) made intricate polyphony impossible. To compensate for this lack of contrapuntal tex-
ture, composers begin to write homophonic music, predicated on contrasts of color, antiphonal
scoring, and close rhythmic interaction.
Giovanni Gabrieli and the Polyphonic Concerto

Most of these features are evident in Giovanni Gabrieli’s Sacrae Symphoniae (1597). Scored
for from six to sixteen voices, his works illustrate the expanded notions of motet composi-
tion. In a second (posthumous) collection (1615), Gabrieli reveals an even more revolutionary
approach to dissonance treatment, melodic design, text interpretation, rhythmic variety, and
increasingly specific designation of parts as either vocal or instrumental (with attending
idiomatic differences). The stylistic differences between these collections are apparent in
settings from both on a shared text—O Jesu mi dulcissime. The text, in the form of a litany,
Table 6.1 Gabrieli, O Jesu, mi dulcissime (1597, 1615), text divisions (1597)

I. mm. 1–34 (34) O Jesu . . . fulgentem.
II. mm. 34–47 (14) O mira . . . virgine Matre
III. mm. 48–73 (26) O divina . . . coelites.
(1615)
I. mm. 1–27 (27) O Jesu . . . jacentem
II. mm. 27–40 (14) O Christe . . . virgine Matre.
III. mm. 40–84 (45) O divina . . . coelites.
Table 6.2 Gabrieli, O Jesu, mi dulcissime, choral configurations

1597
Secundus chorus:
Cantus: c1 Altus:c2 Quintus: c3 Tenor: c4
Primus chorus:
Septimus: c3 Sextus: c4 Octavus: c4 Bassus: F4
1615
Cantus: c1 Septimus c1
Altus c3 Quintus c3
Tenor c4 Octavus c4
Bassus F4 Sextus F4
Basso per l’organo F4
is Proper for the Feast of Christmas. Both settings divide the text into three parts; com-
mon musical traits included mode (G Hypodorian), eight voices, and approximate length
(seventy-three vs. eighty-four mm.). Text division varies slightly due to different readings
of its structure or meaning (table 6.1). While both settings divide the eight voices into two
choirs, the arrangements vary markedly. In the earlier setting, Gabrieli creates “high” and
“low” choirs by using different clefs for each choir. This difference in the scoring is mislead-
ing in that the clef scheme used in the earlier version is more varied (hence, “modern”) than
the later version, which uses the standard low clef scheme (c 1, c3 , c 4 , F4; although seemingly
more conservative in terms of clef usage, the 1615 setting is by far the more advanced of the
two in terms of musical style (table 6.2).
The 1597 setting treats the text as Willaert had, the initial statement of each choir
barely overlapping the conclusion of its predecessor. After the second choir cadences in
m. 22, a rest in all voices signals the first tutti (O Christe, Rex piisime). This twelve-measure
tutti is followed by another corporate rest signaling the onset of a new section. This pat-
tern continues until m. 59, at which point the two choirs begin an animated sequential
exchange of the final text phrase ut veneremur coelites. This antiphonal exchange reveals
a common feature of seventeenth-century music: the tendency to begin rather leisurely
and gradually shorten the distance between entries until the choirs reach a tutti. New in
Gabrieli’s practice is the use of melodic and harmonic sequences to organize the progress
to a culminating tutti (ex. 6.1).
Example 6.1 Gabrieli: O Jesu mi dulcissime, 1597, mm. 60–64
Despite this final section, Gabrieli’s melodic and harmonic constructions still seem con-
trolled by modal conventions: the vocal ranges of the individual voices correspond to the plagal
(D–D) and authentic (G–G) octaves of G Hypodorian mode; cadences are made to the final (G) and
the two reciting tones (D and B♭) in the hierarchical fashion associated with Renaissance polyph-
ony; and the opening melody clearly lays out the species of the mode, G–D′ (sextus) answered
immediately by D′–G′ (in the septimus). In traversing the circle of fifths, Gabrieli occasionally
departs from the expected diatonic triads to create striking sonorities (ex. 6.2).

Manfred Bukofzer characterized the 1615 version as composed “in modern fashion
with contrast motives. The invocative gesture of the beginning contains rhythmic and melodic
tensions unknown to renaissance composers.”7 This opening melody (ex. 6.3) is a radical depar-
ture from the style of the 1597 composition. The imbalance in the rhythmicization of these
words is deliberately exaggerated, creating what many musicologists believe to be an essential
marker of Baroque style. The first word (“O”) occupies three-fourths of the “measure,” while
Jesu mi dulci is set to short, dotted rhythms crammed into the last beat of the measure. The
“contrast motives,” to which Bukofzer alludes, appear in the bass/tenor accompaniment to the
initial soprano statement of the original motive. After a re-voiced repetition, Gabrieli begins to
develop the adoro te cadence, using paired voices that create dissonances allowable only under
the mediating presence of the basso continuo. Despite more modern harmonies, the textural
disposition is like that found in the earlier version, with choir 2 entering only after the cadence
by choir 1 in mm. 15–16. The first tutti at O Christe, rex piissime (mm. 27–29) comes slightly later
and is more harmonic than the earlier setting.
The animated antiphonal dialogue, reserved for the conclusion of the 1597 motet,
begins directly after this first tutti. This extraordinary passage is easily overlooked because of
its brevity, and choir 2’s answer is obscured by the continuation of choir 1. The bass lines of
each choir are identical, choir 2 being a transposition of choir 1. The same relationship exists
between the altus of choir 1 and the superius of choir 2. While such antiphonal imitation
occurs in Palestrina (e.g., Tu es Petrus8), Gabrieli’s creation of a sequential progression involv-
ing both bass lines and the harmonies they produce is novel indeed (ex. 6.4).
Another interesting aspect of the 1615 version is the extensive use of triple meter
(mm. 67/3–88); passages like this in triple meter, using homophonic texture and setting the
word “alleluia” became a trademark of Gabrieli’s mature style. What is remarkable and novel
about the passage reproduced in example 6.5 is Gabrieli’s organized repetition of several dis-
tinct motives (labeled A, B, C, and D in the example); clearly, Gabrieli has a harmonic plan
(circle of fifths [mm. 63–67] and sequence [e.g., mm. 69–73]), but the plan operates at a local-
ized level that organizes the line but has no larger formal purpose. Gabrieli’s antiphonal treat-
ment of ut veneremur, superficially reminiscent of the earlier setting, gains a new motivic and
harmonic logic, as the bass line in example 6.5 shows.
Giovanni’s famous concerto à 15, In Ecclesiis, belongs to Scacchi’s third category, that of
concertos involving multiple choirs with instruments.9 The fifteen parts are arranged in three
different choirs. The first two are vocal—a favoriti ensemble of four solo voices and a larger
“cappella” for four voices.10 The third choir features six specific instruments (three cornetti, a
violin, and two trombones) making In Ecclesiis one of the first choral pieces in the literature to
contain specific and idiomatic instrumentation assigned by the composer.
Gabrieli uses the repeated alleluias (ex. 6.6) as a textual and musical ritornello. This
refrain creates a formal structure based on the vocal and instrumental textures; solo sections of
varying texture and duration are linked by the tutti presentations of alleluia (table 6.3).
Example 6.6 Gabrieli: In Ecclesiis, 1615, mm. 25–33
Table 6.3 Gabrieli, In Ecclesiis (1615), form

Formal Segment Scoring
Text “a” Soprano (Choir 1) + b.c.
(mm 1–10)
Refrain: Alleluia Soprano (Choir 1) +
(mm. 11–19) Choir 2 (SATB) + b.c.
Text “b” Tenor (Choir 1) + b.c.
mm. 20–42)
Refrain: Alleluia Tenor (Choir 1) +
(mm. 43–51) Choir 2 (SATB) + b.c.
Sinfonia Choir 3
(mm. 52–68) (3 cornetti, violino, 2 trombones) + b.c.
Text “c” Alto-Bass (Choir 1)
(mm. 69–113) + Choir 3 + b.c.
Refrain: Alleluia A/B (Choir 1) +
(mm. 114–22) Choir 2 + Choir 3 + b.c.
Text “d” Soprano/Tenor (Choir 1) + b.c.
(mm. 123–64)
Refrain: Alleluia S/T (Choir 1) +
(mm. 165–74) Choir 2 + Choir 3 + b.c.
Text “e” Choirs 1, 2, and 3
(mm. 175–99)
Refrain: Alleluia Choirs 1, 2, and 3
(mm. 200–216)
In typical seventeenth-century fashion, solo sections grow progressively longer and

more texturally complex. The first two are solos for the cantus and tenor accompanied by organ
continuo. After a brief Sinfonia (mm. 52–68), the instrumental choir becomes the accompani-
ment for a duet involving the other two voices (A/B) of choir 1. Duet texture is used for the follow-
ing text as well (D, mm. 123–45). In the ensuing refrain (mm. 165–74), Gabrieli alters his pattern
of including the preceding soloists in the refrain by adding instruments (even though they were
tacet in the preceding duet). Gabrieli builds this dramatic tutti by having the entire ensemble
sing the word Deus to the same third-relationship encountered in O Jesu, mi dulcissime (1615).
The addition of a choir comprised of specific instruments and the differentiated roles
of the two vocal choirs establish In Ecclesiis as a stylistic advance over both settings of O Jesu, mi
dulcissime. Another advance is the separation Gabrieli creates between the two vocal ensembles
in the closing section (mm. 175–99). Here, for the first time, is a concrete stylistic difference,
meaning that the virtuosity required of choir 1 presages the impact that the new monodic style
of singing will soon have on church music.
Monody
The rise of monody is traditionally associated with the Florentine Camerata, whose member-
ship included the rival singer/composers Jacopo Peri (1561–1633) and Giulio Caccini (1551–1618).
The foundations for this new style of singing arose from a gradual increase in the virtuosity of
Italian singers (ca. 1570), required by the popular practice of diminution applied to polyphonic
music by Girolamo Dalla Casa (d. 1601) and Giovanni Bassano (ca. 1558–1617?). The popularity
of such ornamentation paved the way for the virtuosic “Three Ladies of Ferrara”—Lucrezia
Bendidio, Tarquinia Molza, and Laura Peperara. Their composer of choice was Rore’s pupil,
Luzzasco Luzzaschi (1545–1607), who produced the collection Madrigali . . . per cantare et sonare
a 1, 2, e 3 soprani (Rome, 1601) expressly for them.
Another factor in the emergence of this new style was the demand for more vocal
entertainment at Italian courts. These court songs typically set madrigal texts or the strophic
formulae called arie, designed by Vincenzo Galilei (father of the astronomer).11 More important
than this simple music was the influence Galilei exerted on his fellow Camerata members Peri
and Caccini. The innovations produced in this forum ultimately led, around the turn of the
century, to recitative style, figured bass, and the rise of opera.
A more direct connection between monody and choral music was the tendency of
sacred monody to be improvised, soloistic performance of a polyphonic composition. A pioneer
in this genre was Ludovico Grossi da Viadana (ca. 1560–1627), whose Centi concerti ecclesi-
astici (1602) prompted Viadana’s contemporaries—Agostino Agazzari (1578–1640) in Rome,
Adriano Banchieri (1568–1634) in Bologna, and Giovanni Croce (ca. 1557–1609) in Venice—to
take up his innovative ideas. Their monodic experiments, in turn, eventually affected the tradi-
tional types of sacred polyphony, especially the polychoral psalms for Vespers they composed.
Croce’s Buccinate in neomenia tuba for double choir and continuo is a typical example.12 But the
true emergence of the sacred concerto had to wait for the music that Claudio Monteverdi and
Alessandro Grandi (1586–1630) produced for San Marco after Gabrieli’s death (1612).13
General histories contrast the relatively unified style of Renaissance music with
the stylistic diversification that accompanies the Italian Baroque.14 Typically, Baroque music
encompasses two practices (prima and secunda) and three styles (church, chamber, and the-
ater). The prima prattica is the persistence of the Palestrina style; the secunda prattica refers to
monody and its application to the genres of oratorio, cantata, and opera. Of these, only oratorio
figures significantly in the history of seventeenth-century Italian choral music.
Oratorio: Giacomo Carissimi (1605–74)

The oratorio was a product of the Catholic Counter-Reformation (1560–1648), specifically the work
of Filippo Neri (1515–95). Since antiquity the church had utilized drama to present biblical stories;
the Passion and miracle plays of the Middle Ages were designed to teach Bible stories in a nonli-
turgical environment. The Protestant Reformation prompted not only reform within the Catholic
Church itself—most notably in the Council of Trent of 1545–63—but also saw efforts to replenish
the church’s declining membership. Closely linked to this effort was Ignatius Loyola’s creation of
the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) in 1541. Dedicated to teaching and organized along pseudo-military
lines, the Jesuits were involved in colonizing the New World and, less auspiciously, the Spanish
Inquisition. Filippo Neri first met Ignatius Loyola in 1544; despite Loyola’s charisma, Neri decided
to remain in the secular world, organizing the “Brotherhood of the Little Oratory,” followed in 1548
by the Confraternity of the Most Holy Trinity. Neri joined the priesthood in 1551 and assembled a
group of laymen, later recognized as the Congregation of the Oratory (1575), who conducted lay ser-
vices (oratorio vespertino), which featured spiritual dialogues recited by young boys. In time, these
dialogues were set to music, becoming the earliest examples of the oratorio, the genre taking its
name from the prayer hall (oratorium) where these pieces were typically performed.
Among the earliest oratorios were Emilio de’ Cavalieri’s (ca. 1550–1602) allegorical
dialogue, Rappresentatione di Anima et di Corpo (1600), followed by similar pieces in Giovanni
Francesco Anerio’s (ca. 1567–1630) Teatro armonico spirituale di madrigali (Rome, 1619), oratorio
volgare intended for Italian audiences. Soon the use of Latin texts, replacing those in the ver-
nacular, marks a turning point in the oratorio’s development. The most important composer of
the Latin oratorio was Giacomo Carissimi (1605–74), who produced oratorios for performance
at the Arciconfraternita del Crocifisso founded in 1622.15
Manfred Bukofzer defines the oratorio as “a sacred, but nonliturgical dramatic com-
position in which a biblical subject is presented in the form of recitative, arioso, aria, ensemble,
and chorus, usually with the aid of a narrator or testo. According to Spagna, the outstanding
oratorio poet of the period, the presence of the testo formed the distinguishing characteristic
between opera and oratorio.”16 The prominence of the oratorio latino reflected the ability of
composers like Carissimi to adapt opera to a context devoid of the costumes, props, scenery,
and action that were an essential part of its appeal. Like radio in the first half of the twentieth
century, oratorio succeeded by appealing to the imagination of the audience as a kind of theater
of the mind.
Carissimi began his long tenure at the German College in Rome and as maestro di
cappella at the college’s church, Sant’ Apollonaire, in 1629. Howard Smither notes disagree-
ment regarding the actual number of oratorios that Carissimi composed, a controversy that
stems from confusion regarding what constitutes an oratorio as opposed to a dialogue or
motet.17 Depending on the criteria applied, the number of Carissimi’s oratorios ranges from
seven to thirty-three. The fact that Carissimi’s entire collection of music disappeared from the
German College in the early eighteenth century only fuels the controversy. The majority of
his oratorios—dependent on manuscripts compiled by English or French scribes including
Marc-Antoine Charpentier—further compound the confusion regarding terminology, leading
Smither to conclude that the eight works by Carissimi are indeed true oratorios: Baltazar,
Ezechia, Diluvium universale, Dives malus, Jephte, Jonas, Judicium extremum, and Judicium
Salomonis.
All eight works are based on biblical stories, contain narration and dialogues between
characters, last between fifteen and thirty minutes, and consist of a single structural part.18 To
these, one could reasonably add another five works—Abraham et Isaac, Duo ex discipulis, Job,
Martyres, and Vir frugi et pater familias—which, despite individual departures from the previ-
ous model, still are oratorio-like.
Jephte, already singled out by Athanasius Kircher in Musurgia universalis (Rome, 1650),
remains Carissimi’s best-known oratorio.19 Kircher’s account refers to Jephte as a “dialogue” and
consists mostly of a synopsis of the story itself. The identity of a librettist for all of Carissimi’s
oratorios remains unknown. The term “librettist” not only suggests connections to opera but
also points up a fundamental issue regarding oratorio texts—although based on biblical sto-
ries, none of the texts is entirely biblical. Had they been, they would have been classified as
historiae. Instead, Carissimi and his contemporaries use additional text in their oratorios to fill
in gaps in the biblical narrative with plausible detail.
The story of Jephte comes from the book of Judges 11:29–38. A comparison of the
oratorio’s text with that of the Vulgate Bible reveals that much of the biblical language has
been omitted. Since the remaining text could not maintain the narrative or generate sufficient
dramatic imagery, a librettist glossed the biblical story, providing Carissimi with a series of
self-sufficient, dramatically continuous scenes.
The story of the oratorio contains four scenes:
1. A battle scene depicting Jephte’s victory over the Ammonites

2. A celebration of the victory by Jephte’s daughter and her friends
3. The dialogue between Jephte and his daughter in which he reveals his vow to God
4. Jephte’s daughter laments her fate with her friends
The only scene that closely follows the biblical text is the third, the dramatic dialogue
between Jephte and his daughter. Examination of this scene deepens our understanding of
how the librettist was able to interweave the dialogue text as it appears in the Vulgate bible (bold
type in Table 6.4) with the newly created language that uses rhetorical devices to embellish
the original text. This intensely dramatic scene is largely biblical, requiring only changes of
third person to first person and the addition of plausible responses (e.g., the daughter’s ques-
tion: “Why (how) have I deceived you father and how am I deceived?”).
Carissimi carefully and deliberately employs the techniques associated with monody
to realize the scene’s pathos. First, he abruptly changes mode at the outset of this scene.20 The
two preceding scenes were in major keys (predominantly G and C).21 But scene 3 begins with an
A-minor chord and remains in that tonality (and in others closely related to it) for the remain-
der of the work.22 The dramatic confrontation also led Carissimi to adopt a more chromatically
inflected harmonic language, as seen in the scene’s opening recitative (ex. 6.7). Perhaps most
indicative of the new monodic style is Carissimi’s use of tritones and other previously forbidden
intervals (marked with closed brackets).
This music goes well beyond simply setting the text. In his composition treatise,
Tractatus compositionis augmentatus, ca. 1600, Christoph Bernhard called this the stylus
Table 6.4 Carissimi, Jephte, scene 3, text

Historicus: Cum vidisset Jephte, qui votum Domino voverat, filiam suam venientem in occursum, prae
dolore et lachrimis scidit vestimenta sua et ait:
Jephte: Heu, heu mihi! Filia mea, heu decepisti me, filia unigenita, et tu pariter, heu filia mea,
decepta es.
Filia: Cur ego te pater decepi et cur ego filia tua unigenita decepta sum?
Jephte: Aperui os meum ad Dominum ut quicumque primus de domo mea occurrerit mihi, offeram
illum Domino in holocaustum. Heu mihi, heu decepisti me, filia unigenita, et tu pariter, heu, filia
mea, decepta es.
Filia: Pater mi, si vovisti votum Domino reversus victor ab hostibus, ecce ego filia tua unigenita, offer
me in holocaustum victoriae tuae: hoc solum pater mi praesta filiae tuae unigenitae antequam
moriar.
Jephte: Quid poterit animam tuam, quid poterit te, moritura filia, consolari?
Filia: Dimitte me, ut duobus mensibus circum eam montes, et cum sodalibus meis plangam
virginitatem meam.
Jephte: Vade filia, vade, filia mea unigenita et plange virginitatem tuam.
Example 6.7 Carissimi: Jephte, Scene 3
luxurians communis. On one level, this luxuriant style was possible due only to the presence
of the basso continuo, which allowed the judicious use of the false intervals (the diminished
fourths in mm. 2–3 and the tritone for decepisti me) that Bernhard classified as saltus durius-
culus (a “somewhat harsh leap”); such sequential repetition in mm. 9–10 (known in rhetoric
as epizeuxis) is another monodic device that Carissimi appropriated to enhance the drama.23
The second scene is a small solo cantata for Jephte’s daughter and her friends
(sung by the other two sopranos). Aside from the opening narration, the text is entirely new.
Carissimi shapes his “cantata” by juxtaposing contrasting material in alternating meters
(C–3/2–C–3/2–C). The two sections in triple meter set the text Hymnus cantemus Domino as
a jubilant refrain. The sections in duple meter all center on G, feature Jephte’s daughter, and
use syllabic text declamation and sequential repetition to reinforce the syntactic similarity
of the text:
1. Incipite in tympanis Begin on the timbrels

et psallite in cymbalis. And sound the cymbals.
2. Laudemus regem coelitum, Let us praise the King of Heaven,
Laudemus belli principem, Let us praise the prince of war,
Qui filiorum Israel Who leads his people Israel
Victorem ducem redidit. To a great victory.
3. Cantate mecum Domino, Sing to the Lord with me,
Cantate omnis populi, Sing, all people,
Laudate belli principem, Praise the prince of war,
Qui nobis dedit gloriam Who gives us glory
Et Israel victoriam. And victory to Israel.
These eight-syllable lines illustrate another rhetorical device, anaphora, the repetition of simi-
lar syntactic constructions to intensify the emotional affect.24
2. Laudemus regem coelitum, Laudemus belli principem

3. Cantate mecum Domino, Cantate omnis populi
Each half of these lines begins with the same verb, followed by object clauses comprised of
a noun and an adjective. This textual similarity prompts Carissimi to use the same music to
create unity. The transposed repetition of the first phrase’s music for the second exemplifies
another rhetorical device, epizeuxis (see bracketed portions of ex. 6.8).
Example 6.8 Carissimi: Jephte, Scene 2
The prominence and variety of the choruses constitute a vital aspect of Carissimi’s
oratorio. Three of the four scenes in Jephte include at least one chorus. The opening scene
has two battle choruses and a closing lament for treble ensemble (SSA). The second scene
ends with an extensive chorus that extends and amplifies the music of the preceding solo.
Appropriately, the chorus is silent during the pivotal dialogue between Jephte and his
daughter. The final scene begins with an ensemble historicus narration (SSAB) and con-
cludes with the lament Plorate filii Israel. This expressive chorus illustrates what Athanasius
Kircher called the “mutation of the mode.” The modal mutation to which Kircher refers is
the striking change from the predominant G/C orientation of scenes 1 and 2 to A minor for
scenes 3 and 4. The final chorus recapitulates this large-scale harmonic design, beginning in
A minor, cadencing to E major in m. 19, and then returning to the C/G orbit of the oratorio’s
opening. The final chord is a G-major triad (the same tonality in which the work began),
but A minor remains a strong presence as late as ten measures from the end of the chorus.
Janet Beat raises important questions about the length and shape of this concluding chorus,
pointing out that at least four different versions of it appeared in print.25 She argues that the
version most frequently found in printed editions is incorrect in its inclusion of mm. 30–41.
If these are omitted the A-minor cadence in m. 18 becomes a harmonic “point of no return,”
as the following music remains solidly in G.
In the same article, Beat argues against using instrumental accompaniment beyond
organ continuo for the oratorio. However, I suggest that the work can, and perhaps should, be
performed by only six singers, since all of the oratorio’s music requires just the six basic sing-
ers—three sopranos, countertenor, tenor, and bass. Jephte is sung by the tenor, his daughter by
the first soprano, and the duets in scenes 2 and 4 by the other two sopranos. This disposition
also explains the disposition of the historicus, which, for the most part, is assigned to the alto
and the bass. This scheme preserves the identity of Jephte and his daughter, since they do not
participate in any of the narration. The “chorus” is then understood simply as the complete
vocal ensemble.26
Carissimi’s significant contemporaries in the oratorio genre included the brothers
Domenico and Virgilio Mazzochi, as well as Marco Marazzoli and Francesco Foggia. The next
generation of oratorio composers included Bernardo Pasquini (1637–1710) and Allessandro
Stradella (1639–82) in Rome; Giovanni Paolo Colonna (1637–95); Giacomo Antonio Perti
(1661–1756), Giovanni Bonocino (1670–1747), and Giovanni Battista Vitali (1632–92) in
Bologna; and Giovanni Legrenzi (1626–90), Antonio Caldara (1671–1736), Francesco
Gasparini (1661–1727), Antonio Lotti (1676–1740), and Antonio Vivaldi (1678–1741) in Venice.
By the end of the century, Naples had replaced Venice, and Alessandro Scarlatti (1660–1725)
had replaced Vivaldi and his colleagues as the dominant force in oratorio composition.
Claudio Monteverdi: Sacred Music

Although Monteverdi’s contemporary reputation as a leading figure of the Italian Baroque rests
more on his secular music (madrigals and operas) than on his sacred output. Nonetheless, his
employment was primarily as maestro di cappella, first in Mantua (1595–1613) and then in Venice
(1613–43) where he produced a sizable body of sacred choral music. These works appeared pri-
marily in a limited set of publications, which featured two types of compositions—Masses and
Vesper psalmody, the latter being much the larger category. Few musical works have generated
more controversy about the composer’s intentions, the “identity” of the work itself, or what
constitutes an informed (or authentic) performance of the piece than have the 1610 Vespers, far
and away the centerpiece of Monteverdi’s sacred music.27 In 1610 the Venetian printer Ricciardo
Amadino published Monteverdi’s first collection of sacred music. The title page indicates the
presence of a Mass for six voices, polyphonic music for Vespers, and assorted sacred songs
(sacri concenti).
Title page, Claudio Monteverdi’s First Collection of

Sacred Music
SANCTISSIMAE VIRGINI
[MISSA SENIS VOCIBUS]
Ac Vesperae pluribus decantandae
CUM NONNULLIS SACRIS CONCENTIBUS
Ad Sacella sive Principum Cubicula accommodate
The parody Mass is based on eight themes drawn from Gombert’s motet In illo tem-
pore loquente Jesus. Monteverdi’s dedication of the collection to Pope Paul V (whose coat of arms
appears on the title page), his trip to Rome in September of 1610 seeking admission to semi-
nary for his son, and the pope’s conservative musical tastes suggest that Monteverdi’s choice of
model and format was hardly coincidental.28 The remainder of the print contains the Vespers
music that has sparked so much scholarly debate.
The performance issues are numerous; they include Monteverdi’s understanding of
what constituted a Marian Vespers and the rationale behind his choice and ordering of the
texts. Vespers services for the Virgin Mary normally included:
1. The versicle/response Deus in adjutorium/Domine adjuvandum me

2. Five Psalms (each preceded and followed by its own proper antiphon):
a. Dixit Dominus (Ps 110)
b. Laudate pueri (Ps 113)
c. Laetatus sum (Ps 122)
d. Nisi Dominus (Ps 127)
e. Lauda Jerusalem (Ps 147)
3. A Marian Hymn (Ave maris stella)
4. The Magnificat (as both the “Song of Mary” and the Canticle designated for
Vespers), preceded and followed by its liturgically proper antiphon.29
Monteverdi provided all of these, plus a second setting of the Magnificat, five nonliturgical
pieces (the “nonnulis sacris concentibus”) plus an instrumental sonata. Monteverdi’s inclusion
of apparently nonessential liturgical compositions has prompted the greatest scholarly debate.
Far easier to explain is his inclusion of the second Magnificat setting, which, scored only for
organ and one fewer vocal part, made the publication more marketable and accessible. But it
is the presence of the five “sacri concenti” that has proved most contentious. Were these five
compositions really intended as part of the Vespers? If so, how does one explain their texts,
tonalities, and placements? If not, why did Monteverdi include them and place them between
the psalms?
The debate must begin with the translation of the title page of the collection. The prom-
inent placement given the Mass perhaps reflected Monteverdi’s attempt to impress the pope
by writing the so-called conservative church music. Conversely, the smaller type given to the
phrase Ac Vesperae . . . decantandae has caused one scholar to believe that Monteverdi accorded
more significance to the concerti than the psalms.30 Denis Stevens went so far as to omit these
works (as well as the second Magnificat) from his edition.31 Jeffrey Kurtzman interpreted the
phrase Ad Sacella sive Principum accommodata as referring to the possible performance of all the
print’s music—Mass, Vespers, and Concerti—in a variety of venues.32 This interpretation makes
viewing these sacred concerts as an assortment of pieces separate from the Vespers untenable.
Attempts to explain Monteverdi’s inclusion of the concerti have focused on their pos-
sible role as antiphon substitutes, raising the speculation that these concerti replaced the litur-
gically proper Gregorian antiphons typically associated with the performance of psalmody.
Attempts to view the Vespers as liturgical are also fraught with difficulties, not the least of
which is the lack of appropriate antiphons that correspond to the modes in which Monteverdi
sets the five psalms. Stephen Bonta argued that Monteverdi’s decision to set the psalms in
canto figurato (polyphonic song) in a given mode made finding suitable Gregorian melodies
essentially impossible.33 Bonta further suggested that all attempts to preserve modal unity be
abandoned and instead use instrumental compositions as antiphon substitutes, a practice sug-
gested by the contemporary Italian theorist Adriano Banchieri.34
This approach does nothing to resolve the issue of the sacri concerti. Their uncertain
role has led to an array of editions and recordings that present bewilderingly diverse answers to
the fundamental question: “What is the Monteverdi Vespers?” Jeffrey Kurtzman’s suggestion
that we take Monteverdi’s publication at face value but expand our notion of its possible venue
seems both practical and reasonable.
This notion suggests that Monteverdi might have been open to a variety of applica-
tions, versions, and venues for his music. While it is possible to perform these fourteen musical
items in their original sequence, it is also feasible to consider the omission of some items. The
two Magnificats offer the possibility of performance with or without obbligato instruments but
not a mandate to perform both. Monteverdi indicated that the ritornello in Dixit Dominus was
optional, a statement that could perhaps also apply to the ritornelli in Ave Maris Stella. Indeed,
a rubric in the tenor part-book contains the qualification, Sex vocibus & sex instrumentis, si
placet (“if you please”). The only movements for which the instruments are indispensable are
the opening versicle (the toccata from Monteverdi’s opera Orfeo (1607) with added chorus, the
Sonata sopra Sancta Maria and the seven-voice Magnificat. Alternatively, the interpretation of
“accommodata” might have meant the extraction of specific items to suit either liturgical or
devotional performance. This interpretation finds support in Monteverdi’s two later sacred
collections, the Selva Morale e Spirituale (1640) and Messa a Quattro Voci e Salmi (1650), both of
which provided Vespers music scored for a diverse variety of forces.
Leaving aside speculation about the liturgical intent of music written almost four hun-
dred years ago brings us to the one piece of empirical evidence that provides a stylistic com-
monplace—the use of Gregorian psalm tones. Monteverdi used psalm tones as the structural
basis of all five psalms and the Magnificat, while the hymn Ave maris stella uses its traditional
Gregorian melody (exx. 6.9a–f).
Example 6.9 Monteverdi: 1610 Vespers, Psalm Tones

(a) Ps. 110
(b) Ps. 113
(c) Ps. 122
(d) Ps. 127
(e) Ps.147
(f) Magnificat (transposed)
These melodic formulae permeate the movements in which they appear, providing
structural unity and the conservative stylistic foundation onto which Monteverdi can over-
lay modern musical effects. If the presence of the psalm tones is a constant, their manner of
deployment varies from psalm to psalm, showing Monteverdi’s versatility and refusal to be
limited to a single style. Indeed, there is no modal unity in the various tones used. The first
psalm, Dixit Dominus, affords an excellent example of how Monteverdi used the psalm-tone
structure as a formal template, which, once defined, is replicated throughout the entire
psalm. The text has ten verses (eight psalm verses plus the two of the Lesser Doxology)
parceled out in distinct units. After an imitative elaboration for the first verse, Monteverdi
initiates a pattern of alternating textures based on falsobordone and imitative melismatic
sequence (ex. 6.10).
Example 6.10 Monteverdi: 1610 Vespers, Dixit Dominus, mm. 44–52
For the third verse, the psalm tone becomes the bass line (first played, then sung), over which
he crafts an independent solo followed by an imitative duet version of it (ex. 6-11). He repeats
this pattern in toto for verses 4–5, 6–7 and a portion of verse 8.
Example 6.11 Monteverdi: 1610 Vespers, Dixit Dominus, mm. 32–39

Table 6.5 Monteverdi, 1610 Vespers, Dixit Dominus, formal template

mm. 23 24–37 38 39–45 46–52 53–60 61–68 69–75 76–84
Description FB1 M1 FB2 M2 Rit. PT 1a PT 1b PT. 2a PT 2b
Psalm 110, 110, 110, 110, None 110 110 110 110
Verse 2a 2a 2b 2b 3a 3a 3b 3b
Scoring SSATTB SSATTB SSATTB SSATTB Instr. S1, S1, S2, S2,
B S2, B S1,
B B
b.c. b.c. b.c. b.c. b.c. b.c. b.c. b.c. b.c.
Meter C 3/2 C C C C C C C
Tonal A minor A G G– A minor A-minor A-minor A minor-E A
center minor–C A minor minor-E
FB = Falsobordone
M = Melisma
Rit. = Ritornello (optional)
PT = Psalm Tone
To avoid monotony Monteverdi varies his scheme in the following ways:
1. In the third unit, the first imitative section is in 4/2 meter.

2. While all of the imitative sections are sequential, none use the same harmonic
scheme or melodic shape.
3. Monteverdi varies the scoring of the two psalm tone sections. The first is for
soprano soli, the next for tenor voices; the third includes the entire vocal texture.
Monteverdi dramatically breaks this pattern at the beginning of the Lesser Doxology (Gloria
Patri). Having concluded the psalm text with an A-major chord, Monteverdi begins the Gloria
Patri in the unexpected tonality of G minor. The psalm-tone statements in the Doxology
explain Monteverdi’s harmonic logic. The Gloria Patri contains two statements of the psalm
tone, the second a literal transposition of the first: G–(A–F)–D; D–(E–C)–A. In order to have
this repeated psalm-tone structure end on the modal final (A), Monteverdi had to begin on G,
a logic that reveals the influence of basso continuo practice.
Another controversy involves the conflict between the extant modal conventions and
Monteverdi’s use of the new techniques of the secunda prattica. Andrew Parrott argues that
the psalm Lauda Jerusalem and the Magnificat (either setting) should be transposed down-
ward, based on their use of high clefs, which contemporary theorists took as indicators of
downward transposition by fourth or fifth.35 The practical motive of such transposition was
to bring parts that were uncomfortably high (the soprano, tenor, and cornetti) into a more
comfortable register. As is sometimes the case in early music, transposition often solves one
problem only to create another. For example, the Magnificat is in G Dorian mode and its
psalm tone has the range of G–D′ (with an E♭′ inflection at the medial cadence). But in “Et
exultavit,” “Quia fecit,” “Fecit potentiam,” and “Sicut locutus est,” the cantus firmus appears
a fourth lower in the alto resulting in a rather carefully planned “tonal” scheme (table 6.6).
Following convention, Monteverdi consistently uses high clefs when the cantus fir-
mus is in the soprano or tenor, and low clefs when it appears in the alto. While Andrew Parrott
Table 6.6 Monteverdi, 1610 Vespers, Magnificat

Movement Cantus firmus voice Cantus firmus range Harmony
Magnificat Soprano b♭–d–g d–G
Et exultavit Alto f–a–d d–G
Quia respexit Tenor b♭–d–g d–G
Quia fecit Alto f–a–d g–D
Et misericordia Alto and f–a–d G
Soprano 1* b–d–g
Fecit potentiam Alto f–a–d g–D
Deposuit Tenor b♭–d–g d–G
Esurientes Soprano b♭–d–g g–G
Suscepit Israel Tenor b♭–d–g B♭–D
Sicut locutus est Alto f–a–d g–D
Gloria Patri Soprano b♭–d–g E♭–G
Sicut erat Soprano 1&2 b♭–d–g g–G
is undoubtedly correct about the downward transposition of music notated in high clefs, one
wonders if a similar transposition applies when low clefs are used. If so, Monteverdi’s differ-
entiation between natural and transposed mode and their differences of tonal color are funda-
mentally altered.
While the choral movements of the Vespers blend conservative (cantus firmus) and
progressive (idiomatic vocal/instrumental writing, continuo, ritornelli, etc.) trends, the sacri
concenti are wholly progressive. These pieces retain no pretense of modality, relying instead on
the Stile rappresentativo. Typical of this style is Monteverdi’s setting of Duo Seraphim (ex. 6.12).
Example 6.12 Monteverdi: 1610 Vespers, Duo Seraphim, mm. 5–8
Given the title, Monteverdi begins his setting with two tenors.36 The impact of basso continuo
is immediately clear as the two voices successively leap over one another to create expressive,
yet unprepared dissonances. In spite of this modernity, the principal harmonies—G and B♭—
conform to those expected for a composition in mode 2 (Hypodorian) on G.37
Another marker of this new style’s connection to the madrigal occurs in mm. 42–45
(ex. 6.13). The text Tres sunt testimonium dant in coelo prompts the addition of a third tenor; but,
as the text goes on to say, these three become one (unum sunt), a gesture Monteverdi duplicates,
then repeats a step higher (see arrows in ex. 6.13).38
Example 6.13 Monteverdi: 1610 Vespers, Duo Seraphim, mm. 42–45
As wonderful and important as the music of the Vespers is, it does not provide a complete
picture of Monteverdi’s sacred output. In 1613 he became maestro di cappella at San Marco, succeeding
Giovanni Gabrieli. His subsequent compositions reflect the grandeur of this establishment and the
virtuosity that was possible there. Both the Selva Morale e Spirituale (1640) and the posthumous Messa
a quattri voci e salmi (1650) consist primarily of Vespers music. In Selva morale, Monteverdi includes
more than one setting of the same psalm text (perhaps for the same reasons there are two settings of
the Magnificat in the 1610 Vespers). One of these pairs contains what is probably Monteverdi’s most
popular and frequently performed sacred work—Beatus vir primo à 6.39 This large-scale psalm set-
ting employs an SSATTB vocal ensemble, 2 violins, and basso continuo. The use of the term “vocal
ensemble” is deliberate: while often performed chorally, this piece, like a number of the madrigals
published in Book 8 (1638), admits performance by six solo voices. Certainly, the level of virtuosity
required in some places argues against a purely choral performance. Alternatively, a “concerted”
combination of solo and choral voices allows the best of both worlds.
Monteverdi divided the psalm text into sections based largely on meter and tonal cen-
ter: The external formal members are in duple meter and C major, while the large internal
section changes to triple meter and its relative minor. In the outer sections Monteverdi created
an internal structure by means of a ritornello, which consists of a diatonic vocal melody and a
virtuosic violin line both deployed over an ostinato bass line (exx. 6.14a–c).
Example 6.14 Monteverdi: Beatus vir à 6
(a) mm. 1–5
(b) mm. 9–13
(Continued)
(c) mm. 1–7
All of these musical elements first appeared in Monteverdi’s canzonet Chiome d’oro,
published in the Seventh Book of Madrigals (1619). While there is no textual link between the
canzonet and the psalm one may surmise that Monteverdi simply liked the tune and wanted
to make more of it than the original text or format had allowed. In the psalm’s middle sec-
tion, Monteverdi creates a contrasting design in A minor, triple meter, and most importantly
the vocal ritornello’s absence. Monteverdi does employ a different basso ostinato over which he
constructs a succession of varied duets. This dazzlingly varied composition can be reduced
to a simple ternary design in which variations over a repeated bass play a significant role
(exx. 6.15a–c).
The real measure of Monteverdi’s versatility becomes clear in the second setting
of the same psalm. Unlike Beatus vir primo, Beatus vir secundo is simply scored for five
voices (SATTB) and continuo. In place of the monodic approach and the mixture of vocal
and instrumental duets of the former, Monteverdi employs imitation, albeit based on
melodies no less modern than those of its sister work. Taken together, these very differ-
ent compositions show how Monteverdi integrated modern monody with more traditional
church music.
Example 6.15 Monteverdi: Beatus vir à 6
(a) mm. 62–66
(b) mm. 112–122

(c) mm. 176–187
Monteverdi and the Madrigal

Monteverdi’s historical significance resides in the eight books of madrigals published during his
lifetime.40 A defining moment in Monteverdi’s career was his squabble with Giovanni Battita Artusi
(ca. 1540–1613), the author of L’Artusi, overo Delle imperfettioni della moderna musica (1600). Claude
Palisca has written about music history’s indebtedness to Artusi for instigating this dialogue:
[H]‌e focused attention on one of the deepest crises in musical composition

and stimulated the composer who most squarely confronted it to clarify his
position. Without Claudio Monteverdi’s letter in the Fifth Book of Madrigals
and his brother’s glosses upon it in the Scherzi musicali (1607), Monteverdi’s
youthful creative thrust would have left a blunter mark in history. His stylistic
profile without Artusi’s criticism would be set less boldly in relief. 41
To some extent, the conflict between Artusi and Monteverdi was generational. Artusi
expected adherence to the compositional rules of Gioseffo Zarlino (1517–90), whose treatise
Instituzione armoniche (1558) established sixteenth-century taste. Despite the conservative tradition
provided by his teacher, the Palestrina pupil Marco Antonio Ingegneri (1535/6–92), Monteverdi
was unwilling to forego modern advances in compositional style (ornamented singing, concerted
instrumental music, and an evolving harmonic vocabulary). Their conflict centered on the issue
of dissonance treatment. Artusi expected dissonance to be introduced and resolved according to
the rules of counterpoint; he further insisted on modal unity within a composition. To him, the
modernisms found in Monteverdi’s fourth and fifth books were an assault on these cherished
principles. Compared to more radical composers of monody (with whom Artusi was evidently
unconcerned), Monteverdi’s early madrigal books were filled with contrapuntal, modal music. The
musicologist Nigel Fortune finds it ironic that Monteverdi, the framer and advocate of the secunda
prattica, avoided monody for so long:
Monteverdi, first of all, remained faithful to polyphonic madrigals. But even

before he adopted the basso continuo in his fifth book he tended more and
more to break up the traditional texture into smaller groups and to make the
movement more discontinuous; this process was hastened in his continuo
madrigals, in which he could also include contrasting solo sections; and in
his later years it developed so radically that publications such as the seventh
and ninth books of madrigals are packed with duets and trios that are really
no longer madrigals at all. 42
To Artusi, Monteverdi was all the more threatening because he operated within the
existing system, eventually dismantling it by redefining its fundamental principles. Artusi’s
main objections were the introduction of specific types of dissonance in Monteverdi’s madrigals:
1. Dissonance that arose from the application of ornamental notes to an essen-

tially consonant framework
2. Dissonance treatment imported from improvised counterpoint and instru-
mental music
3. Any other type of dissonance justified by the expressive demands of the text.
Figure 6.2 Claudio Monteverdi

Dissonances of the first two types had historical precedents that predated even Zarlino and
were already part of the musical literature by the late sixteenth century. The treatises of Della Casa
(1584), Zacconi (1596), and others had already applied virtuosic ornamentation to both motets and
madrigals, ornamentation that, given its improvisatory nature, tended to cause dissonance. More
significantly, neither of these types of dissonance necessarily arose from the text. Artusi’s omission
of the text in the examples he used indicated that text expression (for him) was an irrelevancy.
Monteverdi’s reply came in the form of letters from an anonymous source, identified
(by Artusi) as L’Ottuso Accademico. Whoever L’Ottuso was, he defined the nexus of the argu-
ment: “New affections call for new harmonic combinations to express them.” In another letter,
L’Ottuso amplified his position: “It is therefore true that the new progression of the parts (mod-
ulatione) makes a new consensus (concento) and a new affection.”43 Although the semantics of
this philosophical debate grew quite complicated, the bottom line was really simple: composers
don’t follow rules, they write the music from which theorists create the rules after the fact.
Examination of several madrigals by Monteverdi elucidates the debate. The first, Ecco
mormorar l’onde from Book 2, is of Torquato Tasso’s text by a traditional setting. Monteverdi
used the standard five-voice texture (SSATB) and Lydian mode (on F, cantus mollis), present-
ing the text images of the first three lines as different, contrapuntally compatible motives (ex.
6.16). Monteverdi groups the five voices into varied ensembles in which none of the voices sing
Example 6.16 Monteverdi: Ecco mormorar l’onde, mm. 1–12

the same words or music simultaneously. Consonance and modal unity abound, contrapuntal
cadences nearly exclusively made to the modal final (F). Nothing musical disturbs the tranquil-
ity of Tasso’s poetic landscape.
In Books 3 and (especially) 4, Monteverdi increasingly abandoned the poetry of
Tasso in favor of Gian Battista Guarini (1538–1612), this change of poet prompting a new
musical style. Modal unity and textural consistency were shunted aside by Monteverdi’s
attempts to realize every nuance of the f luid poetic imagery. Si ch’io vorrei morire from
Book 4 provides a classic example of the changes wrought in the madrigal by Guarini’s
sexually charged poem. From the perspective of musical form, this madrigal is excep-
tional, its identical opening and closing sections (exx. 6.17) comprised of three sequen-
tially settings of the same text and music. While these settings reflect the influence of basso
continuo, the madrigal is far more interesting. Beginning in m. 7, the voices declaim the text
Ahi, Cara e dolce lingua! as a series of imitative entries, the pitches of which, while diatonic,
create totally unprepared dissonances. Both passages illustrate that although Monteverdi
Example 6.17 Monteverdi: Si, ch’io vorrei morire, mm. 1–6
Example 6.18 Monteverdi: Si, ch’io vorrei morire, mm. 15–23

didn’t actually write a basso continuo part until the final six madrigals of Book 5, he had
already learned how it worked.
Another madrigal singled out by Artusi was O Mirtillo (Book 5). 44 All of the traditional
modal markers (high clefs, natural system [no B♭ signature], vocal ranges [D–D for S/T and
G–G for A/B]) seem to indicate mode 8, Hypomixolydian mode on G. 45 But the final chord is a
major triad on D, and, stranger still, the work opens with B♭ major triad (ex. 6.19).
Example 6.19 Monteverdi: O Mirtillo, mm. 1–5
Artusi’s complaints seem well founded; Monteverdi seemed to use traditional modal
parameters when they suited him but ignored them when they mattered most—at the begin-
ning and end of a composition. Monteverdi began by repeating the initial harmonic progression
(B♭–F6–C–F) transposed up a whole step (C–G6–D–G), in order to arrive at the final (g) in a
manner similar to the Gloria Patri of the 1610 Vespers’s first psalm (see the bracketed portions
of ex. 6.19). Specifically, Artusi complained that Monteverdi subjugated voice leading to har-
mony or, to put it differently, emphasized the vertical dimension at the expense of the linear.
With the publication of Book 6 nine years after Book 5, Monteverdi’s embrace of
monody was irreversible. In addition to two cycles—the famous Lagrimae and the Lamento
d’Arianna, Book 6 also contained a dialogue for seven voices that presaged the critical role that
concerted music would play in Book 7, whose title “no longer recognizes even the nominal dif-
ference between the madrigale a cappella and the madrigale concertato su l’istromento.”46 Books
6 through 8 presented a new, more modern vision of the madrigal that revealed no indebted-
ness to the texts, vocal textures, or styles of its predecessors. Monteverdi’s decision to replace
Guarini’s pastoral texts with those of Giovanni Battista Marino (1560–1625) whose poetry
“focused on shocking presentation rather than substance” confirmed this transformation. 47
Half of the madrigals in Book 6 used texts by Marino while none were by Guarini. 48 While
Marino’s poetry became less prominent in Books 7 and 8, his aesthetic influence dictated the
poems that Monteverdi did set. Gary Tomlinson states:
Monteverdi did not measure all these poems by the standards of Book IV.
He did not ask epigrammatic logic of Marino. And his experience of this
poet seems to have altered his reading of Guarini as well by 1619 [publication
year of Monteverdi’s Book 7]. Now Monteverdi was less attracted by Guarini’s
epigrammatic side and valued him more as a maker of images in Marino’s

fashion, a Marinist avant la lettre. 49
By abandoning the epigrammatic texts of Guarini, Monteverdi also abandoned the con-
nection between syntax and music that had dominated Books 3 to 5. By choosing only Marino
in which imagery was emancipated from syntax, Monteverdi was following the lead of younger
colleagues, Alessandro Grandi and Marc’ Antonio Negri (1609?–35). Grandi’s Madrigali concer-
tati a due, tre e quattro voci (Venice, 1615) probably served as a model for Monteverdi’s use of the
terms Concerto and Madrigali on the title page of Book 7. This influence produced a series of
two- and three-voiced madrigals with basso continuo. By accepting Marinist texts as his model,
Monteverdi freed himself from the Renaissance madrigal’s linkage of rhetorical gesture and
musical phrase.
This stylistic change is apparent in the opening of Tu dormi, one of only two four-voice
madrigals in Book 7. Although the poem’s author remains anonymous, the short, evocative text
phrases reflect Marino’s style. Notice the almost obsessive fascination with word play, as three
different forms of the word “sleep” (dormi, dormir, and dorm’) appear in the first sentence (exx.
6.20a and b). Monteverdi set the entire opening sentence without the bass voice, parceling out
its separate clauses to the upper three voices. Initially, each voice seems preoccupied with a
single text phrase and its melody. Only after the cadence to the final in m. 9 does Monteverdi
allow the voices to exchange their texts and melodies in imitative entries that traverse the circle
of fifths—soprano (a′–e′′), alto (d′–a′), and tenor (g–d′). The bass finally enters in m. 17, singing
the words Io piango to a chromatic ascending line imitated in the other voices; an even more
dramatic descent—consecutive thirds that cover an octave and a fourth—follows, a musical
Example 6.20 Monteverdi: Tu dormi
(a) mm. 1–6
(b) mm. 17–22

Table 6.7 Monteverdi, Madrigali Guerrieri et Amorosi (1638)

Madrigali Guerrieri Scoring/Genre Madrigali Amorosi
Altri canti d’Amor SSATTB + strings/ Altri Canti de Marte
Hor ch’el ciel e terra SSATTB + two violins
SSATTB + two violins Vago augeletto
Gira il nemico ATB + B.C. TT + B.C. Mentre vaga Angioletta

Si vittorio si belle TT + B.C. Ardo e scoprir
Armato il cor TT + B.C. O sio tranquillo il mar
Ogni amante et guerrieri TTB + B.C. Ninfa che scalza
Ardo avvampo à 8 + 2 violins

à5 Dolcissimo uscignolo
à5 Che vuol haver felice
Il Combattimento di Tancredi e In genere rappresentativo

Clorinda T,T,S, strings
S,T,T,B + B.C. Non havea Febo ancora

(Lamento della Ninfa)
ATB Perche te’n fuggi

AAB Non partir, ritrosetta
SSA Su, su, su, pastorelli vezzosi
(all with B.C.)
Ballo: Movete al mio bel suon le
In genere rappresentativo
piante snelle
à 5 + 2 violins
In genere rappresentativo Ballo delle Ingrate

SSB soli +
SSSA/TTTB +
strings
syntax as fragmented as the text it sets. Only the harmonic foundation provided by the basso
continuo made such a progression possible.
Discussions of Books 6 through 8 emphasize their symmetrical layout. Nowhere is
such symmetry clearer than in Book 8, the Madrigali Guerrieri et Amorosi (1638); the duality
contained in the collection’s title leads Monteverdi to create the same sequence of musical and
textual types in both parts.
1. Both parts open with sonnets—Altri canti di Marte by Marino and Altri Canti
d’Amor, an anonymous sonnet that imitates Marino’s poem. The two poem’s
titles reveal a textual “crossover”; the Madrigali Guerrieri begin with “Let others
sing of love,” the Madrigali Amorosi begin with “Let others sing of Mars” (the
Roman god of war).
2. Next come Petrarchan sonnets, set in a style reminiscent of the earlier madri-
gal books.50
3. Next in each part come four concertante pieces (predominantly duets) reminis-
cent of Book 7. Stylistically, these are the most progressive pieces in the collec-
tion (according to Stevens).51
4. The next pair of works—Ardo avvampo (Monteverdi’s only secular work for
eight voices) and the pair of Marino settings—Dolcissimo uscignolo and Che
vuol felice haver—are more retrospective in style.
5. Each book closes with two works in genere rappresentativo. The two found in the
Madrigali guerrieri are both datable—Il combattimento (1624) and Movete al mio
bel suon (ca. 1637–38). The Ballo delle Ingrate (1608) that concludes the amorous
madrigals is the oldest monodic work in the entire collection. It is preceded
by the beautiful Lamento della Ninfa (one of only four Rinuccini poems set by
Monteverdi) and three canzonettas in triple meter, which constitute Monteverdi’s
only departure from an otherwise scrupulously symmetrical structure.
This large and varied collection functioned, intentionally or not, as a summa of every-
thing Monteverdi knew about madrigal composition. The final book of madrigals contained
works composed over a period of thirty years—from the earliest, the Ballo delle Ingrate (1608),
to the year of publication (1638). Whether this synopsis was intended cannot be known, but its
documentation of the changes in Monteverdi’s madrigal composition cannot be denied.
Sacred Choral Music in Italy after Monteverdi

After Monteverdi’s death, music at San Marco and the other churches of Italy made few dra-
matic stylistic advances. This stasis is reflected by the decline in familiarity of the names of the
maestri di cappella who succeeded Monteverdi at San Marco (table 6.8).
Nearly all of those composers worked primarily in the genre of opera, a trend that
continued to marginalize the quality and significance of sacred choral music. Monteverdi’s
successors were all Venetians, Monteverdi being the last “outsider” to serve San Marco as
Table 6.8 Maestri di cappella at San Marco after Monteverdi

Francesco Rovetta 1644–68
Pier Francesco Cavalli 1668–76
Natale Monferrato ca. 1603–85
Giovanni Legrenzi 1685–90
Giovanni Battista Volpe 1690–91
Gian Domenico Partenio 1692–1701
Giovanni Biffi 1702–32
Antonio Lotti 1736–40
Antonio Pollarolo 1740–46
Giuseppe Saratelli 1747–62
maestro di cappella. This apparent preference for local composers may have reflected Venice’s
increasing independence from Rome, a conclusion supported by the Venetian indifference to
the Counter-Reformation and its tendency to remain true to the past, as this excerpt (ex. 6.21)
from a polychoral Vespers psalm by Francesco Cavalli (pub. 1675) suggests.
Example 6.21 Cavalli: Dixit Dominus, 1675, mm. 23–28
Venice was not, however, indifferent to the innovations of Neapolitan compos-

ers, accepting their application of a cantata-like format in which Mass Ordinary texts were
divided to create movements that allowed variations in texture, meter, and tonal center. On
the other hand, motets for one or more solo voices were not nearly as common in Venice as
elsewhere in Italy.
Of course, San Marco was not the only important musical venue at this time. Venice
was also famous for its four ospedali (orphanages/conservatories)—the Incurabilli, Mendicanti,
Dereletti, and Pietà—all of which maintained musical chapels. These institutions were, first
and foremost, orphanages, but they championed musical performance, employing some of
the same maestri who served the city’s main churches. Contrary to popular belief, these insti-
tutions served both genders and a variety of ages. Boys were generally temporary residents,
expected after puberty to leave for apprenticeships. For girls, their path to the outside world
had to be earned: they had to work to earn the dowry necessary to marry or even join a convent.
Membership in a musical organization was one of the more lucrative positions available to
them, explaining the ospedali’s emphasis on virtuosity. In that regard, Michael Talbot cites the
report of a visit to the Pietà in 1721 by J. C. Nemeitz:
Among them [the ospedali] the Pietà is probably the largest; in it about 900
girls,* all foundlings apart from those from poor families who are admitted
as boarders, receive food and lodging. These children, who, however, not all
foundlings but are sometimes the legitimate offspring of needy parents who
are too poor to raise them themselves and therefore secretly place them at
night time in the stone cavity on the wall of the hospital, are educated in the
abovementioned manner,† and it is a matter for wonder that many excel not
only in vocal music, but also in instrumental music, playing the violin, cello,
organ, theorbo and even the oboe and recorder in masterly fashion. Especially
renowned are the singers Apollonia and Geltruda, the organist Tonina, the
theorbist Prudenza, the oboist Susanna and the violinist Anna Maria, of
whom, on this very difficult and delicate instrument, few virtuosos of our sex
≠ are their equals.
* Some say more.
† When they reach adulthood and marry, each of them receives a dowry of
150 ducats.
≠ One of the singers of this hospital, with whom I was acquainted, did me
the favour, shortly before my departure from Venice, of arranging for the
addition, at the end of their ordinary music, of an extraordinarily beautiful
concert for 20 violins plus organ, cello and theorboes, all with just girls and
incomparably well performed, and Anna Maria showed in a remarkable way,
in her solo violin part, that she has not only a delicate but also a dextrous fist.52
Discussion of the ospedali provides a logical pretext for turning to the most famous composer
associated with these institutions, Antonio Vivaldi (1678–1741).
Vivaldi’s frequent travels prevented him from teaching at the Pietà, but he was com-
missioned to write two concertos per month for their orchestra. Between 1723 and 1729 pay
records indicate his composition of well over one hundred concertos for that institution.53
Vivaldi’s output of sacred choral music was large, preoccupied with four principal types of
music: Mass sections; Vesper psalmody (and related items), solo motets, and oratorios, making
him one of the era’s more prolific composers.
The first category would include the Gloria in D (RV 589), Vivaldi’s most popular
sacred composition. Similarities of key, instrumentation, and movement structure relate this
Gloria to another setting in D major (RV 588) that parodies one by Giovanni Maria Ruggieri.54
Of the two, Michael Talbot judges the well-known RV 589 to be the more mature.55 Table 6-9
illustrates an outline of the movements of Vivaldi’s Gloria. The work’s familiarity requires
some comment regarding the conflicting information found in various published editions.
Measures 38–48 of the second movement present unusual harmonies, leading some editors
to question the accuracy of the passage’s notation. Initially, the harmony is centered in the
movement’s tonic (B minor). By chromatically inflecting the tenor part’s “B” to “B-sharp”
in m. 44, Vivaldi turns the passage’s harmony from the dominant seventh of B in second
inversion (m. 43) to the V7 of C♯ minor (m. 44), the V of V in which key the passage closes.
According to Michael Talbot, Vivaldi indicated a substantial cut in the second move-
ment (mm. 36–72), which Talbot has retained in his critical edition.56 The accompaniment’s
succession of gradually smaller rhythmic values (quarters to eighths to sixteenths) illustrates
Vivaldi’s ingenious use of rhythm to animate an essentially simple harmony. The movement’s
primary motive features another chromatic inflection on the third syllable of Et in ter-ra pax.
Not only does Vivaldi create that quintessential harmony called the Neapolitan sixth, but he
also produces a scenario in which it combines with its imitation in another voice to produce a
most expressive dissonance.
Table 6.9 Vivaldi, Gloria in D (RV 589), form

Mvt. Text Key Meter/Tempo Scoring
1. Gloria in excelsis Deo D C, Allegro SATB,

Full
2. Et in terra pax B minor 3/4, Andante SATB,

Stgs.
3. Laudamus te G 2/4, Allegro S1, S2,

Bc.
4. Gratias agimus tibi E minor C, 2/2 Adagio Chorus,

Stgs.
5. Domine Deus, C 12/8, Largo S1, Ob, Bc.

Rex Coelestis
6. Domine Fili Unigenite F 3/4, Allegro SATB, Stgs.
7. Domine Deus, D minor C, Adagio A, SATB

Agnus Dei Stgs.
8. Qui tollis peccata mundi E minor C, Adagio SATB, Stgs.

2/2, Largo
9. Qui sedes ad dexteram B minor 3/8, Allegro S2, V1, V2,

Bc.
10. Quoniam tu solus sanctus D C, Allegro Same as 1
11. Cum sancto spiritu D 4/2, Allegro Same as 1
Example 6.22 Vivaldi: Gloria, RV 589, 6, mm. 9–17
The delightful chorus “Domine Fili unigenite” (No. 6) contains numerous
rhythmic discrepancies resulting from Vivaldi’s inconsistent notation of the stile francese
rhythm. The movement’s two countermotives illustrate the notational conflict between
the dotted-eighth–sixteenth rhythm of the alto and the eighth notes of the bass (ex. 6.22).
Talbot’s solution is to overdot the dotted-eighth–sixteenth-note figure consistently; alterna-

tively, one might change the bass’s rhythm to agree with the alto. The final pair of move-
ments forms an Italianate kind of prelude and fugue. The prelude, “Quoniam tu solus
sanctus,” is a “ruthless—perhaps too ruthless—compression” of the opening movement
(from 72 mm. to 23 mm.).57 “Cum sancto spiritu,” which parodies the same movement of
Figure 6.3 Perspective View of the Grand Canal with the Ospedale della Pietá, Venice,
engraving by A. Porzio and A. Della Via, 1686
Ruggieri’s setting (Anh. 23), functions as the fugue, a particularly good example of the
Italian double counterpoint encountered later in Handel, Mozart, and others.58 The only
significant change made by Vivaldi was the creation of a texted countersubject not found in
Ruggieri’s version and the use of different instrumentation.
Another famous, yet problematic work by Vivaldi is the Magnificat in G minor, which
exists in four versions (RV 610, 610a, 610b, and 611). The first two are the same composition
scored for one (RV 610a) and two (RV 610b) choirs; RV 610 is the work’s likely Urform, but RV
611 represents Vivaldi’s preferred version. It subdivides the text of the second movement of RV
610 to create three arias; Vivaldi also transposed, revoiced, and expanded the existing arias
(mvts. 6 and 8). RV 611’s performance at the Pietà includes the singer’s names in the principal
source (Turin, Giordano, 35, folios 89–112 [RV 610/610a] and folios 91v–96r as inserts contain-
ing the added music for RV 611).59
In addition to this Magnificat, Vivaldi composed approximately thirty Vespers
compositions—seventeen psalms, nine hymns or antiphons, and a setting of the opening
versicle—as well as twenty-two solo motets, most of which were intended as introduc-
tions for larger choral works. Nulla in mundo pax sincera (RV 630) is a virtuosic motet for
soprano (e′ to b′′) and strings cast in the mold of the traditional Neapolitan cantata: aria–
recitative–aria–recitative–aria. From the solo motets it is a small step to Vivaldi’s sole sur-
viving oratorio, Juditha triumphans devicta Holofernis barberie. Judging by the vocal and
instrumental virtuosity of Juditha triumphans, one may reasonably posit that the lost ora-
torios were also designed primarily as vehicles to show off the virtuosity of the female
musicians at the Pietà.
This fleeting reference to Vivaldi’s solo motets and oratorio provides a neat segue
to the next major figure in Italian Baroque music, Alessandro Scarlatti (1660–1725). Born in
Palermo, Scarlatti moved with his family to Rome where his musical training began in earnest.
Although forced to compose church music, Scarlatti’s true passion was opera and the chamber
Table 6.10 Vivaldi, Magnificat, comparison of RV 610/610a and RV611
Vivaldi-Magnificat (RV 610/610a), 2

56 mm. 4/4 B-flat
mm. voice key text
1-8 strings (ritornello) B-flat

8-17 S B-flat-F Et exulatvit Revised
RV 611
17-21 Strings (ritornello fragment) F
21-34 A F-d Quia respexit
34-9 strings (ritornello fragment) d-B-flat
39-51 T (ritornello fragment) B-flat Quia fecit
51-56 strings (ritornello) B-flat
2a. Et ex ultavit 2b. Quia respexit 2c. Quia fecit

S. B-flat 85 S. g 62 S. E-flat 58
cantatas that shared its devices of the recitative and aria. His repertory of motets is small and
remains largely unexplored due to the unavailability of modern scores. The choral specialist
Edward J. Dent records fifty-six extant motets, a number Paul Brandvik raises to seventy-two
based on his discovery of other motets in various Florentine and Bolognese manuscripts.60 In
both Mass and motet Scarlatti was a fluent practitioner of both the stile antico and the stile mod-
erno. Among the motets published under the somewhat unwieldy title Concerti sacri, motetti
a una, due, tre e quattro Voci con Violin e Salve Regina a quattro Voci e Violini, Opera secunda
(Amsterdam, 1707–8) is the Marian antiphon Salve Regina, mentioned in the title. The four
voices with violins and continuo that Scarlatti used to set the final composition of op. 2 rep-
resent what Fux described as the “stylus mixtus,” the use of both antique and modern styles
in the same composition. Scarlatti used the opening of the Marian antiphon as a cantus fir-
mus–like motive in both the violin ritornello and the vocal parts (exx. 6.23a and b). In addition
Example 6.23 Scarlatti: Salve Regina
(a) mm. 1–5
(b) mm. 30–38

to this archaic contrapuntal style, Scarlatti indulges in some rather extravagant text painting
(e.g., mm. 71–78) using chromaticism to paint the text in hac lachrimarum valle (“in this valley
of tears”).
History has shown that the formal design of the cantata da camera, generally attrib-
uted to Scarlatti, proved his most enduring legacy. Despite changes in harmonic and melodic
style over the remainder of the eighteenth century, this basic format proved crucial to the
choral music of composers from J. S. Bach to J. A. Hasse. Simultaneously, Scarlatti, Vivaldi,
and their contemporaries retained the stile antico as a viable, indeed desirable, mode of sacred
choral composition.
Conclusion
Innovation thrived early in the period of monody, with its emphasis on text interpretation,
basso continuo, and the development of new genres, forms, and modes of expression. Scholars
have differentiated the Baroque from the Renaissance by citing the increase in the number
of practices and styles. To the style of Palestrina (recognized from the seventeenth century
onward as the stile antico) Italian composers devised variants of the new monodic style that
were accommodated to an expanded number of venues in which musical performance could
take place—church, chamber, and theater. The newest venue was obviously the theater, and it
was its music—opera—that was destined to redefine musical style in church (da chiesa) and
chamber (da camera) as well. To the Masses and motets that dominated the Renaissance were
now added the oratorio (a sacred version of opera, minus its visual accoutrements) and a diverse
array of forms based on the opposition of diverse musical forces (the polychoral concerto, the
vocal concerto, and, ultimately, the expansion of the chamber cantata to include choral partici-
pation). Italy was the birthplace of the stylistic innovations that eventually spread throughout
Europe and England, and the first country to embrace the Italian stile moderno was Germany.
7
Choral Music in Germany from

Hassler to Buxtehude
M any general histories of music posit that the Baroque era in Germany resulted almost
entirely from Heinrich Schütz’s study with Giovanni Gabrieli (1609–12). In part, this
assumption takes 1600 as the beginning of the Baroque, a terminus ante quem questioned by
both Manfred Bukofzer and Claude Palisca.1 That Schütz’s Venetian residence was a watershed
event for the development of German music is unquestionable. Evidence exists, though, that
Italian music was already well known and available in Germany; indeed, would Landgrave
Moritz, of Hesse-Kassel, Schütz’s patron, have sent Schütz to Venice if he didn’t believe that
the music there was the most modern and magnificent music available? In fact, the true foun-
dation of German musical ascendancy began with the recruitment of Orlandus Lassus as
Kapellmeister to the Bavarian court in Munich in 1565.
Lassus: The Foundation of German Baroque Music

Friedrich Blume has characterized seventeenth-century Germany as the “Age of
Confessionalism.”2 The Edict of Worms (1521) promulgated the maxim cujus regio, ejus religio
(“whoever rules, his religion”), resulting in a nearly continuous flux of denominational alle-
giances that affected all aspects of German culture. Such changes of religious orientation
194
Germany from Hassler to Buxtehude 195
according to geography or political affiliation often determined the kind of music a com-
poser could write. Lassus was largely unaffected by this proscription, since, like Duke
Wilhelm, he was a Roman Catholic. Accordingly, the skills already gained composing Latin
motets, Masses, Magnificats, and other sacred works did not require significant adaptation.
To German Protestant composers, for whom choral music primarily involved the decoration
of a chorale melody, Lassus was a potent model, but these composers cared less about the
confessional focus of Lassus’s music than his ideas regarding the relationship of that music
to the text.
Lassus’s most notable pupils were Johannes Eccard (1553–1611) and Leonhard Lechner
(ca. 1550–1606). Even they crossed confessional lines—among Eccard’s most important com-
positions were his Geistliche Lieder auf den Choral oder gemeine Kirchenmelodei (1597), a col-
lection that occupied a “middle position between cantional setting and lied motet,” while
Lechner’s great cycles (Deutsche Sprüche über Leben und Tod and Das Hohelied Salomonis
[1606]) transcended any denominational allegiance.3 Of the two, Lechner is better known today
because more of his music survived intact and because he wrote the definitive motet-Passion
(Johannespassion, 1594). 4 The true measure of Lechner’s importance is revealed in Blume’s
observation that had Brahms known Lechner’s O Tod, du bist wie bitter Gallen, his appreciation
of early music would have been even greater.5
The reliance of the Protestant Kleinmeistern (composers referred to collectively as
“Lasso Nachfolger”) on Lassus as their model assured the popularity and dissemination of
his music in Germany.6 After the generation of Eccard and Lechner, the two most promi-
nent composers in Germany were Hans Leo Hassler (1564–1612) and Michael Praetorius
(1571–1621). They embodied both the confessional and geographical divide that was
Germany: Hassler was a Catholic, active in Augsburg where he served the wealthy Fugger
family; Praetorius was the arch-Lutheran Musicus; Hassler studied in Venice; Praetorius
knew Italian music only indirectly. Hassler was the German composer most informed by
recent Italian secular music. The Lied “Tanzen und springen,” which he himself labeled
a “Gagliarda,” unmistakably imitated the balletti of Giovanni Gastoldi with its fa-la-la
refrains and dance-like triple meter.7 While Hassler’s religious music included Protestant
works (e.g., his setting of Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott from Kirchengesenge, Psalmen und
Geistliche Lieder auff die Melodien fugweis componiert, 1607), the largest part of his output
was Latin motets, whose supple melodies betray an Italianate gracefulness, as seen in the
extract from Dixit Maria (ex. 7.1). 8
Conversely, Michael Schultheiss (latinized as Praetorius) was a devout Lutheran, human-
ist, musician, and teacher. His compulsive production of chorale settings for every imaginable
voicing and texture demonstrates an encyclopedic Teutonic thoroughness and an awareness of
styles, both old and new. This preoccupation is evident in such massive collections as Musae
Sioniae (1605–12), with its more than twelve hundred chorale settings; Urania (1613), which adapts
the polychoral style to the alternatimpraxis of hymn performance; and the elaborate, synthetic
chorale concertos of the Polyhymnia caduceatrix et panegyrica (1619). A composition from that col-
lection that epitomizes the flexibility of Praetorius’s approach is Puer natus in Bethlehem; here
Praetorius expands his own simple tricinium from Musae Sioniae by adding basso continuo, an
optional instrumental sinfonia, and a choral refrain (Singet, jubilieret, triumphieret unsers Herren)
composed in a style totally unrelated to the chorale melody.9 This “ritornello”—sung at the end of
each hymn verse—is followed at the end of both the concerto’s partes by an “aria” (i.e., homophonic
chorus), which combines the three original soloists, the four part “capella,” and the instruments.
Example 7.1 Hassler: Dixit Maria, mm. 1–10
Whether to align one’s self with either Hassler or Praetorius was, for many compos-
ers, mostly a matter of geographic proximity. Hassler’s best-known pupil was Melchior Franck
of Coburg (ca. 1579–1639), while Praetorius’s influence extended to the major Protestant courts
(notably Dresden, Halle, and Wolfenbüttel) whose musical roots extended back to Johann
Walther (1496–1570). The composers of the so-called Kassel School, the court Kapellmeister
Georg Otto (1550–1618) and his pupils Valentin Geuck (15772–1596), Christoph Cornet, and
Landgrave Moritz himself (1572–1632) were among the latter; Otto was connected to Walther
both by birth and training, having studied with Walther’s pupil Mattheus LeMaistre (ca. 1505–
77).10 The decisive factor for the court’s musical style was the Landgrave’s considerable famil-
iarity with and interest in contemporary music of foreign origin. Accordingly, the court library
at Kassel contained the largest collection of English secular music on the Continent in addition
to a body of contemporary Italian music that betrayed Landgrave Moritz’s knowledge of the lat-
est trends in Italian composition.11
Heinrich Schütz (1585–1672)

It was into the rich and active musical environment at Kassel that the young Heinrich Schütz
came as a treble singer and student at the Schola Mauritianum in 1599. Ten years later, Moritz
sent his new employee to Venice to study with the “great Gabrieli.” The Landgrave’s clear intent
was to have his promising young musician indoctrinated into the world of the polychoral con-
certo—that uniquely Venetian genre that offered the politically savvy Moritz the potential to have
one of the preeminent musical establishments in all of Germany. Schütz learned this style from
Gabrieli, but Moritz failed to benefit from his investment when the Elector of Saxony, Johann
Georg of Dresden “borrowed” Schütz in 1617. The only printed music that resulted directly from
Schütz’s Italian residence was the Libro Primo di Madrigali (Schütz-Werke-Verzeichnis [SWV]
Figure 7.1 Heinrich Schütz, ca. 1650
1–19; Venice, 1611), which he dedicated to Landgrave Moritz. Gabrieli required all of his for-
eign pupils (which, in addition to Schütz, included Mögens Pedersǿn (ca. 1583–1623?) and Hans
Nielsen (1580–1626), both from Denmark, and Johann Grabbe (1585–1655) from Germany) to
produce a book of madrigals rather than polychoral concertos in order to demonstrate what
he considered the essential ability of deriving music from the words. I believe, as did Richard
French, that these madrigals were among the most radical and seminal of Schütz’s works; they
succeeded in taking their musical essence entirely from the text—its form, meaning, syntax,
rhythm, and assonance.12 Example 7.2 a–c illustrate that the wedding of text and music in these
compositions is direct, intuitive, and inviolable.
Example 7.2 Schütz: O primavera, SWV 1

(a) mm. 1–10
(Continued)
(b) mm. 21–24
(c) mm. 41–43
This fundamental connection between word and sound is essential to understand

and perform any of Schütz’s music. The lessons learned composing Italian madrigals
imbued all of Schütz’s subsequent compositions: the closest direct analogy to the Italian
Madrigals, op. 1, is Schütz’s op. 4, the Cantiones sacrae of 1625 (SWV 53–93). These forty
Latin motets are sacred equivalents of the madrigal (a reverse contrafactum in which the
Italian madrigal turns into a Latin spiritual motet). The opening of Sicut Moses serpentem
in deserto exaltavit (SWV 68) depends upon precisely the same kind of music-text relation-
ship seen in O Primavera (ex. 7.3a). The obvious madrigalism of exaltavit aside, the words
themselves shaped Schütz’s rhythm and melody. A nearly direct correlation between the
devices used to set vitam aeternam in SWV 68 (ex. 7.3b) and an early passage in the secunda
pars of O Primavera (O dolcezze et amarissime d’amore, SWV 2, ex. 7.3c) merely confirms this
obvious synergy.
Schütz employs the entire musical apparatus available to him to serve the words. In
Sicut Moses, he reserves declamatory homophony for the words ut omnes qui credunt in eam
(that all who believe in him). In Ego dormio (SWV 63), Schütz realizes the sensuous words
from the Song of Solomon in equally graphic ways. As the speaker implores the lover to
Example 7.3 (a) Schütz: Sicut Moses, SWV 68, mm. 1–7
(b) Schütz: SWV 2, mm. 5

(c) Schütz: SWV 68, mm. 37–45
“open to me” (apere mihi), the music responds by literally opening up, abandoning any pre-
tense of metric regularity, as all four voices repeat the same phrase beginning on successive
quarter notes (ex. 7.4).
Example 7.4 Schütz: Ego dormio, SWV 63, mm. 14–17
Even mode becomes a rhetorical device. In the five-movement Passion cycle based on a
meditation by Bernhard of Clairvaux (SWV 56–60), Schütz choses the Phrygian mode to reflect
the desolate hopelessness of the sinner reflecting on the Passion. Accordingly, the first of the
motet’s five parts begins on E (the Phrygian final) and ends on C (the reciting tone of mode 3);13
the second motet also opens on E but ends on A (the reciting tone of mode 4). The penitent’s
realization of personal responsibility for Christ’s death in the third motet (see SWV 58, Ego enim
inique egi, mm.16–18, with the repetitive ego, ego, ego) culminates in a plangent peroration to close
the motet: Ego pomi dulcedinem, tu felis gustasti amaritudine (“While I tasted the sweetest fruits,
you tasted the bitterest gall”). Stated twice in its entirety (using the rhetorical device epizeuxis), this
progression first cadences on E (with no third) in m. 47, then, transposed down a fourth, arrives
on B, the one pitch specifically forbidden in Phrygian mode because it forms a tritone with the
second scale-degree of the mode. No musical device could better convey the complete desolation of
the soul’s realization of its personal culpability.14 With such passages the link between the Italian
Madrigals and the Cantiones sacrae (published as op. 4, but, as Gottfried Grote noted in his Vorwort
in the Neue Schütz Ausgabe, regarded by Schütz as his opus primum ecclesiasticum) is complete.15
Befitting his stature in the history of seventeenth-century German music, Schütz’s
next two publications laid claim to a kind of musical primogeniture: he believed them to be
the first of their kind printed in Germany. The Psalmen Davids (SWV 22–47, 1619) are the
delayed fruition of Schütz’s study with Gabrieli—polychoral concertos with German texts,
which Schütz, in the collection’s preface, claims to be the first German compositions “in stile
recitativo.” Clearly, these polychoral psalms are not recitatives in the normal sense; Schütz’s
understanding of stile recitativo is that quite apart from their polychoral scoring, these pieces
are indeed text-driven as are the madrigals.16 Text also plays a significant role in decisions con-
cerning mode, scoring, form, and musical gesture.
Schütz himself stated that these pieces rely on the fundamental distinction between two
types of performers, the coro favorito and the coro cappella. By the former, Schütz means “those
ensembles and voices for which the Kapellmeister should use his best performers, whereas the
full choirs [are] used for added sonority and splendor.”17 These polychoral concertos are scored for
soli (coro favorito) and tutti (coro cappella), featuring both instruments and voices. The only essen-
tial parts are those of the coro favorito, singers trained in the art of “interpreting the text,” and
the equally indispensable basso continuo. In setting Psalm 84, Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen
(SWV 29), Schütz relies on two, four-part cori favoriti comprised of high and low voices respec-
tively. Minimally, the work may be performed by eight singers and continuo. Nonetheless, Schütz
singled out this piece (and others like it) for application of a special performance practice:
However, with some of the Psalms, namely 1, “Herr unser Herrscher”,

2. “Wohl dem der nicht wandelt,” 3. “Wie lieblich,” 4. “Wohl dem der den
Herren fürchtet” it will be found quite appropriate to perform the high choir
with cornetti or violins and the lower one with trombones or other instru-
ments, having with each choir one part taken vocally.18
Schütz does not specify which voice should be sung, nor does it seem to matter. In
other compositions (e.g., Warum toben die Heiden, SWV 23) Schütz wrote out separate parts for
Capellen comprised of either singers or instrumentalists.19 His preface also contains explicit
instructions regarding the placement of ensembles, the use of instruments (either as colla parte
doubling of voices or, when extreme ranges are involved, vocal replacements), and, of course,
the central role of the continuo.
Even within these expanded textures, we can see the influence of the Italian madrigal.
An exceptional example of this dependence is Schütz’s use of the music of Gabrieli’s madrigal
Lieto godea as an instrumental sinfonia prior to the doxology of Ich danke dem Herrn von ganzem
Herzen (SWV 34).20 Less blatant but no less madrigal-like are the ways in which speech rhythms
and textual meaning shape the themes of such pieces as Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied (SWV 35).
Beyond obvious word paintings as mit Drommeten (“trumpets,” m. 61, fanfare) and mit Posaunen
(“trombones,” m. 64, canzona rhythm), the opening melisma on singet and its reprise in the doxol-
ogy (Wie es war im Anfang / “as it was in the beginning”) are bits of more subtle text expression
like the sudden drop of tessitura at die Erdboden (m. 93). But Schütz’s madrigalism is not limited to
word painting. The words Er wird den Erdboden richten mit Gerechtigkeit elicites a rhetorical device
Example 7.5 Schütz: Singet dem Herrn, SWV 35

(a) mm. 62–69
(b) mm. 1–4
(c) mm. 131–134
(d) mm. 92–97

that elevates the declamatory repetition of words at successive pitch levels (epizeuxis) to the creation
of a palindrome of tonal centers anchored to the circle of fifths (ex. 7.5a–d).
The amalgam of styles in the twenty-six compositions that comprise the Psalmen
Davids suggests a long period of gestation, from 1610, when Schütz arrived in Venice, to their
publication in 1619. While little definitive evidence exists concerning the chronology of any
given work, a possible clue may lie in the stylistic and texture-based gradient that operates
within the collection.21 This assumption presupposes that those simply scored for two favor-
iti choirs (SWV 35 and 23) are also among the earliest. Next in this hypothetical progression
would have been those works provided with cappellen, that is, choirs of voices, instruments or
both, included to enhance the grandeur of the performance. In Warum toben die Heiden (SWV
23) Schütz assigns the majority of the text (Psalm 2) to the alternating cori favoriti, reserving
the full tutti (all four ensembles) to underscore important passages like Du bist mein Sohn
(“You are my son, this day have I begotten you”). This process produces another fundamen-
tal aspect of the concerto, viz. a formal shape based on the textural and dynamic differences
between these extremes.
The most advanced compositions are the final nine (table 7.1). Schütz chose to desig-
nate these not only as psalms (SWV 43–45) but also as genres he called concerti (SWV 39, 47),
motetti (SWV 40, 42, 46) and, in one case, a canzona (SWV 41). The progressiveness of these
pieces lies in Schütz’s specific designation of the constituent parts as either vocal or instru-
mental. In the case of SWV 47, Jauchzet dem Herrn alle Welt, Schütz specifies four choirs—a
five-part capella and three different cori favoriti comprised of two flauti (recorders) with alto,
tenor, and bassoon (coro 1), soprano and tenor with lutes (coro 2), and alto accompanied by three
trombones (coro 3).
If Schütz’s use of polychoral texture was limited by the hardships suffered during the
Thirty Years’ War (1618–48), his affection for this texture remained undiminished. Because
of the war, there are no printed collections of polychoral music until 1650, when he issued the
third book of his Symphoniae sacrae and the later Opus ultimum, which contained a setting of
Psalm 119 in its 176-verse entirety, a different Jauchzet dem Herrn (SWV 493), and the Deutsches
Magnificat (SWV 494). This last, extraordinary work shows how ably Schütz creates antipho-
nal, largely homophonic, polychoral textures that incorporate the text painting of the madrigal.
Schütz also claimed that his 1623 oratorio Die Auferstehung Jesu Christi (Resurrection
Story) was the first German work of its kind, a claim substantially weakened by the realiza-
tion that Schütz actually modernized a work composed by his Dresden predecessor, Antonio
Table 7.1 Schütz, Psalmen Davids, op. 2

SWV 39 Lobe den Herren meine Seele
SWV 40 Ist nicht Ephraim mein teuer Sohn?
SWV 41 Nun lob mein Seel’ den Herren
SWV 42 Die mit Thränen säen
SWV 43 Nicht von uns Herr (Ps 115)
SWV 44 Wohl dem das der Herrn füchtet (Ps 128)
SWV 45 Danket dem Herrn denn er ist freundlich (Ps 136)
SWV 46 Zion spricht: der Herr hat mich verlassen
SWV 47 Jauchzet den Herren alle Welt
Scandello (1517–80).22 To Scandello’s plainsong recitation for the tenor Evangelist, Schütz
added an accompaniment of four gambas, with instructions to improvise ornamentation dur-
ing the recitatives. In the tradition of the motet-Passion, Schütz realized all of the characters
(except Cleophas) using multiple parts. The words of Jesus, for example, are assigned to an
alto–tenor duet. With characteristic generosity, Schütz indicates that whenever possible, both
parts should be sung; when that is not feasible, however, he allows for the possibility of only
one part being sung, the other either performed instrumentally or even omitted.
The Auferstehungshistoria text is a harmonization of several Gospel accounts, mak-
ing it, as its title implies, more Historia than Oratorio (Historia implies a text based solely on
the Bible, while an oratorio incorporates various kinds of texts).23 For a work of such dimen-
sion, the choral writing is scant, consisting only of two very brief turba-like choruses and the
requisite Exordium (introduction) and Beschluss (conclusion). Nonetheless, the work contains
many expressive moments, the scene when Mary Magdalene encounters Jesus in the garden
being especially poignant (ex. 7.6). Beyond his unrealistic portrayal of Jesus by two singers,
Schütz relied on another well-established madrigalism—the use of a “third relationship” (two
consecutive chords based on roots a major third apart that produce a chromatic cross relation)
to underscore the emotion of this encounter. To enhance the mystery of his drama even more
(and to accommodate it to performance in the Elector’s private chamber), Schütz specifically
instructed that only the Evangelist and his accompanying gambas be visible; all the other music
was to be performed behind a screen, lending even greater mystical power to his polyphonic
settings of solo discourse.
Example 7.6 Schütz: Auferstehungshistoria, SWV 50
Some four decades later, Schütz returned to this genre with his Historia, der freuden-
und gnadenreiche Geburt Gottes und Marien Sohnes, Jesu Christi . . . (SWV 435, 1664).24 This work
more nearly resembles the modern notion of an oratorio using an Evangelist (again, a tenor)
to narrate the story of Jesus’s birth in recitative style. Between these narrative passages Schütz
inserted Intermedii, scored for a variety of instrumental and vocal forces. How wonderfully
apt is Schütz’s depiction of the High Priests and Scribes with an ensemble of four basses
accompanied by two trombones.25 Both the Weinachtshistorie and the Auferstehungshistoria
open with a chorus announcing the topic of the work and end with a chorus of thanksgiving
(gratiarum actio), which frames the narrative.
Schütz’s three Passions and Die Sieben Worten Jesu Christi am Kreuz (both works
setting the Gospel accounts from Matthew, Luke, and John) rightly belong within our dis-
cussion of sacred dramatic compositions. Like the Auferstehungshistoria, the three Passions
are Historiae, Schütz limiting his text to the specific Gospel narrative, save for the Exordium
and Beschluss. The use of four-part a cappella chorus and quasi-Gregorian recitation by the
dramatis personae lends a sense of antiquity to these Passions, effectively disconnecting them
from any evolutionary progression toward Bach’s Passions. But, example 7.7 (from Schütz’s
Matthäuspassion, SWV 479, 1666) shows that Schütz’s recitatives, though reminiscent of the
old Passion tones, utilizes the same rhetorical repetitions (epizeuxis) he had learned composing
the monodic music of the Kleine geistliche Konzerten (1636, 1639) and the duets of the first two
volumes of the Symphoniae Sacrae (1629, 1, and 1647, 2).
Example 7.7 Schütz: Matthäuspassion, SWV 479
Schütz’s setting of the Seven Last Words (SWV 478) is more conspicuously mod-
ern in its use of a mixture of biblical and hymn texts, instruments, and a consciously
arch-like structure. Schütz sets two verses of the Passion hymn Da Jesus an dem Kreuze
stund to his own music in order to respond more affectively to the text of each strophe.
This textual relatedness helps form, with the repeated instrumental sinfonia, a double
frame surrounding the biblical narrative. As in Carissimi’s Jephte, Schütz probably envi-
sions a performance by six solo singers and six strings (both ensembles using the same
clefs). Here, Schütz assigns the words of Jesus to the quintus vox accompanied by the two
upper strings and continuo, a texture learned from Monteverdi during Schütz’s second
Venetian excursion in 1628–29. 26 For the presentation of the actual Seven Words, Schütz
relies on the other five singers to act as the Historicus (both separately and together) and
the minor characters.
Figure 7.2 Heinrich Schütz and the Musicians of the Dresden Court Chapel. Frontispiece to the
Geistreichen Gesangbuch, etching by Christoph Berhard, 1676
Among the most interesting of Schütz’s published collections was the Geistliche
Chormusik (SWV 369–97), a collection of motets dedicated to the city of Leipzig and the
Thomanerchor, itself founded in 1212, and conducted by Johann Hermann Schein until his
death in 1630.27 With characteristic candor, Schütz bemoans the fact that younger composers
had learned to compose using basso continuo, without first having to “crack the hard nut of
counterpoint.” They were required (as he had been by Gabrieli) to learn how to create music
based solely on the rhythm and meaning of the text. Accordingly, Schütz published this series
of German liturgical motets (arranged by ascending number of voices—à 5, à 6, etc.), composed
without use of basso continuo.28 Contained in this collection are two of Schütz’s best-known
pieces—Selig sind die Toten (SWV 391) and Die mit Thränen säen (SWV 378). Most intriguing is
Also hat Gott die Welt geliebt (SWV 383), which Schütz labeled an “Aria” ostensibly because of
its use of homophonic texture (ex. 7.8).
Shortly after the publication of the Geistliche Chormusik, Schütz issued the third
book of his Symphoniae sacrae (SWV 398–418, 1650). Whereas Schütz had assimilated the
small-voiced concerto style of Monteverdi, Grandi, and others in the first two books, Book 3
returns to the scale of earlier works like the Psalmen Davids.29 Probably the most famous com-
position in the entire collection is Saul, Saul, was verfolgst du mich? (SWV 415).30 To the favorito/
cappella contrasts that form such an integral part of the early psalms, Schütz adds the distinc-
tive paired violins and vocal duets of the earlier books.
Saul, Saul begins with a powerful representation of the voice of God, realized as a
series of duets (B2/1, T2/T1, S2/S1, and violins), which ascend from the lowest bass register
Example 7.8 Schütz: Also hat Gott die Welt geliebt, SWV 380, mm. 1–14
to the violins’ A′′, providing multiple rhetorical repetitions of the text’s demanding question.
Schütz adds the two cappellae to the solo ensemble to portray the tumult of God’s blinding
presence on the road to Damascus as a series of close, antiphonal shouts. Equally remarkable
is the composition’s ending; after all of this fury is spent, God’s accusatory question disap-
pears as quickly as it had appeared, ending in one final Was verfolgst du mich? sung by two
tenors (ex. 7.9).
Schütz’s contemporaries
If Schütz generally avoided the traditional melodies of Lutheran hymnody even when he sets
the hymn texts, this preference for drama separates him from the majority of his Protestant
contemporaries, especially Johann Hermann Schein (1586–1630) and Samuel Scheidt (1587–
1654), who, together with Schütz, comprise the “three S’s” of seventeenth-century German
music.31 Schein and Scheidt were both preoccupied with the chorale repertory, both creating
their own Cantionale (hymnals) as well as using chorale tunes in substantial portions of their
choral output. Perhaps the most impressive example of this interest in the chorale is Schein’s
impressive amalgamation of chorale melody and monody in the two parts of his Opella nova
(1618, 1626)32 and Scheidt’s similar collection, Newe Geistliche Konzerten (1631). For his setting
of Ein feste Burg, Schein uses all of the melodic phrases of this familiar hymn as mini points-of-
imitation sung by two treble voices (ex. 7.10).
Example 7.9 Schütz: Saul, Saul, was verfolgst du mich, SWV 415, mm. 76–80
Example 7.10 Schein: Ein feste Burg (Opella nova I), mm. 57–68

Samuel Scheidt’s massive polychoral treatment of the macaronic (mixing of two or

more languages within a single piece, e.g., Latin/German) Christmas carol In dulci jubilo
(Cantiones sacrae, Hamburg, 1620),scored for two SATB choirs and a pair of virtuosic obbligato
trumpets, is more conservative but also more impressive. This piece and the many similar
works by Scheidt, Schein, Vulpius, and others comprise a more traditional kind of multiple
choir piece that does not rely on the Italianate vocal division of labor. Both Schein and Scheidt
published Latin motets in a variety of styles and scoring. Schein’s notable collection, Fontana
d’Israel (Israelsbrünnlein, 1623), is his counterpart to Schütz’s Cantiones sacrae. The gem of this
collection of Spruchmotette is Die mit Thränen säen, a “spiritual madrigal” that takes full advan-
tage of the graphic imagery of Psalm 126. Compared to Schütz’s setting of the same text,
Schein’s musical language is more lavish and rhetorical, as example 7.11 shows. The chromatic,
tortuous setting of Thränen, (“tears”) generates considerable intensity in a series of imitative
presentations. Schein’s other themes, while expressive, do not generate such extreme emo-
tions. Nonetheless, he creates an impressive composition, crowned by an ending in which he
adroitly weds Italianate chain suspensions to an expansive vocal texture to produce a memo-
rable affect.
Example 7.11 Schein: Die mit Thränen säen, mm. 1–4
The genre dearest to these seventeenth-century German composers was the

Spruchmotette, defined as a small-scale biblical motet on a text extracted from any necessary
liturgical function simply because the words were so powerful in and of themselves. The
genre’s popularity was the result of this textual brevity that allowed the composer to focus all
his attention on the words in much the same manner Schütz had done, although with musical
results that were rarely as impressive. This blending of functionality and accessibility produced
a huge repertory, which began with the earliest composers of the Protestant Reformation. The
works of German composers, whose music the composer and publisher Georg Rhau printed
(e.g., Bartholomäus Gesius, ca. 1562–1613, Mattheus Le Maistre, ca. 1505–77, and others) con-
tinued to be performed throughout the mid-seventeenth century.33 Imbedded within this rep-
ertory was the subgenre of biblical Kernspruche (pithy sayings) by composers such as Andreas
Raselius (ca.1563–1602), Johann Christenius (ca. 1565–1626), Melchior Vulpius (ca. 1560–1615),
Melchior Franck (ca. 1579–1639), Johann Caspar Horn (ca. 1630–ca.1685), Christoph Demantius
(1567–1643), and Andreas Hammerschmidt (1612–75).
Angst der Hellen und Friede der Seelen (1623)

Many of these seventeenth-century German composers contributed to a unique collection
of church music: Angst der Hellen und Friede der Seelen (1623).34 Following deliverance from
a life-threatening illness in 1616, Burkhard Grossmann, a councilman in the town of Jena,
Table 7.2 Contributors to Angst der Hellen und Friede der Seelen (1623
Rogier Michael (ca. 1552–1619)
Christoph Demantius (1567–1643)
Michael Praetorius (1571–1621)
Johann Groh (1575–ca.1627)
Abraham Gensreff (1577–1637)
Melchior Franck (ca. 1579–1639)
Michael Altenburg (1684–1640)
Heinrich Schütz (1585–1672)
Johann Hermann Schein (1586–1630)
Nicholas Erich (1588–1631)
Caspar Trost (ca. 1590–1651)
Tobias Michael (1592–1657)
Christian Michael (1593–1637)
Daniel Michael (1593–?)
Johann Krause (n.d.)
Andreas Finold (n.d.)
commissioned sixteen of the most prominent composers of the day to compose settings of
Psalm 116, from whence came both the oxymoronic title (v. 3, Angst der Hellen [“Pangs of
Sheol”]—and v. 7, Sei nun wieder zufrieden, meine Seele [“Return, O my soul, to your rest”]) and
the numerological basis of the project (sixteen composers, Psalm 116, and the year 1616). The
resulting anthology affords a unique picture of contemporary Germany church music and
the opportunity to see what sixteen prominent composers would do given the same text and
musical texture. Although the group is dominated by musicians connected with the Electoral
Chapel in Dresden, they represent a wide variety of professional rank, experience, and geo-
graphic location.
From the perspective of history, the most important composers were Schütz, Schein,
Praetorius, Demantius, and Franck, followed by Rogier Michael and his three sons; the remain-
ing six (with the exception of Michael Altenburg) are virtually unknown today. As Christoph
Wolff, who rediscovered the print after World War II and produced a modern edition of it, has
noted pride of place in the print to Rogier Michael, Schein, Franck, and Praetorius, a “ranking”
attributable to the prominence of their posts: Schein was the Thomaskantor in Leipzig, while
the other three were Kapellmeistern in prominent Saxon cities (Franck in Coburg, Michael
in Dresden, and Praetorius in Wolfenbüttel/Dresden).35 Apparently, Grossmann imposed rela-
tively few conditions beyond the choice of text and vocal texture (à 5). Thus, the settings vary
Example 7.12 Motto openings in Angst der Hellen (1623)

(a) Schein, Psalm 116, mm. 1–5
(Continued)
(b) R. Michael, Psalm 116, mm. 1–5
(c) Praetorius, Psalm 116, mm. 18–23
(d) T. Michael, Psalm 116, m. 1–6
(e) Erich, Psalm 116, mm. 1–6
in mode (eight Dorian [six on G], three Phrygian, two Aeolian, and one each of F Lydian, G
Mixolydian, and C Mixolydian) and in the way individual composers choose to section (or not)
the text. There is one strikingly similar “motto” that appears in the settings by Schein, R.
Michael, Praetorius, T. Michael, and N. Erich (exx. 7.12a–e). Another motivic similarity occurs
at the beginning of various partes of the settings by C. Trost and A. Finold, and the three sons of
Rogier Michael; this interesting motive would today be understood as 5–1–7–1 in tonal parlance
Example 7.13 Psalm 116, Angst der Hellen (1623)

(a) T. Michael, 3, mm. 102–105
(b) C. Michael 1, mm. 2–4

(c) D. Michael, 1, mm. 1–6
(d) A. Finold, 2, mm. 108–117
(e) C. Trost, 1, mm. 1–5
(exx. 7.13a–e). These “coincidences” seem to suggest some level of correspondence or at least
mutual agreement among composers in the Leipzig area.
The extent to which this complex of motives was or was not significant over the entire
collection awaits a more exhaustive analysis of all of the motets. But its appearance in the works
of the four principal composers, the sons of one of these (Rogier Michael) and two composers
active in Grossmann’s hometown of Jena can hardly be deemed coincidental. In the final analy-
sis, Angst der Hellen is a collection of motets that while different in many ways (length, num-
ber of partes, sectioning of the text, texture, use of instruments), all employed the same basic
approach—composition of the text in motet style, utilization of rhetorical devices to varying
degrees to provide appropriate affective inflection, and conscious attention paid to the interac-
tion of musical texture to generate a satisfactory formal design.
From Schütz to Buxtehude

Of Schütz’s younger contemporaries, the most important and prolific was Andreas
Hammerschmidt (1612–75), followed by Schütz’s two principal pupils—Christoph Bernhard
(1627–92)36 and Matthias Weckmann (1619–74). To these should be added the name Samuel
Bockshorn (1628–65), aka Capricornus, and the numerous composers whose concerted church
music formed the core of the large collections of music from this period housed in Uppsala
(the “Düben” collection), Berlin (the “Bokemeyer” collection), and Dresden (the “Grimma
Sammlung”). These three collections constitute a vast, variegated, and largely untapped wealth
of repertory linking the era of Schütz with the immediate predecessors of Bach—Nicholas
Bruhns (1665–97), Franz Tunder (1614–67), Dietrich Buxtehude (1637–1707), Johann Philipp
Krieger (1649–1725), Johann Pachelbel (1653–1706), Wilhem Karl Briegel (1626–1712), Johann
Rosenmüller (1619–89), and many others. The dates of these composers reveal a group that in
some cases lived through the Thirty Years’ War and into the beginning of the eighteenth cen-
tury, making a comprehensive consideration of their music the vital step in understanding how
the small-voiced concerto became the basis for church music in the late seventeenth to early
eighteenth centuries. Two posthumously published collections of Capricornus—the Theatrum
Musicum (RISM C937) and the Continuatio theatri musici (RISM C938)—are an important link
between seventeenth-century German music and the influence of Giacomo Carissimi and his
contemporaries in Rome.37 Eventually, the various permutations of the concerto (chorale-based
or dramatic, choral, or solo) contained in these sources evolved into what became known gener-
ically as the “church cantata.”
Table 7.3 shows the essential nature of this concerto repertory based on two types
of voicing (choral and solo) and two text sources (chorales and biblical texts). The works
cited here present such a wide array of text types, formal structures, and scoring that fur-
ther comment is unnecessary, if not impossible. As the table descends chronologically, the
role of the chorale lessens progressively (especially in solo settings), improving the chances
that the compositions contain more than one type of text or a single formal procedure. In
the generation of Schütz, Schein, and Scheidt, it was still possible to draw fairly concrete
distinctions between choral and soloistic pieces, between dramatic texts and those based
on hymns, between motets and arias. After 1660 though, these distinctions began to blur
and became nearly indistinguishable one from another. In her monograph on Dietrich
Buxtehude, the musicologist Kerala Snyder has provided some extremely helpful formal
distinctions:
1. Unlike motets, in which basso continuo is optional, concerted pieces, regard-

less of the number of voices, demand its presence. As Johann Mattheson writes
in Der vollkommene Kapellmeister, “in such a concerto, one or more select voices
wages an artistic battle with the organ, or between the voices themselves (to
see) whoever could make it most charming.”38
2. In chorale concertos, it is the distinctive melody of the hymn rather than its
text that generates the musical structure. The presence of chorale harmoniza-
tions tends to yield simpler textures than a concerto, characterized by a strong
polarity between soprano melody and figured bass. Deletion of internal and/or
obbligato parts thus creates a Geistliches Lied.
Table 7.3 Sacred Concertos in Germany from Schütz to Buxtehude
Choral Concertos Solo Concertos
Chorale Dramatic Chorale Dramatic
Heinrich Schütz: Matthias Weckmann: Heinrich Schütz: Matthias Weckmann:
Was mein Gott will das Wenn der Herr die Nun komm der Heiden Kommt her zu mir alle,
g’scheh allzeit Gefangenen (1667) Heiland (SWV 301) die ihr mühselig
(SWV 392) Geistliche DDT, vol. 6 Kleine Geistliche 1663-4
Chormusik (1648) Die Kantate vol. 170 Konzerten (1636) DDT, vol. 6
Christoph Bernhard: J. H. Schein: Christoph Bernhard:
Ich sah an alles tun Ein feste Burg Dialgous: Wahrlich ich
(ca. 1668) Opella nova I, 1618 sage euch,
DDT, vol. 6 Vom Himmel hoch 1663–34
Opella nova II, 1626 DDT, vol. 6
A. Hammerschmidt: Ehre A. Hammerschmidt:
sei Gott, Es danken dir, Gott
Musikalische Andachten IV, Musikalische
1646 Andachten II
DDT, v. 40 1642, DDT, v. 40
Sebastian Knüpfer: Johann Schelle:
Was mein Gott will das Barmherzig und gnädig
g’scheh allzeit (1699)
DDT, v. 58–59 DDT, v. 58–59
Die Kantate, v. 166
J. P. Krieger: J. P. Krieger: J. P. Krieger:
Ein feste Burg Rufet nicht die Weisheit an Herr, auf dich
(1686) (1699) traue ich
DDT, v. 53–54 Organum, I/10 (1702)
DDT, v. 53–54.
Johann Samuel Scheidt: Johann Rosenmüller:
Rosenmüller: Wie schön leuchtet. Ich bin das Brot des
Also hat Gott die Welt geliebt Neue geistliche Lebens
Die Kantate, v. 64 Konzerten (1631) Die Kantate, v.163
Johann Pachelbel: Johann Pachelbel:
Was Gott tut das ist Jauchzet dem Herrn,
wohlgetan, alle Welt
DTB, v.7 Die Kantate, v. 157
P. H. Erlebach:
Siehe, ich verkündige euch
(1698)
Die Kantate, v. 19
Franz Tunder: Franz Tunder: Franz Tunder:
Ein feste Burg ist Hosianna dem Sohne David Wachet auf ruft uns die
unser Gott (ca. 1665) Stimme (ca. 1665)
(1665) Die Kantate, v. 47 DDT, v. 3
DDT, v. 3 Organum, I/13.
Organum, I/15.
Dietrich Buxtehude: Dietrich Buxtehude: Dietrich Buxtehude: Dietrich Buxtehude:
Herzlich Lieb hab ich Ihr lieben Christen, freut Gen Himmel zu Singet dem Herrn,
dich euch nun BuxWV 31 dem Vater mein BuxWV 98
BuxWV 41 BuxWV 32
3. Despite common associations to the contrary, aria does not necessarily imply
a solo piece, but rather the setting of a strophic text. Such settings may feature
either a melody that is repeated for each unit of text or repeated bass lines with
varied melody.39 This latter format allows for a varied melody for each verse
of the strophic text; such melodic variations may allow for the kinds of affec-
tive response by the composer that using a chorale as “cantus firmus” prohibit
(which may well explain Schütz’s relative disdain for chorale tunes, especially
for a composer whose early training inculcated in him the value, indeed the
necessity, of creating music from the text). 40
While these categories are easily distinguished when used separately, the increasing tendency
of composers in the latter seventeenth century was to use them in every imaginable combina-
tion. Snyder provides a useful summary of the essential differences between the two principal
textures—concerto and aria. 41
Concerto vs. Aria

Concerto Aria
Prose (i.e., biblical) texts Poetic texts (strophic poetry)
Irregular rhythm and phrase structure Regular rhythm and phrase structure
Contrapuntal texture Homophonic texture
Through-composed (sectional contrasts) Strophic, highly unified
Abundance of word painting and rhetorical Affective treatment limited by strophic
devices textual design
The mixture of different text types in a libretto (whether newly written or assembled)
led to a uniquely German choral form. Although these are not cantatas in the sense of either the
Italian cantata da camera as cultivated principally by Alessandro Scarlatti or its sacred incarna-
tion—the so-called reform cantata texts written by the Lutheran pastor Erdmann Neumeister
(ca. 1701) and his emulators—Snyder argues that this format results from the blending, delib-
erate or incidental, of these textures. What is lacking in these types of North German sacred
music is the presence of recitatives and arias.
The first type of composition to approximate the cantata is the setting of a gospel
text (more rarely, an epistle text), closely followed by concerted settings of various psalms.
Since psalm texts do not present a continuous narrative, their verses tend to be more easily
organized into contrasting sections of music. We see this tendency in Matthias Weckmann’s
setting of Psalm 126, Wenn der Herr die Gefangenen zu Zion erlösen wird. The seven verses are
arranged into a clear, sectional form based on meter and scoring (table 7.4). The composition
as a whole is presumably choral, only two sections (B and E) and part of a third seemingly
conducive to solo singing because they are accompanied solely by basso continuo. 42 In general,
there is little difference between the vocal and instrumental writing, suggesting a primarily
vocal approach; indeed, the instruments never double the voice parts. Aside from its use of
instruments, Weckmann’s setting is conservative, compared to Schein’s setting of verses six
Table 7.4 Weckmann—Wenn der Herr der Gefangenen zu Zion erlösen wird, Form

Sections Location Meter Psalm Verse(s) Scoring
measures)
A 1–67 3/2 1 SATB
Vln 1, 2
Vla 1, 2
Bc
B 68–81 C 2 SATB
Bc
C 82–95 C 3–4a Voices and
Instruments
Concerted Style
D 96–147 3/2 4b Same as C
E 148–61 C 5 Same as B
F 162–325 3/2 6–7a Voices and
Instruments
(separate and
combined)
Voices and
G 326–33 C 7b Instruments
à8
and seven of the psalm in Israelsbrünnlein. 43 Nonetheless, Weckmann deals with the entire
psalm, and his setting of the words Die mit Thränen säen is, in it own way, as heartfelt and
affective as the settings of the same words by Schütz and Schein (ex. 7.14).
Example 7.14 Weckmann: Die mit Thränen säen, mm. 6–16
The concerted church music of later seventeenth-century German composers

became much less predictable. In addition to the multifaceted structures of the “cantata-like
psalm-concertato,”44 compositions resembling the modern cantata began to emerge: the cho-
rale cantatas of Sebastian Knüpfer (1633–76), Johann Schelle (1648–1701), and Franz Tunder
(1614–67); the aria cantatas based on strophic poetry of Johann Philipp Krieger (1649–1725),
Tunder, Nikolaus Bruhns, and the eventual hybridization of the two approaches. This mix-
ture is clearly visible in a work like the cantata for Christmas, Siehe, ich verkündige euch grosse
Freude, by Philipp Heinrich Erlebach (1657–1714). Scored somewhat elaborately (two trumpets,
bassoon, five-part strings, and SATB chorus), the work presents a diverse collection of biblical
texts, which readily became separate formal segments.
Ignoring the final Hallelujah, the text consists of biblical texts and two verses of an
anonymous hymn, which open and close with a portion of the Christmas narrative from Luke
2. One of the phrases of Psalm 118:24 precede each of the hymn strophes. The two poetic stro-
phes consist of five lines, each containing twelve syllables that scan as dactylic feet.
The formal structure of the piece is defined by meter—the opening Lukan text and the
first half of the psalm verse are in common time; Erlebach changes to 6/8 meter for the middle
section, then returns to the original meter for the end of Luke’s text and the Hallelujah. To some
extent, Erlebach’s choice of vocal and instrumental forces result from this text structure. He
gives Luke’s text and both hymn strophes to solo voices (alto, soprano, and tenor respectively).
The first strophe is accompanied only with continuo, but at its conclusion the orchestra plays
an interlude based on the theme that dominates the entire middle portion of the piece (ex. 7.15).
Erlebach’s use of instrumental forces is fluid, sometimes doubling the choral voices colla parte,
but used more idiomatically in the interludes that interrupt vocal solos. As the instruments
transition from interludes to vocal accompaniment, Erlebach separates them into obbligato
instruments (trumpets 1 and 2, and violin 1) and colla parte doubling of the chorus parts. Once
Example 7.15 Erlebach: Siehe, ich verkündige euch, mm. 9–12

the chorus enters, the music seems to grow homogenous, the occasional repetition of mea-
sures or motives lacking any sense of integration into the larger musical entity.
Erlebach’s concluding chorus functions like a miniature prelude and fugue. The
homophonic setting of Ehre sei Gott in der Höh is now the “slow” prelude to the ensuing fugato
on Hallelujah. 45 While the melody of the final fugato seems vaguely familiar (ex. 7. 16), any rela-
tion to the other themes results more from the similarity of text declamation and reliance on a
single key than from conscious compositional planning.
Example 7.16 Erlebach: Siehe, ich verkündige euch, mm. 56–61
Dietrich Buxtehude (1637–1707)

It was Dietrich Buxtehude who created the formal synthesis that produced the church can-
tata. As organist at the famed Marienkirche in Lübeck, Buxtehude was responsible for plan-
ning and executing the popular Abendmusiken concert series in Advent for which the church
and city were famous. 46 Subsidized by local merchants, these concerts provided Buxtehude
Figure 7.3 Engraving of the city of Lübeck, showing the Marienkirche (seventeenth century)
the opportunity to compose and perform cantatas as well as new organ music. Buxtehude’s
music derived stylistically from that of Franz Tunder, his predecessor and also his father-in-
law. 47 Thus, for example, Tunder’s Ein feste Burg or Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme shaped
Buxtehude’s chorale cantatas (e.g., In dulci jubilo, Herzlich Lieb hab’ ich dich, Erhalt uns Herr
bei deinem Wort, etc.). 48 That both men were first and foremost organists played an important
role in shaping their choral music; effectively, a chorale partita and a chorale cantata utilized
similar changes of texture as a foil to presence of the cantus firmus. 49 Tunder, Buxtehude,
and their North German contemporaries lacked the knowledge of or interest in the recitative
and da capo aria formats of the Italian cantata. The absence of such solo vocal forms in North
Germany accounted for the slow adoption of the reform cantata.50 Lacking firsthand knowledge
of Italian arias, Buxtehude and his contemporaries most closely approached the “new” cantata
of the eighteenth century in their combination of different text types and their related musical
style within a single composition. Friedhelm Krummacher describe this synergy:
In its expanded forms the older cantata approached very closely the threshold
of the 18th-century form. Arioso movements or chorales were introduced into
hymn cantatas, biblical and aria texts were added to chorale cantatas, final
chorales were appended to concerto-aria cantatas, and so on.51
This assimilated diversity was the culmination of the process begun by Schütz, that of com-
mingling separate musical and textual formats (e.g., his designation of Also hat Gott die Welt
geliebt [Geistliche Chormusik] as an “aria” and his combination of monody and the polychoral
concerto in Symphoniae sacrae 3).
Buxtehude’s Alles was ihr tut (BuxWV 4) provides a paradigm for the new German
church cantata at the dawn of the eighteenth century. The text is a characteristic amalgam of
biblical, chorale, and poetic texts. An examination of the work as a whole reveals not only the
constancy of G major (which appears in every movement except the fifth), but also the three
principal textual/musical components of concerted church music prior to Buxtehude: the con-
certo, aria, and chorale. The concerto uses a prosal biblical text, which produces the irregular
rhythm and phrase structure associated with the concerto. Neither extensive counterpoint nor
rhetorical devices are prominently used, as example 7.17 shows.
The designation of the fourth movement as an aria conforms to the understanding of
that term already associated with Schütz. The movement’s text is an anonymous, three-strophe
poem that produces the regular rhythm, phrase structure, and homophonic texture associated
with the aria, whether sung by one voice or an ensemble. Buxtehude also provides an instru-
mental ritornello (without violas) to frame each verse.
The sixth movement sets consecutive verses of the chorale “Aus meines Herzens
Grunde,” sung first by solo soprano, then à 4 voci. As in the fourth movement, the instruments
play a ritornello and brief interludes between phrases of the chorale, creating a chorale aria,
meaning a hybrid that has the texture of an aria used with a hymn melody. Other cantatas by
Buxtehude (e.g., Jesu meines Lebens Leben, BuxWV 62) take their entire text from a chorale.
In Alles was ihr tut, however, Buxtehude retains the same bass line for each strophe, which
allows melodic variations (both vocal and instrumental) above it, and conforms precisely to
Giulio Caccini’s definition of an aria as strophic bass variations. The fifth movement, an ari-
oso for bass, is the only movement Buxtehude specifically designates as “solo” (ex. 7.18). This
Example 7.17 Buxtehude: Alles was ihr tut, 1, mm. 12–19
Example 7.18 Buxtehude: Alles was ihr tut, 5, mm. 1–8

movement comes closer than any other to matching the Italianate lyricism otherwise missing
from the music of Buxtehude and his contemporaries. In addition, it also features the use of
sequence as a rhetorical enhancement of the text.
Conclusion
Germany eventually embraced the innovations of the Italian Baroque, but less clear is the pre-
cise vector by which the new style traveled north. To focus on Heinrich Schütz as the prime
mover in this process, while not inappropriate, fails to consider the volume of contemporary
Italian music known and performed in Germany before Schütz’s stretched to Venice in 1609.
Recent scholarship has broadened our awareness of the central role that Italian music and
musicians played in seventeenth-century Germany. The “black hole” in the history of this
musical repertory has been the diffuse, often inchoate development the sacred concerto under-
went between the late works of Schütz and the emergence of the early cantatas of Johann
Sebastian Bach. Much work remains to be done in classifying this vast and varied repertory.
Our examination of Buxtehude’s Alles was ihr tut confirms its status as the direct predecessor
of such early cantatas by J. S. Bach as Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit (BWV 106). The daunting
task that remains is the precise description that each successive generation of German com-
posers played to allow Buxtehude’s synthesis to occur. Yet to be examined comprehensively
is the role played by such seventeenth-century composers as Hammerschmidt, Weckmann,
Capricornus, Scheidt, Erlebach, and Rosenmüller. Buxtehude’s formative influence on the
music of the young Bach is too obvious to ignore, but the role of other Lutheran composers (not
to mention German composers of instrumental music and opera) still awaits critical exami-
nation. The first generation of German cantata composers (Krieger, Knüpfer, Erlebach, and
Pachelbel) has not yet received the attention or performance their music deserves as an integral
part of the evolving German compositional style.
8
French Baroque Music (1650–1750)
O ne of the significant areas of growth in the history of choral music in the last twenty-five years
is that of greater historical awareness and performance of the music of the French Baroque.
Scholars like James Anthony and H. Wiley Hitchcock, and performers like William Christie and
Philippe Herreweghe have not only have made the choral music of the grande siècle commercially
available but, more importantly, have also invested it with an infectious vitality. Prior to this ground-
swell of activity one searched in vain for recordings of the music of Charpentier, Lully, Rameau,
and Couperin (not to mention duMont, Lalande, or Brossard); similarly lacking were the modern,
well-edited musical scores needed to facilitate modern performance. As a result of these gains we
can now begin to appreciate the bounty of the court of Louis XIV, Le Roi Soleil (r. 1643–1715),—musi-
cal repertory, which served as a model for Paris and the other French cultural centers as well as for
the English court of Charles II following the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660.
Compared to other parts of Europe, the Baroque style came to France comparatively
late. Henri Dumont’s Cantica sacra, the first published concerted music for solo voice and con-
tinuo wasn’t published until 1652. In his preface DuMont wrote:
Although such excellent music is composed and played in Paris, music that
cannot be heard elsewhere in the world, nevertheless seeing that but few per-
sons, if any, do cause Music with a Basso Continuo to be printed in France,
and that this style of composition is the best to display the merits of those
222
French Baroque Music, 1650–1750 223
whose profession it is to sing well, I have though to oblige the public and, in
particular, the Ladies of Religion (who like motets for few voices that are easy
to sing, with parts for the organ and the bass viol) by bringing these few motet
of my own composition to the public gaze.1
Although DuMont’s statement that such music “cannot be heard elsewhere in the world” seems
dubious and somewhat parochial, he was indeed correct in asserting that his collection was the
first (or very nearly the first) such music to be published in France.
A principal reason for the late arrival of Baroque style was the inherent French antip-
athy toward things Italian. In the case of opera, to cite the principal Baroque vocal genre,
interest in Italian music first arose as the result of the marriage of Catharine de Medici to
King Henri II in 1533. As an unexpected dowry, Catharine brought musicians and dancers
to the French royal court as well as the desire to be entertained as she had been in her native
Florence. The first precursor of French opera, the ballet Circe, ou le Balet comique de la Royne,
resulted directly from a commission tendered by the queen. Performed on October 15, 1581, in
conjunction with a royal wedding, Circe used music by Balthasar de Beaujoyeux (ca. 1535–ca.
1587), an Italian violinist who came to France with the queen’s entourage. Long sections of
dialogue were interrupted by entrées or choruses with dance. The new thing here was a unify-
ing story line, coupled with the participation of the royal family in both the dances and the
dramatic scenes, another custom imported by Catharine from Italy.2 Figure 8.1 gives some
idea of the pomp and circumstance that attended everything related to the French royal court.
Figure 8.1: Fountain of the Dragons at the Palace of Versailles, Israeli Silvestre, 1676
Eventually, such entertainments evolved into the ballet du cour, which Catharine
Massip defines as:
The ballet du cour, a synthesis of all the arts—poetry, music and painting—
preserved an almost unchanging patter during the seventeenth century: a
division into entrées, devoted to very different subjects even though the gen-
eral pretext for them might be the same, the absolute primacy of dance and
instrumental music, and a limited amount of vocal music in the form of a
solo setting out the subject at the beginning of each entrée.3
This collaborative effort involved several poets, two composers, a scenic designer, and a
choreographer. This ballet involved several types of verse and music—récits (analogous to
recitative in Italian opera), vers (rhymed verses sung soloistically), entrées, and a conclud-
ing grand ballet, in which members of the royal audience (occasionally including the king
himself) took part.
The ballet du cour continued through the reign of Henri IV (r. 1589–1610), who also
married a Medici (Marie) in 1600. The Italian opera Euridice, with words by Rinuccini (1562–
1621) and music by Peri and Caccini, was performed as part of their nuptial celebrations.
Such occasional interaction between French and Italian culture continued through the reign
of Louis XIII (r. 1610–43); with the support of his prime minister, Cardinal Richelieu, an
ongoing exchange of artists and ideas about theater and music took place. When Louis XIII
married Anne of Austria in 1617, he was not content with merely dancing in the ballets; he
participated actively in designing scenery, creating the texts and music, and even approving
the choreography. 4 Toward the end of Louis XIII’s reign, the ballet du cour abandoned its uni-
fying narrative, becoming a ballet à entrées. The production of such entertainments was an
elaborate operation:
The inventeur laid out the general plan, the poet rhymed the récits which
introduced each entrée and which appeared between the last entrée and the
Grand Ballet which was danced by members of the royal family and the nobil-
ity. The poet also wrote a livret which was distributed to the public and con-
tained not only identification of roles and the words to the récits but also some
interesting comments on the private lives and habits of the actual persons
dancing each part.5
Jean-Baptiste Lully (1632–87)

When Louis XIII died in 1643 (shortly after the death of Cardinal Richelieu) his heir, the future
Louis XIV, was still a minor; thus, the monarchy resided in his mother, Queen Anne. A con-
tinuing connection between the French monarchy and the Medici family explained the arrival
of the young Florentine dancer and musician Gianbattista Lulli, who, as Jean-Baptiste Lully,
joined the king’s service in 1652. Between 1654 and 1671 Lully composed at least sixteen bal-
lets for the king. In 1656 Lully led his string band, Les Petite Violons du Roi, in their first ballet
performance; two years later, Lully composed the prototypical French overture for his Ballet
d’Álcidiane (LWV 9). As the dance component increased in prominence, the genre began to
adopt a greater diversity of musical forms. This process of change eventually led to the first true
French opera, the tragédies lyriques. By the 1680s Louis XIV had given up dancing, allowing
Lully to concentrate on producing operatic works.
The ballet du cour survived as the “ballet comique,” a genre that fostered the long
and fruitful collaboration between Lully and the playwright Molière (Jean-Baptiste Poquelin,
1622–73). The end of this collaboration in 1670 coincided with the beginning of a political
instability that ultimately forced the court to flee Paris for the security of Versailles. The
source of this instability was partially the xenophobic group of insurrectionists known as Les
Frondes, whose actual target was the king’s chief minister Cardinal Mazarin. Born Giulio
Mazzarini in Pescina, Italy (1602), Mazarin first came to Paris in 1634 as the papal nuncio.
He became a naturalized French citizen in 1639, a cardinal of the Roman Church in 1641,
and first minister during the regency of Queen Anne (1643). A lover of Italian opera, Cardinal
Mazarin conspired to insure the regular performance of operas between 1645 and 1662. Even
at the peak of his influence, however, he was unable to establish a resident French opera com-
pany. In 1661, shortly before his death, he commissioned Cavalli to compose Ercole amante for
the wedding of Louis XIV to his cousin Maria Theresa of Spain.6 The dream of a permanent
Italian operatic institution in France died with Cardinal Mazarin, perhaps paving the way
for Lully’s creation of indigenous French opera, a task that preoccupied him from 1673 until
his death in 1687.
Lully’s role in the development of French Baroque music is a study in the role that
political power can play in the arts. Spurred by boundless ambition, Lully used his relation-
ship with Louis to become Surintendant de la musique de Roi in 1661. Eleven years later, Lully
Figure 8.2: Performance of Lully’s opera Alceste at the Chateau de Versailles, 1676

applied for the royal patent to establish operatic academies; since the holder of the patent was
conveniently imprisoned, Louis XIV acceded to Lully’s request on March 13, 1672. In effect, the
monopoly Lully purchased allowed him to
establish an Acadamie Royale de Musique in the good city of Paris, consist-

ing of whatever number and types of persons he deems fit, whom [the king]
will choose and dismiss on the recommendation of [Lully], for the purpose of
staging [the king’s] performances, whenever [His Majesty] desires, of musi-
cal pieces to be composed both in French and in other languages, alike and
similar to the Italian academies; to serve in that capacity for life, and after
him, his children shall be provided for and inherit the aforementioned duties
of Surintendant of music for the King’s Chamber with the power to select
whomever they feel worthy.
Moreover, it was expressly forbidden
to perform any play set entirely to music, whether sung in French or other
languages, without written permission from the aforementioned Sieur de
Lully, at the risk of a fine of 10,000 livres and the confiscation of theaters,
stagecraft, scenery, costumes, and other things.7
The royal musical establishment (Musique Royale) over which Lully exercised complete
control involved three groups of musicians: the Chapelle Royale, the Écurie, and the Musique de
la Chambre. Lully reordered this organizational scheme, in place since the sixteenth century, to
meet his own specifications.
Lully was least interested in the Écurie, since it only performed music for military
and outdoor occasions.8 As master of the king’s chamber music, Lully formed the celebrated
Vingt-Quatre Violons du Roi (the “twenty-four violins of the king”). The term “Violons” an inclu-
sive term, embraced all of the instruments of the string family, typically disposed in a five-part
texture (violin, three inner parts, and the bass). As leader of the Vingt-Quatre Violons Lully
initiated reforms in bowing, articulation, and ornamentation to insure a hitherto unimagined
level of ensemble.9
To these musicians fell the responsibility of providing instrumental and vocal music
for secular events at the court. The Musique de la Chambre was overseen by two surintendants,
who served alternate six-month terms:
They commanded a world of singers and instrumentalists, dancers and makers

of stage machinery, scene painters and costume designers, who all drew their sal-
aries from the funds of the “king’s revels,” the menus plaisirs. “The Surintendant
must understand voices and instruments, in order to make the King good music.
Everything sung by the Musique de la Chambre is his business.”10
After Lully’s acquisition of the royal patent in 1672, his appointment as Surintendant led to
a veritable dynasty. This “promotion” marks the demise of Lully’s relationship with Molière,
their last collaboration being Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme (1670). For this work (and others of the
same type), Lully composed incidental music to enhance Molière’s comedy. Alone, the musical
items don’t make much sense, a principal reason why this music is so rarely performed.11 The
Chevalier d’Arvieux gives the following account of this music’s performance:
Cette marche (Marsch des Sultans) étoit fermée par quinze Tambours, quinze
Hautbois, quinze Trompettes, trois paires de Timballes, et autant de Cimballes.
Tous ces joueurs d’Instrumens étoient parfaitement bien montés; excepté les
Trompettes, tous les autres jouoient sans interruption, et formoient un concert
également guerrier & mélodieux.12
(This march (the March of the Sultans) was performed with fifteen drums,
fifteen oboes, fifteen trumpets, three pairs of timpani and cymbals. All of
these instruments played with nearly flawless ensemble; save for the trum-
pets, all the others played without interruption, making a concert equally
martial and melodic.)
Following the march, a male chorus sings thirteen statements of the single word Alla on the
same chord (ex. 8-1). A bass air (Le Muphti) leads to mostly nonsensical dialogue concerning the
religious preferences of the Turks; such politically incorrect comedy suggests a link between
the Ballets comiques and the sort of ethnic humor used in the Italian Commedia dell’ Arte.
Example 8.1 Lully: Le bourgeois Gentilhomme
The concluding entrée is a Grande Ballet des Nations, in which the entry of the Italians
is “a strophic variation with Italian words that could almost be mistaken for the music of Luigi
Rossi.”13 The five entrées composed by Lully are thematically unrelated, each utilizing a stock
theatrical device (e.g., a drinking song, a love song, a dance lesson, etc.). A similar mix of seem-
ingly unrelated dance and music resurfaces later in the semi-operas of Henry Purcell.
The third component of the royal musical establishment was the Chapelle Royale; at
the beginning of Louis’s reign, the chapel’s music, like that of the Chambre, was supervised by
two sous-maîtres. But by 1663 liturgical music had become so important that four individuals
(Thomas Gobert (d. 1672), Pierre Robert, Gabriel Expilly [who resigned in 1668], and Henri
DuMont) were appointed and served rotating six-month terms. A vacancy in 1683 prompted
reduction of this term to three months. A competition was held to fill the opening, but the
most talented candidate, Marc-Antoine Charpentier (1635–1704), withdrew, ostensibly due to
illness.14 From the remaining competitors four were chosen—Nicholas Goupillet (a priest);
Pascal Colasses (recommended by Lully himself!); Guillaume Minoret (also a cleric), and the
new rising star at the court, Michel-Richard de Lalande (1657–1726). In reality, Lully controlled
the outcome of the selection process and played a significant role in determining the kind of
sacred music the chapel performed. Lully composed twelve grand motets and ten petites motets
for the Chapelle Royale.
Robert Ballard of Paris published six of these (which, in the original print, appeared as
motets 7, 1, 12, 2, 3, and 10 according to the complete works) in 1684 (see table 8.1). The authentic-
ity of one, a Jubilate Deo, remains questionable,15 and three motets—Quare fremuerunt, Exaudiat,
and Notus in Judea—postdate the publication. Evidence exists of a performance of Quare frem-
uerunt on Maundy Thursday 1685, for a Tenebrae service at Versailles. This motet’s economic
presentation of text stands in stark contrast to the grandeur of the earlier motets (with the notable
exception of Plaude laetare), providing a possible point of stylistic and chronological separation.16
Reputedly, the king’s favorite among Lully’s grand motets was Miserere mei Deus (Ps 51).
Given that approval and the early date of composition, this motet’s structure became norma-
tive both for Lully and those who imitated him. Lully’s Miserere is scored for a petite choeur
comprised of five solo voices (Dessus 1 and 2, Haut-contre, Tenor, and Basse), a grande choeur
(Dessus 1 and 2, Haut-contre, Taille, and Basse-taille), and the traditional five-part string ensem-
ble. Precedent for this genre had been established in compositions by two of the sous-maîtres—
Pierre Robert and Henri DuMont. Lully adopted the free alternation of solo récits, choruses,
and instrumental symphonies they had designed. Integral to the definition of a motet as grande
was its length, which, according to Abbé Perrin, had to be at least fifteen minutes.17 To these
features Lully added a rhetorical approach to text setting and dramatic changes of texture. His
radical (dare one say madrigalian) approach is immediately evident as the three lowest voices
of the petite choeur sing descending minor sixths and a profusion of ornamental notes. The
sudden entry of the full choir emphasizes the word magnam (“great”), an adjective modifying
Table 8.1. Lully, Grande motets

Title Catalogue Number
1. Benedictus (1684) LWV 64/ii
2. De Profundis (1683) LWV 62
3. Dies irae (1683) LWV 64/1
4. Domine salvum fac regem LWV 77/xvi
5. Exaudiat (1687) LWV 77/xv
6. Jubilate Deo (1660?) LWV 77/xvi
7. Miserere (1663) LWV 25
8. Notus in Judea (1685?) LWV 77/xvii
9. O lachrymae (1664) LWV 26
10. Plaude laetare (1668) LWV 37
11. Quare fremuerunt (1685) LWV 67
12. Te Deum (1677) LWV 55
the noun misericordiam (“mercy”), sung by the petite choeur. The first ten words of the psalm
text (ex. 8.2) feature no fewer than seven changes of vocal texture. After this dramatic flurry
the psalm setting proceeds, employing the separate vocal and instrumental elements in a more
predictable manner. Lully organizes the remaining text into a series of solo Récits, all of which
conclude with tutti statements involving both choirs. Lully follows this template for the remain-
der of the psalm. Such regular alternation of vocal and instrumental forces created the constantly
changing array of musical color and tempo that appealed to the king.
Example 8.2 Lully: Miserere mei, Deus, mm. 19–30
Marc-Antoine Charpentier (1635–1704)

As mentioned earlier, Charpentier withdrew from the competition held in 1663 to elect new
sous-maîtres for the Chapelle Royale. In addition to the assumption that he lacked Lully’s sup-
port, the death of his father may also have contributed to his decision. Charpentier subsequently
traveled to Italy to study painting, where he met Giacomo Carissimi, who was teaching at
the Collegium Germanicum in Rome. The possibility that Charpentier was a private pupil of
Carissimi is supported by manuscript copies of Carissimi’s music that Charpentier made. This
activity turned out to be propitious when, during the eighteenth-century suppression of the
Jesuits, Carissimi’s works were destroyed in a fire, and Charpentier’s manuscripts became one
of the few surviving sources of Carissimi’s oratorios and sacred music.
On his return to France, Charpentier’s talent and the value of what he had learned
in Italy were obvious to all who were not minions of Lully. Of Charpentier’s time in Italy,
Sébastien de Brossard wrote:
It is his youthful experience in Italy that a few extreme French purists, or

those jealous of the excellence of his music, have seized upon quite inappro-
priately when criticizing his Italian taste; for it can be said without flattering
him that he made use only of the good. His works display this well enough.18
Charpentier was fortunate to find employment with one of Paris’s leading families. The
Mercure Galant of March 1688 reported that Charpentier “lived at the Hôtel de Guise for a long
time and composed some things for Mlle de Guise’s musicians that were high regarded by the
ablest connoisseurs.”19 Charpentier served as musician to Mlle de Guise and her household
for eighteen years. During this period, Charpentier succeeded Lully as Molière’s musical col-
laborator, composing music for Le Malade imaginaire (1673) and Circé (1675). The creation of the
Comèdie-Francaise in 1680 afforded Charpentier the opportunity to compose music for stage
plays, including a revival of Andromède in 1682.
Charpentier also created devotional music to serve the growing contingent of singers
in the employ of his hostess, Mlle de Guise. As a devout Catholic she provided for Charpentier’s
future by commending him to the Jesuits shortly before her death in 1688. The deaths of Lully in
1687 and Mlle de Guise the following year finally gave Charpentier the access to the royal court
he had for so long been denied. At the age of fifty, Charpentier presented Médée, his first and only
tragédie-lyrique, but this effort failed to win an appointment from Louis XIV. He did become the
musical tutor of the dauphin, the son and heir of Louis XIV. On the death of Queen Marie-Thérèse
in 1683, Charpentier composed three inspired works for her funeral—a motet Luctus de morte
augustissimae Mariae Theresiae reginae Galliae (H. 331),20 the psalm De profundis (H. 189), and an
oratorio (H. 409). Thereafter, Charpentier produced a succession of Latin oratorios for the Jesuits.21
Catharine Cessac summarizes the immense contribution Charpentier made to
French sacred music:
No other French composer of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries com-

posed as many motets as did Marc-Antoine Charpentier: eighty-three psalm
settings, forty-eight elevation motets, thirty-one Tenebrae lessons, forty-two
antiphons, and ten Magnificat settings, as well as litanies, Te Deums,
sequences, hymns, motets for saints and liturgical feasts, and various other
occasional pieces. In all, Charpentier composed almost four hundred sepa-
rate pieces!22
Among Charpentier’s best known works are the Messe du Minuit à 4 voix, flutes et violons sur
Noëls (H. 9), a festive setting of the Te Deum (H. 146), the prelude of which almost single
handedly reestablished his reputation in the twentieth century, and a series of settings of the
Christmas story given the generic title In nativitatem Domini (H. 314 and 416) and Nostri Jesu
Christi (H. 414 and 421).
At this point it is necessary to bring up the two principal issues facing any performer
of French Baroque music—inequality and ornamentation. François Couperin confirmed the
existence of the first problem when he wrote: “We [French composers] write music differently
from the way we play it. . . . The Italians, on the other hand, observe the exact value of the notes
in composing their music.”23 Couperin was referring to the common French practice (most
prominent in, but by no means restricted to, keyboard music) known as notes-inégales. There
was a tacit understanding that under certain conditions, notes written equally were performed
Figure 8.3: Marc-Antoine Charpentier, Royal Almanac of 1682

unequally (hence the term notes inégales). The appropriate conditions for the application of
inequality were:
1. The tempo indication must be neither too fast nor too slow, but “moderate.”
2. Inequality should not be applied to notes of either extremely short or long
length.
3. To qualify for inequality, at least a pair of notes of the same rhythmic value
must be present.
4. None of the factors that prohibit the application of inequality (such as the pres-
ence of slurs) can be present.
If a performer decides that a passage is suited for the application of inequality, he next needs
to decide precisely what type of inequality to use. The notated rhythm would be altered in one
of three basic ways:
1. Pointer: The “pointed” style involves what is commonly known as double dot-

ting, that is, two notes of equal value are played with the first one quite long
and the second quite short. This inequality is traditionally associated with the
slow opening section of a French overture.
2. Lourer: The “lilting” style of inequality realizes notes of equal value are now
performed as a triplet occupying the same amount of time. The length of each
note is not a precise, mathematic ratio (thus a problem for ensembles).
3. Couler: The “snapped” style is actually the inverse of “pointer,” the short note pre-
ceding the long note (also known as “Lombard rhythm,” the “Scotch”snap, etc.).
All in all, two questions determine the possible application of inequality: Do the existing
parameters (tempo, note values involved, etc.) allow its application? If so, what kind of inequal-
ity is most appropriate?
The second performance issue attendant to the French Baroque style involves the use
of ornamentation (agréments). The question here is not whether ornamentation should be used
but rather how much, what specific type, and where. A dichotomy between French and Italian
style similar to that of inequality existed in this area; whereas the Italians ornamented the pas-
sage, the French ornamented the note. In France, standardization of the notation of ornamenta-
tion was slow to occur (hence the presence of tables of Agréments, those specific instructions
from the composer regarding the execution of each notated ornament that routinely appeared
in French keyboard music). In keyboard music (where Agréments were essential) ornamenta-
tion of a particular note depended on its role in the larger passage. The only guidance for the
ornamentation of vocal or choral music from this period was that ornamentation be applied,
even in the absence of specific signs indicating its use. Vocal ornamentation of this type was
certainly more easily executed by solo singers than choral singers, but the expectation of orna-
mentation applied equally to both. The single most obligatory ornament involved the third of a
cadential chord, which had to be trilled starting on the note above.
Charpentier’s Messe du Minuit, based on traditional French noëls, offers many oppor-
tunities for the application of inequality and ornamentation.24 These noëls permeate the work,
Charpentier even indicating organ performance of them between vocal movements; after Kyrie
1 the rubric Icy l’orgue joué le même noël (“Here, the organ plays the same noël”) appears in the
score. The specific noël to be played is “Joseph est bien marié” (see exx. 8-3a and b for the noël
melody and its adaptation for Kyrie 1). The first twenty-nine measures of the Kyrie present the
noëls instrumentally (strings and flutes), followed by choral statements that expand and develop
the melody. Table 8-2 shows the noëls that form the basis of the remaining movements:25
Example 8.3 Charpentier: Messe du Minuit
(a) Joseph est bien marié
(b) Kyrie I, mm. 29–46
Table 8.2: Charpentier, Messe du Minuit, Noëls

Christe: Or nous dites, Marié
Kyrie II: Une jeune pucelle
Laudamus te: Le bourgeois de Châtre
Quoniam: Ou s’en vont ces gais bergers?
Deum de Deo: Vous qui désirez sans fin
Crucifixus: Voici le jour solennel de Noël
Et in Spiritum: A la venue de Noël
Sanctus: O Dieu, qui n’étois-je en vie
Agnus Dei: A minuit fut fait un réveil
Charpentier’s other well-known composition is the Te Deum (H. 146), which probably
dates from the years when he worked for the Jesuits at La Sainte-Chapelle (ca. 1690).26 One of
four surviving Te Deum settings by Charpentier, this composition features the usual French
string ensemble, with added flutes (à 2), oboes (à 2), bassoon, trumpets, and timpani. The vocal
forces consist of a petit choeur of eight soloists (two each of dessus, haute-Contre, taille, and basse)
and a grand choeur of four voice parts. Charpentier sets the lengthy text as ten vocal “movements.”
Table 8-3: Charpentier, Te Deum (H. 146), Form

Movement Meter/Tempo Key Center Scoring
1. Prelude (orchestra) 2 D Full orchestra
2. Te Deum laudamus 2 D Basse, V1,V2, b.c.
3. Te aeternum Patris 2 D Grande & Petit Choeur

1, Orchestra (minus
Trumpet)
Grande & Petit
4. Pleni sunt coeli 2 D Choeur 2, full orchestra
5. Tu per orbem C–C3/2–2 D D2, T2, B2 + b.c.
6. Tu devicto 3 (Gay) D Grande choeur, B solo, full

orchestra
7. Récit: Te ergo C3/2 D D1, Flutes 1, 2, b. c.

quaesumus
8. Aeterna fac 2 D Grande & Petit Choeur 2,

Full orch. (Trumpets)
9. Dignare C G D1, B1, b.c., ritornello for solo

flutes (2) and violins
10. Fiat misericordia 2 D D1, D2, B1, b.c., ritornello for

solo flutes (2) and violins
11. In Te Domine speravi C-slash D Grande & Petit Choeur

full orchestra
D1,D2= Dessus (soprano) 1+2
Table 8-3 does not indicate the relative durations (in measures) or elapsed time between
movements. Lionel Sawkins makes the point that in several places Charpentier indicates a brief
pause (e.g., after mvt. 2, Suivez après un petite pause) or, conversely, to continue directly to the next
movement (after mvt. 5, Passez sans interruption à la suite).27 These instructions and the continuous
numbering of the measures in the autograph score point to the nonliturgical nature of this setting.
Tempo and key relationships are predicated on that assumption. Unlike later Baroque
works, all but one of the movements (no. 9) has a key signature of two sharps and ends in D
(even when, as is the case with no. 3, it opens in a different tonality, that of [B minor). The
majority of the choral writing is declamatory and homophonic, utilizing rhythm and changes
of vocal texture and harmonic color to achieve variety. Most of the choruses contain brief pas-
sages for the petit choeur, creating a concerto-like alternation between small and larger groups.
The most imitative movement of all is the final chorus, In te Domine speravi, which uses its
dance-like tune for a succession of imitative entries (ex. 8.4). Charpentier takes advantage of
the meaning of the last text phrase (non confundar in aeternum—“do not confound me forever”)
to introduce a stretto, the adamant consistency of which affirms the meaning of the text.
Example 8.4 Charpentier: Te Deum, H. 146, mm. 708–720
Though not Italianate, the solo writing tends to use successive melodic presentations
of the same melodic material at different pitch levels (ex. 8.5). A particularly interesting aspect
Example 8.5 Charpentier: Te Deum, H. 146, mm. 425–432

of this movement is Charpentier’s use of croches blanches, a uniquely French notation reserved
for fairly slow music in 3/2 in which all of the note heads are void, i.e., open. Scholars disagree
about what this unique form of notation may signify (if anything).28 The variability of tempo
and harmony in this composition, though limited in scope in comparison to what follows it,
reveals a composer eschewing Italianate excesses, yet at the same time being able to color the
text with the music in such a way as to elevate its emotional level.
Given the evidence that Charpentier studied with and made copies of Carissimi’s ora-
torios, his own composition of oratorios, unique among his generation of French composers,
is understandable. The approximately thirty-five Latin oratorios composed by Charpentier rep-
resent perhaps the most genuinely original portion of his output; certainly, these works owe
little, if any, debt to contemporaneous French choral music. Charpentier’s oratorios are divis-
ible into three categories based on length, content, and atmosphere. The largest group is the
historiae, fifteen works based on texts by an anonymous librettist who combined biblical stories
with original poetry. Four of these historiae—Judith sive Bethulia Liberata (H. 391)29, Filius
Example 8.6 Charpentier: Le reniement de St. Pierre, mm. 180–191

prodigus, (H. 399), Judicium Salomonis (H. 422), and Mors Saülis et Jonathae (H. 403)—are large
compositions with orchestra and a substantial role for the chorus.
Le reniement de St. Pierre (H. 424), which recounts Peter’s betrayal of Jesus, typifies
this type of oratorio. Despite the French title, it is a Latin oratorio in the manner of Carissimi
with relatively brief solo parts for Jesus (T), Peter (T), the woman at the well (Ostiaria), a maid
(Ancilla), a servant of Malchus (whose ear Peter cut off in the confrontation in Gethsemane),
and the historicus (B). But the most important participant is the chorus that opens and closes
the oratorio (here, taking the part of the historicus). One movement in particular is exceptional
for its dramatic scoring, a quartet of singers representing Peter and three people who question
him during the interrogation of Jesus (ex. 8.6).30
Two related genres of composition are the “canticum” and “dialogue,” which differ
from the oratorio primarily by their more modest length and scoring. Particularly charming
are the four different cantica concerning the birth of Christ, especially In Nativitatem Dominum
Nostrum Jesu Christi Canticum (H.414).31 Another work for the same season is Charpentier’s
setting of the “Great O” antiphons for Advent, solo pieces the texts of which all begin with “O”
(e.g., O Radix Jesse; O clavis David, etc.); these seven versets are sung during the week before
Christmas, and are probably best known for the hymn setting of Veni, veni Emmanuel as “O
Come, O Come, Emmanuel”).Although these pieces are more properly within the realm of the
petite motet, they are wonderful examples of Charpentier’s melodic inventiveness and of the
important role that ornamentation plays in his vocal writing.32
Michel-Richard de Lalande (1657–1726)

Michel-Richard de Lalande dominated the generation after Charpentier; in 1683, Louis XIV
specifically chose Lalande as one of the four sous-maître of the Chapelle Royale. Lalande
revealed his indebtedness to Lully by using texts that Lully had used as the basis for twelve
of his twenty-seven Grande motets. After the death of Louis XIV in 1715, the motet remained
an important part of worship at the Court, but it gradually evolved so that the later works of
Lalande tend either toward the smaller, more introspective petit motet or to the large works that
seem intended more for concert than liturgical performance. The most effusive appreciation
of Lalande comes from his pupil Collin de Blamont in the avertissement to the posthumous
publication of Lalande’s anthems:
His great merit . . . consisted in wonderful choice of melody, judicious use of

harmony and nobility of expression. He understood the value of the words he
chose to treat and rendered (in music) the true meaning of the majestic and
holy enthusiasm of the Prophets. . . . Profound and learned on the one hand,
simple and natural on the other, he applied all his study to touch the soul
by richness of expression and vivid pictorialism. The mind is refreshed by
the pleasing variety not only from one piece to the next, but within the same
piece, . . .by the ingenious disparities with which he ornaments his works, by
the graceful melodies which serve as contrasting episodes to the most com-
plex choral sections.33
In addition to this less than objective appreciation of the composer, whom de Blamont
calls the “Latin Lully,” there is Jean-Jacque Rousseau’s judgment that the motets
of Lalande are “masterpieces of the genre.” Typically, Lalande’s motets are scored
for an instrumental ensemble of five parts (dessus, haute-contre, taille, quint de vio-
lon, and basse) that correspond in range to the vocal scoring found in French cho-
ral music of the period. The scoring is definitely dominated by the top line (dessus),
which can include oboes, recorders or transverse flutes, and trumpets. Another
characteristic feature of the vocal scoring is the use of both petit and grande choeur
(a textural dichotomy roughly synonymous with the Italian cori favorito and capellae).
Lalande’s setting of Psalm 130, De Profundis, provides an example of the richness of
harmony and expression found in all of his motets. Lalande divides this penitential psalm
text into a diverse series of eight vocal movements (see table 8.4). These are truly indepen-
dent movements, a pronounced change from the loosely organized, elided sectional divi-
sions of earlier motets to the autonomous movements we discover in the cantata anthems
of Henry Purcell. Despite the persistence of one key center, Lalande uses change of mode
(major to minor) to reflect the emotional content of the words. The first three movements
are in C minor (with the modal signature of two flats)34; reflecting a more positive stance,
the next three movements all use the major mode. Thereafter, Lalande returns to C minor
for the conclusion of movements 6, 7, and 8 up to the text Et lux perpetua, where he changes
to the major mode, triple meter, and adds the marking Légèrement. Lalande is careful to
create contrasts in vocal and instrumental color—three of the eight movements are choral,
while each of the primary soloists (save the bass) has extended solo music (including a trio
and a quartet).
Most impressive are the framing choral movements. Following a brief instrumental
sinfonia and bass solo, Lalande pens nearly one hundred measures of choral polyphony that
stand here in stark contrast to the predominantly homophonic texture used by his predeces-
sors. Example 8.7 illustrates Lalande’s sensitive use of homophony and declamatory rhythm
to emphasize the text. Lalande’s use of rhetorical repetition and chromaticism to intensify the
movement’s conclusion provide hints of his more modern technique (ex. 8.8).
For the motet’s concluding movement, Lalande sets the texts Et ipse redemit Israel
(“and he shall redeem Israel”) and Ex omnibus iniquitatibus ejus (“from all her sins.”) to con-
trasting motives. His subsequent combination of them suggests that the two were likely con-
ceived as a complementary, contrapuntal block (exx. 8.9a and b). The ascending first motive
portrays the expectation of God’s salvation, while the second descends, suggesting “sin” and
the “Fall.”
Table 8.4: Lalande, De Profundis, Structure

1. De profundis clamavi Basse, Grand Chœur, and orchestra
2. Fiant aures tuae intendentes Quartet (Dessus 1, 2; Haute-contre, Taille) + oboes
and b.c.
3. Si iniquitates observaveris Récit (Taille)
4. Quia apud te propitiatio est Trio (Dessus, Haute-contre, Taille)
5. Sustinuit anima mea Récit: Dessus, oboe and b.c.
6. A custodia matutina Dessus 1, 2 soli + Grand choeur and orchestra
7. Quia apud Dominum misericordia Haute-contre, flute and b.c.
8. Et ipse redimet/Requiem aeternam Grand choeur and orchestra
Example 8.7 Lalande: De Profundis, 1, mm. 70–78
Example 8.8 Lalande: De Profundis, 1, mm. 89–94
Example 8.9 Lalande: De Profundis, 8
(a) Themes
(Continued)
(b) mm. 35–43
So popular were Lalande’s anthems that they made a successful transition from the
royal chapel to the public concert hall. The initial program (April 1725) of the groundbreaking
series of public concerts known as Le Concert Spirituel featured motets by Lalande and the
Concerto grosso, op. 6, no. 12, by Arcangelo Corelli. Indeed, forty-one different grandes motets
by Lalande received nearly six hundred performances during the first forty-five years of these
public concerts in Paris. James Anthony points out that the grand motet was from its incep-
tion the chief adornment of the king’s Mass; accordingly, composers of such pieces were less
concerned with proper liturgical texts than with texts that were appropriately dramatic.35 The
body of texts deemed appropriate for the grand motet became fairly circumscribed, comprised
mainly of psalms and liturgical texts with the requisite variety of imagery required for a com-
position that, by definition, lasted no less than a quarter of an hour. With the motets of Lalande,
the genre reached its zenith, having found a life outside the cloistered environment of the royal
court and attained a measure of parity with opera and instrumental music.
Lalande’s successors were many, but few if any were able to match the brilliance of his
motets. Due to the death of Louis XIV and subsequent changes of royal taste, there was a decline in
the need for such liturgical music, but this was accompanied by an increasing weariness with music
that possessed only a superficial religiosity—a religiosity used to mask what was in reality a syco-
phantic entertainment for an increasingly irrelevant monarchy. Seemingly, the motet was a genre on
the threshold of extinction. And yet composers like Henry Demarest (1661–1741), Jean Gilles (1668–
1705), Guillaume-Gabriel Nivers (1632–1714), Louis-Nicolas Clérambault (1676–1749), Sébastien de
Brossard (1655–1730), André Campra (1660–1744), Nicolas Bernier (1665–1734), François Couperin
(1668–1733), and Jean-Phillippe Rameau (1683–1764) continued to compose such works. Of the com-
posers in this group the last two—Couperin and Rameau—are the most significant.
François Couperin’s current reputation rests largely on his works for the clavecin (harp-
sichord) and organ. His body of motets is limited both in size and type. Following Charpentier’s
example, Couperin prefers the more intimate dimensions of the Petit Motet. In 1704, a French
aristocrat and music pamphleteer, Lecerf de la Viéville, described Couperin as “a servant of
Italian passions”; his Comparison between Italian and French Music attempted to refute Abbé
Raguenet’s claim two years earlier that Italian music was superior. Lecerf’s writings accurately
reflected his own preference for the petit motet (which had always relied on the monodic style)
and his quest for an assimilation of the French and Italian styles (Les Gouts réunis).36
Most of Couperin’s motet production remained in manuscript. The only collections of
vocal music issued during his lifetime were three volumes of psalm verses for a variety of small
vocal ensembles (published at the request of Louis XIV in 1703, 1704, and 1705) followed by his
masterpiece, the Trois Leçons de Ténèbres, composed between 1713 and 1717 for the nuns of the
Abbey of Longchamp. Here, Couperin joins a long and distinguished line of French composers
who had set these extremely expressive texts.37 In setting these laments, Couperin achieves a
level of intensity rarely found in French vocal music. The secret of his success is his ability to
blend the French and Italian styles, especially in their different treatments of dissonance. More
obviously Italianate is Couperin’s frequent use of chain suspensions and chromatically charged
harmonies. These tendencies are most pronounced in his settings of the Hebrew letters that
exist separate from the general texts, for which he adopted a less lavish vocal style. These let-
ters demarcate the separate Leçons and often prompt long, undulating vocal melismas and
suspended dissonance, as this excerpt from the Troisième Leçon illustrates (ex. 8.10).
Example 8.10 Couperin: Troisiéme Leçon de ténèbre, Jod

Jean-Phillippe Rameau
The final, major figure of French Baroque music is Jean-Phillippe Rameau, an exact contempo-
rary of Bach and Handel. His fame rests more on his theoretical writing (Traité de l’Harmonie,
Paris, 1722), his numerous operatic compositions, and his extensive Pièces de claveçin than on
his comparatively modest output of motets. There are no surviving examples of the petit motet
and only four grand motets, all conceived as concert pieces. Of these the strongest is arguably
his setting of the psalm In convertendo (Ps 126), composed between 1713 and 1715, and revised
for performance at the 1751 Concert Spirituel in Paris. Rameau shapes the eight verses of this
powerful psalm of Israel’s captivity into seven distinct movements (see table 8.5). To these eight
verses, Rameau adds an additional, psalm-like text.38
Laudate nomen Dei cum cantico. Laudemus nomen Dei cum cantico. Et magnificate eum in
laude. Magnficemus in laude.
Praise the name of the Lord with song. Let us praise the name of the Lord in song. And
magnify him with praise. Let us magnify him with praise.
This additional text is a glossed version of Psalm 68 (Vulgate), Salvum me fac Deus; the psalm
texts (in bold) alternate with first-person-plural restatements in the manner of responds.
Rameau inserts this as the fifth movement (of seven) between verses five and six of the actual
psalm text. His music follows the textual design using soprano solo and chorus, making it dif-
ficult to ascertain whether this text construction was Rameau’s idea or if he were simply setting
the text an anonymous librettist gave him.
Table 8.5: Rameau, In Convertendo, Form

Movement Text Key Meter Scoring
1. Ps. 126:1 1 g/G 2/2 Haute-contre solo, flutes, oboes, and
Gravement strings
2. Ps 126: G 3/4 Chorus à 5, orchestra

2–3 Gai
3. Ps 126:4 G 2/2 Lent, Dessus, Basse duo-oboes, bassoon,

3/4 violins, b.c.
tres gai
4. Ps 126:5 C 4/4 (Lent) Basse-Taille récit, flutes, strings
5. Ps 68:35 G 3/4 Dessus solo and choir à 4—oboes,

Un peu gai bassoon, and strings
6. Ps 126:6 G 4/4 Trio for Dessus, haute-contre, and basse

Animé with unison violins and b.c.
7. Ps 126: g/G 2/2 Double Fugue for chorus and orchestra

7–8
Example 8.11 Rameau: In Convertendo, 6
(a) Motive 1
(b) Motive 2
(c) mm. 62–68

Rameau brings maximum contrast to bear in every aspect of his composition, prompt-
ing comparison to the Bach cantatas of roughly the same time. Rameau’s chief vehicle for
creating variety is vocal scoring; three of the seven movements (3, 4, and 6) use only soloists,
employing a different texture for each (duet, solo, trio). Only one of the three choral movements
(mvt. 5) uses the chorus in conjunction with a solo voice; in movement 2 Rameau consistently
separates the two textures, while in movement 5 he uses the soprano in concerted dialogue
with the homophonic choral refrain (employing the additional text).
In his pioneering study of Rameau’s music, Cuthbert Girdlestone calls the final fugue,
the “chef-d’oeuvre de toute las musique d’église de Rameau.”39 This somewhat extravagant claim
is defensible due to Rameau’s contrapuntal manipulation of two contrasting motives. This
“almost fugue” combines three motives (the first two associated with the lachrymose text) that
boldly present the textual contrasts; the chromatic descending line used for flebant (ex. 8.11a)
dominates the movement, but it is matched against a sixteenth-note, scalar melody represent-
ing the joyful return of the harvesters (ex. 8.11b). Still more impressive is the apparently effort-
less way in which Rameau synthesizes these two disparate elements (ex. 8.11c).
Conclusion
There is a vast, largely unexplored treasure of wonderful music in this often-neglected period,
much of it contained in the operas of Rameau (e.g., Castor et Pollux, Platée) and earlier French
composers of opera (e.g., Lully, Charpentier, et al.). The vast majority of choral works available
to the modern chorus fall under the category of “grand motets,” a term that has roughly the
same connotations in this repertory as the term “verse anthem” has in Purcell’s choral music
or, in the later stages of its musical development (e.g., Rameau’s In convertendo), something
akin to the structure of the typical Bach cantata. Now that the insuperable obstacle of “no
decent modern performing editions” is increasingly irrelevant (especially since the advent of
the wonderful editions published by the Centre du Musique Baroque de Versailles), this music
is increasingly accessible. Nonetheless, there are still some stylistic impediments inherent in
the performance of French Baroque music that one doesn’t have to deal with in that of other
countries: the issues of ornamentation and rhythmic inequality, which, if omitted, render the
music drab. Even this obstacle can be overcome through some reading and listening, but the
major requirement is a certain degree of bravery and willingness to try out new ideas that are
needed by conductors and choirs in order to make the music come off the page. Hopefully, this
overview of French Baroque choral music will instill in students and conductors the incentive
to listen to it, make the effort to attain scores, understand the unique performance conventions
of that era, and, most importantly, program the music.
Baroque innovations came later and with much greater ambivalence to France than
was the case with Germany, where Italian musicians were in such demand. Even the great
Heinrich Schütz complained that it was difficult to find a court chapel where German liturgical
music could be performed. What history may have lost in the French diffidence toward the new
Italian music, it gained in the anglicized version of the French style that came to England as the
direct result of the future Charles II’s enforced exile to Versailles during the Commonwealth
(1649–60). Thus, it is in the music of Henry Purcell and his contemporaries that one finds the
clearest “translation” of the subtleties of the French rhythmic and ornamentation practices.
9
Choral Music in England from the

Restoration to Handel
A s disruptive as it was to careers of composers and as ruinous as it was to Roman Catholic

institutions and clergy, Henry VIII’s break with Rome never caused the total cessation of
English choral composition. Following the execution of Charles I in 1649, Oliver Cromwell insti-
tuted a Commonwealth based upon Puritan principles; this theocracy, following the Calvinists,
forbade all figural music and instruments in church (see chap. 5). Only metrical psalms were
allowed, placing the future of contemporary English music in certain venues (home and theater)
that were not necessarily suited to the task. Regardless of the causes of the monarchy’s demise and
the Commonwealth’s rise, a return of the insular inferiority that has periodically marked the his-
tory of English music ensued as the long arm of Thomas Cranmer reached far (“for every syllable,
one note”). Indicative of the problem were the flight of recusant Catholic composers like Richard
Deering (ca. 1580–1630) and Peter Philips (1560–1628), along with Prince Charles’s exile at the
French court in Versailles. The first event confirmed the increasing introspection of the Anglican
musical establishment, while the second prepared the way for acceptance of French musical nov-
elty as the solution to the cultural void created by the Puritans. Christopher Dearnley remarks:
There is no doubt that Charles II, directly and indirectly, did influence church
music. His personal delight in music and his concern to maintain standards
245
and magnificence in his chapels, even though this was often way beyond his
means, ensured the first step—the reconstitution of an interrupted tradition.1
Charles II (r. 1660–85) quickly ordered the restoration of the Chapel Royal (influ-
enced as much by French practice as by the previous incarnation of the institution in
England), created his own “twenty-four violins,” and reestablished court life as the center
of English culture. The Chapel Royal quickly attracted the finest musicians in the realm.
The greater problem was the lack of trained young choristers. Charles sought to remedy this
by appointing Henry Cooke (ca. 1616–72), one of the few surviving members of the former
chapel, as bass singer and “Master of the Children.” Captain Cooke immediately began an
aggressive program of recruiting and training the boys necessary to staff the chapel’s choir.
Like its Continental counterparts, the Chapel Royal provided boys with musical training
and a general education. 2 By 1662 Captain Cooke had recruited a full complement of twelve
boys, including such future masters as Pelham Humfrey (1647–74), John Blow (1649–1708),
William Turner (1651–1740), and Michael Wise (1648–78). In addition to these twelve, there
was a special stipend for Cooke to train and board two “singing boys,” who were expected
to participate in the private music for the king and queen in addition to their duties at the
Chapel.3 Especially talented boys like Humfrey and, later, Henry Purcell (1659–95) were sin-
gled out for extra training above and beyond the instruction in music and singing given to
all of the choristers.
Aside from Cooke, the principal compositional figure at the outset of the Restoration
was Matthew Locke (1622–77). During the Commonwealth, Locke gained fame as a com-
poser of dramatic music, writing such for the masque Cupid and Death (1653) and Sir William
D’Avenant’s play, The Siege of Rhodes (1656). After the Restoration, Locke remained active in
the theater, participating in Shadwell’s production of The Tempest (1674) and composing music
for his own play, Psyche (1675). Locke’s church music included thirty anthems (six with instru-
ments) and twelve Latin motets (half with instrumental accompaniment).
Pelham Humfrey (1647–74)

Three Restoration composers stand out as most significant—Pelham Humfrey, John Blow, and
Henry Purcell. Of this younger generation, Humfrey was regarded as by far the most promising,
prompting Charles II to send him to Versailles to learn the French style firsthand. Humfrey trav-
eled on the Continent for two years (1664–66), 4 returning as lutenist in the Royal Band (1666),
followed by appointment to the Chapel Royal (1667), Cooke’s successor as master of the children,
and composer in ordinary for the king’s violins (1672). Humfrey was the first to emancipate the
anthem from the contrapuntal heritage of such earlier masters as Gibbons and Weelkes. He shifted
the focus to the violins, used for independent sinfonias and ritornelli, which in turn shaped the
anthem’s formal structure. This use of strings and the incorporation of basso continuo freed the
voices to focus on expressive presentation of the words. Humfrey assigned the primary role of text
interpretation to mature solo singers (countertenor, tenor, and bass) who in various combinations
formed the “verse.” The choir’s role was reduced to concluding major musical sections; even here,
Humfrey frequently limited it to repeating the soloists’ text and melody.
An excellent example of Humfrey’s expressive style is his verse anthem By the waters
of Babylon. Scored for alto, tenor, and bass verse, four-part chorus, and strings, this is one
of the earliest “symphony anthems.” A series of variegated sections gives the impression of
England from the Restoration to Handel 247
Table 9.1. Humfrey, By the waters of Babylon, form

1 2 3 4 5
mm. 1–35 mm. 36–102 mm. 103–62 mm. 163–81 mm. 182–224
Symphony verse (B) A, T, B verse with A, T verse + B verse + A, T, B verse, chorus
4/4 chorus Symphony ritornello 4/4
f 3/4–4/4–3/4–4/4 4/4–3/4 4/4 f
v. 1 f–B♭–f–B♭–f f f vv. 8*–9
vv. 2–4 vv. 5*–6 v. 7
* These verses are incomplete (at least comparing the text of the anthem to a modern version of
the psalm.)
being through-composed. In an often overlooked chapter of Music in the Baroque Era, Manfred
Bukofzer concluded that “nearly all early baroque forms had one formal trait in common: mul-
tisectional structure.”5 By the middle Baroque years (1654–1707), these sections had become
more unified externally and internally, decreasing in number as they grew in length and coher-
ence. In Humfrey’s anthem, the numerous symphonies, ritornellos, and changes from the
duple to triple meter that King Charles especially liked became primary formal markers.
Humfrey divided the nine verses of Psalm 137 into five parts (table 9.1).
The overwhelming commonality is the tonal center of F minor; although here Humfrey
created tonal contrasts, he never really left F minor.6 The form of this anthem depends almost
entirely upon changes in texture and meter. Of the five sections outlined in table 9-1, only two
(the second and fifth) contain choral writing; even here, it is subservient to the solo vocal writing.
Nonetheless, the two sections containing chorus are the longest, most developed parts of the
work. The other three sections are comparatively brief with little text repetition. Most interesting
is the second section, in which tenor and bass each present a verse of the psalm. They are eventu-
ally joined by the alto presenting new material (in 4/4) for the words, “a melody in our heaviness”
(mm. 60–70). Following a brief ritornello, triple meter returns, shortly followed by the chorus’s
first appearance, presenting the demand, “Sing us one of the songs of Sion.” The plaintive ques-
tion, “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?” interrupts this vigorous music.
Repetition of this dialogue reveals Humfrey’s indebtedness to the past and his willingness
to embrace the future. Following the choral cadence in m. 85, the soloists reenter, the tenor’s
cadential B♭ challenged by the bass’s B♮ one beat after it (exx. 9.1a and b).
The result is a simultaneous cross-relationship, reminiscent of the dissonant clashes
heard in the music of Tallis and other Tudor composers, but here it is demonstrative of the
basso continuo’s allowance of such chromatic movement.7 Clearly, the B♮ represents Humfrey’s
desire to move from B♭ to C minor. Unwilling to wait for the B♭ to clear, he forces the har-
monic issue by having the B♮ sound against it. Given historical hindsight, we know that such
false relations are as much a part of the recovered language as they are acknowledgements
of the Tudor past (although the clearer precedent may lie with the latter). Such voice leading,
unthinkable before the advent of continuo, had become part of the English sound. A descend-
ing diminished-seventh, followed immediately by a diminished-octave in the alto soloist’s part
reinforce that notion that harmonic thinking trumps voice leading. From this conflict comes
the pathos that exists at the core of Purcell’s musical language.
Another passage that presages the music of Purcell is the bass verse “Down with it
to the ground” (ex. 9-1b); Humfrey’s expressive melody utilizes the wide range typically found
Example 9.1 Humfrey: By the Waters of Babylon

(a) mm. 81–86
(b) mm. 168–176
in the bass solos Purcell wrote for John Gostling. The same passage shows Humfrey’s use of
sequential repetition to enhance the test.
John Blow
John Blow, like Pelham Humfrey, was a member of the generation of composers who grew up
in the Restoration as choirboys. His musical posts included organist at Westminster Abbey
(1668–79), “Musician for the virginals” in the king’s music (1669), Gentleman of the Chapel
Royal (1674), Master of the Children of the Chapel Royal (1674–1708), Master of the Choristers
at St. Paul’s Cathedral (1677), and successor to Humfrey as vocal composer for the king’s pri-
vate music. In spite of this luminous career, his choral music remains even less well known
(outside of England) than Humfrey’s. The organist and scholar Christopher Dearnley remarks
that “were it not for the tireless research of Watkins Shaw, we might still be regarding Blow
as no more than a quaint contemporary of Purcell.”8 Watkins Shaw (1911–96) was a British
musicologist who, almost singlehandedly, was responsible for the “early music revival” of the
twentieth century. His scholarship focused on the works of English composers from Tallis
through Purcell and Handel.
Unlike Purcell, John Blow composed church music throughout his life. His catalogue
includes eleven Latin motets, nine complete services (as well as additional Canticles), twenty-four
odes, and ninety-six anthems (at least twenty-eight with string accompaniment). Of his published
anthems, the finest by all accounts is his eight-part (SSAATBBB) setting of Psalm 89, God spake
sometimes in visions, composed for the coronation of James I in 1685; the text has been routinely
used for coronations ever since. Aware of the occasion’s grandeur, Blow created an orchestral
anthem more than twelve minutes in length. The verse sections were deployed using antiphony
similar to Venetian polychoral music. In this anthem, traits regarded as Purcellian—the promi-
nence of syllabic declamation, alternation of duple and triple meter, cadential cross-relationships,
and sudden changes of harmony—are combined to great effect (ex. 9.2).
Example 9.2 Blow: God spake sometimes in visions, mm. 147–154

Completely different in scope and expression is Salvator mundi, a Latin anthem for five
voices (SSATB) and organ based on a Sarum antiphon. Perhaps the Latin text prompted the
Italian-style counterpoint and harmony used for the opening point of imitation. The descend-
ing chromaticism at per crucem, the combination of different themes, and the occasional use
of “false” intervals and third relationships further suggest Italian influence (exx. 9.3a–c).
Example 9.3 Blow: Salvator mundi
(a) mm. 1–4
(b) mm. 13–16
(c) mm. 25–29

Located precisely at the anthem’s mid-point, this last passage’s dramatic modulation to B major
signals (m. 26) a transition from cantus mollis (flats) to cantus durus.
mm. 1–25 mm. 26 mm. 27–53

B♭ (g Hypodorian) B major no B♭
This unexpected cadence effectively separates the first portion of text (through “redemisti nos”)
from the second, creating a binary form conspicuous for its lack of modal unity.
Henry Purcell
Although John Blow outlived him by thirteen years, Henry Purcell, the “Orpheus Brittanicus”
became the first English composer since Dunstable to stand comparison with his contem-
poraries on the Continent. Purcell (like Mozart) was a composer who accepted no limits
of style or genre, being equally comfortable whether composing anthems, operas (full and
semi), instrumental music, theatrical music, or solo songs. Purcell’s songs have become a de
rigueur component of many voice recitals, just as his anthems are a staple for choirs of all
Figure 9.1 Henry Purcell, 1590

sizes. One demonstration of this compositional reach is the incidental music composed for
Thomas Shadwell’s play The Libertine (Z. 600). Leonard Rumery explains that the stage works
of Purcell contain wonderful choral music, whether as independent choruses or miniature
masques like The Libertine.9 This particular work holds special interest because it bears two
well-known compositions by Purcell—the air “Nymphs and Shepherds, Come Away” and the
pastoral chorus “In these delightful pleasant groves.”
The chorus plays an important, if somewhat limited, role in Purcell’s semi-operas. In
Fairy Queen (1692) there are eleven choruses, compared to thirty-one songs or vocal ensemble
pieces. Eight of these choruses repeat material first presented soloistically, as is the case in “If Love’s
A Sweet Passion” (no. 20). The movement presents the same melody three times—first, as string
prelude, then as soprano solo, and finally as a chorus. Even though the scansion of both stanzas is
the same—six lines of dactylic tetrameter that rhyme aabbcc—Purcell was under no obligation to
repeat the same melody and harmony or to use the entire twenty-four measures as a prelude. That
he chose to do so reveals the enormous influence that dance music exerted, even in vocal pieces.
Only three of the work’s eleven choruses are independent. One of these, “Hail Great
Parent of us all,” (act 4) opens and closes a “Masque for the Four Seasons.” The presence of
Example 9.4 Purcell: Fairy Queen (Z. 629), Act. 3, 20

(a) mm. 1–8
(b) mm. 26–33
(c) mm. 50–57

such a self-sufficient musical structure typifies semi-operas like Fairy Queen, which, accord-
ing to seventeenth-century observers like Roger North (d. 1734) “were called Operas but had
bin more properly styled Semi-operas, for they consisted of half Musick and half Drama. . . .
For some that would come to the play hated the musick, and others that were very desirous of
the musick, would not bear the interruption that so much rehearsall [sic] gave, so that it is best
to have either by itself entire.”10 Purcell’s Fairy Queen transpires within a performance (heav-
ily cut) of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.11 Where necessary, the librettist created
dialogue to justify the appearance of music:
Oberon and Robin Goodfellow enter, then Lysander and Helena, Demetrius
and Hermia. Shakespeare’s Act III is followed, with omissions, till the four
lovers fall asleep. Oberon then wakes Titania and calls for Robin Goodfellow
to take the ass’s head off Bottom. The following lines lead into the music:
Robin: Hark, thou King of Shadows, hark! Sure I hear the morning Lark.
Oberon: Let him warble on, I’ll stay, And bless these Lover’s Nuptial Day. Sleep, happy
lovers, for some Moments, sleep.
Robin: So, when thou wak’st with thy own Fools Eyes, peep.
Oberon: Titania, call for Musick.
Titania: Let us have all Variety of Musick, All that should welcome the rising Sun.
The “rising Sun” reference summons forth Phoebus, who, in mythology, drives the sun across
the sky in a chariot drawn by four horses. His descent from heaven (via elaborate stage machin-
ery) is made to the accompaniment of regal entry music (no. 33), after which Phoebus sings
of his essential role in supporting life. Purcell here introduces the chorus of homage, “Hail,
Great Parent of us all” (ex. 9.5). Following this chorus, each of the four seasons is personified
by songs of different tempo, key, and scoring:
Spring: “Thus the ever grateful Spring” (soprano, 4/4, B minor, violins, and continuo)
Summer: “Here’s the Summer, sprightly, gay” (alto, G, 3/8, oboes and continuo)
Fall: “See, See my many-colour’d Fields” (tenor, E, C-slash, violins/continuo)
Winter: “See Winter comes slowly” (bass, A, 3/2, full strings)
A reprise of “Hail, Great Parent of us all” (followed by a dance) concludes this masque.
Purcell comes closest to the variety and drama of his stage music in the numer-
ous odes and welcome songs he composed for the royal family and for the feast of St.
Cecilia. Purcell’s six birthday odes for Queen Mary, the last of which, Come, Ye Sons of Art
(1694), rank among his most popular compositions.12 In this work, Purcell divides John
Dryden’s poem into eight vocal movements, preceded by a three-movement “Symphony”
(Adagio–Allegro–Adagio):
These movements display a relative lack of variety in all parameters. All movements
use either 3/4 or 4/4 time, the tempi of which are either “fast” or “slow” according to the dance
type used. The composition exhibits seventeenth-century sectional form. as Purcell’s reliance
Table 9.2 Purcell, Come, Ye Sons of Art (Z. 323), formal structure
Movement Key Meter/Tempo Scoring
1. Overture: Largo, D 4/4 oboes (recorders), 2 trumpets
Canzona, Adagio (timpani), strings
2. “Come, ye sons of Art” D 3/4 (Fast) CT solo
3. “Sound the trumpet” D 4/4 (Fast) SATB, T, O, strings
CT 1&2, b.c.
4. Symphony/Chorus D 4/4 (Fast) oboes and strings; SATB
(Reprise of “Come, ye sons of chorus
Art”)
5. Solo: “Strike the viol” d 3/4 (Slow) CT, 2 recorders (“flutes”), b.c.
6. Solo + Chorus: “The day that d 3/4 (Moderate) B, SATB, strings
such a blessing gave”
7. Solo: “Bid the Virtues, bid the a 4/4 (Slow) S, oboe, b.c.
Graces to the sacred shrine
repair”
8. Solo: “These are the sacred A 4/4 (Fast) B, b.c.
charms”
9. Duet + Chorus: “See Nature D 3/4 (Fast) S, B, SATB, Tutti
rejoicing”
Example 9.5 Purcell: Fairy Queen (Z. 629), 35, mm. 1–11

on dance music enables the use of short, repeated musical units that retain a distinctive tempo
and meter throughout. These separate units even have the binary design typical of dance
music. The dances are grouped by tempo to create a large ternary design—fast (mvts. 1–4),
slow (mvts. 5–7), fast (mvts. 8–9)—reminiscent of the Italian sinfonia. The three solo move-
ments that comprise the slow portion all use minor mode; they are framed by duets (mvts. 3
and 8) and choral dance songs (mvts. 2 and 9) in major keys. The two solo movements (5 and 7)
feature different obbligato solo instruments (flutes and oboes) and have no choral reprise.13
Given Purcell’s use of just two tonal centers, D and A (used in both major and minor mode) the
structural variety he achieves is remarkable indeed. The choral writing strongly resembles that
found in Fairy Queen: the choruses are harmonized versions of the preceding dance song. The
first chorus, “Come, ye sons of art” follows an identical countertenor air, even repeating the
solo part as the alto part of the choral version (ex. 9.6a and b).
Example 9.6 Purcell: Come, come, ye sons of art (Z. 323)

(a) mm. 88–103
(b) mm. 116–131

Four of Purcell’s odes were composed for the Feast of St. Cecilia (November 22, which
also happened to be Purcell’s birthday); the most familiar of these is Hail, Bright Cecilia (1692).
This ode has much in common with “Come, ye sons of art”: segmentation of the poetic text, use
of simple meters (especially 4/4), an opening symphony, predominantly soloistic writing (nine
of the thirteen vocal mvts.), and festive orchestration (trumpets and tympani, two oboes, two
recorders, strings, and continuo). The clearest difference is that here Purcell links the move-
ments harmonically to form larger complexes. This technique is clearly evident in the series of
three solo airs (nos. 8, 9, and 10), the texts of which each allude to a specific instrument. Purcell
contrives that the tonality of each solo is a third lower than its predecessor (E–C–A), allowing
him to connect the final bass sonority of one with the first of the next simply by inserting a
passing tone. Despite a more varied array of tonal centers than the symphony, movements 2–5
are linked harmonically (D–A–F–B♭), avoiding full closure due to textual relatedness:
Mvt. 2. That Thine and Music’s sacred love / May make the British forest
prove as famous as Dodona’s vocal grove.
Mvt. 3. Hark, each tree its silence breaks . . . in the sprightly violin / That in
the Flute distinctly speaks. / ’Twas Sympathy their list’ning Brethren
drew / when to the Thracian lyre with leafy wings they flew.
Mvt. 4. ’Tis Nature’s voice thro’ all the moving wood / of creatures under-
stood / The universal tongue / to none of all her num’rous race
unknown. / From her it learnt the mighty art / to court the ear or
strike the heart.
Mvt. 5. Soul of the world inspired by thee / the jarring, jarring seeds of mat-
ter did agree. / Thou didst the scattered atoms bind / which by thy
laws of true proportion joined / Made up of various parts one perfect,
perfect harmony.
Two movements, ’Tis nature’s voice” and “Soul of the world” stand out as most impressive.
(The first, a monody for countertenor, was reputedly sung by Purcell himself.) Purcell’s vocal
writing has a decidedly Italianate quality, especially the descending vocal sequence found in
mm. 5–6 (ex. 9.7).
Example 9.7 Purcell: Hail Bright Cecilia (Z. 328), 4, mm. 1–8
Also Italianate is the harmony evoked by the text, “We hear, and straight we grieve,” which
Purcell realizes by suddenly changing from F major (one flat) to F minor (three flats).
In contrast to most Purcell choruses, “Soul of the world” (mvt. 5) uses distinctive text
setting to consummate the narrative instead of repeating its music or, in this case, simply
changing to a more joyful affect. Most striking is Purcell’s realization of the words “the jarring,
jarring seeds of matter did agree”:
Example 9.8 (a) Purcell: Hail Bright Cecilia (Z. 328) 5, mm. 8–11
(b) Purcell: King Arthur (Z. 628) 27, mm. 1–3
Purcell not only invokes the minor mode by using its fully diminished-seventh chord (E♮–G–
B♭–D♭) but also notates a string “tremolo” to simulate “jarring.” A choral use of the same device
(to represent shivering) appears in the famous “Frost Chorus” from King Arthur.
Perhaps the most typically Purcellian movement is the bass solo “Wondrous Machine.”
The “wondrous machine” referenced in the text is the organ, St. Cecilia’s instrument. To rep-
resent the organ, Purcell writes a trio texture comprised of two oboes and basso continuo to
simulate the three lines (two manuals plus pedal) typical of organ composition. The bass line is
another of Purcell’s many “grounds,” a repeated two-measure figure, over which both the solo
bass and the two oboes unfold their thematic material (ex. 9.9a).
Example 9.9 Purcell: Hail Bright Cecilia (Z. 328), 8

(a) mm. 1–3
(Continued)
(b) mm. 25–26
The first twenty-four measures present the bass twelve times; to avoid slavish repeti-
tion and tonal monotony, Purcell modulates to the relative major (G) by manipulating the bass
line through the circle of fifths (ex. 9.9b). After three statements in G, the ostinato returns to E
minor, initiating a reprise of the first sixteen measures of the composition (mm. 37–52 = mm.
3–9 and 15–24).
Purcell’s Sacred Music

The majority of Purcell’s sacred music dates from the 1680s; after the death of Charles II
in 1685 and the accession of the Catholic James II (1685–89) the status of the Chapel Royal
declined significantly. Given the drought in sacred music composition during Cromwell’s Long
Parliament, Purcell’s available models were few, consisting principally of Cooke and Locke and
manuscript copies from the Elizabethan era. To compose anthems of any type, Purcell had
to reconstruct the pre-Cromwell genres of sacred music—the full anthem, the verse anthem,
and service. Of the latter there is a single example of each type: an impressive Full Service in
B♭ (including the Creed and responses to the Ten Commandments), an evening service in G
minor, and a morning service with string accompaniment.
For his anthems Purcell overwhelmingly favored the verse format, composing only
three full anthems and seven that Franklin Zimmermann has called “full with verse.”14 While
the anthems were a relatively small portion of Purcell’s total output, their quality and variety
of approach more than compensate for their minority status. Of the full anthems, the most
impressive is Hear my prayer, O Lord (Z. 15).15 Robert King expressed the commonly held view
that this was merely the sole surviving fragment of a much larger composition.16 Scored for
eight voices (SSAATTBB), Purcell based his anthem exclusively on two short themes, which he
interwove imitatively to generate an impressive contrapuntal tapestry, the climax of which is an
amazingly dissonant sonority (exx. 9.10a and b).
Example 9.10 Purcell: Hear my prayer, O Lord (Z. 15)

(a) mm. 1–6
(b) mm. 31–34
Anyone who knows this score comes away impressed by Purcell’s facility with Tudor
counterpoint, especially his rediscovery of how to use proper voice-leading to produce the
improper (i.e., dissonant) sonorities that, in his hands, become plangent cross-relations that far
transcend their original function as cadential embellishments.
Another spectacular early anthem by Purcell is his ten-voice setting of Blow up the
trumpet in Sion, (Z. 10, 1677?), which takes Joel 2:15–17 as its text.17 According to Peter Holman
and Robert Thompson, Purcell copied the style of Matthew Locke’s polychoral anthem, Be
Thou exalted, Lord (1666). They point specifically to the similarity of scoring, a seven-part verse
in declamatory style with constantly varied voice groupings.18 Like his Tudor predecessors,
Purcell uses the traditional decani/cantoris antiphony.
Each verse of the biblical text receives the same treatment—an “exposition” by the solo
verse, followed by a choral repeat (often truncated), which produces a well-balanced, tripartite
structure. If the anthem’s structure and disposition of vocal forces seem retrospective, the har-
monic language is decidedly modern. After opening with statements of the same music in C
and G major, Purcell abruptly changes to the minor mode (three flats) at “Sanctify a fast, call a
solemn assembly.” The even more emotional text, “Let them weep between the porch and the
altar,” elicits similar harmonies in the middle segment. As the full chorus repeats the invoca-
tion, “Spare thy people, O Lord, spare them” in minor mode, the verse reverts to the dissonant
counterpoint of Hear my prayer, O Lord (ex. 9.11). Christopher Dearnley explains “In its more dis-
sonant passages each vocal line shows an obstinate disregard for its partners, creating sonorities
of a type that Purcell used to such effect in the great coronation anthem My heart is inditing.”19
The semitone inflection of the word “weep” creates augmented triads and other unex-
pected chromatic twists and turns, yet the construction of each separate vocal line is logical
and thematic. This type of harmony—equal parts of linear counterpoint and Italianate har-
mony—becomes a distinctive aspect of Purcell’s choral style found in most of his anthems.
Another two anthems that feature this same stylistic synergy are Lord, how long wilt thou be
angry? Z. 25 (ca. 1683) and O God, thou art my God, Z. 35 (ca. 1681–82?).20
Example 9.11 Purcell: Blow up the trumpet in Sion (Z. 10), mm. 55–60
Purcell’s verse anthems with organ accompaniment seem to date from the same
period (ca. 1677–82). The addition of string accompaniment in later verse anthems stems
directly from Charles’s preference for French style music, as expressed in these oft-quoted
words of Thomas Tudway:
His Majesty, who was a brisk, and Airy Prince, coming to the Crown in the
Flow’r and vigour of his Age, was soon, if I may say so, tyr’d with the Grave and
Solemn way, And order’d the Composers of his Chappell to add Symphonies,
etc. with Instruments to their Anthems; and thereupon established a select
number of his private music to play the Symphonies and Ritornellos, which
he had appointed. . . . The King did not intend by this innovation to alter any-
thing of the established way; he only appointed this to be done, when he came
himself to the Chappell, which was only upon Sundays in the Mornings, on
the great Festivals, and days of Offerings.21
This royal fiat did not mandate that anthems were necessarily conceived for or performed with
orchestra; normally, Purcell had only a string quartet and theorbo (bass lute) available to him.
Notable exceptions to this are the coronation anthems My Heart is inditing Z. 30 (1685) and Praise
the Lord, O Jerusalem Z. 46 (1689), both conceived for the vast expanse of Westminster Abbey.
If the patchwork design of the earliest “symphony anthems” suggested the influence of
Humfrey and Blow, Purcell soon began to exert his personality, extending the length of sections
while simultaneously reducing their number and creating tighter, more varied formal struc-
tures. In the “Bell Anthem,” Rejoice in the Lord alway, Z. 49 (1683–84), he repeats a minuet-like
refrain is repeated to articulate the verse sections. While They that go down to the sea in ships, Z.
57 (1682–83?) exploited the virtuosity of John Gostling’s bass voice in its stirring solo pas-
sages,22 such virtuosity led, perhaps inevitably, to reduced choral participation, as in My song
shall be alway, Z. 31 (1688–90).
Shortly after the accession of William and Mary in 1689, instrumental participation in
sacred music ceased. Before that cessation, though, Purcell composed one of his most impor-
tant “symphony” anthems—O, sing unto the Lord, Z. 44 (1688). This multimovement setting
of verses from Psalm 96 contains all the attributes of the mature Purcellian anthem—sym-
phonies, elaborate solo writing, a somewhat reduced role for the chorus, and ground bass. The
bipartite symphony in O, sing unto the Lord is essentially a prelude and fugue, indicative of
Italian influence.23 The vocal music begins with the bass soloist’s declamation of the psalm’s
first verse, followed by a choral “Hallelujah,” which in turn generates an extended string ritor-
nello (mm. 90–117). Verses 2 and 3 feature soloists: first, an imitative quartet in D minor, then
a reprise of the bass solo and strings in F major. The first purely choral music in m. 151 presents
verse 6, the skipped verses (4 and 5) appearing in the soprano-alto duet over a ground bass that
follows (ex. 9.12).
Example 9.12 Purcell: O, Sing unto the Lord (Z. 44), mm. 164–171
Here we see Purcell’s variation technique, each solo section using the same ground
in slightly different ways. An extended string ritornello, largely based on previous vocal mate-
rial, further extends the variation process. Purcell’s most radical tonal foray (the parallel mode,
F minor) is used in verse 9, “O worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.” After statements
by solo quartet (in F) and chorus (C minor) that concludes in C major,24 Purcell writes a spir-
ited, antiphonal dialogue between bass and choir in F major. The antiphonal interplay that
follows essentially reprises the harmonic scheme of the entire work (F–C–F–D–F). Purcell
concludes the impressive anthem with a reprise of the triple meter “Hallelujah” previously
heard in section 2.
Purcell composed Jehova, quam multi sunt hostes mei? (Z. 135), a paraphrase of Psalm 3,
possibly to console Charles II when dynastic intrigues threatened his reign in 1679.25 This rela-
tively early, most un-Anglican composition possesses surprising dramatic power and scope.
The centerpiece of the anthem is Ego cubui et dormivi, a brief passage of great pathos, often
considered the apogee of Purcell’s choral style (ex. 9.13).
Example 9.13 Purcell: Jehovah, quam multi sunt hostes mei

(Z. 135), mm. 53–57
Purcell’s setting of the Burial Service (Z. 27) may have been written as early as 1674
for Pelham Humfrey’s funeral and subsequently revised. Each of its three compositions—Man
that is born of a woman, In the midst of life we are in death, and Thou knowest Lord the secrets of
our hearts—are verse anthems for four solo voices and continuo with brief choral responses.
From these limited resources, Purcell creates evocative counterpoint and harmony in response
to the words (ex. 9.14).
Example 9.14 Purcell: Man that is born of a woman, (Z. 27) mm. 148–153
Purcell composed another setting of Thou knowest Lord the secrets of our hearts as the sole vocal
movement of his memorable Funeral Music for Queen Mary (Z. 860, 1695). Little did Purcell
know that this simple yet moving piece would become his own funeral song a mere eight
months later.
After Purcell, English choral composers continued to produce anthems and services,
but none of them rose to Purcell’s level. Among the more important composers were William
Croft (1678–1727), Maurice Greene (1695–1744), and William Boyce (1711–78). Outside of cathe-
dral establishments, their choral music is seldom performed today, although the eight sym-
phonies of Boyce have gained an enthusiastic following. Of particular historical importance is
William Boyce’s three-volume anthology, Cathedral Music (published between 1760 and 1778),
a collection that continued to serve cathedral choirs into the nineteenth century; had it not
been for Maurice Greene’s collection of cathedral and church music, which he bequeathed
to Boyce, we might not know of the wealth of music by Tallis, Byrd, and other early masters.
Nonetheless, Boyce’s works and those of his contemporaries were soon eclipsed by the music
of their new countryman, George Frideric Handel. Though neither English nor part of the
cathedral tradition, Handel was destined to redefine the eighteenth-century English choral
tradition, also assuring the continuation of that tradition into the nineteenth century.
G. F. Handel (1685–1759)
Manfred Bukofzer suggests that Handel, more than anyone else, was able to assimilate the
three major national styles.26 Born and trained in Germany, Handel’s desire to be a successful
opera composer required him to train in Italy. In 1707 he left Hamburg, the center of contem-
porary German opera performance under Reinhard Keiser (1674–1739), to learn firsthand the
nuances of Italian style. During his two-year Italian residence (1707–8) Handel managed to
meet and absorb the style of the leading composers in Italy, most notably Alessandro Scarlatti.
The main choral compositions of Handel’s Italian residency were a series of elaborate
Vespers psalms. Graham Dixon has suggested that music that Handel wrote in 1707 for cel-
ebration of the Feast of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel (July 16, 1707) in Rome is a collection of Vespers
pieces, not a liturgical service.27 Whether Dixon’s hypothesis is true or not, works like Dixit
Dominus, Laudate pueri, and Nisi Dominus have survived as impressive testimony to Handel’s
ability to assimilate any style. In Dixit Dominus, for example, he sets the psalm’s eight verses
and the doxology in a typical Italian manner.
The high level of virtuosity found in this psalm bespeaks the exuberance of Handel’s
youth and the wealth of talented musicians to whom he had access. Evidence of the style of
Corelli, Scarlatti, and Vivaldi abounds, the most obvious being the chain suspensions and
unprepared dissonances (approached by leap) virtually synonymous with Corelli (ex. 9.15).
Another typical Italian trait is the use of what can best be called “choral recitative,” a texture
familiar from Vivaldi’s Gloria (ex. 9.16).
Table 9.3 Handel, Dixit Dominus, form

Text Meter/Tempo Key Scoring
1. Dixit Dominus (vv. 1–2) C (Allegro) G minor SSATB chorus + strings à 5
2. Virgam virtutis (v. 3) C B♭ Alto solo and b.c.
3. Tecum principium (v. 4) C C Dorian Soprano solo + strings
4a. Juravit Dominus C–3/4 G minor SSATB + strings
(v. 5a) Grave-Allegro
4b. Tu es sacerdos (v. 5b) C B♭ SSATB + strings colla parte
5. Dominis a dextris (v. 6) 3/4 Allegro D SSATB soli and chorus + strings
6. Judicabit in nationibus C–3/4 F SSATB chorus + strings
(v. 7)
7. De torrente in via bibet C Adagio C Dorian SS soli + TB tutti
(v. 8) C strings
8. Gloria Patri et Filio . . . [Andante] G minor SSATB soli, chorus and strings
Amen Allegro
Example 9.15 Handel: Dixit Dominus, 1, mm. 42–47

The declamatory homophony, slow tempo, and bold harmonies (modulation from A♭
to D) promise something more stable and faster, an expectation confirmed by the Allegro set-
ting of Et non poenitebit. Because he was in Catholic Italy, Handel used a psalm tone–like
cantus firmus to unify his composition (exx. 9.17a and b). While Gregorian in appearance, this
melody seems to be either original or Handel’s attempt to copy a melody he had heard. Another
pseudo-Gregorian melody supports the soprano duet, De torrente in via bibet (ex. 9.18).
Example 9.17 Handel: Dixit Dominus,
(a) 1, mm. 52–57
(b) 8, mm. 24–31

The most impressive aspect of Dixit Dominus is the level of vocal ability it assumes (e.g.,
Et in saecula saeculorum) and the richness of its harmony, melody, and texture. Such composi-
tions, along with the opera Agrippina and the Italian oratorios, brought Handel fame in Italy.
Nonetheless, he returned to Germany in 1710, replacing Agostino as the court conductor in
Hannover. Handel’s stay there was brief, for in 1712 he accepted the invitation of a fellow German,
John Jacob Heidegger, to oversee the performance of his opera Rinaldo at the Haymarket Theatre
in London. Handel’s life demonstrated an uncanny ability to insinuate himself into circles of
people with the means to help him financially. Despite his success in London, Handel dutifully
returned to the Hannover Court in 1711, where he remained for little more than a year.
By October 1712, Handel was back in London, living at the palace of the Earl of
Burlington, where he composed the Ode for Queen Anne’s Birthday (1713) and the Utrecht Te
Deum and Jubilate, works that established Handel as Purcell’s successor as a purveyor of music
for state occasions. Modeled on Purcell’s Te Deum (1694), Handel’s composition became the
de rigueur music for state occasions for three decades, supplanted only by his later Dettingen
Te Deum. When Queen Anne died in 1714, Georg Ludwig, Elector of Hannover, became King
George I of England and, once again, Handel’s patron.
In 1717 Handel moved from Burlington House—today the Royal Academy on
Piccadilly—to Cannons, near Edgeware. Cannons was the estate of James Brydges, who in 1719
became the first Duke of Chandos. Within a year of his arrival at Cannons, Handel had com-
posed the series of anthems collectively known as the Chandos Anthems.
Figure 9.2 James Brydges, First Duke of Chandos

O be joyful in the Lord

In the Lord put I my trust
Have mercy upon me
O, sing unto the Lord a new song
I will magnify Thee
As pants the hart
My song shall be always
O come, let us sing unto the Lord
O praise the Lord with one consent
The Lord is my light
Let God arise
These anthems rely on the psalm texts found in the Book of Common Prayer (1662).
Only Psalm 100 is set in its entirety; the other texts take verses from a single psalm or multiple
psalms, or the metrical psalm paraphrases of Nahum Tate and Nicolas Brady.28 The first six
anthems use three-part chorus and soli (STB) accompanied by a small orchestra of violins,
oboes, and continuo reflecting the limited forces available at Cannons. Handel’s indebtedness
to Purcell, already seen in the Utrecht Te Deum, is even more obvious in the fourth Chandos
Anthem, O, sing unto the Lord. Evidently Handel knew Purcell’s setting, for he uses the same
key (F major) and “borrows” Purcell’s setting of “Let the whole earth stand in awe of Him” (exx.
9.19a and b).
Example 9.19 Comparison of Handel’s and Purcell’s settings of O sing

unto the Lord
(a) Purcell, mm. 251–256
(b) Handel, 6, mm. 2–7

The final five anthems employ four-part choruses and soloists, reflecting the chapel’s
growth during Handel’s tenure.29 The choruses of this latter group include some especially
fine examples of Handel’s use of cantus firmus (in the final chorus of Let God arise) and sig-
nificant fugal writing (e.g., The Lord is my light and Let God arise).
Another work composed at Cannons was Acis and Galatea (1718). Variously called a
“masque,” a “pastoral,” or a “serenata,” this is Handel’s first true English masterpiece. Handel
had already set this story from Ovid’s Metamorphoses as Aci, Galatea e Polifemo in Italy (1708),
but the new version took an English masque by John Eccles as its model. Handel was fortunate
to have had the assistance of such distinguished poets as Alexander Pope, John Dryden, and
John Gay in crafting the new libretto.30 Though dominated by lovely airs, it is the choral writ-
ing that distinguishes Acis and Galatea, especially the chorus “Wretched lovers,” that opens act
2. Beginning as a slow dirge, filled with motet-like counterpoint and lachrymose suspensions,
Handel ratchets up the dramatic pace, anticipating the appearance of the giant Polyphemus.
Particularly striking is Handel’s use of successive chords separated by silence for the words “See
what ample strides he takes!” There was no English or Italian precedent for such choral writ-
ing, but it morphed into a potent synthesis of classical drama, the Italian psalms, and the extant
English choral tradition.
Two other compositional genres were to play significant roles in the evolution of
Handel’s style, the first being the set of four anthems Handel composed for the coronation of
George II in 1727. None of Handel’s compositions garnered more popular acclaim or proved to
be such an influential model for future work. The coronation as high theater obviously stirred
Handel’s imagination in a way that few other events could. From surviving documents we
know that the anthems were performed in the following order:
The King shall rejoice (sung after the “Recognition”)

Zadok the Priest (sung at the Annointing)
Let Thy hand be strengthened (between the Inthronization and the Homage)
My Heart is inditing (after the Annointing and Coronation).
Handel documented the participation of forty-seven singers (twelve sopranos; fourteen altos,
seven tenors, and fourteen basses), while other contemporary sources estimated the number of
instrumentalists as between eighty and one-hundred thirty.31
Zadok the Priest, one of Handel’s most familiar anthems, has been sung at every coro-
nation since 1727. The enduring popularity of this anthem resulted from Handel’s unique
alchemy of appropriating and combining what were, in the hands of lesser composers, simply
ordinary bits of music and creating from them something new and grand that captured the
imagination of his audience. In Zadok, it was the arpeggiated string music he himself had
composed in 1707 for Nisi Dominus (Psalm 127), which he transformed into an unprecedented,
nearly overwhelming expression of the public grandeur of the coronation.32 Anyone who has
heard this music intuitively knows from the outset that something important is about to hap-
pen, even absent the setting of Westminster Abbey and the attendant spectacle. At “And all the
people rejoiced” Handel scaled back this monolithic music to a lilting, dance-like interlude for
the dramatic acclamation “God save the King! Long live the King! May the King live forever!”
accompanied by a contrasting motive for “Hallelujah!” Zadok was the first of many Hallelujah
choruses by Handel, a prototype that worked so well that he found ways of including this musi-
cal “topic” in nearly every oratorio he would write.
The second work, the far more obscure Funeral Anthem for Queen Caroline, became a
second such musical “topic” that tapped into an entirely different set of emotions. While recov-
ering from a debilitating stroke at Aix-la-Chapelle and composing a new opera during 1737,
Handel learned of the queen’s death. He immediately set aside the opera and began compos-
ing this anthem, which was finished a mere five days before the state funeral in Westminster
Abbey on December 17, 1737. Paul Henry Lang relates that even the usually circumspect
Charles Burney abandoned all restraint, placing this anthem “at the head of all Handel’s
works.”33 Handel’s friendship with the queen over a period of more than thirty years inspired
a work as personal and intimate as the coronation anthems had been public and spectacular.
Acknowledging the German roots that he and the queen shared, Handel took the unprec-
edented step of inserting a chorale (Herr Jesu Christ, du höchstes Gut) as part of a collage of three
different themes in the opening chorus, “The ways of Zion do mourn” (ex. 9.20).
Example 9.20 Handel: Funeral Anthem for Queen Caroline, 1, mm. 51–57
Each movement of the anthem highlights a different facet of the queen’s life and
influence on both Handel’s life and the lives of her adopted subjects. The succession of pieces
creates a sustained level of emotional intensity virtually without parallel in Handel’s œuvre.
A specific personal gesture is Handel’s quotation of Jacobus Handl’s funeral motet Ecce quo-
modo moritur justus (Behold how the righteous die) as the second theme of the anthem’s tenth
movement (exx. 9.21a and b). This motet of Handl formed a traditional part of the Lutheran
Burial Service, a reference that the German members of the royal family of England surely would
have understood and appreciated.34
Example 9.21 (a) Handel: Funeral Anthem for Queen Caroline, 10, mm.

25–29
(b) Handl: Ecce quomodo moritur justus, mm. 50–53
Handel and the Oratorio

The stage is now set for that miraculous alchemy we call the Handelian oratorio. In A History
of the Baroque Oratorio, Howard Smither profiles the Handelian oratorio:
The English oratorio is Handel’s creation, his remarkable synthesis of ele-

ments derived from a variety of sources: the Italian opera seria and oratorio
volgare, the choral style exhibited in his Latin psalms composed during his
Italian period, the German oratorio, the French classical drama, the English
masque and English choral music.35
While no one today discounts the originality or fundamental importance of these works,
Handel was slow to realize the genre’s potential. Opera had occupied Handel’s energies as
composer, impresario, and agent for more than thirty years. In part, this preoccupation was
due to King George’s creation of the Royal Academy of Music to foster performances of
Italian opera. However, the popularity of both Handel and the Royal Academy were on the
wane in somewhat direct proportion to the success of John Gay’s Beggar’s Opera (1728), the
modern equivalent of a Broadway musical. Ironically, another nail in the Royal Academy’s
coffin was the immense success of the Handel’s coronation anthems and the clamor for more
of the same.
In 1732 Bernard Gates, Master of the Children at the Chapel Royal, arranged a per-
formance of Handel’s masque Hamaan and Mordecai to celebrate Handel’s birthday. Revised
and retitled Esther by the composer to distance it from its original “masque” format, this was
putatively the first English oratorio. Such was its success that performance of a pirated version
was announced for April. Lacking copyright protection, Handel trumped this theft by mounting
his own performance with numerous new tunes and some of the best singers in London. The
advertisement for this performance informed the audience that there would be “no Action on
the Stage, but the House will be fitted up in a decent manner.”36
Handel’s attempt to exploit this success with a new oratorio, Deborah (1733), succumbed
to an inadequate libretto and a hastily assembled musical pastiche. Within four months, Handel
created Athalia in response to Oxford University’s invitation to Handel and his company to pres-
ent music for the conferral of degrees, at which Handel himself was to receive a doctorate of
Music, honoris causa, an honor that, according to Winton Dean, Handel declined.37 It was perhaps
the prominence of both location and occasion that prompted Handel to turn to Jean Racine’s
dramatization of an obscure biblical heroine, Athalie (1691). Handel produced a work of unparal-
leled skill and vigor, which, sadly, remains virtually unheard today.38 Already prominent in Esther
and Deborah, the chorus dominated Athalia, demonstrating considerable variety of scoring and
dramatic import. In movements like “Rejoice, O Judah,” “Give Glory,” and “The clouded scene
begins to clear,” Handel elevates the chorus to a dramatic role. These choruses also demonstrate a
tendency, standardized in the later oratorios, for the choruses of the Israelites to exhibit elaborate
counterpoint and sumptuous orchestration as opposed to the simpler music of their adversaries.
Despite Athalia’s success, Handel refrained from composing other “English” works. A per-
ceptive letter from his close friend Aaron Hill (the librettist of Rinaldo) urged the composer to be
resolute enough, to deliver us from our Italian bondage; and demonstrate that
English is soft enough for Opera, when compos’d by Poets . . . I am of the
opinion that male and female voices may be found in this kingdom, capable
of every thing, that is requisite; and, I am sure, a species of dramatic Opera
might be invented, that by reconciling reason and dignity with musick and
fine machinery would charm the ear, and hold fast the heart, together.39
Unfortunately, Handel ignored Hill’s sage advice, persisting in the composition of Italian opera
until, on the brink of financial ruin in 1736, he composed another “English” work—Alexander’s
Feast, which was performed at Covent Garden to great acclaim. Handel titled his new work
Ode to Saint Cecilia, playing on the subject of John Dryden’s poem and what was already an
English choral tradition—the commemoration of St. Cecilia on her Feast Day. Despite the nar-
rative presence of Timotheus (a kind of surrogate historicus), this work was not an oratorio but
a dramatic demonstration of the “Power of musick.” John Dryden’s famous Alexander’s Feast,
or the Power of Musick: In Honour of St. Cecilia’s Day (1697), recast by Newburgh Hamilton into
recitatives, arias, and choruses, provided Handel with another vehicle for doing what he did
best—conveying the gamut of human emotions through music. Just as Timotheus manipu-
lated the emotions of Alexander the Great in Dryden’s ode, Handel manipulated his audience
by creating a musical recollection of that event. (Three years later, Handel composed his own
setting of John Dryden’s A Song for St. Cecilia’s Day (1687) as a grand, multipartite anthem.)
A highlight among many wonderful moments is the opening movement of part 2,
“Now strike the golden lyre again.” The most dramatic music in Handel’s oratorios is frequently
accompanied recitatives like this one. To mimic Timotheus’s repeated attempts to rouse Alexander
from his stupor, Handel crafts an ostinato, which is repeated as interludes in the recitative; each
repetition grows more rhetorically impassioned (and louder!), leading directly into the dramatic
chorus “Break his bonds of sleep asunder, Rouse him like a peal of thunder!” The hectoring of
Timotheus and his companions succeeds not only in rousing Alexander but also inciting his
wrath, as the ensuing “rage” aria for bass, “Revenge, Timotheus cries,” makes musically clear.
Dryden’s ode ends with the grand chorus “At last divine Cecilia came,” an extravagant
example of deus ex machina if ever there was one. About this rather implausible ending, Paul
Henry Lang stated:
By a real tour de force Dryden now rings in the saint. Commentators have found
this hard to accept, though some have advanced the not implausible if a bit tenu-
ous solution of regarding this as the triumph of St. Cecilia over Timotheus,
Christianity over paganism. Is it not possible, though, that Dryden, the old
and incorrigible satirist, perpetrated in this abrupt transition from antiquity
to Christianity a sly little parody, which was well understood by Handel? By
hinting at the universally known symbol of Cecilia, the organ (but see Handel’s
mocking ritornels that surround this brief recitative), he paves the way for a
fine chorus in which “At last divine Cecilia came.” Then Dryden builds a rather
strange situation: a competition between Timotheus and the saint, which
results in a draw. In a recitative the tenor suggests “Let old Timotheus yield
the prize” but the bass counters with “Or both divide the crown,” for “He rais’d
a Mortal to the skies,” while “She drew an Angel down.” Now the superb final
chorus takes up this proposition enthusiastically, the Timotheus theme danc-
ing lightly toward the skies while the angel steps downward in solid quarter
notes; only in the last measures, marked Adagio, is the conflict finally resolved
by the simple expedient of letting the angel have the last word.40
The success of Alexander’s Feast presaged the arrival of the full-blown English oratorio,
when, in the summer of 1738, Handel’s failures at opera led him to compose two oratorios for
the coming musical season. He drafted two works of diametrically opposed character—Israel
in Egypt and Saul. Originally, Israel in Egypt began with a lament on the death of King Joseph,
a thinly veiled pretense for Handel to recycle the music of his 1737 Funeral Anthem. This new
version of that work, The Ways of Zion do Mourn, reveals an important aspect of Handel’s ora-
torios: the need for his librettist to include the kinds of “topics” that Handel so successfully
depicted musically: generic items like “coronation” anthems, Hallelujah choruses, laments or
dirges, and the like. The original plan called for the “Lament on the death of King Joseph”
to be followed by descriptions of the plagues brought by God against the Egyptians (part 2)
and the resulting “Exodus” (part 3). The utter failure of this format prompted Handel to drop
the anthem, leaving the oratorio to begin in the middle with a secco recitative. Israel in Egypt
survived its flawed premier in April 1739 to become one his most popular oratorios. Ironically,
Handel’s unprecedented use of the choir (especially the vivid series of choruses depicting the
plagues) combined with the lack of a dramatic plot or characters (as well as, perhaps, the abnor-
mally large—even for Handel—amount of parodied music) that nearly doomed the work.
Of the two parts that constitute the oratorio today, the second, the “Song of Moses,” is
more successful formally because Handel sets consecutive verses from Exodus 15 in the format
of an extended anthem. This textual continuity produces a more successful dramatic balance
than the plague narrative because it is constructed of a number of disparate Old Testament
texts (including Pss 78, 105, and 106) rather than only that of Exodus.
The resulting textual pastiche produced a truncated narrative that was, nonetheless,
more palatable to Handel’s English Protestant audience. Conversely, this assortment of texts
produced an imbalance between the descriptive choruses (often for double choir) and the arias
that were the conventional means of commenting upon the drama. Whatever the work’s dra-
matic flaws may be, the oratorio contains some of Handel’s most extraordinary choruses. The
succession of “plague” choruses in part 1 is masterpiece piled upon masterpiece: “He spake
the word”; “He gave them hailstones for bread” (both derived from Stradella’s serenata “Qual
prodigio”); “He sent a thick darkness”; and “He smote all the first born of Egypt.” Part 2 has
fewer choruses, but they are more effective due to the balance struck in the libretto. Especially
impressive are the choruses “I will sing unto the Lord” (which frames part 2) and “The people
shall hear,” arguably the most remarkable chorus in the oratorio (ex. 9.22). 41
Example 9.22 Handel: Israel in Egypt, 33, mm. 25–30

An opening built on the dotted rhythms of the French overture sets one emotional tone (“The
people shall hear and be afraid”), which is supplanted by others, the setting of “shall melt away”
to languorous, Italianate music being especially affective.
The second oratorio composed in that summer of 1738 was Saul, like Athalia a classic
drama based on a sacred story. This change of textual type creates a totally different kind of
work, basically a sacred opera in which the chorus, though still important, gives way to Handel’s
extraordinary ability to design compelling characters. Paul Henry Lang describes it thus:
The story of Saul as found in the Samuel I is complicated and diffuse. That
Jennens succeeded in working it into a good dramatic libretto is attested by
the very high level of the music—Handel always responded to true dramatic
stimuli. Saul is pure tragedy, without a trace of religious philosophy; its entire
conception is visual and theatrical; it is a music drama. Considering the spec-
tacular aspects of this score, the festivities, the ghost scene, the funeral cor-
tege, the two attempted murders, and so forth, one might say that there is a
good deal of “grand opera” in it. The original division of the work was into
“acts” not “parts,” and the score contained stage directions even though it was
called “An Oratorio or Sacred Drama.”42 Only staging would bring out the true
grandeur of this tremendous work, for Saul is full of action, far more so than
any opera of the period. 43
After a lengthy overture, the drama begins with an epinicion (a triumph or victory song) as
“Song of Triumph for the victory over Goliath and the Philistines.” Here is a scena without
precedent in Handel’s previous operas or oratorios, recounting in five movements David’s vic-
tory over Goliath. The framing members of the scene are two related choruses—“How excel-
lent thy name O Lord” and its abbreviated recapitulation to which Handel adds the requisite
“Hallelujah.”
The first act is essentially a prologue to the focal point of the drama, Saul’s envy of
David. Indeed, part 2 opens with a pronouncement of impending doom, which resounds with
positively Grecian ethos, “Envy, eldest born of hell,” and ends with Saul’s attempted murder of
his son Jonathan, David’s friend. In act 3, the drama moves toward its inevitable dénouement,
opening with Saul’s acknowledgement of moral collapse (“Wretch that I am”) followed by his
clandestine meeting with the Witch of Endor (a scene set earlier by Henry Purcell). 44 At Saul’s
command, the witch summons up the ghost of Samuel and pronounces the imminent death
of Saul and Jonathan in battle, triggering another Handelian set piece—an elegy on the death
of Saul and Jonathan. Like the opening epinicion, this scene is compounded of several move-
ments—the “Dead March” (scored, like Purcell’s Funeral Music for Queen Mary, for “Flatt trum-
pets”), the chorus “Mourn Israel” (see ex. 9–24), and David’s personal loss, expressed in the set
of airs, “O let it not in Gath be heard,” “Brave Jonathan,” and (after a brief chorus) “In sweetest
harmony” (ex. 9.23). Handel’s omission of all but the continuo for the closing measures of this
dirge is especially effective.
Following yet another failed attempt to mount a season of Italian opera, Handel initi-
ated the series of oratorios that were to become his legacy. This impressive series begins with
Messiah (1742). As lacking in drama as Israel in Egypt, this contemplation of mankind’s redemp-
tion succeeds, despite lack of characters or dramatic plot, by achieving a consistent balance
Example 9.23 Handel: Saul, 78, Mourn Israel, mm. 41–50
between chorus and solo singing (like Israel in Egypt, it is highly dependent on parody). After
Messiah (between 1743 and 1751) Handel composed twelve oratorios that more closely approxi-
mated the dramatic intensity of Saul.
Solomon serves well as a representative example of Handel’s mature oratorios. By the
time of its composition, the patriotic series of “Occasional” oratorios celebrating English mili-
tary victories has ended, allowing Handel to return to more literate and dramatic biblical sto-
ries. What Solomon may lack in dramatic tension is more than compensated for by its simple
formula, the creation of a metaphorical relation between the prosperity and wisdom of Israel’s
greatest king, and the prosperity and stability England enjoyed during the reign of George II.
The oratorio’s plot, as such, is simple yet epic. Part 1 celebrates Solomon’s completion of the
great temple; part 2 depicts Solomon’s legendary wisdom by dramatizing, as only Handel could,
his sage adjudication of the dispute between the two harlots. Part 3 returns to the proven suc-
cess of the coronation anthems, in this case by describing the festivities mounted by Solomon
to entertain the Queen of Sheba on her “state visit.”
Act 2’s confrontation between the two harlots, each of whom claim the same baby as
their own, provides Handel with a story tailor-made for his considerable powers of dramatic
characterization. Following a brief recitative of introduction, each woman presents her case.
Handel’s choice of keys to represent the two women seems to play against form—f♯ minor
(a typically “rage” aria key) is used for the true mother (“Words are weak to paint my cause”),
while for the Second Woman’s scolding denouncement (“False is all her melting tale”) Handel
uses A major. Solomon (a countertenor) mediates the women’s verbal sparring, reminding
(singing a diatonic scale, ex. 9.24) that “Justice holds the lifted scale.”
Figure 9.3 Handel, The Judgment of Solomon
Example 9.24 Handel: Solomon, Act 1, 29, mm. 58–64

Solomon’s decision to cut the baby in half so that “each her part may share” receives
an altogether too agreeable response from the second woman; her F-major aria, “Thy sentence,
great King, is prudent and wise” is filled with an almost maniacal glee, confirmed by her final
words, “contented I hear and approve the decree, for at least I shall tear the lov’d infant from
thee.” In stark contrast, the first woman sings, “Take him all, but spare my child” to suitably
plangent harmonies (ex. 9.25).
Example 9.25 Handel: Solomon, Act II, 33, mm. 57–69
In this scena, Handel seemingly ignores the doctrine of affection’s limitation in a

composition to one musico-rhetorical topic. 45 While routinely circumvented in the B section of
most da capo arias (e.g., “The Trumpet shall sound” from Messiah), Handel, in a leap of inspired
imagination, combines two opposing emotional states within a single composition: the false
mother’s inhumanity represented by her aria’s key, range, and gleeful Rococo- syncopated
accompaniment, against which are juxtaposed the true mother’s concern for her child, rhe-
torically indicated by Handel’s changed to the minor mode, slow tempo, dotted rhythms, and
affective dissonance—the unpredictable gestures of someone racked by emotional turmoil.
Act 3 opens with a sinfonia that announces the “Arrival of the Queen of Sheba.”46
Solomon proceeds to entertain the queen with a masque (a free-standing scena like the vic-
tory song that opens Saul) describing music’s power to engage the four “passions.” Unlike
the scene in part 2, Handel assigns each chorus a key, tempo, and scoring that mirrors
its distinct textual Affekt. First, “Music spread thy voice around,” is a gentle minuet in G
major, soothing the soul with sweetly flowing, lulling sounds. Then, in “Shake the dome
and pierce the sky,” Solomon strikes a martial air, portrayed by a powerful double chorus
in D major with trumpets and tympani. The line “seem in fury to oppose” engenders his
use of antiphonal choruses and the concerted “battle” of the various instrumental groups.
Third, Solomon’s command, “Then at once from rage remove; draw the tear from hopeless
love; lengthen out the solemn air, full of death and wild despair” allows Handel to insert an
elegiac largo in motet style with colla parte instrumental doubling. And finally, in “Thus roll-
ing surges rise . . . release the tortured soul and restore the mind to peace,” Handel conjures
a choral portrait of surging sea that gives way to calmer waters: “but soon the tempest dies
and all is calm again.”
The remainder of the act is the kind of mutual exchange of polite platitudes typical
at the conclusion of any modern state visit. The notion of Solomon staging an entertainment
for the Queen of Sheba provides a plausible rationale for this masque, its sojourn through the
passions allows Handel ample opportunity to demonstration his control over the powers of
musical expression. The remainder of the third part offers the modern performer opportuni-
ties to make the kinds of judicious cuts necessary to accommodate the limits of a contemporary
concert. While the number and nature of such excisions will vary due to local circumstances,
the one caveat is that they should never interfere with the narrative flow or the key scheme of
Handel’s original conception.
In these works, Handel achieves a unique personal synthesis of diverse musical tradi-
tions and creates a body of music that not only survives him but assures his fame for posterity.
Of course, nineteenth-century choral societies distorted the character of Handel’s music in
their appropriation of it. But their role in preserving this great tradition provided the impetus
for the creation of the great oratorios of the nineteenth century that sought to continue the work
he had begun.
Conclusion
The conclusion to chapter 8 suggests that Purcell and his contemporaries were the true benefi-
ciaries of the distinctive musical traditions of the French court. Dressed in English garb, that
particular French style attained the precise notation necessary to allow greater access to its oth-
erwise arcane subtleties. Indeed, the profusion of dotted notes in English music from Purcell
to Handel must be seen as the practical realization of the French notes inégales in ways English
musicians could understand and reproduce. Similarly, the English verse anthem became an
extension of the French grand motet, increasingly tempered in the 1680s by the influence of
Italian music. Without this assimilation of Italian musical traditions, there would have been no
pretext for Handel to come to England in the first place.
The conditions of Handel’s life in England also illustrate a change in the social fab-
ric within which music operated. Handel never relied totally on royal patronage alone (even
though he certainly accepted it); he depended more on his ability to produce music that a pub-
lic, with its increasingly diverse options for entertainment, liked and supported. Not only did
Handel have to compose, rehearse, and perform the music, he also had to function, equally
and simultaneously, as impresario, manager, and salesman. These fundamental financial and
social realities colored the form and content of Handel’s music more than anything else. By
that measure, Handel was immensely successful in writing music his public wanted to hear
without sacrificing his own dramatic and aesthetic requirements. His transition from opera to
oratorio was not so profound a change as was once thought. Ever sensitive to the tides of public
opinion and preference, Handel simply morphed from one genre to the other without sacrific-
ing (in his own mind) the essentially dramatic character of his musical utterance.
10
The Choral Music of Johann

Sebastian Bach (1685–1750)
J ohann Sebastian Bach’s fame rests primarily on major choral works like the Mass in B
Minor (BWV 232), the St. John Passion (BWV 245), the St. Matthew Passion (BWV 244),
the Christmas Oratorio (BWV 248), and the Magnificat (BWV 243). Yet his many cantatas
were absolutely crucial to the success of these large works. The Mass in B Minor is a “cantata
Mass” in two senses: the complete Mass conforms to the Italian practice of dividing the texts
into separate movements of contrasting character, and the original “missa” (Kyrie and Gloria),
as well as its ultimate completion, borrowed movements from preexisting cantatas. Similarly,
the Passions, oratorios, and Magnificat replicate the cantata’s formal template as the foundation
of each movement’s structure. Before we consider either the cantatas or the larger works in
greater depth, we examine the motets, which though comparatively few in number are prob-
ably the most accessible portions of J. S. Bach’s choral music.
Motets
Traditionally, Bach’s motets have included these six compositions: Singet dem Herrn ein neues
Lied (BWV 225); Der Geist hilft unsrer Schwachheit auf (BWV 226); Jesu, meine Freude (BWV 227);
Fürchte dich nicht (BWV 228); Komm, Jesu, komm! (BWV 229); and Lobet den Herren alle Heiden
280
Choral Music of J. S. Bach, 1685–1750 281
(BWV 230). In recent years, recordings and scholarship have sought to enlarge this “canon” to
include other pieces. The most frequent inclusion is the short Der Gerechte kommt um, Bach’s
revised translation of Tristis est anima mea, a motet by his Leipzig predecessor Johann Kuhnau
(1660–1722). Another possible motet is Sei Lob und Preis mit Ehren (BWV 231), a chorale motet
Bach used to personalize a work (Jauchzet dem Herrn) by Georg Philipp Telemann (1681–1767).
Within the body of Bach’s surviving cantatas are motet-like pieces, the most obvious being O
Jesu Christ, meins Lebens Licht (BWV 118); although often numbered among the cantatas, this is
a one-movement, chorale-based funeral motet.1
Bach clearly did not compose motets on a regular basis. The “Short, but Most
Necessary Draft for a Well-Appointed Church Music” that Bach submitted to the Leipzig
Town Council in 1730 indicated that Latin motets were regularly performed in the smaller
Leipzig churches that fell under the purview of the Thomas Kantor. In many locales (Leipzig
being one), these Latin motets were drawn from printed anthologies like the Florilegium
Portense (1618), compiled by Erhard Bodenschatz (1576–1636). Conversely, Bach’s surviving
motets all have German texts. The accepted chronology of Bach’s vocal music shows that
they were commissioned for the funerals of prominent Leipzig citizens. 2 Gerhard Herz
has identified the specific dates and funerals for which Jesu meine Freude (BWV 227, July
18, 1723) and Der Geist hilft unsre Schwachheit auf (BWV 226, October 24, 1729) were com-
posed.3 Herz also assigned performance dates for Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied (BWV
225) and Fürchte dich nicht (BWV 228) even without certain knowledge of their intended
use. The final two—Komm, Jesu, komm! (BWV 229) and Lobet den Herrn alle Heiden (BWV
230)—have no chronological assignment. These two motets are also exceptional in hav-
ing texts drawn from a single source; Lobet den Herrn sets Psalm 117 (plus Alleluia), while
Komm, Jesu, komm! employs two verses of Paul Thymich’s funeral hymn. The four remain-
ing motets all combine biblical and hymn texts in various ways. Jesu, meine Freude has the
largest, most complex text, interspersing five verses from Romans 8 between six verses of
Johann Franck’s hymn (Praxis Pietatis Melica, 1653). Philipp Spitta argued that Der Geist
hilft was originally biblical, the final chorale added only to make the motet liturgically
appropriate. 4
The remaining two motets, Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied (BWV 225) and Fürchte
dich nicht (BWV 228), use texts drawn from the Old Testament. The text of Singet dem Herrn
features two different psalm texts. The text of the first is familiar (especially in its Latin version
(Cantate Domino);5 the third movement’s text also uses a well-known psalm, that of Psalm 150.
Together these psalm-based movements frame the medial dialogue between choir 1’s setting of
the anonymous poem “Gott nimm dich ferner unser an,” and choir 2’s presentation of the third
verse of Johann Gramann’s chorale paraphrase of Psalm 103, Nun lob, mein Seel, den Herren.
The motet Fürchte dich nicht unites verses from two different chapters of Isaiah, which share
the common theme that trust in God trumps the fear of death. The texts of Fürchte dich nicht
and Komm, Jesu, komm! are both funereal, the known function of these two datable motets.
Perhaps the occasionality of such pieces and the accepted use of older Latin motets explain why
Bach didn’t compose more in this form.6
The four double-choir motets (BWV 225, 226, 228, and 229) have significant stylistic
similarities. In each, Bach plays the two choirs against one another in antiphonal, concerto-like
exchanges. Frequently, this involves the same thematic material presented either at the same
pitch or transposed. Komm, Jesu, komm! (BWV 229) contains several examples of this practice
(exx. 10.1a and b). Jesu, meine Freude (BWV 227) is unique among the motets for its length, the
predominant use of five voices, and the aforementioned alternation of chorale and biblical texts
that create a symmetrical structure.
Example 10.1 Bach: Komm, Jesu, komm, BWV 229

(a) mm. 16–20
(b) mm. 44–49
Table 10.1 Formal symmetry in Jesu, meine Freude, BWV 227
5 pt fugue
St. Paul
VI
5 pt chorale 4 pt chorale
(free-setting) V VII (ornam.)
Franck Franck
rs
3 pt motet
20
3 pt motet
ba
St. Paul IV VIII St. Paul

9
ba
20
rs
5 pt chorale
4 pt chorale
(ornam.) III
IX (free-setting)
Franck
Franck
5 pt motet 5 pt motet
St. Paul II X St. Paul
4 pt chorale 4 pt chorale
(harmoniz.) I XI (harmoniz.)
Franck Franck
This motet’s double “frame” consists of movements that use identical chorale harmo-
nizations (mvts. 1 and 11) and two “free” choruses that use similar themes (mvts. 2 and 10) (exx.
10.2a and b).
Example 10.2 Bach: Jesu, meine Freude, BWV 227

(a) 2, mm. 1–8
(b) 10, mm. 406–413
In Bach’s formal design, both the chorale verses and biblical texts also function as
separate strands, each with its own process. Within the text settings from Romans 8:1, 2, 9, 10,
11, Bach creates an arch-shaped design on alternating vocal textures. At the center of this tex-
tural arch lies the motet’s longest movement—a five-voice fugue (Ihr aber seid nicht fleischlich)
with an extensive homophonic coda (Der aber Christi Geist nicht hat) in which Bach inverts the
familiar prelude-and-fugue template. Between this central chorus and those comprising the
outer frame Bach composes two trios that use all five voices with overlapped voicing (SSA [A]‌
TB). Within the chorale settings Bach creates a parallel structure reminiscent of contemporary
keyboard partitas. Straightforward harmonizations in movements 3 and 7 alternate with freer
settings (mvts. 5 and 6), the fifth movement (Trotz, trotz dem alten Drachen) having the least
obvious use of the chorale melody. Conversely, movement 9 (Gute Nacht, O Wesen) is, in effect,
a chorale prelude for voices, the alto presenting the hymn cantus firmus accompanied by an
independent imitative trio.
Cantatas
Bach was not the first choice of the Leipzig Town Council to succeed Kuhnau as Thomas
Kantor; unlike the two leading competitors for the post, Georg Philipp Telemann and Johann
Graupner, Bach’s résumé showed very little experience composing cantatas, the most popular
genre of church music at that time. Indeed, prior to his appointment to the Weimar court in
1708, Bach had little awareness of the modern cantata. The cantata-like pieces he composed
for Arnstadt and Mühlhausen (including such familiar ones as BWV 4, 106, 131, 71, 150, and
196) are typical of the concerted church music written by the preceding generation of church
composers: Pachelbel, Tunder, Weckmann, and Dietrich Buxtehude).7 Their concerted church
music lacks the free poetic texts for recitatives and arias that are the core of the Reform cantata.
The church compositions of Bach and his predecessors tend to use biblical and hymn texts
either separately or in combination. These text types are realized as “concertos” (polyphonic set-
tings of prose texts involving both voices and instruments), some form of chorale setting (i.e.,
hymn arrangement), or the older type of aria in which strophic texts are set as a homophonic,
declamatory texture. Kerala Snyder points out that the earliest German concept of “cantata” is a
hybrid form that fuse these different textures together.8
An exemplar of this structure is Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit, BWV 106. Many of Bach’s
early cantatas include an instrumental sonata that utilizes a five-part string texture with two viola
parts, followed by a patchwork of alternating types of text and musical settings (with no Italianate
recitatives and arias). Save for the string texture, Gottes Zeit exhibits all of these trends. After
an opening sonata for two recorders, two gambas, and organ, Bach assembles a textual, musical
pastiche consisting of two large formal components. Table 10.2 shows the content of the first part.
These 184 measures comprise a single entity subdivided according changes of text
and musical scoring. The textural form itself exhibits two solo sections framed by large cho-
ral complexes. The solo sections retain the same texture, text, meter, and tempo throughout,
Table 10.2 Formal structure of BWV 106, part 1

Section Text Meter/Tempo Scoring
1
a.
mm. 1–6 Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit 4/4 SATB + orchestra
two recorders, two
gambas, b.c.
b.
mm. 7–40 In ihm leben, weben und sind wir. 3/4 (Allegro)
c.
mm. 41–47 In ihm sterben wir zur rechte Zeit, 4/4 (Adagio assai)
wenn Er will.
Acts 17:28
2. Ach Herr, lehre uns bedenken 4/4 (Lento) tenor + b.c.

(mm. 48–71) Ps 90:12
3. Bestelle dein Haus 3/8 (Vivace) bass, two recorders, b.c.

(mm. 71––130) Isa 38:1
4.
a. Es ist der alte Bund 4/4 (Andante) A, T, B (chorus) + b.c.
mm. 131–45 Sir 14:17
156–65
167–70
173–82 S solo + b.c.
b. Ach komm Herr Jesu, komm
mm. 145–54 Rev 22:20
161–74
182–84
c. Ich hab’ mein Sach Gott heimgestellt recorders and gambas
mm. 150–56 J. Leon (1582)
165–71 Instrumental
178–80
approaching the unity of affection that was fundamental to Baroque conventions of form.9
Conversely, the two choral segments have one or more changes in these musical parameters.
Although based on a single text, the first employs three different meters and tempos to demar-
cate change of text:
Moderate Fast Slow

God’s time is best. In him we live, move, In him we die at the
and have our being. appointed time.
The final section (no. 4) employs three different musical textures and two texts without any
change of tempo or meter. Bach used a strict imitative texture for the three lower choral parts
(accompanied only by basso continuo) to symbolize the “old Law” (Es ist der alte Bund), but
assigned the “New Covenant” in Christ to a solo soprano.10 Initially, this solo has only continuo
accompaniment, but Bach soon provides another layer in the form of a harmonized chorale
melody for the instruments. Bach inserts this particular chorale (Ich hab’ mein Sach Gott heim-
gestellt) to underscore that in order to benefit from this New Covenant, the congregation must,
in the unspoken text of the chorale, trust God completely (ex. 10.3).
Example 10.3 Bach: BWV 106, mm. 173–183

Table 10.3 Movement Scoring and Text Structure for BWV 161

Movement (Scoring) Text and Text Form
1. Aria for alto, two flutes, b.c., and Komm du süsse Todesstunde
organ obbligato. Poetic:2 four-line strophes (abba, cddc)
2. Secco Recitative (T) Welt, deine Lust is Last

Poetic: 14 lines—irregular scansion, free rhyme
(aabcbddceeffgg)
3. Aria for tenor and strings. Mein Verlangen ist dem Heiland zu empfangen
Poetic: Six lines (11,11,8,8,7,8) rhymed abccba
4. Recitativo accompagnato Der Schluss ist schon gemacht, Welt gute Nacht!
for alto, two flutes, and strings Poetic: 11 lines—irregular scansion, rhymed aabbcddceeff
5. Aria for SATB chorus with Wenn es meines Gottes Wille

strings and flutes Poetic: eight lines (8,7,8,7,8,8,7,7) rhymed ababccdd
6. Chorale:SATB + orchestra Der Leib zwar in der Erden von Würmen wird verzehrt.
Poetic:aa (7,6,7,6) bb (7,6,7,6)
couplet rhyme
When Bach joined the Weimar court as court organist and chamber musician in
1708, his duties did not include the composition of sacred choral music. His responsibilities
there were largely confined to secular music; accordingly, it was in Weimar, however, that Bach
learned of Italian music. His acquisition of the concerto grosso form came about through his
transcription of Italian string concertos for the keyboard. Next, he encountered the Reform
cantata poetry, written by the court poet Salomo Franck, that he was obliged to use when his
appointment as Konzertmeister in 1714 involved the composition of cantatas on a semiregu-
lar basis. In Komm du süsse Todesstunde (BWV 161, 1714) Bach sets such a text from Franck’s
Evangelisches Andachts-Opfer (pub. 1715). The recitative and aria texts are clearly differentiated,
the former being “madrigalian” (i.e., having no set number of lines that vary in quantity, scan-
sion, and rhyme scheme), the latter employing short, poetic texts with regular rhyme and
scansion.
Franck’s reference to the first verse of Christoph Knoll’s hymn Herzlich thut mich ver-
langen (1611) in the closing lines of the tenor recitative (mvt. 2) may have prompted Bach to add
the concluding chorale harmonization and to have its melody played as an organ obbligato in
movement 1.11 Bach’s derivation of the principal motive of the tenor aria (3) from the chorale’s
opening phrase is less obvious (ex. 10.4). Another example of musical exegesis occurs in the
ensuing accompanied alto recitative. For the text, “so schlage doch, du letzten Stundenschlag!”
(“Let strike the final hour of life!”), Bach contrives a special musical effect (pizzicato string
chords and the rapid repetitions of a single note in the recorder, ex. 10.5) to imitate the sound
of a clock striking the hour, a gesture that appears in the other three cantatas he composed for
this Sunday: Liebster Gott wann werd ich sterben (BWV 8), Christus, der ist mein Leben (BWV 95),
and Herr Jesu Christ, wahr’ Mensch und Gott (BWV 127).
Example 10.4 Bach: BWV 161, mm. 16–21
Example 10.5 Bach: BWV 161, 5, mm. 22–25
Bach’s appointment as Konzertmeister led him to believe that he was being groomed
to replace Drese upon his retirement or death. Between March 1714 and his departure from
Weimar in 1717, Bach composed twenty-two cantatas, the following being significant in terms
of general familiarity and musical importance.
BWV Title Date/Occasion

182 Himmelskönig, sei willkommen Palm Sunday, 1714
12 Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen Jubilate
172 Erschallet ihr Lieder Pentecost
61 Nun komm der Heiden Heiland Advent 1
63 Christen, ätzet diesen Tag Christmas
31 Die Himmel lacht, die Erde jubiliert Easter
BWV 182 exhibits traits both retrospective (the opening sonata, use of permutation fugue,
reliance on a limited number of closely connected tonal centers) and progressive (three
recitative-aria pairs, use of the bass voice as “vox Christi” in mvt. 3, the first indication of his
efficient distribution of instrumental and vocal resources for the arias). A chorale fantasia on
Jesu, deine Passion before the final chorus signals the close connection between Palm Sunday
and the Passion.
In anticipation of Samuel Drese’s death (d. 1716), Bach began to produce cantatas on a
weekly basis. He soon became aware that the duke had other plans regarding Drese’s replace-
ment, and Bach began to look for another new position. His appointment as court composer at
Anhalt-Cöthen was initially delayed by the duke’s refusal to release him; after a brief impris-
onment Bach was dismissed in disgrace (December 1717) and assumed his duties in Cöthen.
Since the Cöthen court was Reformed (meaning Calvinist), Bach was not required to compose
figural church music. Only when he applied for Johann Kuhnau’s position at Leipzig in 1723 did
this lack of cantata composition emerge as a problem (Fig. 10-1).
Bach finally assumed his duties in Leipzig on the first Sunday after Trinity in 1723,
the liturgical occasion that served as the beginning of each new yearly cycle of cantatas
Figure 10.1 St. Thomas Church, Leipzig

(Jahrgang). And for this propitious event he produced two cantatas—Die Elenden sollen essen
(BWV 75) and Die Himmel erzähle die Ehre Gottes (BWV 76)12 —both of which contain four-
teen movements (two partes concluding with the same chorale). The number of movements
is symbolic, reflecting the alphanumeric (gematric) equivalent of Bach’s name (B = 2, A = 1,
C = 3, H = 8 total 14). By the end of July, he had settled on a basic formal template—an opening
chorus based on a biblical text not drawn from the de tempore lessons, two recitative-aria pairs,
and a simple concluding chorale. He adhered to this format from Trinity 8 through Trinity
14 before modifications began to appear. The design of BWV 109, Ich glaube, lieber Herr, illus-
trates this basic template. The opening chorus’s text comes from Mark 9:24, a story that
parallels that Sunday’s Gospel (Jn 4:47–54). Bach composes recitatives and arias for tenor and
alto, the tenor representing fear (unbelief), the latter hope (belief). To complete his musical
sermon on belief in the face of doubt, Bach appends the seventh verse of Lazarus Spangler’s
hymn Durch Adams Fall ist ganz verderbt (Through Adam’s fall are all condemned) in simple
cantional style.
For the remainder of his first year in Leipzig, Bach increasingly uses chorales, add-
ing an instrumental chorale cantus firmus to the opening choruses of cantatas 25, 77, and
48, and a second chorale harmonization within the body of BWV 63, Christen, ätzet diesen
Tag. Ich elender Mensch, wer wird mich erlösen (BWV 48) includes both chorale additions;
over the imitative opening chorus he superimposes the chorale melody Herr Jesu Christ, du
höchstes Gut (Lord Jesus Christ, O highest good) as a trumpet cantus firmus. For the closing
chorale Bach sets a different hymn text—Herr Jesu Christ, ich schrei zu dir (Lord Jesus Christ,
I cry to you)—to the same melody played by the trumpet in movement 1. Bach inserts another
chorale harmonization between the alto’s recitative (no. 3) and aria (no. 5). Bach’s use of these
additional chorales might have been in response to the congregation’s appreciation of “their”
music, perhaps inferring that they understood the textual connection implicit in the melodic
reference.
For his second year in Leipzig (1724), Bach decided to use the appointed “hymn
of the day” as the sole textual and melodic basis of his cantatas. For the first four weeks he
experimented, placing the opening chorus’s chorale melody in the soprano (O Ewigkeit, du
Donnerwort, BWV 20), alto (Ach Gott, vom Himmel sieh darein, BWV 2), tenor (Christ unser Herr
zum Jordan kam, BWV 7), and bass (Meine Seele erhebt den Herren, BWV 10) before eventually
returning it to the soprano. The practical rationale of this decision spared the youngest, least
experienced singers from having to learn any complex counterpoint, asking them to sing only
a hymn tune they already knew.
Bach’s ingenuity in using chorale materials is apparent in his cantata for the fifth
Sunday after Trinity, 1724, Wer nur den lieben Gott lässt walten (BWV 93). While scholars
(most notably Alfred Dürr) remain unsure of the identity of these cantatas’ libretti, many
assume that Bach himself arranged the text.13 In this cantata, both the chorale text and mel-
ody appear in the recitatives and arias. Following his adopted format, Bach begins and ends
the work with the first and last verses of Georg Neumark’s well-known chorale Wer nur den
lieben Gott (“If thou but suffer God to guide thee”) as a chorale fantasia and a simple harmo-
nization respectively. For the fourth movement, Bach constructs a trio (soprano, alto, and
basso continuo) to accompany the chorale melody played by the unison upper strings (ex.
10.6).14 Bach’s ingenuity manifests itself in the diverse ways he incorporates the remaining
verses of the hymn in the internal recitative-aria pairs. In the tenor recitative, Denk’ nicht in
seiner Drangshalsitze, he interlards the standard recitative texture with phrases of the chorale
(marked Adagio) (ex. 10.7). This recitative’s text alludes to the Gospel lesson (Lk 5:1–11):
Hat Petrus gleich die ganze Nacht mit leerer Arbeit zugebracht und nichts gefan-
gen: auf Jesu Wort kann er noch einen Zug erlangen. (paraphrase of Lk 5:4–6)
(Did not Peter once pass an entire night of work with nothing to show for his
labor? At Jesus’s word he can yet a catch discover.)
Bach’s ability to utilize the chorale in such varied ways is a central part of his creation
of the “well-ordered church music” mentioned in his famous memorandum to the Leipzig
Town Council in 1730.15 But the unparalleled consistency of this second Jahrgang (1724–25) did
not last. Christoph Wolff remarks:
With the inception of the third annual cycle, the nearly uninterrupted can-
tata production of the previous year came to an end and, in all likelihood,
was never resumed with that degree of intensity. The third Jahrgang cov-
ered a time span of about two years. As documented by a text booklet for
the third to sixth Sundays after Trinity 1725, there are some definite gaps
for which compositions by Bach must have existed. On the other hand, for a
major stretch in 1726 Bach performed no fewer than eighteen cantatas from
the pen of his cousin Johann Ludwig Bach, Kapellmeister at the ducal court
of Saxe-Meiningen, and on Good Friday of that year, a Passion by Friedrich
Nicolaus Bruhns. Altogether, from mid-1725 to early 1727, Bach seems to have
composed cantatas only at irregular intervals.16
Bach’s declining productivity was part of his growing disenchantment with the Leipzig Town
Council, made worse by his congregation’s inability to notice the difference between his music
and what he deemed the inferior music of others. Bach and the Town Council repeatedly
clashed over monies Bach felt were due him. Finally, Bach appealed to the Elector of Saxony,
who ultimately sided with the Council. Bach’s frustration played out in the text of his final
cantata of 1725, BWV 28, Gottlob, nun geht das Jahr zu Ende (Thank God, the year is coming
to an end). Although still capable of composing great music, he lacked any motivation to do so
on a continuing basis. When he did compose new cantatas, they tended to be solo cantatas, the
performers of which could be drawn from his children or his best students.
In his inventory of Sebastian Bach’s possessions after his father’s death, Carl Philipp
Emmanuel recorded that his father had composed five complete cantata cycles (more than
three hundred compositions). Today, less than two hundred remain, to which must be added
the secular cantatas Bach wrote to celebrate important occasions in the lives of his employers.
The earliest of these, the “Hunt Cantata” BWV 208 (Was mir behagt ist nur die muntre Jagd) cel-
ebrates the birthday of Duke Christian of Saxe-Weissenfels (1713). From it comes the celebrated
pastoral aria Schäffe könnte sicher weiden (“Sheep may safely graze”). And while working at
Cöthen’s reformed court (1717–23), Bach wrote no fewer than thirteen such occasional works.17
For a time Bach took charge of concerts given by the Collegium Musicum at the
University of Leipzig. For these performances Bach used primarily instrumental works, but
he also created a series of “moral” cantatas, the most famous of which is the “Coffee” Cantata,
Schweigt stille, plaudert nicht (BWV 211).18 Another group of secular cantatas were composed
to celebrate the birthday of the Elector and other events involving the royal family. In their
original forms, such cantatas had limited utility, a restriction Bach overcame by recycling their
music in larger, more festive works like the Christmas Oratorio and B-minor Mass.19 This
group of cantatas includes Schleicht spielende Wellen (BWV 206); 207a, Auf schmetternde Töne
der muntern Trompeten (BWV); Lasst uns sorgen, lasst uns wachen (BWV 213); Tönet ihr Pauken!
Erschallet Trompeten! (BWV 214); and Preise dein Glücke, gesegnetes Sachsen (BWV 215).
In 1742 Bach composed his last secular cantata Mer han en neue Oberkeet (BWV 212),
in Saxon dialect; this so-called Peasant Cantata was perhaps the closest Bach came to the new,
galant style favored by contemporaries like Telemann and even Bach’s own children, serving as
a quaint diversion from lofty and serious compositional projects in which he was involved. One
can assume that the cantata form became a cornerstone for the large choral works built on that
foundation—the oratorios and the Masses.
Oratorios
Bach’s three oratorios, all dating from the mid-1730s, consist entirely of music derived from or
modeled on cantatas:
BWV 248 Weihnachts-Oratorium (Christmas, 1734–Epiphany, 1735)

BWV 11 Himmelsfahrt-Oratorium (Ascension, 1735)
BWV 249 Oster-Oratorium (1738)
Table 10.4 Bach, Weihnachtsoratorium, BWV 248, parody

Weihnachtsoratorium Secular Cantata
1. 1.
1. Jauchzet, frohlokket, auf preiset die Tage! Tönet ihr Pauken, Erschallet Trompeten BWV
214/1
4. Bereite dich, Zion Ich will dich nicht hören, BWV 213/9
5. Grosser Herr, O starker König Kron und Preis, gekrönter Damen BWV, 214/7
2. 2.
15. Frohe Hirten, eilt, ach eilet! Fromme Musen! Meine Glieder! BWV 214/5
19. Schlafe mein Liebster Schlafe, mein Liebster, BWV 213/3
3. 3.
24. Herrscher des Himmels Blühet ihr Linden in Sachsen wie Zedern!
BWV 214/9
29. Herr, dein Mitleid Ich bin deine, BWV 213/11
4. 4.
36. Fallt mit Danken, Fallt mit Loben Lasst uns sorgen, BWV 213/1, Treues Echo,
39. Flösst mein Heiland, Flösst dein Namen BWV 213/5
40. Ich will dir zu Ehren leben Auf meine Flügeln sollst du schweben, BWV 213/7
5. 5.
47. Erleucht auch mein finstre Sinnen Durch die von Eifer entflammeten Waffen, BWV 215/7
6. 6.
54. Herr wenn die stolze Feinde schnauben Lost cantata source
56. Du Falscher, suche nur den Herrn zu fallen "
57. Nur ein Wink von seinen Händchen "
61. So geht! Genug, mein Schatz "
62. Nun mögt ihr stolze Feinde schrecken "
63. Was will der Hölle schrecken nun "
64. Nun seid ihr wohl gerochen "
The title Ascension Oratorio (Himmelsfahrt-Oratorium) is simply another name for the cantata
Lobet Gott in seinen Reichen (BWV 11), while the Easter Oratorio (Oster-Oratorium), Kommt eilet
und laufet is Bach’s revision of an earlier Easter cantata. The largest cantata-based oratorio, the
Christmas Oratorio (Weinachts-Oratorium), consists of six cantatas intended for the principal
festivals of the Christmas season: Christmas Day and the following two days); the Feast of the
Circumcision (January 1); the Sunday after Christmas; and Epiphany (January 6). The principal
musical basis of this work is that of the secular cantata, specifically the “music dramas” BWV
213 and BWV 214, composed in 1733 to celebrate royal birthdays.
It was eminently reasonable for Bach to reuse music written for a royal birthday to cel-
ebrate the birth of Jesus. Like Handel, whose attempt to recycle the Funeral Anthem for Queen
Caroline as the opening part of the oratorio Israel in Egypt stands out as an obvious example,
Bach sought to give his music life beyond the specific occasion for which it was originally con-
ceived.20 To that end Bach recycled many movements from these particular secular cantatas in
the Christmas Oratorio.
In these cases, successfully adapting the cantata movement to the oratorio depends on
agreement of scansion, text form, and basic agreement of affect. The “Schlafe mein Liebster” aria
required little change since both versions used the same initial text. Bach sometimes retained
the key of the original, a foregone conclusion in those movements (1, 8, and 24) that involved
trumpets.21 Most of these parodies agreed in every aspect except text, key, and scoring. See
examples 10-8a and b for comparison of the arias “Grosser Herr, O starker König!” (from BWV
248, 8) and “Kron und Preis gekrönter Damen” (from BWV 214, 7). Both texts feature the same
meter (four trochaic feet [strong-weak] per line), quantity (8, 8, 7, 7, 8, 8), and rhyme scheme
(aabcdd). The new text simply transforms the brilliant gavotte celebrating the queen’s virtue into
a paean to the birth of Jesus. The similarity of these two arias is part of a larger correspondence
between the model (BWV 214) and the opening cantata of the Christmas Oratorio (table 10.5).
Example 10.8 (a) Bach: BWV 214, 8, mm. 15–22
(b) Bach: BWV 248, 8, mm. 15–22
Like the two bass arias, both opening choruses are identical down to the smallest
detail. Whereas the timpani solo and festive orchestration of Tönet ihr Pauken! are implicit in
the text, considerable creativity was necessary to accommodate the same gestures into the first
cantata (Jauchzet, frohlocket, auf, preiset die Tage) of the Christmas Oratorio.
Table 10.5 Comparison of BWV 248/1 and 214

BWV 248/1 BWV 214
1. Chorus in D, 3/8 1. Chorus in D, 3/8
three trumpets/timpani, two oboes, three trumpets/timpani, two oboes,
two flutes and strings; two flutes and strings
da capo form (201 + 137 mm.) da capo form (201 + 137 mm.)
2. Recit. Secco (T):b–V/A (attaca) 2. Recit. Secco (T):b–f♯
3. Recit. Acc. (A):A–E, two oboes, b.c.
4. Aria (A):a minor, 3/8, oboe, violins, b.c. Da 3. Aria (S):A, 3/4, two flutes, b.c.
capo form (138 + 88 mm.) 101 mm.
5. Chorale:a/E (Phrygian), 4/4 5. Aria (A):b, 3/8, oboe d’amore, b.c.
(Herzlich tut mich verlangen) 111 mm.
6. Recit. secco (T):V/E–V/G (attaca) 6. Acc. Recit. (A):f♯–D, 4/4
7. Recit. (B) + Chorale (S):(Gelobet seist du, Jesu 7. Aria (B):D, 2/4
Christ) G, 3/4, two oboes trumpet, strings
66 mm. da capo form (120 + 80 mm)
8. Aria (B):D, 2/4 8. Recit accomp. (B):two flutes,
trumpet, strings, b.c. two oboes, b.c.
da capo form (120 + 80 mm) V/G–D
9. Chorale: SATB (Vom Himmel hoch da komm’ 9. Chorus: D, 3/8
ich her) Full
Full (brass interludes) D, 4/4 Binary (96 mm.)
Masses and Passions

The formal significance of the cantata template is even clearer in J. S. Bach’s Masses. His fre-
quent quarrels with the Leipzig Town Council led Bach in 1733 to apply for the title of Dresden
court composer (Hofcomponist), which “would entitle him to better treatment and higher pay
from the Leipzig town council.”22:
My Most Gracious Lord, Most Serene Elector [Friedrich August II], Most
Gracious Lord!
To your Royal Highness I submit in deepest devotion the present small work
of that science which I have achieved in musique, with the most wholly sub-
missive prayer that Your Highness will look upon it with Most Gracious Eyes,
according to Your Highness’s World Famous Clemency and not according
to the poor composition; and thus deign to take me under Your Most Mighty
Protection.23
The “small work” to which Bach refers morphed later into the great Mass in B Minor, but here
consists only of the Kyrie and Gloria set for five voices and orchestra (including trumpets and
tympani). Such abbreviated Masses (Kyrie and Gloria only) were practical for both Lutheran
and Catholic usage, being the only type of Mass used for high feast days in Leipzig and equally
popular at the Dresden Court.
Despite hopes that this work would dispose the Elector to offer him a job in Dresden
(and, with it, relief from the stresses of Leipzig), Bach had to wait until November 1736 for
the titular position to be conferred. Once appointed, Bach’s offer to provide similar music on
demand came to fruition in the four “Lutheran” Masses (BWV 233–236) most likely composed
in the late 1730s.24
BWV 233 Mass in F Major SATB, two horns, two oboes, strings, b.c.
BWV 234 Mass in A Major SATB, two flutes, strings, b.c.
BWV 235 Mass in G Minor SATB, two oboes, strings, b.c.
BWV 236 Mass in G Major SATB, two oboes, strings, b.c.
Each of these Masses has six movements—three choruses and three arias—all drawn from
preexistent church cantatas. The Kyrie of each Mass uses a cantata chorus; for the Gloria, Bach
divides the text to accommodate three arias flanked by choruses.25 While several movements
of a cantata may appear in one Mass (e.g., three movements of Es wartet alles auf dich, BWV
187, appear in the Mass in G Minor), none parodies a single cantata, as the movements of that
Missa make clear.
Because Cantata 187 has only one chorus, Bach uses choruses from two other cantatas
(Herr, deine Augen sehen nach dem Glauben, BWV 102, and Alles nur nach Gottes Willen, BWV
72). The reincarnation of the first chorus of Herr, deine Augen as the Kyrie of the little G-minor
Mass is remarkable since the cantata chorus’s three distinctive musical sections does not readily
comport with the Kyrie–Christe–Kyrie complex. How well Bach is able to make this “transla-
tion” work is evident in a comparison of parallel passages from both works (exx. 10.9a and b). A
similar agreement exists between the cantata themes and their appropriation as Christe eleison
and Kyrie eleison (cf. mm. 45–47 and 71–75 of each work).
Table 10.6 Bach, Missa brevis in g minor, BWV 235, parody

BWV 235 Cantata Parody Sources
1. Kyrie eleison: 1. BWV 102/1:Herr, dein Augen sehen nach dem Glauben
SATB chorus two oboes, strings, b.c. (1725) SATB chorus, oboes, strings, b.c. 4/4, g minor
4/4, g minor
2. Gloria in excelsis Deo 2. BWV 72/1: Alles nur nach Gottes Willen (1726)
SATB, same scoring, SATB same scoring
3/4, g minor 3/4, a minor
3. Gratias agimus tibi 3. BWV 187/4:Darum sollt ich nicht sorgen (1726), B,
B, violins, b.c., 2/2, g minor violins, b.c.
2/2, g minor
4. Domine, fili unigenite 4. BWV 187/3:Du, Herr, du krönst allein das Jahr,
A, oboe, strings, b.c., A, oboe, strings, b.c.
3/8, Bb
5. Qui tollis 5. BWV 187/5:Gott versorget alles Leben, T, oboe solo, b.c.
T, oboe, b.c. 4/4 C–3/8–C, Eb
6. Cum sancto spiritu 6. BWV 187/1:Es wartet alles auf dich: SATB, oboes,

SATB, 2 oboes, strings, b.c. strings, b.c., 4/4, g minor
4/4, g minor
Example 10.9 Bach
(a) BWV 102, 1, mm. 21–22
(b) BWV 235, 1, mm. 21–22
Mass in B Minor, BWV 232(1724)

The original Missa in h-moll follows substantially the same format as these Lutheran Masses
until, late in his life, Bach expands his original composition into a complete Mass by writing
music for the Nicene Creed, Sanctus/Benedictus, and Agnus Dei. The currently accepted chro-
nology of Bach’s vocal works assigns this completion to the years from 1748 to 1749, without
providing any clue as to Bach’s motivation. In fact, the 1733 Missa is a res facta, that is, a func-
tionally and aesthetically complete work that does not require completion. The original 1733
Missa consists of twelve movements (table 10.7). Even though the work was composed at two
different times in four separate and distinct sections, each marked by its own separate title
page, there is no doubt that Bach envisioned the Mass as a complete entity (since its pages are
numbered consecutively). One wonders what prompted Bach to “complete” what was, to him,
already a self-sufficient composition.
In the 1740s, Bach began a series of large compositional projects intended to docu-
ment his achievements as a composer. The first step in this process was the revised manuscript
score of the St. Matthew Passion, the work he regarded as his crowning achievement. Bach
then surrounded the Passion with a series of large, didactic works, most notably the series
of keyboard works published as the Clavier-Übung (keyboard practice). The completion of the
Mass in B Minor was the crowning achievement of this plan.
The format of the B-minor Mass reveals Bach’s concern for both compositional and
tonal variety, and his command of all the various styles of contemporary church music. He sets
the first Kyrie as an extended fugue with obbligato instruments (organized as a concerto). The
Christe is Bach’s version of contemporary operatic writing, while the concluding Kyrie exem-
plifies the stile antico church music practiced by such Neapolitan composers as J. A. Hasse, who
had become the Kapellmeister in Dresden in 1733.
The Gloria, built on the ambitious scope of the Kyrie, utilizes the format of a Neapolitan
cantata Mass in eight movements—four choral and four solo—all featuring solo movements
for the principal vocalists and instrumentalists. Bach’s designation of B minor as the central
tonality for his Mass follows the three tonalities of the Kyrie, which outline a B-minor triad;
the remainder of the Mass is, however, mostly in the key of D major. The key scheme of the
Gloria, expanded to include trumpets and tympani, centers on D major, its dominant (A), sub-
dominant (G), and relative minor (B). Robin Leaver suggests that Bach conceived the Gloria
as a biblical hymn of praise (Gloria in excelsis / Et in terra pax from Lk 2) and a liturgical one
(Laudamus te).26 Like the Kyrie, the layout of the Gloria (mvts. 4–12) is tripartite.
Table 10.7 Content of the Mass in B minor, BWV 232

Movement Key/Meter Scoring
1. Kyrie eleison à 5 B minor, 4/4 Tutti (SSATB chorus, strings, paired
winds)
2. Christe eleison D Major, 4/4 Soprano 1, 2, unison violins, b.c.
3. Kyrie eleison à 4 f♯ minor; ¢ Tutti, colla parte
4. Gloria in excelsis à 5 D Major; 3/8 Tutti (plus three trumpets and timpani)
5. Et in terra pax à 5 D Major; 4/4 Same
6. Laudamus te A Major; 4/4 S2, solo violin, strings
7. Gratias agimus tibi à 4 D Major; ¢ Tutti
8. Domine Deus G Major; 4/4 Soprano 1, Tenor

solo flute, strings
9. Qui tollis à 4 B minor; 3/4 SATB + two flutes and strings
10. Qui sedes B minor; 6/8 Alto, Oboe d’amore, b.c.
11. Quoniam D major; 3/4 Bass, Corno da caccia, 2 bassoons, b.c.
12. Cum sancto spiritu à 5 D major; 3/4 Tutti
The logic surrounding two of these parodies appears to have been preordained. For
the Gratias agimus tibi (7), Bach appropriates the opening chorus of Wir danken Dir, Gott, wir
danken Dir! (BWV 29), because the two texts are identical; his setting of Qui tollis peccata
mundi (9) is a transposed, substantially revised version of the opening chorus of Wir müssen
durch viel Trübsal (BWV 146) because the cantata text (“We must endure great sadness to reach
the kingdom of Heaven”) substantially agrees with the Mass text (“Who takes away the sins of
the world, have mercy on us”).
These parodies are less significant as music than as precedents that govern the Mass’s
completion. The Credo and the fourth fascicle of Bach’s score (Osanna through Dona nobis
pacem), like the Gloria, use parodied church cantata movements on a scale not present in the
original Missa. The parodies that create the Mass’s second tier of music are summarized in
table 10.8.
In their commentaries on the Mass, both Helmuth Rilling and Robin Leaver note
the conspicuously Trinitarian layout of the Credo. 27 The argument that Bach originally
intended to mirror the eight movements of the Gloria in the Credo gains support from the
original version of the duet Et in unum Dominum, which includes the text Et incarnatus
est. With this version in place, the movement structure of the Sanctus/Benedictus would
have been 2 + 1 + 2 + 1 + 2 (bold numerals indicate choruses). Though logical, Bach writes
Table 10.8 Mass in B Minor, Credo–Dona nobis pacem, Parody

Mass Movement Original Source
(13) Patrem omnipotentem BWV 171: Gott, wie dein Name, so ist auch wie dein Rühm
(17) Crucifixus BWV 12: Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen
(21) Et expecto BWV 120: Gott, man lobet dich in der Stille
(22) Sanctus Sanctus in D (SSSATB), 1724
(23) Osanna in excelsis BWV Anhang 11/1: Es lebe der König, der Vater in Lande
(26) Agnus Dei BWV 11/4: Ach bleibe doch, mein liebstes Leben
(27) Dona nobis pacem BWV 29/2: Wir danken dir, Gott, wir danken dir!
the Et incarnatus as a separate chorus, which results in nine movements with an even
more Trinitarian symmetry (3 x 3). The resulting design (2 + 1 + 3 + 1 + 2) is simultane-
ously palindromic (based on texture) and tripartite (3 + 3 + 3). This configuration empha-
sizes the theological centrality of the Creed’s summary of incarnation, crucifixion, and
resurrection.
To realize this design, Bach creates two triptychs (nos. 13–15 and nos. 19–21) each com-
prised of two choruses and a single solo movement. The symmetry is furthered by Bach’s deci-
sion that one chorus of each pair would lack orchestral support and also involve a Gregorian
cantus firmus.28 The other chorus is a parodied cantata chorus. The centerpiece of the Credo
is a choral triptych—Crucifixus (the Mass’s oldest music) flanked by Et incarnatus and Et
resurrexit. Like the Qui tollis of the Gloria, the Crucifixus employs only four voices over a puls-
ing, anxious (and, in this case, chromatic) bass line.29 This similarity is both structural and
theological—the Lamb of God “who takes away the sins of the world” (Qui tollis) does so by
enduring the cross (Crucifixus).30
Similarly, the tonal structure of the Sanctus/Benedictus is an extension of the pattern
used in the Gloria. Here, three D-major choruses anchor three different tonal constructions.
The first (Patrem omnipotem) connects movements in A Mixolydian and G major, while the
third mirrors the triadic tonal centers of the Kyrie in D major (A–F♯–D). Bach’s decision to
remove Et incarnatus est from the preceding duet in G major and to place the new chorus
in B minor obscures the tonal relationship of the central group. His solution results in a
tonal symmetry involving tonalities a fourth apart—B minor (Et incarnatus) and E minor
(Crucifixus), and G major (the concluding tonality of Crucifixus) and D major (Et resur-
rexit). This tonal logic requires an extraordinary manipulation of the passacaglia theme in
the Crucifixus. In the thirteenth statement of his theme, the bass line returns to C♯ minor
instead of proceeding to B minor; on this pitch, Bach constructs a German sixth chord,
which here cadences to D (exx. 10.10a and b).
Another obstacle is the F♯-minor tonality (modality!) of Confiteor; although related
to the preceding aria’s key (A major), the larger challenge for Bach is how to get to D major
Figure 10.2 J. S. Bach—Messe in h-moll (BWV 232), Credo
Example 10.10 Bach: Mass in b minor, BWV 232, Crucifixus

(a) mm. 1–5
(b) mm. 49–53
for Et expecto. Bach’s solution requires a coda in which he first modulates from B minor
(m. 115) through the circle of fifths to G (m. 118), followed by descending root movement by
thirds (G–E–C) to what could have been (and with anyone else would have been) A major, the
dominant preparation of the next chorus (Et expecto). But Bach avoids this obvious scheme
in favor of a mystical modulation charged with (harmonic) “expectation” that remains largely
unsatisfied.31
Bach divided the remaining Mass text into two unequal parts, the Sanctus and the
Osanna through the Dona nobis pacem. This unbalanced scheme occurred because Bach
decided to recycle the D-major Sanctus composed for his first Christmas in Leipzig (1724).
Normally, the Sanctus was part of a textual complex that included the Osanna, Benedictus, and
repeat of the Osanna, yet Bach placed these last three texts in the fourth and final section of the
Mass. An explanation for this dislocation is found in the hymnal used at Leipzig, Volpelius’s
Neu Leipziger Gesangbuch (1682); its service rubrics indicate that when sung monophonically,
these texts constitute one inseparable liturgical text. If, however, the Sanctus were to be sung
instead in canto figurato (i.e., polyphonically), the other texts are to be omitted.32 Bach’s Sanctus
stands alone because that was its original conception. But to make a Missa tota, Bach had to
create new music for the Osanna and the Benedictus.
The tonalities of these two sections—Osanna (D major) and Benedictus (B minor)—
are simultaneously compatible with the Sanctus and essential to the chiastic tonal/textural
structure of the Mass’s concluding movements. Three D-major choruses provide a tonal frame
for two arias—the Benedictus in the relative minor (B) and Agnus Dei in G. Only in this,
the last group of compositions, does one find evidence of haste on Bach’s part. Except for the
Benedictus, Bach resorts to parody. There is also the issue of the obbligato instrument Bach
intended for the Benedictus. He drafted this movement on blank staves at the end of the
Osanna without naming the instrument (though the scholarly consensus now agrees that he
almost certainly intended flute instead of violin).33 Finally, the remainder of the Mass exists
only as an autograph full score (unlike the Missa of 1733, for which Bach copied out a complete
set of instrumental parts).
The cantata form is indeed the template for Bach’s oratorios and Masses. The use of
cantata parodies in these works transcends an easy solution to generating new music or provid-
ing new performance opportunities for liturgically or politically occasional compositions. The
persistent yet flexible use of the cantata’s basic formula underscores its utility in creating more
substantive choral compositions.
Magnificat, BWV 243 (1723–31)

Another large choral piece built on the cantata format is the Magnificat, composed for his first
Christmas Vespers service in Leipzig (1723). There are two different versions—an initial one
in E♭ major (BWV 243a) and the final D major (BWV 243), the version most often performed
today. The original version included four Christmas hymns traditionally interpolated into the
Magnificat in Leipzig: (1) Vom Himmel hoch da komm ich her [vs. 1]; (2) Freut euch und jubiliert;
(3) Gloria in excelsis Deo; and (4) Virga Jesse floruit. In revising the work a decade later, Bach
dropped the interpolations and transposed the work into the standard trumpet key of D major,
altering the orchestration as necessary. Table 10.9 shows final form of the work.
Bach divides the canticle text (Lk 1:46–55 and the Lesser Doxology) into twelve move-
ments, allowing him to deal with less text per movement and achieve the variety of key, meter,
and texture that invites comparison to the cantata. Harmonically, Bach constructs a frame of
movement pairs in D major, assigning tonal centers in a typical Baroque hierarchy—its rela-
tive minor (B), its dominant (F♯), its relative major (A), its minor dominant (E), and its relative
major (G)—for use in the inner movements. This somewhat awkward transition is the use of
F♯ (“Deposuit”) following G major (“Fecit potentiam”). The possible rationales for this key are
(1) the relation between text and Affekt and (2) Bach’s creation of an analogue to movements 6
and 7 by following F♯ minor with A major.
Bach also used F♯ minor for the chorus “Omnes generationes,” a text that hardly has
the same affect as “Deposuit.” The key of F♯ here results from Bach’s decision to change to a
choral texture to complete more realistically the text of the preceding aria, leading to one of the
more striking pieces of text painting in the entire composition (ex. 10.11). The greatest similarity
Table 10.9 Bach, Magnificat, BWV 243, formal structure

Movement Key Meter/Tempo Scoring
1. Magnificat anima mea D 3/4 SSATB, three trumpets, timpani, two
flutes, two oboes, strings
2. Et exultavit and b.c.
3. Quia respexit D 3/8 soprano 2, strings
4. Omnes generationes Bm 4/4 soprano 1, oboe solo, b.c.
generations F♯m 4/4 SSATB, two oboes, strings, b.c.
5. Quia fecit mihi magna
6. Et misericordia A 4/4 bass, b.c.
7. Fecit potentiam
8. Deposuit potentes E 12/8 alto, tenor, strings, b.c.
9. Esurientes G 4/4 Tutti
10. Suscepit Israel F♯m 3/4 tenor, strings, b.c.
11. Sicut locutus est A 4/4 alto, tenor, two flutes, b.c.
12. Gloria Patri Bm 3/4 soprano 1, soprano 2, alto, oboe, strings,
D 2/2 SSATB, b.c.
D C/3/4 Tutti
Example 10.11 Bach: Magnificat, BWV 243, 4, mm. 16–21
between the cantatas and the Magnificat is their common reliance on concerto grosso form.
The dominant presence of this formal structure accounts for nearly every note of the opening
chorus (to take only the most obvious example) as some variant of the music played by the
orchestra in the first thirty-three measures of the work.34
Johannespassion, BWV 245 (1724/25)

In his inventory of his father’s works, C. P. E. Bach noted five Passions, only two of which—the St.
John and the St. Matthew—have survived.35 For the St. Mark Passion, we possess only a libretto
by Picander, the music most likely involving parody (principally of the Trauer-ode: Laß, Fürstin,
laß noch einen Strahl, BWV 198 [for the funeral of Queen Christiana of Poland-Saxony, 1727]).
Christoph Wolff points out that an anonymous St. Luke Passion and a Passion supposedly com-
posed in Weimar (now lost) would account for the five mentioned by C. P. E.36
The earlier of the two surviving Passions is the Johannespassion (BWV 245), composed
for Bach’s first Good Friday in Leipzig (1724). Leipzig tradition required the complete biblical text,
denying Bach wholesale use of any of the popular poetic Passion paraphrases such as Heinrich
Brockes’s text (set by Reinhard Keiser, Telemann, and Handel).37 Either Bach or his designated
librettist chose a limited number of poetic texts and chorale verses to augment John’s account (Jn
18–19), adding two interpolations from Matthew (Mt 26:75 in no. 12c and Mt 27:51–52 in no. 33).
Bach divides the biblical text into two unequal parts, Part 1 ending with Peter’s betrayal
(Jn 18:27); the remainder of chapter 18 (vv. 28–40) and all of chapter 19 (vv. 1–42) appear in
Part 2. Eric Chafe notes that John’s account contains three separate scenes:
1. The Arrest and Interrogation of Jesus (Jn 18:1–27)

2. The Trial before Pilate (Jn 18:28–19:16a)
3. The Execution of Jesus and his Burial (Jn 19:16b–42)38
This tripartite division within the seventy-seven verses of the two chapters creates two parts, the
first, sung before the sermon is half the length of the second (comprised of Chafe’s parts 2 and 3).
Another manipulation of the Johannine text is Bach’s inclusion of the crowd’s response to
Pilate’s inscription (Jn 19:18) as part of the Trial Scene (2). Without this rearrangement, the
musical symmetry that Friedrich Smend has called the centerpiece or Herzstück (mvts. 17–26)
would not have been possible.39 (See table 10.10.)
Since the mid-seventeenth century, purely biblical Passions (Historiae) had been
increasingly enriched with poetic texts; thus it is hardly surprising to find chorales and poetic
arias in the Johannespassion. 40 Here there is a total of fifteen chorales, some of which, like
those in the St. Matthew Passion, repeat the hymn tunes but employ different texts. Bach used
multiple verses of several chorales, principally the seventh, eighth, and ninth verses of Johann
Heermann’s Herzliebster Jesu, was hast du verbrochen?, which appear as the third item in each
part of the Passion (v. 7 in Part 1; vv. 8 and 9 in Part 2) (table 10.11).
Twelve poetic texts from Brockes, Weise, Postel, and an anonymous poet provide the
opening and closing choruses and the meditative arias, which give opportunity for congrega-
tional reflection on the preceding action. Bach distributes these texts evenly, assigning two
arias each to the soprano, alto, and bass (although no. 19, “Betrachte, meine Seel’,” is actually
an arioso), the tenor having the same allotment plus a recitativo accompagnato (no. 34). Only
three of the nine arias appear in Part 1, reflecting Bach’s subdivision of John’s text to fit his
musical design. Another point of interest is Bach’s restriction of the woodwinds to the outer-
most movements (5, 7, and 34–35).
This analytical description fails to reveal the taut, dramatic narrative that results. Even
if we are to strip away the added texts, the narrative sections alone impart a convincing musical
structure. Unlike the earlier Passion historiae, Bach takes full advantage of the dramatic oppor-
tunities the biblical text provides. The synoptic nature of the biblical stories requires a narra-
tor—in this case the Evangelist—to connect the story’s various events. 41 But Bach went even
farther by assigning the roles of Pilate, Peter, Judas, and other characters to specific solo voices.
Similarly, Bach’s choruses are significantly more dramatic than the brief, prosaic
turba choruses of earlier Passions. Nowhere is this new dramatic function more apparent than
in the Trial scene (nos. 17–26) in which the chorus becomes a primary factor in the symmetri-
cal design, the Herzstück. Two chorales, the tonalities of which are a tritone apart, initiate and
close the scene. Between them are nine movements divided into two similarly shaped groups
(nos. 18–21 and 23–25) that frame the chorale Durch dein Gefängnis Gottes Sohn. These units are
commensurate in size and correspond precisely as to the type and order of appearance of the
constituent texts. (See table 10.12.)
Movements 21 and 23 are clusters of seven alternating recitatives and turba choruses;
nos.18 and 25 are smaller versions of the same structure. The single exception to this other-
wise pristine scheme is a disparity between the bass aria with chorus (“Eilt, ihr angefochnen
Seelen”) and the pair of solo movements for bass (“Betrachte meine Seel’,”) and tenor (“Erwäge
sein blutgefärbte Rücken”). Bach more than compensates for this difference by creating a
direct, highly detailed musical correspondence between the eight turba choruses. The closest
resemblance is between nos. 21f and 23b, which are both thirty-three measures long; their sole
Table 10.10 Bach, Johannespassion, BWV 245—design of original libretto (1724)
Gospel Chorales Poetic Text (Arias/Choruses)
1. Herr unser Herrscher (anon.)
2. Jn 18:1–8
3. O grosse Lieb (Herzliebster Jesu, was
hast du verbrochen)
4. Jn 18:9–11
5. Dein Will gescheh’ (Vater unser im
Himmelreich)
6. Jn 18:12–14 7. Von den Stricken (Brockes)
8. Jn 18:15a
9. Ich folge dir gleichfalls (Anon.)
10. Jn 18:15b–23
11. Wer hat dich so geschlagen (O
Welt,sieh hier dein Leben)
12. Jn 18:24–27
Mt 26:75 13. Ach, mein Sinn (Weise)
14. Petrus, der nicht denkt zurück (Jesu
Leiden Pein un Tod)
15. Christus der uns selig macht
16. Jn 18:28–36
17. Ach grosser König
(Herzliebster Jesu)
18. Jn 18:37–19:1
19–20. Betrachte meine Seel/Erwäge
(Brockes)
21. Jn 19:2–12a
22. Durch dein Gefängnis, Gottes Sohn
(C. H. Postel)
23. Jn 19:12b–17
24. Eilt, ihr angefochtnen Seelen
25. Jn 19:18–22 (Brockes)
26. In meines Herzens Grunde
(Valet will ich dir geben)
27. Jn 19:23–27a
28. Er nahm alles wohl in acht
(Jesu Leiden, Pein und Tod)
29. Jn 19:27b–30a
30. Est ist vollbracht (Postel)
31. Jn 19:30b
32. Jesu, der du warest todt 32. Mein teuer Heiland (Brockes)
33. Mt 27:51–52 (Herzliebster Jesu)
34–35. Mein Herz/
Zerfliesse, mein Herz (Anon.)
36. Jn 19:31–37
37. O hilf, Christe, Gottes Sohn
(Christus der uns selig macht)
38. Jn 19:38–42 40. Ach Herr, lass dein lieb Engelein 39. Ruht wohl, ihr heiligen Gebeine
(Herzlich Lieb hab’ ich dich, O Herr) (Anon.)
Table 10.11 Bach, Johannespassion, BWV 245, chorales

Part/Movement Title Text Source Hymn Melody
1.
3. O grosse Lieb Herzliebster Jesu, v. 7 J. Crüger
Johann Heermann (1630)
5. Dein Will gescheh V. Schumann
Vater unser im Himmelreich, (1539)
v. 7
Martin Luther (1539)
11. Wer hat dich so O Welt
geschlagen O Welt sieh’ hier deinLeben (Innsbruck),
vv. 3–4 ich muss dich
Paul Gerhardt (1647) lassen
14. Petrus, der nicht denkt M. Vulpius

zurück v. 10: Jesu, Leiden, Pein und Tod
2. Paul Stockmann (1633)
15. Christus der uns selig Michael Weisse
macht (1531)
Christus, der uns selig
17. Ach grosser König macht, v. 1 J. Crüger
Herzliebster Jesu
22. Durch dein Gefängnis vv. 8–9 J. H. Schein
Gottes Sohn
Aria text by C. H. Postel
26. In meines Herzens M. Teschner
Grunde
28. Er nahm alles wohl in Valet will ich dir geben M. Vulpius
acht v. 3
37. O hilf, Christe, Gottes Jesu, Leiden, Pein und Tod M. Weisse
Sohn v. 20
40. Ach Herr lass dein lieb Christus, der uns selig macht, B. Schmidt (1577)
Engelein v. 8
Herzlich Lieb hab’ ich dich O
Herr, v. 3
Martin Schalling (1571)
difference is tonality, an issue to which we shall return presently. 42 The two middle choruses
(nos. 21d and 23d) are comparable in length and set the word Kreuzige using the same motive.
But this palindromic correspondence (21b, d, f = 23f, d, b) is marred by the obvious differences
between 21b and 23f. However, movement 21b is musically identical to 25b, while “Wir haben
keinen König” (23f) finds its Doppelgänger in “Nicht diesen, diesen nicht” (18b) based on a
shared accompaniment motif (exx. 10.12a and b).
Table 10.12 Textural symmetry in the Johannespassion, Herzstück
Movement 17 18 19/20 21 22 23 24 25 26
Chorale Recit Arioso Recit Chorale Recit Aria Recit Chorale
Chorus Aria Chorus Chorus Chorus Chorus
Recit Recit Recit Recit
Chorus Chorus
Recit Recit
Chorus Chorus
Recit Recit
Example 10.12 Bach: Johannespassion, BWV 245

(a) 18b, mm. 95–101
(b) 23f, mm. 1–3
At the center of Smend’s Herzstück stands the chorale Durch dein Gefängnis, which
is, in fact, an aria text by C. H. Postel; one assumes that this text setting is a chorale because
Bach uses a hymn melody (Machs mit mir Gott nach deiner Güt) composed by his predeces-
sor at St. Thomas, Johann Hermann Schein and harmonized in traditional chorale style. For
this chorale Bach chooses the unprecedented key of E major, the only movement in the entire
Passion to use four sharps (a musical metaphor for the crucifixion due to the dual meaning
of the German word Kreuz—“cross” and “sharp”). Furthermore, the music preceding this cho-
rale is all in flat keys. In order to reach E Major Bach had to modulate from the flat-key area to
four sharps within a single recitative (no. 21g). Bach chose this key precisely because its tonal
extremity allegorized this critical moment in the textual and musical drama. Eric Chafe calls
this process “tonal allegory,”—the conscious use of different “genera” or areas of music in
either sharp or flat keys as another layer of planning the expressive fabric of the composition.
Mvts. 19–21f Mvt. 21g Mvts. 22–23f Mvt. 23g Mvts. 24–26
Flats modulatory Sharps modulatory Flats
Bach’s large-scale tonal planning consciously uses the flow from flat keys to sharp keys to sig-
nal a deeper theological meanings. The Herzstück exemplifies such a tonal design:
Chafe explains:
Bach’s equivalent to John’s symmetrical trial, the segment Friedrich Smend

called the Herzstück, comprises, in my reinterpretation of Smend’s con-
cept, a flat/sharp/flat tonal grouping in which two choruses of the first key
area—“Kreuzige ihn”(G minor) and “Wir haben ein Gesetz” (F major)—are
transposed into sharps and heard in reverse order with new texts in the sec-
ond: now “Lässest du diesen los” (E major) and “Weg mit dem, kreuzige ihn”
(F♯ minor). 43
This change from flats to sharps explains the single discrepancy between choruses 21f and
23b: the first (“Wir haben ein Gesetz”) is in F major, while its musical double (“Lässest du diesen
Table 10.13 Bach, Johannespassion, Herzstück, Tonality

Movement Key Center(s) and Signature
18a. Da sprach Pilatus zu ihm: F–d
18b. Nicht diesen, diesen nicht (choir) d
18c. Barrabas aber war ein Mörder. d–g
19. Betrachte meine Seel (B) E♭ (3 flats)
20. Erwäge sein blutgefärbte Rücken (T) C minor (3 flats)
21a. Und die Kriegsknechte flochten eine Krone (E) V6/g–B♭ (2 flats)
21b. Sei gegrüsset (Choir) B♭ (2 flats)
21c. Und gaben ihn Backenstreiche (E) V6/c–V6/g (2 flats)
21d. Kreuzige, kreuzige (Choir) g (2 flats)
21e. Pilatus sprach zu ihnen (E) c–V/F (2 flats)
21f. Wir haben ein Gesetz (Choir) F (1 flat)
21g. Da Pilatus das Wort hörete (E) V6/d–E
22. Durch dein Gefängnis (Choir) E (4 sharps)
23a. Die Juden aber schrieen (E) V6/B (4 sharps)
23b. Lässest du diesen los (Choir) E (4 sharps)
23c. Da Pilatus das Wort hörete (E) V6/c♯–vii/b (3 sharps)
23d. Weg weg mit dem (Choir) b–f♯ (3 sharps)
23e. Sprach Pilatus zu ihnen:(E) V6/b–V/b (2 sharps)
23f. Wir haben keinen König (Choir) b–F♯ (2 sharps)
23g. Da überantwortete er ihn (E) b–g (2 sharps)
24. Eilt, ihr angefochtnen Seelen (B + SAT chorus) g (2 flats)
25a. Allda kreuzigten sie ihn (E) V6/B♭–V6/B♭ (2 flats)
25b. Schreibe nicht (Choir) B♭ (2 flats)
25c. Pilatus antwortet:(E) F4/2–B♭ (2 flats)
26. Aus meines Herzens Grunde (Choir) E♭ (3 flats)
los”) is essentially in E major. 44 The tonal flux of the Herzstück as a whole sets up the tonal sym-
metry of the textural arch that pivots on the chorale in which man’s redemption is made explicit.
The sharps achieved by modulation in no. 21g make possible the symbolic tonality of no. 22 and
remain in place through no. 23g where, via another recitative, Bach reverses his tonal journey,
returning to the flat genera.
While the Johannespassion lacks a single tonic key from which the music diverges
and to which it ultimately returns, Bach imparts the same intervallic inflection (a descending
semitone) to the opening and closing movements of both parts:
Part 1 Part 2
G minor–f♯ minor E Phrygian–E♭ major
In addition to this tonal architecture, Bach forges motivic relationships to unify a noncontigu-
ous section of the work. The first of these is the “Kreuz/cross” motive (ex. 10.13), heard in the
opening ritornello of the chorus, “Herr, unser Herrscher”. The motive’s dramatic power stems
from Bach’s use of unprepared dissonances, in which one voice “crosses” over the other, as well
as from the prominent use of sharps in this G-minor chorus. The same motive paints the word
Kreuzige in those turba choruses (21d and 23d) in which the crowd demands the crucifixion of
Jesus. To solidify this connection further, Bach reprises the first of these literally (in transposi-
tion) beginning in the fourth measure of the second.
Example 10.13 Bach: Johannespassion, BWV 245, 1, mm. 1–6
Another, more ubiquitous motive appears in the accompaniment of many of the turba
choruses; first heard in the identical settings of “Jesum von Nazareth” (2b and 2d), this motive
reappears in three of the turba choruses of Part 2—16d, 18b, and 23f (see ex. 10-13). The latter
two choruses (18b and 23f) transpose the first literally, while the first (“Wir dürfen niemand
töten”) develops and modifies the motive’s basic shape because it is substantially longer.
Matthäuspassion, BWV 244 (1729)

Christoph Wolff believes that Bach’s dissatisfaction with the text of the St. John Passion led to
his revision of it for the performance in 1725. 45 The increased focus on the chorale in the canta-
tas of the second Jahrgang (1724–25) clearly influenced this new version. Bach replaced “Herr,
unser Herrscher” with a chorale fantasia on the chorale O Mensch, bewein dein Sünden gross
(“O man, bewail your grievous sin”) and substituted the chorale chorus, “Christe, du Lamm
Gottes”—originally the final chorus of BWV 23, one of two Probestücke [test pieces] composed
as part of his application for the position at Leipzig in 1723—for the simple chorale that had
originally ended the Passion. 46 Bach ultimately scrapped these (and other) revisions, returning
to the original (1724) version (minus the texts from Matthew’s Gospel).
Figure 10.3 Facing pages of Christian Friedrich Henrici (Picander)’s libretto for Bach’s St. Matthew Passion
Table 10.14 Bach, Matthäuspassion, BWV 244, textual design
Gospel Text Poetic Text (Picander) Chorales
Part I
1. Kommt ihr Tochter (I/II)
2. Mt 26:1–2
3. Herzliebster Jesu was hast
4. Mt 26:3–13 5. Du lieber Heiland, du du verbrochen
6. Buss und Reu (I)
7. Mt 26:14–16 8. Blute nur du liebes Herz (II)
9. Mt 26:17–22
10. Ich bins, ich sollte büssen
11. Mt 26:23–29 12. Wiewohl mein Herz
13. Ich will dir mein Herze (I)
14. Mt 26:30–32
16. Mt 26:33–35 15. Erkenne mich, mein Hüter
18. Mt 26:36–38 19. O Schmerz 17. Ich will hier bei dir stehen
20. Ich will bei meinem Jesu wachen (I/II)
21. Mt 26:39 22. Der Heiland fällt

23. Gerne will ich mich bequemen (II)
24. Mt 26:40–42
25. Was mein Gott will, das

26. Mt 26:43–50 27. So ist mein Jesus nun gefangen (I/II) g’scheh allzeit
28. Mt 26:51–56
29. O Mensch bewein dein

Sünde gross+
Part II 30. Ach, nun ist mein Jesus hin (I/II)
31. Mt 26:57–59
33. Mt 26:60–63a 34. Mein Jesus schweigt 32. Mir hat die Welt
35. Geduld (II)
36. Mt 26:63b–68
38. Mt 26:69–75 39. Erbarme dich (I) 37. Wer hat dich so geschlagen
40. Bin ich gleich von dich

41. Mt 27:1–6 42. Gebt mir meinen Jesum wieder (II) gewichen
Table 10. 14 Continued
Gospel Text Poetic Text (Picander) Chorales

43. Mt 27:7–14
45. Mt 27:15–22 44. Befiehl du deine Wege
47. Mt 27:23a 48. Er hat uns alles wohlgetan 46. Wie wunderbarlich
49. Aus Liebe will mein Heiland (I)
50. Mt 27:23b–26 51. Erbarm es Gott

52. Können Thränen meiner Wangen
53. Mt 27:27–30
55. Mt 27:31–32 54. O Haupt voll Blut und

Wunden
56. Ja freilich will in uns
57. Komm, süsses Kreuz (I)
58. Mt 27:33–44
59. Ach Golgatha
60. Sehet Jesus hat die Hand (I/II)
61. Mt 27:45–50
62. Wenn ich einmal soll
63. Mt 27:51–58 64. Am Abend da es kühle war scheiden
65. Mache dich mein Herze rein (I)
66. Mt 27:59–66
67. Nun ist der Herr zur Ruh gebracht
68. Wir setzen uns mit Thränen nieder (I/II)
After performing the revised version of his Johannespassion in 1725 and a St. Mark
Passion by Friedrich Nicolaus Bruhns in 1726, Bach premiered his Matthäuspassion on Good
Friday 1727. 47 Unlike the Johannespassion, the St. Matthew Passion uses a single text drawn
from Christian Friedrich Henrici’s (Picander) Erbauliche Gedancken auf den Grünen Donnerstag
und Charfreytag über den leidendem JESUM in einem ORATORIO entworffen (Leipzig, 1727).
While Picander’s libretto retains the biblical account, it clearly indicates the placement of his
new poetic texts within that narrative. 48 Bach, therefore, simultaneously maintains Leipzig’s
biblical Passion traditional and incorporates poetic texts specifically designed to enhance the
aesthetic and contemplative character of the biblical narrative. Central to Picander’s text is the
inclusion of dialogue between the “Daughters of Zion” and the “Faithful Believers.” (Perhaps
Picander’s use of dialogue prompted Bach to score his Passion for double chorus and double
orchestra.)49 The combination of the greater detail of Matthew’s account and Picander’s poetry
lends the new work greater scope in terms of duration and scoring.
The Matthäuspassion nonetheless resembled the Johannespassion’s imposition of a tri-
partite dramatic structure on the two-chapter Passion narrative. Eric Chafe remarks that
when we consider the three divisions and the articulation of the third division
within Part 2 in relation to the St. John Passion, we find that Bach worked
with some of the same problems, in particular the relationship between the
beginning of division three and the end of the trial, and found fascinatingly
different solutions, interpretation of which tells us much about his intentions
for the two Passions.50
By using the same text types as the Johannespassion, the Matthäuspassion achieves variety while
maintaining basic similarities of textual and musical design.
Like the Johannespassion, Bach does not include the entire text of Matthew 26 in Part 1
of the Matthäuspassion, but yokes its final nineteen verses to the sixty-six verses of Matthew 27 to
form Part 2 of the Passion. These two parts are more equal in terms of their amount of textual
content than are the two parts of the Johannespassion. Like Johannespassion, Bach ends Part 1 of
the Matthäuspassion with Jesus’s arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane. The trial before Caiaphas
(Mt 26:57–68) and Peter’s denial (Mt 26:69–75) make up the first segment of Part 2, which flows
seamlessly into the account of Jesus’s trial before Pilate, crucifixion, and death (Mt 27:1–66):
St. Matthew Passion, BWV 244, Part 2

Segment 1 Segment 2
Text Mt 26:57–68; 69–75 Mt 27:1–44; 45–66
Mvts. 30–37; 38–40 41–58; 59–68
The definition of segment 2 hangs on Bach’s decision to include all ten “crowd” choruses
within a single dramatic span. This climactic segment is subdivided by the choruses “Sein
Blut komme über uns” (no. 50d), which concludes the trial before Pilate and “Andern hat er
geholfen” (no. 58d), which signals the end of the crucifixion. “Andern hat er geholfen” ends
with an arresting unison (V–I) cadence in E minor at the words, “ich bin Gottes Sohn.” In addi-
tion to recalling the tonality of the opening chorus, this cadence (exx. 10.14a–d) is the culmina-
tion of a series of melodic references to that chorus’s cantus firmus, O Lamm Gottes unschuldig.
Here we can see the chorale (as sung in mvt. 1), followed by themes from three turba cho-
ruses that reference the perfect fifth of the chorale’s opening line. Chafe argues that Smend’s
proposed symmetry within Segment 2 (Part 1) is rather far-fetched, but he does concede the
Example 10.14 Bach: Matthӓuspassion, BWV 244

(a) O Lamm Gottes unschuldig
(b) 36b, mm. 21–22
(c) 58d, mm. 47–49
(d) 58d, mm. 62–63
importance of this extraordinary cadence that unites the tonality and chorale of the opening
chorus with the crowd’s emphatic statement of the reason for Jesus’s death—“He said: I am
the Son of God.”51
From a choral perspective, two topics require further elucidation: that of the function
of the numerous chorale settings and the larger choral settings of Picander texts that frame the
Passion as a whole. Of the many chorales associated with the Passion narrative, Bach elevates
O Lamm Gottes to an especially prominent position by using it as cantus firmus in the open-
ing chorus and deriving other pivotal choral motives from its opening melodic gesture.52 He
concludes Part 1 with a chorale fantasia in E major on O Mensch bewein dein Sünde gross, the
parallel mode of the opening chorus’s tonality. The chorale Herzliebster Jesu, was hast du ver-
brochen, which figured so prominently in the Johannespassion, appears three times marking
important structural moments in the Matthäuspassion. The first setting (no. 3) follows Jesus’s
prediction of his crucifixion in the first recitative, raising the question to which the remainder
of the work must respond—what did Jesus do to deserve such a harsh punishment (“scharf
Urteil”)? The second appearance is the chorus’ response to the tenor soloist’s description of the
disciples’ fear, O Schmerz (no. 19). The fourth and last verse (no. 46) immediately follows the
first turba setting of “Lass ihn kreuzigen”; its text “die Schuld bezahlt der Herre, der Gerechte,
für seine Knechte” connects the crowd’s demand for Jesus’s death to Pilate’s paraphrase of that
same question (Was hat er denn Übel getan? [no. 47]) and the soprano’s response (Er hat uns alles
wohlgetan [no. 48]).53
But it is Bach’s use of five verses of the chorale O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden that
dominate this Passion. The E-major harmonization of v. 5—Erkenne mich mein Hüter (no. 15)—
logically follows Jesus’s prophetic statement, Ich werde den Hirten schlagen und die Schafe der
Herde werden sich zerstreuen (“I will strike the shepherd and scatter the sheep of the flock”).
Both Friedrich Smend and Alfred Dürr speculated that v. 6—Ich will hier bei dir stehen (no. 17)—
was added later; if so, it was an inspired addition!54 In the recitative that separates these two
chorales, Peter responds that “even if everyone else is offended by you this night, I will never
forsake you.” To illustrate Peter’s false bravado, Bach sets v. 6 to the same music used for the
first setting but transposed down a semitone to E♭ major.
Bach used the same melody for all five verses of O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden, as
well as for the first verse of Befiehl du deine Wege (no. 44). The first and last appearances of the
chorale are in E (major and Phrygian), reconnecting with the E-minor tonality of the opening
chorus and Part 1’s conclusion in E major. The final two harmonizations are the only chorale
settings used in the final scene. Of all of the harmonizations, the last, Wenn ich einmal soll
scheiden (no. 62), sung immediately following the death of Jesus, is the most poignant.
We now turn to the magnificent choruses that frame this Passion. The formal complex-
ity of the first chorus, “Kommt ihr Töchter, helft mir klagen,” is the direct result of Picander’s
dialogue between the “Tochter Zion” and the “Gläubigen Seelen.” It is this textual dialogue
that offers the most plausible explanation for Bach’s use of two choruses and orchestras. But
Picander went some steps further, inserting the first verse of the O Lamm Gottes unschuldig
chorale as separate phrases within the dialogue. Bach realizes this commentary as a cantus
firmus sung by a third chorus of treble voices. At the end of Picander’s text appears the rubric
da capo, indicating a reprise of the opening text and music. Based on the requirements posed
by Picander’s text, Bach is obliged to create both a polychoral concerto and, simultaneously, a
chorale prelude. He declines Picander’s da capo prompt, opting instead for a truncated reprise
of the opening orchestral ritornello (mm. 79/4–90) over which he creates new choral parts
(since the chorus had not yet entered when the ritornello first appeared at mm. 8–17).55
The resulting concerto accommodates two tonalities—E minor and the G-major tonal-
ity of the chorale—as well as the repetition of its initial phrases (Stollen). Bach does this by
taking advantage of the interrelation of E minor and G major, both of which share the same
key signature. The other enabling factor is the common occurence in concertos of ritornello
statements in different keys. In this chorus, the only complete statement of the ritornello in E
minor occurs in mm. 1–17. When chorus 1 enters there, it reproduces the first half of the ritor-
nello (mm. 1–8) before chorus 2 enters and inititates Picander’s dialogue. This passage is the
site of a modulatory passage, which simultaneously captures the interrogatory nature of the
text and prepares for the G-major entrance of the chorale cantus firmus in the ripieno soprano.
Between the opening ritornello and its concluding partner (mm. 80–90) Bach inserts ritor-
nello fragments in G major (mm. 38–42 and 52–57).
The first fragment replaces the initial E-minor music sung by chorus 1, creating the
following equivalence: mm. 39–42 = mm. 23–26 = mm. 6–9. A literal repeat of mm. 26–28
prepares the second Stollen of the chorale, which is necessarily a repeat of the first (mm. 30–37).
There follows another fragment of the ritornello (mm. 1–5) in G, which sets up a modulatory
passage that combines the continuing dialogue of choirs 1 and 2 with the next two phrases of
the chorale melody. A sequential replaying of mm. 14–17 (mm. 64–67 [E minor6 –B minor] and
69–72 [G6/4/2 –A minor]) sets up Bach’s recapitulation of the opening music. He uses the same
trick that later symphonists like Haydn and Mozart will employ, taking advantage of the knowl-
edge that the music that took him away from the tonic will, if transposed to the subdominant
(A minor), facilitate a recapitulation of the music that ends in E minor.
The final chorus, “Wir setzen uns mit Thränen nieder,” is a simple, yet compelling lament
sung at the tomb of Jesus. Gone are the complex counterpoint and textural layers of “Kommt, ihr
Töchter,” replaced by a homophonic dirge with a tripartite structure. The simplest part of this
chorus is its reprise of the opening forty-eight measures as a written-out da capo. These two identi-
cal segments each contain four twelve-measure phrases organized in pairs that alternate texture
(orchestra–chorus / orchestra–chorus) and tonality (C minor to E♭ major and E♭ to C minor). The

medial section is more complex, containing three large segments in which the regular periodicity
of the first section gives way to a more varied phrase structure (5 + 5 + 4 + 5 + 5 + 8). Here, chorus
2 is reduced to the role of spectator, able only to mumble “ruhe sanfte, sanfte ruh’; while chorus 1
presents fully two-thirds of the text using a comparatively wide range of harmonies.
Initially, there is little apparent connection between this chorus and the opening chorus’s
concerted chorale prelude. What does connect them is the use of polychoral dialogue in the form of
Example 10.15 Bach: Matthӓuspassion, BWV 244, 68, mm. 52–54
Example 10.16 Bach: Matthӓuspassion, BWV 244, 68,

mm. 126–128
antiphonal exchanges of ruhe sanfte! sanfte ruh’. Exchanged between the two principal choirs in the
A sections, Bach restricts this gesture to the second choir as a lulling response to the textual litany
of chorus 1. The wonder of this simple refrain lies in Bach’s subtle change of accent. While all of
the other phrases have straightforward rhythms in 3/4, for “ruhe sanfte,” Bach implies 6/8 meter.
The obvious difference between this chorus and “Kommt ihr Töchter, helft mir kla-
gen” is its tonality. Bach’s decision to conclude the Passion in flat keys (mvts. 59–68) makes
it impossible for him to end the Passion in the original tonic (E minor), a realization that also
makes the E-minor conclusion of “Andern hat er geholfen” (58d) all the more significant as
it constitutes the last appearance of the putative tonic.56 Immediately after this chorus (58e),
Bach begins his descent into flat keys in the accompanied recitative, “Ach Golgotha” (59), which
contains a profusion of flats in excess of the three found in its signature (as well as its somber
scoring) to create a solemn mood.57 The single exception to the succession of flat keys is the
final appearance of O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden in E Phrygian. From this point, the tonal-
ity descends, culminating in the C minor of the final chorus.58 The only hint of the otherwise
absent E-minor tonality is the arresting sonority with which the work ends. The final cadence
to C minor is “marred” by Bach’s deliberate retardation of the B♮ leading tone in the flutes of
both orchestras sounding against the C-minor tonic (see ex. 10.16). This note is the sole residue
of the sharp keys that dominate the narrative of the trial, the E-minor/major frame of the first
part of the Passion, and the implied cadential relationship between the opening movement of
Part 2 (“Ach nun ist mein Jesus hin”) in B minor and the C-minor tonality of the final chorus.
Conclusion
Few composers of any period have managed to match the spiritual and musical depth of
this work. In his day, Bach’s vocal music was criticized as being too instrumental. In these
days there are probably critics who would concur with this assessment, citing the “unvocal”
quality of the choral lines. Others have asked how those young choirboys could possibly have
sung music of such difficulty. The answer to this query is obvious—the boys in Bach’s choirs
(despite his deprecation of their ability) sang no other kind of music.59 It is only our contempo-
rary choirs, expected to sing music from the entire history of choral music, that find aspects
of this music problematic. Experience has shown that, with enough consistent exposure and
work, most choirs can sing Bach’s music with style and lyricism. Bach, in turn, has stimulated
and inspired composers as diverse as Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Brahms, Hindemith,
Frank Martin, and Mauricio Kagel. It seems likely that his music will continue to remain the
“gold standard” against which all future choral music will be judged.
11
Aspects of Classicism and Romanticism

in Choral Music
I n musical historiography, the term “Classical” defines one of the major divisions of style.
The problem this term presents is twofold—precisely what differentiates Classical music
from that which precedes and follows it, and what are the chronological boundaries of this
period? Nowhere is this problem clearer than in the use of 1750 to mark the end of the
Baroque era. Despite this convenient date, the year of Bach’s death came fourteen years after
the death of Giovanni Battista Pergolesi (1736). Furthermore, most musicians at that time
were more likely to connect the name of Bach with one of Sebastian Bach’s sons. Not until
we get to Beethoven and Mendelssohn (and a nineteenth-century romantic perspective) did
Johann Sebastian Bach emerge as a dominant figure.1 Using 1750 as the end point of the
Baroque era (and implicitly the start of the Classical era) also ignores the fact that Handel
(who is perhaps more representative of the Baroque than Bach) didn’t die until 1759. For
example, two of the greatest Classical composers—Haydn and Mozart—were aware of and
indebted to the music of such legendary Baroque composers as Handel and Bach; indeed,
Haydn was born while both were still alive, and Mozart’s birth preceded Handel’s death by
three years.
Then there is the extreme irony that the series of volumes on the history of music
published by W. W. Norton around the middle of the twentieth century does not include a
317
volume on music in the Classic era. Even odder was the choice of Alfred Einstein, a biographer
of Mozart, to write Music in the Romantic Era (1947). Indeed, until the 1970s, there had been a
dearth of music history books on Classical era music, but the problem of defining Classical-era
music was not unique to the early twentieth century.2 Friedrich Blume noted that “Romantic”
was applied to music even earlier than the term “Classic.”
Significantly, even Heinrich Christoph Koch’s Handwörterbuch of 1807, for

example, contains a short article entitled “Romantisch,” while an entry for
“Klassisch” is still missing; yet in his Lexikon of 1802 one seeks even the entry
“Romantisch” in vain. So, we have come full circle, back to the questions with
which this discussion began—is there a “Classic era” in the history of music;
if so, when did it begin and how do know that?3
The issue of when the Classical era begins was complicated by the overlap between composers
regarded as Baroque and those who adhered to the new aesthetic of Classicism. The following
time line shows considerable overlapping in the life spans of those composers regarded as
Baroque (Bach, Handel, Couperin, Alessandro Scarlatti); those who, while essentially Baroque,
are tinged with elements of the new style (Telemann, Keiser, Heinichen); those who are defi-
nitely not considered Baroque composers despite their dates (Fux, Caldara, Durante, Domenico
Scarlatti, Graun); and those composers whose style is clearly pre-Classical (Quantz, Porpora,
Hasse, Pergolesi, the sons of J. S. Bach).
Alessandro Scarlatti (1660–1725)

Johann Joseph Fux (1660–1741)
François Couperin (1668–1733)
Antonio Caldara (1670–1736)
Reinhard Keiser (1674–1739)
Georg Philip Telemann (1681–1767)
Johann David Heinichen (1681–1729)
Francesco Durante (1684–1755)
Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750)
George Frideric Handel (1685–1759)
Domenico Scarlatti (1685–1757)
Nicolai Porpora (1686–1768)
Johann Joachim Quantz (1697–1773)
Johann Adolph Hasse (1699–1783)
Karl Heinrich Graun (1704–59)
Giovanni Battista Pergolesi (1710–36)
C. P. E. Bach (1714–88)
J. C. Bach (1735–82)
To some extent, a given composer’s placement within any one of these classifications is less
a function of when the composer lived than where. Ultimately, the beginning of Classicism
becomes a matter of geography.
What distinguishes Classical music from Baroque music depends on these same geo-
graphical boundaries. How can composers like Fux or Caldara, born before Bach and Handel,
Classicism and Romanticism 319
not be, at least in part, Baroque composers? The answer lies in the influences—cultural, aes-
thetic, and philosophical—that shaped their lives. The kinds of music they composed were
the inevitable result of the attitudes of the audiences for whom they wrote. The same maxim
applied to Bach and Handel, but they were less willing or able to change with the times even
though both composers wrote music in the so-called modern style.4
One way to grasp the undeniable stylistic differences of this time is to compare pairs
of works that stand on either side of the stylistic divide. Consider the following pairs of pieces:
1. J. S. Bach’s Magnificat (BWV 243) and C. P. E. Bach’s Magnificat (W. 215)
2. The Allemande of J. S. Bach’s French Suite in d minor (BWV 812) and Domenico
Scarlatti’s Sonata in d minor (K. 9).
The two Magnificats exhibit many superficial similarities—both are large, elaborately scored
cantatas comprised of separate movements designed to insure variety of meter, tempo, orches-
tration, and key; both subdivide the canticle’s text to accomplish these ends. The opening cho-
ruses of each are strikingly similar. Johann Sebastian Bach uses concerto grosso format, with
the ritornello forming the basic formal structure of the work.5 Initially, C. P. E. Bach’s chorus
seems to use the same format. Table 11.1 shows that C. P. E. Bach’s composition employs the
same kind of variety at the “movement” level as does his father:
Table 11.1 C. P. E. Bach, Magnificat, Formal Structure

Movement Verse Key Meter Scoring Remarks
1. 1 D 4/4 SATB chorus, Full orchestra Ritornello Chorus
(3 Tpts, Timp., 2 Fl., 2 Ob,
2 FH, Stgs, Bc.
2. 2–3 B 3/4 S, strings, Bc. Ritornello aria

minor
3. 4 G 4/4 T, FHs, Stgs, Bc. Virtuosic aria
4. 5 E 3/4 SATB, 2 Fl., 2 Ob., Stgs, Bc. ABABA texture

minor A = Chorus,
B = S/A duet
5. 6 A 2/4 B, Tpts., Timp., Stgs
Tpts. = Fecit
6. 7–8 A 4/4 T, A, FHs, Stgs, B.c. Vs. 8 = new key, texture

minor and style
–F
7. 9–10 D minor 3/4 A, 2 Fl., Stgs
8. 11 D 4/4 SATB, Full orchestra Repeat of opening (Sicut

erat in principio)
9. 12 D 2/2 SATB, Full orchestra Stile antico fugue with

2 subjects
The pattern of key structure, meter, and careful attention to the use of varied texture all point
toward a composer still operating under the aesthetic assumptions of the Baroque era. But C. P. E.
makes several notable departures from typical Baroque structure. The first is the predominance
of homophonic texture, despite the presence (in the first movement) of a ritornello that super-
ficially resembles his father’s work.
The movements only use of counterpoint is a brief flurry of imitative entries on
the text “et exultavit” (mm. 38–40 and 78–80) and two series of entries on “In De (-o)”
(mm. 71–73 and 85–87), which are little more than enlivened homophony. C. P. E. reserves
the most elaborate polyphony for the final movement, “Sicut erat in principio,” writ-
ten as a stile antico fugue under the alla breve meter sign. This subject bears a marked
resemblance to Mozart’s themes in the “Laudate pueri” of his Vesperae solenne e confessore
(K. 339) and Kyrie of his Requiem in D minor (K. 626), as well as Joseph Haydn’s the finale
of in his String Quartet in F minor, op. 20, no. 5 (exx. 11.1a–d). The similarity of these themes
and their treatment illustrates the dominant role that Italian composers play in the latter
years of the eighteenth century. This connection also explains the otherwise inexplicable
similarity between the final chorus of C. P. E.’s Magnificat and Mozart’s use of stile antico
polyphony.
Example 11.1 Stile antico themes

(a) C.P.E. Bach: Magnificat, 9, mm. 1–9
(b) Mozart: Laudate Pueri, K. 339, 4, mm. 1–9
(c) Mozart: Requiem in D minor, K. 626, Kyrie

(d) F.J. Haydn: String Quartet in F minor, op. 20, no. 5, Finale, mm. 1–7
More telling is the stylistic eclecticism encountered in the C.P.E.’s setting of “Quia fecit.”
Even without knowing J. S. Bach’s setting of the same words, one recognizes that this aria springs
from different aesthetic and compositional principles. For example, although the orchestral intro-
duction acts like a ritornello, it lacks the unity of gesture and Affekt so integral to a Baroque compo-
sition. Within this introduction, one finds passages of completely different character (exx. 11.2a–c);
as the aria progresses, new thematic material appears (most notably the melismatic triplets in mm.
50–55 of the tenor solo). Obviously, a different architectural perspective and goal are in place here.
Example 11.2 C.P.E. Bach: Magnificat, 4

(a) mm. 1–8
(b) mm. 18–22
(c) mm. 50–55
Despite similarity of key and form, the harpsichord compositions by J. S. Bach and
Domenico Scarlatti illustrate the same fundamental dichotomy. Bach’s Allemande (French Suite
in d minor, (BWV 812) flows seamlessly from beginning to midpoint and from midpoint to end.
Tonal movement is clearly from tonic (D) to the dominant (A) and back, but the mechanism by
which this harmonic progress takes place is difficult to discern because there are no obvious
thematic landmarks by which to gauge it. Scarlatti’s sonata operates in a totally different manner
both aurally and visually. Whereas Bach’s music is seamless, Scarlatti uses a number of strik-
ingly different musical gestures. The first half of the sonata, for example, contains five separate
ideas or textures. While Scarlatti, like Bach, modulated from the non-tonic key (F major) back
to the tonic, Scarlatti’s orderly reprise of the themes used in the first half of the sonata makes
this process audibly clear. This binary sonata contained the seeds of sonata allegro form, the
principal construct in music of the Classical period. After a rudimentary “development” at the
beginning of the second section of the sonata (mm. 27–346), Scarlatti reprises all of the themes
heard in F major in the first section in the tonic key (D minor). Simply put, he creates an exact,
measure-for-measure correspondence, designing a recapitulation of the strictest sort. If devel-
opment is relatively unimportant in this primordial sonata, the return of themes (initially heard
in F, now in D minor) completes the form in an aesthetically satisfying way.
Vocal Music
The revolution in instrumental composition was slow to find a foothold in choral music, cre-
ating a situation reminiscent of the transition from Renaissance to Baroque. The Baroque
recognized two fundamentally different “practices.” Stile antico, maintained the seamless, con-
trapuntal style of Palestrina; stile moderno adopted a new aesthetic and monodic style of compo-
sition. The stile antico remained a viable compositional style throughout the Baroque and into
the Classical period. This continuity was especially evident in Italy, where the Roman Church’s
emphasis on tradition enshrined this style as the “most acceptable” basis of church music,
thanks in part to the strictures of the Council of Trent. Throughout the eighteenth century, this
approach retained its validity, even as it grew farther and farther apart from modern develop-
ments in opera and vocal chamber music.
Confirmation of the persistence of this style shows up in Johann Joseph Fux, Gradus ad
Parnassum (1725), which translates the essentials of modal counterpoint for a new generation.7
A good example of the old style is Fux’s own Missa canonica, a Mass Ordinary setting built on
strict canons. The Kyrie begins with a double canon at the unison involving the standard vocal
pairs—S/T and A/B. Like G. M. Artusi in the seventeenth century, Fux champions this conser-
vative style as preferable to the newer one; yet he also accepts the ever-widening rift between
styles as a fait accompli while decrying the use of what he labels the “stylus mixtus.” For Fux,
the worst possible scenario would have been the marriage of the two styles in the same piece.
For eighteenth-century Italian composers, writing church music increasingly became a side-
line. Vivaldi wrote most of his Venetian church music for the various Ospedali (Orphanages for
Young Women) in the city. The Neapolitan Alessandro Scarlatti (1660–1725) mentored a new
generation of composers, whose influence spread throughout Europe, ultimately reaching the
court of Catharine the Great (r. 1762–96) in Russia.
The graduates of this Italian training and their musical accomplishments form a truly
impressive list. Given Italy’s proximity to Austria and their membership in the Holy Roman
Empire, the dominance of Italian composers at the prestigious Viennese court is hardly sur-
prising. The principal Italian musician was Antonio Caldara (ca. 1670–1738), although his only
acknowledged pupil of note was J. G. Reutter II (the teacher of the Haydn brothers). Kapellmeister
Fux’s pupils included Gottlieb Muffat, Jan Dismas Zelenka, and Georg Christian Wagenseil.
Italian influence also extended to the other principal bishoprics, the most important of which
was Salzburg. The composers who served as Vice-Kapellmeister (VKM) and Kapellmeister (KM)
to the Salzburg Court included:
Andreas Hofer: VKM (1654–66); KM (1666–84)

Franz Heinrich Biber: VKM (1680–84); KM (1684–1704)
Matthias Sigismundus Biechteler: VKM (1684–1704); KM (1704–43)
Carl Heinrich Biber: VKM (1714–43); KM 1743–44)
Johann Ernst Eberlin: Organist (1746); KM (1749–62)
Anton Cajetan Adlgasser: 1st organist until 1777

Leopold Mozart: VKM (1762–87)
J. Michael Haydn: (1737–1806), 1762
Giovanni Battista Pergolesi (1710–36)

Pergolesi was one of the most celebrated composers in this transitional period. His La Serva
Padrona, the first known opera buffa, was influential in the emergence of a new instrumental
chamber music; he was the “poster child” of Romantic aestheticians like E. T. A. Hoffmann
and Jean-Paul Richter, who admired Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater.8 Given its vocal scoring (soprano
and alto) and the diverse styles it embraces, one might question whether the Stabat Mater is
indeed choral music. Like his contemporaries, Pergolesi adopted the “cantata” format, dividing
the lengthy text in order to create movements of more manageable length and thus maximize
stylistic diversity, primarily evident in his choices of meter (tempo) and key.
Movements 1–4 and 6–8 set a single strophe of the Stabat mater sequence.9 Movements
5, 9, 10, and 11 employ multiple verses, all of which show greater variety in their approach to
form and texture; the ninth movement, which includes five verses of text, is the most complex.
After a brief orchestral introduction, the soprano and alto sing vv. 11 and 12 to the same music in
the tonic (E♭) and the dominant (B♭). The last three verses feature duets that share some subtle
Figure 11.1 Pergolesi composing his Stabat Mater on his deathbed, ca. 1736
commonalities (exx. 11.3a and b), the first of which is a chromatic neighboring tone, used in vv.
12 (mm. 44–47) and 14 (mm.74–76). The second commonality is a sequential imitative process
(exx. 11.4a and b) that initiates each pair of verses:
Example 11.3 Pergolesi: Stabat Mater, 9
(a) mm. 44–47
(b) mm. 74–76
(a) mm. 55–59
(b) mm. 67–72

The final element is Pergolesi’s deft use of the opening instrumental ritornello in these final
verses (exx. 11.5a and b); the figure first heard in mm. 6–8 returns in mm. 51–54 of v. 13, as well
as in mm. 61–62 (v. 14) and mm. 76–78.
(a) mm. 6–8
(b) mm. 51–53
In his Stabat Mater Pergolesi strives to achieve variety on every level. Initially, his choice
of meters suggests an alternation between common time and any other meter; this apparent
alternation disappears in the final movements of the work. A more consistent pattern appears
in the alternation of slow and fast tempos. At first glance, such a plan may seem unremark-
able; however, the text’s mood hardly admits the use of fast tempos. Indeed, Pergolesi imposes
tempo variation in spite of the words, as if variety as an abstract musical concept were more
important than a strict relationship between words and music.
The same observation can be made concerning tonality. Nowhere in the text of the
Stabat Mater does one find words that suggest the use of a major key, yet Pergolesi uses major
keys for three movements—the fourth, the ninth (both in E♭), and the eleventh (in B♭). We can cer-
tainly understand Pergolesi’s dilemma—use of the cantata format both allowed and demanded
variety—but could one set such a lengthy text using only slow tempi and minor keys and did
this need for variety justify the jaunty syncopations and buffa style of Quae moerebat (ex. 11.6)?
Pergolesi’s use of major keys notwithstanding, the prevailing tonal landscape is appropriately
subdued: he casts nine of twelve movements in minor keys, F minor being the predominant
tonal center for the work.10
Pergolesi’s concern for variety also extends to the work’s scoring. Instrumentally, the
work uniformly uses a string trio with organ.11 Despite the limited vocal resources (soprano and
Example 11.6 Pergolesi: Stabat Mater, 4, mm. 25–34
alto), Pergolesi creates a separate formal structure based on vocal timbre. The first six move-
ments establish a template of alternating duets and solos (mvts. 1–2: S–A, S; mvts. 3–4: S–A, A;
mvts. 5–6: S–A, S). He breaks this pattern by inserting an alto solo (mvt. 7) when the pattern
predicts a duet. Perhaps he did this because he had already decided that the text of movement 8
(see ex. 11.7) required use of imitative texture. But the remaining movements neither continue
this pattern nor suggest that there is any particular rationale to their scoring.
Pergolesi uses the meter sign C-slash in only two movements, the eighth and the conclud-
ing “Amen.” These signatures indicate an adherence to stile antico. Both movements are fast, primar-
ily using whole and half notes. Despite Fux’s injunction about mixing styles,12 Pergolesi and later
composers have no compunction about combining this pseudo-Palestrinian style with more pro-
gressive musical idioms. Neither of these movements is as rigorously contrapuntal as Bach’s works
nor do they share anything other than a visual similarity with Palestrina.13 Nonetheless, this was the
currently acceptable style for contrapuntal music.14 Another retrospective aspect of these movements
is Pergolesi’s use of colla parte doubling of the voices by the violins, a feature not found in the more
modern movements. His thematic development, particularly in “Fac ut ardeat” (mvt. 8), demonstrates
a persistent approach; the principal theme appears five times, none of which are the same.15 Each of
Example 11.7 Pergolesi: Stabat Mater, 8, mm. 1–13

the first four presentations is followed by episodic material that is even less consistent than the
main theme. The general formal principle seems to be the alternation between imitation of the
theme and other vocal material of a decidedly more modern bent.
These movements of the Stabat Mater raise the central question facing composers of
church music in the second half of the eighteenth century—Should their music be “expressive” or
“celebratory”?16 Charles Rosen uses these categories to represent the difference between music that
matches the meaning of the words, and music, which essentially ignores the words’ actual mean-
ing. This conundrum remains an issue for Michael and Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus
Mozart: it reflects an essential difference between Baroque music (the unity of affection and how
this singularity affects issues such as key, texture, scoring, form, etc.) and pre-Classical music.
Again, Friedrich Blume’s essay provides a trenchant definition of Classical style:
Classic style means the perfect blending into esthetic form of the individually
contradictory. The concept of perfection that comes to expression in this pro-
cess results from complete self-reliance, total self-dependence of the creative
spirit. Without this inner independence and self-generated sense of responsi-
bility of the creative artist, a classic art is inconceivable.17
Musically, unity of affection makes Baroque opera seria an unwieldy musical format. It is, therefore,
appropriate that these problems receive their clearest solution in the same genre. Consider the first
vocal music of Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro. Mozart’s choice of keys and melodic styles indicate that
Figaro and Susanna are two very different people, each preoccupied with diverse tasks and con-
cerns, which exemplifies the “blending . . . of the individually contradictory” in Blume’s quotation.
Prior to Classicism, composers lacked the musical scope and ability to juxtapose such different
attitudes or to play off one character against the other to create tension and drama.
The musical solution to this aesthetic problem is part of a much larger context. The
eighteenth century marks the emergence of a new cosmology, commonly referred to as the
Enlightenment. This philosophical revolution coincides with music’s perceived identity crisis.
The leading figures of the Enlightenment—John Locke (1632–1704), Sir Isaac Newton (1643–
1727), René Descartes (1596–1650), Baron de Montesquieu (d. 1755), Voltaire François-Marie
Arouet, d. 1778), Gotthold Lessing (1729–81), and Immanuel Kant (1724–1804)—all promote a
worldview in which human betterment is not only possible but preferable to any preoccupation
with or reliance upon the supernatural. The Enlightenment takes as its fundamental tenet the
betterment of all society by raising the level of education, combating superstition and inherited
prejudice, and eliminating the divide between the existing class structure. At its heart lies the
notion, codified in the American Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be
self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain
unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
In music, the Enlightenment manifests itself in diverse ways—the rise of public con-
certs, the gradual disappearance of patronage, and a sense of cultural equality apparent in works
as diverse as Rameau’s Les Indes Galantes (1735) and Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro. Rameau’s work
promulgates the notion of the “noble savage,” while Figaro turns the existing social order on its
head, insinuating (and not too subtly) that the servant might just be smarter than his master.
The operatic reforms associated with Pietro Metastasio, Carlo Goldoni, and Christoph Willibald
von Gluck turned from mythology and complex plots toward simpler dramas in the vernacular that
attempted to raise the moral tone of society by emphasizing human conflicts devoid of supernatural
Figure 11.2 Mozart playing from the score of Don Giovanni, engraving, ca. 1850
intervention. In music, such noble and egalitarian thoughts used simple melodies to emphasize
the universal, common elements of humanity (including “folk songs”) while denying artifice and
overly complex design.18 This trend began in the music variously termed “rococo,” “galant,” or
empfindsamer Stil (sensitive style), all of which renounced complex counterpoint in favor of a mem-
orable melody with a simple harmonic accompaniment. An obvious product of this simplification
was the “Alberti bass”; this formulation was named for Domenico Alberti (d. 1746) who overused
the arpeggiation of simple chords (e.g., 1–5–3–5) creating a “famously abused” accompaniment.19
The prominent role of expressive melody is the result of a new philosophy of formal
construction or “periodic phrasing,” and involves creating melodies out of short, distinctive
figures, the repetition of which creates extended melodies with an inherent unity.
Example 11.8 illustrates this type of melodic construction, employed by Mozart for the
third psalm of his Vesperae solenne e confessore (K. 339).
Example 11.8 Mozart: Beatus Vir (K. 339), 3, mm. 59–74

The sixteen-measure melody contains two eight-measure periods with clearly differentiated
harmonic functions: the first reinforces the current “tonic,” D major, while the second modu-
lates to B major (V of E). A fundamental component of Mozart’s process is the repeated use of
distinctive rhythms to create balanced, symmetric periods. Three gestures—a trilled, anacrusic
figure (x), three staccato eighth notes (y), and a slurred quarter-eighth figure (z)—form predict-
able periods (x–y, z + x, y, z + x) of four measures (mm. 59–62 and mm. 62–66). The third
period, though, changes this pattern by deleting the middle gesture in its first two statements (x
+ z, x + z, x + x + y), emphasizing the modulation from D to E minor (m. 70) and finally B (m.
74). From the point of view of “form,” the presence of solo voices accompanied by Alberti bass
are almost incidental (though not so insignificant from the textual presentation).
Mozart and his contemporaries used this type of phrase construction to create the har-
monic movement on which their formal structures were based. This reality led to reductionist
theoretical treatises (e.g., the Versuch einer Anleitung zur Komposition [1782–93] by Christoph
Heinrich Koch [1749–1816]), which were virtual “how-to” manuals for would-be composers.
Composers like Haydn and Mozart were no more beholden to such “rules” than were compos-
ers of any other period.20 In fact, Mozart’s Vesper psalms remain among the more difficult of
his pieces to analyze in terms of conventional formal structures (e.g., sonata form) because the
formal process, facilitated by periodic phrase construction, is not rigidly bound by such “rules.”
Romanticism
Music historians often compare Romanticism to Classicism, even though no clear boundary
separates the two. Friedrich Blume comments:
Although Mozart’s work was, along with Haydn’s, surely the epitome of
“Classicism” in music, nonetheless it later took up in increasing measure—
without ever abandoning this basic “Classic” approach—the alluring effects
of somber colors, sudden changes of feeling, unexpected cloudings and clear-
ings, enrapturing sensuality of sonorities and dusky irony. In doing this, it
came so close, both in opera and instrumental music, to Romantic require-
ments that the Romantics themselves could without much deliberation con-
strue it as Romantic. To Tieck and Schlegel, Mozart became the Romantic
par excellence. Panegyrists of Mozart, like Jean Paul [Richter] and [E. T. A.]
Hoffmann, certainly often overshot the mark and thereby themselves contrib-
uted to the nineteenth-century’s misunderstanding of their idol.21
In 1829 Goethe stated that the concepts of Classicism and Romanticism did not, for him, con-
stitute irreconcilable opposites; writers of the next generation clearly saw the two as separate
(107). Jean Paul Richter’s dominant aesthetic embraced sentiment and feeling, juxtaposing it
against the concern for formal structure that spoke quintessentially of the Classical era. For E. T.
A. Hoffmann, Haydn stood on the threshold of Romanticism, and Mozart initiated the new era
(especially in works like Don Giovanni). But Beethoven was the first “to open up the realm of the
immense and awful” in sounds of which “the pain of infinite longing . . . and every desire . . .
sinks away and ceases to exist” (113–14). For the Romantics, art in general (and music specifi-
cally) became the “language of feelings” (die Sprache des Gefühls), a language to which only the
artist had access. Accordingly, the artist must experience and learn to control those elemental
forces of the universe that hardly merit the concern of mere mortals. To do this, the artist/
composer needed to possess an intuition and level of inspiration that would allow him to com-
prehend the infinite and translate this content without any attempt to control it. Blume again
states that “In the process he foregoes all descriptiveness and every brilliant effect, and pours
what he has received into his work through the medium of his personality, in pure form and
without residue—this is his highest task” (112). Thus began the nineteenth-century image of the
artist as one who suffers for his art in and through his life, an image that presents itself as early
as Beethoven’s Heiligenstadt Testament (1802) and becomes a staple of all truly Romantic artists:
The society which he faces as herald of eternal values and to which he must
make himself comprehensible through the banal resources of convention,
does not understand him and mocks him where it does not shyly honor him.
He is no longer the equal of its members; he has stepped out of the circle in
which heretofore he had been at home. The crumbling of relations between
artist and public, between art and the crowd of the small-minded, is past arrest-
ing. Hoffmann’s Kapellmeister Kreisler endures “hellish torture” when he
comes up against the superficiality of bourgeois society [Musikalisches Leiden,
published in 1810]. He defends himself with diabolic sarcasm, reflecting upon
his own superiority. But this society will not put up with him. He seeks refuge
in solitude and in Bach’s Goldberg Variations, that is, in a beloved past. (116)
By embracing artists of the past as predecessors and fellow sufferers, the Romantics
enshrined that past with a mystic allure, which became the quintessential element of the
contemporary aesthetic. This particular kind of historicism led to the veneration of the “Old
Italians” as exemplars of the “pure” church music (i.e, the philosophy that undergirded the
Cecilian movement) and prepared the way for publishing the works of the past (viz. the Bach
Gesellschaft, 1850, the first complete edition of any historical composer’s music, closely followed
by editions of the works of Handel, Palestrina, Schütz, and others).
Implicit in this separation of the artist from the general population was an element of
social change and unrest, symptoms of a clash between opposing cosmologies. At the center
of Enlightenment belief lay the notion that man could, given the time and the tools, solve any
problem, create a “perfect” society, and establish an order generally beneficial to all members
of that society. The fallacy of this belief became apparent only during the French Revolution
(1789–99); the same ideals that had launched the successful democratic revolution in the
United States barely more than a decade earlier now led to the Reign of Terror. Believing that
empirical truth and common sense must necessarily yield a positive result was a fundamental
miscalculation. In a way, Romanticism came into being only because of its repudiation of the
Enlightenment. Fundamentally, the ideas concerning the behavior of individuals rose up in
defiance of the expected outcome of imposed norms; thus, the way individuals felt and acted
was to become the basic tenet of Romanticism. Jan Swafford’s biography of Johannes Brahms
contains an excellent synopsis of the new aesthetic of the Romantic age:
Literary and philosophical ideas defined the era. When Johannes read The
Beautiful Magelone he unknowingly steeped himself in a founding element.
Romanticism is named for the medieval prose narrative called the romance,
one example of which is Schöne Magelone—not the real medieval but the
Romantic-medieval, a fairy-tale world of gallant knights and minstrels and

fair maidens and sorcerers. That in turn suggests one of the foundations of
Romanticism, a turning away from the Classical notions of beauty and logic
that dominated the eighteenth century, and an embrace of the boundless terri-
tory of creative fantasy. As a product of fantasy, art could conjure a world beyond
this one, a place infinite and mysterious. And art was the only thing that could
bring us to that territory. (Already a doctrine like that implies the course of
Romanticism through the century: art merging with religion, eventually taking
over religion, finally becoming religion, and artists priests in that religion.)22
Musically, Romanticism expressed itself by expanding the tonal areas available for
modulation. Fairly quickly, modulation to the dominant or relative key became passé since
those key relationships had formed the core of the high Baroque tonal planning. At the turn
of the nineteenth century, the challenge for composers quickly became how to modulate to
unpredictable, distant tonal areas and then return home successfully. The opening of Haydn’s
oratorio Die Schöpfung (1798) was intended as a “Depiction of Chaos,” but as the antipode of
order, chaos repudiated, even avoided techniques of construction that establish order. In this
famous overture, Haydn depicted Chaos by evading cadences, periodic phrase construction,
expected resolution of dissonance, and generally increasing the level of chromatic inflection.
The validation of this hypothesis lay in the contrast between this chaotic musical environment
and the creation of man in God’s image (“In native worth and honor clad”); here, order returned
in the form of tonality—C major (“God’s key”), the polar opposite of Chaos (C minor)—and the
periodic phrasing associated with Classicism (ex. 11.9).
Example 11.9 F.J. Haydn: Creation, “In native worth,” mm. 12–23

What follows is the unpredictable tumult of meter, key, and melody that Haydn uses to
depict the creation of the various forms of animal life in “Straight opening her fertile womb.”
This is tone painting of the highest order, dictated by the biblical chronology of the animals’
appearance (which seems to follow no discernible order). Not even the developments that allow
Classicism to portray different emotional states simultaneously begins to explain the juxtaposi-
tions of this descriptive recitative.
Another essential aspect of Romanticism appears in the signature vocal form of the
era—the song cycle. The word “cycle” plays out literally in one of the earliest important essays
in this genre, Beethoven’s An die ferne Geliebte (op. 98, 1816), when the music of the opening
returns at the end, closing the musical circle and the emotional journey. The notion of an emo-
tional journey is carried even farther in the song cycles of Schubert, particularly his Winterreise.
The collection of poems by Wilhelm Müller that provide the textual basis and inspiration for
Schubert’s cycle do not proceed in an orderly, logical fashion. Rather, the images of the indi-
vidual poems seem jumbled and out of order, the products of emotional disturbance. Given
the premise of the cycle, such an emotional roller coaster is understandable, but the sequence
of poems and the music Schubert composed to realize them have a more significant explana-
tion. This construction is emblematic of the new worldview of the nineteenth century, when
humans begin to accept that the raw, unordered flow of emotion and experience are not only
acceptable but preferable to the artificial orderliness imposed by the preceding age’s philoso-
phy. This new subjectivity, which argues that the experience and feelings of the individual does
indeed have validity, rapidly becomes the accepted norm in artistic expression. It is this eleva-
tion of the subjective experience of the individual above the calculated norms of the group that
is the clearest marker of the intellectual divide between eighteenth- and nineteenth-century
sensibilities.
Conclusion
Music history tends to regard the Classic and Romantic as separate eras, but such a view
is—and has been—overly simplistic. Nonetheless, one can posit a basic chronology for these
periods in which musical Classicism begins in the 1720s, obviously before Pergolesi’s death
in 1736. By the 1760s, at the run-up to the American Revolution, historians describe Haydn’s
music by appropriating part of the title of a famous contemporary play titled Wirrwarr; oder
Sturm und Drang (“Storm and Stress”).23 Implicit in this descriptor is a repudiation of the
Enlightenment’s view that it is inappropriate for art to deal with the subject of human emo-
tion; the composers at the court of Frederick the Great (C. P. E. Bach, J. J. Quantz, and K. H.
Graun) describe their music either as “galant” or by using the German noun Empfindsamkeit
(“sensitivity”) to signify music in which the expression of feeling is of primary importance. In
his charming book Evening in the Palace of Reason, James R. Gaines uses the famous encoun-
ter between J. S. Bach and Frederick the Great in 1747 (the genesis of Bach’s Musikalisches
Opfer, BWV 1079) as the embodiment of the chasm between the Baroque and the stylistic
complex that would crystallize (or at least be labeled) Classicism. In the final analysis, Gaines
concludes:
A work that may be read as a kind of last will and testament, Bach’s Musical
Offering leaves us, among other things, a compelling case for the following propo-
sition: that a world without a sense of the transcendent and mysterious, a universe
ultimately discoverable through reason alone, can only be a barren place; and
that music sounding forth from such a world might be pretty, but it can never be
beautiful.24
It seems ironic that the age of Romanticism, the literary roots of which date from
Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason in 1781, ultimately looked to J. S. Bach as its truest forebear rather
than to his son C. P. E, who composed music that sought its essence in feelings and emotions.
One is almost tempted to posit the existence of a connection between the high Baroque and
Romanticism that was interrupted by the advent of pure reason as the measure of all things.
12
The Mass (1750–1900)
T he Italian contribution to polyphonic settings of the Mass and Vespers has not been
treated kindly by history. Long relegated to the shadows cast by the musical accomplish-
ments of J. S. Bach and George Frideric Handel, this obscurity has been further compounded
by the new directions taken in church music composition prior to Franz Joseph Haydn (1732–
1809) and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756–91).1 Although many of their predecessors were
highly esteemed during their lifetime, the first notable Mass composer in this era was Johann
Michael Haydn (1737–1806), the younger brother of Franz Joseph and the Salzburg colleague
of Mozart.
Johann Michael Haydn

A. M. Klafsky’s edition of selected church music by Michael Haydn (DTÖ, vol. 62), includes a
thematic catalogue of his complete church music.2 Klafsky lists thirty-eight Masses, sixty-seven
Graduals, forty-nine other settings of Proper texts, forty-four offertories, seventeen Litanies and
Vespers, twenty-five hymns (including six settings of the Te Deum), and thirty-three German
Masses of various types. Among Michael Haydn’s Masses, the Requiem in C minor (composed
upon the death of Archbishop Sigismund von Schrattenbach in 1771) and the following Missa
Sancti Hieronymi were highly regarded, largely because of Mozart’s estimation of their worth.
The Haydn Requiem served as a model for Mozart’s own setting of the Requiem, just as Mozart’s
334
The Mass, 1750–1900 335
Te Deum, K. 141 so strongly resembled Michael Haydn’s Te Deum of 1760 that “classification
as an arrangement would be thoroughly justified even though Mozart superseded his model in
terms of harmonic and rhythmic scope.”3. In a letter to his son, Leopold Mozart spoke glowingly
about the premiere (November 1, 1777) of Michael Haydn’s Oboe Mass, so called because of its
unusual scoring for winds only, and promised to send Wolfgang a copy.4
The work’s true title, Missa Sancti Hieronymi, indicates its likely use on the name day
of the new archbishop of Salzburg, Hieronymus Colloredo. Haydn scores this, his first Mass for
the new archbishop, for two solo oboes, four ripieno oboes, two bassoons, three trombones, three
contrabasses, and organ. The vocal forces includes SATB soloists and choir in the very alterna-
tion that came to typify Mozart’s missae breve. Colloredo’s positive response to the work may have
prompted Leopold to view this Mass as an exemplar of the kind of church music Colloredo desired.
The Kyrie reveals Haydn’s grasp of counterpoint and sonata form, while his masterly handling of
fugue (especially at “Et vitam venturi” and “Dona nobis pacem”) particularly impressed Leopold.
Klafsky’s catalogue reveals the wide variety of scoring and texture found in Michael
Haydn’s Masses. The vocal forces range from eight parts (Missa a due Chori, 1796) to a Mass for
one voice with strings, trumpets, and timpani, Particularly intriguing are the two Masses for
Lent (In tempore Quadrigesima) that consist entirely of harmonized Gregorian melodies notated
in antique notation. Two Masses in particular—the Missa Sancti Aloysii and the Missa sub Titulo
S. Leopoldi pro Festo Innocentium—are outstanding examples of this genre. Nearly every category
of Haydn’s church music used this voicing, including a Gradual and Vespers for the Feast of
the Holy Innocents, two Marian Litanies, three German Masses, a Miserere, and a communion
service. The recent interest in music for children’s or treble choirs has led to the publication of
many of Haydn’s compositions for SSA chorus (with a variety of accompaniments).
In addition to sacred music for treble voices, Michael Haydn composed many liturgical
pieces for mixed voices (both a cappella and accompanied), foremost among them an expres-
sive setting of Tenebrae factae sunt. All of this music validates the approbation Michael Haydn
received from Franz Joseph, his brother.
Franz Joseph Haydn (1732–1809)

As a chorister at St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna, Joseph Haydn was trained in composition
by the Kapellmeister Georg Reutter. Haydn later remarked:
Proper teachers I have never had. I always started right away with the practical
side, first in singing and in playing instruments, later in composition. I lis-
tened more than I studied, but I heard the finest music in all forms that was
to be heard in my time, and of this there was much in Vienna. Oh, so much!
I listened attentively and tried to turn to good account what most impressed
me. Thus little by little my knowledge and ability were developed.5
The influence of contemporary Viennese music is evident in Haydn’s first Mass, a Missa Brevis
in F (Jugendmesse) for two soprano soloists, SATB chorus, violins, and continuo. In addition to
this youthful work, the early layer of Haydn’s Masses includes:
Missa Cellensis in E♭ Major (Grosse Orgelmesse), 1766

Missa Sanctae Ceciliae, 1768
Missa Sancti Johannes de Deo (Kleine Orgelmesse), 1774

Missa Sancti Nicolai, 1776
Missa Cellensis (Mariazeller Messe), 1782
Differences of style and chronology suggest that Haydn experimented with the various types of
Mass composition currently in fashion, including Masses in both the stile antico and the more
modern, symphonic style. Choosing the latter path led to a choice of three formats:
1. Missa solemnis: a large Mass for vocal soloists, chorus, and full orchestra.6
2. Missa brevis: a “short” Mass, the brevity of which was attained by the avoidance
of word repetition, extended contrapuntal sections, and aria structures, or by
the extreme measure of “textual telescoping” (i.e., presenting different texts
simultaneously in each choral voice), or
3. Cantata Mass: An Italian type of Missa solemnis in which the texts (especially the
Gloria and Credo) were subdivided to form movements that allowed variation
in key, meter, texture, orchestration, and tempo.
Haydn’s early Masses use all three approaches. In addition to the Jugendmesse, the Kleine
Orgelmesse and the Missa Sancti Nicolai fall into the category of missae breve; the two “Cellensis”
Masses (Grosse Orgelmesse and Mariazellermesse) are missae solemne;7 and the Missa Sanctae
Ceciliae is Haydn’s only cantata Mass. In the latter, Haydn divides the Ordinary texts into twenty
movements, eight of which are in the Gloria.
Haydn never returned to the cantata mass format, but his regard for that composition
is evident in his re-use of the theme of the “Dona nobis pacem” fugue in the “Hosanna in excel-
sis” of the Missa Sancti Johannes de Deo, composed for the order of the Brothers of the Order
of Mercy (1774). Though indeed brief, the two Masses of the 1770s are skillfully constructed,
significant compositions. Because of the extremely small size of the Eisenstadt church and the
organ loft, Haydn scored the work for SATB chorus, soprano solo, two violins, and continuo.8
The Gloria and Credo use “textual telescoping,” a process in which each vocal part sings a dif-
ferent text simultaneously as ex. 12.1 from the Gloria illustrates. The only phrase sung by all
parts is the concluding “Cum sancto Spiritu in gloria Dei Patris. Amen” of the Gloria; in
fact, Haydn eschews the use of fugal counterpoint traditionally associated with this text.
The longest portion of the entire movement is the “Amen,” sung as identical soprano-alto
and tenor-bass duets. With the exception of “Et incarnatus est” in the Credo, the only time
that voices simultaneously declaim text is “et in unam sanctam catholicam ecclesiam.” The
special treatment of these texts reflect liturgical conventions: “Et incarnatus” is typically
set using slow rhythm and simple harmony to accommodate the long-standing liturgical
requirement that the congregation and priests genuflect to show reverence for the incarna-
tion; the use of unison at “et in unam sanctam catholicam ecclesiam” symbolizes the unity
proclaimed by the text. The “Amen” of the Credo used exactly the same music as that found
in the Gloria.
Similarly brief are the Mass’s Sanctus and the imitative “Osanna.” But for the
Benedictus (ex. 12.2) Haydn abandons all previous restraints,9 writing the only solo vocal move-
ment, accompanied by an elaborate organ solo, from which the Mass received its name—“little
organ Mass.”10
The Mass, 1750–1900 337
Example 12.1 F.J. Haydn: Missa Sancti Johannes de Deo, Gloria, mm. 1–6
Two years later, Haydn wrote the Missa Sancti Nicolai on the occasion of the name day
of his patron, Prince Nicholas Esterhazy.11 Scored for two oboes, two horns, bassoon, strings,
and organ, this Mass includes substantially more solo music than its predecessor but retains the
missa brevis designation. Haydn re-uses the music of the Kyrie in the “Dona nobis pacem”: the
lilting pastoral music (complete with drones!) and 6/4 meter give both of these movements a
unique sound. Indeed, German sources often refer to this Mass as the Sechs Viertel Messe (6/4
Mass). Haydn resorted to textual telescoping only in the Credo, abandoning it for “Et incarnatus
est.” Although composed in the same year as the famous “Farewell” Symphony (no. 45), this
Mass reveals none of the qualities that have led commentators to characterize the symphony as
emblematic of Haydn’s Sturm und Drang period.
The last work of the early Masses is the Mariazellermesse (the second of the Cellensis
Masses), composed in 1782 for performance at the pilgrimage church of Mariazell.12 The clear
form and stylistic unity strongly suggest that Haydn was on the verge of a new approach to Mass
composition. In hindsight, the Mariazellermesse presages many features found in the late Masses—
symphonic forms, the assimilation of choral and orchestral forces, and a conflict between whether
the meaning of the words or abstract symphonic principles should determine style. Despite its
progressive aspects, Haydn still resorts (briefly) to textual telescoping at “Et resurrexit,” suggest-
ing a linkage between this otherwise progressive Mass and its predecessors. Yet, that same move-
ment includes sublime music for tenor solo (“Et incarnatus”) in A minor, followed by C major for
“Et homo factus est,”13 and then a turn to the parallel mode (C minor) for “Crucifixus pro nobis.”
The fourteen-year hiatus between the Mariazellermesse and Haydn’s final six Masses
coincide with a series of liturgical reforms instituted by Emperor Joseph II. Karl Geiringer
Example 12.2 F.J. Haydn: Missa Sancti Johannes de Deo, Benedictus,

mm. 12–20
believed that Haydn secretly welcomed the reforms of 1783 because the Mariazellermesse had
brought Haydn to a stylistic crossroads from which there was no clear path forward. But
Geiringer’s assumption that “Haydn accordingly stopped composing Masses” goes too far,
ignoring the substantial stylistic congruity between the Mariazellermesse and the late Masses.14
Reinhard Pauly has provided a more evenhanded description of the effect these reforms
had on Haydn (and other composers). When Joseph II became emperor in 1780, following the
death of Maria Theresa, he sought to distance the Austrian church from Rome’s control. Pauly
summarized the thrust of these reforms:
Religion was to be purified from superstition and meaningless ritual; reli-

gious instruction was to enlighten and generally improve the Christian citizen.
The Mass, 1750–1900 339
Figure 12.1 Franz Josef Haydn, Guttenbrunn 1770
Economic purposes were coupled with spiritual ones; for instance, a reduction
in the number of holidays was intended to increase productivity.15
In a letter to a Baron Kresel (September 10, 1782), the emperor proposed that high Mass with
instrumental participation be allowed only on certain Sundays and holidays, so that “the bother-
some expenses for music and other burdens of the clergy and their assistants might be avoided
for the most part, to the benefit of funds for religious education.”16 Whatever their intent,
these reforms were not the sole cause of Haydn’s cessation of Mass composition. The death of
Nikolaus Esterhazy I in 1790 and his replacement by his brother Paul Anton Esterhazy led to a
substantial reduction in the demand for music at court, freeing Haydn to pursue other oppor-
tunities (notably the visits to England arranged by Peter Salomon).
Haydn’s Late Masses (1796–1802)

On New Year’s Day 1791, Haydn arrived in London to take part in a series of concerts arranged
by the impresario Peter Salomon. In July, Haydn traveled to Oxford to receive an honorary
doctorate in music. After a brief return to Vienna, he sojourned to England again (with
Gottfried van Swieten) in January 1794 to present concerts featuring the twelve so-called
London Symphonies (nos. 93–104). The unexpected death of Prince Paul Anton Esterházy
barely months after Haydn’s departure cut short his visit. The new prince, Nikolaus II, told
Haydn of his intention to reconstitute the court orchestra with Haydn as music director.
This promised position never materialized, leaving Haydn with the sole duty of provid-
ing a Mass for the name day of the prince’s wife, Marie Hermenegild. In fulfillment of
this obligation Haydn composed the six Masses known as his “late” Masses. Since these
Masses postdated Haydn’s final symphony, they provided him the opportunity to apply the
full measure of his symphonic experience to Mass composition. Accordingly, these Masses
(and similar ones by later composers) earned the designation “symphonic,” referring to
their scoring, form, and the new relationship between text and music as defined by Charles
Rosen.17 Due to liturgical interruptions, Martin Chusid suggests that these Masses con-
sist of three vocal symphonies—Kyrie/Gloria, Credo, and Sanctus/Benedictus/Agnus Dei.
Regardless of the accuracy of his concept, it does lend new significance to the designation
“symphonic Mass.”18
Four of these six Masses are in B♭ major, a key perhaps chosen because it allows
Haydn to write a high B♭′′ for the soprano. Interestingly, the two Masses given specific titles by
Haydn are the only ones not in this tonality. Haydn titled the autograph of the C-major Mass
of 1796 Missa in tempore belli (“Mass in Time of War” or Paukenmesse, for its use of timpani),
labeling his only Mass in a minor key Missa in angustiis (“Mass in Distress,” also familiarly
known as the Nelson Mass, the “Coronation,” or “Imperial Mass”). Such titles indicate that
Haydn did not hesitate to dedicate Masses composed for the name day of Princess Esterhazy
to other people (St. Bernard of Offida and Empress Maria Theresa) or to have them reflect
current events.19
The Kyries of these six Masses tend to mirror the traits found in the opening move-
ments of Haydn’s last symphonies. Given the relatively short, tripartite text, one might expect
these movements to employ a sonata-allegro form in imitation of its ABA textual design. But this
alignment of musical form and liturgical text posed a problem, namely, how to accommodate the
text “Christe eleison.” If Haydn used the “Christe” as the second theme of a sonata design, litur-
gical propriety forbade its necessary return in the recapitulation. Assigning this text to a medial
position in the sonata design meant that Haydn had to use it in some form of development.
The Kyrie of the Paukenmesse contains all of the typical markers of formal design—
changes of key, tempo, texture, text division, and the presence of a fermata. The fermata in m. 4
marks a cadence to the subdominant (F) in first inversion, followed by Haydn’s move to the
minor mode. He reaches the ultimate tonal goal of the introduction (G, the dominant of C) via
a half-cadence in C minor. The flats needed to produce F minor allow Haydn to create a German
sixth chord (using A♭ and E♭ plus F♯, the leading tone of G minor) to reach that goal in m. 9.
Following another fermata marking the end of the slow introduction, Haydn launches into the
cheery Allegro moderato that dominates the rest of the movement.
The most consistent feature of this music is its maintenance of the same tempo and
meter throughout. Next in significance are the relative dimensions of the three sections, the
first and last being twice the length of the middle section. The vocal texture and harmonic
structure mirror this relationship as these two sections feature a soprano soloist and are in C
major for a significant portion of their duration. Example 12.3a and b shows that Haydn reprises
the opening soprano solo to signal the onset of a recapitulation. Conversely, the middle section
features an alto soloist, who sings the same theme in the dominant key (G).
The Mass, 1750–1900 341
Example 12.3 F.J. Haydn: Paukenmesse, Kyrie

(a) mm. 11–14
(b) mm. 67–70
The return of the solo soprano melody in the tonic key in m. 67 suggests recapitula-
tion, an impression supported by the return of material heard in G major (mm. 35–48) in C
major (mm. 80–93). The alto (mm. 52–56) presents the soprano solo theme in G major, sug-
gesting not a development section but more likely the B section of a simple ternary form. Nor
do the following six measures (57–62) constitute a clear thematic or tonal development. The
text “Christe eleison” is sung only once in the final four measures (45–48) of this section on two
sustained dominant-seventh chords—D7 (implied) and G7.20 Another fermata here harkens
back to the end of the slow introduction and heralds the reprise of the soprano solo in the next
measure.
Initially, the Kyrie of the Theresienmesse seems equally straightforward. As in the
Paukenmesse, this Kyrie contains several clear formal markers. The first is the relationship estab-
lished by meter and tempo.
Adagio (2/2) Allegro (C) Adagio (2/2)

1–28 29–91 92–104
The problem this design presents is the creation of three sections of very different lengths
(28 mm, 63 mm, and 13 mm).
But unlike the Paukenmesse, Haydn uses different vocal and orchestral textures to
delineate these sections. Solo voices predominate in the two Adagio sections, yet they seem
subservient to the orchestra; in the central Allegro, Haydn uses a fugal choral texture for the
two choral settings of Kyrie that frame the soloistic presentation of “Christe eleison.” Thus
the central Allegro has an internal ABA structure based on text and texture. Harmonically,
the A section modulates from the tonic (B♭) to the dominant (F), this tonality remaining in
force through the “Christe” (solo voices) into the reprise of the choral Kyrie text. While the
return of the choral texture and the Kyrie text seem to signal recapitulation, there is a glaring
problem: this recapitulation starts in the dominant (F) not the tonic (B♭). The ensuing stretto
entries cycle through the circle of fifths, the resulting changes of key and fragmentation of the
motive suggesting development. True tonal recapitulation of the choral Kyrie occurs in m. 75,
where the tenors sing their initial music (mm. 75–78 = 25–28) in the tonic, doubled by the
trumpet. Ironically, this tenor entry is the only complete statement of the fugue subject in the
second Allegro; all of the others are modified by the larger harmonic design of the movement.
An even more unexpected recapitulation is the return of the opening Adagio. For
instance, Haydn typically begins his London symphonies with a slow introduction (excepting
no. 95), but none of these return at movement’s end. Illustrative of the crossover between
symphonic process and Mass composition, this unexpected Adagio reprises six measures
(mm. 9–14) of the movement’s slow introduction. Since reprise of those dramatic portions
of the introduction in the tonic minor is not possible, Haydn contrives a simple cadence to
effect tonal closure. The Adagio introduction contains another crucial thematic element—the
fugue subject of the Allegro comes directly from melodic material used in the opening Adagio
(exx. 12.4a and b).
Example 12.4 F.J. Haydn: Theresienmesse, Kyrie

(a) mm. 9–11
(b) mm. 29–30
Throughout the history of the Mass, the length of the Gloria and Credo texts has posed
formidable compositional problems. The Gloria of Haydn’s Lord Nelson Mass illustrates his typical
solution. The Gloria’s text divides logically into three parts, which Haydn makes into an Italian sinfo-
nia based on tempo change (F–S–F) and meter change (C–3/4–C). Haydn highlights this sinfonia-like
form by using the same theme to open the first and third movements (exx. 12.5a and b).
Example 12.5 F.J. Haydn: “Nelson Mass,” Gloria

(a) mm. 1–2
The Mass, 1750–1900 343
(b) mm. 171–172
Indeed, the first fifteen measures of the “Quoniam” are identical in every respect (except text)
to the opening of the Gloria. This similarity affects two other areas of these movements; despite
the interruption of the obligatory fugue for “Cum sancto spiritu” Haydn creates formal closure
by repeating an embellished, extended, and tonally stable version of the pedal point heard in the
first movement to now conclude the third.
Each of the six late Haydn Masses presents different, convincing resolutions of the
conflicting claims of the traditional text’s form and meaning and the expectations of contem-
porary audiences, who at this point have come to expect music that contains the dramatic
contrasts found in symphony and opera. Haydn more often chooses to err on the side of con-
temporary aesthetic than that of traditional church music’s preservation of the stile antico. While
his choices doubtless secured the approval of his patron and audience, modern performances
of these Masses more frequently take place in concert halls than in churches. Haydn’s flair for
the dramatic results in six Masses even less likely to instill reverence or meditation than to leave
the listener exalted and satisfied.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756–91)

While Joseph Haydn lived a long life, Mozart’s untimely death is often seen to have deprived
the world of unimaginable musical riches. Nonetheless, we can only marvel at how much he
did accomplish in his short life. If any single composer embodies Classicism it is Mozart. His
music is a paradigmatic blend of structure and expressivity, elements of style and genre merg-
ing to create seamless, seemingly perfect compositions. His church music, too, is as represen-
tative of the age as his operas, symphonies, or concertos. Mozart’s output of Masses is larger
and more evenly dispersed chronologically than Haydn’s. Whereas Haydn’s path to Mass com-
position seems initially tentative, Mozart appears untroubled by doubts or questions. The sty-
listic differences that separate Haydn’s early and late Masses simply do not appear in Mozart’s
compositions.
The year 1781 was as crucial for Mozart’s Mass production as the following year (1782)
was for Haydn. In 1781 Mozart left the service of the archbishop of Salzburg, Hieronymus
Colloredo, to seek his fortune in Vienna. After leaving Salzburg, Mozart composed only two
Masses—the Mass in C minor and the Requiem in D minor, both of which were left unfinished.
Before 1781, Mozart’s Mass output was steady and relatively equally divided between the missa
brevis solemnis and missa solemnis format. (See table 12.1.)
If Haydn’s key of choice (especially in the late Masses) is B♭ major, Mozart favors C
major. All of Mozart’s Salzburg Masses use the so-called Salzburg Church Trio scoring (two vio-
lins, bass and organ with no violas). Another common feature Mozart’s orchestration is his use
of three trombones to double the alto, tenor, and bass parts colla parte.21 The relative consistency
of Mozart’s Masses vis-à-vis Haydn’s derives from Mozart’s greater intuitive sense of formal
design. Perhaps his awareness of the Italian style, due to his studies with Padre Martini in the
early 1770s, made him less prone to experimentation.
Table 12.1 The Masses of W. A. Mozart
KV and Title Date of Composition Scoring
49 1768 Vienna S, A, T, B, SATB
Missa brevis in G Str, bc (ATB trombones)
65
Missa Brevis in D Jan. 1769 Salzburg S, A, T, B, SATB, Salzburg
Minor Church Trio, bc, (ATB trombones)
66
Missa solemnis in C minor Oct. 1769 Salzburg S, A, T, B, SATB
(“Dominicus” Mass) 2 ob [2 hn], 4 tpt, timp, str (ATB
trombones)
139
Missa solemnis 1768–69 S, A, T, B, SATB
in C minor 2 ob, 2 tpt, timp, str (two violas), bc,
Waisenshausmesse (ATB trombones)
167
Mass in C June 1773 Salzburg SATB, 2 ob, 4 tpt,
“Trinitatis” 2 vln, b, bc, (ATB trombones)
192
Missa Brevis in F June 1774 Salzburg S, A, T, B, SATB
[2 tpt] 2 vln, b, bc (ATB trombones)
194
Missa Brevis in D Aug. 1774 Salzburg Same
(- tbn)
220
Missa Brevis in C (“Sparrow” Mass) 1775–77 same + timpani
257
Missa solemnis in C (“Credo” Mass) Nov. 1776 Salzburg S, A, T, B, SATB
2 ob, 2 tpt, timp, 2 vln, b, bc,
(ATB trombones)
258
Missa solemnis in C (“Spaurmesse”) Dec. 1776 Salzburg Same
259
Missa brevis in C (Organ Solo Mass) Dec. 1776 Salzburg Same
262
Missa longa in C May 1775 Salzburg SATB
2 ob, 2 hn, 2 tpt, 2 vln, b, bc,
(ATB tromboes)
275
Missa brevis Dec. 1777 S,A,T, B, SATB
in B♭ 2 vln, b, bc, (ATB trombones)
The Mass, 1750–1900 345
Table 12.1 Continued
KV and Title Date of Composition Scoring

317
Missa solemnis in C Mar. 1779 Salzburg S, A, T, B, SATB
“Coronation Mass” 2 ob,2 tpt, 2 hn, 2 vln, b, bc,
(ATB trombones)
337
Missa solemnis in C Mar. 1780 Salzburg S, A, T, B, SATB
2 ob, 2 bn, 2 tpt, timp, 2 vln, b, bc,
(ATB trombones)
427
Missa solemnis in C minor 1782–83 Vienna S, S, T, B; SATB (div.)
fl, 2 ob, 2 bn., 2 hn,
2 tpt, timp, stg
(ATB trombones).
The Missa brevis in F major (K. 192) was composed in 1774, the same year Haydn
composed his Missa Sancti Johannes de Deo. Despite the missa brevis format, Mozart sets
the Sanctus and the Benedictus as separate movements, although each use the same
“Hosanna in excelsis.” Unlike Haydn, Mozart does not use textual telescoping, thus creat-
ing formal designs tailored to each text. The Kyrie is a pristine example of sonata-allegro
design, using the Kyrie–Christe–Kyrie text complex as exposition, development, and reca-
pitulation. Mozart’s exposition has two parts—an instrumental introduction and the vocal
setting of the Mass text. The instrumental introduction uses four different melodic ges-
tures (ex. 12.6). All four melodies reappear in the vocal parts but not in the same order. Mozart
uses the C melody (only) to set Kyrie eleison twice in an imitative texture (mm. 12–17 and 20–26)
built on harmonic sequence. The end of the first Kyrie and the opening of the second appear
over a restatement of mm. 1–5, transposed the second time (mm. 23–25) to modulate to the
dominant. The instrumental restatement then resumes using the original mm. 6–12 (C, D) to
accompany the soprano solo (mm. 27–31). The repetition of mm. 9–12 (in the dominant) marks
the close of the Kyrie’s exposition, a procedure commonly found in Mozart’s symphonies.
Example 12.6 Mozart: Missa Brevis in F (K. 192), Kyrie, mm. 1–12
For the brief development section (Christe, mm. 39–45) Mozart uses the A theme of
the opening in the voice parts (mm. 1–3). The resumption of the Kyrie text (m. 46) marks the
beginning of the recapitulation, the reappearance of independent string music (m. 51) mark-
ing the critical point of the recapitulation. Mozart transposes the music first heard in mm.
19–26 a fourth higher to insure that the music originally heard in C major (mm. 20–36) now
remains in the tonic. This change of key requires relocation of the soprano solo (mm. 26–32)
to the alto (mm. 60–66) as well as rearrangement of the vocal parts that follow (mm. 66–70
vs. mm. 31–35).
Although the Gloria looks and sounds through-composed, it actually has an amazingly
novel formal design. Mozart uses three musical gestures, heard in the first sixteen measures,
as his basic material:
1. A long, cantus firmus–like melody (mm. 1–7), [A]‌

2. Imitative solo writing (S, A, T) over a bass pedal point (mm. 7–13), [B]‌
3. A closing cadence progression strongly marked by hemiola (mm. 14–16). [C]‌
The repetition of these basic elements creates a kind of rondo form. The A sections all use the
same elements presented in various keys with varied part writing. For the second statement
of A, Mozart assigns the principal theme (in C minor) to the altos harmonized by the bass and
embellished by simple imitative counterpoint in the soprano and tenor. He then transforms
the cadence to C minor (m. 38) into a pedal on D that concludes with a tutti cadence to G minor
(m. 48). Additional statements of this template feature the primary melody appearing in
the bass in B♭ major (m. 57ff.), the soprano in the D minor (accompanied by the other three
voices), and a final statement in F (mm. 163–79) in which the order of themes A and B are
reversed, allowing the movement to end with a unison statement of the distinctive opening
theme. The music of the other sections is most simply described as different than the first
theme (A). Mozart’s alternation of choral and solo textures to provide another layer of formal
construction is also pivotal.22 The harmonic scheme prior to the tonal recapitulation in sec-
tion B increasingly relies on minor modality. The interaction of these various elements cre-
ates a tripartite shape:
A B C coda
1–73 74–112 112–63 163–79
F–Bb G–D–A–C F F
Labeling the third section as C reflects its different textures and procedures despite the presence
of the tonic.
The plan of the Credo illustrates yet another Mass format. Mozart’s periodic repeti-
tion of the words “Credo, Credo” marks this as a “Credo” Mass. All told, Mozart repeats these
words twelve times with more or less the same music (table 12.2.). Like the Gloria, Mozart
ends the Credo with a literal repetition of the opening music. While a similar four-part
harmonization appears three times (2, 5, and 7); only one (5) replicates the original harmo-
nization (ex. 12.7a). The other seven statements involve the theme’s use in some form of
imitation. The strictest of these is an à 4 stretto (mm. 128–34), a texture found throughout
Mozart’s church music, especially when he uses stile antico (ex. 12.7b).23 Worthy of note is
the literal repetition of presentations 3–4 as 8–9 including the fact that the second member of
Table 12.2 Mozart—Missa brevis in F (K. 192), “Credo” theme
Location Key Texture
1. mm. 1–2 F à 4 Harmonic
2. mm. 11–12 C à 4 Harmonic
3. mm. 27–30 D minor S-B
4. mm. 36–40 G-C-F-B♭ T-B-S-A
6. mm. 57–63 C minor–G imitative entries
7. mm. 73–75 B♭ à 4 Harmonic
8. mm. 86–89 D minor S–B
9. mm. 100–104 G-C-F-B♭ T-B-S-A
10. mm. 118–28 F-C-F-C-F Head motive of fugato
11. mm. 128–32 F-C-F-C à 4 Stretto
each pair constitutes the only statement of this motive by soloists. Harmonically, the four solo
entries traverse the circle of fifths (G–C–F–B♭–E♭) creating a harmonic flux that seems devel-
opmental. These repeated Credo statements do not account for the entire Credo nor do they
explain the complex formal processes at work in the movement. They do, however, constitute
the most obvious level of Mozart’s formal planning, providing an efficient approach to rehears-
ing the movement.
Example 12.7 Mozart: Missa Brevis in F (K.192), Credo

(a) mm. 1–2
(b) mm. 128–134
The second Mass type is represented by the “Coronation” Mass (K. 317). Despite its
title, this piece was not written for the coronation of a monarch but to venerate a crowned
statue of the Virgin Mary in a shrine near Salzburg.24 The intriguing aspects of this Mass are
the operatic influence and other styles not traditionally associated with church music, the
integration of solo and choral texture, and Mozart’s intuitive yet perfect grasp of large formal
structures. The most obvious formal feature is the reprise of music from the Kyrie for the
Agnus Dei, a repetition that takes the notion of “cyclic” Mass to a new level.25
The tripartite form of the Kyrie is defined by tempo and texture. The two choral
Kyries both use distinctive music notated with the double-dotted rhythms understood as a
metaphor for royalty. Section B is a lyric, operatic duet for soprano and tenor soloists, with
a surprising turn to the minor mode for “Christe eleison.” Another instance of Mozart’s use
of novel musical textures and ideas appears in the Credo (ex. 12.8), the opening of which,
according to the musicologist Leonard Ratner, is “set to an incisive march rhythm, conveys
a firm, even exuberant affirmation of belief. The voices act as an inner pedal point to the
principal melodic material in the orchestra; some attention is given to doubling the figures of
The Mass, 1750–1900 349
the violins, especially when four voices open out into full harmony in m. 3 and the following
measures. The entire passage has a buoyant quality, thanks to the brilliant figuration and the
transparent texture.”26
Example 12.8 Mozart: Mass in C (K. 317), Credo, mm. 1–9
The bustling string writing not only overshadows the chorus’s unison declamation but also
shapes the movement’s form and sonic world. On the most obvious level, the Credo is ter-
nary with fast, ebullient outer sections that frame a slow, dramatic center. For the most impor-
tant theological text of the Mass (“Et incarnatus est”), Mozart transfers the quarter-note pulse
of the opening march to the eighth-note pulse (ex. 12.9). This abrupt change of tempo and
key (F minor), the appearance of the solo quartet, and the intervening flashes of mysterious,
fantasia-like lines for muted violin combine to create a musical landscape more Romantic than
Classical.
Example 12.9 Mozart: Mass in C (K. 317), Credo, mm. 60–61
These sudden changes justify Ratner’s characterization of this passage as recita-

tive obligé in the ombra style associated with opera seria.27 The drama (and dynamic intensity)
increases as the choir declaims “Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato, passus, et sepul-
tus est,” (He was crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate, he suffered and was buried) employ-
ing a greatly intensified version of the preceding music. The sudden change of dynamic on
“passus” predicts what Beethoven and his successors will do with this same text.
The ebullient opening music returns at “Et resurrexit,” initiating the third and final
formal segment (m. 72). As the music unfolds, however, it becomes increasingly apparent that
Mozart is up to more than a simple ternary form. The return of C major and tempo primo com-
bine with a reprise of the opening music of the Credo (mm. 72–95 = mm. 1–4 + 9–28).28 Some
opera buffa–like soloistic writing (mm. 96–114) interrupts this literal recapitulation, creating an
internal textural design (chorus–solo–chorus) that mimics the role of the solo quartet in the
formal scheme of the movement as a whole.
The music the soprano soloist sings for Agnus Dei sounds familiar (exx. 12.10a and b),
because Mozart later recycles it as the aria “Dove sono” (in C major) in act 3, scene 8 of Le nozze
di Figaro (K. 492). This is not Mozart’s only re-use of music from this Mass in an opera; the
theme used for both the “Christe” and “Dona nobis pacem” reappears in Così fan tutte, 1790, as
Fiordiligi’s aria, “Come scoglio, immoto resta.”
Example 12.10 (a) Mozart: Mass in C (K. 317), Agnus Dei, mm. 95–101
(b) Mozart: Le Nozze di Figaro (K. 492), Dove sono, mm. 1–8

The Mass, 1750–1900 351
Although separated from the “Coronation Mass” by only three years, the Mass in
C minor (K. 427) represents the third distinctly different type of Mass construction. Like his
Requiem in D minor, a legend surrounds the genesis of this composition. The most common
version has Mozart writing the Mass to fulfill a vow made to his wife, Constanze.29 Variants of
the story depict Mozart writing the Mass to heal relations with his father, Leopold, who disap-
proved of the marriage, or to provide Constanze with an opportunity (as soprano soloist) to daz-
zle Leopold and the Salzburg establishment. The Mass was incomplete upon Mozart’s arrival in
Salzburg, and only those completed portions were performed at St. Peter’s Church on August
25, 1782.30 Whether Mozart somehow contrived music for the missing texts or performed the
Mass in some other liturgical configuration remains a mystery. We do know that Mozart com-
pleted the Kyrie, Gloria, and Sanctus/Benedictus, sketching the opening chorus and the “Et
incarnatus est” of the Credo.31
Regardless of whether a completion of the Mass were possible (and by what means),
musicians have long regarded the C-minor Mass as a masterpiece. There is precedent for this
Mass in an earlier Mass in C minor (K. 139) composed for the Waisenshaus-Kirche am Rennweg
in 1768. Both works were composed as “cantata Masses” in the manner of Hasse, an approach evi-
dent in the Gloria’s eight diverse movements. Mozart’s Gloria resembles, at least superficially, the
Gloria of Joseph Haydn’s Missa Sanctae Ceciliae in its use of eight movements with essentially the
same text division. The difference lies in the sheer variety and power of Mozart’s setting, encom-
passing Italianate stile antico with choral passages reminiscent of the displays of vocal virtuosity
found in Handelian opera. While Haydn’s cantata Mass is one of a series of early formal explora-
tions, Mozart, rejecting his Salzburg past, composes his mass as a matter of choice, not duty. The
fluid and unexpected turns each movement takes resemble the twists and turns of an operatic
libretto. Despite using a diverse array of styles, Mozart manages, by some indescribable alchemy,
to create a whole that far exceeds the sum of its parts. Consider the ineffable beauty of “Et incar-
natus est,” a true concert aria for soprano, three solo winds, and strings. Nowhere is the secular
nature of this movement clearer than in the lengthy cadenza for the four soloists, who engage in
a dialogue that is simultaneously competitive and cooperative. What such music has to do with
“Et incarnatus est” is difficult to say (though Mozart certainly knew) and is, ultimately, irrelevant.
Equally compelling for entirely different reasons is Mozart’s setting of the text “Qui
tollis peccata mundi” for two SATB choirs. Anyone familiar with Handel’s Israel in Egypt
will immediately recognize the dotted rhythms as particularly Handelian, known to Mozart
through his own orchestrations of Handel for Gottfried van Swieten. Where Alfred Einstein
saw the persona of Sebastian Bach behind this particular movement and the work in gen-
eral, the “Qui tollis” bears an uncanny resemblance to Handel’s double chorus “The people
shall hear” (Israel in Egypt, mvt. 33). Nonetheless, Einstein was probably not far wrong when
he wrote:
The Qui tollis, for double chorus, in G minor with the weightiest kind of orches-
tral accompaniment, in the broadest tempo, is, with its descending chromati-
cism, quite evidently conceived as a representation of the Saviour, making his
way under whiplashes, and bearing the burden of the cross, towards Golgotha.
It is a movement that ranks with the Kyrie of Bach’s B-minor Mass and the
opening double chorus of the St. Matthew Passion.32
Einstein’s analogy is equally consistent with Handelian theatricality. The overly dotted rhythms,
angular string writing, descending chromatic lamento bass, and unprepared dissonant clashes
all represent Mozart’s attempt to present a Baroque Affekt. But there is nothing Baroque about
the chorus’s pièce de résistance—the striking chromatic shift at the cadence preceding “miser-
ere nobis” (ex. 12.11). Nothing in Handel’s imagination or composition can prepare one for this
unexpected harmonic twist. These are but two moments, arbitrarily selected from a work in
which every movement is a masterpiece filled with such highlights. Einstein’s assertion that
“this torso is the only work that stands between the B-minor Mass of Bach and the D-major
Mass of Beethoven” is most apt and perceptive.33
Example 12.11 Mozart: Mass in c minor, (K. 427), Qui tollis, mm. 12–15
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827)

Mozart was already dead by the time Beethoven moved from Bonn to Vienna, where, he was
assured, he would inherit the spirit of Mozart from the hands of Haydn. Ironically, it was as
Haydn’s surrogate that Beethoven composed the Mass in C, op. 86, for the same occasion as the
last six Masses of Haydn—the name day of Prince Esterhazy’s wife. Charles Rosen remarked
that the work’s premiere was one of the major embarrassments of Beethoven’s career. Reputedly,
Esterhazy was incredulous when he heard Beethoven’s Mass, accosting the composer with “My
God, Beethoven, what have you done?” Beethoven’s response was that he had done precisely
The Mass, 1750–1900 353
what he had been asked to do, that is, write a Mass in the style of Haydn. The simplicity of
Beethoven’s alleged response rings true; evidently, he believed his Mass was Haydn-like. But
Esterhazy was also correct, for this Mass bore little resemblance to anything by Haydn.
The distance between Haydn and Beethoven’s Mass in C is evident in the baffling
array of tempo words for the Kyrie: Andante con moto assai vivace quasi Allegretto ma non troppo
(Andante, with motion, always vivacious, sort of Allegretto, but not too much.). The movement
opens with the choral basses singing a “C” pedal a cappella, followed by harmonies that Haydn
could never have imagined (ex. 12.12). This phrase begins and ends in C, but its climax is the
E-major triad in m. 9. A less visionary composer might have extended the logic of Beethoven’s
bass line along far more ordinary lines, but Beethoven’s move to the sharp mediant foreshad-
ows the movement’s central tonal drama. The entrance of the solo quartet (m. 15) marks the last
unequivocal appearance of C major until the beginning of the recapitulation (m. 84). Between
these tonal landmarks, the harmonies center on E, B (V/E), and A (IV/E), none of which lie
within the diatonic compass of C major. The recapitulation begins with a literal restatement
of the first nineteen measures of the piece (minus the first measure), but Beethoven replaces
the original harmonic movement to E, keeping the harmony of this truncated restatement sol-
idly in C major. Beethoven’s design is revolutionary in nearly every respect, harmony (C–E–C)
being only the most obvious manifestation. Equally adventurous is Beethoven’s treatment of the
orchestra, the relationship of the solo quartet to the chorus, and the formal logic of the music. To
a listener schooled in the syntax of eighteenth-century Classicism, Beethoven’s music must have
been as foreign and shocking as the poetry of e. e. cummings may have been to its first audience.
Example 12.12 Beethoven: Mass in C, op. 86, Kyrie, mm. 1–11
Like Mozart’s “Coronation Mass,” Beethoven reprises the music of the Kyrie to con-
clude the Mass. The last page of the score, marked Andante con moto, tempo del Kyrie, quotes
mm. 3–11 of the Kyrie. There is no evidence to suggest that Beethoven knew Mozart’s Mass, but
the unusual cyclical return in Mozart seems almost prescient in light of Beethoven’s use of the
device in his song cycle An die ferne Geliebte, op. 98 (1816). In a way, the comparison to Mozart
further explains Esterhazy’s consternation. Consider, for example, the principal tonal centers
of Beethoven’s Mass.
Table 12.3 Beethoven, Mass in C, op. 86, Tonal
centers
Kyrie: C E C
Gloria: C F minor C
Credo: C C minor C
Sanctus: A F A
Agnus Dei: C minor C
None of this tonal architecture conforms to the harmonic priorities of the second half of the
eighteenth century. While the first three movements hew closely to C, the internal tonal digres-
sions avoid the dominant in favor of the sharp mediant (Kyrie), flat submediant (Gloria) and
tonic minor (Credo). Then the Sanctus begins in A major (the major submediant) and goes to
F major (the flat submediant of A). Viewed from the perspective of Haydn’s harmonic practice,
these relationships must have seemed bizarre indeed.
In many respects, the Mass in C served as an etude for the Missa Solemnis, op.123.
In the former, Beethoven worked out the problems of the Mass text on a smaller scale, laying
the stylistic foundations for his next Mass. Composition of the Missa Solemnis began in 1819,
when Beethoven’s friend and benefactor Rudolph, archduke of Austria, was appointed arch-
bishop of Ölmutz. Unfortunately, the Mass took four years to compose, completed long after
the event for which it was intended. This delay was doubtless fortuitous, for the dimensions
and scope of the Missa Solemnis would have posed insurmountable obstacles to liturgical
performance.
In much the same way that the “Eroica” symphony (no. 3, op. 55, 1804) completely
redrew the symphonic map, the Missa Solemnis forever changed the nature of the Mass genre.
The attempt by many nineteenth-century composers to imitate these works would prove their
undoing. Regarding the Mass, Warren Kirkendale provided several unique insights in his arti-
cle “New Roads to Old Ideas in Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis,” which begins with a disarmingly
simple question posed in one of Beethoven’s conversation books: “Frau v. Weissenthurn wishes
to hear something about the ideas upon which you based your composition of the Mass.”34
Nineteenth-century Romanticism and its notion of the “creative genius” had largely obliterated
the notion that any form of artistic expression might depend on certain commonly held notions
of meaning. Immanuel Kant wrote that music “speaks without concepts through nothing but
feelings.”35 Indeed, Romanticism seemed to deny the existence of any traditional knowledge or
wisdom based on shared experience. These had been the foundations for the rationalism of the
Enlightenment, a cosmology to which Romanticism, as the “language of feelings,” was irreconcil-
ably opposed.
Yet Kirkendale demonstrates, quite convincingly, that these “ideas” that Frau Weissen
thurn wished to hear did play an important role in Beethoven’s search for a way to compose
music that not only delighted the ear but also engaged the mind of the listener. There is no one
single map to understanding the musical gestalt of this or any other late work of Beethoven, for
they were compounded from multiple layers of structure and meaning. For example, the Credo
of the Missa Solemnis has one formal layer based on the threefold presentation of the Credo
motive (ex. 12.13). This motto reappears note-for-note in m.33 and again (less literally) at the
Allegro ma non troppo in m. 264. What role can such limited motivic repetition play in a move-
ment that contains nearly five hundred measures? At the most basic level, Beethoven uses
this motive to herald the Credo’s text devoted to each member of the Trinity (Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit), But the resulting aural form is clearly unwieldy. Aside from the obvious disparity
in the lengths of these sections, this idea fails to produce coherence in a composition of such
immense scope.
Earlier in this chapter we noted that the simplest markers of formal design are changes
in key, meter, or tempo. Applying these to the Credo produces a much more complex scheme as
there are no fewer than ten tempo changes in this section. The opening meter, key, and tempo
hold through m. 124. Between this point and the final appearance of the Credo motive (m. 264),
Beethoven creates five sections with different tempi, meters, and key centers.
Figure 12.2 Beethoven, Missa Solemnis, op. 123, facsimile of the Kyrie
Example 12.13 Beethoven: Missa Solemnis, op. 123, Credo, mm. 1–10
Table 12.4 Beethoven, Missa solemnis, op. 123, Credo

mm. 124–44 mm. 144–56 mm. 156–88 mm. 188–93 mm. 194–264
Adagio Andante Adagio espressivo Allegro Allegro molto
4/4 3/4 3/4 4/4 ¢
1 flat 2 sharps 1 flat neutral 1 flat
Et incarnatus Et homo factus est. Crucifixus Et resurrexit Et ascendit in coelum
Beethoven quickly dispells any notion that the reappearance of the motive at this mea-
sure is a recapitulation by treating it developmentally. While the original meter, tempo, and
motive return, the key center does not reappear until m. 306, the intervening music having
a key signature of one flat. The remainder of the Credo (mm. 306–472) sets a single text—
“et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen.” Even though the text concludes the Creed itself, tradition
required a fugal setting, so Beethoven provides one as long (167 mm.) as an entire movement
in any earlier symphonic Mass.
This overview has produced two different yet compatible formal shapes based on dif-
ferent views of the composition. The first took account only of the threefold invocation of the
Credo motive; broadening the discussion to consider tempo, meter, and key signature yielded a
more balanced, though still inadequate description of the movement’s complex form. Another
The Mass, 1750–1900 357
approach would consider the textual content of each segment, including the rationale for each
division as well as an examination of the role harmony played in either validating or reconfigur-
ing these boundaries. From this perspective, we see that two statements of the Credo motive
show up within the first section’s 124 measures of music. This compression occurs because the
text of section 1 contains references to both God, the Father and, more expansively, to God, the
Son. Section 2 begins with “Et incarnatus est,” completing that portion of the Creed devoted to
God, the Son. The coincidence of the third statement of the Credo motive and text associated
with the Holy Spirit, while eminently reasonable, fails to explain Beethoven’s dismissive treat-
ment of this text. Even though Beethoven omits none of the Mass’s text (as Schubert did), his
musical setting fails to highlight the words in a formally significant way.
Kirkendale then documents the iconography of the Credo, cataloguing the ideas that
might have generated the Mass’s gestural content, including the role of plainsong in the Missa
Solemnis. His argument assumes particular significance at “Et incarnatus est,” where Beethoven
interrupts the flow of his composition for the first time by changing tempo (from the opening
Allegro ma non troppo to Adagio) and key signature (reducing the original two flats to one). But
what is most extraordinary is the harmony: instead of the expected tonicization of B♭ major
(E♭–F–B♭), Beethoven cadences to an A-major triad in first inversion, which serves as the domi-
nant to the choral tenor’s entry on D′.36 Kirkendale explains the decision to invoke the Dorian
mode as having its basis in Beethoven’s studies of modal counterpoint with Albrechtsberger
and his reading of Zarlino’s Insitutioni harmoniche, a copy of which Beethoven found in the
library of Prince Lobkowitz. Citing Cassiodorus, Zarlino characterized this mode as “the donor
of modesty and the preserver of chastity.”37 Kirkendale manages to connect Beethoven’s sketches
for the “Et incarnatus est” melody to his notation of the plagal and authentic forms of Dorian
mode in sketchbooks dating from 1816, as well as references to Zarlino found in the conversa-
tion books of December–January 1819–20 (ex. 12.14).38

A host of similar ideas explain the unexpected harmonic, dynamic, and textural
changes Beethoven employs in setting this portion of the Credo. All that remains is a brief
examination of the concluding fugue on “et vitam venturi,” a section whose leisurely tempo
astonished contemporary critics accustomed to more celebrative conclusions. The length of
this fugue establishes it as the longest vocal fugue in Beethoven’s Mass or, for that matter, in
any of the Masses of his time. (Kirkendale esteemed this fugue as the equal of the fugue in the
“Hammerklavier” sonata (op. 111) and the Grosse Fuge (op. 133).39 But like those compositions,
Beethoven exploits the open-ended nature of fugal texture, compounded by thematic develop-
mental. Seen on its simplest level, the fugue has three sections (exx. 12.15a–c).
The first section functions as an exposition of the principal theme in both rectus (ex.
12.15a) and inversus (ex. 12.15b) form.40
Example 12.15 Beethoven: Missa Solemnis, op. 123, Credo,

(a) mm. 310–313
(b) mm. 338–342
(c) mm. 369–375

The Mass, 1750–1900 359
The subject is also notable for using triadic arpeggiation (symbolizing perfection and fulfill-
ment)41 and the subdominant inflection that immediately followed it (A♭ transforming B♭ into
the V7 of IV–E♭).
After a lengthy and leisurely exposition (symbolizing “vitam aeternam”)42, the devel-
opment commences with the change from Allegretto ma non troppo to Allegro con moto and the
diminution of the theme (ex. 12.15c). In its first presentation in the organ and orchestral basses,
the note values match the original statements. This version has nothing to do with timelessness;
as if the tempo change and diminution weren’t enough, Beethoven adds a new syncopated coun-
tertheme. After this development has run its course, Beethoven writes a grand tutti that might
well have ended the movement (ex. 12.16). But, like the Ninth Symphony’s finale, Beethoven
gives the solo quartet its turn to embellish the theme.
The late works of Beethoven seemed to challenge all those who would come after him
by irrevocably redefining the boundaries of Mass composition, just as he had done in a simi-
lar manner for the symphony, the string quartet, and the sonata. That such a distance existed
between Beethoven and his contemporaries was an expression both of his genius and the pro-
found sense of loneliness, so poignantly expressed in his “Heiligenstadt Testament” of 1802.
Franz Schubert (1797–1828)

That Beethoven’s contemporaries regarded him as a colossus to be emulated is clear from
the efforts of Schubert, Bruckner, and Mahler to match Beethoven’s nine symphonies. But
Beethoven’s shadow was not limited to the realm of instrumental music; though comparatively
small, his Mass compositions exerted a similarly stultifying effect. The first to deal with
Beethoven’s legacy in this area was his younger contemporary, Franz Peter Schubert (1797–1828).
Table 12.5 Masses of Franz Schubert
Mass in F, D. 105 (1814) SSATTB soli; SATB, orchestra
Mass in G, D. 167 (1815) STB soli, SATB, strings, organ
Mass in B♭, D. 324 (1815–16?) SATB soli; SATB; orchestra, organ
Mass in C, D. 452 (1816) SATB soli; SATB; orchestra, organ
Mass in A♭, D. 678 (1819–22) SATB soli; SATB; orchestra, organ
Deutsche Messe, D. 872 (1827) SATB organ (+ orchestra)
Mass in E♭, D. 950 (1828) SATB soli; SATB; orchestra
Schubert’s first four Masses are all missae breve; they clearly demonstrate that his lyric
gifts are just as obvious as his inability to develop material in the manner of Beethoven. The
most famous of these is the Mass in G (D. 167). Written in Schubert’s eighteenth year, this
Mass is the epitome of simplicity and brevity. Scored for string quartet and organ, Franz’s older
brother, Ferdinand, and others subsequently added trumpets and tympani as well as pairs of
oboes and bassoons. Schubert’s use of just three soloists—soprano for the Christe; soprano and
bass in the “Qui tollis” of the Gloria; soprano, tenor, and bass in the Benedictus, and soprano
and bass in the Agnus Dei—is similarly spare. His text setting favors a syllabic, nonrepetitive
approach that admits counterpoint only in the brief “Osanna.”
Perhaps the most striking aspect of the Mass in G is the periodicity of its phrasing. Often
considered a hallmark of Classical style, Schubert employs periodic phrasing of regular lengths far
more routinely than either Mozart or Haydn as the predominantly soloistic middle portion of the
Gloria and the opening choral passages of the Credo show. But Schubert’s most periodic melody
Example 12.17 Schubert: Mass in G (D. 167), Benedictus, mm. 4–16

The Mass, 1750–1900 361
is that of the Benedictus, sung by each soloist (S, T, B) in turn, each repetitions enhanced by the
addition of new and felicitous counterpoint (ex. 12.17). The Agnus Dei proves just how “Classical”
the dimensions of this Mass actually are; Schubert scrupulously follows the typical Mozartean
plan (identical music for the first two statements plus the beginning of the third, followed by a
modification to accommodate the change from “Miserere nobis” to “Dona nobis pacem”).
Of greater length and substance were Schubert’s two “late” Masses in A♭ and E♭ major
respectively. If Schubert’s missae breve are Mozartean, these works indicate Schubert’s aware-
ness of Beethoven’s Masses. The Mass in A♭ Major, though chronologically contemporary with
Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, more closely resembles the Mass in C. The remarkable similarity of
Schubert’s Sanctus to the Agnus Dei of Beethoven’s—12/8 meter and lengthy pedal points that
resolve to unexpected keys—supports this assertion. In Schubert’s case, the tonic F major moves
through consecutive major thirds (F–A–C♯) to prepare the chorus’s entry in F♯ minor; he then
duplicates this same progression beginning in D major (to E♭ minor) and B major (to C minor).
The harmonic plan of Schubert’s Mass also fairly closely resembles Beethoven’s. The
tonal centers of the first three movements are separated by major thirds (A♭–E–C); this less than
traditional progression of tonalities (and key signatures) depends first on the tonic A♭ function-
ing enharmonically as the major third of E, a relationship repeated between E and the Credo’s
C major. In turn, the Credo serves as V to the Sanctus’s F major, the parallel mode of which (F
minor) provides the key centers of the Benedictus and Agnus Dei, closing the harmonic circle (F–
A♭) in the Dona nobis pacem. In both the Gloria and Credo, Schubert chooses to set the incipit for-
merly intoned by the priest chorally (a sign that large Mass settings are now at least as likely to be
performed in concert halls as in church). In both movements, Schubert repeats the opening text
phrase to conclude the first section, a totally unnecessary and inappropriate reiteration liturgically.
The most striking new statistic is the length of the Gloria’s concluding fugue. As a
counterpoint student of Simon Sechter, Schubert seems determined to demonstrate his grasp
of fugal technique; unfortunately, the result is a long (nearly two hundred measures), tedious,
and academic fugue. In section 2, Schubert creates a ternary design based on the contrast
of major and minor modes. Its opening section is almost exclusively soloistic, whereas the
middle section features alternation between chorus and soloists. The choral statements are all
marked forte and based on a recurring accompanimental motive (ex. 12.18). Schubert constructs
an eight-measure choral phrase that serves as antecedent to the soloists’ consequent phrase. He
repeats this template four times (A minor, B♭ minor, F minor, and G minor), appending a con-
cluding choral statement harmonically grounded on the diminished seventh of A minor. The
concluding portion reprises the opening melody; even though Schubert modifies the accompa-
nying solo voices (mm. 139–49 are a verbatim repeat of mm. 121–29).
Example 12.18 Schubert: Mass in A-flat major (D. 678), Gloria, mm. 147–154

Anton Bruckner (1824–92)

Like Schubert, Bruckner began his career teaching in several small Austrian towns; such posi-
tions included responsibility for music in the parish church. From 1841 to 1843, Bruckner
taught in the village of Windhaag, followed by a stay in Kronstorf (1843–45). In 1845 he sub-
stantially upgraded his status by accepting a teaching position at the Augustinian monastery of
St. Florian, where he remained for the next ten years (1845–55). When the position of organist
at the monastery became vacant in 1850, Bruckner succeeded his teacher, Anton Kattinger,
but never received a permanent position. In 1855 he began counterpoint study with renowned
pedagogue Simon Sechter to prepare himself for a more prestigious appointment. He was
appointed cathedral and municipal parish organist at Linz in 1856. In June 1868, Bruckner
moved to Vienna where he had to wait until 1880 to secure the position of court organist. This
job history explains the differences in size and scoring between his early Masses and those
composed for St. Florian’s (table 12.6). Bruckner’s first three Masses—intended are for use in
a parish of limited means—are all Landmessen (peasant or country masses), modest works that
lack both Kyrie and Gloria (typically sung in plainsong) with a compact setting of the Credo.
Only fragments remain of the earliest Masses composed for St. Florian’s. From these, we can
determine that the forces available to Bruckner there were significantly better than those at his
previous positions.43
Figure 12.3 Anton Bruckner

The Mass, 1750–1900 363
Table 12.6 Anton Bruckner, Mass chronology

Early Masses
Title Collected Works Date Scoring
Mass in C 21, WAB 25 1842? A, 2 FHs, org
(“Windhaager”)
Mass in D minor 21 WAB 146 1844? SATB
(Kronstorf)
Mass in F 21 WAB 9 1844 SATB
Masses composed for St. Florian’s Monastery
Requiem in D minor 24 WAB 39 1849 SATB soli, (rev.
1892) SATB chorus,
strings, organ, 3
trombones
Mass in g minor 1846 fragmentary
Mass in E♭ 1846 fragmentary
Missa solemnis 15 WAB 29 1854 SATB soli; SATB;
in b♭ minor orchestra, organ
Missa solemnis in D 16 WAB 26 1864 SATB soli; SATB,
Minor (rev. 1876, 1881,
1882) orchestra, organ
Missa solemnis in E 17 WAB 27 Aug–Nov 1866 (rev. SSAATTBB, ww, brass
minor 1876, 1882)
Missa solemnis in F 18 WAB 28 Sept. 1867–68 (rev. SATB soli; SATB,
Minor 1876, 1877, 1881, 1890s) orchestra, organ
The first significant Mass for St. Florian’s is the Requiem in D minor of 1849, com-
posed for the funeral of his friend Franz Sailer. Bruckner’s choice of tonal center and literal quo-
tations from Mozart’s Requiem indicate his reliance on preexisting models.44 This statement
applies up to the “Hostias,” where Bruckner completely changes style by inserting an a cappella
chorus for TTBB, distinctly reminiscent of Liedertafel compositions.
The most ambitious of the early Masses is the Missa solemnis (B♭), scored for solo-
ists, chorus, pairs of oboes, bassoons, trumpets (replaced by horns in the Benedictus and
Agnus Dei), three trombones, tympani, strings, and organ. This work was first performed
on September 14, 1854, for the installation of the new prelate of St. Florian’s, Friedrich Mayr.
The success of this composition led Bruckner to resume his study (now in composition) with
Sechter.45 As Bruckner’s training progressed and his confidence grew, he sought greater pres-
tige, first as organist for the cathedral in Linz, then in Vienna in 1868 to pursue composition
more seriously.
In Vienna, Bruckner’s three large Missae solemni premiered in the Linz Cathedral. The
genesis of these Masses coincides with Bruckner’s initial symphonic compositions (Symphony
“0” [1864, rev. 1869] and Symphony 1 in D minor [1865–66]).46 The Masses in D minor and
F minor employ “typical” Romantic symphony scoring—paired winds (including horns), two
trumpets, three trombones, tympani, strings, and organ. Following tradition, these Masses use
vocal soloists and a chorus of four voices (with frequent divisi). Although both Masses were first
performed at the cathedral, they were conceived primarily as concert pieces.
The Kyrie of the Mass in F minor, like its two predecessors, dispenses with the bril-
liance of earlier symphonic Masses; indeed, the Kyries in all three of Bruckner’s large Masses
exhibit a solemnity and inwardness that bespeaks an understanding of (if not reverence for)
the meaning of the text. The Kyrie is in simple ternary form, although Bruckner hints at
recapitulation by reprising music from the Kyrie (m. 77ff.) after the harmonically restless,
soloist-dominated Christe.
Bruckner’s Gloria might well be an imitation of the same movement in Schubert’s
Mass in A♭. Like Schubert, Bruckner creates interest by using varied harmonizations of simple
motives; formal coherence is based less on tonality than on a persistently repeated bass line
malleable enough to permit the desired harmonic flux. The instrumental walking bass in the
Gloria uses eighth notes for forte passages and quarter notes for piano passages (ex. 12.19).
Example 12.19 Bruckner: Mass in F minor, Gloria, mm. 7–19
In the “Qui tollis,” Bruckner returns to the varied repetition favored by Schubert,
the textual syntax (“Qui tollis . . . Miserere nobis; Qui tollis . . . suscipe”) yielding a binary
form (plus coda). The second statement of “Qui tollis” repeats the first except for the ending
in D♭ major (mm. 138–40). The return of C major and the opening tempo in m. 179 suggest
that the “Quoniam” is seen as the closing member of a ternary form. Once again, however,
Bruckner inflects the music to create varied harmonies prior to the return of C major and the
eighth-note bass line at “Cum sancto spiritu” (m. 206). Bruckner ratchets the melody upward
from C minor to E minor to G minor and then to A♭ minor, the enharmonic pivot (A♭ = G♯) to
cadence in E major. Following Schubert’s example, Bruckner composes a choral fugue on “In
Gloria Dei Patris, Amen!” Happily, Bruckner’s fugue is tauter and shorter than Schubert’s;
its tortuous subject could easily have been one of Sechter’s exercises in species counterpoint
(ex. 12.20):
Example 12.20 Bruckner: Mass in F minor, Gloria, mm. 230–237

The Mass, 1750–1900 365
Bruckner’s Masses (the Mass in E minor excepted) belong to the continuum of the
symphonic Mass tradition initiated by Haydn and Beethoven. These large-scale works attempt
to bridge the increasingly wide and awkward divide between the composer as academician/
impresario and the composer as church musician. Nominally, Beethoven’s Missa solemnis is still
a symphonic Mass, but Bruckner’s Masses in D minor and F minor provide a new twist on that
term. The chronological congruity of the earliest symphonies and these Masses take the form
of sharing thematic material. Constantin Floros notes a direct thematic connection between the
Mass in F minor and Bruckner’s Symphony No. 2 in C minor (exx. 12.21a and b).47
Example 12.21 Bruckner
(a) Mass in F minor, Benedictus, mm. 98–102
(b) Symphony 2 in C minor, 2, mm. 180–183
Composed in 1867 at the height of a personal crisis, which required treatment at the sanato-
rium in Bad Kreuzberg, the theme of the Benedictus supposedly came to Bruckner in answer
to prayer for healing. He later uses the same theme for the Adagio of the Second Symphony
(1872), sketched within days of performing the Mass at the Augustiner Kirche in Vienna. This,
however, is not the only such quotation. In the Finale of that symphony (m. 200ff.), Bruckner
quotes a theme from the conclusion of the Mass’s Kyrie. Similar thematic connections also link
Bruckner’s Mass with his Third Symphony (in D minor).48
Bruckner seems to have used his Masses to work out the language of his symphonies.
Setting the lengthy Gloria and Credo texts enabled him to gauge the dimensions of the sonata
designs in his early symphonies. The cyclic similarity of Kyrie and Agnus Dei provide frequent the-
matic links between the first and last movements of symphonies. Two of the principal textures of
the Austrian Mass—broad hymnic writing and the traditional placement of fugal counterpoint at
the conclusions of the Gloria and Credo—become givens within Bruckner’s symphonic language.
Finally, both Mass and early symphony show a preference for melodies with an octave ambi-
tus (derived perhaps from modality?) as well as the juxtaposition of duple and triple rhythms as
direct descendants from the alternation of binary and ternary units in chant. In short, Bruckner’s
Masses are the test bed for his symphonic style, a reversal of application of symphonic form to the
Masses composed during the era of Haydn, Mozart, and their contemporaries.
Franz Liszt (1811–87)

The Masses of Franz Liszt make the increasingly tenuous connection between Mass and sym-
phony increasingly difficult to sustain. Each of Liszt’s Masses is a unique creation, responding
to external expectation and internal intuition with widely varying results. His clearest connec-
tion to the symphonic Mass tradition is the Gräner Festmesse, a work that Alan Walker argues
is—“by common accord”—one of Liszt’s masterpieces.49 This Mass was commissioned in 1855
to celebrate the consecration of the cathedral in Gran (August 1856). After considerable revision,
the Mass appeared in print in 1858. Although Michael Saffle argues passionately that the work
“deserves regular and repeated performances by great singers, conductors and orchestral musi-
cians,” this has not happened nor is it likely to.50
The connection between Liszt’s Mass and the extant Germanic-Viennese symphonic
tradition is tenuous at best, but Liszt’s notion of symphonic music is considerably different
from anything that underlies earlier symphonic Masses. Liszt preferred the symphonic poem,
in which thematic transformation and recurring motives were basic components. Liszt’s use
of recurring motives (Erinnerungsmotiven) influenced Wagner, who began using Leitmotive only
after studying the symphonic poems of Liszt in 1856.51 Paul Merrick has identified nine distinct
themes repeated at various points in the Gräner Festmesse; he linked the return of these themes
throughout the Mass to texts that share some common theme or ideas.
In the Gran Mass the themes are not leitmotifs which appear at significant
points to alert the listener to something that is happening; they are rather the
stones Liszt uses to build an edifice, and are wedded to the text in a relation-
ship unlikely to be immediately perceived by the listener for the simple reason
that they trace ideas, not feelings.52
Two other Masses—the Hungarian Coronation Mass (1867) and the Missa Choralis (1865)—
stand in direct opposition to the tradition the Gräner Festmesse embraced. The Coronation Mass,
written shortly after the political rapprochement between Hungary and Austria that led to the
coronation of Emperor Francis Joseph I of Austria as king of Hungary (June 1867), is, to say
the least, eclectic, replete with Hungarian melodic and rhythmic elements. The most obvious
of these is a tertiary quotation from Liszt’s own Rákóczi Marsch (1865), itself an orchestral tran-
scription of Hungarian Rhapsody no.15 (1847). Liszt’s quotation of this march reveals a personal
nationalism at odds with the political sensibilities of the Hungarians who heard it. Other novel-
ties are an orchestral offertory (with violin solo) and wholesale parody of a Credo from the Messe
Royale by the early seventeenth-century Belgian composer Henri Dumont. Concerning Liszt’s
Missa Choralis, its unique character (like Bruckner’s Mass in E minor) makes its inclusion in
the chapter on nineteenth-century sacred music more logical.
Other Romantic Mass Composers

While nothing remotely resembling a comprehensive discussion of nineteenth-century Mass
composition is possible, there are four composers whose contribution constitutes part of the
genre’s history: Luigi Cherubini (1760–1842); Gioacchino Rossini (1792–1868); Charles Gounod
(1818–93); and Antonín Dvořák (1841–1904), all of whom present distinctly different attitudes
toward Mass composition.
Although Italian born and trained, Cherubini’s important compositional output took
place in Paris in the same year (1789) as the French Revolution. Cherubini composed a total of
nine Masses and two Requiems, of which only seven survive. Both the G- and A-major Masses,
written for the coronations of the French kings Louis XVIII and Charles X respectively, are
scored for three voices, reflecting the French tradition of omitting the alto part.53 Unlike Haydn
and Mozart, Cherubini relies on textual meaning to generate musical substance, and for that
reason he eschews operatic solo writing in favor of choral writing that closely follows liturgical
The Mass, 1750–1900 367
format. Thus, when the text is dramatic, Cherubini rises to the occasion, but when the text lacks
drama, he becomes conservative.
Gioacchino Rossini is arguably the most popular and successful Italian composer in the
first half of the nineteenth century. Given that reputation, Rossini’s inclusion in a survey of Mass
composition may seem incongruous. The Petite Messe Solennelle (1864) has no precedent either
in Rossini’s output or in contemporary Mass composition. Scored for twelve (presumably solo)
voices, two pianos, and harmonium,54 this unique work commemorates the consecration of the
private chapel of the Countess Louise Pillet-Will. Rossini called this work the “last mortal Sin of
my Old Age,” finding it necessary to pen an apology to “God” on the title page of the manuscript:
Dear God. Here it is, finished, this poor little Mass. Have I written sacred
music [musique sacrée] or damned music [sacrée musique]? I was born for opera
buffa, you know it well! Little science, some heart, that’s all. Be blessed, then,
and grant me a place in Paradise.55
The odd instrumentation, facile chromaticism, obviously operatic solo writing, and
the almost parodistic series of musical references (or “send ups”) make it difficult to take this
piece seriously. Few musicians are aware that Rossini was a subscriber to the Bach-Gesellschaft;
although any suggestion of Bachian influence may seem even more preposterous than Rossini’s
inclusion here, it was Bach’s legacy that shaped the double fugues that concludes Rossini’s
Gloria and Credo (ex. 12.22).
Example 12.22 Rossini: Petite Messe Solenelle, Gloria, mm. 706–714
These two fugues aside, Rossini’s vocal writing has far more to do with opera than the Mass,
the aria “Domine Deus” and the duet “Qui tollis” are clearly the work of an operatic composer.
Hearing these, one realizes that knowledge of his Petite Messe is necessary to understand the
Verdi Requiem, the genesis of which has direct connections to Rossini (see chap. 13).
Like Rossini, Charles Gounod is principally known for operas like Faust and Roméo
et Juliet. Nonetheless, he is most known for the Messe Solennelle de Ste. Cécile (1855), a most
successful marriage of opera and the choral style that made him so popular in England. Ste.
Cécile is scored for soprano, tenor, and bass soloists, SATB chorus (with frequent T/B divisi), and
an orchestra of typically Romantic proportions. Gounod sets the Sanctus and Benedictus sepa-
rately, creating a total of six movements. The Kyrie begins with the same Gregorian incipit that
Mozart used in his Missa brevis in F (K. 192).56 Atypically, the Gloria begins with the so-called
celestial music, the soprano soloist intoning the opening text over a six-part humming choir.
Gounod’s Credo follows Haydn’s model—a three-movement structure based on tempo (fast–
slow–fast). The fast movements here uses unison chorus extensively, whereas “Et incarnatus
est” features antiphonal alternation between soloists and choir. The most popular movement
was, and still is, the Sanctus, in which Gounod’s famous melody is intoned by a tenor soloist in
9/8 meter (ex. 12.23).
Example 12.23 Gounod: Messe solennelle de Ste. Cécile, Sanctus, mm. 8–16
The next Mass composer of note is Antonín Dvořák. Dvořák, like Gounod, was one
of those European composers who enjoyed great success in England. Even so, Dvořák was not
a prolific composer of Masses; his only extant Mass, the Mass in D major, op. 86 (1887), was
composed at the request of the Czech architect Josef Hlávka for the consecration of a chapel on
Example 12.24 Dvořák: Mass in D Major, Credo, mm.1–16

The Mass, 1750–1900 369
his estate in southwestern Bohemia.57 Dvořák originally conceived this Mass for solo quartet,
small chorus, and organ. In fact, on November 11, 1887, the composer conducted the Mass’s
first performance, and the wives of Hlávka and Dvořák took the soprano and alto solo parts.
Dvořák orchestrated the Mass in 1892 (at the urging of Novello) just before his first trip to the
United States. The new version, published by Novello with both Latin and English texts, pre-
miered at the Crystal Palace in London (March, 11, 1893), followed by performances at churches
in New York, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and New Orleans the following year.58 Especially when
performed in its original version (for organ), Dvořák’s Mass is a simple, unpretentious composi-
tion. From a formal perspective, the Credo is the most interesting movement. Cast in three sec-
tions (Credo in unum Deum—Et incarnatus est—Credo in spiritum sanctum), Dvořák reprised
the opening fifty-six measures to begin the third section (including the word “Credo”). Dvořák’s
antiphonal use of the alto against the other voice parts and his allusion to the most familiar of
the Gregorian Credo incipits are particularly interesting (ex. 12.24).
Conclusion
The survey of Mass composition from 1750 to 1900 has yielded a number of interest-
ing observations about the development of the genre. The first is the dominance of orchestral
thinking and form in the Masses of Haydn and Mozart, a presence that produced the term
“symphonic Mass,” one that can be taken to imply the dominance of form over expression, of
“celebrative” music over “expressive,” as Charles Rosen has said. The synthesis of orchestral
form reached a high point in Beethoven’s Missa solemnis, a work that defies imitation in every
way. While smaller, more accessible Masses were still written after Beethoven’s, the symphonic
Mass tradition persisted in large festive works that seem more suited to the concert hall than
to a liturgical service. Like other types of music, the Mass in the nineteenth century became
a vehicle for expressing the individual composer’s ideas—religious, musical, and historical.
While this new subjectivity and freedom of artistic approach injected vitality into the genre,
the resulting diversity of approach preordained its demise. Once the concert hall eclipsed the
cathedral as the likeliest venue for performance of a Mass (a product of the rise of public con-
certs and the groups involved in them), the liturgical propriety of the Mass was never recovered
(Liszt’s Missa Choralis being the exception). Increasingly, Masses, when composed at all, were
not music for the parish church or local cathedral but were designed for private delectation or
public display, as was the case in many of the Masses discussed in this chapter. The twentieth
century saw the continuation of this ever-widening separation between church and society, a
trend lived out in works of increasingly diverse style and secular intent.
13
Romanticism and the Requiems of Mozart,

Berlioz, Verdi, and Brahms
B y its very nature, history tends to assign special status to certain genres or styles. Nowhere
is this more evident than in the value ascribed to the Requiem Mass by nineteenth-century
Romanticism. This period is dominated by four acknowledged masterpieces—the Latin Requiems
of Mozart, Berlioz, and Verdi and the “German” Requiem of Brahms. Each piece can lay claim
to being the most loved or best-known choral work of its respective composer. Similarly, each
piece has its own unique panoply of stories and incidents surrounding its provenance, creation,
and performance. Mozart’s Requiem—its genesis cloaked in intrigue—was left unfinished at the
composer’s death (itself a mysterious event). Verdi’s Requiem began as a single movement (the
“Libera me”) as part of the so-called Messa per Rossini. Legend has it that Brahms’s Ein deutsches
Requiem began as his homage to Schumann and was completed in response to his mother’s
death. Finally, there is Berlioz’s Grande Messe des Morts—an “event” in search of an occasion,
the least liturgical, most idiosyncratic work of them all. To these should be added the Michael
Haydn’s Missa pro defunctis Archepispeco Sigismundo, the Requiems of Luigi Cherubini, Robert
Schumann’s Requiem für Mignon, and Anton Bruckner’s early Requiem in B♭ minor. The essence
of the nineteenth-century view of death and remembrance, including the declining role that
church and liturgy play in it, is thus best portrayed in these four great choral works.
370
Requiems: Mozart, Berlioz, Verdi, Brahms 371
W. A. Mozart—Requiem in D minor, K. 626

Both of the major choral/orchestral sacred works Mozart composed after moving from Salzburg
to Vienna in 1781—the “Great” Mass in C minor (K. 427/K.417a) and the Requiem in D minor
(K. 626)—remained unfinished at his death. Ever since, speculation has swirled around this
composition, especially its possible relationship to the composer’s own death. We now know
that the mysterious messenger who bestowed on Mozart the commission for this work was the
solicitor for Franz, Count von Walsegg, a minor Viennese noble who commissioned works and
subsequently passed them off as his own. Walsegg’s wife had died in February 1791, so Mozart’s
Requiem was intended for performance on the first anniversary of her death.1 The commission,
including half of the fee, was tendered sometime in the spring of 1791, at which time Mozart
was completing Die Zauberflöte and before the commission to compose La Clemenza di Tito for
the coronation of Emperor Leopold in Prague (September 1791) came to him. When Mozart died
in December of that year, the unfinished Requiem and considerable outstanding debt forced
his wife, Constanze, to find someone to complete the work in order to collect the remainder
of the fee. Initially, Joseph Eybler completed the orchestration of the Sequence up to the begin-
ning of the “Lachrymosa,” before realizing that he could not complete the task. At this point,
another pupil of Mozart’s, Franz Anton Xavier Süssmayr, undertook the task, reorchestrating the
Sequence, completing the “Lachrymosa,” and composing parts or all of the Sanctus, Benedictus,
Table 13.1 Mozart, Requiem in D minor (K. 626)

Completely by Mozart Voice Parts/ Bass Line/ Additions by Eybler or Süssmayr
Instrumental Cues by WAM
Introit Kyrie Orchestration by Eybler and
F. J. Freystädtler
Dies Irae Eybler and Süssmayr
Tuba mirum both orchestrated these
Rex tremendae movements, but Süssmayr
Recordare alone completed the
Confutatis Lachrymosa.
Amen (Sketch by Mozart) Lachrymosa (1–8)

Offertory: Orchestration by Süssmayr
Domine Jesu Christe
Hostias
Sanctus/Osanna
Benedictus—Süssmayr
Agnus Dei—Süssmayr
Communio—Süssmayr (Repeat of
Mozart’s Introit and Kyrie)
Agnus Dei, and Communio. The finished score was then presented to Walsegg by the March 4,
1792.2 Thus, what has become the Mozart Requiem is really the work of three composers.
Consciously or not, Mozart’s Requiem borrows from a work composed twenty years
earlier by Michael Haydn for the funeral of Count Sigismund von Schrattenbach, archbishop
of Salzburg. This indebtedness is obvious when one sees Haydn’s theme for “Cum sanctis tuis
in aeternum” (ex. 13.1). We encounter this same theme in Handel’s Messiah, the final quartet
of J. Haydn’s op. 20, and Mozart’s setting of Psalm 113 (Laudate pueri) in the Vesperae solennes
de confessore (K. 339) and in his Requiem (K. 626).3 The presence of this stock stile antico
motif in both Haydn’s and Mozart’s Requiems might be coincidental save for these further
similarities:
Example 13.1 Michael Haydn: Missa pro defunctis,

Communio, mm. 1–6
1. Haydn’s use of a Gregorian psalm tone for the text te decet hymnus;
2. Haydn’s use of repeated chords at the text et lux perpetua;
3. Haydn’s use of dotted rhythms for the text Exaudi orationem meam;
4. Striking similarities between Haydn’s setting of the texts Rex gloriae, et de pro-
fundo lacu, and de ore leonis in the Offertory;
5. A marked resemblance between Haydn’s fugue subject for Cum sanctis tuis and
Mozart’s fugue subject;
6. Conspicuous thematic and formal similarities between Michael Haydn’s Te
Deum and a setting by Mozart (K. 141)
These things suggest that Mozart not only knew Haydn’s Requiem but that he imitated
(either consciously or unconsciously) aspects of it. H. Richard Maunder believes Mozart’s use
of a theme similar to Haydn’s at the beginning of his Requiem was deliberate. This “parody”
explains why Mozart completed the Introit and all the music of the Kyrie (where Haydn did not
use this theme), as well as his instructions to Süssmayr to repeat this music to conclude the
work. Maunder further reasons that Mozart intended to create a symmetrical link between these
framing movements in the form of an “Amen” fugue discovered by Wolfgang Plath in 1962.4
Table 13.2 Mozart, Requiem in D minor (K. 626), Dies irae, form

Movement Title Key Meter Tempo Texture Text
1. Dies irae D 4/4 Allegro assai SATB, orchestra 1–2
2. Tuba mirum B♭ 2/2 Andante SATB soli, orchestra (Trombone 3–7
solo mm. 1–18)
3. Rex G 4/4 No indication Same as 1 8
tremendae
4. Recordare F 3/4 No indication Same as 2 (no solo trombone) 9–15
5. Confutatis A 4/4 Andante Same as 1 16–17
6. Lachrymosa D 12/8 No indication Same as 1 18–19
Example 13.2 Mozart: Requiem in D minor (K.626)

(a) Introit, mm. 8–13
(b) “Amen” theme, Sketch
(c) Agnus Dei, mm. 2–9
The theme for the single word “Amen” (ex. 13.2b) is an inversion of both the opening vocal line
of the Introit, the opening bass line of the Agnus Dei (ex. 13.2c) and, of course, of the repetition
of the Introit’s music in the closing Communion. This series of thematic relationships create
a formal skeleton, which supports the entirety of the Requiem’s music. In his monograph on
the history of the Requiem, Alec Robertson takes note of these similarities but seems not to
appreciate the significance of Mozart’s appropriation of M. Haydn’s theme or his extension of
its recurrence into a cyclic formal procedure.5
Conversely, Mozart diverges significantly from Haydn’s “model” in his setting of the
Dies irae Sequence. Whereas Haydn treats the entire poem as a single movement (with contrast-
ing sections), Mozart subdivides the text in the manner of the Neapolitan cantata mass. With
few exceptions, this solution becomes the norm followed by later composers. Such an approach
is natural: these divisions segment the long text (in the Neapolitan manner) to allow variety of
key, tempo, meter, and scoring. Mozart divides the stanzas of the Dies irae into six movements
(table 13.2). The keys of the first three movements outline a G-minor triad, while those of the last
three movements outline D minor. In Schenkerian terms, the entire movement forms a large
plagal cadence (G–D).6
Of course, Mozart’s premature death spawned its own Romantic mythology—ques-
tions have always surrounded his death, whether he regarded the Requiem as an omen, who
did what to complete the work, and how successfully it was done. Friedrich Blume opines that
there is a “Requiem, but no peace,”7 suggesting that although the work has become one of the
handful of choral masterworks that everyone must know, we will never know Mozart’s true
intentions. Once Mozart died, all attempts to complete the work, whether in the eighteenth
century or the twentieth, share the commonality of not being Mozart! The daunting task of
providing a complete musical text for the Requiem in D, which began with Mozart’s pupils
Eybler and Süssmayr, led to contemporary editions by Franz Beyer, H. Richard Maunder,
Robert Levin, H. C. Robbins-Landon, and Duncan Druce. Their various approaches are sum-
marized in Table 13.3.
While each of these reconstructions has its virtues, they all share the same, inevi-
table shortcoming. Any potential performer must wrestle with that most fundamental of
all questions, “What is the Mozart Requiem?” The work, as it survives in Mozart’s hand, is
not performable, a fact driven home by the Neue Mozart-Ausgabe volume, which presents
only the music Mozart wrote. Whether one performs Süssmayr’s version or one of the
contemporary ones is really a matter of personal taste and logistical convenience. For the
great majority of the Sequence (all except the “Lachrymosa”) and the Offertory, we have
Mozart’s vocal parts, figured bass, and enough reminders of the instrumental accompani-
ment to prompt Constanze to characterize Süssmayr’s contribution as something that any-
one could have done. Leaving aside for the moment the completion of the “Lachrymosa,”
we can say that the Sanctus and “Osanna” are the clearest examples of Süssmayr’s work,
especially the inexplicable repetition of the “Osanna” after the Benedictus in the wrong
key (B♭ instead of D).8
Since Maunder’s pioneering work, Süssmayr’s conclusion of the “Lachrymosa” has
become less convincing, though for many it remains the definitive version. Given the con-
sensus that the “Amen” sketch authenticated by Wolfgang Plath was intended to conclude
Table 13.3 Synopsis of twentieth-century versions of the Mozart Requiem

Beyer: Essentially, an instrumental revision that leaves in tact Süssmayr’s errors and stylistic
discrepancies.
Robbins-Landon: A conflation of the orchestrations of Eybler and Süssmayr, with preference given
to the former.
Maunder: New versions of Lachrymosa (including a fugal realization of the Amen theme) and
Agnus Dei. Maunder omits the Sanctus/Hosanna and Benedictus as corrupt.
Druce: The most extensive re-composition of the Lachrymosa (including an extensive fugue on
“Amen”), Sanctus/Hosanna/Benedictus and Agnus Dei.
Levin: Minor changes in the orchestration of the Introit and the corresponding Communion, as
well as the other movements for which Mozart wrote out the voice parts. He adds one measure
deleted from Süssmayr’s completion of the Lachrymosa and composes a new, non-modulatory
fugue on “Amen.” Levin modifies the Sanctus, re-composes the Hosanna and re-drafts the
Benedictus (retaining the voice parts of mm. 3–18) to allow a reprise of the Hosanna in D major.
the Sequence, contemporary completions routinely provide a realization of this fugal theme.
Maunder’s version has the virtue of being the first, but it is a less convincing as a gestalt than
that of Robert Levin.9
Hector Berlioz—Grande Messe des Morts, op. 5

Luigi Cherubini (1760–1842) was the dominant composer in Paris in the early nineteenth
century. He wrote two Requiems—one in C minor for mixed chorus and orchestra (1815–16),
commissioned by the French government to commemorate the execution of Louis XVI, and a
second (1836) one in D minor for male chorus and orchestra. The first evoked praise from col-
leagues as diverse as Beethoven and Hector Berlioz, Cherubini’s bitter rival. Of the Requiem in
C minor, Beethoven reportedly said:
Cherubini is among all living composers the one who merits the most atten-
tion. Even with his conception of the Requiem I can entirely associate myself
and I shall, if I should ever have occasion to write one myself, take over much
exactly as he has written it.10
What Beethoven admired was Cherubini’s skill as a dramatist; his is the approach of an opera
composer to the dramatic pictures contained in the Requiem (perhaps inspired by his own
performance of Mozart’s Requiem before leaving Paris in 1804).11 Particularly noteworthy is
Cherubini’s unique approach to the Sequence. Unlike Mozart (and most other composers)
Cherubini’s setting is through-composed and continuous, utilizing canon, a rhythmic motto
(identical to one used by Mozart), text-driven orchestration (e.g., the entry of trumpets and
timpani at “Tuba mirum”), the use of a gong to symbolize the Last Judgment, and pacing that
comes from having written opera. Also interesting is Cherubini’s repetition of a single pitch
(“C”) in both orchestra and chorus during the “Communion,” a device praised by John Cardinal
Newman, and even, grudgingly, by Berlioz, who wrote:
The Requiem Mass in c minor is on the whole, to my mind, the greatest work
of its author. No other production of this grand master can bear any compari-
son with it for abundance of ideas, fullness of form, and sustained sublimity
of style. The Agnus Dei in decrescendo surpasses everything that has been writ-
ten of this kind. The workmanship of this portion, too, has an inestimable
value: the vocal style is sharp and clear, the instrumentation colored and pow-
erful, yet ever worthy of its object.12
Berlioz’s praise is all the more telling given that his own Requiem, op. 5, was chosen by the French
minister of the interior to commemorate the victims of the 1830 Revolution in lieu of Cherubini’s
recently completed Requiem in D minor. Cherubini’s pique at this slight may have led the direc-
tor of fine arts to decide that the service should take place without music, leaving Berlioz with-
out a performance but with all the expenses incurred in copying the parts and scores. But one
never had to wait long in post-Revolutionary France for a state occasion that required grand
music. In Berlioz’s case, another opportunity presented itself when a General Damrémont died
(October 13, 1836) in the battle for Algeria. Plans to honor this fallen hero included a state funeral at
Figure 13.1 Les Invalides, Paris, ca. 1890
Les Invalides on December 5 (the very day in 1791 that Mozart died), providing the occasion Berlioz
sought.
Perhaps Berlioz’s title Grande Messe des Morts was part of the hype necessary to combat
Cherubini’s efforts to suppress the premier yet again; alternately, it may imitate the grand scale
of music composed for the post-Revolutionary Cult de l’Etre Supreme (“The Cult of the Supreme
Being”). Whatever the source, one must admit that, in this case, the word “grand” represents
no hyperbole. The direct model may have been a choral ode composed by Berlioz’s teacher
François Lesueur in 1790, scored for a huge choir and four orchestras to trump the three orches-
tras used by Ėtienne-Nicolas Méhul in his Hymne patriotique (1793–94). Whatever the reason
or source, there can be no doubt that Berlioz’s Requiem is of grand proportions indeed. For the
service at Les Invalides, Berlioz calculated that he would need a chorus of 210 singers (eighty
sopranos, sixty tenors, seventy basses13) and an orchestra of 190, divided between the principal
orchestral body and the four brass bands placed at the four corners of the church. Table 13.4
shows the complete orchestration specified by Berlioz.
The work’s rather infrequent performance is understandable, given its size. Although
Berlioz requires these forces, he rarely uses the entire ensemble at the same time. As if the
piece were not imposing enough already, Berlioz adds a note to his score encouraging even
larger forces where conditions permit:
Table 13.4 Berlioz, Grande Messe des Morts, op. 5, orchestration

4 Flutes
2 Hautbois
2 Cor Anglaises
4 Clarinettes
8 Bassons
12 Cors
8 paires de Timbales (10 Timbaliers)
2 Grosses caisses (bass drums)
4 Tamtams (gongs)
10 paires de Cymbales
50 Violons
20 Altos (violas)
20 Violoncelles
18 Contrebasses
Orchestre I Orchestre II
4 Cornets a pistons 4 Trompettes
4 Trombones 4 Trombones
2 Tubas
Orchestre III Orchestre IV
4 Trompettes 4 Trompettes
4 Trombones 4 Trombones
4 Ophicleides
These numerical indications are only relative, and if the locale permits, one
may double or even triple the entire vocal ensemble, augmenting the instru-
mental ensemble by roughly the same proportions. However, if one has an
immense choir (of say 700–800 voices), one should employ all of them only
in the Dies irae, the Tuba mirum and the Lachrymose, using at most 400 for
the rest of the choral portions. H.B.14
Along with the altoless vocal scoring, this Requiem is somewhat unusual in that it uses one
vocal soloist (tenor) in only one movement (the Sanctus). Ever aware of balance issues, Berlioz
indicates that this solo may be sung by ten tenors if necessary.15
Even is his own day, Berlioz was recognized as a master of orchestration; indeed, his
Grand traité d’instrumentation et d’orchestration modernes (1843) has remained a valuable and
useful text. It is this expertise that explains the frequently spare palette of instrumental color
and the resulting delicacy of sound and extension of the sound mass. Notable examples are the
“Hostias” (scored specifically for three flutes, eight trombones taken from brass bands 3 and 4,
male chorus, and mostly unison string writing) and the “Quid sum miser.” The movement that
represents the complete antithesis of Grande, however, is “Quaerens me sedisti lassus”; Berlioz
sets this simple prayer for an a cappella six-part chorus (SSTTBB) (ex. 13.3).
The series of tonalities encountered in the Requiem (even without referencing the
many internal changes of harmony) can hardly be called classical. Inspection reveals that the
work begins and ends in G (although the beginning of the Agnus is tonally ambiguous). The
Sequence tends toward A minor and its dominant E (the G♯ tonality of the “Quid sum miser”
can be understood either as the mediant tonality of E or an enharmonic tonic (A♭] following
the E♭ major conclusion of “Rex Tremendae”). The Offertory and its verse use an array of keys
extending from A major for the “Lachrymosa” through D to G Major/G minor in the Offertory
before lurching into the D♭ Sanctus before the unsettled harmony of the opening of Agnus Dei
that eventually returns to G minor/G.
Strikingly lacking in variety are most of Berlioz’s choices of tempo and vocal scoring.
Aside from the opening and closing movements that bear the rather unusual (and ambigu-
ous) sign 3 and the 9/8 of the “Lachrymosa,” the preponderant meter is common time or
4/4. The only movement not designated (at least initially) Andante is Dies irae (Moderato),
but this movement eventually adopts the prevailing Andante tempo at “Tuba mirum.” The
only other tempo indication—Allegro non troppo—appears at the beginning of the “Osanna,”
indicating a doubling of the preceding Andante’s pulse. The vocal scoring is similarly lack-
ing in variation. Save for the exclusively male voices in the “Quid sum miser” and “Hostias,”
Berlioz uniformly uses STB (with divisi). Like tonality, however, the scoring within indi-
vidual movements shows considerable variation. In the Sanctus, Berlioz actually composes
an alto part.
The most remarkable aspect of the instrumental scoring is, of course, the four brass
bands, and Berlioz is quite careful to use these sparingly. There is no single movement in
which the brass bands play continuously nor do these forces appear at the beginning of any
movement. Berlioz employs the variety of vocal and instrumental forces to create a canvas
that is unpredictable and always changing. In general he applies color with subtle, small
strokes rather than as broad, dramatic swatches. The full scoring is used to expose the deli-
cate combinations of sonority as the exceptions they are, as well as to emphasize the expan-
sion of the dynamic spectrum and textural contrast one expects to find in the nineteenth
century. Indeed, charting the appearance of the brass bands reveals the larger formal plan
of the Sequence. On the simplest level, the five movements form a rondo-like structure
of alternating loud and soft events. The brass appears twice in the Sequence’s first move-
ment: preceding and during the “Tuba mirum” (mm. 141–77) and again at “Liber scriptus”
(m. 202), from which point it is present until nearly the end of the movement. In the third
movement, “Rex tremendae,” Berlioz initially avoids using brass, despite the text; then they
appear briefly at ne cadant in obscurum (mm. 70–72) and again at the reprise of the opening
text (mm. 88–96). In the “Lachrymosa,” Berlioz withholds the brass bands until the nearly
the end of the movement (mm. 164–200).
The presence or absence of the brass bands creates an audible form within each of
these three movements, as well as providing a shape to the Sequence as a whole. Movements
2 and 3 avoid the brass altogether. “Quid sum miser” exhibits a most unusual accompani-
ment (two English horns, eight trombones, unison low strings), while “Quaerens me” forsakes
instrumental color completely (ex. 13.3). “Quaerens me” is the romantic equivalent of an a cap-
pella Renaissance motet, the critical difference being that Berlioz uses one recurring theme. For
v. 12 (m. 31) he changes to a stile antico Baroque style featuring pairs of entries that form unpre-
pared dissonances. The opening theme and text return (soprano, m. 52, tenor, m. 55 and bass,
m. 59) accompanied by monotonous intonations of v. 14 (“Preces me”) in the bass and then v. 10
(“Quarens me”) in the voices not singing the principal theme. Beginning in m. 68, this same
pair of themes presents vv. 14 (“Qui Mariam absolvisti,” (“; see ex. 13.3) and 15 (“Inter oves locum
praesta”). Berlioz’s rationale for this textual reorganization remains a mystery, but it provides
yet another example of the non-liturgical conception of this Requiem (table 13.5).
Example 13.3 Berlioz: Grande Messe des Morts, Quaerens me, mm. 58–65
Table 13.5 Berlioz, Grande Messe des Morts, Quaerens me, textual re-ordering

Verse mm. Latin text English text
10 1–16 Quaerens me sedisti lassus; Seeking me, you sat down weary;
Redemisti crucem passus; Having suffered the cross, you redeemed me.
May such labor not be in vain.
11 17–30 Tantus labor non sit cassus. Just judge of vengeance,

Juste judex ultionis, Grant the gift of remission
Donum fac remissionis, Before the day of reckoning.
12 31–52 Ante diem rationis. I groan like one who is guilty;

Ingemisco tanquam reus; My face blushes with guilt.
Culpa rubet vultus meus: Spare your supplicant, O God.
Supplicanti parce Deus.
10 + 14 52–67 Preces meae non sunt dignae: My prayers are not worthy,
Sed tu bonus fac benigne, But you, good one, kindly grant
Ne perenni cremer igne. That I not burn forever in hell.
13 + 15 68–84 Qui Mariam absolvisti, You who absolved Mary [Magdalene]

Et latronum exaudisti, And heeded the thief,
Mihi quoque spem dedisti. Have also given me hope.
Berlioz’s use of texture to create formal structure leads to the most intriguing aspect
of the piece—the composer’s willful manipulation of the liturgical text in order to facilitate
this contrast. The real question involves the means by which a given composer creates drama.
For example, Mozart sets the liturgical text as a series of consecutive movements of contrast-
ing character; Berlioz adopts this basic structure but is not content to restrict the dramatic
element to its limitations (key, tempo, scoring, etc.). Berlioz even resorts to some fairly drastic
manipulations of the text to enhance the elements of contrast. Initially, Berlioz seems not to
have transgressed the bounds of propriety. His first two movements contain the first eight
stanzas of text in the normal order (six in mvt. 1, two in mvt. 2). But at the conclusion of the
second movement, Berlioz inserts the seventeenth stanza (Oro supplex), ostensibly because
this stanza is a logical continuation of this movement’s affect. More to the point, the added
text allows Berlioz to write a longer movement without abandoning the contemplative char-
acter that is an essential part of his larger formal design. Less obvious is his rearrangement
of the lines of stanza 8. Any possibility that this was merely a memory lapse is undercut by
Berlioz’s repetition of the eighth verse (with the correct order) in movement 3, which opens
with stanzas 8 and 9, followed by the insertion of a portion of v. 16: Confutatis maledictis [Jesu],
Flammis acribus addictis, Voca me [cum benedictis]. To this text, Berlioz adds the word Jesu (in
lieu of maledictis) and omits the final bracketed text. Berlioz further compounds the problem
of textual integrity by inserting the text et de profundo lacu from the Offertory to conclude the
movement.
Whatever the rationale for his rearrangement and the preceding omissions and inser-
tions of text, Berlioz effectively renders the work unacceptable for liturgical use. But this was not
his goal; he sought instead to create a larger textural and dynamic format within the Sequence,
a template he codified in his later Te Deum, in which the duality was made explicit by the con-
trasting titles Hymne and Prière (without the relocation of liturgical text). Ultimately, Berlioz’s
indifference to the liturgical order and unity of the text, and his decisions about both vocal and
instrumental scoring, were part of one overriding concern—the creation of an overpoweringly
dramatic, extremely personal statement about life, death, and remembrance. Documenting his
textual transgressions does nothing to denigrate the Romantic aesthetic that occasioned these
manipulations.
Giuseppe Verdi—“Manzoni” Requiem

Verdi’s Requiem shares an important feature with Berlioz—both were originally conceived
for state-sponsored funerals. Like Berlioz, whose Requiem was written for one event, pulled,
and then reinstated for another, the final destination of Verdi’s composition is different than
its inception. The death of Gioacchino Rossini (1868) marked the end of a career that was
the embodiment of Italian music. To commemorate the first anniversary of Rossini’s death,
Verdi spearheaded an effort by twelve of Italy’s foremost composers to prepare a compos-
ite Requiem, the so-called Messa per Rossini. Verdi’s task was to compose the “Libera me,”
but the proposed concert failed to materialize.16 While Verdi set his composition aside, he
imagined circumstances that might prompt its completion. On learning of Rossini’s death,
Verdi reportedly lamented: “His reputation was enormous, the most popular in our time and
a glory to Italy! When that other one who is still alive is no more, what will remain?”17 The
“other” to whom Verdi referred was Alessandro Manzoni (1785–1873), the most prominent
Italian literary figure of his day and a man revered by Verdi and other Italian patriots. Alec
Robertson describes the accomplishments of Manzoni, citing a passage from George Martin’s
biography of Verdi:
In 1827, there was no national Italian language; the basis of what ultimately
became one was still a spoken dialect, the Tuscan, descended from the lan-
guage of Dante, spoken in and around Florence. . . . Manzoni chose the
Tuscan dialect as the richest and most beautiful for his novel, but had to
begin with a mixed vocabulary of Lombardy, Tuscan, French and Latin with
made up words derived from one or the other by analogy or extension. In
succeeding editions up to the definitive one of 1840 he substituted more and
more Tuscanisms, which gave rise to the quip that he had “washed his linen
in the Arno.”18
The novel to which Martin refers is I Promessi spossi, Manzoni’s masterpiece and the source of
the modern Italian language; from it, a language (largely Tuscan) emerged that could serve the
entire country. Verdi regarded this literary work as the foundation of Italian nationalism and its
author as a national hero, a champion of the Risorgimento (the nineteenth-century movement
to unite Italy politically). Manzoni’s novel presents a number of themes that resonated in the
imagination of Verdi, the patriot:
1. Lovers kept apart by foreign and unresponsive governments, class conflicts,

and the failures, ultimately moral, of individuals to support just causes;
Figure 13.2 Alessandro Manzoni

2. The theme that society is riddled with injustice and corruption, and what mat-
ters is the individual citizen’s response to such problems;
3. Manzoni’s insistence that men and women often create many of their own
problems by not acting on the reason given to them by God.19
The ultimate moral of I Promessi spossi is one with which Verdi would have been less sympa-
thetic. As an ardent Roman Catholic, Manzoni believed that even when “bad things happen to
good people,” confidence in God would lighten their load and lead to their improvement. For
Verdi, however, such simple trust in God was too simplistic and unreliable. Manzoni may have
been, as Ildebrando Pizzetti believed, the only saint Verdi recognized.20 Writing to the mayor
of Milan to discuss performance of his new Requiem for Manzoni, Verdi makes no mention of
any religious sentiment or adherence to any Christian belief:
I do not deserve any thanks from you or the city authorities for the offer
to write a funeral mass for the anniversary of Manzoni. It is an impulse,
or better said, a heartfelt need that drives me to honor, as best I can, this
Great Man [questo Grande, not Santo] whom I have valued so much as
a writer and venerated as a man [uomo, not santo] . . . whose death has
deprived us all.21
Clearly, Verdi did not have to compose a Requiem or any religious work to honor Manzoni;
other textual options existed, even within Manzoni’s own works. George Martin believes
that Verdi was aware of and acknowledged the precedent established in Paris, the capi-
tol of the musical world, to use the Requiem (as in the case of Cherubini and Berlioz) to
solemnize national mourning.22 And, of course, Verdi had already composed a portion of
the Requiem text five years earlier for the same sort of event—the anniversary of Rossini’s
death. In 1871, two years prior to Manzoni’s death, Verdi indicated that he might finish the
Rossini Requiem on his own, noting that, “with some greater development I would have
the ‘Requiem’ and ‘Dies irae’ completed, their recapitulation already having been written
in the ‘Libera.’”23
The path to consideration of the large-scale structure of Verdi’s Requiem clearly
begins with his recapitulation of text already set in the “Libera me,” the Requiem aeternam
and Dies irae sections appearing both there and at the beginning of the Requiem.24 Most of
the Introit (up to Te decet hymnus) is a transposition of the musical setting of the same text
in the Libera me. An even more extensive quotation (mm. 45–105 of “Libera me”) begins the
Dies Irae. In addition, Verdi twice re-uses portions of this music, inserting that in places
it does not occur liturgically. In the Libera me, these two quotations are in what is reverse
order for the opening of the Requiem, thus creating a symmetrical, arch-like frame for the
entire work.
The first two movements also contain original music written for texts that
do not appear in the “Libera me.” After the quotation that opens the Introit, Verdi uses
pseudo-Palestrinian counterpoint (a cappella!) for Te decet hymnus, after which he repeats
mm. 6–26 verbatim. At the point where, if continued, the chorus would repeat Te decet,
Verdi introduces the soloists for the first time, each declaiming a “Kyrie eleison” to the same
melody in different keys (ex. 13.4).
Figure 13.3 Giuseppe Verdi conducting his Requiem at the Opèra Comique, Paris, 1874
Example 13.4 Verdi: Requiem, Introit, mm. 78–86
As the musical borrowing from Libera me for the Dies irae infer, Verdi’s approach to
the Sequence text is unlike either Mozart’s or Berlioz’s. Though conceived in sections with dif-
ferent key and meter signatures, Verdi’s setting has a through-composed quality, which resem-
bles the unfolding of an operatic scena. The reprises of text and music in the Dies irae attempt
to hold together this large, continuous formal structure. Indeed, its appearances create a loose
but audible formal design:
Dies irae A Reprise I B Reprise II

mm. 1–61 62–228 229–69 270–572 573–600
(mm. 45–105 of Libera me) (89–105) (45–72)
At just over seven hundred measures in length, Verdi’s setting of the Sequence is longer and
more sectional than Mozart’s or Berlioz’s. Between the end of the opening music (m. 61) and the
first reprise (mm. 229–69), Verdi sets vv. 2–6 of the Sequence [A]‌, leaving vv. 7–17 between the
first and second reprise [B], with only the final verse (“Lachrymosa”) concluding the movement.
Even though the amount of text set in the two resulting segments is greatly disproportionate
(five verses opposed to eleven), the musical duration of these segments is less so (176 mm.
in the first and 303 mm. in the second). The first three sections (Dies irae, “Quantus tremor”
and “Tuba mirum”) are continuous and exclusively choral, culminating in a massive, fortissimo
A-major chord, followed by a grand pause. What follows are two settings for solo voices (B and
MS) that form a virtual recitative (B, “Mors stupebit”) and aria (MS, “Liber scriptus”). Even
before the first reprise of the Dies irae music we hear premonitions of its arrival (mm. 191, 213,
and 229).
The design of the music following the first reprise [B]‌is more complex. After the
trio (quid sum miser) comes another choral cataclysm—Rex tremendae majestatis (combining
the chorus and all four soloists for the first time in this movement). Three solo sections that
involve all four of the solo voices follow—“Recordare” (S, MS) and recitative-aria complexes
for tenor (“Ingemisco”/”Qui Maria absolvisti”) and bass (“Confutatis”/”Oro supplex”). The last
of these creates the only rough seam in the entire Sequence, an apparent V–I cadence to E
major/minor being “shouted down” by the return of the G-minor hammer strokes of the Last
Judgment (ex. 13.5). Like the opening music of the Sequence, this reprise literally burns itself
out, growing gradually softer and slower as Verdi prepares the harmonic ground for the heart-
rending B♭-minor melody of the “Lachrymosa” (ex. 13.6).
Example 13.5 Verdi: Requiem, Dies irae, mm. 567–573

Example 13.6 Verdi: Requiem, Dies irae, mm. 624–633
Beyond greater length, segmentation of the text and the use of textual-musical reprise,
another significant difference separates Verdi and Berlioz—the use of soloists. Even though he,
too, was an opera composer, Berlioz uses a single soloist (T) in one movement. Verdi, on the
other hand, makes prominent and virtuosic use of all four solo voices throughout the Requiem.
Curiously, the movement in which Verdi altogether avoids the soloists is the one in which
Berlioz does use a soloist—the Sanctus. Five of the twelve musical divisions of Verdi’s Sequence
(“Mors stupebit,” “Quid sum miser, “Recordare,” “Ingemisco”/”Qui Mariam absolvisti, and
“Confutatis”/”Oro suplex”) are exclusively vocal solos, while the “Liber scriptus” clearly segre-
gates the soloist and chorus. Only in the “Lachrymosa” does Verdi place the chorus and soloists
on relatively equal footing.25 Beyond the Sequence, both the Offertory and “Lux aeterna” are
purely soloistic. Since the Urform of the work—the original “Libera me”—used only one soloist
(soprano), Verdi scores the movement that precedes it (“Lux aeterna”) for the other three (MS, T,
B). The vocal requirements of all of the solo sections are equivalent to the writing found in any
of Verdi’s operas. The Requiem requires singers who possess not only great range and power
but who also have full command of operatic style (portato, affretando, sotto voce, parlando, etc.).
Despite the freedom and individuality required of all the soloists, Verdi expects as much coordi-
nation and precision in their ensemble passages as those of the chorus.26 It is difficult to single
out any single solo section as outstanding or representative, but the soprano entrance at “Sed
signifer sanctus Michael” (ex. 13.7) must rank as one of the work’s more sublime moments.
The remaining music of the original Messa per Rossini used in Verdi’s Requiem is the
large fugue that completes the 1868 “Libera me.” What makes this music amazing is Verdi’s use
of a texture that we don’t usually associate with him—that of the fugue. The principal theme
of the “Libera me” fugue (ex. 13.8a) first appears in the choral altos in C minor, marked Allegro
risoluto in tempo alla breve.27 The theme appears in each voice on either C (alto and bass) or
G (soprano and tenor), entering at intervals of precisely four measures, punctuated by a full
orchestral V–I cadence. The soprano entrance over the continuing music of the alto masks the
fact that the alto part is also thematic, forming a countertheme sung by each voice (ex. 13.8b).
Thus, the soprano in mm. 193–207 is an exact transposition of the preceding alto segment
(mm. 186–200), and so forth.
Example 13.7 Verdi: Requiem, Offertorio, mm. 62–71
Example 13.8 Verdi: Requiem, Libera me
(a) mm. 179–186
(b) mm. 186–207

What initially appears to be a stretto by inversion involving bass (m. 207ff.) and soprano
(m. 209ff.) dissolves into a sequence that assumes formal importance throughout the move-
ment (ex. 13.9). Verdi follows this with a second group of entries that maintain the theme’s regu-
larity and interval of separation, but not its key. Beginning with the soprano (m. 219), this series
of entrances initially transits the circle of fifths (soprano on G, alto on C, tenor on F); the bass
entrance breaks this continuity by coming in early on E♭ (m. 227). The circle of fifths progres-
sion resumes with the ascending tenor entry on G (m. 227) and the bass’s descending variant (C
dominant-ninth arpeggio, m. 231), which Verdi then makes the subject of a new sequence dis-
guised as an apparent soprano fugal entry on F (m. 233). What at first seems to be another state-
ment of the fugue theme turns out to be a melody comprised of three, descending arpeggiated
ninth chords on G, F, and E♭ (ex. 13.10). The fourth soprano statement is a variant of the original
fugue subject, now in the key of B major (thanks to the enharmonic equivalence of E♭ and D♯).
Example 13.9 Verdi: Requiem, Libera me, mm. 213–219
Example 13.10 Verdi: Requiem, Libera me, mm. 233–246
Eventually, this contrapuntal development cadences to an A♭ dominant seventh

in m. 276; this chord (the dominant of the C minor tonic’s flattened second degree [D♭],
“Neapolitan”) initiates a treacherous enharmonic modulation based on a stepwise harmonic
sequence through the circle of fifths (featuring the melodic progression “sol–la–ti–do” in dif-
ferent keys and voices). Beginning at m. 284, Verdi pulls off a compositional tour de force,
combining all of the preceding sequences into a single melody. Arriving on the dominant (G
major) in m. 310 (with fermata!), Verdi pivots into the most rigorous counterpoint in the work,
a series of three choral strettos on a theme comprised of the opening notes of the original
fugue subject and the “sol-la-ti-do” figure heard so prominently beginning in m. 276. On closer
inspection, one realizes that the tonally similar pairs (B/A, T/S) are a double canon, which
Verdi promptly repeats a fifth higher (m. 319ff.) on G and C. The third stretto/canon (scored
for four soloists per part, sotto voce) merges effortlessly into a statement of the sequence first
heard in m. 262. Essentially, the movement is complete but for a coda built on the sequential
repetition of two familiar melodies, interrupted by one last “death throe”—the development of
the diminished-seventh chord that culminates in m. 382 with a tutta forza climax featuring the
by-now-familiar sequence. Having had the bang, the movement (and the work) concludes with
a whispered prayer for deliverance—Libera me Domine de morte aeterna in illa die tremendo (Free
me, O Lord, from eternal death on this momentous day).
The narrative description of this one movement reveals just how high Verdi’s regard
for Rossini was.28 The compositional mastery and depth of feeling evoked by Rossini’s death
are undeniable. That this same fervor could be marshaled for a similar purpose (but a different
person) five years later is as much a tribute to Verdi’s nationalism and regard for Manzoni as it
is a testament to his compositional prowess.
Summary of the Latin Requiems

The three Latin Requiems examined here provide a neat chronological overview of the succeed-
ing compositional generations (1791–1836–1873). All of those works were composed to com-
memorate a specific person on specific occasions that have less to do with liturgical tradition
than with public celebration, a commonality that tells us much about the declining role of
music in the church. These three composers are primarily occupied with opera, and this preoc-
cupation manifests itself in their common concern with how the words could be set to greatest
dramatic effect. While the specifics of their individual approaches vary, each composer consid-
ers what the text means to him and his time; each is forced to grapple with the nebulous region
in which personal religious experience and dramatic utterance intersect. These works each
reflect a different attitude toward the inherited liturgical text on the part of their composer. In
truth, none of these composers can be reckoned profoundly religious in the orthodox sense;
this realization explains, at least in part, each composer’s judgments about the segmentation,
even rearrangement of the inherited (though apparently not sacrosanct) text. At the same time,
each composer had to come to grips with that most central question of all—what lay beyond
death?—in his own unique way.
Johannes Brahms—Ein Deutsches Requiem, op.45

Chronologically, Brahms’s German Requiem preceded Verdi’s; its discussion after Verdi’s has
little, if anything, to do with chronology. Brahms called his work a Ein Deutsches Requiem, rais-
ing the questions of what constituted its Germanness and how that quality affected the work
musically. There are no French or Italian Requiems, because composers in those countries
were still at least nominally Roman Catholic and set the traditional Latin liturgical text. Perhaps
Brahms’s use of the vernacular in Lutheran Germany signified the split between Catholicism
and Protestantism (as Luther’s Deutsche Messe clearly did) that had occurred over three centuries
before its composition.
Nonetheless, the title surely refers to more than the choice of a German text. A promi-
nent feature that distinguishes emerging Protestantism from a predominantly Catholic Europe
is its use of vernacular language; to that extent, Brahms’s use of German reflects that histori-
cal reality.29 But the rift between Protestantism and Catholicism is as much political as con-
fessional, and the same may be said regarding the nature of Brahms’s composition. Just as
the Triumphlied (op. 55) or the Fest- und Gedenksprüche (op. 110) reflects an emerging German
nationalism that interprets scripture in light of the current Weltanschauung, Brahms’s Requiem
is a unique expression of both contemporary German theology and culture.30 If the Sequence
with its description of the terror of those facing purgatory and the Last Judgment, dominates
the Latin Requiem, Brahms’s selection of biblical texts (in Luther’s German translation) empha-
sizes “comforting” the bereaved more than ransoming the departed. Jan Swafford states that
“The central message of Ein deutsches Requiem is in its first lines: ‘Blessed are they that mourn,
for they shall be comforted.’ Brahms wrote his Requiem to bless those left living in the world,
not the dead. The work aspires to comfort those who mourn. And it has done that through the
Table 13.6 Brahms, Ein deutsches Requiem, op. 45, texts and sources

Texts Biblical Sources
1. Selig sind die da Leid tragen, denn sie sollen getröstet werden. Mt 5:4
Die mit Thränen säen werden mit Freuden ernten. Sie gehen hin und weinen hin, Ps 126:5–6
und tragen edlen Samen, und kommen mit Freuden und bringen ihre Garbe.
2. Denn alles Fleisch ist wie das Gras und alle Herrlichkeit des Menschen wie das 1 Pet 1:24
Grasses Blumen. Das Gras ist verdorret und die Blume abgefallen.
So seid ihr Geduldig, lieben Brüder, bis auf die Zukunft des Herrn. Siehe, ein Jas 5:7
Ackermann wartet auf die köstliche Frucht der Erde und ist geduldig darüber, bis
er empfahe den Morgenregen und Abendregen.
Aber des Herrn Wort bleibet in Ewigkeit. 1 Pet 1:25
Die Erlöseten des Herrn werden wiederkommen und gen Zion kommen mit Isa 35:10
Jauchzen; ewige Freude wird über ihrem Haupte sein. Freude und Wonne
werden sie ergreifen und Schmerz und Seufzen wird weg müssen.
3. Herr, lehre doch mich, dass ein Ende mit mir haben muss, und mein Leben ein Ps 39:5–8
Ziel hat, und ich davon muss,
Siehe, meine Tage sind einer Handbreit vor Dir, und mein Leben ist wie
nichts vor dir.
Ach, wie gar nichts sind alle Menschen, die doch so sicher leben. Sie gehen dahin
wie ein Schemen und machen ihnen viel vergebliche Unruhe; sie sammeln und
wissen nicht wer es kriegen wird. Nun, Herr, wess soll ich mich trösten?
Ich hoffe auf Dich.
Der Gerechten Seelen sind in Gottes Hand und keine Qual rühret sie an. Wis 3:1
4. Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen, Herr Zebaoth! Meine Seele verlanget und Ps 84:2–3, 5
sehnet nach den Vorhöfen des Herrn; mein Leib und Seele freuen sich in dem
lebendigen Gott. Wohl denen, die in deinem Hause wohnen; die loben dich
immerdar.
5. Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit; aber ich will euch wieder sehen und euer Herz soll sich Jn 16:22
freuen und eure Freud soll niemand von euch nehmen.
Sehet mich an: Ich habe eine kleine Zeit Mühe und Arbeit gehabt und haben Sir 51:35
grossen Trost funden.
Ich will euch trösten, wie einen seine Mutter tröstet. Isa 66:13
6. Denn wir haben hie keine bleibende Statt, sondern die Zukünftige suchen wir. Heb 13:14
Siehe, ich sage euch ein Geheimnis: Wir werden nicht alle entschlafen, wir werden 1 Cor 15:51–55
alle verwandelt werden; und dasselbige plötzlich, in einen Augenblick, zu der
Zeit der letzten Posaune. Denn es wird die Posaune schallen und die Toten
werden auferstehen unverweslich, und wir werden verwandelt werden. Dann
wird erfüllet werden das Wort, das geschrieben steht: Der Tod ist versclungen in
den Sieg. Tod, wo ist dein Stachel? Hölle, wo ist dein Sieg?
Herr, du bist würdig zu nehmen Preis und Ehre und Kraft, denn du hast alle Dinge Rev 4:11
geschaffen und durch deine Willen haben sie das Wesen und sind geschaffen.
7. Selig sind die Toten, die in dem Herren sterben von nun an. Ja, der Geist spricht Rev 14:13
dass sie rühn von ihrer Arbeit; denn ihre Werken folgen ihnen nach.
generations since it was first sung in Bremen.”31 To that end, Brahms assembled a collection of
texts from Luther’s translation of the Bible.
It is significant that Brahms’s text completely omits any reference to Jesus. Indeed, this
omission strained the otherwise strong friendship between the composer and Karl Reinthaler,
then music director of Bremen Cathedral, who supervised the choral preparation for the first
performance (Good Friday, April 10, 1868). Clearly concerned about this omission, Reinthaler
wrote to Brahms suggesting that the omission of overtly Christian texts be redressed. Brahms’s
response is both typical and fascinating:
As far as the text is concerned, I confess that I would gladly omit even the
word German and instead use Human; also with my best knowledge and will,
I would dispense with places like John 3:16. On the other hand, I have one
thing or another because I am a musician, because I needed it, and because
with my venerable authors I can’t delete or dispute anything.32
Brahms’s statement that he cannot conscience deleting any of the scriptural texts hints, some-
what obliquely, that references to the resurrection remain in the text, despite any personal antip-
athy he might have toward them. Swafford observes that the end of Brahms’s Requiem is less
about resurrection of the dead than the rest from their labors they have obtained.33
Brahms’s Requiem also consciously references historical German composers whose
music Brahms studied and performed. The most obvious association is to Heinrich Schütz,
specifically his Musikalisches Exequien, which combines hymn texts (and melodies) and
scripture (selected by Prince Heinrich Posthumous von Reuss-Gera, who commissioned it).
Among these texts is one (Der Gerechten Seelen sind in Gottes Hand und keine Qual rühret
sie an) that appears in Brahms’s Requiem. This might be coincidence were it not for the
following facts:
1. The dedicatee of Brahms’s motets, op.74, is Philipp Spitta, a friend of Brahms,

who, in addition to his famous biography of Johann Sebastian Bach, also edited
the first edition of the works of Heinrich Schütz.34
2. As Virginia Hancock has convincingly shown, Brahms was not only aware of
Schütz’s music but also included works by him in choral concerts that he con-
ducted (the most notable example being Saul, Saul, was verfolgst du mich).35
3. In his Requiem Brahms used other texts set by Schütz. These include Selig
sind die Toten and Die mit Thränen säen (both included in Geistliche Chormusik,
1648) and Psalm 84, Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen (Psalmen Davids, 1619).
Siegfried Kross indicates that Robert Schumann also had plans to write a “German Requiem.”36
If so, Schumann’s motivation had little if anything to do with Schütz; but, as Kross notes, it
is equally unlikely that Brahms knew anything of Schumann’s plan (although if he had, that
would constitute another “Germanism” and also a motivation similar to Verdi’s Requiem). For
these reasons, it is arguable that Brahms’s use of these texts also set by Schütz constitutes a kind
of homage to one of his most important predecessors.
Historical reference in the German Requiem is, by no means, restricted to Schütz.
There are many references to the choral music of the two most prominent German compos-
ers of the eighteenth century—Bach and Handel.37 The choral conclusions to movements 2
and 6 are reminiscent of the style of Handel’s “Coronation Anthems,” while the pedal-point
fugue that concludes movement 3 points securely to Sebastian Bach, but there are also
notable similarities to another great German composer of the next era—Ludwig van
Beethoven. No one who knows the “Et vitam venturi” fugue of the Missa Solemnis can
help but notice a strong similarity between its countertheme and syncopated rhythms in
Brahms’s pedal-point fugue. Nor can one overlook the strong similarity between the Finale
of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and the diminished-seventh chord triplets played by the
woodwinds earlier in the third movement to accompany those forlorn words Nun Herr, wess
soll ich mich trösten?
An aspect of Brahms’s Requiem that does perhaps allow comparison with the Latin
Requiems is its linkage to the life of a famous person. There is considerable scholarly belief
that Brahms first decided to compose a Requiem in memory of his mentor, Robert Schumann,
who died in 1856. The specific focus of this conjecture involves the genesis of the second
movement. In February 1856, Schumann, in the grips of a terrible depression, attempted
suicide by jumping off a bridge into the Rhine River. Shortly thereafter, Brahms produced
the draft of a Sonata in D minor for two pianos (perhaps to be performed by Brahms and
Schumann). The work underwent several transformations—first a symphony, then a piano
concerto. Jan Swafford recounts this process, as reconstructed from Brahms’s correspon-
dence with Clara Schumann:
Inspired . . . he decided to rework the D minor two-piano sonata/symphony

into a concerto. In the process he would keep only the first movement, retool-
ing it as necessary, hold back the minor-key scherzo (it would be recycled in
Ein deutsches Requiem), and compose a new finale. For a year now he had been
pounding away at this intractable mass of material. Making a completed piano
concerto out of it took three years more.38
If music composed in reaction to the attempted suicide and eventual death of Schumann
marks the inception of the German Requiem, the death of Brahms’s mother, Christiane, on
February 2, 1865, was the catalyst for its completion. Returning to Vienna after her funeral,
Brahms began to sketch a “so-called Deutsches Requiem,” which he sent to Clara Schumann
in 1865. In April 1865, Brahms mailed her the sketch of movement 4, Wie lieblich sind deine
Wohnungen, with this comment: “It’s probably the least offensive part. . . . But since it may
have vanished into thin air before you come to Baden, at least have a look at the beautiful
words. . . . I hope to produce a sort of whole of the thing and trust I shall retain enough cour-
age and zest to carry it through.”39
Following a concert tour in the first months of 1866, Brahms visited Julius Allgeyer
in Karlsruhe where he finished movements 2 and 3, and showed them to the work’s even-
tual publisher, J. M. Rieter-Biedermann. In June, Brahms rented a house on the slopes of the
Zürichberg, where he likely finished the fourth and fifth movements.40 The inscription on the
autograph score—“Baden-Baden, in summer 1866”—indicates completion of the work there
during a stay with Clara and her family. By year’s end, Brahms was back in Vienna searching
for a venue in which to give his new work its premiere. Eventually, an offer came from Bremen
for a performance in the cathedral on Good Friday (1868). Prior to the premiere, the Gesellschaft
der Musikfreunde, under the direction of Johann Herbeck, performed the first three movements
(December 1, 1867). The reaction was generally favorable, but the music critic Eduard Hanslick
criticized the scoring of movement 3’s conclusion:
While the first two movements of the Requiem, in spite of their somber grav-
ity, were received with unanimous applause, the fate of the third movement
was very doubtful. . . . During the concluding fugue of the third movement
[“Der Gerechten Seelen sind in Gottes Hand”], surging above a pedal point on
D, [one] experienced the sensations of a passenger rattling through a tunnel
in an express train.41
As a result of Hanslick’s criticism (already voiced by Clara Schumann the previous summer),
Brahms went back to the drawing board, even seeking the advice of his old teacher, Eduard
Marxsen. While we don’t know what (if any) specific advice Marxsen gave, the manuscript score
shows considerable revision of the orchestration. What had once been so fully scored that the
timpanist felt obliged to play his low D loudly throughout was now shorn of many earlier instru-
mental doublings. The specific instruction piano ma ben marcato (soft, but well marked) was
also added to the timpani part. Nonetheless, the management of dynamics here remains a
significant problem.
Karl Reinthaler’s request that Brahms add some “Christian” text for the Good Friday
premiere in Bremen resulted in a performance of “I know that my Redeemer liveth” from
Handel’s Messiah by Amalie Joachim, the wife of Joseph Joachim.42 A later insertion was
“Agathe’s aria” (Wie nahte mir die Schlummer) from Weber’s opera Der Freischütz (presum-
ably as an appropriate substitute for performances not given in churches).43 This substi-
tution suggests that it was perhaps less the omission of a specifically Christian reference
than the need for another solo vocal color that the program needed. Swafford suggests that
Eduard Marxsen recommended that Brahms include a soprano solo movement in the final
version of the Requiem.44 Whatever the reason, Brahms retired to his father’s house in
Hamburg where he composed a new movement, inserted between the original fourth and
fifth movements.
The addition of this movement changed the tonal design of the work as it had been
premiered in Bremen. The tonalities of movements 1–3 outline a B♭ triad (IV in F major), fol-
lowed by E♭ major (the I to B♭’s V or a resolution of VII–I from the end of movement 3). The
original fifth movement is in C minor (the “relative minor” of E♭) and its parallel mode, C major,
which serves as V to the return to the tonality (and eventually the music) of the work’s opening.
Given this structure, the only place to insert a new movement/tonality is between the original
IV and V, and the only key that follows the model of the original is G, which, taken with its
flanking movements creates the (minor) dominant triad of F major. The result is a progression
of triads representing B♭ (I–III), C (IV–VI), and F (VII), tonalities that create a IV–V–I cadence
in F major.
On a secondary level, nearly all of the movements feature modulation to the mediant
(III) or submediant (VI) key as the primary tonal digression. In addition to this extended web
of tonal relationships, there is an even larger network of derivative themes. Michael Musgrave
points to the melody of the opening choral entry (the “selig” theme) as a kind of Leitmotif under-
lying the entire composition (exx. 13.11a–f).45
Example 13.11 Brahms: Ein deutsches Requiem, op.45

(a) 1, mm. 15–16
(b) 2, mm. 244–246
(c) 3, mm. 173–174
(d) 4, mm. 4–8
(e) 6, mm. 208–212
(f ) 7, mm. 2–6
The sheer number of times this motive occurs strongly suggests conscious planning rather
than melodic coincidence. An even more intriguing coincidence is the reproduction of this
same pitch class in the tonal centers of movements 2 through 4: B♭–D–E♭.
In the final analysis, the German Requiem is typically Brahmsian in its approach to
formal construction. No two movements (with the obvious exception of the reprise of material
from movement 1 at the end of movement 7) are alike in terms of structure, color, or function;
each movement has its own logic, which seems to arise from the uniqueness of its particular
text. In a way, then, Brahms’s compilation of the text is an intrinsic part of the act of composi-
tion. This self-evident statement is affirmed by Brahms’s reply to Reinthaler’s request that he
insert a more Christian text for the work’s premier on Good Friday. Unlike the Latin Requiem,
the texts of which are liturgically defined and not open to change (Berlioz notwithstanding!),
Brahms chooses here to assemble those texts that convey what he personally feels about death
and grieving. He acts less out of regard for liturgical or historical convention than out of a
deeply felt, nineteenth-century German Romantic mixture of mystical piety and Weltschmerz.
Assuming the role of “librettist” (Textdichter), Brahms aligns himself clearly with his German
musical ancestor Johann Sebastian Bach who similarly refused to accept any text as a “given,”
opting instead to make his own unique synthesis of texts—biblical, poetic, and hymnic. In
this respect Brahms also reminds us of Schütz’s philosophy of text expression: once the text is
chosen, every aspect of it—sound, rhythm, and meaning—become the necessary foundation
of his composition. Finally, the central message of this Requiem is directed to those mourning
the loss of a loved one, an expression of Luther’s central theological concept of Trost (Comfort).
In these respects, Brahms’s Requiem is truly a German Requiem, aware of its historical models
and cultural icons.
14
Sacred Choral Music from Mozart to Liszt
S acred music composed during the nineteenth century comprises a substantial portion of
the modern chorus’s repertory. Much of this repertory was conceived as much for concert
performance as for the divine service. Protestantism per se is no longer the dynamic force it had
been during the Baroque Era. Beginning in the late eighteenth-century, the preeminent com-
posers of church music of any stripe were Roman Catholic—Pergolesi, Fux, Caldara, Haydn,
Mozart, Schubert, Bruckner, and Liszt. Having examined the Mass tradition in the late eigh-
teenth and nineteenth centuries, we now examine sacred choral works of smaller dimensions
and pretense.
As in their Masses, Classical composers were more concerned with formal (i.e., tonal)
structure than expressive text setting. Settings of Tenebrae factae sunt by Johann Ernst Eberlin
(1702–62) and Johann Michael Haydn (1737–1806) were notable exceptions to those composi-
tions that either consciously evoked the past in stile antico or embraced the new instrumental
style. The importance of formal structure is evident in a piece like Mozart’s Regina coeli, K. 276.
In m. 80, Mozart begins a second setting of the four line text, not simply to generate a longer
piece but because his sense of formal structure required it. The result is two musical sections
of nearly identical length. By m. 15, Mozart has already modulated to the dominant (G), where
he remains until the opening text returns.1 This reprise involves not only the text but also his
musical setting of it, where it behaves like any recapitulation in that the music originally heard
in the dominant now appears in the tonic key.
395
At first blush, there seems to be no literal correspondence between the two large sec-
tions, even if they set the same text. On the contrary, the first A section (mm. 1–38) is three
times longer than its analogue (mm. 80–91), a discrepancy that results from Mozart’s decision
to avoid the distinctive opening in favor of the second setting of the text (mm. 15–26). The
music of this recapitulation, (mm.80–156) corresponds nearly measure for measure to its initial
presentation. Mozart stops his literal repetition after eleven measures in order to avoid another
modulation to G. A comparison of the two settings of “Quia quem meruisti” reveals the reca-
pitulatory transposition from G major to C major (ex. 14.1).
Example 14.1 Mozart: Regina Coeli (K. 276)

(a) mm. 38–41
(b) mm. 92–95
Formally, the work is a sonata with no development section, a form we commonly call a Sonatina.
Nothing in the liturgy requires this repetition of text, much less the abstract musical notion of
form that occasions it.
Masses, smaller liturgical works, and Vespers polyphony constituted the bulk of the
repertory in Catholic areas of Europe during the later eighteenth century. A steady stream of
composers, most trained in Naples under Alessandro Scarlatti, dominated the major courts
and chapels (especially in Austria and southern Germany), and the death of J. S. Bach certified
the declining vigor of German Protestant church music. As Charles Burney pointed out, there
was a general malaise in European churches that derived in large measure from the changing
role of the Kapellmeister; formerly in charge of church music, these high-ranking musicians
increasingly focused on operatic production. The downward spiral in the quantity and quality
of church music thus coincided with the rise of symphonic music and the devastating effects
on traditional culture by the aftermath of the French Revolution.
Both Catholicism and Protestantism turned inward, looking to the halcyon days
of their musical pasts. Each denomination found retrospective inspiration in the music of
Palestrina and J. S. Bach, their most prominent composers. Palestrina’s eighteenth-century
reputation as a contrapuntist, advanced by the publication of J. J. Fux’s treatise Gradus ad
Parnassum (1725), was transformed by the early Romantics into the “Savior of Church Music,”
an apocryphal attribution that accounted for Cecilianism’s nearly mythic veneration of a
cappella church music. Conversely, Bach’s reputation languished in Germany until a young
devotee rescued his music and historical status by performing his St. Matthew Passion in
1829, a century after its first performance in Leipzig. That devout admirer was the young Felix
Mendelssohn.
Sacred Choral Music, Mozart to Liszt 397
Felix Mendelssohn (1809–47)

Felix Mendelssohn personified the problems that faced composers of church music in the early
nineteenth century.2 Born Jewish but assimilated via conversion into Lutheranism in 1816,
Mendelssohn composed Protestant sacred music willingly. R. Larry Todd has noted the difficulty
of determining whether Mendelssohn was a practicing Jew or whether he composed any music
for the Jewish service.3 On the other hand, there is considerable evidence that Mendelssohn prac-
ticed his adopted religion faithfully, even becoming a follower of the influential Berlin theologian
Friedrich Schleiermacher in 1830.4 Mendelssohn’s active participation in Lutheranism coincided
precisely with his revival of J. S. Bach’s St. Matthew Passion. The zeal of this Lutheran convert
might also explain the series of chorale cantatas he composed at this time: his Aus tiefer Noth
(1830), Ave Maria, and Mitten wir im Leben sind were published as part of Drei Kirchenmusiken,
op. 23 (1832). Another nine cantatas were discovered as recently as the 1980s (table 14.1).
Figure 14.1 Felix Mendelssohn

Table 14.1 Mendelssohn, Chorale cantatas

TITLE DATE
Was Gott will, das g’scheh allzeit 1827
Christe du Lamm Gottes 1827
Jesu, meine Freude 1828
Wer nur den lieben Gott lässt walten 1829
O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden 1831
Vom Himmel hoch 1831
Verleih uns Frieden gnädiglich 1831
Wir glauben all an einen Gott 1831
Ach Gott vom Himmel sieh’ darein 1832
These works (especially Vom Himmel hoch) document Mendelssohn’s knowledge of

Bach’s chorale cantatas (1724–25), in which the hymn’s melody and verses create both solo and
choral movements. Mendelssohn’s fascination with Lutheran hymnody further manifests itself
in his oratorio Paulus (1836), the oratorio fragment Christus, op. 97 (1852), the “Reformation”
Symphony, no. 5, op. 107, the chorale-like melodies in Elijah, op.70, and Lobgesang, op. 52, and
several of his organ sonatas. The well-known chorus “Es wird ein Stern aus Jakob aufgeh’n” from
Christus exemplifies the hymnic character of Mendelssohn’s choral music. This “rising star of
Jacob” prompts a rising melody, the contour of which mimics the chorale Wie schön leuchtet der
Morgenstern, which Mendelssohn reserves for the chorus’s conclusion (exx. 14.2a and b).
Example 14.2 Mendelssohn: Christus, op. 97
(a) mm. 1–5
(b) mm. 80–84
Mendelssohn’s adoration of Bach was balanced by the enormous impression Catholic

church music made on him during his Grand Tour of European capitals. After attending Holy
Week services in Rome (1831), Mendelssohn wrote to his mentor, Carl Friedrich Zelter:
During this silent prayer a deathlike silence prevails in the whole church; pres-
ently the Miserere commences with a soft chord breathed by the voices. . . .
This beginning . . . made the deepest impression on me. For an hour and a
half one voice alone has been chanting; after the pause comes an admirably
constructed chord (this is wonderful) causing everyone to feel in his heart the
power of the music.5
Mendelssohn’s belief in music’s power to move the emotions was enhanced by the atmosphere
of St. Peter’s Basilica, the solemnity of the occasion and music whose very antiquity bestowed
it with an indescribable, mystical power.6 The direct result of this fascination were three Latin
motets for women’s chorus and organ,7 supposedly inspired by hearing the singing of the nuns
of Trinita de Monte in Rome (December 10, 1830).8 Mendelssohn soon began to feature works
by Catholic masters on choral concerts he gave in Düsseldorf. In her study of music as a topic in
German Romantic literature, Linda Siegel cites a letter (dated October 26, 1833) that Mendelssohn
wrote to his sister Rebecca:
I could not find among the music here even one . . . single work of the old
Italian masters . . . so I got into a carriage and drove to Elberfeld where I hunted
out Palestrina’s Impropreria and the Misereres of Allegri and Baini . . . and went
off to Bonn. There I rummaged through the whole library . . . I found some
splendid things and took away with me six Masses by Palestrina and one of
Pergolesi. I found two motets of Lassus in Cologne, one of these . . . we are to
sing in church next Friday.9
Mendelssohn’s fascination with Catholicism resurface when he receives a commission to

compose a piece to celebrate the 600th anniversary of the Feast of Corpus Christi. The result is his
Lauda Sion, op. 73, in which Mendelssohn demonstrates the same faithfulness to Thomas Aquinas’s
text and its Gregorian melody formerly reserved for the Lutheran chorale. Three movements in
particular celebrate the doctrinal significance of the feast by quoting the Lauda Sion sequence (ex.
14.3a). In movement 4, Mendelssohn signifies the ancient covenant that the Eucharist represents
by using a series of vocal canons. In movement 5, the choir sings the plainsong three times in uni-
son (representing the Trinity), his most faithful rendition of the chant (ex. 14.3b). In movement 6,
Mendelssohn turns the chant into the subject of a Baroque-like fugue (ex. 14.3c).
Example 14.3a Láuda Sion Salvatórem
Example 14.3b Mendelssohn: Lauda Sion, op 73, 5, mm. 1–12
Example 14.3c Mendelssohn: Lauda Sion, op. 73, 5, mm. 19–30

Despite Mendelssohn’s long association with the Berlin Sing-Akadamie, its direc-
tors passed him over following Zelter’s death in 1832, choosing instead Zelter’s deputy, Carl
Friedrich Rungenhausen, as the new music director.10 Mendelssohn subsequently left Berlin to
become civic music director for Düsseldorf, a position encompassing leadership of the city’s
orchestra and choral society, in addition to overseeing the music of the city’s churches. This
position came as the result of Mendelssohn’s success as conductor at the Lower Rhine Music
Festival in 1833. The premier of his oratorio Paulus at the same festival in 1836 led to the orato-
rio’s performance in England at the Birmingham Festival; this successful performance insured
Mendelssohn’s role as Haydn’s successor and the new “Continental darling” of the English
musical scene. Mendelssohn’s tenure in Düsseldorf was brief and trying (perhaps owing to the
distractions provided by his English success). In the summer of 1835 he moved to Leipzig, the
city most closely associated with Bach, to become conductor of the famed Leipzig Gewandhaus
Orchestra and music director for the city of Leipzig.
The following year (1836) Mendelssohn accepted King Friedrich Wilhelm IV of Prussia’s
offer of appointment as his Generalmusikdiretor, a position that included conducting the Staats-
und Domchor, the well-known boys’ choir at the cathedral of Berlin.11 Despite the position’s pres-
tige and monetary rewards, Mendelssohn’s duties were ill-defined, resulting in considerable
time spent commuting between Berlin and Leipzig. His compositions for the Domchor con-
sisted of three psalm motets (published as op. 78 in 1849); the Sechs Sprüche, op. 79 (composed
1843–34, published 1848); and sundry chorale harmonizations and short liturgical works.
Each of the three psalms, op. 78—Warum toben die Heiden (Ps 2, December 1843);
Richte mich, Gott (Ps 43, February 1844);and Mein Gott, mein Gott, warum hast du mich verlassen?
(Ps 22, March 1844)—is scored for eight-part a cappella choir.12 Surviving documents indicate
that performances of these works took place during Christmas 1843 (op. 78/1) and Holy Week
1844 (opp. 78/2 and 3). In Richte mich, Gott, Mendelssohn uses antiphonal alternation between
the male and female voices in response to the psalms’ responsorial nature. This antiphony sets
the stage for a luminous homophonic setting of the third verse, Sende dein Licht (mm. 21–29),
followed by the return of the original tonality (D minor), melody, and antiphonal format in a
new meter (3/8) and a new tempo (Andante). For the final verse (Harre auf Gott, denn ich werde
ihm noch danken!) Mendelssohn turns to D major (with a faster tempo) to express the positive
quality of the text.
Despite this success, Mendelssohn soon abandons the motet in favor of psalm canta-
tas reminiscent of Handel’s anthems. The latter group of six compositions (opp. 31, 42, 46, 51
and 91), hardly seems sacred in any liturgical sense; these are, in effect, concert pieces that use
various Psalms as their texts. The last of these, “Hear my prayer, O Lord” (Hör mein Bitten), has
proven popular and durable especially in William Bartholomew’s English paraphrase of Psalm
55.13 Scored for organ and soprano, Bartholomew’s version became a kind of extended anthem;
but in 1847 Mendelssohn returned to the German text and orchestral accompaniment.14 Despite
its position as a “paragon” of English Victorian values, the work met with a tepid reception
in Germany. The popular excerpt, “O for the wings, for the wings of a dove,” revealed the
work’s inherent stylistic problems. The principal solo melody used triplets to symbolize angels
in flight, but when the chorus sings the text the distinctive triplets disappear.
Wie der Hirsch schreit nach frischem Wasser, op. 42 (1838), was far more successful.15
From the nine verses of Psalm 42 Mendelssohn fashioned seven movements and scored the
work for STTBB soli, SATB chorus, and an orchestra of paired winds, brass, timpani, strings,
and organ. This psalm cantata has two large parts (mvts. 1–4 and 5–7) articulated by three
F-major choruses (mvts. 1, 4, and 7) that anchor the formal structure. These choruses frame
pairs of essentially soloistic movements, the second of which adds choral voices (women’s cho-
rus in movement 3 and solo male quartet in movement 6) to the soprano soloist. This formal
device seemingly comes from Mendelssohn’s realization that the same words (Was betrübst du
dich, meine Seele) appear twice in the psalm’s text. This textual repetition prompts a musical
reprise: the theme of movement 4 (ex. 14.4a) reappears verbatim to open the final chorus, in the
same key, meter and tempo as the first.
Example 14.4 Mendelssohn: Wie der Hirsch schreit, op. 42

(a) 4, mm. 1–7
(b) 4, mm. 8–11
(c) 7, mm. 14–17
(d) 7, mm. 48–53
Mendelssohn also re-uses the theme associated with the text Harre auf Gott (exx. 14.4c, and d) in
movements 4 and 7, adding yet another level of formal cohesion between the movements that
close the two major parts of the cantata.
Wie der Hirsch schreit is vintage Mendelssohn, inviting comparison with the chorus
“Baal, we cry to thee!” in Elijah. The two choruses both use compound duple meter (6/4 and
6/8), arpeggiated string writing, harmonic development anchored on the circle of fifths (mm.
36–50 of mvt. 1), and formal structures based on repetition (perhaps remembered from op. 42
when he encountered these same words in Psalm 43, op. 78, no.2). Among Mendelssohn’s last
sacred compositions are another set of three motets for four-part chorus, op. 69: Jauchzet dem
Herrn alle Welt, Herr, nun lässest du deinen Diener in Frieden fahren, and Mein Herz erhebet Gott,
den Herren. Although Mendelssohn originally set these pieces with German texts, Larry Todd
states that Mendelssohn always intended these motets for an English audience:
His chief concern, though, was to dispatch to London the three choral
pieces, which included the Evensong canticles composed in Baden-Baden
[June 12–13, 1847]—“perhaps a little longer & more developed than usual in
your Cathedral style,” Felix commented to Buxton—and the Jubilate Deo for
the Morning Service. The manuscript, published later that year by Buxton,
included an organ part and English text, and thus was intended for Anglican
services; when the Ewer firm brought out the three motets, it reissued the
companion Te Deum at the same time.16
Despite the retention of both German and English words, the Breitkopf & Härtel edition deletes
the organ accompaniment that was de rigueur for English use. These divergent versions offer
additional evidence of Mendelssohn’s distinction between music for English use and that
intended for German churches. Close examination of the bilingual texts leads to the inevitable
conclusion that in some cases Mendelssohn clearly has the English text more in mind than the
German. This problem, which is by no means unique, poses a substantial obstacle to under-
standing Mendelssohn’s sacred music and its performance practice.
Johannes Brahms (1833–97)

While the genesis and intent of Brahms’s impressive output of sacred choral music is differ-
ent than Mendelssohn’s, his motivation is quite similar. Nominally Lutheran, Brahms seems
equally open to the secularism of German Romanticism. History has viewed him as agnostic,
but the reality is much more complex; his ambivalence toward organized religion appeared to
have hindered the prophetic role he might otherwise have played in this area of composition.17
Table 14.2 Brahms’s Sacred Music

op. ♯ DATE TITLE
op. 12 1858/1860–61 Ave Maria
op. 13 1858/1860–61 Begräbnisgesang72
op. 22 1859/1862 Marienlieder
op. 27 1859/1864 Psalm 13 (SSA, org.)
op. 29 1864 Es ist das Heil uns kommen her à 5
Schaffe in mir Gott ein rein Herz à 5
op. 30 1856/1864 Geistliches Lied
op. 37 1865 Drei Geistliche Chöre
op. 45 1865–68 Ein deutches Requiem
op. 74 1878 Warum ist das Licht gegeben?
O Heiland reiss die Himmel auf
op. 109 1890 Fest und Gedenksprüche
op. 110 1890 Drei Motetten
WoO 17 1856 Kyrie à 4
WoO 18 1856 Missa Canonica à 5
Like his secular choral works, Brahms’s sacred music divides easily into both accom-
panied and a cappella works. The accompanied works (opp. 12, 13, 27, and 30) generally appear
earlier (including the Kyrie and Missa canonica, if one concludes that the organ part provided
for the Kyrie is as indispensable as Otto Biba argues and that, by extension, and organ is advis-
able for the remaining movements).18 The majority of motets that form the canon of Brahms’s
sacred repertory are a cappella, ranging from four to eight voices.
The appearance of the earliest compositions (opp. 12, 13, 22, and 27) derived from
his position as pianist and court chorus director at the small court of Detmold (1857–59), a
position Brahms held for only three months of each year (October–December). The other
contributing factor was the Hamburger Frauenchor that Brahms founded and conducted from
1859 to 1861. In Detmold, Brahms made his conducting debut, performing choral music
by Handel, Bach, Palestrina, and other “old” composers, as well as his own compositions.
Following the successful premier of his Concerto in D minor in Hamburg (March 1859),
Brahms attended a reading of his pieces by the Akademie choir conducted by Karl Grädener.19
Contacts made here and a subsequent performance of the Ave Maria (with organ) by the
female members of Grädener’s choir in May 1859 led Brahms to form his own women’s
choir, which gave private concerts at St. Peter’s Church in Hamburg. These concerts fea-
tured performance of the Ave Maria, the first two motets of op. 37 (O bone Jesu and Adoramus
te), several of the Marienlieder, and Psalm 13.20 Of this choir’s important role in Brahms’s
career, Jan Swafford writes:
Here he found the practical experience he needed in writing choral music, and
in conducting. Besides his own pieces, which the girls copied into part-books
decorated with elaborate drawings, he indulged his passion for older music.
In their three years under his direction the women sang music by Bach,
Handel, William Byrd, Hans Leo Hassler, Heinrich Isaac, Palestrina, and
other Renaissance and Baroque masters. In his own works for the Frauenchor,
Brahms donned his Renaissance and volkstümlich (national/folkish) masks, as
in his organ fugues he had composed wearing his own style of Baroque wig.
He possessed the gift of commandeering history without giving up his tem-
perament, his particular musicality.21
In 1859, Grädener’s choir premiered the orchestral version of the Ave Maria (pairs of flutes,
oboes, clarinets, and horns, and a string quintet) and Begräbnisgesang for chorus, winds, and
timpani. Their publication (1860) was followed by an SATB version of the Marienlieder, parts
of the Quartets of opp. 31 and 42, and the motets of op.29—all intended for the Cäcilienverein
in Göttingen, conducted by Julius Otto Grimm. Six of the seven Marienlieder began as pieces
for women’s chorus,22 and Brahms later expanded the cycle to seven pieces in which form the
work was published in 1866. Brahms’s settings are as simple, sweet, and as genuinely folk-like
as are their texts.
The first five verses of Marias Kirchgang are all set in E♭ minor, scored for divided
soprano, alto, and tenor. For the “miraculous” ringing of the bells (vv. 6 and 7) Brahms turns
to the major mode and a bell-like accompaniment that includes the basses (exx. 14.5a and b).
Example 14.5 Brahms: Marienlieder, op. 22, 2
(a) mm. 1–4
(b) mm. 13–17
Better known are the two five-voice motets of op.29, compositions laden with contra-
puntal intricacy and historical references. The first, Es ist das Heil uns kommen her (SATBB),
opens with a simple harmonization of the hymn melody, followed by a chorale motet in the style
of Pachelbel. Pre-imitation of each hymn phrase by the soprano, alto, tenor, and bass prepare
the baritone’s presentation of the chorale in augmentation.
Schaffe in mir, Gott is not only more frequently performed but also more contrapun-
tally complex than op. 22. Brahms sets three verses of Psalm 51 as separate movements, each
with different scoring and contrapuntal devices.23 In the first movement, the soprano and sec-
ond bass sing the same melody as a canon per augmentationem, two soprano statements of the
melody overlying a single presentation in the bass.
Figure 14.2 Johannes Brahms
Example 14.6 Brahms: Schaffe in mir Gott, op. 29, no. 2, 1, mm. 1–12
The second movement is a four-voice fugue, the subject of which (ex. 14.7a) appears in inver-
sion (ex. 14.7b), augmentation and inversion (ex. 14.7c), and is accompanied by a chromatic
countermotive (ex. 14.7d).
Example 14.7 Brahms: Schaffe in mir Gott, op. 29, no. 2, 2

(a) mm. 26–34
(Continued)
(b) mm. 75–80
(c) mm. 60–64
(d) mm. 34–40
The final verse has two distinct sections, which Brahms sets as “prelude” (Andante, 6/4) and
“fugue” (Allegro, 6/4). The prelude uses antiphonal ensembles (SSA vs. TBB) to set the entire
text as three separate sections.24 Hidden within the antiphony is a canon at the seventh below
between the highest and lowest voice of each trio (ex. 14.8).
For the concluding fugue Brahms returns to the original vocal texture (SATBB), although the
opening has only four parts. Eventually, Brahms divides the bass so that at the Animato (m. 126),
the upper three voices imitate the opening fugue theme over a final harmonized entry of the
subject in the bass and baritone (ex. 14.9).
The next major boost to Brahms’s career as choral conductor was his appointment
as director of the Singakademie of Vienna (1863). The first season of Singakademie concerts
featured a mixture of compositions by older masters (Bach, Isaac, Schütz, Gabrieli, and
Eccard), more recent practitioners of the “old” style (Schumann and Mendelssohn), as well
as a substantial dose of Brahms’s own music.25 Despite a three-year contract, Brahms unex-
pectedly resigned in the summer of 1864 without composing a substantial choral work for
this distinguished choir.
Brahms’s life settled into a seasonal pattern—concertizing in the early part of the
year, composing during the summer in isolated resort areas, then polishing the newly drafted
works and preparing for the next round of concertizing in the fall. During the 1860s and 1870s
Brahms added the task of editing publisher’s proofs of his own music and works by other
composers. His acquaintances at this time constituted a veritable “Who’s Who?” of contem-
porary Austrian musicology—the Beethoven scholar Gustav Nottebohm, C. F. Pohl (Haydn),
Otto Jahn (Mozart), Friedrich Chrysander (the editor of the first complete Handel edition, and
Philipp Spitta, the Bach biographer and editor of the complete works of Heinrich Schütz. It
was to Spitta that Brahms dedicated the two op.74 motets—Warum ist das Licht gegeben dem
Mühseligen? and O Heiland reiss die Himmel auf.
The composition of Warum ist das Licht occupied Brahms in the summer of 1877
emerging at roughly the same time as the initial sketches for the Symphony No. 2 in D major.
In a thoughtful letter to Vincenz Lachner, Brahms wrote:
I would have to confess that I am . . . a severely melancholic person, that black
wings are constantly flapping above us, and that in my output—perhaps not
entirely by chance—that symphony is followed by a little essay about the great
“Why.” If you don’t know this [motet] I will send it to you. It casts the neces-
sary shadow on the serene symphony and perhaps accounts for those timpani
and trombones.26
Brahms’s assemblage of biblical texts from Job, Lamentations, and James, along with Luther’s
hymn Mit Fried und Freud reflect this pervasive and profound melancholy.
As Swafford remarks, “He leaves between the lines that neither in the motet’s final
dying cries of Warum? Why?, nor in his heart, did he find any answer to the question.”27 The
torment of this unanswered question first pours forth in the motet’s four exclamations of
“Warum?” as well as its tortuous opening theme (ex. 14.10a).
Example 14.10 Brahms
(a) Warum ist das Licht, op. 74, no. 1, mm. 4–6
Brahms drew this theme from an unpublished Missa canonica (1856), where it was used to set
the words of the Agnus Dei (ex. 14.10b).28
(b) Brahms: Missa Canonica, Agnus Dei, mm. 1–14
Brahms found yet another opportunity to use the Mass in his setting of the motet’s second text,
Lasset uns unsre Herz (exx. 14.11a and b).
Example 14.11 Brahms
(a) Warum ist das Licht, op. 74, no. 1, mm. 1–7
(b) Missa Canonica,Benedictus, mm. 1–9
The brilliance of this auto-parody lies in the Roman Catholic belief that during the Benedictus,
the priest transforms the Host into the Body of Christ (Transubstantiation) by lifting it aloft
(Lasset uns . . . den Händen aufheben zu Gott im Himmel) for God’s blessing. For the ensuing
text (Jas 5:11), Brahms returns to the Mass’s “Dona nobis pacem,” perhaps implying that peace
(and perhaps an answer to “Warum?”) comes only through patience (Siehe, wir preisen selig die
Geduld haben).
In O Heiland reiss die Himmel auf Brahms invokes an array of historical techniques. Like one
of his favorite Bach cantatas (Christ lag in Todesbanden, BWV 4), Brahms creates a set of chorale varia-
tions on O Heiland reiss die Himmel auf, an old German advent hymn by Friedrich Spee (1591–1635).
As he had done in op.29, no.1, here Brahms uses the hymn melody as a cantus firmus (table 14.3).
In the first two verses, all aspects of the chorale melody are identical; the tenor version
(v. 3) adds triplets to embellish its cadences. In v. 4, Brahms places the melody in the bass,
pitched a fourth lower and chromaticized. Although it retains the hymn melody’s contour, v. 5
Table 14.3 Brahms, O Heiland reiss die Himmel auf, hymn placement

Verse Voice Location Key signature Meter Tempo
1. S mm. 3–18 F (3 flats) 3/2 Tempo giusto
2. S mm. 20–36 F (3 flats) 3/2
3. T mm. 36–56 F (3 flats) 3/2
4. B mm. 57–73 C (3 flats) 2/2 Adagio
5. S mm. 76–94 F (3 flats) 4/4 Allegro

seems freely composed due to Brahms’s use of a canon in inversion between soprano and
bass. The concluding “Amen” involves all four parts in pairs (S/B, A/T) in the same canonic
construction. Another historical quirk is Brahms’s deliberate use of a modal signature. The
music frequently sounds like F minor but has three flats, indicating transposed Dorian mode.
In the final two verses numerous D♭s create an ambivalent bimodality (F Dorian vs. F minor
and A♭ Lydian vs. A♭ major). The existence of such an antiquarian device in an opus dedicated
to Philipp Spitta can hardly be viewed as coincidental. At least another decade transpired before
Brahms returned to the composition of motets. In the late 1880s, he composed two groups of
three motets—op.109 (Fest- und Gedenksprüche) and op.110. Despite its higher opus number,
op. 110 was actually composed first, in the summer of 1889. Five of the six motets (all of op. 109
and op. 10, nos.1 and 3) use double chorus (SATB/SATB), while the second motet of op. 110
is scored for four voices. In the second and third motets—Ach arme Welt (anonymous) and
Wenn wir im höchsten Nöten sein (Paul Eber)—Brahms sets hymn texts. The first (Ich aber bin
elend) features texts from Psalms and Exodus so seamlessly combined that one is unaware that
Exodus text is actually interpolated between the two halves of Psalm 69:29. This seamlessness
works because both texts contain nearly the same words; each phrase of the Exodus text begins
with the words Herr, Herr Gott, nearly the same text (Gott, Herr Gott) that opens the second half
of the psalm verse. Brahms plays on this similarity both to disguise the textual rearrangement
and to create formal unity.
Aurally, the motet has two distinct parts, each with a different texture, a separation
highlighted by fermata (m. 16) and key change (E minor to G major). Brahms presents the
same melody twice using distinctive textural groupings—first in the sopranos with TTBB
accompaniment, then the basses take over accompanied by a contrapuntal descant in trebles
(exx. 14.12a and b).
Example 14.12 Brahms: Ich aber bin elend, op. 110, no. 1

(a) mm. 1–6
(b) mm. 10–15
The two melodies relate as subject and answer, the soprano melody outlining the authentic
octave E′–E′′, the basses the plagal octave, B–B.
The second section is considerably longer than the first (36 mm. vs. 16 mm.) due
largely to the combination of the Exodus text and the completion of the Psalm. Brahms sets
these two texts as two nearly equal musical sections (mm. 17–33 and 34–72), which are roughly
equivalent to the length of the A section. Brahms highlights his division of the second seg-
ment as he did the first, by a change of vocal texture. In mm. 17–33 the eight voices act as a true
double chorus, the second choir repeating the text Herr, Herr Gott. A distinct change of tonality
(C major) and texture (the two choirs effectively become one mass of sound) occurs in m. 33
where Psalm 69:29 resumes. Brahms ingeniously takes advantage of this textural similarity to
smooth things over. The first part of the second section (mm. 17–33) opens with the Herr, Herr
Gott motive, first sung by the sopranos of choir 1 (ex. 14.13a),, then passes to choir 2, where it
appears in different voices for each repetition (ex. 14.13b). But the real marvel is the way Brahms
assimilates this motive into the imitation that concludes the motet. Brahms seamlessly joins
the two halves of section 2 together by using that same motive as part of the motet’s conclusion,
Gott, deine Hilfe schütze mich (ex. 14.13-c).
Example 14.13 Brahms: Ich aber bin elend, op. 110, no. 1

(a) mm. 17–18
(b) mm. 18–25
(c) mm. 33–44

The second motet, Ach, arme Welt, presents three hymn verses in modified strophic form. For
the third motet Brahms uses four verses of the hymn Wenn wir in höchsten Nöten sein, varying
the choral texture to reflect the changing text. The four verses form pairs using different meters
(4/4 vs. 3/4), characters, and textures.
Although there is no known specific event to explain the genesis of op. 110, the Fest- und
Gedenksprüche, op. 109 (Festal and Memorial Aphorisms) were composed in response to receiving
the Freedom of Hamburg in 1889. This singular honor had been awarded to only twelve individu-
als prior to Brahms, the two directly preceding him being the Prussian general Helmut von Motke
and the chancellor of Germany, Otto von Bismarck. To express his gratitude, Brahms composed
three double-choir motets, conducting the Cäcilieverein of Hamburg at their premiere. Though
biblical, the texts imply a less than subtle nationalistic link between the new German state and
Old Testament Israel. Jan Swafford notes that Brahms relished this feat of textual slight of hand:
He took a sneaking pride, though, in his juggling of the biblical text in one of
the new choruses [Op. 109, no. 2]. In his setting, he makes a sentence from St.
Luke, “When a strong man armed keeps his palace, his goods are in peace,”
evoke the German nation under the firm hand of Prussia and the Kaiser.
Meanwhile he knew perfectly well that in the Bible the “strong man” of those
verses is actually Satan. This chicanery he described playfully in a letter to
Josef Widmann as “theological, even Jesuitical subtlety.”29
Brahms was probably unaware that both of the texts from Luke (op. 109, no. 2) were antiphons
in the Catholic liturgy.30
The motet Wenn ein starker Gewappneter typifies the opus in its scoring (eight-part chorus)
and form (ABA). Brahms creates a ternary design by repeating the first section’s text and music
(mm. 1–28) as the motet’s conclusion (mm. 59–84). The middle section (B) is not so tightly knit,
wending through various styles and keys as Brahms paints the descriptive text “one house falling
over the next.” The antiphonal writing of the A section verifies that Brahms knew the double-choir
motets of both Heinrich Schütz and Johann Sebastian Bach. Declamatory passages like so bleibet das
Seine (mm. 12–15) are particularly reminiscent of Schütz, while the opening antiphony, Brahms’s
setting of the conjunction aber that precedes the middle section and the “waterfall” of imitative
entrances for und ein Haus fallet über das andere (“one house falling over the next”) in choir 2, mm.
40–43, more clearly reference the motets of Bach. In fact, this setting of aber, so different from the
setting found in the German Requiem (mvt. 2, mm.198–99), bears a striking resemblance to a
similar gesture in the opening chorus of Bach’s cantata BWV 21, Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis, a work
Brahms conducted in both Detmold and Vienna (exx. 14.14a and b).31
Example 14.14 (a) Brahms: Wenn ein starker Gewappneter, op. 109, no. 2, mm. 29–30

(b) Bach: BWV 21, 1, m. 38
As wonderful as Brahms’s sacred music is, its position vis-à-vis his complete body of
music is somewhat peripheral, reflecting the declining role of those institutions (both sacred
and secular) that had led Bach (and to a lesser extent Schütz) to write so many choral composi-
tions. Brahms’s personal distance from the tenets and institutions of established religion in
Germany did nothing to ameliorate the situation. Even when offered the opportunity to con-
tribute music for the “academic worship services” instituted at Strasbourg by Friedrich Spitta
in 1887, Brahms declined.32
Among those who responded to Spitta’s request were the undisputed leaders of a
revitalization of German Protestant church music—Brahms’s friend and pupil Heinrich von
Herzogenberg (1843–1900), Arnold Mendelssohn (1855–1936), and Max Reger (1873–1916). Each
of these composers responded to Dr. Spitta’s encouragement, producing new music for his
revamped services. Herzogenberg, though Catholic like Reger, composed oratorios (Die Geburt
Christi, 1895, Die Passion, 1896. and Erntefeier, 1899) to Spitta’s librettos. An even more direct con-
nection to Spitta was Herzogenberg’s Liturgische Gesänge für Chor a cappella für die akademischen
Gottesdienste zu Strassburg, i. e. componiert, opp. 81, 92, 99 (1894–97). Herzogenberg set forth his
conception of church music in an essay about Brahms (“The Relation of Johannes Brahms to
Protestant Church Music”) in which he argued that sacred music should be “written specifically
for a worship service in a specified form or, at least, so that it can be inserted without difficulty.”33
Arnold Mendelssohn (a distant relative of Felix) was especially interested in a cap-
pella choral music for the worship service. The products of this interest are the early collec-
tions Geistliche Tonsätze, op. 32 (five four-part settings of chorales) and 16 kirchliche Lieder und
Motetten (chorales settings for treble chorus arranged according to the liturgical year). His most
significant work,—14 Motetten für das Kirchenjahr, op. 90 (1924)—was a collection of eight-part
motets dedicated to the city of Leipzig. Given that dedication, his dependence on two other
contributors to the city’s illustrious musical heritage (Heinrich Schütz and Johann Sebastian
Bach) was hardly surprising. Late in his life, Mendelssohn made the following observation
about music for the contemporary church:
Today, of course, because newly awakened religious feeling is seeking an out-

let, artists find themselves temporarily obliged to emulate the old religious
music (which undoubtedly is more substantial than the insincere music cur-
rently popular), in order to find a way to that point where an original style of
religious music will again be possible.34
Mendelssohn’s visionary ideas and accomplishments presaged the arrival of a new generation
of church composers (Heinrich Kaminski, Hugo Distler, Ernst Pepping, and others), leading to
the “Church Music Revival” in the early twentieth century.
Max Reger (1873–1916)

Despite his Catholicism, Reger was devoted to the choral and organ music of J. S. Bach,
a dedication that led to his composition of music for the Protestant service. Initially, this
output took the form of chorale cantatas created specifically for Spitta and the Strassburg
services. Between 1903 and 1905 Reger produced cantatas on the chorales Vom Himmel
hoch, O wie selig seid ihr doch, ihr Frommen, O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden, and Meinen
Jesum lass ich nicht. All utilize the texts and melodies of the chorales set as unfolding “varia-
tions.” Typically, Reger placed the hymn tune in a single voice part, surrounded by lavish
chromatic accompaniments for organ (sometimes with obbligato instruments). In keep-
ing with Spitta’s wishes, all four cantatas designated verses for congregational participa-
tion, a requirement Reger parlayed into a formal design.35 Reger’s interest in music for the
Protestant service also manifested itself in his Leichte Liturgische Stücke (op. 61) and a set
of twenty responses for the church year (in English) composed for the American Lutheran
Church in 1911.36
Despite these Protestant contributions, Reger’s sacred music remained funda-
mentally Catholic. Helmut Wirth believed that his finest composition was the “setting of
Psalm 100, op. 106, performed (in part) at the conferral of an honorary doctorate from Jena
University (1908).”37 Today, this work has been surpassed by the Drei Geistliche Gesänge,
op. 110 (1912): Mein Odem ist schwach; Ach Herr, straf mich nicht; and O Tod, wie bitter bist
du. Indeed, O Tod, wie bitter bist du (Oh death, how bitter are you?”) not only uses a text
Brahms had set in his Vier ernste Gesänge, op. 121, but also presents its “question” in a man-
ner reminiscent of Brahms’s “Warum?” op. 74, no. 1. While Reger scores this motet for five
voices (SSATB), he regularly divides the three lower voices to produce a thick, Brahmsian
texture. Like Brahms’s song, Reger’s motet is defined by a change from the minor mode
(E minor) in the first seventy-four measures to the parallel major (E major) for the second
strophe (mm. 74–92). But in keeping with late Romantic harmonic practice, one can hardly
say the motet is “in” E minor. Beginning in the third measure, the second bass part sustains
a G pedal (to m. 9) over which Reger crafts a harmony that constantly avoids the tonal-
ity suggested by its initial signature. In those first nine measures, Reger uses the signed
F-sharp one time (m. 7), opting for harmonies that are much more attuned to flat keys. In
the motet’s first thirty measures, the F-sharp appears only here and there in mm. 7, 15, 16,
17, 20, and 22; with the brief exception of mm. 33–34, the music in no way supports the
putative E-minor tonic. The change to E major (m. 75) signals a change of text and ushers
in more stable harmonies where chromaticism is used to embellish rather than obscure the
E-major tonal center (exx. 14.15a and b).
Example 14.15 Reger: O Tod, wie bitter bist du, op. 110

(a) mm. 18–23
(b) mm. 75–79
Nineteenth-Century Roman Catholic Music

In the 1952 edition of MGG, Karl Gustav Fellerer defines Caecilianismus:
Der Caecilianismus ist eine kath. km. Reformbewegung des 19. Jh., getragen von der
Organisation des “Cäcilien-Ver.” Der Name ist in der Verehrung der hl. Cäcilia als
Patronin der Musik . . . begründet. Die Bewegung erstrebt die liturgische Vertiefung der
KM. im Gegensatz zu den säkularisierten km. Formen und Auffassungen der Zeit.38
(Cecilianism is a reform movement within the church music of nineteenth-
century Catholicism, led by the organization of Caecilien Vereine [large choruses
that performed the music of past Catholic masters like Palestrina and Lassus,
as well as more modern composers]. The name derived from veneration of St.
Cecilia as the patroness of music. The movement sought a deepening of litur-
gical awareness in Catholic music in opposition to the secularized forms and
interpretations present in contemporary church music.)
Linda Siegel devotes an entire chapter of her book, Music in German Romantic Literature, to
the Cecilian movement.39 It seems ironic that a movement concerned with reforming Catholic
church music had its origins in a late eighteenth-century Protestant reform. However, the prin-
cipal figure behind this reform was Johann Gottfried Herder (1744–1803), who set its basic
principles in an essay titled “Briefe, das Studium der Theologie betreffend” (Letters Concerning
the Study of Theology, 1786):
1. Sacred music is the holiest form of art.

2. Church music of the late eighteenth century has lost its dignity and taken on
the characteristics of the “dainty court song” and the ornateness of the operatic
aria.
3. Church music should be a humanitarian form of art, (since) “its text is the word
of all mankind.”
4. The foundations of Protestant church music are the choir and the sacred hymn
(chorale); the choir is the basis of sacred music, not the solo song; the choir and
the congregation intone the song of praise, the hymn, in which lie the mystical,
sacred secrets of the church.
5. The individual, be he the composer, the poet or the performer, should not be
allowed to express his individuality.
6. Religious music has no connection to anything theatrical. “Drama and religion
are as separate as the eye and the ear.”40
To another essay, “Vom Geiste der Ebräischen Poesie” (“The Spirit of Hebrew Poetry”), Herder
appends a brief essay about music by Matthias Clausius (1771), the source that anecdotally
links Palestrina’s Missa Papae Marcelli with “the saving of church music.” In yet another essay,
“Cecilia,” Herder specifically names Palestrina, along with other “several other old Italian
church composers” (Pergolesi, Leo, Durante, Jomelli, and Marcello) as the “favorites of Saint
Cecilia.”41
The “Age of Enlightenment” was perceived as the source of much of the corruption
of church music that the Cecilian movement sought to eliminate, Romanticists being in the
vanguard of the effort to reinstitute a pure church music style. Friedrich Blume stated that
“Older Italian church music is held to be simple, pious, unproblematic, the model of ‘true
church music.’ Any sort of historical view of older music is still totally lacking. It is loved for its
‘purity,’ with which fulfills an oft-repeated basic requirement of the Romantics.”42 The popular-
ity and transcendence that Palestrina’s music enjoyed in the nineteenth century was due, in
large measure, to a stream of studies that spanned the century from 1725 (Johann Josef Fux,
Gradus ad Parnassum) to 1825 (A. F. J. Thibaut’s Reinheit der Tonkunst, “On Purity in the Art of
Composition”). Fux’s admonition to avoid the “stylus mixtus,” that is, the commingling of the stile
antico with the modern orchestral style, defined the stylistic crisis affecting eighteenth-century
Catholic church music. In fact, both Haydn and Mozart studied counterpoint in order to con-
form to Fux’s edict.43 Such study of species counterpoint linked the eighteenth-century admir-
ers of Palestrina to the nineteenth-century resurgence of interest in his music. The first tangible
awareness of “early music” was a product of the nineteenth century, beginning with Giuseppe
Baini’s biography of Palestrina (1828) and the pioneering studies of Netherlandish polyphony by
Raphael Georg Kiesewetter (1773–1850)44 and François Joseph Fétis (1784–1871).45 Nonetheless,
the revival of interest in Palestrina specifically and early music in general belongs to literary
Romanticism, specifically the works of Achim von Arnim, Heinrich von Kleist, Ludwig Tieck,
and Wilhelm Heinrich Wackenroder, all of whom extolled the mystical power of “old” music.
Interest in the music of the Renaissance was centered in three German cities—Munich,
Regensburg (Ratisbon), and Eichstätt. In Munich, the leading figure was Kaspar Ett (1788–1847)
who, as music director at St. Michael’s Church, oversaw performances of Allegri’s Miserere
(1816), Ockeghem’s Missa Cujusivus Toni (1827), and the revival of the music of Munich’s most
famous composer, Orlando di Lasso. Ett also established the first German institute for the study
of plainsong, which led to the publication of a new edition of Gregorian chant (Cantica Sacra,
1827). In Regensburg, the principal figure was Karl Proske (1794–1861), publisher of Musica
Divina (1853–59), a multivolume set of editions of early music.
Ironically, one of the more enduring legacies of Cecilianism was the notion that church
music should be sung a cappella. This view, now regarded with skepticism, was accepted by
nineteenth-century composers as an absolute, leading to the wealth of unaccompanied choral
music they composed. This perception was part truth, part fiction. Palestrina’s music was still
performed a cappella in the Sistine Chapel; Palestrina’s reputation also insured acceptance of
this feature by Protestant and Catholic composers alike as a badge of historical indebtedness
and authenticity.
Among the nineteenth-century composers closely associated with Cecilianism, Anton
Bruckner (1824–96) and Franz (Ferenc) Liszt (1811–86) are the most prominent.46 Bruckner’s
Cecilian compositions include the Mass in E minor (1867) and a sizable body of Latin motets
(both a cappella and with brass accompaniment).
Anton Bruckner (1824–96)

The Mass in E minor (1866) stands apart from Bruckner’s other mature Masses primarily by
virtue of its orchestration. For this work, Bruckner eschews the traditional symphony orchestra
in favor of an ensemble of paired winds and brass: two oboes; two clarinets in C (in the Gloria,
Credo, and Sanctus; two clarinets in A (Benedictus and Agnus only; two bassoons; two horns
in F; two horns in C, D, and F; two trumpets; and three trombones (A, T, B). Bruckner’s choice
of orchestration, a subject of much debate, is explained in a footnote to Dieter Michael Backes’s
monograph Die Instrumentation in den Messen von Anton Bruckners:47
In this connection it must be clarified that the instrumentation of the E-minor

Mass, contrary to many commentaries, presents either an exception or a sty-
listic peculiarity; church music accompanied by winds without strings lave
always been present, earlier than Bruckner, Michael Haydn brings this in
as a stylistic facet of his Missa Sancti Hieronymi.48 In this connection, one
could also mention the “Military” Mass by [Hippolyte-André-Baptiste] Chelard
[1789–1861] and the “Military Requiem” by [Sigismund von] Neukomm [1778–
1858].49 The critical factor in the case of Bruckner’s Mass in E minor was its
original performance as a “Field Mass,” that is, out of doors, to which the
absence of strings has formerly not been credited. It is regrettable that, given
the large number of performances this Mass has received in recent times, no
one has had the idea to perform the work with its original performance restric-
tions (also outdoors).50
Of the works cited by Backes, only Bruckner’s Mass in E minor receives anything
approaching consistent performance, despite its vocal scoring (SSAATTBB), unusual accompa-
niment, and historically retrospective compositional style. Large sections of it employ little or
no accompaniment, most notably the beginning of the Kyrie (ex. 14.16).
Example 14.16 Bruckner: Mass in E minor, Kyrie, mm. 1–14
Bruckner re-creates the aura of Palestrina by using largely a cappella choruses, emphasizing
perfect intervals, and applying a dissonance treatment that represents his understanding of
that style.
Bruckner’s vocal scoring shows the most obvious influence of Cecilianism in the
Mass genre. Unlike the symphonic Masses that precede it, the Mass in E minor uses no vocal
soloists, relying on the eight-part chorus and its antiphonal subdivisions. Hartmut Krones
suggests that a pivotal factor in this decision was a contractual requirement that Bruckner,
as organist of St. Florian’s Cathedral in Linz, accompany the Gregorian chant; to this must
be added the influence of Ignaz Tramhler, the regent of the cathedral choir and an ardent
disciple of Cecilianism. Nonetheless, there was an increasing amount of sixteenth-century
vocal polyphony performed at St. Florian’s during the mid-nineteenth century. There are docu-
mented performances of Palestrina’s Missa Aeterna Christi Munera (September 28, 1847) and
other Renaissance pieces in which Bruckner would have participated.51 As a chorister at St.
Florian’s (1837–40), Bruckner is known to have sung numerous works in stile antico by Michael
Haydn, Antonio Caldara, Antonio Lotti, and J. J. Fux, and likely was familiar with the reper-
tory of the Sistine Chapel choir (Palestrina, Bai, Allegri, and others). An even more direct link
to Cecilianism is a quotation from the Sanctus of Palestrina’s Missa Brevis in the Sanctus of
Bruckner’s Mass (exx. 14.17a and b).52
Example 14.17 Comparison of Palestrina and Bruckner

(a) Palestrina: Missa Brevis, Sanctus, mm. 1–7
(b) Bruckner: Mass in E minor, Sanctus, mm. 1–6
Another type of historical reference involves a type of reverse auto-parody. Consciously

or not, Bruckner re-uses an imitative sequence from the Kyrie of Palestrina’s Mass in his
well-known setting (ca. 1886) of the Gradual Christus factus est (exx. 14.18a and b).53 This invoca-
tion of Palestrina and the re-use of a portion of the work creates a link to the impressive series
of a cappella motets Bruckner composed in affirmation of the Cecilian ideals (In table 14.4 those
with instrumental accompaniment are marked with an *).
Example 14.18: Bruckner
(a) Mass in E minor, Kyrie, mm. 104–115
(Continued)
(b) Christus factus est, mm. 65–70
Bruckner’s early motets reveal a fixation with the texts Tantum ergo (seven settings
before 1855) and Asperges me (three settings in the period from 1843 to 1845). All the motet texts
are liturgical, indicative of their use as service music. Five of these motets are now standard
a cappella concert fare—Ave Maria (1861), Locus iste (1869), Os justi (1879), Christus factus est
(1884), and Virga Jesse floruit (1885).54 Already connected with the Mass in E minor, Christus
Table 14.4 Bruckner, Latin Motets

DATE TITLE WAB
1835–36 Pange lingua WAB 31
1843–45 Libera me, Domine WAB 21
1843–45 Asperges me WAB 4
1843–45 Asperges me (2) WAB 3
1844–45 Tantum ergo WAB 43
1846 Tantum ergo (4) WAB 41
1846 Tantum ergo à 5 WAB 42
1854 Libera me, Domine WAB 22
1854–45 Tantum ergo WAB 44
1856 Ave Maria à 4 WAB 5
1861 Ave Maria à 7 WAB 6
1861 Afferentur regi WAB 1*
1868 Pange Lingua WAB 33
1868 Inveni David WAB 19*
1869 Locus iste WAB 23
1873 Christus factus est WAB 10*
1878 Tota pulchra es WAB 46
1879 Os Justi à 8 WAB 30
1884 Christus factus est WAB 11
1884 Salvum fac populum WAB 40
1885 Ecce sacerdos magnus WAB 13*
1885 Virga Jesse floruit WAB 52
1892 Vexilla Regis WAB 51
factus est serves as a representative example of Cecilianism and its wide appeal. The text of this
motet (Phil 2:8–9) comes from the Gradual for Maundy Thursday:
Christus factus est obediens usque ad mortem, mortem autem crucis. Propter quod
et Deus exaltavit illum, et dedit illi nomen quod est super omne nomen.
(Christ was made obedient to death, even the death of the cross. Therefore,
God has exalted him and given him a name that is above all others.)
Within its seventy-nine measures, Bruckner encompasses the broadest possible

range of dynamics (ranging from ppp to fff), vocal range, and expression. The work’s formal
divisions result from Bruckner’s insertion of complete measures of rest at the end of v. 8
(m. 20) and just prior to the invocation of “Jesus” (m. 56). In this motet, form and drama are
defined more by harmony than imitative counterpoint. The first nineteen measures of the
motet contain three principal subsections, all of which are homophonic. The opening phrase
is rather unremarkable even by nineteenth-century standards; here Bruckner harmonizes a
psalm tone–like melody (D′–E♭′–D′) by stepwise bass descent from D to B♭ using a Neapolitan
sixth diminished seventh to harmonize the soprano’s E♭′. The word obediens summons two
different, yet related gestures. The first is sequence, used in the initial statement of the word
“obediens” (bass B♭–F, upper three voices F–C) and in the ensuing imitation at mm. 6/4–11
(ex. 14.19).
Example 14.19 Bruckner: Christus factus est, mm. 7–13
This descending sequence illustrates Christ’s obedience to his fate. Bruckner artfully unfolds
the sequence by retaining the octave descent in the lower voice of each three-part ensemble as
the basis of the soprano–tenor imitation. The alto and bass define the harmonic motion in a
series of 9–8 suspensions that form first inversion triads above the bass’s scalar descent from
B♭ to E♭, followed by another sequence whose harmonic rhythm is faster and involves second-
4 4 4
ary chords (F7, E♭ 3 , E♭7, A♭ 3, D♭7, G minor 3 to C). This segment ends as it began, with a modal
cadence (Phrygian) between the outermost voices. The arrival at C in m. 13 sets the stage for the
bass part’s dramatic exclamation mortem autem cruces, another precipitous downward move-
ment resolved by a lower version of the first cadence (mm. 3–4).
Bruckner’s setting of the second verse is considerably longer than the first but uses
the same elements—sequence and imitation and is in ternary form. Bruckner sets most of the
ninth verse as two parallel passages (mm. 21–32), devoting the other two sections to the final
clause. The quotations of the first section result from sequential repetition of each text phrase
(Propter quod est Deus exaltavit illum and et dedit illi nomen). Both settings of quod est super omne
nomen are binary and comprised of related material. This process is particularly clear in the par-
allel passages 43–50 and 64–79, each opening with imitative unprepared dissonance, followed
by sequences (reminiscent of part 1) over a bass pedal point (A in mm. 43–50, D in mm. 64–79).
Each of these is preceded by an ascending sequence that achieves two gradations of “height”
(expressing the name that is “above all other names”) and volume.
Giuseppe Verdi (1813–1901): Quattro Pezzi sacri

Verdi’s Four Sacred Pieces can hardly be construed as Cecilian; indeed, some even question the
adjective “sacred” for these pieces. Composed in Verdi’s later years (1888–98), these composi-
tions were never intended to be performed as a set, either in church or in a concert hall. The
earliest, Ave Maria, is Verdi’s response to a challenge issued in Gazzetta Musicale di Milano of
August 3, 1888, from a certain Crescentini who challenged readers to utilize a “scala enigmatica”
as the theme of a composition. This symmetrical enigmatic scale consists of whole tones (E–F♯–
G♯–A♯) framed by dyads a half step apart (ex. 14.20).
Example 14.20 Verdi: Ave Maria, “scala enigmatica”
Verdi’s composition presents the scale four times as a cantus firmus of ascending
(bass and alto) and descending (tenor and soprano) whole notes. The first two presentations of
the scale begin and end on C, the final two on F.55 The four statements comprise two complete
statements of the text, divided between those segments using the same scale form. The unique
construction of the scale produces a composition with triadic harmonies that are not really
tonal. What qualifies this work as Cecilian are the cantus firmus–like use of the scale, the modal
pairing of the voices according to range, Verdi’s stipulation of a cappella performance, and his
contrapuntal harmonization of the enigmatic scale.
The second of the four compositions (ca. 1890), Laudi alla Vergine Maria, sets an Italian
text taken from the final canto of Dante’s Paradiso for four-part, a cappella women’s chorus. The
two remaining pieces require large orchestra and chorus (double chorus in the case of the Te
Deum) and reprise the dramatic approach to text setting that Verdi had used in his Requiem.
Verdi sets the twenty-one stanzas of the Stabat Mater as a single movement, using syllabic
declamation and absolutely no repetition of text. The drama of his setting is accomplished by
changes in tempo, scoring, and key signature. Obviously, key signature is not a formal marker,
nor do the signatures used adequately describe the tonalities used within their boundaries. The
clearest possible statement regarding form is that Verdi begins in G minor (two flats) and ends
in G major (1 sharp). The middle of the work presents a signature of five sharps, signifying move-
ment to the mediant major (B). The signature of one sharp (mm. 164–204), however, does not
account for the harmonies that appear (B minor and D major). Verdi uses D major to underscore
the word “victory” at the conclusion of v. 20, but he quickly switches to B minor (v. 21) using F♯
as a common-tone pivot. This harmonic reasoning in no way prepares one for Verdi’s setting
of paradisi gloriae, which begins in E♭, marked ppp, complete with harp arpeggios. The chorus
declaims each syllable of the phrase on whole notes that comprise a series of chromatic triads,
each with louder dynamics and faster accompaniment rhythms than its predecessor (ex. 14.21).
Example 14.21 Verdi: Stabat Mater, mm. 185–191
Following this climax, Verdi constructs a brief orchestral transition that reduces the dynamic
level (pppp) and scoring (strings) as the unison chorus declaims “Amen,” followed by a unison
orchestral recollection of the work’s opening. This brief excerpt illustrates Verdi’s basic reliance
on changes in orchestration, harmony, tempo, dynamics, and simple declamatory choral writ-
ing to reveal the textual drama. Many of these qualities also apply to the concluding Te Deum,
with the important exception of Verdi’s use of double chorus.
Franz Liszt (1811–87)

It is important to emphasize that Liszt’s church style was his own invention, and has noth-
ing to do with the Cecilian movement, which was not founded until 1867.
—Paul Merrick, Revolution and Religion in the Music of Liszt
Strictly speaking, what Merrick says is true; Cecilianism was, however, not limited to Germany
or the year 1867. Liszt’s connection to the reformation of church music began in 1835 with pub-
lication of his article “On Future Church Music” in the Revue et Gazette Musicale.56 This remark-
able document, based on the philosophy of Abbé Félicité de Lamennais (1782–1854), proposed a
new church music “inspired, strong and effective, uniting in colossal proportions, theatre and
church; at the same time dramatic and holy, splendid and simple, solemn and serious, fiery and
unbridled, stormy and calm, clear and fervid.”57 Rather than limit Liszt to Cecilianism, Merrick
chose to emphasize the uniqueness of his compositions. Given Liszt’s vision of the new church
music, all his choral compositions are, in fact, religious. Liszt took his quest to a higher level
when he went to Rome, taking minor orders in 1865. In that year, he writes from the Vatican,
“And when [music] is joined with words, what more legitimate use could be made of it than to
Figure 14.3 Abbé Liszt Being Received at the Grosvenor Gallery, London, 1886
sing Man’s praise of God, and to become thereby the meeting point between two worlds—the
finite and the infinite.”58
In his denunciation of the scandalous state of contemporary church music Liszt
clearly aligns himself with the Cecilians. In his Memoirs, Berlioz also confirms similar outra-
geous practices, describing what he heard in Rome in 1832: “I have often heard the overtures of
Barbiere, Cenerentola, and Otello in Church. . . . The music in the theatres is in much the same
glorious condition, and is about as dramatic as that of the churches is religious.”59 For Liszt, as
for the Cecilians, the solution was a return to the pure church music of the past: Gregorian
chant, particularly as embodied in the music of Palestrina. The central problem for Liszt and
others of that time lay in securing a historically accurate version of chant, making it accessible,
and arranging it in a manner that simultaneously respected its modality and yet allowed some
degree of contemporaneity.
But the specific problem for Liszt and his contemporaries was that despite their rever-
ence for Palestrina, they could not be Palestrina. Even when Liszt drew motivic material from
chant, he rarely treated it contrapuntally. Just as Mendelssohn and Brahms had appropriated
Bach’s music but remolded it to conform to Romantic taste, Liszt gravitated to Palestrina less
for his technique than for the state of mind that music evoked. To accomplish his goal Liszt did
not need to study Palestrina’s technique, but instead create an original harmonic language that
expressed the effect Palestrina’s music had on his own subconscious. Nowhere did he succeed
in this pursuit better than in his Missa Choralis (1865).
As the title infers, the inception of this Mass is from plainsong. The most obvious
Gregorian quotation occurs in the Credo, in which a unison choral statement (a cappella) of the
chant incipit normally sung by the priest begins the movement (ex. 14.22).
Example 14.22 Liszt: Missa Choralis, Credo, mm. 1–9
Repeated verbatim for “Patrem omnipotentem,” this single phrase reappears throughout the
Credo as both literal quotations and transformed in the same manner found in Liszt’s instru-
mental music. In a single passage (mm. 192–216) Liszt uses six different versions of the Credo
motive, none of which is literal but all of which follow its characteristic contour.
The Mass begins with imitation (a cappella) of a chant-like theme in all four voices, the
alto/bass pair entering on D, the soprano/tenor pair on A. The absence of a key signature, the
shape of the melody, and the entrances on D and A all suggest Dorian mode (ex. 14.23).
Example 14.23 Liszt: Missa Choralis, Kyrie, mm. 1–17
For “Christe eleison” Liszt adds a key signature (one flat), and changes both tempo (“Un poco
più moderato”) and meter (to 4/4). For the Kyrie’s return in m. 93, Liszt reverts to his original
motive and meter but retains the key signature to indicate the transposition of the original
music up a fourth (mm. 93–100 = mm. 25–32). After a grand pause (m. 139), Liszt changes the
key signature to two sharps, indicating the parallel mode (D major), a tonal orientation con-
firmed by the movement’s first V–I cadence (mm. 142–43) and the recapitulation of the “Christe
eleison” music transformed to that tonality.
Another Lisztian fingerprint is the sparse organ accompaniment. To what is essen-
tially an a cappella composition, Liszt adds a simple organ part, less as accompaniment than to
insure that intonation is maintained. The organ hardly plays in the opening Kyrie, but its pres-
ence grows in direct proportion to the increasing harmonic complexity of the work, becoming
more prominent as the music begins to range farther from D minor.60 If the allusion to chant
motives, modality, and a cappella style of the Kyrie suggest Palestrina revisited, the reprise of
the Kyrie music in the “Dona nobis pacem” prompts memories of Mozart’s Krönungsmesse (K.
317) and Beethoven’s Mass in C.61
Liszt’s repertoire also holds an impressive array of smaller sacred works, some of
which fit the stylistic parameters of Cecilianism and many more that do not. The great
majority of these are settings of such liturgical texts as Ave Maria, Pater noster, Anima Christi
sanctifica me, and O salutaris hostia. Liszt’s proclivity for using male voices may suggest
monasticism either as a performance venue or a sonic frame of reference. Notable examples
include the Pater noster II (early 1840s), Mihi autem adhaerere (1868), Tantum ergo II (1869),
and two settings of Anima Christi, sanctifa me (1874). The finest of these compositions is
the first setting of the Anima Christi, mistakenly thought to have been written by Ignatius
of Loyola. Less numerous are compositions for women’s voices, but two non-liturgical
pieces—the Hymn de l’enfant á son réveil (1845?, rev. 1862 and 1874) and a setting of Psalm 137
(1859, rev. 1862) for soprano solo, harp, violin, harmonium, and women’s chorus—deserve
mention.
The many works for mixed chorus reveal some amazingly progressive compositions,
including Zwölf alte Deutsche Geistliche Weisen (1879?), Ossa arida (1879), and Mariengarten
(1884), all with organ accompaniment. Especially striking is Ossa arida, the text of which
recounts the story of the “dry bones” from Ezekiel 37. Scored for unison male chorus and an
organ part, which requires two players due to the number of pitches required simultaneously,
the work begins with a single pitch (B) on which additional notes are gradually piled (like a stack
of bones?) to create this complex, dissonant chord (ex. 14.24).
Example 14.24 Liszt: Ossa arrida, mm. 1–11
The late choral compositions of Abbé Liszt continue his preoccupation with
liturgical texts:
Die Heilige Cäcilia, Legende (1875)

Cantico del Sol di Francesco d’Assisi (1862)
An den Heiligen Franciscus von Paula (pub. 1875)
Table 14.5 Liszt, Via crucis, form
STATION ACTIVITY LISZT’S MUSIC
Processional Entrance of believers Gregorian hymn (Vexilla regis prodeunt) + solo voices singing O crux, ave, spes unica.
Station 1: Jesus is condemned to death Unaccompanied organ solo, plus solo bass (Pilate) singing “I am innocent of the blood of this
Jesus bears his Cross righteous man.”
Station 2: Jesus falls for the first time Organ solo, marked Lento, interrupted by baritone soloist singing the words “Ave crux!”
Station 3: Jesus meets his mother Violent organ chords, male voices singing “Jesus cadit,” followed by SSA singing first verse of
“Stabat Mater” (German hymn, also used in Christus)
Station 4: Simon of Cyrene helps Slow organ solo comprised of “Tristanesque” chords and prominent use of BACH motive.
Station 5: Jesus carries the Cross Long organ solo in three sections—1) evocative melody (harmonized by diminished chords), repeated
a tritone higher; 2) homophonic, hymn-like section; 3) transposed repetition of music of station 2.
Station 6: Veronica wipes Jesus’s face Unaccompanied organ melody compounded from “Ave, crux” and BACH themes, followed by a
with her veil harmonization of “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden.”
Station 7: Jesus falls a second time Same music as Station 3, transposed up a half step.
Station 8: The women of Jerusalem Chromatic music representing weeping, interrupted by f organ chord, followed by reprise of
weep for Jesus opening measures of Station 6. Baritone (Jesus) sings “Weep not for me, but for yourselves and
your children.”
Station 9: Jesus falls third time Same music as stations 3 and 7, transposed up a minor third.
Station 10: Jesus is stripped of his Slow organ solo in f minor with typical Lisztian sequential repetition. First nine measures repeated
clothing with St. Veronica theme added as descant.
(Continued)
Table 14. 5 Continued
STATION ACTIVITY LISZT’S MUSIC

Station 11: Jesus is nailed to the Cross
Station 12: Jesus dies on the Cross ff organ C♯ minor 6/4 chords introduce male voices singing “Crucifige!” Organ retains G-sharp
bass pedal as harmony changes creating increasingly dissonant music. Movement ends with
solo with ascending scale based upon the “Ave, Crux” motive. Baritone (Jesus) sings “Eli, eli lama
sabbacthani,” followed by organ interlude based on harmonization of the conclusion of the solo
vocal melody with augmented chords. Baritone sings “Into your hands I commend my spirit.”
Organ interlude based on “Ave Crux” is transformed into harmonization (C♯) of “Crux Fidelis.”
Baritone sings “Consummatum est,” followed by another “Ave Crux” interlude. SSA sing
“Consummatum est” followed by organ modulation that prepares the choral performance of the
chorale “O Traurigkeit.”
Station 13: Jesus is taken down from A lengthy organ solo that reprises music heard earlier—Stabat Mater, most of the music for Station
the Cross 4, St. Veronica’s motive—in the manner of “remembrance” motives (Errinerungsmotiven).
Station 14: Jesus is laid in the tomb Organ introduction based on imitation of “Ave, Crux” motive leads to responsorial presentation of
opening processional music (Vexilla Regis) sung to the words “Ave, Crux, spes unica” involving
mezzo and chorus. Given this thematic relationship, this station serves as a “recessional” that
culminates in a transformation of the d minor chant into a luminous D-major choral statement.
The piece concludes as it began, with a solo organ statement of the “cross” motive.
Via Crucis (1878–79)

Septem Sacramenta (1878)
Rosario (1879)
The first three works require an orchestra; as interesting as they might be, they pale in compari-
son to the last three, all of which use the vocal writing with spare organ accompaniment found
in the Missa Choralis. They also share a mysticism both Romantic and Cecilian. Of the three, the
most dramatic and successful is Via crucis, musical meditations on the fourteen stations of the
cross for organ (or piano), solo voices, and mixed choir.
Via Crucis realizes Liszt’s proposed reformation of church music in its idiosyncratic
harmonization of chant (as in the processional, Vexilla regis prodeunt), its distinctive use of
“remembrance” motives associated with particular phases of the ritual, and its keen sense of
drama. Liszt intended that this music accompany the procession of the faithful as they retrace
Christ’s path to Calvary. There is an apocryphal account suggesting that Liszt hoped to per-
form his Via crucis in the Roman Colosseum, possibly at the traditional Good Friday liturgy.
Apparently, he envisioned using a large harmonium drawn from station to station as accom-
paniment, but the performance never actually took place. Table 14.5 synopsizes each station,
providing a brief description of Liszt’s music.
Paul Merrick sees the Via Crucis as a “microcosm of Liszt’s religious and musical
thinking.”62 Central to this synthesis is the blending of old (plainsong) and new (harmony,
form based on recurring motives) that constitutes Liszt’s vision of the new church music. The
work’s seminal motive is, appropriately, a Gregorian “cross” motive (ex. 14.25a), which appears
throughout the work as a Leitmotif.63 Other repeated gestures are the “Jesus cadit”–“Stabat
Mater” complex, the three statements of which occur at progressively higher pitch levels (ex.
14.25b); a setting of the opening strophe of the hymn Stabat Mater (exx. 14.25c and d); and a
motive associated with St. Veronica, which includes the musical realization (although back-
wards) of Bach’s name (B♭–A–C–H/B♮).64
Example 14.25 Liszt: Via Crucis
(a) O crux, ave
(b) Station 3, Jesus cadit
(Continued)
(c) Station 4, Stabat Mater
(d) St. Veronica
While the musical gestalt is more than the sum of its motivic parts, these motives
provide the unifying framework over which the musical particulars unfold. In this respect
Via Crucis embodies Liszt’s earlier use of remembrance motives in the oratorio Die Legende
von dem Heiligen Elisabeth, where they render the narrative continuity absent in the libretto.
In Via Crucis the main weight of narrative continuity falls to the accompaniment (organ,
harmonium, or piano), which stands alone in stations 4, 5, 10, and 13, and dominates the
content of several others (1, 2, 8, and 12). The work’s transcendent moment (station 13) takes
place as Christ’s body is taken down from the cross; substantial portions of the music heard
in earlier movements flood back. The resulting panorama forces the listener to retrace his
own emotional journey. Given the simplicity and relative brevity of the choral parts, this
work is an effective piece for Good Friday, requiring relatively little of the choir but demand-
ing an organist who understands and effectively uses the broad palette of colors the organ
can provide to highlight the emotional flux of the composition. As mentioned earlier, Liszt
provided an alternate piano part, suggesting possible performance of the work either for
private devotion or as a piano work (without singing).65
Joseph Rheinberger (1839–1901)

Joseph Rheinberger composed a significant body of sacred choral music. Between 1859 and
1877 Rheinberger had been organist at the prestigious Michaeliskirche in Munich, one of
the centers of Cecilian activity. He became professor of organ and composition at the newly
founded Royal School of Music in Munich, followed by his appointment as director of church
music at the court chapel of All Saints. After 1877 he abandoned the stylistic inflexibility of
the Cecilian movement in favor of a more lyrical style of his own. Rheinberger composed a
total of fourteen settings of the Mass Ordinary: four for mixed voices a cappella, three with
organ accompaniment, and one requiring symphonic orchestra. The remaining six exhibit
greater textural diversity, three scored for women’s chorus and two for male chorus. To these
should be added a Requiem (B minor, op.194) for mixed voices and organ, two settings of the
Stabat Mater—op.16 in C minor for STB soli, choir, and orchestra, and op.138 for choir, strings
(ad lib.) and organ—and a Passion setting (really a poetic paraphrase) for mixed chorus and
organ, op.46.
More significant and accessible are the large number of shorter liturgical composi-
tions. Rheinberger’s innate lyricism, fairly sophisticated counterpoint, and interesting har-
mony combine in what is arguably his best-known motet, Abendlied, op. 69, no. 1 (SSATTB).
His smaller works feature roughly equal numbers of German and Latin texts reflecting
Rheinberger’s Catholicism and nationalism. Even though he worked in Munich, one of the cen-
ters of Cecilianism, Rheinberger’s music was roundly criticized by the Cecilians for its depar-
ture from the strict style. Ultimately he came to be regarded as the “antipode of Cecilianism.”66
Victorian England
For many scholars, the Victorian era in England was a low point in the history of sacred choral
music. This assessment may reflect the chronological proximity of that particular repertory to
American church musicians born after 1930 for whom it was the embodiment of the maudlin
emotion and vacuous harmony they disdained. In many ways, the Victorian era parallels the
present; then, as now, the established church was being challenged by new evangelical sects
(most notably Methodism) on the one hand and the liberal radicals of the Oxford Movement on
the other. The Anglican cathedral choirs of the nineteenth century were in dire straits, the result
of neglect and the passion for Continental music that discouraged efforts at revitalizing the
church from within. High Church choirs sought to emulate their Anglican forebears by wear-
ing robes, processing, and singing anthems, practices that later transplanted directly to main-
line Protestant churches in the United States. The problem that many of these non-Anglican
choirs faced, however, was the lack of a musical tradition and a body of music from which to
draw; they had nothing comparable to Boyce’s Cathedral Music to which could turn for music to
perform or guide contemporary composers. It was to Mendelssohn as their model that compos-
ers attempting to fill this perceived void turned. The anthems they composed were frequently
printed by Joseph Novello in the time-honored academic musical journal, the Musical Times,
marking the origin of the choral octavo.
The singular exception within Anglican musical circles was Samuel Sebastian Wesley
(1810–76) who, in the words of Watkins Shaw, “avoided the unhappy influence of Mendelssohn
which fell so heavily on English composers in general.”67 Though hardly known today save in
Anglican churches bent on preserving that tradition, large anthems such as O Lord thou art my
God (1836), Let us lift up our heart (1836), The wilderness and the solitary place (1840), and Ascribe
to the Lord (1865) along with smaller works such as Cast me not away (1848), Wash me throughly
(ca. 1840), and Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace (ca. 1850) provide substantial exception to the
period’s generally negative reputation.
In addition to his church music, Wesley played a pivotal role in reforming the Anglican
choral establishment, publishing A Few Words on Cathedral Music and the Musical System of the
Church in 1849.68 The Reverend Sir Frederick A. G. Ousley greatly facilitated this reform by creat-
ing St. Michael’s College, Tenbury, and endowing it with his personal collection of manuscripts
and early printed editions. For the first organist of this new choral foundation, Ousley chose John
Stainer (1801–90), who later developed an outstanding reputation for scholarship, composition,
and choral training. For its day, Stainer’s book, Dufay and his Contemporaries (London: Novello,
1898) was highly advanced, including transcriptions of manuscripts documenting sacred music
of the early fifteenth century. Unfortunately, history has not been kind to the compositions of
Stainer and his contemporaries Joseph Barnby and H. Richard Maunder. Stainer’s remark to
Edmund Fellowes that his anthems “had been written in response to pressure put upon him in
the early days by clergy and others, who assured him that they [his anthems] were ‘just the thing
they wanted’” reveals much about the problems facing Victorian church music.69 The force of
the market place generated a needed commodity (i.e., new music tailored to the burgeoning
parish church market); but as Stainer indicated, what was “wanted” was less often quality than
music of little difficulty that had a certain general appeal. All too often, such music was doomed
by texts of poor quality and trite harmonies. Of Stainer’s well-worn The Crucifixion, Kenneth
Long stated: “Sparrow Simpson’s appalling doggerel set to Stainer’s squalid music is a monu-
ment to the inane.”70 That said, the problem stemmed as much from an overly sentimental style
of performance, which remained in place in the United States well into the twentieth century.
The famous anthem, extracted from The Crucifixion, “God so loved the world,” is a case in point.
The Crucifixion is only the most well-known representative of the problems facing
church music of that era. Kenneth Long also pointed to “in-breeding,” meaning an altogether
too insular and a self-deprecating English musical persona that needed “fertilization from with-
out.”71 Ironically, the wonted fertilization came from numerous internal sources—the Oxford
Movement, the pioneering translations of Latin hymns by John Mason Neale that formed the
base of Hymns Ancient and Modern (1861), and the broader musical renascence initiated by
Hubert Parry, Charles Villiers Stanford, and Charles Wood. Along with organist-choirmasters
Harold Darke, T. F. H. Candlyn, George Oldroyd, Alec Rowley, and others, these individuals
paved the way for the rebirth of English music led by Gustav Holst and Ralph Vaughan Williams.
Notes
CHAPTER 1
1. Manfred Bukofzer, “The Beginnings of Choral Polyphony,” in Studies in Medieval and Renaissance
Music (New York: Norton, 1950), 189.
2. See R. G. Weakland, “Gregorian Chant,” in Twentieth-Century Views of Music History, ed. William
Hays (New York: Scribner, 1972), 23–36.
3. In England, this season and these days are referred to as Whitsuntide—Whitsunday, Whit
Monday, and Whit Tuesday in Whitsun Week.
4. These are numbers used in the Protestant Bible. For the most part, Catholic psalms have a
number that is lower by one because Roman Catholics did not divide one psalm (109) into two
parts as did the Protestants (Dixit Dominus is Ps 109 in the Liber Usualis, while it is 110 in the
Protestant Bible).
5. Throughout this book, middle C is given as C′. Each succeeding octave above adds another
prime mark, while the octave below is simply C.
6. The same relationship demonstrated by a “plagal” cadence (IV–I) has been called the “Amen”
cadence due to its frequent setting of that word in hymns and other Christian religious music.)
7. The terms durum and molle survive in the European indications of major and minor (e.g., Bach’s
Mass in B Minor is known as the Messe in h-moll).
8. This nomenclature refers to the placement of the clef, indicating middle C (or in the case of the
two bass clefs, F). “Soprano” clef places C′ on the first staff line; hence it is known as c1. In some
systems of pitch notation, capital and lower-case letters (with superscript numbers) are used to
denote specific pitches, that is, C = the pitch two octaves below middle C (c′).
9. High clefs are also referred to as chiavette.
10. Bernhard Meier, Die Tonarten der klassischen Vokalpolyphonie nach den Quellen dargestellt (Utrecht:
Ooesthoeck, Schletema and Holkema, 1974). See chap. 4, “Die Kadenzen—Satztechnische
Bestimmung und modale Rangordnung derselben.” Meier designates ascent by half step as
“sopranizans” regardless of the voice in which it occurs; similarly, descent by whole step is
“tenorizans” movement (again irrespective of part).
11. Heinrich Besseler, Bourdon und Fauxbourdon: Studien zum Ursprung der niederländischen Musik
(Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1950), 33.
12. Indeed, one of the theories about the origin of polyphony is that it arose when a group of sing-
ers all sang the same melody at different pitches. Obviously, men and boys would sing the same
melody an octave apart, but other intervals were just as possible.
13. The word “tenor” comes from the Latin verb tenere, which means to hold onto, to stretch out. As
melismas grew in size, the notes of the chant were stretched out to accommodate them; thus,
they became the tenor.
14. A ligature is one or more neumes (individual note shapes) “tied together,” that is, written as one
continuous notational shape.
15. The duplum (second voice) is the new name for the “organal” (newly composed) voice.
16. Edward H. Roesner, “Leoninus,” in NG2, ed. S. Sadie and J. Tyrrell (London: Macmillan,
2001), 14:565.
433
434 Notes
17. Craig Wright, “Leoninus: Poet and Musician,” JAMS 39, no. 1 (1986): 1–35.
18. Roesner, “Perotinus,” in NG2, 19:447.
19. The term “motet” derives from the process of adding text to the duplum. The resulting voice
became known as the motettus, derived from the French mot (“word”).
20. Yvonne Rosketh’s transcription (Polyphonies du xiiie siecle: le manuscript H196 de la Faculté du
Médecine de Montpéllier [Paris: Éditions de l’Oiseau Lyre, 1936], 3:64–81) reveals that the concor-
dant source (a manuscript from Tubingen) contains more “short” notes than the primary source
(the Montpellier Codex).
21. Franchinus Gaffurius (Gafori, Franchino), Practica Musicae (Milan, 1496), trans. Clement A.
Miller, Musicological Studies and Documents, no. 20 (Rome: American Institute of Musicology,
1968), 91.
22. There are four in the final strophe.
23. Leo Schrade, ed., Polyphonic Music of the Fourteenth Century (Monaco: Éditions de l’Oiseau Lyre
1956), 1:88–90.
24. Richard H. Hoppin, Medieval Music (New York: Norton, 1978), 414–45.
25. Daniel Leech-Wilkinson, Machaut’s Mass: An Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1990), 11–13.
26. This lack of modal unity is frequently encountered in “plainsong” Masses, because the chants for the
various Ordinary texts exist in multiple modes, and there is no such thing as a plainsong Ordinary
in a single mode. Such is the case, for example, in Josquin’s Missa de Beata Virgine, ca. 1510.
27. Leech-Wilkinson, Machaut’s Mass, 29.
28. Otto Gombosi, “Machaut’s Messe Notre-Dame,” MQ 36, no. 2 (1950): 202–24.
29. Leech-Wilkinson, Machaut’s Mass, 30–31.
CHAPTER 2
1. Oliver Strunk, Source Readings in Music History: From Classical Antiquity through the Romantic Era
(New York: Norton, 1950), 195 and 199.
2. Bukofzer, “The Beginnings of Choral Polyphony,” 176–89.
3. Ibid., 181.
4. This term is generally attributed to Martin le Franc, who first used it (ca. 1440) in his poem Le
Champion des Dames.
5. Besseler, Bourdon und Fauxbourdon, 13.
6. See, for example, the hymn Conditor alme siderum (Du Fay, Opera omnia, 5:39, Rome: American
Institute of Musicology, 1966).
7. Manfred Bukofzer. “John Dunstable: A Quincentenary Report.” MQ 40, no. 1 (1954): 43–44.
8. There is no shortage of scores available. Bukofzer’s transcription appears in Musica Brittanica,
2nd ed. (London: Stainer and Bell, 1970), 8:112. The motet also appears in Donald J. Grout’s
History of Music in the Western World (New York: Norton, 1960) and in the Norton Anthology of
Western Music (hereafter NAWM), vol. 1, Ancient to Baroque, ed. J. P. Burkholder and Claude
Palisca, 3rd ed. (New York: Norton, 1996), 99.
9. Johannes Tinctoris, Liber de arte contrapuncti, ed. and trans. Albert Seay, Musicological Studies
and Documents 5 (Rome: American Institute of Musicology, 1961), 25.
10. Since 1973, these proportions were thought to mirror those of the dome (cf. Charles Warren Fox,
“Brunelleschi’s Dome and Dufay’s Motet,” MQ 59, no. 1 [1973]: 92–105). Craig Wright refutes
this interpretation in his article, “Dufay’s Nuper rosarum flores, King Solomon’s Temple, and the
Veneration of the Virgin.” JAMS 47, no. 3 (1994): 395–441.
Notes 435
11. Bukofzer, Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Music, 217–26. The word “caput” is the conclusion
of Peter’s response that Jesus should wash not only his feet but also his head (“caput”).
12. Many authors have speculated that the absence of the Kyrie resulted from its omission in the
Sarum rite (the liturgy used at Salisbury Cathedral in England). However, recent scholarship
suggests that the layer of the Old Hall Manuscript containing polyphonic Kyrie settings may
simply have been lost. The Old Hall Manuscript (ca. 1415–21), currently housed in the British
Library, is a collection of late medieval polyphony.
13. Peter Burkholder has coined the term “imitation Mass” for such compositions. See his arti-
cle “Johannes Martini and the Imitation Mass of the Late Fifteenth Century,” JAMS 38, no. 3
(1985): 470–523.
14. Lewis Lockwood, “On Parody as Term and Concept in Masses of the Renaissance,” in Aspects of
Medieval and Renaissance Music, ed. Jan LaRue (New York: Norton, 1966), 560–75.
15. The famous “Caput” Mass, long attributed to Du Fay, is now believed to be English in origin.
See Lewis Lockwood and Andrew Kirkman, “Mass: The Cyclic Mass in the Later 15th Century,”
in NG2, 16:69.
16. Both the Ballade and the Gloria of the Mass appear in Burkholder and Palisca, NAWM 1:109–19.
17. Willi Apel, The Notation of Polyphonic Music 900–1600 (Cambridge, MA: Medieval Academy of
America, 1953), 89–95.
18. See Lewis Lockwood, “Aspects of the L’Homme Armé Tradition,” Proceedings of the Royal
Musicological Association (hereafter PRMA) 100 (1973–74): 97–122; Leeman Perkins, “The
L’Homme Armé Masses of Busnoys and Ockeghem,” Journal of Musicology 3, no. 4 (1984), 363–
96; and Richard Taruskin, “Antoine Busnoys and the L’Homme Armé Tradition,” JAMS 39, no. 2
(1986): 255–93.
19. Obrecht places the melody in Phrygian mode, perhaps as a means of separating his Mass from
the preexistent tradition.
20. This citation from Glareanus quoted in Peter Urquhart’s liner notes to his recording of the Mass
(Troy, NY: Dorian Discovery, DI-80152, 1997), 3.
21. Missa cujusivus Toni, ed. George Houle (Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1992).
22. Urquhart, DI-80152, liner notes, 3.
23. For a complete discussion, see Rob Wegman, Born for the Muses: The Life and Masses of Jakob
Obrecht (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994).
24. Jeremy Noble, “Josquin des Prez: The Masses,” in NG2, 13:234–39.
25. This number includes the final two Masses.
26. Noble, “Josquin . . . Masses,” in NG2, 13:235.
27. If one is to believe the text of Molinet’s Déploration sur le Mort Johannes Ockeghem (Nymphes de
bois), which Josquin sets to music, Josquin may indeed have been a pupil of Ockeghem.
28. Noble, “Josquin . . . Masses,” in NG2, 13:237.
29. Josquin did this in the Missa L’Homme Armé super voces musicales as well.
30. One cannot help but compare this development with the extension of the tenor in medieval
organum. Here too, the liturgical melody that provided the raison d’etre for the polyphony
becomes progressively less recognizable as composers increasingly devote their energy to cre-
ating new melodies.
31. See the discussion of Du Fay’s cantilena motet, Alma redemptoris Mater, ex. 2.2.
32. This texture is reminiscent of Du Fay, who uses upper voice duos as motto openings prior to the
entry of the tenor.
33. This segment is strongly reminiscent of the segment of the Gloria of the L’Homme Armé sexti
toni Mass discussed earlier.
436 Notes
34. The foregoing synopsis drawn from Leeman Perkins and Patrick Macey, “Motet: Renaissance: Later
15th Century,” in NG2, 17:205–8.
35. There is a great deal of debate about whether the second half of the text is also an acrostic and,
if so, what it means.
36. The result is that the duration of both duple and triple measures are the same, three notes in the
new meter being a triplet of the preceding bar.
37. Perkins and Macey, “Motet: Renaissance,” in NG2, 17:208–9.
38. For more on this motet, see Alwes, “Josquin’s Ave Maria . . . virgo serena: A Question of
Proportion,” and “Josquin’s Ave Maria . . . virgo serena—Part Two: Rhythm & Accent,” Choral
Journal 33, nos. 3–4 (1992): 29–30, 15–16.
39. The term “Lesser Doxology” refers to the formula of praise used at the end of a psalm, canticle,
or hymn (“Glory be to the Father and to the Son . . .”). The “Greater Doxology” (“Glory to God in
the highest and on earth peace . . .”) is part of the Roman Mass.
CHAPTER 3
1. The evidence of this diversity is evident in the types of publications dating from the early six-
teenth century. As early as 1507 we find printed intabulations of vocal music for lute, organ (1517),
instrumental dance music (1528), and instrumental ensemble music (ca. 1540). See Répertoire
International des Sources Musicales, Recueils imprimés, XVIe–SVIIe Siècles, ed. François Lesure
(München-Duisberg: G. Henle Verlag, 1960).
2. A modern edition appears in The Oxford Book of French Chansons, ed. Frank Dobbins (Oxford
University Press, 1987), 91–95, 96–97.
3. Ibid., 107–13.
4. Ibid., 114–15.
5. Ibid., 44–57.
6. James H. Smith and F. W. Parks, eds., The Great Critics (1939), 165, quoted in Gustav Reese,
Music in the Renaissance (hereafter MR) (New York: Norton, 1954), 382.
7. See Dobbins, French Chansons, 297–301; and in Madrigals and Partsongs, ed. Clifford Bartlett
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 194–201. Also found in Burkholder and Palisca,
NAWM, 3rd. ed. (1996), 180–94.
8. The title derives from the use of this melody for Psalm 100 in English Psalters.
9. Unlike Glareanus, Zarlino begin the modal cycle with Ionian (as modes 1 and 2) and ended with
Aeolian.
10. Bartlett, Madrigals, 157. Also found in Burkholder and Palisca, NAWM, 142–43.
11. Reese, MR, 708.
12. For more concerning Lechner, see chap. 7.
13. Bartlett, Madrigals, 144.
14. See the preface to William Prizer’s edition of the print Libro primo de la croce: Rome: Pasoti and
Dorico, 1526, Collegium Musicum: Yale University, Series 2, vol. 8 (Madison, WI: A-R Editions,
Inc., 1978).
15. See Burkholder and Palisca, NAWM, 36:145–46.
16. See Walter Rubsamen’s paper “From Frottola to Madrigal: The Changing Pattern of Italian
Secular Vocal Music,” in Chanson and Madrigal, 1480–1530: Studies in Comparison and Contrast,
ed. James Haar (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1964), 51–87.
17. These collections also contain music by C. Festa and others.
Notes 437
18. Alfred Einstein, “The Early Madrigal,” in The Italian Madrigal. trans. Alexander H. Krappe,
Roger H. Sessions, and Oliver Strunk,(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1949) 1:249.
19. A Gift of Madrigals and Motets, ed. H. Colin Slim (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1972),
2:330–32.
20. The expected hierarchy of cadence pitches would be F (the final), C (reciting tone of mode 5),
A (the reciting tone of mode 6), and perhaps B♭ (since the A–B♭ semitone is present in the mode).
But cadences to G and E♭ are decidedly unusual.
21. Reese, MR, 318.
22. Bartlett, Madrigals,4.
23. Claude Palisca, Baroque Music (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1968), 12.
24. Ibid., 14–15, 16.
25. For a modern edition, see Alex Harman, ed., Oxford Book of Italian Madrigals (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1983), 196–201.
26. Arcadia is the title of a long poem by Jacopo Sannazaro, which initiates the use of nature themes
as a metaphor for human emotional behavior. Arcadia is a magical land filled with nymphs and
shepherds, whose interactions are celebrated in many madrigal texts (e.g., Amaryllis, Phyllis,
and the like.).
27. Howard Mayer Brown, Music in the Renaissance (hereafter MRen) (Englewood Cliffs,
NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1976), 345.
28. This phrase forms the title of Edward Lowinsky’s Secret Chromatic Art in the Netherlands Motet
(New York: Columbia University Press, 1946), which promotes the theory that the cognoscenti
regarded “musica ficta” as a signal for movement into distant chromatic areas.
29. While the most notable is the Florentine Camerata, similar academies existed at most of the
Italian courts, including Naples (established by Gesualdo’s father) and Ferrara (where Gesualdo
resided after fleeing Naples).
30. Gesualdo, Libro primo di madrigali a cinque voci (1594). A modern edition is available in Sämtliche
Werke, vol. 1, Sämtliche Madrigale für fünf Stimmen, ed. Wilhelm Weismann (Hamburg: Ugrino
Verlag, 1962), 50–53.
31. If one adds the lengths of the first segment (6 mm., 8 mm., and 10 mm.) the total number of
measures is 24 not 22; this is due to the overlap of one section’s completion with the onset of
the next.
32. Actually, the interval of transposition should have been a perfect fifth, since that is the interval
used to transpose the other voice parts. Had Gesualdo chosen to change the E-major sonority
that concludes m. 48 to E minor (i.e., G♮), the transposition of these voices would have also
been the traditional fifth.
33. See Gary Tomlinson, Monteverdi and the End of the Renaissance (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1987).
34. For a score, see Bartlett, Madrigals, 121–25; or Harman, Oxford Book of Italian Madrigals, 260–63.
35. Such a performance solves the awkward text underlay of the inner voices.
36. Joseph Kerman, The Elizabethan Madrigal: A Comparative Study, American Musicological
Society: Studies and Documents 4 (New York: American Musicological Society, 1962), 219.
37. Ibid., 194.
38. In reality, the use of animal sounds is a fairly common occurrence in the secular music of
the time. Specifically, one is reminded of Janequin’s program chanson Le Chant des oiseaux
(Dobbins, Oxford Book of French Chansons, 44–57), but there are many others, even within the
“madrigal comedy” (e.g., Striggio’s realistic portrayal of a hunt in La Caccia).
438 Notes
39. Reese, MR, 567.

40. All of this information derives from the preface to D. Walker, ed., Musique des Intermèdes de
“La Pellegrina”: Les Fêtes de Florence, 1589 (Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche
Scientifique, 1986).
41. The vocal scoring of the seven choirs is: SATTB, SSSTB, SAT, ATB, SATB, ATTB, and SSATTB.
CHAPTER 4
1. Reese, MR, 281.
2. John Rutter, ed., Christmas Motets (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 55–62.
3. Hermann Finck, “De Musicae Inventoribus,” in Practica Musica, Biblioteca musica
Bononiensis: Sezione 2, no. 21 (Bologna: Forni Editore, 1969), A ii.
4. Lowinsky, Secret Chromatic Art., trans. Carl Buchman (New York: Columbia University Press, 1946).
5. Reese, MR, 357.
6. Most notably, see Lockwood, “On Parody,” in La Rue, Aspects of Medieval and Renaissance Music,
560–75.
7. For a complete discussion of these Masses (as well as derivative arrangements of this chanson),
see Tsotomu Ota, “A Study of Parody Settings Based on a French Chanson Je suis désheritée”
(DMA diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 2002).
8. The fourth composer is William Byrd, none of whose three Masses use parody technique.
9. For more on Monteverdi’s composition, see chap. 6, 171.
10. For a complete list, see Reese, MR, 470–72.
11. This notion is now regarded as false. It was originally believed that Palestrina’s Missa Papae
Marcelli literally saved polyphonic church music from being banned by the Council of Trent. Not
only is that story apocryphal, but it is now generally acknowledged that Jacobus de Kerle (if any-
one) was probably more responsible than Palestrina for giving the Council a model of church
music that was acceptable.
12. Paul Henry Lang (Music in Western Civilization [New York, 1941], 234) took this expression from
Charles Gounod, Memoirs of an Artist, trans. E. A. Crocker (Chicago, 1895), 99.
13. Chester Alwes, “Palestrina’s Style: The Art of Balance,” Choral Journal 35, no. 1 (1994): 14.
14. Reese, MR, 462.
15. John Rutter, ed., European Sacred Music (hereafter ESM), Oxford Choral Classics (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1996), 258.
16. Indeed, the most efficient way to rehearse the piece is to isolate these repeated bass melodies
and then sing them alone and with any melody that is also consistent.
17. The text of the motet is found in the Gospel for the Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul (Liber Usualis
(hereafter LU), 1520). While Palestrina’s musical treatment suggests that in his day this text was
a Responsory, the LU does not give this complete text as such. The text of the secunda pars is
appointed as an antiphon for this feast (LU, 1517), and the first part of the opening text (through
Ecclesiam meam) appears several times (as an office antiphon and as the verse of the alleluia at
Mass) for the same day.
18. Reese, MR, 472.
19. Brown, MRen, 286–89.
20. Robert Marshall, “The Paraphrase Technique of Palestrina in His Masses Based on Hymns,”
JAMS 16, no. 3 (1963): 347–72.
21. I am indebted to Dr. Tom Ward for pointing out that the frontispiece of this print shows the
composer presenting Pope Paul III (the former bishop of the composer’s hometown) with a
copy of this book of Masses.
Notes 439
22. Transcriptions of both the motet and the Mass are available in Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina,
Masses and Motets: Based on the Raffaele Casimiri’s Edition (New York: Dover, 1993), 105–47.
23. Portions of chap. 12 of this treatise dealing with how to compose a parody Mass appear in English
translations in Strunk, Source Readings in Music History, 265–68.
24. That said, Reese makes a noble effort (MR, 692–5).
25. See Ota, “Parody Settings of Je suis désheritée.”
26. Friedrich Blume et al., Protestant Church Music: A History (hereafter PCM) (New York: Norton,
1974), 169.
27. Reese, MR, 513.
28. Ibid., 515.
29. See Charlotte Smith, ed., Seven Penitential Psalms (Newark: University of Delaware Press;
London: Associated University Presses, 1983).
30. Published as vols. 34, 37, and 41 of Das Chorwerk (Wolfenbüttel: Moseler Verlag, 1929–).
31. For more information on these parameters, see Harold Powers, “Tonal Types and Modal
Categories in Renaissance Polyphony.” JAMS 34, no. 3 (1981): 428–70.
32. This motet was published in 1582 by Adam Berg of Munich as part of an anthology of motets
(Mottetta, sex vocum, typis nondum uspiam excusa).
33. Reese, MR, 694.
34. Rutter, ESM, 182.
35. The date of the dedication is May 24, 1594, three weeks before Lassus’s death. See Robert Luoma,
Music, Mode, and Words in Orlando di Lasso’s Last Works (Lewiston, NY: E. Mellen Press, 1989), 3.
36. Since this is one of Lassus’s modally ordered cycles, he was obliged to add a setting of Psalm 148
to the Seven Penitential Psalms in order to represent all eight modes.
37. Alfons Kurfess, “Christian Sibyllines,” in Edgar Hennecke, New Testament Apocrypha, ed.
Wilhelm Schneemelcher, trans. Robert McL. Wilson (Philadelphia: John Knox Press, 1965),
2:703, quoted in Peter Bergquist, “The Poems of Orlando di Lasso’s Prophetiae Sibyllarum and
Their Sources.” JAMS 32, no. 3 (1979): 521.
38. Edward Lowinsky, Tonality and Atonality in Sixteenth Century Music (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1961).
39. See the discussion of Rore’s madrigal Da le belle contrade in chap. 3, 75–77.
40. Indeed, the texts of nearly all of the first twelve madrigals mention the “eyes of the Lord.”
41. For many years, I had assumed that Lassus added the Latin text specifically to create a twenty-first
piece and that he used this Latin text due to the absence of a twenty-first poem by Tansillo.
Recently I was surprised to learn that Tansillo’s collection numbered forty-two poems (2 x 21) cast
in ottava rime. Unfortunately, the complete works of Lassus and other scholarly sources do not
make clear which twenty of Tansillo’s text Lassus used or whether the texts he chose are sequential
in the source nor do we seem to know the source of the Latin text with which the set concludes.
42. For a discussion of the concept of the modal ordering of a collection, see Powers, “Tonal Types
and Modal Categories,”428–70.
43. Luoma, Music, Mode, and Words, 8.
44. On the title page of the print of the Lagrimae, Lassus makes specific reference to this text: con un
mottetto nel fine a sette voci.
45. Luoma, 168–69.
46. Ibid., 173–74.
47. Brown, MRen, 314.
48. Higini Angles, “Latin Church Music on the Continent–3: Spain and Portugal,” in New Oxford
History of Music, vol. 4, The Age of Humanism: 1540–1630, ed. Gerald Abraham (London: Oxford
440 Notes
49. The painter known as El Greco was born in Crete as Dominikos Theotokopoulos (1541–1614).
A student of Titian, he arrived in Toledo (Spain) in 1577, where he spent the remainder of his
life. The Concise Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, s.v. “El Greco,” ed. E. A. Livingstone
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).
50. The original printed version of Victoria’s motet clearly gives the mensural sign O-slash, 3/2,
indicating sesquialtera.
51. But again, Victoria uses many B♭s, blurring the distinction between Dorian and D minor.
52. “The hosts of the infernal, sad dead gather round me.”
53. Josquin uses this melody canonically in his chanson Nimphes nappés, as well as the motets
Christus mortuus and Sic Deus dilexit.
54. As Reese notes (MR, 255), Gombert uses the same melodic phrase as the basis of his lament on
the death of Josquin (Musae Jovis à 6).
55. The popularity of the seven penitential psalms is evident in the number and variety of publications
based on them, including the anthology Teares or Lamentacions of a Sorrowfull Soule by William
Leighton (1614). For more detail, see Kerchal Foss Armstrong, “Musical Settings of the Penitential
Psalm Cycle, ca.1560–1620,” (DMA diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 1974).
56. Basil Smallman’s study, The Background of the Passion Music: J. S. Bach and His Predecessors
(London: SCM Press, 1957) remains the definitive study of the evolution of this genre prior to Bach.
57. The first part of the Passion may be found in Ray Robinson, ed., Choral Music: A Norton Historical
Anthology (New York: Norton, 1978), 145–59. For the complete score, see Leonhard Lechner-Werke,
vol. 12, ed. Konrad Ameln (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1960).
58. The texts of four of the five chapters in Lamentations are acrostics based on the twenty-two
characters of the Hebrew alphabet. Chapters 1, 2, and 4 each contain twenty-two verses, while
chap. 3 has sixty-six (a triple acrostic, 3 x 22).
59. The Lamentations are printed in vol. 2 of the complete works of Palestrina (Rome: American
Institute of Musicology, 1973, CMM 58).
60. There is a brief discussion of Tallis’s setting in chap. 5, 134–35.
CHAPTER 5
1. Probably the most famous composition in the Eton Choirbook is the imperfectly preserved copy
of Richard Davy’s St. Matthew Passion.
2. In his notes to the series of recordings by Harry Christophers (The Rose and the Ostrich
Feather), Richard Milsom notes that the Eton Choirbook contained the repertory sung in the
Chapel at the College Royal of Our Lady.
3. Reese, MR, 772.
4. Ibid., 774.
5. Sarum refers to the liturgy of the English Church as practiced at Salisbury Cathedral prior to the
advent of the Book of Common Prayer in 1549.
6. Reese, MR, 776, gives a transcription of the Agnus Dei 3.
7. Frank Ll. Harrison, Music in Medieval Britain, Studies in the History of Music (London: Routledge
& Kegan Paul, 1958), 265.
8. The even-numbered verses were sung in plainsong.
9. Manfred Bukofzer, “Caput: A Musico-Liturgical Study,” in Studies in Medieval and Renaissance
Music (New York: Norton, 1950), 249–56.
10. A modern edition appears as vol. 1 of Musica Scotica: The Complete Works of Robert Carver & Two
Anonymous Masses, ed. Kenneth Elliot (Glasgow: University of Glasgow Music Department
Publication, 1996).
Notes 441
11. Reese, MR, 778.

12. Harrison (Music in Medieval Britain, 280) points out that the title does not indicate that the Mass
is based on a chant but rather that it is written in simple style, that is, in “plain song.”
13. In the notes to Harry Christophers’s recording of the Missa Sancti Wilhelmi Devotio (London:
Hyperion, CD A66427, 1991), John Heighway argues that because the Mass (known as “Small
Devotion” in at least two sources) borrows passages from Taverner’s setting of the antiphon O
Wilhelmi, pastor bone (in several sources with the title O Christe, pastor bonus), the title “Small
Devotion” may, in fact, be a corruption of “S. Will. Devotio.”
14. In this respect, Taverner’s Western Wynde Mass seems structurally related to Fayrfax’s Missa
Albanus.
15. It is worth noting that these are the same movements that paired together (most likely due to
similarities in textual format) in the fifteenth-century precursors of the cyclic Mass Ordinaries.
16. LU, 914.
17. Harrison, Music in Medieval Britain, 268–69.
18. Paul Doe and David Allinson, “Thomas Tallis,” in NG2, 25:37.
19. Edmund H. Fellowes, Tudor Church Music, vol. 6, Thomas Tallis (London: Oxford University
Press, 1928).
20. Archibald T. Davison and Willi Apel, eds., Harvard Anthology of Music (hereafter HAM), vol. 1,
Oriental, Medieval, and Renaissance Music, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
1949), 231.
21. Paul Fugler, liner notes to Latin Church Music of Thomas Tallis I, Taverner Choir and Consort,
Andrew Parrott, conductor (EMI Records, Ltd., CDC 7 49555 2 EMI, 1989), 32.
22. Ibid., 7.
23. At least this is the assumption set forth by Reese, MR, 786.
24. See chap. 4, 126.
25. H. M. Brown, MRen, 324.
26. After Tallis’s death in 1585, Byrd assigned the patent to Thomas East.
27. Reese, MR, 787.
28. This number is attained if one (quite reasonably) counts the three sections of Tribue Dominum
as separate compositions.
29. John Harley, William Byrd: Gentleman of the Chapel Royal (Aldershot, UK: Scolar Press, 1999),
216–17.
30. The first cadence to G is an exception in that Byrd avoids the ascent to d′′ in the superius to
include the raised third.
31. Cantiones sacrae is a short title; the actual titles both begin with Liber primus (secundus) sacrarum
cantionum, followed by an indication of the number of voices.
32. Harley, William Byrd, 222–23. Six pieces are not datable beyond the terminus ante quem of their
publication.
33. H. B. Collins, “Latin Church Music by Early English Composers,” PRMA 39 (1912–13): 69.
Quoted in Allan Brown, preface to The Byrd Edition, vol. 2, Cantiones sacrae I (1988), ed. Philip
Brett (London: Stainer and Bell, 1988), viii.
34. For more on this issue, see Joseph Kerman, “Byrd, Tallis and the Art of Imitation,” in Write All
These Down: Essays in Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 90–105.
35. Brett, The Byrd Edition, vol. 3, 251.
36. The full title is Gradualia: ac cantiones sacrae, quinis, quaternis, trinisque vocibus concinnatae (I)
or Gradualia: seu cantionum sacrarum quarum aliae ad quator, aliae vero ad quinque et sex voces
deitae sunt (II).
37. Harley, William Byrd, 317.
442 Notes
38. James L. Jackman, “Liturgical Aspects of Byrd’s Gradualia,” MQ 49, no. 1 (1963): 17–37; Joseph
Kerman, The Masses and Motets of William Byrd (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981);
Brett, Byrd Edition, vol. 5, Marian Masses (1989), 6a, All Saint’s and Corpus Christi (1991), and 6b,
Other Feasts and Devotions (London: Stainer and Bell, 1989, 1991, 1993).
40. Especially as it follows directly after the Mass for Corpus Christi (the first four motets in the à 4
section), which uses G Dorian (one flat).
41. Massey Hamilton Shepherd, The Oxford American Prayer Book: Commentary (New York: Oxford
42. Peter Clulow, “Publication Dates for Byrd’s Latin Masses,” Music and Letters 47, no. 1 (1966): 1–9.
43. Brett, “Homage to Taverner in Byrd’s Masses,” Early Music 9, no. 2 (1981), 169–76.
45. The section of Peacham’s publication, The Compleat Gentleman [1622], devoted to music appears
in Strunk, Source Readings, 331–37.
46. Among the more noteworthy of Philips’s anthems is “O beatam et sacrosanctam diem,” Anthony
Petti, ed. (London: Chester Music, 1963), 8837.
47. These elements of the traditional Mass Ordinary may be set separately as well, in which case
they comprise a “communion service.”
48. Assuming that the high altar is situated at the eastern front of the cruciform building, the
Decani would be on the right of someone facing the altar, the Cantoris on the left.
49. Watkins Shaw, “Church Music in England from the Reformation to the Present Day,” in Blume,
PCM, 702 (New York: W. W. Norton, 1974).
50. This monumental series, published as ten volumes between 1922 and 1929, had five different
editors—P. C. Buck, E. H. Fellowes, A. Ramsbotham, R. R.Terry, and S. T. Warner.
51. In this sense, the Great Service is somewhat reminiscent of Monteverdi’s Vespers of 1610 (with-
out the latter’s problems regarding liturgical unity and function).
52. Watkins Shaw, “Church Music in England,”, PCM, 705.
53. John Harley, Orlando Gibbons and the Gibbons Family of Musicians (Brookfield, VT: Ashgate
Press, 1999), 159.
54. Charles Burney, A General History of Music, From the Earliest Ages to the Present Period, 4 vols.
(London: 1776–89), 3:329–30, quoted in Harley, Orlando Gibbons, 162.
55. For more details, see the critical notes printed in Tudor Church Music, vol. 4, ed. Fellowes, xxxiii–
xxxiv (London: Oxford University Press, 1925).
56. Peter Le Huray, Music and the Reformation in England, 1549–1660 (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1967), 312; and Harley, Orlando Gibbons, 162–64.
57. The barring of the organ part is different still.
58. Watkins Shaw, “Church Music in England,” 706.
59. Ray Robinson, ed., Choral Music: A Norton Historical Anthology (hereafter CM) (New York: Norton,
1978), 181–90; HAM 1:195–98. The other two anthems are “Behold, thou hast made my days”
and “Grant, O Holy Trinity.”
60. Harley, Orlando Gibbons, 196.
61. In his notes to David Hill’s recording of Gibbons’s anthems (Hyperion CDA67116, 2000), 4,
Andrew Parker cites the “total lack of evidence” that other instruments (specifically referring to
viols) were used in church.
62. Watkins Shaw, “Church Music in England,” PCM, 706.
63. Kathryn Ellen Smith, “Music for Voices and Viols: A Contextual Study and Critical Performing
Edition of Verse Anthems in Christ Church [Oxford] MSS 56–60” (DMA diss., University of
Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 1988), 1:17.
Notes 443

65. K. E. Smith, “Music for Voices and Viols,” 1:91.
67. Denis Stevens, Thomas Tomkins 1572–1656, rev. ed. (New York: Dover, 1967), 27.
68. Published as the fourteenth item in Songs of 3.4.5 and 6 parts (1622).
69. In the Sternhold and Hopkins Psalter (ca. 1548); Thomas Sternhold (d. 1549) and John Hopkins
(d. 1570) were versifiers of the Psalms into English meter and used by many of the Tudor composers.
70. Stevens, Thomas Tomkins, 84–85.
71. Watkins Shaw (“Church Music in England,” PCM, 706) attributes some forty anthems to Weelkes
(though acknowledging that many are incomplete), of which twenty-three are verse anthems.
An edition of the twenty-five completed anthems appears in Musica Britannica: A National
Collection of Music, vol. 23, Thomas Weelkes: Collected Anthems, ed. David Brown, Walter Collins,
and Peter Le Huray (London: Stainer and Bell, 1966, rev. ed. 1975).
72. D. Brown. “Thomas Weelkes,” in NG2, 27:204.
CHAPTER 6
1. Palisca, BM, 57.
2. This fits perfectly the prescription of Scacchi in ibid., 59.
3. The early development of instrumental music is one in which vocal music is simply played, not
sung. The terms canzona and ricercare designated instrumental transcriptions of secular (chan-
son/canzona) or sacred (motets) vocal compositions. The root of the term ricercare is the same as
our word “research,” meaning “to seek out”; it was apt because of the contrapuntal nature of the
model, the individual voices “seeking” one another (or perhaps seeking variations of the basic
theme). The ricercare is a more intricate, learned type of composition than the canzona, which,
given its secular ancestry, is more playful—rhythmically and harmonically.
4. The etymology of the term “concerto” is still hotly debated. For a summary of the different
points of view, see David Boyden’s article, “When Is a Concerto Not a Concerto?” MQ 43, no. 2
(1957): 220–32. See also Taruskin, The Earliest Notations to the Sixteenth Century, Oxford History
of Western Music, vol. 1 (New York, Oxford University Press, 2010), 780–82.
5. Cristofano Malvezzi, Musique des Intermedes de “La Pellegrina”: Les Fêtes de Florence—1589,
ed. D. P. Walker and Frederic Ghisi, (Paris: Editions du Centre National de la Recherche
Scientifique, 1986).
6. James H. Moore, Vespers at St. Mark’s: Music of Alessandro Grandi, Giovanni Rovetta and Francesco
Cavalli (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1981); David Bryant, “The ‘Cori Spezzati’ of St.
Mark’s: Myth and Reality,” in Early Music History: Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Music,
ed. Iain Fenlon, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 1:165–86.
7. Manfred Bukofzer, Music in the Baroque Era: From Monteverdi to Bach (hereafter MBE)
(New York: Norton, 1947), 23.
8. See chap. 4, 103–05.
9. Most references to In Ecclesiis give its scoring as fourteen parts, not counting the essential basso
per l’organo book as a separate part. Frederick Hudson, “Giovanni Gabrieli’s Motet à 15, In eccle-
siis, from Symphoniae sacrae, Liber II, 1615,” Music Review 24, no. 2 (1963): 132.
10. The term capella (var. cappella) refers to a choir comprised of multiple singers per part; it is con-
trasted with the designation voce (as here) or coro favorito (as, for example in Schütz’s Psalmen
Davids, 1619), which indicates solo vocal performance.
11. Palisca, BM, 23 provides an example of how this formula worked.
12. Edited by C. Alwes and published by Mark Foster Music (MF 423, 1992).
444 Notes
13. Monteverdi’s output is discussed later in this chapter. For an example of Grandi’s combination
of the monodic style with more traditional contrapuntal music, see Plorabo die ac nocte in Das
Chorwerk, vol. 40, ed. Friedrich Blume (Wolfenbüttel and Berlin: G. Kallmeyer Verlag, 1936), 8–12.
14. For a discussion of the differences between these eras, see Bukofzer, MBE, 1–19.
15. The various aspects summarized here are more completely discussed in Howard Smither,
A History of the Oratorio, vol. 1, The Oratorio in the Baroque Era: Italy, Vienna, Paris (Chapel
Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1977), 145–206, and 207–57.
16. Bukofzer, MBE, 123.
17. Smither, Oratorio I, 223.
18. Ibid., 224.
19. For the text of Kircher’s commentary, see Palisca, BM, 115.
20. This device even drew the attention of Athanasius Kircher in his description of the work in
Musurgia universalis (1650). See Palisca, BM, 115.
21. The sole exception is the chromatic lament in scene 1, which is a text added precisely to allow
this stock musical device.
22. This clear division of the oratorio by means of tonality/modality is probably what influenced
Smither to make his qualification “with the possible exception of Jephte, which could be viewed
as a two-part oratorio.” Smither, Oratorio I, 224.
23. The Greek word epizeuxis describes musical repetition of a word or phrase at a new (usually
higher) pitch level; the result is a heightened emotional emphasis on these words. For a full discus-
sion of this aspect of Carissimi’s oratorios, see Günther Massenkeil, “Die Wiederholungsfiguren
in den Oratorien Giacomo Carissimis,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, 13, no.1 (1956): 42–60.
24. Ibid.
25. Janet E. Beat, “Two Problems in Carissimi’s Oratorio Jephte,” Music Review 34, nos. 3–4
(1973): 339–45.
26. Another example of this same performance scheme is Schütz’s Seven Last Words, in which
not only are all of the characters represented within the five parts used in the chorus, but these
parts also have the same clef disposition as the gamba ensemble that serves as the instrumental
frame and the accompaniment to the words of Jesus.
27. For a thorough synopsis see Jeffrey Kurtzman, The Monteverdi Vespers of 1610: Music, Context,
Performance (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 11–55.
28. As suggested in chap. 4, Gombert is taken as the locus classicus of the Franco-Flemish imitative
style that is the dominant musical language of the sixteenth century.
29. The remainder of the service—prayers, readings, and other versicles—is sung to simple liturgi-
cal tones.
30. Denis Stevens, “Where Are the Vespers of Yesteryear?” MQ 47, no. 3 (1961) 315–30.
31. Monteverdi, Vespro della Beata Vergine, ed. Denis Stevens (London: Novello, 1961).
32. Kurtzman, Monteverdi Vespers, 39–40
33. Stephen Bonta, “Liturgical Problems in Monteverdi’s Marian Vespers,” JAMS 20, no. 1
(1967): 87–106, 96.
34. In his 1605 publication L’Organo suonario, Banchieri even includes organ pieces that may be
played after the Magnificat, in lieu of a sung antiphon.
35. Andrew Parrott, “Transposition in Monteverdi’s Vespers of 1610: An ‘Aberration’ Defended,”
Early Music 12, no. 4 (1984): 490–516. Parrott cites numerous contemporaneous sources (most
notably Michael Praetorius’s treatise Syntagma musicum) that indicate that such transposition
was a common practice.
Notes 445
36. The two-voice opening seems to contradict the incremental growth in the scoring of these
concertos. The first, Nigra sum, is scored for a single voice (T), while the second, Pulchra es,
amica mea, is scored for two sopranos. Following this logic, one would expect Monteverdi to
use three voices, and he eventually does (at m. 31 where the text is Tres sunt qui testimonium
dant in coelo).
37. That the mode is Hypodorian and not Dorian is indicated by the range of the voices, which is
D–D′ (i.e., the plagal octave).
38. This type of repetition for the sake of emphasis or intensification is part of the rhetorical vocabu-
lary adopted by the Camerata; the technical name for this device is anaphora.
39. Rutter, ESM, 214–36.
40. A ninth book was published posthumously.
41. Claude V. Palisca, “The Artusi-Monteverdi Controversy,” in The Monteverdi Companion, Denis
Stevens and Nigel Fortune, eds. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1968), 133–66.
42. Nigel Fortune, “Monteverdi and the Seconda Prattica, i: Monody,” in Monteverdi Companion, 192.
43. Palisca, “The Artusi-Monteverdi Controversy,” 146.
44. Bartlett, Madrigals and Partsongs, 213–19.
45. There is no signed B♭ (hence, no transposition), the clefs are “low” (c1, c1, c3, c4, F4) reflecting
the modal octaves of the soprano/tenor (D–D) and alto/bass pairs (G–G), and the majority of
modal cadences are made to G.
46. Einstein, Italian Madrigal (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1949), 2:863–64.
47. Joan Catani Conlon, Performing Monteverdi: A Conductor’s Guide (Chapel Hill, NC: Hinshaw
Music, 2001), 45.
48. Gary Tomlinson notes in Monteverdi and the End of the Renaissance (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1987), 166, that this omission of Guarini in Book 6 is totally without precedent
in Monteverdi’s madrigal publications.
49. Ibid., 171–72.
50. The setting of Vago Augeletto sets only the octave of the sonnet.
51. Denis Stevens, “Madrigali Guerrieri et Amorosi,” in Monteverdi Companion, 227–54.
52. J. C. Nemeitz, Nachlese besonderer Nachrichten von Italien (Leipzig: Gleditsch, 1726), 60–61,
quoted in Michael Talbot, The Sacred Vocal Music of Antonio Vivaldi (Florence: Leo S. Olschki
Editore, 1995), 97.
53. Talbot, “Vivaldi, Antonio,” in NG2, 26:819.
54. Ruggieri’s setting is listed in the Anhang section of the thematic catalogue of Ryom (Copenhagen,
1973) as no. 23.
55. Talbot, Sacred Vocal Music, 332.
56. Antonio Vivaldi, Gloria (RV 589), Edizione Critica, ed. Michael Talbot (Milan: Ricordi, 2002),
163. Vivaldi also indicated cuts in mvts. 1, 3, and 9, presumably to shorten the work in liturgical
performance.
57. Talbot, Sacred Vocal Music, 346.
58. Ibid., 472.
59. Antonio Vivaldi, Magnificat (RV 610/611), Edizione Critica, ed. Michael Talbot (Milan: Ricordi,
1999), 117–19.
60. Edward J. Dent, Alessandro Scarlatti: His Life and Works, with preface and additional notes
by Frank Walker (London: Edward Arnold Ltd., 1960); Paul Brandvik, “Selected Motets of
Alessandro Scarlatti” (DMA diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 1969), 62. See
Brandvik, app. 1, 437–448, for a complete list.
446 Notes
CHAPTER 7
1. Bukofzer, MBE, 17; Palisca, BM, 16.
2. Blume, PCM, 127–315.
3. Ibid., 152
4. See chap. 4, 125.
5. Blume, PCM, 157.
6. The term originates with the first biographer of Lassus, Wolfgang Boetticher, Orlando di Lasso
und seine Zeit 1532–1594 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1958).
7. Hans Leo Hassler, Sämtliche Werke, vol. 9, Lustgarten Neuer Teutsche Gesaeng (1601), ed. C. Russell
Crosby (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1968), 43.
8. Hassler, Sämtliche Werke, vol. 1, Cantiones sacrae (1591), ed. C. Russell Crosby (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf &
Härtel, 1961), 19–20.
9. Michael Praetorius, Musae sioniae IX (1610), ed. F. Blume (Wolfenbüttel/Berlin: G. Kallmeyer
Verlag, 1929), 47–49; Michael Praetorius, Polyhymnia caduceatrix et panegyrica (1619), ed. W. Gurlitt,
3 vols. (Wolfenbüttel/Berlin: G. Kallmeyer Verlag, 1930), 1:65–74.
10. Blume, PCM, 151.
11. Werner Braun, Britannia abundans (Tutzing: Schneider, 1977); James G. Smith, “John
Dowland: A Reappraisal of his Ayres” (DMA diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign,
1973), 72–75. According to Smith, Moritz recommended Marenzio to Dowland in 1594 as the
best available teacher in Italy.
12. Personal conversation with the late musicologist Richard French, Union Theological
Seminary, 1969.
13. In the first edition of the Cantiones sacrae to appear in the Neue Schütz Ausgabe (NSA)
(Kassel: Bäerenreiter, 1960), the editor, Gottfried Grote, transposed this cycle up a whole step to
F♯ Phrygian. This concession to the needs of modern mixed choruses was removed in the new
version (2004), ed. Heide Volckmar-Waschk.
14. The preceding discussion of this motet refers to its original pitch notation.
15. Heinrich Schütz, Neue Ausgabe Sämtliche Werke (NSA), Cantiones sacrae 1625, vols. 8–9, ed.
Gottfried Grote (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1960), vii.
16. Polychoral motets are clearly known and composed in Germany well before Schütz goes to
Venice, viz. the eight-voice motets of Georg Otto and Valentin Geuck as well as eight-part com-
positions by Lassus.
17. Heinrich Schütz, Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen (Stuttgart: Hänssler Verlag, 1968), trans.
Derek McCullough.
18. Ibid., xi.
19. The Sämtliche Werke, ed. Philipp Spitta, is superior to the NSA in terms of one’s ability to see the
actual intentions of the composer. In the latter, the capellen have text underlaid in italics, and the
parts are designated as “voce o strumento.”
20. Schütz, NSA, vols. 23–26, Psalmen Davids 1619, ed. Wilhelm Ehmann (Kassel: Bärenreiter,1971–94),
24:114.
21. There is evidence from the court preacher in Dresden, Hoe von Hoenegg, that five works (SWV
35, 41, 43, 45, and 47) were performed on October 31 and November 1–2, 1617. See Christhard
Mahrenholz, “Schütz und das erste Reformations-Jubiläum,” Musik und Kirche 3, no. 4
(1931): 154.
22. Antonio Scandello (1517–80) was active at the Dresden Court from 1549 to 1580.
23. This textual harmonization reflects the influence of the motet-Passion, which often concluded
with a setting of the “Seven Last Words,” drawn from different Gospel accounts.
Notes 447
24. Also known as the Weihnachtshistorie, the lengthy title of this oratorio is Historia, der freuden- und
gnadenreiche Geburt Gottes und Marien Sohnes, Jesu Christi, unsers einigen Mitlers, Erlösers, und
Seeligmachers (“The Story of the Joyous and Gracious Birth of Jesus Christ, Son of God and Mary,
Our Sole Intermediary, Redeemer and Savior”).
25. Schütz, NSA, vol. 1, Historia der . . . Geburt . . . Jesu Christi, 1664, ed. Friedrich Schöneich
(Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1955).
26. We should not assume that his use of an “instrumental halo” for the words of Jesus anticipates
the treatment given those words by Bach in the St. Matthew Passion. Other passion settings (e.g.,
Thomas Selle’s Johannespassion) make similar use of instrumental accompaniment to differenti-
ate one character from another.
27. Schütz’s motet for Schein’s funeral (Das ist je gewisslich wahr, SWV 388) is included in this
collection.
28. For a most useful discussion of this typically seventeenth-century approach to form, see
Bukofzer, MBE, 350–69.
29. Nonetheless, in one of the concertos (Es steh Gott auf), Schütz directly quotes from two madrigals—
Armato il cor and Zefiro torna e di soavi accenti—from Monteverdi’s Eighth Book of Madrigals (1638).
30. Virginia Hancock points out in “Brahms’s Performances of Early Choral Music,” 19th-Century
Music 8, no. 2 (1984): 130, that this is one of the works of Schütz that Brahms is known to have
performed. Brahms’s knowledge of and access to the music of Schütz and Bach likely stem from
his friendship with Philip Spitta, the editor of the Schütz Sämtliche Werke and author of the first
definitive biography of Johann Sebastian Bach.
31. For a discussion of Schütz’s use of chorales, see Alwes, “Heinrich Schütz and the Lutheran
Chorale,” Hymn 36, no. 4 (1985): 24–35.
32. Blume, PCM, 202–4 discusses the various ways in which Schein utilizes chorale melodies in
this collection.
33. For the definitive study of this repertory see Craig J. Westendorf, “The Textual and Musical
Repertoire of the Spruchmotette” (DMA diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 1987).
34. See the edition/transcription by Christoph Wolff and Daniel Melamed, Harvard Publications in
Music, 18 (Cambridge, MA: President and Fellows of Harvard College, 1994).
35. Ibid., “Introduction,” xi.
36. Bernhard is best known for his treatise on composition (Tractatus compositionis augmentatis, ca.
1660), one of the few German treatises to discuss the use of the rhetorical figures that formed
the basis of much of contemporary Italian composition.
37. Timothy D. Newton, “A Study and Critical Edition of Samuel Capricornus’s ‘Theatrum
Musicum’ (1669–70) and ‘Continuatio Theatri Musici’ (1669)” (DMA diss., University of Illinois
at Urbana-Champaign, 2004).
38. Johann Mattheson, quoted in Snyder, 152.
39. This latter type is what Caccini uses for strophic bass variations in Le nuove musiche.
40. Kerala Snyder, Dietrich Buxtehude: Organist in Lübeck (New York: Schirmer Books, 1987).
41. Ibid.
42. The first two vocal entries are accompanied only by continuo. The instruments enter only with
the second half of the text of v.1, at dann werden wir.
43. The instrumental scoring (five-part strings/divided violas) is one typically encountered in the
church compositions of North German composers prior to Bach.
44. Friedhelm Krummacher, “The German Cantata to 1800: The Eighteenth-Century Protestant
Cantata in Germany,” in NG2, 5:23.
45. Late seventeenth-century “proto-cantatas” typically concluded with exclamatory texts (Hallelujah,
Hosanna, etc.).
448 Notes
46. It was for these concerts that Bach made his famous trip (by foot!) to Lübeck in 1706, a trip that
due to its unexpected length got Bach in hot water with the town council of Arnstadt. See Hans
T. David and Arthur Mendel, The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and
Documents, ed. Christoph Wolff, 51, rev. ed. (New York: Norton, 1998).
47. One of the requirements for assuming the position at Lübeck was a willingness to marry
Tunder’s daughter.
48. See Denkmäler Deutscher Tonkunst, vol. 3, Franz Tunders Gesangwerke: Solokantaten und Chorwerke
mit Instrumentalbegleitung, ed. Max Seiffert (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf &Härtel; Graz: Academische
Druck-U. Verlagsanstalt, 1957).
49. One sees a similar connection between J. S. Bach’s Christ lag in Todesbanden (BWV 4), as a cho-
rale cantata “per omnes versus” and the organ partitas (BWV 766–768) to which it is chronologi-
cally proximate.
50. Neumeister himself defines his new texts as follows: “To put if briefly, I would say that the can-
tata resembles exactly a piece from an opera, composed of ‘Stylo Recitativo’ and arias.” Quoted
in Krummacher, “The Eighteenth-Century Protestant Cantata,” in NG2, 5:25.
51. Ibid.
CHAPTER 8
1. Henri DuMont, Cantica sacra, ed. Jean Lionnet (Versailles: Èditions du center de Musique
Baroque, 1996), Facsimile, xcii.
2. Joyce Newman, Jean Baptiste de Lully and his Tragédies Lyriques, Studies in Musicology, no. 1 (Ann
Arbor, MI: UMI, 1979), 21.
3. Catherine Massip, “Paris 1600–1661,” in The Early Baroque Era: From the Late Sixteenth Century
to the 1660s, ed. Curtis Price, 232 (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1993).
4. J. Newman, Lully and his Tragédies Lyriques, 22.
5. Ibid., 23.
6. In reality, Cavalli was unable to finish the new opera in time and substituted a performance of
Serse in its place. Ercole amante was finally produced the following year (1662). According to
Bukofzer (MBE, 148), the production lasted six hours, in part because the ballets composed by
Lully were added to the end of each act.
7. Originally quoted in Charles Nuitter and Ernest Thoinan, Les Origines de l’opéra français
(Paris: Plon, 1886), 237–40; repr. in Catharine Cessac, Marc-Antoine Charpentier, trans. E.
Thomas Glasgow (Portland, OR: Amadeus Press, 1995), 50.
8. This is a direct descendant of the medieval division of instruments into two consorts: Haut
and Bas (literally high [i.e. loud] and low [soft]). Instruments of the Haut consort performed the
same functions assigned to the Écurie.
9. One prominent feature was Lully’s development of the “rule of the downbow” that stipulated that
downbeats were always to be played as “down bows”; this led, in turn, to a corollary set of prin-
ciples of bowing that still form the basis of historical string performance practice. See Kenneth
Cooper and Julius Zasko, “Georg Muffat’s Observations on the Lully Style of Performance,” MQ
53, no. 2 (1967): 220–45.
10. Marcelle Benoit, “Paris, 1661–1687: The Age of Lully.” in Price, Early Baroque Era, 249.
11. Most of the music consists of instrumental dances. The single extended vocal number is the
hilarious “Turkish Ceremony,” from which the opening “March” is known today from its inclu-
sion in the soundtrack for the movie Tout les matins du monde.
12. Jean-Baptiste Labat, Mémoires du Chevalier d’Ariveux (Paris: C. J. B. Delespine, 1735), 4:548–49,
quoted in Thomas Betzwieser, “Die Türkenszenen in ‘Le Sicilien’ und ‘Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme’
im Kontext der Türkenoper und des musikalischen Exotismus,” in Jean-Baptiste Lully: actes
Notes 449
du colloque = Kongressbericht; Saint Germain-en-Laye, Heidelberg 1987, vol. 18 (Laaber: Laaber

Verlag, 1990).
14. A far more likely explanation is that he knew that Lully would never allow his appointment.
15. John Hadju Heyer doubts its authenticity. See “Lully’s ‘Jubilate Deo’, LWV 77/16: A Stylistic
Anomaly,” in JBLKongressbericht, 145–54.
16. Lionel Sawkins, “Lully’s Motets: Source, Edition and Performance,” in JBLKongressbericht, 390.
17. James R. Anthony, French Baroque Music: From Beaujoyeulx to Rameau, ed. Reinhard G. Pauly,
217 (Portland, OR: Amadeus Press, 1997).
18. Sèbastien de Brossard, Catalogue des livres de musique, 225–26, quoted in Cessac, Marc-Antoine
Charpentier, 45.
19. Mercure Gallant, March 1688, 321, quoted in Cessac, Marc-Antoine Charpentier, 97.
20. Ibid., 125. Cessac speculates that the actual music for this piece may be lost.
21. These numbers refer to the catalogue of Charpentier’s compositions compiled by H. Wiley
Hitchcock, Les oeuvres de Marc-Antoine Charpentier: Catalogue raisonné (Paris: Picard, 1982).
22. Cessac, Marc-Antoine Charpentier, 197.
23. François Couperin, L’Art de toucher le claveçin (Paris: L’auteur, 1716), 39, quoted in Anthony,
French Baroque Music, 440.
24. See H. Wiley Hitchcock’s edition of the Messe du Minuit, #97-5196 (St. Louis, MO: Concordia
Publishing House, 1962).
25. For the text and melody of these noëls, see the preface in Hitchcock’s Concordia edition.
26. Preface to Lionel Sawkins’s edition of the Te Deum, Faber Music, 1996.
27. Ibid.
28. For a summary of the conflicting evidence and view points, see Shirley Thompson, “Once More
into the Void: Marc-Antoine Charpentier’s Croches Blanches Reconsidered,” Early Music 30, no.
1 (2002): 82–92.
29. This same story is later set by Mozart (and others) using Metastasio’s libretto.
30. The examples from this oratorio are taken from a score published by the Center for Baroque
Music at Versailles. For more information about this organization, see their website (http://
www.cmbv.culture.fr).
31. H. Wiley Hitchcock has also edited this work for Concordia Press.
32. An excellent recording of these by William Christie and Les Arts Florissants is available from
Harmonia Mundi (HMA 1905124, 1982).
33. Collin de Blamont, quoted in James R. Anthony and Lionel Sawkins, “Lalande, Michel-Richard
de,” in NG2, 14:141.
34. The signature is really that of twice-transposed Dorian mode (D to G [on flat] to C [two flats), the
same signature one finds in J. S. Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor, BWV 528.
35. Anthony, French Baroque Music, 205–6.
36. The quest for assimilation of these formerly opposed national styles is most evident in
Couperin’s chamber music, especially the two programmatic suites, Le Apothéose du Lulli and
Le Apothéose du Corelli.
37. Notable among these are Jean Gilles and Marc-Antoine Charpentier, and a host of lesser-known
composers. Charpentier’s Les neuf Leçons de Ténèbres is the only surviving complete cycle for all
of the services of Holy Week.
38. In the liner notes to William Christie’s recording of the Rameau motets (Erato 4509-96967-2),
James R. Anthony states that this text is that of Psalm 68:31 (Vulgate).
39. Cuthbert Morton Girdlestone’s pronouncement that Euntes ibant et flebant is “the greatest piece
in all Rameau’s church music,” cited in Anthony, French Baroque Music, 264. See Girdlestone,
Jean-Philippe Rameau: His Life and Work (London: Cassell, 1957; repr. New York: Dover, 1969).
450 Notes
CHAPTER 9
1. Christopher Dearnley, English Church Music, 1650–1750 in Royal Chapel, Cathedral and Parish
Church (London: Barrie and Jenkins, 1970), 20.
2. Ibid., 36. Dearnley notes that “Equal care was taken over their general education,” in addition to
the thorough and complete training in music.
3. Ibid., 34.
4. In addition to his inevitable visit to Versailles, it seems that Humfrey also visited Italy, although
there are no details of his visit there. Dearnley (ibid., 199) quotes a pay record indicating that
Humfrey was given money to travel to France and Italy.
6. Humfrey employs a “modal” signature: a composition in what modern performers would per-
ceive as “F minor” with only three flats instead of the four normally associated with that key. The
signature of three flats indicates thrice-transposed Dorian mode.
7. Ex. 9-1a illustrates another cross relationship (not simultaneous) between the D-natural of the
tenor 2 and the D♭ of the alto in m. 81.
8. Dearnley, English Church Music, 214.
9. Leonard Rumery, “Choral Music in Purcell’s Dramatic Works,” American Choral Review 26, no. 1
(1984): 5–11.
10. Cited in Peter Holman, “The Origins of Purcell’s Semi-operas” in the liner notes to John Eliot
Gardiner’s recording of Fairy Queen (DGG: Archiv) (Hamburg: Archiv Production: 419 221-2, 1982), 9.
11. For a detailed discussion of the relationship between Shakespeare’s play and Purcell’s music,
see Roger Savage, “The Shakespeare-Purcell Fairy Queen: A Defence and Recommendation,”
Early Music 1, no. 4 (1973): 201–21.
12. William of Orange and his bride, Mary, became king and queen of England in 1689 following the
death of James II/James VI of Scotland. Thus these monarchs held the titles of Queen Mary II
and William III.
13. This decision may at first seem strange, but the text goes on, shortly, to say: “Inspire the flute,”
thereby explaining Purcell’s choice of recorders (which would, in all likelihood, have been played
by the two oboists, since the recorders do not appear in the full instrumental scoring).
14. Peter Holman and Robert Thompson, “Henry Purcell: Anthems,” in NG2, 20:619–20. This
description implies a full anthem with occasional, brief verse sections (most often ATB).
15. The fact that this seems to be part of a larger unfinished work invites comparison to a similar
example in the cantatas of J. S. Bach—the large, double chorus work Nun ist das Heil und die
Kraft (BWV 50).
16. Robert King, liner notes to Henry Purcell: The Complete Anthems and Services, vol. 3 (CDA 666 23
Hyperion, 1993), 13.
17. There are actually only eight real parts, despite the ten staves and voice assignments.
18. Holman and Thompson, “Purcell Henry: Anthems,” in NG2, 611.
19. Dearnley, English Church Music, 228 and 230.
20. The concluding “Hallelujah” is the source of the Anglican hymn tune “Westminster Abbey.”
21. Dearnley, English Church Music, 25
22. A manuscript compiled by John Gostling (which bears his name) has become an important
critical source for this repertory, published with a foreword by Franklin Zimmermann, who
catalogued Purcell’s works in 1963 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1977).
23. Holman and Thompson, “Henry Purcell,” in NG 2, 20:612.
24. It is this passage that Handel borrows to set the same text in his fourth Chandos Anthem, O sing
unto the Lord.
Notes 451
25. Franklin Zimmermann, Henry Purcell, 1659–1695: His Life and Times, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983), 65.
27. Graham Dixon, “Towards a Liturgical Reconstruction,” Musical Times 127, no. 1709 (1985), 393 &
395–97.
28. Nahum Tate and Nicholas Brady, New Version of the Psalms of David, fitted to the tunes used in
churches (London: T. Hodgkin, for the Company of Stationers, 1699).
29. Alternate versions of some of the STB anthems show expanded scoring, providing perhaps the
first evidence of Handel’s willingness to recast compositions to reflect changes in venue, forces,
or personnel.
30. Paul Henry Lang, George Frideric Handel (New York: W. W. Norton, 1966), 273.
31. See the preface to Clifford Bartlett’s edition of the Four Coronation Anthems, HWV 258–261
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990).
32. The same music reappears in the oratorio Esther and the Occasional Oratorio.
33. Lang, Handel, 226.
34. The Lutheran Hymnal in America included this composition in the Burial Service until the institu-
tion of the current Lutheran Book of Worship (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1978).
35. Howard Smither, A History of the Oratorio, vol. 2, The Oratorio in the Baroque Era: Protestant
Germany and England, 178 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1977).
37. Winton Dean, The New Grove Handel (New York: W. W. Norton, Inc., 1983), 41.
38. Lang (Handel, 289) points out that Athalia was considered among his greatest oratorios in the
later eighteenth century. Baron Gottfried van Swieten reorchestrated it for performance at his
private Handel performances (as he would have Mozart do for Messiah).
39. Aaron Hill, letter quoted in Lang, Handel, 290.
40. Ibid., 293.
41. Mozart evidently thought so, for the “Qui tollis” of his Mass in C minor (K. 427) is an unmistak-
able parody of this chorus.
42. As at the end of the air “A serpent to my bosom warm’d” (no. 31), where Saul “Throws his jav-
elin” at David, who “exits.”
44. See Purcell’s “In guilty night,” in The Works of Henry Purcell: Sacred Music, vol. 32, pt. 7, Anthems
and Miscellaneous Church Music, ed. Anthony Lewis and Nigel Fortune, 128–36 (London: Novello,
1959; rev. ed., 1967).
45. For a discussion of this term, see Bukofzer, MBE, 388ff.
46. This work has been excerpted so frequently as to attain the status of an independent piece. In a
recent performance, I used it to accompany the physical entrance onstage of Solomon and the
Queen, a piece of stagecraft inspired by the stage directions found in Saul.
CHAPTER 10
1. This same status could be extended to similar chorale-based compositions in other cantatas
(e.g., the chorale fantasia on Jesus Leiden, Pein und Not that appears as the penultimate move-
ment of Himmelskönig, sei willkommen, BWV 182).
2. Initially published in German by Alfred Dürr and Georg von Dadelsen in the 1957 issue of the
Bach Jahrbuch, the same information appears in tabular form in Gerhard Herz’s critical score of
Wachet auf, BWV 140 (New York: Norton, 1972).
452 Notes
3. Ibid.
4. Philipp Spitta, J. S. Bach: His Work and Influence on the Music of Germany, 1685–1750
(New York: Dover Publications, 1951), 2:602.
5. This text incipit (in either Latin or German) appears in three different psalms: 96, 98, and 148.
6. If indeed Spitta is correct in his conjecture about the absence of the chorale in the Urform of
BWV 226 (Der Geist hilft), this fact would strengthen the case for prominent funerals as the
raison d’être for the motets.
7. A brief overview of this enormous body of music appears in chap. 7, this book.
8. Snyder, Dietrich Buxtehude, 158.
9. Although an oversimplification, it is fair to say that in mature Baroque compositions, each
movement is based on a unity of affection (emotional state) represented by key, meter/tempo,
scoring, and consistency of gesture. See Bukofzer, MBE, 388, for a fairly extensive explanation
of the doctrine of affections; also chap. 9, this book.
10. One of the consistent metaphors used by Bach throughout his musical output is the idea of
strict counterpoint representing “Law” (which, in Lutheran theology, is the antipode of “grace.”)
11. Franck, Ich habe Lust bei Christo bald zu weiden, Ich habe Lust von dieser Welt zu scheiden; Knoll,
Ich hab Lust abzuscheiden aus diesen betrübten Welt, sehne mich nach ewigen Freude, O Jesu komm
nur bald. See the Kritischer Bericht for vol. 1 of the Neue Bach Ausgabe (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1984),
1:29 and 193. See also Martin Petzoldt, Bach Kommentar: Theologisch-Musikwissenschaftliche
Kommentierung der geistlichen Vokalmusik, Bd. 1, Die geistlichen Kantaten des 1. bis 27.
Trinitas-Sonntagens (Stuttgart: International Bach Akadamie; Kassel: Bäerenreiter Verlag, 2004).
12. BWV 75 (“The wretched shall eat . . .”) and BWV 76 (“The heavens declare the glory of God”).
13. Alfred Dürr, Die Kantaten von Johann Sebastian Bach, 2 vols. DTV-Wissenschaftliche Reihe
(Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1971).
14. Bach thought so much of this chorale trio that he later transcribed it for organ (BWV 647) as one
of the six Schübler chorales.
15. David and Mendel, New Bach Reader, 145–51.
16. Christoph Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician (New York: Norton, 2000), 281.
17. For a complete list, see ibid., 197 (table 7.2).
18. Ibid., 356. According to Wolff, these are “vocal compositions whose lyrical texts deal with virtues
and vices.”
19. Ibid., 362.
20. Music written for the royal family was, in a very real sense, their property. Furthermore, it is unlikely
that the same piece would even be performed for the same occasion at some point in the future.
21. The same relationship would probably exist for those movements in the sixth cantata of the
Weinachts-Oratorium (BWV 248/6, Herr, wenn die stolzen Feinde schnauben) with trumpets
(mvts. 54 and 64).
22. Richard Taruskin, “Class of 1685 (II),” in Music in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, The
Oxford History of Music, vol. 2 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 375.
23. Wolff, New Bach Reader, no. 162, quoted in Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach, 370.
24. In an article published in the Choral Journal 29, no. 7 (1989): 5–11, I speculated that the four
Lutheran Masses came into being as a result of Bach’s original petition and the claim that, if
appointed by the Elector, he could be counted on to produce other works like the Mass in B
Minor. See Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach, 370, for the entire petition.
25. Despite this similarity of format, the Masses divide the text of the Gloria differently.
26. Robin Leaver, “The Mature Vocal Works and Their Theological and Liturgical Context,” in
The Cambridge Companion to Bach, ed. John Butt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1997), 113.
Notes 453
27. Ibid.,118; and Helmut Rilling, Johann Sebastian Bach’s B-Minor Mass (Princeton, NJ: Prestige
Publications, 1984).
28. The first has two violin parts, but these are obbligato voices that act as counterpoints to the cho-
ral ensemble.
29. There are five choruses in the Mass that use only four voices: Kyrie 2, “Gratias agimus”
(no. 7) with its reprise as “Dona nobis” (no. 27), “Qui tollis” (no. 9), and “Crucifixus” (no. 17).
30. Leaver, “The Mature Vocal Works,” 120.
31. One cannot avoid a sense of correspondence between this Adagio and the slow conclusion of the
central chorus of Jesu, meine Freude (BWV 227).
32. Leaver, “The Mature Vocal Works,” 120.
33. It would make little sense for Bach to use violin as the obbligato instrument for both the
Benedictus and the Agnus Dei.
34. For an in-depth discussion of this movement and its form, see Alwes, “J. S. Bach and the
Concerto: Ritornello as a Guide to Rehearsal,” Choral Journal 41 (2000): 21–27.
35. Wolff, New Bach Reader, 304.
36. Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach, 296.
37. Brockes’s “libretto,” Der für die Sünde der Welt Gemartete und Sterbende Jesus, was published in
Hamburg in 1712.
38. Eric Chafe, Tonal Allegory in the Vocal Works of J. S. Bach (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1991), 308. See also Chafe, J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology: The St. John Passion and the
Cantatas for Spring 1725 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014).
39. Friedrich Smend, “Die Johannes-Passion von Bach. Auf ihren Bau untersucht,” Bach Jahrbuch
(1926): 105–28, in Bach Studien: Gesammelte Reden und Aufsätze, ed. Christoph Wolff (Kassel,
1969), 11–23.
40. For a complete summary of this evolution, see Smallman, Background of the Passion Music.
41. Ibid. Smallman noted Bach’s adherence to tradition in using a tenor Evangelist and a bass as the
“vox Christi.”
42. Chafe (Tonal Allegory, 310) points out a further similarity—both choruses are preceded by the
same text (sung by the Evangelist), “Da Pilatus das Wort hörete.”
43. Ibid., 311.
44. Part of the allegory of this juxtaposition is that the same music is heard successively in F major
and E major, or “mi contra fa” (a prohibition of musica ficta, referring to the need to avoid the
simultaneity of B♮ (“mi” in the G hexachord) and B♭ (“fa” in the F hexachord).
45. Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach, 298–303.
46. These test pieces were performed by candidates for the position as the final (and most impor-
tant) portion of their audition process. In Bach’s case, he was forced to compose two cantatas
(ostensibly because of his relative lack of experience in this genre): BWV 23, Du wahrer Gott und
Davids Sohn, and BWV 22, Jesus nahm zu sich die Zwölfe. In addition, Bach substituted two new
arias for the original thirteenth and fourteenth movements and added a new aria based on the
chorale Jesu deine Passion.
47. Bach knew Bruhns’s work because it was performed in Weimar; see Wolff, Johann Sebastian
Bach, 296.
48. See Alfred Dürr, ed., Johann Sebastian Bach, Neue Ausgabe Sämtliche Werke (NBA), Serie 2, Bd. 5,
Matthäus Passion (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1974), Kritischer Bericht—Quellen, 73–78.
49. In Daniel Melamed, “The Double Chorus in J. S. Bach’s St. Matthew Passion BWV 244,” JAMS
57, no. 1 (2004): 3–50, he questions whether Bach really intended the work to be performed by
two choirs.
50. Chafe, Tonal Allegory, 340.
454 Notes
51. Ibid., 384–85.

52. Unlike Bach’s addition of chorales to Franck’s text for BWV 161, the inclusion of this chorale is
specifically required in Picander’s text. See Melamed, “The Double Chorus.”
53. “The Lord, the righteous one, pays for the sins of his servants”; “The Lord of Righteousness
counts the suffering (of the Good Shepherd) as atonement for the guilt of his servant”; “What
evil has he done?”; “For us, he has done only good things.”
54. Smend, “Bach’s Matthäus-Passion,” 59–60; and Alfred Dürr, NBA, Serie II/Band 5a,
Matthäus-Passion, Vorwort, vii.
55. For an extended discussion of Bach’s use of the ritornello principle, see Wolff, Johann Sebastian
Bach, 296, n40.
56. Eric Chafe (Tonal Allegory, 383–84) also points out the outlining of the melody of O Haupt voll
Blut und Wunden in this chorus’s setting of the text “so steige er nun vom Kreuz.”
57. Chafe (ibid., 15) uses the terms “catabasis” and “anabasis” to describe descent and ascent through
the circle of fifths and the resulting addition of flats and sharps respectively.
58. Even though the chorus is doubtless in C minor, its key signature has only two flats instead of
the expected three. A composition in C with two flats is more accurately described as being in
Dorian mode, twice transposed. Bach uses the same modal signature for the Passacaglia and
Fugue in C minor (BWV 582).
59. Richard Taruskin writes, “It has been suggested (by Bach scholar and performer Joshua Rifkin
[in “Bach’s Chorus,” Musical Times 123 (1982): 744–54]) that Bach’s church music was normally
performed by no more than one singer or player to a part, if that (for, as Bach complains, most
of the time some parts had to be omitted from the texture altogether due to absences). One often
daydreams about what the music heard today sounded like when first performed. It would seem
that in the case of Bach it might be better not to know.” Taruskin, Music in the Seventeenth and
Eighteenth Centuries, 363.
CHAPTER 11
1. I refer to the oft-cited remark of Beethoven concerning Bach, “His name ought not to be
Bach[brook] but Ocean, because of his infinite and inexhaustible wealth of combinations
and harmonies,” Thayer’s Life of Beethoven, ed. Elliot Forbes, vol. 2 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
2. These more recent books carefully document and characterize every aspect of music during
this period: Friedrich Blume, Classical and Romantic Music (New York: W. W. Norton, 1970);
Charles Rosen’s The Classical Style (New York: W. W. Norton, 1972); Philip Downs, Classical
Music, Norton Introduction to Music History, vol. 4 (New York, W. W. Norton, 1992); Richard
Taruskin’s Music in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries and Music in the Nineteenth Century
(New York: Oxford University Press, 2005).
3. Friedrich Blume, Classic and Romantic Music: A Comprehensive Survey (hereafter CRM), trans. M. D.
Herter Norton (New York: W. W. Norton, 1970), 8–9.
4. In the case of Bach, for example, the music of the “Peasant” cantata, BWV 212, and some of the
later keyboard music (especially the E-major prelude in the Book 2 of the Well-Tempered Clavier,
BWV 878, and the Italian concerto, BWV 971). Handel, even more so than Bach, is ready and
willing to respond to the changing attitudes of the time; nowhere is this more evident than in
the ceremonial music he writes in England or the musical changes forced upon him by the suc-
cess of John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera.
Notes 455
5. For a full discussion of this chorus, see Alwes, “J. S. Bach and the Concerto,” Choral Journal 41,
no. 4 (2000): 21–27.
6. These measures (27–34) do not repeat any of the musical gestures found in the first half (“expo-
sition”) of the sonata but constitute a rudimentary development using sequential restatement of
the melody that opens the piece.
7. See Guido Adler, ed., Denkmäler der Tonkust in Österreich (DTO), vol. 19 (Vienna: Artaria & Co.,
1902) for representative samples of Fux’s church music.
8. Stabat Mater is one of five sequences that survived the strictures of the Council of Trent (1545–63).
The other four are Victimae paschali laudes (Easter), Lauda Sion (Corpus Christi), Veni, sancte
Spiritus (Pentecost), and Dies irae, dies illa (Requiem Mass).
9. All stanzas of the poem have the same scansion—three lines comprised of eight, eight, and
seven syllables. The rhyme scheme within each verse is aab; however, there is a larger scheme
in which pairs of verses employ third lines that rhyme. Thus, the rhyme scheme of the first two
verses is: aab; ccb, etc.
10. One should note, however, that all the movements in F minor have the modal signature of three
flats, as is the case for two of the movements (5 and 7, but not 2) in C minor.
11. Like the string chamber music of Pergolesi’s day, this work shows the incomplete transition
from the trio sonata texture of the Baroque to the as-yet-unrealized string quartet of the Classical
era. While Pergolesi includes a viola part, it merely doubles the bass an octave higher.
12. J. J. Fux, Gradus ad Parnassum: a facsimile of 1725 Vienna edition, Monuments of Music and
Music Literature in Facsimile, 2nd series, Music literature, vol. 24 (New York: Broude, 1966).
13. J. S. Bach translated and arranged the Stabat Mater as part of his personal study of the
Neapolitan style. See Christoph Wolff, Der stile antico in der Musik Johann Sebastian Bachs
(Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1968) for a general study of stile antico; and Alfred Dürr, “Neues über Bachs
Pergolesi-Bearbeitung,” Bach Jahrbuch 54 (1968): 89–100, concerning this specific transcription.
14. It was from Padre Martini of Bologna that Mozart took a “correspondence course” in counter-
point; the reappearance of counterpoint in the music of Haydn is similarly indebted to such
“old-style” music.
15. The final statement involves only the soprano.
16. See “Church Music,” in Charles Rosen, The Classical Style: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, 366–75
(New York: W. W. Norton, 1971).
17. The passage quoted is actually by Rudolph Gerber in Die Sammlung 4, no. 11 (1949): 656, quoted
in Blume, CRM, 9.
18. As Giovanni Pestelli points out in The Age of Mozart and Beethoven (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1984), 49, Mozart employs an “inhumanly” virtuosic style of singing for the
Queen of the Night in Die Zauberflöte to illustrate her cruelty and indifference to humanity.
19. Taruskin, Music in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, 425.
20. Such documents, produced after the fact, purport to reduce the style of a composer (e.g.,
Palestrina) to a series of rules. These are rarely more than generalizations that, while applicable,
certainly were not recognized by the composers whose style they purport to explain.
21. Blume, CRM, 100–101 (hereafter cited in text).
22. Jan Swafford, Johannes Brahms: A Biography (New York: Vintage Books, 1999), 36.
23. The term comes from a play by Maximillian von Klinger (1776), Wirrwarr; oder Sturm und Drang,
and was originally applied to a literary movement in Germany that flourished from ca. 1770 to 1784.
24. James R. Gaines, Evening in the Palace of Reason: Bach meets Frederick the Great in the Age of
Enlightenment (New York: Harper Perennial, 2005), 12.
456 Notes
CHAPTER 12
1. As George Buelow points out in “Symbol and Structure in the Kyrie of Bach’s B-minor
Mass,” in Essays on the Music of J. S. Bach and Other Divers Subjects: A Tribute to Gerhard
Herz, ed. Robert L. Weaver, 21–41 (Louisville, KY: Pendragon Press, 1981), the Neapolitan
style of Mass composition even influenced the somewhat geographically isolated cantor
of the Thomaskirche in Leipzig. Christoph Wolff’s perceptive study, Der stile antico in der
Spätwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs, also points out Bach’s indebtedness to Italian composers
of church music.
2. Guido Adler, ed., Denkmäler der Tonkunst in Österreich (DTÖ), vol. 62 (Wien: Universal Edition
A.G., 1925), v–xiii. Anton Maria Klafsky published editions of nine offertories and three liturgi-
cal pieces in this fascicle of DTÖ.
3. The quote is from K. G. Fellerer, Mozarts Kirchenmusik (Salzburg: Schäffler, 1955), 127, cited
in Ludwig Kümmerlin’s edition of Michael Haydn’s Te Deum (Heidelberg: Willy Müller,
Süddeutscher Musikverlag, 1976).
4. A substantial portion of the letter is reproduced in the foreword to Charles Sherman’s edition
of the Mass (Mainz, 1970), published by Universal Editions (UE 25 A007) as part of the series
Accademia Musicale (no. 7). The entire letter is printed in Emily Anderson, The Letters of Mozart
and his Family, 2nd ed. (London: Macmillan, 1966), 1:352–54.
5. Karl Geiringer, Haydn: A Creative Life in Music, 3rd. ed. (New York: Norton, 1982), 21.
6. What comprises a “full” orchestra may vary but certainly would include both strings (with or
without viola) and a component of woodwinds and/or brass instruments.
7. “Cellensis” is the Latinized reference to the Shrine at Mariazell. See Don V Moses and Robert
W. Demaree, The Masses of Franz Joseph Haydn (Classical Heritage, 2008), 153.
8. This trio texture (minus viola) is commonly known as either the “Salzburg” or “Viennese”
church trio. It is a scoring commonly used in Austrian Masses of the Classical era.
9. Again, the special nature of this music resides in liturgical tradition. It is during the
Benedictus that Catholics believe transubstantiation (the Communion bread becomes the
Body of Christ) occurs.
10. To distinguish it from the “big” Mass in E♭ (1768) and to reflect its missa brevis format.
11. The work was performed on December 6, the feast day of St. Nicholas in the liturgical calendar.
12. Based on the inscription on the autograph (Fatta per il Signor Liebe de Kreutzner), Geiringer
states the work was commissioned by a gentleman named Liebe to celebrate his elevation to the
nobility. Geiringer, Haydn, 311.
13. It is perhaps worth noting that in his later oratorio Die Schöpfung (The Creation), 1798, Haydn
uses a tenor aria in C major to depict the creation of man (“In native worth.”).
14. Geiringer, Haydn, 312.
15. Reinhard Pauly, “The Reforms of Church Music under Joseph II,” MQ 43, no. 3 (1957): 373–74.
16. Landesarchiv Salzburg, Konsistorialakten, facs. 244, quoted in Pauly, 377.
17. Charles Rosen, Classical Style, 366.
18. Martin Chusid, “Some Observations on Liturgy, Text and Structure in Haydn’s Late Masses,” in
Studies in Eighteenth-Century Music: A Tribute to Karl Geiringer on his Seventieth Birthday, ed. H.
C. Robbins-Landon and Roger E. Chapman (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970), 127.
19. Some of the titles arise from popular perceptions, for example, the quotation of a theme from
Haydn’s oratorio Creation in the Mass for 1801.
20. If a composer desires to set the Kyrie as a sonata form, the question of what to do with “Christe
eleison” presents a major problem. Liturgical propriety forbids use of the text “Christe eleison”
after the resumption of the Kyrie. Consequently, a composer cannot use the text in that portion
Notes 457
of the exposition that will need to be recapitulated. The most common solution is to place the
“Christe” text somewhere in the development section. Its presence here rarely has anything to
do with development in the traditional sense, but it does escape the larger problem of including
it in the exposition. Haydn’s Paukenmesse presents an extreme solution, “throwing in” the text of
the “Christe” at the very end of the “development.”
21. As a purely practical matter, modern performances that use the trombones often encounter bal-
ance problems due to the difference in color and the larger volume of sound produced by the
modern trombone. There are several possible remedies—use of reconstructions of the trom-
bones used in Mozart’s day; placement of the trombones so as to reduce their presence (includ-
ing putting carpet beneath them); substitution of a bassoon for at least the uppermost (perhaps
the upper two) trombone/s, or, as a last resort, omitting them altogether. I have found that if
modern trombones are used, it is essential that an alto trombone play the uppermost part.
22. Note that Mozart by 1774 has achieved a synthesis of the four vocal soloists (as quartet) with the
choral ensemble, something that Haydn doesn’t accomplish until after 1796.
23. This texture is heard, for example, in the settings of Psalm 112 (Vulgate, 113), Laudate pueri, in
both of Mozart’s Vesper settings (K. 321 and K. 339).
24. Alfred Einstein, Mozart: His Character, His Work (New York: Oxford University Press, 1945), 342.
25. This cyclic return anticipates Beethoven’s use of such reprise in both his Mass in C Major,
op. 86, and his song cycle, An die ferne Geliebte, op. 98.
26. Leonard Ratner, Classic Music: Expression, Form and Style (New York: Schirmer, 1980), 174.
27. Ibid., 176. Ombra means “shade” in the double sense of the loss of light (change of color) and of
representing a “ghost,” in this case the descent of the Holy Spirit.
28. Mozart writes in choral parts where there were none originally, ostensibly to accommodate the text.
29. Einstein, Mozart, 347.
30. Ibid. See also Richard Maunder, ed., score for Mozart, Great C-minor Mass, K. 427 (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1991).
33. Ibid.
34. Warren Kirkendale, “New Roads to Old Ideas in Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis,” MQ 56, no. 4,
(1970): 665.
35. Immanuel Kant, Kritik der Urtheilskraft (1790), par. 53. Kants Gesammelten Schriften (Berlin,
1913), 5:328, quoted in Kirkendale, “New Roads,” 666.
36. To provide an even larger harmonic frame for understanding this unexpected chord, we have
to realize that we have heard it before in this movement. The conclusion of the fugato on “con-
substantialem Patri” comes, through impeccable logic, to a D♭ 6/4 chord on “sunt” (m. 86), fol-
lowed by an orchestral transition of the kind we have heard in the earlier Mass in C. This leads
to the “pastoral” passage for chorus in D♭ major on the words “Qui propter nos homines.” This
transcendent moment, featuring the rhythm of the setting “Deum de Deo” (mm. 61ff.) in the
winds also witnesses one of Beethoven’s typical pieces of text painting—the downward leap for
“descendit” and the high tessitura for “coelis.” Thus, we tend to hear in this D♭ passage a presag-
ing of the C♯ bass in m. 124 (D♭ = C♯), although the enharmonic version is the third of its chord.
Einstein, Mozart, 348.
37. Zarlino, Instituzione harmoniche (Venetia: Francesco de’Franchesi Senesi, 1573), 301–2, quoted in
Kirkendale, “New Roads,” 677.
38. Ibid.
39. Schubert eclipses this lengthy honor with the unfortunately long fugue at the end of the Gloria
of his Mass in A♭.
458 Notes
40. This contrapuntal combination inevitably summons up notions of the stile antico, which
Beethoven would have known from his counterpoint studies and the music of such composers
as Michael Haydn and W.A. Mozart, especially the concluding movement of the Gloria of his
Mass in C minor (K. 427) in which both rectus and inversus forms of the theme are used.
41. Kirkendale, “New Roads,” 684.
42. Kirkendale discusses this issue in relation to the Agnus Dei’s search for “inner and outer
peace” (697–98). This particular passage also reminds one of the opening section of Brahms’s
Schicksalslied, op. 54, in which the eternal peace of the Elysian Fields is depicted by similarly
leisurely music.
43. According to A. C. Howie, “Traditional and Novel Elements in Bruckner’s Sacred Music,” MQ
67, no. 4 (1981): 544–67, the two fragmentary Masses are scored for mixed chorus, organ, trom-
bones, and, in the second, two oboes as well.
44. Elisabeth Maier, “Requiem in d-moll (WAB 39),” in Bruckner Handbuch (Stuttgart: Metzler;
Kassel: Baerenreiter, 2010), 350. Cited by Paul Hankshaw in “Bruckner’s Large Sacred
Compositions,” The Cambridge Companion to Bruckner, ed. John Williamson (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2004), 44.
45. Ibid., 549. Bruckner would eventually succeed Sechter as professor of counterpoint at the
Vienna Conservatory.
46. See chap. 14 for a discussion on the unique style and scoring of the Mass in E minor.
47. Constantin Floros, “On Unity between Bruckner’s Personality and Production,” in Perspectives
on Anton Bruckner, ed. Crawford Howie, Paul Hankshaw, and Timothy Jackson (Aldershot,
UK: Ashgate Press, 2001), 293.
48. Ibid.
49. Alan Walker, Franz Liszt: The Weimar Years, 1846–1861 (New York: Knopf, 1989), 2:403, quoted
in Michael Saffle, “Sacred Choral Works,” in The Liszt Companion, ed. Ben Arnold (Westport,
CT: Greenwood Press, 2002), 343.
50. Ibid., 344.
51. Paul Merrick, Revolution and Religion in the Music of Liszt (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1987), 114.
52. Ibid., 114–18, 119.
53. See the discussion of the Berlioz Requiem in chap. 13.
54. This scoring alludes to that used in Liszt’s sacred music.
55. Rossini composed a large collection of piano works, songs, and ensemble pieces (including La
Passeggiata) while living in Paris in his last years, and he collectively titled this body of pieces
Péchés de viellesse (“Sins of my old age”). Philip Gossett, “Rossini,” in NG (London: Macmillan,
1980), 16:242.
56. Liszt also uses this motive frequently (see the discussion of his Via Crucis in chap. 14).
57. Hlávka was also a founder and the first president of the Czech Academy of Art and Science in
Prague.
58. Antonin Dvôrák, Messe in D dur, op. 86, Thomas Kohlhase, ed., preface to the Carus edition
(Tübingen, 1977), trans. by E. D. Echols, vi.
CHAPTER 13
1. The history of the genesis of the Requiem has been recounted by H. C. Robbins-Landon in
“The Requiem: Its History and Textual Problems,” in The Mozart Essays (New York: Thames &
Hudson, 1995), 191–205.
Notes 459
2. Ibid., 202.
3. See chap. 11, ex. 11.1b and c, for the Laudate Pueri and the Requiem themes.
4. Richard Maunder, Mozart’s Requiem: On Preparing a New Edition (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988),
79–88; Wolfgang Plath, “Über Skizzen zu Mozarts Requiem,” Bericht über den Internationalen
Musikwissenschaftlichen Kongress Kassel, 1962, ed. Georg Reichert and Martin Just, Gesellschaft für
Musikforschung (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1963), 184–87.
5. Alec Robertson, Requiem: Music of Mourning and Consolation (New York: Frederick A. Praeger,
1968), 68.
6. Heinrich Schenker (1868–1935) developed an influential theory of tonal music. A “plagal”
cadence is one in which the harmonic progression is IV–I. Most often associated with musical
settings of the text “Amen” in hymns, this harmonic progression allows the cadence to have a
common tone that most often appears in the “melody” (soprano).
7. Friedrich Blume, “Requiem but no Peace,” MQ 47, no. 2 (1961): 147–69.
8. The transposed reprise of the D-major “Osanna” that follows the Sanctus is without precedent
in all other Mozart masses.
9. W. A. Mozart, Requiem in D minor, K. 626, completed by Robert Levin (Stuttgart: Hänssler
Verlag, 1994).
10. Quoted in Robertson, Requiem, 75.
11. Ibid., 78.
12. Berlioz, quoted in Robertson, 81–82.
13. The absence of an alto part is typical of French choral music of this period (especially
Berlioz). There actually is a contralto part in the Sanctus, but it diverges from the soprano
part only briefly. This absence of an alto part is just one of the difficulties facing a perfor-
mance of this piece. Presumably, one may use the altos, whenever possible, to reinforce the
tenor line.
14. Jürgen Kindermann, ed., Hector Berlioz: New Edition of the Complete Works, vol. 9, Grande Messe
des Morts (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1978), 3.
15. Ibid., 115.
16. In her biography of Verdi, Mary Jane Phillips-Matz quotes Verdi’s letter to Ricordi suggest-
ing the project (550); she also lists the other composers that Ricordi recruited to participate
(552). There is also a full recounting of the various reasons that the proposed commemorative
performance failed to happen (549–51). See Phillips-Matz, Verdi: A Biography (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1995).
17. Robertson, Requiem, 99.
18. Ibid., 100.
19. George Martin, “Verdi, Manzoni and the Requiem,” in Aspects of Verdi (New York: Dodd, Mead,
1988), 31–58.
20. Ibid., 45.
21. Verdi, letter, June 9, 1873, to the mayor and council of Milan, Coppialettere 283, quoted in
Martin, 45.
22. Ibid., 46.
23. Verdi, letter, February 4, 1871, to Alberto Mazzucato, Coppialettere 243, quoted in ibid., 48.
24. The comparison with Mozart is inevitable. Whereas Süssmayr was told to reprise the music of
Mozart’s Introit and Kyrie in the Communion (the original locus of the fugue theme in Michael
Haydn’s Requiem of 1771), Verdi transports the music of “Libera me” (composed first) from the
end to the beginning.
25. The chorus dominates the Dies irae (and its two reprises) “Tuba mirum” and “Rex tremendae.”
460 Notes
26. See, for example, the soprano/mezzo duet (with three flutes) in the Agnus Dei (mm. 46–58) or
the trio a cappella in the “Lux aeterna” (mm. 27–42).
27. The metric sign C-slash is one that is used throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries
as a self-conscious reference to the “Palestrina style.”
28. Verdi’s Sanctus, with its William Tell–esque fanfares, feels like another homage to Rossini.
Perhaps Verdi thought that a fairly explicit reference to Rossini in the new version of his
Requiem was necessary to balance the new dedication to Manzoni.
29. Mozart’s Magic Flute had initiated a similar trend in the secular world of opera.
30. For an excellent discussion of this topic, see Daniel Beller-McKenna, Brahms and the German
Spirit (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), esp. chap. 3, “Ein Deutsches Requiem,
op. 45, and the Apocalyptic Paradigm.”
31. Swafford, JB, 318.
32. Hans Gal, Johannes Brahms: His Work and Personality (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1963) 188,
quoted in Swafford, JB, 317.
33. Ibid., 318.
34. Heinrich Schütz, Sämtliche Werke, ed. Philip Spitta (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1885–1927).
35. Virginia Hancock, “Brahms’s Performances of Early Choral Music,” 19th-Century Music 8, no. 2
(1984): 130.
36. Siegfried Kross, “The Choral Music of Johannes Brahms,” American Choral Review 25, no. 4
(1983): 14.
37. Brahms’s awareness of Bach is beyond question, especially given his friendship with Spitta and
his subscription to the Bach-Gesellschaft. Handel’s complete works were produced by another
of Brahms’s friends, Friedrich Chrysander, who asked Brahms to prepare piano realizations of
the continuo for Handel’s Italian duets in The Works of George Frederic Handel, vol. 32, Duetti e
Terzetti, printed for the German Handel Society (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1880).
39. Berthold Litzmann, ed., Letters of Clara Schumann and Johannes Brahms: 1853–1896
(New York: Longmans, Green and Co., 1927), letter from April 24, 1865, quoted in Swafford, JB, 298.
40. This fifth movement would eventually become the sixth movement, following the completion of
the new movement for soprano solo and chorus (Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit).
41. Walter Niemann, Brahms, trans. Katerina Allison Phillips (New York: Tudor Pub. Co., 1945), 96,
quoted in Swafford, JB, 315.
42. Ibid., 317.
43. Kross, “The Choral Music of Johannes Brahms,” 15.
45. Michael Musgrave, Brahms: A German Requiem (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1996), 24.
CHAPTER 14
1. Measure 80 corresponds to m. 15 of the exposition, at which point Mozart is already in the
dominant.
2. Georg Feder calls this era the “age of church indifference.” See Feder, “Decline and Restoration,”
in Blume, Protestant Church Music, 319–404.
3. R. Larry Todd, “On Mendelssohn’s Sacred Music, Real and Imaginary,” in The Cambridge
Companion to Mendelssohn, ed. Peter Mercer-Taylor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2004), 167–88, esp. 170. There is some evidence that Mendelssohn was commissioned to
Notes 461
compose a psalm for the consecration of the Hamburg Neues Tempel in 1844, but no score or
definite proof remains that the commissioned was filled.
4. Ibid., 172.
5. Linda Siegel, ed., Music in German Romantic Literature: A Collection of Essays, Reviews and Stories
(Novato, CA: Elra Publications, 1983), 32. See also G. Selden-Goth, ed., Felix Mendelssohn: Letters
(New York: Pantheon Books, 1945), 139.
6. The Miserere that Mendelssohn mentions is almost certainly the famed setting by Allegri, which
was the closely guarded treasure of the Sistine Chapel Choir. Mendelssohn’s letter was written
during Holy Week, the only time that Allegri’s work was performed. For more on Mendelssohn’s
role in establishing what is currently regarded as the definitive version of Allegri’s famous work,
see John Rutter’s instructive preface to his edition in European Sacred Music (ESM), Oxford
Choral Classics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996).
7. These three motets, op. 39 (1830) have both their original Latin titles (Veni, Domine, Laudate
pueri, and Surrexit pastor bonus) and their later English texts (“Hear my prayer O Lord,” “O praise
the Lord,” and “O Lord, thou hast searched me.”) Clearly, the English texts have nothing to do
with the original Latin thus betraying their adaptation for use in England.
8. Siegel, 32. Her citation is apparently incorrect. There is no letter to Zelter on that date contain-
ing this information. There is, however, a letter to his father (December 20, 1830), in which
Mendelssohn mentions the singing of these nuns. Felix Mendelssohn, Letters from Switzerland
and Italy by Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, trans. Lady Wallace (Freeport, NY: Books for Libraries
Press, 1865; repr. 1970), 89.
9. Ibid., 26, quoted in Selden-Goth, Mendelssohn: Letters, 216.
10. As William Little points out in his essay, “Mendelssohn and the Berlin Singakademie: The
Composer at the Crossroads,” (in Mendelssohn and His World, ed. R. Larry Todd [Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991], 65–85), the Singakademie was the principal medium for
the premieres of most of Mendelssohn’s sacred choral music in the 1820s.
11. For details, see the excellent article by David Brodbeck, “A Winter of Discontent: Mendelssohn
and the Berliner Domchor,” in Mendelssohn Studies, ed. R. Larry Todd (Cambridge;
New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992).
12. Both Psalm 2 and Psalm 22 feature solo voices.
13. Bartholomew also provided Mendelssohn with English translations of Elias, Lauda Sion,
Athaliah, and Oedipus at Colonos.
14. The “first edition” of the orchestrated version (2 ob., 2 cl., 2 fag., 2 horns, tympani, and strings),
edited by R. Larry Todd, is published by Carus Verlag (Stuttgart, 1986).
15. Shortly after the Leipzig premier, Robert Schumann wrote: “Though Mendelssohn has long
been recognized as the most finished, artistic nature of our day, in all styles, whether church or
concert-room, original and of masterly effect in the chorus as in the Lied, yet we believe that in
this 42nd Psalm he has attained his highest elevation as church composer; yes, the highest ele-
vation that modern church-music has reached at all.” Schumann, Music and Musicians: Essays
and Criticism, 1:381–82, trans. Fanny Raymond Ritter (London 1877). Translation of Gesammelte
Schriften über Musik und Musiker, Leipzig, 1854), quoted in Clive Brown, A Portrait of Mendelssohn
(New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003), 412.
16. Edward Buxton was the manager of the English publishing firm Ewer & Co., which was in direct
competition with Novello. See R. Larry Todd, Mendelssohn: A Life in Music (New York: Oxford
University Press, 2003), 389, 558.
17. The most definitive discussion of this topic occurs in Daniel Beller-McKenna, Brahms and the
German Spirit (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004). In chap. 2, Beller-McKenna
462 Notes
quotes Joseph Suk’s recollection of Antonin Dvořák’s comment that Brahms believed in nothing
(31). Conversely, Beller-McKenna cites what evidence exists to show that Brahms was religious at
least insofar as possessing an intimate knowledge of the Bible that he regarded as typical of North
German Protestantism.
18. Johannes Brahms, preface to Missa canonica (Vienna: Doblinger, 1984).
19. Siegfried Kross reports a documented rehearsal of the Ave Maria along with the first two of the
Drei Geistliche Chöre (o37) by a quartet of singers from Grädener’s choir in June 1859. Siegfried
Kross, Johannes Brahms: Versuch einer kritischer Dokumentar-Biographie (Bonn: Bouvier, 1997),
1:296–97.
20. Although published as SATB compositions, several parts of this opus were originally conceived
for and performed by women’s voices.
22. In the edition of the six Marienlieder for women’s voices (University of Pennsylvania Choral
Series, no. 75), the editor (unnamed) indicates that no. 3, Marias Wallfahrt (which seems to have
been composed for mixed voices) is not mentioned in Brahms’s diaries.
23. According to Swafford (JB, 156), the opening movement of Schaff’ in mir, Gott) derives from the
series of counterpoint exercises that Brahms and Joseph Joachim exchanged in 1856.
24. Other notable examples of this antiphonal opposition occur in opp. 42/3, 93b, 104/1, 2, and 3,
and in the Gesang des Parzens, op. 89.
25. It was for the second concert of that year that Brahms performed Schütz’s dramatic setting of
the biblical account of the Conversion of St. Paul—Saul, Saul, was verfolgst du mich?
26. Lachner had taken Brahms to task for the dark effect of the timpani and trombones in the oth-
erwise sunny first movement. See Swafford, JB, 442.
28. Johannes Brahms, Missa Canonica (Vienna: Doblinger, 1984).
30. Chester L. Alwes, “Georg Otto’s Opus Musicum Novum. . . “ 1:118. The Gospel Lesson for Lent 2
(Lk 11:14–28) contains both of these texts.
31. NBA, Series 1:16, ed. Paul Brainerd (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1981), 122, m. 38.
32. Friedrich Spitta (1852–1924) was the younger brother of Philipp Spitta.
33. Adam Adrio, “Renewal and Rejuvenation,” in PCM, 408. The notion of music that can be “easily
inserted” into the worship service may perhaps be the source of the common misunderstanding
regarding the performance of Gospel motets (viz. that they are inserted into the reading of the
Gospel lesson).
34. Arnold Mendelssohn, Aufzeichnungen, 1929, 67, quoted in ibid., 41.
35. Although it hardly seems likely that Reger knew of Praetorius’s music, the effect is similar to the
chorale concertos in the Baroque master’s collection Urania (1617), in which multiple choirs each
present verses of the hymn in simple style, uniting into tuttis to create a larger architectural design.
36. Max Reger, Sämtliche Werke, vol. 27, Chorwerke a cappella, ed. Hermann Grabner
(Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1961), 83–99.
37. Helmuth Wirth, “Max Reger,” in NG, 15:676.
38. Karl Gustav Fellerer, “Caecilianismus,” in Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart 2
(Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1952), 2:621, quoted in Hartmut Krones, “Bruckners Kirckenmusik im
Spiegel des Cäcilianismus,” in Anton Bruckner: Tradition und Fortschrift in der Kirchenmusik
des 19.Jahrhunderts, ed. Friedrich Joachim Riedel, Kirchenmusicalische Studien 7 (Sinzig: Studio
Verlag, 2001), 91.
39. Siegel, Music in German Romantic Literature, 20–36.
Notes 463
40. Johann Gottfried von Herder, Sämtliche Werke zur Religion und Theologie, 10 vols. (Vienna: G.
Haas’schen, 1819–20), 4:67–76. Quoted in Siegel, Music in German Romantic Literature, 21–22.
41. Herder, Sämtliche Werke, 34 vols. (Vienna, 1821), 34:101, cited in Siegel, 23.
42. Blume, CRM, 114.
43. In this regard, see specifically Mozart’s setting of Misericordias Domini, K. 222; having sent this
composition to Padre Martini in Bologna for his evaluation, Mozart drafted the famous letter in
which he complained about the restrictions placed on the church music by the new archbishop
of Salzburg (Colloredo). For the text of the letter, see Alfred Einstein, Mozart: His Character, His
Work (New York: Oxford University Press, 1945), 35–36.
44. Kiesewetter was the uncle of August Wilhelm Ambros (1816–76), author of one of the earliest
histories of music (Geschichte der Musik, 1860–76), finished after his death by C. F. Becker, Otto
Kade, and Gustav Nottebohm.
45. Fétis’s Traité du contrepoint et de la fugue (1824) became the standard text at the Paris Conservatoire.
He also authored manuals on theory, solfège, and perhaps the first text on music appreciation.
Though flawed, his magnum opus is the eight-volume Biographie universelle des musiciens et
bibliographie générale de la musique (Paris, 1833–44, rev. ed., 1860–65).
46. That Cecilianism influenced others, most notably Mendelssohn and Brahms, is indisputable;
the impact of the movement in terms of quantity of work is, however, comparatively limited.
47. Dieter Michael Backes, “Die Instrumentation in den Messen von Anton Bruckners,” in
Riedel, Anton Bruckner, 264–65, n. 31. The passage quoted is by Leopold M. Kantner, Anton
Bruckners Kirchenmusik—Franz Liszts Kirchenmusik: Ein Vergleich, in Bruckner Symposion, 1986
(Linz: Anton Bruckner Institute, 1987), 81, n. 11, 81.
48. This is the “Oboe Mass” discussed in a letter between Wolfgang Mozart and his father, Leopold.
See Karl A. Rosenthal, “The Salzburg Church Music of Mozart and his Predecessors,” MQ 18,
no. 4 (1932): 564–65. See Charles Sherman’s edition published by Universal Edition (Mainz,
1969) as vol. 7 of the series Accademia Musicale.
49. The NG2 article on Neukomm (17:784) mentions a Grand Military Te Deum conducted by the
composer in Mainz but makes no specific mention of a Military Requiem.
50. For a summary of the opposing point of view, see Keith William Kinder, The Wind and
Wind-Chorus Music of Anton Bruckner (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2001), 71–74.
51. Cited in Krones, “Bruckners Kirchenmusik,” 92–93, n. 8.
52. There is further proof of this connection in the note concerning the frontispiece of Riedel’s
Anton Bruckner monograph: “The frontispiece shows in a manner similar to the Sanctus of
Bruckner’s E Minor Mass [the integration of canonic themes from the ‘Sanctus’ of Palestrina’s
Missa Brevis] the stylistic reception of the of art of the 16th and 17th centuries in works of the 19th
century.”
53. This same music returns at the end of the Mass (“Dona nobis pacem,” mm. 60–70) to con-
nect the Mass’s end to its beginning (the same cyclic quality previously seen in Mozart’s
Krönungsmesse, K. 317, and Beethoven’s Mass in C, op. 86).
54. Four of these—Ave Maria, Locus iste, Os justi, and Christus factus est—appear in European Sacred
Music (ESM), Oxford Choral Classics, ed. John Rutter and Clifford Bartlett (Oxford: Oxford
University Press 1996). The score of Christus factus est is found as no. 9 in ESM, 68–74.
55. In this disposition, Verdi, consciously or otherwise, invokes the conterminous modal pairs typi-
cal of motets à 4 of the Renaissance.
56. The complete text in translation appears in Merrick, 19–20.
57. Ibid.
58. Ibid., 87.
464 Notes
59. Ernest Newman, trans., Memoirs of Hector Berlioz, from 1803 to 1865; comprising his struggles in
Germany, Italy, Russia an England (London, 1932; repr. New York: Dover, 1966), 158.
60. This kind of organ support holds throughout the composition, being closest to a true accompa-
niment in the Sanctus, which, not surprisingly, is the most adventurous movement harmoni-
cally (thus needing the organ’s reinforcement).
61. In fact, Liszt’s “Dona nobis pacem” even carries the rubric Tempo del Kyrie.
62. Merrick, Revolution and Religion, 257.
63. Liszt uses this same Gregorian incipit as the principal theme of part 3 of his oratorio St. Elisabeth
where it signifies the Crusaders.
64. Liszt also composed a lengthy organ composition on the name of Bach (B–A–C–H (B = b♭,
H = b♮).
65. In the score, Liszt provides both an organ/harmonium part and a piano part. Although substan-
tially the same, these separate parts reflect the idiomatic differences of the two accompanying
instruments. I have heard performances of the entire work by solo piano; while these may be
less successful, the mere existence of this option reinforces the central role of the instrumental
accompaniment.
66. See Hans-Josef Irmen, Gabriel Josef Rheinberger als Antipode des Cäcilianismus (Regensburg: G.
Bosse, 1970).
67. Watkins Shaw, “Church Music in England from the Reformation to the Present Day,” in PCM,
chap. 9, 720.
68. For a summary of this document and its proposed reform, see Kenneth Long, The Music of the
English Church (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1972), 320–24.
69. Edmund Fellowes, English Cathedral Music: From Edward VI to Edward VII (London: Methuen,
1941), 224.
70. Long, English Church Music, 365.
71. Ibid., 369.
72. Begräbnisgesang (op. 13) is a most interesting and overlooked work. Brahms set the seven stro-
phes of Michael Weisse’s hymn Nun lasst uns den Leib begraben for mixed chorus and an instru-
mental accompaniment of paired winds, three trombones, tuba and tympani. The principal
melodic theme is also a chorale melody—Erhalt uns Herr bei deinen Wort.
Art Credits
Fig. 1.1. Robert Morton, Mellon Chansonnier. Beinecke Rare Books and Manuscript Library.
Yale University
Fig. 1.2. Reproduced by permission of the American Institute of Musicology, Inc.
Middleton, WI
Fig. 1.3. © Lebrecht Music & Arts
Fig. 2.1. © Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (BAV No. 10380)
Fig. 2.2. © Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (BAV No. 697)
Fig. 2.3. The Granger Collection, New York
Fig. 3.2. Private Collection / The Bridgeman Art Library
Fig. 4.2. Phillips, The International Fine Art Auctioneers, UK / Photo © Bonhams,
London, UK / The Bridgeman Art Library
Fig. 4.3. Faculty of Music Collection, Oxford University / The Bridgeman Art Library
Fig. 5.3. Faculty of Music Collection, Oxford University / Gift from Dr. Philip Hayes,
before 1795 / The Bridgeman Art Library
Fig. 6.1. Alinari Archives / Getty Images
Fig. 6.2. Mary Evans Picture Library / Imagno
Fig. 6.3. Photo by DEA / A. DAGLI ORTI / De Agostini / Getty Images
Fig. 7.1. bpk, Berlin / Art Resource, NY
Fig. 7.2. bpk, Berlin / Universitätsbibliothek, Leipzig / Art Resource, NY
Fig. 7.3. Alfredo Dagli Orti / The Art Archive at Art Resource, NY
Fig. 8.1. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, LC-DIG-ppmsca-32151
Fig. 8.2. © Leemage/Lebrecht Music & Arts
Fig. 9.2. © Lebrecht Music & Arts.
Fig. 10.2. Photo: akg-images
Fig. 10.3. Bach Arkiv, Leipzig
Fig. 11.1. bpk, Berlin / Pinacoteca Civica, Jesi / Alfredo Dagli Orti / Art Resource, NY
Fig. 12.1. Eileen Tweedy / The Art Archive at Art Resource, NY
Fig. 12.2. Photo: akg-images
Fig. 12.3. Alfredo Dagli Orti / The Art Archive at Art Resource, NY
465
466 Credits
Fig. 13.1. LL / Getty Images

Fig. 13.3. © Leemage/Lebrecht Music & Arts
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Index
Notes
The use of the last name Bach without a first name or initials refers to Johann Sebastian Bach.
The use of the last name Haydn without a first name or initials refers to Franz Joseph Haydn.
The use of the last name Mendelssohn without a first name or initial refers to Felix Mendelssohn.
Page numbers for examples from musical scores are followed by the letter e and are in italics.
Page numbers for figures (images) are followed by the letter f and are in italics.
Page numbers for tables are followed by the letter t and are in italics.
Abendmusiken concert series in Advent, 217–219 Gibbons’s, 148–153, 150t–151t, 151e

a cappella music Handel’s, 266–270, 267e, 269e–270e, 271,
Berlioz’s, 377, 378 272–273, 275
Brahms’s, 403 Humfrey’s, 246–248, 247t, 248e
Bruckner’s, 363, 417, 418–420 occasional anthems, 150
Byrd’s, 148 Purcell’s, 258–263, 258e–262e, 267, 267e
Cecilianism and, 396, 417 Stainer’s, 432
J. M. Haydn’s, 335 Tomkins’s, 148, 153–154, 154e
Herzogenberg’s, 413 verse anthems, 148, 150–153, 150t, 244, 246,
Liszt’s, 424–425 258–262, 278
madrigale a cappella, 183 in Victorian Anglican church music, 431–432
A. Mendelssohn’s, 413 antiphonal choirs, 157–158
F. Mendelssohn’s, 400 antiphony
Palestrina’s, 417 in Anglican church music, 146, 151
Rheinberger’s, 431 Bach’s, 281, 316
Schütz’s, 204 Blow’s, 249–250
Verdi’s, 382, 422 Brahms’s, 406, 412
Ach, arme Welt (Brahms), 412 Bruckner’s, 418
Acis and Galatea (Handel), 268 Byrd’s, 138, 140, 141, 142
Agazzari, Agostino, 165 Charpentier’s, 230, 237
agréments, 231 in cyclic Mass, 31
Akademie choir, 403 decani–cantoris, 146, 148, 151, 259
Alceste (Lully) performance at the Chateau de Du Fay’s, 28, 28e
Versailles, 225f Dvořák’s, 369
Alexander’s Feast (Handel), 271 Fayrfax’s, 128
Alles was ihr tut (Buxtehude), 219–221, 220e Gabrieli’s, 160, 162
Alma Redemptoris Mater (Du Fay), 28, 28e, 51 Gesualdo’s, 80
Also hat Gott die Welt geliebt (Schütz), 205, 206e Gibbons’s, 151
Altenburg, Michael, 209 Gounod’s, 368
anapestic modal rhythm, 12 Gregorian antiphons, 130
An die ferne Geliebte (Beethoven), 332 Handel’s, 278
Anerio, Francesco, 166 Josquin’s, 52, 54, 56
Anglican Church music, 146–154, 431–432 Lassus’s, 112
Anglican services, 146, 148t Latin antiphons, 133
Angst der Hellen und Friede der Seelen, 208–211, Marian antiphons, 28, 28e, 31, 51, 52e,
209e–211e, 209t 192, 192e
Anima Christi (Liszt), 426 Mendelssohn’s, 400
anthems Monteverdi’s, 171–172
Blow’s, 249–251, 249e–250e Palestrina’s, 103, 105, 106
full anthems, 148–149, 150t, 151, 153–154, 258 Purcell’s, 259, 261
477
478 Index
antiphony (cont.) Renaissance transition to, 157–159, 222–225

Scarlatti’s, 192 stile antico in, 157
Schütz’s, 202, 206 Basilica di San Marco, 158f, 159, 186–187
Tallis’s, 133 Beati omnes (Gombert), 96, 96e
Taverner’s, 130 Beatus vir à 6 (Monteverdi), 177–178, 177e–179e
Verdi’s, 191 Beaujoyeux, Balthasar de, 223
Arcadelt, Jacob, 72, 74 Beethoven, Ludwig van, 329, 332, 352–359, 353e,
arias, 212–214 353t, 355f, 356e–359e, 356t
Ars nova, 16, 17, 25–26 Bembo, Pietro, 73f, 74
Ars Nova (de Vitry), 16 Benedicamus Domino, 4–5, 5e, 7, 7e, 10
Artusi, Giovanni Battita, 179–183 Benedicamus Domino (Leonin), 13, 13e
Ascension Oratorio, BWV 11 (Bach), 292, 293 Benedicamus Domino (Perotin), 13–14, 14e
Athalia (Handel), 271 Berlioz, Hector, 375–380, 377t, 379e, 379t
Audivi media nocte (Tallis), 134e Bernhard, Christoph, 167–168, 212, 213t
Audivi vocem de coelo (Tallis), 134 Blow, John, 246, 248–251, 249e, 250e
authentic modes, 5 Blow up the trumpet in Sion (Purcell), 259, 260e
Ave Maria (Brahms), 403 B-minor Mass, BWV 232 (Bach), 280, 291, 294,
Ave Maria (Verdi), 422, 422e 296–301, 297t, 298t, 299f, 300e, 351–352
Ave Maria . . . virgo serena (Josquin), 56–58, Bockshorn, Samuel, 212
56e–57e, 57t Bourgeois, Louis, 64, 64e
Ave regina coelorum (mass by Du Fay), 32 Boyce, William, 262–263
Ave regina coelorum (motet by Du Fay), 28, 28e Brahms, Johannes, 388–394, 389t, 393e, 402–413,
Ave verum corpus (Byrd), 142–143, 143e 402t, 404e–412e, 405f, 409t
Ayeres or Phantasticke Spirites for Three Voices Bruckner, Anton, 362–365, 362f, 363t, 364e–365e,
(Weelkes), 86 417–422, 418e–421e, 420t
Brydges, James, 266, 266f
Bach, Carl Philipp Emmanuel, 302, 319–321, 319t, Busnoys, Antoine, 38–41, 40e–41e, 51, 53
320e, 320e–321e, 332 Buxtehude, Dietrich, 212, 213t, 217–221, 220e
Bach, Johann Sebastian Byrd, William, 82, 135–146, 148, 152, 153, 155,
antiphony in works of, 281, 316 263, 403
cantatas of, 283–292, 284t, 285e, 286t, 287e, 290e, By the waters of Babylon (Humfrey), 246–248,
292t, 293, 293e, 295, 296e, 319–321, 412, 413e
death of, 317, 396 Cadéac, Pierre, 98–99
keyboard music of, 319, 321–322 cadences, 9–10
Magnificat of, 280, 301–302, 301t, 302e, 319–321 cadential pitches, 9
Masses of, 280, 291, 294–301, 295t, 296e, Caecilian Movement. See Cecilianism
297t–298t, 299f, 300e, 351–352 Caecilien Vereine, 415
Mendelssohn and, 396 Caldara, Antonio, 322
motets of, 280–283, 282e, 282t, 283e cantata Masses. See also Masses
oratorios of, 280, 292–294, 292t, 293e, 294t Bach’s, 280, 294, 296–301, 297t–298t, 299f, 300e
Passions of, 280, 296, 302–316, 304t–307t, 306e, definition of, 336
308e, 309f, 310t–311t, 312e–313e, 315e Haydn’s, 336, 351
Baïf, Jean-Antoine de, 63 Mozart’s, 351, 373
ballade, 69 Neapolitan, 296, 373
ballata, 69 cantatas
ballet à entrées, 224 Bach’s, 283–292, 284t, 285e, 286t, 287e, 290e,
ballet comique, 225 292t, 293, 293e, 295, 296e, 319–321, 412, 413e
Ballet d’Álcidiane (Lully), 224 C. P. E.Bach’s, 319–321, 319t, 320e–321e
ballet du cour, 224–225 Buxtehude’s, 217–221, 220e
balletti, 81–82, 82e church cantatas, 212, 217–221, 295, 297
Balletts and Madrigals (Weelkes), 84 Erlebach’s, 216–217, 216e–217e
Banchieri, Adriano, 165 German cantata-like form, 212, 214–216, 215e, 215t
Baroque period German church cantatas, 217–221
Classicism transition from, 317–322, 327 German concept of, 284
Index 479
Mendelssohn’s, 397–398, 398t Classicism

psalm cantatas, 400–401 Baroque transition to, 317–322, 327
Reger’s, 414 empfindsamer Stil (sensitive style) and, 328,
cantica, 237 328e, 332
Cantica sacra (Dumont), 222–223 Enlightenment and, 327–328, 330, 332, 354, 416
cantilena style, 28, 28e Romanticism compared with, 329–333
Cantiones, quae ab argumento sacrae vocantur (Tallis stile antico and, 395
and Byrd), 133, 135f, 136–137 clausulae, 13–14
Cantiones sacrae, Book 1 (Byrd), 137–139, 138t, 139e clefs for Dorian modes, 9e
Cantiones sacrae, Book 2 (Byrd), 137, 139–141, 140t, Clemens, Jacob (non Papa), 96, 97–98, 97e, 98e,
141e, 142e 100–101
cantoris, 146, 148, 151, 259 coloration, 37, 57
cantus firmus Masses, 31, 38, 107 Come, Ye Sons of Art (Purcell), 253–254, 254t, 255e
Capricornus, Samuel, 212 concerted church music, 212, 214, 215, 219, 283.
Caput Masses, 31, 128 See also cantatas
Cara, Marchetto, 69–71 concertos
Carissimi, Giacomo, 166–170, 168e–169e, 168t arias compared with, 212–214
Carver, Robert, 128 definition of, 157
Catharine de Medici, 223 first appearance of term, 158
Cathedral Music (Boyce), 262–263 Gabrieli’s, 159–165, 160t, 161e–164, 164t
Cavalieri, Emilio de,’ 166 German repertory, 212, 213t
Cavalli, Francesco, 186t, 187, 187e, 225 polychoral, 196–197, 200, 219, 314
Cecilianism consonance, 9, 10, 13, 27, 29, 51
Bruckner and, 417, 418–419, 421 contenance angloise, 25, 26, 27
a cappella music and, 396, 417 conterminous modal pairs, 8–9, 8e, 13
definition of, 330, 415–416 Continuatio theatri musici (Capricornus), 212
influence of, 463n46 contrapuntal modal cadences, 10
Liszt and, 417, 423–426, 429 Contrapunto bestiale alla mente (Banchieri),
Palestrina’s influence on, 102 87–89, 88e
Rheinberger and, 430–431 Cooke, Henry, 246
support of, 330 Cornysh, William, 128
Verdi and, 422 Council of Trent, 105–106, 106f, 124
Centi concerti ecclesiastici (Viadana), 165 Counter-Reformation, 166, 187
Certon, Pierre, 61–62 Couperin, François, 231, 241, 241e
Chandos Anthems (Handel), 266–268, 267e Creation, The (Haydn), 331–332, 331e
chant, 1, 4–8, 10, 105, 417, 418, 424 Crecquillon, Thomas, 61
chant melismas, 13–15, 17, 18 Croce, Giovanni, 165
Chapelle Royale, 226, 227–228, 229, 237 Croft, William, 262
Chapel Royal, 128, 135, 146, 152–154, 246, 248, Crucifixion, The (Stainer), 432
258, 271 Cum essem parvulus (Lassus), 112–113, 112e–113e
Charles II, 245–246 cyclic Mass, 31
Charpentier, Marc-Antoine, 228, 229–237, 231f,
233e, 233t–234t, 235e–236e dactylic modal rhythm, 12
Cherubini, Luigi, 366–367, 375–376 Da le belle contrade d’Oriente (Rore), 75–77,
choirbook format, 15–16, 15f 75t, 76e
choral concertos, 213t Das Hohelied Salomonis (Lechner), 195
choral music, definition of, 1 Deborah (Handel), 271
Christmas Oratorio, BWV 248 (Bach), 280, decani, 146, 148, 151, 259
292–293, 292t, 293e, 294t Deering, Richard, 146, 154, 245
Christus (Mendelssohn), 398, 398e de la Rue, Pierre, 93–94, 94e, 95e
Christus factus est (Bruckner), 420–422, 420e, 421e Demantius, Christoph, 125, 208–209
church cantatas, 212, 217–221, 295, 297 Deo gratias (Responsory), 5, 7
Circé (Charpentier), 230 De Profundis (Lalande), 238, 238t, 239e–240e
Circe, ou le Balet comique de la Royne, 223 De Profundis (Lassus), 115, 115e, 115t
480 Index
Der Geist hilft unsrer Schwachheit auf, BWV 226 Fairy Queen (Purcell), 252–253, 252e, 254e
(Bach), 280 Faisant regretz (Josquin), 46
Deutsche Sprüche über Leben und Tod (Lechner), 195 fauxbourdon, 26–28, 27e, 28e, 34, 56
de Vitry, Philippe, 16–18 Fayrfax, Robert, 128
dialogue, 237 Feast of the Ascension, 3
Die Auferstehung Jesu Christi (Schütz), Ferrabosco, Alphonso, 82, 84
202–203, 203e Few Words on Cathedral Music and the Musical
Die Legende von dem Heiligen Elisabeth (Liszt), 430 System of the Church, A (Wesley), 432
Die mit Thränen säen (Schein), 208, 208e Finold, Andreas, 209, 210, 211e
Die mit Thränen säen (Weckmann), 215e Florentine Camerata, 165
die Sprache des Gefühls, 329–330 Four Sacred Pieces (Verdi), 422–423, 422e, 423e
discantus, 12–13, 14 fourteenth-century Western European culture, 16
dissonance, 27, 102–103, 162, 179–183, 241, 418 Franck, Melchior, 208, 209
Dixit Dominus (Cavalli), 187e Franck, Salomo, 286
Dixit Dominus (Handel), 263–266, 263t, 264e–265e Fremuit spiritu Jesu (Clemens), 97e
Dixit Maria (Hassler), 196e French chansons, 61–64, 62e–64e, 71
Dodekachordon (Glareanus), 8, 58 French royal court, 61–62, 63, 94, 223
Dominus regnavit (Josquin), 58–59, 58e–59e French Suite in D Minor, BWV 812 (Bach), 319,
Drei Kirchenmusiken (Mendelssohn), 397 321–322
Dryden, John, 271–272 frottola, 69–71, 70e
Du Fay, Guillaume, 26–38, 51, 69, 131 full anthems, 148–149, 150t, 151, 153–154, 258. See also
Dumont, Henri, 222–223, 228 anthems
duple mensuration, 16, 17f, 54, 58, 71, 122 Funeral Anthem for Queen Caroline (Handel),
Dvořák, Antonín, 368–369, 368e 269–270, 269e–270e
Fürchte dich nicht, BWV 228 (Bach), 280–281
Easter, 3 Fux, Johann Joseph, 322, 416
Easter Oratorio, BWV 249 (Bach), 292, 293
Eccard, Johannes, 195 Gabrieli, Giovanni, 157–165, 160t, 161e–163e
Ecce quomodo moritur justus (Handl), Gastoldi, Giovanni Giacomo, 81–82
269–270, 270e Geistliche Chormusik (Schütz), 205
Ecco mormorar l’onde (Monteverdi), 181e Geistliche Lieder auf den Choral oder gemeine
Écurie, 226 Kirchenmelodei (Eccard), 195
Ein deutsches Requiem (Brahms), 388–394, Gensreff, Abraham, 209
389t, 393e German Lied, 66–69, 66e–69e
Ein feste Burg (Schein), 195, 206, 207e German Protestant church music, 195, 396, 413, 414
Ein feste Burg (Schütz), 65e Gesualdo, Don Carlo, 78, 79–81
Ein feste Burg or Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme Già torna a rallegra (Marenzio), 77t, 78e
(Tunder), 219 Gibbons, Orlando, 148–153, 149f
Elizabethan Madrigalists, The (Fellowes), 84 Giunto alla tomba (Wert), 78, 79e
Elizabeth I, 147f Gloria in D Major (Vivaldi), 188–191, 189e, 189t
Emendemus in melius (Byrd), 136, 136e, 137e, 137t God spake sometimes in visions (Blow), 249, 249e
empfindsamer Stil (sensitive style), 328, Gombert, Nicolas, 96, 96e, 98–100, 99t, 100e
328e, 332 Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit, BWV 106 (Bach),
English madrigals, 82–86, 84e–86e 284–285, 284t, 285e
English Reformation, 127, 133, 148, 154–156 Gottlob, nun geht das Jahr zu Ende, BWV 28
Enlightenment, 327–328, 330, 332, 354, 416 (Bach), 291
Erich, Nicholas, 209, 210, 210e Goudimel, Claude, 64–65, 65e
Erlebach, Philipp Heinrich, 213t, 216–217, Gounod, Charles, 367–368, 368e
216e–217e Gradualia (Byrd), 141–144, 143e, 143t, 144e
Es ist das Heil uns kommen her (Brahms), 404 Gradus ad Parnassum (Fux), 102, 322, 396
Esther (Handel), 271 Grande Messe des Morts (Berlioz), 376–380, 377t,
Eton Choir Books, 128, 129 379e, 379t
European High Renaissance, 101 grand motets. See also motets
expressive style, 328, 328e, 332 Lalande’s, 240
Index 481
Lully’s, 228, 228t, 229e Ich stund an einem Morgen (Senfl), 67e

Masses and, 240 Ich waiss mir ein meidlein (Lassus), 67, 68e
Rameau’s, 242–244, 242t, 243e Il bell’ umore (Gastoldi), 81–82, 82e
significance of, 244 Il bianco e dolce cigno (Arcadelt), 74e
verse anthem and, 278 Il Festino (Banchieri), 87–89, 89t
Gräner Festmesse (Liszt), 365–366 Illibata Dei, Virgo nutrix (Josquin), 53–56, 53t,
Greater Hours, 3–4, 3t–4t 54e–55e
Greene, Maurice, 262–263 Il primo libro delle Canzone Napoletane
Gregorian antiphons, 130. See also antiphony (Scandello), 67
Gregorian chant, 1, 10, 105, 417, 418, 424 Il sera pour vous (Morton), 40, 40e–41e
Groh, Johann, 209 In arboris / Tuba sacre fidei / Virgo sum (de Vitry),
Guido d’Arezzo, 7 17–20, 18e–20e, 18t
incidental music, 226–227, 252
Hail, Bright Cecilia (Purcell), 256–258, 256e–258e In convertendo (Rameau), 242–244, 242t, 243e
Hamburger Frauenchor, 403 Indes Galantes, Les (Rameau), 327
Hammerschmidt, Andreas, 208, 212, 213t In Ecclesiis (Gabrieli), 163–165, 164e, 164t
Handel, George Frideric, 263–278, 263t, inequality (notes-inégales), 231–232
264e–265e, 273e, 275e–277e In Nativitatem Dominum Nostrum Jesu Christi
Handl, Jacobus, 269–270, 270e Canticum (Charpentier), 237
Harke, all yee lovely saintes above (Weelkes), 85e Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen (Isaac), 66e
Hassler, Hans Leo, 68, 195–196, 196e Introduction to the Technique of Palestrina, An
Haydn, Franz Joseph, 317, 320, 321e, 327, 329, (Andrews), 103
331–332, 331t, 335–343, 337e–338e, 339f, Io non compro più speranza (Cara), 70e, 70t
341e–343e, 369 Isaac, Heinrich, 66
Haydn, Johann Michael, 323, 327, 334–335, isorhythm
372, 372e application by de Vitry, 17–20, 18e–20e
Hear my prayer, O Lord (Purcell), 258–259, application by Du Fay, 29–31
258e–259e in Machaut’s Messe de Notre Dame, 21–24,
Hence, Care, thou art too cruel (Weelkes), 86e 22e–24e, 27
Hercules Dux Ferrariae (Josquin), 46 in motets, 13, 17–20, 27, 29–31
Herder, Johann Gottfried, 416 Renaissance and, 26
Herr, deine Augen sehen nach dem Glauben, BWV Israel in Egypt (Handel), 272–274, 273e
102 (Bach), 295, 295t, 296e Italian madrigals, 71–81, 72e, 73t, 74e
Herzogenberg, Heinrich von, 413 Italian Madrigals Englished (Watson), 83–84
Herzstück, 303, 306–308, 306t, 307t Italian opera, 271
Himmelsfahrt-Oratorium, BWV 11 (Bach), I vostri acuti dardi (Verdelot), 72e, 73t
292, 293
Himmelskönig, sei willkommen (Bach), 288 Janequin, Clément, 62–63
Historia, der freuden- und gnadenreiche Geburt Jehovah, quam multi sunt hostes mei (Purcell),
Gottes und Marien Sohnes, Jesu 262, 262e
Christi(Schütz), 204 Jephte (Carissimi), 167–170, 168e, 168t, 169e
Hör mein Bitten (Mendelssohn), 400 Jesu, meine Freude, BWV 227 (Bach), 280–283,
Hosanna to the Son of David (Gibbons), 282t, 283e
149–151, 151e Je suis désheritée (Cadéac), 99, 99e
Hosanna to the Son of David (Weelkes), 154 Jesuits, 166
Hours, 3–4 Johannespassion (Lechner), 125, 125e
Humfrey, Pelham, 246–248, 247t, 248e Johannespassion, BWV 245 (Bach), 280, 302–308,
Hungarian Coronation Mass (Liszt), 366 304t–307t, 306e, 308e
Hygons, Richard, 128 Johnson, Robert, 128
Josquin des Prez, 45f
iambic modal rhythm, 12 Masses of, 44–51, 47e–50e, 48t
Ich aber bin elend (Brahms), 410–411, 410e–411e motets of, 51–59, 51e–59e, 53t, 57t
Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis, BWV 21 (Bach), 412, 413e Judgment of Solomon, 276f
482 Index
Kassel School, 196 liturgy, 1–5, 5t

Kleinmeistern, 195 Lobet den Herrn alle Heiden, BWV 230 (Bach),
Koch, Christoph Heinrich, 329 280–281
Komm, Jesu, komm, BWV 229 (Bach), Locke, Matthew, 246
280–281, 282e Lord Nelson Mass (Haydn), 340, 342–343, 342e–343e
Komm du süsse Todesstunde, BWV 161 (Bach), Louis XIV, 224–226, 230, 237, 241
286–287, 286t, 287e Loyola, Ignatius, 166
Krause, Johann, 209 Lully, Jean-Baptiste, 224–229, 227e, 228t, 229e, 237
Kyrie (Brahms), 403
Machaut, Guillaume de, 20–24, 21f
Lagrime di San Pietro, Le (Lassus), 114 madrigal comedy, 87–89, 87t, 88e, 89t, 91
Lalande, Michel-Richard de, 228, 237–241, 238t, Madrigali Guerrieri et Amorosi (Monteverdi),
239e–240e 185–186, 185t
Lamentations of Jeremiah (Genet), 126 madrigal intermedium, 89–91, 91t
Lamentations of Jeremiah (settings of), 126 madrigals
Lamentations of Jeremiah (Tallis), 133, 134–135, English, 82–86, 84e–86e
135e, 138 Italian, 71–81, 72e, 73t, 74e
Lamentations of Jeremiah (Victoria), 124 Lassus’s, 114
L’ami Baudichon (Josquin), 46 Monteverdi’s, 179–186, 181e–184e, 185t
Landmessen (peasant or country masses), 362 Schütz’s, 196–198, 197e–199e
La Pellegrina, 91t Tomkins’s, 84
La Pléiade, 63 Madrigals of 5. and 6. Parts (Weelkes), 85–86
Lasso Nachfolger (Disciples of Lassus), 111 Maestri di cappella at San Marco, 177, 186t, 187
Lassus, Orlandus, 31, 67–68, 68e, 82, 101, 110–121, Magnificat (C. P. E. Bach), 319–321, 319t, 320e–321e
110f, 112e–116e, 115t, 116t–117t, 120e, 121t, 195 Magnificat, BWV 243 (Bach), 280, 301–302, 301t,
Latin antiphons, 133. See also antiphony 302e, 319–321
Latin motets, 61, 92. See also motets Magnificat in G Minor (Vivaldi), 191, 191t
Lauda anima mea (de la Rue), 94e Magnificats
Lauda Sion (Mendelssohn), 399, 399e Bach’s, 280, 301–302, 301t, 302e, 319–321
Laudate pueri (Mozart), 320, 320e C. P. E.Bach’s, 319–321, 319t, 320e–321e
Laudi alla Vergine Maria (Verdi), 422 Fayrfax’s, 128
L’autre dantan (Ockeghem), 15e, 16, 39, 40e Vivaldi’s, 191, 191t
Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme (Lully), 227e Magnus Liber Organi, 12, 13
Le Chant des Oiseaux (Janequin), 62–63, 63e Malheur me bat (Josquin), 46
Lechner, Leonhard, 125, 125e, 195 Man that is born of a woman (Purcell), 262e
LeJeune, Claude, 64–65, 64e Manzoni, Alessandro, 380–382, 381f
Le Lagrime di San Pietro (Lassus), 114, 118–121, 119t, Marenzio, Luca, 77–78, 82, 84, 90
120e, 121t Marian antiphons, 28, 28e, 31, 51, 52e, 192, 192e.
Le Malade imaginaire (Charpentier), 230 See also antiphony
Leonin, 12–14, 13e, 17 Marias Kirchgang (Brahms), 403
Le reniement de St. Pierre (Charpentier), 236e, 237 Marienkirche in Lübeck, Germany, 218f
Les Frondes, 225 Marienlieder (Brahms), 403, 404e
Les Invalides, Paris, 376f Marot, Clément, 63
Lesser Hours, 3–4, 3t–4t masques, 246, 252–253, 268, 271, 277–278
Lesueur, François, 376 Mass (liturgy), 1–5, 5t
L’Homme Armé masses (Du Fay), 32, 38 Masses. See also cantata Masses; Passions;
L’Homme Armé sexti toni (Josquin), 46 Requiems
L’Homme Armé tune (Busnoys), 39 Bach’s, 280, 291, 294–301, 295t, 296e, 297t–298t,
Liber de arte contrapuncti (Tinctoris), 26, 29 299f, 300e, 351–352
Lied, 66–69, 66e–69e Beethoven’s, 352–359, 353e, 353t, 355f,
ligatures, 27, 36–37, 36e–37e, 433n14 356e–359e, 356t
Liszt, Franz, 226–227, 365–366, 369, 417, 423–430, Brahms’s, 403
424f, 425e–426e, 427t–428t, 429e–430e Bruckner’s, 362–365, 363t, 364e–365e, 417–420,
liturgical year, 2t, 2t–3t 418e–420e
Index 483
Byrd’s, 144–146 Mass in F Major, BWV 233 (Bach), 295

cantus firmus Masses, 31, 38, 107 Mass in G Major (Schubert), 360–361, 360e
Caput, 31, 128 Mass in G Major, BWV 236 (Bach), 295
Charpentier’s, 230–233, 233e, 233t Mass in G Minor, BWV 235 (Bach), 295, 295t, 296e
Cherubini’s, 366–367 Mater Patris (Josquin), 46
Continental practice in, 31 Matthäuspassion (Schütz), 181–182, 204, 204e
cyclic, 31 Matthäuspassion, BWV 244 (Bach), 280, 308–316,
Du Fay’s, 32–38, 131 309f, 310t–311t, 312e–313e, 315e
Dvořák’s, 368–369, 368e Mazarin (cardinal), 225
English practice in, 31 Meane Mass (Taverner), 144–145, 145e
formats of, 336 Médée (Charpentier), 230
Fux’s, 322 medieval notation, 24. See also mensuration
Gombert’s, 98, 99–100, 99t, 100e medieval polyphony, 2
Gounod’s, 367–368, 368e Mein Gott, mein Gott, warum hast du mich verlassen
F. J. Haydn’s, 335–343, 337e–338e, 341e–343e, 345e (Mendelssohn), 400
J. M. Haydn’s, 334–335, 372, 372e melismatic organum, 10–13, 11e
Josquin’s, 44–51 Mendelssohn, Arnold, 413–414
Landmessen type of, 362 Mendelssohn, Felix, 397–402, 397f, 398e–399e,
Lassus’s, 111 398t, 401e
Liszt’s, 365–366, 369, 424–425, 425e mensural notation, 16, 24, 29t, 36
Machaut’s, 21–24, 31, 34 mensuration
Monteverdi’s, 101 duple, 16, 17f, 54, 58, 122
Morales’s, 100–101 notation system, 16, 24, 29t, 36
Mozart’s, 343–352, 344t–345t, 345e, 347e–350e, proportions in, 17f
347t, 352e, 368, 371, 373 triple, 54, 57, 131, 140
Palestrina’s, 31, 101, 105–110, 107e–109e, 419e Mer han en neue Oberkeet (Bach), 291–292
paraphrase Masses, 99, 106–107 Messe de Notre Dame (Machaut), 21–24, 31, 34
parody Masses, 31, 98–101, 99t, 100e, 105, 108–110 Messe du Minuit (Charpentier), 230–233, 233e, 233t
plenary Masses, 32 Messe du Minuit à 4 voix, flutes et violons sur Noëls
polyphonic Mass cycles, 4 (Charpentier), 230–231
Renaissance Masses, 31 Messe in h-moll, BWV 232 (Bach), 280, 291, 294,
Rheinberger’s, 431 296–301, 297t, 298t, 299f, 300e, 351–352
Rossini’s, 367, 367e Messe solennelle de Ste. Cécile (Gounod),
Schubert’s, 359–361, 360e–361e, 360t 367–368, 368e
symphonic Masses, 340, 356, 364–366, Michael, Christian, 209, 210, 210e
369, 418 Michael, Daniel, 209, 211e
Taverner’s, 129–133, 129e, 130t, 131e–132e, 145e Michael, Rogier, 209–211, 210e
tenor Masses, 31–38, 33e, 37e, 49, 108 Michael, Tobias, 209, 210, 210e
unification methods, 31 Micrologus (Guido d’Arezzo), 10
Victoria’s, 31, 101 middle C, 36, 433n8
Vivaldi’s, 188–191, 189e, 189t Miserere mei, Deus (Josquin), 53, 53e
Willaert’s, 100–101 Miserere mei Deus (Lully), 228–229, 229e
Mass for Four Voices (Byrd), 144–145, 145e Missa (Ockeghem), 43e
Mass in A-flat Major (Schubert), 361, 361e Missa Aeterna Christi munera (Palestrina), 106–108,
Mass in A Major, BWV 234 (Bach), 295 107e–108e
Mass in B Minor, BWV 232 (Bach), 280, 291, 294, Missa Albanus (Fayrfax), 128
296–301, 297t–298t, 299f, 300e, 351–352 Missa Alma Redemptoris Mater (Power), 31
Mass in C Major (Beethoven), 352–354, 353e, 353t Missa Ascendo ad Patrem (Palestrina), 108,
Mass in C Major, "Coronation Mass" (Mozart), 108e–109e
348–350, 349e–350e Missa Ave maris stella (Josquin), 47–49, 47e–48e,
Mass in C Minor (Mozart), 343, 351–352, 352e, 48t, 49e–50e
371, 375 Missa Ave regina coelorum (Du Fay), 32
Mass in D Major (Dvořák), 368–369, 368e Missa brevis (Palestrina), 106, 418, 419e
Mass in E Minor (Bruckner), 417–420, 418e–420e missa brevis format, 336
484 Index
Missa brevis in F Major (Mozart), 345–348, 345e, first collection of sacred music, 192e
347e–348e, 347t, 368 madrigals of, 179–186, 181e–184e, 185t
Missa brevis in F Major, "Jugendmesse" (Haydn), 335 parody Mass of, 101
Missa brevis in G Minor, BWV 235 (Bach), 295, sacred music of, 170–179, 172e–174e, 175t–176t,
295t, 296e 176e–179e
Missa canonica (Brahms), 403, 408e–409e Morales, Cristobal de, 100–101, 121
Missa canonica (Fux), 322 Morley, Thomas, 84, 86, 146
Missa Cellensis, Mariazellermesse (Haydn), 337–338 Moro lasso (Gesualdo), 79–81, 80e–81e, 80t
Missa Cellensis in E-flat Major, Grosse Orgelmesse motet-Passions, 125, 125e, 195, 203
(Haydn), 338e motets. See also grand motets
Missa Choralis (Liszt), 366, 369, 424–425, 425e Bach’s, 280–283, 282e, 282t, 283e
Missa cuiusvis toni (Ockeghem), 43–44, 43e, 44e Brahms’s, 402t, 403–413, 405e–412e, 409t
Missa Ecce ancilla Domini (Du Fay), 32 Bruckner’s, 420–422, 420e, 420t, 421e
Missa Fors seulement (Ockeghem), 41, 41e–42e Byrd’s, 135–144
Missa Gloria tibi Trinitas (Taverner), 129, 130–133, Charpentier’s, 230
131e–132e contenance angloise applied in, 27
Missa in angustiis, Nelson Mass (Haydn), 340, Couperin’s, 241
342–343, 342e–343e definition of, 14
Missa Iste confessor (Palestrina), 106 de la Rue’s, 93, 94e
Missa Jam Christus astra ascenderat (Palestrina), 106 Du Fay’s, 27–31, 28e, 51
Missa Je suis désheritée (Gombert), 99t, 100e early fifteenth-century, 27–31
Missa L’Homme Armé (Busnoys), 40e Gabrieli’s, 159–163, 160t, 161e–163e
Missa L’Homme Armé (Josquin), 47 Gombert’s, 96, 96e
Missa L’Homme Armé (Ockeghem), 38, 39f, 40e Handl’s, 269–270, 270e
Missa O bone Jesus (Fayrfax), 128 influence on early Masses, 27
Missa Pange lingua (Josquin), 47 isorhythmic, 13, 17–20, 27, 29–31
Missa Papae Marcelli (Palestrina), 106 Josquin’s, 51–59
Missa pro defunctis (J. M. Haydn), 372, 372e Lalande’s, 237–241, 238t, 239e–240e
Missa pro defunctis (M. Haydn), 334–335 Lassus’s, 111–121
Missa Prolationum (Ockeghem), 42t, 43, 43e Latin, 61, 92
Missa Rex seculorum (Dunstable), 31 Lully’s, 228, 228t, 229e
Missa Sancti Anthonii de Padua (Du Fay), 32 Mendelssohn’s, 399, 400–402, 401e
Missa Sancti Hieronymi (J. M. Haydn), 334–335 Mouton’s, 94, 95e
Missa Sancti Jacobi (Du Fay), 26–27, 27e, 32 origin of, 14–16, 14e, 434n19
Missa Sancti Johannes de Deo (Haydn), 336, Palestrina’s, 103–105, 103e, 108, 108e
337e, 338e petit motet, 228, 237, 241, 242
Missa Sancti Nicolai (Haydn), 336, 337 psalm motets, 53, 400
Missa Se la face ay pale (Du Fay), 32–38, 33e, 37e Rameau’s, 242–244, 242t, 243e
Missa Solemnis (Beethoven), 354–359, 355f, Reger’s, 414, 415e
356e–359e, 356t Scarlatti’s, 192–193, 192e
missa solemnis format, 336 Schütz’s, 205
Missa solemnis in B-flat Minor (Bruckner), 363 Victoria’s, 121–124, 122e–124e
Missa solemnis in D Minor (Bruckner), 363–364 Vivaldi’s, 191
Missa solemnis in E Minor (Bruckner), 365 Mouton, Jean, 94, 95e
Missa solemnis in F Minor (Bruckner), 363–364, Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 328f
364e–365e death of, 374
Mlle de Guise, 230 expressive melody and, 327–329, 328e
modal cadences, 9–10, 10e, 72, 121, 121t, 134, 422 Masses of, 343–352, 344t–345t, 345e, 347e–350e,
modality, 5–10, 6e–10e, 6t 347t, 352e, 368, 371, 373
modal rhythm, 12 opera of, 327, 350e
Molière (Jean-Baptiste Poquelin), 225, 226, 230 Requiem of, 320, 320e, 343, 371–375,
monody, 165–166, 183 371t–374t, 373e
Monteverdi, Claudio, 180f stile antico and, 320, 320e, 346, 351, 372
conflict with Artusi, 179–183 Vespers of, 320, 320e, 328–329, 328e
Index 485
Müller, Wilhelm, 332 oratorios

Musae Sioniae (Praetorius), 195 Anerio’s, 166
Musica enchiriadis, 10 Bach’s, 280, 292–294, 292t, 293e, 294t
musica ficta, 10 Carissimi’s, 166–170, 168e–169e, 168t
Musica nova (Willaert), 98 Cavalieri’s, 166
musica reservata, 112 Charpentier’s, 236–237, 236e
Musica Transalpina (Yonge), 82–84 definition of, 166
Music in German Romantic Literature (Siegel), 416 Handel’s, 270–278, 273e, 275e–277e
Musique de la Chambre, 226 Haydn’s, 331–332, 331e
Musique Royale, 226 Liszt’s, 427t–428t, 429–430, 429e–430e
Mendelssohn’s, 398–400, 398e–399e
Neri, Filippo, 166 origin of, 166
Nesciens Mater virgo virum (Mouton), 94, 95e Reger’s, 413
neumes, 36, 433n14 Schütz’s, 202–204, 203e
Non vos relinquam orphanos (Byrd), 143–144, 144e Vivaldi’s, 191
notation, 36–38, 36e–37e. See also mensuration Ordinary of the Mass
notes-inégales, 231–232 cantata-like formatting of, 187
Notre Dame School (of polyphony), 11–13, 16 contributions of European High Renaissance
Nozze di Figaro, Le (Mozart), 327, 350e composers to, 101
Nuper rosarum flores (Du Fay), 29–31, 30e de la Rue’s settings of, 94
description of, 4, 5t
O, sing unto the Lord (Handel), 267, 267e Du Fay’s settings of, 32
O, sing unto the Lord (Purcell), 261, 261e, 267, 267e evolution of, 26, 59
Obrecht, Jakob, 44 Fux’s settings of, 322
occasional anthems, 150. See also anthems Haydn’s settings of, 336
Ockeghem, Johannes, 38–44 Machaut’s settings of, 20–21
O come, let us sing unto the Lord (Tallis), 146, 147e Palestrina’s settings of, 105–106
odes Rheinberger’s settings of, 431
Blow’s, 249 unification of, 25, 31
Handel’s, 266, 271 organa, 10–11, 11e
Lesueur’s, 376 ornamentation, 231
Purcell’s, 253–254, 254t, 255e, 256–258, 256e–258e Or sus, serviteurs du Seigneur (Bourgeois), 64e
Ode to Saint Cecilia (Handel), 271 Or sus, serviteurs du Seigneur (Goudimel), 65e
O Heiland reiss die Himmel auf (Brahms), 407, Ossa arrida (Liszt), 426, 426e
409–410, 409t Oster-Oratorium, BWV 249 (Bach), 292, 293
O Jesu mi dulcissime (Gabrieli), 159–163, 160t, O Tod, wie bitter bist du (Reger), 414, 415e
161e–163e O vos omnes (Victoria), 122
Olando di Lasso. See Lassus, Orlandus
oltremontani, 69, 71–72, 98 Palace of Versailles, Fountain of the Dragons, 223f
O magnum mysterium (Victoria), 122, 122e Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da, 102f
O Mirtillo (Monteverdi), 183, 183e Bruckner compared with, 418–419
O nata lux de lumine (Tallis), 133e a cappella music of, 417
opera influence on Liszt, 424
during Enlightenment, 327–328 Lassus compared with, 113
French, 225 madrigals of, 111
Gounod’s, 367 Masses of, 31, 101, 105–110, 107e–109e, 419e
Mozart’s, 327, 350e motets, 103–105, 103e, 108, 108e
precursor to French, 223 Palestrina School and, 101–102, 111
Purcell’s semi-operas, 252–253, 252e, 254e prima prattica and, 165
rise of, 87 revival of interest in, 416–417
opera buffa, 323 Romanticism and, 396
opera seria, 327 settings of Mass Ordinary, 105–106
Opus ultimum (Schütz), 202 stile antico and, 193, 322
O quam gloriosum (Victoria), 123, 123e–124e Victoria compared with, 121
486 Index
Palestrina School, 101–102, 111 psalm motets, 53, 400. See also motets

paraphrase Masses, 99, 106–107 psalters, 64–65, 64e–65e, 98, 98e
parody Masses, 31, 98–101, 99t, 100e, 105, 108–110 Purcell, Henry, 246, 251–263, 251f
Passareau, Pierre, 61–62
Passions. See also Masses Quam pulchra es (Dunstable), 27–28
Bach’s, 280, 296, 302–316, 304t–307t, 306e, 308e, Quattro Pezzi sacri (Verdi), 422–423, 422e–423e
309f, 310t–311t, 312e–313e, 315e
description of, 124–125 Rameau, Jean-Phillippe, 242–244, 242t, 243e, 327
Lechner’s, 125, 125e Reformation in England, 127, 133, 148, 154–156
motet-Passions, 125, 125e, 195, 203 Regali Magnificat (Fayrfax), 128
in Renaissance, 124–125 Reger, Max, 413, 414, 415e
Schütz’s, 199–200, 204, 204e Regina Coeli (Mozart), 395–396, 396e
Passion tones, 124, 125e, 204 Renaissance
pastorals, 78, 268 choral polyphony in, 2
Paukenmesse (Haydn), 340–341, 341e definition of, 25
Pellegrina, La, 90–91 European High Renaissance, 101
Penitential Psalms, 124 isorhythm and, 26
Pentecost, 3 Passions in, 124–125
Pergolesi, Giovanni Battista, 323–327, 323f Requiems of, 124
Perotin, 13–15, 14e, 17 transition to Baroque period, 157–159, 222–225
Petite Messe Solennelle (Rossini), 367, 367e Requiem (Verdi), 380–388, 383e–387e, 383f
petit motet, 228, 237, 241, 242. See also motets Requiem, Introit (de la Rue), 94, 95e
Philips, Peter, 146, 154, 245 Requiem in C Minor (Cherubini), 375–376
Pietà ospedale, 187–188, 190f Requiem in C Minor (J. M. Haydn), 334–335,
plagal modes, 5–6 372, 372e
plainsong, 1 Requiem in D Minor (Bruckner), 363
plenary Masses, 32 Requiem in D Minor (Cherubini), 375–376
polychoral concertos, 196–197, 200, 219, 314 Requiem in D Minor (Mozart), 320, 320e, 343,
Polyhymnia caduceatrix et panegyrica 371–375, 371t–374t, 373e
(Praetorius), 195 Requiems. See also Masses
polyphonic Mass cycles, 4 Berlioz’s, 375–380, 377t, 379e, 379t
polyphony, 2, 4, 8–16, 433n12 Brahms’s, 388–394, 389t, 393e
Praetorius, Michael, 195–196, 209–210, 210e Bruckner’s, 363
pre-Reformation England, 127–133 Cherubini’s, 375–376
prima prattica, 157, 165 de la Rue’s, 94, 95e
prolation, 16, 17f, 36 German, 388–394
Proper of the Mass J. M. Haydn’s, 334–335, 372, 372e
Byrd’s settings of, 142–143 Latin, 370–388
de la Rue’s settings of, 94 Mozart’s, 371–375, 371t–374t, 373e
description of, 4, 5t of Renaissance, 124
Du Fay’s settings of, 32 Rheinberger’s, 431
J. M. Haydn’s settings of, 334 Verdi’s, 380–388, 383e–387e, 383f
Lassus’s settings of, 111 Reutter, J. G., II, 322
Palestrina’s settings of, 106 Revoici venir du printemps (Baïf), 63, 64t
polyphonic settings of, 13 Revoici venir du printemps (LeJeune), 64e
Prophetiae Sybillarum (Lassus), 114, 115–118, 116e, Rheinberger, Joseph, 430–431
117t–118t Richte mich, Gott (Mendelssohn), 400
Proportionales Musices (Tinctoris), 26 Roman Mass, 5t
Protestant Reformation, 25, 166, 208, 416 Romanticism compared with Classicism, 329–333
psalm cantatas, 400–401. See also cantatas rondeau, 69
Psalmen Davids (Schütz), 200–202, 201e, 202t Rore, Cipriano de, 75–77
Psalmi Davidis poenitentiales (Lassus), 114–115, Rossini, Gioacchino, 367, 367e, 380
115e, 115t royal weddings, 90
Index 487
Sacrae Symphoniae (Gabrieli), 159 Solomon (Handel), 275–278, 276e, 277e

sacred concerto, 165, 213t, 221 Sonata in D Minor (Scarlatti), 319, 321–322
St. John Passion (Byrd), 142 song cycles, 332
St. John Passion (Lechner), 125, 125e Souterliedkins (Clemens), 98, 98e
St. John Passion, BWV 245 (Bach), 280, 302–308, spondeic modal rhythm, 12
304t–307t, 306e, 308e Staatsund Domchor, 400
St. Matthew Passion (Schütz), 181–182, 204, 204e Stabat Mater (Pergolesi), 323–327, 324e–326e
St. Matthew Passion, BWV 244 (Bach), 280, Stabat Mater (Verdi), 422–423, 423e
308–316, 309f, 310t–311t, 312e–313e, 315e Stainer, John, 432
St. Michael’s College, Tenbury, 432 stile antico
St. Thomas Church, Leipzig, 288f C. P. E.Bach and, 320, 320e
salmi spezzati, 159 Berlioz and, 378
Salvator mundi (Blow), 250–251, 250e Bruckner and, 418
Salve Regina (Josquin), 51–53, 51e–52e Classical composers and, 395
Salve Regina (Scarlatti), 192, 192e Fux and, 322, 416
Sandrin, Pierre, 61 F. J. Haydn and, 321e, 336, 343
San Marco Basilica, 158f, 159, 186–187 J. M. Haydn and, 372
Saul (Handel), 274–275, 275e Mozart and, 320, 320e, 346, 351, 372
Saul, Saul, was verfolgst du mich? (Schütz), Neapolitan composers and, 296
205–206, 207e Palestrina and, 193, 322
Scandello, Antonio, 67 Pergolesi and, 326
Scarlatti, Alessandro, 191–193, 192e, 322 Scarlatti and, 192–193
Schaffe in mir, Gott (Brahms), 404–406, 405e–407e at start of Baroque period, 157
Scheidt, Samuel, 206–208 in transition from Baroque to Classical, 322
Schein, Johann Hermann, 206–210, 209e stile moderno, 192, 193, 322, 416
Scholia enchiriadis, 10 strambotto, 69
Schöpfung, Die (Haydn), 331–332, 331e strict organum, 11e
Schubert, Franz, 332, 359–361, 360e, 360t, 361e String Quartet in F Minor (Haydn), 320, 321e
Schultheiss, Michael. See Praetorius, Michael Style of Palestrina and the Dissonance, The
Schumann, Robert, 391 (Jeppesen), 102–103
Schütz, Heinrich, 65, 65e, 196–207, 197f, 203e, stylus luxurians communis, 167–168
205f, 209 Symphoniae sacrae (Schütz), 202, 204, 205
secunda prattica, 157, 165–166 symphonic Masses, 340, 356, 364–366, 369, 418
Selva Morale e Spirituale (Monteverdi), 177–179 Symphony 2 in C Minor (Bruckner), 365, 365e
Senfl, Ludwig, 66–67, 67e
sensitive style, 328, 328e, 332 Tallis, Thomas, 126, 133–136, 135e, 138, 146, 147e, 148,
serenata, 268 149, 154
Sermisy, Claudin de, 61–62 Tant que vivrai (Sermisy), 61–62, 62e
Serva Padrona, La (Pergolesi), 323 Tanzen und springen (Hassler), 68, 69e
Seven Last Words (Schütz), 204 Taverner, John, 129–133, 129e, 130t, 131e–132e,
Sheppard, John, 129, 133 144–145, 145e
Si, ch’io vorrei morire (Monteverdi), 182–183, 182e Te Deum (Charpentier), 233–236, 234t, 235e
Sicut cervus (Palestrina), 103, 103e Te Deum (Verdi), 422
Siehe, ich verkündige euch grosse Freude (Erlebach), tempus, 16, 30e, 36
213t, 216–217, 216e, 217e Tenebrae factae sunt (Eberlin and J. M. Haydn), 395
Silver Swan, The (Gibbons), 84 tenor, 4, 433n13
Singakademie, 407 tenor Masses, 31–38, 33e, 37e, 49, 108
Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied, BWV 225 (Bach), Theatrum Musicum (Capricornus), 212
280–281 Theresienmesse (Haydn), 341–342, 342e
Sing we and chant it (Morley), 84e Timor et Tremor (Lassus), 113–114, 114e
Smend, Friedrich, 303, 306–307, 312–313 Tinctoris, Johannes, 25–26, 29
soggetto cavato, 46–47 Tomkins, Thomas, 84, 148, 153–154, 154e
solmization, 7, 7e Tönet ihr Pauken! Erschallet Trompeten, BWV 214
solo concertos, 213t (Bach), 291, 292t, 293, 293e, 294t
488 Index
Tractatus compositionis augmentatus (Bernhard), structure of, 4

167–168 Vivaldi’s, 191
tragédies lyriques, 225 Vespers services for the Virgin Mary, 171
transposition, 7–8, 9 Via Crucis (Liszt), 427t–428t, 429–430, 429e–430e
tribrachic modal rhythm, 12 Viadana, Ludovico Grossi da, 165
triple mensuration, 54, 57, 131, 140 Victoria, Tomas Luis da, 31, 101, 121–124, 122e–124e
Triumphes of Oriana, The (Morley), 83f, 86 Victorian England, 431–432
trochaic modal rhythm, 12 Vingt-Quatre Violons du Roi, 226
Trois Leçons de Ténèbres (Couperin), 241, 241e virelai, 61, 69
Tromboncino, Bartolomeo, 69 Vivaldi, Antonio, 188–191, 189e, 189t, 191t, 322
Trost, Caspar, 209, 210
Tu dormi (Monteverdi), 184–185, 184e Warum ist das Licht (Brahms), 407–408, 408e
Tu es Petrus (Palestrina), 103–105, 104e–105e Warum toben die Heiden (Mendelssohn), 400
Tunder, Franz, 219 Weckmann, Matthias, 212, 213t, 214–215, 215e, 215t
Turner, William, 246 Weelkes, Thomas, 84–86, 148, 154
Tye, Christopher, 129, 133, 145, 148, 154 Weihnachts-Oratorium, BWV 248 (Bach), 280,
292–293, 292t, 293e, 294t
Urania (Praetorius), 195 welcome songs, 253
Wenn der Herr die Gefangenen zu Zion erlösen wird
Veni, veni Emmanuel (Charpentier), 237 (Weckmann), 214–215, 215e, 215t
Venice, 187 Wenn ein starker Gewappneter (Brahms), 412–413,
Veni Sancte Spiritus (Dunstable), 29 412e–413e
Verdelot, Philippe, 72–74 Wer nur den lieben Gott lässt walten, BWV 93
Verdi, Giuseppe, 380–388, 383e–387e, 383f, (Bach), 289–290, 290e
422–423, 422e–423e Wert, Giaches de, 78–79
verse anthems, 148, 150–153, 150t, 244, 246, Wesley, Samuel Sebastian, 431–432
258–262, 278. See also anthems Western Wynde mass (Taverner), 129–131, 130t, 131e
vers mesurée a l’antique, 63–66 Westron Wynde (song), 129e
Versuch einer Anleitung zur Komposition When David heard (Tomkin), 153, 154e
(Koch), 329 White, Robert, 133
Vesperae solenne e confessore (Mozart), 320, 320e, Wie der Hirsch schreit nach frischem Wasser
328–329, 328e (Mendelssohn), 400–402, 401e
Vespers Willaert, Adrian, 96, 97, 98, 100–101
Cavalli’s, 187, 187e Winterreise (Schubert), 332
Handel’s, 263–266, 263t, 264e–265e
Monteverdi’s, 171–179, 172e–174e, 175t–176t, Yonge, Nicholas, 82–84
176e–179e
Mozart’s, 320, 320e, 328–329, 328e Zadok the Priest (Handel), 268–269

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A History of Western

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

1. Western Choral Music—Medieval Foundations 1

14. Sacred Choral Music from Mozart to Liszt 395

Art Credits 465

When I went to New York to work on my masters degree in 1969 I discovered, to my dismay,

SW Samtliche Werke (Hassler)

Western Choral Music—Medieval

The Liturgical Year and the Monastic Hours

Table 1.1 The Liturgical Year

Table 1.2 The Liturgical Day

Table 1.3 Greater Hours—Canticles

Canticle of Zachariah—Lk 1:68–79

Canticle of B.V.M.—Lk 1:46–55

Canticle of Simeon—Lk 2:29–32

Table 1.4 The Roman Mass

Example 1.1 Benedicamus Domino

Example 1.2 Modal Profiles

Example 1.3 Guido’s Gamut Solmized

Example 1.4 Benedicamus Domino Solmized

1. Dorian on D D D–D′ A no signed B♭

Modality in Polyphonic Music

Example 1.5 Conterminous Modal Pairs

Example 1.6 Clefs for Dorian (modes 1 and 2) on d and g

Example 1.7 Mode V, Modal Cadences

The Origins of Polyphony

1. A Proper chant was selected.

Example 1.10 Leonin: Benedicamus Domino, clausula

Of Leonin’s successor, Perotin (le Grande), the Anonymous IV source writes:

Example 1.12 Motet: Domini fidelium/Domino, mm. 1–22

Figure 1.1 Choirbook format

The Ars Nova

Figure 1.2 Mensural Proportions, Francinus Gaffurius, Practica

Table 1.6 Vitry, Tuba sacre fidei/In arboris, Text

Example 1.13 Vitry: In arboris/Tuba sacre fidei/Virgo sum, color

Example 1.14 Vitry: In Arboris/Tuba sacre fidei/Virgo sum, talea 2

Example 1.15 Vitry: Tuba sacre fidei/In arboris/Virgo sum

(c) Triplum, mm. 7–13

(d) Tenor, mm. 37–44

Example 1.16 Vitry: In arboris/Tuba sacre fidei/Virgo sum

(b) mm. 95–101

Guillaume de Machaut (ca. 1300–1377)

Figure 1.3 Guillaume de Machaut Receiving Nature

Example 1.17 Machaut: Messe de Notre Dame, Kyrie chants

Example 1.18 Machaut: Messe de Notre Dame, Kyrie taleas

Example 1.19 Machaut: Messe de Notre Dame, Kyrie I, mm. 16–19

Example 1.20 Machaut: Messe de Notre Dame, Gloria

Sacred Choral Music of the

Example 2.1 DuFay: Missa Sancti Jacobi, Communio, mm. 2–5

Early Fifteenth-Century Motet

Example 2.2 Alma Redemptoris Mater

Example 2.3 DuFay: Ave regina cœlorum III, mm. 1–12

Section 1 (3/2) Section 2 (2/2) Section 3 (6/4) Section 4 (2/4)

Table 2.1 The Mensural Notation System

Example 2.4 DuFay: Nuper rosarum flores, Cantus Firmus proportions

(b) Tempus perfectum

(c) Tempus imperfectum

(d) Tempus imperfectum diminutum

(e) Tempus perfectum diminutum