What if I told you that there is surviving Italian organ music as splendid as Giovanni Gabrieli’s In Ecclesiis and as ethereal as Gregorio Allegri’s Miserere? A few months ago, I would not have believed it either. In fact, I was under the impression that compared to Italy’s glorious tradition of ensemble music, its organ music was of lesser importance, and its historical organs were pretty but small. On paper, every instrument looked the same—a single manual, one octave of pull-down pedals, and a stoplist consisting of a principal chorus (the Ripieno), a flute or two, and perhaps a Voce Umana.1 Three months of studying organ in Italy with Francesco Cera radically changed my mind. I went intending to obtain a more complete picture of early organ music, having already spent time in France, Holland, and Germany. I left in love with a magnificent collection of keyboard music.
My change of heart began not with the music but with the art and architecture of Italy. The entire country is like a giant open-air museum. Visitors can enter and experience the very places where Gabrieli, Frescobaldi, and so many others made music. That they were inspired by their surroundings is impossible to contest. These places are by definition inspiring. They were designed by the world’s greatest architects and filled with art by the greatest sculptors and painters from anonymous Roman masters to Pinturicchio, Raffaello, Michelangelo, Bernini, Tintoretto, and many others. Elaborate organ cases are among the most striking architectural features of many Italian churches and palace chapels. I began to realize that such glorious spaces where the organ had so much visual importance simply must have resounded with impressive organ playing.
The instruments themselves also provided indisputable proof. They were far from boring. Though their stoplists were similar, their tonal character varied widely from region to region in a way that perfectly complemented the art and architecture of the area. What of the music that survived for these instruments? At first glance, it seemed simple to me, appeared not to require pedals, and certainly seemed an inappropriate choice for performance on modern instruments. Fortunately, all of this was only an illusion created by a style of musical notation that left many crucial interpretive decisions to the discretion of the performer, who would have been familiar with the contemporary musical style and performance practices. I learned why an understanding and appreciation of historical art, architecture, and instruments and a knowledge of the surviving repertoire and treatises are so crucial for today’s performer.
Early Italian keyboard music is most successful when its interpretation is informed by historical sources and inspired by the conviction that it is the aural representation of Italy’s breathtaking visual splendor. Italy’s art, architecture, and music can be organized into regional schools based in four of Italy’s most historically important cities: Venice and Florence in the north, Rome in central Italy, and Naples in the south. Allow me to share some of the highlights of my journey to discover their art, historical organs, and keyboard music.
Venetian Splendor
Today, the city of Venice continues to exist mainly because of the tourists. Many of the locals have moved to the mainland. Nevertheless, the city’s colorful vibrancy and the remnants of its former grandeur are very evident. The reds, oranges, and yellows of the houses and shops, the green of the canals, the aquamarine of the lagoon, and the glistening white of the church façades are a feast for the eyes. Appropriately, Venice’s painters—Titian, Tintoretto and others—are famed for their use of color and the way that light seems to shine from within their paintings. Of the city’s 114 churches, the Basilica Cattedrale di San Marco is the most famous (Figure 1). One of the finest examples of Byzantine architecture, its exterior is covered with inlaid marble and carvings, while its interior glows with gilded mosaics. Besides its breathtaking opulence, the sheer size of the cathedral is impressive. Remarkably, at the time of Claudio Merulo (1533–1604), Andrea Gabrieli (1533–1585), and the rest of the illustrious line of musicians who worked here, San Marco was not a cathedral, but the private chapel of the Doge of Venice, and Venice was one of the richest and most important cities in the world! My impression of Venetian organ music changed completely when I examined it through the lens of Venice’s vibrant color palette and astounding splendor.
Organs of Northern Italy
The organs of northern Italy are characterized by their cantabile tone. Some also have much more colorful stoplists than organs in other parts of Italy. In 2006, Giorgio Carli completed the restoration of the 1565 Graziadio Antegnati organ of the Basilica di Santa Barbara, the private chapel of the duke of Mantua. The organ’s case is beautiful. Its richly painted doors contrast with the white walls of the chapel. This instrument was built under the direction of organist and composer Girolamo Cavazzoni (1520–1577). Its 16′ plenum is glowing rather than brilliant, perfect for Cavazzoni’s music, which is closely related to choral polyphony. As was the norm in Italy until the 18th century, the organ is tuned in mean-tone temperament, but the keyboard has split keys (Figure 2), allowing the player to choose between D# and Eb and between G# and Ab, thus enabling one to play in many more tonalities and to better imitate the pure intonation that a vocal ensemble is able to achieve. The keyboard and pedalboard both have particularly long compasses, the keyboard from C to F5 and the pedalboard from C to A2. The music of Marc’Antonio Cavazzoni (1485–1550), Girolamo’s father, demands such a compass. This long key compass also permits the organist to play in different octaves, using the 16′ Principale at 8′ pitch, for example. The winding of this organ is a special treat. Rather than supplying an electric blower, Giorgio Carli installed an automatic bellow lifter to pump the bellows. This allows the player to experience the wonderful flexibility of playing on pumped wind without the trouble of hiring a person to pump the bellows.
Near Mantua, in the Chiesa di San Tommaso Cantuariense in Verona, stands a well-preserved 18th-century organ built by Giuseppe Bonatti in 1716. It is a two-manual instrument with an unusually colorful stoplist and a lavish complement of special effects. The main manual controls the Grand Organo—the usual Ripieno plus a Cornetto (in two parts: 4′-22⁄3′ and 2′-13⁄5′), Trombe reali, and two flutes. An exquisitely crafted Regale with rare original parchment resonators mounted on a separate windchest like a Brustwerk is also playable from the main manual. The second manual controls the Organo Piccolo, a tiny 4′ echo division situated behind the player. Other special effects include a chorus of bird stops (Figure 3) and a Tamburo (a stop played by the lowest pedal note that imitates a drum using a cluster of bass pipes). The pedals are permanently coupled to the main manual, but this organ also includes an independent pedal reed and Contrabassi—octave of 16′ wooden pipes. The tone of the organ is sweet and elegant, thanks in part to its comparatively low wind pressure, a common feature of Italian organs. The wind pressure of this Bonatti organ is set at 53–55 mm. By contrast, the wind pressure of the comparably sized 1704 Schnitger organ in Eenum, the Netherlands, is set at 62.5 mm. The tonal variety and elegance of the Bonatti organ make it perfect for 18th-century music, including the music of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who, incidentally, played this instrument while on tour in Italy.
Music of the Venetian and Emilian Schools
The keyboard music of northern Italy reached its peak during the Renaissance. Its focal point was the Basilica di San Marco in Venice. The splendid polychoral tradition of the basilica profoundly influenced the organ music of the Venetian school. Composers of the Venetian school were responsible for some of the most important developments in keyboard composition of both the Renaissance and the Baroque. Marc’Antonio Cavazzoni’s collection, Recerchari, mottetti, canzoni–Libro primo, printed in Venice in 1523, is one of the most important examples of early 16th-century organ music. Cavazzoni was born in Bologna, where he probably received his musical training at the Basilica di San Petronio, and likely knew the famous 1475 Lorenzo da Prato organ there. Later he moved to Venice and was an assistant to Adriano Willaert at San Marco. Cavazzoni’s recerchari are particularly significant, because they are among the earliest free compositions for the organ. These recerchari are majestic pieces written in an improvisatory style. Like later toccatas, they investigate idiomatic keyboard figuration rather than counterpoint. While his father, Marc’Antonio, was a pioneer in developing idiomatic keyboard figuration, Girolamo Cavazzoni, organist at Santa Barbara in Mantua, was a master of imitating vocal polyphony at the keyboard. An understanding of the text of the chants, motets, and chansons on which many of his works are based is absolutely crucial for a successful interpretation.
Claudio Merulo and Andrea Gabrieli worked together as organists at San Marco. Merulo was renowned and influential during his lifetime. Girolamo Diruta dedicated Il Transilvano, one of the most important treatises on Italian organ music, to him. Merulo’s toccatas were the first to alternate virtuosic and imitative sections, a technique that Frescobaldi and the North German organ school would use later. Also, foreshadowing the Baroque, they often use ornamental figures as motives. Merulo’s music is full of unique written-out trills and diminutions. Studying it is an excellent way to learn how to add ornaments to repertoire of the 16th and early 17th centuries. In comparison, Gabrieli’s music may seem rather subdued, but, in fact, it only lacks the profusion of notated trills. Presumably, Gabrieli would have added these in performance. His Ricercari ariosi are particularly beautiful adaptations of the polychoral style.
Eighteenth-century Bolognese composer Giovanni Battista Martini (1706–1784) was highly esteemed during his lifetime, and attracted students from around the world. Leopold Mozart even asked his advice concerning the talents of his son. Nevertheless, his surviving compositions do not seem to justify his reputation. They are pleasant but simple pieces in galant style. Consider them in context, however, and the picture changes. The majority of these pieces survive in manuscripts written in Martini’s own hand. They are predominantly written in two-voice structure, but occasional figured bass symbols suggest that they were really sketches, and that the organist was expected to fill out the texture by adding chords. Some of Martini’s Sonate per l’Elevazione survive in both simple and elaborately ornamented forms, exemplifying how he might have actually performed them.2 Playing Martini’s music as written is a little like stripping a Baroque church down to bare plaster walls. Far from being easy and uninspiring, these pieces are charming examples of Italian Rococo organ style and exciting vehicles for creativity.
Rome’s Legacy
Rome is sometimes called “the Eternal City.” It displays its long rich history in an abundance of art and architecture (Figure 4). Romans are proud of their heritage. In the past, Rome’s great noble families collected antiquities, displaying them in their palaces. The Farnese collection, now on exhibit in the Naples National Archeological Museum, is particularly impressive evidence that admiration of antiquity dates back at least to the beginning of the 16th century. Many of its more than 300 marble sculptures were unearthed in archeological excavations specifically conducted on behalf of Pope Paul III and other members of the Farnese family. These same noble families and the Roman Catholic Church employed contemporary artists as well, who left masterpieces from every historical era. The poignant perfection of High Renaissance works like Michelangelo’s Pietà in St. Peter’s Basilica, the dramatic lighting and gestures of Baroque treasures like Caravaggio’s Crucifixion of Peter in the Chiesa di Santa Maria del Popolo or Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Theresa in the Chiesa di Santa Maria della Vittoria, and the busy ornamentation of Rococo creations like the organ case of the Werle organ in the Basilica di Sant’Eustachio are all on display. In the churches, clouds of angels surround visitors, while the palaces seek to amaze them with marvels of architecture like Bernini’s and Borromini’s staircases, which compete for attention in the Barberini palace. For me, Rome’s deep appreciation of its long tradition of artistic excellence is the key to understanding the music written there.
Organs of Central Italy
Only a few of Rome’s Renaissance and Baroque organs survive. As in many large wealthy European cities, pipe organs were replaced as fashions changed. Nevertheless, the smaller towns and villages in central Italy are home to a wealth of unique historical organs. It is far beyond the scope of this article to describe them all—the city of Rieti, where I spent much of my Italian sojourn, alone is home to 14 historical organs in varying states of playability. Let me begin by describing one of the oldest organs in Italy. It was built in 1509 by Paolo di Pietro Paolo da Montefalco, and is located in the Chiesa di San Francesco in Trevi, Umbria (Figure 5). This instrument is priceless for many reasons including its antiquity, its proximity to the birthplace of Girolamo Diruta, the way that it documents the history of organbuilding, and certainly also its beauty. Organbuilder Andrea Pinchi told me how thrilled he was to be given the opportunity to restore this instrument in 2005, having been convinced since he was a teenager that the case in the Chiesa di San Francesco held something very special. When it was first built, the organ consisted of a five-rank Ripieno and a Flauto in ottava.3 In the 17th century, a Flauto in duodecima was added, and in the 18th century the important Umbrian organbuilder Fedeli restored the instrument and added a Voce Umana and Cornetta. Because they reflect the historical development of the organ, these stops were all preserved in the restoration. The sound of this organ is bright and brilliant. The small Ripieno easily fills the sizable Gothic church. Like the Antegnati organ in Mantua, this was an instrument designed to imitate vocal music. Its extremely sensitive key action allows the player to create subtle text-like inflections by varying attacks and releases.
The organs that Frescobaldi played at St. Peter’s have long disappeared, but a splendid 17th-century Roman organ does survive to transport Frescobaldi’s sound world to the present day. The 1612 Giovanni Guglielmi organ in the Chiesa di Santa Maria in Vallicella (Figure 6) was restored by Ruffatti in the year 2000, but it continues to lack the international attention that it deserves. It is a large instrument based on 16′ pitch. The grandeur of the Ripieno is enhanced by many doubled ranks and by a trumpet. I was surprised to learn that a trumpet stop was a common feature of large Roman organs. The 1597 Luca Blasi organ of the Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano, for example, also includes a trumpet. Perhaps the most eye-opening aspect of the Guglielmi organ is its narrow pipe scaling. The organ’s sound is bright, almost nasal, but crystal clear. It is simply impossible to cover up passagework even with the densest chordal accompaniment. The spectacular case of this instrument is also noteworthy. It is, as it were, created using ornamentation, including two giant sculptures of angels, and the entire case is sumptuously overlaid with gold.4 The matching case in the other transept of the church now contains an 1895 Morettini organ, which also merits a visit.
Music of the Roman School
Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583–1643) grew up in Ferrara, home of the great d’Este family. While Frescobaldi was young, many notable composers—including Claudio Monteverdi, Orlando di Lasso, Claudio Merulo, and Carlo Gesualdo—visited court. As a child prodigy studying with court organist Luzzasco Luzzaschi, Frescobaldi absorbed these diverse influences. In his early twenties, he decided to seek his fortune in Rome, and proceeded to write and publish some of the most important music of the 17th century and to pass on his skill to talented students from all over Europe.
Frescobaldi’s music is like the city of Rome. It glories in tradition while being unafraid of innovation. Walking in the footsteps of Lasso and Palestrina, Frescobaldi composes masterful counterpoint, but juxtaposes it with flamboyant baroque figuration, skillfully incorporating affect figures. In his performance instructions that preface Il primo libro di capricci of 1624,5 he explains that in his music the metrical relationships that were so important in Renaissance music are now governed by the mood of the music. His sacred music, including the three Masses of Fiori musicali and the two extended elevation toccatas from his Secondo libro di toccate, is deeply spiritual. Frescobaldi masterfully communicates the meaning of the Mass liturgy into his settings. His elevation toccatas take the listener on a journey through contemplation, sympathy, and ecstasy. Though at first glance Fiori musicali seems like just another book of short pieces, when these pieces are considered together they form imposing Mass settings, and it becomes clear that this collection shares the monumentality of other early Roman Baroque sacred art like the baldacchino that Bernini designed for St. Peter’s Basilica (Figure 7).
Similarly, Bernardo Pasquini’s (1637–1710) music demonstrates both his admiration for the past as well as contemporary tastes. His output is extensive and varied, ranging from works like the Fantasia la mi fa fa and the Capriccio in G, which recall Frescobaldi’s contrapuntal works, to figured bass sonatas and versets, to variations, toccatas, and suites in a style similar to that of his friend and colleague Arcangelo Corelli, and foreshadowing the keyboard writing of his most famous pupil, Domenico Scarlatti.
Michelangelo Rossi’s (1601–1656) music shows the other face of the Roman Baroque—the face that seeks to shock and amaze, especially by breaking the rules. During his lifetime, Rossi was best known as a virtuoso violinist. He also composed at least two operas and spent most of his life working as a court rather than a church musician. His ten keyboard toccatas are formally similar to Frescobaldi’s toccatas, but are full of startling effects and chromaticism that borders on the grotesque. In them, extreme virtuosity makes up for contrapuntal simplicity.
Neapolitan Daring
Drama and audacity are a key part of Neapolitan art. For twenty-five centuries, Naples has brazenly lain in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius. It is a city of daring and a city of extremes. Emerging from the strange semi-darkness of the old city’s narrow streets, for example, one finds oneself confronted by the glittering brilliance of the bay. Neapolitan art and architecture express this too. Naples is famous for its seemingly quaint hand-crafted nativity scenes. Take a closer look, and you will find them full of drama enacted by humorous and grotesque characters. Behind a most forbidding fortress-like block façade, soars the opulent Baroque interior of the Chiesa del Gesù Nuovo, with its profusion of colorful frescoes, inlaid marbles, and priceless treasures. Similarly, the famous sculptures of the Cappella Sansevero, including Giuseppe Sanmartino’s The Veiled Christ, combine absolute technical perfection with gestures and facial expressions so full of pathos that they do not just invite an emotional response from their viewer, they force one.
Organs of Southern Italy
My most memorable experience with southern Italian organs occurred during a trip to the town of Teggiano in the region of Campania. The south of Italy is full of secluded towns and villages and many undiscovered artistic treasures. Teggiano is home to several historical instruments, but the two most interesting were built around the turn of the 17th century—one in 1595 (Figure 8) and one in 1619 (Figure 9), only four years after the publication of Giovanni Maria Trabaci’s Secondo Libro de Ricercate et altri varij Capricci. Neapolitan-style instruments from this time period are extremely rare. Neither instrument is playable at this time.6 The restoration of the 1595 instrument is nearly complete, but has been suspended because of a lack of funding. The 1619 instrument, though magnificent, is still a ruin. Nevertheless, they still reveal much about Neapolitan organ music from the late Renaissance time. The pipe scaling used in these instruments is extremely narrow and would produce a sound as brilliant and arresting as the glaring Neapolitan sun. In addition, both instruments have very narrow cases that would act only as soundboards, and would not mix or soften the sound at all (Figure 10).
The Neapolitan area was also home to talented 18th-century organbuilders, including Silverio Carelli. In 1784, Carelli built a beautiful instrument as a gift for the cathedral of his hometown of Vallo della Lucania. Its tone is sweet and full; several ranks including the Principale 8′ are doubled. Its keyboard and pedalboard are both fully chromatic, also in the lowest octave. The case is magnificent (Figure 11). Carelli spared no expense in building this instrument. He even included bagpipes, which could be used to play pastorali at Christmas time—so fitting in an area famous for its hand-crafted pastoral scenes.
Music of the Neapolitan School
Like the Venetian school of keyboard music, the Neapolitan school flourished during the late Renaissance. Its leader was the Franco-Flemish composer Giovanni de Macque (1550–1614). He worked for the Gesualdo household and later as maestro di cappella for the Spanish viceroy. Giovanni Maria Trabaci (1575–1647) and Ascanio Mayone (1565–1627) served under De Macque as organists of the royal chapel. Their music is radical. De Macque’s in particular is full of daring harmonies and forbidden intervals. How it must have appalled proponents of strict Renaissance counterpoint! But then, it was written in Naples, not in Rome. As was the Neapolitan tradition, the music of De Macque, Trabaci, and Mayone is suitable for performance on keyboard instruments as well as on harp. It stands to reason that the composers assumed that the performer would make adjustments idiomatic to the instruments on which they chose to perform, adding a pedal part on the organ, arpeggiating chords on the harpsichord, and so on. Unlike Frescobaldi, none of the Neapolitan composers wrote prefaces including detailed performance practice instructions, but Trabaci does include an important word of warning in the preface to his Libro primo (1603).7 He writes that his music is carefully composed, but that study is necessary to discern the spirit of the music. Should the performer neglect to do this study, it will be their own fault if they did not succeed in realizing his intentions. Of course, it is impossible to know today exactly what Trabaci meant by this statement, but one thing is sure: in order to perform this Neapolitan music convincingly, it is crucial to study, determine the affect that the composer sought to convey, and then to do everything possible to communicate it as intensely as possible.
Conclusions
In conclusion, allow me to offer a few practical suggestions regarding interpreting the notation of early Italian organ music. Musical notation developed over the centuries to include more and more performance information. At first, however, it was simply a memory aid in a musical tradition that was transmitted orally. Early Italian notation of keyboard music gives no information about dynamics or registration, and little information about tempo or the use of pedal. Some composers, like Merulo, for example, notate trills and other ornaments, while others notate only the minimum of ornaments, and still others like Martini provide only a skeleton of their composition. Both the typesetting of modern editions as well as the moveable type in use in the 16th and early 17th centuries make this music appear rigid. Further, the time signatures and note values common at this time tend to be much larger than we are accustomed to today. Quarter notes in the music, for example, are often the same speed as what we would notate as eighth or even sixteenth notes today. As a result, this music can appear simple and boring at first glance. Performed with a good dose of imagination—and, as Trabaci reminds us, sufficient study—however, this music is completely captivating, and its exuberance is sure to attract music connoisseurs and first-time concertgoers alike.
Diruta’s Il Transilvano (1593), Antegnati’s L’arte organica (1608), and Adriano Banchieri’s L’organo suonarino (1605), along with a good ear, are the best guides for choosing registration. In Renaissance music, a slow tactus permeates the music, and the relationships among meters help to establish a tempo. In Baroque music, the tempo is more flexible and governed by the affect of the music, as Frescobaldi discusses in the prefaces to his Libro primo di capricci and his two Libri di toccate. Historical Italian organs are the best source of information regarding pedaling. With the exception of some 18th-century organs, Italian organs have pull-down pedals with no independent stops, but they are very effective for reinforcing a cadence, harmonic sequences, or a cantus firmus. As Frescobaldi demonstrates in his two toccate sopra i pedali, the pedals can also be used to sustain pedal points. Most composers did not notate these pedal points, though their toccatas often feature extended passages decorating a single harmony. Adding a pedal point in these passages makes the organ sound much fuller and more impressive. Studying written-out ornaments and examples of diminutions in treatises like Silvestro Ganassi’s Opera intitulata Fontegara (1535) will help a performer to develop a repertory of ornaments. Playing from facsimiles of music that were published using beautiful copper engraving, like the toccatas of Frescobaldi and Rossi, allows one to avoid the uninspiring straightness of modern notation. As Frescobaldi counsels in the preface to his Fiori musicali, contrapuntal music should be studied in its original open score format. This is guaranteed to deliver much more coherent counterpoint.8
Now is the perfect time to restore early Italian organ music from its relative neglect. Much music that was unavailable outside Italy has recently been released in excellent modern or facsimile editions, formerly unplayable instruments are being restored, research has uncovered helpful performance practice information, and new recordings of ancient instruments are allowing people around the world to experience their beauty for the first time.9 But, in my opinion, the sights and sounds of Italy offer more inspiration than any score or treatise. They provide clues about the spirit of the music, where words and musical notation fall miserably short.
The author thanks Francesco Cera for his assistance in preparing this article.
