ANTONIO VIVALDI (1678-1741) Sacred Music - 8 Excerpts from the sleeve notes

Before the 1920s, the suggestion that Vivaldi had composed a significant corpus of sacred vocal music would have seemed absurd. Almost no church music by him was known to have survived and, since he had never been maestro di cappella at any church, it was difficult to conceive of circumstances in which he would have been asked to provide such music in bulk. True he was a priest, and for that reason would have been familiar with the sacred repertoire and, one supposes, sympathetic to its aesthetic, but that in itself proves nothing. After all, several clerics among composers, Tartini being the most pertinent example, eschewed vocal music altogether. The situation changed only when Vivaldi’s own huge working collection of manuscripts came to light and was acquired for the National Library in Turin. It then became evident that his production of church music was substantial – over fifty works have survived, and the existence of many more is recorded – and that this music was varied, ambitious in form and expression, and on an artistic level at least equal to that of his concertos.

Raised as a violinist, Vivaldi probably wrote little or no church music until the second decade of the eighteenth century. But his travels with his father as a ‘jobbing’ player often placed him in situations where commissions for sacred works might have occurred. Such was the probable origin of the earliest sacred work by him on which a date can be set, the Stabat Mater, RV621 (‘RV’ numbers refer to the standard modern catalogue of Vivaldi’s works by Peter Ryom). Vivaldi had visited Brescia in 1711 to play in the patronal festival of the Philippine church, Santa Maria della Pace; among the compositions acquired by this church in the following year and listed in its account book we find the Stabat Mater for alto and strings, commissioned for the Feast of the Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin, which in 1712 fell on 18 March.

In 1713 an event of the greatest importance for Vivaldi’s career occurred. Francesco Gasparini, who was choirmaster at the Pietà, the Venetian charitable institution for foundlings where Vivaldi worked as a violin master and orchestral director, went on a leave from which he never returned. Until as late as 1719 the Pietà failed to replace him, which meant that Vivaldi (together with a colleague, the singing teacher Pietro Scarpari) found himself invited to take over the main task of the maestro di coro: to supply the singers of the institution with a steady stream of new compositions which would attract a well-heeled congregation to the chapel services and so encourage donations and bequests. For reasons of decorum, mixed church choirs were not acceptable in Catholic Europe at this time, and since the Pietà’s male wards left the institution during adolescence to take up apprenticeships, it had no option but to train and use exclusively female residents as musicians. Remarkably, the choir was laid out exactly as a normal male choir, with tenors and basses in addition to the expected sopranos and altos. The tenor parts, which have rather high compasses, were certainly sung as written; the bass parts were probably also sung much of the time at notated pitch by a handful of women with exceptionally deep voices. In case of difficulty, the bass parts could be transposed up an octave without damage to the harmony, since they were nearly always doubled by instruments. Solo parts, however, were overwhelmingly for high voices: soprano or alto. More than the choir, the orchestra or even the composers of the music, these soloists were the ‘star attraction’ of music-making at the Pietà – their names recorded for posterity in the letters and memoirs of visitors to its chapel. The triumphant solismo of the contemporary opera houses could hardly fail to spill over into the sacred domain.

Little of Vivaldi’s church music composed during this period (1713-1719) circulated in Italy outside the Pietà’s walls, but some works reached the Habsburg domains in central Europe. A visitor from Bohemia, Balthasar Knapp, acquired a number before his return to Prague in 1717, and his collection appears to have been the nucleus of a modest Vivaldi cult which flourished in such centres as Prague, Osek (in north Bohemia), Brno (in Moravia) and even Breslau (in Silesia). Vivaldi’s sacred works were also known in the capital of Saxony, Dresden, where the Bohemian composer Jan Dismas Zelenka took a few pieces into his extensive collection of church music.

The surviving works from this ‘first’ period account for just under half of the total. A similar number date from a ‘middle’ period stretching from the mid-1720s to the early 1730s. These include nearly all the compositions laid out for two ensembles (in due cori, as Vivaldi describes this form of setting). Whereas the earlier works are restrained in expression and generally quite simple in texture, this second group is characterized by flamboyance and contrapuntal ostentation. Many of these works appear to have a connection with the Feast of St Lawrence Martyr on 10 August; Vivaldi may have written them for the convent church of San Lorenzo in Venice (which every year celebrated its patronal festival with great pomp, commissioning music for Mass and Vespers from external composers), or perhaps for the church of San Lorenzo in Damaso, whose protector was his Roman patron, Cardinal Pietro Ottoboni. What is certain is that these works were composed for male voices – the energetic writing for the bass voices in such works as the Dixit Dominus, RV594, would be unthinkable for a female singer.

Near the end of his career, in 1739, Vivaldi once again supplied sacred vocal compositions to the Pietà during an interregnum between choirmasters – this time for payment, since he was no longer its employee. Only three of the works, apparently written for Easter Sunday, are extant today. They exemplify very clearly Vivaldi’s turn, in his last years, to the fashionable galant style cultivated by younger Neapolitan composers, among them Vinci, Leo and Porpora.

A clear majority of the surviving works are for solo voice or voices. These include all the motets, introduzioni (an introduzione is a special kind of motet designed to precede the setting of a Psalm or a section of the Mass), hymns and votive antiphons, besides a few of the Psalms themselves. The remaining works are either – in the language of the time – pieno (for choir only) or concertato (for choir with one or more soloists). The supporting orchestra is most often made up merely of strings and continuo, but several of the compositions include wind instruments or obbligato parts. The vitality and idiomatic quality of the instrumental writing in these works is unrivalled in Italian sacred vocal music of the period.

A clear distinction must be made between the works on liturgical texts – texts which are unalterable and have their appointed place in the church calendar – and those on freely invented poetic texts (motets and introduzioni). The former mostly employ forms either peculiar to church music (for example, the so-called ‘church aria’ resembling the outer section of a da capo aria) or freely derived from instrumental music, while the latter follow secular models in their adoption of recitative and the da capo aria. A very few movements in the ‘liturgical’ works observe the stile antico based (at some remove, and not without modification) on the polyphonic language of sixteenth-century vocal music. Vivaldi seems to have had great difficulty in reproducing this style, since the specimens contained in his works include several instances of plagiarism.

The greatness of Vivaldi’s sacred vocal music resides not in its historical influence, for it seems not to have circulated very widely in his day and (unlike his concertos) not to have initiated any practice copied by other composers, but rather in its consummate artistry and high level of inspiration. If Vivaldi does not quite have the musical gifts of a Bach, a Handel or even a Pergolesi, he has a manner of expression which is entirely individual and unmistakable, even in his least substantial works. In his best movements one discerns an almost shocking radicalism: a willingness to strip music down to its core and reconstitute it from these simplest elements. There is also a powerful instinct for thematic integration at work; time and again, analysis reveals how the same simple ideas inform each movement of a composite work and impart unity to it. The often unexpectedly subtle word-painting testifies to the thoughtfulness which Vivaldi brought to these compositions. They can accurately be described as the bridge between his imagination as a musician and his conviction as a priest: the point on which all facets of his complex personality converged.

This motet, which belongs to the category ‘per ogni stagioni’ (for all seasons) and can thus be inserted appropriately into almost any Mass or Vespers service, is, together with In turbato mare irato, RV637, the latest in date of his surviving motets. Both are preserved in Dresden and originate from the collection of sacred music built up by the Bohemian composer and double-bass player Jan Dismas Zelenka (1679-1745). They were entered in his catalogue in 1731, although Zelenka may have acquired them a little earlier. The probability is that these motets, like the Laudate pueri in G major, RV601, were written for one or more members of a group of seven singers attached to the Saxon court who trained in Venice in the 1720s and joined the Hofkapelle in 1730.

The text for the motet was set also by Leonardo Leo (1690-c1730). In an opening aria the singer likens the human condition to that of a ship amid stormy seas (Vivaldi’s flashes of lightning in the first violin part are clearly audible). In the recitative that follows, he (or she) resolves to renounce the temptations of the world and follow Jesus. This leaves a second, slower aria to express the singer’s contentment and feelings of security in a new-found faith. A vivacious ‘Alleluia’ (without which no motet is complete) provides a final burst of exuberance.

RV632, besides requiring a singer of quite extraordinary agility, finds Vivaldi at his most galant. There is a wealth of detail in the principal melodic line, and a strict polarity between the ornate treble and functional bass is very evident. The distraction of counterpoint is largely eschewed. This is not, however, superficial or facile music, although it certainly projects values different from those cultivated at the outset of his career.

In 1739 the German composer and theorist Johann Mattheson observed admiringly: ‘Vivaldi, although no singer, has had the good sense to keep violinistic leaps out of his vocal compositions so completely that his arias have become a severe reproach to many an experienced composer for the voice’. This indeed becomes true in Vivaldi’s full maturity, but in his earliest vocal works, to which the present setting of the Vesper psalm Laudate pueri belongs, one feels that the composer is still finding his way: his word-setting is often untidy (the text fits the music, rather than the other way round), and from time to time a violinist’s imagination takes hold of the vocal line. Nevertheless, RV600 is a strong work, full of a dark-hued passion that sits uneasily with the predominantly joyful liturgical text. Unlike Vivaldi’s two later settings of the same text, it is in a minor key, C minor.

The paper type employed for Vivaldi’s autograph manuscript places RV600 in the years around 1715, close to the beginning of Vivaldi’s first period of sacred music composition. A copy was made in Venice by Balthasar Knapp, a musician in the service of count Stephan Kinsky. After Knapp’s return to Prague in early 1717, this manuscript passed to Johann Christoph Gayer, the Kapellmeister of the cathedral of St Vitus. After Gayer’s death in 1734 it was acquired by the Knights of the Cross, a military order, in whose archive it survives up to this very day.

Both the tonality and the scoring of the ten movements making up the work are organised almost palindromically. Between movements 1 and 5 the tonality proceeds ‘sharpwards’ from C minor, progressively shedding flats in the key signature, until it reaches A minor. It then retraces its steps back to the original key. Full scoring is reserved for the framing movements 1 and 9-10, plus (with united violin parts) movements 3, 5 and 7. Between these five ‘pillars’ different modes of reduced scoring occur.

The opening movement is influenced heavily by the ritornello form that Vivaldi was popularising all over Europe in his concertos. The canonic entries and unison ending of the ritornello provide a foretaste of this, but the clearest manifestation of concerto influence lies in the structure of the vocal part. Instead of being cast in the traditional two long sections, it is divided into five shorter ones that resemble the solo episodes in a concerto fast movement. Vivaldi takes care that the orchestra does not overpower the soprano (originally, a figlia di coro of the Pietà) by reducing the accompaniment in most places to continuo alone.

In the second movement, ‘Sit nomen Domini’, the bass instruments, and perforce the continuo, are silent. The parts preserved in Prague add bass figures to the viola part, implying continuo harmonisation, but this was evidently not Vivaldi’s own intention. In the third movement, ‘A solis ortu’, the composer depicts the rising and setting sun with zigzagging musical shapes. The fourth movement, ‘Excelsus super omnes’, is a rarity in Vivaldi’s sacred music: a movement for solo singer and continuo alone. In itself this scoring is enough to suggest an early date for RV600, since such ‘minimal’ accompaniments became very unfashionable (except in cantatas) after 1720.

The quickfire alternations between a high and a low register in the unison violin part of the fifth movement, ‘Quis sicut Dominus’, might seem a little overdone; but they are Vivaldi’s way of evoking the contrast of high and low conveyed (in two separate antitheses: altis/humilia and caelo/terra) by the text. Antithesis is likewise the key to understanding movement 6. Here, Vivaldi twice employs Presto upward sweeps for the act of raising up (‘suscitans’), a solemn Adagio for the mention of poverty (‘inopem’) and a winding, chromatically inflected Andante for the lifting of the needy (‘pauperem’) out of the dunghill.

Movement 7, ‘Ut collocet eum’, is similar in tempo and rhythmic style to the opening movement, but its B major cheerfulness and leaner texture lend it individuality. Most memorable of the movements is perhaps the eighth, ‘Gloria Patri’, in which a solo violin acts as wordless partner to the voice in music that is both intimate and deeply felt. This setting of the opening verse of the Doxology prefigures its magnificently sombre counterpart in the Nisi Dominus, RV608.

The ninth movement, a modified version of the first movement, takes advantage, in traditional manner, of the pun invited by the words ‘Sicut erat in principio’. It is followed by an elaborate ‘Amen’, rich in contrapuntal devices, that recalls the final movement of Vivaldi’s Stabat Mater. In strict terms this is no fugue, but to the ear the effect is not dissimilar.

In his first period of sacred vocal music composition at the Pietà, Vivaldi pioneered the practice of inserting short solo motets (introduzioni) before major choral items such as the Gloria in the Mass or the Dixit Dominus at Vespers. The present introduzione, which belongs to a large group of Vivaldian compositions with a connection to the feast of St Lawrence Martyr, was in all probability composed in the 1720s or early 1730s for an institution other than the Pietà, and shows that Vivaldi was keen to extend the use of this newly invented genre. Since its key is B flat major, it is highly unlikely that it was designed to introduce one of the extant Vivaldi settings of the Gloria (RV588 and RV589), both of which are in D major. Perhaps it was linked to a setting, presumably by Vivaldi himself, in B flat major that was a partner to the surviving Kyrie in G minor, RV587. Although RV637 is not itself laid out for two cori, a reference to ‘organi’ (in the plural) in the autograph score implies that it was intended for performance in circumstances where the ensemble was divided.

From a close examination of the manuscript, it appears that the work originally consisted of two movements: an aria and a recitative. The first describes the soul’s combat with the powers of darkness, armed with faith, while the second calls on the aid of St Lawrence in the struggle. The word ‘Gloriam’ (accusative of ‘Gloria’) appears in the last line of the recitative as a ‘pre-echo’ of the first word of the main work. At a later stage, however, Vivaldi decided to lengthen RV637 by adding a prayer to the saint in the form of a slow aria. This caused him to replace ‘Gloriam’ (now made redundant) by ‘laeta’. The gentle lyricism of the added aria provides an effective contrast to the blood and thunder of the opening one.

This unpretentious setting is of a hymn belonging in the liturgy to the Common of Two or More Martyrs. To take just two examples, it would be appropriate for Vespers of the feast of SS. John and Paul or of SS. Cosmas and Damian. It seems to date from the 1720s, and its original destination is unknown.

The hymn has six stanzas, of which Vivaldi sets only the first, third and sixth. In typical fashion, each stanza has the same music and is preceded by an identical instrumental ritornello. This ritornello illustrates Vivaldi’s fondness for grouping phrases in threes rather than twos; its twelve bars subdivide as 4 + 4 + 4.

Everything about this setting is simple, but Vivaldi rescues it from banality by his use of lightly syncopated (‘sawing’) rhythms. By such discreet means, he is able to turn artlessness into something genuinely artistic.

At a superficial glance, this setting in C minor of the Salve Regina looks like a companion piece to Vivaldi’s G minor setting, RV618. The similarities are obvious enough: a solo alto; strings divided into two cori; the presence of woodwind obbligato instruments; a six-movement structure. However, the differences are equally significant. This time, Vivaldi used, instead of a pair of oboes, a pair of instruments from the flute family (flutes or recorders).

The vocal part is both higher in register and more flamboyant than its counterpart in RV618. Unexpectedly, the singer is described as ‘la cantante’ in an instruction found in the instrumental parts: therefore, most definitely a woman. Since female participation in sacred music was very exceptional for the period, this points unambiguously to the Ospedale della Pietà as the place of performance. The problem then is that whereas various indices (paper type, the use of flute, relationship to other compositions) suggest a date of composition around 1730, this is a period when the Pietà possessed its own maestro di coro, Giovanni Porta, and thus when Vivaldi would not ordinarily have been asked to supply it with compositions of this kind. The mystery remains.

The scoring of the six movements follows a typically symmetrical pattern. The outer movements employ flutes in addition to strings. Movements 2 and 5 dispense with woodwind but are otherwise fully scored. The two inner movements both have simplified accompaniments. Movement 3, ‘Ad te suspiramus’, reduces the instruments to an obbligato flute plus the strings of the first coro, while movement 4 employs doubling very copiously to produce a lean texture.

Attentive listening will show how Vivaldi selects key words in the antiphon text as prompts for illustrative effects. For example, the second movement fixes on the word ‘clamamus’ (‘we cry out’) and accordingly engenders an urgent, breathless mood. In the third movement it is the word ‘suspiramus’ (‘we sigh’) that sets the tone, with frequent short rests representing the drawing in of breath. Perhaps the loveliest instance of word-painting occurs in the final movement, in which the exclamation ‘O’ is given special prominence, heightening the expression of adoration for the Virgin.