Micrologus; Petrarch & Music

84-03 PETRARCH AND MUSIC

“I heard the story I shall tell you now in Padua, from a learned man now dead, of proven worth in all he did and said. Francis Petrarch, the poet laureate, they called him, whose sweet rhetoric of late illumined Italy with poesy.”

For centuries following his death, the poetry of Francesco Petrarca provided the inspiration and the words for literally hundreds of musical works, in Italy and abroad. On today's Micrologus we will be sampling settings of Petrarch's poetry from his own day up to the 17th century. Oddly enough, Petrarch's own day provides us with only one musical setting of his poetry: a madrigal by Jacopo da Bologna. Certainly Petrarch's fame as a poet was widespread in the 14th century, as attested by the passage from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, which began the show today. And we know, too, that he must almost certainly have met Jacopo and Francesco Landini and even Guillaume de Machaut—and yet there is still only one musical setting preserved.

In order to satisfy my curiosity about Petrarch's relation to practical music, I decided to consult an expert: Dean and Professor Emeritus of the School of Library Science at CWRU, Conrad Rawski. I sought him out In his office where he is finishing a book on Petrarch.

RAWSKI: Well, we do not know anything about his performing; we do not know anything about his relationships to music other than he indicates that he liked music and then, of course, there is the evidence of Point 20 in his Testament to Magister Tommaso Bombasi of Ferrara: "I bequeath my good lute that he may play it not for the vain glory of this fleeting world, but in praise of God everlasting. " I have a feeling that Petrarch, if and when he played the lute, played it for the pleasures of this vain-glorious world—very much so.

And, of Petrarch's conception of his poetry as a basis for musical setting, Professor Rawski says:

RAWSKI: Indirectly, we have evidence to this effect, because there are several marginal notes in manuscript books that he possessed, that indicate that certain poems, certain sonnets, certain canzone of the canzoniere, he sent to this Magister Tommaso Bombasi in Ferrara; for what purpose he does not indicate, but it stands to reason that he sends him these things to be performed … somehow, in some way. He is in Milan at the time that Jacopo da Bologna is in Milan. Did he meet him? Did he perhaps suggest that there were madrigals in his Rimedio in response to Jacopo da Bologna's regrets that he only has these sonnets, and these canzone—who can compose that stuff? We do not know.

"Non al suo amante”—madrigal to Laura in life (Anything that reminds him of Laura renews his torments):

“Not Dian to her lover was more dear when fortune mid the waters cold and clear gave him her naked beauties all to see, than seemed the rustic ruddy nymph to me, who in yon flashing stream, the light-veiled laved, whence Laura's lovely tresses lately waved. I saw and through me, felt an amorous chill, though summer burn, to tremble and to thrill.”

[MUSIC: "Non al suo amante" by Jacopo da Bologna to a text of Petrarch. performed by the Ricercare Ensemble, under Michel Piguet] (I should perhaps mention that- while that piece is currently the only known musical setting of Petrarch's poetry from his own time, the musicological discovery of 1983 has been a great new manuscript of 14th century Italian music, the San Lorenzo Codex. Maybe we will find one or two Petrarch settings among its yet unpublished contents).

The 15th century provides us with an extraordinary setting of the first stanza of Petrarch's canzona to the Virgin Mary, “Vergene bella." The composer is Guillaume Dufay.

“Beautiful Virgin, clothed with the Sun, crowned with the stars, who, so the eternal sun well-pleased, that in thine, his life he hid. Love pricks me on to utter speech of thee, and, feeble to commence without thy aid, of him who on thy bosom rests in love. Her I invoke who, gracious, still replies to all who ask in faith: Virgin, if ever yet the misery of man and mortal things to mercy move thee, to my prayer incline. Help me in this my strife, though I am but of dust, and thou Heaven’s radiant Queen.”

[MUSIC: "Vergene bella" by Guillaume Dufay, performed by Andrea von Ramm and the Early Music Quartet, directed by Thomas Binkley]

Toward the end of the 15th century the nationalistic frottola composers began to rediscover Petrarch's poetry. And in the 16th century, composers of madrigals found his verbal imagery ideally suited to their musical text-painting. Here is another stanza of Petrarch's canzona to the Virgin Mary, this time in a setting by Cipriano de Rore.

“Bright Virgin, and immutable as bright, o’er life’s tempestuous ocean, the sure star, each trusting mariner that surely guides, look down, and see amidst this dreadful storm, how I am tossed at random, and alone, and how already my last shriek is near. Yet still in thee, sinful although and vile, my soul keeps all her trust. Virgin, I implore thee, let not my foe have triumph in my fall. Remember that our sin made God himself, to free us from its chain, within thy Virgin womb, our image on him take”

[MUSIC: "Vergene chiara,” the sixth stanza of the cycle in praise of the Virgin by Cipriano de Rore, to words by Petrarch, and in a performance by the Hilliard Ensemble]

Almost one hundred years, and hundreds of Petrarchan madrigals later, appeared a setting of the sonnet "Or ch'el ciel e la terra" by Claudio Monteverdi. It represents the last great flowering of musical settings of Petrarch's poetry: after Monteverdi, production of such works slowed to—and still maintains—a mere trickle. But to Monteverdi, for whom emotional contrast was the spice of life, Petrarch's "Or ch'el ciel" was a feast indeed.

“Sonnet to Laura in life: Night brings peace to all, save him. O’er earth and sky, her lone watch, Silence keeps, and bird and beast in stirless slumber lie. Her starry chariot night conducts on high, and, in its bed, the waveless ocean sleeps. I wake, news burn and weep. Of all my pain, the one sweet cause appears before me still. War is my lot, which grief and anger fill, and thinking but of her, some rest I gain. Thus, from one bright and living fountain flows the bitter and the sweet, on which I feed. One hand alone can harm me, or can heal, and thus, my martyrdom no limit knows—a thousand deaths and lives each day I feel, so distant are the paths to peace which lead.”

[MUSIC: Claudio Monteverdi’s "Or ch'el ciel e la terra,” performed by Les Arts Florissants, directed by William Christie]

That’s all for today’s show. Special thanks to my colleague, Conrad Rawski, for his valuable information and insights. You’ve been listening to a program entitled “Petrarch and Music.”