Vittoria Aleotti: Varied Performance Formats for the and Female Music Spaces of the Renaissance

Richard Carrick Carrick 1

There is a reason why the Renaissance era is often considered “the golden age” of choral music. Not only did European exist in multiple settings, such as courts, churches, private homes and monasteries/convents, but its performers also comprised a complex social structure. 1 In both sacred and secular polyphonic literature, research has discovered a surprising fluidity of performance options. Noel O’Regan asserts that music in during the sixteenth century is dominated by one genre: the madrigal. 2 Using Vittoria Aleotti’s music as an example, I will examine the various formats in which could have been performed. By linking what we know about the fluidity of performance forces for madrigals with the desire to find more repertory that accurately embodies women’s encounters with music from the period, we are able to formulate a better understanding of how music making looked in female spaces of the Renaissance. As our collective knowledge deepens into how music functioned in the lives of Renaissance people, we are able to apply a wider aperture to view performance practice of the madrigal. Doing so has several implications: It deepens our understanding of female participation in Renaissance music and broadens the repertoire available for modern female-identifying musicians.

Before discussing the fluidity of the madrigal’s format, it is important to address the current state of research on the personage of Vittoria and Raffaella Aleotti. Were they sisters, or were they the same person? We know that their father, Giambattista Aleotti, was a successful engineer and architect for the duke of .3 In the dedication to Vittoria Aleotti’s Ghirlanda de madrigali, Giambattista mentions that he had five daughters.4 C.A. Carruthers-Clement argues that, based on descriptions of musical talent and specific skills, Vittoria/Raffaella are one and the same: “These facts indicate that the descriptions of the musical abilities of Raffaella in her later years closely coincide with the descriptions of Vittoria’s abilities and accomplishments at a Carrick 2 young age.”5 Her argument is that these different accounts describe the same person at various stages of musical development. The confusion of the identity of Rafaella/Vittoria is compounded by information found in the will of Giambattista Aleotti, where he only mentions four daughters and, suspiciously, Vittoria’s name is omitted.6 However, further research done by Bowers reveals that it is likely that Vittoria had passed away by the time the will was created.7 While we do not yet have definitive proof, it makes logical sense that Vittoria would be missing from her father’s will if she had already died. Bowers writes:

It seems clear that Raffaella and Vittoria were not the same person, as various writers have proposed. In the first place, both the Sacrae cantiones and the Ghirlanda de madrigali came out in 1593, and it is unlikely that the same person would have had works published under two different names in the same year.8

Bowers certainly makes a strong case for her argument, backed by lots of archival research.

Perhaps the most convincing argument can be made by examining the music found in the two publications from 1593. Suzanne G. Cusick writes about Vittoria Aleotti’s pieces from the

Ghirlanda de madrigali a quattro voci: “They represent a range of late 16th-century styles, from simple canzonettas to serious efforts at exploiting dissonance to express images of amorous longing or distress. Occasional awkward handlings of imitation or of text declamation suggest that the madrigals of Ghirlanda were still student works.”9 While Vittoria’s compositions are described as the work of a younger composer, Raffaella’s motets and madrigals are given a more favorable critique: “[Raffaella’s] motets show a thorough mastery of contrapuntal technique, rhythmic vitality and sensitivity to the meaning of the texts.”10 If these two separate collections were published in the same year by the same person, it is unlikely that the work would show such discrepancy in the compositional development of the composer. It is conceivable that, if

Rafaella was the older sister, Rafaella’s work would be more developed than that of Vittoria’s.

Based on the current research by Jane Bowers and the evidence that the music itself provides, it Carrick 3 is likely that Rafaella and Vittoria were indeed two different people. However, one should not read the criticism of Vittoria Aleotti’s work and assume that her music is not worthy of performance or study; her music proves to be both rewarding to perform and accessible to a wide variety of ensembles.

With an informed perspective on who these Aleotti women were, it is possible to examine the spaces in which they lived, worked, and performed. There were several female spaces for music making in the sixteenth century, comprising: court (including the work of courtesans, noblewomen, as well as the various concerti delle donne), the home, and the convents.11 While it is beyond the scope of this article to give detailed accounts of these various spaces for female music making, it is important to recognize that these spaces existed.

Furthermore, these spaces were fraught with cultural and political implications for music making. Female musicians of the time were under close scrutiny by their male contemporaries and were easily cast aside.12 Because the music and stories of these women were so easily discarded, there have been considerable challenges for modern scholars to uncover and understand their music. Laurie Stras writes: “By denying Ferrarese noblewomen’s musical agency throughout the sixteenth century, the accepted narrative puts the city’s female musicians exclusively at the behest of male control. Too often, their position, organization, and continued success are attributed solely to the patronage of Duke Alfonso II. The real story is more complex.”13 If it was this challenging for noblewomen it was probably even more challenging for female musicians born with lower status. Even amidst this male control certain opportunities for women became available. In 1566, Maddalena Casulana (ca. 1544–ca. 1590) had a collection of pieces published, marking the first known publication of music by a female composer in western music history.14 While the numbers of published female composers are far fewer than those of Carrick 4 their male counterparts, it is important to recognize this shift in the landscape of music authorship. Casulana’s publications paved the way for other female musicians. Jane Bowers writes:

More women emerged as composers in Italy between 1566 and 1700 than in any previous period in Western music history – indeed, than in all of that history taken together […] Soon madrigals by other women began to be issued […] In 1593 the first collection of polyphonic sacred music by a woman, the Ferrarese nun Raffaella Aleotti, appeared.15

The publication mentioned here is the Sacrae cantiones by Raffaella Aleotti. That same year, a collection of spiritual madrigals titled the Ghirlanda de Madrigali a Quatro Voci, di Vittoria

Aleotti was published by Vittoria Aleotti. I use the latter of these publications as a source of my research. Before examining the work of Vittoria Aleotti further, we must first establish the solo singing practices of the time and how it would be possible for singers to perform polyphonic madrigals as solos.

There are several primary sources that reveal the madrigal would have been performed in ways other than a polyphonic a cappella format. The famous painting, “Woman Playing ,” by Bartolomeo Veneto, shows a woman playing the lute and, presumably, singing. In the bottom left corner of the image, a single part book is open (see figure 1). From this image we can possibly infer that it was in practice for women to accompany themselves while singing from a single partbook. A similar example (see figure 2) can be found in the painting “Lute Player,” by

Michelangelo Mersi da Caravaggio. Once again, the image is of a lutenist (most likely female, although the image only includes the hands of the player) with a single partbook.

Written accounts of performers from the time offer similar findings. Referring to the work of Tullia d’Aragona, a poet, musician, and courtesan from sixteenth-century ,

Martha Feldman writes: “According to an admirer [of d’Aragona] at the Ferrarese court, her sight-reading of music was proficient enough that she could ‘sing from the book any motet or Carrick 5 chanson,’ and as she played the lute, she surely accompanied her own verse in monodic arrangements too.”16 Feldman demonstrates further evidence that, not only was it possible to sing from one partbook and accompany oneself on the lute, it was common practice and could be done quite well.

Figure 1: Woman Playing Lute (or Figure 2: “Lute Player” by Michelagelo Mersi Portrait of a Lady as St. Cecilia), by da Caravaggio, c. 1595 Bartolomeo Veneto, between 1505- 1530.

Solo singing in the sixteenth century existed in several mediums. Many singers from the early-modern era would sing their own poetry over preexisting melodies and harmonies. Other singers would perform composed songs accompanied, either played by themselves or others, on lute or other chordal instruments. Letters from Count Giovanni Bardi from showcase his views on how to appropriately perform solo song:

For Bardi, there were two methods of solo signing that had interlocking imperatives. If the singer was extemporizing on a formula, he or she assumed the responsibility of Carrick 6

composer and was required to form a melody that approximated the tonal contours of speech, the rhythm which is governed by the text. However, if singing a composition, the singer had a duty to ‘perform the song well and punctiliously, as was composed by its creator’ […] But in addition, a solo performance of any one of these settings would need to be accompanied ‘as it was composed by its creator.’ – that is, with the vertical harmonies preserved.17

According to Bardi, there were two acceptable types of solo singing: one intended as improvisatory and one that is performed adhering to the composer’s intentions. Additionally,

Bardi stresses the need for these solo songs to be accompanied. This article suggests that beyond the obvious solo repertoire that was published or improvised, the madrigal could exist as a solo repertory for many performers. In doing so, the soloist would sing from one partbook while playing the other parts on a chordal instrument.

Music of the 17th and 18th century has documented practices of women adapting music originally written for SATB voices to meet the needs of a treble ensemble. Scholars like Michael

Talbot have examined the music of Vivaldi and the Ospedali and propose numerous theories as to how this music could be adapted for treble voices.18 Talbot posited that: 1. Men could have sung the parts, “hidden” behind a scrim at the convents. 2. The parts were written, but not performed. 3. The women sung the parts at pitch. 4. The women sang the lower parts, transposed up the octave. Robert Kendrick adds two more possibilities: 1. Instruments could have played the missing parts. 2. The entire score could be transposed so the vocal parts fit the range of the women.19 Meredith Bowen’s superb article, “unCONVENTional,” provides detailed analysis exposing the virtues and flaws of each theory.20 Bowen’s article extols that exploring and expanding the practice of adapting SATB music for treble choirs gives voice to the silenced. I couldn’t agree more and would offer a further suggestion: Women should feel free to perform madrigals in a solo format with chordal accompaniment. Carrick 7

Dawn De Rycke has completed some very compelling research on the ability for polyphonic madrigals to be performed in a variety of mediums. De Rycke writes: “I offer a case study designed to interrogate the much larger problem of the courtesan’s lost music by looking at a set of polyphonic partbooks and proposing new possibilities for how female performance of solo song might be buried in written sources.”21 De Rycke’s message, echoed by Meredith

Bowen, is important to highlight: Because of the hidden nature of this performance practice, the already marginalized position of female musicians of the time (perhaps especially the position of courtesans), continues to be marginalized by modern performers. This is one reason why it is so important to develop a more complete understanding of the performance formats in which the madrigal existed. In doing so, we develop a better understanding of female music making in the sixteenth century and open up repertoire for modern female performers.

Some of the evidence arguing for fluidity of performance of the madrigal comes from editions of four-voice madrigals that were published in editions for solo voice and lute. One of the most notable examples of this is a book of madrigals by Philippe Verdelot, arranged by

Adrian Willaert. De Rycke summarizes the numerous formats in which these madrigals could be performed:

The assumption underlying my methodology is that partbooks (the privileged medium for circulating music) contain the basic information for performance without necessarily prescribing the medium, which could take many different forms. A polyphonic composition could be performed ‘as written,’ that is by voices a cappella, or with instruments doubling the voices, by various combinations of voices and instruments (with or without doublings), for instruments alone, or for a solo voice accompanied by one or more instruments.22

When one adopts this more inclusive view of the madrigal, the possibility for performance expands dramatically. Furthermore, it opens up space for female music making without the need Carrick 8 for male participation. De Rycke uses madrigals from Perisone’s partbooks to conduct this case study.

Outside of Italy, evidence of polyphonic song being adapted for various voice and instrument combinations abounds. The evidence is clear that this was happening in France with the air de cour. In Adrian Le Roy’s publication Livre d’airs de cour miz sur le luth, he demonstrates this concept perfectly:

The melody of each piece appears in white mensural notation on the right side of each opening, opposite an arrangement of the song in lute tablature […] Though the appearance of both tablature and vocal part suggests performance as accompanied song, it is not clear that this was the primary intended use of the book, since the arrangements contain all the parts, including the melody, they were perfectly usable as independent instrumental pieces.23

What Brooks highlights in this passage is the versatility that sixteenth century French citizens would have expected when encountering performances of air de cour. Having this flexibility of formats was especially important in France, due to the nature of their highly mobile court. But why would there be multiple formats for these compositions? Or asked a different way, why would a composer write a “flushed out” madrigal for multiple voices if it were going to be often performed by solo voice with quasi-improvised accompaniment? An answer can be found if we think of the political and social environments in which composers lived.

Laurie Stras writes an account of Vincenzo Giustiniani, a Roman nobleman who commented on the changing climate for solo singing in mid-sixteenth century Italy, in her book

Women and Music in Sixteenth-Century Ferrara: “Inherent in Giustiniani’s story is a dichotomy that he sees converging during the decades after 1575: the notions of ‘composing for several voices’ (componere a più voci) and ‘solo singing’ (cantare a voce sola). One was an intellectual pursuit, the other a performative art, if not completely improvisatory, at least not bound to a written tradition.”24 If a composer wanted their music to be taken seriously by their peers, they Carrick 9 would need to have composed it for several voices. However, just because their music was written in this way, doesn’t mean it was always performed in this way. Inspired by De Rycke’s work, I chose to create a choral as well as solo versions of two of Vittoria Aleotti’s madrigals. I include excerpts of both a SATB version, transcribed from a 16th century publication of the material, as well as a version for solo voice and figured bass, in figures 3 and 4 below.

Figure 3: Amor mio perche piangi, SATB version

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Figure 4: Amor mio perche piangi, version for soprano and basso continuo.

Carrick 11

Vittoria Aleotti was an interesting choice for this project for multiple reasons. Firstly, there are no scholarly transcriptions of her work available for modern performers.1 Secondly,

Aleotti was living and working in a convent for most of her life. While it could be possible for her spiritual madrigals for four voices to be performed with some low female singers, it is more than likely that her music was played in one of the formats suggested by De Rycke. That is, they could have been performed for solo voice and chordal accompaniment, or with several voices and instrument doublings, or with instruments filling in the bass harmonies as female voices sung the cantus and alto lines. By illuminating these possibilities, we can see how Aleotti was not only marginalized by history for simply being female, but also for composing in a genre that has been seen as subservient to its secular counterpart.

It is clear from doing this work that these madrigals offer seamless transitions between the solo format and that of the fully composed madrigal. It is my hope that this paper and the process it describes provides the agency for other conductors, performers, and scholars to continue to broaden the repertoire choices for contemporary female musicians. I hope that they will continue to do so knowing that their work is both steeped in accurate historical performance practice and provides a link to the women who were encountering this music almost five hundred years ago. By no means will this compensate for the marginalization that the women in the sixteenth century endured, nor will it remedy the marginalization that women experience today.

However, pursuing this process provides a window to a fuller musical experience with greater gender inclusivity.

1 There is one version available in modern notation created by Amelia LeClair. LeClair has completed the large task of transcribing the full publication. However, while LeClair provides an accurate transcription of the notes, there are stylistic concerns presented in this edition. For this reason, I have created versions (both the original SATB score as well as a version for voice and basso continuo) of “Amor mio perche piangi,” and “Hor che la vaga aurora,” which are available on CPDL. It is my hope to complete academic versions of Ghirlanda de Madrigali a Quatro Voci, di Vittoria Aleotti in the coming months.

End Notes

1 Flora Dennis, “Interior Spaces for Music,” in The Cambridge History of Sixteenth-Century Music, ed. Iain Fenlon and Richard Wistreich (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 260-287. 2 Noel O’Regan, “Italy, ii: 1560-1600,” in European Music 1520-1640, ed. James Haar (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2006), 75. 3 Jane Bowers, “Women Composers in Italy, 1566-1700,” in Women Making Music: The Western Art Tradition, 1150-1950 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1986), 129. 4 Jane Bowers, “Women Composers in Italy,” 129. 5 C. Ann Carruthers-Clement, The Madrigals and Motets of Vittoria (Raphaella) Aleotti, (PhD diss., Kent State University, 1982), 15. 6 Jane Bowers, “Women Composers in Italy,” 155. 7 Jane Bowers, “Women Composers in Italy,” 155. 8 Jane Bowers, “Women Composers in Italy,” 156. 9 Suzanne G. Cusick, “Aleotti, Raphaella,” Grove Music Online, 2001. 10 Suzanne G. Cusick, “Raffaella Aleotti,” Grove Music Online, 2001. 11 Flora Dennis, “Interior Spaces for Music,” 260-287. 12 Laurie Stras, “Courtly Women and Secular Music in Ferrara in the First Half of the Sixteenth Century” in Women and Music in Sixteenth-Century Ferrara, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 55-88. 13 Laurie Stras, Women and Music in Sixteenth-Century Ferrara, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 8. 14 Peter Schubert, “Finding the ‘Air’ in Maddalena Casulana’s Madrigals” in Analytical Essays on Music by Women Composers, ed. Laurel Parsons and Brenda Ravenscroft (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 47. 15 Jane Bowers, “Women Composers in Italy,” 116-117. 16 Martha Feldman, “The Courtesan’s Voice: Petrarchan Lovers, Pop Philosophy, and Oral Traditions,” in Courtesan’s Arts: Cross-Cultural Perspectives, ed. Martha Feldman and Bonnie Gordon (Cary: Oxford University Press, 2006), 107-108. 17 Laurie Stras, “Ferrara and the New Singing of the 1570s,” in Women and Music in Sixteenth-Century Ferrara, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 213. 18 Michael Talbot, “Tenors and Basses at the Venetian ‘Ospedali,’” Acta Musicologica 66, no. 2 (1994): 123-38. 19 Robert L. Kendrick, Celestial Sirens: Nuns and Their Music in Early Modern (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996. 20 Meredith Y. Bowen, “unCONVENTional Restoration: Giving Voice to the Silenced,” The Choral Journal, vol. 58, No. 7 (February 2018), pp. 10-23. 21 Dawn De Rycke, “On Hearing the Courtesan in a Gift of Song: The Venetian Case of Gaspara Stampa” in Courtesan’s Arts: Cross-Cultural Perspectives, ed. Martha Feldman and Bonnie Gordon (Cary: Oxford University Press, 2006), 124. 22 Dawn De Rycke, “On Hearing the Courtesan in a Gift of Song,” 125. 23 Jeanice Brooks, Courtly Song in Late Sixteenth-Century France (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000) 14-16. 24 Laurie Stras, “Ferrara and the New Singing of the 1570s,” 211.