Lecture: Christmas at San Marco

by Audrey Wong

Years ago, as I was walking and gawking inside the baptistry at Pisa, an official-type man in a uniform caught our attention as he lifted his head and sang (Example:  "Ah"- three notes, major triad).  This chord rang out and all the tourists reacted "Oooooooo."  And that was it.  No further enlightenment—unless you paid a guide or bought a guidebook, you walked out of the place knowing only that it had a great echo.

Tonight's concert "Christmas at San Marco" features exciting Renaissance music from Venetian composers, for one, two and three choruses.  In discussions of this style of polychoral music much is said about the layout of San Marco, and how its self-contained raised galleries encouraged composers to experiment with different combinations of instruments and voices distributed throughout the church.

But it isn't enough to say that composers such as Monteverdi and the Gabrielis wrote what we now recognize as Venetian music because of the fantastic acoustics of San Marco.  I'd like to give you a broader background of the times which gave rise to the particular musical richness, sonority, and splendor that was the signature of 16th century Venice.

The first thing we must realize is that Venice was not an Italian city.  It was a republic, a republic that for 200 years—from 1300 to 1500—was considered the "mistress of the Mediterranean."  Venice had colonies from the Aegean and Adriatic seas to the Alps,rivaling the other "great powers"—the Catholic Church, the Holy Roman Empire, and Byzantium.

Venice, at its height, was incredibly rich—having a hundred industries such as shipbuilding, iron manufacturing, glass blowing, leather dressing and tooling, gem cutting and setting, textiles.  Its commercial exports averaged 10,000,000 ducats per year.  The history book I read, written in the 1950s, equated 10 million ducats to $250 million US dollars.  Yikes!—what is that amount of money worth in today's dollars?  I was a kid in the 50's—I paid nickel for candy bar and a quarter for a movie.
 
Venice was the most ably governed of all republics.  Its administrative organization was among the best in Europe.  Venice had a sanitation department, bureau of price control for food, a postal/courier service, pensions for public servants and their widows and orphans.  Although Venice was, like its neighbors, pretty much a police state, by comparison it offered much personal freedom.  Many printers were attracted to Venice because of its low level of censorship.  The German Aldus print shop opened in Venice in 1469.  By the 1500s, there were 65 presses in Venice—3 times as many as there were in Rome, 6 times as many as there were in Florence.

Venice was so rich and strong that it could resist papal authority. It had 36,000 seamen manning 3,300 vessels of war or trade.  These ships were rowed by freemen, not by slaves.  Venetian merchants traded with Christians and Moslems, earning regular papal excommunications, which the republic just ignored. 

Venice's domination began to slip in the early 1500s.  The Turks began stripping Venice of its colonies in the Aegean and Adriatic.  The Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian and Pope Julius II joined France and Spain in the 1508 League of Cambrai and took away Venetian territories on land. But the biggest blow to Venice came not by attack but by faraway Portugal's successful navigation around Africa to the East.  Lisbon replaced Venice as the center of trade for Oriental goods.

However, despite its waning influence, since the republic itself never suffered invasion, it retained its glorious churches, palazzi, public buildings, and much of its unspent treasures and inherited wealth.  It still dominated trade in some nearby areas.   Its old industries even found new markets for its luxury products, especially glass and lace. It granted asylum to political and intellectual refugees. 

Venice realized that, without its foreign commerce, its powerful navy, and its crafty condottieri (its hired military strategists), its survival had to be based on peace, on diplomacy.  It had to project an "image" and present itself to the world as a city in pursuit of beauty and individuality.

Venice kept up its lavish lifestyle, a large part of which was frequent ceremonial displays—to impress ambassadors, visitors, and above all the republic's own citizenry. You know, on March 17th we have huge St. Patty's Day celebrations—and these are not religious events, even though they bear the name of a saint.  In Venice, feast days were associated with events in the republic's history, and given great emphasis.  For example, St. Vitus and Modestius Day commemorated the discovery of a plot against the republic.  40 such days were dedicated as city feasts—40 days a year—that's like New York City having a World Series parade every ten days!

The basilica of San Marco was the hive of these activities -  unlike in most other European centers, where the Catholic Church's cathedral served as the religious and often civic hub. You see, the magnificent basilica of San Marco was built as the private chapel of the Doge, adjoining the Doge's palace.  There was no separation of church and state back there, back then.  Usually the church wielded the upper hand.  But was not the case in Venice. 

The 1500s was also the time of the Reformation.  The Council of Trent held eighteen sessions from 1545 to 1563 to propose reforms for the Catholic Church.  One of its final sessions addressed the problem of adjusting church music to the new spirit of reform.  Concerned that church music had strayed from its original purpose—the praise the worship of God—Catholic reformers urged the exclusion of polyphonic church music and a return to plainsong Gregorian chant.  That proposal was rejected, thanks to the music of Palestrina—with its fidelity to words and avoidance of secular themes. Sacred polyphonic music was allowed as long as it subordinated musical art to religious intent.

This decision was of limited import for San Marco.  Given the architecture, the intricacies of most polyphonic music would have been swallowed up by the basilica's cavernous depths.  The music for San Marco had to be of simple homophonic style—with emphasis on words and the sonorities of the human voice.  Additional voices and instruments were used to increase tessitura (highs and lows), the use of multiple choirs provided expansion of contrasting timbres.  San Marco followed its own liturgy, its music was idiosyncratic—different from music in any other cathedral.   

San Marco itself has an interesting history.  How many of you are familiar with the Cadfael mysteries?  For those of you who aren't—the Cadfael stories, written by Ellis Peters, are wonderful murder mysteries that were made into a popular public television series starring Sir Derek Jacobi as a sort-of Sherlock Holmes, but wearing a Benedictine friar's habit instead of a cloak and working around the medieval English village of Shrewsbury instead of Scotland Yard. 

The livelihood of the Benedictine Abbey at Shrewsbury depended on the generosity of the pilgrims who came there to behold the relics of an obscure, local Saint Winifred.  Relics were the object of intense devotion.  Churches considered the relics that they possessed among their greatest treasures because these relics brought them fame and fortune.  One of the Cadfael stories is called "A Holy Thief"—in which a visiting monk tries to steal the body of St. Winifred for his own church because whoever housed the relic would gain not only prestige but also countless pilgrims and their coins. (Well, actually it's not really the body of St. Winifred—but that's a whole different story.  You'll have to read the books.)

Wonderful plot?  It's not just the author's imagination and literary genius.  In 828, two Venetian merchants stole the body of St. Mark from its shrine in Alexandria and brought it to Venice.  Can you imagine what this meant to Venice ... a relic of a major saint, an evangelist, one of the twelve apostles—and not just a lock of his hair or one tiny finger bone but the whole body!  The basilica of San Marco was built to house this sacred treasure.  Remember, the basilica of San Marco was the Doge's private chapel, NOT the cathedral, the official seat of the Church.  To place the relic in the cathedral would have put too much power in the hands of the Church of Rome.  (San Marco did become Venice's cathedral in 1807, but that's 200 years down the road.)

The original 9th century church was destroyed by fire.  It was replaced by a second building that was pulled down in the 11th century to make way for a spectacular edifice that would more adequately reflect the blossoming power and glory of the republic.  San Marco has been enhanced over the centuries but the basic structure remains the same—a unique blend of eastern and western influences:  built on a Greek cross plan, crowned with five domes, and rich with marble, carvings, and mosaics (40,000 square feet of golden mosaics).  The altarpiece is a collection of 250 enamel paintings on gold foil, enclosed within a gilded silver Gothic frame and embellished with over 2600 precious gems.  (You have to pay extra to see the alterpiece now.)

San Marco was where the doge was presented to the republic after his election; where distinguished visitors—royalty, heads of state, popes, ambassadors—were received; where sea captains came for prayer and blessing before embarking on their military or mercantile journeys.


Since all of this elaborate and frequent ceremony required music, San Marco's music establishment was huge.  In the 16th century the basilica's music staff included:
Obviously, the music director's job at San Marco was considered a fantastic gig.

Of the composers we perform tonight, Adrian Willaert is the only non-Italian.  Before he was appointed maestro di cappella in 1527, Venice did not have a major composer in a permanent post.  Willaert served for 35 years—longer than Monteverdi—and it was during his tenure that Venice became a great European musical center.

Zarlino succeeded Willaert as maestro di cappella, Croce came after Zarlino, and Monteverdi after Croce.  Merulo held the post of first organist—the most important position after the maestro di cappella. He was succeeded by Andrea Gabrieli.  Giovanni Gabrieli, possibly the most famous of tonight's composers, was never maestro di cappella and only replaced his uncle Andrea as 2nd organist when the older Gabrieli was promoted to 1st organist.  Bassano served as head of the instrumental ensemble; he was primarily a cornetto player for whom Giovanni Gabrieli composed many virtuoso works.

History is friendlier to some than to others.  A few of the composers we perform on tonight's program are brand-new names to us -  Zarlino, Merulo, Bassano—yet in their time they were the stars of one of Europe's most important musical centers.  Just about every holiday concert that features music for brass will most likely include something by Giovanni Gabrieli; yet in his time his talents were overshadowed by his contemporary, the giant Monteverdi. 

If you travel to Venice, you will be able to see Monteverdi's tomb prominently placed in one of the side chapels of Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, a humungous church which houses imposing monuments to several famous Venetians.  To find Giovanni Gabrieli's tomb, you would have to go to the small neighborhood church of Santo Stefano, and you would have to search patiently because there is no monument and no sign.  Just a small stone slab on the floor, which, when I was there, was obscured by a portative organ that had been rolled over the name.

Anything called "Christmas at San Marco" must include works by the famous Monteverdi and Gabrielis.  However, in keeping with our educational mission, we hope that this concert will introduce you to some new names and uncover for you, some beautiful music which deserves to be brought to light.  Thank you for coming. 


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