=The Renaissance=.—The Opera, in its inception, was literary rather
than musical in nature. It was a result of what is known as the
Renaissance, so-called because its most prominent manifestation in
Italy was a revival of the learning of the ancients. This phase of
the movement was initiated by =Petrarch= (1304-1370), who devoted
his life to the study of the classical past of Italy. The Latin
classics had never been entirely lost, but those of the Greeks had
become practically extinct during the dark ages which followed the
conquest of the Roman Empire by the barbarians of the North, in the 5th
century. The arts had been kept alive only through the fostering care
of the Church, and all had taken on a conventionally ecclesiastical
character. Education had declined; it was practically confined to
churchmen—even kings and rulers could barely sign their names, while
the people at large were sunk in gross ignorance. The revival of Latin
literature through the influence of Petrarch led to an interest in the
Greek classics which soon became the engrossing study of the learned.
Diligent search was made for lost and forgotten manuscripts; academies
of learning were founded; lectures were given on Greek philosophy.
In the enthusiasm thus created it was even thought that not only the
arts and literature of the ancient world might be restored, but its
governmental, social and political structure as well.
=Scope of the Renaissance=.—The Renaissance, however, was not merely
literary in nature. It was in reality the awakening of man from the
spiritual and intellectual slumber which had bound him for nearly a
thousand years. Long before it was defined it had been perceptible in
many ways. First, materially, in a spirit of exploration, of adventure
and enterprise. Traders and travelers startled Europe with glowing
accounts of the far East; missionaries took long and dangerous voyages
in the hope of converting its heathen inhabitants. An eager desire for
increased commercial facilities with these favored countries by means
of a westward passage brought about the discovery of America, with
which modern history may be said to have opened.
With this extension of the world’s boundaries, the mind of man began
to expand as well. As he looked forward with eager anticipation to the
future, he studied the past with an eye newly alive to the treasures of
its buried culture. Instead of his former acquiescence in being one of
a dull, inert mass, serving without question those in authority over
him, he began to feel and to assert his own individuality, to resist
the crushing weight of feudalism which had hitherto oppressed him.
Freedom of intellect, of conscience, of science, of art, was in the air.
The effect of this transition from medievalism toward modern liberty
of thought and action varied with different nationalities. In northern
nations it took the direction of rebellion against prevailing religious
and political conditions, for example, in Germany and England. Italy,
however, remained steadfast in religion and government; the revolt was
against traditions in matters of art and literature. Roman law and
Greek philosophy were exhumed; the classics were zealously studied for
standards of taste and culture.
=Music of the Ancients=.—Notwithstanding this research, no trace
was found of the music actually in use among the ancients. From the
evanescent nature of the art and the total lack of examples, the
elaborate descriptions of its complicated system of scales and modes
given by Greek philosophers failed to yield a trustworthy clue to its
real character.
It was known, however, that the _drama_, owing to the enormous
proportions of the amphitheatre in which it was performed, was
_musically declaimed_, and that the voices of the actors and chorus
were sustained by lyres and flutes. Thus, in the Greek tragedy we find
the principal features of the modern opera—scenery, dramatic action,
solo and choral singing, the orchestra. It was also known that in the
music of the Greeks the _word_ was the _governing principle_; that
there was no independent instrumental music—nor was there elsewhere
for many centuries afterward. The tone was regarded only as a means of
heightening the effect of the poetry; the succession of long and short
syllables dictated both rhythm and melody. Of harmony in the modern
sense of the term, there was none; instruments and voices alike were in
unison.
=Music Chiefly Choral=.—In the 16th century, Florence was the centre
of the enthusiasm for Greek culture. She and her sister-cities in the
north of Italy were the arbiters in matters of taste, of learning and
erudition. There, toward the end of the century, a small group of
scholars and musicians, known as the _Camerata_ (Chamber), meeting at
the house of Count Bardi, discussed the possibility of reproducing
the musical declamation of Greek tragedy. The time was ripe for such
an experiment. The polyphonic school had reached its climax in the
intricate works of =di Lasso= (1520-1594) and =Palestrina= (1514-1594).
Though admirably suited to the Church, the contrapuntal style of these
great composers was manifestly unfit for dramatic purposes; it could
voice the aspirations of a body of worshipers swayed by a common
belief, but could not express individual feeling. No voice was more
important than another, all progressed according to canonic law, their
complex intertwining practically destroying the essentially secular
elements of accent and rhythm. It was, in short, the embodiment in
music of the medievalism which had so long controlled Church and State.
Thus far the spirit of emancipation which had produced such great
results in the other arts and in politics elsewhere had touched
music but lightly. Attempts had been made to break the restraints
of contrapuntalism, but there was a total ignorance as to what
steps would prove most effective in reaching that end, and nothing
definite had been accomplished. Aside from the Folk-song, which was
ignored by musicians save only as it served as Cantus Firmus for their
counterpoint, there was no music for the solo voice; it was conceived
solely from a choral standpoint.
=The Recitative=.—Their dissatisfaction with the school of music then
in vogue and the impossibility of adapting it to their purpose led
to various experiments by this band of enthusiasts to discover the
principles upon which the Greeks had founded the musical declamation
employed in their tragedies. They argued that it must have followed
as closely as possible the _inflections of the voice_ in speaking;
therefore they made this their study. Thus originated the Recitative,
the distinguishing feature of the lyric drama, which, though using the
definite pitches of the musical scale, reproduces in its progressions
and cadences the characteristic but intensified effect of an oratorical
delivery of the text. It was the exact contrary of the music of the
age in which the word counted for almost nothing, the art of combining
independent voices and of playing them off one against the other for
everything.
=The Cantata=.—The first result of their efforts was the Cantata
(from _cantare_, to sing), meaning a composition for the voice in
contradistinction to the Sonata (from _sonare_, to sound), which
was applied to one for instruments. The Cantata had but little in
common with what is now understood by the term. It was a recitation
on musical intervals for a single voice accompanied by but one
instrument. Anything like a formal melody was carefully avoided, and
the accompaniment, generally played on the lute, was of the most
unpretending character. The first of these cantatas was composed by
=Vincenzo Galilei=, the father of the celebrated astronomer, on the
tragic fate of Count Ugolino, as related by Dante in the _Inferno_.
This, therefore, was the _first art-song_ ever composed. Unfortunately,
it has been lost; but contemporary accounts tell of the profound
impression it created. Other cantatas were written and sung by =Giulio
Caccini= (1550-1618), a skilled and an admirable lutist as well, and
all awakened the utmost enthusiasm among the little company.
These works were known as _Nuove Musiche_ (new music) and such as have
survived are, in general, painfully thin and crude to modern ears. When
compared with the rich polyphony of the prevailing Church style they
seem at the first blush to indicate retrogression. Progress, however,
seldom advances in a direct line; it generally moves by spirals which
at times apparently retreat only to mount the higher at the succeeding
curve. These dull recitatives bore the _germ of emancipation_ from the
scholastic laws which had heretofore prevented music from expressing
individual emotion; they typify the spirit of the Renaissance and are
the foundation of the art as we now know it.
=The First Opera=.—Another of the number, =Jacopo Peri= (1561-1633),
also a musician, took the next step by composing music of the same
style to a drama, the _Dafne_ (Daphne) of the poet Rinuccini, who was
the life and soul of this attempt to revive the lost declamation of the
Greeks. This was performed privately in 1595 at the Corsi Palace, and
produced so strong an impression that it was repeated a number of times
at the Carnival seasons of the succeeding years. In 1600, Peri was
invited to compose a similar work for the marriage festivities of Henry
IV of France and Maria di Medici. This was _Euridice_, also written by
Rinuccini, which bears the distinction of being the _first opera_ to
receive public performance, and thus introducing the new art-form to
the world at large. The score of _Dafne_ has been lost, but that of
_Euridice_ still exists.
It was then known as a music drama (_melo dramma_ or _dramma per la
musica_); the term opera (abbreviation for _opera in musica_, that is,
musical work) did not come into use until the middle of the century.
The orchestra, which was played behind the scenes, consisted of a
harpsichord, two lutes and a bass-viol. In addition, three lutes played
a short _ritornello_ (interlude) in one scene. With this exception,
the instruments were used merely to support the voice; the tonality
was almost exclusively minor, and the harmony of the simplest. It is
thought that Peri sang the part of Orpheus and that Francesca Caccini,
daughter of the composer and one of the most gifted singers of the day,
sang Euridice.
[Music: Radoppia e fiamm’e lumi al memorabil giorno, Febo ch’il carro
d’or rivolgi intorno.