One of the most ancient legends handed down to us by the early Church
is that of St. Cecilia, the patroness of music and musicians. She is
known to have been honoured by Christians as far back as the third
century, in which she is supposed to have lived.
Doubtless much of fancy has been added, in all the ensuing years, to
the facts of Cecilia's life and death. Let us, however, take the
legend as it stands. It says that St. Cecilia was a noble Roman lady,
who lived in the reign of the Emperor Alexander Severus. Her parents,
who secretly professed Christianity, brought her up in their own faith,
and from her earliest childhood she was remarkable for her enthusiastic
piety: she carried night and day a copy of the Gospel concealed within
the folds of her robe; and she made a secret but solemn vow to preserve
her chastity, devoting herself to heavenly things, and shunning the
pleasures and vanities of the world. As she excelled in music, she
turned her good gift to the glory of God, and composed hymns, which she
sang herself with such ravishing sweetness, that even the angels
descended from heaven to listen to her, or to join their voices with
hers. She played on all instruments, but none sufficed to breathe
forth that flood of harmony with which her whole soul was filled;
therefore she invented the organ, consecrating it to the service of
God. When she was about sixteen, her parents married her to a young
Roman, virtuous, rich, and of noble birth, named Valerian. He was,
however, still in the darkness of the old religion. Cecilia, in
obedience to her parents, accepted the husband they had ordained for
her; but beneath her bridal robes she put on a coarse garment of
penance, and, as she walked to the temple, renewed her vow of chastity,
praying to God that she might have strength to keep it. And it so fell
out; for, by her fervent eloquence, she not only persuaded her husband,
Valerian, to respect her vow, but converted him to the true faith. She
told him that she had a guardian angel who watched over her night and
day, and would suffer no earthly lover to approach her. And when
Valerian desired to see this angel, she sent him to seek the aged St.
Urban, who, being persecuted by the heathen, had sought refuge in
catacombs. After listening to the instructions of that holy man, the
conversion of Valerian was perfected, and he was baptised. Returning
then to his wife, he heard, as he entered, the most entrancing music;
and, on reaching her chamber, beheld an angel, who was standing near
her, and who held in his hand two crowns of roses gathered in Paradise,
immortal in their freshness and perfume, but invisible to the eyes of
unbelievers. With these he encircled the brows of Cecilia and
Valerian, as they knelt before him; and he said to Valerian, "Because
thou hast followed the chaste counsel of thy wife, and hast believed
her words, ask what thou wilt, it shall be granted to thee." And
Valerian replied, "I have a brother named Tiburtius, whom I love as my
own soul; grant that his eyes, also, may be opened to the truth." And
the angel replied, with a celestial smile, "Thy request, O Valerian, is
pleasing to God, and ye shall both ascend to his presence, bearing the
palm of martyrdom." And the angel, having spoken these words,
vanished. Soon afterward Tiburtius entered the chamber, and perceiving
the fragrance of the celestial roses, but not seeing them, and knowing
that it was not the season for flowers, he was astonished. Then
Cecilia, turning to him, explained to him the doctrines of the Gospel,
and set before him all that Christ had done for us,--contrasting his
divine mission, and all he had done and suffered for men, with the
gross worship of idols made of wood and stone; and she spoke with such
a convincing fervour, such heaven-inspired eloquence, that Tiburtius
yielded at once, and hastened to Urban to be baptised and strengthened
in the faith. And all three went about doing good, giving alms, and
encouraging those who were put to death for Christ's sake, whose bodies
were buried honourably.
Now there was in those days a wicked prefect of Rome, named Almachius,
who governed in the emperor's absence; and he sent for Cecilia and her
husband and brother, and commanded them to desist from the practice of
Christian charity. And they said, "How can we desist from that which
is our duty, for fear of anything that man can do unto us?" The two
brothers were then thrown into a dungeon, and committed to the charge
of a centurion named Maximus, whom they converted, and all three,
refusing to join in the sacrifice to Jupiter, were put to death. And
Cecilia, having washed their bodies with her tears, and wrapped them in
her robes, buried them together in the cemetery of Calixtus. Then the
wicked Almachius, covetous of the wealth which Cecilia had inherited,
sent for her, and commanded her to sacrifice to the gods, threatening
her with horrible tortures in case of refusal. She only smiled in
scorn, and those who stood by wept to see one so young and so beautiful
persisting in what they termed obstinacy and rashness, and entreated
her to yield; but she refused, and by her eloquent appeal so touched
their hearts that forty persons declared themselves Christians, and
ready to die with her. Then Almachius, struck with terror and rage,
exclaimed, "What art thou, woman?" and she answered, "I am a Roman of
noble race." He said, "I ask of thy religion;" and she said, "Thou
blind one, thou art already answered!" Almachius, more and more
enraged, commanded that they should carry her back to her own house,
and fill her bath with boiling water, and cast her into it; but it had
no more effect on her body than if she had bathed in a fresh spring.
Then Almachius sent an executioner to put her to death with the sword;
but his hand trembled, so that, after having given her three wounds in
the neck and breast, he went his way, leaving her bleeding and half
dead. She lived, however, for the space of three days, which she spent
in prayers and exhortation to the converts, distributing to the poor
all she possessed; and she called to her St. Urban, and desired that
her house, in which she then lay dying, should be converted into a
place of worship for the Christians. Thus, full of faith and charity,
and singing with her sweet voice praises and hymns to the last moment,
she died at the end of three days. The Christians embalmed her body,
and she was buried by Urban in the same cemetery with her husband.
As the saint had wished, her house was consecrated as a church, and the
chamber in which she had suffered martyrdom was regarded as a place
especially sacred. In after years, the edifice fell into ruins, but
was rebuilt by Pope Paschal I. in the ninth century. While this pious
work was in progress, it is told that Paschal had a dream, in which St.
Cecilia appeared to him and disclosed the spot where she had been
buried. On a search being made, her body was found in the cemetery of
St. Calixtus, together with the remains of Valerian, Tiburtius, and
Maximus, and all were deposited in the same edifice, which has since
been twice rebuilt and is now known as the church of St. Cecilia in
Trastevere. At the end of the sixteenth century, the sarcophagus which
held the remains of the saint was solemnly opened in the presence of
several dignitaries of the Church, among whom was Cardinal Baronius,
who left an account of the appearance of the body. "She was lying,"
says Baronius, "within a coffin of cypress-wood, enclosed in a marble
sarcophagus; not in the manner of one dead and buried, that is, on her
back, but on her right side, as one asleep, and in a very modest
attitude; covered with a simple stuff of taffety, having her head bound
with cloth, and at her feet the remains of the cloth of gold and silk
which Pope Paschal had found in her tomb." The reigning Pope, Clement
VIII., ordered that the relics should be kept inviolate, and the coffin
was enclosed in a silver shrine and replaced under the high altar, with
great solemnity. A talented sculptor, Stefano Maderno, was
commissioned to execute a marble statue of the saint lying dead, and
this celebrated work, which fully corresponds with the description of
Baronius, is now beneath the high altar of the church, where ninety-six
silver lamps burn constantly to the memory of Cecilia. The
accompanying inscription reads, "Behold the image of the most holy
virgin Cecilia, whom I myself saw lying incorruptible in her tomb. I
have in this marble expressed for thee the same saint in the very same
posture of body."
It seems hardly possible now to say when St. Cecilia came to be
considered as music's patron saint,--probably it was not until
centuries after her death. We know that in 1502 a musical society was
instituted in Belgium, at Louvain, which was placed under the patronage
of St. Cecilia. We know, also, that the custom of praising music by
giving special musical performances on St. Cecilia's Day (November 22)
is an old one. The earliest known celebration of this nature took
place at Evreux, in Normandy, in 1571, when some of the best composers
of the day, including Orlando Lasso, competed for the prizes which were
offered. It is recorded that the first of these festivals to be held
in England was in 1683. For these occasions odes were written by
Dryden, Shadwell, Congreve, and other poets, and the music was supplied
by such composers as Purcell and Blow. At the Church of St. Eustache,
in Paris, on St. Cecilia's Day, masses by Adolphe Adam, Gounod, and
Ambroise Thomas have been given their first performance. In Germany,
Spohr and Moritz Hauptmann have composed works in honour of the day,
and Haydn's great "Cecilia" mass must not be forgotten.
Mrs. Jameson says that, before the beginning of the fifteenth century,
St. Cecilia was seldom represented in art with musical attributes, but
carried the martyr's palm. Later, she appears in painting, either
accompanied by various instruments of music, or playing on them.
Domenichino, who was in Rome when the sarcophagus of St. Cecilia was
opened, and painted numerous pictures of the saint, shows her in one of
them as performing on the bass viol. This picture is in the Louvre,
where also is Mignard's canvas, representing her accompanying her voice
with a harp.
Many painters have depicted St. Cecilia playing upon the organ, often a
small, portable instrument, such as she bears in the celebrated picture
by Raphael, which we reproduce. For over six hundred years, from the
time of Cimabue to our own day, artists of all countries have vied with
each other in representations of St. Cecilia, but none have risen to
the height of Raphael's treatment of the theme.
[Illustration: St. Cecilia. From painting by Raphael]
He shows us Cecilia, standing with enraptured face lifted to heaven,
where the parted clouds display six angels prolonging the melody which
the saint has ceased to draw forth from the organ she holds. On her
right, the majestic figure of St. Paul appears as if in deep thought,
leaning on his sword, and between him and St. Cecilia we see the
beautiful young face of the beloved disciple, John the Evangelist.
Upon the other side, the foremost figure is that of Mary Magdalen,
carrying the jar of ointment in her hand, and behind her stands St.
Augustine with a bishop's staff, looking toward John. At the feet of
St. Cecilia are scattered various instruments of music, a viol,
cymbals, the triangle, flute, and others. They are broken, and some of
the pipes of the regal held by St. Cecilia are falling from their
place,--all seeming to indicate the inferiority of earthly music to the
celestial harmonies. Of the five saints depicted, only Cecilia looks
upward, and it has been suggested that Raphael meant that she, alone,
hears and understands the heavenly strains.
She is clothed in a garment of cloth of gold, St. Paul in crimson and
green, and the Magdalen in violet.
Some writers claim that the face of the Magdalen is that of Raphael's
love, the "Farnarina," whom he frequently used as a model. The baker's
daughter was a girl of the Trastevere, and it is a coincidence that her
home was near that church dedicated to Cecilia, where the saint's
remains have rested for hundreds of years.
As Mrs. Jameson observed, Sir Joshua Reynolds has given us a paraphrase
of Raphael's painting of music's patron saint in his fine picture of
Mrs. Billington, the famous English singer of his last years, as St.
Cecilia. She holds a music book in her hand, but is listening to the
carolling of some cherubs hovering above her. The composer Haydn paid
the singer a happy compliment suggested by this portrait when he said
to Sir Joshua, "What have you done? you have made her listening to the
angels, you should have represented the angels listening to her." Mrs.
Billington was so delighted with this praise that she gave Haydn a
hearty kiss. This splendid portrait of the charming young singer is in
the Lenox Library in New York.
Raphael's "St. Cecilia" has, of course, a history. In October of the
year 1513, a noble lady of Bologna, named Elena Duglioli dall Olio,
imagined that she heard supernatural voices bidding her to dedicate a
chapel to St. Cecilia in the Church of S. Giovanni in Monte. Upon
telling this to a relative, Antonio Pucci of Florence, he offered to
fit up the chapel at his own expense, and induced his uncle, Lorenzo
Pucci, then newly created a cardinal, to commission Raphael to paint a
picture for the altar. It was finished in 1516.
Tradition relates that Pucci had no ear for music, and was laughed at
by his brother cardinals when chanting mass in the Sistine Chapel. He
thereupon invoked the aid of St. Cecilia, who rewarded the donor of her
picture by remedying his harmonic deficiency.
In 1796, Napoleon's conquering army carried the painting to Paris,
where it remained until 1815, when it was returned to Bologna. It was
at a later date transferred to the art gallery of that city, where it
now hangs. About the middle of the eighteenth century, when the agent
of Augustus III., the Elector of Saxony, was negotiating the purchase
of Italian paintings for the royal gallery in Dresden, the "St.
Cecilia" was offered to him for $18,000, but the price was thought too
high, and a copy by Denis Calvaert sufficed. This still hangs in the
Zwinger at Dresden, the home of the Sistine Madonna. According to
Vasari, the organ and other musical instruments in this picture were
painted by one of the master's pupils, Giovanni da Udine. Raphael
again designed a St. Cecilia in the now ruined fresco of her martyrdom,
which either the master or one of his pupils painted in the chapel of
the Pope's hunting castle of La Magliana, near Rome. Fortunately, Marc
Antonio's engraving has preserved for us the composition of this work.
Of the many tributes to this "St. Cecilia," we will select the one by
Shelley.
"We saw besides one picture of Raphael--St. Cecilia; this is in another
and higher style; you forget that it is a picture as you look at it;
and yet it is most unlike any of those things which we call reality.
It is of the inspired and ideal kind, and seems to have been conceived
and executed in a similar state of feeling to that which produced among
the ancients those perfect specimens of poetry and sculpture which are
the baffling models of succeeding generations. There is a unity and a
perfection in it of an incommunicable kind. The central figure, St.
Cecilia, seems rapt in such inspiration as produced her image in the
painter's mind; her deep, dark, eloquent eyes lifted up; her chestnut
hair flung back from her forehead--she holds an organ in her hands--her
countenance, as it were, calmed by the depth of its passion and
rapture, and penetrated throughout with the warm and radiant light of
life. She is listening to the music of heaven, and, as I imagine, has
just ceased to sing, for the four figures that surround her evidently
point, by their attitudes, toward her; particularly St. John, who, with
a tender yet impassioned gesture, bends his countenance toward her,
languid with the depth of his emotion. At her feet lie various
instruments of music, broken and unstrung. Of the colouring I do not
speak; it eclipses nature, yet has all her truth and softness."
Dryden's "Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687," set to music by Draghi, an
Italian composer, ends with this verse, apposite to our picture:
"Orpheus could lead the savage race,
And trees uprooted left their place,
Sequacious of the lyre:
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher;
When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appeared,--
Mistaking earth for heaven!"
Ten years later he wrote his noble ode, "Alexander's Feast," in honour
of St. Cecilia's festival, at the close of which he again refers to the
saint's wondrous powers:
"Thus long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute,
Timotheus to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown;
He raised a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down."
Handel, in 1736, produced his oratorio of "Alexander's Feast." Pope's
"Ode on St. Cecilia's Day," was written in 1708, and performed at
Cambridge, in 1730, with music by Maurice Greene. In this composition
the poet uses a similar image to Dryden. He sings:
"Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And fate's severest rage disarm;
Music can soften pain to ease,
And make despair and madness please;
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the bliss above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear;
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire;
And angels lean from Heav'n to hear.
Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is given;
His numbers rais'd a shade from Hell,
Hers lift the soul to Heav'n."