At the beginning of 1588 a Brescian soldier, Count MarcāAntonio Martinengo, conceived a remarkable idea. He sent the most celebrated composers of Italy a poem he had written, with the request that they should set it to music āwith the same words and in the same modeā (ācon lāistesse parole e nel medesimo tuonoā). Seventeen composers took part in this competition (it would be safe to call it such), each of them bringing to bear his portfolio of professional experiences gained at the various courts and musical establishments of Italy. The count, an amateur musician, set a good example by himself composing the first madrigal of the series. Once the commissioned pieces had arrived in Brescia, they were collected in a musical print titled Lāamorosa Ero, one of the most fascinating madrigal collections of the entire Cinquecento, an authentic āgroup exhibitionā of the periodās most acknowledged masters. In this publication composers whose fame has endured rub shoulders with minor figures or ones whose glory has since faded into oblivion. Their names are Bertani, Cavaccio, Gastoldi, Giovannelli, Ingegneri, Nanino, Zoilo, Marenzio, Barera, Luzzaschi, Virchi, Striggio, Merulo, Porta, Fiorino, Morsolino and Ferrabosco.1
We do not know who the winner of the competition was. Nor do we know if an actual prize was put up, perhaps a sum of money, or a red damask cloak, as was the custom with wrestling contests. However, a moral victor among those numerous masters was in fact proclaimed. In the last years of the century, Adriano Banchieri, a knowledgeable musician and a shrewd observer of the society of his time, indicated Luca Marenzio (who was still living) as the most representative composer of the contemporary madrigal, the one who had brought to a peak the art of writing secular music for four, five and more voices.2 Nor did Banchieriās testimony remain isolated.
Normally, the great masters of the sixteenth century came to be counted among the group of outstanding musicians during the course of their own lifetime. Their āclassicalā status passed into historiographical tradition as a matter of course, reaching us without drastic reversals. (However, allowance should be made for adjustment and supplementation resulting from a clearer overall vision of unfolding history, which is why Monteverdi, Marenzioās junior by ten years, does not yet figure in the canons of the late sixteenth century, even though he certainly qualifies; only later was the ādivino Claudioā counted as one of the greatest madrigal composers ā if not the very greatest.)
The case of Lāamorosa Ero bears obvious witness to the colourful individualists who crowded the madrigalian arena in the period when Marenzio was most active as a composer, in other words in the two decades between the late 1570s and the late 1590s. This was an extremely fertile period for vocal music, both sacred and secular, and especially the latter, at least where Italy is concerned. More madrigals were composed and published than at any time before or since, by more authors, whether professional or amateur, from Italy or elsewhere.
Not everything that was produced in that period has come down to us, but what remains is so abundant that it has (up to now at least) overwhelmed the best efforts of individual scholars to gain a satisfactory perspective. Even after drastically sifting the amount of music to be examined, one risks being faced with a volume of composers and music that is difficult to encompass. When discussing the period in question in his unsurpassed and classic study of the Italian madrigal as a whole, Alfred Einstein chooses only Marenzioās music for close examination;3 only briefly does he refer to that of Luzzaschi, Gastoldi, Ingegneri, Striggio and Merulo. Among the ācelebri autoriā of Lāamorosa Ero, Einstein avoids in-depth consideration of Giovannelli, Nanino, Bertani and Virchi, even though, historically speaking, they count for something.
We rely on the judgement of early authors because this seems the wisest course given the perplexing impossibility of knowing the repertory in its entirety. Why, among several hundred madrigalists, did late sixteenth-century writers on music decide to award the palm to Marenzio? Part of the answer certainly lies within the musical texts, but another part lies in the historical and social context. A key concept in this period is esemplaritĆ ā the function of a composition or musical style as a paragon or exemplum ā a necessary precondition of which is public recognition. In its turn this recognition had to be capable of propagating itself on a large scale and of maintaining its capacity to persuade. In such cases the market for music publishing benefited, while the composer was constantly being asked for new music.
By its very nature, this mechanism presupposed that compositional fertility could be considered a clear sign of excellence and āclassicalā status, at least in this period. Palestrina composed over 100 masses, Marenzio published more than 20 books of secular music, and Philippe de Monte was even more prolific. It is true that Marenzioās fame as a madrigalist is commonly held to exceed Monteās, but the latter was also numbered among the better composers of his time.4
Prolificity depends on an ability to work at speed, and we know that a fast composer was highly regarded. In 1593 SebastiƔn Raval, a Spanish ex-soldier with strong musical ambitions, issued a public challenge to the best contrapuntists in Rome. Two of them, Giovanni Maria Nanino and Francesco Soriano, agreed to take part in the composition contest. A poetic text was handed to the three competitors for musical setting: it is recorded that when Soriano had finished the work, Raval had not yet reached the end of the first line. The ability to be at ease with technical difficulties, the fruit of long practice (and also of a certain natural predisposition), is a quality that immediately distinguishes the acknowledged professional from the pretentious dilettante. But despite his humiliating defeat Raval did not lose heart, issuing a further musical challenge a few years later, this time in Sicily. In the end Raval had the better of his competitor, Achille Falcone, but not without the support of a jury that clearly leaned in the direction of Spain.5 Once again the anecdote is instructive as it shows that judgement at that time could be corrected (if not corrupted) by private interests, diplomatic relations or political forces. In the last analysis, rivalry between composers could reflect that between their respective patrons and their opposing factions.
In fact a decisive element in determining the fortunes of a musician was patronage. Without sufficient forms of patronage ā whether private or institutional ā the musician lacked means of support. Without patrons, his compositions never reached the printing press and could not therefore be disseminated. Whoever published had to be in a position to claim the support of influential protection.
Stylistic esemplaritĆ , compositional fecundity, adequate support through patronage: the harmonious confluence of these disparate factors was needed to establish the reputation of a musician of the late Renaissance, one eventually crowned with universally recognized pre-eminence.