Arcadia Meets Utopia: Corelli in South American Wilderness

ARCADIA MEETS UTOPIA:
Corelli in the South-American wilderness1
Leonardo J. Waisman
CONICET (Argentina)
On April 26th, 1706, in a solemn ceremony, Arcangelo Corelli was accepted as a
member of the Accademia dell’ Arcadia in Rome, assuming, as customary, a shepherd’s
name: Arcomelo.2 Forty years later, in the village of San Rafael de Chiquitos (presentday Bolivia), the Swiss Jesuit Martin Schmid copied in his draft-book of keyboard
music several of Corelli’s compositions for the use of the Indian community he was
fostering and overseeing, a community that has been sometimes described as Utopia,
other times celebrated as a new Arcadia.
This paper is meant as a reflection on this coincidence. I will first discuss the
concepts of Arcadia and Utopia as they may be applied to the Roman and Paraguayan
milieus, respectively; I will then describe briefly the archive where the Jesuit’s
compositions are preserved, and proceed finally to an examination of the music, dealing
first with the transmission of the scores, and then focusing on the connotations attached
to the Corelli compositions by Europeans in Baroque Italy and in the Paraguay Province
of the Society of Jesus.
Rome: Arcadia
The Roman Accademia dell’Arcadia served as a gathering point for the literati
and artists that had formed the entourage of Queen Christina of Sweden (one of
Corelli’s main patrons). The Academy took its name from the eclogue L’Arcadia, by
Jacopo Sannazzaro (1458-1530), in the prologue of which we find some of the
underlying concepts of what became a widespread artistic movement.
Le silvestre canzoni vergate ne li ruvidi cortecci de’ faggi dilettino non meno a
chi le legge, che li colti versi scritti ne le rase carte degli indorati libri; e le
incerate canne de’ pastori porgano per le fiorite valli forse più piacevole suono,
che li tersi e pregiati bossi de’ musici per le pompose camere non fanno.3
Two hundred years later, the accademici took up the idea of Arcadia as the land
of unaffected poetry, love and escapism, and founded a ‘republic of letters’, the virtual
geography of which was coextensive with that of ancient Peloponnesus. Assuming
shepherds’ names, they gathered to discuss literary and philosophical issues, to listen to
poetry and music, and to engage in contests of wit and eloquence, debates, or riddlesolving. Reacting against what they perceived as artificiality in seicento literature, they
saw in the pastoral the possibility of representing innocence, simplicity, grace and
chastity—and this was not only a matter of aesthetic fruition but also a means for
1
The present paper is a revised and recast version of my Corelli entre los indios, o Utopía deconstruye
Arcadia in «Concierto barroco: estudios sobre música, dramaturgia e historia cultural», ed. Juan
José Carreras and Miguel Ángel Marín. Logroño: Universidad de La Rioja, 2004, pp. 227-254
and 359-388.
2
MICHAEL TALBOT: Corelli, Arcangelo , in «The New Grove Dictionary», London, 2000.
3
JACOPO SANNAZZARO, Arcadia, www.wordeque.com, p. 1.
spiritual regeneration.4 Gravina5 appealed to ‘natural and universal’ laws to justify his
demands that literature express itself «with utmost clarity, essentiality, economy of
means, in such a way that its contents appear […] as evident, not only to a restricted
circle of initiates, but also to the people». This entailed fondness for simplicity,
renunciation of all artifice and ornament, cherishing of spontaneity and immediacy.
With respect to form, the doctrine demanded rational control and a cohesive
organization of passions and fantasy. Affects and imagination must merely be the means
to achieve the final objective, the «sound judgement of the mind», the highest «bene
dell’intelletto».
The Arcadian creed was immensely influential in opera, where the ‘Metastasian
reform’ shared may of its essential tenets. But beyond this coincidence (felt more in
literary than in musical aspects), composers developed a counterpart of the pastoral
idea. As Ellen Harris has shown, the pastoral genre in music was defined not only by
certain topics, such as the keys of F or G major, the use of drones or the siciliano
rhythm. Its character was also identified by its frugality: limited vocal and instrumental
means, restricted number of motifs (manifest relationships between the melodies of the
two sections of a Da Capo aria), little use of contrasting meters and tempi,
comparatively short dimensions. Simplicity and regularity are overriding principles,
especially in the music of Alessandro Scarlatti (Corelli’s colleague in Arcadia).6
The membership of Arcangelo Corelli in the Accademia dell’ Arcadia has long
been known. Recent studies (one of them presented at this very forum) have attempted
to assess the relationship between the Academy, the composer, and his works, with
partly negative conclusions: it seems that music was not a major part of the Arcadians’
concerns (excepting some important patrons), and it has been suggested that Corelli’s
motives for joining the august body owed more to concerns about prestige and career
advancement than to an identification with the aesthetic ideals of the Shepherds. 7
Nevertheless, we can discern in his oeuvre certain traits of style, character and form
which draw him near to the Gravinian doctrines, and that coincide in part with those
detailed by Harris for the Scarlatti pastoral. It is commonplace to talk of him as a
representative of «the serene, classical phase of Baroque musical art»,8 to refer to his
«remarkable sense of balance», and to the «moderation with which he treats each
element—rhythm, melody or harmony—[which] helps to explain its efficient
cooperation with the other elements towards over-all unity of form».9 These twentiethcentury appreciations do nothing but echo, two hundred years later, the succinct phrase
4
The fundamental theoretical tenets of the Arcadians were expounded in the works of FRANCESCO
GRAVINA, (Della Ragion poetica libri due, Rome, Francesco Gonzaga 1708) and GIOVANNI
MARIO CRESCIMBENI (Istoria della volgar poesia, Rome, Buagni 1698, and Bellezza della
volgar poesia, Rome, Buagni 1700).
5
The following description is based on STEFANO LA VIA, Dalla “ragion poetica” di Gianvincenzo
Gravina ai “bei concetti” musicali di Arcangelo Corelli: teorie e prassi del “classicismo”
romano oltre l'Arcadia’, unpublished. I thank Prof. La Via for making this study available to me.
6
ELLEN HARRIS, Handel and the Pastoral Tradition, London, Oxford University Press 1980, pp. 38-45.
7
FABRIZIO DELLA SETA, La musica in Arcadia al tempo di Corelli, in Sergio Durante and Pierluigi
Petrobelli (eds.),«Nuovissimi Studi Corelliani, Atti del terzo congresso internazionale
(Fusignano, 4-7 settembre 1980)», Florencia, Olschki 1982, pp. 123-50.
8
DONALD JAY GROUT, A History of Western Music, New York, W.W. Norton, 1960, p. 353.
9
WILLIAM S. NEWMAN, The Sonata in the Baroque Era, revised edition, Chapel Hill, University of North
Carolina Press 1966, pp. 157-58 (order of words slightly re-arranged).
2
of the Custode of the Accademia dell’Arcadia: in Corelli’s music «l'allegro non mai
offese il grave».10
Stefano La Via has shown it possible to build «an ideal bridge between [...] the
theoretical formulation of Gravina and Corelli’s compositional mind-set». He talks
about «sintonia intellettuale» between «the most charismatic representative [...] of pure
musical art», and one of the most conspicuous leaders of the Arcadian Academy.11 He
convincingly shows the sonata to be a musical incarnation of Gravina’s ideal objectives
of Art: «to transform the philosophers’ contemplation about the nature of our affects
into perceivable forms», so that our reason may joyfully «recognize truths hidden within
us». Thus it becomes plausible to speak of Corelli as a representative of Arcadia—if not
as a reputed citizen, then as a true standard-bearer of its program.
La Via’s perceptive analysis of one of Corelli’s sonatas will also be useful for
our research in another way, for he uncovers in it many integrative aspects, not only
within each movement, but also between movements, to such a degree that the piece
may be described as a grand narrative cycle, in the manner we understand postBeethovenian music:
[…] analizzando, ascoltando o ancor meglio eseguendo la Sonata Terza dell'Op.
IV, si ha l'impressione di seguire un percorso lineare che gradualmente conduce
dalla espressione controllata di 'affetti' – siano essi di solenne gravità con
sfumature patetiche (Preludio) o di più piacevole, spontaneamente gioiosa
animazione (Corrente) – alla esposizione razionale e rigorosamente logica di
'concetti' (Sarabanda), culminante nella conquista finale dell'ordine, dell'unità e
dell'equilibrio perfetti (il fugato della Gavotta). 12
We may conclude that the perfect equilibrium between cohesiveness and variety, the
motivic interrelationships, the dialectic of affects, turn this sonata into a true ‘work of
art’ in the sense described by Lydia Goehr: complete in itself, integral, and finished.13
To the traits pointed out by La Via, we may add the paradigmatic character of
Corelli’s oeuvre, apparently programmed by the composer himself. 14 To publish at
regular intervals (4 to 6 years, with the exception of the Concerti) collections, each one
with a dozen pieces, alternating regularly and balancing the contents between chamber
and church, suggests to us a strong wish to subordinate variety to a cohesive, rational
project. If, as it seems, each book was published after a selection among many
previously composed works and after a rigorous process of revision, Corelli’s attitude
implies an unprecedented affirmation of his control over his own text: authorial power
glorified.
10
GIOVANNI MARIO CRESCIMBENI, Notizie historiche degli Arcadi morti, Rome, Antonio de’ Rossi
1720, vol. 1, pp. 259 ff. (cap. 82). Quoted in LA VIA, op. cit., who in turn is quoting MARIO
RINALDI, Arcangelo Corelli, Milano, Curci 1953, pp. 427-28.
11
STEFANO LA VIA, op. cit.
12
«Analyzing, hearing, or, even better, performing the third sonata in Opus IV, one has the
impression of following a linear journey, leading gradually from the controlled
expression of ‘affects’—be they of solemn gravity with pathetic overtones (Preludio) or
of more pleasant, spontaneously joyous animation (Corrente)—to the rational and
rigurously logical exposition of ‘concetti’ (Sarabanda), and culminating in the final
achievement of perfect order, unity and balance (the Gavotta’s fugato)». STEFANO LA
VIA: op. cit.
Cfr. LYDIA GOEHR, The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works, Oxford, Oxford University Press 1992.
14
Cfr. NEWMAN, op. cit, pp. 156-57.
13
3
Paraguay: Utopia
In Western imagination, the Jesuit missions of Paraguay15 have always had a
touch of Arcadia as well as much of Utopia. The Arcadian representation was made
manifest by Cunninghame Graham’s influential book, A Vanished Arcadia,16 but the
various descriptions of numerous chroniclers which depict images of entire nations
dedicated to the cultivation of the arts and oblivious of the strife of daily sustenance and
government had already installed that vision. Its historical basis may be found in
phrases such as the following one of Martin Schmid, the missionary-architect-sculptorwatchmaker-musician of Chiquitos:
I live, and enjoy a rather satisfactory and constant health; indeed the life I lead is
not merely joyous: it is delicious. In one word: I sing, I perform on instruments, I
play games or rather I dance, I caper [… If you think this improper,] I say instead
that I am a missionary precisely because I sing, I play, and I dance.17
A token of the continued existence of this concept to our own time is the
successful film The mission, which begins with the Arcadian image of a lone missionary
in a luscious natural environment, peacefully expressing himself through an
improvisatory solo on his pastoral oboe.18
Utopian models were suggested as far back as the eighteenth century. José
Manuel Peramás, a Jesuit who had taught at the University of Córdoba (capital of the
Paraguay Province), carried out a systematic, detailed comparison between the Jesuit
reductions and Plato’s Republic, concluding that «among the Guaraní Indians of
America, Plato’s conception was realized, at least approximately». 19 Later historians
have pointed out the close analogies between these American enterprises and the
programs of Thomas More and other European Utopists.20 Gothein notes remarkable
15
In the following paragraphs I have drawn freely from texts referring to all of the Paraguay missions
(Guaraní, Chiquitos, Chaco). Although, due to geographical as well as ethnic factors, each area
differed significantly from the others, the Utopian concept—insofar as it is applicable—is
equally pertinent to all of them.
16
R.B. CUNNINGHAME GRAHAM, A Vanished Arcadia, Being Some Account of the Jesuits in Paraguay,
1607 to 1767, London, Heineman 1901.
17
«Me vivere, utique valetudine satis commoda et constanti; imo et vitam agere non laetam tantum, sed
deliciosam. Verbo: canere, psallere, ludere, imo et saltare, tripudiare [...] imo missionarium, dico
ego, et ideo missionarium quia cano, psallo, tripudio.» Letter of October 10, 1744 to Josef
Schumacher, S. J (Lucern), in RAINALD FISCHER, ed, P. Martin Schmid, SJ: Seine Briefe und
sein Wirken, Zug, Kalt-Zender-Druck 1988, p. 84 (author’s translation). On Martin Schmid, see
WERNER HOFFMANN, Vida y obra del Padre Martin Schmid, S. J. (1694-1772), Buenos Aires,
Fecic 1981 and ECKHART KÜHNE, ed., Martin Schmid, 1694-1772: Missionar-Musiker-Architekt,
Lucern, Historisches Museum Luzern 1994.
18
Gabriel’s oboe, in «The Mission», directed by ROLAND JOFFÉ, Warner Bros., 1986. Music by Ennio
Morricone.
19
JOSÉ MANUEL PERAMÁS, SJ , La República de Platón y los guaraníes, translation and notes by Juan
Cortés del Pino, prologue by Guillermo Furlong, Buenos Aires, Emecé 1946, pp. 20-21.
20
SILVIO ZAVALA, La utopía de Tomás Moro en la Nueva España, México, El Colegio Nacional 1950;
RAMÓN GUTIÉRREZ, Utopías religiosas y políticas en el urbanismo y la arquitectura
americanos, «summarios 100-101: Latinoamérica, utopías y mitos», 1986, págs 9-17. Peramás
also made reference to More (JOSÉ MANUEL PERAMÁS, La República de Platón y los guaraníes,
p. 52).
4
similarities and attempts to demonstrate a historical connection between the Jesuit
reductions and Campanella’s City of the Sun.21 Other writers, starting with Muratori in
the eighteenth century, have seen in the reducciones an attempt to return to the primitive
community of the early Christians; Lugon has twisted this idea to the left, assuring that
the Jesuits aimed at a strict Communist regime.22
The trend among later-twentieth-century writers has been to dismiss the Utopian
image as ethnocentric and politically incorrect, because it often leads to frozen, ahistorical conceptions, to images of savages enjoying perfect bliss under the wise
guidance of their Jesuit tutors, and to the neglect of Indian contributions, resistance, and
rebellions. Nevertheless, it is symptomatic that an influential book on the missions that
devotes several pages to argue against the idea of Utopia, was published in 1977 under
the fully Utopian title ‘City of God, City of the Sun’.23 It cannot be forgotten that, for
many European minds of the time, these villages were Utopia. In my own studies I have
shown that the musical compositions of Jesuits in Chiquitos betray a Utopian turn of
mind. 24 And the word keeps creeping up in the titles of recent works by serious
historians: Chiquitos: historia de una utopía; Missões: Uma utopia política; “La utopía
construida”; “Hacia la realización de la utopía”.25
The summary of the Utopian image of the missions offered by Lucía Gálvez
may serve as a standard formulation:
Light labor-load, made even lighter by music, daily existence embellished by
feasts, security reaffirmed once and again by rite, eradication of misery and
hunger, relative social equality: were [these objectives] ever attained at any other
time in the history of humanity?26
One essential ingredient of the formula is missing, however: ‘natural simplicity’,
repeatedly invoked from Peramás onward as a criticism of the artifice and unnecessary
complications of European urban life. The Jesuit Alfonso Sánchez, missionary in
neighboring Chaco, speaks thus of the Vilela Indians:
[The state of these people] makes us realize how much we have deviated from the
old simplicity of our nature, which has very few needs. They live content, healthy
and robust, and arrive at a ripe old age without ever being acquainted with silks,
gold, silver, or so many varieties of exquisite delicacies and many other things
that, because of the whim or refinement of our forebears, we now deem
necessary.
21
EBERHARD GOTHEIN, Lo stato cristiano-sociale dei gesuiti nel Paraguay, transl. G. Sanna; published
as an appendix to his «L'età della controriforma», Venice, La nuova Italia 1928. Originally
published in German: Die Gegenreformationstaat der Jesuiten in Paraguay, Leipzig, 1883.
22
LUDOVICO MURATORI, Il Cristianesimo felice nelle missioni de' padri della Compagnia di Gesú nel
Paraguai, 2 vols. Venice, Giambattista Pasquali 1752 (First edition Venice, 1743); CLOVIS
LUGON, La république communiste-chrétienne des guaranis (1610-1768), París, Les éditions
ouvrières 1949).
23
ALBERTO ARMANNI, Città di Dio e città del sole: Lo “Stato” gesuita dei Guarani (1609-1768), Roma,
Studium 1977. The discussion on Utopia may be found in the Introduction.
24
LEONARDO J. WAISMAN, Música misional y estructura ideológica en Chiquitos, «Revista Musical
Chilena» XLV, 1992, pp. 43-56.
25
ARNO ALVAREZ KERN, Missões: Uma utopia política, Porto Alegre, Mercado Aberto 1982; ALCIDES
PAREJAS y VIRGILIO SUÁREZ SALAS, Chiquitos: Historia de una utopía, Santa Cruz de la Sierra,
Cordecruz 1992; LUCIA GÁLVEZ, Guaraníes y Jesuitas: De la Tierra sin Mal al Paraíso, Buenos
Aires, Sudamericana 1995.
26
LUCIA GÁLVEZ, op.cit., p. 312
5
It is true that by means of these things we free ourselves from many and grave
nuisances, but, what does it matter, when in their place we have burdened
ourselves with the heaviest load of cares, even more distressful, and with vexing
and frequent illnesses from which they, on account of their simplicity, are free?
None of them knows the face of sorrow; even when they have nothing to eat, they
lie with the same quietude and peace as they would if they were sated. […] they
never have disputes to keep or to acquire the possession of anything, nor do they
need to draw boundaries or argue about limits to maintain their state—much less
to improve it.27
It was the Jesuits’ intention to preserve that state of simplicity and
wholesomeness, guiding and directing it according to ‘natural and universal’ law, as
represented in the Gospels. The combination of natural simplicity and rational guidance
actually brings Utopia very close to merging with Arcadia, although the connotations of
the two concepts never overlap completely.
The Missions of Chiquitos and Their Music
In the ten villages or reducciones founded and controlled by the Society of
Jesus between 1694 and 1767 in the forests and savannahs of Chiquitos many of the
Indian children were given musical instruction in special schools; the best among them
went on to constitute musical chapels whose forty or more voices and instruments
provided musical accompaniment to enhance masses and liturgical feasts. Instruments
of both European and native types were locally built, including organs. The repertoire
was partly imported from Europe, partly composed or arranged by Jesuits of the
Paraguay Province. The role of music in the life of the population went beyond that of
enhancing religious functions—it acted as a device for structuring time in a European
manner, a training device to prepare Indians for ‘civil’ life. Different musical sounds
punctuated the day, the week and the year, signaling occasions for labor, celebration,
mourning, sleep—almost every conceivable human activity.28 Music regulated the life
of Chiquitanos in a very concrete way and to a degree hard to imagine for us in the 21st
27
[El estado de estos indios] «nos hace conocer lo mucho que hemos desdicho de la antigua sencillez de
nuestra naturaleza, que necesita muy pocas cosas. Ellos viven contentos, sanos y robustos, y
llegan a una edad muy avanzada, sin conocer las sedas, el oro, plata, ni tantas especies diferentes
de manjares exquisitos y otras muchas cosas que por el capricho o delicadeza de nuestros
antepasados miramos ya nosotros como necesarias.
Es cierto que por medio de estas cosas nos libramos de muchas y graves molestias; pero, ¿qué
importa, si en lugar de ellas nos hemos cargado con una pesadísima carga de cuidados, todavía
más penosos, y con achaques molestísimos y tan frecuentes de que ellos, por su parsimonia y
sencillez, están exentos? Ninguno de ellos conoce la cara a los pesares, y aún cuando no tienen
qué comer, están echados con el mismo sosiego y paz que si estuvieran hartos. [... p. 62] no
tienen jamás pleitos para conservar y adquirir la posesión de ninguna cosa, ni es menester que
echen líneas ni discurran trazas para mantener el estado, mucho menos para mejorarlo». Quoted
in GUILLERMO FURLONG S. J., Entre los Vilelas de Salta, Buenos Aires, Academia literaria del
Plata 1939, pp. 61-62.
28
There is a general account of music in the Chiquitos missions in GERARDO V. HUSEBY, IRMA RUIZ, AND
LEONARDO WAISMAN, Un panorama de la música en Chiquitos”, in Pedro Querejazu, ed. «Las
misiones jesuíticas de Chiquitos», La Paz, Fundación BHN 1995, pp. 659-670. A shorter
English-language account will be found in LEONARDO J. WAISMAN, The challenge of mission
music at the turn of the twentieth century, «Music in Latin America and the Caribbean: An
Encyclopedic History», ed. Malena Kuss. Austin, University of Texas Press, 4 vols., 2004-
6
century—hence our interest to study the interaction between an Arcadian music and a
Utopian context.
The Chiquitos Musical Archive (AMCh) contains the remaining documents of
musical activity at the ancient Jesuit Missions of Chiquitos, as well as the later musical
tradition of the villages founded by the Jesuits. The Archive is presently located at the
Apostolic Vicariate in Concepción, Province of Ñuflo de Chávez, Department of Santa
Cruz, Bolivia. The original manuscripts come mainly from the villages of San Rafael
and Santa Ana; the archive includes as well reproductions of a few manuscripts
presently in Santiago de Chiquitos. A catalogue has been prepared by Bernardo Illari
and the present writer, and awaits publication.
The main nucleus of San Rafael papers—that which best reflects the Jesuits’
organization—is constituted by several bound partbooks29 dating from the Jesuit period.
The older sections in these collections were apparently written in the 1740s, as the result
of an attempt to organize the musical material accrued during the first ten years of
activity of Father Schmid, the foremost teacher and purveyor of Western music at the
Chiquitos Missions.30 This Swiss Jesuit composed a good many of the vocal pieces in
the Archive; others are by masters such as Giovanni Battista Bassano, Joseph Ignaz
Brentner, Bartolomé Massa, and Domenico Zipoli—although the vast majority are
transmitted anonymously.
Each volume contains parts from one of the five basic divisions of the repertory
(‘Responsos’, ‘Masses’, ‘Offertoria’, Vespers, instrumental music for ensemble). To
these must be added the volumes devoted to keyboard music. The internal order of all
part-books within one division is similar, though flexible. This scheme reveals an
organizational model that ignores aesthetic, technical or chronological criteria, and
responds only to the music’s liturgical functions, since the musical establishment’s
single reason for being was to perform during the various forms of public worship.31
‘Responsos’ part-books contain solemn music for voices and continuo, to be used
during Palm Sunday, Holy Week and similar feasts. ‘Mass’ collections include Marian
services (presumably for Saturdays) as well as ordinaries, generally for one or two
violins, voices and continuo. ‘Offertoria’ books provide a vast assortment of hymns,
motets, psalms, and Spanish- or Chiquitano-texted pieces; they seem to be assembled as
a repertory to be performed mainly during the mass offertory.
Instrumental ensemble music is represented mainly by ‘sonatas’, ‘conciertos’,
‘oberturas’ and ‘sinfonías’ (all four terms apparently being used interchangeably), as
well as ‘partidas’ (suites), pastorelas, and coupled march-minuet sets. Most of it is
scored for two violins and continuo, and arranged within the partbooks in several series
(which the cataloguers have designated by letters in brackets, from [A] to [H]).32 Since
instrumental music was not recopied after the expulsion of the Jesuits, some of the part29
That is, originally bound. The circumstances of transmission, and the work of recent paper restorers are
responsible for its current presentation as loose sheets and bifolia, organized by the cataloguers
into folders that preserve, as far as can be determined, the original grouping and order.
30
On Schmid as a musician, see Leonardo J. Waisman, Martin Schmid als Musiker, in ECKHART KÜHNE,
ed., «Martin Schmid, 1694-1772: Missionar-Musiker-Architekt», Lucern, Historisches Museum
Luzern 1994, pp. 155-64.
31
Other musical groups, generally ignored in musicological accounts, were functional for civic or
military duties and for informal entertainment.
32
Thus, for ezample, we shall be dealing with sonatas [A] 1 through [A] 4, found in partbooks R 87
(violin 1) and R 95 (continuo). The letter ‘R’ designates manuscripts from San Rafael.
7
books are highly deteriorated; others are lost entirely. Of the total of over one hundred
multi-movement works, only a few can be linked—as of today—to a composer, the rest
remaining anonymous: eight items are attributed in these manuscripts to Corelli (one of
which is not to be found in known European sources), three to Calandro and one each to
Locatelli, , Marcosi and Porretti; additionally, concordances have been found among the
works of Vivaldi, Jommelli, Ignazio Balbi and Giovanni Battista Sammartini (see Table
1). One of the liturgical functions of these works was that of accompanying the weekday spoken masses, but they were surely played on other occasions.
Table 1: Ensemble instrumental Sonatas, Sinfonias and Concerti in AMCh
Title
Sonata [A] I
Sonata [A] II
Sonata [A] III
Sonata [A] IV
Sonata [A] V Dulcinea
Sinfonía II Quixote [¿A-VI?]
Sonata Corelli [B] I
Sonata Corelli [B] II
Giga in d minor [Sonata Corelli B IV]
Sonata Corelli [B] V
Sonata Corelli [B] VI
Sonata Corelli [B] VII
Sonata Corelli [B] VIII
Sonata [C] I
Sonata [C] II Obertura – Trompa
Allegro trompa [Sonata movement in
D major]
Sonata [C] III Obertura
Author
[VIVALDI, Antonio] (concord.)
CORELLI, Arcangelo (Sonate a
violino … da Arcangelo Corelli e
altri autori, Amsterdam, Estienne
Rogier, 1697)
CORELLI, Arcangelo (without
concord)
[CORELLI, Arcangelo] (concord.
op2, II)
CORELLI, Arcangelo (op. 2, III)
CORELLI, Arcangelo (op. 2, IV)
CORELLI, Arcangelo (op. 2, VIII)
CORELLI, Arcangelo (op. 2, I)
Sonata [C] IV
Sonata [C] V
Sonata [C] VI Obertura
Sonata [C] VII
Sonata [C] VIII
Sonata [C] IX Pastorela
Sonata [C] X
[JOMMELLI, Niccolò] (concord.)
[BALBI, Ignazio] (concord.)
LOCATELLI, Pietro
Sonata [C] XI
Sonata [C] XII
Sonata [C] XIII
[SAMMARTINI, Giovan Battista]
(concord.)
Sonata [C] XIV
Sonata [C] XV
Sonata [C] XVI
Manuscripts
R87, R95
R87, R95
R87, R95
R87, R95
R87, R95
R87
R87, R95
Catal.
SO 01
SO 02
SO 03
SO 04
SO 05
SO 06
SO 07
R87, R95, R93
SO 08
R95
SO 09
R95
R95
R95
R95
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, R85, R84
SO 10
SO 11
SO 12
SO 13
SO 14
SO 15
SO 16
R82, R83, R84, R85,
Ap
R82, R83, R84, R85,
Ap
R82, R84, R85
R82, R83, R84, R85,
Ap
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, R84, R85,
Ap
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, R84, R85,
Ap
R82, R83, R84, R85
SO 17
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, Ap, R84,
R85
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, R84, R85
R82, R83, R84, R85
Sonata [C] XVII
Sonata [C] XVIII
Sonata [C] XIX
8
SO 18
SO 19
SO 20
SO 21
SO 22
SO 23
SO 24
SO 25
SO 26
SO 27
SO 28
SO 29
SO 30
SO 31
SO 32
SO 33
Title
Sonata [D] I
Sonata [D] II
Sonata [D] III
Sonata [D] IV
Sonata [D] V
Concierto [D] VI Trompa
Sonata [D] VII
Sonata [D] VIII
Sonata [D IX] Overtura
Concierto [D] X
Sonata [D] XI
Sonata [D] XII
Sonata
Concierto [F] II in C major
Concierto [F] III in G major
Concierto [F] IV in G major
Concierto [F] V in C major
Concierto [F] VI in D major
Sonata [E] I Milan
[Sonata in D major] [E]
Sonata [E] II [in D major]
Sonata [E III] [in D major]
Obertura [E] IIII [in G major]
Trío [E] V
Sinfonía [E] VI
Concierto Verde [H I]
Sonata Palatina in G major [H II]
major
Sonata[H] IV in D major
Sonata [H] V in La major
Concierto palatino [in F major] [H]
Concierto [H] [in F major]
Pastoreta Ichepe flauta
Sonata Marcosi
Sinfonía volante
Sinfonía [in D major]
[Concierto] XV
[Sonata in A minor]
Sonata [in D major]
Sonata obertura [in G major]
Sonata I obertura [in D major]
[Sonata movement in F major]
[Concierto in B flat major]
[Sinfonía in A major]
Concierto [G] 1
Concierto [G] 2
Sonata / Concierto [G] 3
Concierto [G] 4
Concierto [G] 6
Concierto [G] 7
Concierto [G] 8
Concierto [G] 9
Concierto [G] 11
Entrada famosa [in D major]
Author
CALANDRO, Nicola
JOMELLI,Nicolò
CALANDRO, Nicola
CALANDRO, Nicola
MILAN?
MARCOSI
[CORELLI, Arcangelo] (partial
concord.; see discussion of keyboard
works below))
[CORELLI, Arcangelo] (concord.)
PORETTI, Domingo
9
Manuscripts
R86
R94, R86, R86
R94, R86
R94, R86
R86
R94, R86
R94, R86
R94, R86
R94, R86
R86
R94, R86
R94, R86
R83, R86, R85
R91
R93, R91
R91
R91
R91
R90
R90
Ap, Rp, R90
R90
R90
R90
R90
R93, R95
R93, R95
R95
R95
R95
R93
R93
A01, R39, R40, R41,
R47
R87, R95
R87, R95
Catal.
SO 34
SO 35
SO 36
SO 37
SO 38
SO 39
SO 40
SO 41
SO 42
SO 43
SO 44
SO 45
SO 46
SO 47
SO 48
SO 49
SO 50
SO 51
SO 52
SO 53
SO 54
SO 55
SO 56
SO 57
SO 58
SO 59
SO 60
SO 61
SO 62
SO 63
SO 64
SO 65
SO 66
R87, R95
R93
R93
R89
R89
R93, R93
R93, R93
R88
R88
Rp
Rp
Rp
Rp
Rp
Rp
Rp
Rp
Rp
R94, R86
SO 69
SO 70
SO 71
SO 72
SO 73
SO 74
SO 75
SO 76
SO 77
SO 78
SO 79
SO 80
SO 81
SO 82
SO 83
SO 84
SO 85
SO 86
SO 87
SO 67
SO 68
Title
Sonata Epifanía [in D major]
Sonata Reyes [in D major]
[Sinfonía in D major]
Trío [in G major]
[Sinfonía in F major]
[Sinfonía in A major]
[Sonata in D major]
[Concierto in G major]
[Sinfonía in D major]
[Flute concerto in D major]]
[Sinfonía in G major]
[Sinfonía in D major]
Concierto Pizzicato [in La major]
Concierto de Moxos [in D major]
Pastorella II [in F major]
[Sinfonía in D major]
Concierto y sinfonía 1º. in C major
[Sinfonía in D major]
[Sinfonía in D major]
[Sinfonía in Mi bemol major]
[Sinfonía in G minor]
Adagio affetuoso [sonata movement in
G minor]
Author
Manuscripts
R86
R86
R86
R86
R86
R82, R83, R84
R82, R83, R84, Ap
R82, R83, R84
R82, R83, R84
R82, Ap, R83, R84
R82
R84
R83, R82, R84
R83, R84
Rp
Ap
Ap
Ap
Rp
Ap
Ap
Ap
Catal.
SO 88
SO 89
SO 90
SO 91
SO 92
SO 93
SO 94
SO 95
SO 96
SO 97
SO 98
SO 99
SO 100
SO 101
SO 102
SO 103
SO 104
SO 105
SO 106
SO 107
SO 108
SO 109
Keyboard music, preserved in several manuscripts apparently compiled by
Martin Schmid, includes, next to a great number of anonymous pieces (many of which
are probably his own), some works by Zipoli, Vivaldi and Marcosi (including a couple
of Zipoli unica), and a dozen sonata movements by Corelli or based on his
compositions. Some of these are arrangements of ensemble music, with which the
keyboard pieces surely shared many uses and functions.
Along the century after the Jesuits’ expulsion (1767), more works were inserted
into the old part-books, increasing the size and stylistic variety of the repertory, while
entire sections of them were recopied by Indian scribes, presumably to replace
deteriorated originals. All through the catastrophic events of the nineteenth century,
when the townships were dissolved and their social body nearly disintegrated by exile in
the rubber-producing northlands and slavery at the hands of cattle raisers at home, the
Chiquitano, tenaciously clinging to their heritage, kept performing and recopying the
Jesuit repertoire. Thus we owe the preservation of the archive to men like Tomás Poñés
in the late eighteenth century, Pablo Surubis, Ignacio Yaibona and Julián Arayuru in the
early nineteenth, Celedonio Tosubes and Fulgencio Putares in the 1880s. These
chapelmaster-scribes deserve all the credit in this enterprise—certainly more so than
some present-day musicologists who have gained international recognition for their socalled discovery of the archive.
Arcomelo in Utopia
The musical collections of Chiquitos incorporate Corelli’s presence in two ways:
on the one hand, as has been mentioned, a number of his compositions are copied into
the manuscripts; on the other, there are several pieces—presumably composed in
Paraguay—directly inspired on his style, his gestures, and his subjects. Although the
two categories partially overlap (the ‘genuine’ works have been subject to alteration,
10
and the imitations of style include direct quotations), we shall deal with them separately,
by means of two examples.
The keyboard versions of op. 5, numbers 7 and 8
Near the beginning of the keyboard collections R 7833 and R 80 (the second one
apparently being a clean copy of the first) we find eight movements so arranged as to
constitute two four-movement sonate da chiesa (see Table 2). In MS R78 some of the
movements have been assigned fancy titles.
Table 2: Corelli pieces in keyboard arrangements in the first pages
of MSS R 80 and R78
Catalogue
Te17a
Te17b
[Sonata
Te17c
1]
Te17d
[Sonata
2]
Te18
Te19
Te20
Te21
Movement
[I]
[II]
[III]
[IV]
Time
sign.
2/4
3/4
3/4
6/8
Title in
R80
Sinfonia
Alegre
Grave
Giga
Title in
R78
Pitipie
[untitled]
Quitasol
[untitled]
Corelli
no concordances
op. 5/7, corrente
no concordance
op 5/8, Giga,
[I]
[II]
[III]
[IV]
2/4
C
3/4
6/8
[untitled]
Preludio
Adagio
Giga
Endechas
[deest]
Suspiros
[untitled]
op. 5/7, Preludio
no concordance
op 5/7, Sarabanda
op. 5/7, Giga
Commentary
several changes
transposed with
many changes
few changes
almost no change
Only changed to fill
in the harmony
The structure of the second ‘sonata’ is a bit irregular for the Corellian canon, but
the texts of the borrowed movements are remarkably close to their European models.
The major alteration, the substitution of a toccata-like prelude for the second movement,
was necessary because the original piece had already been used in the previous 'sonata'.
This first work is more interesting: it combines two movements presumably composed
ad hoc in a Corellian idiom with two others drawn from as many sonatas by the Fusignano
master and substantially modified. The musical changes include:
a) the removal or modification of all passages going above b’’ or below G,
b) the elimination of direct chromaticism (but also the addition of accidentals),
c) in the bass line, the reduction to half- and quarter-notes of all rhythms which
were not of the utmost simplicity (dotted figures, off-beat accents),
d) in the right hand, the removal of virtuoso elements (quick, showy triplets)
and the softening of melodic curves by means of the transformation of wide
skips into narrow ones, and small skips into stepwise motion, and
e) a tendency to stop melodic flow more frequently, separating it into phrases
by means of short rests (thus subverting the perpetuum mobile of the Giga)
The curtailment of the range strongly suggests that a version for instrumental
ensemble of this piece was prepared especially for the missions,34 and served as the
basis for the keyboard reduction. Indeed, that intermediary version may be found in the
violin and basso continuo partbooks R 87 and R 95, 35 and the few variant readings
between it and the keyboard version reaffirm its midway position (those of the second
movement are noted in Example 1).
33
R 79 in early versions of the archive’s catalogue.
The reasoning behind this statement is developed in the Spanish version of this paper, cited in note 1.
35
“Sinfonia volante”, cat. SO 68.
34
11
Many of the above-mentioned changes may have been designed to facilitate
execution. But the suppression of entire passages fundamentally alters aspects of the
physiognomy of some movements; these modifications must have had their origin not
only in an adaptation to the abilities of the performers, but also in a different sensibility.
Example 1 presents my view of these changes: it is a rather heterodox examination of
the Corrente in the first ‘sonata’, based on Leonard Meyer’s techniques for melodic
analysis 36 (lines 1, 2, 3 and 5) and on Schenkerian procedures for harmonic- tonal
aspects (lines 4 and 6).
36
LEONARD B. MEYER, Explaining Music: Essays and Explorations, Berkeley and Los Angeles,
University of California Press 1973. Meyer's system of analysis works best for the classical and
romantic repertories to which the author generally applied it. The abundance of sequences and
additive construction of Corelli’s compositions sometimes poses problems that the method cannot
deal with; this is why our application occasionally departs from Meyerian orthodoxy (insofar as
that concept may be said to exist).
12
13
14
15
First part
Keyboard version. Lines 1 and 2 show how, at surface levels, the initial measures of the
Corrente set up an implication which is insufficiently realized.37 In line 2, the small gaps d’-f’ and e’-g’
are immediately filled, and the ensuing f’-a’ is completed as a triad, ascending to d’’. But the major sixth
e’-c#’’ is treated as a third, ascending to d’’ (unsatisfactory realization). In line 1, the filling of the gap d’f’, at the metric level of a measure, is begun with e’ but ends on high d’’: the realization is unsatisfactory
not only because of the abrupt change of register, but also due to the accelerando of the two resolving
notes (we’d expect each one at the time-interval of one measure).
Line 3 marks the gap created by this pseudo-realization. The new configuration has multiple
implications: the interval d’-f’ functions as a triad that tends towards a’ (its resolution is differed until m.
8, or perhaps m. 21, as shown in line 3b. But the forceful octave leap d’-d’’ also sets up a powerful gap,
which may be considered the generating impulse for the many descending lines that turn up as the piece
evolves, culminating in the unrelenting descent from the summit of a’’ to ground zero (d’) on mm. 44-59.
In the short run, this octave-leap provides the drive for a less vigorous descending scale, gliding down
from the point of deflection, f’’, to its lower octave. Its arrival there coincides with a cadence on F major,
the relative major of the principal key. The descent is temporarily suspended during mm. 8-10, which
may be viewed as a prolongation of a’ (see the harmony) and is again taken up on m. 11, with the a’
functioning as a suspension. At surface levels the downslide is reinforced by small descending eighthnote cells that accelerate their fall on m. 9 (see line 2 ). At that point, we may choose to hear a rebound on
e’ that leads to a final repose on f’, or a veritable plunge, partly camouflaged by octave skips (line 2a ).
The harmonic base during this period is straightforward (line 4 ): after asserting the tonic, it moves to the
relative major, confirmed by means of a cadence on mm. 8-12. Melodic analysis has been continued only
at level 3. The a’’ in m. 12 initiates a changing-note figure, followed by an axial structure on its lower
octave. The octave changes are meaningful: firstly, the a’’ of m. 12 can be understood as a realization of
the implications of the d’’-f’’ of m. 3 and the e’-c#’’ of m 3 (none of which, as we have mentioned, had
been properly satisfied); secondly, the playful use of high g#’’ and a’’ prolong the latter pitch, which must
be understood as the point of arrival of the first part of the movement. The conduct of the bass is as
simple as in the preceding section: a series of descending fourths (ascending seconds at the next higher
level) manage the transition between F and A (the dominant), the prolongation of which occupies the
reminder of the first part of the dance.
Chrysander version (line 5). The structure of the initial measures is identical to that of the
keyboard version—indeed, the music is the same, with the addition of octave-leaps in mm. 4-7 that
obscure our perception of the structure (subordinate melody 5a and bass-line, where the thirds d’-b and
c’-a are answered by the sixths c-a and A-f). But the melodic descent is stalled on the a’ of m. 8, which
can hardly be regarded as an appropriate, stable goal. We could conceive of the descending line of the
bass voice from m. 10 on as a continuation of that descent, but the bass itself stops on low A, two octaves
below. The note we have been waiting for, f’, appears only at the end of the subsection (m. 18), and it is
hidden within a chord. Moreover, it is reached by devious means: simultaneously with the continuo’s
slide downward, the violin diddles in a changing-note melody around f’’, eventually complemented by an
ascending structure (octave displacement included): c’’- d’’- e’ – f’. The missing g’, the structural note
that would provide reasonable continuity for the long-term descent f’’-f’ is perhaps replaced by its insistent
repercussion in the higher octave on mm. 11-13. Harmonically, this version is more complex, the whole
process from m. 10 onwards being supported by a prolongation of the dominant of the relative major (line
37
The term ‘provisional realization’ used by Meyer seems inadequate in this context: the d’’ that functions as putative
resolution appears so abruptly that we perceive it as tension rather than relaxation.
16
6 ). The structure of the remainder of the first part does not differ significantly from that of the keyboard
version.
Second part
In the keyboard sonata, the first subsection (to the cadence on m. 39) corresponds to a series of
linear melodic structures pointing now to a’’, now to f’’ in placid alternation. In the second subsection,
one last ascent to a’’ leads directly to the aforementioned free fall to the final d’. In Chrysander’s edition,
the first subsection likewise begins with a descent from a’’ to f’’, but then becomes bi-polar: from m. 41
to m. 60 (i. e., overlapping the central cadence) it highlights the contrast between f’’ and c’’’, in a process
full of energy and agitation. At the climax of this psychological crescendo (m. 46), we hear in the
continuo a double linear process leading to c and c’ (see 6 )—once again, emphasis on the dominant of
the relative major. Finally, m. 61 initiates the closing descent leading to d’. The differences in detail
between the closing downslides of two versions are enlightening: both begin with 2 voices in parallel
descending structures (fourths and sixths, respectively),38 but, while in the keyboard version one voice
(3b ) reaches its goal on m. 55 and another (3a ), after a two-measure parenthesis, on m. 59, Corelli’s
‘original’ score maintains the tension longer and resolves it more irregularly. The upper voice hangs
suspended on g’ in m. 70; to find a stable solution we are forced to transgress Meyer’s norms and
consider the eight-note f’ and dotted quarter e’ in m. 72 each as equivalent to the full measure taken up by
the preceding pitches of the structural line.39 As for the lower part (5a ), it halts on m. 71. We might
conduct the mental exercise of continuing it downwards in the remaining measures at the same rate it was
going (one note to a measure). This imaginary complement comes out rather close to our aural perception,
since it coincides with some of the notes actually present in the melody, and goes well with the
harmonies. It is as if the kinetic energy of the plunge were too much to be arrested, and the melody burst
down through the floor that attempted to contain its fall.
These observations make it clear that the difference between Chrysander’s score and that of the
Chiquitos source does not reside mainly in greater or lesser requirements of the performers’ proficiency.
The changes introduced by the Chiquitos arranger, in eliminating the ambiguity of some melodic
resolutions and the emphasis on the dominant of the relative major, seem geared to strip down the
melodic and harmonic complexity of the European text. In removing the climax of m. 45, he has also
softened the tension curve of the movement. All these moves are congruent with (although not dependent
upon) the technical facilitation already commented upon. We may summarize the effects of the changes
as tempering, rounding off edges, simplifying and avoiding displays of technique or wit.
The ‘corellizing’ Trio Sonata Number 2
The first four sonatas in series [A], built on the da chiesa four-movement mold, are related to
Corelli in a different way. They imitate his style, use a number of Corellian subjects, and have some
movements directly based on Corelli’s, although none is a straight copy. The first two of these sonatas are
also found in keyboard versions 40 —a fortunate circumstance that has allowed us to attempt a
reconstruction of the missing second-violin part. We shall briefly examine the second of them.
38
Due to the arpeggiando character of the passage, a third voice might be discerned in both versions.
Meyer insists on the principle that realizations must have equal on longer duration than implications. Of course, if we
consider their prolongations, the f’ and e’’ involved last a quarter- and a half-note respectively, but they still seem
shorter than the pitches in their implicative structural line.
40
Catalogue numbers TE 114 and TE 115, in MSS R78 and R 80.
39
17
18
19
20
21
22
The first movement is not based on any particular Corellian piece, but faithfully
reproduces the master’s gestures and structural planning. An almost random choice
among the initial movements of his church sonatas, that of Opus 3 Number 8, gives us
the following comparative table. Beyond the obvious parallelism, we should notice that,
as in the keyboard corrente previously analyzed, the Corelli passages without parallels
in the Chiquitos score have to do with emphasis on dominants—that of the main key
and that of its relative minor.
Table 3: Comparison between the 1st Movement of Sonata [A]2
and a Corellian model
[A]2, I
Op. 3/8, I
(continued)
initial
figure
q . xx
initial
figure
q . xx
cadence on descending chain of linked
I (m. 6)
suspensions, using the inicial
motive(mm. 6-10)
cadence on descending chain of linked
I (m. 3)
suspensions, using the inicial
motive (mm. 4-7)
[A]2, I
Op.
3/8, I
ascending
chain of
suspensions,
cadence on
V/vi (mm. 1112)
cadence on vi
(m. 12)
cadence on V; new chain,
similar to preceding (mm.
8-10)
cadence on vi
(m. 10)
return to I
without
modulation,
cadence on V
(mm. 12-16)
in the next
process, use of
the upbeat
motive
and ending
on
halt on
the V
degree
(m. 20)
cadential process with
linked descending
suspensions, preceded by
return to I
without
modulation,
halt on the V
degree (mm.
12-14)
in the previous
process, use of
the upbeat
motive
and ending
on
halt on
the V
degree
(m. 14)
cadential process with
linked descending
suspensions, preceded by
The second movement turns out to be a re-elaboration of the Allegro of Corelli’s
solo sonata Opus 5 Number 4. Some changes are obviously due to the change of
medium and performers: the AMCh version avoids notes beyond the customary
compass of this repertoire, replaces as usual the C signature with 2/4, and eschews
bravura passages, double and triple stops, and bold violinistic leaps. It relegates the
violone to a strictly accompanimental role, expunging the sixteenth-note passages
through which Corelli had provided for him some moments under the limelight.41 But it
goes far beyond this: it is a true re-composition that uses the original materials and
frame to produce something that is markedly different.
41
I leave for another occasion the interpretation of this limitation of the bass part, which implies a vision
different from that of the polite conversation between gentlemen in the halls of elegant
Accademie. As far as I know, the trio sonata has not been studied from this angle, as ERNST
MEYER has done with Elizabethan Chamber Music (London, 1946) or THEODOR W. ADORNO
with the classic-romantic string quartet in Kammermusik, «Einleitung in die Musiksoziologie»,
Reinbek bei Hamburg, Rowohlt 1968).
23
Table 4: Comparison between the 2nd Movement of Sonata [A]2
and its Corellian model
A
11
Exp.
F
Op.
5/4, II 4 x theme (miniepisode between 2
and 3)å Cad. C
18
Exp. F
[A]2,
3 x themeå Cad F
II
+ desc. scaleså
Cad. C
(continued)
Op.
Fig. α+ β’
5/4, II Prog. F g å Cad g
F
[A]2,
II
36
B
19 C
27 D
32
E
42
Exp. F
Exp.
F
Fig. α
Fig. β
Fig. β in bass
2 x theme
1 x theme + Prog on
Prog. Bb C å Cad. d Prog. G F + å å F
å 2 x Cad F
tail of subject
Cad C
å Cad C
26
40
Exp. F
Fig. δ solos in echo,
3 x theme*
counterpoint with head
leads to å
of subject
F C å Cad. d
47
Fig. γ + β’ in bass
Prog. g F
53
61
G
60
cadencial
adagio
Exp. F 2 x theme (inverted order) +
6
chain of 7ths on subject tail å V/F 42
54
58
78
82
Exp. F 2 x theme (inverted order) + chain
cadencial adagio
Fig. α in short echos
Fig. γ in parallel 3rds
of 7ths on subject tail + desc scales åV/F
identical to Op.
Prog. d G C F Bb (as IV/F) as ascending line
5/4, II
F
Key:
The top line indicates the measure on which the section concludes
Exp. = exposition
4x theme = four presentations of the subject
Fig.= characteristic figuration of a non-expositional passage
α= neighbor-note alternating with skip
β= 3-note arpeggio – β’= 2-note ‘arpeggio’
γ= grupetto
δ= mixed
Prog= progression. The designated chords do not necessarily imply modulation.
Cad.= cadence on …
* Note: The number of three presentations of the theme in the second part of the double exposition in
Chiquitos depends on the exactness of my reconstruction of the second violin part. The other
figures are independent of my intervention.
As Table 4 shows, the new version preserves the fugal subjects and most of the
motivic cells used for continuations or episodes (here labeled α, β, and γ). It also retains
basic aspects of the structural framework: the initial double exposition followed by a
modulation to the VI degree, and a final exposition that inverts the order of dux and
comes and is interrupted by a fermata or quasi-fermata followed by a cadencial adagio.
Noteworthy is the substitution of the third-inversion chord prior to this last phrase by a
simple dominant triad, much less charged with tension. Other modifications include the
omission of the central expository section and the reconfiguration of the ‘episodes’ so as
to reduce their number and to avoid the cadence on the ii degree.
In the interests of brevity, we shall omit analysis of the third movement (related
to the last movement of Corelli’s seventh Concerto), and comment only briefly on some
particulars of the last one. Here our arranger has taken as point of departure the final
movement of Opus 3 Number 1, a rather contrapuntal piece with fairly complex
rhythms and melodies (for example mm. 12-16 in the second violin part). The
Chiquitano version, although longer and less conjunct than the original, eliminates these
intellectual subtleties. ‘If Corelli has become academic and learned’—our arranger
24
might have said—’I will make the music more popular and more easily accessible’.
Thus he thins out the polyphonic fabric, marks articulations between sections more
clearly, and inserts a number of passages with quick, quasi-mechanical figuration over
the simplest harmonies. We might view these changes as a stripping away of the
pretension of erudition and of the sin of intellectual pride.
What happens when Arcadia meets Utopia?
Arcadian music should have fit Utopian society like a glove. No other place on
earth was likely to approach more closely the state of carefree shepherds enjoying a
natural life and devoting their time to cultivation of the arts. This is what contemporary
texts coming from both fields would have led us to expect. What happened, instead, was
that Arcadian music was subjected to a radical metamorphosis by those who knew
Indian players and audiences.
First, the integrity of each sonata cycle, singled out by La Via as an essential
quality of Corelli’s works, was violated. The would-be organisms were dismembered,
and the scattered limbs recombined among them and with different odds and ends to
configure new synthetic bodies. Then many of the members were christened with
nicknames that contradict both their putatively modern status of ‘pure music’ and their
Baroque symbolism as pure passions—the former because of their referential content,
the latter because we cannot coordinate the concrete musical procedures and the titles
assigned to them with the European Affektenlehre. 42 With these moves, we are
discouraged to listen structurally and encouraged to perceive, not works, but texts.
Within each movement, the metamorphosis involves changes that, besides
facilitating performance, adapt the music to a sensibility more poised, more serene than
that of the original composer. It would seem that the arranger/composer knew his
Mattheson better than Corelli the Arcadian: pastoral music must be artig (gentle, docile,
graceful), not prächtig (brilliant, grand, magnificent).43 In suppressing entire passages,
he denounces them as unessential; in stripping away artifice, he exposes its pretense; in
softening tensions, he accuses the composer of excess. The new version subverts the
entire Arcadian classicist construction—what seemed necessary appears as accessory,
the supplements infiltrate the object.
But this was not enough, because the story does not end here—or rather because
it does. The culture of the missions stayed alive in Chiquitos for many years after the
expulsion of the Jesuits; indeed, as I have mentioned, it still constitutes an important
part of present-day Chiquitano culture. But the sonatas of Corelli were soon forgotten as
sound. The attempt to transmute them into music suitable for Utopia was conditioned by
the vision of the Jesuit fathers, who indeed thought them ‘grave, modest, tempered,
inducing the soul towards piety and chastity’. 44 But this vision was apparently not
shared by their neophytes. The Indians, who treasured the Jesuit legacy, kept the
manuscript scores for two centuries, but did not integrate this music into their culture. In
contrast to much of the vocal music, copied again and again by native scribes to
42
Perhaps the most incongruous example is the Gavotte in A major from Opus 5 N° 9, dubbed
“Lágrimas” (=Tears), notwithstanding its bouncy melody, moderate-to quick tempo, major mode
and active bass-line.
43
Cfr. JOHANN MATTHESON, Der volkommene Kapellmeister, Hamburg, Christian Herold 1939, p. 219.
44
Cfr. JOSÉ MANUEL PERAMÁS, De vita et moribus tredecim virorum paraguaicorum, Faenza,
Typographia Archii 1793, p. 432: “Verum haec dicta sunto de Musica (qualis erat Schmidi)
gravi, modesta, temperata, pieque & caste in animos influente”.
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compensate for the wear and tear of constant use, the sonatas were never recopied—
what we have is only the original Jesuit documents, lovingly preserved by them along
the years. It seems that they fell out of the played repertoire fairly early on; they
certainly left no observable residue in the present-day musical practices of Chiquitanos,
Guaranís, or Mojeños, which do include a number of the Jesuit vocal pieces.
Europe made Corelli the unexcelled prototype of Arcadian music and used him
as a model to be imitated by epigones or challenged by reformers; in two words, it
turned him into a cultural paradigm. Paraguay first dispersed his authorial voice, and
then consigned him to its museum of cultural symbols as a voiceless object from a
revered past.
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