Although the wisest masters of this art always make their pupils study Corelli’s music in order to make it their model in the imitation of nature, yet, as soon as they have mastered the ability to compose, the latter quickly abandon this golden mean of Corelli’s, and not only do they indulge in constantly reproducing the most childlike and strident high notes of their instrument, but they also abandon the imitation of the human voice and give themselves over to the imitation of birds, dogs and other animals. And then they call it “bravura!”
—Vincenzo Martinelli, Lettere familiari e critiche, London: John Nourse, 1758
Many Italian composers—Vivaldi and Rossini, for instance—took pride in being able to compose extraordinarily fast. They considered this ability to be proof of their virtuosismo, their total mastery of the metier. Not so Arcangelo Corelli (1653-1713). Born in Fusignano and educated in Bologna—hence his nickname “il Bolognese”—this violinist and composer was a perfectionist who kept endlessly polishing his works. Not surprisingly then, his oeuvre is relatively small: apart from ten isolated compositions (such as the Trumpet Sonata for trumpet and strings), we possess of him only four collections of twelve trio sonatas each (Opp. 1-4), plus twelve sonatas for violin and bass (Op. 5) and twelve Concerti grossi, Op. 6, for strings and basso continuo. However, there are more than 100 works that are still under investigation as to whether they could possibly have been composed by Corelli, although in many cases this is unlikely.
It is fair to say, that Corelli’s influence was inversely proportional to the number of his compositions: until well into the 18th century, he was recognised throughout Europe as the composer who had set the highest standards in the field of instrumental music. The violin sonatas, Op. 5, in particular were seen as never surpassed paragons of good taste and formal mastery. For this reason, English noblemen had themselves immortalised holding music by Corelli in their hands, like the young Marquess of Monthermer, John Montagu, who was portrayed by the painter Pompeo Batoni in 1764. A convincing proof of good taste: after all, there is no room for any display of vain virtuosity or cheap effects in Corelli’s aristocratic music. None other than Johann Sebastian Bach expressed his admiration for the older Italian master by basing his Fugue in B minor BWV 579 on the main theme of the second movement from Corelli’s Trio sonata in B minor, Op. 3 no. 4.
Corelli’s social background was unusual for a professional musician of the time: he came from an old and wealthy family of landowners. Although the love of music was fairly common among the Italian upper classes, earning a living from it was ‘not done,’ as they say. The Venetian nobleman and composer Benedetto Marcello, for instance, always made sure that his name on the title page of a composition was accompanied by additions such as “nobile Veneto” (Venetian nobleman) or “dilettante di contrappunto” (amateur composer) so as not to be confused with a simple professional musician. Incidentally, the Dutch amateur composer Count Unico Wilhelm van Wassenaer went even further in this respect: he allowed his six Concerti armonici to be printed on the express condition that his name would not appear on the title page! Even as a violinist, Corelli could afford to be fussier than his colleagues. If someone in the audience kept talking after he had already started playing, he would immediately lower his violin until the room had become completely silent. If the talking continued, Corelli would refuse to play at all. Such a self-conscious attitude was unheard of among musicians.
With whom Corelli studied in Bologna can no longer be determined. From 1675 onwards, we find him in Rome. Here he participated in numerous musical performances in churches and entered the service of Christina, the highly gifted Swedish queen who had abdicated her throne in 1654 and had settled in Rome after her conversion to the Roman Catholic faith. To her Corelli dedicated his Op. 1, published in Rome in 1681. Soon, the most important cardinals living in Rome also cast themselves as his patrons, including Pietro Ottoboni, whose love of music was surpassed only by his passion for female beauty (one contemporary claimed he was the father of at least sixty or seventy bastards). Corelli dedicated his Op. 4, published in 1694, to the then only 27-year-old cardinal. After Corelli’s death, Ottoboni had his body embalmed at his own expense and placed in a marble tomb in the Santa Maria della Rotonda—the Pantheon. The burial inscription, which can still be seen in the Pantheon, states that Corelli was not only a renowned violinist and composer, but also an intimate friend of the cardinal. In his will, Corelli stipulated that Ottoboni could choose for himself a painting from Corelli’s art collection. He left his violins and his manuscripts to violinist Matteo Fornari, his loyal colleague and friend. Tradition has it that one of Corelli’s violins was built by Stradivarius, but this is impossible to verify as the instrument’s whereabouts after 1815 are unknown.
Corelli was recognised already as a model composer during his lifetime and described by great colleagues as the “Orpheus of our time.” All over Europe, his name was glorified by poets, such as the Rotterdam poet Dirk Smits (1702-1752):
“I hear Corelli’s tone
And divine notes.
This is a banquet for Gods.”
Until well after his death, Corelli’s music was considered ‘classical’: the violin sonatas, Op. 5, were reissued at least 50 times during the 18th century, an absolute record in those days. The twelfth and last work in this collection is not actually a sonata, but a series of variations on Follia (literally: ‘madness’), a popular chord progression of Portuguese or Spanish origin, which was used as a basis for variations as early as the 16th century. What Corelli does with it is almost miraculous: to avoid monotony, he uses the most diverse playing techniques, harmonic turns, contrapuntal tricks, time signatures and ways in which the violin and the basso continuo part relate to each other (primacy of the upper or lower voice). In this way, Corelli manages to accommodate highly contrasting moods—from the deepest melancholy (variation 14, ‘Adagio’) to the most raging frenzy (the last two fast variations)—in one variation cycle. Vivaldi, who was inspired by Corelli’s Follia to create his own Follia cycle (Op. 1 no. 12), would surpass his older colleague in rousing virtuosity, but not in refinement and ingenuity. Corelli’s pupil Francesco Geminiani made an arrangement for string orchestra of all 12 sonatas from Op. 5, published in two parts in 1726 and 1729. As recently as 1931, Russian composer Sergey Rakhmaninov gave his last piano work, consisting of twenty variations on Follia, the strictly speaking incorrect title Variations on a Theme by Corelli (Op. 42).
For the publication of his last opus, the twelve Concerti grossi, Op. 6, Corelli no longer chose a publisher in Rome, as he had done in the case of his earlier opera, but instead opted for the famous Amsterdam publisher Estienne Roger, a Huguenot who had published Vivaldi’s L’estro armonico, Op. 3 among other works a few years earlier. Corelli would not live to see that edition himself, as he died unexpectedly on the 8th of January, 1713, whereas the first proof copies of the edition were not sent from Amsterdam to Rome until late August, 1713. The most famous concerto in this collection is the eighth, which was written for performance on Christmas night (Fatto per la notte di Natale). It could be the Christmas concerto that Corelli had already composed for Cardinal Ottoboni in 1690, but there is no certainty about this. What is certain is that it is a work that you will never forget after having listened to it, thanks to its deeply expressive harmonies, the majestic dialogues between the concertino (two violins and cello) and the concerto grosso (four-voice string ensemble plus basso continuo), and the angelic serenity of the last movement, a slow Pastorale.
Recommended recordings
Several good recordings of the Concerti grossi, Op. 6 are available. The performance by The English Concert, conducted by Trevor Pinnock from behind the harpsichord and recorded in 1988, is still very convincing (Archiv). Less perfect in playing technique but freer and more imaginative musically is the live recording by the baroque ensemble Gli Incogniti, led by baroque violinist Amandine Beyer (Outhere). Excitingly, Beyer has also recorded two rarely played works: the Sonata a quattro in G minor WoO 2 and the Sinfonia in D minor WoO 1 (WoO = Werk ohne Opuszahl, work without an opus number) that Corelli composed as an overture to the oratorio Santa Beatrice d’Este by his friend, the cellist and composer Giovanni Lorenzo Lulier (c. 1662-1700). This oratorio is known to have been performed at Palazzo Pamphili on the 31st of March, 1689, by no fewer than 80 musicians! My favourite recording of the violin sonatas, Op. 5, is the one made by baroque violinist Monica Huggett with her own Trio Sonnerie and Nigel North (Virgin Classics). Enrico Gatti made a fine recording of the trio sonatas, Op. 3, with Ensemble Aurora (Arcana). With the same Baroque ensemble, Gatti also recorded no fewer than sixteen violin sonatas attributed to Corelli in ancient sources. Twelve of them are known as the Assisi Sonatas, so named after their location, a monastic library in Assisi. They are all short three-movement chamber sonatas for violin and cello that have survived in a copy made in 1748 and for a long time were not considered authentic, but they are now seen as fruits of Corelli’s years of study in Bologna (Glossa).
