Book Reviews 505

included an unfavorable comparison Although the Pro Arte Quartet, in

with the Emerson Quartet (p. 227).
One might conclude that the Pro Arte
of today should rather be judged
against other local Madison quartets
(Ancora Quartet, Rhapsody Quartet).
And what does it mean that the Pro
Arte website (https://proartequartet
.org [accessed 15 September 2018])
has not been updated since 2016, and
its current schedule is posted on the
university website only?
Barker does not hesitate to put the
blame for the quartet’s apparent irrele-
vance on his employer: “The University
of Wisconsin established the model
for quartet residencies in the United
States, but . . . at most of these [other]
institutions, quartets are given the free-
dom to tour and concertize nationally
and internationally, with only limited
or token stops at their ‘home’ cam-
puses for teaching purposes. . . . Aca-
demic patronage . . . proved to be the
salvation of the [Quatuor Pro Arte] at a
critical point in their history. By now,
however, the connection has turned
into a serious burden” (p. 244).
whichever form, has survived longer
than any other notable formation of
its kind, Barker is not very optimistic
about its future. He muses on the
“heavy discrimination against educa-
tional institutions” under the current
Wisconsin administration (p. 242) and
the increasing indifference toward
classical music in a society “dominated
by the vast nihilism of commercial
mass culture,” citing recently published
histories of the University of
Wisconsin–Madison that mention the
Pro Arte Quartet either in a cursory
manner or not at all (p. 245).
While Barker’s account of the Pro
Arte’s American years is peerless, those
interested in its European years are
better served by Van Malderen’s disser-
tation. Finally, a caveat: if you want to
read Barker’s book, make sure you get
hold of its second printing (dated
2018). The publisher has withdrawn
the error-strewn first printing.
Albrecht Gaub
Milwaukee, Wisconsin

MUSIC IN TIME AND PLACE

Reforming Music: Music and the Religious Reformations of the Sixteenth

Century. By Chiara Bertoglio. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2017. [xxxv, 836 p.
ISBN 9783110518054 (hardcover); ISBN 9783110519334 (e-book); ISBN
9783110520811 (pdf ); all formats, $103.99.] Glossary, bibliography, indexes of
names and subjects.

This is a big book: nearly 700 pages
of text, and another 170 of preliminar-
ies, bibliographies, and indexes. The
work is ostensibly an “introduction to
the topic” (p. xxv), but at this size it is a
very ample one. It is also in many ways a
great book, more complete and up to
date than earlier comparable works,
such as Friedrich Blume’s Geschichte
der evangelischen Kirchenmusik (Kassel:
Bärenreiter, 1965; English translation
as Protestant Church Music: A History
[New York: W. W. Norton, 1974]) or
Karl Gustav Fellerer’s two-volume his-
tory of Roman Catholic church music,
Geschichte der katholischen Kirchenmusik
(Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1972–76).
It is difficult to know where to begin
in praising this book, so broad and
yet full of fascinating detail. Chiara
Bertoglio makes some excellent gen-
eral points—for example, her plea for a
broader and nonteleological view of
music history that does not privilege art
music or ignore apparently insignifi-
cant genres (p. 50). Her coverage of
506
the medieval debates over church mu-
sic provides valuable background to
the sixteenth-century disputes. Further-
more, Bertoglio asks pertinent ques-
tions about the way in which the unrep-
resentative nature of the extant sources
influences our perceptions:
Moreover, all complaints and specula-
tions discussed below come from reli-
gious men, and none emanates from ei-
ther women or people coming from
lower social classes (i.e. people who were
neither clergy nor educated laity). What
if the “secular” and “lascivious” elements
or tunes were actually the expression of
the genuine piety of women and unedu-
cated laypeople? (p. 103).
Accordingly, the final chapter deals in
detail with music and women’s experi-
ence. Bertoglio thus works from a
more inclusive perspective, one that
has become increasingly important in
Reformation studies in general (one
might mention Elsie McKee’s work on
Katharina Zell or Peter Matheson’s
studies of Argula von Grumbach) and
in the study of Reformation music in
particular (as witnessed by fine studies
by Linda Phyllis Austern, Linda Maria
Koldau, and others).
Although much of the work is based
on secondary literature, some sections,
such as the consideration of a well-
known letter by Bernardino Cirillo
(pp. 155–63), submit familiar texts to a
careful rereading. I do not mean this as
a criticism: just such a synthetic, ency-
clopedic digest of the burgeoning sec-
ondary literature on the music of the
Reformations is very welcome.
The work is divided into numbered
chapters, subchapters, and sub-
subchapters. This careful articulation
helps readers find their way around a
big book. It also reveals, however, how
the material could have been re-
arranged in other—perhaps more eco-
nomical and convenient—ways. For ex-
ample, topics are frequently introduced
briefly in one chapter and then ex-
Notes, March 2019
panded in those that follow. This recur-
sive approach assists the narrative, but
it also means that a reader who wants to
know about, say, Lutheran music, must
search in several chapters to gain an
overview.
The structure of the work is as fol-
lows: chapter 1 sketches the theological
and ecclesiological issues that defined
the Reformations of the sixteenth
century, humanism and issues of textu-
ality, “humanistic” musical forms such
as madrigal and opera, and social issues
such as mobility. Chapter 2 describes
the back-and-forth between humanists
and musicians, both those who were
positive about music and those who
were critical of the religious music of
their day, such as Desiderius Erasmus.
It also deals with the constant conflict
between ethical and aesthetic justifica-
tions for music. Chapter 3 covers the
various styles of sacred music in the
sixteenth century (plainchant and
polyphony) and the complaints of
those who criticized musical “vices”
such as an excessively melismatic style
of singing. Chapter 4 deals with the atti-
tudes of various individuals towards the
need to reform music. Bertoglio sees
both differences and similarities across
confessional divides. Theologians of
various confessional identities agreed
that music aids divine worship, induces
joy, and drives out demons. The au-
thor, however, also identifies distinctive
positions taken by the various reform-
ers: Martin Luther, Ulrich Zwingli,
Martin Bucer, Jean Calvin, and a range
of Anglican and Catholic writers.
Chapter 5 deals with Luther, Stras-
bourg, and the Bohemian Brethren;
chapter 6 with Calvinist music; and
chapter 7 with the music of the English
Reformation. Chapters 8 and 9 turn
back to the Catholic world with discus-
sions of music during and after the
Council of Trent. Bertoglio argues here
that the council dealt with music in a
surprisingly casual way and that its ef-
Book Reviews
fect on musical practice was conse-
quently less than might have been ex-
pected. Chapter 10 deals with the role
of music in the age of “confessionalisa-
tion” (p. 519). Chapter 11 discusses
music as a bridge between the warring
churches during the sixteenth century.
Chapter 12 deals with women as musi-
cal agents, whether as patronesses, mu-
sicians, nuns, or those who simply sang
psalms as they worked. A conclusion, a
useful glossary, and an extensive bibli-
ography round off the work.
Besides the many positive things that
one could say about this book, I also
have some reservations. Bertoglio’s
prose style is generally fluent and id-
iomatic, especially considering that
English is not her first language. A final
edit by a native speaker, however, could
have eliminated some awkward lexical
choices and turns of phrase. Moreover,
Bertoglio’s conversational style often
leads to a certain floridity and wordi-
ness. For example, the description of
transubstantiation as a “nearly unpro-
nounceable Latin-derived word” (p. 7)
or the description of Tommaso de Vio
Cajetan as “a Thomist to end all
Thomists” (p. 32) could (and should)
have been cut. Much of the general in-
troduction (chapter 1) could probably
have been left out; as the author notes,
those interested in the political and
theological background can find it de-
scribed adequately elsewhere. The re-
view of famous painters active in the
sixteenth century (pp. 15–17) could
easily have been cut. Likewise, many
quotations from secondary literature
could have been paraphrased and
worked into the author’s own prose. A
ruthless editor could have pruned away
a hundred pages without serious loss.
A few details detract from the overall
effect of the book. Bertoglio’s constant
protestations about her inability to
match the demands of her subject dis-
tract from her authority. Sometimes the
ideas seem a little underdeveloped;
507
many paragraphs consist of a single
sentence. The book also contains some
editing glitches, such as a sentence on
page 26 that lacks its first few words.
Bertoglio is a devout Roman Catholic
and writes from an explicitly theologi-
cal perspective. (Allusions to Jesus as,
for example, “the Crucified Lord”
[p. 626] make plain her theological
point of view.) Nevertheless, Bertoglio
wishes to promote ecumenism by em-
phasising music’s power to transcend
denominational boundaries. Non-
Christians might find this approach oc-
casionally alienating, but Bertoglio
writes from a conviction that the theo-
logical differences that motivated
changes in the musical life of the six-
teenth century are still live issues.
Sometimes, however, she quotes recent
doctrinal statements, such as her invo-
cation of Vatican II’s constitution
Lumen gentium (p. 7n5), as if the posi-
tion of the various churches has re-
mained consistent throughout the ages.
Some matters of fact and interpreta-
tion niggle. For example, Bertoglio
writes that “the patrician Gesualdo felt
possibly freer to experiment with un-
usual, unexpected and non-canonical
passages and sonorities” than the “pro-
fessional musician” Luca Marenzio
(p. 23). Here she seems to imply that
Gesualdo’s elevated social position ex-
plains his mannerism. He was, however,
part of a school of composers based at
Naples, including Pomponio Nenna,
Giovanni de Macque, Ascanio Mayone,
and Scipione Stella, who all experi-
mented with similar expressive means,
and he explicitly described Luzzasco
Luzzaschi as his compositional nemesis.
Placing Gesualdo in a compositional
milieu seems more satisfying than
imagining him as a wayward, isolated,
gentleman amateur.
Likewise, Bertoglio writes that
Lodovico Ariosto created the term “hu-
manism” (p. 14). This claim, which also
haunts the Wikipedia entry on Ariosto,
508
is not true; rather, “humanism” is a
nineteenth-century abstraction from
early university jargon (see Augusto
Campana, “The Origin of the Word
‘Humanist,’” Journal of the Warburg and
Courtauld Institutes 9 (1946): 60–73,
which includes a discussion of Ariosto).
Bertoglio’s account of the English
Reformation contains some problems.
On page 36, the author writes incor-
rectly that Thomas More’s successor as
Lord High Chancellor was Thomas
Cranmer, rather than Thomas Audley.
She also claims that Henry VIII “had his
theologians ghost-write for him an
Assertion of the Seven Sacraments” (p. 33).
This gives Henry too little credit, how-
ever. According to Thomas More,
Henry wrote this book, while More
merely helped the king put it in order,
even suggesting that Henry modify his
effusively propapal stance in case he
should come to regret it later.
Sometimes Bertoglio presents philo-
sophical concepts in a slightly unsatisfy-
ing way. For example, in her account of
the Aristotelian theory of hylomor-
phism, she states, “a thing may main-
tain its outward appearance but change
its essence” (p. 7). This is not a part of
Aristotle’s theory but only applies to
the special case of transubstantiation. It
would have been more precise to write:
“Some late-medieval theologians taught
that bread and wine, duly consecrated,
may maintain their outward appear-
ance but change their essence.”
Bertoglio’s formulation inadvertently
implies that such a metaphysical
switcheroo might happen to any physi-
cal object at any time.
Likewise, Bertoglio invokes postmod-
ernism several times, but in such a way
as to miss its philosophical intention.
For example, she writes, “One of the
hardest tasks for us inhabitants of the
post-modern era is to abandon our cat-
egorisations when approaching a time
when they were, at best, only starting to
be constructed” (p. xxvi). The point is
well taken. One of the aims of post-
modern historians (or at least some of
Notes, March 2019
them), however, was to reveal assumed
categories as constructions enforced
through structures of power. If any-
thing, postmodern history aimed to do
exactly what Bertoglio argues for: to
help us understand the past by making
us aware of our own assumptions about
society, not by locking us into them.
Bertoglio’s view of sixteenth-century
habits of thought also reflects a mod-
ern aversion to “primitive” mental sys-
tems such as magic: “Of course, this era
[i.e., the Renaissance] was deeply inter-
ested in esotericism; however, in my
opinion, the very quasi-schizophrenic
coexistence of magic beliefs and highly
intellectual reasoning is a symptom of
the broken unity of symbolic percep-
tion” (p. 80). Yet such writers as D. P.
Walker, Penelope Gouk, Brian P.
Copenhaver, and others have explored
the fruitful interplay between “magical”
and “scientific” thinking, both in musi-
cal discourse and the natural sciences.
(I leave aside the unfortunate charac-
terization of such patterns of thought
as “quasi-schizophrenic.”) To chide
sixteenth-century people for a belief in
magic is to display the lack of historical
empathy against which Bertoglio earlier
argued.
Some other assertions in the book
are overdrawn. For example, Bertog-
lio’s claim that Erasmus’s “true import
on the religious reformations of the six-
teenth century has yet to be assessed”
(p. 82) seems rash, especially consider-
ing that Marcel Bataillon’s Erasme et
l’Espagne (ed. Daniel Devoto and
Charles Amiel, 3 vols. [Genève: Droz,
1991]) appears in the bibliography
(though not in any footnotes). Several
more recent studies, such as Peter G.
Bietenholz’s Encounters with a Radical
Erasmus: Erasmus’ Work as a Source of
Radical Thought in Early Modern Europe
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press,
2009) and Gregory Dodds’s Exploiting
Erasmus: The Erasmian Legacy and Re-
ligious Change in Early Modern England
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press,
2009), explore Erasmus’s importance
Book Reviews
for the Reformation in considerable
detail.
Bertoglio cites generously from a
broad variety of original sources, mostly
in English translation. (Even if isolated
words or phrases are sometimes cited
parenthetically, it would have been nice
to have the original texts in the foot-
notes, though I appreciate that this
would have made the book even
longer.) Sometimes I found myself dis-
agreeing with Bertoglio’s conclusions.
For example, she refers to a sixteenth-
century Anglican document that pro-
scribes “vibratam illam & operosam
Musicam, quæ figurata dicitur,” which
Bertoglio translates as “the vibrato and
elaborate music, which is called figu-
rate.” She suggests facetiously that the
author of this document perhaps ob-
jected to polyphony being sung “in a
vocal style that is reminiscent, in our
ears, of Wagner’s Valkyries,” but con-
cludes that “no plausible surmise can
be attempted as to the true meaning of
this expression” (p. 138). I think, how-
ever, it can. In classical Latin, vibro usu-
ally means to shake or brandish some-
thing, such as a weapon, or actually to
throw it with force. Pliny the Elder de-
scribes the sound of the nightingale’s
song as “vibrans” (warbling) (Natural
History, 10.43). Paul the Deacon defines
the rare verb vibrissare as “vocem in can-
tando crispare” (“to curl the voice in
singing”). This raises a further ques-
tion: what does crispare mean? Its basic
meaning is “to curl or crimp,” but it
can also mean “to put something into a
tremulous motion,” or even, again, “to
brandish” a weapon. Erasmus’s friend
Gilbert Cousin used the adverb vibratim
to describe the penetrating force of
strong mustard (cf. René Hoven, Lexique
de la prose latine de la Renaissance /
Dictionary of Renaissance Latin from Prose
Sources, trans. Coen Maas, 2nd ed.
[Leiden: Brill, 2006], 588). Therefore,
the vibrata musica to which the Anglican
author objected might be highly deco-
rated music—such as the curlicued
English polyphony against which
509
Erasmus railed—or music sung with a
particularly loud and penetrating tone,
rather than with a “vibrato” in our
sense (a constant pitch fluctuation).
Either of my proposed interpretations
would be consistent with similar com-
plaints made by sixteenth-century crit-
ics of polyphony in church.
In some cases, Bertoglio might have
paid closer attention to the genre to
which her sources belong. For exam-
ple, she cites Heinrich Cornelius
Agrippa von Nettesheim several times
as a critic of musical abuses. The source
of these quotations, however, Agrippa’s
De incertitudine et vanitate scientiarum
declamatio invectiva [Invective declama-
tion on the uncertainty and vanity of
the branches of knowledge] (Antwerp:
Johannes Grapheus, 1530), sets out to
reveal the weaknesses of every kind of
human activity, employing exaggera-
tion and satire to throw the perfection
of the word of God into greater relief.
To cite Agrippa’s comments on music
in that book as if they represented his
genuine feelings is to misunderstand
his purpose.
Bertoglio seems also to have misun-
derstood the dynamics of the printing
and publishing industries in the
Renaissance. For example, she writes
that the Lyon printer Moderne “pro-
duced polyphonic books which were
not in high demand in the main cathe-
dral of the town, but which nonetheless
enjoyed an important international
success” (p. 54). Yet this is typical. Most
books in the sixteenth century were
printed in just a few cities: Venice,
Paris, Lyon, Basel, and Antwerp. Not all
the books printed in these cities could
be consumed there. Rather, these cities
were net exporters of books, while
most other places were net importers.
The fact that the cathedral in Lyon
purchased relatively few copies of
Moderne’s books is thus not surprising.
It is perfectly normal.
On several occasions, Bertoglio raised
questions that I would have liked to see
explored in further detail. In several
510
different contexts, she mentions that
certain types of music were deemed in-
appropriate for church because they
were too “Jewish” (e.g., pp. 214–15).
The accusation of “Judaizing” touches
on a very tender nerve in the Christian
mind: the uneasy relationship between
the old faith and the new (see G. Sujin
Pak, The Judaizing Calvin: Sixteenth-
Century Debates over the Messianic Psalms
[Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2010]). It could have been interesting
to mine this vein more deeply.
Other points could likewise have
been pressed further. For example,
many authors cited by Bertoglio
warned against music as a potentially
“effeminising” influence on men (pp.
65, 99, 124–30, 146, 151–53, 175, 628–
29). It would have been interesting to
explore these statements in the light of
recent gender theory, perhaps building
on Bruce Holsinger’s Music, Body, and
Desire in Medieval Culture: Hildegard of
Bingen to Chaucer (Stanford, CA:
Stanford University Press, 2001), which
does not appear in the bibliography,
but really should. Bertoglio’s view of
gender is conventional. She cites
Genesis as the foundation of “a rich
complementarity which posits sexual
diversity as inherently good” (p. 626).
The “diversity” described by Genesis,
however, contains only two discrete
terms: man and woman. Yet the fear of
“effeminizing,” expressed in so many of
the sources Bertoglio cites, suggests an
underlying conception of gender that is
not binary, but fluid and performative.
Bertoglio’s treatment of women’s music
could also have been enriched substan-
tially by exploring gender in a more
critical way.
To identify the printed sources dis-
cussed in the text, it would have been
useful to cite the following bibliograph-
ical references, even if only in foot-
notes: RISM (Répertoire internationale
des sources musicales), VD16 (Ver-
zeichnis der im deutschen Sprach-
bereich erschienenen Drucke des XVI.
Notes, March 2019
Jahrhunderts), vdm (Verzeichnis
deutscher Musikfrühdrucke), EDIT16
(Census of Italian 16th Century
Editions), and USTC (Universal Short
Title Catalogue).
I do not wish the reader to conclude
that I do not like this book: quite the
contrary. Its scope and completeness
are impressive. I think, however, Walter
de Gruyter misjudged it. Rather than is-
suing it as a hardback monograph, the
publisher could have edited it back
substantially and sold it in paperback as
a textbook. There is still need of a
short, rich, and reliable introduction in
English on this topic that we can press
into the hands of our students. Perhaps
Bertoglio will use the material gathered
as the basis for such an introduction.
Grantley McDonald
Universität Wien
The Early Keyboard Sonata in Italy
and Beyond. Edited by Rohan H.
Stewart-MacDonald. (Studies on
Italian Music History, vol. 10.) Turn-
hout: Brepols, 2016. [xxi, 334 p. ISBN
9782503568010 (hardback), i100].
Music examples, illustrations, tables,
contributor biographies, index of
names.
This history of the early keyboard
sonata is the tenth volume in the series
on Italian music history issued by the
Centro Studi Opera Omnia Luigi
Boccherini, and it is also the third in
the series Groppoli per la storia della
musica a Pistoia. Indeed, the volume
was published with financial assistance
from various cultural and financial
associations in Pistoia, whose cultural
history is highlighted by some of the
chapters.
In the introduction, Rohan H.
Stewart-MacDonald writes, “The aim, in
the chapters to follow, is to trace the
solo keyboard sonata’s origins in the
seventeenth century, encompassing
the genre’s coalescence in the first half
of the eighteenth century; to evaluate