Mysticism and reality
Although Philip II did not inherit the title of emperor of the Holy Roman Empire from his father, he did inherit a vast empire that grew in 1580 by the annexation of Portugal due to the extinction of the Portuguese ruling family. Philip II also inherited a sacred commitment: to protect his empire against the enemies of Christianity, by containing the impending invasions of the Turks and controlling internal strife among rival Christian princes, spawned by the propagation of Protestantism. Spain found a way of defending her own interests as a world power by rallying around the banner of propagation of Christian values, particularly those of the Catholic faith, and by acting with the conviction that those values would lead to peace and prosperity among her people. Spain kept on championing the ideals of the Counter Reformation, down through the ultimate disintegration of her Empire. These ideals bore some of their most substantial fruit in the fields of arts and letters.
At the same time that Spanish troops were battling reformers in Flanders and missionaries were escorting conquerors into unknown New World territories, where churches and cathedrals began to be built everywhere, and while the Inquisition was beginning to exert all its dreadful power, an artistic movement generally known as mysticism emerged in Spain. This term is used to designate at least two generations of writers whose main figures were Saint Teresa of Jesús, Fray Luis de León, and Saint John of the Cross. All the strength and beauty of Spain’s mystic literature is perhaps captured in the poem “Dark Night” by Saint John of the Cross, which concludes as follows: “I remained and forgot myself, / I rested my face on the Beloved, / all ceased and, abandoning myself, / I surrendered my watchfulness / forgotten among the lilies.”
In the plastic arts, literary mysticism finds its best equivalent in the paintings of a Spaniard by adoption, El Greco, whose well-known slender figures point to the shimmering sky, contrasting with the darkness of the earth. Nevertheless, the earthly world captures the attention of other great Spanish painters, particularly Diego Velázquez. Beyond his portrayal of statesmen and historical events, who can forget his tavern and domestic scenes, or those of street rogues, a reflection of an often unpleasant reality? Velázquez, a contemporary of Harvey and Galileo, lived in an age when Spain started tasting the aftermath of the Armada’s defeat in 1588 (an inconceivable notion for the Spanish navy, whose supremacy had remained unchallenged). By contrast, El Greco lived in an age of expected conquest and control of a new empire. Sordid daily realities surfaced during El Greco’s time in the literary production of such writers as the anonymous author of the Lazarillo de Tormes and in the genius of Miguel de Cervantes. Maybe the Quixote and its two protagonists—one the dreamer carried away by his absurd imagination, the other mundane—provide us with the best synthesis of the dual character of Spanish artistic expression during the reign of Philip II and his closest successors: one is spiritual, the other realistic; mirrors of a culture that made religion a matter of state although, paradoxically, its inhabitants relished life on earth rather than beyond.
The musical panorama of Spain from around 1550 to 1650 is not different from other artistic manifestations; just the opposite. As has always been the case, one kind of musical repertory—for either voices or instruments—is sacred in function, the other secular. Nonetheless, both repertories present peculiarities that distinguish them from other, analogous types. Already in 1913 Henri Collet had observed this distinction, coining the expression “musical mysticism” for the Spanish sacred repertory of the 16th century, a term that, I think, designates most accurately the repertory the aesthetic tenets of which, apart from precedents, begin with Cristóbal de Morales and penetrate the 17th century with the followers of Tomás Luis de Victoria.
Cristóbal de Morales
Morales (c. 1500–1553) is the most distinguished composer of what some call the “Andalusian School,” although perhaps not the most representative. Born in Seville, he had the opportunity to study—or at least receive advice at a very early age—from Pedro de Escobar, who was maestro de capilla of Seville Cathedral between 1507 and 1514, and Francisco de Peñalosa, who was a canon at the same Cathedral. Both Escobar and Peñalosa are considered the earliest representatives of that “School.” The nature of the relationship that existed between Peñalosa and Morales is not known, although the style of Morales reflects an affinity with Peñalosa’s, and he must have also related to Pedro Fernández de Castilleja, who in 1514 replaced Escobar as head of Seville Cathedral. Be that as it may, Morales had already abandoned his native Seville in August 1526, since during that month he became maestro de capilla (the one in charge of all the music) of Avila Cathedral.
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