Something for everyone, a comedy tonight!

Personally, I don't think I make a very convincing diplomatic figure. My clothing is the oddest mixture of fur and satin that I personally have ever seen, and the feather on my blasted hat seems to want to droop the wrong way all the time. In fact, I don't think we would have been welcomed quite as warmly as we were, had it not been for the rather nice, and very exotic gilded dinner service that we brought to present to the new Grand Duchess, princess Christine. If there's one thing you can always be sure of with the aristocracy, they never turn down gold.
The other thing, or rather, person that has been niggling me since I got here, is the Duke's insufferable vintner; I would guess his age to be in the early thirties, with a pasty complexion, thinning hair, and a fat face, although if you actually look at him, his body is quite spare, and his legs... well, I've seen more meat on kindling twigs! Whenever he looks at me he seems to have an expression as though he bit into a bun and found half a cockroach. And at the formal dinner last night, when he filled my wineglass, I had to keep urging him on. He seemed reluctant to pour enough for a mouse to get tiddly.
But making up for all my minor grouches today, there is to be an entertainment celebrating the Duke's marriage. This isn't a masque in name, but in most other respects, it will be pretty much the same kind of affair; a first-rate chance for the Ducal family to show off their wealth, power, and erudition, with food, drink and music at convenient intervals.
It's important to remember that this is a political marriage first and foremost (and quite possibly, exclusively). Duke Ferdinando de Medici wants to strengthen the Florentine ties with France once more, and marriage to Christine of Lorraine is a suitable opportunity. Or to put it another way, she can ensure the continuity of the Medici line, while he ensures the continuity of power (through her relatives!).
The prologue informs us that we are to see the story of the challenge of the Emathian princesses to the muses. Thank goodness for my east-european diplomat persona, while I know who the muses are in Greek mythology, it would be unthinkably ignorant for someone of my standing not to know the story of the Pierides if I was the representative of a (presumably) more educated western court.
I have to say that this is my first experience of the theatrical style that will become known across europe as the Commedia dell'arte, and while at this stage it doesn't have the fully-developed character of slapstick and mayhem for which it will become known (and which would be inappropriate to a courtly entertainment), it is quite clearly heading that way.
I'm rather disappointed that I wasn't able to get my hands on any of the sheet music for this afternoon's presentation, however, on my return I did manage to find Luca Marenzio's Diuersi Linguaggi: sung by the various characters of the commedia;

• the Scholar
• the Professor
• Fate
• Grace
  
• Francescina
• Girometta
• Zanni (a clown)
• Captain Magnifico
• the German
  

For anyone who might be interested, here is the song "Various Languages", beautifully engraved by Christian Mondrup for the Werner Icking Music Library.

References

The Programme for the entertainment

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Eternal Triangle

Before I came to the town of Arona in northwest Italy, I had no idea what it was like, or why it might be of interest. And I had never heard of the brothers de Lantins, so bumping into them, almost literally, outside a lively tavern on a May evening was a very happy accident.

I had managed to secure a temporary job as pot-girl during the festivities and was carrying a large jug of wine out to some thirsty patrons when a boisterous circle-dance broke up, scattering revellers in all directions, two of them being the aforementioned brothers, identical twins, differentiated only by their dress; one wearing a more sombre traveller's outfit, the other in a rich-looking tunic with the livery of some great house embroidered on the breast. They were good enough to apologize hastily for jogging my arm, and one of the pair asked if they might buy a couple of measures of cool wine after their exertions in the dance?
When I returned a few minutes later to find them seated and waiting they were already engaged in discussion:
"Can you not see how the pattern of the tune might be overlaid perhaps two or three times, at different intervals?"
"I can see that it might be possible, but surely, it would be cacophanous! What patron would want such music?"
"In Paris, already, this new art is being practised in the service of the divine, and surely what is good enough for God in France, will soon be good enough for the noble houses of Italy?"
"You will not convince me, Hugo, no matter how you try. Did you not learn from the holy brothers that 'God is not the author of confusion'?"
"No, no! You do not understand. Let me demonstrate..."
Drawing back a little on the bench, Hugo dips his finger in the red wine and starts drawing lines:
"A hop and a skip, I shall write it in imperfect time, perfect prolation, like so..."
He draws a broken circle, the symbol of imperfection, indicating two main phrases, with a small complete circle inside it, meaning that there will be three main beats in each phrase, then a sequence of squares indicating the notes.
"Now, after ... five steps, let us say with the beginning of the second three, another voice begins..."
Watching with fascination, I see how he repeats the same pattern of notes, at a lower pitch, harmonizing as the beginning of the second voice joins with the middle of the first! And suddenly, I am brought back to earth by a sound slap to my behind.
"Giovanna! this patient family is waiting for honey cakes. NOW!"
Perhaps it was the bang on the behind, but by the time I get home, I can barely remember the melody that Hugo wrote down. And as nearly as I can tell, it was the traditional carol "I saw three ships come sailing in". Considering the lyrics, I find myself wondering if this is another of the riddle songs that were once so popular:

Why three ships, for two people? and what does the song mean by "Our Savior Christ and His Lady"? Normally we use the term so-and-so and his lady to indicate a girlfriend or wife. Most people would probably have no trouble in identifying the virgin Mary as Christ's lady, but what about the Bride of Christ? His church? And why are they sailing to landlocked Bethlehem? riddle-me riddle-me ree!
It occurs to me too, that it might be more than coincidence that I met the twins in a town governed by the Borromea family, whose arms are three interlinked rings. Twos and threes every which way!

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Like a thief in the night, He comes!

"Alms? Alms for the poor? Fair lady, will you give alms for the poor?"
The pitiful fellow sheltering as best he can under the arch of the gate against the chill of the driving rain is the only beggar I have seen today. The red raw skin of his craggy features tells a story of nights spent hiding from the frosts, and his clothing is an odd mixture of tattered homespun and once-fine velvet. Assuming that he is just unable to find work with an employer, it would be churlish of me indeed, not to give something. The busy market is only a few minutes walk up the hill and when I return with a warm meat pie the beggar is still working his patch. While he gratefully bites into the pie I try to slip a couple of Francs into his scrip without being too obvious.
"He comes, my lady. He comes! And none may stand before him."
I give him a perplexed look. "He comes, my lady. And Kings have tried to stop him, but he will not be stopped. He comes, and we must kneel before him. May God have mercy on my soul! He comes!"
It would seem the poor fellow has lost his wits! I cannot explain why I haven't made my way to the market which was my intended destination, and with the pie almost gone, my destitute companion begins to ramble once more:
"I was a sailor my lady, and visited far Indee where my christian soul was in danger of the heathen witchery. And for my soul's cure, I sailed to the Holy Land, but a hard time I had of it among the moors. God be thanked, though! He brought me safe home again to my native shore. A fine ship she was, with three tall masts, and a hold full of silver. But silver will not buy him, no. And he comes!"
Uncertain quite how to excuse myself, I pretend that I have just remembered that I have urgent business in town, and make my exit as quickly as I may, hoping that the beggar will seize on another passer-by. As I make my way up the hill once more I hear him singing in a cracked and uneven tone... Veni, veni, Emmanuel, come, come, God with us!

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Eternity in an hour

Silly, I know, but one of the things that hits me occasionally, is the awful brevity of human life. I mentioned it to my director a few days ago and bless her, she did her best to reassure me; the people I have met mostly lived very full lives, and died at a ripe old age, but still, when I get back from an excursion, suddenly people I had spoken with, sometimes only minutes before, are gone forever. And have been, often for centuries! It's hard not to like some of them, and the realization that they are gone can be quite hard to take sometimes, particularly given that I can never visit the same time and place twice.
Anyway, I can tell by the look on your face that you're wondering what are we doing this early in the morning, in Coventry, on Wednesday June 12th, 1392? And by the way, I like your chaperon, very stylish!
Well, we're here before sunrise because today is the festival of Corpus Christi. And more importantly, we're here to observe community theater at the height of its development before the theater became a profession in its own right. Today, several of the major craft guilds of the city will be presenting dramatic tableaux based on the holy scriptures. Shortly after sunrise, members of the stonemasons guild will present "The Creation of the World in Six Days" by the Greyfriars gate.

As the day wears on, the other guilds will be presenting The Fall of Adam (the weavers and fullers), The Annunciation (the carpenters), The Birth of Our Lord (the goldsmiths), The Massacre of the Innocents (the tailors and shearmen), The Last Supper (the bakers), The Harrowing of Hell (the smiths and farriers), and The Last Judgment (the apothecaries) in St.Michael's Churchyard shortly after sunset.
The ingenuity of these little dramas demands to be admired, even by people like us, for whom technology is a commonplace. The simple illusions by which trees are made to spring forth from the wagon-stage, and birds and small animals released as if the Creator had just fashioned them delights me just as much as any of the audience here!
It's not too surprising that the guilds have seized the opportunity of the attractions to boost commerce, there are stalls everywhere offering everything from hot food or drinks to small commemorative items, and I've heard quite a few accents which clearly aren't local, so my guess is that anyone who knew of the event, and could make the trip, has done so. And although I don't know of any shrines in the area, I also saw one sturdy fellow with the cockleshell fastened to his hat, denoting a pilgrim.
But for me, the simple treasure of the event was a performance of this carol, by the Tailors and Shearmen, the three anxious sisters in dark robes performing a simple weaving dance to an instrumental interlude between verses.

As the sun sets, in St.Michael's Church Yard on a stage constructed of several wagons, a magnificent judgment throne has been set up, and towards the end of the performance, as the stars begin to appear while a small handful of the faithful are borne away by winged angels, the damned are driven by gleefully capering demons towards a gaping hellmouth, and a breathtaking display of pyrotechnics announces the end of the days festivities (and not, I sincerely hope, the wagons!)

Special thanks to:
The Medieval Woodcuts Clipart Collection

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A bastard genius

In a feudal political system, how does a duke try to avoid unnecessary bloodshed and expense when he foresees the probability of a power struggle? Well, one way is by sending a peace offering (bribe!)
On the left, is Lodovico Sforza, Il Moro (the Moor, a nickname supposedly given to him because he tanned easily) duke of Milan, and on the right, Lorenzo di Medici, Il Magnifico ('nuff said).
And the reason we're here, the young man with the rather splendid legs and the two young pageboys carrying the package in the damask behind him, is none other than Signor Leonardo da Vinci. The content of the package, which will be revealed in a few moments is a magnificent silver lyre in the shape of a horse's head crafted by Leonardo himself.
The lyre is an excellent idea for a gift, suggesting that Lodovico will appreciate the classical associations of the instrument of Apollo and Orpheus, as well as being capable of playing the instrument himself. The fact that it is made from silver should give it a characteristically sweet tone, as well as representing more lucre in the ducal vaults!
Since I couldn't find a picture of Leonardo's presentation this detail from the mural of the court of the duke of Mantua should give a fair idea not only of the fashions, but the kind of characters that hang out with the duke.
As a matter of course, it is expected of any young man who moves in aristocratic circles that he should be a skilled horseman, poet, philosopher, soldier, and musician, and once the lyre has been unwrapped and offered to Lodovico, etiquette demands that Lodovico invite Leonardo to demonstrate the gift.
After the first few bars the murmur of chatter fades away. I think the thirty-year-old craftsman painter has made an impression, and no wonder! The piece he has chosen to demonstrate the lyre is quite a challenging song by the Flemish composer Johannes Ockeghem.
The musical riddles which Ockeghem poses in some of his compositions will keep scholars hard at work for many centuries to come, and no doubt the gentlemen of the court who pride themselves on their mathematical and scientific knowledge will find matter for debate in this piece for months to come.

the abc notation for the music below is available online.

Before it is time for him to leave Milan and return to Florence once more, Leonardo has received an invitation to enter the service of the duke of Milan, and I suspect he has been taken into the confidence of the duke. While it is not supposed to be generally known, the duke has plans to encourage France to invade Italy, presumably confident of overpowering the French invaders with the help of the cunning of Leonardo, and simultaneously taking advantage of his weakened neighbouring duchies.
For his part, Leonardo left a sodomy charge behind in Florence, and although he was acquitted, I wouldn't mind betting he has more admirers in the ducal court here in Milan than just Lodovico! But it ill-behooves me to speculate on Leonardo's private life. Let me present for you Jan Ockeghem's music:

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Organ Recital at St.Lawrence's Church

The reason I was late getting to the rendezvous was that I had actually left St.Lawrence's and was following you into the churchyard when I heard the organist begin a fugue. I'm sure most organists of the time could have played this piece perfectly competently, but what caught my ear was a subtlety in the rubato that suggested this was not just a typically good musician, but someone quite extraordinary. Of course, it would have to be someone extraordinary to be engaged by a Duke. So I popped back inside and settled down to listen (of course!).

Click to listen

Having apparently satisfied himself that his practice for the day was sufficient, the organist collected his books and a few loose sheets, and was leaving the organ loft when I waylaid him. This was one of those "Wow!" moments for me. My first meeting with Georg Frideric Haendel, or as he is known in England, George Frederick Handel.

Mr.Handel is of average height, allowing an inch or so perhaps for his shoes and peruke, clean-shaven and nicely pomaded. The portrait of him which I include below was made later in his life, but now, in his early thirties he is already developing that well-fed corpulence, and moves with an easy, relaxed gait, even climbing down the slightly awkward stairs from the organ loft.

I drop a respectful curtsey; "Have I the pleasure of addressing the noted Mr. Handel, sir?"

"Goot Afternoon, Mattam. I am indeed Mr.Hantel, and might Mr.Hantel haf tse honor of knowink whom duss he attress?"

Introducing myself in persona as the representative of a tailor, I seize the opportunity of asking Mr.Handel about the music he was playing, and hopefully I shall have an opportunity to learn more about his engagement at Cannons.

"Tse piece fitch I belief you ver askink about voss my fugue in G major. I tsink perhaps a leetle more polish, and I shall seek to publish it abroad."

Among other things which we discuss, walking back to Cannons, I learn that Mr.Handel is engaged to provide new music for entertainments hosted by the Duke, and sometimes leads the small band from the harpsichord. His grace, it seems, is not so much a performer himself, as an Apollo of the arts, preferring to use his beneficence to encourage the arts (and Mr.Handel is nothing if not a perfect diplomat in discussing matters relating to his employer).

"Shall I have the pleasure of hearing you play again on Sunday, Mr.Handel?"

"I tsink not Mattam. Unless you fill be joinink his Krace in tse chapel at tse house."

At this I am obliged to seek some explanation for his presence in St.Lawrence's.

"Tse church hass a razzer fine acoustic for tse organ, and recrettably, his Krace's chapel is not yet completet, howeffer, tse verkmen fill make it retty for tse diffine serfice on Suntay."

Finally, before we part company, me to the rendezvous point, and Mr.Handel to return to his chambers within the house, I can't resist asking if Mr.Handel knows of any talented blacksmiths in the village?

"Tsere iss vun fellow, but I fould not fenture to assay his talent as a smit. Tsough I am sure he is as capaple a farrier as any man fitin fife miles. Haff you a horse in neet of shoeink?"

His expression betrays a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise. I think it is time I thanked him for his company and made haste to the rendezvous.

"Mattam, it hass been my pleshur, and a ferry goot afternoon to you also."

References

Have I whetted your appetite to learn more about fugal composition?

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The Music of Cannons

Don't panic! There's no artillery involved. Our destination is Cannons, the stately home of the Earl of Caernarfon and first Duke of Chandos, James Brydges (if we should see the gentleman himself, the correct form of address is your Grace. But don't speak unless you're spoken to).
As is fairly common for the time, the house is open to visitors having business with the household, or members of the peerage, so I think if we present ourselves as representatives of a little-known but promising tailoring business, we should stand a good chance of getting in. These aristocratic types are always keen to have the latest fashions, and it wasn't difficult to obtain a collection of fine fabric swatches and a couple of recent pattern-books as we zoomed through France on the way here. Which reminds me, if we ever have occasion to travel by coach, bring a few cushions. As well-padded as this dress is, previous experience taught me that you can't have enough padding beneath you when you go over the bumps. And unless the weather is warm already, wrap up warmly too. There's no practical way to heat a coach.

While we're waiting for his grace's chamberlain, there's so much to take in. This whole place is money personified! I think the painting is Hercules in the palace of Omphale, and the sheer scale of it makes it so much more impressive. Literally Herculean! (The other thing, if you're going to have any dealings with aristocrats; it helps to have to have a bit of background in the classics).
Well, some things we can do, but some things will forever be beyond our control, and it seems that his grace is otherwise occupied today. How do you feel about sauntering down to St.Lawrence's church? The Duke had the church extensively rebuilt a few years ago, and by all accounts it is as sumptuous as the house.
When we arrive at St.Lawrence's, the exterior of the church has been remodelled in the neo-classical style, while the interior is the most astonishing display of opulence, everywhere is marble, gold, and rich dark wood. And the organist is practising a hymn tune:

References

I am indebted to the following sites. I hope you will take a moment to visit them:
A Church Near You
The Web Gallery of Art

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The Italian Job

Don't tell me I look like a tramp, I already know. In fact, I worked quite hard to achieve this look.
One of the problems of trying to get to know someone famous is that, often, simply because they are famous, they don't have huge amounts of time to get to know everybody else. So it's often much simpler to be a nobody, and get to know somebody who knows somebody, and just once in a great while, you can get close.
Which is why I am dressed in this second-best last year outfit, and peddling a selection of glass beads. (The beads, by the way, were laughably inexpensive, although if I were really who I appear to be, they would have cost me a year's worth of careful savings, and they're so beautiful it's a great temptation to take a few back with me).

Now, let me introduce you to Proserpina Belmonte. Don't be fooled by the hare lip or that mole beside her nose. She may be a tad on the homely side, but she can play! Before you got here she was sitting outside the palazzo (yes, well they're all palazzo's along here) playing a piece for mandolin. I thought it sounded familiar, so I strolled over to see if I could interest her in some parmesan cheese. (I bought it from a trader who was coming down from the Vicenza area before heading south to Ferrara).
Well, after expressing my appreciation of her beautiful playing we got to talking, and I asked her what the song was that she played. It turns out that it was the andante from a concerto for two mandolins, by Padre Vivaldi who runs the girls choir at the Ospedale della Piétà*!
Proserpina (she goes by 'Pina) told me she was a beneficiary of the Ospedale, and a student under Padre Vivaldi until she was eighteen, at which point she was more than ready to take on the world. (And all the while she was telling me this, she was talking, like a typical Italian, with her hands). I had to ask what she meant by that last statement, since I had always had a mental image of Vivaldi as the gentle, creative, kindly priest who churned out music as fast as the musicians could play it (some wit once quipped that Vivaldi didn't write five hundred concerti, he wrote one concerto, five hundred times!).
Perhaps unfortunately for Vivaldi's reputation, by the late twentieth century, it was a fair assumption that anyone who had ridden in an elevator had been subjected to a rather mechanical reproduction of one of his best-known suites, the Quatre Stagione (Four Seasons).
Pina laughed scornfully at my rosy description! It turns out, (at least according to her) that he was the foulest, most irritable, sweaty, smelly creature ever to walk God's blessed Earth. He frequently suffered from shortness of breath (asthma?), and when he did, his temper which was short at the best of times, just evaporated completely. She recounted one occasion when his scathing comments reduced one of the girls in the choir to a sobbing wreck, quite unable to continue the rehearsal, and indeed, it was only a matter of a few weeks before she left the Ospedale, indentured to a modestly wealthy merchant family. She also told me how the young ladies nicknamed their slavedriver Il Prete Rosso (the Red Priest), not so much for his hair, but his tendency to turn puce when enraged.
She doesn't mind telling me a little about her experiences in the Ospedale either. She has no memory of her parents, and the sisters of the Ospedale would only ever tell her that she was "a child of God". She never went hungry, or without clothing or shelter at night, but sometimes she wondered what her parents had been like. After leaving the Ospedale, she worked for a couple of years for a bookseller, and it was during that period that she met her husband, Guido. When he first came to the bookseller he was looking for a pattern book that he could use as a guide for decorative carvings for his building work. His clothing was covered in stone dust, and his hair was slicked down from rinsing himself off before leaving work.

Click on the gramophone to listen to the music below.

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