Goatee and moustache, dressed in scarlet: Guess Who?

Yippee! I did it! I got to see his Eminence up close and personal! (I can't say anything to anybody here, but in his cardinal's scarlet robes, with his pointy beard and moustache he makes me think of a Victorian pantomime demon king !) And I am so glad that all the hard work I put into studying the techniques of old master painters had proved rewarding, too. I had better try and contain my excitement, and tell the story carefully.
During my brief tour of the Palais Richelieu with Signor Paolo Vasari, and Signor Luca Buonfranca (who plays the lute and the viol, but has a knack for really putting a skip into dances! and a magnificent twirly moustache which he is rather proud of; it sets him apart from the hundreds of little goatee beards that the men seem to fancy so.) we bumped into (literally), Madamoiselle Duchesne, daughter of Nicolas Duchesne who has been discussing the cardinal's requirements for a state portrait that might be copied for some of the noble families.
Although I was almost certain we were the party in the wrong, hurrying in a narrow corridor, Lucille Duchesne apologized very courteously for obstructing our passage so thoughtlessly and after the terse explanation of our haste, asked if I would be interested in visiting her father's lodgings to look at some of her own drawings? Naturally, I was in no hurry to leave with another opportunity to explore offered so generously, and so a couple of days later, she met me, as arranged, on the steps of Saint Eustache after mass. The church is still a busy building site, and worshippers leave under a canvas canopy to protect them from odds and ends that might fall from the scaffolding.
We stopped for a while to collect a light lunch at Boulangier Poulain before scuttling through the narrow little streets. If there is one thing that seems never to have changed, it is the smell of those Parisien streets!
Duchesne Pere was already hard at work when we arrived and Lucille popped her head into his studio just long enough to let her father know that she was home before running up the stairs to fetch her drawings. When she returned she had a huge portfolio and a wooden board tucked under her arm. (The portrait is Monsieur Poussin, who was a junior member of the project team, but this was painted when he was older).
I was a little concerned in case she intended to make a drawing of me! (Always the same rule; take nothing but the clothes you stand up in, leave nothing more substantial than footprints and memories) but my concern was groundless. She showed me later that the board was a tiny oil painting of her own, beautifully detailed, with jewel-like colors, a "noli me tangere" with a very dishy athletic Christ drawing back from a rather disappointed-looking Mary Magdalen. I'm sure I have never seen it in my own time, and I very much hope it still survives somewhere, enjoyed perhaps by a family who appreciate its subtleties.
Most of her portfolio consisted of figure studies (draped, since even at this time, for propriety's sake, an artist would hang a gauze veil between themself and the nude) in red or brown chalk, some smaller landscapes, mostly, so she told me, painted not far from the city itself, one or two from her home town.
"Do you know how to mix colors?" she asks me. "This week, Monsieur Charille was to assist Papa, but he was the victim of an attack by footpads a few days ago. He is able to assist in the studio still, but he has such a great ugly bandage about his head! I will be assisting, but if you have the science of mixing pigments, perhaps Papa would let you assist him? and I could spend some time with Monsieur Champaigne."
She begins instructing me in the essentials:
"two parts oil of poppies with one part oil of linseed mixed, and a little clarified beeswax. Use the cooled wax like this, make it a paste, almost runny and add powder little by little. He keeps two dippers at hand, always keep the one not in use clean and filled with spirit, and be ready at a moment to take the dipper for cleaning. He keeps his brushes in three pots: large flats, large rounds, and squirrel pencils."
In the end, Lucille agrees to prepare a set of small vials with the most commonly used pigments, and I will assist by setting out Monsieur Duchesne's palette, making up additional paints as and when needed.
It is a bright, chill February morning a little after 8am when we arrive at the Palais Richelieu, and I direct as Monsieur Duchesne's portable easel, stretched canvas, and cases of paints and oils are unloaded from the carriage. While we are exactly on time as directed, we have to wait several minutes before his Eminence appears and settles himself patiently under the direction of the Master Painter. And all the while the sitting is in progress he discusses current affairs with the Master. It isn't long before one of his cats, Pyramus, settles contentedly in his lap.
Do you recall the news, two years ago, that King Charles of England had forged a pact with us, and with Spain? But as I recall, there was very little discussion of the details of the pact at the time. The King of England had dissolved the English Parliament, and taken upon himself the burden of rule, as God truly intended for a King. And has not his courageous action borne fruit? England is the stronger for him.
It appals me that King Charles should be expected to share his government with a rabble of commoners. Yes, truly! Absurd is it not? And for this, many shook their fists in the very face of God Himself, murmuring to usurp the rule of the anointed King! Now is not the time, with the present difficulties between Madame de Medicis and His Majesty, King Louis, but perhaps in time, we may lend the aid of our strong arm to set England once more on her true path."
Every time he gesticulates, I catch a slight waft of the scent of Parma violets and really good leather.
The sitting is finished a few minutes later than planned, but slightly short of the half-hour we had been given. In these crowded minutes, Monsieur Duchesne has added definition to the face and hair, particularly the moustache, and defined the hands more clearly, adding quick swatches of color to the cardinal's robes which presumably will be completed in the studio. Another ten minutes or so to clean brushes and palette, and we are ready to leave once more.

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Signal is Red - Proceed with Caution

To be honest, before leaving on this assignment, all I knew of Cardinal Richelieu was the rather unflattering portrait of Alexandre Dumas' "The Three Musketeers". Although I have been completely unable to catch more than a distant glimpse of the great man however, it seems my prejudice was entirely without foundation. Far from being the underhanded, scheming and ruthless politician of popular fiction, the various people I have spoken to have contributed to a much more charismatic picture.
While he is undoubtedly a master of political strategy, he is not a politician. He may be decisive and visionary, but it is not entirely fair to describe him as ruthless. And rather than underhanded, perhaps he should best be described as discreet. And I don't say these things as some wretched prisoner, hoping for mercy and terrified by the looming shadow of the Inquisition, but as an independent observer, visiting the age momentarily to learn what I can, and retrieve what seems most valuable to future ages. While my primary mission is to preserve examples of some of the best music ever recorded in codified form, I think I am also justified in paying tribute to his Eminence, and in my small way, remedying the injustice of his fictional portrait.
Sadly, none of my usual subterfuges have succeeded in gaining me access to the Cardinal, but I was fortunate enough to encounter a couple of musicians, members of an ensemble engaged to play for one of the Cardinal's entertainments at the Palais Richelieu, at one of the taverns nearby. And it is to these gentlemen that I am indebted for a rather hasty guided tour of the Palais during an interruption to their rehearsals.
Two things struck me during my tour; firstly, his Eminence is not only a very intelligent and capable statesman, but also a man of deeply-felt artistic sensibilities. His collection of works of art must surely be one of the finest in Europe, and, according to my guides, he collects not simply for the beauty of the paintings themselves, but for the ideas which they represent. Take for example the portrait of Robert Arnauld d'Andilly with his long gray hair and velvety black cloak. He might look, for all the world like some frail old grandma, but the bright eyes, and the firm grip with which he holds the scroll tell a very different story. This minister of finance for the nation of France is not a man to be trifled with, and I can quite understand how even Marie de Medicis hesitates to challenge him.

The Vow of Louis XIII skilfully combines the twin allegiances of his Eminence in a single painting, showing the King as he offers his crown and scepter to the dead Christ and the Virgin. And it is to the King that Richelieu owes his position as cardinal, for it was Louis XIII who nominated him for the scarlet robes nine years previous to my visit.
Over a couple of carefully nursed glasses of wine, I manage to learn that my host, Signor Paulo Vasari is an Italian musician in France to fulfil a contract to perform, and compose music for the Comte de Soissons, Louis de Bourbon. It's worth keeping in mind that in this period, the idea of arranging a piece of music, that is, of taking someone else's tune and using it in a new way, is taken for granted, so there is no meaningful distinction between a composer as someone who creates something entirely novel, and someone who cherry-picks the best of somebody else's output to express it a little differently.
I am indebted also, to Signor Vasari, for shedding some light on Richelieu's reputation as a zero-tolerance law enforcement officer; he tells me that before Richelieu was given his responsibility under the King, France was a notorious place not only for petty criminality, but for a corruption that was threatening to rot the state from within. If Richelieu's style of justice is sometimes forthright and brutal, it has brought about some far-reaching reconsiderations of the positions and liberties which momentarily threatened the throne of France.
Before we part company, Paulo is flattered that I insist on copying from his collection of songs and dances brought as he says "with my cap and my candle" from Italy, an entertaining Spanish dance. It seems that in court circles adaptations of real rustic dances are gaining popularity in contrast to the rather more refined, and classically influenced pastoral ballets of the previous generation.

References

please visit the Web Gallery of Art for more paintings by Philippe de Champaigne.

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Love is ... the oldest, yet the latest thing

To paraphrase Lewis Carroll's "Alice", all this jumping back and forth in time makes one quite giddy! I used to think it was bad enough when I woke up in the morning and couldn't remember where I was. Now I have to think "when am I?"
And as if that wasn't enough, I almost didn't get to go with the excursion I had requested. Madame director wanted me to go to France at the beginning of the seventeenth century, while I wanted to follow the link back from John of Salisbury.
In the end I managed to convince her of the value of the trail I was following, and since the technicalities make it impossible to travel to the same place and time more than once, my request was reluctantly granted. And so it is that I find myself in the company of some of the most extraordinary minds ever to gather in a single place:
Here, in 1139, at the Abbey of St.Gildas-de-Rhuys in Brittany, Father Abbot Pierre Abelard takes time from his monastic duties to engage students from some of the furthest reaches of the known world in philosophical and religious debates.
I am surprised (but perhaps, unfairly so) that among the young men who attend so eagerly and listen so attentively to his discourses, are several dark faces with features suggestive of Arab, or Indian heritage. I would have thought that differences in religious belief might have deterred these fellows from aspiring to learn from someone who is now known as much for his sermons as for his rhetoric and knowledge of classics.
Of course, Pierre Abelard was not always a friar. As a young man, quite apart from his promise as a scholar, he had opportunity to indulge his appetites at the various hostelries that catered to the students of Notre Dame university in Paris, but it seems physical pleasures were generally less enticing than intellectual ones. Until, that is, he got to know Heloise, a most unusual young woman taking full advantage of her uncle's guardianship to study alongside the menfolk.
The unhappy outcome of their relationship was that Heloise was compelled to enter holy orders, while Abelard was castrated by her uncle! But not before Heloise had conceived a child.
Despite their forced separation, it seems their love for one another never died.
In tribute to one of the great love stories of all time (for more information, I recommend the tale of Abelard and Heloise), I would like to reproduce in modern notation, the chant of Abbess Hildegard von Bingen, received recently at this abbey with other correspondence.

The full text of Pierre Abelard's own account of their story, Historia Calamitatum is available as an online e-text.

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With the tongues of Men and of Angels

"For he who sings praise, does not only praise, but also praises joyfully; he who sings praise, not only sings, but also loves Him whom he is singing about/to/for. There is a praise-filled public proclamation in the praise of someone who is confessing/acknowledging (God), in the song of the lover (there is) love."

(St. Augustine, Commentary on Psalm 73, 1)

Whenever I see John of Salisbury, Bishop of Chartres, I can't help thinking of the Bishop from the Lewis chessmen. A stocky saxon nobleman, with a permanently fixed distracted expression as if he's always in conversation with someone hiding under his mitre, but lively, ice-blue eyes, a firm handshake, and those extraordinary brightly-colored clerical robes.
The reason I sought out the Bishop was to learn more from him about the practice of singing organum which is rapidly gaining popularity in the church community. Since the earliest days of the established church, song has been an integral part of worship, but until recently the singing was limited to the style which eventually became known as Gregorian chant, although there is no solid connection between the tradition of an unaccompanied choir singing a melody in unison. In the year we are visiting, 1179, opinions are still divided over the question of whether chant should be in blessed unison or heavenly harmony.
In conversation with one of the Deans of the Université de Notre Dame here in Paris, the Bishop expressed his opinion which seems to favor continuing progress with careful moderation:

"When you hear the soft harmonies of the various singers, some taking high and others low parts, some singing in advance, some following in the rear, others with pauses and interludes, you would think yourself listening to a concert of sirens rather than men, and wonder at the powers of voices … whatever is most tuneful among birds, could not equal. Such is the facility of running up and down the scale; so wonderful the shortening or multiplying of notes, the repetition of the phrases, or their emphatic utterance: the treble and shrill notes are so mingled with tenor and bass, that the ears lost their power of judging. When this goes to excess it is more fitted to excite lust than devotion; but if it is kept in the limits of moderation, it drives away care from the soul and the solicitudes of life, confers joy and peace and exultation in God, and transports the soul to the society of angels..."

I was also surprised and delighted when I learned that in his youth, the Bishop was a student here himself, under the tutelage of Pierre Abelard, famed forever in the story of Abelard and Heloise!
For the students here in Paris, this is an age of wonders. A time when the glory of God seems almost tangible, the Kingdom of God is certainly at hand, and anything might be possible. And even hiding behind the persona of one of the Bishop's retinue, I can feel the tide of excitement surging as young men engage in lively debates in the taverns nearest to the schools of the Université, and learned doctors speculate on ways in which the majesty of the Creator is revealed in His creation.
Undoubtedly the most exciting evening of my own visit here is attendance at an evening service in the cathedral at which the Bishop will officiate; the music the choir is singing is an organum triplum composed by Magister Perotin.

Perhaps it is because they are used to helping students to answer queries, that when I approach the Bishop with my question about the beginnings of organum singing, not only does he answer me from his own experience, but he also tows me along through the huddle of worshippers to ask Magister Perotin himself!
Between the two of them I manage to understand that as early as the ninth century, choirs had begun to embellish the music on special occasions by dividing into two groups, one group singing tenor, the plain melody, and the other singing the same melody at a fourth, or fifth above, or below. And although there is a new development being tried experimentally by some choirs, the organum contrarium, in which the tenor is inverted by the vox organalis, the Bishop is not as enthusiastic for it as he is for Perotin's organum duplum and triplum.
Magister Perotin asks me whether I can read (have you ever tried reading a medieval manuscript? in latin, too); the library of the Université contains copies of the treatises Ad Organum Faciendum, (To Make Organum) and Musica Enchiriadis. As much as I would love to stay and study the manuscripts, I worry that my ineptitude as a reader might provoke too many questions about my background, and not for the first time, I find myself confounded. While the technology of my native time has made it possible for me to explore history, it has not provided me with any better recording media than my own brains.
I should mention that I didn't learn until almost I was ready to return to my own time, that Magister Perotin is well into his eighties, but I would have guessed his age to be roughly contemporary with the Bishop. Like Moses, his eye was not dimmed, nor his natural force abated!

In Memoriam: Midnight_In_Gethsemane 1953-2008

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Szmytke of Flickr, for permission to use the image of the Lewis chessmen, and the M.A.B. soloists and M.Moriwaki for their transcription of Perotin's organum, shown above.

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The Happiest Days of Our Lives

The history alone, of St.Trinian's Academy for Young Ladies should be required reading for anyone considering entering the teaching profession.

In 1954, under the leadership of headmistress Millicent Fitton, the school which was facing bankruptcy proceedings at the time, was the subject of an undercover police investigation. Following the disappearance of two Ministry of Education Inspectors in mysterious circumstances, Sgt. Ruby Gates was assigned to the case, posing as a temporary teacher. What she discovered was an appalling misuse of school resources to organize a gambling ring.
Having been saved from bankruptcy by the extraordinary twisted ingenuity of the pupils, and some questionable legal horsetrading, in 1957 the school was again involved in criminal proceedings. As a result of the 1954 scandal, Miss Fitton was jailed and two Army units were assigned to peacekeeping duties on the premises. It was during this interregnum that one of the school parents, who had participated in a major diamond robbery, took refuge in the school, posing as the replacement headmistress.
The original school building was destroyed by arson in 1960, for which crime the pupils were indicted and committed to the care of a child psychiatrist. It was while in the care of the psychiatrist that the entire sixth form were abducted and traced to a ship headed for Arabia. While the Ministry of Education, local police and Army forces were coordinating a rescue effort, the abducted girls were rescued by the fourth form. An Army spokesman described the collateral damage as "within acceptable limits".
The school made headlines once more in 1966 when the pupils learned that the proceeds of a major train robbery had been concealed on the school grounds. The Barchester county Chief Constable admitted in an interview that the successful capture of the gang responsible was due in large measure to the quick thinking and effective action of the girls.
In 1980 the schoolgirl rhyme

God made the bees,
The bees make the honey,
We do all the bloomin' work
And teachers get the money!

took on a new and more urgent significance than ever before as the pupils of St.Trinians went on strike!
Most recently, in 2007, the school was once again rescued from bankruptcy when the pupils intercepted an art theft. The school received a £50,000 reward (approximately $100,000) for recovering and returning safely the painting "Girl with a pearl earring" by Dutch 17th century artist Jan Vermeer.

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