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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