MISERICORDIA - Passion, Pestilence and Polyphony

Passion, Pestilence and Polyphony

Music from the fourteenth century

CD cover

The Fourteenth century was a time of plague, war, and famine, but also a time of increasing musical freedom, inventiveness, and complexity, the emerging musical style being termed the Ars Nova (New Art) by contemporary writers.

Guillaume de Machaut (1300-1377), canon of Rheims and often in the service of royalty, is often described as the most important poet and composer of the Fourteenth century and is the first major writer of polyphony to be known by name. Among his innovations were the polyphonic ballades (nos. 4, 12, 14), rondeaux (no.5), and virelais. The texts of these usually deal with the convention of courtly love, in which the lady is idealised, but the lover is unrequited, so the love is unconsummated, which makes the lover idealise the lady even more. 'Donnez Signeurs' (no. 14) is the exception, this is an encouragement to rich patrons, eager to spend conspicuously, perhaps on a musical commission! Machaut did not abandon simpler monophonic songs (nos. 13, 16), including virelais (no. 17), which are associated with dance. Machaut's mastery lay in uniting the 'sentiment' of each piece in words and music, often conceiving them together. He enjoyed listening repeatedly to his works as part of the compositional process , describing his lower voice parts as 'sweet as unsalted gruel'!

From later in the century an Italian manuscript survives, containing fifteen anonymous monophonic instrumental pieces written in a dance form (nos. 3, 6, 11) with titles like 'Salterello' ('jumping dance') and 'Trotto' ('trotting dance'). Some of these are described as Istampita, the Italian version of the Estampie - a Thirteenth century French dance form with a number of sections of different length, each repeated with the same open then closed endings. We include a two part piece (no. 9) which follows this structure. Found in England, it was probably written for organ. Although Johannes de Grocheio, in his treatise of c.1300, mentions dances of sufficient difficulty to divert the minds of the young from erotic thoughts, 'Istampita Belicha' (no.6), with its complexity, may be an early example of an extension of the form, rather than music to accompany dancing. Along with the Istampitas are found songs by the renowned composer, poet, and organist Francesco Landini (1325-1397) from Florence, who lost his sight after contracting smallpox as a child. His 'Ecco La Primavera' (no.7) is a ballata, the Italian form of the french ballade. Also from Florence is Gherardello da Firenze (c.1320-1362) whose song 'De` Poni Amor a Me' (no.15) we give an instrumental fantasy treatment with improvised introduction.

We include one English liturgical piece - 'Agnus Dei' (no. 8), a beautiful example of the richness of early fourteenth century polyphony constructed around the plain chant. French was the dominant language of the English Royal court and therefore most secular songs popular with the upper classes were written in French. Few songs have been found written in the English vernacular, probably a tiny proportion of those performed. The songs in English which have survived have often been preserved by accident rather than design - found on the back of a letter, or perhaps scrawled in the margin of a manuscript. 'Lou Lou Lou!' could be regarded as rather vulgar, 'Trew On Wam' (no. 2) is a courtly love song, expressing similar sentiments to the songs of Machaut and 'Me lyketh ever the lenger the bet' (no. 1) could be the work of the Winchester tourist board circa 1400!

Translations

by Helen Barber

1. English; From a collection of songs made in Winchester College around 1395.

Me lykyth ever the lenger the bet
by Wynchestyr, that joly cyte.
The toun ys good and wel yset,
the folk ys cumly on to see.
The ayr ys good, bothe yn and out.
The cyte stont bineth an hylle,
the ryvers rennyth al about.
The toun ys rulyd uppe skylle. I am pleased continually, the longer the better,
by Winchester, that jolly city.
The town is good and well positioned,
its people are attractive to see.
The air is good, both indoors and outside.
The city stands under a hill,
the rivers run all about.
The town is governed according to reason.

2. English; from the same collection.

Trew, on Wam is al my tryst
and that y serve as y best can,
thogh ye have on me unlyst,
so hertly as y am yowr man
(A hende hap, and therwyth hy),
hel the herte that y now have;
let me nought on yow crave and cry,
syth ye mow yowr sylve me save. O Faithful one, who is all my trust
and whom I serve as best I can,
though you are displeased with me,
still sincerely I am your man
(a pleasing fortune, and honourable as well),
heal the wound that I now have;
do not cause me to beg and cry to you,
since you can save me yourself.

3. Italian; Salterello, from 1390s.

4. French; Guillaume de Machaut

Je sui aussi com cilz qui est ravis,
Qui n'avertu, sens ne entendement,
Car je ne sui a nulle riens pensis,
Jour ne demi,
Temps, heure ne moment,
Fors seulement a m'amour
Et sans partir en ce penser demour.
Soit contre moy, soit pour moy,
tout oubli
Fors li qu'aim mieus
Cent mille fois que mi. I am so like one who is entranced,
Who has neither caution, sense nor reason,
For I can think not a thing,
Neither by day or by half day,
Nor any time, hour or moment,
Except only of my love
With no leave or letting go of this thought.
Whether against me or for me,
all is forgotten
Except her whom I love
A hundred thousand times more than myself.

Quant je le voy, mes cuers est si espris
Qu'il art et frit si amoureusement
Qu'a ma maniere appert et a mon vis;
Et quant loing sui de son viaire gent, When I see her, my heart is so seized
That it burns and scorches so lovingly
It is apparent in my manner and my face;
And when I am far from her pretty face

Je languis a grant dolour:
Tant ay desir de veoir sa valour.
Riens ne me plaist; tout fui, tout ay guerpi
Fors li qu'aim mieus
Cent mille fois que mi. I languish in great pain.
So much do I desire to see her worth.
Nothing pleases me; I shun everything
Except her whom I love
A hundred thousand times more than myself.

Einsi lontains et pres langui toudis,
Dont changies sui et muez tellement
Que je me doubt que n'en soie enhaïs
De meinte gent et de li proprement.
Et c'est toute ma paour;
Car je n'i scay moien, voie ne tour,
Ne riens n'i puet valoir m'aidier aussi
Fors li qu'aim mieus
Cent mille fois que mi. Thus far and near I languish always,
By which I am so changed and altered
That I doubt myself and I am hated for it
By many people, especially by her.
And that is all I fear;
Because I know no means, way or trick,
Nor can anything so avail or help
Except her whom I love
A hundred thousand times more than myself.

5. French; Guillaume de Machaut

Puis qu'en oubli sui de vous, dous amis,
Vie amoureuse et joie a Dieu commant.
Mar vi le jour que m'amour en vous mis,
Puis qu'en oubli sui de vous, dous amis,
Mais ce tenray que je vous ay promis,
C'est que ja mais n'aray nul autre amant.
Puis qu'en oubli sue de vous, dous amis,
Vie amoureuse et joie a Dieu commant. Since you have forgotten me, sweet love,
I commend to God the life of love and joy.
Cursed be the day when I put my love in you
Since you have forgotten me, sweet love,
But I will keep that which I promised you,
That is, that I will never have any other lover,
Since you have forgotten me, sweet love,
I commend to God the life of love and joy.

6. Italian; Belicha, from 1390s.

7. Italian; Francesco Landini

Ecco la primavera che 'l cor fa rallegrare,
Temp'e da'nnamorare,
E star con lieta cera.
Nov' e giam l'aria e 'l tempo,
che pur chiam' allegreca.
In questo vago tempo, ogni cosa ha vagheca.
L'erbe con gran frescheca
E fiori coprono i prati,
e gli alberi adornati sono in simil manera. Here comes the spring with which the heart is merry;
It is the time for falling in love
And wearing a happy face.
We see the air and the weather
Which also summons cheerfulness.
In this pretty time everything has beauty.
The grass with great freshness
And the flowers cover the meadows.
And the trees are adorned in a like manner.

8. English; Agnus Dei From Worcester Cathedral 1310.

9. English; Estampie; from The Robertsbridge Codex, Sussex ,early 14th century.

10. English; before 1330.

Lou lou lou! wer he goth!
For hir i les myn halywater, lou! Look, look, look! there she goes!
she made me spill my holy water, look!

11. Italian; Trotto; from 1390s.

12. French; Guillaume de Machaut,

Doulz amis, oy mon compleint:
A toy se pleint et compleint
Par deffaut de tes secours,
Mes cuers qu'amours si contreint
Que tiens remeint; dont mal meint
Ay, quant tu ne me secours en mes langours.
Car d'ailours
N'est riens qui confort m'amaint.
S'en croist mes plours tous les jours,
Quant tes cuers en moy ne maint. Sweet Friend, listen to my lament:
I complain and lament to you
In the absence of any help on your part,
My loving heart is so constrained,
It is forced to remain yours; causing me great trouble
Ah! Since you do not help me in my langour.
Because in my distress,
There is nothing which comforts my love.
My tears will increase everyday
Since your heart no longer lives within me.

Amis, t'amour si m'ataint
Que me vis taint et destaint
Souvent de pluseurs coulours
Et mon dolent cuer estraint;
Si le destraint qu'il estaint,
Quant on toy n'a son recours.
S'a jours trop cours,
Se n'acours
Pour li garir, car il creint
Mort qui d'amours vient le cours,
Quant tes cuers en moy ne maint. Friend, your love hurts me so much
That you see my face, at first pale, then blushing,
often changing colour
And love wrings my suffering heart;
Constrains it until it faints,
When it has no help from you.
So its days are too short,
If you do not hasten to heal it,
Because it cries out for fear of Death,
Which comes swiftly to the course of love
Since your heart no longer lives within me.

Mon cuer t'amour si ensaint
Qu'il ne se faint qu'il ne t'aint
Pour tes parfaites doucours;
Et ta biaute qui tout vaint
Dedens li paint et empraint
Aveuc tes hautes valours. My heart is so full of your love
That it is not false nor concealing its love for you
Because of your perfect sweetness;
And your beauty which vanquishes everything.
It seizes my heart within,
Impresses it with your great value.

S'en sont gringnours mes dolours
Et plus doloreus mi plaint
Et en decours mes vigours,
Quant tes cuers en moy ne maint. So my suffering is greater,
My lament more dolorous
And my strength wanes
Since your heart no longer lives within me.

13. French; Guillaume de Machaut

J'aim sans penser laidure
Et ay lonc temps ame
Celle ou dieus et Nature ont mis tant de bonte.
Que toute creature d'onneur a seurmonte.
Or m'est dure sans mesure.
N'elle n'a pite
De l'ardure que j'endure
Pour sa grant biaute.
Sa maniere seure, douce et simple, a mon gre.
Et la riche faiture de sa plaisant biaute
Par leur douce pointure
M'ont conquis et outre.
Or m'est dure...
Mais ce n'est pas droiture qu'einsi pour loyaute
Soie a desconfiture, car j'ay sans faussete
Ma dame nette et pure servi et honnoure.
Or m'est dure... I love without jealousy and from my soul,
I have loved this lady for a long time
In whom God and nature have put so much virtue,
That she surmounts all creatures in honour.
Now she is hard towards me, unmeasurably
She has no pity
On the passion which I endure
Because of her great beauty.
Her assured manner, sweet and simple, (to my liking)
And the richness of her charming beauty
With its sweet wounds
Have conquered and outdone me.
Now she is hard towards me...
But it is not righteous that thus for loyalty
I should be frustrated, for I have without falsity
Served and honoured my fair and pure lady.
Now she is hard towards me...

14. French; Guillaume de Machaut

Donnez, signeurs, donnez a toutes mains,
Ne retenez seulement fors l'onneur.
S'onneur avez et de richesses meins,
Pour vous seront li grant et li meneur;
Chascuns dira: ci a vaillant signeur.
Et terre aussi qu'est despendue
Vaut trop mieus que terre perdue. Give, my lords, give with both hands,
Retain only your honour.
For honour you have and many riches,
For both great and small will be yours;
Everyone will say: This is a noble lord
And also a land that is well spent
Is worth much more than a land that is lost.

15. Italian; De` Poni Amor a me Gherardello da Firenze (c.1320-1362)

16. French; Guillaume de Machaut

Quant je sui mis au retour de veoir ma dame.
Il n'est peinne ne dolour que j'aie, par m'ame. When I am returned from seeing my lady.
It is not pain or sadness That I feel, in my soul.

Dieus! C'est drois que je l'aim, sans blame.
De loial amour.
Sa biaute, sa grant doucour.
D'amoureuse flame
Par souvenir, nuit et jour
M'esprent et enflame.
Dieus! c'est drois que je l'aim, sans blame.
De loial amour.
Et quant sa haute valour
Mon fin cuer entame.
Servir la weil sans folour
Penser ne diffame.
Dieus! c'est drois que je l'aim, sans blame.
De loial amour. God! It is right that I love her, blamelessly.
With a loyal love.
Her beauty, her great sweetness.
With love's flame
For a keepsake, night and day
Grips and inflames me.
God! it is right that I love her, blamelessly.
With a loyal love.
And because her great value
Unlocks my heart.
To serve her is my wish, without folly,
thought nor dishonour.
God! It is right that I love her, blamelessly.
With a loyal love.

17. French; Guillaume de Machaut

Douce dame jolie. Pour Dieu ne penses mie
Que nulle ait signourie seur moy fors vous seulement.
Qu'ades sans tricherie chierie
Vous ay et humblement
Tous les jours de ma vie Servie
Sans vilein pensement.
Helas! et je mendie d'esperance et d'aie;
Dont ma joie est feniem, se pite ne vous en prent.
Douce dame jolie...
Mais vo douce maistrie
Maistrie mon cuer si durement
Qu'elle le contralie Et lie
En amours tellement
Qu'il n'a de riens envie fors d'estre en vo baillie;
Et se ne li ottrie vos cuers nul aligement.
Douce dame jolie... Sweet pretty lady. For God's sake do not think
That any one has authority over me but you alone.
For ceaselessly without falsehood I have cherished you.
And humbly
All the days of my life I have served you
Without unworthy thoughts.
Alas! and I must beg for hope and aid;
So my joy is ended If you do not take pity.
Sweet pretty lady...
But your sweet mastery
Masters my heart so harshly
That it torments it And binds it
In love so much
That it desires nothing but to be in your service;
And yet your heart grants it no relief.
Sweet pretty lady...

Et quant ma maladie Garie
Ne sera nullement
Sans vous, douce anemie, qui lie
Estes de mon tourment.
A jointes mains deprie vo cuer,
puis qu'il m'oublie.
Que temprement m'ocie, car trop langui longuement.
Douce dame jolie... And since my malady
Will not be Cured at all
Without you, sweet enemy, who are glad
At my torment.
With folded hands I pray to your heart,
since it forgets me.
That it should kill me quickly, for I languish too long.
Sweet pretty lady...

Anne Marie Summers and Stephen Tyler have been performing and recording early and traditional music as Misericordia since 1992. Recent recordings include 'English Medieval Song' and 'Eschewyng of Ydleness- Medieval music for dancing.'

Helen Barber sings practically anything from Machaut to Schoenberg via the Sacred Harp. She is also a performer of Arabic dance.

Terry Mann is a composer and multi-instrumentalist.

Anne Marie Summers - bagpipes by Jon Swayne and Julian Goodacre, voice, recorder, hurdy gurdy by Bela Szerenyi, harp by Bill Bohill

Stephen Tyler - hurdy gurdy by Chris Eaton, gothic harp, citole by Chris Elmes, hammer dulcimer

Helen Barber - voice

Terry Mann - tapan, darabouka, dumbek, frame drum, duf, reque, voice

Recorded by Stephen Tyler at Brancepeth Castle during 2005-2006

Mixed by Graham Raine - March 2006 - Offbeat Tracks, Northumberland

Misericordia Main Page

Contact Misericordia if you would like to book a performance, order a CD, or just find out more.

Je sui aussi com cilz qui est ravis, Qui n'avertu, sens ne entendement, Car je ne sui a nulle riens pensis, Jour ne demi, Temps, heure ne moment, Fors seulement a m'amour Et sans partir en ce penser demour. Soit contre moy, soit pour moy, tout oubli Fors li qu'aim mieus Cent mille fois que mi.	I am so like one who is entranced, Who has neither caution, sense nor reason, For I can think not a thing, Neither by day or by half day, Nor any time, hour or moment, Except only of my love With no leave or letting go of this thought. Whether against me or for me, all is forgotten Except her whom I love A hundred thousand times more than myself.
Quant je le voy, mes cuers est si espris Qu'il art et frit si amoureusement Qu'a ma maniere appert et a mon vis; Et quant loing sui de son viaire gent,	When I see her, my heart is so seized That it burns and scorches so lovingly It is apparent in my manner and my face; And when I am far from her pretty face
Je languis a grant dolour: Tant ay desir de veoir sa valour. Riens ne me plaist; tout fui, tout ay guerpi Fors li qu'aim mieus Cent mille fois que mi.	I languish in great pain. So much do I desire to see her worth. Nothing pleases me; I shun everything Except her whom I love A hundred thousand times more than myself.
Einsi lontains et pres langui toudis, Dont changies sui et muez tellement Que je me doubt que n'en soie enhaïs De meinte gent et de li proprement. Et c'est toute ma paour; Car je n'i scay moien, voie ne tour, Ne riens n'i puet valoir m'aidier aussi Fors li qu'aim mieus Cent mille fois que mi.	Thus far and near I languish always, By which I am so changed and altered That I doubt myself and I am hated for it By many people, especially by her. And that is all I fear; Because I know no means, way or trick, Nor can anything so avail or help Except her whom I love A hundred thousand times more than myself.

Doulz amis, oy mon compleint: A toy se pleint et compleint Par deffaut de tes secours, Mes cuers qu'amours si contreint Que tiens remeint; dont mal meint Ay, quant tu ne me secours en mes langours. Car d'ailours N'est riens qui confort m'amaint. S'en croist mes plours tous les jours, Quant tes cuers en moy ne maint.	Sweet Friend, listen to my lament: I complain and lament to you In the absence of any help on your part, My loving heart is so constrained, It is forced to remain yours; causing me great trouble Ah! Since you do not help me in my langour. Because in my distress, There is nothing which comforts my love. My tears will increase everyday Since your heart no longer lives within me.
Amis, t'amour si m'ataint Que me vis taint et destaint Souvent de pluseurs coulours Et mon dolent cuer estraint; Si le destraint qu'il estaint, Quant on toy n'a son recours. S'a jours trop cours, Se n'acours Pour li garir, car il creint Mort qui d'amours vient le cours, Quant tes cuers en moy ne maint.	Friend, your love hurts me so much That you see my face, at first pale, then blushing, often changing colour And love wrings my suffering heart; Constrains it until it faints, When it has no help from you. So its days are too short, If you do not hasten to heal it, Because it cries out for fear of Death, Which comes swiftly to the course of love Since your heart no longer lives within me.
Mon cuer t'amour si ensaint Qu'il ne se faint qu'il ne t'aint Pour tes parfaites doucours; Et ta biaute qui tout vaint Dedens li paint et empraint Aveuc tes hautes valours.	My heart is so full of your love That it is not false nor concealing its love for you Because of your perfect sweetness; And your beauty which vanquishes everything. It seizes my heart within, Impresses it with your great value.
S'en sont gringnours mes dolours Et plus doloreus mi plaint Et en decours mes vigours, Quant tes cuers en moy ne maint.	So my suffering is greater, My lament more dolorous And my strength wanes Since your heart no longer lives within me.