Maiden, Mother, Muse
/ The New Orleans Musica da Camera
Women in the Cantigas
medieval.org
Centaur 2434
1998
1. Porque trobar
[4:00] Prologo •
Thaïs St. Julien & instruments
2. Quena Virgen ben servir [5:42]
CSM 59 •
ensemble
3. Fazer pode [3:49]
CSM 118 •
instrumental · Michael Relland & Bryce Reveley
4. De vergonna nos guardar [8:59]
CSM 94 •
ensemble
5. A madre de Deus [1:54]
CSM 89 •
instrumental · Stuart LeBlanc
6. Santa Maria amar [8:59]
CSM 7 •
Cheryl Dring & ensemble
7. Rosa das rosas [5:56]
CSM 10 •
Vox Feminæ & bells
Cantiga Suite •
instrumental
8. Dized' ai, trobadores [1:43]
CSM 260
9. O que en Santa Maria [1:35]
CSM 216
10. Ben sab' [1:51]
CSM 179
11. Quen na Virgen groriosa [6:16]
CSM 256 •
ensemble
12. De muitas guisas [2:20]
CSM 58 •
Milton Scheuermann & Michael Reiland
13. Por nos de dulta tirar [9:10]
CSM 18 •
Thaïs St. Julien & ensemble
14. Ay, Santa Maria [2:49]
CSM 79 •
instrumental
15. Muito deveria [6:29]
CSM 300 •
ensemble
NEW ORLEANS MUSICA DA CAMERA
Milton G. Scheuermann, Jr. · Thaïs St. Julien
Milton G. Scheuermann, Jr. · recorders, gemshorn, kortholt,
symphonia, bells
Stuart LeBlanc · citole, lute
Bryce Reveley · harp
Michael Reiland · vielle
James Clark · percussion
VOX FEMINÆ
Thaïs St. Julien, director
Cheryl Dring, assistant director
Cheryl Dring
Jodie Dunnick McWilliams
Linda Ruth Park
Carla Pendergrass
Thaïs St. Julien
Elizabeth Schneller
Missy Crane Worden
The Cantigas de Santa Maria of Alfonso X, the Wise, a Brief
Introduction —Kathleen Kulp-Hill
Rhythm and Accompaniment of the Cantigas de Santa Maria —Hendrik van der Werf
Singing the Cantigas —Thais St. Julien
The Musical Instruments on this Recording —Milton G. Scheuermann, Jr.
recorded on January 20 and 22, 1998, at De La Ronde Hall, Baton Rouge,
Louisiana.
produced and Engineered by Victor E. Sachse and Daniel Cassin.
edited by Daniel Cassin. Executive Producer: Victor E. Sachse.
© 2001 Centaur Records, Inc. / www.centaurrecords.com •
•
"Don Alfonso of Castile, of Toledo, of León is king from
Compostela as far as the kingdom of Aragón". So does Alfonso X
(1221-1284) present himself in the introductory poem of his collection
of songs in honor of the Virgin Mary, the Cantigas de Santa Maria. He
became king in 1252 upon the death of his father, Fernando III, the
Saintly. Warrior as well as statesman, he continued the conquest and
colonization of territories belonging to Islamic kingdoms, engaged in
political struggles with powerful nobles of the various kingdoms and
counties of the Iberian Peninsula and with other European powers, vied
unsuccessfully for the title of Holy Roman Emperor, endured strife and
betrayal within his own family, and suffered periods of bad health and
a long final illness. He experienced both triumphs and defeats, and
history gives his reign mixed reviews.
Alfonso is best remembered and acclaimed for his intellectual and
artistic pursuits, which earned him the sobriquet "el Sabio" ("wise" or
"learned"). Possessed of curiosity, vision, and zest for life (a sort
of Renaissance man ahead of his time), and having the royal means to
support his projects, he strove to gather, preserve, and divulge the
learning and esthetic achievements of his known world. He exploited the
cultural diversity of his domain and employed scholars and translators
knowledgeable in Latin, Hebrew and Arabic. Works produced in his
studios include scientific treatises, prose fiction, histories, and
codes of law. The language he used for his learned production was the
vernacular of Castile, thus transforming one of the regional Romance
spoken dialects into a literary and scientific language and laying the
groundwork for the development of Castilian as a national and
international language, what we know as modern Spanish.
Alfonso was also interested in poetry, music, and visual arts, and was
himself a poet and musician. The favored language of poetry on the
Iberian Peninsula at that time (and well into the fifteenth century)
was Galician-Portuguese, the Romance dialect of the northwestern
region, instrument of a flourishing poetic tradition influenced by the
Provençal troubadours as well as indigenous currents. Alfonso
wrote secular poetry in the amorous and satirical veins then in vogue
(cantigas d'amigo, cantigas d'amor, and cantigas de escarnho e de
maldizer). Poets, musicians, and performers from many parts came
together in his court.
The Cantigas de Santa Maria (CSM), King Alfonso's most lavish, beloved,
and personal work (also in Galician-Portuguese) is a long, illustrated
song book dedicated to the Virgin Mary. He calls the book his own, and
while he is probably not the only author, he certainly contributed some
of the poems and closely oversaw all aspects of the book's production.
It combines his personal devotion, the popular cult of Mary, the
aristocratic courtly love conventions, and the belief that the purpose
of art was to instruct as well as delight. As an offering to his fair
and holy Lady, a token of his love, and a plea for mercy and salvation,
and as inspiration and object lesson to the populace, he composed,
collected, and compiled hymns and miracle tales in verse, all set to
music, which ultimately contained 420 songs. Three of the four extant
manuscripts are exquisitely illustrated.
The poems in the CSM employ all of the poetic forms in use in the
thirteenth century, from the traditional indigenous meters to the
complex styles adopted from the Provençal school. Because of the
range of styles and subjects, the vocabulary of the CSM is extremely
rich. The language contains elements of the cultured and conventional
poetic diction, but for the most part it is simple and straightforward
with an authentically colloquial flavor — medieval
Galician-Portuguese captured in its living forms.
In content, the poems are amazingly varied. The frame is Alfonso's
devotion to the Virgin Mary translated to the courtly-love conceit with
the king as troubadour suing for the favors of a heavenly rather than
mortal mistress. Every tenth poem is a hymn in her praise, extolling
her virtues and attributes, expressing gratitude for her benevolence,
or appealing to her infinite mercy. The remaining, more numerous
compositions are accounts of her miracles, a repository of many of the
world's greatest brief narratives. Some are well-known and widely
diffused legends from the general European store, others are peculiar
to certain localities, and a number deal with the direct experience of
Alfonso.
In these (some 360) narratives, the cast of characters represents all
walks of life, from beggars to princes, and the reader witnesses
affairs of state as well as intimate domestic scenes. A colorful
panorama of medieval life unfolds, rendered especially vivid by
insertion of homely detail and snatches of dialogue. It is an
overwhelming abundance. Many ailments are cured, battles won, crimes
punished, dead persons revived, storms calmed, treasures found, and
sins forgiven, all narrated with sprightly animation and disarming
frankness.
Furthermore, to many of these stories we have the video. Three of the
codices are illustrated. The famous "Códice Rico," or Escorial
Codex T.I.1, contains 195 compositions, with full page illustrations of
typically six individual frames — each an exquisite and detailed
miniature in its own right — which depict key scenes from the
poem. The artwork of the later Florence Codex, planned as a
continuation, was also to be illustrated but was left to a great extent
unfinished. However, those finished pages are of exquisite detail and
quality and the various stages of the unfinished illustrations reveal
much about their conception and execution. The longest manuscript,
Escorial Codex J.b.2, has forty beautifully rendered miniatures of
musicians and instruments.
Because of their verbal and visual realism, the CSM provide rich
sources of information on medieval medicine, commerce, agriculture,
religious practices, folk customs, home and family life, warfare, and
many other subjects. Characters and events, no matter what their
source, were interpreted in a contemporary setting and the insistence
on detail was scrupulous, lending credibility to the story. Thus we see
in great detail how people lived in thirteenth-century Iberia: dress,
houses, plants, animals, work, travel, battles, games, and much more.
Supernatural beings were envisioned in terms of the real. Christ, Mary,
the saints, and the angels are depicted in idealized human form, and
mingle quite comfortably with mortals. The devils are anthropomorphic,
albeit monstrous and grotesque. Heaven is a beautiful garden, hell is a
stinking pit with boiling caldrons.
The CSM are songs and can be enjoyed for their music alone, a universal
idiom which transcends space and time. The musical scores for the
poems, deciphered and transcribed to modern notation in the twentieth
century, represent a repertory as vast, rich, and eclectic as the
society from which it sprang. Along with many other influences, the
popular current runs strong. The miniatures show musicians and their
instruments in vivid detail. King Alfonso willed the books of the Songs
of Praise of Holy Mary to the church where he would be buried (the
cathedral of Seville), instructing that they be sung on the Virgin's
feast days, as they are to this day.
Holy Mary is the inspiration and protagonist of the book, the muse who
also plays a central role. She has many attributes: "Old Woman and Girl
Child, / Mother and Maiden, Pauper and Queen, / Mistress and
Handmaiden" (CSM 180). Her oneness is multiple and her multiplicity
unique. She is the maiden conceived without sin, the innocent girl
chosen to be mother of God and retain her purity. She is the joyful and
youthful madonna with her beautiful Son in her arms or the mater
dolorosa who mourns Him in death. She is the merciful mother whose
virtue and mercy embrace all God's creatures. She is Queen of Heaven,
taken body and soul to reign with God on high and be intercessor for
her faithful. As muse, she has inspired countless works of literature,
music, and art down through the centuries. In the CSM she inspires not
only king Alfonso but also artists and poets among the characters, for
example: the painter of Cantiga 74, who depicts her as beautiful; the
friar who paints her name in three colors (385); the priest who
composes a hymn for her (202); the innocent student condemned to death
who dedicates a song to her (291).
Holy Mary's activities range the gamut of society. No one social group
is particularly emphasized, since Her mercy is egalitarian. In view of
her pervasive feminine presence, the treatment of women is of interest.
Women characters figure prominently in the collection — playing a
principal part in approximately one fourth of the narrative poems (90
out of 360), and are depicted with somewhat greater frequency in the
miniatures, either as a main character or as parts of groups. The
intent is not portraiture or character development, although they are
true to life. They are treated frankly and dispassionately, neither
idealized nor denigrated as a sex; they form a significant component of
the population and miracles happen to them. All classes of women are
found, from the noble donas — countesses, queens, empresses
— to hardworking housewives, businesswomen, nuns, paupers,
beggars and prostitutes. The Islamic and Jewish faiths are represented.
The most noble callings for a woman are mother and nun, and Holy Mary
has particular sympathy for these. In the family context there are also
many touching portrayals of children and devoted husbands and fathers.
While Mary is accessible and familiar, her divinity and power command
awed respect. The book is reverent, but down to earth, and the line
between the miraculous and the ordinary, the supernatural and the
natural, is blurred. The miracles are accepted unquestioningly, but the
focus is on the human and a joy of life pervades all, for Mary
represents life — here and hereafter. We may find certain
incidents and customs quaint and curious that the medieval audience
took seriously, or at least for granted, but the writers and artists
were not insensitive to humor. In many cases we are probably amused by
the very same things — the perennial comedy of human foibles. The
humor is not satirical or scurrilous, and the cruder forms of
entertainment are reprehended. Any mockery of Holy Mary meets with
swift and severe punishment, as in the case of the minstrel who mimics
the statue of Our Lady and is struck to the ground paralyzed (293). The
language is rich in witty figures of speech and colloquial turns of
phrase. The artists had their fun, too. The drunk monk of no. 47
staggers tipsily. The lustful knight of no. 137 embraces two
courtesans, whose hands creep toward his purse. It is all right to make
fun of the devils and imps, who are sometimes depicted as ridiculous
and cowardly bogies up to all kinds of antics. Here humor serves to
take the edge off the terrible, and after all, evil is no match for
Holy Mary's power.
Each medium of the CSM — words, pictures, and melodies —
can be studied and enjoyed on its own, but for fullest appreciation of
the work it must be experienced in its multimedia splendor. This was
possible to only a privileged few in Alfonso's time. For centuries
thereafter the work was virtually inaccessible, the rare manuscripts
guarded in libraries, the musical scores unintelligible. From the late
19th century to the present, scholars, artists, and musicians have
applied their knowledge and talents to the understanding and
dissemination of the various aspects of the CSM. These ongoing
endeavors, allied with technological advances in areas such as
photography, printing, cinema, sound recording, and communications, now
enable a vast and far-flung public to experience in an immediate way
the wonders of this remarkable book. Alfonso, with his intellectual
curiosity, love of knowledge and beauty, and spiritual fervor, would
certainly approve and rejoice that more than seven centuries later the
treasured songs and stories of his beloved Lady can instruct,
entertain, and inspire an audience far wider than he could ever have
imagined.
Professor of Spanish and Portuguese
Eastern Kentucky University
Duration of individual syllables and pitches is one of the most elusive
aspects of the music of the thirteenth and preceding centuries. The
notation of the earliest music manuscripts has no special marks for
long and short notes, other than a double, triple, or quadruple note,
i.e., two or more consecutive notes at the same pitch level over one
syllable. Such configurations almost certainly mean that the pitch
concerned was held longer than other pitches, but we have no certainty
that single notes represent pitches that were of precisely equal
duration. In many cases, it seems safe to hold that single notes
represent pitches of more or less equal duration, as long as we keep in
mind that we do not know the degree of "more or less" equal. Thus, the
notation does not distinguish between songs with a precisely measured
meter and those that were in a not-so-precisely measured or a
(somewhat) freely moving rhythm.
Some experts think that things changed dramatically in the middle of
the thirteenth century when music scribes developed a complex system
for distinguishing between long
and short notes. Alas, this innovation did not immediately solve all
problems for pieces preserved in this modernized notation. The melodic
style of the Cantigas ranges from syllabic (one pitch per syllable) to
quite ornate. Most of the former seem to be in a regular alternation of
long and short syllables, but most of the latter are problematic. It is
generally assumed that one of two reasons caused the problems; either
the scribes did not well enough know how to write down a melody in the
new form of notation, or the melody did not fit the durational patterns
that theorists tell us were used at that time. We probably must add a
third reason because it is not impossible, it even seems likely, that
melodies in free rhythm were written down in what then was modern
notation because the scribes wanted the melodies concerned, perhaps
even the entire manuscript, to look modern.
Whatever may have been the reason, the ornate melodies warn us that the
notation of the Cantigas, in general, may not have been as reliable as
it seems. This conclusion is troublesome for some experts on medieval
music, perhaps because they do not like to admit that they know little
or nothing about such an important aspect as the rhythm of a given
song. Some performers are at a loss when scholars cannot tell them
exactly how to perform a given piece, but others are adventurous and
enjoy experimenting with the rhythm of songs that may have been
performed (somewhat) freely. The members of the ensemble Musica da
Camera have played both sides of the record; for some melodies they
followed the highly acclaimed edition by Higinio Anglés which
prescribed the same rhythm for all strophes of a given song, regardless
of the meaning and the distribution of word accents. For other
Cantigas, the singers followed their own instinct or taste by applying
a somewhat free rhythm that could do justice to the text and the melody.
Instrumental accompaniment is another elusive aspect of medieval song.
Probably influenced by current practice, many of us are inclined to
believe that medieval singers and audiences wanted songs to be
accompanied and that, throughout the evolution of Western culture,
accompaniment was normal for poetry performed to a melody. For the
thirteenth and preceding centuries, this preconceived notion is
weakened considerably by the absence of unequivocal evidence for such
tradition. We know that instruments existed, but we have no indications
that they normally were used to accompany songs of troubadours,
trouvères, Minnesänger and the like.
Early in each of the three Cantiga manuscripts stands a "portrait" of
king Alfonso, who seems to have been the instigator of the big Cantiga
project. The king is surrounded by several persons, some of whom hold
musical instruments, but these illustrations may have been inspired by
depictions of King David in medieval psalm collections, many of which
date from well before the time of Alfonso. David often is portrayed
playing an instrument or surrounded by persons holding or playing
instruments. This, in turn may well have been influenced by the 150th
psalm in which the faithful are exhorted to praise the Lord on
specifically named instruments. In medieval psalm exegesis, however,
these instruments are given symbolic meaning, so that the verses
concerned are interpreted as exhortations to praise the Lord with a
mental attitude that, itself, is worthy of praise. The majority of the
Cantigas tells of miracles and the like wrought by the Virgin Mary, but
every tenth entry is a lyrical expression honoring Mary. In one of the
Cantiga manuscripts, exactly these songs of praise are preceded by
miniatures comprising musical instruments. We do not know, but we must
reckon with the distinct possibility that they represent the positive
thoughts with which one should praise Mary. Thus the beautiful and
sometimes remarkably precise depictions of instruments in this
manuscript do not constitute unequivocal evidence that they were used
for the accompaniment of Cantigas of praise. And the instruments in
Alfonso's portrait may well have been intended to emphasize the exalted
position of the king, personally.
The situation is made even more elusive by the Cantiga that tells of a
man who plays his fiddle in a church for a statue of Mary. The
fiddler's attempt at thus honoring Christ's mother is twice interrupted
by an angry member of the clergy. On the fiddler's third attempt, Mary
intervened and indicated that she was pleased with the unusual honor
bestowed on her. The clergy man stopped his protest, but his initial
reaction is important for the issue at hand, because it may represent a
then widely accepted opinion that a real instrument was not to be used
to honor a saint. All in all, we have no evidence that, in the
thirteenth century, songs such as the Cantigas de Santa Maria were
normally accompanied; at the same time, nothing proves unambiguously
that musical instruments were barred from the performance of serious
poems. Music historians thus must admit that they know next to nothing
about this issue, while performers enjoy great freedom. The latter can
do almost anything to enhance the beauty of the songs as long as they
do not use instruments and forms of harmony that had not yet been born
when the Cantigas were composed. The wide ranging differences of
opinion on the two points discussed above explain why recordings of a
given piece differ from one another as much as they do.
Professor of Musicology Emeritus
We can never know for certain how the Cantigas de Santa Maria were
performed in Alfonso's time. Were all questions of rhythm and
instrumentation resolved, we can't possibly know what the actual sounds
of performance were. The texts of the Cantigas present a slightly
different problem: the content seems clear enough, but we can't be
certain of the emotional or intellectual reaction of the medieval
singers and audiences. We can only take historical information
available and use it to inform performance choices made in the context
of present time and experience. The context provided by New Orleans is
unique: time and experience are fluid, past exists in present. Life
here takes on the feeling of a Cantiga illumination.
The city is filled with historic churches patterned after European
models: incense scented interiors are lit by arched, stained glass
windows; walls and ceilings frescoed with angels playing harps and
lutes and fiddles. Mary's statue, crowned with gold and precious
jewels, stands behind a bank of flickering candles; light reflects from
the gilding of reliquaries to the ancient, brittle bones within them;
marble and wood seem to reverberate voices endlessly. Streets here,
named after saints as well as muses, are filled with faces reflecting
the ethnic diversity seen in the Cantiga illuminations. In the Vieux
Carré street corners belong to musicians, mimes and magicians;
further uptown, the sidewalks are home to sales of vintage clothing,
antique furniture and books, to tables of coffee-drinkers. Girls still
chant "St. Ann, St. Ann, send me a man" regardless of their religious
persuasion; Catholic, Protestant and non-Christian alike remember their
dead on All Saints Day.
As a child, I played with friends in St. Roch Cemetery, on Music
Street. We would stand on piled up bricks (stamped with the words "St.
Joe") to peer in the window of the tiny chapel, to see plaster casts of
hands and arms and hearts left by the faithful, hoping for a miracle.
In my family, tales of saints and miracles were as much an oral
tradition to be passed along to children as were family legends of
ghosts and werewolves and broken hearts. And we children ecumenically
passed the stories along to all of our friends, regardless of creed,
along with the admonition to pray to St. Jude for impossible causes and
Sr. Anthony for lost items. The singers of Vox Feminæ (most of
whom were not born in New Orleans and none of whom were educated by
nuns) found no difficultly in connecting with the medieval narratives;
they had heard my stories and others. Belief was irrelevant. Living in
New Orleans had granted them suspension of disbelief
Co-director New Orleans Musica da Camera
A wide variety of musical instruments are found in the illuminations of
the Cantiga manuscripts. One manuscript in particular, Escorial J.b.2,
offers a wealth of information. It contains forty miniatures, each
depicting musicians playing different instruments of 13th century
Spain. There is one miniature for every tenth song, the songs of praise
to the Virgin Mary. Shown are bowed strings, plucked strings, flutes of
various types, reed instruments, drums, tambourines and more. Some are
folk instruments, still in use today; some are instruments brought from
the culture of the Muslim world; while others almost defy description
of their origin and seemingly have no descendents today. In this
recording, Musica da Camera uses a number of instruments shown in these
illuminations. Three, the oval vielle, the citole (waisted guitar), and
symphonia (hurdy-gurdy) are copies based on these illuminations of the
Escorial manuscript, made by me. Others used that are found in the
illuminations include lute, harp, gemshorn, recorder, a capped reed
(kortholt), both tuned bells and random bells, and percussion
instruments. The choice of instruments was based on the mood and text
of each Cantiga. Various combinations are possible. Indeed, there is an
endless variety of sounds from which to choose. It is this variety that
makes this music, conceived over seven hundred years ago, so
interesting to perform today.
Co-director New Orleans Musica da Camera