Verse and Voice in Byrd’s Song Collections of 1588 and 1589 1783270829, 9781783270828

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Cover illustration: “Aprill,” from Edmund Spenser’s Shepheardes calender. © Lebrecht Music & Arts. COVER DESIGN: JAN MARSHALL

Tess Knighton (ICREA - IMF/CSIC, Barcelona) Helen Deeming (Royal Holloway, University of London)

GENERAL EDITORS:

Jeremy L. Smith

Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Music

VERSE &VOICE

Jeremy L. Smith is Associate Professor of Musicology at the University of Colorado Boulder.

in BYRD’s SONG COLLECTIONS of 1588 and 1589

As he grappled with the challenges of composing for various instrumental and vocal ensembles, William Byrd (c. 1540-1623), England’s premier Renaissance composer, devoted considerable attention to the poetry and prose of his native language, producing such treasured masterpieces as the hauntingly beautiful “Lulla lullaby”; the infectiously comedic “Though Amarillis dance in green”; and two extraordinarily dramatic Easter anthems. This book, the first full-length study specifically devoted to Byrd’s English-texted music, provides a close reading of all of the works he published in the late 1580s, constituting nearly half of his total song output. It delves into the musical, political, literary, and, specifically, the sequential qualities of Byrd’s 1588 and 1589 published collections as a whole, revealing, explaining, and interpreting an overall grand narrative, while remaining fully attentive to the particularities of each individual piece. Often deemed “unliterary” and generally considered political only in his approach to Latin texts, which were often of special interest to his fellow Catholics, Byrd was not only an inspired composer who had mastered the challenges of his nation’s burgeoning verse, but also one who used his voice in song to foster a more inclusive polity in a time of religious strife.

VERSE & VOICE in BYRD’s SONG COLLECTIONS of 1588 and 1589

Jeremy L.Smith

studies in medieval and renaissance music 15

Verse and Voice in Byrd’s Song Collections of 1588 and 1589

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Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Music issn 1479-9294 General Editors Tess Knighton Helen Deeming This series aims to provide a forum for the best scholarship in early music; deliberately broad in scope, it welcomes proposals on any aspect of music, musical life, and composers during the period up to 1600, and particularly encourages work that places music in an historical and social context. Both new research and major re-assessments of central topics are encouraged. Proposals or enquiries may be sent directly to either of the editors or to the publisher at the addresses given below; all submissions will receive careful, informed consideration. Professor Tess Knighton, Institucio Mila i Fontanals/CSIC, c/ Egipciaques 15, Barcelona 08001, Spain Dr Helen Deeming, Department of Music, Royal Holloway College, University of London, Egham, Surrey tw20 0ex Boydell & Brewer, PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk ip12 3df Previously published titles in the series are listed at the back of this volume.

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Verse and Voice in Byrd’s Song Collections of 1588 and 1589 Jeremy L. Smith

the boydell press

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© Jeremy L. Smith 2016 All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner The right of Jeremy L. Smith to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 First published 2016 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge isbn 978-1-78327-082-8 The Boydell Press is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk ip12 3df, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, ny 14620, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library The publisher has no responsibility for the continued existence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate. This publication is printed on acid-free paper Typeset in Adobe Arno Pro by Servis Filmsetting Ltd, Stockport, Cheshire

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Contents List of Figures  vi List of Music Examples  vii Preface and Acknowledgements  x Editorial Conventions  xii Introduction  1 chapter 1 Psalmes  13 chapter 2 Sonets & Pastoralls, I  43 chapter 3 Sonets & Pastoralls, II  70 chapter 4 Sonets & Pastoralls, III  91 chapter 5 Songs of sadnes and pietie  107 chapter 6 Songs of Three Parts  134 chapter 7 Songs of Four Parts  166 chapter 8 Songs of Five Parts  193 chapter 9 Songs of Six Parts  234 Conclusion  283 Select Bibliography  295 Index  317

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List of Figures 1 William Byrd, Psalmes, Sonets, & songs (London, 1588), Mus. Sch. E. 453 (1), Superius, Title Page, © Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford

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2 William Byrd, Songs of sundrie natures (London, 1589), STC 4256.2 copy 1, Superius, Title Page, used by permission of the Folger Shakespeare Library under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

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3 After unknown artist, “Sir Philip Sidney” (c. 1576), NPG 2096, © National Portrait Gallery, London

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4 Unknown artist, “Sir Henry Unton” (c. 1596), NPG 710, © National Portrait Gallery, London

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5 Detail from “Sir Henry Unton,” NPG 710

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6 Artemisia Gentileschi, “Susanna and the Elders” (1610), © Pommersfelden, Kunstsammlungen Graf von Schoenborn

117

7 Jacopo Robusti Tintoretto, “Susannah and the Elders” (c. 1552), Inv No P000386, © Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado

118

8 Albrecht Altdorfer, “Susanna at her bath” (1526), Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen, Alte Pinakothek, Munich, Inv. Nr. 698, © Art Resource, NY

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9 Unknown artist, “Mary, Queen of Scots” (1578), Hatfield Hall, reproduced by courtesy of the Marquess of Salisbury

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10 Detail from “Mary, Queen of Scots”

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11 Johann Martin Lerch, “Edmund Campion,” frontispiece for Edmundi Campiani, Decem rationes propositae in causa fidei et opuscula eius selecta Auctiori editione (Antwerp, 1631), G 1482, © British Library, London

126

12 Unknown artist, “Penelope Rich, A Countess of Devonshire,” Lambeth Palace, by permission of the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Church Commissioners 194 13 George Gower, “The Armada Portrait of Elizabeth I” (1588), Woburn Abbey, © Art Resource, NY

243

14 Unknown illustrator, “Aprill,” from Edmund Spenser, The shepheardes calender (London, 1579), 4o F 2 Art. B5, 13, © Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford

248

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List of Music Examples 1.1

BE 12: 1 “O God give ear,” mm. 1–10, 14–20, 22–23, 28, 40–41, 50–52 (reduced scoring) 1.2 BE 12: 2 “Mine eyes,” mm. 1–9 1.3 BE 10a: 3d “Teach me O Lord” and BE 12: 4 “How shall a young man” a. BE 10a: 3d, mm. 3–4 b. BE 10a: 3d, mm. 9–12 c. BE 12: 4, mm. 5–17 1.4 BE 12: 3 “My soul opprest” a. mm. 6–8 b. mm. 19–21 1.5 BE 12: 4 “How shall a young man,” mm. 42–46 1.6 BE 12: 5 “O Lord, how long,” mm. 5–9 1.7 Duet and Pseudo-Duet Textures a. BE 12: 5 “O Lord, how long,” mm. 6–9 b. BE 12: 6 “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent,” mm. 4–7 c. BE 12: 32 “Lulla lullaby,” mm. 48–50 d. BE 13: 35 “From virgin’s womb,” 22–25 e. BE 13: 40 “An earthly tree,” mm. 21–24 1.8 BE 12: 6, “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent” a. mm. 33–34 b. mm. 31–32 2.1 Byrd and Claude le Jeune a. BE 12: 11 “I joy not,” mm. 1–3 b. le Jeune, Revecy venir, opening 2.2 BE 12: 12 “Though Amarillis,” mm. 2–5 2.3 Byrd and Christopher Tye a. BE 12: 12 “Though Amarillis,” m. 8 b. Tye, Rubum quem, mm. 1–5 3.1 BE 12: 17 “If women could be fair” a. mm. 7–9 b. mm. 36–37 3.2 BE 12: 21 “Although the heathen poets,” mm. 3–8 4.1 BE 12: 25 “Farewell false love,” mm. 16–21 4.2 BE 12: 26 “The match that’s made,” mm. 19–20 5.1 BE 12: 31 “Care for thy soul,” mm. 15–23 5.2 BE 12: 29, “Susanna fair,” mm. 6–11 5.3 BE 12: 32 “Lulla lullaby,” m.4–6 5.4 BE 12: 35, “O that most rare breast” a. mm. 31–34 b. mm. 102–08

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17 23 27 27 27 27 27 29 29 29 31 34 37 37 37 37 37 37 39 39 39 52 52 52 55 57 57 57 77 77 77 84 102 106 114 115 124 132 132 133

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viii

List of Music Examples

6.1 6. 2

BE 13: 1 “Lord, in thy rage” a. mm. 1–4 b. mm. 6–8 c. mm. 30–43 BE 13: 2 “Right blest” and BE 13: 38–39 “Behold how good” | “And as the pleasant” a. BE 13: 2, superius, mm. 2–3 b. BE 13: 2, bassus, mm. 7–8 c. BE 13: 2, superius, mm. 9–10 d. BE 13: 2, bassus, mm. 34–35 e. BE 13: 39, superius, mm. 49–50 f. BE 13: 39, tenor, m. 50 g. BE 13: 39, medius, m. 51 h. BE 13: 38, superius and medius, mm 20–22 BE 13: 3 “Lord in thy wrath,” mm. 10–28 BE 13: 7 “Attend mine humble prayer” a. mm. 25–34 b. mm. 61–63 Opening measure(s) of BE 13: 8–10, “Susanna fair,” “The nightingale,” “When younglings” a. “Susanna fair” b. “The nightingale” c. “When younglings” BE 13: 10 “When younglings,” mm. 22–30 BE 13: 14 “The greedy hawk,” mm. 9–16 BE 13: 14 “The greedy hawk” and BE 13: 15 “Is love a boy?” a. BE 13: 14, mm. 50–52 b. BE 12: 15, mm. 3–5 Byrd and Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina a. BE 13: 17 “Wounded I am,” mm. 22–26 b. Palestrina, “Io son ferito,” mm. 56–60 BE 13: 19 “From Citheron,” mm. 17–19 BE 13: 21 “If love be just” a. mm. 62–67 b. mm. 93–99 BE 13: 22 “O Lord my God” a. mm. 1–4 b. mm. 38–42 Byrd and Guillaume Tessier a. BE 13: 23, “While that the sun, mm. 1–6 b. Tessier, “Tandis que le soleil,” mm. 1–6 BE 13: 22 “O Lord my God,” BE 13: 25 “Cast off all doubtful care,” and BE 13: 40 “An earthly tree” a. BE 13: 22, mm. 10–12 b. BE 13: 25, mm. 1–2 c. BE 13: 40, mm. 6–9

6.3 6.4 6.5 6.6 6.7 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7

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137 137 137 138 142 142 142 142 142 142 142 142 142 147 150 150 151 156 156 156 156 162 164 169 169 169 173 173 173 176 178 178 178 180 180 181 184 184 185 190 190 191 191

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List of Music Examples ix

8.1 BE 13: 26 “Weeping full sore” a. mm. 17–20 b. mm. 79–85 8.2 Byrd and Richard Farrant (Robert Parsons?) a. BE 12: 27 “Penelope that longed,” mm. 61–67 b. Farrant (Parsons?), “Alas ye sea salt gods,” mm. 46–49 8.3 BE 13: 28 “Compel the hawk,” mm. 46–53 8.4 BE 13: 29 “See those sweet eyes,” mm. 9–13 8.5 BE 13: 30 “When I was otherwise” and BE 12: 22 “In fields” a. BE 13: 30, mm. 1–3 b. BE 12: 22, mm. 1–2 8.6 BE 13: 30 “When I was otherwise,” mm. 13–18 8.7 BE 13: 31 “When first by force,” mm. 1–4 8.8 BE 13: 32 “I thought that love,” mm. 1–3 8.9 BE 13: 33 “O dear life,” mm. 21–25 8.10 BE 13: 36, “Of gold all burnished” and BE 6b: 13, “Quem terra, pontus” a. BE 13: 36, mm. 1–2 b. BE 6b: 13, mm. 1–2 9.1 BE 13: 41 “Who made thee Hob?” mm. 28–33 9.2 BE 13: 42 “And think ye nymphs?” mm. 1–7 9.3 BE 13: 43 “Love is a fit,” mm. 20–25 9.4 BE 13: 44 “If in thine,” and BE 13: 45 “Unto the hills” a. BE 13: 44, mm. 34–38 b. BE 13: 45, mm. 47–55 9.5 Philip van Wilder, “Blessed art thou,” mm. 44–47 9.6 BE 13: 44 “If in thine” and BE 13: 45 “Unto the hills” a. BE 13: 44, mm. 29–33 b. BE 13: 44, mm. 49–50 c. BE 13: 45, mm. 74–77 9.7 BE 13: 44 “If in thine” and BE 13: 45 “Unto the hills” a. BE 13: 44, mm. 61–63 b. BE 13: 45, mm. 89–92 9.8 BE 13: 46 “Christ rising” and BE 13: 47 “Christ has risen” a. BE 13: 46, mm. 12–13 b. BE 13: 47, mm. 80–81 9.9 BE 13: 46 “Christ rising” and BE 13: 47 “Christ has risen” a. BE 13: 46, mm. 25–28 b. BE 13: 47, mm. 90–92 9.10 Alleluia, Christus resurgens ex mortuis (Low Sunday) a. Alleluia, … Christus, … dominábitur melisma b. mors melisma 9.11 BE 13: 46 “Christ rising,” mm. 1–19 9.12 BE 13: 47 “Christ has risen,” mm. 116–18

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198 198 198 204 204 205 209 212 213 213 213 214 215 219 225 231 231 231 252 255 257 260 260 261 265 266 266 266 267 268 268 268 275 275 275 276 276 276 277 277 277 278 282

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Preface and Acknowledgements

I

n the late-1970s, with Joseph Kerman and Oliver Neighbour, Philip Brett designed The Music of William Byrd to give meaning to the “commonplace” that Byrd’s music rested on a “plane with the greatest masters of later years” and to “lay the foundation for its fuller understanding and appreciation.”1 Although Kerman’s and Neighbour’s books were published some thirty years ago and are now classics, Brett’s untimely death in 2002 left incomplete this lofty project to subject all of Byrd’s works to a searching and thorough appraisal. Brett planned to cover the composer’s entire English-texted repertory. The present volume initiates an effort to resume this unfinished work, beginning here with the songs Byrd published in 1588 and 1589. Although known to be “distinctly English” and on a par aesthetically with Byrd’s efforts in other genres, these particular songs have been plagued for some time by a persistent but inappropriate comparison to the better-known Italianate English madrigal. My initial intent was to address this problem, as I believed it would have been a significant part of Brett’s agenda. As I pursued the matter further I discovered, however, that Brett and others had already shown how little the consort song was diminished by the madrigal vogue of the day. Setting out with a decidedly different approach for meshing music and poetry, Byrd, as Brett, Kerman, and Neighbour all eloquently revealed, captured the true essence of the verses he set, all the while communicating feelings of great depth and expressing religious and political views of profound moment. Thus well-summarized accounts of Byrd’s accomplishment are readily available and have already made their mark; and Byrd’s skill at song composition was something his contemporaries must have appreciated too, given the influence of his collections and their treatment at the press. The task at hand seemed then to be to work out the details. Once into the project, however, a new problem began to emerge. For if Byrd was a sensitive reader and his music well expressed ideas of a given verse, then it would seem necessary to search out Byrd’s interaction with some of the preeminent figures of England’s greatest literary period: Edmund Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney, and Shakespeare, among others. That “song” per se was considered the common property of the poetic as well as the musical “maker” of this time made the investigation of the question of Byrd’s place in the literary world seem all the more pressing. Furthermore, if Brett and Kerman had already provided a view of Byrd, the avowed, recusant Catholic, as an important cultural figure in the religious politics of the day, they had done so mainly from the perspective of his Latin works. Left unstudied along with a number of the songs themselves was the question of what Byrd might choose to express in his native language. Byrd, it turns out, had special designs for his first two publications of song. In his 1588 and 1589 collections he drew his auditor slowly but steadily, not only into a rich and coherent musical world but also into a work of literary and cultural 1

Joseph Kerman, The Masses and Motets of William Byrd (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1981), 9–10; Oliver Neighbour, The Consort and Keyboard Music of William Byrd (Boston and London, 1978), 9–10.

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Preface and Acknowledgements xi

s­ ignificance, all guided by a political message. Like the writers around him, Byrd was particularly attuned to the interdisciplinary aspect of song, and this encouraged me to treat his works as literary and cultural as well as musical phenomena, and thus as expressions of “verse” as well as “voice,” in all its musico-poetic and political dimensions. There are many I wish warmly to thank for their generous assistance and guidance in my research and writing. In 2005 Richard Turbet and Richard Rastall organized a conference at Leeds University to address the lack of a volume dedicated to Byrd’s English-texted works in The Music of William Byrd project. In addition to the stimulating papers of this two-day event, I later profited from the expert advice of both conference organizers. Richard Turbet and Kerry McCarthy generously read several early chapter drafts, offering many excellent suggestions. I also benefited greatly from the anonymous reader of Early Music and the reviewer of the present manuscript. To the latter I owe the title of the present work, along with much else. Any errors that remain are of course my own responsibility. In resolving issues in my research on Byrd I have come more and more to rely on the wisdom and advice of Elizabethan music specialists David Mateer and Jessie Ann Owens. I also wish warmly to thank a number of scholars from various fields: Leofranc Holfred-Strevens, Christopher A. Jones, Andrew Johnstone, John Milsom, Victor Houliston, and William Race, all who kindly and effectively helped me deal with complex matters ranging from churching rites to Chrism Masses, Thomasine ethics, and priamels. I owe a great debt of gratitude to all the students of my research seminars over the past five years, including Gabrielle Dietrich, Hunter Ewen, Ross Hagen, Michael Harris, Karyn Dawn Grapes, Michael Ward, and Sienna Wood, who opened my eyes to special aspects of Byrd’s work. Carlo Caballero, Elizabeth Farr, Elissa Guralnick, Jay Keister, Daphne Leong, Rebecca Maloy, Yonatan Malin, Austin Okigbo, Robert Shay, and Keith Waters are music colleagues of mine at the University of Colorado, Boulder (CU) who deserve my thanks for engaging with me in prolonged discussions relating to Byrd’s music, religion, politics, and poetics. My interest in interdisciplinary studies was sparked and nurtured through my position as a board member and director of the CU Center for British and Irish Studies. Through its auspices I beneficially worked with a number of Elizabethan specialists, including the eminent screenwriter Michael Hirst and a fellow Mary Queen of Scots specialist, Susan Frye of the University of Wyoming. Special thanks are due to CU literary and political historians Shirley Carnahan, Paul E. J. Hammer, William Kuskin, and Richelle Munkoff. I warmly thank in particular my co-teachers of “Elizabeth I and her Times,” Katherine Eggert, Marjorie McIntosh, and Jim Symons. It was a true privilege to work with Caroline Palmer, Rob Kinsey, Katherine Puffett, and Nick Bingham of Boydell. On a more personal note, the baristas at Amantes of North Boulder well deserve my thanks for so graciously hosting me for hours on end and for their superb chai. Finally, heartfelt, loving thanks are due to my parents, Nate and Jeanne, my wife SoYoung Lee, and, my son, Michael, not only for their support, but also for major contributions to my research and writing, of which they are all well aware. Their patience with me as I slowly cleared the way for upcoming work on a prospective television dramatic series “The Byrd’s Nest” has been well noted.

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Editorial Conventions

T

Note on Byrd’s Songs and Texts

hroughout this study I will refer to Byrd’s songs and other works according to their titles and ordering in The Byrd Edition, gen. ed. Philip Brett, 17 vols. (London: Stainer & Bell, 1977–2004), hereafter BE. I have quoted the texts of Byrd’s 1588 and 1589 songs in their original spellings, based on transcriptions in BE 12, pp. xvi–xxxvi and BE 13, pp. xix–xxxi. The complete texts of the 1588 and 1589 songs with modernized spelling are shown on the music pages of BE 12 and 13, and can be read in a continuous sequence in the third edition of English Madrigal Verse, 1588–1632, ed. Edmund H. Fellowes, pp. 32–70 (see Select Bibliography).

I

Note on transcriptions

n quoted texts throughout this study I have silently replaced the long “∫” with the modern “s,” as well as the consonantal “u” with “v,” and the consonantal “i” with “j,” on occasion. Otherwise, I have preserved writings from the Byrd era in their original spellings.

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Introduction

I

n 1588, the year of England’s triumph over the formidable Spanish Armada, a Catholic composer, William Byrd (c. 1540–1623) – the leading figure in the Queen’s Protestant chapel – brought out a collection of thirty-five songs he entitled Psalmes, Sonets, & songs (BE 12).1 Within the next three years he would also publish, along with two impressive sets of Latin-texted motets, an additional forty-seven numbered English-texted Songs of sundrie natures (BE 13) (see Figs. 1 and 2). Byrd was not the first Elizabethan composer to venture into print with a set of songs. Thomas Whythorne published his Songes for Three, Fower, and Five voyces in 1571.2 Furthermore, by 1588, Byrd, with his illustrious fellow gentleman of the Chapel Royal, Thomas Tallis, had already produced a grand set of Latin-texted works in their joint Cantiones … sacrae (of 1575), a volume wherein the two composers announced a patent for music printing (along with printed ruled music paper and music importation) Elizabeth awarded to them that year.3 By the late 1580s, then, Byrd had long ago placed his works on the same bookstalls where his countrymen had already encountered music with English texts. But Byrd’s first printed songs still marked a significant moment in the transition from manuscript culture to an ever-increasing role for print in the era’s musico-poetic world. Having served in the Queen’s chapel from 1572 onward, in one capacity or another, Byrd was in close enough contact with other members of the court to obtain the works of its most famous literary figures, including Sir Walter Ralegh, Edward de Vere, the 1

On the Chapel Royal and music see Craig Monson, “Elizabethan London,” in The Renaissance: From the 1470s to the End of the 16th Century, ed. Iain Fenlon (London, 1989), 304–40; Fiona Kisby, “‘When the King Goeth a Procession’: Chapel Ceremonies and Services, the Ritual Year, and Religious Reforms at the Early Tudor Court, 1485–1547,” Journal of British Studies 40 (2001): 44–75; and Roger Bowers, “The Chapel Royal, the First Edwardian Prayer Book, and Elizabeth’s Settlement of Religion, 1559,” Historical Journal 43 (2000): 317–44. For the composer’s most recent biography see Kerry McCarthy, Byrd, Master Musicians Series (Oxford, 2013); on his stature during his lifetime and thereafter see Suzanne Cole, “Who is the Father? Changing Perceptions of Tallis and Byrd in Late Nineteenth-Century England,” Music & Letters 89 (2008): 212–26. 2 Although they have been “strangely neglected” for some time, Katie Nelson offers a welcome reassessment of Whythorne’s (autobiographical) songs, which, at times, “convey messages [about love] that were too dangerous to be spoken.” See “Love in the Music Room: Thomas Whythorne and the Private Affairs of Tudor Music Tutors,” Early Music 40 (2012): 15–26, at 22. 3 See BE 1 and William Byrd and Thomas Tallis, Cantiones sacrae, 1575, ed. John Milsom, Early English Church Music 56 (London, 2014). On the music patent see Donald W. Krummel, English Music Printing 1553-1700 (London, 1975), 15–17; Iain Fenlon and John Milsom, “‘Ruled Paper Imprinted’: Music Paper and Patents in Sixteenth-Century England,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 37 (1984): 139–63; Jeremy L. Smith, “Print Culture and the Elizabethan Composer,” Fontes artis musicae 48 (2001): 156–72; and idem, Thomas East and Music Publishing in Renaissance England (New York, 2003).

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Jeremy L. Smith

2

1 Byrd, Psalmes, Sonets, & songs, title page

seventeenth Earl of Oxford, Sir Edward Dyer, and, most prominently, Sir Philip Sidney, almost none of whose “courtier poems” had been published before Byrd brought them into print in his musical settings (see Fig. 3).4 Scholars have often remarked in 4

For an edition of representative poems as well as a stringent definition of the often loosely used term “courtier poet” see Steven W. May, The Elizabethan Courtier Poets: Their Poems and Their Contexts (Columbia, MO, 1991); for settings of Byrd’s courtier poetry evaluated alongside those of his younger contemporary

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Introduction 3



2 Byrd, Songs of sundrie natures, title page

John Dowland see Kirsten Gibson, “John Dowland and the Elizabethan Courtier Poets,” Early Music 41 (2013): 239–53; see also idem, “The Order of the Book: Materiality, Narrative and Authorial Voice in John Dowland’s First Booke of Songes or Ayres,” Renaissance Studies (2012): 13–33. Byrd’s sets, I hasten to note, were not made up entirely of courtier poems nor were they exclusively courtly. Nonetheless, whether this was the result of circumstance or intent, throughout his song collections, and in manuscripts as well, the composer left undeniable evidence of an extraordinarily high level of access to those poets of highest rank who were closest to the Queen.

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Jeremy L. Smith

4

3.  Philip Sidney, c. 1576

passing that Byrd’s songs were likely to have been courtly in nature at this stage of his career.5  His published sets offer us, in fact, a rare glimpse into the inter­disciplinary activities of some of the era’s finest poets and musicians serving the Queen. Philip Brett, who did more than anyone else to establish the musical significance of Byrd’s achievement in these songs, once suggested that Byrd’s works 5

The point is usually well noted but left undeveloped. See, for example, John Harley, William Byrd: Gentleman of the Chapel Royal (Aldershot, 1997), 277: “some at least of Byrd’s consort songs must have been composed for the court.”

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Introduction 5

were likely to have been “written to order for court entertainments and special ceremonies,” including “Sidney’s ‘O you that hear’ and the anonymous ‘Where Fancy fond,’ which both feature elaborate ‘Trials’ in the ‘Court of Sweet (or True) Delight.’”6 After submitting that these songs were part of a “courtly tradition,” Brett concluded, “no wonder they are placed together as Nos. 15 and 16” in the Psalmes, Sonets, & songs collection. Here it was proposed that Byrd’s ordering could have been so purposeful as to be informative about, or at least reflective of, the courtly content and function of the songs in question. Brett even went so far as to claim “the poetry undoubtedly contains allusions to the life of this exclusive circle,” before turning to a witheringly skeptical subordinate clause, “which are lost on us.”7 Brett was surely correct about the loss. Indirectness was a goal of certain courtly verse and it presents a formidable challenge to all its interpreters. Something vital might always be missed; a key element may never be recovered. Had he not been writing in 1965, however, a full decade before Frances Yates and Roy Strong would put so much cultural-historical focus on the court and the so-called cult of Elizabeth, Brett might have felt compelled to look into it all a bit further.8 Fifty years later, in a literary field as intensely studied as that of Elizabethan England, especially after a whole movement of text- and court-obsessed New Historicists have come and arguably gone, it is surprising that no one, at least as far as I know, has ever fully investigated the possibility that Byrd’s songs might contain further courtly allusions – or even seriously checked to see if this 1588 set (and its 1589 companion) might display further internal relationships.9 It would be foolish to claim that Byrd chose none but the era’s finest poems to set to music in his first two published sets. Some are true gems. Others have well stood the test of time. Many are important. But quite a few are rather “drab” all the same, to use C. S. Lewis’s famous critical term of assessment.10 What makes so many of them come to life in song is the extraordinary quality of Byrd’s music, 6

Philip Brett, “The Songs of William Byrd,” Ph.D. diss., University of Cambridge, 1965, 64. 7 Brett, “Songs of William Byrd,” 64. 8 See Frances Yates, Astraea: The Imperial Theme in the Sixteenth Century (London, 1975); Roy Strong, The Cult of Elizabeth: Elizabethan Portraiture and Pageantry (London, 1977); Yates, however, had drawn attention to the court much earlier in her “Elizabethan Chivalry: The Romance of the Accession Day Tilts,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 20 (1957), 4–25. 9 See Victor Shea, “New Historicism,” in Encyclopedia of Contemporary Literary Theory: Approaches, Scholars, Terms, ed. Irena R. Makaryk (Buffalo, 1993), 124–30. In discussing works by “lutenist song-writers,” Elena Domínguez Romero has claimed that “criticism has not paid enough attention to the possibility that these authors could have had a clear objective in mind when selecting, locating, and organizing the poems within their volumes the way they did. Therefore, these authors’ possible interest in providing their song-books with an internal organization in sequence similar to that of the Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles has been neglected for a long period of time.” See her “Thomas Morley’s First Book of Madrigals to Four Voices: A Pastoral Romance,” Sederi 13 (2003): 45–53, at 46. 10 See Mike Pincombe and Cathy Shrank, “Doing Away with the Drab Age: Research Opportunities in Mid-Tudor Literature (1530–1580),” Literature Compass 7 (2010): 160–76.

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which is governed by an impeccable and intense literary sensitivity. Byrd drew upon masterful skills as an imitative contrapuntalist. He was in control of every conceivable musical element he could manipulate to address the formal and semantic aspects of all the verses he set. In certain ways he was to match wits with Sidney himself as a song “maker” at a time when the latter spoke of “words set in delightful proportion, either accompanied with, or prepared for, the well-­ inchanting skill of music.”11 At this point, assessments of Byrd as “unliterary,” once quite commonplace, are thankfully on the wane.12 But they persist in certain ways to obstruct a clear view of Byrd’s responses to ideas expressed in words that he could manipulate in his music. In close readings throughout I have therefore sought to uncover and convey Byrd’s role in shaping the meaning of his songs to his purposes. Until now these songs have always been treated individually, as independent musical and textual entities. Because, for the most part, they were and remain satisfyingly autonomous works of music and literature, this is precisely the kind of attention they deserve.13 Along with a number of close readings of individual songs, the sustained, individualized study of Byrd’s Latin-texted and instrumental works, led by Brett, Joseph Kerman, and Oliver Neighbour, has gone quite far already to “establish a carefully drawn stylistic profile capable of throwing [Byrd’s] music into sharp relief against the background of late sixteenth- and early-seventeenth century practice” and also to place all pieces correctly into “Byrd’s compositional sequence” in a way that will give us finally a comprehensive view of his entire canon.14 11

Philip Sidney, An Apologie for Poetrie (London, 1595), E4v. For discussions of Sidney’s approach to music see John Stevens, “Sir Philip Sidney and ‘Versified music’: Melodies for Courtly Songs,” in The Well Enchanting Skill: Music, Poetry and Drama in the Culture of the Renaissance, ed. John Caldwell, Edward Olleson, and Susan Wollenberg (Oxford, 1990), 153–69; Frank J. Fabry, “Sidney’s Verse Adaptations to Two Sixteenth-Century Italian Art Songs,” Renaissance Quarterly 23 (1970): 237–55; idem, “Sidney’s Poetry and Italian Song-Form,” ELH 3 (1973): 232–48; Gavin Alexander, “The Musical Sidneys,” John Donne Journal 25 (2006): 65–105; and idem, “Elizabethan Lyric as Contrafactum: Robert Sidney’s ‘French tune’ Identified,” Music & Letters 84 (2003): 378–402. 12 For a thorough critique of this tendency see Philip Brett, “Word-setting in the Songs of Byrd,” in William Byrd and his Contemporaries: Essays and a Monograph, ed. Joseph Kerman and Davitt Maroney (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 2007), 100–120, at 103–04, 110–12, and 117. 13 On the ways that individual sonnets or songs within even the most canonic of poetic sequences “assert their independence fiercely” see Germaine Warkentin, “‘Love’s sweetest part, variety’: Petrarch and the Curious Frame of the Renaissance Sonnet Sequence,” Renaissance and Reformation 11 (1975): 14–23, at 15. For a study of the “discrete nature” of individual items in Sidney’s signal sequence as well as a sustained argument that the work overall has the “unity of a single poem” see A. C. Hamilton, “Sidney’s Astrophel and Stella as a Sonnet Sequence,” ELH 36 (1969): 59–87. 14 Leeman L. Perkins, review of Joseph Kerman, The Masses and Motets of William Byrd, and Oliver Neighbour, The Consort and Keyboard Music of William Byrd, Musical Quarterly 70 (1984): 134–39, at 134. In addition to the books listed in this review, see Brett’s “Songs of William Byrd”; his “Word-setting”; and “The English Consort Song, 1570–1625,” Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 88 (1961–62): 73–88, along

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4.  Sir Henry Unton, funeral portrait

Apart from treating each work individually, the focus in Byrd Studies has been on the musical nature of the songs, i.e., on what they are.15 Of the two volumes of songs we are considering, the first (1588) consists of ten “psalmes,” sixteen “sonets and pastoralls,” and nine “songs of sadnes and pietie,” including two funeral songs for Sidney. All of the songs are in five parts. In his “Epistle to the Reader” (BE 12, p. xlii) Byrd describes the contents as “musicke of sundrie sorts,” which he hopes will be acceptable to readers in different moods, whether “disposed to pray” or “to be merrie” or “to lament.” He explains that the book has “divers songs, which being originally made for Instruments to expresse the harmonie, and one voyce to pronounce the dittie, are now framed in all parts for voyces to sing the same.” In the book itself, all but six of the thirty-five items have one of the five parts (either superius or medius) marked as “The first singing part.” Most of the songs with a “first singing part” survive in earlier manuscript versions, with one texted part and four untexted, evidently scored for one voice and four viols (and, in strophic examples, often with less than the full complement of verses) (see Figs. 4 and 5).16 with his prefaces to BE 15 and 16; Joseph Kerman, “‘Write all these down’: Notes on a Byrd Song,” in Byrd Studies, ed. Alan Brown and Richard Turbet (Cambridge, 1992), 12-28; Oliver Neighbour, “Byrd’s Treatment of Verse in his Partsongs,” Early Music 31 (2003): 412–16, 418–22; John Milsom, “Byrd, Sidney, and the Art of Melting,” Early Music 31 (2003): 437–50; Mike Smith, “‘Whom Music’s lore delighteth’: Words-and-Music in Byrd’s Ye sacred Muses,” Early Music 31 (2003): 425–36; and Philip Taylor, “Memorializing Mary Tudor: William Byrd and Edward Paston’s ‘Crowned with Flowers and Lilies’,” Music & Letters 93 (2012): 170–90. 15 I base this observation on Louis Adrian Montrose’s approach to the English Renaissance pastoral; see “Of Gentlemen and Shepherds: The Politics of Elizabethan Pastoral Form,” ELH 50 (1983): 415–59. Montrose contends that “the historical study of Elizabethan pastoralism cannot confine its inquiry to matters of literary taxonomy and thematics, to what pastorals ‘are’ or what they ‘mean’; it must also ask what pastorals do, and by what operations they perform their cultural work” (original italics), 416. See also Robert E. Stillman, “The Politics of Sidney’s Pastoral: Mystification and Mythology in The Old Arcadia,” ELH 52 (1985): 795–814, at 795. 16 Byrd mentions the viol in the title page of the songs he published in 1611, but not in 1588 or 1589, and there is plenty of evidence that other instruments were used at

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8

5.  Detail from figure 4, a depiction of Unton performing with four others in a “1 + 4” consort song ensemble with viols

The earlier, consort song versions of pieces published in 1588 are edited in BE 16, 7–28. It has to be said that in modern performances these works tend to be more effective in their original “1 + 4” scoring, with an invariably economical vocal line set against more continuous accompanying parts, and contrasting with them in timbre.17 The six items without a “first singing part” (BE 12: 1, 17, 18, 20, 21, and 24) do not occur in earlier sources (except for BE 12: 24, “La virginella,” a special case). These six may well have been scored for five voices from the outset, although in nearly all of them Byrd treats the top part in ways that sets it apart from the others. In his 1588 “Epistle” Byrd also mentions the matter of compass. “If thou desire songs of smal compass & fit for the reach of most voyces, here are most in number of that sort.” By “smal compass” is meant a total range accommodated either within a “low clef” combination (typically with superius c1 and bassus F4) or a “high clef” one (g2 to F3), the former offering scope for upward transposition, the latter for times. But all evidence points to the likelihood that the viol consort was the standard vehicle for performance, and that Byrd most often conceived of the four harmony parts as performed on that instrument; see Brett, “English Consort Song,” 73–88; and idem, “Songs of William Byrd,” 51–52. 17 Mike Smith, “‘… made into Musicke of fiue [=1+4] parts’: Voice and Viol Versions of Some of Byrd’s ‘Psalmes,’ ‘Sonets’ and ‘Songs of sadnes and pietie’,” The Viol 5 (2006): 32–35.

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downward.18 Beneath a congenial rounding-off phrase, “The most assured friend to all that love or learne Musicke: William Byrd,” Byrd (or his printer) provides a list of “The names and number of those songs which are of the highest [i.e. widest] compasse” (BE 12, p. xlii). These have the clef combination g2 to F4, and hardly allow for transposition in either direction. The songs with “highest compasse” include two groups with consecutive numbers (BE 12: 3–9 and 30–32); but the grouping may not be significant since BE 12: 24, “La virginella,” also appears in the list, on its own.19 The 1589 collection is organized by scoring, with fourteen numbered songs for three parts followed by eleven songs for four, twelve for five, and ten for six parts. This time there are no items marked as having a “first singing part.” In spite of that, three of the five-part pieces (BE 13: 29, 31, and 32) do survive in manuscript versions, and appear originally to have been 1 + 4 consort songs (edited in BE 16: 29–31). The bulk of the contents of the 1589 volume were presumably designed for vocal ensembles, of from three to six parts. Toward the end of the volume, however, we find a solo song and two duets each with four textless lower parts (BE 13: 35, 40, and 41). The last two items (BE 13: 46 and 47) are the two sections of a verse anthem, “Christ rising again,” also found in earlier sources (edited in BE 11, 13). Perhaps surprisingly, only one song in the 1589 book (BE 13, 27: “Penelope that longed”) is “of the highest compasse.” Byrd does not draw attention to it in his address “To the curteous Reader” (BE 13, p. xxxvii). He does, however, write that the favourable reception of his “last impression of Musicke” (the 1588 book) has encouraged him “to take further paines therein:” a hint that many of the 1589 pieces had been written very recently. Again, he stresses the “varietie” of the contents, “now publish[ed] … to serve for all companies and voyces: whereof some are easie and plaine to sing, other more hard and difficult, but all, such as any yong ­practicioner in singing, with a little foresight, may easely performe.” In describing his songs, Byrd tries to be as clear as possible about matters that might affect their performance. As he notes the conditions of their composition and discusses the “varietie” he features within the sets, however, it also becomes obvious that underneath his calming words about how “easely [the songs therein might be] performe[d]” lies a set of taxonomic and stylistic issues of some complexity, the problems of which have engaged several generations of Byrd scholars. As many of Byrd’s songs have yet to be subjected to an inquiry of this nature, an aspect of what the songs “are,” I hope to contribute something to the ongoing scholarly project long underway. The central claim of this book, however, is that, at the same time his literary colleagues were experimenting with similar structures, Byrd placed not only two, but rather all eighty-two of the numbered songs he first published in 1588 and 1589 into a continuous sequence, one where each song contributes to the unfolding of an extensive (technically “grand”) narrative that possesses all the standard components of plot, theme, 18

In the Renaissance clef system the numbers (1–4) denote the staff line on which the pitches c, g, or F should be read. This system is still in use today, but we tend now to refer to g2 as a “treble clef,” to c3 as an “alto clef,” and to F4 as a “bass clef.” 19 “Why do I use” (BE 12: 33), having g2 to F3, is wrongly included in the list of songs “of highest compass.”

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character, setting, and point of view. This hitherto unremarked aspect of his work resulted in one of his signal achievements as a creative force of his time. On both the level of the individual song and the sequence as a whole, then, this study seeks to move beyond an understanding of what these songs are and turn to the question of what they mean; and, to the extent that Byrd had political purposes in mind, what they do.20 A sequence is simply a structure through which a creative artist expresses something or makes a statement, or as one literary scholar put it, “a prolegomenon to an interpretation.”21 In moving from song to song, I will attempt, then, to elucidate an underlying purpose for the composer’s narrative designs, which, to anticipate matters somewhat, involves some figures at court in representative as well as authorial capacities, including Elizabeth, not surprisingly, but also Sidney, who was depicted semi-fictionally as the tale’s main protagonist. A closer look reveals that Byrd also included disguised but unmistakable tributes to Mary Queen of Scots and the Jesuit martyr Edmund Campion, and that his purposes for doing so were to make an appeal to the Queen that ran directly across the era’s confessional boundaries. Thanks to his contacts with former Catholic neighbors – Thomas and Charles Paget, both of whom became formally attainted exiles – Byrd was suspected of treacherous dealings throughout the 1580s.22 At the same time, however, he ­developed associations with the era’s leading figures at court, some Catholic, but many otherwise. The connections are easily discovered. Byrd publically dedicated his Psalmes of 1588 to the Protestant Sir Christopher Hatton, the rising star at court in the late 1580s (see BE 12, p. x); and the dedicatee of his 1589 set, Henry Carey, first baron Hunsdon, was the Queen’s first cousin (see BE 13, p. vii). Sidney, Oxford, Dyer, and Ralegh, whose poetry appears in Byrd’s collection, were all prominent courtiers, some with strong Protestant leanings. One might gather from this that Byrd was friendly with a number of influential poets. But it is not clear he was doing them any favors by bringing their works into print. If the now debated social force of the “stigma of print” had an effect on 20

See Montrose, “Of Gentlemen and Shepherds,” 416. Michèle Lowrie, review of Kirk Freudenberg, The Walking Muse: Horace on the Theory of Satire (Princeton, 1993), Bryn Mawr Classical Review (2005), http://bmcr. brynmawr.edu/1993/04.03.05.html, accessed 11 June 2014. 22 See Christopher Harrison, “William Byrd and the Pagets of Beaudesert: A Musical Connection,” Staffordshire Studies 3 (1990–91): 51–63; David Mateer, “William Byrd’s Middlesex Recusancy,” Music & Letters 78 (1997): 1–14; and my “‘Unlawful song’: Byrd, the Babington Plot and the Paget Choir,” Early Music 38 (2010): 497–508. Victor Houliston recently discovered yet another Byrd–Paget connection. On 17 November 1580 Edward Chambers, in a letter to Robert Persons, noted “how your Letter to the Lord [Paget] sent by Mr Bird came in tyme and wrought good effect with him.” Archivum Britannicum Societatis Iesu, Ms. A.I.18, Robert Persons’s “Domesticall Dificulties,” ch. 27, fols. 116–17. I wish here to thank Professor Victor Houliston for kindly notifying me of this letter and sending me his transcription in advance of its publication in his complete edition of the Persons correspondence. See also Craig Monson, “Byrd, the Catholics, and the Motet: The Hearing Reopened,” in Hearing the Motet: Essays on the Motet of the Middle Ages and Renaissance, ed. Dolores Pesce (New York, 1997), 348–74. 21

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anyone at this time, these leading figures at court were precisely the group who would have wished to avoid the press.23 For them it was the insidious means by which the public could intrude unwelcomed into something that was best kept private and, given the revealing nature of their verses, they probably felt as protective of this material as they did of their letters and diaries. Perhaps these were the circumstances under which Byrd decided to leave all of the poems in the 1588 collection unattributed, although the custom of attributing verses or naming t­ ranslators was not well developed elsewhere in the music field at large. The authorship of many of the unattributed poems Byrd set unfortunately remains a mystery. In devising his scheme Byrd probably worked most closely with Thomas Watson, who was one of the founders of the English sequence, and whose poems Byrd set elsewhere.24 The Sidney coterie included Watson as well as the great Edmund Spenser. Byrd too may not have been viewing Sidney’s works from afar; the distinct possibility that he had direct dealings with the poet is something I explore in Chapter 7. Byrd certainly approached Sidney’s poems with extraordinary insight; Spenser’s Faerie Queene and The shepheardes calender stand, though, as the closest complements to his efforts.25 Both Spenser and Byrd, as we shall see, chose certain Aristotelian virtues as a means to organize their narratives; both had carefully and thoroughly designed their works to stand as encomia for Elizabeth; and both treated Sidney as a literary figure as well as a model courtier. Freed, as were the era’s sequence-making poets, from the restrictions of a stage and any need for unities, Byrd’s story moves sporadically and non-sequentially through time, as certain events are recalled, scenes shift from one sphere to another, and the poetic speaker assumes different roles throughout.26 Often in the midst of a seemingly simple setting Byrd delves into his most complicated theological arguments and classical theories. He is more than willing at times to resort to covert means of communication and is not always as concerned about consistency as one might have wished him to be. But despite the challenges he presents to interpreters then and now, Byrd shows himself in many ways to be a skillful and compelling storyteller. Byrd’s main themes are no less basic than Law and Love, which he divides 23

On the shift to print and the perception of resistance see the classic article by J. W. Saunders, “The Stigma of Print,” Essays in Criticism 1 (1951): 139–64. Steven W. May challenged the validity of Saunders’s findings in his “Tudor Aristocrats and the Mythical ‘Stigma of Print’,” Renaissance Papers 10 (1980): 11–18, but the original views were given a new hearing in Daniel Traister, “Reluctant Virgins: The Stigma of Print Revisited,” Colby Quarterly 26 (1990): 75–86; see also my “Print Culture and the Elizabethan Composer,” and “‘From “Rights to Copy’ to the ‘Bibliographic Ego’: A New Look at the Last Early Edition of Byrd’s Psalmes, Sonets & Songs,” Music & Letters 80 (1999): 511–30. 24 See BE 13, pp. xiii–xv. 25 For a recent modern edition of Spenser’s poetry see Edmund Spenser’s Poetry, ed. Hugh MacLean and Anne Lake Prescott (New York, 1993). 26 In this, Byrd was typical of his time. Roger Kuin lists as one of his “assumptions” about the sonnet sequence that “the ordering of the microtexts [sonnets or songs] within the macrotext is neither linear nor random,” in Chamber Music: Elizabethan Sonnet-sequences and the Pleasure of Criticism (Toronto, 1998), 61.

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over the course of two books based on their place in the two great “Old and New” biblical covenants where the Mosaic Decalogue and Brotherly Love feature prominently. Even though he never overtly discloses the condition that these or any of their subsidiary themes are subjects of the volumes, Byrd does draw his auditor’s attention to significant points of rest and change – marking the shifts in literary kind in 1588 (psalm, sonnet, song) and scoring in 1589 (three, four, five, and six voices). These divisions do not account for some of the individual virtue topics Byrd selects, a group of which he rather systematically treats in the middle of his 1588 set (see Chapters 2–5). But they do indicate where he draws a number of his secondary topics into sections, as this book reflects in its own chapter divisions. Byrd had, I argue, set himself a rather daunting task: to create a long series of songs, each capable of providing entertainment or moral instruction as an individual entity while also serving as a link in a much longer and unadvertised narrative. In the books Byrd deploys several devices in order to guide his auditors’ experience as they move through the story. In his 1588 set he creates suspense throughout via a riddling technique, one that could be compared with the standard “whodunit” strategy, as various revelations are saved for the end. In 1589 Byrd continues with covert methods but also pits evil against good in a way that further heightens the dramatic tension, this time keeping his auditors waiting until the last cadence of the last song for a much-anticipated resolution. Adopting narrative devices for his middle portions that recall the cinematic techniques of today, but that can be found in Homeric and Aristotelian models, including the serio-comic aspect and the use of “dilatory space,” Byrd even adds, if sparingly, a personal element: once, quite late in the story, where he casts himself as a jester-like figure, but also, more profoundly, at the very beginning, where he seems to assume the mantle of a character so full of unsettled enmity and mistrust that he almost determinedly draws us into the long but remarkable musically and poetically enriched narrative to follow. In the ensuing chapters I will treat first the songs of 1588, devoting a chapter to the “psalmes,” three chapters (Chapters 2–5) to Byrd’s sixteen-song middle section, since the topics are widely varied, and a further chapter (6) to the final section. Chapters 7–9 will cover the 1589 songs in their published order, with divisions marked by scoring for three, four, five, and six parts.

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Chapter 1

Psalmes

I

n the ten songs of his opening section of the Psalmes, Sonets, & songs of 1588, with which we begin, Byrd offered the strongest evidence that the overall message of this sequence was at least in part a personal one – or that he wished to make that impression. As Rivkah Zim explains, “sixteenth-century commentators encouraged individuals to recognize representations of their own experiences and emotions in psalms, and to use them as models for personal prayer and meditation.”1 Byrd may have originally set these psalms to music for other people and other purposes – although at least one appears to have been originally designed for inclusion in the set – but in publishing them, he placed what might have been perceived as his personal prayers before his Queen and her public. Thematically, through his text selection and settings, Byrd portrayed in this section the moral virtue of holiness, a depiction of the truly righteous as defined by divine law and obeisance.2 Byrd’s decision to open his story this way was probably stimulated by a 1571 tract “An Homilee agaynst disobedience,” in which John Jewell, the Queen’s royally appointed homilist, proclaimed: “whereby it is evident, that obedience is the principall vertue of all vertues, and in deede the verye roote of all vertues, and the cause of all felicitie.”3 Significant, in this light, are Byrd’s references to the Decalogue (in the total number of ten psalms selected and in the special use of BE 12: 6, with its references to a holy place or “sacred 1

Rivkah Zim, English Metrical Psalms: Poetry as Praise and Prayer, 1535–1601 (Cambridge, 1987), 80; see also Hannibal Hamlin, Psalm Culture and Early Modern English Literature (Cambridge, 2004), 1: “English men and women of varied social and intellectual backgrounds … accommodat[ed] the biblical texts [of metrical psalms] to their personal agendas, whether religious, political or aesthetic.” 2 Byrd’s view of holiness (Sanctitas) had strong classical roots, but it was most likely derived from St. Thomas Aquinas’s Summa Theologica (II. II. 83). Aquinas argued that “a thing is said to be sacred [sancitum] when it is ratified by law” and that sanctity is the “assertion of the paramount rights of God; its concrete manifestation is the keeping of the Commandments.” See Hugh Pope, “Holiness,” in The Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. 7 (New York, 1910), http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07386a. htm, accessed 19 Jan. 2014. Equating holiness with lawfulness was hardly confined to the Catholic faith, however. For John Calvin’s view that “the precepts of the law [are what] mankind ought to seek … for the perfecting of holiness,” see his Commentary on the Book of Psalms, ed. and trans. James Anderson (Grand Rapids, 1949), 400–01, quoted in Mary Lane Potter, “The ‘Whole Office of the Law’ in the Theology of John Calvin,” Journal of Law and Religion 3 (1985): 117–39, at 118–19. 3 John Jewell, The second tome of homilees of such matters as were promised, and intituled in the former part of homilees. Set out by the aucthoritie of the Queenes Maiestie: and to be read in euery parishe church agreeably (London, 1571), 545. In her “A New Source for Spenser’s ‘Faerie Queene,’ Book I,” Studies in Philology 33 (1936): 166–81, Isabel E. Rathborne makes a clear connection between the Ten Commandments, holiness, and the Elizabethan homily on disobedience. Edmund Spenser was a contemporary of Byrd’s whose epic Faerie Queene was published in 1591 with its first book titled “Holiness.”

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tent”) and to other aspects of Old Testament law as depicted in Psalm 119 (BE 12: 3 and 4). Byrd also provided here a clarifying portrayal of the “blessed” people who would follow the Lord’s commandments in the proper spirit (BE 12: 8), and the “wicked” ones who would not (BE 12: 7). All of the above evokes the Mosaic Covenant, which, suggestively, outlines a pact whereby God agrees to protect his law-abiding followers from their enemies.4 As much as this representation of a holy subject would seem grounded in Old Testament theology, it was not without contemporary relevance. By this point in the post-Reformation era the English had long viewed themselves as the Chosen People.5 When Elizabeth appointed Byrd’s dedicatee Sir Christopher Hatton Lord Chancellor in 1587 she put him in charge of the courts that upheld her laws.6 But for all the theological coherence, topical relevance, and moral rectitude Byrd expressed in this picture of holiness, one might be excused for missing it altogether in the very clamor of his impassioned coinciding appeal simply to be heard and in his condemnation of his foes. With a pair of psalms that appear at the start of this section (BE 12: 1 and 2), another pair at the close (BE 12: 9 and 10), and yet another single verse (BE 12: 5) situated in the midst of all his points about law and righteousness, he educes all the anxiety, fear, and desperate hope of the truly submissive. It was a posture designed to flatter the Queen, surely, but also to move her. Leaving it unresolved whether she would recognize properly the holy standing of Byrd’s self-fashioned psalmist – a tortured individual who represented an oppressed group – Byrd establishes the need for further persuasive argument, which he then furnishes in the generally less intense but no less purposefully selected songs to follow.

4

See Michael McGiffert, “From Moses to Adam: The Making of the Covenant of Works,” Sixteenth Century Journal 19 (1988): 131–55; and idem, “Covenant, Crown, and Commons in Elizabethan Puritanism,” Journal of British Studies 20 (1980): 32–52. On the prominence of Old Testament imagery in royal representations of the time see Susan Doran, “Elizabeth I: An Old Testament Queen,” in Tudor Queenship: The Reigns of Mary and Elizabeth, ed. Anna Whitelock and Alice Hunt (New York, 2010), 95–110. 5 For a discussion of the various ways in which the commonplace English perception of themselves as a Chosen People could be brought into religio-political debates of the time see McGiffert, “Covenant, Crown, and Commons,” 35. 6 On Hatton see Wallace T. MacCaffrey, “Hatton, Sir Christopher (c.1540–1591),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb. com/view/article/12605, accessed 19 Jan 2014; idem, “Place and Patronage in Elizabethan Politics,” in Elizabethan Government and Society, ed. S. T. Bindoff, Joel Hurstfield, and C. H. Williams (London, 1961), 95–126; and idem, Queen Elizabeth and the Making of Policy, 1572–1588 (Princeton, 1981), 448–89. Soon after his death, Hatton was honored several times with commemorative works that dealt explicitly with virtues. Perhaps most noteworthy is Robert Greene, The Maiden’s Dreame upon the Death of the Right Honorable Sir Christopher Hatton (London, 1591), which consists of “Complaints” by Justice, Prudence, Temperance, Hospitality, and Religion on Hatton’s death. But there were also tributes to Hatton featuring the virtues by John Phillips, William Camden, Spenser, and Christopher Ockland; see The Plays & Poems of Robert Greene, ed. J. Churton Collins, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1905), 220.

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Psalmes 15

T

PSALMS 55 AND 123 A PERSONAL AND A CORPORATE LAMENT

he first work of the 1588 set is Byrd’s setting of John Hopkins’s metrical translation of Psalm 55, “O God give ear and do apply” (BE 12: 1), which also appeared in Thomas Sternhold and Hopkins’s Whole Booke of Psalmes.7 Thanks to the popularity of this decidedly Protestant textual source, it was by all accounts the most familiar Englished version of the psalm known to Byrd’s audiences at this time, although by no means the only one.8 As with all of the metrical psalms Byrd would set, Hopkins’s text follows the pervasive, and thus aptly named, common meter of alternating eight- and six- syllable iambic lines (known as fourteener couplets). Rather unexpectedly, though, Byrd sets this well-known conventional poem to the most uncharacteristic music of the section (and indeed, of the set altogether). Only with the second work, “Mine eyes with fervency of sprite” (a setting of Psalm 123 in metrical translation), does he reveal clearly the elements of his 1588 psalms style. “O God give ear” presents one of the six cases where Byrd does not indicate a “first singing part.” Even if the work was clearly conceived with a prominent, even rather celebrated, melody in the superius, there is a distinctly vocal cast to the remaining parts.9 It is therefore by no means certain that this was a work “originally made for [any] Instruments to expresse the harmonie,” as Byrd describes his standard 1 + 4 scoring for the consort songs of 1588.10 At the end of a hearing, one may even begin to suspect that he purposely left unresolved the question of how best to perform this work (as part of the overall disturbing impression he wished to create) with its expressive introductory gesture. Most of the songs in this 1588 collection are strophic – i.e., with the same music for each stanza, and thus a single musical idea must serve to depict any number of words or sentiments. To indicate that further stanzas were to be sung to the same music, Byrd and his printer placed the additional stanzas below the song in question or on an adjacent page (leaving it to the performers to put the words together with the appropriate notes). Most of the 1588 songs also have written out repeats for the final couplet. But “O God give ear” is not strophic and has a repeat indicated by sign. The repeat sign is something that helps confirm what all of this evidence of exceptionality suggests: this was a song written expressly for publication in 1588.11 That Byrd chose not to set this text strophically is particularly revealing of his 7

Thomas Sternhold, John Hopkins, et al., Whole booke of Psalmes collected into Englysh metre (London, 1562), 128–31. 8 See Zim, English Metrical Psalms, and Beth Quitslund, The Reformation in Rhyme: Sternhold, Hopkins and the English Metrical Psalter, 1547–1603 (Aldershot, 2008). 9 On the inventiveness of Byrd’s melody see especially Edward J. Dent, “William Byrd and the Madrigal,” in Festschrift für Johannes Wolf zu seinem sechzigsten Geburtstage, ed. Walter Lott et al., Musikwissenschaftliche Beiträge (Berlin, 1929), 24–30. 10 On the likely vocal conception of certain passages in this song see Joseph Kerman, The Elizabethan Madrigal: A Comparative Study (New York, 1962), 112–13. 11 Kerman argues that BE 13: 1 should be counted as one of the songs Byrd referred to when he claimed some of the set were “very rare and newly composed”; see Kerman, Elizabethan Madrigal, 112.

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16

Jeremy L. Smith

­narrative purposes.12 In a through-composed setting (which is the alternative to strophic form) a composer interested in heightening a particular rhetorical effect has every chance to seize upon any individual word he or she sees fit to “paint” with musical devices. To clarify his point of view musically at the outset, Byrd, as discussed in detail below, took full advantage of this formal expressive opportunity. In the Whole Booke edition the substance of Psalm 55 is described as follows: “David being in greate heaviness and distress, complayneth of the cruelty of Saule, and of the falshod of his familiar acquaintaunce, uttering most ardent affections to move the Lord to pittie hym.”13 As a number of scholars have emphasized, this psalm was used by poets as prominent as the Earl of Surrey and the Earl of Warwick to express their views about their enemies and their plight while in prison in the Tower for treachery.14 For them it was probably crucial that David is ultimately “assured of deliverance” (Psalm 55:22). But Byrd did not set that part of the text. Instead, as a further indication that he chose his texts and techniques carefully to suit the purpose of setting up an ongoing narrative, he ended the song with a bleak depiction of enemies who “in their hasty wrath & yre, … do pursue me still” (ll. 15–16). “O God” opens with the superius, at the lowest pitch of its range (d’). As this lone voice remains on the same pitch to intone the words “God give,” the other voices answer it homorhythmically with their lowest possible notes that fit within the confines of a G–B♭–d triad in closely spaced harmony (see Ex. 1.1). Then, at the word “ear,” the superius establishes a motive at the melodic interval of a fourth, one that returns at significant points throughout the piece. Immediately thereafter, the somber and orderly call and response pattern begins to recur a fifth above. But this time, before the lower parts can complete their answer, the superius forgoes a rest to initiate a new phrase (“to heare me when I pray”), not on the upbeat, as before, but rather on the first beat of the modern measure (or semibreve, with a minim on the word “to”). Then it leaps up another fourth for a minim on “hear” to reach the highest pitch in its range (d”, m. 4). Thus on the word “heare” we do hear something quite extraordinary: a sudden, or at least a decisive, move to the highest pitch of the work; a reiteration of the fourth; the first striking syncopation; and an interruption of the call and response pattern. The opening responsorial gesture is reflected at the start of each major section of the song (see mm. 26, 32, and 40). The climactic pitch, d”, however, reappears only in the last section of the work. There it resounds twice in close succession: first on the word “councel” (“council” in A1, m. 41), of the phrase “they in councel do conspire” (l. 13); and then on the word “do” (m. 51) of the final phrase, “they doe pursue mee still” (l.  16). The quick reiteration of the climactic pitch in the 12

On Byrd’s approach to strophic poems see Philip Brett, “Word-setting in the Songs of Byrd,” in William Byrd and his Contemporaries: Essays and a Monograph, ed. Joseph Kerman and Davitt Maroney (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 2007), 100–20; see also idem, “The English Consort Song, 1570–1625,” Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 88 (1962), 73–88. 13 Sternhold and Hopkins, Whole booke of Psalmes, 128. 14 See Zim, English Metrical Psalms, 88–89, 105, and 109–10; and Susan Brigden, “Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, and the ‘Conjured League’,” Historical Journal 37 (1994): 507–37.

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Psalmes 17 Ex. 1.1  BE 12: 1 “O God give ear,” mm. 1–10, 14–20, 22–23, 28, 40–41, 50–52 (reduced scoring)

&b w &b

˙

∑

O

God give

&b ˙

when

& b ˙w..

ear

˙˙

ww

?b ∑

ww

˙

˙˙

pray:

˙˙

not

&b w ˙

? b # ww

self,

˙

˙.

&b w

my

&b w w

b ˙˙

w

re

Ó˙ ˙ ˙ ?b ˙ ˙ Ó ˙

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 17

˙

∑

thy

14

ww

-

˙˙ ˙˙

˙˙

˙

me

ap - ply,

to

hear

Ó

˙˙ ˙ ˙

˙˙

˙˙

˙ ˙

thee

I

˙˙ # ˙˙ ˙ ˙

˙ ˙

˙.

ww

˙˙ . ˙ œ ˙ Ó

œ #w

call

Ó ˙. ˙ œ ˙ ˙ ˙. œ

and

cry,

Ó˙ . ˙ œ ˙w ˙ Ó˙ # ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ b˙

˙ ˙

Ó ˙

hide

˙˙ ˙˙

˙. w

œ

œ˙ œ ˙œ œ œœ ˙˙ œ ˙˙ œ Ó ˙

˙˙ # ˙˙

˙˙ .

˙w.

w

not

w

quest,

˙

˙.

hide

œ

w

Ó

w˙ # ˙ ˙∑ b ˙ ∑ ˙ ww

w

˙

do

and when to

œ ˙

˙

and

˙

Ó ˙ ˙ ˙

? b œ˙ . œ ˙ œ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙

&b ˙

˙

˙ # ww ˙

˙˙

w

I

Ó

w

˙

and

˙.

œ œ œ ˙

an - swer me a

œ ˙˙ ˙ œ ˙˙ ˙˙ Ó˙

˙ ˙ ˙ #˙

˙ w w˙

˙ ˙

˙ ˙

Ó ˙. ˙ œ w ˙ ˙

-

w

gain:

˙˙ . œ œœ œ

wœ œ ˙

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Jeremy L. Smith

18

&b Ó &b

˙w.

? b w˙

˙

With

˙.

œ

plaints

I

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 18

˙˙ w˙

˙

cries,

˙˙

˙˙

˙

w˙ ˙

˙

they

œ˙ œ ˙

œ ˙

˙ w.

Ó w

they

œ ˙

do

˙˙ # ˙˙ Ó ∑

˙

pur - sue

in

∑ œ

˙

˙.

coun

˙

still,

œ

-

œ ˙

cil do

˙ ˙ Ó˙ ˙ ˙ ˙˙ . ˙ . œ ˙ œ

#w

me

∑

41

˙˙

ww

˙. Ó

˙

˙ ∑

˙

˙˙

˙.

∑

strain,

˙

51

œœ œœ ˙ w j œ œ œ ˙ œ. œ ˙. ˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ ˙. Ó

w

-

∑

˙

prest,

˙ Ó

∑

˙ ˙

-

nœ œ ˙

con

∑

w

˙œ œ

∑

w

and

op

œ ˙˙ Ó Ó

Ó œ œ ˙œ œ ˙ . w ∑w wÓ

me

&b Ó

?b

sore

˙.

˙

28

&b

˙

˙

˙

full

22

?b

&b

Ó ˙.

w w

&b

?b

˙

pray

˙

œ w Ó ˙ w w

&b

&b

˙

Ex. 1.1  continued

Ó

˙˙ .

∑

˙ ˙

œ

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Psalmes 19 last section, especially when combined with a series of rapidly recurring points of ­imitation, paints vividly the ominous word “pursue” of the poem. Throughout the song Byrd uses the d” pinnacle pitch and next highest note, c”, as a focal point for his lines. A quick glance at the words that he places under (or near) them – “heare,” “selfe,” “plaints,” “constraine,” “and cries,” “councel,” “do pursue” (see Ex. 1.1) – helps reveal the point of his extraordinary rhetorical plan for this work and its drama. What Byrd emphasizes are those words that describe the cry to God (“heare”), the subject (“selfe”), and the desperate nature of the appeal. That he would emphasize the words “plaint” and “cries” is particularly fitting, as they describe the song’s agenda, to make an “audible expression of sorrow” (OED). The song’s function is to obtain divine attention. Its subject is the “constraint” caused by the hands of an enemy “councel” that still “pursues” the psalmist. Many of the psalms describe enemies and call to God for help and relief. Many also describe a state of misery. But Psalm 55 presents the special case where a former friend has become an enemy.15 More than the anguish and the expressive cries, it is the treachery described in this psalm that has attracted the most interest among commentators, paraphrasts, and translators of the psalms. Was Byrd betrayed? No evidence of this has come to light. But in the early 1580s a group of Catholic courtiers headed by the Earls of Arundel and Northampton were betrayed by the Earl of Oxford (Edward de Vere), who renounced his Catholicism to the Queen and made speeches against his former co-religionists and former allies at court.16 Oxford had made other enemies at the time. Philip Sidney had challenged him to a duel after Oxford had reportedly insulted him in front of the French delegation at a tennis match. Although the Queen intervened, the two men remained bitter enemies thereafter. This was all during the political turmoil surrounding some protracted but ultimately unsuccessful marriage negotiations between Francis, the Duke of Anjou and Alençon, a moderate Catholic, and Elizabeth, when Sidney had famously sent to the Queen his letter “dissuading her from marrying the Duke of Anjou.”17 This contentious so-called French Match dominated courtly activities for a time in the late 1570s and it is one likely backdrop for Byrd’s collection.18 Intriguingly, a poem by Oxford appears next to one by Sidney later in the set (BE 12: 16-17), but whether Byrd meant to take sides here is difficult to determine. 15

See Gerald Mackrell, “The Stab in the Back – Psalm 54,” New Blackfriars 56 (1975): 130–36. 16 Alan H. Nelson, “Vere, Edward de, seventeenth Earl of Oxford (1550–1604),” in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2008), http://www.oxforddnb. com/view/article/28208, accessed 4 Feb 2015. 17 See Philip Sidney, “Letter to Queen Elizabeth, 1580,” in The Miscellaneous Works of Sir Philip Sidney, Knt., ed. William Gray (Boston, 1860), 289–303. 18 There are numerous studies of the political aspects of the French Match. See, for example, Wallace T. MacCaffrey, Elizabeth I (London, 1993), 147–266, and Thomas M. McCoog, SJ, “The English Jesuit Mission and the French Match, 1579–1581,” Catholic Historical Review 87 (2001): 185–213. See also my “William Byrd’s Fall from Grace and his First Solo Publication of 1588: A Shostakovian ‘Response to Just Criticism’?” Music & Politics 1 (2007), http://www.music.ucsb.edu/projects/ musicandpolitics, accessed 30 January 2009.

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Internal evidence goes only so far in answering questions about Byrd’s political positioning, although, in the case of “O God give ear,” further music analysis does bring out a suggestive possibility. Byrd represents in this song a sonic struggle quite analogous to the internal strife that had developed at court in the late 1570s. Especially in the first section the superius, implicitly cast as the leader of the texture (although not so labeled in this case), gives directives that are ignored by the other parts (see Ex. 1.1). At one point the superius slows deliberately for a cadence, or point of closure and rest, with the notes f’ and g’ (mm. 14–15) and then approaches the f’ again even more decisively (m. 17) to suggest what would later be termed a “perfect authentic cadence” on F. These actions should have alerted the other voices that it was time to stop. Instead, with increasingly propulsive rhythms, they push the phrase forward into m. 18. Eventually we reach the expected harmonic goal of F (m. 18, beat 3), but by that time the superius, oblivious to all the turmoil underneath it, has already rested and begun a new phrase. The struggle is audibly clear. To arrive at some conclusive interpretation of its meaning presents a special challenge. No matter what their religious stripe, most in England would have associated the sung words of this psalm with the tune prescribed for it in the Sternhold and Hopkins psalter (probably in a copy they owned). Byrd does not use that tune. With his “voyces [in] harmonie” he pushes very much against the strictures of the melody he does set. Furthermore, with insistent responsorial gestures he depicts the kind of singing one would normally associate with Catholic devotional practices. But, again, the tumultuousness of the overall sonic surface makes it difficult to accept this as a simple representation of a Catholic at solemn prayer.19 It is, all told, a disturbing portrayal. With almost every possible musical element available to him Byrd creates a palpable tension throughout the song. He even allows a sense of foreboding to ring out, and perhaps especially so, in the very last phrase “they do pursue me still” (italics added) before he moves on, in the next song, to a more temperate musical climate. “If thou wouldest be delivered from contempt, infamy and the derision of the wicked use the 123 psalm.” This patristic advice appears in the preface of the Whole Booke of Psalmes edition of 1562.20 David, as some believed, used this psalm to pray for the Lord’s pardon, and within it there are references to “servants” and “masters” and “maid[s]” and “mistris[es]” (ll. 5–7) that could easily evoke Byrd and his Queen.21 Although Byrd did not set Sternhold’s poem (and we do not know who translated his version), his “Mine eyes with fervency of sprite” (BE 12: 2) has close 19

See BE 13: 36 for another, more obvious, stylistic connection to Catholic devotional singing. 20 Sternhold and Hopkins, Whole booke of Psalmes, A2v, in a tract derived from the words of Athanasius. 21 Albert Barnes, Notes, Critical, Explanatory, and Practical, on the Book of Psalms, 3 vols. (New York, 1869), 3: 239. For similar representations of Elizabeth see Doran, “Elizabeth I,” 95–110; and on the particular issue of gendered identities, Janel Mueller, “Virtue and Virtuality: Gender in the Self-Representations of Queen Elizabeth I,” in Form and Reform in Renaissance England: Essays in Honor of Barbara Kiefer Lewalski, ed. Amy Boesky and Mary Thomas Crane (Newark, 2000), 220–46, and Beth Rose, “The Gendering of Authority in the Public Speeches of Elizabeth I,” PMLA 115 (2000): 1077–82.

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Psalmes 21 affinities with the Whole Booke, not only in the way the header text describes Byrd’s agenda – presenting him as one who “wouldest be delivered from contempt” – but also in its reliance on the strophic setting, which was the norm for the 1588 set as a whole as well as for the metrical psalters throughout the Protestant tradition.22 As noted above, “Mine eyes” stands out as a model consort song. It features a clear “first singing part,” which Byrd indicates in the superius part.23 Byrd, as usual, writes out a repeat for the final couplet of the verse (of fourteener couplets). And, although there are many expressive melodic moments in this song, there is no apparent struggle between the main melody (or tune) and the voices that “expresse the harmonie.” As the opportunities it provided for the composer to paint individual words were few, Byrd seems to put himself at an expressive disadvantage when he follows the strophic practice. Textually, “Mine eyes,” in fact, would seem rather well suited for an expressive through-composed setting: the first stanza of the verse presents a number of words and phrases ripe for individualized expression, such as “fervencie of sprite” (l. 1), “throwne downe” (l. 16), and “up on hie” (l. 2, which Byrd could not resist painting anyway), etc.24 Furthermore, as Byrd’s poet moves us from stanza to stanza, the story shifts topics, which would also seem to prompt a through-­composed approach. After opening with the plaints of a lamenting psalmist, the scene changes to a depiction of “servants” and “maids” who nearly approach abjection, as some see it today, in their expressions of loving subjection.25 By the end the individual has become a group, one that voices the typically vicious portrayal of its enemies, as the “despis’d … proud men of the world” (ll. 15, 17). Conceptually, the latter mentioned change is perhaps the most dramatic: with this shift from the singular “I” to the plural pronoun “we” in the verse, as noted psalm scholar Hermann Gunkel has described it, “the singer’s personal distress [has become] the distress of his nation.”26 Yet as we turn from the exceptionally through-composed “O God” to the typically strophic “Mine Eyes” we confront immediately a situation where the additional stanzas play a crucial role in Byrd’s story. It is through his strophic setting, rather than any other means, that Byrd emphasizes the connection between the individual (himself) and the group (the Catholic courtly faction) that prays in this psalm. His approach also serves to underline – with its steady, predictable, repetitiveness so unlike the volatility of the song before – the kind of dependence that the central part of the psalm suggests with its references to servitude. Byrd, I contend, smoothly shifts at this juncture from a personal appeal to one with more corporate dimensions. 22

Sternhold and Hopkins, Whole booke of Psalmes, A2v. In the very first edition (A1) of the Psalmes Byrd labeled this part “Triplex.” 24 Even Byrd’s great predecessor Robert White, for example, known for his imperturbability, had added some expressive elements in a setting of this psalm; see David Humphreys, “Aspects of the Elizabethan and Jacobean Polyphonic Motet, with Particular Reference to the Influence of Ferrabosco the Elder on William Byrd,” Ph.D. diss., Cambridge University, 1976, 169. 25 Moshe Greenberg, “On the Refinement of the Conception of Prayer in Hebrew,” AJS Review 1 (1976): 57–92, at 68–69. 26 Hermann Gunkel, An Introduction to the Psalms, Mercer Library of Biblical Studies (Macon, GA, 1998), 192. 23

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In terms of mood, Psalm 123 is widely known as a “psalm of confidence,” one where the speaker places complete trust in God’s deliverance. Byrd meant, I believe, to capture just such a spirit, even if the “reliefe” mentioned in the verse itself is not yet gained. Sacrificed in Byrd’s approach is the means of showing a musical distinction between the enemy and the loving “servant” and “maid” – and the enemy is by no means unimportant, as I will suggest below. But, overall, by strophic means, Byrd binds his personal appeal with that of his co-religionists and paints a consistent affective picture of them as loyal servants securely at prayer. If he had cooled things down, Byrd did not yet abandon his competitive position with Protestant devotional practices. Indeed, he might be seen to court comparison all the more in this case; his “first singing part,” as it is designated in the superius part book, is a short but finely crafted tune of the very kind that was featured in the Whole Booke. Isolated from the other four parts, it could have appeared (as a sterling example) in the older collection. Once we turn to consider the other parts of this song, we find smoothed over any sense of disparity among them. Ignoring to a certain extent the implications of the word “fervency” in the first line, Byrd begins “Mine eyes” with a leisurely point of what Joseph Kerman has aptly called “pre-imitation” (Vorimitation), where the “first singing part” (superius) enters the texture after all the other parts have completed a fairly standard motet-like series of entries exposing a single motive (see Ex. 1.2).27 As we wait for the superius’s entry, however, we experience the last full-fledged point of pervasive imitation in the song. From that point forward Byrd allows a few full points of the superius to be imitated in the tenor, but otherwise confines the imitation to opening gestures, which often conform to each other in general shape only. He still reaches toward the top notes of the superius quite expressively, yet they are so gracefully approached that the listener senses it is not here but rather in the first work of the set where Byrd struggles for divine attention. Much of the tension and turmoil of the previous song is dissipated into a sense of harmoniousness as “Mine eyes” evokes an individual representing his nation ­earnestly engaged in solemn prayer and confident of being heard. For all its supplicatory quietude it would be wrong, however, to ignore this psalm’s description of the psalmist’s enemies at the very end as the “mightie proud men of the world.” Byrd, as I hope to show, was about to take his auditors deep into this section’s argument, to his first depiction of holiness as defined by zealous acceptance of divine law. In this light it is significant that the last thing we see before we take this step is an image of prideful men of power. In Book I of Edmund Spenser’s epic Faerie Queene, the House of Pride is the devil’s own, and before the hero Redcross comes to the House of Holiness – significantly, in Canto 10 – he has to cross through this evil place. Byrd and his great literary contemporary Spenser tell the tale of holiness and other virtues in very different ways although there are also striking similarities; the path they take through evil and the significance of the number ten in their tales, as a reference to the Decalogue, stand out as two ­noteworthy points of agreement.28 27 28

See Kerman, Elizabethan Madrigal, 104. Douglas Brooks-Davies, Spenser’s ‘Faerie Queene’: A Critical Commentary on Books I and II (Manchester, 1977), 92. Of the many studies of Spenser’s portrayal of

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Psalmes 23

b &b bb & & bb &b

„

b

Ex. 1.2  BE 12: 2 “Mine eyes,” mm. 1–9

„

„ ˙ ww ˙ with fer

w w w Mine w eyes b Mine eyes„ V bb „ Vb b V bb Vb ? bb ? b b

∑ ∑ w Mine w Mine „ „

b

„

& bb &b

with fer

„ „

„ „

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ - ven - cy of sprite, of -„ ven - cy of sprite, „ of „ „

˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ mine eyes with˙ sprite, sprite, Ó mine eyes with ˙ Ó w w eyes˙ Mine

# ˙ n ˙ ˙ .. œ ˙ œ n˙ # ˙ mine sprite, eyes with sprite, mine eyes with w ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ eyes with fer Mine

w ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w with ˙ fer - ven eyes - cy of eyes with fer „ ∑ ven - cy of w „ ∑ w Mine Mine

„

b & b ˙ œ . œj ˙ b j & b ˙fer - œven. œ- ˙cy b V b fer˙ - venw - cy b V b ˙with wfer b with fer Vb ˙ ˙ ˙ b V b ˙fer - ˙ven - ˙cy ? b fer˙ - ven˙ - cy˙ b ? b b ˙ ˙ven - ˙cy ven

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 23

„

-

cy

„ „ ˙ ˙of of ˙ ˙ven

W sprite, W sprite, ˙ w ˙ wof - cy

#˙ #˙

of ˙ w ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙of sprite, ˙of sprite, of˙ sprite,. of œ sprite, w ˙ ˙of sprite, ˙ . œof w

ven

of

-

cy

sprite,

of

eyes

w Mine w Mine ∑ ∑

˙ w ˙ wof sprite, ˙ ofw ˙ ferw with

eyes

with fer -

w w eyes

eyes

w w

mine

mine

sprite,

-

fer -w ˙ ˙ w sprite, mine eyes ˙ ˙ with

sprite, mine

˙ ˙

˙ ˙ ven

-

ven -

eyes

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Jeremy L. Smith

24

Ex. 1.2  continued

b &b ˙

w

with

fer

b &b w

eyes

b Vb ˙

-

-

-

with

∑

fer

˙

sprite.

b . Vb œ cy

? b ˙ b

with

W

ven

˙

˙

˙

˙

-

-

œ J œ œ ˙ of

sprite,

w

fer

-

-

ven

sprite,

˙

˙

˙.

do

˙

with

˙ -

of

˙

Ó

-

w

cy

-

I

˙

˙

cy

-

ven

˙

˙

-

cy

lift

up

˙. fer

˙

of

˙

œ

of

on

œ ˙ -

˙

sprite,

ven - cy

˙

of

TWO SONGS FROM PSALM 119

ith 176 verses, the 119th is the longest of all the psalms. In the original Hebrew each of the twenty-two sections contains eight lines all beginning with the same letter. These sections themselves move through the alphabet successively to cover it in its entirety. Despite its exceptional length and complexity, commentators have long recognized that this extensive acrostic psalm is focused on, or “constrained [to]” (as one modern scholar puts it), aspects of the law.29 With the Decalogue in mind, many have claimed throughout its history that the number ten is featured in the verse, specifically in the number of synonymic “key words” the psalmist uses throughout. Even if biblical scholars now tend to insist that there were only eight, all agree that the words in question singularly depict the Torah, or law.30 holiness, see, for particular connections to Byrd’s (via Aquinas and the Decalogue); Rathborne, “New Source”; and Gerald Morgan, “Holiness as the First of Spenser’s Aristotelian Moral Virtues,” Modern Language Review 81 (1986): 817–37. 29 Scott N. Callaham, “An Evaluation of Psalm 119 as Constrained Writing,” Hebrew Studies 50 (2009): 121–35. 30 In his Dauids teacher, or The true teacher of the right-vvay to heauen: a Sermon Preached at Pauls Crosse the third of September 1609 (London, 1609), Robert Johnson, chaplain to the Bishop of London, claimed “in every one these verses is found one of these ten words, according to the number of ten Commandmentes of Almightye God: viz. the Law, the Way, the Word, the Righteousness, the Truth, Iudgements, Precepts, Statues, Commandmentes, and Testimonies,” B1r–v. For more on this claim see Jon D. Levenson, “The Sources of Torah: Psalm 119 and the Modes of Revelation in Second

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Psalmes 25 This psalm held special devotional interests for Elizabeth, which she could have communicated to the composers of her private chapel (and elsewhere).31 Early in her reign two Chapel Royal composers, William Mundy and Robert Parsons, set portions of the psalm in Latin, along with Ely- and Westminster-centered composers Christopher Tye and Robert White. The composers involved may have conceived this project as something of a collaborative tribute to their Queen and her zeal for the law.32 Byrd did not join this group. But early in his compositional career he set the first six lines of the he section, in his English-texted verse anthem “Teach me, O Lord” (BE 10a: 3d), and in his 1588 publication he returned to the psalm, to set the entire fourth (daleth) and second (beth) sections, as “My Soul opprest with care and grief” (BE 12: 3) and “How shall a young man prone to ill” (BE 12: 4), respectively. It seems most unlikely that Byrd chose to publish his musical renderings of daleth and beth in order to suggest that he would adhere to the strictures of his current queen’s Protestant faith. He apparently makes quite conspicuous use of a Catholic type of chant in his “Teach me, O Lord,” featuring there the tonus peregrinus (wandering tone) that gains symbolic meaning through its association mainly with Psalm 113 (“When Israel came out of Egypt”). Byrd’s designs have recently sparked scholarly interest. After first suggesting that Byrd’s use of the tone was “particularly odd,” Mattias Lundberg proposes that the composer was here drawing Mosaic “connections with theological notions of pilgrimage, exile, Temple Judaism,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. Patrick D. Miller Jr., Paul. D. Hanson and S. Dean McBride (Philadelphia, 1987), 559–74, at 562. See Callaham, “An Evaluation,” for a thorough study of the way this text is focused on law. 31 On Elizabeth’s particular devotional interest in Psalm 119 see William P. Haugaard, “Elizabeth Tudor’s Book of Devotions: A Neglected Clue to the Queen’s Life and Character,” Sixteenth Century Journal 12 (1981): 79–106, at 84, 88. The psalm resonates throughout the Queen’s so-called “second English” prayer. It would seem feasible that some of these composers may have been attending to the Queen’s “private” (such as they could be) devotional needs. After this other composers, learning of her preferences from their colleagues, rose to the auspicious occasion and produced further works, and thus it became a “virtuous contention in love.” 32 See Joseph Kerman, “The Elizabethan Motet: a Study of Texts for Music,” Studies in the Renaissance 9 (1962): 273–308, at 279–80, and 306–07; and David Timothy Flanagan, “Polyphonic Settings of the Lamentations of Jeremiah by Sixteenthcentury English Composers,” Ph.D. diss., Cornell University, 1990, 291–93. Kerman further notes that Tye’s (partially extant) setting is dated “1568” in (its only) manuscript source (280). Both Kerman and Flanagan conclude that the project was a collaborative effort. Although evidence for a group effort is circumstantial, the court-associated scribe and musician John Baldwin, who copied nearly all of them, put three of the settings – heth, gimel, aleph, by White, Parsons, and Mundy, respectively – together as numbers 55–57 in a manuscript comprised of ruled music paper that had been produced c.1575; see Iain Fenlon and John Milsom, “‘Ruled Paper Imprinted’: Music Paper and Patents in Sixteenth-Century England,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 37 (1984): 139–63, at148–49, and Roger Bray, “The Part-Books Oxford, Christ Church, MSS 979–983: An Index and Commentary,” Musica Disciplina 25 (1971): 179–97, at 186–87.

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Jeremy L. Smith

and covenant.”33 Similarly prompted by the possibility that Byrd was making a “theological statement” with his use of the tone, Richard Turbet tentatively suggests (what I think is likely) that “Byrd is identifying himself as a Catholic … and sending a message to other Catholics, both overt and covert, who might hear or perform this music.”34 Following up on this a bit: it is interesting to compare the main melody of the first verse of “Teach me, O Lord” with the “first singing part” of “How shall a young man” (BE 12: 4), as the two share an overall shape, first interval (d’–f’), and point of closure (g’) (see Ex. 1.3). In both works, too, we reach a rather grand moment of arrival on b♭’ – for the word “Lord” in the “How shall” (m. 15) and “I” in “Teach me” (in the first chorus) – which is also the most prominent pitch of the wandering tone itself. In “How shall” Byrd’s listeners are primed for the impact of this b♭, as the composer provides them with an extraordinarily dissonant, and thus ear-­catching, rendering of the word “that” in the “if that thy lawe” phrase just before (l. 3). With its simultaneous c♯” and e♭ the composer here introduces (with a g’) what we now call an augmented sixth chord (m. 14), a clash that would have been striking even in Renaissance England, where special forms of dissonance had long been cultivated.35 The idea, then, that Byrd had covert intentions for “How shall a young man” that ran along the same lines as “Teach me, O Lord” is an intriguing one. But to follow a surreptitious line such as this too far, at least at this point, would be to miss a rather extensive overt effort of Byrd’s to fit these songs into his developing narrative of hope and obeisance. To depict an “opprest soul” suffering “care” and “grief” in the first line of “My Soul opprest” (BE 12: 3) Byrd’s poet uses words the Sternhold & Hopkins translator places, more properly, in the fourth stanza of the verse translation. The revision allows the composer an opportunity to paint a character still experiencing all the “pain[s]” expressed in the two songs before, even if now poised to move beyond the phase of attention-seeking to that of desiring and requesting divine instruction. For the following six lines no adjustments were necessary, as the scripture provided the material Byrd needed to draw the character in the desired way, as one who wants to be “eased,” “raise[d] upp,” and “graunt[ed] grace” (ll. 15, 19). But in the last line Byrd’s poet took further liberties with the text to make the fateful promise: “of thy precepts, I will not fayle, the length of all my dayes” (ll. 31–32). This vow not to “fayle” God has a special part to play in Byrd’s larger sequential design. Once such a promise concerning the law is made, God is supposed to provide protection in return, and the story is thus carried along by the suspense we feel as we await the point when Byrd’s main character obtains the expected response. There is much to anticipate. As Byrd’s contemporary Jan van der Noot expressed it 33

Mattias Lundberg, Tonus Peregrinus: The History of a Psalm-tone and Its Use in Polyphonic Music (Farnham, 2011), 180. 34 Richard Turbet, “Greatness Thrust upon ‘em: Services by Byrd and Others Reconsidered,” Musical Times 146 (2005): 16–18, at 18. 35 In his preface Byrd warns his “reader” about certain “jarrre[s] or dissonances” they might encounter in the collection (BE 12, p. xlii). Four further examples of this particular dissonant sonority appear in Byrd’s editions of motets, which, after study of the manuscripts, modern editor Alan Brown treats (nonetheless) as printer’s errors (see BE 2, p. 271).

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Mean

Ó w Psalmes 27 &b ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ w Teach me,

Mean Organ

Organ

O

Lord,

the

way

of

thy

Ex. 1.3  BE 10a: 3d “Teach and BE 12: 4 Ó wme O Lord” & bb w w shall ˙˙ # ww ˙˙ w w ˙ “How a young man” Ó & ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ wa. BE 10a: 3d,wmm. 3–4 . Teach me, O Lord, the way of thy w Ó ˙ ˙ w ˙ w ? Mean w &˙b ˙w ˙ bb ˙˙ ˙w ˙ ˙w w .˙ wÓ w & w Teach˙˙ me,# ww O Lord, w w ˙ w w the way of thy ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó w˙ b . ˙˙ ww w w˙ ? b ˙w& ˙ w˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙˙ # ww˙˙ ww˙. w w Organ ˙w ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ & b w ? ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˙w w ˙ w .w w ˙ w ˙ w. ˙ w b Give me un - der - stan ding, and I shall ˙ œ ˙ œ w b. BE 10a: 3d, mm. 9–12 ˙ w ˙ ˙ #w V bb w ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w w ˙ ˙ & w Give Give

me me

un - der - stan un - der - stan

Give Give

Give me me

Give Give

me me

un - der - stan un - der - stan

Give Give

me

me un - der - stan un - der - stan ding, un - der - stan ding,

b V b b ww & w˙˙ V

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ #˙ w me un - der

Give

? b w ? b w˙ & b w Give˙

˙ ˙ #˙ ˙ w#˙ ˙me ˙ un -wder

b w ? b w& ˙

?b w #˙. œ ˙

b & bbb & #˙.

cleanse

„ œ ˙

w w #w

-

-

-

-

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ #˙ w

w˙ ˙

w w wstan w

# w˙ ˙ ding,

ding, ding,

w

un - der - stan

me

heart,

ding, and and

w˙ w - der

˙ ˙ # ˙ ˙ ww ˙ ˙ ˙

? wme &?b ww b ˙˙ b

&

me un - der - stan un - der - stan ding, un - der - stan ding,

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙me ˙ un

? b w V b w˙ ?b w ˙ Give

bb

and and

˙

? b w V b w˙ V b w Give˙

Give

ding, ding,

˙˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ ww ˙

-

and and

w˙ ˙

ww

ding, and and

w ˙ ˙

w stan w w

ding,

w˙ ˙ ding,

ding,

and

ww stan w

w

w

˙

I

his

˙

keep

thy

˙ ˙

˙

shall keep shall

thy thy

˙˙ ˙ ˙œ˙ œ ˙˙w ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ I

keep

œ œ w thy ˙ ˙ shall keep ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ and I shall keep and

I

I

shall keep keep thy

shall

I

I

˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ I

and

I

I

˙

˙ ˙˙ ˙and ˙I I

˙

I

˙˙

I

˙ ˙

˙

un - brid - led

˙ ˙˙

˙˙

˙˙ ˙

˙˙ ˙

˙

˙

˙ ˙ ˙shall ˙keep ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙shall ˙keep

shall

keep

˙˙˙ ˙ ˙

˙

˙ ∑

heart?

„ œ œ ˙. #œ nœ ˙

˙

thy thy

shall keep shall keep thy shall keep thy

˙˙˙

and

˙

shall keep shall keep

˙ # ˙c. BEw12: 4, mm. 5–17 w j ˙ w˙ œ œ ˙. #œ ˙ œ. œ œ œ nœ

˙ ˙

˙

thy

˙ ˙

˙ w

˙

thy

˙

thy

˙

thy

˙

thy

˙

thy

˙

˙

˙

˙

How

∑ j ˙∑ ˙ w w œ. œ œ œ w w How shall a young heart, bcleanse his un - brid - led heart? How j b w b œ ˙. ∑w ˙ œ˙ w œ . œ œ ˙œ w w w V b b b & # ˙˙„. œ ˙ œ œ ˙ „œ ˙ . œ# œ nnœ˙∑˙ & ˙ w heart, cleanse his un - brid - led heart? ˙ How w ill, how shall a young man prone to ill, cleanse How shall a young bb & b˙b . œ œ „ ∑ ˙ ˙w ˙ w œ wœ œ ˙ w˙ . „ œ w V b b ˙w w œ n ˙ w ˙ ˙˙ w ˙w ˙ ˙ V How shall a young man prone to ill, cleanse his un - brid led heart, ill, how shall a to ill, ˙ cleanse œ young ˙ . man œ prone w w n˙ w ? b b wV b b w˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ wœ œ ˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙ bb ˙ ˙ . œ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w w w w V ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

ill, how shall How shall a young man prone to ill,

bb ˙ ˙ . ˙ ˙ ? bb V w man prone ? bb w

How

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 27

shall

How

a

˙ shall

a man cleanse

œ œ œ w w w

to

˙

ill,

a

young

young

w

man

young

w

cleanse

w

man

prone his

˙

prone

to

man

w

prone ill, prone un - brid

˙his

to

˙

prone

to

ill, to ill, led heart,

cleanse

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ un -˙brid ˙ - w led heart,

ill, prone

˙

to

-

˙ ˙

ill, prone

to

˙ ˙ w ill,

to

ill,

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28

b &b ˙

˙

b shall & bb ˙ & b shall ˙

˙ wa

b & bb ˙ ˙ b V man b V bb ˙ b V his w

prone

˙

his

? bb Ó b &b ˙

un

b V bb ˙ ? b brid ˙ brid

&b

-

˙

led

un

-

brid

un

-

brid

Ó w

Ów

Ó ˙

heart?

brid

-

led

heart?

w w

˙

˙

he

he

˙

frail - ty

-

˙ty˙ ˙

thy

˙

thy

that

#˙

that

˙

n˙

˙ w

n˙ ˙

do,

do,

w ˙

˙˙

Lord

w

If

that

thy

w

Lord

frail

œ

If

heart?

˙

˙ ˙ ˙that #thy ˙

˙ Œ œ wheart? If

led

b w

˙ Œ

If

-

˙-.

˙. ˙set

he

do,

he

do,

˙

ty

ty

set

˙

œ

œ

˙ w

a - part.

˙

˙

cleanse

his

cleanse

his

un

-

brid - led

his

un

-

brid - led

w ˙

led

˙ brid ˙-

led

˙

If

that

If

that

˙ œ

˙. ˙.

law

law

˙.

law

„

œ # œO

˙.

set

set

˙

œ ˙ wœ

„

Ó

˙

w˙

-

-

˙

˙ ˙that

that

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

-

un

-

un

-

un

˙ n ˙un

O

law

˙

he

do,

all

˙ Ó

O

Lord he

do

O

Lord he

do

do,

Ó nÓœ n œ Œ˙ œ ˙

Œ œ ˙

Ó

set

a

˙

-

nO˙

thy

#˙ ˙

˙ ˙.

˙ ˙ brid

w ˙

law

ty

Em - brace,

w

thy

˙ ˙ nLord œ n œ ˙he

˙ ˙all ˙ ˙

all

all

˙

If

that

thy

If

that

thy

w

w ˙ œ- part. -

part.

˙

˙. ˙ . œ ˙ # œ n œ ˙˙ œ œ frail ty set a ˙. #œ nœ ˙ œ œ ˙. œ Ó ˙

frail

˙

his

w #law ˙

a

œ ˙ ˙ a

˙

law

set

all

Ó ˙

# ˙heart, w

ty

Em - brace,

w

w

˙

a

-

his

˙

˙ œ ˙

un -

heart,

œ

all

-

˙ Ó

heart,

Lord

œ

un - brid

heart,

O

#œ

law

all frail

˙.

˙ ˙ œ œ ˙

thy

If

If

˙

#˙ ˙ thy

˙

Ó ˙.

all frail ˙. Œ œ Ó

˙

˙

˙

-

˙˙

-

˙ ˙ led

his

˙. Œ œ

˙w

a - part.

˙

brid

˙ Ó

∑ ˙

˙

heart?

-

-

∑ ∑

heart?

brid

led -

œ ˙ ˙ un - brid

his

led

-

w ∑un

nw w heart?

led

˙

w

un - brid - led

˙

cleanse

˙ ˙

heart,

his

œ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙

-

un

heart?

˙

˙˙

˙.

his

-

? bb ˙

˙

w ˙ ˙ nhisw cleanse

cleanse

led

œ ˙

cleanse

˙ œ ˙ ˙. œ ˙ œ œ œ ˙ heart, cleanse

œ

un - brid

w b Lord & bb ˙ w & b Lord

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 28

˙. Ó

led

b V bb ˙ b V ˙ frail bb ˙ V ? b ˙ b frail

to

˙.

˙. w

˙ ˙

cleanse

Ó ˙

w œ œ ˙ ill,

-

˙

bO & bb ˙˙ Vb O

ill,

#˙ œ

˙.

-

? bb ˙

to

man prone

young

-

œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙ Ex. 1.3  continued

brid

b ˙ & bb ˙ b & œ œ ˙ led b & bb œ ˙ V b - w ledœ b heart? V bb w ˙ V b heart?

young

˙w

prone

œ œ

to ill, œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ Ó #man ˙ prone w to ill,

˙

a

man

b V bb w ? b Ó

˙

Jeremy L. Smith

Ó w

w

-

ty

˙

set

a

˙. ˙

˙

em - brace

em - brace

˙

˙

law

O

Lord

he

do,

all

frail

-

ty

set

a

law

O

Lord

he

do,

all

frail

-

ty

set

a

œ

with

with

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Psalmes 29

b &b w b & b Myw

Ex. 1.4  BE 12: 3 “My soul opprest” ˙ ˙ a. mm.w6–8 ˙

˙

My

b &b ˙ b & b My˙

My

˙

˙

w

w

w

soul

op -

pressed,

with

care

soul

op -

pressed,

with

care

b. mm. 19–21

˙

#w un

-

to

thee

have

ways

un

-

to

thee

have

w

ways

#w

˙

w

w

˙

w

˙

in a work dedicated to Elizabeth, “Gods promises are … [like] Walls [so] sure and strong … that no enimie, be he neuer so craftie, subtile, or wise, by anye meanes of faire speach, dissimulation or hipocricie[,] is able to get ouer them.”36 Textually, then, the drama had moved quickly forward, as a desperate figure threatened by enemies comes to embrace the law. The actual progression is somewhat stalled, however, by Byrd’s strophic setting. For rather than portray any of the desired “pow’r” or “wonder” of stanza three, or the “awe” of stanza six, or the “enlarge[d] heart” of stanza eight, it is the “care” and “griefe” of the first one (encompassing lines one and two) that he casts before the listener throughout with his large-scale musical repetitions. By emphasizing hollow, perfect consonances such as the octave (d’–d”) over richer imperfect consonances of thirds and sixths and emphasizing the former by placing quite a bit of space between the lower and upper parts of the texture, Byrd creates a stark effect at the opening, pre-imitative, period of the song (mm. 1–6). At the close of this introductory section, when he finally introduces the “first singing part” itself, it was in a cloud of dissonance: as he colors its entrance with a particularly wrenching d–e♭’ suspension (m. 6). It is noteworthy that Byrd here again reveals his artistic interest in inventive tune construction. Not only are the pitches for the words “My soule opprest” (l. 1) inverted in the opening of the second fourteener double line, “My waies unto thee” (l. 5). Byrd also inverts the rhythms, transforming the long–short–short–long pattern for g–d–e♭–d (of “My soul opprest,” mm. 6–8) into a short–long–long– short pattern for the inverted d–g–f♯–g (of “My waies unto thee,” mm. 19–21, see Ex. 1.4). Protestants were known at the time for the tunes they created for metrical psalms. Among those of the Whole booke, the tune for Psalm 119 was considered a particular success. Thus Byrd’s attention to the melodic and rhythmic properties of his “first singing part” for the same verse may have been his way of demonstrating that the depth of his interest in the law surpassed that of his rivals.37 36

Jan van der Noot, A theatre wherein be represented as wel the miseries & calamities that follow the voluptuous worldlings, trans. Theodore Roost and Edmund Spenser (London, 1569), 81. Van der Noot’s position at the time was anti-Catholic, although he later returned to the faith. As a refugee, Van der Noot had obvious reasons for making a strong appeal to Elizabeth. Both Byrd and Spenser (one of Van der Noot’s translators) may have approached this tract as a model as they created their own panegyrics for Elizabeth. 37 See Christopher Marsh, Music and Society in Early Modern England (Cambridge, 2010), 552 and the accompanying online recording.

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Byrd does more than to engage in one-upmanship, however. Even though he leaves his listener well aware that there will be no full realization of a two-party covenant, he takes the opportunity to portray a psalmist whose sincerity and earnestness has somehow increased in the process of making a commitment of such magnitude. Significantly, it is just after the word “quicken” of the first strophe (m. 14) that he starts to feature enlivening dotted notes in various voices. At first the process might have seemed arbitrary. By m. 20, however, he places a dotted figure distinctively and consistently in a position as the second note of a motive (which was stated by the superius and imitated by the bassus). Following this, he opens all three of the remaining points with this same rhythmic gesture, now in the leading medius part (the “first singing part”), as he fully revives the imitative texture. The effect is a sense of growing volatility that draws attention to the final lines as a source of reaffirming stability. As he would in nearly all the songs of this collection, Byrd ensures, by writing out the music and text of the final line twice (and having it thus appear twice in print), that performers of “My soul opprest” would repeat the final couplet of the verse. It is a restrictive policy. But because rather many of the verses he sets are end-driven anyway, his insistence on such a formal procedure often enhances naturally the rhetorical thrust of the text at hand. Furthermore, Byrd and his poet did have some choice in this. One option was to set just two fourteeners as a quatrain, for example, as Byrd did in “Mine eyes” (BE 12: 2). In “My soul opprest” he set two double fourteeners as an eight-line unit, or octrain. Given the obsessive focus on one subject – the law – in the source, Psalm 119, it is not surprising that Byrd and his poet found that they could use the second fourteener of a pair, along with the strophic technique, to underscore certain points with a teleological device. A look at the text Byrd’s poet ultimately fashioned reveals that the fourth, sixth, and eighth verses include the words “lawe,” “word,” and “precepts,” all of which were among the key words that appeared, according to commentators of Byrd’s day and beyond, in every verse of this lengthy psalm. It may go too far to suggest that Byrd was demonstrating all of the different options available to him when it came to strophic procedures in the psalms here under discussion. But it is nonetheless intriguing that every song of the sequence thus far has presented us with a distinct approach; and the next work, “How shall a young man” (BE 12: 4), is no exception. Here again he sets an octrain to music, using four fourteener couplets (divided into lines of eight and six syllables), but this time his poet furnished only seven, numbered, additional verses (that Byrd treats as quatrains) to be sung to the same music. Performers, therefore, must decide how to deal with the lack of a verse at the end; and they might be forgiven for assuming (wrongly, I believe) that Byrd had neglected to account for the last quatrain, which must either be left out or repeated to fit the musical design. Since the first verse is the only one with eight lines, and its first four conform to the Vulgate version of the psalm, the “problem” rests with the second double fourteener: “Embrace with settled mind, and learne / thy word with care to keep: And [search] seek to finde with humble sprite, / thy judgements that are deepe” (ll.  5-8).38 For 38

Byrd uses the word “seek” in his underlay, but prints the word “search” in the stanza on the opposite page (see BE 12, p. xvii and BE 12: 4).

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Psalmes 31 Ex. 1.5  BE 12: 4 “How shall a young man,” mm. 42–46

b &b ˙ &

bb

Vb

thy

˙

˙ ˙.

Ó

˙ ˙

judge - ments that

b ( n) œ ˙

b Vb ˙

˙

˙

thy judge - ments

that

deep,

w.

that

˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ ˙ ˙

are deep,

„

œ œ w

are

thy judge - ments that are

ments

? b b ˙

œ #œ nœ œ œ œ œ ˙

˙

are

deep,

˙

deep,

Ó

˙

˙ thy

Ó

˙ thy

˙

are

˙

judge - ments

Ó

˙.

˙

thy

œ

˙

deep,

˙.

that

w

that

›

deep.

U

˙

›

are

deep.

U

˙ œ ˙

n›

are

˙

˙ ˙.

˙

˙ w

judge - ments that

judge - ments that

U

#˙

are

deep.

œ

are

U

›

deep.

U

›

deep.

these lines Byrd’s versifier has again taken liberties with the scriptural texts. In this case the words he or she added do not correspond to another line in the same section; nor do they resemble very closely any other of the many lines within the extensive Psalm 119. If anything, they resemble a line from Psalm 36, where the psalmist marveled at the depth of God’s merciful judgment after portraying with bitterness the evil traits of a disobedient figure: “Your righteousness is like the mountains of God / your judgments are like the great deep / man and beast you save, O Lord” (Psalm 36:6). In Psalm 36 the depths in question relate to God’s nearly unfathomable willingness to bear with such a godless figure. But the laws themselves are what are described as “deepe” in “How shall,” where the extra lines tend overall to emphasize the psalmist’s zeal to conform to a ruler’s law and to extol a ruler’s superior capacity for judgment. If, as I would argue, Byrd, or Catholics he had taken upon himself to represent, wished to convey just such a message to Elizabeth at this particular time (especially after the execution of Mary Queen of Scots and the English defeat of the Spanish Armada), and in the strongest possible terms, then they may have taken some liberties with this particular verse in order to make the point. Byrd’s musical choices tend to corroborate the view that he had special designs for the second quatrain of the poem. With triadic movement and syncopated rhythms in the tenor, Byrd ushers in the penultimate line of eight syllables that begins “And seek” with a hint of a liveliness that would recur much more frequently in the “sonet and pastorall” (non-psalm-based) songs of the set. But the buoyant mood is only momentary and serves, through the means of contrast, to add weight to the final six-syllable line “thy judgements that are deepe.” Not only does this latter passage command twice the musical space of that of the eight-syllable line before it (eight vs four modern measures), Byrd also provides a stirring wave-like flourish in the suddenly melismatic superius to draw special attention to the final words of the first strophe of the song (see Ex. 1.5). Whether designed to imitate the shape of a nautical wave (evoking “ocean’s deep”) or simply extended to convey the depth of God’s judgments, this flourish calls special attention to the words “are

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deepe,” which are only further emphasized when repeated in full thereafter (along with the preceding line), as was typical of Byrd’s treatment of the final couplet. As this passage adds musical profundity to the idea of “judgement,” it makes a fitting climax not only for “How shall” but also for the work before it, which also stems from Psalm 119. But Byrd’s glorious depiction of the depths brings only one strophe of this song to a close. We cannot be sure as to what exactly he imagined his performers would do when they came to the final strophe, a quatrain that he had numbered “8,” but that is actually the ninth. It seems likely that he expected them to repeat the couplet he provided. And if they did so, they would be drawing attention to yet another of the paraphrast’s accretions in the verse. In proclaiming that the Lord’s Word is “more pure than gold,” drawing from lines 72 and 172 of the psalm, and that “I will never forget [them]” Byrd’s poet evokes the covenant yet again while expressing an ethical idea that may have lost some of its force over the years, but that was echoed over and over by homilists of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, most of whom used the psalm’s references to “gold” to promote the idea that a zealous approach to the commandments, as this described, was something that went to the very essence of holy behavior.39 It was a powerful way to end the song, and thus it would have been especially fitting for Byrd’s performers to repeat this entire final couplet at the end.40

A

PSALMS 13 AND 15: LONGING FOR THE HOLY HILL

nyone who juxtaposes the last line “I never will forget” of “How shall a young man” with the first line of the following song, “O Lord, how long wilt thou forget” (BE 12: 5; italics added), gains a strong sense of how attentive Byrd was to the way the verses he set are sequentially linked. By the time “How shall a young man” reaches its final cadence Byrd’s psalmist had made and confirmed an earnest promise, letting God know that he would “set his whole delight … [on] what thou commaund’st” (l.  27, 30). But rather than depict the divine reciprocal gesture – that “maruellous, and incomprehensible light and wisdom” that comes with the 39

In his description of New Jerusalem, Van der Noot quoted lines from Psalm 119 to describe God’s words as “more costlier than golde, yea than the moste finest golde”; see Jan van der Noot, A theatre wherein, 82. In discussing line 128 of Psalm 119, James Durham reached back to the 127th in his Heaven upon earth in the serene tranquility and calm composure (Edinburgh, 1685) to exclaim: “O! what an estimation puts he on every precept of God; and as if it were not enough for him to say, that he esteemed all his commandments to be right; He adds, concerning all things; and in the preceeding verse he sayes, I love thy commandments above gold, yea above fine gold” (original italics), 294; and Richard Baxter, in A Christian directory … (London, 1673), claimed: “The precepts which seem too strict to sinners, are but the perfect Rules of Holiness and Love, for the health and happiness of man. What Loveliness did David find in the Law it self? And so should we, if we read it with his eyes and heart: It was sweeter to him than hony: he loved it above gold, psalm 119. 127,” 151. 40 In BE 12: 4 the medius’s final note g is incorrect. It should be a d. I wish to thank the anonymous reviewer of the present book for pointing out to me this editorial mistake of mine.

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Psalmes 33 fulfilled covenant, as Van der Noot described it – Byrd takes his auditor through some further stages (almost antechambers) of longing and expressions of trust in his setting of “O Lord, how long wilt thou forget” (BE 12: 5), a metrical translation of the complete Psalm 13. Psalm 13 is another of the psalms that Byrd sets for which he finds a special reason to adopt the strophic procedure. In this case too, however, his decision might seem to defy the dictates of the text. Here the psalmist works through the by now familiar phase of yearning mixed with vexation and rage, moves on to castigate his “malicious foes” (l. 7) yet again, and then, once the venom is expunged, turns to positive expressions, as before, of “trust” in the “Lord … that shall mee defend” (ll. 17–18). This time, however, we hear much more about the greatness of what is anticipated, as the psalmist vows to “lift up my voice” to “sing” for His “goodnesse shew’d to mee” and for which “I shall always reioyce” (ll. 23–24). If Byrd does respond to the latter sentiment, with a spirited upward leap of a fourth (mm. 38–39), it still takes a bit of strain to hear this as anything more than a fleeting moment of expectancy (especially when the word “triumph,” line 8, refers to the victorious achievement of the enemy). Instead, what he clearly focuses on throughout the song are the sentiments of the first line, where the psalmist has not yet left the yearning phase. Byrd goes to considerable expressive lengths to capture the longing of the first line of the opening stanza. Byrd features a slow, descending two-note lamenting motive for the opening vocative phrase, “O Lord,” and then repeats it for the following two syllables of text, “how long.” By doubling up on the motive, so to speak, Byrd ensures that it will be heard throughout the entire introductory segment, and he does so, crucially, without having to draw the entries of various parts unduly close together and thus he does nothing to undermine the drawn-out quality of the lines. The saturation effect is palpable. By the time the leading voice, the medius, enters the texture, this downward gesture has so thoroughly permeated the texture that Byrd’s decision to have it repeat the vocative phrase, “O Lord,” at a different interval upon its arrival seems almost excessive. But the point is to leave the auditor all the more anxiously waiting, at least musically, for something to ascend, which is what the superius and medius finally do. Because of the dovetailing entries (typical of works in pervasive imitation), the first articulation of the upward motive in the superius coincides with the last articulation of the downward one, in the bassus, and thus the whole work opens out at both extremes simultaneously at this crucial point of reversal (mm. 8–9, see Ex. 1.6). This conveys, at the seeming last moment, a poignant glimmer of hope. But this confident spirit does not last. Instead, as the phrase “how long” is repeated two additional times in the first stanza and Byrd uses the same falling motive each time, the song is permeated all the more with the sense of longing and anticipation, even when the stanzas shift to scenes of malice and triumph. To listen with the right spirit through all the stanzas of Byrd’s exquisite “O Lord, how long,” is by no means a trial, however long the composer keeps things in a state of suspense. Afterwards, though, one might be forgiven for expecting something truly exuberant with the opening of the next song, “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent” (BE 12: 6), especially as this work places before us the “holy hill” and “sacred tent” where God himself resides.

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34

„ „

& & & &

&˙ & O˙ V OÓ V Ó ?w ? long w

˙ œ ˙ how long œ ˙ . how long œ œ ˙. long wilt

how

long

Lord,

w wilt w

wilt

wilt

how

˙ ˙

˙ ˙ thou ˙ ˙ thou

thou

thou

Ó Ó

˙ ˙ how

∑ ∑

w Lord, w Lord, ˙ long ˙ long w w how Ó Ó

how

˙ ˙ how how

˙ wilt ˙

wilt

˙ ˙ how

how

#˙ #wilt ˙ wilt ˙ ˙ for ˙ ˙ for

for

for

w w Lord,

∑ ∑

Lord,

w Lord, w Lord, w for w for ˙. O ˙.

w O w O w w thou

O

˙. Lord, ˙. ˙ Lord, ˙ how

w & w & Lord,

V w w V Lord, ? Lord, w ? Lord, w

w

O

„ „

long

& Lord, w O &w & OÓ &Ó

Ex. 1.6  BE 12: w 5 “O Lord, how long,” mm. 5–9

w get, w

thou -

get,

O

long

Ó Ó

long

˙. ˙. thou ˙ ˙

thou

w. long w.

long

˙ how ˙

how

w w long

long

O

w w get, œ œ ˙ - œ get, œ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ O Lord, O

O

˙. ˙.

O

∑ ∑

Ó Ó

w get, w

get,

˙ ˙

Ó Ó

Lord,

œ œ wilt

˙ ˙ thou

˙ ˙ for

wilt

thou

for

œ œ for for

-

˙. long. ˙ long ˙ ˙ get,

- get,

O

œ œ wilt œ œ

wilt

œ œ

for

˙ ˙ wilt ˙ wilt ˙

for

wilt

wilt

Psalm 15, along with Psalm 119, has special connections with the number ten as well as the related concepts of holiness, covenant, and the law. It opens with the question: “who in thy sacred tent shall dwell?” The answer is then presented in a list of ten qualities describing the nature of such a holy person, in terms of what he or she should do and how he or she should act. By providing positive and negative examples and pointing the way to righteousness thereby, this psalm puts the whole idea of legislative holiness into concrete terms as a moral virtue.41 Thus we arrive at the crux of Byrd’s argument. If there were ever a time 41

See Sigmund Mowinckel, The Psalms in Israel’s Worship, 2 vols. (New York, 1962): “the influence of this ‘decalogical tradition’ is … clearly seen in Psalm 15, where the number of commandments making the ‘laws of entrance,’ the ‘conditions of admission’ to temple and salvation, are precisely ten; this is certainly no accident.

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Psalmes 35 for him to “lift up [his] voice” and “rejoyce,” this would be it. But, strikingly, he does not. Prior to 1588 a number of English composers including Byrd, many of them associated with the Chapel Royal, chose to set Psalm 15 in its Latin version, Domine, quis habitabit, usually as a psalm-motet.42 Unfortunately, no one of whom I am aware has established any specific occasions for the composition or performance of any of these works. So there would appear to be no proof that Queen Elizabeth or her predecessor requested or commanded anyone to create them. It would make sense for any ruler of this era to wish to hear this psalm sung in his or her chapel. Not only did it evoke useful ideals about loyalty and obedience, it might also smugly infer that there was something tabernacle-like about the setting. All we know for certain, however, is that something about Psalm 15 aroused the special interest of a number of court composers early in Elizabeth’s reign or late in Mary’s (and probably both). Of the group in question, Robert White topped the list for the number of times anyone would set the verse, with three different Latin versions and an English anthem as well.43 But Byrd came in a close second: he set two English translations (discussed below) in addition to an impressive Domine, quis habitabit of his own. Indeed, Byrd is the one arguably most inclined to instill the Latin text, at least, with grandeur. When he composed his hefty nine-voiced setting, “clearly what ­interested Byrd,” as Joseph Kerman puts it, “was mass, mass above all.”44 Byrd, it seems, was more than willing to provide something impressive for his depiction of the tabernacle, at least on one occasion. For his 1588 presentation of Psalm 15, however, Byrd put his efforts into the matter of integrating the idea and promise of a holy place into his sequence. Once they are compared, for example, it is rather obvious that “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent” (BE 12: 6) was modeled, at least at the outset, on “O Lord, how long” (BE 12: 5), the work that appears just The annual renewal of the covenant came to include the idea of commandments in general,” 1:158. Cassiodorus called the Psalm “the great divine decalogue, the spiritual psaltery of ten chords. Here is the truly crowning number which only He could fulfill who with His Father laid low the sins of the world;” see Senator Cassiodorus, Explanations of the Psalms, trans. P. G. Walsh (Mahwah, NJ, 1990), 160. To suggest there was a direct relationship between the Decalogue and Psalm 15, Byrd’s Lutheran contemporary Heinrich Heshusius placed them alongside one another in double columns in his Psalmocatechesis, Das ist: Concordantia oder Einhelligkeit, des heiligen Catechismi und der Psalmen Davids, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1594), 1:24. 42 See Kerman, “The Elizabethan Motet,” 273–308, at 306; idem, The Masses and Motets of William Byrd (Berkeley, 1981), 112; and Bray, “Part-Books,” 186–88. 43 See Kerman, “The Elizabethan Motet,” 306, and Robert White II – Six-part Latin Psalms, ed. David Mateer, Early English Church Music, vol. 29 (London, 1983). 44 Kerman, Masses and Motets, 112. In William Elders’s Symbolic Scores: Studies in the Music of the Renaissance (Leiden, 1994) the author takes exception to Kerman’s claim. In Elders’s view, “by using nine parts, Byrd wanted to express his incapacity to completely fulfill the ten requirements demanded in the psalm” and thus “the Christian in Byrd’s day was conscious of his own imperfection.” Elders casts “Kerman’s remark … [as] indicative of a historically incorrect approach to the notion of how … [Byrd] wrote his music,” 117. But if Byrd uses numerology here cleverly to combine a hubristic gesture with one of humility, as I suspect to be the case, then Kerman’s assessment remains valid.

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before it in the section. As a compositional springboard “O Lord, how long” offers certain benefits. Even if there is a shift from the adverb “how” to the interrogative pronoun “who,” Byrd was probably glad to have the compositional means at hand to set another question in the same textual position (of the opening line). He probably realized too that all the downward tending gestures of the first point of “O Lord, how long,” when replicated, set him up to go on to portray the “hill” of its second point with a mounting musical phrase. Opening with the same vocative phrase, “O Lord” – which Byrd repeats in each case and emphasizes with very similar musical gestures – each of the two songs features interplay between the two upper voices, which suggests a duet with supporting instrumental parts. Both of Byrd’s “O Lord” songs have stylistic features in common with the three Christmas-time carols Byrd published in his 1588 and 1589 collections, namely “Lulla lullaby” (BE 12: 32), “From virgin’s womb this day did spring” (BE 13: 35), and “An earthly tree a heavenly fruit” (BE 13: 40). In these works Byrd created a noticeable interchange between two voices of a similar range; and, in the last mentioned, with its scoring for two voices and four instruments, produced a genuine duet (see Ex. 1.7). Significantly, in each case, he uses a motive of alternating descending thirds to emphasize the exchanges for the following similarly constructed phrases: “O woe” (in “Lulla lullabye), “to death” and “to doom” (in “An earthly tree”), and “this day” (in “From virgin’s”). The gesture draws the auditor’s attention to the noun in question. At this point in the psalms section, Byrd, with the help of his poet – who perhaps made sure both songs began with the phrase “O Lord” – keeps his auditor’s attention fixed on God Himself, as the object of an ongoing plea. True righteousness, Byrd seems anxious to show, is only achieved when one understands how fully dependent everything is on His unfathomable will and design.45 Although they shared many compositional and textual traits, one striking difference between “O Lord, how shall” and “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent” has to do with the extent of imitation in their respective textures and formal schemes. For if the former is the most conspicuously imitative work of all the 1588 songs – thanks in part to a more rigorously followed duet-like scheme – the latter, by contrast, is the first of the psalms in this collection after the opening “O God” (BE 12: 1) to dispense with a long opening point of pre-imitation altogether and is much less rigorous than its predecessor in its imitation scheme overall. By drawing the material together more compactly, Byrd, I would suggest, only further emphasizes the diminished nature of his Psalm 15 setting. But the compression, along with the sheer repetition of “O Lord”s, makes his plea more insistent; and this intensifying effect, I would argue, was an integral part of the composer’s plan, one further revealed through the study of another compositional model, Byrd’s aforementioned setting of the same 15th psalm, in Sternhold’s metrical translation, “O Lord, within thy tabernacle” (BE 15: 1). 45

In his The Destiny of the Righteous in the Psalms (Danvers, 2008), Jerome F. D. Creach discusses the special implications of Psalm 15 (and Psalm 24), noting that “the necessary holiness of those allowed to ascend the holy mountain is cast in comprehensive terms that will not allow a narrow legalistic understanding of human righteousness … [but rather that] ethics begins with dependence on God, not on adherence to a legal code” (pp. 34–35).

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˙ w w ∑ Ó Ó ˙ ˙. w & ˙ Lord, w ˙. O ˙ long ∑ Ó Psalmes 37 w Ó how & Ow Lord, w w w ∑ w ∑ ∑˙ . ˙ O Lord, O Lord, how long V w w Ex.∑ 1.7  Duet and Pseudo-Duet Textures ˙ Ó Ó w & a. BE 12: 5 “O Lord, howwlong,” mm. w 6–9 ∑ w O Lord, w ∑ ˙ Ow Lord, V w∑O Lord, ˙. ˙ long ∑ Ó O Lord, Ó how w & O Lord, Ow Lord, w w ∑ w ∑ ∑ O Lord, how long V O Lord, wO Lord, w O Lord, ˙ # ww ∑ w ∑ ∑˙ ˙ ˙ V w Ó Ó w & O who #Lord, w w Ó Lord,O˙ Lord, Ó O O˙ Lord, ˙ w & O˙ Lord, b. BE 12: 6 “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent,” mm. 4–7 Ó „ ∑ O˙ Lord, Ó ˙ w O˙ Lord, & O˙ Lord, w˙ # w ˙ #who w Ó Ó w & Ó O˙ Lord, „ ∑ Ó O˙ Lord, & ˙O Lord, #who w ˙ w ˙ O Lord, O #Lord, w w Ó Ó ˙ w & O Lord, O Lord, Ó „ ∑ Ó ˙ O Lord, O Lord, O Lord, who & ˙ w #w O Lord, ∑ Ó ˙O Lord, & ˙ „ ˙ Ó# w ˙ # w˙ w w #w ∑ lullaby,” wBE 12: 32 “Lulla c. & O Lord, mm. 48–50 O Lord, ˙ w # w ˙ #w ˙ woe woe, O woe, and ∑ w & O woe, ˙ and Ó w˙ woew ˙ ∑ ∑O˙ woe, ˙ #w woe, # w & O˙ woe, # w ∑ w & O Ó ˙∑ # w O˙ woe, w w and˙ ∑ ˙woe, woe, & ˙O #woe, # w ˙ O woe, and woe w ∑ w & O woe, O woe, and ˙ Ó w ∑ ∑ ˙ woe, # w O woe, and woe ˙ & O woe, d. BE 13: 35 “From virgin’s womb,” mm. 22–25 Ó Ó ˙∑ w ˙O Ówoe, w w and & w # ˙∑ Ó ˙O˙ #woe, ˙ ww ˙ w O woe, w #˙ Ó O ˙ woe,w Ó Ó w and & ˙ w ˙ Ó & ∑w #˙˙ # wÓ ˙ Ów w ˙ wÓ w ˙ Ó & w man's ˙ #day,w ˙ Ó this˙ dayw ˙ wÓ did˙ Christ & w∑ #This ˙ ˙ w “An earthlyÓ tree,” mm. 21–24 Ó w Ó e. BE 13: 40 & This day, this did Christ man's ˙Ó dayw˙ w Ó ∑ Ó ˙ ∑ w Ó & ˙ ˙ ˙ & ˙ #w w ˙ day this death, Ó w to man's w to doom, Ó ˙did Christ ˙ to #day, & ∑ This ˙ w

&˙

to

wThis

death,

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 37

day,

Ó

˙

to

w

this

doom,

day

Ó

˙

did

to

˙.

œ

Christ

man's

pains

of

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Judging by the way it seems to have been rated by experts then and now, “O Lord, within thy tabernacle” is, in many ways, a work of Byrd’s that deserved to be published. The calligraphic specialist Robert Dow thought highly enough of it to include it in his splendid manuscript collection sometime before 1588. In modern times Brett, who placed it first in his edition of songs “newly edited from manuscript sources” (BE 15: 1), singled out the work elsewhere as a “distin[guished] … successful essay in the … idiom.”46 Why, then, did Byrd not put it before the public at large? A theory that Byrd kept it in manuscript because of its Protestant associations would seem to falter on the evidence that Byrd included two other poems from the Whole Booke in his 1588 collection. So the natural place to turn for an answer to this question would be to the contents of the two versions of the same psalm. As in the Vulgate version of Psalm 15, both English translations Byrd set properly begin by asking who in the end will be with God, and both produce a set of ten traits as an answer. One distinction rests in the confidence they express. Whereas Sternhold portrayed “the man whose life is uncorrupt, whose works are just and straight,” in the first line of the verse Byrd set in his 1588 collection, it is “he that both in heart & mind doth studie to doe well, in life upright, in dealing just” (italics added). Thus the poem Byrd includes in his Psalmes suggests a progression toward correctness; Sternhold’s offered a description of its achievement. If Byrd’s “student” of 1588 is less secure in his status than Sternhold’s psalmist, and more dependent on God, it makes sense for Byrd to prolong the “longing” association with “O Lord, how long” as we hear in this carefully calibrated song pairing. Although their texts differ, Byrd’s two settings of Psalm 15 share one notable structural feature, namely an emphatic choral repetition of the final couplet. As he otherwise emphasizes the final couplet by repeating the music and text wholesale – and thus without changing the performance idiom – the technique of moving to a chorus for the repeat of the text at the end stands out in the printed collection. But in four out of five of Byrd’s unpublished metrical psalm tune settings that feature Sternhold and Hopkins texts he includes a similar tutti gesture at the end, although “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent” is the only one for which a scribe added the ­determinative rubric “chorus” in a manuscript (BE 15, p. 168). Brett suggested that Byrd’s shift to a chorus at the end of a song represents the kind of experiments that led to the cultivation of the verse anthem, which similarly alternates soloist-led and choral sections (BE 15, p. ix). In the case of “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent,” however, Byrd uses the technique for the express purpose of painting certain words and ideas embedded in the verse. To draw out with his music contrasting ideas expressed in the last line of the first verse, “the truth doth speake with singleness, all falshood set apart” (ll. 7–8) Byrd has the “first singing part” (medius) intone all five syllables of “speak with singleness” on a repeated g (mm. 33–34), giving as near an approximation of “speak[ing]” as he probably felt able to in the context of a polyphonic texture while also projecting the idea of “singleness” with a starkly reiterated, single, pitch (see Ex. 1.8). Thanks to the choral ending – with its rest separating the body of the work from the repeat of the last two lines (m. 32) – he also had at hand the ready means to mirror the (repeating) text 46

Brett, “Songs of William Byrd,” 72.

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&w &speak w

˙ with ˙

speak

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-

& ˙a ˙ & hood

set

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with

& w & setw

V hood ˙ V a ˙ ? a ? set˙ ˙

Ex 1.8  BE 12: 6, “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent” ˙ ˙ a. mm. ˙ 33–34 w

-

w w ˙. set ˙.

-

w wa

sin

-

gle

ness,

w w part:

-

-

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-

w part: w part: w part: w part: w w part:

-

part:

a

ness,

a

w part: w

w

gle

-

-

˙

-

˙ ˙a

set

-

˙

sin

-

w w part:

part:

b. mm. 31–32

Ó Ó Ó Ó Ó Ó Ó Ó Ó Ó

˙ The ˙

˙ ˙ truth

˙ The ˙ The ˙ The ˙

˙ truth ˙ truth ˙ ˙ truth

˙ The ˙

The

The

˙ ˙ The

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˙ truth ˙

truth

truth

˙ truth ˙

truth

truth

˙ ˙ doth

#˙ #doth ˙

doth

˙ ˙ doth ˙ ˙ doth doth

doth

˙ ˙ doth

doth

doth

“set apart” in his verse, shifting, after a telltale rest, from a consort song scoring to that of a full chorus (in some approximation of the verse anthem). However clever the musical tricks involved here, the matter is significant in terms of Byrd’s sequential presentation. He was about to dedicate two songs to the literal purpose of “set[ting things] apart.” The following two songs of the sequence, “Help Lord, for wasted are those men” (BE 12: 7) and “Blessed is he that fears the Lord” (BE 12: 8) convey distinctly contrasting ideas that Byrd wanted to separate clearly. Whereas “Help Lord” contains the most extensive description of the “enemy” or negative character, “Blessed is he” provides the most thorough description of positive qualities within the collection. From the start Byrd makes numerous references to enemies and friendly neighbors. Now, at the seventh place, a number associated with the Seven Vices, he draws up to the fullest his image of an undesirable, unholy, character and then contrasts it with a depiction of the righteously “blessed.”

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PSALMS 12 AND 112: THE WICKED AND BLESSED

he trait of duplicity is what is described most vigorously in the 1588 translation of Psalm 12, “Help Lord, for wasted are those men” (BE 12: 7). Although Byrd might instead have taken a more sober tack in his approach to this poem, he creates here a lively setting with prominent triadic melodies in the opening phrase and the final couplet, bewitchingly complex rhythms throughout, and a decidedly suave harmony, especially at certain key moments, such as his purposeful shift to a brilliant A major chord on the word “beguile” (l. 6, m. 23). Overall, Byrd seems

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to have seized upon the “smooth” and “beguiling” qualities of the verse to create in music an Iago-like villain as the wicked character of these psalms. Many of the musical features described above may be observed in the music Byrd composed for the text “but all the truth deface” (mm. 14–18), which is a transitional passage of special moment. Before turning to the “wicked,” Byrd’s poet had begun with an image of the righteous, at a point when they felt nearly overcome (“wasted”) by the devices of their enemies. Up until that time, the superius, acting as the dux (leader) in the imitative scheme, anticipates the entrances of the medius with similar rhythmic and melodic motives. Although the imitation ceases at the point where the “truth” is “defaced,” by the end of the passage the superius finds itself acting as the comes, with the medius taking the role of leader in its place (mm. 18–22). Since the superius is nearly always leading the medius in the imitative order, this shift could indicate a perversion of the usual structure to demonstrate the wrongfulness of the evil characters so described. Shifting too at this juncture is the underlying harmony. If by no means unusual in Byrd’s style, the move from G major to g minor (m. 15) still creates an engaging moment of harmonic uncertainty. Although he does not here eschew the imitative structure he follows in most of the psalms in this set, the triadic melodies, sophisticated shifts in harmony, and lively rhythms bring this (approximation of a) harmonized psalm tune closer than any other to the more animated – decidedly secular – pastoral works that Byrd features in the middle section of the collection. The point of this stylistic correspondence, I believe, is to suggest that the “smothest smile[rs]” (l. 8) with “proud tongue[s]” (l. 11) of a “cursed race of wicked men” (l. 30), are also the epitome of worldliness, in Byrd’s estimation. “Blessed is he that fears the Lord” (BE 12: 8), a metrical translation of Psalm 112, in its very last quatrain, verse 10, also describes the psalmist’s enemies – in this case, though, as the “wicked … [who will] wast away with ire” (l. 37–38), thus reversing the pattern of the previous psalm and showing again – with a repetition of the “wast[e]” concept – how closely Byrd’s verses are intertwined by theme as well as by word and phrase in the sequence. Overall, it contains by far the collection’s longest list of descriptors of the righteous and their rewards. Noting the rhythms of the tune itself, Mike Smith dubs this a good example of “long and short work” typical of the ballad and the Whole Booke, where the frequent alternation of semibreve and minim creates what “in performance has a strongly triple feel.”47 Smith, however, astutely credits Byrd with ingeniously embedding this triple quality within the more obvious quadruple time of the other parts. Byrd’s point would seem to have been to demonstrate that he could meet (and outdo) the Protestant-tinged musical style on its own terms. For this reason, Byrd probably decided quickly that his relatively brief setting of “The man is blest” (BE 15: 4), William Kethe’s translation of the same Psalm 112 for the Whole booke, would not serve his purposes. Again, although he had something else that was usable to hand, Byrd took the trouble to find (or commission) a completely differently metered translation of the psalm and set it anew for the sequence of 1588. Along with its rhythms, “Blessed is he” presents perhaps the most straightforwardly shaped tune of the Psalmes collection. For the first line of the text Byrd begins 47

Mike Smith, “‘… made into Musicke’,” 32–35, at 33.

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on f, moves up to b♭ and then returns to the pitch on which he started. Although the next four lines receive a varied treatment – line 3, for example, might be said to ­possess a double arch: one on g followed by another on d below it – the sixth, seventh, and eighth lines all follow the pattern of beginning and ending at the same place. Although Byrd does open his final couplet with a triadic gesture and ventures harmonically into a few unexpected places, overall, with the Whole Booke model in mind, the work seems to exude a spirit of steady conformity, dangerously veering, in fact, toward the stodgy or even pointless in the marked immobility of so many phrases. With its projection of obedience, satisfaction, and security, “Blessed is he” might have brought this whole “psalmes” section to a satisfying close, at least for some. But Byrd goes on with the two following works to shift the mood back to one of uncertainty: a setting of a translation by Sternhold of Psalm 6, verses 1–2, “Lord in thy wrath” (BE 12: 9), and an anonymous translation of the first quatrain of Psalm 130, “Even from the depth” (BE 12: 10). Here things shift decisively away from the comfortable world of Psalm 112 into what were then and are now considered the most traumatic texts of the psalter, the “penitential psalms,” of which these songs contain texts from two of the famous “seven.” These texts bring the psalms section to a close with all of the paranoia and fear of the opening (BE 12: 1). Thanks to its reduced text, “Lord in thy wrath” is a crystallized, simple, and direct expression of terror, ending, fittingly, with the psalmist’s “bon[e]s … quak[ing] for feare” (l. 8). “Even from the depth” returns explicitly to the opening theme of BE 12: 1, with the plea: “Give eare o God unto my plaint, / & help my miserie” (l. 3–4). An explanation for Byrd’s return to the anxiety of the opening may be found in The First Booke of the Christian Exercise, appertayning to Resolution by Robert Persons SJ (which had been revised and published by the Protestant Edmund Bunny, as The Christian Directory). Persons described the moment when the Decalogue is passed to man and “God spake in the hearing of al[l],” as one of “dreadful terror,” featuring “horrible clouds, thick mists, and terrible smoke rising from the mountain.” The point, as he further claimed, was that “we should greatly tremble to break this law, delivered us with such circumstances of dread and fear” and that this trepidation factor, finally, explains why “great princes laws [were always] to be executed upon the offenders with much more terror than they were proclaimed.”48 As he had in his opening song, for his last pair Byrd eschews the strophic form in favor of the through-composed approach, to capitalize on the expressive possibilities it offers him. “Lord in thy wrath” even begins with a gesture toward the strikingly responsorial opening of the first work, although this time the procedure is more drawn out than in “O God,” and thus tends to be less dramatic. A responsorial gesture in “Lord in thy wrath” is also noticeable but incomplete, as the “first singing part” itself (in this case the medius) does not participate either as the leader or as part of the group that responds to it (in “O God” all parts participate in the call and response). With “Even from the depth” Byrd returns to the practice of assigning the “first singing part” to the superius. He also, finally, uses a climactic structure in this song that resembles the one he adopted for the opening work. 48

Robert Persons SJ and Edmund Bunny, The Christian Directory (London, 1584), 37; see also Robert McNulty, “The Protestant Version of Robert Parsons’ The First Booke of the Christian Exercise,” Huntington Library Quarterly 22 (1959): 271–300.

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Byrd approaches the top and, this time, the bottom notes of the superius’s range, in a manner c­ arefully gauged to bring out their representational and rhetorical effects. The rhetorical structure of “Even from the depth,” which is based again on the climactic pitches c” and d”, may be sketched out briefly as follows: Byrd’s tune begins near the top of its range with a c” that plunges quickly down an octave to its lowest note for the text “depths.” The next line then moves dramatically to the highest note of the superius range, d”. Intriguingly, although the notes are altered to a certain degree, the second line of the tune has the same basic shape and the same c” and d” climactic pitches in the same positions as the first. Although the tune of “O God” is not itself in the form of a varied repetition, the many links between the penultimate and last, and the first two works of the psalms section of this collection tends to draw Byrd’s message to a close at the point where it opens, with someone crying out for relief from a distressed state of anxiety-ridden fear. Given the preponderance of low pitches, these two settings of songs from the Whole booke might be seen to mirror each other, with the later-placed song reversing all the upward striving tendencies of the former to ultimately depict a set of frustrated hopes. Byrd was surely aware of the dramatic effect he created by ending the entire section in a state of uncertainty similar to that in which it had begun. One has the impression that a thoughtful and calculating mind put this section together, especially when it came to matters of structure and number symbolism. Not only was the total of songs kept to ten, symbolizing the Commandments, Byrd also took care to place his depiction of the “wicked” in the seventh position, to evoke the Seven Vices. Casting the psalms into successive pairs (1–2, 3–4, 5–6, 7–8, 9–10), some as oppositional and others as complementary, he drew special sinews of connection among his songs – creating, in the end, a chiasmic design that betrays where his chief interests lay. His first and last pairs, for example, include contrasting laments (each with a text from the Sternhold and Hopkins source); and he links the second and fourth pairs thematically by setting up the notion of zealously followed divine law in the former, and by showing it to be the means to separate the righteous from the unrighteous in the latter. The third pair – with its reiteration of the phrase “O Lord” and depiction of the tabernacle itself – Byrd leaves to stand alone as a two-song centerpiece. At the Queen’s chapel, at least, it would have seemed oddly improper for Psalm 15, with its glorious “sacred tent” and “holy hill,” to share the stage with anything else. But rather than to evoke that image, Byrd wanted to prolong the plaint with which he opened the section, to keep his auditor’s focus on the divine object of the Lord as a metaphorical depiction of Elizabeth, indicating his abiding wish to represent himself as a holy loyalist, however Catholic. Finally, to keep matters confined to the realm of hope, he suspended all the while the fulfillment of God’s promise. We may get to the brink, but we do not vicariously experience any fulfillment of the covenant. Even by the end we find ourselves deprived of all the sonic exuberance of which Byrd was eminently capable. Our last image in this section is of someone still calling out to God for relief.

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Chapter 2

Sonets & Pastoralls, I

T

he middle section of Byrd’s Psalmes, Sonets, & songs of sadnes and pietie, with sixteen songs (BE 12: 11–26), is the longest of the set. On the title page Byrd labeled the works “sonets” (BE 12, p. xli) but at the opening and ending of the section he added the word “pastoralls” (BE 12: 11) in describing them again. Neither term was used very precisely at the time, but the latter proves to be slightly more helpful, as only two songs in the section are sonnets (BE 12: 18 and BE 12: 20) whereas more, although by no means all, are pastoral in theme.1 (The last song of the entire set, BE 12: 35, is also laid out as sonnet, although in blank verse.) As with the psalms of the opening section, most of the poems in this middle part are multi-stanza verses that Byrd set in strophic fashion. The fourteeners common to all of the first ten works, however, rarely reappear in the middle part, at least in their standard guise (the short BE 12: 21 is an exception), and the poems of this section boast a much greater formal variety overall, although most are sixtains with an ababcc rhyme scheme. Byrd also turned away at this point from the psalms’ sacred theme. He returned to religion, however, in the last section of the book, which he styled “songs of sadnes and pietie” (BE 12: 27–35). Within this closing group of nine songs, Byrd placed above the last two a subhead describing them as funeral songs for Philip Sidney, listed as “that honorable Gent” (BE 12: 34). While the title and headings become increasingly informative as the book progresses, this hardly betrays any sense that Byrd is developing a consistent theme or narrative. Evidence for that is only to be found within the works themselves. Edmund Spenser described his monumental Faerie Queene as a book designed “to fashion a gentle man or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline.”2 “That honorable Gent.” Sidney himself stated plainly that the poet can “readily direct the prince” and inspire “virtuous action.”3 In the preface to his volume Byrd says none of these things, yet his work fits into the same pattern as that of his two prominent contemporaries. As I hope to show, the middle section of Byrd’s Psalmes, Sonets, & songs may be read as a carefully sequenced group of texts that set out and develop what Byrd’s contemporaries would regard as classically rooted, if not purely Aristotelian, virtues. In a prefatory letter to Walter Ralegh, Spenser explained that in his Faerie Queene he would present in allegorical fashion the “twelve priuate morall virtues, as Aristotle hath devised.”4 He later mentioned, however, that his understanding 1

See Katharine A. Craik, “Shakespeare and the Elizabethan Sonnet and Lyric,” in The Cambridge History of English Poetry, ed. Michael O’Neill (Cambridge, 2010), 154–73, at 156, and Paul J. Alpers, What is Pastoral? (Chicago, 1996). 2 Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene: Disposed into twelve books, Fashioning XII. Morall vertues (London, 1590), 591. 3 Blair Worden, The Sound of Virtue: Philip Sidney’s Arcadia and Elizabethan Politics (New Haven, CT, 1997), 7, 24. 4 Spenser, Faerie Queene, 592. On the rich medieval tradition of writings on the virtues from which Spenser also drew see Rosemond Tuve, “Notes on the Virtues and

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of the virtues derived from “Aristotle and the rest,” implying a larger source base.5 Spenser’s epic poem, first published in 1590, begins with a Christianized virtue of holiness and moves thereafter to the classical virtues of temperance and then chastity. Although he did not devote a separate book to the topic, Spenser claimed that magnificence – rather than the virtue of magnanimity that Aristotle championed – transcends all the others. He also claimed that it was embodied in the main character of King Arthur and realized in Arthur’s quest to marry the fairy queen, whose inspirational beauty is the poem’s driving force.6 Byrd places similar emphasis on the role of beauty. What links his set especially closely to the first three books of Spenser’s Faerie Queene, however, are the specific virtues he covers and and the way he orders them. In the psalms section Byrd set forth a view of legislative holiness (BE 12: 1–10), as discussed in Chapter 1. He moves from there, as did Spenser, to temperance (BE 12: 11–14), the topic of this chapter. Byrd does not treat magnificence as a key virtue in the same way as Spenser. Instead of allowing the idea to permeate the set, he devotes two sections of songs to the manly virtue of greatness, focusing on ambition (BE 12: 15–18) and pride (BE 12: 19–22). Finally, like Spenser, he turns to chastity (BE 12: 23–26). As had Spenser, Byrd does not simply describe each of the virtues he portrays. Rather, he brings them into relief by employing various poems to demonstrate the conditions of deficiency and excess that could draw the reader toward a golden mean whereby each virtue may truly be understood.7 In the process he shows the interrelated aspects of all the virtues – the way all are prompted by desire and anger and moderated by reason and understanding, following the Aristotelian model.

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FROM TERROR TO TEMPERANCE

penser announced the names of the virtues he would portray in his book titles and Byrd does not furnish that information. For this reason alone it is worth noting the corresponding patterns in their presentational structures, such as their mutual move from holiness to temperance. But Byrd’s story is far from

Vices,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 26 (1963): 264–303; and, on the political implications of Spenser’s set see Robin Headlam Wells, Spenser’s Faerie Queen and the Cult of Elizabeth (London, 1983), 1–5; Daniel W. Doerksen, “Recharting the Via Media of Spenser and Herbert,” Renaissance and Reformation, n.s., 8 (1984): 214–25; and Roy Strong, Cult of Elizabeth: Elizabethan Portriature and Pageantry (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1977). 5 Spenser, Faerie Queene, 593. For a synopsis of Spenser’s route back to Aristotle through sources see Ronald A. Horton, “Aristotle and his Commentators,” in Spenser Encyclopedia, ed. A. C. Hamilton (Toronto, 1990), 57–60. 6 D. Douglas Waters, “Prince Arthur as Christian Magnanimity in Book One of The Faerie Queene,” Studies in English Literature 9 (1969): 53–62. 7 There are numerous explications of the Aristotelian method. Among the more recent see, for example, J. O. Urmson, “Aristotle’s Doctrine of the Mean,” American Philosophical Quarterly 10 (1973): 223–30; and Peter Losin, “Aristotle’s Doctrine of the Mean,” History of Philosophy Quarterly 4 (1987): 329–41. On the use of method in Spenser and other literature of Byrd’s time see Joshua Scodel, Excess and the Mean in Early Modern Literature (Princeton, 2002).

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d­ erivative. He does leave behind some evidence that he understands certain aspects of Spenser’s poetry and may even have alluded to the Faerie Queene itself (see discussion of BE 12: 12 below). In creating his sequence of songs, however, Byrd used his own narrative logic and set up his own tensions, and leaves us thereby with a unique set of interpretive challenges. By the end of the “psalmes” section, Byrd has portrayed himself as a character so devoted to the law that he stands in a state of terrorized “miserie” awaiting due protection from a ruler who had yet to respond with the desired affirmation. Yet already by the end of the first song of the “sonets and pastoralls,” “I joy not in no earthly blisse” (BE 12: 11), the protagonist, now an anonymous sonneteer of some kind, has become so becalmed as to be in a position complacently to extol a “quiet mind” (l. 24). In Byrd’s time there was a lively, even intense interest in these guiding themes. Law, on the one hand, as Aquinas described it, is a “dictate of practical reason emanating from a ruler,” which may explain why the Elizabethan homilist John Jewell, when speaking for the Queen, cast lawful obedience as the “verye roote of all vertues,” as noted in Chapter 1.8 It was through the same power of reason, yet within the context of temperance on the other hand, that Aquinas also claimed that man himself should “[aspire to] achieve perfection,” which is probably why temperance is the virtue most often seen today as “most important in the Renaissance ethical system” and the one of which the “first generation of Renaissance humanists … were fondest.”9 That her church could be described as a “golden mediocrity” was something for which Elizabeth was surely proud and content.10 According to William Camden, long before she took the throne, her brother and fellow Protestant prince, Edward, had called her “Sweet Sister Temperance” in appreciation (not deprecation) of her religious position.11 It was a compliment no matter who bestowed it on her. In Henry Peacham’s emblem book Minerva Britanna temperance is depicted as a sovereign reigning over the other virtues, a force that can “moderate all vain desires 8

Shawn Floyd, “Aquinas: Moral Philosophy,” in Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. Jim Fieser and Bradley Dowden, http://www.iep.utm.edu/aq-moral/accessed 6 February, 2014; and John Jewell, The second tome of homilees of such matters as were promised, and intituled in the former part of homilees. Set out by the aucthoritie of the Queenes Maiestie: and to be read in euery parishe church agreeably (London, 1571), 545. 9 Floyd, “Aquinas: Moral Philosophy,”; Gary Schmidgall, Shakespeare and the Courtly Aesthetic (Berkeley, 1981), 89, and John C. Bean, “Cosmic Order in The Faerie Queene: From Temperance to Chastity,” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 17 (1977): 67–79, at 67; see also Shawn Floyd, “Aquinas on Temperance,” The Modern Schoolman 77 (1999): 35–48. 10 For appreciative views of the Aristotelian aspects of the Elizabethan Settlement see Patrick Collinson, “Sir Nicholas Bacon and the Elizabethan Via Media,” Historical Journal 23 (1980): 255–73; Ethan Shagan, “Beyond Good and Evil: Thinking with Moderates in Early Modern England,” Journal of British Studies 49 (2010): 488–513; and A. J. Magill, “Spenser’s Guyon and the Mediocrity of the Elizabethan Settlement,” Studies in Philology 67 (1970): 167–77. 11 William Camden, Annales, or, The historie of the most renowned and victorious Princesse Elizabeth, trans. R. N. [R. Norton], 3rd edn. (London, 1635), D4r.

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/ … [and] curb affection, that too far aspires (italics added).”12 Temperance is, as Pierre de la Primaudaye described it, “the mistris of modesty, chastity, sobriety, vigilancy, and of all order and mediocrity in all things,” and he put it on an even higher plane when he spoke of [t]he diuine excellencie of the order, of the equall and wonderfull constancy of the parts of the world, as well in the goodly and temperate moderation of the seasons of the yeare, as in the mutuall conjunction of the elements, obeying altogether with a perfect harmony the gracious and soveraigne government of their Creator[. This] was the cause that Pythagoras first called al the compasse of this vniuersall frame by this name of World, which without such an excellent disposition would bee but disorder and a world of confusion. For this word World signifieth as much as Ornament, or a well disposed order of things. Now as a constant and temperate order is the foundation thereof, so the ground-worke and preservation of mans happy life, for whom all things were made, is the vertue of Temperance, which conteineth the desires and inclinations of the soule within the compasse of mediocrity, and moderateth all actions whatsoeuer. For this cause, having hitherto according to our judgement sufficiently discoursed of the liver of the fountaine of honesty, I thinke we ought to set downe here in the second place (although it be contrary to the opinion of many Philosophers), this vertue of Temperance, saying with Socrates, that she is the ground-worke & foundation of all vertues.13 Aquinas also approached temperance as a model virtue. Under the same category, however, he went on to grapple with “concupiscible passion” – the desire or appetite for physical satisfaction, especially in the realm of sexual fulfillment.14 Intriguingly, in this light, the point of the Aristotelian system that Aquinas adopted was not simply to extinguish passions such as these, as this would represent an inappropriately excessive move, even in a Christianized formulation. Rather it was to harness them with the right forms of moderation and understanding. Thanks to its association with concupiscent urges and desires – and their management – interest in temperance was as high as it would ever become at Elizabeth’s court in the period when Byrd was composing the songs he would publish in 1588 and 1589. During the late 1570s, when Elizabeth was contemplating marriage to the Duke of Anjou (a French moderate Catholic prince), it could be evoked as a means of variously controlling, encouraging, or thwarting her supposed (and potentially real) passions and desires. When she finally rejected him, in the early 1580s, courtiers suddenly found their own desires and passions being examined carefully by 12

Henry Peacham, Minerva Britanna or a Garden of Heroical Devises (London, 1612), p. 93. For an in-depth discussion of temperance and other aspects of moderation in this period see Ethan Shagan, The Rule of Moderation: Violence, Religion, and the Politics of Restraint in Early Modern England (Cambridge, 2011). Peacham’s emblem is discussed on p. 32. 13 Pierre de la Primaudaye, The French Academie … trans. T. B. [Thomas Bowes] (London, 1586), 179–80. 14 Floyd, “Aquinas on Temperance.”

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the Queen to see if they might, or might not, be molded into a kind of virtuous ­behavior that would serve her needs.15 Not surprisingly, there are hints of courtly interplay and even a riddle or two in Byrd’s songs that betray his connections to courtiers involved in the French Match and its aftermath. More importantly, in his narrative Byrd eventually embraced a beauty-controlled (Neoplatonic and Neo-Petrarchan) ideal that fits even better than the Aristotelian formulation the goals of chivalric and honor codes of a neo-feudal cast that enjoyed such sway at the late Elizabethan court. To a certain extent then, Byrd, with his move into chivalric models, upset the Aristotelian method that he wished to present, but, revealingly, he did so in ways that were particularly flattering to his “Sweet Temperate” Queen.

D

A TEMPERANCE QUARTET: BE 12: 11–14

espite a move away from the self-regulating aspect near the end, the first four poems of the “sonets and pastoralls” section (BE 12: 11–14) present, in true Aristotelian fashion, the foundational, or model, virtue of temperance. The quartet begins with a statement on deficiency, moves on to excess and then ends with a well-balanced solution. In crisp iambic tetrameter lines, “I joy not in no earthly bliss” (BE 12: 11) portrays a mind that rejects pleasure to the point where it can stand unmoved by forces of beauty, love, ambition, jealousy, and the prospects of wealth. The message of rejection and Stoic control in “I joy not” is uppermost in the verse. But, fittingly, as this poem introduces the entire virtues section, its last stanza provides the key to this whole set of poems, and much of the middle part overall. Here it is announced, “extreames are counted worst of all” (l. 20) and the “golden mean between them both / doth surest fit” (l. 21).16 Extremes, formal and thematic, are exactly what are encountered in the next song of the sequence, “Though Amarillis dance in green” (BE 12: 12) – where the poetic speaker confronts an overabundance of lust-inspiring figures – and it is quite appropriately near the “golden section” of this whole group of poems where, in “Who likes to love let him take heed” (BE 12: 13), the powers of love are wrested from Cupid’s thrall and placed into the controlling hands of a distant “mayden chast” (l. 27). At the point when a chaste female triumphs over Eros, it is no longer clear that the virtue structure is still Aristotelian. But the next song, “My mind to me a kingdom is,” still effectively “seals the deal.” Rather than simply to reject 15

On the particular focal shift from the Queen to her courtiers after the French Match see John N. King, “Queen Elizabeth I: Representations of the Virgin Queen,” Renaissance Quarterly 43 (1990): 30–74; Susan Doran, “Juno versus Diana: The Treatment of Elizabeth’s Marriage in Plays and Entertainments, 1561–81,” Historical Journal 38 (1995): 257–74; and Louis Adrian Montrose, “Celebration and Insinuation: Sir Philip Sidney and the Motives of Elizabethan Courtship,” Renaissance Drama, n.s. 8 (1977): 3–35. 16 On opposing Stoical and Aristotelian approaches to moderation in Early Modern literature see Gilles D. Monserrat, Light from the Porch: Stoicism and English Renaissance Literature (Paris, 1984), 54, 75, 83–89, 101–08. See also Gerald Morgan, “The Idea of Temperance in the Second Book of The Faerie Queene,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 37 (1986): 11–39.

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pleasure or to wallow in its excesses, here the speaker, in conspicuously orderly musical measures, “wish[es] no more than may suffice … [and] doe[s] no more than well [he or she] may” (ll. 20–21). Tellingly, both of the central poems in this quartet stand out for the varying length of their lines, a feature that appears almost nowhere else in the set. A further link among these poems is then revealed when, in consulting the final work of the quartet, “My mind to me a kingdom is” (BE 12: 14), one discovers that the consistent tetrameters that were first established by “I joy not” (BE 12: 11) return. (Given the similarity in their topics, form, and theme, it is not surprising that in the early seventeenth ­century “I joy not” and “My mind” were combined into a single poetic work.)17 Musically, the issue of balance as projected by the theme of temperance and the poetic forms seems to have caught Byrd’s attention as a problem of interest in this opening quartet. He may have been further drawn to this problem as he conceivably discovered that he could project ideas in these sententious verses through the memorable effects of a well-crafted tune cast in “delightful” harmony.18 With homorhythmic activity now very prominent at the openings and with imitative passages based on pithy, almost exclusively triadic, subjects featured at the close, these songs nearly reverse the pattern Byrd followed in the psalms of the previous section. As they depict the cheerful social world of a lively galliard undergirded by a constructivist understanding that runs to the micro as well as the macro levels and exudes at the same time an engaging comic brilliance, they also reveal what might be viewed as the Mozartian side of Byrd’s compositional genius, all the while evoking an Aristotelian state of idealized happiness (εὐδαιμονία) to which all should aspire.

A DEFICIENCY AND AN EXCESS OF PLEASURE (BE 12: 11–12)

H

owever tryingly sanctimonious on its textual surface, “I joy not in no earthly bliss” (BE 12: 11) functions rather well as an exposition for the “sonets and pastoralls” to follow. Even by the time we hear its third word in Byrd’s rousing setting certain key themes have been introduced. As suggested above, it is possible to identify Byrd as the poetic speaker, or the “I,” of his sequence, in the first “psalmes” section of the 1588 collection. Afterward, however, he allows the protagonist role to fall into a state of uncertainty, leaving it essentially open until the last, “songs of sadnes and pietie,” section, and even then inviting different interpretations as to who, if any single person, was being portrayed all along. Thus, to the extent that it prompts the question, “who am I?,” the first word in the song’s title exposes a potent source of dramatic tension.19 17

Steven W. May, “The Authorship of ‘My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is’,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 26 (1975): 385–94. 18 On Sidney’s ideas about tunes and their “delightful” qualities see John Stevens, “Sir Philip Sidney and ‘Versified Music’: Melodies for Courtly Songs,” in The Well Enchanting Skill: Music, Poetry and Drama in the Culture of the Renaissance, ed. J. Caldwell, E. Olleson, and S. Wollenberg, (Oxford, 1990), 153–69. 19 I owe this observation to Michael Ward, who placed “I joy not” in the venerable English tradition of riddling and mystery poems. See his “Who Am I? Riddling, Metaphor, Anonymity and a Song by William Byrd” (forthcoming).

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In “I joy not”’s four stanzas of ababcc sextains the word “I” appears twenty times and “my” appears three; and thus there are nearly as many personal pronouns as there are lines in the verse. Byrd, who had special or even exclusive access to this poem, probably knew its author and likely understood why the latter had put so much emphasis on the unnamed speaker. But had he revealed any of that ­information in print, he would have spoiled things on several levels. “Anonymity,” as Marcy L. North explains, created a “paradoxical link to courtly identity.”20 This was a condition Sir Edward Dyer, a courtier poet and possible candidate for the authorship of “I joy not,” portrayed vividly in the following lines, which he allowed to be circulated only among a coterie of fellow courtiers in manuscript: My songe yf any aske whose grievous case ys suche Die er thowe let his name be known his folly shews to muche. But best yt is to hide and never come to lighte ffor on the earthe may none but I this accente sound aright.21 On the surface, this would seem to be a “plea for anonymity.” But it also “encode[s within it] the author’s name” (see “Die er,” l. 2 above) as North and many others have pointed out.22 In some poems, as in the one above, the point was to expose the very poetic motives for identity shielding, as part of an intellectual game. In others, under an apparently light-hearted surface, bitter foes might strike out against each other over serious issues. Most likely, as Arthur Marotti suggests, the immediate backdrop for “I joy not” was the great “Tennis Match Quarrel” at the height of Protestant/Catholic tensions over the French Match, one that involved Sidney and Edward de Vere, the seventeenth Earl of Oxford, as direct antagonists.23 Because Dyer was Sidney’s most loyal friend, at the time Dyer probably hated Oxford as much as did Sidney. Within “I joy not” the anonymous poet alludes to Judas’s betrayal of Jesus at Gethsemane (see Luke 22: 47–48) in the thirteenth line, “I kiss not where I wish to kill.”24 In hearing this, many in Byrd’s circle would have conjured up an image of Oxford betraying prominent Catholic courtiers in the midst of the French Match. Even though he was a Protestant, Dyer probably would have relished the chance to taunt Oxford with such a reference. But the evidence is ambiguous. It may be that Oxford himself composed the poem, suggesting that this verse might actually have 20

Marcy L. North, “Anonymity’s Revelations in ‘The Arte of English Poesie’,” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 39 (1999): 1–18, at 1. 21 Ruth Hughey, ed., The Arundel Harington Manuscript of Tudor Poetry, 2 vols. (Columbus, OH, 1960), 1:149, 185. See quoted text and discussion in North, “Anonymity’s Revelations,” 11. 22 North, “Anonymity’s Revelations,” 11. See also, for example, Alexander B. Grosart, ed., The Writings in Verse & Prose of Sir Edward Dyer ... (London, 1872), 162; and Ralph M. Sargent, At the Court of Queen Elizabeth The Life and Lyrics of Sir Edward Dyer (Oxford, 1935), 18. 23 Arthur F. Marotti, Manuscript, Print, and the English Renaissance Lyric (Ithaca, NY, 1995), 162–63. 24 See Ward, “Who Am I?”

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been conceived as a gesture of self-mockery or, if not, a rather haughty display of self-congratulation and denial.25 (When, at the end of the chapter, we turn to “My mind to me a kingdom is” [BE 12: 14] I will examine another example of poetic exchange involving Dyer, Sidney, and Oxford.) All of these possibilities make the “imperfect” (deficient) status of “I joy not” in Byrd’s treatment of the verse so intriguing. Throughout the collection, Byrd freely manipulates poems to serve his own ends without concern for their original author. He probably felt compelled to do so because, as a courtier himself, he was so frequently engaging in some kind of real or imagined discourse with his Queen, especially when venturing into the public arena of print. It is quite possible, therefore, that no matter who wrote the lines originally, Byrd would have applied them to his own purposes, which by 1588 was to recall the scenes but surely not to revive the enmities associated with the French Match. Had anyone asked Elizabeth to identify the speaker of “I joy not,” one imagines she would have looked at the lines that describe a character who “may not move / for beutie bright nor force of love” (ll. 5–6), “laugh[s] at them that toyle in vaine” (l.  11), and “wayte[s] not at the mighties gate” (l.  16). In the chivalric court, all around her were supposed to be striving toward noble action, and energized and inspired by her beauty. There those aforementioned lines strike a dangerous chord of aloofness.26 Recognizing the deficiency expressed therein, Elizabeth might have determined that whomever “I” represented, the character was essentially useless to her, and needed to be modified. In this environment, a pleasure deficit resulting from rejection smacks of aggression or even rebelliousness. However dangerous the figure might appear, a listener who had proceeded directly to “I joy not” from the more drawn-out psalms of the section before would have been struck immediately by the emphasis Byrd places on the speaker in question. By bringing all the parts together in homophonic texture at the very opening, and delaying the entrance of the “first singing part” by just a minim, he causes the personal pronoun to come across with special force. If there was perhaps no surefire musical means to turn the word “I” itself into a riddle, Byrd still does his utmost to draw his auditor’s ears toward the problem. To show the extreme position expounded in the verse overall, Byrd casts “I joy not” into exceptionally challenging rhythms. A glance at the opening sequence 25

Steven May discovered a link to Oxford in the line “From Courte to Carte the fortune were but bare” of “To be a king thy care,” itself a direct response to Oxford’s “Were I a Kinge”; see his “Authorship of ‘My Mind to Me’,” 389. As May noted, John Mundy set Oxford’s “Were I a Kinge” to music in his Songs and Psalmes (London, 1594), E2v. Mundy’s set was rather closely connected to Byrd’s in musical style, poetic themes (including one poem both composers set), and political orientation. See Joseph Kerman, The Elizabethan Madrigal: A Comparative Study, Studies and Documents 4 (New York, 1962), 118–19; Lillian M. Ruff and D. Arnold Wilson, “The Madrigal, the Lute Song and Elizabethan Politics,” Past & Present 44 (1969): 3–51, at 6, 16–17; and my “Music and Late Elizabethan Politics: The Identities of Oriana and Diana,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 58 (2005): 507–58, at 531. 26 On Elizabeth’s participation in poetic exchanges of this nature see Carlo M. Bajetta, “‘Most peereles Poëtresse’: the Manuscript Circulation of Elizabeth’s Poems,” in Representations of Elizabeth I in Early Modern Culture, ed. Allesandra Petrina and Laura Tosi (London, 2011), 105–21.

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Sonets & Pastoralls, I 51

of meters – 2/4, 3/4, 3/4, 2/4, 3/2, 3/2, 3/2, 2/4 – in Edmund Fellowes’s Collected Works makes this plain.27 Today it may seem intrusively prescriptive, but Fellowes’s sequence does capture the sense of hemiola in the rhythm of this passage, and does so more clearly than the undifferentiated 4/2 measures of the Byrd Edition (BE 11). (Of course there were no barlines in Byrd’s original partbooks, but he keeps this music tightly bound to movements that can be “measured.”) With four rhythmically identical phrases placed in thoroughly homorhythmic texture and carefully demarcated by rests he depicts a dancer repeating an individualized pattern that lies outside the usual organizing systems of measurement. Thus it is tempting, as a modern solution, simply to eschew the barlines altogether and treat this as an example of musique mesurée in the style of Claude le Jeune.28 To a certain extent Byrd’s approach is not unlike that of his French contemporary. Working with tetrasyllabic rhythmic structures and maintaining a strict oneto-one relation among notes and syllables in both the first (mm. 1–2) and the third (mm. 5–7) points, Byrd presents the first four syllables of each line in a third epitrite (long–long–short–long) antecedent that he follows by a first epitrite (short–long– long–long) consequent (see Ex. 2.1). To the extent that Byrd keeps rigorously to this pattern, a barring à la Le Jeune may convincingly be proposed. But in the second point that intervenes (mm. 3–5), which Fellowes had cast in two measures of 3/2, Byrd disrupts the pattern. True, it begins with the same rhythms as the first point, with its characteristic long–long opening, but it all starts to deteriorate quickly from there. A close look reveals that by the very start of the second point Byrd has already loosened up the rigorous homorhythm he had maintained in the first. He also stops observing the one-syllable-per-note standard of before, especially by the end. No longer constrained by the tetrasyllabic structure, by the fifth syllable of the text he simply relaxes into an iambic pattern (repeating short–longs) that corresponds with the underlying poetic meter of the lines. Later, in the final couplet, as something of a musical joke, he brings back the first epitrite (mm. 9–10, at the start) and the third epitrite (mm. 12–13, at the close) of the opening points. But by then he has abandoned completely the homorhythmic texture with which he began, and so the effect is much less jarring: the speaker, whoever he may be, has been progressively modified by Byrd’s structural choices. At a deeper level Byrd does work toward balance in this song. Although the first two musical points are rhythmically unbalanced, by repeating them with a new text Byrd creates a fully balanced ABAB formal design in mm. 1–9. As the final couplet, which is also repeated, forms another ABAB formal section (mm. 10–20), there is also an AA1 formal symmetry in the structure of the piece as a whole. Such repetitive schemes are suggestive of the dance, particularly the pavan, which would then be followed by galliards (which may be one of Byrd’s design elements), and 27

Edmund H. Fellowes, ed., The Collected Works of William Byrd revised under the direction of Thurston Dart, vol. 12, Psalmes, Sonets & Songs (1588) revised by Philip Brett (London, 1963), 57–58. 28 See D. P. Walker, Music, Spirit and Language in the Renaissance, ed. Penelope Gouk (London, 1985).

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52

&b Ó &b w

˙ I

˙ joy

˙

Ex. 2.1  Byrd and Claude le Jeune a. BE 12: 11 “I joy not,” mm. 1–3

not

in

joy

not

in

I

joy

not

in

I

joy

not

in

Vb w ? w b I

&b œ œ ˙

˙ ˙ ˙

joy

œ ˙

œ œ ˙

œ œ

œ œ

œ œ ˙

œ ˙

Re - ve cy

œ ˙

œ ˙

ve - nir - du

Re - ve - cy

œ ˙

œ ˙

Re - ve - cy

?b œ œ ˙

Re - ve - cy

ve - nir

œ ˙

ve - nir

œ ˙

ve - nir

n˙

-

˙

Prin

Prin

Ó

I

force

˙

˙.

I

force

I

force not

I

force

Ó

˙

no earth - ly

bliss,

˙

œ œ

not Crœ

œ

not

œ ˙

˙

Ó

˙

˙ ˙

I

force

œ

œ œ

not Crœ -

œ œ

not Crœ -

œ ˙

œ ˙

˙

-

tans

L'a-mou - reuz'

et

bel

-

le sai

-

zon.

-

˙

l'a - mou - reuz'

et

bel

-

le sai

-

zon.

˙

œ œ

tans

œ ˙ œ œ ˙

Prin

-

tans

L'a-mou - reuz'

du

Prin

-

tans

du

Prin

-

tans

œœ œ œœ ˙ ˙

œ ˙ œ ˙

œ ˙ œ ˙

˙ ˙

œœ œ œœœ ˙ œ œœœœœœ œ

du

œ ˙

˙

˙

˙

œ œ

˙

Ó

ly bliss,

˙

Ó

œ ˙

b. le Jeune, Revecy venir, opening

du

Vb œ œ ˙

bliss,

no earth

ve - nir

&b œ œ ˙

˙

no earth - ly

œ œ ˙.

Re - ve cy

&b œ œ ˙

bliss,

bliss,

œ œ ˙

in

˙

˙

no earth - ly

œ nœ

not

˙

no earth - ly

œ œ

I

Vb w

œ œ ˙

œ œ

et

bel

-

le sai

-

zon.

L'a-mou - reuz'

et

bel

-

le sai

˙ œ

-

zon.

L'a-mou - reuz'

et

bel

-

le sai

-

zon.

œ œ œ œ

˙

œ ˙

˙

the play among aspects of surface imbalance and well-proportioned larger forms is, I would argue, a purposeful element Byrd exploits here to express the underlying ideas of his text and their inherent tensions. All of this formal attention to stability is directly relatable to the theme of the poem, if that theme is simply moderation. But what seems likely here is that Byrd read deeper into the text and reacted to the extraordinarily negative ideas he encountered within this work overall. Given the challenging rhythm of the opening, and Byrd’s eventual reintegration of that material – under progressively less and less rhythmically harrowing circumstances – it even seems possible that he was

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poking fun at the first line itself by providing there an especially syncopated rhythm to express the double negative (“I joy not in no earthly delight,” l. 1, italics added), with which this poem began. Even in this dance-styled music, where poise is so obviously important, Byrd depicts, with rhythms that seem disturbingly unbalanced (at least on the surface), a deficiency of pleasure. “Though Amarillis dance in green” (BE 12: 12), which follows “I joy not” in Byrd’s sequence, has long been justly admired as a true gem of this era’s song repertoire. That it expresses a form of excess, however, has not apparently been properly recognized until now. As early as 1600 it was included in England’s Helicon along with the texts of two other of Byrd’s more “pastorall” songs of the 1588 collection (BE 12: 19 and 20) and one from the Song of sundrie natures of 1589 (BE 13: 23).29 David Greer, who argues that the Helicon was an “index of literary taste,” shows that Helicon’s (anonymous) editor gives “Though Amarillis” a new title, “To Amarillis,” when copying it “[o]ut of M. Bird’s set Songs.”30 Greer also points out that the editor further altered the text in promulgating the poem in this way. This editor’s treatment of the text is worthy of note, as he or she obliterated what I would argue is the poem’s key theme: that is, immoderation in the sphere of libidinal pleasure. Specifically, whereas Byrd set the following lines: Though Amarillis daunce in greene,    lyke Fayrie Queene,    & sing full clere Corina can with smiling cheere: yet since their eyes make heart so sore, hey ho, chil loue no more (ll. 1–5) Helicon’s editor transmitted the following: Though Amarillis daunce in greene    Lyke Faierie Queene    And sing full cleere    With smiling cheer Yet since her eyes make heart so sore,    Hey hoe, chill loue no more.31 As a comparison of the two texts quoted above reveals, the editor thoroughly eliminated the character Corinna from the story (see the underlining above), and she – as an unexpected additional object of love – stands as the key feature of the poetic and musical device developed here. Although ruining in the process the meter – as the dimeter lines must remain a pair (see below) – and arguably the most humorous moment of the song, removing Corinna does highlight, in its negative gesture, the extraordinary nature of this first stanza of “Though Amarillis.” That the “clere … sing[ing]” (l. 3) of the second original dimeter line applies not “[t]o Amarillis” herself, as the Helicon editor reworked 29

England’s Helicon (London, 1600). David Greer, “Songbook Lyrics in England’s Helicon,” English Studies 3 (1993): 236–45, at 236–37 and 240. 31 England’s Helicon, T4v; Greer, “Songbook Lyrics,” 240. 30

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it to suggest, but rather to this second character, Corinna, comes as a surprise to the unsuspecting reader, who has been encouraged by the unusually short lines and the conjunction “&” (l. 3) to link the third line of the verse to the first and second. The surprising nature of Corinna’s appearance in the original text gains force if read against the general conventions of pastoral poetry, where the typical shepherd usually finds he has his hands more than full in dealing with a single supremely beautiful goddess or shepherdess. The joke gains further strength if one happens to recall in hearing the name Corinna that Ovid’s Corinna (well known at the time as the pseudonym of his apparent mistress, Julia) is the subject of arguably the most explicitly sexual poem in the classical literature (Elegy V).32 This elegy was surely irresistible reading for early modern adolescents and others. Since some lines from Ovid’s Heroïdes appear later in the set (BE 12: 23), it seems likely that Byrd knew the verses rather well. Certainly Byrd understood that “Though Amarillis” portrayed a surfeit of lust. And on whatever level he perceived the situation at hand, there can be little question that he got the joke about the surprising appearance of a second female star in this poem. In homophony that follows with scrupulous attention the unusual form of the verses, Byrd erects a climax (pun intended) in this song just as the auditor realizes that it is Corinna, not Amarillis, who “sings full clere” (l. 3, see Ex. 2.2). Byrd does this by pushing the tension toward a moment of release on the word “can” (l. 4), which is the exact point in the poem where the temporary ambiguity is settled (m. 5). Extraordinarily attuned to his poet’s techniques, Byrd knew that his auditor would imagine that it is Amarillis singing, and not Corinna, even at the moment when the second character is named. As not only rhythm, but also melody, harmony, and texture all contribute to this climactic moment, it is worth exploring the way Byrd handles it in some detail. Rhythmically, he moves into an iambic pattern in the “first singing part” on the word “can” (l. 4) resolving thereby the tension of the bumpy rhythms of before. The melody, which features disjunct skips at the opening, now simply confines itself to one pitch on the word “Corina” (l. 4), after which it performs a smooth scalar descent. Harmonically, although Byrd had arrived at a stable (half) cadence on G at the end of the first point, a confirming cadence that is strongly hinted at is then thwarted by an abrupt turn toward C for the first dimeter line (m. 4). Thus it is something of a harmonic triumph when, at the appearance of the second star of the poem (Corinna), a now much anticipated G cadence appears fully fleshed out and uninterrupted (m. 5). Finally, the other lines echo the scalar descent of the top line as well as its iambic musical rhythm in what is heard as the most conspicuous point of imitative texture in the song up to this point. If her entrance surprises us and, I would argue, represents excess as well (in the realm of love and lust-inspiring figures), in musical terms Corinna functions as an extended anacrusis that draws attention to the poem’s punch line. What Byrd’s music further adds to the humor of the song – and its point about excessiveness – becomes most obvious in the refrain (mm. 8–20). “Hey ho, chill 32

See Laurence Lerner, “Ovid and the Elizabethans,” in Ovid Renewed: Ovidian Influence on Literature and Art from Middle Ages to the Twentieth Century, ed. Charles Martindale (Cambridge, 1989), 121–35. Elegy V is discussed on 124–25.

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œ ˙.

& ˙

dance

in green,

dance in dance

in green, green,

œ & œ˙ œ œ ˙˙ .. & ˙œ ˙. œ œ ˙ dance dance in

V & ˙ ˙

in dance

? œ. V ˙

green, in

? œ.

green,

&

Sonets˙ & Pastoralls, I 55 ˙

˙

˙

in green, green,

w

Ex.like 2.2  BE “ThoughQueen, Amarillis,” mm. 2–5 Fai 12:- 12 ry

˙

˙˙

like like

œ ˙

like like Fai

Fai Fai

-

˙˙

ry Fai

˙˙

--

ry ry

-

˙ ˙ Queen,

green, green

œ Jœ ˙

in

green,

w clear

& ˙w

like Fai

˙

Ó

like

CO - RIN

˙

-

clear, clear, and

? ˙w V

clear, clear,

?˙

˙

œ

˙

sing

˙

˙

CO

˙

œ

˙ ˙

RIN full clear,

œ w˙

and sing CO full - clear, RIN

œ

œ w

ry ry Queen, Queen,

˙

œ ˙.

-

ry Queen,

can

with smil

˙œ ˙ ˙ # œ

and and sing sing full full clear, clear, clear,

- -

NA

clear, and sing CO - RIN - NA full

full

œ ˙. œ

œ ˙

& œ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ ˙ œ w V &œ ˙

˙ ˙

˙˙

clear, can

˙˙

˙. #˙

ry Queen,full and sing

˙

œ˙ ˙ ˙ # œ

sing

-

œ œ ˙

˙

Óœ œ ˙

and clear

˙Œ

-

˙

ry Queen, and

œ œ

sing

˙

full

sing

full

clear, Queen,and sing like Fai full - ry Queen,

Fai-

-

-

Œ˙ w œ ˙œ ˙ # ˙ œ w

œ. œ œ œ œ œ J œ

like Fai

like Fai

Queen, Queen,

ry

and

œ ˙ Ó œ w˙

˙w

˙ œ œ Ó œ ˙. ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ green ˙ Fai in green, like Fai - like ry Queen, . œ œ œ ˙ . œ Ó Jœ œ˙ œ œœ œ Jœ ˙

in

˙

Ó

-

w˙ .

and clear,

˙˙ .

and and

˙

and

Óœ œ

n Ó˙

full

œ œ n˙ œ

sing full full

˙ œ ˙œ œ

sing sing full full

˙

˙

sing

full

Ó

œ w

ing cheer:

œŒ œ˙ œ œ w˙

CO - RIN can with smil - - NA ing cheer:

Œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙

œ ˙ Ó œ

with smil

-

œœ ˙

clear, -

NA smil can - with smil NA CO - RIN can -with ing cheer,

CO -

NA RIN

can -

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-

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and - RIN full CO sing

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love no more” (l.  6) is a straightforward renunciation of love. By extending the music for this one line to the point where it almost doubles the musical space he devotes to the five lines before it, however, the composer allows us to draw the inference that this shepherd really doth protest too much: or, in any case, that the musical excess in the refrain represents the poet’s ultimately unsuccessful attempt to counterbalance the mounting turmoil of lovesickness in the verses. By the end this simple shepherd has worked himself into such a state of frenzy (“and I so wood,” l. 8: wood: “out of one’s mind, insane, lunatic,” OED) that he actually finds himself voicing sophisticated oxymora – specifically, the famous Petrarchan conceits of “friendly foes” (l. 19), “flames of Ise,” and “freese in fire” (l. 20). All of this betrays the workings of a most unquiet mind. clear,

and sing

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 55

full clear,

CO

-

RIN

-

with smil

-

ing

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56

Petrarch may not be the only poet lightheartedly evoked in these verses. The archaic “chil” (from ich will / I will, l. 6), the mention of a “Fayrie Queene” (l. 2), and even the lines of varying length suggest the work of Spenser as well.33 These lines stand out for their metrical links to each other, but their rhyme scheme links them instead to the longer lines surrounding them, as follows: a a b b c C 8 4 4 8 8 6 It seems likely that the poem’s author was aware that the two dimeter rhyming lines of “Though Amarillis” serve the same hinge-like function of dividing lines of a verse that the bb couplet does within the great Spenserian stanza (ababbcbcc) of the Faerie Queene, especially as he or she took advantage of this very aspect of the form to create the “Corina can” joke.34 As the Gabriel Harvey–Spenser correspondence reveals, there was a noteworthy exchange of poetic ideas in the early 1580s when Byrd was presumably composing these songs, specifically concerning accentuation and meter.35 Since this involved Spenser, Sidney, and Dyer, who had connections to Byrd’s patron Edward Paston, such exchanges might help explain the ­intra-­poetic references in “Though Amarillis.”36 Intriguingly, Byrd seemingly responds to this poetic interplay with a musical conceit of his own devising. Rubum quem, a five-part work by Christopher Tye, has the same opening melodic profile and texture (all of which is repeated several times) as Byrd’s extended refrain “hey ho chil love no more” (see Ex. 2.3).37 Although this has not been noticed before, the obvious similarities in the two works makes it seem quite likely that Byrd is quoting Tye’s work, which had been copied without a text into several manuscripts during Byrd’s lifetime. In the manuscripts in which it survives, Rubum was likely adapted for instrumental performance. But it is nonetheless listed in one case as “a singinge songe.”38 33

George Watson, “Dialect Survivals of Anglo-Saxon Inflection,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 35 (1936): 44–60, at 52. On Spenser’s use of lines of varying length see Walter F. Staton Jr., “Spenser’s ‘April’ Lay as a Dramatic Chorus,” Studies in Philology 59 (1962): 111–18. 34 See Edward Payson Morton, “The Spenserian Stanza before 1700,” Modern Philology 4 (1907): 639–54. 35 Edmund Spenser and Gabriel Harvey, Three proper, and wittie, familiar letters: lately passed between two universitie men: touching the earthquake in April last, and our English refourmed versifying (London, 1580). 36 H. R. Woudhuysen, Sir Philip Sidney and the Circulation of Manuscripts, 1558–1640 (New York, 1996), 249–66; and Philip Brett, “Musicae Modernae Laus: Geoffrey Whitney’s Tributes to the Lute and its Players,” Lute Society Journal 7 (1965): 40–44. See also Steven W. May, “Marlowe, Spenser, Sidney and – Abraham Fraunce?,” Review of English Studies 62 (2010): 30–63. 37 On Tye’s Rubum quem see Robert W. Weidner, “The Instrumental Music of Christopher Tye,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 17 (1964): 363–70. 38 Paul Doe, ed., Elizabethan Consort Music: II, Musica Britannica 45 (London, 1988), 42–43. Rubum was also cast as “Sol mi ut,” and “Phantasia.” The title Rubum quem title itself was preserved in a manuscript with very close associations

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Ó

&

Ó

& &

& &˙

&˙ V Ó

hey

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V Ó ? ?

Ex. Tye Ó 2.3  ˙Byrd andœChristopher œ ˙ m. a. BE 12: 12 “Though Amarillis,” 8

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ho, chill love

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no more,

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ho, chill love

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no

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more,

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more,

˙ Ó œ˙ œ œ œ ˙ more, hey hey

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chill love

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chill love

no more,

b. Tye, Rubum quem, mm. 1–5

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In his Plaine and Easie Introduction Thomas Morley describes the practice of performing motets like Rubum by “leaving out the dittie and singing onely the bare note, as it were a musicke made onelie for instruments.” Although Morley was somewhat critical of the practice, as he saw “not what passions or motions [a work performed in this way] can stirre up,” the content of his treatise certainly reveals to Byrd; see David Mateer, “Oxford, Christ Church Music MSS 984–8: An Index and Commentary,” Royal Musical Association Research Chronicle 20 (1986–87), 1–18.

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that this kind of solmization was an essential part of musical instruction.39 Thus it seems fair to say that Byrd and other musicians of the era may have sung Rubum often in their days of training (and teaching), and it is hard to imagine that they would not, in that case, have held such an infectious tune in their musical memory for a period long thereafter. Along with the Petrachian references, the introduction of music from Rubum in “Though Amaryllis” may thus have been meant to be appreciated as an obvious form of quotation, one designed to add another layer of meaning to the work overall. The antiphon that begins with the text Rubum quem (used in both the Sarum and the Roman rite) states: “we recognize in the bush that Moses saw burning and yet not burnt, your virginity gloriously preserved.”40 In both Eastern and Western traditions of hymnody and typology the “miracle of the bush which burned but was not consumed by the flames is likened to the Virgin who was conceived by the Holy Ghost without being consumed by the flames of ­concupiscence.”41  Since  “flames  of concupiscence” are precisely what had driven mad the poor shepherd of “Though Amarillis,” Byrd, it would seem, humorously likens his character’s futile renouncement of love – while Amarillis dances fairy queen-like and Corinna sings so temptingly around him – to that striking image of Mary and the Burning Bush, with its strange paradox of s­exualized asexuality. It is tempting to suggest that Byrd’s interplay with religious and secular material was meant simply to be an in-joke for his fellow musicians. But records show that this Marian image, otherwise so unusual in the West, enjoyed a small but notable place in English cultural history. It had been featured on stage at least twice. A Christmas pageant actually titled Rubum quem viderat was produced in 1421.42 More enduringly, Chaucer had featured the image in his ABC and his prologue to the “Prioress’s tale” of the late fourteenth century; and John Lydgate, the poet who did more than anyone to keep Chaucer’s work alive in the century prior to Spenser, included the image prominently in several poems.43 Thus, if in the end it might have seemed almost sacrilegious to have applied the same image of a burning bush to the lovesick shepherd of “Though Amarillis,” it nonetheless fits the sentiment of the text to do so and it is quite in keeping with the faux naïf spirit of this rather 39

Thomas Morley, A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (London, 1597), 179. For an extensive discussion of the practice see Warwick A. Edwards, “The Performance of Ensemble Music in Elizabethan England,” Journal of the Royal Musical Association 97 (1970): 113–23. 40 The Liber Usualis, ed. Benedictines of Solemnes (New York, 1961), 443. 41 E. Harris, “Mary in the Burning Bush: Nicolas Froment’s Triptych at Aix-enProvence,” Journal of the Warburg Institute 1 (1938): 281–86, at 281. 42 Alfred Harbage, Annals of English Drama, 975–1700, revised by Samuel Schoenbaum (Philadelphia and London, 1964), 8. 43 Carolyn P. Collette, “Chaucer’s Discourse of Mariology,” in Art and Context in Late Medieval English Narrative, ed. Robert Edwards (Cambridge, 1994): 127–47, at 135–38; Frederick Tupper, “Chaucer’s Bed’s Head,” Modern Language Notes 30 (1915): 5–12, at 10; Henry Noble MacCracken, ed., Minor Poems of John Lydgate, Early English Text Society 107 (Oxford, 1911), “To Mary, the Queen of Heaven,” 286, l. 33, “Ave, Jesse virgula!,” 300, ll. 45–46.

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sophisticated little “poet’s poem” about the turmoil that results from an excess of pleasure.

T

“A MAYDEN CHAST” (BE 12: 13)

he shift from lust-driven chaos to temperate order in Byrd’s story occurs in the alternating dimeter and tetrameter lines of “Who likes to love let him take heed” (BE 12: 13), which tells its own short tale: of Cupid’s demise and replacement. Corrupted by gold, Love has failed to recognize the “beauties” and “secret flames” of a set of “dames” who reported this disgraceful “newes” of “abuse” to the gods (ll. 13–15). Love’s fate is sealed. “[H]e should/ both die and forfait all his gold” (l. 18). Among the spoils, the gold Love forfeits is discussed no further. But over the course of stanza 4 we discover that the gods allow the “dames” to decide who will take over his “bowe & shafts” (ll. 19–24). Then, just at the point when they choose a “mayden chast,” the narrator enters into the story (ll. 27–28). He, it emerges, has “see[n]” this maiden and she has “perce[d]” his “brest” (l. 29). After granting that his attacker was a “beautie rare,” the narrator “rest[s]” (l. 30). If by the mid-1590s most would recognize this as a typical mythical manipulation of the burgeoning so-called cult of Elizabeth, many confronting it in 1588 would surely have been puzzled.44 Why would Diana (for who else could the “mayden chast” be among the gods?), so famous for her inaccessibility and virginity, take over the arrows that had once belonged to Love, and then put them to use? Diana, it is true, was associated with childbirth (although rarely at this time, and only as a protector), but this was still a strange turn of events, and so contradictory as almost to seem misguided.45 It was an opaque little tale as it stood. Byrd and his poet brought it to life, however, with a series of traceable intertextual allusions, some of which are of the same Chaucerian vintage as those of “Though Amarillis,” as discussed above. Byrd even positioned one of them – a purely musical reference to the popular tune a scribe of his keyboard music would later entitle “Will yow walke in the woods so wylde” (hereafter “Woods so wild”) – in the song’s final couplet, the same place where Byrd quoted Tye’s Rubum quem in “Though Amarillis.”46 Byrd’s purpose in this song was to present Elizabeth as a goddess figure, adding thereby to 44

Inaugural studies include Elkin Calhoun Wilson, England’s Eliza, Harvard Studies in English 20 (Cambridge, MA, 1939); Frances A. Yates, “Queen Elizabeth I as Astraea,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 10 (1947): 27–82; idem, Astraea: The Imperial Theme in the Sixteenth Century (London, 1975); and Strong, Cult of Elizabeth. Among more recent studies, see Philippa Berry, Of Chastity and Power: Elizabethan Literature and the Unmarried Queen (London and New York, 1989); John N. King, “Representations of the Virgin Queen,” 30–74; Doran, “Juno versus Diana,” 257–74; and Montrose, “Celebration and Insinuation,” 3–35. 45 See Berry, Of Chastity and Power, 38–39, 46–47. 46 See Alan Brown, “‘My Lady Nevell’s Book’ as a Source of Byrd’s Keyboard Music,” Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 95 (1968–1969): 29–39, at 39; and Oliver Neighbour, The Consort and Keyboard Music of William Byrd (London, 1978), 156–57. It was apparently Neighbour who also discovered that Byrd quoted the “Woods so wild” tune in “Who likes to love”; see his “Byrd’s Treatment of Verse in his Partsongs,” Early Music 31 (2003), 412–16, 418–22, at 416.

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the emerging cult of the Virgin Queen. For this Byrd reworked materials that had a strong enough resonance at court to kindle Elizabeth’s personal memories. The alliterative phrase itself stems from a prayer sung by the character Emeley in Chaucer’s “Knights Tale.” Although unaware of its Chaucerian origins, English popular music historians have long recognized that these words “walk, woods, wild” were incorporated in songs that may be traced from the time of Henry VIII to the 17th century in something of a continuous line and with a precision unusual for a field so dependent on oral traditions.47 According to a biography of Sir Peter Carew written by John Hooker in the late 1570s, Carew, renowned for his adventurous and violent exploits when serving Henry VIII, was “not inferior to anye in the courte” in “singeing [as well as] vaulting, and specially for rydinge.”48 Hooker also claimed that the “Kynge … would very often use hyme to synge with hime certeyne songes they called fremen songs, as namely, ‘By the bancke as I lay,’ and ‘As I walked the wode so wylde.’”49 That songs with these titles turn up in a collection by Thomas Ravenscroft in 1609, and the latter one (“Woods so wild”) with music that conforms to the tune Byrd quoted in “Who likes to love,” lends considerable validity to the anecdote reported by Hooker.50 It seems most likely, although hitherto unrecognized by scholars, that the Chaucerian text and the related tune were incorporated in a play, Palamon & Arcyte, that was staged before the Queen at Oxford University in 1566, as a final, triumphal piece during the festivities associated with Elizabeth’s negotiations for marriage to Charles II Francis, Archduke of Austria.51 Richard Edwards, the play’s author, was a highly successful courtly writer and the composer of several consort songs in the same basic style as Byrd’s.52 Edwards was also known for his fondness for alliteration.53 His play was subsequently lost; three surviving descriptions of the 47

See Christopher Goodwin, “‘Will you go walk the woods so wild?’ and the Question of ‘Popular’ Music,” Lute News 64 (2002): 10–18; and Sally Harper, “An Elizabethan Tune List from Lleweni Hall, North Wales,” Royal Musical Association Research Chronicle 38 (2005), 45–98, at 82. 48 Thomas Phillipps, “The Life of Sir Peter Carew,” Archaeologia 28 (1839): 96–151, at 106; see also J. P. D. Cooper, “Carew, Sir Peter (1514?–1575),” in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/4634, accessed 17 Feb 2014. 49 Phillipps, “Life of Sir Peter Carew,” 113. 50 Goodwin, “‘Will you go walk,’” 10–11. 51 See John R. Elliott Jr., “Queen Elizabeth at Oxford: New Light on the Royal Plays of 1566,” English Literary Renaissance 18 (1988): 218–29; W. Y. Durand, “Palæmon and Arcyte, Progne, Marcus Geminus, and the Theatre in Which They Were Acted, as Described by John Bereblock (1566),” PMLA 20 (1905): 502–28; and John R. Elliott Jr. et al., eds., Records of Early English Drama: Oxford, 2 vols. (Toronto, 2004), 1:128–43, at 138–43. 52 Ros King, The Works of Richard Edwards: Politics, Poetry, and Performance in Sixteenth-Century England (Manchester, 2001). See pp. 63–87 for a discussion of the plays and pp. 233–58, on Edwards’s music (including transcriptions). 53 Edwards’s latest biographer casts alliteration first among his subject’s “characteristic trademarks,” see ibid., 14, and Thomas Moisan, “Rhetoric and the Rehearsal of Death: The ‘Lamentations’ Scene in Romeo and Juliet,” Shakespeare Quarterly 34 (1983): 389–404, at 394.

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Oxford performance were detailed enough, however, to impress literary historians with its faithfulness to Chaucer’s “Knights Tale.”54 As in Chaucer’s story, Edwards’s Palamon & Arcyte concerns two knights who fall for the same woman, Emeley, and who turn to the gods to settle the matter. In the martial contest ordered by Theseus to decide the question, Saturn is assigned to select the winner. Crucially for our purposes, the three main characters pray separately to different gods: Palamon to Venus, Arcyte to Mars, and Emeley to Diana. Emeley prays for a “maiden life and unbroken chastity.”55 The goddess, however, predicts marriage. Arcyte wins, but Venus persuades Saturn to intervene on behalf of Palamon by killing his opponent. The play ends with Emeley and Palamon in bonds of matrimony. Thus Venus wins the day and Diana proves to be of no help to her votaress, Emeley. The latter’s prayer, as Chaucer puts it, “…to walken in the wodes wilde, / and noght to ben a wyf and be with childe” (italics added) goes unanswered.56 Musical evidence is similarly suggestive. The part of Emeley was played by Peter Carew, a fourteen-year-old first cousin of his more famous namesake, Henry VIII’s singing companion. The night of the play young Peter was rewarded by the Queen for a song he sang and he later emerged as one of her favorites.57 He and his brother had likely commissioned the biography of the famous cousin which referenced the song “As I walked the Woods so Wilde.”58 It is quite possible, given rather strong circumstantial evidence, that Elizabeth heard Emeley’s prayer in language similar to Chaucer’s and sung to the tune Byrd later parodies in his “Who likes to love.” In 1566 it was fitting for Edwards to project an image of Elizabeth as an Emeley figure earnestly but futilely praying to Diana and for Venus to emerge as victor in the end. It would suggest that Elizabeth was altruistically willing to sacrifice her virtuous desires for the sake of the greater good of her country. Elizabeth’s attention was once again drawn to the symbolic ideas represented by a chaste maiden along with a reference to the “Woods so wild,” and quite possibly to the music associated with the latter phrase as well in 1578, in the context of 54

See, for example, F. S. Boas: “From the analysis of the plot given by Bereblock, it is evident that it was exactly on the lines of Chaucer’s Knight’s Tale,” in “University Plays: Edwards’s Palamon and Arcyte,” in The Cambridge History of English and American Literature, ed. A. W. Ward et al., 18 vols. (New York, 1907–21), 6: 12, p. 16; and “the play appears to have adhered very closely to its Chaucerian source”: Misha Teramura, in “The Anxiety of Auctoritas: Chaucer and The Two Noble Kinsmen,” Shakespeare Quarterly 63 (2012): 544–76, at 555 n39. Durand, “Palæmon and Arcyte,” 510–11. 55 Ibid., 511. 56 Christopher Cannon, ed., The Riverside Chaucer, 3rd edn. (Oxford, 2008), 56, ll. 2309–10. See also J. Stephen Russell, “Song and the Ineffable in the ‘Prioress’s Tale,” Chaucer Review 33 (1998): 176–89, at 179. 57 Elliott, “Queen Elizabeth at Oxford,” 218–29; John H. Astington, Actors and Acting in Shakespeare’s Time (Cambridge, 2010), 64–65. 58 John Maclean, Life and Times of Sir Peter Carew, Kt. (London, 1857), 254; George Edward Cokayne and Vicary Gibbs, The Complete Peerage of England, Scotland, Ireland, Great Britain and the United Kingdom, Extant, Extinct, or Dormant (1910), 14 vols. (London, 1910–1956), 12: 799–800.

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another potential royal match. That summer she took her court on an elaborate progress along with members of a French delegation, including envoys of the Duke of Anjou. Anjou was officially courting Elizabeth at the time (the aforementioned French Match). Among the entertainments offered was “The Shew of Chastite” by Thomas Churchyard.”59 This production has for some time now been of interest to political historians because of the Queen’s role in the play and its suggestions about her position vis-à-vis her French suitor. More importantly for our purposes, it was also highly relevant to the musico-literary allusions in Byrd’s “Who likes to Love.”60 Although there are many differences in detail between the “Shew” and the story Byrd tells in his song, it was much closer to Byrd’s version than the 1566 play and may be seen, therefore, to represent a likely intermediate source for the composer’s treatment of basically similar materials. The main virtue extolled by Churchyard is chastity, but Temperance also numbers among the allegorical characters played by the boys of his company, along with Modesty, Good Exercise, and Shamefastness. True to the Aristotelian method, these virtuous characters are offset by their opposites, Riot [Riote, Riotte] and Wantonnesse. Churchyard even created a rather prominent role for an otherwise unnamed Philosopher.61 With his grey beard and “hoarie heares [ears]” he represents the wisdom of old age, as well as its propensity to scold and admonish. Behind the scenes he drives Venus “madde,” describing her and her son Cupid as “scumme of earth and Skyes” and the “sinck of sinne and shame.” For most of the play the Philosopher shares the stage with Cupid, whom he “taunt[s]” relentlessly.62 Cupid, in fact, is the story’s main antagonist and his fate bears a strong resemblance to the one portrayed in “Who likes to love” of 1588. The two stories are in many essentials closely related. In both of them Cupid is fully decommissioned, both are set within the context of virtues, and both are courtly products. Most importantly, to the accompaniment, more or less, of “Woods so wild,” in both tales Cupid loses his bow and arrows to a female figure representing chastity. In Churchyard’s “Shew” Cupid quotes the text associated with the tune on a coach before the Queen, in the opening scene, as follows: After bewailing his “wandering” state as a poor boy “banisht” with his mother from the Heavens, and after abandoning Venus, who has “fall[en mad],” he takes his “leave to walke the wood so wild, / to houle, to crye and sore complain.”63 Cupid goes on, in his sad soliloquy, to describe his earthly misadventures as a wanderer, first with the taunting Philosopher and next at Elizabeth’s “Court” where “no friend, nor favoure [does he] finde.” Then Chastity arrives on the scene with her handmaidens to “suddainely[,] in the view of the Queene, sett … upon 59

Thomas Churchyard, A discourse of the Queenes Maiesties entertainement in Suffolk and Norffolk … (London, [1578]), C4v–E2v. For a modern edition see John Nichols, The Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, vol. 2: 1572–1578, ed. Elizabeth Goldring et al. (Oxford, 2014), 729–37. 60 For details on the production see Martin Wiggins and Catherine Richardson, British Drama 1533–1642: A Catalogue, vol. 2: 1567–1589 (Oxford, 2012), 197–98. 61 See ibid, 197–98. 62 Churchyard, A discourse, D2r–4r. 63 Ibid., D1v.

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and spoyle … hym of his Coach[,] Bowe[,] and all.” At this point, in the margin, Churchyard calls for “musicke the mean tyme.”64 It cannot be proven, but given the verbal reference to the “Woods so wild” and the probable currency of the ballad, it would seem quite reasonable to assume that the music the audience heard at this time was based essentially on the same tune that Byrd quoted in 1588. In the play Chastitie treats her victory over Cupid as a great Petrarchan triumph, exclaiming, “Dame Chastitie is she that winnes the field / Whose breast is armed with thoughtes of vertues rare.”65 Soon thereafter, in presenting Elizabeth with Cupid’s weapons, the virtuous heroine champions the Queen’s similar commitment to a “chast life,” her freedom from love’s “bondage,” and her impenetrable heart, all of which has prompted some in recent times to interpret the gesture as broadcasting to the French delegation a decision not to marry.66 Alternatively, though, the gesture may well have confirmed that Cupid had earlier gotten no “succoure” at “Courte,” so the French delegation could report back to Anjou that Elizabeth’s long-term dalliance with the leading courtier Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, was not in the way. Chastitie further advises Elizabeth, in any case, that she might “shoote / At whome thou wilt,” which has led others to view this moment as “delicately ambiguous.”67 John King suggests that Elizabeth was given the option here to “play her own Cupid, by choosing a suitable husband.”68 One tantalizing possibility that emerges from this musico-literary evidence is that Churchyard parodies Emeley’s prayer to Diana in his “Shew of Chastitie.” But a dozen years after the 1566 play it was no longer considered fitting to project so modest an image of the Queen. However flattering the original portrayal, Churchyard apparently decided it would be insufficient in 1578 to counter a decade or so of rumors concerning the advances of Leicester and other courtiers. Nor would it fit a well-tested Queen’s understandable desire to take control over her own destiny. Thus Churchyard apparently needed to make it clear that Elizabeth’s court was not a nest of depravity and that she would be the one to decide her fate when it came to marriage. It is significant in this light that Chastitie is represented as an Aristotelian virtue rather than as a god in Churchyard’s play and that all the other deities except Jehovah are declared false. Even Diana, it would seem, had lost certain powers over Elizabeth by this time. It would hammer the point home if Churchyard could recall the words and tune associated with Emelely of an earlier portrayal to bring an image of the Queen diplomatically up to date. 64

Ibid., D2r. Ibid., D2r. 66 Ibid., D1r–2v. Susan Doran concluded that “the political point should have been obvious to the Queen and the French ambassadors in the audience: Elizabeth might send out overtures of marriage to Anjou but her true destiny was chastity”; see her “Juno versus Diana,” 47. R. Malcolm Smuts similarly claimed that this scene “hinted unmistakably that Elizabeth should end her dalliance with a foreign suitor”; see his “Occasional Events, Literary Texts and Historical Interpretations,” in NeoHistoricism: Studies in Renaissance Literature, History and Politics, ed. Robin Headlam Wells, Glenn Burgess, and Rowland Wymer (Cambridge, 2000), 179–98, at 186. 67 Churchyard, A discourse, D2v, E4v; King, “Representations of the Virgin Queen,” 47. 68 Ibid.; see also Ellen M. Caldwell, “John Lyly’s Gallathea: A New Rhetoric of Love for the Virgin Queen,” English Literary Renaissance 17 (1987): 22–40, at 28. 65

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For all the seeming movement away from paganism in Elizabethan representations, however, by 1588 there was sufficient reason to reinvoke the gods. By then, when there was no longer any possibility of marriage, it fit Elizabeth’s purposes to assume the role of a Diana figure herself, one no longer serving women who might pray at her altar for a life of virginal chastity but rather one who, as a Virginal Goddess of perfect and unattainable beauty, inspired men to engage in proper noble action. If Venus controlled her fate in 1566 and if by 1578 Elizabeth stood with Chastite as a queen fully empowered by her own virtue, by 1588 the formerly opposed figures of Venus and Diana joined forces to provide Elizabeth with the means of directing and enabling her courtiers in their virtuous pursuits. In an illuminating essay “Juno versus Diana: The Treatment of Elizabeth I’s Marriage in Plays and Entertainments, 1561–1581,” Susan Doran argues that Churchyard’s “entertainments of August 1578 … were the first recorded public occasion where the appearance of the cult of the Virgin Queen can be seen.”69 But to the extent that Elizabeth was supposed to be worshipped, Churchyard’s “Shew” fell far short of the goal of setting her up as a viable figurehead for a cult of this nature. Indeed, each time beauty is mentioned or alluded to in Churchyard’s play it is either criticized or downplayed. Speaking of Venus, Churchyard’s Philosopher tells Cupid “thy Mother (as the Poets fayne,) when beautie was in prime, / A strumpet was, it may be so, as well appeareth yet.”70 Later, Modestie, who has the final say in the show, also discusses beauty, this time in reference to the Queen herself. But, true to character, Modestie only ventures as far as to say that Elizabeth is a “gay and glittering Dame … [whose] graces are not small, / [but whose] heavenly gifts in greatest prease [praise], in deede surmounts them all.”71 One of Churchyard’s trickier tasks, it would seem, was to give Elizabeth a clean bill of marriageable health – to indicate to the French delegation that she had kept Riot and Wantonness under control at her court – because to do so he needed to eschew one of the essential tools of a panegyrist, which was of course effusive praise for physical attractiveness. In 1578 it would blur the issues to speak too highly of the Queen’s beauty. But after it was clear to all (sometime in the mid-1580s) that Anjou had finally been rejected, beauty, although it could be shown to be false, would hardly be portrayed again as the quality of strumpets at the Queen’s court. Certainly it was something about which no one would wish to remain modest. By then the gods were back and female beauty had become that unattainable kind that stood above all others as a source of chivalric inspiration. Courtiers who understood the “secret flames” (l. 10) of a “beautie … rare” (l. 30), to quote “Who likes to 69

Doran, “Juno versus Diana,” 272. Churchyard, A discourse, D3r. Whether or not this was meant as a direct allusion to Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth’s mother, whose posthumous reputation in France at this time was not dissimilar, it was an impolitic slur to voice in front of a foreign delegation, even if in reference to Venus. See Retha M. Warnicke, The Rise and Fall of Anne Boleyn: Family Politics at the Court of Henry VIII (Cambridge, 1989), 243–44; Ann L. MacKenzie, “Constructions of a Scapegoat: Calderon and the Anglo-Spanish Demonization of Anne Boleyn,” in Identities in Crisis: Essays on Honour, Gender and Women in the ‘Comedia’, ed. Melveena McKendrick (Kassel, 2002), 189–212, at 197. 71 Churchyard, A discourse, E1v 70

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love,” were the ones that would best serve a Virgin Queen. It was an image, as Byrd suggests very effectively in his music, by which Elizabeth could inspire the passions in all the ambitious aristocrats and servants around her as she also kept them under control. Perhaps all along there was one particular courtier that Byrd had in mind. It is fascinating to note that recently Kirsten Gibson links the theme of banishment, in association with the “Woods so wild” tune and text, to Sidney, who was famously to reflect on periods when he found himself estranged from court and who was of course a central figure in Byrd’s musical narrative.72 Because Byrd’s poet offered no other clues, it was only as they heard Byrd’s music that those aware of Sidney’s identification with the “Woods so wild” tune would have understood that it was he who was worshipping Diana in the poem and thus was this time the one who could be identified as the verse’s otherwise unnamed “I,” as the sequence moved along its riddling path. (Interestingly, some years later, Robert Devereux, the second Earl of Essex, who, according to scholarly consensus, had adopted the mantle of Sidney, the fallen poet/knight, and was Elizabeth’s last great favorite, also identified ­himself with the tune and the text in connection with his banishment from court.)73 Generally, Byrd reacts to this story of a corrupted Cupid’s demise and the rise to power of a “mayden chast” by releasing more and more of the rhythmic tension that he built up before, bringing matters toward a state of orderliness proper to a fully functioning cult. Byrd begins, as in the two previous works, with a decidedly homorhythmic texture; there are also two dimeter lines within the poem that he sets with a strong suggestion of tetrasyllabic structure, in this case a short–short– short–long (tertius paeon) pattern (mm. 5–30). But here matters are smoothed over by iambic rhythms over drones that slow the harmonic movement to establish a semblance of stability and discipline.74 There is also a noticeable increase in imitative texture overall, which evokes even more strongly a sense of stability and regulation. Some abrupt harmonic shifts are notable –e.g., from C major to B♭ major in the first line (mm. 1–5), and from E major to F major to G major at the start of the final couplet section (mm. 15–20) – but they add less tension to the work overall than the more structurally significant evaded cadences of a Riote and Wantonness-like “Though Amarillis” and the structural and rhythmic balances and imbalances of “I joy not,” where perhaps an image of Churchyard’s censorious, Stoic Philosopher might be glimpsed. A close look at the “first singing part” of “Who likes” reveals that Byrd took a particularly creative interest in the structure of the tune, which is remarkable as it is only partially of his own design. In the tetrameter lines of the verse, he combines scalar passages with iambic rhythms (mm. 4–5, 9–11), while in the two dimeter lines he features instead the above-mentioned short–short–short–long tetrasyllable 72

See Kirsten Gibson, “‘So to the Wood Went I’: Politicizing the Greenwood in Two Songs by John Dowland,”Journal of the Royal Musical Association 132 (2007): 221–51. 73 See Diana Poulton, John Dowland, 2nd edn. (Berkeley, 1982), 226; and Peter Holman, Dowland: Lachrimae (1604) (Cambridge, 1999), 67–69. 74 On these drones see Richard Turbet’s review of William Byrd, Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs (1588), ed. Jeremy Smith (London, 2004), Notes 62 (2006): 803–06, who suggested that they give “fleeting hints of … bucolic pipes,” 805.

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(tertius paeon) and skips of a third (mm. 7–8, 12–13). Of these two sets of points, the one formed by two dimeters is more closely related, as the second line of this set presents the same intervals, but at a step below the first (i.e., they are in sequence). By setting up the motives in this way, Byrd gives the impression that he has reassembled them into new combinations at the end, although, of course, he has worked in the opposite direction, as he had necessarily begun with the pre-­ composed “Woods so wild” tune. Thus, for the listener, this section also features two points in sequence, although in this case the second begins a step above, rather than below, the first (mm. 28–30). Scalar passages reappear, but this time with the tertius paeon and thus without iambic rhythms. Triadic figures, finally, recur too, at the end of each line, but this time, conversely, in iambics rather than the tertius paeon pattern of before. The overall effect is of an intriguingly creative, but satisfying, sense of closure, all of which is strongly reinforced by the extended plagal cadence that ends the work. Although Byrd at times seems not to react as much to stanzas beyond the one(s) he sets to music in his strophic settings, in this case the sentiment of the last words of the last stanza “and so I rest” (l. 30) seems to have governed his musical choices, all of which here convey a sense of accomplishment, with the establishment of proper order and truly regulated behavior as a modification of passions and desires according to the new rules of perfect beauty. To the extent that the plagal cadence evokes prayer, Byrd, it would seem, shows a possible awareness of the Chaucerian depiction of Emeley, although now the votaries of Diana are courtly figures, such as Sidney, Oxford, and even the Earl of Essex. By 1588 the Queen would have welcomed the reconciliation of factions at court under the auspices of the emerging cult of Elizabeth as Diana/Venus that Byrd symbolizes in his musical choices.

I

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS (BE 12: 14)

f, as I hope to have shown, the first three poems of Byrd’s “sonets” section convey a slow but steady move from musical turmoil toward regulation, the final song of the set, “My mind to me a kingdom is” (BE 12: 14) completes that progression with a work that reaches, at least comparatively, a state of fully realized temperance. Although the well-balanced tune of the superius stands out as the focal point of the texture, the behavior of the bassus is perhaps the most revealing of Byrd’s musical approach. What might be termed the modus operandi of this part is exposed in the first handful of measures of the piece: in this section the bassus simply remains on a single, f, for a full three of these five opening measures. In “Who likes” the drones were somewhat fleeting. In “My mind” they are prevalent and structurally significant. Over slow-moving stable harmonies, Byrd’s “first singing part” now carries a tune that is clearly parsed into antecedent and consequent “phrases” that recall for us all the symmetries and balances of the Classic era of music history, however distant in the future this period was for Byrd. Byrd’s own contemporaries obviously would have had no idea about this, but they may well have noted that, for the first time in this middle section of “sonets,” Byrd returns, with the bassus itself standing as a notable exception, to having all parts participate in a homogeneous form of imitation in liltingly smooth dance rhythms, all of which neatly fit the balanced tetrameter form of the lines as well as the smug,

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but clearly confirmative, message of the poem. Indeed, Byrd heightens the aura of homiletic lecture or enlightened colloquium not only by including the attention-drawing device of a varied repetition of the final couplet (with the medius and contratenor trading places at the repeat, mm. 22–25), but also by his rather finely judged coda (mm. 25–27). The latter recalls, through its echoing phrases, Byrd’s eloquent tribute to Thomas Tallis in “Ye sacred muses” (BE 15: 32) at the especially moving place at the end where “music [metaphorically] dies.” Nothing has perished by the end of Byrd’s quartet on temperance. Rather, a “kingdom” of “mind” has finally reached an Aristotelian mean between excess and deficiency in the realm of ­libidinous pleasure. With “My mind to me a kingdom is” Byrd completes a musical progression toward temperance that draws this four-song section to a fitting close. Poetically, too, he leaves the auditor satisfied, at least in terms of meter, as a return of the tetrameters of “I joy not” in “My mind to me” signals the completion of a framing device. But the “who am I?” question that “I joy not” implicitly poses, with its striking abundance of personal pronouns, remains unanswered in “My mind to me.” Indeed, if the preponderance of “I”s and “my”s is meant to raise questions about the speaker’s identity, the fourth stanza of the “My mind to me” is just as insistently riddling as any of “I joy not.” The word “I” occurs there in every line except the last, which features the word “my” instead as it champions the way “I triumph like a king / My mind content with any thing” (ll. 19–24). As mentioned above, “My mind to me” is one of only a few poems that Byrd set where evidence for authorship is available. When Stephan Batman, a writer who had influenced Spenser and was a collector of Chaucerian and other Medieval literary manuscripts, copied five verses of the poem in the summer of 1581, he entitled it a “sonet, said to bee fyrst written by the L. Ver[e earl of Oxford].”75 In a manuscript copied c.1585, possibly by John Finet, all eight stanzas of “My mind to me” appear above the words “Finis E Dier [Edward Dyer].”76 If originally designed for a restrictive coterie culture, once it emerged in print, thanks to Byrd’s setting, “My mind to me” was coupled with “I joy not” to become, as Steven W. May has amply demonstrated, one of “the most popular verses in the English language.”77 But even before then ideas expressed in the two poems had circulated rather extensively, although not far outside courtly circles. To make the case that the Oxford attribution had special merit, May discusses one of the courtier poet’s more securely attributed verses, “Were I a kinge I coulde commuande content,” which inspired a series of poetic responses. In his argument, May points, inter alia, to the second line of the second poem listed below (with its “empire” and 75

Harvard University, Houghton Library, MS Eng 1015, fol. 14v; see Rivkah Zim, “Batman, Stephan (c.1542–1584),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004) http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/1704, accessed 17 February 2014; and Simon Horobin, “Stephan Batman and his Manuscripts of Piers Plowman,” Review of English Studies 62 (2011): 358–72. 76 Oxford University, Bodleian Library, Rawlinson, poet. 85, fol. 19; see May, “Marlowe, Spenser, Sidney,” 35–39; and Randall Louis Anderson, ‘‘‘The Merit of a Manuscript Poem’: The Case for Bodleian Rawlinson Poet. MS 85,” in Print, Manuscript, & Performance, ed. Arthur F. Marotti and M. D. Bristol (Columbus, OH, 2000), 127–71. 77 May, “‘My Mind to Me’,” 385.

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“thy mind”), claiming that it, “seemingly alludes to Oxford’s responsibility for ‘My mind to me:’”78 By ye Earle of Oxforde. WERE I a kinge I coulde comaunde content, Were I obscure hidden shoulde be my cares, or were I deade no cares shoulde me torment, nor hopes, nor hates, nor loues nor greifes nor feares: A doubt full choice of these three wch to craue, a Kingdom or a Cottage or a Grave Answered thus by Sr P. S. WERT thou a Kinge, yet not comaunde content Seth Empire none thy minde could yet fuffice Wert thou obscure, still cares woulde ye torment, but wert thou deade, all care & sorrowe dies: An easy choice of these three wch to crave No kingdome, nor a Cottage but a grave.79 It is intriguing, for our purposes, that the response to Oxford’s poem that May discusses as revealing of its authorship was introduced as “answered thus by Sr P. S. [Sidney]” in the Dr. Farmer-Chetham manuscript (Chetham College Manchester, 8012, p. 84), as indicated in the verses quoted above. After discussing a “friendly poetic competition” between Sidney and Dyer, Arthur F. Marotti claims that this Sidney–Oxford interchange was “originally quite hostile,” that “Sidney’s answer takes direct aim at the egotistical pretensions of the socially superior peer … as [he] did in their famous Tennis Court quarrel” of 1579.80 Marotti contends too that Sidney and Dyer’s “friendly” exchange was prompted by their reactions to “the specific situation of Sidney’s disgrace with the Queen for speaking out on the Alençon [Anjou] match, a political context that might account for the popularity of the poem and its answer set.”81 William Ringler, editor of Sidney’s complete poems, came to a similar conclusion, which is noteworthy, as he is careful in assessing the authority of his sources: We should not expect Sidney and the Earl of Oxford to engage in the friendly rivalry of answering one another’s verses, since they were members of opposed political groups and had quarreled bitterly in the notorious episode at the tennis court in 1579. But the answer, which refers to Oxford’s pride and ambition and suggests that the best place for him would be in a grave, is not friendly, and treats Oxford with a haughty insolence that reflects Sidney’s attitude. There is, therefore, no inherent probability against the attribution; but in view of the late date and uncertain reliability 78

Ibid., 388–89. Alexander B. Grosart, ed., The Dr. Farmer Chetham MS, 2 vols. Camden Society, o.s. 89 (Manchester, 1873), 93–94. 80 Marotti, Manuscript, Print, 163. 81 Ibid., 162 n36. 79

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of the Chetham manuscript, the verses can be classified only as possibly by Sidney.82 What Ringler’s analysis shows is that evidence of poetic intent can be compelling even if the question of authorship remains unsettled. Because Batman took the trouble to date his entries, we are almost assured that the main backdrop for the composition of the poem “My mind to me” was also the French Match, as it was just coming to a close in 1581 and of course the copy date sets a terminus ante quem and not a time of creation. “My mind to me” was likely “fyrst written” at a point when Sidney, having challenged Oxford to a duel, did truly think that the “best place” for his opponent was in a “grave.”83 Finet and Batman’s attributions for “My mind to me” directly and unequivocally conflict, so that what might perhaps never be settled is whether the poem in question was actually penned by Oxford. Given the way ideas surrounding it were circulating in various poems at the time, however, it does seem quite reasonable to suggest that the verse was in some way about him. Indeed, Batman’s acknowledgment that he only knew that it was “said” to be written by Oxford allows us to speculate that the copyist was only partially aware of the courtly interchange of poems that “My mind to me” and “I joy not” represents. They might have been part of a whole series of works that evoked some of the strong passions “members of opposed political groups” among the Queen’s courtiers were expressing at the time of the French Match, much of which Batman could well have been unaware. By 1588, with Sidney dead and Oxford enduring financial distress, however, the angers and desires of a decade before had cooled considerably. Indeed, many by then, including Byrd, as I suggest elsewhere, were looking forward to a new era of possibilities with the emergence at court of dynamic figures such as the Earl of Essex.84 It was on him already in 1588 that the ambitious and oppressed alike were starting to pin their hopes. In highlighting old tensions over a long ago determined French Match, however, Byrd was not simply waxing nostalgic. To reflect carefully on that time was in certain ways to offer to the younger courtier a model of chivalric behavior. But Byrd’s main purpose was to use those times as a means to voice more pressing concerns based on new possibilities that he perceived with the death of Mary Queen of Scots and Sidney. When he turned to those issues, in his final section of “songs of sadnes and pietie,” the “I” of Byrd’s story would shift again. But up to that point, he had every reason to present himself as experiencing a renewed allegiance to the reigning Queen. Thus, to point the way forward, through a series of allusions and a progressive approach to musical order, Byrd figuratively moderated those once very real and disturbing passions of a bygone era under a new paradigm of beauty-controlled temperance, putting the Queen herself in the story as the source of inspiration as he drew the first section of his virtues-depicting “sonets and pastoralls” to a close. 82

William Ringler Jr., “Poems Attributed to Sir Philip Sidney,” Studies in Philology 47 (1950): 126–51, at 149. 83 The extraordinary political tensions of this time are captured in D. C. Peck, “Ralegh, Sidney, Oxford and the Catholics, 1579,” Notes and Queries, n.s. 23 (1978): 427–31. 84 Smith, “Music and Late Elizabethan Politics,” 529–31.

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Chapter 3

Sonets & Pastoralls, II

T

he four works of the “sonets” section on temperance, discussed in the previous chapter, form a clearly defined set that comes to a satisfying close, at least in terms of structure and narrative. Yet there are some issues evoked within them that would resonate into the next series. In the key poem of that earlier group, “Who likes to love” (BE 12: 13), Cupid was ousted from his throne because of his “love for golde” (l.  24). The gods then granted some women whom Cupid had abused a “longer day” (l. 21) to “devise” (i.e., decide, l. 22) who should take over his “bowe & shafts” (l. 19). As noted above, they gave them to a “mayden chast” (l.  27), who subsequently pierced the narrator’s heart. As in Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene, the term “chast” embodies here a broad concept of sexual purity within which virginity is but one form.1 But, virgin or not, the heroine of “Who likes” remains remote from the narrator, who only “see[s]” (l. 28) her. The female character herself is, perhaps not surprisingly, described as a “beaut[y] rare” (l. 31) but one who is also, more unusually, “[un]corrupt[ed]” by “golde” (l. 12). Through allusion and inference, Byrd makes it clear that the unnamed figure should be seen as Queen Elizabeth at some level of interpretation. What this beautiful “mayden chast” also represents, and what will then become the subject of the following two sets of songs, I would contend, is pure aspiration, or ambition: and this was what made the image so important to her courtiers. Aspiration is the quality that reveals “Greatness of Soul,” although it seems to reside in a position somewhere between the virtues of magnanimity and magnificence. Magnanimity is a virtue that Aristotle cast as central or crowning.2 Spenser, however, had named magnificence as the chief virtue.3 Byrd, I believe, may have followed certain aspects of the Aristotelian tradition, but he ultimately hews more closely to the ideas of Spenser. Byrd’s presentation is couched in terms of male expectations in the realm of honor, all of which Aristotle would readily have understood. But Aristotle would probably not have comprehended Byrd’s decidedly Elizabethan approach to the matter. During the French Match and its immediate aftermath there was a concerted effort at Elizabeth’s court to define the concept of manhood. Anxious to participate in the great wars of religion around them, especially in the Netherlands, English courtiers at the time were finding special reason to adopt a feudal posture and develop codes of honor that put the very issue of virtue, especially in the sense of its vir (Latin: “man”), at the fore. In 1578 a “shew” titled “Manhode and Dezarte” was slated for a Wednesday performance, after a Tuesday “Shew of Chastitie,” in a series of entertainments 1

John C. Bean, “Cosmic Order in The Faerie Queene: From Temperance to Chastity,” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 17 (1977): 67–79. 2 D. Douglas Waters, “Prince Arthur as Christian Magnanimity in Book One of the Faerie Queene,” Studies in English Literature 9 (1969): 53–62. 3 W. F. R. Hardie, “Magnanimity in Aristotle’s Ethics,” Phronesis 23 (1978): 63–79.

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p­ resented in Norfolk before the Queen and the French delegation. Even though it was twice postponed, because of a lack of materials and inclement weather, Thomas Churchyard published a synopsis of the play along with some of its speeches, which reveals that it contained all the elements of violence and competition one would expect in a play about male aspirations (“dezarte”).4 But the ending, with Fortune proving the determinant element, left matters disappointingly unsettled; Elizabeth’s men were looking for challenging ways to earn their glory, not just for good luck. More reflective of the energies and posturing of courtiers at the end of Elizabeth’s long and unproductive courtship with Anjou was an elaborate tilting event, or triumph, titled “The Fortress of Perfect Beauty,” of 1581, which was performed before a large French delegation and a huge crowd, including the Queen. Norman Council aptly described it as a “hyperbolic chapter … [in the myth] of the Virgin Queen.”5 In this entertainment a sense of great frustration was conveyed at the end, as the fortress of perfect beauty proved impregnable, but only after the whole process of serving the Queen was elevated into an elaborate Neoplatonic and NeoPetrarchan form of worship at the altar of a Venus-infused Diana.6 Philip Brett suggested many years ago that Byrd set songs that related to the Fortress tilt that marked for so many the end of the French Match and the emergence of a new cult.7 Certainly by the end of his long magnanimity section, with “In fields abroad” (BE 12: 22), Byrd vibrantly conveyed the great sense of energized violence and honor that could be attained only on a field of glory. But along with Sir Philip Sidney, one of the probable authors of the “Fortress” spectacle, Byrd was interested in the way “redefin[ing] heroic action” provoked the creative process in a productive way, which he would confirm in the last stanza of “In fields” by moving back indoors to the image of an undressed woman.8 As a “maker” of the cult, Byrd placed himself, as had Spenser and Sidney, within the story: retelling and reglorifying Elizabeth’s emergence as goddess (O Dea Certa) as he demonstrated how it all depended on the portrayals he devised. Aspirations associated with unrequited love, thinly disguised as courtly ambitions, are thus strongly suggested in this set, but so is a message that poetry itself, as well as music, is elevated, as Sidney had argued they should be, to become one of the primary means to shape honorable and noble behavior.9 Although Byrd does not provide for us a clear map of his intentions, a close look at the songs running from BE 12: 15 through BE 12: 22 reveals that he deals with 4

Thomas Churchyard, A discourse of the Queenes Maiesties entertainement in Suffolk and Norffolk … (London, 1578), D2r. 5 Norman Council, “‘O Dea Certe’: The Allegory of ‘The Fortress of Perfect Beauty’,” Huntington Library Quarterly 39 (1976): 329–42, at 330. 6 On this unusual mesh of goddesses (which would become a commonplace in the 1590s at Elizabeth’s court) see Edgar Wind, Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance (New Haven, CT, 1958), 74–75. 7 Philip Brett, “The Songs of William Byrd,” Ph.D. diss., University of Cambridge, 1965, 64. 8 William Craft, Labyrinth of Desire: Invention and Culture in the Work of Sir Philip Sidney (Newark, DE, 1994), 3–25. 9 Ibid.

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two issues surrounding the “manly” virtue of greatness: ambition and pride. These he treats in equal sets of four, although with some overlap in thematic content. In each quartet Byrd focuses, as in the preceding temperance quartet, on the excesses and deficiencies of each issue in order to encourage the auditor to gain thereby an appreciation of the middle way.

T

AMBITION (BE 12: 15–18)

o a certain extent Byrd’s first set dealing with ambition (BE 12: 15–18) follows the pattern he established in the previous temperance quartet. But the songs here are more firmly opposed. Also, unlike “My mind to me a kingdom is” (BE 12: 14), the last song of the ambition set does not clearly suggest a solution to the problems they present. Rather, the whole purpose of the ambition quartet seems to be to push the auditor searching for the golden mean on to the next quartet of songs. Musically, Byrd turns the path of rhythmic and harmonic development he followed in the earlier quartet on its head. Now he features stable harmonies and rhythmically smooth imitative textures at the beginning of the set, while he places more challenging rhythms most prominently at the end. He reverses this pattern, it would seem, so that he can confront directly the ambition theme itself. With a progression from smoother to more irregular rhythmic gestures, he creates a supportive musical narrative for the poems, matching ambitious musical gestures appropriately to ambitious themes in the texts, moving from the immobility of the pusillanimous to the forward motion of the megalopsuchos, or great of soul. There are a number of elements in “Where Fancy fond for pleasure pleads” (BE 12: 15) that appeared before in “My mind.” Both works are sextains of iambic tetrameters. Both begin with imitative textures in all parts except the bassus, whose role is conspicuously confined at times simply to reiterating pitches on stable harmonies (see mm. 1–10, 17–18). There is even, finally, a decidedly balanced, periodic nature in the phraseology here that allows one to discuss the musical points as having antecedent and consequent relations. But if in “My mind” all of this helps to bring things to a satisfying and orderly close, in “Where Fancy” it suggests that things have simply become stuck. In the last stanza of this extraordinarily complicated poem the narrator of “Where Fancy” describes the “Laborinth of my delight” (l. 38) depicting the tortured path the reader must follow to comprehend the story. We begin and end with statements about Fancy’s litigious position at the “barre of sweete delight” (l. 11) and, in between, are introduced to upwards of ten other allegorical characters, ranging from Shame and Silence to Beauty and Desire. Hovering over this crowded scene is the classic battle between Reason (Wit) and Fancy. Although the tense is technically conditional, by the end it is clear who will prevail. “[H]ope is past” (l. 18) and “[R]eason” has lost his “place” (or is likely to lose it), while Beauty and Fancy go on to “win the fight” (l. 35) and support the pursuit of Pleasure. To see Reason so defeated might readily appeal to modern sensibilities, as many today credit “emotional intelligence” over reasoning capabilities. As far as Elizabethan poets would normally have things, however, everything here has gone too far in the wrong direction, whether couched within a humorous context or not.

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In arguing that in this era “even when fancy is not described as false, its very nature makes it an inferior faculty,” the literary historian Judith Dundas cites lines of the Elizabethan poet Sir John Davies, who voiced the commonly held view that “Wit [Reason] is the minds chief Iudge, which doth Comptroule / Of fancies Court the iudgements false and vaine.”10 It was the famous Elizabethan founder of euphuistic verse John Lyly who warned “all young Impes and novices in love not to blow the coales of fancie with desire but to quench them with disdayne.”11 But, despite these warnings, the protagonist of “Where Fancy” opts not to scorn Love or Desire. The problem in the poem Byrd set is that Reason is imprisoned by Beauty, and thus Fancy, however “fond,” is allowed to win her case for Pleasure. In stanza five the author of “Where Fancy” alludes to a favorite biblical passage of Lyly’s concerning “wind” and “fire” (2 Esdras 4:5). (Lyly once quipped that, “to give reason for fancy were to weigh the fire and measure the wind” – and this gives us some reason to suspect that this poem may be in part an homage to Lyly himself.)12 The point of the biblical passage Lyly quoted is that no one but God can understand certain occurrences; to try to do so would be as futile as to try to gauge such unmeasurable phenomena as wind and fire. Certainly the narrator of “Where Fancy” confronts the unfathomable and runs into an impasse in his heart and mind by the end of the poem. “O that I might declare the rest,” (italics added) the narrator cries out in stanza five, mentioning there the “toies” (poems) he would hope to allow a proper imagination (fancy) to turn in his mind. But instead, in the first line of the sixth stanza, we discover that “fine Conceit dares not declare anything” and the narrator, who “blushes and feare[s] to tell [his] woe,” decides that he “durst” not challenge Silence, who has “force[d]” his “will” [only t]o wish for wit when hope is past” (ll. 17–18). Silent, hopeless, and plagued by a bewildering excess of allegorical characters jostling about in his mind, the narrator of this poem embodies an extreme deficiency of creative ambition. Byrd’s music, with its stable, unmoving nature, described above, calls attention to this sad, pusillanimous, condition. “O you that hear this voice” (BE 12: 16) is a poem by Sidney. Not only was Byrd the first to bring this into print, he was perhaps one of only a very few who saw it in manuscript form prior to publication.13 In Sidney’s Astrophil & Stella, “O you” fits, as the 6th song, into a cluster (nos. 5–9) that falls between the 86th and the 87th sonnets of Sidney’s sequence.14 It functions in Astrophil in a manner similar to that of Byrd’s set: as a counterpart to the work before it. In Sidney’s 5th song, which appears just before “O you” in the Astrophil sequence, Stella is described as a 10

Judith Dundas, “Allegory as a Form of Wit,” Studies in the Renaissance 11 (1964): 223–33, at 225. 11 R. Warwick Bond (ed.), The Complete Works of John Lyly, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1902), 1:248. Quoted in Felicity A. Hughes, “Psychological Allegory in The Faerie Queene III. XI–XII,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 29 (1978): 129–46, at 141. 12 John Lyly, Euphues. Anatomy of Wyt (London, 1578), fol. 37v; see also fol. 74r. 13 A point recently emphasized by John Milsom in “Byrd, Sidney, and the Art of Melting,” Early Music 31 (2003): 437–50, at 437. 14 Sir Philip Sidney, Astrophel and Stella (London, 1591), 55–56.

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murderer, thief, witch, and devil. In Byrd’s Psalmes “O you” is followed by a scathing critique of women in general (namely, Oxford’s “If women could be fair,” BE 12: 17, see below). Thus, in his sequence, Byrd both respects and neatly reverses the oppositional pattern set by Sidney himself. In form, tone, and function, Sidney’s 6th song may best be described as a hymn of praise. It also fits the form of an eclogue débat and its connection to “Where Fancy” is clear. “O you” involves another hearing at the “barre … of delight,” as Philip Brett contends.15 This time, however, Reason tries to control the case, for Common Sense, the original arbitrator of the debate, becomes too easily swayed by all the arguments for Stella’s voice and face, as presented by “gentle lawiers” (l.  14). Thus Reason, “princesse hie” (l.  49), must step in at the end to serve as something of an appellate judge. At this point the poem ends, so we never learn who wins the debate, Stella’s voice or her face. Is this poem then a failure, as some have suggested? To address this, the literary scholar James Finn Cotter argued that because “poetry is allegorized in Music and Beauty and orientated toward Reason[,] if the lyric is to succeed, its ‘appeal’ must be to reason, ‘Whose throne is in the mind.’”16 Cotter went on to conclude that “the sixth song itself does succeed and is among Sidney’s masterpieces in its wedding of rhythm and gesture.”17 Byrd’s music for the poem, I would argue, offers the listener the right vehicle to appreciate the qualities Cotter admired, although Byrd may have taken a slightly different view of the poem’s success. Reason never serves a judgment and thus there is a sense at the end that this process of extolling music and beauty, as embodied in a Petrarchan Lady, could go on forever. Byrd’s bassus here moves about much more markedly than in the song before it, although it still fulfills a harmony-defining role in the texture. As the first two phrases of the tune end a tone above the pitch on which they start, an increase in rhythmic activity and pace of harmonic change is encouraged, as it were, by the “first singing part” (mm. 1–4). Despite such movement, however, Byrd keeps prominent a sense of periodic structure. In his choice to set two stanzas rather than one and to change the meter (to triple time) and texture for the second half (mm. 13–30), he ends with what might be viewed musically as a choral refrain in the style of an anthem. As he features the same prominent long–short–short–short–short– long rhythmic pattern of the first section as a motive in the second, he reveals again his attention to creative tune construction. Overall, with Fancy no longer involved in the proceedings, the path for action, in terms of poetic ambition, seems now to be wide open, although, as Byrd’s music suggests (see below), the ending remains problematic, as now, instead of becoming stalled, the poetic material becomes ever more difficult to bring to a point of closure. Sidney dealt with a similar problem. In Astrophil there is the sense that the 6th song of the set is an inspirational force, providing for Sidney enough momentum to produce several related works on the theme of Stella’s voice and face. It all 15

Brett, “Songs of William Byrd,” 52. James Finn Cotter, “The Songs in Astrophil and Stella,” Studies in Philology 67 (1970): 178–200, at 190. 17 Ibid., 190. 16

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comes devastatingly to a stop, however, in the 8th song, when Stella finally speaks. At this much anticipated point, she, to the alarm of the reader and narrator, asks Astrophil to “cease in these effects to prove … [his] love [for her].”18 “Passion rent,” Astrophil reacts immediately, crying out “therewith my song is broken.”19 In Byrd’s collection the danger of Stella’s stiflingly negative reaction is never realized, but it is perhaps hinted at in his overall strategy in setting the poem to music. As in his setting of the second part of Psalm 119 (“How shall,” BE 12: 4), he chooses here to set two stanzas of a poem that consists altogether of nine. In doing this he creates a problem for those who attempt fully to realize the work. During the last stanza performers must either stop in the middle of the song – when the words come to an end – or repeat the whole stanza to accommodate all the music that was provided for a two-stanza strophe. As this piece is clearly divided musically into two parts (one in duple and the other in triple meter), both solutions seem viable. Byrd even ends both sections similarly, bringing the tune-bearing “first singing part” to a close before the accompanying parts reach their final cadence, allowing in each case the auditor sufficient musical time to let the points sink in. How one interprets the poem may best determine which performance option should be followed.20 Those who decide that Reason can be fully trusted should probably repeat the last stanza, as Philip Brett recommends (BE 16, p. 105). This would double the musical space allotted to Reason’s deus ex machina-like appearance in the poem and emphasize her role as a “princesse hie.” But for those who believe that Reason could not settle a matter such as this, the piece might more effectively end at the halfway point, i.e., when the words run out (m. 12). However potentially perverse this latter idea may initially seem from a compositional standpoint, it provides a clear musical analogue for this open-ended poem. It would not be beyond Byrd’s literary understanding of the poem and its role in his (and Sidney’s) sequence, for the composer to realize that he could emphasize the unsettled nature of this poem’s conclusion by offering an unresolved musical ending as well. In Sidney’s Astrophil the narrator’s reasonable ambitions were ultimately thwarted by his lover’s unreasonable fancy. Not to anticipate this could be seen as 18

Ibid., 194. Ibid. 20 One solution that I would not recommend is the one followed by Dame Emma Kirkby and the viol consort Fretwork in their recent recording “William Byrd: Consort Songs” (Harmonia Mundi, 2005). Here the third and fourth stanzas are repeated to the same A section, which results in an ABAABABAB (quasirondeau) pattern. The problem with this inconsistent alteration of musical sections is that it disrupts the back-and-forth element of a song proposing two viewpoints and musically possessing two distinct parts. Thus it defies dramatic purpose as well as likely authorial intention to shift the stanzas in this way. As it brings matters so smoothly to a close in a situation where the debate should be understood as going on forever – with both sides flattering ever more a single subject – it also defeats the poetic point. This otherwise fine recording of “O you” by Kirkby and Fretwork confirms, however, that the A and B sections, if not wholly autonomous, are distinct enough as musical entities to suggest that Byrd did indeed take the trouble to ensure the viability of an “inconclusive” conclusion as a musical response to Sidney’s conceit. 19

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an oversight: to ignore Fancy completely would be to rely too much on Reason. The latter seems to be Byrd’s point, which he makes by placing “O you” after “Where Fancy.” But he emphasizes the potential imbalance even further by placing a poetic diatribe against women – Oxford’s “If women could be fair” (BE 12: 17) – after Sidney’s ambitious hymn of praise. As he had done before, in the section on temperance (see Chapter 2), Byrd uses poetic means to place into a reconciliation scheme two of the most notorious courtier enemies during the French Match period, casting both, this time, as exponents of excess and again putting the Sidney party in better light with the Queen. Had he not chosen the conditional case, Oxford could have used “If women” to show just how effectively honorable actions could be governed by the ideals of Petrarchan courtly love. The implicit connection to someone like Elizabeth would then no doubt have been obvious to many. But Oxford did not affirm anything in this poem, which, in Byrd’s collection, comes off as something of a humorous but firmer statement of the renunciation of love theme that his auditors were first introduced to in the refrain, “chil love no more,” of “Though Amarillis” (BE 12:12).21 Syncopations pervade “If women’s” texture and tend to highlight what by this time might be described as the usual chromatic shifts that portray special, or unexpected ideas – usual, as these shifts were by then quite prominent in the contemporary Italian madrigal tradition (see, for example, shifts from D major to B♭ major in m. 9, see Ex. 3.1a, and G major to g minor, with the contratenor moving chromatically in m. 19). But what is perhaps more conspicuous about Byrd’s musical choices in “If women” is the sheer rhythmic variety he packs at times within the confines of a single tactus (or modern measure). The level of complexity in the interaction within the parts of this song as a whole suggests that Byrd intended to saturate the texture with dissimilar patterns. By the end the rhythmic complications build up to a such point of tension (mm. 33–36) that the contratenor does literally “forget itself” to sound off a triadic figure as a final, satisfying, solo flourish after all the other parts have hit and held their last pitches (m. 37, see Ex. 3.1b). Byrd does not totally eschew motivic cohesion within the piece; he emphasizes, for example, the interval of a fourth in some adjacent points. But within the context of the Psalmes set overall, this work stands out for its display of motivic diversity. In keeping with the oppositional theme of Oxford’s poem of renunciation, Byrd here reverses his usual tendency to provide unifying rhythmic devices in his songs and opts instead to create something approaching unruliness and disarray. “Ambitious love” (BE 12: 18) begins with nearly three full bars wherein all five parts perform a strictly homorhythmic passage; it is the only song of the set to start this way. On the one hand, this uniformity contrasts with the ending of “If women,” where one part somewhat unusually did not come to a halt with the others. On the other hand, it likens “Ambitious love” to “I joy not” (BE 12: 11), which opened the whole “sonets” section with a similar homorhythmic gesture. As he had with “I joy not,” in editing this piece Edmund Fellowes reflects the hemiola and syncopations 21

On Oxford’s poetry see Steven W. May, “The Poems of Edward DeVere, Seventeenth Earl of Oxford and of Robert Devereux, Second Earl of Essex,” Studies in Philology 77 (1980): 1–132, at 40–41 and 81–82. May notes that Byrd’s Psalmes is the earliest known source of the poem.

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with a series of meter changes. In this case the music for line 1 appears with the ­following sequence of time signature: 2/2, 3/2, 3/2, 3/2, 3/4, 3/4, 2/2.22 22

Edmund H. Fellowes, ed., The Collected Works of William Byrd revised under the direction of Thurston Dart, vol. 12, Psalmes, Sonets & Songs (1588) revised by Philip Brett (London, 1963), 90. “Ambitious love” does not have the words “first singing part” marked in the edition. After noting the lack of this telltale indication of a 1 + 4 origin, Joseph Kerman finds “transitional” evidence of vocal conception in the parts, encouraging modern performances with voices. Kerman’s claim that “this piece forms a sharp contrast with … ‘As I beheld’” (BE 12: 20), which also does not

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Formally, Byrd casts “Ambitious love,” an actual sonnet, into two sections, each of which he repeats. The opening octave he divides evenly into two sections of four lines, the first rhyming abab: the second, cdcd. Within these sections Byrd repeats the first four lines (mm. 1–14) to serve as the music for the next four (mm. 15–28) according to the rhyme scheme, although with some minor alterations. The final sestet Byrd treats as a single, third section.23 In this case three lines form the basic unit, and the music for the first three (mm. 29–37) are basically repeated (mm. 38–48) to reflect the efe gfg pattern of the rhyme scheme. All sections begin with a musical gesture similar to that of the opening, which, in its reiterative quality, tends to accentuate the uniformity of this work and its opposition to the irregular piece that appeared before it. Textually, “Ambitious love” also contrasts with Oxford’s “If women” (BE 12: 17). In the latter, men are chastised as foolish for entering into “bond[s]” of “service” (ll. 3–4) to women. In “Ambitious love” women of beauty are so firmly reinstated as an inspirational force for action that it all culminates with the plucky exhortation: “if it be thy foule disgrace to slide” (l. 13) after an attempt to surmount “[t]hy climing thoughts,” “thy brave attempt shall yet excuse thy fall” (ll. 12, 14). What is intriguing, as far as Byrd’s sequence is concerned, is that this reversal in viewpoint is achieved through the guidance of Love. Cupid, who had been deposed in “Who likes” (BE 12: 13) is restored, five songs later, in “Ambitious Love” to the position of powerful leader in this final song of the “ambition” quartet. This is a strange development within the sequence at large. Within the group itself, the highlighted appearance of the god in “Ambitious love” is much less remarkable. Since “Who likes” follows directly upon a wholesale rejection of womankind as represented in “If women,” it is fitting that Love reasserts himself here as an enabling force for action. To trace the poetic thread through all four poems of this four-song section is to realize that the pursuit of virtue demands that the great man find a workable source of inspiration. That pusillanimity – as Aristotle emphasized – is not an option for those seeking the virtuous path, becomes clear when Fancy stifles creativity in “Fancy fond.” Nor should one be wholly subjected to Reason if Reason has given itself over to Beauty (both visual and sonic), as Byrd’s pairing of “O you” and “If women” seems obviously to suggest. It must be some form of love, ultimately, that provides the necessary impetus for ambitious action. Although they are inconsistent in their treatment of Cupid, “Who likes” and “Ambitious love” share a unified purpose, namely to encourage men to idealize women in a way that leads them toward honorable pursuits, which, significantly, may be seen to symbolize and legitimize productivity and loyalty to Elizabeth among her subjects. include a “first singing part,” however, shows that he views the lack of identification as insufficient evidence of Byrd’s intent; and Kerman similarly argues that BE 12: 17 was conceived fully as a 1 +4 song, despite the lack of a “first singing part” indication. See Joseph Kerman, The Elizabethan Madrigal: A Comparative Study (New York, 1962), 112. 23 The form of this sonnet, with its clear-cut octet and sestet, reflects an early trend in the English tradition. See Katharine A. Craik, “Shakespeare and the Elizabethan Sonnet and Lyric,” in The Cambridge History of English Poetry, ed. Michael O’Neill (Cambridge, 2010), 154–73, at 156.

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“Ambitious Love” reasserts the theme of Courtly Love at the close of a quartet of songs that explores great ambition. Thematically, this final song of the set offers an answer to the propositions thwarting righteous action that were conveyed in the three works before it. But, because Cupid is not the answer, there is a musical and poetic tension within “Ambitious Love” that leaves the auditor unsatisfied. It is therefore fitting that in the song to follow, namely “What pleasure have great princes,” Byrd matches bucolic music to a text that extols the simple and pastoral over the “vaine and sumptious” (l. 12) pride of a royal favorite.

I

PRIDE (BE 12: 19–22)

n the Aristotelian scheme, pride was a virtue nearly synonymous with magnanimity. Extremes associated with a person’s sense of self-importance, such as avarice and vainglory, contrast with the Christian virtue of humility.24 But in Aristotle’s view it is impossible to achieve a properly mediated condition of pride without nobility of character. For Aristotle, it was the virtue that empowered all others.25 In exploring this theme, Byrd moved from the court life of his own time through the pastoral, historical, and mythological worlds of rustic herdsmen, ancient soldiers, and gods. In doing so he presented a whole array of oppositional ideas, deficiencies, and excesses associated with pride. But, in the end, he found a way to bring the subject back again pointedly to the question of dutiful love and loyalty that he voiced in terms Elizabeth would surely have found supportive of her role as reigning Queen. With the possible exception of “Although the heathen poets,” all the poems in this quartet (BE 12: 19–22) deal with forms of living. In the first of them, “What pleasure have great princes” (BE 12: 19), herdsmen are championed and ambitious courtiers are condemned in what turns out to be a strong statement of praise for the quiet and temperate life. The anti-court sentiments expressed in “What pleasure” might seem odd to discover in a collection of decidedly courtly verse. But to express disdain for the courtier, ironically, was rather common among the poets who experienced (and often excelled in) courtly life, Sidney being the most prominent of this group.26 That Sidney’s first Arcadia (Old Arcadia) was written in a rustic setting during a period of banishment from the Queen’s presence is something most of his biographers accept as likely, and it forms an important part of the poet’s legend.27 Byrd surely knew something about Sidney’s situation and reputation, and it seems wholly possible that he alludes to it here. By this point in the Psalmes, indeed, a 24

See Eileen Sweeny, “Vice and Sin (Ia IIae, qq. 71–89),” in The Ethics of Aquinas, ed. Stephen J. Pope (Washington, DC, 2002), 151–68, at 163. 25 Roger Crisp, “Aristotle on Greatness of Soul,” in Blackwell Guide to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, ed. Richard Kraut (Oxford, 2006), 158–78; Hardie, “Magnanimity,” 63–79. 26 Arthur F. Marotti, “‘Love is Not Love’: Elizabethan Sonnet Sequences and the Social Order,” ELH 49 (1982): 396–428, at 400–06. 27 See Marion Wynne-Davies, Sidney to Milton, 1580–1660 (London, 2003), 20, and Andrew D. Weiner, Sir Philip Sidney and the Poetics of Protestantism: A Study of Contexts (Minneapolis, 1979).

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Sidneian subtext might have been quite plain to many of Byrd’s ­contemporaries. If so, it would become only more obvious as the set progressed. Byrd’s music for “What pleasure,” as noted above, contrasts with that of “Ambitious Love,” which appears just before it. “Ambitious Love” called for challenging music of a certain rhythmic complexity. Following upon the suggestions of Philip Brett, who describes “What Pleasure” as possessing a “genuine tunefulness” that “conjur[es] up a generalized image of the carefree rustic life,” it is possible to detect in this song an ingenious match of rhythmic economy and poetic simplicity that makes it altogether different in nature from “Ambitious Love.”28 The entire “first singing part” of “What pleasure,” an obvious tune, is built up from only three rhythmic ideas. Two of these appear in the first two lines (mm. 4–7). The same rhythms are then simply repeated, with a similarly shaped melody, for the following two (mm. 8–11). The third and last rhythmic idea appears in the first line of the final couplet (mm. 13–14), and this too is repeated, with a fully sequential melody, for the final line (mm. 15–17). The matching downward feminine endings of lines 1, 3, 5, and 6 (each with seven syllables as opposed to six in lines 2 and 4) add a pleasing coherence to the whole melody. In “What pleasure,” Byrd relaxes into an appropriately pastoral mode, as he returns to a more pervasively imitative texture.29 On the one hand, this keeps the overall theme of simplicity intact by restricting further the rhythmic variety, as each part performs the same patterns. But, on the other, his decision to make subtle variations among the parts as the infectious motives pervade the texture saves this work from a stodginess that might easily have been the result of such a notably restrictive use of musical material. “What pleasure” shares with “My mind” an overtly sententious subject that Byrd treats not in a ponderous spirit that might have seemed appropriate to another composer, but rather with an engaging liveliness that may reflect his appreciation of a “certain hidden … power” in the Arcadian vision he could bring out in his music (BE 5, p. xxxvi). There can be no question that the music of “What pleasure” exudes contentment, even if of a very notably Stoic brand, yet it is questionable whether Byrd wished to suggest that with this song he had reached a moment of true equipoise within the sequence as a whole. The “favorite … [w]hose pride is vain and sumptious” is condemned in this poem along with gold-seeking merchants and dishonest lawyers, all of whom might be accused of excessive pride in the form of avarice. The herdsman who is praised, conversely, cares not at all for gold, values clothes only for their utilitarian function, and maintains a “poore and plaine … diet” (l. 29). But for all his temperate virtues, this simple herdsman could be seen to exemplify a deficiency of pride, however “merrie and quiet” (l. 30) his life might seem. Aristotle granted that, 28

Philip Brett, William Byrd and his Contemporaries: Essays and a Monograph, ed. Joseph Kerman and Davitt Maroney (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 2007), 100. 29 Manuscripts associated with the Paston family preserve another setting of the first stanza of BE 12: 16, ascribed in one of them (a lute source) to “mr Byrde”; see BE 16: 5. Thurston Dart suggested that this short five-part vocal work might have served as a “burden-like chorus to a (possibly solo) performance of the 1588 song on some special occasion” (BE 16, p. 189). If this were the case, the decidedly homophonic texture of the a cappella setting would contrast well with the imitation featured in the song published in 1588.

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“he who is worthy of little and thinks himself worthy of little is temperate, but,” he goes on, that small-minded person is “not proud; for pride implies greatness.”30 Within “What pleasure” Byrd does not dramatize the state of deficiency that might easily be detected in the song. But, true to form, he uses the next song, “As I beheld, I saw a heardman wild” (BE 12: 20) to review the situation. As with the lovesick shepherd of “Though Amaryllis” (BE 12: 12) and the narrator of “Where fancy,” (BE 12: 15) the wild herdsman of “As I beheld” appears before us trapped in a love-induced state of unproductive despair. This character discovers that he cannot as easily drive out the thought of a lost lover from his heart as he can blot out an image of her that he had inscribed on the bark of a tree. In this mini-drama in sonnet form, the narrator comes upon the herdsman and describes his actions in the first two quatrains. In the sestet (a quatrain and a final couplet) the herdsman himself speaks out. As with “Ambitious Love,” Byrd uses the sonnet’s rhyme scheme as a basic structural determinant for his music. In this case, however, he adds some material and alters the scheme to enhance the drama. Byrd adds a short section at the end of the octave in order to introduce the herdsman (mm. 39–44) and a short codetta to sum things up at the very end (mm. 93–94). He changes matters more substantially within the sestet. Similarities in the rhythms of the opening points of the ninth (mm. 45–46) and eleventh lines (mm. 55–56) suggest he is hinting at the repetition scheme he had used for “Ambitious love.” But this sonnet has a final couplet, and a varied rhyme scheme in the third quatrain (efgf) that prevents Byrd from following such a pattern.31 In dealing with this special case, he goes to special trouble to link the opening of the sestet (mm. 45–46) with the final couplet (mm. 65–68). The rhythms of these openings are identical and the harmony is quite similar, although the pitches are not repeated. He takes the further step of repeating the music and the text of the rhyming final couplet, in the same way he usually does for songs of the ababcc variety (mm. 63–78, 78–94). The musical reiterations highlight the herdsman’s own words, giving them an individual quality that heightens their dramatic effect. It also places rhetorical emphasis on the last two lines, “but all in vaine it booteth [profits] not god wot [knows], what printed is in heart, on tree to blot” (ll.  13–14), emphasizing the futility of the herdsman’s attempt to erase from his mind the idea of a lover who rejected him. The extended length of the song, which is in part the result of Byrd’s large-scale repetition of the final lines, as well as the dramatic quality of his music overall, adds weight to the sentiments of this poem, which are strongly confirmed by the end. Byrd’s point in emphasizing the text of the last lines in this way, I would argue, is to offset the wholly positive view of rustic life that was championed in “What pleasure.” In this song there could be no question that this humble herdsman, haunted by a lost love, is not living a satisfactory life. “Although the heathen poets” (BE 12: 21) is the shortest work of the set and might properly be viewed as a fragment. Poetically it consists of only two lines, 30 31

Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. B. Jowett (Sioux Falls, SD, 2007), 62. Perhaps, as an anonymous reviewer of this manuscript suggested, “with great dispight” (l. 11) is an error for “with great dispaire,” in which case the rhyme scheme of the third quatrain would be the expected efef.

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which Byrd treats as a final couplet, repeating the music in full with the same text. For once the point of the text is rather straightforward, at least on its surface: heathen poets praise the god Apollo simply and solely as a peerless musician. Despite the brevity, this song presents problems and possibilities that place it in an ­important position in the sequence. The first word of the song – namely “[a]lthough” (l. 1) – throws into relief its fragmentary nature. The reader, one might assume, was probably meant to ponder over the matter of what the missing text above it might have been. Given that it should stand in contrast with what we discover later, it would be logical for the missing material to be a foil for the lines Byrd set. They likely would have suggested something less praiseworthy about Apollo that this final couplet would then counteract. As part of his image as sun god, Apollo symbolized the golden mean. “Nothing in excess” was inscribed on a tablet in the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo in Delphi.32 Byrd was surely aware of Apollo’s association with the Aristotelian mean. If he was aware of the tablet too and had the image in mind, it would have been typically inventive of the composer to create a musical epigram to remind his audiences of Apollo’s pithy motto. Apollo was also well known from the Iliad and Ovid’s Metamorphosis for his brutal reactions to the hubris of mortals who came within his sphere of interest. For example, Apollo flayed to death the flautist Marsyas when the latter dared to suggest he could produce music that exceeded Apollo’s own.33 With his sister, Diana, Apollo also killed all twelve children of Niobe after the latter had bragged about her many offspring to Leto, Apollo’s mother.34 Many perceive Apollo and Diana’s vengeance on Niobe, who deeply mourned her children forever after, as extraordinarily punishing. But the actions of Leto’s two offspring were rarely condemned. In the words of Byrd’s contemporary Abraham Fraunce, “Niobe, for her excessiue pride and contempt of God, [was] worthily plagued, yea so extreamely plagued in those very thinges wherein she chiefely vaunted.”35 These stories about the danger of overstepping one’s place, admittedly a rather commonplace occurrence in the myths, resonated strongly in the Tudor era. In his The shepheardes calendar Edmund Spenser recalled Niobe’s fate in a poem about Elizabeth.36 Within verses extolling the Queen, he suggested Elizabeth’s (moon) light was so bright as nearly to inspire again the wrath of Apollo, god of the sun. 32

Andrew M. Miller, From Delos to Delphi: A Literary Study of the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (Leiden, 1986), 108. 33 See Joanna Niżyńska, “Marsyas’s Howl: The Myth of Marsyas in Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Zbigniew Herbert’s ‘Apollo and Marsyas’,” Comparative Literature 53 (2001): 151–69. 34 See Syrithe Pugh, Spenser and Ovid (Aldershot, 2005), 262–77. 35 Abraham Fraunce, The third part of the Countess of Pembrokes Yuychurch: Entituled, Amintas dale (London, 1591), fol. 14r. 36 Edmund Spenser, The shepheardes calender conteyning twelve æglogues proportionable to the twelue monethes (London, 1579), fos. 11v–14r. Peter C. Herman, in “The Shepheardes Calender and Renaissance Antipoetic Sentiment,” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 32 (1992): 15–33, intriguingly suggests that through the Niobe reference Spenser had illustrated his own “artistic pride,” 24.

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Even if Spenser’s poem is suggestive, it is impossible to be sure if Byrd meant to evoke anything of Apollo’s strong reactions against Niobe or any others who exhibited an excess of pride in “Although the heathen.” But there can be little question that he was indulging here in a prideful moment of his own. Apollo was the god of poetry and music, which were basically inseparable in the thought of the time. Not surprisingly, given his posthumous poetic fame, Sidney, the poet most obviously celebrated in Byrd’s set, was often associated with Apollo, not only in the great outpouring of funeral elegies (of which Byrd’s last two songs in the set were a part), but also in the editions of his poetry and prose after his death.37 There was even a depiction of Apollo on one of Sidney’s imprese for the tiltyard.38 As these imprese were known to feature epigrams, puzzles, and texts with hidden meanings, there could be a connection here between Byrd’s elusive fragment and Sidney that reached beyond the latter’s reputation. It is likely in any case that the evocation of Apollo at this point was part of the Sidneian subtext of the collection, which was now building toward a climax of sorts. But of course Byrd, the composer of all the music of the set, is the musician who would have first come to mind when encountering this song extolling Apollo. Canonic works had long served musicians as the most appropriate vehicle for skillful compositional display. Although technically non-canonic, “Although the heathen” is much more pervasively imitative than the works surrounding it. More importantly, it is certainly worthy of the composer. Byrd might purposely have associated himself both with Sidney and Apollo in “Although the heathen,” in a clever, humorously “excessive” expression of professional pride. In recent times many have observed that music becomes “higher, faster, louder” in a competitive environment.39 Although we have no means beyond the density of the texture to determine the relative volume of Byrd’s “Although the heathen,” there is plenty of evidence that he extolled his Apollonian art with music of a notably vigorous pace and finely judged registral peaks. Additionally, the imitative entries are so regular and follow upon each other so rapidly that the song takes on an almost mechanistic aspect, as a moto perpetuo. If Byrd was a little late in joining in on the movement, there is nonetheless here a look of the note nere madrigal of the 1540s, with its horror fusae (psychological fear of fast notes), suggesting that the notion of a challenging pace was meant to impress those who looked at the notation (relative to other works) along with those who heard the piece in performance.40 37

Although Sidney was perhaps most powerfully evoked as Apollo by Thomas Nashe in his unauthorized Astrophel and Stella (London, 1591), A3v, even James VI seems to have decided that Apollo was an appropriate god through which to commemorate Sidney; see Alexander Nevill (ed.), Academiae Cantabrigiensis Lachrymae, tumulo Nobilissimi Equitis, D. Phillippi Sidneij Sacrat (London, 1587), K1r. 38 Emma Marshall Denkinger, “The Impresa Portrait of Sir Philip Sidney in the National Portrait Gallery,” PMLA 47 (1932): 17–45. 39 See, for example, Lisa McCormick, “Higher, Faster, Louder: Representations of the International Music Competition,” Cultural Sociology 3 (2009): 5–30. 40 See James Haar, “The ‘Note Nere’ Madrigal,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 18 (1965): 22–41. Haar notes that Curt Sacks coined the term horror fusae in his Rhythm and Tempo: A Study in Music History (New York, 1953), 214.

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˙ & ˙ &

Ex. 3.2  BE 12: 21 “Although the heathen poets,” mm. 3–8

˙

Œ œ Œ œ ˙

Ó

Ó

did

A - POL

did

& œœ œœ œœ œœ ˙˙ & ÓÓ

˙˙

praise,

˙˙

LO fa

-

œœ œœ

œœ œ œœ œœ ˙˙ œ

hea - then po - ets

? ˙

œ œ

hea - then po - ets

? ˙ Al

Al - though the

&

&

˙

A

-

did

A - POL

-

LO

did A - POL

-

LO fa

POL - LO

˙

Mu

œ œ ˙

-

hea - then po

˙

˙

sic

sweet,

˙

fa

fa

œ ˙

œ fa˙

ests did

-

ests did

˙ his Mu

Mu

-

- sic

sic

& œ˙ ˙ ˙ # œ V his MuMu

-sic sic

? ˙œ ˙ V ˙ #œ one

his Mu

? ˙

one

who

-

˙

who

sic

œ

˙

sweet, Mu

œ

œ

for

his

Mu

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for

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sic

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œ

˙.

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A - POL

œ

for

his Mu - sic sweet,

œ œ.

j ˙. œj œ ˙ .

˙

œ

œ œ . œ œ praise,

-

LO

fa - mous

-

LO

fa - mous

˙

œ

for his Mu - sic sweet,

œ

as

praise,

as

œ œ œ w

œ œ w Œ noœ peerœ had in hisœ days.

œ

sweet,

Œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙. Œ œ sweet, œ œ œ noœ peer ˙ had in hisœ days, ˙

no peer had in

his

days,

had

sweet, in

his in in no days, peer had

his his

days,

peer had had

œ

no peer, had

who

Œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙. no peer had in his days.

˙ Mu

œœ œœ œœ . œ Jœ

one

˙

˙

œ˙ œ œ œ

as

˙˙

Œ œ

Mu

sic

his

œœ

mous praise, as one who

peer had in his days,

sweet, his

for

œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ ## œœ mous praise, as one who for his Mu - sic sweet, his mous praise, as one who for his Mu - sic sweet, his œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ . œJœ œœ œ œ œ œ œ J œœ

peer

sweet Mu no peer, sweet, sic - had

sweet

ŒŒ

his

one who

œ œ œ œ ˙

sweet, his

-

-

as one who for

as

∑∑

mous praise, as one who

-

Œ œ œ œ œ Œ œœ œ œ œ œ

Ó

Ó

mous praise,

œ hadœ inœ hisœ days, ˙

Œ noœ

j j & œ. œ œ. œ #œ œ œ œ œ & ˙ for

-

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-

j j & Muœ . -œ sicœ . œ sweet, # œ œ œ œ noœ his Mu - sic

-

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for

-

A - POL - LO fa - mous praise,

œ œ heaœ - thenœ po˙

- though the

fa

Ó

Ó

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ŒŒ

LO

-

œA -œ POL - LO V œœ œ œœ œœ œ œ ˙˙ V œ praise,

-

œ ˙ ˙

œ

jj œœ .. œœ œœ œœ ww

A - POL

LO fa - mous praise,

& &

œ œ ˙˙

-

-

Œ˙

sic

sic

˙

sweet,

no

Œ œ œ ˙ œ˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ œœ œœ œ œ˙ ˙ œ ˙œ ˙ ˙ œ in

sweet,

œœœ ˙

sweet,

no

his days, in

˙

no

peer,

˙

peer,

his

peer had

in

his days,

œ

had

˙

had

œ˙ œ ˙Œ œ Œ˙ œ œ˙ œ no peer

days, no peer no

Œœ œœ œ˙ œ œŒ . œ œ ˙œ œ J no peer, had

days,

in

no

his

peer had

Œ œ œ œ œ. œ ˙ J no peer, had in

his

“Although the heathen,” already fragmentary in design, goes by quickly. But it is packed with showy detail (see Ex. 3.2). Gauging his entries so that the highest part moves quickly up to an e” and then exits as the lower parts fill in the corresponding parts of the texture, Byrd calls his auditor’s attention to the capitalized word “APOLLO” by reaching up, after a quick reiteration of the e”, to an even higher f”. To celebrate the moment, the bassus and tenor join the superius in a short spate of homorhythmic iambics as the melody moves back downward. Meanwhile the parts that had not collaborated rhythmically – the contratenor and medius – try to steal the triumvirate’s combined thunder, with the former repeating the opening motive and the latter flaunting an enlivening dotted figure at a forceful interval of a fourth, before turning to an insistently repeated single pitch.

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Thus Byrd uses four emphatic devices to evoke “APOLLO” when, under normal conditions, any one of them would have sufficed.41 But for all the boisterous extravagance of this little Olympic competition in rhetorical assertiveness among Byrd’s parts, the whole gesture is meant to serve as foil: as the means by which he will outdo Apollo and call attention to the real subject of this song – the “Musicke sweet” for which he is alone responsible. After holding back the voices at the top of the range, again for dramatic effect, Byrd adds an attention-grabbing scalar sweep upward to the same climactic f” for the word “Musicke” (m. 6). And then, to depict its “sweet[ness],” rather than to use rhythmic means, he reharmonizes the same basic line, shifting as far afield (for Byrd) as A major (in this C oriented work) before arriving unexpectedly (because of the f”), if characteristically, on a D major harmony (featuring the cross-relation f♯’, m. 6), enhancing the ending with what would later be termed a Picardy third. When, in the next phrase, Byrd takes his auditor even higher still, to a g” appropriately, for the phrase “no peere had in his daies” (l.  2, m. 8) the listener who noted the two earlier climactic f”s could have grasped that Byrd was dangerously suggesting, Marsyas-like, that those “days” when Apollo stood peerless in the field were now past. For the student of Byrd’s songs it is fitting that the composer chooses a couplet to display so much compositional prowess. The final couplet, where the poems of these sets tend to make their points most forcefully, is also the place where Byrd placed special emphasis on the lines through his musical choices. Even if this tribute to Apollo was meant to represent an excess of pride, Byrd shows here that his thoughtful approach to the meaning of his texts extends beyond consideration of the Sidneian, Apollonian, and Aristotelian references to focus on his own musical contributions. Following “Although” is the truly violent, unabashedly manly, and thoroughly infectious “In fields abroad” (BE 12: 22), the fourth work of this quartet about pride, which presents a solution to all the problems presented by the works Byrd had placed before it. Now, to the sonic image of “trumpets shril” (l. 1), we hear about all the “gallant shot[s]” (l. 5) “gallant shippe[s]” (l. 7), and “statelie stamping stead[s] [steeds]” with “fierie red” “eies” (ll. 13, 15) that “would force a swain that coms of cowards kinde, /to change him selfe and be of noble minde” (ll. 11–12), summing up precisely the point and purpose of this eight-song depiction of magnanimity. Musically, Byrd seems here to respond to the theme of realized masculine greatness with crisp, chiseled motives. Nearly all the points feature a leap of a fourth or fifth or outline those two intervals quite plainly. In the final couplet Byrd does introduce some thirds (e.g., mm. 15–16), but even in a section where thirds usually predominate, he keeps the interval of a fourth prominent in the texture (see mm. 17–33); and, thus, the sound of “trumpets shril” pervades this forthright song extolling military glories. “In fields” remains firmly within a basically diatonic harmonic structure, which moves purposely toward expected goals. But Byrd nonetheless creates a superb 41

The achievement reminds one of Nicholas Hilliard’s miniatures, so valued at the same Elizabethan court, which captivated their viewers with the amount of arresting detail the artist had packed into canvases of such small scope; see Mary Edmond, Hilliard and Oliver: The Lives and Works of Two Great Miniaturists (London, 1983).

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moment of tonal ambiguity with the introduction of E♭s, mainly through the C– E♭–G triad within this solidly F-oriented song (mm. 7–8). In the first stanza, the unexpected harmony colors the words “wher bodies dead, do overspread the ground” (l. 3), adding a daring aura to Byrd’s depiction. As Leofranc Holfred-Strevens may have been the first to discover, Byrd’s poet casts “In fields” into the classic form of a priamel (or climactic catalog). This poetic type, if not named until the 1920s, is quite prominent in the ancient works of Pindar, Ovid, Homer and many others.42 The most often cited and studied example of the kind is the first stanza of Sappho’s Fragment 16.43 In this poem Sappho first describes three objects as beautiful – a company of horseman, a legion of foot soldiers, and a fleet of warships – before declaring that what is most prized, finally, is the person one loves.44 What makes these verses so perfectly representative of the priamel is that they present first a series of valued objects that ultimately serve only to amplify the significance of a most valued object that is mentioned last. Thus Sappho, as literary historians have been quick to point out, did not disdain war as she promoted love in this poem, though some have suggested otherwise.45 Rather she found in the glorious images of cavalry, infantry, and navy the kind of beauty that only the sight of a lover could surpass. What is rather extraordinary, since Sappho’s work was only rediscovered in modern times and was therefore quite likely unknown to poets of Byrd’s era, is that “In fields” closely resembles Sappho’s famous verse.46 Indeed “In fields” duplicates precisely the content of the ancient poem, featuring the exact same items, actually named “sights” in a contemporary manuscript that transmits the poem.47 The two poems appear with the images in a different order. Sappho began with a horseman and followed this with infantry and warships. In “In fields” a “gallant shot” (infantryman, l. 5) is followed by a “gallant shippe” and then by one “who makes his seat a stately ste[e]d.” As in Sappho’s priamel, however, the crucial last object of “In fields” is a “gallant Dame” (l. 19), who is clearly an object of love. Although the connections among “In fields” and Sappho’s verse are striking, there was a possible intermediary. In 1554 Henri Estienne published a Latin translation of a set of sixty Greek poems he believed (or encouraged his readers to believe) were Anacreon’s, but which have since been proven to be by various authors and 42

William H. Race, The Classical Priamel from Homer to Boethius (Leiden, 1982). I wish to thank Leofranc Holford-Strevens for pointing out to me that “In fields” fits the priamel mold. 43 Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer, “Shifting Helen: An Interpretation of Sappho, Fragment 16 (Voigt),” Classical Quarterly, n.s. 50 (2000): 1–6. 44 Ulrich Schmid, Die Priamel der Werte im Griechischen von Homer bis Paulus (Wiesbaden, 1964), 53–58. 45 Garry Wills, “The Sapphic ‘Umwertung Aller Werte’,” American Journal of Philology 88 (1967): 434–42, at 437. 46 Wills, “Sapphic ‘Umwertung,’” 435 n5, discusses the lack of any extant poem with Sappho’s precise images from the classic era, but does note that “horses and ships [do often] occur in … [a number of classical] list[s] of visual splendors.” 47 Houghton Library, Harvard College Library, Harvard University, f MS Eng 1285, fol. 74r. For a description of the manuscript see Arthur Freeman, “The Argument of Meleager,” English Literary Renaissance 1 (1971): 122–31, at 123–25.

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are now referred to as Anacreontea. Of these, the 26th is, as William H. Race has shown, an imitation of Sappho’s Fragment 16: You sing of the Seven against Thebes Someone else sings of Phrygian battle-cries But I sing about the sacking of me, No footsoldier, no ships: Rather a new and different army did it, Striking me with glances from eyes.48 It is easy to see how Byrd’s poet might have gathered enough material from this verse to produce a poem along the lines of “In fields.” Here there is a similar glorification of the military and a turn, at the end, to the depiction of a lover. The categorical element is more consistent in the Anacreontea verse, as the “sacking” force is a “different [kind of] army” (italics added), whereas in “In fields” we enter a whole new sphere with a bedroom at the end, but the reader still greets with surprise the solution in both cases. Estienne’s Latin edition of Anacreontea verse was surely known in England. But, as happens so often in the poems Byrd set, Sidney was the poet who stood closest to the particular topic and source. Not only was Sidney a close friend of Estienne’s, he had penned an ode in “Anacrions kynde of verses.”49 Even Thomas Watson, who otherwise would seem a likely author of an imitation of this nature, was much further distanced from the verse than Sidney.50 Furthermore, although there is no evidence of which I am aware that Sidney had imitated Anacreontea 26 in his Astrophil & Stella sequence (75th sonnet), he did compose a notably ­comparable priamel, as follows: Of all the kings that ever here did raigne, Edward named fourth, as first in praise I name, Not for his faire outside, nor well lined braine; Although lesse gifts impe feathers oft on Fame; Nor that he could young-wise, wise-valiant frame His Sires revenge, joyn’d with a kingdomes gaine: And gain’d by Mars, could yet mad Mars so tame, That Ballance weigh’d what sword did late obtaine. Nor that he made the Floure-deluce so fraid, Though strongly hedg’d of bloudy Lyons pawes, That wittie Lewes to him a tribute paid. 48

William H. Race, Classical Genres and English Poetry (London, 1988), 30. See Henri Estienne’s dedication, “Nobiliss. et modus omnibvs Generosissimo Viro, Philippo Sidneo,” in Herodianou Historion Biblia H. Herodiani Histor. Lib. VIII. Cum Angeli Politiani interpretation … ([Geneva], 1581), sigs. ¶2r–v; Victor Skretkowicz, “Sidney’s Defence of Poetry, Henri Estienne, and Huguenot Nationalist Satire,” Sidney Journal 16 (1998): 3–24, and Katherine Duncan-Jones, “Sidney’s Anacreontics,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 36 (1985): 226–28. 50 Although Watson likely knew the Estienne editions, his actual imitations were based on Ronsard’s verse; see A. E. B. Coldiron, “Watson’s ‘Hekatompathia’ and Renaissance Lyric,” Translation and Literature 5 (1996): 3–25. 49

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Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause, But only for this worthy knight durst proove To loose his Crowne, rather then faile his Love.51 As had Byrd’s poet, Sidney filled what Race has termed the “foil” of this priamel with military images, and both end with the same climactic element, a “worthy knight” devoted to “his Love,” or at least the “sight” of such a figure, in Byrd’s poet’s case.52 The latter had only further glorified visions of a navy and cavalry by mentioning Jason along with the “Percian knight” (l. 18) and his famous horse (see below). But in ranking Edward IV “first in praise” among English rulers Sidney made a case that would seem calculated to surprise his contemporaries, as indeed it surprises literary historians, some of whom do not take him at his word. While Sidney had close enough family connections to Edward IV to cause one scholar to suggest that the poet’s praise for the king was genuine, others, pointing out that Edward IV was often condemned for his lechery and lasciviousness, have been confused by the gesture.53 David Farley-Hills goes so far as to claim it would be “ludicrous” for Sidney genuinely to celebrate such a figure and he cast this sonnet as an intentional “absurdity.”54 This, however, may be going too far. However controversial or notorious Edward IV might have been, Sidney cast him nobly as a “knight” proving his “worth” by not “fail[ing]” a lover, which makes it difficult to dismiss it all as nothing more than satire. In any case, to accept Sidney’s praise as something other than a merely absurd element is to gain a special insight into how well Sidney and Byrd understood the priamel’s function. In the Sappho example it is startling to discover that an individual’s lover would be cast among battle images so universally and uncontroversially praised at the time.55 The Anacreontea imitator dampened the effect, however, by shifting from the second to the first person before the climax (you sing / I sing), reducing the force of the argument (as typical of the lighthearted Anacreon and Anacreontea odes).56 But Sidney, in his sonnet, brought the rhetorical level back up to a nobly 51

Sidney, Astrophel and Stella, 31. Race, Classical Genres, 36. 53 Michael G. Brennan argues that Sidney was not disingenuous in his praise; see his “Philip Sidney’s Astrophel and Stella 75 and King Edward IV,” RES, n.s. 40 (1989): 386–92. On the way Sidney’s commendation has vexed most other interpreters see Daryl W. Palmer, “Edward IV’s Secret Familiarities and the Politics of Proximity in Elizabethan History Plays,” ELH 61 (1994): 279–315, at 285–86. 54 David Farley-Hills, ‘The ‘Argomento’ of Bruno’s De gli eroici furori and Sidney’s Astrophil and Stella,” Modern Language Review 87 (1992): 1–17, at 10–11. 55 In an in-depth analysis Wills points out, “Sappho does not reject [the military elements]. [italics original] She enunciates a principle that makes it impossible to reject what went before” and that “[u]nfortunately, the expectation of rejection that Sappho creates (only to disappoint it) has been so strong that most interpreters follow the trail of this expectation … they do not remark on the odd fact that this personal preference should be stated in such impersonal terms,” “Sapphic ‘Umwertung’,” 437. 56 Sappho Fr. 16 and Anacreontea 26 are compared in Race, Classical Genres, 36, and Patricia A. Rosenmeyer, The Poetics of Imitation: Anacreon and the Anacreontic Tradition (Cambridge, 1992), 166–68. 52

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high pitch by proving that the very opposite condition of Sappho’s accomplishment could obtain as well: that the priamel’s foil elements could gain in stature through their association with its climax. The reevaluation process, then, would work as follows: Sidney’s reader would have moved through most of the poem with a skeptical eye if at all aware of the controversies surrounding Edward IV. But then, if swayed by Sidney’s depiction of the nobleness of Edward’s sacrifice at the end, he or she might well have turned back and ranked higher the merits formerly noted.57 At first glance, Byrd’s “In fields” would seem to represent a priamel more in line with Anacreontea 26, with the foil elements only losing value by the end. But this may only be apparent. Even if he had no idea that he was doing so, with his setting Byrd reestablishes the continuity among the elements of Sappho’s original version in a way that makes his song more noticeably akin to Sidney’s in terms of its rhetorical tone and purpose. The first three “sights” are indeed glorified in “In fields.” The reader easily accepts that the great foot soldier “deserves” no less than the eternally coveted “golden fleece” (l. 6) that Jason first strove for in his seminal mythic quest. In the next stanza, just the glimpse of the great (perhaps Argo-like) ship of “In fields” “cut[ting] the waves” is enough to turn a “coward” into something of a “noble[man]” (ll. 10–12), which would hardly seem a small accomplishment. Finally, the man who sits upon the “princelie” horse described in stanza three of the poem is compared to none other than King Darius the Great (522?–486 BCE), the Persian rival of Alexander (l. 18). But for all the glories presented in these first three stanzas, in the end they are all “disgrast” by the superior qualities of a “gallant dame,” especially when seen with her “pettecoat unlaced” (ll. 19–24). In a purely poetic reading of “In fields,” the demoting effect of the word “disgrast” at the end is difficult to ignore. But what those experiencing the song in performance more likely perceive is something altogether different. For as the strophes go by – with the same music used four times, all the way through for each stanza – the categorically similar images of manly exploits shift into the last stanza in a way that only lifts it all up to the same level of rhetorical force and power. Scenes of magnificent warriors and military forces, I would argue, were hardly “disgrast” in any real way in the end. Indeed, when the four songs depicting the virtue of pride are viewed together, the overall effect is to broaden out the whole section into something of a priamel-like structure, where the military imagery that pervades the music throughout “In fields” brings out finally the sound of action that had been alluded to throughout the entire four-song section on pride, drawing it all to a proper climax. Closer in spirit to Sappho than to her Anacreontea imitator – and even to his own poet, who allowed the last image to disgrace “the rest” (l. 24) – Byrd, with his stirring music and strophic setting, is the one who does the most to maintain a continuity and even a concinnity among the stanzas of this “In fields” priamel, offering, in certain ways, a modification of the poetic message that would satisfy both the Queen and the aspiring courtiers like Sidney who were figuratively represented alongside her in the verse. Byrd ends the octet of songs on greatness with the 57

That poetry should work to instruct the mind was one of the signal points of Sidney’s An Apologie for Poetrie …. (London, 1595).

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same image of an inspirational woman with which he concluded his temperance quartet of songs. But by waiting until the very end to feature the guiding female image in the latter, and by linking that image tightly together with scenes of noble action in his music, he does nothing to diminish the value of the magnanimity he has expressed throughout. It is, again, a perspective on the virtues deeply colored by its Elizabethan context. Along with all the works of this section Byrd, as he traces through the ideas of ambition and pride, noting deficiencies and excesses, and encouraging a mean, consciously or not, allows his music to stand as a shining example of the kind of productive creativity that results when the true inspiration for greatness is properly conceived. 

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Chapter 4

Sonets & Pastoralls, III

I

t is not uniquely postmodernist to contend that women can be magnificent and men can be chaste. Elizabethans believed this as well. The character Marinell of the Faerie Queene, who avoids love out of fear, represents, for example, a virginal chaste man in Edmund Spenser’s epic poem.1 Elizabeth Talbot, aka Bess of Hardwick, commissioned a full set of tapestries depicting women who exemplified a number of virtues.2 In his epitaph for Mary Queen of Scots, which was mounted on her tomb, the Byrd patron Henry Howard, first Earl of Northampton, championed his subject above all for her magnanimity and chastised her (presumably male and female) enemies for their pusillanimity.3 Despite these models, Byrd’s approach to the virtues is starkly gender-specific. Women play pivotal roles in poems that appear before “Constant Penelope” (BE 12: 23) in the book, but only as objects guiding men toward or away from the right view of a virtue. In this last quartet of the middle section of the Psalmes women finally become the focus of interest, and, for the spell of two songs, the primary subject matter as well. There can be no question that “Constant Penelope” concerns marital chastity from a female perspective. Cleverly remaining faithful to an absent Ulysses in the face of many obstacles and for an extraordinarily long period, Penelope was the most well-known example of the virtue. Likewise “La virginella” (BE 12: 24) elegantly depicts an unambiguously feminine virginity. But “Farewell false love” (BE 12: 25) and “The match that’s made” (BE 12: 26) seem neither exclusively about women nor directed exclusively toward a female audience. The feminine virtue of chastity introduced by the first two works is by no means unimportant, but it shares the stage with another theme of similar consequence in the quartet, namely marriage. As with the other sets, these songs point to a particular view about a well-known virtue, in this case chastity, presenting excesses and deficiencies that help lead the reader to the appropriate mean. All but “Farewell,” however, concern matrimony as well. In the context of the middle section as a whole it is possible to assert with some 1

See Daniel M. Murtaugh, “The Garden and the Sea: The Topography of The Faerie Queene, III,” ELH 40 (1973): 325–38. 2 S. M. Levey, The Hardwick Embroideries: Late Sixteenth Century Needlework Associated with Bess of Hardwick (London, 1988), 6–7, and Susan Frye, Pens and Needles: Woman’s Textualities in Early Modern England (Philadelphia, 2010), 66–74. 3 Northampton fervently protested that “this Princess, after suffering, with an heroic, and refined magnanimity (but in vain) during an imprisonment of little less than twenty years, the calumnies thrown upon her by the malicious, the fears conceived by the pusillanimous, and the snares prepared for her by her implacable enemies … ,” see George Ballard, Memoirs of Several Ladies of Great Britain (Oxford, 1752), 173. See also Peter Sherlock, “The Monuments of Elizabeth Tudor and Mary Stuart: King James and the Manipulation of Memory,” Journal of British Studies 46 (2007): 263–89.

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confidence that “Farewell’s” function is to fulfill the oppositional role shared with other songs of the collection, balancing certain extreme points pronounced in the songs surrounding it. As in the other quartets before it, the final song of this particular set, “The match,” offers a cumulating message that relates to Elizabeth, this time expounding on the issue of marriage, which was for her an extraordinarily sensitive matter. Throughout the “sonets and pastoralls” section of his Psalmes collection Byrd alludes to her extensive marriage negotiations (1579–81) with the French Duke of Anjou. As the last of a series of interrelated groups of songs, this final quartet of the middle section might be seen naturally to have gathered to itself some considerable rhetorical weight. Byrd provides for his auditor here a series of poems with rich histories and significant allusions along with a set of musical showcases.

B

CONSTANT PENELOPE (BE 12: 23)

yrd displays considerable musico-literary sophistication in “Constant Penelope” (BE 12: 23), a setting of an English translation of the first eight lines of Ovid’s Heroïdes in hexameters. This song, based on the opening lines of a letter from Penelope to Ulysses, is one of two works in the collection where Byrd betrays his understanding of a particular literary trend: the creation of English texts that followed the quantitative accentuation patterns of ancient Greek and Latin rather than the natural qualitative meter of the English language.4 Byrd, as Derek Attridge has shown, includes two poems in his Psalmes that reflect two distinct approaches to the accentuation issue. In “Come to me grief” (BE 12: 34) Byrd’s poet follows what Attridge terms the “Sidneian approach.”5 “Constant Penelope,” however, is typical of the works of Gabriel Harvey, Edmund Spenser, and Byrd’s known collaborator, Thomas Watson; and it exemplifies the rigidity of the quantitative system in their hands.6 Whereas Sidney had attempted to match an imposed accentuation with natural stresses of the English texts, the others tended to force ancient meters onto their texts without regard to any c­ oincidence that might occur between the quantitative and qualitative patterns. Given the circumstance of Sidney’s tragic death, and the wealth of poetic tributes that it generated, there is good reason to propose that the words of “Constant Penelope” came to Byrd from the writing desk of one of the poets mentioned above. They were all Sidneian eulogists, intimately aware of his poetic interests, who might have worked directly with Byrd. The very title of the song, “Constant Penelope” (italics added), lends credence to the theory. Among Sidney’s coterie, Penelope Rich née Devereaux was well known to have been the deceased poet’s muse. When in 1589 Byrd ensured that the word “Penelope” appeared in close proximity to the capitalized word “Rich” (BE 13: 26–27) in his sequence, it was one of many ways that the composer informed his audiences that his creative connections to Sidney were as intimate as those enjoyed by any poet. 4

James Applegate, “Sidney’s Classical Meters,” Modern Language Notes 70 (1955): 254–55; and Derek Attridge, Well-weighed Syllables: Elizabethan Verse in Classical Metres (Cambridge, 1974), 196–210. 5 Attridge, Well-weighed Syllables, 210. 6 Ibid., 197.

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A close look at “Constant Penelope” reveals almost indubitably that Byrd understood well the unusual musical requirements demanded by the text. He goes so far as to treat meter as a structural determinate akin to rhyme. (“Constant Penelope” is one of only three texts he set in this collection that do not contain end rhyme; see also BE 12: 34 and 35.) For example, all of the lines close with a dactyl followed by a spondee, which Byrd sets almost without exception with a feminine cadence (see mm. 5, 9, etc.).7 Although the patterns were anticipated and developed to some extent in the other parts, the quantitative rendering of the text is a unique feature of the “first singing part” of this song (the superius). Each of the eight hexameter lines consists exclusively of spondees and dactyls in the superius part, which Byrd represents without exception with appropriately valued notes (long–long and long–short–short patterns, respectively), using minims or semibreves to reflect the longer lengths and semiminims to represent the shorter lengths of the ­quantitative meter. Byrd, then, treats the qualitative system consistently. Certain word choices and some larger patterns in the meter suggest too that he may have been engaging in some form of collaboration with the author of the text. The vocative “Oh” at the start of the fifth line fully served his purpose of parsing the music into clear sections at the halfway point of the poem, for example (mm. 18–20). Patterns in how the spondees (S) and dactyls (D) appear in the lines, as shown below, are also suggestive of the composer’s interference, as they open the possibilities for the kind of musical opportunities Byrd liked to exploit: 1. S D S S D S/ 2. D S S S D S/ 3. D S S D D S/ 4. D S S S D S/ 5. D D S S D S/ 6. S D S S D S/ 7. D S D S D S / 8. D S D S D S Byrd does not call special attention to the repetitions of patterns in lines two and four and one and six in the superius part in “Constant Penelope,” although his quantifying method ensures that each of these lines has precisely the same rhythm. He does, however, capitalize on a repeating pattern in the sixth line, composing a melodic sequence that responds nicely to the metric symmetry of the S D S : S D S pattern (mm. 24–26). More obviously useful to Byrd were the consistently alternating dactyls and spondees of the seventh and eighth lines, underlined above. Distinguished from the lines before them by their regularity, these last two lines form the rhythmic equivalent of a rhymed final couplet. The author of the poem might have arrived independently at the idea of bracketing off the last two lines in this way, but even if so the altered rhythms match Byrd’s marked preference for poems with the final lines set off in some fashion (usually by end rhyme or line length) from the rest of the verse. Whether or not Byrd had anything to do with the shaping of the poetic structure, he certainly exploits the opportunity. He ends this song in the same manner as many other songs of the set, with a full-scale musical and textual ­repetition of the last two lines (mm. 27–35, 36–44). 7

What is rendered as a final spondee, as Attridge notes, should be variously accented in the English text, but Byrd’s music does not allow for any qualitative variation, in keeping with the “enforced” approach of his poet. See ibid., 197.

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If the rhythms of “Constant Penelope” suggest a possible musico-literary collaboration between musician and poet, so too does the theme. Byrd was not the first to publish a translation of Ovid’s opening section of Penelope’s letter. Another partial version in fourteeners appeared in the second edition of the Songes and Sonettes (Tottel’s miscellany) in 1557.8 What distinguishes these two translations, beyond their accentuation and metrical differences, is the point at which they end. The anonymous poet of the Songes goes on to the twelfth line of Ovid’s work in his or her translation. This permits the story to stop just after Penelope mentions her renowned technique of putting off unwanted suitors with a ruse, namely, a tapestry project (her famous web) that she uses to hold suitors at bay during the day and secretly unravels at night. Byrd’s poet ends two lines prior to this, at a point where Penelope simply expresses her loneliness and longing. Stripped of her most prominent identifying feature, the web, the Penelope of Byrd and his poet becomes a more complex character than the straightforward paragon of virtue so well known from Homer’s text. Significantly, in Ovid’s Heroïdes itself expressions of discontent in the face of virtual abandonment stand out more than any lexical allusions to the integrity of Penelope’s actions.9 The idea that marital chastity could become excessive is, I argue, what Byrd evokes here. Even in his judiciously sparing use of certain rhythmically valued notes, he tends to focus on the misery Penelope experiences rather than the virtue she exemplifies. For the vocative “Oh” that is repeated in the superius line, Byrd pointedly uses semibreves rather than the shorter minims to represent their “long” values, calling attention to Penelope’s desolation (mm. 18–20). He also makes clever but affecting use of semibreves for the song’s last two words, “so long” (l. 8, mm. 35 and 43–44). That Byrd was so closely attuned to the quantitative accentuation patterns of short and long in “Constant Penelope” and that he had also set to music the poem “Penelope that longed” (BE 13: 27, italics added) suggest he may have been fully aware of the pun on the word “long” in the former projects in both literary and musical terms. He seems in any case to attend carefully to both adjectival and verbal forms of the word in this song.

C

THE AMOIBAION VIRGIN (BE 12: 24)

“

onstant Penelope” provides a fine display of Byrd’s literary mindedness. “La virginella” (BE 12: 24) ventures into the acclaimed transalpine musical culture of his day. “La verginella” (here with Ludovico Ariosto’s original spelling in Orlando furioso canto 1.42) was the only Italian-texted poem Byrd would set to music, although he would later demonstrate his understanding of the madrigal

8

Richard Tottel, ed., Songes and Sonettes Written By the Ryght Honorable Lord Henry Howard, late Earle of Surrey, … (London, 1557), fol. 89v. Byrd was apparently not the first Englishman to set the text with quantitative accentuation in mind; see Christopher Goodwin, ed., The English Lute Song Before Dowland, vol. 2, Songs from Additional Manuscript 4900 and other Early Sources (Albury, 1998), 36–37. Goodwin casts this “enigmatic” song (a single, repeatable line of music in tablature for lute and voice) into a type of barless measured music. 9 See Duncan F. Kennedy, “The Epistolary Mode and the First of Ovid’s Heroides,” Classical Quarterly 34 (1984): 413–22.

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style with his two settings of the English text “This sweet and merry month of May” (BE 16: 3; BE 14: 9). The music of “La virginella” was republished, with only very slight ­modifications, in Musica transalpina (1588), to the following words: THe fayre yong Virgin is lyke the rose vntaynted, in garden fayre while tender stalke doth beare it, sole and vntoucht, with no resort acquainted, no shepherd nor his flock doth once come neare it, th’ayre full of sweetnesse, the morning fresh depainted, the earth, the water, with all theyr favours cheare it, daintie yong gallants, and ladyes most desired, delight to have therewith their heads and breasts attyred.10 “La verginella” was a noteworthy text for Byrd to choose for what was presumably a first try at Italianate composition. It had emerged by then as a favorite among musicians who were mining Ludovico Ariosto’s immensely influential Orlando furioso (Mad Orlando) for compositional material.11 Beyond countless musicians who improvised settings with musical formulae, along with any other of Ariosto’s famous ottava rima stanzas, there were nearly twenty known composers who had published elaborate settings in madrigal style of “La verginella” in particular.12 How did Byrd approach Ariosto’s famous text? Originally, he did not compose an a cappella madrigal, which by then had long been the standard genre in Italy. “La virginella” has none of the obvious word painting that would have been expected in madrigals of the time and the medium he first chose, his standard 1 + 4 consort song mixture of a voice with instruments, even further distanced his effort from the Italianate kind. When he adapted the song for publication, however, Byrd, as usual, added text to the formerly instrumental parts, changing the rhythms accordingly and encouraging an a cappella performance. Some of these rhythmic changes enliven the song overall with syncopations that anticipate those of the top line and, perhaps for this reason, Byrd chose here not to announce that there ever was a dominating “first singing part,” thus masking his original intentions. By such means he eased the later acceptance of his work as a transalpine effort. But he also steered his auditors away from a special achievement, as the superius stands out as leading the texture with a notably graceful, exceptionally balanced melody, one featuring syncopations on the first notes of phrases in a manner Byrd never adopted elsewhere in his songs (see, for example, mm. 6 and 10). Whether experienced in an a cappella or consort song rendition, the listener is ravished by the vivacious sound overall, making it tempting to suggest that, musically at least, Byrd met the challenge of setting such a popular text by composing a work that was as original and as fittingly unblemished as its subject matter. Kerry McCarthy contends that Byrd had no obvious conception of the way his Italian text should be elided, however, and, in the last line, misunderstood the 10

Musica transalpina: Madrigales translated out of foure, five and sixe partes, publ. Nicholas Yonge (London, 1588), F4v. 11 Alfred Einstein, “Orlando Furioso and La Gerusalemme Liberata: As Set to Music during the 16th and 17th Centuries,” Notes, 2nd ser., 8 (1951): 623–30. 12 Ibid., 624–28.

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accentuation.13 The results of this discovery might be interpreted in a number of ways. I find it difficult, however, to see this as evidence of negligence. The sheer beauty of this song, which McCarthy commends, suggests Byrd had approached the text – or, at least, the project per se – seriously and with purpose. Given the pattern set by the treatment of different virtues in the songs prior to this one, it is very likely that in this exquisite rendering of “La virginella” Byrd is suggesting –rather dangerously – that virginity is a problem, if coveted excessively. As in “What pleasure,” he does not use musical means in “La virginella” to emphasize anything adverse in the song. Elizabeth was styling herself as a Virgin Goddess in this very period, so Byrd had good reason to take care in how he portrayed the condition.14 But his implicit point emerges nonetheless if this song is viewed in the context of the songs surrounding it. Significantly, “La verginella” was originally designed to portray only one side of a story, as Byrd seems to have been well aware. Many have pointed out, although few have made any noticeable effort to prove the supposition that musical settings of “La verginella” in the Renaissance era were likely intended for use at weddings.15 The best evidence for this is the poetic source of Ariosto’s song, Catullus’s Poem 62. This ancient text (along with Catullus 61) was to become a vastly influential marriage poem by the sixteenth century thanks to the efforts of Ariosto and many others of the time who imitated it with Latin and Italian verses. Catullus 62, as Ariosto knew very well, is an amoibaion (amoebean) poem.16 It contains alternating parts for different groups of singers (i.e., a “singing match”): in this case a choir of young virgins is set against a like group of young men. As usual for poems of this kind the two parties involved engage in an argument, and in this case the debate occurs within the ritualistic functions of a wedding party, the purpose of which is to “break down the fear of sex and the horror of loneliness in young brides.”17 Within the larger scheme of Catullus’s multi-versed work the simile of an unspoiled rose stands as the virgins’ best argument for avoiding marriage. In the next stanza it is effectively countered, however, by a group of young men who sing of a grapevine that withers without the support of an elm (Catullus 62, ll. 49–58).18 Whatever one thinks of the relative strengths of these arguments, it is 13

Noted in Kerry McCarthy, “‘Brought to Speake English with the Rest’: Byrd’s Motet Contrafacta,” Musical Times 148 (2007): 51–60, at 58; see also Philip Brett’s comment that the lines of Byrd’s Italian are “mis-set”, in BE 16, p. 187. I wish to thank Professor McCarthy for sharing information with me from a read paper of hers that explores this problem at length. 14 John N. King, “Queen Elizabeth I: Representations of the Virgin Queen,” Renaissance Quarterly 43 (1990): 30–74. 15 Alfred Einstein, “The Elizabethan Madrigal and Musica Transalpina,” Music & Letters 25 (1944): 66–77, at 67. 16 Ole Thomsen, “An Introduction to the Study of Catullus’ Wedding Poems: The Ritual Drama of Catullus 62,” Classica et Mediaevalia 53 (2002): 255–88, at 262. 17 Ibid., 262. 18 See Peter Demetz, “The Elm and the Vine: Notes toward the History of a Marriage Topos,” PMLA 73 (1958): 521–32.

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p­ redetermined that the virgins will lose the debate. The whole point of the ritual song is to convince the young bride to go willingly to her marriage bed. In Orlando, Byrd’s direct source, Ariosto had cleverly recast the parts. Here a male character, Sacripante, the King of Circassia, sings “La verginella” to conjure up the image of Angelica, a woman he is pursuing.19 Sacripante gives no real thought to marriage at the time he sings the text, but instead laments over the thought that he might not have been the one to deflower the woman he desires. At the time he sings, Angelica, as it happens, is hidden within earshot of him in a suggestive cluster of rose-like vegetation and, to his delight, she emerges and Sacripante soon learns that he had no reason for concern.20 Virginity intact, Angelica remains for Sacripante a viable object of desire. On the strength of new hopes he immediately declares himself to be at her service. But in her role as a chivalric muse Angelica becomes the cause of innumerable problems in the poem. Almost immediately, Sacripante shamefully loses a horse in a battle with a female knight, Bradamante, and, generally, when “pursued for her rose” both by Sacripante and (more importantly) by Orlando as well, “Angelica causes havoc: fights, disobedience to the law of the Father-King, insubordination. … It is almost axiomatic that whenever Angelica appears, male failure follows.”21 Divorced from both Catullan and Ariostan sources, “La verginella” arguably works well as a marriage piece, as it provides a simple, idealized view of a new bride on her wedding day. Thus it would make sense that composers set it for that purpose. But, as an excerpted section of an amoibaion poem, “La verginella” is technically incomplete, and as such it could be used, as Ariosto demonstrated, to serve other purposes. Given the number of composers involved, it would be surprising to learn that Byrd was completely unaware of the musical tradition surrounding “La verginella.” The sources of Byrd’s music suggest that he had even stronger connections to literary figures well aware of “La verginella’s” Ariostan and Catullan contexts. Sir John Harington, the first Englishman to translate Orlando in its entirety, had to hand an unusually rich collection of the same poems Byrd set to music in the 1580s, which suggests a connection between the two courtiers.22 Byrd was also likely to have been acquainted with the “anonymous Gentleman” who translated a number of texts from Orlando for the Musica transalpina, including perhaps Byrd’s own contribution.23 All told, it seems wholly possible that through his literary connections Byrd knowingly took a poem extolling virginity out of its wedding ritual context. 19

Ludovico Ariosto, L’Orlando furioso, ed. Giacinto Casella, 2 vols. (Florence, 1877), 1:12 20 Ibid., 1:12–16. 21 Valeria Finucci, The Lady Vanishes: Subjectivity and Representation in Castiglione and Ariosto (Stanford, 1992), 112. 22 Ruth Hughey (ed.), The Arundel Harington Manuscript of Tudor Poetry, 2 vols. (Columbus, 1960), 2:60, 74–76, 384; Miranda Johnson-Haddad, “Englishing Ariosto: ‘Orlando Furioso’ at the Court of Elizabeth I,” Comparative Literature Studies 31 (1994): 323–50. 23 See Eric Lewin Altschuler and William Jansen, “Musica Transalpina and Marenzio’s Interpolator: Gentlemen at Large,” Musical Times 144 (2003): 20–27.

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It was suggested above that Byrd took some risk in casting “La virginella” as a problem in the set. Some proof for this may lie in the evidence that he later retracted his point. In the Musica transalpina, which was published after Byrd’s Psalmes, “The Fair young virgin” (BE 16: 1, 1st part) appeared along with an Englished version of the following stanza of Orlando (canto 1.43), “But not so soon” (BE 16, 1, 2nd part), all of which was advertised conspicuously on the title page.24 Although many composers set “La verginella,” very few set the next stanza. This was likely because of its sudden shift in viewpoint. Where the “fair young virgin” of Ariosto’s canto 1.42 is cast as someone about to enter into marriage, the same character is warned in “But not so soon” that, if she ever surrenders her virginity, she will “loseth her praise” and will “no more be desired.” Indeed, “all … that flowed … from heaven and earth” would be “lost.”25 Thus it is permanent, rather than imperiled, virginity that is championed here. By adding the second verse in the Musica transalpina, Byrd showed unqualified support for Elizabeth’s new view of herself as a Virgin Queen, the image she famously adopted after the failure of the French Match. In spite of all damage attributable to the virginal character Angelica in Ariosto’s Orlando, Elizabeth, as Byrd seems to have understood, still found it useful to follow the ­dictates of “But not so soon.” Thus, when he decided to republish his “La virginella” as an Englished song later in 1588 in order to emphasize a new view on virginity at court that fit the needs of his Queen, Byrd simply added the next stanza of Ariosto’s in his setting, which conveniently supported Elizabeth’s decision never to marry. Earlier that year, however, Byrd had taken a different path. In a sequence built upon the representation of deficiencies and extremes in distinct virtues, he portrayed “La virginella” as the Angelica of Ariosto’s Orlando furioso. A figure like this was needed to inspire men into action, but Byrd’s point was that this chivalrous process itself could go too far. Just as an overabundance of lust-inspiring figures in “Though Amarillis” had rendered mad an intemperate shepherd, so too might an enticingly beautiful and unattainable virgin cause havoc among male courtiers, especially someone as determined to emulate the obsessiveness of “Mad Orlando” as Sir Walter Ralegh.

A

RALEGH’S ‘BRAVING’ POEM (BE 12: 25)

s usual, Byrd follows his depiction of extreme love with a Stoic response. And, as usual, he picks a verse associated, via authorship, with a particular courtier, in this case Ralegh, who probably wrote it a few years before gaining his ­knighthood. “Farewell false love” (BE 12: 25) advances an extreme rejection of Love, to the point of describing Cupid as a “way of error, a temple full of treason” (l. 5).26 Had Orlando and Sacripante heeded Ralegh’s advice, neither would have 24

Yonge, Musica transalpina, [A1]r. Ibid., F4v–G1r. 26 Steven W. May, “Companion Poems in the Ralegh Canon,” ELR 13 (1983): 260–73, at 265–66. May suggests that the poem was composed in the aftermath of the French Match. But Carlo M. Bajetta argues it was a product of 1579, one of a series of responses relating to the Earl of Oxford, expressing various tensions over the French Match: see his Sir Walter Ralegh: Poeta di corte elisabettiano (Milan, 1998), 139–50. 25

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failed so drastically, one suspects, but nor would they have even ventured onto the field. “Farewell false love” was, after “The Lie” (whose authorship is uncertain), arguably the most famous of Ralegh’s many so-called “companion poems,” which range from the friendly and collaborative to the competitive and antagonistic.27 Until Robert Devereux, the second Earl of Essex, came on the scene to rival him, no figure at court more embodied the Orlando-like drive for action than did Ralegh himself.28 Founder in certain ways of the poetic “moon cult” associated with Elizabeth of the mid-1580s, Ralegh most often portrayed himself in his works as the very kind of figure who over-worshipped the Queen. He was certainly viewed as such by the many who expressed their jealous opposition; not for nothing, it would seem, was Ralegh known, in 1587, as the most “hated man of the wourld in court, Cytye, & cowntry.”29 Ralegh based “Farewell false Love” on a long poem in French by Phillipe Desportes, who had probably based his work on an Italian model, Là’ve l’aurora, which Ralegh may also have known.30 In various ways all three of the texts function as “braving” poems that were either coupled with or designed to provoke an answer. This attribute of the poetic type was completely understood in England at the time. Sir John Harington, who copied the first eight lines of Ralegh’s poem in a manuscript, left space after it presumably for his own response – a poem he titled “Wellcome true love, the lanterne of my lyghte” but presumably never completed – and Ralegh’s courtly rival, Sir Thomas Heneage, composed “Most welcome love” to counter three stanzas of “Farewell” line by line.31 See also Jonathan Gibson, “French and Italian Sources for Ralegh’s ‘Farewell False Love’,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 50 (1999): 155–65, at 155 n2 and 165 n30, where Gibson claims that “Bajetta argues convincingly that Ralegh’s poem was originally written in about 1579 within a literary coterie led by the earl of Oxford’s circle.” 27 See Mark Nicholls and Penry Williams, “Ralegh, Sir Walter (1554–1618),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb.com/ view/article/23039, accessed 28 Feb 2014; May, “Companion Poems,” 265–73; and James P. Bednarz, “The Collaborator as Thief: Ralegh’s (Re)Vision of ‘The Faerie Queene’,” ELH 63 (1996): 279–307. 28 Learning that Ralegh, in 1592, had threatened to escape confinement and join a group of oarsmen on the Thames, all just to gain a sight of the Queen, the courtier poet Sir Arthur Gorges exclaimed, “I feare Sir W. Rawly; wyll shortely growe to be Orlando furioso; if the bryght Angelyca persever agaynst hyme a lyttle longer … I could wyshe hyr Majestie knewe,” Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Ashmole 1729, fol. 177; quoted in Johnson-Haddad, “Englishing Ariosto,” 323. 29 Anthony Bagot, Warwick Inn, to Richard Bagot, 6 May 1587, Folger Shakespeare Library MS L.a.39; freely quoted in Sir Rennell Rodd, Sir Walter Raleigh (New York, 1904), 56; see also Carlo M. Bajetta, “‘Most peereles Poëtresse’,” 105–21, at 112. 30 For a discussion of Ralegh’s possible awareness of the Italian model see Jonathan Gibson, “French and Italian Sources,” 159. 31 Arthur Freeman, “The Argument of Meleager,” English Literary Renaissance 1 (1971): 122–31, at 123, and Hughey, ed., Arundel Harington, 1:275, 2:386. Hughey suggests that Harington intended to copy out Heneage’s poem in his manuscript, but Steven W. May has noted that the titles are quite different and suggests instead that they were more likely distinct poems; see his “Companion Poems,” 267 n15. See also Michael

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“Farewell” was transmitted in versions of three, four, and five stanzas in contemporary sources, including Byrd’s Psalmes.32 Ralegh scholar Michael Rudick claims that the early copyist of the five-stanza version was a collector, “in search of an oeuvre [and thus for] completeness as much as possible.”33 Although some have argued that only the three-stanza version can be safely attributed to Ralegh, or that Ralegh added stanzas over time, the current consensus is that this five-stanza version is a complete, authoritative poem that was composed all at once.34 The three-stanza version itself appears in a manuscript associated with Heneage, and it is the earliest datable source of the poem. As Heneage’s own poem is three stanzas long, some have reasonably surmised that Heneage simply left out the two stanzas of Ralegh’s that he did not choose to answer. Thus the three and five stanza versions seem to have been adequately explained.35 But no one has offered a satisfactory rationale for Byrd’s decision to print only four. Although there are also two early manuscripts with versions of the poem in four stanzas, Byrd’s version has attracted the most attention, perhaps because “Farewell” was first printed in the Psalmes and set exquisitely to music. To explain the lack of a fifth stanza in Byrd’s version, L. G. Black asserted that the composer had “musical” reasons for not including it.36 Jonathan Gibson accepts this, but it seems unlikely, given the fact that the last stanza presents no special musical problems, as it scans no differently than those before it.37 In the end, it may be impossible fully to resolve the question of why Byrd used the four-stanza version of Ralegh’s poem rather than another.38 Yet the sequential scheme Byrd established throughout offers suggestive evidence for speculation: enough to permit one to disagree, in any case, with Rudick’s conclusion that “[Ralegh’s] authorship disappears entirely in the case of Byrd’s musical setting, where whatever exemplar was used was entirely at the composer’s disposal, and Rudick, ed., The Poems of Sir Walter Ralegh: A Historical Edition (Tempe, AZ, 1999), 143–44. 32 May, “Companion Poems,” 265–71. 33 Rudick, Poems of Sir Walter Ralegh, xxxvii. 34 May, “Companion Poems,” 267. 35 Ibid., 265–71. 36 L. G. Black, “The Poems of Sir Walter Raleigh: An Edition,” Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 1970, 215. 37 Gibson, “French and Italian Sources,” 162 n20. 38 Unless Byrd’s version predated the two manuscripts that transmitted the poem in four stanzas, it is possible that he simply based his text on one of the other extant (or subsequently lost) sources. All three transmissions of the poem in four verses, as Steven W. May argues, were closely related, having a mistake in common as well as being of the same length; see May, “Companion Poems,” 267. It also seems possible to argue that the last stanza is missing because Byrd and his printer, East, found that after setting the music they had no room left to put a fifth verse on the page. There does indeed seem at first glance to be insufficient space under the music in the tenor part for an additional stanza; see Byrd, Psalmes, tenor, E4r. But a closer look reveals that there would have been enough room for another stanza if East’s compositors had simply taken the trouble to squeeze just four additional notes of music and accompanying text into the penultimate stave.

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its inclusion in a section of principally sober material cancels any degree of playful rivalry to be found in its juxtaposition with Heneage’s poem.”39 Steven W. May has emphasized that the Heneage–Ralegh rivalry, based on competition for favor with the queen, was serious in nature.40 (Byrd may have been aware too that it involved Christopher Hatton, the dedicatee of his set.) Furthermore it seems unwarranted, at least in this context, to cast the material surrounding “Farewell” as sober. There are some rather light and humorous works in this section of the Psalmes, which Byrd seemed clearly to treat as part of a related group of pieces. More importantly, Rudick suggests that Byrd had no perceivable reason for including “Farewell” in his collection or for using one version of the poem over another. But there is a wealth of suggestive evidence, discussed throughout this chapter, that Byrd was well aware of the “competitive” function of the verse. Furthermore, it is through the analysis of Byrd’s sequential scheme that one may find a rationale for his exclusion of the fifth stanza, which appears below: Sith then thy trains my younger years betrayed, And for my faith ingratitude I find; And sith repentance hath my wrongs bewrayed, Whose course was ever contrary to kind: False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu! Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.41 The fifth is the only stanza of the poem where the poet draws any conclusions from the material and that does not consist entirely of statements against Love, who is cast throughout stanzas 1–4 in the second person (“a mortal foe,” “an envious boye,” “a bastard vile,” etc., see ll. 1–3). By omitting this last stanza – which has a distinct structure and brings matters to a close – and keeping thereby the poem in the “attack mode,” so to speak, Byrd better invites a response. Indeed, however light the text and music, Byrd’s musical and sequential setting of “Farewell” suggests a deficiency of Love in the context of chastity and marriage and, as such, it demands an answer. For both Byrd and Heneage an abbreviated – and thus open-ended – version of “Farewell,” serves the same purpose: as a foil. As long as “Farewell,” without its fifth stanza, remained unresolved, Byrd could present a solution with the following, concluding, poem of the “sonets and pastoralls” section, “The match that’s made” (BE 12: 26). As Ralegh’s diatribe in iambic sixtains rivaled Oxford’s “If women” (BE 12: 17) in its unrelenting negativity, it provided for Byrd another opportunity to employ cross-rhythms and conflicting diminutions (e.g., mm. 14, 16–21) to express a destructive theme in the text (see Ex. 4.1). Intriguingly, it is not only the syncopation that signals defiance and rejection. In this case Byrd also found that he could complicate the rhythmic gestures by keeping the entries very close in imitative 39

Rudick, Poems of Sir Walter Ralegh, xxxviii. Steven W. May, The Elizabethan Courtier Poets: Their Poems and their Contexts (Columbia, MO, 1991), 271: “at approximately the time that ‘Farewell’ was composed, Heneage was personally involved in offsetting Ralegh’s influence with the Queen.” 41 Selected Poems of Thomas Campion, Samuel Daniel and Sir Walter Ralegh, ed. Ronald Levao (London, 2001), 153. 40

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102

˙ . Ex. 4.1  œBE 12:˙ 25 “Farewell ∑ ˙ false & b ˙ n˙ w love,” mm. 16–21 ˙. ∑ & b ˙ nall˙ cares œa - ˙ - ˙ - rise,w & b ˙ . all œ cares ˙ œ # œ ˙ a - œ # œ- œ ˙ - rise,Ó ˙ whom all cares a rise, A bast b Ó & ˙. œ #œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ #œ ˙ . ˙ ˙ œ ∑ Ó a ˙all cares rise, œ n œ A bast V b whom ˙ ˙. from whom all cares Ó œ n œ œa ˙ - rise,˙ ˙ V b ∑ ˙ ˙ ˙ . a n- œ rise,œ œ w from Ó ˙ all cares whom Vb ˙ ˙. from œ œa Ó nallœ cares ˙ whom V b cares ˙a - rise,w w ? cares w ˙ ˙ w a a - rise, from whom all cares b w w ? b a - rise,˙ all cares a rise, w ˙ w w a

&b ˙ & b bast˙ & b bastw & b beast, w V b beast, œ œ Vb œ œ V b ˙. V b bast˙ . ? b bastÓ ?b Ó

-

rise,

˙

˙

ard ard

˙

˙

-

all

Ó

w

w Œvile, œ œ œ Œ œa beast with œ œ w a beast with

Ó

vile,

w œ nvile,œ œ ˙ ard nvile, œ œ œa bast˙ ˙ ard vile,˙ a bast˙ ˙ bast˙ - ard˙ A A

cares

vile,

bast

-

ard

˙.

a

˙

˙ a

a

˙ ˙

beast, beast,

œ ˙

-

˙

˙ Ó with

with

Ó ˙. œ ˙Œ œ œ ∑ œ rage pos - sess'd: a beast with œ ∑ Œ œ œ w a beast with ˙ n˙ rage

-

˙ ˙ ˙

vile, vile,

pos - sess'd:

nard˙ ˙ ard

˙a a

w

vile,

˙

vile,

˙

˙ ˙

beast

with

beast

with

˙

Ó

˙

Ó

A

˙

˙

˙

˙ œ ˙ Œ vile,˙ ard Œ Aœ bast˙ ˙ ˙ A bast ˙ - rise,˙ ard

A

˙ ˙a

vile,

∑

-

rise,

∑

a

˙ ˙ ard

- ard -

˙

A A

rise,

œ œ w œ œ w ∑ rage

˙

rage

Ó

˙

pos

˙ ∑ Ó A ˙ w œ œ ˙ A rage w œ pos œ ˙ - sess'd: œ œ - œ sess'd: Œ pos rage œ œ ˙ Œ œa beast œ withœ rageœ pos œ ˙ ˙ œ œa beast with ragew pos œ ˙œ pos

rage

rage

pos

-

pos

w

sess'd:

sess'd:

textures, which he does quite effectively in the rather sprightly, and typically triadic, final couplet (mm. 23–38). If much of Byrd’s rhythmic surface of “Farewell false love” resembles his ­treatment of “If women,” the final couplet recalls very much another Stoic work of his, namely “What pleasure have great princes” (BE 12: 19). In the final couplets  of  both of these songs, Byrd approaches the top of a sequenced phrase ­stepwise with syncopated entries and then moves back down with leaps outlining a triad, allowing the last two notes to form a feminine ending. The similarities point to the possibility, as yet undiscovered, of a single source tune, perhaps in the popular repertory of the time, as the harmonic shifts suggest very much the progressions of tunes such as “Woods so wild” and “Goodnight,” which Byrd had adopted

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e­ lsewhere.42 Byrd is decidedly more insistent with cross-rhythms in “Farewell false love,” however. Although he has so many destructive words to choose from in the verse, it is nonetheless typical of the composer to settle on “treason” and “contrarie unto reason” (of the first strophe, ll. 5–6) as the place to add the most disturbing rhythms, as these words suggest the dangers not only of succumbing to Love, but also, of ­resisting the inspirational force altogether. A look back, then, at the pair of songs “La virginella” and “Farewell false love,” suggests that Byrd preserves the amoibaion structure that Catullus had established for the poem in the first place. If “Farewell” is heard through Ralegh’s male voice, then we find here a lyric dialogue where the female party wants to preserve her virginity and the male party wants fully to resist the powers of Love. We are thus left in a situation where no one seems very eager to marry; and, as this condition cannot stand, we must turn for answers to the final song of the section.

T

THE MATCH (BE 12: 26)

“

he match that’s made” (BE 12: 26) is the culminating song not only of Byrd’s four-song exposition of chastity but also of the entire middle section devoted to the virtues. Chastity plays a role in the verse, as it had in the poems preceding it, but marriage is now the explicit topic. Along with Concord and Plenty, Chastity appears here as an allegorical figure to remind us of the right conditions for a good match. But, in a manner somewhat akin to that of the priamel, the auditor of the song is drawn to the fourth and last line, a Latin-texted refrain, pari jugo dulcis ­tractus (the dragging is sweeter with an equal yoke) that ends each stanza. The precise phrase Byrd set to music, pari jugo dulcis tractus, was put to varied use in England in the early years of the seventeenth century. At that time it was inscribed on a golden hoop ring (perhaps a marriage band), Francis Bacon treated it as a pet phrase in Parliament (where it was bandied about by Ralegh as well), poets used it to discuss relations among married couples (sometimes in bawdy contexts), and, most importantly, it appeared in an English translation of Desiderius Erasmus’s Adages.43 The exact phrase Byrd used in 1588 has no discoverable precedents. But the origins of the proverb can be traced, via Erasmus, back to Theocritus, who, along with Euripides and various other ancient writers, used the concept of an equal yoke, pari jugo, in the context of discussions of friendship.44 Valerius 42

See discussions of BE 12: 13 above and BE 13: 32 below. C. R. Haines, “Latin Motto,” Notes and Queries, 8th ser., 7 (1895): 448 (re the ring); J. F. Foard, The Life and Correspondence of Francis Bacon (London, 1861), 292 (re Bacon, Ralegh); Lyrics from the Dramatists of the Elizabethan Age, ed. Arthur Henry Bullen (London, 1901), 173 (re bawdy poem titled “Pari Jugo Dulcis Tractus” by Nathaniel Field); John Clarke, Paroemiologia Anglo-Latina in usum scholarum concinnata. Or proverbs English, and Latine, methodically disposed according to the common-place heads, in Erasmus his adages (London, 1639), fol. 15 (re pari jugo dulcis tractus as an adage). See also Edward Marshall, “Latin Motto,” Notes and Queries, 8th ser., 8 (1895): 193; Desiderius Erasmus, Adagiorum (Oxford, 1666), 27–28. 44 Karl F. Ameis, ed., Poetae bucolici et didactici: Theocritus, Bion, Moschus (Paris, 1862), 24; and Richard Paul Jodrel, Illustrations of Euripides, on the Ion and the Bacchae (London, 1781), 474. 43

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Maximus, perhaps more significantly, used the words in describing Roman marriage customs.45 The point of the adage, which is especially obvious in the context of “The match,” was to emphasize that equality is the key ingredient of a good marriage. However proverbial this matrimonial advice, those aware of the debates surrounding Elizabeth and marriage would surely have realized that it brought up an issue with strong political implications. In a manuscript tract supporting the Anjou match, for example, Lord Henry Howard cited Cicero’s views on amity and argued that even though “sympathy of affection” is an important consideration for a good match, more crucially, “persons [should be] equalled in estate or degree (for yt no inequallity is convinient in friendship) [and] it is of neciscity requisite or behoofull that [this obtain] in th’alliance of Matrimony[,] wch both ye lawe of God & all ciuill Constitutions is accompted one of ye strictest & most indissolable bondes of amity.” On this point Howard concluded “there should bee found no dissimillitude … in ye quallities of ye minde, much less in ye estatis of ye persons contracting matrimony.”46 Howard’s purpose was to emphasize that Anjou and Elizabeth were of equal stature and to suggest that this condition was a strong recommendation for the match. Howard’s opponents championed the idea that Elizabeth should marry an Englishman, with Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester as the top contender. In taking apart the “home match” preference of his foes, Howard posed the effective rhetorical question: “Are the virtues of [the Queen’s] minde to bee equalled by any, or is ye force & power of her state to bee answered by whomsoever her inferiour subjects?”47 Howard’s tract demonstrates that supporters of the Anjou match were able to seize on the notion of an “equal yoke” to argue in favor of a marital candidate they supported for political purposes. It was quite convenient to do so, as Anjou, a Catholic, was likely to support their religious agenda. Although no evidence shows that Elizabeth was willing to change confessional status no matter whom she married, she might fairly be said to have been even more adamant than Howard in asserting that equal wealth and status were key requirements for a good match.48 For some time Anjou was someone she herself perceived as a most viable royal consort, in part for the reasons Howard outlined.49 Famously severe in her punishments of courtiers that married without her sanction, in almost every case an additional cause of her displeasure stemmed from the disparity she saw in 45

Valerius Maximus, Libri Novem: Factorum Dictorimque memorabilium: Cum Notis integris. Notae & Observationes Perpetuae J. Perizonii: ut & A. Schultengii (Leiden, 1726), 125. 46 “Discourse [by Lord Henry Howard, cr. Earl of Northampton, 1604] in favor of the marriage between Queen Elizabeth and François, Duc Alençon, 1580,” British Library, Cotton Titus C XVIII, fol. 14r–v. 47 Cotton Titus C XVIII, fol. 14r–v. 48 Paul E. J. Hammer, “Sex and the Virgin Queen: Aristocratic Concupiscence and the Court of Elizabeth I,” Sixteenth Century Journal 31 (2000): 77–97, at 81. 49 Wallace T. MacCaffrey, “The Anjou Match and the Making of Elizabethan Foreign Policy,” in The English Commonwealth, 1547–1640, ed. Peter Clark, Alan Smith, and Nicholas Tyacke (Leicester, 1979), 59–75.

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the status and wealth of a prospective couple. And, finally, as Paul E. J. Hammer and others have emphasized, Elizabeth was wholly supportive of marriages (when brought appropriately to her attention) that satisfied her conditions of a good, equal match, despite her growing reputation as a queen who disdained marriage altogether.50 Somewhat surprisingly, rather than simply to “imitate” the ideas of this ancient adage about equality, Byrd turns instead in the opposite direction, highlighting a form of musical dissimilarity. After a full stop at the end of the tercet (m. 16), he sets parts against each other successively in sesquialtera proportion (3 to 1) for the ­setting of pari jugo, creating, in the process, variously layered textures reminiscent of the Medieval motet (mm. 17–25). Most conspicuously archaic are the slow-­moving parts of a limited range that appear against fast paced melodies of noticeably wider scope in this elaborate refrain (see Ex. 4.2). Although the faster moving parts begin eventually to dominate the texture, the contrast between the two musical ideas is never forsaken. The result is a masterfully handled essay in rhythmic disparity, one that brings the matter of Elizabethan-colored virtues to a riveting close with an extraordinary moment of contrast and contradiction. While Byrd might originally have designed “The match” to support Howard’s particular views about Anjou, within the context of the Psalmes the song raises the matter of equality in marriage to the general level of a crowning virtue. Yet one also comes away, after hearing the work, with the sense that an inappropriate union might be dangerous and that finding the right partner in marriage might not be so easily achieved. As such this song could be seen to remain consonant with Elizabeth’s views as she moved away from the position she had first established for herself as a marriageable “verginella” in the late 1570s and early 1580s to settle into something of a cult-defining Virgin Queen by the end of the decade.51 Even if it might have once served a different purpose, “The match” ultimately expresses a view about aristocratic and royal marriage that lay at the core of Elizabeth’s matrimonial vision. As he draws extraordinary attention to the adage pari jugo, Byrd reiterates the powerful argument for marriage that Catholics such as Howard had voiced in debates about Anjou, reminding Elizabeth of their loyalty and support at that critical juncture. Through his display of great disparity in rhythmic ideas, however, he reveals his understanding that, although the idea itself had not lost its sway, there was no “match” to be “made” at the end of these debates. In narrative terms the “sonets” section ends in a state of ambivalence, leaving for the next, and final, section of the book the matter of drawing things together for a proper close. Without wholly abandoning the virtues, in the last section of the Psalmes Byrd shifts his focus away from the French Match to more contemporary events, such as the execution of Edmund Campion and the death of Sidney. He also moves from the Aristotelian world of pride and masculine greatness – where magnanimity stood supreme – to the thoroughly Christianized world of Thomas Aquinas, where the virtues are meshed with holy gifts, and where piety 50

Hammer, “Sex and the Virgin Queen,” 81; Doran, “Juno versus Diana,” 257–74; King, “Representations of the Virgin Queen,” 30–74. 51 Ibid., 37–60.

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106

& w & Paw &

#˙

Pa

Ex. 4.2  BE 12: 26 “The match w that’s made,” mm. 19–20 -

-

˙-

-

& tus, #˙ ˙ V tus, ˙ V tus, Ó V tus,

˙ trac ˙

trac

&

& &

˙

Pa

-

ri

˙ ri œ. ri

œ

ri

-

ri

w

-

-

ju

-

-

Ó

˙ tus, ˙ œ

ju

Ó

˙

tus,

-

˙

˙

˙

ju

j œ œ j œ œ

œ. ˙ ju ju

˙

˙ pa ˙

-j œ œ j œ œ

œ. œ. w-

w

& œ. V ˙ ˙ V trac Ó V trac V Ó ? w

go

œ. ju œ. ˙ ju

œ

-

ri

-

ri

˙

˙

-

cis

go

-

˙

ju

-

-

-

go

pa

-

ri

ju

-

-

-

go

˙-

˙ ˙ dul

dul

˙

œ

œ

-

cis

-

cis

-

-

œ.

œ. ˙ trac

trac

˙

-

tus.

dul

-

-

tus.

˙

dul

˙

-

˙

dul

-

dul

-

˙˙˙

-

-

-

cis

-

-

-

cis

j œ -œ j œ œ œ

w

˙

w

cis

tus

-

-

˙

œ #tus˙ œ- # ˙ œ œ œ œJ œ œ œ - œ J˙ -

cis

-

cis

-

œ

˙

œ

cis

ri

-

-

˙ go ˙

-

-

-

-

ul

˙

j œ nœ goj œ n œœ go

ul

-

-

j œ œ j œ œ

œ-

pa

-

˙

go

go

-

˙

-

˙ ˙ go

-

ju

-

˙

pa

˙

œ.

dul

-

˙

dul

? dulw

-

Pa

w. w. dul

ri

-

˙ pa ˙

tus,

˙

-

-

pa

V Ó ? ˙ ? tus, ˙

˙

cis

˙ œ -. -

œ.

cis

trac

cis

trac

˙ ˙

˙ trac trac

˙ w trac

trac

w

-

tus

-

tus

-

-

œ

œ- . œ œ- . œ œ- . œ - œ. -

˙

˙

-

j # œ œj # œ -œ j œ -œ j œ -œ -

-

-

-

-

and, ­especially, fortitude emerge as the true crowning qualities of a virtuous life. In this last section he expresses too a deep sympathy for the Catholic Mary Queen of Scots, who had recently been executed by Elizabeth’s government. Even in this, however, he manages to make his points without fully turning away from his firmly established position as an Elizabethan loyalist of the Catholic faith.

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Chapter 5

Songs of sadnes and pietie

O

n the title page of his Psalmes, sonets and songs Byrd described the third section of the book as “songs of sadnes and pietie” (BE 12., p. xli). Here, as elsewhere, Byrd’s title does not serve as a completely reliable guide to the nature of the set’s contents. It might easily be assumed that the phrase “sadness and piety” applies to all nine songs in this final section, but a cursory study of the poems suggests that five songs are devoted to “piety” (BE 12: 27–31) and four to “sadness” (BE 12: 32–35) – reversing the topic order as stated on the title page. The point of discrepancy, however minor it might seem, perhaps reflects Byrd’s general ­unwillingness to reveal his organisational method. As mentioned in the previous chapter, Byrd was most explicit about his contents when he dubbed the last two works of the entire collection “funerall songs of Sir Philip Sidney” (BE 12: 34–35). These works were the last two of a group of four related songs, all of which develop a theme related to sadness but that are more specifically concerned with death and martyrdom. The death element relates to feelings of loss and the urge to memorialize, but the martyrdom component suggests something else. Martyrdom – especially in the case of a person who died for his or her beliefs – was considered the ultimate act of fortitude in a Christian configuration of the virtues.1 Fortitude was also one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit, which is significant for our purposes, as it shares this dual status with piety. Through this exploration of martyrdom Byrd reached back to the topic of virtues that he explored in the middle, “sonets and pastoralls,” section of his book as he now ­develops further a new theme of the holy gifts. Meanwhile, the opening works on piety in this section present a departure from the largely secular and often humorous songs of the preceding part. Not only is there a strong shift in theme and tone at this juncture; Byrd also reconfigured his grouping pattern, placing five rather than the usual four songs in this section. He made a pointed reference to his quartet precedent, however, by creating two pairs and leaving one song in an anomalous position. Among these songs on piety it is “Susanna fair” (BE 12: 29) that introduces a different, though related, religious theme – of justice – and which stands in the central position.2 It also pushes ­matters deeply into the political arena. 1

See Stephen J. Pope, “Overview of the Ethics of Thomas Aquinas,” in The Ethics of Aquinas, ed. Pope (Washington, DC, 2002), 30–54. As Pope notes, Aquinas’s view of “martyrdom, in which one endures the greatest of physical evils, [was that it] constitutes the supreme act of courage, an act of the highest perfection, which among all acts of the virtues exhibits most completely the perfection of charity” (p. 43). See also John Inglis, “Aquinas’s Replication of the Acquired Moral Virtues: Rethinking the Standard Philosophical Interpretation of Moral Virtue in Aquinas,” Journal of Religious Ethics 27 (1999): 3–27, at 16–17. 2 On the association of justice and fortitude see Mary Louise Carlson, “Pagan Examples of Fortitude in the Latin Christian Apologists,” Classical Philology (1948): 93–104, at 95.

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English Catholics of Byrd’s day frequently associated the biblical heroine Susanna with the Scottish Catholic Queen, Mary Stuart, who endured twenty years of imprisonment before she was executed by the English government in 1587.3 Mary’s fate was still on the minds of many, especially Catholics like Byrd, in 1588; and it was a topic that could easily overtake a book’s narrative. Indeed, it seems possible that Byrd included a setting of “Susanna” to suggest an alternative, or double, meaning for the whole Psalmes collection, although it is difficult to gauge how far into the book this theme might have been meant to extend. Most obviously, the 1588 rendition of “Susanna,” as it recalls Mary’s execution, serves to link together the “sadnes” and “pietie” groups in the last large division of Byrd’s Psalmes, making it all function more cohesively and conclusively in terms of its thematic presentation. Even if there were no connection to Mary, Byrd’s “Susanna” would merit special attention. Part of a musical tradition that reached back nearly forty years, Byrd’s contributions (here and also in the 1589 collection) to what Kenneth J. Levy called a “Susanne complex” stand out for their richness of expression.4 The “Susanna” of the Psalmes joins the opening and closing works of the same collection as ranking among the most musically dramatic songs Byrd would ever produce. Along with the four works that end the entire book – “Lulla lullaby,” “Why do I use,” “Come to me grief,” and “O that most rare breast” – “Susanna” has rightly attracted interest among students and performers of Byrd’s songs up to the present time.5 Overall, with “Susanna” and a set of masterful songs of sadness, Byrd brings his Psalmes to a compelling conclusion, in terms of both its larger poetic theme and the sheer quality of the music itself. Many, if not all, of these works are notable for their emotionally charged musical settings as well as for their intriguing contexts and connections to some of Byrd’s famous contemporaries such as Philip Sidney and Edmund Campion. Not only do these songs remain popular to this day; there is also evidence that Byrd’s funeral songs for Sidney, for example, were singled out a generation or so later as particular favorites, even among collectors with no other particular interest in music, per se.6 And “Lulla lullaby,” which will be shown to introduce the theme of martyrdom itself, holds a lofty place as one of the most celebrated of all of Byrd’s compositions. 3

See Jeremy L. Smith, “Revisiting the Origins of the Sheffield Series of Portraits of Mary Queen of Scots,” Burlington Magazine 152 (2010): 212–18; and idem, “Mary Queen of Scots as Susanna,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Society 73 (2011): 209–20. 4 Kenneth Jay Levy, “‘Susanne un jour’: The History of a 16th Century Chanson,” Annales Musicologiques 1 (1953): 376–408; and my “Imitation as Cross-Confessional Appropriation: Revisiting Kenneth Jay Levy’s ‘History of a 16th-Century Chanson’,” in Sleuthing the Muse: Essays in Honor of William F. Prizer, ed. Kristine K. Forney and Jeremy L. Smith, Festschrift Series 20 (Stuyvesant, NY, 2012), 287–304. Byrd set the same poem on Susanna to music twice (with a few textual changes, see BE 13: 8). 5 See Michael Greenhalgh, “Byrd Discography 1995–2003,” in Richard Turbet, William Byrd: A Guide to Research, 2nd edn. (London, 2006), 231–303; idem, “A Byrd Discography Supplement,” Brio 33 (1996): 19–54; and idem, “A Byrd Discography,” in Byrd Studies, ed. Alan Brown and Richard Turbet (Cambridge, 1992): 202–64. 6 Jeremy L. Smith, “A Newly Discovered Edition of William Byrd’s Psalmes, Sonets & Songs: Provenance and Significance,” Notes 62 (2005): 273–98.

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PIETY (BE 12: 27–28, 30–31) If Byrd’s Psalmes ends powerfully, at least in terms of the recognized musical quality and thematic appeal of the works, the piety set with which this last section opens – which includes two pairs of songs – has attracted noticeably less attention from early music performers and scholars today. Much closer to Byrd’s own time Henry Peacham, in the Compleat Gentleman (published in 1622), declared that Byrd was best known for his “Motets and Musicke of piety and devotion,” and that as a composer he was “naturally disposed to gravitie and pietie.”7 Peacham obviously meant to praise Byrd, and his coupling of “pietie” with “gravitie” goes far to suggest how Byrd might have approached the topic from a rhetorical standpoint. But it is unclear exactly what Peacham believed piety to be, at least in intellectual terms. In modern times, as William Mann notes, we tend to treat piety as a cipher for other concepts, such as “religious[ity],” “goodness,” or “rightness.”8 In the ancient era piety was conceived as something that all the gods loved, although Socrates called this view into question.9 Filial piety and piety vis à vis the state were also widely recognized at the time as qualities of special intrinsic worth. In the JudeoChristian era, piety (or reverence) was known as one of the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost, along with wisdom, understanding, knowledge, fear of the Lord, counsel, and fortitude (Isaiah 11:2). That these gifts were related to the virtues, as explained by Thomas Aquinas, was strongly emphasized by the fact that piety and fortitude were among them.10 The relatedness of heavenly gifts and ancient virtues was surely not lost on Byrd. Two of the poems of this group do indeed extol the value of virtuous living as an integral part of piety (BE 12: 28 and 31). The other two emphasize humility and supplication (BE 12: 27 and 30). Byrd’s approach suggests his awareness of the distinction between ancient and Christian descriptions of the virtues as expounded by figures such as St. Thomas. As the latter explained, in the realm of holiness the Aristotelian middle way (which Byrd made the basis of his ordering in the previous set) had no application, for in loving or fearing God, or in obeying his commandments, etc., there could well be a deficiency, but there was no possibility of excess.11 To deal with piety, Byrd therefore adjusted his method of presentation. Rather than constructing schemes with songs of contrasting themes, as he had 7

Henry Peacham, The Compleat Gentleman ([London], 1622), 100. William E. Mann, “Piety: Lending a Hand to Euthyphro,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 58 (1998): 123–42, at 125. 9 Mann, “Piety: Lending a Hand,” 126–28. 10 Piety was added to the Isaiah 11:2 list of gifts in the Septuagint and Vulgate versions of the bible; see Jean–Pierre Torrell, St. Thomas Aquinas, Spiritual Master, trans. Robert Royal (Washington, DC, 2003), 207 n20. On the status of piety as a gift Aquinas explained, “the piety that pays duty and worship to a father in the flesh is a virtue, but the piety that is a gift pays this to God as Father.” (Aquinas, Summa Theologica, vol. 3, Part 2, Second Section, trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province, [London, 1947–48], 1690.) 11 Torrell, St. Thomas Aquinas, 206–08. 8

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done throughout the “sonets and pastoralls” section, he now presented them as complementary pairs. The first work of this section, “Prostrate O Lord” (BE 12: 27), contains a few literary conceits, viz some Sidney-like repetitions in phrases “from heart heart’ lie [heartily] contrite” (l. 6) and “thoughts, thought past repenting” (ll. 13–14).12 As with many of the psalms that Byrd had set, the poem is also energized to a certain extent by the act of making an appeal to God: Byrd appropriately gives extra rhetorical weight to words such as “behold” and “pittie” (l. 2, mm. 11–16) while exploiting throughout the lower range of the various parts to reflect the lowliness of the poem’s speaker/sinner. By this means he leaves the sphere of galliards, allusions, and adages of his “sonets and pastoralls” to return to the seriousness and gravity of his first section, which explores the topic of holiness and biblical law. Of all these songs of piety, “Prostrate” bears the most striking musical resemblance to the psalms of this 1588 set. Indeed, its opening motive, g’–d’–e’–d’ (superius, mm. 6–7), is, in its outline, nearly identical to that of “My soul opprest” (BE 12: 3; medius, mm. 6–7). Also in common with “My soul” and many other psalms in the set is the prominent imitative texture featured especially at “Prostrate’s” opening. Byrd fashions “Prostrate” motivically through a process of expansion and repetition. In the first musical point, he underscores the motive by casting only its opening four notes in the superius, “first singing part.” In the second point, in which fewer of the parts participate in the imitation, he expands upon the first (mm. 9–11) before giving way to a more flowing line (mm. 12–16), and subsequent points follow a similar procedure (see mm. 18, 26, etc.). Byrd’s compositional approach to “Prostrate,” as outlined above, may easily be traced to ideas he had developed in numerous motets and may have first encountered in the works of Josquin Desprez and other continental composers of the early 1500s.13 Perhaps it is no coincidence that Byrd’s music reminds us of the motet in this case. He may have wished to signal by this gesture across generic types how strongly attuned he was to the religious nature of the text. But it should be noted that the leading role played by the “first singing part” and the progressive loosening of the imitative structure throughout the work overall betray his wish to keep this piece recognizably within the 1 +4 consort song idiom that, as emphasized throughout the present book, dominates the set.14 Along with all the expressive opportunities it offered as a text for musical setting, “Prostrate” presented Byrd with several problems. Most obviously, it has no final couplet, which most of the poems of the set did feature and which Byrd 12

On this Sidneian trait, see Katherine Duncan–Jones, “‘Melancholie Times’: Musical Recollections of Sidney by William Byrd and Thomas Watson,” in The Well Enchanting Skill: Music, Poetry and Drama in the Culture of the Renaissance, Essays in Honour of F. W. Sternfeld, ed. John Caldwell, Edward Olleson and Susan Wollenberg (Oxford, 1990), 171–80. 13 On the style of the motet and its continental basis see the classic study by Joseph Kerman, “The Elizabethan Motet: A Study of Texts for Music,” Studies in the Renaissance 9 (1962): 273–308. 14 See, on the importance of the idiom, Mike Smith, “‘… made into Musicke of five [=1+4] parts’: Voice–and–Viols Versions of Some of Byrd’s ‘Psalmes,’ ‘Sonets’ and ‘Songs of sadnes and pietie’,” The Viol 5 (2006): 32–35.

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tended to seize upon for rhetorical purposes. Furthermore, although the lines tend to resemble the fourteeners of the opening psalms, they do not scan with anything approaching the regularity of the ten metrical psalm texts with which he had opened this collection. Finally, the rhyme scheme in “Prostrate,” which varies from stanza to stanza, is consistent only in the even-numbered lines. Collectively, these poetic irregularities might seem to present serious obstacles to a song composer of this era, but in fact they were easily surmounted. Byrd seems quickly to have discovered that he could use musical means – for example, repeating words and matching literary rhymes with similar musical rhythms – to evade or iron out any poetic inconsistencies, thanks to the more prose-oriented musical style he adopted. Most importantly, he skillfully addressed the uplifting sentiments of the final line of each strophe to bring it all deftly to a satisfyingly hopeful close. Most musical phrases in the work move downward. To mark the first move upward (at m. 12) Byrd features striking leaps of a fourth in all parts. For his last phrase, where the last upward movement appears, he begins a slow ascent from e’ in the superius (m. 35). With the same fourth motive permeating the texture he reaches up then to the highest pitch of the song, with a plaintive and thoroughly stunning f” in the superius, evoking a “heavnlie sight” in the first strophe, “lighten[ed]” sins in the second, and the Lord’s “mercie” in the last. In “All as a sea, the world no other is” (BE 12: 28) Byrd creates phrases noticeably wave-like in shape, evoking just the turbulence one might expect to encounter in a sea of worldly sin (see mm. 3–5, 7, 14–17, etc.). He also exploits textually suggestive opportunities to syncopate rhythms, e.g., a ship that is “tossed to & fro” (l. 2), and he reflects generally in his musical gestures something of the danger of a “shipwrack” (l. 5), most obviously in the superius, the “first singing part” of the final couplet (mm. 14–27). From a number of perspectives, the task of setting “All as a sea” put Byrd back on familiar ground, at least when viewed sequentially. The poem presented him with the ababcc form that appeared most often in the collection, and he responded to it predictably with a standard aa1BB musical setting, adding some of the rhythmic stimulation of the previous section, as Richard Turbet has observed.15 Both the strong sententious tone and the poem’s point about the need to choose the right path (and the right pilot), although not explored at this point in the set, are generally familiar enough in concept. In sum, “All as a sea” is a poem in Byrd’s preferred form with a nautical theme that presented him with a number of opportunities to display his prowess at text expression. But, despite all this, the song seems to lack distinction, and perhaps the words are to blame. Everything about the ship from the “compass” to the “anchor” is cast as human features and conditions for moral evaluation in this poem. If there is a particular point of focus it is probably to project what Maurice Evans has usefully described as “right reason”: the “spark of divinity still remaining in the human mind even after the Fall.”16 From this perspective, the key stanza may be the second of the 15

Richard Turbet, review of William Byrd, Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs (1588), ed. Jeremy Smith (London, 2004), Notes 62 (2006): 803–06, at 805. 16 Maurice Evans, “Palmer,” in Spenser Encyclopedia, ed. A. C. Hamilton (Toronto, 1990), 526–27, at 527.

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three. In this section, amid a discussion of pirate attacks and mutiny, the reader is warned that if our “passions” throw our “reason” “overboard” and if we let ­“pleasure” and our “conceits … tirannize the ship,” we may lose our “vertue” (ll. 7–12). A second stanza is an unusual place to make a main point in a poem of Byrd’s era, and the composer was usually unwilling to look much beyond the words of the first or last one as he fashioned music to enhance the rhetorical ideas he encountered in the text. One suspects that Byrd would have seized on the rhetorical implications of the second stanza had the order of the first and second been reversed. There is no mention of Christ in this poem, nor references of any kind to religion. It thus seems reasonable to posit that a number of pagan sources for the “world as a sea” conceit may not have escaped the notice of the poet who created Byrd’s text.17 But it turns out that a custom of resorting to this theme in the Christian tradition, especially in the homiletic literature, was especially strong. The twelfth-century homilist Richard of St. Victor, for example, outdid Byrd’s poet in the sheer number of seafaring items he related to man’s condition, including not only the winds and water but also “ropes, oars,” and “rudder[s].”18 In sermons of Byrd’s own seafaring time the correspondences to “All as a sea” are so striking (with man invariably cast as a ship, the sea as the world of sin, the storms as passions, etc.) that it seems unlikely that anyone at the time would have found his song out of place in a section on piety. For Byrd’s sequential purposes “All as a sea” added the element of righteous living to the piety theme. It also helped the composer erect a musical and thematic link between the last and middle sections of the Psalmes, via rhythmic gestures and references to the virtues. “All as a sea,” however, is even more closely related to a work that appears three poems ahead of it in the set, namely “Care for thy soul” (BE 12: 31). The overall theme of “Care for thy soul,” a poem by Robert Davy that Francis Pilkington also set to music and published in 1624, is heedful reverence and, as in “All as a sea,” the virtues are explicitly highlighted.19 Throughout “Care” there are references to charity and temperance, along with admonitions “not t’oppress the weak by wrongful might” (l. 15) or “winne by wicked waies” (l. 14). Linked even more strongly than “All as a sea” to the ideals exposed in the middle section of the Psalmes, its fourth, anaphoric stanza (featuring the word “Care” at the opening of every line) conveys the idea that to follow all the dictates of this poem would lead one to a life where “vertue may prevaile” (l. 22). Likewise, poetic similarities between “Prostrate” and “If that a sinner’s sighs” (BE 12: 30), the other pair of this set, are marked. Whereas in the former poem the speaker is simply “prostrate,” 17

B. Nellish, “The Allegory of Guyon’s Voyage: An Interpretation,” ELH 30 (1963): 89–106, at 94–95. 18 Quoted in Miri Rubi, The Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary (New Haven, 2009), 178. 19 On Davy see Sally Harper, “‘A Dittie to the tune of Welsh Sydannen’: A Welsh Image of Queen Elizabeth,” Renaissance Studies 19 (2005): 201–28, at 204 n12. Francis Pilkington’s setting may be found in his The Second Set of Madrigales and Pastroralls, of 3.4. and 5 Parts (London, 1614), C4r.

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the analogous figure in “If that” appears as a “groveling” (l. 17) penitent, clothed in “sackcloth” (l. 10), as he (presumably) “mourn[s] in a cell” (l. 12). Although “If that” and “Care” have clear poetic links to “Prostrate” and “All as a sea,” respectively, the analogue does not extend to Byrd’s music. Instead, “If that” and “Care” share a number of musical traits, especially in terms of texture and rhythmic movement. Rather than opening with staggered entrances in an imitative manner, for example, each song begins with three or four parts moving together in strict homophony (see mm. 1–5 of each song). In both openings it is the upper part, superius, which serves momentarily as the main melody before the medius “first singing part” enters several measures later with a reiteration of the leading motive. In both songs, finally, the medius parts themselves are distinctly slow moving, featuring few notes with values other than the semibreve or minim as the upper part takes on the role of a more active countermelody. The stylistic similarities suggest the possibility that these two songs were composed as part of a set, one for which Byrd was particularly interested in producing a solemn effect. However uniformly somber, “If that” and “Care” are by no means devoid of expressive elements. The syncopation featured throughout “If that” reaches its most insistent level in its last line, which brings the work to a strong close (mm. 40–43). “Care” has a number of expressively dissonant moments that are of particular interest, especially at the point where Byrd sets the text “abhorring sinne & vice” (l. 3) of the first stanza (mm. 14–16). In this truly remarkably passage Byrd features a tritone (g’–c♯”) suspended into an unresolved second (f’–g’) that is followed immediately by a cross-relation (f’–f♯’). The discordance reflects the wrongfulness of “sin,” even if it does so without disturbing the overall somber tone (see Ex. 5.1). Also, in the penultimate line the medius part hovers around a single pitch, as the surrounding parts create engaging, if mainly consonant, shifts in harmony (mm. 21–24, 29–32). One suspects that Byrd’s point in using this rhetorical device – which might be described as a harmonically enhanced recitation style – was not only to remind the listener of the religious quality of the text but also to draw special attention to the words themselves: namely, to emphasize the word “vertue” (l. 4 of the first strophe) by clearly enunciating the words “care for it so” (l. 5) that appear just after it. There are some special expressive elements in all of the four works on piety discussed above. But overall these works are subdued and, if never fully absent from the music’s impressively weighty surface, the expressive element here often has the character of an undercurrent. To portray the humble reverence of the sinner ­seeking mercy the music here is appropriately calm and dignified.

E

SUSANNA (BE 12: 29)

specially when experienced after the well-controlled works surrounding it, the nearly rampant pace of Byrd’s “Susanna fair” (BE 12: 29) comes as something of a shock. With the exception of “All as a sea” (BE 12: 28) Byrd’s songs on piety are fairly consistent in the deliberate nature of their rhythmic movement in semibreves and minims. But after the first note of “Susanna” there are only a few instances before the very last chord (which appears twice, thanks to Byrd’s standard repetition of the final couplet), when even a minim is permitted to sound out its full rhythmic value without being interrupted by another note in the texture. The

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114

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ . œ ˙ # ˙ Ex.˙ . 5.1  œ BE n ˙ 15–23 n ˙ 12:˙ 31 “Carewfor thy˙soul,”# ˙mm. &b w ˙. œ ˙ ˙. ˙ grace # ˙ nto˙ vir˙ - tue˙ n ˙ apt˙ by˙ God's & b guilt, ab - hor - #ring˙ sin andœ vice, w ab -nhor˙ - ring ˙ sin˙ # ˙ and vice, & b guilt, w apt byÓ God's ˙ ˙ ˙ grace w to vir˙ - tue˙ to vir n ˙ sin˙ ˙ #and˙ vice,w Ó apt˙ by˙ God's & b horw - ring ˙ grace w ˙ ˙ ∑ apt byÓ God's grace sin ˙ ˙ œto œ vir˙ V b horÓ - ring ˙ ˙ and vice, w ˙ ˙ab hor˙ ring sin and˙ vice, ∑ Ó apt by˙ God's ˙ grace œ toœ vir˙ Vb Ó - ˙- ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ Ó to vir˙ apt ˙ w ˙ byw God's grace V b ˙ # ab˙ - hor˙ . - ringœ sin˙ and˙ vice, w apt Ó to˙ ˙ byw God's ˙ grace w V b ˙ #ab˙ - hor˙ . - ringœ sin˙ and˙ vice,w ? ˙ . ab œ - hor - ˙ ring sinw and vice, ˙ byw God's ˙ grace apt ˙ ˙to b w ˙ w ? b sin˙ . andœ vice, sin˙ andw vice, apt to˙ vir ˙ byw God's ˙ grace ˙ w ˙ w sin

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tension encouraged by this pacing is particularly evident at the opening, where the constant spilling out of semiminims in note-nere fashion creates a highly charged atmosphere as the auditor awaits the entrance of the superius, “first singing part” (mm. 1–3).20 When the main, superius, part of “Susanna” does enter, it is with a leap up away from and then a stepwise move back to the same pitch (mm. 3–4). This melodic arch is emblematic of the melody as a whole, mirroring in miniature the larger movement of this entire first section (up to the final couplet, where the arches 20

See James Haar, “The ‘Note Nere’ Madrigal,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 18 (1965): 22–41.

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& ˙ & was,˙

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whose

œ œ œ œ

#œ œ ˙ # œ deœ - si˙ men, men, de - ˙si Ó ˙ Ó de men

œ w w œ light:

whose

œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙

œ œ false œ œ false

˙ ˙ whose

false in -

œ œ œ inœ false

whose

false in -

w w

bring to

pass,

œ œ œ . œjpass, ˙ jœ œ ˙ œ œ œ . bring to pass, toœ œ bring œ bring ˙ to pass,# œ to ˙ bring œ œ ˙ #œ ˙ bring to

to bring

to pass,

to bring to œ œ ˙ œ œ pass,˙ ˙ pass, ˙ ˙ to˙ thought thought

to

œ œ œin œ in -

false in -

#œ #toœ

Œ œto Œ Ifœ

˙ If ˙ bring œto. œjbring j˙ . œ bring toœ ˙ ˙ to˙

pass,

bring

to

are repeated, mm. 1–14). The larger arch shape of this song is itself built up from a series of smaller arches, which are all articulated by rests (superius mm. 3–6, 6–7, 7–8, 9–10). The top pitches of all these arches rise in stepwise fashion, creating a heightened sense of drama (e”, m. 6; f”, m. 7; g”, m. 10; see Ex. 5.2). Indeed, it was surely for the purpose of focusing on the evil character of the “two olde men” (l. 2) that Byrd reiterated a two-note motive for the climbing leaps in the superius and featured as well a preponderance of two-note figures, twofold repetitions, and duets (mm. 6–8), all to keep our ears alert to the villainous intentions of this pair of lecherously hostile figures. Tellingly, at the end of the first section, the last four notes of the entire section duplicate precisely the pitches of the opening four, the augmentation emphasizing

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the words “force & might” (mm. 13–14). The same large-scale arch shape is retraced in a telescoped version and then repeated in the final couplet, at mm. 14–20, 20–26. All told, even if technically Byrd’s song is not in the new monodic style, his “Susanna” shares a special affinity with the epoch-defining dramatic m ­ usical idiom that was emerging on the continent.21 From a literary standpoint it is no surprise that Byrd singled out “Susanna” for such a stimulating musical treatment. The text itself, drawn from a well-known ­biblical story in the Apocrypha (Daniel 13), captures the key moment in a rousing narrative when a beautiful and innocent Susanna cries out to reject a blackmail scheme devised by two lecherous elders in their aborted attempt to force her to consent to their sexual advances. Yet for all its inherent dramatic qualities, none of the myriad of musical settings of this same (or similar) text by  dozens of composers of the time even approaches Byrd’s intense level of anguish and torment, even though a rivalry across denominational lines is easily discovered in a look at the “Susanne complex” as a whole. In terms of tone, a true companion to Byrd’s “Susanna” is in fact the painting “Susanna and the Elders” (of 1610) by Artemisia Gentileschi, herself the victim of sexual assault (see Fig. 6).22 Whereas many other painters used the story as an excuse for voyeuristic display, Gentileschi focuses attention on Susanna’s contorted posture, which forms the base of a dark and looming triangle that encompasses the conspiring men above her and is mirrored below in Susanna’s brightly colored arms and once again in her uncomfortably positioned legs. In shaping techniques, particularly in the use of arches, Gentileschi’s portrayal of Susanna has much in common with Byrd’s. In both cases the purpose is to draw the audience into the plight of the subject and even more so into that of its true subject. In Gentileschi’s case the real sufferer is the painter herself, who stands behind Susanna as something of a defiantly looming shadow. In Byrd’s song, as argued below, the strife relates to Mary Queen of Scots’s treatment by her English captors. Not all Renaissance artists, however, focused their attention on this climactic moment of resistance and struggle. Depicting Susanna instead at a point when she was unaware of the men approaching her, many cast her from the point of view of the two sexual offenders, as the subject of voyeuristic pleasure. Others took the 21

On monody see the classic study by Claude V. Palisca, Music and Ideas in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, ed. Thomas V. Mathiesen, Studies in the History of Music Theory and Literature 1 (Urbana, 2006), 107–32. 22 Mary D. Garrard, “Artemisia and Susanna,” in Feminism and Art History: Questioning the Litany, ed. Norma Broude and Mary D. Garrard (New York, 1982), 146–71; Elizabeth S. Cohen, “The Trials of Artemisia Gentileschi: A Rape as History,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 31 (2000): 47–75; Deborah Anderson Silvers, “Artemisia Gentileschi: The Heart of a Woman and the Soul of a Caesar,” Ph.D. diss., University of South Florida, 2010. As Silvers notes, “the rape did not actually occur until a few months after the completion of the 1610 painting; however, according to trial testimony by Artemisia and others, Tassi [the rapist] was a frequent visitor to the Gentileschi household during the execution of this painting” and the latter had been for a year “‘grooming’ [the seventeen year old] Artemisia as a sexual conquest” (pp. 5–6).

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6.  Artemisia Gentileschi’s “Susannah and the Elders,” reflecting the female subject’s repulsion and fright

sexual theme further, portraying Susanna as a compliant figure, ignoring all the moral and dramatic implications of the biblical story (see Fig. 7).23 Yet another 23

For the most thorough study of the use of the image in the Renaissance see Dan W. Clanton, The Good, the Bold, and the Beautiful: the Story of Susanna and its

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118

7.  A suggestively consensual and voyeuristic depiction of “Susannah and the Elders” by Jacopo Robusti Tintoretto

noteworthy group of painters portrayed the image of “Susanna at the Bath” with a focus on the achievements of Daniel, treating the story as an exemplar of the virtue of justice (see Fig. 8).24 The sexual theme in Susanna is explicit in Byrd’s song. (The editor Edmund Fellowes fully demonstrated the extent to which the text could be deemed overtly sexual when he bowdlerized the poem, removing the references to attempted rape in his edition.25) But if there is any voyeuristic element in Byrd’s setting, it is not likely to have been of much interest to the composer or his listeners at the time. As with Gentileschi, the scene is portrayed from Susanna’s perspective, where the straitened circumstances suggest an urgency that leaves little room for voyeurism of any kind. Mary Queen of Scots was linked to a virtuous Susanna unambiguously in the so-called Sheffield patterned portrait series that was initiated in 1578 and became the basis for a number of copies and derivatives (see Figs 9 and 10).26 She was similarly depicted as Susanna in a series of three related tracts wherein her case was most strenuously defended. Through his contact with Henry Fitzalan, the 12th Earl of Arundel and his son-in-law John Lumley, Byrd was closely associated with such representations of Mary/Susanna in both art and propaganda.27 Indeed, it is Renaissance Interpretations (New York, 2006); see also Babette Bohn, “Rape and the Gendered Gaze: Susanna and the Elders in Early Modern Bologna,” Biblical Interpretation 9 (2001): 259–86, at 264–66. 24 Cordula Bischoff, “Albrecht Altdorfer’s Susanna and the Elders: Female Virtues, Male Politics,” RACAR 23 (1996): 22–35; Smith, “Imitation as Cross-Confessional Appropriation,” 292–94. 25 He claimed that this song “cannot conveniently be sung to the original verses”; see Edmund Horace Fellowes, The English Madrigal Composers (Oxford, 1921), 165. 26 Smith, “Revisiting the Origins,” 212–18. 27 See Leo Gooch, “John, Lord Lumley: An Elizabethan Conspirator and Collector,” Northern Catholic History 41 (2000): 10–21.

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8  Albrecht Altdorfer’s “Susanna at her bath,” representing the virtue of justice

possible that Byrd saw a version of the painting at Arundel’s (and later Lumley’s) Nonsuch Palace, where one of the Sheffield types was listed in a late-Elizabethan inventory.28 Through interactions with the same men, Byrd probably became well 28

Erna Auerbach and C. Kingsley Adams, Paintings and Sculpture at Hatfield House: A Catalogue (London, 1971), 61–64; Kathryn Barron, “The Collecting and Patronage of John, Lord Lumley (c. 1535–1609),” in The Evolution of English Collecting: Receptions of Italian Art in the Tudor and Stuart Periods, ed. Edward Chaney (New Haven, CT, and London, 2003), 125–58; and Susan Bracken, “Robert Cecil as Art Collector,” in Patronage, Culture and Power: The Early Cecils, 1558–1612, ed. Paulice Croft, Studies in British Art 8 (New Haven, CT, 2002), 121–38.

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9  One of the earliest datable “Sheffield Portraits” (Hatfield Hall, c. 1578) of Mary Queen of Scots

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10  Detail from figure 9, showing the rosary at Mary’s waist with a miniature depiction of “Susanna and the Elders”

acquainted with the work of John Lesley, the legally trained future bishop of Ross, who was the most prominent defender of Mary during her trial in England.29 In 29

Smith, “Mary Queen of Scots as Susanna,” 212–13; David McNaught Lockie, “The Political Career of the Bishop of Ross, 1568–80: The Background to a Contemporary Life of Mary Stuart,” University of Birmingham Historical Journal 4 (1953–54), 98–145; and Margaret J. Beckett, “The Political Works of John Lesley, Bishop of Ross (1527–96),” Ph.D. diss., University of St Andrews, 2002.

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his A Defense of the Honour of … Marie Queen of Scotland of 1569, Lesley pointedly exclaimed, “We can tell you that this good ladie ys unjustlie accused, and wrongfullie oppressed, as good Susanna was (fol. 45r).” Lesley started a trend. After Mary’s trial, the anonymous author of L’Innocence de la trés illustre, trés chaste et débonnaire Princesse Madame Marie Roine d’Escosse ([Rheims], 1572) also alluded to the Susanna story (pp. 39–40).30 Later, in reacting to Mary’s execution in 1587, the polemicist Adam Blackwood turned to the Susanna image in his Le Martyre de la Royne d’Escosse (Edinburgh [Paris], 1587). By dying as a martyr to her faith, in Blackwood’s vehemently argued view, Mary had committed the ultimate act of fortitude as it was formulated in the prevailing Christian depictions of the virtues.31 Even Elizabeth expressed anger and dismay at the councillors responsible for the execution and fervently denied personal culpability, threatening to hang one of her undersecretaries who had been involved.32 With its stirring expression of anger, Byrd’s “Susanna” forms the centerpiece for Byrd’s five songs of “pietie” (BE 12: 26–30). The last of these, “Care for thy soul,” may be regarded as an apt preparation for the final four songs of “sadnes.” Their topic is martyrdom, and Byrd here continues to develop the potential for double meaning in the poems that he had already set to music.

“

L

FORTITUDE AND MARTYRDOM (BE 12: 32–33) ulla lullbye” (BE 12: 32) is a carol in the style of the famous Coventry Carol, which is on the same topic – the biblical story of Herod and the Massacre of

30

Smith, “Mary Queen of Scots as Susanna,” 216; Alexander S. Wilkinson, Mary Queen of Scots and French Public Opinion, 1542–1600 (Basingstoke and New York, 2004), 66, 182–83. 31 Smith, “Mary Queen of Scots as Susanna,” 218–20; Howard A. Lloyd, “The Political Thought of Adam Blackwood,” Historical Journal 43 (2000): 915–35. Blackwood’s tract caused quite a stir on the continent. Byrd probably got hold of it sometime in 1587 and he – unlike any other known Englishman – seems to have been willing to promulgate the essence of its powerful message in the public forum of print soon thereafter. 32 Namely, William Davison; see G. R. Batho, “The Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots,” Scottish Historical Review 39 (1960): 35–42, at 40. See also B. M. Ward, “Queen Elizabeth and William Davison,” English Historical Review 44 (1929): 104–06; and Richard C. McCoy, “Lord of Liberty: Francis Davison and the Cult of Elizabeth,” in The Reign of Elizabeth I: Court and Culture in the Last Decade ed. John Guy (Cambridge, 1995), 212–27. To this day scholars disagree about the nature of Elizabeth’s reaction. Some view it as genuine remorse and anger while others detect there the insincere tears of a “mournful crocodile,” to quote Shakespeare (Henry IV, Part 2, iii., 1). On Elizabeth’s reactions to the execution see Alison Weir, The Life of Elizabeth I (New York, 1998), 380–83; Sir John Neale, Elizabeth I and her Parliaments, 1584–1601 (London, 1953), 180ff; Batho, “The Execution of Mary,” 40–42; and Janel Mueller, “‘To My Very Good Brother the King of Scots’: Elizabeth I’s Correspondence with James VI and the Question of the Succession,” PMLA 115 (2000): 1063–71. It should be noted here that Elizabeth was anxious to do away with Mary, proposing to Davison that Mary’s jailor might murder her with as little formality as possible. Whether Byrd knew of such plans is difficult to establish, as the evidence was kept from public view for many years thereafter; see Edward Spencer Beesly, Queen Elizabeth (London, 1906), 186–87.

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the Innocents.33 As with the Coventry Carol, Byrd’s “Lullabye” is to this day frequently recorded, arranged, and performed, and its text often reprinted. In earlier periods it was not uncommon for the entire 1588 collection to be referred to as Byrd’s “lullabies,” suggesting the modern trend of popularity has a long history. Philip Brett once suggested that this reveals a contemporary appreciation of the soothing quality of Byrd’s songs overall.34 But it seems likely that the infectious quality of Byrd’s “Lullabye” itself contributes to the phenomenon. The 4th Earl of Worcester’s famous comment in 1602, “in winter lullaby, an owld song of Mr Birde, wylbee more in request as I thinke,” suggests, for example, that Byrd’s “Lullabye” stood out as a special courtly favorite at the time.35 “Lullabye” has indeed a notably soothing effect. In the burden (which is printed at the head of the work, and which, as Byrd indicates, should be repeated after each verse) a series of rocking undulations evokes a child’s cradle in motion. This effect is captured in the echoing minor thirds of the opening point (mm. 1–6, see Ex. 5.3) and also in the slow melodic ascent up to a climax in the music of the first half of this section (for the text that would normally serve for a repeated A section, mm. 9–10). A rocking quality is evident too in the motivically rich setting of the text “lulla lullaby” (ll. 1–2), which forms the basis for a musical section that Byrd repeats in the style of a final couplet. Countering the rise of the previous part with a gentle return to the melody’s starting point at the bottom of its range, this section features evocative wave-like melodic sweeps around the medius “first singing part” (notably in the superius above and contratenor below) that prefigure the melodic movement of all the parts as they approach the final cadence (mm. 9–26). As with “Susanna” and its arches, then, the burden of Byrd’s “Lullabye” possesses a seminal musical shape: one that is present at the motivic surface and also within the larger scheme of the work as a whole. In his music for the verse Byrd follows similar procedures. In the first point he features again a minor third, although this time reversing the pattern of the undulating melodic movement (as the interval is now approached from below rather than above, mm. 27–30). He also alters the structure (from the pattern set by the burden) at the point of a varying refrain, which he (again) repeats in the manner of a final couplet. At this point, for the text “Oh woe” (l. 12) he adopts a technique he used also in a number of other works that feature vocative phrases. A slow-paced motive of a descending third permeates the texture as Byrd shifts momentarily, and expressively, to a “pseudo-duet” texture (mm. 48–51, 56–60). However soothing his music overall, in his setting Byrd was by no means insensitive to the horrors of the “Lullabye” text. The innocents that Herod slaughtered at 33

Judging from the extraordinary number of arrangements alone it would seem fair to conclude that the Coventry Carol stands among the most prominent of all the works that Colin Mawby has described as part of a seasonal “carolmania”; see his “Preparing for Christmas,” Musical Times 132 (1991): 532, 534, at 532. On the rich Medieval (and Renaissance) context of the original work see Richard Rastall’s magisterial two-volume set, Music in Early English Religious Drama (Cambridge and Woodbridge, 1996–2002). 34 Philip Brett, ed. Consort Songs, Musica Britannica 22 (London, 1967). 35 Quoted in Edmund H. Fellowes, William Byrd, 2nd edn. (London, 1948), 157.

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124

∑

& W -

by,

& ∑ &

#w

- by,

lul - la,

-

Lu - la,

˙ ˙

lul - la

-

by,

lul

„

-

by,

lul

w -

∑

W w

lul

by,

lul - la - by,

by,

w

lul - la

˙. œ ˙ ˙ w

V W ?

˙. œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

Ex. 5.3  BE 12: 32 “Lulla lullaby,” m.4–6

-

˙ ˙

la,

lul

˙ #˙ ˙ ˙ la - by,

la

˙. œ

lul - la,

˙ #˙ w -

la - by,

˙. œ ˙ ˙

lul - la, lul - la

the time of Christ’s birth, as Byrd was surely aware, were long considered the first martyrs of the Christian era. With characteristically pungent cross-relations and occasional shifts to homorhythmic and pseudo-duet texture for special emphasis, Byrd brings out the unsettling nature of this situation. The end result is an emotionally textured and memorably affecting depiction of a loving mother’s attempt to lull her child to sleep in the midst of a massacre. Thanks to the great appeal of the Coventry Carol and the presence of two similar lullabies (though on different “massacre” topics) in manuscript collections of songs that Byrd and many others likely knew, it is clear that Byrd could have approached “Lullabye” as a standard type of text, one that would be likely to attract broad interest when set to music.36 However distant these songs might have been from the actual practice of soothing a child, the suggestion of functionality is worth emphasizing, as it may have contributed to their popularity. The remaining songs of the set could also be viewed as serving a function, as music for a funeral (and these songs perhaps did originally serve their intended commemorative purposes). 36

See Brett, ed., Consort Songs.

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A deeper connection between “Lullabye” and the remaining songs of the set, however, relates to the theme of martyrdom. In conjuring up an image of Herod’s Massacre of the Innocents, “Lullabye” introduces the theme of martyrdom that continues into the next work especially, and perhaps also through the remainder of the sadness section.37 In “Why do I use” (BE 12: 33) only “Angels” are deemed “fit,” the text proclaims, to make the appropriate “sound” (l. 5) for the “blessed Martirs” (l. 12) that “great tirants” can only try to “subdu[e]” (l. 9) with extinction. After extolling those who “fame renoum’d perpetuall shall endure” (l. 14), the poem concludes with the powerful contention that martyrs “set a patterne pure” of a “holy life,” exemplifying “vertues [that the living should] embrace” (ll.  16–17). Although “Lulla Lullaby” presents some potential ambiguity about the level of its stress on the martyrdom subject, there can be no doubt that “Why do I use” – at least when read without knowledge of its external context – is focused entirely on this topic. In the larger context of the book, where ideas about laws and virtues had been reverberating insistently, this statement about martyrs suggests that the narrative had reached a point of climax. But, as is well known, “Why do I use” had particular associations with the Jesuit missionary Edmund Campion (see Fig. 11) that went beyond the general aspect of martyrdom. Reacting to these associations, in 1998 Bruce Horner subjected “Why do I use” to an interesting experiment in consort song reception history.38 To illustrate what he terms a “materially shifting site for struggle over meaning” in this music, he gathered together and compared his and his students’ reactions to this song at two distinct stages of understanding.39 Specifically, he collected this data both prior to and after discovery of the song’s association with a particular martyr, Campion, as established by Kerman and others.40 The results are intriguing. As Horner and his students became familiar with its context they all unexpectedly found “deeply moving” a work that they had first condemned as “boring.”41 With 37

Frederick Holweck, “Holy Innocents,” The Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. 7 (New York, 1910), http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07419a.htm, accessed 4 Mar. 2011. Holweck notes that “Stephen [was] the first martyr (martyr by will, love, and blood), John, the Disciple of Love (martyr by will and love), and these first flowers of the Church (martyrs by blood alone) [the Holy Innocents] accompany the Holy Child Jesus entering this world on Christmas day.” Thus they are often referred to as the “first martyrs.” 38 Bruce Horner, “On the Study of Music as Material Social Practice,” Journal of Musicology 16 (1998): 159–99. 39 Horner, “On the Study,” 198. 40 Joseph Kerman, “William Byrd and the Catholics,” New York Review of Books 26:8 (17 May, 1979): 32–36. See also idem, “Music and Politics: The Case of William Byrd,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 144 (2000): 275–87; Philip Brett, William Byrd and His Contemporaries: Essays and a Monograph, ed. Joseph Kerman and Davitt Moroney (Berkeley, 2006); Craig Monson, “Byrd, the Catholics and the Motet: The Hearing Reopened,” in Hearing the Motet: Essays on the Motet of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, ed. Dolores Pesce, 348–74 (New York and Oxford, 1997); Gerard Kilroy, Edmund Campion: Memory and Transcription (Aldershot, 2005). 41 Horner, “On the Study,” 196.

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11  Edmund Campion and the scene of his execution in 1581

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certain qualifications, Horner proposes that those who heard this song at the time held similar, shifting views. Byrd, it seems, did not rise to the occasion and produce the “angelic sounds” his chosen poem loftily describes as appropriate only for martyrs. It would seem most uncharacteristic of Byrd to miss an opportunity such as this. If instead of “boring” Horner had somehow suggested that the work sounds “temperate” or “stately,” then the first impressions of the work that he reports would seem a fair assessment. As with most of the songs in the piety section that precedes it, Byrd placed the main part in the medius, where a leading role for the vocal part can easily be somewhat diminished. (Although in “Lullabye” Byrd demonstrated that a medius-led song could be moving, it is noteworthy that he resorted to a duet texture of sorts, with a leading part for the superius, for the most expressive passages.) The lines themselves, too, are long and winding rather than crisp and motivic. That the opening four notes create an arch in the same manner as in “Susanna” – with the same exact intervals – only serves to emphasize the lack of drama in this work (mm. 6–7), although it was surely felt deeply by Catholic auditors aware of the connections. The extra time it takes for the medius simply to answer the upwardly moving gestures of the superius alone tends to dampen the effect of the first melodically directed climax (mm. 10–14). To explain Byrd’s musical restraint one is tempted to fault the text, as the poem has its share of conventional images. But the topic, martyrdom, was the highest form of fortitude, the most esteemed of all Christian virtues and gifts, and Byrd certainly knew how to override the problems of a text in order to create musical excitement. So why did he not respond to this idea more dramatically? To begin to answer this it is worth noting that there is a side to the issue that Horner did not explore: namely, that Byrd, perfectly capable of producing music of a dramatic cast, might well have opted to create what has since been seen as a neutral sound in this song. Rather than stir up emotions at this point, he might well have preferred, with stately dignity, to reflect solemnly on Campion’s fortitude and achievement. In his original poem “Why do I use” Henry Walpole had memorialized Campion in unambiguously explicit terms.42 Byrd had set Walpole’s first stanza without any change in the Psalmes. But the version of the poem he set contains two stanzas that appear nowhere else in the rather extensive list of manuscripts that transmit the “Why do I use” verses.43 Most significantly, Campion’s name is absent from them. That the two added stanzas generalize a subject that was once personalized is indisputable. Whether this was done to avoid direct reference to a controversial subject or to bring the theme of martyrdom more to the forefront, or for both reasons (as I believe), are intriguing possibilities, if difficult to settle conclusively. The extent to which Byrd’s subject could be seen as truly hidden from his original audiences, however, is a matter that may be fruitfully explored. Campion’s execution was one of the most unforgettable political events of the entire Elizabethan era. Presses were active on both sides of the debate, with secretly 42

Ruth Hughey, ed., The Arundel Harington Manuscript of Tudor Poetry, 2 vols (Columbus, OH, 1960), 2:66. 43 See Gerard Kilroy, “Paper, Inke and Penne: The Literary Memoria of the Recusant Community,” Downside Review 119 (2001): 95–124.

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printed accounts by Catholics – mainly Richard Verstegen – promptly countered by Protestant- and government-sponsored tracts. Significantly, Walpole’s poem was featured in the exchange. After it was printed in a pro-Campion tract, a manuscript version was discovered in the house of Stephen Vallenger (who may have added some text and was responsible for its publication). Vallenger was severely punished for his role in the promulgation of the tract in two public events, where he lost both ears.44 Anthony Munday was the first to respond in print to the Verstegen–Vallenger– Walpole tract.45 A sometime Catholic himself, Munday had served the Earl of Oxford and represented his views before, during, and after the French Match. As Donna Hamilton has argued, Munday eventually adopt an equivocal position in many of his putatively anti-Catholic tracts. However anxious to show his loyalty to the reigning Queen – especially after the Earl himself famously rejected Catholicism and betrayed his friends – Munday may nonetheless have also worked to spread Catholic ideas.46 Although it is difficult to see much in the way of equivocation in this particular tract, as it clearly attacks Campion with vigor and vehemence, it can still be seen to serve both sides of the debate. In what he termed “verses in the Libell, made in prayse of the death of Maister Campion, one of the societie of the holie name of Iesus; heere chaunged to the re- proofe of him, and the other Traitours” Munday severely countered Walpole’s praises, point by point.47 But he also replicated exactly the first two lines of “Why do I use” just as they appear in the earlier pro-Campion tract, and thus he helped to publicize the original verses. With their apparently repressive actions, Hamilton argues, Munday and the government only encouraged many to familiarize themselves with Walpole’s poem of praise. All told, it seems hardly likely that many at the time would have been unaware that “Why do I use” was a poem associated with Campion. Nor is it likely that anyone in power would have believed that Byrd himself was unaware of the provenance of such a controversial poem and its topic. Whether truly hidden from many at the time or not, Byrd’s “Why do I use” contained a potent message of support for his fellow persecuted Catholics.

I

FUNERAL SONGS FOR SIR PHILIP SIDNEY (BE 12: 34–35)

f the “hidden” subject of “Why do I use” is ignored and the poem is treated as the generalized text it was redesigned to be, it could be seen to project the glowing image of martyrdom on to Sir Philip Sidney, the explicitly named subject of the last two songs of the set. While some regarded him as no less than a champion of Protestantism, Sidney had opened certain hopes for Catholics too, especially in his

44

Anthony Petti, “Stephen Vallenger (1541–1591),” Recusant History 6 (1962): 248–64; Donna B. Hamilton, Anthony Munday and the Catholics, 1560–1633 (Aldershot, 2005), 43. 45 Hamilton, Anthony Munday, 40. 46 Ibid., 7ff. 47 Anthony Munday, A breefe Aunswer made unto two seditions Pamphlets (London, 1582), D7r–E2v.

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interactions with Campion.48 Catholics were further buoyed by the prospect that Sidney’s successor, Robert Devereux, the second Earl of Essex – who took a special interest in James VI as a successor to Elizabeth – could be approached as another courtier who might support their interests.49 In Byrd’s rendering Sidney is awarded a grand stature that many at the time, including Catholics, probably would have thought patriotically fitting for the youthful poet and courtier politician who had died so tragically from wounds he had suffered in a battle – even if against Catholics – on foreign soil. A politique Catholic might well have encouraged Byrd to make the gesture of homage, in the hopes it would prove fruitful in the cultivation of Essex. In the same way he linked themes of magnanimity and love in “In fields abroad” Byrd may have wished to honor two of the fallen, Sidney as the “flower of chivalry” and Campion the “flower of Oxford,” in a way that would only enhance and elevate the level of his praise for both men, and, indeed, the word “flower” appears in both poems Byrd set.50 Although “Come to me grief forever” (BE 12: 34) and “O that most rare breast” (BE 12: 35) are explicitly on the subject of Sidney and his death, they are, and surely were, greatly enriched with an understanding of their context and history. Of the two, “Come to me” has perhaps the more straightforward provenance. Thanks to its poetic form, it is clear that the text was designed as an obvious tribute to Sidney and one of his more famous literary interests, namely the imposition of quantitative accentuation on English poetry. Derek Attridge has shown that “Come to me” (BE 12: 34) was based on Sidney’s “When to my deadlie pleasure,” which is cast in the same Aristophanic meter.51 As with “Constant Penelope,” to which “Come to me” is related in form, and “O that” to follow, which is related to the latter in theme, “Come to me” stands out for its lack of end-rhyme.52 Sidney’s own verse was based on a rare classical example, an ode by Horace (Odes 1.8) “Lydia, dic per omnes.”53 There are links in poetic theme and voice among all these verses in Aristophanic meter. Horace’s speaker bemoans the way in which Sybaris is kept from manly pursuits by his love for Lydia, whereas in Sidney’s “When to my” the speaker equates the feeling of being consumed by love to the ultimate disablement of death. Finally, “Come to me grief,” which might be seen to reestablish the point of view of an 48

Katherine Duncan–Jones, “Sir Philip Sidney’s Debt to Edmund Campion,” in The Reckoned Expense: Edmund Campion and the Early English Jesuits, ed. Thomas M. McCoog, SJ (Woodbridge, 1996), 85–92. 49 Jeremy L. Smith, “Music and Late Elizabethan Politics: The Identities of Oriana and Diana,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 58 (2005): 507–58. 50 See BE 12: 33, l. 7 (incorrectly transcribed as “stoare”) and BE 12: 34, l. 14. 51 Derek Attridge, Well–weighed Syllables: Elizabethan Verse in Classical Metres (Cambridge, 1974), 131–32 n1, 210. 52 The last stanza of “Come to me” has an aabb rhyme. This corresponds to its model by Sidney, “When to thy deadlie pleasure,” where there is no end rhyme until the last stanza, when all lines end with the word “you.” The anaphoric repetitions of the word “Sidney” in the fourth stanza of “Come to me” may also be traced to the repetitions in the last stanza of “When to thy.” 53 James Applegate, “Sidney’s Classical Meters,” Modern Language Notes 70 (1955): 254–55.

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admirer of a victimized hero, picks up on the theme of death as Sidney’s actual passing is recalled. Even if the poetic similarities among these works did not figure in their provenance, there can be no question that a special relationship with Sidney was commemorated in “Come to me.” The poet’s position as a concerned friend, the main conceit of the aforementioned Horatian ode, deeply colors the poem, adding an aura of intimacy that brings to mind the tone of the psalm settings that opened Byrd’s collection. As he did with those psalms, Byrd shows an acute awareness that he can project through his music an image of personally held feelings and concerns; and he here establishes just how thoroughly he understands the special role Sidney assigned to music in poems of this kind. Although certain rhythms were basically settled for Byrd in advance, as the meter determined which notes in the superius should be short and which should be long, to set the right tone presents a special challenge for the composer. With its dance-like feminine endings, the poetic meter itself hardly seems appropriate for the solemn topic (see mm. 4, 7, 9, etc.). But Byrd found that with stately, lilting lines, which stand out as poignantly ornamented and tightly controlled, he could convey rather movingly in his “first singing part” a sense of loss without sacrificing the image of a living spirit. As in “Mine eyes” (BE 12: 2) the brevity and conciseness of this song do nothing to detract from its quality. These two works do serve to some extent as foils to the most conspicuous pieces of the collection, but they also invite the listener into an especially private realm: in one a place of personal prayer, in the other a place for intellectually stimulated reflection. “Come to me” epitomizes the way in which the song could prove ideal as a medium for intimate, thoughtful expression. Byrd’s setting of the sonnet “O that most rare breast” (BE 12: 35) is in every way a grander tribute to Sidney than “Come to me, grief,” although it is by no means less expressive and it too has an intimate aspect. As is well known, Byrd’s published version of this song presented a small change in text: with “thy dier” of the original replaced by “thy friend” in the last line, “thy friend heere living dieth” (l. 14). “Thy dier” surely refers to Sidney’s famous friend Edmund Dyer, to convey a message of intimacy, which “thy friend” does not actually change.54 But even when signaling here to a select group that Dyer is perhaps the “I” of “I joy not,” with which Byrd opens his temperance quartet – the sheer grandeur of the song suggests that all were invited to mourn Sidney in this final song of this printed collection. The sonnet, with its single stanza form and extended length, presented Byrd with various opportunities in the Psalmes to cast his work into impressively elaborate structures. A quick comparison of the three sonnets he set in 1588, “Ambitious love” (BE 12: 18), “As I beheld” (BE 12: 20) and “O that,” reveals that each is different in form and that Byrd approached them accordingly. “Ambitious love” is more typical of the early, Italianate sonnets in England, as it does not feature a final couplet; “As I beheld,” as printed, features a slightly unusual rhyme scheme in the sestet, and “O that” is cast in blank verse.55 Although Byrd could 54

Philip Brett, “The Consort Song, 1575–1625,” Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 88 (1961–62): 73–88, at 82. 55 See Katharine A. Craik, “Shakespeare and the Elizabethan Sonnet and Lyric,” in The Cambridge History of English Poetry, ed. Michael O’Neill (Cambridge, 2010), 154–73.

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not rely on the structural suggestions of rhyming lines in his last sonnet, he seized upon all the repetition schemes suggested by the punctuation of the text. Thus he repeats the music, with slight adjustments, for the first and second quatrains and supplies new music for the third (mm. 78–102), which was not repeated. Byrd then left considerable musical space for an affective outpouring for the last two lines, which he stretches out and repeats, as usual, in the style of a final couplet (mm. 102–53). With its repeated words, such as the vocative “O” (l. 1), and repetitions of whole phrases in the opening gestures, this song is much longer than any other in the collection (see mm. 1–76); and given the scope of the work it is not surprising to discover that musical techniques featured earlier in the collection reemerge here in various ways. The relative harmonic stability of the opening of each section of the song, enhanced by many repeated notes in the middle section and a directed, “tonal,” bassus, Byrd had used before to portray a sense of pastoral stillness or creative immovability. Here these musical gestures depict all the grand solemnity of Sidney’s massive funeral procession, which, as Theodore de Bry’s famous engraving makes clear, was unprecedented in scope.56 After the somber openings Byrd enlivens the texture as the lines begin to move quickly, as he does often throughout the set, stressing words such as “bewaile” (l. 8, mm. 61–74) and the subject’s name, “Sidney” (l. 4, mm. 22–35), to encourage a hastening intensity of emotional responses. He even treats the music of “O heavie time” (l. 13, mm. 102–08, 126–35), with its wrenching minor thirds, as something of a motivic repository, one he revisits several times to remind his listeners in various ways of the tragedy of Sidney’s demise (see Ex. 5.4).57 For the song’s last lines, however, Byrd returns to the stately motion of the opening part, allowing the work to end with appropriate gravity (mm. 147–53). It is, finally, in Byrd’s shaping of lines that this song connects so well to the sadness theme of the section. As in “Susanna,” his move toward a first climax in “O that most” is directed by the song’s “tune” – the superius “first singing part” (mm. 24–33). Given the scope and power of the gesture, it nicely displays Byrd’s mastery of the 1 + 4 consort song idiom in the sense that here, as in so many other works of the Psalmes, rhythm, harmony, and texture all contribute to a build up and release of tension as the superius moves toward the top of its range and then eases back down to a point of expressive repose (mm. 32–40). Whether or not Byrd meant 56

See John Buxton, “The Mourning for Sidney,” Renaissance Studies 3 (1989): 46–56; G. W. Pigman, Grief and English Renaissance Elegy (Cambridge, 1985); C. A. Upton, “‘Speaking Sorrow’: The English University Anthologies of 1587 of the Death of Philip Sidney in the Low Countries,” in Academic Relations between the Low Countries and the British Isles, 1450–1700, ed. H. de Ridder–Symoens and J. M. Fletcher (Ghent, 1989), 131–41. Dominic Baker-Smith, “‘Great Expectation’: Sidney’s Death and the Poets,” in Sir Philip Sidney: 1586 and the Creation of a Legend, ed. Jan van Dorsten, Dominic Baker-Smith, and Arthur F. Kinney (Leiden, 1986), 83–103; Raphael Falco, “Instant Artifacts: Vernacular Elegies for Philip Sidney,” Studies in Philology 89 (1992): 1–19; Sean Flory, “How to Remember Thee? Problems of Memorialization in English Writing, 1558–1625,” Ph. D. diss., Louisiana State University, 2000, 75–114. 57 See Smith, “Music and Late Elizabethan Politics,” 533–35, and BE 13: 26.

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132

&b &

b ∑

bb

nw

w

ney,

bb

˙

w

O

b Vb w V

Ó

Ex. 5.4  BE 12: 35, “O that most rare breast” a. mm. 31–34

Sid

? bb Ó

Sid

nw -

˙

O

Sid

-

ney,

˙

ney,

O

„

Ó

w Sid

w

nw -

ney,

nw

-

w Sid

˙

O

∑

ney,

Ó

-

w Sid

w

˙

O

Sid

ney,

prince

-

O

w

n˙

w

-

w

ney,

˙

of

fame

˙

˙

˙

∑

Ó

˙

w

ney,

˙

Ó

O

Sid

w Sid

Ó

˙

-

˙

O

w

O

w

Sid

w

ney,

˙ men's

w

Sid

˙

ney, prince

and

˙

-

˙

-

˙

prince

˙

ney,

˙

of

here to suggest (yet again) that he had considered deeply Sidney’s views on the relationship of music and poetry, “O that” epitomizes the composer’s extraordinary capacity to render poetic ideas into a more memorable form for proper consumption – just as Sidney had advocated – through the “well-inchaunting skill of music.”58

58

Sir Philip Sidney, An Apologie for Poetrie (London, 1595), E4v.

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Songs of sadnes and pietie 133 Ex. 5.4  continued b. mm. 102–08

b &b w

∑

∑

˙ ˙ w

w

stain:

O

b &b w di

-

time,

Ó

w

stain,

b &b ˙

O

O

hea - vy

hea - vy time,

&b

b

- vy

w

time,

b œ œ w Vb -

? bb Ó

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˙

O

hea

˙.

hea

˙. hea

˙

œ œ œ ˙

vy

time,

-

vy

O

˙.

hea

œ œ w

time,

O

time

b˙

˙

that

hea

˙

my

˙

time,

˙

hea - vy

˙ b˙

vy

vy

time, hea -

˙

w

time,

œ œ œ ˙

œœ œ ˙

˙ œ œ n˙ ˙

w

hea - vy

w

˙

hea -

hea - vy

w

O

-

˙.

O hea - vy

„

-

O

Ó ˙ ˙. œ ˙ ˙ w

˙

n˙ -

time,

O

time, O

Ó

vy

Ó ˙

time,

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

n˙

vy time, O

time,

b &b œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ -

˙ ˙ w

˙ w

hea - vy

-

˙ ˙ w

w

stain,

hea

w

hea - vy time,

-

O

˙ œœ ˙ ˙ ˙

O

b Vb ˙ ˙ w ? b w b

O hea

w

w

hea - vy time,

b & b ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ œœ œ ˙ œœ w œ stain, O hea - vy

∑

-

œœ˙ vy

w

O

-

˙ ˙

days draw

b˙

vy

˙

be

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Chapter 6

Songs of Three Parts

I

n the preface to his Songs of sundrie natures of 1589 Byrd celebrates the success of his Psalmes, Sonets, & songs of 1588 – its “good passage and utterance” (BE 13, p. xxxvii) – and offers this happy outcome as his rationale for publishing another set of music of a similar vein. In 1588 he could describe all the works therein as originally composed for a single voice and (four) instruments, although he makes sure to note that he has added texts to all the parts in the edition. As they were so consistent in their scoring and, to some extent, style, Byrd organized his songs of 1588 by their poetic topic, and seemingly in the most generic manner, fitting them into the categories of “psalmes, sonets [and pastoralls], and songs of sadnes and pietie.” Underneath it all is an organizational scheme based on a sequential method of story-telling that Byrd carried through the entire book. He makes no mention of that structural feature, however, in his preface, or elsewhere. For his Songs Byrd lays things out quite differently. Following Netherlandish music publishing practices, this time he features three-, four-, five- and sixpart songs, which he groups together by part and presents in ascending order. Furthermore, rather than explain that some of them were originally of the 1 + 4, partly untexted, variety, but many had always been partsongs, he simply claims that they would “serve for all companies and voyces” (BE 13, p. xxxvii). As in 1588, he does not reveal any in-depth rationale for choosing the verses he sets and publishes. In keeping with the “sundrie” assertion of his title, he states only that the auditor will meet with works that range from the grave to the mirthful in mood (BE 13, p. xxxv). Variety itself he champions as the special merit of music in general and he strongly suggests it is the main feature of the 1589 set (BE 13, p. xxxvii). Byrd does indeed provide much in the way of variety in this richly diverse collection. But a study of the works in sequence reveals, again, that these songs were hardly chosen at random. Rather, they all serve to develop a consistent narrative, one that draws musico-literary links between the sober and the joyful or, in Byrd’s words, the “grave” and the “myrthful,” both to move the story forward, by means of contrast, and to make points in contexts as diverse as the Chapel Royal and the Arcadian landscape. On the highest level of discourse Byrd turns from the Decalogue and secondary precepts of 1588 to Jesus’s New Commandment “to love [one] another” (John 13: 34–35) in 1589, to create a world where the pagan god of love – representing lust as the epitome of sin – poses a challenge to those attempting to follow Christian ideals.1 As before, Byrd relates it all to topical issues – c­ onveying messages of instruction as well as support and consolation to his auditors, along with a personal plea that bears strong theological and political implications. 1

See R. A. Armstrong, Primary and Secondary Precepts in Thomistic Natural Law Teaching (The Hague, 1966); John S. Coolidge, “Law and Love in The Merchant of Venice,” Shakespeare Quarterly 27 (1976): 243–63; Bonnie J. Noble, “‘A Work in Which the Angels are Wont to Rejoice’: Lucas Cranach’s Schneeberg Altarpiece,” Sixteenth Century Journal 34 (2003): 1011–37.

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Byrd closed his 1588 Psalmes with two funeral songs for Philip Sidney (BE 13: 34–35), who died on 17 October 1586 from wounds he received fighting against Spanish Catholic forces at the Battle of Zutphen.2 A few songs earlier Byrd had portrayed an image of Mary Queen of Scots, the Catholic ruler who had been executed on 8 February 1587 in the Great Hall of Fotheringhay Castle, the home of her English jailer.3 In his 1589 Songs, through the lens of a literary and theological study of love and the afterlife, Byrd evokes the last moments of both figures, imaginatively capturing their fears, hopes, reflections, and, ultimately, triumphs, as they go on to achieve what was at the time called a “good death.”4 Throughout, Byrd treats these personal stories as examples for Everyman, but by the end, in his songs for six voices, he turns fully to theological issues then under debate, to make a pointed statement about the relationship between the dead and living that Protestants had forgone in denying the existence of purgatory. As I argued above, in 1588 Byrd portrayed Mary’s death with much of the same vehemence as the Catholic polemicist Adam Blackwood, who, in his Le Martyre de la Royne d’Escosse (‘A Edimbourg’ [Paris], 1587), scathingly attacks the actions of her English executioners. Blackwood was one of three writers to have likened Mary to the biblical Susanna (pp. 227–28), to which Byrd’s fiery “Susanna fair” (BE 12: 29) made a fitting musical analogue. In 1589 Byrd returns to an image of Mary as Susanna, but this time for a more thorough and thoughtful form of commemoration. Thanks to another of Blackwood’s tracts, La Mort de la Royne d’Escosse (Paris, 1588), Mary’s last moments were long to be remembered. When her appointed confessor pressed her to pray quietly in English according to Protestant rites, Mary defiantly intoned prayers loudly in Latin. After this she prayed in English, but only to emphasize that she was not abandoning her Catholic faith. Elizabeth’s own official, Robert Wyngfield, reported the events as described above.5 But to this account Blackwood – who met with Mary’s servants after their year-long imprisonment in Fotheringhay and immediately enforced exile thereafter – added a telling detail: that the prayers Mary had said in Latin were the penitential psalms (Psalms 6, 32, 38, 51, 102, 130, 143).6 These were the psalms, in English metrical translations, with which Byrd was to open his Songs of 1589 (BE 13: 1–7). Along with the striking image of a queen at prayer before her executioners, Byrd’s penitential psalm settings are noteworthy for identifying the psalmist not only as a female, specifically in his third song (BE 13: 3), but also as a Catholic, in 2

On Sidney’s death see especially the essays in Sir Philip Sidney: 1586 and the Creation of a Legend, ed. Jan van Dorsten, Dominic Baker-Smith, and Arthur F. Kinney (Leiden, 1986). 3 For a vivid recent description of Mary’s execution – although missing key details supplied by Adam Blackwood in 1587 (see above) – see John Guy, The True Life of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots (New York, 2004), 1–9; see also Jayne E. Lewis, Mary Queen of Scots: Romance and Nation (New York, 1998). 4 John Gouws, “Fact and Anecdote in Fulke Greville’s Account of Sidney’s Last Days,” in his Sir Philip Sidney: 1586, 62–82, at 62–64; Sarah J. Plant, “Spenser’s Praise of English Rites for the Sick and Dying,” Sixteenth Century Journal 32 (2001): 403–20. 5 Jayne E. Lewis, The Trial of Mary Queen of Scots: A Brief History with Documents (Boston, 1999), 123. 6 Adam Blackwood, La Mort de la Royne d’Escosse (Paris, 1588), 84.

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the set of seven as a whole. By linking penance inextricably to punishment and retribution, Byrd here evokes a conception of purgatory that Protestants rejected outright but that he would nonetheless return to throughout the set, even though he goes on figuratively to spare Mary from its effects. For Byrd places directly after his “grave” depiction of Mary’s last prayers a limpid three-voiced setting of “Susanna fair” (BE 13: 8) and then a moving rendition of “The nightingale so pleasant” (BE 13: 9), as an assurance of Mary’s salvation by linking her through these successive songs to Christ by way of typological figuration and motivic transformation. It is a happy end after a grim ordeal and thus it is all the more fitting that Byrd then shifts his tone dramatically, through the means of a pivotal transitional song, “When younglings first on Cupid” (BE 13: 10). From this point to the end of the threevoiced section (BE 13: 11–14), he turns his full attention to a decidedly cheerful and, for that reason, quite Anacreontic, view of a childish Cupid, which members of Sidney’s coterie would well recognize as one of his special literary interests.7 Thus by the end of the three-voiced section Byrd has moved from one principal character to the next as he also ventures from the most “grave” and profound subject matter of the book to the most “myrthfull” and puerile. In the second part of the three-voiced song section, to capture the charming and carefree aspects of his texts, Byrd now gives his lines notable freedom in range, rhythm, and, at times, chromatic gesture, as he explores expressive devices gleaned in part from Italianate composers of his day. Before that, in his two transitional songs (BE 13: 8–9), he had allowed himself fewer of these liberties; and before that, at the opening, appropriately for the severe nature of the penitential psalms, he had composed music of notable restraint. All seven of these opening songs end with a G or D final, all contain a single flat in their signature, and all develop in various ways a single motivic idea. Although Byrd’s harmonic movement is generally rather predictable, he is quite deliberate in his treatment of chromatic notes, which almost always serve expressive purposes. His limited use of one single pitch – E♭ – throughout the entire set of seven psalms (and thereafter in the songs to follow), for example, will be shown as the key to unlock a special feature of his narrative design having to do with purgatory, sin, justice, and judgment.

THE SEAVEN PSALMS (BE 13: 1–7)

I

n the opening set of 1589 Byrd’s purpose is to introduce the desperate penitent and to establish an appropriately somber tone. For this task, in “Lord in thy rage” (BE 13: 1; Psalm 6), he explores the ramifications of a germinal motive that places at center stage the notion of musical confinement itself. In the first measure he expressively ornaments an a with a subsidiary g below and b♭ above. After he has introduced this motive in the bassus, immediately imitated it (at the fifth) in the tenor, and then in the superius (see Ex. 6.1a), Byrd stretches out to a fourth below and above the opening a. At the close of the phrase, however, he returns to the pitch, surrounding an a’ in the superius with the same kind of neighbors, but this time he chromatically alters and reverses the order of the latter, with a g♯’ and

7

See Katherine Duncan-Jones, “Sidney’s Anacreontics,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 36 (1985): 226–28.

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&b

„

Vb &b

„ „

Vb w Vb

Lord

Vb w

Lord

&b ˙

for

˙ Vb ˙ & b most V b ˙˙ V b most for

most

„ of Three∑ Parts 137 w ˙ ˙ w Songs

w

˙ ˙ „

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ #˙ Œ œ w for w ˙ me˙ not, re - buke

Lord

w ∑

in

Ex. 6.1  BE 13: 1 “Lord, in thy rage” a. mm. 1–4 Lord

˙ ˙ „ in

ww

thy

˙ ˙

in

thy

˙ ˙˙ ˙

rage

re - buke

Lord

in

w

thy

in

rage

˙

nw

my

most

thy

˙ ˙

re - buke

rage

˙ # ˙ Lord ˙ . ( n) œ in˙ thy˙ rage w ˙ ˙ ˙ #˙ Œ œ w me

rage

not,

grie

˙w

grie

w ˙. ˙ œ grie vous

most

-

grie

vous,

most

me not,

˙ # ˙ ˙ . ( n) œ ˙ ˙ w me

not,

-

˙ #˙

vous

w ˙. œ ˙ n˙ ˙ nw ˙ most grie ˙ - #vous ˙ grie vous, my

re - buke me not,

re - buke

b. mm. 6–8

˙

thy rage

-

vous

re - buke me not,

w

sin,

w w sin, ∑ w

w˙ n ˙

sin,

grie - vous

sin,

sin,

for

b♮’ (mm. 7–8), revealing his interest in keeping the listener focused on the central note, a,b throughout (see Ex. 6.1b). ∑ ˙ ˙ w gesture V ˙ – the elaborate w The essence of this opening evocation of a single note – calls to mind liturgicalsin, practices; and the effect is to remind most the psalmody grie used - invous the listener of the way in which these prayers functioned for Catholics, which at this time was quite distinct from Protestant usage. As Margaret Hannay explains, the seven Penitential Psalms (6, 32, 38, 51, 102, 130, 143) had been of central importance in the medieval liturgy, but had gradually been phased out of daily use in England, since the Reformers saw the purpose of penitence as consolation, rather than discipline. No longer part of the rites for Visitation of the Sick or Burial of the Dead in the 1552 Book of Common Prayer, they were confined to the service for Ash Wednesday.8 Thus, simply for Mary to have used these prayers at the time of her execution – when she was being pressed to follow Protestant rites – could well have been construed as a political statement, especially if we imagine, through Byrd’s impressionistic 8

Margaret P. Hannay, “‘Wisdome the Wordes’: Psalm Translation and Elizabethan Women’s Spirituality,” Religion & Literature 23 (1991): 65–82, at 69.

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138

&b &b &b Vb Vb Vb Vb Vb Vb

Ó ˙ Ó w ˙ w me heal Ó heal me˙ # w w ∑ # w heal ∑ me see, #see, w ∑ w w see, w heal w w heal w

Ex. 6.1  continued œ œ œ œ wc. mm. 30–43Œ œ œ œ ww Œœœœ w œ Oœ œ œ Lord, O Lord, w˙ . œ Œ œ œ w œ œ œ Lord, O œw Oœ œ Lord, w œ œ Œ œ œ ˙. œ w w O Lord, Œ Oœ Lord, ˙ . Oœ heal me, O w œ œ œ Lord, w Œ heal me, O Lord, O w Œœœœ w Ó ˙ heal me, O Lord, O w w Œœœœ Ó ˙ me, O Lord, heal w w Œ œ Ó œ ˙ me, O heal œ Lord,

˙ œ œœœ w Ó #˙ &b Ó w w œ ˙ œ œœ Ó #˙ w & b Ó heal me O Lord, for w #for ˙ ˙ œ Oœ œ œ Lord, Ó w & b Ów heal me w œ w V b w heal Ó me˙ œ Oœ œœ œ Lord, w w for V b Lord, Ó heal ˙ meœ Oœ Lord, w w Ó ˙ œ œœœ w V b Lord, heal me O Lord, . ˙ œœœœ Œ œœ w V b Lord, . œ œ œhealœ mew O ˙ œ Lord, œ Œ b œ w w V Lord, . O Lord, O œ œ œ Lord, ˙ œ œ œ Œ O œ œ Lord, w V b Lord, O œ œ Lord, w œ &b &b &b Vb Vb Vb Vb Vb Vb

heal

me,

Lord,

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ that my ˙ ˙ that my Ó ˙ that my Ó ˙ for Ó for˙ Ó #˙ Ó #for˙ for Ó #for˙ heal

nw Ó ˙ nw Ó ˙ bones, for nw Ó for˙ bones, ˙ ˙ #˙ ˙ bones, ˙ ˙ # ˙ for˙ that my ˙ ˙ bones, # ˙ for˙ that my bones, for ˙ ˙ w that my bones, for ˙ ˙ w that my bones, w ˙ my˙ bones, that me,

O

Ó w ˙ ˙ w ˙ Ó w ˙ ˙ w ˙ are trou bled sore Ó arew ˙ -˙ bled ww ˙˙ trou sore ˙ ˙ w are Ó trou w ˙ sore Ó ˙ -˙ bled w bones are w - bled ˙ ˙ trou Ó are˙ w bones trou - bled ∑ bones › are w trou ∑- bled #w bones › w #myw ∑ my bones › w # w form of recitation, that she sang them as formally as she could manage under the ˙ ˙ that ˙ that w that w that w that Ó that Ó Ó

Lord,

n˙ #w n˙ #w my bones nmy˙ bones #w nw my bones nw my nmyw ˙ myw w for ˙ that for w ˙ that

O

w w wO Lord, w wœ œ ˙ Lord, wœ œ O œœ œ œ ˙ Lord, œœœœ O œœ˙ œœœœ œ ˙ ˙ œœœœ ˙ œœœ ˙ me, ˙ œ Oœ œ œ ˙ me, O

O

for

that

Lord,

O

my

Lord,

for

that my bones,

bones

circumstances. The English Church upheld a Visitation of the Sick based on the Catholic ritual of Extreme Unction, which would continue to be used for those in extremis.9 But it did not include the penitential psalms. Overall, Protestants, 9

For an in-depth comparison of the two rites see Plant, “Spenser’s Praise of English Rites,” 403–20.

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&b ˙ Vb

˙

Vb W

Ex. 6.1  continued c. mm. 30–43

˙

in

˙

sore

are

Ó

w

me,

˙ #˙

w

in

me,

w

are

∑

w

trou

˙ -

˙ trou

˙ -

Ó

˙ bled

w

˙

sore

are

˙

bled

˙

sore

˙

in

˙

in

˙

trou

w

me,

as Lydia Whitehead and others have argued, treated penitence as a much more “inward” and private affair, one that pushed the penitential psalms themselves well out of “their key positions in formal and public services.”10 If, as Hannay and others have shown, the Protestants tended to move the group of seven penitential psalms as a whole out of the limelight, the fourth of the seven, Miserere mei (ps. 51), was one, as Hannay further explains, that had particular meaning for the Reformers, because of its description of original sin and its stress on faith over works, the sacrifice made in the heart rather than in the temple. … Thought particularly suitable for executions, the psalm had become … part of the “Protestant iconography.”11 Even when skimming through John Foxe’s monumental Book of Martyrs, one soon realizes that Psalm 51 was recited – sometimes defiantly in English – over and over by those who were brutally executed for their Protestant beliefs in the reign of Mary Tudor; and, even on the scaffold, the psalm was treated as more of a reflective and consoling text than a part of any formal service.12 Byrd, it must be noted, was hardly averse to this meditative trend per se. In one of his most impressive motets he set the great pre-Reformation prototypical meditation on Psalm 51, Girolamo Savonarola’s Infelix ego.13 Had Byrd wished to make his treatment of the penitential psalms inoffensive to Protestant sensibilities while still acceptable to those with Catholic affinities he might have retained all seven of the psalms but allocated special and central treatment to the 51st. But he chose not to give the Miserere such special treatment, instead emphasizing those of the seven that suggest purgatory, a choice almost ­certain to antagonize anyone on the religious left who was aware of his designs. 10

Lydia Whitehead, “A poena et culpa: Penitence, Confidence and the Miserere in Foxe’s Actes and Monuments,” Renaissance Studies 4 (1990): 287–99, at 293; see also Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare (Chicago, 1980), 115. 11 Hannay, “‘Wisdome the Wordes’,” 69. 12 Ibid.; Whitehead, “A peona et culpa,” 288–90. 13 Patrick Macey, Bonfire Songs, Savonarola’s Music Legacy (Oxford, 1998), 287–302.

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As much as Byrd’s opening a-oriented motive controversially evokes a decidedly Catholic type of service it also gives the auditor insight into the figure at prayer. Using musical means to bring out certain words and certain ideas, Byrd portrays not only his psalmist’s feelings but also the concepts that had inspired them in the first place. Guided by a long patristic tradition, reinvigorated in the writings of (future) Cardinal William Allen and Robert Persons SJ, Byrd approached the very first line of Psalm 6 in the same spirit as had the English Catholic Bishop John Fisher, who, in his translation, pleaded, “Good lorde correcte me not in the euerlastynge payne of hell, neyther punysshe me in the paynes of purgatory.”14 Dread, then, is the first emotion Byrd depicts in these songs. Within the first phrase of “Lord in thy rage” Byrd uses syncopation to emphasize the severity of God’s angry “rebuke” and the “gree-vous[ness]” of the psalmist’s errors (l. 1, see Ex. 6.1b). But he keeps consistent throughout the music for this line (and the following one) a notably slow rhythmic pace, with semibreves and minims dominating the texture. All of this is directly relatable to the forbidding nature of the material. But Byrd does not confine himself to the depiction of a single mood in this psalm. When his poet mentions the possibility of “winne[ing]” God’s “fa-vour” (l. 2), Byrd responds with faster moving lines of a more sweeping nature; and he follows suit, to strong effect, in the fourth line of this song, as the psalmist asks the Lord to “heale me” (mm. 30–36), evoking the process of purification. To appreciate fully Byrd’s musical approach to the idea of “heale[ing]” it is necessary to study the verse in detail. Along with all of these seven psalm translations, “Lord in thy rage” is made up of four iambic fourteener lines that conform to the conventions of common or ballad meter. As with so many others of the standard type, they most often divide into groups of eight followed by six syllables (or, in terms of poetic feet, iambic tetrameters followed by iambic trimeters) with an optional caesura after the fourth syllable. Metrically, the entire set of psalms could be seen as a model for the era’s many makers of common meter verse. But “Lord in thy rage” itself is exceptional in one small but notable respect: in the third line, the pattern of division in these fourteeners is reversed, as a six-syllable unit is followed by one of eight. This metrical shift caught Byrd’s attention and he underlined it by following the six-syllable unit “have mercy Lord on me” (l. 3) with unusually long gaps, setting things up for the forceful reassertion of the 8–6 in the fourth line. Byrd’s poet had emphasized the return of the tetrameter-trimeter pattern by dividing the eight syllables, through the placement of commas, into a unit of four plus four, a division that was only hinted at before: “heale me O Lord [4], for that my bones [4], are troubled sore in me [6].” Byrd’s reaction to this emphatic moment is noteworthy and complex (see Ex. 6.1c). Responding to the linking preposition “for,” as well as the unequivocal caesura, he strategically places a rest after the word “Lord,” but determinedly before the end of the phrase (mm. 36–38), thus reflecting at once the change in mood, the exceptional metric rhythm, and the need to move things 14

John Fisher, Treatyse concernynge the fruytfull Sayings of Dauyd the Kynge & Prophete in the seuen penytencyall Psalmes, deuyded in seuen Sermons (London, 1509), A6r; William Allen, A Defense and Declaration of the Catholike Churches Doctrine touching Purgatory, and Prayers of the Soules Departed (Antwerp, 1565); R. P. [Robert Persons], The first booke of the Christian exercise, appertayning to Resolution (Rouen, 1582).

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forward. Following this richly expressive, climactic, moment, he slows the pace of his melodic movement and begins a series of downward tending lines. After establishing this new direction and pacing, he sets out, finally, in the next few measures to re-spark in his listener’s mind a memory of the song’s opening material: returning to an emphasized a’ in the superius ornamented by its neighbors above and below (mm. 38–40), echoing the emotional trajectory of the psalmist, who has now turned back (quite precisely just after the word “for”) from hopeful ideas about healing to a renewed fear of God’s retribution. Although the metrical shifts, noted above, are a special feature of “Lord in thy rage,” the non-biblically derived additions of such phrases as “for my greev-ous sin” (l. 1) and “but let me fa-vour win” (l. 2) are typical of all but the third psalm in these paraphrased translations. From a poetic point of view these accretions appear, perhaps, to do little more than amplify points already implied in the original psalms, or, even more mundanely, supply the necessary extra syllables to fill out a fourteener line. Yet Byrd makes great use of them. As they reinforce the starkly different tones of negative and positive that he looks to depict with his music, they help him stress the very concepts surrounding purgatory that he wishes to develop further in the set: namely, to emphasize its painful severity and to outline the prayerful means of its mitigation. In “Right blest are they” (BE 13: 2) the psalmist speaks impersonally, casting in favorable light the sinner who has received God’s mercy. Due in part to the poet’s (or perhaps Byrd’s) decision to set only the first two lines of the psalm in this translation (as he did with most others), this verse conveys a more consistently positive message than the psalm on which it is based, a consistency well echoed, in fact, by the constant 8–6 regularity of the lines. If, in further verses of this psalm, there is mention of the wicked and some cautionary points are made – which Byrd brings into the song with sonic means – he began his setting, appropriately enough, with music of notable buoyancy, featuring a series of melodic leaps that emphasized the almost carefree nature of a sinner whose “defaults” had been “cove-red” (l. 2). Byrd deals progressively with his musical analog for blessedness. The very opening leap of a third, for example, he further emphasizes by ensuring that the next pitch is also approached by a skip upwards, in this case from a fourth below. The next point, which begins with the same leap of a fourth (m. 5), Byrd answers with a fifth in the bassus (m. 7), and then a sixth. Finally, for the last point of this section, he syncopates the entrance and opens with the largest leap he would use in this otherwise constrained set of psalms, that of a full octave (see Ex. 6.2c). It all suggests that any residual sense of confinement conveyed by the song before it can – and eventually will – be dissipated through God’s forgiveness. After the exuberant opening section of “Right blest,” Byrd turns back to the techniques of drawing out contrasts he had established in the opening work of the collection, applying slow-paced downward-tending melodies for negative ideas and fast-paced upward-turning passages for positive ones. Dotted rhythms, which appear with increasing frequency as the song progresses, however, introduce a new element. Indeed, it would seem that Byrd’s purpose in including more and more dotted notes in this, second, section of “Right blest” was to balance out with this rhythmic feature the leaps he had emphasized in the first. In a setting of Psalm 12 in his 1588 Psalmes (“Help Lord for wasted are those men,” BE 12: 7) Byrd places dotted notes conspicuously on words expressing deception

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˙˙.. w w Ó Ó ˙ ˙ V V ˙˙ w w 142 Jeremy L. Smith ˙˙. . Right blest by re Right blest are are by God God re--mit mit w ˙ ∑ Ó b ∑ ˙ ˙. w as the˙˙pleasant” & VVhow ˙˙ and˙˙BE∑13:∑ 38–39 “Behold ˙˙ | w“And Ó b ∑ Ó b ∑ Ex. 6. 2  BE 13: 2 “Right blest” good” & w & a. BE 13:w2,wsuperius,˙mm. 2–3 V b. BE˙13: 2, bassus, mm. 7–8 Right blest are are by God God re--mit mit Right blest by re Right blest blest are are by God God re--mit ˙mit. Right by re w ∑ ˙ ∑ Ó b ˙ & V ˙ ˙ w ˙˙ ˙˙ ∑∑

& & bb ∑∑

Right

blest are

ww ˙˙c. BE 13: 2, superius, mm. 9–10 whose whose ww w ˙˙ ˙ whose whose whose j j jj œœwhose w ((nn))œœ ##˙˙ œœ..˙ œœ œœ.. œœ.. JJ BE mm. 34–35 --and nor in nor in d.his his 13: 2, bassus, jwhose j (n(n))œœ###˙˙˙ j Ó b œ V œ . j j b Ó ˙ œ œ . j V b Ó ˙˙ œœ. . œœ œœ.. œœ œœ..(n)JœJ V œ . his J nor in his -nor in nor in his j nor in his V b Ó ˙ œ . œj œ . œ œ . (n) œJ # ˙ & & bb ˙˙ and and b & & bb ˙˙ & ˙ and and and ÓÓ ˙˙ V V bb and & ˙

nor mm. in 49–50 his e. BE- 13: 39, superius,

& & ŒŒ œœ ˙˙

by God

˙˙

re - mit

de de

--

˙ ˙˙

˙˙

de de de de

˙

---

spirit, spirit,

de

-

˙˙ ˙ ˙

spirit, spirit, spirit, spirit,

spirit, f. BE 13: 39, tenor, m. 50

˙˙

V V

ŒŒ œœ

ww

˙˙

the the -tains the Moun Moun -- tains tains the Moun Moun tains ŒŒ œ ww ˙˙˙ ˙˙ ŒŒ œ www ˙˙ & V Œ ˙ Œ ˙ & œ V œ ˙ Œ ˙ & V œ & œœ theœ Moun - tains the Moun Moun tains g. BE 13: 39, m. -51 tains themedius, Moun the -tains the Moun Moun -- tains tains the Moun Moun -- tains tains the the w the Moun tains the Moun tains ww ˙ ˙ ˙ Œ Œ ˙ Œ & œ V œ & w Œ ˙ ˙ & Œ œœ & œthe the Moun - tains the Moun tains the Moun Moun -- tains tains j j the Moun tains the Moun - tains œœ ww ÓÓ & & ˙Œ˙.œ. œwœ ˙˙˙.. ##œœ œœ.. œœ œœ œœ h. BE 13: 38, superius and medius, mm 20–22 like un to the balm, like un --- tains to the pre pre -- cicij--ous balm, the Moun ww œ jœous œ ÓÓ ˙˙. . œ ˙ . j œ œ & œ . w œ œ œ # œ œ . j j œ œ . . œ ˙ ˙ ˙ & ˙ œ œ ˙ ... œœ œœœœ##œœœ œ . œ œ œœ œœ ##œœœœ ˙˙ ˙˙Ó & . . ˙ & &like ˙ #un#œœ -- totoœœ like the pre pre -- ci ci -- ous ous balm, un the balm, like un -- toto the pre pre --cicij--ous ous balm, w like un the balm, œ œ Ó the ous balm, balm, theœpre pre -- cici -- ousbalm, ousbalm, œ . ˙ & ˙toto.. œthethe pre ˙pre.. -- ciœcijj-j-œous œ œ œ œ œ ˙ # œ ˙ # œ ˙ œ & ˙˙.. ##œœ œœ.. œœ œœœœœœ ˙ œœ œœ œœ ##œœœœ ˙˙ ˙˙ &like & ˙ #unœ - toœ the pre - ci - ous balm, to the pre pre -- ci ci -- ous ous balm, balm, the pre pre -- ci ci -- ousbalm, ousbalm, to the the the pre pre --cicij--ous ous balm, balm, the pre pre -- cici -- ousbalm, ˙ toto the the œ œ œ # œ œ ˙ousbalm, ˙ & ˙. #œ œ. œ œ œ œ to

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the pre - ci - ous

balm,

the pre

-

ci - ousbalm,

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(“falseness,” “double heart”) and it would seem possible that he had intended in “Right blest” for these rhythms to serve a similar objective: to introduce some doubt as to the complete clarity of the path that lies ahead of the psalmist. But in this case he has an altogether different allusive purpose for those dotted notes, which is to evoke the oils of anointment that were central to the Catholic ritual of Extreme Unction. Later in the Songs collection, in a six-voiced setting of “Behold how good a thing” (BE 13: 38), he sets the text “pretious balm” to the same dotted rhythms and melodic profile as the word “sprit” of “Right blest” (see Exx. 6.2d and h). The symbolic connection of balm and spirit is one that many would have understood at the time: it was a commonplace that the Holy Spirit was represented in the oils themselves. As it is all so dependent on a careful study of Byrd’s musical choices, however, it would seem doubtful that many then would have so easily grasped his intent. But any who understood his purpose would have had no doubt that Byrd’s psalmist was a Catholic. And, in the next song “Lord in thy wrath” (BE 13:3), Byrd returns to the matter of sin and punishment with which the section begins.15 In his commentary on the opening lines of Psalm 38, the basis for “Lord in thy wrath,” Augustine of Hippo asserted that, “although some will be saved by fire, this fire will be more terrible than anything that a man can suffer in this life.”16 Augustine’s declaration, as Jacques Le Goff points out, was “widely quoted in Medieval discussions of Purgatory,” even though Augustine’s views overall are arguably equivocal. With the backing of a figure as influential as St. Thomas Aquinas, who stated that the Augustine “fires” in question were purgatorial, Psalm 38 soon became one of the, if not the, most “familiar [of biblical] proof-texts” for the existence of purgatory well before Byrd’s time.17 Closely following Allen and Persons’s lead, Byrd used his setting of Psalm 38 not only to confirm his Catholic position on purgatory, but also to characterize his psalmist as female, taking thereby one further step toward identifying Mary Queen of Scots as the figure represented in prayer throughout this section.18 Although extended for some twelve measures, and built upon a musical ­structure of rather ingenious design, the opening section of “Lord in thy wrath” 15

See Plant, “Spenser’s Praise of English Rites,” 408–20. For an overview of Catholic rites see A. G. Martimort, “Prayer for the Sick and Sacramental Anointing,” in The Church at Prayer, vol. 3: The Sacraments, ed. and trans. A. G. Martimort (Collegeville, MN, 1992), 117–38. Few approaching the set sequentially would necessarily think of Mary at this point, but the reference to oils has a certain relevance to her execution. Had Mary control over her own death ritual she would have been ceremoniously anointed at the time. But oils for that purpose were almost surely denied her at her execution on English soil. With the exception of royal coronations (see BE 13: 38 below), the English Church had removed them from all their services by 1552. 16 Quoted in Jacques Le Goff, The Birth of Purgatory (Chicago, 1986), 68. 17 Peter Marshall, Beliefs and the Dead in Reformation England (Oxford, 2002), 125. 18 On Aquinas’s reference to Augustine’s commentary see Le Goff, Birth of Purgatory, 278; see also Stephen Greenblatt, Hamlet in Purgatory, Expanded Edition (Princeton, 2013), 267 n24. For Allen’s and Persons’s treatments of Psalm 38, both of which cite also Augustine’s commentary, see Allen, A Defense, fos. 45–48, and Persons, The first booke, 126–27. Persons opens his discussion with the common first line of Psalms 6 and 38, both of which he cites in the margin.

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(BE 13: 3) recalls nothing more, in essence, than the single-pitch intonation process typical of psalmody, although it does so in a rather different manner than “Lord in thy rage” (BE 13: 1). In this song the idea of stasis is projected most clearly in the superius, at the very opening of “Lord in thy wrath,” thanks to its arresting two bars of a (a breve followed by two semibreves). As the tenor and bassus in this case do not so obviously imitate the superius as they had in the previous songs, they seem to serve, for the first time in this set (and only momentarily), an accompanimental role. The 1 + 2 partitioning of “Lord in thy wrath” hearkens back to the 1 + 4 texture of the consort song, and thus might suggest to some that Byrd was simply falling back on a familiar technique. A study of the composition design further suggests, however, that in doing so he had a particular rhetorical purpose in mind: specifically, to reinforce the sound of the a’ at the opening. For example, at m. 3, the listener discovers that, just as the superius finally leaves this pitch to rise to a c” above, the tenor arrives at the same a’ the superius had just abandoned (m. 3). Then he or she hears, before the tenor releases the note itself, the bassus enter with an a an octave below it to further reinforce the sound. Byrd eventually shifts attention away from this a and begins to focus on a d (and d’) above instead, using the same techniques. But by returning to the a (and a’) at various points throughout and especially at the very end of the second line, he keeps his listener aware of the lack of melodic movement at the crucial rhetorical point when the section comes to a close: all of which creates an appropriately somber setting for his exposition of the most crucial lines of these “seaven psalms.” And, indeed, one further reason Byrd had for adopting here a 1 + 2 partitioning was surely to draw attention to the “1” (the main singer), the psalmist, at a point just before she further identifies herself, now as a woman.19 19

Noting inter alia this female poetic voice, in his “Was Shakespeare’s Dark Lady Byrd’s Librettist?”, Early Music Review 114 (2006): 11–17, Peter Bassano argues that his ancestor Emilia Lanier née Bassano was “Byrd’s librettist,” which a number of scholars have accepted, to varying degrees. In support of Bassano’s claim, for example, John Harley, in his The World of William Byrd: Musicians, Merchants and Magnates (Farnham, 2010), states that these penitential psalms “all are in the same form and could conceivably be by a single author” (p. 147). Bassano’s theory and the one advanced in this book are not mutually exclusive and I have no alternative theory to propose: here I am suggesting that the poetry captures an image of Mary Queen of Scots, not a sampling of her actual poetry. It might be pointed out, however, that the “form” of these psalms that Harley points to was the most common of the time (“common meter”), and that there were many men who adopted a female persona in their poetry. On male-authored “female complaints” and other related poems of the era see, for example, Richard Danson Brown, “‘A talkatiue wench (whose words a world hath delighted in)’: Mistress Shore and Elizabethan Complaint,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 49, no. 196 (1998): 395–415; and Motives of Woe: Shakespeare and ‘Female Complaint’: A Critical Anthology, ed. John Kerrigan (Oxford, 1991). Yet there were, nonetheless, a significant number of woman at the time who translated the Psalms and identified themselves with (and within) their works. See, for example, Kel Morin-Parsons, “‘Thus Crave I Mercy’: The Preface of Anne Locke,” in Other Voices, Other Views: Expanding the Canon in English Renaissance Studies, ed. Helen Ostovich, Mary V. Silcox, and Graham Roebuck (Cranbury, NJ, 1999), 271–89; Kim Walker, Women Writers of the English Renaissance (New York, 1996), 72–100; and Kathleen M. Swaim, “Contextualizing Mary Sidney’s Psalms,” Christianity & Literature 48 (1999): 253–73.

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With the lines “give teares, give grace, give penitence, unto my sinfull sexe, / for that the arrowes of thy wrath, are fixed in my hart” (ll. 2–3) of “Lord in thy wrath” Byrd’s poet broke with his or her standard policy of adding texts of amplification to these verses, as noted above. These two lines, by almost any reckoning, were originally conceived as fourteeners. Judging by Byrd’s reaction to them, it would seem likely that they were penned at the composer’s direction. Perhaps the addition of the word “hart” (heart, l. 3), which has no biblical counterpart, could be said to fit in with the practice of adding words in other psalms of this set: to make more explicit ideas that are implicit only in the biblical versions. But it is much more difficult to see words such as “grace” and “penitence” in that light; and even if the idea of lamentation has deep associations with these psalms in general, the word “teares,” in particular, stands out clearly as an extraneous concept in this section of the biblical verse. Similarly, even though this psalm, like many others, is cast in the first person (unlike “Right blest”), there is no suggestion anywhere in the Bible that the psalmist in this case (or any other) is a woman, while here the added phrase “sinfull sexe” indubitably affirms that this one is indeed female. Finally, the peculiar reference to God’s “arrowes” in the third line was not an added element, but Byrd treated it, along with all the added ideas surrounding it, with special musical attention. Persons’s Christian directory is a likely source for the additional text of this song. Immediately after discussing Augustine’s famous commentary on Psalm 38, Persons remarks, in a section on purgatory, “It is a straunge matter to consider, what great feare holye men had of this [purgatorial] fire, & how litle we have now a dayes, having much more cause than they.” He then goes on to translate and quote a sermon of St. Bernard of Clairvaux, as follows: Oh wold to God some man wold now before hand provide for my head abundance of watters and to my eyes a fountaine of teares, for so perhaps the burninge fire should take no holde, where runing teares had clensed before, And agayne, I tremble & shake for feare, of falling into Gods hands. I wolde gladlie present my selfe before his face, alredie judged of my selfe, & not to be judged then of hym. Therfore I will make a reckonyng whiles I am heere of my good deeds and of my badde. My euell shalbe corrected with better woorkes: they shalbe watered with teares they shalbe punished by fasting: they shalbe amended by sharp discipline: I will ripp vp the verie bottom of my wayes & all my deuises, that he may fynde nothing vntryed at that day, or not fullye discussed to his handes. And then I hope in his mercie, that he will not iudge the same faults again, and the second time, as he hathe promised.20 In the right margin Persons introduces this passage as an example of the “feares of the fyre of purgatorie,” and because the word “teares” is repeated so often here I believe it very likely that Byrd’s poet had this passage in mind when he or she paraphrased Psalm 38. 20

Persons, The first booke, 27; for the original sermon, which Persons expanded notably, see Bernard of Clairvaux, On the Song of Songs, 4 vols., trans. Killian Walsh, Irene Edmonds (Kalamazoo, MI, 1971–80): 3:84–86.

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To those at all familiar with Renaissance polyphony it might seem obvious to note that many such works start with a monophonic presentation of motivic material. However conventional, a passage of single-voiced scoring draws the listener’s attention to the moment when a part is isolated in the texture; and thanks to the tradition, many composers, Byrd of course included, capitalized on every chance like this to use such musical means symbolically to draw God’s attention to the prayers at hand. In “Lord in thy wrath” Byrd turned to the device of pitch isolation not only to emphasize an opening gesture but also, rather unusually, to frame this song’s distinctive middle section (the “give teares …” section quoted above, see Ex. 6.3). For the last word of the section, “hart,” Byrd allows the tenor to sound its cadential pitch of d’ after the other voices drop out of the texture (mm 27–28) and thus it shines through with unusual clarity. Similarly, at the opening of this section, he ensures that the word “teares,” which is, significantly, a minor third above the note before it (c’–e♭’), is articulated in isolation so that it too stands out (mm. 12–13). Byrd’s choice of pitch for the tenor’s isolated moment (e♭’) was internally well calculated for expressive effect.21 Not only is this the first chromatic note of significance in the piece (at least on the flat side of the scale), it also lies just a halfstep above the aforementioned d’ with which the section ends, linking the words “teares” and “hart” in both scoring and pitch content. The section as a whole is full of musical rhetorical devices. Byrd uses syncopation, for example, to bring out the words “penitence” and “fixed,” in the same manner as he had in “Lord in thy rage” (BE 13: 1). He emphasizes the word “arrowes” with leaps that move from a distance of a sixth to that of an octave, following loosely the emphatic procedure he had explored in “Right blest” (BE 13: 2). Finally, he brings out the gender-defining words “sinfull sexe” by moving from his already deliberate pace at this point to his most mournful of the whole set, drawing out the last, cadential note, f♯’, of the superius over an extraordinarily long dotted breve (m. 20). When the f’ of “arrowes” in the tenor forms a cross-relation with this same f♯’ of the word “sexe,” the female “psalmic I” is dissonantly linked with God’s piercing weapon; and, it is “she” who ultimately articulates this song’s final, self-­ incriminating message about “de-seart.” The psalm thus ends with a stern, appropriately fear-ridden and personalized view of God’s punishment. The great number of devices Byrd resorted to in this section tend to place it into relief among the seven penitential psalms themselves; and it is fairly clear that Byrd did everything in his power to encourage his listener to pay close attention to the words of this section, perhaps above all others. At this point Byrd confronts the Miserere, Psalm 51, “O God which art most merciful” (BE 13: 4), a text universally treasured in the Judeo-Christian tradition but offered here without the emphasis that Protestants would have preferred and 21

There is a preponderance of musical evidence to suggest that a distinctive minor third coupled with a relevant text (such as the c’–e♭’ produced by the tenor in “give teares”) functions in Byrd’s music as a recurring, inter-opus sign of lamenting. Within the songs themselves, Byrd uses the motive most conspicuously to depict the “heavy time” of Sidney’s demise in “O that rare breast” (BE 12: 34). Byrd alludes to this passage several times in 1589 (see BE 13: 26 and 27), and he repeats it quite distinctly in “My mistress had a little dog” (BE 15: 36).

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Ex. 6.3  BE 13: 3 “Lord in thy wrath,” mm. 10–29

b & & bb & &b b V V bb V Vb

ww ww vex, vex, vex, ˙˙ .. vex, ˙˙.. fu -

ÓÓ ˙˙ ÓÓ ˙˙ nor nor œ nor œœ œœ œ nor˙˙ œœ œœ œœ ˙˙ ry

fu - ry fu - ry fu - ry

˙ b V V bb ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ V V b in, ˙˙ nor in, nor in, nor in, nor

b & & bb & &b b V V bb V Vb

ÓÓ ÓÓ ˙˙ ˙˙

ww w give give ww give w give ww

b V V bb w w V V b grace, ww grace,

pe pe pe pe

grace, grace,

b & & bb & &b b V V bb V Vb

˙˙ ˙thy˙ thy

˙˙ ˙in˙ in

in in

thy thy

b V V bb › › V ›› V b sex, sex, sex,

b V V bb V Vb

ww ˙˙ ˙˙ w ˙˙ heart, w ˙inin˙ my heart, my

wrath wrath

˙˙ ˙˙

fu - ry vex, fu - ry vex,

pe pe

-

are are

ww wfixw fix

fix fix

∑∑ ∑∑

ÓÓ ÓÓ (n)w ˙˙ ((nn))ww ˙˙ (n)arw the the ar

the the

˙˙ for ˙for˙ for

ar ar

˙˙ that ˙that ˙ that

˙˙ ˙for˙ for

for for

˙˙ the ˙the˙ the

-

in in

my my

˙˙ ˙eded˙

- ed - ed

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˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ heart,

ww wfixw fix fix ww fix ww

are heart, are heart, are heart, are

˙˙ .. ˙in˙.. in

in in

-

˙˙ ˙ed˙ ed ed ˙˙ ed ˙˙ fix

fix fix fix

œœ ww my œmyœ heart, ww heart, my heart, my heart,

˙˙ ˙that ˙ that that ˙˙ that ˙˙

un un

˙˙ ˙the˙ the the ˙˙ the ˙˙ rows

ww ww ar ar ar ˙˙ ar ˙˙

˙˙ ˙˙

-

ar ar ar

-

-

˙˙ ˙ rows ˙ rows

rows rows

˙˙ ˙ w ˙ w ˙in˙ my ˙˙ heart, ww in my heart, in œœ œ my w heart, in my heart,# ˙ œœ œœ ww ##˙˙ œ w #my˙ ed in

-

ed in ed in ed in

my my my

˙˙ ˙ ww ˙ w ˙in˙ my w ˙˙ heart, in my heart, in my heart, in

my heart,

grace, grace, grace,

give give

ww ww

ÓÓ ÓÓ

˙˙ ˙un˙ un un ˙˙ un ˙˙ to

-

to to to

˙˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ sin - ful ˙ sin - ful

to my sin - ful to my sin - ful

˙˙ ˙˙

˙˙ ˙˙ wrath are

wrath are wrath are wrath are

fix fix

˙˙ œ œ ˙ fix˙˙ ˙˙ œœ œœ ˙˙ ˙˙ of thy œ wrath, ˙ thy œ wrath, of thy thy wrath, thy wrath, thy

ÓÓ w ÓÓ ww and w and and › and › ›› heart,

heart, heart, heart,

∑∑ ∑∑

˙˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙to˙ my ˙˙ sin ˙ - ful˙ to my sin - ful to my sin œœ œ my˙ .. sin -- fulful˙ to œœ œœ ˙˙.. œœ ˙˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ my sin - ful œ my sin - ful

˙˙ my sin˙ - ˙˙ful.. ˙ ˙. ˙˙ my sex, ˙˙ sin ˙ . -sex, my sin my sin - ful

sex, sex,

˙˙ ˙ thou ˙ thou

thou thou

ww and w and w and and

-

ww ww wrath, wrath,

˙˙ ˙ thou ˙ thou

˙˙ ˙˙ in

˙˙ ˙thy˙ thy thy thy ˙˙ ˙˙ my my

ed in ed in my ed in my

wrath, wrath,

˙˙ ˙˙ ∑∑ ∑∑

œœ œœ

ful ful my sin - ful my sin - ful

˙˙ œ ˙ w ˙˙ œœ œœ ˙˙ ww œœ œ wrath, of thy ˙ ofw of thy wrath, of of thy wrath, of ˙˙ wrath, ˙˙ of˙ of thy ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ fix ed

˙˙ ˙ rows ˙ rows rows ww rows ww

of thy of thy

-

ww ww

give give give

tears, give tears, give tears, give tears, give

give

of thy rows of thy of thy of thy

ww ..rows rows ww.. ar

ww ww w ww give w grace, give grace, give grace, ww grace, give Ó ˙˙ ww ÓÓ ˙˙ grace, Ó give

ÓÓ ÓÓ ˙˙ give ˙˙ give give

tears, tears,

give tears,

ni - tence ni - tence

for that the

ww ÓÓ ˙˙ Ó ˙˙ w wrath w Ó are wrath are

heart, heart,

ÓÓ w ÓÓ ˙˙ ww give tears, ˙ w give ˙ tears, give tears,

give give

tears, tears,

˙˙ ww ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙˙ ww .. ˙ ˙ ww.. ˙ ˙ ww ˙ ˙˙ give - ˙ ni ˙ -- tence, ˙ pepe -- nini˙ -- tence ni tence, give tence - w ni - tence, give ˙ pepe˙˙ ˙ -- ˙˙ nini˙ -- tence ˙ ww - w ni - tence, tence Ó give ww ÓÓ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ww ˙ sin - ful˙ sex, ˙ un Ó unun˙ -- toto my - ni - tence - ni - tence my sin - ful sex, un - ni - tence un - to my sin - ful sex, un ww .. un ÓÓ- ni˙ - tence ˙˙ - toww my sinÓÓ - ful˙ sex, ˙˙ un˙ ˙ ˙ w . ÓÓ ˙ ˙ ˙˙ ÓÓ ˙ ˙ w w give un w ˙ -- toto˙ my ˙ pepe . -- nini˙ -- tence ˙ give tence un my

sex,

b & & bb & &b b V V bb V Vb

vex, give œœ œœ ˙˙ vex, ww give œ ˙ œœ œ ˙ w fu - ry vex, w fu - ry vex,

ww ww ÓÓ ˙ ˙ ÓÓ ˙˙ ˙˙ for ˙ that ˙ for that for that for that ÓÓ ÓÓ

sex, sex,

ÓÓ ˙ ww ˙˙ .. œœ œœ œœ ˙˙ ww ÓÓ ˙˙ ww ˙fu˙.. - œry œœ œœ ˙˙ vex, ww give œ ˙ tears, fu - ry vex, give tears, fu vex, give tears, ˙fu˙ --˙ ryry ww b w ww ˙ vex, give tears, b w ÓÓ ˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ww bbww ww ˙ Ó ˙ tears, ˙ tears, give Ó give vex, give vex, give tears, give tears, give

˙˙ ˙pe˙ pe pe ˙˙ pe ˙˙

give give

## › › ##sex, ›› sex, sex, sex, ww w sex, w sex,

˙˙ ˙thy˙ thy thy ˙˙ thy ˙˙

˙˙ ˙in˙ in in ˙˙ in ˙˙

nn ˙˙ nn˙˙ hast hast

ÓÓ ÓÓ

ww ww laid

laid hast laid hast laid

˙˙ ˙hast ˙ hast

ÓÓ ÓÓ

ww w laid w laid

˙˙ ˙are˙ are

are are

˙˙ ˙˙ and

and and and

thou hast laid thou hast laid

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expected. The poem’s four lines include only a few textual accretions, none of which change the thrust of the opening lines. Byrd, in turn, arguably makes no effort to bring out anything novel in this text, at least in terms of developing an “inward” or meditative position. But he hardly cast the work aside. To provide something of an emotional antidote to the desperation expressed at the ending of “Lord in thy wrath,” he here draws the listener into a rather dramatic depiction of mercy as a cleansing force. With its rich infusion of chromatic half-steps in its melody and thirds in its harmony, Byrd’s opening point of “O God which art” resembles, in design, the first point of “Lord in thy rage” (BE 13: 1). After the conjunct motion and close harmony of its opening, however, Byrd places a distinctive downward leap of a fifth on the last word of the point, “mercyfull,” which he emphasizes by stating the interval three times in succession in the bassus part as he arrives at a cadence on D at ­measure 5 (on the word “mercyfull” in the bassus). In a close listening one is struck by the sudden richness in the texture at the sound of the A major triad in measure 5.22 The experience is due, in part, to Byrd’s decision to present the listener with the rather hollow sound of g, g’ and d” in the measure before. But there are also larger structural forces conditioning this effect. Byrd’s choice of a for this special harmonic event is significant, for example, in light of his continual focus on that pitch as a figurative reciting tone throughout the seven psalms. Furthermore, if this work is experienced directly after the one before it, the strikingly angst-ridden melisma on “de-seart” (for the punishment for sin) meshes with the stark opening of “O God which art” to make the moment of “mercy” seem all the more hard won. Nothing is more important than mercy in the context of works of this kind. One of Byrd’s remaining tasks is to bring the matter before God. In “Lord hear my prayer” (BE 13: 5) Byrd focuses on the invocative nature of sung prayer, revealing his understanding and exploitation of music’s natural capacity to intensify what is communicated to God as a plea for attention. By casting the tenor in the same range as the superius at the start and introducing the bassus last, at the opening of this song he creates something of a sonic explosion as the superius leaps to the top of its range at the key word “instantly” (l. 1, m. 3), just after the bassus enters at its lowest pitch. That the instant leap in the superius is an octave – a leap that Byrd treats very deliberately throughout these psalms – and that he introduces it with the same kind of syncopation that he features elsewhere shows that he is cultivating, through reuse, something of a glossary of expressive devices within the set. With rests, sequences, and text repetitions all centered around the articulations of the word “cry” (l. 2), he further intensifies the psalmist’s pleas. As he had done before in “O God which,” he ends this work rather soon after the superius reaches the highest note of its range, which, as in the song just before it in the set, is an f” (mm. 36–37). Given the special planning they required, Byrd’s techniques for moving into the higher realms in range and register in “O God which art” are worth a closer look. 22

On Byrd’s similar approach to an expressive A major harmony in “Retire my soul” (BE 14: 17) see Joseph Kerman’s “‘Write All These Down’: Notes on a Song by Byrd,” in Write All These Down: Essays on Music (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1994), 106–24, at 113–15.

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Songs of Three Parts 149

Through a strategic spacing of imitative entries, he creates here a rather stirringly slow and steady move upward that begins in the middle of the piece (m. 25) and reaches a climax only a few measures before the final cadence (m. 53). By erecting an extended distance between the dux and comes, he brings the superius into special relief in this passage as the two lower parts – which reach the high points of their ranges much earlier in the work – enhance the effect by returning to their lower regions at the same time the superius moves ever higher toward the triumphal f”. Byrd had arguably a number of different reasons for moving toward climaxes very late in both the 4th and the 5th psalms of his sequence: namely, to emphasize the cleansing effect of God’s mercy, to depict in music the forgiven sinner’s ultimate rise to heaven, to suggest the intensity of the sinner’s appeal to God, and perhaps also to extend beyond the scope of a single song the underlying operation of repentance, where sin is “covered” through mercy. Most obviously, however, these high-pitched endings serve to emphasize, by contrast, the sudden drop in range that opens the next psalm, “From depth of sin” (BE 13: 6), where Byrd takes his ongoing theme of invocation to a new, darker place. As had many other composers, Byrd took advantage of an opportunity presented by the opening words of De profundis (Psalm 130) to trace in music an emotional trajectory suggested by the “depth[s]” of this popular text (l. 1). As part of his method, he overturned the expressive system he had carefully built up in previous songs. The words most evocative of invocation, such as “cry” (l.  1) and “voice” (l. 2), for example, appear on the lowest notes of the range in various parts, just as the depths are painted with downward leaps. Similarly, to depict a musical ascent – thanks to his poet’s helpful, poesie per musica, addition of the word “assend,” in the depiction of God’s “throne so hye” (l. 2) – Byrd decided for once not to use fast notes for the immediate word-painting effort, but instead to move up the scale slowly, with a series of chromatic harmonies (mm. 14–16). Byrd’s reversals are noteworthy in this psalm. But after the striking middle passage of “ascent,” he returns nonetheless to his usual manner of emphasizing invocative words, in this case painting “to heare” (l. 4) with leaps upward. His “depth” motive itself embodies much of the character of the opening motive of “Right blest” (BE 13: 3), for example, as it features notes of long duration that are set against faster moving passages with melismas (mm. 33–45). Aware, finally, of the larger dramatic unfolding of the songs in this set as a sequence, Byrd crafted the last section of “From depth” so that all parts move essentially in tandem toward the bottom of their respective ranges, permitting the next work, by contrast, to emerge from a point low in the psalmist’s hopes, as we follow this forlorn but ever-hopeful character through the trials and tribulations of an impassioned quest for mercy. Thanks to the initial word, “attend,” Byrd was able to further develop the invocation theme in “Attend mine humble prayer” (BE 13: 7). Perhaps to stress the thematic continuity, he resorts to a very similar device for the first points of “Attend mine” and “Lord hear my prayer” (BE 13: 5): i.e., with the bassus entering with its lowest pitch, d, just as the superius moves toward a d two octaves above it. Notably, however, whereas in “Lord hear” he completed the gesture in short order (appropriately to paint the word “instantly”), in “Attend mine” he takes up nearly twice the musical space to achieve the same effect (see mm. 1–6). In keeping with this idea of enlarging his musical canvas in this particular work, he also introduces a

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150

Ex. 6.4  BE 13: 7 “Attend mine humble prayer” a. mm. 25–34

& b n˙ w

˙

-

to

˙

judge - ment

in

-

to

judge - ment

Vb Ó w

˙

And

Vb

-

˙

Vb w

w

-

in

bw.

ment

en

w ˙ w

en

judge - ment

en

w

˙ ˙ ˙

w

judge - ment

˙

˙

in

˙ w Vb

&b w

w

˙

to judge - ment

˙ œœ w

-

w. en

-

ter

w.

ter

not,

-

b˙.

œ w

-

ter

w

ter

˙

˙

ter

˙. œ ˙ Ó w

not,

thy poor

Ó

˙

with

in

˙ ˙ w

n˙ w -

and

w.

w

and

ter not,

not

˙

n˙ Ó ()

not,

Ó

with

and

#œ œ #w

en

en

Ó w

œœ ›

not,

-

-

˙ œœ w

in

˙. œ ˙

with thy poor

˙

to judge

˙

in

to

-

-

-

˙

to

˙ w

ser - vant here

˙ ˙ Œ œ œœ ˙ ˙ ˙

ser - vant here,

œœ ˙ ˙ ˙

with

thy poor ser - vant

thy poor ser - vant

w

here,

w

poor

number of pre-cadential dissonances – which tend naturally to extend individual lines – and he blurs the divisions of his tactus (or pulse) through repeated ties over the bar, which help establish, through periods of amorphous rhythm, a stately, expansive pace throughout (see e.g., mm. 5–11). The most obvious way in which Byrd extends the length of “Attend mine” is simply by repeating the text over and over in various ways. Most unusually for this otherwise rather constrained section,UByrd repeats every phrase of “Attend mine” with similar to the full-fledged melodic & breiterations ˙ ˙ . œ ˙that ˙run from › w the # ˙ rhythmically sequence, bringing it all to something of a climax by assuring through repetition and stand be - fore thee clear. that the˙ words “stand before thee cleere” (l. 4) would recur some fourteen times, U ˙ . œ ˙oscillating-third b casew with˙a distinctive ˙ n› inV each motive, before he brings the work to its dramatic close (mm. 38–63). thee clear, and stand be-fore thee clear. In the midst of his repetitions of “stand U before thee cleere” Byrd moves up to the highest to bring the word “justified” into sharp relief V b wnote ˙of the ˙ entire œ œ b ˙setw(to g”) › (m. 47). It was in certain ways a response to his remarkable setting of the text “and clear, and stand be- fore thee clear. into judgement enter not” (l. 3) of the section before. And, finally, he ends with a further inter-song allusion: a subtle but important articulation of the “lamenting gesture” featuring an e♭ near the very end of this work (m. 62, see Ex. 6.4b). In the “judgement enter not” passage Byrd returns to a number of techniques featured earlier in these psalms. Here we find the same syncopated entrances and expressive leaps (note especially the leaps of an octave in the bassus) that he had used to set various texts. To recapture the aural image of intoning liturgical psalmody, Byrd centers attention on the same a’ as before, but in this case shifting much more decisively to the d” above it, which he inflects, significantly, with an upper e♭” neighbor (see Ex. 6.4a).

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judge - ment

˙

-

en

ter

not,

with

œ

˙ ˙

thy poor ser - vant

w

here,

w

poor

Songs of Three Parts 151



Ex. 6.4  continued b. mm. 61–63

& b ˙ ˙. œ ˙

˙

Vb

˙

˙.

and

stand

and stand be - fore

˙ w

thee clear,

Vb w

clear,

˙ ˙

and stand

w

thee

#˙

U

›

clear.

U

œ ˙ ˙ n›

be-fore thee

œ œ b˙ w

be- fore thee

U

clear.

›

clear.

Now, in accordance with all of the techniques of extension he explores in this song, Byrd prolongs the length of the expressive e♭” in this “judgement” passage, treating the listener to a special moment of chromatic harmony – when an e♭’ appears in the bassus (m. 27) – and a moment of dissonance – when it appears, an octave above, in the superius (m. 31). All of this is highlighted by the reduction of the surrounding melodic movement. Thus even though Byrd’s move to the note g” in the “justified” section stands out for its extreme melodic height in terms of range, thanks to his harmonic treatment, this “judgement” section may represent a more cumulative moment in the set as a whole. There can be no question, I would argue, that Byrd alludes to the “give teares” passage of Psalm 38 (BE 13: 3) when he emphasizes the E♭ so strikingly in the last psalm of the penitential set. Although the single B♭ in the signature, or “key,” of all the songs of this section would seem to offer numerous opportunities for him to feature an E♭, and even to emphasize it, a look over the entire set reveals that he is extraordinarily sparing in his use of the note. Thus it serves the function of highlighting ideas and thereby heightening the rhetorical force of the two most ­memorable passages of text that appear in this entire opening section.

O

FROM JUSTICE TO LOVE: SUSANNA AND THE NIGHTINGALE (BE 13: 8–9)

ne consequence of Byrd’s decision to bring out the particular words “judgement” and “justified” at the end of “Attend mine” (BE 13: 7) was to perform a smooth thematic transition from this last penitential psalm to “Susanna fair” (BE 13: 8), the following song in the sequence. Being prepared to die rather than “yield to the advances of the two elders who accost[ed] her in her garden,” Susanna stands as one of the most famous “exemplar[s] of Old Testament justice.” As Catherine Brown Tkacz has claimed, “Susanna [is] also nothing less than a ­prefiguration of Christ”: This typology is discussed and depicted at least as early as the fourth century and at least as late as the seventeenth century. Susanna recurs as a type or prefiguration of Christ in his Passion in sermons, letters, and commentaries; in fifth-and fourteenth-century autobiography; in medieval religious

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plays; in seventeenth-century narrative poems; and in sculpture, ivory, gold glass, incised glass, fresco, stained glass, embroidery, and especially manuscripts. I have identified forty-four works of art – some with multiple typological depictions – and thirty-nine primary texts developing Christological ­typology from Daniel 13.23 “Susanna fair” (BE 13: 8) is Byrd’s musical contribution to this large set of multidisciplinary representations of Susanna as Christ that Tkacz uncovered. Byrd goes further than most by drawing a third figure, Mary Queen of Scots, into the ­comparison. Mary, as we shall see, was closely associated with Susanna in the art and propaganda of the time. As Tkacz points out, the Susanna type was effective because “[j]ust as Susanna was in a garden when she was accosted (Daniel 13:15– 19), so Christ was in the Garden of Gethsemane when he was arrested [and] … just as Susanna was brought to judgment (Daniel 13:42–50), so was Christ.” But the difference is that whereas Susanna was exonerated, Christ was crucified. In his Susanna, or The arraignment of the two uniust elders, Robert Aylett strongly linked Susanna to Christ. Because of the accusation, he exclaimed, “she suffers like that Holy One.” But, by the end, Aylett focused on the fateful distinction: Lo wicked Pilate like these Elders stands, Washing before just judge, his guilty hands, Yet nothing but hells lake shall wash from thence, That guiltlesse blood, the blood of innocence.24 After Mary’s execution her champions used Susanna’s story to condemn those who had wrongly shed “the blood of innocence,” noting with dismay that Mary, unlike Susanna, had not been vindicated. In the eyes of her supporters, Christ and Mary formed a closer match than Christ and Susanna. Fittingly, in his first published setting of “Susanna,” in 1588 (BE 12: 29), Byrd offers a stirring depiction of the evil forces that had worked against her. In 1589, to balance this out, he focuses attention, finally, on the victim Susanna herself. The poems Byrd set in 1588 and 1589 are nearly identical, but the word “false” of “false intent” of the former was changed to “leude” in the latter (l. 3). However small, this distinction is not trivial, at least from Byrd’s perspective. In 1588 he seizes on the word “false” to emphasize, perhaps in legal terms, the idea that Susanna was “falsely accused” by the two elders. “Leude,” however, is a more accurate depiction of their sinful “intent,” especially from Susanna’s point of view. This small change may reflect a wish to shift attention toward the female victim. What set the composer free to concentrate on Susanna herself in his setting was his decision this time not to set the text strophically. To study the setting of 1589 is to realize that Byrd was, to a certain extent, working against the poem’s formal properties in 1588. The rhetorical thrust of a 23

Catherine Brown Tkacz, “Susanna as a Type of Christ,” Studies in Iconography 21 (1999): 101–53, at 101–02; see also Chris L. de Wet, “The Reception of the Susanna Narrative (Dan. Xiii; Lxx) in Early Christianity,” in Septuagint and Reception: Essays Prepared for the Association for the Study of the Septuagint in South Africa, ed. Johann Cook (Boston, 2009), 229–43. 24 Robert Aylett, Susanna, or The arraignment of the two uniust elders (London, 1622), 42.

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multi-stanza, abacc-rhyming poem such as “Susanna” (and so many other poems Byrd set), is end-directed: i.e., everything moves toward the last two lines, or the final couplet. Most of these poems save for the last two lines a summarizing statement or concisely expressed, epigrammatic moral. But in looking at the two-stanza version of “Susanna,” Byrd seems to have noticed that the poet (as would many later sonneteers) had set things up so that the final couplet of the first stanza serves a different function, namely to introduce the voice of Susanna herself. The sound of Susanna speaking is a special moment in the verse, which Byrd underlines musically. Yet her words do not settle anything. Rather she simply states what the elders intend to do to her – essentially to commit adultery via a bribery scheme (a form of rape). It is only as the second stanza, “And if I graunt” (l. 7), continues that she reveals how she plans to react and the implications of her resolve become clear, which Byrd took special steps to emphasize in his setting. For the sake of his rhetorical scheme, Byrd imposed new rhythms on this verse. Some trochees, which he imposed on iambs, seem to have inspired his tendency to feature offbeat (or cross-) rhythms throughout (e.g., mm. 5, 7). More importantly, in terms of structure, by combining an iamb with an imposed spondee he established a short–long–long-long motive featuring a stepwise descending melodic line that he put to effective structural use. With this motive he then set a series of (iamb–spondee) texts – “assaulted was” (l. 1), “to bring to passe” (l. 3), “by tender love” (l. 4), “and make me dye” (l. 6) and “of mine accord” (l. 11) – most of which fall either at the end of the line or just before a caesura. As they feature rhythmically weak, feminine cadences, these “iamb–spondee” motives tend to push the ­momentum forward. Most of the lines of “Susanna” are iambic and within them the standard midpoint pause, the caesura, usually follows the fourth syllable (or second foot). But there are some exceptions in the placement of this caesura, and it was in reacting to these that Byrd found an opportunity to emphasize in his music the dramatic tensions contained within the text. In the fourth line of the first stanza, which is the last before Susanna’s entrance, Byrd’s poet had shifted this pause so that it fell after the sixth syllable (third foot) rather than the usual fourth (second foot). Since the third line ends, as usual, with the longer, six-syllable, segment, the momentum builds strongly through the fourth line as one long segment follows another. During this extension, what the listener senses is the absence of the short segment, which seems in danger of being left out completely. Byrd reacted to this metrical shift in two ways. First, with sequential motives (five short notes followed by a long) he set up a series of repetitions of the six-­syllable text “if not by tender love,” which he used to extend, with musical means, a line that already would seem unexpectedly long. Second, after the long segment concluded, with a weak close, he turned decisively to the short segment, taking advantage of its naturally strong iambic rhythm. Thus he set with appropriate emphasis the final four syllables of the fourth line, “by force and might” (mm. 12–13). All of this leads of to Susanna’s dramatic entrance. Byrd responds to the occasion by bringing all parts to a pause before Susanna is heralded to the stage with a brief moment of homophonic texture (m. 13). Susanna’s words themselves, which fill up the final couplet of this stanza, he casts into a pair of lines that feature the same shift in the caesura in the second of the two, which this time brings the

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whole first stanza to a strong close, but one not quite as strong as that of the next stanza. In the second stanza of this verse the first shift – from a 6–4 to a 4–6 syllabic pattern – occurs not in the fourth, but in the third line. Showing his awareness of the pattern, Byrd repeats lines of text to extend the long segments and even includes a musical variant of the “call and response” material he had used before to introduce Susanna. But, as Byrd well knew, the context within the stanza is quite different; in this case, the fourth line does not mark a return to the norm, as had the fifth line of the stanza before. Instead, it is parsed into two syllables that are set off from and then followed by eight. The final couplet begins, rather than ending, with a shifted 6–4 pattern that prolongs the state of instability even further. Thus it is only in the last line where the standard 4–6 division of the line returns; and as the final and long-awaited articulation of the expected pattern, the gesture gives particular weight to Susanna’s concluding remarks, showing her complete resolve to obey God despite the grave consequences she is likely to suffer at the elders’ hands. Thanks to his poet’s meticulous approach to dramatization, Byrd needed only to follow the metric shifts in the line to bring out the significance of Susanna’s unwavering commitment not to “offend our Lord” (l. 12, mm. 38–42). With a through-composed setting Byrd produced a compelling picture of Susanna that Mary’s Catholic supporters were likely to relate to their fallen heroine. Indeed, some of them were involved in creating and collecting images that linked the two figures together in the first place. When they looked further into Byrd’s set, to the following song, “The nightingale so pleasant” (BE 13: 9), they would have been drawn deeper into the allusion. Also a prominent type of Christ, the same nightingale (as the poems are virtually identical) starred in works by Orlando di Lasso and Alfonso Ferrabosco the Elder that Nicholas Yonge had published, under the auspices of Byrd’s royal privilege, in the Musica transalpina of 1588. Thematically these works, along with others, depicted with sorrow the confinement in prison that Mary had famously suffered for twenty years prior to her execution in England.25 25

Musica transalpina, publ. Nicholas Yonge (London, 1588), D4v (Lasso), F3r (Ferrabosco). Yonge also included “Susanne fair” settings by Lasso (C2v) and Ferrabosco (C2r). Basically a collection of Englished madrigals, other works in the set allude playfully to imprisonment by the force of Love: see “Because my love too lofty” (H3r), “strings that bind me” (l. 4), “Like the bird in the snare in vain that striveth” (l. 6); “But as the bird that” (H2r), “secret snares” (l. 2), “sing for joy of liberty” (l. 6), etc. If, as Yonge announced in his preface, the English poems, or “most of them,” were created in 1583 ([A]2v), then it would have made sense for the poet – if he was a supporter of Mary – to treat the imprisonment less severely than would seem warranted in respect to Mary’s condition. This was the time when international forces were being harnessed expressly to free her and put her triumphantly on the throne of England as well as Scotland. On the unsettled issue of the anonymous translator’s identity see Eric Lewin Altschuler and William Jansen, “Musica Transalpina and Marenzio’s Interpolator: Gentlemen at Large,” Musical Times 144 (2003): 20–27. On the political situation, with note of Lasso’s possible role in championing Mary at this time, see my “Imitation as Cross-Confessional Appropriation in the Susanna Complex: Revisiting Kenneth Jay Levy’s ‘History of a 16th-century Chanson’,” in Sleuthing the Muse: Essays in Honor of William F. Prizer, ed. Forney and Smith, 287–304; and “Lassus, Ferrabosco the Elder, Byrd, and the Identification of Mary Queen of Scots as Biblical Susanna,” Musical Times (forthcoming).

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When he set the same poem, Byrd went to special expressive lengths to depict the nightingale’s sad condition, as we shall see. But he also took the theme further; following a tradition of Christ typology, Byrd cast Mary into a “nightingale [who, as she] sings the hours, … draws closer to Christ and finally expires in a unitive experience with the Crucified.”26 In “The nightingale’s” two quatrains the poetic speaker describes in lively terms the eponymous bird as a representation of freedom. But the same speaker, we learn by the end of the fourth line, views all this from inside a “Cage” (l. 4). For the remainder of the poem this figure bemoans his or her “bondage vyle” and “freedome short” (l. 6). It all ends in a state of joylessness. Fittingly, Byrd opens with lines “perfect” in accentuation, as Edmund Fellowes aptly described them.27 He then shifts, with a startling cross-relation at the word “Cage,” to a graver style and, as John Harley suggests, a new key or mode.28 To emphasize the emotional modification, Byrd packs into a mere three measures of the fifth line no fewer than five entrances (mm. 18–20). Not only does Byrd’s representation, with its decisive shift from the gay and mirthful to the stark and grave, sympathetically capture the sense of desolation that Mary experienced in prison, it also fulfilled his prefatory promise to bring works of this kind to his reader and serves a transitional function in the sequence. In “Susanna” Byrd introduces some livelier rhythms and a new mode or key as he moves away from the penitential psalms. In the first half of “The nightingale so pleasant” Byrd previews a full-blown change, or metamorphosis, anticipating the carefree world of the next section of songs, which begins with “When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight” (BE 13: 10). A comparison of the first two measures or so of “Susanna,” “The nightingale,” and “When younglings” shows that, through his opening motives, Byrd establishes a set of particular relationships among these songs in order to create this special transformation. Byrd opens “Susanna” with a distinctive fourth and a dotted rhythm, d’–g’, followed by two g’s in the superius (see Ex. 6.5). He then manipulates it as follows. When he repeats the opening fourth of “Susanna” in the first measure of the tenor part of “The nightingale” he adds a 5–6–5 gesture so that the motive is transformed into the following four pitches: d’–g’–a’–g’. The next voice to enter, the superius, answers the opening fourth with a fifth, therafter keeping the same rhythm and the same 5–6–5 gesture. Following this, Byrd has the bassus enter with a replication of the superius’s entry an octave below. In “When younglings” the shape 1–5–6–5 again appears, now in a more compressed form without the dotted rhythm. Thus, by the end of the first point of “When younglings,” all three songs are intertwined in a gradual, but completely logical, musical transformation. Byrd’s reason for taking his auditors through the process has much to do with the ­nightingale’s complex symbology. As Beryl Rowland observed: 26

William F. Hodapp, “The Via Mystica in John Pecham’s Philomena: Affective Meditation and Songs of Love,” Mystics Quarterly 21 (1995): 80–90, at 80. 27 Edmund H. Fellowes, The English Madrigal Composers (Oxford, 1921), 166. 28 John Harley, William Byrd’s Modal Practice (Aldershot, 2005), 110: “for a long time The nightingale so pleasant keeps the listener guessing about the true key.”

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156 a

Ex. 6.5  Opening measure(s) of BE 13: 8–10, “Susanna fair,” “The nightingale,” “When . younglings” ŒŒ &&˙ ˙ ˙ . ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ a. “Susanna fair” a

Su san Su a san c a c

&Ó ˙Ó && & ˙

Su Su

VÓ ÓÓÓ V& &

-

na

na

.œ ˙.˙ œ

fair fair

˙˙ œ ŒŒ˙ œ ˙

san Su fair, - - san na - fair na nafairna - Susan san fair, c c

Ó V V Ó

&&

˙. ˙ ˙.

-

˙ .˙˙.. ˙.

˙ ˙˙˙

Su -- san san Su SubSu - - sansan b

˙˙

Su bSu b

c1

-

„ „

œ œœ ˙ ˙˙ œ ˙

-- -

˙˙ ..

na na na na

fair fair, fairfair,

œœ

. ˙.˙

na c2 c2 na

san san b1 b1 -

˙˙

˙˙

fair fair

œ œœ œ œ œ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œ˙ ˙ œ

Œ Œœ œ

b. “The nightingale”

The Theb1 b1

Night in - gale so plea - sant and so gay, c2 Nightc2 in - gale so plea - sant and so gay,

so

œ . & ˙ ˙ . ˙ . œ„„ œœ œ œ ˙˙œ #œœ œ œ ˙˙œœ. œ œ˙ œ˙ œœ œœœ ˙ œœ˙ œœ œœ œœ Œ œœŒ œœœ ˙˙œ #œœ œ œ ŒŒ˙ œœ && & # œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ #œ œ ˙ a1 c1

a1

so

- in - gale so pleas The Night and so gay, and so plea gay, - sant and so so gay, pleas - ant and so c1 The - antNight in - gale so Thea1 Nightc1 - in - gale so pleas so gay,- and in - gale so sogay,plea - sant and so sopleas The- ant and Night gay,- ant and so a1

V˙ V& & ˙ V V

˙˙ .. „ „ œœ œœ œ œ ## œœ œœ œ œœ„ œœ„ œ ˙˙ œ œ œ œ

The Night - in - gale so pleas - ant and so gay, and The Night - in - gale so pleas - ant and so gay, and

„„

œ. &&œ .

œ œ Jœœ œ œ˙ ˙ J

& œœ ..œ && & œ

œœ ˙˙

so

so

so The pleas - ant Night and Theb1 Night so pleas - ant andb1

so gay, so gay,

„„

j œ Jœœ #œœ œœœ .˙˙œ . œj œ˙ œœ˙ #Jœ

pleas ant and pleas ant and

ŒŒ œ˙# œ œ ˙ ˙˙ œœ˙ œ # œ œ œœ ˙

œœ ∑ ˙˙∑

ŒŒ

gay, gay,

∑∑

˙˙

˙˙

Night Night -

The The b1 b1

˙˙ œ ˙ ŒŒ˙ œ

œ œ œ œ œsojj soœ œ gay,œ œ gay, œ œ œ V œ œœ œ# œ œ œœ ..œ œ œœœ ˙˙œ œ œ œ w ˙˙w V& & œ #œ œ and pleas so - gay,ant and so gay, pleas antand and

b2

&& ˙ ˙When b2

&∑ ∑ && & ˙˙ When When b2 b2

V ∑∑ V& &

When

V V SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 156

-

-

in - gale in - gale

œ œœ œ ˙˙

œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ

so so

young - lings first young - lings first a2 a2

œœ

gay,

gay,

in - gay, gale so pleas so gay, - ant and so gay, so and in so pleas - ant gay,gay, - galegay, so and so and so

œœ œœ œœ V V -

so so

œœ ˙ ˙˙˙

young - lings When first young - lings When a2first a2

„ „˙˙

When When

„„

ww

c. “When younglings” pleas - ant and so pleas - ant and so

ŒŒ œœ

on

œ œ ŒŒœ œ œ œ on

young - lings on young - lingson

œœ

œœ

gay, gay,

#œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ #œ ˙ Cu - pid fix their sight, ˙ œ˙ œ

Œ œ œ ˙œ œœ Œ œœ ## œœ œ ˙ on Cu pid fix their sight,

Cu - pid

first Cu firstCu - pid

˙˙ ˙˙

When young - lings first young - lings When b2first b2

˙˙ When

b2When b2

fix

their

sight,

Œ œœ œ œ Œœ œ œ ˙ œ˙ fix

ontheir Cu sight,

young - lings first on Cu young - lingson first Cu

œœ

œœ

young - lings young - lings

˙˙

first first

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The love with which it is traditionally identified may be unhappy or happy. Associated with the ancient story of rape and revenge, the bird sings a lament; associated with the spring and the May morning, the nightingale sings simply of happy love; associated with the poet, it can express either personal ecstasy or pain; in a further meaning … directly opposed to the secular interpretation … the nightingale sings of Christ’s death and resurrection and is itself the symbol of the greatest love.29 Many of these ideas could be seen to play a part in Byrd’s sequence, including the lament, the rape, the idea of pain, and the links between the nightingale, love, and Christ.30 But Byrd did not wish yet to place Love and Christ into opposition. Rather, to achieve a balanced transformation, he followed closely the path of English poets who mixed the nightingale’s secular and sacred traditions. According to W. F. Hodapp, John Pecham’s (Peckham) Philomena (Philomela) “achieves nearly a complete synthesis of these various, often conflicting, strands of the nightingale tradition.” Hodapp also notes that, “in perhaps its most dominant role in Medieval literature, the nightingale became the singer of springtime love, who ushers in the new season and thoughts of love simultaneously, or who often acts as a messenger of love.”31 Through his placement of “The younglings” directly after “The nightingale” Byrd quite effectively puts the nightingale in the position of an envoy, heralding Cupid’s arrival. The sacred image that Byrd nonetheless retains is best approached through Pecham’s aforementioned seminal Philomena of the mid-thirteenth century, as it contains an extensive account of the nightingale in a Christological guise. This poem comes to a close as follows: For when she recalls the gentle words Which Jesus uttered at Nones while his life was draining away, Her whole spirit weeps and cries like one bereft of her senses, Wailing that this voice is piercing her anguished heart. 29

Beryl Rowland, Birds with Human Souls: A Guide to Bird Symbolism (Knoxville, TN, 1978), 106. I wish to thank Michael E. Harris for directing my attention to this study and for other valuable suggestions about nightingale symbolism. 30 As a champion of Mary, Byrd was working against a strong counterforce, as the literature on the subject tends to show. Although it is in need of updating, the basic guide to propaganda for and against Mary remains James E. Phillips’s Images of a Queen: Mary Stuart in Sixteenth-Century Literature (Berkeley, 1964). There have been a number of recent studies that add substantially to the picture, including: Alexander S. Wilkinson, Mary Queen of Scots and French Public Opinion, 1542–1600 (Basingstoke and New York, 2004); John D. Staines, The Tragic Histories of Mary Queen of Scots, 1560–1690: Rhetoric, Passion and Political Literature (Aldershot, 2009); Cathy Shrank, “’This fatall Medea’, ‘this Clytemnestra’: Reading and the Detection of Mary Queen of Scots,” Huntington Library Quarterly 73 (2010): 523–41; Jeremy L. Smith, “Revisiting the Origins of the Sheffield Series of Portraits of Mary Queen of Scots,” Burlington Magazine 152 (2010): 212–18; and idem, “Mary Queen of Scots as Susanna,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Society 73 (2011): 209–20. As if there was still a trial in progress, Mary’s claim to have been raped by Bothwell was recently challenged by Leslie Smith, “Mary Queen of Scots: The Daughter of Debate,” Journal of Family Planning and Reproductive Heath Care 34 (2008): 125–27. 31 Hodapp, “Via Mystica,” 81.

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Now she can no longer bear the cruel arrow, And she dies, as I have said – but a happy death – For the glorious gate of heaven opens for her, And now she becomes the beloved and the bride of Jesus.32 The nightingale of this poem suffers with Christ and dies with him at the same hour of the day, bringing to the fore an image that “blurs courtly and religious love.”33 Because Pecham’s Philomena was long thought to be a work of his teacher St. Bonaventure, his poem was widely known and often emulated.34 Jesus was well known to have died at 3:00 pm, and thus the canonical hour of Nones, held at this time in the afternoon, came to symbolize the time of his death. In one of the closest Pecham imitations, “A seying of the nightingale,” John Lydgate (or a pseudo-­ Lydgate poet) described the bird as “Christ hym-self,” relating that “Hir songe, hir myrth, & and melody was done / And she expyred aboute oure of none [Nones].”35 That Byrd too wished to draw a connection between the nightingale and Christ’s Passion is suggested by the fact that he placed “The nightingale” as the ninth song in his set, similarly evoking Nones. The Christological connection is suggested as well in the content of the aforementioned transformative motive. In his wellknown study The Language of Music of 1959, Deryck Cooke discussed “1–(2)–(3)– (4)–5–6–5 (MAJOR)” as one of the most “widely-used musical terms.” He claimed it “is almost always employed to express the purity of angels and children, or some natural phenomenon which possesses the same qualities in the eyes of men.” 36 To illustrate this, he provided, as the first three of twenty-five examples, the Puer natus est introit chant for Christmas, the first notes of the cantus firmus tenor of Cristóbal de Morales’s mass of that name, and the opening motive of Byrd’s “When younglings.”37 32

Joseph L. Baird and John R. Kane, Rossignol: An Edition and Translations (Kent, OH, 1978), 89. 33 Judith M. Davidoff, Beginning Well: Framing Fictions in Late Middle English Poetry (Cranbury, NJ, 1998), 67. 34 See Frederic J. E. Raby, “Philomena praevia temporis amoeni,” in Mélanges Joseph de Ghellinck, SJ, 2 vols. (Gembloux, 1951), 435–48; see also Masami Okubo, “Le rossignol sur la Croix: une figure du rossignol-Christ dans la poésie medieval,” Reinardus 6 (1993): 81–93; and Carol Maddison, “‘Brave Prick Song’: An Answer to Sir Thomas Browne,” Modern Language Notes 75 (1960): 468–78. 35 Alain Renoir, The Poetry of John Lydgate (Cambridge, MA, 1967), 27. 36 Deryck Cooke, The Language of Music (London, 1959), 151–52. Cooke went on to suggest that the motive is, “expressive of an absolute happiness that can never be fully experienced in a civilized human life but only by savages, children, animals or birds, or saints or imaginary blessed beings” (p. 154). In the collection of proper mass settings he published in two books of Gradualia (BE 5–7) Byrd made a point of singling out the first interval of this motive. Kerry McCarthy, in “‘Notes as a Garland’: The Chronology and Narrative of Byrd’s ‘Gradualia,’” Early Music History 23 (2004), 49–84, at 54, describes it as containing an “almost iconic status of the rising fifth that announces ‘unto us a child is born.’” Throughout the collection, as McCarthy further notes, “no other introit in the Gradualia – indeed, no other Mass proper item – uses a chant incipit in the same way.” 37 Cooke, Language of Music, 153.

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It seems likely, given his argument about the child-like nature of this “musical term,” that Cooke included Byrd’s work so near the top of this list because the word “younglings” appears in its title. By placing the Morales cantus firmus between the chant and Byrd’s work, Cooke also confirmed his own suggestion (as shown in his use of parenthesis, see above) that the repeated notes in the sequence are not of themselves an essential feature of this motive, which is defined instead by a leap of a fifth and the move to and from the upper-neighbor. This is confirmed not much further along in the chant itself as a reduced version appears, namely 1–5–5–6–5, specifically at the words et fil[ius].38 That Byrd was aware of the motivic properties – and that the word filius serves to confirm that the “child” (puer) mentioned in the chant is in fact Christ – is strongly suggested, I believe, in the twenty-second song of this publication. There Byrd set the words “O Lord my God” (BE 13: 22) to the same 1–5–6–5 motive he had developed in the eighth and ninth songs, which he emphasized this time with repetitions in the body of the song. “O Lord my God” is the first song after the opening psalms to mention the “Lord” and this thematic return tends to confirm that Byrd’s intention all along was to make a musical connection between Cupid, the nightingale, and Christ. By the time we reach that place in the narrative, however, Cupid has himself been transformed into something quite dangerous, and the relationship between the god of love and the Christian God is at its most tense. Indeed, even before the three-voice section ends we gather a sense of foreboding, as the last song of the three-voiced section leaves matters unsettled. But at the opening and throughout “When younglings” itself, where Byrd introduces Cupid, and a whole new story starts, the spirit is carefree, youthful, playful, and innocent, just as Cooke perceived it to be. The “major system is set aside for states of pure blessedness,” he claimed, and Mary was in a blessed state, I contend, when Byrd closes his tribute to her. As he begins his narrative of Sidney’s passing, he brings Christ’s eventual nemesis, Love, onto the scene.

W

PART II: LOVE EMERGES

ith the introduction of Love, in “When younglings,” Byrd completes a motivic transformation, where a theme featured in “Susanna” slowly comes more and more to resemble the Puer natus est chant. He also opens a new section of five three-voiced songs concerned with Cupid, whose presence would inform the remainder of the set. Thanks to the introduction of certain features in the transitional eighth and ninth songs, Byrd’s auditor is well prepared, by the tenth, for a whole new approach to the musical elements, including the relatively fast pace Byrd will maintain for the remainder of this section: rhythmically daring offbeat entrances and syncopations and wide-ranging and expansively fluid melodies. While the movement is mostly stepwise, the parts move freely and repeatedly from the lowest to their highest part of their registers, and they do so in notably bright 38

“Et filius” marks the place where many composers, including Thomas Tallis, segmented the melody for cantus firmus treatment in their masses built on this chant; see Joseph Kerman, “The Missa Puer natus est by Thomas Tallis,” in Write All These Down, 125–38, especially at 127–29.

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(major) modes (or keys) as the texture shifts often from polyphony to homophony according to Byrd’s wish to bring out certain words or ideas. Byrd’s attention to poetic form and, to some extent, tune, did not diminish as he approached these texts. But these songs retain the equal-voiced ethos of partsong scoring and thus do not represent a return to a leading-voice scoring of the “sonets and pastoralls” section of his Psalmes. Finally, as scholars have often noted, Byrd was attentive here to a number of rather obvious opportunities that these texts afforded him to indulge in what has generally been seen as an Italianate-influenced interest in word painting, illustrating effectively, inter alia, such words as “heavens,” “tempest,” “styng,” “fether,” “sooden,” “flight,” “so[a]r,” and “naked.”39

W

CUPID AND THE EYES (BE 13: 10–14)

hen Sidney wrote, in his Astrophil & Stella, that Cupid “shin’st in Stella’s eyes” he expressed one of the “hardest worked conceits” of the Renaissance era.40 The idea that the god of love lives in the eyes of mortals, shooting his arrows into the hearts of his victims, has roots that run back through the whole Petrachian era to the Medieval Provençal tradition. George Gasciogne, John Lyly, Spenser, and Thomas Watson, among others, featured the “eye” convention in their works. Yet it is still known as “typically Sidneian.”41 Not only is the “erotic in Sir Philip Sidney’s work … insistently and profoundly ocular” generally, as Jane KingsleySmith maintains, but the whole Astrophil & Stella sequence of Sidney’s design takes particular dramatic shape after Cupid travels from Greece to England to reside in Stella’s eyes, in the seventh and eighth sonnets.42 Byrd’s introduction of Cupid in the Songs emphasizes the idea of youth, with childlike ideas of playfulness and innocence expressed through Anacreontic references. Behind it all, however, is the development of a theme relating to this conventional idea about Cupid and the eyes that nearly matches Sidney’s in terms of its focus on this ocular element. With his subheadings Byrd links “When younglings first on Cupid” (BE 13: 10) and “But when by proof they find” (BE 13: 11) as first and second parts. Together they form a single sonnet divided into two songs. In terms of content, the conjunction “But,” which begins the second song, conveys the connection between the two parts. That there has been a passage of time is also clearly suggested in the repetition of the word “when” in both of their first lines. All of this helps the reader appreciate the shift from a child’s innocent perception of Cupid to the 39

Oliver Neighbour, “Byrd’s Treatment of Verse in His Partsongs,” Early Music 31 (2003): 412–16, 418–22; Philip Brett, “The English Consort Song, 1570–1625,” Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 88 (1961–62): 73–88, at 81; Joseph Kerman, The Elizabethan Madrigal: A Comparative Study (New York, 1962), 101–09. 40 Thomas Hyde, “Cupid,” in The Spenser Encyclopedia, ed. A. C. Hamilton (Toronto, 1997), 201–02.  41 Mary Ellen Lamb, “Three Unpublished Holograph Poems in the Bright Manuscript: A New Poet in the Sidney Circle?” Review of English Studies, n.s. 35, no. 139 (1984): 301–15, at 314. 42 Jane Kingsley-Smith, “Cupid, Idolatry, and Iconoclasm in Sidney’s Arcadia,” SEL 48 (2008): 65–91, at 65.

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circumspection of an adult. Byrd was surely well aware of the overall shape of the two-poem sequence. He also likely noted the connective features contained within the opening lines of these verses. But he focuses more intently on the endrhymes these two works share, namely “sight” and “might (myght).” These appear in the opposite position in the first sections of these songs: as A rhymes (at the end of the 1st and 3rd lines) in “When younglings,” but as B rhymes (in the 2nd and 4th) of “But when.” To a certain extent Byrd had only to follow the poetic form to realize his rhetorical goals, by placing an appropriately weighted cadence at the end of each line. In a simple setting, the word “sight,” for example, would naturally be emphasized in “When younglings,” as it appears on the first cadence, but the cadence for its rhyming partner “might” would be overpowered by the stronger B rhyme cadences that, in this case, link the rhymes” “boy” and “annoy.” In “But when” the first cadence appears on the word “see” (m. 34). Thus the ocular idea would, again, be naturally emphasized in a basic setting. But this time, as the repeated words have shifted in the verse, the words “sight” and especially “myght,” which has perhaps the weakest role in the first song, would now be strongly emphasized. Sensitive to the narrative purpose, and naturally inclined to respect the dictates of the verses at hand, Byrd does follow the pattern that yields these rhetorical results, as would be expected. But it is worth emphasizing here that he goes much further than he would have needed to in order to achieve his purpose. To make the point about Cupid’s apparent “light[ness]” (l. 7) in the first of the two verses Byrd employs some key deceptive cadences, such as the one on “myght” (m. 9), for example, which is echoed later at the word “blynd” (and “a-way,” see m. 22). As far as cadences go, arguably none could be weaker than these, as the “deceptions” are never fully resolved. But then, to compensate for this, he goes too far in the other direction, setting off a little comedic pendulum effect. First, after dutifully slowing down and then coming to an extended full stop on “annoy” (m. 15), his singers appear to the auditor unable to regain their momentum once the new phrase begins, as the parts get stuck for a measure or so of long notes (mm. 16–17). Then, once back in motion, they speed up too much, it would seem, as the youthful speaker becomes all the more intrigued by Cupid’s toy-like qualities (mm. 18–19). The song then ends with a truly farcical scene, where the same child bemusedly watches a blind god attempting to “shoote” his arrows, even though he “know[s]” … “not wh[i]ther” they will go (l. 8, mm. 24–30, see Ex. 6.6). To convince the auditor that Cupid, however blind, is still trying to aim, Byrd devises a motive wherein all the closes (the “shots”) are represented by repeated notes (nicely in keeping with the feminine cadence of the line itself). But as they appear on off-beat entrances and in irregular patterns, it all suggests rather effectively that Cupid keeps missing his mark. Eventually this little shooting match must end, but the final cadence is decidedly weak and thus it is only at the first (strong, bassus-led) pause of the next song that the auditor senses a truly firm point of closure. This is precisely where the now-matured speaker realizes that Cupid “did see” (l. 1, italics added) before going on to take more seriously the idea of the ­“surpassing powre & myght” (l. 4) of Love. Later we discover all the grave consequences of succumbing to Cupid. Byrd’s setting assures us, though, that we should not take any of this too seriously, at least

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˙ Ó Œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ & #œ ˙ œ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ younglings,” ˙ mm. ˙ Ex. 6.6 Ó BE 13:Œ 10forœ“When œ sayœ they, ˙ 22–30they, blind men say shoot & scape # œ ˙a - œ way, ˙ ˙ Ó Œ forœ blind ˙ men ˙ say œ sayœ they, Œ˙ Ó Œ˙ they, shoot & scape # œœ ˙a - œ way, ˙ œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ œ œ for blind men say they, sayŒ a way, they, Œ forœ blind men say they, say they, for blind men say shoot they, & scape œa -œ way, ˙ Œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ Œ œ ˙ œ œ œ ˙œ Œ œ ˙ for blind œ say for blind men & ˙œa -œ way, ˙œ they, œ œ they, V wœ sayœ they, ˙ ˙ ˙ Œsay œ˙ œ men ˙ œ ˙ œ œœ œ˙ œ œ œ a - way, men say they, say they, men say men say Œ for blind œ know ˙ they,notœ men say they, shoot they V way, w ˙ œ forœ blind ˙ for blind ˙ Œ forœ blind œ œ they, œ œ œ œ know Œ for blind ˙ notœ V way, w ˙ men ˙ men ˙ Œ forœ blind œ sayœ they, œ shoot they œ sayœ they, œ way,

for blind

for blind

men say they,

Œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Ó &˙ ˙ they ˙ know Œ shoot œ know œ notœ whi œ notœ whi & they œ -ther œ Ó œ -ther, œ œ ˙ œ œ not whi Œœ -ther, Œ˙ œ know œ -ther œ & they œ œÓ œ œŒ shoot œœ know œœ not˙ whi œ œ they œ œ œ not whi-ther know- not ther, Œ -shoot Œ shoot they know they ther,whi they & they œ know œ know œ shoot ˙ notœ whi œ œ notœ whi œ -ther œ shoot œ œ œ Œ œœ know ˙œ -ther Óœ know Œ - ther, & œŒ shoot œ they œ they V œœ notœ whi ˙ ˙ notœ whi œ shoot œ œ ˙œ shoot ˙ œ shoot they know not whi ther, ˙ Ó Œ whi-ther know œ not whi they -ther, V whi œ shoot œ they knowshootnot they œ - ther, œ shoot ˙ shoot œ ˙ œ ˙ know œ not whi they V whi œ -ther, œ Ó shoot they œ - ther, œ Œ shoot ˙ œ whi-ther,

shoot

they

know not whi - ther,

˙ ˙ œ ˙ & œ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ they know not & ther, œ shoot ˙ ˙ œ ˙ not & ther, œœ shoot ˙ œ ˙ they know œ œ they know not - ther, they not whi & ther, œ shoot ˙ œ know ˙ œ œ œ Œ œ they know not whi & ˙ œ œ œ ˙ V ˙ œ - ther, œ œ they know not whi ther, Œ œ œ - ther, œ shoot they V know not whi ˙ œ œ œ not whi œ - ther, œ Œ shoot they V know ˙ œ

shoot

œ œ ˙ ˙ whi œ - ther, œ shoot ˙ whi œ shoot ˙œ - ther, ˙ whi - ther, shoot shoot they ˙ ˙ shoot they ˙˙ ˙ shoot they know not ˙ ˙ know not ˙ ˙

they

men say they, shoot they know not

#œ ˙ œ œ . œjn œ œ j not ˙ œ .-ther, #they œ know œ whi œœ nnotœ whi not ˙ œ .-ther,jnnotŒœ whi #they œ know œ whi œœ œ œ œ œ œœ they know not whi-ther, not whi they know not whi-ther, Œ shoot œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙œ Œ œ Œ -ther, shoot œ they know not whi œ œœ œœ œ œ ˙œ œ Œ -ther, shoot know-not whi know they they œ notœ whi œ ther, œ shoot œ Œ ˙ know not œ œ whi œ - ther, œ shoot they U ˙ U ther. ˙ U U

know not whi - ther, shoot

œ ˙ œ know they ˙ œ know they ˙ œ . œj œ they knowknow j œ. œ œ know j œ . œ œ ˙œ know whi - ther, not œ œ ˙ whi - ther, not œ œ ˙

#œ #notœ #notœ œ not not œ not œ not

they

˙ whi ˙ whi ˙ - ther. ˙ U ˙ ˙ whi -- ther. ther. whi ˙ U˙ whi ˙˙ - ther. ˙˙ U whi ther. whi ˙ - ther. ˙ U whi ˙ - ther. ˙

at this point. With references to they Love’s “fether”-like wings (in “When whi younglings,” - ther. know not whi - ther, shoot know not whi - ther, not l. 6) and to a “Bee” (l.  5) in “But when,” these poems preserve the well-loved Anacreontic image of Cupid as a mischievous child. And even though Byrd exaggerates certain differences in these verses, it serves his comic purposes to keep up something of a strophic design. A close look at the two poems in tandem reveals not only a scheme that underlies the harmonic movement (C, G, G, C in both first sections) but also the repetitions of certain rhythms that lie much closer to the musical surface. That both works begin with the dactylic rhythms, which were ubiquitous in the chanson repertory of the continent, might be attributed to foreign influences on Byrd’s music at this point. But these dactyls are followed, just as consistently, with another rhythmic motive of no special provenance: a short–short–short–long pattern that is directly preceded by a rest and that usually features repeated pitches

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on the short durations and a leap up to the longer one. These motives tend to link these songs all the more closely together as a related pair. It only adds to the humor of this section to discover, then, that these same rhythms reappear in various guises in the next pair of songs of this “youthful Cupid” cycle (again, together forming a sonnet). In “Upon a summer’s day” (BE 13: 12) and “Then for a boat his quiver” (BE 13: 13) not only do the same motives appear in essentially the same positions, but the fast-moving scalar passage in the bassus with which “But when” ends is echoed in the striking opening of “Upon.” Finally, as “Then for a boat” comes to an end, Byrd, with typical ingenuity, takes steps to remind us of all these elements of continuity by linking the words “to shore,” and “and sw[e]are” (ll. 5–6) and by shifting his motives for a new clause before ending the previous phrase, a technique of enjambment he had also used in the first work of the Psalmes, “O God give ear” (BE 12: 1). Thematically, there are a number of elements that would explain the repetitive elements and the continuity theme in the first four of Byrd’s Cupid songs. As in the first pair of songs in this section, there are clear references to visual ideas, as both deal with Cupid’s adventurous, ill-fated attempt to “swym” in a “Sea of teares,” i.e., in an enamored mortal’s eyes (BE 12: 12, l. 1). The latter two poems also continue to explore, in comic fashion, the Anacreontic view of Cupid. Finally, Byrd may have wished simply to reflect the fact that the story of Cupid’s little adventure itself extends from the first through the second poem, when he “sw[e]are[s],” in the end, never to “bath in lovers teares” again (BE 12: 13, l. 6). Beyond all the repeated rhythmic elements, Byrd’s particular interest in developing a musical equivalent to the visual mise en scéne in these songs is noteworthy. Not only does he develop points that provide the musical drama fitting for a “tempest” (BE 12: 12, l. 4) and a “shypwracke” (BE 12: 13, l. 5), he also sets about to convey the sense of Cupid “at work,” so to speak, by fashioning long-spun melodies that move around busily and determinedly in the texture in a manner that suggests a whole range of amusingly self-preserving activities of an imperiled Love in his role as a childish “merry prankster.” In the opening measures of “The greedy hawk” (BE 13: 14), Byrd abandons for a moment his slapstick pace to offer his auditor a passage notable for its harmonic and rhythmic stasis. Soon the dactyls reemerge and the pace picks up, but it is a striking moment of contrast all the same. On one level the opening gesture could be viewed as the first of a series of musical illustrations of the text: a vivid depiction of the suspense that one senses in the moment just before a bird of prey decides to strike. From this perspective the dactyls on the words “sooden sight” (l. 1) that immediately follow do more than establish a buoyant mood (and link this work to those before and after); they also enact the abrupt change so integral to the dramatic effect. Byrd, to continue, follows this up with an extraordinary deceptive cadence at the word “pr[e]y” (l. 2, m. 15, see Ex. 6.7), which underlines the point that the “stoope[ing]” bird had been deceived by a lure; and this is followed, immediately, by depictions of man’s likenesses to the hawk – via a point that resembles the opening in its triadic nature – before the bird itself, finally, and most gloriously, embarks on its great “so-ring” flight (l. 6), which takes up the remainder of the work. These illustrative passages dominate the song and all qualify as typical of the madrigalists’ “cunning” device.

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˙ &Ó ˙ & Ó doth w V w doth V lure, V lure, W V stoop, W

w w stoop Ó Ó

stoop

Ex. 6.7  BE 13: 14 “The˙ greedy hawk,” mm. 9–16

w w w w

˙ ˙

doth

stoop,

doth

stoop,

Ó Ó

stoop,

&w w &have ˙ ˙ V have ˙ to˙ V hope

V hope ˙ to˙ V wish ˙ - ed˙

wish - ed

w prey, w have

prey,

w w

˙ ˙ to

stoop

to

˙ doth w ˙ stoop doth w doth

œ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ her wish ed œ ˙her. wish œ - ˙ ed ˙. œ ˙ have her wish -

∑ w ˙ w ∑ doth stoop ˙ doth stoop ˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ hope doth stoop, in

Ó Ó

stoop,

w #˙ w #˙ ˙ w ˙ w ed prey,

her wish - ed

w her w

prey,

her

Ó Ó

in

˙ in ˙

hope

in

w w prey, Ó Ó

prey,

#w wish #w

wish

˙ to˙ hope ˙ to˙ hope

∑ ∑

˙ ˙

˙. ˙. ma

so

ma

so

-

w w ed ed

-

Ó Ó

w w have, w. w. have,

have,

have,

˙ in ˙

in

˙ hope ˙ hope Ó Ó

˙ ˙ to to ˙ ˙ in

˙ ˙ her in

her

Ó ˙ ˙. œ Ó so˙ ma˙ . - nyœ œ . œ soœ œ maw - ny œ . Jœ œ œ œ œ men doJ w ny stoop, ny men do stoop, ∑ w ∑ prey, w prey,

But Byrd had some additional goals for this piece, which went beyond the surface effect. First, he had his larger presentational structure in mind, for this work, like the last of the penitential psalms (and the endings of other sections in both the 1588 and 1589 collections), is noticeably extended in relation to the works around it. Second, there is a moral embedded into this text, which it would be uncharacteristic of Byrd to have ignored; and finally, there was the problem of relating this song to those before it, which would have been only fitting for a work that seems, thanks to its dimensions, to be drawing things to a close. The source for this poem, as for many others Byrd would set, was Geoffrey Whitney’s Choice of Emblemes, of which there was a manuscript as well as the printed version of 1586.43 The manuscript had been prepared for Whitney’s patron, Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, who was then embarking on his much-anticipated but ill-fated trip to the Netherlands as governor general, to lead an English army against the Spanish.44 Without losing the connection to Leicester or to the mission at hand, Whitney, in his printed version, spread out his gratulations to a number of others, and prominently included in this new list was Leicester’s nephew Sidney (who was tragically killed during the mission), as well as members of Sidney’s circle, including Edward Dyer and Edward Paston. 43

See BE 13, p. xxxii; BE 15: 33; BE 14: 2–5, and 8, and G. K. Hunter, “Madrigal Verses from Whitney’s ‘Choice of Emblems,’” Notes and Queries 7 (1960): 215–16. 44 See Mason Tung, “Whitney’s A Choice of Emblemes Revisited: A Comparative Study of the Manuscript and the Printed Versions,” Studies in Bibliography 29 (1976), 32–101; and John Manning, “Whitney’s Choice of Emblemes: A Reassessment,” Renaissance Studies 4 (1990): 155–200.

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By bringing Catholics such as Paston together with Protestant leaders of the stature of Leicester and Sidney, Whitney’s volume points to an attempt at confessional rapprochement that lies near the heart of Byrd’s purpose for publishing these songs. Already in his 1588 set he showed an abiding interest in Sidney, which was only to increase in this 1589 set. But at this point in his sequence, Byrd’s message is quite different: it is to warn everyone that, “frendly lookes be lyke / the lure, whereat the so-ring Hawke did strike” (ll. 5–6). He here seems to be implying that one should be wary of the overtures of supposed friends, and of course the wiles of Love, as we watch the equivocal image of a great, but dangerously deceivable, hawk in flight. To look ahead is to realize, though, that the warning is left unheeded. As we enter the following chapter of Byrd’s story we learn that it is indeed Cupid who is poised to, and ultimately will, “strike,” and, this time, despite all this warning, he hits the mark. Thus “the greedy Hawke” (l. 1) soars in a way that brings the three-voiced section to a stirring close, but not without a sense of foreboding. Through musical means Byrd assures us that the “myrth” will not simply disappear. But we sense that the protagonist cannot maintain the innocence of a “youngling” as a new Cupid draws his arrow. As with ideas surrounding tears and the eyes, which shift so dramatically in the three-voiced section, now, in the four-part section the idea of wounds – first exposed in a religious context – will be seen, through Sidney’s eyes, and those of his mourners, from the perspective of a world ruled by Love.

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Chapter 7

Songs of Four Parts

I

n the songs à 4 of the 1589 Songs of sundrie natures Byrd’s auditor approaches the middle portions of an intricate sequential narrative. Already in the à 3 section Byrd had moved his audience from the great “gravitie” of penitential psalms through images of Mary Queen of Scots and Christ, only to settle in the mischievously “myrth[ful],” but ultimately innocent, world of Anacreontic Love (to quote from Byrd’s title page, BE 13, p. xxxv). This was a complex enough path, but in the section of songs in four parts, to abide by Peter Brooks’s claims about a good ­narrative, before we reach a moment when past and present hold together in a metaphor – which may be that recognition or anagnorisis which, said Aristotle, every good plot should bring – [we must endure] the slidings, the mistakes, and partial recognitions of the middle. The “dilatory space” of narrative, as [Roland] Barthes calls it – the space of retard, postponement, error, and partial revelation – [is] the place of transformation: where the problems posed to and by initiatory desire are worked out and worked through.1 Brooks here suggests that the middle part of a narrative is thoroughly messy, yet all this “dilatory space” turns out to be crucial for the plot: the middle is ultimately “the place of transformation.” Byrd lives up to such expectations at this point of the sequence, though it is only near the end of the section where things shift into disarray. Up to that point his plot line is clear. Following the suggestions of six lines or so in Sir Philip Sidney’s “Poor painters oft,” of his Old Arcadia (which will be quoted below under the appropriate section headers), Byrd puts the male poetic speaker under Cupid’s thrall (BE 13: 15–21) and leads him toward the darkest place imaginable (BE 13: 22). At this decisive point Byrd opens up his dilatory space. Before turning to a Christian solution in the form of two jubilant refrains (BE 13: 24–25), in the song “While that the sun” (BE 13: 23) the poetic speaker finds himself transformed into a thoroughly conventional pastoral shepherd who sits in the shade with his pipe and sings dejectedly but disarmingly about the changeable ways of an unfaithful shepherdess. It is here, in a “sliding” space of “postponement,” I will argue, that Sidney himself, the great Arcadian maker steps, metaphorically, into the story.2 1

Peter Brooks, Reading for the Plot: Design and Intention in Narrative Image (Cambridge, MA, 1992), 92; and Roland Barthes, S/Z (Paris, 1970), 82. On Aristotle and narrative see Paul Ricoeur, Time and Narrative, Volume 1, trans. Kathleen McLaughlin and David Pellauer (Chicago, 1984), 31–51. For an application of Brooks’s theories to musical narrative see Anthony Newcomb, “Narrative Archetypes and Mahler’s Ninth Symphony,” in Music and Text: Critical Inquiries, ed. Steven Paul Scher (Cambridge, 1992), 118–37, at 132–36. 2 Speaking of the term “maker,” Sidney explains that “it commeth of this [Greek] word Poiein, which is, to make: wherein I know not, whether by lucke or wisdome, wee Englishmen have mette with the Greekes, in calling him a maker,” An apologie for poetry (London, 1595), C1r.

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In this chapter Byrd’s musical approach to the poetic themes of his texts remains the focus. The songs now include a number of juxtapositions of musical “natures,” to quote his title for the 1589 set, which range from the Italianate madrigal through the consort song anthem, air de cour, and even to Byrd’s own “sonets and pastorall” style of 1588. But the extraordinary shift in tone and theme at the point after the devil appears before us will require a special look. At that point, in “While that,” a number of unexpected characters, and some familiar ones, such as Thomas Watson and Sidney, will be introduced or reintroduced as much of the tension that has been building up from the point where the four-voiced section started will be released.

THE STRIKE Is he a God, that ever flies the light? Or naked he, disguis’d in all vntruth? If he be blind, how hitteth he so right? How is he young, that tam’d ould Phoebus’ youth? Sir Philip Sidney, Old Arcadia, p. 58

T

he Cupid songs of the three-voiced section, as noted above, cast the auditor into the world of a merry prankster, but at the end there was a warning and a question represented by the “Greedy hawk” (BE 13: 14) that might or might not be fooled by a lure. In the first two sonnets of the four-voiced section of the Songs, which Byrd divides into four separate numbers (BE 13: 15–18), the main character, Love, undergoes something of a metamorphosis. Although once a vulnerable and childlike creature, he now emerges as a palpable force. And, in the midst of existential questions and prayers, where he is duly feared and pleaded with, he makes his dreaded strike. The poetic speaker finds himself, in the end, forced to come to terms with the dangerous condition of being smitten. By separating a sonnet’s octet of two interlaced quatrains (abab and cdcd) from its sestet of another quatrain (efef) and couplet (gg) in the same manner as in BE 12: 10–11 and 12–13, Byrd makes connections among the verses to move this story along its ominously darkening path. Byrd’s organizational scheme in this section is rather tight. For each octet of the two sonnets – namely, “Is love a boy?” (BE 13: 15) and “Wounded I am” (BE 13: 17) – he repeats the music of the first four lines in the next four, making both these works function essentially as two-stanza strophic songs.3 The even-numbered sestets, “Boy pity me” (BE 13: 16) and “Yet of us twain” (BE 13: 18), open with 3

Byrd’s decision to divide these (and other sonnets) into multiple parts may reflect something of the history of English form itself. Io son ferito, the basis for Byrd’s “Wounded I am,” is now thought to have originated as a strambotto by the Italian poet and musician Serafino dell’Aquilla, which had been set to music by Bartolomeo Tromboncino early in the 15th century. Byrd was unlikely to have known Tromboncino’s setting, but Serafino’s work is important for its role as a conduit in the spread of Petrarchan poetic ideas to Renaissance England. When English poets such as Sir Thomas Wyatt and Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey converted pairs of Serafino’s eight-line strambotti into fourteen-line sonnets (treating the first to lineby-line imitation, but trimming the second down to six) it has been suggested that they cultivated a distinctive “English couplet” in the sonnet. See Patricia Thomson, “Wyatt and the School of Serafino,” Comparative Literature 13 (1961): 289–315.

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quatrains that tend to resemble the preceding works in design and style, but each ends with a rhymed couplet, the formal novelty of which Byrd underscores with prolonged music of a contrasting nature. Although these two pairs of songs share a common musico-poetic form, their stylistic differences are notable nonetheless. As a musical type, or “nature,” the first two (BE 13: 15–16) stand in line, for the most part, with the three-voiced works of the previous section, as they move not only with the same brisk pace, but also feature a number of the same motives. In the next pair (BE 13: 17–18), however, there is a distinct shift in mood, as Byrd turns, yet again, from what he describes as “myrthful” to matters “grave.” The first song of this four-part set, “Is love a boy?” (BE 13: 16), is one of a number of Byrd’s deceptively simple works. The simplicity, in this case, may be seen in this song’s brevity and textural consistency. There is also an element of repetition that adds to the effect, especially when this work is experienced directly after all the Cupidean songs of the preceding section. Many of the latter songs featured a long–short–short–long (choriambic) motive (based on the ubiquitous continental dactyl) for the first point, followed by another beginning with a rest and followed by three short notes and a long one (quartus paeon). Byrd is obviously creating a sense of unity among songs of a single nature with these linked motives.4 With unusual regularity Byrd maintains a quick pace of imitative entries throughout the piece, usually with one part answering another at the space of just a minim. In addition to evoking nursery rhymes, this creates a rather clamorous sound, thanks to the relatively few cases when words are articulated in isolation, which fits in well with the spirit of all the childishly persistent questioning: “is Love: a boy? (l. 1), … a guide? (l. 2), … a man? (l. 3) … a God? (l. 4),” etc. In certain points, such as the especially repetitive sounding triadic motive for “or is he blind?” (l. 2) and “a wilful boy” (l. 6), and the full-octave descending scales for “why doth he men de-ryde?” (l. 4) and “unruly, God he knowes” (l. 8), a state free of any discipline seems near to hand as the listener tries to follow all the various parts echoing each other so quickly and darting in and out of the texture. From the start, though, Byrd shows that he can use this imitative pattern to strong rhetorical effect, mainly through his tried and true method of breaking a pattern such as this for the sake of text emphasis. The device works as follows. The song opens with imitation at the minim, but by the third measure Byrd allows the inner voices (contratenor and tenor) to articulate a dactyl together. At this point the words “is” and “boy” of line 1 are sounded jointly, but the words “love a” of the same line are allowed to ring out clearly in the texture. As a result, the auditor senses that something important is about to happen; and when the outer parts (superius and bassus) begin to move in tandem – with an organized, disciplined answer – his or her sense of anticipation increases (see mm. 1–3). Yet the superius, although it does run along rhythmically for a while with the bassus, still does not repeat the same words, for the simple reason that the upper part has instead moved on to articulate a new text (and a new rhythmic motive, in m. 3). Thus a state of confusion is reached again as words tend again to pile up on one another. Once the other voices enter with the new point, however, things do start to come together 4

I wish to thank Karyn Dawn Grapes for drawing my attention to these motives.

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Ex. 7.1  BE 13: 14 “The greedy hawk” and BE 13: 15 “Is love a boy?” a. BE 13: 14, mm. 50–52

& bb œœ ˙˙ &

œœ œœ ww

U U W

˙˙

W

U U W

œ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ ˙˙ ˙˙ V bb œ V the soa soa the

--

ring ring

V bb œœ ˙˙ V

ww

ring ring

& bb œœ & œœ b b V V

he he

V bb œœ V

what what

? œœ ? bb

ring Hawk Hawk ring

œœ

then then

˙˙

he he

then then

aa

boy? boy?

Hawk did did Hawk

strike. strike.

W

U U

W W

did did

˙˙

to to

strike. strike.

˙˙

b. BE 12: 15, mm. 3–5

ŒŒ

strike, strike,

œœ œœ œœ ˙ ˙

he œœ œœ ˙˙

means means

strike. strike.

ww

Hawk, Hawk,

˙˙

did did

he

then then

ÓÓ

œœ

to strike, ## œœ ˙˙

to strike,

to strike, strike, to

œœ œœ

what what

what means means what

œ ŒŒ œ

ŒŒ

œœ

œœ

what what

œœ

what means means he he what

œœ ..

means means

œœ ˙˙

he he

he then then he

then then

œœ œœ

means he he means

œœ œœ

then then

jj œœ œœ œœ ˙˙

to to

˙˙

## œœ ˙˙ to to

## œœ ˙˙

to strike? strike? to

strike? strike?

˙˙

ŒŒ œœ

˙˙

then then

to to

strike? strike?

strike, strike,

to to

strike? strike?

˙˙

˙˙

or or

˙˙

yet again (mm. 4–5); and this adds much to the feeling of momentum as it all comes to a dramatic close with the first full cadence of this song, when three of the parts articulate together the word “strike” (m. 5) with unusual clarity (see Ex. 7.1). It seems most unlikely that Byrd – who had gone to all the trouble suggested above to bring out the word “strike” at this first cadence of the four-voiced section – would have been unaware that this was the same word with which the three-voiced section had ended. As the latter part draws to a close the poetic speaker is essentially warned about the possibility of being struck by Cupid’s arrow. By the end of the first sonnet of the four-voiced section it is a fait accompli. The word “strike” is particularly important in this transitional scene, as it was anticipated in the threevoiced section and encapsulates the essential theme of the four-part songs. But when the music Byrd used to set “strike” appears again for another word, in the second strophe of “Is love,” it seems to detract from any claim that he really had any special musical designs in mind for this key text. Does this seeming dismissal of his own musical accomplishment reveal a lack of literary interest or awareness on Byrd’s part? In some cases it is hard to defend his choice to set a given verse strophically, at least from the point of view of text expression. This time, however, his

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decision to repeat music for different words was arguably informed by the poem’s content and a desire to enrich the meaning of this verse in a musical setting. As an examination of the poem “Is love” reveals, all the existential questioning about Cupid’s nature (whether “boy,” “guide,” “man,” or “God”) in its first quatrain is answered succinctly in the second, as there it is suggested he is “No one of these[,] but one compact of all” (l. 5). In the opening quatrain of “Boy pity me” (BE 13: 16) that follows, the speaker accepts this solution and appeals to Cupid in all the aforementioned forms. But it all ends in a state of renewed confusion, as the speaker finally prays to Cupid, in the ending couplet, as a “powre to me un-knowne” (l. 5). With this sonnet’s temporary solution of the second quatrain in mind, it is possible to defend Byrd’s choice to set “Is love” strophically, in the following way: the punch line, or turning point, of the octet – with its suggestion that Cupid is “all” (l. 5) of the things mentioned in the questions posed in the opening lines – occurs at the place where the music for the “strike” (l. 1) had appeared before. And since the music naturally gains force at this point, it could be argued that Byrd gives the idea of inclusiveness fitting musical emphasis, even if it had all been heard before. Furthermore, when the music that had first depicted the “boy” now characterizes the “guide,” etc., it tends to bring out – through the willy-nilly distribution of musical motives – the idea that Cupid really does possess all of the aforementioned attributes in equal measure. It is an amusing experience for the attentive listener to encounter music associated with one Cupidean entity later applied to another. Fortuitously, “Is love” is constructed so that the interchangeability of motives is not complete, which also helps Byrd in his interpretive design. Cupid’s godliness is only one of four “hypostates” offered in this pseudo-theological picture.5 But it has ramifications for future songs. In “Is love,” for example, the godlike quality is brought out similarly in both strophes, as music of the “is he a God?” (l. 4, mm. 11–14) phrase is repeated for “a God that rules” (l. 8, mm. 32–35). For these texts Byrd provides a musical point that gives, with the leap of a fifth at the close, special emphasis to the ending words (italicized above) that relate to Cupid’s divine status. Byrd’s musical gesture also helps prefigure his eventual move to a pseudo-religious musical style, which becomes even more apparent in the songs to follow. In “Boy pity me” (BE 13: 16) Byrd demonstrates again how effectively he can embed complex musical ideas into seemingly rather innocuous material. Just as he had in “Is love,” (BE 13: 15) he begins this song with dactyls that outline a fourth, but the key difference between them lies in the direction in which they move. In “Is love” the melodic lines move upwards, in “Boy pity me” downwards. A closer look at the opening point of “Boy pity me” reveals too that all the lines descend an octave, again mimicking “Is love,” which ended with many repetitions of this same gesture at the same pitch level, although in rhythms twice the value of those that 5

On the theological approach to love and related themes see Thomas Hyde, The Poetic Theology of Love: Cupid in Renaissance Literature (Newark DE, 1986); Jane KingsleySmith, Cupid in Early Modern Literature and Culture (Cambridge, 2010); Stephen Hamrick, The Catholic Imaginary and the Cults of Elizabeth, 1558–1582 (Farnham, 2005), 151–88. Both Kingsley-Smith and Hamrick find politicized expressions of Catholicism embedded into works ostensibly about Cupid.

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appeared just before (mm. 1–5). Thus in the opening point of “Boy pity me” not only does Byrd neatly invert the opening motive of “Is love,” he also treats its final point to augmentation. Both the inversion and the augmentation in “Boy pity me” serve text expression purposes. The shift in melodic direction, for example, relates to love’s place in a venerable strain of theology. In debates about the idea of love as represented by Eros and Christ, many used the analogy of ascent and descent, especially in Neoplatonic contexts.6 On the one hand, the love of God for humankind, represented most clearly in the Incarnation, was commonly thought to descend to man, revealing, through the figure of Christ, God’s mercy and love for his creation. But Eros, on the other, was thought to inspire an acquisitive love, one guided by a form of lust that ascended from below.7 Had Byrd these contrasting ideas in mind – and the works Byrd chose to close the section suggest that he had – he may have been subtly condemning the love attributed to Cupid with his insistently descending, and thus contradictory, lines. If so, it then follows that he would also make further comment on the more controversial ideas surrounding this pagan god. Of Cupid’s hyperstatic parts – namely, “boy,” “man,” “guide,” “God” – Byrd attractively captures the idea of childhood in the lively, playful nature of the faster moving lines, while the more somber tone reflects Cupid’s move toward manhood and, ultimately, his godlike qualities. It is on the surface of “Boy pity me,” in particular, however, that Byrd comments most pointedly on Cupid’s role as a guide. Byrd’s admonition against Cupid’s leadership may first be seen in the Phrygian cadence that appears with the word “stray” (l. 2, m. 53), which seems unexpected enough as an arrival point to belie the poetic speaker’s hopeful suggestion that Cupid “blynde be no more” (l. 2). More complex are the scoring choices in the point “and leade me to my way” (l. 4, mm. 61–65). Here Byrd sets up a series of entries that begin with one voice leading two others, suggesting that someone has begun to act as a guide. But after the first iteration the entries begin to dovetail, causing some confusion about who is leading whom; then a voice further disrupts the pattern by coming in too soon; and by the end every part enters in on its own. Mixed-up entry procedures such as this are not difficult to find in this era of pervasive imitation, but this gradual move toward an ethos of ‘every man for himself’ tends still to portray the ineffectiveness of Cupid’s guidance. As a final irony, though, this 1 vs. 2 contrapuntal idea established a pattern, for in the very next line, the first of the rhetorically crucial final couplet, Byrd effectively reverses the process he had begun earlier, this time having two voices led by one (as the superius stands tacit). This is all the more significant because in creating a 1 + 2 texture Byrd reminds his auditors of the consort song style toward which this section is gradually moving. 6

See George Hardin Brown, “The Descent–Ascent Motif in ‘Christ II’ of Cynewulf,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 73 (1974): 1–12; and for an in-depth a discussion of the Neoplatonic approach to the concept, Hyde, Poetic Theology of Love, 95–100. 7 On the application of Neoplatonic ideas in poetry of Byrd’s time see Frederick Morgen Padelford, “Spenser’s Fowre Hymnes,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 13 (1914): 418–33.

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The sense of rhythmic augmentation, which was suggested in the opening of “Boy pity me,” comes to the fore in this final couplet of the entire sonnet (mm. 67–84). Here, as pleas addressed to Cupid have the same intensity as those addressed to the Old Testament God of the psalms, Byrd ceases to pack the texture with lively dactyls and passages that run up and down the full range of each part. He resorts, instead, in the first of the two lines, to slow moving parts with long passages in homorhythm that create a series of solemn suspensions. With the new tone established, Byrd then sets about to bring back (from “Is love”) the distinctive motive that ends with a leap of a fifth – especially in the bassus, where the interval is repeated thrice at different pitch levels – now to arrive at the dangerous idea that Cupid, whatever he truly might be, functions as the “powre of my life” (l. 6, italics added). Thus “Boy pity me” ends with an appeal to Cupid’s mercy, one that sounds, even through its tone of mock solemnity, rather like a prayer to the Christian God. It is not the last prayer this poetic speaker will make to Cupid in this section, but it does set a trend as the first to be left unanswered. The poetic speaker of “Boy pity me” begs Cupid not to act against him, but, as the reader sees by the title of the next song, “Wounded I am” (BE 13: 17), this plea was to no avail. Appropriately enough for this classic topic, the wounding action itself occurs offstage, as it were, even though the listener was fully prepared for it by Byrd’s music. As a static, moving response to the situation, “Wounded I am” functions like an aria, rather than an action-filled recitative. Yet, if Byrd here anticipates musico-dramatic ideas of the future, there is evidence that strongly suggests he based his music on something from the past. With “Wounded I am,” the Byrd song scholar, who so often finds him- or herself bereft of clues as to likely musical and poetic sources, is suddenly offered an embarrassment of choices, in the case of both the poem and the musical setting. One of the most popular madrigals of the era was Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina’s 1561 setting of the ottava, Io son ferito, which became the basis for numerous imitations, especially instrumental diminutions. Palestrina himself parodied it often and recast it with liturgical texts.8 Alfred Einstein suggested that Palestrina’s version of Io son ferito was the source for Byrd’s poet, rather than for Byrd’s music, although he seems to have implied the latter as well.9 Composers closer to Byrd’s orbit, such as Alfonso Ferrabosco and Orlando di Lasso, also set the poem, but it still seems likely – as these musicians themselves probably imitated 8

Jerome Roche, “’The Praise of It Endureth for Ever’: The Posthumous Publication of Palestrina’s Music,” Early Music 22 (1994): 631–39. Roche twice refers to Palestrina’s “Io” as a “hit” and also as “ubiquitous” (pp. 632–33); he discusses the contrafactum Quanti mercenarii & Succurite ahi lasso (p. 633). See also Two-part Didactic Music: Printed Collections of the Renaissance and Baroque (1521–1744), 3 vols., ed. Andrea Bornstein (Bologna, 2004) 2: 398–99: Bornstein notes that “its huge success is demonstrated by numerous paraphrases and arrangements: in fact there are several madrigals, canzonette, lute tablatures, and didactic duos that share the thematic material of this madrigal.” See also Lionel Pike, “New Palestrina Sources,” Musical Times 117 (1976): 685–88. 9 Alfred Einstein, “The Elizabethan Madrigal and ‘Musica Transalpina’,” Music and Letters 25 (1944): 66–77, at 67–68.

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„„

& &

∑∑

and and

cru cru

ww and and ww

ww tears,

tears, tears,

but but

##

›› V V

››

cru cru

-

del del

lei lei

? ? ›› lei, lei,

∑∑

par par

ww

-

ww

˙ ÓÓ ˙

„„

cru cru

-

bb ww ..

››

del del

bb ››

˙˙ ww

-

par par

››

tears tears

ww

and and

tears tears

where where

ww

-

del del

„„

ww

ti ti

-

to, to,

par - ti par - ti

-

to, to,

ti ti

-

par - ti par - ti

-

˙˙

˙˙

and and

››

˙˙

ww

where where

tears where - with tears where - with

b. Palestrina, “Io son ferito,” mm. 56–60

ww

cru cru

tears tears

and and

bb ››

but sighs but sighs

lei lei

ww

and and

˙˙ œœ œ œœ ˙˙ œœ ˙˙ œ

bw ÓÓ ˙˙ b w

del del

ww

˙˙ ˙˙

but sighs but sighs

ww

ww

ww

sighs sighs

sighs sighs

-

& & ˙˙ œœ œœ ww ∑ V V ∑

∑∑

but sighs, but sighs,

››

but but

sighs, sighs,

››

ww

bb ww

ÓÓ ˙˙

ww

tears,

ÓÓ ˙˙ ww

„„

› & &›

ÓÓ ˙˙ but

but

& & ˙ bw ˙ bw but sighs but sighs Ó ww V V Ó ? ?

Ex. 7.2  Byrd and Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina a. BE 13: 17 “Wounded I am,” mm. 22–26

˙˙ ˙˙ ww ››

˙˙ ww „„

˙˙

˙˙

˙˙

to, to,

ww

to, to,

ÓÓ

Palestrina – that the Italian composer’s version was the ultimate source for Byrd’s musical choices. As with other Palestrina imitators, especially those the English composer probably knew, Byrd opens with a distinct opening dactyl – one notably and appropriately (for the sake of somberness) twice the rhythmic length of those in his other Cupid songs.10 Furthermore, throughout this song he sustains a mood of sadness and entreaty with all the balance, decorum, and elegance for which Palestrina was so famous. There is some musical evidence that Byrd used Palestrina’s setting as his direct model. Responding to the forceful close of the final lines of Io son ferito, Palestrina slowed his already doleful pace to the slowest he could apparently manage at the 10

The long-valued notes that pervade the texture may help explain the popularity of this setting for those writing diminutions.

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phrase crudel partito, affective words that do not appear in some earlier sources of the poem (see Ex. 7.2b).11 Although, at least after the opening, Byrd makes no special effort, it seems, to imitate Palestrina’s melodic points, he does slow down, with rather more deliberation than did Palestrina, for the words “sighes and teares” (l. 4, mm. 24–26, see Ex. 7.2a), which appear in the same basic place in the poem as the “cruelty” expressed in the Italian verse. Byrd especially extends his settings of “sighes” and “teares” in cantus firmus style in his tenor part, helping the listener to recall that the same word “teares” was similarly brought out with long held notes in “Lord in thy wrath” (BE 13: 3) in the three-voiced section of this collection. The referential quality of this link becomes all the more powerful as the auditor notes that the word “teares” in the penitential psalms opens a section that ends with “arrows of [God’s] wrath” that are “fixed in my heart” (BE 13: 3, l. 4), recalling God-inflicted wounds in a Cupidean context. In that same psalm setting Byrd had introduced a praying female voice (l. 3). And it is in the second part of this “Wounded I am” sonnet, namely the sestet, “Yet of us twain” (BE 13: 18), where a secular female character like the one causing so much pain to the male in Io son ferito is finally introduced. Although her entrance is notably overdue, in true Petrarchan fashion the woman stands aloof from the suffering man in “Yet of us twain.” Presented as a “virgin fayre” (l. 5), her “good name” (l. 2) is of more importance than the poetic speaker’s mortal “distresse” (l. 3). Byrd maintains here the somber pace of “Wounded I am,” even to the point of extending the length of the ubiquitous dactyl of this set to its most extreme (reaching now the level of the semibreve) at the opening. But he also demonstrates a growing willingness to resort to the madrigalesque techniques of word painting. Among Byrd’s pictorial devices, the offbeat imitative entries of the top two voices at the opening of “Yet of us twain” fitly depict the uneasy arrangement proposed here for the two characters, who seem unlikely to reach anything happy as far as agreements go (mm. 73–75). Even something of the rhythmic jauntiness of the 1588 “pastoral” songs colors effectively the depiction of the man’s “lacke of grace” (l. 5, mm. 105–10). Although Byrd and his poet are palpably more confined in their expressiveness than Palestrina, who lashed out much more directly at the woman as a cruel enemy, they nonetheless quite obviously express the same Petrarchan sentiments in their English sonnet, and, as Byrd’s further works reveal, complicate the story considerably with the addition of this new, female, character.

GOLD OR LEAD But arrowes two, and tipt with gold or lead? Sir Philip Sidney, Old Arcadia, p. 58

T

he Cupid of Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia, the one who “tam’d ould Phoebus’ youth,” was derived from Ovid’s Daphne and Apollo (Phoebus) fable of the Metamorphosis (1:452–567). The story opens with an account of a great, warlike,

11

Franz Xaver Haberl, ed., Opera omnia Ioannis Petraloysii Praenestini, vol. 28: Madrigali a quattro voci (Leipzig, 1884), 182, mm. 56–60.

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and victorious Apollo meeting the diminutive, youthful god. Comparing their arrows, Apollo, with typical hubris, suggests that Cupid’s are inconsequential (ll. 454–56). Cupid proves otherwise. He strikes Apollo with a golden tipped arrow, which incites love, and then shoots Daphne with an arrow tipped with lead, which repels it (ll. 457–66). The result is a tragedy: Daphne at once flees the forever-smitten Apollo (ll. 467–68). Although by the end of “Yet of us twain” (BE 13: 17) the object of love moves ever closer to the front of the poetic speaker’s mind, Cupid still remains the focus of his attention. Despite earnest entreaty, Love’s poor victim finds himself, like Apollo, wounded by Cupid. Ever hopeful, though, he tries now to make the best of his situation. In three interrelated poems “From Citheron the warlike boy,” “These careless thoughts are freed,” and “If love be just” (BE 13: 19–21) the speaker prays again to Cupid, this time begging the god to strike this newly introduced female character with the same gold-tipped arrow. As Byrd moved to this more desperate part of the saga he made an even stronger nod toward the madrigal style, although he continued to evoke the consort song anthem, whenever possible, to reflect the functional idea of prayer. With their common structure (abba cdc) and content (Cupid and his weapons), these poems could easily function, as far as Byrd was concerned, as three strophes of a single verse, just as the poem’s author surely viewed them. But rather than set them all with the same music, as he well might have done, Byrd composed three distinct pieces, which perfectly served his purpose here of conforming to the dictates of the madrigal. The obvious reason for eschewing the strophic method in the case of these songs was to create as many opportunities as possible to react to ideas expressed in the text. Indeed, even if the form suggested a strophic approach, this is the place in Byrd’s narrative, much more than in “Wounded I am,” for example, where individual words might profitably be drawn out musically for the sake of the ongoing story. Byrd’s poet not only steps back properly to (re-)introduce the boyish god in an Anacreonic context, he also brings the story up-to-date, focusing on particular ideas about Cupid and his weapons – such as the difference between arrows that are of gold and those of lead – that were significant features of the Renaissance Cupid myth, or, as one scholar suggests, its “poetic theology of Love.”12 In “From Citheron the warlike boy” (BE 13: 19) Byrd’s poet makes explicit a particular view of Cupid’s personal history, along with certain aspects of his craft. As had Sidney in his Astrophil & Stella sequence (Sonnet 8–9, when he brought Cupid up from Greece to England), this poet too puts Cupid on the move. Although there is at least one devil in the details – his birthplace, “Citheron,” is confused here with “Cythera,” thanks apparently to a Chaucerian tradition – the particularity, even learnedness, of the points exposed in “From Citheron” is noteworthy.13 Cupid’s devious perch on a woman’s lap, perhaps the most famous image inspired by Anacreon (although it is Venus, Cupid’s mother, who supplies the lap in this tradition), is here clearly evoked, and all the well rehearsed conditions for Cupid to 12 13

Hyde, Poetic Theology of Love. On Chaucer’s apparent mistake see Paul M. Clogan, “Chaucer and the ‘Thebaid Scholia,’” Studies in Philology 61 (1964): 599–615, at 612.

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176

Ex. 7.3  BE 13: 19 “From Citheron,” mm. 17–19

& Œ œ . œj œ &˙

Ó

Œ

fea - ther'd with flame,

Œ

œ œ ˙

flies,

V

˙

ar - row flies,

VŒ œ œ

j œ. œ #œ ˙ ˙ arm'd fea - ther'd with flame, œ. œ œ ˙ Œ J œ

the ar - row

˙

flies,

œ. œ ˙ #œ J

˙

arm'd

with a gold - en

œ œ œ œ˙

with a gold - en

Ó

fea - ther'd with flame,

Œ

œ œ œ #œ ˙

fea - ther'd with flame,

Ó

Ó

Œ œ ˙

arm'd

arm'd

˙

Ó

Ó

head,

˙

head,

Œ œ

arm'd

Ó

˙

arm'd

œ œ

with a

œ œ . Jœ ˙ # œ ˙ with

a gold - en head,

œ œ œ œ˙

with a gold - en

˙

head,

take deadly aim with his arrow are now laid out: “beauty” must stimulate “fancye” and encourage “desire” (ll. 4–5).14 Not surprisingly, the central aspect of Cupid’s technique of victimization – strongly suggested in the three-voiced works – is made explicit in “From Citheron,” namely, that “from her eyes … the arrow flyes” (l. 6). And we learn, finally, and not at all gratuitously, that Cupid’s arrow is “fethered with flame” and could sport a “golden head” (l. 7). Byrd has little trouble finding ways to paint a word such as “flyes” (mm. 15–17), which he sets dashingly with a number of triadic leaps upward. But he also goes to some lengths to color the word “trappe” (l. 3) with ominous chromaticism, to speed up the pace when setting the word “eager” (l. 5), and to introduce dotted notes and fusae in depicting arrows “fethered with flame” (see Ex. 7.3). Even Cupid’s trek “from Citheron” to his post on a virgin’s lap is cleverly suggested by the distantly spaced entries of the first point (mm. 1–3), and by Byrd’s unusual decision not to allow the top part to articulate the first part of the line, giving the auditor a sense of anticipation that could evoke the experience of travel. As mentioned above, according to Ovid’s Metamorphosis the gold-tipped arrow incites love, while the one tipped with lead inspires hate and rejection. In literal terms, it is not in “There careless thoughts are freed” (BE 13: 20), technically the second strophe of this three-part poem, but rather in the next poem “If love be just” (BE 13: 21), which concludes this set, where Byrd’s poet refers to the choice of metal. But Byrd still ensures that “There careless” will focus on the central idea about the arrow type. The verse describes, for example, an arrow that “might once re-turne & burne” (l.  4), to which Byrd duly responds with successive A major cadences (mm. 34–35) that tend momentarily to brighten up the texture. He then further emphasizes that the arrow must be of a certain quality by linking the idea of “beautyes worke” (l.  5) in framing the metal with the idea that it would then “re-bownd” (l. 6) to strike the women with the same force. Overall, he is reacting, it clearly seems, to the idea that Cupid will inflict upon the female character the same 14

James Hutton, “Cupid and the Bee,” PMLA 56 (1941): 1036–58, at 1047; see also Robert S. Miola, “Spenser’s Anacreontics: A Mythological Metaphor,” Studies in Philology 77 (1980): 50–66.

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Songs of Four Parts 177

“secret smart [through which the male one] suffer[s]” (l.  7), and by linking the motive for “re-bownd” with the one he used for “frame” (l. 5) Byrd cleverly casts the speaker’s wish itself into a musical reality, although it would prove unreliable as an anticipatory gesture. Rather than choose gold, Cupid is instead tragically to strike the “virgin fayre” with a lead arrow, although we must wait until “While that the sun,” the twenty-third song, for this to be confirmed. In “If love be just” (BE 13: 21) Byrd’s poet finally makes an explicit point about the tip of the arrow, as here the speaker pleads with Cupid to “chyse aryht” (l. 5) and pick “the golden head, not that of lead” (l. 6). This, as noted above, is the vital detail of these poems, at least as far as Cupid’s victim is concerned. Nothing, it seems, could be more disastrous a condition than unrequited love, however unavoidable it would seem to be in the poetic tradition. Responding to the weight of the issue, Byrd focuses intently on this passage, bringing the whole song to a nicely drawn climax just at the point where this sentiment about gold is expressed. Perhaps, as he knew where all this was going, he also took the opportunity to bring out a number of other points as part of a mounting critique of Love’s power. Byrd’s first comment on Cupid in “If love” appears with the opening words of the poem. Here, by introducing a double point featuring offbeat entrances in contrary motion, he calls into question the likelihood that Cupid would be “just” (l. 1, mm. 53–54). Although to use contrary motion as a mocking device is a clever conceit, the most striking moment appears ten measures later, when he sets the exuberant vocative passage “O God, O good, O just” (l. 3, mm. 62–67, see Ex. 7.4a). At this point the texture suddenly shifts to alternating animated flourishes and solemn long-held notes that charge the whole scene with the potent atmosphere of sung prayer. However un-madrigalesque the sound here, this was a clear response to the text, one that shows Byrd surrendering himself fully to the mercurial aspect of the fashionable Italianate style, and the mockery rests in the uneasiness of this mix of genre, style, and technique. Tellingly, after making this abrupt and strikingly pious-sounding appeal to Love, Byrd goes right back to the prevalent slow pace of the last song, in keeping with the more somber, prayerful tone of the sonnet as a whole. But it seems, in the end, that he could not resist painting the Petrarchan notion of a “hart” of “frost” “dissolve[d] by fire” (l.  7) with alternating slow and fast-paced passages in quick succession (mm. 90–91), before turning, as a closing conceit, to the offbeat rhythms in the parts he had featured at the outset (mm. 102–03). As he used E♭s to introduce the concept of “fire” (l. 7, mm. 85, 88, 94–95, see Ex. 7.4b) we know that Byrd had allusive designs in mind, as shown below. Within the context of the song itself, however, the ending only reveals that nothing had changed, despite all the entreaties earlier expressed. Cupid proves again unwilling to answer the speaker’s prayers. Few would be misled by the mock seriousness of these Cupid poems, but it is nonetheless to Byrd’s credit that he approached these pseudo-religious verses in the spirit in which they were conceived, especially as this induces him to contrast works of various natures and to mix styles within works for the sake of an interpretive scheme that operates on various levels. By using his music to comment upon and carry the story along, he is treating these themes as did the era’s poets. To shield himself from any accusations that his ideas were sacrilegious, Byrd could, it seems, confidently rely on Sidney’s idea that the poet is essentially safe: “now for

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178

Ó & b ww Ó & bb God, Ó & w God, w & b God, w b w & b God, w w O & w God, O œ œ œ œ œ O˙ V b God, œ œ œ œ ˙˙ V bb œ œ œœ œ œ God, V God, God, w V b ww b w V b God, w O V w God, God,

&b & bb & &b & bb & Vb V bb V

œ œ œ œ ˙. œ œ œ œœ œ ˙ . œ œ œ œ œ ˙. œ œ ˙. œ œ ˙. just, O œ œ ˙. ˙. O just, Ó ˙. O just, Ó ˙. Ó O O

just,

˙ ˙ .. ˙ ˙˙ . ˙ her heart

(bher )˙ (b)˙ (band )˙ and ˙ and ˙ ˙ fire,

O O

˙ ˙ ˙

O O O

O O

V b œ œ œ O˙ . V bb œœ œ œjust, œ œ ˙˙ .. V just, &b & bb & &b & bb & Vb V bb V

˙ ˙ ˙ O

Ex. 7.4  BE 13: 21 “If love be just” œ œ œa. œmm. œ 62–67 # œ . œJ œ œœ w œ

˙ Ó œ œ œ œ œ #œ. œ œ œ w ˙ Ó w œ œ œ œ good, ˙ # œ . OJœJ œ Ó good, O good, O good, O œ œ œ œ ˙. O œ œ w good, good, ˙ O˙ œ œ œ œœ œ ˙ . w œœ ˙ ˙˙ œ œ œ œ œ ˙. w good, œ ˙ O ˙ œ œœœ œ œ œœ˙ œ ˙ good, O ˙ ˙ œ œœœ œ œ œœ˙ ˙ good, ˙ O˙˙ ˙ œ œœœ œ œ œœ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ good, O just ˙ ˙ ˙

˙ ˙ ˙

w w good, w

good, good,

good, good,

fire,

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 178

˙ œ œ œ œ just œœœ œ ˙ œœœ œ ˙ just

O O

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ re ˙ - serve ˙ - serve just, re Œ just, œ ˙ œ re˙ - serve œ ˙˙ Œ ˙ ˙ œ œ just, Œ reœ - serve œ ˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ re - serve œ œ œ ˙ just, ∑ w re - serve œ œ œ ˙ just, ∑ w œ œ œ ˙ just, ∑ w just, ˙ just, ∑ ˙ ˙ ww ∑ ˙ ∑ ˙ just, w ˙ just,

œœ w œœ w œ œ just, w

œœœ œ œ œ œœ œœœ œ œœ˙ œœ˙ œœ˙

œ œ œ œO œ œœ œ œ

O O

93–99 œ ˙ b ˙ ˙ . b. mm. œ w œ ˙ b ˙ ˙ . œ ˙˙ w œ ˙ band ˙ must ˙ . disœ - solve w is frost, ˙ - solve

is frost,

˙ ˙ ˙ thy

˙ ˙ ˙ thy

thy thy

thy thy

and must

dis - solve - solve

her heart

is frost

w w w rod,

˙. œ ˙. œ ˙. rod, re œ rod, re Ó rod, Ó ˙˙ re Ó re˙ re ˙ re˙˙ ˙ ˙ re - serve ˙ rod, rod,

re - serve re - serve

just,

˙ . isœ frost, and ˙ ˙ must ˙ wdis - solve - solve ˙ . œ ˙˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ must and ˙ . dis ˙ w œ ˙ - solve ˙ by˙ fire, must dis solve by fire, and Œ œ (n)˙dis. -œ solve must œ. ˙ by˙ fire, œ and Œ œ (n)˙ . œ ˙ ˙ ˙˙ .. œ œ . )˙ . isœ frost Œ herœ (nheart ˙ must dis œ. ˙ and œ - solve ˙ . dis - solve fire, her heart is frost and must . ˙ ˙ must. disœ - solve ˙ her heart Ó and ∑ is frost V b fire, ˙ œ ˙ w ˙ b Ó ∑ ˙. V b fire, ˙ Ó her˙ heart isœ frost ∑ V ww fire, her heart is frost her heart heart

˙. ˙. ˙. O

O O

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ fire, by ˙

œ œ ˙ ˙ œ œ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ œ disœ ˙- solve ˙ by˙ by fire, dis - solve by w w by fire, ˙ ww dis - solve w by w ˙ w w must dis - solve by w ˙ must dis - solve by ˙ ˙ disÓ - solve œmust ∑ Ó ˙ by œJ ˙ ˙ Ó ∑ Ó ˙˙ Jbyœ ˙ fire, Ó and ˙ Ó ∑ J fire, by b ˙ fire, ˙ . œ ˙ ˙ w and by b ˙ ˙ . œ ˙ ˙ w and band ˙ must ˙ . disœ ˙- solve ˙ byw and must and must

dis dis

-

solve by solve by

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∑

&b w

fire,

&b ˙ Vb

˙

Œ

fire,

w

must

dis

Vb w

œ

her

fire,

∑

˙

˙

heart

is

-

Ó

˙

and

Ó

˙.

frost

˙

solve

˙

Ex. 7.4  continued

˙

must

œ

#˙

and

œ

must

w

by

fire,

˙

w

dis

-

œ

˙

˙

w

and

must

dis

œ

dis - solve

œ

by

solve,

˙ -

solve

fire,

by

˙

Ó

˙

w ∑

w Ó

˙

and

must

and

˙

dis

the poet he nothing affirmes, and therefore never lyeth. For, as I take it, to lye is to affirme that to be true which is false.”15 As Byrd moved the story forward, however, it seems that he may have stretched Sidney’s cover a bit beyond its normal bounds as he drifted into the functional side of religious music-making to follow a Sidneian theme about Cupid’s kinship with the devil.

“TO RESIST HIS GLORY MOST UNTRUE” (BE 13: 22) Some, hurt, accuse a third with hornie head. Sir Philip Sidney, Old Arcadia, p. 58

H

owever amply suggested in anthem-like moments in works that led up to it, with “O Lord my God” (BE 13: 22) there could be no question that Byrd had now arrived at a fully developed style of a distinct “nature.” Replete with a 1 + 3 texture, a fully sacred text, and slow-moving, dark-hued music, “O Lord” conveys all the trappings of a devotional song in the consort anthem style. No doubt the work functioned in this capacity in contemporary performances, although no record of this appears to be extant. Despite the decided shift in style and the likely purpose for the song, however, Byrd did go to some trouble to link this work with the songs that appeared before it. It is something he achieved in part through the use of a single pitch, E♭, which he had associated with wounds and tears in the penitential psalms of the previous section. That he made very restricted use of this pitch in the three-voiced section of the Songs and continued to use it sparingly in the four-voiced section up to the point when it is featured in “O Lord” suggests rather strongly that Byrd saved it for specific expressive purposes. Indeed, the only appearance of the pitch E♭ in the four-voiced section is within a single point at the very end of “If love,” the work directly preceding “O Lord my God.” There it functions with particular expressivity – juxtaposed with rather distant A and D major harmonies – and both the pitch and the harmonies are linked to “fire,” which is hardly incidental in this context. It is the hellish fiend himself who is evoked most strikingly in “O Lord,” as a warning to anyone seeking Love’s succor. 15

Sir Phillip Sidney, An apologie for poetrie (London, 1595), G4v.

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180

&b

Ex. 7.5  BE 13: 22 “O Lord my God” a. mm. 1–4

b

„

b Vb w Vb

b

? bb

O

„ w

Lord

„ „

˙

„

˙

w

my

God,

„ „

Ó

˙

let

w

O

„ ˙

flesh

w

Lord

„

˙

and

˙.

nœ w

blood

thy ser

˙ w

O

˙ my

˙

God,

Œ œ

w

let

Lord

In “O Lord’s” opening point the most arresting melodic feature of the more “myrthful” section – the 1–5–6–5 Puer natus es motive Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ b b w . section ˙of the wthree-voiced Ó ˙ from ˙ w a natural –& is recalled, although with a distinct˙ change 6th, in this casewe♮’, to a flattened 6th- scale Ex. 7.5). in Chapter o ver degree, - throw: e♭’ (seeBut to As re - discussed sist, but to re6, Byrd - sist, had . gone bto˙some lengths to establish and bring out a “natural” version of the 1–5–6–5 ˙ œ œ n ˙ ˙ ˙ n w ˙ . w Ó of Cupid with that ofÓ Christ. Usefully,wDeryck Cooke, Ó V b so as to liken the birth melody who suggested that the Puer But natus childhood, also o - ver-throw: to melody re - sistis often associated give for with ti - tude, . œ of considered version” of the melody. With the simple alteration ˙ bb ˙ wthe “minor w ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ one Ómelody, Ó ˙ V (the 6th), thisn ˙ lighthearted note he claimed, turns into something much more ominous, of fundamental [and] o -“a powerful ver - throw:assertion But to re - sist, unhappiness give … for protest - ti - tude, 16 anguish.” w ˙ ˙ ˙ ? bb ˙ ˙ ˙ a˙“mor-tall ˙ w foe” of∑ God, (ll.  Presented as wa “fende”Ó and 4–5) the devil of “O Lord” iso associated “world[liness]” (ll. 1–2), lust- and - ver - throw: with “flesh” But and to re - sist, but i.e., with to re sist, sin, and thus with all the fears expressed by the psalmist of Byrd’s penitential set (as the poem is cast in the same form as the aforementioned psalms, with the generally well-worn fourteeners, the listener is encouraged to make the connection). John Harley, in his study of Byrd’s modal practices, suggests that Byrd depicted the devil in his setting of the word “fende” specifically with a special modal device, a momentary shift to a twice-transposed Ionian diapente (with a B♭ final), which Harley describes as a variety of modal commixture.17 In looking through the collection for the use of this mode or key, one discovers that Byrd cast a complete work with a B♭ final only once in the Songs, namely “When first by force” (BE 13: 31). This song’s topic – Dido’s suicide – is fittingly grim and is related, again, to Cupid’s most ominous activities (see Chapter 8). Given Byrd’s consistent linking of poetic theme and musical device, it is worth entertaining the notion that he had harmonic as well as melodic properties in mind as he drew these ideas to the fore. 16

Deryck Cooke, The Language of Music (London, 1959), 156–57. Cooke quoted the opening of “O Lord” (p. 157) but incorrectly listed it as published in Byrd’s 1611 set. 17 John Harley, William Byrd’s Modal Practice (Aldershot, 2005), 84.

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Vb

b

„

? bb

„

„

O

˙

˙

w

w

Lord

˙

my

„

God,

let

w

Lord

Ex. 7.5  continued b. mm. 38–42

o

-

b ˙. o

Œ œ

w Songs of Four Parts 181 O

b & b w. Vb

„

œ w -

˙

ver - throw:

ver-throw:

b Vb ˙ w o

? bb ˙ ˙

n˙

-

Ó ˙

w

But

w

to

o - ver - throw:

re

Ó ˙

ver - throw:

w

to

Ó n˙ ˙ ˙ But

nw -

But

Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ But

to

re

Ó ˙

˙ ˙ w

Ó ˙

sist

˙ ˙ w

to

-

re - sist,

w

sist,

re - sist,

∑

give

˙. for

but

Ó ˙ w

but

˙ ˙

to

œ w

re

˙.

ti - tude,

give

-

œ

for

-

to

re

˙ ˙

w

sist,

Ó

˙

ti - tude,

˙

-

sist,

Transposition as a regular tonal function was not a concept known to Byrd, of course. But through long experience with musica ficta, he would have understood how E♭ eases a move toward the B♭ harmonic area – whether it represents a temporary key or a modal type. Certainly within “O Lord” itself it is clear that all the E♭s lead to a fiendish B♭, however Byrd might have described the process; and throughout the set the E♭ often performs a linking function for many of the darker ideas Byrd expresses. Grim, in any case, best describes the prevailing mood of Byrd’s “O Lord.” The listener immediately notes the shift to a lower range, a range Byrd otherwise avoids as conspicuously as he does the pitch E♭ in this section. A preponderance of pitches in a low range sets the right mood for this somber text, and Byrd’s grave rhythms and melodies express the dreadful condition too. Furthermore, Byrd combines these for expressive purposes. Just after bringing the “fende” section to an end, for example, he shifts to some imploring repeated notes – on the text “thy servant, over-throw: / But to resist” (ll.  4–5, mm. 36–43, see Ex. 7.5b) – and in the final point, he draws his depiction of the devil to a close with long, seemingly ­unrelenting, descending lines (mm. 58–64). The scoring, melodic, and rhythmic stylistic features of “O Lord,” however expressive of themselves, are all colored by Byrd’s harmonic choices, especially his frequent use of minor triads and various forms of dissonance. Indeed, along with the shift in texture and rhythm, what adds special urgency to the repeated notes in the “But to resist” point is its insistent C major harmony, with its special emphasis now on the E♮ instead of E♭. The momentary brightness in harmony combined with a firm melodic intonation style at this point, furthermore, suggests a new determination in the poetic speaker, which fits with the expressed notion of his resistance to God’s enemy. As a new emphatic feature within this song it serves too as a reminder that this text is not given over fully to the evil spirit. Finally, after praying throughout to Love it is now the Christian God to whom the poetic speaker pleads – finally – for guidance. By evoking the devil in “O Lord” Byrd leads his auditor into the darkest moment of the four-voiced section and, in certain respects, of the narrative as a whole.

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Already by the end of this part, however, he shifts things dramatically. Indeed he brings it all to a close with two choral burdens, namely “Rejoice, rejoice” (BE 13: 24) and “Cast off all doubtful care” (BE 13: 25), which he has detached from their five- and six-part verses, respectively. These not only show that Christ will be embraced as a true leader, they also serve to counter the despair of “O Lord” with all the brilliant jubilation in sound for which Byrd has become justly famous. Since he had set up contrasts like these as a recurrent theme throughout this collection, the effect is quite memorable. But between these works of such profoundly different tone and substance he includes a setting of a rather less imposing text, “While that the sun” (BE 13: 23), which would seem to dampen the effect.

W

“WHILE THAT THE SUN” AS DILATORY SPACE

ith its four stanzas, “While that” stands textually as the longest song of the four-part section. In the book overall its length is exceeded only by the five-stanza carol verse “From virgin’s womb this day did spring” (BE 13: 35). “While that” depicts a shepherdess who proves “flighty” or unfaithful rather than committed to her lover, allowing those following the story in detail to deduce that Cupid had indeed struck the object of love with an arrow tipped with lead. Because it stands between the fiend and the Lord in Byrd’s sequence, however, it creates an apparent digression, one that seems all the more distracting for its unusual length. At the outset of this chapter, I described the four-part section as the story’s midpoint, the place where a good narrator, according to Brooks, would transform a tale through the use of dilatory space.18 “Dilatory space” suggests a digression, but, as Homeric scholar Norman Austin contends, when applied to a story, the latter term is almost always a misnomer, as something of significance inevitably occurs.19 “While that” is where Byrd put this complex narrative technique to work. By way of musical and poetic means of signification, he here embeds two plot-enriching elements into the tale: the identity of the protagonist, Sidney, and the mise en scène of the poet’s deathbed. Byrd introduced neither of these narrative components straightforwardly. Rather, to establish the protagonist’s identity, he alluded to a particular formal digression in Sidney’s Old Arcadia romance, the so-called Plangus and Erona episode, thereby evoking Sidney’s imitation procedures, along with the poet’s fondness for developing special identities for himself and other characters through names discovered in source stories.20 To establish a deathbed mise en scène Byrd relied again on his intimate knowledge of Sidney’s writings, although for this 18

Barthes, S/Z, 82; Brooks, Reading for the Plot, 92. Norman Austin, “The Function of Digressions in the Iliad,” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 7 (1966): 295–311, at 300. 20 Sir Philip Sidney, The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia (The Old Arcadia), ed. K. Duncan-Jones (Oxford, 1985, repr. 1999), 58–60. Jane Kingsley-Smith describes the episode as “one of the central digressions in Sidney’s Arcadia” in her “Sidney, Cinthio and Painter: A New Source for Sidney’s Arcadia,” Review of English Studies 57 (2006): 169–75, at 169. See also Winfried Schleiner, “Differences of Theme and Structure of the Erona Episode in the Old and New Arcadia,” Studies in Philology 70 (1973): 377–91. 19

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Songs of Four Parts 183

p­ urpose he meshed what he gleaned from these works with the theologically based views of Sidney’s Protestant friends and reports of Sidney’s last hours.21 Overall, in developing Sidneian stories and literary techniques in this fashion Byrd drew back the curtain on the politico-historical as well as the creative circumstances that led to his involvement with such a distinguished man of arms and letters in the first place.22 Musically, the digressive aspect of “While that” is something Byrd accomplished through a shift in style. Up to this point in the four-voiced section, he had followed a discernible progression, placing after exuberantly fast-paced songs others with mock-solemn moments of pain and prayer to end with a truly somber depiction of the devil. Given that many of the songs in question were similarly derived from divided sonnets, featured imitative textures, and followed closely the narrative line established by Sidney’s “Poor painters” verse (see above), it is easy to imagine that they were all composed in close proximity. “While that” opens with the same choriamb Byrd featured in many of the songs before it (see Ex. 7.6a). With thoroughly homophonic passages at the opening of the first and third lines and again at start of the refrain (mm. 1–3, 5–6, 15–19), however, Byrd draws attention to its poetic meter in a way that sets it apart from the works surrounding it, particularly by punctuating the verse musically with hemiola and syncopations of the courtly galliard. Harmonically, he further intensifies the rhetorical effect with sparkling collocations of D major and d minor (m. 2), and D major and F major (m. 6), as well as the more chromatically precipitous A major and g minor (m. 5). Finally, through the introduction of close-paced imitation and passagework (mm. 3–4, 6–15, 19–26), he reflects the contrasting rhetorical position of the more verbose intervening lines (and the second part of the refrain) with a notably denser texture. Altogether, the crisp and mercurial sound of “While that” is distinctly reminiscent of the pastoral works of Byrd’s 1588 set, such as “I joy not” (BE 12: 11), “Though Amarillis dance in green” (BE 12: 12), and “Ambitious love” (BE 12: 18). Were it not scored for four rather than the standard five voices of the 1588 consort songs and had its theme fit Byrd’s sequential needs, it could easily have been positioned among them. Although it is impossible to be certain, “While that” was likely the result of a poetic and musical collaboration involving two literary figures, Thomas Watson and Sidney, on the one hand, and two musicians, Byrd and Guillaume Tessier, 21

John Gouws, “Fact and Anecdote in Fulke Greville’s Account of Sidney’s Last Days,” in Sir Philip Sidney: 1586 and the Creation of a Legend, ed. Jan van Dorsten, Dominic Baker Smith, and Arthur F. Kinney (Leiden, 1986), 62–82. 22 On Byrd and Sidney see also John Stevens, “Sir Philip Sidney and ‘Versified Music’: Melodies for Courtly Songs,” in The Well Enchanting Skill: Music, Poetry and Drama in the Culture of the Renaissance, ed. J. Caldwell, E. Olleson and S. Wollenberg (Oxford, 1990), 153–69; and Katherine Duncan-Jones, “‘Melancholie Times’: Musical Recollections of Sidney by William Byrd and Thomas Watson,” in The Well Enchanting Skill, 171–80. Duncan-Jones’s contention that Byrd did not have as “privileged” an access to Sidney’s poems as Watson may need to be revised in view of the findings surrounding Tessier and Byrd’s sequential techniques discussed here and in my “The Dilatory Space of While that the sun: Byrd, Tessier and the English Sequence,” Early Music 40 (2012): 671–85.

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184

&b ˙

Ex. 7.6  Byrd and Guillaume Tessier a. BE 13: 23, “While that the sun, mm. 1–6

œ œ ˙Œœ

While that the Sun with

&b ˙

œœ ˙ w

Œ œ . Jœ œ ˙ ˙

his beames hot,

scorch-ed the fruits

œ œ ˙ Œ œ œ œ ˙ # ˙ Œ œ œœ œ ˙ While that the Sun with his beams hot, scorch - ed the fruits œ œ ˙ œ œ œ # ˙ ˙ Œ œ œœ œ ˙ ˙ Œ Vb While that the Sun with

Vb ˙

Œ œ œ ˙ œ

&b ˙

Œ œ w

While that the Sun with

&b Œ œ ˙ vale

&mount

œ œœ œ ˙ œœ ˙ ˙ Œ his beams hot,

scorch - ed the fruits

his beams hot, scorch

-

-

#˙ Œ œ œ œ ˙

ed the fuits

in

˙ ˙ œ ˙valeœ

in

in vale, in

˙ ˙

in

œ ˙ œ ˙

aine: Phi - lon the shep - herd late for got,

vale

Œ

œ sit

œ ˙ œ ˙ Œ œ œ œ ˙ #œ n˙ œ œ œ œ œ - herd late for-got, sit-ting be andmoun - tain,moun - tain: Phi - lon the shep ˙ œ ˙ œ œ œœ œ œ œ œ ˙ œœ ˙ Œ œ œ œ œ b œ V vale andmountain, and moun - tain: Phi - lon the shep - herd late for-got sit-ting be

Vb ˙

and

˙

œ œ ˙

˙ Œ œ œ #œ ˙

œ ˙ œ ˙

moun - tain, andmount - tain: Phi - lon the shep - herd late for - got,

Ó

on the other. Tessier was a Breton composer and probable Protestant spy who visited the English royal court in 1582 and who published that year a polyglot Premier livre d’airs tant François, Italien, qu’Espaignol dedicated to Elizabeth (in one impression).23 The second work of this collection was the air de cour, Tandis que le soleil, which had been Englished to render the verse that Byrd set (see Ex. 7.6b).24 Biographical as well as stylistic evidence suggests that the translator was Sidney. Because Tessier was residing with the Secretary of State and spymaster Sir Francis Walsingham at the time of his English visit, chances were good that he would there meet Sidney – who frequented the Walsingham estate at the time and 23

Guillaume Tessier, Premier livre d’airs tant François, Italien, qu’Espaignol (Paris, 1582). See Jeanice Brooks, “Tessier’s Travels in Scotland and England,” Early Music 39 (2011): 185–94; and Richard Sherr, “Un document sur Guillaume Tessier,” Revue de musicology 59 (1973): 105–06. 24 See my “Dilatory Space.”

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Ex. 7.6  continued b. Tessier, “Tandis que le soleil,” mm. 1–6

&

˙ ˙ w

˙ œ œ ˙ #˙ Tan - dis que le

sol - leil

& ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙

˙ ˙ #w

w ˙ ˙

? ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ &œ œ

la plai

-

w

ne,

& œ œ. #œ œ ˙ #˙ œ ?œ œ ˙

˙

ar - dent

˙

˙ œ œ ˙ œ #œ

Gril - loit les her - bes

˙ œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ œ œ

˙

œ œ ˙ #˙

˙ ˙ w

Le

ber -ger Phi - lon

ce - pen - dant

œ #œ ˙ œ œ˙

en

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

˙ ˙ #w

˙ ˙ w

who was to marry Walsingham’s daughter the following year.25 Poetic evidence shows that Sidney took a particular interest in Tessier’s music, modeling his tenth 25

Brooks, “Tessier’s Travels,” 190; on Walsingham see Simon Adams, Alan Bryson, and Mitchell Leimon, “Walsingham, Sir Francis (c.1532–1590),” in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/ article/28624, accessed 15 March 2014.

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song of the Astrophil & Stella sequence, “In a grove most rich of shade,” on Tessier’s setting of Pierre de Ronsard’s ode, Le petit enfant amour.26 As the “While that” verse preserves the meter of its French original, it was potentially designed as a contrafact text meant to be performed to the same music. “While that,” then, may be regarded as yet another case where “Sidney’s imitations of Italian, French, and Spanish songs … set a pattern, followed in [Nicolas] Yong’s Musica Transalpina (1588) and Watson’s Italian Madrigalls Englished (1590), whereby the understanding of English metrics could develop under interrogation from the frame of musical rhythm.”27 It was through this set pattern that, as Gavin Alexander perceptively claims, “new poetry’s habits of imagery and rhetoric could develop in a language conditioned by the possibilities of musical effect.”28 At the Walsingham residence Tessier may have met Watson as well, who was then a client of the English spymaster. Conceivably the English poet and French musician had made contact in France beforehand, since Watson’s patron at the time was Sir Thomas Walsingham (Francis’s second cousin once removed).29 In the early 1580s Sir Thomas served as a courier between Francis and the English Ambassador in France, William Brooke, Lord Cobham.30 Because it was Cobham who had helped arrange Tessier’s trip, Watson, who lived in Paris at the time, may have been aware of Tessier’s project at the planning stages. Even though Watson might have interacted earlier with Tessier, he nonetheless showed less interest than Sidney in the poetry set by the Breton composer, at least to judge by his extant works.31 Watson was just as keenly interested as Sidney in the contrafacta process, though, as his Italian Madrigalls certainly indicates; and he was later to enjoy a close and overt creative relationship with Byrd. Ultimately it was likely through Watson’s poetic efforts, it would seem, that Byrd ended up tightly meshed with both poets in a matrix of creative imitation in verse and song. When Katherine Duncan-Jones describes Watson’s “position” as “one of considerable privilege” in the Sidney circle, it is nearly all to do with Watson’s imitation of Sidney’s “Poor painters” verse from the Old Arcadia (which Byrd too used as a narrative guide).32 In his “If Cupid were a childe, as Poets faine” (the 19th Passion) of the Hekatompathia (1582) Watson not only “expanded” Sidney’s 26

Brooks, “Tessier’s Travels,” 190; John Stevens, “Sir Philip Sidney and ‘Versified Music’: Melodies for Courtly Songs,” in The Well Enchanting Skill, 162; Gavin Alexander, “Elizabethan Lyric as Contrafactum: Robert Sidney’s ‘French tune’ Identified,” Music & Letters 84 (2003): 378–402, at 383–84. 27 Alexander, “Elizabethan Lyric,” 278. 28 Ibid. 29 Albert Chatterley, “Watson, Thomas (1555/6–1592),” in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/28866, accessed 25 Sept 2011. 30 Charles Nicholl, The Reckoning: The Murder of Christopher Marlowe (Chicago, 1992), 115–16. 31 See A. E. B. Coldiron, “Watson’s ‘Hekatompathia’ and Renaissance Lyric Translation,” Translation and Literature 5 (1996): 3–25; Chatterley, “Watson, Thomas.” 32 Duncan-Jones, “‘Melancholie Times,’” 175.

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line 9, as Duncan-Jones explains, he also “pick[ed] up” on line 10, and created a ­“literal-minded variation” of line 8.33 Duncan-Jones does mention one other passage Watson likely imitated that lies outside the “Poor painters” verse in the Old Arcadia, namely “Those beames that set so many harts on fire.”34 This imitation, however, points toward a triumvirate relationship, as it resembles the first line of “While that” with its “beames hot.” Even more compelling evidence of collaboration rests, finally, in the mutually selective way Byrd and Watson approached the “Poor painters” verse. Watson described the theme of his 19th Passion in the same way as Sidney’s characters framed it, as a “reproveth … of love.”35 A look at Sidney’s poem as a whole shows, however, that both Byrd and Watson focused not on the “reproveth” element of the verse, but rather on the specific lines (shown in italics below) that describe how “poor ­painters … and poets” portray the god: Poor painters oft with silly poets join To fill the world with strange but vain conceits: One brings the stuff, the other stamps the coin, Which breeds naught else but glosses of deceits,    Thus painters Cupid paint; thus poets do   A naked god, blind, young, with arrows two. Is he a god, that ever flies the light? Or naked he, disguis’d in all untruth? If he be blind, how hitteth he so right? How is he young, that tamed old Phoebus youth?   But arrows two, and tipt with gold or lead?   Some, hurt, accuse a third with horny head. No, nothing so: an old, false knave he is, By Argus got on Io, then a cow, What time for her Juno her Jove did miss, And charge of her to Argus did allow.    Mercury kill’d his false sire for this act;    His dam, a beast, was pardon beastly feet. With father’s death and mother’s guilty shame. With Jove’s disdain at such a rival’s seed, The wretch, compell’d, a runagate became, And learn’d what ill a miser state doth breed.    To lie, to steal, to pry, and to accuse,    Naught: in himself each other to abuse Yet bears he still his parents’ stately gifts, A horned head, cloven foot, and thousand eyes, Some gazing still, some winking wily shifts, With long large ears where rumour never dies. 33

Thomas Watson, Hekatompathia, or Passionate Centurie of Love (London, 1582), C2r; Duncan-Jones, “‘Melancholie Times,’” 175. 34 Duncan-Jones, “‘Melancholie Times,’” 175. 35 Ibid.

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   His horned head doth seem the heaven to spite:    His cloven foot doth never tread aright.36 Scholars have lately argued that Watson (and Sidney) used Cupid as a means of expressing Catholic loyalties and theological views in a positive light, or in any case with something less than a bivalent logic.37 This, in my view, is to misread Watson’s intent. By 1582 it was becoming clear that although she had once favored the Catholic prince, Anjou, Elizabeth no longer desired the French Match and now sought to end the bitter discord it had created among her courtiers, chief among whom were Sidney and Edward de Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford, Watson’s patron.38 Acting as Oxford’s spokesman, and mentioning Sidney and his friend Edward Dyer by name, Watson overtly encouraged the parties involved to accept a “reconciliation of all Foes” in his pioneering English sequence of 1582.39 In imitating Sidney’s poem in particular, and rejecting Love overall in his Hekatompathia, Watson identified Cupid as a common enemy in order to promote amity between opposing factional leaders. Following Sidney’s death Byrd would similarly cast Cupid as his enemy’s greater enemy, as he took Watson’s theme of reconciliation to a more universal level. Byrd must have been familiar enough with Sidney’s literary approaches to know that the latter had based his Plangus character on the “Philon” found in Giraldi Cinthio’s tale of Euphimia of Corinth.40 Because “While that” also has a “Philon” (l. 3) character, Byrd had to hand the ready means to bring the character into the story in a way that would link him, both internally and externally, to the fallen courtier. Internally, the poet’s forename, Philip, and the shepherd’s, Philon, while both evoking love, are also close enough in spelling to arouse suspicion about the identification, even if the latter name was drawn at some point from a general pastoral stock. Furthermore, the auditor who moves through Byrd’s two-volume sequence will hardly have missed Byrd’s funeral songs for the poet at the end of the 1588 set (BE 12: 34–35); the sequence from that point on was imbued with Sidney’s persona. When that same auditor, at the start of the five-voiced section of 1589, discovers that Byrd had named Sidney’s muse, Penelope Rich née Devereux, in “Weeping full sore” (BE 13: 26) and “Penelope that longed” (BE 13: 27), any lingering suspicions about the subtext and the purpose of all this play on names would be fully confirmed, at least for those aware of the semi-autobiographical nature of Sidney’s writings. Externally, the evidence linking Sidney to Philon is of a similarly suggestive cast. Sidney’s own propensity to embed himself variously into his stories with names such as PHILISIDES (as Sidney first marked the name in his manuscripts), Astrophil (italics added) of his eponymous sonnet sequence, and even a parrot 36

Sidney, Old Arcadia, 58–59. Hamrick, Catholic Imaginary, 151–89; Kingsley-Smith, Cupid, 45–50. 38 Dwight C. Peck, “Raleigh, Sidney, Oxford, and the Catholics, 1579,” Notes and Queries, n.s. 23, no. 5–6, (1978): 427–31. 39 Watson, Hekatompathia, A3v; Duncan-Jones, “‘Melancholie Times,’” 175. 40 Jane Kingsley-Smith, “Cupid, Idolatry, and Iconoclasm in Sidney’s Arcadia,” SEL: Studies in English Literature 1500–1900 48 (2008): 169–75. 37

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he called Syr Phip, is something no one acquainted with his writings could ever miss.41 In Cinthio’s tale Philon is the king of Peloponnesus, a hero who saves the princess Euphimia from the clutches of the evil Acharisto, has him executed and then marries her in his stead.42 In his version of the story Sidney put everything under Cupid’s malevolent thrall, thereby precluding any chance for a happy ending. In a “world gone mad with eroticism,” as Robert E. Stillman has described the situation, even Plangus/Philon’s best efforts to rescue Erona could not withstand Cupid’s nefarious designs.43 In the Old Arcadia the episode is prefaced by the “Poor painters” verse, which was surely what had led Byrd to identify Sidney with the Plangus/ Philon character in the first place. As the narrator relates, even before the “words” of the latter had “fully ended,” the shepherd Histor hastens to warn everyone “with great vehemency” that Cupid must not be crossed, as he is a “revengeful … god” of surpassing might.44 It was especially through such portrayals of Cupid that Sidney left for posterity the distinct impression that “passion is an inescapable part of the human condition.”45 Byrd, however, was one of many at the time who refused to see Sidney’s life itself end on such a somber note (pun intended). The issue was of such concern that George Gifford, the chaplain attending Sidney at his deathbed, saw fit to make a detailed report of Sidney’s in extremis views. In his account it was in the throes of death that the poet exclaimed I had this night a trouble in my mind: for searching myself, me thought I had not a full and sure hold in Christ. After I had continued in this perplexity a while, observe how strangely God did deliver me – for indeed it was a strange deliverance that I had! There came to my remembrance a vanity wherein I had taken delight, whereof I had not rid myself. It was my Lady Rich. But I rid myself of it, and presently my joy and comfort returned.46 What the Puritan Gifford meant to convey is that Sidney had achieved a good death. But, as Byrd was apparently fully aware, evidence that Sidney had rejected Eros (lust as worldly sin personified by Rich) would allay concerns on both sides of the confessional divide. For the Protestant seeking confirmation that he had been among the Elect, a denouncement of sin was assurance of an exalted status. 41

Gavin Alexander, Writing After Sidney: The Literary Response to Sir Philip Sidney 1586–1640 (Oxford, 2006), xxxviii. Sidney’s eponymous parrot (also described as “brother Philip”) is the subject of Sonnet 83 of Astrophil & Stella. See also Alan Sinfield, “Sidney and Astrophil,” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 20 (1980): 25–41. 42 Kingsley-Smith, “Sidney, Cinthio, and Painter,” 172. 43 Robert E. Stillman, Sidney’s Poetic Justice: The Old Arcadia, Its Eclogues, and Renaissance Pastoral Traditions (Lewisburg, PA, 1986), 108. 44 Sidney, Old Arcadia, 58. 45 Stillman, Sidney’s Poetic Justice, 109. 46 George Gifford, “The Manner of Sir Philip Sidney’s Death,” in The Miscellaneous Prose of Sir Philip Sidney, ed. Katherine Duncan-Jones and Jan Van Dorsten (Oxford, 1973), 169.

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190

&b

b

Ex. 7.7  BE 13: 22 “O Lord my God,” BE 13: 25 “Cast off all doubtful care,” and BE 13: 40 “An earthly tree” a. BE 13: 22, mm. 10–12

w

w

O

Lord

b V b w. Vb

b

? bb

Lord

w

Ó

w

∑

due,

due,

˙

˙

w

my

my

God,

˙.

˙

O

˙

Lord

w

O

∑

w

God,

Ó

œ #˙

my God,

w

˙

Ó

˙

let

flesh

and

n˙

˙

˙.

let

Lord

˙.

˙

blood

flesh

˙

˙

˙

my

God,

Catholics of Byrd’s stripe would view it instead as vital step in the transition of his soul from its mortal state toward one of holiness. 3 The notion of Sidney’s “deliverance” the opportunity he sought to 3 gave Byrd 3 3 œ identify a common cause in Cupid’s rejection, one that transcended courtly facÓ Ó œ ˙ Ó ˙ & ˙ œ #˙ œ ˙ tionalism to embrace˙ the divided English nation as a whole. Thus a Philon-turnedCast off all doubt - ful care, all doubt - ful care, Sidney becomes Everyman finding a “sure hold in Christ.” Byrd underlined the 3 3 3 unifying spirit of “joy and comfort” in the3 unfettered exuberance of3 the two3choral œ and œ ˙ section, ˙ “Cast ˙ (BE˙ 13: 24) œ burdens rejoice” & ˙ that˙endœthe˙ four-voiced œ # ˙ œ“Rejoice, ˙ off all Cast doubtful care” (BE 13: 25). Few works by Byrd are so overtly optimistic. off all doubt - ful care, all doubt - ful care, cast off all doubt - ful Byrd signals the triumph motivically. In “O Lord my God” (BE 13: 22),3 where 3 œ 3 #œ ˙ “minor” ˙ œ ˙ 1–5–6–5 heV evokes the “fende,” he answers the „ Ó whatÓ Deryck˙ Cooke termed (g’–d”–e♭”–d”) motive with a d–g–b♭–a pitch sequence in the second entry (in the Cast doubt - ful, doubt - ful tenor).47 Throughout the opening of “O Lord,” Byrd off thenallrepeats this d–g–b♭–a 3 œ 3 œ ˙ ˙ answer as he does the subject motive itself. In “Cast off” Byrd reiter? as frequently „ „ ˙ 3 ates the answer, but this time he uses it as his first motive, or subject (see Ex. 7.7). doubta- b♮ ful (to He also modifies the pitch sequence by replacing theCast b♭ at theofftopallwith render a d–g– b♮–a pitch sequence). Thus, just as in the “resist” section of “O Lord,” where Byrd & had forecast „ a solution to the „ devil in e♮s, he„raises a flattened pitch to its “natural” state in “Cast off,” in this case to b♮, as a sign of transfiguration. When Byrd returns to this motive, in the songs for six parts, he creates something of an allusive frame, one through˙ which ˙ all˙ the˙ dark ˙ and ˙ bright w he can˙ recall & w voices ˙ as he draws w aspects of these songs of four his story to a close. An a larger earth - framing ly tree aspect a heaven ly fruit it four-voiced bare, There was also to this ending of the songs that reaches back to earlier songs in theÓsequence. If the performers take both at &pace, onewnotices wa stylistic similarity w the same fast ˙ ˙ between# ˙ the œtwoœ concluding w refrains of the four-voiced section and “Is love a boy?” (BE 13: 15), the first song of the four-part section. All three are jovial and exuberant, especially as they approach ˙ of which B ˙ ˙ The˙ difference, ˙ ˙ have their final measures. Byrd was w been˙ one ˙ ˙ # ˙and˙it may 47

B W

Cooke, Language of Music, 156.

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?

w

Ó

˙

˙ w ˙.

˙ œ˙ ˙

˙ ˙

Ó

˙ ˙ w

˙

˙ w

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V b Vb ? bb ? bb

w due, w

∑ ∑

w due, w due,

due,

˙. Lord ˙.

œ #˙ n˙ ˙ ˙. my œ God, ˙. # ˙ nlet˙ ˙ flesh Lord my God, ˙ ˙ w let ˙ flesh w w Parts 191 ˙ my˙ God, ˙ O Lord wSongs of Four

˙ O ˙

Ó

O

O

Lord

my

God,

Ex. 7.7  continued b. BE 13: 25, mm. 1–2

& Ó & Ó

& ˙ & Cast ˙ Cast V V ? ?

Ó Ó

˙ Cast ˙

˙ 3œ ˙ 3œ ˙ - fulœ off ˙ allœ doubt off

3

Cast

3

„ all doubt - ful „ „ „

& &

˙ 3 œ ˙ 3 œ ˙ 3 œ #˙ 3 œ ˙ ˙ allœ doubt ˙ - fulœ care, off ˙ allœ doubt ˙ # ˙ - fulœ care,

„ „

3

3

3

˙ 3 œ #˙ 3 œ ˙ ˙ allœ doubt care, ˙ # ˙ - fulœ care,

off 3 all doubt 3- ful care,

Ó Ó

care,

Ó Ó

˙ Cast ˙ Cast

„

˙ ˙ earth ˙ - ly˙

w w tree

˙ ˙ cast cast ˙ 3 ˙ 3 off

œ ˙ 3 œ 3 œ ˙ œ all doubt - ful 3 ˙ 3- #fulœ all œ doubt 3 œ ˙ 3 #œ doubt - ful, doubt - ful 3 ˙ - fulœ ˙ 3- ful,œ doubt doubt 3 ˙ 3 œ ˙ œ

˙ ˙ off œ off˙ œ ˙

doubt - ful care, 3

˙ ˙ Cast off

c. BE 13:„40, mm. 6–9

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙a heaven earth - ly tree Óa heaven & An w w w Ó ˙ & w w ˙ w ˙ B ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ #˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ B ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ #˙ ˙ ˙ B W ˙ w ˙ B W ˙ w ˙ ? . œ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ? w Ó ˙. œ ˙ ˙ w ˙ & w & Anw

all

all doubt - ful care,

„ „

Ó Ó

3

all all

„ „

Cast

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙- ly˙ fruit ˙ ˙it ly ˙ w ˙ w

w w ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

#˙ #˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

fruit

it

Ó ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ w ˙

3

3

off

all doubt - ful 3

off

all doubt - ful

w bare, w

œ œœ œ ˙ ˙

bare,

˙ ˙

w w

well aware, is in the direction of the lines, for whereas in “Is love” the lines tend downward, they are decidedly omni-directional in both “Rejoice” and “Cast off.” Byrd is perhaps making the point here that the mirthfulness of the Anacreonic Cupid will be outdone by the joy of Christ’s birth. But it is the song “The greedy hawk” (BE 13: 14), the last of the three-part songs, which comes closest to the carol burdens in sound and spirit, especially at the point where the bird “soars” in the end; and this suggests a different frame. With the opening of the four-voiced section, Byrd’s songs were all linked to the images of Sidney’s “Poor painters” and its darkening portrayal of Love. From the point of the first song in the four-voiced

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section the poetic speaker comes under Cupid’s thrall only to be released, finally, by rejecting the worldly vanities represented by Love and fully accepting Christ. Rather exceptionally, to create a heavenly luminosity, Byrd scored “Rejoice, rejoice” for two equal-ranged means (at soprano range) and two equal-ranged altos. The effect is striking. Indeed, in 1945 Edmund H. Fellowes exclaimed “few short choruses … could be found in the whole realm of music to surpass in brilliance Byrd’s ‘Rejoice, rejoice.’”48 A patriotic and religious fervor surely colors this comment. But Fellowes nonetheless captures, if only perhaps intuitively, the sense that Byrd wished to close the four-voiced section triumphantly, to place his most profound depiction of musical mirth against all the earnest gravity of “O Lord” and all the Cupidean works before it that were based on Sidney’s “Poor painters” verse. The four-voiced section ends then with a most encouraging moment of musical brilliance, but it all comes through in refrains, parts of songs, which provide only “partial revelation” and “partial recognition” in what Brooks calls a “middle … place of transformation.” More fully articulated theological views about Christ’s love appear in the dependent verses of these two refrains, which Byrd placed elsewhere in the set, namely in “From virgin’s womb this day did spring” (BE 13: 25) and “An earthly tree” (BE 13: 40). He created this musical disjunction because at this point Sidney had only been introduced and there was much further to do before he could properly obtain his “good death.” Only after Sidney fully rejected lust would Byrd draw it all together, which he did just before the position where he placed the last carol verse, “An earthly tree,” in the sequence. At that point, when the auditor hears the same d–g–b♮–a motive in the six-voiced verse “An earthly tree,” to which “Cast off” serves as a refrain, it becomes quite clear that the refrains had functioned as anticipatory, proleptical, devices. Even if the story was far from finished, by the end of the four-voiced part Byrd had introduced a new poetic speaker – Sidney as Philon/Astrophil – and had taken his tale about Love through a crisis point of great tension and release. Finally, with “While that,” he also cleverly opens two new issues demanding some poetic space: namely, what to do with Penelope Rich herself, and how to handle the Arcadian kind. In addressing these narrative concerns Byrd, in the five-voiced section, would give Stella the appropriate room to mourn Astrophil’s passing as he gave Sidney the opportunity fully to reject his lust. Then, in the six-voiced section, Byrd would relegate Love once and for all to the fictive realm of the pastoral, and he would turn to the actual “glory most untrue,” whom he set against the Lord himself for one last dramatic struggle.

48

Edmund H. Fellowes, English Cathedral Music from Edward VI to Edward VII (London, 1945), 81.

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Chapter 8

Songs of Five Parts

A

s we begin our discussion of Byrd’s songs of five parts, the penultimate ­segment of his Songs of sundrie natures, it is worth noting that one of the ­composer’s proclivities, as a sequence maker, was to provide effective transitions as he moved from section to section. The songs of three parts, for example, ended with “The greedy hawk” (BE 13: 14) seemingly posing the question: Will Cupid strike? In the first four-voiced song, “Is love a boy?” (BE 13: 15), Byrd confirmed that this was indeed the question, and that it would later be answered affirmatively. Byrd uses similar tactics at the transition point between the four- and five-part sections. Near the close of the songs of four parts – specifically, in “While that the sun” (BE 13: 23) – he introduces the shepherd Philon, opening the question of what flesh-and-blood character he might represent. The answer, again, is fairly straightforward. In the first song of five parts, “Weeping full sore” (BE 13: 26), Byrd establishes with a reference to one of his own funeral songs (BE 13: 35) that Philon is Sir Philip Sidney. But Byrd does not simply identify the deceased poet-soldier. Instead, as a means of moving the story forward, he begins a section-long process of identifying, via various musico-poetic clues, Lady Penelope Rich née Devereux, not only as Sidney’s muse – the Stella of his Astrophil & Stella sonnet sequence – but also as the one Sidney needed to reject in order to fulfill the requirements of a good death (see Fig. 12). Casting Rich as the representation of worldly sin was not something Byrd did lightly or callously. Indeed, the great challenge he set for himself – which will require special consideration in the discussion below – revolves around the means by which he could achieve such ends without putting any slight on her character. To shield Rich, Byrd is careful to distance nearly every song from the non-­ fictional or present day. The five-part section opens in the midst of an Ovidian wood, where the “weeping” Lady Rich is initially evoked. From there Byrd leads his auditor first to the Homeric world, in “Penelope that longed” (BE 13: 27); then to the ghostly recollections of an historical figure from England’s distant past in “Compel the hawk to sit” (BE 13: 28); on to similar recollections of an unnamed victim of Cupid in “When I was otherwise” (BE 13: 30); to the Virgilian world of Dido’s tragedy in “When first by force” (BE 13: 31); and, then finally, after a comic interlude evoking fairy tales in “I thought that love | had been a boy” (BE 13: 32), to a verse by Sidney – set in the world of thought and imagination – “O dear life” (BE 13: 33), before turning to religious questions momentarily in “From virgin’s womb” (BE 13: 35), and then to a two-part sonnet, “Of gold all burnished” | “Her breath is more sweet” (BE 13: 36–37), which recapitulates ideas expressed in the section’s opening song. Throughout, as noted above, Byrd pays special attention to the fictive nature of the story he tells about the deceased poet and his muse, which he casts into various realms associated with the past: a positioning that both distances Rich from the action and prompts Byrd to imbue the section with a wide array of musical styles. One further method by which Byrd protects Rich’s reputation in his story is through framing devices, which add to the richness as well as the complexity of

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12  Portrait of Sidney’s muse, “Penelope Rich, A Countess of Devonshire,” by an unknown artist

the narrative. Thanks to Byrd’s placement of two refrains at the end of his songs à 4, “Rejoice, rejoice” (BE 13: 24) and “Cast off all doubtful care” (BE 13: 25), the entire section of five-voiced songs stands suspended within a frame, as we wait for Sidney fully to accept Christ’s love over Cupid’s. At the point when “Rejoice[’s]” verse, “From Virgin’s womb” (BE 13: 35), appears within the songs for five voices it takes the auditor one further step toward this resolution, as it extolls Christian love and unity. But by placing the verse of “Cast off,” namely “An earthly tree” (BE

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13: 40), in the six-voiced section, Byrd leaves matters unsettled until that point. Finally, within the five voiced section itself, he separates the first and second parts of “See those sweet eyes” | “Love would discharge” (BE 13: 29, 34) as a means of representing Sidney’s special struggle with a lustful image of Rich. Within this structure we find Byrd going so far as to recast one of Sidney’s poems, reversing its meaning to permit the auditor figuratively to witness Stella discover for herself that her Astrophil, by the end, has finally accepted a lust-denying Platonic solution to the problem of their feelings of love. As he summoned up his wide-ranging musical skills for the task of portraying Rich in this special light, Byrd might be seen to follow Sidney’s lead in treating her as the inspiration for his artistic creation. But for all her glory, it is worth emphasizing here that Rich was not the only woman Byrd featured in his songs of five parts. Both Homer’s Penelope, who is the star of one song, and the legendary historical figure known as “Shore’s wife,” star of another, help maintain the feminine perspective throughout; and the story reaches its climactic point with the depiction of Dido’s famous suicidal reaction to unrequited love, in “When first by force.” Here, though, we find Byrd at work again on his transitions. For “When first by force” has as much to do with exposing the full force of Cupid’s evilness, following an Augustinian line of reasoning, as it does in bringing other royal figures, such as Elizabeth and Mary Queen of Scots, into a darkening picture. Given that the most recent event involving these great representatives of English Protestantism and English Catholicism was the profoundly disturbing act of regicide, with the execution of Mary, it seems that Byrd could not simply push these women out by the end, as he had the others. Ultimately the larger story takes a rather peculiar “turn” (to adopt a term from the sonnet) before the close of the five-voiced section, one that seems to destabilize both the Christianized and the Neoplatonic solutions to what was now shaping up to be a book-long exposition of a single issue – now nearly resolved – concerning the proper way for all to approach their feelings of love and lust. With a poignant image of Rich mourning Sidney in the auditor’s mind, Byrd, then, pushes on, in the songs of six parts, to make a case about how the living should properly relate to the dead in the present time of post-Reformation England.

I

“WEEPING FULL SORE” AND THE LADY RICH (BE 16: 26)

n “Weeping full sore” (BE 16: 26), the opening song of Byrd’s songs of five parts, the auditor learns that the poem’s subject is female, that she resides in the mythological setting of Diana’s woods, and that she has accomplished the extraordinary feat of transforming Cupid into adamant, after taking away his bow and arrows. But the same auditor, after gathering all this in, must then work out, through contradictory punning devices, who is weeping and why. Today it is nearly certain that the Lady evoked here is Penelope Rich née Devereux, who is depicted figuratively mourning over Sidney’s death.1 Solving the puzzle that identified her in the first place may have been difficult for some of Byrd’s contemporaries, however, as it 1

See Philip Brett, “The Songs of William Byrd,” Ph.D. diss., Cambridge University, 1965, 82; and my “Music and Late Elizabethan Politics: The Identities of Oriana and Diana,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 58 (2005): 507–58, at 531.

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required a certain awareness of the burgeoning posthumous legend surrounding Sidney and its specific, if tenuous, relationship to reality.2 Somewhat surprisingly the enigmatic quality of the opening poem does not destroy its introductory function. Even those who would have lacked a solution to the riddle would eventually get the gist of things after all, as the themes of Cupid’s disablement and women in mourning, of themselves, go far to link together the poems to follow. Furthermore, the most crucial connection in terms of maintaining a storyline, that between the opening poem and the two-song blazon that ends the section, “Of gold all burnished” | “Her breath is more sweet” (BE 13: 36–37), is clear enough from internal evidence alone: as each is a sonnet; each contains a red, white, and silver color scheme (BE 13: 26, ll. 1–2; BE 13: 36, ll. 5–6); and each features the word “adamant” (BE 13: 26, l. 8; BE 13: 37, l. 13). Byrd’s five-voiced section does contain a strong topical element relating to Sidney and his muse, Rich, in particular. But by the end, it might be argued, the auditor is left wondering whether the identity of the lady who is extolled in all the superlatives of a long-standing Petrarchan poetic tradition has proven to be of less interest than the fact that she possesses a heart as hard as stone. Suspending for a moment a due consideration of the problems Byrd introduced into his sequence by inserting the topical element, a look back at the four-voiced section of Byrd’s Songs reveals that a once dynamic Ovidian Cupid of the Apollo and Daphne story, along with his hapless male victim, who so foolishly looked to such a malevolent god for guidance, is replaced in the five-voiced section with a disturbing force of a different order. After being struck with a love-inducing arrow and finding Cupid unwilling to strike his object of love with the same weapon, at the end of the four-voiced part the main character nearly descends into the hell of his own misguided choices and alliances, gaining just a short preview of the Christian solution at the end. After all this turmoil, lustful heat, and violence Byrd, in this five-voiced section, stills Cupid nearly at once. But rather than disappearing, Cupid simply shifts realms, into those of imagination and recollection, as we hear poignantly from and about his victims, who find themselves unable to shake off their bitter memories. Meanwhile the lady figure, after playing a cameo role in the four-voiced section, emerges as a leading figure, as Christ, the true saving force, is glimpsed, if still proleptically, yet again at the end. The point of all this is to advance further the underlying theories about Love that are meant to guide not just Sidney, but Everyman – now moving to a post-adolescent stage – toward the virtuous life and, more crucially, to the existence that follows it. Poetically, “Weeping full sore” (BE 13: 26) lacks the consistent “generalized image” of many of the “sonets and pastorals” Byrd sets, for along with mourning and sadness it also manages to convey the lighthearted spirit of dancing.3 Although 2

See Walter G. Friedrich, “The Stella of Astrophel,” ELH 3 (1936): 114–39; Katherine Duncan-Jones, “Sidney, Stella, and Lady Rich,” in Sir Philip Sidney: 1586 and the Creation of a Legend, ed. J. A. van Dorsten, Dominic Baker-Smith, and Arthur F. Kinney (Leiden, 1986), pp. 170–92; and Hoyt H. Hudson, “Penelope Devereux as Sidney’s Stella,” Huntington Library Bulletin 7 (1935): 89–129. 3 Philip Brett, “Word-Setting in the Songs of Byrd,” Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 98 (1971–1972): 47–64, at 52.

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interspersed throughout are various words that Byrd found he could bring out through specific madrigalisms, the verse also contains puns and riddles that he addresses with various techniques he had cultivated through his long experience with the consort song repertory. As he had already set a number of sonnets in various styles, he may well have been aware that the poem itself possessed multinational characteristics. “Weeping” follows the English sonnet structure in its stanzas (three quatrains with interlaced rhymes followed by a final rhyming couplet), but also features hendecasyllabic lines and other qualities that David Mateer reveals to be “thoroughly Italianate” (BE 13, p. xv). Without forsaking the hybrid nature of his poem, Byrd treats the verse as a means of identifying his characters and also of establishing a distanced setting. For the poem’s first choriamb, the text “weeping full sore” (l. 1), he provides a passage incorporating slow-moving descending minor thirds. This helps the listener recall the most strikingly expressive passage of the similarly choriambic phrase “O heavie time” (l. 13, mm. 103–06) in his funereal tribute to Sidney, “O that most rare breast” (BE 12: 35), the song Byrd places last in his 1588 set. Then, almost immediately after musically calling Sidney’s death to mind as the cause for “weeping,” Byrd turns to Rich. Indeed, by maintaining for some time the sound of minor thirds in the first few measures, he sets up the possibility for expressive contrast, which he fully exploits by shifting toward the end of the first phrase to the bright sound of the major triad, specifically A major and E major, for a musical depiction of the word “silver” (l. 1, m. 8–10). Silver was a color featured in the Devereaux coat of arms, and it was also one Richard B. Young suggests was less commonly found in the blazon than the more ubiquitous “red” and “white” of the following line.4 Sidney himself identifies Rich as his Stella through the use of all these colors in his Sonnet 13 of Astrophil & Stella, when describing a shield borne by Cupid on the tilting field. Cupid is the one who is next introduced in the poem. Soon after Byrd takes the opportunity to describe musically the “beauty great” (l. 5) of the Lady; with quick-paced encircling melodies he leads the listener toward the god with the action verb “walke” (l. 3) and, soon thereafter, the character-encapsulating word “dawnced” (l. 4) (mm. 15–26), to reach two of the most thoroughly madrigalesque moments in the song (see Ex. 8.1a).5 After exploiting these Italianate techniques 4

Richard B. Young, “English Petrarke: A Study of Sidney’s ‘Astrophel and Stella’,” in W. Todd Furniss, William G. Madsen, and Richard B. Young, Three Studies in the Renaissance: Sidney, Jonson, Milton (New Haven, 1958), 5–88, at 21. David Mateer noted Byrd’s poet’s use of the Devereux arms in “Weeping” (BE 13: xiv). See also Jane Kingsley-Smith, “Cupid, Idolatry, and Iconoclasm in Sidney’s ‘Arcadia’,” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 48 (2008): 65–91, at 70. 5 See Joseph Kerman, The Elizabethan Madrigal: A Comparative Study (New York, 1962): “in true madrigalesque fashion, the words “I saw my lady walk” cause the composer to accelerate the piece a note nere, whereupon the texture becomes more choral, with little three-part figures answering one another” (p. 114). In reviewing some of Kerman’s general claims about Byrd’s “madigalesque” tendencies in Byrd’s “1588 and 1589 books,” Oliver Neighbour concludes, “[d]espite the presence among them of La virginella (1588: 24), an adapted consort song in a language he hardly knew, there is no sign of a transition, however halting, towards new Italian conventions.” Even if Byrd had other sources of expression in mind, I find

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198

Ex. 8.1  BE 13: 26 “Weeping full sore” a. mm. 17–20

& & ww

I I

I saw a la - dy walk, I saw a la - dy walk,

ÓÓ ˙ ˙ I I

ÓÓ ˙˙ I I

œœœ˙ ˙ ˙ V V œ œ œ ˙ ˙ œœ œœ ˙ ˙˙ a ri - ver, fast by, fast a ri - ver, fast by, fast ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ ? ˙˙ ˙˙ ? ˙ walk fast by walk fast by

.. & & .. & & V V V V

... . (n) w (nThis )w ... .

This

-

a a

∑∑

∑∑

. ww .

-

This This

This This

by by

∑∑

˙˙

by, by,

la - dy, la - dy,

˙˙ ˙ ∑∑ ˙

la - dy, la - dy,

ww

la la

-

ww

dy, dy,

-

ver, by ver, by

ri ri

∑∑

∑ œœ ˙˙ ˙˙ ∑ a ri - ver,

a a

-

ri-ver, a ri-ver, a

˙˙ ŒŒ œœ

upup-

ver, ver,

ŒŒ œœ ˙˙ up-o up-o

ÓÓ ˙˙ œœ œ œ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ ˙˙ ˙˙ œœ

a

ri - ver,

I I

ÓÓ ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ This This

ri ri

saw a la-dy walk, fast by a saw a la-dy walk, fast by a

ÓÓ

-

la la

a a

b. mm. 79–85

„„

... Ó ˙ . Ó ˙

w ? ? .... w

ri - ver, ri - ver,

by by

œœ œ œœ œœ ˙˙ ˙ œ œœ ..œ œ w œ ˙ œ JJœ œ w ˙˙ ..

ri - ver, ri - ver,

˙˙ ˙ œ œ .œjj ˙ œ œ .œ œœ œœ ˙˙ œœ ## œœ œœ ˙˙

saw a la-dy walk fast saw a la-dy walk fast

a ri - ver, a ri - ver,

by by

saw a la-dy walk, fast by a saw a la-dy walk, fast by a

œœ œ œœ œœ ˙˙ ˙˙ œ

˙˙ .. œœ ˙˙ ˙˙ V V it, it,

œœ œ œ ˙˙ Œ œ œ . jjœ# œ˙ ˙ œœ œ œ Œ œœ œ œ . œœ œ# œ˙ ˙

ÓÓ ˙˙

ÓÓ ˙˙ œœ œ œœ œœ ww & œ &

saw a la - dy walkfast by a saw a la - dy walkfast by a

˙˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙

This This

la - dy la - dy

œœ œ ˙ ww œ ˙ this la this la w ˙ ÓÓ w ˙ ww

Rich Rich

„„

ww

is, is,

ww dy,

ÓÓ ww

ri - ver, ri - ver,

ÓÓ ˙˙

dy,

Rich Rich

Rich Rich

˙˙

is is

˙˙ .. œ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ ˙

Rich Rich

ww

is is

of of

the gifts the gifts

of of

Rich Rich

is is

of of

the gifts the gifts

of of

ww

˙˙ .. œ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ ˙

Neighbour’s assessment too sweeping, especially in light of certain gestures in “Weeping” and other works of this section (and other sections as well). Neighbour, however, shows convincingly that Byrd drew on a partsong tradition that pre-dated the madrigal vogue; see “Byrd’s Treatment of Verse in his Partsongs,” Early Music 31 (2003): 412–16, 418–22, at 422.

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˙ ˙ & Ó ˙

Ó

& ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

˙

this la - dy,

V w

is

of

of

˙ ˙

the gifts

V ˙ ˙ w beau

-

ty,

? ˙ ˙ ˙ beau

the

-

˙

ty, Rich

w

Ex. 8.1  continued

Rich

˙

˙

˙ ˙

is

of

˙ ˙

gifts of beau - ty,

w

of

˙ ˙

beau - ty,

Ó ˙

∑

˙ ˙ ˙. is

of

Rich

the

˙ ˙ Ó

the

˙

Rich

w

w

˙ ˙

gifts

of

beau - ty,

w

gifts

of

beau

is of the gifts of

is of the gifts of

the gifts

of

-

˙

ty,

œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙

œ œ œ ˙ œ˙

˙ œ ˙

w

˙

˙.

beau

beau - ty,

œ œœ˙ ˙ ˙

beau - ty,

œ w

-

w

ty,

for their expressive effect, Byrd’s next move is to write out a full-scale repeat of the music for the first quatrain of the sonnet to serve the second (mm. 27–52). As convention dictates that the second four lines of a sonnet should duplicate the first four in length, accentuation, and rhyme scheme, Byrd’s decision fits in well, if rather unspectacularly, with Philip Brett’s ideas about the composer’s strictly observed sensitivity to the form of his texts.6 One consequence is that “graunted” and “turned” of the second quatrain (ll. 7–8) are less obviously painted than were “walke” and “dawnced” of the first. Yet the increased rhythmic activity surrounding these action verbs and the listener’s heightened expectations induced by the repetition highlight a metamorphosis in the poem worthy of Ovid (who clearly inspired the poem’s setting). For now, in the midst of Diana’s woods, Cupid loses all the power he had gained in the section before, as he dutifully “graunt[s]” (surrenders) his weapons over to this stunningly beautiful lady who “turn[s]” him into stone.7 Although more appropriate for the words of the previous section, these recurrent madrigalisms in Byrd’s scoring only help to emphasize the main activities of the poem, and indeed of the sequence thus far.8 Italianate inclinations that Byrd had somewhat submerged in the second q­ uatrain he brings out more fully in the third. After opening with an obvious ­variation of his twice-used minor third motive he moves on to decidedly new ­musical t­erritory; 6

Brett, “Word-setting.” For a similar disablement of Love see BE 12: 13 above. 8 On this point I disagree with Kerman, who noted, parenthetically, “Byrd is not disturbed when the second quatrain, using the same music as the first, provides no textual reason for this acceleration,” see his Elizabethan Madrigal, 141. 7

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and, predictably, without the shackles of a repetitive scheme, gains thereby the opportunity to express words and ideas individually. For example, he features an unprecedented period of rather strict (or quasi-canonic) imitation between the superius and bassus to symbolize the speaking voice of the male narrator, “I” (l. 9, mm. 53–60).9 Then, with increasing rhythmic activity and a steady move to the top of the phrase, together with a rare moment of full scoring, for the text “to be so full of sorowe” (l. 10), he shows a further, and rather fine, cultivation of the transalpine idiom (mm. 62–64), while also moving the listener emphatically toward the final couplet, where the clinching line of the poem appears. As “Weeping” concludes we leave the Italianate style for the last time, now to confront the riddle mentioned at the outset of this chapter, namely that a “Lady” who is “Rich” has somehow found “fortune daynty [i.e., costly]” (ll. 13–14): a condition that proves to be both an oxymoron and a conundrum. Byrd, following his poet, goes to some lengths to emphasize the “Rich” pun, again, with all the special sensitivity to text requirements and poetic form that Brett champions.10 Most of the lines in this verse feature a marked caesura after the fourth syllable, following the typical choriambic pattern of the first part of a hendecasyllabic line. But Byrd’s poet places the break in the line that begins “this lady” before the word “Rich,” to emphasize the text at this key point. Byrd draws even further attention to these crucial words by placing a rest after the syllable “dy” (of “lady”) and bringing the word “Rich” into the texture with unexpected force (mm. 79–85, see Ex. 8.1b). The syncopated entrance makes it clear to the listener that the word “Rich” is the most important of the poem. Byrd emphasizes the idea further by ensuring that all parts articulate the same rhythmic gesture.11 Given that literary historians are no longer as divided as they once were on the  question of Stella’s identity, there is no need to belabor the question of whether this poem refers to Penelope Rich. Rather, it is more productive to consider when, how, and, especially, why Byrd’s poet approached the matter at all. A look at Sidney’s Sonnet 37 of the Astrophil and Stella sequence goes far to answer these questions: My mouth doth water, and my breast doth swell,  My tongue doth itch, my thoughts in labour be:  Listen then, lordings, with good ear to me,  For of my life I must a riddle tell.  Towards Aurora’s court a nymph doth dwell,  Rich in all beauties which man’s eye can see,  Beauties so far from reach of words that we  Abase her praise saying she doth excel:  Rich in the treasure of deserved renown;  9

See Brett, “Songs of William Byrd,” 82. Brett, “Word-setting.” 11 Brett notes that “each enunciation of [Rich’s] name comes at the most prominent part of the phrase, its emphasis heightened by a short preceding rest”; “Songs of William Byrd,” 82. See also H. R. Woudhuysen, Sir Philip Sidney and the Circulation of Manuscripts, 1558–1640 (Oxford, 1996), 253. 10

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Rich in the riches of a royal heart:  Rich in those gifts which give the eternal crown;  Who though most rich in these and every part  Which make the patents of true worldly bliss,  Hath no misfortune, but that Rich she is.12 This 37th sonnet, along with Sidney’s Sonnet 35 (with its line “Fame / Doth even grow rich, naming my Stellas name”), is widely recognized to contain, along with the heraldic references Byrd also replicates, the most compelling internal evidence that Penelope Rich was the Lady to whom Sidney referred.13 In his translation of Orlando furioso of 1591 John Harington fortified the claim when he similarly described Sidney’s Stella as “rich” in two senses of the word. Byrd (as publisher) was the first to do so in print and his poet used the same juxtaposition of puns, on “rich” and “fortune,” as did Sidney in Sonnet 37.14 The possibility that Byrd’s poet devised these Rich/misfortune puns on his or her own cannot be ruled out. The name Rich is so obviously “fit,” in John Davies of Hereford’s laudatory words of 1603, “t’express [Penelope’s] excellence,” that it surely might have occurred to any number of poets at the time to draw on the pun/ conundrum; and Byrd’s artistic contact with Sidney, as seen through the composer’s settings of the poet’s songs and in their mutual creative reactions to the music of Guillaume Tessier, opens the prospect of Byrd’s poet inspiring, rather than following, his great literary contemporary.15 But for a supportive or disinterested party to cast the Rich marriage in a bad light and to seize upon the idea of her misfortune before Sidney did so himself presents some obvious interpretive challenges. Furthermore, it was with “swell[ed] breast[s],” “thoughts in labour,” and other birth-giving images in Sonnet 37 that Sidney put forward rather compellingly, if poetically, the idea that this “riddle” was his own invention (or at least Astrophil’s). Finally, the musical evidence – specifically the Italianate elements, the vocal conception of the lines, and the links to Byrd’s Sidneian elegy “O that” – all but confirms that “Weeping” was penned at the time Byrd was preparing songs for the press and thus not during Sidney’s lifetime. Significantly, when Byrd unmasked the identity of Sidney’s Stella in print he used the Harington/Sidney technique of revealing it, “in terms which only other people who were in on the secret would understand,” as William Ringler explains.16 No doubt Byrd, like Harington, enjoyed the idea of showing a select group that he was one of the figurative “lordlings” Sidney let “in on the secret” of Sonnet 37. 12

William A. Ringler, Jr., ed., The Poems of Sir Philip Sidney (Oxford, 1962), 183. Alison Wall, “Rich, Penelope, Lady Rich (1563–1607),” in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/ article/23490, accessed 20 March 2014; Ringler, ed., Poems of Sir Philip Sidney, 182. 14 On Harington see Hudson, “Penelope Devereux,” 93; and Wall, “Rich, Penelope.” On Byrd’s contact with Sidney’s poems see John Milsom, “Byrd, Sidney and the Art of Melting,” Early Music 31 (2003): 437–49; and my “Music and Late-Elizabethan Politics,” 529–30. 15 Alexander B. Grossart, ed., The Complete Works of John Davies of Hereford, 2 vols. (Edinburgh, 1878), 1: 99. 16 Ringler, ed., Poems of Sir Philip Sidney, 542. 13

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But self-promotion alone seems insufficient to explain the presence of such an ­important plot-determining poem in the set. As long as it was handled discretely – as reflecting an aspect of Neoplatonic love, where lust is sublimated into noble acts of service – exposing Penelope’s role in Sidney’s sequence provided certain social and political benefits for the Rich family.17 From the time of Petrarch fame was understood to be the shared reward for the worthy poet and his muse. Even before the publicity surrounding Sidney’s heroic death reached such spectacular heights, the Rich family had begun to recognize the great gains in cultural capital they were likely to accrue with an intimate association with the fallen soldier and his poetry. It was probably no coincidence, for example, that the priest George Gifford, who “was summoned to Sidney’s deathbed,” was a Rich client and also the one who revealed that “Lady Rich was the Stella” of Sidney’s sonnets.18 Even though Sidney rejected what Rich stood for in his poems, namely lust, Gifford was able to provide a special memento mori for his patrons by casting her as one of the stars of the poet’s last moments. Rich certainly gained fame when she was revealed as Sidney’s Stella. But there were already some who perceived of certain dangers involved in the recognition. Those who owned some of the earliest known manuscripts of Astrophil, as well as its first, unauthorized, printer, Thomas Newman, removed from their collections telltale poems about Sidney and Rich, including Sonnet 37 and parts of the Tenth Song, “O dear life when may it be” (BE 13: 33), three stanzas of which did appear in 1591, but that Byrd was still the first to publish, in this five-voiced section of the Songs, as discussed below.19 Although the effort now seems woefully inadequate 17

On the social implications of Neoplatonic Love having directly to do with Rich and Sidney see Jefferson B. Fletcher, “Did ‘Astrophel’ Love ‘Stella?’” Modern Philology 5 (1907): 253–64. In making his case in the face of 19th century arguments about direct biographical correspondences, Fletcher felt compelled to point out that, “in the platonic, like the chivalric, love[,] theorists held that their union of pure spirit was incompatible with the grosser union of matrimony, especially as[,] for the noble class primarily concerned[,] marriage was so largely a matter ‘of convenience.’ There was accordingly no theoretically valid reason for Lady Sidney to be jealous of Stella, or for Lord Rich to be jealous of Astrophel, though Sidney once or twice seems to imply that he was” (p. 6). 18 Brett Usher, “Gifford, George (1547/8–1600),” in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/10658, accessed 20 March 2014. 19 On the complex and puzzling edition history of Sidney’s Astrophil & Stella see Woudhuysen, Sir Philip Sidney, 369–81, and Germaine Warkentin “Patrons and Profiteers: Thomas Newman and the ‘Violent Enlargement’ of Astrophil and Stella,” Book Collector 34 (1985), 461–87. The upshot of the printing history, as far as we are here concerned, is that Sonnet 37, stanzas 18–25 of Song 8, stanzas 5–7 of Song 10 (of which Byrd reproduced stanzas 1–4), and all of Song 11 were published for the first time in a folio edition of 1598. Michael William Wallace long ago commented that “all these [1598] additions are of such a character as to make inevitable the deduction that they had been previously withheld from publication – or circulation – because they revealed too much”; see The Life of Sir Philip Sidney [Cambridge, 1915], 249. More recently, however, Jack Stillinger has countered that “the idea that these passages were withheld from earlier publication because they ‘revealed too much’ is not tenable. Everything ‘revealed’ in them had been told previously in 1591; Stillinger,

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as a means of covering anything up, it was apparently done to avoid scandal for the Rich family – or at least to appear to have done so. Byrd was willing to publicize the very matters about Rich and Sidney that others had attempted to conceal. But his actions should not necessarily be viewed as lacking discretion. To ensure that something that could possibly be construed as an insult could only be viewed as a compliment, he and his poet went to great lengths to shift the setting away from that of historical reality: not only to populate the Ovidian woods with figures of Byrd’s day, but also to highlight everything in the work, both musical and literary, that might be construed as fictitious, or artificial, in nature. Logically, if the point was to protect Rich from public view, it made no sense for Byrd even to toy with her name. Conversely, if the point was to identify her broadly and celebrate her condition, then why use hidden tactics? To combine disclosure and concealment in a single gesture as Byrd did was, ultimately, a conceit. The method involved was as important as its function. By matching Italianate musical gestures to poetic ones he detaches the actual figure, Rich, from a story that enfolded her, presumably aware that this only enhanced her reputation. Revealingly, and fittingly for a collection of “songs of sundrie natures,” the madrigal was not the only genre whose stylistic conventions Byrd co-opted for rhetorical purposes such as these. Indeed, as he led his audience away from Diana’s Ovidian woods back toward the Homeric world of Penelope and Ulysses, he withdrew too from the exoticism of potentially faddish Italian traditions, focusing instead on some of the most obvious musical conventions of songs that had long been featured on the pre-Shakespearian English stage.

A

PENELOPE THAT LONGED (BE 13: 27)

t the Elizabethan theater, private or public, no one would have been surprised to encounter a song honoring Penelope, especially if she was a featured character in the story on view. But the purpose of Byrd’s “Penelope that longed” (BE 13: 27) was not merely to extol the Homeric character. Rather it was to use Penelope’s well-known status – as someone long deprived of the presence of her true love – to expose the essentially tragic condition of another subject, an unnamed “poore wretch” (l. 5) who lives with the “wrong” lover and thus “lacke[s]” what Penelope “crave[s]” (ll. 5–6) (and craves what Penelope lacks). In rhetorical terms, the main subject’s plight was presented as the antithesis of Penelope’s.20 “The Biographical Problem of Astrophel and Stella,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology [1960]: 617–39, at 620.” But even if other sonnets were similarly revealing (and none were more so than Sonnet 37, as Stillinger concedes), Wallace’s argument still holds up as a salient rationale. Given Byrd’s approach, my sense is that Newman was making a gesture of concealment. He was not attempting fully to obscure a poetic relationship between Rich and Sidney that some might see as personal, as that poetic relationship, if properly hinted at and treated with some formalized discretion, would ultimately reflect favorably on Rich in the aftermath of Sidney’s death. 20 Woudhuysen described the poem as depicting “the paradox of not wanting what you have got” in Sir Philip Sidney, 253. For a similar treatment of Rich as the Homeric Penelope see Katherine Duncan-Jones, “Ford and the Earl of Devonshire,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 29 (1978): 447–52.

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204

w &b w & b die, &b &b Vb Vb Vb Vb ?b ?b

w die, w #die, w #w die,

die,

˙ ˙ die,

die,

˙ ˙ die,

die,

Ex. 8.2  Byrd and Richard Farrant (Robert Parsons?) that longed,” ( n)œa. BE˙12: 27 “Penelope ( n)œ mm. ˙ 61–67 w w

Ó Œ ˙ n)œ ˙ ( w Ó Œ that I might ˙ die, Œ œ die, ∑ that ÓI might ˙ ˙ Ó Œ that œ ˙I might ∑ ˙ . œ # œ . œ œ˙ œ ˙ ˙ œthat I might ˙ . Jœ # œ . œJ œ œ ˙ ˙ œ that I mightJ J might Œ œ that ˙ I #˙ ˙ ˙ Œ œ ˙ œ ˙I might #die, œ Œ that ˙ Œ that ˙ die, ˙ might ˙ ˙ die, ˙ that wI might die, ˙ might w that ˙ w ˙ ˙ w

that

I

might

die,

die, that

I

might

die,

&b ˙ &b ˙ &b ˙ & b ˙I V b ÓI Vb Ó V b #œ V b # œI ? b ŒI ? Œ b

Œ œ œ œ œ œI might Œ that œ

˙ die, ˙

˙ w die, ˙ w might Œ œ #die, œ œ œ Œ that œ # œI might œ œ die, Œ ˙ that ˙I might die, œ ˙ Œ ˙ might die, œ that

die,

I might

might

die, œ œ ˙ œ œ that œI might ˙ œ

might

that

I might

˙ die, ˙

die,

œ œ that

œ that œ

that

that

Ó Œ ˙ n)œ ˙ ( Ó Œ that I might ˙ that ÓI might Œœ #w œ Ó Œ that #die, w œ ˙ w œ die, that œ ˙ w œ die, that I might

that I might ˙ ˙ w ˙I might w ˙ die, Iw might die, Œ œ ˙ œ w might die, Œ that ˙ die,

might

˙. ˙. die, Ó Ó

die,

˙ ˙I

( n)˙ ( nthat )˙

that

ÓI might die, ˙ Ó ˙ that

that

˙ ˙I

˙ ˙ might ˙ ˙

might

might

I

I

die,

that

Œ œœ œ ˙ Œ œ œ œI might Œ that ˙ Œ that œ œ die, # œ that œ ˙I might die, w that #œ œ ˙ w die,

I might

die,

I might

die,

œœ › U œ œ die. › might

I

˙ ˙I

that

˙ ˙ ˙I might ˙ W I might W die, die,

Œ œ# œ œ Œ that œ # œI might œ that ŒI might #˙ #œ #die, ˙ Œ #that œ

U

œ ˙. œ ˙I . that

( n)w n)w (might I might #œ œ ˙. ˙. # œI might œ die, that

die,

w die,

œ ˙ that ˙ œ I that

˙ might ˙ I

might

U › U

die.

›

die.

U › U

die.

›

die.

U

˙ #œ œ U w die. ˙ might #œ œ w U might die. › U › die. die.

die.

Although the conceit was fairly straightforward, the shift in subject matter could easily Ó wdistracted Ó Œ œa nspoken ˙ Œ œstoryline n ˙ Ó Œon ˙ ˙ Thus ˙ ˙ audiences › . it seems w Ótracking & b have œ stage. unlikely that “Penelope” was ever featured in a play per se, although it might well Ó Ó Œ toœ ndie, Ó wI crave ˙ Œ toœ ndie, ˙ Ó Œ toœ die˙ to˙ die. ˙ to˙ die, › . enterw purpose & b served have a quasi-dramatic in a domestic, university, or court to die, Œthose encountering to die, die to sequence die. tainment who Œ ˙this Œ song w cravekind. ˙ œ ˙ Œ œ ˙ to die, œ n ˙ in˙ .toByrd’s & b ˙ . ofI œsome # ˙ For ˙ ›reinforced œ œ . wereb “in on the [Rich] secret,” though, this poem would have nicely ˙. œ w #˙ ˙ Œ œ ˙ Œ œ ˙ Œ œ ˙ Œ œ n˙ ˙. œ ˙ › &points the of the song before it. First, simply by naming the character “Penelope,” . œ œ œ œ still œ œ Œ“Rich” ˙ . those œ œ unsure ˙ word ˙ meant œ Œ œ to ˙ . it V would signal a surname n › n ˙ Œ œ œifœthe œ œ œ was b ˙ give œ œ œ œfurther the benefit of a clue. Second, it would expose more explicitly than had œ œ œ œ œ œ . ˙ ˙ œ ˙ ˙ œ œ n˙ Œ œ œ œ Œœ œ ˙ n›. Œ Vb œ of “Weeping,” if still from a poetic point of view, the nature theœ“misfortune” the ˙ œ Rich. œ ˙ œ œ Œ œ Robert ˙ Œ ˙ suffered true-to-life œ ˙ ˙ ›. ˙ ˙ supposedly V b ˙ wPenelope œ Œ n œ œ by marrying

Vb ˙ w ? b #˙ w ? b #˙ w

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 204

˙ ˙

w w

˙ Œ ˙ Œ nœ œ œ ˙ œ w Œœ˙ Œœ ˙ w Œœ˙ Œœ ˙

œœ Œœ Œœ ˙ Œœ ˙

˙ œœ ˙ ˙ ›. ˙ ˙ œ ›. Œœ œ ˙ ˙ œ ›. Œœ œ

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V b #œ œ ˙ I might



Œ œ

˙

die,

that

?b Œ œ œ œ ˙ that

˙

I might

die,

#œ œ ˙. I might die,

Ó

U

œ ˙

that

˙

˙

˙ #œ œ w

I

might

U

›

die.

˙ Songs of Five Parts 205 that

I

might

die.

Ex. 8.2  continued b. Farrant (Parsons?), “Alas ye sea salt gods,” mm. 46–49

&b Ó w I

& b ˙. œ w

˙ ˙

crave to

#˙

w

die,

Ó Ó Œ œ n˙

˙ Œœ˙ Œ œ˙

to die,

Œ

Œ œ n˙ Ó Œ œ ˙ ˙ to die,

œ ˙

to die

Œ œ n˙ ˙.

to

œ˙

. œ œ œ œ œ n˙ Œ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ Œ œ œ œ ˙ œ Œ œ œ ˙ Vb ˙ ˙ œ œ Vb ˙ w ? b #˙ w

˙ ˙ w

˙ Œ ˙ Œ nœ œ œ ˙ œ

w

Œœ˙ Œœ ˙

œœ Œœ ˙ œœ ˙ ˙

›.

die.

›.

n›. ›.

˙ ˙ œ œ ›. Œœ ˙ Œœ

In his “Penelope that longed” setting Byrd chose to follow carefully and expand upon the conventions of the music for choirboy plays, especially those of the laments, which stand out today as the most cultivated musical works of this theatrical tradition.21Although there are others of note, the two playsong laments featured in Robert Dow’s extraordinarily well prepared manuscripts, “Alas, ye salt sea gods,” and “Come, tread the paths of pensive pangs,” exemplify the special traits that Byrd took over. These include: the 1 + 4, standard consort-song scoring, with a clear leading part, and a move, in the end, to various text repetitions that dramatized, by evoking the ululations of mourning, the emotional reaction of a character who wishes only to die him- or herself when first confronted with, or placed in close proximity to, the death of a loved one (see Ex. 8.2). Well aware of the innuendo linking the word “death” with sexual fulfillment, Shakespeare had seized on the repetitions of the word “dye” (l. 9) in these songs as something ripe for satire.22 Although in Byrd’s work the tone is decidedly serious, the many repetitions that appear at the words “that I might dye” at the end of “Penelope” do highlight rather effectively, along with the 1+4 scoring, the connection between this song and the traditional playsong lament. Byrd, though, had additional reasons to draw attention to this part of the text he set. Simply by extending the last line, he helped the listener grasp that it is the “poore wretch,” Penelope Rich (l. 5), rather than her Homeric namesake, Penelope, who is the main subject of the poem. (The latter point is something the verse read on its own does not so readily reveal, since it bestows the same number of lines – namely, four – to each character.) By featuring a nearly simultaneous f”/f♯’ cross-relation at this juncture 21

See G. E. P. Arkwright, “Elizabethan Choirboy Plays and Their Music,” Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 40 (1913): 117–38; Philip Brett, Consort Songs, Musica Britannica 22 (London, 1967). 22 Arkwright, “Elizabethan Choirboy,” 118–20.

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(mm. 63), Byrd also emphasized the severity of the character’s emotional distress (as he further underlined the decidedly English nature of this song).23 As with “Weeping,” “Penelope” too has musical associations with Byrd’s second funeral song for Sidney, “O that.” “Penelope” features a minor third motive at the end that recalls the lamenting gesture that appeared at the “O heavie time” section of the extended tribute. There is also a shift to long-held notes and to a harmony with a root a major third below the cadence pitch at “so I” in “Penelope” (mm. 21–23) that closely parallels the sectional openings of “O that” (mm. 1–9, 40–49). That Byrd drew thematic links across “Penelope” and the Sidneian elegy he had published earlier reveals his larger interest in thematic development across the entire song repertoire, as do his more obvious references to the playsong in general. He apparently saw in the most characteristic element of the lament songs – the “I … dye” repetitions – the means best to reveal his technique of fictionalizing the story of Rich and Sidney in “Penelope.”

C

CUPID IN A GHOSTLY MIRROR (BE 13: 28)

“

ompel the hawk” (BE 13: 28) is Byrd’s setting of a single stanza from Thomas Churchyard’s celebrated extended poem “Shores wife,” which had been published in A Myrrour for Magistrates in 1563. Conceived as a continuation of John Lydgate’s Fall of Princes, which was itself modeled on a seminal work of Giovanni Boccaccio, in the Myrrour, and in those books upon which it was based, historical figures reappear as ghosts to speak about the errors of their ways.24 The point was to provide an instructive example for a new generation, especially for those who stood in high places. It was they who had the furthest to fall. Through the writings of Thomas More, Shore’s wife was known as the powerful mistress of Edward IV, who, after his death, was viciously persecuted by Richard III, Edward’s successor.25 Shore’s wife notoriously committed errors of wantonness and adultery for which she was severely punished. But from the time of the first chronicles to include her, she was still typically painted as a worthy and sympathetic, if tragic, figure. Churchyard followed suit by casting her voice in the ennobling, Chaucerian, “rhyme royal” (ababbcc).26 Thanks to Churchyard’s treatment, Shore’s wife emerged as just the kind of lofty character, emphasized throughout 23

See Dennis Shrock, Choral Repertoire (Oxford, 2009), 138. On some of Byrd’s most prominent cross (false) relations see Joseph Kerman, Masses and Motets of William Byrd (Berkeley, 1981), 164–65, 288, 327. 24 Jessica Winston, “‘A Mirror for Magistrates’ and Public Political Discourse in Elizabethan England,” Studies in Philology 101 (2004): 381–400, at 382. See also Mary Steible, “Jane Shore and the Politics of Cursing,” Studies in English Literature 43 (2003): 1–17; Richard Danson Brown, “‘A Talkatiue Wench (Whose Words a World Hath Delighted in)’: Mistress Shore and Elizabethan Complaint,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 49 (1998): 395–415; and Maria M. Scott, Re-Presenting ‘Jane’ Shore: Harlot and Heroine (Aldershot, 2005). Byrd set additional stanzas from Churchyard’s work as separate songs: see BE 15: 27 and BE 14: 1. 25 St. Thomas More, The History of King Richard III, ed. R. S. Sylvester (Yale, 1962), 56–59. 26 Götz Schmitz, The Fall of Women in Early English Narrative Verse (Cambridge, 1990), 115; Mateer, ed., BE 13: xv, xxxiii.

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the Myrrour, who would be especially prone to the destructive forces of “fickle fortune.” To the extent that “Lady Rich” of “Weeping” and the “poor wretch” of “Penelope” are also cast as victims of Fortune, “Compel” fits neatly into Byrd’s sequence. Furthermore, to add the well-known voice of Shore’s wife to the others of this set certainly deepens the theme. But it is Cupid who stands at the center of the particular stanza Byrd chose to set. When this god, who so dominated the four-voiced section, gave his weapons over to the lady in the opening poem of the five-voiced section, he lost his very livelihood, so to speak. But rather than disappear, Love returns with renewed strength in “Compel,” through the potent voice of the legendary, spectral figure of Shore’s wife – an articulate victim of Fortune and her own wantonness. “Compel” begins with musical parts behaving very much like the instruments of the typical consort song: prefiguring with motivic imitations the entrance of a single voice that would emerge last and then carry the main melody forward (mm. 1–4). Intriguingly, Byrd sets up something of a trap for the calculating listener here. For when the presumptive leading voice enters the texture (namely, the medius, which shares the high range of the superius), it simply repeats for the remainder of the line what the superius had already stated at the same pitch level, which is most unusual for Byrd, while the lower parts continue to serve the accompanimental functions of the typical consort song (mm. 4–15). The music analyst would rightly view this song’s first point, described above, as a straightforward example of quasi-canonic technique, one cast quite clearly within the context of an accompanied duet (albeit with a slightly skewed opening). But such a view, however correct, misses Byrd’s interpretative purpose. By maintaining throughout the sound of two essentially identical soprano parts and manipulating his listeners’ structural and generic expectations, Byrd creates something akin to a musical trick of the ear, one that brings out the idea of repetition over what would more properly be termed imitation. In thematic terms, Byrd’s allusion to the musical canon here enhances the interpretive scheme. The idea of teaching and training, which the musical canon so readily evokes, runs through the poem. But rather than exhibit propriety and intellectual progression, the imitations of these canonic gestures seem – because of their insistent appearance at the unison (and, later, at the octave) – only to suggest that nothing has been accomplished, proper or otherwise, as the poet’s expression “ne’er the neere” (never the near: unsuccessful) of the fourth line aptly expresses. Love is thus shown to be a useless guide. To reinforce this idea of futility and misguidedness, Byrd reiterated the scoring deception of his opening at two further points in the song: the opening of the third and sixth lines (mm. 14–17 and 46–48). At these points, which are marked in each case by text repetition, the listener is led, by false starts, into hearing the imitation as wrong when the top two voices do not immediately copy each other at the now expected pitch level of the unison. Significantly, in the period when the listener waits for this error to be corrected, all the parts function similarly, in the sense that none has a leading role to play. Perhaps to balance out these periods of extended accompanimental character for all the parts (discussed above) Byrd shifts to a fully a cappella texture for the bb couplet (lines four and five) of “Compel’s” rhyme royal (mm. 22–40). Here

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he significantly awards all voices a leading part as he abandons the 1 + 4 texture completely. Then, to emphasize his volte-face it would seem, he shows again a special willingness to mix various musical styles for special effect. In the fourth line, he treats the words “sad” and “pleasant” to word painting in the Italianate vein (mm. 23–27), featuring the same rhythmic contrast one finds in “Weeping.” For the fifth line, however, Byrd takes a different tack: introducing cell-like antiphonal structures he had developed rather extensively in his own settings of Latin religious texts (mm. 28–40).27 And as he adds the sacred into his stylistic mix, he also reinforces the idea of repetition yet again, this time by having one rather exposed trio imitate another an octave below (with the contratenor participating in both groups). As much as he exhibits great variety in scoring and style, with this song Byrd follows a consistent musico-poetic idea, one that equates stasis with musical imitations at the same or octave pitch levels. Finally, simply by exchanging parts and repeating the entire section, he hammers home his i­nterpretive point in his setting of the final couplet (mm. 40–68).28 For all its expressions of futility Byrd still found the means to make this song a moving depiction of a sympathetic character. At the opening of the sixth line, for example, the false starts that otherwise evoke the idea of error also contribute, with their motivic momentum, to the excitement and eloquence of a carefully calibrated climax, as the two soprano parts rise to the very top of their ranges at different – but this time mutually reinforcing – points before falling back to the lower regions of their shared melodic range (mm. 46–53, see Ex. 8.3). To hear this rather crushing climax with the story of Shore’s wife in mind helps remind the listener that Churchyard’s main purpose was to posit that only those who live in the highest stations of society are subject to the devastation of a fall caused by Fortune. Because of its apparently hybrid nature in terms of scoring, performers today must make some special decisions about the use of instruments and voices in order to reflect its subtleties. But for all that, “Compel” still ranks highly, I would argue, among the most unjustly neglected works in Byrd’s song repertory.29

W

STELLA’S FRAME (BE 13: 29, 34)

hatever one decides about its aesthetic achievement, in narrative terms “Compel” stands out for its feat in character development. This is where Byrd and his poet reintroduce Love into the story, but now as a figure of a different time, specifically through the ghostly voice of Shore’s wife. As a way to expand the tale, the move proves fruitful. Following “Compel,” Byrd places between the 27

Kerman, Masses and Motets, 88. I find it difficult to accept John Harley’s contention that Byrd “thought of the song as a vocal duet while he was setting the first four lines of the poem, and then changed his mind.” See his William Byrd, Gentleman of the Chapel Royal (Aldershot, 1997), 296. 29 Although the list no longer stands at nine, “Compel” is one of those songs that “have yet to be professionally recorded.” See Richard Turbet, review of William Byrd, Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs (1588), ed. Jeremy Smith (London, 2004) Notes 62 (2006): 803–06, at 805. 28

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Songs of Five Parts 209



& œœ œ˙ w & œ toœ ˙ knit, œ w to & ˙ ˙ #knit, w & ˙ to˙ #knit, w ˙ ˙ V w to knit, ˙ ˙ serves w he V knit, V V ? ?

˙ knot ˙ knot ∑ ∑

knit,

∑ ∑

Ó ˙ Ó he ˙ „ he „ ˙ ˙. œ œ œ ˙ ˙. œ œ œ but those that feel sweet

Ó ˙ w w Ó he˙ serves ˙. ˙ he˙ serves ˙ ˙ ˙. serves but those

˙ w to ˙ knit, w to knit, Ó ˙ Ó he˙

he serves

but those that feel sweet

he

& ˙ ˙ & serves Ó & serves & Ó V ˙ ˙ V feel, V V??

˙ ˙. ˙ ˙. but those

serves but those

œ œ that

˙ ˙ ˙that ˙ sweet ˙ ˙ feel that but those

Ó sweet ˙ Ó feel Ó Ó he˙

that

œ œ ˙ œ ˙ œ cy's œ ˙ œ cy's œ œ ˙

feel,

˙ he˙ fit, ˙ he˙ fit, ˙ heÓ ˙ Ó those,

those,

˙ ˙ ˙. œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ . that serves œ feel ˙ ˙ but˙ those ˙ sweet ˙ fan˙ -cy's serves but„those that feel ∑ sweet fanÓ -cy's ˙ „ ∑ Ó he˙ w he Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ w w ˙ fit,w Ó he˙ serves ˙ - cy's fan

Ex. 8.3  BE 13: 28 “Compel the hawk,” mm. 46–54

œ œ

that that

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ but those that feel ˙ those ˙ . feelœ but ˙ that ˙ ˙ ˙. œ feel sweet fan

˙ he˙ serves ˙ ˙ but˙ ˙ those ˙ œ that œ ˙ sweet ˙ ˙ fan˙ -cy's ˙ fit,˙ that ˙ feelsweetfan œ œ˙ fit,˙ that ˙ sweet ˙ fan˙ -cy's ˙ feelsweetfan ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ cy's ˙ fit,˙ he˙ servesbutthose,but ˙ ˙ ˙

fan - cy's fit,

feel sweet fan

˙ œ œ œœ ˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ fan˙ feel sweet

sweet fan ˙ œ œw fan œ w cy's ˙ œ ˙ . ˙ œ fan cy's ˙ ˙. œ ˙ ˙ those serves but that feel

-

-

cy's fit, he

œ œ w œ œ-w

˙ fit, ˙ fit, ˙ ˙ feel

-

-

#˙ #cy's ˙

Œ œ - ˙ cy's ˙ Œ sweet œ fan˙ - cy's ˙

œ sweet ˙ œ fan˙ - cy's œ œ fan˙ - cy's ˙ sweet ˙ . fanœ- cy's œ œ sweet œ feel ˙ Œ that ˙ . œ œ œ sweet fan - cy's ˙ Œ that œ feel

˙ butœ œ those ˙ ˙ butœ œ those serves ˙ serves ˙ . sweet fan œ- ˙cy's ˙ Ó but˙ those ˙ ˙ that feel ˙. ˙ cy's ˙ Ó that ˙ ˙ sweet fan - œ ˙ feel serves

that

feel

sweet

fan

w Ó ˙ w Ó he˙ fit, fit, ˙ ˙ w he ˙ ˙ w servesbut those w ˙. œ servesbut those w ˙. œ but those that

-

cy's

servesbutthose,but

w w fit.

W fit. W fit. W W fit. #fit.W #fit.W

∑ ∑

fit.

W fit. W

fit.

fit.

s­ eparated “See those sweet eyes” (BE 13: 29) and “Love would discharge” (BE 13: 34) four songs that draw his auditor even further into memories about Love and events associated with a Love-marred past (BE 13: 30–33). To separate two parts of a song like this represents a striking decision as far as the sequence is concerned. Although there were many occasions when Byrd would repeat large swaths of music within songs, “See those sweet eyes” | “Love would discharge” stands as a very special case where he allows a conspicuously large portion of music to be shared between them.30 These two songs are not musically identical; 30

As David Mateer has noted, these songs are placed together in the 1610 edition of the set, one that “corrects” a few other of Byrd’s framing devices; see BE 13: xxxiii. Some of the changes may have been made by a compositor at the East press, although it is also possible that Byrd was involved.

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Byrd attaches a final couplet to the second part. But had he not added that concluding section, the two would have stood as a typical two-stanza strophic song, of which there are many in his collection. For this reason there would seem to be special arguments for keeping these songs together rather than placing them at a distance from one another in the sequence; and thus Byrd’s decision to separate them emphasizes the framing device. Joseph Kerman casts as decidedly old-fashioned and “stern Netherlandish” the polyphony of “See those sweet eyes” and its partner “Love would dispatch” and suggests that the latter (“Love would”) stands in direct contrast to the “genuine[ly]” Italianate work of Thomas Bateson, who set the same text.31 On many points, a comparison of the two songs confirms Kerman’s suggestion. But a closer look reveals some problems with the formulation. To begin with, Byrd may have expressed some justifiable frustration had he heard this particular work described as “stern.” As far as the rhythmic movement is concerned, the polyphony is decidedly slow-paced, especially at the opening and for much of what might fairly be termed the “first singing part,” the superius. But one notes too a mounting presence of syncopation (mm. 7–8); calibrated increases in animation in the accompaniment parts, especially the contratenor and tenor (mm. 9–12); and a general move toward a more and more fluid line in the leading voice, which is nicely echoed elsewhere. All of this increasing movement suggests that Byrd meant to focus attention on the pacing idea itself as an expressive resource, as the means to respond, rather cleverly, and literally, to the two linked poems at hand. The narrative content of the verse is straightforward: after seeing a lady whose eyes resemble stars, and marveling at her beauty, Love is struck dumb. The silencing effect is expressed in both the quatrain “See those sweet eyes” and its partner verse “Love would discharge,” with an additional couplet of the latter, “constrayn[ing] … Love [to] … silence” (ll. 5–6) only further emphasizing the point. What makes all this deceptively simple is the way in which the poetic means and poetic point are placed in contradiction: as Love comes to terms with his inability to sing he only becomes more and more garrulous. With his progressively more and more mellifluous musical lines Byrd mimics, and thereby emphasizes, the ironic energy that brings meaning to the technically superfluous and inappropriate words, undergirding the humor embedded in the rhythms of the verse. In this light, a comparison of Byrd’s setting of “Love would” with Bateson’s shows something distinctive about 31

Kerman, Elizabethan Madrigal, 108. Kerman also compares the two works in Music from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance, ed. Frederick Sternfeld (New York, 1973), 326–28. A consort song version of “See those sweet eyes,” which was likely the original version, was copied in a manuscript associated with Edward Paston (a close Byrd associate and the most extensive collector of his music) and it was also adapted for the press in ways that went beyond (although not far beyond) the usual adaptations governed by text-setting needs that we usually find in Byrd’s published songs; see BE 16, pp. 195–96; Craig Monson, “Through a Glass Darkly: Byrd’s Verse Service as Reflected in Manuscript,” Musical Quarterly 67 (1981): 64–81, at 80. As it also relates closely to “Who likes to love” (BE 12: 13) in theme and may stem from Thomas Churchyard’s 1578 “Shew of Chastitie” (see the discussion surrounding BE 12: 13 in Chapter 2 above) the poem may be one of the earliest of the 1589 collection, although one likely to post-date Sidney’s conception of Rich as Stella.

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the way these composers read their texts. With all its constant fluidity and liveliness Bateson may have best captured the genial mood. But by keeping things so uniformly spritely, he, unlike Byrd, might be seen still to have missed the opportunity to respond compositionally to the particular literary conceit. Even though “See those” is not noticeably Italianate in character, Byrd did find some opportunities to engage in word painting, or madrigalisms, in this setting. Whether he was attempting to depict the eyes of the lady in the long notes after rests, as an example of Augenmusik, is difficult to prove (this works best at the cadence point in measure 8 where the word “eye” appears twice in a row, as it ends line 1 and begins line 2). The very fact that he did not place the telltale notes on the same space on the musical staff at the opening discourages the connection (as this renders the Lady displaying at first a rather cock-eyed expression). But to miss Byrd’s passage up to “the starres” (l. 2) in the second point (mm. 9–13), is to miss a particularly deft manipulation of the resources he had to hand with the consort song as a 1+4, partly instrumental, idiom (see Ex. 8.4). The path upwards is carefully anticipated by a sudden flourish of activity in the decidedly accompanimental tenor, syncopation in the medius and bassus, and, finally, a striking leap upwards by a fourth (in the medius again). Then, at the climactic moment itself, and during its immediate aftermath, Byrd explores, for effect, both the vertical and the horizontal depths of the texture: first, by pushing the bassus down to its lowest regions just as the superius reaches its top pitch, and second, by repeating the upward-leaping fourth motive to echo over and over in the other parts, reinforcing all the more the rhetorical impact of the climactic gesture. It all sets the stage for Byrd to review Sidney-as-Astrophil’s final deathbed struggle with Love through Stella’s eyes. Stella’s first view of Sidney is depicted in “When I was otherwise” (BE 13: 30), which features the decidedly wistful voice of an experienced poetic speaker, one, significantly, who blames Love for his troubles. As it is in this five-part section that Byrd portrays so many different musical styles for the sake of allusion, it is fitting that he would use his own consort song “In fields abroad” (BE 12: 22) as the object of reflection for “When I was otherwise.”32 With its military images, “In fields” wonderfully captures the energies of youth and ends, quite explicitly, at the “bedside … of a Gallant Dame, who casteth of[f] her brave and rich attire [to reveal] as faire a frame, / as mortall men or gods can well desire” (ll. 19–22). Thus “When I was otherwise,” in recollecting “In fields,” enhances the poetic idea that this speaker might look back with regret at the desires of his youth. On the surface it is fairly obvious that “When I was” and “In fields” – two multi-stanza poems in iambic pentameter – share a key (an F final with one flat) or mode (transposed Ionian), a rhythmic profile, and a pronounced 1+4 scoring. A closer look reveals that both open with an essentially two-voiced introduction (although homorhythmic in one and polyphonic in the other) that leads up to the entrance of the main voice and a fully scored F major triad (mm. 1–2; m.3, see Ex. 8.5). Furthermore, each song moves toward c minor before distinctly outlining major triads in the melody for the clinching final couplets (mm.7–8; mm. 15–16); 32

I owe this idea to Oliver Neighbour’s remark about the “close relations” between these songs in “Byrd’s Treatment,” 416.

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212

„

&

Ex. 8.4  BE 13: 29 “See those sweet eyes,” mm. 9–13

V w

∑

V #w

˙

eyes,

? ˙

˙

&˙

V

stars,

˙.

?˙

œ

˙

not

˙.

?Ó

stars

whom the

ceed

ceed

˙

˙ #˙

w

eyes

V

whom the

˙

œ not

#œ ˙

not

in

the

Ó

˙

whom

˙

˙

the

˙

ex -

the

stars

ex -

not

›

˙

in

w

∑

w

∑

grace.

w

w

in

their

grace.

w

See

grace.

See

˙.

their

not

˙

in

˙

their

#œ œ #˙

w

grace.

˙

their grace,

their

˙

˙

˙

w

˙

in

˙

ex - ceed

grace,

˙

˙

their

˙

ex - ceed

œ œ ˙

stars

ex - ceed,

(n)œ ˙

stars

the

˙

stars

their

˙

w

œ ˙

ex - ceed not in

˙

stars

˙.

œ œ #œ œ . œ ˙ œ J ˙.

w

grace:

in

˙

whom

w

˙

whom the

?

eyes

eyes

˙

˙

#w

w

˙ Love

See

and both songs feature numerous rests and sharply profiled melodic leaps that add considerably to the excitement and generally exuberant tone. Finally, one discovers that the opening point of “When I was” duplicates precisely the rhythm of the first six notes of the medius part of “In fields.” Byrd, it would appear, had discovered that the 6–4 implications of metrical structure of the medius better fit the trisyllabic

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Ex. 8.5  BE 13: 30 “When I was otherwise” and BE 12: 22 “In fields” a. BE 13: 30, mm. 1–3

„ „

&b &b

∑ ∑

„ „

&b &b

When

˙ ˙ When

œ ˙ V b ˙ œ œ œj V b ˙ œ œœ œ .. œj œœ œ ˙ When I was o - ther - wise than now

When

V b ∑ V b ∑

When

˙ ˙

When When

&b ˙ &b ˙ Vb Vb

In In

Vb ˙ Vb ˙ In ? ?b b

„ „

When

&b &b

In

I

was

„ „

o - ther - wise than now

j œ œ œ . œj œ œ ˙ . œI was œ œo - ther œ - wise œ than œ now, ˙ I was o - ther - wise than now, Œ œ Ó ˙ ˙ œ Œ Ó ˙ ˙ I am, than

j œ ˙ œ ˙ œ œj œ œœ œ .. œ œ œ ˙ ˙ œ than now I was o - ther - wise I I was o - ther - wise than now I œ ˙ œ. œ œ œœ œ . Jœ ˙˙ ˙ J When I was o - ther - wise

I was o - ther - wise than now

? ? bb

j œ ˙ œ œ œ œ œœ œ .. œj œœ œ ˙ I was o - ther - wise than now

˙ ˙ When

I

I

am,

was

o - ther - wise

b. BE 12: 22, mm. 1–2

˙ ˙

than

am, am,

w w

than than

˙ ˙

˙ ˙

than than

now now

now now

I

˙ ˙

w wI

˙ ˙ I I

˙ ˙ I I

Œ œ œ œ ˙ Œ œ œ œ ˙ than now I than now I

˙ ˙

now now

˙ ˙I I

„ „

jœ œ œ œ œ œœ .. œœj œ œ œ œœ œœ œœ œœ œ ˙ œ ˙ œ œ fields a - broad, where Trum - pets shrill do sound, do sound

fields

„ „

a - broad,

œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙

fields fields

a - broad, a - broad,

„ „

where Trum - pets shrill

„ „

do sound, do

sound

œ œ Œ Œ œœ œ œ œœ œœ ww where Trum - pets shrill do sound, where Trum - pets shrill

„ „

do sound,

word “otherwise,” and therefore chose to imitate that part rather than the more prominent “first singing part.” The word “otherwise” points the auditor toward the poetic speaker’s follies of youth. Significantly, it is the trisyllabic noun “experience” in line 5 (of the first stanza) that brings us back to his present time of reflection, when he discovers that he must pay the price for those foolish acts. Obviously aware of the poetic importance of both time-shifting words, Byrd also subjects “experience” to special treatment, although in this case he resorts not only to a tonal reference system he had developed throughout the Songs, by highlighting the moment with the use of E♭ – his means of depicting sin and purgatorial punishment throughout – but also to the tried-and-true methods of tune construction he had featured so often in the Psalmes collection of 1588 (see Ex. 8.6).

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214

&b ˙ & b ance ˙ ance &b ˙ & b ance ˙ ˙ V b ance ˙ V b ance

˙ was ˙ was ˙ was ˙

Œ ˙ œ Œ But such: ˙ œ Œ But such: ˙ œ Œ But such: ˙ œ such: œ œ œ œ But such: But at the œ œ œ œ such: But at Œ the ˙ œ Œ But such: ˙ œ

was such:

V b ance œ œ œwas ˙ b ance was V œ œœ˙ ? b ance œ was œ ˙ ? b ance, œ œwas ˙ ance, was

œ ˙ œ œ ˙ Œ butœ atœ theœ length but at Œ theœ length œ. œ ˙ the length Œ ex - pe œ œ. œ ˙ ˙ œ length Œ exœ - peœ . the ˙ Œ exœ - peœ . œ length the

Ex. 8.6  BE 13:Ó 30 “When Œ I was otherwise,” mm.Ó13–18 Œ

˙ w was ˙ such: w

such:

But

œ œ Ó Œ But atœ œ But at œ nœ œ œ œ at the length, but at œ nœ œ œ œ at ˙ but atÓ œ theœ length, Ó at ˙ œ theœ length œ œ at œ theœ length œ œ œ length, œ theœ length, œ but at length, œ theœ length, ˙ but atÓ Ó at œ theœ length, ˙ at

the

length,

bœ œ. œ &b Œ J œ ˙ nœ œ œ Ó b œ . ˙ nmeœ won œ - der, œ Ó & b Œ ex - peœ - Jœri - ence œ made & b œ ex˙ - pe -œri - ence ˙ made ˙ me won ˙ - der, ˙ & b ence ˙ meœ won ˙ - der, ˙ ˙ made me ˙ œ made b œ œ . œ œ ˙ œ œ œ Œ b n œ me œ made me won - der, made V ence œ. ˙ nmeœ won œ - der, œ Œ exœ - bpeœ - riœ - ence œ made V b ence œ made œ œ .exœ - pe- ri - ence œ . made œ ˙ me won ˙ made Œ -b der, nœ V b ence J œ J ˙ Œ bexœ - peœ .- œri - ence ˙ V b peœ . - Jœri - ence, J œ made nmeœ œ . œ b œ exœ - pe - rij- ence ? b peœ - œri - ence, b œ ˙me made J œ. œ œ œ œ b œ ex - pe - rij- ence made ? b ence, œ exœ - pe.- riJ - ence, œ œ . œ œ b œ me˙ ence, ex - pe - ri - ence, ex - pe - ri - ence

made me

œ ˙ the œ length, ˙

Ó

œ œ œ the length, but œ œ œ Œ butœ the length, Œ butœ œ butœ œ œ butœ the length, œ the length, Œ butœ Œ butœ

œ at œ at œ at œ œ at œ at œ at œ at

the length,

but

œ ˙ œ length the ˙ œthe length ˙ œ ˙ the length the length

at the length

Ó Ó

j œ j œri j œri j œri -

Œ œ Œ exœ Œ œ œ . ex JœŒ exœ - peœ . - Jœri ex - pe - ri -

ex - pe - ri -

œ ˙ ˙ that œ hearts that hearts Œ Œ ˙ ˙ œ œ ˙ œ œ Œ Œ won der, that hearts and tongues, that ˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ ˙ œ won - der, ˙ and tongues, œ œ ˙that J œ œ Œ œ ˙that hearts œ ˙ and me won ˙ tongues, ˙ œ hearts œ that œ hearts J œ - œder,Œ that œ - œder,Œ that hearts me won that hearts ˙ and ˙ tongues, ˙ œ ˙ œ - der, œ Œ that hearts won tongues did ˙ and ˙ ˙ œ ˙ won did Ó and Œ tongues ˙ - der,˙ that hearts ˙ ˙ œ Ó Œ that hearts won and ˙ - der˙ ˙ ˙ œ ∑ ∑

won - der

∑ ∑

Œ Œ

that hearts

and

As in many of those 1588 consort songs, the first phrase of “When I was otherwise” furnishes for Byrd the motivic material for the points to follow. It contains three distinct ideas that he treats as germinal: 1) a 1–2[–1] melodic gesture that he later transforms into a sol–la–sol or 5–6–5 pattern, 2) a rhythmically highlighted dotted figure, which stands out as a central motive, and 3) a scalar descent that signals a point of closure. To draw out the importance of the work’s opening motives in “When I was,” Byrd reverses their original order and, to a certain extent, inverts them melodically in the second line. Then he devotes a line to the development of each one, maintaining the reversed order. In particular, he features notably descending patterns in the third line (mm. 7–10), a dotted note motive in the fourth (mm. 11–13), and then some striking 5–6–5 (sol–la–sol) gestures in the fifth (mm. 14–15). In the sixth line, which includes the operative word “experience” (in the first stanza), Byrd brings

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b & b ∑

b &b w

w

Ex. 8.7  BE 13: 31 “When first by force,” mm. 1–4

When

˙ ˙

˙ ˙ w

˙

w

first by force

of

fa

tal

des - ti - ny,

˙ ˙

˙ -

w

˙ ˙ ˙

tal des - ti

œ œ ˙ #w

of

fa

-

w

When

first by

˙ ˙

force

When

b Vb w

first by

force

? b w b

˙ ˙

Vb

b w

˙ ˙

w. ›

When

first by

force

When

first by

force,

w

of

fa

˙

˙ ˙

by force

˙

of

-

˙

˙ ˙

w

tal des

˙

˙ ˙ w

ny,

-

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

ti - ny, from

-

˙ ˙ w

fa

-

tal

des - ti - ny,

of fa

-

tal

des

œœ w

˙

˙.

œ w

-

ti - ny,

the song to its climax by featuring all three motives together (mm. 15–17), as follows: after reaching the peak of the phrase on the flattened 6th scale degree (E♭), in the midst of an extended 5–6–5 gesture, he brings in the dotted-figure motive just as the lines move gradually down the scale. It is not difficult to view the simultaneous appearance of these motives, especially after so much development, as reflecting the poem’s central idea: that the nearly personified “experience” links the two temporal spheres of youth and old age. By using E♭ to color the word “experience” Byrd evokes sin and punishment, and this pitch is particularly prevalent in the song to follow, “When first by force” (BE 13: 31). At the opening of “When first by force” he maintains the sound of a chord with this pitch as root for the unusually sustained length of a doubly dotted breve (see Ex. 8.7; the gesture recurs, slightly shortened, at the start of the final couplet). Actually it is rare for Byrd to begin, as he does here, with a root position triad of any kind in his vocal works, as John Harley has noted. Furthermore, even within the select group of those few songs that do begin with a full chord, “When first” is exceptional for “start[ing] with [one] on the fourth degree,” rather than on the usual root position triad on the final.33 For our purposes it is significant too that Byrd cast “When first” in a key with a B♭ final and two flats (or twice transposed Ionian mode), where E♭ appears in the signature, making it quite likely that the note E♭ will appear frequently throughout the song. It all suggests that the composer emphasized E♭ in order to highlight the significance of this entire song, and thus its specific topic, within the sequential narrative. Recalling the final moments before Dido, Queen of Carthage’s suicide, “When first by force” (BE 13: 31) summarizes succinctly the tragic conclusion of “Dido and 33

John Harley, William Byrd’s Modal Practice (Aldershot, 2005), 77.

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Aeneas,” the fourth book of Virgil’s Aeneid. The Aeneid was a work well known to educated Elizabethans. By the time Byrd encountered the story it had been filtered through an array of commentary and allegory that has been traced back to Virgil’s own lifetime. In the most widely known school texts, Dido herself was interpreted as a figure of passion or libido, one Aeneas, cast as Everyman, fatefully encountered as he passed through adolescence.34 In this ages of man allegory, as promulgated most famously by Fabius Planciades Fulgentius, (Psuedo-)Bernard Silvestris, and John of Salisbury, the fourth book of the Aeneid finds Aeneas “on holiday from paternal control … inflamed by passion and, driven by storm and cloud, that is, by confusion of mind, commit[ting] adultery … [with] a passion aroused to evil by his lust.”35 The power of this youthful image, as well as its relevance to Byrd’s Songs narrative, is encapsulated in St. Augustine’s famous reaction in his Confessions to “what the so-called grammarians taught” him about Dido. In his boyhood, he notes, he was forced to learn the wanderings of one Aeneas, forgetful of my own, and to weep for dead Dido, because she killed herself for love; the while, with dry eyes, I endured my miserable self dying among these things, far from Thee, O God my life. For what more miserable than a miserable being who commiserates not himself; weeping the death of Dido for love to Aeneas, but weeping not his own death for want of love to Thee, O God. Thou light of my heart, Thou bread of my inmost soul, Thou Power who givest vigour to my mind, who quickenest my thoughts, I loved Thee not. I committed fornication against Thee, and all around me thus fornicating there echoed “Well done! well done!” for the friendship of this world is fornication against Thee; and “Well done! well done!” echoes on till one is ashamed not to be thus a man. And for all this I wept not, I who wept for Dido slain, and “seeking by the sword a stroke and wound extreme,” myself seeking the while a worse extreme, the extremest and lowest of Thy creatures, having forsaken Thee, earth passing into the earth. And if forbid to read all this, I was grieved that I might not read what grieved me. Madness like this is thought a higher and a richer learning, than that by which I learned to read and write.36 In this extended passage Augustine cast himself as the “wandering” Aeneas he was compelled to study as a youth. His description fits closely the ages of man reading of the Aeneid as a “paradigm for the travails of the Christian soul” with “Dido … identified with the realm of the flesh, of decadence, of concupiscence: the worldly snares from which the soul must disentangle itself.”37 34

Marilynn Desmond, Reading Dido: Gender, Textuality, and the Medieval Aeneid (Minneapolis, 1994), 84–94. 35 Russell Rutter, “The Treason of Aeneas and the Mythographers of Vergil: The Classical Tradition in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,” in Sir Gawain and the Classical Tradition: Essays on the Ancient Antecedents, ed. E. L. Risden (Jefferson NC, 2006), 30–48, at 39; see also Desmond, Reading Dido, 84–85. 36 Saint Augustine of Hippo, The Confessions of Saint Augustine: Complete Thirteen Books, trans. Edward Bouverie Pusey (Rockville, MD, 2008), 15. 37 Deanne Williams, “Dido, Queen of England,” ELH 73 (2006): 30–59, at 35.

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Byrd’s placement of “When first” directly after the evocation of youth in “When I was otherwise” suggests an intimate familiarity with the traditional ages of man paradigm in the commentaries of the Aeneid. Through his symbolic use of E♭, Byrd links the penitent’s plea for mercy in the “give tears” section of “Lord in thy wrath” (BE 13: 3, mm. 13–25) to “Queene Dido[’s] … wofull weeping eye” (l.  3) in a manner that strongly suggests Augustine’s sorrowful view of Dido’s suicide in his Confessions.38 In looking further for Confessions/Songs similarities, one discovers that Augustine evoked the “sword” and the “wound extreme” that Dido suffered at her own hand, whereas Byrd, again through tonal means, likened Dido’s “sword ful sharp, [that] pearst her ten-der hart” (l. 6) to the “arrows of [God’s] wrath … fixed in my hart” of Psalm 38. Finally, it would seem significant in this light that Augustine interpreted the first line of Psalm 38, “O Lord, rebuke me not in Thine indignation; neither chasten me in Thy hot displeasure” as a depiction of the “fire” that will “consume the ungodly for ever.” For his part Byrd musically links his setting of the first two lines of this same psalm similarly to purgatory or hell with a depiction of the devil in “O Lord my God” (BE 13: 22), again through his pointed and selective use of E♭. Through his tonal choices Byrd brings together songs that move from a highly personalized expression of fear for God’s wrath, to a warning about the devil, to a depiction of Dido’s suicide. With Augustine’s Confessions serving as a guide to Byrd’s purposes, one finds the composer promoting in these songs a synthetic view about sin, lust, sorrow, and repentance that related to various Christianized interpretations of the life cycle as depicted in Augustine’s commentary on the Aeneid, specifically to its phase of youthful transgression. But neglected in this Augustinian reading of the Songs sketched above is Cupid, arguably the story’s main antagonist. Furthermore, Byrd (and his poet), after casting the psalmist in “Lord in thy wrath” as a woman, places “When first” among a set of songs that focus particularly on female examples, which runs counter to the decidedly masculine thrust of the centuries-long accumulation of commentary on the Aeneid. Thus to hold to the traditional ages of man allegory as the exclusive means to interpret Byrd’s treatment of Dido involves some screening out of the very themes that he most thoroughly maintains. A look into the contemporary context suggests that Byrd treated Dido’s example as one where sin, lust, Love, and women would come together, and for this he joined a decidedly English literary tradition, one that may be seen to have to have culminated, in Byrd’s lifetime, with Christopher Marlowe’s celebrated play Dido, Queen of Carthage. It has long been established that the likely backdrop for Marlowe’s drama was the close of the French Match of the early 1580s, which brought religious politics at the English court to a state of great tension.39 In this light, Lisa Hopkins, Marlowe’s most recent biographer, notes that his “Dido could in different ways 38

On the nature of Augustine’s tears see Kim Paffenroth, “The Young Augustine: Lover of Sorrow,” Downside Review 118 (2000) 221–30; William Werphowski, “Weeping at the Death of Dido: Sorrow, Virtue, and Augustine’s Confessions,” Journal of Religious Ethics 18 (2001): 175–91; Howard Jacobson, “Augustine and Dido,” Harvard Theological Review 65 (1972): 296–97. 39 Williams, “Dido, Queen of England,” 31–32.

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look like both Elizabeth I (because of her other name of Elissa) and Mary Queen of Scots (because of her reckless willingness to sacrifice political power for love).”40 Elsewhere Hopkins suggests the significance of a “direct parallel with the name and title [of Mary and Dido]” and Marlowe’s invitation “to think of Catholicism.”41 Marlowe, according to Hopkins, “offer[ed], … in short, … a sharply drawn parallel to Mary Queen of Scots.”42 This is not simply a matter of identification. Hopkins also remarks on the parallels in the characterization of Dido with other female roles in the play, noting that they “work to reduce Dido’s importance, and above all the effect of her status as a queen, reducing her to the same level as other women.”43 Thus to follow Hopkins’s reading to its logical conclusion, Marlowe, it seems, allowed a critical view of one (or perhaps both) of the two queens to color his overall depiction of Dido’s ­character, and this worked to mar his portrait of both royal contemporaries. Significantly, both Marlowe and Byrd painted Cupid as a pivotal, monstrous figure in their dramas, promoting the view that Eros, more than anyone else, could be blamed for Dido’s suicide: “Love is not full of pity, as men say, / But deaf and cruel, where he means to prey (Dido, Queen of Carthage, II, 8).”44 But whereas Marlowe had possibly drawn Dido, in the guise of Mary, as a negative example and seemed potentially critical of both queens as he transformed them into a single base character, Byrd took things in nearly the opposite direction. After retrospectively identifying Mary herself as the psalmist speaking in “O Lord in thy wrath” (BE 13: 3), he then associated her with the great biblical heroine, Susanna (BE 13: 8), one of the most prominent positive images of the ill-fated Scottish queen. Finally, in the context of his story as a whole, where Cupid emerges as a more and more irresistible and dangerous force – and Mary is never portrayed as anything less than virtuous – Byrd rather audaciously elevated Mary’s status, through the Dido allusion, putting it nearly on a par with Elizabeth’s own, although allowing the auditor to note that Elizabeth, unlike Mary, had escaped the evil workings of Cupid and Fortune. One of Byrd’s aims in his 1588 and 1589 sequences, as I have suggested above and elsewhere, was to make connections between the deaths of Mary and Sidney.45 A depiction of Dido in the context of exposing Rich, Sidney’s great muse, in the story would serve such a design. But instead of sealing off a grand allusion along these lines Byrd attended to a more localized problem with the following song “I thought 40

Lisa Hopkins, Christopher Marlowe, Dramatist (Edinburgh, 2008), 187. Lisa Hopkins, “Was Marlowe Going to Scotland when he Died, and Does it Matter?” in Shakespeare, Marlowe, Jonson: New Directions in Biography, ed. Takashi Kozuka and J. R. Mulryne (Aldershot, 2006), 167–82, at 168. 42 Hopkins, “Was Marlowe Going to Scotland,” 169. 43 Hopkins, Christopher Marlowe, 187. 44 See Mary-Kay Gamel, “The Triumph of Cupid: Marlowe’s Dido Queen of Carthage,” American Journal of Philology 126 (2005): 613–22. 45 See my “William Byrd’s Fall from Grace and His First Solo Publication of 1588: A Shostakovian ‘Response to Just Criticism’?”, Music & Politics 1 (2007), www.music. ucsb.edu/projects/musicandpolitics/archive/2007-1/smith.html, accessed 30 January 2009. 41

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Ex. 8.8  BE 13: 32 “I thought that love,” mm. 1–3

&b

„

&b Ó V b w. I

Vb Ó ?b

Ó

˙ I

Ó

w. I

˙ I

„

˙

w

˙

w

thought

that

love

had

w

˙

bw

w

thought

that

thought

that

w

w

thought

˙

w

been

˙

„ w.

˙ a

boy,

w

love

had

been

˙ a

boy,

love

had

been

a

boy,

w

˙

bw

that

love

w w

had

˙ ˙

been

˙ ˙ a

w

Ó Ó

w.

boy,

that love had been a boy” (BE 13: 32).46 Introducing some welcome comic relief as he smoothly manipulated the multi-level framing mechanisms he had devised in this particular section, Byrd accomplishes two goals with this nearly fragmentary song – to cast a glance back at Dido with a memorial gesture, and to develop the ongoing tale about Rich, which forms the main subject of this section – as a way of moving matters forward. Alongside some delightfully abrupt shifts in harmony, especially among root position chords that move upwards or downwards a whole step, Byrd saturates “I thought that Love” with the very hemiolas and syncopations his listeners would associate readily with courtly dances of the era, specifically the galliard. Then, just as the rhythms conjure up images of dancers jauntily cavorting for these listeners, they encounter the sounds of a raucous group of singers (or one singer undergirded by viols), articulating such familiar topics of the sequence as old age, Cupid, and the idea that he could be treated not only as an element of the past, but also as a being distanced through his position in an artificial realm, in this case in the sphere of fairy tales. For those following Byrd’s restrictive use of E♭ over the course of the Songs set, the pronounced shift to this specific pitch on the word “love,” in the first line (m. 2), comes across as the most blatant example of Byrd’s linking expressive ideas across works through his pitch selection (see Ex. 8.8). Finally, as usual in this five-voiced section, Byrd places some further musical and textual allusions into this otherwise seemingly unpretentious song, all of which helps secure its transitional function in the narrative. 46

When John Bentley, a servant of one of Byrd’s patrons, John Petre, and one of the era’s more reliable music scribes, copied “I thought that Love” he attributed it to [Gregorie?] “Ballarde.” See David Mateer, “William Byrd, John Petre and Oxford, Bodleian MS Mus. Sch. E. 423,” Royal Musical Association Research Chronicle 29 (1996): 21–46, at 38–39, 43. Mateer suggests that this likely misattribution might relate to Petre’s dealings with the Pagets, who were also patrons of Byrd.

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Byrd brings “I thought that Love” to a close with a quotation of the Goodnight tune (mm. 11–21) that he and many others had arranged for instruments.47 The Goodnight itself, as a poetic kind made famous by George Gasciogne, often referred to death, even when indicating a time of simple departure for sleep, and was known to serve a commemorative function as a song of mourning.48 Byrd’s quote is clear but his exact purpose for making this reference is a bit difficult to interpret. Was it a subtle testimony to Mary? On the one hand, listeners aware of the popular tune would probably consider that whomever Dido represented originally, Byrd marked her passing in such a fashionable manner as to suggest strongly that a contemporary figure was involved. The same listeners would probably also note, on the other, that if the tune was meant to evoke anyone’s passing, it was oddly placed within Byrd’s distinctly comic setting. Byrd’s comedic element here involves both an imitation of a song from his Psalmes, Sonets, & songs of 1588, namely “Who likes to love” (BE12: 13), and a preview, or prompting allusion, to “O dear life” (BE 13: 33), which follows “I thought that Love” in the Songs sequence. The imitation was something he devised to set up the earlier-published work as a poetic and musical foil, one that made it appear, on the surface, that he had committed a series of errors in “I thought that Love.” But rather than revealing any incompetence, further study shows Byrd manipulating materials for the sake of the narrative, as the seeming faults only serve to highlight and anticipate the dramatic entrance, so to speak, of Thought, who becomes a ­feature character, as we shall see, in “O dear life.” Poetically, the “I thought” and “Who likes” verses share a common ababcc rhyme scheme with iambic accentuation, along with a pattern of uneven line lengths, namely 8, 4 (12), 8, 4 (12), 8, 8.49 Less conspicuously, but also significantly, the word “love” appears in the same emphatic position within the first line of both poems and Cupid is the star in each case. But at this point the likenesses cease to be so obvious: for whereas the four published stanzas of “Who likes to Love” present a complete story of Cupid’s disarmament (the same subject developed at length in the five-voiced section of the Songs as a whole), there is a notable lack of closure in “I thought that Love,” which has no additional stanzas beyond the one Byrd set to music in the printed editions. The unfinished quality of “I thought that Love,” combined with the tendency for so many other ababcc sextains that Byrd set to have been multi-stanzaic (no matter what their line-lengths), is surely what prompted Philip Brett to claim, in one of his first published articles on the consort song, that “Byrd clearly forgot to 47

Neighbour, “Byrd’s Treatment,” 416. See Harley, William Byrd, 193–94; Ward, ed., The Dublin Virginal Manuscript (London, 1983), 44–45. 48 See Jane Hedley, Power in Verse: Metaphor and Metonymy in the Renaissance Lyric (State College, PA, 1988), 68–69. On the cultivation of musical “good nights” and “good morrows” in the Sidney/Walsingham circle see Warwick Edwards, “The Walsingham Consort Books,” Music & Letters 55 (1974): 209–14. 49 Of all the poems Byrd set that are fully extant, “I thought that Love” and “Who likes to love” are the only two to follow this pattern of line lengths. However, “My Freedom, ah,” which survives without a text, seems to follow the same structure; see BE 15: 21.

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include further stanzas.”50 Yet there was a discernable point to leaving “I thought that Love” incomplete. Given only the past tense for the verb “think” in the first and only stanza supplied, the reader, if informed about what the speaker thought, is still left wondering what he or she is presently thinking. By leading him or her to seek a resolution elsewhere, “I thought that Love” pushes the auditor toward the moment, in Sidney’s “O dear life,” when Thought comes to life. When Thought does appear on the poetic stage, in “O dear life,” it does so dressed in a particular meter, trochaic tetrameter, which Sidney seems to have introduced to English letters and used for some 313 lines in the songs that appear at the close of his Astrophil & Stella.51 In an effort to call attention to this novel meter, Byrd broadcast it in his musical rhythms for “I thought that Love,” specifically by imposing it comically on his poet’s iambic lines. All of the signaling may seem excessive, but it was dramatically necessary, as Byrd was about to venture, via Thought, into the very minds of the Stella and Astrophil characters in order to refashion the latter as a noble lover.

S

STELLA SINGS (BE 13: 33)

et among the Sonnets and Songs on the theme of Absence, “O dear life” (the Tenth Song) finds Astrophil in the throes of a desperate situation in Sidney’s sequence. Although Stella had accepted his offer of love in the Eighth Song, it was only on the terms of “Tyran Honor.” Since this involved a rejection of his sexual advances (the abiding source of this character’s energia), Astrophil regards Honor as an enemy. It is to his imagination, or Thought, that Astrophil turns for satisfaction. Even there, however, a potential obstacle remains. Under her virtuous terms, Stella is protected by Astrophil’s image in her mind, as he holds there the place of the noble, idealized, lover (of a Neoplatonic cast) she had assigned to him in their earlier exchange. In Byrd’s song this is the very image – or noble being – that Astrophil will eventually become, but it is important, before considering the transformation, to consider what happens next in the little drama of Sidney’s making. As hopeless as the situation would seem for Astrophil, he eventually comes to realize that Absence, once deemed a traitor, might now serve his nefarious needs. Explicitly, in a search of Stella’s mind (in the opening stanza of “O dear life”) Astrophil discovers (in the first line of the second stanza) to his ironic delight that her noble Image of him is gone (because he has been forgotten). Thus emboldened, Astrophil mobilizes his randy companion, Thought, which finds itself suddenly free to “think” its way past the thankfully unmanned barrier to “bravely” and brazenly seduce an unwitting Stella in the following extraordinary concentration of sexually explicit lines (stanzas 5–7): 50

Philip Brett, “The English Consort Song, 1570–1625,” Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 88 (1961–1962): 73–88, at 77–78. 51 Ringler, ed., Poems of Sir Philip Sidney, xliii; Martin J. Duffell, A New History of English Metre (London, 2008), 128. Frank Fabry suggests that Sidney “discovered” the trochaic meter when he “followed [the] musical model” of Italianate music such as the frottola; see his “Sidney’s Poetry and Italian Song Form,” English Literary Renaissance 3 (1973): 232–48.

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Thinke of that most gratefull time When my leaping heart will climb, In thy lips to have his biding, There those roses for to kisse, Which do breathe a sugred blisse, Opening rubies, pearles diuiding. Thinke of my most princely pow’r, Which I blessed shall deuow’r With my greedy licorous sences, Beauty, musicke, sweetnesse, love, While she doth against me prove Her strong darts but weake defences. Thinke, thinke of those dalyings, When with dove-like murmurings, With glad moning, passed anguish, We change eyes, and hart for hart, Each to other do imparte, Joying till joy makes us languish.52 Soon Astrophil finds, however, that this state of “sugared bliss” cannot last. Thinking this way proves too much and so he bids, in stanza 8, O my Thought, my Thoughts surcease Thy delights, my woes increase. My life melts with too much thinking. Think no more, but die in me, Till thou shalt revivèd be; At her lips my nectar drinking.53 The song ends, thus, with Astrophil pleading to Stella for relief. But rather than respond to him as Astrophil desires, Stella uses her “lips” (apparently, as she does not speak in the sonnets of this section, only in the songs) to reveal (in Sonnet 39) that she had taken offense at his clever libertine foray. In expressing himself so freely Astrophil had breached a contract of honor and virtue, and his downward course is thereby set. For the rest of the sequence, as he moves from a state of grief to one of hellish sorrow, Astrophil only discovers to his overwhelming dismay that he will never satisfy his lust for Stella, even in his thoughts. Byrd, even though he surely knew Sidney’s tragicomic portrayal, follows a very different, somber, tack in his treatment of this pivotal verse. Casting the song in the new context of an Absence caused by the loss of Astrophil’s author and following a narrative line that begins with “Weeping full sore” and then runs through all of the songs of this five-voiced section, Byrd encourages his auditor, at the point where “O dear life” appears in his sequence, to reverse Astrophil and Stella’s respective roles. In Byrd’s version it is Stella, then, rather than Astrophil, who exclaims, in the first three stanzas 52 53

Ringler, ed., Poems of Sir Philip Sidney, 226–27. Ibid., 227.

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O deare Life, when shall it bee That mine eyes thine eyes shall see, And in them thy mind discover Whether absence have had force thy remembrance to divorce From the image of thy louer? Or if I my self find not, After parting aught forgot, Nor debar’d from Beauties treasure, Let not tongue aspire to tell In what high joyes I shall dwell; Only thought aymes at the pleasure. Thought, therefore, I will send thee To take up the place for me: Long I will not after tary, There unseene, thou mayst be bold, Those faire wonders to behold, Which in them my hopes do cary.54 Obviously Byrd had to make changes to the poem for it to serve such a different purpose. Two of these alterations – from “thy” to “my” in line 3 and from “Or” to “O” in line 7 –intensify the sense of absence, as it keeps the whole story confined to the thoughts of only one of the two lovers. What is perhaps more striking about the personal pronoun reversal, however, is that it does not otherwise affect the narrative. As Elizabeth Hull has argued extensively (and many others have pointed out), Astrophil and Stella’s identities become notably blurred over the course of the sequence, as the male character “remakes himself in Stella’s image in order to seduce ‘Stella’s self.’”55 From this identity-sharing perspective it seems less farfetched to imagine Stella  singing to Astrophil in the way he had sung to her, at least for the three stanzas Byrd includes. After those three stanzas the lines are nearly impossible to imagine in Stella’s voice, as they feature all too stereotypically the masculine approach to sexual congress as a military assay, with “princely power” set against “weak defences,” etc. But without those “Think”-headed stanzas, quoted above, and without the transitional fourth stanza – where Thought was told to “seize on all to her belonging” and to “feare [not] her beams (italics added)” – Byrd was left, as John Milsom recently shows, with a four-stanza version of Sidney’s poem that left the poetic speaker’s gender unspecified and one, too, that lacked the inappropriately masculine perspective of the other stanzas.56 To arrive at a workable poem for his purpose, Byrd, then, needed only to reduce its size: or –to put it in terms of the 54

Ibid., 225–26. Elizabeth M. Hull, “All My Deed But Copying Is: The Erotics of Identity in Astrophil and Stella,” Texas Studies in Literature and Language 2 (1996): 175–90, at 182. 56 Ringler, ed., Poems of Sir Philip Sidney, 226; John Milsom, “Byrd, Sidney, and the Art of Melting,” Early Music 31 (2003): 437–49. 55

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think/thought problem of “I thought that Love” discussed above – to remove some of the additional stanzas. Byrd was the first to bring any part of Sidney’s Tenth Song into print; and it is probably significant too that no extant manuscript versions of the poem have been proven to predate Byrd’s publication efforts.57 So for some time only a few of those approaching “O dear life” in their copies of the Songs would have any idea of the sexuality contained in the fullest version of the verse, at least until 1591, when the fourth stanza appeared in print, and then, without a doubt, in 1598, when the full poem was published. If, for most, Byrd’s purpose for the poem would surely have been puzzling, those of Sidney’s most intimate circle would have had some sense of the composer’s designs, especially after grasping that he had paraphrased the riddle of Sidney’s Sonnet 37 exposing Rich as Stella in the opening song, “Weeping full sore,” of the five-voiced section. But the intimacy Byrd evokes and encourages in this section presents another interpretive challenge: for how could he advance his narrative in a way that did not go further than had Astrophil in offending a Lady’s honor by associating her with verses of such an explicit nature?58 To clear himself of a charge of that kind, as well as to make his own points, Byrd, I contend, relied closely on the logic of Sidney’s poem in its original narrative setting. In Sidney’s version of “O dear life” Astrophil, as noted above, did not want to find his apostrophized image in Stella’s mind, because it functioned there as a gentlemanly barrier to his lust. Once the tables were turned, and with Sidney dead, Stella would have had a different but similarly compelling reason to search the mind of her lost lover. Crucial to Byrd’s version is the condition that the image Astrophil held of Stella was one of lust, for had he rejected it, Astrophil (as Sidney) would have achieved the “good death” that foretold a heavenly future. In this scenario, when “finde[ing] [her]self not” (l. 7) Stella could rejoice in the “treasure[s]” (l. 9), “hie Joyes” (l. 11), and “faire wonders” (l. 17) of Astrophil’s new “dwell[ing]” (l. 11) in heaven, where Stella “hope[d]” later to be “car[ried]” (l. 18). As we are left without Byrd’s explicit instructions about his intent for the poem, there is only internal evidence to support a reading where the characters are reversed. But with a striking use of the e♭” pitch on the word “Image” (l. 6), which the composer had used pointedly throughout the collection – and especially emphatically on the word “love” in “I thought that love” just before – Byrd rather securely identified lust or Eros as the being Stella represents in the mind of the male character (see Ex. 8.9). Obviously, for the altered reading to work, Sidney’s mischievous spirit had to be held in check. Indeed, musical comedy of the sort one might expect for a ­depiction 57 58

Milsom, “Byrd, Sidney, and the Art,” 439. As Elliot Simon explains, “Like Ronsard’s Cassandre, Isabeau, Penelope Rich would not have objected to being the subject of a brilliant ‘court entertainment’ in which her ‘celebrated virtue’ avoids adultery because she prevents Astrophil’s great passion from ever being consummated. Neither in the courtly love tradition nor in the social mores of Elizabeth’s court was the love of a married woman considered a moral fault, although it could become a serious social fault if it produced a public scandal.” Simon, The Myth of Sisyphus: Renaissance Theories of Human Perfectibility (Cranbury, NJ, 2007), 299.

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Ex. 8.9  BE 13: 33 “O dear life,” mm. 21–25

& b ∑

from

V b ˙.

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ver,

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of all the pranksterish deception and illicit sexual activity in “O dear life” is ­notably absent from this setting.59 So Byrd marshaled an impressive array of musical 59

In his Dazzling Images: The Masks of Sir Philip Sidney (Cranbury, NJ, 1991), Alan Hager describes the verse as a “bawdy description of sexual ecstasy” (p. 73); see also

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resources to set instead a consistent tone of “calmness” and “sensuousness,” as Milsom describes it.60 Noting the composer’s reliance on the relatively long-valued minim and semibreve rhythms, the general lack of “strong cadences,” and the mainly conjunct melodic lines that Byrd organizes into “asymmetrical musical phrases,” Milsom suggests that it all “blurs” together in a texture that is kept from “bland[ness]” only by Byrd’s conspicuous use of expressive dissonances, especially of the passing tone and suspension variety.61 In shifting the poetic voice and ignoring Sidney’s humorous approach to the topic, Byrd arguably took great liberties with the “O dear life” verse. But it would be wrong to claim that he showed a lack of literary sensitivity in his setting. Eventually a number of composers would tackle the “O dear life” stanzas in various combinations.62 But of them all, Byrd, it appears, was uniquely aware that Sidney had based his poem on the Gallican–Portuguese sextilla, a kind otherwise virtually unknown in England.63 Sidney preserved not only the distinctive trochaic tetrameter pattern of the sextilla, but also the aabccb rhyme scheme so common to many examples, and, perhaps most conspicuously, its typical mixture of hepta- and octosyllabic lines.64 Sidney reserved the seven-syllable formation for the third and last lines, which stand out structurally for the way they link together the aa and cc couplets. Byrd draws special attention to them too, not only by indicating with feminine cadences the weak endings of these lines (which other composers “corrected”), but also by reflecting the hinge-like function with a dramatic characterization of the parts, which further suggests Astrophil’s crucial turn to noble, Platonic love. For most of “O dear life” the superius, with its well-crafted melodies, stands well clear of the next lower part in the texture, while the remainder of the parts cluster together in a noticeably lower range. But Byrd, as John Stevens has noticed, assigns nonetheless a special structural role to the contratenor, which leads the superius in a series of imitative entries.65 However prominent, though, this superius–­ contratenor duet lasts only so long (mm. 1–11). Fatefully, at the end of the third line, Byrd draws another part, the tenor (lust?), into the limelight (mm. 13–15). Not Rudolph P. Almasy, “Stella and the Songs: Questions about the Composition of Astrophil and Stella,” South Atlantic Review 58 (1993): 1–17. 60 Milsom, “Byrd, Sidney, and the Art,” 444. 61 Ibid.,” 444. 62 John Ward and Robert Dowland also set portions of “O dear life”; see John Stevens, “Sir Philip Sidney and ‘Versified Music’: Melodies for Courtly Songs,” in The Well Enchanting Skill: Music, Poetry and Drama in the Culture of the Renaissance, ed. J. Caldwell, E. Olleson and S. Wollenberg (Oxford, 1990), 153–69, at 164; and Hager, Dazzling Images, 70. 63 As far as I have been able to discover, no one else has pointed out that Sidney used the Spanish poetic form of the sextilla in “O dear life.” I base the identification on Sidney’s translation of Psalm 26, which is also a sextilla, and which is closely analyzed by Suzanne Trill in her “‘In Poesie the mirrois of our Age’: The Countess of Pembroke’s ‘Sydnean’ Poetics,” in A Companion to Tudor Literature, ed. Kent Cartwright (Oxford, 2010), 428–43, at 435. 64 See Lewis Turco, The New Book of Forms: A Handbook of Poetics (Hanover, NH, 1986), 232. 65 Stevens, “‘Versified Music’,” 164.

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only does the tenor engage conspicuously in the imitative texture, here it repeats the full point of the superius. After this point the contratenor finds itself in a new role, that of follower, but only after Byrd creates an ever-thickening web where all the other parts participate in the full-textured development of a dotted-note motive (mm. 17–18). Indeed, as Byrd features the same dotted figure at the opening of both the fourth and the fifth line in all parts, the whole song moves, at this point, into a period of motet-like homogeneity rather foreign to the typical, pastoral, consort song: thus, like so many of the five-voiced works of this collection, this one too smacks of the mixed style so prevalent in the five-voiced section of the Songs. Nonetheless, Byrd saves for the contratenor one final, telling, moment of structural significance (see Ex. 8.9). It is the contratenor, not the tenor, which imitates the superius just at the point when Byrd approaches the long-awaited answer to the b rhyme (m. 23), now with the word “Image” ringing through the texture (if only in the first stanza, as discussed below). Anyone wishing to read the characters of Astrophil and Stella into the first stanza of “O dear life,” as contratenor and superius, respectively, would have little trouble seeing in this musical close the ultimate triumph for Stella’s view about “Tyran Honor,” with Astrophil longingly but firmly rejecting the dangerously lustful image of her in his mind, as he finally answers her line to bring the song to a close. The poignancy of the c minor harmony, with its flattened third in the superius, was surely only increased by Byrd’s otherwise calculatedly sparse use of E♭ throughout the set. Altogether this is, as Milsom shows and Philip Brett memorably describes it, a “climax … beautifully timed.”66 Thanks to the strophic form, in the second stanza it is “thought aymes” (l. 12) and, in the third, “them my” (l. 18) rather than the word “Image” that receive Byrd’s e♭”. Thought was clearly a sexually motivated character in Sidney’s original poem, and “them” refers to the “faire wonders” of the previous line, which in Sidney’s verse describes what leads this character toward such lustful feelings. Are these rejected too, or does a recalcitrantly licentious Astrophil (his old self, as it were) regain his role of poetic speaker? Even without the ambiguity, Byrd, it could easily be argued, faced a whole series of interpretive hazards upon reaching the end of “O dear life,” as many, in fact, as he had divisions in the audience he was trying to reach. First, there were those aware of his Sidniean references. Might they, for all Byrd’s tone-altering efforts, have interpreted his third stanza of “O dear life” as a teasing rather than an apotropaic gesture, one that pushed those in the know toward all the promiscuity instead of away from it? Especially after the mention of Elizabeth’s well-known stand-ins, Diana and Dido, courtiers of a loyal cast may have been concerned that Byrd had depicted, or might go on to depict, their Queen in the wrong light, sexually or otherwise. Similarly, Byrd’s fellow Catholics might have entertained concerns about the representation of Mary Queen of Scots in a section so preoccupied with lust. Additionally, the general public of Byrd’s time (and beyond), might have been drawn by now into the closure issue simply as a reaction to all the riddles, jokes, and displacements Byrd and his poet had inserted into the section; and those intrigued by his musical references, finally, might have 66

Brett, “Songs of William Byrd,” 81; Milsom, “Byrd, Sidney, and the Art,” 447.

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wondered if the composer would lead them any closer to an understanding of their inferences.

CLOSING THE FRAMES: LOVE, UNITY, AND A NEW TURN IN THE LAST THREE SONGS OF FIVE PARTS (BE 13: 34–37)

H

owever peculiar its separation from “See those sweet eyes” (BE 13: 29; its first part) Byrd’s placement of “Love would discharge” (BE 13: 34) directly after Sidney’s “O dear life” makes sense if read sequentially as a means of narrative clarification. In “Love would discharge” Cupid, as Eros, finds himself “constraynd” (l. 5) by the superior power of a true, and in the Neoplatonic sense, divine, beauty. Thus, with Cupid “discharge[ing] the dewty of his hart” (l. 1), any ambiguity over the question of whether (if not when) Sidney (as Astrophil) had indeed rebuffed the lustful “Image of [his] lover” evaporates, as Byrd closes one of his framing devices. For all its relevance to the Sidneian story, Byrd and his poet’s shift in object from Astrophil to Cupid in “Love would discharge” also brings the story back to something the general public might more readily follow. Cupid had stood as the negative counterpart to Christ throughout the Songs sequence, and would continue to do so until both carol refrains were completed by their verses. Thus the general auditor would find something both obvious and repetitive in Byrd’s move from “Love would discharge” to “From virgin’s womb this day did spring” (BE 13: 35), as the five-voiced section draws toward its close. Byrd announced in a header that “From virgin’s womb” was “A Carowle for Christmas day,” and he also explained that he had placed its “quire[,] … Reioyce” (BE 13: 24), appropriately in the prior section of “4. parts.” In keeping with his practice throughout the 1588 and 1589 printed volumes (and elsewhere), Byrd does not mention his source of the text or the poem’s author. In this case, though, there was little to hide. Francis Kinwelmersh’s “From virgin’s wombe” had long been prominently featured in a popular tract with special links to the Queen’s chapel, The paradise of daynty devices, which had been reprinted at least ten times during Byrd’s lifetime and had been mined by Byrd and others as material for musical settings.67 Kinwelmersh’s “From virgin’s wombe” itself is a fairly straightforward treatment of Christ’s earthly incarnation in iambic pentameter lines, if one still notable, perhaps, for the author’s technique of bringing concepts back into the discussion after their initial introduction.68 Overall, Kinwelmersh gave priority to the matter of salvation. Not surprisingly, even after introducing the topic of unity, in the second stanza, the poet returned to the theme of redemption, instructing his readers that Christ offered the “remedie” that man receives for “every deadly sinne” (ll. 10–11). 67

See Steven W. May, “William Hunnis and the 1577 Paradise of Dainty Devices,” Studies in Bibliography 28 (1975): 63–80. 68 For a succinct view of the way the Incarnation was viewed at this time, including the notion that it could have been prompted by something other than a remedy for sin, see Peter A. Fiore, “‘Account Mee Man’: The Incarnation in ‘Paradise Lost’,” Huntington Library Quarterly 39 (1975): 51–56. Edmund Spenser’s approach to the Christian and secular love in his Fowre Hymnes has close associations with Byrd’s; see John Mulryan, “Spenser as Mythologist: A Study of the Nativities of Cupid and Christ in the ‘Fowre Hymnes’,” Modern Language Studies 1 (1971): 13–16.

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Christ’s love, the topic of Kinwelmersh’s third stanza, was introduced in the second, along with unity; and Kinwelmersh ended the third stanza with a reference to unity as well (in the sense of peace), giving this latter-mentioned topic a certain prominence overall. But it was in stanza 3 that the poet recalled how love is “plast” (placed) (l.  13) and should be “embrast” (l.  15) and described God’s willingness “in us [to] dwell” (l. 16), which is often interpreted theologically as the most meaningful sign of His special devotion to mankind after the Fall. Christian love, if developed to a certain extent as a theme, does not return in the last stanza of the poem. In a section devoted to Christ’s “glor[ification]” (l. 19), Kinwelmersh offered instead an efficacious depiction of the worshipful and harmonious act of music-making, mentioning specifically the “Lute” and “Shalme [shawm]” (l. 23) as well as a “voyce [which could] like bells of silver ring” (l. 21). Because his choice to set and publish Kinwelmersh’s poem indicates as much, it is not surprising to discover here that Byrd’s view of the Incarnation, like the views of so many others, was primarily soteriological. Especially when looking ahead in the sequence, it becomes obvious that the composer had meant to emphasize throughout his Songs collection the element of redemption in his Christmas- and (of course in his) Easter-themed works, especially as the latter brought the collection to its triumphant conclusion. In its position at the end of the penultimate section of five-voiced songs, though, we may note that for all its emphasis on salvation, Kinwelmersh’s poem, at least as a carol text, stands out for its treatment of other, less frequently developed, Incarnation topics – love, unity, and (suitably glorifying) music – all of which could be seen to emerge as integral to Byrd’s narrative. For as he draws the five-voiced section to a close, Byrd offers a strong premonition that the love represented by Cupid is now quite defeated (although the god’s fate was yet to be settled), thanks to Christ and the Noble Lady. Then, finally, as he extols both of these characters for this grand accomplishment, Byrd provides a rationale for the mixed musical styles he used throughout the section, setting them up as the means of introducing one last narrative problem, which has to do with the matter of unification. “From virgin’s womb” opens with a fully contrapuntal pre-imitative point to set a rich motivic platform for the entrance of the medius (mm. 1–5). From that point forward, Byrd places the main melodic material in the medius, giving to all the other parts – except the superius, which provides various duet-like motivic answers – lines of a decidedly accompanimental cast. Thus the overall scoring hardly represents a departure from the consort song norm. Most pertinently, Byrd here leaves no doubt as to his scoring intentions, as he, for the first time in the sequence, provides underlay only for the medius part, leaving the other four parts free of all text except an incipit for reference, indicating unmistakably his view that they should be performed by instrumentalists.69 It would be wrong to view Byrd’s long-delayed directions for instrumental and vocal performance as a simple product of the sequence. A quick glance at the carol’s four-part burden, “Rejoice, rejoice” (BE 13: 24), with its extraordinarily high-­registered scoring for a decidedly (indeed, “angelically”) vocal ensemble, assures us that to ignore his directions would be tantamount to ruining the effect 69

See Kerman, Elizabethan Madrigal, 107.

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of contrast in this two-part carol as well as its clear-cut verse–refrain construction. Nonetheless, a new look at the two-song sonnet, “Of gold all burnished” | “Her breath is more sweet” (BE 13: 36–37), which follows directly upon “From virgin’s womb” in the collection, suggests Byrd had something similar in mind in terms of contrast to offer those approaching his songs sequentially. For a work that still awaits commercial recording, Byrd’s “Of gold” | “Her breath” has attracted a fair amount of interest and speculation. Mystified by its metrical peculiarities, Edmund Fellowes published a reconstruction of the poem, subtracting a syllable from each hendecasyllabic line that ends with a strong accent with the explanation that they “do not properly scan” according to the “strict rules of sonnet form.”70 Aware of Fellowes’s efforts, and noting certain thematic similarities in the two verses, Alfred Einstein proposed that Byrd’s poet had based “Of gold” on Petrarch’s sonnet “Erano I capei d’oro,” a work often compared to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130, “My mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun.”71 But Einstein found Byrd’s “inexplicable” setting “metrically so free” that he discouraged his readers from pursuing an otherwise seemingly promising idea (perhaps inspired by Fellowes): namely, that Byrd had originally set an Italian text before adapting it to an unwieldy English translation.72 More recently, David Mateer has brought a number of salient points to bear on the poetic imitation issue (see BE 13, p. xv). First, by noting the decidedly different way the authors of “Erano” and “Of gold” approached the poem’s object, the praiseworthy Lady, Mateer questions the likelihood that the imitation was in any way specific or precise. Secondly, he points out that what the poems do share – “a part-by-part praise of the woman’s body” – is what essentially defines a specific genre, or, as literary historians of this era usually have it, kind, the blazon, which had long been associated with Petrarch. This condition suggests that, whatever its source, it would have been unnecessary for any but the true novice to seek a particular example for instructive imitation; and, for the same reason, any attempt to make noticeable and specific poetic allusions across language barriers might have been deemed hopeless. As far as meter is concerned, poets close to Byrd who were involved with musical settings, as Mateer points out, were demonstrably aware of the need to end their lines with weak accents when translating Italian sonnets of (or including) eleven-syllable lines, as the translated sonnets of the time indicate. Thus when Byrd’s poet “introduce[d] as many masculine endings [into “Of gold” | “Her breath”] as possible” it was probably not out of some sense of “freedom” or incompetence, but rather the result of an intentional plan, one that in fact cost him or her “considerable pains.” From all this it is fairly easy to propose the following: in the process of imitating a familiar Italianate kind – rather than any specific verse – Byrd’s poet just as obviously introduced a foreign metrical element, pitting ­distinctive native traits against the Italianate. As far as the music is concerned, there has never been anyone to question that “Of gold” | “Her breath” is made up of “five singing parts” (italics added), as John 70

Edmund H. Fellowes, English Madrigal Verse, 1588–1632 (Oxford, 1920), 256. Alfred Einstein, “The Elizabethan Madrigal and Musica Transalpina,” Music & Letters 25 (1944): 66–77, at 68. 72 Ibid., 68. 71

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&b &b

Ex. 8.10  BE 13: 36, “Of gold all burnished” and BE 6b: 13, “Quem terra, pontus” a. BE 13: 36, mm. 1–2

„ „

&b &b

Vb ˙ V b Of˙ Vb Vb

Of

„ „

œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ gold all burn gold

all

?b ? b

„ „

Of

˙ ˙ ish'd,

-

„ „

Quem

„ „

-

˙ ˙ ish'd,

burn - ish'd,

all

œ œ ˙ gold œ allœ burn ˙ gold all burn Ó Ó

-

˙ ish'd, ˙ ish'd, Œ œ Œ œ and

Of

œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ gold all burn gold œ #allœ burn ˙ œ #œ ˙ gold

all

burn - ish'd, and

Of

gold

all

burn - ish'd, and

˙ ˙ Of

burn - ish'd,

˙ ˙

Of

-

#˙ #˙ ish'd,

and

œ œ œ œ

- ish'd,

b. BE 6b: 13, mm. 1–2

Vb ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ terœ - ra,œ pon V b Quem - tus, ? ? bb

gold

˙ Of ˙ Of ∑ ∑

„ „

&b &b

œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ gold all burn

˙ ˙ Of

ter - ra, pon - tus,

˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ Quem ter - ra, pon - tus, œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙

Quem

˙ ˙

ter - ra, pon - tus,

Quem

ter - ra, pon - tus,

Quem

ter - ra, pon - tus,

˙ ˙

Quem Quem

˙ ˙

œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ter - ra, pon - tus, ter - ra, pon - tus,

Harley remarks.73 It stands in vivid contrast to the partly instrumental 1 + 4 consort song style. Byrd later used a nearly identical opening gesture in his setting of the Marian hymn, “Quem terra, pontus” (see Ex. 8.10).74 73

John Harley, William Byrd: Gentleman of the Chapel Royal (Aldershot, 1997), 295. See also Kerman, Elizabethan Madrigal, 114; and Neighbour, “Byrd’s Treatment,” 116. 74 Kerman, Masses and Motets, 330; Brett, ed., BE 6b: 13, and p. ix. It is conceivable that Byrd had composed the hymn earlier, though this seems unlikely.

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In the “Of gold” | “Her breath” sonnet, a key literary feature, the turn (volta), involves the rather standard depiction and reaction of the Petrarchan male lover. After all the perfections of a Divine Beauty are extolled and seemingly exhausted, the poem ends, conventionally, in a mood of profound frustration. In the typical Petrarchan (Italianate) sonnet, the turn would appear at the start of the sestet. English sonneteers usually saved it for the final couplet. Intriguingly, Byrd’s poet placed the turn of the “Of gold” sonnet at the start of the second tercet of the sestet (l. 12), as something of an international compromise; and by inverting the opening motive of “Of gold” to start the “Her breath” sestet and augmenting the same inverted motive at the start of the second tercet, Byrd shows his awareness of both the problem and the apparent “solution.” Did Byrd encourage his audience to see a similar turn in his contrasting musical styles? On one level there was a politique opportunity here. Although he used at the start of “O gold” a motive that he also found suitable for a Catholic devotional text, Kinwelmersh’s poem was obviously designed for Protestant consumption. Indeed, as Byrd’s verse–refrain structure itself would emerge as a hallmark of the English Protestant verse anthem, the composer would seem to have presented at the close of this section a rather stark contrast between the most characteristic devotional musical styles that his countrymen knew to associate with those worshipping on two distinctly different sides of the confessional divide. But the carol, as Byrd surely expected many to know as well, was a musical kind that had survived the Reformation, and thus it enjoyed a prominent place in the devotional life of England’s own Catholic past. Points of continuity such as this are just the kind of material that Byrd uses to make points for the value of the Old Faith in his following songs à 6. But at the end of the songs for five voices Byrd meant instead to underscore all the points of contrast. Indeed, the musical styles exhibited at the end of this section are arguably as different as he seemed capable of making them, at least in terms of vocal and instrumental conception. But what the right interpretation of the relationship among the distinct styles might be, and thus the matter of what precisely the audience should see as necessary for achieving some acceptable status of unity, at least at this point, remains open. One matter is well settled, however. As mentioned at the opening of this chapter, Byrd and his poet, through the reuse of the words “red,” “white,” “silver” (BE 13: 36, ll. 5–6), and “Adamant” (BE 13: 37, l. 5), had created links between the first song of the five-voiced section, “Weeping full sore” and the concluding sonnet “Of gold” | “Her breath.” The repetition of the Devereux heraldic colors confirmed (for those able to sort this out) that it was Penelope Rich née Devereux who was “weeping full sore” at the opening of the section, and she was the one, at the end – or one of the ones, as we eventually discover – who possessed a heart fully insulated from the corruption of lust. The musico-poetic portrayal of Rich’s character in the section overall was not as static as the first and last depictions of her suggest. Reflected in Homer’s Penelope as a negative example, led through the anguishes of Penelope, Shore’s wife, and Dido, and re-evoked through framing devices and fictional settings, Rich would ultimately take the auditor into a realm as rare and intimate as Sidney’s final thoughts as he rejected the image of lust – or worldly vanity – she there represented. At this point Byrd’s picture of Sidney’s good death was nearly complete. In

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his songs for six parts he could then turn directly, at long last, to a full-scale depiction of “brotherly love” to celebrate his soul’s victory. Although this would seem to draw the story to a happy close, Byrd went on instead to develop one last scene of tension and conquest, taking us on a dramatic but theologically grounded journey into the very underworld he had so often alluded to throughout the sequence.

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Chapter 9

Songs of Six Parts

A

s we move into the final section of Byrd’s Songs of sundrie natures it is worth stepping back from the topical stories discussed thus far, involving Mary Queen of Scots and Sir Philip Sidney, to note that this is a collection that begins with biblical material in the songs in three parts and ends with a six-voiced depiction of the Resurrection, in “Christ rising again” | “Christ is risen again” (BE 13: 46–47). It is, in many ways, a satisfying way to draw things to a close, the gradual shift from few to many voices representing a long but grand crescendo that finds its natural climax in the most sublime and hope-inspiring moment of Christ’s story. Just as impressively, by the end, through tried and true methods of royal panegyric – moving from royal flattery to royal instruction – Byrd, as we shall see, also takes a position on national policy that is as effectively composed and persuasively presented as any other at the time. With such seemingly disparate material as holy oils, jester-like figures, homilies, purification rites for women after childbirth, and Christ’s activities in the afterlife prior to his resurrection, Byrd draws together a strong theologically and socially grounded defense of the Old Ways. Musicians who stood in or near the political spotlight knew from experience that they must choose their texts carefully. The addition of music to a text nearly automatically enhanced its rhetorical effect. But Byrd did more than simply amplify the communicative impact of well chosen words with melodies, rhythms, and harmonies. Indeed, in this six-voiced section he demonstrated in ways that were more pronounced than elsewhere how effectively he could use musical means to push an argument toward one lexical detail or away from another, to develop an oppositional force against the tide of the text, or even to change its meaning altogether. Most impressively, Byrd brought to completion certain musical ideas and themes that he had slowly unfolded across  this entire set of songs,  from the first threevoiced works to the very last “Amen” of his final verse anthem.  Thematically, Byrd begins his section of six-voiced songs with a depiction of brotherly love, in “Behold how good a thing” | “And as the pleasant morning dew” (BE 13: 38–39), offering once and for all the solution to problems he had developed earlier that pitted Sidney, the hero of the second part of the story, against Cupid, who represents sinful lust. But here Byrd also introduces the topic of holy oils, both to establish a Catholic agenda and also to flatter the Queen as an “anointed one.” He then moves to a carol verse, “An earthly tree a heavenly fruit” (BE 13: 40), where he reiterates Christ’s role as a savior. Elizabeth is further evoked here too, as a Christ-like figure. When Byrd then turns to the realm of nymphs and shepherds, in “Who made thee Hob forsake the plough?” (BE 13: 41), “And think ye nymphs?” | “Love is a fit of pleasure” (BE 13: 42–43), it is to dismiss Cupid altogether in the pastoral realm where he had entered the story. In the process of eliminating this character, Byrd also sets himself up as a spokesman for elements of the Catholic cause in a way that would serve his purposes for the remainder of the six-voiced section.

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Now, with Byrd’s opponents, the puritan faction, functioning implicitly as the antagonists, and with Satan replacing Cupid as the sole representation of evil, Byrd focuses on the Admonishment controversy, the debate over the conservative contents of the English Book of Common Prayer, which by 1589 had been raging in various ways for seventeen years. In “If in thine heart” (BE 13: 44), “Unto the hills mine eyes I lift” (BE 13: 45) along with “If in thine” and “Christ rising again” | “Christ is risen again” (BE 13: 46–47), Byrd picks up on three of the most prominent topics of the ongoing dispute – the read homily, the churching of women, and the Harrowing of Hell, respectively – using musical and textual means to show himself to be closer to the Queen’s views than his opponents as he defends a Catholic position.

FROM BROTHERLY LOVE AND CHRISM TO CHRIST AND THE SALVATION (BE 13: 38–40)

B

yrd opens the six-voiced section of his Songs of sundrie natures with the musically ebullient “Behold how good a thing” | “And as the pleasant morning dew” (BE 13: 38–39): a pair, as the conjunction “[a]nd” indicates, of linked partsong settings based on a single psalm, an anonymous English metrical translation of Psalm 133, with “Behold how good” containing renditions of the first two verses and “And as the pleasant” the third. Almost every time he deals with metrical psalm translations such as these Byrd restricts himself to just two rhymed fourteener lines (couplets), as he does here for his “Behold how good” setting. This pairing represents the only case, however, where he extends his treatment of a psalm further to include an additional couplet. As several commentators have noted, Byrd crafts here something rather notably exuberant and extensive in the process. In a study of the composer’s modal approaches John Harley focuses on the unusually expanded range of the melodies of this pair, which he sees as arising from Byrd’s wish to “intensify” the text, to “prefigure” and “at last illustrate” the “precious balm falling from Aaron’s head.”1 In a study of Byrd’s partsong style, it is the “liveliness” overall that Oliver Neighbour emphasizes when he describes the paired songs as “very free” while characterizing their episodic texture as “eventful,” and even dramatic, in the way that the voices “gradually unite to build an impressive close.”2 As Roger Bray observes, it is rare to find Byrd tackling any of the uplifting verses of the Psalter in English at this stage of his career, which may help explain the vividness of the descriptions cited above.3 But however unusual it was for the composer to choose optimistic biblical texts and revel in their spirit, his reason for engineering such a drastic shift in tone within the Songs is perhaps as obvious as the change itself, especially if we consider the point at which the collection begins. 1

John Harley, William Byrd’s Modal Practice (Aldershot, 2005), 74. Oliver Neighbour, “Byrd’s Treatment of Verse in his Partsongs,” Early Music 31 (2003): 412–16, 418–22, at 415. 3 Roger Bray, “William Byrd’s English Psalms,” in Psalms in the Early Modern World, ed. Linda Austern, Kari Boyd McBride, and David L Orvis (Aldershot, 2011), 61–76. 2

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Earlier in the set Byrd takes his auditors through the darkest parts of the Psalter, and the dangers of worldly love. At the outset of the six-voiced section, with his settings of Psalm 133 overtly praising concord in the guise of brotherly love, he suggested to a post-Reformation English audience immersed in the psalms just what they should do to put their problems behind them. To a certain extent, in this two-song introduction Byrd establishes from the start a mood appropriate for a comedic, happy ending in the Aristotelian sense, one with conflicts resolved, tensions released, and the character of evil – once masked, feared, and misunderstood – now to be properly dispensed with after being fully exposed for all its dangers.4 Had Byrd established Cupid as the only prominent character throughout his story, it would have been fitting for him to present here a comedic denouement, as Eros was decidedly ignoble, even if he was superhuman, and thus he could be overcome by the dismissive means of a happy ending. But Byrd had by this point already placed in his story a number of contemporary figures of a high rank more typical of a tragedy’s cast, such as Sir Philip Sidney, Lady Penelope Rich, Mary Queen of Scots, and Elizabeth, England’s reigning queen. Finally, this was a story as well about Jesus, who, as all Christians knew, had gone through forty Lenten days of near starvation and temptation before the time of his death and revivification. For these reasons Byrd’s setting of Psalm 133 had to contain a certain amount of tension along with all its “comic” jubilation. Indeed, however well everything turned out, in this section there was a death to consider as well as an uplifting resurrection, and Byrd seemed clearly seemed interested in keeping up the element of suspense right until the very end. In musico-literary terms, Byrd captures part of the covert tension and complexity of the closing portion of this story in his approach to the scented oils used, among other things, to anoint priests, kings, and baptismal candidates, as well as the sick and dying, which is especially highlighted in Psalm 133 and which also relates to several subplots in Byrd’s story. For the main plot, the pivotal aspect of Psalm 133 lies in its association with an ennobling form of love and particularly in the way it reflects Jesus’s “new commandment … as I have loved you, that ye also love one another” (John 13:34).5 Byrd’s shift from lustful Cupid to the brotherly love of Christ was well anticipated. Not much earlier in the set, in the text of the carol “From virgin’s womb” (BE 13: 35), the composer had made it clear that Christ was the “Author of sweet unitie” (l. 17) in a “flock” where “love” was “surely plast” (l. 13) and “so embrast” (l. 15). Thus, as was fitting for a conclusion, “Behold how good” | “And as the pleasant” confirmed the story’s position: that Christian love stands opposed to that offered by Eros. What makes the song pair seem so triumphant, despite the potentially spoiling effect of so much anticipation, is the sense we have at this point in the narrative that the poetic speaker has only now fully accepted Christ’s love over 4

See Jonathan Hart, “The Ends of Renaissance Comedy,” in Reading the Renaissance: Culture, Poetics, and Drama, ed. Jonathan Hart (New York, 1996), 91–128. 5 A number of Byrd’s contemporaries and predecessors, including Thomas Tallis, John Taverner, and John Sheppard, set the New Commandment as an anthem; see James Wrightson, ed., The Wanley Manuscripts, Part 1, Recent Researches in Music of the Renaissance 99 (Madison, 1995), 37–38, 143–45, 127–28.

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Cupid’s. What makes it all somewhat tense, nonetheless, is the projected notion that this preferable love demands some form of brotherly unification. A call for peace and concord had relevance to Byrd’s narrative on both an individualistic and a corporate level. By the end of the songs à 5, few at the time, at least among the initiated, would have any doubt that Byrd was retelling in this Songs collection an individualized story about Sidney and his good death. By exposing Love as related to a special “vanity” of Sidney’s, as represented by Penelope Rich, Byrd had supplied just the detail that would focus attention on the poet. Crucially, as George Gifford, who was with Sidney in his final days, had documented, Sidney had also forgiven and been reconciled with his enemies before his passing.6 Thus, with all their optimism and exuberant spirit, Byrd’s first two songs of the six-voiced section could easily be seen to celebrate Sidney’s fulfillment of a key condition of a good death that foretold a heavenly reward. Yet, for all that, Sidney was hardly treated here as a simple individual. Even though it could be used quite differently at the time – uniting monks in a single purpose or uniting rebels against a common enemy, as in Girolamo Savonarola’s Florence – Psalm 133 had long served as an irenic call for unity on a grand scale in the post-Reformation era, as typified most famously, perhaps, by Ludwig Senfl’s Ecce quam bonum, a staatsmotet, which was performed at the epoch-making inauguration of the 1530 Diet of Augsburg.7 As they were ostensibly there to try to resolve certain internal Christian conflicts under the growing Islamic threat of the Ottoman Emperor, those attending the 1530 Diet could not have failed to grasp the unifying message embedded in Senfl’s music. Nor would Englishmen in 1589 with any political awareness have needed much to remind them about the ongoing strife over their own confessional differences either, especially after the defeat of the Spanish Armada, Pope Sixtus V’s 1588 reinstitution of the 1570 bull against Elizabeth, and Mary Queen of Scots’s execution, on the one hand, and the sequestration of Archbishop Edmund Grindal, the Admonition controversy over the contents of the Book of Common Prayer (1572–76), and a vicious opening salvo from the pseudonymous Martin Marprelate (1588–89) attacking the Elizabethan Settlement from the puritanical side, on the other.8 But for all that, Byrd’s audiences would still need to be prompted in some 6

George Gifford, “The Manner of Sir Philip Sidney’s Death,” in The Miscellaneous Prose of Sir Philip Sidney, ed. Katherine Duncan-Jones and Jan Van Dorsten (Oxford, 1973), 161–71; Brett Usher, “Gifford, George (1547/8-1600),” in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/ article/10658, accessed 20 March 2014. 7 Patrick Macey, “The Lauda and the Cult of Savonarola,” Renaissance Quarterly 45 (1992): 439–83; Rebecca Wagner Oettinger, “Ludwig Senfl and the Judas Trope: Composition and Religious Toleration at the Bavarian Court,” Early Music History 20 (2001): 199–25, at 213; Robert Kolb, “Augsburg 1530: German Lutheran Interpretations of the Diet of Augsburg to 1577,” Sixteenth Century Journal 11 (1980): 47–61. 8 On Catholic matters see the essays in Catholics and the ‘Protestant Nation’: Religious Politics and Identity in Early Modern England, ed. Ethan H. Shagan (Manchester, 2005). On the Protestant side see Patrick Collinson, Archbishop Grindal, 1519–1583: The Struggle for a Reformed Church (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1979); Donald Joseph McGinn, The Admonition Controversy (New Brunswick, 1949); Joseph Black, “The Rhetoric of Reaction: The Martin Marprelate Tracts (1588–89), Anti- Martinism,

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way about the subject of religious turmoil when consulting something as seemingly benign as a book of music. Thus, to set the stage for a true call for unity, Byrd, it would seem, was compelled to find within his lexical and musical material the means of depicting a divided state. Perhaps it was inevitable, given his profession and his potentially dangerous position as a member of the minority Catholic faith, that he would choose compositional techniques of an ambiguous nature for such a task. At the close of his songs for five parts Byrd placed a sonnet-blazon after a carol (BE 13: 35, 36–37), which, admittedly, would seem a fairly unremarkable juxtaposition in a collection billed as sundry. But for those approaching the songs sequentially, the contrast effect would be quite notable, as the scoring is obviously distinct, with one decidedly vocal work appearing directly after another that is unambiguously set with instruments in the 1 + 4 style of the consort song. Because Byrd casts the sonnet in a musical style appropriate for a Catholic hymn (since at another point he adopted it for just such a purpose), and because his carol conforms very much to the style of a Protestant verse anthem – of the very kind that Byrd, as a member of the Chapel Royal, had helped to establish – it might have seemed to some that England’s two major religions were represented quite distinctly at the end of Byrd’s songs of five parts. For those auditors unaware of such musico-religious stylistic differences, the implications of Byrd’s juxtaposition of song types would have been difficult to grasp. But to those tracking carefully his musical allusions as reflected in his stylistic choices, the contrast would have been conspicuous. It was through his manipulation of various mimetic and metaphorical expressions of dichotomy and unity in music of six parts that Byrd would suggest to such a select audience just how divergent forces represented by these styles might be brought together, all the while keeping the story moving along on its more obvious course. At first glance it would seem that Byrd went to considerable trouble in “Behold how good” | “And as the pleasant” just to emphasize all the kinds of unity in duality that a six-voiced work (divided into two songs) could portray. The listener first encounters the sound of two voices of the same range, echoing each other in drawn out imitations on a motive featuring an initial leap of a fifth (mm. 1–6). That the contratenor then opens with a leap of a fourth instead of a fifth would seem at first to disrupt the scheme (m. 3). But soon thereafter the same fourth appears as the opening interval for two other voices, offering Byrd the means to create a harmoniously dovetailing three-against-three duality. Thus, all in all, the imitation in the first point could be seen throughout as quite regular and – even though thoroughly conventional and therefore seemingly inadvertent – suggestive of various kinds of unification. After this, however, Byrd loosens matters up considerably, especially in regard to the sextus part, which seems thereafter to be the least able to follow any illustrative scheme correctly. and the Uses of Print in Early Modern England,” Sixteenth Century Journal 28 (1997): 707–25. And for a treatment of both in tandem see Peter Lake, “A Tale of Two Episcopal Surveys: The Strange Fates of Edmund Grindal and Cuthbert Mayne Revisited: The Prothero Lecture,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 18 (2008): 129–63.

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By improperly anticipating some motives (mm. 8, 15–16), not participating in the development of others (m. 11), and generally standing out as a nonconformist in various ways, Byrd’s sextus behaves, after the first point, like the prominently errant altus of the Netherlands master Josquin Desprez’s seminal Ave Maria … virgo serena of many years before.9 When, during reduced-scoring cells, Byrd’s sextus fails, for example, to exit the texture certain imbalances emerge (mm. 39–40), just as they do in Josquin’s motet; and when these cells open with passages of three voices, and thus would seem to invite answers by another three, the four-againstthree relationship that obtains seems all the more strikingly amiss and distanced from the looked-for metaphorical depiction of harmoniousness (mm. 33–41). These seeming sextus “errors” do not sound inappropriate. Rather, they exuberantly fill out the texture as they add, surely for some listeners, an element of (attention seeking) playfulness to the generally joyous spirit of the works at hand. Furthermore, Byrd uses other means to make points about unity per se, representing the idea of concord, for example, most noticeably in his use of the same rhythmic motive for the first point of “Behold how good” – where the word “agree” is featured (l. 1, mm. 1–10) – and the second point of “And as the pleasant” for its key words, “as God will blesse where concord is” (l. 2, mm. 57–65, italics added). So a spirit of festive coming together is hardly nullified in Byrd’s setting. But it is still possible to see in these musical freedoms Byrd’s means of depicting something of a work in progress when it came to the ultimate goal of reaching a state of true and complete concord. Such might explain the unusual situation wherein two among the most astute of Byrd’s modern critics, namely Edward J. Dent and Joseph Kerman, disagreed on a basic point about the texture. Dent claimed, with considerable elucidation, that this was a song-pair with a “main melody … divided among two chief singers,” whereas Kerman avers, more tersely but still rather emphatically, that the same two-part work “seems to have lost all trace of a ‘first singing part,’ or two of them in duet” (italics added).10 Some confusion is warranted, as Dent’s so-called “chief singers” do stand out at times as leading figures, yet, at other times, present material rather difficult to hear and thus, arguably, to follow. Again, the overall buoyant spirit of the work is not necessarily hindered by any such moments of vagueness: it all contributes in various ways to the joyous effect. But the problem of musical leadership does seem rather acute at the point where Byrd decided to make distinctive jumps of a fourth followed by a fifth, and then an octave – all for the leap-inviting text “the Mountaines” (l.  1) in “And as the pleasant” (mm. 49–52). Although these skips upward are indeed significant structurally, they are difficult to grasp as pointers when the two leading voices cover each other rather systematically at the point of initiation. All this amorphousness leads to the question of whether something other than fratres in unum – for all its importance – had occupied Byrd’s mind as he planned his setting. A look back in the sequence suggests, in fact, that Byrd had 9

See Cristle Collins Judd, “Some Problems of Pre-Baroque Analysis: An Examination of Josquin’s ‘Ave Maria . . . Virgo Serena,’” Music Analysis 4 (1985): 201–27, 229–39. 10 Edward J. Dent, “The Musical Form of the Madrigal,” Music & Letters 11 (1930): 230–40, at 240; Joseph Kerman, The Elizabethan Madrigal: A Comparative Study (New York, 1962), 115.

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other ideas he wished to communicate and other connections he wished to draw out with this song pair. In this light, it is significant that the leaps depicting mountains are one of two motives that the six-voiced pair have in common with Byrd’s three-part setting of “Right blest” (BE 13: 2), a metrical translation of the opening lines of Psalm 32 (see Ex. 6.2). “Right blest” is, along with “Behold how good” | “And as the pleasant,” that special rarity of the time: an uplifting psalm text set by Byrd, although in fact this may have been somewhat contrived. In the complete version of Psalm 32 there is mention of God’s “heavy hand” and “great plagues” and the psalmist’s inevitable, dark “unrighteousness,” all of which help classify it as penitential. But none of that negativity appears in its first two lines, which are the only lines that Byrd’s poet provided for the composer. Byrd therefore enjoyed here an opportunity to be optimistic even in a penitential setting, although he may still have been somewhat mindful of the sorrowful context of the entire section (as well as the dramatic need to keep things under restraint so as not to steal any thunder from his conclusion), for, notably, he did not alter the range in his melodies so expansively as he had in “Behold how good” | “And as the pleasant.” As discussed in Chapter 6 above, though, in “Right blest” Byrd features the same kinds of robust leaps and scalar flourishes that he includes in his settings of the three lines of Psalm 133. Indeed, by moving from a fourth, to a fifth, to an octave leap in close succession with these motives in the latter, he imitates the progression with a certain precision. Even more significant to Byrd’s story, however, is the sudden burst of dotted notes and eighth notes moving stepwise up an octave to the phrase “full lyke unto the pretious balme” (l. 3) of “Behold how good,” for it is the same basic musical material he had used to set the words “in his sprit” (l. 4) of “Right blest.” Along with the dove, one of the most widely known symbols for the Holy Spirit is the oil of anointment or “pretious balme,” which was in fact embedded in the name “Christ” (the anointed one), who had echoed the words of Isaiah in proclaiming, “the spirit of the Lord is upon me; therefore, He has anointed me” (Luke 4:18). Used inter alia for the sick and the dying, for the consecration of a church, the coronation of a king, and indeed for all who had been baptized in the name of Christ, these oils would have brought many of the treasured sacraments to the minds of Byrd’s English Catholic auditors.11 For them the oils evoked Maundy Thursday, the day of the Chrism Mass, which marks the end of Jesus’s long Lenten period of intermittent satanic temptation. In the days before the Reformation this feast day was celebrated in England with a glorious Procession of Oils, a ritual rubricated in English sources to include special features that set it apart from Continental rites and practices.12 Byrd thus had special theological reasons, as a 11

See Jean-Pierre Albert, Odeurs de sainteté: La mythologie chrétienne des aromates, Recherches d’histoire et de sciences sociales 42 (Paris, 1990). 12 See Christopher A. Jones, “The Origins of the ‘Sarum’ Chrism Mass at EleventhCentury Christ Church, Canterbury,” Mediaeval Studies 67 (2005): 219–315; and idem, “The Chrism Mass in Later Anglo-Saxon England,” in The Liturgy of the Late Anglo-Saxon Church, ed. Helen Gittos and M. Bradford Bedingfield, Henry Bradshaw Society Subsidia 5 (London, 2005), 105–42.

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Catholic, for ­bringing out this theme, which occupied him even to the point of creating a link between the “pretious balme” he emphasized in a six-voiced song and its symbol of “sprit” he had depicted from a sequential distance as far away as the songs of three parts. Unlike their Catholic counterparts, English Protestants, however, might have been confused by Byrd’s emphasis on chrism in “Behold how good” | “And as the pleasant.” Oils had not fared well in the Reformation. In condemning them Bishop John Jewell went so far as to exclaim, “He that seeketh salvation in oil, loseth his salvation in Christ and hath no part in the Kingdom of God” while others voiced defamatory gibes about “stinking popish oils” and “grease pot” containers.13 It is therefore not surprising to find that all references to the oils had been removed from the Book of Common Prayer by 1552; and that George Gifford, the puritan priest, had surely not anointed Sidney on his deathbed.14 One English Protestant had unquestionably been anointed, however, and with great fanfare. For, as Christ was a king, so Elizabeth had been specially anointed as queen, as one “sharing in the holiness of God.”15 From the time of Richard II, nothing had been changed in England’s consecration rituals, and thus all the references to oils that had been fully eliminated from the Book of Common Prayer had been fully preserved in the Liber regalis.16 In the seventh century St. Isidore of Seville had claimed that it was “on the orders of the Lord [that] Moses made up an ointment of chrism with which Aaron and his sons were anointed and signed with their holy priesthood. Then kings were consecrated with the same chrism; and for that reason they were called christs.”17 As did so many kings and queens before her and after, Elizabeth relied on Isidore’s lofty conception of monarchs as Christs, and so apparently did most of her subjects. Up to the time of the English Civil War and the execution of Charles I Englishmen either understood Isidore to be correct or kept their views to the contrary as far hidden as possible.18 It is telling in this light that the Oil of Gladness espoused in the psalm spread downward to the masses, even if symbolically. By emphasizing the flow, Byrd celebrated Elizabeth’s success as well as that of the English people, which was one likely reason why he put so much emphasis on the movements up and down in this pair of songs. The chance to evoke Psalm 133 in this royally allusive way represented something of a political coup for the composer. It allowed him to honor the Queen along with her subjects while still making a case for his own side, that is, for the 13

F. J. Taylor, “The Anglican Doctrine of Confirmation in the Sixteenth-Century,” Churchman 60 (1946): 3–14, at 5. 14 Gifford, “Manner of Sir Philip Sidney’s Death.” 15 Robert Earl Hood, Must God Remain Greek?: Afro Cultures and God-Talk (Minneapolis, 1990), 153. 16 Edward O. Smith, Jr., “Crown and Commonwealth: A Study in the Official Elizabethan Doctrine of the Prince,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, n.s. 66 (1976): 1–51, at 5. 17 Henri de Lubac, The Splendor of the Church (San Francisco, 1999), 134 n34. 18 See Robert Zaller, “Breaking the Vessels: The Desacralization of Monarchy in Early Modern England,” Sixteenth Century Journal 29 (1998): 757–78, at 757–59.

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English Catholics who wished to use the oils more generally and opposed their removal from the Book of Common Prayer. Already at this point, then, Byrd was reaching out to Elizabeth in the most flattering way imaginable, reminding her of values she and he shared, as he continued to use Christological typology as a means of shifting perspectives in his narrative. It was in this panegyric spirit, I believe, that Byrd chose “An earthly tree a heavenly fruit” (BE 13: 40) as the next song in his sequence. This was a verse that tended only to emphasize for Byrd’s auditors the idea of kingship implied by “pretious balm.” Not only is there a reference in this verse to “a crowne immortall” (l. 2) and a “crowne of crownes” (l. 3) it also speaks of a “king” (l. 3) and a “race before” (l. 4). Although he stops short of gauchely naming her as such explicitly, Byrd goes far here to suggest to Elizabeth that he sees her as a type of Christ and therefore stands with Isidore of Seville in a belief that an anointed king (or queen) was of the holiest kind. Fittingly, for this turn in the narrative, the tone changes to something decidedly more regal in cast at the point when the “An earthly tree” carol verse begins. Rather than move his parts along freely, Byrd treats them here with notable restraint and solemnity. Indeed, there could be no question about sonic leadership or its lack in this unambiguously 2 + 4 consort song. The work exudes a sober confidence that would seem indelibly linked to aspects of a musical work based on and closely adhering to long-standing imitative procedures. At the opening of “An earthly tree” Byrd features a slightly doubled point for the four parts, where an imitative relationship of notable precision obtains between the  two pairs (mm. 1–5). From this point on the portions assigned to each part in the interchanges are so closely matched in terms of rhythmic spacing that, were it not for a rest or two and (perhaps most notably) some minims that Byrd added to the sextus part, the two upper parts would occupy nearly the same amount of musical space (or time) in the song. Furthermore, he arguably had no choice but to add the one or two “extra” minims and rests that throw off the balanced equation, as otherwise the voices would not have reached his designated cadence points simultaneously and therefore in an orderly fashion. It seems most unlikely that Byrd would have bothered to keep count of the rhythmic values that were accumulating within his various parts as the song progressed. But it would be hard not to see in the equity he observed in his process of bestowing of musical space to the two leading voices evidence that he wanted to represent the idea that they were working in agreement, so to speak; and that he had here created a special contrast effect between what we might see, metaphorically speaking, as a rather cooperative sextus in this duet and a less biddable one in the previous song-pair. Not only do the parts follow each other in due course in “An earthly tree,” there is even also, finally, an anachronistically pre-tonal sense of antecedent–consequent periodization in the work, which is, rather coincidentally, something further suggested by a number of rococo-like, four-bar upper-voice imitations. In sum, then, Byrd’s duet in this “An earthly tree” carol verse stands out as a model of decorum and elegance, exuding a royal tone appropriate for its subject. In “An earthly tree” Christ is portrayed as a “King of Kings,” but he is also championed as the one who “Redeemd poore man (l. 3) … by his sweet death” (l. 6) and who is “borne to awake us all / From drowsie sinne that made old Adam weepe” (ll. 14–15). In portraying Christ’s royal stature Byrd alludes to Elizabeth.

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13  The triumphant queen of 1588 in George Gower’s “The Armada Portrait of Elizabeth I”

In projecting the Resurrection, he, as discussed above, draws his auditors toward a pivotal moment in his narrative when Sidney rejects all sinful worldly ways and embraces Christ in preparation for his death. Questions about brotherly love and oils signaled troubles ahead, but there is no sense at this point in the sequence that Byrd is keeping anything under veil. Indeed, Sidney’s having seen the light was a particularly apt moment to commemorate the spirit of brotherly love, as he was perhaps as universally admired posthumously as any English figure would ever be in that divisive age.19 It might seem odd to us to find here an image of Elizabeth as the “anointed one.” Few then would have been surprised, however, to see her figuratively basking in the glory of such a monumental occasion (see Fig. 13). Not only did Elizabeth probably regard it as appropriate, as something of a royal prerogative, to be cast into any scene that drew so much national attention, Byrd may also have decided that to do so would add to the luster of his portrayal. But as his tale turned from the grand public spectacle of Sidney’s death to the private and mysterious matter of his afterlife, Byrd had pressing reasons to resort to covert means of communication, especially when he inscribed in his narrative, in various ways, such controversial subjects as purgatory, one of the most hotly debated issues of the post-Reformation era.20 19

See the essays in Sir Philip Sidney: 1586 and the Creation of a Legend, ed. J. A. van Dorsten, Dominic Baker-Smith, and Arthur F. Kinney (Leiden, 1986). 20 See “Article xxii. Of Purgatory,” in the Church of England’s Thirty-Nine Articles, Anglicans Online, http://anglicansonline.org/basics/thirtynine_articles.html,

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However dangerous a topic, Byrd did not need to go completely underground in airing his controversial views. For unless Elizabeth wished to remain unwisely ignorant of something as basic as what her subjects believed, she would have valued the chance to hear carefully argued positions from all confessional sides. Even to have Byrd’s views promulgated widely in print would be useful to the Queen, who liked at times to engender uncertainty about her religious position. Without offering any real proof that she held them herself, her endorsement of Byrd suggested the possibility that she was also tolerant of his views. Some might have even felt it suggested something more than tolerance. Indeed, in a polemical climate such as this, just to read the words “cum privilegio Regiae Maiestatis” (BE 13, p. xxxv) on Byrd’s imprint might have been enough to encourage some on the opposite side to think twice about how the Queen might act if they pushed their puritanical reform agenda too far forward. Byrd’s success depended on the extent to which his reactionary insinuations (or intimations), as such, could reach its audiences with all their evasive and suggestive qualities intact. It was something of a balancing act. If no one grasped any inkling of what it was that Byrd was trying to say, his rhetorical efforts would have been pointless. On the contrary, if he was too obvious it would suggest he and the Queen were in complete collusion and Elizabeth would then need to distance herself from him, setting everything back. On top of these challenges, in the process of cajoling the Queen and informing her about his views, Byrd also needed to remind her of his qualifications, properly seek her audience, and also maintain some plausible deniability.21 In political terms, the situation was delicate and complex. In narrative terms, the afterlife problem Byrd faced was straightforward. If Sidney stood among the Protestant elect, the process of reaching his reward would have been immediate: his good death would only confirm his predestination, as a means of comforting those around him. To portray such immanency was exactly the point of Gifford’s short, exultant, and decidedly puritanical description of the poet’s last days, to which Byrd seems to have had access. But unless they somehow viewed Sidney as a saint, Catholics would foresee a need for him to undergo further purification by fire, which would take some time. As there was no way to find compromise on such a question, Byrd had led himself directly into polemic territory. accessed 17 April 2014; The Council of Trent, The Twenty-Fifth Session, in The Canons and Decrees of the Sacred and Oecumenical Council of Trent, ed. and trans. J. Waterworth (London, 1848), 232–33; and for a recent assessment of the place of purgatory in Lutheran and other reformed views see Tarald Rasmussen, “Hell Disarmed? The Function of Hell in Reformation Spirituality,” Numen 56 (2009): 366–84. 21 I discuss some of Byrd’s political strategies of this nature in “Turning a New Leaf: William Byrd, the East Music-Publishing Firm and the Jacobean Succession,” in Music and the Book Trade, from the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Centuries, ed. Robin Myers, Michael Harris, and Giles Mandelbrote (London, 2008), 25–43. For further on panegyric methods of the time see Robin Headlam Wells, Spenser’s Faerie Queen and the Cult of Elizabeth (Totowa, NJ, 1983), 1–5; and Hugh Craig, “Jonson, the Antimasque and the ‘Rules of Flattery’,” in The Politics of the Stuart Court Masque, ed. David Bevington and Peter Holbrook (Cambridge, 1998), 176–96.

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It would have been fitting, perhaps, for him to resort again to the delaying technique of “dilatory space” to handle something so obviously temporal as purgatory. In this case, though, Byrd did not choose so much to interrupt his narrative as to expand it. Thankfully he found the one unresolved issue that would seem naturally to call for further elaboration, namely how properly to dispose of the now rejected Cupid figure that had caused so much turmoil throughout the sequence as an active and passive force.

I

THE LESSONS OF LOVE: FROM HOB TO THE HOMILY (BE 13: 41–3)

n his 1589 Arte of Poesie George Puttenham claimed that it was “under the vaile of homely persons and in rude speeches . . . [that the pastoral poet could] insinuate and glance at great matters.”22 Fittingly, then, in Byrd’s set of the same year it is the clownish, rustic, Hob – one of the most seemingly innocuous fictional figures in all of Elizabethan literature – who confronts the ostensibly “great matter” of what to do with a discredited Love, or at least he is the one who establishes the frame within which this business would eventually be settled. As the star of the first of three decidedly secular songs – “Who made thee Hob forsake the plough?” (BE 13: 41), “And think ye nymphs?” (BE 13: 42), and “Love is a fit of pleasure” (BE 13: 43) – Hob heads up a set of works that provide the last, and some of the finest, moments of comic relief in this sequence, although they also provide a forum for Byrd to express some of his most controversial ideas. Hob’s function is threefold: 1) as a shepherd he takes the story back to the Arcadian realm, 2) as a plowman, he evokes the Everyman figure of religious controversies of the time, and 3) as a clown, he allows Byrd to speak to the Queen with proper humility. Exceptionally, in a subhead, Byrd announced that “Who made thee Hob, forsake the plough?” was “A Dialogue betwen two Sheperds” (BE 13: 41). Before turning to the vocational discrepancy between the title and the header (as a “sheperd” would not use a “plowe”), it is important to consider that Byrd emphasized here the very two features that would define the pastoral for his contemporaries. When Byrd mentioned the “Dialogue,” he surely knew this was the pastoral form established by Theocritus and Virgil and followed by Torquato Tasso, Sidney, and Edmund Spenser, among many others.23 Leo Marx’s famous axiom “no shepherd, no pastoral” probably applies here as well: by insisting on Hob’s shepherding vocation, Byrd wanted to leave no doubt about the setting, one he could credibly suggest was innocently escapist, although that year Puttenham had made that already ­diaphanous shielding device even flimsier.24 22

George Puttenham, The arte of English poesie (London, 1589), 31. Paul Alpers, What is Pastoral? (Chicago, 1996), 167; see also E. Kegel-Brinkgreve, The Echoing Woods: Bucolic and Pastoral from Theocritus to Wordsworth (Amsterdam, 1990). On the central role of music in pastoral literature and its antecedents see Giuseppe Gerbino, Music and the Myth of Arcadia in Renaissance Italy (Cambridge, 2009). 24 Leo Marx, “Pastoralism in America,” in Ideology and Classic American Literature, ed. Sacvan Bercovitch and Myra Jehlen (Cambridge, 1986), 36–69, at 45. 23

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It would have been a fitting posthumous nod to Sidney, author of A Defense of Poesie, for Byrd to show an awareness of poetic kinds, especially the pastoral itself, which Sidney had famously helped raise to special prominence in England with his Arcadia, even in the years before it reached print.25 But the main reason why Byrd was categorical, I contend, was because the pastoral was also the very realm where a fictionalized “Sidney,” in the guise of the bucolic Philon, had entered the composer’s own story of Songs of sundrie natures. In this light it is noteworthy that in “While that the sun” (BE 13: 23), where we meet Philon, he is cast as “the sheperd” (l. 4) and is introduced as such with appropriate musical fanfare (as Byrd sets off the defining text with a preceding pause in m. 5). If he fell under investigation for advancing ideas covertly, Byrd might have shown himself too busy attending to his narrative consistencies to have had time for any such activity. But a closer look at Hob himself would likely only increase an inquisitor’s suspicions to the contrary, as this is a character fraught with complications and disturbing associations. Ordinarily, in the Renaissance formulation, the shepherding vocation was a courtly one. Named after the protruding nails of his shoes, Hob, however, was most often associated with the workaday life of the field hand, where he was invariably cast as a rustic plodder in a sense quite independent of the pastoral. When Thomas Chaloner, for example, translated the phrase urbano rusticus from Desiderius Erasmus’s Morias Enkomion (Praise of Folly) he used a vocational identifying formula that seems quite close to that of Byrd’s poet. Chaloner described the urbano as a “courtlyke felow” and the rusticus as “the rudest hobbe that maie be piked from the plough.”26 Chaloner was by no means the only English writer of Byrd’s era and before to bring an authentically rustic character of Hob’s type into his texts. Due in large part to the revealing adventures of William Langland’s fourteenth-century satirical Piers, the plowman per se ranks among the most prominent literary figures of late Medieval England. Significantly, through his visions, Piers found himself entangled, along with a pseudo-Chaucerian character of the same name, in some of the era’s most complicated theological debates, such as the nature of the Trinity and the Harrowing of Hell.27 Shorn of a comedic role and the “Hob” name, the ploughman emerged too as a touchstone of sorts to religious reformers and their critics, including William Tyndale and Erasmus himself, both of whom described men of Hob’s vocation as newly reachable through scripture in translation or, and perhaps conversely, through guided instruction.28 In his A dialogue betweene a Papist and a Protestant of 1583, George Gifford placed a championed Tom Carter in the plow 25

Annabel Patterson links Sidney’s view of pastoral with Puttenham’s in her Censorship and Interpretation: The Conditions of Writing and Reading in Early Modern England, with a New Introduction (Madison, 1984), 36–37. 26 Erasmus of Rotterdam, The praise of folie = Moriæ encomium a booke made in latine by that great clerke Erasmus Englisshed by sir Thomas Chaloner knight (London, 1549), D2v. 27 See R. A. Waldron, “Langland’s Originality: The Christ-Knight and the Harrowing of Hell,” in Medieval English Religious and Ethical Literature, ed. Gregory Kratzman and James Simpson (Dover, NH, 1986), 66–81; M. Teresa Tavormina, “Kindly Similitude: Langland’s Matrimonial Trinity,” Modern Philology 80 (1982): 117–28. 28 See T. R. Glover, The Challenge of the Greek and Other Essays (Cambridge, 1942), 228–34, at 233.

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man role as he attacked the conservative forces others were staunchly defending in the English Church at the time.29 Simply by mentioning Hob’s “plowe,” then, Byrd may have signaled to those in the know that he was entering into a religious debate of long standing and had done so with a device that enabled just the kind of deniability and semi-­exclusivity Elizabeth might have appreciated. If Byrd had a direct target, though, it was probably Edmund Spenser. Spenser was in fact the first to foist Hob – in all his h­ omeliness – into the court-evoking pastoral, via his The shepheardes calender, at least if the name “Hobbinol” may be understood to evoke a related character, as the elusive E. K. figure, a (possibly invented) literary critic who glossed the text, suggested it could be at the time (by giving him a “country” origin and “mean” mental capacities, etc.).30 Similarly named and of the same humble origins, both Hob and Hobbinol were cast by their authors into the world of “courtlyke” shepherds, where they engaged in dialogue with others of their peculiarly mixed kind. Adding to the list of characteristics in common, they even seem to play the same instrument, the “Bagpype” (see below).  Byrd featured the bagpipe’s characteristic drone in several of the 1588 triple-time pastorals, as discussed in Chapters 2 and 3 above. The same evocative gesture is especially prominent in “Who made thee Hob,” as Byrd opens the song with a solo drone in the bassus (mm. 1–2), giving his listener a moment or so (in a semibreve of exclusive musical space) to comprehend it as such before the other voices take up their pre-imitative motives. Byrd employs the drone again in this way at the start of a new section (mm. 15–16). There is even less ambiguity about instrumentation when it comes to Spenser’s Hobbinol. A fellow shepherd, Thenot, mentions the bagpipe when he first speaks to Hobbinol in the first lines of the “Aprill” eclogue, as follows: TEll me good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete? What? hath some Wolfe thy tender Lambes ytorne? Or is thy Bagpype broke, that soundes so sweete? Or art thou of thy loved lasse forlorne?31 For all his seeming predictability in behavior, Hobbinol plays a complex role at this point in Spenser’s The shepheardes calender. To begin with, when Hobbinol finally takes up his instrument, he does not sing for himself, but rather he intones the poem of his companion, Colin Clout, whom E. K. equates with Spenser. E. K., meanwhile, also cast Hobbinol as the shadow of the real-life Gabriel Harvey, Spenser’s literary friend, even though this noted scholar had no special role to play in Spenser’s life that would seem to link him to Hobbinol, and Harvey certainly had no discernable character traits that would liken him to a rustic clown.32 Finally, and most importantly for the present argument, the poem by Clout that Hobbinol duly “records” (recites) is listed in the main text as “in honor of Queen Elizabeth,” 29

See Timothy Scott McGinnis, George Gifford and the Reformation of the Common Sort (Kirksville, MO, 2004), 76. 30 Richard Rambuss, “The Secretary’s Study: The Secret Designs of the Shepheardes Calender,” ELH 59 (1992): 313–35, at 323–34. 31 Edmund Spenser, The shepheardes calender (London, 1579), 11v. 32 Rambuss, “Secretary’s Study,” 323–34.

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14  “Aprill” from Spenser’s The shepheardes calender, depicting “Elisa, queen of shepherds all” surrounded by musicians

who is represented by “Elysa” (see Fig. 14). Even though Spenser is making sure we know that it is he who speaks to the Queen, E. K., the glossator, and Hobbinol, the ventriloquist, seem to function as elaborate frames or defensive shields protecting the poet from the risks involved in this type of communication.33 33

In his “The Shepheardes Calender and Renaissance Antipoetic Sentiment,” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 32 (1992): 15–33, Peter C. Herman attributes this anxiety to Spenser’s realization of the “blasphemous potential of creativity” (p. 25), which, if true, points again to the problems of dealing with the royal audience, but at a deeper level. Certainly when Spenser recalls the fate of Niobe – who dared to outdo Apollo

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Byrd similarly used Hob simultaneously to evoke, screen, and reduce to a humble figure his own persona as he positioned himself for a royal audience, although, fittingly, he accomplished all this with musical means. Character-wise, he uses cross-rhythms and shifts in accentuation in lilting triple time to make Hob seem un-aristocratically clownlike in his setting, all of which easily conjures up the image of a boot-wearing farmer conversing with a similarly clad comrade (mm. 3, 9, 12, etc.). Byrd’s depiction of clownish bumbling stands out all the more for the auditor who compares “Who made thee Hob” to “An earthly tree,” the carol verse that appears just before Hob’s song in the sequence and evokes the “crowne.” In terms of scoring and structure “An earthly tree” and “Who made thee Hob” are nearly identical: each moves from a pre-imitative introduction for the instruments alone, through a series of patterned questions and answers of varying length, led by the two upper parts, and then toward a final rhythmic coming together for all parts in a metaphorical representation of unity symbolized in musical harmony. But for all their common elements, the balanced distribution of material among the upper two parts and the overall periodic predictability in “An earthly tree” are notably absent from “Who made thee Hob.” Instead, Byrd keeps the listener bemused throughout the latter song with delightfully non-teleological harmonic progressions (such as the whole step A major to G major shift in mm. 9–10) and quirkily uneven phrases. Some of the nominally sophisticated compositional details, such as the inversion of motives, are so obviously portrayed in “Who made thee Hob” as only to add to the mock rustic atmosphere – the most charming being the case when Byrd, in the midst of much rhythmic clumsiness, suddenly dons an Italianate expressive hat by turning a preordained melodic skip upward instead of down to create a suitably elegant madrigalism for the word “high” (mm. 25, 29). As a special treat, finally, for those comparing and contrasting the works, the lofty Silvana with whom Hob falls in love recalls the titular first line of “An earthly tree.” Although Byrd might seem to drift close to sacrilege by linking Jesus to a shepherdess, he did so in relative safety; few other than Elizabeth herself, the potential female figure evoked here, would have likely caught the common sylvan reference, which, for all its audaciousness, was quite typical of this era’s panegyric. To continue with our Byrd/Spenser comparison, within the “Aprill” context, all of Spenser’s self-protective efforts surrounding Hobbinol’s actions seem oddly out of place. Whether addressed to Elizabeth or not, the poem he provided for Elysa is so packed full of praise that it could hardly have seemed objectionable. But the need for all the obfuscation becomes clear when the reader confronts Spenser’s following eclogue, “Maye.”34 Here the poet grapples explicitly with England’s ongoing post-Reformation crisis, setting up a dialogue between the shepherds, Piers – who would of course be associated with the great Plowman tradition, noted above – and and Diana and had her children slain for the transgression – Spenser conveys a strong sense of apprehension, and there is plenty of evidence on the textual surface that he worried most about the consequences of offending Elizabeth. 34 See Anthea Hume, “Spenser, Puritanism, and the ‘Maye’ Eclogue,” Review of English Studies, n.s. 20 (1969): 155–67, and Evan Gurney, “Spenser’s ‘May’ Eclogue and Charitable Admonition,” Spenser Studies: A Renaissance Poetry Annual 27 (2012): 193–219.

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Palinode, a character whom Spenser names after the term for a formal poem of retraction.35 Throughout “Maye” these shepherds voice opposing s­ olutions to the problems facing a nation divided over religion. If Spenser himself had a theological position to defend or commend, it has proven rather elusive. Once thought to represent a strong anti-Romanist, puritanical, argument, commentators have since seen the “Maye” debate variously as “radical,” “conforming,” “Catholic,” and even, anachronistically (if not unproductively), High Church.36 But for all the divergence in their views on Spenser’s religious stance, Spenserians have always clearly understood the positions Piers and Palinode were meant to represent: Palinode argued for unity and brotherhood whereas Piers warned that no real unity was possible if one side harbored ulterior motives.37 How best to deal then with the matter of “felowship,” was their main point of contention and the relationship of all this to the Reformation was made explicit by E. K., who cast Palinode as a “Catholique” and Piers as “protestant.”38 Recently Evan Gurney has suggested, pace E. K., that Spenser’s Piers and Palinode represented the views of a puritanical and a conformist English Protestant, with the conservative contents of the Book of Common Prayer at issue and the Admonition controversy (1572–76) as backdrop. In this light, Gurney further suggests that E. K.’s character identifications were meant to lull the general reader into the belief that “Maye” was yet one more unremarkable contribution to England’s long-flowing stream of cross-confessional polemic.39 Byrd, we may be sure, was hardly interested in leaving his own faith out of the equation. He may well have been trying here to reglorify a “felowship”-seeking “Catholique” as a way to counter Spenser’s mitigated portrayal of the character type. But however different their goals and positions, both Byrd and Spenser used a Hoblike creature to prepare the way for an audience with the Queen, and this, as both surely knew well, would succeed only if it was all couched in the most effusive and effective forms of royal flattery. In the starkest terms Spenser’s target, it would seem, was Elizabeth’s heart. Only after voicing an elaborate, self-effacing (and nearly self-erasing) demonstration of loyalty, in the form of “Aprill’s” elaborate praise, for example, did Spenser dare bring up any of “his” concerns (such as they could be discerned after so much 35

Spenser, The shepheardes calendar, 16r; on the palinode see Patricia Berrahou Phillippy, Love’s Remedies: Recantation and Renaissance Lyric Poetry (Lewisburg, PA, 1995), 165–81. 36 See, for example, Hume, “Spenser, Puritanism” Virgil K. Whitaker, in The Religious Basis of Spenser’s Thought, Stanford University Publications in Language and Literature 7 (Stanford, 1950), 3, who claims, “his few deviations from Anglicanism were Catholic in origin”; and Paul E. McLane, Spenser’s Shepheardes Calender: A Study in Elizabethan Allegory (Notre Dame, 1961), 117, who calls Spenser a “high churchman.” For recent studies focused particularly on May see Gurney, Spenser’s “May,” and J. P. Conlan, “The Anglicanism of Spenser’s May Eclogue,” Reformation 9 (2004): 205–17; and for another general assessment, Andrew Hadfield, “Spenser And Religion – Yet Again,” SEL 51 (2008): 21–46. 37 See Gurney, “Spenser’s ‘May’,” 206–07. 38 Spenser, The shepheardes calendar, 16r. 39 Gurney, “Spenser’s ‘May’,” 194–95.

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evasiveness) about the nation’s religious divisiveness in “Maye.” Byrd, by contrast, directed his appeal to the royal mind, using “Who made thee Hob,” as well as the next three songs in his sequence, to show the reasonableness of his then-favored conservative position. None of this interchange was conducted in the royal chambers, of course. Distanced from their Queen by the medium of print, Byrd and Spenser had to assume that many of her subjects would be privy to their pleas, no matter how specialized in nature their interactions may have been. In this light, to serve Elizabeth best, both needed to ensure that their efforts could stand as models for others with similar points to make. Because it was broadcast, then, there were no limits to the amount of praise Spenser could bestow on his subject in “Aprill.” Byrd similarly found he had every cause, even in a comic context, to be as forthright as possible in his moralizing argumentation in the six-voiced pastoral dialogues, even to the point of becoming somewhat blunt. Especially in Elizabethan times, for example, it would hardly have surprised anyone that Hob had looked too “high” when he fell for someone as lofty as Silvana. Some surely might have pitied Hob for his conjugal limitations, but no one then would have seen him as correct to lay aside his workman’s plow and sing about his situation as if he could partake in the same kind of otium enjoyed by the aristocratic shepherds around him. Workers, all leaders of the times demanded, should be busy at their assigned duties, as the Queen herself often maintained.40 Furthermore, after a number of controversial marriages at court and Elizabeth’s own failed French Match negotiations, the Queen by this point was all but insisting that couples wishing to marry should be of the same standing in society, which makes Hob’s position in the poem all the more untenable.41 Stubbornly unwilling to abandon his unfulfilled feelings of love, Hob, as the poem has it, was left to “dye” foolishly while few would misconstrue the underlying message: he needed to stifle or reject his unrealistic urges and return to work. Yet, for all the ease with which the Elizabethan auditor would grasp that Hob was a negative example, he or she must still resort to moral reasoning in order to do so; and it was this mental process that Byrd underlined in his setting, rather beguilingly, when he brought both shepherds in together at the end to exclaim, moralizingly chorus-like, “yet love I must or else I dye” (l. 12, mm. 30–33, see Ex. 9.1). Disarmingly willing to play the fool himself and “unthinkingly” set a phrase featuring the word “I” to two voices, Byrd clearly showed in the process how a pair of leading voices could work together in harmony, encouraging us too to come to a point of agreement in our own minds, even if what we gather from the experience runs counter to the sentiments expressed in the text. Although cast as a dialogue, 40

John Jewel, Elizabeth’s appointed homilist, made the point quite clear in his “An Homilee against Idelnesse,” in The second tome of homilees (London, 1571), 496–508. See also Rogues, Vagabonds, & Sturdy Beggars: A New Gallery of Tudor and Early Stuart Rogue Literature Exposing the Lives, Times, and Cozening Tricks of the Elizabethan Underworld, ed. Arthur F. Kinney with illustrations by John Lawrence (Amherst, 1973), 46–48. 41 Paul E. J. Hammer, “Sex and the Virgin Queen: Aristocratic Concupiscence and the Court of Elizabeth I,” Sixteenth Century Journal 31 (2000): 77–97.

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„ Ex. 9.1 

&

Jeremy L. Smith

„

„

& &w

w ˙ ˙ ˙ w she looks w ˙ ˙I fear w ˙ & Ohw Hob, # B Ohw . Hob, wI fear ˙ shew . looks w ˙ #w. B w. w ˙ B ∑ . ˙ ˙ ˙ B ∑ . B w

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w.

B w ˙ w. ? w. w ? w. w & #˙ ˙. ˙. & # or˙ else w & or˙ else w & or˙ else ˙ B or˙ else B ˙ ˙ B w B w B Ó B Ó ? ˙ ? ˙ SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 252

˙

œ w

˙ ˙

œI die, w ˙I ˙ ˙. I I die, œ ˙I die, ˙ . œI ˙ ˙I ˙ ˙I die, ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ #˙ ˙ w ˙ #˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙ w w

w

˙ ˙ w love I must ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ w love I must love ˙ ˙I must w ˙ w ˙ love I must ˙ w ˙

BE 13: 41 “Who made thee Hob,” mm. 28–33

„

˙ w too high, ˙ w w ˙ too high,

w

˙

˙.

w w yet yet

w w

yet yet

˙ w œ w

w ˙ ˙ . œ w ˙ ∑ . ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ∑ . ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w. w ˙ w w. w ˙ w w

w

die,

˙ w. or else ˙ w.

Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w w ˙ w w ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ w

œœ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙I œI œ die,

˙ w ˙ wI die, # ˙I die, or else I die, I w ˙ w w ˙ w #˙ ˙I ˙ w w orÓ else die, I die, w ˙ w w Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ w w ˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ w ˙ w

die,

or else

U

w.

U w. U

die.

w.

die.

U w. U

die.

w.

die.

U w. U

w.

U w. U

w. U U w. w.

U

w.

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and featuring an exchange of ideas typical of the form, thanks to Byrd’s bringing the parts together, “Who made thee Hob” ends as a lyric: one with a single position expressed, but with a double meaning implied.42 Hob had thus set the stage for the discussion of a “great matter” by putting the auditor into the appropriate state of thinking things through to a proper conclusion. By this logic, had Sidney been as foolish as Hob, in the end, one begins to suspect, he would never have reached his ultimate reward. After singing about his “death,” Hob leaves the scene, never to return. But we remain in Arcadia for two further songs, where Byrd, no longer addressing himself “to” the Queen, begins, in a certain sense, to speak “with” her or “for” her, to her subjects at large, encouraging them all, by deceptively simple means, to use their reasoning capacities against the dangerously alluring powers of Love. Strategically, in the two-song débat that follows the Hob episode, “And think ye nymphs?” and “Love is a fit of pleasure” (BE 13: 42–43), Byrd moves from the duet-styled dialogue of “Who made thee Hob” to a form of interchange more typical of the pastoral eclogue of his literary contemporaries and predecessors, where each song of the pair presented one side of a two-part argument. Now it was no longer the auditor who was left to determine the correct point of the work at the end – however well coached along by musical clues. Byrd here delegates the task to the song’s characters, all of whom handle things in a way designed first to amuse and then to inform. Thanks to an apparent mix-up in their order of appearance, the Arcadian characters throw the whole narrative structure momentarily into disarray, creating a mess Byrd purposely goes only so far to clear up. Byrd is operating, again, on two levels. On the surface, the hermeneutic process is by no means mysterious. In the first song, Love is granted lofty powers in a gaily-paced proposte, all of which are laughingly reduced in the second, a similarly spritely riposte, to something as “Idle” (l. 2), “vaine” (l. 5), fanciful, and, ultimately, weightless as the very atmosphere or, to be precise, the “wether” (l. 6). Love is not transformed by the end into something neutral or adiaphorous – as he retains all his negative traits despite his diminishment – nor into something understandable – as the nymphs do not attempt to explain anything. But Cupid, in “Love is a fit,” is clearly shown nonetheless to be easily and profitably dismissed. Indeed, when the nymphs here deftly reduce to a nonentity something that had once been greatly feared, all their confident indifference comes across in this context as so supercilious as to be smug. Nothing, it would seem fair to conclude in passing, better encourages brotherly love than the need to fend off a common enemy such as lust personified. But even when presenting a moral case as straightforward as this, Byrd 42

As Francis Turner Palgrave long ago suggested, “lyrical [may be] held simply to imply that each Poem shall turn on some single thought, feeling, or situation,” see The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language (Cambridge, 1861), 1. Byrd seemed to have approached “Who made thee Hob” and many other poems he set with the idea that there was a single idea or conceit involved. And through his music, in any case, he strived to create a single epiphany of sorts, one that may or may not have been intended by the poet’s author. A sense of this is thoroughly conveyed, even if describing a later application, in Robert Langbaum, “The Epiphanic Mode in Wordsworth and Modern Literature,” New Literary History 14 (1983): 335–58.

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still offers his auditors special opportunities to read deeper into his and his poet’s expressive choices. Lying beneath the surface of this little débat on Love is a rather sophisticated conceit, which revolves around the following simple question: Could what Byrd labels quite clearly as the “second part” [i.e., song], “Love is a fit,” have better served as the “first,” and vice versa? It turns out that the auditor who puts the moral aside would soon find considerable room to accept this reordering possibility, thanks to a number of suggestive clues. Perhaps the most noticeable interpretive problem we discover in a close reading of this débat is one of narrative inconsistency: for, in the printed order of the songs, the nymphs are scolded and corrected, presumably by shepherds (in BE 13: 42), for irreverent views they have yet to express (as the nymphs first state their views in BE 13: 43). One solution is to assume that we enter the story in the middle of the argument (in media res), following the Homeric epic narrative technique that Shakespeare adopts so often. In that case we must further assume that the nymphs had earlier shown their disdain for Cupid, offstage, as it were, and we are then privy only to the last two of three interchanges: namely, the second, where the shepherds reprimand the nymphs and then the third and last, where the nymphs show their lack of remorse. Even though the premise is ethically faulty (because it is wrong to worship Cupid), the reversed-order solution – of “Love is a fit” | “And think ye nymphs” – is one that follows a clearer narrative logic. For when the two songs are put in a reversed order, the auditor hears the expression of impertinence first before encountering the expected admonishment, and then there is no need to imagine that there were any interactions among the nymphs and shepherds before the argument began. Here then lies the conceit: all too quickly, it seems, we come to a realization that we enter the scene in the middle of the action. Once we look more closely we find good evidence for the possibility that Byrd had taken a story with a very different outcome, of extolling Cupid ab ovo, and then turned it into one with a sophisticated Homeric technique (in media res) to condemn the god instead. Byrd’s poet went to some lengths to encourage this idea of reversibility. In the arrangement as it stands the stable tetrameters of “And think ye” are followed by the notably varied accents, shifting caesurae, and uneven lines (prompting strong and weak endings) of “Love is a fit,” thus moving the auditor seemingly away from regularity in terms of meter, rather than toward it. Anyone reading through the sequence heedless of the messaging might well note that the conjunction “And,” which fell properly to the “second” part” (song) in the first song-pair of six parts, “Behold how good” | “And as the pleasant” now incongruously appears as the opening word for the “first part” (song) of this particular pairing. What is intriguing, then, about the way the “And think ye nymphs?” | “Love is a fit of pleasure” verses are sequenced is their unusual potential for interchangeability (italics added). As Byrd maintains throughout an almost completely syllabic setting and follows closely all the metrical shifts in accentuation of the verse as well as many of his poet’s semantic suggestions, he effectively conveys on the musical surface the very traits that make their ordering seem so anomalous (see Exx. 9.2–3). To portray Cupid as a disreputably convulsive force in “Love is a fit,” for example,

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Ex. 9.2  BE 13: 42 “And think ye nymphs?” mm. 1–7

&

„

&w

˙.

And

„

think

ye

V

„

VŒ œ œ œ

œ œ œ œ œ

?w

And think ye Nymphs to

&Œ

&˙

think

œ

œ

And think

love,

V˙

ye Nymphs to

˙.

to

˙

scorn

˙

œ

˙

˙

think

love,

to

scorn

?˙

love,

˙

˙.

œ

œ ye

to

at

#œ

at

œ

scorn

œ at

œ ˙

˙

Nymphs

œ

œ

to

˙

˙

˙

Œ

love,

Nymphs to

at

at

œ œ œ œ œ

w

ye

scorn

œ œ

scorn

And think ye Nymphs to

œ

œ œ œ

œ

and

love,

V

œ

to

Œ œ

œ

˙.

˙

Nymphs

scorn at

˙.

And

˙

œ

to

scorn

Œ

w

love,

love,

at love, as

œ œ ˙

scorn at

˙

love,

˙

love,

if

œ.

scorn

at

œ J

at

œ

at

œ

as

œ œ œ œ œ.

scorn

j œ

œ. if

his

j œ ˙

his fire

w

love,

Œ œ ˙ as

˙

as

œ œ

if

his fire

if

his

˙

Œ œ

∑ Œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ ˙ Ó œ & œ œ œ œ w Byrd features a number of unusual harmonic progressions, highly varied rhythms,

- tyall were but of straws, the migh gods bove, and afire suggestive breakdown in the texture – asheitmade opens with sixa - voices paired in strict homorhythmic thirds, but soonj after reverts to a much freer texture, thus œ ˙that would œ & ˙ a sense of disarrayŒ toœ theœ second, bringing ˙ # œ work œ ˙ more . œ ˙ or# ˙consequent, œ œ ˙ fittingly have been portrayed as orderly. By contrast, the rhythmic and melodic were but of straws, were but of straws, he made the migh - ty gods a profiles are invariably chiseled and predictable in “And think ye nymphs.” Rather j ˙ to something ˙ # œ quite œ rhythmic œ œ œ w different,Ó Byrd˙reuses than shifting from idea Ó Œ œ one œ V œ . œ motives quite conspicuously throughout this song, even to the point of transpos-ty as melody if his fireof his werefirst but line of straws, he madethemigh ing the entire main up a step to serve again for the third

j ˙ #œ œ Œ œ œ œ œ . œj ˙ . V œœ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ ˙ were but

? œ . œJ œ

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 255

of straws, as if his fire were but of

˙

˙

˙

straws,

w

he madethe migh-ty gods

œ ˙

œ a

œ œ œ œœ

21/10/2015 13:15

˙

and

˙

think

love,

to

scorn

love,

V

?˙

love,

fire

˙

at

˙

to

were but of straws,

œœ ˙ but of straws,

were

as

if

˙

love,

œ

˙

Ex. 9.2  continued at

∑

love,

love,

Œ œ ˙ as

˙

as

œ œ

if

his fire

if

his

˙

Œ œ

Œ œ œ œ œœ œ œ ˙ œ

Œ

j ˙ #˙ ˙ œ œ . œ

were but

his fire

œ

of

straws, he

˙ #œ w

were but

#œ œ ˙

œ ˙

made the migh - ty gods

Ó

of straws,

˙

he

of straws, as if his fire were but of

? œ . œJ œ ˙ œ fire

were but of straws,

˙

˙

were

but

˙

of

straws,

w

straws,

he made,

a

madethemigh-ty

he madethe migh-ty gods

œ ˙

œ

œ œ œ œ

j ˙ #œ œ œ œ œ. j ˙. Œ œ œ œ œ V œœ œ œ . œ œ œ ˙ were but

Ó

he made the migh - ty gods a - bove,

Œ œ œ . œj ˙

V Ó

scorn at

Jeremy L. Smith

scorn

œ œœ w

& ˙

Nymphs to

˙

˙.

256

& œ

ye

œ a

œœ œ œ œ œ

he madethemigh-ty

(cf. mm. 3–4 and 6–7). Thus, even though it stands in the antecedent position, “And think ye” possesses stabilizing musical traits one would expect to find in a work designed to settle matters. Overall, because he emphasizes the move away from orderliness as he progresses from one song to the next, with his melodies and his rhythmic choices, Byrd only encourages his auditor to question the ­published order. In terms of harmonic structure, he tells a different story altogether. The nominal first part, “And think ye nymphs?” for all its stabilizing traits, is still an open work, as it begins unambiguously in one harmonic region and ends in another. Conversely, the nominal second part, or answer, “Love is a fit,” for all its disarray, is fittingly closed, as harmonically it starts and ends on the same triad (G). Byrd, therefore, does not treat the order of these songs as variable compositionally; rather he could be said to have musically enforced their published order. It is also significant in this light that he scores “And think ye nymphs” for five parts and “Love is a fit” for six, as a move toward fuller textures mimics the very way the collection moves forward as a whole, reminding us that these are, in Byrd’s conception, “songs [for] 3. 4. 5. and 6. parts” (BE 13, p. xxxv). Thus from the underlying meter to the very titular surface of the verse, there are indications that, had he placed them elsewhere – and reconstructed the scoring and harmonic plan – Byrd could easily have reversed the order of this song-pair, putting the nymphs’ disparagement in the place of the shepherds’ stern rebuke. Importantly, however, despite all the ambiguity, the auditor is not prompted to disagree with or question anything having to do with the sequential solution, thanks to Byrd’s harmonic choices. Some might be left simply to marvel at how effectively ethos trumps logos in the rhetorical scheme of this rightly reversed pastoral admonition. Indeed, this may have been Byrd’s rather clever way of encouraging Englishmen at large to question whether the puritans admonishing the

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Songs of Six Parts 257



„ „

& &

„ „

& &

Ó Ó Ó ˙ œ œ œœ ˙ ˙ Ó Ó Ó Ó Love ˙ - sure, ˙ isœ œa fitœ ofœ plea ˙ Ó

„ „

Ex. 9.3  BE 13: 43 “Love is a fit,” mm. 19–25

Ó Ó Ó ˙ #œ œ œ œ w Ó Ó Ó Love ˙ # isœ œa fitœ ofœ plea w

„ „

& ˙ œœœ œ & Love is a fit of ˙ œœœ œ Love is „a fit of V „ V

˙ w ˙ w plea Ó -sure, Ó Ó Ó

plea-sure,

V ˙ #œ œ œ œ V Love ˙ # isœ œa fitœ ofœ ? Love is „a fit of ? „

w w plea

Love

bred

& bred ˙ & brains, ˙ ˙ V brains, V ˙ V V ? ?

-

˙ ˙ w - sure, ˙ of˙ plea w plea Ó Ó- sure, Ó of˙ #plea œ œ œ- œ Ó Ó Ó Love ˙ # isœ œa fitœ ofœ

˙ œ œ ofœ œ plea w ˙ œœ œ w œ ˙ sure,love ˙ is a fit of plea sure,love w w is˙ a fit˙ of plea w ˙ of plea plea - sure, ˙ w

˙ out ˙ out Ó Ó

˙ of ˙ of Ó Ó

of

-

w wI ÓI ÓÓ Ó I

-

˙ ˙ dle Ó Ó

dle

dle

œ. œ ˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ ˙ J ˙ ˙ œI -. dleœ brains, ˙ outœ ofœ œI-dleœ brains, bred J œ œ #outœ ofœ œI-dleœ brains, ˙ œ # œbred ˙I - dle brains, œ #œ œœ #œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙

bred

out of

I - dle

bred

out of

I - dle

a

bred Ó outÓ ofÓ ˙ Ó Ó Ó sure, - ˙ plea - Ó sure, ˙ ˙ ˙ œ# œ œ œ Ó plea bred ˙ - sure, ˙ outœ # ofœ œI - dleœ ˙ œ œout˙ of ˙I - dle plea Ó - sure, ˙ œ œ bred ˙ Ó bred œ ˙ brains, ˙ outœ ofœ œI-dle

fit of plea - sure,

fit of

- sure,

plea

bred out

˙ ˙ of

-

w . bred out of ˙I-dle˙ brains, ˙ ˙ ˙ . w ˙ sure, bred out of Ó Ó Ó Ó

w. sure, w. sure,

bred out

Ó Ó

of

sure,

˙ ˙ œ ˙ œ˙ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ noœ ˙ his fan - cies Ó Ó no˙ ˙ # w his fanÓ - cies Ó Ó Ó his˙ ˙ brains, #w dle Ó Ó

˙ #w ˙ brains, #w dle

out

is

Love is a fit of pleasure, -

˙ dle˙ brains, w ˙ ˙ w out of I

a

w. ˙ (n) ˙ œ œ œ ˙ œ œ ˙ love is a fit of w. ˙ œ œ ˙ œœ˙ ˙ œ # œ œ œ is˙ (n) ˙wa fitœ of ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó love œ # œ ˙ œ w ˙ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ Ó Love is a fit of pleasure, of plea - sure, Love

Love is a fit of plea - sure, of

& w & wI & ˙I & ˙

is

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

Ó Ó

Ó Ó Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó Ó no˙ mea ˙ - ˙sure, Ó mea no ˙ - œsure,˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ œ ˙ fan - cieshave no ˙ -sure ˙ œ ˙ mea brains, his fan - cieshave no mea-sure ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ . œjw #˙ ˙ no˙ mea brains, ˙ have ˙ his˙ fan˙ -cies ˙ - sure, ˙ have œ . noœjmea w œ ˙ . no meaœ ˙ # ˙˙ ˙ . no œ mea brains, ˙ have Ó his˙ fan˙ -cies œ ˙- sure, have ˙ ˙. œ œ ˙ œ ˙. œ ˙ ˙ Ó his˙ fan˙ -cies have no mea - sure, no mea-sure, w w

w w brains, brains,

no Ó Ó ˙ ˙ Ó Ó his fan˙ ˙ his Ó Ó Ó fan˙ Ó Ó Ó his˙

his fan - cies have

his

Ó œ mea œ ˙ - sure, Ó œ cies œ have ˙

cies have ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ have ˙ - cies fan fan - cies

have

˙ ˙ no no ˙ ˙

œœ˙ œœ˙ mea mea w w

no mea-sure,

no

no

Queen were themselves the ones who should be corrected. Others, though, may have recalled instead that Sidney, in his poems, never fully rejected lust in the way that Byrd’s nymphs do, so that the composer might be seen as honoring their hero’s deathbed decision to put those passions aside. And still others, finally, aware that in Spenserian terms Byrd moves from the effusive flattery of Elizabeth (“Aprill”) to the dangerous waters of religious controversy (“Maye”), might have seen in this reordering conceit Byrd’s means to encourage them too to look, as he

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258

Jeremy L. Smith

does, beneath the surface of what a text might portray. Before he turns directly to questions of life, death, and religion, as he will in the following songs, he gives his auditors a fair warning: even in the cold light of day things are not always best seen as they seem. 

I

PART 2: ADMONISHMENT AND COMMON PRAYER “IF IN THINE HEART” (BE 13: 44)

t is in Arcadia, and its gaily paced hexameter and mixed metered repartee of nymphs and shepherds, where Byrd seals Cupid’s fate as a nonentity in “Love is a fit” (BE 13: 43). It is back in the real world of preaching and prayer, in the sententious fourteener couplets of “If in thine heart” (BE 13: 44), where Byrd exposes Love’s true identity as the representation of lust, that is, worldly sin. “If in thine” uniquely names lust as the collection’s main antagonistic force; and it is also uniquely directed. From the first song of the set onward, in various personalized appeals of an I=speaker/thy=God (or authorized representative) variety, a supplicant’s voice is heard over and over in Byrd’s Songs. But in no song other than “If in thine” does anyone directly address the petitioner’s concerns or answer any questions. To “give all to thy lust” (l.  1) as the auditor is first warned, is to “endure … sorowes sharpe, & griefes” (l. 2), while a “blessed lyfe” with “daungers … few …” (l. 4), the following lines suggest, will be the reward for those who use “reason” rather than “will” to “governe all … th[eir] minde[s]” (l. 3). Fittingly, as it sums up the Songs’ argument, this verse lays things out starkly: with descriptions of various consequences for the wrongheaded set against the gifts that will be enjoyed by those who choose to follow the path of righteousness. In pointing out the stark contrasts of this verse, Byrd impersonates a preacher giving stern moral guidance. Published homilies (called “read homilies”), of which this song is a fair approximation, were a product of the Edwardian era and were well known to be among Elizabeth’s most effective means to control or “tune the pulpits.”43 Defenders of the Established Church saw these easily vetted texts as appropriate vehicles for religious instruction. But the puritan faction complained that the read homily only put a distance between the audience in the pews and the invariable man at the pulpit, one who should have gained (or be willing to gain) the requisite skills to extemporize his sermons effectively. Mere homily readers are “idolles,” in the words of the arch puritan Thomas Cartwright, and the effects of their actions could be as dangerously “evil” as those of the actors in a play who “stande for that and make shew of that which they are not.”44 43

The phrase may have been the invention of Peter Heylens, who claimed in 1688, “it was observed of Queen Elizabeth, that when she had any business to bring about amongst the people, she used to tune the Pulpits, as her saying was; that is to say, to have some Preachers in and about London, and other great Auditories in the Kingdom, ready at command to cry up her design, as well in their publick Sermons as their private Conferences”; see his Cyprianus Anglicus (London, 1688), 161 (original italics). 44 Thomas Cartwright, A replye to an answere made of M. Doctor Whitgifte Against the admonition to the Parliament ([Hempstead], 1573), 70; see, for a response in defense

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Songs of Six Parts 259

By expressing important ideas about religious life in a serious manner as he does in “If in thine,” Byrd is, in effect, showing allegiance to Elizabeth, who, even in the face of strong puritan admonishment, never changed her position on the read homily, which she expected all her subjects to use as part of their prayer services.45 Byrd, however, had crafted within his discourse on the consequences of sin something that fits his own belief that a period of purification was necessary before the non-saintly elect could join in a final heavenly union with their savior, a covert message that he relayed mainly, although not exclusively, through the means of his music. From the opening point through the end of the first full section of “If in thine” the listener perceives that the sextus and superius function very much as the principal voices of this partsong setting, a status they achieve by articulating distinct motives of a neatly parsed tune in the most predictable ways and also by taking turns as the most disciplined leader and dutiful follower in the texture. As far as the role reversal is concerned, it is just before the topics turn from the very bad to the better – as heralded by the contrasting conjunction “but” (l. 3) – that Byrd too shifts things around by putting the superius momentarily in the leading position, although it was formerly the adherent (mm. 24–35). Thus, as he often does, Byrd treats the opportunity to alternate the roles of a dux and comes in an imitative context as a means to represent certain turns in the text; and even if the audible difference that results from the role transferal could have been deemed rather slight, someone placed in a position to see and hear the parts change functions in this way might well have detected the gesture and made the appropriate connection. Then, after a full pause, strategically placed just before the enticing words “blessed lyfe” (l. 4), Byrd unleashes such an ample store of musical drama that no one would likely miss the attention-grabbing effect, as he features first a series of diffusive groupings in the texture where all parts joined in with various others in unpredictable associations (mm. 35–45, see Ex. 9.4a).46 In addition to marking a clear textual division, Byrd’s cells erase the sense of a single or doubled musical authority. Such a leaderless condition, indeed, is something he maintains even after he re-individuates the parts for the next point, as he then presses the entrances ever closer together in more and more intensified stretto entries, in a tutti texture (mm. 50–55). Only at the very end does he allow things to relax into a plagal close (mm. 62–63), where a sense of agreement and understanding is at least implied, musically, by the sheer force of this cadence being so often used for the word “amen” (even though the word itself does not appear in the poem). What explains all the turmoil? The answer, I contend, is that Byrd here moves under the surface of his text to depict the realm of purgatory, mainly by placing of the read homily, John Whitgift, The Works of John Whitgift, DD, The First Portion, Containing the Defense of the Reply of Thomas Cartwright, ed. John Ayre (Cambridge, 1851), 540–45. 45 Ronald B. Bond has maintained that “the most committed and enthusiastic patron of homilies in Elizabethan England was the Queen herself, and the Tudor church owed its continued use [of them] … to the impetus she provided.” See Bond, Certain Sermons or Homilies (1547) and A Homily against Disobedience and Wilful Rebellion (1570) (Toronto, 1987), 9. 46 Neighbour, “Byrd’s Treatment,” 414–15.

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Jeremy L. Smith

260

Ex. 9.4  BE 13: 44 “If in thine,” and BE 13: 45 “Unto the hills” a. BE 13: 44, mm. 34–38

&b ›

Ó ˙ ˙. œ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

& b ˙ n˙ w

w

mind,

Vb

thy mind,

˙ ˙ w

all thy mind,

Vb › ?b

mind,

w

thy

w

mind,

Ó

˙

life

then shalt

a bless - ed

w

∑

w

∑

w

∑

thou

lead,

Ó w

bless - ed life then shalt thou lead,

life then shalt

„ „ „

w

lead,

∑

Ó

Ó ˙ ∑

shalt

w

thou

a

∑

w

˙. œ ˙ ˙ ˙. œ w

. Ó ˙ ˙ œ ˙ ˙ w a

all thy mind,

Vb ˙ ˙ w

a bless - ed

w

˙

˙. œ œ œ ˙

˙. œ ˙ ˙ a

bless - ed

w a

„

˙

thou

bless - ed life

˙ ˙

life then shalt thou

˙. œ ˙ ˙

bless - edlife then

special emphasis on the element of time. “If in thine” does not take longer to sing than in the collection ˙ ˙other ∑ ∑ andÓ its total ˙ length ˙ ˙ win terms˙of measures w ˙ & bmany ˙ works ˙ w or breves is fairly unremarkable. But from the platform of a confined first point right arm, Sun by day shall not thee Byrd goes aton thy to feature so many various kinds oftheextension throughout this work that, bby the end, that „ it would Ó bew hard˙ to escape ˙ ˙ the „ he ∑ the main theme & ˙ possibility w expressive explores musically is the idea of temporal length. ˙For this purpose Byrd and stands right such arm. as “endure,” “force,” and has the backing of words and phrases inat thethyverse w ˙ ˙and ˙ ˙ proximity “sorowes œ &˙ griefes w ˙(l. 2), # ˙ ˙at length” œ ˙ appear ( n)˙ . which Ó ˙ in˙close b ˙ . sharpe V introduce time (and pain) as a factor that could be associated with the purging at death. thy right arm, is andprobably stands atthe thy original right arm,version theofSun day the shall not stage after In what thebysong second w ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ line reads, “then sorowes sharpe and greefes at length / endure longe needes thou ˙ #w ∑ „ ˙ ˙ of˙ “endure ˙ of force thou must”), adding V b Ó(instead muste” the word “longe” to the 47 time-extending at thysuccession. right arm, and stands at thy right arm, ˙ ˙ w ˙ w syllabically, we find that the first point is one Byrd˙sets˙ strictly ˙ . œback, ?Looking ˙ „ Ó ∑ ˙ b treating the whole fourteener as a single unit; and even if the point has its imitative entriesstands spread so right far out that, rather unusually, the two leading do not at thy arm, the Sun voices by day shall overnot lap?in the texture, the overall effect is˙ .stillœ one of relative compositional restraint ∑ pair and includes „ after this, ∑ Byrd wdivides the line ˙ thewusual 8–6 „ ˙ into (mm.b 1–11). But, 47

and

stands at thy

right

arm,

Oxford, Bodleian MS Mus. Sch. E. 423, no. 8, p. 24. For an in-depth discussion of this manuscript and its close ties to Byrd see David Mateer, “William Byrd, John Petre, and Oxford, Bodleian MS Mus. Sch. E. 423,” Royal Musical Association Research Chronicle 29 (1996): 21–46. Although most likely meant for the use of the Petre family, “If in thine” is located within a group of anthems that suggest it was performed at the Royal Chapel, and thus before the Queen, as I hope to establish in a forthcoming study.

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all thy mind,

Vb ›

?b

mind,

w

w

thy

mind,

w

∑

w

∑

&b ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ at

&b

thy right

„

„

a

∑

arm,

Ó w

and

∑

˙

at

thy right

arm, and stands

Vb Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ at

? ˙. œ ˙ ˙ b ?

b

stands at thy right

„

w

Vb Vb ? ?

b b

burn,

nor Moon by

„

˙ ˙ thee

˙ ˙ thee

˙ ˙

burn, nor

„

bless - ed

˙ ˙

life then shalt thou

w

shall not

w

˙ ˙

night

thee

˙ ˙ ˙ ∑

w

w

shall not

„

∑

„

„

„

˙

the

w

Sun

harm,

the

∑

„

day

˙ ˙. nœ œ œ w harm, thee

˙

∑

˙ ˙

arm,

harm.

˙

„

day

the Sun by

w

„

„

the Sun by

Ó

˙

„

thee

w

arm,

right

shall not

˙

Ó ˙ ˙ ˙

right

„

˙ w

arm.

at

thy

bless - edlife then

∑

w

#w

Moon by night thee

nor Moon by

right

˙

Sun by day

˙

˙ œ ˙ œœ˙

˙ Œ œ ˙ ˙

burn,

„

thee

˙

right arm,

stands at thy

˙ ˙

night

bless - ed life

˙ ˙ w

˙ ˙ ˙

˙. œ ˙

w and

&b ˙ Œ œ ˙ ˙ &b

∑

the

thy

at thy

∑

arm,

˙

˙ ( n)˙ . œ ˙

w ˙ ˙

arm, and stands

Ó

˙ ˙ ˙

stands

right

thy

a

a

Ex. 9.4  continued b. BE 13: 45, mm. 47–55

w

˙. œ ˙ ˙

Songs of Six ˙. œ ˙ ∑ w „ Parts 261

œ ˙ ˙ #˙ ˙ w V b ˙. at

Ó ˙

w

w

the

˙

by

w harm.

w

˙ ˙

day

shall not

˙ ˙ w

Sun

by

day

Sun

by

day

˙ ˙ w

a number of length-extending melismas to add considerable musical space (mm. 10–26). Fittingly, this is the section where he encountered the suggestive words “length,” “endure,” and, perhaps originally, “longe” as well. The lengthiest point of the song is the last, which is by no means unusual. But in this case simply to note the number of text repetitions on the final words “fewest

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daun-gers finde”(l. 4) in every part encourages a reading where the word “fewest” is contradicted by the force of Byrd’s musical decisions (mm. 44–63). And the composer, who extends the underlying tune that dictates his structure and adds a plagal cadence to further prolong the ending, is excessive here even in his use of “schematic recapitulatory” devices.48 Not only does Byrd recall the first point in the last (cf. sextus, mm. 2–6 and superius, mm. 56–60), he also reiterates the exact pitches and rhythms of the second half of the third phrase (cf. superius, mm. 29–30 and tenor, mm. 48–50), which he brings back as well in the following song of the sequence (discussed below and see Ex. 9.6). Even within the tune itself there is throughout a sense of recapitulation, or lack of progress, as every one of its phrases ends on the pitch on which it starts, or one a step or two above it, Overall, Byrd’s setting of “If in thine” allows a consistent, if complex, reading on two levels. On the one hand, in the carefully crafted lines that he features throughout the song he portrays the sternness and sincerity of the exhortative text he has at hand, upholding the text’s overt condemnation of sinful lust in his setting. By attending to a protagonist’s needs in the appropriate mode “If in thine” might be seen then to function as the musical equivalent of the authorized sermon that the English Church had controversially mandated for its services. Yet Byrd, on the other hand, here follows through with a covert agenda he warned his auditors about in the debat between shepherds and nymphs of the previous two songs, pushing his argument past the point of agreement with the Queen and toward a position decidedly right of center.

W

CHURCHING AND PURIFICATION (BE 13: 45)

ith his “Unto the hills mine eyes I lift” (BE 13: 45), a setting of Psalm 121, Byrd ventures even further into the debates of the time by evoking the Purification or Thanksgiving of Women after Childbirth, known as churching. At the very inauguration of the Admonition controversy Thomas Wilcox opened a whole series of diatribes on Popishe abuses yet remayning in the Englishe Church, for the which Godly Ministers haue refused to subscribe (published with John Field’s 1572 An Admonition to the Parliament) with a discussion of churching, returning to it, with a more sustained attack, in his “Item 12.” Noting this, some today still cast “resistance to churching as one of the surest signs of [that era’s] puritan[ism].”49 By using imitation and modeling as a covert means of inter-opus referencing, along with other expressive devices, Byrd, however, goes as far against the left as possible at this point in his sequence, showing again the way that theological ideas supported by the Established Church could be traced back to uniquely Catholic positions on the afterlife. 48 49

Neighbour, “Byrd’s Treatment,” 415. Thomas Wilcox, Popishe abuses yet remayning in the Englishe Church, for the which Godly Ministers haue refused to subscribe, in John Field, An Admonition to the Parliament ([Hempstead], 1572), A8v, B4r. See Keith Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic: Studies in Popular Beliefs in Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century England (New York, 1971), 61; see also David Cressy, Birth, Marriage, and Death: Ritual, Religion, and the Life-cycle in Tudor and Stuart England (Oxford, 1997), 198; and Judith Maltby, Prayer Book and People in Elizabethan and Early Stuart England (Cambridge, 1998), 63.

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Based on pagan fertility rites and Jewish practices involving sacrifice, atonement, and the idea that childbirth left women with an impurity that needed a month or so of isolation to resolve before they could safely return to the synagogue or Temple (Leviticus 12:1-9), churching already smacked too much of purification rituals to escape strong puritan censorship.50 In 1590, the separatist Henry Barrowe, for example, pointedly asked, “Why,” if the practice “be but bare thancksgiving … should (if that be so) the women be more churched upon that occasion [childbirth], then when they have escaped some great danger of drowning, burning, sword, enemies, or when they are recovered of some extreme sicknes and disease? yea why should this sollemmne publike peculiar thankes [not] be more given for the escaping of evil?51 The answer to Barrowe’s leading question is surely because of the special place of childbirth in pre-Reformation religious viewpoints about original sin, propagation, and eschatological thought that lingered on into the post-Reformation era.52 He had posed it, though, as a way of emphasizing that the “Purification” rite (which he insisted on calling it) was best viewed as a corollary to purgatorial beliefs, which he proposed to use a “duong fork to cast … out” of any religious settlement.53 Critiques of the churching practice extended even into its use of scripture. Psalm 121, the source of Byrd’s “Unto the hills,” was a feature of the Sarum rites 50

On the pagan and Jewish precedents see Gail McMurray Gibson, “Blessing from Sun and Moon: Churching as Women’s Theater,” in Bodies and Disciplines: Intersections of Literature and History in Fifteenth-century England, ed. Barbara A Hanawalt and David Wallace, Medieval Cultures 9 (Minneapolis, 1996), 139–53. 51 Henry Barrowe, A Brief Discoverie of the False Church ([Dort], 1590), 128. Incidentally, Barrowe wrote this tract in the Fleet prison where he was being held as a nonconformist recusant, thus suffering (if more severely) punishment for the same infractions Byrd committed from the opposite side of the religious spectrum. 52 The idea that childbirth left women with a spiritual rather than physical impurity is something John Milton grappled with powerfully in his poetry and prose. See Marilyn L. Williamson, “A Reading of Milton’s Twenty-Third Sonnet,” Milton Studies 4 (1972): 141–49; and Dixon Fiske, “The Theme of Purification in Milton’s Sonnet XXIII,” Milton Studies 8 (1975): 149–63. In his Milton and Maternal Mortality (Cambridge, 2009), Louis Schwartz suggests “Milton may have been recalling those churchings [of his deceased wife Katherine who had thrice been churched] in his dream/poem [Sonnet 23].” He also contends that Milton “would have thought of purification in spiritual rather than physical terms, and ‘child-bed taint’ would have been a sign of original sin rather than of some physical impurity” (p. 167). For a different view on this “taint” as it relates to conflicting Protestant and Catholic positions then on sex, sin, and marriage see E. R. Gregory, “Milton’s Protestant Sonnet Lady: Revisions in the ‘Donna Angelicata’ Tradition,” Comparative Literature Studies 33 (1996): 258–79. 53 Barrowe, Brief Discoverie, 128. Barrowe, admittedly, was at pains to link the ritual to Jewish practices relating to physical purification rites. But he nonetheless emphasized the “papist” connections of childbirth to original sin and the cleansing aspect of prayer as well as to the aspect of temporal space and separation, all of which relate to purgatory. As far as the sin aspect is concerned, Barrowe may have been spurred on by the Established Church spokesman Whitgift’s avowal that the woman’s “absence” is “by reason of that infirmity and danger that God hath laid upon womankind in punishment of the first sin.” Works of John Whitgift, 1:558.

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for churching. As the churching rituals of the first Book of Common Prayer (1549) were based on the Sarum – and because Psalm 121 was the only verse to be so prescribed in every subsequent edition of the Book (until 1662) – the psalm itself had deep associations with the English practice.54 Nonetheless, in his Popishe abuses yet remayning Wilcox twice complained that Psalm 121 was “abused” in the churching rite, quoting each time the opening line with its evocative “hills” (which he described unwisely, events will show, as a “foolishe thing”) and, on the second occasion, turning to the even more richly imaged sixth line, where “the sunne shall not burne thee by day, nor the moon by nyght.”55 Speaking in defense of the rite, John Whitgift, the conformist, scolded Wilcox for his audacity, chiding, “What foolishness, I beseech you, can you find in this so godly a psalm? O where are your wits? Nay, where is your reverence you ought to give to the Holy Scriptures?”56 But in 1590 Barrowe undauntedly sneered again at the thought of the dangers of a burning sun and moon and, nearly a half century later, John Milton, no less, mercilessly taunted those within the Established Church who still gave “thanks in the womans Churching for her delivery from Sunburning and Moonblasting, as if she had bin travailing not in her bed, but in the deserts of Arabia.”57 Milton made the jibe because he knew that English women more often than not treated their period of isolation as well as their celebrated reintegration into society as an empowering experience. Relieved from domestic and conjugal duties during their period of “lying-in,” they were attended on by appointed “god sibs” (gossips, god-relations), that is, female friends and servants, who would also ceremoniously accompany them in their culminating procession to church and then to a feast after all the formal solemnity.58 Aware of these beneficial social aspects, Whitgift eventually went so far as to claim that the ceremony was not an affair “of the church” at all, but “rather [a] civil matter and custome of our countrie.”59 Modern studies support this view. According to recent estimates, up to 96 percent of all eligible women in London were churched at the time.60 54

See Brian Cummings, ed., The Book of Common Prayer: The Texts of 1549, 1559, and 1662 (Oxford, 2011), 782–83. For a sustained treatment of Shakespeare’s allusions to Psalm 121 as a means of referring to churching rites see Mary Free, “Strange Bedfellows: ‘The Churching of Women’ and The Taming of the Shrew,” Renaissance Papers [4] (2003): 83–98. 55 Wilcox, Popish abuses, A8v, B4v. 56 Works of John Whitgift, 2:562; cited in McGinn, Admonition Controversy, 244. 57 Barrowe, Brief Discoverie, 128. John Milton, The Complete Prose Works of John Milton, 8 vols., gen. ed. Don M. Wolfe (New Haven, CT, 1953–82), 1:939. 58 Cressy, Birth, Marriage, and Death, 84–87, 201–03. 59 Works of John Whitgift, 3:490. 60 See Cressy, Birth, Marriage, and Death, 199. Cressy cites Jeremy Boulton, Neighbourhood and Society: A London Suburb in the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, 2005), 276–79, and Susan Wright, “Family Life and Society in Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Century Salisbury,” Ph.D. diss., Univ. of Leicester, 1982, 156, 333–35. On the broad base of social interest in churching in England in the medieval era see also Becky R. Lee, “Men’s Recollections of a Woman’s Rite: Medieval English Men’s Recollections Regarding the Rite of the Purification of Women after Childbirth,” Gender and History 14 (2002): 224–41.

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Ex. 9.5  Philip van Wilder, “Blessed art thou,” mm. 44–47

& b ˙.

œ

shalt

thy

&b œ œ œ œ Vb ˙ Vb ?b

Thou

thy

chil - dren's

˙

shalt

∑ ∑

œ

œ

chil - dren's

œ

œ

chil - dren

œ Ó

œ

thy

œ

chil

˙

see,

œ

œ

œ

chil - dren's

˙

Thou

∑

-

œ œ ˙ w

dren see,

Œ

œ œ œ œ

˙

∑ œ

thou

˙

shalt

˙

chil - dren see,

to

thy

shalt

˙

thy

chil - dren's chil - dren

Thou

shalt

˙. ˙

œ

œ œ

œ œ

thy

great

œ

œ

œ

œ

chil - dren's

None of this public and private support for churching would have swayed Barrowe from a reproachful stance. He was perfectly aware that for Catholics it made sense that a post-natal woman’s body, like the soul in the afterlife, must be purified of its association with lust before it could be reintegrated into society; and he used his ample polemic skills to warn his audiences about the dangers of keeping such traditions alive. Byrd had the opposite goal in mind, which was to see it all return to a state of former glory; and his hints along these restorative lines are telling. Byrd patterned “If in thine” on Philip van Wilder’s Edwardian setting of Psalm 128, “Blessed art thou that fearest God” (see Ex. 9.5).61 The choice was not random. Psalm 128 had accompanied the 121st in England’s pre-Reformation Sarum Use, as Byrd was surely aware.62 “Unto the hills,” then, fits tightly within Byrd’s designated sequence by means of a hidden ritual link. It is a connection he reinforces with his music and to which we shall return below. Byrd casts “If in thine” (BE 13: 44) and “Unto the hills” (BE 13: 45) in the “same mode,” “plan[s]” them “similarly … with cell technique in a comparable position,” and repeats a phrase in both songs (see Ex. 9.6), which he places at the very climax of “Unto the hills” (superius, mm. 74–76).63 He may have given considerable thought all along to the way this seemingly ordinary musical phrase was 61

Neighbour, “Byrd’s Treatment,” 414–15; Neighbour convincingly demonstrates that Byrd’s song was “partly modeled” on the older work, stressing the cell technique they share. 62 F. H. Dickinson, ed., Missale ad usum insignis et præclaræ ecclesiæ Sarum, part 1 (Burntisland and London, 1861), col. 849. For a discussion of the Sarum churching rite and its music see Sue Niebrzydowski, “Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo: Male Voices, Female Interpretation, and the Medieval English Purification of Women after Childbirth Ceremony,” Early Music 39 (2011): 327–34, at 328–29. 63 Neighbour, “Byrd’s Treatment,” 415.

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266

b & b w & Ów ˙ will,

&b ˙

will, and

& ˙ b w˙

Ex. 9.6  BE 13: 44 “If in thine” and BE 13: 45 “Unto the hills” a. BE 13: 44, mm. 29–33

. ˙ Ó ˙ .˙ œ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ nœ˙ ˙ w ˙ n ˙ ∑ w and go - vern all go - vern all thy mind,

˙ ˙ ww

œ œ w b œ œ˙ w › V Vb thy

vern all thy mind,

vern all

V „b

Vb Vb ˙

thy will and go

will

„∑

V˙ b w˙ if rea

? b ˙ . ?œ b w˙ . if

will,

that

will, thy will,

-

gers

&b Ó

›

that rea son rule

œ w „

find,

mind,

wÓ

and

go

find,

„

thy

V˙ b ˙ ˙

find,

gers dan

find, dan -

˙˙

find,

˙

vern all thy mind,

-

will

w ∑

?˙ ˙ b ˙

and few - est

-

˙˙

w

∑

thy

and go - vern

go - vern

go - vern all thy mind, thy all thy mind, thy

ww

and -

go vern all

vern all thy mind, all thy mind, all

˙ w˙

w ∑

∑

˙ ˙n ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ n ˙ ˙ ˙

gers find,

find,

˙ ˙. ˙

˙.

and few - est

few - est dan

dan

˙œ ˙n ˙

˙ ˙. n˙

˙.

Ó ˙ ˙˙

˙ ˙ ˙œ œ˙ ˙ œ œ ˙

˙˙

dan

few est dan

few - est dan - gers

go - vern

and go - vern

œ ˙ ˙ w

and

and go - vern

˙ . w œ ˙ ˙ .˙ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

and

go

thy mind, and

Ó

˙

˙˙

andfew

all

Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙n ˙ ˙ w ˙ n ˙ Ó w ˙ ˙ ˙

∑ Ó

dan gers

? ˙ b

find,

all

and go - vern all go - vern all

and

∑ ∑

w∑

∑Ó

go - vern thy

. ˙ Ó ˙ .˙ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ ˙

and go - vern all thy mind, and all thy mind,

˙ ∑ w

∑„

. V˙ b ˙ ˙ . ˙ œ ˙ ˙

and

˙ ˙ w˙

go - vern

and go vern all

-

son rule thy will

Vb ˙

gers

and

and

˙˙ w w

&˙ b. Ó œ ˙˙.

and go - vern

˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ Ó˙ Ó

and

gers

˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙# ˙ ˙ ˙ # ˙

Ó ∑˙

and go - vern all thy mind, vern all thy mind,

thy will,

&wb ˙

∑

and

˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ ∑ w ˙

Ó ∑˙

˙ ˙ ww

„ V∑ b

Vb ˙

thy

-

thy mind,

b. BE 13: 44, mm. 48–50

&b ˙

Vb

˙

w

est dan gers

˙w ˙

dan - gers

-

find,

ww

find,

gers

find,

w

find,

constructed, noting that it is made up almost entirely of syncopations and dotted notes that suggest prolongation, even as its melodic and harmonic properties signal closure. Furthermore, thanks to the single flat in their signatures, when these songs move, during their closing phrases, through what we call today the subdominant

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˙.

&b ˙ &b Vb

for

˙

˙.

in

and

Vb ˙ ?b

ev

˙.

œ ˙ -

„

er shall

œ ˙

?b ˙

all

thy ways both

œ œ w out,

and

w

w

∑

∑

Ó

˙

con - serve,

˙ ˙. w

for

ev

œ œ œ ˙ ˙

thy ways both in

and

˙ n˙

out,

œœ œ œ ˙ ˙

and

Ex. 9.6  continued c. BE 13: 45, mm. 74–77

in

˙.

out,

∑

and

-

for

œ ˙

∑

er shall

˙

both in

and

Ó

˙ w ∑

œ ˙

˙

for

˙ ˙

˙.

con - serve, for

for

w out,

˙ ˙

ev

˙ ˙

out,

˙.

ev

for

-

˙

˙

-

er

˙ ˙

shall

for

ev

˙ ˙

-

ev - er

shall

œ ˙ ˙

er shall con

-

ev

œ ˙

er shall

˙

w

œœ w

con - serve

er shall

˙. ˙

˙

con

con

œ œ œ ˙ con

-

˙

˙

w

serve,

area toward their mutual F destination, Byrd rather naturally, it might be said, includes an e♭ as he ventures a bit more deeply into that pre-cadential region (see Ex. 9.7). A look, finally, at the text that Byrd covertly voices through musical modeling – Psalm 128 – reveals his most sophisticated method of theological positioning. “Blessed are they,” the work of van Wilder that served as Byrd’s model, is a verse noteworthy for the way it celebrated childbirth.64 Van Wilder had shifted to his seminal cell techniques to emphasize the prodigious offspring (“thy children’s children”) due the God-fearing, reflecting the importance of fertility in the verse.65 Had Byrd set the text of Psalm 128 he would figuratively have restored the churching ritual in a way that only enhanced its socially determined, adiaphoric, value. But he preferred to unveil his religious position only indirectly. In placing through modeling procedures a denunciation of lust (in “If in thine”) over a work that celebrated childbirth, Byrd deepened the ritual’s association with those human urges that prompted a need for purification while shielding his purposes from blatant exposure. Indeed, as discussed above, Byrd uses the same cell technique van Wilder used to depict fertility to develop instead the idea of temporal length in “If in thine,” and Byrd goes on, in “Unto the hills,” to use it again to highlight the controversial sixth line of the 121st psalm describing the dangers of sun and moon (mm. 50–64, see Ex. 9.4b). In this light it would seem more than incidental that, as Roger Bowers notes, “Unto the hills” is “not merely very long but far longer than any of 64 65

A point emphasized in Niebrzydowski, “Asperges me,” 329. Philip van Wilder, Collected Works, Parts I and II, ed. Jane A. Bernstein, Masters and Monuments of the Renaissance 4 (New York, 1991), 1: 6-8, mm. 40–56.

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268

Ex. 9.7  BE 13: 44 “If in thine” and BE 13: 45 “Unto the hills” a. BE 13: 44, mm. 61–63

& bb ˙ & ˙

˙ ˙

˙ ˙

find, find,

and and

few - est few - est

dan dan

and and

few few

& bb œœ œœ œœ œ ˙˙ & œ ˙. ˙. V bb ˙˙ ˙ V ˙ few few

V bb ˙ V ˙ find, find, V bb w V w

-

est est

dan dan

dan dan

-

˙. ˙.

˙ ˙

and and

?b ?b › › find,

-

serve, serve,

& bb w & w

-

w. w.

w w

e e

ver er ver er

˙ ˙

˙ ˙

shall shall

serve,

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 268

˙ ˙

con con

shall shall

˙ ˙

-

gers gers

con con

›

U ›U

›

U ›U

find. find.

-

gers gers

find. find.

-

gers gers

find find

gers gers

find. find.

˙ ˙

›

U U

˙ ˙

› ›

U U

˙ ˙

-

˙ ˙

-

› ›

˙ œ œ w ˙ œ œ w U U W

-

W

serve. serve.

w w

-

-

˙ bœ ˙ ˙ bœ ˙

serve, serve,

U U W

W

serve, shall con - serve. serve, shall con - serve.

-

-

U U

W W

serve. serve.

-

find. find.

find. find.

gers gers

œ ˙ œ œœ œœ œœ œ ˙ ˙ œ ˙

con con

œ bœ œ œ . œ b œ œ œ ww . con con

œ œ

gers gers

-

-

w w w w con con œ bœ œ œ ˙ œ bœ œ œ ˙

-

˙ ˙

U ›U

-

U

w œ œ U œ œ w

b. BE 13: 45, mm. 89–92

w ˙. V bb w w ˙. V w serve, shall con . shallœ œ œ con œ œ œ˙ serve, ˙ ? b ˙ ˙. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ ? œ b ?b ? w b w serve,

w. w.

est dan

shall shall

shall shall

ver shall ver shall

-

œ bœ w œ bœ w est dan

-

few few

-

dan dan

-

˙ ˙

-

˙. ˙.

est est

dan dan

serve, serve,

V bb ww V

-

w. w.

find,

& bb W & W

œ œ œ ˙ œ œ œ ˙

˙ ˙ w œ œ w œ œ

bœ bœ

˙ ˙

-

˙ ˙

œ œ œ œ œ œ

˙ ˙

find, find,

˙. ˙.

˙ ˙

-

Ó ˙ Ó ˙

U w U

w

serve. serve.

U U ›

›

serve. serve.

› ›

U U W

W

con - serve. con - serve.

› › › › › ›

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Byrd’s pieces certainly identified as anthems.”66 Both songs might have evoked purgatory merely by the sheer force of their unusual lengths. Thus, at his most covert, Byrd was hardly expressing anything in tune with the sensibilities of a nation that had kept the churching ceremony intact, however ­supportive of his efforts the general view might have been. Rather, he used the debate over the popular churching ritual as a means of expounding on matters that contradicted the whole thrust of the reform movement, extending into the most controversial aspect of the Catholic position regarding purgatory and the efficacy of prayer.

“CHRIST RISING AGAIN” | “CHRIST IS RISEN AGAIN” (BE 13: 46–47)

U

nquestionably Byrd’s consort verse anthems “Christ rising again” | “Christ is risen again” (BE 13: 46–47) function as a “grand finale,” to quote from Andrew Johnstone’s assessment.67 Byrd had long foretold that his 1589 story would end in salvation; and because he had earlier introduced two competing stories about love (pagan and Christian) and allowed each to inform the narrative throughout, it was all the more momentous for it all to conclude at the point when Christ solved the greatest soteriological problem for mankind, at least as far as Christians were concerned – namely, by releasing their sins with his death and paving the way to a heavenly reward. The achievement of the Resurrection was something on which all Christians could agree. But at this point Byrd hardly declared a truce in his ongoing fight with puritans over the contents of the English Book of Common Prayer. Instead he here went to the very heart of the Admonition controversy by setting two of the Book’s signal texts, and, through his music, he drew on the Queen’s authorized homilies to evoke the so-called Harrowing of Hell as a further means of defending the Catholic position on the afterlife.68 The musical result was a tour de force in dramatic tension, notable for its “striking quality,” “arresting contrast[s],” and “bold … effect[s].”69 Christ’s immediate activities in the afterlife are described primarily in the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus and in the Apostles’ Creed (Symbolum Apostolicum).70 In the latter it baldly states that after He was “buried” Jesus’s soul “descended into Hell” before, in body, He “rose again (anew).”71 Ultimately, by the time of the 66

Roger Bowers, “Ecclesiastical or Domestic? Criteria for Identification of the Initial Destinations of William Byrd’s Music to Religious Vernacular Texts,” in Richard Turbet, William Byrd: A Research and Information Guide, 3rd edn. (Routledge, 2012), 134–60, at 149–50. 67 Forthcoming. 68 Michael P. Winship cast the Harrowing as “the most important theological dispute of the 1580s, which broke down along puritan/conformist lines.” See his Godly Republicanism: Puritans, Pilgrims, and a City on a Hill (Cambridge, MA, 2012), 272 n17. 69 Peter le Huray, Music and the Reformation in England, Cambridge Studies in Music (Cambridge, 1978), 244. 70 See The Gospel of Nicodemus, and Kindred Documents, ed. Arthur Westcott (London, 1915). 71 Cummings, ed., Book of Common Prayer, 116, 152, 247, 259.

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Reformation, Jesus’s period in the sepulchre was envisioned as a crowd-stirring victory over the devil, one that cast Christ into a type of warrior figure that was well suited to project late and neo-feudal ideals. L’homme arme masses sponsored by monarchical chivalric orders and royally-tinged works based on the caput portion of a chant found exclusively in the English Sarum rite have been seen to evoke the Harrowing, which is also grandly featured in the works of Medieval writers, including Bede, Aelfric, Cynewulf, and William Langland (Piers Plowman), and that would culminate in the full neo-feudal, Renaissance, splendor of Spenser’s Faerie Queene.72 Every bit of the nationally focused interdisciplinary richness of the Harrowing would surely have increased its appeal to Byrd, as an English Catholic composer of song. It would only infuriate the era’s puritans. Despite the confirming statement in the Apostles’ Creed – which should, perhaps, have kept them in check – the most extreme puritans would flatly deny any version of the Descent, seeing in the scriptural sentence that affirms it merely a non-literal depiction of the hellish depths of Christ’s suffering on the Cross.73 Although there was no doubt a distaste for all stories of the Harrowing type, and the Calvinist thrust was to put more and more emphasis on Christ’s humility and suffering, it was nonetheless because the devil had kept these souls in a state of limbo before Christ’s arrival in hell that puritans pushed this story so far into the limelight as a point of confessional division. In his ongoing attack on the Book of Common Prayer and other official instruments of the Established Church, Thomas Cartwright characteristically warned: “if they can warrant thys [idea about souls in] dark captivity … oute of the scriptures, then Limbus patrum, & within a while purgatorie will [also] be founde oute there.”74 And what to puritans was most irksome in this respect was not the persistence of Catholic portrayals that might have confirmed their fears – as they had already peaked long before then and were moving into abeyance – it was instead the way that the English Church had upheld the idea, first by refining it and then by promoting it for purposes that would seem more and more to be politically motivated.75 72

On Medieval and Renaissance musical depictions of the Harrowing see Craig Wright, The Maze and the Warrior: Symbols in Architecture, Theology, and Music (Cambridge, MA, 2001), 15, 145–50, 162ff. (L’homme arme masses); Anne Walters Robertson, “The Savior, the Woman, and the Head of the Dragon in the Caput Masses and Motet,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 59 (2006): 537–630; and Andrew Kirkman, The Cultural Life of the Early Polyphonic Mass: Medieval Context to Modern Revival (Cambridge, 2010), 77–135. For a survey of the literature see Karl Tamburr, The Harrowing of Hell in Medieval England (Woodbridge, 2007). Among the many studies of Spenser’s depiction of the Harrowing, see Carol V. Kaske, “The Dragon’s Spark and Sting and the Structure of Red Cross’s DragonFight: ‘The Faerie Queene, I. XI–XII’,” Studies in Philology 66 (1969): 609–38. 73 For an extensive treatment of the dispute in England see Dewey D. Wallace, Jr., “Puritan and Anglican: The Interpretation of Christ’s Descent Into Hell,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 69 (1978): 248–87. 74 Thomas Cartwright, A Second Admonition to the Parliament ([Hempstead], 1572), 43–44. 75 On waning interest in the Harrowing in Counter-Reformation Europe see Tamburr, Harrowing of Hell, 175–78.

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At first, when looking at the sheer complexity and immensity of Sarum ceremonies for Easter Eve and Easter Day, and the way they were treated, it is difficult to imagine that Archbishop Thomas Cranmer and his colleagues who authored the inaugural 1549 Book of Common Prayer had any agenda in mind other than curtailment.76 Yet in eliminating so many of the rituals involving candles, oils, incense, fonts, blessings for so many saints, and the like, and maintaining those texts related to the Descent, the result was a comparative crystallization of the Harrowing theme.77 Two of Cranmer’s Harrowing-enhancing changes involved the texts that Byrd and many others would later set as an anthem pair. In the versus portion of the Latin Alleluia, Christus resurgens chant of the Sarum rite some of the business surrounding the tomb is described. But Cranmer eliminated this verse in 1549. He then added in its place a new English translation of Christus surrexit (1 Corinthians 15:20–22), which turned the subject back to the Harrowing with a mention of “Adam” and the “souls that sleep” and which furnished in the main the very words Byrd and many others would set, as suggested above, as the second anthem of the great Easter Day set, “Christ is risen.”78 Both “Christ rising” and “Christ has risen” are based on the most theologically influential letters of St. Paul, making them ideal texts for an English prayer book that would highlight scripture and eliminate various accretions from subsequent Church tradition.79 But scriptural clarification was not Cranmer’s only purpose for including them along with other texts suggestive of the Harrowing that he created, 76

On Cranmer’s agenda see Gordon Jeanes, “Cranmer and Common Prayer,” in The Oxford Guide to The Book of Common Prayer: A Worldwide Survey, ed. Charles Hefling and Cynthia Shattuck (New York, 2006), 21–38; on the depth of his devotion to the doctrine of Royal Supremacy in 1549 see Diarmaid MacCulloch, Thomas Cranmer: A Life (New Haven, CT, 1996), 150. 77 For example, Cranmer moved texts, such as the ominous Psalm 83: 3–5, from a Sarum Vigil on Good Friday to a Protestant “Mattins” on Holy Saturday, closing the gap between the anguished cries of one in the “pytte” and the joyous exclamations of those who know they will be saved; he also preserved the Sarum pre-service processional setting at the sepulchre, allowing his “Christ is rising” translation of 1549 to serve the same drama-enhancing function of the Christus resurgens original on which it was based; and he prolonged all the aural maiestas of the processionaccompanied song (or speech) that he allowed to stand by instructing the priest, when the music (or recitation) ended, to exclaim “shew forth to all nacions the glory of God” in a versicle to which the congregation would respond “and among all people his wonderful works.” Cf. Church of England, Collects, Epistles, and Gospels from the 1549, 1552, and 1559 Book of Common Prayer, Good Friday, http://justus. anglican.org/resources/bcp/1549/Readings_HolyWeek_1549.htm#Good%20 Friday; Easter Even, http://justus.anglican.org/resources/bcp/1549/Readings_ HolyWeek_1549.htm#Easter%20Even; Easter Day, http://justus.anglican.org/ resources/bcp/1549/Reading_EasterWeek_1549.htm; and The Sarum Missal in English, part 1, trans. Frederick E. Warren (London, 1911), 281–326. 78 See Church of England, Book of Common Prayer, Easter Day (1549), http://justus. anglican.org/resources/bcp/1549/Reading_EasterWeek_1549.htm. 79 See James D. G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids, MI, 1996), 234–65.

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redacted, and adapted. One of the chief architects of Henry the Eighth’s divorce and the nation’s break from Rome, Cranmer must have realized that Christ of the Harrowing was more than a savior; he was the one who had fearlessly confronted his most dangerous enemy, raising a banner for the righteous in ways that affirmed for all the importance of maintaining a church with a prince, rather than a pope, at its head. Elizabeth had the same view of the Harrowing as Cranmer and her father, but she was hindered in her wish to promulgate the idea by the puritanical forces that had further reduced the ceremonial aspects of the Book of Common Prayer in 1552.80 Revisionists at that time had even removed the “Alleluias” that ended both of the anthem texts of 1549 along with much else that they considered unwelcome trappings of a Catholic past.81 Fittingly, given her defensive position on the importance of having published sermons read in her church, Elizabeth kept the Harrowing alive through “An Homilie of the Resurrection,” where her appointed author, Bishop John Jewell, emphasized the “great wayght and importance” of the titular matter, quoted and discussed scripture, and directed his readers on ways they should strive to improve themselves in the spirit of this instruction.82 In this homily, the first biblical source Jewell quoted included the very lines Cranmer had rendered into “Christ has risen” (1 Corinthians 15:20). Otherwise, what stands out in this sermon are the words and images that elucidated all the qualities Elizabeth, as Gloriana, would have wished her subjects to associate with her when they imagined Christ as a triumphant “King of Kings,” “burst[ing] gates asunder.”83 80

For a musically grounded study that establishes Elizabeth’s preference for the 1549 Book of Common Prayer and discusses her struggles with left-leaning counselors see Roger Bowers, “The Chapel Royal, the First Edwardian Prayer Book, and Elizabeth’s Settlement of Religion, 1559,” Historical Journal 43 (2000): 317–44. See also Fiona Kisby, “‘When the King Goeth a Procession’: Chapel Ceremonies and Services, the Ritual Year, and Religious Reforms at the Early Tudor Court, 1485–1547,” Journal of British Studies 40 (2001): 44–75; and Bryan D. Spinks, “From Elizabeth I to Charles II,” in Oxford Guide to The Book of Common Prayer, ed. Hefling and Shattuck, 44–55, at 44–47. 81 Cf. Church of England, Book of Common Prayer, Easter Day (1549), http://justus. anglican.org/resources/bcp/1549/Reading_EasterWeek_1549.htm and http:// justus.anglican.org/resources/bcp/1549/Reading_EasterWeek_1552.htm. 82 Jewel, Second tome of homilees, 382. 83 Gospel of Nicodemus, 48. Although unaware of a possible connection with the Harrowing, I commented earlier on the way Byrd and Thomas Tallis emphasized the word “Gloria” in some published motets (Cantiones … sacrae [London, 1575]), noting that, “in this book Byrd seems to have picked texts that emphasize the Latin word ‘Gloria,’ perhaps to underline the majesty as well as the open-mindedness of Elizabeth’s rule. In Byrd’s ‘Attollite portas,’ surely the most blatant example, the phrase ‘Rex Gloria’ is repeated some forty times (and rather often at the very top of the singers’ ranges) before the doxology begins dramatically with the phrase ‘Gloria patri’.” See my “Music and the Cult of Elizabeth,” in “Noyces, sounds and sweet aires”: Music in Early Modern England, ed. Jessie Ann Owens (Washington DC, 2006), 62–77, at 65. Attolite portas is a signal text of the Harrowing, and thus there is the distinct possibility that Byrd had earlier demonstrated to Elizabeth his supportive views on kingship as represented in the Harrowing idea.

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Along with several dozen appropriate iterations of the words “death” and “sinne” in Jewell’s “Resurrection” homily, “power” appears fifteen times; “victory” (with “victorious,” etc.), nine; “glory,” six; “rule” and “destroy,” five; “ransome” and “triumph,” three; “tyranny” and “dominion,” two.84 Further evoking military conquests of a decidedly chivalric cast, Jewell cast the devil as the “ruler” of a “hell” that Christ’s resurrection “spoyled … for ever” in a manner “most victorious and valiant (italics added)” and, in a particularly revealing passage – where Jewell unequivocally parted from the views of those to his left and openly referred to the very “captives” in limbo Christ “tooke away” from the “tyrann[ous]” devil over which He “destroyed” – Jewell described the souls Christ released as gaining a status of “Citezins[hip]” in heaven rather than the more expected seat at God’s side, suggesting that, in the peaceful aftermath of the great struggle below, a ­state-like formation would ensue in that “glorious” destination far above.85 To the great frustration of many at the time who disagreed with her, but to the aid of those today who wish to know how her composers and poets might respond to her wishes, Elizabeth held on throughout her reign to ideas, such as Jewell’s portrayal of the Harrowing, that helped her define a majestic presence. Thus whenever Byrd composed his anthems (and all agree that it was sometime well into the 1570s or, more likely, early 1580s), he could have relied on his Queen to appreciate a depiction of the Harrowing that ceded nothing to the puritanical opposition. Indeed, if his “Christ rising” | “Christ has risen” pair was performed in a courtly procession – and Johnstone suggests it may have been used for the ceremonious “wearing of the purple” – it would have been a risky proposition to insinuate that Christ had not descended into Hell before rising again.86 Byrd, then, had every reason to emphasize the depths in these anthems and there is much to suggest that he did so with the same calculation with which he tackled their rising heights. Musically Byrd signaled a disquieting emotional response from his audiences in his very decision to set “Christ rising” in a “minor” mode (transposed Aeolian), even though he moved, in the second anthem, to a dance-evoking triple time in keeping with other anthem-like refrains. He also cast his melodic phrases into arches that feature an easily discernable ascent and descent; and he followed a wholly expected imitative procedure whereby he could put ideas into contention through the means of juxtaposition and conflation. However commonplace, these are elements that should not be overlooked, for it was through such standard techniques and gestures that Byrd could create tensions on the scale called for by an idea as grand as Christ vanquishing the devil. As with all great dramas, Byrd’s anthems feature turning points, moments after the exposition where the conflicts of the action are no longer rising but rather begin to fall toward a new place of resolution. Given the two-fold presentation of texts in these anthems, Byrd was somewhat challenged to pick a single spot as a climax of this kind, but he clearly found the means to do so in patterns he ­discovered in his texts. 84

Jewel, Second tome of homilees, 382–97. Ibid., 386–89. 86 Forthcoming. See also Kisby, “‘When the King Goeth’,” 59–60, 68. 85

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Using his cadence structure as a guide, we discover in both of Byrd’s anthems a scheme involving three sections, as follows: 1) a four-point introduction featuring one pair that moves harmonically from d to D (mm. 1–19 and 65–79) followed by another that opens and closes on F (mm. 19–25 and 79–90), 2) a single-point section that opens on F but closes on D (mm. 25–35 and 90–101), which serves as something of a bridge or transition to 3) a two-point conclusion (mm. 35–64 and 102–17). Byrd treats the conclusion sections as the means to erect a complementary relationship between the two anthems, creating an ouvert gesture, in the first anthem, by moving twice from the F harmony to a half cadence on A, and then drawing everything to a fitting close, in the second, with a more conclusive pair of d–D phrases. Byrd gestures toward his common design elements as well as his semiotic intentions by coloring the word “death” (“dieth,” “dead”) with an e♭’ in the third point of both anthems (mm. 12 and 80, see Ex. 9.8). But it is in his treatment of their fifth points – both of which begin with the coordinating conjunction “for” (“for in that he dy’d,” in “Christ rising” and “For as by Adam” in “Christ has risen”) – where he makes his most “bold” and “striking effect[s]” with E♭s (see Ex. 9.9). Slowing down the pace of harmonic movement quite noticeably in the sections prior to them and then featuring within them, in quick succession, rather daring progressions of chromatic root movements by thirds, beginning with the most venturesome shift he would explore in this entire collection, E♭ major to C major (mm. 26–27 and 91–92), Byrd sets up these turning points to depict something of Satan’s last stand. Afterward all is overtaken by the triumphant achievement of the Resurrection, the full realization of which he holds back as long as possible by placing the first anthem into an antecedent structural relationship with the second. One reason why Byrd could bring so much excitement into his depiction of the Harrowing was because on this issue he and his Queen saw eye to eye. Well revealing of his commitment to Catholic beliefs, however, is his ingenious use of an Alleluia, Christus resurgens chant from the outlawed Sarum rite.87 Perhaps because of the prominence of the performance venue, Byrd’s coding in this case was particularly careful. Thus the musical connections seem obscure at first, although, I would argue, cumulatively compelling. Firstly, he did not base his musical material on the processional antiphon Alleluia, Christus resurgens, which corresponds most directly to the anthem pair.88 Instead he chose another setting 87

See le Huray, Music and the Reformation, 244, and especially Johnstone (forthcoming). The chant appears in Graduale ad consuetudinem Sarum (Paris, 1508), 123v. 88 Unfortunately le Huray’s cryptic comment that Byrd’s anthem was “based on the Sarum plainsong (italics added)” rather than a Sarum source suggested that Byrd had based his anthem on the processional chant for Easter day, when this was clearly not the case, see le Huray, Music and the Reformation, 244. I wish to thank Professor Johnstone and the anonymous reviewer of this study for pointing out to me the different chant versions of Alleluia, Christus resurgens. In the version preserved in the Liber Usualis (LU 827) the chant is transposed down a fifth, as it is in Byrd’s version, and, although this suggests a possibility that Byrd encountered a chant at the same pitch, the chant appears uniformly in mode 1 in the printed sources: STC 15862, STC 15863, and STC 15865.

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Ex. 9.8  BE 13: 46 “Christ rising” and BE 13: 47 “Christ has risen” a. BE 13: 46, mm. 12–13

&b ˙ ˙ & b from

w w the

&b ˙ & b now ˙ now Vb w Vb w

˙ ˙

from

Vb Vb

Vb Vb ?b ˙ ? ˙ b &b Ó &b Ó

&b ˙ & b for˙ w for Vb w Vb Vb ˙ Vb ˙ Vb Vb ?b ? b

˙ ˙ w w

˙ ˙

beth˙ b˙

w w not, not, ˙. ˙.

˙ ˙

Ó Ó

the

di

-

di

-

∑ ∑

œ œ

œ œ

˙ ˙

Ó Ó

˙ ˙

∑ ∑ ˙ ˙

n˙ n˙

˙ ˙

˙ ˙

œ œ

˙ ˙

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

˙ ˙

w w

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ that

˙ ˙

see

-

see

-

w w

œ œ

Ó Ó

Ó Ó

w w ˙ ˙

˙ ˙

b. BE 13: 47, mm. 80–81

Ó Ó

w w

dead,

eth

œ œ

∑ ∑

#w #w dead,

˙ ˙ ing ing œ œ

œ œby

that

˙ ˙

Ó Ó

by

œ œ

b˙ b˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

œ œ

˙ ˙

˙ ˙ came

man

Ó Ó

˙ ˙ that that ˙ ˙

man

came

˙ ˙

w w œ œ

˙ ˙

œ œ

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

w w death œ œby

death

˙ ˙

by

˙ ˙ Ó Ó

˙ ˙

of the same text, which was featured on various days throughout Easter in the Roman rite, and for Mass on Low Sunday (the week after Easter) in the Sarum rite. Secondly, rather than treating the melody as a cantus firmus or cantus prius factus – augmenting its rhythm in relation to the other parts so that, when placed within the polyphonic texture, the chant melody would stand out as an emblematic ­referent as

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276

&b

&b &b w

Ex. 9.9  BE 13: 46 “Christ rising” and BE 13: 47 “Christ has risen” „ ˙ mm. 25–28 ˙ ˙ ˙ n˙ ∑ a. BEÓ 13: 46,

„

for & b ww V b for w Vb Vb w

˙

died,

in

that

he

died,

˙

˙

˙

˙„ ˙

˙

Œ

bw ˙ bw

w ˙

˙

wA

-

dam,

A

-

dam,

w

˙

˙

by

˙

by

w A

˙

˙

-

w

w „

˙

˙

˙

˙

w w

˙

˙

˙

˙

˙

A

-

dam,

all

men

do

A

-

dam,

all

men

do

b˙

˙

˙

„ w

˙

˙ b wA ˙ AÓ dam,

men

-

dam,

all

men

-

dam,

dam,

all

men

all

men

-

dam,

w w A A

˙

all

˙ ˙

by

˙. w

dam,

-

w

˙

˙.

-

A

˙

Ó œ w œ w ˙ ˙

˙

Ó

men

by

as

˙.

died

ball˙

dam,

˙

˙˙ .

died

˙

dam,

-

by

˙˙

he

he

-

wA

as

A

w ˙.

b˙

˙ wA ˙ bw

dam,

by

˙

œ Ó˙

w ˙ died,

died,

w

b. BE 13: 47, mm. 90–92

w

wA w

in

˙ n he˙ Ó ˙ that he that

œ ˙

˙. b˙

˙ bw

˙

˙

in

˙. w

w bw

-

as

? b For ˙ as˙

Œ

w

˙

˙ w

˙ ∑

∑˙ .

w

˙ ˙

dam,

˙

as

˙ ˙

-

by

For as Vb ˙ ˙ ?b ˙ ˙ For

˙

as

˙ ˙

ww

˙ ˙

he

For as by &b ˙ ˙ ˙ & b For as „ by

&b ˙ Vb ˙ For Vb V b For˙ For Vb ˙ V b For˙

for

that

˙

˙

˙

for

in

˙ ˙

Vb w ? w b ? w b

Ó w

˙

˙ ˙

˙˙

Vb w Vb w

&b ˙

∑ ˙

w

A

˙ Ó ˙ bw dam, dam, b w A ˙

˙

˙

˙ ˙ ˙

˙

˙ ˙ ˙

˙

˙ ˙ all

˙ ˙

˙ w

men

˙ ˙ do

do

˙

do

do

wdie, ˙ ˙ do die, ball˙ men ˙ do˙ ˙ b˙

do

w

„ w

die,

„

Ó

Ó

die,

w

wdie

Ó

w

Ó Ó

∑ . w

Ó

die

w ∑ . die,

die,

wdie,

Ó

Ó

as by A dam, dam, all itmen die,for motives well asFor a harmonically limiting deviceA – Byrd approaches withdoan eye and, with the selective precision of a twelfth-century organum composer, skips over the first two notes of the chant to seize on the first melisma – after noting, almost certainly, that it is repeated three times: for the syllables le (of Alleluia), tus

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Ex. 9.10  Alleluia, Christus resurgens ex mortuis (Low Sunday) a. Alleluia, … Christus, … dominábitur melisma a ________ a ________

b________ b________

& œ & œœ œœ œœ œœ œ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ œœ lu le Al -Al Christ -Christ non non

le us us do do

-

-

-

--

b. mors melisma

œ bœ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ & & œœ œœ œ b œ œ œ œ œœ œ œœ œ œ œ œ mors_________________________________________ b_____________ b_____________

lu re re mi mi

.. ..

mors_________________________________________

(of Christus), and do (of dominabitur) – before settling in on the suggestive threenote sequence a–c–d with which it begins. He also transposes the melody, finally, down a fifth in order to fit it more effectively into the proper ranges – and thus the motive with which he begins is d–f–g (see Ex. 9.10; from this point forward the motives will be cited at the transposed level). With the musical material he needed in hand, Byrd turned to the process of motivic development (see Ex. 9.11). Counting the first, instrumental minor third, he puts the two ascending intervals of this musical kernel – the bottom and top, as it were – through a series of “radical flexions” in the two texted voices: expanding the initial minor third of the bottom outward from a major third to a perfect fifth (m3–M3–P4–P5), while similarly expanding the top, incrementally, from a half step to a major third (m2, M2, m3, M3, see mm. 1–11).89 At that point he stops the expansion process because, by then, “the subject [has] grow[n], as if organically,” as Johnstone astutely observed, “into its own answer a’–c♯”–d”.”90 Byrd, does, however, move back down, and with similar deliberation. Featuring in the second point, “now dieth not,” three exchanges in the upper voices – now no longer grounded by the anchoring d’ used earlier – that reduced the perfect fifth to a half-step (P4–m3– m2, see mm. 12–15), he completes the arch gesture before expanding outward yet again to the fourth with the same precision (m2–m3–P4, see mm. 15–18). Simultaneous with his ascent, Byrd develops in his instrumental parts a powerful push to the depths of his texture, thereby bringing the confrontation aspect of the Harrowing into special focus.91 For this expressive purpose it is again the Sarum 89

Johnstone (forthcoming). Ibid. 91 Before they develop this motive, the instruments open with scalar ascents in a manner technically similar to, but quite affectively different from, Felice Anerio’s Alleluia, Christus resurgens. Although I have been unable thus far to establish any connections between the two composers, it is noteworthy that Anerio had worked in the Papal Chapel as well as the English College in Rome in the years in which Byrd likely composed his anthems; see Thomas Culley, “Musical Activity in Some Sixteenth-Century Jesuit Colleges, with Special Reference to the Venerable English College in Rome from 1579 to 1589,” Analecta Musicologica 12 (1973): 1–29. 90

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„ „

&b 278 b & &b &b

„ „

„ „

„ „

› ›

˙. ˙.

œ˙ ˙ œ˙ ˙

˙ œœœœ˙ ˙ œœœœ˙ „ „ „ „

„ w #w „ Christ ris w #w . œ œ ˙ risw V b ˙ # ˙ ˙ ( n) œ Christ ˙ ˙. V b # ˙ ( n) œ œ œ ˙ w Vb w w w w Vb w w w w . V b œ œ w #˙ Ó ˙ ˙ œ ˙. V b œ œ w #˙ Ó ˙ œ ?b w w w ∑ ?b w w w ∑

SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 278

„ „

„ „ „ „

Ex. 9.11  BE 13: 46 “Christ rising,” mm. 1–19

› Vb Vb › V b Ó ˙. œ œ œ V b Ó ˙. œ œ œ V b ∑ Ó ˙ V b ∑ Ó ˙ ?b „ ?b „ &b &b &b &b

„ „ Jeremy „ L. Smith „

w Christ w Christ w ing, w ing, Ó w Ó w

w w

˙ ˙. ˙ ˙. œœ˙ œœ˙

w w

œ˙ œ˙ w w

˙ ˙. œ ˙ ˙ ˙. œ ˙

#˙ #˙ w w Ó ˙. œ œ œ ˙. Ó ˙. œ œ œ ˙. w ris w ris ∑ ∑

w ∑ ing, w ∑ ing, ∑ w ∑ Christ . wœ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙Christ ˙ ˙ ˙. œ ˙

˙ w ˙ w

˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ˙ ˙ œ˙ ˙ „ „

˙ .œ w ris w - ing˙ .œa œ# œn -œ œ œing˙ ˙a ris œ# œn œ œ œ ˙ ˙

Ó w w w w Ó w w w w œœ œœ œ ˙ #˙ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ ˙ œœ œœ œ ˙ #˙ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ ˙ ∑ w ˙. œ œ œ ˙ w ∑ w ˙. œ œ œ ˙ w

w ˙ w ˙

w ˙ w ˙ ˙˙ ˙˙

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Songs of Six Parts 279

w

Christ w & b ∑ & b ˙ ˙ Christ w gainfrom the & b ˙˙ ˙ w œœ ˙ œœ V b gainfrom the ˙ ˙ œœ œœ Vb j V b ˙ œ .œjœ .œ ˙ j V b ˙ œ .œjœ .œ ˙ V b ˙. œ ˙ ˙

V b ˙. œ ˙ ˙ ?b ˙ w ˙ ? b ˙ ˙ w

# w ˙ .(Ex. n) œ9.11 ˙ continued ˙ w ˙ .( n) œa - gainfrom #risw - ing ˙ ˙ thew ∑ a - gainfrom Ó ˙ the˙ ˙ ris w - ing dead, now di - eth ˙ w˙ . œ ∑œ œ ˙ Ó˙ ˙w ˙ b ˙ dead, now di - eth ˙. œ œ œ ˙ ˙ w b˙ ∑ ˙˙ w w ∑ ˙˙ w w˙ . œ œœ ˙ w Ó ˙ ˙ . œ œœ ˙ w Ó ˙ ˙ w ˙. œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙. œ ˙ ˙ ˙

Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ & b w ∑ not, di - eth Ó now & b w ∑ ˙ ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ w now di∑ - eth & b not, now di - eth not, ∑ &b Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙ di -neth˙ not, ˙ ˙ n˙ #˙ V b #now ˙ ˙ V b #˙ n˙ ˙ ˙ n˙ #˙ Vb w Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ w Vb w Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ w œ w V b Ó w ˙ œ #œ œ ˙ œ œ #œ œ w Vb Ó w ? Ó ˙ b w ˙ ˙ ∑ ?b Ó ˙ w ˙ ˙ ∑ SMITH VOICES PRINT.indd 279

# w ∑ dead, # w ∑ w ∑ dead,

„ w ∑˙ . œ ˙ ˙ . ( n) ˙ ˙ œ œ˙

not,

˙ . œ ˙( n) ˙ ˙ ˙ . œ œ˙ Ó˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ Ó˙ ˙ ˙ w ˙ ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ œœœ œw ˙ Ó ˙ ˙ œœœœ w ˙ w Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

not,

# ˙ w ( n) ˙

˙.

# ˙ w ( n) ˙ ∑ Ó not, di ˙ now ∑ Ó ˙ n˙ ˙. ˙œ now ˙ n˙ ˙. œ Ó ˙ ˙ ˙

w n diw

˙ ˙ #˙ ˙

w

not, di

Ó ( n) ˙ ˙ ˙ now di - eth Ó ( n) ˙ ˙ ˙ „ now di - eth

-

˙. w eth

œw

eth

di

-

œw w

w

w #not, w

not,

w w eth

#w „ not,

w

w

eth

not,

nw „ w ˙ w ˙ w Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ ˙ ˙ w ˙˙ ww ˙ . #œ nœ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙ . œ ˙ ˙ #œ nœ œ ˙ œ w ˙ ˙ #˙ ˙ w w w

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that serves as the composer’s source for motivic material. In looking over the chant, Byrd must have found it particularly suggestive that the same composer who had picked words of such affirming nature as Alleluia, Christus, and dominabitor as the place to repeat one melisma, had also chosen the devil-evoking mors (“death”) as the place to repeat another.92 In this mors melisma, which is articulated twice in immediate succession, the pitch sequence g–b♭–b♭–b♭–a stands out as a culminating gesture at the first peak of a notably arch-shaped melody, and it is a slightly reduced version of this sequence, g–b♭–a, that Byrd takes hold of as the means to counter his ascent motive of d–f–g. Structurally, the g–b♭–a sequence shares a minor third opening with d–f–g and stands a fifth above it or a fourth below, depending on the octave in which they are positioned. The vital element of opposition is contained in the direction of the second step of each motive, for just at the point when one moves up (f–g), the other moves down (b♭–a). As a music rhetorician, Byrd probably saw the expressive potential of the directional aspect. As a contrapuntalist, he just as surely grasped that the distance between them was a particularly efficacious feature, especially when he discovered that five notes along in the source melisma for the ascent figure the chant composer had duplicated the d–f minor third, but then stepped down to e immediately afterward. Thus, simply by following the standard procedure of answering one part with another transposed a fifth above, Byrd had the ready means to bring the g–b♭–a into the texture. Looking back now to the opening, we discover that, as it was first to complete its diatonic passage up an octave, the contratenor part is the one Byrd chooses to introduce the descent motive, whose g–b♭–a he casts in precisely the same rhythm with which he would answer it (with the preordained d–f–e), in the chant-bearing, medius, part. Once the medius is shorn of long held notes, he shifts the cantus firmus over to the contratenor, which proceeds from then on in rhythms so regular (in semibreves) as to evoke the “In nomine” instrumental genre.93 Rather than fully to deprive the medius of its leadership status, he assigns it a fast-moving ornamented version of the complete g–b♭–a motive, which both the tenor and the bassus then imitate at the same pitch level. But the contratenor is now the ­spotlighted part in the texture. It is in the contratenor then that Byrd turns the descent motive into a theme of sorts with a distinctive cast. With a cadence and the dramatic entrance in the upper voices helping to draw the listener’s attention to the moment, he approaches the figure from below to create a d–g–b♭–a–d arch with b♭ at the apex (mm. 6–8). This figure has the precise shape, although not the exact pitch content, of the striking mors melisma from which it was likely derived. Perhaps as a way to confirm to all that he has fleshed out the motive in this way, Byrd reiterates the d–f–e answer in the medius, preserving the dotted (and therefore uneven) rhythm of its first utterance (mm. 8–9). Ultimately, against a great “rise” articulated by the singers at the top of the texture, he transforms the descent motive, in rhythmic as well as melodic terms, into a leading counter force in the instruments below. 92 93

Graduale ad consuetudinem Sarum, 123v. le Huray, Music and the Reformation, 244.

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As noted at the outset of this chapter, Byrd uses the same d–g–b♭–a–d (without the final d) earlier in the sequence, first “O Lord my God” (BE 13: 22, mm. 3–4, 10–11), which introduces the fiend, and, then, with an alteration of b♭ to b♮ to evoke the Resurrection, in the carol refrain, “Cast off careless” (BE 13: 25, mm. 1–2) and its verse, “An earthly tree” (BE 13: 35, mm. 2–7). Those attentive to his devices overall might recall that Byrd had permeated the opening set of seven penitential psalms (BE 13: 1–7) with the same signature motive that lies within the theme, g’–b♭’–a’. Given its significance in the story, it is fitting, finally, that he would return to it one last time, highlighting g–b♭–a in the final “Amen” of “Christ has risen” by placing it in long-held notes again in the same contratenor part where it had been first introduced in the anthem (m. 116). Because Byrd had composed this “Amen” as part of his revisions for the press it is safe to assume that he did so with his whole sequence in mind (see BE 11: 13). Ultimately, he uses the opportunity of revision to bring to a climax all of the turmoil of the set’s opening penitential psalms, depictions of the devil in “O Lord, my God,” “fire,” lustful “Love,” wordly “experience,” Dido’s suicide, a burning sun and moon, and, finally, in the opening of the “Christ rising” | “Christ is risen” two-anthem pair, Christ’s glorious Descent into Hell. Originally, in manuscript versions of “Christ is risen,” Byrd had symbolized the agreement that “makes us all of one mind” that is so powerfully implicit in the Amen sentiment simply by bringing the two top voices together to sing a single line.94 Given the tensions he meant to portray throughout these anthems, as well as throughout the collection, as he brought these songs to the press, he perceived that a solution of that kind would no longer work. Indeed, if his point was to bring the leading voices as closely together as possible in the first version, in his revision he went to the other extreme, casting them decidedly against each other, not only in rhythm but also in melodic direction (see Ex. 9.12). Overall, it is only for a negligible two semiminims (modern quarter notes) in this passage that the superius and sextus, which have the same range, move together in harmonious parallel thirds, and then only in a fleeting but concerted effort to rise up, so to speak, against the great downward-sweeping tide of all the other parts around them. The end result is a magnificent conclusion, one that Byrd suspends over into an additional measure, at the very end, as a means to delay the resolution to the last possible moment. That Byrd ends the six-voiced section with these rousing settings of Harrowing and Resurrection texts from the Book of Common Prayer is satisfying for purely musical reasons. They also uphold a position the Queen held steadfastly against puritan pressure, namely, that the music for her Chapel and her nation’s church should generally contain “the best sort of melody and music that may be conveniently devised” (italics added).95 If there was ever a question whether Byrd had the 94 95

See BE 11: 13 and Johnstone (forthcoming). Visitation Articles and Injunctions of the Period of the Reformation, ed. Walter H. Frere and William M. Kennedy, 3 vols. (London, 1910), 3:23, cited in Nicholas Temperely, Music of the English Parish Church, 2 vols. (Cambridge, 1979), 1:39; le Huray, Music and the Reformation, 33; and Hannibal Hamlin, Psalm Culture and Early Modern English Literature (Cambridge, 2004), 28. At the height of the Admonition Controversy John Bossewell claims the “Queenes Majstie did fauour that excellente

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282

Ex. 9.12  BE 13: 47 “Christ is risen,” mm. 115–17

& b ˙. A

-

œœœ œ œ œ -

j ˙. & b œ. œ œ œ A

w Vb A

V b ˙. A

Vb w ?b

A

˙.

A

-

-

-

w

œ œ ˙. -

œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙. -

Ó

men,

-

˙

-

men,

-

œ ˙.

˙

A

œœœ œ ˙ -

˙

A

-

œ˙

œ œœ ˙ -

men,

œ œœ ˙ -

œœ w

-

-

U

›

˙ ˙

-

men.

U

›

men.

U

›

w

men.

w

men.

men.

-

A

U

-

œœ ›

-

w

U

˙ #œ œ w

U

› -

men.

wherewithal to operate as a spokesman for his co-religionists, to put matters before the Queen in the way she wished to consider them, he would seem here to settle it in the affirmative. Even when reaching a climax in his depiction of Sidney’s good death, in songs about brotherly love, and when exposing Cupid’s evil nature in an Arcadian set, Byrd consistently emphasized aspects of his own faith that resonated with Elizabeth’s, as he implicitly advanced the idea that she should return to rites that England had abandoned. At times Byrd directed his message so particularly to the Queen that it would seem as if he had composed it all for her alone. But in arguing for the Old Ways he cast himself as a representative of a large minority of the population. He also definitely defined the puritans as his enemy. And ­arguably no one would miss the palpable tension that he infused into the ­collection, nor the sense that he was pitting evil against good throughout the Songs with a musico-dramatic skillfulness that could stand out even in the age of Marlowe and Shakespeare. Science, Singinge men, … Choristers, [and] their Maister the player on the Organes.” See Workes of armorie deuyded into three bookes (London, 1572), 14r. For other notable statements in defense of music that were surely meant to resonate with the Queen’s see Richard Hooker, Of the Lawes of Ecclesiastical Polity: The fift Booke (London, 1597), 75–79, and John Case, The Praise of Musicke (Oxford, 1586).

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W

ith his setting of Amen at the end of “Christ is risen again” (BE 13: 47) Byrd brought a long story told through song to a stirring conclusion, evoking finally Christ’s much-anticipated triumph over the devil and death with a resonant moment of intense counterpoint. To achieve this effect Byrd revised the last phrase of his original version as he prepared this particular section of music for publication. But, for all the special effort here, it is fair to claim that Byrd, as he brought each and every one of his songs to a close, was aware that in certain ways they had all “sh[o]ne brilliantly for the moment [they were heard in performance], only to fade entirely before the next” began.1 Aesthetically independent as well as practically unperformable in a continuous series, nearly every one of the eighty-two numbered songs in his two volumes develops its own theme, meditates on its own idea, or tackles its own problem, sometimes even when he casts it as a first, second, or third part of a multi-song set. Not only did Byrd accept these hermeneutic conditions, in his prefaces he actually promoted them, by encouraging auditors to treat his collections as miscellanies.2 That he went to some trouble to draw the very last of his Songs of sundrie natures to a close in a way that musically reflected back on others – including the set of seven penitential psalms with which the collection started – as discussed in Chapter 9, reveals, however, that he was so keen on building a single unified work that he quite overtly added a cyclic aspect to his complex structure, as the ending of one large unit draws us again to the ideas with which it began. A number of Byrd’s instrumental works, along with his towering sets of Gradualia, are made up of separable items and he was by no means alone in creating idealistic structures at the time.3 The 119 poems of Sidney’s Astrophil & Stella 1

A. C. Hamilton, “Sidney’s Astrophel and Stella as a Sonnet Sequence,” ELH 36 (1969): 59–87, at 61. 2 See BE 12: xlii and BE 13: xxxvi–ii. In 1589 Byrd gave out only the slightest hint about the nature of the soteriological theme of the set by wishing his dedicatee, Sir Henry Carye, a “blessed end” to a “long, healthie, and happie lyfe”: BE 13: xxxvi. 3 Although no one has hitherto noted the way Byrd’s English songs of 1588 and 1589 compare to the sequence of his literary contemporaries such as Sidney, Spenser, and Shakespeare, a number have discovered similar tendencies in his works of other kinds. See Oliver Neighbour The Consort and Keyboard Music of William Byrd (Boston and London, 1978), 176–97, for a discussion of the pavans and galliards of Byrd’s “My Lady Nevell’s Book,” which Neighbour describes as a “sequence … laid out with regard for the symmetry and variety that [Byrd] habitually brought to the planning of a [single] set of variations” (p. 179). On the Gradualia as a grand narrative see Kerry McCarthy, “‘Notes as a Garland’: The Chronology and Narrative of Byrd’s Gradualia,” Early Music History 23 (2004): 49–84; and idem, Liturgy and Contemplation in Byrd’s Gradualia (New York and London, 2007). In her recent biography of Byrd, McCarthy makes note of the composer’s “taste for long-range organization and symmetry”; see Byrd, The Master Musicians (London and Oxford, 2012), 123. On the careful arrangement of the finals in the Latin-texted works of 1589 and 1591 that suggest a sequential design see BE 2 and BE 3.

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sequence and Thomas Watson’s Hecatompathia, or Passionate Centurie of Love, the latter with its extensiveness declaimed in its very title, assure us that others expected their auditors somehow to grapple with edifices so large that they could never be worked through in a single sitting, although individual units were invitingly short and closed.4 The solution for audiences then, as Byrd’s fellow composer Orazio Vecchi declared in 1597, was to approach the larger multi-unit “tale” as something neither stage- nor time-bound, but rather, like the extended epic or romance (and the novel eventually to come), to be “completed in the mind.”5 In all the above-mentioned cases the practical answer to the basic interpretive question today was to treat individual works as separate entities as well as parts of a whole. In his act of revising his last song to emphasize its place in the sequence the composer might seem, then, to have disrupted the ideal condition where any given unit within the larger scheme may properly be independently evaluated. What it confirmed is that Byrd’s sequence should indeed be seen as a separate work in its own right, and that the songs, by and large, had once served other purposes, as the composer’s revisions suggest. He had cast them in a determinate order, one where “each [song] has its inevitable place.”6 But it was an order that had no effect on the autonomy of the individual work, if simply because Byrd or someone else could rearrange the same songs to make another sequence. What gave the substance its fixity was the medium of print, and thus it is telling that he enjoyed unusual powers over the press at the time as the holder of a monopolistic patent for music printing authorized by the Queen. Essentially, the fact that Byrd manipulated his songs for the sake of a storyline – revising an ending, as well as leaving out certain verses or separating the parts of multi-song sets, etc., as detailed throughout this book – merely provides information for historical analysis. But it is data scholars may view in different ways. To the extent that he obscured his original intentions for works we would wish to place correctly in his canon, students of Byrd’s development as a composer are right to see these kinds of acts as unhelpful to their purposes. When Joseph Kerman wrote, for example, that he would “discuss” a motet type of Byrd’s “chronologically or in some other order that promises to provide the most illuminating juxtapositions, and not, of course, in their order of publication or preservation,” I believe he revealed a certain natural disdain for his subject’s potentially interfering interest in creatively pulling works together after their completion.7 In certain ways sequences distance us from the moment of origin of a musical work and its first performance, and so does publication. Byrd’s motets with cantus firmus structures have proven to be fascinating material for investigation precisely when viewed outside anything suggested by their obscuring sources, to put 4

Sir Philip Sidney, Astrophel and Stella (London, 1591); Thomas Watson, Hecatompathia, or Passionate Centurie of Love (London, 1582). 5 See Paul Schleuse, “‘A Tale Completed in the Mind’: Genre and Imitation in L’Amfiparnaso (1597),” Journal of Musicology 29 (2012): 101–53. 6 John Erskine, The Elizabethan Lyric: A Study (New York, 1903), 153; quoted in Hamilton, “Sidney’s Astrophel,” 59. 7 Joseph Kerman, The Masses and Motets of William Byrd (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1981), 56.

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Kerman’s statement into its proper context.8 But this condition does not hold with Byrd’s songs and sequences. In these cases the veiling itself is too closely aligned with the artistic purpose of the song – in a courtly environment that valued anonymity, indirectness, and covertness – to allow us the luxury of ignoring the effort. And, as I hope to have shown throughout this study of individual songs, Byrd’s authorized sequence demands our attention precisely for the way his “order[ing within] publication[s] … provide[s] the most illuminating juxtapositions.” At first blush it would seem that Byrd took a number of risks in allowing his works to reflect on one another in a mutually informing way in his narrative scheme. But a closer look at the multi-song story, if approached as such, serves to clear up potential misconceptions. Outside of the sequence, “O dear life” (BE 13: 33), for example, stands as an oddly morose and temperate approach to Sidney’s pranksterish eighth song of Astrophil & Stella. In my view not only could Byrd’s setting be read in that bewildering way, it should be read that way; and had Byrd not placed the thoroughly comic “I thought that Love” (BE 13: 32) before it – and made a self-deprecating joke about the upcoming trochaic rhythms of “O dear life” therein – it would be fair to conclude that Byrd either misunderstood Sidney’s poetic intentions altogether, or had no sense of humor at all, and neither of these views gibes well with the Byrd we know to have created such comic gems as “Though Amaryllis dance” (BE 12: 12) and “Who made thee Hob” (BE 13: 41). With musically formulated ideas Byrd advanced throughout the sequence – ­including a special signifying role he assigned to the pitch E♭ in 1589 – he turned the mood and message of “O dear life” around so that the same verse became the medium through which Sidney’s friends could mourn the poet’s death. If this wrongly insinuates that we need the sequence to arrive at a proper reading, it certainly shows that the narrative design helps illuminate our understanding of the musical setting while also suggesting that Byrd had somehow communicated the same necessary information to whoever it was that originally commissioned the work or had first heard it performed. Just working through what it takes to comprehend “O dear life” properly soon leaves us with a specific set of conditions that might likely have obtained (or should have obtained) for its original composition and performance. For, basically, it had to originate at a time after the poet’s death from battlefield wounds on 17 October 1586, and it would only have confused audiences had it not been performed for a group able and willing to understand the purpose of the original poem as well as the musical means by which Byrd had recast it. Under these circumstances, everything would have made perfect sense if audiences understood the “I” in the poem to be Sidney’s semi-hidden muse, Penelope Rich. It is thus all the more remarkable that recent ­scholarship ­suggests she may have sung the work around the time of its conception.9 8

See, for example, Peter le Huray, “Some Thoughts about Cantus Firmus Composition and a Plea for Byrd’s Christus resurgens,” in Byrd Studies, ed. Alan Brown and Richard Turbet (Cambridge, 1992), 1–23, who argues for a different chronology from Kerman’s in the case of one of Byrd’s cantus firmus works. 9 See John Milsom, “Byrd, Sidney and the Art of Melting,” Early Music 31 (2003): 437–49, at 442; Milsom withdraws somewhat from the theory, however, on the following page, where he explores the possibility that this work could instead have been performed by a male singer.

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In ways that ran precisely contrary to the current of long-held scholarly views about Byrd as unliterary, the composer went rather far in his sequence not only to depict with intimate poignancy Sidney’s demise – for the consolation of all his countrymen – but also to reach into the poet’s literary life in a way that would have been particularly engrossing for those of a specific coterie as well as others willing to look closely at the composer’s methods in light of the poet’s. Beginning with a complimentary study of Aristotelian virtues cleverly designed to reflect on Elizabeth and others as well (discussed further below), Byrd ended the 1588 collection with funeral songs for Sidney and then proceeded, in 1589, to the question of whether the poet’s death qualified as “good.” For this query, Sidney had provided the perfect foil in his own writings. “Though earlier readers, such as [Alexander] Grosart, wished to append [Sidney’s own] Certain Sonnets 31 and 32 with their renunciation of earthly in favor of heavenly love, any pat, moral ending to Astrophel [sic] and Stella,” as A. C. Hamilton explained many years ago, “is utterly false to the whole poem.”10 Well before Grosart’s time, Byrd had reacted in a revisionary spirit to Sidney’s powerful act of worldly defiance and he did so with a story of his own devising. On the highest level it all comes down to a turning point, the moment when Byrd’s “Sidney” stopped pursuing all the sinful “earthly” desires associated with Cupid and embraced Christian love instead. Byrd saved this story-fulfilling moment for the section of songs à 5– specifically for the last musical phrase of “O dear life” – and then confirmed it in the last section of songs in six parts, where he extolled Brotherly Love and allowed a set of nymphs, in “Love is a fit of pleasure” (BE 13: 43), to reject Eros out of hand. Up to that point, Byrd had drawn his protagonist ever deeper into a seeming abyss of worldly enticements, so by the time things were finally rectified, the auditor looking backward could perceive that there had been a series of points where the story’s tensions might have been resolved, but where things had only gone further amiss. When Byrd used Philon, the star of the four-voiced “While that the sun” (BE 13: 23), to identify Sidney, the composer was probably fully aware that the poet had also based a character on another fictional Philon, whom Sidney had renamed Plangus in his Old Arcadia. In Sidney’s work Plangus was one of those who “suffered for the desecration of Cupid’s altars.”11 Thus along with the chance it offered Byrd to identify Sidney in a knowing way, the composer had another reason to refer to this episode: for, indeed, all the dangers of rejecting Love in Sidney’s tale are shown in Byrd’s complementary narrative to be less severe than the truly dire consequences of accepting the same god instead. An auditor aware of the relationship between Byrd’s and Sidney’s pastorals centered around a Philon and a Philoninspired character therefore gains a strong sense that Byrd had in a way completed his literary colleague’s story, moving matters down the morally sanctioned path to which the poet had often alluded but never allowed his own fiction to follow. 10

Hamilton, “Sidney’s Astrophel,” 64. Hamilton explained his “Astrophel” spelling choice on p. 60 n2. 11 Clare R. Kinney, “Undoing Romance: Beaumont and Fletcher’s Resistant Reading of The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia,” in Staging Early Modern Romance: Prose Fiction, Dramatic Romance and Shakespeare, ed. Mary Ellen Lamb and Valerie Wayne (New York, 2009): 203–18, at 205.

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Looking in more closely, though, the interpreter soon finds a series of turns taken earlier in the Songs that add further to the dramatic force of the nymph-driven reversal in the concluding six-voiced section. It is in the last of the songs of three parts, for example, where Byrd’s poetic speaker is warned not to emulate “The [titular] greedy hawk” (BE 13: 14), who in pursuit of “wished pr[e]y” will “stoope” (l. 2, italics added) to any “sooden sight of lure” (l. 1) made enticing by “frendly lookes” (l. 5) but rather to resist that very temptation. As we soon come to realize, in the songs à 4, the main character had fatefully ignored the warning, moving deeper into idolatry instead, first by praying to Cupid (and pondering his deific nature) and then by coming to the very precipice of full submission. Had the nymphs of “Love is a fit” been there to guide the Song’s protagonist along, things would surely have gone much differently. The nymphs laughingly dismissed the claim that Love could ever stand as a force so powerful that the “mightye godds above” had to “stoope & bowe unto his lawes” (BE 13: 42, ll. 3–4, italics added), but the protagonist of the four-part songs had in fact made that very error and “stoope[d]” toward Cupid’s lure. Thus we might mark the place where the songs for four voices began as the moment when our hero made his fatefully misguided decision about Love in Byrd’s moralistic tale. On an even closer inspection, the pattern of wrongly moving toward rather than away from Cupid may be seen as early on in the set as the pair of songs à 3 where the disturbing figure was introduced, “When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight”| “But when by proof they find” (BE 13: 10–11). Again, juxtaposing earlier and later songs of the sequence proves illuminating, for whereas in “When younglings” children play with Cupid as a toy in a way that resonates with the ludic spirit of the nymphs’ rejection of Love, already by “But when by proof,” the speaker reflectively credits the god with “surpassing powre & myght” (l. 4) as a “subtyle thing” (l. 6) able to destroy the life of anyone more experienced than a mere youngling. The ideas expressed here nicely foreshadow the sentiments of those characters who lose their argument defending Cupid against the dismissive nymphs in Byrd’s sequence. Finally, even though there is no repeated word to encourage a connection, there is a story-framing rhyme that similarly links the three- and six-voiced songs evoking characters who were so blissfully immune to Love’s forces, when Cupid was treated as changeable and seemingly as inconsequential as the “we[a]ther” in “Love is a fit” (l. 5) and as something as light as a “fether” in “When Younglings” (l. 6). In the song “When I was otherwise” (BE 13: 30) Byrd draws us fully into the fictional sphere of Sidney’s mind, giving us the imaginative means to view the poet in a state of regretful contemplation as he faces the afterlife. For the follower of the sequence, what makes this moment so potent is that Byrd uses musical techniques of quotation and imitation to link this song of the 1589 set with the most splendidly virile of 1588, “In fields abroad” (BE 12: 29). There, in the form of a priamel, where three inspiring battlefield scenes are topped off by the glorious image of an undressed woman, Byrd projects so much gallant force and magnificence that it is almost shocking to find him recalling the song in 1589 as the means of showing that in certain ways Sidney was no different from any other Christian soul who needed humbly to prepare for a good death. But the point is only emphasized by the unexpected connection, and when we move, finally, to the moment when Sidney rejects his lusts and desires, in “O dear life,” Byrd

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shows once again a level of intimacy with the poet’s literary interests that adds considerable depth to his story. As he was creating his great Astrophil & Stella sequence and pastoral epics of the Old and New Arcadia, Sidney had also been experimenting with musical tunes, using contrafacta techniques to add different words to verses that were metrically bound to melodic and rhythmic structures (see BE 13: 23). One of the most noteworthy results of these experiments, as discussed in Chapter 7, is the tenth song of Astrophil & Stella, “In a grove most rich of shade,” which is based on a tune by Guillaume Tessier, specifically one the latter created for a setting of Le petite enfant amour by the great French poet Pierre Ronsard, itself a sterling example of the Anacreontic revival movement of which Sidney was a part. In its theme and tone Byrd’s “When younglings” epitomizes the Anacreontic style; his “In fields abroad” is based on a specific Anacreontea model; and his “While that the sun” is a translation of a Tessier poem from the same published source where Sidney had found the tune in Le petite enfant amour that he used for his tenth song. Thanks to all these connective literary tissues it is possible now to postulate that when Byrd used his music to change the mood of “O dear life” so drastically he was demonstrating to Sidney’s followers that there was a complementary role for a musician in the contrafacting process. Those who knew from Sidney’s experiments that a poet might use words to change the ideas associated with a tune, might, as the logic runs, learn from Byrd that a composer could turn the formula around to use music as the means to alter the sense of a poem. As much as Byrd’s musico-literary interplay with Sidneian ideas and themes adds depth and meaning to the sequence as a narrative, it also served Byrd’s goals of a partisan nature. For those as attentive to the political situation as to the literary, every gesture of Byrd’s that shows an intimacy with the poet tends to confirm that the composer knew something about Sidney’s 1577 meeting with the Jesuit Edmund Campion in Prague, which Campion and other Catholics reported to have been especially promising for their hoped-for chance that Sidney would be reconciled to the Old Faith.12 Apprehended during a mission of 1581 in which Byrd, a staunchly recusant Catholic, was intimately involved, Campion had been publically executed in a way that divided the English people probably even more than Sidney’s tragic death had brought them together, however unprecedented the scale of the latter’s funerary tribute. How close was Sidney to Campion? Recently there has been such a surge of interest in sympathetic treatments of England’s major minority faith that not only has Sidney been “outed” as a crypto-Catholic, but so have Shakespeare and Spenser and many others in the wake of a scholarly trend one scholar has dubbed the “New Catholicism” as a mock solution to our lack of an appropriate banner for 12

In a letter to John Bavard, Edmund Campion spoke metaphorically of patiently “watering this plant” in describing the best process by which he thought Sidney might be converted; see, for a full translation of Campion’s Latin letter, Richard Simpson, Edmund Campion: A Biography, rev. edn. (London, 1896), 123. See also Katherine Duncan-Jones, “Sir Philip Sidney’s Debt to Edmund Campion,” in The Reckoned Expense: Edmund Campion and the Early English Jesuits, ed. Thomas M. McCoog, SJ (Woodbridge, 1996), 85–92, at 85.

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the ­current post-New Historicist phase of literary history.13 Missing so far from the debate is a sense of balance. Certain enthusiasts may overstate the case, but to the extent that scoffing critics might deny that Protestant figures of great power and influence often held views that were sympathetic to Catholics and were politique enough to form alliances and encourage tolerance, those tarring as biased the findings of a New Catholicism are as much a detriment to our understanding of Byrd’s music as any proponents who exaggerate the situation. Rumors that someone as highly placed as Sidney had wavering views about his confessional status were surely the source of solace and strength to those living in a state of fear and hope. In this light it is significant that the two songs in Byrd’s sequence that most pointedly illuminate each other through juxtaposition are the last of the “songs of sadnes and pietie,” “Why do I use my paper ink and pen” (BE 12: 33) – a reverent tribute to Campion along with other martyrs – and the first of two “funerall songs for that honorable Gent. Syr Phillip Sidney,” “Come to me grief forever” (BE 13: 34). Even on a strictly visual level apart from any larger context, the opening in the 1588 set where the two tribute songs stand side by side (F4v–G1r) may have generated something of an epiphanic response among Byrd’s countrymen. Campion’s name was left out of the verse in his honor, but few among the book-buying public, particularly those aware of the reprinted poem and the punishments those who promulgated it had received, would have missed Byrd’s bold intention to treat the figure as the “pursu’d … flo[w]are of such [that] were once on earth” (BE 12: 33, l. 7) before he cast the deceased Sidney as the “renomed … flower of England” (BE 12: 34, ll. 14, 17).14 Especially when they saw the word “Sidney” repeated over and over (seven times) in the adjacent recto, the lack of identification for the executed Jesuit might have served as a stinging reminder of the ways in which the ongoing Reformation and Counter-Reformation struggle in England had alienated those with oppositional views. The side-by-side treatment raised both men up in  stature as well, but such distinctions in recognition, however subtle, were  pointed, and  auditors that followed Byrd’s sequence from the first song on to  this point would have gained in the process a stronger sense about the difference in the ways the two men were treated, the result of which was the  first of two  culminating moments in Byrd’s overall narrative, the second, of course, being the death and resurrection of Christ, which opened the path to salvation. Structurally, Byrd creates themes by placing songs with similar topics next to each other. At the next level, he emphasizes particular moments by grouping songs in patterns  that generate certain expectations. And it is indeed the  ­element  of 13

Jason Scott-Warren, review of Gerard Kilroy, Edmund Campion: Memory and Transcription, Early Modern Literary Studies (2006), http://purl.oclc.org/emls/12-2/ revmarot.htm, accessed 15 May 2014. In a recent article Robert E. Stillman entered the “crypto-Catholic” debate by arguing that Sidney’s personal beliefs were based on Philipp Melanchthon’s writings (casting Sidney as a Philippist); see his “Philip Sidney and the Catholics: The Turn from Confessionalism in Early Modern Studies,” Modern Philology 112 (2014): 97–129. Earlier, Stillman had advanced this Phillipist claim for the basis of Sidney’s piety against the scholarly consensus of a Calvinist source; see his “‘Deadly Stinging Adders’: Sidney’s Piety, Philippism, and the Defense of Poesy,” Spenser Studies 16 (2002): 231–69. 14 In BE 12: 33, l. 7 I incorrectly transcribed “flouare” as “stoare.”

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j­ uxtaposition that gives the story its single line of narrative, one that Byrd infuses with increasing tension as he advances an array of religio-political topics in a manner increasingly more obvious, more pointed, and more specifically directed. In his opening ten psalm settings of 1588 Byrd soberly and symbolically evokes the Decalogue to proclaim his loyalty. But this whole section is charged, nonetheless, with the sheer terror of approaching something so holy as the laws conditioning  God’s Mosaic covenant with mankind along with an expression of burning hatred for those who disregard them. It is through a calmly devised chiasmic structure that Byrd emphasizes the central fifth and sixth works of the section (BE 12: 5–6) to set up his appeal directly to the “Lord” (“O Lord, how long” and “O Lord, our God,” italics added). But it is through the use of various expressive devices that he dramatically suggests that he himself is the poetic speaker and thus the one we should imagine to be addressing the Supreme Being. By drawing a sharp distinction between the “blessed” due a heavenly reward and the “wicked” facing punishment, Byrd here plants a crucial seed for his grand soteriological narrative. In the midst of the enmity and strife, the auditor at this point may have still felt certain repose in the sense that Byrd’s story was following the path of a generalized entreaty. But all this changes in the next section, as Byrd heads up a set of sixteen songs he divides into four equal sections with a teasingly repeated “I,” to turn the question of whom the poetic speaker might represent into a riddle. Here the surface tension dissipates into the atmosphere of courtly dance, although it retains very much an edgy undercurrent of serious ambition and competition. Furthermore, to keep up the momentum, in depicting select virtues Byrd follows the Aristotelian system of opposing excesses and deficiencies in search of a golden mean, which quite naturally puts his songs into a relational structure, thus anticipating the gripping Sidney/Campion apposition to come. If, on the one hand, Byrd goes far to encourage those in the know to see Sidney as his tale’s main protagonist, on the other, he still carefully leaves the precise identity of the main character unsettled enough that he can evoke other figures as well, adding to the suspense. Thus, when Byrd reaches his final, climactic, section of 1588, the “songs of sadnes and pietie” (BE 12: 27–35), he is in a position not only to “name names” but also to draw his moral ideas about proper living into a Catholic frame. Now Aristotle is pushed somewhat to the side to allow room for the most Christianized of St. Thomas Aquinas’s scholastic views on “The Philosopher’s” virtues, as well as the holy gifts. To die for one’s religion is the ultimate act of courage, and, in the Thomist view, it epitomizes the crowning virtue/gift of fortitude, one to which all the previously exposed virtues would thus be subsumed. By this point the auditor realizes that the idea of who is blessed has informed the set all along. Before Byrd leads us to the pinnacle moment, though, which he vividly adorns with the image of a Campionesque Catholic martyr set against a Sidneian Protestant hero, he places, at the center of another highlighted structure – an ABCAB “golden line” that with five songs mimics the design of the opening ten psalms, in diminution, but this time to depict piety – a forcefully indignant response not to Campion or Sidney’s death but rather to that of another fallen victim of the religious struggle, Mary Queen of Scots, in a thinly disguised, heroine-defining “Susanna fair” (BE 12: 29), which keeps the story very much in motion. Mary’s execution was no less troubling to Catholics than Campion’s, and per-

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haps because it was the most recent of the three deaths of his story, Byrd seems unable, or unwilling, to reflect on it with the same considered reasoning that characterizes his Aristotelian effort overall. If performed with proper force and animation, “Susanna” betrays all on its own the raw passion behind Byrd’s faith-inspired anger, especially when compared to the deeply moving yet deliberate grandeur of his tributes to both Campion and Sidney. As such, “Susanna” might be placed alongside Byrd’s expression of paranoia and fear in his opening psalm of 1588 and the triumph of the final two six-voiced songs that conclude the set of 1589 with such a magnificent Amen, all in a way that would hopefully counter any future attempts to deny the immediacy, the depth, or the wide range of emotions he could portray when it came to matters of protest, angst, and exultation.15 Nonetheless, as much as we are drawn to the sound of bared-soul defiance, simply to voice a protest was not Byrd’s objective throughout the two-volume sequence. In his politicized Latin-texted works we tend to see Byrd colluding with his coreligionists, although even in that realm he might have functioned at times more as a moderate spokesman than a dissident voice. In his published Englishtexted songs, where he had the ears of all of literate England, and where he could advertise his membership in the Queen’s chapel, Byrd was well positioned to wield influence across the confessional divide. Unlike leading Catholic figures at court, several of whom numbered among the composer’s key patrons, Byrd would not have been the first called upon to speak out in moments of urgency. But he did have the chance to make his points in quieter times and even to disappear, if need be, behind the mask of a functionary when conditions suggested it would be better to listen in and assess a situation than to act. Fitting for their theatrical origins, Byrd’s songs show strong correspondences to staged courtly entertainments, which were almost always politically driven. Just by serving in her chapel, Byrd would have easily gained special insights into Elizabeth’s religious preferences and, because he dealt with something as sensitive as her prayer texts, he would know where the points of agreement were strongest, where it made no sense to pursue things further, and where he might find some useful latitude in his effort to push points of debate toward his own way of thinking. At the beginning of his 1588 set Byrd addresses Elizabeth as an Old Testament Lord (BE 12: 5–6) and then, in the final section of 1589, as a triumphant, New Testament King of Kings (BE 13: 40), reminding us that he bases his whole sequence on the Mosaic and New Covenants and leaves no real means by which it might be insinuated that his Queen stood below any other earthly ruler such as the Pope. In the middle portion of the 1588 set he replays courtly scenes from the great French Match debates, highlighting his own contribution to the creation of a fictional world wherein the Queen was treated as a virginal goddess, the central core of the so-called “cult of Elizabeth” (BE 12: 11–26). Perhaps in the spirit of that moment, which seems to call for a coming together among those who once stood so firmly on different sides, Byrd shows a special willingness to move beyond the 15

I write this in reaction to an experiment conducted by Bruce Horner, whose students, after listening to “Why do I use” in isolation, voiced a tepid response to the song (calling it “boring”); see “On the Study of Music as Material Social Practice,” Journal of Musicology 16 (1998): 159–99, at 196 (as discussed in Chapter 5).

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divisions of those times into new alliances. Indeed, the close parallels between his methods and those of the Protestant poet Edmund Spenser, who cast his stories about the same events and people through the lens of the same virtues, suggests that Byrd may have been responding to a felt need at the time to memorialize as well as to moralize the court from several positions at the point when Elizabeth had adopted a new stance there as something of a cult figure. Byrd ventures into dangerous territory in the final section of his 1588 songs when he champions Campion. But he was quite in tune with the queen’s mood, if not exactly with her point of view, when it came to expressing his anger there about the execution of Mary Queen Scots (BE 12: 29). Alive, Mary had been a major threat to Elizabeth. As a legitimate Catholic heir to the English throne she had embodied the era’s best incentive for international forces to invade her realm (as the cost of doing so proved the stronger disincentive). But Mary’s death was perceived as an outrage sufficient to cast as a casus belli, especially if and when Elizabeth was blamed for the event. Thus the Queen had gone to great lengths after the fact to deny culpability for Mary’s killing with what many then perceived to be genuine wrath, lashing out at the councillors and functionaries around her who had seen the matter through. As we enter into the darkly intense world of the seven penitential psalms of the Byrd’s opening section of 1589, only slowly do we come to realize it is Mary’s voice we are meant to hear at this juncture of the story. Before we learn that the speaker is female (BE 13: 3), and encounter another setting of the “Susanna” poem (BE 13: 8, the only repeated verse in the two volumes) to help confirm Mary’s identity, it is the recognition of purgatory, one of the most controversial of all topics under debate of the time, that defines this speaker’s narrative position as a Catholic intoning her last prayers. Then, as he returns to the ennobling “Susanna” figure, Byrd, with the aid of two typological traditions, uses a process of motivic metamorphosis to move past Mary’s death, introducing a Christological meta-narrative for Everyman as he also opens the story of Sidney’s struggles with Cupid outlined above. Even as Mary’s image fades to the background, however, Byrd keeps the idea of purgatory alive as he links the pagan god of love to Christ’s satanic enemy (BE 13: 21–22). After the nymphs thoroughly dismiss Cupid, in “Love is a fit,” the story would seem poised for a reassuring denouement. Instead, Byrd turns, in his songs for six voices, directly to the particulars of his argument, now using the popular churching rite as the means to position himself with the Queen on the long-standing debate over the contents of her Book of Common Prayer (BE 13: 44–45). Here we find Byrd operating at his most covert, as he uses a rather complicated means of imitation and allusion to make a connection between the ritual purges after childbirth that most in England were happy to undergo or support and those purges of sin in the afterlife that Protestants rejected but that Catholics continued to stress as a core belief, all the while alluding to the pre-Reformation Sarum rite on which the Book of Common Prayer was based. Only the possibility that Elizabeth had earlier heard some of the songs performed at her chapel gives us room to speculate that Byrd had communicated any of these points to his auditors. He leaves much of the camouflage and disguise behind, however, as he moves into his final scene (BE 13: 46–47). Using texts taken directly from the Book, he now draws his auditor down into the very abyss, recreating in rousing music the turmoil and triumph of the Harrowing of Hell to exude a brand of neo-feudal conquest that Elizabeth’s

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authorized homilies assure us she was in no mood to remove from her Church’s official services, whatever the force of the puritan argument opposing the very idea of Christ’s Descent. However bold Byrd’s position becomes by the end of each collection – in extolling Campion’s martyrdom in 1588 and representing purgatory as a condition of the afterlife in 1589 – the composer also shows a willingness to make his points with great subtlety and even to disguise them at times. It was a gesture of restraint many then may have appreciated, especially from the standpoint of where things stood in the realm of English religious debate. Buoyed by the Armada’s defeat and all the more impatient with the Queen and her bishops for continuing to “pollute” the English Church with “Catholic relics,” the puritan opposition had reached the point of ad hominem attacks on the leaders of the English church in their Marprelate tracts and separatist activities.16 In a classic study of Byrd’s approach to English verse, Philip Brett claims that the “governing aesthetic principle during the period was fitness and decorum,” and he commends Byrd for his “control” and “restraint.”17 As a model of courtly propriety, both in his individual songs and in the sequence as a whole, Byrd’s effort stood in distinct contrast to the latest sally from the left, even though it was certainly a matter of temperament or tactical necessity rather than a specific reaction to any perception of his enemies’ mistakes. In any case, as his opponents moved the whole scale of rhetoric over to a new paradigm, Byrd seems to have gained a certain political advantage, apparently, at least, in the eyes of the Queen. Though a time for caution and restraint, the late 1580s was also a time of hope for English Catholics, especially for those willing to “water” certain “plant[s],” to keep secrets, and to wait.18 Although it did not work out as many thought it might, James VI, at the time of his royal marriage to Anna of Denmark, was then being approached by figures such as the Catholic-leaning Henry Constable and Rich. This would lead, by the time Constable fully returned to the old faith and Anna had as well, to James corresponding with the Pope on the advantages of his own conversion to Catholicism. Byrd seemed somehow to have been associated, however indirectly, with the planning efforts that led to the diplomatic endeavor to make all this happen and, although there was nothing more than a hint of this activity in Byrd’s 1588–89 sequence of songs, many may have gained at least a sense of these grand designs in the way the composer drew figures like Rich so deeply into his story.19 Any plan that might lead to something as momentous as James’s conversion was something even the most beleaguered group would have understood to demand secrecy as well as time to develop. Knowing that Byrd already had the queen’s “eare” (BE 12: 1, l. 1) may have helped sustain Catholic auditors as they waited to 16

Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edn., s.v. “Barrowe, Henry.” Philip Brett, “Word-setting in the Songs of Byrd,” in William Byrd and his Contemporaries: Essays and a Monograph, ed. Joseph Kerman and Davitt Maroney (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 2007), 100–20, at 115. 18 Simpson, Edmund Campion, 123. 19 See my “Music and Late Elizabethan Politics: The Identities of Oriana and Diana,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 58 (2005): 507–58. 17

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see if this castle in the air might turn into something real. Yet there was something about the multidimensional artistry of Byrd’s two volumes themselves that might have seemed most reassuring of all: here Byrd had created for all of England songs that “shone brilliantly,” depicting everything from the most trifling “toy” to the most solemn and momentous funeral song, in secular contexts, and the most exuberant to the most anguished expressions of religious feeling in sacred ones. His musical settings capture the essence of each verse and often go far beyond its aesthetic qualities, establishing new standards in composition and opening, through example, new vistas of opportunity for other composers to explore. At the same time, however, and with the same force, to those members of an oppressed community in need of one, Byrd also delivers a unified message of hope and strength.

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Robertson, Anne Walters. “The Savior, the Woman, and the Head of the Dragon in the Caput Masses and Motet.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 59 (2006): 537–630. Roche, Jerome. “‘The Praise of It Endureth for Ever’: The Posthumous Publication of Palestrina’s Music.” Early Music 22 (1994): 631–39. Rodd, Sir Rennell. Sir Walter Raleigh. New York, 1904. Romero, Elena Domínguez. “Thomas Morley’s First Book of Madrigals to Four Voices: A Pastoral Romance.” Sederi 13 (2003): 45–53. Rose, Beth. “The Gendering of Authority in the Public Speeches of Elizabeth I.” PMLA 115 (2000): 1077–82. Rosenmeyer, Patricia A. The Poetics of Imitation: Anacreon and the Anacreontic Tradition. Cambridge, 1992. Rowland, Beryl. Birds with Human Souls: A Guide to Bird Symbolism. Knoxville, TN, 1978. Rubi, Miri. The Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary. New Haven, CT, 2009. Rudick, Michael, ed. The Poems of Sir Walter Ralegh: A Historical Edition. Tempe, AZ, 1999. Ruff, Lillian M., and D. Arnold Wilson. “The Madrigal, the Lute Song and Elizabethan Politics.” Past & Present 44 (1969): 3–51. Russell, Stephen J. “Song and the Ineffable in the ‘Prioress’s Tale’.” Chaucer Review 33 (1998): 176–89. Rutter, Russell. “The Treason of Aeneas and the Mythographers of Vergil: The Classical Tradition in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.” In Sir Gawain and the Classical Tradition: Essays on the Ancient Antecedents, edited by E. L. Risden. Jefferson, NC, 2006. 30–48. Sachs, Curt. Rhythm and Tempo: A Study in Music History. New York, 1953. Sargent, Ralph M. At the Court of Queen Elizabeth The Life and Lyrics of Sir Edward Dyer. Oxford, 1935. Saunders, J. W. “The Stigma of Print.” Essays in Criticism 1 (1951): 139–64. Schleiner, Winfried. “Differences of Theme and Structure of the Erona Episode in the Old and New Arcadia.” Studies in Philology 70 (1973): 377–91. Schleuse, Paul. “‘A Tale Completed in the Mind’: Genre and Imitation in L’Amfiparnaso (1597).” Journal of Musicology 29 (2012): 101–53. Schmid, Ulrich. Die Priamel der Werte im Griechischen von Homer bis Paulus. Wiesbaden, 1964. Schmidgall, Gary. Shakespeare and the Courtly Aesthetic. Berkeley, 1981. Schmitz, Götz. The Fall of Women in Early English Narrative Verse. Cambridge, 1990. Schwartz, Louis. Milton and Maternal Morality. Cambridge, 2009. Scodel, Joshua. Excess and the Mean in Early Modern Literature. Princeton, 2002. Scott-Warren, Jason. Review of Gerard Kilroy, Edmund Campion: Memory and Transcription, Early Modern Literary Studies (2006). http://purl.oclc.org/emls/12-2/revmarot.htm, accessed 15 May 2014. Scott, Maria M. Re-Presenting ‘Jane’ Shore: Harlot and Heroine. Aldershot, 2005. Shagan, Ethan. “Beyond Good and Evil: Thinking with Moderates in Early Modern England.” Journal of British Studies 49 (2010): 488–513. ____. The Rule of Moderation: Violence, Religion, and the Politics of Restraint in Early Modern England. Cambridge, 2011. ____, ed. Catholics and the ‘Protestant Nation’: Religious Politics and Identity in Early Modern England. Manchester, 2005. Shea, Victor. “New Historicism.” In Encyclopedia of Contemporary Literary Theory: Approaches, Scholars, Terms, edited by Irena R. Makaryk. Buffalo, 1993. 124–30. Sherlock, Peter “The Monuments of Elizabeth Tudor and Mary Stuart: King James and the Manipulation of Memory.” Journal of British Studies 46 (2007): 263–89. Sherr, Richard. “Un document sur Guillaume Tessier.” Revue de musicology 59 (1973): 105–06. Shrank, Cathy. “‘This fatall Medea,’ ‘this Clytemnestra’: Reading and the Detection of Mary Queen of Scots.” Huntington Library Quarterly 73 (2010): 523–41. Shrock, Dennis. Choral Repertoire. Oxford, 2009.

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Sidney, Sir Philip. Astrophel and Stella. London, 1591. ____. An Apologie for Poetrie. London, 1595. ____. “Letter to Queen Elizabeth, 1580.” In The Miscellaneous Works of Sir Philip Sidney, Knt., edited by William Gray. Boston, 1860. 289–303. ____. The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia (The Old Arcadia), edited by K. Duncan-Jones. Oxford, 1985. Repr. 1999. Silvers, Deborah Anderson. “Artemisia Gentileschi: The Heart of a Woman and the Soul of a Caesar.” Ph.D. diss., University of South Florida, 2010. Simon, Elliot M. The Myth of Sisyphus: Renaissance Theories of Human Perfectibility. Cranbury, NJ, 2007. Sinfield, Alan. “Sidney and Astrophil.” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 20 (1980): 25–41. Skretkowicz, Victor. “Sidney’s Defence of Poetry, Henri Estienne, and Huguenot Nationalist Satire.” Sidney Journal 16 (1998): 3–24. Smith, Edward O. Jr. “Crown and Commonwealth: A Study in the Official Elizabethan Doctrine of the Prince.” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, n.s. 66 (1976): 1–51. Smith, Jeremy L. “From ‘Rights to Copy’ to the ‘Bibliographic Ego’: A New Look at the Last Early Edition of Byrd’s Psalmes, Sonets & Songs.” Music & Letters 80 (1999): 511–30. ____. “Print Culture and the Elizabethan Composer.” Fontes artis musicae 48 (2001): 156–72. ____. “Music and Late Elizabethan Politics: The Identities of Oriana and Diana.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 58 (2005): 507–58. ____. “A Newly Discovered Edition of William Byrd’s Psalmes, Sonets & Songs: Provenance and Significance.” Notes 62 (2005): 273–98. ____. “Music and the Cult of Elizabeth.” In “Noyces, sounds and sweet aires”: Music in Early Modern England, edited by Jessie Ann Owens. Washington, DC, 2006. 62–77. ____. “William Byrd’s Fall from Grace and his First Solo Publication of 1588: A Shostakovian “Response to Just Criticism?” Music & Politics 1 (2007). www.music.ucsb.edu/projects/ musicandpolitics/archive/2007-1/smith.html, accessed 30 January 2009. ____. “Turning a New Leaf: William Byrd, the East Music-Publishing Firm and the Jacobean Succession.” In Music and the Book Trade, from the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Centuries, edited by Robin Myers, Michael Harris, and Giles Mandelbrote. London, 2008. 25–43. ____. “Revisiting the Origins of the Sheffield Series of Portraits of Mary Queen of Scots.” Burlington Magazine 152 (2010): 212–18. ____. “‘Unlawful song’: Byrd, the Babington Plot and the Paget Choir.” Early Music 38 (2010): 497–508. ____. “Mary Queen of Scots as Susanna.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Society 73 (2011): 209–20. ____. “The Dilatory Space of While that the sun: Byrd, Tessier, and the English Sequence.” Early Music 40 (2012): 671–85. ____. “Imitation as Cross-Confessional Appropriation: Revisiting Kenneth Jay Levy’s ‘History of a 16th-Century Chanson’.” In Sleuthing the Muse: Essays in Honor of William F. Prizer, edited by Kristine K. Forney and Jeremy L. Smith. Festschrift Series 20. Stuyvesant, NY, 2012. 287–304. ____. “Lassus, Ferrabosco the Elder, Byrd, and the Identification of Mary Queen of Scots as Biblical Susanna.” Musical Times (forthcoming). Smith, Leslie. “Mary Queen of Scots: The Daughter of Debate.” Journal of Family Planning and Reproductive Heath Care 34 (2008): 125–27. Smith, Mike. “‘Whom Music’s lore delighteth’: Words-and-Music in Byrd’s Ye sacred Muses.” Early Music 31 (2003): 425–36. ____. “‘… made into Musicke of fiue [=1+4] parts’: Voice and Viol Versions of Some of Byrd’s ‘Psalmes,’ ‘Sonets’ and ‘Songs of sadnes and pietie.’” The Viol 5 (2006): 32–35. Smuts, R. Malcolm. “Occasional Events, Literary Texts and Historical Interpretations.” In NeoHistoricism: Studies in Renaissance Literature, History and Politics, edited by Robin Headlam Wells, Glenn Burgess, and Rowland Wymer. Cambridge, 2000. 179–98.

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Worden, Blair. The Sound of Virtue: Philip Sidney’s Arcadia and Elizabethan Politics. New Haven, CT, 1997. Woudhuysen, H. R. Sir Philip Sidney and the Circulation of Manuscripts, 1558–1640. New York, 1996. Wright, Craig. The Maze and the Warrior: Symbols in Architecture, Theology, and Music. Cambridge, MA, 2001. Wright, Susan. “Family Life and Society in Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Century Salisbury.” Ph.D. diss. University of Leicester, 1982. Wrightson, James, ed. The Wanley Manuscripts, Part 1. Recent Researches in Music of the Renaissance 99. Madison, 1995. Wynne-Davies, Marion. Sidney to Milton, 1580–1660. London, 2003. Yates, Frances A. “Queen Elizabeth I as Astraea.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 10 (1947): 27–82. ____. “Elizabethan Chivalry: The Romance of the Accession Day Tilts.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 20 (1957): 4–25. ____. Astraea: The Imperial Theme in the Sixteenth Century. London, 1975. Yonge, Nicholas, pub. Musica transalpina: Madrigales translated out of foure, five and sixe partes. London, 1588. Young, Richard B. “English Petrarke: A Study of Sidney’s ‘Astrophel and Stella’.” In W. Todd Furniss, William G. Madsen, and Richard B. Young, Three Studies in the Renaissance: Sidney, Jonson, Milton. New Haven, CT, 1958. Zaller, Robert. “Breaking the Vessels: The Desacralization of Monarchy in Early Modern England.” Sixteenth Century Journal 29 (1998): 757–78. Zim, Rivkah. English Metrical Psalms: Poetry as Praise and Prayer, 1535–1601. Cambridge, 1987. ____. “Batman, Stephan (c.1542–1584).” In Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Oxford, 2004. http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/1704, accessed 17 February 2014.

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Index of Byrd’s Songs from the 1588 and 1589 Collections “All as a sea, the world no other is” (BE 12: 28)  111–13 “Although the heathen poets” (BE 12: 21)  79, 81–5 “Ambitious love” (BE 12: 18)  76–81, 130, 183 “An earthly tree a heavenly fruit” (BE 13: 40)  36–7, 191–2, 195, 234, 242, 249, 281 “And as the pleasant morning dew” (BE 13: 39)  142, 234–42, 254 “And think ye nymphs?” (BE 13: 42)  234, 245, 253–6 “As I beheld, I saw a heardman wild” (BE 12: 20)  81, 130 “Attend mine humble prayer” (BE 13: 7)  149–51, 164 “Behold how good a thing” (BE 13: 38)  142–3, 234–42, 254 “Blessed is he that fears the Lord” (BE 12: 8)  14, 39–41 “Boy pity me” (BE 13: 16)  167–8, 170–2 “But when by proof they find” (BE 13: 11)  160–3, 287 “Care for thy soul” (BE 12: 31)  112–14 “Cast off all doubtful care” (BE 13: 25)  166, 182, 190–2, 194–5, 281 “Christ is risen again” (BE 13: 47)  235, 269, 271–83 “Christ rising again” (BE 13: 46)  234–5, 269, 271–81 “Come to me grief forever” (BE 12: 34)  92, 107–8, 129–30, 135, 188–9, 289 “Compel the hawk to sit” (BE 13: 28)  193, 206–9 “Constant Penelope” (BE 12: 23)  91–4, 129 “Even from the depth” (BE 12: 10)  14, 41 “Farewell false love” (BE 12: 25)  91–2, 98–9, 102–3 “From Citheron the warlike boy” (BE 13: 19)  175–6 “From depth of sin” (BE 13: 6)  149 “From virgin’s womb this day did spring” (BE 13: 35)  36–7, 182, 192–3, 195, 228–30, 236 “Help Lord, for wasted are those men” (BE 12: 7)  14, 39–40, 141, 143 “Her breath is more sweet” (BE 13: 37)  193, 196, 230, 232, 238 “How shall a young man prone to ill” (BE 12: 4)  14, 25–8, 30–2, 75 “I joy not in no earthly bliss” (BE 12: 11)  45, 47–53, 65, 67, 69, 76, 130, 183 “I thought that love had been a boy” (BE 13: 32)  193, 219–21, 224, 285 “If in thine heart” (BE 13: 44)  235, 258–62, 265–9 “If love be just” (BE 13: 21)  175–8 “If that a sinner’s sighs” (BE 12: 30)  112–13 “If women could be fair” (BE 12: 17)  74, 76–8, 101–2 “In fields abroad” (BE 12: 22)  85–90, 129, 211–13, 287–8 “Is love a boy?” (BE 13: 15)  167–70, 190, 193 “La virginella” (BE 12: 24)  8–9, 91, 94–8, 103 “Lord hear my prayer” (BE 13: 5)  148–9 “Lord in thy rage” (BE 13: 1)  136–41, 144, 146, 148 “Lord in thy wrath” (BE 12: 9)  14, 41 “Lord in thy wrath” (BE 13: 3)  135, 143–8, 174, 217, 292 “Love is a fit of pleasure” (BE 13: 43)  234, 245, 253–8, 286–7, 292 “Love would discharge” (BE 13: 34)  195, 208–10, 228 “Lulla lullaby” (BE 12: 32)  36–7, 108, 122–5, 127–8

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“Mine eyes with fervency of sprite” (BE 12: 2)  14–15, 20–4, 30, 130 “My mind to me a kingdom is” (BE 12: 14)  47–8, 66–9, 71–2, 80 “My soul opprest with care and grief” (BE 12: 3)  14, 25–6, 29–30, 32, 110 “O dear life when may it be” (BE 13: 33)  193, 202, 220–8, 285–8 “O God give ear and do apply” (BE 12: 1)  8, 14–21, 36, 41–2, 163, 293 “O God which art most merciful” (BE 13: 4)  146, 148–9 “O Lord my God” (BE 13: 22)  159, 166, 179–82, 190, 217, 281 “O Lord, how long wilt thou forget” (BE 12: 5)  14, 32–8, 290 “O Lord, who in thy sacred tent” (BE 12: 6)  13–14, 33–9, 290 “O that most rare breast” (BE 12: 35)  107–8, 129–33, 135, 188, 193, 197, 206 “O you that hear this voice” (BE 12: 16)  4, 73–6, 78 “Of gold all burnished” (BE 12: 36)  193, 196, 230–2, 238 “Penelope that longed” (BE 13: 27)  9, 92–4, 188, 193, 203–7 “Prostrate O Lord” (BE 12: 27)  110–13 “Rejoice, rejoice” (BE 13: 24)  166, 182, 190–2, 194–5, 228–9 “Right blest are they” (BE 13: 2)  141–3, 145–6, 149, 240 “See those sweet eyes” (BE 13: 29)  195, 208–12, 228 “Susanna fair” (BE 12: 29)  107–8, 113–16, 118, 122–3, 127–8, 131, 135, 152–3, 290–2 “Susanna fair” (BE 13: 8)  136, 151–6, 159, 292 “The greedy hawk” (BE 13: 14)  163–5, 167, 169, 191, 193, 287 “The match that’s made” (BE 12: 26)  91–2, 101, 104–6 “The nightingale so pleasant” (BE13: 9)  135–6, 154–7 “Then for a boat his quiver” (BE 13: 13)  163 “These careless thoughts are freed” (BE 13: 20)  175 “Though Amarillis dance in green” (BE 12: 12)  47, 53–9, 65, 76, 81, 98, 183, 285 “Unto the hills mine eyes I lift” (BE 13: 45)  235, 261–9 “Upon a summer’s day” (BE 13: 12)  163 “Weeping full sore” (BE 13: 26)  92, 188, 193, 195–201, 203–4, 206–8, 224, 232 “What pleasure have great princes” (BE 12: 19)  79–81, 96, 102 “When first by force” (BE 13: 31)  180, 193, 195, 215, 217 “When I was otherwise” (BE 13: 30)  193, 211–14, 217, 287 “When younglings first on Cupid” (BE 13: 10)  136, 155–62, 169, 287–8 “Where fancy fond for pleasure pleads” (BE 12: 15)  4, 71–4, 76, 78, 81 “While that the sun” (BE 13: 23)  166–7, 182–8, 192–3, 246, 286, 288 “Who likes to love let him take heed” (BE 12: 13)  47, 59–66, 70, 78, 220 “Who made thee Hob forsake the plough?” (BE 13: 41), 234, 245–7, 249–53, 285 “Why do I use” (BE 12: 33)  108, 125, 127–8, 289 “Wounded I am” (BE 13: 17)  167–8, 172–5 “Yet of us twain” (BE 13: 18)  167–8, 173–5

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General Index Admonishment controversy  235, 237, 256–9, 262, 264, 292 ages of man  216–17 Alleluia, Christus resurgens  271, 274–7, 280 Allen, Cardinal William  140, 143 ambition  72, 78–9, 90, 290 amoibaion  94, 96–7, 103 Anacreon (Anacreontea, Anacreontic)  86–8, 136, 160, 162–3, 175, 191, 288 Anacreontea 26  87–9 See also under Cupid Anjou see Francis, Duke of Anjou and Alençon Anna of Denmark  293 anthem  9, 25, 35, 38–9, 74, 167, 175, 179, 232, 234, 238 Apollo  82–5, 174–5, 196 See also under Sidney Apostles’ Creed  269–70 Aquinas, St. Thomas  45–8, 105, 109, 143, 290 Arcadia (Arcadian) see pastoral Ariosto, Ludovico Orlando furioso 94–9 “La verginella”  94–7 “But not so soon”  98 Aristotle (Aristotelian)  11–12, 43–8, 62–3, 67, 70, 78–82, 85, 105, 109, 166, 236, 286, 290–1 Arundel, Earl of see Fitzalan, Henry, 19th Earl of Arundel Astrophil  75, 188, 192, 195, 221–4 See also under Sidney, Sir Philip Attridge, Derek  92, 129 Augustine of Hippo  143, 145, 195 Confessions 216–17 Aylett, Robert Susanna, or the arraignment 152 Barrowe, Henry  263–5 Bateson, Thomas  21 “Love would discharge”  210–11 Batman, Stephen  67, 69 Bernard, St. of Clairvaux  145 Blackwood, Adam Le Martyre  122, 135 La Mort 135 blazon  230, 196–7, 238, 258–9 blessed  14, 39–41, 125, 141, 159, 259, 283n2, 290 Book of Common Prayer  137, 235, 241–2, 250, 264, 269–72, 281, 292 See also Admonition controversy braving poems  98–9

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Brett, Philip  4–6, 38, 71, 74–5, 80, 123, 199–200, 220–1, 227, 293 Brooke, William, Lord Cobham  186 Brooks, Peter  166, 182, 192 brotherly love  11, 134, 230, 233–7, 239, 243, 253, 282, 286 Bry, Theodore de  131 Bunny, Edmund  41 Byrd, William  1, 10, 145, 183, 244, 247, 251, 291 “But not so soon”  98 Domine quis habitabit 35 “The Fair young virgin”  95, 98 Gradualia 283 “Quem terra, pontus”  231 Infelix ego 139 “The man is blest”  40 “O Lord, within thy tabernacle”  36, 38 Psalmes, Sonets, & songs  1, 5, 7, 11–12, 13, 15, 43–4, 107, 109, 112, 132, 213, 220, 286–90 Epistle to the Reader  7–9, 15, 134 songs of 1588 and 1589 1 (2) + 4 (2 or 3) scoring, of  8, 15, 94, 110, 131, 134, 144, 171, 179, 205, 208, 211, 231, 238, 242 a-emphasizing motive, in  136–7, 140–1, 144, 149–51 authorship of the poetry, of  11, 49, 67–9, 73, 94–5, 98, 100–01, 112, 127, 130, 144n19, 145, 206, 221, 228, 271 canon (canonic gestures), in  83, 200, 207 Catholic approaches, in  10, 25–26, 42, 49, 105–6, 127–9, 135–7, 139, 190, 218, 232, 234–5, 238, 240–1, 244, 265, 269, 274–5, 282, 288–94 cell techniques, within  208, 239, 259, 261, 265, 267 compass, of  8–9 cross-rhythms (rhythmic complications)  76, 101–3, 140, 146, 153, 174, 249 d-g-b♭ (b♮)-a motive, in  190, 192, 277, 280–1 drones  65–6, 247 dux and comes alterations (errant entrances), in  40, 226–7, 239, 259 E♭, in 1589 collection, of  136, 146, 150–1, 177, 179–81, 190, 213, 215, 217, 219, 224, 227, 267, 274–5, 285 extended length  150, 164, 260–2, 266–7, 269 feminine endings  80, 93, 102, 130, 153, 161, 226

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Byrd, William (continued) “first singing part,” within  8–9, 15, 22, 26, 29, 41, 74–5, 94, 110, 131, 160, 171, 210 riddling techniques, within  12, 47–50, 67, 130, 290 strophic settings  15, 21, 32–3, 41, 43, 75, 152–3, 227 through-composed settings  16, 41, 152–4 transformative 1–5–6–5 motive, in  136, 155–6, 158–9, 180, 190 Songs of sundrie natures  1, 9, 11–12, 134–6, 193, 202, 220, 227, 234–5, 237, 257–8, 269, 283–7, 292–3 “The sweet and merry month of May”  95 “Teach me, O Lord”  25–6 unliterary  6, 286 “Ye sacred muses”  67 Camden, William  45 Campion, Edmund, SJ  10, 105, 108, 125–9, 288–93 Carew, Sir Peter (1514?–1575)  60 Carew, Sir Peter (d. 1580)  61 Carey, Henry, first baron Hunsdon  10 carol  36, 122–4, 182, 191–2, 228–30, 232, 234, 236, 238, 242, 249, 281 See also Coventry carol Cartwright, Thomas  258, 270 Catullus Poem 62  96–7 Chaloner, Thomas  246 Chapel Royal  1, 25, 35, 42, 134, 228, 238, 272n80, 281, 291–2 Charles II Francis, Archduke of Austria  60 chastity  44, 46, 61–4, 70, 91, 94, 101, 103 Chaucer, Geoffrey (Chaucerian)  58, 67, 175, 206, 246 “Prioresses Tale”  59 “Knights Tale”  60–1, 63 chiasmic design  42, 290 chrism  143, 234–5, 240–3 Christ  112, 124, 159, 189–90, 192, 195 birth  166, 171, 182, 191, 228–9, 236 descent into hell see Harrowing of Hell resurrection  229, 234–6, 242–3, 269–74, 281, 289 types of  136, 151–2, 154–5, 157–9, 242, 289, 292 See also nightingale; Susanna under Mary Queen of Scots See also chrism, brotherly love, New Covenant churching  234–5, 262–5, 267, 269, 292 Churchyard, Thomas  62, 71 “Manhode and Dezearte”  70–1 “Shew of Chastitie”  62–5

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“Shore’s wife”  206–8 Cinthio, Geraldi “Euphimia of Corinth”  188–9 Citheron (Cythera)  175–6 Cooke, Deryck  158–9, 180 Corinna  53–4, 58 companion poems see braving poems courtier poems (defined)  2–5, 49–50 Coventry Carol  122–4 Cranmer, Archbishop Thomas  271–2 Cupid  59, 68, 79, 98, 101, 134, 159, 164–5, 167–72, 195, 207, 217–18, 269, 282, 287 Anacreontic view, of  136, 160, 162–3, 166, 175, 191, 288 Christian love, opposed to  236, 286 Catholic view, of  188 deposed (rejected, dismissed, disarmed, disabled)  59, 70, 78, 190, 192 “Shew of Chastitie,” in  62–4 “Love is a fit,” in  253–8 “Love would discharge,” in  210, 228 “Weeping full sore,”in  195, 199 “Who likes,” in  59, 220 “O dear life,” in  224–7 devil, as  180–2, 292 Ovidian view, of  174–7, 182, 196 Sidneian view, of  136, 160, 175, 179, 189, 197, 257, 286 See also lust cyclic techniques see sequential concepts Darius I (the Great)  89 David, King  16, 20 Davies, Sir John of Hereford  201 Davies, Sir John  73 Davy, Robert  112 débat  74, 253–4, 262 Decalogue (Ten Commandments)  11, 13, 22, 24, 34–5, 41–2, 134, 290 See also Old Covenant Desportes, Phillip La’ve l’aurora 99 Desprez, Josquin  110 Ave Maria … virgo serena 239 Devereux, Robert, 2nd Earl of Essex  65–6, 69, 99, 129 devil  22, 74, 167, 179–83, 190, 192, 217, 235, 240, 270, 273–4, 280–1, 283 See also Harrowing of Hell and under Cupid dialogue form  103, 245–58 Diana  59, 61, 63–6, 71, 82, 195, 199, 203, 227 Dido, Queen of Carthage  180, 193, 195, 215–20, 227, 232, 281 Diet of Augsburg  237 dilatory space  12, 166, 182, 245

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General Index 321

disobedience see obedience Dow, Robert  38, 205 Dudley, Robert, 1st Earl of Leicester  63, 104, 164–5 Duncan-Jones, Katherine  186–7 Dyer, Sir Edward  2, 10, 49–50, 56, 67–8, 130, 164, 188 “My song yf any ask”  49 eclogue débat see débat E. K.  247–8, 250 Edward IV  87–9, 206 Edward VI  45 Edwards, Richard Palamon & Arcyte 60–1 Einstein, Alfred  172, 230 Elizabeth I  1, 10, 13–14, 31, 35, 45, 47, 49, 59–61, 82, 184, 195, 227, 234–6, 244, 248–9, 251, 253, 257, 273, 282, 291–3 anointed one, as  234, 241–2 See also chrism Churchyard’s “Shew of Chastitie,” in  62–4 cult of  60, 64–6, 71, 99, 105, 291 Dido, as  195, 218 Virgin Queen, as  65, 96, 98, 105 See also French Match; matrimony; Psalm 119 under psalms Emeley  60–1, 63, 66 England’s Helicon 53 Erasmus, Desiderius  103, 246 Eros see Cupid Essex, Earl of see Devereux, Robert, 2nd Earl of Essex Established Church  250, 258–64, 264, 270 See also Admonition controversy; Whitgift, John Estienne, Henri  86 Everyman  135, 190, 196, 216, 245, 292 Extreme Unction  138, 143 See also chrism Farrant, Richard “Alas ye sea salt gods”  205 Fellowes, Edmund  51, 76–7, 118, 155, 192, 230 Ferrabosco, Alfonso, the Elder  154, 172 Field, John Admonition 262 fiend see devil Finet, John  67, 69 Fisher, St. John, Bishop of Rochester  140 Fitzalan, Henry, 19th Earl of Arundel  19, 118–19 fortitude  106–7, 109, 122, 127, 290 See also martyrdom

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Fortune  71, 207–8, 218 fourteeners  15, 21, 29–30, 43, 94, 111, 140–1, 145, 180, 235, 260 Foxe, John Book of Martyrs 139 framing devices  67, 146, 190–1, 208–10, 219, 228, 232, 287 Francis, Duke of Anjou and Alençon  19, 46, 62–4, 71, 92, 104–5, 188 See also French Match fratres in unum see brotherly love Fraunce, Abraham  82 French Match  19–20, 46–7, 49–50, 61–4, 68–71, 76, 92, 98, 104–5, 188, 217, 251, 291 Gasciogne, George  160, 220 Gentileschi, Artemisia  116 “Susanna and the Elders”  116–17 Gethsemane, Garden of  152 Gibson, Kirsten  65 Gifford, George  189, 202, 237, 241, 244 A dialogue 246–7 Goff, Jacques le  143 golden mean  44–5, 47, 67, 72, 82, 91, 290 Goodnight, popular tune  102–3, 220 grave (gravity)  134–5, 155, 166, 168, 181, 192 greatness see magnanimity Grindal, Archbishop Edmund  237 Hannay, Margaret  137, 139 Harington, Sir John  97, 99 Orlando furioso 201 Harley, John  155, 180, 215, 230–1, 235 Harrowing of Hell  234–5, 246, 269–74, 277, 281, 292–3 Harvey, Gabriel  56, 92, 247 Hatton, Sir Christopher  10, 14, 101 Heneage, Sir Thomas “Most welcome love”  99–101 Henry VIII  60–1, 272 Hob 245–53 Holfred-Strevens, Leofranc  86 holiness  13–14, 22, 34, 44, 109–10, 190, 241 See also obedience; law; Decalogue; Old Covenant holy gifts  105, 107, 109, 127, 290 See also piety; fortitude holy oils see chrism Holy Spirit  107, 143 Homer (Homeric)  12, 86, 94, 193, 195, 203, 205, 232, 254 homily (sermon)  13, 32, 45, 67, 112, 234–5, 245, 269, 272–3, 293 read homily  235, 258–9, 262 Hooker, John  60

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Hopkins, John  15 “O god give ear & do apply”  15–16 See also Whole Booke of Psalmes under Sternhold, Thomas Hopkins, Lisa  217–18 Horace “Lydia, dic per omnes”  129–30 Horner, Bruce  125, 127 Howard, Henry, 1st Earl of Northampton  19, 91, 104–5 in media res 254 Incarnation see birth under Christ invocation  19, 22, 26, 148–9 Isidore of Seville, St.  241–2 James VI and I  129, 293 Jewell, John, Bishop of Salisbury  241 The second tome of homilees  13, 45 “Homilee agaynst disobedience”  13, 45 “Homilee of the Resurrection”  272–3 Johnstone, Andrew  269, 273 judgment  30–2, 150–1 justice  107, 118–19, 136, 150–1 Kerman, Joseph  6, 22, 35, 125, 210, 239, 284–5 Kethe, William “The man is blest”  40 Kinwelmersh, Francis “From virgin’s wombe”  228–9, 232 Langland, William  246, 270 Lasso, Orlando di  154, 172 law  11, 13–14, 22, 24–31, 34, 41–2, 44–5, 110, 125, 290 Le Jeune, Claude Revecy venir 51–2 Lesley, John, Bishop of Ross A Defense 121–2 Liber regalis 241 Love see Cupid Lumley, John  118–19 Lundberg, Mattias  25 lust  47, 54, 59, 98, 171, 202, 222, 224, 226–8, 236, 253, 257, 265, 267, 281, 287 sin, as  134, 182, 189, 192–6, 213, 216–17, 232, 234, 258, 262, 265 Lydgate, John  58 “A seying of the nightingale”  158 Fall of Princes 206 Lyly, John  73, 160 madrigal Italian, Italianate  76, 83, 94–5, 136, 160, 163, 172–7, 186, 197–200, 203, 208, 210–11, 249 English, Englished  95, 97–8, 154, 186

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magnanimity  44, 70–1, 79, 85, 90–1, 105, 129 See also ambition; pride magnificence  44, 70, 91 Marlowe, Christopher  217, 282 Dido, Queen of Carthage 217–18 Marotti, Arthur  49, 68 Marprelate, Martin  237, 293 martyrdom  107, 122, 124–8, 293 Mary and the Burning Bush  53 Mary I, Queen of England  35, 139 Mary Queen of Scots  10, 31, 91, 159, 227, 234, 236 death (execution)  69, 106, 108, 135, 137, 143, 154, 195, 220, 237, 290 Dido, as  195, 218 Susanna, as  108, 116, 118, 135, 152, 154, 290–1 Massacre of the Innocents  122–5 Mateer, David  197, 230 matrimony  61, 91–2, 94, 97, 104–5, 251 See also French Match May, Steven W.  67, 101 McCarthy, Kerry  95–6 mercy  113, 140–1, 148–9, 171–2, 217 Milsom, John  223, 226–7 Milton, John  264 mirth  134–5, 155, 166, 168, 191–2 Morales, Cristóbal de Missa Puer natus est 158–9 Morley, Thomas Plaine and Easie Introduction 57–8 Mundy, William  25 Musica transalpina (1588)  95, 97–8, 154, 186 musique mesurée 51 narrative techniques see sequential concepts Neighbour, Oliver  6, 235 Neoplatonic  47, 71, 171, 195, 202, 221, 228 Netherlands  70, 164, 239 New Covenant  11, 134, 236, 291 See also brotherly love Newman, Thomas  202 nightingale  136, 154–9 Nonsuch Palace  119 Northampton, Earl of see Howard, Henry, 1st Earl of Northampton note nere madrigal  83, 114 obedience  13, 41, 45, 97 See also holiness; law; Decalogue; Old Covenant Old Covenant  11, 13–14, 25–6, 32–4, 42, 290–1 Ovid 54 Heroïdes 54 “Penelope to Ulysses”  92, 94 Metamorphosis  82, 174–7, 199, 203 See also Corinna; and under Cupid

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Oxford University  60–1 Oxford, Earl of see Vere, Edward de, 17th Earl of Oxford Paget, Charles  10 Paget, Thomas  10 Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da Io son ferito  172–4 pari jugo dulcis tractus 103–5 Parsons, Robert (composer)  25, 204–5 Paston, Edward  56, 164–5 pastoral  79–80, 134, 183, 192, 197, 227, 245–58, 282 patent for music printing  1, 284 Peacham, Henry  45 Compleat Gentleman 109 Pecham (Peckham), John Philomena 157–8 Penelope  91–4, 193, 195, 203, 205, 232 Persons, Robert, SJ  41 Christian directory  41, 145 Petrarch (Petrarchan)  47, 55–6, 63, 71, 74, 76, 174, 177, 196, 202, 230, 232 Philon  188–90, 192–3, 246, 286 piety  105, 107–10, 112–13, 127, 290 Pilkington, Francis  112 priamel  86–90, 287 pride  22, 44, 68–9, 72, 79–81–85, 89–90 psalms   13, 43, 236, 240 metrical translations, of  15, 21, 135, 140, 235, 240 penitential psalms  41, 135–39, 144, 151, 281, 283, 292 Psalm 6  41, 136 Psalm 12  39, 141 Psalm 15  34–6, 38, 42 Psalm 32  141, 240 Psalm 36  31 Psalm 38  143, 145, 151, 217 Psalm 51  139, 146 Psalm 55  15–16, 19 Psalm 112  40–1 Psalm 113  25 Psalm 119  14, 24–5, 29, 31–2, 34, 75 Psalm 121  262–5, 267 Psalm 123  15, 20–2 Psalm 128  265, 267 Psalm 130  41, 149 Psalm 133  235–7, 240–1 purgatory  135–6, 139–41, 143, 145, 213, 217, 243–5, 259–62, 269–70, 292–3 puritan (puritan faction)  189, 235, 237, 241, 244, 250, 256–63, 269–70, 272–3, 281–2, 293 See also Admonition controversy; Gifford, George; Barrowe, Henry

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Puttenham, George Arte of Poesie 245 quantitative accentuation  92–3, 129–30 Ralegh, Sir Walter  1, 10, 43, 98, 101 “Farewell false love”  98–103 Ravenscroft, Thomas  60 redemption see resurrection under Christ rhyme royal  206–8 Rich, Penelope née Devereaux, Lady  92, 188–9, 192–5, 204–6, 232, 236–7, 285 Stella, as  197, 200–3, 208, 211, 219 Rich, Robert  202, 204 Richard of St. Victor  112 Ringler, William  68–9, 201 Ronsard, Pierre de Le petit enfant amour  186, 288 Rubum quem see under Tye, Christopher sadness  107–8, 125, 131, 196–7 salvation see resurrection under Christ Sappho Fragment 16  86–9 Sarum rite  240, 264–5, 271, 274–7, 292 Satan see devil Savonarola, Girolamo  237 Infelix ego 139 Senfl, Ludwig Ecce quam bonum 237 sequential concept applied  26, 30, 32, 35, 39–40, 43, 45, 75–7, 80–2, 98, 100–1, 111–12, 134, 149–51, 155–7, 160–1, 165–6, 175, 188, 193, 196, 207, 218, 232, 236, 245, 262, 265 See also chiasmic design; dilatory space; in media res summarized  9–13, 283–93 seven vices  39, 42 sextain (ababcc)  49, 72, 111, 152–3, 220 sextilla 226 Shakespeare  205. 230, 254, 282, 288 Sheffield portrait types  119–21 Shore’s wife  195, 207–8, 232 See also under Churchyard, Thomas Sidney, Sir Philip  2, 5–6, 10, 19, 43, 49, 65–6, 69, 107, 128–32, 135, 164–5, 183, 185, 206, 234, 236, 245, 288–9 Apologie for Poetrie  6, 177, 179, 246 Apollo, as  83, 85 Astrophil, as  188, 192, 211, 228 Astrophil & Stella  73–4, 160, 175, 193, 197, 200–2, 283, 286 “In a grove most rich of shade”  186, 288 “My mouth doth water”  200–2, 224 “O dear life”  221–4, 285–6

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Sidney, Sir Philip (continued) “Of all the kings”  87–9 “O you that hear this voice”  5, 19, 73 death, of  69, 92, 105, 129–30, 135, 182–3, 189–93, 202, 224, 232, 237, 243, 244, 282, 285–6 Defense of Poesie see Apologie for Poetrie under Sidney, Sir Philip “Fortress of Perfect Beauty”  71 good death see death, of under Sidney, Sir Philip “Wert thou a Kinge”  68 Old Arcadia  79–80, 167, 174 Plangus and Erona  182, 188–9, 286 “Poor painters oft”  166–7, 174, 179, 183, 186–9, 191–2 Philon, as  188–9, 192–3, 246 “When to my deadlie pleasure”  129 sin see under lust Smith, Mike  8n17, 40 Socrates  46, 109 Somerset, Edward, 4th Earl of Worcester  123 sonnet  43, 73, 78, 81, 88–9, 130–1, 160, 163, 167, 169–75, 177, 183, 188, 193, 195–7, 203, 222, 230, 232, 238, 286 Spanish Armada  1, 31, 237, 243, 293 Spenser, Edmund  11, 56, 67, 92, 245, 250–1, 288, 292 Faerie Queene  11, 22, 43–5, 56, 70, 91, 270, 292 Shepheardes calendar  11, 82–3, 247 “Aprill”  247–51, 257 “Maye”  249–51, 257 Stella  73–4, 192–3, 195, 197, 208, 221–4 See also under Rich, Penelope née Devereaux Sternhold, Thomas Whole Booke of Psalmes  15–16, 20–2, 26, 29, 36, 38, 40–2 “O Lord, within thy tabernacle”  36, 38 stigma of print  10–11 Stoic  47, 65, 80, 98, 102 Susanna at the Bath  118 Susanne complex  108, 116 Tallis, Thomas  1, 67 Tasso, Torquato  245 temperance  44–8, 62, 66–7, 69–70, 72, 80 Ten Commandments see Decalogue terror (dread)  41, 44–5, 140 Tessier, Guillaume  183–6, 201 Premier livre d’airs 183–6

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Le petit enfant amour  186, 288 Tandis que le soleil 184 Theocritus  103, 245 Tkacz, Catherine Brown  151–2 Tottel, Richard Songs and Sonettes 94 trochaic tetrameter  221, 226, 285 Tye, Christopher  25 Rubum quem 56–9 Tyndale, William  246 Ulysses  91, 203 Van der Noot, Jan  26, 29, 33 Vecchi, Orazio  284 Venus  61–4, 66, 71, 175 Vere, Edward de, 17th Earl of Oxford  1–2, 10, 19, 49–50, 66–9, 128, 188 “If women could be fair”  19, 74, 76, 78, 101 “Were I a kinge”  67–8 Virgil  216, 245 Aeneid 216–17 virtues  11, 22, 43–4, 47, 69–70, 79, 105, 107, 109, 112, 286, 290 See also chastity; fortitude; holiness; magnificence; magnanimity; temperance Visitation of the Sick  137–8 Walpole, Henry  127–8 Walsingham, Sir Francis  184–6 Walsingham, Sir Thomas  186 Watson, Thomas  11, 87, 92, 160, 167, 183, 186 Hekatompathia  186, 188, 284 “If Cupid were a child”  186–7 Italian Madrigalls Englished 186 White, Robert  25, 35 Whitgift, John  264 Whitney, Geoffrey Choice of Emblemes 164–5 Whythorne, Thomas Songs for Three, Fower, and Five voyces 1 Wilcox, Thomas Popishe abuses  262, 264 Wilder, Philip van “Blessed art thou”  265, 267 Will yow walke in the woods so wylde (Woods so Wild)  59–63, 65–6, 102 Worcester, Earl of see Somerset, Edward, 4th Earl of Worcester Wyngfield, Robert  135 Zutphen, Battle of  135

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Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Music volumes already published Machaut’s Music: New Interpretations edited by Elizabeth Eva Leach The Church Music of Fifteenth-Century Spain Kenneth Kreitner The Royal Chapel in the time of the Habsburgs: Music and Court Ceremony in Early Modern Europe edited by Juan José Carreras and Bernardo García García Citation and Authority in Medieval and Renaissance Musical Culture: Learning from the Learned. Essays in Honour of Margaret Bent edited by Suzannah Clark and Elizabeth Eva Leach European Music, 1520–1640 edited by James Haar Cristóbal de Morales: Sources, Influences, Reception edited by Owen Rees and Bernadette Nelson Young Choristers, 650–1700 edited by Susan Boynton and Eric Rice Hermann Pötzlinger’s Music Book: The St Emmeram Codex and its Contexts Ian Rumbold with Peter Wright Medieval Liturgical Chant and Patristic Exegesis: Words and Music in the Second-Mode Tracts Emma Hornby Juan Esquivel: A Master of Sacred Music during the Spanish Golden Age Clive Walkley Essays on Renaissance Music in Honour of David Fallows: Bon jour, bon mois et bonne estrenne edited by Fabrice Fitch and Jacobijn Kiel Music and Ceremony at the Court of Charles V: The Capilla Flamenca and the Art of Political Promotion Mary Tiffany Ferer Music and Meaning in Old Hispanic Lenten Chants: Psalmi, Threni and the Easter Vigil Canticles Emma Hornby and Rebecca Maloy Music in Elizabethan Court Politics Katherine Butler

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25mm APPROXIMATE

Cover illustration: “Aprill,” from Edmund Spenser’s Shepheardes calender. © Lebrecht Music & Arts. COVER DESIGN: JAN MARSHALL

Tess Knighton (ICREA - IMF/CSIC, Barcelona) Helen Deeming (Royal Holloway, University of London)

GENERAL EDITORS:

Jeremy L. Smith

Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Music

VERSE &VOICE

Jeremy L. Smith is Associate Professor of Musicology at the University of Colorado Boulder.

in BYRD’s SONG COLLECTIONS of 1588 and 1589

As he grappled with the challenges of composing for various instrumental and vocal ensembles, William Byrd (c. 1540-1623), England’s premier Renaissance composer, devoted considerable attention to the poetry and prose of his native language, producing such treasured masterpieces as the hauntingly beautiful “Lulla lullaby”; the infectiously comedic “Though Amarillis dance in green”; and two extraordinarily dramatic Easter anthems. This book, the first full-length study specifically devoted to Byrd’s English-texted music, provides a close reading of all of the works he published in the late 1580s, constituting nearly half of his total song output. It delves into the musical, political, literary, and, specifically, the sequential qualities of Byrd’s 1588 and 1589 published collections as a whole, revealing, explaining, and interpreting an overall grand narrative, while remaining fully attentive to the particularities of each individual piece. Often deemed “unliterary” and generally considered political only in his approach to Latin texts, which were often of special interest to his fellow Catholics, Byrd was not only an inspired composer who had mastered the challenges of his nation’s burgeoning verse, but also one who used his voice in song to foster a more inclusive polity in a time of religious strife.

VERSE & VOICE in BYRD’s SONG COLLECTIONS of 1588 and 1589

Jeremy L.Smith