Revisiting the Codex Buranus: Contents, Contexts, Composition 1783273798, 9781783273799, 9781787446274

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at the University of Oxford, and a Junior Research Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford. research centres on the musical aspects of Minnesang. Contributors: Gundela Bobeth, Charles E. Brewer, Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, Albrecht Classen, Johann Drumbl, Tristan E. Franklinos, Peter Godman, Henry Hope, Racha Kirakosian, Heike Sigrid Lammers-Harlander, Jonathan Seelye Martin, Michael Stolz, David A. Traill, Kirsten Yri. Cover image: Tempus est iocundum (CB 179). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 4660, fol. 70v.

Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Music

Re v i s i t i n g the

Codex Buranus Contents, Contexts, Composition

Tristan E. Franklinos and Henry Hope (eds)

HENRY HOPE has taught at the universities of Oxford and Bern; his

Revisiting the

TRISTAN E. FRANKLINOS is a British Academy Postdoctoral Fellow

Codex Buranus

he Codex Buranus, compiled, in all likelihood, in South Tyrol in the first half of the thirteenth century, has fascinated modern scholars and performers ever since its rediscovery in 1803. Its diverse range of texts (some famously featuring in Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana) and music gives testimony to the intensely vibrant, plurilingual, and multicultural milieu in which the Codex Buranus was compiled, but poses a challenge to modern users. Perhaps more so than many other medieval manuscripts, it is an artefact which demands, and benefits from, an interdisciplinary approach. The chapters here, from scholars in a variety of fields, enable the less well-known aspects of the Codex Buranus – textual, musical, and artistic – to receive greater scrutiny, and bring new perspectives to bear on the more thoroughly explored parts of the manuscript. Making accessible existing discourse and encouraging fresh debates on the codex, the essays advocate fresh modes of engagement with its contents, contexts, and composition. They also examine questions of its reception history and audience.

Edited by Tristan E. Franklinos and Henry Hope

STUDIES IN MEDIEVAL AND RENAISSANCE MUSIC 21

Revisiting the Codex Buranus

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 the editor or the publisher at the addresses given below; all submissions will receive careful, informed consideration. Professor Tess Knighton, Institucio Mila i Fontanals/CSIC, c/ Egipciaques, Barcelona 08001, Spain Dr Helen Deeming, Department of Music, Royal Holloway, 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.

Revisiting the Codex Buranus Contents, Contexts, Composition

Edited by

Tristan E. Franklinos and Henry Hope

THE BOYDELL PRESS

© Contributors 2020 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 First published 2020 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge

ISBN 978-1-78327-379-9 hardback ISBN 978-1-78744-627-4 ePDF

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 14620–2731, 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 Cover image: Tempus est iocundum (CB 179). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 4660, fol. 70v.

Contents List of Illustrations   Acknowledgements   Abbreviations   Introduction: The Codex Buranus – A Unique Challenge   Tristan E. Franklinos and Henry Hope

vii xi xiii 1

1

A Modern Reception History of the Codex Buranus in Image and Sound   Kirsten Yri

2

Parody in the Codex Buranus   Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann

39

3

Satire in the Codex Buranus   David A. Traill

67

4

‘Artes amatorie iam non instruuntur’: Learned and Erotic Discourse in the Carmina Burana   Albrecht Classen

97

5

Classical Learning and Audience in the carmina amatoria: A Case-Study on CB 92   Tristan E. Franklinos

119

6

Rape, the Pastourelle, and the Female Voice in CB 185   Jonathan Seelye Martin

7

Rethinking the Carmina Burana III: The Poetry of Peasants   171 †Peter Godman

13

149

vi

Contents

8

Predestination and God’s Grace: The Salvific Architecture of the Religious Songs in the Codex Buranus   Racha Kirakosian

9

Revisiting the Plays of the Codex Buranus   Johann Drumbl

227

10

Revisiting the Music of the Codex Buranus   Heike Sigrid Lammers-Harlander

251

11

Locating the Codex Buranus: Notational Contexts   Charles E. Brewer

283

12

Plurilingualism in the Codex Buranus: An Intercultural Reconsideration   Michael Stolz

317

13

Compilation, Contrafacture, Composition: Revisiting the German Texts of the Codex Buranus   Henry Hope

351

205

Afterword: multiformis armonia, scolaris symphonia   Gundela Bobeth

393

List of Manuscripts   Bibliography   Index  

403 405 443

List of Illustrations Frontispiece: Codex Buranus, front flyleaf  

0.1 0.2

Texts in the Codex Buranus, by number   Texts in the Codex Buranus, by incipit  

xlii online, xvi xxix

1.1 Orff ’s use of the Codex Buranus   18 1.2 Arrangement of voices in (22) Tempus est iocundum   20 1.3 Canon of recorded songs from the Codex Buranus   online 1.4 Most performed songs from the Codex Buranus   26 1.5 Corvus Corax’s use of the Codex Buranus   33

2.1

CB 62 and CB 197  



6.1

CB 185: Ich was ein kint so wol getân  

152



8.1

CB 43 and CB 44: ff. 10v–11r  

222



9.1

The tradition of eundo and redeundo chants  

229

10.1 10.2 10.3 10.4 10.5 10.6 10.7 10.8 10.9 10.10 10.11 10.12 10.13 10.14

58

Notation in the Codex Buranus   254 Songs notated by n1   257 Space for notation in the corpus of n1   257 Concordances for the unnotated repertoire of n1   257 Synoptic transcription of CB 119 (from Lammers, 221–22) 259 Synoptic transcription of CB 108 (from Lammers, 218–19) 262 Songs notated by n2   264 Synoptic transcription of CB 19 (from Lammers, 247–48) 266 Synoptic transcription of CB 14 (from Lammers, 243–44) 268 Songs notated by n4   270 ‘Chorus’ and ‘chorea’ in the Codex Buranus   271 Synoptic transcription of CB 151 (from Lammers, 292)  273 A selection of traditional Romanian music genres   276 Doina Frunzulita, Ofelia Popovici  online

viii

List of Illustrations

10.15 10.16 10.17 10.18 10.19 10.20 10.21 10.22 10.23

Doina Jale mi maicuta, Costel Popa  CB 108 as a doina, Ofelia Popovici  Vocal sârba, melodic progression after George Breazul   Instrumental sârba  Sârba Ochilor, Ofelia Popovici  CB 19 as a sârba  Cucuruz cu frunza.n sus, Costel Popa  Cucuruz cu frunza.n sus, Ofelia Popovici  CB 151 as a hora 

11.1 11.2

The Prince-Bishops of Brixen   287 Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 1012, f. 12r (detail)   291 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 13.314, f. 30r (detail)   292 Comparison of selected neumes between MS 13.314, MS 1717, and the Codex Buranus (n1 and n2)   293 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1717, f. 197r (detail)   293 Comparison of CB 131, f. 54r and Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 73, f. 40r   294 Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, MS HB I 95, f. 33v   298 Graz, Universitätsbibliothek, MS 756, f. 194v   299 Comparison of Codex Buranus, f. 5r and Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1890, f. 7v   300 Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147, f. 1r, Calendarium Wintheri  304 Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147, f. 19r, Calendarium Wintheri  305 Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147, f. 28r   306 Office for St Catherine, Matins; comparison of Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147 and Klosterneuburg, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 589   308 Comparison of Virgo sancta dei Katherina: Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147, f. 33v, and Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1799**, ff. 223v–24r   309 Comparison of Codex Buranus; Bozen, MS 147; and Vienna, MS 1890   309 Comparison of Vienna, MS 13.314; Vienna, MS 1717; and Klosterneuburg, MS 73   309

11.3 11.4 11.5 11.6 11.7a 11.7b 11.8

11.9a 11.9b 11.10 11.11

11.12 11.13 11.14

online online 279 online online online online online online

List of Illustrations

11.15 11.16 12.1a 12.1b 12.2

Comparison of Codex Buranus, f. 50r and Bozen, MS 147, f. 35v.   Comparison of neumes: Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147, and Codex Buranus  Codex Buranus, f. 36v   Codex Buranus, f. 64r   El Escorial, Real Biblioteca de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2, f. 287r  

ix

310 online 320 321 324

13.1 13.2 13.3 13.4

The German materials in the Codex Buranus  online, 356 CB 48 (ff. 13v, 14r)   368 CB 48: text and translation   372 Hoͤ rstu friunt in the Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift (ff. 23r/v)   375 13.5 Hoͤ rstu friunt: comparative transcription   376 r 13.6a CB 151 (f. 61 )   379 13.6b CB 151 (f. 61v)   380 13.7a CB 169 (f. 68r)   381 13.7b CB 170 (f. 68v)   382 13.8 CB 151 and CB 169: metrical analysis and translation   386 13.9 CB 151: neumes in first line   390 The online materials can be found at: https://soundcloud.com/boydellandbrewer/ sets/revisiting-the-codex-buranus and https://boydellandbrewermusic.com/ revisiting-the-codex-buranus/. Images of the Codex Buranus and the Fragmenta Burana manuscript are freely available through the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Munich: and [accessed 13 March 2020]. The editors, contributors and publisher are grateful to all the institutions and persons listed for permission to reproduce the materials in which they hold copyright. Every effort has been made to trace the copyright holders; apologies are offered for any omission, and the publisher will be pleased to add any necessary acknowledgement in subsequent editions.

Acknowledgements Like the object of its enquiry, the present volume is the fruit of cross-cultural and cross-disciplinary encounter, represented felicitously by the varied scholarly backgrounds of its editors and contributors. The latter are to be thanked for their enthusiasm, their collegiality, and the fresh insights they have brought to bear on the Codex Buranus from many vantage points. One of our number, Peter Godman, died before the completion of the volume (†4 November 2018); the editors are grateful to his literary executors for their continued support of the project, and for allowing us to include his contribution in this volume. The project which resulted in this book has been supported by several academic institutions across three countries. We are grateful to the Freie Universität Bozen for their generosity in covering the volume’s printing costs, and to Renata Zanin and Johann Drumbl, who extended their hospitality to the contributors and other participants at a workshop on the Codex Buranus in the beautiful surroundings of Brixen in July 2018. The Universität Bern and its Mittelbauvereinigung offered further financial support, allowing the future contributors of the volume to gather in South Tyrol for the workshop’s lively and productive exchange of ideas, and making it possible for our two invaluable assistants, Richard Winkler and Yves Chapuis, to facilitate the smooth running of our time together. Cristina Urchueguía was essential in securing equally generous funding from the Schweizerische Akademie der Geistesund Sozialwissenschaften, which ensured that these discussions were never undertaken on an empty stomach or with a dry palate – indeed, as Ensemble RUMORUM reminded us during the workshop through their stimulating performance of some of the songs collected in the Codex Buranus: ‘istud uinum, bonum uinum, uinum generosum | reddit uirum curialem, probum, animosum’ (CB 200). It is fitting that the bulk of the editorial work on the volume, rather like the production of the Codex Buranus, was undertaken in the hallowed halls of education and the environs of a monastic community: Trinity College, Oxford, and the College of the Resurrection, Mirfield. Tristan Franklinos has been the grateful recipient of a postdoctoral fellowship from the British Academy for the duration of this project. The academic and financial support received from so many institutions emphasises that the present moment has indeed been a

xii

Acknowledgements

fortuitous one in which to bring together scholars from different disciplines in order to revisit the Codex Buranus – as one of the manuscript’s songs, the incipit of which adorns the volume’s cover, has it: ‘tempus est iocundum’ (CB 179). Colleagues, staff, students and friends at all of these institutions are to be thanked for their encouragement and forbearance. The engagement with the Codex Buranus as a manuscript was aided greatly by the digital images made freely available by the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Munich. We are indebted to Sophie Schrader, of the library’s Abteilung für Handschriften und Alte Drucke, for the permission to reproduce so many images of the Codex Buranus in full colour, and free of charge. All other digital images in this volume, too, are produced with the kind permission of the libraries which house these manuscripts today. The team at Boydell & Brewer ensured that these images – as well as all other illustrations and their accompanying scholarly discussion – are presented to full effect in this volume. We are particularly grateful to Elizabeth McDonald for overseeing the editorial process and to Caroline Palmer for her sustained encouragement, and our thanks are also due to Yves Chapuis for his acute eye and generous help at the proof stage. Ultimately, this book is the result of a curiosity about the Codex Buranus that was fostered by Almut Suerbaum, Elizabeth Eva Leach and Franz Körndle, whose critical attention to (the music of) medieval manuscripts and the way in which they perform their texts has offered lasting academic inspiration. Catherine Bradley is to be thanked for her fellowship in Henry Hope’s first tentative encounter with the Codex Buranus, and both editors would like to thank our fellow sojourner in all things medieval, Mary Boyle. Finally, we record our profound debt of gratitude to Simon Jones, who has nurtured our academic development and supported our friendship from the early days of our graduate studies at Merton College, Oxford, and continues to be an invaluable guide to discerning the presence of the sacred – a presence that is so palpable in the Codex Buranus, and inseparable from the secular character frequently ascribed to the manuscript in popular culture and scholarly circles. It is to him that we dedicate this volume. Oxford and Mirfield The Presentation of Christ in the Temple 2020

Abbreviations

Analecta Hymnica

Guido M. Dreves, Clemens Blume, and Henry Bannister (eds), Analecta Hymnica Medii Aeui, 55 vols (Leipzig: Reisland, 1886–1922). All references are made by volume number, then page number. Bobeth Gundela Bobeth, ‘Wine, Women, and Song? Reconsidering the Carmina Burana’, trans. by Henry Hope, in Manuscripts and Medieval Song: Inscription, Performance, Context, ed. by Helen Deeming and Elizabeth Eva Leach (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 79–115. C Christoph Cormeau (ed.), Walther von der Vogelweide: Leich, Lieder, Sangsprüche, 14th edn (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1996). DMLBS Richard Ashdowne, D. R. Howlett, and R. E. Latham (eds), Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources, 2nd edn, 3 vols (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). Drumbl Johann Drumbl, ‘Studien zum Codex Buranus’, Aevum: Rassegna di scienze storiche linguistiche e filologiche, 77 (2003), 323–56. Godman Peter Godman, ‘Rethinking the Carmina Burana (I): The Medieval Context and Modern Reception of the Codex Buranus’, Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 45 (2015), 245–86. Hilka/Schumann Alfons Hilka and Otto Schumann (eds), Carmina Burana: mit Benutzung der Vorarbeiten Wilhelm Meyers, 2 vols (Heidelberg: Winter, 1930–41). Later completed by: Otto Schumann and

xiv

Abbreviations

Bernhard Bischoff (eds), Die Trink- und Spielerlieder, Die geistlichen Dramen, Nachträge (Heidelberg: Winter, 1970) [= Hilka/Schumann, i.3]. Lammers Heike Sigrid Lammers, Carmina Burana: Musik und Aufzeichnung, doctoral dissertation, Ludwig-Maximilians Universität, Munich, 1997; published 2000. MF Hugo Kuhn and Helmut Tervooren (eds), Des Minnesangs Frühling, Band I: Texte, 38th edn (Stuttgart: Hirzel, 1988). OCD4 Simon Hornblower, Anthony Spawforth, and Esther Eidinow (eds), The Oxford Classical Dictionary, 4th edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). PC Alfred Pillet and Henry Carstens, Bibliographie der Troubadours, Schriften der Königsberger Gelehrten Gesellschaft, 3 (Halle (Saale): Niemeyer, 1933). PL Jacques-Paul Migne (ed.), Patrologia Latina, 221 vols (Paris: Migne, 1844–55). RS Hans Spanke (ed.), G. Raynauds Bibliographie des altfranzösischen Liedes, Musicologica, 1 (Leiden: Brill, 1955). Sayce Olive Sayce, Plurilingualism in the Carmina Burana: A Study of the Linguistic and Literary Influences on the Codex, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 556 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1992). Schmeller Johann Andreas Schmeller (ed.), Carmina Burana: lateinische und deutsche Lieder und Gedichte einer Handschrift des 13. Jahrhunderts aus Benedictbeuern (Stuttgart: Literarischer Verein, 1847). Traill David A. Traill (ed.), Carmina Burana, 2 vols, Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library, 48 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018).

Abbreviations

Vollmann Benedikt Konrad Vollmann (ed.), Carmina Burana: Texte und Übersetzungen, Bibliothek des Mittelalters, 13 (Frankfurt am Main: Deutscher Klassiker Verlag, 1987; repr. Berlin: Deutscher Klassiker Verlag, 2011).

xv

CB1 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 18a 19 20 21 22 23

INCIPIT [Manus ferens munera] Responde, qui tanta cupis Ecce torpet probitas Amaris stupens casibus Flete perhorrete lugete Florebat olim studium Postquam nobilitas seruilia Licet eger cum egrotis Iudas Gehennam meruit Ecce sonat in aperto In terra nummus rex est Procurans odium Inuidus inuidia O uarium Fortunę lubricum Celum, non animum Fortune plango uulnera O Fortuna, uelud luna O Fortuna leuis! Regnabo, regno Fas et nefas ambulant Est modus in uerbis Veritas ueritatum Gaudes – cur gaudeas, uide! Vide, qui nosti literas

ff.2 [ ]–43r 43r 43r 43r–43v 43v–44r 44v–45r 45r 45r–45v 45v–46r 46r–46v 46v–47r 47v 47v 47v–48r 48r–48v 48v 1r 48v 1r 1r–1v 1v 2r 2r 2r–2v n

N

N N

Walter of Châtillon §§3 & 4, Philip the Chancellor Philip the Chancellor?

§2, Ovid

Walter of Châtillon

Walter of Châtillon

Notation3 Author(s)4 [Walter of Châtillon]

Illustration 0.1. Texts of the Codex Buranus, by number

CB1 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 §§1–3 47 §§4–5 [47a] 48 §§1–5

INCIPIT Iste mundus furibundus Viuere sub meta Ad cor tuum reuertere Bonum est confidere Laudat rite Deum In lacu miserię Dum iuuentus floruit Vite perditę me legi Cur homo torquetur? Non te lusisse pudeat Deduc, Syon, uberrimas Magnus maior maximus Nulli beneficium In Gedeonis area Doctrinę uerba paucis prosunt In huius mundi patria Quicquid habes meriti Propter Syon non tacebo Vtar contra uitia carmine rebelli Roma, tue mentis oblita sanitate Initium sancti euangelii secundum marcas Roma, tenens morem Fides cum ydolatria Crucifigat omnes Curritur ad uocem Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit

ff.2 2v 2v–3r 3r 3r–3v 3v 3v–4r 4r 4r–4v 4v 5r–5v 5v 5v–6r 6r 6r–6v 6v–7v 7r–7v 7v–8r 8r–9v 9v–10v 10v–11r 11r–11v 11v–12r 12r–13r 13r 13r–13v 13v–14r N

N n

N N

n

Walter of Châtillon Walter of Châtillon

Otloh of St Emmeram

Philip the Chancellor? Otloh of St Emmeram Peter of Blois Peter of Blois Peter of Blois §2, Otloh of St Emmeram Peter of Blois? Philip the Chancellor

Notation3 Author(s)4

CB1 48 §6 [48a] 49 50 51 §§1–4 51 §§5–8 [51a] 52 53 §§1–9 53 §§10–11 [53a] 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 §§1–18 60 §§19–27 [60a] 61 62 63 63a 64 65 66 67 68 69

INCIPIT Hoͤ rstu, friunt Tonat ewangelica clara uox in mundo Heu, uoce flebili cogor enarrare Debachatur mundus pomo Imperator rex Grecorum Nomen a sollempnibus Anno Christi incarnationis Passeres illos Omne genus demoniorum Amara tanta tyri pastos sycalos sycaliri Ianus annum circinat Bruma, ueris emula Iam uer oritur Ecce chorus uirginum! Captus amore graui Cupido mentem girat Siquem Pieridum ditauit contio Dum Diane uitrea Olim sudor Herculis Ny fugias tactus Prima Olenei tolerata Quocumque more motu Acteon, Lampas, Ericteus et Philogeus E globo ueteri Saturni sidus liuidum Estas in exilium

ff.2 14r 14r–15r 15r–16v 16v 16v–17r 17r 17r–17v 17v–18r 18r 18v 18v 18v–19r 19v 19v–20r 20r–21r 21r–21v 21v–23r 23r–23v 23v–24v 24r 24v 24v–25v 25v 26r–26v 26v–27r 27r n

n

n n

Peter of Blois

Peter of Blois

Ausonius

Peter of Blois

Notation3 Author(s)4 [N] Otto von Botenlauben

CB1 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 §§1–8 88 §§9–16 [88a] 89 90 91 92 93 §§1–3 93 §§4–8 [93a]

INCIPIT Estatis florigero tempore Axe Phebus aureo Grates ago Veneri Clausus Chronos, et serato Letabundus rediit Obmittamus studia Dum caupona uerterem Si linguis angelicis Anni noui rediit nouitas Estiuali sub feruore Estiuali gaudio [see also CB 228] Solis iubar nituit Frigus hinc est horridum Seuit aure spiritus Dum prius inculta Veris dulcis in tempore [= CB 159] Non contrecto Amor tenet omnia Ludo cum Cecilia Ioue cum Mercurio Nos duo boni Exiit diluculo O quam fortis armatura Anni parte florida Ortum habet insula Cum Fortuna uoluit

ff.2 27r–28r 28r–28v 28v–29r 29r–29v 29v 29v–30r 30r–31v 31v–33v 33v–34r 34r–34v 34v 34v–35r 35r–35v 35v 36r 36v 36v 36v–37r 37r–37v 37v–38r 38r–38v 38v 38v–39r 39r–43r 49r 49r n n

N N

n

Peter of Blois

Peter of Blois

Notation3 Author(s)4

CB1 94 95 96 97 98 99 99a 99b 100 101 102 103 104 104a 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 §§1–3 112 §4 [112a] 113 §§1–5 113 §6 [113a] 114 §§1–4

INCIPIT Congaudentes ludite Cur suspectum me tenet domina Iuuenes amoriferi A, Antioche, cur decipis me Troie post excidium Superbi Paridis leue iudicium Armat amor Paridem Prebuit Eneas et causam mortis O decus, o Libie regnum Pergama flere uolo Feruet amore Paris Eia dolor, nunc me solor Egre fero, quod egroto Non honor est Dum curata uegetarem Veneris uincula Dira ui Amoris teror Vacillantis trutine Multiformi succendente Quis furor est in amore! O comes amoris, dolor | … | en habet remedium! Dudum uoueram Div mich singen tuͦ t Transiit nix et glacies Vvaz ist fuͤ r daz senen guͦ t Prata iam rident omnia

ff.2 49v 49v 49v–[ ] 73r–73v 73v–74r 74r–75r 74r 75r 75r–75v 75v–76v 76v–77r 77v–78v 78v 78v 79r–79v 79v 79v–80r 80r 80r–80v 80v 80v–81r 81r 81r 81r–81v 81v 81v n

N N n

n

n

N N

Dietmar von Aist

Peter of Blois

Ovid

Ovid

[Hilary of Orléans]

Notation3 Author(s)4

CB1 114 §5 [114a] 115 §§1–4 115 §5 [115a] 116 117 118 119 119a 120 120a 121 121a 122 122a 123 123a 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 §§1, 3 & 5 131 §§2, 4 & 6 [131a] 132

INCIPIT Der al der werlt ein meister si Nobilis, mei miserere, precor! Edileͮ vrowe min Sic mea fata canendo solor Lingua mendax et dolosa Doleo quod nimium Dulce solum natalis patrie Semper ad omne quod est mensuram Rumor letalis Vincit Amor quemque Tange, sodes, cytharam Non est crimen amor Expirante primitiuo Vite presentis si comparo Versa est in luctum Ludit in humanis diuina Dum Philippus moritur Ante Dei uultum Tempus instat floridum Deus Pater adiuua! Remigabat naufragus Exul ego clericus Olim lacus colueram Dic, Christi ueritas Bulla fulminante [Iam uernali tempore]

ff.2 81v 81v–82r 82r 82r–82v 82v 82v–50r [!] 50r 50r 50v 50v 50v–51r 51r 51r–51v 51v 51v–52r 52r 52r 52r 52v 52v–53r 53r–53v 53v 53v–54r 54r–54v 54r–54v [ ]–56r N N

N

n

N

Philip the Chancellor Philip the Chancellor?

Otloh of St Emmeram

Marbod of Rennes Walter of Châtillon Ovid

[Hilary of Orléans]

[Hilary of Orléans]

[Hilary of Orléans] [Hilary of Orléans] [Hilary of Orléans] [Hilary of Orléans]

Notation3 Author(s)4 [n]

CB1 133 134 135 §§1–4 135 §5 [135a] 136 §§1–3 136 §4 [136a] 137 §§1–2 137 §3 [137a] 138 §§1–4 138 §5 [138a] 139 §§1–6 139 §7 [139a] 140 §§1–5 140 §6 [140a] 141 §§1–4 141 §5 [141a] 142 §§1–3 142 §4 [142a] 143 §§1–3 143 §4 [143a] 144 §§1–3 144 §4 [144a] 145 §§1–6 145 §7 [145a] 146 §§1–5 146 §6 [146a]

INCIPIT Hic uolucres celi referam Nomina paucarum sunt Cedit, hyemps, tua duricies Der starche winder hat uns uerlan Omnia sol temperat Solde ih noch den tach geleben Ver redit optatum Springer wir den reyen nu Veris leta facies In liehter varwe stat der walt Tempus transit horridum Zergangen ist der winder chalt Terra iam pandit gremium Nu suͤ ln wir alle froͮ de han Florent omnes arbores Div heide gruͦ net vnd der walt Tempus adest floridum Ich solde eines morgenes gan Ecce gratum et optatum Ze niwen vroͮ den stat min muͦ t Iam iam rident prata Ich han gesehen, daz mir in dem herçen saͮ nfte tuͦ t Musa uenit carmine Uvęre div werlt alle min Tellus flore uario uestitur Nahtegel, sing einen don mit sinne

ff.2 56r 56r 56v 56v 56v 56v 57r 57r 57r 57r–57v 57v 57v–58r 58r 58r–58v 58v 58v 58v–59r 59r 59r 59r–59v 59v 59v 59v 60r 60r 60r N N

N [N] N N

N [N]

Pseudo-Reinmar

Notation3 Author(s)4

CB1 147 §§1–4 147 §5 [147a] 148 §§1–6 148 §§7–8 [148a] 149 §1 149 §2 150 §§1–3 150 §4 [150a] 151 §§1–5 151 §6 [151a] 152 §§1–4 152 §5 [152a] 153 §§1–4 153 §5 [153a] 154 155 §§1–3 155 §4 [155a] 156 157 158 159 160 161 §§1–2 161 §3 [161a] 162 §§1–5 162 §6 [162a]

INCIPIT Si de more cum honore Sage, daz ih dirs iemmer lone Floret tellus floribus Nu sin stolz vnd hovisch Floret silua nobilis Gruͦ net der walt | allenthalben Rediuiuo uernat flore Ich pin cheiser ane chrone Virent prata hiemata So wol dir, meie, wie du scheidest Estas non apparuit Ich gesach den sumer nie Tempus transit gelidum Vrowe, ih pin dir undertan Est Amor alatus puer et leuis Quam pulchra nitet facie Si ist schoͤ ner den uro Dido was Salue, uer optatum Lucis orto sydere Vere dulci mediante Veris dulcis in tempore [= CB 85] Dum estas inchoatur Ab estatis foribus [see also CB 228] Div werlt frovͤ t sih uber al O, consocii Svͦ ziv vroͣ we min

ff.2 60r–60v 60v 60v 60v 60v 60v–61r 61r 61r 61r–61v 61v 61v 61v 61v–62r 62r 62r–62v 62v 62v 63r 63v 63v–64r 64r 64r 65r 65r 65r–65v 65v N N N N N [N]

N [N]

N N N N

Walther von der Vogelweide

Heinrich von Morungen

Notation3 Author(s)4 N N Reinmar der Alte

CB1 163 §§1–10 163 §11 [163a] 164 §§1–5 164 §6 [164a] 165 §§1–3 165 §4 [165a] 166 §§1–4 166 §5 [166a] 167 §§1–6 167 §7 [167a] 168 §§1–4 168 §5 [168a] 169 §§1–4 169 §5 [169a] 170 §§1–3 170 §4 [170a] 171 §§1–4 171 §5 [171a] 172 §§1–3 172 §4 [172a] 173 §§1–2 173 §3 [173a] 174 §§1–3 174 §§4–5 [174a] 175 §§1–5 175 §6 [175a]

INCIPIT Longa spes et dubia Eine wunechliche stat Ob amoris pressuram Ih wolde gerne singen Amor, telum es insignis Veneris Mir ist ein wip sere in min gemuͦ te chomen Iam dudum Amoris militem Solde auer ich mit sorgen iemmer leben Laboris remedium Swaz hie gat umbe Anno nouali mea Nu grvͦ net auer div heide Hebet sydus leti uisus Roter munt, wie du dich swachest! Quelibet succenditur uiuens creatura Min vrowe Venus ist so guͦ t! De pollicito Vrowe, wesent vro Lude, ludat, ludite! Ich han eine senede not Reuirescit | et florescit Wol ir libe, div so schone Veni, ueni, uenias Chume, chume, geselle min Pre Amoris tedio Taugen minne div ist guͦ t

ff.2 65v–66r 66r 66r–66v 66v 66v–67r 67r 67r 67r–67v 67v 67v 67v–68r 68r 68r 68r 68v 68v 68v 68v–69r 69r 69r 69r 69r–69v 69v 69v 69v 69v N N N [N] N [N] N [N] N [N] Walther von der Vogelweide

Neidhart von Reuental

Reinmar der Alte

Notation3 Author(s)4

CB1 176 177 178 §§1–5 178 §6 [178a] 179 §§1–8 179 §9 [179a] 180 §§1–7 & 9 180 §§8 & 10 [180a] 181 §§1–4 181 §§5–6 [181a] 182 §§1–5 182 §6 [182a] 183 §§1–2 183 §3 [183a] 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 §§1–25 191 §§26–30 [191a] 192 193 194

INCIPIT Non est in medico semper Stetit puella Volo uirum uiuere uiriliter Ich wil den sumer gruzen Tempus est iocundum Einen brief ich sande O mi dilectissima Ich wil truren varen lan Quam natura pre ceteris Der winder zeiget sine chraft Sol solis in stellifero Vns chumet ein liehte sumerzit Si puer cum puellula Ich sich den morgensterne brehen Virgo quedam nobilis Ich was ein chint so wolgetan Suscipe, flos, florem O curas hominum Diligitur, colitur Aristipe, quamuis sero Sunt detractores Estuans interius Cum sit fama multiplex Si quis displiceat prauis Denudata ueritate In cratere meo Thetis

ff.2 69v 70r 70r 70r–70v 70v 70v 71r 71r 71r–71v 71v 71v 71v 71v–72r 72r 72r 72r–72v 72v 83r 83r 83r–83v 84r 84r–85v 85v 85v 86r–86v 86v N

N

N [N] N [N]

Hugh Primas

Archpoet

Philip the Chancellor

Notation3 Author(s)4 §1, Ovid

CB1 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 §§1–3 203 §4 [203a] 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 §§1–5 211 §6 [211a] 212 213 214 215 215a 216 217

INCIPIT Si quis deciorum In taberna quando sumus Dum domus lapidea Mella, cibus dulcis Puri Bachi meritum Bache, bene uenies Tu das, Bache, loqui Potatores exquisiti Hiemali tempore Vns seit uon Lutringen Helfrich Vrbs salue regia Hospes laudatur Yrcus quando bibit Tessera, blandita fueras michi Littera bis bina me dat Roch, pedes, regina, senex Qui uult egregium Alte clamat Epicurus Nu lebe ich mir alrest werde Non iubeo quemquam Sperne lucrum! Si preceptorum superest Lugeamus omnes [= Gamblers’ Mass] Omnipotens sempiterne Deus Tempus hoc leticie Iocundemur socii

ff.2 86v–87v 87v–88r 88r–88v 88v 88v–89r 89r 89r–89v 89v–90r 90r 90v 90v 90v–91r 91r 91r–91v 91v 91v–92r 92r–92v 92v 92v 93r 93r 93r–93v 93v–94v 93v 94v–95r 95r N

Marbod of Rennes

Walther von der Vogelweide

§1, Baldo

= Eckenlied

Godfrey of Winchester

Notation3 Author(s)4

1* 2* 3* 4* 5* 6* 7* 8* 9* 10* 11* 12* 13*

CB1 218 219 220 §§1–4 220 §§5–15 [220a] 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228

INCIPIT Audientes audiant Cum ‘in orbem uniuersum’ Sepe de miseria Nullus ita parcus est ‘Cum animaduerterem’ Ego sum abbas Cucaniensis Res dare pro rebus Artifex, qui condidit Sacerdotes et leuitę Mundus est in uarium Ecce uirgo pariet [= Christmas Play] Estiuali gaudio [= Ludus Rex Egipti; see also CB 80 and CB 161 §§1–2] Sancte Erasme Ich lob die liben froͣ wen min Iam dudum estiualia Flete, fideles anime Furibundi | cum acceto Pange, uox adonis In anegenge was ein wort O comes amoris, dolor | … | an habes remedium? Mundus finem properans Deus largus in naturis Aue, nobilis, uenerabilis Maria Christi sponsa Katherina Vbi uis paremus tibi [= Short Passion Play] 49r 54v–55r 55r 55r 100v 105r †1r †1v †2r–2v †3r †3r †3r †3v–4v–[ ]

ff.2 95r–95v 95v–96v 96v 96v–97r 97r–97v 97v 97v 97v–98r 98r 98r–98v 99r–104v 105r–106v

N N

N N

N N

N

Der Marner Der Marner?

Der Marner

Der Marner

Archpoet

Notation3 Author(s)4

N

N N

N

107r–110r[ ]111r 110v 111r 111v 111v 112r 112r 112v 112v 112v †7r–7v Freidank

Notation3 Author(s)4 N Godefroy of St Victor N

ff.2 †4r †5r–6v–[ ]

notes

INCIPIT Planctus ante nescia Ingressus Pilatus…O domine, recte meminimus [= Resurrection Play] Ingressus Pilatus…Venite post me [= Passion Play] Diu mukke muͦ z sich sere muͤ n Magnificat Katerine collaudemus Pange, lingua, gloriose Presens dies expendatur Hac in die laudes pie Iesus, von gotlicher art Kyrie. Cum iubilo Tempore completorii Surrexit Christus [= Peregrinus Play]

The numbering and spelling follows Vollmann, but avoids his use of separate numbers for multilingual songs; for instance, CB 161 and CB 161a become CB 161 §§1–2 and CB 161 §3. 2 † indicates folios in the so-called Fragmenta Burana manuscript, Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 4660a; square brackets indicate lacunae in the surviving manuscript. 3 N indicates the presence of notation; n indicates the provision for the inclusion of notation by the spacing of text; square brackets indicate the presence of notation (or the spacing of text) in the other part of a multilingual song. 4 The authorial ascription follows Vollmann. Square brackets indicate his assumption of composition ‘in the circle of ’ a known author; pointed brackets indicate an interpolation of several texts; a question mark denotes Vollmann’s uncertainty about an ascription.

1

16* 17* 18* 19* 20* 21* 22* 23* 24* 25* 26*

CB1 14* 15*

INCIPIT1 A, Antioche, cur decipis me Ab estatis foribus [see also CB 228] Acteon, Lampas, Ericteus et Philogeus Ad cor tuum reuertere Alte clamat Epicurus Amara tanta tyri pastos sycalos sycaliri Amaris stupens casibus Amor tenet omnia Amor, telum es insignis Veneris Anni noui rediit nouitas Anni parte florida Anno Christi incarnationis Anno nouali mea Ante Dei uultum Aristipe, quamuis sero Armat amor Paridem Artifex, qui condidit Audientes audiant Aue, nobilis, uenerabilis Maria Axe Phebus aureo Bache, bene uenies Bonum est confidere Bruma, ueris emula Bulla fulminante

CB 97 161 §§1–2 66 26 211 §§1–5 55 4 87 165 §§1–3 78 92 53 §§1–9 168 §§1–4 125 189 99a 224 218 11* 71 200 27 57 131 §§2, 4 & 6 [131a]

ff.2 73r–73v 65r 25v 3r 92v 18v 43r–43v 36v–37r 66v–67r 33v–34r 39r–43r 17r–17v 67v–68r 52r 83r–83v 74r 97v–98r 95r–95v †3r 28r–28v 89r 3r–3v 18v–19r 54r–54v Philip the Chancellor? Philip the Chancellor?

N

Otloh of St Emmeram Philip the Chancellor

n

N

N

n N

N

N

Notation3 Author(s)4

Illustration 0.2. Texts of the Codex Buranus, by incipit

INCIPIT1 Captus amore graui Cedit, hyemps, tua duricies Celum, non animum Christi sponsa Katherina Chume, chume, geselle min Clausus Chronos, et serato Congaudentes ludite Crucifigat omnes ‘Cum animaduerterem’ Cum Fortuna uoluit Cum ‘in orbem uniuersum’ Cum sit fama multiplex Cupido mentem girat Cur homo torquetur? Cur suspectum me tenet domina Curritur ad uocem De pollicito Debachatur mundus pomo Deduc, Syon, uberrimas Denudata ueritate Der al der werlt ein meister si Der starche winder hat uns uerlan Der winder zeiget sine chraft Deus largus in naturis Deus Pater adiuua! Dic, Christi ueritas

CB 60 §§1–18 135 §§1–4 15 12* 174 §§4–5 [174a] 73 94 47 §§1–3 221 93 §§4–8 [93a] 219 191 §§26–30 [191a] 60 §§19–27 [60a] 32 95 47 §§4–5 [47a] 171 §§1–4 51 §§1–4 34 193 114 §5 [114a] 135 §5 [135a] 181 §§5–6 [181a] 10* 127 131 §§1, 3 & 5

ff.2 20r–21r 56v 48r–48v †3r 69v 29r–29v 49v 13r 97r–97v 49r 95v–96v 85v 21r–21v 4v 49v 13r–13v 68v 16v 5v 86r–86v 81v 56v 71v †3r 52v–53r 54r–54v N

[n]

n

n

N N

Philip the Chancellor

Der Marner?

Philip the Chancellor

§2, Otloh of St Emmeram [Hilary of Orléans]

Notation3 Author(s)4

INCIPIT1 Diligitur, colitur Dira ui Amoris teror Diu mukke muͦ z sich sere muͤ n Div heide gruͦ net vnd der walt Div mich singen tuͦ t Div werlt frovͤ t sih uber al Doctrinę uerba paucis prosunt Doleo quod nimium Dudum uoueram Dulce solum natalis patrie Dum caupona uerterem Dum curata uegetarem Dum Diane uitrea Dum domus lapidea Dum estas inchoatur Dum iuuentus floruit Dum Philippus moritur Dum prius inculta E globo ueteri Ecce chorus uirginum! Ecce gratum et optatum Ecce sonat in aperto Ecce torpet probitas Ecce uirgo pariet [= Christmas Play] Edileͮ vrowe min Ego sum abbas Cucaniensis

CB 188 107 17* 141 §5 [141a] 112 §4 [112a] 161 §3 [161a] 38 118 112 §§1–3 119 76 105 62 197 160 30 124 84 67 59 143 §§1–3 10 3 227 115 §5 [115a] 222

ff.2 83r 79v–80r 110v 58v 81r 65r 6v–7v 82v–50r [!] 81r 50r 30r–31v 79r–79v 23r–23v 88r–88v 64r 4r 52r 36r 26r–26v 19v–20r 59r 46r–46v 43r 99r–104v 82r 97v N

Walter of Châtillon

Peter of Blois

n N

Peter of Blois

[Hilary of Orléans]

Otloh of St Emmeram [Hilary of Orléans]

N N

n

N

N

Freidank

Notation3 Author(s)4

INCIPIT1 Egre fero, quod egroto Eia dolor, nunc me solor Eine wunechliche stat Einen brief ich sande Est Amor alatus puer et leuis Est modus in uerbis Estas in exilium Estas non apparuit Estatis florigero tempore Estiuali gaudio [see also CB 228] Estiuali gaudio [= Ludus Rex Egipti; see also CB 80 and CB 161 §§1–2] Estiuali sub feruore Estuans interius Exiit diluculo Expirante primitiuo Exul ego clericus Fas et nefas ambulant Feruet amore Paris Fides cum ydolatria Flete perhorrete lugete Flete, fideles anime Florebat olim studium Florent omnes arbores Floret silua nobilis Floret tellus floribus

ff.2 78v 77v–78v 66r 70v 62r–62v 1v 27r 61v 27r–28r 34v 105r–106v 34r–34v 84r–85v 38v 51r–51v 53v 1r–1v 76v–77r 12r–13r 43v–44r 55r 44v–45r 58v 60v 60v

CB 104 103 163 §11 [163a] 179 §9 [179a] 154 20 69 152 §§1–4 70 80 228 79 191 §§1–25 90 122 129 19 102 46 5 4* 6 141 §§1–4 149 §1 148 §§1–6 N

N

n n

N

N

[N]

Walter of Châtillon

Archpoet

§§3 & 4, Peter of Blois

Notation3 Author(s)4 n

INCIPIT1 Fortune plango uulnera Frigus hinc est horridum Furibundi | cum acceto Gaudes – cur gaudeas, uide! Grates ago Veneri Gruͦ net der walt | allenthalben Hebet sydus leti uisus Hac in die laudes pie Heu, uoce flebili cogor enarrare Hic uolucres celi referam Hiemali tempore Hoͤ rstu, friunt Hospes laudatur Iam dudum Amoris militem Iam dudum estiualia Iam iam rident prata Iam uer oritur [Iam uernali tempore] Ianus annum circinat Ich gesach den sumer nie Ich han eine senede not Ich han gesehen, daz mir in dem herçen saͮ nfte tuͦ t Ich lob die liben froͣ wen min Ich pin cheiser ane chrone Ich sich den morgensterne brehen Ich solde eines morgenes gan

CB 16 82 5* 22 72 149 §2 169 §§1–4 22* 50 133 203 §§1–3 48 §6 [48a] 205 166 §§1–4 3* 144 §§1–3 58 132 56 152 §5 [152a] 172 §4 [172a] 144 §4 [144a] 2* 150 §4 [150a] 183 §3 [183a] 142 §4 [142a]

ff.2 48v 35r–35v 100v 2r 28v–29r 60v–61r 68r 112r 15r–16v 56r 90r 14r 90v–91r 67r 55r 59v 19v [ ]–56r 18v 61v 69r 59v 54v–55r 61r 72r 59r [N]

N

N

[N]

N

N

Heinrich von Morungen

Der Marner

Otto von Botenlauben

Philip the Chancellor? Peter of Blois

Notation3 Author(s)4

INCIPIT1 Ich was ein chint so wolgetan Ich wil den sumer gruzen Ich wil truren varen lan Iesus, von gotlicher art Ih wolde gerne singen Imperator rex Grecorum In anegenge was ein wort In cratere meo Thetis In Gedeonis area In huius mundi patria In lacu miserię In liehter varwe stat der walt In taberna quando sumus In terra nummus rex est Ingressus Pilatus…O domine, recte meminimus [= Resurrection Play] Ingressus Pilatus…Venite post me [= Passion Play] Initium sancti euangelii secundum marcas Inuidus inuidia Iocundemur socii Ioue cum Mercurio Iste mundus furibundus Iudas Gehennam meruit Iuuenes amoriferi Katerine collaudemus Kyrie. Cum iubilo 107r–110r[ ]111r N 11r–11v 47v 95r 37v–38r 2v 45v–46r 49v–[ ] 111v 112v

16* 44 13 217 88 §§9–16 [88a] 24 9 96 19* 24*

N

[N] N N

Peter of Blois

Hugh Primas

Notation3 Author(s)4

ff.2 72r–72v 70r–70v 71r 112v 66v 16v–17r †1r 86v 6r–6v 7r–7v 3v–4r 57r–57v 87v–88r 46v–47r †5r–6v–[ ]

CB 185 178 §6 [178a] 180 §§8 & 10 [180a] 23* 164 §6 [164a] 51 §§5–8 [51a] 7* 194 37 39 29 138 §5 [138a] 196 11 15*

INCIPIT1 Laboris remedium Laudat rite Deum Letabundus rediit Licet eger cum egrotis Lingua mendax et dolosa Littera bis bina me dat Longa spes et dubia Lucis orto sydere Lude, ludat, ludite! Ludit in humanis diuina Ludo cum Cecilia Lugeamus omnes [= Gamblers’ Mass] Magnificat Magnus maior maximus [Manus ferens munera] Mella, cibus dulcis Min vrowe Venus ist so guͦ t! Mir ist ein wip sere in min gemuͦ te chomen Multiformi succendente Mundus est in uarium Mundus finem properans Musa uenit carmine Nahtegel, sing einen don mit sinne Nobilis, mei miserere, precor! Nomen a sollempnibus Nomina paucarum sunt

CB 167 §§1–6 28 74 8 117 208 163 §§1–10 157 172 §§1–3 123a 88 §§1–8 215 18* 35 1 198 170 §4 [170a] 165 §4 [165a] 109 226 9* 145 §§1–6 146 §6 [146a] 115 §§1–4 52 134

ff.2 67v 3v 29v 45r–45v 82v 91v 65v–66r 63v 69r 52r 37r–37v 93v–94v 111r 5v–6r [ ]–43r 88v 68v 67r 80r–80v 98r–98v †2r–2v 59v 60r 81v–82r 17r 56r N

N

[N] N

N

Der Marner

[Walter of Châtillon] Godfrey of Winchester

Ovid

Walter of Châtillon [Hilary of Orléans]

Notation3 Author(s)4 N Otloh of St Emmeram

INCIPIT1 Non contrecto Non est crimen amor Non est in medico semper Non honor est Non iubeo quemquam Non te lusisse pudeat Nos duo boni Nu grvͦ net auer div heide Nu lebe ich mir alrest werde Nu sin stolz vnd hovisch Nu suͤ ln wir alle froͮ de han Nulli beneficium Nullus ita parcus est Ny fugias tactus O comes amoris, dolor | … | an habes remedium? O comes amoris, dolor | … | en habet remedium! O curas hominum O decus, o Libie regnum O Fortuna leuis! O Fortuna, uelud luna O mi dilectissima O quam fortis armatura O uarium Fortunę lubricum O, consocii Ob amoris pressuram Obmittamus studia

CB 86 121a 176 104a 212 33 89 168 §5 [168a] 211 §6 [211a] 148 §§7–8 [148a] 140 §6 [140a] 36 220 §§5–15 [220a] 63a 8* 111 187 100 18 17 180 §§1–7 & 9 91 14 162 §§1–5 164 §§1–5 75

ff.2 36v 51r 69v 78v 93r 5r–5v 38r–38v 68r 92v 60v 58r–58v 6r 96v–97r 24r †1v 80v–81r 83r 75r–75v 48v 1r 71r 38v–39r 47v–48r 65r–65v 66r–66v 29v–30r N n N N N

N n

N

§2, Ovid

Neidhart von Reuental Walther von der Vogelweide

[N] [N]

Peter of Blois?

N

§1, Ovid Ovid

Notation3 Author(s)4

INCIPIT1 Olim lacus colueram Olim sudor Herculis Omne genus demoniorum Omnia sol temperat Omnipotens sempiterne Deus Ortum habet insula Pange, lingua, gloriose Pange, uox adonis Passeres illos Pergama flere uolo Planctus ante nescia Postquam nobilitas seruilia Potatores exquisiti Prata iam rident omnia Pre Amoris tedio Prebuit Eneas et causam mortis Presens dies expendatur Prima Olenei tolerata Procurans odium Propter Syon non tacebo Puri Bachi meritum Quam natura pre ceteris Quam pulchra nitet facie Quelibet succenditur uiuens creatura Qui uult egregium Quicquid habes meriti

CB 130 63 54 136 §§1–3 215a 93 §§1–3 20* 6* 53 §§10–11 [53a] 101 14* 7 202 114 §§1–4 175 §§1–5 99b 21* 64 12 41 199 181 §§1–4 155 §§1–3 170 §§1–3 210 40

ff.2 53v–54r 23v–24v 18r 56v 93v 49r 111v 105r 17v–18r 75v–76v †4r 45r 89v–90r 81v 69v 75r 112r 24v 47v 8r–9v 88v–89r 71r–71v 62v 68v 92r–92v 7v–8r n

N

n

Walter of Châtillon

Ausonius

Ovid

Godefroy of St Victor

Der Marner

Peter of Blois

Notation3 Author(s)4

INCIPIT1 Quis furor est in amore! Quocumque more motu Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit Rediuiuo uernat flore Regnabo, regno Remigabat naufragus Res dare pro rebus Responde, qui tanta cupis Reuirescit | et florescit Roch, pedes, regina, senex Roma, tenens morem Roma, tue mentis oblita sanitate Roter munt, wie du dich swachest! Rumor letalis Sacerdotes et leuitę Sage, daz ih dirs iemmer lone Salue, uer optatum Sancte Erasme Saturni sidus liuidum Semper ad omne quod est mensuram Sepe de miseria Seuit aure spiritus Si de more cum honore Si ist schoͤ ner den uro Dido was Si linguis angelicis Si preceptorum superest

CB 110 65 48 §§1–5 150 §§1–3 18a 128 223 2 173 §§1–2 209 45 43 169 §5 [169a] 120 225 147 §5 [147a] 156 1* 68 119a 220 §§1–4 83 147 §§1–4 155 §4 [155a] 77 214

ff.2 80v 24v–25v 13v–14r 61r 1r 53r–53v 97v 43r 69r 91v–92r 11v–12r 10v–11r 68r 50v 98r 60v 63r 49r 26v–27r 50r 96v 35v 60r–60v 62v 31v–33v 93r–93v N

N

N

N N

Marbod of Rennes

Archpoet Peter of Blois

Reinmar der Alte

Walther von der Vogelweide [Hilary of Orléans]

Notation3 Author(s)4 n

INCIPIT1 Si puer cum puellula Si quis deciorum Si quis displiceat prauis Sic mea fata canendo solor Siquem Pieridum ditauit contio So wol dir, meie, wie du scheidest Sol solis in stellifero Solde auer ich mit sorgen iemmer leben Solde ih noch den tach geleben Solis iubar nituit Sperne lucrum! Springer wir den reyen nu Stetit puella Sunt detractores Superbi Paridis leue iudicium Surrexit Christus [= Peregrinus Play] Suscipe, flos, florem Svͦ ziv vroͣ we min Swaz hie gat umbe Tange, sodes, cytharam Taugen minne div ist guͦ t Tellus flore uario uestitur Tempore completorii Tempus adest floridum Tempus est iocundum Tempus hoc leticie

CB 183 §§1–2 195 192 116 61 151 §6 [151a] 182 §§1–5 166 §5 [166a] 136 §4 [136a] 81 213 137 §3 [137a] 177 190 99 26* 186 162 §6 [162a] 167 §7 [167a] 121 175 §6 [175a] 146 §§1–5 25* 142 §§1–3 179 §§1–8 216

ff.2 71v–72r 86v–87v 85v 82r–82v 21v–23r 61v 71v 67r–67v 56v 34v–35r 93r 57r 70r 84r 74r–75r †7r–7v 72v 65v 67v 50v–51r 69v 60r 112v 58v–59r 70v 94v–95r N N

N

[N] [N]

[Hilary of Orléans]

Reinmar der Alte

[N]

N N

Walther von der Vogelweide

N

[Hilary of Orléans]

Notation3 Author(s)4

INCIPIT1 Tempus instat floridum Tempus transit gelidum Tempus transit horridum Terra iam pandit gremium Tessera, blandita fueras michi Tonat ewangelica clara uox in mundo Transiit nix et glacies Troie post excidium Tu das, Bache, loqui Uvęre div werlt alle min Vacillantis trutine Vbi uis paremus tibi [= Short Passion Play] Veneris uincula Veni, ueni, uenias Ver redit optatum Vere dulci mediante Veris dulcis in tempore [= CB 159] Veris dulcis in tempore [= CB 85] Veris leta facies Veritas ueritatum Versa est in luctum Vide, qui nosti literas Vincit Amor quemque Virent prata hiemata Virgo quedam nobilis Vite perditę me legi

CB 126 153 §§1–4 139 §§1–6 140 §§1–5 207 49 113 §§1–5 98 201 145 §7 [145a] 108 13* 106 174 §§1–3 137 §§1–2 158 85 159 138 §§1–4 21 123 23 120a 151 §§1–5 184 31

ff.2 52v 61v–62r 57v 58r 91r–91v 14r–15r 81r–81v 73v–74r 89r–89v 60r 80r †3v–4v–[ ] 79v 69v 57r 63v–64r 36v 64r 57r 2r 51v–52r 2r–2v 50v 61r–61v 72r 4r–4v N

N

n

N

N

N

N

N

Peter of Blois

Philip the Chancellor Walter of Châtillon

Peter of Blois

Notation3 Author(s)4

CB 122a 25 182 §6 [182a] 203 §4 [203a] 178 §§1–5 204 153 §5 [153a] 171 §5 [171a] 42 113 §6 [113a] 173 §3 [173a] 206 143 §4 [143a] 139 §7 [139a]

notes

ff.2 51v 2v–3r 71v 90v 70r 90v 62r 68v–69r 9v–10v 81v 69r–69v 91r 59r–59v 57v–58r N

[N]

§1, Baldo Pseudo-Reinmar

Walter of Châtillon Dietmar von Aist

= Eckenlied

Notation3 Author(s)4 Marbod of Rennes

The numbering and spelling follows Vollmann, but avoids his use of separate numbers for multilingual songs; for instance, CB 161 and CB 161a become CB 161 §§1–2 and CB 161 §3. 2 † indicates folios in the so-called Fragmenta Burana manuscript, Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 4660a; square brackets indicate lacunae in the surviving manuscript. 3 N indicates the presence of notation; n indicates the provision for the inclusion of notation by the spacing of text; square brackets indicate the presence of notation (or the spacing of text) in the other part of a multilingual song. 4 The authorial ascription follows Vollmann. Square brackets indicate his assumption of composition ‘in the circle of ’ a known author; pointed brackets indicate an interpolation of several texts; a question mark denotes Vollmann’s uncertainty about an ascription.

1

INCIPIT1 Vite presentis si comparo Viuere sub meta Vns chumet ein liehte sumerzit Vns seit uon Lutringen Helfrich Volo uirum uiuere uiriliter Vrbs salue regia Vrowe, ih pin dir undertan Vrowe, wesent vro Vtar contra uitia carmine rebelli Vvaz ist fuͤ r daz senen guͦ t Wol ir libe, div so schone Yrcus quando bibit Ze niwen vroͮ den stat min muͦ t Zergangen ist der winder chalt

Dedication The Revd Canon Dr Simon Jones benedictus benedicat!

Codex Buranus, front flyleaf

Introduction: The Codex Buranus – A Unique Challenge Tristan E. Franklinos and Henry Hope The manuscript known today as Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Codex Latinus Monacensis (clm) 4660 was transferred from the Benedictine abbey of Benediktbeuern to its present home in 1803.1 It is unknown in which circumstances and at which juncture the manuscript came to Benediktbeuern. The codex nevertheless takes its name from the abbey in which it was rediscovered and is referred to as the Codex Buranus (‘the manuscript from Benediktbeuern’). The manuscript is frequently and erroneously called the Carmina Burana (‘songs from Benediktbeuern’), a term which properly denotes the lyric contents, not the codex itself. The present volume considers the manuscript as a whole, and thus uses the less common, but apposite term Codex Buranus throughout. The manuscript dates from around 1230 and is, in all likelihood, of South Tyrolian origin.2 The codex contains more than two hundred Latin texts, of which a handful contain parts in Romance languages and more than fifty have sections in Middle High German; it includes lyric songs, sententious uersus, and religious plays, the majority of which are preserved uniquely in the Codex Buranus. Fifty-one items feature notation (including the material in the Fragmenta Burana manuscript), and there are eight figural images in the codex as it survives. This volume contains a tabulation of the manuscript’s textual contents, giving an immediate sense of the codex’s breadth and its engagement with several contemporary cultural milieux, as well as its striking independence

Bischoff, Carmina Burana: Einführung zur Faksimile-Ausgabe der Benediktbeurer Liederhandschift clm 4660 und clm 4660a, 2 vols, Publications of Mediaeval Music Manuscripts, 9 (Munich: Prestel, 1967) contains a full facsimile; the manuscript has also been digitised by the Münchener Digitalisierungszentrum and is available here: [accessed 13 March 2020]. Hilka/Schumann offers a comprehensive codicological discussion; there is also a shorter, engaging physical description of the manuscript, as well as details of foliation, in Christopher de Hamel, Meetings with Remarkable Manuscripts (London: Allen Lane, 2016), 330–75. 2 For the question of the manuscript’s provenance, see below. 1 Bernhard

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Tristan E. Franklinos and Henry Hope

(see Illustrations 0.1 and 0.2).3 All manuscripts are, by their very nature, unique, but some, like the Codex Buranus, are much more unique than others. Whilst a handful of medieval manuscripts have achieved a fleeting impact on the public imagination, the Codex Buranus has attained an extraordinary presence in the cultural imagination of many in the Western world through Carl Orff ’s setting of parts of more than twenty of its songs.4 His Carmina Burana, first performed in 1937, conjured a colourful and daring portrayal of the lives of clerics in the High Middle Ages, and brought this monumental manuscript, its songs, and its images to a much wider audience than even the extensive scholarship on the codex might suggest it had reached. The considerable reduction in the study and knowledge of Latin in the past century notwithstanding, a number of the songs of this manuscript continue to have a conspicuous presence in popular – principally musical – culture, even if their content is misrepresented, misconstrued, or ignored.5 In her contribution to this volume, Kirsten Yri illustrates how the nowdiscredited, romanticised image of the wandering scholar-poet, with his life of idle carousing, of moralising and satirical criticism of the Church, and of loveand song-making, has captivated the imaginations of many.6 In addition to Orff ’s work, the songs of the Codex Buranus have had a considerable Nachleben in the repertoires of medieval music ensembles who use them to explore techniques of historically informed performance, and – perhaps less expectedly – as a source of inspiration for a number of electronic and metal bands.

Editing and Translating the Codex Buranus Whilst Orff ’s composition won a lasting place in the public imagination for the songs of the Codex Buranus, scholarly engagement with the manuscript has flourished in the wake of one of the great achievements of palaeographical and codicological scholarship of the twentieth century. The monumental critical edition begun by Alfons Hilka and Otto Schumann, and completed by Bernhard 3

These tables are also available online: https://boydellandbrewermusic.com/revisiting​ -the-codex-buranus/. 4 For a striking comment on the popularity of the Codex Buranus and the Carmina Burana, see de Hamel, Meetings, 375, who notes the high number of hits found by searching for ‘Carmina Burana’ on an online search engine: an egregious number when compared with other relatively well-known manuscripts. 5 In his contribution, Classen draws attention to the way in which a number of the darker themes of the songs of the Codex Buranus are often overlooked by performers. 6 Bobeth and Godman, writing from different disciplinary perspectives, appear finally to have laid this image to rest.

Introduction

3

Bischoff,7 replaced the unsatisfactory 1847 edition of the Carmina Burana by Johann Andreas Schmeller.8 Though recognising that some of the quires and leaves of the manuscript had become disordered, Schmeller made no effort to resolve the codicological issues and rearranged the texts of the manuscript into two generalised categories, the ‘Seria’ and the ‘Amatoria. Potatoria. Lusoria’; his edition also neglects the textual concordances of many of the poems in other manuscripts.9 Hilka/Schumann restores the original order of the texts in the manuscript, and provides a detailed critical apparatus; it also offers the first account of the musical notation in the codex.10 This edition has given scholars the necessary basis from which to undertake close literary-cum-philological work on the texts themselves, and to explore the relationships between the Codex Buranus and the manuscripts that contain concordances to many of its texts and melodies. Although the edition privileges the idea of a textual archetype, recoverable through comparison with concordances – often to the detriment of the transmission of the material in the Codex Buranus itself – Hilka/Schumann makes it easier to conceive of the Codex Buranus as a coherent production and to study it as a unified entity. The texts seem to have been arranged by the compilator(s) of the manuscript in thematic terms (though not as simplistically as Schmeller’s arbitrary division suggests), and in a manner which allows for the creation of meaning through juxtaposition and, to a lesser degree, through separation.11 The publication of a full German translation with literary, exegetical commentary on the texts of the Codex Buranus by Benedikt Konrad Vollmann 7

Hilka/Schumann. Schmeller. 9 See Hilka/Schumann, ii.1, 3*–5*, and Godman, 260–61. 10 Hilka/Schumann, ii.1, 63*–66*; see Bobeth, 84–85, on the wider significance of this edition. 11 Schmeller’s thematic divisions were refined by Burghart Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder: zu den deutschen Strophen der Carmina Burana’, in From Symbol to Mimesis: The Generation of Walther von der Vogelweide, ed. by Franz H. Bäuml, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 368 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1984), 1–34; see also Vollmann, 906–09. Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, ‘Parodie in der Sammlung: eine parodistische Nachbarschaft in den “Carmina Burana” (CB 89– CB 90)’, in Parodie und Verkehrung: Formen und Funktionen spielerischer Verfremdung und spöttischer Verzerrung in Texten des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Seraina Plotke and Stefan Seeber, Encomia Deutsch, 3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 45–71, has explored ‘neighbourhoods’ of meaning created between adjacent texts in the manuscript. Similar ideas are discussed by Traill, Classen, and Kirakosian in this volume. 8

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in 1987 not only made the texts more readily available to a wider (scholarly) audience, but also made study of the manuscript in and of itself easier, since the edition maintains the texts as they are transmitted in the Codex Buranus whilst correcting scribal error to create sense.12 In this respect Vollmann’s approach differs markedly from that of Hilka/Schumann, who sought to restore the texts of the manuscript to their ‘original form’, privileging the idea of a textual archetype. As Gundela Bobeth has rightly insisted, however, the material transmitted in the Codex Buranus differs from its textual and musical concordances in a number of ways.13 There may never have been an original form per se, and each of these texts and melodies ought to be treated in its own right as a production of a particular context; variance may have been influenced partly by the mouvance resulting from oral transmission, and partly by the intentions of the compilators of a manuscript like the Codex Buranus.14 The attention of Anglophone readers has been directed to a selection of poems from the Codex Buranus by the translations of David Parlett and P. G. Walsh in the closing decades of the twentieth century.15 Recently, David A. Traill has published the first complete English translation (with annotations) of the texts of the Codex Buranus.16 Like Hilka/Schumann, however, Traill seeks to restore an archetype Earlier German translations include Ernst Buschor (ed.), Carmina Burana (Wiesbaden: Insel, 1957), Carl Fischer, Hugo Kuhn, and Günter Bernt (eds), Carmina Burana (Munich: Winkler, 1975); note also Günter Bernt (ed.), Carmina Burana (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1992). Kirsten Yri’s chapter discusses some nineteenth-century German selections. Eugenio Massa (ed.), Carmina Burana e altri canti della goliarda medievale (Rome: Giolitine, 1979), provides the Latin text of a selection of poems with some annotations. 13 Bobeth, 85–88. 14 Hope’s chapter discusses such issues in relation to the multilingual songs of the Codex Buranus. Drumbl’s contribution to this volume, concerned with the transmission and establishment of the texts of the plays, usefully underlines the tension between written record and performance which affects so many of the questions surrounding the interpretation of the contents of the Codex Buranus. 15 David Parlett (ed.), Selections from the Carmina Burana: A Verse Translation (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986); P. G. Walsh (ed.), Thirty Poems from the Carmina Burana (Reading: Reading University, 1976); and P. G. Walsh, Love Lyrics from the Carmina Burana (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1993). Earlier English translations of the Carmina Burana were included in anthologies, including John Addington Symonds (ed.), Wine, Women, Song: Mediaeval Latin Students’ Songs, First Translated into English Verse with an Essay by John Addington Symonds (London: Chatto & Windus, 1884; repr. New York: Cooper Square, 1966); and Helen Waddell (ed.), Medieval Latin Lyrics, 5th edn (London: Constable, 1948). 16 Traill. 12

Introduction

5

of the text; a number of contributors to the present volume, therefore, have opted to cite Vollmann for the text of the manuscript, and to adapt Traill’s translation as necessary (or to provide their own transcription and translation).

Coming to Terms with the Codex Buranus In discussing the major editions of the Codex Buranus, attention has been drawn to the increasing ease with which scholars have been able to think of the Codex Buranus as a whole, a carefully planned and meticulously executed unity. The manuscript is an almost unparalleled trove of Latin lyric, the earliest collection of Middle High German Minnesang, an indispensable source for those studying non-liturgical song and music of a period in which written evidence is scarce, and one of a small number of codices containing lyric poetry with any sort of figural images that relate to the content of the songs themselves. It is a single artefact that was devised by sophisticated compilators who were attentive to the literary, musical, and artistic components of their work, and who were positioned at a cultural centre which allowed them to draw on a range of languages and traditions. The multifaceted nature of the Codex Buranus has meant that it has been studied by scholars from a range of backgrounds: those working on literature and philology, musicologists, art historians, palaeographers, and codicologists. There have been significant developments in the understanding of this manuscript in these various fields of study, but – in the words of the late Peter Godman – ‘no one masters all the skills required by the Carmina Burana’.17 Any exploration of the Codex Buranus will be left wanting without at least a considered awareness of the interpretations and advances in the understanding of the manuscript, its contents, and its contexts made by those working in other disciplines. Perhaps more so than many others, it is an object of study which demands, and benefits from, an interdisciplinary approach.18

17 18

Godman, 245. It is a particular regret of the editors that the present volume does not include contributions from art historians. Seminal art historical discussions are Peter and Dorothea Diemer: ‘“Qui pingit florem non pingit floris odorem”: die Illustrationen der Carmina Burana (Clm 4660)’, Jahrbuch des Zentralinstituts für Kunstgeschichte, 3 (1987), 43–75 (see also their contribution to Vollmann, 1289–98); and Julia Walworth, ‘Earthly Delights: The Pictorial Images of the Carmina Burana Manuscript’, in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones (London: King’s College

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Tristan E. Franklinos and Henry Hope

Earlier drafts of the chapters contained in this volume were circulated amongst contributors to a workshop held in Brixen (Bressanone), a few kilometres from Neustift (Novacella), in Südtirol (Alto Adige) in the summer of 2018. The fruitful exchange of ideas at this gathering stimulated revision and refinement. The difficulties involved in the sort of interdisciplinary approach which the study of the Codex Buranus necessitates became increasingly apparent through the ongoing process of discussion, and have been often on the minds of the editors in preparing this volume. In order to encourage dialogue between scholars who work on the same material from different perspectives, the diversity of disciplinary assumptions, conventions, and methodologies needs to be negotiated. Harder to mitigate – and hence more problematic – is scholars’ reasonable lack of familiarity with the accumulated knowledge of specialisms and fields of study that are not their own, and the frequency with which they rely on their readers’ awareness of such a background in their writing. Musicologists, for example, are unlikely to be at ease with the theoretical discussions on poetic allusion and intertextuality which are often taken as read by literary scholars; art historians may not be familiar with the historical debates about multilingualism; classicists, in turn, may be less attuned to the issues surrounding the influence of the oral transmission of music in the Middle Ages. In the light of such trans-disciplinary challenges, and of the breadth, diversity, and extent of previous scholarship, it is hoped that this volume will provide a point of entry into fields of study less familiar to those who are interested in, and work on, this multifarious manuscript, by bringing together voices from many of the relevant disciplines and through the frequent references of contributors to one another’s chapters. Revisiting the Codex Buranus seeks to distil recent work on the manuscript and to acknowledge the scholarly milestones that have been reached; to rekindle debates about the codex through a more multidisciplinary approach; and to encourage fresh modes of engagement with its contents, its contexts, and its composition.

Revisiting the Codex Buranus Access to a considerable amount of the scholarship on the Codex Buranus by Anglophone students of the manuscript has been hindered by the fact that many of the significant scholarly contributions are in German. By way of example, extensive study of the modes and function of parody in the Codex Buranus,

London, 2000), 71–82. de Hamel, Meetings, 352–59, also provides an overview of the manuscript’s images.

Introduction

7

both in relation to individual texts and in terms of their arrangement within the manuscript, has been undertaken by Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann; she usefully summarises aspects of her work, largely published in German, in this volume, and provides pertinent historiographical reflections on the groupings within the codex.19 In musicological terms, Heike Sigrid Lammers-Harlander’s contribution to this volume brings some of the important conclusions of her doctoral dissertation to the attention of a much wider audience than has been the case to date.20 Following the efforts of Walther Lipphardt in the middle of the twentieth century,21 little was done to explore the work of the neumators of the Codex Buranus as a coherent object of study until Lammers-Harlander produced the ‘first attempt at a comprehensive study of [its] entire musical notation’.22 Bobeth, in turn, studied the manuscript independently of Lammers-Harlander’s work; her research provides further fertile ground for fresh investigation that considers observations on, and interpretations of, individual songs in the light of the transmitted corpus as a whole, and, in doing so, bears in mind ‘the competencies, intentions, and performance practices of the redactors and users’ of the Codex Buranus.23 Similar concerns in relation to the range of learning of different audiences, of a given poet, and of the manuscript’s compilators, particularly as regards classical texts, are considered by Tristan Franklinos in his discussion of CB 92 (Anni parte florida). He suggests that each of the texts in the Codex Buranus needs to be considered on its own terms as well as in relation to the collection as a whole, so as to avoid imprecise generalisations about a diverse corpus. Johann Drumbl also carefully explores the intrinsic merits of the texts as transmitted in the Codex Buranus in his study of the liturgical traces found in the plays of the manuscript. At the same time, his close reading of their rubrics allows Drumbl to reconsider the place

For her earlier work, see Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, Parodie in den Carmina Burana, Mediävistische Perspektiven, 4 (Zurich: Chronos, 2014); and ‘Parodie in der Sammlung’. 20 Heike Sigrid Lammers, Carmina Burana: Musik und Aufzeichnung, doctoral dissertation, Ludwig-Maximilians Universität, Munich, 1997; published 2000. 21 Walther Lipphardt, ‘Unbekannte Weisen zu den Carmina Burana’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, 12 (1955), 122–42; and ‘Einige unbekannte Weisen zu den Carmina Burana aus der zweiten Hälfte des 12. Jahrhunderts’, in Festschrift Heinrich Besseler zum sechzigsten Geburtstag, ed. by Institut für Musikwissenschaft der KarlMarx-Universität (Leipzig: Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1961), 101–25. 22 Bobeth, 87 fn. 37. 23 Bobeth, 115. 19

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Tristan E. Franklinos and Henry Hope

of the Buranus-plays within the wider historical and geographical landscape of liturgical drama. The various combinations of Latin with Middle High German by the compilators, who may well also have been the poets and composers of some of the literary and musical texts found in the Codex Buranus, are explored in several complementary contributions which ought to provide solid foundations for further interdisciplinary study. Henry Hope’s chapter explores and summarises the complex historical debates surrounding the Latin-German songs which have textual and musical concordances for some stanzas, and underlines the importance of working through the full implications of the plurilingual nature of the Codex Buranus for our understanding of the processes of compilation, contrafacture, and composition. A similar conclusion is reached by Peter Godman, though his contribution focusses on the portrayal of women, mostly as figures in the amatory poems, and their social status vis-à-vis the male lyric personae, poets, and compilators. He considers the ways in which literary tradition, scholastic rhetoric, and linguistic variation are exploited to achieve the subtleties of characterisation in the poetic depictions of gender roles in the amatory songs of the manuscript. The place of gender in relation to poetic voice is also treated by Jonathan Seelye Martin who offers a detailed exploration of CB 185 (Ich was ein chint so wolgetan); his interpretation touches on the possibility that this song’s poet may have been a woman, and that women may have been involved in the compilation of the manuscript.24 He draws attention to the complications that arise from attempting to understand this poem as a pastourelle and demonstrates its generic affinities with the German tradition of the Frauenlied; his remarks serve as a salutary reminder that we ought not – for convenience’s sake – to be seduced by artificial scholarly categorisations that often result in limitations being placed on the ways in which texts, music, or images can be interpreted. A number of contributors to the volume draw on material not associated heretofore with the study of the Codex Buranus, thus opening new, interdisciplinary perspectives on the manuscript, revisiting old questions, and laying the ground for further study. Michael Stolz, drawing on Peter Dronke’s work, situates the plurilingual songs of the manuscript – particularly those which have a concluding stanza in Middle High German – in the wider context of European lyric. He juxtaposes these poems with the Andalusian kharja, a stanza written in colloquial 24

The place of the manuscript’s origin has yet to be firmly identified; see below. Neustift, one of the more plausible possibilities, was a double house with Augustinian canons regular and canonesses during the period in which the codex was compiled. Were Neustift the home of this manuscript, women may, at the very least, have formed part of the audience or participated in the singing of the songs.

Introduction

9

Arabic or a Romance dialect; it concludes a poem the previous stanzas of which are in classical Arabic. Without imputing direct influence, Stolz compares the two sets of plurilingual poems in terms of form and content. In doing so, he sheds new light on these songs through an explicit consideration of their status as hybrid – and thus inherently transgressive – creations that have resulted from the cross-fertilisation of different literary and cultural traditions. A comparative approach is also taken by Lammers-Harlander who, in the concluding section of her chapter, explores the possible relationships between the types of song and dance found in the Codex Buranus with those of traditional Romanian music.

Dissonant Voices Charles E. Brewer’s contribution addresses the vexed question of the provenance of the Codex Buranus by assessing new notational and codicological evidence. His findings suggest that the scriptorium of the prince-bishops of Brixen is probably the most plausible place of origin for the manuscript. This proposition is in keeping with the view espoused by the art historical studies of Peter and Dorothea Diemer, and finds some support in Olive Sayce’s hypothesis that the manuscript was compiled in Brixen, though she favours the cathedral school rather than the bishop’s household.25 These scholars’ arguments build on the philological analyses of Georg Steer, who delineated the geographical parameters in which the manuscript seems likely to have been written based on scribal and linguistic idiosyncrasies.26 He maintained the view, promulgated by Bischoff in 1970, that the Codex Buranus has its origins, in all likelihood, in the scriptorium of an Augustinian community,27 and tentatively suggested that the canons regular at Neustift are plausible candidates for the compilators of the manuscript.28 Peter Godman has elaborated on Steer’s arguments, and provides a colourful description of the clerical, cultural, and prosopographical milieu at Neustift in 25

Peter and Dorothea Diemer, ‘“Qui pingit florem non pingit floris odorem”’; Sayce, 198–203. 26 Georg Steer, ‘“Carmina Burana” in Südtirol’, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 112 (1983), 1–37. 27 Bischoff in Hilka/Schumann, i.3, xi–xii, suggests that the Codex Buranus originates from Seckau; this view is shared by Walther Lipphardt, ‘Zur Herkunft der Carmina Burana’, in Literatur und bildende Kunst im Tiroler Mittelalter, ed. by Egon Kühebacher (Innsbruck: Kowatsch, 1982), 209–23. Compare also the earlier remarks at Bischoff, Carmina Burana, 13–16. 28 Steer, ‘“Carmina Burana”’, 34–37.

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Tristan E. Franklinos and Henry Hope

the first half of the thirteenth century. He proposes that Conrad, the scholasticus at Neustift from 1212 to 1235, is to be identified with the scribe known to scholars as h1, and to be thought of as the lead compilator.29 Whether one inclines toward the view that the Codex Buranus was produced in Brixen or at Neustift, it is clear that there was considerable intercourse and traffic between the episcopal seat and the Augustinian canonry that was only a few kilometres away:30 if the manuscript was indeed compiled in a scriptorium in one of these places, it would almost certainly have suffered some influence from the other.31 Johann Drumbl has argued for the production of the Codex Buranus in different circumstances. After providing a critical account of the discussions surrounding the question of the manuscript’s provenance, he suggests that it is ‘historically plausible in every respect’ for the compilation to have been undertaken by members of Frederick II’s entourage whilst his court was at Trent in the mid-1230s.32 The dissonant voices which echo around the question of the origin of the Codex Buranus, whilst agreeing on a South Tyrolian provenance, are unlikely to achieve consonant harmony if further evidence does not come to light. Such inconsistency of opinion, however, may prove to be fruitful inasmuch as it is likely to spur scholars from different fields of study to further investigation and discoveries: the historical debates surrounding the manuscript’s compilators and their locale continue to do precisely this. A further dissonance within the volume arises from a set of chapters that use a range of different perspectives to locate individual texts within the overall architecture of the manuscript. The insightful thematic readings of these chapters at times come into conflict with interpretations elsewhere in the volume, which place individual poems within their broader literary context. Racha Kirakosian considers the implications of the manuscript’s architecture in terms of soteriology, which, she contends, is negotiated on multiple levels – that of the individual Christian, of the Church as institution, and of the corporate body of the faithful. Her focus on the texts that criticise clerical behaviour and the Church complements the discussions offered by David A. Traill. He 29

Godman, 254–55. Godman; Sayce, 201–02. 31 David A. Traill, ‘The Codex Buranus: Where Was It Written? Who Commissioned It, and Why?’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 53 (2018), 356–68, suggests that, until such a time as more concrete evidence emerges, the scriptorium at Neustift seems to be the most plausible locale for the original place of compilation; he proposes that Bertold von Neifen, bishop of Brixen (1216–24), is the person most likely to have commissioned the manuscript. 32 Drumbl, 354. 30

Introduction

11

also explores moralising texts but does so against a framework of satire which he discerns within the Codex Buranus. As Traill notes, the satirical is found throughout the poems of the manuscript, not only in those concerned with ecclesial institutions, but also in those on amatory themes. Albrecht Classen offers an overview of the corpus of amatory songs, discussing the ways in which classical learning is used by the poets to express erotic desire. A particular concern within his chapter is the literary portrayal of rape and sexual violence, and the ways in which the authoritative language and themes of classical authors serve as means of disguising them. Classen’s contribution to this volume is the first to discuss CB 185. Quite by chance, two other contributors also chose to discuss this song at some length, thus offering perhaps the most conspicuous example of scholarly dissonance within the volume. By approaching this song from different perspectives, Jonathan Seelye Martin, Peter Godman, and Albrecht Classen provide three scholarly voices, dissonant with one another to varying degrees, which present distinctive interpretations of the same text; there are frequent references between these chapters, placing them into close dialogue with one another. Whilst the decision to engage with this poem may have arisen for any number of reasons, whether relating to the focus of their chapters, to current concerns of their respective disciplines, or to wider social and cultural currents, it is of interest that all three scholars have lighted upon one of the texts which is most frequently performed by modern ensembles, even though there is no extant notation for this song. It is impossible to prove a direct correlation between the song’s prominence in present scholarship and performers’ repertoires – though Albrecht Classen does refer to contemporary renditions of CB 185 in his discussion; instead, one might draw attention to the apparent development of a canon of sorts. Kirsten Yri demonstrates that medieval music ensembles since the Studio der Frühen Musik’s work in the 1960s have tended to produce new versions and recordings of a relatively small pool of texts from the Codex Buranus, reinforcing the familiarity of audiences with a limited number of songs; particularly influential in this process has been the 1979 publication by Michael Korth, René Clemencic, and Ulrich Müller – a collected edition with notes of guidance for performers.33 To some extent, a similar process of canonisation may be discerned in the way in which scholars have tended to gravitate toward particular texts (notated or otherwise) and issues such as provenance and plurilingualism, with the result that certain topics and songs have been submitted to extensive and repeated 33

René Clemencic, Ulrich Müller, and Michael Korth (eds), Carmina Burana: Gesamtausgabe der mittelalterlichen Melodien mit den dazugehörigen Texten (Munich: Heimeran, 1979).

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analyses from a range of disciplinary perspectives, whilst others have received little attention. It is hoped that this volume will engage the interest of scholars from various fields of study such that the less well-known aspects of the Codex Buranus – textual, musical, and artistic – will come to receive greater scrutiny, and that new perspectives will be brought to bear on the more thoroughly explored parts of the manuscript. Through its multidisciplinary contributions, this collection of essays encourages an interrogation of the scholarly assumptions that are at play in different fields and invites further study of this unique historical artefact. A multifaceted witness to the vibrant South Tyrolian context of the early thirteenth century in which it seems likely to have been produced, the Codex Buranus points to the heady mix of linguistic, literary, and musical interactions which occurred at this junction of cultures. The manuscript is not only worthy of study in and of itself in terms of contents, contexts, and composition, but it gestures toward a veritable European milieu against which scholars ought to sample the local savours of this ‘paradise of poetry, music, and visual images’.34

34

Walworth, ‘Earthly Delights’, 81.

Chapter 1

A Modern Reception History of the Codex Buranus in Image and Sound1 Kirsten Yri Since its discovery in 1803, the Codex Buranus – the largest medieval collection of secular songs in Latin – has won the attention of scholars from philology, literature, history, and musicology, and has captured the imaginations of musicians from contemporary art music through historically informed performance to rock music. Songs from the manuscript have been performed by many leading medieval music ensembles, from the Studio der Frühen Musik’s and New London Consort’s imaginative and lively instrumental accompaniments to the beautiful a cappella renditions of Ensemble Organum. In 2008, Sequentia performed a selection of songs from the codex in the first half of a programme that also featured Carl Orff ’s 1937 Carmina Burana, inviting listeners to draw connections between Orff ’s chosen texts, the various metres and forms of the poetry, and musical treatments best poised to illuminate them. Songs from the manuscript have also made an impact in popular music circles, for instance with electronic music groups Helium Vola and Qntal, or heavy metal and pagan metal bands such as Theatre of Tragedy, In Extremo, and Faun. The most extensive of these forays is the work of the German medieval metal band Corvus Corax, who shaped several of the manuscript’s songs into an opera that premiered with great aplomb at Berlin’s Museumsinsel in 2005. To have so many of its songs known outside the circle of medieval music scholarship is quite a feat for a codex that contains notation for no more than a sixth of its repertoire. This chapter offers a reception history of some of the musical reconstructions of songs from the Codex Buranus, focussing on three areas: Orff ’s Carmina Burana; performances and reconstructions by medieval music ensembles; and songs performed and composed by bands in the popular music category. These renditions reveal a significant overlap in approach to their material which 1

I would like to thank music librarians Greg Sennema and Timothy Neufeldt for help tracking down recordings. Thanks also to my WLU students, Xiaoyu Hu, Bridget Ramzy, and Heather Smith, for helping with compilations and to our assistant, Josh Manuel, for help with the table.

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results, in part, from the static nature of the medieval transmission as well as the shared backgrounds of the musicians and directors. Although there is a wide range of engagement with the songs, the preference for particular themes in the manuscript’s repertoire over others suggests a public that is drawn to dichotomies between institutionalised and alternative culture, sacred and secular, reality and the imagined.

Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana Although the modern reimaging of the Codex Buranus in sound and on recording begins with Orff ’s setting, it is worth noting that even prior to Orff ’s engagement with Johann Andreas Schmeller’s edition of the poems, the codex had a lengthy reception history in Germany. The manuscript’s reputation as a record of clerical dissent is partly related to the particular moment in which it was rediscovered. After the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire in 1806, the German Confederation witnessed an unprecedented surge of interest in the Middle Ages which idealised medievalism as a national-political platform through architectural, musical, and literary forms.2 The medieval period was glorified as a golden age of religious and national unity, and, especially under Kaiser Wilhelm II, was conjured repeatedly with such pomp and ceremony that it took on the status of a debased cliché.3 My point is not to rehearse a history of medievalism in nineteenth-century Germany, but to emphasise that the thematic content of the manuscript’s poems was positioned to counter this ‘official’ vision of the Middle Ages.4 As Gundela Bobeth notes, the Buranus poems were infamous for their ‘moralising-satirical nature, See Barbara Eichner, History in Mighty Sounds: Musical Constructions of German National Identity 1848–1914 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2012); Annette KreutzigerHerr, ‘Imagining Medieval Music: A Short History’, Studies in Medievalism, 14 (2005), 81–109. See also Thomas Nipperdey, ‘Nationalidee und Nationaldenkmal in Deutschland im 19. Jahrhundert’, Historische Zeitschrift, 206 (1968), 529–85; David Barclay, ‘Medievalism and Nationalism in Nineteenth-Century Germany’, Studies in Medievalism, 5 (1994), 5–22. 3 Barclay, ‘Medievalism and Nationalism’, 5–8. 4 The 1884 collection of selected poems from the codex, entitled Wine, Women and Song, registers this prominent trend in the reception history of the codex and indicates what may have been attractive to nineteenth-century students and reformers who were disillusioned with Wilhelmine Germany. Symonds noted that the poems lacked patriotism and ‘heroic resolve’; they espoused no religious devotion, and instead parodied religious themes, and even religious leaders and papal bulls; see John Addington Symonds (ed.), Wine, Women, Song: Mediaeval Latin Students’ Songs, First 2

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criticism of the Church and Curia, blatant love-making, exuberant carousing, and pleasurable idleness’.5 The activities described were thought to reflect the lifestyle of wandering scholars, and the association with an order of vagrants along with the inclusion of drinking and carousing songs made the manuscript an attractive anthology for student and youth groups.6 Orff’s engagement with the poems was informed not only by their associations with student life, but also by their apparent disillusionment with Catholic doctrine and conformity. Bertold Brecht, Kurt Weill, and Paul Hindemith – Orff ’s peers in the Weimar Republic – had already explored the subjects of greed, power, religion, and social conformity in their Zeitopern, through a combination of scorn, ironic distance, and outright parody. Sharing these artists’ mockery of the ills of society, especially its socialisation of sexual behaviour, Orff would easily map this modern ridicule onto the Buranus poems.7 Orff came across Schmeller’s edition of the codex in 1934 and immediately set out, with the philologist and archivist Michel Hofmann, to choose a number of the poems for a cantata-like cycle of songs that he named, to the frustration of scholars and musicians working with the manuscript, Carmina Burana, after Schmeller.8 Working largely with Schmeller, Orff chose a total of twenty-three passages from the Codex Buranus.9 As early as 1934, Hofmann questioned the status of Schmeller’s text and suggested that for their own score, they use the first volume of Hilka/Schumann, which had appeared

5 6

7

8

9

Translated into English Verse with an Essay by John Addington Symonds (London: Chatto & Windus, 1884; repr. New York: Cooper Square, 1966). Bobeth, 80. A number of publications between 1850 and 1880 transmitted the most famous drinking songs, love songs, and songs devoted to dissent and corruption in the Church; see, for instance Hermann Hagen (ed.), Carmina Clericorum: StudentenLieder des Mittelalters (Heilbronn: Henninger, 1876); Adolf Pernwerth von Bärnstein, Carmina Burana Selecta (Würzburg: Staudinger, 1879); and Oscar Hubatsch, Die Lateinischen Vagantenlieder (Görlitz: Remer, 1870). Hindemith’s parody of chant to dismantle the l’art pour l’art concept in the museum scene and his ‘duet-kitsch’ for Laura’s duet with her rented lover, Herr Hermann, both in Neues vom Tage, are especially apt examples. Hofmann also alerted Orff to Max Manitius (ed.), Vagantenlieder aus der lateinischen Dichtung des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts, trans. by Robert Ulich ( Jena: Diederichs, 1927); see Frohmut Dangel-Hofmann (ed.), Carl Orff–Michel Hofmann: Briefe zur Entstehung der Carmina Burana (Tutzing: Schneider, 1990), 23 (Hofmann to Orff, 6 April 1934). Orff ’s selections comprise twenty-four separate texts. This number does not reflect the repetitions of Swaz hie gat umbe (part of (9)) and (1) O Fortuna. One poem, CB 70, supplies text for two separate songs: (21) In trutina and (23) Dulcissime. The number of different poems drawn on is technically twenty-three.

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in 1930.10 However, as the latter contained only a limited number of texts, it could be employed only for the first two numbers of Orff ’s work. Orff knew that some of the poems were furnished with music in unheighted neumes and learned from Hofmann that some of these songs had concordances in other manuscripts. Though generally interested in medieval music, Orff did not engage with the medieval melodies of the Codex Buranus. Rudolf von Ficker’s performance and edition of Perotin’s Sederunt principes had captured his attention in 1927, and, judging from the numerous books on medieval music in his library and his correspondence with von Ficker, he had studied some of the musical principles in detail. Von Ficker’s scholarship on medieval music, and Orff ’s encounter with medieval sacred music more generally, influenced the composition of (1) O Fortuna, (2) Fortune plango vulnera, (3) Veris leta facies, (4) Omnia sol temperat, (5) Ecce gratum, and moments of (11) Estuans interius and (13) Ego sum abbas.11 This general engagement with medieval music may have provided the rationale for Hofmann’s claim (in his programme notes for the premiere) that Orff intended Carmina Burana to ‘awaken the ancient melodies’, but it fails to account for the musical parodies of nineteenth-century Italian opera, of Bavarian folk music, and of the nineteenth-century oratorios that were part of the German patriotic programme that undergird Orff ’s aesthetics.12 As the first musical setting of the poems since the Middle Ages, Orff ’s composition and selection of themes are crucial benchmarks in the modern reception of the codex. Orff ’s (1) O Fortuna and (2) Fortune plango vulnera, whose medieval manuscript context presents them as satirical laments about losing in gambling, have provided the goddess Fortuna with the larger status of destiny, generalised outward from the medieval culture of gaming to connote humankind’s existential struggle.13 This complaint regarding man’s plight in the world is

Carl Orff–Michel Hofmann, 56–58 (Hofmann to Orff, 20 June 1934). The letters indicate that Hofmann was in touch with Schumann, who eventually answered a letter from Hofmann. Orff also writes, on 21 June 1934, that he is in possession of the ‘good’ edition – undoubtedly Hilka/Schumann, i. To what degree Schumann was involved is unclear since there are letters noting that Schumann had not responded, and asking whether anyone had heard from him. Hofmann, at least, received one or more letters from Schumann – what was suggested is not recorded. 11 For a discussion of the influence of medieval music on Orff, see Kirsten Yri, ‘Medievalism and Anti-Romanticism in Carl Orff ’s Carmina Burana’, in The Oxford Handbook on Music and Medievalism, ed. by Stephen C. Meyer and Kirsten Yri (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming). 12 See Dangel-Hofmann, Carl Orff–Michel Hofmann, 196–99. 13 See Traill, i, 474–77. Note also that only CB 14–CB18a are dedicated to Fortune. 10 Dangel-Hofmann,

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affirmed with almost demonic allusions to plainchant, unending ostinatos, and hymnic singing, and confirmed by the repetition of (1) O Fortuna at the end of the work. Although only four of Orff ’s twenty-four settings are devoted to gaming, drinking, and religious corruption, these themes have surpassed those devoted to love in the reception history of the Codex Buranus. The success of (II) In Taberna emerges not only from the Weimar Republic’s fascination with parody and satire, but also from the musical choices Orff made, in addition to the a priori fame of the drinking songs (14) In taberna quando sumus and (11) Estuans interius which had been included in the earliest anthologies and student songbooks.14 Orff ’s music for (II) In Taberna offers slapstick comedy in its clear parody of familiar operatic styles and liturgical music, seeking to communicate the irony and satire that Orff and Hofmann discerned in the medieval texts.15 A reception history that posits struggle, disillusionment, and corruption as the main themes of Orff ’s Carmina Burana does not square with the relatively low proportion of poems dedicated to these subjects (see Illustration 1.1). The majority, eighteen of twenty-four, are devoted to the theme of love, perhaps more representative of the large number of poems dedicated to this subject in the manuscript (CB 56–CB 186). Curiously, reviews of Orff ’s work simply state the presence of love poems, concluding – at most – that these songs are a celebration of love and may be aligned with the tradition of German Minnesang. The manuscript’s love poems variously tell of erotic experiences, describe the loved one’s beauty and character, lament the absent lover or the lover’s rejection, express joy and anticipation, and occasionally invert the genre’s gendered expectations, seemingly for humorous or ironic effect. Orff carefully constructed a narrative that offers a dramatic parody of the Minnesang tradition by drawing on this rich canvas. This is especially clear in (III) Cour d’Amours: eight of its ten settings excerpt two or three lines of poetry, often without adhering to their order in the codex. This practice removes these lines from their poetic context and has the potential to alter the meaning, an alteration that was necessary to dramatise this section. For instance, the decision to extract §4 (‘Amor uolat undique’) from CB 87 and to set it for the voice of a woman (and women’s choir) allowed Orff Both songs were included in Adolf Pernwerth von Bärnstein (ed.), Carmina Burana Selecta, as well as Jacob Grimm, ‘Gedichte des Mittelalters auf König Friedrich I. den Staufen’, in Abhandlungen der Königlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, aus dem Jahre 1843 (Berlin: Königliche Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1845), 143–256. 15 For a discussion of Orff ’s allusions to Rossini, Verdi, liturgical recitative, and plainchant, as well as the nineteenth-century prehistory of the codex, see Kirsten Yri, ‘Lebensreform and Wandervögel Ideals in Carl Orff ’s Carmina Burana’, Musical Quarterly, 100 (2017), 399–428. 14

Illustration 1.1. Orff ’s use of the Codex Buranus FORTUNA IMPERATRIX MUNDI 1. O Fortuna 2. Fortune plango vulnera

(CB 17) (CB 16)

I PRIMO VERE 3. Veris leta facies 4. Omnia sol temperat 5. Ecce gratum

(CB 138) (CB 136) (CB 143)

UF DEM ANGER 6. Tanz 7. Floret silva (CB 149) 8. Chramer, gip die varwe mir (CB 16*, CB 136) 9. Reie Swaz hie gat umbe (CB 167a) Chume, chum, geselle min (CB 174a) Swaz hie gat umbe (Rep) 10. Were diu werlt alle min (CB 145a) II IN TABERNA 11. Estuans interius 12. Olim lacus colueram 13. Ego sum abbas 14. In taberna quando sumus

(CB 191, §§1–5) (CB 130, §§1, 2, 5) (CB 222) (CB 196)

III COUR D’AMOURS 15. Amor volat undique 16. Dies, nox et omnia 17. Stetit puella 18. Circa mea pectora 19. Si puer cum puellula 20. Veni, veni, venias 21. In trutina 22. Tempus est iocundum 23. Dulcissime

(CB 87 ‘Amor tenet omnia’, §4) (CB 118 ‘Doleo quod nimium’, §§4, 5, 7) (CB 17, §§1, 2) (CB 180 ‘O mi dilectissima’, §§5, 6, 7) (CB 183) (CB 174) (CB 70 ‘Estatis florigero tempore’, §§12a, 12b) (CB 179, §§1, 4, 7, 5, 8) (CB 70 ‘Estatis florigero tempore’, §15)

BLANZIFLOR ET HELENA 24. Ave formosissima

(CB 77 ‘Si linguis angelicis’, §8)

FORTUNA IMPERATRIX MUNDI 25. O Fortuna (Rep)

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to begin (III) Cour d’Amours with a woman’s complaint concerning her lack of love. The poem continues: ‘if there is any girl without a mate, she is excluded from all favourable regard […] such is her bitter plight.’16 The next setting in Orff ’s work, sung by a solo baritone, (16) Dies, nox et omnia, extracts §§4, 5, and 7 from CB 118 and narrates the pain and suffering caused by a woman’s ‘heart of ice’ with a tongue-in-cheek pastiche of the nineteenth-century romantic love song with its sustained seconds and scalar passages that almost suggest ‘un bacio’ from Verdi’s Otello. So far, we have both sexes expressing the undesirable effects of spurning love. Then follows (17) Stetit puella: indicative of the poem’s male subject are the pejorative term ‘puella’ to denote a girl of loose morals and the objectification of the girl’s red dress, as well as her shining face and blooming mouth. Orff ’s musical setting ignores the male voice’s subject position, and chooses a soprano as subject, an act that questions the poem’s blatant objectification. Such alternation and variation of soprano and baritone solos, as well as boys’, men’s, women’s, and mixed choirs continues in the work, encouraging the listener to understand the use of voices as integral to the setting. In keeping with recent advances in the sexual reform movement, the agency of the woman in this court of love is given special attention. As Orff and Hofmann discussed, the woman should also be given her say after weighing both chastity and desire: (21) In trutina, §§12a and 12b of CB 70.17 That she chooses to submit in (23) Dulcissime, and that this submission is in her ‘own’ voice, is an important detail in the drama. It is not just that the setting of (III) Cour d’Amours thwarts some of the object–subject relationships suggested in the Buranus songs, but that Orff was committed to providing what some have described as an ‘ecumenical’ treatment of desire.18 Nowhere is this clearer than in (22) Tempus est iocundum, an anthem on the sensual experience of love that Orff divides equally among voice types intended to suggest men and women, boys and maidens. The opening chorus (§1) exhorts maidens, young men, and, indeed, all to come together in this time of joy, an announcement that is seemingly confirmed by the baritone solo’s refrain. The next four stanzas are used out of order: §§4, 7, 5, and 8 allow a switching between female and male voices, with §8 sung by all. Orff and Hofmann rejected Manitius’s version of this poem in favour of Schmeller’s, which suggested that CB 87 §4.5–8 is used in Orff ’s (15) Amor volat undique. All English translations are taken from Traill. 17 See Dangel-Hofmann, Carl Orff–Michel Hofmann, 59 (Hofmann to Orff, 22 June 1934). 18 Richard Taruskin, ‘Can We Give Poor Orff a Pass at Last?’, in The Danger of Music and Other Anti-Utopian Essays, ed. by Richard Taruskin (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2008), 161–67 (164). 16

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Illustration 1.2. Arrangement of voices in (22) Tempus est iocundum Codex Buranus 4. Mea me confortat promissio mea me deportat negatio.

Schmeller 4. Mea me confortat promissio, mea me deportat negatio.

Manitius 4. Tua me confortat promissio, tua me deportat negatio.

Orff 4. Mea me confortat promissio, mea me deportat negatio.

5. Mea mecum ludit uirginitas mea me detrudit simplicitas.

5. Mea mecum ludit virginitas, mea me detrudit simplicitas.

5. Tua mecum ludit virginitas, tua me detrudit simplicitas.

(women’s voices) 7. Tempore brumali vir patiens, animo uernali lasciviens.

7. [T]empore brumali uir paciens animo uernali lasciuiens.

7. Tempore brumali vir patiens, animo vernali lasciviens.

7. Tempore brumali vir patiens, animo vernali lasciviens.

(men’s voices) 5. Mea mecum ludit virginitas, mea me detrudit simplicitas.

8. Veni domicella cum gaudio ueni ueni pulchra iam pereo.

8. Veni, domicella, cum gaudio, veni, veni pulchra, iam pereo.

8. Veni, domicella, cum gaudio, veni, veni bella, iam pereo.

(women’s voices) 8. Veni, domicella, cum gaudio; veni, veni, pulchra, iam pereo. (mixed voices)

the maidens were given a voice (even if it was a male poet putting words into the maidens’ mouths).19 It is possible that Orff and Hofmann were relying on Schumann’s interpretation of multiple voices, as discussed in his edition.20 As shown in Illustration 1.2, Orff used sopranos to voice the maidens’ desire and complicity. After male singers intervene with §7 to match the male voice of the passage, Orff offers §5 for sopranos. Again, the decision to use women’s voices here (and text from Schmeller rather than Manitius) provides the maidens with an opportunity to comment on their own virginity, mediating the normative objectification of maidens by positioning them as subjects. Finally, both men and women sing the final stanza, ‘Come play the game of love, you beautiful one, otherwise I will die!’21 This alternation of men’s and women’s voices in Orff ’s 19

See fn. 8. The volume that contained this poem was largely completed by 1941 (Hilka/ Schumann, i.2, 299–300, containing notes for CB 179). 21 My translation of CB 179 follows the German that was printed with the programme for Orff ’s work (translated by Schmeller), since it comes closer to Orff ’s understanding of this text than a direct translation from Latin. 20

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(22) Tempus est iocundum was to be instrumental in the later reception of the work, and the question of voice in the codex. Orff follows (22) Tempus est iocundum with §15 (‘Dulcissime’) of CB 70, the same poem that provided §§12a and 12b for number (21) In trutina. Thus, (22) Tempus est iocundum might be seen as an elaboration of the conflict presented by the soprano that is resolved in (23) Dulcissime. The soprano’s submission to her lover here is followed by another excerpt: §8 of CB 77, (24) Ave formosissima. Orff ’s insertion of this line at this point in (III) Cour d’Amours alters the original poetic context significantly. Whereas this stanza constituted a wooing tactic in line with the tradition of courtly love in the context of the Codex Buranus, in Orff ’s work, the excerpt suggests a hymn of thanks addressed to Venus after the consummation of love. There are numerous ways to interpret these musical settings, but the letters between Orff and Hofmann indicate that they wished to parody the tradition of Aue Maria or Aue uirgo uirginum settings. The text they chose uses the liturgical terms for addressing the Virgin Mary and is set by Orff in the style of a Lutheran chorale, interpolated with exaggerated fanfares. Whether or not, as P. G. Walsh suggests, medieval poets and their audiences viewed the clichés of the courtly love tradition with a sense of irony or humour, or indeed, whether they appreciated the use of biblical forms for humorous purposes, it is clear from letters between Orff and Hofmann that they certainly did.22 They delighted in the irony that the object of praise was not sacred (‘gemma pretiosa, virgo gloriosa’) but carnal (Blanziflor, Helena, and finally Venus) – a revelation brought about by the musical and textual climax on the repeated word ‘Venus’.23 Though Orff ’s treatment of love, sex, and eroticism in Carmina Burana has not garnered much scholarly attention, its impact can be witnessed in recent performances of the manuscript’s love songs. The fourteenth European LGBTQ choral festival, Various Voices 2018, used Orff ’s Carmina Burana to attract 3,500 participants to Munich to stage a community-building event for ‘an open society and against hostility to minorities’.24 With ‘Tempus est iocundum, It’s party time’ as its headline, the website reasoned that:

See P. G. Walsh (ed.), Love Lyrics from the Carmina Burana (Chapel Hill, NC and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1993), 96–101. See also Traill, i, 539–41. 23 The medieval texts themselves arguably also offer a critical and parodic reading of traditions of courtly love. See, for example, Cardelle de Hartmann’s contribution in this volume. 24 The original website () is no longer online, but a screenshot is available from the author; see 22

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Carmina Burana takes a stand against a hypocritical society, satirises the hypocrisy of the church which ‘preaches water while drinking wine’, and stands confidently for a life with both feet in the here and now, ‘out and proud’. The Carmina Burana is a universal anthem of love and the joy of living, that has lost nothing of its explosive power since its creation almost 800 years ago. The poems were revolutionary at the time they were composed, because they dealt openly with sex and criticised an inhibited and hypocritical society.25

Historically Informed Performances Considering the success of Orff ’s work and the introduction to the poems of the Codex Buranus that it offered, it is surprising that nearly thirty years passed before performances of the manuscript’s songs were attempted by performers of the early music revival.26 The first ensemble to perform songs from the codex, and the one that has arguably had the most influence on subsequent performances, was the Studio der Frühen Musik, who issued a first album in 1964 and a second in 1968.27 Solutions for the notational problems, as the sleeve notes celebrated, were offered by comparing the neumes of the Codex Buranus with the square notation in parallel versions in other manuscripts. That these concordances were geographically widespread was taken as evidence for

also [accessed 8 February 2019]. 25 ‘Whether it’s a pop choir or a madrigal ensemble, whether you’re a lesbian from Lisbon or a gay guy from Glasgow, with daily rehearsals for everybody in the Philharmonic Hall (which we will simply turn around: the audience will be on the stage!), we’ll spend four days singing together, getting to know new people, and growing together into one big, united voice’: [accessed 16 February 2019]. 26 Jerome F. Weber has compiled a comprehensive discography of historically informed renditions of the manuscript’s songs; this list is available through the Plainsong and Medieval Music Society: [accessed 7 March 2019]. All recordings discussed here are included in the list of recordings appended to the present volume, even if not referenced in full within this chapter. 27 The first album review of songs from the codex made reference to Orff: Alan Rich, ‘Carmina Burana (but not by Orff)’, High Fidelity (March 1965), 88. Their recordings also contained poems that Orff had set: CB 143, CB 179, and CB 16.

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the international and interregional popularity of the repertory, and tapped into the 1960s European market reforms and internationalisation efforts.28 The Studio approached the songs in a variety of ways, often by adding one or more instruments to the melody to support the vocal line. This texture of heterophony was suggested to members of the group from non-Western and folk music. As their research developed, the Studio began to incorporate influences from the nuba, a North African performance practice they considered to be a holdover from the Arab presence in the Iberian peninsula during the Middle Ages.29 The ensemble freely improvised and reinterpreted melodic material, or expanded the monophonic melodies with instrumental preludes, interludes, and postludes following what came to be known as ‘the Arabic Style’. At the same time, the group also advocated for ‘the non-homogeneity of regional styles’ and insisted that poems might have been ‘regional by intent’; performances in Spain would have differed from those in the Benediktbeuern monastery.30 Thus we can hear the differences between a regional performance of CB 3 (‘Ecce torpet’), styled in Arab-influenced Andalusia with freely improvised instrumental introduction, interlude, and postlude on lute, fiddle, organetto, and bells, and CB 30 (‘Dum iuuentus floruit’), a song by Peter of Blois which is treated like a ballad, accompanied by fiddle and lute.31 Such practices provided the Studio with a sound that could surprise the listener with a variety of styles, unusual harmonic inflections, and rhythmic treatment, and provided an aural record for subsequent ensembles to emulate.32 Besides establishing a performance model that would come to be recognised as dominant, the Studio’s choice of repertoire also shaped the reception of the codex, not least because translations of texts were included. The poetic and

28

F. Brunhölzl and Thomas Binkley, sleeve notes, in Studio der Frühen Musik, Carmina Burana (II), 13 Songs from the Benediktbeuern Manuscript, circa 1300 (Das Alte Werk, SAWT 9522-A Ex; 1968). 29 John Haines, ‘The Arabic Style of Performing Medieval Music’, Early Music, 29 (2001), 369–78. 30 ‘We must insist that the performance given [of] a random selection of this repertory in the provincial Alpine Monastery of Benediktbeuern in the [t]hirteenth century, where the manuscript was copied, differed very considerably from a performance of that same sampling in Córdoba or Sevilla’; Binkley, sleeve notes, in Studio der Frühen Musik, Carmina Burana II. 31 Brunhölzl and Binkley, sleeve notes, in Studio der Frühen Musik, Carmina Burana II. 32 See Thomas Binkley, ‘Zur Aufführungspraxis der einstimmigen Musik des Mittelalters’, Basler Jahrbuch für Historische Musikpraxis, 1 (Sonderdruck 1977), 19–76.

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musical content of their two albums moved seamlessly from scathing indictments of corruption to tender love songs through crusader songs to the pastourelle.33 Their sleeve notes paid particular attention to the goliardic indictments of political corruption and condemnations of Church bureaucracy.34 Viewed as a chronicle of the goliards’ supposed low standards of morality, as witnessed in the drinking, gaming, and erotic songs, the codex appealed to the counterculture of the 1960s and 70s. This attention to resistance remains a feature of all subsequent recordings from the Clemencic Consort to La Reverdie.35 The other significant factor in the modern reception of the Codex Buranus is the Gesamtausgabe published by René Clemencic, Michael Korth, and Ulrich Müller in 1979.36 For the first time, musicians could find, for roughly fifty of the songs, readable melodies and rhythmicised solutions, notes describing poetic and musical form, including rhyme scheme, comments on translation or text, and, in some cases, a rough dating or attribution. Contextual background and poetic interpretation were offered with suggestions for rhythmic mode, rhythmic treatment, accompaniment, and performance. The solutions can be heard on recordings by the Clemencic Consort, whose successful and wide-reaching recordings (five volumes, numerous reissues, and compilations) significantly impacted early music ensembles, the medieval market scene, and medieval rock.37 33 34

35

36

37

Of the seventeen Latin songs that were included on this recording, ten went on to become hits for the codex. Some of the reviews of these early recordings also note the countercultural aspects of the codex’s songs. See, for instance, Raymond Ericson, ‘Troubadours, Those Medieval Hippies’, New York Times, 9 November 1969, D34. For example, Philip Pickett writes of Walter of Châtillon: ‘unable to reconcile himself to the hypocrisies and corruptions of the world, Walter railed at the Princes of the Church and their secular rulers, deplored the decay of learning and the small rewards for loyalty and industry […] and attacked the greed of the clergy with angry intensity’; the focus on student culture also continues, built partly around Philip the Chancellor, who led the university in Paris during its ‘turbulent time of student unrest’, and ties the manuscript’s content to an idealised counterculture. Philip Pickett, sleeve notes (p. 7), in New London Consort, Carmina Burana: vol. II (L’Oiseau-Lyre, 421 062–2; 1987). Joel Cohen also highlights the poems that ‘deal with church politics and corruption in the hierarchy’; Joel Cohen, sleeve notes (p. 5), in Boston Camerata, Carmina Burana: Medieval Songs (Erato, 0630–14987–2; 1996). Michael Korth, René Clemencic, and Ulrich Müller (eds), Carmina Burana: Lateinischdeutsch: Gesamtausgabe der mittelalterlichen Melodien mit den dazugehörigen Texten (Munich: Heimeran, 1979). Herbert Glass notes that the Clemencic Consort’s recordings of ‘wining, wenching, and worshipping’ were so successful that they ‘almost single-handedly put Harmonia Mundi on the international map’. Herbert Glass, ‘Harmonia Mundi: The Fancy

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Nineteen ensembles have devoted a full recording to selections from the Codex Buranus, and two further ensembles have released recordings in which songs from the manuscript dominate. Twenty-one ensembles have devoted a full recording to selections from the Codex Buranus. Half of these recordings were successful enough to warrant second (and sometimes third and fourth) records to be cut, reissued, or compiled onto compact disc.38 As a result, the modern canon of songs adapted from the Codex Buranus has not expanded or developed, but the prevalence of those already in circulation has been reinforced, as is illustrated by the table in Illustration 1.3,39 which includes songs that have been recorded twice or more. Moreover, the directives in Clemencic’s edition have limited musical experimentation and led to the performance of particular songs over others. Illustration 1.4 shows the fifteen most recorded songs: seven of the fifteen are love songs (CB 90, CB 185, CB 153, CB 85, CB 116, CB 131, CB 71), of which the top two are pastourelles (CB 90, CB 185); five are moral-satirical (CB 19, CB 31, CB 12, CB 47, CB 3); two are drinking songs (CB 196 and CB 200); and one treats overindulgence (CB 211). As far as performance practice is concerned, with the exception of Ensemble Organum, historically informed performance ensembles make instruments a central part of their performance.40 Although some of the selections may be performed a cappella, by and large the most-recorded songs include instrumental accompaniment, following the models established by the Studio der Frühen Musik and Clemencic Consort. In such cases, songs are performed with replicas of medieval instruments, folk instruments, or instruments from diverse regions within and beyond Europe. The unusual timbral qualities of these instruments – the reediness of a bombarde, the resonance of a zink, the brittle sounds of a rebab, or the earthy pounding of a darbukka – seem apt to highlight Classical Firm on the Other Side of the Tracks’, Los Angeles Times, 25 October 1987, K57. 38 Ensembles whose recordings were reissued include the Studio der Frühen Musik, the Clemencic Consort, the New London Consort, Ensemble Organum, Ensemble Anonymous, Ensemble Unicorn, Modo Antiquo, Millenarium, and the Boston Camerata. The recordings made by these ensembles are also augmented by the numerous medieval music compilations that include new (or previously released) performances of songs from the codex (see Illustration 1.3). 39 Illustration 1.3 can be found online at https://boydellandbrewermusic.com/revisiting​ -the-codex-buranus/. 40 I have not included Ensemble Organum on the chart because they have performed nothing from the ‘canon’. They are one of the few groups to perform the Passion Play of the Codex Buranus, in keeping with the focus of their research. It is striking that no English groups except the New London Consort have released recordings of the codex’s songs.

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Illustration 1.4. Most performed songs from the Codex Buranus Rank 1 2

# of Recordings 16 15

3 4 5

14 13 12

6 7

11 10

CB CB 90 CB 19 CB 185 CB 200 CB 31 CB 153 CB 85, CB 159 CB 116 CB 12 CB 196 CB 47 CB 3 CB 131 CB 71 CB 211

Title ‘Exiit diluculo’ ‘Fas et nefas’ ‘Ich was ein chint’ ‘Bache, bene uenies’ ‘Vite perdite’ ‘Tempus transit gelidum’ ‘Veris dulcis’ ‘Sic mea fata’ ‘Procurans odium’ ‘In taberna quando sumus’ ‘Crucifigat omnes’ ‘Ecce torpet probitas’ ‘Dic, Christi ueritas’ ‘Axe Phebus aureo’ ‘Alte clamat Epicurus’

the permeable geographical boundaries in keeping with the idea of public music, and music that is international or pan-European. Ensembles such as the New London Consort, the Clemencic Consort, and the Boston Camerata show regional differences and heed the manuscript’s international reception by offering several different interpretations of the same song. Sleeve notes and reviews of these recordings affirm their use of diverse instruments and widespread concordances as positive signs of internationalism.41 Considering the poetic metre of the texts and the dominance of rhythmic modes 1 and 5 in Clemencic’s edition, the majority of pieces are unsurprisingly performed in these modes, or given an equalist treatment.42 Moreover, in a circular line of argumentation, these modes reinscribe the songs as uncomplicated and 41

‘We have tried to underline the international character of the songs by using differing interpretations – for example, heavy Arabic influence, some, none at all – as well as different pronunciations of the Latin language – Italian, Spanish, French and so on’, René Clemencic, sleeve notes (p. 12), in Clemencic Consort, Carmina Burana, version originale (Harmonia Mundi France, 90335; 1974); Pickett, too, emphasises the international scope: ‘such songs, composed in Latin, were truly international and crossed linguistic frontiers as easily as the music that went with them’; Philip Pickett, sleeve notes (p. 9), in New London Consort, Carmina Burana: vol. II. 42 These modes were adapted from poetic metres and explained in the thirteenthcentury treatise, De mensurabili musica. The first mode, the trochee, consisted of a long-short rhythm; the fifth mode, the spondee, was comprised of long-long rhythms. See Edward H. Roesner, ‘Rhythmic Modes’, in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and

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somehow less developed, despite historical evidence to the contrary. In one of the earliest reviews of the Studio’s recording, Alan Rich highlighted the simple nature of the songs, describing them as ‘extremely unsophisticated, limited in range, and mostly scalar’. The poetry, too, was ‘little more than doggerel’, but its simplicity was precisely his reason for liking it.43 As Gundela Bobeth has emphasised, the archaic notation of the Codex Buranus has frequently been historicised as an example of ‘the atavistic nature of German-speaking countries which sought to copy with limited musical and notational means those rays of artistry which shone through to the most provincial of “peripheries” from the “centre” of Paris’.44 This ‘faulty’ transmission also supported the image of the goliard authors as vagrants, outsiders who lived a life of sin, wandering from town to town: in the words of Clemencic, ‘on the loose – unstable, they lived close to the edge of life: drinking, gaming, lazing, indulging in orgies and prostitution’.45 I would suggest that the use of rhythmic modes or equalist rhythms and largely syllabic delivery speak most insistently to this repertoire’s image as simple music. As Monique Scheer has argued, physiological elements that powerfully engage the body are ascribed to a ‘lower’ or ‘simpler’ level, whereas semantic, poetic, or narrative elements, those that require the mind to mediate or interpret, are typically coded as more complex.46 This kind of shorthand may thwart the intention of the performance. As we would expect of a drinking song, the Clemencic Consort’s performance of CB 200 (‘Bache, bene uenies’) sits squarely within the notion of debauchery and the idea of outcasts. Its upbeat tempo confirms the element of celebration in the leaps and upward sweep of the melody, while the unison refrain sung by an unblended group of men suggests a simple audience and the over-exaggerated development of inebriated characters in each subsequent repetition of the refrain conveys humour. In keeping with the international character posited for the codex, the ensemble’s performance also conveys a motley group of men from regions of Italy, Spain, or France through vocal type or regional pronunciations of Latin. It is significant that the parodies of liturgical prayers, the Eucharist, the list of miracles, or the litanies evoked in these

Musicians, ed. by Stanley Sadie, 2nd edn, 29 vols (London: Macmillan, 2001), xxi, 310–13. 43 Alan Rich, ‘Carmina Burana (But not by Orff)’, 88. 44 Bobeth, 87–88. 45 Clemencic, sleeve notes (p. 11), in Clemencic Consort, Carmina Burana (Harmonia Mundi France, 190336.38; 1990). 46 Monique Scheer, ‘Are Emotions a Kind of Practice (and Is That What Makes Them Have a History)?’, History and Theory, 51 (2012), 193–220 (195).

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drinking songs require mindful interpretation and mean that the sophisticated nature of the songs often goes unremarked.47 The base image of the wandering goliard and the stereotype of his song as simple is difficult to forgo because of the lowered status unconsciously ascribed to modal rhythm and syllabic settings. On the other hand, when settings for two or three voices that are transmitted in other sources are performed – CB 19 (‘Fas et nefas’), CB 31 (‘Vite perdite’), CB 12 (‘Procurans odium’), CB 153 (‘Tempus transit gelidum’), and CB 47 (‘Crucifigat omnes’) – they are more easily received as examples of poetry by erudite scholars or members of an ecclesiastical order.48 It is not only the richer harmonic language and complex interweaving of lines that conjure up the motet as a sophisticated art song, but also rhythmic variation and, most importantly, the absence of percussion as a physical embodiment of rhythmic mode. The New London Consort’s rendition of CB 19 (‘Fas et nefas’), for instance, is a cappella and still conveys a rhythmic pulse, but the contrapuntal nature of the threevoice version captures the poem’s complexity and intricacy, features ascribed to learned musicians. The Boston Camerata begins their performance with instruments playing the monophonic version before providing the polyphonic version. Importantly, percussion marks out the modal rhythm when voices sing the monophonic melody, but when the singers turn to the polyphonic setting, the rhythmic track disappears, returning only when all voices sing the monophonic melody again. The diminished role of rhythmic mode is also a feature of La Reverdie’s performance of their polyphonic version of CB 19.49 The seven love songs that populate the list of the top fifteen range from the direct expression of longing (CB 116) through the paradoxical and multi-layered Vollmann, 1224–25 and 1227–28. They also borrow from Veni, sancte Spiritus and Veni, creator Spiritus. Compare also to Psalm 68.29 (Vulgate) for a play on ‘let them be erased from the book of the living and not written with the righteous’; compare Traill, ii, 689. 48 Bryan Gillingham, The Social Background to Secular Medieval Latin Song (Ottawa: Institute of Medieval Music, 1998), 10; Martha Bayless, Parody in the Middle Ages: The Latin Tradition (Ann Arbor, MI: The University of Michigan Press, 1996), 179. Philip Pickett (the New London Consort) and Joel Cohen (the Boston Camerata) are among those who have ‘corrected’ the outmoded view on their recordings. More recently, Fabrice Fitch’s review of Sacri Sarcasmi by La Reverdie notes that songs from the codex ‘are not exclusively ribald and indecent, that there is a heartfelt piety too; and that these entertainments were not devised by uncouth drunks but by educated clerics with a taste for occasional subversion’. See Fabrice Fitch, ‘Carmina Burana’, Gramophone, 88 (August 2010), 82. 49 This holds true for many other performances of polyphonic versions. Compare also the New London Consort’s and Ensemble Obsidienne’s version of CB 12. 47 Compare

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(CB 71) to secular dance song (CB 153). CB 90 and CB 185, which engage with the popular form of the pastourelle, offer ensembles a variety of options for performance. Given an increased awareness of the classical, literary, and biblical references in the poems, of their gender bias, and of their descriptions of rape and violence against women, ensembles have experimented with voice to strike a balance between a posited historicism and contemporary appeal. CB 90 (‘Exiit diluculo’), for instance, has been performed as a simple pastourelle, as an innocent invitation, as a surprising reversal of the pastourelle that showcases the maiden’s invitation, or as a parody of this well-known form: interpretations depend on who sings and how the final stanza is treated. The Studio’s musical treatment conjures up the Kuhreihen, a Swiss alpine herdsman’s song, with its flute and organetto in dialogue with the sung melodies. The light, airy timbres and use of boys’ voices suggest the innocence of a pastoral setting; the invitation ‘to play’ is also void of sexual connotation and sung a cappella.50 In the Clemencic Consort’s version, the melody is sung by a countertenor, while rebec, bells, and penny-whistle take on the countermelody and fill out the dialogue with the singer. This version highlights the final stanza, drawing out the differences in the melodic pattern and shifting the major third to a minor third, producing, for the modern ear, a shift from the peppy mixolydian to the dorian mode at the words ‘come play with me’. In so doing, the ensemble highlights the surprising role reversal of the shepherdess as the wooing subject and the scholar as the coveted object. On the other hand, Obsidienne treats the song like a parody, beginning with the telltale sound of a catcall, followed by a male voice describing the pastoral scene and action in French, before acting the two parts (scholar and shepherdess). After his impersonation of the girl, the final stanza is sung by women in Latin. Ensembles have come up with creative ways to address the deflowering of a young maiden described in CB 185 (‘Ich was ein chint so wolgetan’) by employing men, women, or both in alternation, to position the poem as either a lament, as a man’s boastful narration, or as a comment on gender relations.51 The Clemencic Consort’s version, accompanied by zither and small hand drums, suggests the narration of a male poet’s sexual conquest to a group of men who delight in the ‘linden trees that line the road’. The maiden’s experience, narrated in the Middle High German lines, is sung by a countertenor, suggesting a man playing the role of the woman. The poet’s boastful description of his encounter with the prized innocent woman also emerges in the baritone’s delivery of the Latin lines and the mockery inherent in the refrain of the male chorus. The New London

50 The Studio’s recording also gives the third stanza its own track, Conspexit in cespite. 51

For further discussion of CB 185, see the chapters by Godman, Classen, and Martin.

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Consort’s version suggests the deflowering as a matter of course, using a single female voice to deliver both the Latin and Middle High German lines followed by unison women singing the refrain. Its quick tempo, the accompaniment comprising melodic fragments, extensions on fiddle and recorders, the fast strumming on the gittern, and several sensual vocal inflections that guide the listener to hear the woman’s erotic pleasure convey sexual excitement. The Boston Camerata’s version interprets the song as a complaint, with a slower tempo of women’s voices and brittle string accompaniment. The solo soprano’s inflection in register, rhythm, and intensity convey the regret, sadness, anguish, and pain of the narrative. A chorus of women amplifies this grievance in the refrain, the final iteration of which is underscored with a strident rhythm, high volume, and precise vocal delivery that leave little question as to its negative judgement. Triphonia, on the other hand, have chosen to perform the piece as an outright lament, with the last note of each Middle High German syllable being held as a drone for the next singer’s enunciation of the Latin phrase, a fitting interpretation for an album devoted to Medieval Woman’s Songs of Love and Pain. The tragedy of the lament becomes amplified when the women extend the cry of ‘heu’ in harmony before moving into the refrain with percussion accompaniment. The song has also been treated as comedy: Modo Antiquo’s version uses a calland-response form in which the Middle High German lines are ‘mock’ sung and spoken by a woman, with some of the Latin lines taken by a man, and male and female voices. The free declamation, the use of a variety of folksy timbres, buzzing instruments, and the carefully placed comical interpretations and responses to the Latin words suggest an exaggerated performance of the clichéd pastourelle rather than personal narrative.

Popular Renditions of Songs from the Codex Buranus Songs from the codex have also been reimagined by those in the medieval folk, medieval metal, and gothic subgenres of rock music. The band Ougenweide appears to have been singularly responsible for developing the German medieval ‘folk rock’ genre in West Germany in the 1970s, through the use of archaic instruments such as the recorder, mandolin, lute, and harmonium, and through a revivalist interest in long-forgotten medieval texts.52 In 1976, Ougenweide were the first to record and present a cover of Binkley’s performance of CB 179

52

‘Ougenweide’ is Middle High German for ‘Feast for the Eyes’, referring to a song by Neidhart von Reuental.

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(‘Tempus est iocundum’), which they renamed Totus Floreo after the poem’s Latin refrain.53 This cover occupies the number-one spot for most performed song from the Codex Buranus in the medieval folk and medieval folk rock genres.54 In the GDR, medieval music was performed as an act of defiance against the state-controlled youth Singebewegung which was intended to shape ‘uniform’ and ‘useful’ citizens. Choosing archaic or discarded repertoire, and singing lyrics that were incomprehensible to most, came to be viewed as acts of resistance.55 Since the early 1990s, members of the band Corvus Corax have adopted the personae of medieval minstrels (Spielleute), asserting that their multilingual texts, unfamiliar instruments, and colourful performance practices speak to an inclusive, diverse, and cosmopolitan community.56 Band member Castus asks rhetorically whether ‘medieval folklore in Europe is a type of pop music that reaches beyond regional borders’.57 Such concepts pick up on ideas laid out in the Studio’s recordings Carmina Burana (1964, 1967, 1968), Musik der Spielleute (1966), and Pop Ago (1973), though they also resonate with Walter Salmen’s musicological scholarship on the minstrel.58 Corvus Corax position the medieval minstrel as a marginalised outcast, and assert that partying, dancing, This appeared on the album Ougenweide, Eulenspiegel (Polydor, 2371 714; 1976). For a discussion of the medieval scene in Germany, see Iwen Schmees, Musik in der Mittelalter-Szene: Stilrichtungen, Repertoire und Interpretation (Hamburg: Diplomica, 2008); and Katharina Zeppezauer-Wachauer, Kurzwîl als Entertainment: das Mittelalterfest als populärkulturelle Mittelalterrezeption: historisch-ethnografische Betrachtungen zum Event als Spiel (Marburg: Tectum, 2012). For the use of Middle High German by medieval rock bands, and the blurring boundaries between historically informed ensembles and ‘rock’, see Konstantin Voigt, ‘Gothic und HIP: Sinn und Präsenz in populären und historisch informierten Realisierungen des “Palästinalieds”’, Basler Jahrbuch für Historische Musikpraxis, 32 (2008), 221–34. Recent bands to perform/record ‘Totus floreo’ include: In Extremo; J.A.R; Myst Terra; Finisterra; Saltatio Mortis; Stary Olsa; Vermaledeyt; Vandevalk; Tanzwut; and Corvus Corax. Those in the ‘medieval folk’ genre (Euphorica; Othalan; Arcus; Bohemian Bards; etc) are too numerous to list comprehensively. 55 Norri Drescher, Interview in Gothic Beauty, 20 (2006), 21 and 37. See also Ralf Gehler, Wolfgang Leyn, and Reinhard Ständer, Volkes Lied und Vater Staat: die DDR-Folkszene 1976–1990 (Berlin: Links, 2016). 56 Kirsten Yri, ‘Corvus Corax: Medieval Rock, the Minstrel, and Cosmopolitanism as Anti-Nationalism’, Popular Music, 38 (2019), 361–78. 57 Maurice Summer, ‘Corvus Corax über Mittelaltermusik, Instrumentenbau und heidnische Orgien: Deutschland, deine Dudelsäcke’, Berliner Zeitung, 26 August 2009 (198), 23. 58 See Walter Salmen, Der fahrende Musiker im europäischen Mittelalter (Kassel: Hinnenthal, 1960). 53

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and occupying the streets defies normative and productive models of German bourgeois society. These descriptions mirror Clemencic’s view of the wandering goliards as ‘on the loose – unstable, they lived close to the edge of life: drinking, gaming, lazing, indulging in orgies and prostitution’.59 A rejection of normative behaviour and a characterisation of ‘the order of vagrants’ in CB 219 (‘Cum “in orbem uniuersum”’) provides ample support for this image. The message here is comparable to that suggested by the Various Voices 2018 tagline: those marginalised by heteronormativity can unite around medieval texts thought to deal ‘openly with sex and [which criticised] an inhibited and hypocritical society’.60 Corvus Corax choose texts that offer a lifestyle of free love and drinking – seemingly innocuous and youth-driven pursuits – but which nonetheless remain true to the ensemble’s rejection of the GDR’s social ideology of utility, work, and purpose. Advocating this lifestyle and setting texts that warn of corruption and greed are modes of protest which are able to work just as pointedly in the Federal Republic of Germany as they did in the GDR. These topics can even be traced to Wilhelmine Germany as well as the 1930s, which constituted the cultural backdrop of Orff ’s work, and they provide simple dichotomies that each subsequent generation finds attractive to express. Corvus Corax had already performed a few songs from the codex – CB 191 (‘Estuans interius’), CB 196 (‘In taberna’), CB 116 (‘Sic mea fata’), CB 85 (‘Veris dulcis’), and CB 153a (‘Vrouwe ih pin dir undertan’)61 – but in 2005, in Berlin, they premiered their opera Cantus Buranus, a selection of eleven songs from the codex staged with dancers, for which the band joined forces with the ensemble Psalteria and the opera choir and orchestra of the Staatstheater Cottbus under Jörg Iwer (see Illustration 1.5).62 Similarities to Orff ’s Carmina Burana suggest that his work provided a context and model for the musicians and audience.63 After a brief introduction, the opera moves to Florent Omnes, the arrival of spring, and with it, the awakening of love. O Langueo describes how the protagonist’s 59

See fn. 45. See fn. 25. 61 Estuans Intrinsecus appeared on MM (2000) and Mille Anni Passi Sunt (2000); In taberna on Mille Anni Passi Sunt (2000); Sic mea fata on Tritonus (1995); Veris dulcis and Vrouwe ih pin dir undertan on Inter Deum et Diabolum Semper Musica Est (1993). 62 The live version is available on DVD as Corvus Corax, Cantus Buranus: Live in Berlin (Roadrunner, 0931–9; 2006). Album versions of the opera exist as Corvus Corax, Cantus Buranus and Corvus Corax, Cantus Buranus II, but the ordering of pieces is different. 63 Members of the band note that they were attracted to Orff ’s Carmina Burana and sought permission to use his version, but that the Orff heirs denied their request. 60

Illustration 1.5. Corvus Corax’s use of the Codex Buranus Texts from the Codex Buranus used in Corvus Corax’s opera, and on Cantus Buranus I and II. (NB, if the name of the Corvus Corax song does not refer to the incipit in the manuscript, I have provided the latter in the table.) Cantus Buranus I 1.

Fortuna

(CB 195, ‘Si quis Deciorum’, §6b, and excerpt §1c)

2.

Florent Omnes

(CB 141, §2, and ten §1)

3.

Dulcissima

(CB 70, ‘Estatis florigero’, §15; CB 77, ‘Si linguis angelicis’, §8)

4.

Lingua Mendax

(CB 117, §§1, 2, 3)

5.

Rustica Puella

(CB 90, ‘Exiit diluculo’)

6.

Nummus

(CB 11, ‘In terra nummus rex’, ll. 8ff. (free))

7.

Curritur

(CB 47a, excerpts §§1, 2)

8.

Sol Solo

no text

9.

Venus

(CB 162, ‘O consocii’, §3)

10. O Langueo

(CB 108, ‘Vacillantis trutine’, §1 and refrain)

11. Ergo Bibamus

(CB 201, ‘Tu das, Bacche’, §2)

Cantus Buranus II 1.

Veritas Simplex

(CB 189, ‘Aristippe, quamuis sero’, §§2a, 2b, 4 (ll. 1 & 2); and CB 55, ‘Amara tanta’, §1)

2.

Miser

(CB 39a, ‘In huius mundi domo’, §1, 2)

3.

Custodes Sunt Raptores

(CB 39, ‘In huius mundi patria’, §1)

4.

De Mundi Statu

(CB 226, §§1, 3, 5, 8)

5.

Ordu Languet

(CB 5, ‘Flete flenda’, §§14, 15, 2, 8 (free))

6.

Vitium In Opere

(CB 42, ‘Vtar contra uitia’, §§2, 3, 19)

7.

Quid Agam

(CB 16*, ll. 19, 20, 31, 32, 21, 22, 33, 34, 114–17, 101–02, 127–28, 103–04, 129–30)

8.

Causa Ludi

(CB 195, ‘Si quis Deciorum’, §§11a, 11b)

9.

Ingordin Et Ingordan

(CB 54, ‘Omne genus demoniorum’, §§1, 2 (freely ordered))

10. Magnum Detrimentum

(CB 9*, ‘Mundus finem properans’, §§1, 13)

11. In Orbem Universum

(CB 219, ‘Cum “in orbem uniuersum”’, §§2, 4)

12. O Varium Fortune

(CB 14, ‘O uarium Fortune’, §§1–2.2)

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heart ‘ebbs and flows in waves of anxiety’.64 This is followed by Venus, who spurns the gloomy and abstemious, and Rustica Puella, whose text includes the maiden’s erotic invitation to the scholar to ‘come play’. The next section turns to the theme of vice, with an exposé on the corrupting power of money: the song Nummus is a free reading of CB 11. Corvus Corax captures the false idolatry of the text, declaiming each pair of lines to the same parallel melody, flavoured with minor intervals.65 Then follow an exhortation to drink in Ergo bibamus, a bemoaning of immoral behaviour in Curritur, and a rumination on guilt in Lingua Mendax, themes that echo Orff ’s section (II) In Taberna. Dulcissima follows, with a nod to Orff ’s work in its collage of lines from the last two texts of the latter’s work. To this scenario, Corvus Corax add §§6 and 29 from CB 77, comparing the beauty of the loved one to a flower (§6), describing the lovers’ embrace and their thousands of kisses, and confirming that ‘this, this is definitely what I [the lover] have yearned for’ (§29). That this collage of texts occurs as the penultimate song before the opera’s finale, Fortuna, keeps intact Orff ’s erotic message of submission, praise, and Fortune’s looming threat.66 Musical similarities with the first five selections of Orff ’s work, and to portions of (14) In taberna quando sumus, can also be heard in Corvus Corax’s use of percussion, motoric driving rhythms, ostinatos, and repetition, alongside simple, circular melodies sung in unison. Besides relying on Orff ’s cantata, the opera takes up elements from epic film techniques in its orchestral treatment and frequent extensions of melodies that sustain tension through unresolved leading notes. A meeting of two worlds is suggested by the othering invoked by the use of vocal timbres associated with Eastern European folk music. For instance, Dulcissima opens with a melodic phrase of harmonised non-lexical sounds similar to the pharyngeal resonance and glottal stops made famous ‘O Langueo,’ ll. 3–5, Cantus Buranus. Compare this to the Clemencic Consort’s performance. Their call-and-response is accompanied by the snap of a whip and the sounds of money, shifting this text into the category of penitent song or litany. 66 In the DVD and live versions, the band draws on CB 195 §6b, which laments that Fortune has reversed her early ‘favour’ and now acts ‘like a stepmother toward me’. This text is followed by §1c.3–4 (‘for we know that he bears the shield of Fortune’), which is severed from its invocation of Decius as the god in which the poet should have faith. Cantus Buranus II ends with O Varium Fortune (CB 14). Like Orff, the band have extracted various phrases and interpolated them where they saw fit. Hence, the recognisable Dulcissima (compare CB 70 §15) as well as the line ‘Ave formosissima, gemma pretiosa’ (compare CB 77 §8.1) is treated like a refrain in a song devoted to CB 77 §§6 and 29. 64

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by the recordings of Bulgarian women’s choruses and adopted by Dead Can Dance member Lisa Gerrard.67 Before the women have finished their repetition of this phrase, however, the choir enters with a rising chant on the line ‘Ave formosissima, gemma pretiosa’, after which the music breaks into a rousing dance song closely modelled on the fourteenth-century saltarello also made famous in the rock world by Dead Can Dance (and loosely based on the Studio’s version). With circular melodic phrases played on unison bagpipes, strings, and drums, and sustained choral sounds of ‘ah’ punctuated by the rhythmic chant of the word ‘Dulcissima’, the worlds of symphonic metal, pagan folk, and medieval music are united. Corvus Corax’s treatment of Rustica Puella (based on CB 90), in contrast, contributes to the critique of gender roles that is ongoing in the medieval metal genre’s adoption of courtly love imagery.68 As discussed in relation to historically informed performances (above), musicians may interpret this song as a humorous inversion of the ‘rustica puella’, insofar as it is the girl who invites the amorous adventure. Corvus Corax’s version, however, does not conjure up comedy. The ponderous tempo and low-register horns that accompany the male chorus’s D-phrygian melody of the first stanza (‘Exiit diluculo, rustica puella, cum grege, cum baculo, cum lana nouella’) convey a dark, foreboding atmosphere that is cinematically punctuated by percussion and scalar passages.69 Subsequently, a high female voice enters, transposing the harmonic frame up to F-phrygian and cutting through the thick texture with the second stanza. This is followed by an alternation of high female chorus singing the first line of §3, interrupted by the lower tones of the male chorus (all transposed up to G-phrygian), ‘quid tu facis, domine? ueni mecum ludere’ (‘what are you doing, master? Come and play with me!’). The band’s version thus dramatises the song in a manner reminiscent of the ‘beauty and the beast aesthetic’ of Gothic and Gothic metal genres, which offer a critique of traditional gender roles by invoking two lead singing roles – beauty (an operatic soprano voice) above the beast (the low male chorus).70 The recording Le Mystère des voix Bulgares, incidentally, was first released in the UK on a label devoted to post-punk and gothic music (4AD), which featured the Gothicinspired world music sounds of Dead Can Dance. See also Lammers-Harlander’s proposition of possible connections between the medieval songs of the Codex Buranus and Romanian music. 68 See Ross Hagen, ‘A Gothic Romance: Neomedieval Echoes of Fin’amor in Gothic and Doom Metal’, in The Oxford Handbook on Music and Medievalism, ed. by Stephen C. Meyer and Kirsten Yri (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming). 69 ‘A country girl set out at dawn with her animals, her crook, and her newly shorn wool.’ 70 Hagen, ‘A Gothic Romance’.

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If Corvus Corax’s Rustica Puella is any indication, bands in the medieval metal or rock category (like the historically informed ensembles discussed above) have come up with creative ways to address the gender relations that are implied when male authors write about female experiences. The electromedieval band Helium Vola’s version of CB 185 (‘Ich was ein chint’) is a case in point.71 The song’s subject matter, the deflowering of a young maiden under the linden trees, has posed problems for performers, some of whom have shifted the subject and object positions with careful use of men’s or women’s voices (see above);72 indeed, as Jonathan Martin suggests elsewhere in this volume, the alternation of Middle High German and Latin text in CB 185 need not be seen as representative of the maiden’s and scholar’s voices respectively. Helium Vola’s rendition opens with electronic blips that recede against an image of men chanting in the foreground. Out of this texture emerges the female singer’s plaintive and highly ornamented interpretation of the melody, which establishes the woman as the narrator of her own deflowering. Moreover, Helium Vola’s version repeats the refrain only every four stanzas, thereby transforming the song into a rondeau, a form which was reserved for longer narrative structures and frequently devoted to emotional topics. The woeful melodic expression of the stanzas stands in stark contrast to the dehumanised and electronically manipulated treatment of the refrain (‘Hoy et oe! Maledicantur thylie iuxta uiam posite!’), whose melody is compressed into a single pitch with the rhythm of the text as its only expressive element.73 Helium Vola’s treatment thus insists that the poem be considered a woman’s lament, and sets up a dichotomy between the emotional, personal expression of the woman’s experience and the indifference of the unsung rapist, who is acknowledged only in the background whistling and electronic blips. Other groups attempt to reinterpret the challenging poems of the Codex Buranus by omitting the offending stanzas. Qntal’s version of CB 185 uses §§1, 2, 6, 7 and 10, thereby omitting the female subject’s weeping, the man dragging

Ich was ein chint was released on the album Liod (2004) along with Chume min (CB 174 §4), Veni, veni (CB 174), and Omnia sol temperat (CB 136). The band released an electronic version of Nummus and Ecce Gratum on their 2009 album Für Euch, die ihr liebt. 72 See Vollmann, 1208. 73 ‘Alas! Curses on the linden trees that line the road!’ §§5–9 are followed by a repeat of the refrain and complete the pattern, whereas §10 is accompanied with voices chanting the refrain before dropping out to allow the female lead’s final words ‘ludus compleatur’ to ring out over the electronically manipulated sounds. 71

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her away, and the imagery of the rape.74 The sexual encounter remains, but this abridged version is ambiguous about consent and shifts the focus to seduction and deception rather than violence. Interestingly, this version was used as the accompanying track for the advertising plug of the 2018 Wave Gotik Treffen (18–21 May).75

Conclusion That songs from the Codex Buranus could become so well known in the past fifty years is an indicator not only of the talent and musicianship of the ensembles dedicated to them, but also of the attraction to the themes that were born of its revival. To be sure, Orff ’s Carmina Burana continues to play a central role in the reception of the manuscript.76 His treatment of the goddess Fortuna portrayed in the codex has provided this figure with iconic status, used haphazardly as an emblem of the medieval in films, video games, and by numerous medieval folk and metal groups. Thematically, Carmina Burana was critical in positioning the codex as a collection that registered dissent over corruption, greed, and the shortcomings of the clergy and officials of the Church, all of which were easily mapped onto contemporary disillusionment with power and politics.77 The increased attention to songs from the codex through the late 1960s and 70s built on these themes: early music ensembles, even those who did not consider themselves part of the counterculture, found affinities between the polyvalent nature of the poetry they chose, contemporary resistance to political systems, and expectations regarding sexual behaviour. Orff ’s satirical treatment of courtly love and his use of different voices throughout his cycle likewise continue to influence multifaceted performances that support proto-feminist and nonheteronormative interpretations. Historically informed performance ensembles, 74

Qntal (Michael Popp and Ernst Horn (also of Helium Vola)) uses the rendition provided in Clemencic’s edition; see Qntal VIII: Nachtblume. On the same disc, Qntal has also recorded a new version of CB 17. 75 [accessed 16 February 2019]. 76 Orff ’s influence can be heard in performances by the Clemencic Consort. Compare, for instance, their version of CB 34 and Orff ’s (1) O Fortuna. Compare also the ensemble’s treatment of CB 215 with Orff ’s (13) Ego sum abbas and (12) Olim lacus colueram for its false starts, interruptions, and heckling. 77 The Boston Camerata’s album alludes to Orff ’s work in their use of seven of the same texts. Moreover, they single out CB 77 §8 (Ave formosissima) as a standalone piece, which they perform as an apotheosis with trumpets and ringing bells.

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as well as medieval rock bands, have explored the use of multiple voices and other creative means to highlight the complex gender relations inherent in the love songs of the codex. These ensembles have succeeded in communicating the richness of the poetic material and form against a framework that is responsible for coding these songs as less developed than other medieval repertoires. As we have seen in some of the performances of this monophonic repertoire, the continued prevalence of drums, straightforward metre, and modal or equalist rhythms masks the more learned nature of the poems. The problem here lies in the either/or dichotomy constructed in our appreciation of medieval forms: the notion that institutionalised culture is sacred and more learned, while secular culture is uncomplicated and transparent. The assumed international nature of the manuscript’s repertoire and its popular appeal has significantly grown since the Studio’s earliest recordings. Such cosmopolitanism is well placed to defy the new nationalisms arising on the stage of global politics. Moreover, the careful use of diverse, ‘world music’ instruments appears to confirm the widespread reach of the Codex Buranus on the musical scene. Constructing parallels between the present-day European Union, as it experiences unprecedented levels of migration, and itinerant musicians of the Middle Ages, countless bands perform songs from the Codex Buranus to appeal to people from all over Europe and to support the wandering lifestyle of the goliards.

Chapter 2

Parody in the Codex Buranus Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann In the High Middle Ages, students of Latin depended first and foremost on their reading of the auctores for learning vocabulary and syntactic structures, since grammatical treatises contained only a rudimentary approach to syntax and lexicographical works only rarely discussed idioms and constructions. John of Salisbury describes how Bernard of Chartres’ students learnt the expressions that they found in the auctores by heart and practised them in their exercises.1 Outside of the schoolroom, other situations precipitated the memorising of texts: liturgy was repeated on a daily, weekly, and yearly basis and hence liturgical texts were bound to be remembered; higher education, in turn, consisted mainly in reading, glossing, and commenting. Unsurprisingly, therefore, authorial allusion (intended or otherwise) is a universal phenomenon in medieval Latin literature. Various references to other texts, however, function on different levels (from the simple use of an apt expression to an essential constituent of meaning), and only the competence of an audience to identify the origin of such references makes of a textual reprise a true intertextual marker.2 These observations also apply to parody as a specific form of intertextuality. In parody, similarity and difference between a text and its model are equally relevant. On the one hand, the repetition of characteristic words, traits of style, or motifs generates resemblance; on the other, strategies like inversion, displacement (for instance a change of context or a shift of emphasis), or irony underline difference. This is a broadly conceived understanding of parody that recurs again and again in the history of Western literature. Critical works on postmodernism, particularly Linda Hutcheon’s theoretical discussion of parody, have also taken such a view.3 In John of Salisbury, Metalogicon 1. 24. For a fuller reflection on this issue, see the remarks by Franklinos in this volume. 3 Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1985). The scholarly discussion on parody reaches back to the Renaissance; the practice is of course much older. For the history of parody, see Margaret A. Rose, Parody: Ancient, Modern and Post-Modern (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993) and Daniel Sangsue, La relation parodique (Paris: Corti, 2007), 19–131. Probably the most influential recent work on 1 2

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the scholarship on medieval Latin literature, such a broad understanding of parody appears occasionally,4 but it is more usual to understand parody specifically as a mocking reference to an earlier text.5 The relationship between a parody and its model is, of course, more complex and varied than one of mere ridicule, as the biblical and liturgical parodies of the Carmina Burana discussed in the first section of this chapter show. These texts also encourage us to interrogate the attitudes which they seemingly display toward vice and its (un)acceptability in clerical milieux. In the second section of this chapter, a number of love poems are used to explore the difficulties surrounding the recognition of a given parodic model. In considering parody, the careful ordering of the poems of the Codex Buranus has a particular role to play. The juxtaposition of two or more poems by a compilator can result in what I have termed ‘parodic neighbourhood’; connections of this sort are explored in the final section of this chapter.

Biblical and Liturgical Parodies Among the satirical and moral songs in the first part of the Codex Buranus, a prosaic text (one of very few in the codex) is introduced by the heading Ewangelium (CB 44; see Illustration 8.1). The first line, with its paronomastic play on the name of the evangelist Mark, and the following words, a sentence employed in the liturgy to contextualise the pericope of the day, reveal that the text is a parody of the Gospel reading in the Mass; its subject-matter – the avarice of prelates – is also announced. The story is simple. A poor cleric arrives parody is Gérard Genette, Palimpsestes (Paris: Seuil, 1982), but his careful distinctions between subtypes of parody cannot easily be applied to medieval Latin literature. 4 Particularly by Fidel Rädle, ‘Zu den Bedingungen der Parodie in der lateinischen Literatur des hohen Mittelalters’, in Literaturparodie in Antike und Mittelalter, ed. by Wolfram Ax and Reinhold Glei (Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 1993), 171–85. M. E. J. Hughes, ‘Medieval Parody as Literary Benefactor: “Furor, Reddo”’, Medievalia et Humanistica, 23 (1996), 67–97 replaces ‘parody’ with ‘imitation’ to avoid the usual implication that parody mocks its model, a view she does not share (70–71). For a detailed discussion of theory on parody applied to medieval Latin parody and of the former scholarship, see Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, Parodie in den Carmina Burana, Mediävistische Perspektiven, 4 (Zurich: Chronos, 2014), 17–28. 5 This is the case in the two major monographs on medieval Latin parody which focus on the uncovering of, and editing of, parodic texts: Paul Lehmann, Die Parodie im Mittelalter, 2nd edn (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1963) and Martha Bayless, Parody in the Middle Ages: The Latin Tradition (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1996); despite its title, the latter is a discussion of liturgical and biblical parody.

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at the papal Curia seeking justice, but the gatekeepers demand a bribe to let him pass, thus forcing him to sell the last of his belongings. His money, however, is not sufficient, and he is sent away. In contrast, a rich cleric who has committed homicide successfully bribes servants and cardinals, and eventually sends gold and silver to the pope, who accepts the gift and asserts that his avarice should serve as a model of behaviour for his entourage. Ewangelium [liturgical heading] Initium sancti euangelii secundum marcas argenti [liturgical formula of introduction for Gospel readings] In illo tempore [formulaic contextualisation of pericope] dixit papa Romanis: ‘Cum uenerit filius hominis ad sedem maiestatis nostre [Matt. 25.31], primum dicite: “Amice, ad quid uenisti?” [Matt. 26.50]. At ille si perseuerauerit pulsans [Luke 11.8] nil dans uobis, eicite eum in tenebras exteriores.’ [Matt. 8.12, 22.13, and 25.30] Factum est autem [Luke 8.1 et pass.], ut quidam pauper clericus ueniret ad curiam domini pape, et exclamauit dicens [Matt. 15.22]: ‘Miseremini mei saltem uos, hostiarii pape, quia manus paupertatis tetigit me [ Job 19.21]. Ego uero egenus et pauper sum [Ps. 69.6]; ideo peto, ut subueniatis calamitati et miserie [Zeph. 1.15; Job 30.3; Is. 47.11] mee.’ Illi autem audientes indignati sunt [Matt. 20.24 et pass.] ualde et dixerunt: ‘Amice, paupertas tua tecum sit in perditione [Acts 8.20]. Vade retro, satanas, quia non sapis ea, que sapiunt nummi [Mark 8.33]. Amen, amen, dico tibi: non intrabis in gaudium domini tui, donec dederis nouissimum quadrantem’ [Matt. 5.26]. Pauper uero abiit et uendidit pallium et tunicam et uniuersa que habuit [Matt. 13.46 and 19.21] et dedit cardinalibus et hostiariis et camerariis. At illi dixerunt: ‘Et hoc quid est inter tantos?’ [ John 6.9] Et eiecerunt eum ante fores [ John 9.34]; et egressus foras fleuit amare [Matt. 26.75] et non habens consolationem [Lam. 1.9]. Postea uenit ad curiam quidam clericus diues, incrassatus, inpinguatus, dilatatus [Deut. 32.15], qui propter seditionem fecerat homicidium [Mark 15.7; Luke 23.19]. Hic primo dedit hostiario, secundo camerario, tertio cardinalibus. At illi arbitrati sunt inter eos, quod essent plus accepturi [Matt. 20.10]. Audiens autem [pass. in the Gospels] dominus papa cardinales et ministros plurima dona a clerico accepisse, infirmatus est usque ad mortem [Phil. 2.27]. Diues uero misit sibi electuarium aureum et argenteum, et statim sanatus est. Tunc dominus papa ad se uocauit [Matt. 20.25] cardinales et ministros et dixit eis: ‘Fratres, uidete [Heb. 3.12 et pass. in the Pauline epistles] ne aliquis uos seducat inanibus uerbis [Col 2.8]. Exemplum enim do uobis, ut, quemadmodum ego capio, ita et uos capiatis’ [ John 13.15].

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The Beginning of the Holy Gospel according to Marks of Silver. At that time the pope said to the Romans: ‘When the Son of Man comes to the seat of our majesty, first say to him: “Friend, why have you come?” If he persists in knocking at the gates without offering you anything, throw him out into the outer darkness.’ Now it came to pass that a certain poor cleric came to the Curia of the Lord Pope. He cried aloud, saying: ‘Take pity on me, you who are the pope’s gatekeepers, because the hand of poverty has touched me. I am poor and in need; for this reason, I ask you to come to my assistance in my calamity and misfortune.’ The gatekeepers, however, when they heard this, were very indignant and said: ‘Friend, to hell with you and your poverty. Get thee behind me, Satan, because you do not smell of the sort of thing that money smells like. Verily, verily I say unto you, you will not enter into the joy of your master until you have given your last penny.’ The poor man went away and sold his outer garment and his tunic and everything he had and gave the proceeds to the cardinals and the gatekeepers and the chamberlains. They said to him: ‘And what is this among so many?’ and they threw him out before the gates and he went away and wept bitterly and inconsolably. Later a rich cleric came to the Curia, all fattened up, stout, and puffed up. He had committed homicide over a quarrel. First of all, he gave something to the gatekeeper, then to the chamberlain, and then to the cardinals. They thought among themselves that they would get more. Now the Lord Pope, hearing that the cardinals and his servants had received a great number of gifts from the cleric, became sick to the point of death. So the rich man sent him a pill of gold and silver and at once he was cured. Then the Lord Pope called his cardinals and ministers to him and said to them: ‘My brothers, make sure that no one sways you with worthless words. I am setting this example for you, so that just as I receive, so shall you receive.’6 (CB 44)

The use of characteristic biblical language marks the text as imitative of scripture without necessarily conveying any particular meaning or pointing to 6

All texts are taken from Vollmann, who respects the textual form of the Codex Buranus; translations are adapted from Traill. The relevant biblical references in CB 44 have been identified in Hilka/Schumann and are added here in square brackets; some additions have been made by Rodney M. Thomson, ‘The Origins of Latin Satire in Twelfth-Century Europe’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 13 (1978), 73–83 (78–79), and Jill Mann, ‘Satiric Subject and Satiric Object in Goliardic Literature’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 15 (1980), 63–86 (75–76). The text is found in many manuscripts with variants; the version of the Buranus is one of the shorter ones, see Bayless, Parody in the Middle Ages, 321–31 (with editions of other versions).

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a specific context with parodic intent; examples include: ‘factum est autem’, ‘exclamauit dicens’, ‘calamitati et miserie’, ‘audientes indignati sunt’, ‘ad se uocauit’, and ‘fratres, uidete’. In other cases, the allusions to the Bible are more explicitly pointed, and the original context is called to mind. The last sentence, for example, is spoken by the pope and recalls John 13.15: ‘exemplum enim dedi uobis, ut quemadmodum ego feci uobis, ita et uos faciatis’ (‘for I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you’). The changes in wording are small but the context shows an inversion of the original meaning: whereas Jesus refers to washing the feet of his disciples as an example of humility, the pope, a model of avarice, perverts justice through his acceptance of bribes. The biblical text is inverted in a similar way in relation to the greedy papal entourage: in the words of the gatekeepers, the poverty of the cleric will lead to his perdition, but in Acts wealth is the cause of damnation. The gatekeepers dismiss the petitioner because he does not set his mind on money, reworking the original sentence in Mark, in which Satan is sent away for not setting his mind on the things of God. The implication is, of course, that the gatekeepers have made money their deity, thus falling into idolatry. In the opening lines, the pope is made to quote and invert Gospel texts that refer to the Last Judgement in the same way. He usurps the place of Christ as Judge of the world and reveals that he himself is blasphemous and proud. Biblical allusions also characterise the poor cleric: he speaks with the words of the psalmist and of Job, he sells his possessions like the true disciples of Christ, he is thrown out like the healed blind man who asserts his belief in Jesus, and outside he weeps like Peter after the latter has denied his acquaintance with Jesus. The reference to the petitioner as ‘Son of Man’ at the beginning of the text even identifies him with Jesus, who refers to himself using this periphrasis, and in the Sermon on the Mount blesses the poor and those who seek justice. In this piece, biblical texts are treated in two different ways: they conserve their original meaning when referring to the poor cleric7 and they are subverted when used by the pope and his Curia, whose mockery of the Bible reveals their depravity. The authority of the Bible is asserted and directed against the Curia in a violent invective. The target of satire is not the Bible and its teachings, but the corruption of the Curia, which mocks biblical teaching.8 In CB 44, parody serves a moralising end in an explicit way, but most biblical and liturgical parodies of the Codex Buranus are morally ambiguous. Instead of 7

The description of the murderous cleric, who is identified with Barnabas and with the Israelites who adore the golden calf, is a case similar to that of the poor cleric. 8 For a different interpretation, see Mann, ‘Satiric Subject’, 77, who notes that the parody may also be a critique of particularly challenging Gospel texts (notably those referring to the Last Judgement).

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condemning the depicted vices outright, the pleasure that results from pursuit of them is identified alongside their consequences. The narrative voice also moves between the embrace of vice and self-accusation. Correspondingly, the values of biblical or liturgical texts are not always subverted, but are often displaced and adapted. CB 215, the so-called Gamblers’ Mass, provides examples of both parodic strategies.9 The texts, which embrace parts of the Mass proper,10 vary in their parodical (and satirical) character. The introitus sets the tone: Decius, the supposed god of gamblers, is accused of encouraging nudity and conniving with Bacchus.11 The first reading recasts Acts 4.32–35. Multitudinis ludentium erat cor unum et tunica nulla, et hyemps erat, et iactabant uestimenta secus pedes accommodantis qui uocabatur Landrus. The multitude of gamers were of one mind but had no tunic and it was winter; they tossed their clothes at the feet of the moneylender, who was called Landrus. (CB 215.3) Multitudinis autem credentium erat cor unum, et anima una: nec quisquam eorum quae possidebat, aliquid suum esse dicebat, sed erant illis omnia communia. Now the full number of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one said that any of the things that belonged to him was his own, but they had everything in common. (Acts 4.32)

The gamblers are of one mind, ready to sell their possessions and share the money like the assembly of the first Christians, but they lose everything to a moneylender by the name of Landrus. The sequence, a parody of Victimae paschali laudes, follows; the chant’s similarity to its model relies on some shared

Similar to the Gamblers’ Mass are different versions of a Drinkers’ Mass (compare the editions of the texts in Lehmann, Die Parodie im Mittelalter, 233–41, and Bayless, Parody in the Middle Ages, 338–62). 10 John F. Romano, ‘Ite potus est: Liturgical Parody and Views of Late Medieval Worship’, Sacris Erudiri, 48 (2009), 275–309 lists medieval liturgical parodies and carefully discusses the models. 11 There are close allusions to the introitus of All Saints’; see Vollmann, 1241. 9

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words and, in all likelihood, on the melody too.12 The Gospel for the first Sunday after Easter, John 20.19–25, is the model for the Gospel pericope. Instead of Jesus, Decius appears among his disciples, promises them trickery and pain, and admonishes them to keep gambling: Cum sero esset una gens lusorum, uenit Decius in medio eorum et dixit: ‘Fraus uobis! Nolite cessare ludere! Pro dolore enim uestro missus sum ad uos.’ When a group of players had gathered one evening, Decius came among them and said: ‘Chicanery be with you! Don’t stop playing! I have been sent to you because of your pain.’ (CB 215.5) Cum ergo sero esset die illo, una sabbatorum, et fores essent clausae, ubi erant discipuli congregati propter metum Iudaeorum: uenit Iesus, et stetit in medio, et dixit eis: ‘Pax uobis.’ Et cum hoc dixisset, ostendit eis manus et latus. Gauisi sunt discipuli, uiso Domino. Dixit ergo eis iterum: ‘Pax uobis. Sicut misit me Pater, et ego mitto uos.’ On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’ When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I too am sending you.’ ( John 20.19–21)

The following prayer (‘oratio’) is an invective against greed and avarice which also draws upon Gospel texts: the story of Zacchaeus, the tax collector converted by Jesus (Luke 19.1–10), and the story of the rich man who denies help to the pauper Lazarus and is punished in the afterlife (Luke 16.22–31):

12

I have discussed the first reading and the sequence in some length in Cardelle de Hartmann, Parodie in den Carmina Burana, 46–52. The melody of the sequence has been discussed by Dirk van Betteray, ‘The Sequence Victime novali zynke ses: A Melodical Restitution in Accordance with the Neumes’, in Hortus troporum: Florilegium in honorem Gunillae Iversen, ed. by Alexander Andrée and Erika Kihlman (Stockholm: Stockholm Universitet, 2008), 12–20.

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Quod ille eis maledictionem prestare dignetur, qui Zacheo benedictionem tribuit et diuiti auaro guttam aque denegauit. May he who gave his blessing to Zacchaeus and refused a drop of water to the rich miser see fit to bestow this curse on them! (CB 215.7)

The parody has a satirical double edge. On the one hand, the moneylenders are attacked as exploiters; on the other, the gamblers are represented as adoring a false god and falling prey to wine. The prayer inverts the liturgical blessing, turning it into a damnation, but the Gospel texts to which it alludes do not change their meaning, so that the greedy are condemned with biblical authority. The case of the gamblers is different, as the biblical message is partly transferred to another situation and partly inverted. In the first reading, the gamblers have the same unity of purpose and community as the first Christians, and likewise intend to sell up and share the resulting money. In the second, they also appear as a united group – as in the Gospel – but the figure of Gambling inverts the model’s message, wishing that his addressees cheat and cause one another suffering. The strategy of displacement is common in the morally ambiguous songs. A good instance is CB 196 (In taberna quando sumus).13 The egalitarian community of drinkers recalls the community of Christians, as Paul describes it in Galatians 3.28: ‘non est Iudaeus, neque Graecus: non est seruus, neque liber: non est masculus neque femina. omnes uos unum estis in Christo Iesu’ (‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus’). In a similar way, the text in the Codex Buranus names groups of people with different statuses who are made equal by wine. This tavern community drinks to the health of other groups.14 13 Compare

Kurt Smolak, ‘Die Bacchusgemeinschaft (Drei mittellateinische Trinklieder)’, Wiener Studien, 99 (1986), 267–87 (280–87), for a discussion of biblical and liturgical allusions; he interprets this song differently, thinking it subversive and even blasphemous. His interpretation is discussed in Cardelle de Hartmann, Parodie in den Carmina Burana, 59–63. 14 These stanzas reflect a practice condemned by the Fourth Lateran Council: ‘Unde illum abusum decernimus penitus abolendum quo in quibusdam partibus ad potus aequales suo modo se obligant potatores et ille iudicio talium plus laudatur qui plures inebriat et calices foecundiores exhaurit’ (Conc. Lat. IV, 15; ‘Therefore, we decree that this shameful practice is to be abolished outright, namely the one in which, in some regions, those who drink oblige themselves to drink in equal measures, and whichever one of them gets the others drunk and himself drains more goblets, is to be praised above the rest.’) Since the Council determines that clerics engaged in this

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3. Primo pro nummata uini, ex hac bibunt libertini: semel bibunt pro captiuis, post hec bibunt ter pro uiuis, quater pro christianis cunctis, quinquies pro fidelibus defunctis, sexies pro sororibus uanis, septies pro militibus siluanis. 4. Octies pro fratribus peruersis, nouies pro monachis dispersis, decies pro nauigantibus, undecies pro discordantibus, duodecies pro penitentibus, tredecies pro iter agentibus. tam pro papa quam pro rege bibunt omnes sine lege. 3. First they drink for the one who is to pay the wine tab; after that they drink like freedmen. They drink once for those in prison and then drink three times for the living, four times for all Christians, five times for the faithful departed, six times for the foolish sisters, seven times for the bands of sylvan knights. 4. Eight times for perverted friars, nine times for wandering monks, ten times for those at sea, eleven times for the disaffected, twelve times for penitents, thirteen times for travellers. For both pope and king, they all drink without restraint. (CB 196 §§3–4)

practice should lose their prebend, it is clear that this sort of betting was also practised by ecclesiastics and not only by students.

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These verses allude to the orationes sollemnes, the general intercessions for Good Friday, prayers for the salvation of all, including sinners, heretics, and Jews. These groups are italicised in the passage above. The filling of the list with fanciful groups, some of which represent an inversion of the original meaning (‘octies pro fratribus peruersis | nouies pro monachis dispersis’ as opposed to ‘fratres conuersi’ and the monks who are bound to a place) shifts the emphasis to the sinners. A similar move affects the role of wine. The drinking of wine is a central part of the Eucharist and in the private commemoration of saints. In those cases, drinking wine is an outward sign at the heart of the celebration; it is the statement of community among the believers and between the believers and the saints. In CB 196, the emphasis lies on the drinking itself, making its symbolic meaning secondary. There are several other texts that share this sort of ambiguity. Usually, the centrality of community and the virtue of poverty are the Christian values to which the poetic voice and its peers adhere, while celebrating vice and considering its consequences. Given the importance of community, allusions to the monastic life are also common. In CB 203 §3, a drinker comes out of the tavern and sings the invitatory before Matins; his pale face is presented as a marker of the ascetic life, the monk’s regula.15 His tale of gambling and loss ends when he meets a Chaldaean, probably a moneylender; the following German stanza, taken from the Eckenlied, suggests a resulting fight. CB 199 presents an excess of vice in a celebratory tone: drinking leads to gambling, and this leads to the loss of the singer’s garments; the result, in the fourth stanza, is a vagrant, unsteady life that subverts – as the adjective ‘instabilis’ suggests (CB 199 §3.2) – the monastic stabilitas loci. This notion is reinforced in the last stanza of the poem, which refers to the ‘fratres’ as a community. They are visited by Simon, whose time amongst them is characterised by the verb ‘uisitare’, which carries with it a specific ecclesiastical sense pertaining to the inspection of a community. Symon in Aelsaciam uisitare patriam uenit ad confratres uisitare partes, ubi uinum 15

CB 205 also speaks of a (monastic) regula in the context of a tavern; compare Jens Haustein, ‘Dietrich, Ecke und der Würfelspieler: zu Carmina Burana Nr. 203 und 203a’, in Ja muz in sunder riuwe sin: Festschrift für Karl Stackmann zum 15. Februar 1990, ed. by Wolfgang Dinkelacker et al. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990), 97–106.

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et albinum et rufinum potant nostri fratres. Simon has come to Alsace to visit the country to meet up with fellow clerics and frequent those parts where our brothers drink wine both white and red. (CB 199 §4)

CB 221 is another drinking song that celebrates community, in which the speaker summons his friends to drink in honour of their host. The force of the first two lines relies on the audience’s recognition that they allude to the preface of the Disticha Catonis – a collection of verses giving ethical advice which were standard school texts – and to a biblical passage ( John 8.46). ‘Cum animaduerterem …’, dicit Cato, quis me redarguit de peccato? ‘As I used to observe …’, says Cato, who is going to convict me of sin? (CB 221 §1.1–2)

Cum animaduerterem, quam plurimos grauiter in uia morum errant. As I used to observe, as many as possible go badly astray in their behaviour. (Disticha Catonis, prol.) Quis ex uobis arguet me de peccato? Which one of you convicts me of sin? ( John 8.46)

The rest of the poem takes up the themes and structure of a sermon in honour of a saint, but celebrates the speaker’s host. Christian practices are thus partly inverted and partly displaced. In the confession at the beginning of Mass and of Compline, the participants acknowledge their sins and ask for the intercession of the saints in order to obtain pardon and the capacity to change their ways. In CB 221, the sinners confess their sins, but delight in their gluttony. The appeal to the saints is displaced by one to their host.

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Kurt Smolak has shown how the so-called Caritas songs, drinking songs in honour of a saint, sometimes show a shift of emphasis from the religious celebration to the drinking itself.16 Songs like CB 196 and CB 221 take this idea a step further, since they are drinking songs that only recall a religious feast through parody. Curiously, Thomas Aquinas employed the melody of CB 196 in his sequence Lauda, Sion, Saluatorem for the Eucharistic feast, Corpus Christi. Smolak reckons that Aquinas, in doing so, tried to correct a blasphemous song.17 If indeed this melody was adopted by Aquinas, it seems more plausible that it was used because the drinking song was considered irreverent, rather than irreligious. It is difficult to say to how great a degree these songs criticise drinking and gambling: the negative consequences of these habits are explored, and the allusions to the Bible and the liturgy portray the faithful protagonists as decadent Christians, but Christians nevertheless. Whilst avarice is never portrayed positively, drinkers and gamblers seem to maintain some virtue. Whether the morally ambiguous poems are believed to criticise or to glorify vice depends on the context in which they are performed, and on their audience’s understanding of them. The satirical attack against avarice and the more lenient treatment of drinking and gambling correspond to the different status of the depicted vices in the moral teaching of the Church.18 Avarice is considered alongside pride as the worst of sins, since it corrupts the soul and leads to other vices.19 Although drinking, as a manifestation of gluttony, may also be thought of as indicative of a deadly sin, it is of less concern, as it affects only the body and consists in the misuse of a natural necessity. Gambling is also the unruly use of a normal and accepted activity – playing games – which was even part of schooling and monastic life.20 CB 199 demonstrates this hierarchy of immorality, as the sin of drinking is shown to be at the root of the abuse of games. In some songs, however, the moral ambiguity turns into an open embrace of vice. In CB 222, the abbot of Cucania drinks, plays, and loses his money with no sign of repentance and not a single allusion 16

Smolak, ‘Die Bacchusgemeinschaft’. Smolak, ‘Die Bacchusgemeinschaft’, 285–87. 18 Compare Carla Casagrande and Silvana Vecchio, Histoire des péchés capitaux au Moyen Âge, trans. by Pierre-Emmanuel Dauzat (Paris: Flammarion, 2003), 276–80. 19 Such a view is grounded in two biblical passages: ‘radix enim omnium malorum est cupiditas’ (1 Timothy 6.10; ‘for love of money is the root of all evils’); ‘initium omnis peccati est superbia’ (Sirach 10.15; ‘pride is the origin of all sins’). 20 On games in education, see Sophie Caflisch, Spielend lernen: Spiel und Spielen in der mittelalterlichen Bildung (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2018); on games in monastic life, see Jörg Sonntag (ed.), Religiosus ludens: Das Spiel als kulturelles Phänomen in mittelalterlichen Klöstern und Orden (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013). 17

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to a Christian virtue, such as fraternal love or generosity to the poor. Fortuna is at the root of his problems, not his sins. Openly immoral songs have additions which can serve to correct their tone or make it ambiguous. In CB 211, for example, Epicurus is presented as a prophet calling men to a life of gluttony and sloth.21 The tone of the poem changes abruptly with the closing German stanza, taken from Walther von der Vogelweide’s Palästinalied, in which a narrator longs to see the Holy Land. Ulrich Müller sees in CB 211 a parody of Walther’s song, which he believes is sung by Epicurus.22 The change of tone is a marker of irony and can signal that the second part is ironic (as Müller thinks) or, on the contrary, it can serve to alter the meaning of the first part. It is also possible to read the German stanza as a counter to, and a corrective of, the first part of the poem.23 Whether the poem was understood one way or the other depends on its performance, which could involve a declamation of the German stanza in a mocking tone, as modern performers sometimes do.24 For individual readers, however, the corrective aspect is likely to have predominated. A similar case may be found in CB 200, a hymn to Bacchus. It follows a familiar structure for a church hymn, consisting of an invocation (§1), the enumeration of miracles or benefactions (§§5–10, erotic love; §11, merriness and eloquence), and concluding words of praise (§§12–13).25 §§2–4, as transmitted in the Codex 21

Generally, Epicurus was thought of as a hedonistic philosopher in the Middle Ages, though in the twelfth century some authors began to believe that his original teaching had been misinterpreted; compare Aurélien Robert, ‘Épicure et les épicuréens au Moyen Âge’, in The Medieval Legends of Philosophers and Scholars, ed. by Agostino Paravicini Bagliani (Florence: SISMEL Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2013), 3–45. On CB 211, see Kurt Smolak, ‘Epicurus propheta: eine Interpretation von Carmen Buranum 211’, Wiener Studien, 100 (1987), 247–56; Vollmann, 1217–39. 22 See Ulrich Müller, ‘Beobachtungen zu den Carmina Burana: 1. Eine Melodie zur Vaganten-Strophe; 2. Walthers “Palästina-Lied” in “versoffenem” Kontext: eine Parodie’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 15 (1980), 104–11. Vollmann, 1237–39 also sees in Walther’s stanza a moral corrective, which is announced by the reference to 1 Thessalonians 5.3 in §1.2. For a discussion of the different interpretations, compare Cardelle de Hartmann, Parodie in den Carmina Burana, 64–68. 23 This possibility is explored in Henry Hope, ‘Ein Kreuzlied? Walthers von der Vogelweide Palästinalied im Kontext der Überlieferung’, Musik in Bayern, 84 (2019), 9–31. 24 For a discussion of modern renditions of the Carmina Burana, see Yri’s chapter in this volume. 25 Vollmann, 1228 asserts that CB 200 is full of allusions to a sequence and a hymn dedicated to the Holy Spirit (Analecta Hymnica 54, 234–39 and Analecta Hymnica 50, 193–94); there are, however, only occasional coincidences of diction, which seem unlikely to be parodic allusions.

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Buranus, have rhythmical irregularities and betray differences in diction from the surrounding stanzas. In the light of these considerations, Bischoff relegated them to the critical apparatus as a later addition. 2. Iste cyphus concauus,  de bono mero profluus; siquis bibit sepius,  satur fit et ebrius. 3. Hec sunt uasa regia,  quibus spoliatur Ierusalem et regalis  Babilon ditatur. 4. Ex hoc cypho conscii  bibent sui domini, bibent sui socii  bibent et amici. 2. This concave goblet pours out good pure wine. If anyone drinks often, he will become sated and drunk. 3. These are the regal vessels of which Jerusalem was deprived and with which royal Babylon enriched itself. 4. Lords who are self-aware will drink from this goblet, their companions will drink, friends will drink, too.26 (CB 200 §§2–4)

All three stanzas are united by the mention of vessels; the second stanza celebrates the power of wine to inebriate, the fourth its ability to bring people together. Both correspond to Bacchus’s benefactions to mankind. The third stanza, on the contrary, does not fit into this scheme. Its two verses are taken from a religious play, the Ludus Danielis, written in Beauvais in the mid-twelfth century.27 This stanza might have been introduced because it was sung to the same melody, but its inclusion could also be explained by its content. Like Walther’s Palästinalied, these verses comment on the parodic hymn and recall that wine, which can be sacred and transformed into Christ’s blood, is taken here from the sacred space ( Jerusalem) and brought to a place of sin (Babylon). Moral concerns, too, seem to have played a role in the disposition of the texts. In order to clarify this point, a brief digression on the structure of the Codex Buranus is necessary. It seems evident that the collection was planned by one or

26

The translation is my own.

27 See Vollmann, 1228.

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more individuals with considerable care. It is difficult to find a term to describe them: in my German publications, I have used the term Redaktor to point to the fact that their work goes far beyond mere compilation. We might also refer to this individual (or group) as a compilator in the medieval sense of the word: an author who takes the opinions and expressions of others as a point of departure to generate their own meaning, changing their sources where necessary and completing them with their own text.28 In the same way, the collection of the Codex Buranus generates its own meaning that can modify the sense of each individual poem. In his description of the Codex Buranus, Otto Schumann defined four overarching groups of texts: the satirical songs (CB 1–CB 55), the love poems (CB 56–CB 186), the drinking and gambling songs (CB 187–CB 216), and the religious plays.29 This division has not been challenged, although the overall categorisation does not accurately characterise all of the texts in each group. This is particularly true of the third, in which we also find satirical poems about life at court (CB 187–CB 191), moral considerations about the proper use of food (CB 198), poems about chess (CB 209 and CB 210), a poem about the most profitable way for a student to spend his day (CB 214), poems about the unsteady life of wanderers (CB 219), begging songs (CB 224 and CB 225), and others about parsimonious or over-generous patrons (CB 221 and CB 226). Taking all this into account, it would be more appropriate to refer to the third group as ‘songs about scholars who are not ministers of the church’. All the people who appear in this part are Latinate (clerici, in the medieval sense of the word): some of them are students, some seem to be unemployed and needy, and some are at court. This definition explains why there are some thematic correspondences with poems in the first group, which discuss clerical life (CB 14–CB 40) – the clerics in these poems are scholars in the service of the Church.30 28

The possibility that the scribes or the collectors (who could in some instances be the same people) were also the authors of some texts has been unpersuasively discussed in Sayce, 39–117. For a more nuanced approach, see Godman, 250–59, who considers that the scribe h1 (whom he proposes to identify with Conrad, the scholasticus of Neustift) put the collection together and composed some poems. See also Hope’s contribution to the present volume. 29 Hilka/Schumann, ii.1, 31*–39*, 41*–54*. As one or more quires are missing from the beginning of the manuscript, the original collection may have started with a different group. 30 Burghart Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder: zu den deutschen Strophen der Carmina Burana’, in From Symbol to Mimesis: The Generation of Walther von der Vogelweide, ed. by Franz H. Bäuml, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 368 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1984), 1–34; repr. in Lieder und Liederbücher: Gesammelte

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Schumann also pointed to the existence of clusters of poems with a related subject and observed that metrical verses tend to close a cluster. Burghart Wachinger proposed that we structure all of the Carmina Burana in such clusters,31 and Benedikt Konrad Vollmann, adopting this view, made some alterations and further suggestions to Wachinger.32 Wachinger and Vollmann pointed to an alternation between moral and immoral poems.33 This seems to be particularly relevant in the third group (discussed above), in which Wachinger could not make out any thematically coherent sets of poems; Vollmann postulated very small clusters and left some texts unassigned. As it happens, we may discern three big clusters in this group: poems about life at court (CB 187–CB 191), poems about wine and games (CB 192–CB 215),34 and poems about poor scholars (CB 216–CB 226). These clusters appear to be interrupted by songs with a clear moral stance to avoid the cumulative effect of immoral texts.35 There is a similar occurrence in the group of love songs, in which songs about young love (CB 94, CB 96, and CB 99) interrupt a set of poems about deviant or illicit love (CB 91–CB 102). In spite of these efforts to contextualise or check the immorality of some songs, it is nevertheless striking that they should have been included in the collection in the first place. Some of them were later considered irreverent or even blasphemous. Mikhail Bakhtin saw in them the spirit of carnival at work: a breach of the social norms that is both socially sanctioned and has its own place in the life of the community. Bakhtin does not postulate that biblical and liturgical parodies were composed for carnivalesque festivities, only that they respond to the same need, namely to distance themselves from the norms without overthrowing them.36 In a recent study, Peter Godman has suggested that the

31 32 33 34 35 36

Aufsätze zur mittelhochdeutschen Lyrik, ed. by Burghart Wachinger (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 97–123, refers to this cluster as ‘Lehre für geistliche Fürsten’ (‘Lessons for rulers of the Church’), but this is not an accurate description, as some of the poems specifically name priests or have a more general character. CB 37 is an exception because it discusses monastic life. Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder’, 101–06. Vollmann, 906–09, where he also makes some corrections to, and nuances, Wachinger’s grouping. Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder’, 106–10; Vollmann, 910. ‘Games’ is more accurate than ‘gambling’, since this set of poems also includes texts about chess. I have discussed this point at some length in Cardelle de Hartmann, Parodie in den Carmina Burana, 52–60. Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World, trans. by Hélène Iswolsky (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1984), 83.

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presence of these songs in the Codex Buranus may respond to their actual use at the Feast of Fools at Neustift, where the codex was probably compiled.37 There are indications that some parodies were used to dissuade their audience from immoral behaviour in a manner not dissimilar to biblical narratives concerning depravity.38 Bernard of Siena (1380–1444), for example, describes a gamblers’ Mass in a sermon as an instance of the moral depravity and the perils of gambling.39 In a similar way, Gallus Kemli, a monk of St Gall (1417–80/81), included a gamblers’ Mass similar to CB 215 in his personal uademecum and wrote that the text had been used by a magister in Paris to dissuade his students from gambling.40 Of course, it is not possible to know whether this claim is true, but it must have had at least some credibility.41 Medieval audiences seem to have accepted these texts, which in many instances satirise social attitudes, couching their criticisms in biblical texts and thus reaffirming the authoritative position of scripture. The compilator of the Codex Buranus found morally ambivalent liturgical and biblical parodies acceptable, but seems to have been inclined to break up the larger cluster of such texts in the third part of the collection with songs of a more clear-cut moral stance.

Parodies of Love Songs In the case of biblical and liturgical parodies, we can be fairly sure that the audience would be able to identify the sources, but other texts pose more of 37

Godman, 249–50. Alastair J. Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship: Scholastic Attitudes in the Later Middle Ages, 2nd edn (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 103–05. 39 An edition of the text may be found in Francesco Novati, ‘La parodia sacra nelle letterature moderne’, in Studi critici e letterari, ed. by Francesco Novati (Turin: Loescher, 1889), 175–310 (300–02). Bernardino’s Mass has a narrative character and does not parody specific components as CB 215 does. Bernardino often criticises card games in his sermons, as they became increasingly common in his lifetime: see Thierry Depaulis, ‘Breviari del diavolo so’ le carte e naibi: How Bernadine of Siena and his Franciscan Followers Saw Playing Cards and Card Games’, in Religiosus ludens, ed. by Sonntag, 115–34. 40 An edition of this gamblers’ Mass may be found in Jakob Werner, Beiträge zur Kunde der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, 2nd edn (Aarau: Sauerländer, 1905), 152–83, with additions at 206–15; the introductory words by Gallus may be found at 211. 41 Compare the discussion of the Cena Cypriani by Lucie Doležalová, Reception and its Varieties: Reading, Re-writing, and Understanding Cena Cypriani in the Middle Ages (Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2007). 38

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a problem in considering the comprehensibility of the parody: was the model known to, or recognisable by, readers and listeners?42 The popularity of a given medieval song is difficult to assess. About half of the Carmina Burana are transmitted only in the Codex Buranus, but this lack of concordances does not necessarily mean that they were not widely known. For the greater part, songs were transmitted orally: they were heard, learnt by heart, and re-sung, without leaving written traces of this process. In all likelihood, there were small collections of texts in separate quires or even separate leaves, which could easily be lost or destroyed.43 Only songs that were written down in a larger anthology or in the margins or flyleaves of a manuscript have reached us. Another difficulty in approaching parody concerns the melody of a given song. Most rhythmical poems were sung, but the melody is not always preserved. In some cases, the repetition of a rhythmical structure may indicate that the melody was also the same, and rhythmical and musical correspondences may reinforce a slight textual resemblance, but the use of the same melody does not necessarily imply that the texts were considered similar. These problems will be illustrated with three pairs of poems – three parodies and their models – transmitted in the Codex Buranus. One of them is CB 197, a parody of CB 62, Dum Diane uitrea, one of the best-known poems of the Codex Buranus.44 Set at dusk, CB 62 moves from the suggestion of love-making to the solace that sleep may bring a troubled lover. Its parody repeats the poem’s rhythmical structure as well as some words and 42

See the opening remarks by Franklinos in his contribution to this volume. On the existence of these small anthologies, see below. 44 The poem has received considerable attention: Peter Dronke, Medieval Latin and the Rise of European Love Lyric, 2nd edn (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), 306–13; Winthrop Wetherbee, ‘The Theme of Imagination in Medieval Poetry and the Allegorical Figure of Genius’, Medievalia et Humanistica, 7 (1976), 45–64 (54–55); Durant W. Robertson, ‘Two Poems from the Carmina Burana’, in Essays in Medieval Culture, ed. by Durant W. Robertson (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980), 131–50 (131–38); William T. Jackson, ‘Interpretation of Carmina Burana 62 Dum Diane vitrea’, in The Interpretation of Medieval Lyric Poetry, ed. by William T. Jackson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980), 44–60; David A. Traill, ‘Notes on Dum Diane vitrea (CB 62) and A globo veteri (CB 67)’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 23 (1988), 143–51 (143–48); David A. Traill, ‘Parody and Original: The Implications of the Relationship between Dum domus lapidea and Dum Diane vitrea’, Medievalia et Humanistica, 20 (1993), 137–47; Hans-Jürgen Scheuer, ‘Die Wahrnehmung innerer Bilder im Carmen Buranum 62: Überlegungen zwischen mediävistischer Medientheorie und mittelalterlicher Poetik’, Das Mittelalter, 8 (2003), 121–36; Frank Bezner, ‘Theorie des Begehrens? Carmen Buranum 62, Constantinus Africanus und die Ästhetik der mittellateinischen Liebeslyrik’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 53 (2018), 369–98. 43

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phrases (see Illustration 2.1). There is an ongoing discussion about the text of Dum Diane uitrea, prompted in part by the parody.45 §5 of CB 62 (not quoted in Illustration 2.1) has no correspondence in CB 197. This has been considered an indication that §6 of CB 62 was originally the fifth stanza. §§7 and 8 of CB 62 (also not quoted) likewise have no correspondence in the parody. Since these stanzas seem to relate only loosely to the rest of the poem, they could be an addition, and CB 197 may refer to a different version of Dum Diane uitrea. That being said, the divergence between the model and the poem that (in part) reworks it could also be due to the dynamics of parody. CB 197 looks to its model closely in the first three stanzas with considerable lexical imitation, but §§4 and 5 are only loosely related to CB 62 §§4 and 6. This holds true even if there are references to motifs of the model: Venus and Bacchus take the place of Diana and Orpheus, and, as David A. Traill has noted, CB 197 §6, which seems quite unrelated to CB 62, could be a reference to CB 62 §6, as both mention the stomach as the locus of a desire, either for sex or for food.46 Once CB 62 was marked as the poem’s model in the first three stanzas, the parodist seems to have moved away from it and to have developed a complex parody which also refers to the Bible and liturgy.47 Pertinent are the references to Deuteronomy 32.15 (on the Israelites who lapse into idolatry) at §2.2–3, and to Matthew 19.28 at §4.5 (in the Gospel, ‘sedis maiestatis’ means the kingdom of Heaven; in CB 197, it refers to the tavern). The drinkers seem thus to have made wine their god, and the parodist offers no note of criticism. Further subversions reinforce the parody: §3.4 describes wine in the same words used at Proverbs 23.31 as a warning against drinking, and in the fifth stanza the drinkers are presented as penitents pardoned by Bacchus and disposed to succumb to the sin of gluttony again. A fitting conclusion to the song is provided by CB 197 §6, and it is quite possible that this was not because its model lacked the later stanzas

45

See the reassessment of the discussion in Bezner, ‘Theorie des Begehrens?’, 378–79. Accordingly, the text of CB 62 varies in the editions. Schumann edited only the first four stanzas and included the rest in the textual commentary (Hilka/Schumann); Vollmann presents the text as it is found in the Codex Buranus; Traill edits the six first stanzas, inverting numbers five and six; Bezner, ‘Theorie des Begehrens?’ includes an edition with all eight stanzas of the Codex Buranus, likewise changing the order of five and six. 46 This is, of course, a crude simplification of the medical theory referred to here (as is lucidly explained by Bezner, ‘Theorie des Begehrens?’), but a model may be crudely transformed for parodic ends. 47 Vollmann, 1224–26; Traill, ‘Parody and Original’, 139–41.

Illustration 2.1. CB 62 and CB 197 CB 62 1.Dum Diane uitrea sero lampas oritur, et a fratris rosea luce dum succenditur, dulcis aura zephiri spirans omnes etheri nubes tollit, sic emollit ui chordarum pectora et immutat cor, quod nutat, ad amoris pignora.

CB 1971 1. Dum domus lapidea foro sita cernitur, et a fratris rosea uisus dum allicitur ‘dulcis’ ferunt socii ‘locus hic est hospici! Bacchus tollat, Venus molliat ui bursarum pectora, et immutet et computet uestes in pignora!

When Diana’s crystal lamp rises in the evening and is suffused with her brother’s rosy light, Zephyr’s soft breeze breathes away all the clouds from the sky; just so does the power of the lyre relax the mind and turn the hesitant heart toward pledges of love. 2. Letum iubar Hesperi gratiorem dat humorem roris soporiferi mortalium generi.

When the stone house located in the forum comes into view and from his rosy-cheeked drinking partner his gaze is drawn, his companions say ‘This is a place of warm hospitality. Let Bacchus raise our spirits and Venus soften our hearts with the power of the purse and change our clothes and reckon even them as a pledge! 2. Molles cibos edere, inpinguari, dilatari studeamus ex adipe, alacriter bibere.’

The Evening Star’s joyful beam bestows the welcome moisture of a dew that wafts sleep to mortals. 3. O quam felix est antidotum soporis, quod curarum tempestates sedat et doloris! dum surrepit clausis oculorum poris, ipsum gaudio equiperat dulcedini amoris.

Let us strive to eat soft food and grow thick and stout from the fat and to drink with enthusiasm.’ 3. Hei, quam felix est iam uita potatoris, qui curarum tempestatem sedat et meroris dum flauescit uinum in uitro subrubei coloris.

Ah! How welcome is the antidote of sleep, which calms the storms of pain and passions! Once it has slipped past the closed portals of the eyes, it matches the sweetness of love in the joy it brings.

Ah! How happy now is the life of the tippler, who calms the storm of cares and sadness, when his wine gleams in a red glass.

4. Orpheus in mentem trahit impellentem uentum lenem segetes maturas, murmura riuorum per harenas puras, circulares ambitus molendinorum, qui furantur somno lumen oculorum.

4. Bibuli lagenam absorbent uino plenam, uinum mixtum mellifluo odore, claretum forte nectareo sapore. cyphos crebros repetunt in sede maiestatis, in qua iugum inops perdit sue paupertatis.

Orpheus draws into the mind a gentle wind, driving the ripened grain, the murmuring streams through untouched sands, the circular path of mill-wheels that steal the light from our eyes with sleep.

Drinkers gulp down a pitcher filled with wine, wine mingled with a honey-sweet fragrance, a strong claret that tastes like nectar. Goblet after goblet they quaff in the seat of glory, where the poor man loses the yoke of poverty. 5. Ex domo strepunt gressu inequali, nasturcio procunbunt plateali. fratres nudi carent penula, ad terram proni flectunt genua, in luto strati dicunt: ‘orate!’ per posteriora dorsi uox auditur: ‘leuate! exaudite iam uestre sunt orationes, quia respexit Bachus uestras conpunctiones.’

6. Ex aluo leta fumus euaporat, qui capitis tres cellulas irrorat. hic infumat oculos ad soporem pendulos, et palpebras sua fumositate replet, ne uisus exspacietur late. unde ligant oculos uirtutes animales, que sunt magis uise ministeriales. From the well-fed stomach a vapour arises, which bedews the three chambers of the brain. It clouds the eyes, drooping with sleep, and fills the eyelids with its mist so that vision does not roam abroad. Hence the eyes are closed by bodily forces which have rather been thought to be subordinate.

Noisily they stagger out of the house; and fall flat in the cress growing in the street. The brothers have no outer garments; they kneel on the ground. Stretched out in the mud they say ‘Pray!’ From their backsides a voice is heard: ‘Arise! Your prayers have been heard, because Bacchus has taken pity on your remorse.’ 6. Omnes dicunt: ‘surgite, eamus! uenter exposcit, ut paululum edamus. stomachus recusat potum diu carens cena, et simplex erit gaudium, si cutis non sit plena.’ Everybody says: ‘Get up! Let’s go! The belly requires that we eat a little. A stomach that is long without a meal refuses drink and joy will be only modest if the belly is not full.’

1

Traill’s translation has been slightly adapted.

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of CB 62, but because the author of CB 197 wished to parody only part of Dum Diane uitrea.48 CB 61 and CB 195 also have similar rhythmical structures to one another, an elaborate sequence form that consists of an introduction followed by a series of couplets. They do not, however, correspond exactly, which might be due to the loss and addition of stanzas. This variance in the text of songs is partly due to oral transmission, but also to a frequent reworking of texts which were evidently considered open to change. Even if we take this variance into account, there are practically no further similarities between both poems. As far as I can see, the only precise repetition is ‘ne miretur’ at CB 61 §4.1 and CB 195 §5.1. Whereas CB 61 is a love song written in a sophisticated style with mythological references and with motifs familiar from Provençal love lyric,49 CB 195 is a tavern song that depicts drinking and gambling, while making frequent references to Fortune’s play. Since both texts were probably sung to the same melody, the contrast between the idealising treatment of love in CB 61 and the depiction of the tavern life in CB 195 could have had an amusing effect. CB 79 and CB 178 have some similarities which were identified by Peter Dronke.50 Both poems have the same rhythmical structure and both are pastourelles, albeit with different developments of the basic plot: in CB 79, the girl refuses the man because she is afraid of her parents; in CB 178, she is raped and beseeches the man not to tell, again because she fears being punished by her parents. While there are evident similarities, the contrast is not marked enough to consider CB 178 a parody of CB 79.51 The three parodic poems can be read – or heard – without knowledge of their models. In each of them, what one might call the ‘fuzzy edge’ of parody can be discerned, the transition from a strong dependence on the model to an independent text that functions on its own. Indeed, there are parodies which have had a more lasting success than their models: the best-known example is probably Don Quixote.52

48 49 50

51 52

Bezner ‘Theorie des Begehrens?’, fn. 40, suggests that §§7 and 8 were not parodied because they make an ironic turn. Vollmann, 1010–13; for the motifs of the littérature courtoise, see Dronke, Medieval Latin, 304–06. Peter Dronke, ‘Poetic Meaning in the Carmina Burana’, in The Medieval Poet and His World, ed. by Peter Dronke (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1984), 249–80 [= Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 10 (1975), 116–37], 265. The similarities are so slight that they were apparently not noticed by Schumann. This is a contested point: see Sangsue, La relation parodique, 88–89 and 123–25.

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Parodic Neighbourhoods A further type of parodic intent in the Codex Buranus relates to the juxtaposition of poems. In order to explain it, it is necessary to revisit the ordering of the poems and to consider the manuscript’s sources. As mentioned above, Wachinger and Vollmann structure the larger groups in clusters of poems with similar subjects or forms. In many cases, Wachinger’s and Vollmann’s groupings are convincing, but a closer look reveals groupings that are not coherent and poems that do not fit in their appointed cluster. Dronke supposed that the compilator may have had some manuscripts at their disposal for a short time and had to copy the contents of the manuscripts without changing much.53 It is well known that many poems in the Codex Buranus are of French origin, while others have German stanzas, or are written in a combination of Latin and German. Wachinger observed that the songs with a German stanza interrupted a cluster of poems and supposed that they all came from the same source.54 The process of gathering seems, however, to have been considerably more complicated than the combination of two separate collections of different origin. Brixen and Neustift stood at a cultural crossroads, in contact with France and the Tyrol. The compilator of the Codex Buranus is likely to have encountered people from a range of backgrounds, and to have heard them perform diverse songs. Comparison of the Codex Buranus with other codices also allows us to suppose that its compilator had access to written sources.55 The Florentine Songbook (Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Plut. 29.1, second half of the thirteenth century) and the Bekynton Anthology (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Add. A. 44, c. 1200) transmit several poems which are also found in the Codex Buranus. These shared poems, however, never appear in quite the same order in the different songbooks, with the exception of a few pairings. The resultant collections may thus make the existence of small anthologies circulating in quires implausible, or they may point to the careful organisation of each of the songbooks

See Peter Dronke, ‘Le antologie liriche del Medioevo Latino’, in Forms and Imaginings: From Antiquity to the Fifteenth Century, ed. by Peter Dronke (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 2007), 129–43 (140). 54 Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder’, 105. 55 For a detailed discussion, see Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, ‘Parodie in der Sammlung: eine parodistische Nachbarschaft in den “Carmina Burana” (CB 89– CB 90)’, in Parodie und Verkehrung: Formen und Funktionen spielerischer Verfremdung und spöttischer Verzerrung in Texten des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Seraina Plotke and Stefan Seeber, Encomia Deutsch, 3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 45–71 (47–53). 53

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by its respective compilator(s). Further correspondences between the Buranus and other codices always relate to pairs of songs, which may be an indication of another type of transmission: the circulation of separate leaves, on which only two songs were written. In such cases, the pairings appear in different orders in the Codex Buranus and the other manuscripts. Taking all this into account, it seems most likely that the compilator of the Codex Buranus rearranged their materials for the most part. The placement of thematically unique poems seems to have caused the compilator some difficulty. In some instances, we find such poems closing a cluster, as if as many texts as possible had been ordered and the remainder placed at the end. This is the case with the final texts of the first group (CB 53– CB 55), and of those that include a German stanza (CB 179–CB 186). It also seems, however, that the clusters were not well defined because the compilator was primarily concerned with the smooth transition from one text to the next. Usually, a poem is related to the previous and to the following one through some similarity so that the change from one subject to another happens in a gradual way over several poems. The placement of a poem in the Codex Buranus is rarely the result of happenstance: each poem is closely related to the previous and the following one. In some cases, a poem influences the interpretation of the next, an occurrence which I refer to as ‘parodic neighbourhood’.56 For such parody to be discernible, the collection needs to be read in order. There are several indications that such a mode of reading was intended by the compilator: a poem is often introduced by a heading which states its subject, whilst the following poems are simply introduced by the word ‘item’; considerable attention is paid to the layout of the manuscript (for example, the use of different majuscules to distinguish a hierarchy of texts); and there are a number of illustrations which relate to poems next to which they stand.57 In some cases, the parodic effect is apparent only because the poems follow one another. A case in point is the pairing of CB 89 and CB 90. The former is difficult

56

I elaborate this in Cardelle de Hartmann, ‘Parodie in der Sammlung’. Drumbl, 340– 47, also reflects on the meaning of some sets of poems and a poetics of contrast which pairs divergent or even contradictory poems. 57 On the possible modes of reading the Codex Buranus, compare Cardelle de Hartmann, ‘Parodie in der Sammlung’, 54–56. In her contribution to this volume, Kirakosian explores the possibility of reading the manuscript in non-linear fashion. For a discussion of the illustrations in the manuscript, see Julia Walworth, ‘Earthly Delights: The Pictorial Images of the Carmina Burana Manuscript’, in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones (London: King’s College London, 2000), 71–82.

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because of textual corruption and problems of interpretation.58 In a bucolic setting, in the heat of the summer, two shepherds play and are interrupted by the sudden appearance of a shepherdess who chastises them for not taking proper care of their flock and for seeking profit. The shepherds reprimand her in a sharp tone and admonish her to do work fitting for a woman, since they are the shepherds of the royal flock, the only ones who may sing. The poem seems to be an early pastourelle with allegorical elements, the shepherdess representing the Church and the shepherds unsuitable prelates. The use of allegory is unusual for a pastourelle, but is well documented in a related genre, the eclogue.59 Although this interpretation seems the most plausible, it is not completely convincing, as it does not explain the final rebuke of the shepherdess. The problems of interpretation seem to have their origin in the fact that the poem mixes different elements and is not entirely consistent.60 One stanza of CB 89 seems to have been carefully distilled into the six verses of CB 90. Ducit puella gregem paruulum, et cum capella caprum uetulum, et cum asella ligat uitulum. The girl was in charge of a small flock,

58

There is no agreement on how far the textual corruption goes. Schumann made numerous corrections in Hilka/Schumann, which were taken even further by Susanne Daub, ‘Carmen Buranum 89’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 40 (2005), 383– 95, who in some instances rewrites the text. Hans Spanke, ‘Die älteste lateinische Pastourelle’, in Hans Spanke: Studien zur lateinischen und romanischen Lyrik des Mittelalters, ed. by Ulrich Mölk (Hildesheim: Olms, 1983), 190–98 [= Romanische Forschungen, 56 (1942), 257–65] observed that in many cases Schumann’s changes were not necessary and provided the first attempt at interpreting the poem in the form transmitted in the Codex Buranus; Vollmann followed this approach. The problems of interpretation and of textual criticism are discussed at length in Cardelle de Hartmann, ‘Parodie in der Sammlung’, 56–71. 59 See Paul Klopsch, ‘Mittellateinische Bukolik’, in Lectures médiévales de Virgile. Actes du colloque organisé par l’École Française de Rome (Rome, 25–28 octobre 1982) (Rome: École Française, 1985), 145–65. 60 For different interpretations of CB 89 and CB 90, and for a discussion of their pairing, compare Drumbl, 347, and Godman’s chapter in this volume.

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and with a nanny-goat was an old billy, and with a little she-ass she had tied a calf. (CB 89 §3a) 1. Exiit diluculo  rustica puella cum grege, cum baculo,  cum lana nouella. 2. Sunt in grege paruulo  ouis et asella, uitula cum uitulo,  caper et capella. 3. Conspexit in cespite  scolarem sedere: ‘quid tu facis, domine?  ueni mecum ludere!’ 1. A country girl set out at dawn with her flock, her crook, and her newly shorn wool. 2. In her small flock there were a sheep, a little she-ass, a heifer with a bullock, a billy-goat, and a nanny. 3. She caught sight of a student sitting on the grass. ‘What are you doing, sir? Come play with me.’ (CB 90)

CB 90 is a short pastourelle. The first stanza presents the shepherdess leaving home, the second describes her small flock; in the third, the girl meets a student and requests that he play with her. The pairing of male and female animals in the second stanza announces the meeting of the girl and the student, and identifies erotic love as the natural order of things. There is a final twist, as it is the girl – and not the man, as usual – who makes the first move. The third stanza has some rhythmic irregularities, which led Schumann to consider it an addition. Wolfram von den Steinen and Dronke contested this view and showed that the poem can, and indeed should, be read as the Codex Buranus transmits it, and that the third stanza makes perfect sense, even if it is a later addition.61

61

Wolfram von den Steinen, ‘Exiit diluculo: viele Worte zu wenigen Versen’, in Menschen im Mittelalter: Gesammelte Forschungen, Betrachtungen, Bilder, ed. by Peter von Moos (Bern: Francke, 1967), 246–48; Dronke, ‘Poetic Meaning’.

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It is not possible to say whether the poet of CB 90 intended an explicit, let alone parodic, reference to CB 89. The similarities are relatively slight and could have gone unnoticed if the two poems had not been placed next to one another. As it is, however, CB 90 seems to be a generic parody. Where CB 89 mixes elements of pastourelle and allegorical bucolic, not fitting straightforwardly into either genre, CB 90 apparently corrects it in the form of a pastourelle par excellence. We find a similar occurrence in the case of CB 77, a poem in which a lyric persona recounts how he has desired a particular girl for a long time. After the girl’s chaperone is struck by lightning, he addresses her at length using extensive allusion to Marian hymns and litanies. When he finishes, she simply asks him to take what he wants, and love is thus consummated. There has been considerable scholarly discussion about the interpretation of the poem: it has been read either as an exaltation of the lady,62 or as a mockery of such idealisation.63 In the first case, the allusions to Mary must be taken at face value; in the second, they would be parodic. Both interpretations are possible: the speech, taken alone, seems free of irony, but the narrative framing and the reaction of the girl are steeped in it.64 The second reading is reinforced by consideration of the previous poem in the collection, which has some similarities: a young man goes into a temple of love, falls prey to a goddess, and ultimately loses all his possessions.65 In both poems the story is told by the young man, and at the end of both he states that he has provided an example of a successful strategy in love. The two poems are written in goliardic stanzas, which are generally preferred in satirical contexts. P. G. Walsh has pointed out that CB 76 sets the tone for the reading of CB 77, encouraging us to read the latter as an ironic display of how religious idealisation clashes with the matter-of-factness of women.66

Medieval Latin, 318–31; Marie-Claire Gérard-Zai, ‘Le vocabulaire courtois dans les Carmina Burana’, in Courtly Literature: Culture and Context, ed. by Keith Busby and Erik Kooper (Amsterdam: Benjamins, 1990), 191–97 (194 and 196–97) observes elements of courtly love in CB 77. 63 Lehmann, Die Parodie im Mittelalter, 102–03; Robertson, ‘Two Poems’, 138–50. 64 See the detailed discussion in Cardelle de Hartmann, Parodie in den Carmina Burana, 28–40. 65 On CB 76, see Traill’s chapter in this volume. 66 P. G. Walsh, ‘Amor Clericalis’, in Author and Audience in Latin Literature, ed. by Tony Woodman and Jonathan Powell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 189–203 (201–03). 62 Dronke,

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Conclusion In considering some aspects of parody in the Codex Buranus, it has become clear that the authority of a model is often reinforced for the reader by its parodic treatment and that satirical attacks on vice often accompany biblical and liturgical parodies. The arrangement of poems in the Codex Buranus was carefully planned. The compilator seems to have tried to moderate the impact of runs of immoral songs by interrupting them with less troubling poems. Parodic neighbourhoods were created by the compilator through the juxtaposition of poems which explore similar themes or genres. Some parodic texts closely rework passages in detail, showing a strong reliance on their models, whilst others are less focussed on their treatment of their source-texts. Either way, the recognition of parodic moments is reliant on readers’ knowledge and familiarity with the scriptural, liturgical, and literary objects of the apparently intended parody, and it is in this respect that parody functions as a species of intertextuality.

Chapter 3

Satire in the Codex Buranus David A. Traill In Limbo, at the outer edge of Hell, Dante encounters the ancient poets Homer, Ovid, Horace, and Lucan, who were excluded from Paradise because they were not Christian. Modern readers of the Inferno are often surprised to see Horace referred to as ‘Orazio satiro’ (‘Horace the satirist’) because, since the Renaissance, Horace has been most admired for his Odes. In the Middle Ages, however, it was his Satires and Epistles (especially the first book) that were most widely read. The moral code advocated (explicitly or implicitly) in these works, in which the pagan gods seldom figured, seemed broadly compatible with Christianity, unlike Ovid’s Metamorphoses, long a guilty but irresistible pleasure, only partially legitimised by an ingenious system of allegorical interpretation. For similar reasons, the other two classical satirists, Persius and Juvenal, whose satires tend to be angrier and more biting than Horace’s, were also popular, though these two poets (especially Persius) are considered among the most challenging classical authors to read today. All the classical satirists wrote in continuous dactylic hexameters, though the language was more informal and the feel of the line more akin to conversation than the formal structure and tone of the hexameters used in epic; their targets were the foolish or inconsiderate ways of their contemporaries. Little in the way of satire survives from late antiquity or the Carolingian period but the genre was revived by Hugh Primas, who was active in Paris in the 1140s.1 We know little about his life but, to judge from his poems, he seems to have spent much of it wandering around France performing at various courts.2 His nickname, which acknowledges his primacy among contemporary poets, shows that he was much admired. He broke the rules in the forms he used, for besides 1

Text and translation of the Carmina Burana in this chapter are my own. Charles Witke, Latin Satire: The Structure of Persuasion (Leiden: Brill, 1970), 171–99 provides an interesting assessment of the Paraenesis ad Iudices by Theodulf of Orléans as satire. 2 On the life and work of Hugh Primas, see Christopher J. McDonough (ed.), The Arundel Lyrics; The Poems of Hugh Primas (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010), xvi–xxxvi. For a more detailed discussion of his poems, see Witke, Latin Satire, 200–32.

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the traditional continuous dactylic hexameters, he wrote satire not only in elegiac couplets (alternating hexameters and pentameters), but also in the accentually based rhyming verse that characterises much of the liveliest Latin poetry of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Unlike his classical predecessors, he tended to focus on his own weaknesses – his poverty, drinking, gambling, sexual appetite, and general foolishness – rather than those of society. It is, however, his satire on the practice of the comparatively wealthy, who repeatedly alter a garment to meet the needs of the season or their personal whims, on which I would like to focus. Its third stanza reads: Antiquata decollatur, decollata mantellatur; sic in modum Proteos transformantur uestimenta, nec recenter est inuenta lex metamorphoseos. When it is old, its head is lopped off and, decapitated, it is made into a coat; this is how, like Proteus, garments undergo transformations, nor is the law of metamorphosis a recent invention.3 (Hugh Primas, De uestium transformatione §3)

Primas managed to write thirty-nine amusing stanzas on this theme, concluding with the request that members of his audience (probably the cathedral chapter of Reims; compare CB 220 §14 below) should consider giving him their old coats rather than refashioning them. Hugh thereby turns the poem into the familiar topos of the impoverished poet asking for a warm coat.4 CB 220 3

The poem, though certainly by Primas, is not included in the editions of his poems by Wilhelm Meyer, Fleur Adcock, or Christopher McDonough, all of whom restricted themselves to the collection of his poetry in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Rawlinson G. 109. The complete Latin text is found in Aloys Bömer, ‘Eine Vagantenliedersammlung des 14. Jahrhunderts in der Schlossbibliothek zu Herdringen’, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 49 (1907), 161–238 (181–85) and in Carsten Wollin, ‘Mutabilität in der lateinischen Dichtung’, Sacris Erudiri, 40 (2001), 329–413 (358– 67). Hugh shows off his knowledge of Greek with the genitive endings in ‘Proteos’ and ‘metamorphoseos’. 4 For a survey of the topos, which goes back to Martial and earlier Greek sources, see Karl Polheim, ‘Der Mantel’, in Studien zur lateinischen Dichtung des Mittelalters: Ehrengabe für Karl Strecker, ed. by Walther Stach and Hans Walther (Dresden: von Baensch Stiftung), 41–64.

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(Sepe de miseria) is also on the topic of the many transformations of a cloak;5 the nod to Primas in §14 acknowledges its indebtedness to Hugh’s poem. It is written in four-line goliardic stanzas and has recently – and convincingly – been attributed to the Archpoet by Carsten Wollin.6 Its four concluding stanzas run as follows: 12. Sic in modum Gorgonis  formam transformauit, immo mirus artifex  hermaphroditauit, masculauit feminam,  marem feminauit, et uincens Tiresiam  sexum tertiauit. 13. Parum sibi fuerat  pallium cappare, e conuerso deinceps  cappam palliare, recappatum pallium  in iuppam mutare, si non tandem faceret  iuppam caligare. 14. Primas in Remensibus  iusserat decretis, ne mantellos ueteres  uos refarinetis, renouari prohibens  calce uel in cretis. quod decretum uiluit,  ut iam uos uidetis. 15. Nos quoque, secundum quid  eius successores excommunicamus hos  et recappatores et omnes huiusmodi  reciprocatores. omnes anathema sint,  donec mutent mores! 12. Thus, like a Gorgon, he changed its form, or rather, like a great artist, he made it hermaphroditical; he masculinised what was female, and feminised what was male and outdid Tiresias by creating a third sex.

5 In Hilka/Schumann, Bischoff numbered the first four stanzas 220 and the remaining 6

stanzas 220a. Wollin, ‘Mutabilität’, 372–413. CB 220 appears as a single poem in the Codex Buranus. Since, however, the first four stanzas occur together in another poem by the Archpoet, while the rest of the poem is so very unlike anything else known to have been written by him, it was long assumed that some other poet had ‘borrowed’ these four stanzas to introduce his own poem on the overcoat.

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13. It was not enough for him to turn his overcoat into a hooded cloak, and then turn it back again into an overcoat, and turn the remade hooded cloak into a jacket unless he could eventually turn the jacket into hose. 14. Primas ordered by his ‘Decrees of Reims’ that you should not whiten your old grey cloaks, forbidding their renovation with lime or chalk. This decree has come to be disregarded, as you see today. 15. I too, to some extent his successor, excommunicate them and the rehooders and all back-and-forthers of this kind. Let them all be cursed until they change their ways! (CB 220 §§12–15)

This is probably one of the Archpoet’s earliest satires and was perhaps written in response to a potential patron’s expressed admiration for Hugh’s poem. It is found in a mixed bag of poems that rounds off the ‘Tavern Life’ section of the Codex Buranus. Probably the most important development here is his choice of the goliardic stanza as its medium; its insistent, jaunty rhythm is uniquely suited to satire.7 We shall have cause to examine a more mature satire by the Archpoet later, but first let us turn to some of the satires in the moral-satirical section of the collection.

The Poet as Object and Subject of Satire: CB 8, CB 76, and CB 189 Most of those trained well enough to write poetry in Latin would have received part of their education in a monastery or a cathedral school; many of those thus trained were bound for careers in the Church. This meant that the majority of Latin poets of the Middle Ages were clerics. Not surprisingly, therefore, when they came to write satire, it was the world they knew best that they satirised. Among the most popular poems of Walter of Châtillon, another leading figure in medieval Latin satire, is CB 8, which is concerned with the corruption of the Church:

7

This appears to be an early use of the goliardic stanza for satire, perhaps in the mid1150s.

Satire in the Codex Buranus

1. Licet eger cum egrotis, et ignotus cum ignotis, fungar tamen uice cotis, ius usurpans sacerdotis. flete, Sion filie! presides ecclesie imitantur hodie Christum a remotis. 2. Si priuata degens uita uel sacerdos uel leuita sibi dari uult petita, hac incedit uia trita: preuia fit pactio Simonis officio, cui succedit datio, et sic fit Giezita. 3. Iacet ordo clericalis in respectu laicalis. sponsa Christi fit mercalis, generosa generalis. ueneunt altaria, uenit Eucharistia, cum sit nugatoria gratia uenalis. 4. Donum Dei non donatur, nisi gratis conferatur. quod qui uendit uel mercatur, lepra Syri uulneratur. quem sic ambit ambitus, idolorum seruitus, templo Sancti Spiritus non conpaginatur. 5. Si quis tenet hunc tenorem, frustra dicit se pastorem nec se regit ut rectorem renum mersus in ardorem.

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hec est enim alia sanguisuge filia, quam uenalis curia duxit in uxorem. 6. In diebus iuuentutis timent annum senectutis, ne fortuna destitutis desit eis splendor cutis, et dum querunt medium, uergunt in contrarium, fallit enim uitium specie uirtutis. 7. Vt iam loquar inamenum, sanctum chrisma datur uenum, iuuenantur corda senum nec refrenant motus renum. senes et decrepiti, quasi modo geniti, nectaris illiciti hauriunt uenenum. 8. Ergo nemo uiuit purus, castitatis perit murus, commendatur Epicurus, nec spectatur moriturus. grata sunt conuiuia; auro uel pecunia cuncta facit peruia pontifex futurus. 1. Though sick among the sick and a nobody among nobodies, I will nevertheless perform the role of whetstone, assuming the function of a priest. Weep, daughters of Zion. The leaders of the church follow Christ today from a long way off. 2. If a priest or deacon who lacks a benefice wants to get what he has asked for, this is the well-worn path he treads: first a deal is made under Simon’s auspices; then comes the payment, and that’s how a Gehazi is created.

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3. In the eyes of the laity the clergy lie prostrate. The bride of Christ is on the market – once noble, now notorious. For sale are altar fees, for sale the Eucharist, though grace that is for sale is worthless. 4. God’s gift is not bestowed unless it is given freely. Anyone who sells or trades it is afflicted by the Syrian’s leprosy. A man so hemmed in by greed and idol-worship is not built to be a temple of the Holy Spirit. 5. Anyone who sticks to this path claims in vain to be a pastor; nor does that man behave like a moral guide who is plunged in the hot throes of lust. This is the other daughter of the leech that the venal Curia has taken to wife. 6. In the days of their youth they fear the years of old age, anxious that fortune might abandon them and the sheen go off their skin. In seeking a middle course, they head for the opposite extreme, for vice sneaks in under the guise of virtue. 7. To tell you now an unpleasant truth, holy unction is up for sale. Old men’s hearts are becoming young again and putting no restraint on their lustful urges. Like newborn babes, the old and decrepit are gulping down the venom of forbidden nectar. 8. So no one is living a pure life. Gone is the wall of chastity. Today’s Epicurus wins praise and is not viewed as doomed to die.8 Banquets earn favour; with gold or cash the bishop-to-be makes everything possible. (CB 8)

Walter engages us immediately by admitting his own shortcomings and promptly demonstrates his classical credentials at §1.3, where his reference to Horace’s whetstone analogy signals his hope of encouraging others to acknowledge and perhaps reform the corruption in the Church.9 §§2–4 lament the prevalence of the sin of simony, named after Simon Magus (Acts 8.9–24; here at §2.6) and related practices, Gehazi being Elisha’s corrupt servant who

8

The term ‘die’ here means ‘fail to win eternal life in heaven’. Ars poetica, 304–05: ‘ergo fungar uice cotis, acutum | reddere quae ferrum ualet, exsors ipsa secandi’ (‘I shall play the part of a whetstone which is able to sharpen steel but cannot cut by itself ’).

9 Horace,

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accepted payment for a service his master provided free of charge.10 Drawing on the familiar concept of the Church as the bride of Christ (§3.3), Walter condemns the contemporary Church as a common prostitute. The effectiveness of the denunciation is enhanced by the juxtaposed ‘generosa’ and ‘generalis’ (§3.4), which, despite their shared linguistic root, are starkly contrasted in meaning, and by the fact that the two words constitute a single line.11 There is a similar (and more common) play with ‘gratia’ (§3.8, and implicit as ‘God’s gift’ in §4.1) and ‘gratis’ (§4.2). The fifth stanza is transitional; Walter turns away from the sin of avarice that lies behind simony to the more venial sin of lust, though here too the Church does not live up to the standards it imposes on others.12 He uses the allegorical interpretation of the leech’s two daughters (Proverbs 30.15), identified in the Glossa Ordinaria with avarice and lust, to effect the transition.13 From this point on, the poem develops in a lighter vein. Remarkably, the last two lines of §6 are the first five words – in the same order – of Juvenal’s hexameter 14.109.14 §7 is the hilarious climax of the poem. Old and decrepit men become rejuvenated ‘like newborn babes’ (compare 1 Peter 2.2).15 Rather than explicitly detailing their carnal exploits, however, Walter invites us to imagine them with the evocative phrase ‘the venom of illicit nectar’, which they eagerly gulp down. Significantly, the poet implies that this behaviour is linked to, and presumably enabled by, simony (§7.1–2). The poem concludes with a nod to the sin of gluttony by referring to the rich banquets offered by ambitious clerics seeking to win support for their appointment to a bishopric.

10

Elisha cured Naaman of leprosy and when he learned that his own servant, Gehazi, had accepted payment from Naaman, he cursed Gehazi with Naaman’s leprosy (2 Kings 5.20–27). 11 For the use of ‘generalis’ to denote a common prostitute, see DMLBS, ‘generalis’, 13 (where this quote is erroneously ascribed to Peter of Blois). 12 Walter’s Shorter Poems 21–23 tell of his affair with Niobe; in poem 20 he indicates that he has a daughter. On the prevalence of clerical concubinage in the late twelfth century despite disapproval by authorities, see David A. Traill (ed.), Walter of Châtillon: The Shorter Poems (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), lxii, and James A. Brundage, Law, Sex, and Christian Society in Medieval Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 314–16. 13 PL 113, 1113B. 14 This is remarkable in that, given their differing rules for scansion, classical hexameters do not usually fit into accentually based poems without modification. 15 At 1 Peter 2.2 the phrase is ‘sicut modo geniti’. The introit for the first Sunday after Easter, based on this scriptural phrase, opens with ‘Quasi modo geniti’; this appears to be the immediate source here.

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Philip the Chancellor was a prolific writer of lyrics, many of which are set to music in Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Plut. 29.1. Amongst these is CB 189,16 a poem loosely modelled on Horace, Epistles 1.17.17 1a ‘Aristippe, quamuis sero, tuo tamen tandem quero frui consilio. quid Rome faciam? mentiri nescio. potentum gratiam dat adulatio. si mordaci nitar uero, Verri numquam carus ero. meretur histrio uirtutis premium dum palpat uitium dulci mendacio.’ 1b ‘Diogenes, quid intendas? uis honores, uis prebendas?

For photographs of the relevant pages, see Luther Dittmer (ed.), Firenze, Biblioteca Mediceo-Laurenziana, Pluteo 29.1, 2 vols (Brooklyn, NY: Institute of Mediaeval Music, 1966–67), ii, 416–17. Gordon A. Anderson (ed.), Notre-Dame and Related Conductus, 10 vols (Henryville, PA: Institute of Mediaeval Music, 1971–88), vi (1981), 3–5 offers modern musical notation for CB 189; see also Michael Korth, René Clemencic, and Ulrich Müller (eds), Carmina Burana: Lateinisch-deutsch: Gesamtausgabe der mittelalterlichen Melodien mit den dazugehörigen Texten (Munich: Heimeran, 1979), 73–75. CB 187–CB 190 are all moral-satirical pieces, belonging neither with the preceding love poems, nor with the following tavern-life poems. Vollmann, 908, suggests that they (together with CB 191) constitute a small section on courtly life and a free spirit, but, perhaps more probably, CB 187 and CB 189 (both by Philip the Chancellor) became available to the compilers of the Codex Buranus only after the moral-satirical section had been completed and they decided to add them here, each with short metrical pieces (CB 188 and CB 190) added. 17 It is easy to become confused about who is speaking. Diogenes speaks in §§1a, 2a, 3a, and 4a, while Aristippus is the speaker in §§1b, 2b, 3b, and 4b. Philip does not reverse the roles of the speakers in Horace: Diogenes remains the idealist and Aristippus the realist. Rather, as Vollmann points out, it is the moral judgment that is reversed. Horace admires Aristippus, who gets along with the powerful to his own advantage, as does Horace himself, whereas Philip presents Diogenes as a principled young man and Aristippus as something of a careerist. 16

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id primum explices. presunt ecclesiis hi, quibus displices, nisi te uitiis illorum implices. gratus eris, si commendas in prelato uite mendas. culparum complices, ministros sceleris, amant pre ceteris sacri pontifices.’ 2a ‘Nec potentum didici uitiis applaudere, nec fauorem querere corde loquens duplici. ueritate simplici semper uti soleo. dari famam doleo cuiquam preter merita nec impinguo capita peccatoris oleo.’ 2b ‘Ergo procul exsules, si mentiri dubitas. simplex enim ueritas multos fecit exsules. cole nostros presules mollibus blanditiis nec insultans uitiis uerbis hos exasperes, horum si desideres frui beneficiis.’ 3a ‘Ergo, sicut consulis, expedit ut taceam, blandiensue placeam mollibus auriculis potentium,

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quibus me uis sic placere, adulari uel tacere – nihil ponis medium – sicque, quasi faueam, aliene subeam culpe participium.’ 3b ‘Culpe participio ne formides pollui. si potentum perfrui uis fauore, uitio participes. gaudent a conuictu pari suos sibi conformari Giezi participes, in promissis Protei, et sequaces Orphei, sacerdotum principes.’ 4a ‘Vade retro, Satana, tuas tolle fabulas! quicquid enim consulas, falsitatis organa, uoces adulantium, deuoueo nulliusque foueo blandiendo uitium, sed palponis nomen caui, cuius semper declinaui fraudis artificium.’ 4b ‘Ergo uiuas modicus et contentus modico; nil est opus Cynico. si uis esse Cynicus, dicas uale curiis et abeas et nec te sic habeas, ut applaudas uitiis.

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cum peruerso peruerteris, si potentum gratus quaeris esse contuberniis.’ 1a ‘Aristippus, although late in the day, I am nonetheless finally asking for the benefit of your advice. What am I to do in Rome? I don’t know how to lie. Flattery wins the gratitude of the powerful. If I rely on mordant truth, a Verres will never like me. An actor earns a reward for his tact when he glosses over vice with an agreeable lie.’ 1b ‘Diogenes, what is your goal? Do you want high office? Do you want benefices? You should set that out first. Those whom you would annoy, should you not involve yourself in their wrongdoing, are in charge of the Church. They will like you if you commend the flaws in a prelate’s life. The accomplices in their guilt and those who carry out their crimes are loved above all others by our holy bishops.’ 2a ‘I have not learned how to applaud the vices of the powerful nor how to curry favour by speaking duplicitously. I am in the habit of always speaking the unvarnished truth. I regret that anyone is accorded undeserved distinction nor do I anoint with oil the head of a sinner.’ 2b ‘Then off you go to far-off exile if you hesitate to lie! The unvarnished truth has made exiles of many. Cultivate our bishops with soothing flattery and don’t antagonise them by launching an attack on their vices if you want to enjoy the benefits they can bestow on you.’ 3a ‘Then, according to your advice, it behoves me to remain silent or to please with words of flattery the malleable ears of the powerful, whom you want me to please in this manner, by flattery or silence – you suggest no middle ground – and in this way, as an abettor, I would come to share in another man’s guilt.’ 3b ‘Don’t be afraid of being polluted by sharing in guilt. If you want to enjoy the favour of the powerful, you need to share in their wrongdoing. They are happy that their men are becoming like them from their association with

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them – these partners of Gehazi, these Protean types in their promises, these followers of Orpheus, these leaders of our priests.’18 4a ‘Get thee behind me, Satan! Away with your talk! All your counsel, the symphony of deceit, and the pronouncements of flatterers, I disavow, and I will foster nobody’s wrongdoing with flattering words. Rather, I have been careful to avoid being called a flatterer, from whose fraudulent artifice I have always shied away.’ 4b ‘Then live a life of modest means and be content with your modest means. A Cynic has no need of anything. If you want to be a Cynic, say goodbye to the courts and be off with you and don’t behave as if you applaud vice. You will be perverted along with a pervert if you seek to make yourself welcome in the company of the powerful.’ (CB 189)

In Philip’s poem, the two interlocutors, though apparently with different views of the world, seem to be close friends, unlike the corresponding figures in Horace – Aristippus, the founder of the Cyrenaic school of philosophy, and Diogenes the Cynic. There also appears, in CB 189, to be an age difference, with the younger Diogenes consulting his more experienced friend about the reservations he has concerning a position in Rome he has been offered. He is aware that flattery and turning a blind eye might perhaps be necessary but Aristippus informs him that if he wants to advance his career, he will have to become involved in the wrongdoing of his superiors. Aristippus is a complex character. At first, he seems to be telling Diogenes to grow up and accept the world as it is and not as he would wish it to be; on the other hand, in §3b.6–11 and §4b.9–11 his unfavourable characterisation of the powerful in Rome tends to align his views with those of Diogenes. CB 76 presents, in goliardic stanzas, an amusing development of Hugh Primas’s satires that focus on the behaviour of the poet himself or, in this case, more probably the persona that passes for him. The opening stanzas set the scene: 1. Dum caupona uerterem  uino debachatus, – secus templum Veneris  eram hospitatus – 18

On Gehazi, see fn. 10. Proteus was a sea-god who could change his bodily form at will. Ovid, Metamorphoses, 10. 83–85, attributes the introduction of homosexuality in Thrace to Orpheus after his second loss of Eurydice, and it is this aspect of Orpheus that Aristippus alludes to here.

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solus ibam prospere  uestibus ornatus, plenum ferens loculum  ad sinistrum latus. 2. Almi templi ianua  seruabatur plene, ingredi non poteram,  ut optaui bene. intus erat sonitus  dulcis cantilene, estimabam plurime,  quod essent Sirene. 3. Cum custode ianue  parum requieui; erat uirgo nobilis,  pulchra, statu breui. secum dans colloquia  in sermone leui, tandem desiderium  intrandi expleui. 1. As I turned away from the inn, after over-indulging in wine – I was lodged near a temple of Venus – I was making my way unaccompanied, expensively dressed and carrying a full purse on my left side. 2. The door of the blessed temple was well guarded; I was not able to go in, as I very much wanted to do. Inside there was the sound of sweet singing. I thought it was a crowd of Sirens. 3. I rested a little while with the doorkeeper; she was a remarkable young woman, beautiful and short of stature. After chatting with her in a bantering vein, I eventually achieved my goal of getting inside. (CB 76 §§1–3)

The poet then explains to the young woman his need to see Venus, and asks that she take his message to Venus, who subsequently welcomes him and offers to cure him if he pays for the ‘consilium salutis perfecte’ (‘counsel to perfect health’; §12.4). They briefly meet many ‘belle creature’ (‘beautiful creatures’; §14.2), whom Venus promptly dismisses. Then: 17. Exuit se uestibus  genitrix Amoris, carnes ut ostenderet  niuei decoris. sternens eam lectulo  fere decem horis mitigaui rabiem  febrici doloris. 18. Postmodum transiuimus  ire balneatum in hortanum balneum  Ioui consecratum.

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huius aqua balnei  me sensi purgatum omnibus languoribus  beneque piatum. 19. Vltra modum debilis  balneo afflictus, fame ualidissima  steteram astrictus. uersus contra Venerem,  quasi derelictus, dixi, ‘uellem edere,  si quis inest uictus.’ 17. Cupid’s mother took off her clothes to reveal flesh of snow-white beauty. Laying her down on the bed, I relieved the frenzy of my feverish pain for almost ten hours. 18. Afterwards we went over to bathe in the garden baths dedicated to Jupiter. I felt myself cleansed by the water of this bath and fully released from all my sickness. 19. Feeling unusually weak from the bath, I was smitten with enormous hunger. I turned to Venus and, like a homeless beggar, said, ‘I would like to eat, if there is any food.’ (CB 76 §§17–19)

Thereafter a lavish meal is prepared, comprising partridges, geese, cranes, chickens, and cakes, which our hero devours. Then the poem concludes: 21. Tribus, reor, mensibus  secum sum moratus. plenum ferens loculum,  iui uir ornatus, recedens a Venere  sum nunc alleuatus nummis atque uestibus  sic sum pauperatus. 22. Terreat uos, iuuenes,  istud quod auditis! dum sagittam Veneris  penes uos sentitis, mei este memores  quocumque uos itis, liberi poteritis  esse, si uelitis. 21. For three months, I think, I stayed there with her. It was with a full purse I went there, a rich man, but now, as I leave Venus, I have been relieved of my money and my clothes and so made a pauper.

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22. Young men, may what you have heard scare you! When you feel Venus’s arrow within you, remember me, wherever you go; you can be free should you so choose. (CB 76 §§21–22)

The poem is intended to amuse its readers and does so admirably. It is probably safe to say that by the mid-twelfth century there was no functioning temple of Venus anywhere in Europe, nor would anyone in their right mind have expected to find one.19 So how could our hero believe that he had met up with ‘holy Venus’, ‘the mother of Cupid’, who ‘knows the past and the future’?20 Questioning such details may seem pedantic but may help us better understand how a contemporary audience may have understood it. The answer seems to lie in §1.1, where ‘uino debachatus’ is an unusually strong expression, which could more accurately be translated by ‘crazed with wine’ or, more crudely, ‘drunk out of my skull’ than by the polite euphemism ‘after over-indulging in wine’. One can readily imagine that local jokers might call a nearby brothel a ‘temple of Venus’. The young man, perhaps a student, who is both the satiric subject and the satiric object of the poem, tells the doorkeeper he has had an arrow from Venus lodged in his heart from the time he was born (§6). We are probably justified in regarding him as one who is inexperienced in the ways of love, and who is eager to lose his virginity. Perhaps men in the inn had told the drunken young naïf that Venus in her nearby temple would look after him. Venus, more experienced and probably older than the youth – but still young and attractive – appears to be the madam of the brothel and a canny businesswoman.21

19

Vollmann, 1038, interprets ‘templum’ as ‘church’ and suggests that the young man has arrived at the church of a Venuskloster, presumably meaning a convent of nuns whose behaviour was similar to that of the canonesses of Remiremont in Lorraine, who gained a reputation for sexual impropriety, prompting a letter, dated 17 March 1150, from Pope Eugene III to the archbishops of Trier and Cologne; see Philipp Jaffé (ed.), Regesta Pontificum Romanorum, 2 vols, 2nd edn (Leipzig: Veit, 1885– 88), ii (1888), 66. This does not explain, however, why the young man thinks he is addressing Venus, the mother of Cupid (§17.1). 20 At §§9.1, 17.1, and 11.2 respectively. 21 The bath and meal available after sex indicate that the brothel caters to a well-heeled clientele.

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Anti-Clerical and Anti-Monastic Satires: CB 9*, CB 41, and CB 42 The upper echelons of the Church, especially the Curia in Rome and those guarding access to its members, were favourite targets of twelfth-century satire. It was much less common to include the pope among the targets. Walter of Châtillon, however, pointedly attacks Alexander III in CB 42 (Vtar contra uitia), one of his many anti-clerical satires in goliardic stanzas: 12. Cum ad papam ueneris,  habe pro constanti non est locus pauperi,  soli fauet danti uel si munus prestitum  non sit aliquanti, respondet: ‘hec tibia  non est mihi tanti.’ 13. Papa, si rem tangimus,  nomen habet a re, quicquid habent alii,  solus uult papare, uel si uerbum Gallicum  uis apocopare, ‘Paies! Paies!’ dist li mot  si uis impetrare. 12. When you come before the pope, bear this in mind: it is no place for a poor man; it is only a donor he favours, and if the gift presented to him is not of significant value, he replies: ‘I don’t think this flute is worth much.’ 13. To be frank, the pope takes his name from his role: whatever others have, he wants to eat all by himself, or, if you want to abbreviate the French word, ‘Pay! Pay!’ the word says, that you may win your plea. (CB 42 §§12–13)

The pope’s comment on the gift at §12.4 mischievously echoes a line that evokes one of the grimmest scenes in Ovid. At Metamorphoses 6.386 the dying Marsyas, who is being flayed alive for his hubris in challenging Apollo to a musical contest, calls out ‘a! non est […] tibia tanti’ (‘ah, the flute is not worth the cost!’). In §13, Walter disparages the pope by pointing out the similarities between the word ‘papa’ (‘pope’), the verb ‘papare’ (‘to eat’), and the repeated French word ‘paies’ (‘pay’).22 This surprisingly outspoken attack on Alexander III no doubt played 22

Though in modern French the ‘a’ in ‘payer’ sounds like the ‘a’ in the English word ‘pay’, it must originally have sounded like the ‘a’ in ‘pat’, as in the modern Italian ‘pagare’ (‘to pay’), since both words are derived from the Latin ‘pacare’, ‘to appease’. When abbreviated, therefore, ‘Paies! Paies!’ would have sounded like ‘papa’. CB 42 is found

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a considerable role in Karl Strecker’s reluctance to attribute CB 42 to Walter despite his conviction that it had indeed been written by him.23 Elsewhere, as, for instance, in his most famous poem on the theme of corruption in Rome, CB 41 (Propter Sion non tacebo), Walter tends to praise Alexander, as in §§28 and 29. Even here, however, there is a sting in the tail: 28. Est et ibi maior portus fetus ager, florens hortus, pietatis balsamum, Alexander ille meus, meus, inquam, cui det Deus paradisi thalamum. 29. Ille fouet litteratos; cunctos malis incuruatos, si posset, erigeret. uerus esset cultor Dei, nisi latus Elisei Giezi corrumperet. 28. There is another, still greater harbour there, a fertile field, a flowering garden, compassion’s balm, that is my own dear Alexander, I repeat, my own dear Alexander. May God grant my Alexander a room in paradise! 29. He cherishes men of letters; if he could, he would raise up all those crushed by misfortune. He would be a true worshipper of God if Gehazi were not corrupting Elisha’s side. (CB 41, §§28–29)

In calling the pope a harbour, Walter continues the sea imagery that pervades the poem. It is first used in §3, when he refers to Rome as ‘a gullet as voracious as the sea’. It is a sea infested with pirates (the cardinals) and afflicted by Scylla and Charybdis, by Syrtes and Sirens. The winds clash and cause ships to sink. To refer to Alexander as a harbour in this context is clearly flattering. Similarly, in several manuscripts, of which the Codex Buranus has by far the most eccentric text. Its reading here, ‘Paga! Paga!’, reflects the fact that it was written near the Italian border, probably in South Tyrol, which is now in Italy, but ‘paga’ is scarcely a ‘verbum Gallicum’. 23 On Strecker’s dilemma, see Walter, Shorter Poems, lxxxviii.

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his concern for writers and for those crushed by misfortune would appear to be characteristics of an admirable pope. To say of any pope, however, that he would be a true worshipper of God if only things were different, is damning. The identification with Elisha seems to be unflattering too.24 Walter’s hostility to Alexander dates, in all likelihood, from his failed attempt to win a benefice from the pope when he visited Rome in late December 1165 or 1166.25 As a performer, he could not afford to offend his audience; so he would certainly gauge which stanzas should be included and which omitted, or altered, depending on what he understood to be the prevailing attitude towards Alexander among his audience. Walter’s datable poems all fall within the period 1162–80 and for most of that time the emperor, Frederick Barbarossa, recognised a series of antipopes during the schism of 1159–77. Within the empire, disparaging comments about Alexander are likely to have been welcome. We know that Walter performed before the cathedral chapter of Trier and may well have performed at other venues in the empire.26 The proliferation of new orders of monks in the twelfth century gave rise to a series of satirical accounts of the Benedictines’ shortcomings, particularly from members of the burgeoning Cistercian order; there were also retorts from the Benedictines.27 New orders continued to be introduced in the thirteenth century, including the Franciscans (in 1209) and the Dominicans (in 1216). Among the poems added to the original collection of the Codex Buranus, CB 9* (Mundus finem properans), once again in goliardic stanzas, fits into this series and – since it attacks the Franciscans and does not mention the Dominicans – it can perhaps be dated a few years after 1209. After an opening in which he sees the present as a kind of apocalypse with the hand of the Antichrist already at work, the author, apparently a Benedictine, nostalgically recalls earlier times when the Benedictines, ‘now on a downhill path’ (§5.3), were the only order of monks in Europe, while referring, with an almost palpable smirk, to the hopes of the Cistercians (‘ordo Griseorum’) to ‘consort with the angels’ thanks to their zeal for manual labour (§6.1–4). The Augustinians and Norbertines (Premonstratensians) of §7, orders of canons regular, are not seen as a threat to the Benedictines and consequently are treated with respect. Then he moves on to the Franciscans: Compare Walter’s poem 44 (Cum declinent homines) §31 in his Shorter Poems, 128–29, where Elisha has Gehazi (his corrupt servant) by his side, ‘fatidicum credens fallere posse deum’ (‘believing that he, a prophet, can cheat God’). 25 Walter, Shorter Poems, lxxxvi. 26 Walter, Shorter Poems, xc–xci. 27 See A. Wilmart, ‘Une riposte de l’ancien monachisme au manifeste de Saint Bernard’, Revue bénédictine, 46 (1934), 296–305 for a list with brief summaries. For the discussion of another such song, see Kirakosian’s contribution in this volume. 24

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8. Heu, nostris temporibus  emersit dolosa nouitas; irrutilat  undique famosa. istam plebem sequitur  turba copiosa sperans indulgentia  frui spatiosa. 9. Hi, quos nouos nomino,  sunt fratres minores; sed maiores sitiunt  nummos et honores. Deus, qualis nouitas  et quales sunt mores! modo superueniunt  etiam sorores! 10. Sorores, sic credite,  sunt Magdalenite, et fratres ex opere  dicuntur Paulite, sed, opinor, uerius  sunt Ismahelite. botrus non colligitur  dulcis ab hac uite. 11. Erant a principio  quasi nil habentes. modo uiuunt omnia  tamquam possidentes. raro sunt in cellulis;  semper sunt currentes. quamuis multa habeant,  tamen sunt egentes. 12. Castra solent querere,  claustra deuitare. domos querunt diuitum,  sciunt bene quare: uesci uolunt pinguibus  et uinum potare, contemnunt cum monachis  holus manducare. 13. Audite, dilectissimi,  magnum detrimentum (arbitror a fratribus  nefas sit inuentum): indulgent pro prandio  dies bene centum, pro quibus ipsi colligunt  aurum et argentum. 14. Diuites recipiunt  in confessione, clericis preiudicant  sine ratione. fremunt et concutiunt  mira torsione. tua, dum uis, iudica,  Deus, ultione! 15. Propter laudes hominum  predicant in foro et cum sacerdotibus  raro sunt in choro quosque iunxit Dominus,  contradicunt thoro. confundantur citius!  illud supplex oro.

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8. Alas, in our day a wily, new-fangled order has emerged; with its russet glow it is everywhere notorious. This group has a vast number of followers hoping for a lengthy indulgence. 9. These newcomers, as I call them, are the Friars Minor; but they thirst after major wealth and positions. God, what new-fangled order is this and what morals! Now there are sisters coming too! 10. The sisters, believe me, are Magdalenites, and the brothers, in view of their work, are called Paulites, but are, in my opinion, more truly Ishmaelites. No sweet grapes are gathered from this vine. 11. In the beginning they were people who had more or less nothing. Now they live as if they own everything. Rarely in their cells, they are always running about. Though they have a great deal, they always need more. 12. They generally head for towns; monasteries they avoid. They make for the homes of the rich and know exactly why; they want to feast on rich food and drink wine, they have no time for eating greens with monks. 13. Beloved brethren, hear the great damage they do (I believe the outrage was invented by the friars): for a midday meal they give a good hundred days’ indulgence and in return they collect gold and silver! 14. They receive the confessions of the rich thereby infringing on the rights of the clergy unjustifiably. In the course of their ravings they harass them with stunning extortion. Pass vengeful judgement on them, God, at your will! 15. To win people’s praises, they preach at the market; they are seldom found with the priests in the choir, and they gainsay the marriage of those the Lord has joined together. Confound them right away! This I beg on bended knee. (CB 9* §§8–15)

With their russet-coloured habits (§8.2) the Franciscans were instantly recognisable. The indulgences they sold were understood to reduce the time sinners would have to spend in purgatory to atone for their sins before being admitted to heaven. In §§8 and 13, there seems to be a tacit recognition that the practice of selling them is inherently abusive – especially so, of course, when sold by Franciscans. The sisters mentioned in §§9 and 10 are the Poor Clares, the sister order of the Franciscans, which was founded in 1212. Mary Magdalene was often

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identified with the woman ‘of immoral life’, who kissed and anointed Christ’s feet at Luke 7.37–38. Accordingly, at §10.1, our poet identifies the Poor Clares with prostitutes. The Ishmaelites (§10.3) are Muslims, for Muhammad and several Arab tribes claimed descent from Ishmael, the son of Abraham and Hagar. One might naturally assume that the ‘Paulites’ (§10.2) would be followers of St Paul; however, we need a pejorative meaning. The juxtaposition with ‘ex opere’ suggests the word ‘paulum’, which means ‘a little’, and therefore the Paulites are ‘those who don’t do much work’. §10.4 echoes Luke 6.44. In §12, our poet accuses the Franciscans of being too fond of rich meals, a charge that is constantly bandied back and forth in the satirical exchanges between the Benedictines and their critics from the time of St Bernard of Clairvaux’s Apologia (1125–26) onwards. In §§14 and 15 our poet seems to be seeking the support of secular clergy for his views by pointing out ways in which the Franciscans are encroaching on their rights regarding preaching and marriage. At §15.3 there is a mischievous ambiguity with ‘thoro’, which can mean ‘marriage-bed’ or, by metonymy, ‘marriage’. Taken with ‘iunxit’ it means ‘joined in marriage’, but with ‘contradicunt’ it means ‘they gainsay in bed’; probably it would readily be understood with both.28

Satirising Confession: CB 191 If we discount the seemingly misplaced poems CB 187–CB 190, CB 191 provides an excellent opening to the section on tavern life.29 This tongue-incheek ‘confession’ is the Archpoet’s masterpiece. We know next to nothing about his life except that he belonged to the entourage of Rainald of Dassel, archbishop of Cologne and archchancellor of Italy, and probably served as his notary.30 Only eleven of his poems are known to have survived, and of those which can be dated all fall within the narrow range of 1162–64. If he was still in the service

28

The line is modelled on Matthew 19.6 (= Mark 10.9): ‘Quod ergo Deus coniunxit, homo non separet’ (‘what God has joined together, let no man separate’). 29 See fn. 16 regarding the misplacement of these poems; even if one accepts Vollmann’s view that CB 187–CB 190 constitute a mini-section on courtly life, CB 191 still opens the section on tavern life. 30 Rudolf Schieffer, ‘Bleibt der Archpoeta anonym?’, Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung, 98 (1990), 59–79, and Johannes Fried, ‘Der Archipoeta – ein Kölner Scholaster?’, in Ex ipsis rerum documentis: Beiträge zur Mediävistik für Harald Zimmermann, ed. by Klaus Herbers et al. (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1991), 85–90, suggest two different candidates from among Rainald’s notaries.

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of Rainald in 1167, it seems not unlikely that he died along with Rainald when disease, probably malaria, swept through the German army near Rome in August of that year. It is generally agreed that the poem was performed in Pavia before Rainald and his entourage, either in the spring of 1162 or November 1163, when we know that Rainald was there.31 1. Estuans interius  ira uehementi in amaritudine  loquar mee menti. factus de materia  leuis elementi folio sum similis,  de quo ludunt uenti. 2. Cum sit enim proprium  uiro sapienti, supra petram ponere  sedem fundamenti, stultus ego comparor  fluuio labenti, sub eodem aëre  numquam permanenti. 3. Feror ego ueluti  sine nauta nauis, ut per uias aëris  uaga fertur auis. non me tenent uincula,  non me tenet clauis; quero mei similes  et adiungor prauis. 1. Sweating inwardly and in great anger, I will speak bitterly to myself. Since the stuff I am made of is an unsubstantial element, I am like a leaf the winds play with. 2. Although it is fitting for a wise man to set his fundament on a rock, I foolishly act like a flowing river that never stays still beneath the same stretch of sky. 3. I am borne like a ship without a mariner, as a bird is borne, wandering along the paths of the sky. No bonds hold me, no key holds me. I look for people of my own kind and join up with the depraved. (CB 191 §§1–3)

In these opening stanzas filled with biblical allusions and self-mockery, the Archpoet sets the tone for the whole poem. §1.2 is closely modelled on Job 10.1:

31

Heinrich Watenphul and Heinrich Krefeld (eds), Die Gedichte des Archipoeta (Heidelberg: Winter, 1958), 140.

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‘loquar in amaritudine animae meae’ (‘I will speak out of the bitterness of my soul’).32 In §2, he parodies Luke 6.48, where the wise man who is building his house ‘posuit fundamenta supra petram’ (‘set his foundations on a rock’). With the seemingly innocuous change from ‘fundamenta’ to ‘sedem fundamenti’ he changes the picture completely, identifying himself with a fool, who seems to have misunderstood the biblical passage. Another verse from Job (14.2) is the model for §2.4: ‘et numquam in eodem statu permanet’ (‘and never stands still in one place’). In §3, he develops the theme of his rootlessness, admitting to being carried along by the current ‘like a ship without a mariner’. When he needs company, he seeks out people like himself, ‘the depraved’. He is so obviously intelligent and well-educated but at the same time so self-disparaging that few readers can resist his charm. 4. Mihi cordis grauitas  res uidetur grauis; iocus est amabilis  dulciorque fauis. quicquid Venus imperat,  labor est suauis, que numquam in cordibus  habitat ignauis. 5. Via lata gradior  inplicor me uitiis  uoluptatis auidus  mortuus in anima 

more iuuentutis, inmemor uirtutis. magis quam salutis, curam gero cutis.

6. Presul discretissime,  ueniam te precor. morte bona morior,  nece dulci necor. meum pectus sauciat  puellarum decor et quas tactu nequeo,  saltem corde mechor. 4. Being very serious seems to me a burdensome trait; fooling around is agreeable and sweeter than honey. Whatever Venus commands is a pleasant task; she never dwells in idle hearts. 5. I walk along a broad path, as young men do, and become involved in vice, unmindful of virtue. Eager for pleasure rather than salvation, dead in my soul, I look to the needs of the flesh.

32

‘animae meae’, most naturally understood as a genitive, ‘of my soul’, can also be understood as a dative, ‘to my soul’, as in ‘mee menti’.

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6. Distinguished archbishop, I implore your pardon. I am dying a good death; the death killing me is sweet. It is the beauty of girls that wounds my heart and with those I cannot do so by touch, I at least commit adultery in my heart. (CB 191 §§4–6)

The first major sin that the Archpoet deals with is lust. In §4, he casts young men preoccupied with love in a good light, for successfully managing love affairs is often hard work and can be very time-consuming; accordingly, Venus ‘never dwells in idle hearts’. In §5, however, he acknowledges the darker side of excessive preoccupation with sex and admits that the path he walks along is a broad one, not the narrow path that leads to heaven. Accordingly, in §6, he turns to his employer and confessor, Archbishop Rainald, and confesses that his love affairs are killing him but he is dying ‘a good death’. But, as usual, it is the fourth line that is the punchline, for here he reinterprets Matthew 5.28 (‘If a man looks at a woman with a lustful eye, he has already committed adultery with her in his heart’), as if this reference provided any kind of justification for his lascivious thoughts. In §§7 and 8, he observes that it is only natural for young men to be attracted to beautiful young women, pointing out that it is particularly hard to remain chaste in Pavia, where young women appear to be deliberately attracting the attention of young men: 9. Si ponas Hippolytum  hodie Papie, non erit Hippolytus  in sequenti die. Veneris ad thalamum  omnes currunt uie. non est in tot turribus  turris Alethie. 10. Secundo redarguor  etiam de ludo sed cum ludus corpore  me dimittat nudo, frigidus exterius  mentis estu sudo; tunc uersus et carmina  meliora cudo. 9. Were you to place Hippolytus in Pavia today, he would not be Hippolytus tomorrow.33 All roads quickly lead to the chamber of Venus. Among all these towers there is no tower of Alethia.

33

The story of Hippolytus – the chaste son of Theseus – who resists the advances of his stepmother, Phaedra, in Euripides’ play, Hippolytus, would be known to medieval readers through the version at Ovid, Metamorphoses, 15.490–546.

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10. As a second charge I am also accused of gaming but when the game sends me away naked, though cold on the outside I sweat from the heat of my brain. It is then that I hammer out my best verses and songs. (CB 191 §§9–10)

Successful medieval merchants in northern Italian cities often built towers to demonstrate their importance. Some of these towers can be seen today in San Gimignano. Alethia, the Latinised version of the Greek word for ‘truth’, was a character in the Eclogue of Theodulos, a very popular debate poem in the Middle Ages, in which Pseustis (‘Falsehood’) champions the figures of classical myth, while Alethia cites corresponding, but more edifying, biblical figures. Among the myths cited is that in which Jupiter, in the form of a shower of gold, penetrated the tower in which Danaë was kept, and had sex with her. The point of §9.4 seems to be that money will get a man into any of the towers of Pavia because the town has no woman to match the virtue of Alethia. The second sin the Archpoet is charged with is gambling, but he argues that losing his clothes sharpens his brain and helps him to write better poetry. Next, he addresses the sin of gluttony, which includes drinking, as well as eating, to excess. 11. Tertio capitulo  memoro tabernam. illam nullo tempore  spreui, neque spernam donec sanctos angelos  uenientes cernam cantantes pro mortuis  ‘Requiem aeternam’. 12. Meum est propositum  in taberna mori ut sint uina proxima  morientis ori. tunc cantabunt letius  angelorum chori: ‘Sit deus propitius  huic potatori.’ 13. Poculis accenditur  animi lucerna, cor imbutum nectare  uolat ad superna. mihi sapit dulcius  uinum de taberna, quam quod aqua miscuit  presulis pincerna. 11. Regarding the third count I will speak of the tavern; I have never spurned it, nor shall I ever do so until I see the holy angels coming, singing the Eternal Requiem for the dead.

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12. It is my resolve to die in a tavern so that there may be wine near my dying mouth. Then choirs of angels will joyfully sing: ‘May God be merciful to this tippler.’ 13. Cups of wine set the mind’s lamp alight. When my heart is imbued with its nectar, it soars up to heaven. The wine of the tavern tastes sweeter to me than the wine watered down by the archbishop’s butler. (CB 191 §§11–13)

§12 is perhaps the best-known stanza in medieval Latin. The punchline, sung by choirs of angels, is a playful adaptation of Luke 18.13: ‘Deus propitius esto mihi peccatori’ (‘God be merciful to me a sinner’). Once again, the Archpoet excuses his over-indulgence by arguing that it makes his brain work better so that he can better fulfil his duties. By attributing his love of the tavern partly to the archbishop’s watered-down wine (§13.3–4), he takes a dig at one of the members of Rainald’s household who, we learn in §20, have brought charges of improper behaviour against him. The Archpoet points out that he is different from other poets. Many poets avoid public places like the tavern. They prefer peace and quiet to get on with their work. They study night and day, fasting and abstaining from drinking and ‘in order to create a work that will not die, kill themselves with work and study’ (§15.3–4). The Archpoet cannot write when hungry or thirsty, and the quality of the verses he writes reflects the quality of wine he drinks. He adds: ‘I can’t do anything if I haven’t eaten; the lines I write when fasting are absolutely worthless, but after goblets of wine I surpass Ovid with my verse’ (§18), and explains in §19.3–4: ‘When Bacchus holds sway in the citadel of my brain, Apollo rushes into me and says wonderful things.’ 20. Ecce mee proditor  prauitatis fui, de qua me redarguunt  seruientes tui. sed eorum nullus est  accusator sui, quamuis uelint ludere  seculoque frui. 21. Iam nunc in presentia  presulis beati, secundum dominici  regulam mandati mittat in me lapidem  neque parcat uati, cuius non est animus  conscius peccati. 22. Sum locutus contra me  quicquid de me noui, et uirus euomui  quod tam diu foui.

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uita uetus displicet,  mores placent noui; homo uidet faciem,  sed cor patet Ioui. 20. There! I have set out before you the depravity of which your servants accuse me. But none of them accuses himself, though they all like to fool around and enjoy the world. 21. Now in the presence of our blessed archbishop, and in accordance with our Lord’s instructions, let the man whose mind is not conscious of any sin throw a stone at me and not spare the poet. 22. I have faulted myself for everything I know about myself and spewed out the poison I have fostered for so long. I dislike my old life; I want to change my ways. Man sees the face, the heart is open to Jove.34 (CB 191 §§20–22)

The biblical allusions at §§21.3–4 and 22.4 echo respectively John 8.7 (‘let him who is without sin cast the first stone’) and 1 Samuel 16.7 (‘mortals see only appearances but the Lord sees into the heart’). 23. Iam uirtutes diligo,  uitiis irascor; renouatus animo  spiritu renascor. quasi modo genitus  nouo lacte pascor, ne sit meum amplius  uanitatis uas cor. 24. Electe Colonie,  parce penitenti, fac misericordiam  ueniam petenti, et da penitentiam  culpam confitenti. feram, quicquid iusseris,  animo libenti. 23. Now I love virtue; vice makes me angry; with my renewed attitude I am reborn in spirit. Like a newborn babe, I feed on new milk to ensure that my heart will no longer be a vessel of vanities.

34

‘Iuppiter’, particularly in the oblique cases, is frequently substituted for ‘Deus’ in medieval poetry without any implication of pagan beliefs.

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24. Archbishop-elect of Cologne, spare your repentant servant, have pity on one who seeks your pardon and assign me a penance for I have confessed my guilt. I will gladly endure whatever you prescribe. (CB 191 §§23–24)

Despite the detailed admission of his sins, the Archpoet has given no credible indication that he intends to mend his ways. He defended himself against the charge of lust on the grounds that it was only natural in a young man and quite inescapable in Pavia. He vowed he would not change his ways regarding the tavern with its associated sins of self-indulgence in eating, drinking, and gambling. He clearly regards his words about hating his old life and wanting to change his ways (§22.3) as part of the formulaic language he has to use in order to be assigned a penance and granted absolution. In real life his relationship with Rainald was probably close and the confessions a matter of routine. Besides parodying his own confessions, the Archpoet can be seen to parody the attitudes of an ordinary man’s outlook on confession; but an ordinary man is likely to have kept to himself his reckoning that he would be returning to forbidden pleasures. In the Archpoet’s Confession, with its satire focussed on the writer himself – as in CB 220 on the transformations of an overcoat – the influence of Hugh Primas is obvious, though it is less marked in most of his other poems. Walter of Châtillon was a close contemporary of the Archpoet, perhaps five to ten years his junior, and his most worthy successor in the field of satire. His datable poems have a much wider range (1162–79). The two certain cases where we can spot borrowings from the Archpoet are found in Walter’s poem 53, the opening words of which (‘Meum est propositum’) echo the opening of §12 of the Confession. In his poem 54 (Si de fonte bibere), the closing line ‘ne totum des aliis, sed reserua uati!’ (‘Don’t give everything to others; save something for your bard!’) echoes the end of the penultimate stanza of the Archpoet’s poem six: ‘ne totum dones aliis, uero mihi serua!’ (‘don’t give everything to others; save something for me!’). Walter seems have written both poems during his stay in Bologna (1164–65/66), where he presumably had access to a copy of the Archpoet’s poems.35

35

See Carsten Wollin, ‘Das Festgedicht Si de fonte bibere für den Glossator Martinus Gosia und seinen Sohn Wilhelm: ein unbekanntes Frühwerk Walters von Châtillon’, Zeitschrift der Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, 119 (2002), 247–68 for the attribution of the poem to Walter, and 266 for the echo of Archpoet 6.38; see Walter of Châtillon, Shorter Poems, lxxxiii–lxxxvi for the dating of Walter’s poems.

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Conclusion Besides the lively attacks on the Church that we associate with Walter of Châtillon and the Feast of Fools, satire in the Codex Buranus assumes many forms. It is not infrequently combined with parody. Obvious examples are the Gospel According to the Marks of Silver (CB 44), The Gamblers’ Mass (CB 215) and Dum domus lapidea (CB 197), which closely imitates Dum Diane uitrea (CB 62) in language and rhythm.36 The influence of Horace’s milder form of satire, in which he tends to offer moral advice rather than ridicule individuals or groups, together with medieval Christianity’s emphasis on the seven deadly sins, gave rise to the creation of poems that were more moralising than satirical. Accordingly, satirical poems were grouped along with poems with a moralising bent in medieval anthologies; these groupings tend to be designated ‘moralsatirical’ by modern scholars. In CB 1–CB 4, for example, while the usual suspects, such as judges and the Church, do get singled out for criticism, the focus is on the sin of avarice that is ultimately to blame. CB 12 (Procurans odium), in which the poet congratulates himself for ‘gathering grapes from the thorns of his enemies’ (§2.6), is hardly satirical unless we are to view it as self-mocking, and this seems rather unlikely. CB 6 uses a medieval development of the classical theme of adynata (a list of impossible or unnatural things) to present a moralsatirical picture of a world upside down, with the young instructing the old, uneducated people participating in disputations, and the clergy airing their views on crops.37 CB 14–CB 17 are moralising in that they warn readers about the unpredictability of Fortuna’s interventions in their lives and the need for steadfastness to endure the ups and downs (CB 15). Even the crusader poems are moralising with their message that those who die on crusade go straight to heaven. Finally, in addition to traditional satire, parodical satire, and moralising satire, we see satirical characterisation in debate poems. For instance, in the debate between Wine and Water, CB 193 (Denudata ueritate), human behaviour toward both liquids is satirised, and in CB 92 (Anni parte florida) both Phyllis and Flora and, in particular, their lovers are presented with a distinctly satirical edge.38

36

For discussion of these and other examples, see the contribution by Cardelle de Hartmann elsewhere in this volume. 37 See Ernst Robert Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, trans. by Willard R. Trask (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990), 94–97 for discussion. 38 For a discussion of CB 92, see the contribution by Franklinos in this volume.

Chapter 4

‘Artes amatorie iam non instruuntur’: Learned and Erotic Discourse in the Carmina Burana1 Albrecht Classen One striking feature of the Codex Buranus is its considerable interest in erotic topics, which is not necessarily limited to concepts of courtly love or the education of young lovers; instead, we also observe a number of troublesome aspects that appear to undermine the ideals of courtly manners and entertainment as well as the values of clerical learning. Given their language (predominantly Latin), their melodies, their abundant references to classical literature and mythology, and the topics and concepts presented in these songs, the Carmina Burana have been identified as the product of a highly sophisticated monastic or scholarly milieu and have provided us with significant insights into the world of twelfthand thirteenth-century learning.2 Depending on the text in question, the ideal of love is, at times, glorified and playfully explored; at other times, we hear of deep frustration and the decline of the entire erotic culture because Ovid’s amatory teachings are no longer being passed on in an adequate manner, as CB 105 (Dum curata uegetarem) dramatically illustrates. The mythological figure of Cupid appears to a dreamer, but he is in a miserable state, with marred wings and a grieved countenance; he explains the reason for his unseemly appearance: ‘artes amatorie iam non instruuntur | a Nasone tradite, passim peruertuntur’ (‘the arts of love, handed down by Ovid, are no longer taught but everywhere perverted’, §7.1–2). Here, as is the case in the works of other poets, rather pessimistic opinions about the state of learning are voiced.3 1

The text and translation of the Carmina Burana are adapted from Traill. Bischoff, Carmina Burana: Einführung zur Faksimile-Ausgabe der Benediktbeurer Liederhandschrift = Carmina Burana: Facsimile Reproduction of the Manuscript Clm 4660 and Clm 4660a, Publications of Mediaeval Music Manuscripts, 9 (Brooklyn, NY: Institute of Mediaeval Music, 1967; Munich: Prestel, 1970). 3 C. Stephen Jaeger, Ennobling Love: In Search of a Lost Sensibility (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 184–91; see also C. Stephen Jaeger, 2 Bernhard

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The close study of a major section of the Codex Buranus nevertheless indicates that the experience of the erotic continued to be of central importance to poets and contributed to the development of learned poetry in the vein of their classical predecessors.4 That was only one aspect, however, and the large corpus of rather dramatic – if not graphic – songs dealing with the erotic, whether influenced by classical models or not, deserves to be considered in depth in order to understand the central significance of the theme of love in all of its manifestations in the High Middle Ages.5 While the troubadours, trouvères, the Minnesänger, and others developed the discourse of love in their vernacular languages, the poets of the Codex Buranus contributed to it with their Latin songs.6 The songbook bears witness to the ‘twelfth-century Renaissance’, which, however we might want to evaluate it, was shaped profoundly by the theme of love. It has to be read in tandem with the vast corpus of contemporary courtly love poetry, at times even composed by women. One might think of the trobairitz or the correspondence between Héloise and Abelard.7 The notion of the erotic also finds its striking manifestation in numerous modern musical renditions of the Carmina Burana that sound beautiful, but at times seem to misread or ignore the actual contents of many of the songs contained in the collection. The erotic songs of the Codex Buranus, learned and ‘Pessimism in the Twelfth-Century “Renaissance”’, Speculum, 78 (2003), 1151–83. The view that such pessimism prevailed may, however, be challenged; there is no shortage of counter-examples in Minnesang and in the courtly romances of that time: for example, Hartmann von Aue’s Der arme Heinrich and Erec, and Walther von der Vogelweide’s Under der linden (C 16). 4 Burghart Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder: zu den deutschen Strophen der Carmina Burana’, in From Symbol to Mimesis: The Generation of Walther von der Vogelweide, ed. by Franz H. Bäuml, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 368 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1984), 1–34. 5 See the introduction to Albrecht Classen et al. (eds), Eros und Logos: Literarische Formen des sinnlichen Begehrens in der (deutschsprachigen) Literatur vom Mittelalter bis zur Gegenwart (Tübingen: Narr Francke Attempto, 2018), 7–29. 6 Sayce; see also Christopher Kleinhenz and Keith Busby (eds), Medieval Multilingualism: The Francophone World and Its Neighbours (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010); Albrecht Classen (ed.), Multilingualism in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age: Communication and Miscommunication in the Premodern World (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016), 14, 40, and 310. 7 See, for instance, Peter Dinzelbacher, Lebenswelten des Mittelalters, 1000–1500 (Badenweiler: Bachmann, 2010), 36–47; Peter Dinzelbacher, Structures and Origins of the Twelfth-Century ‘Renaissance’ (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 2017), 156–72. In neither of these publications does Dinzelbacher reflect on the Carmina Burana as a major source of the learned tradition of an erotic discourse.

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sophisticated as they are, are much more explicit and drastic in their depiction of the erotic and the sexual, including its violent side, than modern performers seem to be willing to admit or to express, because the aesthetic aspects of the poems easily blind modern recipients to the actual content formulated in many of them.8 This chapter considers which aspects of the erotic are most prevalent in the Codex Buranus, and why they assume such a central role in a collection that was intended for a monastic community or school. Could it be conceivable that ecclesiastics would compose such songs for their own entertainment? These ribald and often rather outspoken poems seem to contradict what we might expect from medieval Latin literature produced or collected in an ecclesiastic or school context because – behind all the rhetorical features, stylistic embroideries, and esoteric language – we discover rather disconcerting situations not at all sympathetic to the female.9 Yet a song’s artistic accomplishments have usually garnered most attention from modern scholars when the woman’s complaints, resistance, and embarrassment amount to nothing but rhetorical strategies that are finally subdued under the man’s triumph in the joys of love, for example in CB 70 (Estatis florigero tempore).10 Relying on classical models – chiefly Ovid – and engaging with vernacular courtly literature of the twelfth century, the poets of the Carmina Burana developed a wide range of themes centred on the erotic, at times expanding on the dawnsong motif, at others drawing on the genre of the pastourelle. In some instances, the relationship between the lover and the female beloved – here excluding, for pragmatic purposes, the theoretical possibility of same-sex relationships, which might emerge in at least some cases – results in physical, sexual violence, as is the case in CB 184 (Virgo quedam nobilis) or, even more drastically, in CB 185 (Ich was ein kint so wolgetân). In their boasting about male sexual prowess and the lover’s successful attempt at seduction, these songs provoke and challenge audiences both medieval and modern. Songs that project male sexual aggression in explicit terms, including CB 167 (Laboris remedium) and CB 172 (Lude, ludat, ludite), 8

Compare the contribution to this volume by Yri. Fritz Peter Knapp, Die Literatur des Früh- und Hochmittelalters in den Bistümern Passau, Salzburg, Brixen und Trient von den Anfängen bis zum Jahre 1273, Geschichte der Literatur in Österreich von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart, 1 (Graz: Akademische Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt, 1994), 407–22; and Fritz Peter Knapp, ‘Carmina Burana: Europäische Lyrik in Südtirol’, in Literatur und Sprache in Tirol: von den Anfängen bis zum 16. Jahrhundert. Akten des 3. Symposiums der Sterzinger Osterspiele (10.–12. April 1995), ed. by Michael Gebhardt and Max Siller (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1996), 129–40. Godman’s contribution to this volume offers examples of more positive views of women among the Carmina Burana. 10 Paul Klopsch, ‘Die mittellateinische Lyrik’, in Lyrik des Mittelalters I, ed. by Heinz Bergner (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1983), 19–196 (151–67). 9

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underscore these aspects even further. Such erotic, sexually explicit language permeates the love songs of the Codex Buranus and encourages us to examine how the poets, in response to their classical models and sources, endeavoured to come to terms with sexual desires by couching them in elaborate, courtly, clerical, and especially classically learned language.11 Intriguingly, not least as a result of Carl Orff ’s famous composition of 1937, the songs contained in the medieval manuscript continue to enjoy tremendous popularity, whether modern audiences understand the violent sexual content of some of the songs or not.12 In particular, Orff ’s O Fortuna has now become part of the standard repertoire of many marching bands, orchestras, and choirs, and has also been used as a very fashionable kind of background music for music videos (for example by Michael Jackson), in advertisements, video games, etc. In light of the modern popularity of many of these songs, what are we to make of their depiction of male dominance in regard to wooing and love-making? The fascinating, yet rather problematic, song CB 185 has been performed a number of times in recent years, but it almost always seems as if the performers do not understand what is happening in the song, frequently singing settings of the words which play on the emotions of longing, yearning, and tender love, and on one’s experience of nature.13 In reality, however, the song is a poetic treatment 11

For a broader discussion, see Klopsch, ‘Die mittellateinische Lyrik’; Sayce; Knapp, ‘Carmina Burana’; Dennis M. Kratz, ‘Carmina Burana’, in German Writers and Works of the High Middle Ages: 1170–1280, ed. by James Hardin and Will Hasty (Detroit, MI: Gale Research, 1994), 207–13; Peter Dronke, ‘Latin Songs in the Carmina Burana: Profane Love and Satire’, in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones, King’s College London Medieval Studies, 18 (London: King’s College London, 2000), 25–40; Udo Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein als Sprachen der Lyrik in den “Carmina Burana”’, Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur, 122 (2000), 57–73; see also Seraina Plotke and Stefan Seeber (eds), Parodie und Verkehrung: Formen und Funktionen spielerischer Verfremdung und spöttischer Verzerrung in Texten des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016). As to the classical sources relevant for the Carmina Burana, see also the contribution to this volume by Franklinos. 12 For a discussion of the considerable dissemination of many of the songs of this manuscript, see Christopher de Hamel, Meetings with Remarkable Manuscripts (London: Allen Lane, 2016), 330–75. On the impact of Orff ’s work, see Yri’s contribution to this volume. 13 See for example, and [both accessed 16 February 2019]. The naïveté and lack of awareness with which the musicians perform this song indicate that they have not thought critically about the song and perpetuate a highly simplistic dream-like image of twelfth-century clerical culture.

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of sexual seduction by a man who forcefully takes the virgin to a secret spot in the meadow and rapes her.14 The poem is critically determined, as is often the case in the Carmina Burana, by classical topoi, which almost seem to matter more than the erotic theme, at least at first sight. After all, if we judge by the content of the songs, we can be certain that the poet, just as all the others represented in the collection of songs, was a learned individual (male?) who addressed a highly educated audience and hoped both to entertain them with erotic allusions, and to impress them with his learning. It almost seems as if we can identify in these songs an early precursor of nineteenth-century student songs, although on a high intellectual level.15 I return to this topic below. While the theme of ‘fortuna’ has frequently been highlighted as the central topic in the collection, the erotic, in many of its manifestations, constitutes an equally important aspect. In this chapter, my intention is to examine the ways in which the poets of the Carmina Burana experimented with this topic and thereby engaged with their classical and medieval Latin sources. If we consider the larger structural framework of the manuscript, we discover that the compiler was interested in satirical-political and didactic poetry, in erotic songs, in gambling and drinking songs, and also in clerical drama, presenting, for instance, Augustine’s life as a mirror of the personal conditions experienced by the poets in the Carmina Burana.16 As Vollmann, in line with the current communis opinio, confirmed, the compiler(s) did not draw from individual, orally disseminated songs, but apparently had a number of smaller collections available which they then

See also Albrecht Classen, Sexual Violence and Rape in the Middle Ages: A Critical Discourse in Premodern German and European Literature (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011). For other readings of CB 185, see the contributions by Godman and Martin. 15 See Georg Objartel, Sprache und Lebensform deutscher Studenten im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert: Aufsätze und Dokumente (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016). There are many editions of such song collections; see, for instance, Günther Steiger (ed.), Gaudeamus Igitur: Laßt uns fröhlich sein. Historische Studentenlieder (Leipzig: Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1989). 16 See Drumbl’s contribution to this volume, and Johann Drumbl, Quem quaeritis: teatro sacro dell’alto Medioevo (Rome: Bulzoni, 1981); Albrecht Classen, ‘Liederrepertoire and Themenvielfalt: vom didaktisch-religiösen Liedgut zum Liebes- und Trinklied. Die Begegnung zwischen dem hohen Mittelalter und dem sechzehnten Jahrhundert: die Carmina Burana und Georg Forsters Liederbücher’, Jahrbuch des deutschen Volksliedarchivs: Lied und populäre Kultur, 52 (2007), 53–82; Albrecht Classen, ‘The Carmina Burana: A Mirror of Latin and Vernacular Literary Traditions from a Cultural-Historical Perspective: Transgression is the Name of the Game’, Neophilologus, 94 (2010), 477–97. 14

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combined to create this larger anthology. The redactor(s) seem(s) to have belonged to an intellectual elite and might well have worked in a monastery, such as Neustift near Brixen. As popular as the Carmina Burana have proved to be since the nineteenth century, they seem not to have enjoyed such success in the Middle Ages, considering that they have survived in only one manuscript. The manuscript was based, as far as scholarship has been able to confirm, on various florilegia and thus possibly represents some of the most cherished pieces of Latin love and leisure poetry from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.17 Nevertheless, the Codex Buranus has not attracted much attention among modern scholars dealing with the twelfth-century Renaissance, whether we think of Ernst Robert Curtius or, more recently, Giles Constable.18 Though anthologised sometime around 1230 or 1240, most of the texts certainly could be dated earlier, perhaps to the late twelfth century.19

Learned Discourse in the Carmina Burana The poets in this collection reveal a considerable degree of irreverence toward the Church, the aristocracy, and society at large, and formulated substantial criticism of the dominance of money. Irony, satire, and sarcasm permeate these songs,20 17

Vollmann, 901–05; see also Godman. Traill, ii, 611 notes that ‘more than three hundred manuscripts scattered over Europe include one or more of the Carmina Burana, often in more complete and less corrupt versions’. 18 Neither Ernst Robert Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, trans. by Willard R. Trask (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990), nor Giles Constable, The Reformation of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), mention the Carmina Burana. See also Marcia L. Colish, Medieval Foundations of the Western Intellectual Tradition, 400–1400 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997). 19 Vollmann, 897–903. 20 See Gerd Althoff and Christel Meier, Ironie im Mittelalter: Hermeneutik – Dichtung – Politik (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2011); Albrecht Classen, ‘Irony in Medieval and Early Modern German Literature (Nibelungenlied, Mauritius von Craûn, Johannes von Tepl’s Ackermann): The Encounter of the MenschlichAllzumenschlich in a Medieval Context’, Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 113 (2014), 184–205; as to satire, see, for instance, Ronald E. Pepin, Literature of Satire in the 12th Century: A Neglected Mediaeval Genre (Lewiston, NY: Mellen, 1988); Warren S. Smith, Satiric Advice on Women and Marriage: From Plautus to Chaucer (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2005); and Traill’s contribution to this volume. As to sarcasm, see Alan Baragona and Elizabeth L. Rambo (eds), Words that Tear the Flesh: Essays on Sarcasm in Medieval and Early Modern Literature and Cultures (Berlin:

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driven by the desire to deconstruct the traditional, perhaps corrupt structures of contemporary society and to ridicule the general attitudes displayed by people, both within and outside the Church. Greed, envy, instability of fortune, lack of virtues, the search for truth and the good, and proper behaviour in public and private are some of the issues commonly addressed, especially in the first section on moral and satirical issues. Perhaps even more so than in the section of moralising and satirical songs, the second section with erotic poems demonstrates the full extent to which the composers were guided (wittingly or otherwise) by classical learning, commonly resorting to references to Roman (and Greek) gods, goddesses, and other mythical figures. CB 56 (Ianus annum circinat) is a good example of the pervasive influence of the literature of classical antiquity: both refrains, for example, recall the Vergilian ‘omnia uincit amor’ (Eclogue 10.69) already alluded to by Ovid at Amores 3.2.46. In the song’s first stanza, the coming of spring is described by reference to the Roman deity Janus and the constellations in a manner typical of Latin – notably Ovidian – verse. Sadness and sorrow are to be dismissed, and Venus is invited to take over control of society (§2). The beauty of individual women is compared to the archetypical beauties of Greek mythology, Helen and Venus (§3), and the lyric persona identifies one individual with whom he has fallen in love, which is expressed through the reference to fire that is raging in him (§4), which is, of course, a common expression in all love poetry. The extraordinary qualities of the beloved lady are praised in exalted terms (§4), and the song concludes with appeals to Cupid and Venus to be merciful and to allow the singer to achieve his erotic desires. With a nod to medieval societal structures, however, he promises to quit the service of Pallas, and to commit himself to Venus. Feudal language and erotic issues merge here in a unique fashion, and the learned scholar turns into a passionate lover who can hardly bridle his burning erotic desires. 1. Ianus annum circinat, uer estatem nuntiat, calcat Phebus ungula, dum in Taurum flectitur, Arietis repagula.

de Gruyter, 2018), though the Carmina Burana are not taken into consideration; as to laughter more generally, see Albrecht Classen (ed.), Laughter in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times: Epistemology of a Fundamental Human Behavior, Its Meaning, and Consequences (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), esp. 15–18.

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Ref. Amor cuncta superat, Amor dura terebrat. 2. Procul sint omnia tristia! dulcia gaudia sollemnizant Veneris gymnasia! decet iocundari quos militare contigit Dioneo lari. Ref. 3. Dum alumnus Palladis Cytheree scholam introissem, inter multas bene cultas uidi unam solam facie Tyndaridi ac Veneri secundam, plenam elegantie et magis pudibundam. Ref. 4. Differentem omnibus amo differenter. nouus ignis in me furit, et adurit indeficienter. nulla magis nobilis, habilis, pulchra uel amabilis; nulla minus mobilis instabilis, infrunita reperitur uel fide mutabilis. eius latum uiuere est meum delectari.

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diligi si merear, hoc meum est beari. Ref. 5. Parce, puer, puero! faue, Venus tenero ignem mouens, ignem fouens, ne mori sit quod uixero, nec sit ut Daphne Phebo cui me ipsum dedo. olim tiro Palladis nunc tuo iuri cedo. Ref. 1. Janus brings the year full circle, spring heralds summer; with his horses’ hooves, Phoebus kicks away the barriers of Aries, as he bends his course into Taurus. REF. Love conquers all; love bores a way through difficulties. 2. Away with everything sad! Sweet are the joys that the exercises of Venus celebrate! Those whose luck it is to serve in Dione’s domain should enjoy themselves. REF. 3. When I was a student of Pallas and entered the school of the Cytherean, I saw among many chic ladies one alone who is second only to Helen and Venus in her appearance, very elegant and more modest. REF. 4. My love for her is different, for she differs from all the others. A strange new fire rages within me and burns away and does not die. No woman is more noble, more amenable, more beautiful or more lovable; none is less capricious, less flighty, less silly, or less fickle in her loyalty. Her joie de vivre is my delight. If I earn her love that is my blessing. REF. 5. Youthful Cupid, spare me for I am young! Venus, look with favour on my inexperience by starting up a fire and nursing that fire so that the life I lead will not be a death and so that she to whom I dedicate myself will not be as Daphne was to Apollo. Once apprenticed to Pallas, I now yield to your rule. REF. (CB 56)

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Likewise, the poets were familiar with contemporary learned and secular courtly poetry, as is clear from their common use of the nature trope, which offers the critical framework for the explanation of why love emerges in the months of April and May. In CB 57 (Bruma, ueris emula), for instance, the singer hails the arrival of spring after the painful winter, an experience which is described as tantamount to liberation from prison. But the forces of winter do not let go, and the struggle between the coldness of the dark season and the warmness of spring represents the struggle between the lack of love and the enjoyment of love. In the following poem, CB 58 (Iam uer oritur), the various birds representing the joys of love and the experience of new life are referred to as well, a poetic element that finds numerous parallels in vernacular courtly love poetry. The nightingale is particularly prominent, perhaps because of its frequent representation in Ovid’s poetry, memorably in Metamorphoses 6.21 CB 58 then offers a list of other birds and associates them with the joys of love. Lovers can experience them at night because they are supported, as the text facetiously conveys, by the Greek gods who assist them and sustain their delightful time at night (‘sollemnia | communia’, §3.1–2). The poet proves to be extraordinarily well informed about the various types of birds, which all contribute in this poem to the creation of erotic harmonies by means of their musical chirping: ‘hec consors consonantia’ (§5.5). The joys of love are embedded intriguingly within the delights of the emerging spring weather, so the themes of nature and human erotics are intricately combined. In CB 59 (Ecce chorus uirginum), the poet refers to groups of dancing girls, to a linden tree where the lover finds his rest in the shade, the blossoming of flowers, and the singing of various types of bird. The singer admits his strong erotic arousal (‘libitum’, §3.3) and that he cannot contain himself – ‘langueo, dum uideam libiti consortem’ (§4.4) – but he clearly distinguishes between reliable chaste women whom he can trust, and loose women – concubines – who throw themselves at any men (§6). Such a woman apparently appears in CB 60 (Captus amore graui), where, as in many similar cases, the singer realises that his beloved refuses to grant her love to him because he is unattractive to her (§8b). Just as in much contemporary vernacular love poetry, the basic tensions between man and woman find vivid expression in these verses, and we easily recognise how much the poet plays with the standard discourse of love. Since she spurns the lyric persona, he bursts 21

Wendy Pfeffer, The Change of Philomel: The Nightingale in Medieval Literature (New York: Peter Lang, 1985). For the poetic-rhetorical tradition relevant here, see Roger P. Parr (ed.), Matthew of Vendôme, Ars Versificatoria: The Art of the Versemaker (Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 1981), chapter 29 and passim.

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into tears, unable to give voice to his feelings any further. He goes on to warn his lady of the dire consequences of her negative behaviour and even implies that she is a prostitute who deserves to be hanged (‘prostibulum partibulo | iam meruit piari’, §10.3–4). There is a clear indication that the two people had been lovers before and had enjoyed each other’s company (§12), otherwise his fury over her rejection of him at this moment would not make sense. Yet the situation has changed and she denies his wishes, provoking him to call her ‘presumptuosa’ (§12.6). Nevertheless, he cannot live without her love and pleads with her to grant him kisses at least once (§19a.1–2), hoping for their sexual union (§§20a and 20b); he expects that everything will translate into complete harmony: ‘aspera non erunt’ (§21b.5). In order to highlight her extraordinary beauty, he compares her to the brightness of the morning star and to roses and lilies, claiming that she surpasses all of them (§22a). He compares her teeth to the star Sirius; he dares to hope that Etna would sink into the sea before people would stop praising her beauty (§23). As esoteric as the entire song may seem to be, we have no difficulty in determining the erotic, if not sexual, content underlying the charming images of nature, given how ardently the lyric persona wishes his request to be fulfilled (§26). Many songs confirm that the poets strive for the most felicitous erotic imagery, drawing on the literature of classical antiquity and on natural scenery so common in contemporary vernacular poetry. The lover urges his lady to grant him her love, otherwise he might not survive (CB 61). She should not be so cold to him (CB 62) and grant him erotic fulfilment, as the regular references to Venus indicate (CB 63). Not even the strongest man could resist the force of this goddess, that is, of love (CB 63 §1b). In order to underscore those topics, the poets lavishly draw from classical mythology and describe, by way of comparison, their passionate feelings, their longing, and their erotic desire. The accomplishments of Hercules surface regularly, especially because the lover compares himself with this mythical figure (CB 64), but there are plenty of other references that confirm how the poets endeavoured, each in their own terms, to demonstrate their classical learning within the framework of the love discourse. It is impossible to determine, however, whether the erotic elements serve to highlight classical learning or whether the imagery drawn from Ovid and his contemporaries served to express erotic desire. At the same time, we should not ignore the fact that, behind the seeming parallels in the thematic treatment of sorrowful love affairs, we discover, lurking in the textual background, a greater variety of themes.

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Erotic Discourse in the Carmina Burana Beside the esoteric erotic allusions and sophisticated references to love, the poets are also explicit about sexual contact. In CB 65 (Quocumque more motu uoluuntur tempora), the focus rests on a young woman who is unable to hide the fact that she has slept with her lover and can no longer be called a ‘virgin’ (‘nec fallit in uirgine’, §3a.7); she has tasted of Venus, but tries to keep it a secret (§3a.8–10). Having experienced the delight of sexual intercourse, moreover, she has not abstained from it since (§3a.12). The lyric persona himself emphasises that he can no longer live without the opportunity of sleeping with his beloved lady, which serves as a life-giving draught for him (§6a). Hence he begs all other lovers to pray that his relationship will last forever (§10b). The freedom with which the poets of the Carmina Burana treat erotic material may seem surprising if we consider the intellectual context in which these songs were composed. The poets belonged to the class of learned clerics, or were members of the university (students and professors), and were expected to lead a life in accordance with the teachings of the Church. We may compare this aspect of the Carmina Burana with the concerns expressed by Peter Abelard (†1142) and Héloise in their correspondence: they were ecclesiastics and yet lovers, who struggled hard against external constraints and eventually separated and joined monastic communities, but remained emotionally attached to each other. Abelard himself was famous not only for his theology and philosophy, but also for his love songs, which probably influenced contemporary and subsequent poets, as Héloise confirms in one of her letters.22 In spite of this conflict with the Church’s teaching, these two lovers did not keep their desires, longings, and sexual lusts secret; they were aided in treating these themes through their use of classical mythology, which provided a thin veil behind which they were able to hide. That being said, the primary intention of the poets of the Carmina Burana seems not so much to have been to ventilate their erotic feelings, but to participate in a wider discourse of the 22

See, for instance, Peter L. Allen, The Art of Love: Amatory Fiction from Ovid to the Romance of the Rose (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992); Peter Godman, Paradoxes of Conscience in the High Middle Ages: Abelard, Heloise, and the Archpoet (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). Héloise, in her first letter to Abelard, emphasises how ‘the many love songs you composed have been sung repeatedly because of the great sweetness of their words and melodies, and they have kept your name constantly on everyone’s lips. […] Since most of these songs told the story of our love, they quickly spread my fame in many lands and made other women envious of me.’ Mary Martin McLaughlin with Bonnie Wheeler (eds), The Letters of Heloise and Abelard: A Translation of Their Collected Correspondence and Related Writings (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 55.

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erotic in prose and verse, as, for instance, in CB 65: ‘multiformi hactenus declarat harmonia: | prosa, uersu, satira psallens et rhythmachia | te per orbem intonat scolaris symphonia’ (‘[my Muse] continues to sing with varied harmonies: she sings in prose, in verse, in satire, and in rhythmic poesy, she – a learned symphony – makes your name to resound throughout the world’, §10a.4–6).23 The poet of CB 67 (A globo ueteri) skilfully, and perhaps excessively, describes his beloved as the most beautiful creature on earth, whom nature had selected from the beginning of time as the chosen one to exceed even lilies and roses. The descriptions of her entire body and the glorification of her physical beauty make it possible for him to demonstrate his poetic skills, whether he is talking about her forehead, nostrils, teeth, or lips. Numerous topoi come into play here, yet they are not fully developed into a complete picture because the lyric persona intends to project her simply as a miracle of female beauty and leave it at that;24 he does not resort to sexual images, and even the breasts are mentioned only with a single word, ‘pectus’ (§5a.2). Aesthetics supersede the erotic, but the poem nevertheless succeeds in conveying an eroticised message by means of carefully crafted images of the female body. Ultimately, her erotic attraction – the seductive power of her entire appearance – concludes the poem: her titillating laughter casts Venus’s nets to catch the voyeuristic male onlookers.25 In a delicate fashion, the poet projects the lover’s great joy over her physical attractiveness, but subtly indicates the dangers that could await him if he gives in too much to erotic snares: ‘retia Veneria tetendit’ (‘she stretched the nets of Venus’, §5b.8–10). Conflict, even if only in a playful manner, is awaiting the lover, as CB 68 (Saturni sidus liuidum) also indicates at the end when the strife is over and can be healed: ‘congressio […] arcani medica duelli’ (‘the secret tussle that brings healing’, §5.5). While some scholars have argued that the female breast did not carry any erotic symbolism until the sixteenth century, there are good counter-examples, as we observe in the aforementioned texts and in CB 83: ‘a tenello […] pectusculo’

23

Translation by Tristan Franklinos. Rüdiger Krüger, puella bella: Die Beschreibung der schönen Frau in der Minnelyrik des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart: Helfant, 1986). 25 The epistemological significance of laughter should not be overlooked; see Classen (ed.), Laughter in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times (2010), 15–18, 241, and 548. Recent scholarship has deepened the exploration of this topic, but it has rested primarily on late medieval narratives; see, for instance, Hans Rudolf Velten, Scurrilitas: Das Lachen, die Komik und der Körper in Literatur und Kultur des Spätmittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit (Tübingen: Narr Francke Attempto, 2017). 24

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(‘from her delicate little breast’, §5.1–2).26 The poet resorts to a highly sensuous language and deftly plays with erotic allusions. In other words, despite the strongly classical appearance of these poems in language and imagery, the true level of sensuality regularly finds its full expression. The erotic is manifested in many variations but not infrequently reveals a degree of ambivalence, since the experience of love is often combined with danger, threat, illusion, and deception. The beloved mistress might be serious when she extends an invitation to the lyric persona, but she might also mislead him: ‘amoris spes est dubia, | aut uerax aut contraria’ (‘hope of love is uncertain, whether true or not’, CB 70, §4c.1–2). Lovers’ trysts may also be endangered by spies, such as the old women and young men sent out by parents to keep a close eye on goings-on (§§8a–10), a theme common in ancient and medieval poetry. Some women are portrayed as easily accessible, welcoming lovers without any restraint (CB 70), whilst others are resistant and cautious (CB 71). The erotic thus turns into a game in which the lovers struggle against each other, trying to maintain their position and to uphold their values, although both seem to be attracted to each other and to desire the other in sexual terms.27 Such ludic tension finds its vivid expression in the lyric persona’s persistent wooing in CB 72 (Grates ago Veneri), set against his beloved’s rejection of him because she does not want to sleep with him. As in all erotic poetry – vernacular or Latin – the playful, rhetorical dimension dominates the facade, but the sexual desire rests behind it, thinly veiled by the poetic expression based on much traditional language. The lover is no longer content with the sweet formulations of love, wooing, and erotic embrace, but pursues his sexual goals directly, resorting to violence: ‘uim nimis audax infero’ (CB 72 §4a.1). His lady, however, fights back with all her might, scratches him with her fingernails, pulls his hair, curls up, and crosses her legs in order to block his Margaret R. Miles, A Complex Delight: The Secularization of the Breast 1350–1750 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2008). In visual depictions of the mythical figure Melusine, the viewer’s gaze is often directed specifically toward her breasts, which are thus eroticised. Albrecht Classen, ‘The Melusine Figure in Fifteenthand Sixteenth-Century German Literature and Art: Cultural-Historical Information Within the Pictorial Program. With a Discussion of the Melusine-Lüsterweibchen Connection’, in Melusine’s Footprint: Tracing the Legacy of a Medieval Myth, ed. by Misty Urban et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 74–94. 27 Albrecht Classen, ‘Erotik als Spiel, Spiel als Leben, Leben als Erotik: Komparatistische Überlegungen zur Literatur des europäischen Mittelalters’, Mediaevistik, 2 (1989), 7–42; Albrecht Classen, ‘Minnesang als Spiel: Sinnkonstitution auf dem Schachbrett der Liebe’, Studi Medievali, 36 (1995), 211–39; Will Hasty, The Medieval Risk–Reward Society: Courts, Adventure, and Love in the European Middle Ages (Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press, 2016). 26

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sexual penetration. Nothing, however, is of any avail. He overpowers her, fetters her arms, and forcefully kisses her: ‘pressa figo | basia’ (§4b.7–8). There is no doubt at all that he rapes her: as an introduction to the sexual violence that follows, the kissing functions as a pars pro toto. Attempts to recognise here only ludic, satirical, or farcical elements, and to hide behind the claim that the poem is determined by deliberate ambivalence, cannot be upheld based on a detailed analysis of the text. For the lyric persona, the situation allegedly concludes with satisfaction for both, ‘res utrique placuit’ (§5a.1), especially because their kissing is seemingly mutually pleasing. She has become more yielding (‘mitior’, §5a.3), kissing him in return (‘dans basia’, §5a.4), and she begins to smile at him (§5b), which could mean many different things, certainly revealing the intended ambivalence of the male comments about her erotic feelings. 4a. Vim nimis audax infero. hec ungue seuit aspero, comas uellit, uim repellit, strenua. sese plicat et intricat genua ne ianua pudoris resoluatur. 4b. Sed tandem ultra milito, triumphum do proposito. per amplexus firmo nexus brachia eius ligo, pressa figo basia. sic regia Diones reseratur. 5a. Res utrique placuit, et me minus arguit mitior amasia, dans basia mellita

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5b. et subridens tremulis semiclausis oculis, ueluti sub anxio suspirio sopita. 4a. All too boldly I press my attack. She fights back fiercely with her sharp nails, pulls my hair, and resists my assault vigorously. She curls up and crosses her legs to prevent the door of her chastity from being opened. 4b. But finally I take my campaign further and win the triumph for which I had aimed. With embraces I entwine her firmly and bind her arms and press kisses upon her. In this way I unlock the palace of Dione. 5a. We both enjoyed the encounter, and a gentler lover checked her accusations, giving me kisses sweet as honey 5b. and smiling, with fluttering, half-closed eyes, as if lulled to sleep with an anxious sigh. (CB 72 §§4a, 4b, 5a, 5b)

We have to be clear about the events as they evolve in our mind’s eye. The male protagonist tries to please his beloved, filled with strong urges, but she does not respond in kind. Consequently, he employs force and subdues her in a violent fashion. From his point of view, this seems to have dissolved all conflict, as she finally smiles at him and kisses him back. The male persona is happy with his success, but there is hardly any opportunity for the female voice to come to the fore and explain what happened, except that she responds with trembling (§4b.1). Even though here we face a ‘fictional’ situation, the pattern of the man’s behaviour is more than obvious. Today, we would conclude that he forced himself upon her and exerted so much violence that she could not help but play the role he is expecting of her, hence the smile on her face. Rape victims both then and today have commonly been forced to assume the role of the willing sex partner, as it transpires most clearly in this song, although the poet might not even realise the strategy that is in operation here.28 The male persona is in control, both with 28

See, for instance, Kathryn Gravdal, Ravishing Maidens: Writing Rape in Medieval French Literature and Law (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1991); Anna Roberts (ed.), Violence against Women in Medieval Texts (Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida, 1998); Albrecht Classen, Sexual Violence.

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respect to the raped woman and with respect to the frame of the events. The song is composed in learned, classical Latin and thereby grants the male persona complete textual authority.29 Revealingly, the poem concludes with the final comment that she subsequently falls asleep, uttering a frightened sigh, ‘anxio suspirio’ (§5b.3–4). The male persona has crushed her will and has forced her to submit completely, but he can project this only in rather positive terms because he believes, and explicitly claims, that they both enjoyed the encounter, irrespective of his use of violence.30 Neither here nor anywhere else in the Codex Buranus do female voices have any chance to come forward, and even rape seems to be portrayed as satisfactory for them, despite the denial of their will.31 The poetic voice wants us to believe that the girl ultimately resigned herself to his ‘wooing’ and felt happiness about their sexual union, but, even at the risk of arguing anachronistically, this is the kind of male chauvinism the modern era has learned to expose as a form of violence and imposition, not permitting the other person to stand up for herself. In CB 73 (Clauso Cronos, et serato), the arrival of spring arouses strong erotic feelings in the speaker, who knows only too well that the pursuit of erotic love would endanger his status as a cleric since he would break his vow of chastity. Nevertheless, lust overpowers him and makes him pursue love even if he would very much like to abstain from it, at least intellectually (§4). The fire in him burns so ardently that he does not see any chance of abstaining from the pursuit of love, although he would then lose his clerical status and would be expelled from the Church or be punished in some other way (§4.5–6). The cleric clearly recognises that Venus would destroy him and he finally declares his own defeat, hoping that the goddess, as Dione, would soothe and heal his wounds. The rest remains open-ended, and we are left with a host of innuendos because the outcome is all in his favour, despite his admission of not having won the battle (§8.3) The erotic poems in the Codex Buranus take many turns and assume a variety of shapes. In CB 76 (Dum caupona uerterem uino debachatus), we are confronted with a situation that reminds us of a brothel where the lover spends months of For modern cases, see Veronika Schuchter, Textherrschaft: zur Konstruktion von Opfer-, Heldinnen- und Täterinnenbildern in Literatur und Film (Würzburg: Königshausen und Neumann, 2013). 30 Whilst we pursue the analysis of medieval poetic texts, the issue addressed is topical for our own time; see the novel by Bettina Wilpert, Nichts, was uns passiert (Berlin: Verbrecher, 2018), not to forget the #metoo movement. 31 Alternative readings of CB 72 are offered by Martin and Godman in this volume. 29

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his time enjoying erotic pleasures, but eventually leaves entirely impoverished, not even wearing the same good clothing he had worn at the beginning. With the help of his money he managed to gain entrance to the building, where he meets Venus, who happily grants him her love and other pleasures (food, bathing, etc.). As joyful as the entire setting might be at first sight, the poet concludes by warning his audience not to frequent a brothel, and urges them to repress their erotic desires if they want to avoid his own impoverishment.32 From here the songs return to the traditional themes of wooing, female beauty, and shared erotic joys, in which the lovers welcome each other and grant one another desired favours. These themes are regularly supported by images of pleasant nature scenes which make such love-making possible in the first place. The poets adopt a variety of approaches, employing the usual topoi of medieval courtly love poetry. Corresponding with the cultural background of this collection of songs, clerics are identified as the ideal lovers, more qualified even than knights because they command the financial means to give women food and clothing when they are needed the most, not to forget pleasant gifts, whereas the knights command no real intelligence (CB 82). This poem appears to be in dialogue with Andreas Capellanus’s treatise De amore (c. 1180/90) which praises clerical love and takes a swipe at the Austrian-Bavarian poet Neidhart († c. 1240), whose favourite figure was the knightly character Neidhart von Reuenthal. This figure enjoyed erotic success with the country girls in spring, but was regularly rejected by them in winter.33 Of course, Neidhart played on the tension between knights and peasants, whereas the poet of CB 82 explores the conflict between knights and clerics as potential lovers. The lyric personae in the Carmina Burana regularly project themselves not as perpetrators, despite occasional references to rape, but as victims of the woman’s sexual attractiveness, as is the case in CB 84 (Dum prius inculta). A closer reading, however, reveals how much the male persona assumes the active role and does not hesitate to touch the girl intimately: ‘in eam, | ut pudoris tangere | queam | Leah Lydia Otis, Prostitution in Medieval Society: The History of an Urban Institution in Languedoc (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985); see also Albrecht Classen, Prostitution in Medieval and Early Modern Literature: The Dark Side of Sex and Love in the Premodern Era, Studies in Medieval Literature (Lanham, MA: Lexington, 2019). For another reading of CB 76, see the contribution by Traill. 33 Commentators have not discussed the intriguing intertextual element in this song. The poem might also contain an echo of Andreas Capellanus’s De amore (c. 1180/1190). See Albrecht Classen, ‘Epistemology at the Courts: The Discussion of Love by Andreas Capellanus and Juan Ruiz’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen, 103 (2002), 341– 62; Albrecht Classen, ‘Dialectics and Courtly Love: Abelard and Heloise, Andreas Capellanus, and the Carmina Burana’, Journal of Medieval Latin, 23 (2013), 161–83. 32

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lineam, | manum mittit propere’ (‘[Love] quickly sent forth my hand towards her so that I might be able to touch her slit’, §3.6–10). Despite all of her efforts to defend herself and to close her gates (§3.12), he ultimately forces her legs apart, readying her for the sexual act. In yet another case of rape, the poet describes the act rather jubilantly as his victory, in very graphic terms: ‘ut uirginem | deuirginem | me toti totum insero’ (‘I inserted myself fully into the virgin that I might undo her virginity’, §4.11–13). The case of CB 88 (Amor habet superos) is a puzzling one: here, the lyric persona insists that he intends only to protect his beloved girl and is prepared to wait until she has grown up to the proper age of a mistress. He rejects whores and married women as potential partners in a love affair because it would be morally shameful (§3). Instead, he himself wants to pursue nothing but virginal pleasures with his beloved (§§6–7), without thinking of sexual exchanges. Both love each other equally, as he claims, and neither ought to treat the other deceptively but should observe innocence, whatever that might mean in this context (§9). Sexual violence seems to be entirely absent here, whereas erotic harmony and mutual attraction dominate throughout. Nevertheless, the poetic voice also refers to the usual ‘game’ (‘ludum faciamus’, §9.2), which speaks a clear language. In a striking take on the genre of the pastourelle (CB 90, Exiit diluculo), the traditional plot is reversed: the shepherdess approaches the ‘scolaris’ and invites him to join her in love-making: ‘ueni mecum ludere’ (§3.2).34 Undoubtedly, the persona imagines a woman who willingly approaches her lover and urges him to make love to her, a piece of erotic wishful thinking that fits thematically into the entire collection. Apparently, there was a specific difference between the clerical poets of the Carmina Burana – teachers and scholars – and ecclesiastics, such as priests, whom the poet of CB 91 (Sacerdotes, mementote) sharply criticises and ridicules because the latter know only how to have sex with their spouses: ‘cum uxore dormis’ (‘you sleep with your wife’, §9.4). Variatio delectat, we might have to comment here, and that is certainly the intended message in this song as well. The poets experimented with a wide range of erotic themes and regularly presented the personae as sorrowful lovers who have to wait, but then exert themselves and achieve victory with their lady. This scenario amounts to rape in a good number of songs, though there are also more tender relationships of mutual love. However, as we have seen above, sexual violence proves to be the ugly aspect in the background.

34

For another reading of CB 90 in relation to the pastourelle, see Godman’s contribution.

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Conclusion Irrespective of the clerical background of the Carmina Burana, or perhaps because of it, the poets unhesitatingly delve into the world of the erotic and formulate rather drastic, even graphic, images of their feelings of love and lust. Even though many of the songs maintain a rather esoteric level, others become very direct and ought to be read as reflections on male sexual violence. To return to CB 185, composed in a mixture of Latin and Middle High German, we are confronted with the full dialectics of the erotic discourse as pursued by many poets in this anthology, projecting the experience of joyful love from a man’s point of view. A female voice is allowed to speak here, but she does so only to lament her violation by her lover whom she calls an ‘ungetân’ (§2.3).35 She does not blame him explicitly, but indicts the linden tree that represents a major stage prop in much of medieval love poetry: ‘maledicantur tilie’ (§1.6). Almost as innocently as Little Red Riding Hood in the fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm, she claims that she had intended to visit a meadow to pick some flowers, when she was approached by a man who took her by the hand and forced her to go with him toward the edge of a forest where he then raped her under a linden tree. Resorting to military language, he besieged her body and then took it by force: ‘er rante mir in daz burgelîn | cuspide erecta’ (‘he shafted me in my little fortress with erect weapon’, §9.3–4). Although the girl laments her suffering and complains about his violent treatment, she is portrayed as having no chance to fight back; she was solely the object of his sexual hunting: ‘bene uenabatur’ (‘he hunted well’, §10.2). Nevertheless, this male-dominated perspective, despite the girl’s own voice and her complaints about the abuse that she suffered, signals that this was all a game that he played with her (§10.4). Her complaints serve only to underscore his success in seducing her. Hubert Heinen recognised this poem as a parody on Walther von der Vogelweide’s Under der linden (C 16), since all the essential features are the same: the linden tree, the meadow where love-making takes place, and the male lover.36 Walther projects a utopian song in which he idealises true love mutually shared by man and woman, and witnessed only by a nightingale; later passers-by recognise what had actually taken place there from the imprint of the lovers’ bodies. The poet of CB 185 apparently drew on 35

See, however, Martin’s detailed reading of CB 185 as sympathetic to the woman’s point of view. 36 Hubert Heinen, ‘Walther’s “Under der linden”, its Function, its Subtexts, and its Maltreated Maiden’, in Medieval German Literature: Proceedings from the 23rd Congress on Medieval Studies Kalamazoo, Michigan, May 5–8 1988, ed. by Albrecht Classen (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1989), 51–73.

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Walther’s poem and parodied the beautiful love scene, transforming it into one determined by sexual violence.37 The song’s penultimate line, ‘ludus compleatur’ (§10.4), has nonetheless proven to be resistant to a straightforward interpretation. Ingrid Kasten goes so far as to offer this translation: ‘Treiben wir’s bis zum Ende’ (‘let’s do it to the end’). She identifies the female voice as determined by contradictory sentiments, that is, the desire both to fight the lover and to join the game of love-making, a phenomenon which she calls the ‘the particular appeal’ of this poem.38 Yet on closer inspection, there does not seem to be any indication of the woman’s own interest in this violent seduction, which she characterises as deception and sexual violence. In spite of the song’s female voice and irrespective of her laments, we are left with the impression that this game is fun and a good one for the man. The poet’s strategy of double entendre, ambiguity, multiple voicing, innuendo, and a misleading dialogue encourages us to forget what the actual situation is. Beate Kellner suggests that the man turns to violence and brutality, which leads the lyric persona to resort to irony and ‘naked mockery’. CB 185 thus projects ‘a seduction scene in which the achievement of love is connected with violence, pain, and regret’.39 To me, this seems to be the most plausible interpretation: the love is not mutual; instead, the song recounts a brutal act of sexual violation. Even if we accept that the poet of CB 185 intended to create a playful scene for his audience’s enjoyment, the victimisation of the female remains self-evident. Hence my strong criticism of modern performances of this song that do not do justice to its actual content. Based on this realisation, we observe how quickly the erotic discourse in CB 185 collapses, turning into a smokescreen for rather crude, sexual instincts with which the male poets engage throughout the collection, even when they do not specifically address the sexual component. We occasionally find similar cases in Old French troubadour poetry or in Middle High German Minnesang, but the number of songs in which the erotic theme becomes exposed as sexually motivated, often coupled with physical violence, proves to be much higher among the Carmina Burana. One reason for this phenomenon might well have been that the male poets resorted to the exclusive language of Latin – some of the multilingual songs notwithstanding – and relied strongly on the language and imagery of their classical predecessors, secure in their masculine milieu. In

Olive Sayce, The Medieval German Lyric, 1150–1300: The Development of its Themes and Forms in their European Context (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982), 248–49, 260–61. 38 Ingrid Kasten (ed.), Frauenlieder des Mittelalters: zweisprachig (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1990), 276. 39 Beate Kellner, Spiel der Liebe im Minnesang (Munich: Fink, 2018), 179–83 (181–82). 37

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most examples, we notice that the poem was intended to provoke humour and laughter, but this was often at the woman’s expense. As beautiful and inspiring as the Carmina Burana may be, many of them deal with difficult themes such as sexual violence which often borders on misogyny. The female characters are frequently praised for their physical beauty, though this commonly serves to coax them into granting their sexual favours to the lyric persona. In short, these are mostly male songs for a male audience, and as much as we might admire them today for their high literary and musical quality, we still have to acknowledge that their erotic discourse favours male desire and subjugates the female characters.40

40

Reinhard Düchting, ‘Sexualität in der Liebeslyrik der “Carmina Burana”’, in Sexualität im Gedicht, ed. by Theo Stemmler (Tübingen: Narr, 2000), 51–64; Radosław Kotecki, Ecclesia et violentia: Violence against the Church and Violence within the Church in the Middle Ages (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2014).

Chapter 5

Classical Learning and Audience in the carmina amatoria: A Case-Study on CB 92 Tristan E. Franklinos In an overview of the amatory verse of the Middle Ages, Jan Ziolkowski offers a brief comment, representative of the communis opinio, on what he rightly calls the particularly pressing necessity of evaluating the sources of, and influences on, a literary tradition as fundamentally bound up in its own textuality as that of Latin poetry.1 From its earliest beginnings, through to the twelfth century and beyond the period with which we are concerned, Latin poetry had a ‘love of allusion’ which meant that ‘many Latin poems were fully comprehensible only to the cognoscenti’:2 to those who were able to recognise verbal allusions and references to myth, and to evaluate the constituent parts of a new poetic composition in the light of earlier literature.3 Ziolkowski outlines the challenge that faces scholars of medieval Latin, who ought to explore ‘the absorption and adaption’ of aspects of Classical, scriptural, and Christian texts into the literature of the Middle Ages, whilst not yielding to the ‘misleading temptation’ to read the latter as exclusively literary works (‘fenomeni squisitamente libreschi’), subject to the sort of Quellenforschung undertaken by students of literature with works of reference to hand.4 Ziolkowski’s underlying concern is that the greater part of 1

The Latin of the CB is adapted from Traill; all translations in this chapter are my own. Jan M. Ziolkowski, ‘La Poesia d’Amore’, in Lo Spazio Letterario del Medioevo: Il Medioevo Latino, ed. by Guglielmo Cavallo et al., 5 vols (Rome: Salerno, 1992–98), i.2 (1993), 43–71 (43–44). 2 Ziolkowski, ‘La Poesia d’Amore’, 43: ‘molti prodotti della poesia latina fossero pienamente comprensibili solo agli iniziati’. 3 For some discussion of the less well-explored intertextuality of Latin prose texts in antiquity, see, for example, Gregory O. Hutchinson, Greek to Latin: Frameworks and Contexts for Intertextuality (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 166–70 and 201–04. 4 It ought to be noted that Classical literature was not only encountered in written form in the Middle Ages, but also read aloud (Samuel Barrett, The Melodic Tradition of Boethius’ De consolatione philosophiae in the Middle Ages, 2 vols, Monumenta monodica medii aevi: Subsidia, 7 [Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2013], i, 212–33, esp. 217–25),

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the audience of these poems would have encountered them not as written texts, but as performed pieces. The tension inherent in some of the discussions surrounding the interpretation of medieval Latin verse, its intertextual and allusive relationship with its literary predecessors, and the ways in which this relationship affects the sort of (readerly?) audience we envisage, is one that has not been explored or negotiated satisfactorily in scholarly treatments of the poems that constitute the Codex Buranus. This is, to a great degree, because of the diverse nature of the collected carmina and the varied audiences – some learned, some apparently less so – for which these poems were composed,5 and, in part, because of the not infrequent attempts by scholars to comment on wider parts of the collection (as opposed to individual pieces) with the result that a consideration of the distinctions between different carmina, their respective source-texts (intended or otherwise), and their possible audiences (intended or otherwise) are overlooked.6 To take a recent example: in the introduction to his fine study on some of the amatory poems of the Codex Buranus, Armando Bisanti approvingly cites Ziolkowski’s discussion, before exploring a series of poems which he treats almost exclusively as literary phenomena, taking little account of (the learning of) their varied audiences.7 There is almost no acknowledgement that these poems and sung, as is clear from the neumatic notation in a number of manuscripts of Classical authors (Silvia Wälli, Melodien aus mittelalterlichen Horaz-Handschriften, Monumenta monodica medii aevi: Subsidia, 3 [Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2002]; Gundela Bobeth, Antike Verse in mittelalterlicher Vertonung: Neumierungen in Vergil-, Statius-, Lucan- und TerenzHandschriften, Monumenta monodica medii aevi: Subsidia, 5 [Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2013]). Familiarity with these texts was not restricted to those who could read them; those who had heard them, and, perhaps, been taught aurally to recite them, would plausibly be able to recognise some intertexts (intended or otherwise). 5 On the context(s) of the (composition and) compilation of the Codex Buranus, see Godman, 246–59. For a reconsideration of the manuscript’s provenance, see this volume’s contribution by Brewer. 6 This is by no means to detract from the important work that has been done in exploring the relationships between poems in the codex, and how they may felicitously be read alongside one another; see, for example, Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, ‘Parodie in der Sammlung: eine parodistische Nachbarschaft in den “Carmina Burana” (CB 89– CB 90)’, in Parodie und Verkehrung: Formen und Funktionen spielerischer Verfremdung und spöttischer Verzerrung in Texten des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Seraina Plotke and Stefan Seeber, Encomia Deutsch, 3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 45–71; and Kirakosian’s contribution to this volume. My comments pertain specifically to generalisations made about the authors and readers/audiences of the poems that arise from (in)attention to varied modes of allusion and intertextuality. 7 Armando Bisanti, La poesia d’amore nei Carmina Burana (Naples: Liguori, 2011), 4.

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could have been encountered in anything other than a literary circle, nor that it might be possible for a reader or auditor to appreciate a given poem – even if not ‘fully’ (pienamente),8 whatever that means – without a thorough knowledge of the intertexts and possible allusions at play. Conversely, the notion that poems in the Codex Buranus ought not to be read meticulously with an eye to possible source-texts on the assumption that they were, for the most part, to be read aloud or sung for their audiences, and that thus their possible literary predecessors would be undetectable, is equally troubling. Nobody would suggest, to take a well-known Classical example, that Vergil’s Aeneid was not a conspicuously learned text, the reading of which is enhanced by a consideration of possible allusions intended by its poet alongside the myriad intertexts – whether authorially inscribed or not – that a reader may recognise.9 Yet Vergil’s text, like so much of ancient poetry, was received aurally and, in one instance, caused an emotional response far more dramatic than that which may be achieved by meditating on the finer points of the allusive and intertextual relationships of the text.10 That is to say that the author of a given poem may have had a particular (sort of) audience in mind, and may well have had certain expectations of it (in terms, for example, of the breadth of its learning); but that does not rule out the possibility of there being more than one sort of (intended) audience, nor does it mean that only one sort of reader or auditor is equipped to appreciate said poem. Somewhat otiose though it may seem to say, each of the carmina ought to be considered by scholars on its own terms in relation to its engagement (intended or otherwise) with earlier and contemporary literature, and in its possible reception by a range of auditors and readers, amongst whom we should count the compiler(s) of the collection. 8

See fn. 2. On the extent of allusion and intertext in the Aeneid, see the trenchant discussion in Joseph Farrell, ‘Intention and Intertext’, Phoenix, 59 (2005), 98–111. 10 According to the Vita Donati Aucti, 46–47, Octavia (the sister of Augustus) fainted during a recitation of three books of the Aeneid at the words ‘tu Marcellus eris’ (Aeneid, 6.883), referring to her recently deceased son; compare Servius on Aeneid, 6.861. For a discussion of the recitatio in antiquity, see Florence Dupont, ‘Recitatio and the Reorganization of the Space of Public Discourse’, in The Roman Cultural Revolution, ed. by Thomas Habinek and Alessandro Schiesaro (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 44–59; Rex Winsbury, The Roman Book: Books, Publishing and Performance in Classical Rome (London: Bristol Classical Press, 2009), 95–110, and OCD4 s.v. ‘recitatio’. T. Peter Wiseman, The Roman Audience: Classical Literature as Social History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015) argues that, in ancient Rome, poetry and (non-technical) prose were originally written with public performance in mind. 9

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In what follows, I consider some of the ramifications of these initial remarks in relation to CB 92 (Anni parte florida), the so-called Altercatio Phyllidis et Florae. This poem is one of the earliest instantiations of a tradition that developed into the not inconsiderable clutch of poems in a range of vernaculars which treat the so-called débat du clerc et du chevalier. In each of these the (de)merits of a cleric and a knight as one’s lover are debated by women, and the case is almost always decided in favour of the former.11 These poems and their relationships with one another have been explored in a number of thorough treatments, as has their place in the wider development and tradition of the Streitgedicht in the Middle Ages and beyond.12 I shall not dwell on these issues here, nor will I revisit the status of the cleric vis-àvis lover depicted in these débats – a theme explored relatively widely in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries, whether in song or in Andreas Capellanus’ De amore, as a subject for satirical treatment and gentler ‘humorous irreverence’.13 There are three Latin versions of the débat, all roughly contemporary, where the arguments are set out by women:14 two fuller versions – the Concilium Romarici Montis and the Altercatio Phyllidis et Florae – and the considerably briefer

The exception is the Anglo-Norman Blancheflour et Florence (ll. 421–26); the text may be found in Charles Oulmont, Les débats du clerc et du chevalier dans la littérature poétique du Moyen-Age (Paris: Champion, 1911). 12 On the débats du clerc et du chevalier, see Charles Oulmont, Les débats du clerc et du chevalier and Edmond Faral, ‘Les débats du clerc et du chevalier dans la littérature des XIIe et XIIIe siècles’, in Recherches sur les sources latines des contes et romans courtois du Moyen Age, ed. by Edmond Faral (Paris: Champion, 1913), 191–303. Pierre Bec, La joute poétique: de la tenson médiévale aux débats chantés traditionnels (Paris: Belles Lettres, 2000) and Emma Cayley, Debate and Dialogue: Alain Chartier in his Cultural Context (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 12–51, explore the wider tradition of debatepoems; see also Hans Walther, Das Streitgedicht in der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters (Munich: Beck, 1920) and Paul G. Schmidt, ‘I Conflictus’, in Lo Spazio Letterario, ed. by Cavallo, i.2, 157–69, both of whom reflect on the place of the Altercatio within it. For a recent overview of the historical context of these poems, see Martin Aurell, Le chevalier lettré: savoir et conduite de l’aristocratie aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles (Paris: Fayard, 2011), esp. 390–405. 13 P. G. Walsh (ed.), Andreas Capellanus: On Love (London: Duckworth, 1982), 22. Compare also the discussion of CB 77 (Si linguis angelicis) in P. G. Walsh, ‘Amor Clericalis’, in Author and Audience in Latin Literature, ed. by Tony Woodman and Jonathan Powell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 189–203. On some satirical aspects of the Altercatio, see Robert S. Haller, ‘The Altercatio Phyllidis et Florae as an Ovidian Satire’, Mediaeval Studies, 30 (1968), 119–33. 14 Comparable is the apparently later poem written in a thirteenth-century hand in Cambridge, University Library, MS Dd 11.78 (ff. 166v–69r). For the text of the poem and a description of the relevant folia of the MS, see Walther, Das Streitgedicht, 248–53. 11

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Frigus hinc est horridum (CB 82).15 In the last of these, the poet hammers home the outcome of the debate, as the poem’s refrain repeatedly asserts the conclusion, typical of the débats, that the cleric is better versed in how to love a woman (CB 82 §1.9–10).16 The cleric’s ‘uirtutes lie especially in his intellectual superiority’17 and in his ‘superiority in Latin learning’,18 presumably on account of his study of – amongst other things – Ovid’s amatory treatises.

Ovid – tenerorvm lvsor amorvm19 The overwhelming presence of Ovid’s works in the literary imagination of twelfth-century poets has long been recognised.20 It is manifested in a number of ways. Firstly, in meticulous reworkings of specific Ovidian passages, as, for

For an overview of the debates surrounding the relative chronologies, see Bisanti, La poesia d’amore, 48–51. 16 For discussion of CB 82, see Tristan E. Franklinos, ‘Reconsidering Carmen Buranum 82 (Frigus hinc est horridum)’, forthcoming. 17 P. G. Walsh (ed.), Love Lyrics from the Carmina Burana (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1993), 84; compare CB 92 §§40.2–41.3: ‘meus in lectica, | ubi gesta principum recolit antiqua, | scribit, querit, cogitat, totum de amica. | quid Dione ualeat et amoris deus, | primo nouit clericus et instruxit meus: | factus est per clericum miles Cythereus’ (‘My lover [the cleric] is in his litter, where he dwells on the deeds of past leaders [rather than campaigning like a knight], and writes, considers, reflects entirely about his beloved. As for the prowess of Dione and the god of love, my cleric learnt of this first and set about teaching it: indeed it was through the cleric that the knight became a follower of the Cytherean [= Venus]’). Traill’s translation of the final line cited here – ‘from being a cleric he became a Cytherean knight’ – is wrong (‘per clericum’ cannot mean ‘from being a cleric’) and undermines the witty word order which juxtaposes ‘miles’ with ‘Cythereus’ at the very end of the verse, in what is rhetorically the culmination of Flora’s argument in support of the cleric. 18 P. G. Walsh, Courtly Love in the Carmina Burana (Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh, 1971), 22. 19 Ovid, Tristia, 3.3.73 and 4.10.1. 20 The most important bibliography is listed in Bisanti, La poesia d’amore, 7 (fn. 17). The following may be added: Hermann Unger, De Ovidiana in Carminibus Buranis Quae Dicuntur Imitatione (Strasbourg: Straßburger neueste Nachrichten, 1914); Charles Martindale (ed.), Ovid Renewed: Ovidian Influences on Literature and Art from the Middle Ages to the Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Ralph Hexter, ‘Ovid in the Middle Ages: Exile, Mythographer, Lover’, in Brill’s Companion to Ovid, ed. by Barbara Weiden Boyd (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 413–42; Winthrop Wetherbee, ‘The Study of Classical Authors: From Late Antiquity to the 15

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example, in Dum curata uegetarem (CB 105). Here, the dishevelled appearance of Amor draws closely on Ovid’s description of him in Ex Ponto 3.3, and an acquaintance with the source-text and the exilic situation of its author contributes considerably to one’s ability to engage with the medieval poet’s witty play.21 That being said, a reader or auditor not familiar with the poet’s Ovidian sourcetext would not necessarily fail to be engaged with, and amused by, the unusual presentation of the god of love, so out of keeping with the sorts of representations of him with which one would expect a contemporary audience to be familiar.22 A second way in which Ovid’s works are exploited by medieval authors is found later in this same poem. On being asked why he looks out of sorts by the lyric persona, the god explains that the artes amatoriae are not being taught as they had been when people adhered to Ovid’s teachings: love has been debased. 7. artes amatorie  iam non instruuntur a Nasone tradite,  passim peruertuntur. nam si quis istis utitur  more modernorum, turpiter abiicitur hac assuetudine morum. 8. Naso, meis artibus  et regulis instructus mundique uoluptatibus  feliciter subductus, ab errore studuit  mundum reuocare: qui sibi notus erat, docuit sapienter amare. 7. The arts of love are no longer taught – those handed down by Ovid – but everywhere they are confounded. If anyone employs them as people do in this day and age, he is shamefully cheapened by his idiosyncratic ways.

Twelfth Century’, in The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism: The Middle Ages, ed. by Alastair J. Minnis and Ian Johnson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 99–144; Vincent Gillespie, ‘The Study of Classical Authors: from the Twelfth Century to c. 1450’, in The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism, ed. by Minnis, 145– 235; and James G. Clark et al. (eds), Ovid in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 21 Gerlinde Bretzigheimer, ‘Artes Amoris: Carmen Buranum 105’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 42 (2007), 211–34, discusses the nuances of these allusive interactions; note esp. 232–34 on the relationship between intertextual engagement and the intentio poetae. 22 Compare, for example, CB 92 §§72–73 and CB 154.

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8. Ovid, learned in my arts and rules and contentedly sequestered from the pleasures of the world, sought in earnest to recall the world from its errant ways: he who had acquired self-awareness taught others to love prudently.23 (CB 105 §§7–8)

Intimate knowledge of the minutiae of Ovid’s text is not important for the basic sense of this poem’s argument. Its author apparently assumes a nodding acquaintance with the Ars amatoria on the part of his audience, and – perhaps – no more: that Ovid wrote a poem that purported to give instructions about love is all that the reader need know; a greater familiarity with the ancient work may lend a particular savour to one’s appreciation of its (mis)representation, but it is not necessary to one’s comprehension of the poem per se.24 It is an awareness such as this that also seems called for in the Concilium Romarici Montis. intromissis omnibus  uirginum agminibus, lecta sunt in medium,  quasi euangelium, precepta Ouidii,  doctoris egregii. lectrix tam propitii  fuit euangelii Eua de Danubrio,  potens in officio artis amatorie,  ut affirmant alie. When all of the canonesses had entered in an orderly fashion, read in the midst of them, as if the gospel, were the teachings of Ovid, that most egregious of sages. The reader of a gospel so favourable to the situation was Eva of Deneuvre, more than capable of discharging the duties of the art of love, as other women affirm. (Concilium Romarici Montis 23–28)

23

CB 105 §8.4 (‘qui sibi notus erat, docuit sapienter amare’) is rendered erroneously by Walsh, Love Lyrics from the Carmina Burana, 134 (‘he taught the person acquainted with him to love wisely’) and Traill, ii, 19 (‘for he taught anyone who attained selfknowledge how to love wisely’). ‘sibi’ is reflexive. In this authoritative hexameter, the poet of CB 105 is recasting Ovid, Ars, 2.501 where Apollo (pointing to the maxim inscribed at Delphi, ‘γνῶθι σεαυτόν’, ‘know thyself ’) addresses the poet: ‘qui sibi notus erit, solus sapienter amabit’ (‘only he who knows himself will love prudently’). 24 See Alison G. Elliott, ‘The Bedraggled Cupid: Ovidian Satire in “Carmina Burana” 105’, Traditio, 37 (1981), 426–37, for a discussion in which a number of passages of CB 105 are shown to draw closely on parts of the Ars amatoria.

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An intimate knowledge of the Ars amatoria is not necessary for the audience of the Concilium to understand this passage; what is significant to one’s appreciation of the parody of procedure at a church council is the status which Ovid’s notorious amatory work is afforded – it is read ‘quasi euangelium’ (24). The unique status of the Gospel was marked out by the ceremony surrounding its proclamation during the Mass – something that would have been familiar to most. Unlike the other examples of the débat du clerc et du chevalier which survive, the Concilium Romarici Montis is imbued with what Ramón Menéndez Pidal has characterised as a sort of ‘malicious satire’;25 it dramatises a church council in an effusively ‘parodic and ironic manner’,26 and its singular focus is on the debate and its outcome. The poem lacks a description of the landscape and of the physical appearance of the women who participate – what Charles Oulmont refers to as the ‘frame’, the ‘cadre’ – that are so integral to the Altercatio and later vernacular versions.27 It is in the cadre of CB 92 that the poet’s acquaintance with ancient authors, and notably with Ovid, is at its most conspicuous, even if it is not marked.28 Of the poem’s seventy-nine stanzas, the debate constitutes only §§12–41. The rest of the poem is taken up with descriptions of the locus amoenus in which the débat occurs; of the outward appearance of the women; of their respective mounts (for Phyllis a mule, and for Flora a horse); and of Amor’s paradisus. Another mode of relationship with Classical literature is discernible in these parts of the poem – notably in the description of the women and of the landscape. So familiar to the literary imagination of the twelfth century were the works of Ovid, Vergil, and others, that the author of CB 92 seems to use language, themes, and imagery that are strongly reminiscent of parts of their poems, though without necessarily intending to do so, nor with a particular allusive purpose in mind. As well-versed Ramón Menéndez Pidal, Tres poetas primitivos: Elena y María; ‘Roncesvalles’; Historia Troyana Polimétrica (Buenos Aires: Espasa-Calpe, 1948), 23. 26 Bisanti, La poesia d’amore, 49. 27 Oulmont, Les débats du clerc et du chevalier, 1–2. That being said, although a (detailed) depiction of a vernal landscape is wanting, the meeting of the council takes place in the spring (1–3), and not inconsiderable attention is given to the suitably floral attire of the cardinalis domina who, much like the loci amoeni of the other débats, is decked with flowers (38–43). 28 In the course of discussion at the workshop in Brixen in June 2018, the possibility of female authorship of a number of poems was considered (see Martin’s chapter in this volume), and I do not doubt that a woman could have composed CB 92. Godman, 247–48, briefly considers the possible involvement of the canonesses of Neustift in the production of the Codex Buranus: it was a double house in the period in which the manuscript was compiled. With no particular view on the gender of the poet implied, I use masculine pronouns in what follows. 25

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readers, we may discern suggestions of intertextuality amongst these lines, but these seem unlikely to alter our understanding of the Altercatio to a serious degree, though they may give us a sense of the extent to which its poet was steeped in ancient literature.

On mules and horses Considerable attention has been given to the awareness of Vergil’s and Isidore’s descriptions of horses betrayed in the author of CB 92’s treatment of the appearance of Flora’s mount (§§50–52).29 The poet is in all likelihood alluding closely to these ancient discussions on the best sort of horses, and, to a reader or auditor well versed in these texts, it is evident that Flora has a steed of the highest calibre.30 The excellence of the horse is emphasised, moreover, by the very fact that Phyllis has a mule for a mount. In antiquity, as in the medieval period, the mule was often deployed for satirical or parodic purposes, and its suitability as a vehicle for Phyllis seems to require a sort of special pleading.31 When the ‘mulus’ is introduced, we learn that it was raised by Neptune. mulus quidem Phyllidis  mulus erat unus, quem creauit, aluit,  domuit Neptunus. Now Phyllis’s mule was a mule unmatched which Neptune had brought into being, nourished, and broken in. (CB 92 §45.1–2)

This statement is striking. At the start of his Georgics, Vergil addresses Neptune as the creator of the first horse – not the first mule.32 This is a text with which our 29 Vergil, Georgics, 3.72–94 and Isidore, Origines, 12.1.45–55. 30

For details, see Armando Bisanti, ‘Il mulo di Fillide e il cavallo di Flora (“Carmina Burana” 92, 44–59)’, Studi Medievali, 34 (1993), 805–13 (808–11; ≈ Bisanti, La poesia d’amore, 70–72); Sabina Tuzzo, ‘Echi classici nell’Altercatio Phyllidis et Flore (CB 92)’, in Filosofia e storiografia: Studi in onore di Giovanni Papuli, ed. by Marilena Marangio et al., 3 vols (Galatina: Congedo, 2008), i, 587–602 (597–99). 31 Compare, for example, pseudo-Vergil, Catalepton 10; and see Bisanti, La poesia d’amore, 68–69. 32 Vergil, Georgics, 1.12–14. This passage has been adduced for comparative purposes by a number of scholars (for instance, Walsh, Love Lyrics from the Carmina Burana, 122), but with little or no comment.

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poet was familiar, as is clear from §§52–54.33 It appears, then, that the author of the Altercatio has misremembered his Vergil, or, perhaps more plausibly, that he is attempting, by a witty usurpation of the horse’s Neptunian lineage, to improve the standing of Phyllis’s slightly ridiculous mount. That Flora’s horse is, in fact, superior to the mule is further emphasised by what seems to be a pointed allusion to Isidore’s discussion of mules in the final line of our poet’s description of the physique of Flora’s mount. Iudaei asserunt quod Ana abnepos Esau equarum greges ab asinis in deserto ipse fecerit primus ascendi, ut mulorum inde noua contra naturam animalia nascerentur. Jewish tradition has it that Ana, the great-grandson of Esau, first made herds of mares to be mounted by donkeys in the wilderness so that new creatures, mules, came into being contrary to nature’s laws. (Isidore, Origines, 12.1.57)34 totum fuit sonipes  studium Nature. The horse was in every detail Nature’s pièce de résistance. (CB 92 §52.4)

The horse – identified by the elevated term ‘sonipes’35 – is the physical embodiment and instantiation of all of nature’s skill, whilst the mule, according to Isidore, was first conceived ‘contra naturam’; it is an animal that ought not even to exist, let alone be a worthy counterpart to a stallion bred to a classical standard of perfection. ‘Natura’, moreover, is usually personified by editors here, thereby providing a divine parallel for Neptune as the mule’s creator. The birth of the ‘mulus’, if the Vergilian intertext holds true, was a violently sudden one, as the god smote the ground with his trident, but the horse seems to have been 33

For details, see the discussions listed in fn. 30. This passage of Isidore immediately follows his discussion of horses, the importance of which has already been recognised in connection with CB 92. It refers to an erroneous understanding of Gen. 36.24; see Benno Jacob, Das Erste Buch der Tora: Genesis (Berlin: Schocken, 1934), 685–86. 35 On ‘sonipes’ and its epic diction, see Roland G. Austin (ed.), P. Vergili Maronis Aeneidos Liber Quartus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1955), 63 on Vergil, Aeneid, 4.135; and Paul A. Roche (ed.), Lucan: De Bello Ciuili Book I (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 219 on Lucan, 1.220. 34

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created with meticulous attention (‘studium’) and with a degree of skill (‘pictus artificio uarii coloris’, §50.3, emphasis added).36 This care over the breeding of the horse, as opposed to the implicitly instantaneous creation of the mule, is mirrored in the representation of the animals’ respective trappings. Phyllis’s ‘mulus’, we are told in a single stanza, had kit that was worthy of a gift from Neptune. qui de superpositis  et de freno querunt – quod totum argenteum  dentes muli terunt! – sciant quod hec omnia  talia fuerunt, qualia Neptunium  munus decuerunt. As to those who ask about the trappings and the bit – what the mule’s teeth wears down is wholly of silver! – may they know that everything was of the sort that befitted a gift from Neptune. (CB 92 §48)

Contrariwise, in order to manufacture the horse’s various trappings, Vulcan himself left off his work on Achilles’ shield (‘pretermisso clipeo Mulciber Achillis’, ‘when Mulciber had set aside Achilles’ shield’, §56.1), and Minerva abandoned her other tasks (‘reliquo studio dimisso’, ‘when she had set aside her remaining works’, §57.2). The characterisation of Vulcan as Mulciber when he makes Achilles’ shield finds its origin in the Ilias Latina (857–58), and the interruption of the work of his forges looks to the fashioning of Aeneas’ shield as described by Vergil (Aeneid, 8.439–41).37 Besides such an intertextual pedigree, we may note that Vulcan’s response to his engraving of the horse’s saddle seems to suggest that it is more impressive even than Aeneas’ shield. Vergil gives considerable emphasis to Vulcan’s full comprehension of the subject-matter of the shield (‘haud uatum ignarus uenturique inscius aeui’, ‘not ignorant of the [utterances of] seers, nor unaware of the ages to come’, Aeneid, 8.627), whilst for the human Aeneas it remains an incomprehensible source of wonder (Aeneid, 8.729–31). In CB 92, when Vulcan looks upon the horse’s ‘sella’, he wonders at the skill of his own hands, as the scenes displayed on it seem by implication not This verse recalls Natura’s implicit role in the creation of the locus amoenus with which the poem opens (CB 92 §1.2). 37 Stefano Pittaluga, ‘Modelli classici nei Carmina Burana’, in Della tarda latinità agli albori dell’Umanesimo: alla radice della storia europea, ed. by Paolo Gatti and Lia de Finis (Trent, 1998), 399–417 (414–17).

36

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only to be beyond the ken of an ‘animus humanus’, but of the comprehension of their divine creator too. nullus ibi locus est  uacuus aut planus; habet plus quam capiat  animus humanus. solus illa sculpserat,  que spectans Vulcanus uix hec suas credidit  potuisse manus. No part is empty or unadorned; it depicts more than the human mind can grasp. On seeing the scenes that he had sculpted, Vulcan could scarcely believe that his own hands had been capable of it. (CB 92 §55)

Note also the description of the engraving’s subject-matter at §54.1 (‘multa de preteritis rebus et ignotis’, ‘many affairs of the past and those unfamiliar’, emphasis added): are these things ‘ignota’ to Vulcan too; is he oblivious of what he has depicted? The god of smiths appears – much to his own surprise – to have outdone himself, and to have created a saddle that surpasses even Aeneas’ shield. There seems, then, to be little question that, through careful consideration of apparently authorial allusive engagement, Flora’s horse appears to be of a markedly higher calibre than Phyllis’s mule. Such an involved reading may be possible for the scholarly reader, but is the interpretation of Flora’s mount as superior to Phyllis’s readily available to a lay audience, as it were, or merely the preserve of the literati? It is my contention that those not familiar with Classical literature would have been able to grasp the horse’s superiority, though for different reasons. In the verses framing the description of the two women’s respective equids, considerable emphasis is given to how well matched Flora and Phyllis are. 44. pari forma uirgines  et pari pudore; pari uoto militant  et pari colore. Phyllis ueste candida,  Flora bicolore; mulus uector Phyllidis,  erat equus Flore. […] 58. uolant equis pariter  due domicelle, uultus uerecundi sunt  et gene tenelle. sic emergunt lilia,  sic rose nouelle, sic decurrunt pariter  due celo stelle.

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44. Equal in beauty are the maidens and equal in modesty; with equal longing did they campaign and with equal flair. Phyllis’s garb was stunning white, Flora’s of two hues; a mule was Phyllis’s steed, and Flora’s was a horse. […] 58. On their mounts the two girls fly along side by side, their faces are demure and their cheeks tender. Thus do lilies bloom, thus young roses, thus do twin stars traverse the sky side by side. (CB 92 §§44 and 58, emphasis added)

The repetition of ‘par’ and cognate ‘pariter’, and the careful placement of the women’s names in §44.3–4, draw attention to their equality and recall the poet’s characterisation of them at the start of the poem, where their similarity is again reflected in the repetitive parison of the language (in §§3–5, on which more below). Contrariwise, their mounts receive diverse treatments, a discrepancy that is emphasised by the attention given to the equality of their riders. Phyllis’s mule is given four stanzas by the poet, as opposed to the eight devoted to Flora’s mount, and in the stanza that intervenes between the two descriptions, the superiority of the horse is made clear by implication at the very least. non decore caruit  illa Phyllis hora, sed multum apparuit  diues et decora. et non minus habuit  utriusque Flora, nam equi prediuitis  freno domat ora. Nor did Phyllis lack comeliness at that time, but appeared very opulent and comely. Not less did Flora possess both of these qualities, for with a bridle she governed the mouth of an exceedingly opulent horse. (CB 92 §49)

Phyllis, the reader or auditor is told, appeared opulent and comely (‘diues et decora’) as she rode along on her mule, whilst Flora was no less (‘non minus’) in possession of these qualities. The adverbial ‘no less’ may point merely to equality between the two women; it seems to me more than likely, however, that it suggests by litotes that Flora, mounted as she is on so fine a horse, is not only equally opulent and comely, but outstrips her rival. The explanatory conjunction ‘nam’ draws attention to the fact that it is the horse that gives Flora the upper hand, and the prefixed adjective used of the horse (‘prediuitis’), surpasses

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the straightforwardly ‘diues’ Phyllis. Force may be added to this notion by consideration of the repetition of language within the descriptions of the mounts themselves. The appearance of the ‘mulus’ is treated rather sparingly in one line. pulcher erat, habilis  et stature bone. It was handsome, well-conditioned and of good stature. (CB 92 §47.2, emphasis added)

The two adjectives used of Phyllis’s mount here (‘pulcher’ and ‘habilis’) are recalled at the start of the description of the horse, and other characteristics – such as strength (‘ualor’) and youthfulness (‘etas primeua’) – are added, thus increasing the attractiveness of Flora’s steed. multum pulchritudinis  habet et ualoris […] forme fuit habilis  etatis primeue. The horse was very handsome and strong […] it was well-conditioned in its beauty and youthful in years. (CB 92 §§50.2 and 51.1, emphasis added)

The mule’s ‘bona statura’ is met with a description of an equine physique par excellence. Why, though, does the superiority of the horse matter? It matters because the relationship between the two mounts is mapped onto their respective riders, and with this, their riders’ arguments. Flora’s horse surpasses the mule in every respect, and it is her support of the ‘clericus’ which wins favour with Amor. This conflation of rider with mount is clearest in §49 (as discussed above), but may also be implied by the attire worn by the women and the specificity of the horse’s colouring. Just before the description of the ‘mulus’ and ‘equus’, the poet tells us that Phyllis wore a gleaming white garment, whilst Flora’s was of two colours. Phyllis ueste candida,  Flora bicolore. Phyllis’s garb was stunning white, Flora’s of two hues. (CB 92 §44.3)

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This description is reflected in the first aspect of the horse’s comeliness of which we are told: the horse is also two-coloured. pictus artificio  uarii coloris: nam mixtus nigredini  color est oloris. Piebald with a patchwork of varied colours: mixed with black is the colour of swans. (CB 92 §50.3–4)

Amor’s eventual judgement, then, is foregrounded in the portrayal of Flora’s horse as a mount of higher calibre than Phyllis’s mule. The author manages to do so both in highly allusive terms that require a working knowledge of the Classical canon on the part of the poem’s reader, and in ways internal to the poem which a less well-versed audience would, I suggest, be able to discern.

Flora and Phyllis To return to the question of the equality of the maidens, the repetitious language and structuring of §§3–5 make it clear to the reader or auditor that the only discernible difference between the two beautiful – even god-like – women is that one loves a cleric and the other a knight. 3. eunt ambe uirgines  et ambe regine, Phyllis coma libera,  Flore compto crine. non sunt forme uirginum,  sed forme diuine, et respondent facie  luci matutine. 4. nec stirpe, nec facie,  nec ornatu uiles, et annos et animos  habent iuueniles, sed sunt parum impares  et parum hostiles, nam huic placet clericus,  et huic placet miles. 5. non eis distantia  corporis aut oris, omnia communia  sunt intus et foris, sunt unius habitus  et unius moris; sola differentia  modus est amoris.

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3. They advanced, both maidens and both princely, Phyllis with her tresses loose, Flora with her hair arranged. Theirs was not the beauty of maidens, but beauty divine, and with their countenance they replied to the morning light. 4. Not in birth, nor appearance, nor adornment are they undistinguished, both in years and spirit are they youthful, but they are a little different and there is a small enmity between them, for to one is the cleric pleasing, and to the other is the knight. 5. They are not very different in physique or mien; in all things are they alike inwardly and outwardly: they have the same way of dressing and the same way of behaving. The only difference between them is how they love. (CB 92 §§3–5, emphasis added)

On a prima facie reading, the question of their equal comeliness is not in doubt, nor is the subject of the altercation to follow. To this we might add, however, that for the more literate reader the superficial description of their appearance and character, and the careful lexical parison of the passage, may recall an Ovidian poem in which the beauty, inward and outward, of two women is compared: neither is found wanting, and the poet claims that he can (make) love (to) two at once. Tu mihi, tu certe, memini, Graecine, negabas uno posse aliquem tempore amare duas. per te ego decipior, per te deprensus inermis ecce duas uno tempore turpis amo. utraque formosa est, operosae cultibus ambae, artibus in dubio est haec sit an illa prior; pulchrior hac illa est, haec est quoque pulchrior illa, et magis haec nobis et magis illa placet. erro uelut uentis discordibus acta phaselos, diuiduumque tenent alter et alter amor. You, yes, it was you, Graecinus – I remember – who used to maintain that it was impossible for a man to love two women at the same time. By you I was deceived, by you ensnared, unarmed as I was – look! shame-faced I love two at once. The two of them are beautiful, actively cultured are they both,

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such that I can’t tell whether the one surpasses the other in skill, or vice versa; more attractive is the former than the latter, the latter too is more attractive than the former, and the latter is more pleasing to me, just as the former is more so. I wander about as if a skiff driven by arguing winds, and, torn as I am, love for the one and for the other takes a hold of me. (Ovid, Amores, 2.10.1–10)

Note the chiastic arrangement of words in line 5 and the framing of the line with ‘utraque’ and ‘ambae’; the parison of 7–8; the polyptoton of ‘haec’ and ‘illa’; and the reiterative aspects of the passage. I do not necessarily mean to suggest that the author of CB 92 is making conscious allusion to this passage, but rather that, in attempting to articulate the equal beauty of two women, he reaches for the sorts of language and modes of expression with which he is likely to have been familiar and produces a passage that, to some extent, echoes Ovid’s description of his dilemma. Were this intertext (intended or otherwise) to have been activated for the audience of the Altercatio, it could hint at a sort of voyeuristic objectification on the part of the medieval poet: are readers encouraged to visualise Flora and Phyllis as maidens to whom they (with the author?) may plausibly be attracted; are the two women cast in so stylised a manner as to fashion them as objects of considerable beauty, or even as works of art at which one’s (readerly) gaze ought to be directed? Are we even to suppose that two canonesses might, tongue in cheek, have performed the parts of Phyllis and Flora? Such speculation aside, we may note that the description of two women in a locus amoenus about to engage in a debate finds an Ovidian precedent in Amores, 3.1. While the elegist was wondering what sort of poetry he ought to write as he walked in a wood apt to provide inspiration, the personified figures of Elegia and Tragoedia appeared, both seeking to prevail upon him. Each of the women is portrayed in two couplets apiece, and comparison between them and their respective appearances is invited by the placement of ‘uenit’ at the start of the two descriptions (ll. 7 and 11). hic ego dum spatior tectus nemoralibus umbris, quod mea quaerebam Musa moueret opus. uenit odoratos Elegia nexa capillos, et, puto, pes illi longior alter erat. forma decens, uestis tenuissima, uultus amantis, et pedibus uitium causa decoris erat. uenit et ingenti uiolenta Tragoedia passu:

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fronte comae torua, palla iacebat humi; laeua manus sceptrum late regale mouebat, Lydius alta pedum uincla cothurnus erat. Here, as I was ambling, protected by the shades of the grove, I was wondering what sort of work my Muse was setting in motion. On to the scene came Elegy, her perfumed hair tied up, and, methinks, one of her feet was longer than the other. She was a decorous beauty with the lightest of garments, with the face of a lover, and the reason for her beauty was the defect of her feet. On to the scene came Tragedy, boisterous and mightily striding: her hair was strewn across her aggressive brow, her mantle she had cast onto the ground; her left hand wielded a royal sceptre far and wide, and a Lydian buskin was high-bound on each foot. (Ovid, Amores, 3.1.5–14)

The women’s figures, each appropriate to their respective genres, are contrasted with one another, and the reader is encouraged to compare their coiffures (ll. 7, 12), their respective attire (‘uestis tenuissima’, 9; ‘palla iacebat humi’, 12), their visages (‘uultus amantis’, 9; ‘fronte […] torua’, 12), and their feet and gaits (8 and 10; 11 and 14). Ovid’s dilemma regarding his putative literary undertaking is thus dramatised not only by the arguments set out by the two women in the rest of the poem, but by the very appearance of the two personified forms of poetry.38 In the Altercatio, contrariwise, the likely success of the respective arguments of the two maidens is hinted at in the descriptions of their mounts, whilst their parity as interlocutors is emphasised by reference, as in Ovid, to their coiffures, their attire, their visages, and their gaits (as well as in their ages and their manners). Although the description of Flora and Phyllis seems to look to Ovidian precedents, the portrayal of two figures as evenly matched, engaging in a debate in a locus amoenus, apparently looks to Vergil’s Eclogues too. In the speech of Meliboeus that opens Eclogue 7, considerable attention is drawn to the equal worthiness of Corydon and Thyrsis as opponents for one another.

38

Compare Ovid’s balanced description of the women’s respective actions and the resultant effects on the poet at 63–66.

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Forte sub arguta consederat ilice Daphnis, compulerantque greges Corydon et Thyrsis in unum, Thyrsis ouis, Corydon distentas lacte capellas, ambo florentes aetatibus, Arcades ambo, et cantare pares et respondere parati. […] et certamen erat, Corydon cum Thyrside, magnum; posthabui tamen illorum mea seria ludo. alternis igitur contendere uersibus ambo coepere, alternos Musae meminisse uolebant. hos Corydon, illos referebat in ordine Thyrsis. Daphnis happened to sit down under the rustling holm-oak, whilst Corydon and Thyrsis had driven their flocks together – Thyrsis’s were sheep, Corydon’s, nannies swollen with milk; both in the bloom of youth, both, indeed, Arcadian, and, evenly matched, they were ready to sing in response to one another. […] And in a considerable contest Corydon vied with Thyrsis; I, indeed, reckoned their jeu of greater import than my work. With alternating stanzas they thus began to compete with one another; it was alternating stanzas that their Muses wished to bring to mind. These Corydon, those Thyrsis did sing in turn. (Vergil, Eclogues, 7.1–5 and 16–20)

As in the description of Flora and Phyllis at the start of CB 92, the repetition of words such as ‘ambo’ (4) and ‘alternus’ (18–19) and the frequent pairing of the herdsmen’s names point to the parity between the two interlocutors which is made more explicit in the lexical play of line 5 (‘et cantare pares et respondere parati’).39 It may well be that the author of the Altercatio, in setting the scene for the débat that constitutes the core of the poem, draws upon instances in Ovid’s and Vergil’s verse in which an evenly matched exchange of words between two figures is about to occur – in Ovid’s case between the personifications of poetic forms; in Vergil’s, an amoebean exchange of the sort familiar from bucolic. Were this the case, a more literate reader, by recognising such intertexts, may be

39

The repetition of ‘ambo’ in line 4 is underlined by the bucolic diaeresis which may effectively be rendered ‘indeed’: ‘both in the bloom of youth, both, indeed, Arcadian’.

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primed by the poet to expect a debate of some sort in what follows. Perhaps more plausibly, however, one may suggest that the author of CB 92, in composing a Streitgedicht in Latin, was influenced by ancient presentations of débats in putting together his poem’s cadre. An audience familiar with the ancient (and medieval) traditions of such poems may have been guided by (authorially unintended) intertexts of this sort in their expectations of what is to follow, but it is also the case, as outlined above, that §§3–5 of CB 92 serve, in and of themselves, as a clear enough introduction to the rest of the poem for less well-versed auditors or readers.

In Springtime, the Only Pretty Ring Time As is frequently the case in the poems on amatory themes found in the Codex Buranus, the setting of the Altercatio is a vernal one with many of the typical characteristics of a locus amoenus:40 the landscape is decked with flowers; there is a light breeze and a grassy area shaded by a pine through which a stream, babbling, wends its way. It is here that the ‘uirgines’ sit down in order to exchange points of view.41 1. Anni parte florida,  celo puriore, picto terre gremio  uario colore, dum fugaret sidera  nuntius Aurore liquit somnus oculos  Phyllidis et Flore. […] 6. susurrabat modicum  uentus tempestiuus. locus erat uiridi  gramine festiuus et in ipso gramine  defluebat riuus uiuus atque garrulo  murmure lasciuus. 40

See, for example, CB 59, CB 78, CB 136, CB 137, etc. Summer is often also described as an apt season for love, for instance in CB 139. For an overview of the features common to the description of these vernal landscapes in contemporary poetry and in Ovid’s works, see Winfried Offermanns, Die Wirkung Ovids auf die literarische Sprache der lateinischen Liebesdichtung des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts (Wuppertal: Henn, 1970), 113–23. 41 The choice of ‘considere’ to describe Flora and Phyllis sitting down appears to be a knowing one. The verb is used on a number of occasions in Vergil’s Eclogues to speak of herdsmen preparing to participate in, or listen to, an amoebean exchange, for instance, 3.55–57, 5.3, and 7.1. It is used by Ovid in the context of a locus amoenus only once at Metamorphoses, 5.336.

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7. ad augmentum decoris  et caloris minus fuit secus riuulum  spatiosa pinus, uenustata folio,  late pandens sinus, nec intrare poterat  calor peregrinus. 8. consedere uirgines;  herba sedem dedit. Phyllis iuxta riuulum,  Flora longe sedit. 1. In the season of flowers’ blooming, when the sky is clearer and the lap of the earth is painted in varied colours, just as Dawn’s messenger was putting the stars to flight, sleep took leave of Phyllis’s and Flora’s eyes. […] 6. The seasonable wind whispered gently. With green grass was the pretty place decked, and down into the very grass trickled a stream of living water, playful in its talkative babbling. 7. For the increase of the place’s beauty and to lessen the heat there was near to the streamlet a wide-spreading pine, made charming by its foliage. By broadly extending its canopy the heat alien to the place was denied entry. 8. The maidens sat down; the grass provided a seat. Phyllis sat next to the streamlet, Flora sat far off. (CB 92 §§1 and 6–8)

Whilst it would be egregious, given the evidence, to claim that the poet of CB 92 was alluding to particular descriptions of idyllic landscapes from Classical authors, it seems to me more than likely, based on shared lexis and imagery, that a number of passages of Ovid have influenced the treatment of the locus amoenus here.42 The image of the earth painted with a variety of flowers appears to owe

42

It seems to me that the cadre of the Altercatio has a particularly Ovidian savour (in part because it serves to introduce, and adumbrate, the débat that it frames, as is the case in Amores, 3.1, for example), even if, as a quick glance at contemporary works on style, diction, and rhetoric demonstrates, many of its themes are commonplace in descriptions of loci amoeni; see, for instance, Matthew of Vendôme, Ars Versificatoria 3.106–11 (and fn. 40 above).

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some of its diction to the two ecphrastic passages depicting the locale in which Persephone is to be raped by Pluto in the Fasti and the Metamorphoses.43 ualle sub umbrosa locus est aspergine multa uuidus ex alto desilientis aquae. tot fuerant illic, quot habet natura, colores, pictaque dissimili flore nitebat humus. In a shaded valley there is a place damp with the considerable spray from the water tumbling down from on high. In that place there were as many colours as nature has, and, painted with diverse flowers, the earth shines. (Ovid, Fasti, 4.427–30) silua coronat aquas cingens latus omne suisque frondibus ut uelo Phoebeos summouet ictus. frigora dant rami, uarios humus umida flores; perpetuum uer est. A wood crowns the waters, girding them on every side, and with its leaves, as with an awning, keeps off the rays of the sun. Coolness do the branches give, and varied flowers the moist earth; it is forever spring. (Ovid, Metamorphoses, 5.388–91)

As in the Altercatio, the ground shimmers with all manner of colours in both of the Ovidian descriptions, and the variety of flowers (‘uarios […] flores’, Metamorphoses, 5.390; ‘uario colore’, CB 92 §1.2) gives it the impression of having been painted (‘picta … humus’, Fasti, 4.430; ‘picto terre gremio’, CB 92 §1.2). Shade and cool are likewise provided in all of the passages, as is some source of water. In the case of the landscape from the Metamorphoses, moreover, the reader is explicitly told that it is spring: ‘perpetuum uer est’ (5.391). Mention of this ever-lasting season of blooming, and a similar nexus of vocabulary, may also point the reader of the Altercatio to the passage following the goddess Flora’s description of her rape in the Fasti.

43

On the close relationship between these two Ovidian episodes, see Stephen Hinds, The Metamorphosis of Persephone (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), esp. 26–48.

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uere fruor semper: semper nitidissimus annus, arbor habet frondes, pabula semper humus. est mihi fecundus dotalibus hortus in agris; aura fouet, liquidae fonte rigatur aquae: hunc meus impleuit generoso flore maritus, atque ait ‘arbitrium tu, dea, floris habe.’ saepe ego digestos uolui numerare colores, nec potui: numero copia maior erat. roscida cum primum foliis excussa pruina est et uariae radiis intepuere comae, conueniunt pictis incinctae uestibus Horae, inque leues calathos munera nostra legunt; protinus accedunt Charites, nectuntque coronas sertaque caelestes implicitura comas. prima per immensas sparsi noua semina gentes: unius tellus ante coloris erat. Ever do I enjoy spring, ever is it the most splendid part of the year: trees have leaves, ever the ground brings forth food. Abundant is my garden in the fields that are my dower; the breeze warms it, by a spring of liquid waters is it fed: my husband has filled it with noble flowers, and says, ‘Have sway, goddess, over the flowers.’ Often I wished to number the various colours, but could not: the abundance was too great to be numbered. When the moist hoar is first shaken from the greenery and the varied leaves grow warm with the rays of the sun, the Hours gather, girt in dappled garb, and into light baskets they gather our offerings; straightway the Graces approach, they weave chaplets and garlands so as to bind their heavenly tresses. I, first, scattered new seeds amongst the numberless peoples: before this the earth was of one hue. (Ovid, Fasti, 5.207–22)44 44

I share the concern of E. H. Alton, D. E. W. Wormell, and E. Courtney (eds), Ouidius: Fasti, 4th edn (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1997), noted in their apparatus, about the authenticity of Fasti, 5.207–08; this couplet seems to be an interpolation that interrupts the continuation of thought from 205–06 to 209, all of which are concerned in some way with the marriage between Zephyrus and Flora. In any case, I include

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As in the Metamorphoses-episode, spring has something of the eternal (‘uere fruor semper’; 207), and the earth, which was once monotone (222), abounds with flowers of every colour (209). The locus amoenus also becomes populated by the Hours and the Graces as the day begins (215–16), just as Flora and Phyllis enter the scene after they have been awakened by the arrival of Dawn’s messenger (CB 92 §1.3–4) in language reminiscent of the night’s end at Metamorphoses, 15.664–65.45 There seems to be little in these Ovidian passages to indicate direct allusion by the author of the Altercatio (though this cannot be ruled out), but tentative suggestions of intertextuality do present themselves to this reader at least. If anything may be asserted in the light of such reminiscences, it is perhaps that they bespeak the poet’s intimate awareness of the ways in which loci amoeni have typically been described, and of the appropriate poetic situations in which to deploy descriptions of such a scene. A not dissimilar sort of familiarity with the ancient (and medieval) tradition is discernible in the poet’s description of Amor’s ‘paradisus’. Here, as in the description of the women’s respective mounts, the beauty of nature is enhanced by the man-made, as the sound of instruments combines with birdsong, both of which contribute to the women’s certainty that they have found Amor’s home (CB 92 §§64.4 and 66.4).46 62. sonant et mirabili  plaudunt harmonia tympanum, psalterium,  lyra, symphonia. sonant ibi phiale  uoce ualde pia, et buxus multiplici  cantum edit uia. 63. sonant omnes auium  lingue uoce plena: uox auditur merule  dulcis et amena, corydalus, graculus  atque philomena, que non cessat conqueri  de transacta pena.

them here as they would have been present in texts of the Fasti which may have been known to the poet of the Altercatio. 45 Ovid, Metamorphoses, 15.664–65: ‘somnus abit, somnique fugam lux alma secuta est. | postera sidereos Aurora fugauerat ignes’ (‘Sleep left and gentle light pursued the sleep in its flight. The following Dawn had put the starry fires to flight’; emphasis added). 46 The repetition of ‘sonant’ in §§62–63 provides a tricolon crescendo that serves to draw together the man-made with the natural.

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64. instrumento musico,  uocibus canoris, tunc diuersi specie  contemplata floris, tunc odoris gratia  redundante foris coniectatur teneri  thalamus Amoris. 62. In wondrous harmony do the timbrel, the psaltery, the lyre, the drum resound and beat. Resound there with sacred voices do the viols, and the boxwood pipe sends forth song from its many openings. 63. Resound do all the tongues of birds in full voice: the voice of the blackbird is heard, sweet and pleasant, the lark, the daw and the nightingale, who does not cease from bewailing the punishment she has endured. 64. From the music of instruments, from the singing voices, as well as from contemplating the appearance of various flowers, then too from the welcome aroma wafted abroad, was it inferred [by the maidens] that this was the bedchamber of tender Amor. (CB 92 §§62–64)

The presence of singing birds in vernal landscapes is commonplace in the amatory poems of the Codex Buranus,47 but they are not especially common in ancient treatments of the locus amoenus in Latin,48 and one might wonder if their appearance in the medieval tradition is the result of familiarity with the birds that occupy Ovid’s flippantly portrayed Elysium in his epicedion on the occasion of the death of Corinna’s parrot (Amores, 2.6), or with the mention of their sweetly plaintive song in the wood in which the poet encounters the personified Elegia and Tragoedia (Amores, 3.1). colle sub Elysio nigra nemus ilice frondet udaque perpetuo gramine terra uiret.

47 48

See, for example, CB 58, CB 68 §2, CB 70 §1.3, CB 71 §2a, CB 132, etc. But see Vergil, Eclogues, 1.57–58 (‘nec tamen interea raucae, tua cura, palumbes | nec gemere aeria cessabit turtur ab ulmo’, ‘nor yet will the hoarse pigeons, your charges, nor will the turtle-dove, cease from groaning in the lofty elm’) which, in its themes and diction, recalls Theocritus 7.139–41.

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si qua fides dubiis, uolucrum locus ille piarum dicitur, obscenae quo prohibentur aues. Below a hill in Elysium a grove grows green with dark holm-oak and the moist earth is perpetually verdant with grass. If any faith may be placed in doubtful matters, this is said to be the abode of pious birds, from which inauspicious fowl are prohibited. (Ovid, Amores, 2.6.49–52) fons sacer in medio speluncaque pumice pendens, et latere ex omni dulce queruntur aues. A sacred spring is in the midst of [the wood], and a cave overhanging with pumice, and from every side sweetly do the birds make their plaint. (Ovid, Amores, 3.1.3–4)

At any rate, an Ovidian undercurrent to the description of the ‘paradisus’ in the Altercatio is suggested by the use of the epithet ‘tener’ (§64.4) to describe Amor. This is, perhaps surprisingly, a relatively rare collocation in Latin, but occurs nine times in Ovid, from his earliest poems through to those of his exile.49 For a well-versed reader, these possible intertexts are likely, at most, to recall earlier descriptions of loci amoeni, and may even suggest a color Ouidianus to the most astute: to claim any more than that would be to abuse the evidence. A less scholarly audience’s appreciation of the poem, moreover, is unlikely to be affected by their obliviousness to such a color, and probable familiarity with contemporary poetic descriptions of vernal landscapes similar to this one would, in all likelihood, contribute to a sense that this aspect of the Altercatio belongs to a wider literary tradition.50

Amores, 2.18.4 and 19, 3.1.69, 3.15.1; Ars, 1.7; Fasti, 4.196; Tristia, 2.361, 3.3.73, 4.10.1; elsewhere only – and infrequently – in Tibullus, Statius, and Calpurnius. 50 Familiarity with certain parts of Scripture is likely to have been greater and more farreaching than knowledge of Ovid’s verse, and a similar notion of a particular sort of color pervading the Altercatio may be discerned in the emphasis given to the presence of scents at §§60.3 and 66.3. The olfactory is rarely evoked in ancient descriptions of loci amoeni, and seems likely to have entered into the imagination of the author of CB 92 from the description of a hortus conclusus in the Canticum Canticorum (4.12– 16). For further discussion of the way in which Scripture is referenced in the Codex Buranus, see the contribution by Cardelle de Hartmann.

49

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A more clear-cut instance of the poet’s awareness of the Classical tradition is found in his description of the tottering, drunken Silenus.51 69. circa silue medium  locus est occultus, ubi uiget maxime  suus deo cultus: Fauni, Nymphe, Satyri,  comitatus multus tympanizant, concinunt  ante dei uultus. 70. portant uina manibus  et coronas florum; Bacchus Nymphas instruit  et choros Faunorum: seruant pedum ordinem  et instrumentorum; sed Silenus titubat  nec psallit in chorum. 71. somno uergit senior  asino preuectus et in risus copiam  soluit dei pectus. clamat ‘uina!’ – remanet  clamor imperfectus; uiam uocis impedit  uinum et senectus. 69. Near the middle of the wood is a hidden spot, where worship of the god is at its most vigorous: Fauns, Nymphs, Satyrs – a great company – strike timbrels and sing in concord before the face of the god. 70. They carry wine in their hands and chaplets of flowers; Bacchus directs the Nymphs and the troupes of Fauns: these preserve the disposition of dancing and of instruments; but Silenus staggers and does not sing in time. 71. The old man nods off, carried along on his donkey, and the god’s heart dissolves in great laughter. Silenus shouts ‘Wine!’ – but his shout is incomplete; the progress of his voice is hindered by wine and old age. (CB 92 §§69–71)

The elderly Silenus is depicted on his donkey on numerous occasions by Ovid, often accompanied by a throng of satyrs and nymphs, and music-making on

Love Lyrics from the Carmina Burana, 124 on §71, and Tuzzo, ‘Echi classici’, 601–02 mention a couple of the Ovidian parallels, but offer little comment.

51 Walsh,

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‘tympana’ and the like. The most conspicuous parallels are found in extended treatments in the Ars amatoria and the Metamorphoses.52 ecce, Mimallonides sparsis in terga capillis, ecce, leues Satyri, praeuia turba dei. ebrius, ecce, senex pando Silenus asello uix sedet et prensas continet arte iubas. dum sequitur Bacchas, Bacchae fugiuntque petuntque, quadrupedem ferula dum malus urget eques, in caput aurito cecidit delapsus asello; clamarunt Satyri ‘surge age, surge, pater.’ See, the Bacchants with their hair strewn over their backs, see, the flighty Satyrs, the crowd leading their god. The drunken old man Silenus, see, scarcely manages to remain seated on his crook-backed donkey and holds onto the mane he has grabbed with all his skill. Whilst he pursues the Bacchants, the Bacchants flee and attack; whilst he, a wretched rider, drives on his beast with a rod, he slips from the long-eared donkey and falls onto his head; the Satyrs shout, ‘Come on, father, up with you!’ (Ovid, Ars, 1.541–48) Bacchae Satyrique sequuntur, quique senex ferula titubantes ebrius artus sustinet et pando non fortiter haeret asello. quacumque ingrederis, clamor iuuenalis et una femineae uoces impulsaque tympana palmis concauaque aera sonant longoque foramine buxus. The Bacchants and Satyrs follow, and the drunk old man supports his staggering limbs with a staff and clings insipidly to the crook-backed donkey. Wheresoever you go, the cry of youths together with voices of women sounds, as do timbrels struck by palms and concave cymbals and the boxwood pipe with its long bore-hole. (Ovid, Metamorphoses, 4.25–30)

52

Compare also Metamorphoses, 11.89–91; Fasti, 1.395–400 and 6.323–24.

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As in the Altercatio, Silenus struggles to keep his balance as his mount makes its faltering progress; note the shared use of ‘titubare’. The sylvan oenophile features infrequently in the Latin poetry of antiquity, and it is clear that it is these Ovidian passages which have influenced the author of CB 92.53

Conclusion The poet of the Altercatio, though not necessarily always engaging as closely with Classical literature as in the treatment of Flora’s and Phyllis’s mounts, betrays an intimate familiarity with the Classical tradition, most conspicuously in the passages of the poem that frame the débat itself. It is often rather uncertain whether – and unlikely that – the suggestions of intertexts that a reader may discern were allusions consciously woven into the fabric of his poem by the author. Where such intertexts appear to have a particular point, rather than merely lending the poem a color Ouidianus or Vergilianus as many of the hints of intertextuality in the cadre of CB 92 do, the author seems to have ensured that one’s comprehension is not solely predicated on the unpacking of a probable allusion, but that the force resulting from the reminiscence is more palpably inscribed in the content and structure of the poem itself. Authorial allusions to Classical literature, then, corroborate the argument of the poem without being integral to one’s understanding of it, such that those who are less well versed will be able to grasp its gist alongside the cognoscenti. This carmen amatorium, at least, appears to have been written by a learned poet, but one who does not seem to have wanted to restrict his audience to those who were familiar with the literature of the ancient world: the text perhaps reflects the varied breadth of learning of the members of the community in which our writer worked, or before which he supposed his poem would be performed. The Altercatio thus fits well within the context of ‘a monastery or bishop’s court … a cathedral school or university [where] songs intended for entertainment and not for cult, songs performed in hall rather than in church or oratory’, would have been encountered by those grounded to a greater and a lesser degree in literature past and present.54 The débat du clerc et du chevalier portrayed by the author of Elsewhere, Silenus memorably appears in a drunken state at Vergil, Eclogues, 6.13–15 and Seneca, Oedipus, 429–30. 54 Peter Dronke, The Medieval Lyric, 3rd edn (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1996), 27; Anne J. Duggan, ‘The World of the Carmina Burana’, in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones, King’s College London Medieval Studies, 18 (London: King’s College London, 2000), 1–23; Bobeth, 79–82. 53

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CB 92 is couched in words that bespeak a poet steeped in the ‘precepta Ouidii’, as the Concilium Romarici Montis has it, though little of the poem’s charm and wit is lost for readers or auditors who have not been subjected to the rigours of instruction in all things Ovidian at Remiremont.

Chapter 6

Rape, the Pastourelle, and the Female Voice in CB 185 Jonathan Seelye Martin The pastourelle is a difficult genre for a modern audience: these songs tell, usually in the first person, of the encounter of a knight with a woman, typically a shepherdess, alone in the woods or fields. The knight will attempt to seduce the shepherdess: occasionally, he is successful; sometimes, the shepherdess drives him away. In a significant minority of songs, the knight rapes an unwilling shepherdess.1 The pastourelles in which rape occurs tend to trivialise this sexual violence by portraying the victim as one who receives sexual gratification and blaming her for being alone and vulnerable. At the same time, they glory in the sexual prowess of the aggressor, while also parodying his courtly words and contrasting them with his violent actions.2 Even if rape does not occur, the threat of sexual violence is constantly present in the pastourelle. Underlying these poems is the view, expressed by Andreas Capellanus in his De amore, that peasants make love like beasts and that a noble can thus merely ‘take’ their love.3 The similarities of these sentiments to what is described as ‘rape culture’ on American

1

Rape occurs most frequently in Old French pastourelles, where it can be found in about 18 per cent of the corpus. See Kathryn Gravdal, Ravishing Maidens: Writing Rape in Medieval French Literature and Law (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1991), 114–15. See also Geri L. Smith, The Medieval French Pastourelle Tradition: Poetic Motivations and Generic Transfigurations (Gainesville, FL: University of Florida Press, 2009), 31. 2 See Smith, Medieval French Pastourelle, 40–41; Rainer Warning, ‘Pastourelle und Mädchenlied’, in Festschrift Walther Haug und Burghart Wachinger, ed. by Johannes Janota et al., 2 vols (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1992), ii, 709–23 (714–15). 3 P. G. Walsh (ed.), Andreas Capellanus: On Love (London: Duckworth, 1982), 222– 23. See Smith, Medieval French Pastourelle, 31; Fritz Peter Knapp, Die Literatur des Früh- und Hochmittelalters in den Bistümern Passau, Salzburg, Brixen und Trient von den Anfängen bis zum Jahre 1273, Geschichte der Literatur in Österreich von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart, 1 (Graz: Akademische Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt, 1994), 418–19.

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college campuses today are obvious and have been described by Carissa Harris.4 Scholarly responses to these poems often repeat tropes from modern debates, with many arguments revolving around whether the female victim really wanted to be raped. As Geri Smith notes, many scholars are all too eager to take the portrayal of the shepherdess in the pastourelle as happy or impressed after her rape at face value, ignoring the fact that anything the shepherdess says or does is mediated through the male rapist’s voice: ‘even if simultaneous or after-thefact consent were not self-contradictory concepts, the pastourelle’s privileging of masculine perspective and voice strongly problematises any depiction of the woman’s acquiescence’.5 The entire pastourelle genre is deeply entwined with rape, and the attempts of some medieval authors to soften the blow of the rapes by turning the girl’s resistance into a show may indicate that some of the poems’ original audiences were also uncomfortable with this situation. At the same time, the poems are infused with a misogyny that should not be downplayed. While the poem under discussion here, CB 185 (Ich was ein kint so wol getân),6 is not a true pastourelle, it clearly exploits the generic tradition of the pastourelle and depicts a rape (Illustration 6.1). Composed of stanzas that alternate between Latin and German at each line break, it is notable as perhaps the most studied of the macaronic poems found in the Codex Buranus.7 A Latin refrain then follows each stanza. The basic narrative of the poem shows many similarities to the pastourelle: a girl goes alone to the meadow, where she meets a man who takes her into the forest; although the girl weeps, the man has sex with her beside a linden tree; the girl then claims that the man deceived her. Yet the poem deviates from 4

Carissa M. Harris, ‘Rape Narratives, Courtly Critique, and the Pedagogy of Sexual Negotiation in the Middle English Pastourelle’, Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 46.2 (2016), 263–87. 5 Smith, Medieval French Pastourelle, 37. 6 I adapt the original text and the English translations, unless otherwise noted, from Traill. 7 On the linguistic mixtures found in the Codex Buranus, see especially Sayce. See also Bruce A. Beatie, ‘Macaronic Poetry in the Carmina Burana’, Vivarium, 5 (1967), 16–24; Ulrich Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung als poetische Technik: Barbarolexis in den Carmina Burana’, in Europäische Mehrsprachigkeit: Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Mario Wandruszka, ed. by Wolfgang Pöckl (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1981), 87–104; Burghart Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder: zu den deutschen Strophen der Carmina Burana’, in From Symbol to Mimesis: The Generation of Walther von der Vogelweide, ed. by Franz H. Bäuml, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 368 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1984), 1–34; Cyril Edwards, ‘German Texts in the Codex Buranus’, in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones, King’s College London Medieval Studies, 18 (London: King’s College London, 2000), 41–70.

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the standard pastourelle in that it does not privilege the male voice: the poem is instead told in the voice of the female victim. While a minority of scholars have found the poem to be either sympathetic to the girl or condemnatory of the man,8 the majority of scholarship on CB 185 assumes that the poem represents a male chauvinist triumph over the raped lyric persona. Most scholars do not, in other words, take the female persona at her word. To take just a few examples: Sabine Brinkmann argues that the girl is not portrayed as having seriously resisted her assailant and complains only after the fact;9 Andreas Kraß suggests that there is no reason to believe that a true ‘female perspective’ is to be found in a song simply because it is composed with a female persona, since it was in all likelihood written by a man;10 and Albrecht Classen argues that the poem ‘idealises rape’,11 and that the female persona might be a prostitute.12 While it is entirely possible that such scholarly positions accurately reflect how this poem was received by its medieval audience, this chapter takes the opposite view, namely that we should at least try to take the female persona at her word. In what follows, I argue that the poem, far from demonstrating medieval chauvinism, invites us both to sympathise with its female victim and to have a far more sober reflection on the matter of rape than most scholars allow. CB 185 does this through its mixture of genres and its manner of depicting events, but it does it most of all through its use of the female voice.

8

9 10

11 12

See Peter Dronke, Medieval Latin and the Rise of European Love-Lyric, 2 vols, 2nd edn (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), i, 304; Hubert Heinen, ‘Walther’s “Under der linden”, its Function, its Subtexts, and its Maltreated Maiden’, in Medieval German Literature: Proceedings from the 23rd Congress on Medieval Studies Kalamazoo, Michigan, May 5–8 1988, ed. by Albrecht Classen (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1989), 51–73 (68), argues that the poem ‘suggests a certain ambivalence and condemnation of rape’. In his chapter in this volume, Peter Godman draws attention to the female voice of CB 185 and demonstrates how the poet exposes the conventions of pastoral ‘as a rhetoric of rape’. Sabine Christiane Brinkmann, Die deutschsprachige Pastourelle: 13. bis 16. Jahrhundert, doctoral dissertation, Universität Bonn, 1976, 125. Andreas Kraß, ‘Das Theater der Liebe: die Pastourelle Ich was ein chint so wolgetan (CB 185)’, in Imaginative Theatralität: Szenische Verfahren und kulturelle Potenziale in mittelalterlicher Dichtung, Kunst, und Historiographie (2011: Universität Salzburg), ed. by Manfred Kern (Heidelberg: Winter, 2013), 23–36 (34–35). Albrecht Classen, Sexual Violence and Rape in the Middle Ages: A Critical Discourse in Premodern German and European Literature (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 122. Albrecht Classen, ‘The Carmina Burana: A Mirror of Latin and Vernacular Literary Traditions from a Cultural-Historical Perspective: Transgression is the Name of the Game’, Neophilologus, 94 (2010), 477–97 (480). For Classen’s reading of CB 185, see also his contribution to the present volume.

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Illustration 6.1. CB 185: Ich was ein kint so wol getân 1. Ich was ein kint so wol getân, uirgo dum florebam, dô prîste mich diu werlt al, omnibus placebam. Ref. Hoy et oe! maledicantur tilie iuxta uiam posite!

1. I was such a good-looking girl when I was young and in my prime. Then all the world sang my praises; everyone liked me. Ref. Alas, alas! Curses on the linden trees that line the road!

2. Ja wolde ich an die wîsen gân, flores adunare, dô wolde mich ein ungetân ibi deflorare. Ref.

2. I wanted to go to the meadow to gather flowers; there a loathsome man wanted to deflower me. Ref.

3. Er nam mich bî der wîzen hant, sed non indecenter, er wîste mich die wise lanc ualde fraudulenter. Ref.

3. He took me by my pale white hand, but not improperly. He led me along the meadow very dishonestly. Ref.

4. Er greif mir an daz wîze gewant ualde indecenter, er fuorte mich bî der hant multum uiolenter. Ref.

4. He grabbed my white dress most improperly; He led me by the hand very violently. Ref.

5. Er sprach: ‘Vrowe, gên wir baz! nemus est remotum.’ Dirre wec, der habe haz! planxi et hoc totum. Ref.

5. He said, ‘Lady, let’s keep going! There is a secluded grove.’ – Cursed be the road to it! – and I wept all this time. Ref.

A German Pastourelle? The use of the female voice in CB 185 is reflective not of the genre of the pastourelle, but of the German lyric genre known as ‘women’s song’ (Frauenlied) or ‘maiden’s song’ (Mädchenlied).13 Whereas the pastourelle recounts a rape 13

On the German genre, see Günther Schweikle, Minnesang, 2nd edn (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1995), 128–29 and 148–49. On ‘women’s song’ more generally, see John F. Plummer (ed.), Vox feminae: Studies in Medieval Woman’s Songs (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1981); and Anne L. Klinck and Ann Marie Rasmussen (eds), Medieval Women’s Song: Cross-Cultural Approaches (Philadelphia, PA: University

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6. ‘Ez stât ein linde wol getân non procul ab uia, dâ hab ich mîne harphe lân, tympanum cum lyra.’ Ref.

6. ‘There is a lovely linden tree not far from the road. There I left my harp, my tambourine, and my lyre.’ Ref.

7. Dô er zuo der linden kom, dixit: ‘Sedeamus,’ – diu minne twanc sêre den man – ‘ludum faciamus.’ Ref.

7. When he came to the linden tree, he said ‘Let’s sit down.’ – Love held the man in thrall – ‘Let’s have some fun!’ Ref.

8. Er greif mir an den wîzen lîp, non absque timore, er sprach: ‘Ich mache dich ein wîp, dulcis es cum ore!’ Ref.

8. He placed his hand on my pale body – rather gingerly; He said ‘I will make you a woman, You are sweet and so is your mouth.’ Ref.

9. Er warf mir ûf daz hemdelîn corpore detecta, er rante mir in daz burgelîn cuspide erecta. Ref.

9. He pushed up my shift, uncovering my body, and stormed my little citadel with his spear point erect. Ref.

10. Er nam den kocher unde den bogen, bene uenabatur! Der selbe hete mich betrogen. ‘Ludus compleatur.’ Ref.

10. He took his bow and quiver, and hunted well! The man deceived me. ‘Let the game be over!’ Ref.1

1

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The song’s German lines are printed in italics.

or seduction in the male voice, the Frauenlied recounts the longing of a female persona for her absent lover. Hubert Heinen has convincingly shown that CB 185 cites and reverses various tropes of Walther von der Vogelweide’s most famous Mädchenlied, Under der linden (C 16), in which a girl recounts of Pennsylvania Press, 2002). For the Frauenlied in the Carmina Burana, see Cyril Edwards, ‘Die Stimme der Frau in den Carmina Burana’, in Frauenlieder: Cantigas de amigo: Internationale Kolloquien des Centro de Estudos Humanísticos (Universidade do Minho), der Faculdade de Letras (Universidade do Porto) und des Fachbereichs Germanistik (Freie Universität Berlin), Berlin, 6.11.1998, Apúlia, 28.–30.3.1999, ed. by Thomas Cramer et al. (Stuttgart: Hirzel, 2000), 267–80.

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her pleasurable tryst under a linden tree.14 The refrain of CB 185 calls again and again for the linden trees under which its female persona was raped to be cursed, thereby usurping and transforming the recollection of the female persona in Walther’s poem. The Frauenlied appears to be strongly associated with the German vernacular,15 while the pastourelle does not seem to have existed as an independent genre in German-language poetry, meaning that the use of Latin in CB 185 may have been necessary to tie the poem to that genre. There is considerable debate as to whether any true pastourelles exist in medieval German; those German poems sometimes labelled pastourelles often rely on an extremely broad definition of the genre.16 We can only speculate as to why this might be the case, but the greater emphasis on proper courtly behaviour in German literature written around 1200, as opposed to the more ludic style of contemporary French and Latin literature, may have played a role.17 The primary generic influences on CB 185 thus seem to be the Frauenlied and the pastourelle, reflected through the use of the German and Latin languages respectively. CB 185 also shows some potential connections to the humorous poetry of the German lyric poet Neidhart, who wrote several poems in the tradition of the pastourelle. As with all discussion of the German pastourelle, the ascription of any of Neidhart’s poems to this genre is somewhat controversial:18 most recently,

14

See Heinen, ‘Walther’s “Under den Linden”’. See Olive Sayce, The Medieval German Lyric, 1150–1300: The Development of its Themes and Forms in their European Context (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982), 23–24. 16 See, among others, Schweikle, Minnesang, 142–43; Warning, ‘Pastourelle’, 709–23; Tanja Mattern, ‘An den Grenzen der Gattung: zur Rezeption der Pastourelle in der mittelhochdeutschen Lyrik’, Euphorion, 110 (2016), 287–317. A somewhat broader, but still very limited, definition of German pastourelle can be found in Brinkmann, Die deutschsprachige Pastourelle. 17 On the tendency of medieval German literature toward idealism, see C. Stephen Jaeger, The Origins of Courtliness: Civilizing Trends and the Formation of Courtly Ideals, 939–1210 (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985). On the apparent dislike of German poetry for the pastourelle, see also Cyril Edwards, ‘Die Erotisierung des Handwerks’, in Liebe in der deutschen Literatur des Mittelalters: St. Andrews-Colloquium 1985, ed. by Jeffrey Ashcroft, Dietrich Huschenbett, and William Henry Jackson (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1987), 126–48 (130). 18 For discussions of Neidhart’s engagement with the pastourelle, see Ulrich Müller, ‘Neidharts Pastourellen der “Manessischen Handschrift”: Unechter “Schmutz” oder die Kehrseite der Medaille?’, in Entzauberung der Welt: Deutsche Literatur 1200–1500, ed. by James F. Poag and Thomas C. Fox (Tübingen: Francke, 1989), 73–88; Günther Schweikle, Neidhart (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1990), 78; Ingrid Bennewitz, ‘Pastourelle oder Pastourellenpersiflage: Neidhart Wie sol ich die bluomen uberwinden’, in Gedichte 15

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Claudia Händl has denied any connection between Neidhart’s songs and the pastourelle.19 In my view, the general outline of their narratives confirms that at least some of Neidhart’s poems follow the model of the pastourelle, in which a higher-status man narrates his seduction or rape of a lower-status girl, whom he encounters while riding or walking one day. This makes Neidhart’s ‘pastourelles’, regardless of their exact genre, suitable material for comparison to the very similar narrative of CB 185, in that they depict like situations. Such a comparison of CB 185 to Neidhart’s Wie sol ich die blůmen uberwinden (R 31, Summerlied 11)20 reveals just how much CB 185 deviates from the model of the pastourelle in the male voice. Wie sol ich die blůmen uberwinden shares some thematic elements with CB 185, but it reaches a very different conclusion. The first stanza of the poem seems closely related to the themes and general atmosphere of CB 185, and, given the presence of a stanza by Neidhart within the Codex Buranus, might conceivably have influenced it.21 Wie sol ich die blůmen uberwinden, die so vertorben sint? die siht man nindert so mans in dem mayen sah. ir vergezzet niht der grunen linden – we, wa tanzent nu diu chint? –, diu was uns den sumer vur di heizzen sunne ein dach. diu ist grunes loubes worden ane. des bin ich dem winder gram, sit er uns die rosen ab der heiden nam, die da stunden hiwer wolgetan. How can I get over the flowers that are so withered? One sees them now nowhere as one saw them in May. Don’t forget the green lime tree – und Interpretationen: Mittelalter, ed. by Helmut Tervooren (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1993), 321–37. 19 Claudia Händl, ‘Neidhart im Kontext der mittelhochdeutschen und europäischen Liebeslyrik des 12. bis 15. Jahrhunderts’, in Neidhart und die Neidhart-Lieder: ein Handbuch, ed. by Margarete Springeth and Franz-Viktor Spechtler (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), 257–73 (262). 20 Middle High German text from Ulrich Müller et al. (eds), Neidhart-Lieder: Texte und Melodien sämtlicher Handschriften und Drucke, 3 vols (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007). 21 Sayce, 129–34, argues that Neidhart was a major influence on the collection.

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alas, now where do the young people dance? In summer it was our shelter from the hot sun; it has lost its green leaves, and I am angry at winter since it has taken the roses from the meadow, that stood there beautiful this year.22 (Neidhart, R 31 §1)

The most obvious similarity of this stanza to CB 185 is its mention of a linden tree, which, however, plays no further role in the poem. The flowers that are now withered have a clear thematic relevance to the female persona of CB 185, who talks of how she once ‘flowered’ as a virgin. As is evident by the end of Neidhart’s poem, the withering of the flowers and their plucking in winter alludes to the deflowering of virgins. In the remainder of the poem, the lyric persona recounts how he came upon a young girl who was thrashing flax and tried to force himself upon her despite her physical and vocal resistance. Eventually, the lyric persona overcomes the girl’s resistance, though it is unclear whether she has given up or he has simply overpowered her. Either way, she is now a ‘withered’ flower, much like the girl in CB 185. What is absent from CB 185 is Neidhart’s playful and derisive tone. Neidhart’s lyric persona mockingly characterises the blows done to him by the resisting girl as ‘impolite manners’ (‘ungelimphen’, §3.4) and an ‘affront’ (‘schimpf ’) about which he can laugh (§5.4). Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, MS mgf 779 (Neidhart MS c) adds a final stanza to the poem in which the girl is shown to thoroughly enjoy the sexual encounter and confesses her desire, declaring ‘Dearest lover, I want to be with you’ (‘herczenlieber bul, ich will dir wesen by’, §6.8). These aspects, not unusual for a pastourelle or Neidhart’s poetry, are all absent from CB 185.23 While it does not contain this poem by Neidhart, the Codex Buranus contains a number of Latin pastourelles, alongside other Latin love poems such as CB 72 (Peter of Blois’ Grates ago Veneri), which depict rape in the style of the influential Roman poet Ovid.24 These poems are all narrated in the male voice. Yet one Latin poem, neither in the male voice nor a pastourelle, does show some similarities to CB 185: CB 126 (Tempus instat floridum) is narrated by a girl who has become

Translation from William Paden (ed.), The Medieval Pastourelle, 2 vols (New York: Garland, 1987), i, 93–95. 23 On these stereotypical aspects of the pastourelle, see Gravdal, Ravishing Maidens, 110–14; Smith, Medieval French Pastourelle, 35–37. 24 On the influence of Ovid more generally, see this volume’s contribution by Franklinos. 22

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pregnant as the result of a secret tryst, while her lover has fled to France. Cyril Edwards argues that the song forms ‘a sort of counterpart to the pastourelles’ in that it shows the results of the sexual relations portrayed in such poems.25 The Codex Buranus also contains a number of stanzas in German with similar concerns.26 Besides transmitting fragments of poems known to be by Walther von der Vogelweide, Reinmar der Alte, Neidhart, and part of the heroic Eckenlied, the codex also includes many simple, anonymous lyrics, often in the female voice. The short poem that constitutes the German stanza of CB 163 notably shares many elements with CB 185: Eine wünneclîche stat hât er mir bescheiden – dâ die bluomen unde gras stuonden gruone beide. Dar kom ich, als er mich bat dâ geschach mir leide. Lodircundeie! Lodircundeie! He directed me to a delightful spot – where fresh flowers and green grass burst forth. There I came, as he had asked me; and there I was hurt. Lodircundeie! Lodircundeie! (CB 163 §11)

Like CB 185, this poem shows the obvious influence of Walther’s Under der linden.27 The most important connection between this short poem and CB 185 is that both are told by the female victim rather than the man, something shared with the Latin CB 126, but more generally pointing to a connection to the German Frauenlied. Finally, CB 185 is preceded in the manuscript by another mixed-language pastourelle, CB 184 (Virgo quedam nobilis), which is narrated in the third person and which – arguably – also depicts a rape.28 The variety of lyrics transmitted within the Codex Buranus indicates that its compilers were likely to have had a good knowledge of contemporary German lyric as well as of Latin lyric, meaning that a poem like CB 185 could have drawn on a wide variety

25

Edwards, ‘Die Stimme’, 270. For a full list of German materials in the Codex Buranus, see the table included in Hope’s contribution. 27 See Sayce, The Medieval German Lyric, 248–49 and 260–61. On the influence of Walther on the Codex Buranus, see Sayce, 126–29. 28 See Edwards, ‘Die Erotisierung’, 131. On the other hand, Traill, ii, 677 argues instead that ‘the girl appears to be a willing participant’. 26

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of influences.29 Whether or not it is true that the scribes of the Codex Buranus composed any of the poetry in it themselves,30 it is nevertheless clear that CB 185 was in all likelihood written not long before the creation of the codex and by an author with knowledge of a range of lyric traditions.31

Performing and Composing CB 185 A number of scholars have used musical or situational reconstructions of the performance of CB 185 in order to support their arguments that this song can only have been meant to belittle and mock the female persona. Ulrich Müller makes explicit reference to the melody of the poem reconstructed by René Clemencic as proving once and for all that the poem was meant to be humorous.32 In the medieval codex itself, however, there is no recorded musical notation for CB 185. Moreover, Clemencic’s rationale for the melody is unconvincing: ‘the melody has been derived from a contrafacture of the student song Ecce tempus gaudi from the Florentine manuscript [Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Plut. 29.1], which is of great importance for the Codex Buranus. AABB became AAAABB. The exclamation of the refrain was supplemented.’33 In other words, Clemencic’s melody relies entirely on the fact that the lines of the stanza each have the same number of syllables as another song, while the refrain has the same number of syllables as part of that song’s stanza, without any notation for the words ‘Hoy et oe’. The proposed melody thus relies on doubling the number of lines sung to the other song’s AA melody, and inventing music for the exclamation ‘Hoy et oe’. Given this flimsy basis, the melody should certainly not be relied upon to make any claims about how CB 185 was performed or

29 See Godman, 255; Peter Dronke, ‘Latin Songs in the Carmina Burana: Profane Love

and Satire’, in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones, 25–40 (26– 28). On the other hand, Sayce, 182, believes that the German material is ‘largely out of line with contemporary German lyric’. 30 Thus argued by Sayce, 27, 89, and passim, and more recently by Godman, 254–55. See also Hope’s contribution in the present volume. 31 I dismiss Vollmann’s dating to 1160–90 due to the poem’s use of assonance rather than pure rhyme, in favour of Heinen’s and Sayce’s conclusion that the poem is modelled on Walther’s Lindenlied. See Vollmann, 1208. 32 Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit’, 94. 33 René Clemencic, Ulrich Müller, and Michael Korth (eds): Carmina Burana: Gesamtausgabe der mittelalterlichen Melodien mit den dazugehörigen Texten (Munich: Heimeran, 1979), 197.

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received. If Clemencic’s melody supports the notion that CB 185 is humorous or mocking, then that is because Clemencic himself had this notion when he created the melody. Other descriptions of how the poem might have been performed rely on the idea that it must have been written with a male audience in mind, who could only have sung such a song to mock the girl for having been raped. Fritz Peter Knapp, for instance, claims: ‘as an occasion for performance, one has best to imagine a group of carousing men. One of them performs the words of the girl in a falsetto while the rest bellow the refrain.’34 More recently, a similar situation has been proposed and elaborated by Kraß: ‘the performance of the song should be thought of as communal singing. This corresponds to its intended effect, namely fraternal bonding between men in the medium of a common erotic fantasy. Thus the act of rape, the content of the song, repeats itself in the external performance of the song.’35 The belief that such a song could only have been performed by and for men who wish to belittle and mock the girl owes much to the now discredited idea that the Codex Buranus is full of so-called Vagantendichtung, immoral songs celebrating sin and vice written by uagantes or goliards – vagabond, penniless scholars.36 Even as our understanding of this poetry moves away from the construct of goliards toward the student-world of the twelfth century, there is still the tendency to emphasise the poems as the product of a ‘youth culture’ which created poetry that ‘is full of […] excitement, […] daring, [and] laugh-at-convention’.37 If one pictures a group of rowdy young male goliards or ‘independently minded youth’38 as the audience for these poems, then perhaps it makes sense to explain the existence of a song like CB 185 as the expression of a sort of medieval ‘rape culture’. Yet not all of the poems in the codex were produced for or by students.39 While rape was not an uncommon topic in the typically allmale Latin schoolroom, it was handled there with a considerably greater degree

34 Knapp, Die Literatur des Früh- und Hochmittelalters, 420. 35

Kraß, ‘Das Theater’, 30; emphasis in the original. Bobeth; Dietz-Rüdiger Moser, ‘Vaganten oder Vagabunden? Anmerkungen zu den Dichtern der “Carmina Burana” und ihren literarischen Werken’, in Die deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters im europäischen Kontext: Tagung Greifswald, 11.–15. September 1995, ed. by Rolf Bräuer (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1998), 9–25. 37 Anne J. Duggan, ‘The World of the Carmina Burana’, in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones, 1–23 (11). 38 Duggan, ‘The World’, 11. 39 See Godman, 250. Compare Duggan, ‘The World’, 16. 36 See

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of sensitivity and tact than scholars working on CB 185 have tended to suppose.40 A male – even student – audience does not necessarily mean that the poem must be mocking its female persona. The context of the codex’s likely production at Neustift, moreover, does not necessarily support the notion of an all-male audience. Neustift was a Doppelkloster, with a community of canons regular and canonesses.41 Nor is the traditional assumption tenable that women were excluded from the audience of the Codex Buranus because they did not understand Latin.42 German noblewomen were often acquainted with at least the rudiments of reading and writing in Latin, as they had frequently received some education from private tutors or in convents.43 As any reader of Hildegard of Bingen or Hrosvitha of Gandersheim knows, learned women, especially nuns, were perfectly capable of producing literature in Latin.44 We cannot discount the possibility that women were among the audience of the Codex Buranus, and it could perhaps be the case that poems in the collection such as CB 185 were written (and performed) by women.45 Indeed, Anne L. Klinck notes that in a male-authored but femalevoiced song ‘the identity of the male author might be submerged in that of a female performer’.46 Harris, in studying Middle English pastourelles, has even found a plausible reason for a female audience or female authorship of certain pastourelles: pastourelles could have played a role in teaching young women not to behave in certain ways that could increase their risk of being raped, a strategy still practised in modern rape education called ‘risk avoidance’.47 While it remains more likely that a man wrote CB 185, we should not be so quick to conclude 40

41 42 43

44

45 46 47

See Marjorie Curry Woods, ‘Rape and the Pedagogical Rhetoric of Sexual Violence’, in Criticism and Dissent in the Middle Ages, ed. by Rita Copeland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 56–86. Godman, 247–48. See, for instance, Anne Howland Schotter, ‘Woman’s Song in Medieval Latin’, in Vox feminae, ed. by Plummer, 19–33. See Joachim Bumke, Geschichte der deutschen Literatur im hohen Mittelalter (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 1990), 38; and Joachim Bumke, Höfische Kultur: Literatur und Gesellschaft im hohen Mittelalter, 12th edn (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 2008), 470–72. See Jane E. Jeffrey, ‘Latin Literacy in Medieval Women’s Writing’, in Dominant Culture and the Education of Women, ed. by Julia C. Paulk (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2008), 10–22. Such a position is usually dismissed, for instance by Schweikle, Minnesang, 129. Anne L. Klinck, ‘Introduction’, in Medieval Women’s Song, 1–14 (2). Harris, ‘Rape Narratives’, 264–65.

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that this means that the poem is meant primarily to mock its subject, or to create an esprit de corps among a group of men who enjoyed the idea of women being raped. Indeed, writing in the voice of a woman in a distressed emotional state was a common exercise in the medieval classroom and served not to belittle the woman, but rather to develop sympathy and empathy, alongside the honing of one’s rhetorical skill.48 The very fact that CB 185 has a female persona carries with it important implications for the poem’s depiction of rape and for our sympathies: typically, pastourelles invite us to identify with the male protagonist and lyric persona.49 By the same token, CB 185 invites us to identify with the female persona, something that is true whether or not we imagine the poem to have been composed by a man or a woman; whether or not, indeed, we imagine that it would have been performed by a man or a woman. Songs in the female voice, particularly laments (planctus), are usually sympathetic to their female personas. Examples within the Codex Buranus are the long lyrical laments on the topic of Dido’s betrayal by Aeneas: CB 100 (O decus, o Libye regnum) is composed entirely in Dido’s voice, while CB 99 (Superbi Paridis leue iudicium) is largely constituted of the reported words of the Carthaginian queen. As Peter Dronke has noted, these songs are overwhelmingly sympathetic to Dido, lacking the vengeful or negative elements found in Vergil’s Aeneid or Ovid’s Heroides.50 Examples of female lament can also be found in vernacular lyric: the German poet Reinmar der Alte (†1210), for instance, composed a lament, Sî jehent, der sumer der sî hie (MF 167.31–168.45), on the death of Duke Leopold V of Austria in the voice of his widow, Helena of Hungary. A single stanza of the poem will serve as an example here: Mir armen wîbe was ze wol, swenne ich gedâhte an in, wie mîn heil an sîme lîbe lac. sît ich des nû niht haben sol, sô gât mit jâmer hin, swaz ich iemer nû geleben mac. 48

See Marjorie Curry Woods, ‘Weeping for Dido: Epilogue on a Premodern Rhetorical Exercise in the Postmodern Classroom’, in Latin Grammar and Rhetoric: From Classical Theory to Medieval Practice, ed. by Carol Dana Lanham (London: Continuum, 2002), 284–94. 49 See Harris, ‘Rape Narratives’, 268. 50 Peter Dronke, ‘Dido’s Lament: From Medieval Latin Lyric to Chaucer’, in Intellectuals and Poets in Medieval Europe, ed. by Peter Dronke (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1992), 431–56 (437–43).

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der spiegel mîner vröuden ist verlorn. den ich ûz der welte mir ze trôste hâte erkorn, dés múoz ich âne sîn. dô man mir seite, er wære tôt, dô wiel mir daz bluot von deme herzen ûf die sêle mîn. I felt too well, poor woman, when I remembered him, how my happiness [heil] depended on him. Since I cannot have it anymore, [my life] passes with sorrow, no matter what I experience now. The mirror of my joy is lost. The one whom I had chosen from the world as my comfort, I must now be without him. When I was told that he was dead, my blood spouted from my heart onto my soul.51 (MF 168.6–17)

The poem is characterised by the longing desire of the lamenting woman, just as the poems about Dido are. While they may differ in their particulars from CB 185, these laments, with their sympathetic female figures, serve as useful comparanda and form part of the intellectual and cultural context of the poem. Some scholars have argued, under the assumption that the poet was a man, that CB 185 shows signs of a male voice breaking through, with the line ‘he hunted well’ (‘bene uenebatur’, §10.2) in particular being taken as a sign that the girl is somewhat ‘schizophrenic’ in her judgment of the man, as Edwards puts it.52 On the other hand, Knapp, who otherwise believes that the poem mocks and belittles the girl as deserving of rape, argues that the line represents ‘an objective judgment’ and is not meant to show that the girl enjoyed being raped.53 It seems perfectly 51

This translation is my own. Cyril Edwards, ‘Von Archilochus zu Walther von der Vogelweide: zu den Anfängen der Pastourelle in Deutschland’, in Lied im deutschen Mittelalter: Überlieferung – Typen – Gebrauch; Chiemsee Colloquium 1991, ed. by Cyril Edwards, Ernst Hellgardt, and Norbert H. Ott (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1996), 1–25 (12). See also Edwards, ‘Die Stimme’, 274; Classen, Sexual Violence, 120. 53 Knapp, Die Literatur des Früh- und Hochmittelalters, 419. 52

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plausible that the man’s ‘hunting skills’ have nothing to do with his love-making skills at all: they represent instead the man’s successful entrapment of the female persona in a situation where he can rape her.54 Such a reading is made all the more likely by the woman immediately afterward declaring that the man had deceived her (‘Der selbe hete mich betrogen’, §10.3). The line ‘love much oppressed the man’ (‘diu minne twanc sêre den man’, §7.3) has also been singled out as somehow excusing the man, with some scholars arguing that ‘minne’ (‘love’) is personified and forces the man to have sex with the girl.55 Against such interpretations stands the far more likely reading that ‘minne’ is being used simply in the sense of ‘desire’: in other words, desire is pushing the man to act in a certain way. This would hardly make him blameless. The opening stanza of the poem, moreover, in which the girl speaks of her former worldly praise, suggests associations with the courtly sphere.56 Whatever writers such as Andreas Capellanus might have had to say about the rape of peasants, medieval culture and society universally condemned the rape of noble women.57 Moreover, a closer reading of the poem reveals that the girl’s inconsistency about her assailant has been over-emphasised. He is introduced as an ‘ungetân’ (§2.3), a monster, who at first presents himself as well-mannered but is in fact acting deceptively (‘ualde fraudulenter’, §3.4). The change between §§3 and 4 is emphasised by the near-repetition of a Latin line – whereas the man first takes the girl’s hand ‘not indecently’ (‘non indecenter’, §3.2), in §4 he grabs her dress ‘very indecently’ (‘ualde indecenter’, §4.2) and pulls her ‘very violently’ (‘multum uiolenter’, §4.4) further into the forest, as the girl weeps (‘planxi et hoc totum’, §5.4). This last line, in which the girl describes her weeping, should refute the notion that the Latin is a man’s ironic commentary on the girl’s account.58 The change of languages does not correspond to any change of voice. None of the events described in the first five stanzas of the poem are particularly ambiguous, nor is the refrain that curses the linden trees by the road. If anything, the refrain becomes darker as the song brings the lyric persona closer and closer to the moment of her rape. The poem’s events appear ambiguous only when the sexual act itself is being described, beginning with the deceptive and euphemistic language used by the man, who first describes his musical instruments as the

54

My thanks to Tristan Franklinos for suggesting this reading. See Kraß, ‘Das Theater’, 30; Brinkmann, Die deutschsprachige Pastourelle, 127. 56 Kraß, ‘Das Theater’, 28. 57 Smith, Medieval French Pastourelle, 31. 58 See Edwards, ‘Die Stimme’, 274; Heinen, ‘Walther’s “Under der linden”’, 66–68. 55

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goal of their journey and then describes sex as a game.59 Besides the consistent motif of the man’s hands groping, pulling, and touching the girl, the sexual act itself is described both in the terms of a siege (‘er rante mir in daz burgelîn’, §9.3) and as a hunt (‘Er nam den kocher unde den bogen’, §10.1). While these siege and hunting metaphors clearly refer to courtly activities,60 their use nonetheless underscores the rape as an act of violence, and of male violence in particular: the woman is the animal hunted by the bow and arrow, and she is the one whose castle is besieged and violated. The use of the word ‘cuspis’ (§9.4), meaning spear or javelin, explicitly makes the man’s erect penis into a weapon that enters into the girl. This sexual use of ‘cuspis’ is found only in a single fragment of Pomponius in classical Latin.61 The rarity of this usage would make the literal meaning of the word as a weapon all the more evident to the audience of CB 185. Some scholars find further evidence that the poem is meant to be humorous or mock the girl in the final line, ‘ludus compleatur’ (§10.4). Although Traill renders it in its literal meaning, ‘“let the game be over!”’, this translation nevertheless sets the words in quotation marks, thereby distinguishing the line from the rest of the poem. Vollmann assumes that the line must be either ‘a mocking parting remark of the seducer’,62 or ‘an ironic distancing final remark of the poet’,63 which is designed to dissipate the sympathy we have developed for the girl. Both of these assumptions are common in scholarship on the poem,64 yet neither of them is particularly convincing. Firstly, the last line of CB 185’s final stanza is not technically the last line of the poem. Rather, the call for the game to be finished is followed by a further curse on the linden trees in the refrain. Furthermore: why would the line not still be in the voice of the girl? The following refrain makes ‘ludus compleatur’ seem more connected with the general mournful and plaintive tone of the girl than to any joke inserted for the benefit of a presumed pro-rape male audience. The most obvious association within the poem for the ‘ludus’ at the end is the ‘ludus’ that the man had mentioned at §7.4, where he 59

This is not to deny a certain linguistic playfulness on the part of the poet. Wordplay, however, is also found in the laments of Dido, where it certainly does not function to undermine the reality of the lyric persona’s emotion. See Dronke, ‘Dido’s Lament’, 436. 60 See Edwards, ‘Die Erotisierung’, 127–28; Classen, ‘The Carmina Burana’, 481. Vollmann, 1209, further notes that the bow and arrow are attributes of Cupid. 61 See J. N. Adams, The Latin Sexual Vocabulary (London: Duckworth, 1982), 20. 62 Vollmann, 1209. 63 Vollmann, 1209. 64 See Brinkmann, Die deutschsprachige Pastourelle, 128; Classen, Sexual Violence, 119; Edwards, ‘Die Stimme’, 274; Knapp, Die Literatur des Früh- und Hochmittelalters, 419.

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euphemistically invites her to play a game.65 Moreover, ‘ludus’ is, as Vollmann notes, connected to the Latin for ‘betriegen’ (‘deludere’, ‘to deceive’), making for a cross-linguistic pun: let the deception be finished!66 The ‘ludus’ is no doubt the act of sex itself, making the phrase into the girl’s expression of her wish for the rape to end.67

Resisting Defloration Scholars who doubt the sincerity of the girl’s lament nevertheless touch on a real issue in the poem: the girl’s lament is seemingly predicated on news of her ‘deflowering’ having spread. The opening stanza, mourning her loss of worldly praise, strongly implies that her sleeping with the man, whether willingly or unwillingly, has caused this praise to dry up. The issue of the secrecy of a tryst appears in numerous other lyrics as well, both within and beyond the Codex Buranus. Walther’s Lindenlied contains a similar call for secrecy, with the girl noting: Daz er bî mir læge, wessez iemen, nun welle got, sô schamt ich mich. That he lay with me, if anyone knew it, so help me God, I would be ashamed. (C 16, §4)

Another example, CB 126, is entirely occupied with the public shame its female persona has from having slept with a man out of wedlock: 1. Huc usque – me miseram! – rem bene celaueram et amaui callide.

65 See Traill, ii, 679. 66 67

Vollmann, 1209. For the sexual connotations of ludus, see Adams, Latin Sexual Vocabulary, 161–63.

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2. Res mea tandem patuit, nam uenter intumuit; partus instat grauide. 1. Ah, how unlucky I am! Up till now I had kept the matter secret and made love on the sly. 2. My secret is finally out for my belly has swollen; I am pregnant and the birth is at hand. (CB 126 §§1–2)

CB 126 makes clear the very real consequences that such a tryst could have for a girl, which could often reach beyond mere damage to her reputation. Fear of discovery after a rape or tryst also appears in several pastourelles, including the Latin CB 158 (Vere dulci mediante), which repeats all the tropes one commonly associates with the pastourelle’s troubling depiction of rape: 5. Satis illi fuit graue, mihi gratum et suaue. ‘Quid fecisti,’ inquit, ‘praue? ue, ue! tamen aue! ne reueles ulli, caue, ut sim domi tuta. 6. Si senserit meus pater uel Martinus, maior frater, erit mihi dies ater; uel si sciret mea mater, cum sit angue peior quater, uirgis sum tributa.’ 5. She took it very badly but for me it was pleasant and sweet. ‘What have you done,’ she said, ‘you evil man? Curses on you! All the same, goodbye! Make sure you don’t say a word to anyone, so that I come to no harm at home!

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6. If my father finds out about it, or Martin, my elder brother, it will be a black day for me; or if my mother should come to know of it – she is four times worse than a snake – I’ll be beaten with rods!’ (CB 158 §§5–6)

The girl’s concern for her reputation and physical safety after she has been raped implies that she fears that she will be held to have resisted only for show. Perhaps rightly so: the idea that a woman who was raped without offering ‘sufficient’ resistance was not really raped is common in medieval law and culture.68 It is possible that a medieval audience would have interpreted the girl’s actions in CB 185 as not showing sufficient resistance: she does not mention any physical or verbal resistance, as we sometimes find in pastourelles. In CB 158, for instance, the shepherdess defends herself with her crook (§4.3), while the girl in Neidhart’s Wie sol ich die blůmen uberwinden strikes the lyric persona with her fists (§3.5–6). Nevertheless, this hardly means that the audience of CB 185 is meant to have a higher regard for the man or sympathise less with the girl’s plight – she is, after all, portrayed as weeping. Her lack of physical resistance does not make the fact that she had sex under duress any less clear, nor does it improve the portrayal of the male ‘ungetân’. Although the girl’s lament can be connected to her loss of reputation, this does not mean that we should regard her song as insincere. All of the comparable poems mentioned above, with the exception of Under der linden, have been interpreted by at least some scholars as mocking their subject or being characterised by clerical Schadenfreude.69 Yet the issue that these poems raise, namely that men can engage in such escapades without much consequence whereas women cannot, was well known to medieval authors.70 The German lyric poet Albrecht von Johansdorf made an issue of the apparently familiar double standard for judging male and female behaviour in one of his songs: Wie der einez taete, des vrâge ich, ob ez mit vuoge muge geschehen,

See Gravdal, Ravishing Maidens, especially 121–43. Edwards, ‘Die Stimme’, 270. 70 See Dennis H. Green, Women and Marriage in German Medieval Romance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 23–24. 68 69

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waer ez niht unstaete, der zwein wîben wollte sich vür eigen geben, Beidiu tougenlîche? sprechent, herre, wurre ez iht? ‘wan solz den man erlouben unde den vrouwen niht.’ How would he behave, I ask – if I can do so without offence –, would it not be inconstancy if someone wanted to give himself as a servant to two women, both in secret? Tell me, lords, would it be a problem? ‘One ought to allow it to the men and not to the ladies.’ (MF 89.15–20)

While Albrecht is discussing a somewhat different double standard for judging male and female sexual behaviour, his poem nonetheless shows an awareness of the hypocrisy that sullies women’s reputations when they have had sex out of wedlock, but not men’s. A similar point is made in a short didactic rhyme attributed to the poet Freidank: Der man sîn laster eine treit, daz ist der manne sælekeit: und wirt ein wîp ze schalle, sô schiltet man si alle. The man endures his shame alone; this is the blessing of men. But if a woman’s shame is known, then everyone reviles her.71 (Bescheidenheit §§102.26–27 and 103.1–2)

Given the awareness of this double standard, any discussion of the enormous consequences of extramarital sex for women need not be intended to mock a female victim. It can, as Harris has argued, be used to educate women as to which behaviours they ought to avoid,72 particularly, in the case of CB 185, if we assume

71 72

Citation from H. E. Bezzenberger (ed.), Fridankes Bescheidenheit (Aalen: Zeller, 1962). Harris, ‘Rape Narratives’, 270.

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that the poem was composed with a mixed audience in mind. The loss of praise that the lyric persona experiences can be interpreted as just another consequence of her having gone alone into the meadow, behaviour which young women – perhaps novice nuns – engaging with the Codex Buranus ought to avoid. This role could also be shared by some other songs in the codex.73

Conclusion Given the general lamenting tone of the poem, I do not believe that CB 185 can be characterised as a celebration of rape, an attitude of chauvinistic triumph over the woman. It does not fit into the typical conventions of the pastourelle, and that is largely the result of its use of a female persona. Even if the girl were not raped according to the medieval juridical definition, which required an active struggle and screaming, this does not serve to mitigate the troubling nature of the man’s actions such that the audience is meant to approve of them. It is interesting to note that this ambivalence is also a feature of some Latin lyrics that describe rape. CB 72 (Peter of Blois’ Grates ago Veneri) celebrates the lover’s ‘welcome and longed-for victory’ (‘gratum et optatum | […] tropheum’, §1a.5–6) over his beloved.74 Yet the lyric persona notes that, as he begins to force the girl, ‘my beloved disturbs me with her tender tears’ (‘fletu tenero | mea me sollicitat, §2b.2–3).75 Although, in the end, the lyric persona maintains that he and the girl enjoyed the coerced sex (‘res utrique placuit’, §5a.1), and we are told that his beloved kisses him sweetly (‘dans basia | mellita’, §5a.4–5), the final image of the poem is troubled and disturbing: et subridens tremulis semiclausis oculis ueluti sub anxio suspirio sopita.

73

Peter Dronke has considered a mixed-sex audience for some German-Latin songs in the Codex Buranus, but only in the context of girls who do not know Latin. See Dronke, The Medieval Lyric, 94–95, 194; Dronke, ‘Latin Songs’, 28. Brinkmann, Die deutschsprachige Pastourelle, 128, similarly assumes that CB 185 must have had a lay audience because of its use of the vernacular. 74 For another reading of CB 72, see the volume’s contribution by Classen. 75 This translation is my own.

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and she smiles with fluttering, half-closed eyes, as if lulled to sleep with an anxious sigh. (CB 72 §5b)

This poem, in which the lyric persona is giving thanks to Venus for his sexual triumph over his beloved, after having ‘served’ the goddess for so long, thus closes with an image that implies that the girl is not truly happy with the result. Indeed, it suggests that the girl fears her lover for having forced her. CB 72 thus subverts any expectation that the girl was simply play-acting earlier, when she crossed her legs and had to be held down by the lyric persona by force. The poem thus absolves the rapist of most blame while still being deliberately troubling, as Peter Godman has argued.76 While CB 185 is obviously not engaged in such poetic subtlety, it is nonetheless possible to read the poem as a tale that may trouble not just us, but medieval contemporaries.

76

Peter Godman, ‘Literary Classicism and Latin Erotic Poetry of the Twelfth Century and the Renaissance’, in Latin Poetry and the Classical Tradition: Essays in Medieval and Renaissance Literature, ed. by Peter Godman and Oswyn Murray (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), 149–82 (166–67).

Chapter 7

Rethinking the Carmina Burana III: The Poetry of Peasants †Peter Godman The pastoral poetry of the Latin Middle Ages is rich in experimentation.1 Who will deny ingenuity to Metellus of Tegernsee when, c. 1160 in the fourth Eclogue of his Quirinalia, he performed this feat of emulation: incipe, taure tener, mugitu noscere matrem! Begin, little bull, to acknowledge your mother with a moo!2 (Metellus, Eclogues, 4.23)

Few readers in that cultivated cloister would have failed to recognise Metellus’s model in Vergil, Eclogue 4, a verse which Christian tradition construed as referring to the nativity of the Messiah: incipe, parue puer, risu cognoscere matrem! Begin, little boy, to acknowledge your mother with a smile! (Vergil, Eclogues, 4.60)

The smiling saviour at Bethlehem has given way to the mooing of a votive calf near Tegernsee: is this what Metellus means by transforming Vergil’s model and bringing it up to date?3 Before shuddering at the solecism, perhaps we 1

There is no complete history of pastoral in the Latin Middle Ages. For a partial but valuable survey, see Helen Cooper, Pastoral: Medieval into Renaissance (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1977), 8–46. 2 Peter C. Jacobsen (ed.), Die Quirinalien des Metellus von Tegernsee: Untersuchungen zur Dichtkunst und kritische Textausgabe, Mittellateinische Studien und Texte, 1 (Leiden: Brill, 1965), 316. 3 ‘Hic Virgiliana seculi noui interpretatio ad materiam presentem transformata inseritur’; Jacobsen (ed.), Die Quirinalien, 316.

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should reflect that others, centuries before Metellus, had filled Classical form with Christian content.4 Endelechius (c. 400) and Paulinus of Nola soon after him wrote poetry about animals and saints that could be classified as bucolic according to the simple criteria advanced at Tegernsee by a scholar who was drawing on Isidore of Seville: Bucolicon: id est, pastorale carmen a digniore parte tractum; id est, boum custodia. Bucolic: that is, pastoral poetry treated from a more elevated angle; that is, husbandry of cattle.5 (Isidore, Origines, 1.39.16)

Care of cows, a theme recurrent in the Quirinalia, did not entail sympathy for peasants on Metellus’s part. When the Corydon of his second Eclogue is repeatedly called ‘rusticus’ (2.34–36),6 there is none of Vergil’s tender teasing (Eclogue 2.56). That term, in the Quirinalia, is synonymous with ‘lout’. The peasant of the twelfth century is portrayed as ignorant and misguided like his peers in earlier ages.7 Still impervious to the instruction and correction which Martin of Braga offered half a millennium earlier,8 the rustic is dismissed by Metellus and others as an inarticulate oaf, without even the solace of an ungrammatical idiom attributed to him.9 Tongue-tied in the bucolic verse of the High Middle Ages, the peasants of this period make a rare and eloquent appearance in the eleventh-century 4

5 6 7

8

9

See Wolfgang Schmid, ‘Tityrus Christianus: Probleme religiöser Hirtendichtung an der Wende vom vierten zum fünften Jahrhundert’, in Europäische Bukolik und Georgik, ed. by Klaus Garber, Wege der Forschung, 255 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1976), 44–121; and Wolfgang Schmid, ‘Bukolik’, in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1950–), ii (1954), 796–99. Quoted in the Tegernsee De generibus carminum; see Helmut Plechl, ‘Die Tegernseer Handschrift clm. 19411’, Deutsches Archiv, 18 (1962), 418–501 (492). Jacobsen (ed.), Die Quirinalien, 310. Compare Jacques Le Goff, ‘Les paysans et le monde rural dans la littérature du haut Moyen Âge’, in Pour un autre Moyen Âge: Temps, travail et culture en Occident: 18 essais, ed. by Jacques Le Goff (Paris: Gallimard, 1977), 131–44. Gennaro Lopez (ed.), Pro castigatione rusticorum, Biblioteca di Cultura Romano­ barbarica, 3 (Rome: Herder, 1998) and Mario Naldini (ed.), De correctione rusticorum (Florence: Nardini, 1991). Compare Helmut Beumann, ‘Gregor von Tours und der Sermo rusticus’, in Spiegel der Geschichte: Festgabe für M. Braubach, ed. by Konrad Repgen and Stephan Skalweit (Münster: Aschendorff, 1964), 69–98.

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Ruodlieb10 – which, as a romance, does not meet such standards of pastoral. The elastic limits of this generic typology can stretch to accommodate Metellus of Tegernsee’s bucolic boors or shepherds singing with the etiolated elegance of Marcus Valerius’s hyperclassicism.11 But between these two extremes, scant space is made for anybody but sheep, cows, and males.

CB 89 and Female Peasant Identity High medieval bucolic remained a largely masculine genre until the feminine presence began to be felt in verse loosely dated to the second half of the twelfth century, such as CB 89. No more precise is the classification of these works as pastourelle.12 Their range is various; their stylistic registers are diverse. Diversity and variety are among the reasons for their inclusion in the Codex Buranus. The architect of this monument to medieval poetic culture, traditionally termed h1, is identifiable as Conrad, a scholasticus in the Neustift community of Augustinian canons.13 h1-Conrad was neither an anthologist nor an encyclopedist. Responsive to scholastic literature transmitted from Northern Europe, he gathered and selected poetry on dialectical principles of comparison and contrast.14 They are exemplified in his choices of pastourelle, the scope, scale, and coherence of which are matched by no earlier manuscript. These works transcend the limits of the classroom to challenge clerical assumptions of authority and decorum by their unusual themes and unconventional modes of expression. Consider, for example, the staccato style in which CB 89 begins:

Compare Vollmann’s remarks in Walter Haug and Benedikt K. Vollmann (eds), Frühe deutsche Literatur und lateinische Literatur in Deutschland 800–1150, Bibliothek des Mittelalters, 1 (Frankfurt am Main: Deutscher Klassiker Verlag, 1991), 466–74. 11 Franco Munari (ed.), M. Valerio: Bucoliche, 2nd edn (Florence: Le Monnier, 1970). 12 Compare Hans Spanke, ‘Die älteste lateinische Pastourelle’, in Hans Spanke: Studien zur lateinischen und romanischen Lyrik des Mittelalters, ed. by Ulrich Mölk (Hildesheim: Olms, 1983), 190–98 (193–98). See further Ingrid Kasten, ‘Die Pastourelle im Gattungssystem der höfischen Lyrik’, in Lied im deutschen Mittelalter: Überlieferung, Typen, Gebrauch, ed. by Cyril Edwards, Ernst Hellgardt, and Norbert H. Ott (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1996), 27–41. For another consideration of CB 89 and CB 90 in relation to the question of genre, see Cardelle de Hartmann’s contribution to this volume. 13 See Godman. 14 Compare Peter Godman, ‘Re-Thinking the Carmina Burana IV: Poetry and History’, Mediaeval Studies (forthcoming). 10

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Nos duo boni sub aere tetro – sint tibi toni sub celeri metro! tempore solis stant pecora retro! We are two good fellows under a looming sky – may the thunder-claps be attuned to your swift rhythm! When the sun shines the flocks withdraw!15 (CB 89 §1a)

If the echo of Vergil, Eclogue 5.1 in the first verse of CB 89 leads us to anticipate midday when, in classical bucolic, shepherds and their flocks withdraw to the shade, we are immediately disabused. Not Mediterranean heat but medieval storm clouds gather in the sky. That is why ‘toni’ at §1a.3, transmitted by the Codex Buranus and printed in Hilka/Schumann, is apt; Vollmann’s conjecture of ‘soni’ there, and his transposition of ‘toni’ to §1a.5, are superfluous.16 Connoting both the thunderclaps of a tempest and the sonority of the dactylic rhythm that dominates this da capo sequence, the ambiguous noun serves a dual purpose. The second part of the first strophe is attributed to the narrator in Hilka/ Schumann, but to the other shepherd addressed as ‘tibi’ at §1a.2 by Vollmann: Herba tenella flore coronatur, rosa nouella rubore notatur; nigra puella ueste decoratur.

15

Unless otherwise indicated, all quotations from the Carmina Burana in this chapter are taken from Hilka/Schumann. Translations are my own. 16 Vollmann, 306.

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The delicate grass is decked with flowers, the budding rose glows red; the girl is arrayed in a black tunic. (CB 89 §1b)

A crux lies in §1b.6. Objecting to the manuscript’s repetition there of the verb ‘coronatur’ from §1b.2, Schumann conjectured ‘non ornatur’ or ‘deformatur’, while Vollmann proposed ‘coram datur’. Neither grasped the ironical line of thought. After objects of natural grace in vivid blossom (§1b.2 and 4), there appears a girl drably clad. This contrast is heightened by preserving the sequence of verbs of adornment in the passive mood. ‘decoratur’ (§1b.6): she ‘is arrayed’ in the colour of mourning, suited rather to penance than to preening. The dark colour of penance is chosen by Mary Magdalene in CB 16*.119 at the moment of her conversion: ‘Hinc, ornatus seculi, uestium candores!’ ‘Away with you, worldly frippery, white garments!’

The stage direction that follows is precise: Tunc deponat uestimenta secularia et induat nigrum pallium. Then let her then take off her secular clothing and put on a black robe.

The religious symbolism, here as elsewhere, is explicit; but it does not follow from the sobriety of her garment that the unidentified ‘puella’ of CB 89 §1b is a nun, as Vollmann maintains.17 No nun obedient to the Benedictine Rule, as is implied by a black habit, looked like this: Tunica lata succincta balteo, circumligata frons filo rubeo;

17

Vollmann, 1060.

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stat inclinata sub alto pilleo. Her broad tunic is girded with a belt, around her forehead is bound a red thread; her posture is stooped beneath a tall cap. (CB 89 §2a)

The headband of §2a.3–4 is not the imperial diadem which Hohenstaufen rulers wore in majesty; it is an emblem of deprivation and self-sacrifice.18 The girl is dressed in two of the colours which Innocent III, in De sacro altaris mysterio 1.65,19 defined as symbolic of suffering: the red of martyrdom and the black donned on days of affliction or abstinence. Although a sombre message is being sent, it need not consign this ‘puella’ to the cloister. A tall cap was one of the items which in 1233, around the time when the Codex Buranus was being assembled, Gregory IX condemned for causing sartorial and hence social confusion.20 It is far from clear that ‘pilleus’ may be rendered as ‘bonnet’ (the ‘Haube’ of Vollmann’s translation), whose height was to be censured by later medieval moralists.21 Such frippery this ‘puella’ can hardly afford, for she is not a lady of fashion but a working girl: Labor mutauit puelle faciem et alterauit 18 Ludwig

Veit, ‘Der Königskopf mit der Stirnbinde auf Münzen und Siegeln der Stauferzeit und des ausgehenden Mittelalters’, Anzeiger des Germanischen Nationalmuseums (1976), 22–30. 19 De sacro altaris mysterio is edited in PL 217, 799D–802C (1.65). For context, compare Rudolf Suntrup, ‘Liturgische Farbendeutung im Mittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit’, in Symbole des Alltags – Alltag der Symbole: Festschrift H. Kühnel zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. by Gertrud Blaschitz et al. (Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, 1992), 445–68. 20 See Danièle Sansy, ‘Châpeau juif ou châpeau pointu? Esquisse d’un signe d’infamie’, in Symbole des Alltags, 347–75. 21 Compare Odile Blanc, ‘Vêtement féminin, vêtement masculin à la fin du Moyen Âge: Le point de vue des moralistes’, in Le vêtement: Histoire, archéologie et symbolique vestimentaires au Moyen Âge, ed. by Michel Pastoreau (Paris: Léopard d’Or, 1989), 243–53.

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eiusdem speciem; decolorauit eam per maciem. Toil has transformed the girl’s appearance and ravaged her beauty; famished, she has lost her high colour. (CB 89 §2b)

The key word is ‘labor’,22 with its associations of oppression and hardship in a tripartite society which, since the eleventh century, had relegated workers to a tiers état.23 Alienation is indicated by the posture of an outcast (‘inclinata’, §2a.5) and mirrored in her physical condition.24 Drained of the vitality praised in rhetorical descriptions of beauty, this girl has lost her looks through ‘macies’, the abstinence and fasting characteristic of feminine piety. Here too there is ambiguity. Does the poet mean to convey the asceticism adopted by religious women disregarding the Church’s magisterium of moderation?25 Or is he echoing a precept of Aristotle, recurrent in the florilegia of the High Middle Ages, about the link between hard work and premature ageing?26 Equivocal on the ecclesiastical and physical planes, our author is clear-cut in the social sphere: 22

23 24 25 26

See Jacques Le Goff, ‘Travail, techniques et artisans dans les systèmes de valeur du haut Moyen Âge (Ve–Xe) siècles’, in Le Goff, Pour un autre Moyen Âge, 108–25; Jacques Le Goff, ‘Le travail dans les systèmes de valeur de l’Occident médiéval’, in Le Travail au Moyen Âge: Une approche interdisciplinaire, ed. by Jacqueline Hamesse and Colette Muraille-Samaran (Louvain-la-Neuve: Université Catholique de Louvain, 1990), 7–21; and Jacques Le Goff, ‘Pour une étude du travail dans les idéologies et les mentalités du Moyen Âge’, in Lavorare nel Medio Evo: Rappresentazioni ed Esempi dall’ Italia dei secc. X–XVI (Todi, 1983), 9–34 (14). See Otto Oexle, ‘Le travail au XIe siècle: Réalités et mentalités’, in Le Travail au Moyen Âge, ed. by Hamesse and Maraille-Samaran, 49–60. Ruth Mellinkoff, Outcasts: Signs of Otherness in Northern European Art of the Late Middle Ages, 2 vols (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1993), i, 209–27. Caroline Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1987), 238–44. ‘Labor exsiccat et senectutem inducit, unde multum laborantes magis senescent’ (‘Toil drains one and brings on old age, whence those who toil a lot will age more’); Jacqueline Hamesse (ed.), Les ‘Auctoritates Aristotelis’: Un florilège médiéval. Étude

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Ducit puella gregem paruulum, et cum capella caprum uetulum et cum asella ligat uitulum. The girl leads

a tiny flock, both a she-goat with an elderly male, and a calf which she binds to a she-ass. (CB 89 §3a)

More immediate than Metellus’s anonymous oafs and less affected than Marcus Valerius’s posing swains, the country girl is going about an occupation traditional to her class.27 The two good if featureless fellows, identifiable only by Vergilian allusion, have faded into the background and in their place the ‘puella’, now identified as a ‘uirgo’, takes centre stage: Polus obscura nube tegitur, uirgo secura mox egreditur, uoce matura nos alloquitur.28 The sky is covered with dark clouds, fearlessly the maiden steps out briskly

historique et édition critique (Louvain: Peeters, 1974), 205 (De longitudine et brevitate vitae, 117). 27 David Herlihy, Opera muliebria: Women and Work in Medieval Europe (Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 1990), 52–54. 28 The text printed is that of Vollmann, who follows the manuscript. Hilka/ Schumann transposes ‘secura’ and ‘matura’ at ll. 3 and 5.

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and with an adult voice addresses us. (CB 89 §3b)

The young woman is neither submissive nor inarticulate, as might have been expected from her reduced state; her outspokenness flouts the convention that the first word belonged to men. What she has to say transposes into literal terms metaphors of clerical and monastic government of the Church: 3c. Ecce pastores temerarii, gregis custodes conducticii, fabulatores uaniloquii! 3d. Abominantur opus manuum, lucra sectantur, amant otium, nec meditantur curam ouium! 3c. Look at them, shameless shepherds, hirelings who guide the flock, gossips of idle chatter! 3d. They loathe manual labour, pursue wealth, and love leisure, never giving a thought to the care of their sheep! (CB 89 §§3c–3d)

The exclamation ‘ecce!’ (§3c.1) is addressed to an audience that had reason to be sensitive to this denunciation of the religious orders to whom was entrusted

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Christ’s flock (§3d.6; compare John 10.2–11). One of the prime duties of the Augustinian canons at Neustift was pastoral care.29 Now they and their likes are being arraigned by a member of the lower classes whom Christian humility required them to serve. Worse still, her case is based on irrefutable evidence. She insinuates that shepherds who spurn the manual labour praised at Psalm 127.2 and required by St Benedict in his Rule (48.3) ignore his condemnation of that leisure as an enemy of the soul (48.1).30 This is by no means a diatribe of ignorance. Its diction is choice: ‘conducticii’, ‘fabulatores’, and ‘uaniloquii’, which follow one another in swift succession at §3c.4–6, are uncommon in Classical, biblical, and medieval Latin. The antithesis ‘opus manuum’–‘otium’ (§3d.2–4), by contrast, was a leitmotif in the learned discourse of mainly masculine authors,31 to whom Hildegard of Bingen’s admonition of the clergy of Cologne in 1163 proves an exception.32 Her prophetic fervour is equalled in the rebukes of this enigmatic ‘puella’: Aspero uerbo tractans de pratica, ualde superbo uultu phrenetica, ore acerbo cessauit rustica. After dealing sharply with practical issues, overweening in her pride, frenzied in her expression, and bitter in her speech, the female peasant fell silent. (CB 89 §5a)

See Heike J. Mierau, Vita Communis und Pfarrseelsorge: Studien zu den Diözesen Salzburg und Passau im Hoch- und Spätmittelalter, Forschungen zur kirchlichen Rechtsgeschichte und zum Kirchenrecht, 21 (Cologne: Böhlau, 1997), 271–85. 30 See Adalbert de Vogüé and Jean Neufville (eds), La Règle de Saint Benoît, 7 vols (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1972), ii, 598 and 600. 31 See George Ovitt, ‘Manual Labour and Early Medieval Monasticism’, Viator, 17 (1986), 1–18. 32 Lieven van Acker (ed.), Hildegardis Bingensis Epistolarium I, Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis, 91 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1991), 32–36 (Ep. 15). 29

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Observe the care with which this strophe is crafted. The identity of the ‘uirgo’, in §5a.1–5, appears indeterminate, as she ranges from the insight of the seer to the frenzy of the sibyl. Only at the end (§5a.6) is it revealed that she has no claim to play either of these parts, for she is a ‘rustica’ who should know her place. Instead she has spoken out with the overweening pride (§5a.3) which Gratian, drawing on Gregory the Great, condemns as impudence on the part of loudmouthed peasants.33 A signal is being sent to the clerical audience of CB 89 that the ‘rustica’ has trespassed beyond the bounds of authority. Yet silence is not imposed on her as it had been, at the Council of Reims in 1148, on Éon de l’Étoile. Accused of heresy, this sorry simpleton imagined himself to be the son of God on the grounds that prayers ending with the formula ‘per eum’ referred to his name (‘Eum’). Cardinals present at that council are alleged to have giggled. The delusion, however, failed to amuse Otto of Freising, who thought it a sign of stupidity.34 The emperor’s uncle declined to regard Éon as a heretic because he was ‘rusticanus et illiteratus’. Neither illiterate nor reduced to speechlessness by lack of eloquence, the ‘rustica’ of CB 89 embodies paradox. Her command of Latin letters belies the ignorance attributed to her class. Hence the relevance of the scorn with which Otto of Freising, that exceptional historian and typical representative of clerical contempt for the unlearned, refused to acknowledge a ‘rusticanus’ as a dissident.35 Éon was beyond the intellectual pale: this female peasant is undeniably within it, for the first time in the Latin poetry of the Middle Ages. That is why the shepherd struggles to put her in her place: Vellem, ut scires pastorum carmina! dum uiri uires 33

‘Nichil est enim impudentius arrogancia rusticorum, qui garrulitatem auctoritatem putant, […] quod ex arrogancia superbiae prouenire manifestum est.’ (‘There is nothing more insupportable than the upstart behaviour of peasants, who think garrulity to be indicative of authority, […] because it is clear that it proceeds from an arrogance of pride.’) Emil Friedberg (ed.), Corpus Iuris Canonici, 2 vols (Leipzig: Tauchnitz, 1879), i, 167 (Decretum I, distinctio 46); and Marcus Adriaen (ed.), Gregory the Great: Moralia in Iob, Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina, 143, 3 vols (Turnhout: Brepols, 1985), ii, 1161–62 (xxiii.xiii.23). 34 Franz-Joseph Schmale (ed.), Gesta Frederici, Ausgewählte Quellen zur deutschen Geschichte des Mittelalters, 17 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1965), 248–50 (i.57–58). 35 See further Peter Godman, The Silent Masters: Latin Literature and its Censors in the High Middle Ages (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 346–47.

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non habes, femina, numquam aspires ad uiri culmina! I wish you knew about pastoral poetry! Since, woman, you do not possess the strength of a man, you should never hope to scale male heights! (CB 89 §5b)

The traditional tones of medieval misogyny strike a new note in this strophe. ‘pastorum carmina’ (§5b.2) – literally, the songs of shepherds – are claimed to be a masculine preserve. Although it had been argued, in discussions of the artes mechanicae, that poets and singers should be regarded as workers,36 that sophism hardly amounted to defence against the peasant’s criticism of ‘otium’. Nor is ‘pastoral’ the exclusive domain of males, as has been demonstrated by the strength of the arguments and accusations levelled by this member of the weaker sex. Her censure remains unanswered in its own terms, and her opponent merely resorts to clichés that likened peasants to the beasts they tended: Gere, puella, morem pecori: languet asella, stupent teneri, iungit capella latus lateri! Behave, girl, like a sheep: the she-ass is repining, the little ones are amazed; the she-goats huddle side by side. (CB 89 §6b) 36

Serge Lusignan, ‘La lettre et le travail: l’impossible point de rencontre des arts mécaniques au Moyen Âge’, in Le Travail au Moyen Âge, ed. by Hamesse and MarailleSamaran, 129–39 (132).

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This mixture of offence and reproach betrays the uncertainty of the shepherd. At §3b.3 he addresses the peasant as ‘uirgo’; at §5b.4, and §6a.2 and 4 as ‘femina’; but at §6b.1, according to him, she reverts to being a ‘puella’. These are not terms that comment on the peasant girl’s age, nor on her sexual experience: his attempts to transpose metaphors into literal terms are muddled, their sequacity sustained by nothing more than repetitive rhyme. The magniloquence of his striving to equal her, moreover, exposes the hollowness of what he has to say: Sumus pastores nos egregii, procuratores gregis regii, soli cantores soliloquii! We are excellent shepherds, tending to the royal flocks, solo singers of monologue! (CB 89 §6d)

The allusion is to 1 Peter 2.9: ‘uos autem genus electum, regale sacerdotium, gens sancta’ (‘you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation’), one of the key texts of the Vulgate used in the Middle Ages to affirm the regality of the priesthood on apostolic authority. Yet there is nothing apostolic about this windbag. All he has proved by the inadvertent irony of his bombast is the equivalence of his ‘soliloquium’ (§6d.6) to the ‘uaniloquium’ (§3c.6) with which the ‘rustica’ reproaches him. Debate, once characteristic of pastoral poetry, dwindles into the monologue of masculine self-regard. CB 89 was copied by a member of the clergy criticised by this ‘rustica’ c. 1230 at Neustift, where the freedom of peasants was an issue.37 What was the resonance of her rebukes to an Augustinian canon who transcribed them two generations after

37

Theodor Mayer, ‘Über die Freiheit der Bauern in Tyrol und in der Schweizer Eidgenossenschaft’, in Deutsches Bauerntum im Mittelalter, ed. by Günther Franz (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1976), 177–90.

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they had been composed? The poem has been described as allegorical.38 An allegory of what? The peasant clad in the black of affliction and the red of martyrdom cannot be identified with Ecclesia; the freedom with which she castigates the clergy recalls less the fantasies of Éon l’Étoile than Arnold of Brescia’s invectives against the hierarchy of the Church. Her words may be construed both metaphorically and literally, as they are consistently ambiguous. When, for instance, she likens ecclesiastical corruption to a ‘market-place’ (‘forum’, §4a.6), the mercantile sense of the term is little different from what it would have been in pastoral diction. Only the shepherd attempts to employ the language of authority in its straightforward sense: garrula rides magisterium. you make uproarious mockery of the teaching office. (CB 89 §6c.3–4)

‘garrulitas’, which Gratian declares peasants confuse with ‘auctoritas’,39 is an accusation that misses its mark, because the ‘rustica’ has not been making mockery of the teaching office. She has been upbraiding its unworthy holders, who are unable to rebut her accusations. Offering no allegory nor any real debate, CB 89 amounts to a dialogue of the deaf. It is deafness on the part of the clergy that licenses the liberty of this peasant’s speech. Her superiors, aware of their failings, echo the detraction of the lower orders. Self-criticism is tempered by the self-irony also attested at the conclusion of CB 215: Omnipotens sempiterne Deus, qui inter rusticos et clericos magnam discordiam seminasti, presta, quesumus, de laboribus eorum uiuere, de mulieribus ipsorum uti, et de morte dictorum semper gaudere. All-powerful, eternal God, who has sown great discord between peasants and clerics, allow us, we pray, to live from their toil, take advantage of their women, and always rejoice at their deaths. (CB 215, §9 [= CB 215a])

Hans Spanke, ‘Zur Geschichte der spanischen Musik des Mittelalters’, Historische Vierteljahresschrift, 28 (1934), 737–66 (764). 39 See fn. 33.

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This is the stance of the shepherd become wolf (compare CB 89 §4b.6), the attitude of the pastor as predator. Inversion is its essence, which is why the ‘rustica’ masters eloquence of which she is supposed to be ignorant and why, asserting his pre-eminence, her adversary simply demonstrates that the ethical order is upside down. The inferiors of clerics in the social hierarchy are their betters in the moral sphere, free to speak out on issues the clerics choose to ignore.

Silent Men and Eloquent Women Members of a class previously marginal to the concerns of learned literature advance to prominence in the Codex Buranus, not once but repeatedly. The voice of a peasant girl is raised again in a different but related tone and register in CB 90: 1. Exiit diluculo  rustica puella cum grege, cum baculo,  cum lana nouella. 2. Sunt in grege paruulo  ouis et asella uitula cum uitulo,  caper et capella. 3. Conspexit in cespite  scolarem sedere: ‘Quid tu facis, domine?  ueni mecum ludere!’ 1. At daybreak a peasant girl went out with her flock, with her staff, with new wool. 2. In her little herd there were a sheep and a she-ass, a cow and a calf, a goat and his mate. 3. She saw a man of learning sitting on the grass: ‘What are you doing, lord? Come and play with me!’ (CB 90)

Up at the early hour when men usually rose,40 she leads out a flock to which amatory connotations have been attributed.41 Are the animals not paired? Is the peasant Lisa Bittel, Women in Early Medieval Europe 400–1100 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 213. 41 Wolfram von den Steinen, ‘Exiit diluculo: viele Worte zu wenigen Versen’, in Menschen im Mittelalter: Gesammelte Forschungen, Betrachtungen, Bilder, ed. by Peter von Moos 40

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girl looking for a partner? No, is the answer. First, because the coupling of the animals, at §2.1, violates the prohibition of Deuteronomy 22.10 (‘non arabis in boue simul et asino’, ‘you will not yoke an ox and an ass together for ploughing’), which tradition construed as referring to the separation of clerics and laymen,42 an implicit but central theme of CB 90. Secondly and consequently, the point of this deceptively simple poem is not erotic. Seated on the grass is a ‘scolaris’ (§3.1), a member of the learned and therefore clerical order, for whom that term was a title of honour:43 hence her respectful address to him as ‘domine’ (§3.2). This is not the shepherdess who arouses male lust, despite being below his social level.44 Nor is it the ‘rustica’ whom Andreas Capellanus, at De amore 2.11, likens to horses and mules. Sex with such creatures is not to be recommended, advises Andreas; none the less, gratification may be obtained after ‘a spot of soothing force’ (‘modice […] coactionis medela’).45 His sense of humour is arch and inclined to the mannerisms which the pastoral poems in the Codex Buranus mock. These poems attend to what Andreas Capellanus, in all his verbosity, does not say. No direct mention is made by him of rape – perhaps because that would have implied that a peasant was entitled to a will of her own – nor is there any reference to speech. Verbal strategies for wooing women of higher social classes are detailed in Andreas’s work, but silence falls on the subject of the lowly ‘rustica’.46 Unworthy of words, she is cast in a position from which she is unable to answer back. Indeed, the peasant girl of CB 90 does not answer back; instead, she takes the initiative with a combination of deference and innocence. There is hardly an erotic undertone in her child-like question, barely an innuendo of love-play. The opposite of the railing ‘rustica’ in CB 89, she offers an exemplar of the verbal humility which Gratian commends with reference to Gregory the Great.47 Such

42

43 44 45 46 47

(Bern: Francke, 1967), 246–48; and Peter Dronke, The Medieval Poet and His World (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1984), 251–57. See Yves Congar, ‘Clercs et laïcs du point de vue de la culture au Moyen Âge: laicus = sans lettres’, in Études d’ecclésiologie médiévale, ed. by Yves Congar (London: Variorum, 1983), 309–32 (325). See Peter Godman, The Archpoet and Medieval Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 119–21. See Michel Zink, La Pastourelle: Poésie et folklore au Moyen Âge (Paris: Bordas, 1972), 77–103. P. G. Walsh (ed.), Andreas Capellanus: On Love (London: Duckworth, 1982), 222. See Michel Zink, ‘La suffisance du paysan dans la littérature française du Moyen Âge’, in Der Bauer im Wandel der Zeit, ed. by Willi Hirdt (Bonn: Bouvier, 1986), 44. Emil Friedberg (ed.), Corpus Iuris Canonici, i, 167 (Decretum I, distinctio 46); and Marcus Adriaen (ed.), Gregory the Great: Moralia in Iob, cxliiib, 1161–62 (xxiii.xiii.24).

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prescriptive texts, legal and moral, did not furnish models for this pair of poems. They contributed to forming the clerical mentality that drew a contrast between two types of ‘rustica’. The peasant of CB 89 represents presumption to her male adversary; the country girl of CB 90 disarms potential critics of her forwardness with artless charm. Antithesis implies ideology;48 at issue is the right to speech of the female tiers état.49 Neither charming nor naïve is the masculine audience of both poems. To them, ecclesiastical men of the world, is directed CB 91, which is introduced by the rubric ‘De sacerdotibus’ on the same folio (38v) of the manuscript and inveighs against priestly concubinage, followed on f. 39r by the debate between Phyllis and Flora about the merits of clerics and knights as lovers that is CB 92.50 Assembled in the Codex Buranus after the Fourth Lateran Council of November 1215, which uncompromisingly repeated Alexander III’s censure of clerical sexuality in 1179, these works illustrate the ambivalence of Neustift to rigorism.51 CB 91 implicitly endorses the Lateran’s line; CB 92 diverges from it, denying the ethical difference between members of the two orders. Socially and sexually a priest might be regarded as separate in degree, not in kind, from a layman – or, as Flora, the cleric’s mistress, maintains, a virile version of the same in the amatory arts. A dialectic between these two views runs throughout the Codex Buranus, and the prevalent position is a sic of indulgence against the non of moralism. The Augustinian canons and their pupils by and for whom this collection was assembled lived near to Brixen, over which Bishop Conrad of Rodank (1200–16) had presided. This son of a priest, who did not live to implement the Roman decrees, was celebrated for his savoir-faire in matters both temporal and spiritual. A man of letters and bibliophile, whose initiative in all likelihood lay behind the See Annabel Patterson, Pastoral and Ideology: Vergil to Valéry (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1987), who does not deal with these works. 49 See Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, ‘Parodie in der Sammlung: eine parodistische Nachbarschaft in den “Carmina Burana” (CB 89–CB 90)’, in Parodie und Verkehrung: Formen und Funktionen spielerischer Verfremdung und spöttischer Verzerrung in Texten des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Seraina Plotke and Stefan Seeber, Encomia Deutsch, 3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 45–71; and see Cardelle de Hartmann’s chapter in the present volume. 50 On CB 92, see also the contribution by Franklinos in this volume. 51 Compare Antonio García y García (ed.), Constitutiones Concilii quarti Lateranensis una cum commentariis glossatorum, Monumenta Iuris Canonici, A.2 (Vatican: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1981), 62–63 (c. 14), with James A. Brundage, Law, Sex, and Christian Society in Medieval Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 401–05 and, on Neustift, Godman, ‘Re-Thinking the Carmina Burana IV: Poetry and History’. 48

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Codex Buranus, Conrad had also been, c. 1180–1200, provost of Neustift.52 These positions gave him insight into the conditions of rusticae in the diocese and the conduct of his fellows in the order. The juxtaposition, in CB 89–CB 92, of poetry of protest and innocence with verse on the subject of clerical amours, evoked issues that, after the Fourth Lateran Council, troubled the Augustinians, whose number at Neustift included h1-Conrad, the bishop of Brixen’s homonym and intellectual heir. As this master-scribe selected and arranged the literary heritage bequeathed to him from his mentor’s collection, he alighted on works that stood in an oblique but revealing relationship to life. Attempts to implement ecclesiastical reform in the archdiocese of Salzburg, where Brixen and Neustift were situated, had met with apathy or resistance.53 The general chapter of the Augustinian order, convened in 1218, admitted its failure to observe the Rule.54 Such canons, with whom the two Conrads were acquainted, fell short of the ideals professed in the constitutions brought back from Rome by their episcopal superior and had faint claim to look down on others as their social and sexual underlings. Hence the pertinence of pastourelle dealing with the humblest class. CB 89 and CB 90 spoke to current concerns. Set in the context of their reception at this central periphery of medieval culture in South Tyrol, the message of both was intended to be unsettling for members of h1-Conrad’s community. Redundant in their rhetoric or dumbfounded in silence, the males in this pair of poems fail to equal the eloquence of female peasants. The eloquence of the ‘rustica’ – succinct in CB 90 and strident in CB 89 – is rarely attested in the Latin literature of the Middle Ages, a domain monopolised by clerics. They, we are told, were fascinated by a ‘child of nature, ready for love, who, far from the courtly world, offers what is denied to a courtly lady, both beauty and spontaneous fulfilment’.55 This romantic reverie does not correspond

Godman, ‘Re-Thinking the Carmina Burana IV: Poetry and History’. See Peter Johanek, Synodalia: Untersuchungen zur Statutengesetzgebung in den Kirchenprovinzen Mainz und Salzburg während des Spätmittelalters, unpublished Habilitationsschrift (Würzburg, 1979), 91–96, and Paul Pixton, The German Episcopacy and the Implementation of the Decrees of the Fourth Lateran Council 1216–1245: Watchmen on the Tower (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 230–33. 54 See Gilles Meerssemann, ‘Die Reform der Salzburger Augustinerstifte (1218), eine Folge des IV. Laterankonzils (1215)’, Zeitschrift für schweizerische Kirchengeschichte, 48 (1934), 81–95. 55 ‘… das Faszinosum des liebesbereiten Naturkindes, das, fernab der höfischen Welt, bieten kann, was der höfischen Dame versagt ist, Schönheit und spontane Erfüllung zugleich’; Rainer Warning, ‘Pastourelle und Mädchenlied’, in Festschrift Walther Haug 52

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to the testimony of our texts. Neither of the female peasants in CB 89 and CB 90 is described as beautiful – one, indeed, is portrayed as the reverse; and in both cases spontaneous fulfilment is absent or unimaginable. Nor are these resourceful rusticae foils to women of fashion. They have minds of their own. With forceful admonition and innocent provocation, each challenges clerical stereotypes less by her conduct than by her speech, which is employed effectively to undermine the mannerisms of men. This is a pattern that emerges earlier in the collection. CB 79, for instance, begins by advertising its author’s knowledge of poetic conventions linking season and sentiment: Estiuali sub feruore, quando cuncta sunt in flore, totus eram in ardore. In the scorching summer, when everything is in flower, I was wholly in heat. (CB 79 §1.1–3)

The setting is worthy of Plato’s pen (§2.5), as reported by Cicero (De oratore 1.7.28),56 with singing Naiads providing musical accompaniment (§3.3). A locus amoenus, in short, or a pedant’s paradise, on which intrudes the shapely figure of a shepherdess: Cerno forma singulari pastorellam sine pari colligentem mora. I perceive a peerless shepherdess of unmatched beauty collecting blackberries. (CB 79 §4.4–6)

The scene appears to be set for an encounter between nature and artifice, which the lyric voice prefers to such a simple fruit: und Burghart Wachinger, ed. by Johannes Janota et al., 2 vols (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1992), ii, 709–23 (714). 56 See Franz R. Schröder, ‘Die Platane am Ilissos’, Germanisch-Romanische Monatsschrift, 35 (1954), 81–107 (102–03).

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In amorem uise cedo – fecit Venus hoc, ut credo – ‘Ades’, inquam, ‘non sum predo! nichil tollo, nichil ledo, me meaque tibi dedo, pulchrior quam Flora!’ At first sight I fall in love – Venus’s doing, I believe – and say: ‘Come here, I am no scoundrel! I shall take nothing, do no harm, I give you myself and my possessions, you are more beautiful than Flora!’ (CB 79 §5)

A different kind of decorum is being violated by this verbosity. Clerics might allude to Venus or Plato in a work for learned readers, but what country girl was expected to know, or to care, that Flora (§5.6) was the goddess of flowers and famed for her beauty (compare Ovid’s Fasti 5.199)? Such florid mannerisms are out of place in an address to a ‘pastorella’, whose inept suitor is talking to himself. His speech amounts to monologue, a ‘soliloquium’ as obtuse as that of CB 89 §6d.6. Her sharp, succinct reply exposes how courtliness becomes clowning: Que respondit uerbo breui: ‘ludos uiri non assueui; sunt parentes michi Sueui! mater longioris eui irascetur pro re leui. parce nunc in hora!’ She replied in short shrift: ‘I am not accustomed to tomfoolery; my parents are Swabians! My mother is of a certain age and will fly into a fit at the slightest provocation. Lay off now in time!’ (CB 79 §6)

The humour here derives from the shift of register, less elaborate and more direct than that of the preceding strophe. Classical clichés give way to ethnic

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stereotypes and political facts. The would-be lover is transported from the haze of ancient myth to the era of Hohenstaufen hegemony, when the Duke of Swabia, Frederick Barbarossa, laid the claims of his dynasty to the German throne. Of Swabian stock, now influential throughout the empire,57 are the country-girl’s parents, as hard-headed and vengeful as the ‘Sueuulus’ of Modus Liebinc in the ‘Cambridge Songs’.58 If her suitor has taken her to be one of the mute objects of sexual fantasy condescendingly sketched by Andreas Capellanus, he now realises his error. No reply by him is recorded to the address of the ‘pastorella’, who has said more, in the space of five cool verses, than the cleric in thirty puffs of hot air. Hierarchy inverted, a member of the mannerist caste is told to keep his hands to himself in a euphemism (§6.6) that wittily echoes the Aue, Maria (‘nunc et in hora mortis nostre’).59 The female peasant, silent or submissive in higher genres of Latin literature, has found a poetical voice of her own.

Gendered Inversion These three voices of rusticae were modulated by male clerics who adapted and varied a tendency to regard female peasants more favourably than their male counterparts.60 But that does not explain why the authors of CB 79, CB 89, and CB 90 chose to act as ventriloquists for those whom high culture denied the right to self-expression and, in two of these cases, depicted them upbraiding their superiors. The sexual drive claimed to be central in pastourelle is marginal or minimal. There is little or no erotic fantasy in any of these poems. Nor will the topsy-turvy of carnival – so often, so misleadingly invoked with a genuflection to the shade of Mikhail Bakhtin – account for the reversals of role.61 If the world of Latin pastourelle is made to seem upside down, that is because it is portrayed by clerics from the perspective of those considered the least privileged and the 57

58 59 60 61

Helmut Castritius, ‘Sweben’, in Reallexikon der germanistischen Altertumskunde, 35 vols (Berlin: 1972–2008), xxx (2005), 193–212; and Emil Reiling, ‘Schwaben’, in Handwörterbuch zur deutschen Rechtsgeschichte, 5 vols (Berlin: Schmidt, 1964–98), iv (1990), 1541–42. Jan Ziolkowski (ed.), The Cambridge Songs (Carmina Cantabrigiensia) (Tempe, AZ: Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies, 1998), 62–68 and 211–15. See Albert Blaise, Le vocabulaire latin des principaux thèmes liturgiques (Turnhout: Brepols, 1966), 545. See Paul Freedman, Images of the Medieval Peasant (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999), 157–74. See Peter Burke, ‘Bakhtin for Historians’, Social History, 12 (1988), 85–90.

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most mute of observers. It is not a desire for equality that distinguishes the poetry of female peasants in the Codex Buranus but a symmetry of inversion. That symmetry, characteristic of the collection, is absent from others, in which the male maintains his ascendancy. Walter of Châtillon’s only fully fledged pastourelle, for example, is preserved as the thirty-second of his works in St Omer, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 351, and stands squarely in the tradition of medieval Latin mannerism.62 At high noon, when the poetic ‘I’ is resting in the shade of an elm tree, there appears a ‘little girl’ (‘puellula’, §3.53) whom he also describes as a ‘uirgo’ (§4.1). After rejecting his advances for fear of a punishment similar to that described in CB 79, she then yields, he claims, to force: Quam mire simulantem, ouesque congregantem, pressi nil reluctantem sub pennula. As she dissembled wondrously while herding her sheep, I pressed her onto the down and encountered no resistance. (Walter of Châtillon, Sole regente, §8.1–4)63

Has she protested too much? Is this the dissimulation which serves to confirm Andreas Capellanus’s view about female peasants’ amenability to coercion? Or is the poetic ‘I’ merely imposing his gratification on an act of violence? There is ambiguity in Walter’s pastourelle, but no inversion. That subtle phenomenon, customarily confined to the higher genres of learned literature addressed to princes of the Church or the empire, is infrequent.64 Its recurrence in the Codex Buranus evinces preoccupation with an order of medieval society which the clerical imagination attempted to fathom in self-referential terms. The image of the ‘rustica’ both refracted adverse perceptions of the ‘pastor’ and reflected the inability to bridge the cultural gulf between them. Compare, for example, CB 157:

Karl Strecker (ed.), Die Lieder Walters von Châtillon in der Handschrift 351 von St Omer (Berlin: Weidmann, 1925), 59–60 (fn. 32). 63 Strecker, Die Lieder, 60. 64 See Godman, The Archpoet, 102–28. 62

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Lucis orto sydere exit uirgo propere facie uernali oues iussa regere baculo pastorali. At daybreak a girl hastens out, her face as bright as the spring, under orders to tend her sheep with a shepherdess’s staff. (CB 157 §1)

Does the shepherdess bear a staff to guide her flock or for purposes of selfdefence?65 Protection is certainly needed from the wordiness of her would-be suitor: Dum procedo paululum, lingue soluo uinculum: ‘Salue, regie digna! audi, queso, seruulum! esto michi benigna!’ I tip-toe towards her and loosen my tongue: ‘Greetings! You deserve a palace! Listen, I pray, to your serf! Be gracious to me!’ (CB 157 §3)

This echo of Marian worship, from the antiphon Salue, regina, is more ostentatious and less effective than the brief but telling allusion to the Aue, Maria in CB 79 §6.6. Striving for effect, the suitor misses the mark, the diminutive that declares him to be a serf (§3.4) merely emphasising the unctuousness of his approach. Her rejection is roundly cast in terms of Luke 1.34 (‘dixit autem Maria

65

Tristan Franklinos wonders whether the ‘baculum pastorale’ points to a further inversion as the ‘uirgo’, rather than her would-be suitor, governs with a crozier.

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ad Angelum: Quomodo fiet istud, quoniam uirum non cognosco?’; ‘But Mary said to the Angel: ‘How will that be, since I know not a man?’): ‘Cur salutas uirginem, que non nouit hominem, ex quo fuit nata? sciat Deus! neminem inueni per hec prata!’ ‘Why do you greet a girl who has not known a man since she was born? God knows I have met no one on these meadows!’ (CB 157 §4)

An impasse has been reached, resolvable at the end only by a metaphor derived from the Bible, which prohibits such conduct. The incompatibility of the two orders, even in an idyll where they are imagined to be speaking the same language, is betrayed by the poet’s strain at varying what, by the end of the twelfth century, had become a familiar theme. The Latin pastourelle of the High Middle Ages begins to falter, but not to flag. ‘More of the same’ (‘Item aliud’) is the rubric given to CB 158 on f. 63v, which begins with the pursuit of a peasant girl who, rejecting her suitor’s offer of a necklace, exclaims: ‘Munus uestrum’ inquit ‘nolo, quia pleni estis dolo’, et se sic defendit colo. conprehensam ieci solo: clarior non est sub polo uilibus induta! ‘I do not want your gift’, she said, ‘for you are full of guile!’, and defended herself with a distaff. I embraced her and threw her to the ground: there is no woman under the sun more splendid, though clothed in rags! (CB 158 §4)

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It is less the common contrast between physical beauty and sartorial poverty that arrests attention than the propriety of address by the ‘rustica’ in the plural of respect (‘uestrum’ and ‘estis’, §4.1–2). Only when he has had his way with her does this peasant switch to a singular of intimacy that is combined with foreboding: 5. Satis illi fuit graue, michi gratum et suaue. ‘Quid fecisti’, inquid, ‘praue? ue, ue! tamen aue! ne reueles ulli, caue, ut sim domi tuta! 6. Si senserit meus pater uel Martinus maior frater, erit michi dies ater; uel si sciret mea mater, cum sit angue peior quater, uirgis sum tributa.’ 5. She found it very disturbing; to me it was pleasant and sweet. ‘What have you done, wicked man!’ she said: ‘Alas, alas! And yet, welcome! Be careful not to let this on to anyone so that I avoid trouble at home! 6. If my father or my elder brother Martin gets wind of this, it will be a black day for me; should my mother find out, she will beat me with a rod, for she is far worse than a snake.’ (CB 158 §§5–6)

The ill-ease of complicity is conveyed by the singular verbs at §5.3 and 5. The peasant girl is alarmed less by the coupling than by the prospect of its being found out.66 Unmasked as a rapist, her suitor invites the mixed reactions of

66

For further discussion of this issue, see the contribution in this volume by Martin.

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revulsion and welcome at §5.4, because she must enlist his aid, or his silence, in order to avert the dire consequences of his actions.67 Vulnerable yet calculating, the shepherdess imposes her clear-eyed premonitions on male myopia. But she does not venture beyond boundaries set by previous authors of Latin pastourelle. The learned genre has reached its limit; the impetus of innovation lapses; and repetition recurs.

CB 185: German Directness and Latin Euphemism Under der linden What we have is, however, unique; for the female peasants of the Codex Buranus are more numerous and more various than their peers in other collections. This manuscript marks a change in the literary perception of the ‘rustica’, who is no longer the inarticulate or deceptive object of male desire visualised by Andreas Capellanus and Walter of Châtillon. Although herds and flocks point to her occupation and social class, there is nothing bestial about such an eloquent match for men. She speaks out with a simplicity that deflates male bombast. And yet it is not until the Codex Buranus, in the original form it took c. 1230, approaches its end that her voice is heard in the vernacular. Combining German with Latin in CB 185, the bilingual ‘rustica’ now fashions an idiom of her own.68 CB 185, which is related by theme and motif to the Latin pastourelle,69 represents the macaronic lament of a girl who, like the ‘uirgo’ of CB 158, has been deflowered. This song from the first quarter of the thirteenth century was composed during the lifetime of the chief scribe h1-Conrad, either by the chief scribe himself or by a poet probably known to him at a turning point in the intellectual history of Neustift, a bilingual community alert to the fact that, by then, the Latin lyric had reached its apogee, while amatory verse in German was beginning an ascent that would continue into the later Middle Ages.70 Questions 67

Possibly ‘tamen aue’ (§5.4) carries a concessive force, suggesting that the girl may have enjoyed the tryst in spite of her recognition that she is to suffer as a result of it. 68 See also the contributions in this volume by Martin, Classen, and – on the song’s modern performance – Yri. The full text of CB 185 is printed with translation in Martin’s chapter (Illustration 6.1). 69 Vollmann, 1208 notes the thematic resemblances to the pastourelle. 70 Burghart Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder: zu den deutschen Strophen der Carmina Burana’, in From Symbol to Mimesis: The Generation of Walther von der Vogelweide, ed. by Franz H. Bäuml, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 368 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1984), 1–34; repr. in Der deutsche Minnesang: Aufsätze zu

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about the relationship between the vernacular and the learned poetry of love in the Codex Buranus remain open. Some argue for the priority of German verse; others maintain that the Latin came first;71 while a third view finely distinguishes between Hoher Minnesang and a separate convention of amatory song that was practised between 1210 and 1230.72 Less attention has been paid to works that combine the learned and vernacular traditions, such as CB 185, which cannot be reduced to an instance of barbarolexis aimed at parody.73 A subtler intelligence was at work in this crossroad of cultures beneath the eastern Alps. In a Middle High German identifiable as belonging to the region of South Tyrol in which Neustift is situated, CB 185 begins with delicate plangency:74 Ich was ein chint so wolgetan, uirgo dum florebam, do brist mich div wert al, omnibus placebam. Hoy et oe! Maledicantur thylie iuxta uiam posite! I was such a fine-looking girl in the bloom of my maidenhood, then my praises were sung everywhere and I pleased everyone. Alas, alack! seiner Erforschung, 2, ed. by Hans Fromm, Wege der Forschung, 608 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1985), 275–308. For fresh reconsiderations of the vernacular in the Codex Buranus, see the contributions in this volume by Stolz and Hope. 71 See Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder’, 277–79; and compare Olive Sayce, The Medieval German Lyric, 1150–1300: The Development of its Themes and Forms in their European Context (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982), 234–64; and Sayce. 72 See Franz Worstbrock, ‘Verdeckte Schichten und Typen im deutschen Minnesang um 1210–1230’, in Ausgewählte Schriften, ed. by Susanne Köbele and Andreas Kraß, 2 vols (Stuttgart: Hirzel, 2004–05), i, 87–101. 73 Compare Ulrich Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung als poetische Technik: Barbarolexis in den Carmina Burana’, in Europäische Mehrsprachigkeit: Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Mario Wandruszka, ed. by Wolfgang Pöckl (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1981), 87–104. 74 See Georg Steer, ‘“Carmina Burana” in Südtirol: zur Herkunft des clm 4660’, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 112 (1983), 1–37.

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Cursed be the lime trees standing by the roadside! (CB 185 §1)

The innocence of childhood and the flowering of virginity are motifs that have figured separately in the Codex Buranus. Now they are conjoined in two languages, one of which could have been construed at Neustift as the speech of a local girl, while the other imposes the different, more distant perspective of the Latin planctus. This symbiosis is rich in associations. The sexual metaphor of the flower at §1.2, varied in the following strophe, is complemented by the lime trees praised in Under der linden (C 16) by Walther von der Vogelweide,75 whose works are cited and adapted elsewhere in the collection.76 The lime tree, into which Ovid’s Baucis is turned at Metamorphoses 8.620–21, evoked a range of reactions, from delight at its shade and sweet honey to dread at its use as a setting for trials.77 If Walther extols the first sense of pastoral pleasantness, the author of CB 185 exploits the second to emphasise, in his refrain, how the lime trees provided a setting for injustice. His curse stands in inverse symmetry to Walther’s celebration. The considerate lover of Under der linden gives way to the ‘ungetan’, the rogue and the rapist of CB 185, whose character is indicated by a past participle with a negative prefix, modelled on Old French:78 Ia wolde ih an die wisen gan, flores adunare, do wolde mich ein ungetan ibi deflorare. Hoy et oe! I wanted to go across the meadow in order to pick flowers, then a wretch lusted after Christoph Cormeau (ed.), Walther von der Vogelweide: Leich, Lieder, Sangsprüche, 14th edn (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1996), 77–78. 76 Compare Sayce, The Medieval German Lyric, 248–49. 77 See Peter Dilg and Christoph Daxelmüller, ‘Linde’, in Lexikon des Mittelalters, ed. by Robert-Henri Bautier, Robert Auty, and Norbert Angermann, 9 vols (Munich: Artemis & Winkler, 1980–99), v (1991), 1998–99. 78 Compare Sayce, 96, and Ingrid Kasten (ed.), Deutsche Lyrik des Frühen und Hohen Mittelalters, 2nd edn (Frankfurt am Main: Deutscher Klassiker Verlag, 2005), 913. 75

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deflowering me there. Alas, alack! (CB 185 §2)

Correspondences between nature and sentiment in Walther’s poem are transformed into contrasts between literal and metaphorical flowers, as the Middle High German modulates alternations between the girl’s innocent telling of the past and her indignant memories in the present. For the reciprocity that runs as a leitmotif throughout Walther von der Vogelweide’s Under der linden the poet of CB 185 substitutes a dialectic of deception: Er nam mich bi der wizen hant – sed non indecenter; er wist mich div wise lanch – ualde fraudulenter. Hoy et oe! He took me by the white hand – by no means unbecomingly; he led me along the meadow – with the worst of intentions. Alas, alack! (CB 185 §3)

Here it is the learned language that conveys the rapidity with which the girl’s mind changes – first (§3.2) complicit in his feigned modesty, then (§3.4) condemning its base motives. And the vernacular enhances her naïveté until she grasps his purpose: Er graif mir an daz wize gewant ualde indecenter; er fůrte mih bi der hant multum uiolenter. Hoy et oe! He grasped at my white dress very unseemingly; he pulled me by the hand with brutal force. Alas, alack! (CB 185 §4)

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White, the colour of purity, are both her dress and her hand, unlike his behaviour, which reveals his dark designs. The learned and the vernacular languages, no longer opposed in the contrast of barbarolexis, complement one another in recollection and evaluation, until the girl’s assailant delivers a monologue of courtly love: 6. ‘Iz stat ein linde wolgetan, non procul a uia, da hab ich mine herphe lan, timpanum cum lyra.’ Hoy et oe! 7. Do er zů der linden chom, dixit: ‘Sedeamus’ – div minne twanch sere den man – ‘ludum faciamus’. Hoy et oe! 6. ‘There is a lovely lime tree not far from the path, there I have left my harp, my tambourine, and my lyre.’ Alas, alack! 7. When he came to the lime tree, he said: ‘Let us sit down’ – the man was driven by desire – ‘and play!’ Alas, alack! (CB 185 §§6–7)

‘ludus’ by now has lost all its reassuring connotations of sport. The musical and rhetorical ways of wooing threaten force. None the less, describing the act of coercion, the female voice maintains a metaphorical restraint in each language, before voicing her protest in both:79 79

The metaphors of these strophes lead Sabine Brinkmann, Die deutschsprachige Pastourelle: 13. bis 16. Jahrhundert (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1985), 128 to the unwarranted and unprovable conclusion that the poet of CB 185 was a man. Play with perspective (‘Rollenspiel’) demonstrates nothing about the sexual identity of

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9. Er warf mir ůf daz hemdelin, corpore detecta, er rante mir in daz purgelin, cuspide erecta. Hoy et oe! 10. Er nam den chocher unde den bogen – bene uenabatur! Der selbe hete mich betrogen! ludus compleatur! Hoy et oe! 9. He drew up my little shirt and uncovered my body, he stormed my small citadel with upright lance. Alas, alack! 10. He took the quiver and the bow – and hunted well! This man deceived me! Let the game have an end! Alas, alack! (CB 185 §§9–10)

The ‘sport’ of coerced sex, with its classical imagery of hunting and warfare, is perceived as a male pursuit by a wronged female. Casting the violence she has endured in terms he might have chosen, the ‘chint’ acknowledges that she is no longer a child, but refuses to be reduced to booty for his lust. Neither a castle to be stormed nor a quarry to be chased, she rebukes her assailant with a German directness that leaves no room for Latin euphemism. He may fancy himself the hunter of §10.2, but she denounces his duplicity in the next verse. The game is over, and the illusions of pastourelle have passed.

the author, and it is worth noting that the community of Neustift, from its foundation in 1142 until the early fourteenth century, included women. Compare Neustift, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 21a, 7 (a nineteenth-century copy of a lost medieval codex). Note also Martin’s suggestion in this volume that CB 185 might have been authored by a woman.

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Conclusion Although ambiguous lyrics of sexual domination, composed from the man’s perspective, such as CB 72 (Grates ago Veneri) by Peter of Blois, figure in the collection, and although women’s laments were established in medieval literature by c. 1230, no one before the author of CB 185 had fused features of these distinct genres into a synthesis of male sic and female non. A dialectical imagination is detectable in this poem, which employs German to pursue a line of enquiry initiated, but not completed, in Latin. Although the female peasants who, in the Codex Buranus, precede the wronged maiden excel at refusal and reprimand, they never rise to the insight that compensates for her loss of innocence. Seeing through the subterfuges of her assailant, she exposes pastoral convention as a rhetoric of rape. Verbal trenchancy is balanced by metaphorical delicacy to set incompatible points of view against one another. Bilingualism expresses ambivalence, in shifts of mood and perception that transform lament into reproach. Beginning as a planctus in the vernacular, CB 185 ends by turning the learned lyric against itself. Latin offered this poet antithetical themes – innocence vs artifice, courtliness vs violence, the literate as opposed to the lowly – the rise and the decline of which the Codex Buranus exemplifies in its ample collection of verse about rusticae. German Minnesang provided another model, which is inverted with scholastic skill. This combinatory craft was not improvised; it had to be learnt. The author of CB 185 was trained in two traditions, possibly by h1-Conrad at Neustift.80 There, in the community which legend has not implausibly linked with Walther von der Vogelweide, his works were studied on a premiss of parity between the learned and the vernacular languages. Conclusions are drawn from that premiss in the layout of the Codex Buranus, which presents German and Latin verse as complementary and continuous.81 That is why the evidence of CB 185, viewed in the context of this manuscript, ought to lead one to doubt the assumption that clerics and laymen occupied separate spheres, between which contact was beginning to be

80

This issue is raised in general terms, but not examined, by Christoph März, ‘Walthers Leich und das Carmen Buranum 60/60a’, in Lied im deutschen Mittelalter, ed. by Edwards, 43–56. Compare Willem H. Moll, Über den Einfluß der lateinischen Vagantendichtung auf die Lyrik Walters von der Vogelweide und die seiner Epigonen im 13. Jahrhundert (Amsterdam: Paris, 1925), 77. The hypothesis of a Neustift origin is supported by the fact that CB 185 is transmitted only in the Codex Buranus. 81 See Georg Mühlberger, ‘Walther und sein Mythos in Südtirol’, in Walther von der Vogelweide: Beiträge zu Leben und Werk, ed. by Hans-Dieter Mück (Stuttgart: Stöffler and Schütz, 1989), 31–44.

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established, c. 1230, only at lower levels of artistry.82 Macaronic poetry had long bridged both worlds, offering an alternative to the conventional pabulum of the classroom in which it originated.83 The sophistication, conceptual and formal, of CB 185 appeals to an aesthetic which, in a central periphery of medieval Europe, was highly developed.84 The ability to respond to such refinement, drawing on Latin and German to the disadvantage of neither, entailed an audience more ecumenically minded than proponents of literary apartheid allow. Perhaps we should heed Walther when, in his Mailied (C 28), he points to representatives of this dual culture as peers: Seht an pfaffen, seht an leien wie daz allez vert. Look at clerics, look at laymen and how they all behave.85 (Walther von der Vogelweide, Mailied, C 28, §§3–4)

82

‘Eine produktive Begegnung der beiden Traditionen war am ehesten im Rahmen einer inhaltlich anspruchsloseren Gebrauchskunst möglich, wie sie dieser Teil des Codex Buranus überliefert. Die Begegnung zeigt zugleich, daß die beiden Traditionen ihre Geschlossenheit und ihre Bindung an beide Gesellschaftsgruppen zu verlieren begannen.’ Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder’, 308. 83 See Bruce A. Beatie, ‘Macaronic Poetry in the Carmina Burana’, Vivarium, 5 (1967), 16–24. 84 See Paul Zumthor, ‘Un problème d’esthétique médiévale: l’utilisation poétique du bilinguisme’, Le Moyen Âge, 66 (1966), 301–36, 561–94. 85 Cormeau, Walther, 106. Kasten, Deutsche Lyrik, 937 regards these verses as a contrast between clerics and laymen, although she notes that the antithesis is not attested in Minnesang before Walther. Hugo Kuhn, Minnelieder Walthers von der Vogelweide: ein Kommentar (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1982), 92 suggestively and (in my view) accurately paraphrases line 3 as ‘die Gesellschaft im ganzen’.

Chapter 8

Predestination and God’s Grace: The Salvific Architecture of the Religious Songs in the Codex Buranus Racha Kirakosian The Codex Buranus arguably stands out from the common medieval practice of gathering together collections of religious texts because of its non-religious content. The classical divisions proposed by modern editors suggest that, beyond the concluding section of religious plays, the collection does not include a distinct group of religious texts.1 The seemingly counter-intuitive decision to dedicate a chapter to religious poetry in the current volume, however, underlines the complex relationship between the manuscript’s undoubtedly religious production context and the songs’ function or use, which extends beyond the merely religious. Although modern editors have refrained from subdividing the so-called moral-satirical songs – the section from CB 1 to CB 55 – by allowing for a subsection on religious poetry, more than half of these songs focus on religion. There is no doubt that the religious sphere – as the word ‘sphere’ already suggests – is all-encompassing in the Codex Buranus; and yet, the religious content is scarcely highlighted in scholarship. The present chapter tackles this desideratum by investigating the understanding of religion portrayed by the texts of the Codex Buranus. Respecting the distribution of religious material across the entire manuscript, including the devotional materials added later, I propose a multidirectional method of reading these texts in order to understand their complex web of interrelationships. The texts of the Codex Buranus have been much studied as disparate, compartmentalised entities, each song standing on its own, yet forming part of one of several consecutive clusters.2 Although the order of texts implies a certain evolution when read in a linear fashion, collections of shorter texts were seldom 1 See Traill, i, x; and Vollmann, 7. 2

For a discussion of the collection’s structure, see Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, Parodie in den Carmina Burana, Mediävistische Perspektiven, 4 (Zurich: Chronos, 2014).

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read continuously from beginning to end; instead, portions of text were looked up and received in different order – and the rubricated titles, initials, and other visual markers in medieval manuscripts aided this kind of non-linear reading.3 Especially when dealing with a collection of songs, the singularity of each song invites an individual and even playful reception. The songs hark back to previous topics or foreshadow upcoming topics and tropes, enhancing and mapping out a multidimensional reading process. As a result, we deal with a web of topological inter-references – a web that is not always tangible intertextually but connected on a conceptual level. While each song may rightly be considered in its singularity, its reverberant and intertextual embeddedness allows the reader to consider the collection of religious songs as a cluster defined through a web of inter-references rather than through a linear order. Such a web is complex and implies several directions, in which the map’s vectors point to different ends. In simpler terms: a reader may randomly pick up any text portion, read another one which does not precede or follow it, and come back to it later. The topological references connecting these disparate text portions will thus create a web of inter-references. With this in mind, we may start to trace the ‘religious architecture’ that underlies the conception of the Codex Buranus. The majority of religious texts – those primarily concerned with matters of belief or the Church – are concentrated at the beginning of the codex, but we find religious content throughout the core collection and also in the final parts which were added later. A religious architecture is established by the songs in the core collection, and in particular in that section which editors define as moral-satirical. Following twenty texts that bemoan the fluctuation of the human condition between virtue and corruption in the face of fate (embodied in the figure of Fortuna), CB 21 introduces the Christian notion of the salvation of the soul. The wealth of inter-references among the largely religious songs between CB 21 and CB 55 reveals that salvation history is negotiated on multiple levels. First, there is individual salvation, each soul facing an inner battle of good and evil; second, there is deliverance for the entirety of Christianity, a body of souls that constitutes a metaphysical army of God; third, an entity that is constituted through topological inter-references occupies a pivotal position

3

This interrupted, non-linear reading practice is more obvious in other kinds of collections, such as legendaries or prayerbooks. On these kind of reading patterns in the context of prayerbooks, see R. Jacob McDonie, ‘Mysterious Friends in the Prayers and Letters of Anselm of Canterbury’, in Friendship in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age: Explorations of a Fundamental Ethical Discourse, ed. by Albrecht Classen and Marilyn Sandidge, Fundamentals of Medieval and Early Modern Culture, 6 (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2010), 309–48, esp. 317–18.

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in the religious thought-building: the Church with its responsibility to guide and protect individual salvation, and to represent the promise of collective redemption. As such, the Church serves as the link between the individual and the collective, between past and future, between the finite human realm and the eternity of the divine. This tripartite structure (individual–Church–collective) is the religious foundation on which the texts in the Codex Buranus – and especially its songs – operate in order to criticise the state of the Church and the state of its members. The songs exercise the major critique that the flawed state of the Church jeopardises the salvation of many and has its roots in the structural weakness of corrupt individuals. The structure of salvation is a nestled one, since the institution of the Church is broken down into its individual human members (prelates and clerics), who succumb to the same struggle between good and evil as any individual. Given its responsibility for shepherding the collective Christian body to salvation, however, the Church’s fraudulent state puts that collective salvation at risk and thus opposes its own raison d’être. In this way, the Codex Buranus draws the image of a salvation machinery that is inherently flawed because it is in the hands of humans. This overarching depiction of the state of Christianity plays out between the different religious songs in the Codex Buranus, as each one may target one or even several issues at a time. The manuscript’s structure of salvation can be exemplified by studying the inter-references between different songs as well as by offering in-depth analyses of individual songs. Before delving into these analyses, however, general issues concerning the manuscript’s production context need to be addressed, since the historical and cultural background of the Codex Buranus strongly impacts how we understand its religious content.

The Salvific Architecture of the Codex Buranus Given the manuscript’s likely compilation in an ecclesiastic context, whether at Neustift monastery or Brixen cathedral, the religious dimension of the Codex Buranus cannot be underestimated. Despite the loss of the collection’s possible religious opening,4 liturgical and monastic features are still palpable throughout the entire codex. While many of the manuscript’s religious songs go back to Philip the Chancellor, Peter of Blois, and Otloh of St Emmeram, others are less well known or unique to the Codex Buranus. Moreover, a number of later,

4

For a discussion of the manuscript’s lost opening and whether it was religious in content, see Vollmann, 898–99.

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fourteenth-century additions offer religious poems and hymns which differ substantially in tone from the earlier songs. Most recently, the historical and cultural context of the codex has been thoroughly assessed by Peter Godman. ‘Concerned with primary sources’, Godman employs ‘the means of philology and palaeography to raise methodological questions of cultural history’.5 One of the questions that arises in relation to the collection’s historical context considers the place of liturgy in examples of monastic poetry which do not officially form part of the liturgy. We ought to question the underlying assumptions in this matter. Does religious poetry in the context of monastic literacy necessarily intersect with liturgical practice? Are the songs in the Codex Buranus actually so-called ‘calendar-literature’?6 That is: is the poetry linked with liturgy at all, as one may expect from texts emerging in a monastic context? Although, at first glance, the songs of the Codex Buranus appear independent from the liturgical calendar and its ritualistic practices, the question of their cultural background – their liturgical value – remains important.7 If ‘the verses of the Carmina Burana were recited and sung during festivities which inverted clerical norms’, as Godman suggests, they would still have occupied a place within the liturgical calendar, sitting firmly within the interstices of such festivities.8 The songs compiled in the Codex Buranus are hence not to be seen as marginal or even opposed to the strict monastic life but rather as a ‘relaxation from such rules in the intellectual acrobatics of verse’.9 However, this cultural function remains hypothetical given that there is hardly any historical evidence for the manuscript’s use; ‘from the pristine state of the Codex Buranus’, we can infer that ‘it was rarely opened’.10 As regards a deliberate compilation process in the manuscript’s production, the systematic arrangement of the songs suggests that compilers used topics as an ordering principle, in which religious or liturgical content were not considered separate. The manuscript’s macrostructural arrangement of religious songs dramatises a conflict between good and evil, fought out on different levels. Two adjurations 5

Godman, 245. The discussion concerning the manuscript’s provenance is continued in a number of this volume’s contributions, especially those by Godman and Brewer. 6 On poetry that is inspired by liturgy, see Hans Unterreitmeier, ‘Literatur und Kalender: Liturgie und Dichtung im Mittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit’, Zeitschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Linguistik, 80 (1990), 72–92. 7 In a similar vein, Drumbl’s contribution in this volume is concerned with the relationship of the manuscript’s plays and the liturgy. 8 Godman, 249. 9 Godman, 247. 10 Godman, 259.

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against demonic powers mark the performative conclusion of an individual and psychological battle (CB 21–CB 40), followed by songs evoking historicised battles referenced in the crusading poetry (CB 46–CB 52) and a song on the papal schism of 1159–77 (CB 53). The study of the hymns in honour of the Virgin Mary, St Catherine, and others, which were added to the collection at a later date, adds to our understanding of the religious content as the manuscript seems divided into older material that is concerned with mankind’s battle against evil and a younger portion imbued with the hymnic portrayal of saintly figures. One song in particular deserves special consideration because it illustrates how a single song may be connected to others through topological reference. Inserted into the manuscript’s section of love poetry, CB 131 lends Christian love (‘Caritas’) a voice to answer the question of where truth resides while injustice rules in all human courts. As a counter-model to the corrupted world, Caritas remains ‘rare’ (§1.3), confirming the image of a world in need of redemption that is portrayed in earlier songs. The resulting feeling of hopelessness in the face of injustice, for instance, refers back to CB 32, in which the fivefold-repeated question of why men must suffer is answered hypothetically each time, making clear that the religious dimension of the human condition is, in part, abstract and is always linked to salvation history (see below). Thus each religiously motivated song of the core collection can indeed be placed into an overarching salvific framework. In order to show how this salvific architecture is worked out in detail, we need to further refine the scope of analysis. Evoking a battle against the corruption of the soul, CB 21–CB 40 admonish their readers to return to the right path, erecting a clear-cut boundary between good and evil. CB 21 (Veritas ueritatum) – composed by Philip the Chancellor (1160/80–1236) – opens a series of religious songs invoking the ethical position of truth in relation to original sin. Veritas, the incarnate word (‘te uerbum incarnatum’, §1.5), commands the human to get up and leave (or literally grab) the sickbed (‘surge, tolle grabatum’, §1.15): this metonymic figure serves to conceptualise Christ as the only true path to salvation for humans who are stricken by corruption.11 The song’s opening words stand in opposition to a poem in the Old Testament, in which the poet laments the insignificance of human wisdom: ‘uanitas uanitatum, dixit Ecclesiastes, uanitas uanitatum omnia uanitas’ (‘vanity of vanities, says the Teacher, vanity of vanities!

11

For ‘Philip’s familiar personified Veritas’, see Peter Dronke, ‘The Lyrical Compositions of Philip the Chancellor’, Studi Medievali, series 3, 28 (1987), 563–92 (580–81). Unless otherwise stated, quotations from the Codex Buranus in this chapter are taken from Vollmann.

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All is vanity’, Eccles. 1.2).12 Although we do not know for certain whether the scribes of the Codex Buranus knew the remaining four stanzas of Philip’s song – other manuscripts also transmit the first stanza only13 – the rebuke of Church prelates in the subsequent stanzas of Philip’s song reverberates with the critical tone in the songs following CB 21. Given that ‘more than half of the poems between CB 21 and CB 34 are certainly or probably by Philip’, we may assume that the scribes were well acquainted with his repertoire.14 In this way, the first stanza of CB 21 announces a religious programme that is concerned with the ethical obligations of clerics. With its unfolding of key concepts – besides ‘ueritas’ and ‘uerbum incarnatum’, the song considers ‘fides’, ‘spes’ and ‘caritas’ (§1.6), and ‘gratia’ (§1.10) – CB 21 figures as a gateway into a more complex architectural construct of the manuscript’s salvific thought-building, just ‘like a Christ figure in a tympanum welcomes a church visitor’.15 However, such a linear reading alone does not deliver a theologically coherent architecture; rather it becomes evident that compilation strategies rival thematic principles, as the study of the songs CB 21–CB 40 shows. Following the first stanza of CB 21, the Codex Buranus continues to draw a thin line between a righteous path to salvation and a fraudulent life leading to condemnation – particularly palpable in the metaphor of the thin thread on which happiness depends: ‘omnia sunt hominum tenui pendentia filo’ (‘all human affairs hang from a slender thread’, CB 25.3).16 This prevalent tone of reprimand, however, changes with a set of songs that develop the topic of conversion. Certainly originating from Philip the Chancellor’s plume, CB 26 (Ad cor tuum) addresses humankind in general, in contrast to the preceding songs, which are pitched at a clerical and scholastic audience.17 Headed ‘De correctione hominum’, the song phrases didactic warnings in a series of questions and imperatives that 12

Quoted from the Vulgate, as this would have been the default Bible that the medieval scribes who compiled the Codex Buranus would have used; edition used for all Latin Bible quotations: Robert Weber and Roger Gryson (eds), Biblia Sacra Vulgata, 5th edn (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2007). 13 Vollmann, 947. 14 David A. Traill, ‘A Cluster of Poems by Philip the Chancellor in Carmina Burana 21–36’, Studi Medievali, series 3, 47 (2006), 267–85 (268). See also David A. Traill, ‘More Poems by Philip the Chancellor’, Journal of Medieval Latin, 16 (2006), 164–81. 15 See Vollmann, 947: ‘Wie eine Christusfigur im Portaltympanon den Kirchenbesucher empfängt, so empfängt CB 21 mit dem Bild des menschgewordenen Wortes, des “Retters aus Sünd’ und Not”, den Leser (und Hörer) der folgenden Lieder.’ 16 Unless otherwise stated, all translations from the Codex Buranus are based on Traill. 17 See Traill, ‘A Cluster’, for analyses of CB 22 and CB 23.

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call the sinner to reconsider their fatal situation before it is too late, i.e. before their death.18 The subsequent songs build on the assumption of an improved person whose confidence and trust in God make amends for their former sinful life (CB 27).19 Whoever trusts God may subsequently direct their evangelistic zeal to those who are still caught in sin: ‘ne tardare uelis, si quem conuertere possis’ (‘do not be slow if you can put someone on the right path’, CB 28 §1.5). Rather than continuing to explore the aspect of evangelism in an exhortative manner, however, the following songs consider the iniquity of human life. The moralistic stanzas attributed to Peter of Blois (CB 29–CB 31) draw embellished pictures of a corrupt and frivolous life, which the persona regrets ardently. Emotionally charged, CB 29–CB 31 are styled after Augustine’s Confessions and collapse their addressee with their first-person speaker, creating the effect of a conversational monologue. A retrospective dimension, particularly present in CB 30 and CB 31, contains imperative elements that may be meant to speak to a reader; but their personal tone creates the aura of a contemplative penitent who is absorbed with the immorality of the carnal lust that dictated his youth, spent in service of the goddess Venus. The persona declares the intention to change their ways: ‘ire Veneris refuto per deuia’ (‘I refuse to proceed along the byways of Venus’, §7.1). Idolatry in this sense is a self-inflicted vice that cannot be reconciled with the ‘royal path’ (‘uia regia’, §7.3) of the virtues. The recurring theme of the sinful life stretches across several songs, suspending the glimpse of what may seem like a development towards the improvement of the soul in CB 28 (Laudat rite Deum) – a prouerbium attributed to the eleventh-century Benedictine scholar and composer Otloh of St Emmeram, and possibly copied from the twelfth-century collection Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 2521. There is no progressively evolving arch from song to song in terms of the soul’s improvement; instead, there are throwbacks into states of the soul that are evoked in earlier songs, creating a circular effect in a supposedly linear engagement with the texts. Seen in this light, the recurring battle against evil is in line with the orthodox assumption of a permanent struggle against the corruption of the soul.20 See also Dronke, The Lyrical Compositions, 569; and Traill, ‘A Cluster’, pp. 269–70. Traill decides to edit all stanzas of Philip’s Veritas ueritatum and Bonum est confidere although the Codex Buranus contains only their first stanzas (CB 21 and CB 27); see Traill, i, 58–64 and 76–80. 20 Atria Larson argues that, according to medieval theology before Gratian, penance was a one-time affair that could not be repeated – otherwise it would not have been true penance the first time; see Atria A. Larson, Master of Penance: Gratian and the Development of Penitential Thought and Law in the Twelfth Century, Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Canon Law, 11 (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America 18

19

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Such a circular effect would, however, be generated only if we assume a linear reception of the songs as they appear in the codex. Whether such an effect was intended cannot be asserted with certainty. The songs were arranged by topic and author; this compilational principle was favoured over a narrative framework that progressed gradually, and it may also hint at how the Codex Buranus was meant to be used: that is, not necessarily in a linear fashion, but as a compendium that assembled groups of songs which form units on different levels. The songs by Peter of Blois, for instance, are clustered together among the moral-satirical songs, where they form a kind of a subdivision. These strategies of compilation reinforce a more complex reading in line with the proposed notion of a web of inter-references, because thematic comprehension can be achieved only by reading the songs in multiple – non-linear as well as linear – directions. In this way, the salvation machinery construed in the Codex Buranus functions on different levels.

Critiquing the Church Within the salvific architecture, Church officials are accorded a central place. CB 33–CB 39 are preoccupied with the alleged inclination of bishops, monks, prelates, and other Church officials to corruption and the vices. In a set of direct warnings in CB 33, probably composed by Peter of Blois, these generic religious figures are given concrete moral guidelines for how to keep to the right path: Sis pius, iustus, sobrius, prudens, pudicus, humilis, in lege Dei docilis, et non sis arbor sterilis. tuo te regas aptius officio. Be pious, just, and self-controlled, wise, modest, humble,

Press, 2014), 102. Yet the privatisation of confession and the subsequent practice of repeated absolution of sins had begun long before Gratian’s Decretum. The HibernoScottish mission, gaining ground on the European continent as early as the seventh century and quickly finding liturgical acceptance, encouraged a daily practice of penance in which the secret nature of the confession and pardon of sin was established. The concept of the repeated sinner and the belief that true penance was possible more than once in a human’s life were therefore certainly established by the time the songs in the Codex Buranus were composed and compiled.

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and eager to learn God’s law, and, to avoid becoming a sterile tree, govern yourself as befits your office. (CB 33 §2.1–5)

The corruption of those who are responsible for leading the Church is heavily criticised in different registers: first, those under scrutiny are addressed directly in CB 33 (‘De ammonitione prelatorum’); this is followed in CB 34 by an exclamatory prayer to a God of vengeance, composed by Philip the Chancellor and imitative of the Psalms in tone and topic; next, in CB 35, the persona employs tropes of humility while counselling bishops to undertake their duty – a topic that is explored further in CB 36. This general critique of issues related to the governance of religious institutions is illustrated with a concrete example: a controversy between choir monks and lay brothers at the convent of Grandmont (CB 37). The persona takes the side of the clerical party, maintaining that the convent’s former glory has been lost as a result of an uneducated and non-obedient lay community. The elitism captured in this song does in fact relate to historical events. Grandmont, near Limoges, was a reformed house in which the choir monks were excluded from the administration of the convent, run by the lay brothers. As the convent accumulated wealth, the lay community increasingly gained power, leading to a rivalry for leadership – with each party providing a prior in the years between 1185 and 1188.21 The inclusion of this historical case among the songs of the Codex Buranus exemplifies the serious zeal for all things concerning ecclesiastical management that motivated the manuscript’s compilers. It gives us a glimpse of their interest in affairs of institutional governance – and possibly reflects their conservative standpoint in this matter. By integrating this song on the Grandmont case into their salvific architecture, the compilers demonstrated what, to them, appeared to be the devastating effects that weak members could have on the state of the Church. A grave tone is maintained in four leonine hexameters from the collection of proverbial sentences attributed to Otloh of St Emmeram. CB 38 encapsulates criticism as well as warning: Doctrinę uerba paucis prosunt sine factis. Eloquium sanctum preciosum fit super aurum.

21

This conflict forms part of the wider monastic politics of the Plantagenets; see PierreRoger Gaussin, ‘Y a-t-il eu une politique monastique des Plantagenêt?’, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, 29 (1986), 83–94.

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Expers doctrine tenebras patietur ubique. Est quasi uas uacuum, cui cura deest animarum. Words of instruction without deeds are helpful to few. Holy Scripture is more precious than gold. An uneducated man will encounter darkness everywhere. He whose care for souls is deficient is like an empty vessel. (CB 38)

The song’s generic, aphoristic nature may speak to the wisdom of humanity more widely – or, as Traill puts it, these lines are ‘maxims on the importance of a proper education’.22 Set amongst the reprimanding tone of the religious songs in the Codex Buranus, however, these hexameters can also be seen to continue this cluster’s direct disapproval of Church officials. The priestly responsibilities of caring for the salvation of souls and living an exemplary life are put in stark contrast to empty words and materialistic pursuits. Paradoxically, the mention of an uneducated man contradicts the capability of reading Holy Scripture as well as the right to preach ‘words of instruction’. The ‘expers doctrine’ (§1.3), the outsider to knowledge, may well allude to the convent of Grandmont, whose lay brothers were certainly not as trained as monks and clerics, but were in charge of the abbey because they had the financial upper hand. Yet Otloh’s lines transcend any concrete scenario – be it of a particular historical case or any educational issue – and bring out what is at the core of the religious songs in the Codex Buranus: a cleric’s double standard puts the salvation of souls at risk and is thus condemnable. The prouerbium’s central image of the empty vessel (‘uas uacuum’, §1.4) resonates with the earlier mention of gold (‘aurum’, §1.2), illustrating that contradictory behaviour leads to a similarly contradictory outcome: where gold should have accumulated, the container remains empty. This imagery stands in dialogue with the Book of Proverbs, in which the addressee is told to ‘take my instruction instead of silver, and knowledge rather than choice gold’ (‘accipite disciplinam meam, et non pecuniam; doctrinam magis quam aurum eligite’, Prov. 8.10). In this way, the songs of the Codex Buranus link intertextually to the cultural knowledge of its production context. Religion was integral to this context, through the celebration of the liturgy as well as the creative reception of the Bible, for instance in poetry. CB 39 demonstrates that such ecclesiastical critique is not restricted to clerics and officials, for this song sharply attacks monks as well as priests, bishops,

22

Traill, i, 489.

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and abbots. The song is transmitted nowhere else and probably has German origins, judging from its rhythmical structure of four accents per line, some of which open with an upbeat. Vollmann suggested that some lines have been lost in transmission, implying that the song must have existed prior to its inclusion in the Codex Buranus.23 Numerous allusions to the Bible are employed to lend authority to the reproach of vanity, greed, and corruption of Christian leaders who emulate secular warlords.24 The final stanza sets the Premonstratensians apart as a prominent example of hypocrisy, referring to them by their alternative name ‘Norbertines’ (‘Norpertini’) based on their founder St Norbert of Xanten (†1134). The reference to the Premonstratensians allows us to date CB 39 to after 1120, as the Order of Prémontré was founded on Christmas Day 1120. Norbert’s Order attracted men and women alike: men were canons regular and women cohabited with them in double monasteries. The Order’s acceptance of mixed-gender communities was revised early on, with a prohibition on building new double monasteries issued later in the twelfth century, but the young Premonstratensian order had actually enjoyed praise for its lifestyle, for example from the Benedictine abbot Herman of Tournai.25 Harsher critique concerning the Premonstratensian double monasteries was voiced later, in the first half of the thirteenth century, when rumours circulated that the men and women were engaged in more than purely spiritual interactions.26 Yet CB 39 does not take up this quarrelsome topic, which further suggests that the song was composed between 1121 and 1139, when the Second Lateran Council forbade the communal chanting of nuns and monks in the same choir, indirectly ruling out their cohabitation in double monasteries.27 In the Codex Buranus, the 23

Vollmann, 966. For a list of biblical references in CB 39, see Vollmann, 967–69. 25 Roger Wilmans (ed.), ‘Ex Herimanni de miraculis s. Mariae Laudunensis: libro III’, in Historiae aevi Salici, ed. by Georg Heinrich Pertz et al., Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Scriptores, 12 (Hanover: Hahn, 1856; repr. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1995), 653–60 (657 and 659). 26 In particular around 1220, Jacques de Vitry criticised alleged scandalous events in Premonstratensian double monasteries. For an overview of the history of Premonstratensian double monasteries, see Bruno Krings, ‘Die Prämonstratenser und ihr weiblicher Zweig’, in Studien zum Prämonstratenserorden, ed. by Irene Crusius and Lemut Flachenecker, Studien zur Germania Sacra, 25 (Göttingen: Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, 2003), 75–105 (esp. 85–89). 27 On the possible consequences of the Second Lateran Council for double monasteries, see Franz J. Felten, ‘Frauenklöster und -stifte im Rheinland im 12. Jahrhundert: ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Frauen in der religiösen Bewegung des hohen Mittelalters’, in Reformidee und Reformpolitik im spätsalisch-frühstaufischen Reich, ed. by Stefan 24

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Premonstratensians are instead criticised for pride, since they are portrayed as understanding themselves as innovative clerics. Monachi sunt nigri et in regula sunt pigri, bene cucullati et male coronati. quidam sunt cani et sensibus prophani; quidam sunt fratres et uerentur ut patres. dicuntur Norpertini et non Augustini: in cano uestimento nouo gaudent inuento. There are the black monks, laggards in following the rule. They are well hooded and badly tonsured. There are some white monks, profane in their sentiments. Some are brothers and are revered as fathers. They are called Norbertines and not Augustinians. They take joy in their newly devised white robes. (CB 39 §10)

The song’s somewhat ironic distancing of the Premonstratensians from regular Augustinians may suggest that its composer mixed criticism with having fun at the expense of ‘rival teams’. We get the sense that the Premonstratensians were a novel phenomenon at the time of the song’s composition – a new order that was regarded with suspicion by the institutionally conservative compilers of the Codex Buranus. In contrast to the Augustinian monks who wear black habits Weinfurter, Quellen und Abhandlungen zur mittelrheinischen Kirchengeschichte, 68 (Mainz: Gesellschaft für mittelrheinische Kirchengeschichte, 1992), 189–300 (287).

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of good quality while poorly following their rule, the Premonstratensians in white habits are also strongly criticised; they are described as ‘godless in their thinking’ (‘sensibus prophani’, §10.6) as they want to be ‘worshipped like priests’ (‘uerentur ut patres’, §10.8). In conjunction with the rebuke of bishops and canons regular in earlier stanzas, the scathing criticism of Premonstratensians appears especially substantial since they occupy spaces in both monastic and clerical milieux. This double role seems to have lent itself to allegations of arrogance and hubris, both of which – according to the rationale outlined in the religious songs in the Codex Buranus – are marks of corruption. At the same time, criticism did not stop the composers and recipients of the songs from enjoying humorous effects.

God’s Grace and Playful Poets The Carmina Burana that are concerned with the behaviour of authority figures in the Church (CB 33–CB 39) are framed by texts on the logic of divine grace, composed with short lines. CB 32 poses the same question of theodicy five times – ‘Why does man suffer?’ (‘Cur homo torquetur?’) – giving a different answer each time. Composed in leonine hexameters, the text has a parallel structure due to the repeated question and the internal rhyme, creating a meditative, almost circular effect. Cur homo torquetur? ut ei meritum cumuletur. cur homo torquetur? ut Christus glorificetur. cur homo torquetur? ne fastus ei dominetur. cur homo torquetur? ut penis culpa pietur cur homo torquetur? ut dupliciter crucietur. Gratia sola Dei quos uult facit alta mereri. Why does man suffer torture? So that he not be mastered by pride. Why does man suffer torture? So that his merit may be increased. Why does man suffer torture? So that Christ may be glorified. Why does man suffer torture? To expiate his guilt by punishment. Why does man suffer torture? So that his torment may be doubled. God’s grace alone makes those it chooses earn a lofty reward. (CB 32)

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The repetitive pattern is broken in a final line which forms a detached, second part to this uersus and may stand alone as a universal quintessence about the imperative Sola Gratia principle. The anonymous song is transmitted alongside Otloh’s Prouerbia in Vienna, MS 2521, suggesting that CB 32 was originally composed in a German context. Trying to explain the inclusion of CB 32 in the Codex Buranus, Vollmann noticed a loose connection to the preceding song, which focusses on the penance for grave sins (see CB 31 §9). This topic recurs in the fourth line of CB 32: ‘cur homo torquetur? ut penis culpa pietur’ (‘Why does man suffer torture? To expiate his guilt by punishment’).28 The acerbic lines of CB 32 certainly stand in contrast to the elaborate and more expansive songs surrounding it; yet when it comes to content, the final Sola Gratia line – edited by Vollmann as an independent strophe because of its shift in tone – is an important pillar in the overall salvific architecture constructed by the religious songs in the Codex Buranus. Within the song, the final line functions as a conclusion to the incessant questioning which leaves humans entirely without agency. All five answers are formulated in a passive construction so that God’s grace alone, grammatically enhanced in a final active phrase, can move chosen humans to good deeds. On a macro level, the inclusion of this song grounds the warnings expressed to Church officials in a theological principle according to which human merits are God-given. The undertone is that of predestination: if bishops and other prelates, canons, and monks do not comport themselves piously, they may not count among those ‘chosen by God’s grace’. The message is sombre, placing the moralistic songs into a context of preordained salvation. Indeed, the uersus CB 40, which follows the cluster of moralistic songs with condemnatory character, harks back to CB 32 as it expands on the idea that any positive human achievement is granted by God. The first part – ‘Quicquid habes meriti, preuentrix gratia donat; | nil Deus in nobis preter sua dona coronat’ (‘Any merit you have, prevenient grace gave you. | What God crowns in us are simply his own gifts’, CB 40 §1) – echoes the last line of CB 32, in which the Sola Gratia principle is first put succinctly. CB 32 and CB 40 form a framework for the songs contained in between them and, at the same time, constitute the central idea of salvation through grace which runs through the religious songs like an undercurrent. The central text for religious thought, the Bible, is not the only source of references for spiritual content in the Codex Buranus. Religious songs comprising political themes are filled with vivid metaphors and allusions to ancient literature. For example, the mythological figures of Scylla and Charybdis are evoked in the context of the critique of clerics (CB 39 §5.6), and in another instance Scylla

28 See Vollmann, 959.

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personifies the greed of the Roman Curia – that is, the papal court (CB 41 §§4.1 and 5.1). The medieval reception of Ovid’s texts – certainly in the case of CB 41 and CB 42, songs attributed to Walter of Châtillon – gave rise to the literary practice of appropriating ancient figures and tropes for the depiction of the Christian belief system.29 The Codex Buranus stands in this tradition as it includes some of the most erudite eleventh- and twelfth-century poems exploiting an ancient repertoire. To name but one example, Walter of Châtillon quotes Ovid’s Ars amatoria when he portrays the pope’s advocacy of wealthy petitioners and disdain for the poor (CB 42 §13) by aligning him with Minerva, who rejects art.30 Rome is a corrupt marketplace and the pope appears to be the vicious head of an exploitative system fit to rival hell itself – a perverted state in which ‘Jupiter rules the lowest depths’ and ‘Pluto rules the sky’ (‘ima tenet Iupiter, summa regit Pluto’, CB 42 §19.2). Pluto, the god of wealth, represents the pope’s obsession with and idolatry of money, and this overt criticism of the Roman Church builds upon themes of the previous songs. Composed by Walter of Châtillon, who is better known for his Alexandreis, CB 41 and CB 42 are radically political in tone, a contrast to the preceding songs, which are motivated by theological concerns.31 Walter’s songs introduce a series of pieces with concrete historical relevance, relating to specific figures and events.32 Among the series of quasi-political satires targeting the papal court (CB 41– CB 45), two songs stand out amidst the Latin texts for their unconventional forms: CB 43 is a Leich with a double cursus (a specifically German genre akin to the sequence), and CB 44 is a prose Gospel parody.33 The general wording of the Walter of Châtillon’s Alexandreis, much quoted in the following centuries, was particularly indebted to Ovid’s Metamorphoses; see Stephen J. Harrison, ‘Discordia Taetra: The History of a Hexameter-Ending’, Classical Quarterly, 41 (1991), 138–49 (149). For further discussion of the reception of ancient literature in the Codex Buranus, see the contributions in this volume by Classen and Franklinos. 30 The relevant lines are: ‘respondet [Papa]: “hec tibia non est michi tanti”’ (CB 42 §13.4); Vollmann, 114. In comparison, see Minerva’s words in rejection of the flute, i.e. in rejection of art: ‘non es mihi, tibia, tanti’ (Ovid, Ars, 3.505). For further discussion of this song, see Traill’s contribution in the present volume. 31 On Walter of Châtillon’s poetry, see Jacqueline Hellegouarc’h, ‘Un poète latin du XIe siècle: Gautier de Lille, dit Gautier de Châtillon’, Bulletin de l’Association Guillaume Budé, 1 (1967), 95–115. 32 CB 42, §§12–14 may be read as a direct attack on Pope Alexander III; see Traill, i, 495. 33 On Leich as a German song genre, see Racha Kirakosian and David William Hughes, ‘“Mynne tzeichen und ir don”: The Text and Music of Meister Alexander’s Minneleich in the Jena Songbook’, Speculum, 94 (2019), 385–419. 29

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critique of the Apostolic See as laid out in CB 43 could refer to concrete historical circumstances, such as the struggle of Pope Eugene III with the republican movement in Rome around 1152.34 Another interpretation understands the depicted clash between state and Church, in which siege warfare is mentioned (CB 43 §5), as a comment on the partial defeat of Barbarossa’s army outside Rome in 1167.35 A third understanding suggests that conflicts between the secular and sacred powers in the thirteenth century gave rise to this anonymous and uniquely transmitted Leich.36 The multitude of possible interpretations underlines the Leich’s adaptability to different contexts and its universal claim when it comes to criticising the divided power dynamics in which the Church is entangled. Similarly, CB 45 proclaims the rule of silver in the Church and the empire, declaring both pope and emperor guilty of simony. Located between these clearly anti-papal testimonies, CB 44, playful in its twisting of numerous quotations – primarily from the New Testament – imitates a liturgical reading and makes money the centre of worship in an idolatrous manner, once more criticising the corruptibility of the papal court.37 The first line is programmatic in this regard as it imitates a Gospel incipit and historicises the subsequent account: ‘Initium sancti euangelii secundam marcas argenti. in illo tempore dixit papa Romanis’ (‘The Beginning of the Holy Gospel according to Marks of Silver. At that time the pope said to the Romans’). Biblical parodies of this sort, generally called Geldevangelium, circulated up to the fifteenth century, and the text in the Codex Buranus is probably the earliest witness of this genre.38 When the codex is opened to the double page containing CB 43 and the beginning Bernt, ‘Carmina Burana’, in Die Deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters: Verfasserlexikon, ed. by Kurt Ruh et al., 2nd edn, 14 vols (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1978– 2008), i (1978), 1179–86, favours this interpretation. 35 See Bernhard Bischoff, Carmina Burana: Einführung zur Faksimile-Ausgabe der Benediktbeurer Liederhandschrift = Carmina Burana: Facsimile Reproduction of the Manuscript Clm 4660 and Clm 4660a, Publications of Mediaeval Music Manuscripts, 9 (New York: Institute of Mediaeval Music, 1967; Munich: Prestel, 1970), 7. Were this interpretation accepted, CB 43 would certainly stand in close relationship to CB 53, also a Leich, which portrays the schism of 1159–77 from a different perspective. 36 Hilka/Schumann, ii, 86–90 (esp. 90). 37 Cardelle de Hartmann reflects on the use of parody in CB 44 in her contribution to this volume. 38 See Johannes Schilling, Passio Doctoris Martini Lutheri: Bibliographie, Texte und Untersuchungen, Quellen und Forschungen zur Reformationsgeschichte, 57 (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1989), 96. For the transmission history of the Geldevangelium, see Paul Lehmann, Die Parodie im Mittelalter, 2nd edn (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1963), 32–36 and 183–88. 34 Günter

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of CB 44, we see that the first lines of each song are located at the same height on facing folios (ff. 10v–11r, see Illustration 8.1). This visual alignment of the rubricated initials may further suggest an ironic take on the Church-critique voiced in CB 43, since the base of the Church’s belief, the Bible, is subverted into a ‘money gospel’. Its bitterness concerning the Church notwithstanding, CB 44 demonstrates the immense poetic playfulness of the Codex Buranus. A similarly humorous spirit is apparent in two incantations against demonic powers, one of which banishes demons and all evil spirits to ‘dwell in the abyss’ lest they corrupt any Christian soul (CB 54 §5.17). The direct address voiced in this uniquely transmitted song emulates the language of prayer. Packed with biblical and mythical references to ancient gods and goddesses, it evokes an archaic and possibly pre-Christian magic spell, such as those identified in Old High German sources.39 A second invocation, also known from other sources, consists entirely of neologisms, none of which can be traced etymologically: ‘Amara tanta tyri pastos sycalos sycaliri | Elliuoli scarras polili posylique lyuarras’ (CB 55).40 Rather than assuming that these lines ‘may be intended as a concluding magic incantation to assist in the exorcism of the Demons of CB 54’,41 the Satanic spell of CB 55 – just like the demonic prayer of CB 54 – was most likely an exercise for intellectual pleasure. Despite the nonsensical words, its lines scan as a perfect leonine hexameter, further suggesting a creative and light-hearted engagement with tradition even when dealing with the most serious topics, such as damnation and hell. The topical relationships between the songs show that the compilers of the Codex Buranus were invested in multiple functions and interpretations of the different texts: while critical and serious topics form a strand – as seen in historically inspired songs with religious impact, such as the historicised battles referenced in the crusading poetry of CB 46–CB 52 – the interlocking of playful forms and humorous, even ironic, instances with traditional and solemn texts

39

See, in particular, the first stanza of the ‘devil-spell’ of Trier, which can, however, be deciphered by replacing certain consonants with the vowels that precede them in the alphabet: nxvukl lkh . bidbn . dfnrkhchbn . crkst . / thfmbnnflkh chfs . chēkst . thfrdfn . dkv / vfl . gkBbnt . īsknfn nampn . xxkllkhgbn / nxvuklh.thfn . xrfidpn . slbhbn . mkt / tfn cplBpn; see Stephan Müller (ed.), Althochdeutsche Literatur: eine Kommentierte Anthologie, Reclams Universal-Bibliothek, 18491 (Stuttgart: Reclam, 2007), 282. 40 On this devil-spell, see Alfons Hilka, ‘Zur Geschichte eines lateinischen Teufelsspruchs’, Nachrichten von der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Philologisch-Historische Klasse: Fachgruppe 4 (Neuere Philologie und Literaturgeschichte), 1.1 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1934), 1–30. 41 Traill, i, 512.

Illustration 8.1. CB 43 and CB 44: ff. 10v–11r

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reveals a complexity that applies to the production as well as the reception of the codex. Multivalent readings become even deeper when considering their intricate web of inter-references, which allows the reader to form connections across different genres and clusters of songs. A non-linear assessment of the Codex Buranus allows us to understand how the songs interrelate. CB 131 exemplifies such a reading: although detached from the primarily religious cluster of songs concentrated in the first half of the manuscript, it deploys spiritual aspects that form part of the manuscript’s salvific architecture. With love embodied by Christian ‘Caritas’, we see a cross-pollination between courtly love lyric and religious motifs in CB 131. In this way, elements that appear separately elsewhere in the collection are combined to create a hybrid song that can be read as courtly love poetry and religious poetry. Similarly, CB 22 takes up the topic of joy as deployed in troubadour and Minnesang poetry but sublimates it into the steadfast and perpetual joy of the righteous faith in God. It forms a counterpoint to the portrayal of this world’s fraudulent joys as expounded in CB 24. The intricate web of relations between the songs enables and deepens the complexity of their diverse meanings.

Venerating the Saints The later additions to the Codex Buranus are not superfluous or peripheral; indeed, they may suggest a later generation’s interest in religious parts of the earlier collection. The added pieces were recorded in blank spaces between poems in the main collection (CB 1*–CB 6*), on empty leaves in the final quire (CB 7*–CB 15*), and on a separate quire that was subsequently attached to the main fascicle (CB 16*–CB 26*). Copied during the hundred years following the initial compilation around 1230, these younger texts contain a series of religious hymns (in addition to plays and prose) which differ substantially from the tone of the religious poetry encountered in the main collection. Among the hymns venerating the Virgin Mary, CB 4* and CB 14* stand out as being formulated from her perspective at the moment of the Crucifixion. The dramatic retelling of Christ’s martyrdom and the call for the compassion of ‘faithful souls’ (‘fideles anime’, CB 4*) reflects medieval concepts of empathy for which Mary’s role as merciful Mother of God was central.42 Her role as co-redeemer is particularly strong in CB 11*, where personal salvation and the salvation of the 42

On Mary as mater compassionis in medieval devotional literature, see Racha Kirakosian, Die Vita der Christina von Hane: Untersuchung und Edition (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2017), 205–11.

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entire Christian community come together to depend on her. CB 18* and CB 24*, on the other hand, hold up high the tradition of lyric playfulness encountered in the main collection, as different elements of the liturgy (such as the Magnificat in CB 18* or the Kyrie in CB 24*) are troped with prayers in order to achieve multiperspectival, quasi-contemplative pieces in honour of Mary. An element of female spirituality is equally palpable in a series of hymns to St Catherine of Alexandria (CB 12*, CB 19*–CB 22*), some of which are furnished with musical notation. The concentration on women saints in the latter part of the Codex Buranus may be linked to its production context. If we accept that the manuscript was produced at the canonry of Neustift in South Tyrol (see above), female collaboration in the compiling process was possible since the presence of canonesses at the monastery is attested for the twelfth to the fourteenth centuries.43 It is quite conceivable that the canonesses of Neustift read the Codex Buranus and influenced its further development. The later additions show continuation as well as innovation. Saintly devotion – besides the Virgin Mary and St Catherine, Joseph of Arimathea (CB 23*) and St Erasmus (CB 1*) are also addressed – and a predilection for the depiction of martyrdom are new elements integrated into the collection. No matter how different many of these later supplements are from the critical tone of the religious songs in the main collection, to the medieval readers of the Codex Buranus, the devotional hymns appeared meaningful and important enough to be added. This is an example of a co-creative readership which led to new textual production and compilation.44 Indeed, the motifs of salvation and Mary’s predestination as co-redeemer may be read as a pious continuation of an interrelated reading of the entire Codex Buranus. We certainly find echoes of the main collection in texts such as CB 7*, a fourteenth-century German translation of the beginning of John’s Gospel, which figures as a solemn counterfoil to the satirical Geldevangelium of CB 44. Texts that were highly critical of monks, nuns, and priests continued to be recorded at least up to the mid-thirteenth century, as CB 9*, attributed to the bilingual author Der Marner, testifies. Taking the continuous use of the compilation into account, the later material gives us a real glimpse into how the codex’s medieval readership stimulated processes of coproduction, enlargement, and enhancement.

43

Godman’s and Martin’s contributions to this volume consider the possibility that the Codex Buranus contained works authored or compiled by women. 44 For a discussion of creative readership and redactions, see Racha Kirakosian, From the Material to the Mystical in Late Medieval Piety: The Vernacular Transmission of Gertrude of Helfta’s Visions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020).

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The diversity within the Codex Buranus in terms of topical arrangement may suggest a disparity which seems to conflict with any preconceived modern notion of unity. Editors have tried to categorise the songs in the order they appear in the manuscript, respecting its physical appearance. When looking at primarily religious contents, however, we need to trace connections between different groups of songs that do not appear consecutively in the codex. Taken as a whole, the religious songs present a dramatic narrative about the human battle against evil and the final redemption through God’s grace. Various songs situate a present moment – such as the papal schism in CB 53, or Mary’s lament in CB 4* and CB 14* – within a chronology of salvation history. Yet rather than depicting one moment in time only, the religious songs construct a salvation history which unfolds within each human, hence mapping a personal path to salvation and the larger picture of the second coming of Christ. This relationship between a lifetime and universal time unfolds in and between the songs. Consequently, the gaps between the texts become meaningful: they constitute a means of linking rather than separating because they provide the space for the reader’s or listener’s activity to connect – spaces that medieval readers literally filled with new additions. The different forms in which the religious texts of the Codex Buranus communicate critique or praise, admonishment or advice, highlight the collection’s character as a book of exercises which aimed to educate and entertain.

Chapter 9

Revisiting the Plays of the Codex Buranus Johann Drumbl

Interrogating the Buranus Plays Bernhard Bischoff ’s critical edition of the Codex Buranus plays, published as part of Hilka/Schumann, is a magnum opus of medieval scholarship. The text of the plays it offers, however, has a number of unsolved editorial problems which have excited the interest of readers and commentators.1 CB 227 and CB 228 place a number of their chants in odd contexts; CB 26* lacks a rubric and there are questions over whether it should be considered as a standalone play or as a unit with the play that follows (commonly designated as CB 26*a). The present chapter addresses these questions by offering readings of the plays that diverge from the commentary in Bischoff ’s critical edition, and suggests that the sequence of scenes in the manuscript does not require radical revision to restore meaning.2 The conclusion of CB 227 and CB 228, individual passages in CB 15*, CB 16*, and CB 26*, as well as the interpretation of CB 13* as a whole, are the main points to be analysed in this chapter. Previous scholarship is considered

Wilhelm Meyer (ed.), Fragmenta Burana (Berlin: Weidmann, 1901); Bernhard Bischoff in Hilka/Schumann, i.3; and Vollmann. See also Peter Dronke, Nine Medieval Latin Plays (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), and Benedikt Konrad Vollmann, ‘Lateinisches Schauspiel des Spätmittelalters?’, in Ritual und Inszenierung: Geistliches und weltliches Drama des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Hans-Joachim Ziegeler (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 1–8. 2 Hansjürgen Linke, ‘Beobachtungen zu den geistlichen Spielen im Codex Buranus’, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 128 (1999), 185–93: ‘in many instances, the transmission of the plays in the Codex Buranus is severely impaired’ (185). In his seminal analysis and reconstruction of CB 16*, Thomas Binkley discusses the problematic transmission of text and music in detail; see Thomas Binkley, ‘The Greater Passion Play from Carmina Burana: An Introduction’, in Alte Musik, Praxis und Reflection, Basler Jahrbuch für Historische Musikpraxis (Sonderband), ed. by Peter Reidemeister and Veronika Gutmann (Winterthur: Amadeus, 1983), 144–57. 1

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with a view to the content-related, formal, and structural aspects of the plays in their specific medieval liturgical settings, as they have been handed down from the eleventh and twelfth centuries.3

CB 228 Modern scholars have argued that the concluding chant in CB 228 (The Ludus Rex Egipti) is not in its proper place because its contents do not fit at the end of the play, sitting uneasily with its earlier action.4 Arguably, however, the chant does belong to the very place where it is found in the manuscript, if it is seen to be sung during the exit of the participants, redeundo. It seems highly likely that this chant held the liturgical function of redeundo since the ‘pueri’ are also assigned songs to enter the stage, eundo.5 Chants intended to accompany the movement to and from the various loci should not be considered part of the play’s dramatic action. Instead, the elaborate chant at the end of CB 228 is to be sung after the ceremony has ended – which is why it is copied into the manuscript without rubrics, as in many comparable cases. Egiptus caput omnium  est et decus regnorum; calcabit hec imperium  regis Ierosolimorum. My previous work on these materials, with a focus on the Sitz im Leben of the ceremonies, has appeared in a number of publications: Johann Drumbl, ‘Die Improperien in der lateinischen Liturgie’, Archiv für Liturgiewissenschaft, 15 (1973), 68–100; Johann Drumbl, ‘Ursprung des liturgischen Spiels’, Italia Medioevale e Umanistica, 22 (1979), 45–96; Johann Drumbl, Quem quaeritis: Teatro sacro dell’alto medioevo (Rome: Bulzoni, 1981); Johann Drumbl, ‘Gattungsprobleme des geistlichen Spiels’, Jahrbuch der Oswald von Wolkenstein Gesellschaft, 4 (1986/87), 293–309; and Johann Drumbl, ‘Stage and Players in the Early Middle Ages’, in European Medieval Drama 1, ed. by Sydney Higgins (Turnhout: Brepols, 1997), 51–75. 4 Traill, ii, 720: ‘this segment makes little sense here’. Vollmann, 1266, quotes Bischoff in favour of a different position for the chant. The play’s first translator, Alphonsus Pakenham, left the chant in its original place: ‘it seems fairly reasonable to assume that these last lines of the play were sung on the stage in chorus by all those who had taken part in the play and who bring it to a happy conclusion chanting imprecations against the Jews’. Alphonsus L. Pakenham (ed.), Carmina Burana: An Annotated English Translation of No. CCII of Codex Lat. 4460 of the Staatsbibliothek of Munich: Ludus Scenicus De Nativitate Domini, master’s thesis, Loyola University, Chicago, 1947, 88; available at [accessed 19 February 2019]. 5 Some of the findings in this chapter are also discussed in Drumbl, Quem quaeritis, 324–35. 3

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ue tibi, Ierosolima,  ue insano tyranno! deorum uos potentia  subuertet in hoc anno. Egipti princeps nobilis  ut deus ueneretur, Herodes sed odibilis  ut stultus reprobetur! intende, tibi canimus,  quam uilis sis futurus, cum roderis a uermibus  putre interiturus! ingrata gens et perfida,  cum fame laborares, Egipto eras subdita,  ut uentrem satiares. Egypt is the honoured head of all kingdoms; it will crush the rule of the king of Jerusalem. Woe to you, Jerusalem, woe to your mad tyrant! The power of the gods will overturn you this year! May the noble prince of Egypt be revered like a god and hateful Herod rebuked for a fool. Listen, we will tell you how low you will sink when, eaten away by worms, you will die a putrefying death. Ungrateful and disloyal people, when you toiled in starvation, you were subject to Egypt so as to fill your bellies.6 (CB 228 VII)

The philological, liturgical and dramaturgical points in favour of positioning the chant at the end of the ceremony are the following: (1) The position in the manuscript, especially given that h1, who was responsible for the overall orderly disposition of the Codex Buranus, chose to place the chant in this position; (2) The chant’s position and content fit squarely with the genre of chants used for the exit of the pueri in liturgical ceremonies and in other plays, in the ancient redeundo tradition of chants (see Illustration 9.1);7 Illustration 9.1. The tradition of eundo and redeundo chants eundo 10th century 11th century 12th century

6

x

ad stationem x x x

redeundo x x

Latin quotations in this chapter are taken from Vollmann, and translations are adapted from Traill. 7 See the analysis of an important eundo chant by Stephen K. Wright, ‘The Ingressus Pilatus Chant in Medieval German Drama’, Comparative Drama, 28 (1994), 348–66.

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(3) There are eundo chants in CB 228: ‘Rex Egipti cum comitatu suo in locum suum producatur cum conductu’ (‘The king of Egypt and his entourage are led to their places to the accompaniment of singing’); (4) The Freising Ordo Stellae provides further striking examples of eundo and redeundo chants: ‘Hos uersus cantent pueri in processione Regis “Eia dicamus”’; ‘Expleto officio, pueri cantent “Laetabundus”’ (‘these verses let the boys sing in the King’s procession: “Eia dicamus”’; ‘when the office is complete, let the boys sing “Laetabundus”’);8 (5) The closing chant of CB 228 is anchored in the present of the singers by means of the deictic reference ‘in hoc anno’ (‘in this year’) and is used by the young clerics for invectives against Herod, the archenemy of the ‘pueri’, at their feast, the Feast of the Innocents: ‘quam uilis sis futurus, cum roderis a uermibus putre interiturus’ (‘how low you will sink when, eaten away by worms, you will die a putrefying death)’. These words are followed by the aggressive formulation against the Jews: ‘ingrata gens et perfida’ (‘ungrateful and disloyal people’), an allusion to Gen. 42.1–3.

CB 227 As in CB 228, some of the controversial passages in CB 227 (the Christmas Play) should not be seen as mistakes, but as a response to the context of the liturgical ceremonies. Yet it is these presumed mistakes in the Buranus plays that continue to influence their current interpretation.9 The passage in CB 227 which has led to considerable attempts to make sense of its presumed incongruencies is, in fact, a typical example of the narrative rubrics that bridge the gap between

Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 6264a, f. 1r. Karl Young, The Drama of the Medieval Church, 2 vols (Oxford: Clarendon, 1933), ii, 97 and 75. 9 Hansjürgen Linke, ‘Der Schluss des mittellateinischen Weihnachtsspiels aus Benediktbeuern’, Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie, 94 (Sonderheft 1975), 1–22. For an overall appreciation of the plays, see Dronke, Nine Medieval Latin Plays, and Fritz Peter Knapp, Die Literatur des Früh- und Hochmittelalters in den Bistümern Passau, Salzburg, Brixen und Trient von den Anfängen bis zum Jahre 1273, Geschichte der Literatur in Österreich von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart, 1 (Graz: Akademische Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt, 1994), 436–41; and Peter Godman, ‘Re-Thinking the Carmina Burana II: The Child, the Jew, and the Drama’, Viator, 47 (2016), 107–22. 8

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two chants and are known from many parallel sources, as in the scene of the Annunciation to Mary.10 After the Annunciation by the Angel Gabriel, Mary is greeted by Elizabeth. Mary responds by singing the Magnificat (Luke 1.46–55), a prominent liturgical chant that sets a clear boundary in the course of the action. This scene is followed by a ‘narrative’ rubric that leads to the antiphon Hodie Christus natus est, the cue for the appearance of the star. Respondet Maria: ‘Magnificat anima mea Dominum, ’ Deinde recedat Elysabeth, quia amplius non habebit locum hec persona. deinde Maria uadat in lectum suum, que iam de Spiritu Sancto concepit, et pariat filium. cui assideat Ioseph in habitu honesto et prolixa barba. nato puero appareat stella, et incipiat chorus hanc antiphonam: ‘Hodie Christus natus est, ’ Qua finita stella appareat.

10

In recent research, the plays are often classified among dramas that were thought to have been intended for reading. See, for instance, Rolf Bergmann, Eva P. Diedrichs, and Christoph Treutwein, Katalog der deutschsprachigen geistlichen Spiele und Marienklagen des Mittelalters (Munich: Beck, 1986); and Rolf Bergmann, Studien zu Entstehung und Geschichte der deutschen Passionsspiele des 13. und 14. Jahrhunderts (Munich: Fink, 1972). Madalina Toca is the first to have examined the narrative ‘voice’ in the plays: Madalina Toca, The Voices of Narrators in Early Religious Drama: Officium Stellae, Sponsus and Ludus de Antichristo, MA thesis, Central European University, Budapest, 2011.

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Mary answers: ‘My soul doth magnify the Lord, ’ Then let Elizabeth withdraw because this character has no further role to play. Then let Mary, who has already conceived by the Holy Spirit, go to her bed and give birth to a son. Let Joseph sit beside her; he is respectably dressed and has a long beard. When the child is born, let a star appear and the chorus begin this antiphon: ‘Today Christ is born, ’ When the antiphon is finished, let the star appear. (CB 227.146–47)

The rubric that prefaces the plot summary with a short dogmatic note does not give a description of scenes that can easily be imagined as part of the performance. It is a summary that mediates between the two liturgical songs that have their fixed place in the play: the Magnificat and the antiphon Hodie Christus natus est. The imbalance between the rubrics, which refer to complex actions only very briefly, and the long, highly elaborated chant becomes particularly apparent if one assumes that Mary did, in fact, sing the complete Magnificat, reaching a profoundly religious and poetic climax. The narrative rubrics, which presumably have not been copied from any pre-existing source, bridge the temporal gap between the singing of the Magnificat and the renewed action within the play with the appearance of the star, invoked by the choir’s antiphon Hodie Christus natus est. Enacting the Magnificat in this liturgical setting may serve as a prototype of the quintessential qualities of liturgical plays in the Middle Ages. The scene

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encapsulates the dramaturgy of ‘enactment’ – in both senses of this word, with an emphasis on imagination – found across the plays in the Codex Buranus. This effect is achieved by the narrative rubrics which precede the liturgical chants. Similarly, CB 227 follows the same strategy at its conclusion: here, narrative rubrics build a bridge between Rachel’s planctus and the antiphon with the Angel’s request to Joseph: Accipe matrem et filium. Postea Herodes corrodatur a uermibus et excidens de sede sua mortuus accipiatur a diabolis multum congaudentibus. et Herodis corona inponatur Archelao filio suo. quo regnante appareat in nocte angelus Ioseph dicens: ‘Accipe matrem et filium et uade in Egyptum’. Subsequently let Herod be consumed by worms. Falling from his throne as a dead man, let him be received by demons who rejoice exceedingly. Let Herod’s crown be placed on the head of his son Archelaus. During his reign let an angel appear in the night to Joseph and let him say: ‘Take the mother and son and go into Egypt’. (CB 227, after l. 318)

The play ends with the climax of Rachel’s planctus. This is followed by extensive narrative rubrics which place the play in the context of salvation history and – in the spirit of the pueri, the antagonists of Herod – predicts Herod’s end with gusto. The rubric shows thematic echoes of the exit-chant of CB 228, which predicts Herod’s death by conflating various events. The narrative rubric that predicts Herod’s ultimate fate and deals with the return of the Holy Family from Egypt was copied immediately before the antiphon with the Angel’s order that Joseph should flee to Egypt with Mary and the child. Critics have previously objected to the Angel’s ‘unsuitable’ song. The structural principle in the Codex Buranus, however, envisages the songs as fixed points which may be linked by far-reaching, narrative rubrics. Thus, it is not the chant that is in the wrong place in CB 227, but rather the narrative rubric that precedes it that is ‘wrong’, or inaccurate.11 At the poetic heart of these plays are the chants, not the rubrics. Peter Godman fittingly described this Ordo as the achievement of a master who, full of pride in the singing art of his protégés, created a work that finds its central poetic expression in the art of singing.12 As Pakenham, Ludus Scenicus, 78, noted, the original possibly read ‘Herodes adhuc regnante’, which brings the speech act in the rubrics back to the play’s present: ‘quo regnante’ needs to mean ‘Herodes adhuc regnante’. 12 Godman, ‘Re-Thinking the Carmina Burana II: The Child, the Jew, and the Drama’.

11

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CB 15*, CB 16* The Easter and Passion plays of the Codex Buranus are dominated by the two female figures in the Passion, the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene. Both are portrayed as humane, and are given the opportunity to express deep feelings in German as well as Latin songs. The role of the Virgin Mary in the planctus below the cross is fixed, whereas Mary Magdalene performs at several locations. At the beginning of CB 16*, she sets out one of the traditional themes of twelfthcentury plays, the change from a life of sin to penance and conversion. Before her conversion, Mary Magdalene goes to the Merchant. In response to his words ‘corporis flagrantiam omnem superabis’ (‘you will surpass all of your body’s natural fragrance’), Mary sings her well-known German chant ‘Chramer gip di varwe mier’ (‘Merchant, give me the make-up I need’). She then goes to sleep and receives the Angel’s first message: ‘O Maria Magdalena, noua tibi nuntio’ (‘O Mary Magdalene, I have news for you’). Two identical scenes follow. Mary Magdalene repeats her secular chant and in her sleep receives the Angel’s message a second and third time. In the Codex Buranus, the earlier rendition of the song is repeated, whereas the Wiener Passionsspiel records three different stanzas.13 After the third apparition of the Angel, Mary repents and sings: ‘heu, uita preterita, uita plena malis’ (‘alas for my past life, a life full of evil’).14 The motivation that leads to her conversion is supported by intertextual relationships, such as the threefold repetition of chants: CB 227 features a threefold dispute between Ecclesia and the synagogue, followed by a striking scene with the shepherds, and three attempts at seduction by the devil. In CB 228, the King of Egypt resists conversion twice before he finally repents after the third destruction of his temples. CB 26*, in turn, sees the risen Christ appear to the disciples three times before they finally accept his Resurrection. The audience is thus likely to have been prepared for Mary Magdalene’s conversion after the Angel’s third song. In CB 16*, some scenes are far more extensive than in the model of the Latin Mary Magdalene play reconstructed by Bischoff.15 For instance, the scene at

Wiener Passionsspiel, Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 12887 (Suppl. 561). See Bischoff in Hilka/Schumann, i.3, 167. 14 In Knapp’s view, this turnaround seems unexpected and unmotivated: ‘the conversion is very abrupt, without psychological justification. The decision between heaven and hell has been made.’ Knapp, Die Literatur des Früh- und Hochmittelalters, 432. 15 Bischoff in Hilka/Schumann, i.3, 172–75.

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Simon’s banquet after Jesus has granted Mary Magdalene forgiveness (ll. 156–59) ends with her desperate words awaiting God’s punishment (ll. 162–65).16 Owê, owê, daz ich ie wart geborn, svenne mich erwecket gotes zorn! wol ûf, ir gueten man unde wîp, got will rihten sêle unde lîp! Alas, alas, that I was ever born if, when the time comes, it is God’s anger that awakens me. Wake up, good men and women, God will judge body and soul! (CB 16*.162–65)

The novelty in this scene lies in the strong emotional involvement of the spectators.17 In CB 16*, Mary Magdalene explicitly invites the audience to conversion and penance. After her conversion, the spectators are ready to feel the compassio they will experience in the figure of the Virgin Mary under the Cross, the empathic climax of the Passion Plays in the Codex Buranus. With CB 16*, something new begins, which is particularly noticeable as the dramaturgy stands out so strongly when compared with the singular Ludus paschalis from Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 574 (MS K), known to the scribe of CB 16*. MS K has been copied from a source that features Mary Magdalene as the central figure.18 In MS K, the scene at the Holy Tomb is not designed as a dialogue and does not lead to a triumphant antiphon celebrating

Knapp comments: ‘But it doesn’t fit here at all.’ Knapp, Die Literatur des Früh- und Hochmittelalters, 432. 17 The Jeu d’Adam offers a parallel to this passage, in which the listeners are explicitly addressed as sinners, dwelling on their fearful expectation of the Last Judgement (ll. 1042–44; 1224–28); see Uda Ebel (ed.), Das altfranzösische Adamsspiel, Klassische Texte des romanischen Mittelalters in zweisprachigen Ausgaben, 7 (Munich: Fink, 1968), 26. 18 Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 574, ff. 14v–144v. Hansjürgen Linke, ‘Klosterneuburger Osterspiel’, in Verfasser-Lexikon, ed. by Wolfgang Stammler et al., 2nd edn (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1977–99), iv (1983), cols 1259–63. Young, The Drama of the Medieval Church, i, 421–32. Claudia Herberichs provides a comprehensive study of ointment purchase: Claudia Herberichs, ‘Plädoyer für den Mercator’, in Liturgie und Literatur: Historische Fallstudien, ed. by Claudia Herberichs, Norbert Kössinger, and Stephanie Seidl (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015), 235–86. 16

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the Resurrection.19 Instead, the compilator of MS K composed a sequence of scenes aimed at passing on the testimony of the Resurrection from one person to the next, not exhausting its message with the chant of the Holy Women returning from the tomb. The first scribe, K1, misplaced the following scene in the play’s narrative, leading a second scribe, K2, to repeat some scenes in the copying process in order to correct this confusion. As the women return from the tomb, following the structure given by K2, the guardians go to the high priests, who, after another bribe, order them to spread the lie that ‘corpus furtim sublatum’ (‘the body has been stolen’).20 These publicly proclaimed lies are also heard by the disciples, who remain in doubt about the Resurrection. Perhaps it was the conflict between two diverging models for the Easter play that motivated the change of scribes at this moment. Besides the received variant from a local German source, a further, strongly divergent text may have been known to the scribes. This second source, historically linked to an Italian origin, relieves Pilate and his soldiers of all responsibility, ascribing the blame to the Jews. Traces of such a version can be found in the Passion Play fragment from Sulmona21 and in the Ordo from Tours,22 but also in the Codex Buranus, where the rubrics of CB 15* stop at the precise point where the two versions diverge.23 The delay in attaining certainty about the Resurrection shows the human protagonists in their ignorance, with even the Virgin Mary and the Apostles K shares this detail with the Visit to the Tomb scene in MS V and the Sponsus. See Carol Symes, ‘A Few Odd Visits: Unusual Settings of the Visitatio Sepulchri’, in Music and Medieval Manuscripts: Paleography and Performance: Essays Dedicated to Andrew Hughes, ed. by John Haines and Randal Rosenfeld (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 300–22. 20 This constitutes a significant change in the order of scenes when compared to the closely related play of Tours, which includes a meeting between the Guardians and Pilate. In the Passion Play of Sulmona, the Guardians appear as witnesses of the Resurrection at the end of the play. This version was known to the author of the play of Tours. 21 Young, The Drama of the Medieval Church, i, 707–08. 22 Young, The Drama of the Medieval Church, i, 438–47. 23 For the context of the liturgical exchanges between the plays in MS V and the Codex Buranus, see Klaus Amann, ‘Zwischen Barcelona und St. Gallen: Europäische Literaturbeziehungen am Beispiel früher “deutscher” Passions- und Osterspiele’, Estudios Filológicos Alemanes, 15 (2008), 377–88; and Klaus Amann (ed.), Das Pfäferser Passionsspielfragment: Edition, Untersuchung, Kommentar, Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Kulturwissenschaft, 74 (Innsbruck: Innsbruck University Press, 2010), 120 (for CB 23*) and 131 (for the Merchant scene).

19 MS

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wavering in their faith. Mary Magdalene alone challenges doubt and fear in the words of the Easter sequence Victimae Paschali laudes. Her proclamation of the Resurrection concludes with the words ‘tu nobis, uictor rex, miserere’ (‘victorious king, thy mercy show!’) in an attitude of penitence. In MS K, the play ends with the German Easter chant Christ ist erstanden (‘Christ has risen’), sung by the people.24 MS K’s ingenious design, which ends the play with a scene of rejoicing, sheds light on a fundamental difference from the plays in the Codex Buranus. The latter do not specifically address the people at the end of the ceremony as is the case in MS K. The play’s message is embedded within this scene: the conversion of Mary Magdalene, in her call to repentance and penance, is enacted throughout. In CB 16*, the Jews have the final say, after the intervention of Longinus, who – contrary to what is narrated in the Gospels – strikes Jesus with the blow that kills him and then announces his own conversion in three separate utterances. This scene is followed by blasphemous words from three Jews,25 highlighting, at the play’s conclusion, the contrast between those who convert and those who remain stubborn in their error. The message is given by the characters themselves, not by the choir’s final chant.

CB 13*, CB 16*, and the Planctus CB 13*, the Ludus breuiter de passione, was composed as an introduction to the Easter play and thus represents a well-documented, conventional type of liturgical composition. Et inclinato capite emittat spiritum. tunc ueniat Ioseph ab Arimathia et petat corpus Iesu. et permittat Pilatus. et Ioseph honorifice sepeliatur eum. et ita inchoatur Ludus de Resurrectione. Pontifices: ‘O domine, recte meminimus’.

This is the ending of the Visitatio sepulchri II already used at this church before the Ludus had been received from an external source. See Helmut De Boor, Die Textgeschichte der lateinischen Osterfeiern, Hermaea: Germanistische Forschungen, Neue Folge, 22 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1967), 197; Franz Karl Praßl, ‘Christ ist erstanden’, in Liederkunde zum Evangelischen Gesangbuch: Heft 10, ed. by Gerhard Hahn and Jürgen Henkys (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 55–60. 25 Binkley, ‘The Greater Passion Play’, considered this conflict-ridden conclusion to be the end of the play: CB 16* is not to be regarded as a fragment. 24

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Let him, with drooped head, give up his spirit. Then let Joseph of Arimathea come and ask for the body of Jesus. Let Pilate grant his request and Joseph give him an honourable burial. Thus let the play about the Resurrection begin. The high priests: ‘Lord, we remember correctly’. (CB 13*, after l. 31)

As shown above, narrative rubrics are prominent in all of the Codex Buranus plays. The rubrics do not give any instructions for the execution of the chants and, in some places, point beyond the text. In this instance, one might wonder how the burial should be accomplished ‘honorifice’. The play’s structure is clear, with individual scenes and their chants connected to the next by narrative rubrics. The scene before Pilate is very elaborate even in the short version of CB 13*. Jesus is handed over to Pilate with a truism: ‘si non esset malefactor, non tibi tradidissemus eum’ (‘if he were not a criminal, we would not have handed him over to you’). The purpose of the scene is to absolve Pilate of the guilt of Jesus’s Crucifixion and to place all of the blame on the Jews: ‘mundus sum a sanguine huius iusti – uos uideritis!’ (‘my hands are clean of the blood of this righteous man – you attend to it yourselves!’). In CB 13*, the Planctus ante nescia is clearly characterised as an insertion: Et baiolet sibi crucem, et ducant eum, ubi crucifigitur. tunc unus ex militibus ueniat, cum lancea tangat latus eius. Tunc ipse Dominus in cruce alta uoce clamet: ‘Ely, Ely, lema sabactani: Deus , Deus meus, ut ’ Tunc Maria mater Domini ueniat et due alie Marie et Iohannes. et Maria planctum faciat quantum melius potest. Et unus ex Iudeis dicat: ‘Si filius Dei es, descende nunc de cruce!’ Let Christ carry his own cross and let them take him to the place where he is crucified. Then let one of the soldiers come and touch his side with a spear. Then let the Lord himself on the cross cry out in a loud voice: ‘Ely, Ely, lema sabactani: God, my God, ’

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Then let Mary the mother of our Lord come and the two other Marys and John. And let Mary make a lament as best as she can. And let one of the Jews say: ‘If you are the son of God, come down now from the cross!’ (CB 13*, after l. 26–28)

It is possible to discern a version that preceded these short scenes, prior to the insertion of the Planctus. Here, the words ‘Ely, Ely’ would have been directly followed by the rubric ‘et unus ex Iudeis dicat’. The ‘et’ of this rubric has no connection whatsoever to the Planctus; it belongs to the Jews’ malicious response to Jesus’s complaint: ‘quid dereliquisti me?’. In CB 16*, the rubric ‘Iohannes ad hec’ shows that the Planctus was inserted just before the words that Jesus speaks from the Cross, addressing his mother and John: Iohannes ad hec: ‘O Maria, tantum noli lamentare tuo proli – sine me nunc plangere, que uita cupis cedere!’ Et Iohannes teneat Mariam sub humeris, et dicat Iesus ad eam: ‘Mulier, ecce filius tuus!’ deinde dicit ad Iohannem: ‘Ecce mater tua!’ Postea uadant Maria et Iohannes de cruce. John responds to these words: ‘Mary, don’t grieve so much for your son. Allow me now to weep, since your desire is to depart from life!’ And let John grasp her under her shoulders, and let Jesus say to her: ‘Woman, this is your son.’ Then he says to John: ‘This is your mother.’ After this let Mary and John move away from the cross. (CB 16*, after l. 304–after l. 310)

John’s chant O Maria, tantum noli serves as a transition from the preceding sequence to the words that Jesus is about to address to Mary and John. It was

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created especially for this assembled arrangement of scenes.26 After Jesus’s words to them, Mary and John leave the scene without having said a word. They just walk away (‘uadant de cruce’) and leave the dying Christ alone on the Cross. This disposition was necessary because the Planctus had been inserted into a play where the scene following the Ecce mater tua was already occupied, so to speak, by the Jews, as can be seen in CB 13*, or by Longinus as in CB 16*. In the latter play, the same Jews do not appear under the Cross until Jesus has died. Their presence is motivated by the words of the first Jew: ‘eamus et uideamus’ (‘let us go and see’). CB 13*, before l. 27–28 Tunc ipse Dominus in cruce alta uoce clamet: ‘Ely, Ely, lema sabactani: Deus , Deus meus, ut .’ […] Et unus ex Iudeis dicat: ‘Si filius Dei es, descende nunc de cruce!’

Then let the Lord himself on the cross cry out in a loud voice: ‘Ely, Ely, lema sabactani. God, my God, ’

[…] And let one of the Jews say: ‘If you are the son of God, come down now from the cross!’

26

CB 16*, before l. 315–after l. 316; before l. 320 to 320 Iesus uidens finem dicit clamando: ‘Ely, Ely, lema sabactany’, hoc est: ‘Deus meus, ut quid dereliquisti me?’. Et inclinato capite emittat spiritum. […] Et unus ex Iudeis dicat ad Iudeos: ‘Eliam uocat iste. eamus et uideamus, si Elias ueniens liberet eum an non.’ Jesus, seeing the end is near, shouts out: ‘Ely, Ely, lama sabactany’, which means: ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ And let him, with his head drooped down, give up his spirit. […] And let one of the Jews say to the Jews: ‘He calls on Elijah. Let us go and see if Elijah comes and sets him free or not.’

An analogous practice of substituting the silent presence of the protagonist with a spoken scene can be found in the Ordo Stellae plays of the eleventh century; see Drumbl, Quem quaeritis, 322–23 and Drumbl, ‘Stage and Players’. See also fn. 36.

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CB 16* substitutes the first Jew’s mockery and disdain found in CB 13* for a narrative sentence addressed to the Jews and not to Jesus. Here, the scene takes on the character of a narrative and has shifted into a historical mode. In CB 16*, Longinus, speaking in German while Jesus is still alive, understands the thrust of his lance as a gesture of compassion and, after the death of Jesus, makes three statements confessing his belief, starting with ‘uere filius Dei erat’ (‘truly he was the son of God’). His words seem to be placed here so as to contrast with the words of mockery pronounced by the Jews or, conversely, the words of the Jews were now placed here in response to the words of Longinus. This redesign shows that the Jews play an indispensable role at the end of the Passion Play. The scenes with the Jews serve to show the audience the true culprits responsible for Christ’s death. In line with the new emphasis offered by the Planctus, CB 16* reorders and adapts the chants that follow it. The chants of the Jews, sung after Jesus’s death, speak of the Crucifixion as a now distant event: (1) the illocutionary force of their mockery is weakened by being addressed to the dead Jesus; (2) the connection between the meaning of the chants and their moment of performance is weakened; (3) the narrative characteristic becomes dominant; (4) the words create distance from the events; and (5) the direct address to the audience and the invitation to empathy, present in the Planctus, become the dominant features of the play. These features reveal the initial stages of a process of literarisation, a tendency which is characteristic of the narrative rubrics found in the plays of the Codex Buranus. These changes in style are the prerequisite for the transcription of the plays on parchment. Literarisation can be observed in the same way in CB 13* and CB 16*. The fact that the rudimentary play CB 13* has been preserved does not prove that this is the original form of the Passion Play, but simply that it met the requirements for inclusion in a liturgical book or a miscellany, from which the plays were then copied to the Codex Buranus. Despite its inconspicuous form, made up of liturgical fragments, CB 13* cannot be considered the archetype of the Passion Play, since its title presupposes the existence of a large-scale Passion Play.27

27

‘Nevertheless, the assumption that the short Benediktbeuern Passion Play presents us with a less developed form, if not something approximating an original form of the play as a genre, is inviting’; see Knapp, Die Literatur des Früh- und Hochmittelalters, 428. On the composition of CB 13* and the other plays of Codex Buranus, see Ulrich Mehler, dicere und cantare: zur musikalischen Terminologie und Aufführungspraxis des mittelalterlichen geistlichen Dramas in Deutschland (Regensburg: Bosse, 1981), 136–68.

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Moreover, there was a model for the Planctus scene, which could have been no more than a short rubric or an incipit of the sequence Planctus ante nescia.28 The scene in CB 16* was assembled ‘backwards’ and has its heortological centre in the suffering of the mother (‘Planctus ante nescia’). This core was then extended to include the suffering of the women under the Cross (‘Flete, fideles anime’), and finally added an exhortation to misericordia that is addressed to all present (‘lat iuch erbarmen, wip unde man’). At the very heart of the Passion Play is the scene in which Jesus addresses his mother and John (‘Mulier, ecce filius tuus’; ‘Ecce mater tua’). The Planctus ante nescia was placed just before this scene. It is addressed to the living Jesus on the Cross and is not a lament after his death, as in later Passion Plays.29 This feature is common to the Planctus scenes of both Passion Plays in the Codex Buranus. The same is the case in both plays, in the scenes in which Longinus pierces Jesus’s side before his death: in CB 16*, with the explicit motivation of releasing him from his painful agony. The Longinus scene in CB 16* served as a means to end the play with a conflict with the Jews. Longinus praises Jesus three times as the Son of God, and three times the Jews respond with blasphemous words. From its beginning, the Passion Play is profoundly marked by an attitude in Iudaeos.

CB 26* CB 26* (the Peregrinus Play) is committed to a thematic tradition concerned with the failure of its protagonists to respond adequately: the Marys who buy ointments for the already risen Jesus and the disciples who do not believe in the Resurrection, even though Jesus had foretold it. In this tradition, which can be traced back to Vich, Museo episcopal, MS 105 (MS V), angels make an outspoken appeal to the Marys and the disciples in the hope of their conversion.30 These Ursula Hennig, ‘“Planctus ante nescia” und die deutschen Marienklagen’, in Latein und Volkssprache im deutschen Mittelalter, 1100–1500: Regensburger Colloquium 1988, ed. by Nikolaus Henkel and Nigel F. Palmer (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1992), 164–77, offers good arguments against the notion of a ‘monodramatic’ Ur-Planctus. CB 16* therefore represents the oldest typology for the Laments of the Virgin Mary. See also Ursula Hennig, ‘Jesus am Kreuz in der hessischen Passionsspieltradition: Text und Dramaturgie’, in Ritual und Inszenierung: Geistliches und weltliches Drama des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Hans-Joachim Ziegeler (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2004), 167–76. 29 See Carla Bino, Dal trionfo al pianto. La fondazione del ‘teatro della misericordia’ nel medioevo (V–XIII secolo) (Milano: Vita e Pensiero, 2008). 30 Dronke, Nine Medieval Plays, 92 does not give any rubrics for the Angels. 28

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scenes are central to the two plays transmitted in MS V. Their Sitz im Leben is illustrated by this conversion from unbelief to repentant faith. The twelfthcentury plays differ from the dramatic ceremonies of the eleventh century in the depiction of the protagonists’ flawed behaviour in exemplary situations that require a response of faith.31 CB 26*, a Peregrinus Play, echoes this tradition, as can be seen from the very beginning of the play. The scribe left the first chant without a rubric. I assign it to the choir, the default role for a chant without rubrics at the beginning of a liturgical ceremony.32 Incipit exemplum apparicionis Domini discipulis suis iuxta castellum Emaus, ubi illis apparuit in more peregrini et tacuit uidens, quid loquerentur et tractarent: ‘Surrexit Christus et illuxit populo suo, quem redemit sanguine suo, alleluia’. Iesus audiens, se fingens peregrinum, ad premissa respondet: ‘Qui sunt hii sermones, quos confertis ad inuicem ambulantes, et estis tristes? alleluia, alleluia.’ Here begins an exemplum about the apparition of the Lord to his disciples near the village of Emmaus, where he appeared to them in the guise of a stranger and silently took note of what they were saying and discussing. ‘Christ has arisen and has brought light to his people after redeeming them with his blood. Alleluia.’

31 32

This theme is impressively carried out in the Ordo Paschalis of MS K. Traill’s interpolated rubric ‘discipuli’ has to be corrected accordingly. An intertextual allusion to this antiphon, sung by the angel during Christ’s descent into hell in the Easter play of MS K, could also be reminiscent of the angels as singers in CB 26*. In younger sources, either the choir or the two disciples are mentioned as singers of the first chant. In the French sources, the first stanzas of the hymn Iesu nostra redemptio are sung by the disciples. In Sicily, the same stanzas are sung by the choir. See Walther Lipphardt (ed.), Lateinische Osterfeiern und Osterspiele (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1975–90), v (1976), nos. 807–20; and vii (Kommentar, 1990), 767–803. See also Robert G. A. Kurvers, Ad Faciendum Peregrinum: A Study of the Liturgical Elements in the Latin Peregrinus Plays in the Middle Ages (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1996).

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Jesus, who has been listening, pretending to be a foreigner, responds to the foregoing: ‘What is it you are debating as you walk? Are you upset? Alleluia, alleluia.’ (CB 26*, before l. 1–2)

The scene shows the disciples on their way to Emmaus. They mourn for their Lord, but do not remember that Jesus foretold his Resurrection. The play addresses the disciples’ lack of faith and their long journey from grief to joy, achieved when they finally believe in the Resurrection. Like the other plays in this tradition, CB 26* is characterised by the use of unmarked speech. There are no deviations from a linguistic norm, but there are utterances by participants in the plays, such as the choir and the angels, which are spoken outside the play’s narrative and serve to highlight the conflict between the actions of the protagonists and the knowledge of the audience. The performance of CB 26* opens with the words ‘Surrexit Christus et illuxit populo suo, quem redemit sanguine suo, alleluia’ (‘Christ has arisen and has brought light to his people after redeeming them with his blood. Alleluia’). This antiphon gives expression to the knowledge of the Resurrection shared by the clerics and laity gathered in the church on Easter Monday. If this chant were to have been assigned to the disciples within the play,33 they would have been convinced of the Resurrection from the very beginning, rendering the following words, ‘Qui sunt hii sermones?’ (‘What words do you speak?’), pointless. In this liturgical ceremony all utterances function as everyday speech in the characters’ deictic space. This is illustrated by the rubrics before and after the chants: ‘et tacuit uidens, quid loquerentur et tractarent. Iesus audiens, se fingens peregrinum, ad premissa respondet’ (‘and silently took note of what they were saying and discussing. Jesus, who has been listening, pretending to be a foreigner, responds to the foregoing’). The rubric is not an instruction about how to act a scene but the description of a scene in the form of a narrative. A silent protagonist perceives a conversation which is inaudible for the audience and reacts to it: ‘premissa’ refers to what the disciples have said and done, whilst ‘quid loquerentur et tractarent’ captures a conversation that the audience has not heard. This discourse happens outside the play but provides the rationale for the characters’ presence within it. The antiphon, which is copied at this point, serves as a frame for this narrative; it is sung outside the play. A lectio facilior offered itself to readers – contemporary and modern – and copyists alike: that is, to attribute the opening

33

Traill, ii, 741, implicitly refers to more recent testimonies of the ceremony.

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antiphon to the disciples. Such an interpretation, which ignores the contextual meaning of the whole passage, could have arisen during the reception of the Ordo, but cannot possibly be presumed to have been part of the original composition from which CB 26* was drawn. If it is the choir or angels who sing the Resurrection antiphon as the play’s first utterance, before the actual dramatic ceremony begins, the words sung by the as-yet unrecognised Jesus gain the illocutionary force of an accusation against the disciples. The antiphon speaks of the Risen One who enlightened his people, whom he redeemed with his blood. It provides the background for Jesus’s chant to the unbelieving disciples: ‘qui sunt hii sermones, quos confertis ad inuicem ambulantes, et estis tristes? Alleluia, alleluia’ (‘what words do you speak to one another, your hearts full of sorrow? Alleluia, alleluia’). The disciples are reprimanded because they should have known better and been aware of the Resurrection. They participate in the shared knowledge and its dogmatic value, explicitly recalled at the beginning of the play: they had no reason to doubt and mourn, since the Resurrection of Jesus had been made known to them. The disciples’ response is consequently inadequate, the result of human weakness and insecurity.34 The linguistically and pragmatically very complex beginning of CB 26* initiates the depiction of doubt, grief, and the final conversion to faith and joy. This thematic structure is the salient architectural feature of the play, which testifies to the great innovation in the tradition of dramatic ceremonies in the twelfth century.35 The scenes from Christ’s apparition to the disciples up to the scene with doubting Thomas were not added because they are part of the traditional New Testament narrative, but in order to show the change from unbelief to faith, from sorrow to joy. The stylistic device of repeating these motifs three times is used again and again. The Lord appears three times with the words ‘pax uobis’, and the rubrics explicitly point to the repetition of the performance: ‘tunc appareat Iesus secundo et dicat discipulis’ (‘then let Jesus appear a second time and let him say to the disciples’); and ‘tercio apparet. “Pax uobis”’ (‘he appears a third time: “peace be with you”’). CB 26* shows structural principles that can also be found in the other plays in the Codex Buranus. The choir’s function and the role of the rubrics are 34

Hans Unterreitmeier, ‘Literatur und Kalender: Liturgie und Dichtung im Mittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit’, Zeitschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Linguistik, 80 (1990), 72–92, traces the disciples’ erroneous behaviour in more recent sermon texts. 35 The oldest and most radical texts to document these ‘new’ traditions are MS V and the Sponsus. Dronke, Nine Medieval Plays, 14–21 and 83–109, offers editions of both plays. See also Symes, ‘A Few Odd Visits’, 300–12.

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remarkable. Both function outside the action, accompanying and describing it. From the first detailed rubric onwards, these can be understood as short narratives: ‘ubi illis apparuit in more peregrini, et tacuit uidens quid loquerentur et tractarent’ (‘where he appeared to them in the guise of a stranger and silently took note of what they were saying and discussing’). The choir’s second chant is attributed to the ‘clerus’, a signal that the singers are acting outside the action: ‘clerus: “et coegerunt eum dicentes”’ (‘clergyman: “they compelled him, saying”’). These are words that could also be understood as rubrics, because they refer to the disciples’ song: ‘mane nobiscum’ (‘stay with us!’). Shortly afterwards, the clergyman sings another narrative antiphon, ‘Thomas qui dicitur Didimus non erat cum eis’ (‘Thomas, who is called “the Twin” was not with them’), and quotes the disciples’ message to Thomas. Once more, ‘et clerus cantet: “post dies octo, ianuis clausis, ingressus Dominus et dixit eis”’ (‘let the clergyman sing: “after eight days the Lord came in when the doors were closed and said to them”’), and the rest of the antiphon ‘tercio apparet: “pax uobis, ”’ (‘he appears a third time: “peace be with you, ”’). The choir also performs songs that serve as rubrics for the scenes performed. The real rubrics in the play, however, do not have the traditional liturgical function that fixes chants in space and time and specifies who should perform them. Instead, they are short narratives that provide background information following a well-established design principle: as in CB 227, the chants copied from the exemplar are regarded as fixed points. Something decisive happens between the chants, which is revealed by the narrative rubrics: Et discipuli inuitabant eum: ‘Mane nobiscum, Domine, quoniam aduesperascit et inclinata est iam dies, alleluia, alleluia’. Tunc uadat cum discipulis et colloquatur de prophetis et petat comestionem, et in fractione panis cognoscatur ab eis. tunc euanescat Iesus ab oculis eorum. Tunc discipuli cantent: ‘Nonne cor nostrum ardens erat in nobis de Iesu, dum loqueretur nobis in uia? alleluia’. The disciples invited him: ‘Stay with us, Lord, for evening is coming on and the day is nearly past. Alleluia, alleluia.’

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Then let him go with the disciples and let him talk with them about the prophets; let him ask for something to eat and let him be recognised as he breaks the bread. Then let Jesus vanish from their sight. Then let the disciples sing: ‘Weren’t our hearts on fire about Jesus, when he talked to us on the way? Alleluia’. (CB 26*, before l. 9–10)

In the oldest French Ordo ad Peregrinum, from Beauvais, this narrative passage without dialogue is supplemented with a scripted dialogue of newly composed chants, according to the convention established by the Ordo Stellae in the eleventh century.36 The Beauvais Ordo consistently follows the principle that the choir’s songs and the rubrics are narrative texts. In his narrative, the ‘Peregrinus’ refers to himself in the third person and escapes the gaze of the disciples without having spoken to them. The representational procedure is therefore identical to that of CB 26*. The appearance of the risen Jesus before his disciples, who are converted from unbelief to belief, constitutes the central theme of CB 26*, a dramatic ceremony labelled an exemplum. The play ends with the disciples singing the hymn Iesu, nostra redemptio (‘Jesus, our redemption’). The scribe of CB 26* did not copy – or compose – this ceremony with a precise liturgical setting in mind. In the Codex Buranus, there are no evident links to local liturgical traditions. The manuscript appears not to have been copied for a specific church, not even for the scribe’s own church. There were no adaptations that needed to be made to the end of the dramatic ceremonies in order to fit them into the local liturgical setting. The Peregrinus Play could very well be continued with a scene describing Jesus’s encounter with his mother. The rubric ‘hoc finito, producatur Mater Domini, cum ea duo angeli portantes sceptra, et cum ea Maria Iacobi et Maria Salome’ (‘after this let the mother of the Lord appear and with her two angels carrying sceptres, and with her Mary the mother of James and Mary Salome’) can be read as evidence for a pre-existing play that gives voice to Christ.37 Thus, in the 36

The technique of embellishing pre-existing scenes is well documented from the first half of the eleventh century onwards. For examples of this technique in the Ordo Stellae plays, see Drumbl, Quem quaeritis, 322–23, and Drumbl, ‘Stage and Players’. 37 Bischoff separates the scene (CB 26a*) from the Peregrinus Play CB 26*. Likewise, Hansjürgen Linke, ‘Beobachtungen’, 187, dedicates almost four pages to this ‘strange part of the text’; arguing against an earlier hypothesis, he proposes the separation of the scene. No such explanations are needed, however, for the thematic combination

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Codex Buranus the play ends with the antiphon Tota pulchra es, reintegrating the dramatic ceremony into the poetic traditions of the liturgy.

‘Tota pulchra ’

‘ entirely beautiful, ’ (CB26*.52)

CB 13* and CB 26* belong to the same tradition, to which the Planctus is added in CB 13* and the scene with Tota pulchra es is added in CB 26*. The return to a liturgical framework in the Peregrinus Play has a close parallel in a contemporary Ordo from Palermo.38 Here, too, an Easter antiphon interrupts the singing of the sequence Victimae Paschali laudes, but it is the disciples themselves who sing the Resurrection antiphon together with Mary Magdalene, rather than the angels found in MS V: Postea redeat Maria ad illos duos discipulos, dicatque: ‘Surrexit Dominus’ – Tribus uicibus: ‘sicut predixerat; ecce precedet uos in Galileam.’

of the Visit to the Tomb and the Song of Songs can be discerned as a tradition in the Latin Plays since the Sponsus. 38 Kurvers, Ad Faciendum Peregrinum, 204, analyses the Ordo without appreciating its liturgical character. See Lipphardt (ed.), Lateinische Osterfeiern und Osterspiele, v (1976).

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Et illi duo discipuli dicant: ‘Dic nobis, Maria, quid uidisti in uia?’ Afterwards, let Mary return to the two disciples and say: ‘The Lord has risen’ – And all three together: ‘As he has foretold; he is going ahead of you into Galilee.’ And let the two disciples say: ‘Tell us, Mary, what did you see on the way?’

The ‘Dic nobis Maria’ of the disciples is not to be understood as a question, but as an exhortation to Mary to sing this jubilant Easter chant, after the certainty about the Resurrection has been proclaimed by all other protagonists of the Ordo. The twelfth-century tradition of plays that portray human protagonists in moments of weakness and unbelief is no longer a defining feature of the dramatic tradition of the Codex Buranus. The play has returned to its origins as a liturgical ceremony. Vollmann asks: ‘why, in the second half of the thirteenth century, did what had begun so boldly in the eleventh and twelfth centuries break down?’39 His question can be answered by looking at the complexity of the Latin Peregrinus Plays and their return to their liturgical origins. Given the mixture of elaborate utterances and strong links to the liturgical setting in them, the plays are much too complex to survive the vicissitudes of transmission. On the other hand, the twelfth-century depiction of sinful people had already become the key theme of plays in vernacular languages. The Codex Buranus is an early source of evidence that such new motives prevailed over the core tradition of the Latin plays: compassio and misericordia afford a central role for Mary, the mother who mourns her dying Son on the Cross.

Conclusion The Latin plays of the Codex Buranus are hybrids: between a transcript to be read in a book, and a copy to be used for actual performances. These plays are the oldest witnesses of a tradition of which only very few texts ever found their

39

Vollmann, ‘Lateinisches Schauspiel des Spätmittelalters?’, 2.

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way onto parchment.40 The narrative, dogmatic, interpretative rubrics in the plays of the Codex Buranus reflect the historical background of this copying process. The plays were written to turn existing ceremonies, celebrations, and plays into literary works. Only in the preserved literary forms did the play-texts have a chance of being copied at all. They were exempla, deeply rooted in the traditional liturgy. The rubrics relate to the knowledge of the divine plan of salvation, which extends from the Fall of Man to the Last Judgement. The route to the comprehensive dramatic cycles of the later Middle Ages was thus already mapped out in the plays of the twelfth century.41 The Codex Buranus plays are witnesses of these complex processes of development at a time when the dramatic tradition in the vernacular starts to appear.

40

In an insightful private comment on an older version of my text, Ulrich Mehler noted the purpose of the Codex Buranus project: ‘judging by the design of the codex it would seem intended as a collection of texts for reading, a collection that was possibly commissioned by an artistically minded (ecclesiastical?) dignitary who realised that these texts, songs, pieces, etc. would be lost once for all if they were not written down at this moment.’ 41 Erich Auerbach, Mimesis: Dargestellte Wirklichkeit in der abendländischen Literatur (Bern: Franke, 1946).

Chapter 10

Revisiting the Music of the Codex Buranus Heike Sigrid Lammers-Harlander Music is a performative art with a transitory character.1 As such, music can be interpreted – in analogy to Klaus Lazarowicz’s model for the theatre – as a ‘triadic collusion’ between composer, performer, and audience.2 There have been a range of attempts to capture the transitory nature of music’s content: notes and scores are used as means to determine a composer’s construction; technical equipment records phonographic minutiae of a performer’s interpretation; and the audience has gained access to mechanical instruments – analogue and digital – allowing them perpetually to recreate and re-experience (differing) performative interpretations of a single composition. Against this backdrop, a reconsideration of the Codex Buranus and its music requires scholars to probe into the triad of its producers (composers, performers, audiences), and into the compositional structures and technical possibilities of putting the music on record. My doctoral research on the Carmina Burana, published in 2000, focussed on the process of notating the songs within the manuscript – comparing all known musical concordances of the songs – and considered whether the music preserved in the codex was prescriptive and functioned as a model for performances, or descriptive and could be seen as a (rough) transcription of a musical performance.3 The study’s main aim was to cut through to the ‘original’ songs as best as possible, leaving aside their subsequent reception, be it Orff’s cantata, or the musicological infatuation with their medieval concordances.4 As far as the music is concerned, there is no way of reproducing the songs of the Codex Buranus in their historically authentic form; See, for instance, Erika Fischer-Lichte, Ästhetik des Performativen (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2004). 2 Klaus Lazarowicz, ‘Triadische Kollusion: über die Beziehungen zwischen Autor, Schauspieler und Zuschauer im Theater’, in Das Theater und sein Publikum, ed. by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften: Philosophisch-historische Klasse (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1977), 56–60. 3 See Lammers. A digital version is in preparation and will be published under the name Heike Lammers-Harlander. 4 Scholars were often guided by the interpretations of modern performers, who based their work on concordances (or offered modern inventions) rather than on the 1

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nonetheless, it made sense in my earlier work to describe the Carmina Burana as a musical corpus of its own quality and with its own musical aesthetics. Every generation has its own way of questioning the past – depending on its own ambitions, interests, socio-economic context, and historical knowledge. After almost twenty years of scholarly abstinence on my part, a musical consideration of the Carmina Burana thus requires rethinking, given the changed perception of music brought about by technological progress and music’s increased accessibility across different types of media. One central conundrum in the scholarship concerning the Codex Buranus is the assumption that the manuscript is a secular, Latin songbook; there are, however, no more than a handful of manuscripts from the early thirteenth century that include notation and could be considered collections of this type – one such example is the ‘Later Cambridge Songs’ (see below).5 By contrast, collections of monophonic and polyphonic Latin songs for ritual purposes survive in several manuscripts, notably of the so-called Notre Dame school. Secular Latin songs appear as additions to text-only manuscripts such as the notated variant of CB 26 (Ad cor tuum reuertere) in Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 18190 (f. 1r). The vast majority of the secular music of the time, though, has survived without notation, as is the case with so many of the Carmina Burana.6 The decision to collect about 250 secular Latin songs, as well as a number of plays with music, seems to have been a rare exception for the time around 1230, when the Codex Buranus is thought to have been assembled. The manuscript’s mise-en-page confirms that its inclusion of music was not an afterthought, but intended from the outset: its twenty-one to twenty-three lines per side are not spaced as narrowly as in text-only manuscripts, and when the notation of the melodies’ exuberant ornamentation required more room, the scribes left blank spaces, as is the case in CB 27 (Bonum est confidere) on both sides of f. 3. The concordances in Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Plut. 29.1 and Burgos, Monasterio de las Huelgas (no shelfmark) offer different melodies for Bonum est confidere. While MS Plut. 29.1 omits longer melismatic passages, MS Las Huelgas is interlaced with flamboyant melismas. The spacing in the Codex Buranus (for example, at the antepenultima ‘ue-sce-re’) suggests that the latter was also intended to be included here. transmission of the Codex Buranus. For the impact of modern performances, see the contribution by Yri. 5 Cambridge, University Library, MS Ff 1.17.1. 6 Concordances for the Carmina Burana are outlined in Lammers. For songs from British sources see, Helen Deeming (ed.), Songs in British Sources ca. 1150–1300, Musica Britannica, 95 (London: Stainer and Bell, 2013).

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In its vision of gathering and presenting an organised corpus, the Codex Buranus resembles the Notre Dame manuscripts (MS Plut. 29.1; Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, MSS Cod. Guelf. 628 Helmst. and Cod. Guelf. 1099 Helmst.), which were compiled around the same time. The music preserved in the Notre Dame manuscripts, however, had a liturgical function, and the organisation of these books was attentive to the needs of liturgy. Considering the songs (now known as conductus) of the Notre Dame School from the perspective of triadic collusion outlined above, we can see that they were composed by literate clergy, gathered in readable and accessible sources for performers who are believed to have been taught to repeat the given music note by note for an audience which met at special occasions in a predetermined place (Notre Dame, and later at other churches). The Codex Buranus, in contrast, appears as an anti-collection of sorts: the use of unheighted (adiastematic) neumes rendered the melodies incomprehensible to those who did not already know them. The manuscript thus appears to enshrine the freedom of performers, by necessitating musical interpretation. The songs were mainly written in Latin, by erudite poets:7 yet who were the composers of the melodies? What function did the songs fulfil, both before and after their inclusion in this collection? What part did the neumators who inscribed the melodies play? Two unknown scribes (h1/h2) compiled the manuscript and four neumators (n1–n4) added melodies above the lyrics, as was common practice with adiastematic notation (Illustration 10.1); in summary: • thirty-eight songs are neumed in the Codex Buranus; fourteen of these appear in other manuscripts, while twenty-four are unica; • fourteen songs, which are not neumed, include empty spaces in the text for melismatic passages in the melody; seven of these are attested in other sources; • eighteen songs have melodic concordances, but do not feature a melody or space for the addition of neumes in the Codex Buranus. Beyond such statistics, there is undoubtedly an organisational structure that undergirds the notation of the Codex Buranus. The four neumators did not share out their work at random but added music to different gatherings, each supplying different musical repertories:

7

For a further exploration of the learned nature of the Codex Buranus, see the contributions in this volume by Cardelle de Hartmann, Godman, Traill, and Franklinos.

1–15/ 18–25

26–43

44–55

56–68

69–72

92 §§45–63

[?]

43– 48+1+2

3–10

11–18

19–26

27–34

35–42

[?]–49–[?] 93–96

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

155

---

---

---

50–55– [?]–56

[?]

57–64

[?]

65–72

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

---

[?]

Total

XVIII

219–228

91–98

XVII

---

[?]

83–90

XV

XVI

---

133/134

73–(76– 77)–82

IX

91

(101–103 §2a)

h1

---

gath. ff.

I

h2

---

90/91  

88

 

---

---

---

---

  18

14 (w/cc. 7)

  10 (w/cc. 5)

---

215

 

211

--187/189

 

 

---

---

---

---

n3 15

---

---

---

---

---

---

48

6 (w/cc. 4)

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

n4

---

---

---

---

---

9 (w/cc. 2)

---

---

---

---

13 (w/cc. 3)

140/142/143,a/ 146,a/147,a/150,a/ 151,a/159/160

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

165/167/168/ 161,a/162/ 179/180 164,a/166

---

153

---

---

---

---

---

79/80

---

---

30/31/33 ---

14/19

119/128/ --131,a

196/200/   202/203

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

122

 

100/104/ 98/99/ 110/114 108/109

62/67 73

63

53

71

-----

26/36/37 27/34

---

n2 ---

Illustration 10.1. Notation in the Codex Buranus

140

205 §4–218

187–205 §3

---

161–186

---

137–154, 156–160

---

119–132, 135/136

n1 ---

47/52

21

8/12/22

PN  

US

 

111/116 97–100, 103 §2a–118

---

82–92 §44

73–81

---

---

---

16/17

---

section

Plays

Drinking/ Gambling

Love

Moral/ Mockery

 

PN = Provision for notation through spacing of text.

US = Unnotated songs with notated concordances.

Songs with notated concordances are indicated in bold type; purple shading indicates texts by h1, red shading indicates texts by h2.

notes

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(1) n1 worked in gatherings 9, 10, 16, and 17.8 Most of these songs appear in the so-called ‘love song’ section; only two are included in the section of ‘drinking and gaming’ songs. These songs form a musically coherent group, constituting laments in the broadest sense, albeit using diverse musical genres within this category (planctus, descort, lai, etc.): the lyrics speak of longing and dying, and complain about the deterioration of society’s moral standards – the only exception is CB 215, a goliardic Mass formulary. All of the songs, including the derisive pseudo-liturgical pieces, show a frequent use of flamboyant melismatic ornamentation. (2) n2 worked in gatherings 2, 3, and 4.9 These songs are limited to the section of ‘moral songs’, many of which are also transmitted in the Notre Dame sources as polyphonic conducti; they also have connections with monophonic secular troubadour or trouvère songs, some of which are thought to be dance songs. Generally, the structure of these songs is syllabic and stanzaic. (3) n4 worked in gatherings 12 and 14, notating only songs with an additional German stanza in the ‘love song’ section.10 These songs describe the coming of spring and often refer to dancing. Many of them evoke the image of young adults coming together in a meadow. The melodies in this corpus have a simple structure, but with noticeable use of ligatures on the unstressed syllables.11 (4) n3 worked in gatherings 2, 6, 12, and 14. This neumator added songs of different types, mainly completing the musical corpora of the other neumators.12 It appears that n1, n2, and n4 copied different types of melodies, from simple stanzaic songs to highly melismatic carmina with a complex structure. Each of them prepared a host of songs and worked across different gatherings, without interacting with one another’s contributions. The neumators of the Codex Buranus drew on at least three individual corpora of medieval song-types. Whether transmitted in oral or written form, these repertories apparently preexisted the planning of the manuscript’s organisational structure. Whereas genres of liturgical and ritual music of the Middle Ages have been readily identified 8

Lammers, 40–80. Lammers, 81–114. 10 Lammers, 139–80. 11 Grace Newcombe is currently analysing the relationship between stressed/unstressed syllables and their melodic rendition in English songs of the period; see Grace Newcombe, ‘Britain’s Cleric Composers: Poetic Stress and Ornamentation in Worldes blis’, in Proceedings of Ars Antiqua III: Music and Culture in Europe, c. 1150–c. 1330, ed. by Gregorio Bevilacqua, Solomon Guhl-Miller, and Thomas Payne (Turnhout: Brepols, forthcoming). 12 Lammers, 115–38. 9

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by scholars, there has hitherto been little understanding of similar taxonomies within secular Latin repertories, and how these distinctions may have impacted on their manuscript presentation and performance. Thus it is necessary to look more closely at the neumators’ repertories; in what follows, I focus on the corpora compiled by n1, n2, and n4.

The Songs of n1 n1 notated the melodies for the songs listed in Illustration 10.2.13 The gatherings that include the work of n1 also contain several unnotated songs which provide space for musical notation. These are all laments (Illustration 10.3), some of which feature irregular strophes reminiscent of the descort, while others have the sequence-like form of a lai (1a, 1b; 2a, 2b), or are regularly stanzaic. There are also concordances for unnotated songs within n1’s corpus, but these are found only in the final gatherings (16/17) and seem to be parodies of liturgical music – like CB 215 – and, in the case of CB 203 and CB 211, of well-known Minnesang pieces (Illustration 10.4). Five songs notated by n1 (CB 108, CB 119, CB 131, CB 187, and CB 189) have musical concordances, allowing for the reconstruction of a readable melody. There are, however, occasional discrepancies of varied significance between the melodies notated in the Codex Buranus and their relatives.14 Given that CB 187 is not notated in its entirety (and seems similar in melodic style to CB 108), that CB 131 has already been discussed widely,15 and that the notation of CB 189 is fragmentary – breaking off after the initial melisma16 – the following discussion focusses on the remaining two songs in order to illustrate n1’s corpus.

See also Heike Sigrid Lammers, ‘The Planctus Repertory in the Carmina Burana’, in The Echo of Music: Essays in Honor of Marie Louise Göllner, ed. by Blair Sullivan (Warren, MI: Harmonie Park, 2004), 75–99. 14 Lammers discusses the problem of using musical concordances for the Codex Buranus in detail. Bobeth also emphasises the need for caution regarding the use of concordances in order to reconstruct the melodies of the Codex Buranus. 15 For interpretations of CB 131, see Lammers, 64; and Bobeth, 101. 16 Lammers, 62. 13

Illustration 10.2. Songs notated by n1 #1 CB 98 CB 99 CB 108 CB 109 CB 119 CB 128 CB 131 CB 187 CB 189 CB 215, §5 1

Incipit Troie post excidium Superbi Paridis Vacillantis trutine Multiformi succendente Dulce solum Remigabat naufragus Dic, Christi ueritas / Bulla fulminante O curas hominum Aristipe, quamuis sero Ewangelium [Goliardic Mass]

Author

Peter of Blois

Philip the Chancellor Philip the Chancellor

Songs with concordances are marked in bold type. Illustration 10.3. Space for notation in the corpus of n1 # CB 100 CB 104 CB 110 CB 114 CB 122

Incipit O decus, o Libie regnum Egre fero, quod egroto Quid furor est in amore Tempus accedit floridum Expirante primitiue

Illustration 10.4. Concordances for the unnotated repertoire of n1 # CB 196 CB 200 CB 202 CB 203 §4 CB 211 §6

Incipit In taberna quando sumus Bache, bene uenies Potatores exquisiti Hiemali tempore / Vns seit uon lutringen helfrich Alte clamat Epicurus / Nu lebe ich mir alrest werde

Author

[Eckenlied] Walther von der Vogelweide

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Dvlce solvm (CB 119) The strophic lament CB 119 survives in three musical sources (Illustration 10.5). Besides the notation in the Codex Buranus, another adiastematic version is found in Linz, Oberösterreichische Landesbibliothek (olim Studienbibliothek), MS 324, f. 83v. Here, the song is a thirteenth-century addition to a twelfthcentury manuscript that originated at the Benedictine monastery of Garsten. As with CB 119, the song’s notation in this manuscript is complete.17 The sole known diastematic variant is contained in a manuscript from the chapter library of Notre Dame de Chartres (Chartres, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 223, f. 66v), which was destroyed in the bombing of 26 June 1944. A partial facsimile survives in one of Walther Lipphardt’s articles on the Codex Buranus.18 The three concordances resemble each other fairly closely. CB 119 consists of five four-line stanzas with the rhyme scheme aaaa, each followed by an additional disyllabic word which changes from stanza to stanza. These monorhyme quatrains vaguely resemble the structure of the Persian rubāī.19 The lines are decasyllabic, and the melody is built in bar-form with reprise (aaba). The notation ornaments the unstressed syllables with three-note, and on occasion two-note, ligatures. It is striking that the song’s three manuscript versions use different patterns of ornamentation, each of which is consistent in itself. It seems plausible that the notated musical texts capture different musical performances. This observation fits squarely with the song’s lyrics: CB 119’s lyric persona prepares to go into exile in order to escape from love’s torments; the lament uses highly emotional language. The lyrics offer the persona’s point of view and give the performer as many as five stanzas through which to express musically the lover’s grief. In light of this content, the ligatures gain added expressive significance. CB 119’s use of special ornaments, such as the quilisma (also called tremula) on the first downbeat after the middle caesura in the first two lines of each stanza, along with the exuberant melismas on all antepenultimate and penultimate syllables, gave the performer an opportunity to emphasise the 17

Linz, Oberösterreichische Landesbibliothek (olim Studienbibliothek), MS 324 (olim Schiffmann 80); available at [accessed 12 February 2019]. 18 Walther Lipphardt, ‘Unbekannte Weisen zu den Carmina Burana’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, 12 (1955), 122–42 (plate 3). 19 Franklin D. Lewis, ‘Rubāī’, in The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, ed. by Roland Greene et al., 4th edn (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012), 1227–28. On the relationship between Arabic poetry and the Codex Buranus, see this volume’s contribution by Stolz.

Illustration 10.5. Synoptic transcription of CB 119 (from Lammers, 221–22)

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lyric persona’s emotional state of mind in sound.20 Appreciating this possibility may allow scholars to understand why the neumator’s inscription was corrected at the same point in three of the stanzas: the clivis has been crossed out in §§1.3, 2.3, and 4.3. The unknown corrector has eliminated a ligature, where the concordance offers only a single note. Perhaps it was important to this corrector that the stanza’s second half remained without ornament until the very end, the point at which the triste hypodorian melody drops to its lowest, truly dismal pitch.

Vacillantis trvtine (CB 108)21 Written by Peter of Blois, whose authorship was considered of such importance that his name was transmitted alongside his songs in several sources, CB 108 seems likely to have been considered as expressive as CB 119 (Illustration 10.6). It is striking that the two extant versions of Vacillantis trutine differ so starkly. Besides CB 108, a diastematic variant of the song has survived on flyleaves of poor quality in a manuscript of English provenance (Cambridge, University Library, MS Ff 1.17.1, the so-called ‘Later Cambridge Songs’), which slightly predates the Codex Buranus. The song in question adopts the troubadour genre of the descort. Vollmann dates it to around 1190, when Peter of Blois, after accompanying the English crusaders to Sicily, was in close contact with Eleanor of Aquitaine.22 The association with Eleanor’s court may help to explain the existence of a Latin descort at such an early stage. The song consists of three coblas with a refrain. In the Codex Buranus, however, this structure is not clear at first sight, since the text-scribe (h2) confused §1a and §1b. Typically for a descort, the song speaks of motus in contrarios, of the torment of love, of the contradicting forces within the lyric persona, ‘Amor’ and ‘Ratio’. The poetic structure is complex:

20

‘Tremula est neuma quam gradatam uel quilisma dicimus’ (‘A tremula is a neume which we call stepped or quilisma’). J. Smits van Waesberghe (ed.), Aribonis, De musica, Corpus Scriptorum de Musica, 2 (Rome: American Institute of Musicology, 1951), 1–72 (66); available at [accessed 12 February 2019]. 21 Lammers, 50–54. 22 Vollmann, 1092.

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§§1a and 1b a7 + a4 b7 + b4 c7 d4 + d4 c7 §§2a and 2b a6 b4 + b4 a6 a6 c4 + c4 d8 d4 d8 e4 e8 Refrain e4 e8 e4 e8

The melodic lines float freely through a wide ambitus, rarely focusing on the finalis of the mode, making use of various ligatures, though the versions transmitted in the Cambridge Songs and the Codex Buranus seem to share no more than a basic outline. The text is subordinated to the highly melismatic music, with the voice using all technical possibilities to express grief and longing. In this context, the ornaments might have unsettled any notion of a regular musical metre, but even a single note could have been performed in an expressive manner. Such free rhythmic expressivity is far removed from the rhythmically rigorous compositional standards of Notre Dame polyphony. MS Ff 1.17.1 lacks the flamboyant ornamentation of CB 108; it does not have, or was not able to depict, the subtlety of a single note’s vocal embellishment, perhaps as a result of the form of notation used. Even if Peter of Blois turned out to have been the composer as well as the poet of this song, one ought to consider what was written down by individual neumators. Given the different notation in the two manuscripts, it seems that

Illustration 10.6. Synoptic transcription of CB 108 (from Lammers, 218–19)

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Illustration 10.7. Songs notated by n2 #1 CB 14 CB 19 CB 30 CB 31 CB 33 CB 48 §6 1

Incipit O uarium Fortune lubricum Fas et nefas ambulant Dum iuuentus floruit Vite perdite Non te lusisse pudeat Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit / Hoͤ rstu, friunt

Author Walter of Châtillon Peter of Blois Peter of Blois Peter of Blois Otto von Botenlauben

Songs with concordances are marked in bold type.

the song was recreated in performance. This type of song would have been performed for a listening rather than a participating audience, whether dancing or singing. Such music was designed for the ear, heart, and soul: its aesthetics led to a cathartic experience in singer and audience.

The Songs of n2 Six of the Carmina Burana are notated by n2 (Illustration 10.7). Three of these songs are by Peter of Blois, one by Walter of Châtillon, one concludes with a German stanza by Otto von Botenlauben, and one is by an anonymous author. Four of the songs have concordances in readable sources. The names of these authors guarantee the quality of the texts; but what about the music? MS Plut. 29.1 contains monophonic and polyphonic versions of the songs in question, and is indubitably related to the Notre Dame school. While the notation in MS Plut. 29.1 and the Codex Buranus is not identical in these cases, it is close enough to afford scholars the assumption that these two manuscripts share the same musical roots. CB 14, CB 19, CB 31, and CB 33 are stanzaic and furnished with neumes throughout. The decision to notate all stanzas allowed n2 to represent slight variants in the musical text. There are subtle changes from stanza to stanza, since the songs in question use ligatures as musical embellishment which had to fit the metrical scheme’s rhythmic pattern. Single notes predominate in the melodies and, although the songs follow the same stanzaic pattern, there are striking differences in the use of verse and rhyme scheme. The simpler musical examples of this corpus – Peter of Blois’ CB 31 and Walter of Châtillon’s CB 19 – are musical canzonas with a typical repeated aab form. In contrast, CB 14 and CB 33 are ‘through-composed’. In order to explain the different nature of these two types, I focus on CB 14 and CB 19.

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Fas et nefas (CB 19) Following the rearrangement of its gatherings around the year 1730,23 the Codex Buranus now opens with the famous image of the goddess Fortuna and her wheel of fortune. As a result, CB 19 (Illustration 10.8), a widely disseminated moral song by Walter of Châtillon, became the first song to appear in the manuscript. While the Codex Buranus presents a monophonic version, Fas et nefas also appears as the tenor in a three-voice conductus in MS Plut. 29.1 and on a flyleaf (Cambridge, Jesus College, Quincentenary Library, MS 1).24 Friedrich Gennrich in 1958 was the first to propose two possible secular contrafacta of this Latin song, which are transmitted in text-only versions in French and Italian manuscripts: the troubadour song Pensamenai e consir by Peire Raimon de Tolosa (PC 355,10) and the trouvère song Far vuelh un nou sirventes by Folquet de Romans (PC 156,6).25 The additional voices of the conductus are almost strictly homophonic. Unlike the Codex Buranus, MS Plut. 29.1 provides a melody only for the first stanza; subsequent stanzas are presented in a text-only layout. The syllabic mixolydian melody with its catchy triad incipit g-b-d-d-e-d-c follows the text’s simple trochaic metre, which might have been performed in duple time or triple time (short-long [1:2] or long-short [2:1]). The sparse ligatures on the penultimata of the first three lines of each stanza in the Codex Buranus afford all of these possibilities. While the tune is clearly audible in the monophonic version of CB 19, it is hidden beneath the two upper voices in the three-part conductus of MS Plut. 29.1. The monophonic canzona focusses on the performance of the song’s text while the conductus, guided by its liturgical function, uses the canzona as an integrated part concealed in an artistic, musical composition. Since the song uses the bar-form and possibly also relates to troubadour and trouvère pieces through contrafacture, it seems likely that the monophonic version was the basis for subsequent polyphonic construction.26 Perhaps the melody was used by the composer of the conductus because of its 23

For a more elaborate discussion of codicological details, see Lammers, 12. Beyond the notated versions, there are also five text-only concordances in manuscripts originating from Germany, France, and Great Britain; see Lammers, 92. 25 Friedrich Gennrich, Der musikalische Nachlass der Troubadours (Darmstadt: n.p., 1958), nos 295 and 296. 26 Note, however, the suggestion that some motets may have consciously imitated song forms rather than using actually pre-existent songs; see Matthew P. Thomson, ‘Monophonic Song in Motets: Performing Quoted Material and Performing Quotation’, in Performing Medieval Text, ed. by Ardis Butterfield, Henry Hope and Pauline Souleau (Cambridge: Legenda, 2017), 136–51. 24

Illustration 10.8. Synoptic transcription of CB 19 (from Lammers, 247–48)

Revisiting the Music of the Codex Buranus

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metrical qualities and catchy tune, which lends itself to a three-voice construction. The melody was turned into a conductus, a genre that is believed to have functioned – inter alia – as accompanying music for moving from one place to another during the liturgy,27 and a regular rhythmic pattern would have suited such a function well.28 This assertion makes it worth considering whether the original canzona was a piece of music to be heard, or designed for hearing and moving, as is the case in dance songs. The very beginning of the text (‘Fas et nefas ambulant pene passu pari’, ‘Right and wrong proceed with almost equal steps’) may suggest that the song’s performance was to be accompanied by movement – whether executed by performers and/or audience.

O varivm (CB 14) CB 14 (Illustration 10.9) exists in three musical versions: the Codex Buranus offers neumes for the entire text, providing slight melodic variants across the stanzas; MS Plut. 29.1 contains a two-voice conductus; and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 146, the so-called Roman de Fauvel, transmits a monophonic mensural setting. The complex and sophisticated melodic outline is shared across this transmission. The internal rhyme scheme of all five stanzas is ababbacdcddeefef, and the subdivision into short musical phrases is further supported by the lines added to the staves of MS Plut. 29.1. While the melody changes from line to line, the rhythmic pattern is bound to a strict dactylic beat, which can be rendered in either duple (2:1:1) or triple time (3:1:2 or 3:2:1). The conductus setting of MS Plut. 29.1 once more begs the question of whether the monophonic version may also be a dance song. The construction of O uarium resembles the striking textual microstructure of Raymond de Vaqueiras’ famous estampie, Kalenda maia, but it lacks the typical melodic double cursus of an estampie.29 The song’s dactylic metre is also found in contemporaneous

27

The term ‘conductus’ is used a few times in the plays of the Codex Buranus, describing music to accompany the movement from one place to another; for a discussion of such cases, see this volume’s contribution by Drumbl. 28 The relationship between the repertory of the Codex Buranus and a number of conducti is discussed in Lammers, 21. 29 Text, translation, and melody of Kalenda maia are included in Samuel Rosenberg, Margaret Switten, and Gerard Le Vot (eds), Songs of the Troubadours and Trouvères: An Anthology of Poems and Melodies (New York and London: Garland, 1998), 156–59.

Illustration 10.9. Synoptic transcription of CB 14 (from Lammers, 243–44)

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Minnesang by Walther von der Vogelweide, Ulrich von Liechtenstein, and others.30 In conclusion, both songs, the simple canzona of CB 19 and the complex structure of CB 14 – viewed in the light of their close relation to Notre Dame conductus – could have been part of a group of monophonic dance songs that were used by Parisian composers for liturgical part music.

The Songs of n4 Laments and dance songs constitute the corpora of n1 and n2. By contrast, n4, whose work is contained only in gatherings 12 and 14, primarily notates songs which include a German stanza (Illustration 10.10). Some of the German texts derive from the repertoire of the most famous representatives of German Minnesang, Reinmar von Hagenau, Heinrich von Morungen, and Walther von der Vogelweide. While many of the Minnesang stanzas have their origin in courtly songs, the Latin texts are poems of the literati. CB 140–CB 159 describe the coming of spring, beginning with the standard Natureingang, and the gathering of young folk for dancing and love-making. A second group of songs, CB 160–CB 164, evokes the imagery of summer and the classical concept of love roused and sent as a torment by Venus and Amor. The poetry of Classical antiquity provides exempla for the songs concerned with springtime and those preoccupied with the furor amoris, and even offers models for the musical setting of these songs, in which young and old come together in the meadow to dance a roundelay. The typical term for that kind of dance in the songs of the Codex Buranus is the feminine noun ‘chorea’, borrowed from Classical literature.31 This term differs from the masculine ‘chorus’, which is used

30

The debate on the use of dactyls in Minnesang poetry dating to c. 1200 began in the 1880s, with scholarship seeking to explain the presence of a metre that was uncommon in the German language. See, for example, Richard Weissenfels, Der daktylische Rhythmus bei den Minnesängern (Halle: Niemeyer, 1886). Gabriela Paule reached the same conclusion already proposed in Olive Sayce, The Medieval German Lyric, 1150–1300: The Development of its Themes and Forms in their European Context (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982), namely that the dactyls derived from Romance poetry, in which dactylic rhythms were associated with dance and dancing; see Gabriela Paule, Der Tanhûser: Organisationsprinzipien der Werküberlieferung in der Manesseschen Handschrift (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1994), 138. 31 For instance, the term ‘chorea’ is used by Ovid (Metamorphoses 14.520): ‘ad numerum motis pedibus duxere choreas’ (‘they led their dances in rhythm with nimble feet’). In

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Illustration 10.10. Songs notated by n4 # CB 140 §6 CB 142 §4 CB 143 §4 CB 146 §6 CB 147 §5 CB 150 §4 CB 151 §6 CB 159 (= CB 85) CB 160 CB 161 §3 CB 162 §6 CB 164 §6 CB 166 §5

Incipit Terra iam pandit / Nu suͤ ln wir alle froͮ de han Tempus adest floridum / Ich solde eines morgenes gan Ecce gratum et optatum / Ze niwen vroͮ den Tellus flore uario / Nahtegel sing einen don Si de more / Sage, daz ih dirs iemmer lone Rediuiuo uernat flore / Ich pin cheiser ane chrone Virent prata / So wol dir meie Veris dulcis in tempore Dum estas inchoatur Ab estatis foribus / Diu werlt frovͤ t sih uber al O consocii / Svͦ ziv vroͣ we min Ob amoris pressuram / Ih wolde gerne singen Iam dudum amoris militem / Solde auer ich mit sorgen

Author

Pseudo-Reinmar

Reinmar Heinrich von Morungen Walther von der Vogelweide

Reinmar

more generically for a group of people gathered together. The Carmina Burana listed in Illustration 10.11 contain at least one of these terms. A particularly revealing example is found in CB 92 §§60–70, in which the maidens Phyllis and Flora finally reach Amor’s paradisus.32 They enter a hidden place in a forest, where they hear the music of voices and instruments (drums, harps, psalterium, lyre, hurdy-gurdy, viol, panpipe) in consonant harmony, as well as birdsong. As they approach, they see the performance accompanied by the music:

Odes 1.9.15–16, Horace advises the youths: ‘nec dulcis amores | sperne puer neque tu choreas’ (‘whilst a lad do not spurn sweet love and dances’). 32 See also the contribution by Franklinos in this volume.

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Illustration 10.11. ‘Chorus’ and ‘chorea’ in the Codex Buranus # CB 59 CB 71 CB 73

§ 1.1 3a.1–2 3a

CB 75 CB 80 / CB 228 CB 145

3.7–8 1a.5–7

CB 168 CB 169 CB 170

1.3–5 2.1–2 3.2–3

5

chorus/chorea ‘Ecce chorus uirginum’ ‘Iam Dionea leta chorea | sedulo resonat cantibus horum’ ‘Satyros hoc excitat | et Dryadum choreas | rediuiuus incitat | hoc ignibus napeas’ ‘Ad plateas descendamus | et choreas uirginum’ ‘Gaudet chorus iuuenum | dum turba frequens auium | garritu modulatur’ [labelled ‘conductus’ in CB 228] ‘Late pandit tilia | frondes, ramos, folia, | thymus est sub ea | uiridi cum gramine, | in quo fit chorea’ ‘Ac rideat, | cui se hec chorea | implicat’ ‘In Amoris hec chorea | cunctis prenitet’ ‘Sicut flos est florum | rosa, supereminet uirginalem chorum’

67. Vident chorus iuuenum  et domicellarum […] 69. Circa silua medium  locus est occultus, ubi uiget maxime  suus deo cultus, Fauni, Nymphe, Satyri,  comitatus multus, tympanizant, concinunt  ante dei uultus. 70. Portant uina manibus  et coronas florum, Bacchus nymphas instruit  et choros faunorum. seruant pedes ordinem  et instrumentorum sed Silenus titubat  nec psallit in chorum. (CB 92 §§67, 69–70) 67. They see the group of dancers, young men and women. […] 69. Near the middle of the wood is a hidden spot, where worship of the god is at its most vigorous; Fauns, Nymphs, Satyrs – a great company – strike timbrels and sing in concord before the face of the god. 70. They carry wine in their hands and chaplets of flowers; Bacchus directs the Nymphs and the troupes of Fauns: these preserve the disposition of dancing and of instruments; but Silenus staggers and does not sing in concord with the choir.

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Such a scenario resembles settings found elsewhere, for instance in Walther von der Vogelweide’s well-known ‘“Nemt, frouwe, disen kranz”. Also sprah ich zu einer wol getanen maget, “so zieret ir den tanz”’ (‘“Take, my lady, this crown of flowers”, so I spoke to a beautiful young woman, “so that you may adorn the dance”’; C 51). Although the setting in CB 92 follows classical models, the description of the musical instruments looks to contemporary medieval practice: the characters from antiquity dance to medieval music. If this bacchanal scenario resembled the medieval chorea, it could help to explain why Jacques de Vitry passed a negative verdict on this type of dance in his Sermones uulgares: ‘chorea est circulus cuius centrum est diabolus et omnes uergunt in sinistrum’ (‘the chorea is a circular dance at whose centre is the devil, and all [its participants] have a tendency toward the left [evil]’).33 What de Vitry may have disliked most about the chorea is the participation of both men and women, who held hands whilst dancing a roundelay in a secluded place in the forest. Since the chorea was a secular, if not a popular, dance, it lacks written musical sources, and relied on oral transmission and impromptu performance.

Virent prata (CB 151) Given this lack of written sources, it is exciting that n4 seems to have included such a chorea in the Codex Buranus: CB 151 (Illustration 10.12) features two notated stanzas, and concludes with a German stanza (‘So wol dir meie’, §6) by Walther von der Vogelweide, the beginning of which is also notated.34 Another stanza that most scholars consider to be part of the same German poem concludes CB 169, albeit without neumes (‘Roter munt wie du dih swahest’, §5). CB 151 and CB 169 both mention the chorea; the former also uses the noun ‘chorus’ in §3: ‘congregatur augmentatur cetus iuuenum. adunatur colletatur chorus uirginum, et sub tilia ad choreas Venereas salit mater, inter eas sua filia’ (‘a group of young men gathers and grows, a chorus of maidens joins them and shares in the joy, and below a linden tree keeping time with the dancers in honour of Venus, a mother leaps; among the dance(r)s is her daughter’). Is it possible that a poem which has as its central focus a chorea would have used the music of such a dance for its performance? The song Quant je voi l’erbe menue (RS 2067) by the trouvère Gautier d’Espinal is furnished with diastematic Messine neumes For a discussion of dance in medieval sources, see Julia Zimmermann, Teufelsreigen – Engelstänze: Kontinuität und Wandel in mittelalterlichen Tanzdarstellungen (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2007). 34 CB 151 and CB 169 are also discussed in detail in Hope’s contribution to this volume. 33

Illustration 10.12. Synoptic transcription of CB 151 (from Lammers, 292)

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in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 20050, f. 54. If this song does indeed relate to CB 151 through contrafacture, it allows scholars to construct a melody for CB 151 – as attempted, for instance, by René Clemencic.35 CB 151 is strictly trochaic. Many little ornaments in the form of twonote ligatures give the melody a smooth, floating character. Nevertheless, the ornaments do not contain expressive devices such as the quilisma, but provide simple musical embellishment, especially on unstressed beats. While the first beat is stressed by the metre, the second, unstressed beat is emphasised musically, raising the question of whether the song was meant to be performed in duple metre, with beats of equal length, or in triple metre with 1:2 or 2:1 lengths. The canzona’s cheerful melody also produces a continuous waltzing effect: starting on C, the main line-breaks cadence on D, before the new lines begin on C. In this way, the melody corresponds to the pulsing metre. One can easily imagine a circle of dancing people, holding hands, touching the ground on the downbeat and lifting the foot on the upbeat, maybe in a sliding motion or as a saltatio, moving (and singing) through a cycle of stanzas – whether in Latin, German, or French. Compiled around 1230, the Codex Buranus presents these different types of music in a form of notation that was already old-fashioned at the time. There was no established tradition of notating secular music and it would have made little sense to use the square notation associated with other repertories because this could capture neither the rhythmic and metrical subtleties, nor the refinement of the expressive ornamentation, nor the traditions of instrumental accompaniment of such songs. The songs of the Codex Buranus lived in performance and were transmitted orally, from one place to another, from one musician to another. The Codex Buranus – though its songs do not sit comfortably within modern ontologies of music – reflects a musical world of the Middle Ages that is not represented in the canonical manuscripts.

Recovering the Music of the Codex Buranus: An Experiment When I started working on (Hungarian-)Romanian traditional music, the striking resemblance of its musical genres with medieval types of music came as a surprise. Of course, the Romanian repertoire did not have identical pieces of music, but it seemed to transmit a conglomerate of genres (even with their 35

Michael Korth, René Clemencic, and Ulrich Müller (eds), Carmina Burana: Lateinischdeutsch: Gesamtausgabe der mittelalterlichen Melodien mit den dazugehörigen Texten (Munich: Heimeran, 1979), 115–17 and 196.

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associated terminologies and performance styles) which may have roots in older traditions. Until recently, the area north and south of the Carpathian mountains resembled a geographical time capsule, continuously under – but also resisting – the influence of their Byzantine, Ottoman, Russian, and German invaders.36 In the Middle Ages, perhaps most notably in the timeframe in which the music of the Codex Buranus was conceived and written down, this area was a crucial cultural crossroads in Europe. For instance, the complete second part of the Nibelungenlied – written most probably around 1200 – deals with the Burgundian kings on their way to the court of Etzel, King of the Huns; in the Sängerkrieg at the Wartburg, as transmitted in the Codex Manesse37 and the Jena Songbook,38 Heinrich von Ofterdingen chooses the most influential of the Minnesänger, Klingsor of Hungary-Transylvania, as his supporter; and the fictive Rabenschlacht Epos speaks of two Transylvanian nobles who come to the aid of Dietrich von Bern. Hungary was firmly embedded not only in medieval German literature, but also in its politics. Andrew II of Hungary (1177–1235), married to the Bavarian princess Gertrud of Andechs-Merania, settled the liberties of the new Saxon communities and sent for the Teutonic Order to guard Hungary’s eastern territories. His daughter Elizabeth married the Count of Thuringia, residing at the Wartburg. Andrew II’s sister was the wife of the Byzantine emperor, Isaac II. Albert III, Count of Tyrol, Vogt of the diocese of Brixen and the monasteries of Neustift and Benediktbeuern, gave his daughter in marriage to the nephew of Gertrud, Queen of Hungary. Moreover, one of the main routes to Constantinople and Jerusalem ran along the Danube through Hungary.39 It is reasonably plausible that the North Carpathian territories (Transylvania and Moldavia) came into close contact with Western music, and it is certain that the region south of the Carpathians (Wallachia) was influenced by Byzantine culture40 and traditions of Islamic music.41 The latter also impacted Western 36 37 38 39

40

41

On Romanian history, see Lucian Boia, Romania: Borderland of Europe, trans. by James Christian Brown (London: Reaktion, 2001). Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cod. Pal. germ. 848. Jena, Thüringer Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, MS El. f. 101. The importance of Hungary in the Middle Ages is discussed in Pál Engel, The Realm of St Stephen: A History of Medieval Hungary, 895–1526, trans. by Tamás Pálosfalvi (London and New York: Tauris, 2001). Romanian music continued to be notated in Byzantine neumes until the end of the nineteenth century. For the influence of Byzantine on Romanian music, see the numerous publications by Titus Moisescu. One of the most interesting examples of Romanian music based on Ottoman models is the so-called manea, deriving from the Turkish word mani. The manea was a type

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Illustration 10.13. A selection of traditional Romanian music genres Genre Cântecul de leagăn Colinda

Translation Song of the Cradle

Christmas (from the Slavic term ‘Kolenda’) Songs of the Star, Cântecele de stea, Little Plough, pluguşor, Herod, Irozisau, Bethlehem Vicleim Cântecul bătrânescsa ubătrân ballade Jocul românesc Romanian game

Jocul căluşarilor

Joc de sarit Batuta Muzica bisericea scăs trămoşească

Comment ‘lullabies’, e.g. Resonet in laudibus carols, cantiones, used by the children to process from house to house

old(-fashioned) song ‘game’ in the sense of the Middle High German ‘spil’; a performative variant of the dance song, also meaning exhibition dance morisca, morris dance

Game of the Little Horses; (another translation may derive from the word ‘collusii’, i.e. ‘the ones who play together’) Game of jumping a leap dance; like the Middle High German ‘springen’, for dancing the beaten stamping dance traditional church music of the forefathers

medieval music on the other side of the European continent, on the Iberian peninsula.42 In spite of these competing influences on the musical traditions of the area around the Carpathians, it seems that various ethnic minorities living alongside one another managed to preserve their own (musical) traditions – lost elsewhere – for hundreds of years. of courtly love song, performed at the Bojar festivities by Romi slaves. See Hendrik Kraft, ‘Zur Ablehnung der manele in Rumänien: Versuch eines Einblicks’, in Romanica et Balcanica, ed. by Thede Karl, Johannes Kramer, and Elton Prifti, Jenaer Beiträge zur Romanistik, 7 (Munich: Akademische Verlagsgemeinschaft, 2015), 427–39 (434–39). 42 For the possible connections between Arabic traditions and the Codex Buranus, see Stolz’s contribution in this volume.

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One of Romania’s earliest and most influential ethnomusicologists, George Breazul, followed the example of the Hungarian Béla Bartók, collecting and publishing examples of several musical genres, of which some have relatives in the medieval repertoire (Illustration 10.13).43 Two types of genre are of special interest for the interpretation of the Carmina Burana: the doina and bocetul (lament/planctus); and the sârba and hora (roundelay/chorea). These genres are normally referred to as ‘folk music’, although many are performed by musically trained specialists: the so-called lăutari learn and teach their traditional repertoire orally. The lăutari of the Romanian south were often – and continue to be – ethnic Roma, who performed at court. From an etymological point of view, the term lăutar possibly derives from the word lauta (‘lute’), an instrument with plucked strings known from sixteenth-century murals at the monasteries of Humor, Voroneţ, Suceviţa, and from historical documents and religious literature. The presence of a specifically Western European medieval instrument in these contexts is by no means accidental. The role and place of the lăutari in society, the musical genres in question, and even a few of the repertories, correspond to those of the troubadours, trouvères, and Minnesänger. During the twelfth to fourteenth centuries, epic chants, ballads, and songs of love are known across the whole of Europe, and the dance suites from the Codru region (Satu Mare) and the Bucovina derive from medieval courtly dances.44 Comparison of the music of the lăutari with the songs of the Codex Buranus seems to point suggestively to a set of relationships between these two repertories which may be fruitfully explored. In the following, I assess the ways in which knowledge of the Romanian doina, sârba, and hora might influence modern understandings and performances of the Carmina Burana.

The Doina and CB 108 The doina, for instance, resembles the medieval laments (notated by n1); like the latter, it can appear in various types and makes frequent use of so-called ‘melisme’

43

Heike Lammers-Harlander, ‘Noten zur Identität: George Breazul und die LehrplanNeugestaltung des Musikunterrichts im Rumänien der Zwischenkriegszeit’, Zeitschrift für Siebenbürgische Landeskunde, 109 (2015), 161–75. 44 Marian Lupaşcu, ‘Folclorul românesc: De la cântări medievale la variante actualizate’, in Von Hora, Doina und Lautaren: Einblicke in die rumänische Musik und Musikwissenschaft, ed. by Thede Kahl (Berlin: Frank & Timme, 2016), 23–52 (32–33).

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to ornament its melodies.45 According to Vincent Rastädter, the first written source to document the doina is Dimitrie Cantemir’s Descriptio Moldaviae of 1716.46 The genre’s etymology and origin, however, remain unclear: Although it is difficult to determine the exact age of the doina, one may safely maintain that it does not belong to the more recent genres of Romanian folklore. One can consequently assume that at least a few of the doinavariants that are known today underwent more or less significant alterations in relation to any hypothetical prototype.47

Sung or played on instruments, the main function of the doina is to express grief and longing. The genre affords a moment of catharsis for its performer – whether in private or public performance. The doina often opens with a stanza that evokes images of nature, as in the Natureingang of Minnesang. There are several subgenres, including the doina de dragoste (‘doina of love’), de dor (‘of longing’), and de jale (‘of lament’). A special subgenre is reserved for funerary rites: the bocet. This genre’s name derives from the Romanian verb a boci, which is synonymous with a plânge (‘to cry, to lament’); bocet is nothing other than the Romanian equivalent of the Latin noun planctus. Two modern performances of the doina have been included on the volume’s online platform as typical examples of the genre (Illustrations 10.14 and 10.15).48 As Rastädter and others have outlined, the doina consists of octosyllabic trochees with a special emphasis on the penultima; each stanza encompasses three to twelve lines. The text’s strict metre is not, however, replicated in the music. The melodies are free-flowing, with many melismas and a number of expressive devices such as the so-called ‘weeping sigh’ (‘schluchzender Laut’) first described by Béla Bartók, the tremolo on long notes, or the parlato passages. The doina’s tonality resembles the dorian mode.49 The many examples of doine from across Romania, which were recorded on phonograph cylinders by George Breazul at the beginning of the twentieth century, may afford a more nuanced understanding of In 2009, the doina was included on UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage; see [accessed 13 February 2019]. 46 Vincent Rastädter, Die Doina: eine Einführung in den lyrischen Gesang Rumäniens (Oldenburg: BIS, 2015), 144. 47 Rastädter, Die Doina, 152. 48 Online material in this chapter can be found at https://soundcloud.com/ boydellandbrewer/sets/revisiting-the-codex-buranus. 49 Rastädter, Doina, 39: ‘If one disregards the […] alterations, it becomes apparent that the scale of many doine […] resembles the dorian tonality of the Gregorian modes.’ 45

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this genre. Detailed research into these materials is a desideratum: thousands of songs are now held at the Institutul de Etnografie si Folclor ‘Constantin Brailoiu’ in Bucharest and await digitisation. Some Romanian musicians have performed the opening melisma of CB 108 in the manner of the doine, illustrating the expressive affinity of the two genres (Illustration 10.16, online). The ligatures of the medieval song are performed in a manner akin to the melisme of modern-day doine: the melodies are sung rapidly and employ a range of vocal techniques in order to clothe them in expressive ornamentation and bestow the syllabic texts with a sense of boundlessness.

The Sârba and CB 19 The sârba offers another possible Romanian analogue to the repertory of the Codex Buranus. A fast Romanian group dance (a roundelay), the sârba is thought to derive its name from the Romanian adjective ‘sârba’ (‘being from Serbia’). Breazul includes the following example of a vocal sârba oltenească, a sârba from the Oltenia region south of the Carpathians (Illustration 10.17). The melody is syllabic: apart from the three-note cadence, it contains no ornaments. The melody’s rhythmic structure, too, is very simple, progressing in regular quavers. The stanza consists of three repeated phrases: a4, b4, and c4, each of which varies the melodic material only slightly. Breazul’s example shows some Ottoman influence in the melody: it is rooted on d with a secondary emphasis on a, ornamenting the melody with the augmented fourth, major sixth, and major seventh. The instrumental sârba, in contrast, seems to be a completely different type of music. Its joyous melody is suspended above a bourdon that

Sârba Oltenia George Breazul 2, 130

a

å å å Så å å å Rå å å A Q 24 S å Så b

A Q Rå å Så å AQ

ù æ å å å å L Rå å Så å

c

å å Så å

å å Så å

Rå å Så å

ù æ a' Så å å å Så å å å Rå å Så å å å å å L b' ù æ L Rå å Så å å å å å ù æ c' å å å å L å å Så å

ù æ å å å å L Rå å Så å å å Så å

Rå å Så å

ù æ å å å å L

ù æ å å å å L

ù æ å å å å L

Illustration 10.17. Vocal sârba, melodic progression after George Breazul

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alternates between the bass note and the third above it, with the flute playing rapid, ornamented groups of three notes. The average sârba, however, combines both of these characteristics – the repetitive melody of Breazul’s vocal transcription and the instrumental, improvisatory nature of my second example: it commonly features a fast instrumental part with ternary rhythms as well as a slower vocal part with binary rhythms. A further instrumental line is placed above the main melody and ornaments the tune with furious melismas, while the bass line insistently stresses the ternary rhythm. The simple, unadorned vocal line has to stand its ground in between this musical texture, as demonstrated in recordings available online (Illustrations 10.18 and 10.19). The melodic characteristics of CB 19 can be seen to correspond to this type of melody. So, as an experiment, one could add instrumental lines in fast triplets to the song’s binary melody and perform it at a swift tempo. The recording of CB 19 included online (Illustration 10.20) emphasises the sârba’s main characteristics.

The Hora and CB 151 Finally, we might look to the Romanian hora. The genre’s name is believed to derive from the Greek choros, which also supplied the name for the Bulgarian horo. Since hora is a feminine noun, however, it might be more plausible to see it as a Romanian equivalent for chorea, rather than choros. The hora is a group dance in the form of a roundelay, with the dancers moving to the left or to the right. As a dance for the community, the hora is performed at family or public events: it is performed outside or in large inside areas in order to allow sufficient space for the dancers to execute their circular movement and to invite the audience to participate. In contrast to the sârba (discussed above), the hora derives its musical rhythm from the metre of its lyric texts. The modern hora is performed in a moderately paced metre of 4/4, with musical ornaments on the weak beats; it can, however, accelerate in the course of the dance, and there are also examples in triple metre, elongating the second stresses (1:2). The instrumental ensemble is largely homorhythmic, following the same basic rhythmical pattern. Two examples of the hora are included online (Illustrations 10.21 and 10.22). These musical features of the hora can be applied to a performance of CB 151. As in the hora, the two-note ligatures of CB 151 can be used to divide the beats into smaller units (in the proportion 1:2), rather than understanding them as ornaments. In the experimental recording provided online (Illustration 10.23), the accompanying instruments are given a range of functions: one instrument

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stresses the beat while another accompanies the melody; one functions as bass, while the others provide a bourdon that opens up a specific tonal range.

Conclusion The generic range of melodies transmitted in the Codex Buranus shows some significant differences when compared to the concordances found in contemporary sources. The groups of songs that were notated by the manuscript’s three main notators can usefully be thought of as treating three distinct types of medieval secular music: laments with heavily ornamented melodies; dance songs with simple, syllabic melodies; and choreae with two-note ligatures that break up the metrical stresses. The songs were not notated at random but, it seems, according to their musical genre. This kind of music was produced at a time of change: previously understood as the result of particular performances, (notated) melodies were increasingly becoming fixed entities in the thirteenth century, with song melodies being ossified as tenors in a compositional structure. Thus, the Codex Buranus is unique in transmitting a corpus of song that, traditionally, had been transmitted orally, preserving a repertory that is otherwise lost to modern scholars.50 As I have ventured to suggest in the concluding section of this contribution, however, the performance traditions of medieval secular songs such as the Carmina Burana might not be entirely beyond recovery. The medieval songs of the Codex Buranus not only seem to share some of their musical terminology with Romanian traditional music, but also present a similar range of genres. Possibly there are also similarities concerning performance conventions, as well as the functional use of these songs for dancing. Further study of these similarities – alongside a renewed consideration of the musical transmission within the Codex Buranus – may offer fruitful avenues towards a fresh understanding of medieval music.

50

See also Drumbl’s conclusion about the plays of the Codex Buranus in his contribution.

Chapter 11

Locating the Codex Buranus: Notational Contexts Charles E. Brewer From its inception, the Codex Buranus was intended as a collection of songs and verse.1 While a few metrical uersus are included among the more typical lyric texts, the rhythmi, it is evident that the manuscript’s lineation was designed to allow space above the words for musical signs, now traditionally called neumes, to be added later.2 Even when the texts were copied, the music must have been in the mind of the scribe – if not in an exemplar – as blank space was left for melismas, the long melodies sung to a single syllable.3 Though the Codex Buranus offers evidence of an intentional planning of its contents, it was also a work in progress: many details are left unfinished, as seen in the missing initials, the many corrections, and especially the addition of the musical notation.4 Only fifty songs in the manuscript’s present state have neumatic notation, added with varying degrees of completeness, and a further nineteen songs have music only in concordant manuscripts.5

Hans Spanke, ‘Der Codex Buranus als Liederbuch’, Zeitschrift für Musikwissenschaft, 13 (1930–31), 241–51; and, more recently, Bobeth. 2 Even though no notation was added above the text for CB 22 (Gaude – Cur gaudeas, uide!), Bobeth’s claim that no notation was intended is incorrect, since the lineation of this lyric has the same spacing as others with notation; see Bobeth, 88. 3 See Hilka/Schumann, ii.1, 11*–12* and 63*–66*. 4 Hilka/Schumann, ii.1, 11*. See also Christopher de Hamel, Meetings with Remarkable Manuscripts (London: Allen Lane, 2016), 359, who calls the manuscript ‘an evolving work-in-progress’. 5 Bobeth, 93–97, Table 4.1, lists songs with neumes or musical indications in other manuscripts and includes a number of pieces that have been proposed (with greater or lesser probability) as contrafacta of other known songs which I have not included in my numeration. See also the earlier articles by Walther Lipphardt, ‘Unbekannte Weisen zu den Carmina Burana’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, 12 (1955), 122–42, and ‘Einige unbekannte Weisen zu den Carmina Burana aus der zweiten Hälfte des 12. Jahrhunderts’, in Festschrift Heinrich Besseler zum sechzigsten Geburtstag, ed. by the 1

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One persistent question in research on the Codex Buranus has been that of its provenance, which initially was examined most closely from philological and palaeographical perspectives. From the Italianisms in the Latin texts to the regional dialect of German, the linguistic properties reveal that the Codex Buranus was most likely copied in a culturally rich border region. Attempts to locate the provenance of the Codex Buranus have been a changing refrain in scholarship on the manuscript. These studies could form a medieval Baedeker guide to South Bavaria, Styria, Carinthia, and the South Tyrol and the cultural institutions that may have provided the context and resources to produce this manuscript.6 An examination of the musical notation in the Codex Buranus has not been a critical factor in these earlier discussions of provenance. Following Otto Schumann’s analysis in the 1930 commentary to Hilka/Schumann, Heike Sigrid Lammers’s 1997 dissertation was the first detailed investigation of the manuscript’s neumes and raised significant questions concerning some received opinions, but did not address the question of provenance.7 Lammers comments that the basic so-called ‘German’ neumes included signs that, like the German Institut für Musikwissenschaft der Karl-Marx-Universität (Leipzig: Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1961), 101–25. 6 The classic study of this issue is Sayce; but see also the earlier works by Paul Lehmann, Einzelheiten und Eigenheiten des Schrift- und Buchwesens, Sitzungsberichte der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Abteilung, 9 (Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1939), 27; reprinted in Erforschung des Mittelalters, 5 vols (Stuttgart, 1959–62), iv (1961), 1–21 (5); Walther Lipphardt, ‘Zur Herkunft der Carmina Burana’, in Literatur und bildende Kunst im Tiroler Mittelalter, ed. by Egon Kühebacher (Innsbruck: Kowatsch, 1982), 209–23; Georg Steer, ‘“Carmina Burana” in Südtirol: zur Herkunft des clm 4660’, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 112 (1983), 1–37; and, more recently, Fritz Peter Knapp, ‘Die “Carmina Burana” als Ergebnis europäischen Kulturtransfers’, Kultureller Austausch und Literaturgeschichte im Mittelalter: Kolloquium im Deutschen Historischen Institut Paris = Transferts culturels et histoire littéraire au Moyen Age: Colloque tenu à l’Institut Historique Allemand de Paris, 16.–18. 3. 1995, ed. by Ingrid Kasten, Werner Paravicini, and René Pérennec, Beihefte der Francia, 43 (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1998), 283–301; and especially Drumbl. 7 Otto Schumann, ‘Die Neumen’, in Hilka/Schumann, ii.1, 63*–66*. Lammers proposed some corrections to Schumann’s traditional division of notators, significantly in CB 131, where Schumann had suggested that n2 had provided the signs for ‘Dic Christi ueritas’ while n1 wrote those above ‘Bulla fulminante’. Lammers, 35 (and in more detail, 64–80), demonstrated a similarity in the neumes for both songs that indicated n1 was the notator for both. Among the other implications I might draw from this is to dispute Schumann’s conjecture that h1 and n1 were the same, as h1 rather consistently fails to provide enough space for the melismas when copying the text.

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dialect of the texts, reflect a north Italian border location, such as the ancus, which has similarities to manuscripts from Bologna.8 Based on the research presented by Lammers, more recent scholarship on medieval chant, and the provenance suggestions of other scholars, manuscripts for comparison could be identified. As discussed in the present chapter, this broader search has revealed a manuscript and further details that support the provenance suggested by Olive Sayce – the court of the Prince-Bishops of Brixen.9

Brixen or Neustift? Among the most recent theories, the foundation of Augustinian canons at Neustift near Brixen was suggested by Georg Steer, and Fritz Peter Knapp briefly discussed the international cultural importance of the Augustinian canons.10 Their work has been built upon by Peter Godman, who identified the scribe h1 with Chuonradus (Conrad), the scholasticus at the foundation of Augustinian canons at Neustift from 1212 to 1235.11 These discussions of provenance make some general statements about the musical notation and possible similarities to other musical scripts known from the region, but the basic problem for such investigations was the lack of significant manuscripts with notation for comparison with the Codex Buranus.12 Though Godman raises a number of 8

9 10 11 12

Concerning the ancus, see Lammers, 42 and 61–62; and Gregori Maria Suñol, Introduction à la paléographie musicale grégorienne (Tournai: Société de Saint Jean l’Evangéliste Desclée et Cie., 1935), 199–203 (Chapter IX, section D), for a short study of the neumes from Bologna. Sayce, 198–203. Steer, ‘“Carmina Burana” in Südtirol’, 35–37, and Knapp, ‘Die “Carmina Burana”’, 299–301. Godman, 254–56. Steer, ‘“Carmina Burana” in Südtirol’, 36–37, in support of Neustift, but see Lipphardt’s comments in ‘Zur Herkunft’, 209. The so-called ‘Neustift Fragments’ mentioned by Steer and Lipphardt have received a recent detailed study, Gionata Brusa, ‘I frammenti liturgico-musicali di Novacella-Neustift’, in La ricerca sulle fonti musicali in Trentino-Alto Adige, ed. by Giulia Gabrielli (Lucca: LIM, forthcoming), who notes that ‘among the hundreds of identified fragments, apart from a single lucky case, none are attributed with certainty to Neustift; if not produced by the scriptorium itself, they are at least from the ancient library of the Abbey’ (‘Tra le centinaia di frammenti individuati, a parte un unico caso fortunato, nessuno è attribuinile con sicurezza a Novacella: se non prodotto dallo scriptorium stesso, almeno proveniente dall’antica biblioteca dell’Abbazia’). I thank the author for providing a pre-publication copy of his research.

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objections against accepting Brixen as a possible place of origin, there is a basic difficulty in that many of the sources that might illuminate the cultural life of the Prince-Bishop’s court during the early thirteenth century have disappeared or are widely dispersed between archives and libraries in Innsbruck, Ljubljana, Munich, and Vienna. Giulia Gabrielli provided the following estimate of extant sources from Brixen that still deserve further investigation: 1,800 court documents, 900 manuscripts, and almost 30,000 individual fascicles.13 Another reason for the paucity of early sources is that on 13 January 1234, a fire devastated large sections of Brixen, severely damaging the cathedral and its surrounding area. It appears that the Chapel of St Catherine (today’s sacristy), which was the passageway from the cloister and cathedral school into the choir, and the altar to St Margaret in the northern transept may have also been damaged in the 1234 fire. This disaster might account for the lack of sources surviving from this period in the history of Brixen cathedral and its school, which was located in the adjacent cloister. Any liturgical manuscripts and the contents of any library associated with the school – if they were not removed – were probably destroyed in the fire. Following extensive repairs, the rebuilt cathedral was solemnly reconsecrated on 31 July 1237 by Archbishop Eberhard of Salzburg (formerly the Bishop of Brixen), along with Bishops Heinrich of Brixen and Heinrich of Seckau.14 Sayce briefly described the Prince-Bishops of Brixen around the period when materials that would produce the Codex Buranus were gathered as well-respected clerics from noble families (see Illustration 11.1).15 Eberhard of Regensberg (c. 1170–1246) reigned as Prince-Bishop of Brixen from 1196 to 1200 and was later selected to be Archbishop of Salzburg (1200–46). Conrad of Rodank Giulia Gabrielli, Katalog der in Bozen und Brixen verwahrten Musikhandschriften im Cantus planus und Cantus fractus (forthcoming); Gabrielli kindly provided a prepublication copy of her research. For a summary, see Giulia Gabrielli, ‘Die liturgischmusikalischen Handschriften in Südtirol: Bozen und Brixen’, Codices manuscripti et impressi, 38.107 (2017), 7–11. 14 Drumbl, 353. See also Georg Tinkhauser, ‘Die alte und neue Domkirche zu Brixen in Tirol’, Mitteilungen der kaiserl. königl. Central-Commission, 6 (1861), 68–72, 90–101, and 120–134 (90–91); and Heinrich Waschgler, ‘Die mittelalterliche Gestalt des Brixner Doms’, Veröffentlichungen des Tiroler Landesmuseums Ferdinandeum, 26–29 (1946/49), 261–307 (300–01). 15 Sayce, 199–200. The following summary biographies are based on: Anselm Sparber, Die Brixner Fürstbischöfe im Mittelalter (Bozen: Athesia, 1968); and Erwin Gatz, Clemens Brodkorb, and Stephan M. Janker, Die Bischöfe des Heiligen Römischen Reiches: ein biographisches Lexikon, 3 vols (Berlin: Duncker & Humbolt, 1990–2001), i (1990), Die Bischöfe des Heiligen Römischen Reiches 1198 bis 1448. 13

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Illustration 11.1. The Prince-Bishops of Brixen Prince-Bishop Eberhard of Regensberg Conrad of Rodank Bertold of Neifen Heinrich of Taufers Egno of Eppan

in post 1196–1200 1200–16 1216–24 1224–39 1240–50

(1140–1216) came from a local family, was educated at the cathedral school in Brixen, made a canon in 1173, joined the Augustinian Canons at Neustift in 1178 and was later provost there, and was then elected by the cathedral chapter in 1200 (Prince-Bishop of Brixen 1200–16). A later chronicler of the Augustinian foundation, Johannes Cellerarius, reported that Conrad had given money to the book writers, stonemasons, and artists in Neustift during his service as provost.16 Bertold of Neifen (†1224) came from Swabian nobility, and by 1208 was an administrator for the Prince-Bishop of Trent and from 1212 protonotar for Frederick II. He was selected provost of Speyer in 1215 and, through the influence of the Staufer, elected Prince-Bishop of Brixen in 1216 and accompanied Frederick II to Rome in 1220 for his coronation as emperor (PrinceBishop of Brixen 1216–24). Heinrich IV of Taufers (†1239) was archdeacon of Aquileia in 1208 and selected as Bishop of Brixen in 1224 but his consecration was delayed until 1228, most likely due to the conflicts between the papacy and the emperor (Prince-Bishop of Brixen 1224–39). Due to his lack of support for the emperor, he was removed from the administration of Brixen in 1236. Bishop Heinrich is also mentioned as a participant at a tournament in May 1226 in Ulrich von Liechtenstein’s autobiographical Der Frauendienst.17 His successor, Egno of Eppan (†1273), who is termed duke in the court documents, was selected by King Conrad IV in 1240, was briefly excommunicated for his support of the emperor against the pope, but in 1250 was selected Bishop of Trent (PrinceBishop of Brixen: 1240–50; Bishop of Trent: 1250–73). It is likely that most of these clerics, like Conrad of Rodank, had grown up in a secular courtly culture but were educated in some manner, if not at a local cathedral or monastery school. While some of the canons later in the century may have been unable to sign their names, it is clear that there was a very active scriptorium supporting the Franz Anton Sinnacher, Beyträge zur Geschichte der bischöflichen Kirche Säben und Brixen in Tyrol, 10 vols (Brixen: Weger, 1821–37), iv (1824), 14–15. 17 See Friedrich Heinrich von der Hagen, Minnesinger: Geschichte der Dichter und ihrer Werke, 8 vols (Leipzig: Barth, 1838–61), iv (1838), 332. 16

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various religious and secular duties of these Prince-Bishops;18 and although the chapter library and archives are now widely dispersed or destroyed, there are still some records of personal libraries owned by the canons, perhaps collected during their periods of higher studies.19 It is commonly held that the contents of the Codex Buranus, mixing metrical uersus with rhymed, lyric rhythmi, and its wide range of subjects and liturgical dramas link the manuscript with the milieu of an educational institution.20 While there are suggestions of an earlier cathedral school in Brixen – the earliest documentation comes from c. 1000 – it is unfortunate that many records concerning the school and its students are no longer extant.21 The chapter statutes allowed for a scholasticus, who may not always have been a canon, and Leo Santifaller was able to identify twenty-three holders of this position between the eleventh and fifteenth centuries.22 In the period around 1230, there are only four known holders of this position: a Conrad was scholasticus at the cathedral school from 1178/79 to 1230; a ‘magister Ortolfus scolasticus’ is mentioned in a document from 1217/20; ‘Heinricus scholasticus brixinensis’ is mentioned in 1228; and Conrad of Reischach is first documented as a scolaris at the Brixen cathedral school between 1236 and 1239, and was later the scholasticus between

18

Godman, 247, who uses the inability to sign documents to support his contention that the miniatures in the Codex Buranus were ‘unlikely to have been produced in the backwater of Brixen on the verge of decline’. The examples Godman cites from Leo Santifaller, Das Brixener Domkapitel in seiner persönlichen Zusammensetzung im Mittelalter, 2 vols (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1924–25), i (1924), 109–10, are, however, from 1370 and 1417, and this might not be sufficient evidence to deduce a decline in literacy during the thirteenth century, as Godman suggests. Santifaller, Brixener Domkapitel, i, 168, also notes a Brixen canon, ‘Bertold scriba’ (1230), who was involved at the chancellory of Innichen Abbey. 19 Santifaller, Brixener Domkapitel, i, 121, notes the lack of sources and systematic examination of the cathedral documents concerning university attendance before the beginning of the fourteenth century, but on 123–26 lists 112 canons from the fourteenth and fifteenth century who studied at various universities (mostly Bologna and Vienna). Santifaller, i, 122–23, states that Heinrich of Brixen, who was matriculated at the University of Bologna 1314–17, was only the first about whom there is clear documentation. 20 Bobeth, 82; and Drumbl, 336 and 353–55. 21 Santifaller, Brixener Domkapitel, i, 101–50, gathers much of the archival information about the school and education of the cathedral canons known at the time of his publication, though he notes (108) the lack of sources before the later thirteenth century describing the curriculum of the cathedral school. 22 Santifaller, Brixener Domkapitel, i, 103–4.

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1261 and 1264.23 The chapter archives also indicate that there were other positions assisting the scholasticus: rector (or magister) scolarium, rector scholae, magister disciplinae, rector scolarum, prefectus scolae, rector puerorum, and subscolasticus.24 While there is little documentation of the curricula at the cathedral school, Santifaller quotes a description from around 1800 of a lost manuscript from the cathedral school, possibly from the twelfth or thirteenth century, which contained an ars grammatica, an ars metrica about writing rhymes and leonine verse, and a discussion of dialectic, which contained aspects of rhetoric and especially logic.25 Other documents from South Tyrol support the notion that the basic disciplines of the triuium (grammar, rhetoric, dialectics) were important.26 There are records of various endowments, including Canon Markward’s donation in 1270 which ensured that the canons would sing the Paschal antiphon Haec est dies, the antiphon Ecce ancilla (for the Feast of the Annunciation and also during Advent), along with the collect Deus, qui de beata Maria in the cloister on their way to Mass every Saturday, Sunday, and feast day.27 Music would have been studied in the cathedral school, and the scholasticus was expected to have a leadership role in the liturgy, though he could ask for assistance. Similar expectations for the scholasticus are found in the later chapter statutes of 1422 and 1485, and probably reflect earlier expectations:

Brixener Domkapitel, i, 103 and 110. Conrad of Reischach is also found as a witness to a document from 1261: ‘Testes dominis Chuonradus Scolasticus, Albertus de Voitsberg (Voitsberch), Hartmannus Cappelanus, Heinricus von Herwigeshouen, Marquardus Volhaber, Merchilinus Scriptor, et alii quam plures’; see Karl Schadelbauer, Innsbrucker Urkunden aus dem Stiftsarchiv Wilten 1238–1350, Veröffentlichungen aus dem Stadtarchiv Innsbruck, 2 (Innsbruck: Selbstverlag des Stadtmagistrates, 1951), no. 2, 8; facsimiles of the original document from 1261 and a transcript from 1434 may be found at [accessed 3 March 2019]. Ortolfus and Henricus are noted by Knapp, ‘Die “Carmina Burana”’, 300. 24 Santifaller, Brixener Domkapitel, i, 104. 25 Johannes Rosbichler, ‘Das Institut der Chorknaben zu Brixen,’ Der Sammler für Geschichte und Statistik von Tirol, 5 vols (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1807–10), iii (1808), 172–85 (176). See also Santifaller, Brixener Domkapitel, i, 108. 26 For an overview, see Anton Zingerle, Über Dom- und Stiftschulen Tirols im Mittelalter mit besonderer Berücksichtigung ihrer Lehrmittel (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1896). 27 Santifaller, Brixener Domkapitel, i, 201; Santifaller labels Deus, qui de beata Maria as an antiphon. See also Sparber, Brixner Fürstbischöfe, 37, who mentions twenty benefices for singing the offices in the cathedral, based on the discussion of the cathedral choir in Georg Tinkhauser, Topographisch-historisch-statistische Beschreibung der Diöcese Brixen, 5 vols (Brixen: Weger, 1855–1891), i (1855), 146–54. 23 Santifaller,

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Itemque summus scholasticus qui habet locum cantoris in choro et maxime in maioribus festiuitatibus in matutinis, missis et uesperis habeat potestatem eligendi sibi unum de canonicis quemcumque uoluerit, qui secum in cantu et intonatione cantus assistat, donec predicta officia ista uice compleantur. And also lastly, the scholasticus, who has the place of cantor in the choir, and especially in the major feasts at Matins, Masses, and Vespers, should have power of choosing for himself one of the canons, whomsoever he will wish, who would assist him in the chant and the intonation of the chant, until these aforementioned offices shall be finished in turn.28

Steer re-emphasised a point made earlier by Schumann and Hugo Kuhn, namely that the Codex Buranus must have been written in an active and longestablished scriptorium, which also included notators and illuminators.29 Bernhard Bischoff points out that the rubricator whose hand is found on f. 108v (ll. 8ff.) ‘is essentially an elegant somewhat restrained letter- or charter-hand’. He concluded that it ‘would be surprising to find a person trained in such a script in a Benedictine monastery around 1250; it seems more appropriate that this hand was written by a secretary of an ecclesiastical court’.30 Though primarily an argument against Benediktbeuern as the origin of the Codex Buranus, it could also apply to other monastic institutions.

Notational Evidence When the character of the manuscript’s musical notation is considered, some context can be gained through comparisons between the Codex Buranus and other music manuscripts, especially from other Augustinian houses, since very little remains from Neustift from the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries.

28 Santifaller, Brixener Domkapitel, i, 105–06 (my translation). 29

Steer, ‘“Carmina Burana” in Südtirol’, 15; Hugo Kuhn, ‘Die Voraussetzungen für die Entstehung der Manessischen Handschrift und ihre überlieferungsgeschichtliche Bedeutung’, in Liebe und Gesellschaft, ed. by Wolfgang Walliczek, Hugo Kuhn: Kleine Schriften, 3 (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1980), 80–105 and 188–92 (92); and Hilka/ Schumann, ii.1, 30*–31* and 63*–66*. 30 Bernhard Bischoff, Carmina Burana: Einführung zur Faksimile-Ausgabe der Benediktbeurer Liederhandschrift = Carmina Burana: Facsimile Reproduction of the Manuscript Clm 4660 and Clm 4660a, Publications of Mediaeval Music Manuscripts, 9 (New York: Institute of Mediaeval Music, 1967; Munich: Prestel, 1970), 28–29.

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Illustration 11.2. Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 1012, f. 12r (detail)

Neustift was founded by Bishop Hartmann of Brixen in 1142 with canons and possibly canonesses from the foundation at Klosterneuburg, where Hartmann had been provost since 1133. It is likely that the earliest liturgical books would have also been brought from Klosterneuburg.31 The manuscripts copied for Augustinian houses in Austria used two distinct types of neumatic notation.32 Many of the manuscripts prepared for the canonesses used a specific style of musical notation that has been termed ‘Klosterneuburg notation’, which may have been related to the reform of Augustinian traditions.33 A set of twelfth-century liturgical books from the Maria Magdalena foundation in Klosterneuburg provide examples of this specific type of staff notation.34 An antiphonary dating from the late twelfth century – Klosterneuburg, AugustinerChorherrenstift, MS 1012 – is very similar in size to the Codex Buranus, but the layout of MS 1012 is very different and much more spacious due to the more elaborate nature of the musical signs; the style of the musical signs is also different (see Illustration 11.2). The text was written on one line, while two lines 31

This claim is discussed in Brusa, ‘I frammenti liturgico-musicali di Novacella-Neustift’ (forthcoming). 32 Robert Klugseder, ‘Studien zur mittelalterlichen liturgischen Tradition der Klosterneuburger Augustinerklöster St. Maria and St. Magdalena’, Musicologica Austriaca, 27 (2008), 11–43; and Michael L. Norton and Amelia J. Carr, ‘Liturgical Manuscripts, Liturgical Practice, and the Women of Klosterneuburg’, Traditio, 66 (2011), 67–169. 33 A concise summary of this notation can be found in Debra S. Lacoste, ‘The Earliest Klosterneuburg Antiphoners’, doctoral dissertation, University of Western Ontario, 1999, 95–117; her work is based on Janka Szendrei, ‘The Introduction of Staff Notation into Middle Europe’, Studia Musicologica Academiæ Scientiarum Hungaricæ, 28 (1986), 303–319; and Stefan Engels, ‘Die Notation der liturgischen Handschriften aus Klosterneuburg’, Musicologica Austriaca, 14/15 (1996), 33–74. 34 These are described in Lacoste, ‘The Earliest Klosterneuburg Antiphoners’.

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Illustration 11.3. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 13.314, f. 30r (detail)

(one coloured and the other drypoint) were used as a regulus (staff) to indicate the exact pitches to be sung. The claves (key) to the graph are the red line that traditionally indicated the pitch F, and the letters placed either on a line or in a space at the beginning of each line to help visualise the pitch levels. In contrast to this staff notation, the Augustinian canons at Klosterneuburg used adiastematic neumes copied with a distinct style and ductus. According to present research, the earliest musical source that can be connected with the St Mary foundation at Klosterneuburg is Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 13.314, copied in the twelfth century (see Illustration 11.3).35 Aside from the very different text hands, a comparison of the neumes in MS 13.314 and the Codex Buranus demonstrates a very different style of notation. This discrepancy is most clear in the different forms for the clivis and torculus, which in the Codex

35

Franz Karl Praßl, ‘Codex Wien Österreichische Nationalbibliothek 13.314: das älteste Klosterneuburger Gradual (Missale)?’, in Wiener Quellen der älteren Musikgeschichte zum Sprechen gebracht: eine Ringvorlesung, ed. by Birgit Lodes, Wiener Forum für ältere Musikgeschichte, 1 (Tutzing: Schneider, 2007), 83–109; and Robert Klugseder et al., Katalog der mittelalterlichen Musikhandschriften der Österreichische Nationalbibliothek Wien, Codices Manuscripti & Impressi: Zeitschrift für Buchgeschichte, Supplementum, 10 (Purkersdorf: Hollinek, 2014), 86–91.

Illustration 11.4. Comparison of selected neumes between MS 13.314, MS 1717, and the Codex Buranus (n1 and n2) MS

clivis

torculus

MS 13.314

MS 1717

Codex Buranus, n1

Codex Buranus, n2

Illustration 11.5. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1717, f. 197r (detail)

Illustration 11.6. Comparison of CB 131, f. 54r (left) and Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 73, f. 40r (right)

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Buranus have a flatter top than the sharply angled neumes of MS 13.314 (see Illustration 11.4). Closer in time to the Codex Buranus is Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1717, a notated breviary from the first half of the thirteenth century.36 Though much smaller in size than the Codex Buranus, its script is similar, but the notation retains the same Klosterneuburg characteristics as MS 13.314 (see Illustration 11.5). A comparison can also be made between the Codex Buranus and Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 73, a notated missal from the later thirteenth century. The parchment is about a third larger than the Codex Buranus and of very high quality. The initial letters and their filigree-work, the alternation of red and blue ink, and the overall care in copying the text and musical signs contrast with the work-in-progress character of the Codex Buranus. The notation uses adiastematic ‘Germanic’ neumes but the sharp angles and slanting right ductus of the Klosterneuburg script contrast with the neumes of the Codex Buranus (see Illustration 11.6). These brief comparisons indicate that the Codex Buranus was most likely written by scribes who were not familiar with the traditions of musical notation emulated by the Augustinian sources that would have formed the basis for the music at Neustift and other Augustinian foundations.37 There are, however, closer comparisons in sources that have been catalogued or re-evaluated more recently. Two manuscript song collections have often been compared with the Codex Buranus. The late thirteenth-century source often named the ‘Weingarten Cantionarium’ (Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, MS HB I 95) has many concordances with the Codex Buranus (see Illustration 11.7a). The recent research of Lauren Elizabeth Purcell-Joiner has provided a strong case that at least the main corpus of this manuscript was copied at the Benedictine double monastery at Engelberg.38 The ‘Seckau Cantionarium’ from c. 1345 (Graz, Universitätsbibliothek, MS 756) mostly contains tropes and other paraliturgical songs (see Illustration 11.7b).39 Both of these sources use adiastematic German neumes: Stuttgart, MS HB I 95 employs the type associated with Benedictine use 36 Klugseder, Katalog, 47–53. 37

I have examined manuscripts with similar notation from Seckau (see below) and Vorau, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 401. 38 Lauren Elizabeth Purcell-Joiner, ‘Veil and Tonsure: Stuttgart 95, Devotional Music, and the Discursive Construction of Gender in Thirteenth-Century Double Houses’, doctoral dissertation, University of Oregon, 2017. 39 Wolfgang Irtenkauf, ‘Das Seckauer Cantionarium vom Jahre 1345 (Hs. Graz 756)’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, 13/2 (1956), 116–41; and Charles E. Brewer, ‘In Search of Lost Melodies: The Latin Songs of Graz 756’, in Dies est leticie: Essays on Chant in

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whereas Graz, MS 756 uses the style associated with the Augustinians. Both later manuscripts indicate that the consistent use of adiastematic neumes in Central European manuscripts did not constitute an anomaly but was part of a long-lived culture that did not rely upon a diastematic notation system to remember the melodies preserved in these sources. There are manuscripts with closer parallels to the Codex Buranus than Augustinian sources, whose notational style is different. Some of these other manuscripts have a clear Benedictine provenance even if monasteries of Central Europe developed their own notational style.40 One that displays strong resemblances is Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1890 (Illustration 11.8).41 This breviary was copied around 1200 for the Benedictine monastery of St Georgenberg at Fiecht in the North Tyrol. The neumes in this source include the ancus, which is much closer to the earlier form found in Bologna, other signs similar to the Codex Buranus, such as the virga and quilisma, and, among other details, the little ‘circles’ that begin some of the neumes (such as the pes and torculus). While Vienna, MS 1890 is slightly smaller than the Codex Buranus, there is a similar page layout, with twenty-two lines of text, the size of which is varied if neumes are to be added. Though it is hard to see in the digital image of the manuscript, it also has the same double margin lines as the Codex Buranus. There are possible reasons for these similarities. Around the year 1000, the community at St Georgenberg had received donations from Bishop Albuin of Brixen. Its foundation as a Benedictine monastery in 1138 was promoted by Bishop Reginbert of Brixen (consecrated 1125, †1140), who was himself a Benedictine monk, and the monastery remained in the Diocese of Brixen. In 1204, Conrad of Rodank consecrated the church in St Georgenberg, and this manuscript may have Honour of Janka Szendrei, ed. by David Hiley and Gábor Kiss, Musicological Studies, 90 (Ottawa: Institute of Mediæval Music, 2008), 93–111. 40 Janka Szendrei, ‘Choralnotationen in Mitteleuropa’, Studia Musicologica Academiæ Scientiarum Hungaricæ, 30 (1988), 437–46 (444–45): ‘in the twelfth century, several South German Benedictine monasteries – above all, as it seems, the Gregorian reform centres – created their own contact-neume systems, whose lifespan in any case was remarkable only in a few instances’ (‘im zwölften Jahrhundert schufen sich mehrere süddeutsche Benediktinerklöster – vor allem, wie scheint, die gregorianischen Reformzentren, – ihre eigenen Kontaktneumensysteme, deren Lebensdauer jedenfalls nur in wenigen Fällen beachtlich war’). 41 See the revised description of this source by Robert Klugseder, [accessed 15 February 2019]. Some similar musical signs can also be found in a manuscript from St Lambrecht: Graz, Universitätsbibliothek, MS 134, from the thirteenth century.

Illustration 11.7a. Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, MS HB I 95, f. 33v

Illustration 11.7b. Graz, Universitätsbibliothek, MS 756, f. 194v

Illustration 11.8. Comparison of Codex Buranus, f. 5r (left) and Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1890, f. 7v (right)

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been a donation.42 Another similar manuscript is a gradual – Tirolo, Biblioteca di Castel Tirolo-Museo storico-culturale della Provincia di Bolzano, MS 50218529 (olim n. 60) – whose notation is close in style to the St Georgenberg breviary.43

New Evidence: The Case of Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147 The final piece of the puzzle concerning the home for the Codex Buranus may be a manuscript from the court of Brixen, recently described by Gabrielli.44 The major work contained in Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147 is the so-called Calendarium Wintheri, a liturgical calendar, necrology, and urbarium (a register of land ownership). It was compiled by Canon Wintherius, who was the cathedral provost from c. 1217 to 1235, the year of his death. Since its full publication in 1923, the Calendarium has been a major source for local history and historical geography.45 All three extant copies – now held at Bozen, Innsbruck (incomplete), and Munich – date from the mid- to late thirteenth century, and the first two have later additions indicating their continued use in Brixen during the later Middle Ages. The calendar that follows the prologue is what might be expected at the beginning of a breviary (see Illustration 11.9a). Following the calendar, the descriptive text is typically written with thirty-three lines per folio side (see Illustration 11.9b).

42 Gatz, Bischöfe des Heiligen Römischen Reiches, 116.

I find the notation of Tirolo, MS olim n. 60 to be much closer to the St Georgenberg breviary than Augustinian sources, in contrast to Marco Gozzi, I codici liturgici di Castel Tirolo, Monumenta Liturgiæ et Cantus, 1 (Lucca: Libreria Musicale Italiana, 2012), 245. Gozzi proposed that the source may have come from Austrian Augustinian circles of the Archdiocese of Salzburg (Seckau?), perhaps also through the mediation of Neustift. For example, see the ancus in Tirolo, MS olim n. 60, on f. 8r, at the penultimate line (‘Elegerunt’), which is similar to this sign in the breviary. Gozzi, I codici, includes a complete colour facsimile of Tirolo, MS olim n. 60 on a separate CD-ROM. I concur, however, with his description of Bozen, Museo Civico, MS 1304, copied by Rütlibum de Laybaco (of Ljubljana) in 1296, which does have Augustinian characteristics, particularly in the angular clivis and ductus of the notation. 44 See Giulia Gabrielli, I manoscritti liturgico-musicali di Bolzano (secoli XIII–XIX), Bibliotheca Mediævalis, 3 (Lucca: Libreria Musicale Italiana, 2015), 5–8. This manuscript is also listed in Giacomo Baroffio, Iter liturgicum italicum: editio maior (Stroncone: Associazione San Michele Arcangelo, 2011), 61. 45 Leo Santifaller, ‘Calendarium Wintheri, il più antico calendario, necrologio ed urbario del capitolo della cattedrale di Bressanone’, Archivio per l’Alto Adige, 18 (1923), i–iv and 1–647. 43

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Bozen, MS 147 is the only complete copy of the Calendarium and has its own pilgrimage story. It was part of the Brixen cathedral chapter library until it was moved to Vienna in the early nineteenth century and was deposited in the Kaiserliches und königliches Haus-, Hof-, und Staats-Archiv, where it was given the signature ‘Cod. 516’.46 Among the contents noted in the 1873 catalogue were a ‘Sammlung von Lectionen und Antiphonen für verschiedene Kirchenfeste in der Brixner Diözese’ (‘a collection of lessons and antiphons for various church feasts in the Brixen diocese’), but these were not described in Santifaller’s 1923 edition. In 1882, the manuscript was transferred to the Statthaltereiarchiv in Innsbruck, and given the signature ‘Cod. 127’; in 1921, it was transferred back to Bozen in the South Tyrol, where it received its present signature.47 The manuscript’s collection of lessons and antiphons (ff. 28r–36r) forms a separate fascicle which, based on a numeration on the last folio (‘XVIII’), was originally placed before the first fascicle of the Calendarium Wintheri (which is numbered ‘XIX’); none of the other seventeen fascicles that preceded it have yet been located. This music fascicle contains three offices: Ingenuinus and Albuinus, Catherine, and Margaret (see Illustration 11.10).48 The last three folios of the fascicle (ff. 36v–37v) provide a catalogue of relics and treasures of Brixen cathedral from 1379.49 Ingenuinus and Albuinus, along with Peter, were the patron saints of Brixen cathedral in the thirteenth century. As mentioned earlier, there was also a Catherine chapel, which was a passageway from the cloister into the choir of the cathedral, and a major altar dedicated to Margaret was placed in the northern transept.50 The provenance, contents, and usage for this manuscript indicate that it was prepared by the Brixen scriptorium of the Prince-Bishop. Constantin Edlen von Böhm, Die Handschriften des kaiserlichen und königlichen Haus-, Hof-, und Staats-Archivs (Vienna: Braumüller, 1873), 164. 47 A summary of this history is given in the description of a partial manuscript of the Calendarium Wintheri (Innsbruck, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Tirol, MS 942), which was also copied in Brixen: Walter Neuhauser et al., Katalog der Handschriften der Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Tirol in Innsbruck, Veröffentlichungen zum Schriftund Buchwesen des Mittelalters, 2.4, Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Philosophisch-Historische Klasse, Denkschriften, 479 (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2015), Teil 9: Cod. 801–950, Katalogband, 357–59. 48 The Catherine office texts are published in Analecta Hymnica 26, 197–204, with some variants, and the Margaret office texts are contained in Analecta Hymnica 28, 17–20. Gabrielli is planning a more detailed study of this source. 49 Published in Leo Santifaller, ‘Fonti inedite per la storia della Chiesa di Bressanone’, Archivio per l’Alto Adige, 17 (1922), 105–72 (109–11). 50 Tinkhauser, Topographisch-historisch-statistische Beschreibung, i, 169–80 (172), and Tinkhauser, ‘Die alte und neue Domkirche’, 95, respectively. 46

Illustration 11.9a. Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147, f. 1r, Calendarium Wintheri

Illustration 11.9b. Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147, f. 19r, Calendarium Wintheri

Illustration 11.10. Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147, f. 28r

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The offices of Catherine and Margaret include chants that are not found in other contemporary Augustinian manuscripts. While most Neustift manuscripts from this period are missing, some manuscripts from Klosterneuburg are included in the Cantus index. Many of the chants from Bozen, MS 147 are missing in these Augustinian sources.51 Illustration 11.11 provides a comparison of the Matins office from Bozen, MS 147 and Klosterneuburg, AugustinerChorherrenstift, MS 589, an antiphonary used in the Maria Magdalena foundation of Augustinian canonesses. Clearly the sources preserve two different liturgical traditions. The Catherine office in a fifteenth-century manuscript from Neustift, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 15063, is incomplete: its only shared text with Bozen, MS 147 is Inclita sanctae uirginis Katherine, and the melody notated in the two sources is different. The last Matins responsory in Bozen, MS 147, Virgo sancta dei Katherina, may be of particular significance. The recent index of Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1799** – an antiphonary from the Cistercian abbey at Rein, Styria, dated to the second quarter of the thirteenth century – notes that this chant had so far not been found in any other manuscripts.52 That Bozen, MS 147 and Vienna, MS 1799** have similar melodies increases the probability that this responsory may have been a recent regional creation (see Illustration 11.12). The office fascicle in Bozen, MS 147 is carefully laid out and written in a clear textualis cursiua script, which was dated to the later thirteenth century by Santifaller and Baroffio, or the early fourteenth century by Gabrielli.53 The German adiastematic neumes are also written in a clear hand, and were dated to the early fourteenth century by Gabrielli, though she noted a unique form of scandicus and

51

This evidence of difference may help to support the popular claim that ‘the melodies that were sung in Brixen cathedral are supposed to have been different from Augustinian chant’ (‘die Melodien, die im Brixner Dom gesungen wurden, sollen sich vom Neustifter Augustinerchoral unterschieden haben’); see [accessed 15 February 2019]. For further context, see Klugseder, ‘Studien zur mittelalterlichen liturgischen Tradition’. 52 Klugseder et al., Katalog, 85–90; the Catherine office is outlined on pages 85–90 (ff. 223r–25v); Klugseder discusses Virgo sancta dei Katherina in the context of other chants that might reflect a regional repertoire and notes the lack of further known sources. 53 Leo Santifaller, Das Brixener Domkapitel, i, 133, and Gabrielli, I manoscritti liturgicomusicali di Bolzano, 5. The Innsbruck manuscript of the Calendarium Wintheri (Innsbruck, MS 942) has been dated to the mid-thirteenth century; see Neuhauser et al., Katalog der Handschriften, 358–59, who also date Bozen, MS 147 to the early fourteenth century.

3. Virgo sancta dei katherina v. Que oculus non uidit

Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147 [Brixen Cathedral] [Ad Matutinum] Adoremus uirginum regem / in saeculorum saecula In 1. Nocturno 1. Virgo regalis fidei merito specialis ut iubar 2. Hec dominum celi conlectens 3. Virgo sancta katherina grecie 1. Nobilis et pulchra uirgo Katharina v. Cui rex carne pater 2. Martyrium sitiens libamina v. Daemoniis plena 3. Haec quinquagenos oratores v. Efficiens testes In 2. Nocturno 1. Cum essest adhuc in annis / Virgo puerilibus 2. Cesaris intrepide studiis preclara sophie 3. Cesar ut inuictam penitus 1. Christi sanctam tenebroso v. Salue uirgo benedicta 2. Angelus interea descendens v. Confortans teneram Michahel 3. O quam felices per te sanctissima v. Cum duce porphirio In 3. Nocturno 1. Cum cetu uirgineo adueniens 2. Machina penalis nutu dispacta tonantis 3. Martyr ut orauit gladium subit 1. Corpus uirgineum Christi munera v. Purus in etheream 2. O mater nostra [ter] sancta quaterque v. Eterno uirgo memorie Virgo sancta Catharina [=Bozen, MS 147 antiphon 3] Specie corporis decora Traditur ergo a patre Nobilis et pulchra perdens v. Cumque rex carne Martyrium sitiens libamina v. Daemoniis plena sunt Haec quinquagenos oratores v. Efficiens testes fidei quos Cum esset adhuc in annis Maxentius instat impius cum Caesar electos conuocat Christus sanctam tenebroso v. Aue uirgo benedicta quam Virgo flagellatur crucianda v. Sponsus amat sponsam saluator Surge uirgo et nostras sponso v. Pulchrae Sion filia Gloriosam uirginem tyrannus Illa deo dum agit gratias Cum coetu uirgineo adueniens Percussa gladio dat lac v. Membris uirgineis olei fluit O Christi pietas o uirtus v. Virginis ob meritum manet hoc O Christe uirginum gloria [prosula] O mater nostra ter sancta v. Jam Christo juncta sponsoque Aeternae uirgo memoriae quam [prosula]

a a a r r r a a a r r r a a a r r r r r

inv Adoremus uirginum regem

Klosterneuburg, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 589 [Augustinian Canonesses]

Illustration 11.11: Office for St Catherine, Matins; comparison of Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147 and Klosterneuburg, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 589

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Illustration 11.12. Comparison of Virgo sancta dei Katherina: Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147, f. 33v, and Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1799**, ff. 223v–24r Illustration 11.13. Comparison of Codex Buranus; Bozen, MS 147; and Vienna, MS 1890 folio size writing area lineation

Codex Buranus 25 x 17 cm 18.2 x 11 cm 22 lines

Bozen, MS 147 25/25.5 x 16/17 cm 19.3/19.5 x 11.5/11.8 cm 22 lines

Vienna, MS 1890 21.5 x 16.5/17 cm 14.5 x 10.5/11.5 cm 22 lines

Illustration 11.14. Comparison of Vienna, MS 13.314; Vienna, MS 1717; and Klosterneuburg, MS 73 folio size writing area lineation

Vienna, MS 13.314 18.7 x 13 cm 14.5 x 9–9.5 cm variable

Vienna, MS 1717 18 x 12.5 cm 14.7 x 8.8 cm variable

Klosterneuburg, MS 73 38 x 27.5 cm 28.5 x 17.5 cm 24 lines

similarities to the adiastematic neumes in a manuscript possibly from Wiener Neustadt, dated to the mid-thirteenth century.54 What is most striking about Bozen, MS 147 is the similarity in the size and layout of its music fascicle and the Codex Buranus. When the Fragmenta Burana (Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 4660a) were being connected with the Codex Buranus, among the significant criteria were the identity or similarity

54

According to the entry for Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1768 in Klugseder, Katalog, 56–58, the Wiener Neustadt provenance is questionable.

Illustration 11.15. Comparison of Codex Buranus, f. 50r (left) and Bozen, Saatsarchiv, MS 147, f. 35v (right)

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of the lineation and ruling found in both, in addition to the script.55 Comparisons of the basic formats should make clear that Bozen, MS 147 is very similar to the Codex Buranus and Vienna, MS 1890 in its basic layout (see Illustration 11.13) but that these are different from three of the Klosterneuberg manuscripts cited earlier (see Illustration 11.14). While the office fascicle of Bozen, MS 147 is ruled with single lines, the Codex Buranus is ruled with small double-line columns, but similar columns were used in the Calendarium Wintheri. The scripts of both manuscripts are similar textura with red lombards. That the text in both manuscripts was written below the top line of the page indicates that they were copied after 1230 (see Illustration 11.15).56 The German adiastematic neumes in Bozen, MS 147 are much more consistent than any of the notators in the Codex Buranus, though it appears that the manuscript’s office fascicle was prepared with much greater care with a slightly larger pen. As Gabrielli has pointed out, the neume forms are similar to mid-century German neumes found in other Austrian sources, and many of the same neumes are found in the Codex Buranus, but copied without the care shown in Bozen, MS 147 (see Illustration 11.16).57 Moreover, the rubricators of both sources generally filled the blank text space for melismas with a red line. Rather than being notation from the early fourteenth century, the neumes in MS 147 may date from the mid-thirteenth century, given the similarity of layout, script, and the dating of other comparable Austrian manuscripts. The contents of Bozen, MS 147 – including the Calendarium Wintheri, the music fascicle that begins with the office for the cathedral’s patron saints, and the listing of the cathedral’s relics – directly connect this manuscript with the cathedral chapter in Brixen, and it is likely that it was prepared in the local scriptorium as a reference manuscript following the fire at the cathedral in 1234. When the similarities of format, script, and notation with Bozen, MS 147, the presence of a scholasticus and a cathedral school in Brixen, and the secular responsibilities of the Prince-Bishop are combined with the linguistic and repertorial evidence of the Codex Buranus, the scriptorium of the Prince-Bishop emerges as a very likely provenance for this ‘work in progress’.58 55 Bischoff, Carmina Burana, 20.

de Hamel, Meetings, 369–70, dates the change from writing above the top line to below the top line around 1230. 57 Illustration 11.16 can be found online at https://boydellandbrewermusic.com/ revisiting-the-codex-buranus/. 58 Another possible connection is that stanzas from CB 7 are found in Brixen, Priesterseminar, MS E 13 (olim 102). de Hamel, Meetings, 340, suggests that the size of the Codex Buranus is similar to a typical breviary, providing support for its 56

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St Catherine and Some Preliminary Conclusions The contents of Bozen, MS 147 should also be considered in the light of the three hymns, sequence, and dance song in honour of St Catherine that are contained in the Codex Buranus.59 These were all additions made in the later thirteenth century but written with a very different text hand than Bozen, MS 147. While the three hymns – CB 19* (Katharine collaudemus), CB 20* (Pange, lingua, gloriose uirginis), and CB 21* (Presens dies expendatur) – were well known and widely disseminated in Central Europe, they were copied without musical signs. Only Katharine collaudemus is included in the Klosterneuburg hymn collection of Vienna, MS 1717, again indicating a different liturgical context for the contents of the Codex Buranus.60 Since Bozen, MS 147 specifies only the hymn Aue Katherina for Vespers and provides no other hymns for the other Hours, the three additions to the Codex Buranus (ff. 112r/v) may have provided new substitutes. The sequence, CB 22* (Hac in die laudes pie), is less well known, and there have been suggestions that it originated in Seckau in the late twelfth century, again indicating that the compilers of the Codex Buranus were well aware of distinct regional traditions.61 This piece was possibly fully notated in the lyric text hand because of its relative unfamiliarity in comparison to the betterknown works for St Catherine and may have been used at Mass on her feast day. CB 12* (Christi sponsa Katharina), in contrast, is unique to the Codex Buranus. As a song with refrain (‘Gaude, uirgo, Costi regis filia, | per te signa fiunt mirabilia!’, ‘Rejoice, virgin, daughter of King Costus, | by your power wonderful miracles take place’), it was most likely a dance song, perhaps like the refrain songs in the later Moosburg Gradual (Munich, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cim. 100 [olim 2° Cod. ms. 156]), meant for the schoolboys to dance.62 Even the opening versicle of the sequence for St Catherine hints at dancing: ‘Hac in die laudes pie | celi iungant armonie | plausus et tripudia’ (‘On this day may our pious praises | join to the harmony of heaven | clapping and dances’). Not only would Catherine, invoked as the patroness of students, teachers, librarians, and lawyers, have most comparison with the size of Bozen, MS 147, especially with the size and layout of the fascicle with the office chants. 59 Kirakosian’s contribution in this volume addresses some of these materials from a literary perspective. 60 Klugseder, Katalog, 49. 61 See Analecta Hymnica 55, 228–29. 62 Drumbl, 336. Concerning the Moosburg Gradual, see Charles E. Brewer, ‘The Songs of Johannes Decanus’, Plainsong and Medieval Music, 20 (2011), 31–49. On dance songs in the Codex Buranus, see the contribution by Lammers-Harlander.

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likely been of significance to the teachers and students in the cathedral school, but the canons and the schoolboys would have passed through the Catherine chapel to enter the cathedral’s choir for the divine services.63 Yet there are still further questions that might be raised concerning the compilation of the Codex Buranus. Were the many additions to the main corpus – such as the Catherine songs or some of the Fragmenta Burana – part of the Codex Buranus before it received its current binding? I can easily see the fascicle with the Catherine songs, which also contains the Greater Passion Play (CB 16*), as a separate booklet that may have travelled alongside other Brixen sources as students, teachers, canons, and even Prince-Bishops moved to other places. CB 16* also brings up the issue of the Planctus ante nescia (CB 14*). This influential Marian lament is commonly ascribed to Godefroy of St Victor, but this tradition dates back only to the eighteenth century and is based on false assumptions. The other factor to consider is that the manuscripts for the Planctus ante nescia are almost all of Benedictine provenance.64 If the Codex Buranus were of Augustinian origin, this would be a very exceptional occurrence. Many of those associated with Brixen were well connected. Albert III, Count of Tyrol (c. 1180–1253) and nephew of Friedrich of Wangen, Bishop of Trent (1207–18), was Vogt of Brixen (and Neustift), and also of Benediktbeuern in the first decades of the thirteenth century. The incumbents as Prince-Bishop of Brixen were equally prominent, such as Bertold of Neifen, who was associated with both the bishopric of Trent and the imperial court; Bertold was also uncle to the Minnesänger Gottfried von Neifen (fl. 1230–55). In contrast to earlier speculations concerning provenance, a comparison between the neumes of the Codex Buranus and similar notations – such as those in Bozen, MS 147, and Vienna, MS 1890 – gives further support to Sayce’s earlier hypothesis that the court of the Prince-Bishops of Brixen and the local cathedral with its functioning cathedral school provide a multivalent context for the work in progress that was 63

Among the recent works on St Catherine and her significance in medieval Europe, see Katherine J. Lewis, The Cult of St Katherine of Alexandria in Late Medieval England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2000), esp. 134–54; Jacqueline Jenkins and Katherine J. Lewis (eds), St Katherine of Alexandria: Texts and Contexts in Western Medieval Europe (Turnhout: Brepols, 2003); and Christine Walsh, The Cult of St Katherine of Alexandria in Early Medieval Europe (Woodbridge: Ashgate, 2007). 64 Charles E. Brewer, ‘The Web of Sources for Planctus ante nescia’, Cantus Planus: Papers Read at the 16th Meeting [IMS Study Group on Chant] Vienna, Austria 2011 (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Kommission für Musikforschung, 2012), 72–77. For a discussion of the attribution of the Planctus ante nescia, see Charles E. Brewer, ‘Planctus ante nescia: Questions of Attribution and Inspiration’ (forthcoming).

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the Codex Buranus. Moreover, it also resonates with the research of the Diemers that connects the style of the manuscript’s illuminations with the frescos found in Brixen.65 As research continues into reconstructing the rich liturgical and cultural life in Brixen and the South Tyrol during the early thirteenth century, the Codex Buranus will remain an illuminating and challenging resource.

65

Peter and Dorothea Diemer, ‘“Qui pingit florem non pingit floris odorem”: die Illustrationen der Carmina Burana (Clm 4660)’, Jahrbuch des Zentralinstituts für Kunstgeschichte, 3 (1987), 43–75.

Chapter 12

Plurilingualism in the Codex Buranus: An Intercultural Reconsideration Michael Stolz Man wird gut daran tun, den Blick vergleichend auf andere Traditionsstränge zu richten. Und dieser Vergleich muß wohl von jeder Generation neu unternommen werden, nicht nur weil der Fundus des Wissens wächst, sondern vor allem weil sich die Fragen ändern. One will benefit from turning to other literary traditions for comparison. Such a comparison will need to be undertaken afresh by each generation, not only given the increasing body of knowledge, but above all because the questions change.1

With these words, Burghart Wachinger introduced a seminal article in which he provided evidence that the Codex Buranus was composed of diverse clusters or ‘nests’ (‘Nester’) that revealed the contours of several previous song collections. As part of this endeavour, Wachinger sought to demonstrate that Latin poems with concluding German stanzas could be related to such clusters. Roughly speaking, Wachinger distinguished a section originating from German regions, containing the bulk of the German stanzas (CB 132–CB 186), from a preexisting collection from Western Europe, in particular from France (CB 56– CB 131). The present chapter reconsiders the function of the plurilingualism apparent in these closing German stanzas by following Wachinger’s advice that subsequent research ought to compare the Carmina Burana with other literary traditions in the light of changing scholarly questions and – more generally – a shift in cultural perspectives. In this context, it might be appropriate to situate the German stanzas within the broad panorama of poetic production in the 1

Burghart Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder: zu den deutschen Strophen der Carmina Burana’, in From Symbol to Mimesis: The Generation of Walther von der Vogelweide, ed. by Franz H. Bäuml, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 368 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1984), 1–34 (1). The English translation of the quotation is by Henry Hope.

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European Middle Ages. Whereas the Romance milieu has long been studied in relation to the Codex Buranus, the more distant sphere of medieval Spain has not played a conspicuous role.2 In particular, Al-Andalus, which prior to the Christian Reconquista was a creative melting pot involving Arab and Jewish influences, has not been seen as a context relevant to an understanding of the Codex Buranus. Without claiming that the multicultural environment of Al-Andalus had a direct influence on the composition of the Carmina Burana, the present chapter compares characteristics of Andalusian poetry with those of the plurilingual Carmina Burana. This approach brings into view the so-called kharjas, stanzas in colloquial Arabic or a Romance dialect which conclude a preceding poem composed in classical Arabic. The kharja genre has been related to the closing German stanzas in the Codex Buranus before, but a more thorough approach seems necessary.3 For this purpose, the present chapter begins by examining the manuscript’s identical Latin poems CB 85 and CB 159 (Veris dulcis in tempore), which show signs of Iberian origin and are situated prominently within both of the pre-existing song collections proposed by Wachinger. Since this poem might be related to the Andalusian tradition mentioned above, it is necessary to outline the characteristics of the kharja in the context of the regional poetic genres of muwaššah� a and zajal. Finally, selected plurilingual poems of the Codex Buranus are compared with such Andalusian poems in terms of form and content.

2

See, for example, Sayce; Fritz Peter Knapp, ‘Die “Carmina Burana” als Ergebnis europäischen Kulturtransfers’, in Kultureller Austausch und Literaturgeschichte im Mittelalter: Kolloquium im Deutschen Historischen Institut Paris = Transferts culturels et histoire littéraire au Moyen Age: Colloque tenu à l’Institut Historique Allemand de Paris, 16.–18. 3. 1995, ed. by Ingrid Kasten, Werner Paravicini, and René Pérennec, Beihefte der Francia, 43 (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1998), 283–301. 3 See Theodor Frings, ‘Altspanische Mädchenlieder aus des Minnesangs Frühling: anlässlich eines Aufsatzes von Dámaso Alonso’, Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur, 73 (1951), 176–96 (195); Vollmann, 919, 1149, and 1364; Anne L. Klinck, ‘Lyric Voice and the Feminine in Some Ancient and Mediaeval Frauenlieder’, Florilegium, 13 (1994), 13–36 (19–20); Otto Zwartjes, Love Songs from Al-Andalus: History, Structure and Meaning of the Kharja, Medieval Iberian Peninsula: Texts and Studies, 11 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 302–30; Peter Dronke, ‘Latin Songs in the Carmina Burana: Profane Love and Satire,’ in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones, King’s College London Medieval Studies, 18 (London: King’s College London, 2000), 25–40 (31–32); Udo Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein als Sprachen der Lyrik in den “Carmina Burana”’, Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur, 122 (2000), 57–73 (61).

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CB 85 and CB 159 in the Context of the Codex Buranus According to Wachinger, the ‘German’ section containing CB 132–CB 186 might have been inserted into a pre-existing collection of poems. This preexisting collection would have contained jubili of love and politics, as well as planctus with political and other statements (the aforementioned Western part CB 56–CB 131) as well as poems on the appeal and danger of wine and gambling (CB 187–CB 226).4 Strikingly, the Western section as well as the German part each include a version of the love song Veris dulcis in tempore: it is found in the Codex Buranus as CB 85 (f. 36v) as well as CB 159 (f. 64r, with neumes; see Illustrations 12.1a and 12.1b). Wachinger considers this twofold inclusion as evidence for his assumption of combined sources (‘Quellenkombination’).5 Peter Dronke, in his study of ‘profane love and satire’ in the Latin songs of the Codex Buranus, has examined CB 85/CB 159 in the context of the Andalusian muwaššah� a and its final colloquial strophe, the kharja.6 In Dronke’s transcription and English translation, CB 85 and CB 159 read as follows: 1. Veris dulcis in tempore florenti stat sub arbore Iuliana cum sorore. dulcis amor! qui te caret hoc tempore fit uilior. 2. Ecce florescunt arbores, lasciue canunt uolucres, inde tepescunt uirgines. dulcis amor! qui te caret hoc tempore fit uilior. 3. Ecce florescunt lilia, et uirginum dant agmina summo deorum carmina. dulcis amor! qui te caret hoc tempore fit uilior. 4

Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder’, 8–10. Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder’, 9. Compare also Vollmann, 902. 6 Dronke, ‘Latin Songs’, 29–32. 5

Illustration 12.1a. Codex Buranus, f. 36v

Illustration 12.1b. Codex Buranus, f. 64r

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4. Si tenerem quam cupio in nemore sub folio, oscularer cum gaudio.

1. In the time of gentle spring, underneath a flowering tree, Juliana and her sister stand. Gentle love! Whoever lacks you at this time loses nobility. 2. Look how the trees begin to flower, seductively the birds are singing – with this the girls grow less cold. Gentle love! Whoever lacks you at this time loses nobility. 3. Look how the lilies burst into flower, and hosts of young girls offer up songs to the highest of the gods. Gentle love! Whoever lacks you at this time loses nobility. 4. If only I could hold her whom I long for, in the grove, under the leaves, I would kiss her joyfully. 7 (CB 85/CB 159)

7

Dronke, ‘Latin Songs’, 30 (§4.4–6 are not quoted by Dronke but are implicit in his argumentation). Compare also Vollmann, 294–96, 528–30; and the English translation in Traill, i, 353, and ii, 181.

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Dronke explains the metrical structure of this song by its analogy to the arrangement of the Andalusian muwaššah� a: ‘strophes with triple structure and rhyme go on to a verse which leads into the refrain and then the refrain itself, which rhymes with that earlier verse’.8 As I will demonstrate later, the muwaššah� a is actually more complex than Dronke claims, but for the moment it is possible to state that each stanza has a triple rhyme (in §1: ‘tempore’, ‘arbore’, ‘sorore’), followed by a single line (‘dulcis amor!’), and that this rhyme pair is echoed in the refrain (‘qui te caret hoc tempore | fit uilior’). In terms of content, the somewhat simple song opens with a Natureingang, a praise of springtime and a flowering tree, which overshadows two sisters, one of whom is called Juliana – an uncommon name in the context of the Carmina Burana, which generally use the appellations of ancient and often mythological figures.9 The following lines acclaim the ‘gentle love’ without which anyone would lose their nobility. In the following stanzas, the spring context is expanded: besides the flowering trees, the themes of birdsong and the increasing excitement of girls who gather together in song among the lilies are introduced. Only in the last stanza do we encounter a speaker, a lyric persona who expresses the wish to hold the girl for whom he longs: ‘si tenerem quam cupio’ (§4.1). He would happily kiss his beloved with joy under the leaves in the grove. It is noteworthy that the relative pronoun ‘quam’ in §4.1 is corrected in the first of the manuscript’s two records, on f. 36v. As Schumann observed, the letter ‘a’, completed by a nasal stroke, is modified from another form, possibly ‘quas’ or even ‘quod’ (see Illustration 12.1a).10 Instead of this abbreviated form, resulting from correction, the second record, on f. 64r, has the full lettering ‘quam’ (see Illustration 12.1b). In the uncorrected forms of the first record, the object of the speaker’s desire might have been a plurality of women (‘quas cupio’) or even an object undefined in gender (‘quod cupio’). The latter option (‘quod cupio’) is found in another manuscript that transmits the love song contained twice in the Codex Buranus: it is inscribed on the last page of El Escorial, Real Biblioteca de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2 (f. 287r; see Illustration 12.2). The manuscript was written in Barcelona in the eleventh century and transmits the Liber judicum popularis by Homobonus Levita of Barcelona (fl. 1012), which is interpolated with some shorter texts, including a chronicle of the Visigothic and Franconian kings and a laudation of Isidore of

8

Dronke, ‘Latin Songs’, 31.

9 See Vollmann, 1051. 10

Hilka/Schumann, i.2, 73.

Illustration 12.2. El Escorial, Real Biblioteca de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2, f. 287r

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Seville.11 In El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2, the poem is added with diastematic neumes by a mid-thirteenth-century hand. This version includes the same three opening stanzas as the Codex Buranus with almost identical wording, but concludes with a different stanza, comprising the standard set of five lines: ‘Si uiderem quod cupio, pro scribis sub Exilio, uel pro regis filio! dulcis amor! qui te caret hoc tempore fit uilior.’ ‘If only I could see the one I long for, whom I’d exchange for all the scribes in Silos, or even for the king’s son! Gentle love! Whoever lacks you at this time loses nobility.’12 (Veris dulcis in tempore, El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2, §4)

As the quotation marks in Dronke’s transcription indicate, he assumes the speaker to be different from the one of the former stanzas. We might suppose that a person (not necessarily male) would like to see what they long for: ‘si uiderem quod cupio’. In fact, we might find expressed here the desire of a girl who is 11

For a description of El Escorial, Real Biblioteca de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2 (parchment, 287 leaves, 320 x 210 mm), see Gustav Loewes and Wilhelm von Hartel (eds), Bibliotheca patrum latinorum Hispaniensis, Sitzungsberichte der kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist. Cl., 111 (Vienna: Carl Gerold’s Sohn, 1887), i, 152–54; Guillermo Antolín, Catálogo de los códices latinos de la Real Biblioteca del Escorial, 5 vols (Madrid: Helénica, 1910–23), iv (1916), 250–52; Higini Anglès, La Música a Catalunya fins al Segle XIII, Biblioteca de Catalunya: Publicacions del Departament de Música, 10 (Barcelona: Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 1935), 180– 82; and the Mirabile site [accessed 16 February 2019]. 12 Dronke, ‘Latin Songs’, 30. A closer translation would read: ‘if only I could see what I long for, which I’d exchange …’. El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2, actually has ‘uiterem’, and ‘quod’ is abbreviated as ‘qd’ (line 1); in the syntagma ‘pro scribis’, the abbreviated preposition ‘pro’ is written very closely to the following noun ‘scribis’. After line 3, the abbreviation ‘dvl’ refers to the fourth line (‘dulcis amor’), and probably also to the refrain (‘qui te caret […]’) that is quoted at the end of the first stanza in the manuscript. See also Hilka/Schumann, i.2, 73; and Illustration 12.2.

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willing to exchange all the scribes of the monastery of Santo Domingo de Silos (in northern Spain, south of Burgos), or even the king’s son, for her beloved one. Dronke proposes that this final stanza originally predated the version transmitted in the Codex Buranus: ‘I think there can be little doubt [that] the local allusion from Spain to the scribes of Silos was not understood in the Austrian or North Italian world when the song was written down, having made its way there.’13 He suggests that the final stanza, as it appears in El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2, might reflect what was common as a kharja in Andalusian poetry. There is no shift of language, but there does seem to be a change of speaker if we assume that it is a girl who expresses her desire. In Dronke’s words: ‘this strophe was one in which the girl who performed the song sang in her own person and sang something which was amorous, witty, piquant, irreverent in some way, provocative. I would suggest that the final strophe here is, we might say, Juliana’s kharja.’14 It is likely that the final stanza, in a form similar to the one that is recorded in El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2, was altered before or when it was recorded in the Codex Buranus. The wish of seeing the object of the speaker’s desire was modified into the desire of holding a female beloved, probably expressed by a young man. Instead of the hyperbolic predilection for the beloved, who excels the scribes and the king’s son, the more common topic of an erotic encounter in the grove (corresponding to the nature scene developed in the preceding stanzas) was added in the Codex Buranus. Both of its entries (ff. 36v and 64r) were made by scribe h2, whom, following Fritz Peter Knapp, we might imagine as a clerk from the Breisgau, trained in one of the cathedral schools in Northern France.15 Acquainted with German poetic traditions, h2 also inscribed macaronic Latin-German poems (CB 177, CB 184, CB 185, CB 204), as well as Latin poems concluded by German stanzas (CB 112–CB 115, CB 135–CB 153, CB 161–CB 175, CB 177–CB 183, CB 203, CB 211, and CB 218).16 Scribe h1, in contrast, shows a solid knowledge of Provençal poetry and prepared the captions (‘Item’; ‘Item unde supra’) and rubrics (‘Refl.’).17 If Schumann is right, it was h1 who changed the form ‘quas’ into ‘quod’ (‘qod’) before altering it into ‘quam’ (with the letter ‘m’ marked by a nasal stroke), but

13

Dronke, ‘Latin Songs’, 31. Dronke, ‘Latin Songs’, 32. 15 Knapp, ‘Die “Carmina Burana”’, 298–99; he critiques Sayce, who assumes that h2 was a French student from the French–German border region (see Knapp, ‘Die “Carmina Burana”’, 283). 16 See Knapp, ‘Die “Carmina Burana”’, 292. See also the table provided in Hope’s contribution to this volume. 17 See Knapp, ‘Die “Carmina Burana”’, 283. 14

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this assumption might be influenced by the wording of El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2. In any case, comparing the versions of the final stanza in El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2 on the one hand, and of the Codex Buranus on the other, we encounter a shift from a neutral object of desire (‘quod cupio’) to a female beloved (‘quam cupio’), which is accompanied by the omission of local allusions (the scribes of Silos) and seems also to indicate a change of speaker: a shift from a female voice praising her lover by using the ‘king topos’ (love excels royal power) in El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2 (‘si uiderem quod cupio […] pro regis filio’) to a male voice longing for the girl he loves (‘si tenerem quam cupio’).18 We cannot, of course, exclude the possibility that this wish is expressed by a girl confessing a homosexual desire, but in the overall context of the Carmina Burana this idea seems to be less plausible.19 The textual neighbourhood of CB 85 and CB 159 within the manuscript is particularly interesting. CB 85, included in the Western part, is flanked by two obscene songs that depict a sexual encounter in plain language. In CB 84 §4.9–12, the poet describes the act of defloration: ‘ut uirginem deuirginem, | me totum toti insero, | cardinem, determinem | duellum istud, resero’ (‘to deflower the virgin, | I thrust myself fully inside her, | I unhinge the hinge of her door | to finish this attack’).20 In CB 86, the refrain, abounding with self-confidence, addresses the girl as follows: ‘experire, filia, | uirilia semper iuuenilia! | – labilia sola sunt senilia! – | stabilia hec sunt utensilia’ (‘try out my always young manhood, girl! | – only old men’s are floppy! – | this equipment is firm’). In comparison with statements of this kind, the springtime topic of CB 85 and the singer’s desire for a girl (‘quam cupio’) are rather harmless. There is, however, a formal coincidence, as both CB 84 and CB 86 have long series of monorhymes at the beginning of their stanzas: this is not apparent in the above quotation from the second part of On the ‘king topos’ in the context of the song Ich grüeze mit gesange (MF 5.16–43), attributed to Emperor Henry VI, see Peter Wapnewski, ‘Kaiserlied und Kaisertopos: zu Kaiser Heinrichs Königslied’, in Waz ist minne: Studien zur Mittelhochdeutschen Lyrik, ed. by Peter Wapnewski, 2nd edn, Beck’sche Schwarze Reihe, 195 (Munich: Beck, 1979), 47–64. 19 Virgínia Peireira, ‘Frauenfiguren in der mittellateinischen Lyrik’, in Frauenlieder: Cantigas de amigo: Internationale Kolloquien des Centro de Estudos Humanísticos (Universidade do Minho), der Faculdade de Letras (Universidade do Porto) und des Fachbereichs Germanistik (Freie Universität Berlin), Berlin, 6.11.1998, Apúlia, 28.–30.3.1999, ed. by Thomas Cramer et al. (Stuttgart: Hirzel, 2000), 281–96 (287), assumes a hybrid male or female mood (‘Gefühlswelt’) for the texts of the Codex Buranus; this interpretation might reflect the substratum of the text in El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2. 20 The Latin texts of the Codex Buranus in this chapter are quoted from Vollmann; unless stated otherwise, the respective English translations are from Traill (with slight modifications). 18

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CB 84 §4, but obvious in the cited refrain of CB 86. CB 86 is a telling example, as the monorhyming refrain is preceded by a series of six lines in monorhymes of ‘-to’, completed by a line with an ending ‘-a’, leading to the ‘-a’-verses of the refrain: ‘Non contrecto, | quam affecto. | ex directo, | ad te specto; | et annecto, | nec deflecto | cilia’ (‘I am not fondling | the girl I am trying to win, | I am looking straight | at you, | fastening my eyes on you | and not deflecting them’; CB 86 §1).21 Besides the formal analogy of six monorhymes in CB 86 and three in CB 85, we also find the topic of looking at the beloved, which is equally expressed in the version of Veris dulcis in tempore contained in El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2 (‘si uiderem quod cupio’). In this context, it is worth mentioning that a whole group of songs, which surround CB 85 in ‘nest-like’ manner, show sequences of monorhymes (CB 76, CB 77, CB 79, CB 83, CB 84, CB 86, CB 88, CB 90–CB 94). Similarly, the second record of Veris dulcis in tempore (CB 159) is surrounded by poems with sequences of monorhymes (CB 153, CB 158, CB 164, CB 167, CB 170, CB 174, CB 178, CB 180, CB 182). This ‘German’ part of the Codex Buranus also features the concluding vernacular stanzas (CB 112–CB 115, CB 135–CB 153, CB 161–CB 175, CB 177–CB 183, CB 203, CB 211, and CB 218) which we might relate to the kharja-substratum of CB 159 if Dronke’s reference to the Andalusian tradition is correct. It is noteworthy that CB 159 with its vernal introduction is written on a recto page (f. 64r) which has a miniature on its back, showing in its two sections trees, bushes, and flowers, together with animals (various birds, a rabbit, a horse, a stag, a lion).22 This image sits squarely alongside the content of the poems, which emphasise the arrival of springtime (mainly on the folios preceding the illustration) and the beginning of love (mainly on the folios following it).

The muwaššah�a and kharja in Andalusian Poetry In a second step, I now concentrate on the old Spanish poetic forms explored by Dronke: the muwaššah�a was invented in Al-Andalus around the year ad 900 (c. ah 286).23 The genre is generally composed of five stanzas, which are linked 21

Text and translation from Traill, i, 354–55. The manuscript reads ‘a te specto, nec annecto, nec deflecto’; Vollmann, 296, prints ‘a te specto, | nec annecto, | sed deflecto’. Vollmann’s text might be translated: ‘I look away from you, nor do I fix my gaze on you, but turn it away’. 22 See the commentary by Peter and Dorothee Diemer in Vollmann, 1291–92. 23 For the abundant research on the muwaššah �a, see the overviews in Samuel Miklos Stern, ‘Les vers finaux en Espagnol dans les muwaššah�s hispano-hébraiques: une

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by two lines that maintain the same rhyme throughout, aa. The rhyme-scheme is: [AA] bbbaa (AA), cccaa (AA), dddaa (AA), eeeaa (AA), fffaa (AA). AA represents the refrain (mat�la‘), and aa constitutes the final lines of each stanza (simt�, ‘necklace’), rhyming with the refrain. The bbb- and ccc-lines etc. (ġus�n, ‘branch’) have monorhymes. According to the meaning of muwaššah�a (‘belt poem’, derived from wišah�, ‘sash’) the aa-verses form the final lines and give additional emphasis to the stanza’s conclusion. If the muwaššah�a opens with AA-mat�la‘, it is considered ‘complete’ (tamm); lacking it, it is ‘bald’ (aqra‘). The muwaššah�a is composed in classical Arabic with the exception of the aa-part (simt�) of the final, fifth stanza, named kharja, literally meaning ‘egress’. This kharja is generally written in a different idiom, such as colloquial Arabic, or the Romance language spoken in Al-Andalus (also called Mozarabic), or a blend of the two. Often, the language shift is combined with a change of speaker: the poetic voice yields to that of another person, commonly the voice of a woman, or that of animals or abstract (allegorical) entities such as love or a city. Frequently, these voices are introduced by an inquit formula. Besides the muwaššah�a, there is the cognate form of the zajal, composed in colloquial Arabic, which is considered to be the simpler prototype of the more complicated and learned muwaššah�a. Its rhyme scheme is: AA bbba (AA), ccca (AA), ddda (AA), etc., with the conclusion of the stanzas (simt�) reduced to one instead of two lines.

contribution à l’histoire des muwaššah�s et à l’étude du vieux dialecte espagnol “mozarabe”’, Al-Andalus, 13 (1948), 299–343 (299–307); Samuel Miklos Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes: les vers finaux (kharjas) en Espagnol dans les muwashshah�s arabes et hébreux (Palermo: Manfredi, 1953; repr. Oxford: Cassirer, 1964), xiii– xv; Josep M. Sola-Solé (ed.), Corpus de poesía mozárabe (Las ‘Hargˇa’-s andalusies) (Barcelona: Hispam, [1973]), 11–52; María Rosa Menocal, ˘The Arabic Role in Medieval Literary History: A Forgotten Heritage (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987), 91–113; Georg Bossong, ‘Sechs harğas, oder: Stationen ˘ Anfängen bis 1870: femininer Erotik in Al-Andalus’, in Die spanische Lyrik von den Einzelinterpretationen, ed. by Manfred Tietz (Frankfurt am Main: Vervuert, 1997), 41–57 (43); Zwartjes, Love Songs from Al-Andalus, 28–40; Georg Bossong (ed.), Das Wunder von al-Andalus: die schönsten Gedichte aus dem Maurischen Spanien (Munich: Beck, 2005), 24–25; ‘Abdulwāħid Lu’lu’a, Arabic-Andalusian Poetry and the Rise of the European Love-Lyric (Houston, TX: Strategic, 2013), 43–86; Shari L. Lowin, Arabic and Hebrew Love Poems in Al-Andalus (London and New York: Routledge, 2014), 3–4; James T. Monroe, The Mischievous Muse: Extant Poetry and Prose by Ibn Quzmān of Córdoba, 2 vols, Brill Studies in Middle Eastern Literatures, 39 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), i, 3. See also Henk Heijkoop and Otto Zwartjes, Muwaššah�, Zajal, Kharja: Bibliography of Strophic Poetry and Music from al-Andalus and their Influence in East and West, The Medieval and Early Modern Iberian World, 21 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2004).

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Since the zajal is composed in colloquial Arabic, its kharja is less discernible than in the muwaššah�a. Both forms were used by Arab as well as by Sephardic poets who were part of the multicultural civilisation in Al-Andalus before the Christian Reconquista of the High and Later Middle Ages. The muwaššah�a and zajal, and their characteristic ‘egress’ in the kharja, are commonly said to be related to similar forms in Romance languages such as the cantigas de amigo (Frauenlieder).24 Returning to CB 85 and CB 159 with these genres in mind, we can see that the poetic structure of Veris dulcis in tempore is rather close to the zajal – but less close to the muwaššah�a than Dronke claims: the Latin stanzas have three lines with monorhyme, followed by a final line (‘dulcis amor’) that shares its rhyme with the conclusion of the refrain that follows (‘qui te caret hoc tempore | fit vilior’). If, following Dronke, we understand the entire final stanza transmitted in El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2 as a kharja, it is noteworthy that the language does not differ significantly from the preceding stanzas (Latin in CB 85 and CB 159), as is the case in the zajal (composed entirely in colloquial Arabic). It is important to concede, however, that the range of a whole stanza (supposed by Dronke for CB 85 and CB 159) exceeds the common range of a kharja, which is limited to no more than the concluding lines of the final stanza in the Andalusian tradition.

24

See the discussion among scholars in Romance, German, and comparative studies in the mid-twentieth century: Dámaso Alonso, ‘Cancionillas “de amigo” mozárabes (Primavera temprana de la lírica europea)’, Revista de filología española, 33 (1949), 297–349; Frings, ‘Altspanische Mädchenlieder’; Leo Spitzer, ‘Mozarabic Lyric and Theodor Frings’ Theories’, Comparative Literature, 4 (1952), 1–22; John Brande Trend, ‘The Oldest Spanish Poetry’, in Hispanic Studies in Honour of I. González Llubera, ed. by Frank Pierce (Oxford: Dolphin, 1959), 415–28. Earlier publications include: Hans Spanke, ‘Zum Thema “Mittelalterliche Tanzlieder”’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen, 33 (1932), 1–22 (3); and Ramón Menéndez Pidal, ‘Poesía árabe y poesía europea’, Bulletin Hispanique, 40 (1938), 337–423 (384–411); they give examples for the analogous form of monorhymes in medieval Latin hymns (such as Analecta Hymnica 45b, 65 (De sanctis Innocentibus)) and secular Romance lyrics (such as those by Guillaume IX and Marcabru). For more recent scholarship, see Peter Dronke, Medieval Latin and the Rise of European Love-Lyric, 2 vols (Oxford: Clarendon, 1965–66), i (1965), 26–32; Klinck, ‘Lyric Voice and the Feminine’, 19–20; Anne L. Klinck, ‘The Oldest Folk Poetry? Medieval Woman’s Songs as “Popular” Lyric’, in From Arabye to Engelond: Medieval Studies in Honour of Mahmoud Manzalaoui on His 75th Birthday, ed. by A. E. Christa Canitz and Gernot R. Wieland (Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 1999), 229–52 (236–38); Ulrich Wyss, ‘Was heißt: Frauenlieder komparatistisch interpretieren?’, in Frauenlieder: Cantigas de amigo, ed. by Thomas Cramer et al., 163–69; Anne L. Klinck (ed.), An Anthology of Ancient and Medieval Woman’s Song (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), 5–6.

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Before comparing some of the plurilingual songs of the ‘German’ section of the Codex Buranus with the form and content of the kharja and its generic contexts (the muwaššah�a and the zajal), it seems appropriate to turn to a contemporary description of the kharja. Such a poetological consideration is contained in the Dar al-Tiraz of Ibn Sanā’ al-Mulk, an Arab poet of the Ayyūbid period who lived and died in Cairo (c. ad 1155–1211, ah 550–608).25 According to Ibn Sanā’ al-Mulk, the kharja is ‘burning, singeing, sharp and cutting, performed in vernacular words, with childish vocabulary’.26 Characteristically, ‘the poet reaches it by skipping (from the preceding text), digressing from the proper topic, putting words into the mouth of beings who are able to speak or those who are mute, or expressing diverse circumstances in a metaphorical way’. As Ibn Sanā’ al-Mulk asserts, the kharja is occasionally composed in a foreign language, presupposing that the foreign words sound fierce and confused and gibberish. The kharja is the highlight of the muwaššah�a, its salt, its sugar, its musk, its ambergris; it is the egress, which must be especially laudable; it is the ending, or, no, rather the introduction, although it is put at the end. If I say: the introduction, this means that the attention of the poet has to be concentrated on it before all the rest; the composer of a muwaššah�a has to do the kharja first, before being bound by the metre or rhyme, in a moment in which they are free and untied, happy and without trouble.

For this reason, the author ‘has the tail and adds the head. Some of the later successors, who are not able to accomplish the kharja, make use of one by another poet.’ Used as a completion of the Andalusian muwaššah�a, the Romance kharjas are transmitted in manuscripts written in Arabic or Hebrew letters, lacking vowels. Often, the scribes do not seem to have understood what they actually copied from their exemplars. These kharjas were first edited by scholars such as Samuel Miklos Stern, Emilio García Gómez, and others in the second half of the twentieth See Martin Hartmann, Das arabische Strophengedicht: I. Das Muwaššah�, Semitistische Studien, 13/14 (Weimar: Felber, 1897), 95–102; Walter Mettmann, ‘Zur Diskussion über die literargeschichtliche Bedeutung der mozarabischen Jarchas’, Romanische Forschungen, 70 (1958), 1–29 (10–12); Emilio García Gómez, ‘Estudio del Dār-at��tirāz: Preceptiva egipcia de la Muwaššah�a’, Al-Andalus, 27 (1962), 21–104; Bossong, ‘Sechs harğas’, 44; Zwartjes, Love Songs from Al-Andalus, 59–60. ˘ 26 All translations from the Dar al-Tiraz are my own, based on the German translation in Hartmann, Das arabische Strophengedicht, 100–02. 25

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century.27 In the course of the meticulous analyses of these scholars, the Romance phrases re-emerged from the dissimilar Arabic and Hebrew writings, yielding what is considered to be the oldest Spanish poetry. The interpretation of the ambiguous scripts that are open to diverse readings has given rise to intense and, at times, harsh debate among scholars. Subsequent editions by Josep M. Sola-Solé (1973) and particularly by Alan Jones (1988) have considered the manuscript evidence thoroughly and form the basis for the remaining discussion in this section.28 The following quotation gives an example of a muwaššah�a concluded by a kharja, composed by the Andalusian poet Abu Bakr Yahya Ibn Baqī (c. ad 1080– 1150, ah 472–544), who lived in Seville, Córdoba, and Granada, as well as in Salé (Morocco), and who was held in high regard as one of the great muwaššah�a composers of his time.29 His poem Yā xalīlayya sa-alqā ’llāha min alami ’l-‘išqi (‘Egad, my friends, I am suffering these harms of love’) has the rhyme scheme bbbbaa. The last of the five stanzas describes the lyric persona’s erotic encounter with a girl, who rejects his advances in the vernacular form of a Romance kharja (typeset in italics):30 See Stern, ‘Les vers finaux’; Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes; and Samuel Miklos Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry: Studies by Samuel Miklos Stern, ed. by Leonard Patrick Harvey (Oxford: Clarendon, 1974); García Gómez, ‘Estudio del Dār-at��tirāz’; Emilio García Gómez, ‘El Escándalo de las jarchas en Oxford’, Boletín de la Real Academia de Historia, 188 (1991), 1–104; Emilio García Gómez (ed.), Las jarchas romances de la serie árabe en su marco (Barcelona: Sociedad de estudios y publicaciones, 1965). See also the overviews by James T. Monroe, ‘Kharjas in Arabic and Romance: Popular Poetry in Muslim Spain?’, in Islam: Past Influence and Present Challenge, ed. by Alford T. Welch and Pierre Cachia (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1979), 168–87; and James T. Monroe, ‘Zajal and Muwashshah�a: Hispano-Arabic Poetry and the Romance Tradition’, in The Legacy of Muslim Spain, ed. by Salma Khadra Jayyusi, 2 vols, Handbuch der Orientalistik, Abt. 1: Der Nahe und Mittlere Osten, 12 (Leiden: Brill, 1992), i, 398–419; Álvaro Galmés de Fuentes, Las Jarchas Mozárabes: forma y significado, Filología (Barcelona: Crítica, Grijalbo Mondadori, 1994); Bossong, ‘Sechs harğas’, 42–43 and 55–56; and Samuel G. Armistead, ‘Kharjas and Villancicos’, Journal ˘ Arabic Literature, 34 (2003), 3–19. of 28 See Sola-Solé (ed.), Corpus de poesía mozárabe; and Alan Jones, Romance ‘Kharjas’ in Andalusian Arabic ‘Muwaššah�’ Poetry: A Paleographical Analysis, Oxford Oriental Institute Monographs, 9 (London: Ithaca, 1988). 29 See Bossong (ed.), Das Wunder von al-Andalus, 127. 30 The text in Latin transcription and the English translation of the Arabic lines are quoted after Jones, Romance ‘Kharjas’, 169–70 and 176; the English version of the kharja is adapted slightly from Klinck (ed.), An Anthology of Ancient and Medieval Woman’s Song, 60, and Klinck, ‘The Oldest Folk Poetry?’, 236. See also Dronke, 27

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kullamā lā‘abtuhā bayna ’l-namāriqi wa-’l-sajfi jarradat ‘an badanin ka-’l-mā’i yaxmišuhu �tarfi fa-‘tanaqtu ’l-badra fī dājin mina ’l-h�alaki ’l-wah�fi ˍt umma qālat wa-hya mā bayna ’l-tarā’ibi wa-’l-šanfi nun mi-mǝrdǝš yā h�abībī lā nu-qaru dǝnīšu al-gilālah raxs�ah bǝštǝ a �tūt�ā mī rǝfīšu When I dallied with her between the cushions and the covers, she bared a body [that gleamed] like water, scratched by my gaze, and I embraced the moon in a darkness of black hair. Then she said as she lay between [my] breast-bones and [my] earrings: ‘Don’t bite me, oh my lover; it still hurts me. My bodice is fragile. Enough! I say no to all this.’

Medieval Latin and the Rise of European Love-Lyric, i, 30. For the textual record of this kharja see Klaus Heger, Die bisher veröffentlichten Hargˇas und ihre Deutungen, Beihefte ˘ zur Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, 101 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1960), 79–82 (no. 8); Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes, 8–10 (no. 8); García Gómez (ed.), Las jarchas romances, 237–46; Jones, Romance ‘Kharjas’, 167–71; Sola-Solé (ed.), Corpus de poesía mozárabe, 201–09 (no. XXIX); Bossong (ed.), Das Wunder von al-Andalus, 129–32 and 295. Ibn Baqī’s muwaššah�a and kharja are transmitted in the ‘Uddat aljalīs of ‘Alī ibn Bishrī (contained in a Maghribini codex from the seventeenth century which is named after its late owner Georges Colin [Private Collection, MS G. S. Colin, 216]). On the manuscript, see Alan Jones (ed.), The ‘Uddat al-jalīs of ‘Alī ibn Bishrī: An Anthology of Andalusian Arabic Muwashshah�āt, E. J. W. Gibb Memorial Series, New Series 31 (Cambridge: Trustees of the E. J. W. Gibb Memorial, 1992), 3–4; and Zwartjes, Love Songs from Al-Andalus, 73–74.

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A similar, almost identical kharja was used by the contemporary Arab poet Abu Bakr Muhammad Ibn Ahmad Ibn Ruh�aym (fl. c. ad 1120, ah 513) and – in Hebrew – by the Sephardic poet Yehūdā Halevī (c. ad 1075–1141, ah 467–535), who, born in Tudela on the Ebro, north-west of Zaragoza, was active in Granada, Córdoba, and Toledo, before going to Jerusalem.31 Besides his philosophical and theological work, Yehūdā Halevī left a Diwân of celebrated poetry, written in Hebrew, colloquial Arabic, and Romance, which established his fame as the ‘first Spanish poet known by name’ (Marcelino Menéndez Pelayo).32 In the kharja that completes Ibn Ruh�aym’s muwaššah�a, the first line opens with the words ‘nūn mi�tǝnkǝš’ (‘don’t touch me’) instead of ‘nūn mi-mǝrdǝš’ (‘don’t bite me’), a variant which is echoed in Yehūdā Halevī’s Hebrew version.33 In his stimulating interpretation of the kharja’s aesthetic, Georg Bossong, a scholar of Romance languages, observes that the unique character of the kharja may be captured by its etymological root ‘hrğ’, denoting ‘egress’, or even ‘outbreak’ ˘ and ‘transgression’.34 Bossong demonstrates the ‘transgressive’ mode of the kharja on three levels: its form, language, and erotic content. Generally, the muwaššah�a can be considered as a transgression of earlier conventional poetic forms, as its termination by the aa-lines of the simt� and the final kharja deviate from the older tradition of the qas�īda, a poetic genre that assembles a string of rhyming couplets. Furthermore, the kharja’s colloquial or vernacular character transgresses the classical Arabic language that is imbued with the religious dignity of the Quran. Instead of this sacred idiom, it exposes the common spoken jargon used

See Bossong (ed.), Das Wunder von al-Andalus, 130 (Ibn Ruh�aym) and 237–39 (Yehūdā Halevī). 32 See Ross Brann, The Compunctious Poet: Cultural Ambiguity and Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain, Johns Hopkins Jewish Studies (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991), 84–118; Bossong, ‘Sechs harğas’, 42; and, more generally, ˘ (1075?–1141), Collections Masha Itzhaki, Juda Halévi: d’Espagne à Jerusalem ‘Présence du judaïsme’ (Paris: Michel, 1997); and Joseph Yahalom, Yehuda Halevi: Poetry and Pilgrimage ( Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2009). 33 For Ibn Ruh � aym, see Jones, Romance ‘Kharjas’, 172–76; for Yehūdā Halevī, see H � ayyim Brody (ed.), Dỉwân des Abû-l-Hasan Jehuda ha-Levi, 4 vols, Schriften des Vereins Mekize Nirdamim, 3.2 and 3.7 (Berlin: Itzkowski, 1901–10), ii (1909), 6–7; Stern, ‘Les vers finaux’, 318–20; for the references to Heger and to the editions by Stern, García Gómez, and Sola-Solé, see fn. 30. Yehūdā Halevī’s Dỉwân is transmitted in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Oppenheim. Add. 4º 81 (thirteenth century) and Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Pococke 74.1 (seventeenth century), and Jerusalem, Schocken Library, MS 37 (seventeenth century). See Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes, xxviii; Zwartjes, Love Songs from Al-Andalus, 82–83. 34 Bossong, ‘Sechs harğas’, 44–46. ˘ 31

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in everyday life. Finally, the kharja gives voice to the erotic experience, mainly of young women, who appear as lovers expressing their mood and desire in direct, colloquial language.

Bilingual Texts in the Codex Buranus O mi dilectissima (CB 180) With this background in mind, I turn to some of the bilingual poems, located in the ‘nests’ surrounding CB 159 in the ‘German’ song collection.35 We begin with CB 180 (f. 71r), which, as far as the rhyme is concerned, has a metrical structure rather similar to the muwaššah�a composed by Ibn Baqī that we have encountered in the preceding discussion. The first stanza reads as follows: O mi dilectissima, uultu serenissima et mente legis sedula, ut mea refert littera. Refl. Mandaliet, mandaliet, min geselle choͮ met niet! My most beloved Lady, in appearance most serene, you read with eager mind what my letter conveys. Ref. Mandaliet, mandaliet, my friend is not mourning [is not coming]! (CB 180 §1)

Like Ibn Baqī’s muwaššah�a, the poem has four Latin lines with monorhyme, followed by a vernacular couplet, marked in the manuscript as a refrain by the rubric ‘Refl.’. In muwaššah�a terminology, the simt� (the final lines of a stanza) and the mat�la‘ (the refrain) coincide in this song. The poet addresses his beloved (‘dilectissima’), whom he urges to read what his ‘letter reports’ (‘ut mea refert littera’). The refrain seems to contain the addressee’s reply, in which a supposedly 35

On the German stanzas, see Cyril Edwards, ‘German Texts in the Codex Buranus’, in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones, 41–70 (esp. 55–64); Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein’; and the re-evaluation by Henry Hope in this volume.

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female voice speaks about her ‘geselle’: ‘Mandaliet, mandaliet, | min geselle choͮ met niet!’. Although the term ‘geselle’ has an undetermined grammatical gender in Middle High German, referring to a male or female companion alike, it is rather probable that it refers to a male friend here – a notion that is also suggested by the vernacular lines that follow §7 (see below).36 As in the muwaššah�a, the text in a standardised language (there classical Arabic, here Latin) is concluded by colloquial and vernacular discourse respectively, yet the refrain’s meaning remains fuzzy and has provoked a variety of readings. The composite term ‘mandaliet’ (written ‘manda liet’ in the manuscript) has been interpreted as a ‘song of joy’ (Wackernagel) or as a kind of RomanceGerman imperative: ‘send me a song’ (Ehrismann, derived from the Latin verb ‘mandare’); and even the asemantic use of a spontaneously invented ‘nonce-word’ has been suggested (Sayce).37 Perhaps we might also think of the Bavarian plural form ‘manda’ for ‘men’: a song performed ‘by men’.38 The verb ‘choͮ met’ poses a similarly tricky case, as it can mean ‘he mourns’ as well as ‘he comes’.39 Combining the different readings, we might assume that the supposedly female voice refers to an ambiguous kind of song that is related to the companion, who is either in a peculiarly joyful mood (Middle High German ‘kûmet niet’) or who is located far from the girlish speaker (Middle High German ‘kummet niet’). What is obvious, however, is the juxtaposition of a ‘letter’ evoked in the learned Latin discourse and the ‘song’ in the vernacular refrain or ‘necklace’ (simt�) of the stanza. Written and oral practices are put into contrast. In line with Sanā’ al-Mulk’s description of the kharja, we might say that the couplet is ‘cutting, performed in vernacular words, with childish vocabulary’, that its ‘foreign words sound fierce and confused and gibberish’, and that it is ‘skipping (from the preceding text), digressing from the proper

See Kurt Gärtner, Klaus Grubmüller, and Karl Stackmann (eds), Mittelhochdeutsches Wörterbuch (Stuttgart: Hirzel, 2006–), ii.1/2 (2013), cols 553–56. 37 See the historiographical overview and proposition in Olive Sayce, ‘Carmina Burana 180 and the mandaliet Refrain’, Oxford German Studies, 2 (1967), 1–12 (esp. 5–6 and 8–9), summarised in Vollmann, 1198. 38 See Johann Andreas Schmeller (ed.), Bayerisches Wörterbuch, 2 vols (Stuttgart and Tübingen: Cotta, 1827–37), i (1827), col. 1600. Cyril Edwards, ‘Die Stimme der Frau in den Carmina Burana’, in Frauenlieder: Cantigas de amigo, ed. by Cramer et al., 267–80 (273), argues that ‘mandaliet’ might be a noun composed of the two parts ‘man’ and ‘liet’, with the morpheme ‘-da-’ being an asemantic filler. 39 See Sayce, ‘Carmina Burana 180’, esp. 7–8; and Vollmann, 1198. 36

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topic’.40 We also cannot exclude the possibility that the manuscript’s scribe, or those of the exemplar(s), did not quite understand what they were copying. 41 These uncertainties notwithstanding, the problematic phrase is centred around the ‘geselle’, who by means of the refrain virtually ‘returns’ at the end of all stanzas, and – as we will see – also at the end of the poem, composed entirely in the vernacular. The equivalent figure, designated by the Arabic word ‘h�abībī’, is also a constant topic in the Andalusian kharjas.42 In the following stanzas of CB 180, the poet develops the praise of the girl and his desire for her. Sometimes he speaks about the ‘puellula’ in the third person (§§2.1 and 4.1), but mostly he addresses her directly, mentioning her beauty (‘uultus tuus’, §3.1; ‘de tua pulchritudine’, §5.3; and ‘tui […] oculi’, §6.1). The song’s audience might, by this stage, have forgotten that these statements are still part of the letter introduced in §1, but this written medium is still implied by the context.43 The description of the beloved’s attractiveness triggers the sighs of the lyric persona (‘suspiria’, §5.1), and the girl’s radiant eyes (‘tui lucent oculi’, §6.1) are compared to the sun and a lightning bolt (‘sicut solis radii | sicut splendor fulguris’, §6.2–3). In §7, featuring the song’s final Latin words, the lyric persona once more refers to the girl in the third person and confesses that he intends to ‘unlock the chains | of her virginity’ (‘ut eius uirginea | reserassem uincula’, §7.3–4).44 The unfolding praise of the girl’s beauty and the lover’s resulting desire is unchangingly framed by the refrain ‘mandaliet’, the iteration of which seems to mock the latter’s words. It is also noteworthy that the four monorhymes of the first stanza are replaced by rhyming couplets (bbcc) in §§2–7. However, there are numerous ‘-a’ rhymes (for instance ‘puellula’, ‘precandida’ in §2.1–2), which echo the four ‘-a’ rhymes of the first stanza (as in §§2.1–2, 4.1–2, 5.1–2, 7.3–4). We might also consider this feature as a distant resonance of what the Andalusian muwaššah�a and zajal are able to perform acoustically. After the seventh stanza, the following German lines (metrically corresponding to the Latin stanzas and the vernacular couplet) are added in the Latin text: 40

41 42 43 44

See above, p. 331. Zwartjes, Love Songs from Al-Andalus, 302–03, also links the mandaliet refrain to the ‘opposition strophe–refrain with alternating languages’ that occurs in the kharjas. See above, pp. 326 and 331–32. See the first line of the kharja quoted above, p. 333 (‘nūn mi-mǝrdǝš yā h�abībī’, ‘Don’t bite me, oh my lover’); and Bossong, ‘Sechs harğas’, 48. ˘ Vollmann, 578–80, uses quotation marks to indicate the letter text in §§2–6. The explanation that the ‘unlocking of chains’ refers to the protection executed by the girl’s parents or by ‘society’ more generally (Vollmann, 1197) – rather than being a metaphor of sexual defloration – does not seem very convincing.

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8. Ich wil truren varen lan; vf die heide sul wir gan, vil liebe gespilen min! da seh wir der blumen schin. 9. Ich sage dir, ih sage dir, min geselle, chum mit mir! 10. Suͦ ziv minne, raine min, mache mir ein chrenzelin! daz sol tragen ein stolzer man, der wol wiben dienen chan! 8. I want to let sadness go. Let’s go onto the heath, my dear playmates. There we will see flowers in all their brilliance. 9. I tell you, I tell you, my friend, come with me! 10. Sweet love, pure love, make me a garland. That’s what a proud man should wear, who knows well how to serve ladies. (CB 180 §§8–10)

All three textual units are introduced by an initial in the manuscript, creating the impression that the scribe considered the middle couplet as distinct from the text before and after. It is very likely that the scribe simply forgot to place a ‘Refl.’ rubric here (or to leave a space for it to be added later). If we consider the couplet ‘Ich sage dir […]’ – metrically, verbally, and even vocalically rather similar to the two ‘mandaliet’ lines – as a refrain, the overall strophic structure resembles the preceding song remarkably closely: a stanza in four lines followed by a couplet. Also, the dominating ‘-a’ rhymes of the Latin poem are echoed by the ‘-an’ rhymes in the German stanzas (‘lan’, ‘gan’; ‘man’, ‘chan’). This observation might suggest that the German completion of the poem was modelled after the Latin text.45 We 45

That is also the general assumption in previous scholarship: see Sayce, ‘Carmina Burana 180’, 5; Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder’, 4; Vollmann, 1200; similarly Edwards, ‘Die Stimme der Frau’, 272.

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might assume a similarly secondary status for the couplet ‘Ich sage dir […]’, which (roughly) mirrors the content of the ‘mandaliet’ refrain: the wish to ‘let sadness go’ (‘Ich wil truren varen lan’, §8.1) recalls the negated sadness in the phrase ‘min geselle choͮ met niet’ (if we understand ‘choͮ met’ as ‘he mourns’); equally, the call ‘chum mit mir’ turns the same phrase (with ‘choͮ met’ in the sense of ‘he comes’) into an appeal. As in the ‘mandaliet’ refrain, the statement is centred around the ‘geselle’, who this time is addressed as the one who should ‘come’ to the speaker.46 It seems that the semantic ambiguity of the verb ‘choͮ met’, as it is used in the ‘mandaliet’ refrain, is resolved in the concluding German part, in which the speaker announces the end of sadness (§8) and invites the ‘geselle’ to come (in the ‘refrain’, §9.2). In the final German stanza, the speaker urges ‘min(ne)’ (‘love’) to ‘make a garland’ (§10.2) that is to be worn by a ‘proud man’ (§10.3): he ‘knows well how to serve ladies’ (§10.4). The key words ‘minne’ and ‘dienen’ (‘to serve’) allude to courtly love and to the poetic genre of Hoher Minnesang. This last stanza in particular has raised questions about the speaker’s gender: it might be a man asking the girl to make him a garland as a sign of love, or a girl asking personified ‘Minne’ to help her make such a garland.47 On the whole, the latter interpretation seems more probable: as in the ‘mandaliet’ couplet, the concluding German stanzas seem to be pronounced by a female voice. We might consider the question of voice against the horizon of the Andalusian kharjas, which normally introduce a change of speaker. In a kharja that follows another muwaššah�a by Yehūdā Halevī, a female voice addresses her sisters (‘yermanellas’) with the words: garid boš ay yermanel(l)aš kom kontenir e(l) mio male šin al-h�abīb non bibreyo ed bolarey demandare. Ah tell me, little sisters, how to hold my pain! I’ll not live without my beloved – I shall fly to find him again.48

46

As in the Latin stanzas, the ‘geselle’ is addressed directly (§9) or referred to in the third person (§10). 47 See Edwards, ‘Die Stimme der Frau’, 272–73. 48 Transcription after Sola-Solé (ed.), Corpus de poesía mozárabe, 225 (no. XXXIII); see also Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes, 4 (no. 4); and Heger, Die bisher veröffentlichten

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The ‘yermanellas’ might find their equivalent in the ‘gespilen min’ (‘my playmates’) of whom the (supposed) girl speaks in §8.3 of CB 180. In Halevī’s kharja, the girl longs for her beloved (‘h�abīb’, the equivalent of ‘geselle’ in the German text), after whom she will fly (‘bolarey’, from Romance ‘volar[e]’) and seek out: ‘demandare’. This Romance word is a prefixed form of the verb ‘mandare’, which is one of the possible substrata of the ambiguous ‘mandaliet’ in CB 180.49 Incidentally, the notion of yearning for an absent lover is a returning topos in the kharjas, where – as in the (supposed) refrain of the German conclusion to CB 180 (‘min geselle, chum mit mir’) – it is expressed by the verb ‘to come’, that is the Romance word ‘venir(e)’, commonly transliterated with an Arabic or Hebrew equivalent of the initial ‘b’ in the kharjas. We find lines such as ‘ben sīdī beni’ (‘come, my lord, come’),50 or ‘deš k(u)and mio sidel(l)o benid tan bona al-bišāra’ (‘from the moment my lord comes, what good news’),51 or ‘mio al-h�abīb […] benġe-se a mibi ke šanad mio leġar’ (‘my friend shall come to me to heal me by union’),52 or also a complaint of being abandoned by the beloved, addressed to the mother: ‘yā mamma mio al-h�abībi bay-šë e non me tornad�e’ (‘O mother, my friend goes and will not return’).53 It should also be noted that ambiguity, as we find it in the refrain added to the Latin stanzas of CB 180 (‘Mandaliet, mandaliet, | min geselle choͮ met niet!’), is a common trait of Andalusian poetry. In recent years, scholars in Islamic studies such as Ross Brann and Thomas Bauer have drawn attention to the multicultural

49 50

51

52

53

Hargˇas, 65 (no. 4). English version by Dronke, Medieval Latin and the Rise of European ˘ Love-Lyric, i, 29. See above, pp. 335–36. Following a muwaššah�a by Yehūdā Halevī; transcription after Sola-Solé (ed.), Corpus de poesía mozárabe, 213 (no. XXX); see also Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes, 2 (no. 1); and Heger, Die bisher veröffentlichten Hargˇas, 56 (no. 1). The translations – ˘ by Spitzer, ‘Mozarabic Lyric’, and here and in the following – are my own, inspired Dronke, Medieval Latin and the Rise of European Love-Lyric, i, 28–32. Following a muwaššah�a by Yehūdā Halevī; transcription after Sola-Solé (ed.), Corpus de poesía mozárabe, 221 (no. XXXII). See also Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes, 4 (no. 3); and Heger, Die bisher veröffentlichten Hargˇas, 63 (no. 3). ˘ Following a muwaššah�a by al-A‛ma al-Tutili; transcription after Sola-Solé (ed.), Corpus de poesía mozárabe, 163 (no. XXI). See also Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes, 20–21 (no. 21); Heger, Die bisher veröffentlichten Hargˇas, 116–17 (no. 21); and Jones, ˘ Romance ‘Kharjas’, 83 (no. 8). Following an anonymous muwaššah�a; transcription after Sola-Solé (ed.), Corpus de poesía mozárabe, 100 (no. VII). See also Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes, 33 (no. 38); Heger, Die bisher veröffentlichten Hargˇas, 145–46 (no. 38); and Jones, ˘ Romance ‘Kharjas’, 156 (no. 20).

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context to which Arab and especially Jewish writers were exposed in Muslim Spain, often causing their texts to be of ambiguous and even contradictory quality.54 Yehūdā Halevī, in particular, is a prototype of the ‘compunctious poet’ who concentrated on serious philosophical texts and religious poetry, alongside his secular compositions. It might be worth considering the poetics of the Codex Buranus in a similar light. Passages such as the ‘mandaliet’ refrain point to such ambiguity, but there is much more of it in the overall textual corpus of the manuscript. A similar ambiguity is apparent in the surprising collocations of texts such as the glutton song Alte clamat Epicurus (CB 211), completed by a pilgrims’ song in German – the first stanza of Walther von der Vogelweide’s Palästinalied (C 7) – and followed by a uersus on the virtue of moderation (CB 212, ff. 92v and 93r).55 This much debated juxtaposition of texts has recently been discussed from the perspective of parody. As Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann suggests, vulgar expression and moral instruction might have existed side by side in the Codex Buranus.56 If we consider parody in its etymological sense as a counter-song or side-song (Gegengesang, Nebengesang),57 we might also relate it to the kharja with its ‘burning, singeing, sharp and cutting […] vernacular words’, ‘skipping (from the precedent text), digressing from the proper topic’, as Sanā’ al-Mulk has it.58 Veni, ueni, uenias (CB 174) Characteristics of the kharja are also to be found in other songs of the Codex Buranus, in which the structural analogy with a muwaššah�a – four lines followed by a two-line vernacular ‘egress’ – is less evident than in CB 180. CB 174 (f. 69v), See Brann, The Compunctious Poet; Thomas Bauer, Die Kultur der Ambiguität: eine andere Geschichte des Islams (Berlin: Verlag der Weltreligionen, 2011). 55 Vollmann, 662–64. 56 See Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, Parodie in den Carmina Burana, Mediävistische Perspektiven, 4 (Zurich: Chronos, 2014); she summarises previous research on CB 211 (64–68) and offers her own reading (74–76). See also Cardelle de Hartmann’s contribution in this volume; and Henry Hope, ‘Ein Kreuzlied? Walthers von der Vogelweide Palästinalied im Kontext der Überlieferung’, Musik in Bayern, 84 (2019), 9–31. 57 See Theodor Verweyen and Gunther Witting, ‘Parodie’, in Reallexikon der deutschen Literaturwissenschaft, ed. by Jan-Dirk Müller et al., 3 vols (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1997– 2003), iii (2003), 23–27. 58 See above, p. 331. It is worth noting here that Hilka/Schumann, i.2, 73 (in Schumann’s discussion of CB 85) considers the stanza transmitted in El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2 (which Dronke interprets as a kharja) as an added piece of poetry, or even a kind of parody (‘Zudichtung, gewissermaßen Parodie’). 54

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for instance, has stanzas with four lines in monorhymes (except in §1, which has aabb); the song contains five stanzas (corresponding to the classical form of the muwaššah�a), the last two of which are composed in German. The latter are thought to have served as a model for the preceding Latin stanzas.59 4. Chume, chume, geselle min, ih enbite harte din! ih enbite harte din, chum, chum geselle min! 5. Suͦ zer roservarwer munt, chum vnd mache mich gesunt! chum vnd mache mich gesunt, suͦ zer roservarwer munt! 4. Come, come, my friend, I wait for you so impatiently! I wait for you so impatiently! Come, come, my friend! 5. Sweet rosy mouth, come and restore me to health! Come and restore me to health, sweet rosy mouth! (CB 174 §§4–5)

The monorhyme here is supported by the verbatim repetition of whole lines in the sequence abba. Again, we find topics similar to those in the kharjas: the hope that the beloved should ‘come’ is expressed wishfully. The ruby-red mouth recalls a kharja in which the girl praises the beauty of her friend enthusiastically: mamma ayy habībi šua al-gˇumel(l)a šaqrel(l)a ë el qollo albo e bokel(l)a hamre(l)a

59 See Vollmann, 1186–87, who refers to Spanke.

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Mother, what a friend! His strand of hair is red, his neck is white and his little mouth coloured (red).60

As in the kharjas, we might assume that a female voice speaks to her beloved friend in CB 174, although the addressed ‘geselle’ could refer to both genders.61 In the preceding Latin lines, the ideas of longing and the description of the beloved’s beauty are expressed even more explicitly: 1. Veni, ueni, uenias, ne me mori facias! hyria hyrie, nazaza trilliriuos! 2. Pulchra tibi facies, oculorum acies, capillorum series – o quam clara species! 3. Rosa rubicundior, lilio candidior, omnibus formosior, semper in te glorior! 1. Come, come, please come! Don’t let me die! Hyria, hyrie, nazaza trilliriuos!

Following an anonymous muwaššah�a; transcription after Sola-Solé (ed.), Corpus de poesía mozárabe, 302 (no. LI). See also Stern (ed.), Les Chansons mozarabes, 29 (no. 33); Heger, Die bisher veröffentlichten Hargˇas, 136 (no. 33); and Jones, Romance ˘ own. ‘Kharjas’, 115 (no. 14). The translation is my 61 See above, pp. 335–36. In some of the concluding German stanzas of the Western part, we find an inquit formula (another typical feature of the kharjas, see above, p. 329), indicating a female voice: CB 113 (§6.5: ‘also ręit ein vrouwe schone’), CB 142 (§4.3: ‘si sprach’), and CB 143 (§4.2: ‘sprach ein schoͤ ne wip’). 60

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2. Your face is lovely. Lovely too the glance of your eyes and the texture of your hair – ah, what striking beauty! 3. Redder than a rose, whiter than a lily, more beautiful than anything, you are always my pride and joy! (CB 174 §§1–3)

In this sequence, the first Latin stanza (§1) thematically corresponds to the first German stanza (§4), and the two others (§2–3) to the second German stanza (§5); the idea of healing (‘chum vnd mache mich gesunt’, §5.2–3), however, has no correspondence in the Latin version.62 If, as several scholars assume, the Latin stanzas are secondary to the German ones, they would have been composed in more elaborate fashion, as we do not encounter any simple line repetitions as in the German stanzas.63 Furthermore, the notion of longing is reinforced in the Latin text by the idea of (almost) dying (‘ne me mori facias!’, §1.2); the description of the beloved’s body parts concentrates not on the mouth but on the whole face, the eyes, and the hair. In the third Latin stanza, the beloved’s beauty is detailed through comparatives: their appearance (‘species’, §2.4) is said to be ‘redder than a rose, whiter than a lily, more beautiful than anything’ (§3.1–3). The Latin text corresponds more closely with the kharja’s praise of beauty than the German stanzas do, as only the Latin stanzas mention the hair and the colours white and red. While it would be easy to find numerous examples in Latin poetry that are analogous to the opening stanzas of CB 174, the above observations might nevertheless suggest a re-evaluation of the relationship between the German and Latin stanzas: if the latter really were secondary to the German ones, the composer would have enhanced the German model by means of amplification, developing them within the context of a rich literary tradition that could have included patterns of Andalusian poetry as represented by the quoted kharja. It is surprising that the first Latin stanza of CB 174 does not employ the four lines of monorhyme that occur in the remaining text. This deviation results from For its part, it can be referred to kharja no. XXI, quoted above, p. 340: ‘mio al-h�abīb […] benġe-se a mibi ke šanad mio leġar’ (‘my friend shall come to me to heal me by union’). 63 See Vollmann, 1186–87. 62

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the unfamiliar words in the stanza’s second half (‘hyria hyrie, | nazaza trilliriuos’, §1.3–4), which have no correspondence in the German stanzas. So far, the words have not been satisfyingly explained, and it might well be the case that they constitute another example of ‘nonce-words’, as Sayce suggested for the term ‘mandaliet’.64 Words like ‘nazaza’ might, however, also be related to a range of Arabic expressions: the Arabic noun ‘nazza’ means ‘passion, lust’; ‘nazah�a’ signifies ‘distant’; the verb ‘nazā’ means ‘to jump, to flee’; while ‘na‛az�a’ is ‘erect, sexually aroused’. All these meanings would fit well into the context of CB 174 – although it might be appropriate to sound a note of caution concerning arbitrary and overly colourful interpretations.65 Perhaps ‘nazaza’ and the other words in these two lines are no more than the sort of ‘gibberish’ evoked by Ibn Sanā’ al-Mulk in his description of the kharja.66 Floret silua nobilis (CB 149) Theodor Frings, a scholar of medieval German, proposed a link between the kharja and CB 174 as early as 1951, claiming that ‘connections extend [from, as he calls it, Old Spanish Mädchenlieder] to the Cambridge Songbook [Cambridge, University Library, MS Gg 5.35] and the Carmina Burana’.67 As evidence, Frings quotes the lines ‘Chume, chume, geselle min, | ih enbite harte din’ (CB 174 §4.1–2) and a passage from CB 149 (ff. 60v/61r): ‘wa ist min geselle | alsen lange?’ (§2.3–4). Vollmann, too, asserted a connection between CB 149 and

64

See above, p. 336. Vollmann, 1186, suggests their interpretation as shouts of joy (‘Jubelrufe’). 65 The examples of Arabic words are taken from Hans Wehr (ed.), Arabisches Wörterbuch für die Schriftsprache der Gegenwart: Arabisch–deutsch, 5th edn (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1985), 1260 (‘nazza’ and ‘nazah�a’), 1266 (‘nazā’), and 1291 (‘na‛az�a’). Due to the existence of diverse dialects, any reconstruction of medieval vocabulary is difficult, but – generally – Arabic did not change too much over the centuries. In any case, these suggestions have only tentative character. I am grateful to Katharina J. M. Fuchs (Lausanne) for her advice, though any infelicities of interpretation remain my own. In an egregious article considering the Carmina Burana as a scholarly fake that were produced by their first editor ( J. A. Schmeller), Uwe Topper, ‘Die Carmina Burana – ein Gelehrtenulk?’, Efodon-Synesis, 13 (2006), 41–43, assumes that other words in CB 174 §1.3–4 might also be of Arabic origin. 66 See above, p. 331. 67 Frings, ‘Altspanische Mädchenlieder’, 195: ‘Fäden ziehen sich zu den Liedern der Cambridger Handschrift und zu den Carmina Burana’. See also Klinck, ‘Lyric Voice and the Feminine’, 19–20.

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the kharja.68 CB 149 contains two stanzas, one each in Latin and German, the metre and wording of which are similar to those we have encountered in the examples cited above: ‘Floret silua nobilis’ (or, in the refrain, ‘Floret silua undique’, §1.7), and ‘Gruͦ net der walt | allenthalben’ (‘the [noble] forest is in bloom all around’, §§1.1 and 2.1–2).69 The girl asks: ‘ubi est antiquus | meus amicus’, ‘wa ist min geselle | alsen lange?’ (‘where is my friend of olden days’, ‘where has my friend been for such a long time?’, §§1.3–4 and 2.3–4). She receives the mocking answer: ‘hinc equitauit’, ‘der ist geriten hinnen’ (‘he has ridden away’, §§l.5 and 2.5), which provokes her mournful reply: ‘eia! quis me amabit?, ‘owi! wer sol mich minnen?’ (‘alas! who will love me?’, §§l.6 and 2.6). The girl’s distressed question is followed, in the Latin stanza, by the macaronic refrain: ‘Floret silua undique, | nah mime gesellen ist mir we!’ (‘the forest is in bloom all around, | I ache with longing for my friend’, §1.7–8).70 We might see in this macaronic refrain – rather than in the overall sequence of a Latin and a German stanza – a parallel to the kharja, which often contains elements of the Arabic and Romance idioms. The longing for the beloved, as it is expressed in the German refrain-line ‘nah mime gesellen ist mir we’, as well as the question concerning the beloved’s whereabouts (raised in both stanzas), seems to coincide

68

Vollmann, 1149, considers this song to be ‘motivverwandt mit den spanischen Jarchas bzw. den frz. Chansons de toile’, and likewise links it to another poem attributed to Emperor Henry VI (MF, 4.35–5.7). 69 Again, the chronology of the Latin and German texts is disputed among scholars; see Vollmann, 1148. 70 In the Codex Buranus, the refrain follows only the Latin stanza (f. 60v). Probably the scribe assumed that there would also be a rubric ‘REFL.’ to follow the German text, ending on f. 61r, as they placed the last syllable of the verb ‘minnen’ at the beginning of a new line. There was, however, no rubric indicating the refrain, so another scribe – whose hand looks slightly different, as the ‘h’ and ‘g’ in the German texts suggest – began CB 150 on the same line, prompting the illuminator to inscribe the song’s initial over the last syllable of CB 149 and needing to reiterate the latter at the end of the line. I am grateful to Henry Hope for making these observations. The mocking character of the Latin and German stanzas is also picked up by Hugo von Hofmannsthal in the central scene of his drama Jedermann (1911): when Jedermann welcomes his invitees before being met by the personified Death, the following dialogue develops between a young lady and one of the guests: ‘Das andere Fräulein: | “Floret silva undique, | Um meinen Gesellen ist mir weh.” | Der eine Gast (spottet ihr nach): | “Floret silva undique, | Um ihren Gesellen ist ihr weh.” | Das gleiche Fräulein: | “Er ist geritten hinnen. | O weh, wer soll mich minnen!”’; quoted after Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Ausgewählte Werke in zwei Bänden, ed. by Rudolf Hirsch, 2 vols (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 1961), i, 363.

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with the girl’s complaints in the kharjas, as seen above, for instance: ‘yā mamma mio al-h�abībi bay-šë e non me tornad�e’ (‘O mother, my friend goes and won’t return’).71 Stetit puella (CB 177) Instead of bewailing the loss of the beloved as in CB 149, the stanzas of the macaronic song CB 177 (f. 70r) end with an erotic encounter. The two opening Latin stanzas depict a girl in a red tunic with a bright face and blooming lips: 1. Stetit puella rufa tunica; si quis eam tetigit, tunica crepuit. eia! 2. Stetit puella tamquam rosula: facie splenduit et os eius floruit. eia! 3. Stetit puella bi einem bovme, scripsit amorem an eime lǫvbe. dar chom Venus also fram; caritatem magnam, hohe minne bot si ir manne. 1. There stood a girl in a red tunic; if anyone touched her, her tunic rustled. Eia! 2. There stood a girl like a little rose.

71

See above, kharja no. VII, p. 340.

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Her face was bright and her lips were full. Eia! 3. There stood a girl by a tree; she wrote her love on a leaf. Suddenly Venus came by. Great love, noble love she offered her man. (CB 177)

Depicting a girl in her dress, the scene is reminiscent of other poems in the early Minnesang tradition.72 However, we could also relate the text to a kharja that was added to muwaššah�as composed by Ibn Baqī and others: al-gilālah raxs�ah bǝštǝ a �tūt�ā mī rǝfīšu My bodice is fragile. Enough! I say no to all this.73

There is no need to consider the girl presented in CB 177’s Latin stanzas ‘a prostitute’, as has been suggested.74 Instead, the female protagonist seems to be the type of girl who longs for her lover in the same way that her counterparts in the adjacent songs of the Codex Buranus do. We might interpret the ‘rustling’ tunic (§1.4) as a metonymic substitute for the body itself, described in the following stanza in its prosperous brightness (§2.3). The concluding macaronic stanza is of a rather different form and content, and shows the girl ‘writing her love on a leaf ’ (§3.1). The combination of culture (‘writing’) and nature (‘on a leaf [of a tree]’) leads to an erotic encounter, captured metaphorically by the arrival of Venus 72

For instance, a stanza composed by the Kürnberger in which the girl says: ‘Swenne ich stân aleine in mînem hemede, | und ich gedenke an dich, ritter edele, | sô erblüet sich min varwe, als der rôse an dem dorne tuot, | und gewinnet daz herze vil manigen trûrigen muot’ (‘whenever I stand alone in my shirt | and think of you, noble knight, | my appearance [lit. colour] begins to flower – like the rose does on the thorn – | and my heart is filled with much sadness’, MF, 8.17–24, 25); see Vollmann, 1190. 73 Kharja no. XXIX; see above, p. 333. 74 In my view, the interpretation proposed in Traill, ii, 672, is unlikely.

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(§3.3). In the following, the girl offers ‘great’ and even ‘noble love’ (‘caritatem magnam, | hohe minne’, i.e. courtly love, §3.4–5) to her friend. The act of writing provides the girl with the authority of literacy; she is performing the same art as the poet, who can often be identified with the male lover in the songs. It is this act of writing that finally initiates love. In the songs that follow CB 177 in the manuscript, writing – and letter-writing in particular – is an ongoing concern: the German stanza that completes CB 179 (on f. 70v) addresses the topic in its incipit, ‘Einen brief ich sande | einer frouwen guͦ t’ (‘I sent a letter to a noble lady’), and CB 180, discussed in detail above, also involves a letter (‘ut me refert littera’, §1.4).

Transgression in the Codex Buranus In the kharjas appended to the poem of Ibn Baqī and others, quoted above, the girl’s sovereignty seems to be of a kind similar to that in CB 177; she even dares to refuse (‘mī rǝfīšu’), despite being eagerly engaged in the erotic play in the preceding lines of the muwaššah�a. In other kharjas, the girl openly expresses her desire and sexual appeal. What we encounter here, of course, is no ‘authentic’ female discourse, but most likely the male ‘conception of woman (as a passionate being, who voices only her own uninhibited desire)’.75 Bossong sees this kind of voicing as a ‘transgression’76 – a transgression which we might claim to be relevant for the Andalusian kharjas as well as the German-texted elements in the refrains and stanzas of the Codex Buranus. Besides this common aesthetic feature, this survey has been able to trace formal and verbal, as well as content-related and even cultural analogies. The colloquial and vernacular lines appended to texts written in a standard idiom (classical Arabic or Latin) allow for the juxtaposition of alternative discourses which might reflect the productive tensions at play in the encounter of diverse social groups and their respective cultural spheres: clerical, monastic, and lay people in the case of the Carmina Burana, and Muslims, Jews, and Christians in the case of Andalusian poetry. Certainly, the correspondences we have tried to uncover should not be underestimated. Local traditions, including dance songs or the poetry of contemporary German poets such as Walther and Neidhart, had an important impact on the German stanzas of the Codex Buranus. Likewise, we should take into account the influence of Romance lyrical forms and traditions like the Old French virelai and Chanson de toile. Consequently, it proves difficult to draw direct

75 76

Spitzer, ‘Mozarabic Lyric’, 22. See above, p. 334.

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lines between the kharjas and the German components of the Latin Carmina Burana – despite the evidence we can find in CB 85/CB 159 with its parallel transmission (and probable origin) in Northern Spanish manuscript culture.77 Nevertheless, a study of the kharjas enables us to consider the poetic and cultural hybridity of the plurilingual poems in the Codex Buranus more thoroughly. The comparison with Andalusian poetry, as it has been undertaken here, can provide a more inclusive understanding of premodern literature that is not confined by Christian borders. Wachinger’s call to turn ‘to other literary traditions for comparison’ might indeed shed new light on our understanding of the Codex Buranus and on medieval culture in general.

77

For the historical pathways on which transfers like those of CB 85/CB 159 to more eastern spheres might have occurred, one could point to the pan-European relationships of the Staufen dynasty: in 1219, Beatrix (renamed Elisabeth and Isabella) of Swabia (1205–35) – daughter of Philip, Duke of Swabia and King of Germany (1198–1208) – married the future King Ferdinand III of Castile and Leon (1230– 52), who reconquered a large part of the territories of Al-Andalus occupied by the Arabs. The marriage was arranged by Frederick – son of Emperor Henry VI, King of Sicily (from 1198) and of Germany (from 1212), the future Emperor Frederick II (1220–50) – who, on his part, was married to Constance of Aragon – daughter of Alfonso II of Aragon, Count of Barcelona, and of Sancha of Leon-Castile – from 1209 until Constance’s death in 1222. See the overview by Hansmartin Decker-Hauff, ‘Das Staufische Haus’, in Die Zeit der Staufer: Geschichte – Kunst – Kultur: Katalog der Ausstellung Stuttgart 1977, ed. by Reiner Haussherr et al., 5 vols (Stuttgart: Württembergisches Landesmuseum, 1977–79), iii (1977), 339–74 (356–57 [no. 70]: King Philip of Swabia; 358–60 [no. 77]: Emperor Frederick II and Constance of Aragon; 361–62 [no. 84]: Beatrix of Swabia and King Ferdinand III of Castile). I am grateful to Heike Sigrid Lammers-Harlander for drawing my attention to this historical background.

Chapter 13

Compilation, Contrafacture, Composition: Revisiting the German Texts of the Codex Buranus Henry Hope The German-texted items of the Codex Buranus have given rise to much critical debate and – not least – an inordinate amount of speculation. Cyril Edwards aptly summarises their preeminent role in the manuscript’s scholarly reception by characterising the German lyrics as ‘the best-known, but also the most contentious texts in the manuscript’.1 Scholarship in the twenty-first century, however, has tended to circumnavigate the issues surrounding these texts in favour of other concerns. Johann Drumbl’s reconsideration of the manuscript’s provenance offers explicit discussion of its German texts only in passing, despite making the tantalising suggestion that the manuscript may have originated in the context of Emperor Frederick II’s retinue.2 Drumbl’s relative disregard for the German texts as a distinct category is representative of a shift in perspective in approaching the manuscript as a whole, as evidenced in the recent work of Gundela Bobeth, who attempts to liberate the collection once and for all from its long-standing association with a construed notion of vagrant poetry and the concomitant assumptions about its defective, impoverished transmission.3 With a view to the notational features of the Latin song Dic Christi ueritas (CB 131), Bobeth demonstrates the ways in which the compilers of the Codex Buranus created a meaningful version of this compositum by uniting two distinct songs into one.4 Like Drumbl, Bobeth makes only passing reference to the German texts (in relation to their notation) and does not dwell on the issue that had

Cyril Edwards, ‘German Texts in the Codex Buranus’, in The Carmina Burana: Four Essays, ed. by Martin H. Jones, King’s College London Medieval Studies, 18 (London: King’s College London, 2000), 41–70 (55). 2 Drumbl, 354–56. 3 Bobeth, 82. 4 Bobeth, 101–13. 1

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excited and puzzled earlier scholars, namely that German (and other non-Latin) texts were included in this predominantly Latin manuscript to such a large extent. As its absence from recent publications suggests, the debate over how and why German materials made their way into the collection of the Codex Buranus seems to have reached an academic impasse. In 1992, Olive Sayce presented a comprehensive study of this corpus and one might reasonably have predicted that her 200-page analysis, which considers the manuscript’s plurilingual features across languages from a variety of perspectives – scribal, linguistic, literary, and formal – would have provided a satisfactory resolution to the debates surrounding this corpus.5 Sayce’s study remains the sole monograph on this topic, but two further articles were published at the turn of the millennium, focussing on the German texts in particular: while Cyril Edwards offered little more than a summative overview of the German materials, Udo Kühne challenged scholars to reconsider the function of these songs.6 Surprisingly, perhaps, neither of the articles engages in detail with Sayce’s arguments concerning the genesis of the collection’s plurilingual items: Edwards eschews any critical assessment of the manuscript’s plurilingualism beyond stating its variety, and Kühne sidesteps Sayce’s considerations in favour of drawing renewed attention to Burghart Wachinger’s and Ulrich Müller’s claims, made in the early 1980s, concerning the compositional chronology within these contrafacta.7 No substantial work, I believe, has been published on the manuscript’s plurilingualism since Kühne’s and Edwards’ contributions in 2000. This scholarly silence does not, however, indicate that any consensus has been reached.8 On the

5

Sayce. Edwards, ‘The German Texts’; Udo Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein als Sprachen der Lyrik in den “Carmina Burana”’, Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur, 122 (2000), 57–73. 7 Burghart Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und lateinische Liebeslieder: zu den deutschen Strophen der Carmina Burana’, in From Symbol to Mimesis: The Generation of Walther von der Vogelweide, ed. by Franz H. Bäuml, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 368 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1984), 1–34; repr. in Der deutsche Minnesang: Aufsätze zu seiner Erforschung, 2, ed. by Hans Fromm, Wege der Forschung, 608 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1985), 275–308; Ulrich Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung als poetische Technik: Barbarolexis in den Carmina Burana’, in Europäische Mehrsprachigkeit: Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Mario Wandruszka, ed. by Wolfgang Pöckl (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1981), 87–104; repr. in Ulrich Müller: Gesammelte Schriften zur Literaturwissenschaft, ed. by Margarete Springeth, Gertraud Mitterauer, and Ruth Weichselbaumer, 4 vols, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 750 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 2010), i, 217–34. 8 Müller had already noted such a lack of consensus in 1980: Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 217. 6

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contrary, Sayce’s monograph and Kühne’s article offer additional alternatives to the hypotheses voiced by Wachinger and Müller. The result is that today various understandings of these materials sit alongside each other without having entered fully into dialogue with one another, casting a complex web of scholarship over the topic which makes it difficult to study these songs afresh without overlooking some aspects of the academic debates of the past. As Peter Dronke had worried as early as 1962, long before any of the aforementioned contributions were published, reassessing the corpus of German materials in the Codex Buranus (in order to enquire into the manuscript’s date of production) required that ‘some of the most difficult questions in the history of medieval lyric be re-opened’.9 In keeping with the present volume’s overarching theme of ‘Revisiting the Codex Buranus’, this chapter takes up Dronke’s challenge and seeks to make a renewed engagement with the manuscript’s German materials less daunting. To do so, it establishes the corpus of German texts under discussion and reconsiders some of the fundamental categorisations that have been developed to organise them. This approach offers a fruitful starting point for clarifying and demarcating scholars’ a priori assumptions in their efforts to understand the role that these materials played in the construction of the manuscript as a whole. Such a reassessment shows that two modes of understanding have dominated the debate: the notion that the Latin-German songs derived from two distinct monolingual songs which were compiled alongside each other without seeking to generate a meaningful whole; and the suggestion that the Latin stanzas were modelled on a pre-existing German song in a process of contrafacture – or vice versa – with the model and imitation transmitted together in order to reflect the genesis of the new song and to provide new layers of meaning. While some scholars tentatively suggested a third possibility, namely that the texts, though in different languages, might have been prepared in a single act of composition, this particular road towards understanding the German material of the Codex Buranus has not yet been explored in any detail. So in a final, third step, the chapter considers three songs in detail, CB 48 and CB 151/CB 169, in order to illustrate these three pathways and to make a case for further exploring the possibility that the multilingual Latin and German texts were actually Latin-German texts that might have been produced together, in the context in which the Codex Buranus was compiled.

9

Peter Dronke, ‘A Critical Note on Schumann’s Dating of the Codex Buranus’, Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur, 84 (1962), 173–83 (183).

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The German Texts of the Codex Buranus As an essential preliminary to studying the German texts of the Codex Buranus, it is necessary to define this corpus. Previous attempts at studying these materials have employed divergent definitions, reflecting their authors’ main concerns. Otto Schumann, for instance, concentrated his efforts on the unique German stanzas attached to the manuscript’s Latin songs about love or spring. After several steps of exclusion – later material, macaronic songs, songs not concerned with love or spring, songs with concordances – he established a corpus of thirty-six German texts for more detailed consideration.10 Unfortunately, he does not list these songs in a table, leaving the reader to reconstruct his corpus for themselves. Udo Kühne stands at the opposite end of the spectrum regarding the meticulous definition of a corpus, offering only the vague delineation of ‘approximately fifty multilingual text units of this type [German stanzas concluding a Latin song]’.11 W. T. H. Jackson gives a more precise figure of ‘fifty-five German poems, of which forty-five are attached, or seem to be, to a preceding Latin poem’, but he too fails to substantiate this corpus by providing a catalogue of songs.12 Burghart Wachinger makes out a total of ‘forty-six German Minnelied items – excluding the macaronic songs’, and the discrepancy between Jackson’s and Wachinger’s total count highlights the problems that may result from the tacit construction of unspecified corpora.13 In contrast to Schumann, Kühne, Jackson, and Wachinger, Bruce A. Beatie concentrated his attention on ‘the six poems which are truly macaronic’.14 Though making explicit the corpus of songs under scrutiny, Beatie does not provide an overall number of macaronic songs in the manuscript, and his discussion offers the reader little help in extracting an at-a-glance overview of the songs in question. In 1980, Ulrich Müller became the first scholar to tackle the fuzziness of this corpus by providing a table of ‘the sixty-two Latin songs in the Carmina Burana collection which contain other languages’.15 As this description indicates, Müller’s 10 11 12 13 14 15

Otto Schumann, ‘Die deutschen Strophen der Carmina Burana’, GermanischRomanische Monatsschrift, 14 (1926), 418–37 (423). Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein’, 57. All translations of German publications are my own. W. T. H. Jackson, ‘The German Poems in the Carmina Burana’, German Life and Letters, 7 (1953), 36–43 (36). Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und Lateinische Liebeslieder’, 295. Bruce A. Beatie, ‘Macaronic Poetry in the Carmina Burana’, Vivarium, 5 (1967), 16–24 (18). Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 222; the table is presented on 218– 21.

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catalogue includes all plurilingual lyrics, regardless of their languages, thus allowing a comparison of the prominence held by the different languages: one song contains Greek elements (CB 51), seven feature Old French (CB 42, CB 94, CB 95, CB 118 [possibly with Occitan elements], CB 195, CB 205, CB 218), and fifty-six include German. Müller’s table, however, is restricted to lyric texts and consequently excludes the material in the plays, the interlinear glosses of CB 133 and CB 134, and the manuscript’s later additions. In line with the main argument of his article, Müller’s table distinguishes between ‘independent’ material and ‘syntactically integrated’ texts but his detailed information regarding the latter category makes it difficult to untangle this column analytically. Similarly, information about concordances and attested authorship is inconsistently appended to the description of the number and type of stanzas, further impeding the usability of Müller’s table. The lack of incipits and folio numbers makes finding the individual items in the Codex Buranus more cumbersome than it needs to be, and the fact that the table is spread across four individual pages makes it difficult to glean an overall view of the manuscript’s plurilingual material. Cyril Edwards, in turn, notes his reliance on Müller’s work but claims that his own table ‘attempts to be more comprehensive in that it also considers genres other than the lyrics’.16 Expanding the table to include two plays (CB 15* and CB 16*), Freidank’s aphorisms (CB 17*), the dialogue between Joseph of Arimathea and Pilate (CB 23*), the translation of John’s Prologue (CB 7*), and the courtly love lyric added into the blank space of f. 54v (CB 2*), Edwards consciously limits his table to German items and consequently omits the Greek song as well as five of the Old French texts (CB 42, CB 94, CB 95, CB 118, CB 205). Besides its more manageable format, the table’s inclusion of folio references and incipits further enhances its usefulness. Yet Edwards merges the essential information about a song’s type of plurilingualism into the incipit column, making it difficult to analyse the types that Müller had carefully distinguished. Finally, the table’s ordering by folio rather than by CB numbering (based on the manuscript’s original order as reconstructed by Wilhelm Meyer) is another source for potential confusion.17 Drawing on the valuable insights of Müller’s and Edwards’s efforts, I have attempted to ameliorate the resulting problems by separating out some of the categories into individual columns as well as giving additional information such as text scribe and music scribe (see Illustration 13.1).18 The resulting table distinguishes 16

Edwards, ‘The German Texts’, 68, fn. 28. See Wilhelm Meyer (ed.), Fragmenta Burana (Berlin: Weidmann, 1901), 17. 18 This illustration can also be found online at https://boydellandbrewermusic.com/ revisiting-the-codex-buranus/. Some of the additional information is contained in the online version only. 17

Illustration 13.1. The German materials in the Codex Buranus; incipits according to Vollmann; scribes based on Hilka/Schumann; additional information available in the online version text # 1 2 3 4 5

CB 48 112 113 114 115

f. α 13v 81r 81r 81v 81v

scribe h1 h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1]

incipit Latin Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit Dudum uoueram Transiit nix et glacies Prata iam rident omnia Nobilis, mei miserere, precor!

incipit German Hoͤ rstu, friunt Div mich singen tůt Waz ist fuͤ r daz senen gůt Der al der werlt ein meister si Edileͮ vrowe min

6 7 8

133 134 135

56r 56r 56v

h1 pal. h1 pal. h2 [h1]

Hic uolucres celi referam Nomina paucarum sunt Cedit, hyemps, tua duricies

9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144

56v 57r 57r 57v 58r 58v 58v 59r 59v

h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1]

Omnia sol temperat Ver redit optatum Veris leta facies Tempus transit horridum Terra iam pandit gremium Florent omnes arbores Tempus adest floridum Ecce gratum et optatum Iam iam rident prata

18 19

145 146

59v 60r

h2 [h1] h2 [h1]

Musa uenit carmine Tellus flore uario uestitur

20 21

147 148

60r 60v

h2 [h1] h2 [h1]

Si de more cum honore Floret tellus floribus

[glosses] [glosses] Der starche winder hat uns uerlan Solde ih noch den tach geleben Springer wir den reyen nu In liehter varwe stat der walt Zergangen ist der winder chalt Nu suͤ ln wir alle froͮ de han Div heide grůnet vnd der walt Ich solde eines morgenes gan Ze niwen vroͮ den stat min muͦ t Ich han gesehen, daz mir in dem herçen saͮ nfte tuͦ t Węre div werlt alle min Nahtegel, sing einen don mit sinne Sage, daz ih dirs iemmer lone Nu sin stolz vnd hovisch

22 23

149 150

60v 61r

h2 [h1] h2 [h1]

Floret silua nobilis Rediuiuo uernat flore

Grůnet der walt | allenthalben Ich pin cheiser ane chrone

24

151

61r

h2 [h1]

Virent prata hiemata

25 26 27 28 29 30 31

152 153 155 161 162 163 164

61v 61v 62v 65r 65r 65v 66r

h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h1 h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1]

Estas non apparuit Tempus transit gelidum Quam pulchra nitet facie Ab estatis foribus O, consocii Longa spes et dubia Ob amoris pressuram

So wol dir, meie, wie du scheidest Ich gesach den sumer nie Vrowe, ih pin dir undertan Si ist schoͤ ner den uro Dido was Div werlt frovͤ t sih uber al Svͦ ziv vroͣ we min Eine wunechliche stat Ih wolde gerne singen

32

165

66v

h2 [h1]

Amor, telum es insignis Veneris

Mir ist ein wip sere in min gemuͦ te chomen

form incipit 2 German

refrain language Latin Latin Latin + German

type attached attached attached attached attached

macaronic

glosses glosses attached

Einschiebsel Einschiebsel

attached attached attached attached attached attached attached attached attached attached attached attached attached

Venus schivzet iren bolz macaronic

integrated attached attached

Latin

attached attached attached attached attached attached attached attached

notation music Latin complete

music German none

spacing

none

first line

none

n4

first line none first stanza end

n4 n4

first stanza first three lines last stanza complete

n4

music scribe n2?

n4

alternation first five lines first two stanzas

first five lines n4 (and two neumes) first line (and n4 one neume)

first stanza none

n3

complete complete first stanza none

n4 n4

first two first line stanzas first stanza none

n4 n3

text # 33

CB 166

f. α 67r

scribe h2 [h1]

incipit Latin Iam dudum Amoris militem

incipit German Solde auer ich mit sorgen iemmer leben Swaz hie gat umbe Nu grvͦ net auer div heide Roter munt, wie du dich swachest! Min vrowe Venus ist so guͦ t!

34 35 36

167 168 169

67v 67v 68r

h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1]

Laboris remedium Anno nouali mea Hebet sydus leti uisus

37

170

68v

h2 [h1]

38 39 40 41

171 172 173 174

68v 69r 69r 69v

h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 h2 [h1]

Quelibet succenditur uiuens creatura De pollicito Lude, ludat, ludite! Reuirescit | et florescit Veni, ueni, uenias

42 43 44 45

175 177 178 179

69v 70r 70r 70v

h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1]

Pre Amoris tedio Stetit puella Volo uirum uiuere uiriliter Tempus est iocundum

Taugen minne div ist guͦ t [macaronic] Ich wil den sumer gruzen Einen brief ich sande

46

180

71r

h2 [h1]

O mi dilectissima

Ich wil truren varen lan

47

181

71r

h2 [h1]

Quam natura pre ceteris

Der winder zeiget sine chraft

48

182

71v

h2 [h1]

Sol solis in stellifero

Vns chumet ein liehte sumerzit

49

183

71v

h2 [h1]

Si puer cum puellula

50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

184 185 195 203 204 211 218 222 225 2* 7* 15*

72r 72r 86v 90r 90v 92v 95r 97v 98r 54v †1r †5r

h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h2 [h1] h1 h1 h6 h14 h23

62

16*

107r

63 64

17* 23*

110v 112v

h26/27 [h11] h29 h35

Virgo quedam nobilis [macaronic] Si quis deciorum Hiemali tempore Vrbs salue regia Alte clamat Epicurus Audientes audiant Ego sum abbas Cucaniensis Sacerdotis et leuitę // // Incipit ludus immo exemplum Dominice resurrectionis Primitus producatur Pilatus [= Passion Play] // //

Ich sich den morgensterne brehen [macaronic] Ich was ein chint so wolgetan [macaronic] Vns seit uon Lutringen Helfrich [macaronic] Nu lebe ich mir alrest werde [macaronic] [macaronic] [macaronic] Ich lob die liben froͣ wen min In anegenge was ein wort [macaronic]

Vrowe, wesent vro Ich han eine senede not Wol ir libe, div so schone Chume, chume, geselle min

[several German stanzas] Diu mukke muͦ z sich sere muͤ n Iesus, von gotlicher art

form incipit 2 German

refrain language

type attached

macaronic

attached attached attached

notation music music Latin German first stanza none

music scribe n4

first stanza none first stanza none

n3 n3

first stanza; none refrain first stanza; none refrain

n3

attached attached attached attached attached

Sůzer roser varwer munt

Suͦ ziv minne, raine min Die uogele swigent gegen der zit

Latin + German German + German Latin + German

attached integrated attached attached integrated + attached attached

Latin + German Latin

attached

macaronic Latin

integrated integrated integrated attached integrated attached integrated integrated integrated standalone gospel play

German

refrain

n3

attached

play

Swer redelicher dinge gert

alternation

standalone play fragment

alternation alternation Einschiebsel+ refrain alternation Einschiebsel Einschiebsel

Einschiebsel

complete play

several

complete play

as CB 26*

complete

similar to h35?

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between Müller’s basic types of plurilingualism (‘independent/attached’ and ‘integrated’) and includes reference to Beatie’s nuanced typology of macaronic songs, allowing further subdivision of Müller’s category of ‘syntactically integrated’. The table also indicates the presence of refrains and their languages, as well as any textual concordances (online only). Given that I am interested specifically in the German materials, for the purposes of the present chapter, I have excluded the French and Greek materials. In total, the table lists sixty-four items which include various types of German material. Thanks to computerised data processing, this information can be organised by any of its categories and offer new, general insights into the contents of the Codex Buranus at a glance: for instance, ordering the table by music scribe reveals that n4 notated none of the macaronic texts or refrain songs which include German material;19 similarly, ordering by concordance shows that none of the macaronic items have concordances elsewhere, nor do any of the songs that include German in their refrain. It is hoped that digital access to this table, and thus the ability to reorder, expand, and excerpt it as needed, will prove a fruitful resource for future scholarship.

Assessing the German Texts of the Codex Buranus In seeking to establish the corpus of German (or all plurilingual) materials in the Codex Buranus, scholars have made a distinction between those items that place two or more languages alongside one another and those that integrate the languages syntactically into a composite whole. Ulrich Müller discussed this distinction in detail, establishing the categories of Mehrsprachigkeit for the former type and Sprachmischung for the latter.20 In order to avoid confusion with Sayce’s concept of plurilingualism, which encompasses all types of language mixture, I will refer in the following to Müller’s types as ‘multilingual’ and ‘macaronic’ songs. Müller was adamant that these two types of plurilingualism did not constitute a single, comparable phenomenon: ‘given their differing linguistic principles of construction, there is a completely fundamental difference [ganz grundsätzlicher Unterschied] between songs that are multilingual and those that are macaronic’.21 Only in the case of macaronic texts can an authorial intention of reading multiple languages together as a whole be proven, but Müller argued

19

For a discussion of the repertories prepared by the manuscript’s four notators, see the present volume’s contribution by Lammers-Harlander. 20 Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 222. 21 Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 222.

Revisiting the German Texts of the Codex Buranus

361

that multilingual songs might nevertheless have taken on the same aesthetic functions as macaronic texts: citation, glossing, emotional intensification, characterisation, and parody.22 Olive Sayce maintained Müller’s formal distinction between multilingual and macaronic songs, but rejected the notion that they could have had similar functions. Instead, she reiterated Wachinger’s proposition that the multilingual songs in the Codex Buranus – that is, those forty-seven songs which append one or more German stanzas to Latin texts – generally showed little or no semantic cohesion but were joined together for reasons of formal similarity: ‘the German stanzas attached to Latin poems and the German refrain of Latin [CB] 180 are in every respect different from the vernacular components of bilingual or plurilingual [= macaronic] texts, and can have been included solely for structural reasons, to illustrate the same or a similar metrical form, or in the case of [CB] 180 to complete the structure’.23 The evidence of the Codex Buranus, however, suggests that its scribes made no such fundamental distinction. Like the majority of refrain songs (eight of thirteen), most of the collection’s macaronic songs (nine of twelve) are located in the last third of the manuscript; but, unlike the refrain songs, these are not placed alongside one another as a unit. Seven of the thirteen refrain songs are notated back to back between ff. 70v and 72v, making it likely that the scribes considered them as a coherent group, or at the very least found them as such in an exemplar. In contrast, the only case in which two macaronic songs are placed immediately next to each other in the manuscript is CB 184 and CB 185; these could equally well have been placed next to each other because of their use of a three-line refrain and their similarly explicit treatment of rape.24 There is no group of macaronic songs to match the small but distinct group of refrain songs (CB 179–CB 185), calling into question the claim that the former were considered a distinct formal type that could be contrasted to the multilingual songs. Moreover, the macaronic songs CB 149 and CB 177 are placed among the multilingual songs without any form of scribal highlighting: the scribes appear to have considered them no different than the songs with attached stanzas that surrounded them. Notwithstanding the observation that the macaronic songs of the Codex Buranus are all unique to this manuscript, that their plurilingual intent can 22

Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 223. Sayce, 192. 24 The only other case in which two ‘macaronic’ songs are placed next to each other is that of CB 133 and CB 134, which include interlinear glosses in German. These, however, represent a different type of ‘macaronic’ text which Beatie, ‘Macaronic Poetry’, 18, labels ‘Einschiebsel’ (‘short interpolation’). 23

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be attributed to their authors with certainty, and that the manuscript’s scribes made no qualitative distinction between this corpus and the multilingual songs, it is notable that the latter have featured much more prominently in modern scholarship.25 The multilingual songs have been of particular interest to scholars since they were believed to offer insight into the collection’s provenance.26 Like the macaronic items, none of the multilingual songs is transmitted elsewhere as a multilingual song; the presence of eleven of the German stanzas and two of the multilingual Latin texts in other, monolingual contexts makes it plausible that these songs were assembled as multilingual units by the community that produced the Codex Buranus, or its possible exemplar(s), rather than continuing a long-standing tradition of such songs. The frequently voiced notion that one of the two parts of a multilingual song was the result of contrafacture, depending on the other for its genesis and thereby establishing a formal and potentially meaningful connection between them, was challenged by Sayce: ‘apart from the number of special cases [namely] those in which a pre-existing German text has formed a model, or those in which a Latin poem and a German stanza have been composed together, the results of a textual comparison between the Latin poems and the German stanzas attached to them are surprisingly meagre. The links are minimal and may often be due to chance.’27 According to Sayce, the songs would have been compiled alongside one another on the basis of their similar theme or metre, rather than being intended to be read in conjunction with each other as single units, and she points to the general but non-specific links between the German stanzas and other songs in their vicinity within the manuscript in order to support this hypothesis.28 She claims that the ‘capital letters intermediate in size’ which open the German texts further strengthen the notion that they were ‘not considered by the scribes to form part of the Latin poems to which they are attached’.29 Sayce also notes that several Latin-only texts in the Codex Buranus (CB 47, CB 51, CB 191, and CB 220) compile songs that are extant as separate items elsewhere on the basis of their 25 26

27 28

29

Certainly, the greater number of multilingual songs provides another reason for their more extensive scholarly treatment. See, in particular, Otto Schumann’s attempt to date the Codex Buranus after 1300 on the basis of apparently late features in its German texts: Schumann, ‘Die deutschen Strophen’, 425–27. Sayce, 162. Sayce does not use the terms ‘compilation’ or ‘compile’ to describe this phenomenon, yet this terminology adequately captures the difference between her conception and Müller’s/Wachinger’s notion of contrafacture. Sayce, 166.

Revisiting the German Texts of the Codex Buranus

363

identical metre. Moreover, CB 195 and CB 197 appear to be contrafacta of Latin songs contained earlier in the collection (CB 61 and CB 62) but are not attached to them; and, similarly, CB 95 ‘imitates an existing poem by Hilarius, though in this instance only the contrafactum, and not the model is included in the codex’.30 The hypothesis that the multilingual songs may have been compiled from preexisting songs by the scribes of the Codex Buranus had already been considered in reference to CB 147 by Otto Schumann, although he believed this case to be an exception, secondary to the phenomenon of contrafacture, for ‘the majority of German stanzas were formed in imitation of the Latin songs’.31 With a view to CB 167, which appears to offer neither metrical nor topical links between its German stanza and the six Latin stanzas that precede it, Burghart Wachinger too admitted that multilingual songs might occasionally have been ‘compiled’ (‘zusammengefügt’), but only once the practice of appending a German stanza whose melody had functioned as the model for its new Latin text had become the norm.32 He argues that ‘the assumption of coincidental similarity and secondary compilation by a collector is entirely unlikely, given the diversity of Töne [metricalmelodic patterns]; moreover, it would fail to explain the parallels between the contents of the Latin and German texts, which are not infrequent. In most cases, the relationship is therefore one of model and imitation (contrafacture).’33 Müller concurred with Wachinger’s view of contrafacture as the central compositional process that generated the multilingual songs, although his claim that the scribes had presented the pairs of songs as coherent units with ‘incontestable clarity’ stands in glaring opposition to Sayce’s later reading of the same evidence.34 Wachinger’s and Müller’s assertion of the close connection between the German and Latin stanzas is similarly at odds with Sayce’s analysis that they had very little in common. Though Sayce noted that ‘the scribes had difficulty in matching Latin structures with German counterparts, which is why relatively few could be included’, she conceded that some songs ‘were composed specifically

30

Sayce, 172. Schumann, ‘Die deutschen Strophen’, 432. For Schumann’s discussion of compilation, see 430–31: ‘especially given that the content is entirely different, in this case [CB 147 (Schumann’s 110/110a)] only the approximate similarity in stanza design and possibly also the identity of the melodic opening offered a reason why the German stanza was added [zugesetzt] to the Latin song’. See also Vollmann, 1145–46. 32 Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und Lateinische Liebeslieder’, 279. 33 Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und Lateinische Liebeslieder’, 278. 34 Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 225; compare with Sayce, 166 (see also above, fn. 29). 31

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to match the Latin structures in as many particulars as possible’.35 Moreover, she also admitted that few German songs had formed models for Latin contrafacta (e. g. CB 149, CB 174, and CB 180), but strongly disagreed with the general compositional relationship and related chronological principle from German to Latin maintained by Wachinger;36 reiterating Schumann’s notion that the Latin songs formed the basis for the German imitations, she argued that the lack of neumes for most of the German texts indicated that these were ad hoc compositions for which no notation was available.37 Ulrich Kühne, in turn, avoided entering into the debate about contrafacture and compilation, arguing that the ‘combination’ of the multilingual songs reflected their social function rather than the compositional process of their genesis.38 Within the predominantly Latin context of the Codex Buranus, Kühne argues, the German stanzas would have been considered the main eye-catcher and could therefore be seen to have held ‘priority’ for users and compilers. He assumes that standalone German texts would not have been palatable to Latin audiences without being adequately couched within Latin poetry. In order to introduce German poetry into such a Latinate context, Latin stanzas were prefixed to German texts following a strategy akin to that of the accessus ad auctores used in the medieval classroom or the vidas and razos included in manuscripts of Romance song.39 Such accessus to the German songs would at first have included several German stanzas, but the compilers of the Codex Buranus who copied these songs at a remove from their original context kept the first German stanza only, as they were no longer interested in introducing the songs to a new audience in their entirety. If Kühne’s reasoning is correct, one might wonder why the compilers of the Codex Buranus retained the German texts at all rather than discarding them completely, given that they had lost their original purpose in this new context. Perhaps they did, in fact, still hold meaning but had by now become so familiar that a single German stanza would have been sufficient to cue

35

Sayce, 174. ‘My opinion that, in most cases, the Latin song is secondary will hardly meet vociferous protest today, even though an inverse relationship might exist in individual instances’: Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und Lateinische Liebeslieder’, 277. 37 Sayce, 175–76; compare Schumann, ‘Die deutschen Strophen’, 432. Bobeth has argued that the lack of notation need not indicate the absence of a notated source but may reflect the popularity of a melody, which consequently did not require notation: Bobeth, 92. 38 For Kühne’s use of the term ‘combination’, see Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein’, 65. 39 Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein’, 66. 36

Revisiting the German Texts of the Codex Buranus

365

its remaining text.40 This scenario might also explain the inclusion of Freidank’s aphorisms (CB 17*), the standalone German song on f. 54v (CB 2*), and a song with an opening German line (CB 185), all of which strengthen the notion that the compilers and (later) users of the Codex Buranus no longer required a gentle introduction to German verse.41 If the intended accessus were successful, however, and did indeed promote German-language songs, it seems puzzling that only eleven of the German texts survive in other sources. Despite holding contrasting views about the genesis and function of the multilingual songs, the scholars discussed above all share the same assumption about the intellectual context in which the Codex Buranus must have been prepared. Kühne, for instance, imagined a ‘small group of skilled authors, a few specialists who tried to keep up with all developments in their area of specialism as comprehensively as possible, keeping an eye on the literary scene without paying attention to language borders, and who likely had the ambition of surveying the whole of European literature at least in their own field’.42 Wachinger, too, noted the ‘broader availability of divergent conceptions and traditions’ in the preparation of the Codex Buranus, seeing this feature as a particular hallmark of the Late Middle Ages;43 and Dronke concluded that the collection’s preparation in the early thirteenth century ‘brings out dramatically the absolute contemporaneousness of the two traditions’.44 Today’s increased awareness of the manuscript’s ‘essentially multi-cultural and plurilingual nature’45 stands in sharp contrast to Hans Spanke’s erstwhile proposition that the German stanzas might have afforded non-Latinate audiences, and women in particular, access to the Latin songs gathered together in the songbook.46

40 41

42 43 44 45

46

A similar case is found in the abbreviated liturgical references in the Buranus plays (for instance, ‘Magnificat’). See Drumbl’s contribution to this volume. In further support of Kühne’s argument, the macaronic songs could also be explained as part of an endeavour to introduce German into literary circles that operated primarily in Latin, which is why they might not have been included in other manuscripts, where such an introduction was neither desired nor necessary. Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein’, 60. Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und Lateinische Liebeslieder’, 308. Dronke, ‘A Critical Note’, 183. Sayce, 203. See also Drumbl’s assertion that the Codex Buranus constitutes a ‘testament to active [gelebter] multilingualism’: Drumbl, 349. See also Bobeth’s Afterword to this volume. Hans Spanke, ‘Der Codex Buranus als Liederbuch’, Zeitschrift für Musikwissenschaft, 13 (1930–31), 241–51 (246).

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In light of the agreement concerning the open, intellectual environment which produced the Codex Buranus, it is surprising that the possibility that its multilingual songs were composed in the same way as the macaronic ones – that is, in a single act of composition by one and the same author – has not seriously been considered. The disregard for this possibility is all the more striking given that it has not been entirely absent from scholarly discussion: Schumann, for instance, cautiously voiced the idea ‘that the poet of the Latin songs had themselves composed and added the German stanzas’,47 and Sayce considered this scenario with reference to the exceptionally similar ‘formulations of the same idea’ in CB 115, CB 152, and CB 155.48 These three examples, she argued, stand out clearly against the majority of the songs in which the languages have only minimal links, and she consequently suggested that here ‘the Latin and the German have been composed together’.49 In 1996, Christoph März too imagined a scenario in which such bilingual songs might have been created, though his ideas have fostered little critical discussion in subsequent scholarship. Concluding his discussion of the relationship between Walther von der Vogelweide’s Leich (C 1) and CB 60, März encouraged scholars as an experiment, to put aside the question concerning the prius factum. […] It seems advisable to me – not only out of embarrassment [Verlegenheit] – to put to one side, for the time being, the songbook’s archival character in favour of those features which may show a vibrant context of production. The fact that the manuscript constitutes a collection cannot be doubted; but this does not prove that all of the things now found next to one another here were first brought together by the hand of a collector. It seems conceivable to me that the Carmina Burana bear witness to a workshop, a schola poetarum – yes, indeed, cantorum – in which the art of poetry was taught, learnt, and practised; quite likely in two languages and in the traditions associated with those languages, and the ways in which they each conceptualised amor and minne.50

Though März falls short of stating explicitly that the Latin and German stanzas of a given song might have been composed together by a single person, his suggestion 47

Schumann, ‘Die deutschen Strophen’, 435. Sayce, 162. 49 Sayce, 163. 50 Christoph März, ‘Walthers Leich und das Carmen Buranum 60/60a: Überlegungen zu einer Kontrafaktur’, in Lied im deutschen Mittelalter: Überlieferung, Typen, Gebrauch, ed. by Cyril Edwards, Ernst Hellgardt, and Norbert H. Ott (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1996), 43–56 (55–56). 48

Revisiting the German Texts of the Codex Buranus

367

that ‘the manuscript offers insight into a contrafacture workshop, exemplifying the various modes [Spielarten] of this art’,51 implies multilingual composition as one such technique. Similarly, Müller proposed that the multilingual songs of the Codex Buranus were the fruit of school exercises – a scenario that could also explain why none of multilingual songs were transmitted as units elsewhere.52 Nonetheless, Müller expressly precluded the notion that the multilingual songs were composed together: ‘these observations by no means imply that the songs constitute a genetic unit, that their Latin and German components were conceptualised according to the principle of Barbarolexis [that is, as macaronic units] from the outset and were conceived together by the same author’.53 As far as I can see, Müller offers no evidence for his off-hand dismissal of this idea but seems to have assumed that attested German authors such as Walther von der Vogelweide would never have derived their songs from contrafacture or, perhaps even less conceivably, have composed them in Latin.54 Yet Müller’s rejection of the notion that the multilingual songs were composed as units can be countered with his own line of argument: such a compositional principle ‘cannot be proven with evidence from the texts, but equally cannot be disproven’.55 In what follows, therefore, I revisit three well-known songs from the Codex Buranus in order to illustrate the three pathways of construction outlined in this section – compilation, contrafacture, and composition – seeking in particular to establish the latter as a possibility that deserves further consideration.

Compilation, Contrafacture, Composition: Two Case Studies CB 48: Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit / Hoͤ rstu friunt The ten-line Latin stanza Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit (CB 48), entered at the bottom of f. 13v, is followed by a brief refrain, ‘Exurgat deus’, and four further Latin stanzas (all of which are furnished with neumes), and is concluded on the

51

März, ‘Walthers Leich’, 56. Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 234. Godman outlines in detail the possible exchanges between the monastery at Neustift and the cathedral school. 53 Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 225. At the outset, Müller considers the possibility that the songs were ‘occasional units’, 218. 54 Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 231 (including fn. 48). 55 Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 231. 52

Illustration 13.2. CB 48 (ff. 13v, 14r)

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facing folio (f. 14r) with a single German stanza, Hoͤ rstu friunt, without notation (see Illustration 13.2). The German text is clearly demarcated from the song that follows by the rubric ‘Item’, the large capital ‘T’ that opens Tonat ewangelica clara uox in mundo (CB 49), and a manicula in the left-hand margin which was partly cropped during the rebinding of the manuscript. In 1965, Bruce A. Beatie argued against the prevailing interpretation proposed by Schumann (and corroborated by Carl von Kraus) that the two components of CB 48 shared few thematic links and had been compiled by the scribes of the Codex Buranus because of their formal similarity.56 Beatie drew attention to the close resemblance between the German stanza’s concluding line ‘stand ůf riter’ and the Latin refrain, and argued that the German dawn song and the Latin crusade song shared notions of ‘parting, […] of watchfulness, of vigilance in the face of hostility’ (see Illustration 13.3).57 In support of his proposition that the German stanza had provided the direct model for the Latin texts, he maintained that the music scribe n2 had struggled to provide notation for ll. 7 and 8 of the Latin: this difficulty resulted from the fact that these lines were expanded versions of the German text and that the German melody consequently did not provide sufficient notes.58 Beatie reasoned that the melody fitted better with the rhyme patterns, metrical design, and cadence types of the German stanza and concluded that the melody must have originated with the German text, with the notators of the Codex Buranus inconsistently trying to adapt it for the newly composed Latin stanzas.59 Vollmann concurred with Beatie’s view and rejected the notion of compilation proposed by Schumann, but noted a small catch in Beatie’s interpretation: if the Latin stanzas were indeed composed in the context of the Third Crusade around 1187, as proposed by Friedrich-Wilhelm Wentzlaff-Eggebert, it seems unlikely that they would have been based on their German stanza, which is attributed to Otto von Botenlauben in the Codex Manesse (Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cod. Pal. germ. 848).60 The poet was born around 1175 and would need to have composed the song at the age of twelve or even earlier for it to have been available and have reached some degree of popularity by 56 57 58 59 60

Bruce A. Beatie, ‘Carmina Burana 48–48a: A Case of “Irregular Contrafacture”’, MLN, 80 (1965), 470–78 (470–71). Beatie, ‘Irregular Contrafacture’, 478. Beatie, ‘Irregular Contrafacture’, 475. ‘It is immediately apparent that the melody is far more appropriate to the German than to the Latin poem’; Beatie, ‘Irregular Contrafacture’, 473. Vollmann, 986–89; see also Friedrich-Wilhelm Wentzlaff-Eggebert, Kreuzzugsdichtung des Mittelalters: Studien zu ihrer geschichtlichen und dichterischen Wirklichkeit (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1960), 165–68.

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the time it was used as the model for the Latin stanzas of CB 48.61 Undeterred by Beatie’s and Vollmann’s view, Sayce reiterated the earlier claim that the Latin and German songs transmitted alongside each other in CB 48 shared a relationship of compilation, not contrafacture: ‘the admonitory refrain “exurgat deus” attached to the crusading song [CB] 48 is superficially similar to the injunction addressed to the knight in the refrain of the dawn song [CB] 48a “stand ůf, riter”, but the context is entirely different. Nonetheless, the degree of similarity between the two refrains may have been one factor which prompted the juxtapositions of [CB] 48 and [CB] 48a.’62 Sayce’s overarching claim that multilingual songs like CB 48 were viewed as separate items by the scribes of the Codex Buranus rests, in part, on her observation that the initials that open the German stanzas are larger than those that precede them. However, this claim does not apply to CB 48: the initial H of Hoͤ rstu friunt is no bigger than any of the other initial Hs found in the adjacent texts. The song that precedes CB 48 – Crucifigat omnes (CB 47, f. 13r) – also contains a second song which is transmitted separately elsewhere (Curritur ad uocem) and this, too, is not highlighted by an ‘intermediate initial’. The lack of notation in the German stanza of CB 48 likewise does not necessarily bear witness to its difference in the eyes of the scribes: the song’s initial notator seems to have paused their work midway through the first line of f. 14r – at the word ‘helyseus’ – with the notation of the remaining Latin stanzas possibly provided by a second scribe. The Latin stanzas on f. 14r might also have been unnotated to begin with, just like the German text. Thus, the visual presentation allows that CB 48 was considered as a unit, rather than two separate songs, by the scribes. The observation that it follows on from another ‘multi-unit song’ but is otherwise surrounded by songs which are not compilations further supports this claim. The second music scribe’s decision to continue the original, truncated notation and provide neumes for the complete Latin text could equally be understood as an attempt not to distinguish between the German and Latin texts, but to underline their connection by visualising the watchman’s message that is heard by the lovers in the concluding German stanza: the end of the notation thus visually marks the sonic gap between the watchman’s ‘sanch’ and the situation of the parting lovers who hear the watchman in their chamber. In the context of the Codex Buranus, the lovers could also be hearing the ‘clear voice of the Gospel’ 61

For a biographical account of Otto von Botenlauben, see Peter Weidisch, ‘Otto von Botenlauben: Minnesänger – Kreuzfahrer – Klostergründer’, in Otto von Botenlauben: Minnesänger – Kreuzfahrer – Klostergründer, ed. by Peter Weidisch, Bad Kissinger Archiv-Schriften, 1 (Würzburg: Schöningh, 1994), 17–56. 62 Sayce, 158.

Illustration 13.3. CB 48: text and translation Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit nunc exposuit nobis deus et sic innotuit sarracenus sepulchrum polluit quo recubuit qui pro nobis crucifixus fuit quantum nobis in hoc condoluit quantum nobis propicius fuit dum sic uoluit mortem pati cruce nec meruit. Refl.: Exurgat deus.

‘What David, inspired by the Spirit, foretold, God has now revealed to us and so it has become known: the Saracen has profaned the tomb, in which was laid the one who was crucified for us. How much compassion he felt for us in doing this! How great was his benevolence towards us when he so chose to suffer undeserved death on the cross! Ref.: May God rise up!

Et dissipet hostes quos habuit postquam prebuit sarracenis locum quo iacuit […] duo ligna diu non habuit sarreptina quibus ut caruit semper doluit et dolebit dum rehabuerit quia nobis et propiciens [no notation for last two words].

Let him scatter the enemies he acquired when he granted the Saracens the place where he lay, […] The widow of Zarephath did not have her two sticks for long and when she lost them she constantly grieved for them and will grieve for them until she has them again [since for us he is also propitious; copying error?].

Sunamitis clamat pro filio qui occubuit [quem] nec giezi sanare potuit heliseus nisi met uenerit non surrexerit et os ori recte coniunxerit hesyseus ni nunc uenerit ni peccata conpassus [tulerit] non habuerit ecclesia crucem qua caru[er]it.

The Shunamite woman calls out for her son who died and whom Gehazi could not heal: ‘If Elisha does not come himself and duly apply mouth to mouth he will not rise again.’ If an Elisha does not come today, and with compassion take our sins from us, the church will not regain the cross it has lost.

Et adiuuet in hoc exercitu quos signauerit signo crucis qua nos redemerit iam tempus [uenię] aduenerit quo potuerit se saluare qui crucem ceperit nec uideat quisque quid fecerit quibus et quot deum offenderit quod si uiderit et se signet hiis solutus erit.

May he come to assist those in his army he has marked with the sign of the cross with which he redeems us. The time for forgiveness will soon be here when salvation can be won by everyone who takes up the cross. Now let each reflect on what he has done, with what acts – and how many – he has offended God. If he reflects on this and takes the cross, he will be freed from these sins.

Exurrexit et nos assurgere ei propere iam tenemur atque succurrere hierusalem [uoluit] perdere ut hoc opere sic possemus culpas diluere nam si uellet hostes destruere absque nobis et terram soluere posset propere cum sibi nil possit resistere.

He has risen up! We too are now bound to rise up for him in haste and hurry to his assistance. He chose to destroy Jerusalem so that by undertaking this task, we could wash away our sins; for if he wishes, he could quickly destroy the enemy without our help and set the land free, for nothing can stand up to him.’

Hoͤ rstu friunt den wahter an der cinne wes sin sanch ueriach wir muͦ zen uns schaiden nu lieber man also schiet din lip nu jungest hinnen do der tach uͦ f brach unde uns diu naht so fluhtechlichen tran naht git senfte we tuͦ t tach owe herce lieb in mach din nu uerbergen niht uns nimit diu freude gar daz grawe lieht stand uͦ f riter.

‘Do you hear, my friend, the watchman on the battlement? Do you hear what his song proclaimed? We must part now, dear man. Just so, not long ago, you left this place when day broke and night flowed from us so fleetingly. Night brings comfort, day brings sorrow. Ah, my heart’s true love, I can no longer hide you. The grey light robs us of all our joy. Rise up, my knight!’

The Latin-German text is based on the manuscript; the translation is adapted from Traill. The translation of the German stanza has been italicised to reflect the shift in language within the song.

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which opens the following song, CB 49.63 In fact, the Gospel’s exhortation to ‘rise from the deep’ (‘surge de profundo’) can be read as an analogy to CB 48’s Latin refrain ‘Exsurgat deus’ and the German ‘stand ůf riter’ (CB 48), suggesting that CB 48 and CB 49 form a case of what Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann has termed ‘parodic neighbourhood’.64 To my mind, the semantic ties within CB 48 which are brought to the fore by the song’s notation, as well as the seamless connection with CB 49, make it unlikely that Hoͤ rstu friunt was included alongside Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit merely because of the formal similarities of these texts. Moreover, there is no evidence in the transmission of the Codex Buranus that would preclude the possibility that the multilingual song had been composed as a unit from the outset. The Latin stanzas of CB 48, CB 49, and CB 50 are unique to the Codex Buranus, allowing for the possibility that, as a group, they were composed specifically for, or at least within the context of, this manuscript. The later transmission of Hoͤ rstu friunt constitutes an unusual case and opens up further space for questioning the genesis and authorship of CB 48. Unlike almost all of the eleven German stanzas that are attested elsewhere and conclude Latin songs in the Codex Buranus, Hoͤ rstu friunt is not transmitted as an opening stanza.65 The other two surviving manuscript witnesses – the Codex Manesse (f. 28v) and the Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift (Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cod. Pal. germ. 357, ff. 23r/v) – include it as the third, 63

The sound of voices calling is also a notable presence in the previous and following songs. The second part of CB 47 speaks of the voice of money – ‘curritur ad uocem nummi uel ad sonitum; hec est uox ad placitum’ (‘when money calls or clinks, we run. This is a sound we like’) – and CB 50 opens with the voice of lament ‘Heu, uoce flebili cogor enarrare’ (‘Alas, I am forced to recount, in a tearful voice’). The use of quotation marks in my translation of CB 48 (Illustration 13.3) reflects the possible interpretation that the lovers of the German stanza are hearing the Latin voice of the watchman. 64 Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, ‘Parodie in der Sammlung: eine parodistische Nachbarschaft in den “Carmina Burana” (CB 89–CB 90)’, in Parodie und Verkehrung: Formen und Funktionen spielerischer Verfremdung und spöttischer Verzerrung in Texten des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Seraina Plotke and Stefan Seeber, Encomia Deutsch, 3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 45–71; see also Cardelle de Hartmann’s contribution to the present volume. 65 The other cases in which concluding German stanzas of the Codex Buranus are not attested as opening stanzas in their concordances are CB 151 and CB 169 (see discussion below). The concluding stanza of CB 166 is transmitted as the opening stanza of MF 185.27 in the Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift (f. 25v), where it is attributed to Gedrut; the Codex Manesse, in contrast, attributes the song to Reinmar and transmits the stanza in third position (f. 104r).

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Illustration 13.4. Hoͤ rstu friunt in the Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift (ff. 23r/v)

concluding stanza of Wie sol ich den ritter nu gescheiden (see Illustration 13.5). Curiously, editors have dismissed this manuscript evidence and asserted that Hoͤ rstu friunt must constitute the second stanza of this dawn song.66 If, however, the multilingual form of Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit / Hoͤ rstu friunt as transmitted in the Codex Buranus constituted the original form of this song, it would not be quite so surprising for the German stanza to have retained its original concluding position at the end of these later versions. Two small observations about the later transmission of the dawn song further complicate attempts at uncovering the song’s composition history. The Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift ascribes the German song to the poet Niune while the Codex Manesse features it among Otto von Botenlauben’s songs. Of course, such a conflicting ascription could have resulted from the common mouvance of oral performance traditions, but it might also give testament to the song’s composition in several stages: first as part of a multilingual song, and then as a monolingual dawn song within a new performance context. Perhaps even more strikingly, the concluding line ‘stand ůf riter’, which provides a crucial link in the multilingual song of the Codex Buranus, caused the scribe of the Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift some trouble: here, the line functions as a refrain at the end of all three stanzas, but the scribe mistook it as the beginning of the final stanza rather than the end of the second (see Illustration 13.4). The decision

66

See, for example, Beatie, ‘Irregular Contrafacture’, 470, fn. 2.

Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift Wie sol ich den ritter nu gescheiden und das schone wip die dicke bi ein ander lagen e da rat ich in rehten truͥ wen beiden und uf min selbes lip das si sich scheiden und er dannen ge naht git senfte we tuͦ t tac owe herzeliep ine mac dich nu verbergen niht uns nimet der vreiden uil das grawe lieht stand uf ritter. Din kuslich munt din lip clar und suͦ ze din druken an die brust din umbevahen lat mich hie betagen das ich noch bi dir betagen muͤ ze ane aller vroiden verlust so das geschiht so endurfen wir niht clagen din minne ist gar ein zange mir si clemme mich ich muͦ z [uf dich] zuͦ dir gult ez mir alden lip min let der tac daz clage ich clagende wip. Stant uf riter. Din kuslich munt din lip clar und suͤ sse din druken an die brust din umbeuahen tuͦ nt mich hie betagen das ich noch bi dir betagen muͤ sse ane aller froͤ iden flust so das geschiht so endurfen wir niht klagen din minne ist gar ein zange mir si klembert mich ich muͦ s zuͦ dir gienge es mir an den lib dich enlat der tag das klage ich sendes wib.

Codex Manesse Wie sol ich den ritter nu gescheiden und das vil schone wib die dike bi einandern waren e den rat ich an rehten triuwen beiden und uf ir selber lib das si sich scheiden und er dannen ge masse ist zallen dingen guͦ t lib und ere ist unbehuͦ t ob man iht langer lit ich ensinge eht anders niht wan es ist zit.

Codex Buranus

Illustration 13.5. Hoͤ rstu friunt: comparative transcription

hoͤ restu vrunt den wahter uf der zinnen wez sin sanc veriach wie muͦ zen versich scheiden lieber man also schiet din lip ze iungest hinnen do der tac uf brach und uns duͥ naht so vluchteclich entran. ich were gerner langer hie wan unser scheiden daz gab ie mir strengez herze ser und clagete alluͥ wib doch clagete ich mere stant uf riter.

Hoͤ rest du fruͥ nt den wachter an der zinnen wes uns sin sang vergiht wir muͤ ssen uns nu scheiden lieber man alsus muͦ st du leider von mir hinnen owe mir der geschiht das uns duͥ naht so fluͥ hteklich entran naht git senfte we tuͦ t tag owe herzelieb ine mag din wol vergessen niet uns nimt die froͤ ide gar des wahters liet.

Hoͤ rstu friunt den wahter an der cinne wes sin sanch ueriach wir muͦ zen uns schaiden nu lieber man also schiet din lip nu jungest hinnen do der tach uͦ f brach unde uns diu naht so fluhtechlichen tran naht git senfte we tuͦ t tach owe herce lieb in mach din nu uerbergen niht uns nimit diu freude gar daz grawe lieht stand uͦ f riter.

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to furnish this line – here spelled ‘Stant uf riter’ – with a coloured initial could have resulted from the prominence of that line in the scribe’s mind, possibly because of its importance in connecting the German text with Quod Spiritu Dauid precinuit. The two monolingual versions of the dawn song show some significant structural differences, too (see Illustration 13.5): for instance, the second half of the concluding stanza in the Codex Buranus closes the first stanza in the Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift; and the Codex Manesse omits the line ‘stand ůf riter’ altogether, suggesting that it might have been considered optional, created especially for the dawn song’s multilingual version and rendered meaningless outside that context. In any case, these prominent variants certainly show that the dawn song was anything but a fixed entity when it was notated in the German song books, a good fifty years and more after its first appearance in the Codex Buranus. While the consideration of CB 48 as a composition in the context of (or even for) the Codex Buranus or its exemplar and its recomposition in a monolingual German context cannot be proven and must remain speculative, its genesis as a compilation of two unrelated songs that offer no semantic potential when read as a unit seems unconvincing in the light of the multifaceted intertextual relationships in the Codex Buranus – formal, textual, and scribal. CB 151 and CB 169 Walther von der Vogelweide’s so-called Mailied (C 28) has an even more complex pattern of transmission, with Günther Schweikle commenting that its ‘riven transmission stands in curious contrast to the song’s significance for modern scholarship’.67 Like the dawn song of CB 48, the Mailied is ascribed to two different authors: the Codex Manesse presents a six-stanza version of the song within its corpus of texts ascribed to Walther von der Vogelweide (f. 132v), whereas the Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift contains only four stanzas, reorders the first two of these, and ascribes them to Lutold von Seven (f. 38v). One of the stanzas, Daz mich, frowe, an fröiden irret (C 28, V), is also attested anonymously in the Hague Songbook (The Hague, Koninklije Bibliotheek, MS 128 E 2), which postdates the other manuscripts by a good century. Two of the Mailied’s stanzas are contained among the love and spring songs of the Codex Buranus: C 28, III forms part of CB 151; and C 28, IV concludes CB 169 (see Illustrations 13.6 and 13.7a).

67

Günther Schweikle (ed.), Walther von der Vogelweide: Werke: Gesamtausgabe, 2 vols (Stuttgart: Reclam, 2009–11), ii (2011), 670.

Illustration 13.6a. CB 151 (f. 61r)

Illustration 13.6b. CB 151 (f. 61v)

Illustration 13.7a. CB 169 (f. 68r)

Illustration 13.7b. CB 170 (f. 68v)

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Hubert Heinen and other German literary scholars have drawn attention to the ‘harsh, unmediated’ break that emerges between these two stanzas of the Mailied, transmitted one after the other in the Codex Manesse.68 The song’s first editors consequently divided the song into two distinct units, but Hugo Kuhn later offered a reading which explained the first three stanzas as a purposefully long Natureingang, designed to balance the concluding three-stanza discussion of Minne, the song’s ‘first and only’ topic.69 Insisting on the good textual transmission of the Codex Manesse, Heike Sievert redoubled Kuhn’s interpretative efforts and argued that the separation of the stanzas into two distinct songs was unnecessary.70 In contrast to Kuhn, Sievert acknowledged the disparate transmission of the Mailied, noting that the version transmitted in the Codex Manesse was ‘possibly only one of several ways of performing this song’,71 yet neither Kuhn nor Sievert sought to explain why these two stanzas conclude different songs in the Codex Buranus, even though the songbook’s compilers did use two German stanzas in four other cases (CB 148, CB 174, CB 180, and CB 181). Christa Bertelsmeier-Kierst argued that Walther’s German stanzas had formed the model for both Latin songs in the Codex Buranus, and Ulrich Müller, too, counted CB 151 and CB 169 among those songs in which German texts are likely to have provided the models for Latin contrafacta.72 Against the general thrust of her argument, Sayce similarly presumed that the German stanzas predated the Latin texts, but once more she suggested a process of formal compilation rather than contrafacture, since ‘the coincidences [between the Latin and German texts] are probably fortuitous, deriving from the recurrence of stock features: thus [CB] 151 celebrates the return of spring and [CB] 151a apostrophizes May; [CB] 169, a lament of absence, celebrates fragrant kisses, and [CB] 169a addresses the poet’s

68

Hubert Heinen, ‘Walthers Mailied (L 51,13): Vortragsbedingter Aufbau und Gesellschaftlicher Rahmen’, Amsterdamer Beiträge zur Älteren Germanistik, 1 (1974), 167–82 (176). 69 Hugo Kuhn, ‘Walther von der Vogelweide 51,13: Muget ir schouwen’, in Text und Theorie, Kleine Schriften, 2 (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1969), 191–99; first published in 1956. 70 Heike Sievert, Studien zur Liebeslyrik Walthers von der Vogelweide, Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik, 506 (Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1990), 107–08. 71 Sievert, Studien zur Liebeslyrik, 108. 72 Christa Bertelsmeier-Kierst, ‘Muget ir schouwen, waz dem meien …: zur frühen Rezeption von Walthers Liedern’, in Blütezeit: Festschrift für Peter L. Johnson zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. by Mark Chinca (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2000), 87–99 (93). Müller, ‘Mehrsprachigkeit und Sprachmischung’, 231.

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reproaches to the lady’s red mouth, symbol of her beauty’.73 Seeking to downplay the seemingly unlikely notion that the compilers and/or contrafactors of CB 151 and CB 169 had quoted material from the middle of a pre-existent song, rather than its opening or concluding stanza (see above), Udo Kühne questioned the reliability of the Mailied’s manuscript transmission with reference to Paul Zumthor’s theory of variance.74 Ingrid Kasten, in turn, cast doubt on the scholarly narrative of German-to-Latin contrafacture, arguing that the presence of Latin topoi in the Mailied ‘makes the hypothesis that the authors of the Latin song “adopted” Walther’s Ton rather unlikely’.75 Irrespective of their views on compilation, contrafacture, or the directionality of such contrafacture, scholars no longer question that the German stanzas of CB 151 and CB 169 both belong to Walther’s Mailied. Yet the manuscript transmission raises a number of difficult questions about these texts: (1) why were two related stanzas not only allocated to two different songs, but notated eighteen songs apart in the Codex Buranus, thus escaping the compilers’ concerted efforts to create pairings or groupings within the corpus;76 (2) why did the music scribes provide neumes for CB 151 but not for CB 169, if both songs used the same melody; and (3) why should the evidence of a single manuscript, with a strong concern for ‘completeness’, be upheld against the witness of two earlier sources which do not transmit the German stanzas in question as part of the same song?77 Individual explanations can certainly be found for all three issues, but the simplest solution would be to discard the a priori assumption that CB 151 and CB 169 were both part of a single song that was used as a source by the compilers of the Codex Buranus. A number of features in the transmission of CB 151 and CB 169 support the possibility that the two songs were composed separately, but that their respective Latin and German stanzas were composed together, maybe even for the specific context in which the Codex Buranus (or its exemplar) transmits them. Despite Sayce’s claims to the contrary, Virent prata hiemata / So wol dir meie (CB 151) and 73

Sayce, 158. Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein’, 69. 75 Ingrid Kasten and Margherita Kuhn (eds), Deutsche Lyrik des Frühen und Hohen Mittelalters, Bibliothek des Mittelalters, 3 (Frankfurt am Main: Deutscher Klassiker Verlag, 1995), 937. 76 Cardelle de Hartmann’s contribution in this volume discusses some examples of (parodic) pairings. 77 For the Manesse circle’s concern for completeness (Vollständigkeit), see for example: Thomas Bein, Textkritik: eine Einführung in die Grundlagen germanistisch-mediävistischer Editionswissenschaft (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2011), 57. 74

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Hebet sydus / Roter munt (CB 169) have close internal links regarding poetic form as well as content (see Illustration 13.8): the metrical alternation between lines of three and four accents is identical in the German and Latin versions of both songs; the paroxytonic Latin cadences in ll. 1, 3, 6, and 7 match the female cadences in the German stanza, while the proparoxytonic cadences in the remaining lines match the male German endings. Sayce points out that matching rhyme patterns across the Latin-German texts are very rare in the collection and concedes that the Latin and German rhymes match in CB 169.78 In CB 151, the German stanza not only matches the rhyme pattern of the Latin texts, but its closing ‘–e’ sound (‘me’ and ‘chle’) also resembles the concluding sound of the proparoxytonic rhymes in some of the Latin stanzas (§§1.2, 1.4; 2.2, 2.4, 2.5, 2.8; and 5.2, 5.4). Moreover, the vociferous debate between flowers and clover in line 6 of the German stanza falls into two equal hemistichs which match the internal rhyme of this line in all of the Latin stanzas. The first German line also falls into two sections, ‘so wol dir meie’ and ‘wie du scheidest’, matching the caesura in the Latin stanzas as well as approximating their internal rhyme. Notably, such internal rhymes are generally avoided – or are clearly much less pronounced and consistent – in CB 169, providing possible poetic evidence against the claim that these two songs were part of the same compositional process. Besides the evidence of poetic form, there are numerous small features that bind together the Latin and German texts of CB 151 and CB 169 through their content and link them to the songs around them, casting doubt on Sayce’s assertion that their compilation was ‘fortuitous’ and showing them to be very deliberately conceived for this particular place within the collection. The imagery of trees, flowers, and fields is certainly ubiquitous in springtime poetry, but their presence as alternative locales in CB 151 is striking: the song opens with a description of the fields (‘prata’) and their flowers (‘florum’), resplendent now that winter is past, before the second stanza turns its attention to the grove (‘et in nemore’), its floral life, and the sweet songs of the birds (‘aues dulci melodia’). The concluding German stanza draws together these juxtaposed locales: the month of May clothes trees and fields, though the latter are more colourful than the former (‘boume […] und die hęide baz’). The song which follows in the Codex Buranus, Estas non apparuit (CB 152), continues this praise of the flowery fields (‘ornantur prata floribus’) while the refrain shifts its attention back to the birds singing in the forest. The refrain’s wording, ‘Aues nunc in silua canunt et canendo dulce garriunt’, is reminiscent of the opening of CB 151’s second stanza: ‘aues

78

Sayce, 174. Sayce makes no comment about CB 151, though the rhyme pattern is shared across Latin and German stanzas here, too.

Illustration 13.8. CB 151 and CB 169: metrical analysis and translation CB 151 Virent prata || hiemata tersa rabie florum data || mundo grata rident facie solis radio nitent algent || rubent candent ueris ritus iura pandent ortu uario. Aues dulci melodia sonant garrule omni uia || uoce pia uolant sedule et in nemore frondens flores || et odores sunt ardescunt iuniores hoc in tempore. Congregatur || augmentatur cetus iuuenum adunatur || colletatur chorus uirginum et sub tilia ad choreas || uenereas salit mater inter eas sua filia. Restat una || quam fortuna dante ueneror clarens luna || opurtuna ob quam uulnero[r] dans suspiria preelecta || simplex recta cordi meo est inuecta mutans tristia. Quam dum cerno || de superno puto uigere cuncta sperno || donec cerno solam tenere hanc desidero ulnis plecti || et subnecti loco leto || in secreto si contingero. So wol dir meie || wie du scheidest allez ane haz wie wol du die boume clęidest und[e] die hęide baz diu hat varwe me du bist churçer || ih pin langer also stritent si uf dem anger bluͦ men und[e] chle.

2’a; 2’a 3b 2’a; 2’a 3b 3c 2’d; 2’d 4’d 3c 4’a 3b 2’a; 2’a 3b 3b 2’c; 2’c 4’c 3b 2’a; 2’a 3b 2’a; 2’a 3b 3c 2’d; 2’d 4’d 3c 2’a; 2’a 3b 2’a; 2’a 3b 3c 2’d; 2’d 4’d 3c 2’a; 2’a 3b 2’a; 2’a 3b 3a 2’c; 2’c 2’a; 2’a 3a _2’a*; 2’a 3b 4’a 3b 3c 2’x; 2’d 4’d 3c

2’a; 2’a 3b 4’a 3b 3b 4’c 4’c 3b 4’a 3b 4’a 3b 3c 2’c; 2’c 2’c; 2’c 3c 4’a 3b 4’a 3b 3c 4’d 4’d 3c 4’a [2’a; 2’a] 3b 4’a 3b 3c 4’d 4’d 3c

CB 169 Hebet sydus || leti uisus cordis nubilo tepet oris mei risus carens iubilo iure mereo occultatur nam propinqua cordis uigor floret in qua totus hereo. In amoris hec chorea cunctis prenitet cuius nomen a phebea luce renitet et pro speculo seruit solo || illam colo eam uolo || nutu solo in hoc seculo. Tempus queror tam diurne solitudinis quo furabar ui nocturne aptitudinis oris basia a quo stillat cynamomum et rimatur cordis domum dulcis cassia. Tabet illa tamen caret spes solacii iuuenilis flos exaret tanti spacii intercisio annulletur ut secura adiunctiuis prestet iura hec diuisio.

4’a 3b 4’a 3b 3c 4’d 4’d 3c

Roter munt wie du dich swachest la din lachin sin scheme dich swenne du so lachest nach deme schaden din dest niht wolgetan owi so verlorner stunde so von minnechlichen munde solich unminne ergan.

CB 151 The fields are green now that winter’s rage has been dissipated; they smile, presenting a welcoming face of flowers to the world. In the sun’s rays they shine and glow, red, and brilliant white, and will reveal the laws of spring’s ritual with their varied times of blooming. The birds chatter loudly with their sweet melodies. They fly everywhere without rest, chirping sweetly, and in the grove, there are flowers, foliage, and fragrances. This is the time when young men start to burn in love. A group of young men gathers and grows, a chorus of maidens joins them and shares in the joy, and below a linden tree keeping time with the dances in honour of Venus, a mother leaps; among the dancers is her daughter. One remains, whom, if fortune allows, I will revere. She is bright as the moon when it shines opportunely. Wounded by her, I keep sighing. She stands out from the rest, straightforward and honest, and has made her way into my heart, banishing my sadness. When I see her, I think I draw strength from on high. I spurn all else until I see myself holding her alone. I yearn to put my arms around her and lie on her secretly, in some pleasant spot if I get the chance. Praise be to you, May, for the way you settle everything without strife! How beautifully you clothe the tress and even more so the heath. It has more colour. ‘You are shorter’, ‘I am longer!’ That’s the way they fight on the meadow, flowers and clover.

CB 169 The bright star of my joyful countenance is dulled by my heart’s cloud, the smile on my face is lukewarm. I give no cry of joy, and rightly so, for she who is close to me is hidden from me. It is in her that my heart finds its vigour and blooms. I am wholly devoted to her. In Love’s troupe of dancers she outshines them all; her reputation reflects the light of Phoebus and serves as a mirror for the earth; I want her; at a mere nod from her I will worship her all my life in this world. I lament the hours of my unending loneliness; how many kisses from her lips did I steal through the impulse of opportunity by night. From her lips drips cinnamon, and sweet cassia penetrates my heart’s domain. But she is wasting away, for she has no hope of solace; her youthful bloom is shrivelling. So long-lasting a severance should be revoked so that this separation does not surpass the sure rights of those joined together.

Rosy mouth, how you dishonour yourself! Stop your laughing! Shame on you whenever you laugh like that to your own detriment! This is not well done. Cursed be the wasted hour in which an appealing mouth should produce such lack of love!

The Latin-German text is based on the manuscript; the translations are adapted from Traill and P. G. Walsh (ed.), Love Lyrics from the Carmina Burana (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1993). The translations of the German stanzas have been italicised to reflect the shift in language within these songs.

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dulci melodia sonant garrule’. CB 150 and CB 153 also feature birdsong, but their descriptions are strikingly different, underlining the particularly close connection between CB 151 and CB 152.79 A further link between songs is generated by the emphatic address of May in CB 151’s final stanza, which is taken up by the first word of CB 152: ‘estas’ (‘summer’). In contrast, CB 150 and CB 153 make no specific mention of any time of year but draw generic images of spring and summer without mentioning either season by name. The image of the mouth provides equally strong textual connections within CB 169 as well as with its neighbour CB 170. Hebet sydus draws attention to facial features from the very beginning: ‘uisus’ (‘visage’) is used as the first rhyme word, and the lover’s mouth is quickly specified as being bereft of smiles (‘tepet oris mei risus’). Following a summative description of the lady’s beauty, §3 lingers on the kisses of her mouth (‘oris basia’), which exudes cinnamon. Becoming aware of the lady’s own suffering in §4 (‘tabet illa tamen caret, caret spe solacii’), the lover curses that very mouth, addressing it directly at the opening of §5 (‘roter munt’), and in this context returns twice to the opening stanza’s image of the mouth’s faded smiles (ll. 2 and 3), exhorting the mouth to stop causing pain through this empty gesture. Following a ‘narrative’ introduction to the lover’s plight, CB 170 in its second stanza turns to the beloved’s face (‘facies est niuea’) and once more draws attention to the lady’s ruby-red mouth (‘os eius suffunditur roseo rubore’).80 For a reader encountering these songs as a pair, the concluding German stanza of CB 170 recalls CB 169’s rhyme ‘lachen / swachen’ but subverts the force of these verbs such that they now serve to praise the smiling hearts of Venus’s followers: any man who has hopes for one of the noble women protected by the goddess can revel in the joys of waiting through the night – possibly the same night in which the lover of CB 169 had stolen the kisses from his lady.81 In the manuscript, the two songs are separated by a page turn, but it seems as if the rubricators wanted to make sure that users did not miss the connection between these texts, for they combined the common introductory rubrics ‘item aliud’ and ‘unde supra’: the former is placed after CB 169, at the bottom of f. 68r, while the latter stands at the top of f. 68v, within the opening line of CB 170, linking the two songs from both directions (see Illustrations 13.7a and 13.7b). A similar page turn occurs only 79

CB 150 §1.5–8: ‘nam phylomena dulciter dulcisonis concentibus delectat cor suauiter’; CB 153 §1.3–4: ‘auis modulantur, modulans letatur’. Franklinos also discusses the use of birdsong in the Carmina Burana in his contribution. 80 Whereas Sayce at first describes the ‘apostrophe of the red mouth’ as unusual, she later seems to consider the motif a ‘stock feature’: compare Sayce, 127 and 158. 81 Sayce argues that the use of this unusual rhyme by Walther von der Vogelweide ‘certainly’ provided the basis for its subsequent use in CB 170; see, Sayce, 127.

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a few folios previously, between CB 156 and CB 157 (ff. 63r/v), but here only the latter song is furnished with a rubric, making the scribal attempt to connect CB 169 and CB 170 particularly notable. Within CB 169, a small textual variant further underscores the connection between the Latin and German stanzas. The German stanza’s fourth line reads ‘nach deme schaden din’, accusing the red mouth of bringing about its own hurt; in the Codex Manesse, the only other source for this stanza, the line reads ‘nach dem schaden min’, referring to the lover’s hurt.82 Assuming that this variant does not constitute a scribal error in either source, the discrepancy between the manuscripts could be explained in two contrasting ways: (1) the scribe in the Codex Buranus (or its exemplar) noted the potential for linking the German stanza with its preceding Latin one by continuing the theme of the lady’s (rather than the lover’s) suffering, and consciously changed the original reading ‘min’ to ‘din’; or (2) the scribe in the Codex Manesse (or its exemplar) realised that the original version ‘din’ made no sense in its new, monolingual context, given that the German version does not acknowledge the lady’s pain, and consequently amended ‘din’ to ‘min’. Whether it is understood as the original version or a deliberate scribal emendation, the variant ‘din’ links the German stanza particularly closely with the preceding Latin stanza of CB 169. The German stanza of CB 151, in turn, also features two textual variants that support a connection with its preceding Latin stanzas. Line 3’s reading ‘boume’ is unique to this manuscript. In the Codex Manesse, May clothes the flowers (‘blůmen’) rather than the trees, while the Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift reads ‘wie du walt und owe cleides’, opposing forest and meadows with the fields.83 Notably, only the reading in the Codex Buranus mirrors the juxtaposition of field and forest present in CB 151’s two opening Latin stanzas (see above). Secondly, the German stanza in the Codex Buranus does not begin with a downbeat (‘wol dir meie’) as found in the Codex Manesse and the Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift but adds the word ‘so’ (‘so wol dir meie’). As such, this upbeat seems to contradict the close connection between the German and Latin texts, for it does not match the metre of the Latin stanzas, all of which begin with a downbeat. Yet the music scribe appears to have been fully aware that there was an additional syllable that needed to be accommodated here, effortlessly inserting 82

Codex Manesse, f. 132v: [accessed 17 February 2019]. 83 Codex Manesse, f. 132v: [accessed 17 February 2019]; Kleine Heidelberger Liederhandschrift, f. 38v: [accessed 17 February 2019].

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Illustration 13.9. CB 151: neumes in first line

an additional virga to the melody’s opening gesture, maintaining the clivis–pes pair on the second accented word, ‘prata’/‘meie’ (see Illustration 13.9). Rather than creating a disjunction between the two languages, the upbeat arguably helps performers to link the stanzas together, bridging the arrhythmic succession of the closing downbeat of the Latin stanza (‘contigero’) with the first German downbeat (‘wol’).84 In addition, ‘so’ establishes a causal link between the stanzas, creating an overarching argument along the following lines: the lady’s beauty that makes an end to the lover’s sorrow (‘mutans tristia’, §4.8) is revealed in spring; therefore (‘so’), praise is due to May and its creation.85 Finally, the seemingly odd abortion of the notation after the first line of the German stanza could have been the result of an attempt to the visualise the connection between ‘Virent prata’ and ‘So wol dir meie’. Music scribe n4 notated the repeating melody for the first two Latin stanzas on f. 61r but then stopped, possibly because all of the Latin stanzas have exactly the same metrical pattern and their performance would not have caused users any problems.86 To The first stanza of Walther von der Vogelweide’s Palästinalied (C 7), included as the last stanza of CB 211 (‘Alte clamat Epicurus’, f. 92v), also features an upbeat to its first line, ‘Nu lebe ich mir alrest werde’, while the song’s five other sources open with a downbeat. 85 The Mittelhochdeutsches Wörterbuch includes a causal meaning (I.3) for its entry on ‘sô’; see Matthias Lexer, Mittelhochdeutsches Handwörterbuch, 3 vols (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1872–78), ii (1876), col. 1048. 86 If Hilka/Schumann’s ascription of scribal hands is correct, then n4’s usual habit was to notate no more than the first of the Latin stanzas in multilingual songs. Only in CB 151 and CB 164 (f. 66r) did n4 furnish two Latin stanzas with neumes. CB 161 was notated in its entirety by n4: the song contains no more than three stanzas, so notating only the first Latin as well as the German stanza might have seemed unreasonably stingy in the case of such a short song. The melodies of CB 151 and CB 164, in turn, might have needed particular emphasis, either because they were unfamiliar to users 84

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assure recipients that the stanza in a different language – especially considering its unfamiliar upbeat at the beginning – was still part of the same song and used the same melody, the scribe decided to notate the opening line of the German stanza too, not least because the application of the melody might have caused some problem given that it was notated over the page.87 Having notated the first neume of the second line, the scribe was certain that the metre was back to normal again and that users would by now know that the texts belonged together, so stopped notating. Given that the scribe paid so much attention to the notation of CB 151, it is puzzling why they (or their co-scribe n3) would not have provided any sort of indication that CB 169 used the same melody. When this visual contrast is considered alongside the songs’ differences in poetic construction as well as the separate placement of CB 151 and CB 169 within the manuscript, one might reasonably conclude that the scribes did not consider the two songs (including their German stanzas) to be related. Instead, the close textual and metrical correspondences within each of the two songs, as well as their intertextual fit with the songs that follow them (CB 152 and CB 170 respectively) afford the possibility that they were not only composed as meaningful, multilingual units but that they might have been created with the written context of this particular manuscript in mind. The observation that later manuscripts ascribe the monolingual German song to two different authors and transmit it with a variant set of stanzas might again, as with CB 48, bear witness to the possibility that several authors were involved in composing and recomposing these songs.

Composing the Codex Buranus Projecting his assessment of the multilingual songs in the Codex Buranus onto the broader canvas of medieval literature and its constituent cultures, Burghart Wachinger emphasised that comparative challenges in medieval

of the Codex Buranus, or because of their particular manuscript layout: notably, both songs separate their German stanza (in its entirety) from the opening Latin texts by a page turn. 87 As Bobeth has pointed out, n4 solved a similar problem of page turn in the case of CB 147 by furnishing the last Latin stanza with neumes rather than the first. In CB 147, the second Latin stanza continues across the page break, so it would have made little sense to furnish this second stanza with neumes as an additional affirmation of the melody (as the scribe chose to do in CB 151 and CB 164; see fn. 86). See Bobeth, 101.

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scholarship needed to be ‘undertaken afresh by each generation, not only given the increasing body of knowledge, but above all because the questions change’.88 By reassuring itself of the body of German texts gathered together in the Codex Buranus, by seeking to unpick and structure debates left unresolved and contested by earlier scholarship, and by drawing renewed attention to the specific transmission of three of the manuscript’s multilingual songs, the present contribution brings such a fresh perspective to bear on the impasse that has resulted from years of painstaking scholarship on these materials. Peter Dronke’s tentative proposition that ‘greater weight [should] be attached to the text of [the manuscript’s] German stanzas’, Kuhn’s lament that this corpus had received too little attention, and Kühne’s concern for the functional priority of the German stanza form the backdrop of this reassessment.89 Taking seriously the German stanzas as transmitted in the Codex Buranus, the discussion of CB 48, CB 151, and CB 169 suggests that the manuscript’s multilingual songs could have been the fruits not only of the distinct activities of compilation and contrafacture, but of the same acts of composition that also generated the macaronic songs alongside which they are transmitted. In the end, the assertion that the authors of these songs were active as composers fits squarely with the scholarly consensus that the Codex Buranus was assembled by a ‘small group of skilled authors, a few specialists who tried to keep up with all developments in their area of specialism as comprehensively as possible, keeping an eye on the literary scene without paying attention to language borders, and who likely had the ambition of surveying the whole of European literature at least in their own field’.90 Rather than critiquing the astuteness of such claims about the manuscript’s fundamentally plurilingual nature, the present reconsideration has explored their full implication, considering anew whether the people behind the plurilingual songs of the Codex Buranus were indeed song authors in the fullest sense: compilers of metrically related texts, contrafactors of well-known songs, and composers of new, truly multilingual songs.

88

Wachinger, ‘Deutsche und Lateinische Liebeslieder’, 276. Dronke, ‘A Critical Note’, 182; Kühne, ‘Deutsch und Latein’, 65; Hugo Kuhn, ‘Die Liedersammlung’, in Codex Manesse; die große Heidelberger Liederhandschrift: Kommentar zum Faksimile des Codex Palatinus Germanicus 848 der Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg, ed. by Walter Koschorrek and Wilfried Werner (Kassel: Graphische Anstalt für Kunst und Wissenschaft Ganymed, 1981), 131–44 (136). 90 See fn. 42. 89

Afterword: multiformis armonia, scolaris symphonia Gundela Bobeth1 Hec memor corde serua, quod te mea Minerua, nunc prudens nunc proterua, multiformi hactenus declarat armonia: prosa, uersu, satira psallens et rythmachia te per orbem intonat scolaris symphonia. Keep this thought safe in your heart: that it is of you whom my Muse – now cautious, now bold – continues to sing with varied harmonies: she sings in prose, in verse, in satire, and in rhythmic poesy, she – a learned symphony – makes your name to resound throughout the world.2 (CB 65, §10a)

Any manuscript – assuming that it is not the precise copy of a liturgical or didactic reference text with a clearly defined function – is unique: it constitutes a singular compilation and presentation of text in its widest sense, adapted to the distinct knowledge, needs, and purposes of its context, patrons, and users. The Codex Buranus in many respects appears to be even more unique than other manuscripts of medieval lyric. One of a kind, it is the most comprehensive, minutely organised collection of a carefully selected, largely non-liturgical, and decidedly secular repertoire of medieval Latin poetry. The scope of the manuscript and the frequency with which seemingly contrary elements are juxtaposed in every aspect of the Codex Buranus are no less exceptional. To name only a handful of the most frequently adduced binaries that are inherently undermined by the multifarious nature of the Codex Buranus: it is both sacred and secular, and represents clerical and lay cultures; it contains poetry in Latin

1 2

Translated by the editors. Translation by Tristan Franklinos.

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and various vernaculars that is weighty and trivial, moralist and frivolous, serious and humorous; it gathers together highly learned poetry and that which is incomprehensible; it exemplifies the reception of the seemingly ‘central’ Francophone literary and musical traditions in ‘peripheral’ German sources; and parts of the manuscript seem to be ordered subtly, whilst the arrangement of others appears to be a work in progress. A willingness to acknowledge this surprising plurality and the outward-looking openness of the literary and musical voices that abound in the manuscript underlies many of the new insights offered by the present volume: the contributors move beyond a number of apparent scholarly impasses and thus broaden and deepen of our understanding of the lives of clergy and the attitudes displayed by them in the High Middle Ages. Apparently similar high medieval sources that situate a licentious repertory within clerical contexts provide parallels for only a few specific aspects of the wide-ranging traditions gathered together in the Codex Buranus. Among the sources that share some specific features with the contents of our manuscript one might, for example, consider the tripudia of the subdeacons,3 the Carmina Cantabrigiensia,4 or the fraught amatory laments of ancient authors which are often transmitted with notation in medieval manuscripts.5 There are, however, no extant manuscripts that reveal a comparably holistic conception, nor are there reliable sources that might document the specific context in which the Codex Buranus was conceived. Any attempts to understand the contents of the manuscript and to reconstruct its Sitz im Leben are dependent on indications that can be extrapolated from the codex itself. Interpreting the Codex Buranus according to the very criteria about which the manuscript was supposed to offer categorical insights in the first place thus bears the inherent danger of constructing hermeneutically circular arguments. The present volume seeks to step out of this circle not by bolstering current discourses surrounding the Codex Buranus with the apodictic exposition of monolithic truths, but by approaching scholarly hypotheses and expositions with a profound degree of openness, scepticism, and

Wulf Arlt, Ein Festoffizium des Mittelalters aus Beauvais in seiner liturgischen und musikalischen Bedeutung, 2 vols (Cologne: Volk, 1970). The tripudia are discussed with reference to the Codex Buranus in Drumbl, 336. 4 Jeremy Llewellyn, ‘The Careful Cantor and the Carmina Cantabrigiensia’, in Manuscripts and Medieval Song: Inscription, Performance, Context, ed. by Helen Deeming and Elizabeth Eva Leach (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 35–57. 5 Gundela Bobeth, Antike Verse in mittelalterlicher Vertonung: Neumierungen in Vergil-, Statius-, Lucan- und Terenz-Handschriften, Monumenta monodica medii aevi: Subsidia, 5 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2013). 3

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reflexivity that derives from an interdisciplinary perspective. Even in those cases in which conflicting readings sit in tension alongside one another in the pages of this volume – as with the divergent interpretations of Ich was ein chint (CB 185) – the contributors are united in their efforts to challenge well-trodden scholarly discourses, further interrogation of which has been deemed unnecessary, and to explore potentially relevant points of reference for the manuscript and its repertoire.6 Undoubtedly, the full significance of any individual explorations will become apparent only within the framework of a systematic evaluation of the manuscript in its entirety that considers each text (broadly conceived) in and of itself, as well as in its relationship to the whole. The state of current research gathered together in this volume emphatically demonstrates that the materials compiled in the Codex Buranus need to be viewed against the backdrop not only of a range of contexts, functional spaces, and ‘multiple audiences’,7 but a plurality of strategies of reception, adaptation, and production which afford the possibility of unusual solutions, even if these have (so far) not been attested by analogous examples. A crucial step in the re-evaluation of the materials gathered together in the Codex Buranus has been the acknowledgement of their specific textuality as the result not – for the most part – of flawed transmission but intentional process. Such a view does not exclude the possibility of copying errors or textual corruption, which are beyond doubt in several instances. Nevertheless, the growing sensibility towards aspects of textual mouvance and notions of opera aperta makes it equally evident that variants in the Codex Buranus, when compared with the presumed authority of their concordances, need not necessarily be understood as the result of corrupted, misunderstood, or haphazardly copied exemplars, but as individually meaningful creations and deliberate redactional decisions on the part of the compilators.8 Taking the texts as they are transmitted in the Codex Buranus seriously and making them comprehensible in this specific guise – not in a hypothetical, conjectured version – has consequences for scholarly views regarding the degree of the compilers’ competencies and creativity, and opens up new insights into the functional backgrounds and performative contexts of the transmitted items, as Johann Drumbl demonstrates paradigmatically in the case of the manuscript’s plays.9

6

For varying interpretations of CB 185, see the contributions by Yri, Classen, Martin, and Godman. 7 See the contribution by Franklinos. 8 See also Bobeth. 9 See the contribution by Drumbl.

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The remarkable degree of intellectual prowess evinced in the texts gathered in the Codex Buranus suggests that they were produced in the milieux of highly educated clerics. Firstly, the poets’ extensive knowledge of ancient literature and mythology, considerable awareness of theological and ecclesial issues, subtle intertextual allusion, and virtuosic skill in word-accented, rhythmic, and quantitative lyric are discussed in several chapters of the present volume. Secondly, the contribution of those who were responsible for compiling the Codex Buranus is equally apparent: they placed the individual texts within the framework of a well thought-out, original plan for the manuscript as a whole, using their design to afford additional layers of semantic potential – a notion captured in Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann’s term, ‘parodic neighbourhood’.10 Furthermore, the ability to collect and preserve a diverse range of lyric repertoires which were transmitted beyond geographical and linguistic borders, and to (re)assemble these adeptly – combining existing texts into new units and embedding them within a novel holistic framework – suggests that the spiritus rectores of the Codex Buranus had a degree of erudition comparable to that of the authors of its texts. Given the significant number of unica within the collection, constituting approximately three-fifths of the whole, one may well be inclined to consider whether some of these were composed in the context of the manuscript’s compilation. This hypothesis is particularly pertinent for the group of Latin songs that conclude with (a) Middle High German stanza(s): a similar combination of Latin and German stanzas is not attested anywhere outside the Codex Buranus, suggesting the possibility that this striking phenomenon remained the poetic practice of a regionally confined area.

Performing the Plurilingual Songs The forty-seven Latin songs of the manuscript that feature one or, occasionally, more Middle High German stanzas have been widely discussed by Germanists, without reaching a consensus on the essential questions of interpretation relating to this corpus. The parallel transmission of some of the German stanzas in the context of the German Minnesang tradition has encouraged the narrow focus of scholarly deliberations on the practice of contrafacture; these discussions sought first and foremost to establish whether the concluding German stanzas had served as models for the Latin texts or the authors of the German stanzas had imitated Latin models – or, indeed, whether the Latin and German stanzas

10

See the contribution by Cardelle de Hartmann.

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had been composed independently of one another and were subsequently joined together in the Codex Buranus in recognition of their formal analogies. Henry Hope’s deliberations in this volume usefully allow for a further possibility: the intentional composition of a genuinely plurilingual song, in the form transmitted in the Codex Buranus.11 As in the case of macaronic poems, the alternation of languages could – from such a perspective – be understood as a pointed stylistic device of a bi- or plurilingual cultural milieu, intentionally employed to bring about ironic, parodic, or psychological effects.12 The piquancy of this play in multiple languages would, in this case, have resulted not from engagement on the syntactic or morphological level (as, for example, in macaronic texts), but from the combination of generic idioms specific to each language. The problems concerning the origins of, and intentions behind, these multilingual texts are of considerable significance, not least because they relate to issues of performance. The notion that the multilingual stanzas of a song would have been performed together seems plausible in the instances in which – according to Hope – the songs were originally conceived as multilingual; where the German stanza can be shown to have pre-existed the multilingual composition found in the Codex Buranus, by contrast, many scholars have sought to refute the assumption that a musical performance would have concluded the Latin stanzas with a rendition of the appended German text. Instead, it has been proposed that the concluding German stanzas may have functioned as mere indicators of formal parallels and as a guide for the melodies that were to be underlaid to the Latin texts.13 Notably, however, the medieval lyric repertory is rich in contrafacta that share much more with their models than aspects of formal design. Leo Treitler, for instance, has drawn attention to a plethora of such cases which reveal ‘relationships beyond the formal’.14 Treitler demonstrated possible intertextual references and the semantic potential of music in the case of Walther von der Vogelweide’s Palästinalied (C 7), which he believes Walther to have composed with conscious reference to Jaufre Rudel’s troubadour canso Landquand li jorn (PC 262,2).15 11

See the contribution by Hope. See also Paul Zumthor, Langues et techniques poétiques à l’époque romane (XIe–XIIIe siècles) (Paris: Klincksieck, 1963). 13 Relevant scholarship is referenced at Bobeth, 100. The possibility of a joint performance of the Latin and German stanzas is also refuted at Drumbl, 348. 14 Leo Treitler, ‘The Marriage of Poetry and Music in Medieval Song’, in With Voice and Pen: Coming to Know Medieval Song and How it Was Made, ed. by Leo Treitler (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 457–81 (480). 15 Treitler, ‘The Marriage of Poetry and Music’, 474–80. 12

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Other examples include the conductus O amor deitas that is transmitted in manuscripts such as Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, MS HB I 95 – compiled at a similar time to the Codex Buranus – and shares not only formal, but also remarkable semantic, connections with its model, a Leich by Reinmar von Zweter.16 If one accepts the intertextual connection between a given song and its model as an intended element of medieval contrafacture, and if one holds that the Codex Buranus was produced in a markedly plurilingual context in which an interest in (re)combining texts is evident, then there is every reason to consider the possibility that the stanzas in different languages were performed as a coherent whole. Such a possibility seems more likely when the potential for a given piece of music to be associated with a range of semantic levels is taken into account. In a sung rendition of Alte clamat Epicurus (CB 211), for example, a satirical encomium of the Epicurean lifestyle, gluttony, and drunkenness would be performed to the melody of Walther’s Palästinalied, the first stanza of which (‘Nu lebe ich mir alrest werde’) concludes CB 211 on f. 92v: this burlesque recontextualisation of the familiar melody may well have generated a comic, ironic effect and is likely to have encouraged semantic associations between the content of the two seemingly unrelated texts.17 The performative integration of the concluding German stanza would have allowed performers to make explicit the intertextual potential that had been implied through the use of the melody of Walther’s Palästinalied from the beginning of the song: the perspective of the pilgrim, satisfied with the sight of the Holy Land, is shifted to that of the ‘uenter satur’ (‘sated belly’) which venerates earthly delights.18 16

See Georg Objartel, ‘Zwei wenig beachtete Fragmente Reinmars von Zweter und ein lateinisches Gegenstück seines Leichs’, Zeitschrift für Deutsche Philologie, Sonderheft 90 (1971), 217–31; Objartel’s claims are supported by Martin J. Schubert, ‘Die Form von Reinmars Leich’, Amsterdamer Beiträge zur älteren Germanistik, 41 (1995), 85– 141. 17 The presentation of CB 211 in the Codex Buranus makes it highly likely that its Latin stanzas are indeed a contrafacture of Walther’s Palästinalied; see Hans Spanke, ‘Der Codex Buranus als Liederbuch’, Zeitschrift für Musikwissenschaft, 13 (1930–31), 241– 51 (251). It is possible to adapt Walther’s melody without much difficulty despite the existing formal discrepancies. 18 Divergent perspectives for interpretation and alternative hermeneutic approaches towards an understanding of the concluding German stanza of CB 211, as well as alternative possible melodic models for Walther’s Palästinalied, are discussed in Henry Hope, ‘Ein Kreuzlied? Walthers von der Vogelweide Palästinalied im Kontext der Überlieferung’, Musik in Bayern, 84 (2019), 9–31. His alternative reading notwithstanding, Hope also assumes a close connection between the Latin and

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The Codex Buranus as a Songbook As a historically attested means of receiving and performing medieval Latin lyric, music provides a perspective vital to the comprehension of the songs of the Codex Buranus. Increasing scholarly awareness of the functions of medieval lyric suggests that its sung performance was far from optional: it was transmitted, received, and conceived (of) as music. The status of musical considerations as a vital hermeneutic instrument – even in those cases in which texts in the Codex Buranus were not furnished with neumes, as with CB 211 – ought to be undisputed. The presentation of texts in the manuscript reveals a musical dimension in many instances, for instance where syllables were spaced to allow for the notation of melismas, or – at the very least – to indicate that a melisma was to be performed over the given syllable. That not all of these gaps were subsequently populated with neumes, however, is not necessarily to be seen as the result of neglect but, contrariwise, might imply that the visual indication of a melisma through textual spacing seemed sufficient in these instances.19 If one accepts that all lyric items of the Codex Buranus were, in principle, intended for sung performance, one may nonetheless be puzzled by the manuscript’s disparate use of notation – as in many comparable sources of vernacular lyric: some pieces are notated in their entirety, some have neumes only in part or sporadically, some indicate their designation for sung performance through the visual presentation of their texts, and some texts are neither notated nor were they laid out in such a way by their scribe as to receive neumes at a later stage in the compilation process. Were the melodies of the unnotated texts in the Codex Buranus not (or no longer) known to those responsible, even though they can be reconstructed from notated concordances today? Did the popularity of these songs make their notation unnecessary? It is impossible to achieve any sort of certainty or a one-size-fits-all answer to these issues. At the very least, however, the numerous fragmentary snippets of notation that are confined to individual stanzas or opening words suggest that these songs formed part of a living repertoire

German stanzas, allowing for a performance of the song as a coherent whole, as inscribed in the Codex Buranus. 19 CB 187 (O curas hominum, f. 83r) offers a notable example. Here, long melismas are notated only in those instances in which the text scribe did not leave sufficient space between the syllables – that is, in the first stanza. The spacing provided by the text scribe at the respective syllables in stanza three, by contrast, was left blank by the music scribe. It seems that the music scribe wanted to correct the inconsistency of the text scribe, necessitating the addition of neumes to the first stanza alone, since this had been prepared incorrectly by the text scribe.

400

Gundela Bobeth

that was not dependent on writing but was notated first and foremost when the compilers sought to capture specific musical solutions, to clarify difficult passages, or to coordinate the relationship between text and music in detail. The contributions by Hope, Brewer, and Lammers-Harlander in the present volume are testimony to the potential for new and fruitful scholarly insights that can be brought to light by the consideration of the neumes in the Codex Buranus in and of themselves and in relation to the whole. While Hope scrutinises the notation in order to understand some of the plurilingual songs with a concluding German stanza, Brewer analyses the neumes palaeographically in the hope of identifying the provenance of the Codex Buranus; he revives the idea that the manuscript was produced in the milieu of the Prince-Bishops of Brixen. Furthermore, the notation of the Codex Buranus – as a significant written trace of the performative engagement with these texts – affords a better understanding of the practices of reception, adaptation, and innovation that are at play in the context of this manuscript. The monophonic reception of the elaborate polyphony of French music, and the notation of this repertory in neumes that are rhythmically and diastematically ambiguous, is not limited to the Codex Buranus, but is consonant with the specific conditions of the culture that was encountering and engaging with this repertoire in German-speaking areas. Strikingly, the manuscript shares not only isolated concordances with several contemporary manuscripts of German provenance, clerical and monastic, but entire groups of songs with corresponding notation; these sources are a reminder that a number of the songs that are transmitted together in the Codex Buranus also circulated with other materials elsewhere. Any attempt to understand the melodies notated in the Codex Buranus thus necessitates not only a comparison with the Notre Dame repertory, but also their contextualisation alongside the concordant transmission from German-speaking areas. Dependable claims about the extent to which the adaptations in the Codex Buranus resulted from strategies that are specific to their redactors, as opposed to being representative of common patterns of reception in the German-speaking areas, will become possible only through a systematic evaluation of the Codex Buranus and its repertoire in the context of its concordances. Until such data is available, however, it seems more than likely that the notation in the Codex Buranus itself bears witness to the idea that the musical practices familiar from French sources were transformed by deliberate design: the compilers used monophonic melodies to offer subtle, nuanced renditions of the given texts, thereby realising their own aesthetics of form and genre.20 In several cases, it seems that the versions transmitted

20

See the cases discussed in the contribution by Lammers-Harlander, and Bobeth.

Afterword

401

in the Codex Buranus did not result from the reception of polyphonic Notre Dame conductus, but that the latter were based on pre-existent, monophonic song melodies – a finding that opens up new possibilities for a differentiated understanding of patterns of transmission.

Revisiting the Codex Buranus: ‘prvdenter’ and ‘proterve’ Praising his beloved, the lyric persona of CB 65 employs ‘multiformis armonia’ (‘varied harmonies’).21 The insights into medieval lyric artistry to be gained from the unique witness of the Codex Buranus are as multifaceted as the metrical and rhythmic forms, stylistic devices, themes, languages, provenances, and forms of notation that it encompasses; so too are the scholarly challenges to be overcome by the wide-ranging interdisciplinarity required if one is to do justice to the inherent multiformity of the manuscript. Time and again, seemingly persuasive observations about the minutiae of the manuscript are undermined when set in the context of its extensive and diverse background, while attempts at reaching generalised conclusions about the nature of the collection are undercut by inescapable counter-examples. What one may, however, assert with confidence is that in-depth, open-minded engagement with the Codex Buranus continues to lead to unexpected, surprising insights, the significance and interpretative potential of which have by no means been exhausted. The fresh interdisciplinary perspectives and approaches offered in the present volume ought to be taken up and taken further: at times not a little ‘proterue’ (‘boldly’) in the face of apparently established certainties, and ever more ‘prudenter’ (‘cautiously’).

21

See above, p. 393.

List of Manuscripts Basel, Universitätsbibliothek, MS D VI 1300 (MS Ba) Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, MS mgf 779 (MS c) Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, MS mgf 1062 (MS R) Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147 Brixen, Priesterseminar, MS E 13 (olim 102) Burgos, Monasterio de las Huelgas, no shelfmark (MS Las Huelgas) Cambridge, Jesus College, Quincentenary Library, MS 1 Cambridge, University Library, MS Dd 11.78 Cambridge, University Library, MS Ff 1.17.1 Cambridge, University Library, MS Gg 5.35 Chartres, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 223 El Escorial, Real Biblioteca de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2 Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Plut. 29.1 Graz, Universitätsbibliothek, MS 134 Graz, Universitätsbibliothek, MS 756 Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cod. Pal. germ. 357 (MS A) Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cod. Pal. germ. 848 (MS C) Innsbruck, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Tirol, MS 942 Jena, Thüringer Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, MS El. f. 101 Jerusalem, Schocken Library, MS 37 Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 73 Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 574 (MS K) Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 589 Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 1012 Linz, Oberösterreichische Landesbibliothek (olim Studienbibliothek), MS 324 (olim Schiffmann 80) Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 4660 (Codex Buranus) Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 4660a (Fragmenta Burana manuscript) Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 6264a Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 18190 Munich, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cim. 4 (olim 2° Cod. ms. 731) (MS E) Munich, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cim. 100 (olim 2° Cod. ms. 156)

404

List of Manuscripts

Münster, Staatsarchiv, MS VII, 51 (MS Z) Neustift, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 21a Neustift, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 15063 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Add. A. 44 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Oppenheim. Add. 4º 81 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Pococke 74.1 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Rawlinson G. 109 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 146 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 20050 Private Collection, MS ‘G. S. Colin’ St Omer, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 351 Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, MS HB I 95 Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, MS HB XIII 1 (MS B) The Hague, Koninklije Bibliotheek, MS 128 E 2 Tirolo, Biblioteca di Castel Tirolo-Museo storico-culturale della Provincia di Bolzano, MS 50218529 (olim n. 60) Vich, Museo episcopal, MS 105 (MS V) Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 13.314 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1717 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1768 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1799** Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1890 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 2521 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 12887 (Suppl. 561) Vorau, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 401 Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, MS Cod. Guelf. 628 Helmst. Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, MS Cod. Guelf. 1099 Helmst.

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Recordings Bärengässlin, Carmina Burana (Pläne, 88 170; 1980). Berry Hayward Consort, Carmina Burana (BNL, 112763; 1989). Capella Antiqua München, Carmina Burana aus Handschriften des 13. Jahrhunderts (Christophorus, 75 939; 1968). Cellier, Marcel (ed.), Le Mystère de voix Bulgares (4AD, 603; 1986). Clemencic Consort, Carmina Burana, 3 discs (Harmonia Mundi France, 190336.38; 1990). Clemencic Consort, Carmina Burana, version originale (Harmonia Mundi France, 90335; 1987). Clemencic Consort, Carmina Burana: Version originale & integrale, 5 LPs (Harmonia Mundi, 335; 1974–78). Collegium Arniense, In Taberna: Carmina Burana: Original Version (Well Music, 99901; 1999 [rec. 1998]). Corvus Corax, Cantus Buranus (Roadrunner, 8163–2; 2005). Corvus Corax, Cantus Buranus II (Pica, 0708–25; 2008). Corvus Corax, Cantus Buranus: Live in Berlin (Roadrunner, 0931–9; 2006). Corvus Corax, Inter Deum et Diabolum Semper Musica Est (Scene1, 63042; 1993). Corvus Corax, Mille Anni Passi Sunt ( John Silver, 1000; 2000). Corvus Corax, MM ( John Silver, 0500; 2000). Corvus Corax, Tritonus ( John Silver, 1798; 1995). Dead Can Dance, Aion (4AD, 0007; 1990). Ensemble Alegria, Carmina Burana XII (Verany, 791092; 1993 [rec. 1991]). Ensemble Jehan de Channey, Cantigas de Santa Maria; Carmina Burana (De Plein Vent, 9128; 1991). Ensemble Obsidienne, Carmina Burana (Eloquentia, 1127; 2011). Ensemble Organum, Carmina Burana: Le Mystère de la Passion, 2 discs (Harmonia Mundi France, 901323.24; 1990). Ensemble Ultreia, Carmina Burana: chansons médiévales, XIIIe siècle (Ultreia, 50003; 2008). Ensemble Unicorn, Carmina Burana (Naxos, 8.554837; 2002 [rec. 1997]). Freiburger Spielleyt, O Fortuna (Ars Musici, 1181–2; 1996). Helium Vola, Für Euch, die ihr liebt (Chrom, 901; 2009).

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Helium Vola, Liod (Chrom, 6492; 2004). I Madrigalisti di Genova, Carmina Burana (Ars Nova, 6255; 1988). La Reverdie, Carmina Burana: Sacri Sarcasmi (Arcana, 353; 2009). Le Concert dans l’Oeuf, Carmina Burana: version médiévale (Collection Romane, 105; 2001). Millenarium, Carmina Burana: Tempus Transit (Ricercar, 238; 2004). Modo Antiquo, Carmina Burana, 2 discs (Amadeus, 056–57; 1999). New London Consort, Carmina Burana, 4 discs (L’Oiseau-Lyre, 417 373–2, 421 062–2, and 425 117–2; 1987–89). New Orleans Musica da Camera, Satires, Desires & Excesses: Songs from the Carmina Burana (Centaur, 2145; 1993). Ougenweide, Eulenspiegel (Polydor, 2371 714; 1976). Qntal, Qntal VIII: Nachtblume (Drakkar, 2389; 2018). Studio der Frühen Musik, Pop Ago: Chansons, Songs, Canciones, Lieder, Canzonen (EMI, 29 157; 1973). Studio der Frühen Musik, Carmina Burana (II), 13 Songs from the Benediktbeuern Manuscript, circa 1300 (Das Alte Werk, SAWT 9522-A Ex.; 1968). Studio der Frühen Musik, Carmina Burana aus der Original-Handschrift um 1300 (Das Alte Werk, SAWT 9455-A; 1964). Studio der Frühen Musik, Musik der Spielleute (Telefunken, 6.41928; 1975). The Boston Camerata, Carmina Burana: Medieval Songs (Erato, 0630–14987–2; 1996). Theatrum Instrumentorum, Carmina Burana (Arts, 47511–2; 1998 [rec. 1997]).

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[accessed 15 February 2019]

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Index of Primary Texts Texts of the Codex Buranus CB 3 ​23, 25, 26 CB 6 ​96 CB 7 ​312 n.58 CB 8 ​70–74 CB 11 ​33, 34 CB 12 ​25, 26, 28, 96 CB 14 ​33, 264, 267–69 CB 15 ​96 CB 16 ​18, 22 n.27 CB 17 ​18, 37 n.74 CB 19 ​25, 26, 28, 264, 265–67, 269, 279–80 CB 21 ​206, 209–10, 211 n.19 CB 22 ​210 n.17, 224, 283 n.2 CB 24 ​224 CB 26 ​210, 252 CB 27 ​211, 252 CB 28 ​211 CB 29 ​211 CB 30 ​23, 211, 264 CB 31 ​25, 26, 28, 211, 218, 264 CB 32 ​209, 217–18 CB 33 ​212–13, 264 CB 34 ​37 n.76, 201, 213 CB 35 ​213 CB 36 ​213 CB 37 ​54 n.30, 213 CB 38 ​213–14 CB 39 ​33, 214–17, 218 CB 40 ​218 CB 41 ​84–85, 218–19

CB 42 ​33, 83–84, 219, 355 CB 43 ​219–21, 222–23 CB 44 ​40–43, 96, 219–21, 222–23, 225 CB 45 ​220 CB 47 ​25, 26, 28, 362, 371, 374 n.63 CB 48 ​264, 353, 367–78, 391, 392 CB 49 ​370, 374 CB 50 ​374 CB 51 ​355, 362 CB 53 ​209, 222 n.35, 226 CB 54 ​33, 221 CB 55 ​33, 221 CB 56 ​103–05 CB 57 ​106 CB 58 ​106, 143 n.47 CB 59 ​106, 138 n.40, 271 CB 60 ​106–07, 366 CB 61 ​60, 107, 363 CB 62 ​56–60, 96, 107, 363 CB 63 ​107 CB 64 ​107 CB 65 ​108–09, 393, 401 CB 67 ​109 CB 68 ​109, 143 n.47 CB 70 ​15 n.9, 18, 21, 33, 34 n.66, 99, 110, 143 n.47 CB 71 ​25, 26, 28–29, 110, 143 n.47, 271 CB 72 ​110–13, 156, 169–70, 202 CB 73 ​113, 271 CB 76 ​65, 79–82, 113–14, 328

444

Index of Primary Texts

CB 77 ​18, 21, 33, 34, 37 n.77, 65, 122 n.13, 328 CB 78 ​138 n.40 CB 79 ​60, 189–91, 192, 193, 328 CB 82 ​114, 122–23 CB 83 ​109–10, 328 CB 84 ​114–15, 327–28 CB 85 ​25, 26, 32, 270, 318, 319–28, 330, 341 n.58, 350 CB 86 ​327–28 CB 87 ​17–19 CB 88 ​115, 328 CB 89 ​62–65, 173–91 CB 90 ​25, 26, 29, 33, 35, 62–65, 115, 185–91, 328 CB 91 ​115, 187 CB 92 ​7, 96, 119–48, 187, 270–72 CB 94 ​54, 355 CB 95 ​355, 363 CB 99 ​54, 161, 257 CB 100 ​161, 257 CB 105 ​97 CB 108 ​123–25 CB 113 ​343 n.61 CB 115 ​366 CB 116 ​25, 26, 28, 32 CB 118 ​18, 19, 355 CB 119 ​256–57, 258–60 CB 126 ​156–57, 165–66 CB 131 ​25, 26, 203, 224, 256, 257, 284 n.7, 294–95, 351 CB 132 ​143 n.47 CB 133 ​355, 361 n.24 CB 134 ​355, 361 n.24 CB 136 ​18, 36 n.71, 138 n.40 CB 137 ​138 n.40 CB 139 ​138 n.40 CB 142 ​270, 343 n.61 CB 143 ​18, 22 n.27, 270, 343 n.61 CB 147 ​270, 363, 391 n.87

CB 148 ​383 CB 149 ​18, 345–47, 361, 364 CB 150 ​270, 346 n.70, 388 CB 151 ​270, 272–74, 280–81, 353, 374 n.65, 378–92 CB 152 ​366, 385, 388, 391 CB 153 ​25, 26, 28, 29, 328, 388 CB 156 ​388–89 CB 157 ​192–94, 388–89 CB 158 ​166–67, 194–96, 328 CB 159 ​26, 270, 318, 319–28, 330, 335, 350 CB 161 ​270, 390 n.86 CB 163 ​157 CB 164 ​270, 328, 390 n.86, 391 n.87 CB 166 ​270, 374 n.65 CB 167 ​99, 328, 363 CB 169 ​271, 272, 353, 374 n.65, 378–92 CB 170 ​271, 328, 382, 388–89, 391 CB 172 ​99 CB 174 ​18, 36, 328, 341–45, 364, 383 CB 177 ​326, 347–49, 361 CB 178 ​60, 328 CB 179 ​xii, 18, 19–21, 22 n.27, 30–31, 349 CB 180 ​18, 328, 335–41, 349, 361, 364, 383 CB 181 ​383 CB 182 ​328 CB 184 ​99, 157, 326, 361 CB 185 ​8, 11, 25, 26, 29–30, 36–37, 99, 100–01, 116–17, 149–70, 196–203, 326, 361, 365, 395 CB 187 ​75 n.16, 256, 257, 399 n.19 CB 188 ​75 n.16 CB 189 ​33, 75–79, 256, 257 CB 190 ​75 n.16 CB 191 ​18, 32, 75 n.16, 88–95, 362 CB 193 ​96

Index of Primary Texts

CB 195 ​33, 34 n.66, 60, 355, 363 CB 196 ​18, 25, 26, 32, 46–48, 50, 257 CB 197 ​56–60, 96, 363 CB 198 ​53 CB 199 ​48–50 CB 200 ​xi, 25, 26, 27, 51–52, 257 CB 203 ​48, 256, 257, 326, 328 CB 204 ​326 CB 205 ​48 n.15, 355 CB 209 ​53 CB 210 ​53 CB 211 ​25, 26, 51, 256, 257, 326, 328, 341, 390 n.84, 398–99 CB 212 ​341 CB 214 ​53 CB 215 ​37 n.76, 44–46, 55, 96, 184, 255, 256, 257 CB 218 ​326, 328, 355 CB 219 ​32, 33, 53 CB 220 ​68–70, 95, 362 CB 221 ​49–50, 53 CB 222 ​18, 50–51 CB 224 ​53 CB 225 ​53

445

CB 226 ​33, 53, 54 CB 227 ​227, 230–33, 234, 246 CB 228 ​227, 228–30, 233, 234, 271 CB 1* ​255 CB 2* ​355, 365 CB 4* ​224, 226 CB 7* ​225, 355 CB 9* ​33, 85–88, 225 CB 11* ​224–25 CB 12* ​225, 313–14 CB 13* ​227, 237–42, 248 CB 14* ​224, 226, 237–42, 248, 314 CB 15* ​227, 236, 237, 355 CB 16* ​18, 33, 175, 227, 234–37, 239–42, 314, 355 CB 17* ​355, 365 CB 18* ​225 CB 19* ​313 CB 20* ​313 CB 21* ​313 CB 22* ​313 CB 23* ​225, 236 n.23, 355 CB 24* ​225 CB 26* ​227, 234, 242–49, 359

Other texts Abu Bakr Yahya Ibn Baqī, Yā xalīlayya sa-alqā ’llāha min alami ’l-‘išqi ​ 332–33, 348 Albrecht von Johansdorf, Swaz ich nû gesinge ​167–68 Andreas Capellanus, De amore ​114, 122, 149, 186 Aue Katherina ​313 Aue Maria ​21, 191, 193 Aue uirgo uirginum ​21 Blancheflour et Florence ​122 n.11

Cervantes, Miguel de, Don Quixote ​60 Christ ist erstanden ​237 Concilium Romarici Montis ​122, 125–26, 148 Corvus Corax, Cantus Buranus ​32–35 Curritur ad uocem ​371, 374 n.63 Disticha Catonis ​49 Ecce ancilla ​289 Ecce tempus gaudi ​158 Eckenlied ​48, 157, 257

446

Index of Primary Texts

Freidank, Bescheidenheit ​168

Ovid Amores ​103, 134–35, 139 n.42, Glossa Ordinaria ​74 143–44 Gratian, Decretum ​181 n.33, 184, 212 Ars amatoria ​124–26, 144 n.49, n.20 146, 219 Ex Ponto ​124 Haec est dies ​289 Fasti ​140–42, 144 n.49, 146 n.52 Horace Metamorphoses ​67, 79 n.18, 83, 91 Ars poetica ​73 n.33, 106, 138 n.41, 140–42, Odes ​67, 270 n.31 146, 198, 219 n.29, 269 n.31 See also General Index Tristia ​123 n.19, 144 n.49 Hugh Primas, De uestium transformatione ​ See also General Index 68 Planctus ante nescia. See CB 14* Ibn Sanā’ al-Mulk, Dar al-Tiraz ​331, plays 341, 345 Jeu d’Adam ​235 n.17 Ilias Latina ​129 Ludus Danielis ​52 Inclita sanctae uirginis Katherine ​307 Ludus Paschalis, Klosterneuburg ​ Innocent III, De sacro altaris mysterio ​176 235–37, 243 nn.31&32 Isidore of Seville, Origines ​127–28, 172 Ordo, Palermo ​248–49 Ordo, Tours ​236 Jacques de Vitry, Sermones uulgares ​272 Ordo ad Peregrinum, Beauvais ​247 Jaufre Rudel, Landquand li jorn Ordo Stellae, Freising ​230 (PC 262,2) ​397 Passion Play-fragment, Sulmona ​ 236 Magnificat ​225, 231–32, 365 n.40 Wiener Passionsspiel ​234 Metellus of Tegernsee, Quirinalia ​ See also CB 227, CB 228, CB 13*, 171–73 CB 15*, CB 16*, CB 26* Modus Liebinc ​191 Rabenschlacht Epos ​275 Neidhart, Wie sol ich die blůmen Reinmar der Alte, Si jehent, der sumer der si uberwinden ​155–56, 167 hie (MF 167.31–168.45) ​161–62 Nibelungenlied ​275 Roman de Fauvel ​267 Ruodlieb ​172–73 O amor deitas ​398 Orff, Carl, Carmina Burana ​2, 13, Salue, regina ​193 14–22, 32, 34, 37, 100, 251 Sängerkrieg auf der Wartburg ​275 Otto von Botenlauben, Hoͤ rstu friunt Seneca, Oedipus ​147 n.59 (= Wie sol ich den ritter nu gescheiden) ​264, 367–78 Tota pulchra es ​248

Index of Primary Texts

Veni, creator Spiritus ​28 n.47 Veni, sancte Spiritus ​28 n.47 Vergil Aeneid ​121, 128 n.35, 129, 161 Eclogues ​103, 136–37, 171–72, 174 Georgics ​127–28 Pseudo-Vergil, Catalepton ​127 n.31 See also General Index Victimae Paschali laudes ​237 Virgo sancta dei Katherina ​307–09, 313

447

Walter of Châtillon, Sole regente ​192. See also General Index Walther von der Vogelweide Mailied (C 28) ​270, 272–74, 378–91 Nemt, frouwe, disen kranz (C 51) ​ 272 Palästinalied (C 7) ​51, 52, 341, 390 n.84, 397–98 Under der linden (C 16) ​98 n.3, 116, 153–54, 157, 167, 198–99 See also General Index

General Index Abelard, Peter ​96, 108 Abu Bakr Muhammad Ibn Ahmad Ibn Ruh�aym ​334 Abu Bakr Yahya Ibn Baqī ​332–33 al-A‛ma al-Tutili ​340 Al-Andalus ​23, 27, 276, 317–50 Albert III, count of Tyrol ​275, 314 Albrecht von Johansdorf ​167–68 Albuin of Brixen ​297 Alfonso II of Aragon ​350 n.77 allegory ​63, 184 Andrew II of Hungary ​275 Annunciation ​231, 289 Aquinas, Thomas ​50 Archpoet ​69–70, 88–95 Aristippus ​75–79 Aristotle ​177 Arnold of Brescia ​184 atavism ​27 audience admonition of ​43, 88–95, 114, 179–85 competence of  ​39–40, 101, 119– 48, 202–03, 364–65. See also education gender of  ​159–60, 168–69 multiple ​119–48, 395 and the plays ​234–35, 241, 244 provocation of ​99–100, 149–51 in satire ​83–85 Austria ​291, 302 n.43, 312, 326 Babylon ​52

Bakhtin, Mikhail ​51, 191 Barcelona ​323 Bartok, Béla ​277, 278 Bauer, Thomas ​340–41 Bavaria ​16, 114, 275, 284, 336 Beatie, Bruce A. ​354, 360, 370–71 Beatrix of Swabia ​350 n.77 Beauvais ​52, 247 Benediktbeuern ​1, 23, 275, 290, 314 Bernard of Chartres ​39 Bertelsmeier-Kierst, Christa ​383 Bertold of Neifen ​10 n.31, 287, 314 Binkley, Thomas ​30, 227 n.2. See also performers, early music ensembles, Studio der Frühen Musik birdsong ​106, 142–44, 270, 323, 385–88. See also locus amoenus; Natureingang; spring imagery Bisanti, Armando ​120 Bischoff, Bernhard ​2, 3, 9, 52, 227, 247 n.37, 290 Bobeth, Gundela ​4, 7, 14–15, 27, 256 n.14, 283 nn.2&5, 351, 364 n.37, 391 n.87 Bologna ​95, 285, 288 n.19, 297 Bossong, Georg ​334, 349 Brann, Ross ​340–41 Breazul, George ​277, 278–80 Brecht, Bertold ​15 Breisgau ​326 breviary ​296, 297, 302 Brewer, Charles E. ​9, 400 Brinkmann, Sabine ​151

General Index

Brixen (Bressanone) cathedral school ​9, 286–89, 312, 314 prince-bishops of ​9, 285–88, 303, 312, 314, 400 See also provenance Bulgaria ​35, 280 Byzantium ​275 Calpurnius ​144 n.49 canon (concept) ​11, 25, 274 canons regular. See religious, orders, Augustinians Cantemir, Dimitrie ​278 Capellanus, Andreas ​114, 122, 149, 163, 186, 191, 192, 196 Cardelle de Hartmann, Carmen ​7, 341, 374, 396 Carinthia ​284 Carmina Burana. See Index of Primary Texts: Orff, Carl Carpathians ​275–76, 279 Cellerarius, Johannes ​287 centre and periphery (scholarly trope) ​ 27, 188, 203, 394 chant ​15 n.7, 17, 35–36, 44, 215, 227–50, 277, 285, 290, 307, 313 n.58 characters ancient and mythological Achilles ​129 Aeneas ​129–30, 161 Amor ​97, 103, 124, 126, 132–33, 142, 144, 260, 269–70. See also Cupid below Apollo ​83, 94, 105, 125 n.23 Bacchus ​44, 51–52, 57–59, 93, 145, 271 Baucis ​198 Blanziflor ​18, 21

449

Corinna ​143 Corydon ​136–37, 172 Cupid. See Amor above Danaë ​92 Diana ​57–58 Dido ​161–62, 164 n.59 Dione ​104–05, 111–12, 113 Eurydice ​79 n.18 Flora ​96, 123–48, 187, 270 Flora, goddess ​140, 190 Helen of Troy ​103–05 Helena ​18, 21 Hercules ​107 Hippolytus ​91–92 Jupiter ​81, 92, 219 Marsyas ​83 Meliboeus ​136–37 Melusine ​110 n.26 Minerva ​129, 219 Neptune ​127–29 Niobe ​74 n.12 Orpheus ​57, 59, 79 n.18 Pallas ​103–05 Persephone ​140 Phaedra ​91 n.33 Phyllis ​96, 123–48, 187, 270 Pluto ​140, 219 Proteus ​68, 79 n.18 Scylla and Charybdis ​84, 218–19 Silenus ​145–47, 271 sirens ​80, 84 Theseus ​91 n.33 Thyrsis ​136–37 Venus ​21, 33, 34, 57–58, 80–82, 90–91, 102–15, 170, 190, 211, 269, 272, 347–48, 388 Vulcan ​129–30 biblical Abraham ​88, 231–32

450

General Index

Barnabas ​43 n.7 Elisha ​73–74, 84–85, 372 Elizabeth ​231–32 Gabriel, angel ​194, 231 Gehazi ​72–74, 79, 84–85, 372 Hagar ​88 Herod ​229–30 Ishmael ​88 Jesus ​43, 45, 46, 52, 74, 88, 180, 209–10, 224, 226, 230–49 John, the beloved disciple ​ 238–42 Joseph ​232–33 Joseph of Arimathea ​225, 237–38, 355 Lazarus ​45 Longinus ​237, 240–42 Mary ​21, 65, 194, 209, 224–26, 230–42, 249 Mary Magdalene ​87–88, 175, 234–35, 237, 248–49 Paul. See under saints and Church Fathers Pilate ​236 Rachel ​233 Simon Magus ​73 Simon Peter. See saints and Church Fathers, Peter Thomas ​245–46 Zacchaeus ​45–46 chorale, Lutheran ​21 Cicero ​189 Classen, Albrecht ​11, 151 Clemencic, René ​11, 24, 25, 26, 27, 32, 158–59, 274. See also performers, early music ensembles, Clemencic Consort clergy, critique of ​2, 10–11, 15, 88, 96, 102, 115, 183–84, 187, 205–26. See also satire

Cologne ​180 compassion ​224, 235, 241, 249 compilation as act of composition ​8, 40, 53, 55, 62, 66, 208, 210, 212, 213, 221, 225, 351–92, 393–401 cluster (Nester) in the Codex Buranus ​ 54–55, 61–62, 205–06, 212, 215, 218, 224, 317 context of the Codex Buranus ​1–12, 55, 61, 75 n.16, 101, 157, 207, 212 n.21, 216, 224, 253, 256, 274, 313–14 other manuscripts ​236, 302 women as compilers ​8, 126 n.8, 160, 225 See also scribes; transmission confession ​13, 87, 88–95, 212 n.20 Conrad IV, king ​287 Conrad of Reischach ​288, 289 n.23 Conrad of Rodank, bishop ​187–88, 286–87, 297 Conrad, scholasticus at Neustift ​10, 53 n.28, 173, 188, 196, 202, 285, 288 Constable, Giles ​102 Constance of Aragon ​350 n.77 Constantinople ​275 conversion ​175, 210, 234–37, 242–43, 245 Córdoba ​23 n.30, 332, 334 corruption (vice) ​15 n.6, 17, 24, 32, 37, 43, 70, 73, 84, 184, 206, 209, 211, 212–17. See also clergy, critique of; sin Council of Reims ​181 courtly culture aspects of ​97–100, 106, 114, 149, 154, 163–64, 200, 287, 339, 349

General Index

combination with religious imagery ​ 193–94, 224 critique of ​21, 65 modern reception of ​35, 37 crusades ​24, 96, 209, 221, 260, 370–71 Curia ​15, 41–43, 83, 219 Curtius, Ernst Robert ​102 dance song ​29, 32, 255, 267, 269–72, 277, 279, 280, 281, 313, 349. See also various individual genres of dance song under poetry, types and genres Dante ​67 Decius ​34 n.66, 44–45. See also gambling Der Kürnberger ​348 n.72 Der Marner ​225 devotion (religious) ​14 n.4, 105, 224 n.42, 225 Diemer, Peter and Dorothea ​9, 315 Dietrich von Bern ​275 Diogenes the Cynic ​75–79 Dronke, Peter ​8, 60, 61, 64, 161, 169 n.73, 319, 323, 325–26, 328, 330, 353, 365, 392 Drumbl, Johann ​7, 10, 62 n.56, 351, 365 n.45, 395, 397 n.13 early music revival ​22. See also performers, early music ensembles Eberhard of Regensberg ​286–87 Eberhard of Salzburg ​286 education accessus ad auctores ​364–65 institutional ​39, 49–50, 70, 99, 108, 147, 159–60, 287, 288 n.21, 313, 367 lack of (lay) ​96, 130, 169 n.73, 186–87, 202–03, 213, 214

451

university ​24 n.35, 108, 147, 288 See also audience; intertextuality Edwards, Cyril ​157, 162, 351, 352, 355 Egno of Eppan ​287 Ehrismann, Gustav ​336 Eleanor of Aquitaine ​260 Elizabeth of Hungary ​275 Emmaus ​243–44 enactment ​232–33, 237 Endelechius ​172 Engelberg (monastery) ​296 Éon de l’Étoile ​181, 184 Epicurus ​51 Eucharist ​27, 48, 50 Euripides ​91 n.33 Ferdinand III of Castile and Leon ​350 n.77 Fiecht, St Georgenberg (monastery) ​ 297 folk music ​16, 23, 25, 30–31, 34, 35, 37, 277–78 Folquet de Romans ​265 Fortuna ​16, 37, 51, 96, 206, 265 France ​27, 61, 67, 157, 265 n.24, 317, 326 Franklinos, Tristan ​7 Frederick Barbarossa ​85, 191, 220 Frederick II ​10, 287, 350 n.77, 351 Freidank ​168, 355, 365 Friedrich of Wangen ​314 Frings, Theodor ​345 Gabrielli, Giulia ​286, 302, 307, 312 gambling ​16, 17, 24, 27, 32, 45–55, 60, 68, 92, 95, 101, 255, 319 Garsten (monastery) ​258 Gautier d’Espinal ​272–74 Gedrut ​374 n.65

452

General Index

gender ​8, 17, 29, 35–36, 38, 323, 336, 339, 343. See also heteronormativity and under audience Gennrich, Friedrich ​265 Germany ​14, 30, 31 n.54, 32 GDR ​31–32 Weimar Republic ​15, 17 Gerrard, Lisa ​35 Gertrud of Andechs-Merania ​275 Godefroy of St Victor ​314 Godman, Peter ​5, 8, 9, 11, 54–55, 126 n.28, 170, 208, 233, 285, 288 n.18 goliards ​15, 24, 27, 28, 32, 38, 159, 255, 351 goliardic stanzas ​65, 69, 70, 79, 83, 85 Gómez, Emilio García ​331 Gothic (metal) ​30, 35 Gottfried von Neifen ​314 grace ​217–18, 226 Granada ​332, 334 Grandmont (monastery) ​213–14 Gratian ​181, 184, 186, 211 n.20 Graz, St Lambrecht (monastery) ​297 Grimm, Brothers ​116 Guillaume IX ​330 n.24 Halevī, Yehūdā ​334, 339–41 Händl, Claudia ​155 Harris, Carissa ​150, 160, 168 Hartmann of Brixen ​291 Hartmann von Aue ​98 n.3 Heinen, Hubert ​116, 153, 383 Heinrich IV of Taufers ​287 Heinrich of Brixen ​286, 288 n.19 Heinrich of Seckau ​286 Heinrich von Morungen ​269 Heinrich von Ofterdingen ​275 Helena of Hungary ​161

Héloise ​98, 108 Henry VI (Emperor) ​327 n.18, 346 n.68, 350 n.77 Herman of Tournai ​215 heteronormativity ​21, 32, 37, 79 n.18, 99, 327 Hilarius of Orléans ​363 Hildegard of Bingen ​160 Hindemith, Paul ​15 Hofmann, Michel ​14–21 Hofmannsthal, Hugo von ​346 n.70 Homer ​67 Homobonus Levita of Barcelona ​323 Hope, Henry ​8, 397, 398 n.18, 400 Horace ​67, 73, 75–76, 79, 96, 270 n.31 Hrosvitha of Gandersheim ​160 Hutcheon, Linda ​39 hymns ​65, 208, 209, 224–25, 313, 330 n.24 Ibn Sanā’ al-Mulk ​331, 336, 341, 345 instruments. See under performance interdisciplinarity ​5–6, 8, 12, 395, 401 intertextuality concept ​6, 39, 66, 119–21, 124 n.21, 135, 137–38, 147 examples of classical/medieval literature ​ 67–96, 114 n.33, 119–48, 178, 218 failed ​326–27 religious ​17, 183, 193, 230, 243 n.32, 244–45 parody CB 44 as ​40–44, 219–21 CB 185 as ​116–17, 149, 197 CB 191 as ​89–90, 95 CB 203 as ​48, 256 CB 211 as ​51, 256, 398 CB 215 as ​44–46, 256

General Index

concept ​6–7, 39–40, 66, 96, 341, 361, 397 in the Concilium Romarici Montis ​ 126 displacement ​39, 44, 46, 49 inversion ​35, 39, 43, 48, 185, 191–93 modern parody ​15–17, 21, 27–28, 29 parodic neighbourhood ​61–65, 374, 396 within the Codex Buranus ​205– 26, 234, 378, 391. See also compilation; plurilingualism See also music, contrafacture Isaac II ​275 Isidore of Seville ​127–28, 172, 323–25 Islam ​88, 334, 349. See also Al-Andalus Iwer, Jörg ​32 Jackson, Michael ​100 Jackson, W. T. H. ​354 Jacques de Vitry ​215 n.26, 272 Jaufre Rudel ​397 Jerusalem ​52, 275, 334 Jews ​46, 48, 230, 236–37, 238–42, 318, 341, 349 John of Salisbury ​39 Jones, Alan ​332 Juvenal ​67, 74 Kasten, Ingrid ​117, 203 n.85, 384 Kellner, Beate ​117 Kemli, Gallus ​55 Kirakosian, Racha ​10 Klinck, Anne L. ​160 Klingsor of Hungary-Transylvania ​275 Klosterneuburg. See under manuscripts Knapp, Fritz Peter ​159, 162, 234 n.14, 285, 326

453

knights ​114, 122, 133, 149, 187, 371. See also poetry, genres and types, pastourelle Korth, Michael ​11, 24 Kraß, Andreas ​151 Kraus, Carl von ​370 Kuhn, Hugo ​290, 383, 392 Kühne, Udo ​352–53, 354, 364–65, 384, 392 Kuhreihen ​29 lament. See poetry, genres and types, bocetul and planctus; Index of Primary Texts: CB 119; CB 185; CB 14* Lammers-Harlander, Heike Sigrid ​7, 9, 284–85, 400 Larson, Atria ​211 n.20 Lateran Council Second ​215 Fourth ​46 n.14, 187–88 layout ​62, 202, 252, 265, 291, 297, 309, 312, 313 n.58, 367–78, 390–91 manuscript initials (and illuminations) ​206, 221, 283, 290, 296, 315, 346 n.70, 371, 378 Lazarowicz, Klaus ​251 learning. See education Leopold V of Austria ​161 letter-writing ​335–39, 349 LGBTQ. See heteronormativity linden tree ​29, 36, 106, 116, 150, 154, 156, 163, 164, 272. See also Index of Primary Texts: CB 185; Walther von der Vogelweide, Under der linden Lipphardt, Walther ​7, 258 litany ​27, 34 n.65, 65

454

General Index

liturgy and CB 227 (the Christmas play) ​ 230–33 and CB 26* (the Peregrinus play) ​ 242–49 eundo and redeundo chants ​228–30 Feast of Fools ​55, 96, 394 Gamblers’ Mass. See Index of Primary Texts: CB 215 liturgical context of the Codex Buranus ​39–40, 205–08, 225, 288–90 liturgical drama. See plays and modern performance ​17–21, 27–28 orationes sollemnes of Good Friday ​ 48 parody of ​40–55, 220–21, 256 Ljubljana ​286 locus amoenus ​126, 129 n.36, 135–36, 138–47, 189. See also birdsong; Natureingang; spring imagery Lucan ​67, 128 n.35 Lutold von Seven ​378 Manitius, Max ​19–20 manuscripts Basel, Universitätsbibliothek, MS D VI 1300 ​Illustration 13.1 (online only) Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, MS mgf 779 ​ 156 Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, MS mgf 1062 ​ Illustration 13.1 (online only) Bozen, Museo Civico, MS 1304 ​302 n.43 Bozen, Staatsarchiv, MS 147 ​302– 15

Brixen, Priesterseminar, MS E 13 (olim 102) ​312 n.58 Burgos, Monasterio de las Huelgas, no shelfmark ​252 Cambridge, Jesus College, Quincentenary Library, MS 1 ​ 265 Cambridge, University Library, MS Dd 11.78 ​122 n.14 Cambridge, University Library, MS Ff 1.17.1 ​252, 260–61 Cambridge, University Library, MS Gg 5.35 ​345 Chartres, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 223 ​258 El Escorial, Real Biblioteca de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, MS Z. II. 2 ​319–28, 330, 341 n.58 Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Plut. 29.1 ​ 61, 75, 158, 252 Graz, Universitätsbibliothek, MS 134 ​ 297 n.41 Graz, Universitätsbibliothek, MS 756 ​ 296–97, 299 Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cod. Pal. germ. 357 ​ 374–78, 389 Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cod. Pal. germ. 848 ​275, 370, 374–78, 383, 384 n.77, 389 Innsbruck, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Tirol, MS 942 ​303 n.47, 307 n.53 Jena, Thüringer Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, MS El. f. 101 ​ 275 Jerusalem, Schocken Library, MS 37 ​ 334 n.33

General Index

Klosterneuburg, AugustinerChorherrenstift, MS 73 ​294, 296, 309 Klosterneuburg, AugustinerChorherrenstift, MS 574 ​ 235–37, 243 nn.31&32 Klosterneuburg, AugustinerChorherrenstift, MS 589 ​ 307–08 Klosterneuburg, AugustinerChorherrenstift, MS 1012 ​291 Linz, Oberösterreichische Landesbibliothek (olim Studienbibliothek), MS 324 (olim Schiffmann 80) ​258 Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 4660a ​309, 314 Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 6264a ​230 n.8 Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 18190 ​253 Munich, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cim. 4 (olim 2˚ Cod. ms. 731) ​ Illustration 13.1 (online only) Munich, Universitätsbibliothek, MS Cim. 100 (olim 2˚ Cod. ms. 156) ​313 Münster, Staatsarchiv, MS VII, 51 ​ Illustration 13.1 (online only) Neustift, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 21a ​201 n.79 Neustift, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 15063 ​307 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Add. A. 44 ​61 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Oppenheim. Add. 4º 81 ​334 n.33 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Pococke 74.1 ​334 n.33

455

Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Rawlinson G. 109 ​68 n.3 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 146 ​267 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 20050 ​274 Private Collection, MS ‘G. S. Colin’ ​ 333 n.30 St Omer, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 351 ​192 Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, MS HB I 95 ​ 296, 298, 398 Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, MS HB XIII 1 ​Illustration 13.1 (online only) The Hague, Koninklije Bibliotheek, MS 128 E 2 ​378 Tirolo, Biblioteca di Castel TiroloMuseo storico-culturale della Provincia di Bolzano, MS 50218529 (olim n. 60) ​ 302 Vich, Museo episcopal, MS 105 ​236 nn.19&23, 242–43, 245 n.35, 248 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 13.314 ​ 292, 293, 296, 309 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1717 ​ 293, 296, 309, 313 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1768 ​ 309 n.54 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1799** ​ 307, 309

456

General Index

Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 1890 ​ 297, 300, 309, 312, 314 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 2521 ​ 211, 218 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 12887 (Suppl. 561) ​234 n.13 Vorau, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift, MS 401 ​296 n.37 Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, MS Cod. Guelf. 628 Helmst. ​253 Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, MS Cod. Guelf. 1099 Helmst. ​253 See also transmission Marcabru ​330 n.24 Marcus Valerius ​173, 178 Markward, canon ​289 Martin of Braga ​172 Martin, Jonathan Seelye ​8, 11, 36 März, Christoph ​366 medievalism ​14 Mehler, Ulrich ​250 n.40 Metellus of Tegernsee ​171–73, 178 metre. See music, rhythm and under poetry Meyer, Wilhelm ​355 Minnesang ​5, 7, 98, 117, 197, 202–03, 224, 256, 269, 275, 277, 278, 314, 339, 348, 351–92, 396. See also courtly culture minstrel ​31 mise-en-page. See layout misogyny ​118, 150, 182 mockery ​15, 29, 43, 65, 89, 117, 184, 241 Moldavia ​275

money ​34, 40–51, 92, 96, 102, 114, 214, 219–21, 223, 225, 287, 374 monks. See religious, orders morality. See satire; sin Müller, Ulrich ​11, 24, 51, 158, 352–53, 354–55, 360–63, 367, 383 multilingualism. See plurilingualism music analysis of examples ​4, 158–59, 255, 258–74 concordances. See under transmission contrafacture ​8, 44–45, 50, 52, 56, 60, 158–59, 265, 274, 283 n.5, 351–92, 396–98 melisma ​251–81, 283, 284 n.7, 312, 399 modern reinvention ​13–38 notation ​1, 3, 7, 9, 27, 252–57, 281, 283–315, 364, 370, 384, 390–91, 397, 399. See also scribes Notre Dame repertory ​61, 75, 158, 252–53, 255, 261, 264, 269, 400–01 rhythm and dance ​267, 269 n.30 as evidence for contrafacture ​56, 60 notation of ​261, 274, 400 and text ​264, 267 See also music, modern reinvention; poetry, metre Romanian ​274–81 Natureingang ​269, 278, 323, 383. See also birdsong; locus amoenus; spring imagery Neidhart ​30 n.52, 114, 154–57, 167, 349 Neustift (Novacella). See provenance

General Index

Niune ​375 notation. See under music notators. See scribes Octavia, sister of Emperor Augustus ​ 121 n.10 Oltenia ​279 opera ​13, 15, 16–17, 32–35 oratorio ​16 Orff, Carl. See Index of Primary Texts Otloh of St Emmeram ​207, 211, 213–14, 218 Otto of Freising ​181 Otto von Botenlauben ​264, 370 Ottoman Empire ​275, 279 Oulmont, Charles ​126 Ovid ​67, 79 n.18, 83, 91 n.33, 93, 97, 99, 103, 106, 107, 119–48, 156, 161, 190, 198, 219, 269 n.31 Pakenham, Alphonsus ​228 n.4, 233 n.11 Paris ​27, 55, 67, 269 Parlett, David ​4 parody. See under intertextuality Paulinus of Nola ​172 Pavia ​89 peasant. See rustica/rusticus Peire Raimon de Tolosa ​265 Pelayo, Marcelino Menéndez ​334 performance a cappella ​13, 25, 28, 29 Arabic style ​23, 26 n.41 historically informed ​2, 13, 22–30, 35, 36, 37. See also performers, early music ensembles instruments and birdsong  ​142–45, 270–72 and notation ​274

457

in popular renditions ​30–31, 34–35, 38 in Romanian music  ​277–80 performers early music ensembles Boston Camerata ​25 n.38, 26, 28, 30, 37 n.77 Clemencic Consort ​24–29, 34 n.65, 37 n.76 Ensemble Organum ​13, 25 Ensemble Unicorn ​25 n.38 La Reverdie ​24, 28 Millenarium ​25 n.38 Modo Antiquo ​25 n.38, 30 New London Consort ​13, 25 nn.38&40, 26, 28, 29–30 Obsidienne ​28 n.49, 29 Sequentia ​13 Studio der Frühen Musik ​11, 13, 22–23, 25, 27, 29, 31, 35, 38 several other ensembles are included in Illustration 1.3 (online only) lăutari ​277 other ensembles Corvus Corax ​13, 31–36 Dead Can Dance ​35 Faun ​13 Helium Vola ​13, 36 In Extremo ​13, 31 n.54 Ougenweide ​30 Psalteria ​32 Qntal ​13 Theatre of Tragedy ​13 Triphonia ​30 Perotin ​16 Persius ​67 Peter of Blois ​23, 74 n.11, 156, 169, 202, 207, 211, 212, 260–61, 264 Philip of Swabia ​350 n.77

458

General Index

Philip the Chancellor ​24 n.35, 75, 79, 207, 209–10, 211 n.19, 213 Pidal, Ramón Menéndez ​126 Plato ​189, 190 plays ​1, 7–8, 25 n.40, 52, 53, 101, 205, 224, 227–50, 252, 267 n.27, 314, 355, 395 plurilingualism ​6, 8–9, 11, 31, 117, 317–18, 331, 335–50, 351–92, 397–98, 400. See also poetry, languages, macaronic barbarolexis ​197, 200, 367 poetry genres and types of bocetul ​277, 278 cantiga de amigo ​330 canzona ​264–67, 269, 274 chanson de toile ​346 n.68, 349 chorea ​269–72, 277, 280, 281 conductus ​253, 255, 265, 267, 269, 398, 401 dawn song ​99, 370–71, 375, 378 descort ​255, 256, 260 doina ​277–79 estampie ​267 Frauenlied ​8, 152–54, 157 hora ​277, 280–81 jubilus ​319 kharja ​8, 317–50 lai ​255, 256 Leich ​219–20, 366, 398 Mädchenlied ​152–53, 345 manea ​275 n.41 mat�la‘ ​329, 335 muwaššah�a ​317–50 nuba ​23 pastourelle ​8, 24, 25, 29–30, 60, 63–65, 99, 115, 149–70, 173, 188, 191–96, 201

planctus ​161, 198, 202, 233, 255, 277, 278, 319. See also Index of Primary Texts: CB 14* rhythmi ​283, 288 rubāī ​258 saltarello ​35 saltatio ​274 sârba ​277, 279–80 sequence ​44, 45 n.12, 50, 51 n.25, 60, 174, 219, 237, 242, 248, 256, 313 simt� ​329, 334–36 Streitgedicht ​122, 138 uersus ​1, 218, 283, 288, 341 virelai ​349 zajal ​318, 329–31, 337 languages Arabic/Mozarabic ​9, 317–50 French ​29, 61, 83, 117, 149 n.1, 154, 198, 247, 265, 274, 326 n.15, 349, 355, 360, 400 German ​152–58, 196–201, 234–37, 351–92 Greek ​355, 360 Hebrew ​331–32, 334, 340 macaronic ​150, 196, 203, 326, 346, 347–48, 354, 360–62, 365 n.41, 366, 367, 392, 397 Occitan ​355 Provençal ​60, 326 Romance ​1, 9, 269 n.30, 318, 329–34, 336, 340, 346, 349, 364 See also plurilingualism metre of CB 39 ​215 of CB 85/CB 159 ​323 of CB 89 ​174 of CB 90 ​64 of CB 149 ​346

General Index

of CB 151/CB 169 ​389–91 of CB 167 ​363 of CB 180 ​335, 337–38, 361 of CB 200 ​52 and compositional process ​96, 331, 362–63, 392 and dance ​269 n.30 and melody ​261, 264, 265, 267, 274, 278, 280–81, 370 in modern performance ​26, 38 See also music, rhythm rhyme of CB 14 ​267 of CB 32 ​217 of CB 89 ​183 of CB 151/CB 169 ​385, 388 of CB 185 ​158 n.31 and compositional process ​289, 331, 334, 370, 385 monorhyme ​258, 323, 327–31, 332, 335, 337–38, 342, 344 and rhythmic verse ​68, 288 Pomponius ​164 popes Alexander III ​83–85, 187, 219 n.32 Eugene III ​82 n.19, 220 Gregory I (the Great) ​181, 186 Gregory IX ​176 Innocent III ​176 popular music ​2, 13, 30–37 predestination ​218, 225 Primas, Hugh ​67–69, 79, 95 provenance ​9–10, 11, 283–315, 351, 361, 400, 401. See also compilation; transmission Psalms ​28 n.47, 43, 180, 213 puella ​19, 34–36, 63–64, 175–85, 337, 347 Purcell-Joiner, Lauren Elizabeth ​296

459

Rainald of Dassel ​88–91, 93, 95 rape. See under sex Rastädter, Vincent ​278 Raymond de Vaqueiras ​267 razos ​364 reception of the Codex Buranus (medieval) ​ 121, 188, 206, 212, 224. See also audience of the Codex Buranus (modern) ​ 13–38, 251, 351. See also sacred and secular, scholarly trope of other materials in the Codex Buranus ​214, 219, 245, 394–95, 400–01. See also intertextuality refrain of CB 48 ​367–78 of CB 152 ​385 of CB 180 ​335–41 of CB 185 ​36, 158–59, 163–64, 198 and dance song ​313 and the mat�la‘ ​317–50 (modern) performance of ​27–36, 158–59 plurilingual or macaronic ​361 recollection of canonical authors in ​ 103, 154, 198 scribal omission of ​338 semantic function of ​123, 154, 158–59, 163–64, 198, 335–41 Reginbert of Brixen ​297 Reims ​68, 181 Rein (Styria) ​307 Reinmar der Alte (von Hagenau) ​157, 161, 269, 374 n.65 Reinmar von Zweter ​398 religious habit (clothing)  ​87, 175, 216–17

460

General Index

orders Augustinians ​85, 188, 216–17 at Neustift ​8–10, 173, 180–85, 187–88, 285–87 notation  ​290–302, 307–08, 314 Benedictines ​85–88, 215, 314 notation and script ​290, 296–97 Cistercians ​85, 307 Dominicans ​85 Franciscans ​85–88 Norbertines ​85, 215–17 Poor Clares ​85–88 Premonstratensians. See Norbertines above Teutonic Order ​275 rivalry between different orders ​ 85–88, 214–17 Remiremont (monastery) ​82 n.19, 148 rhyme. See under poetry rhythm. See under music Rich, Alan ​27 Rome ​79, 83–85, 89, 103, 121 n.10, 156, 187–88, 219–20, 287 Rossini, Gioachino ​17 n.15 rubric ​7, 187, 194, 206, 221, 227–50, 290, 312, 326, 335, 338, 346 n.70, 370. See also layout rustica/rusticus ​35, 171–203 Rütlibum de Laybaco ​302 n.43 sacred and secular combination in poetry ​40, 97, 100, 116, 202–03, 349, 393 scholarly trope ​14, 38, 393–94 saints and Church Fathers Albuinus ​303 Augustine ​101, 211 Benedict ​48, 175, 180

Bernard of Clairvaux ​88 Bernard of Siena ​55 Catherine of Alexandria ​209, 225, 286, 303, 307–08, 313–14 Erasmus ​225 Ingenuinus ​303 Margaret ​286, 303, 307 Norbert of Xanten ​215 Paul ​88 Peter ​43, 235, 303 Salé ​332 Salmen, Walter ​31 salvation ​48, 205–26, 233, 250 Salzburg, archdiocese of ​188, 302 n.43 San Gimignano ​92 Santifaller, Leo ​288–89, 303, 307 Santo Domingo de Silos (monastery) ​ 326 satire ​2, 11, 14, 16, 17, 22, 25, 37, 39–66, 67–96, 101, 102–03, 111, 122, 126, 127, 219, 225, 319, 398. See also clergy, critique of Sayce, Olive ​9, 285, 286, 314, 336, 345, 351–92 Scheer, Monique ​27 Schmeller, Johann Andreas ​3, 14, 15, 19–20, 345 n.65 Schumann, Otto ​16 n.10, 20, 53, 54, 57 n.45, 60 n.51, 63 n.58, 64, 284, 290, 323, 326, 354, 362 n.26, 363–64, 366, 370 Schweikle, Günther ​378 scribes of the Codex Buranus (general) ​53 n.28, 158, 188, 247, 252, 283, 296, 361–63, 370–71, 399 h1 ​10, 53 n.28, 196, 253, 285 h2 ​253, 285 n1 ​255, 256–57, 269, 277, 284 n.7

General Index

n2 ​255–56, 264, 269, 284 n.7, 370 n3 ​255, 391 n4 ​255–56, 269–70, 272, 360, 390–91 of other manuscripts ​236, 256, 288 n.18, 326–27, 375, 378, 389 scribal error, omission, correction ​ 243, 323–27, 337–38, 346 n.70, 389 Seckau ​9 n.27, 296 n.37, 302 n.43, 313 secular. See sacred and secular Seville ​325, 332 sex chastity ​19, 113 and clergy ​186–88. See also clergy, critique of critique of sexual norms ​15, 21–22, 32, 37. See also heteronormativity depiction of ​29, 30, 82 n.21, 99–100, 107–10, 163–65, 183, 196–98, 337 n.44, 345 desire for ​57, 68, 323–27, 337, 349 as excess ​74, 79–82, 91, 95, 211 extramarital ​92, 168 rape ​11, 29, 37, 92, 99–101, 110–18, 149–70, 188, 191, 192, 201–02 #metoo ​113 n.30 resistance to ​99, 110, 150, 156, 165–69, 189, 201 shepherd(ess). See poetry, genres and types, pastourelle Sicily ​243 n.32, 260 Sievert, Heike ​383 sin avarice ​40–41, 43, 45, 50, 74, 96 gluttony ​49–50, 51, 57, 74, 92, 341, 398 greed ​15, 24 n.35, 32, 37, 43, 45, 46, 103, 215, 219

461

hypocrisy ​22, 24 n.35, 32, 168, 215 lust. See sex penitence for ​34 n.65, 57, 211, 237 pride ​50, 181, 216 simony ​73–74, 220 vanity ​209–10, 215 See also clergy, critique of Singebewegung ​31 Smith, Geri ​150 Smolak, Kurt ​50 Sola-Solé, Josep M. ​332 Spanke, Hans ​365 Speyer ​287 spring imagery ​103, 106, 113–14, 126 n.27, 138–42, 269, 323–28, 379–90. See also birdsong; locus amoenus; Natureingang stage direction. See rubric Statius ​144 n.49 Steer, Georg ​9, 285, 290 Steinen, Wolfram von den ​64 Stern, Samuel Miklos ​331 Stolz, Michael ​8–9 Strecker, Karl ​84 Styria ​284, 307 Theodulf of Orléans ​67 n.1 Theodulos ​91 n.1, 92 Thrace ​79 n.18 Tibullus ​144 n.49 Toledo ​334 Traill, David A. ​4–5, 10–11, 57, 164, 214 transgression ​9, 334, 349–50 transmission concordances ​3, 4, 8, 16, 22, 26, 251–74, 281, 283, 296, 395, 399–401. See also music of CB 26 ​252 of CB 48 ​374–78

462

General Index

of CB 108 ​260 of CB 119 ​258–60 of CB 151/CB 169 ​378 lack of ​56, 307, 360 tabulation of ​254, 257, 264, 354, 355, 360 exemplar ​102, 246, 283, 331, 337, 361–62, 378, 384, 389, 395 mouvance ​4, 375, 395 unica ​1, 207, 220, 221, 253, 313, 354, 361, 374, 396 See also compilation; manuscripts Transylvania ​275 Treitler, Leo ​397 Trent ​10, 287, 314 Trier ​82 n.19, 85, 221 n.39 troubadour, trouvère, trobairitz ​98, 117, 224, 255, 260, 265, 272, 277, 397. See also courtly culture Twelfth-Century Renaissance ​98, 102 Tyrol ​1, 10, 12, 61, 84 n.22, 188, 197, 225, 284, 289, 297, 303, 315 uersus. See under poetry, genres and types Ulrich von Liechtenstein ​269, 287 vagrants. See goliards Verdi, Giuseppe ​17 n.15, 19 Vergil ​103, 121, 126, 127–29, 136–38, 143 n.48, 147, 161, 171–72, 174, 178 vernacular. See poetry, languages vidas ​364 Vienna ​286 n.19, 303 Vollmann, Benedikt Konrad ​3–5, 54, 61, 101, 164–65, 174–75, 176, 215, 218, 249, 260, 345, 370–71

von Ficker, Rudolf ​16 Wachinger, Burghart ​54, 61, 317–19, 350, 352–53, 354, 361, 363–65, 391 Wackernagel, Wilhelm ​336 Walsh, P. G. ​4, 21, 65 Walter of Châtillon ​24 n.35, 70, 73–74, 83–85, 95, 96, 192, 196, 219, 264, 265 Walther von der Vogelweide ​51, 52, 116–17, 153–54, 157, 165, 198–99, 202–03, 269, 272, 341, 349, 366–67, 378, 383–84, 390 n.84, 397–98 Weill, Kurt ​15 Wentzlaff-Eggebert, Friedrich Wilhelm ​ 370 Wiener Neustadt ​309 Wilhelm II ​14, 32 Wintherius ​302–05, 312 Wollin, Carsten ​69 women and authorship ​8, 126 n.28, 149–69, 225. See also under compilation canonesses ​8 n.24, 125, 126 n.28, 160, 225, 291, 307 and eloquence ​135, 179–91 female body ​103, 107, 108–15, 327–28 See also gender; heteronormativity Yri, Kirsten ​2, 11 Zaragoza ​334 Ziolkowski, Jan ​119–20 Zumthor, Paul ​384

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