Marc’s Milk Carton: An orphaned contratenor voice

The Vienna Ars Nova Fragment A-Wn Fragm406, found and photographed by Robert Klugseder for the cataloguing project Musikalische Quellen (9.-15. Jahrhundert) in der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek (Musical Sources (9^th-15^th Century) in the Austrian National Library), features on its recto side the remains of a lone contratenor voice for which I could not find a concordance so far. Therefore, I would like to dedicate the second edition of the “Milk Carton” to this fragment of a voice, which is now bereft of its counterpoint:

Marc’s Milk Carton: “Contratenor”

The fragment was already discussed in a post on the “Musikleben” blogsite as one of the “Vienna Ars Nova Fragments”, and given that the surrounding notation on Fragment 406 could be identified as Ars Nova compositions (“Mon tres dous coer” & “Je languis d’amere mort”), as well as taking into account the typical layout and notation, one can safely assume that this contratenor voice once belonged to an Ars Nova composition. The fact that the fragment seems to give the beginning of the voice should facillitate the search, but even though I checked most of PMFC I could not find a concordance. It may of course very well be that this voice is an alternative contratenor, not edited in PMFC or that is a yet unknown, “new” contratenor to a known composition. This is my transcription of the fragmented voice (not much, I have to concede, probably even too little):

Fragment of an unknown contratenor voice.

My question is: Have you encountered this voice or do you know a composition to which this voice could have belonged?

Marc Lewon

Marc’s Milk Carton: Who recognises the “tagweiß”?

The first item on Marc’s Milk Carton is Linz Fragment 21 (photographed by Robert Klugseder for the cataloguing project Musikalische Quellen (9.-15. Jahrhundert) in der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek (Musical Sources (9^th-15^th Century) in the Austrian National Library). The piece features the incipt “Ein tagweiß” under the discantus voice and “tag weiß” under the tenor line. It was already presented and transcribed in an earlier post on the “Musikleben” blogsite.

“Ein tagweiß”

This points to the minnesang genre of the “tagelied” in which the secret lovers have to part at dawn (after a night which they had spent together) in order to avoid detection by other courtiers and backbiters. The version in the Linz fragments is untexted and used to feature four voices. When comparing the surviving voices, however, it becomes obvious that the setting is a polyphonic embellishment of an originally monophonic song. The melody of this song was placed in the tenor line and functions a sort of cantus firmus, much like the polyphonic settings of the possible Oswald monody “Heýa ho nún wie si grollen”, one of which also survives on Linz Fragment 2.

The most striking feature of this setting is the alternating rhythmic pattern of semibreve-minim-semibreve-minim, etc. which is omnipresent in the composition and most prominent in the tenor line. This kind of rhythmic structures seems to be closely connected to the monophonic, syllabic German song repertoire of the late Middle Ages. I like to call it “reference rhythm”, because it appears to depict metrical structures rather than “prescribing” a strict or even “dance-like” rhythm (for more information about the concept of the “reference rhythm” and for a discussion of the fragment including a transcription see the post “Ein tagweiß” on the “Musikleben” blogsite).

My question is: Does anyone recognise either the polyphonic setting of “Ein tagweiß” or—what seems even more likely to me—its tenor line as monophonic song, possibly entirely without a musical rhythm or rhythmised in this fashion?

Ein tagweiß (attempted reconstruction of the rhythmised monody)

Marc Lewon

Marc’s Milk Carton – “Have you seen this melody?”

During my research work I tend to come across a number of melodies or fragments of compositions which I cannot identify or link to a concordance. My work for the “Musical Life Project” on the Vienna Ars Nova and Linz Fragments in particular has brought to attention a frustrating number of “nameless” or “tagless” pieces. In many cases the existence of these pieces has long been known.Their identity, however, still remains unresolved. With this new category on my blog site—Marc’s Milk Carton—I would like to select some of those untagged melodies or compositions which I feel are promising candidates for the search for concordances. Maybe someone might recognise a melody, a phrase or a voice and can help to find a missing link in order to put those yet “unknown” pieces on the map.

(Incidentally, I understand very well that people who have identified a new concordance want to publish their identifications themselves. I just want to put these nameless fragments and pieces out there. If, however, you want to share your findings in the comment section below, I would of course be very happy to announce it and credit you duely. But I’ll be just as happy if new findings will be published elsewhere.)

I present to you:

Marc’s Milk Carton

Marc Lewon

PS: Just before its release, the idea of the “Milk Carton” was anticipated by an identification of one of the pieces on my list: Linz Fragment 29 (photographed by Robert Klugseder for the cataloguing project Musikalische Quellen (9.-15. Jahrhundert) in der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek) was recognised by David Fallows who informed me of the concordance. The tentative transcription of the abbreviated incipit “Domine martine(?)” was identified as the composition “Dung plus amer”, possibly with a corrupted incipit in the source. Check out the original post with the fragmentary transcription and the revisited fragment.

Addendum

The proceedings to an inspiring symposium on medieval dance songs, which was held in Würzburg/Germany in 2011, were recently published, including an article by myself on musical rhythm in Neidhart’s songs (Marc Lewon: “Vom Tanz im Lied zum Tanzlied? Zur Frage nach dem musikalischen Rhythmus in den Liedern Neidharts“. In: Das mittelalterliche Tanzlied (1100-1300). Lieder zum Tanz – Tanz im Lied, ed. Dorothea Klein with Brigitte Burrichter and Andreas Haug. Würzburg 2012 (= Würzburger Beiträge zur deutschen Philologie, vol. 37), p. 137-179. The article was already announced, including an abstract of the main points.

Das mittelalterliche Tanzlied (1100-1300). Lieder zum Tanz – Tanz im Lied, ed. Dorothea Klein with Brigitte Burrichter and Andreas Haug. Würzburg 2012 (= Würzburger Beiträge zur deutschen Philologie, vol. 37).

In this article I took a close look at the musicological historiography of Neidhart’s oeuvre, paying particular attention to those publications which in the past had made a point about musical rhythm. I was able to show that the oft-quoted “Neidhart dance song” was not an historical fact but rather ‘created’ by modern scholarship. In the heat of the argument, however, I had missed an important stepping stone on the path to a ‘danceable’ Neidhart repertoire: Josef Mantuani’s book on music in Vienna from 1907, in which he dedicates ample space to Neidhart’s songs. He was the first to clearly state that these songs were meant to be danced and that they should be performed in a lively, alternating, triple-metre rhythm—even when the notation bears no hint at a musical rhythm. He also provided transcriptions for 13 of his songs, in which he put this postulated rhythmic principle into practice. As an apology for my oversight and for the benefit of the readers I would like to provide the following addendum to my article which should be inserted on p. 142 right before the heading “Konrad Ameln & Wilhelm Rössle (1927)”.

Josef Mantuani (1907)

Nur zehn Jahre nach Riemanns umfangreicher Neidhart-Edition legte Josef Mantuani im musikalischen Anhang zu seiner Musikgeschichte der Stadt Wien 13 Neidhartlieder in diplomatischer Transkription sowie moderner, rhythmisierter Umschrift vor.* Dabei richtete er in seiner Edition alle Lieder in einem alternierenden 3er-, bzw. 6er-Rhythmus ein – sowohl solche, die im Original rhythmische Hinweise enthalten als auch solche, die in den Handschriften rhythmuslos notiert stehen.

Wenn das Notenbild seiner Edition schon suggestiv erscheint, so ist der Haupttext unmissverständlich: Neidharts Lieder sind für Mantuani rhythmusbetonte Tanzstücke in schlichtem „Volkston“.

„Seine Sommerlieder, die er „Reien“ nennt, als rhythmusangebender Gesang zum Tanz im Freien bestimmt, sind zwar echt volksthümlich, aber durchwegs vom persönlichen Temperament des Dichter-Musikers getragen und künstlerisch geläutert. Wir haben sie uns in glatt geregeltem, scharfem Rhythmus und in raschem Tempo vorzustellen; nur so werden sie uns verständlich. Oft tritt sogar die Sangbarkeit der Melodie – die unverfälschte Ueberlieferung angenommen – in den Hintergrund.

Den besten Commentar zum Verständniss dieser Tanzweisen können wir aber weder von einer  umfassenden Belesenheit, noch von gründlichen germanistischen Studien über Rhythmus und Strophenbau erwarten: alles lässt uns im Stich; nur die Autopsie belehrt uns an den noch immer lebenden Bauerntänzen über deren Wesen und Ausführung. [FN: Darnach ist, trotz aller tiefsinnigen Erörterungen, Deutungen, Rhythmusstudien und Versuche fast der ganze Complex der hierbei in Anwendung kommenden Bewegungen nach physiologisch-statischen Gesetzen choreographisch dreizeitig zu deuten:

Ich habe daher meine rhythmischen Uebertragungen (siehe Anhang num. XI-XXIII) darnach eingerichtet. Die Erklärungen sind dort beigefügt.] Es ist eine uralte Tradition, die sich unter den Bauern jener Gegenden, ohne dass es ihnen zum Bewusstsein kommt, forterhält und von Generation zu Generation überliefert wird.“+

Mantuani wird nicht müde, die prinzipiellen Aspekte von Neidharts Werk so darzustellen, wie sie schließlich die Performanz von Neidharts Liedern über das gesamte 20. Jahrhundert hinweg prägen sollten. Neidharts Dichtung und Musik ist demnach: 1.) realitätsnah und volkstümlich („Den Grund, auf dem die neue realistische Dichtung Neidharts aufgebaut ist, bilden die in abgelegeneren, daher auch conservativeren Gebieten damals noch erhaltenen und bekannten Volkslieder.“, S. 229), 2.) schlicht und eingängig („Was nun die Musik zu allen diesen Liedern betrifft, so ist sie bei Neidhart, ihrem Zwecke entsprechend, wirklich populär und leichtfasslich.“, S. 247; „Seine Musik ist demnach im wahren Sinne des Wortes populär, daher auch für ungeschulte Kehlen ausführbar gewesen und unterscheidet sich von der regelstrengen Composition vieler seiner Zeitgenossen durch eine gewisse Sorglosigkeit.“, S. 248) und 3.) sowohl rhythmisch akzentuiert als auch tänzerisch („Sie sind bei ihm ganz klar […] Tanzlieder[.], die einen ausgeprägten Rhythmenfluss fordern […]“, S. 247).

Für seine Musikgeschichte Wiens machte Mantuani ausgiebigen Gebrauch von den Inhalten der Neidart-Liedtexte als Steinbruch und Quelle für seine Beschreibung des zeitgenössischen Tanzlebens. Dabei verschwimmen die Grenzen zwischen dichterischer Fiktion, möglichem realem Kern und praktischer Funktion des Liedes, so dass in Mantuanis Historiographie letztlich all diese Aspekte zu einem konturlosen Ganzen verschmelzen, die Lieder also zu einem Teil der Praxis gemacht werden, die sie scheinbar selbst beschreiben. Als einzige Belege für eine vermeintlich tänzerische Aufführungspraxis aller Neidhartinterpretationen (vom „originalen“ Neidhart bis hin zu seiner Rezeption im 15. Jahrhundert) führt er dabei die späten Neidhartspiele (u.a. von Hans Sachs) an, in denen Neidhart in persona als Vorsänger zum Tanz auftritt (S. 157), sowie einen Bericht von Kaiser Maximilian I. über einen „Neidharttanz“ im Jahre 1495 (S. 357, FN 1).#

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* Josef Mantuani: Musik in Wien. Von der Römerzeit bis zur Zeit des Kaisers Max I. Hildesheim/New York, ND 1979 (ursprünglich erschienen in: Geschichte der Stadt Wien, III. Band, I. Hälfte, Wien 1907), Melodien XI-XXIII, S. 420-429.

+ Mantuani, Musik in Wien. S. 231.

# Victor von Kraus: Maximilians I. vertraulicher Briefwechsel mit Sigmund Prüschenk, Freiherrn zu Stettenberg. Nebst einer Anzahl zeitgenössischer das Leben am Hofe beleuchtender Briefe. Innsbruck 1875, S. 101f.

Here’s looking at miniatures: Master Frauenlob and “Lady Music”

(The principle ideas of the following findings were already announced on page 110 of the article: Marc Lewon: Wie klang Minnesang? Eine Skizze zum Klangbild an den Höfen der staufischen Epoche, in: Dichtung und Musik der Stauferzeit. Wissenschaftliches Symposium der Stadt Worms vom 12. bis 14. November 2010, ed. Volker Gallé, (= Schriftenreihe der Nibelungenlied-Gesellschaft Worms, Bd. 7), Worms 2011, S. 69-123. With this blog entry I would like to follow up some leads which I could not lay out in full in said article.)

In 2002 Lothar Voetz, one of my professors for medieval German literature at Heidelberg University, published an interesting article on the well-known Neidhart miniature in the famous Codex Manesse: “Beobachtungen zur Neidhart-Miniatur im Codex Manesse”, in: Ars et Scientia. Festschrift für Hans Szklenar zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. by Roswitha Wisniewski and Carola L. Gottzmann, Berlin 2002, p. 135-156.

In his article Voetz convincingly shows how the painter of the Neidhart miniature composed the picture by using a well-established iconic archetype as a model for the image build-up. The miniature shows the minnesinger Neidhart in the centre of the picture with one hand raised in a vowing and the other in a rejecting gesture. He is surrounded by four individuals frozen in expressive arm and hand movements, wearing outfit, which by the standards of the Codex Manesse miniatures can only be described as extravagant and unusual. Their features also are amongst the most extreme of the otherwise very bland and stylised facial expressions found in the codex, almost bordering on the grotesque.

“Herr Neidhart” – Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, cpg 848, fol. 273r

Lothar Voetz found that the artist of this picture used a model to compose the miniature, which he apparently found within the canon of pictures in the Speculum humanae salvationis. Particularly the depiction in the Manuscript Kremsmünster, Stiftsbibliothek, Codex 243, fol. 30va, caught his attention. In this picture captioned “Synagoga derisit Christum regem suum et dominum”, which depicts the mockery of Jesus, four “jews” turn onto the cross and taunt Jesus:

“Mocking of Jesus” – Kremsmünster, Stiftsbibliothek, Codex 243, fol. 30va

With the identification of this model Voetz not only demonstrated how professional workshops in Southern Germany c1300 went about the creation of new pictures, but also proved that the figures surrounding Neidhart in his “portrait” are by no means benevolent “friends”, but actually (as was long assumed) the “dörper”-antagonists of the lyrical self. These “villains” from Neidhart’s own songs habitually turn against the singer and taunt him. The artist of the Neidhart miniature obviously recognised this connection and thus did not only find a model to create a new picture, but also gave another layer of meaning to the depicted scene.

Voetz’ discovery was long dormant in my mind when I was reminded of it in 2011 at a conference in South Tyrol. My doctoral advisor Reinhard Strohm gave a lecture at the symposium when he showed a late medieval depiction of Lady Music, surrounded by musical instruments. I was reminded of the Notre Dame depiction of Musica instrumentalis as the third and lowest of the threefold depiction of Musica mundana, Musica humana, and Musica instrumentalis in the Florence Manuscript (Firenze, Biblioteca mediceo-laurenziana, Pluteo 29.1, fol. 1v) and suddenly saw the parallels to the famous Frauenlob miniature in Codex Manesse (Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, cpg 848, fol. 399r). I laid the two next to each other and could not but be amazed at their similar make-up:

Threefold “Musica” with “musica instrumentalis” marked: Firenze, Biblioteca mediceo-laurenziana, Pluteo 29.1, fol. 1v and “Meister Heinrich Vrouwenlob”: Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, cpg 848, fol. 399r.

The parallels are most striking: Both pictures are clearly divided into two image fields. In the case of Musica the fields are situated next to each other. This is of course due to the layout of the threefold musica-picture in the Florence Manuscript, where the vertical structures are taken up by the different characters and hierarchical classes of musica mundana, musica humana, and musica instrumentalis, of which only the latter—the actual “sounding music”—is of interest here. In the case of Frauenlob, where a whole page was available to the painter, the setup is vertical with the two image fields situated above one another:

In both cases the hierarchically higher field is taken up by a figure sitting on a throne in a slightly inclined posture:

In both cases the figure is raising a finger and holding a staff in its hand:

Furthermore the figure in the musica depiction, Lady Music herself, is wearing a veil and crown, almost identical to the female in the coat of arms and on the helmet decoration in the Frauenlob miniature (both of them fantasy-heraldry):

The second image field contains one musician in the centre playing a musical instrument—in both cases a vielle, the most important of secular instruments, and the most suitable to accompany cantus coronatus, i.e. minnesang (see Grocheio’s appraisal of the instrument). This player, whose posture (and even greyish hair—interestingly, the only other musician holding a vielle, features the same grey hair and beard) is almost identical in both miniatures, is surrounded by 6 other instruments. In the case of the musica depiction, these instruments seem to hang on the walls or lie on the floor, while in the case of the Frauenlob miniature they are being held by a surrounding group of other instrumental soloists. In both cases the number of instruments (and in one case the combination of two instruments, which only together form an entity: pipe and tabor) amounts to an allegorical number of 7:

Musica:

1. vielle
2. harp-psaltery
3. harp
4. bagpipe
5. pipe & tabor
6. straight necked citole
7. thumb-hole citole(?)

Frauenlob:

1. vielle
2. shawm
3. vielle
4. psaltery
5. bagpipe
6. tabor (pipe probably hidden)
7. transverse flute

I would like to suggest the following interpretation:

Because Frauenlob was held in such high esteem by his contemporaries (and by generations to come) as one of the greatest masters and teachers of music, the painter of his miniature apparently found it adequate to compare or associate him with the highest authority in the field: the personified Lady Music herself. It has been suspected before that Frauenlob might be identified with the vielle-player in the middle of the lower image field, who is also more kingly dressed than the surrounding onlookers. But by analogy with Lady Music’s position in the supposed model it seems that the person sitting on the throne must be Meister (= Master, i.e. Magister) Heinrich Frauenlob as an allegorical emperor and teacher of his “school”. The coat of arms and helmet crest mirrors the image of Lady Music from the model but at the same time is reinterpreted here as the “woman” in his sobriquet “Frauenlob” (“he who praises women”) and simultaneously as the Virgin Mary, who is actually the addressee of his most extensive and best-known song of praise, his “Marienleich” (“Lai to the Virgin Mary”). The painted scene in the Frauenlob miniature may thus be read as the standardised depiction of a teaching situation, however realistic (in case of an assumed “school” led by Frauenlob) or symbolic (in case of his invisible influence on his followers and successors), superimposed on the personified idea of a governing principle (i.e. Lady Music)—the concept of a higher, invisible guiding force behind the sounding phenomenon of music.

There are other depictions of “musica” which reiterate some of the observed details of this assumed archetype: The image of the crowned Lady Music sitting on a throne-like structure, sometimes with a raised hand or finger and often surrounded by instruments (which seems to be a fairly obvious setting) is well-established. However, no other depiction of “musica” or “musica instrumentalis” that I am aware of, comes nearly as close to the Frauenlob miniature as the one in the Florence Manuscript. Thus it might be a bit premature to proclaim a “new” archetypical layout for musica depictions with this being the only unequivocal piece of evidence. It is on the other hand maybe not a coincidence that both the Florence “musica instrumentalis” and the Frauenlob miniature fit so well with their respective dating of c1250 and 1305.

Even though it may seem superfluous to mention, I would like to point to some misconceptions, which occasionally still can be found in mainstream publications: In his miniature Frauenlob is not “conducting” an “orchestra”, as had been suggested in earlier descriptions and interpretations. For one the concept of an orchestra and a conductor (and especially the conductor’s baton) was yet many centuries away, furthermore the depicted staff was a typical attribute for a teacher, as was the gesture of the raised finger, which still is a symbol of instruction today (even if considered bad form). Finally the assorted musicians are all merely holding their instruments, while only one is actually playing—just as in the Florence depiction of “musica instrumentalis”.

Marc Lewon

The Glogau Songbook “Quodlibets”

With our latest CD (Das Glogauer Liederbuch / The Glogau Song Book) published only a few days ago, I would like to draw attention to the famous quodlibet compositions found in the source and on our recording.

NAXOS 8.572576 – The Glogau Songbook

After I had spent some time with my nose in David Fallows’ Catalogue of Polyphonic Songs, in order to track down song incipits which make up the tenor lines of these potpourri-compositions, I felt that there was a bit more to them than first meets the eye. While Glog 117 (O rosa bella / Hastu mir die laute bracht) seems to me to have been compiled mainly for comic effect, and includes the names of instruments (lute and vielle) in the incipits, the other two quodlibets closely associated with this one (by means of the shared O rosa bella cantus line) are different cases altogether.

Glog 119 (O rosa bella / In feuers hitz) features no lines approaching the comic effects evoked by Glog 117. These incipits are all quite classic for love songs of the era:

Yet, when not read as fragments but as a complete text, the incipits start to re-assemble themselves to form new sentences, creating coherent if slightly repetitive love prose:

“In fiery heat, so burns my heart, my dearest love. I suffer so much: help, and stand by me. Be of good cheer, and look into my heart, my dear friend. May has now passed, and I once saw perfect beauty, success, happiness and salvation in my heart: [this was] my only happiness. God bless you so, so, my dearest love. Never before had I known what true love is, [because] I was forgotten—O, the power of yearning! Lovely darling, why accuse me? Have I love, then I suffer distress. Open up, open up, my beloved love, I have to go away soon, and that cannot be changed.”

(Translation: Marc Lewon & Bernd Mueller)

The last one of the three, Glog 118 (“O rosa bella / Wer da sorget”), seems to follow yet another concept: while 7 out of 14 incipits for Glog 117 could be identified in parallel sources and 18 out of 22 could be found for Glog 119 (even if some only by text concordance), no incipit for Glog 118 could so far be safely pinned down:

The only “incipit” tentatively associated with a known song by Fallows—Ich far, ich far dohyn—does not really satisfy, because the melodies do not match. Fallows’ identification of Trahe me post te as the refrain of In dulci jubilo, however, led me on a different track: what if all these supposed incipits are actually “excipits” or, better even, “refrains”? With this in mind I was able to identify another two lines of this quodlibet as refrains, which fit both words and music: Noch frew ich mich der wederfart is the refrain of the famous and oft-quoted In feuers hitz, and the already mentioned Ich far ich far dohyn turns out not to be the incipit of the well-known song Ich far dohin wann es musz sein, but the refrain of the same song. It features a repetition of the words “Ich far”, as does its quotation in the quodlibet, and also fits the melody. Furthermore, most of the fragments sound more as if they were taken out of context, rather than from the first lines of songs. Maybe more concordances will be found once people start watching out for the ends of songs or—more specifically—for refrains.

Thus the three quodlibets would not only be three different “solutions” or fun-exercises upon one cantus line, but also display three different ideas or concepts for making a quodlibet: 1^st for fun, 2^nd forming a new subtext, 3^rd using refrains rather than incipits.

Marc Lewon

A bundle, a knot, and a bout of strings

While strolling through the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York this September and idly taking in the marvellous Italian intarsia at the Gubbio Studiolo, in an adjacent room I came across this beautiful depiction of a lute. It is part of the interior of the chapel from “Le Château de la Bastie d’Urfé” by Fra Damiano da Bergamo (Damiano di Antoniolo de Zambelli, ca. 1480–1549), which has been reconstructed inside the art gallery.

Lute intarsia from the Chapel of “Le Château de la Bastie d’Urfé” (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York) – photo by Marc Lewon

In the picture, dated ca. 1547/48, I thought I could identify one of those curious and oft-described tight bundles of lute strings. I am not sure if this has so far come to the attention of those who are researching historical strings, but in any case I found it interesting enough to take a good photo and publish it here:

A collection of lute string bundles. -  photo by Marc lewon

Compare this with the depiction of a bundle or a knot in Gerle’s publication from 1546,

Gerle – testing a string, pulled out of a knot or bundle.

or in Adrian Le Roy’s depiction from 1574,

Le Roy – testing a string pulled out of a knot or a bundle.

or described by Dowland in 1610:

“Also open the bouts of one of the ends of the Knot, and then hold it up against the light, and looke that it be round and smooth: [...] Now these strings as they are of two sorts, viz. Great and Small: so either sort is pact up in sundry kindes, to wit, the one sort of smaller strings (which come from Rome and other parts of Italy) are bound up by certaine Dozens in bundels; these are very good if they be new, if not, their strength doth soone decay: the other sort are pact up in Boxes, and come out of Germany: [...]Yet also there is another sort of the smaller strings, which are made at Livornio in Tuscanio: these strings are rolled up round together, as if they were a companie of horse hayres. These are good if they be new, but they are but halfe Knots. Note there is some store of these come hither lately, and are here made up, and passe for whole Knots. For the greater sorts or Base strings, some are made at Nurenburge, and also at Straesburge, and bound up onely in knots like other strings. These strings are excellent, if they be new, if not, they fall out starke false. The best strings of this kinde are double knots joyned together, and are made at Bologna in Lumbardie, and from thence are sent to Venice:”

(For more interesting information concerning lute strings, see: Nolde, Richard James: English Renaissance lute practice as reflected in Robert Dowland’s Varietie of Lute-Lessons, Houston 1984, there especially p. 205ff.)

The two compositions found in the open book depicted in the intarsia are also quite fun. I’m sure someone else has done this before, but I’ll give the two canons in transcription anyway. There is a third composition, only just visible under the bundle of strings, but it is too incomplete here to provide a proper musical text. The canon for four voices is a cute little piece. The one for seven voices is fun for about 10 seconds, after which one basically feels lost in a one-bar repeating pattern, which reminds me somewhat of the film “Groundhog Day”:

Canon cum Quatuor vocibus

Canon cum Septem vocibus

Marc Lewon