Theatres of Belief: Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City (Epitome Musical) 9782503598871, 2503598870

Table of contents :
Front Matter
Editorial Introduction
Martin Christ. 1. Converting Tondalos: Pilgrimages, Music and Sound in Early Modern Lutheranism
Iain Fenlon. 2. Catholicising the City: Music, Ritual and Identity in Sixteenth-Century Córdoba
Alexander J. Fisher. 3. Sound and the Conversion of Space in Early Modern Germany
María Gembero-Ustárroz. 4. Music Books for Lima Cathedral and their Social Context in the Early Seventeenth Century: Black Slaves as a Guarantee for Producing a New Plainchant Library
Glenda Goodman. 5. Land and Conversion: New Frameworks for Colonial American Hymnody
Inga Mai Groote. 6. Lutheranising through Music: Tracing the Confessional Soundscapes of Early Seventeenth-Century Wolfenbüttel and Braunschweig
Philip Hahn. 7. Sound Conversion? Music, Hearing and Sacred Space in the Long Reformation in Ulm, 1531–1629
Matthew Laube. 8. The Musical Cultures of Dissent and Anti-Catholicism in Counter-Reformation Douai
Emilio Ros-Fábregas. 9. A Jesuit Ceremony of Spiritual Exercises with Music in the Seventeenth Century: Devotional Connections between Perpignan, Barcelona, Madrid, Granada and Archbishop Palafox
Andrew Spicer. 10. Bells, Confessional Conflict and the Dutch Revolt, c. 1566–1585
Leonardo Waisman. 11. Music for an Endless Conversion: A Cycle of Offertories from Jesuit Paraguay
Back Matter

Citation preview

Theatres of Belief Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Centre d’études supérieures de la Renaissance de Tours Université de Tours, UMR 7323 du CNRS Collection « Épitome musical » dirigée par Philippe Vendrix & Philippe Canguilhem Editorial Committee: Hyacinthe Belliot, Vincent Besson, Camilla Cavicchi, David Fiala, Daniel Saulnier, Solveig Serre, Vasco Zara Advisory board: Andrew Kirkman (University of Birmingham), Yolanda Plumley (University of Exeter), Jesse Rodin (Stanford University), Richard Freedman (Haverford College), Massimo Privitera (Università di Palermo), Kate van Orden (Harvard University), Emilio Ros-Fabregas (CSIC-Barcelona), Thomas Schmidt (University of Huddersfield), Giuseppe Gerbino (Columbia University), Vincenzo Borghetti (Università di Verona), Marie-Alexis Colin (Université Libre de Bruxelles), Laurenz Lütteken (Universität Zürich), Katelijne Schiltz (Universität Regensburg), Pedro Memelsdorff (Chercheur associé, Centre d'études supérieures de la Renaissance–Tours) Editing, layout : Vincent Besson

Cover illustrations: Front cover: Emanuel de Witte, The Interior of the Oude Kerk, Amsterdam, during a Sermon, Oil on Canvas, c.1660, The National Gallery, London. © The National Gallery, London. Back cover: Adriaen Pietersz. van de Venne, Fishing for Souls, Oil on Panel, 1614, Rijksmuseum. Courtesy of the Rijksmuseum.

isbn 978-2-503-59887-1 e-isbn 978-2-503-59888-8 doi 10.1484/m.em-eb.5.127723 issn 2565-8166 e-issn 2565-9510 d/2021/0095/336 © 2021 Brepols Publishers NV All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Printed in the EU on acid-free paper

Theatres of Belief Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City Edited by Marie-Alexis Colin, Iain Fenlon and Matthew Laube

Centre d’études supérieures de la Renaissance Collection « Épitome musical »

F

Contents �

Notes on the Contributors • 7 List of Figures • 10 List of Music Examples • 11 List of Tables • 12 Acknowledgements • 13

Editorial Introduction �

• 15

Marie-Alexis Colin, Iain Fenlon and Matthew Laube • 25

1. Converting Tondalos: Pilgrimages, Music and Sound in Early Modern Lutheranism �

Martin Christ (University of Erfurt)

2. Catholicising the City: Music, Ritual and Identity in Sixteenth-Century Córdoba �

Iain Fenlon (King’s College, Cambridge)

3. Sound and the Conversion of Space in Early Modern Germany �

• 45

• 87

Alexander J. Fisher (University of British Columbia)

4. Music Books for Lima Cathedral and their Social Context in the Early Seventeenth Century: Black Slaves as a Guarantee for Producing a New Plainchant Library • 105 �

María Gembero-Ustárroz (Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas)

5. Land and Conversion: New Frameworks for Colonial American Hymnody �

• 127

Glenda Goodman (University of Pennsylvania)

6. Lutheranising through Music: Tracing the Confessional Soundscapes of Early Seventeenth-Century Wolfenbüttel and Braunschweig • 141 �

Inga Mai Groote (Zurich University)

7. Sound Conversion? Music, Hearing and Sacred Space in the Long Reformation in Ulm, 1531–1629 • 165 �

Philip Hahn (University of Tübingen)

8. The Musical Cultures of Dissent and Anti-Catholicism in Counter-Reformation Douai �

Matthew Laube (Birkbeck, University of London)

• 193

Theatres of Belief

9. A Jesuit Ceremony of Spiritual Exercises with Music in the Seventeenth Century: Devotional Connections between Perpignan, Barcelona, Madrid, Granada and Archbishop Palafox • 217 �

Emilio Ros-Fábregas (Institución Milá y Fontanals, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas)

10. Bells, Confessional Conflict and the Dutch Revolt, c.1566–1585 �

• 263

Andrew Spicer (Oxford Brookes University)

11. Music for an Endless Conversion: A Cycle of Offertories from Jesuit Paraguay �

Leonardo Waisman (University of Córdoba, Argentina)

Index

• 305

• 283

Notes on the Contributors �

Martin Christ is a post-doctoral researcher and junior fellow at the Max Weber Centre for

Advanced Cultural and Social Studies of the University of Erfurt. He is part of the DFGfunded research group “Religion and Urbanity: Reciprocal Formations” (FOR 2779) and works on death, burials and commemoration in early modern towns, especially Munich and London. His doctorate ‘Biographies of a reformation: Religious change and confessional coexistence in Upper Lusatia, c.1520–1635’, was completed at the University of Oxford and will be published with Oxford University Press in 2021. It considers possibilities and limits of religious toleration in the Bohemian region of Upper Lusatia. He has published articles and book chapters on topics related to his research on confessional coexistence, chronicle writing and religious plurality.   Marie-Alexis Colin is Professor of Musicology at the Université libre de Bruxelles. After completing her PhD at the Université de Tours (2001), she was chercheure associée at the Centre d’études supérieures de la Renaissance de Tours (1998–2002) and the University of Heidelberg (2005), and was professeure adjointe at the Faculté de musique de l’Université de Montréal (2005–2010). Her research focuses on the French and Latin repertories in France between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries, and her most recent books include La musique en Picardie du XIVe au XVIIe siècle, co-edited with Camilla Cavicchi and Philippe Vendrix (2012), and French Renaissance Music and Beyond: Studies in Memory of Frank Dobbins (2018). Iain Fenlon is Emeritus Professor of Historical Musicology at the University of Cambridge, and a fellow of King’s College, where he has been since 1976. Most of his work has been concerned with the social and cultural history of music in early modern Italy and Spain. His most recent books are The Ceremonial City: History, Memory and Myth in Renaissance Venice (2007), Piazza San Marco (2009), Heinrich Glarean’s Books: The Intellectual World of a Sixteenth-Century Musical Humanist, co-edited with Inga Groote (2013), and The Cambridge History of Sixteenth-Century Music, co-edited with Richard Wistreich (2018). Alexander J. Fisher is Professor of Music at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver,  Canada, where he teaches courses in music history from the Medieval through Baroque eras and  directs the university’s  Early Music Ensemble. His research focuses on music, soundscapes, and religious culture in early modern Germany. He is the author of Music and Religious Identity in Counter-Reformation Augsburg, 1580–1630 (Ashgate, 2004) and of Music, Piety, and Propaganda: The Soundscapes of Counter-Reformation Bavaria (Oxford, 2014). He has also published work for A-R Editions, the Journal of Musicology, Journal of the Royal Musical Association, Journal of Seventeenth-Century Music, Early Music History, and in other journals and edited collections.

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Theatres of Belief

is researcher in Musicology at the CSIC (Spanish National Research Council), Milá y Fontanals Institution for Research in Humanities, Barcelona. Her publications focus on Spanish and Latin American music during the Early Modern period, with particular attention to the eighteenth century. She developed pioneering research about documents of musical interest at the Archivo General de Indias in Seville. Her last book, Navarra. Música (2016), is the first comprehensive music history of that Spanish region. She has coedited La música y el Atlántico. Relaciones musicales entre España y Latinoamérica (2007) and Musicología en web. Patrimonio musical y Humanidades Digitales (Kassel: Reichenberger, forthcoming). Since 2014 she is Director of the series Monumentos de la Música Española (Editorial CSIC). María Gembero-Ustárroz

Glenda Goodman is an Assistant Professor of Music at the University of Pennsylvania. She

works on the history of early American music. Her first book, Cultivated by Hand: Amateur Musicians in the Early American Republic was published by Oxford University Press in 2020. She is currently working on a book on sacred music and colonial encounter in eighteenthcentury New England. Her articles have appeared in the Journal of the American Musicological Society, the Journal of the Society for American Music, the William and Mary Quarterly, and Eighteenth-Century Studies. Inga Mai Groote is Professor of Musicology at the University of Zurich. She studied musi-

cology, history, and Italian philology at the University of Bonn and held positions at the universities of Munich, Zurich and Fribourg/Üechtland. She is the author of Musik in italienischen Akademien, Studien zur institutionellen Musikpflege 1543–1666 (2007) and editor (together with Iain Fenlon) of Heinrich Glarean’s Books (2013). Her current research examines the history of early modern music theory and its book culture, the impacts of confessional differentiation in 16th- and 17th-century German musical culture, and French music history around 1900. Philip Hahn is assistant professor of early modern history at the University of Tübingen. His research fields include urban history, the history of the senses, book and reading history, historical semantics, and the history of the domestic sphere. Graduated from Somerville College, Oxford, he received an MPhil degree from St John’s College, Cambridge, and completed his PhD at the University of Frankfurt-on-Main. He recently finished his second book manuscript, entitled “Sensory Communities: Perception, Order, and Community Building in the Early Modern Town, c.1480–1880”.

is a Leverhulme Early Career Fellow at Birkbeck College, University of London. His work explores the place of music – and sound more generally – in the religious and political upheavals of Germany and the Netherlands 1400–1650, and probes the intersection of late medieval and early modern music and materiality, identity, memory, dissent and temporalities. He was awarded his PhD in Music at Royal Holloway, Universi-

Matthew Laube

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

ty of London in 2014. He has been a Postdoctoral Research Assistant at the British Library, and between 2014 and 2017 Matthew was a Wiener-Anspach Postdoctoral Fellow jointly at the Université libre de Bruxelles and the Faculty of Music at the University of Cambridge, and a Research Associate at Robinson College, Cambridge. His published work has appeared in Past & Present, Early Music History, Music & Letters and Early Music. Emilio Ros-Fábregas is a researcher at the CSIC (Spanish National Research Council), In-

stitució Milà i Fontanals in Barcelona. He obtained the Ph.D. in Musicology at the Graduate Center, City University of New York, CUNY. His research concentrates on Spanish music of the Renaissance and historiography of Hispanic music in an international context. He currently leads a research and development project of digital musicology concerning books of Hispanic polyphony (https://hispanicpolyphony.eu) and the Fondo de Música Tradicional IMF-CSIC (https://musicatradicional.eu). Since 2019 he is director of the CSIC journal Anuario Musical. Andrew Spicer is Professor of Early Modern European History at Oxford Brookes University.

He is President of the Sixteenth Century Society & Conference, Literary Director of the Royal Historical Society and editor for the Ecclesiastical History Society. His research encompasses the material culture of worship, post-Reformation church architecture, and sacred space in early modern Europe. He is the author of Calvinist Churches in Early Modern Europe (2007) and is completing War, Revolt and Sacred Space. Cambrai and the Southern Netherlands, 1566–c.1621 (forthcoming Brill, 2022). He edited Lutheran Churches in Early Modern Europe (2012) and Parish Churches in the Early Modern World (2016), and co-edited Society and Culture in the Huguenot World, c.1559–1685 (2002); Sacred Space in Early Modern Europe (2005); Defining the Holy: Sacred Space in Medieval and Early Modern Europe (2005); Public Opinion and Changing Identities in the Early Modern Netherlands (2006); Ritual and Violence: Natalie Zemon Davis and Early Modern France (2012); The Place of the Social Margins 1350–1750 (2016).  Leonardo J. Waisman retired recently as a Research Fellow of Argentina’s CONICET. He

has published on the Italian madrigal, American colonial music, performance practice, the popular music of Argentina, and the social significance of musical styles. He has worked extensively on the music of Jesuit missions in South America and on the operas of Vicente Martín y Soler, including a comprehensive biography. As a conductor specializing in Baroque music, he has toured America, Europe and the Far East and recorded two CD’s for the Melopea label. In 2015/16, he was Simón Bolívar Professor at the University of Cambridge and Fellow of Clare Hall, Cambridge. His most recent book is Una historia de la música colonial hispanoamericana (Buenos Aires, 2019).

9

List of Figures �

Figure 1.1 An illustrated version of the Tale of Tondalo (Von Tondalo dem Ritter aus Hy-

bernia, Augsburg, fifteenth century). Figure 1.2 Sigismund Suevus, Geistliche Wallfahrt oder Pilgerschaft, unpag., ‘A Song of the

Christians’ Struggle and Knighthood’ (‘Ein Gesang von der Christen Streit und Ritterschafft’). Figure 2.1 Córdoba, Mezquita-Catedral, interior looking south. Figure 2.2 Córdoba, from Braun and Hogenberg, Théatre des principales villes de tout

l’univers, VI (= Civitates orbis terrarum), 1625.

Figure 2.3 Hernan Ruiz I, Hospital de San Sebastian, Córdoba (1512-16), entrance Chromolithograh by Francisco Javier Parcerisa from Recuerdos y bellezas de España (Madrid, 1855). Figure 2.4 Córdoba, Mezquita-Catedral, groundplan showing the location of the Capilla Mayor within the Mesquita. Figure 2.5 Enrique de Arfe, custodia (1514-18), Córdoba, Mezquita-Catedral. Figure 2.6 Hernan Ruiz III, Puerta del Puente, Córdoba, 1575. Figure 3.1 Interior of St Michael, Munich. Figure 4.1 Contract between the chapter of Lima Cathedral and the copyist Francisco de

Páramo to make a new library of choirbooks, initial page. PE-Lagn, ‘Protocolos Notariales siglo XVII. Escribano Diego Sánchez Vadillo’, Protocolo 1732, 3 June 1615, fol. 902v. Figure 6.1 Wolfenbüttel, Interior of the Beatae Mariae Virginis church (1646). From Mar-

tin Gosky, Arbustum vel Arboretum Augustæum (Wolfenbüttel, 1650). Figure 6.2 Model plans of a church building, on the right: ground plan with stalls; on the

left: placement of the organ with organ loft. From Joseph Furttenbach the Younger, Tractate über Baukunst (Augsburg, 1649).

Figure 7.1a and 7.1b Miriam and King David. Dorsal reliefs in the choirstalls of Ulm Minster. Carved in oak by Jörg Syrlin the Elder, 1469-1474. © Stadtarchiv Ulm. Figure 7.2 Interior of Ulm Minster, showing the organ of 1576–8 and 1595/9. Lithograph by Auguste Mathieu, c.1845.

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Figure 8.1 Cityscape and belfries of Douai, 1627. Engraving by Martin Le Bourgeois. Figure 8.2 Verse 1 of the ‘Decalogue’ with tune. Les Pseaumes mis en rime francoise, par Clem-

ent Marot et Theodore de Beze ([Geneva]: Thomas Courteau pour Antoine I. Vincent, 1566).

Figure 8.3 Simon Du Rosier, Antithese des Faicts de Jesus Christ et du Pape: mise en vers françois. Ensemble les traditions et decrets du Pape, opposez aux commandemens de Dieu. ([Geneva]: [Eustache Vignon], 1584). Figure 8.4 ‘The Commandments of God Our Creator’ and ‘The Commandments of the Pope’. Simon Du Rosier, Antithese des Faicts de Jesus Christ et du Pape: mise en vers françois. Ensemble les traditions et decrets du Pape, opposez aux commandemens de Dieu. ([Geneva]: [Eustache Vignon], 1584), pp. 74–5. Figure 8.5 Simon Du Rosier, Antithese des Faicts de Jesus Christ et du Pape: mise en vers fran-

çois. (Rome [Geneva]: [Héritiers d’Eustache Vignon], 1600).

Figure 9.1 Title page of Galderique Felipe’s Breve relación (Toulouse, 1661). Figure 9.2

Image of Christ in Peregrinación spiritual (Barcelona, 1675).

Figure 11.1 The Chiquito Missions today. Figure 11.2 A page from the ‘Index of Paraliturgical Music’.

List of Music Examples �

Example 9.1 Francesc Soler, transcription of ‘Señor antes de ausentaros’ Example 11.1 Juan de Ledesma, ‘Ave María’ Example 11.2 ‘Volate angeli’, VL 35 Example 11.3 ‘Oh admirable’, RL 11

11

List of Tables �

Black Slaves Mortgaged by the Music Copyist Cristóbal Muñoz and his Relatives as a Guarantee in his Contract to Make a New Library of Plainchant Books for Lima Cathedral (1617)

Table 4.1

Table 6.1 Specification, 12 April 1627

Additional Music Books Received from the Church Wardens, Received by Johann Vilther (1629)

Table 6.2

Table 6.3 Funeral Pieces According to the Church Order and Elsmann’s Compendium Table 8.1 List of Individuals Prosecuted as Protestants in Douai, 1609–1633 Table 11.1 Distribution of Music by Feasts Table 11.2 Christmas Music in Chiquitos Table 11.3 Central Nucleus for Corpus Christi in ‘Ofertorios’ Partbooks Table 11.4 Music for Easter Table 11.5 Music for Confessors

12

Acknowledgements �

This book, which brings together the work of a group of distinguished historians and musicologists working in Argentina, Belgium, Canada, Germany, Great Britain, Spain, Switzerland, and the United States, is the final outcome of the three-year collaborative project carried out under the auspices of the Philippe Wiener – Maurice Anspach Foundation. Many of its individual chapters began life as papers presented at a series of workshops held in Brussels and Cambridge. Our first and most substantial debt of gratitude is to the Foundation, which funded the project throughout, and to its Executive Director, Kristin Bartik. Additional support was provided at various times by Birkbeck, University of London, The Leverhulme Trust, the Provost and Scholars of King’s College, Cambridge, and the Université Libre de Bruxelles (Laboratoire de Musicologie). In Tours, where the project was originally conceived, we have benefitted from the constant encouragement of Philippe Vendrix and Camilla Cavicchi at the Centre d’études supérieures de la Renaissance (CESR), where Vincent Besson also prepared the manuscript for publication with great care and imagination. We also extend our gratitude to others who shared their research in Cambridge and Brussels, and to those who participated in conversations that helped to shape this book, especially Matthew Champion, Marc Desmet, Kat Hill, Carolina Lenarduzzi, Laurenz Lütteken, Gabriela Ramos, Ulinka Rublack, and Henri Vanhulst. To these, and to the many colleagues and friends who have contributed to the project in so many different ways as it unfolded, we should like to express our gratitude. Brussels-Cambridge-London April 2021

13

Editorial Introduction �

The intimate relationship of sound, religion, and society in the early modern world provides the central focus of this collection of essays, examined through a number of test cases situated in a variety of urban environments in Europe and the Americas. As such, it engages closely with the interrelated notions of conversion and confession, two concepts which historians of music and early modern religion, usually operating separately, have tended to examine in isolation from one another. Confessionalization, as developed independently by Heinz Schilling and Wolfgang Reinhard in the 1980s,1 received considerable attention from musicologists in the late 1990s and early 2000s, as scholars began to move, often gingerly and implicitly, beyond longstanding Burckhardtian notions of the Renaissance with its emphases upon beauty, symmetry, and coherence. This development encouraged not only further examination of music in various geographical contexts beyond Italy and particularly north of the Alps, but also the exploration of its role in reflecting and intensifying the sometimes violent conflict and disorder which followed in the wake of the introduction of Protestantism. In its original formulation confessionalization was concerned with the parallel development of Lutheranism, Calvinism, and Catholicism, rather than in following the model of structured chronological phases of reform and religious change represented by the traditional interpretational trajectory of a Reformation followed by a reflexive Catholic or Counter-Reformation. In contrast to this approach, originally developed by nineteenth-century German historians writing in Protestant and nationalist traditions, the alternative template of confessionalization rested on the premise that religious groups developed alongside one another, using their own doctrinal confessions of faith and religious rituals and cultures to demarcate their allegiances, in order and to bring internal unity and coherence to their respective positions. As a method confessionalization emphasised state formation and centralized authority, and in introducing political and secular actors into the picture it instigated a historiographical shift that decentred doctrine and theology as the primary lenses through which to view the Protestant Reformation. 1

The literature on confessionalization is vast. For a summary and foundational bibliography, see U. Lotz-Heuman, ‘Confessionalization’, in David M. Whitford (ed.), Reformation and Early Modern Europe: A Guide to Research (Kirksville, Mo., 2008), pp. 136–157. See also the forum ‘Religious History beyond Confessionalization’ in German History, 32/4 (2014), pp. 579–598.

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The idea of confessionalization attracted considerable interest but also substantial criticism, not least because of its tendency to overreach and universalize religious experience, and because of its limited applicability to geographical areas beyond the Holy Roman Empire. Many historians have issued calls to move beyond it and similar ‘grand narratives’ of religious change, and to see religion as a more dynamic and localized phenomenon shaped as much by lay agents as religious officialdom, motivated by movement from below or the middle, rather than primarily from above, in yet a further refinement of the familiar historiographical shift away from ‘top-down’ approaches. This emphasis recognizes that early modern religion ‘was neither a thing nor a set of prescriptive ideas: it existed simultaneously in belief, practice, formal structures of thought, and a variety of discourses’.2 Above all it was conditioned by local responses to theological change and attendant religious practices, as can be dramatically seen in the case of sixteenth-century Ulm, which did not witness the development of a consistent confessional culture, but began with a Zwinglian Reformation, shifted towards Lutheranism, and then experienced a four-year interim when attempts were made to re-Catholicize the city before moving back in a Protestant direction. In such circumstances, the traditional narrative of a devotional soundscape in which, for example, congregational singing in the vernacular was immediately and consistently a concomitant of religious change, is hardly viable.3 The urban soundscape as commonly experienced in this and many other circumstances would have been much more diverse, unstable, and complex, perhaps even confusingly so to its citizens. Despite repeated modifications to its applicability by historians, many musicologists have continued to embrace confessionalization by attaching it to the music of post-Renaissance periods and then organizing panoramic historical accounts according to confessional groupings. Criticism has been made of the inadequacy of musicological survey texts that still perpetuate the myth of fully discrete and coherent musical boundaries between confessional groups, as if music itself demarcated confessional boundaries much in the way that geo-political borders were constructed to separate states.4 Yet, alternative propositions of examining ‘confessional identity change’ through quantifiable written criteria, which might include ‘unambiguous signs’ such as ‘textual markers or confessionalising textual changes’, if considered in isolation from the direct social and 2 3 4

B. Gordon, ‘Religious History beyond Confessionalization’, German History, 32/4 (2014), p. 580. See P. Hahn, ‘Sound Conversion? Music, Hearing and Sacred Space in the Long Reformation in Ulm, 1531–1629’ in this volume. C. Leitmeir, ‘Beyond the Confessionalisation Paradigm: The Motet as Denominational Practice in the Late 16th Century’, in Esperanza Rodríguez-García and Daniele V. Filippi (eds.), Mapping the Motet in the Post-Tridentine Era (Abingdon and New York, 2018), pp. 156–195.

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cultural contexts responsible for the existence of music in the first place, disproportionately limits the musicological gaze to the textual actions of literate religious authorities.5 Such proposed future directions of enquiry not only reduce the field of lay action to strict passivity, but also tend to ignore the religious heterogeneity of sixteenth-century urban environments (even those of ostensibly religiously uniform confessional centres such as Munich and Nuremberg). They counter-productively fix scholarly focus on the subjects and objects such as polyphony and institutions that have occupied the mainstream attention of conventional musicological attention, while also giving insufficient scope to oral, non-elite, and dissenting voices and non-institutional experience. In part this is the result of oversight or even intentional erasure, a historiographical strategy described here in the case of colonial New England as ‘fictional disappearance’, but relevant to a number of cases exemplified in this volume.6 All of the chapters in this volume start from the premise that the late medieval and early modern city was neither socially static nor religiously uniform, but was home to a range of religious beliefs and actions which did not fall into neat patterns conforming to the policies of religious and civic authorities. They also illustrate ways in which the intertwined phenomena of music and belief, as shown with particular clarity in a range of geographically and theologically different contexts, were themselves elastic, hybridised, and syncretic, as religious doctrine was communicated, asserted, and accommodated across linguistic and cultural barriers. They also adhere to the view that belief itself, and religion in general, have a social existence that was itself shifting, stratified, contested and differentiated by a range of both powerful and marginalized historical agents. It is at this point that sound enters the picture, framed by systems of belief and the application of social praxis. This inevitably raises the question of the utility of concepts derived from the notion of the urban soundscape as outlined and popularised in the 1970s by the Canadian composer and environmentalist R. Murray Schafer and his colleagues. In Schafer’s formulation, any acoustic environment is the product of all the elements of sound, both natural and artificial, that co-exist within an immersive environment.7 Capturing these sonic features of the past is a task fraught with difficulties, as Schafer recognized when he wrote that ‘we are disadvantaged in the pursuit of a historical perspective’, [and] ‘will have to turn to earwitness accounts from literature and mythology, as well as to anthropological 5 6 7

Ibid., p. 180. See G. Goodman, ‘Land and Conversion: New Frameworks for Colonial American Hymnody’ in this volume. See also the chapters in this book by Iain Fenlon, Philip Hahn, Matthew Laube, and Andrew Spicer. R. Murray Schafer, The Tuning of the World: Toward a Theory of Soundscape Design (New York, 1977).

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and historical records.8 Following this appeal to a wide range of evidence, and influenced by the work of Peter Burke, Natalie Zemon Davis and other advocates of the approach of the annalistes, it was initially through the efforts of cultural historians that further expansions were made to Schafer’s original concept, beginning with a fuller exploration of a more inclusive sonic range stretching from noise to music as conventionally defined.9 As Schafer was quick to point out, any acoustic environment was not defined by man-made barriers, whether legal, administrative, or physical, but simply by the distance that sound could travel, something which was not fixed but varied according to many contingent factors such as accidental meteorological events. Noting that ‘the acoustic space of a sounding object is that volume of space in which the sound could be heard’, he went on to state that ‘community can be defined as a political, geographical, or social entity…the ideal community can be defined advantageously along acoustic lines…A parish was also acoustic, and it was defined by the range of church bells. When you could no longer hear the church bells you had left the parish’.10 This idea potentially embraces not only the production of sound, but also the perception of them as experienced or, as Barry Truax, one of Schafer’s early collaborators put it, ‘how that environment is understood by those living within it’.11 This re-focusing of Schafer’s point of departure has led to increased emphasis upon the roles of performers, listeners (who might also be performers), and mediators in the process of communication.12 Against this backdrop, the lens of conversion usefully serves to draw musicological attention away from thinking of early modern religions and music as a series of hard or soft borders, which music sometimes crossed, to viewing the unfixed, never-ending, precarious and mobile nature of belief itself. As such, this volume aims to shift attention away from the reification of unchanging belief as something definitively achieved, by exploring the ways in which music (in combination with a range of adjacent sounds) engendered and mirrored the movement and alteration of people, physical space, text and sound from one perceived state to another. In its place, the focus is placed on process, and on the continuous construction of religious beliefs by individuals and communities across social

8 9

10 11 12

Ibid., p. 8. D. Garrioch, ‘Sounds of the City: The Soundscape of Early Modern European Towns’, Urban History, 30 (2003), pp.  2–25; B. Smith, The Acoustic World of Early Modern England: Attending to the O-Factor (Chicago, 1999), pp. 49–95; for a different approach see J. Attali, Noise: The Political Economy of Music, trans. B. Massumi (Manchester, 1985), esp. Chs. 1 and 2. Schafer, Tuning of the World, pp. 214–15. B. Truax, Acoustic Communication (Norwood, N.J., 2001), p. 11 and esp. Ch. 5. See, for a later period, J. Johnson, Listening in Paris: A Cultural History (Berkeley, 1996).

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

categories in the cities and towns of the early modern world: in the Holy Roman Empire and the Southern Netherlands, in a pluri-religious Mediterranean environment, and in Colonial North and South America. This conversionary approach not only permits a wider field of hitherto overlooked historical agents to enter musicological study, and lays bare the untapped multivocality of past experience and the archival record, but it also injects elements from the literature of sound studies into the equation. In practice most cities were formed by overlapping communities compressed into a more or less coherent whole, but varying enormously in their component parts. Parishes and neighbourhood administrative subdivisions were not merely abstract demarcations of urban space for the purposes of governance; each was characterised by a configuration of kinship ties, local histories, ritual observances and sensory experiences that defined them as micro-communities operating within a larger organism. Among the agents in this process were local religious cults tied to parish churches, the activities of confraternities, and the quotidian rhythms of monasteries and convents, phenomena which fit quite neatly into the concept of ‘acoustic communities’. This could be true even in clandestine cases, such as that of the dissident Protestants of Douai, a bastion of the Catholic Reformation, who were sufficiently audible to cause concern to the authorities.13 The sonic world of particular communities, whether tied to specific sites such as churches or meeting halls, or grouped in public spaces as they moved through space and time in religious processions or civic rituals, included the sounds of bells and the singing of popular Protestant psalms or Catholic hymns. When contentious processional invasions of confessionally-defined space occurred in cities such as Augsburg, which was divided into Catholic and Protestant areas, the singing of hymns and litanies was more an assertion of belief, dependent upon whether the texts were in Latin or German.14 On such occasions the shouts and insults of theologically and sometimes physically opposing factions were added to the sonic mixture, as differentiated elements of a complex soundscape much as Schafer defined it. Open-air masses and other liturgical events, such as the annual processions which took place throughout Catholic Europe on the feast of Corpus Christi, became of increased doctrinal significance for Catholics following Luther’s defining polemic over the nature of the Eucharist. The response to the rejuvenation of these forms of public devotion, as documented in staunchly loyal areas such as Bavaria or Andalusia, did not necessarily lead to 13 14

See M. Laube, ‘The Musical Cultures of Dissent and Anti-Catholicism in Counter-Reformation Douai’ in this volume. A. Fisher, Music and Religious Identity in Counter-Reformation Augsburg, 1580–1630 (Aldershot, 2004).

19

Theatres of Belief

abolition in the hands of the reformers. In their endeavour to create a Protestant culture of traditions, Lutherans in Wolfenbüttel, Braunschweig and Naumburg continued to use and value older repertories including Latin chant. Anchoring liturgical and private devotion in pre-Reformation practices, Protestant leaders, whose modernising desires involved a deep look to the past, saw the power of older repertoires to stabilise tensions caused by Protestant reforms, rather than only escalating them. Pilgrimages, characteristic expressions of late medieval communal piety articulated by frequent recourse to the sounds of popular songs (in both Latin and the vernacular) and collective prayer, were disapproved of by Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin on account of their connections to miraculous events celebrated by shrines, and the relics with which they were connected. Nonetheless, the concept of the pilgrimage as a spiritual journey was adapted for Lutheran purposes by authors who recuperated the structure and some of the significance of the journey to the Holy Land and the Holy Sepulchre in virtual form through the medium of print. Incorporated into these accounts was the recognition of the power of music as a fundamental aspect of religious experience, a power which also possessed transformative potential as a tool in the armoury of religious conversion, perceived not as a revelatory ‘moment’ of personal interior change, but as a long process with fragile afterlives. In this sense it can be observed at work in a wide variety of geographical contexts stretching from Perpignan to Barcelona, Silesia to Braunschweig, and even further afield.15 In addition to the constant re-configurations of space, which in cases of the contested appropriation of urban terrain could occur with some frequency in genuinely bi-confessional cities accompanied by protest and violence, the process of confessionalization often resulted in dramatic alterations to both interior and exterior spaces of the built environment.16 Conversion in this particular and precise sense ranged from the construction of new buildings, sometimes in a deliberately innovative architectural style such as the extravagantly triumphalist language of the the Gesù in Rome, home of the Superior General of the Society of Jesus, to the re-fashioning of church interiors or the imposition of new doctrinally approved iconographical schemes through the re-furbishment of existing structures as in the Schottenkirche in Vienna. Catholic interventions along these lines can be seen at their most confessionally abrasive in the celebrated case of Córdoba, where the construction of a brash Gothic nave in the heart of the already Christianised Mesquita 15

16

See E. Ros-Fábregas, ‘A Jesuit Ceremony of Spiritual Exercises with Music in the Seventeenth Century: Devotional Connections between Perpignan, Barcelona, Madrid, Granada and Archbishop Palafox’ in this volume. See also chapters by Martin Christ and Inga Mai Groote in this book. See A. Fisher, ‘Sound and the Conversion of Space in Early Modern Germany’ in this volume.

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

heralded a process of gradual conversion of the musical and liturgical life of both the Cathedral and the city. This was then disseminated throughout the urban fabric through processional forms and new cults of relic veneration which asserted ownership of the public space through the invasion of areas of the city nominally shared with the other two parties to the alleged benefits of convivencia, the moriscos and the conversos, both of which were suspected of remaining faithful to their earlier belief systems.17 In seventeenth-century Farmington (Connecticut), the legal acquisition of land distant from the centre of the settlement by the indigenous Indian community following their formation of a separate Christian entity, did not reverse the gradual advancement of Anglicisation, which brought with it the cultivation of imported musical practices. On the contrary, the process itself co-existed with the gradual appropriation of native land, the marginalisation of the native population to the topographical fringes of the town, and the eventual historiographical elimination of their existence, in fulfilment of the objectives of the original colonial settlers and their descendants.18 As these and other examples demonstrate, toleration and co-existence were negotiated and defined locally, and in practice were rarely or inconsistently encountered. Together with textiles for altar frontals and hangings, expensive silk vestments and a wide range of liturgical objects of all kinds and functions, the lines of production, dissemination, and the patterns of consumption, ownership, and usage of printed books and manuscripts, whether imported or produced locally as in the case of the sequence of plainchant codices copied for the Lima Cathedal in the early seventeenth century by an equipe of copyists which included enslaved labour, critically enhanced conversionary procedures.19 An analogous example of cultural transfer can be traced through the contents and journeys of manuscripts connected to Jesuit missionary activity among the Chiquitos of Paraguay; these constituted the repertorial anchor for a notable musical tradition based on European instruments and musical practices.20 In cases such as these, in which converted members of the indigenous peoples had been educated in the conventions of European musical notation and trained to perform on unfamiliar instruments, the critical reaction of historians has been varied. While some such as Samuel Edgerton have seen the marriage of imported and native architectural and decorative languages that can be seen in

17 18 19 20

See I. Fenlon ‘Catholicising the City: Music, Ritual and Identity in Sixteenth-Century Córdoba’ in this volume. G. Goodman, ‘Land and Conversion’. See M. Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Music Books for Lima Cathedral and their Social Context in the Early Seventeenth Century: Black Slaves as a Guarantee for Producing a New Plainchant Library’ in this volume. See L. Waisman, ‘Music for an Endless Conversion: A Cycle of Offertories from Jesuit Paraguay’ in this volume.

21

Theatres of Belief

the churches of colonial Mexico as a process of accommodation, others, influenced by the long historical tradition inaugurated by the writings of the sixteenth- century Dominican priest and social reformer Bartolomé de Las Casas, have detected only violent oppression leading to the subjugation of local culture in all its forms. Both in the villages, towns and cities of the Americas, the most common sound heard in the community was that of the bell, the sonic marker par excellence which, as historians following Alain Corbin’s classic study of the sounds of bells in post-Revolutionary France have emphasised, fulfilled a multiplicity of social and devotional functions in the cities and towns of pre-Reformation Europe and its inhabitants.21 The inherited language of bells in urban sites was complex and sophisticated, a detailed method of communication that tied people both to their local communities as well as the wider world. Municipal bells marked civic occasions, calibrated time, and announced events of universal or national significance. The main function of the ecclesiastical bells of cathedrals and parish churches was to act as agents of communal piety on a daily basis by summoning the citizenry to devotional action through prayer. Both functions were central to constructing identities and enforcing hierarchies of power, while delineating features of everyday existence: the annual cycle of religious festivities, the enactment of rites of passage and, above all, the rhythms of the working day. Changes in the use of bells, and in the configurations of their chimes, could lead to different perceptions of confessional space and meaning. In a densely urban environment, a conglomeration of many different bells in church towers, monasteries, and civic buildings constituted an ‘acoustic regime’, a community of individual acoustic entities which constructed and maintained of time, space, and political and ecclesiastical authority.22 Both as sonic markers of religious events, and as sacred objects that had been blessed and suitably inscribed for service, bells could also be the tools of regime change through destruction. They could also be destroyed themselves on account of their powers of agency and capacity to alter states of emotion. Like singing, the sounds of bells could both mirror and trigger movements from one emotional state to another. Yet sonic events do not engender universal emotional responses. When Calvinists rang the bells of St Nicholas’s church during the siege of Valenciennes, their chiming of the Genevan setting of psalm 22

21

22

A. Corbin, Les Cloches de la Terre: Paysage sonore et culture sensible dans les campagnes au XIXe siècle (Paris, 1994); in English, Village Bells: Sound and Meaning in the 19th-Century French Countryside, trans. M. Thom (New York, 1998). S. Y. Edgerton, Theaters of Conversion: Religious Architecture and Indian Artisans in Colonial Mexico (Albuquerque, 2001). N. Atkinson, The Noisy Renaissance: Sound, Architecture, and Florentine Urban Life (University Park, Pa., 2016).

22

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

created not a uniformity but an array of emotional responses that reflected the plurality of emotions in the psalm (fear combined with certain hope that God would hear their cry) as well as the mixed allegiances of inhabitants to Calvinism and Catholicism who welcomed or resisted the siege in differing degrees. According to many cultural and social historians, conversion encompasses a web of related concepts, which together move beyond insufficient notions of ‘idealized renovation’ and form ‘a plural, dynamic, and flexible concept of conversion that accounts for the changes in all participants’.23 Alongside a plurality of concepts are the tangled distinctions and overlapping differentiation between its voluntary and coercive dimensions. As Anthony Grafton and Kenneth Mills have stated, ‘religious conversion has been associated with an unyielding form of conquest—with the takeover of human identity, imagination, and consciousness’.24 As such, attention must be paid to the voices and experience of both the missionaries and those being missionized, and to treating examples of religious dissent and resistance as legitimate manifestations of belief and action, not merely as proscribed deviation from a set of doctrinal norms. It is precisely at this point that the consideration of ritual practices, whether altered, substituted, or simply re-energized, becomes relevant. At a basic level conversion simply implies a process of change or re-orientation, a movement from one state to another, a process which can function in many aspects of human behaviour, and is not necessarily confined to the sphere of religious belief. The contributions to this volume follow the wider consensus that there is no one definition or model of conversion, and that it can entail tiered processes of commitment involving different manifestations of awareness, identity, activism, understanding.25 As well as tracing the myriad ways in which music operated at the centre of early modern religious encounters, most of the chapters which follow elaborate on the spatial and material dimensions of conversion related especially to physical structures and landscape, as music participated in larger-scale claims over land ownership and contests over sacred space. The soundscape of urban environments might be conveyed or transformed by actions which are religious in origin, but end up in iconoclasm or other acts of violence which could alter the built environment. Exchanging the picture of hard or soft religious boundaries with that of encounter more accurately reflects the pluri-confessional nature of music in many late me-

23 24 25

T. Neal Leavelle, The Catholic Calumet: Colonial Conversions in French and Indian North America (Philadelphia, 2012), p. 8. K. Mills and A. Grafton, ‘Introduction’, in K. Mills and A. Grafton (eds.), Conversion: Old Worlds and New (Rochester, 2003), p. ix. See A. Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion (Cambridge, 2005), p. 6.

23

Theatres of Belief

dieval and early modern urban environments in which the religious and cultural ‘other’ was inside as often as outside the city. Focusing on the idea of encounter reveals the similarity of strategies of religious groups to use sound of all kinds, as Schafer sees them, to change and deepen belief. Encounters, which were neither uniform nor universally experienced, were also temporal phenomena in which sounds mediated the relationship between the past and the early modern present.

24

1. Converting Tondalos: Pilgrimages, Music and Sound in Early Modern Lutheranism* Martin Chris� �

A pilgrimage in medieval and early modern Europe could be an expensive, long and dangerous undertaking. For some parts of society, such as cloistered nuns, it was altogether impossible to participate in such journeys. As a means of enabling all to benefit from pilgrimage, the genre of a spiritual pilgrimage developed in the Middle Ages, which contained detailed descriptions of the way to Rome, Jerusalem, Santiago or other important shrines, which readers could imagine and contemplate.1 As Kathryne Beebe has shown, instructions on how to undertake such pilgrimages were a popular genre of writing in the late Middle Ages.2 They enabled clergy and lay congregants to go on pilgrimage despite being unable to do so in reality. These imagined journeys could be taken individually or collectively – for example, by an entire convent. Through such pilgrimage, men and women could receive indulgences to aid the progression of souls out of purgatory. Descriptions of the pilgrimages could contain many elements which closely resemble an actual pilgrimage, including day-by-day descriptions of the way to a pilgrimage site, what one might encounter on the way, or features of the landscape. In many instances, these elements would be understood metaphorically, symbolising aspects of the Christian faith. One of the most famous spiritual pilgrimages is the one described by Felix Fabri in his Die Sionspilger in the late fifteenth century. In it, the Dominican monk gave an account of the stations to the Holy Land. He commented that ‘any good Christian’ wanted to see the places where Christ ‘had lived in his human form and stepped with his holy feet’. So, he continued, anyone has a desire to go to the Holy Land. For those who could not go there physically, he recommended a virtual pilgrimage, such as the one he described.3 For him and many other authors, pilgrimages were central to Catholic devotion. Fabri’s text indicates the importance of music, sound and aural stimuli to a pilgrimage, whether real or imagined.4 Pilgrims sang on their way and Fabri describes how, on the ship from Venice to the Holy Land, trumpeters and pipers played, while the pilgrims

*

1 2

3 4

Part of this research was funded by the DFG as part of the Centre for Advanced Studies in Humanities and Social Sciences “Religion and Urbanity: Reciprocal Formations” (FOR - 2779). Some of the research in this chapter has also appeared in M. Christ, Biographies of a Reformation. Religious Change and Confessional Coexistence in Upper Lusatia, c.1520-1635 (Oxford, 2021)’ N. R. Miedema, Rompilgerführer in Spätmittelalter und Früher Neuzeit. Die ‘Indulgentiae ecclesiarum urbis Romae’ (deutsch/niederländisch). Edition und Kommentar (Tübingen, 2003). K. Beebe, ‘The Jerusalem of the Mind’s Eye: Imagined Pilgrimage in the Late Fifteenth Century’, in B. Kühnel, G. Noga-Banai and H. Vorholt (eds.), Visual Constructs of Jerusalem (Turnhout, 2014), pp. 409–20; K. Beebe, Pilgrim & Preacher: The Audiences and Observant Spirituality of Friar Felix Fabri 1437/8–1502 (Oxford, 2014). R. Röhricht and H. Meisner (eds.), Deutsche Pilgerreisen nach dem heiligen Lande (Berlin, 1880), pp. 284–5. I. Fenlon, Music and Culture in Late Renaissance Italy (Oxford, 2002): ‘Strangers in Paradise: Dutchmen in Venice in 1525’, pp. 24–44, at p. 34.

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Theatres of Belief

sang.5 Moreover, the descriptions of medieval pilgrimages which survive report singing in churches both along the way and at the final destination.6 When pilgrims saw their ultimate destination, they would frequently sing out of joy. The songs could be popular, but songs that men and women heard on a weekly basis in church were equally common. In the case of Venice, this included hymns like the ‘Te Deum Laudamus’, for example.7 At pilgrimage shrines, pilgrims participated in Masses by singing Catholic hymns, and would also hear choirs. Further acoustic elements on pilgrimages included bells which pilgrims could hear ring out on their way and during procession, men and women singing while working on their fields, or popular music in inns. Music and pilgrimages were therefore closely intertwined in the Middle Ages. Alexander Fisher and others have demonstrated that Catholic pilgrimage continued to incorporate music in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. During processions which led out of Augsburg to nearby pilgrimage sites, litanies pleading for saintly intercession resulted in a ‘specifically Catholic aural imprint’.8 Pilgrimage songs were a popular genre of writing that circulated widely, and musicians continued to be involved in pilgrimages, sometimes as part of a noble’s entourage and sometimes along the route.9 In the course of the sixteenth century, pilgrimage songs could take on polemical elements, while a stronger emphasis on Catholic orthodoxy served to curb any aural transgressions during the pilgrimage – for example, popular songs. Overall, Counter-Reformation measures reaffirmed the importance of pilgrimage and, by extension, the music associated with it. In other territories, religious reformers challenged the centrality of pilgrimages to devotion, not least because of their close connection to aspects of Catholic theology, such as saintly intercession, veneration of relics and miraculous healing.10 Luther, Zwingli and Calvin criticised pilgrimage as distracting from work and proper worship. Through this critique, Protestants abandoned pilgrimage, and shrines in Lutheran territories were closed. Relics which once formed the focus of pilgrimages were sold off.11 Theologically, the saving grace of Jesus was emphasised and salvation through good works was no longer taught. Tracts on spiritual pilgrimages, descriptions of miracles at shrines and accounts of pilgrims’ journeys became increasingly rare in Lutheran and Reformed territories.

5

6 7 8 9 10 11

V. Corrigan, ‘Music and the Pilgrimage’, in M. Dunn and L. K. Davidson (eds.), The Pilgrimage to Compostella in the Middle Ages: A Book of Essays (New York and London, 1996), pp. 43–69. On sixteenth-century Catholic music in Germany more broadly, see A. Fisher, Music, Piety, and Propaganda: The Soundscapes of Counter-Reformation Bavaria (Oxford, 2014). Fenlon, ‘Strangers in Paradise’, p. 32. Ibid., p. 43. A. Fisher, Music and Religious Identity in Counter-Reformation Augsburg, 1580–1630 (Ashgate, 2004), p. 258. Ibid., pp. 262–8. For a long-term overview on relics, see A. Walsham (ed.), Relics and Remains (Oxford, 2010). One particularly prominent example is that of St Benno of Meißen – see P. M. Soergel, Wondrous in his Saints: Counter-Reformation Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1993), pp. 181–91; C. Volkmar, Die Heiligenerhebung Bennos von Meißen (1523/24). Spätmittelalterliche Frömmigkeit, landesherrliche Kirchenpolitik und reformatorische Kritik im albertinischen Sachsen in der frühen Reformationszeit (Munster, 2002).

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

This narrative, however, forms only part of a more complex story. While in many Protestant territories pilgrimages no longer played a central part in Church life, pilgrimage maintained a significance in other Lutheran territories. Even as the theological underpinnings may have changed, there were still Lutheran forms of pilgrimage, and the musical culture associated with it was adapted in innovative ways. This chapter, therefore, explores the Protestant conversion of a ritual Catholic practice, and its use by the laity and clergy alike.12 Lutheran Adaptations of Pilgrimage One particularly helpful example of the Lutheran adaption of pilgrimage is the work of the Lutheran preacher Sigismund Suevus. Born in Freystadt in Silesia on 26 June 1526, Suevus attended school there before the council of Freystadt provided him with a stipend to attend the University of Frankfurt an der Oder, where he studied for four years.13 Suevus then continued his career in Reval (Tallinn), Lübeck and Wittenberg. Suevus’s admiration for Luther and other Wittenberg Reformers, which he likely developed in these years, is attested to by his compilation of a register of all of Luther’s German and Latin works.14 Upon leaving Wittenberg, Suevus was ordained in Frankfurt an der Oder. He held a range of clerical and educational posts in Frankfurt, Sorau, Breslau, Freystadt and Forst, and in 1566 came to Lauban in Upper Lusatia.15 After continual problems, Suevus left the town in 1575. After a period in Thorn in Poland, he returned to Lauban in 1578, where he stayed for another seven years. He accepted a better-paid and more prestigious post in Breslau in 1584, where he died in 1596.16 Suevus wrote hymns throughout his life, even in his final moments. On his deathbed in 1596, he dictated the hymn ‘O Jesus, My Dear Lord’ (O Jesu, lieber Herr mein) and instructed that it be sung at his funeral.17 During his life, Suevus worked in many regions which had a pluriconfessional structure and where confessional toleration was common.18 This might go some way towards

12

13

14 15 16 17 18

On conversions in the Holy Roman Empire, see D. M. Luebke, J. Poley, D. C. Ryan and D. W. Sabean, Conversion and the Politics of Religion in Early Modern Germany (New York and Oxford, 2012); U. Lotz-Heumann, J.-F. Mißfelder and M. Pohlig, Konversion und Konfession in der Frühen Neuzeit (Heidelberg, 2007); R. Kirwan, ‘The Conversion of Jacob Reihing: Academic Controversy and the Professorial Ideal in Confessional German’, German History, 36 (2018), pp. 1–20. M. A. van den Broeck, Sigismund Suevus Erbauungsschriften. Spiegel des Menschlichen Lebens. Eien auswagl (Amsterdam, 1984), pp. 7–11; C. F. Erdmann, ‘Suevus, Siegmund’, in Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 37 (Munich and Leipzig, 1894), pp. 129–35; K. G. Dietmann, Die gesamte der ungeänderten Augsb. Confesion zugethane Priesterschaft in dem Marggrafthum Oberlausitz (Lauban and Leipzig, 1777), pp. 494–6. S. Suevus, Register, Deudsch vnd Latinisch aller B[ue]cher vnd Schrifften Herrn D. Martini Lutheri (Wittenberg, 1564). Erdmann, ‘Suevus’. On the Polish context more broadly, see N. Nowakowska, King Sigismund of Poland and Martin Luther: The Reformation before Confessionalization (Oxford, 2017). The first verse is ‘O Jesu, lieber Herre mein, Ich bitt’ von Herzensgrunde, Du wollst ja selber bei mir sein. In meiner letzten Stunde Mit deinem Geiste steh mir bei, Dein heilsam Wort mein Labsal sei. Bis an mein letztes Ende.’ See O. P. Grell and B. Scribner (eds.), Tolerance and Intolerance in the European Reformation (Cambridge, 2002); J. Bahlcke, K. Lambrecht and H.-C. Maner (eds.), Konfessionelle Pluralität als Herausforderung. Koexistenz und Konflikt in Spätmittelalter und Früher Neuzeit. Winfried Eberhard zum 65. Geburtstag (Leipzig, 2006).

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explaining why he was more willing to recuperate Catholic traditions than some of his Lutheran contemporaries. Silesia, Poland–Lithuania and Lusatia, to a greater or lesser extent and depending on the circumstances, all showed a significant degree of toleration towards a variety of religious groups.19 Lauban, where Suevus worked for more than ten years, was a biconfessional town, where nuns of the Order of Mary Magdalen had survived the Reformation. They shared a church with Lutherans, making it a Simultankirche.20 Lauban was part of the Lusatian League, a coalition of six towns which had considerable power in a region where pluriconfessional arrangements were common.21 In Bautzen, one of the most important towns in the region, a cathedral chapter co-existed with a largely Lutheran population, and in the rural countryside two Cistercian convents also survived the Reformation. Suevus published more than fifteen tracts, ranging from theological treatises to works on arithmetic.22 His work was aimed at simple Lutherans. As he stressed in one of his books, he wanted to write ‘clearly and comprehensibly’ (liechte und leichte), which also suggests a desire to reach a wide audience.23 He translated the portions in Latin to ensure that everyone was able to understand his writings. In many of his works, he incorporated aspects of medieval Catholicism, including sensory and sonic elements. One example is the funeral sermon Mons Myrrhae, where he focused on a mountain of incense, which only those who followed Christ would be able to scale.24 He compared the faith of individuals to sticks of incense: […] the first stick of incense against the bitter thought of the Last Judgment is the bond of mercy which God in word and sacrament has erected with us and through the death of his begotten son confirmed, that is that out of mercy and through Jesus Christ’s merit, [God is] willing to forgive us our sin, [and] wants to give us the Holy Spirit and eternal life.25

19

20 21

22 23 24 25

H. Louthan and G. Murdock (eds.), A Companion to the Reformation in Central Europe (Leiden, 2015); H. Louthan, G. Cohen and Fr Szabo (eds.), Diversity and Dissent: Negotiating Religious Difference in Central Europe, 1500–1800 (New York, 2011); J. Bahlcke, Regionalismus und Staatsintegration im Widerstreit. Die Länder der böhmischen Krone im ersten Jahrhundert der Habsburgerherrschaft (1526–1619) (Munich, 1994); H.-D. Heimann, K. Neitmann and U. Tresp (eds.), Die Nieder- und Oberlausitz – Konturen einer Integrationslandschaft, II: Frühe Neuzeit (Berlin, 2014); J. Bahlcke (ed.), Die Oberlausitz im frühneuzeitlichen Mitteleuropa. Beziehungen – Strukturen – Prozesse (Stuttgart, 2007). B. Kaplan, Divided by Faith: Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge and London, 2009). J. Bahlcke (ed.), Geschichte der Oberlausitz. Herrschaft, Gesellschaft und Kultur vom Mittelalter bis zum Ende des 20. Jahrhunderts, 2nd edition (Leipzig, 2004); J. Bahlcke and V. Dudeck (eds.), Welt – Macht – Geist. Das Haus Habsburg und die Oberlausitz 1526–1635 (Görlitz, 2002). S. Suevus, Arithmetica Historica (Breslau, 1593); S. Suevus, Spiegel des Menschlichen Lebens (Eisleben, 1587). Suevus, Spiegel des Menschlichen Lebens, frontispiece. S. Suevus, Mons Myrrhae. Der Myrrhen-Berg. Uber welchen alle sterbende Menschen / mit Mühe und Arbeit steigen … (Görlitz, 1580). Ibid., p. 103: ‘Das erste Weyrauch streuchlin / wider die herben bittern Gedancken / vom Jüngsten Gerichte / tröstlich zu gebrauchen / Jst der GnadenBundt / welche[n] Gote im Wort und Sacrament / mit uns auffgerichtet / und durch den Todt seines lieben Sohns / bestetigt hat. Darinn uns Gott verheissen und zugesaget hat / Das er unß aus Gnaden / umb des thewre[n] Verdiensts Jesu Christi willen / will alle unsere Sünde verzeihen … / den heiligen Geist schenken / und ewiges Leben geben.’

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Although Suevus referred to Lutheran theology, and even though the image of the mountain of incense is biblical (Song of Songs 4:6), it is noteworthy that he chose this particular passage, given how closely Catholicism was associated with incense, which, moreover, in Suevus’s description, has positive connotations. Additionally, it is not one of the traditional biblical passages used in funeral sermons.26 The kind of religiosity that Suevus described was more inward-looking than that of most of his contemporaries. Unlike a real stick of incense, this was only imagined, metaphorical incense, which Suevus therefore described as ‘sweet smelling’.27 There is no indication that Suevus ever advocated the use of incense in services, but he did not ‘desacralise’ smell, as has been argued regarding incense after the Reformation.28 He merely envisioned it on a different sensory plane: a sense of smell that did not need the nose, only the imagination. Unlike real incense, imagined incense was not supposed to distract from worship but encouraged a believer to reflect. But as Edmund Wareham and others have shown, this was a medieval and Catholic way of conceptualising the senses.29 Suevus was therefore tapping into a medieval tradition of imagining sensual stimuli. Perhaps the most remarkable work written by Suevus is his 1573 Geistliche Wallfahrt oder Pilgerschaft zum heiligen Grabe (Spiritual Journey or Pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre). In it, he described a virtual pilgrimage to the reproduction of a Holy Sepulchre in Görlitz, which had been used for decades by Catholics as a pilgrimage site and was part of the Easter procession that led through the town, in which different buildings represented stations on Christ’s way.30 Other towns also had such reproductions of the Holy Sepulchre or other important pilgrimage sites.31 The site was in continual use, even after the introduction of the Reformation. As Bridget Heal has argued, the economic benefits of having such a pilgrimage site, the prestige it brought to the town and the opportunity to reflect on Christ’s suffering in a Lutheran manner all contributed to the continual use of the Holy Sepulchre.32 Just like in Catholic regions, this pilgrimage site was a crucial part of the religious, urban life.33

26

27 28 29 30

31 32 33

I could find one other example of this passage as the basis for a funeral sermon: C. A. Grote, ‘Myrrhen-Berg und Weyrauch-Hügel / Oder Leyd und Freud der Christen / Gezeiget aus dem 71. Ps. V. 20.21. und Bey Christ-Adelicher Sepultur und Beysetzung Der HochEdelgebohren / HochEhren und VielTugendreichen Frauen ... / durch Christophorum Abrahamum Grotium, dieser Zeit Pfarrern zu Görzigk’ (Köthen, 1662). Suevus, Mons Myrrhae, p. 104: ‘wohl riechend’. J. M. Baum, ‘From Incense to Idolatry: The Reformation of Olfaction in Late Medieval German Ritual’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 44 (2013), pp. 323–44. E. H. Wareham, ‘Spirituality and the Everyday: A History of the Cistercian Convent of Günterstal in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries’ (Ph.D. thesis, University of Oxford, 2016). I. Anders and M. Winzeler (eds.), Lausitzer Jerusalem. 500 Jahre Heiliges Grab zu Görlitz (Görlitz, 2005); K. Wenzel, ‘Die Bautzener Taucherkirche und das Görlitzer Heilige Grab. Räumliche Reorganisation zweier Orte spätmittelalterlicher Frömmigkeit im konfessionellen Zeitalter’, in E. Wetter (ed.), Formierungen des konfessionellen Raumes in Ostmitteleuropa (Stuttgart, 2008), pp. 167–92. Fisher, Music and Religious Identity, p. 274. See also Soergel, Wondrous in his Saints. B. Heal, A Magnificent Faith: Art and Identity in Lutheran Germany (Oxford, 2017), pp. 145–9. Soergel, Wondrous in his Saints.

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Despite his education in Wittenberg, a centre of Lutheran orthodoxy, and the strongly Catholic connotations of the genre of the spiritual pilgrimage, Suevus reinterpreted the Holy Sepulchre in a Lutheranised manner. Suevus gave ten parts to the spiritual pilgrimage, starting with preparations and ending with objects to bring back from the pilgrimage. The first part, for example, was the proper clothing. Like everything in this pilgrimage, the clothing was to be understood metaphorically. So, the coat was Christ’s justice which had been given at baptism, faith was the bag in which one can keep food and drink, and the shoes were the regular attendance at church with the administration of the proper sacraments. Suevus’s continued use of the Holy Sepulchre as a pilgrimage site was grounded in both theological and practical reasons. It is possible that Suevus thought it unlikely that the Holy Sepulchre of Görlitz would ever be abandoned by his fellow Lutherans and so, at the very least, he hoped to contribute to the proper, Lutheran use of this formerly Catholic space. While spiritual pilgrimages in medieval Catholicism featured elements such as fasting or confession, Suevus omitted these from his tract.34 Nevertheless, Suevus continued to use the idea of pilgrimage, and his tract also indicates the links between pilgrimage and civic pride. He dedicated the tract to the important Görlitz merchant Georg Emerich, grandson of Georg Emerich the Elder, who donated the money to build the Holy Sepulchre after his pilgrimage to Jerusalem.35 Suevus reinforced the local connections when he expressed his hope that many foreigners and locals would make use of the Holy Sepulchre and see the ‘famous town of Görlitz’.36 It seems that his wish was granted, as even after his death the Görlitz town council continued to promote the Holy Sepulchre, and woodcuts of it circulated in the region.37 Suevus was not the first to recuperate the Catholic tradition of a pilgrimage. In Görlitz, Lutheran authors had already written about the Holy Sepulchre and in 1569, for example, the Lutheran Bartholomäus Andreades had published a Latin poem on the Holy Sepulchre.38 Spiritual pilgrimages continued beyond the Middle Ages and could even take place in Lutheran contexts, and Suevus was not an isolated example of this. The Lutheran Johann Michael Dilherr, for instance, published a sermon titled Geistliche Christwallfahrt, gen Bethlehem (Spiritual Pilgrimage to Bethlehem).39 Suevus’s tract on a spiritual pilgrimage, in which he described an imaginary path to the Holy Sepulchre of Görlitz, was certainly not intended to reintroduce pilgrimages

34 35

36 37 38

39

N. Ohler, Pilgerstab und Jakobsmuschel. Wallfahrten in Mittelalter und Neuzeit (Düsseldorf and Zurich, 2000), p. 81. S. Suevus, Geistliche Wallfahrt oder Pilgerschafft zum heiligen Grabe. Nemblich der Christen Glauben Lehr und Leben. Mit schönen Sprüchen / Gleichnissen / Historien und Exemplen liecht und leicht erkleret (Görlitz, 1573), unpag.; Wenzel, ‘Die Bautzner Taucherkirche und das Görlitzer Heilige Grab’, pp. 167–92. Suevus, Geistliche Wallfahrt, unpag.: ‘berühmte Stadt Görlitz’. Anders and Winzeler (eds.), Lausitzer Jerusalem, pp. 57–65. J. Jungmayr, ‘Bartholomäus Andreades und seine Beschreibung des Heiligen Grabes in Görlitz’, in A. Keller, E. Lösel, U. Wels and Volkhard Wels (eds.), Theorie und Praxis der Kasualdichtung in der Frühen Neuzeit (Amsterdam and New York, 2010), pp. 173–84. J. M. Dilherr, Geistliche Christwallfahrt, gen Bethlehem: und Heiliger Jesus-Kusz: In einer Predigt fürgestellt (Nuremberg, 1664).

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and processions. Yet he did not openly discourage Catholic pilgrimage, and by using the metaphor of a spiritual pilgrimage, he remained closely bound to Catholic paradigms.40 For those who had ‘sustenance and strength and who do not have anything to miss in their profession’, undertaking real pilgrimages was still helpful.41 By promoting the continual use of the Holy Sepulchre, Suevus acknowledged that pilgrimages did have some value. Even if he criticised Catholics in his tract and repeatedly referred to the righteousness of Lutheranism, his insistence on pilgrimage demonstrates a belief that at least some elements of pilgrimage could be useful for Lutheran devotion. Music on the Spiritual Pilgrimage The spiritual pilgrim of Suevus’s tract was immersed in the sounds of music and other acoustic stimuli. In chapter 4, Suevus wrote that good conversations helped to pass the time. Real pilgrims or travellers who had talked together for a while, wrote Suevus, liked to sing, so in the spiritual pilgrimage people should do the same. The pilgrims should talk about God and the Bible, not frivolous things. These conversations should be had everywhere, from schools and churches to the streets. Suevus distinguished between different volumes and levels of sound when discussing the value of conversation. Humble and thoughtful conversations were calm and reasonable, as opposed to shouting in taverns. Here, Suevus turned more polemical, writing that ‘the Papists’ had the ‘good text of the Bible [and] let it ring in convents, monasteries and churches’, but used it: without wisdom or understanding and reverence, quaked and chattered (schnadern und plaudern) one over the other … mixed up Law and Gospel, and everything in foreign and unknown languages so that not only the common people but also the priests, monks and nuns did not understand a word. That is why the Papists’ boastful and thoughtless shouting and crying (geschrey un[d] geplerr) is like a foolish carnival play.42

For Suevus, therefore, the social sounds of conversation were a part of pilgrimage, but he also commented on the privilege of being able to preach the Word of God. Prayer, he argued, should also be spoken repeatedly and continuously, and even sighing could serve an important purpose. In one passage in chapter 6, he commented that ‘prayer opens up heaven, sincere sighs (hertzliche seuffzen) penetrate the clouds and God’s mercy and help comes 40 41

42

For example, J. G. von Kaysersberg, Der bilger mit seinen eygenschafften, auch figuren (Augsburg, [14]94). See Beebe, ‘Jerusalem of the Mind’s Eye’, pp. 409–20. Suevus, Geistliche Wallfahrt, unpag.: ‘So können noch heut die es an zehrung und krefften vermögen und in irem beruff nichts zu verseumen habe[n] mit Gott und ehren zum heiligen Grabe reisen den Ort da Christus gelegen und andere Örter da Christus gewohnet gelehret und wunder gethan mit lust und liebe besuchen und beschawen. Weil wir es aber nicht alle in solcher gestalt erreichen können so sollen wir doch (so fern uns Christus und sein heil liebet) die Geistliche Wallfahrt so im Wort und Glauben stehet nicht unterlassen.’ Ibid.: ‘die zwar den guten Text der Bibel in jren Stifften / Klöstern und Kirchen / reichlich schallen lassen / Aber ohne weisheit / ohne verstandt und andacht / schnaderns und plauderns vbern hauffen dahin / ohne Geist un[d] Glauben / vermengen Gesetz und Evangelion untereinander / darzu alles in frembder un[d] unbekandter Sprachen / das nicht alleine vom gemeinen Volck / Sondern auch offt von Pfaffen / Mönchen und Nonnen / das dreyssigste Wort nicht verstanden wird. Darumb solch vnbescheiden vnd vnbedechtig geschrey un[d] geplerr der Papiste[n] / für ein nerrisch Fasnacht spiel zu halten.’

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down’. The acoustic field Suevus described was diverse and multilayered, and he showed how different sounds helped not only to promote the Lutheran message, but even with receiving divine assistance. As was typical for spiritual pilgrimages, Suevus commented on symbols, such as the hat, the pilgrim’s staff or night quarters, and used them to illustrate Christian concepts including hope, faith or a pious education. Against the enemies of Christianity, Suevus recommended five stones which could be put into a sling, as David did against Goliath – namely the word of God, the sacraments, prayer, faith and hope.43 But in many instances he also deviated from this kind of allegorical writing to comment on religion more broadly. One such passage concerns Lutheran music. After writing allegorically about good companions at the end of chapter 4, he continued: At this point we have cause and wish to praise the noble music (edlen Musica) which is nothing other than an artificial melody, noise or lovely sound either through humans’ voice, breath and wind or with the hand made and moved on artificial instruments through which the things of which one sings or plays are easier to grasp and put deeper and more helpfully into the conscience (Gemüth).44

For Suevus, there were therefore two benefits to music. First, music made it easier for the laity to retain theological ideas, especially ‘the common people’ who sang at home. Second, what one sang about became more deeply engrained in the conscience. So people were supposed to educate their children in music and ensure they could play instruments and sing well. Some of Suevus’s points of reference for this praise of music were cross-confessional and echoed long-established tropes of Catholicism. Particularly important were the Psalms, Church fathers and biblical passages. These kinds of justifications provide a further link to Suevus’s medieval, Catholic predecessors. One of the most famous Catholic spiritual pilgrimages was that of Geiler von Kaysersberg. The tract was published in 1512 and describes the qualities of a pilgrim in a metaphorical way. It also contains references to the objects the pilgrim was supposed to have, just as in Suevus’s text. Von Kaysersberg also referred to music in his ‘Christian Pilgrimage to the Eternal Fatherland’ (‘Christenlich Pilgerschaft zum ewigen Vaterland’). He quoted Psalm 137 on the Jewish songs on their exile. Asking how they could sing such hymns while they were so far away from their native land, he related that eventually any believer will return to their fatherland (Vaterland) and that the music which commemorated such events was therefore of particular importance. Like Suevus, he quoted the singing of a psalm as an important aspect of the spiritual pilgrimage.45

43 44

45

Ibid., pp. 210–21. Ibid., unpag.: ‘Alhier haben wir ursach und bequemigkeit der edlen Musica jr Lob zu preisen / welches nichts anders ist / als ein künstliche Melodia / wollautung oder lieblicher Thon / entweder durch des Menschen Stimme / Othem un[d] Wind / oder mit der Hand auff künstlichen Jnstrumenten erreget und beweget / dadurch die dineg davon man singet oder spielet / desto leichtlicher gefasset / und dem Gemüte desto tieffer und nützlicher eingebildet werden.’ J. G. von Kaysersberg, ‘Christenlich Pilgerschaft zum ewigen Vaterland’ (n.d.), unpag.; Ohler, Pilgerstab und Jakobsmuschel, pp. 80–2.

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With the Lutherans’ emphasis on biblical authority, these continuities are not surprising. Suevus used not only these cross-confessional reference points, but also included elements which were distinctly Lutheran. He quoted Philipp Melanchthon and Martin Luther throughout, and provided details, for example, on how Luther had a metaphorical ‘hat of hope’ (‘Hut der Hoffnung’) which protected him during the Diet of Augsburg in 1521. In his section on music, Suevus also cited Luther as a source of authority who argued, alongside Theodor Basilius and Chrysostomus, that music was an important part of devotional life. As with the whole tract, the ‘Spiritual Pilgrimage’ is therefore using both ancient and medieval sources of authority alongside distinctly Lutheran ones. Not only was music connected to the spiritual pilgrimage – Suevus also viewed music as embedded in other aspects of urban life. He emphasised the importance of receiving a proper education in music. He praised the emotional potential of music, especially for ‘the common people’ and children. Music ‘moves the heart’ (‘die Hertzen beweget’) and it could provide ‘peace and joy … a taste of future joys and the glory in the eternal life’ (‘fried und freude … ein vorschmack der zukünfftige[n] Freud un[d] Herrligkeit im ewigen Leben’)46. By stressing the importance of music in this way, and emphasising how it could educate the youth and simple people, Suevus justified his own approach to clerical instruction, given his own proclivity as a hymn writer. For a Lutheran author such as Suevus, too much praise of any element of clerical activity carried the risk of being associated with Catholicism. Therefore, to ensure that his readers would not think him too sympathetic towards Catholicism, he included a section on Catholic abuses of music. To avoid such abuses, on the spiritual pilgrimage and in general, Suevus recommended six rules concerning singing and music. Firstly, not to think that singing in houses, churches or schools was the same as a proper service. Secondly, not to seek salvation (‘Seligkeit’) in singing and other such ceremonies, as popes, cardinals, bishops and prelates had claimed. Thirdly, not to spend too much time on singing and making music (‘singen und klingen’) in churches, to ensure there is enough time for preaching. Fourthly, no additional costs should result from the music so that the preachers received sufficient funds. Fifthly, well-known songs should be sung. Lastly, only Psalms and church songs should be sung, not ‘love songs and frivolous songs’ (‘Bulerlieder und leichtfertigen Gesenge’). If people followed these rules in churches, schools, houses and on the spiritual pilgrimage, they could receive divine gifts and the light of life. Anyone who could not see these benefits of music and preferred wine glasses and beer tankards was a ‘fool and oaf’ (‘Narren un[d] Tölpel’).47 With such an approach to music, Suevus followed the lead of Martin Luther, who had also emphasised that music should only be used to serve God and not to encourage misbehaviour. In the 1524 preface to Johann Walter’s Geystliche gesangk Buchleyn, Luther commented that love ballads or crude songs should be avoided, while truly pious songs

46 47

Suevus, Geistliche Wallfahrt, unpag. Ibid.

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could be important to educate people, and especially the young.48 And, just like Suevus, Luther was also critical of those who dismissed music. In the 1538 preface to the Symphoniae Iucundae, he commented that ‘those who are not affected by it [i.e. music] are truly without the Muses, and worthy to listen to some shit-poet (Merdipoetam) or the music of pigs’.49 Suevus’s emphatic rejection of Catholic musical culture was also linked to his own local situation and context. During his tenure as preacher in Lauban, the nuns of the Order of Mary Magdalen (Magdalenerinnen) provided a visible alternative to Lutheran preaching. Around 1581, the nuns and some members of the urban elites converted others to Catholicism. Additionally, for a large part of the sixteenth century, the nuns were in charge of the boys’ choir, giving them considerable influence over the musical education in the town, which was so important to Suevus. Other towns in which Suevus worked also had Catholic minorities, frequently protected by their Habsburg rulers. Thus, Suevus sought to ensure that his work would be viewed as thoroughly Lutheran, and not seen as conceding any ground to local Catholics. At the same time, Suevus recognised that his criticism of what he perceived as Catholic musical culture could lead to a complete abandonment of religious music, something he also opposed. In a critique aimed at Zwinglians and other more radical groups, he wrote that ‘in some places, music has been removed completely to avoid misuse, so with the bad, the good was removed also’ (‘an manchen orten ist in kirchen umb des Mißbrauchs wollen die Musica gar abgeschafft / und also mit den bösen / auch das gute verworffen worden’). Suevus also commented on other religious groups and their behaviour: ‘Anabaptists, sacramentarians and other heretics and Schwärmer, whatever their names are … soak poison out of [Scripture and] twist it and turn it, like the knaves turn the dices and throw them as they please’.50 To Suevus, a Lutheran reform of music was best, as it was a ‘middle way’ (‘mittel Strassen’) which ‘got rid of the abuses and retained the substance’ (‘Tollatur abusus & maneat substantia’). But Suevus’s laboured effort to position himself between Reformed and Catholic teachings illustrates how hard it was for him to define with precision what Lutheran musical culture should look like, both on the spiritual pilgrimage and in biconfessional Lauban. The Conversion of Tondalos Regarding music on Suevus’s Lutheran pilgrimage, his song on Tondalo the Knight shows his approach especially well. It was inspired by a twelfth-century monk called Brother Marcus, who wrote down the Visio Tnugdali, a tale of a knight’s journey through

48 49 50

R. A. Leaver, Luther’s Liturgical Music: Principles and Implications (Minneapolis, 2017), p. 37. J. A. Loewe, ‘“Musica est optimum”: Martin Luther’s Theory of Music’, Music & Letters, 94 (2013), pp. 573–605, at p. 602. Suevus, Geistliche Wallfahrt, unpag.: ‘Widerteuffer / Sacramentirer vnd andere Rottengeister vnd Schwermer / wie sie jmmer namen haben mügen / Die zwar auch die Schrifften der Propheten vnd Apostel rühmen / aber eitel Gifft daraus saugen … die Schrifft nach jrem kopff un[d] gefallen meistern / drehen un[d] wenden / Wie die Spitzbube[n] die Würffel jres gefallens zu wenden un[d] zu werffen pflegen.’

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purgatory.51 Tnugdalus, also called Tundalus, Tondalo or Tondalos, falls unconscious for three days, when an angel shows his soul heaven and hell. As a result, the knight turns into a pious Christian. By the fifteenth century, the text had been translated from the original Latin forty-three times, including in adaptions, local variations and with illustrations, like the one in Figure 1.1. In a hymn he composed for his Spiritual Journey, Suevus wrote about ‘Tondalo, the knight’.52 The text shows Tondalo to be a righteous Christian and an example to follow. At the same time, it is a summary of the preceding chapter, illustrating the didactic purpose of the song. Tondalo, according to Suevus, had to ride on a narrow path, underneath which a dragon threatened him (see the Appendix for the complete text). To make matters worse, he had to carry a heavy load, but, in order to become a true knight, he had to overcome these obstacles. In Suevus’s text, the tale of Tondalo is an allegory of a Christian life: the dragons are evil people who tempt the Christians, the heavy burden is the sinful flesh and blood, and the steadfastness comes through trusting God. At its core, this song reworked by Suevus illustrates how a Lutheran pastor constructed his religiosity through refashioning and transforming, but not eliminating, elements of medieval devotion. The hymn harks back to Catholic traditions, and is based on a story written down by a monk, and contained visions of purgatory. Suevus even referred to St Paul in a turn of phrase akin to saintly intercession: ‘You may call on Saint Paul / who will give you armour’. 53 Although this reference is likely meant to indicate the power of the Bible – sometimes called ‘God’s armour’ (‘Rüstzeug Gottes’) – the process of calling on a saint for help was connected to Catholicism. But, however, Suevus Lutheranised the hymn by incorporating a retelling of the tale based on a sermon by Martin Luther from the Gospel of Matthew.54 Like Luther, Suevus did not mention the monastic background of the text. Besides the reference to St Paul,

51 52 53

54

N. F. Palmer, Visio Tnugdali: The German and Dutch Translations and their Circulation in the Later Middle Ages (Munich and Zurich, 1982). Suevus, Geistliche Wallfahrt, unpag.: ‘Tondalo dem Ritter’. The lines read: Sanct Paulum mügt ir sprechen an / Der wird euch Rüstung schaffen. Er wird euch zeigen manchen ort Viel schöne Sprüch aus Gottes Wort / Gantz scharff damit zufechten. M. Luther, Weimarer Ausgabe, Schriften, XXXII: Predigten 1530; ‘Reihenpredigten über Matthäus 5 – 7 1530/32’. The text reads: ‘Solchs haben die alten fein fuergebildet mit dem geticht von dem Ritter Tondalo (on das sie es nicht recht angerichtet und gedeutet haben auff das segfeur odder pein der seelen nach diesem leben) wie er uber eine schmale bruecken gehen muste, die kawm einer handbreit war, mit einer last auff dem rucken und unter jm ein schwefelicher pful vol drachen und dazu jm einer entgegen kam, dem er weichen muste. Das reimet sich fein zu diesem spruch, Denn ein Christ fueret so ein schweer leben, als gieng er auff einem schmalen steig, ia auff eitel schermesser, so ist der Teuffel unter uns jnn der wellt, der schnappet on unterlas nach uns mit seinem rachen, das er uns bringe jnn ungedult, verzweivelung und murren widder Gott. Dazu gehet uns die wellt entgegen und wil uns nicht weichen noch uber lassen, so ligt uns unser eigen fleisch auff dem halse, Das wir doch allenthalben bedrenget sind und der weg an jm selbs so schmal ist, das on das muehe gnug were, wenn sonst gleich keine fahr und hindernis were, Noch mussen wir da hindurch odder der wellt und dem Teuffel zu teil werden.’

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Figure 1.1 An illust rated version of the Tale of Tondalo (Von Tondalo dem Ritt er aus Hyber nia, Augsburg, fi ft eenth century),

showing the knight’s soul above the dragons. Courtesy of SLUB Dresden. htt p://digital.slub-dresden.de/id478097190

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Suevus mentions only Jesus Christ. There is no reference to purgatory or other Catholic elements which featured in other versions of the story. Just as images and rituals could be stripped of Catholic elements, so too could popular stories. The fact that Suevus used a hymn to relate this tale is equally significant. As he stated in other parts of the same work, music was a crucial aspect of Lutheranism, helping people remember important elements of their faith. The hymn had the same tune as ‘Salvation Now Has Come for All’ (‘Es ist das Heyl vns kommen her’), by Paul Speratus and part of the first Lutheran hymnal, the Achtliederbuch (1524).55 The text of the original hymn contains allusions to important elements of Lutheran theology, such as salvation by grace. In the words of Scott Hendrix, the hymn ‘not only emphasizes justification by faith alone but it also underlines the vitality of that faith manifested in service to others’.56 Suevus wanted to show the Lutheran nature of his hymn by using the tune, but the story of Tondalo was one that was closely linked to medieval Catholicism and pre-Reformation devotion. This song also indicates that music was a matter of personal importance for Suevus. He was an active composer of hymns and advised town councils to ensure a good musical education for the young. The first letters of each verse of the hymn spell his name (see Figure 1.2) as an acrostic, linking him clearly to the hymn he had composed and underscoring his skill and desire for recognition as a hymn writer. The hymn also suited Suevus’s purposes, as it was about the journey of a soul, a spiritual movement Figure 1.2 Sigismund Suevus, Geistliche Wallfahrt oder Pilgerschaft, similar to his Spiritual Pilgrimage. Just as he unpag., ‘A Song of the Christians’ Struggle and Knighthood‘ (‘Ein transformed Tondalo into a Lutheranised Gesang von der Christen Streit und Ritterschafft’). Bayerische framework, so too the whole pilgrimage was Staatsbibliothek München, Mor.1299e, urn:nbn:de:bvb:12-bsb11081885-8. cast into Lutheran terms.

55 56

The text was also used by Johann Sebastian Bach for a church cantata composed between 1732 and 1735. S. H. Hendrix, Early Protestant Spirituality (Mahwah, 2009), pp. 182–5.

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Crucially, Suevus's hymn on Tondalo did not contain many of the elements most commonly associated with Catholic songs newly penned in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries for use by pilgrims. Most importantly, there was no ‘propagandistic … intent’ as in many of the pilgrimage songs discussed by Alex Fisher for biconfessional Augsburg.57 The propagandistic function of Lutheran songs has been discussed by Rebecca Wagner Oettinger, who showed that song ‘made the teachings of Luther accessible to a broad audience while spreading subversive criticism of Catholicism’.58 Suevus’s song was far less contentious than others composed in this time. It was less critical of Catholicism than many Lutheran songs, and in contrast to many of the overtly propagandistic songs studied by Oettinger, it was also not as immediately identifiable as being Lutheran, instead tapping into a pre-existing popular story and using it to illustrate more general aspects of being a pious person. Conclusion Even as he drew on pre-existing medieval models of ritualised devotion, Sigismund Suevus sought to rid pilgrimages of Catholic ‘superstitions’, but was, arguably, only partially successful. This reflects a broader pattern of musical change after the Reformation, in which change was frequently slow, with some changes only becoming more pronounced or apparent later in the sixteenth century.59 As the main cleric of Lauban, a regionally significant town, Suevus was charged with the task of ensuring the spread of orthodox Lutheran beliefs. The heterodox beliefs of councils and preachers, supposedly the enforcers of Lutheranism, reveal the practical difficulties, as well as the motivations, of converting Catholic practices into Lutheran ones. Suevus recognised the importance of music in Lutheranising Catholic rituals in a pluriconfessional environment. The wide association of pilgrimage with Catholicism meant that his Lutheran spiritual pilgrimage had to be sufficiently distanced from the musical cultures of Catholicism. Using a pilgrimage site in a Lutheran town as the focus of a spiritual pilgrimage, which referred both to traditional, biblical authorities and Lutheran Reformers, might suggest that Suevus struggled to convert his pilgrimage into an entirely Lutheran affair. Distancing himself from both Catholics and Zwinglians in regard to music, he hoped to lay his beliefs bare to his readers about the importance of music, but also that his were orthodox Lutheran beliefs. It was not a straightforward process to convert a ritual such as pilgrimage, so deeply engrained in Catholicism, into a Lutheran activity. Many factors were involved in this process. It required a Lutheran theologian willing to tap into a Catholic tradition, an audience which did not object to the teachings, and urban dignitaries who supported them. However, as the case of Suevus shows, especially in pluriconfessional regions,

57 58 59

Fisher, Music and Religious Identity, p. 264. R. W. Oettinger, Music as Propaganda in the German Reformation (London and New York, 2001), pp. 15–16. R. A. Leaver, ‘The Reformation and Music’, in James Haar (ed.), European Music 1520–1640 (Woodbridge, 2006), pp. 371–401.

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the Reformation did not always lead to an abrupt break with medieval Catholicism. Even Lutheran theologians continued to foster devotion with links to Catholicism. Civic pride, religious pragmatism and the wish of Suevus to promote Lutheranism all played a part in the way he interpreted music and pilgrimages. There are a range of reasons why Suevus would have chosen to continue to promote a former Catholic pilgrimage site and establish Lutheranism using stories popular amongst medieval Catholics. Finding an explanation for Suevus’s interpretation is made all the more difficult by the fact that there are hardly any indications about the use of the Holy Sepulchre when he was writing. Whether Catholics continued to use the site in a Catholic manner, for example, is not possible to ascertain at the moment. It is possible that Suevus was not keen to attack Catholics in the town too openly in order to avoid conflict, both with the few remaining Catholics and with the King of Bohemia. But there are indications that he was willing to break with the townspeople for the sake of doctrine. In April 1573, a young man from Lauban drank so much fortified wine (‘Branntwein’) that he ‘had to die there and then’.60 Suevus refused to give a Christian burial to the drunkard and instead buried him without procession, funeral hymns or the ringing of bells, and placed the grave just in front of the city gate, an incident which led to Suevus’s dismissal. Therefore, Suevus was not necessarily someone to compromise theological doctrine in order to maintain urban peace. Additionally, the Catholics were a clear minority during Suevus’s tenure and it is unlikely (though not impossible) that the King of Bohemia would have intervened decisively, should Suevus have openly attacked the pilgrimage site. It is more likely that Suevus saw genuine benefits in the kind of pilgrimage he advocated. This was not, as he stressed, a pilgrimage for saintly intercession. To Suevus, some elements of pilgrimage were useful and redeemable, something which was underscored by the fact that many of his other writings display an inward-looking spirituality similar to what he advocated with spiritual pilgrimage. In spite of Luther’s condemnation of pilgrimages, this preacher cultivated his own version of Lutheranism, a version that included a kind of pilgrimage incorporating Lutheran music and the additional aural stimuli that accompanied it. By Lutheranising aspects of medieval devotion, Suevus converted elements of Catholicism and reordered them to fit a Lutheran cultural framework.61 Suevus distanced himself from the Catholic Church, both by explicitly criticising its practices and by ensuring that anything he mentioned was in line with Lutheran teachings. At the same time, through this process of conversion, Suevus maintained connections with the very thing he was distancing himself from, because many of the aspects he worked with were steeped in medieval, Catholic tradition. Suevus’s work shows the interconnectedness of confessional

60 61

Dietmann, Priesterschaft, p. 495: ‘auf der Stelle sterben müssen’. On Lutheran confessional cultures, see K. Hill (ed.), Cultures of Lutheranism: Reformation Repertoires in Early Modern Germany (Oxford, 2017); T. Kaufmann, A. Schubert and K. von Greyerz (eds.), Frühneuzeitliche Konfessionskulturen (Heidelberg, 2008).

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communities. Even when something was Lutheran, it still contained traces of Catholicism, and even when a text was written in the early modern period, it was still influenced by medieval practices. �

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Appendix:

‘Ein Gesang von der Christen Streit und Ritterschafft’

The text has been modernied in order to make it easier to read. This is particularly relevant for ‘v’, ‘u’ and ‘w’; ‘i’ and ‘j’; and ‘s’, ‘ss’ and ‘ß’, all of which have been changed to correspond with modern spellings. Sigismund Suevus, Geistliche Wallfarth oder Pilgerschafft zum heiligen Grabe: nemlich der Christen Glauben, Lehr und Leben; mit schönen Sprüchen ... erkleret (Görlitz: Fritsch, 1573). Signature: Regensburg, Staatliche Bibliothek -- 999/Asc.147. Another copy of the 1573 edition is held at the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, and a copy of the 1585 edition is in the Forschungsbibliothek, Gotha. Unpaginated [pp. 204–7] Ein Gesang von der Christen Streit und Ritterschafft / Im Thon: Es ist das Heyl uns kommen her / etc. S Sehr fein wird uns der Christen Standt / I In Gottes Wort beschrieben. G Gar manchem Christen wol bekandt / I Im ellend umbgetrieben. S So giebt desselben auch bericht / M Manch schönes Bild und sein Gedicht / V Von Tondalo dem Ritter. N Nur schmal und fehrlich ist der Steig / D Den Tondalus mus wandern / V Und stecken im gleich an den Weg / S. Schermesser eins am andern. S Sicht unter im ein tieffe Lach / U Und wie in will ein grosser Trach / E Erschnappen und verschlingen. V Und hat darzu ein schwere Last / U Umb seine Schuldern hangen / S. So kömpt im auch ein frembder Gast / Gleich an den Weg gegangen. Das alles bringt im angst und pein /

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Doch mus es uberwunden sein / So er will Ritter werden. Also wird uns beschrieben sein / Der frommen Christen Leben / Die müssen hie auff Erden sein / Mit mancher not umbgeben / Der schmale Weg bestecket ist / Mit mancher Sünd und arge list / Daran sich viel verletzen. Der Hellsche Trach zu aller Stundt / Sich höchlich thut befleissen / Das er uns mög mit seinem Schlundt / Erhaschen und zureissen. Er schleicht umbher und feyert nicht / Gleich wie ein Lew und Bösewicht / Gantz listig / starck und schwinde. Die schwere Bürd / ist fleisch und Blut / Thut uns gar hertzlich krencken / Es liebt in böses und kein gut / Und will uns gar versencken. Ja wenns gleich ist der beste Christ / Dennoch im solches beschwerlich ist / So lang er lebt auff Erden. Die arge Welt / der frembde Gast / Tritt uns in Weg entgegen / Und lest uns weder rhu noch rast / Thut uns zur Sünd bewegen. Wer aber tapffer widersteht / Auff rechter Bahn strack für sich geht / Der mus sich weidlich leiden. Wir müssen manchen Sturm und Streit / Erwarten hie auff Erden / Durch Trübsal und durch traurigkeit / Gar wol probieret werden. Das alles macht uns bang und weh / Doch schaw ein jeder das er steh / Und sich nicht las abschrecken.

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So sey ein jeder angethan / Mit Wehren und mit Waffen / Sanct Paulum mügt ir sprechen an / Der wird euch Rüstung schaffen. Er wird euch zeigen manchen ort / Viel schöne Sprüch aus Gottes Wort / Gantz scharff damit zufechten. Wer sich auff Gott verlassen kann / Und seinen Worten trawen / Der ist ein werder Kriegesman / Darff im nicht lassen grawen / Denn Jhesus Christus allezeit / Sehr bey im auff der rechten seit / Und hilfft im uberwinden. Herbey all die ir Christum kennt / Greifft nur getrost zu Wehre / Halt fest am Wort uns Sacrament / Mit Beten / Trost und Lehre / So werden wir im Kampf bestahn / Davon groß Gut und Ehre han / Das helff uns Christus / amen. Adversus res est animus firmandus ad omnes. Pugna, dolor, vitaa hac, perpetusq[ue] labor. Allhier in diesem Jammerthal / Jst müh und arbeit uberal. Drumb nur getrost / und unverzagt / Wol dem / der es auff Christum wagt. �

43

2. Catholicising the City: Music, Ritual and Identity in Sixteenth-Century Córdoba Iain Fenlon �

Richard Ford, the distinguished British Hispanist and indefatigable explorer of the Iberian Peninsula, took a dismal view of Córdoba. In the first edition of his Handbook for Travellers in Spain, first published in London in 1845, he advised the visitor that ‘the city is soon seen. This Athens under the Moor is now a poor Boeotian place … a day will amply suffice for everything. The interior of the once splendid bishop’s palace is all dirt, decay, and gilding, marble and whitewash; ostentatious poverty.’1 In his account of the Cathedral, fashioned out of the eighth-century Mezquita, Ford adopts a more positive tone, inevitably reserving his most enthusiastic words for the spectacular Mihrab set against the southern wall, which is ‘unequalled in Europe, and has a truly Byzantine richness’.2 Similar views were held by George Borrow, Ford’s sometime friend, who had spent some years travelling in Spain in the late 1830s in the service of the Bible Society. ‘Little can be said with respect to the town of Cordoba’, he wrote: which is a dark, gloomy place, full of narrow streets and alleys, without squares or public buildings worthy of attention, save and except its far-famed cathedral … As it at present exists, the temple appears to belong partly to Mahomet, and partly to the Nazarene; and though this jumbling together of massive Gothic architecture with the light and delicate style of the Arabians produced an effect somewhat bizarre, it still remains a magnificent and glorious edifice, and well calculated to excite feelings of awe and veneration within the bosom of those who enter it.3

For these writers, with their firmly established Protestant perspectives, the ‘narrow streets and alleys’ (which nonetheless the Scottish artist David Roberts found charming) simply represented the decadence to be expected of a Catholic country in decline, and, while the monuments of the Spanish siglo de oro had evidently fallen into desuetude, the glories of the Islamic past were still to be admired.4 It is a past with a long and intricate history. Some years after the Muslim conquest of Córdoba in 711, the capital of Al-Andalus was transferred there from Seville; the pro-

1

2 3 4

The following abbreviations are used in this chapter: ACCO, Archivo de la Catedral de Córdoba; AMCO, Archivo Municipal de Córdoba. In addition to the staffs of both these archives, I would like to thank Luis Pedro Bedmar Estrada, Matthew Laube, Alana Mailes, Maria José de la Torre Molina, and the librarians of the British Library, Cambridge University Library and the Biblioteca Nacional de España. R. Ford, A Handbook for Travellers in Spain, and Readers at Home; Describing the Country and the Cities, the Natives and their Manners, the Antiquities, Religion, Legends, Fine Arts, Literature, Sports, and Gastronomy; With Notices on Spanish History, 2 vols. (London, 1845), I, p. 298. Ibid., p. 300. G. Borrow, The Bible in Spain: Or, the Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsular (London, 1904), pp. 238–9. D. Roberts, Picturesque Sketches in Spain, Taken during ye Years 1832–1833 (London, 1837).

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ject to erect a new and splendid mosque, on a site which during the Visigothic period had originally been occupied by an episcopal complex dedicated to St Vincent of Lérins, was elaborated a couple of decades later at the instigation of the exiled Umayyad Prince Abd al-Rahman I (731–88), who adopted as his model the earliest Islamic mosques.5 Founder of a Muslim dynasty that had governed most of Iberia for some 300 years, Abd al-Rahman ordered building to begin in about 785.6 The construction of the Great Mosque of Córdoba proceeded in four distinct phases, the earliest of which developed an arcaded hypostyle hall, articulated by columns of jasper, onyx, marble and granite; these had been largely salvaged from the remains of a Roman temple, together with other elements brought from more distant ancient sites, including the Roman amphitheatre of Mérida in Extremadura. While the distinctive alternating red and white voussoirs of the double arches of Abd al-Rahman’s mosque, a novel feature which allowed a higher ceiling to be added, were evidently inspired by those of the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, the overall conception also owes much to the Great Mosque of Damascus, a building which he certainly knew. The building was further enlarged to the south by Abd al-Rahman II (822–52) who ordered a new minaret, and then with a second addition by his successor Al-Hakam II (961–76). The political and religious iconography of the interior decoration of this third phase of construction involved the elaboration of a new visual language designed to reflect the exigencies of the regime, as well as taking account of ritual requirements and the desire to legitimise the caliphate (see Figure 2.1). The Great Mosque of Córdoba was finally completed with a fourth expansion by Almanzor in 987–8 (see Figure 2.4). Situated at the heart of the city, the Mezquita remained as the central focus of the civic and religious life of Córdoba until the city was conquered by Ferdinand III of Castile in 1236, in pursuit of a military and diplomatic campaign to expand his dominions into southern Spain as part of the continuing ‘Reconquista’. Following a standard pattern, the city’s mosques were demolished as part of the process of Christianisation, and parish churches and other ecclesiastical institutions constructed on the same sites.7 Beginning during the reign of Ferdinand III, who at the Reconquista had founded four religious houses for men, the city became home for a number of monastic orders, both established and recently founded. These included the Augustinians, Dominicans and Cistercians, and a convent of the Poor Clares for women. As a result of the late medieval reform of the orders, no fewer than three new Franciscan monasteries were founded, together with the Jeronymite house of San Jerónimo de Valparaíso. Much of the impetus for these foundations came from the local nobility, who, together with the Church, controlled the economy through land ownership. Eager to demonstrate their piety, power and wealth, as well as securing a down-payment on salvation, the Cordoban aristocracy constructed on an unprecedented scale, and by the beginning of the sixteenth century 5 6 7

S. Calvo Capilla, Las mezquitas de al-Andalus (Almeria, 2014), pp. 51–9. For the most recent summary account, see ibid., pp. 559–61. Ibid., pp. 561–83.

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Figure 2.1 Córdoba, Mezquita-Catedral, interior looking south.

the devotional topography was articulated by a dense web of institutions which included charitable hospitals, monasteries, convents and the fifteen parish churches of the city, which were more or less equally divided between the Medina (the main religious, trading and administrative quarter to the north of the Cathedral) and the Ajarquía to the east. One consequence of this dramatic development was that the Great Mosque was now converted into a church. Gradually, chapels and other Christian architectural and decorative elements were added to the building, notably with the construction of the Royal Chapel, built and decorated with elaborate Moorish plasterwork in the Mudejar style in 1371–2 to accommodate the bodies of the Castilian monarchs Fernando IV and his son Alfonso XI. Shortly afterwards, a chapel was inserted between the entrance to Al-Hakam’s extension and the western wall of the building; this, which effectively constituted a narrow nave, occupied the first three sections of its five westernmost aisles, but this did not involve any disturbance of the existing architecture, and for the time being the building retained its Muslim appearance both internally and externally. Although, by the time of the Catholic Monarchs, Córdoba had been under Christian control for more than 200 years, the appearance of the city, dominated by the mosque, still dramatically proclaimed its Moorish past (see Figure 2.2). The monumental Alcázar of the caliphate in the south-western quarter of the Medina had been transformed into a royal residence by Ferdinand III; in the late fifteenth century, it passed into the hands of the Inquisition. South of the tenth-century Puerta de Almodóvar, the old Moorish ramparts, re-modelled in the fourteenth century, still extended as far as the Campo Santo

47

Theatres of Belief

de los Martires, venerated as the site of the martyrdom of forty-eight Christian martyrs executed in the ninth century.8 These visible symbols of the past were surpassed by the splendours of the mosque.

Figure 2.2 Córdoba, from Braun and Hogenberg, Théatre des principales villes de tout l’univers, VI (= Civitates orbis terrarum), 1625.

On the basis of a fiscal census of 1530, the population of Córdoba then stood at approximately 28,000 people.9 During the following decades this increased dramatically, rising to a peak in the 1570s and 1580s, largely as a result of immigration from Galicia and the Asturias. Following the plague of 1582–3, the population began a slow process of decline, accentuated by a further serious epidemic of 1601–3.10 Overwhelmingly Christian in character, particularly after the expulsions of 1492, the sixteenth-century city still contained Muslim and Jewish communities. Although much diminished in size, the two populations continued to exist, though not always amiably, throughout the sixteenth century, many having opted to become New Christians. Memories of past conflicts, such as the violent 8 9

10

J. A. Coope, The Martyrs of Córdoba: Community and Family Conflict in an Age of Mass Conversion (Lincoln, NE, and London, 1995). M. D. Puchol Caballero, Urbanismo del renacimiento en la ciudad de Córdoba (Córdoba, 1992), pp. 13–15. The 1530 census records 6,283 vecinos (citizens). The size of the urban population can be extrapolated from that figure by using a co-efficient of 4.5 members in each household; see E. Cabrera Muñoz, ‘Tierras realengas y tierras de señorío a fines de la Edad Media. Distribución geográfica y niveles de población’, in Andalucía Medieval, I (Córdoba, 1978), pp. 295–308, at pp. 296–7. J. Aranda Doncel, Historia de Córdoba, III: La época moderna (1517–1808) (Córdoba, 1984), pp. 30–3.

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

incident in 1473 when a procession carrying an image of the Virgin was allegedly drenched in water (or worse) by a young conversa, and riots followed, were still strong.11 There were still 4,628 moriscos in Córdoba in 1571, at a time when the number for Andalusia as a whole has been estimated at 30,000 (with the largest concentration in Seville).12 Although the Christian city was much smaller in both area and population than its Muslim predecessor, it nonetheless housed a wide range of commercial and artisanal trades, much of which was dependent upon surplus agricultural production, particularly in silk manufacture, so that by that year the population of the city had expanded to about 54,000. As a result of bad harvests, plague and the expulsions of the moriscos, decline then set in, and by 1591 there were only about 25,000 residents in the city. Of these, some 4,000 were nuevos cristianos, a group that expanded as a result of the expulsion from Granada in 1569.13 The morisco population of Córdoba was effectively finally eliminated in 1609–10 when, of the 18,471 who were embarked at Seville, mostly for a passage to North Africa (in particular Ceuta and Tangier, though some were taken to France and Italy), about 5,000–6,000 were from the province of Córdoba.14 Daily life revolved around the Medina, which functioned as the principal trading quarter as well as the focal point of devotional practice. Here, there were few medieval buildings of any size or significance apart from the Cathedral, which occupies a dominant position north of the river at a point spanned by a Roman bridge. This, together with the adjoining customs post, constituted the main entrance to the city from the south, while north of the Cathedral complex a system of arterial streets, unchanged since the caliphate, connected the town gates to the central area. Immediately to the east, in the parish of St Mary, lay the main commercial quarter, the Ajarquía, which was served by four gates that were shut at night, once the traders had left. This consisted of about 100 shops and workshops, mostly rented by artisans and shopkeepers dealing in luxury goods such as cloth, silk and shoes, with each trade usually concentrated in a single street.15 The slaughter of livestock and the sale of meat took place nearby, as well as in a number of other parishes and in the Plaza de la Corredera where the slaughterhouse belonged to the Cathedral, as did many of the properties in the Ajarquía itself. The Plaza also housed the offices of the corregidor and the city gaol; to these administrative and judicial functions were added the activities of the Inquisition, who staged their notorious autos-da-fé in the square. Except for parish churches and a handful of palaces, the urban texture was largely made up of an intricate network of narrow streets and alleyways lined with ordinary dwellings and shops, punctuated by secluded courtyards. In appearance, the Medina still 11 12 13 14

15

T. Delaney, Enemies in the Plaza: Urban Spectacle and Spanish Frontier Culture, 1460–1492 (Philadelphia, 2015), Ch. 4. H. Lapeyre, Géographie de l’Espagne morisque (Paris, 1959), pp. 127, 149–50. J. I. Fortea Pérez, Córdoba en el siglo XVI: Las bases demográficas y económicas de una expansión urbana (Córdoba, 1981), especially pp. 331–4 and the conclusions on pp. 471–5. Lapeyre, Géographie de l’Espagne morisque, pp. 152–3; M. Boeglin, ‘La expulsión de los moriscos de Andalucía y sus límites. El caso de Sevilla (1610–1613)’, Cuadernos de Historia Moderna, 36 (2011), pp. 89–107, at pp. 92–3, gives a figure of 3,600 from Córdoba itself. J. Edwards, Christian Córdoba: The City and its Region in the Late Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1982), pp. 102–4.

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Hernan Ruiz I, Hospital de San Sebastian, Córdoba (1512-16), entrance. Chromolithograh by Francisco Javier Parcerisa from Recuerdos y bellezas de España (Madrid, 1855).

Figure 2.3

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

presented the essential features of the Islamic city, and it was only in the course of the sixteenth century that some of the most characteristic aspects of the old capital of Al-Andalus began to be modified. Close to the mosque, the Hospital de San Sebastiano (Figure 2.3) was constructed with elaborate Gothic detailing between 1513 and 1516, to designs by Hernan Ruiz I, the first in a dynasty of three generations of a family of architects who worked in Córdoba; and later in the century, the Puerta de Santa Catalina, which leads out of the Patio de las Naranjas, was completed in full Renaissance style by his son, and the bell tower, based on Serlian features, was added to the old Arab minaret. Elsewhere in the Medina, the Palacio de los Paez de Castillijo was spectacularly completed by Hernan Ruiz II with an imposing Renaissance doorway modelled on the Roman triumphal arch.16 While undoubtedly the most splendid example in the city of aristocratic patronage of the new Italianate style in palace-building, it was not alone; among others is the Palacio de los Villones in the Ajarquía, which the same architect finished with a classicising portal.17 For some of the Cordoban nobility, which constituted only a small percentage of the population, such displays of status had become increasingly necessary.18 During the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, the appointment of corregidores (originally arbitrators whose function was to take control of local governmental structures in cases of dispute or disorder) became firmly established throughout Andalusia as a way of consolidating the influence of the Crown. As with the centralising effects of episcopal appointments, the intention was to weaken the political domination of the Cordoban military aristocracy. In most cases, the holders of these posts were lawyers from the Crown administrative network, despatched to ensure close supervision of local government practices. The powers of the corregidor were extensive, with responsibility for any matter relating to the good governance of Córdoba and its surrounding territory. In practice, this could include altering or even removing local legislation, overseeing the correct election of public officials, ensuring that a local gaol was properly maintained and records kept of its inmates, and supervising many aspects of public health and well-being, from the cleanliness of the narrow streets and alleyways of the city to the working conditions in urban slaughterhouses and markets. In times of plague or food shortages, the Cordobans looked to the corregidor to take appropriate measures to alleviate distress. It was also incumbent upon him to make sure that roads, bridges and other essential features of the city’s infrastructure were kept in good condition, and that taxes were properly levied and collected. In short, it is clear from the legislative documentation that was drawn up on the appointment of each new holder of the post that, by the sixteenth century, the role had been transformed from one of occasional arbitration in cases where the actions of local officials had proved to be unsatisfactory, to that of principal representative of the Crown.19 Symbolically resident in the Plaza de la Corredera, close to the city gaol, the corregidor was the ultimate embodiment of 16 17 18 19

A. de la Banda y Vargas, Hernan Ruiz II (Seville, 1975), p. 40. Ibid., pp.41–2. For an analysis, see Aranda Doncel, Historia de Córdoba, III, pp. 35–48. Edwards, Christian Córdoba, pp. 28–34.

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royal authority, and the square itself now functioned as an administrative nucleus which embodied the juridical power of the state. If the growing control of the Crown was one feature of local power structures, another was the importance that the Church had come to exert in the lives of ordinary citizens. As a major landowner, and significant consumer of much that was produced by the workers of Córdoba, the presence of the Church, and particularly the Cathedral, was keenly felt by many, if only in terms of rents and taxes.20 This was equally true for the inhabitants of the Guadalquivir valley, which included fertile land, and particularly in the campiña, an extensive area of arable territory lying to the south of Córdoba which stretched as far as the Sierras. According to Hernando Colón’s Itinerario, oranges, lemons and other fruits were grown in huertas around the city, and there were vineyards to the west and north, while the campiña itself was largely given over to grain production.21 In these areas outside the city walls, some seven farms, together with a share of a number of grain mills in Castro del Rio, were owned by the chapter. Meanwhile the bishop’s household, which was administered separately, collected tithes and rents from properties both within and without the city walls. While, on the one hand, the bishop was able to live as a wealthy member of the landowning elite, on a par with his main aristocratic counterparts, many Cordobans found themselves in some sort of legal and financial relationship with the Church.22 Nonetheless, to some extent, the power of the Cathedral was illusory. Although economically and politically powerful in a local context, the Cathedral was of medium size in contemporary terms. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, the establishment consisted of eight senior ecclesiastics, including the dean, chancellor, prior and treasurer, together with thirty-eight major or minor canons and thirteen chaplains who officiated in the various chantries within the Cathedral. By way of comparison, Seville Cathedral was served by eighty canons in the same period.23 The first substantial change to the internal architecture of the Cathedral took place in the final decades of the fifteenth century, when a larger chapel, which took the form of a spacious Gothic nave articulated by pillars supporting pointed transversal arches bearing a gabled wooden ceiling, was constructed. Designed for everyday enactment of the liturgy, this survives as a chapel dedicated to the Virgin of the nearby village of Villaviciosa, whose cult, a prominent feature of the devotional life of the Cathedral during the early modern period, was strengthened during the final decades of the century. The construction of this

20 21

22 23

Aranda Doncel, Historia de Córdoba, III, pp. 48–51. The original manuscript of Colón’s Itinerario is in the Biblioteca Columbina in Seville (MS BB 148-27); see A. Blásquez y Delgado-Aguilera, El itinerario de Fernando Colón y las relaciones topográficas (Madrid, 1904), and his edition of the text issued in parts in the Boletín de la Real Sociedad Geográfica between 1904 and 1908, and as the Descripción y cosmografía de España por Hernando Colón (Seville, 1910). For further details, see E. Wilson-Lee, The Catalogue of Shipwrecked Books: Young Columbus and the Quest for a Universal Library (London, 2018), pp. 179–88. For the geography of the hinterland, see Edwards, Christian Córdoba, pp. 1–6 and Map 1. Edwards, Christian Córdoba, pp. 166–7. Ibid., p. 165.

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substantial chapel was the result of the initiative of Bishop Iñigo Manrique de Lara (1485– 96), a lawyer who presided over the audiencia of Valladolid and, in consequence, spent little time in Córdoba during his ten-year episcopate. Significantly, he was both an outsider and a servant of the Crown. Following the death of Don Pedro de Solier in 1476, the next seven appointments to the see were all in royal service, a pattern which illustrates the effectiveness of the influence of the Catholic Monarchs, who exercised considerable influence over papal investitures to high-ranking ecclesiastical offices in Castile and Aragon. While, on the one hand, their policy may have weakened the grip of local aristocratic elites over control of the diocese, it does not seem to have produced an increased commitment to pastoral care.24 On the other hand, it inaugurated a period in which important changes were made to the operations of music and liturgy within the Cathedral walls, motivated in part by the objective of reinforcing the bonds between the Church and the Crown, a process which culminated in the radical decision to construct a choir and nave inside the mosque. The construction of the Gothic nave during the episcopate of Iñigo Manrique was part of a lengthy process that was directed at the re-organisation of liturgical space within the building. It was as part of this project that a magisterial sequence of more than eighty illuminated liturgical codices was commissioned, during the episcopates of Juan Rodríguez Fonseca (1499–1504) and his immediate successor Juan Daza y Osorio (1505– 10), who immediately after his time in Córdoba was transferred to Palencia as bishop and was subsequently nominated as president of the Commission of the Indias.25 The political connections of Fonseca and Daza are symbolised in the physical characteristics of the manuscripts themselves, and particularly in the illuminated decorations of their title-pages; the first book in the sequence carries the coat-of-arms of Philip I of Castile together with those of Fonseca, and the other thirty-eight books produced as a result of Fonseca’s commission display his hatchment as well as those of the Catholic Monarchs, together with an explanatory inscription recording his munificence.26 To this corpus a further forty-seven volumes were added during the five years of Daza y Osorio’s mandate, all of which are professionally copied and illuminated, with the royal coat-of-arms and those of the bishop displayed in harmonious counterpoint following the same model.27 Although this central corpus of chant manuscripts remained in use throughout the sixteenth century, it was also subject to the Nuevo Rezado introduced as part of the post-Tridentine reform of the liturgy. Certainly they continued to be prized, and in 1601 money was devoted to maintaining the cleanliness of the choir and looking after the chant manuscripts.28 By the time that they were inventoried as part of the arrangements made during the pastoral visit

24 25 26

27 28

Ibid., pp. 174–5. M. Alcocer Martinez, Don Juan Rodriguez de Fonseca: Etudio critico-biográfico (Valladolid, 1926), pp. 17–18. ‘Catholicis ac perinde potentissimis regibus Ferdinando et diva Elisabeth sceptri Hispani habenas fauste regentibus amplissimus Johannes Roderici cognomento Fonseca regali sacelli prefectus ac presul Cordubensis hos codices ad usum Ecclesiae ex eius fabrica sedulo faciendos curavit.’ M. Nieto Cumplido, La miniatura en la Catedral de Córdoba (Córdoba, 1973), pp. 99–104. ACCO, ‘Actas 34’, fols. 209v–210v (30 October 1601).

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of the Visitor General in April 1629, some eighty-two volumes were listed, according to liturgical categories broadly divided into music for Mass and Vespers, of which almost half contain Mass chants.29 It was just over a decade later that the most radical change to Abd al-Rahman’s scheme was carried out, when the bishop and chapter found royal support for the erection of a Christian nave and transept, including choirstalls, within the heart of the building (Figure 2.4). This entailed demolition of a central section of the mosque along an East– West trajectory, drastically affecting parts of the later extensions of Abd al-Rahman II and Almanzor, a move that was bitterly opposed by the city council but had the support of Charles V; building began in September 1523 under the supervision of the architect Hernan Ruiz I. On a visit to Córdoba three years later, the Emperor is reputed to have repented, and to have upbraided the architect with the words: ‘I did not know what it was, or I would not have allowed the old part to be touched; you do what it is possible to do, but you have undone what was unique in the world. You have pulled down what was complete, and you have begun what you cannot finish.’30 As might be expected at this date, the decorative elements display a mixture of styles, with Gothic vaulting above the transept and classicising pilasters and other elements influenced by Italian example elsewhere. The work, which clearly had important ramifications for the choreography of processions and the celebration of Mass and Vespers, and the performance of polyphony, within the building, was not finally completed until 1607. Little is known of the operations of the liturgy in the first two centuries immediately after the conversion of the Great Mosque. The earliest surviving Cathedral statutes of 1430 refer to a sochantre and the teaching of chant, as well as to the recruitment of chaplains with good voices to sing in the choir, but otherwise little is known.31 Some of the chapter may have been skilled in practical music, but there is no indication among the titles of the surviving volumes in the capitular library of any interest in music as a branch of scientific knowledge, not even via Boethius.32 There are indications that members of the chapter owned private libraries, and that they borrowed books and manuscripts, but, apart from liturgical texts used for Cathedral services, none of these contained music.33 The decision to construct the choirstalls and the high altar in the new transept seems to have inaugurated a new phase of activity, and in 1525 the duties of the chapelmaster were officially established; these included the teaching of plainchant, polyphony and counterpoint to all

29

30 31

32 33

F. J. Lara Lara, ‘La música litúrgica monódica en la Catedral de Córdoba en el siglo XVI’, Revista de Musicologia, 20 (1997), pp. 156–69. For the printed and manuscript books of polyphony recorded in the 1629 inventory, see Appendix 2.1, pp. 77–84 below. Ford, A Handbook for Travellers, p. 301. The first mention of the office of sochantre is from 1362; for an overview of the history of musical provision in the Cathedral, see Manuel Nieto Cumplido, ‘La música en la Catedral de Córdoba (1236–1577)’, in J. M. Moreno Calderón (ed.), El patrimonio histórico-musical de Córdoba (Cordoba, n.d.), pp. 59–116. A. García y García, F. Cantelar Rodríguez and M. Nieto Cumplido, Catálogo de los manuscritos e incunables de la Catedral de Córdoba (Salamanca, 1976), pp. 331–586. Edwards, Christian Córdoba, pp. 175–6.

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Bell tower

Courtyard of the Oranges

Capilla Mayor

Villaviciosa Chapel

Córdoba, Mezquita-Catedral, groundplan showing the location of the Capilla Mayor within the Mesquita, whose construction progressed in phases from south of the courtyard to terminate with the fi nal easterly extension. Created by Américo Toledano, licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International.

Figure 2.4

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benefice-holders, chaplains, sacristans and altar boys who wished to learn.34 From at least 1533, an ensemble of ministriles was employed to augment the capilla, an early example of a practice which was gradually adopted in other Spanish cathedrals.35 Among composers of note, Cristóbal de Morales was briefly chapelmaster between March 1532 and October 1533, while Rodrigo de Ceballos held the post from 1557 until 1561, when he left to take up a similar position at the Royal Chapel in Granada. It was during the intermediate period, when Alonso de Vieras was chapelmaster, that instructions were given for the copying of a new ceremonial in which ‘se asentase y escrivise todas las ceremonias y reglas’ for the operations of the liturgy.36 In 1563, the bishop of Córdoba, Cristóbal de Rojas y Sandoval, the most effective reforming bishop of the entire century, established new statutes which not only confirmed the duties of the sochantre but also specified the permanent positions of chapelmaster, two boys able to sing polyphony, one tiple, one contralto, one tenor, one bass, an organist and four instrumentalists. The duties of the chapelmaster as outlined in these new arrangements included the care and instruction of the choirboys, with one hour of musical instruction on the mornings of the days when the singers were not needed in the choir, and the composition of songs and villancicos for two of the most important feasts of the year, Christmas and Corpus Christi.37 Further re-organisation and expansion of the music chapel took place in 1574: provision was now made for eight singers, seven instrumentalists and two organists, and the increased importance of polyphonic music in the second half of the sixteenth century is further reflected in documentation dating from the mid-1580s, when thirteen chaplaincies were annexed to provide salaries for the cathedral musicians. In 1601, their duties were codified in much greater detail in a new set of constitutions which clearly indicates the importance of the performance of polyphony.38 These successive campaigns to modify the interior of the Mezquita radically and to embellish its liturgical services with music were influenced by developments elsewhere, and particularly by the example of Granada. There the decision to construct both a Royal Chapel and a Cathedral on the site of the city’s principal mosque followed shortly after the expulsions of 1492 and the completion of the Reconquista. From the beginning, the Capilla Real was conceived as a royal pantheon, in accordance with the will and testament of Isabella of Castile, drawn up on 13 September 1504. Under the direction of the royal architect Enrique de Egas, its design, which began to be realised in the following year, followed the plan of the Monastery of San Juan de los Reyes in Toledo, which had been originally planned as the mausoleum of the Catholic Monarchs. After the comple-

34 35 36 37 38

For a general overview, see J. R. Vázquez Lesmes, ‘La capilla de música de la catedral cordobesa’, Boletín de la Real Academía de Córdoba, de Ciencias, Bellas Letras y Nobles Artes, 57/110 (1986), pp. 113–41. ACCO, ‘Actas 10’, fol. 80v ; see Nieto Cumplido, ‘La música’, p. 77. Many later references in the ‘Actas capitolares’ indicate that the ministriles played during Vespers and Mass as well as in processions. ACCO, ‘Actas 13’, fols. 132–3. See Estatutos de la sancta yglesia cathedral de Cordova recopilados por el Illustrissimo y Reverendissimo Señor Don Fray Bernardo Frxnada Obispo de Cordoba (Antequera, 1577), fols. 10–11v. ACCO, ‘Constituciones y arreglamiento que deben observar el maestro de capilla, músicos y cantores de la santa yglesia de Córdova’, cap. 15 – unfoliated manuscript dated 1601 with additions up until 1790.

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tion of the chapel in 1521, their bodies were then transferred there from the Franciscan convent in the Alhambra. Meanwhile, beginning in 1523 when the first stone was laid, construction of Granada Cathedral began on an adjoining site.39 Musical arrangements, including the provision of liturgical polyphony, had always been intended. Shortly before her death, the queen made the first endowment in order to appoint thirteen chaplains and two chapel boys, charged with celebrating three Masses daily, two said and one sung, as well as the anniversaries of the deaths of the monarchs and the feast of All Saints.40 The music establishment expanded considerably in the early years, particularly as a result of Charles V’s foundation of twelve new chaplaincies in 1518, including four designated to be held by singers, while the constitutions drawn up in December 1526 specified an additional prebend for an organist.41 By this date, the musical profile of the Royal Chapel was higher than that of the Cathedral itself; thereafter, the rivalry between the two institutions was constant. Although the Chapel and the Cathedral remained separate institutions throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with their own chapelmasters, singers and organists, there are many examples of musicians moving from one to the other, and of the Cathedral borrowing musicians from the Capilla Real when required.42 In Córdoba, where polyphony was sung in the coro in the nave, the canons attached to the Royal Chapel were only required to sing chant. The more significant similarities relate to the increased size of the musical provision in both places, the expansion of the repertory with an emphasis on Spanish (including Portuguese) composers, the music published by the Typographia Regia, and the taste for larger-scale works which would have projected a heightened sense of sonic power in performance.43 The printed books and manuscripts listed in the 1629 inventory suggest that the polyphonic repertory of the Córdoba capilla as performed in the sixteenth century accumulated in a number of phases, beginning with the Liber quindecim missarum of 1516 – a collection that was widely distributed in Spain largely because of its music by Josquin – and then the Masses of Morales in the 1540s. Later acquisitions include music by Palestrina, Guerrero and Victoria, much as might be expected, supplemented with music by local composers, notably Jerónimo Durán de la Cueva, the longest-serving maestro de capilla (1567–1614).44 The many processions which marked significant days in the civic and devotional life of the city remained enclosed within the city walls and followed circumscribed routes, fea39 40

41

42 43 44

E. E. Rosenthal, The Cathedral of Granada: A Study in the Spanish Renaissance (Princeton, 1961), pp. 5–17. J. Ruíz Jiménez, ‘Patronazgo musical en la Capilla Real de Granada durante el siglo XVI. Los músicos prebendados’, in D. Crawford (ed.), Encomium Musicae: Essays in Honor of Robert J. Snow (Hillsdale, NJ, 2002), pp. 341–64, at pp. 343–4. Although a separate chaplaincy for the maestro di capilla was not established until 1550, one of the singers effectively held this position from 1518. The first official occupant of the post, Bernardino de Figueroa, was followed by Rodrigo de Ceballos (1561–81) and then Ambrosio Cotes (1581–96). J. López-Calo, La música en la Catedral de Granada en el siglo XVI, 2 vols. (Granada, 1963), I, pp. 44, 88, 117 and 165; and Ruíz Jiménez, ‘Patronazgo musical’, p. 363. For the repertory of Granada, see J. López-Calo, Catálago del Archivo de música de la Capilla Real de Granada, 2 vols. (Granada, 1993); and for Córdoba, Appendix 2.1, pp. 77–84 below. See Appendix 2.1, pp. 77–84 below.

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tures which distinguished them from the entries of royalty and important visitors, of which there were few, the most important being the reception of Philip II in 1570. During the sixteenth century, Córdoba was a city of many processions, organised by the Cathedral, the fifteen parish churches, and above all the many confraternities of the city – the latter came into particular prominence during Holy Week and on the feast of Corpus Christi.45 In general terms, the confraternities of Catholic Europe fall into three broad categories: sacramental brotherhoods that venerated the Eucharist, devotional ones that were dedicated to one of the saints or the Virgin, and penitential confraternities dedicated to a specific moment of Christ’s Passion. All three maintained an annual cycle of meetings and Masses held in private chapels or at side altars in local parish churches and monasteries, and most groups performed some acts of charity, among either their members or the poor. In Spain, penitential brotherhoods (with codified rule books and internal hierarchies) date from the fifteenth century and grew in number during the sixteenth.46 They were particularly popular components of public devotion in Andalusia, where the earliest penitential groups that performed acts of discipline and flagellation during Holy Week had been established. The involvement of the mendicant orders – which had long promoted special devotion to the Passion, the True Cross, and the blood of Christ – was an important component of their development. This emphasis is evident from the statues carried during the Holy Week processions in Córdoba – typically Christ carrying the cross, followed by the Mater Dolorosa.47 It was then that, from Palm Sunday until Easter Sunday, long processions of penitents carrying life-size statues processed through the streets in what was effectively both a re-enactment of Christ’s last journey and an act of public expiation. All confraternities were involved in some sort of charitable activity during this period, all took part in the Holy Week processions, and all participated in prayer for the souls of the dead.48 Flagellants wore short tunics open at the back to allow the flagelantes walking behind them, known as ‘blood brothers’, to administer the lashes. Any flagellant who fainted during this ordeal would be revived with a mixture of spices and boiled wine by one of the attendant confortadores on hand for the purpose; their very existence is a clear indication of the severity of the experience.49 The reforms of the Council of Trent contributed to the development of confraternities, and in 1562 it endorsed episcopal visitation of all pious organisations in order to control them more closely at local level. In Seville, Christóbal Rojas y Sandoval, formerly bishop of Córdoba, began to make a serious attempt to control the activities of the penitential confraternities (and particularly their processions), beginning with a Synod of 1575.50 During the second half of the sixteenth century, the public processional rituals of

45 46 47 48 49 50

For parish churches, see Aranda Doncel, Historia de Córdoba, III, pp. 51–2. W. Christian, Local Religion in Sixteenth-Century Spain (Princeton, 1981), Ch. 6; L. Martz, Poverty and Welfare in Spain: The Example of Toledo (Cambridge, 1983), pp. 164–5. For a similar phenomenon in Seville, see S. Verdi Webster, Art and Ritual in Golden-Age Spain: Sevillian Confraternities and the Processional Sculpture of Holy Week (Princeton, 1998). T. Mitchell, Passional Culture: Emotion, Religion and Society in Southern Spain (Philadelphia, 1990), p. 52. Ibid., pp. 41–2. Verdi Webster, Art and Ritual, p. 42.

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Holy Week were transformed from simple observance of an inherited form into a splendid display of almost Baroque theatrical dimensions.51 The most prominent of the Cordoban confraternities was the Cofradia de Caridad.52 Unlike a Cofradia de Pasión dedicated to the cult of the crucified Christ, or the Cofradia de Animas devoted to rituals for the departed, the Caridad was founded to be of benefit to the poor, largely through almsgiving, the building and organisation of hospitals, and the distribution of bread. Although most of the sixteenth-century cofradias drew their membership from all social classes, the Cofradias de Caridad were usually aristocratic in character. In Córdoba, the confraternity was placed under royal patronage by Ferdinand and Isabella, who were both cofrades, as were Charles V and Philip II, as well as six bishops, ten General Inquisitors, the Gran Capitán Gonzalo de Córdoba, and many of the local nobility. For more than 300 years, the Caridad sponsored its own hospital in the city.53 While the processions of Holy Week observed a strict sense of decorum, in keeping with its purpose as a re-enactment of Christ’s Passion and an opportunity for public expiation of sin, a combination of secular and sacred elements is characteristic of the processions that were held throughout Spain to mark the feast of Corpus Christi. This, which celebrated the fundamental concept of the Eucharist as the body of Christ, the most contentious issue that separated Luther and his followers from Catholic orthodoxy, became more intensively cultivated and controlled in the years after Trent. As in many other places, in Córdoba the feast day began with a Mass, followed by a procession that transported the recently consecrated wafer through the streets of the city. In this way, the message that it was through the crucifixion that universal salvation was to be obtained took on a local significance. Throughout Spain, it was common for several segments of the procession to parade figures, often gigantic and grotesque, accompanied by drinking and feasting, while others of a more devotional character were greeted by displays of piety. Here, the motivation was often didactic; Corpus Christi celebrations often incorporated autos sacramentales, plays whose principal purpose was to instruct the onlookers in the basic tenets of Catholicism.54 In addition to its devotional features, the main procession would sometimes be accompanied by dancers, who executed cascabeles, espadas, zapateados and other popular forms.55 Jesters and minstrels participated in the Corpus Christi procession in Daroca,56 while in Barcelona trumpeters, singers and string players were involved, as were a number of participants dressed as angels and Elders of the Apocalypse. The Barcelona procession also involved representations of figures and episodes from biblical and Church history; these lined the route, and possibly

51 52 53 54 55 56

ACCO, ‘Actas 21’, fol. 133 (7 March 1573), notes the decision that a canon, a racionero and the maestro de capilla should rehearse the Passions and Lamentations for the Office of Holy Week. For some of the others, see Aranda Doncel, Historia de Córdoba, III, p. 104. Mitchell, Passional Culture, p. 53; F. Gutiérrez, La semana santa en Córdoba (Madrid, 1978), pp. 152–3. P. Ramos López, ‘Música y autorrepresentación en las procesiones del Corpus del España moderna’, in A. Bombi, J. J. Carreras and M. A. Marin (eds.), Música y cultura urbana en la edad moderna (Valencia, 2005), pp. 243–54. M. A. Virgili Blanquet, ‘Danza y teatro en la celebración de la fiesta del Corpus Christi’, Quadernos de Arte de la Universidad de Granada, 26 (1995), pp. 15–26. L. Pérez, ‘Jugulares y ministreles en la procesión del Corpus de Daroca en los siglos XV y XVI’, Nassarre: Revista Aragonesa de Musicologia, 6 (1990), pp. 85–177. 59

Theatres of Belief

moved along it pushed on carts.57 Biblical episodes were also presented from platforms (‘castillos’) in Seville in the middle decades of the century, accompanied by various instruments – including flutes and tambourines – and dancers.58 Throughout Spain, in what was essentially a spectacular display of civic and religious belief (all of the clergy of the city walked in the procession, together with civic dignitaries), local customs and traditions were allied to liturgical practice in a highly festive and theatrical ritual of instruction, indoctrination and propaganda. As giants walked next to saints, some flavour of the immediate, tied to a sense of place through history, custom and dialect, was associated with the universally Catholic. It was through these juxtapositions of sacred and secular, official and unofficial, formal and vernacular, that humour was created and communal adherence to the spirit of the occasion obtained.59 This unified message was also secured through music and dance, which often crossed the boundaries separating ‘sacred’ and secular’, distinctions which would have been incomprehensible to the crowds gathered in the streets. There is a sense in which all popular festivals in the calendar were celebrated as Carnival in miniature, dependent upon the same repertoire of celebration, and providing the same pretexts for civil disruption. In contrast to these often unruly festivities, the cult of the Santissimo Sacramento advocated in the wake of the Council of Trent was restrained and orderly.60 In Córdoba as elsewhere, public celebration of Corpus Christi involved a mixture of sacred and profane elements fused into a carnivalesque language that united authority and disorder.61 The day began with Mass in the Cathedral; the assignment of roles in the day’s ceremonies to individual clerics, including the members of the chapter selected to read the Epistle and Gospel, was decided in advance.62 Two hosts were consecrated: one for use during the Mass itself, the other for display in the procession.63 This was then formed with four nominated racioneros at its centre to carry the custodia grande. In addition to the clergy, the Cathedral choir, including the choristers, walked in the procession, as did the ministriles, the incensadores who were close to the Eucharist, and two chaplains who were charged with operating the mosqueadores to repell troublesome insects.64 These details are a reminder that, in addition to the visual impact of the occasion, the sense of smell and 57

58 59 60 61

62 63

64

K. Kreitner, ‘Music in the Corpus Christi Procession of Fifteenth-Century Barcelona’, Early Music History, 14 (1995), pp. 153–204. See also the discussion of the account of the Corpus Christi procession in late fifteenth-century Barcelona by Pere Juan Comes in T. F. Ruiz, A King Travels: Festive Traditions in Late Medieval and Early Modern Spain (Princeton, 2012), pp. 266–8. M. J. Sanz, ‘El Corpus en Sevilla a mediados del siglo XVI. Castillos y danzas’, Laboratorio de Arte, 10 (1997), pp. 123–37. S. Stewart, On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection (Durham, NC, and London, 1993), pp. 81–2. M. Flynn, Sacred Charity: Confraternities and Social Welfare in Spain, 1400–1700 (Ithaca, NY, 1989), pp. 136–7. For general introductions, see M. Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge, 1991), particularly pp. 243–86; and for Spain, Ruiz, A King Travels, pp. 262–92, and the same author’s Spanish Society, 1348–1700, 2nd edition (London, 2017), pp. 162–4. ACCO, ‘Actas 27’, fol. 227 v (2 June 1586). The practice, presumably of long standing, is described in M. Ximénez y Hoyo, Ceremonial y manual de las preces, antifonas, himnos, salmos y oraciones que deben decirse en esta iglesia catedral de Córdoba (Córdoba, 1805), cap. XXXVIII, p. 388. ACCO, ‘Actas 14’, fols. 169 (27 May 1555) and 172v–173 (12 June 1555); ‘Actas 18’, fol. 199 (31 May 1564). 60

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hearing were also aroused. The procession began at the Puerta de Santa Catalina on the south-eastern side of the cloister which encloses the Patio de los Naranjos, the cloister of the Cathedral and the second most important exit from the Cathedral complex. After the Puerta del Perdon, this had also been the point of departure for most of the processions organised by the chapter since the late Middle Ages. Temporary arches, fountains and altars decorated the route, which led to the nearby Plaza de Abades, then along the Calle de la Feria before arriving at the Plaza de la Compañia, a sizeable open space bounded on one side by the parish church of El Salvador, and on the other by the first home of the Jesuits in the city.65 Although the processions were led by the bishop and the Cathedral chapter carrying the Eucharist, the larger component was made up of a variety of entertaining elements involving jugglers, dancers and singers, who performed entremeses and chanconetas.66 The impression of collective festivity conveyed by the result should not obscure some stark realities. Being forced to participate in the procession (as was the case for cofrades), or being excluded completely even as observers (as was the case with conversos and moriscos), was symptomatic of the triumphant Christianity, with its enduring pejorative representations of non-Christians, which had long historical roots and only increased in intensity during the final decades of the century. These motivations were much in evidence when, in conformity with the Tridentine decrees, a similar format was introduced to take place one week later, when a second procession took place to mark the octave, and the custodia grande was again carried.67 Although the Spanish Corpus Christi procession was far from being silent, comparatively little is known about the polyphony that was heard. Simple chants, litanies and hymns, the common currency of popular devotion, would have been sung, and the raucous interventions of ‘rough music’ would have intruded, all pitted against the continuous pealing of bells in the background. As with the character of the procession itself, and of its constituent elements, there is a degree of conformity throughout the peninsula. In Salamanca, two processions were held – one on the feast day, the second on the octave; villancicos and the Eucharistic hymn ‘Pange lingua’ were sung, and, in addition to the different social groups who alternated the transportation of the andas on which the processional monstrance was carried, giant figures performed dances along the route, accompanied by instruments.68 These musical features also occur in the Córdoba procession, where the ‘Pange lingua’ was sung once the custodia, the large portable monstrance carried on a platform by four officials of the Cathedral, had been raised for the first time. The hymn was then repeated at intervals as the procession made its way along the proces65 66

67 68

Puchol Caballero, Urbanismo del renacimiento, pp. 216–19. ACCO, ‘Actas 24’, fols. 64v–66v; Aranda Doncel, ‘Las danzas de las fiestas del Corpus en Córdoba durante los siglos XVI y XVII. Aspectos folklóricos, económicos y sociales’, Boletín de la Real Academía de Córdoba, 98 (1978), pp. 173–94. ACCO, ‘Actas 23’, fols. 93v–94 (4 June 1578); ‘Actas 29’, fol. 82 (6 June 1589). A. Torrente, ‘Function and Liturgical Context of the Villancico in Salamanca Cathedral’, in T. Knighton and A. Torrente (eds.), Devotional Music in the Iberian World, 1450–1800: The Villancico and Related Genres (Aldershot, 2007), pp. 99–147.

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sional route, while on arrival at the church of El Salvador the custodia was solemnly placed on the high altar while the choir sang.69 Litanies were sung along the processional route, and the bells of the Cathedral were rung.70 Two settings of the ‘Pange lingua’ by Johannes de Wreede, widely disseminated in Iberian sources, were commonly performed during Corpus processions throughout the peninsula.71 Appropriate printed music for the feast, by Victoria and others, is recorded in the 1629 inventory, and in addition local composers wrote simple polyphony for the occasion, some of which has survived.72 The members of the capilla were placed between the custodia and the processional cross at the head of the procession, with the choristers walking behind.73 Of all the material remains of the sixteenth-century Cordoban procession for Corpus Christi, the largest and most imposing are the processional crosses and other ritual objects preserved in the Cathedral treasury. Most spectacular of all is the processional custodia, or portable tabernacle, made by Enrique de Arfe, a goldsmith originally from Erkelenz near Cologne, who worked similar large-scale pieces in a Gothic style for the cathedrals of León (now lost), Toledo, and possibly Cadiz (the attribution is disputed), and was also commissioned to make a large processional cross for Córdoba (Figure 2.5). Interestingly, the Léon custodia was inscribed with the texts of two of the most popular hymns that were commonly sung during the Corpus procession, ‘Lauda Sion’ and ‘Tantum ergo’.74 Similarly, the exquisite small custodia made by Enrique for the Benedictine monastery in Sahagún is decorated with the texts of four hymns: ‘Lauda Sion’, ‘Panis angelicus’, ‘Ave verum’ and ‘Pange lingua’.75 In the Spanish tradition, the custodia fulfilled a quite precise ritual purpose.

69

70 71 72

73 74

75

Ximénez y Hoyo, Ceremonial y manual de las preces, cap. XXXVIII, pp. 388–408, records the performance of both a villancico and a setting of ‘Tantum ergo’. At this date, the procession left the Cathedral by the Puerta de Santa Catalina and then crossed the Puente Romano to the convent of Spiritu Santo where the Eucharist was reserved; on the octave of the feast, the custodia was then accompanied on its return journey across the river. ACCO, ‘Actas 33’, fol. 28v (28 May 1599: litanies), ‘Actas 25’, fol. 80v (23 May 1581: a full list of officials including the campanero, and their duties). Kreitner, The Church Music of Fifteenth-Century Spain (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 72–8; K. Kreitner, ‘The Musical Warhorses of Juan de Urrede’, Fontes Artis Musicae, 51 (2004), pp. 1–18. The earliest manuscript in the Cathedral archives to contain polyphony for the feast of Corpus Christi is MS 138 (with four-voice music by Jerónimo Durán de la Cueva, maestro de capilla, 1567–1614, on fols. 38v–45, ‘In festo Sanctissime Corporis Christi’, copied in the early decades of the seventeenth century, probably during the composer’s lifetime. The later MS 146 contains music for Corpus Christi by Victoria, as do a number of printed sources known to have provided part of the repertory (see Appendix 2.1, pp. 77–84 below). For brief descriptions of these and other later manuscripts that demonstrate the continuous practice of performing polyphony, especially by Victoria, during the Corpus Christi festivities, see L. Bedmar Encinas, ‘El archivo musical de la catedral de Córdoba en su conjunto y sus principales protagonistas’, in J. M. Moreno Calderón (ed.), El patrimonio histórico musical de Córdoba. Il Jornadas sobre patrimonio (Córdoba, n.d.), pp. 117–50. ACCO, ‘Actas 32’, fol. 200v (3 June 1608). F. Llamazores Rodríguez, ‘La custodia de la Catedral de León, la de Sahagún, y su criado el platero Fernand o Hernand Gonzalez’, Norba: Revista de Arte, 32–3 (2012–13), pp. 85–106. For a description of the custodia of León, which no longer exists, see A. de Morales, Viaje a los Reinos de Léon, y Galicia, y principado (Madrid, 1765), and for illustrations and brief descriptions of all three, C. Hernmarck, Custodias procesionales en España (Madrid, 1987), pp. 98–100 (Córdoba), pp. 101–3 (Toledo), pp. 106–7 (Cadiz). Hernmarck, Custodias procesionales, pp. 96–7 (the inscriptions are not reported).

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Figure 2.5 Enrique de Arfe, custodia (1514-18), Córdoba, Mezquita-Catedral.

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Whereas public display of the host during Eucharistic devotion or Benediction within the church involved an ostensorium, or monstrance, carried by the priest, the custodia was designed to display the consecrated host either in a fixed location inside a church (custodia de asiento), or when it was carried in procession through the streets of the city, particularly on the feast of Corpus Christi. Gothic in style and dodecagonal in form, the Córdoba custodia, commissioned by Bishop Martín Fernandez de Angulo (1510–16), is designed as a two-tier structure, with the apparatus for the display of the host in the lower section, and an image of the Virgin of the Assumption (a notably prominent object of devotion in the Cathedral) in the upper one. In his will, Fernandez de Angulo, the first locally born episcopal appointment since Solier and a keen bibliophile, left his library to the chapter on condition that it be sold and the proceeds used to defray the costs of the custodia which he had commissioned.76 Work began on this imposing and costly piece of devotional furniture in 1512, and the finished result was then carried in procession on 3 June 1518, during the episcopate of his successor, Alonso Manrique. Since then, it has been deployed until the present day as the dramatic focal point of the Corpus Christi rituals enacted both inside the Cathedral and in the streets of Córdoba. Together with surviving books – both liturgical and polyphonic – the distinctive processional torches that were carried by members of the urban confraternities, and elaborately woven church vestments from the period, Enrique de Arfe’s custodia serves to re-animate the historical sense of the colour, sounds and smells of the drama of the Corpus procession. The commissioning of the Córdoba custodia is characteristic of the period beginning in the final decade of the fifteenth century, which saw the chapter embark on considerable expenditure to renew and refurbish the contents of the sacristy, and in particular the ritual objects used for the celebration of Mass. It seems likely that this, along with the commissioning of the cycle of illuminated chant books, was in response to the opening up of a much larger space for the performance of the liturgy, which had occurred with the construction of Manrique’s Gothic nave. The visit to Andulasia by Philip II in 1570, prompted by the morisco revolt in the Alpujarras that had dragged on since the end of 1568, conditioned a more restrained approach to the traditional Corpus Christi festivities in Córdoba. Accompanied by an entourage of ambassadors, cardinals and other dignitaries, the king made his entry through the Puerta Nueva, the principal point of entry from Madrid and the north, on 22 February.77 Among those present were the ambassadors of France, Venice and Portugal, and the princes of Mantua and Hungary, thus bolstering the Habsburg presence. Philip himself entered the city on horseback, apparently moving through the crowds in majestic circles designed

76 77

Edwards, Christian Córdoba, p. 176. Details of the entry in documents in AMCO, Sección I, serie 6, no. 11: ‘Testimonio dado y autorizado en Cordoba, a 15 de septiembre de 1570 por Juan Perez, escribano publico, residente en el officio del Concejo de ella que esta en un quaderno forrado de tablera negra con perfiles dorados formado de los señores corregidor y veintiun diputados en el que estan comprendidas todas las diputaciones, ordines, entrada y juramento del señor Rey Don Felipe II en esta ciudad de Cordoba en dicho año’.

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to demonstrate both his self-confidence and his horsemanship.78 The infirm were removed from the Hospital de San Sebastiano to create accommodation for the visiting entourage, which stayed in Córdoba for two months.79 Accessed by a simple gateway incorporating a chapel devoted to the Virgin, this had been remodelled and embellished for the occasion on the instructions of the city authorities, keen to use the occasion to demonstrate their own power and status.80 For much the same reasons, Philip’s visit may also have influenced the decision to refashion the main point of entry into the city from the southern cities of Granada, Málaga and Seville at the Puerta del Puente.81 After a period of uncertainty and difficulty over the clearing of the site, work on the new structure, which was given royal approval by Philip II, was entrusted to Hernan Ruiz III.82 In formulating his design, the architect was clearly influenced by his father’s work in Seville, where he had been responsible for a plan of urban renewal which involved modifications to the existing walls, and the insertion of new ones in a style clearly indebted to the example of Sebastiano Serlio, parts of whose treatise on architecture had been published in a Spanish translation, most recently in 1563.83 In its finished form, the Puerta del Puente exhibits a similarly austere Italianate style in its adaption of the traditional model of a classical triumphal arch, articulated by four Doric columns on an attic base, an architrave, and a frieze with triglyphs and metopes supporting a cornice. In the context of a city whose architecture was dominated by the monuments of its Muslim past, the erection of an entrance gate that so wholeheartedly speaks the language of ancient Rome was in keeping with the identity of Spain as a Catholic monarchy and empire (Figure 2.6).

78

79 80 81 82 83

G. Parker, Imprudent King: A New Life of Philip II (New Haven, CT, and London, 2014), pp. 201–2, citing British Library Add. Ms 28, 354/45-6; S. Édouard, L’empire imaginaire de Philippe II. Pouvoir des images et discours du pouvoir sous les Habsbourg d’Espagne au XVIe siècle (Paris, 2005), p. 140, also describes Philip’s entry. T. Ramirez de Arellano y Gutiérrez, Paseos por Córdoba ó sean apuntes para su historia, 3 vols. (Córdoba, 1873), I, pp. 59–64. Puchol Caballero, Urbanismo del renacimiento, pp. 192–3, 208–13. For a detailed analysis, largely based on the contemporary account by Juan de Mal Lara, of Philip II’s entry into Seville in the same year, see Ruiz, A King Travels, pp. 89–99. Puchol Caballero, Urbanismo del renacimiento, pp. 182–92, 244–55. Tercero y quarto libro de architectura de Sebastian Serlio Boloñes. En los quales se trata de las maneras de como se pueden adornar los edificios con los exemplos de las antiguedades. Traduzido de Toscano en lengua Castellana por Francisco de Villalpando Architecto (Toledo, 1563). The third book deals with ancient survivals including the Pantheon in Rome; the fourth with the orders.

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Hernan Ruiz III, Puerta del Puente, Córdoba, 1575. Created by Américo Toledano, licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International.

Figure 2.6

These resonances are further emphasised by the details of the southern façade, which, in accordance with Philip’s Real Provisión,84 carries the royal coat-of-arms together with an inscription incised on black marble: REINANDO LA SACRA CATOLICA REAL MAGESTAD DEL REI DON PHELIPE NUESTRO SEÑOR SEGUNDO DE ESTE NOMBRE

And, lower down, carved into the stonework of the lintel, and now partially erased by time, a record of the corregidor at the time of the work’s conception: SE HIZO ESTA OBRA AÑO DE 1575 SIEDO CORR[EGIDOR] EL L[ICENCIADO] ALONSO D. ARTEAGA

The construction of the Puerta de Puente represents the final phase of a significant degree of new building which occurred in sixteenth-century Córdoba, undertaken not only at the instigation of the civic and ecclesiastical authorities, but also as a result of the interests of the local nobility. Although a number of architects were involved, much of the work was carried out to the plans of three generations of the Hernan Ruiz family, beginning with Hernan Ruiz I who, in addition to his radical intervention in the Cathedral, also designed the nearby Hospital de San Sebastiano of 1513–16. This, which was administered by the Cathedral and functioned as the principal hospital of the city until the eighteenth century, and was one of his first important commissions (earlier he had remodelled the Patio de los Naranjos), is still cast in a hybrid style based on Gothic elements combined with Italianate and Mudejar details. His son, Hernan Ruiz II, adopted a more wholehearted Renaissance style in his work at a number of churches and convents, and above all in the

84

The text, dated from Granada, 20 September 1572, is in AMCO, Sección 4a, serie 2.

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spectacular façades of two aristocratic palaces: the Palace of Jeronimo Paéz de Castillejo and the Palace of Orive. By the time that Hernan Ruiz III became involved in the project to remodel the Puerta del Puente, the prosperity of Córdoba was already beginning to be compromised, and in March 1575 it was reported that work on the gateway had stopped altogether through lack of funds, and that the city had run into debt.85 This is an early sign of the decline in the city’s agricultural production, population growth and economic prosperity that was to determine the final decades of the sixteenth century and last well into the seventeenth. It is not surprising that, in view of the authoritarian regime of the Spain of Philip II, based as it was on the alliance between Church and state, this period is characterised by a growth in intolerance, repression of minorities, and the strengthening of public devotion through increasingly elaborate rituals. In Córdoba, as elsewhere in the peninsula, this also stimulated a wave of relic invention and renewal. It may not be a coincidence that, in this economically disastrous year of 1575, a dramatic discovery was made in the church of San Pedro, which had once served as the city’s cathedral, on 21 November. During some building works, a sepulchre containing human bones and skulls was brought to light, and an inscription uncovered on a nearby gravestone identified the remains as those of five Hispano-Roman martyrs: Faustus, Januarius, Marcial, Zoïlus and Acisclus (since the relics of the last two were already recorded elsewhere, it was claimed that just the first three listed had been discovered).86 The task of authentication was passed to a Provincial Council of Bishops of Castile, who found the task comparatively easy, since both ancient sources and the Martyrologium romanum could be called upon to provide the necessary evidence. There were doubters – notably Francisco de Padilla, Juan de Marieta and Alonso de Villegas – but by the time that the Jesuit Pedro de Ribadeneira came to publish his influential Flos sanctorum, the most authoritative collective hagiographical compilation of the day, their authenticity had become established.87 Even the scepticism of Padilla seems to have been assuaged, at least to the extent that he included the discussion of the martyrs and their remains in his Historia ecclesiastica.88 A further boost to the reputation and efficacy of the relics from San Pedro occurred in 1601, when the ‘evidence’ of the visions experienced by Andrés de Roelas at the time of their discovery (but kept secret at the time) was revealed by Juan del Pino.89 These revalaciones were now offered as further proof of the authenticity of the remains of the three martyrs, whose status was further enhanced in the following year when Córdoba was as-

85 86

87

88 89

AMCO, Acta Capitular, Cabildo, 15 March 1575; see also Puchol Caballero, Urbanismo del renacimiento, p. 187. Aciscius and Zoïlus are sometimes celebrated separately, and as more significant; see, for example, M. de Roa, De antiquitate & auctoritate SS Maryam Cordubensis ac de Breviario Cordubensis (Lyons, 1617), pp. 48–51, where the texts of hymns in honour of them both are given. There is no evidence that they were set to music. P. de Ribadeneyra, Flos sanctorum o libro de las vidas de los santos, 3 vols. (Cologne, 1601), II, p. 312 (Faustus, Januarius and Martialis), and pp. 349–51 (Acisclus and Victoria); see C. Vincent-Cassy, ‘The Search for Evidence: The Relics of Martyred Saints and Their Worship in Córdoba after the Council of Trent’, in M. Garcia-Arenal (ed.), After Conversion: Iberia and the Emergence of Modernity (Leiden, 2016), at pp. 126–30. F. de Padilla, Historia ecclesiastica de España, 2 vols. (Málaga, 1609), I, fols. 187–93. J. del Pino, Officia propria Cordubensis ecclesiae (Córdoba, 1601).

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saulted by a visitation of the plague which lasted for some months. More than 2,000 deaths were recorded in the Hospital de San Lazzaro, and public devotion was at a high pitch; the relics were now carried in procession in the belief that this would purify the air and rid it of contagion.90 As was conventional in such situations, the authorities ordered that a procession be held to expedite collective public atonement for the sins of the city; this, which took place on the feast day of S. Argimirus, another of the ninth-century Cordoban martyrs, began from San Pedro and moved to the Cathedral.91 The most definitive contemporary account of the matter is to be found in the Flos sanctorum published some years later by Martin de Roa, a noted antiquarian and the author of studies of saints associated with a number of Andalusian towns and cities, including Jerez de la Frontera and Málaga.92 In the calendar that appears at the front of his book, Martin de Roa records no fewer than three days dedicated to the San Pedro martyrs.93 Such exercises in local hagiography, which are fully in keeping with the Council of Trent’s emphasis upon the veneration of local saints, all follow a similar form of presentation, which connects de Roa’s own times to the early Church; this has the effect of stressing the continuities of Christian history, with the inevitable consequence that the historical and cultural importance of the period of Muslim rule in Córdoba was now understated. It can hardly be accidental that, in the decades when the remains from San Pedro were being evaluated both by the Church and local historians and antiquarians, an analogous episode took pace in nearby Granada. In 1588, some workmen who were demolishing the Torre Turpiana, originally the minaret of the principal mosque of the city, uncovered a lead box which evidently contained Christian relics dating from the first century. Among these were a piece of cloth allegedly used by the Virgin to dry her tears at the Crucifixion, and the bones of St Stephen, but the most significant item was what appeared to be a previously unknown work by St John the Evangelist, written on parchment in a mixture of Latin and Greek; this prophesied the coming of both Mohammed and Martin Luther, and the end of the world. Also included was a commentary on the prophecy, written in Arabic (presumably for the benefit of those members of the early Christian community who read the language) composed by San Cecilio, the first Bishop of Granada, together with the explanation that the contents of the box had been given to him by St Dionysius the Areopagite.94 Even more startling was the excavation, beginning just seven years later on Monte Valparaíso (later known as Sacromonte) just outside the Guadix gate, of further

90 91 92 93 94

Ramirez de Arellano y Gutiérrez, Paseos por Córdoba, I, pp. 80–2. Coope, The Martyrs of Córdoba, pp. 73–5; Vincent-Cassy, ‘The Search for Evidence’, pp. 130–5. M. de Roa, Flos sanctorum. Fiestas, i santos naturales de la ciudad de Cordova … revista, i acrecentada (Seville, 1615), pp. 163–77. In ibid., De Roa attributes 13 October to Faustus, Ianuarius and Marcialis, 17 November to Acisclus and Victoria, and 26 November to ‘La invención de los santos martires’. D. Coleman, Creating Christian Granada: Society and Religious Culture in an Old-World Frontier City, 1492–1600 (Ithaca, NY, 2003), pp. 189–90, K. Harris, From Muslim to Christian Granada: Inventing a City’s Past in Early Modern Spain (Baltimore, 2007), pp. 1–4.

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relics and a haul of ‘books’ made up of circular pages (plomos) covered with a proto-Arabic script, together with lines, crosses and stars of David arranged in mysterious patterns. Nearby were discovered what were claimed to be the charred remains of early Christian martyrs. In 1600, a Provincial Council convened by the Archbishop of Granada to consider the authenticity of the finds, concluded that they were worthy of veneration and recommended that they be approved by the authorities in Rome. Taken together, the official interpretations of both the Torre Turpiana discoveries and the Sacromonte relics, and particularly the plomos, painstakingly deciphered by two local scholars of morisco descent, converged in the assertion of the centrality of Arabic speakers, and the primacy of Granada itself, in the dissemination of Christianity in its earliest years.95 Despite the scepticism of some theologians, the cult of the Sacromonte martyrs only strengthened in the following decades. As a narrative which appealed to the sensibilities of many segments of the Grenadino population, in terms of both social class and ethnic identity, the tangible material remains of a heroic episode from the earliest years of Christian antiquity invested both local religious and civic identity with fresh vigour and purpose.96 As in the case of the San Pedro relics in Córdoba, they effectively eliminated from the historical account the accumulated centuries of Muslim domination. Both episodes are characteristic expressions of the intolerance, authoritarianism and ingenuity of the process of Catholicisation which occurred in both places, and which adopted as a central strategy the creation of forgeries which staked claims for objects, buildings and even whole cities having been founded by Christians before the arrival of the Muslims in the peninsula.97 Prominent among local historians in developing such approaches was the Cordoban Hieronymite Ambrosio de Morales, official chronicler to Philip II, whose published works are classic expositions of the genre.98 A significant aspect of this process in Córdoba was the heightened visibility of relics through public ritual, and an intensification of the monarchical resonances of public worship. By the second half of the sixteenth century, the Cathedral had been developed as the focal point of the processional life of Córdoba, the motor of much of the public civic and devotional life of the city. Processions organised by the chapter fell into two categories, with ‘general’ following a basic format, and ‘solemn’ being more elaborate; the status of a number of these was determined by their official categorisation as marking 95

96 97

98

M. G. Arenal and F. R. Mediano, ‘The Religious Identity of the Arabic Language and the Affair of the Lead Books of the Sacramonte de Granada’, Arabica, 56 (2009), pp. 495–528, and R. Jones, Learning Arabic in Renaissance Europe (1505–1624), (Leiden, 2020), App. 7. Coleman, Creating Christian Granada, pp. 190–201; Harris, From Muslim to Christian Granada. For a further example, see K. B. Olds, Forging the Past: Invented Histories in Counter-Reformation Spain (New Haven, CT, and London, 2015), which analyses the ‘false chronicles’ said to have been discovered in 1595 by a Jesuit priest, Jerónimo Román de la Higuera, in a monastic library in Fulda. These allegedly documented an unbroken history of Christianity in Iberia stretching from late antiquity until the end of the Middle Ages. In particular, La cronica general de España (Alcala de Henares, 1574) – a continuation of the official Crónica of Florián de Ocampo – and Las antiquedades de las ciudades de España (Alcala de Henares, 1575). For the general phenomenon in the hands of ultra-orthodox Catholic historians, see now A. Urquízar-Herrera, Admiration and Awe: Morisco Buildings and Identity Negotiations in Early Modern Spanish Historiography (Oxford, 2017).

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duplex or triplex feasts. On four occasions in the Church year, they were officially designated as ‘processiones de las litanias’.99 Some were organised by the chapter in response to local emergencies, such as a visitation of the plague, or the need for ‘buenas temporales’ to facilitate the spring harvest.100 Others were motivated by external events. There was ‘una procesion general por el claustro de la yglesia por la buena election de sumo pontefice’ following the death of Pius IV, when the austere Dominican Pius V succeeded him.101 Something similar happened in 1585, when the conclave elected Sixtus V; on this occasion litanies and responsories were sung.102 On many of these occasions, the Convent of Santa Victoria outside the city walls was the favoured endpoint.103 The final decades of the sixteenth century witnessed not only the emergence and construction of new cults in Córdoba, but also the revitalisation of existing ones. More than any other sacred image, the Our Lady of Villaviciosa was a familiar presence in the city. According to legend, this small wooden statue had been discovered in the fourteenth century by a peasant working in a vineyard in Vila Viçosa, a village near Evora in Portugal. Concealed in a lead box buried in the earth, her identity was revealed by a sharp metallic sound. Various miracles followed.104 These details, which in some ways resemble the inventio of saints and martyrs, are significantly different in being fashioned to suit rural society; such statues were frequently unearthed by oxen or shepherds working in the fields, and were often accompanied by apparitions.105 Brought to Córdoba in the fifteenth century, Our Lady of Villaviciosa subsequently formed the basis of much devotion in the Cathedral. Now protected in a dedicated chapel, as if it were a relic that required to be preserved, the statue became the focal point of public ritual practices.106 Although occasionally she was merely carried around the Patio de las Naranjas,107 on other occasions the statue attracted a wider audience and a greater significance, being taken through the streets annually ‘con musica y minestriles’ on 8 September, the feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary.108 Sometimes she was carried to the Convent of Santa Victoria (now demolished) outside the city walls, or to the church of the Fuensanta – the site of a miraculous apparition of Our Lady said to have occurred in 1420 – to pray for rain.109 During the

99

100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109

Estatutos de la santa yglesia catedral de Cordova recopilados por el Illustrissimo y Reverendissimo Señor Don Fray Bernardo de Frexneda Obispo de Cordoba del Consejo de estado de su Magestad, y su Confessor, juntamente con dos diputados por el Cabildo, y por el, conforme al Concilio (Antequera, 1577), fols. 10–11v. ACCO, ‘Actas 18’, fol. 204v (1 July 1564, ordered by Philip II); ‘Actas 30’, fol. 84v (13 May 1593, for the harvest). ACCO, ‘Actas 19’, fol. 39 (15 January 1566). Pius was elected on 8 January, and was installed on the throne of St Peter ten days later. ACCO, ‘Actas 27’, fol. 148 (14 May 1585). Sixtus was elected on 24 April. Ramirez de Arellano y Gutiérrez, Paseos por Córdoba, II, pp. 340–1. Tratado de la invención y aparecimiento de la Virgen Sanctissima de Nuestra Señora de Villaviciosa y su gran devoción y milagros (Córdoba, 1622). W. A. Christian, Apparitions in Late Medieval and Renaissance Spain (Princeton, 1981), particularly Ch. 1. Protocol demanded that visiting monarchs prayed at her altar; see AMCO, Sección 1/6/4/4-1. ACCO, ‘Actas 29’, fol. 68 (14 April 1589). ACCO, ‘Actas 31’, fol. 26 (17 October 1594). For the devotion of Our Lady of the Fuensanta, see Historia de la aparición, revelación, invención y milagros de la

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terrible plague years of 1601–3, the intercession of Our Lady of Villaviciosa was frequently sought.110 One of the most elaborate processions of all occurred when she was carried from Córdoba to the parish church in nearby Villaviciosa, when she was accompanied by a delegation of dignitaries from the Cathedral, a reduced number of singers from the capilla, and two ministriles.111 Following Mass in the Cathedral, the sacred statue then left the precincts via the Puerta Santa Catalina, to be transported along the Plateria and the Calle de la Feria to Los Marmoles; from there the procession continued to the Puerta Osario, and from there to Villaviciosa.112 Although music is not specifically mentioned in the record of this occasion, there can be little doubt that some suitable polyphony would have been sung alongside the usual litanies and hymns. Since at least the beginning of the sixteenth century, and probably earlier, the annual general procession to the Monastery of the Santos Martires, took place in November.113 Following a fixed practice, this began with an official request, usually made in person to the chapter by a delegation from the religious community, for the procession to be held.114 This, which then followed a few days later, started from the Cathedral (to which it returned when the rituals were over), and involved appropriate music.115 The procession to Los Martires took on a new aspect with the adoption of the liturgical reforms and the revision of the missal and breviary, the Nuevo Rezado, which was put in place in Spain in conformity with the decrees of the Council of Trent, beginning in 1573.116 In accordance with the new stipulations, the Feast of the Martyrs was now commemorated with its octave as well as on the day itself, ‘con las ceremonias romanas en la major forma’.117 Following the ‘discovery’ of the relics at the church of San Pedro in 1575, a new procession was instituted, and the cycle of commemoration of the Córdoba martyrs which was inaugurated with the duplex feast of Sts Faustus, Januarius and Martial on 13 October, acquired an amplified sense of importance within the calendar.118 The new feast, elevated in

110 111 112 113

114 115 116 117 118

Soberana Imagen de Nuestra Señora de la Fuensanta (Córdoba, 1671). For the processions of Our Lady of Villaviciosa, see ACCO, ‘Actas 30’, fol. 83 (10 May 1593, Convent of Santa Victoria); ‘Actas 23’, fol. 5 (26 April 1578, church of the Fuensanta); ‘Actas 36’, fol. 165 (18 April 1605), fol. 167 (23 April 1605), fol. 203 (30 August 1605); ‘Actas 38’, fols. 38v–39 (3 September 1610). ACCO, ‘Actas 35’, fol. 14 (29 January 1602). ACCO, ‘Actas 23’, fol. 115v (20 October 1578). ACCO, ‘Actas 28’, fol. 55v (19 September 1586). Officia propria cordubensis ecclesiae: ‘Festa Novembris. Die XVII: Acisclus & Victoria Martyres, Patroni Cordubensis, Duplex & habet octava’. See also ‘XXIIII Novembris: In Octava Sanctorum Aciscli & Victoriae omnia sicut in die’. The Officia carries the imprimaturs of both Gregory XIII and Clement VII. In 1570, the monastery was visited by Philip II; in 1820–3, it was suppressed and the church soon afterwards fell into disuse. See Ramirez de Avellano y Gutiérrez, Paseos por Córdoba, II, pp. 164–7. As in, for example, ACCO, ‘Actas 13’, fol. 32 (13 November 1545, ‘como es de uso y costumbre el dia del los santos martires’); ACCO, ‘Actas 24’, fol. 56 (13 November 1579); ACCO, ‘Actas 26’, fol. 54 (15 November 1582). ACCO, ‘Actas 20’, fol. 75v (20 April 1554), which notes that eight choristers (‘mozos de coro’) were involved. V. Bécares, ‘Aspectos de le producción y distribución del Nuevo Rezado’, in Iain Fenlon and Tess Knighton (eds.), Early Music Printing and Publishing in the Iberian World (Kassel, 2006), pp. 1–22, particularly pp. 1–7. ACCO, ‘Actas 22’, fol. 252 (19 October 1575); ‘Actas 24’, fol. 56v (16 November 1579). Officia propria, ‘XIII Octobris: Die Sanctorum Fausti, Ianuarii, & Martialis Martyrum’). This feast was dedicated

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status to the category of ‘solenne’, was ordered to take place by the chapter on ‘el dia de la invención de las sanctas reliquias de los gloriosos martires Acisclo y Victoria’, to whom the city was dedicated.119 Following Mass in the Cathedral, this was to follow a route which finished at San Pedro itself, where a second Mass was celebrated.120 As with Our Lady of Villaviciosa, the intercession of the relics was also invoked processionally at other times of the year, whether to pray for good weather, or in celebration of the Jubilee Year.121 An early seventeenth-century manuscript in the Cathedral archive contains four-voice settings of polyphony to be sung on this occasion composed by the then maestro de capilla, Jerónimo Durán de la Cueva.122 While the most significant moments in the history of the papacy were marked by devotional rituals, even more importance was attached, particularly in the final decades of Philip II’s reign, to the indissoluble links binding Crown and Church. Matters of dynastic significance, including marriages, the births of royal princes and changes of monarch, were often marked with public ritual.123 The arrival in Spain of Charles V in 1555 caused the chapter to organise a procession to the church of Santiago, dedicated to St James, the patron saint of the country, to pray for his safe passage.124 This was not merely a standard expression of loyalty to the Crown. The Emperor’s last journey was highly symbolic: having disembarked in Cantabria, he then travelled to the Hieronymite monastery of Yuste in Extremadura, where he spent his last days before his death two years later, an event which was recognised by the official exequies held in Córdoba Cathedral one month later.125 Nor was the choice of processional route or the church at the point of arrival simply a matter of convenience. The church of Santiago was, together with the churches of SS Trinidad and Victoria, often called upon to receive processions at moments of national and international importance. It was to the church of Santiago that the chapter walked on the feast day of the patronal saint in 1572 for ‘el buen successo de las cosas de la liga’ – that is, the continuing, if half-hearted, policy of pressing home the advantages gained at the battle of Lepanto

119

120

121 122 123

124 125

to the Córdoba martyrs of both the ninth and fourth centuries BC; ACCO, ‘Actas 37’, fols. 158, 159 (12, 16 November 1607). Officia propria, ‘XXVI Novembris: Inventio Sanctorum Martyrum Fausti, Ianuarii, Martialis, Zoyli, Aciscli, & aliorum’. The accompanying text refers to the discovery of the relics in the sepulchre at San Pedro, and to the process of authentication culminating in the official decree of the Council of Toledo. ACCO, ‘Actas 27’, fol. 25v (19 November 1583); ‘Actas 31’, fols. 186–6v (18 November 1595); ‘Actas 32’, fol. 65 (18 November 1597); ‘Actas 36’, fol. 221v (14 November 1605); ‘Actas 37’, fols. 158 (12 November 1607), 159 (16 November 1607) and 315 (20 November 1609). ACCO, ‘Actas 30’, fol. 83v (10 May 1593); ‘Actas 33’, fol. 9 (22 April 1599) for the Jubilee declared by Clement VIII; ‘Actas 35’, fols. 84v–85 (17 July 1602); ‘Actas 36’, fol. 165 (18 April 1605). MS 138, fols. 103v–6, ‘Plurimorum martirum’. See Appendix II, no. [19]. ACCO, ‘Actas 32’, fol. 163 (13 October 1598), ‘por el anima del Rey Don Felipe nostro señor’ (d. 13 September 1598); ‘Actas 36’, fol. 164 (15 April 1605: a royal birth); ‘Actas 39’, fols. 191 (17 October 1615) and 194v (3 November 1615), ‘por los cassimientos de nuestros principes y reyes de Francia’ – that is, the double marriage of Elisabeth of France to the Prince of Asturias (the future Philip IV), and her brother Louis to the Infanta Anne. ACCO, ‘Actas 14’, fol. 215 (4 December 1555); ‘Actas 19’, fol. 144v (15 October 1567). ACCO, ‘Actas 16’, fols. 23v–24, 26v (13 October 1558). For the polyphony that may have been performed on this occasion, see Appendix 2.1, pp. 77–84 below.

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in October 1571, when the combined fleets of the Holy League had defeated the galleys of the Ottoman empire.126 The news from Lepanto itself, which reached Córdoba some weeks after the victory, was celebrated by a procession to the church of Santa Victoria where the traditional ‘Te Deum’ was sung.127 Nonetheless, while the victory of the League, coming so soon after the resolution of the Alpujarra crisis of 1568–70, must have raised the spirits of the citizens, the fears of invasion did not diminish.128 There were serious incidents in Córdoba in August 1578, partly provoked by open morisco rejoicing over the defeat of the Portuguese army in the battle of Alcazar el Kebir, and two years later a plot to facilitate a Moroccan assault of Seville was uncovered.129 Such events, played out against the growing power of the Ottoman empire, need to be weighed in the balance when considering the intensification of civic and devotional rituals that was orchestrated in the final decades of the century as calls for a final bout of expulsions gathered pace. Papal interests and those of Philip II were largely inseparable. In May 1588, general processions were directed to take place around the Patio de las Naranjas, while another set out from the Cathedral in the direction of the church of the Santissima Trinidad; these were intended to honour the extraordinary jubilee that had been proclaimed at Easter by Sixtus V, and to pray for the success of the Armada.130 After many years of preparation, the Spanish fleet eventually set out from Lisbon in late May under the command of the Duke of Medina Sidonia, with the immediate objective of facilitating the invasion of England by the forces of the Duke of Parma gathered in the Netherlands, and the ultimate aim of overthrowing Elizabeth I and restoring Catholic rule. Such concern about the growing Protestant threat, as it was perceived, was constant. In 1593, the chapter determined that a procession was to be held ‘por el estado de las cosas de Francia’, presumably the tumultuous events surrounding the succession to the French throne, a controversy in which Philip II was deeply implicated; and in the spring of 1569, a similar procession was ordered in connection with the wars of religion and the activities of the ‘luteranos de Francia’.131 The most sustained sequence of public rituals such as these occurred in the same year, as a result of the War of Granada caused by the uprising of the moriscos gathered in the nearby Alpujarras. Since the beginning of the century, their loyalty to the Castilian Crown and the sincerity of their adherence to the Catholic faith had been repeatedly called into question, and in the subsequent decades a series of edicts aimed at accelerating the process of morisco acculturation had been introduced. With the ending of the forty-year period of comparative toleration inaugurated by the Royal Chapel Congregation of 1526, which had been attended by Charles V with the precise objective of dealing once and for all with the ‘morisco problem’, earlier cultural restrictions on their language, customs and dress

126 127 128 129 130 131

ACCO, ‘Actas 21’, fol. 12v (21 July 1572). ACCO, ‘Actas 20’, fol. 225 (3 November 1571). A. Hess, ‘The Moriscos: An Ottoman Fifth Column’, American Historical Review, 74 (1968–9), pp. 1–25. H. Kamen, The Spanish Inquisition: An Historical Revision (London, 1997), p. 226. ACCO, ‘Actas 28’, fol. 190v (14 May 1588). ACCO, ‘Actas 20’, fol. 50v (25 May 1569).

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were revived, and new ones (such as the prohibitions of morisco music and dance of the kind witnessed by the German artist, medallist and goldsmith Christoph Weiditz) introduced.132 The renewed persecution which followed provoked the ‘second rebellion’ of the Alpujarras, which broke out in December 1568 and continued until it was finally crushed in the summer of 1571 through the brutal intervention of the soldiery of Don Juan of Austria, soon to become one of the heroes of Lepanto. The response of the Crown (on 19 October 1569, Philip II had declared a definitive ‘guerra a fuego y a sangre’) was to order the expulsion of the vast majority of the morisco population of Granada, which was then re-distributed throughout Castile in the hope that there it might be more successfully assimilated.133 These events were of immediate concern in Córdoba, which was to be the first port of call for many of the refugees.134 In early January 1569, shortly after the rebellion had begun, the Cathedral chapter ordered ‘de hazer processione y plegarias suplicando a nostro Señór de Victoria contra estos y los de mas enimigos’.135 There were to be other similar manifestations in the course of the year, including one in March ‘por el gran suceso de la Guerra de Granada’, and another in May.136 For the morisco population of Córdoba, this was merely the beginning of the end. Accusations of their continued political and religious infidelity, most commonly expressed through adherence to cultural practice, eventually culminated in the royal decree for their deportation, which began in September 1609 and was completed five years later.

••• The effects of the Council of Trent, which reaffirmed the authority of Rome over the universal Catholic Church in both its spiritual and aesthetic dimensions, were felt with particular force in the years after the closure of the Council’s final session in 1563. This was particularly true of the Spain of Philip II. While the Council’s views of the role of the arts in the service of the faith, often ambiguously and vaguely expressed as they had been at Trent (in reality, their enactment had been left to local synods), were implemented only slowly, in many areas the bonds between Church and state were strengthened on an unprecedented scale. In doctrinal terms, the response to polemical matters such as papal supremacy, the defence of sacramental issues including penitence and the centrality of the Eucharist, exaltation of the Virgin and the saints, and the veneration of relics, was insistently orthodox. The presence of the Inquisition, together with the often brutal public spectacle of its activities, and the continuing hostility towards all religious minorities, 132 133 134 135 136

As in the coloured drawing of moriscos dancing and making music seen during his journey through Spain in 1529, and entered in his ‘Trachtenbuch’ (Nuremberg, Germanisches Nationalmuseum MS 22474), fols. 107–8. Coleman, Creating Christian Granada, pp. 182–5; L. P. Hartley, Muslims in Spain 1500–1614 (Chicago and London, 2005), pp. 204–37. Fortea Pérez, Córdoba en el siglo XVI, pp. 331–4, where it is estimated that the morisco population of Córdoba, which stood at 2,339 in 1571, had expanded to 4,628 ten years later. ACCO, ‘Actas 20’, fol. 11 (7 January 1569). ACCO, ‘Actas 20’, fol. 45 (25 March 1569) and fol. 45v (21 May 1569).

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gathered pace towards the end of the century. In Córdoba, the morisco population stood at 4,176 in 1589; it has been estimated that, twenty years later, when the final expulsions took place, some 3,600 nuevos cristianos were removed to Seville to be embarked for Tangier and Ceuta. Such policies were just one element in the grandiose plan to Catholicise Spain (and, by extension, Spanish possessions overseas) comprehensively, if necessary through repression. Not everyone was intolerant; considering the ‘mudejares de las primeras conversiones’ to be ‘cristianos viejos’, the Bishop of Córdoba attempted to have them excluded from the decree of expulsion, but to no avail.137 Nonetheless, many traces of Muslim traditions, such as the taste for Mudejar architecture and decoration, survived in everyday cultural practices, while – throughout Andalusia in particular – the tangible reminders of the past remained, spectacularly so in the case of Córdoba.138 In these circumstances, it is not surprising that music and ritual, as they evolved in the course of the century in the Cathedral, placed a relentless emphasis on the themes of Cordoban identity and monarchical allegiance. These were cemented into place through processional forms, increasingly numerous as the century wore on, which brought local relics, made more prominent during the final decades of the century through new identifications and discoveries, to all areas of the city. This mixture of tradition and invention, which led to the elaboration of new cults, is also reflected in the expansion of the polyphonic repertory (including new works by local composers written to adorn it), performed by the Cathedral capilla, now augmented in size and finally installed in the newly completed nave of the Cathedral, which had taken more than eighty years to construct. It may be said that, as Philip III entered the second decade of his reign, the catholicisation of Córdoba, and with it the elimination of the concept of convivencia – the alleged peaceful co-existence of Christian, Muslim and Jewish communities – was complete. �

137 138

Boeglin, ‘La expulsión de los moriscos’, p. 98. B. Fuchs, Exotic Nation: Maurophilia and the Construction of Early Modern Spain (Phildaelphia, PA, 2009).

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Appendix 2.1 Córdoba, Archivo de la Catedral: Inventario de los ornamentos … en la sac-

ristia mayor desta santa yglesia … fecho en Córdoba el mes de noviembre Año de 1628 [Inventario Tesoro 021-1] Introduction Drawn up on the occasion of the inspection by the Visitor General at the request of the bishop, the 1628 inventory includes, in addition to the vestments, church plate and other valuable assets, the books in the care of the maestro de capilla Gabriel Diaz (1621–37). This addition to the main inventory, headed ‘inventario de los libros de canto de organo y canto llano’, is dated 1629, and opens with the cantorales before listing the printed and manuscript books of polyphony (55.151–4). Although most of these contain polyphonic repertory for Vespers and Mass written by Spanish and Portuguese composers, or by Flemings who worked in Spain, some music by internationally renowned figures, including Josquin, Lassus and Palestrina, is also present. The rate of destruction is typical of a general pattern, and of the forty-nine printed and manuscript books that appear in the list, only six still survive in the cathedral archive (see Appendix 2.2 below). Further information about the acquisition of polyphony sources in the course of the century occasionally emerges from the chapter acts, as in the case of Guerrero who, in 1566, presented ‘un libro de musica de nueve misas y tres motetes’ to the chapter through one of the ministriles, Luis de Medrano; about a month later, it was agreed the book would be paid for.1 Similarly, in 1593, a payment of 200 reales was made to ‘Tome de Vitoria, maestro de capilla en las decalzas’ for a book of Masses.2 The practice by which a composer would present a copy of his work in the hope of financial reward was common; in June 1622, a copy of Duarte Lobo’s Cantica Beatae Mariae Viriginis, printed by Plantin in Antwerp in the previous year, was also presented to the Córdoba chapter in this way (see Appendix 2.2, no.4). Although choirbooks and partbooks could be bought from booksellers, composers were often contractually obliged to retain a portion of the print run themselves, and it was these that were habitually offered by their authors to cathedrals and collegiate churches throughout Spain. Although occasional documentary references to the teaching of ‘canto de organo’ and the possession of books of music suggest that polyphony was sung in Córdoba Cathedral from at least the middle of the fifteenth century, no sources survive that can be identified with the institution at that date.3 A high percentage of the books that can be identified in the 1629 inventory, and all six of the printed collections from the early library that have survived, are in an upright folio format. Printed choirbooks were used throughout Catholic Europe, but in Spain they continued to have a particularly prominent functional role in the enactment of the litur-

1 2 3

ACCO, ‘Actas 19’, fols. 47, 51 (2 April 1566). The book must have been a copy of Guerrero’s Liber primus missarum (Paris, 1566). ACCO, ‘Actas 30’, fol. 121 (4 August 1593). This would have been a copy of the Motecta in the edition of either Venice (1572), Rome (1583) or Milan (1589). Nieto Cumplido, ‘La música’, pp. 67–8 (1455), p. 69 (1447).

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gy after the Council of Trent. This was in large part because of the preservation of the coro in Spanish collegiate churches and cathedrals, despite the emphasis placed upon increased accessibility to and visibility of the central sacral area in the Council’s decrees. The spatial arrangement of the coro, with its very particular architectural disposition and connection to the central sacral area of the altar itself, brought with it distinct liturgical implications and choreographical consequences. Finished on its eastern side with a wrought-iron screen, the Spanish choir is typically connected to the high altar itself by a processional corridor, usually demarcated by iron railings. This configuration helps to explain not only the large number of manuscript choirbooks of both polyphony and plainchant that have survived, probably in greater quantity than elsewhere in Catholic Europe, but also the production of printed choirbooks of sacred music, whether printed in Spain itself or produced abroad for the Spanish trade; it seems likely that, to some extent, printers such as Alessandro Gardano, Christophe Plantin and Jacques Moderne produced these books with a specifically Spanish market in mind. In Córdoba, a high percentage of the books in the 1629 inventory that can be identified, and all six of the printed editions from the early choir library that have survived, are folio choirbooks. Most of those acquired towards the end of the sixteenth century were printed in the Typographia Regia. Founded in 1593 in Madrid at the instigation of Philip II, who, in the following year, appointed Tomás Junta to the position of ‘Impresor del Rey’, the Typographia Regia, under the supervision of its foreman Juan Flamenco, turned to the production of polyphonic choirbooks with a volume of Masses by the maestro de capilla of the royal chapel, Philippe Rogier. Overseen by his pupil Géry de Ghersem,4 Rogier’s Missae sex appeared in 1598 with a dedication to the new king, Philip III, who had honoured his deceased father’s agreement to provide financial support for the printing of the book.5 Within Spain, it was quite widely distributed; copies have survived in Pastrana, Toledo, Valladolid and Zaragoza as well as in Córdoba (see Appendix 2.2, no. 5), while others, no longer extant, are known to have been acquired by the cathedrals in Palencia and Cuenca. In South America, where books of printed polyphony were imported from as early as the 1540s, copies are preserved in Sucre and Cuzco.6 Victoria, who definitively returned to Madrid from Rome in 1587, as chaplain and subsequently organist to the Empress Maria (then resident in the convent of Las Descalzas), was presumably involved in the operations of the royal printing press as a result of his connections to the royal household. In the case of Córdoba, the Rogier choirbook was just one of a number of Juan Flamenco’s titles to have entered the Cathedral library; later editions include Victoria’s 4 5

6

G. Bourligueux, ‘Géry de Ghersem, sous-maître de la Chapelle Royale d’Espagne (documents inédits)’, Mélanges de la Casa de Velazquez, 2 (1966), pp. 163–78. For the details of the contract, which covered the expenses of both printing and paper, see P. Becquart, Musiciens néerlandais à la cour de Madrid: Philippe Rogier et son école (1560–1647) (Brussels, 1967), pp. 249–50, which provides a transcription; the original is in the Archivo General de Palacio in Madrid, ‘Cedulas reales, 1595–1599’, Archivo IX, fol. 315. M. Gembero Ustárroz, ‘Circulación de libros de música entre España y América’, in I. Fenlon and T. Knighton (eds.), Early Music Printing and Publishing in the Iberian World (Kassel, 2006), pp. 147–79, at pp. 167–74.

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Missae, Magnificat, Motecta, Psalmi of 1600, printed in partbooks at the composer’s insistence, and his volume of funeral music for the empress, issued by the Typographia Regia in 1605 (see nos.13 and 40, below). Unlike these two, a fourth collection, devoted to Masses by Alonso Lobo and published by the Typographia Regia in 1602, still survives there (see Appendix 2.2, no. 2). Although the acquisition of these books produced in the years 1598– 1605 may not have followed any pre-conceived plan or single route of transmission, the overall impression of the polyphonic repertory of the Cathedral is that it predominantly displays a Spanish rather than international character. In addition to further music by Victoria, which was also acquired in Italian editions, there is a good deal of repertory by Morales and Guerrero – which is to be expected – and two publications of works by Navarro, which are less commonly encountered in Spanish institutions. If aspects of the repertorial profile of the collection are broadly similar to those of comparable institutions elsewhere in the peninsula that were building up their holdings of printed polyphony during the course of the sixteenth century, so too is the reliance upon editions printed in a number of European cities – not only Venice and Rome, but also Lyons where, largely on account of its favourable geographical position situated at the crossroads of one of the busiest trade routes in Western Europe, printers and publishers operated successfully in the international market.7 A distinctly local flavour to the expanding polyphonic repertory of Córdoba Cathedral is provided by the presence in the inventory of printed editions of sacred music composed by Fernando de las Infantas (see no. 42, below). Born in Córdoba to an aristocratic family, he spent much of his adult life living in Italy, supported by his inheritance.8 In the early 1570s, he moved to Rome, where he was to remain for almost thirty years. A few years later, his involvement in a dispute over the reform of Gregorian chant proposed by Pope Gregory XIII places him in the orbit of powerful patrons including Philip II and the Spanish ambassador, as well as Palestrina, the most distinguished and influential composer then working in Rome. Contacts between Philip II and De las Infantas are also evident from his three books of motets published in Venice at the end of the 1570s, all with a dedication to Philip II. Their contents should be seen, at least in part, as both a prolongation of the polemic over chant reform, and a practical demonstration of the composer’s belief in the validity of chant melodies as bearers of meaning when incorporated into a polyphonic texture. It was during his early years in Córdoba, where he received a classical

7

8

See Henri Lapeyre, Une famille de marchands, les Ruiz. Contribution à l’étude du commerce entre la France et l’Éspagne au temps de Philippe II (Paris, 1955), pp. 567–73, which deals with French printer-publishers and their factors operating in Medina del Campo in the second half of the century. See I. Fenlon, ‘Jacques Moderne’s Choirbooks and the Iberian Trade’, in M.-A. Colin (ed.), French Renaissance Music and Beyond. Studies in Memory of Frank Dobbins (Turnhout, 2018), pp. 219–34. For his biography, see R. Mitjana, Don Fernando de las Infantas, teólogo y músico (Madrid, 1918); J. de la Torre y del Cerro, ‘Fernando de las Infantas, músico y teólogo’, Boletin de ciencias, bellas lettras y nobles artes de Córdoba, 32 (1931), pp. 159–211; and, more recently, J. L. Ruiz Vera, ‘Fernando de las Infantas (ca. 1534–1609?), polifonista cordobés del rinacimiento’, in J. M Moreno Caderon (ed.), El patrimonio histórico-musical de Córdoba (Córdoba, n.d.,), pp. 151–211

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education and, on his own admission, wrote the first 14 of the 101 counterpoints later published by Scotto, that his contrapuntal training began.9 Many of De las Infantas’s psalm settings employ a cantus firmus in long notes, a technique which had traditionally been used for pieces written in commemoration of significant political and dynastic events. His earliest motet of this kind is ‘Parce mihi Domine’, written to mark the death of Charles V at Yuste on 20 September 1558; the composer was then just 24 years old, and it is possible – or even likely – that the piece was performed at the obsequies held in Córdoba Cathedral. Notice of the emperor’s death was registered by the Cathedral Chapter on 13 October, and arrangements for the solemn ceremonies were noted one week later.10 Concern with the Turkish question and the War of Cyprus is reflected in the ambitious seven-voice setting of ‘Congregati sunt inimici nostri’, headed ‘In oppressione inimicorum’ and printed with rubrics which refer to the dramatic events of 1565 when Turkish troops landed on the island of Malta, which was fiercely and successfully defended by the combined forces of the Knights of Malta and a contingent of Spanish soldiers. The continuing interest of De las Infantas in the struggle of the Holy League against the Turks is reflected in two other motets. ‘Ecce quam bonum’, published in the first book of motets, celebrates the formation of the Holy League in 1570, and ‘Canticum Moysis’, published in the second, was composed in praise of the victory of the Holy League over the Ottoman fleet at Lepanto in 1571. References to the composer in notarial documents preserved in Córdoba make it likely that all these pieces were both composed in the city and conceivably performed in the Cathedral, while, given the composer’s connections to the Spanish Crown, it is not surprising that he should have articulated his involvement in the unfolding drama so strongly. Spanish cultural reactions to Lepanto – which encompassed literature, music and painting – placed a heavy emphasis upon the theme of the nation as divinely protected under the guidance of the king as a true Catholic monarch, a common rhetorical trope that functioned not only in the obvious sense as underpinning the indissolubility of Church and state, but also as a riposte to the French, who had declined to join the League. In this sense, both ‘Ecce quam bonum’ and ‘Canticum Moysis’ can be thought of as analogies in sound to the two commemorative paintings that Philip II ordered from Titian a few years after the battle. Text Inventario de los libros de canto de órgano que esta Santa Iglesia Cathedral de Córdoua tiene, los quales están a cargo del maestro de Capilla Gabriel Díaz, presbítero, capellán perpetuo de la capilla de Santa Ignnés son los siguientes: Después de lo susodicho, en el dicho día veinte y seis días del mes de abril de mill y seiscientos y veinte y nueve años, el dicho señor Visitador General desta ciudad, pros-

9 10

Plurimum modulationum genera quae vulgo contrapuncta appellantur super excelso gregoriano cantu (Venice, 1579). ACCO, ‘Actas 16’, fols. 23v–24, 26v.

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iguiendo su visita de la dicha Santa Yglesia, mandó pedir y pidió quenta a Joan de Montiel, maestro de Capilla de la dicha Santa Yglesia, de los libros de canto de órgano que an estado a su cargo y por otro inventario que se hizo a el maestro Joan de Riscos y vn memorial que ay firmado del dicho Joan de Montiel, maestro susoducho, se le fueron pidiendo los dichos libros y se hizo el dicho inventario en la forma e manera siguiente: Para MISAS [1] Primeramente el libro de Joan [sic] Jusquin. [2] Primera y segunda parte de Morales. [3] Primera y segunda parte de Guerrero. [4] Primera y segunda parte de Victoria. [5] Primera parte de Alonso Lovo. [6] Un libro de mano de dos misas y Lamentaciones de Zevallos. [7] Un libro de ocho misas, asperges y motetes de Duarte Lobo que se trajo de Almagro en septiembre de 1603 años, impresso en Lisboa. [later addition] [8] Un libro grande de mano enquadernado en pergamino con dos misas estrangeras. [9] Un libro donde está la missa de mi, fa, la, fa sol la, de mano. [10] Un libro de mano grande con tablas negras con Lamentaciones y algunas misas. [11] Otro libro de misas de Lovo, portugués. [12] Otro libro de misas de Briceño. [13] Dos juegos de libretes, uno de a ocho libretes, y el otro de a nueve. De los unos es autor Luis de Victoria, y de los otros un autor italiano que fue organista en la Santa Iglesia de Milán, en los quales hay misas, motetes, magnificas y psalmos de a ocho y doce voces. Se compraron en marzo de 1664 [sic] [= 1604?] [later addition] Libros para las visperas [14] Un libro de Zevallos con psalmos y himnos y magnificas. [15] Un libro de Navarro con psalmos y himnos y magnificas. [16] Un libro de himnos de Penestrina. [17] Un libro grande de mano de los himnos de todo el año. [18] Un libro de misas de Filippe Rogier. [19] Un libro grande de bitela de hynos de canto de órgano del maestro Gerónimo Durán de la Cueva. [later addition] [20] Un libro grande de magnificas de Bibanco. [21] Un libro de magnificas breves de Duarte Lobo. [22] Un libro de mano de magnificas de diversos autores. [23] Un libro grande de tablas donde está la primera missa de Vt, re, mi, fa, sol, la. [24] Un libro de mano donde están las Pasiones y Lamentaciones. [25] Un libro de mano donde está el Asperges y Beatus.

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[26] [27] [28] [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35]

Un libro grande de motetes de todo el año de Victoria. Un libro grande de mano con motetes y algunas missas. Dos libros de pocas hojas, viejos, donde está la missa de Feria. Un libro de missas de Penestrina donde está Sicut lilium. [in margin: ‘falta’] Un libro de Magnificas de Navarro el Moderno. Un libro de Magnificas de fr. Manuel Cardoso, impresso en Lisboa, que se trajo de Valencia en 12 de julio de 1603 años. [later addition] Un libro con Asperges y un psalmo del maestro Durán de la Cueva. Otro libro de Magnificas de Sebastián de Velasco. Dos Pasionarios de molde y un missal viejo. Otro libro de Magnificas de Morales.

Libros pequeños de motetes. [36] Dos juegos de libros de motetes de Guerrero. Fáltale la quinta parte. [37] Dos juegos de libros de a seis de Penestrina. Falta un juego. [38] Un juego de libros de Orlando. [39] Un juego de libros a cinco para las procesiones que dice Ossana, etc. [40] Medio quaderno de Vitoria con officio de Defuntos. [41] Nueve libros de Vitoria de missas. [42] Seis libros de motetes de don Fernando de las Ynfantas. [in margin: ‘faltan quatro’] [43] Cinco libretes de motetes de Penestrina. [in margin: ‘faltan’] [44] Un libro para ministriles intitulado canciones, de diferentes autores para copia de ministriles, que se compró de Acisclos de Salazar en 17 de diciembre de 1603. [later addition] [45] Cinco libretes de Rogier, estrangero. A este juego le falta un libro [in margin: ‘faltan todos’] [46] Ocho libretes de motetes de Vitoria. [47] Otros cinco libretes de motetes de Rogieri, estrangero, y le falta uno [in mar gin: ‘faltan todos’] [48] Un juego de nueve libretes de quartilla grande del maestro Sebastián López de Velasco. [49] Mas ay once libretes de diferentes autores que no tienen hermanos. Y, estando presente el dicho Gabriel Díaz, maestro de Capilla susodicho, y, aviendo visto y entendido el dicho inventario de libros de canto de órgano, se dió por entregado en todos ellos según y de la manera que aquí están escritos e inventariados y apreciados. Y confessó tenellos en su poder y se obligó de dar quenta con pago de todos los dichos libros y de cada uno dellos cumplidamente cada y cuando le sea pedido por juez competente que desta caussa pueda y deba conocer so pena de pagar el doblo y valor del que no entregare con el doblo y costas de cobranza. Y para ello obligó su persona y bienes muebles y raíces auidos y por aver, y dio poder a las justicias de Su Magestad, eclesiásticas y seglares, para que a ello

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le apremien assy como por sentencia pasada en cossa juzgada, y renunció todas y qualesquier leyes, fueros y derechos que sean en su favor y la general. Y lo firmó de su nombre el otorgante en el registro a quien yo el presente notario, doy fee que conozco, y que el dicho inventario se hizo en mi presencia y de los testigos aquí contenidos que fueron a ellos presentes, Martín Muñoz Mariscal, presbítero, y Joan de Montiel, capellán perpetuo de la dicha Santa Yglesia, y Alonso Manuel de Oblancam notario apostólico, vecinos de Córdoua. Gabriel Díaz, Don Luis de Baeza y Mosquera, notario. Transcription and identification11 [1] [2]

[3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

11

12

• Liber quindecim missarum (Rome: A. Antico, 1516) [1516/1] • Missarum liber primus (Rome: V. Dorico, 1544) [M 3580] or (Lyon: J. Moderne, 1546) [M 3581] • Missarum liber secundus (Rome: V. Dorico, 1544) [M 3582] or (Lyon: J. Moderne, 1551/2) [M 3583] • Liber primus missarum (Paris: N. du Chemin, 1566) [G 4870] • Missarum liber secundus (Rome: D. Basa / F. Zanetti, 1582) [G 4872] • Liber primus (Venice: Angelo Gardano, 1576) [V 1427] • Missarum libri duo (Rome: Angelo Gardano / D.Basa, 1583) [V 1431] • Liber primus missarum (Madrid: Typographia Regia, 1602) [L 2588] • Manuscript. Music by Rodrigo de Cavallos, maestro de capilla 1556–1561 • Unrecorded Lisbon edition of music by Duarte Lobo. • Manuscript • Manuscript • Manuscript • Liber missarum (Antwerp: ex officina Plantiniana, 1621) [L 2591]. • Diego de Bruçena, Libro de misas, magnificats y motetes (Salamanca: Susana Muñoz, 1620).12 • Victoria, Missae, magnificat, motecta, psalmi (Madrid: Typographia Regia, 1600) [V 1435]. • Manuscript. Music by Rodrigo de Cevallos, maestro de capilla 1556–1561. • Psalmi, hymni ac magnificat totius anni (Rome: G. Torneri / F. Coattino, 1590) [N 283] • Hymni totius anni (Rome: G. Torneri / Donangeli, 1598) [P 737] • Manuscript

For an earlier version of both my transcription of the inventory and the realisation of its references to identifiable printed editions, see I. Fenlon, ‘Lost Books of Polyphony from Renaissance Spain’, in F. Bruni and A. Pettegree (eds.), Lost Books: Reconstructing the Print World of Pre-Industrial Europe (Leiden and Boston, 2016), pp. 75–100, at pp. 96–100. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the list of identifications printed there is incomplete and should be replaced by this one. See A. L. Iglesias, ‘El maestro de capilla Diego de Bruçena (1567–1623) y el impreso perdido de su libro Libro de misas, magnificats y motetes (Salamanca: Susana Muñoz, 1620)’, in D. Crawford (ed.), Encomium musicae: Essays in Memory of Robert J. Snow (Hillsdale, NY, 2002), pp. 435–70. A copy of the book has recently been found in the Cathedral of Mirando do Douro, Portugal; see Michael Noone's article in Anuario musical 75 (2020), pp.23-60.

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[18] • Missae sex (Madrid: Typographia Regia, 1598) [R 1937] [19] • Manuscript. Hymns by Jerónimo Durán de la Cueva, maestro de capilla,1567–1614, almost certainly a reference to Ms 138. [20] • Liber magnificarum (Salamanca: A. Taberniel, 1607) [V 2249] [21] • Cantica B. Mariae Virginis, vulgo magnificat, quaternis vocibus (Antwerp: Plantin, 1605) [L 2590] [22] • Manuscript [23] [24] • Manuscript [25] • Manuscript [26] • Motecta festorum totius anni (Rome: Alessandro Gardano / D. Basa, 1585) [V 1433] [27] • Manuscript [28] [29] • Missarum liber quintus (Rome: F. Coattino, 1590) [P 670] [30] • Psalmi, hymni ac magnificat totius anni (Rome: G. Torneri / F. Coattino, 1590) [N 283] [31] • Cantica Beatae Mariae Virginis (Lisbon: P. Craesbeck, 1613) [C 1038] [32] • Music by Jerónimo Durán de la Cueva, maestro de capilla 1567–1614. [33] • Libro de missas, motets, salmos, magnificas (Madrid: Typographia Regia, 1628) [34] [35] • Mariae cantica vulgo magnificat dicta (Lyon: J. Moderne, 1550) [M 3505] [36] • Motteta ... quae partim quaternis, partim quinis (Venice: Antonio Gardano, 1570) [G 4871] or Mottecta ... quae partim quaternis partim quinis (Venice: Giacamo Vincenti, 1589) [G 4875] or Motecta ... quae partim quaternis, partim quinis (Venice: Giacamo Vincenti, 1597) [G 4877] [37] • Music by Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina [38] • Music by Orlando di Lasso [39] [40] • Victoria, Officium defunctorum sex vocibus (Madrid: Typographia Regia, 1605) [V1436] [41] [42] • Infantas, Sacrarum varii styli cantionum ... cum sex vocibus (Venice: Scotto, 1579) [I 39] [43] [44] • This may be the book referred to in ACCO, ‘Actas 35’, fol. 187 (4 April 1603): ‘Los ministriles tenian necesidad de un libro de canto de organo para taner … y un frayle de San Augustin vende un libro que son aproposito’. [45] • Sacrarum modulationum (Naples: Typographia Stelliolae, 1595) [R 1936] [46] • Motecta ... alia duodenis vocibus concinuntur (Rome: Alessando Gardano, 1583) [V 1422] or (Milan: Francesco & eredi di Simon Tini, 1589) [V 1423]; or Motecta, que partim quaternis (Venice: Gardano, 1603) [V 1425] or (Venice: Gardano, 1604) [V 1426] [47] • Sacrarum modulationum (Naples: Typographia Stelliolae, 1595) [R 1936] [48] • Velasco, Libro de missas, motetes, salmos, magnificas y otras cosas tocantes al culto divino (Madrid: Typographia Regia, 1628) [L 2822] [49]

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Appendix 2.2 Córdoba, Archivo de la Catedral: Printed and Manuscript Music

1.

GUERRERO, Francisco: Missarum liber secundus (Rome: Domenico Basa / Francesco Zanetti, 1582). RISM G4872.

Bound in contemporary brown leather over wooden boards decorated with raised brass studs, and studs to the edges of the binding. It is well worn, with much patching on the lower edge and at the corners. Occasional ink annotations and inscriptions indicate its use during the eighteenth century: ‘En 8 dias del mes de mayo se aderezo este libro / de misas Compuesto por D. Fran.co Guerrero / siendo mro de capilla D. Agustin de / Contreras presvitero Capellan perpetuo / de Sta ynes, Y siendo Musiquero / Manuel quadrado / belarde / Anno Dni./ 1710’ (front end-paper); ‘FUE MVSIQUERO este año de 1708 Diego De Portichuela y Peña’ (colophon page); ‘fue el licenciado Juan fran.co Bellmedina / Musiquero en este Año = 1712’ (lower fly-leaf). Libro 139

2.

LOBO, Alonso: Liber primus missarum (Madrid: Johannes Flandrum, Typographia

Regia, 1602). RISM L2588.

Contemporary brown leather binding over wooden boards in a similar style to no. 1 above, decorated with studs in a simple design on both covers and further metal strengtheners to the edges. The book is worn with some patching. Occasional ink annotations, including ‘1o tono’, ‘3o tono’, etc., are found in the same hand (eighteenth century) as in no. 1 above. Various inscriptions on the upper and lower end-papers give the name of the ‘musiquero’ and the chapelmaster and are dated 1718, 1740 and 1747. The earliest inscription, on the upper end-paper, reads: ‘El año de mil setecientos y diez / en 28 dias de abril se aderezo este / libro siendo Musiquero / Manuel quadrado / Belardes’. Libro 133

3.

[LOBO, Duarte]: [Cantica Beatae Maria Virginis] (Antwerp: Ex officina Plantiniana,

1605). RISM L2590.

Later binding over wooden boards, decorated with studs, metal corner-strengtheners and clasps. The back fly-leaf and pastedown are taken from earlier (sixteenth century) unidentified printed books. The title page is missing, several other pages are loose, and some pages are patched. Libro 136

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4.

[LOBO, Duarte]: [Liber missarum] [Antwerp: Ex officina Plantiniana, 1621]. RISM

L2591.

Binding, probably contemporary, of leather over wooden boards, with studs on upper and lower covers and iron strengthening nailed to edges, badly damaged. The title page is missing. There are considerable signs of wear, and a notable amount of patching and rewriting in ink (eighteenth or nineteenth century) throughout the book, indicating that it was still in use until the nineteenth century. There are some annotations in the same hand (eighteenth century) as in nos. 1, 2, 5 and 6. Libro 135

5.

[Missae sex] (Madrid: Johannes Flandrum, Typographia Regia, 1598). RISM R1937.

[ROGIER, Philippe]

Original binding of brown leather over wooden boards with simple design of metal studs on covers and strengthening to edges (very similar in style to nos. 1 and 2). ‘No. 4’ is stencilled on the upper cover in the same manner as in nos. 1 and 2. The edges of the pages are stained red. The book shows signs of wear, and there is some patching throughout; the early gatherings are damaged with some loss of text. Occasional annotations are found in the same hand as in nos. 1, 2, 4 and 6 (eighteenth century). Libro 148

6.

[Motecta festorum totius anni] (Rome: Alessandro Gardano, 1585). RISM V1433. [VICTORIA, Tomás Luis de]

Contemporary binding of brown leather over wooden boards, similar in general appearance to nos. 1, 2 and 5, but also with a simple geometrical compartment design tooled in blind and with five raised bands to the spine. Unlike the other books, no number is stencilled on the front cover, and the book has leather ties to the upper cover and metal clasps to the lower. The book shows signs of wear, with patching throughout and occasional annotations in the same hand found in nos. 1, 2, 4 and 5 (sec. XVIII) Libro 146 �

86

3. Sound and the Conversion of Space in Early Modern Germany Alexander J. Fisher �

Among the most fundamental phenomena in histories of the Reformation era is the idea of conversion. If conversion has traditionally been seen as an individual act following upon an interior transformation, more recent scholarly work on early modern Europe, including that of David Luebke, Duane Corpis and Keith Luria, has emphasised instead the public nature and consequences of conversion. Rather than a personal expression of faith or belief, Corpis writes, ‘religion was a fundamental marker of social belonging and a system of practices that cemented one’s affiliation to one’s community’. Conversion, it follows, was ‘a site where communal, familial, ecclesiastical, and state interests collided with the choices, actions, and identities of converts themselves’.1 The social character of conversion raises the question of how spaces themselves might undergo a similar process, for the conversion of space was arguably the means by which the notion of ‘confession’ was made manifest and tangible. Protestant reorientations of church interiors or even iconoclastic assaults converted religious space in profound ways, as did new Catholic architecture and Baroque (re-)decorations of existing churches. In the public sphere, notions of confessional space were encouraged not only by the built environment of churches, public architecture and statuary, but also by more ephemeral reconfigurations of space through civic rituals, popular disturbances, processions and pilgrimages. More than a matter of interior conviction, confession was apprehensible to the senses. How the changing spaces of confession were perceived is a fundamentally phenomenological question that defies easy explanation, but it is possible to understand the strategies involved in their conversion. These strategies were multisensory, and it will be the purpose of this chapter to explore the role music – and sound, more broadly – played in the conversion of confessional spaces in the southern German orbit. Cities, in particular, were sites of commercial and cultural exchange, but also places where religious minorities could persevere, their freedom of worship – in the case of imperial cities – guaranteed by imperial law. Even confessionally ‘homogeneous’ cities such as Nuremberg or Munich could see reconfigurations of confessional space, especially through the medium of sound. While the effect of visual media such as architecture, paintings and statuary could be attenuated in the city’s narrow lanes, acoustic phenomena could be far more penetrating and enveloping. For example, bell signals articulated sacral time and space; increasingly

1

D. J. Corpis, Crossing the Boundaries of Belief: Geographies of Religious Conversion in Southern Germany, 1648–1800 (Charlottesville, 2014), pp. 5–6. In this connection, see also D. M. Luebke, ‘The Politics of Conversion in Early Modern Germany’, in D. M. Luebke, J. Poley, D. C. Ryan and D. W. Sabean (eds.), Conversion and the Politics of Religion in Early Modern Germany (New York, 2012), pp. 1–13; and K. P. Luria, Sacred Boundaries: Religious Co-existence and Conflict in Early Modern France (Washington, DC, 2005), esp. pp. 246–307.

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belligerent Catholic processions projected the triumph of the Church with varied music, trumpets, military drums and gunfire; and singing rogues disrupted the night-time quiet. The very nature of sound and music – ephemeral but powerful, penetrating but difficult to localise – meant that the spaces created by sound were mobile, overlapping and subject to abrupt reconfigurations. Given the complex and differentiated quality of the early modern soundscape – a ‘hi-fi’ environment, in the words of R. Murray Schafer – the following chapter will limit itself to sonic conversions in four discrete contexts: spaces of worship, processions, the aural networks of bell signals, and practices of popular singing.2 Sound and the Conversion of Worship Spaces As the principal nodes in a city’s religious network, churches were sites of concentrated efforts at religious conversion, especially after the explosion of Reformation movements in the early sixteenth century. In the ‘golden age of preaching’ that characterised the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, religious change was enacted through the sermons that sounded in worship spaces and that were increasingly printed in collections for public edification.3 The changing role of the sermon encouraged new arrangements of worship spaces in Protestant churches in particular, with the pulpit emerging as a new focus of attention, while the altar receded in relative importance.4 Parallel with this visual conversion of space was a pronounced linguistic shift from Latin to the vernacular, a profound consequence for how worship spaces were experienced by a laity now vested with a more participatory role.5 Music was naturally implicated here as well, especially with the introduction of congregational hymnody and psalmody in the Lutheran and Calvinist traditions. More ephemeral conversions of worship spaces could be brought about by the disruptive singing of Protestant hymns during the conduct of the traditional liturgy. On two consecutive Sundays in June of 1558, for instance, a group of men interrupted the sermon in Munich’s Augustinian church by singing a number of inflammatory chorales, including Martin Luther’s notorious ‘children’s song’ ‘Erhalt uns Herr bei deinem Wort’ (‘Lord, preserve us in Your Word, and turn away the murderous Pope and Turk’). The men were quickly rounded up and interrogated by the officials of Duke Albrecht V, who was simultaneously embarking upon the first of a series of church visitations that would help to cement Catholic practice in his duchy; but the episode demonstrated how sound could abruptly change the experience of a worship space.6 Indeed, it may have been such sonic disruptions, as Jan-Friedrich Missfelder has argued, that constituted the true ‘Reformation moments’ in many German cities.7 2 3 4 5 6 7

R. Murray Schafer, The Tuning of the World (New York, 1977), pp. 43–4. A. Hunt, The Art of Hearing: English Preachers and Their Audiences, 1590–1640 (Cambridge, 2010), p. 390. For a comparative study of confessional approaches to worship space, see N. Yates, Liturgical Space: Christian Worship and Church Buildings in Western Europe, 1500–2000 (Aldershot, 2008). On this point, see Barbara Pitkin, ‘The Reformation of Preaching: Transformations of Worship Soundscapes in Early Modern Germany and Switzerland’, Yale Journal of Music & Religion, 1/2 (2015), pp. 5–20, at pp. 18–20. See discussion in A. J. Fisher, Music, Piety, and Propaganda: The Soundscapes of Counter-Reformation Bavaria (New York, 2014), pp. 1–2, 34–5. J.-F. Missfelder, ‘Akustische Reformation: Lübeck 1529’, Historische Anthropologie, 20 (2012), pp. 108–21.

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Responding in part to these developments, Catholic worship spaces underwent conversions of their own. By the mid-sixteenth century, the evident success of vernacular song in Protestant worship had led the Jesuits and reform-minded bishops to introduce a competing repertory of orthodox songs that could be sung by the Catholic laity. Early efforts in this direction included Ein New Gesängbüchlin Geystlicher Lieder (Leipzig, 1537) compiled by Michael Vehe, Provost of the Dominican abbey at Halle, and the ample Geistliche Lieder und Psalmen (Bautzen, 1567) of Johannes Leisentrit, the diocesan administrator and Apostolic Prefect for Upper and Lower Lusatia.8 Elsewhere in the German orbit, the appearance of approved vernacular songs in diocesan ritual books – the 1570 Obsequiale for the diocese of Regensburg was a pioneer in this respect – and the publication of entire Catholic hymnals at the behest of the Jesuits and the post-Tridentine episcopacy suggests an effort to emulate the more participatory spaces of the Protestants, albeit within strict limits that did not threaten the fundamental integrity of the Latin liturgy.9 In a similar vein, the mendicant orders and the Jesuits promoted a renewed emphasis on preaching that encouraged a more rhetorical, persuasive art of sermonising that attacked sinful behaviour and praised the institutions and sacraments of the Church.10 Apart from speech and song, architectural changes, in Catholic churches in particular, encouraged a more unified, even ‘theatrical’ experience of the liturgy, in the spirit of Tridentine reform. In Catholic Bavaria, for example, Duke Maximilian I ordered in 1613 that all choir screens be removed from existing churches;11 more generally, new church architecture, inspired by Jesuit models, omitted choir screens and de-emphasised side chapels and articulating pillars, creating unified spaces in which the liturgy could be seen and heard without obstruction. Especially influential was the new Jesuit church of St Michael in Munich, finished in 1597, a space that Jeffrey Chipps Smith has read as a site of sensuous experience, offering a theological narrative paralleling Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises. Its massive barrel vault and uninterrupted sightlines to the altar, moreover, created an uninterrupted field of sight and sound that focused congregants’ eyes and ears on the ancient liturgical ritual (see Figure 3.1).12

8

9

10 11 12

M. Vehe, Ein New Gesangbüchlin Geystlicher Lieder, vor alle gutthe Christen nach ordenung Christlicher kirchen (Leipzig, 1537), modern edition in W. Lipphardt (ed.), Michael Vehe: Ein New Gesangbüchlin Geistlicher Lieder. Faksimile-Druck der ersten Ausgabe Leipzig 1537 (Mainz, 1970); J. Leisentrit, Geistliche Lieder vnd Psalmen, der alten Apostolischer recht vnd warglaubiger Christlicher Kirchen (Bautzen, 1567), facsimile edition by W. Lipphardt (Leipzig, 1966). For a recent study, see R. Wetzel and E. Heitmeyer, Johann Leisentrit’s Geistliche Lieder und Psalmen, 1567: Hymnody of the Counter-Reformation in Germany (Madison, Teaneck, NJ, 2013). Obsequiale, vel liber Agendorum … secundum antiquum vsum, & ritum Ecclesie Ratisbonensis (Ingolstadt, 1570); see K. Gamber, Cantiones Germanicae im Regensburger Obsequiale von 1570. Erstes offizielles katholisches Gesangbuch Deutschlands (Regensburg, 1983). Other songbooks with diocesan imprimatur include those for Bamberg (1575/6), Würzburg (1591, 1628), Speyer (1599) and Mainz (1605). On the unfolding tradition of Jesuit sermonising, for example, see F. J. McGinness, Right Thinking and Sacred Oratory in Counter-Reformation Rome (Princeton, NJ, 2014), esp. pp. 38–40. See T. Appl, ‘Der Ausbau geistlicher Zentren als Kernstück der Kirchenpolitik Herzog Wilhelms V. (1579–1597/98) in Bayern’ (Ph.D. diss., Universität Regensburg, 2009), p. 87. J. Chipps Smith, Sensuous Worship: Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany (Princeton, NJ, and Oxford, 2002), pp. 77–101. See also my discussion in Fisher, Music, Piety, and Propaganda, pp. 41–3.

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Figure 3.1 Interior of St Michael, Munich

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

In wealthier churches on both sides of the Lutheran–Catholic divide, moreover, a marked increase in polychoral, instrumental and organ music changed worship spaces into sites where a multimedia liturgy could impress the senses. For Lutherans, the cultivation of elaborate polyphony in their civic churches came to be seen as a symbol that marked confessional boundaries against Calvinist austerity. As Joyce Irwin has written, many Lutheran theologians of the later sixteenth century and beyond conceived of church music more than as simple adiaphora, or ‘indifferent things’ that were permissible in worship. Especially in the core Wittenberg circle, church music was championed as an express requirement of scripture: here the testimony of the Psalter was a core argument, expressed most directly in Psalms laden with musical references, such as No. 98 (‘Cantate Dominum canticum novum, quia mirabilia fecit / Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied, denn er hat Wunder gethan’), No. 149 (‘Cantate Dominum canticum novum, laus ejus in ecclesia sanctorum / Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied, die Gemeinde der Heiligen soll ihn loben’), or No. 150 (‘Laudate Dominum in sanctis ejus / Lobet Gott in seinem Heiligtum’).13 Large-scale musical settings of these Psalms, generally inspired by Venetian models, were common in the Lutheran orbit, and were well represented in opulent settings by composers such as Heinrich Schütz, Michael Praetorius, and Melchior Franck. In some of the more sumptuous Catholic churches in southern Germany, a new interest in this style of Venetian polychorality enhanced the ritual splendour of the traditional Latin liturgy. It is striking, for example, that the dedication of Giovanni Gabrieli’s posthumous second book of Sacrae symphoniae (Venice, 1615), one of the most sonically differentiated and magnificent collections of sacred music of its time, was directed to Johannes Merk, the abbot of the Benedictine basilica of Sts Ulrich and Afra in Augsburg. Merk also owned a complete manuscript copy of Gabrieli’s first book of Sacrae symphoniae (Venice, 1597), which happened to have been dedicated to members of the local Fugger family, whose mercantile connections with Venice surely aided the transmission of Gabrieli’s music to Augsburg.14 Gabrieli’s influence may also have been mediated by the basilica’s organist, Gregor Aichinger, who had travelled to Venice to study with the master in the 1580s.15 At the nearby Cathedral of Freising, where the medieval choir screen was demolished and a new organ and gallery for musicians were installed in the early 1620s, an extant music inventory from 1651 shows the availability of hundreds of polychoral works by the Gabrielis, and by local composers, indebted to Venetian models, including Orlando di Lasso and Hans Leo Hassler.16 In both Lutheran and Catholic churches, the performance of large-

13 14

15 16

J. Irwin, ‘Music and the Doctrine of Adiaphora in Orthodox Lutheran Theology’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 14 (1983), pp. 157–72; on the testimony of Psalm 150, see pp. 160–1. On the reception of Gabrieli’s music at Saints Ulrich and Afra, see R. Charteris, ‘Newly Discovered Works by Giovanni Gabrieli’, Music & Letters, 68 (1987), pp. 343–63, at p. 349, note 17; Charteris, ‘An Early SeventeenthCentury Manuscript Discovery in Augsburg’, Musica disciplina, 47 (1993), pp. 35–70, at pp. 44–5; and A. J. Fisher, Music and Religious Identity in Counter-Reformation Augsburg, 1580–1630 (Aldershot, 2004), pp. 106–8. For discussion, see Fisher, Music and Religious Identity, pp. 131–3. The contents of the inventory are listed in K. G. Fellerer, ‘Ein Musikalien-Inventar des fürstbischöflichen Hofes in Freising aus dem 17. Jahrhundert’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, 6 (1924), pp. 471–83, and are also discussed at

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scale music could produce similar effects of sensuous excess, but a crucial difference in the soundscape of the Counter-Reformation church was the persistence of Latin as a ritual language, whose semantic content, mostly inaccessible to the common laity, projected something of the venerable authority of the Church and its rituals. The performance of elaborate polyphony in many larger Lutheran parish and court churches, however, produced spaces that could have been heard as confessionally ambiguous. The large array of choirbooks copied between 1566 and 1597 by Friedrich Lindner for the church of St Egidien in Nuremberg, for example, contains exclusively Latin-texted Masses, Magnificats, motets, and other liturgical items of ‘Catholic’ origin, a dominant composer being the famed chapelmaster for the Bavarian dukes, Orlando di Lasso (1532– 94).17 In contrast with the larger urban parishes of St Sebald and St Lorenz, St Egidien was patronised especially by Nuremberg’s patrician elite, which seems to have demanded a musical repertoire of international stature without special regard for confessional symbolism. To the south, at the church and Gymnasium of St Anna in the imperial city of Augsburg, the cantor and schoolmaster, Adam Gumpelzhaimer, amassed an impressive, ecumenical library of church and school polyphony by the early seventeenth century, drawing liberally on the music of contemporary Italian and German composers alike. Although we lack service orders from St Anna that might confirm the performance of specific music from this library, Richard Charteris has examined two extant score-books in Gumpelzhaimer’s hand that clearly demonstrate the performance of an opulent and confessionally diverse repertory for voices and instruments: music of ‘Catholic’ origin is well represented here in works by Giovanni Gabrieli, Philippe de Monte, Orazio Vecchi, Christian Erbach, and others.18 While confessional lines were being more clearly demarcated by Augsburg’s Catholic composers, such as Aichinger, who increasingly chose to set texts and issue collections stressing Marian, Eucharistic and sanctoral themes redolent of the Counter-Reformation Church, the city’s leading Protestant institution took a more neutral course.19 Converting Space in Catholic Processions Outside the large urban parishes, the appropriation and definition of public space by Catholic processions was a profound medium for confessional confrontation, negotation and the conversion of space. The most spectacular examples were arguably in Munich,

17

18 19

length in H. Rosner, ‘Mehrchörige Musikpflege in Freising 1550–1650’, Frigisinga, 46/6 (1963), pp. 1–4. On music at Freising Cathedral in general, see also K. G. Fellerer, ‘Die Dommusik im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert’, in J. A. Fischer (ed.), Der Freisinger Dom. Beiträge zur seiner Geschichte (Freising, 1967), p. 225. For discussion, see W. Rubsamen, ‘The International “Catholic” Repertoire of a Lutheran Church in Nürnberg (1574–1597)’, Annales musicologiques, 5 (1957), pp. 229–327; B. R. Butler, ‘Liturgical Music in Sixteenth-Century Nürnberg: A Socio-Musical Study’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign, 1970), pp. 573–84, 660–73; and E. Giselbrecht, ‘Crossing Boundaries: The Printed Dissemination of Italian Sacred Music in German-Speaking Areas (1580–1620)’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Cambridge, 2012), pp. 141–65. R. Charteris, Adam Gumpelzhaimer’s Little-Known Score Books in Berlin and Kraków, Musicological Studies & Documents 48 (Neuhausen, 1996). Fisher, Music and Religious Identity, pp. 80–4.

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where the procession for the feast of Corpus Christi, sponsored by the Wittelsbach ducal house, took on massive proportions, involving thousands of participants, the staging of mobile biblical scenes presented by the city’s guildsmen, and the triumphant display of the Eucharist as a powerful symbol of the Catholic fidelity of the Bavarian house and its subjects. We find here not only a variety of plainchant, litanies and motets, but also the sounds of war and conquest: the braying of the ducal trumpet corps and the cadence of military drums, the salvos of hundreds of musketeers, and the report of cannon fire.20 As in traditional medieval processions, the Munich Corpus Christi procession circumambulated the city, physically tracing the city’s sacred space with visual splendour; but the vast companies of heavily armed soldiers and artillerymen stationed at the four main city gates, where the procession paused for the chanting of the Gospels, ensured that the sounds of the procession could produce large-scale confessional spaces even in parts of the city where it was not visible. The acoustic horizon expanded to encompass the entire city, making the message of the triumphant Eucharist inescapable.21 The Munich processions, unfolding in the staunchest Catholic bastion north of the Alps, involved the reassertion of existing space more than its conversion, per se, but in mixed confessional environments the sights and sounds of Catholic processions had a highly provocative quality as they penetrated religious boundaries between different communities. In Augsburg, the fathers of the newly formed Jesuit college of St Salvator began as early as 1584 to agitate for the extension of Catholic processions that were previously confined to the northern, ecclesiastical quarter of the city.22 The city council rejected this proposal due to the general ‘hatred of the Jesuits’ but, by the first decade of the seventeenth century, the city’s Catholic minority began to march through the city streets on both Good Friday and Corpus Christi, attracting not only Protestant observers, but also the wrath of the city’s Lutheran preachers. For example, the Good Friday procession was conducted in the dark of the evening by torchlight, and featured the marching of flagellants who struck their bloody backs with whips in empathy with Christ’s torments. A number of sources tell us that the procession was accompanied by several groups of musicians, including ‘a chorus of four boys singing a tearful dirge to Christ’, a ‘mournful symphony’ and a ‘doleful funeral song sung by a choir of angels’.23 To this we can likely add the chanting of litanies, a typical Catholic prayer that, with its petitions to holy persons, aurally projected the dogma of sanctoral intercession.24 The Augsburg Good Friday procession, in fact, touched off a

20 21 22 23

24

Fisher, Music, Piety, and Propaganda, pp. 253–66; see also A. Mitterwieser, Geschichte der Fronleichnamsprozession in Bayern (Munich, 1930). On acoustic horizons, see B. Blesser and L.-R. Salter, Spaces Speak, Are You Listening? (Cambridge, MA, 2006), p. 22, as well as B. Truax, Acoustic Communication, 2nd edition (Westport, CT, and London, 2001), p. 67. Fisher, Music and Religious Identity, pp. 237–45. ‘De initijs ac progressu omnium Fraternitatum, quae in alma hac urbe Augustana fuerunt diversis temporibus erectae à Christi fidelibus, narratio MDCVII’, Staats- und Stadtbibliothek Augsburg, 2° Aug. 346, fol. 22r–v. See discussion in Fisher, Music and Religious Identity, pp. 243–4. On the association of litanies with Catholic processional culture, see R. L. Kendrick, ‘“Honore a Dio, e allegrezza alli santi, e consolazioni alli putti”: The Musical Projection of Litanies in Sixteenth-Century Italy’, in S. Ditchfield

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spirited polemical debate in print by 1607, the year that the Lutheran preacher of St Anna, Melchior Volcius, attacked the Catholics ‘for making a special demonstration of their zeal for their religion, and for deceitfully catching and taking unto themselves pious, simple and innocent hearts under the pretence of great holiness’.25 He admonished his own flock to avert their eyes and ears – the Catholics, he writes: […] forbid their people to visit our church, hear our sermons and attend our services, in which they would hear nothing but God’s pure, unsullied word, along with pure Psalms and sacred songs (reinen Psalmen vnnd Geistlichen Liedern) … But you run to this blasphemous, abominable event in night and fog, where you see nothing but sheer atrociousness and idolatry; you hear nothing by which you can better yourself.26

The projection of Catholic space into nominally Protestant neighbourhoods brought with it the grave risk that its residents might be persuaded of Catholic truths. Such persuasion, it seems, was explicitly intended by the Catholic promoters of processional culture. In 1586, for example, the Confraternity of the Trinity at Augsburg Cathedral reported, in a supplication to the Pope for indulgences, that ‘Pious, Catholic, and ardent Christians have held public processions with banners into and out of all of the [city] gates, and organized several choirs in great numbers which sang German and Latin Litanies of All Saints, and many Protestants walking by saw this and stood there with terrified hearts, and many of them showed reverence to the clergy.’27 Redefinitions of sacral space by processions could lead to disastrous consequences. In the mainly Lutheran imperial city of Donauwörth, the Catholic minority, led by the Benedictines of the Holy Cross monastery, began in 1606 to extend their processions throughout the city, with banners flying.28 Defying the instructions of the city council, the Benedictine abbot Christoph Gerung dispatched the St Mark’s Day procession at 6 a.m., which passed through the city to the Danube gate, heading to the nearby village of Auchsesheim for a Mass and a sermon. The trouble began when the procession returned, the marchers finding the gates of the city closed against them and manned by companies of armed men and large unruly crowds. A mêlée ensued, during which the Protestant residents of the city physically attacked the procession, throwing down its banners, casting sticks and stones, and verbally abusing the marchers. Written accounts of the processional soundscape, quite naturally, deviated sharply from one another depending on the

25 26 27 28

(ed.), Plasmare il suono: Il culto dei santi e la musica (secc. XVI–XVIII), Sanctorum 6 (Rome, 2009), pp. 15–46, at pp. 18–19, 22–3; N. O’Regan, ‘Processions and Their Music in Post-Tridentine Rome’, Recercare, 4 (1992), pp. 45–80, at pp. 52–6, 66–9; and A. J. Fisher, ‘Thesaurus Litaniarum: The Symbolism and Practice of Musical Litanies in Counter-Reformation Germany’, Early Music History, 34 (2015), pp. 45–95, at pp. 62–4. M. Volcius, Zwo Christliche Predigten, von der abscheulichen Geisselungsprocession, welche jährlich im Papsthumb am Charfreytag gehalten würdt (Tübingen, 1607), pp. 23–4. Ibid., p. 52. ‘Concept der Bruderschafftt zum Heÿ: Berg Andex Suplication an die Bäbst: hey: zu Rom vmb zuerlanngen ettliche Indulgentias Anno Christi 1586’, Stadtarchiv Augsburg, Katholisches Wesensarchiv E458. For a study of the following events and their broader political significance, see F. Stieve, Der Kampf um Donauwörth im Zusammenhänge der Reichsgeschichte (Munich, 1875). See also G. Deibler, Das Kloster Heilig Kreuz in Donauwörth von der Gegenreformation bis zur Säkularisation (Weissenhorn, 1989), pp. 45–6.

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author’s religious convictions. One account from the Catholic notary Johann Schrall, engaged by the abbot to observe and record the proceedings, tells us that the procession went ‘very quietly and with appropriate devotion’, while the Protestant onlookers met the procession with ‘running back and forth, screaming, mockery, and laughter’, suggesting a soundscape defined less by pious litanies and songs than by noise and tumult.29 Much later, the monastery’s chronicler Cölestin Königsdorfer conceded the presence of ‘a group of young musicians clad in linen’, but insisted on their great modesty, despite the taunting of the Protestants.30 By contrast, an anonymous Protestant pamphlet published in 1611 (attributed to the Württemberg jurist Sebastian Faber) asserted that the marchers were themselves ‘mocking and derisive’ (hohnlachend und spöttisch) and that there was much ‘triumphalism’ and ‘merrymaking’ (viel Triumphirens und Frolockens) in the faces of the onlookers.31 Whatever the truth of the matter, the violence with which Donauwörth’s Protestants reclaimed urban space led in the following year to a forcible occupation of the city by Maximilian I of Bavaria and the eventual loss of the city’s free imperial status. Taking the form of pilgrimages to distant shrines, the sights and sounds of processions projected and converted space in more rural areas as well. In the spring of 1660, pilgrims from the town of Gerolzhofen, controlled by the Bishop of Würzburg, made their short annual journey to the shrine of Mary of the Vineyards (Maria im Weingarten) on the Kirchberg near Volkach, some 10 kilometres distant. This required passing through the Lutheran village of Krautheim, which had traditionally made its church bells available to the Gerolzhofen pilgrims as they approached and passed through.32 On this occasion, however, Catholics running ahead to gain access to the church found their way blocked by the local sheriff, schoolmaster and several other men. Protesting that they must be allowed to ring the bells, the emissaries were refused entry, resulting in an exchange of insults and a fisticuffs that saw several people injured, and compelled the resident nobleman (the Junker Friedrich Eitel von Buttlar) to race to the scene with his sword drawn to disperse the riot. In the ensuing correspondence between the Würzburg court, its officials in Gerolzhofen, and Krautheim’s lord, the Lutheran Count of Castell, it emerged that in the previous year’s pilgrimage Catholic boys actually severed the bell ropes in the tower, not only necessitating expensive repairs but also temporarily denying the sound of the bells to the Protestant locals. Having been deprived of their own bell sounds, the Krautheimers retaliated by cur29 30 31

32

Quoted in A. Steichele, Die Landkapitel: Dilingen, Dinkelsbühel, Donauwörth, Das Bisthum Augsburg historisch und statistisch beschrieben 3 (Augsburg, 1872), p. 737. ‘die Schaar junger Musiker in Linnen gekleidet’. From Cölestin Königsdorfer, Geschichte des Klosters zum Heil. Kreuz in Donauwörth ... Zweiter Band. Vom Jahre 1518 bis 1648 (Donauwörth, 1825), p. 271. ‘Als verordnet er [i.e., the abbot] seine Chorbrüder, vnnd ettliche Kaißhaimische vnnd Fuggerische Diener, welche neben wenig Burgern und Weibspersonen einen als den andern weg mit fliegenden Fahnen den Marckt-Platz hinab hohnlachend vnd spöttisch ins Teutsche Hauß, von dannen folgends gar zum Thor hinauß gangen: da sie dann auch viel Triumphirens und Frolockens in Angesicht der Burger getrieben’: S. Faber, Beständige Informatio facti et Juris, wie es mit den am Keiserlichen Hof wider des H. Römischen Reichs Statt Donawehrt aussgangenen Processen vnd darauff vorgenommener Execution aigentlich vnd im Grund der Warheit beschaffen seye (n.p., 1611), p. 56. Documents relating to this episode may be found in Bayerisches Staatsarchiv Würzburg, Würzburger Gebrechenamt I G 3, and Würzburger Standbücher 890.

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tailing the Catholics’ accustomed soundscape: met by the silence of the bell tower and – as we read in the extant reports – the loud taunting of the locals, the Gerolzhofeners entered into an unaccustomed and unwelcoming space, now resistant to any conversions, however temporary. Bells, Songs and Conversions of Public Space The mêlée in Krautheim demonstrates how changes in the use of bells could lead to different perceptions of confessional space and its meaning, and raises the question of how early modern subjects, in an age of religious reformations and counter-reformations, reacted to wholesale changes in the regime of bell sounds. It has become a commonplace in the literature – see, in particular, the work of Alain Corbin on the cultural profile of bells in French culture, and that of Niall Atkinson on the social and political functions of bells in medieval Florence – that dense networks of bell signals constructed and maintained notions of time, space and political/ecclesiastical authority in the pre-modern city.33 That such complex sonic networks existed as well in the cities of the southern German orbit is without question: probably the most complete ensemble of pre-modern bells (about forty, dating from the twelfth to the nineteenth centuries) in Germany survives in Bamberg, a city for which there are several extant, detailed ordinances for bell ringing dating back to the thirteenth century.34 Bamberg’s resistance to Luther’s reforms meant that its traditional bell regime would have persisted through the sixteenth century and beyond, but the same cannot be said for the imperial city of Nuremberg to the southwest, where a new liturgy, in the spirit of Luther’s reforms, was first introduced in May 1524. A number of late fifteenth-century sources allow an impression of the frequency and density of bell ringing on the eve of this reformation. For example, a late medieval chronicle cited by Max Herold reports the following daily cycle of ringing for the year 1488:35 4:00 a.m. 4:30 a.m. 6:00 a.m.

33

34 35 36

37 38

Garaus36 Frühmess37 Ratsläuten38

A. Corbin, Village Bells: Sound and Meaning in the Nineteenth-Century French Countryside, trans. M. Thom (New York, 1998); N. Atkinson, The Noisy Renaissance: Sound, Architecture, and Florentine Urban Life (University Park, PA, 2016). C. Peter and L. Göller, Glocken, Geläute und Turmuhren in Bamberg: Bestand, Geschichte, Quellen (Bamberg, 2008), pp. 29–36. M. Herold, Alt-Nürnberg in seinen Gottesdiensten (Gütersloh, 1890), pp. 51–2. The precise identity of the chronicle cited by Herold remains to be determined. Since the ‘Garaus’ signal in Nuremberg marked daybreak and sunset, the times at which it sounded naturally varied over the course of the year. See G. Bilfinger, Die Mittelalterlichen Horen und die Modernen Stunden. Ein Beitrag zur Kulturgeschichte (Stuttgart, 1892), pp. 229–31. For a more recent discussion of the so-called ‘Nuremberg Clock’, see also G. Dohrn-van Rossum, History of the Hour: Clocks and Modern Temporal Orders (Chicago, 1996), pp. 114–15. Both principal churches of St Sebald and St Lorenz had bells called the ‘Garaus’ that were presumably used for this function; see D. Schmidt, Das Nürnberger Glockenbuch. Nürnbergs Glocken in Geschichte und Gegenwart (Neustadt an der Aisch, 2003), pp. 92–3, 139–41. The signal for the early Mass or Frühmesse. On Sundays and feast days, this bell would be sounded a half-hour later. Presumably the signal marking the beginning of business for the city council.

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8:00 a.m. 10:00 a.m. 11:00 a.m. 12:00 p.m. 2:00 p.m. 5:00 p.m. 8:00 p.m.

Tagmess39 Totengeläut 40 Weinmarkt 41 Mittag Vesper Market closing Garaus

Herold also reported that the ‘Feierglocke’ (the church of St Lorenz had in its tower a socalled Feuerglocke) was sounded for between one and two hours ‘in der Nacht’ – that is, following the Garaus that marked sunset; in addition, the churches rang their bells for one hour after sunset on the vigils of major feast days.42 These were part of a more complex cycle of liturgical ringing that can be reconstructed to some degree from extant sets of instructions for the sextons (Mesner) of the two principal parishes of St Sebald and St Lorenz, dating from 1482 and 1493 respectively, documents which give an impression of the frequency and density of bell-ringing on the eve of the Reformation.43 The two manuals differ to a degree in detail and substance, but show that a regulated cycle of bell ringing, differentiated according to the solemnity of the occasion, punctuated each of over 100 feast days of the Temporale and Sanctorale. Specific bells were sounded – naturally with variations – to mark the celebration of Matins, Lauds, the early Mass (Frühmesse), the daily Mass (Tagmesse), the elevation of the Eucharist, and Vespers; in addition, bells were heard after sunset on the vigils of major feast days, a practice known as Schreck or Schreckläuten. This signal was customarily rung by the ‘storm bell’ or Sturmglocke, which also was rung to warn of and dispel threatening weather; a late fifteenth-century Salbuch from St Sebald shows that this ringing was specified for about two dozen occasions in the year.44

39 40

41

42 43 44

The signal calling parishioners to the daily Mass or Tagmesse. St Lorenz had a bell cast in 1442 called the Tagmessglocke or Feuerglocke, which was destroyed in 1552: Schmidt, Das Nürnberger Glockenbuch, pp. 92–3. The signal marking the burial of the dead, which probably would have been of varying intensity and duration according to the social standing of the deceased; see, for example, P. Hahn, ‘The Reformation of the Soundscape: Bell Ringing in Early Modern Lutheran Germany’, German History, 33/4 (2015), pp. 525–45, at p. 529. A 1560 market ordinance specifies that the morning market was closed by a bell at 11 a.m. daily (which may be identical with the bell rung at the Weinmarkt specified in the list above), and that the afternoon market closed with a similar signal at 5 p.m. (these times were adjusted subsequently according to the changing length of the day in summer and winter). See R. Ehrenberg, ‘Die alte Nürnberger Börse’, Mitteilungen des Vereins für Geschichte der Stadt Nürnberg, 7 (1888), p. 84. The medieval Weinmarkt was located west of St Sebald, some 200 metres northwest of the main market square. It is unclear from Herold, in Alt-Nürnberg in seinen Gottesdiensten, p. 52, whether this bell was identical to that used to close the morning market. Herold, Alt-Nürnberg in seinen Gottesdiensten, pp. 51–2. A. Gümbel, Das Mesnerpflichtbuch von St. Lorenz in Nürnberg vom Jahre 1493 (Munich, 1928); Gümbel, Das Mesnerpflichtbuch von St. Sebald in Nürnberg vom Jahre 1482 (Munich, 1929). K. Schlemmer, Gottesdienst und Frömmigkeit in der Reichsstadt Nürnberg am Vorabend der Reformation (Würzburg, 1980), pp. 237–8, citing Bayerisches Staatsarchiv Nürnberg (hereafter ‘BayStAN’), Rep. 59, Nürnberger Salbücher, No. 2, fols. 19v–20r. Both St Sebald and the church of St Egidien in Nuremberg had bells known as Sturmglocken; see Schmidt, Das Nürnberger Glockenbuch, pp. 48–9, 139–41.

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The introduction of the Reformation and the abolishment of the traditional liturgy in 1525 brought about radical changes in this acoustic regime. The city council protocols of 16 April indicate that ‘the ringing of the storm bell in both parishes [of St Sebald and St Lorenz] for the feasts of the church throughout the year shall be abolished’.45 Although this instruction referred to the evening storm bell only, it can be presumed that the discontinuation of the traditional observances had led to the demise of their accompanying bell signals as well. Such a move would certainly have drawn praise, for example, from the local poet Hans Sachs, whose famed Die Wittembergisch nachtigall (1523) listed some of the abuses – acoustic ones included – to which Luther’s Reformation would put an end: […] Mit münchen non[n]en pfaffen werden Mit kuten tragen kopff bescheren Tag vnde nacht in kirchen plern Metten prim tertz vesper complet Mit wachen vasten langen bet Mit gerten hawen creützweys ligen Mit knien neygen pucken pigen Mit glocken leuten orgel schlagen Mit heyltum kertzen fannen tragen Mit reuchern vnd mit glocken tauffen Mit lampen schüren gnad verkauffen Mit kirchen wachs saltz wasserweyen […]

[…] By becoming monks, nuns, and priests By wearing habits and tonsures By screaming day and night in the churches. Matins, Prime, Terce, Vespers, Compline By vigils, fasting, long prayers By tending gardens, laying in cross-form By kneeling, bowing, nodding, genuflection By bell ringing, organ playing With relics, candles, carrying banners With incense and by baptising bells By lighting lamps, selling grace By blessing churches, wax, salt, water46 […]

Sound is not Sachs’s sole concern, of course, but the listed offences include liturgical singing, organ playing, the ringing of bells, and the ‘baptism’ of bells, a ritual consecration that underscored traditional understandings of their sacral power. Although some of the usual signals would remain after the reformation of the Nuremberg liturgy – for example, the Garaus and the bells signalling the closing of the market – the civic soundscape was radically transformed, surely with profound consequences for the perception of both time and space. Conversely, in towns subjected to concerted Catholic campaigns of reform, or even to full recatholicisation in the wake of the upheavals of the Thirty Years’ War, the (re)introduction of long-forgotten rhythms of liturgical ringing reshaped acoustic space. The new soundscape was sometimes met with resistance, particularly in the case of the ‘Angelus’ or ‘Ave Maria’ bell that was traditionally rung as an incitement to prayer to the Virgin. To cite a few examples: a 1624 visitation of the parish of Schlierstadt by Würzburg officials stated

45

46

‘Jtem das leuten der sturmglocken in beden pfarren soll man zu den festen der kirchen über das ganntz iar abschaffen.’ BayStAN, Rep. 60b, Nürnberger Ratsbücher, No. 12, fol. 298, cited in Schlemmer, Gottesdienst und Frömmigkeit, p. 238. German text from H. Sachs, Die Wittembergisch nachtigall Die man yetz höret uberall ([Bamberg], 1523), fol. [4v]. English translation adapted from P. Russell, Lay Theology in the Reformation: Popular Pamphleteers in Southwest Germany, 1521–1525 (Cambridge, 1986), p. 172.

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that ‘The schoolmaster is qualified, but, as the parish [priest] reports, he is not permitted to ring the Ave Maria at noon, nor for Vespers, due to the resistance of the neighbours.’47 In June of 1629, three months after Ferdinand II’s Edict of Restitution cleared the way for Catholic efforts to recover properties lost to Protestantism since the Peace of Augsburg (1555), the visitors of the Bishop of Bamberg received a report denouncing a Lutheran preacher in the village of Grub, in which we hear that ‘the Lutheran peasants have called the evening and morning bell honouring the Virgin Mary the fiddle-dance ( fideldantz)’.48 Popular resistance to the new Catholic bell regime in the recently recatholicised Upper Palatinate drew the following complaint from Bavarian electoral officials in 1637: You will well remember the manner in which, during the previous reformation, the Ave Maria, Parting, and Passion bells were introduced and mandated. But now for some time we have seen and noticed with displeasure that this salutary practice is observed poorly by the common man, neither with doffing of hats nor otherwise, but rather that the craftsmen without exception, and particularly the washer-women in the Vils [river], the locksmiths, blacksmiths, and coopers, and others of the same, continue with their noise, rapping, and hammering without stopping . . . ; and in general at this time the signs of being a good, Catholic Christian are to be seen neither in homes nor on the streets. As we are not willing to tolerate such abuse and are responsible to your Serene Elector’s officials, we thereby command you firmly that you make the appropriate prohibition, especially to the aforementioned washer-women and craftsmen; and further, according to the rank of the person, hats may be confiscated or other mocking punishments be made in the open, so that during this bell ringing the people will at least appear with uncovered heads, even if one or the other wishes not to pray.49

Resistance to the Angelus, however, should not be taken as a wholesale rejection of the traditional spiritual functions of bells. Protestant officials in numerous territories sought to reshape the soundscape by limiting and abolishing weather ringing, a practice that had its roots in medieval consecration rituals – recall Hans Sachs’s critique of ‘baptising bells’ – and in popular beliefs about the apotropaic power of bell sounds to drive away the airborne demons that snatched departed souls and stirred up storm clouds.50 Repeated 47 48

49 50

‘Ludimagister sufficiens. darff aber nicht wie pfarr berichtet zu 12 Vhrn das Aue Maria aus widersetzung der Nachbawren, wie auch Vesper, lauden’: Archiv des Erzbistums Bamberg, Rep. I, Pfarrakten, 526, No. 4, fol. 3r. ‘… vocauerunt Lutherani rustici pulsum Vesp[er]tinum et matutinum ad salutandum Virginem Mariam, den fideldantz’: Bayerisches Staatsarchiv Bamberg, GR 1978, No. 20. The report was sent by Johanes Hopff, acting pastor at Aisch and Adelsdorf; Grub bei Neuhaus was a village under Bamberg’s spiritual jurisdiction, but under the secular jurisdiction of the imperial knight Wolf Bernhard von Crailsheim zu Neuhaus. Bavarian electoral government to Amberg city council, 11 December 1637: Bayerisches Staatsarchiv Amberg, Geistliche Sachen 822. A consecration ritual for bells was in place as early as the eighth century, and formal rites were established by the tenth. The bell was washed with holy water mixed with salt and oil, anointed with chrism, and censed; the ceremony was embellished with prayers and the chanting of Psalms. See A. Heinz, ‘Die Bedeutung der Glocke im Licht des mittelalterlichen Ritus der Glockenweihe’, in A. Haverkamp and E. Müller-Luckner (eds.), Information, Kommunikation und Selbstdarstellung in mittelalterlichen Gemeinden (Munich, 1998), pp. 41–69. An apotropaic function for bell sounds is confirmed by Guillaume Durand in his widely circulated Rationale divinorum officiorum of the thirteenth century, in which he states that ‘a church, seeing a violent storm arising, rings the bells, so that the demons, hearing the trumpets of the eternal King, that is, the bells, are terrified and flee, and they silence the storm’: T. M. Thibodeau, trans., The Rationale divinorum officiorum of William Durand of Mende (New York, 2010),

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mandates banning or limiting weather ringing are to be found in many Protestant territories.51 Ernst Walter Zeeden, for example, drew attention to the difficulties faced by officials in the sixteenth-century Upper Palatinate (at that time a staunchly Lutheran territory), where efforts to abolish weather bells were met with popular resistance.52 In the Margraviate of Brandenburg-Kulmbach, visitors to the churches in 1592 bitterly complained about the persistence of weather bells: Although it was ordered in the General Visitation to abolish and end weather ringing, as it has in other principalities, it remains in many places; in the superintendency of Kulmbach there are not more than ten places where it is not practised … The ringing happens everywhere. For in some places it happens with all the bells continuously, as long as the storm lasts. In some places the ringing begins with all the bells, and then thereafter with only one of them, while the others are stilled. And if the storm does not abate, then all of the bells are rung again as at the beginning, without stopping, and those that ring the bells bring beer into the churches, and often get very drunk.53

In the end, the Kulmbach visitors recommended that in towns where it was impossible to abolish weather ringing, it should be limited, and be understood as a reminder of the socalled ‘inner bell of the heart’, which prays for God’s mercy (the ‘Innerlich[en] glocken des hertzens’). Concessions for weather ringing were made elsewhere in Protestant Germany. A detailed 1612 bell ordinance for the Marienkirche in Danzig shows that the bell ringer, or Glöckner, was assisted in his duties by several blind men, who were otherwise unable to earn their keep. These were required to help ring the bells at specified times, including during thunderstorms: ‘When strong thunder and lightning approaches, the blind men shall be obligated to climb the church tower in a quick and timely fashion, whether by day or night, and, according to ancient custom, ring the designated bells together, the Osanna, Apostolica, and Dominical, until the weather passes’.54 The three named bells, which no longer exist today, were among the largest in the church’s tower, and required a total of fourteen men if they were to be rung simultaneously.55

51 52 53 54

55

p. 53. On weather ringing, see also A. Hense, Glockenläuten und Uhrenschlag. Der Gebrauch von Kirchenglocken in der kirchlichen und staatlichen Rechtsordnung (Berlin, 1998), pp. 43–5. Hahn, ‘The Reformation of the Soundscape,’ pp. 528-32. E. W. Zeeden, Katholische Überlieferungen in den lutherischen Kirchenordnungen des 16. Jahrhunderts (Münster, 1959), p. 60. Landesarchiv der Evangelischen Kirche Bayerns, MKB 1, ‘Generalia’, 1v–2r. Also cited in C. Scott Dixon, The Reformation and Rural Society: The Parishes of Brandenburg-Ansbach-Kulmbach, 1528–1603 (Cambridge, 1996), p. 172. ‘Wenn schwere donner mit blitzen einfallen, seind die blinden schuldig, in zeiten und geschwinde sich auf den thurm zumachen, es sei bei tage oder bei nacht, und daselbst nach altem gebrauch mit den darzu verordneten glocken, als Osanna, Apostolica, und Dominical zusammen leuten, bis das wetter übergehet, dafür sie auch, wie vorgemeldet, ihren besonderen lohn bekommen.’ Quoted in E. Sehling (ed.), Das Herzogthum Preussen. Polen. Die ehemals polnischen Landestheile des Königreichs Preussen. Das Herzogthum Pommern, Die evangelischen Kirchenordnungen des XVI. Jahrhunderts 4 (Leipzig, 1911), p. 207. See also discussion in Hense, Glockenläuten und Uhrenschlag, pp. 105–6. Sehling (ed.), Das Herzogthum Preussen, p. 202.

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Below the church towers, efforts to reshape urban soundscapes along confessional lines also embraced the culture of vernacular song. Songs expressed confessional identity as well as resistance, operating at a nexus of oral, written and print culture as they were composed, disseminated orally and in writing, and continually subjected to contrafacture as new texts were attached to old tunes. The Lutheran chorale repertory, which first found its way into printed songbooks by 1524, was certainly intended to spur lay singing as a part of the Reformed service, but it also spread quickly out of the churches and became a fundamental part of musical culture in the public sphere. One of the most popular of these, as we have seen, was Luther’s ‘Erhalt uns Herr bei deinem Wort’, which first appeared in a 1543 hymnal, concluding a set of songs for the catechism.56 Its first stanza made it a potent weapon of confessional propaganda: Erhalt uns, Herr, bey deinem Wort Uns steur des Bapst und Türcken Mord, Die Jhesum Christum, deinen Son Wolten stürtzen von deinem Thron. Preserve us, Lord, by thy dear Word, from Turk and Pope defend us, Lord, who now would thrust out from his throne our Saviour, Jesus Christ, thy Son.57

Within just a few years, ‘Erhalt uns Herr’ had been widely adopted by Lutheran churches and congregations, and contributed in no small part to the reshaping of confessional space. In Nuremberg, for instance, it was one of the few vernacular chorales explicitly prescribed by the existing Church ordinances; it was sung no less than three times daily in the churches, and certainly was well known in the city’s streets and squares.58 This became very inconvenient for the city council in February of 1547, as Emperor Charles V, with his army, neared the city, intending to make station there on his way to Saxony to assist his brother Ferdinand in the struggle against the Schmalkaldic League (the emperor’s subsequent victory at the Battle of Mühlberg on 24 April effectively ended the conflict).59 Hearing of the emperor’s approach, the Nuremberg council resolved on 23 February not to ban the song outright, but rather to limit it to one performance per day in the churches.60 Public performances of potentially inflammatory songs such as ‘Erhalt uns Herr’ were out of the question: on 3 March, the councillors mandated that local booksellers refrain from selling ‘insulting writings, books, songs, and other such prints and images’, adding that ‘at 56 57 58 59 60

In the Geistliche Lieder (Wittenberg, 1543/4), fols. 65r–66r. See discussion in R. A. Leaver, Luther’s Liturgical Music: Principles and Implications (Grand Rapids, MI, and Cambridge, MA, 2007), p. 113. Qtd in Leaver, Luther’s Liturgical Music, p. 107, with translation based on that of Robert Wisdom (1561). On the position of ‘Erhalt uns Herr’ in the Nuremberg liturgy, see Butler, ‘Liturgical Music in Sixteenth-Century Nürnberg’, pp. 261–2. The following episode is discussed in B. Klaus, Veit Dietrich. Leben und Werk (Nuremberg, 1958), pp. 256–7; and in Butler, ‘Liturgical Music in Sixteenth-Century Nürnberg’, pp. 261–2, 268–9. BayStAN, Ratsverlässe 1006, 30v.

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this time the singing of all German songs and lieder on the streets and in front of homes, for good reason, shall be completely abolished until further notice from the council’, with offenders to be imprisoned.61 The following day, the councillors ordered schoolmasters to prevent their students from singing in German (although they were still permitted to sing the [Latin] responsories for the divine service), and added that such singing should not be heard in the streets, particularly after the first hour following dusk.62 That the principal concern was about ‘Erhalt uns Herr’ is confirmed in the council’s sitting of 6 March, when it further restricted the song to the early Mass (Frühmesse) only, when it might attract the least attention; the earlier practice of singing it thrice daily was henceforth abolished, for, in the presence of the emperor, ‘much censure and slander on the part of the foreign soldiers could come of it’ (in der kays. Mjt. jetziger herkunfft allerley verweisß und nachred beim frömbden gesind darauß ervolgen).63 We are not informed as to whether Charles, who arrived in Nuremberg on 24 March 1547, was in fact spared the sound of ‘Erhalt uns Herr’. But the imposition of the Interim on 15 May 1548 at the Diet of Augsburg forced Nuremberg to consider the emperor’s demands to restore Catholic rites in the city. The relatively conservative character of the evangelical liturgy allowed the city to give the impression of compliance – a ‘policy of appearances’, as described by Bartlett Butler64 – but ‘Erhalt uns Herr’ remained a problem for the council. In December, it approved a modified version of the song in which the murderous Pope and Turk of the first strophe were replaced by the ‘plots and murder of Satan’: Erhalt uns Herr bei deinem Wort und wehr des Satans list und mord der Jesum Christum, deinen Son wolt gern stürzen von seinem thron. Preserve us, Lord, in Your Word, and avert the plots and murder of Satan, who wishes to depose from His throne Jesus Christ, Your Son.65

The mandate insisted that no further additions may be made. Having banned students previously from singing German songs in the streets, moreover, the council allowed them in February 1549 to sing a Latin version of ‘Erhalt uns Herr’ in four-voice polyphony, surely a more elevated kind of sound that might have defused the song’s otherwise provocative nature.66 In the end, the compromises of the Treaty of Passau in 1552 and the Peace of 61 62

63 64 65 66

BayStAN, Ratsverlässe 1007, 2r–3v. Klaus, Veit Dietrich, p. 257. Klaus posited that the phrase ‘das niemand nach eim in di nacht solcher gstalt aufn gassen singen’ meant that no singing could take place after 1 a.m., but this in fact probably refers to one hour after the Garaus at sunset that marked the beginning of the night hours. BayStAN, Ratsverlässe 1007, 9r. Butler, ‘Liturgical Music in Sixteenth-Century Nürnberg’, p. 268. BayStAN, Reichsstadt Nürnberg, Mandate, lose, 76/1. BayStAN, Ratsverlässe, 14 February 1549.

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Augsburg in 1555 relieved the pressure on the Nuremberg council, but the episode reveals its concern about how sound could redefine the perception of the city’s sacral space. The ‘policy of appearances’ was not simply about visual impressions, but about sound as well.

••• The manner in which aural media could alter a sense of confessional space varied according to geography, demography and circumstance. Wholesale conversions of space were most likely where fundamental changes in confession unfolded, such as in many German cities in the early decades of the Reformation movement, or in territories forcibly returned to the traditional Church a century later. In environments of mixed confession like the imperial city of Augsburg, the continual negotiation of religious boundaries meant that occasional ritual events, such as Catholic processions, could lead to temporary conversions of space. But even in relatively homogeneous confessional environments like Munich or Nuremberg in the decades before the Thirty Years’ War – places where ritual sights and sounds usually reinforced existing notions of confessional space – the potential for disruption was always present. In Nuremberg, the defeat of the Schmalkaldic League and the imposition of the Interim in 1548 compelled the city council to take measures to change the habitual soundscape of vernacular song, while brazen Protestants still dared to interrupt Catholic services in Munich with their singing in 1558. Both of these examples demonstrate how sound proved to be a potent tactical weapon, yet one whose very ephemerality made it difficult to regulate. The sounds discussed in this chapter – church polyphony, vernacular songs, the ringing of bells – all had the ability to encourage powerful senses of confessional space, ones that could easily outstrip those produced by visual impressions alone. At the same time, spatial conversions enacted by sound were temporally bounded and fluid, connected as they were with human activity and motion. �

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4. Music Books for Lima Cathedral and their Social Context in the Early Seventeenth Century: Black Slaves as a Guarantee for Producing a New Plainchant Library* María Gembero-Ustárroz �

Introduction My purpose in this chapter is to study the renewal of plainchant books at Lima Cathedral initiated in 1613, paying special attention to the role of black enslaved people in the entourage of music copyists, an almost unexplored subject.1 The news about the decision to make the library of plainchant books was provided in 1971 by Andrés Sas Orchassal *

1

This work is part of the results of the projects ‘Hispanic Polyphony and Music of Oral Tradition in the Age of Digital Humanities’ (HAR2016-75371P) and ‘The “Other” in Spanish Musical Sources (16th–18th Centuries): Foreigners, Women, and Amerindians’ (HAR2009-07706), both financed by the Spanish National Research Plan. Preliminary versions were presented in the following three papers: ‘Libros de música y ceremonial postridentino en la Catedral de Lima: la Consueta (1593) de Toribio de Mogrovejo y la renovación de la librería musical (1613– 1617)’, at the international congress ‘“Sones de ida y vuelta”: músicas coloniales a debate (1492–1898)’, co-ordinated by J. Marín-López, Universidad Internacional de Andalucía, Baeza (Jaén), 3 December 2013; ‘Music Books and Spanish Musical Traditions Crossing the Atlantic in the 16th and Early 17th Centuries: The Renewal of the Music Library at Lima Cathedral, Peru’, at the ‘Ricercar Seminaire’, dir. P. Vendrix, Centre d'Études Supérieures de la Renaissance, Université François-Rabelais de Tours, Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (CNRS), France, 27 May 2014; and ‘Music Books and Musical Practices in Lima Cathedral, Peru, in the 16th and Early 17th Centuries’, for the workshop ‘Sound in the Early Modern City III: The Early Modern American City as the Site of Conversion’, dir. I. Fenlon and M. Laube, King’s College, Cambridge, 28 May 2016. Although the term ‘slave/s’ is usually present in the vast bibliography on slavery, it would be more appropriate to use ‘enslaved people’ to underline their human condition and the involuntarily acquired, rather than natural, state of slavery, as pointed out by A. Martín-Casares, ‘Repensar la esclavitud en el mundo hispano: reflexiones y propuestas metodológicas desde la Antropología histórica’, in A. Martín-Casares (ed.), Esclavitudes hispánicas (siglos XV al XXI): horizontes socioculturales (Granada, 2014), pp. 11–38, at p. 38. There are many contributions on slavery in viceregal Spanish America, but very little is known about the role of enslaved black people in daily musical life, except for their presence and dances in processions and other urban festivities. About music and black people in early modern Lima, see J. C. Estenssoro Fuchs, ‘Música y comportamiento festivo de la población negra en Lima colonial’, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, 451–2 (1988), pp. 161–8. Regarding slave musicians in the Viceroyalty of New Spain, see A. Nava Sánchez, ‘El cantor mulato Luis Barreto. La vida singular de una voz en la catedral de México en el amanecer del siglo XVII’, in 2 Coloquio Musicat. Lo sonoro en el ritual catedralicio: Iberoamérica, siglos XVI–XIX (Mexico, 2007), pp. 105–20; and O. Morales Abril, ‘El esclavo negro Juan de Vera. Cantor, arpista y compositor de la Catedral de Puebla (fl. 1575–1617)’, in J. Alfaro Cruz and R. Torres Medina (eds.), Música y catedral: nuevos enfoques, viejas temáticas (Mexico, 2010), pp. 43–59. New information on music slaves in Santiago de Chile is included in A. Vera, The Sweet Penance of Music. Musical Life in Colonial Santiago de Chile (Oxford, 2020). On the black population in feasts of peninsular Spain, see A. Martín-Casares and M. G. Barranco, ‘The Musical Legacy of Black Africans in Spain: A Review of Our Sources’, Anthropological Notebooks, 15/2 (2009), pp. 51–60. Information on slave musicians owned by noble families in sixteenth-century peninsular Spain can be found in: R. F. Schwartz, ‘En busca de liberalidad: Music and Musicians in the Courts of the Spanish Nobility, 1470–1640’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign, 2001), pp. 59–619; J. P. Fernández-Cortés, La música en las casas de Osuna y Benavente (1733–1882). Un estudio sobre el mecenazgo musical de la alta nobleza Española (Madrid, 2007), pp. 114–16 (on slave musicians owned by the Count of Benavente); and L. Gómez Fernández, Música, nobleza y mecenazgo: los duques de Medina Sidonia en Sevilla y Sanlúcar de Barrameda (1445–1615) (Cadiz, 2017), pp. 169–80, 248–53. 105

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in the first volume of his pioneering study on music at Lima Cathedral.2 Musical practices and Indigenous participation at the same church under Archbishop Toribio de Mogrovejo (1581–1606) were explored in an article I published in 2016.3 Five points will be considered in the present study: (1) urban context and music resources at Lima Cathedral in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries; (2) the first agreement between the Lima Cathedral chapter and the copyist Cristóbal Muñoz to initiate the new plainchant library (c.1613–15); (3) the contract (1615) with the copyist Francisco Páramo (instead of Muñoz) to continue the copying of the plainchant books; (4) the new contract (1617) with Muñoz after Páramo’s death, which included the mortgaging of ten enslaved black people owned by Muñoz and his relatives as a guarantee of finishing the work; and (5) an approach to plainchant and polyphonic books at Lima Cathedral through selected inventories of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. I include two appendices with extracts from the 1617 contract to copy the new plainchant collection, and information on liturgical books at Lima Cathedral (1604–30). My research is based mainly on hitherto unpublished documents preserved at the Archivo del Cabildo Metropolitano de Lima (PELcm) at Lima Cathedral, and the Archivo General de la Nación of Peru (PE-Lagn).4 Urban Context and Music Resources at Lima Cathedral in Late Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries The city of Lima, also known as ‘Ciudad de los Reyes’ (City of the Kings), founded by the Spaniard Francisco Pizarro in 1535, was the capital of the viceroyalty of Peru and the see of the bishopric of Lima, instituted in 1541, becoming an archbishopric in 1547.5 In the late sixteenth century, Lima had about 12,000 inhabitants and a social structure quite different from the Spanish peninsular models; the Spaniards in the city, although being the governing elite, represented about half the population, whereas black people (enslaved, freed and free) constituted almost the largest group, and the Indians were only a small minority. The details of this population structure differ depending on the years and sources considered, but the perception of a ‘Lima negra’ (Black Lima) – that is, an urban centre with a ubiquitous presence of black people (most of them enslaved) – seems to have been quite general.6

2

3

4

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A. Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima durante el Virreinato [1]. Primera parte. Historia general (Lima, 1971), pp. 184, 265–7; Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima durante el Virreinato [2]. Segunda parte. Tomo 1. Diccionario biográfico de los músicos que actuaron en su Capilla de Música A–LL (Lima, 1972); Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima durante el Virreinato [3]. Segunda parte. Tomo 2. Diccionario biográfico de los músicos que actuaron en su Capilla de Música M–Z (Lima, 1972). These volumes also include a variety of information on black slaves and music. M. Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Música en la Catedral de Lima en tiempos del arzobispo Mogrovejo (1581–1606): Gutierre Fernández Hidalgo, la Consueta de 1593, la participación indígena’, Resonancias. Revista de Investigación Musical, 20/39 (2016), pp. 13–41. I am grateful to Fernando López Sánchez, Director of the Museo y Archivo del Cabildo Metropolitano de Lima, and to Juan Centeno Mendoza, Archive Assistant, for their generous help during my research in that institution in 2012. I also thank the staff of the Archivo General de la Nación of Peru in Lima, and particularly the archivist Celia Soto Molina, for their kindness during my work there. Some sources indicate the institution of the archbishopric as 1545 or 1546 (instead of 1547); see Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Música en la Catedral de Lima’, p. 15, note 6.

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The Cathedral of Lima planned a basic music infrastructure from the foundation bull of 1541 that instituted the precentor (chantre) responsible for music and plainchant, and the organist.7 As in other Hispanic churches, the precentor gradually became responsible for sacred chant in general, without direct music duties, and his music functions were assumed by the succentor (sochantre), an expert in plainchant. In 1552, Lima Cathedral had two organs (a large one and a portative realejo).8 As was the rule in nearly every Hispanic cathedral church, the daily celebration of the liturgy implied that plainchant be sung by all the priests under the succentor’s direction. In addition, a music chapel for performing polyphonic repertory was active at Lima Cathedral at least from the 1550s onwards, since Diego Álvarez is mentioned as chapelmaster during the promulgation ceremonies of the First Council of Lima (1552).9 The relevant Spanish composer Gutierre Fernández Hidalgo spent more than a year (c. 1590–1) as chapelmaster at Lima Cathedral, being active also as the copyist of music books both for that church and for the female convent of La Encarnación, where he was also chapelmaster. The Consueta of 1593, promoted by the Archbishop Toribio de Mogrovejo, regulated many of the liturgical and musical activities at Lima Cathedral, following the Council of Trent’s dispositions. Indian musicians collaborated regularly in some Cathedral festivities, especially as paid instrumentalists playing in groups.10 The 1612 ‘Constituciones’ of the music chapel, promulgated by the Spanish Archbishop Bartolomé Lobo Guerrero (1609–22), fixed the ceremonies and pieces to be sung with ‘canto de órgano’, ‘contrapunto’ or ‘fabordón’, confirming the performance of written polyphony and various types of improvisatory polyphonic techniques.11 In 1612, the chapel had fifteen musicians (eleven adults and four choirboys), with the Castile-born Estacio de la Serna as chapelmaster and the Lima-born Miguel de Bobadilla as organist.12 6

7 8 9 10

11

12

The Archbishop of Lima, in a letter (1593) to the Spanish king, estimated that the city had 12,790 inhabitants (6,690 of them blacks and mulattos); see F. P. Bowser, El esclavo africano en el Perú colonial, 1524–1650 (Mexico, 1977), p. 409 (original English edition: The African Slave in Colonial Peru, 1524–1650, Stanford, 1974). According to the Jesuit Bernabé Cobo, Lima had in 1639 about 60,000 inhabitants: 30,000 black slaves, 5,000 Indians and about 25,000 Spaniards (although only 5,000 or 6,000 Spaniards were living there permanently); see B. Cobo, Historia de la fundación de Lima [1639], ed. M. González de la Rosa (Lima, 1882), p. 50. See other estimations of the Lima population in J. R. Jouve Martín, Esclavos de la ciudad letrada. Esclavitud, escritura y colonialismo en Lima (1650–1700) (Lima, 2005), with a first chapter entitled ‘Lima negra’, pp. 21–51. Cobo, Historia de la fundación de Lima, pp. 176–8. Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], pp. 128–9; Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Música en la Catedral de Lima’, pp. 15–18. R. Vargas Ugarte, Concilios limenses (1551–1572). Tomo III: Historia (Lima, 1954), pp. 7–8. See more details in Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Música en la Catedral de Lima’. For a general overview of Lima's musical life during the sixteenth century, see J. Marín-López, "The Sonic Construction of a New Capital: Urban Soundscapes and Acoustic Communities in 16th-Century Lima", in E. A. Engel (ed.), A Companion to Early Modern Lima (Leiden and Boston, 2019), pp. 442-469. Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], pp. 67–70. Improvised polyphony was probably performed at least from the time of chapelmaster Gutierre Fernández Hidalgo, c. 1590–1, and the Consueta of 1593 reveals also the use of vocal polyphony in its chapter 24, about the singers; see Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Música en la Catedral de Lima’, pp. 20 and 32. Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], pp. 66–72.

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Bobadilla, formerly a choirboy at Lima Cathedral, was also a tenor singer and, from 1614 onwards, substituted for the chapelmaster.13 The Renewal of Chant Books: A First Commission to Cristóbal Muñoz (c. 1613–1615) The chapter of Lima Cathedral agreed to renew its library of plainchant books in a meeting held on 19 November 1613 at the Archbishop Lobo Guerrero’s palace. The old chant books were in a very poor condition and it was necessary to make new books according to the Nuevo Rezado, following Trent.14 The chapter asked the precentor (the Lima-born Pedro de Valencia) to prepare a list of necessary books and, at first, the idea was to travel to Seville to commission them in line with the tradition of Seville Cathedral, helped by its chapelmaster (at that time the Spanish composer Alonso Lobo): y su señoría illustrísima propuso cómo conbenía enviar a Castilla por librería del canto para que se çelebrasen los officios en la dicha santa yglesia porque los libros que ahora avía, como era notorio, eran muy biejos y avía mucha neçesidad de que conforme al Nuevo Reçado se hiciesen. Y, aviéndose tratado y conferido sobre ello, se determinó que se ynbie la flota primera del año que v[ay]a por la dicha librería y se encomiende al maestro de capilla de la santa yglesia de Sevilla para que, conforme a la dicha santa iglesia de Sevilla se haga, y el señor chantre quedó encargado de haçer la memoria de los que se an de haçer y traer, para que a su tiempo se escriba y enbíe por ellos, de que doy fe. and your illustrious lordship proposed how convenient it would be to send to Castille for a chant library to celebrate the office in the mentioned holy church [Lima Cathedral], because the present books, as was evident, were very old and it was most necessary to make them according to the New Prayer. And, after having spoken and treated about that, the chapter decided to go for the mentioned library the next year in the first fleet, and to ask to the chapelmaster of Seville Cathedral to do it following the holy church of Seville, and the precentor [of Lima Cathedral] was asked to prepare a list of the books to be done and to be brought back [to Lima], in order to write and send somebody [to Seville] to get them, and I give faith.15

13 14

15

Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [2], pp. 44–6; Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [3], pp. 382–5; Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Música en la Catedral de Lima’, pp. 16–17. The Council of Trent ended in 1563, but the application of its decrees was left to the bishops, synods and local councils; Trent recommendations on music were not very concrete and the revision of the plainchant was not as compulsory as were other regulations. See C. Monson, ‘The Council of Trent Revisited’, Journal of the American Musicological Society, 55 (2002), pp. 1–37; and C. Bertoglio, Reforming Music: Music and the Religious Reformations of the Sixteenth Century (Berlin and Boston, 2017), p. 446. On general aspects of the Nuevo Rezado books in Spain, see M. Gembero-Ustárroz, 'Circulación de libros de música entre España y América (1492-1650): notas para su estudio', in I. Fenlon and T. Knighton (eds.), Early Music Printing and Publishing in the Iberian World (Kassel, 2006), pp. 147–79, at pp. 152–3. Archivo del Cabildo Metropolitano de Lima (PE-Lcm), Libro de Acuerdos Capitulares 4 (1603–37), fol. 118r, 19 November 1613. This document was published with minor changes in Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], p. 184. Regarding Alonso Lobo as chapelmaster at the Seville Cathedral from 1604 until his death in 1617, see J. M. Llorens Cisteró, ‘Lobo de Borja, Alonso [Alfonso]’, in E. Casares Rodicio (ed.), Diccionario de la música española e hispanoamericana, 10 vols. (Madrid, 1999–2002), VI (2000), pp. 974–6. The translations of Spanish original documents into English are mine. In the edition of Spanish texts, the original spelling is preserved (although avoiding double consonants at the beginning of words), the punctuation and use of capital letters are modernised, and the abbreviations are expanded.

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However, in the end, the new music library did not come from Seville.16 The chapter of Lima Cathedral looked for a copyist and comissioned Cristóbal Muñoz ‘the Young’ (‘el Mozo’), the only one in the city who had offered his services, to begin the work. They fixed the price for the different kinds of pages, and Muñoz received in advance an amount of money to initiate the copying of the choirbooks: vista la neçesidad que esta yglesia tenía de haçer una librería del canto para el serviçio del choro por ser muy malos y biejos los libros que en él ay, y del reçado antiguo y con mala apuntaçión, se hiçieron diligençias … en buscar un esçriptor a quien encargar que la hiçiese y, por no haberse ofreçido otro más que Xristóval Muñoz el Mozo, se trató y conçertó con él que enpeçase a escrevir los diçhos libros y que, por cada oja que tubiese letra grande de en comienço de missas u de ofiçio o antíphona yluminada, le abían de dar y pagar veinte reales, y por cada oja de las demás que no tubiesen yluminaçión, dos pesos de a oçho reales, y para en quenta de su travaxo, se le dieron seisçientos pesos de a oçho reales. knowing the need of this church for having to make a new chant library for the choir service, because the present books are very bad and old, and of the old rite, and with bad notation, they … looked for a copyist to commission to do it and, because only Cristóbal Muñoz the young had offered his services, the chapter talked about it and reached an agreement with him to begin to copy the books, so that they would pay him 20 reales for each sheet with an illuminated large capital letter at the beginning of masses or an office or antiphon, and 2 pesos of 8 reales for each sheet without illumination, and they paid him in advance 600 pesos of 8 reales for the work.17

Muñoz, probably a Spaniard, was not only a copyist, but also a painter of miniatures, since he included the illumination of capital letters in the agreement to make the new plainchant books. Since he was known as ‘el Mozo’, he was probably the son of another copyist of the same name.18 Muñoz began his work for Lima Cathedral, but the agreement became unexpectedly cancelled when a more appreciated copyist, Francisco de Páramo, arrived in the city. In Search of the Best Quality: The Contract with Francisco de Páramo (1615) Soon after the copyist Cristóbal Muñoz started his job for Lima Cathedral, the chapter learnt about the arrival in the city of Francisco de Páramo, another copyist and illuminator who had contributed to several music libraries in peninsular Spain and who had also created the new music plainchant library for the Cathedral of Santa Fe de Bogotá (now Colombia). Páramo moved from Bogotá to Lima following an invitation from Lima’s

16

17

18

The reason may be that, almost at the same time, in September of 1613, the chapter of Seville Cathedral ordered the adaptation of their more than 140 plainchant books to the Roman missal and breviary; see J. Ruiz Jiménez, La librería de canto de órgano. Creación y pervivencia del repertorio del Renacimiento en la actividad musical de la catedral de Sevilla (Granada, 2007), p. 11. PE-Lcm, Libro de Acuerdos Capitulares 4, fols. 144 r; this information is included in an agreement (23 May 1615) by the Cathedral chapter to contract the copyist Francisco de Páramo, instead of Muñoz. I have not found a formal contract or agreement to initiate the library signed by Muñoz; the agreement was probably reached in November/ December of 1613 or at the beginning of 1614. I have no documentary evidence about the birthplace or the previous professional career of Muñoz (also referred as ‘Muños’ in the sources), but his surname suggests a Spanish origin.

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Archbishop Bartolomé Lobo Guerrero. The copyist presented examples of his music calligraphy, of a higher quality than that in the books initiated by Muñoz, and offered to do the work for the same price previously agreed. Moreover, Páramo claimed to own the models and melodies (‘los registros y canturía’) of the New Prayer books already in use at relevant Spanish religious centres such as the Cathedral of Toledo and the monasteries of El Escorial and Guadalupe.19 Páramo had copied a new library of plainchant books for the Cathedral of Bogotá when the archbishop there was Bartolomé Lobo Guerrero, before he was promoted to Lima.20 It seems clear that the prelate encouraged Páramo to move to Lima, perhaps with the promise of new contracts under his protection. The influence of Archbishop Lobo Guerrero probably explains why the Lima Cathedral chapter cancelled the first agreement with Muñoz and signed a contract with Páramo on 3 June 1615 (see Figure 4.1).21 It is clear that Páramo had built his professional prestige when working on important projects to create new plainchant libraries both in peninsular Spain and in the New World; his career confirms the transatlantic circulation of musicians, musical models and repertoires at the time.22

19

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PE-Lcm, Libro de Acuerdos Capitulares 4, fols. 144 r–v, 23 May 1615; it is said that the archbishop called Páramo ‘por ser persona muy entendida en este ministerio y aber ayudado ha haçer las más librerías de las más yglesias d[e] España y aber heçho la de la yglesia de Sançta Fe en el Nuevo Reyno de Granada’ (fol. 144 r), but the particular Spanish churches where he had worked are not known. This document was briefly mentioned in Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], pp. 265–6. Maybe Páramo had worked for the El Escorial scriptorium, where an impressive collection of 214 enormous plainchant books was finished before 1594, with the work not only of the Hieronymite monks of the monastery, but also of several copyists and illuminators from other places; see M. Noone, Music and Musicians in the Escorial Liturgy under the Habsburgs, 1563–1700 (Rochester, NY, 1998), pp. 35–6, 38 and 187; Francisco de Páramo, though, is not mentioned in the general index of that book. Regarding the extant collection of more than 200 plainchant books at the Cathedral of Toledo, see M. Noone, G. Skinner and A. Fernández Collado, ‘El fondo de cantorales de canto llano de la catedral de Toledo. Informe y catálogo provisional’, in A. Hevia Ballina (ed.), Música y archivos de la Iglesia. Santoral hispano-mozárabe en las diócesis de España, Memoria Ecclesiae 31 (Madrid and Oviedo, 2008), pp. 585–631. Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], p. 266, mentions about twenty volumes copied by Páramo for Bogotá Cathedral (citing F. Escobar, ‘Historia de la música en Colombia’, Boletín Latinoamericano de Música (1938), p. 416). Páramo, though, had been commissioned to copy thirty-two plainchant books for Bogotá, according to C. Iriarte, ‘Páramo, Francisco de’, in Casares Rodicio (ed.), Diccionario de la música española e hispanoamericana, VIII (2001), pp. 458–9; Iriarte mentions that Páramo taught calligraphy in Bogotá, where he was helped by disciples such as Juan de Parada (‘oficial de escritor de libros’) and Alonso García; and that Páramo probably also copied six music books for the Augustin Convent of Cartagena de Indias (now Colombia). An illuminated capital letter by Páramo in a book (1608) from Bogotá is reproduced in E. Bermúdez and E. A Duque (eds.), Historia de la música en Santafé y Bogotá, 1538–1938 ([Santa Fe de Bogotá], Colombia, 2000), p. 21. The contract with Páramo is preserved at the Archivo General de la Nación of Peru (PE-Lagn), Protocolos Notariales siglo XVII. Escribano Diego Sánchez Vadillo, Protocolo 1732, 1615, fols. 902v–910r. I know about this document thanks to the kindness of Fernando López Sánchez, Director of the Archivo del Cabildo Metropolitano de Lima. Muñoz worked on the project almost until the contract with Páramo was signed; on 13 April 1615, the chapter ordered a payment for several books finished by Muñoz: PE-Lcm, Libro de fábrica 2, unnumbered fol., receipt signed by Muñoz on 14 April 1615. See examples in E. Ros-Fábregas, ‘Libros de música para el Nuevo Mundo en el siglo XVI’, Revista de Musicología, 24 (2001), pp. 39–66; M. Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Migraciones de músicos entre España y América (siglos XVI–XVIII): estudio preliminar’, in M. Gembero-Ustárroz and E. Ros-Fábregas (eds.), La música y el Atlántico. Relaciones musicales entre España y Latinoamérica (Granada, 2007), pp. 17–58; and Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Circulación de libros de

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Figure 4.1 Contract between the chapter of Lima Cathedral and the copyist Francisco de Páramo to make a new library of choirbooks, initial page. PE-Lagn, ‘Protocolos Notariales siglo XVII. Escribano Diego Sánchez Vadillo’, Protocolo 1732, 3 June 1615, fol. 902v.

música’. Regarding the circulation of repertoires between peninsular Spain, Lima and Santiago de Chile in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, see A. Vera Aguilera, ‘Trazas y trazos de la circulación musical en el Virreinato del Perú: copistas de la Catedral de Lima en Santiago de Chile’, Anuario Musical, 68 (2013), pp. 133–67.

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The conditions of the contract between the chapter of Lima Cathedral and Francisco de Páramo were prepared by the precentor Pedro de Valencia; the organist and substitute for the chapelmaster, Miguel de Bobadilla; and the canon Andrés Díaz de Abreu.23 The contract specifies that the books were to be copied according to the model of Toledo (‘conforme a el horden toledano’), and following a sample of the copy given by Páramo (which was signed by him and by the chapter delegates). All the festivities that required chant were specified. The ‘psalterio nocturno’ (psalter for the night office) was not sung at Lima Cathedral and, thus, Páramo should copy it without music (‘sin canturía’), except for the Te Deum ‘hordinario’ (simplex). The copyist would receive 20 reales for each sheet with text or with illumination, and 2 patacones, or pesos, for each sheet with music (‘canturía’); he was obliged to begin the work on 15 June 1615 to finish it as soon as possible; if he stopped the work for two continuous months, the chapter would be allowed to arrange the contract with others.24 Páramo began his work immediately and copied so quickly that the members of the Lima Cathedral chapter were afraid of not having enough money to pay him and, in November 1616, they tried to slow down his rate of production.25 Finally, it was confirmed that Páramo should continue copying until he had finished about forty new books for Lima Cathedral (including the volumes already copied), of between 110 and 115 sheets in each volume. The chapter agreed to pay him 2,000 pesos in advance, and fixed a list of the books to be copied and their contents.26 Nevertheless, the renewal of the plainchant books was again interrupted because Francisco de Páramo died on 9 December 1616, and he was not able to finish the work.27

23

24

25

26

27

These three people were commissioned to prepare the contract (as seen in PE-Lcm, Libro de Acuerdos Capitulares 4, fols. 144r–v, 23 May 1615), but only Valencia and Díaz de Abreu were among the signatories of the contract, and Bobadilla is not mentioned. All the details presented here have been taken directly from the original contract preserved in PE-Lagn (see signature in note 21). Patacón was a Peruvian term for the silver money also known as ‘peso de a ocho reales’; see C. A. González Sánchez, Repatriaciones de capitales del virreinato del Perú en el siglo XVI, Estudios de Historia Económica 20 (Madrid, 1991), p. 122; and Museo numismático del Perú (Lima, n.d.), p. 5, www.bcrp.gob.pe/docs/ProyeccionInstitucional/Museo/Museo-Numismatico-del-Peru.pdf (accessed 1 May 2018). In the chapter meeting of 18 November 1616, it was said that Páramo wrote the plainchant books ‘very quickly, without knowing what he had written nor what books he was writing’ (‘escriuía a gran priesa, sin que se supiese lo que tenía escripto ni qué libros escriuía’); if he finished two or three books, it would happen that he had a very big portion of work and the Cathedral might not able to pay (‘podría ser que … tubiese hecho alguna con gran partida que la yglesia no pudiese pagar’). The archdeacon (‘arcediano’), Juan Velázquez, together with the canon Menacho and the musician Bobadilla, were asked to go to Páramo’s house to see his work and, if convenient, to order him to stop (‘y si les pareciere conbenir que cese y pare la dicha obra’): PE-Lcm, Libro de Acuerdos Capitulares 4, fols. 168v–169r; see the transcription of the document in Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], p. 266. PE-Lcm, Libro de Acuerdos Capitulares 4, fol. 169r, 22 November 1616; Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], pp. 266–7. The conditions of Páramo’s contract, with some changes in the text, were also copied in a later contract signed by Cristóbal Muñoz in 1617, after Páramo’s death (PE-Lcm, Serie D. Papeles Varios 18, fols. 2v–4 r). The date of Páramo’s death (annotated on PE-Lcm, Libro de Acuerdos Capitulares 4, fol. 169r) was published in Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], p. 267.

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A New Contract with Cristóbal Muñoz (1617): Mortgaged Black Slaves as a Guarantee for Producing Plainchant Books When Páramo died, the chapter of Lima Cathedral signed a new contract (7 August 1617) with the copyist Cristóbal Muñoz, his wife Tomasina Ortiz, and his mother-inlaw Catalina Ortiz, to continue copying the unfinished planned plainchant books, again following the music model of Toledo Cathedral (see extracts from the contract in Appendix 4.1).28 As stated in the document, Muñoz received thirteen unbound books (‘cuerpos de libro’) previously copied by Páramo, and a list of another twenty-eight volumes to be copied. The prices to be paid were the same as in the previous arrangement with Páramo: 20 reales for each sheet with only text or with illumination, and 2 patacones for each sheet with music. Muñoz and his relatives, without additional compensations, should provide the parchment and other necessary materials and workers (‘el pergamino, materiales, jornales, ofiçiales y todo lo demás neçesario hasta acavar la dicha obra’: fol. 9r). Every music page should have four written staves (‘los dichos libros se an descrebir y dar escritos de quatro ringlones cada plana’: fol. 7r). Muñoz had to start his work on the same day as the contract was signed, copying six books every four months, and finishing the entire commission in a year and a half – otherwise, the chapter of Lima Cathedral would ask another copyist to do the work. One of the most striking details in this document is that ten enslaved black people, owned by Muñoz, his wife and his mother-in-law, were mortgaged as a guarantee to ensure the fulfilment of the contract (see Table 4.1 and Appendix 4.1). The slaves could not be sold until the end of the commissioned work, and the slaves themselves were asked to confirm their names. Six of them were Peruvian-born, since they were creoles from Chincha.29 Another one came from ‘tierra Anziel’ (or ‘Ancieo’?, unidentified) and the rest, with the surnames ‘Angola’ and ‘Conga’ (the latter a woman with her child), perhaps came from Africa.30 This mortgage arrangement suggests that the copyist Cristóbal Muñoz and his relatives had a good economic position, since they could maintain such an important number of slaves: five in the case of Tomasina Ortiz, as part of her dowry; four other slaves owned by her mother, Catalina Ortiz (who was a widow); and one more owned by the copyist Muñoz. The ownership of enslaved black people was common at the time not only for wealthy sectors of Peruvian society, but also (to a lesser extent) for people with moderate incomes, and even for some Indians and free blacks. Considering the increasing demand for slaves after 1580 and the rise in their cost, the number of slaves at Muñoz’s household seems to have been above the average.31 28 29 30

31

This contract is preserved in PE-Lcm, Serie D. Papeles Varios 18. Chincha (or Chincha Alta), a Peruvian city about 200 kilometres south of Lima, is the capital of the current province also named Chincha. The surnames of African zones, such as ‘Angola’, ‘Congo’ or ‘Conga’ did not necessarily mean that the enslaved people were born in Africa, since those surnames were also applied to people of African origin but born in Europe or America. Bowser, El esclavo, pp. 144–6, mentions examples of people with modest incomes having from one to six slaves. On prices of slaves in Lima (1560–1650), see ibid., pp. 412–17.

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Table 4.1 Black Slaves Mortgaged by the Music Copyist Cristóbal Muñoz and his Relatives as a Guarantee in his Contract to Make a New Library of Plainchant Books for Lima Cathedral (1617)

Name / age / origin

Owner

1. Juan (Joan) Angola, 20 years old. Previously owned by the music copyist Francisco Páramo and by the bajón player Pedro de Santa Cruz.

Cristóbal Muñoz, music copyist

2. Joan Lobo, 16 years old, creole from Chincha

Tomasina Ortiz, Muñoz’s wife

3. Isabel, 28 years old, from ‘tierra Anziel’ (‘Anzieo’?)

Tomasina Ortiz, Muñoz’s wife

4. María, 14 years old, creole from Chincha

Tomasina Ortiz, Muñoz’s wife

5–6. Catalina Conga, 30 years old, with her little black child, 1½ years old

Tomasina Ortiz, Muñoz’s wife

7. Felipa, 15 years old, creole from Chincha

Catalina Ortiz, Muñoz’s mother-in-law

8. Isabel, 12 years old, creole from Chincha

Catalina Ortiz, Muñoz’s mother-in-law

9. Di[eg]o Moreno, a little black child, 8 years old, creole from Chincha

Catalina Ortiz, Muñoz’s mother-in-law

10. Lucía, 13 years old, creole from Chincha

Catalina Ortiz, Muñoz’s mother-in-law

Source: PE-Lcm, Serie D. Papeles Varios 18, fols. 10v–12r

One striking piece of evidence is that the slave Juan Angola, the only one specifically owned by the copyist Muñoz, had previously been the property of the other copyist, Francisco Páramo. Muñoz bought that enslaved person from Pedro de Santa Cruz, probably the musician of that name who worked as a bajón player at Lima Cathedral.32 It seems not to be a coincidence that Juan Angola is mentioned in the contract as the first of the ten mortgaged slaves, and that he had previously been owned by a prestigious music copyist such as Páramo and by a cathedral instrumentalist. It is most likely that that slave, 20 years old, had musical skills and that he could have been working at Páramo’s workshop; Muñoz probably bought him to use his services in the enormous task of producing music books for Lima Cathedral. Apparently, Muñoz’s wife and Muñoz’s mother-in-law did not participate directly in the copying of books, since these two women did not know how to write.33 As in the case of Juan Angola, it is not possible to ascertain whether any of the nine slaves owned by those two women worked at Muñoz’s workshop. Nevertheless, the prominent position of Tomasina Ortiz and her mother Catalina (together with the copyist Muñoz) as signatories and guarantors of the contract, as well as the relevance attributed to the ten black slaves in the document, suggest that perhaps these enslaved people would have been not only a guarantee because of their economic value, but also a workforce for some tasks associated with music book production. As many studies have pointed out, black slaves were not only unskilled domestic workers, but also farm labourers and, particularly in big cities such as Lima, appreciated artisans with specialised skills, in some cases receiving instruction and being paid a sala-

32

33

PE-Lcm, Libro de fábrica 2, fols. 117 and 119, receipts signed by the bajón player Pedro de Santa Cruz after receiving 100 ‘pesos de a nueve reales’ each time, as part of his salary, 28 September 1615 and [23?] May 1616. His services to Lima Cathedral continued during the next few years. A witness signed the contract in their stead.

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ry (‘esclavos a jornal’). Many black people were expert, for example, in the tanning and dressing of leather.34 Literacy was very restricted among the black population, although it was not completely exceptional to find those who had those skills or, at least, were familiar with written culture.35 The acknowledged musical abilities of black people were channelled into training slaves for various music occupations all over the Hispanic world. For example, in 1607 the organist Miguel de Bobadilla signed a contract in Lima to teach music to the mulatto slave Diego de Chabes, owned by the priest Diego de Ibarreta.36 Some years earlier, in 1588, eleven slave musicians, with their musical instruments, were sold in Castile to the Spanish Count of Oropesa, who signed contracts with two teachers to teach them music and embroidery.37 At Puebla de los Ángeles (New Spain), Alonso de Villafañe had in 1597 a black slave named Lucas who helped in copying plainchant, and, during the early 1640s, the Spanish composer Juan Gutiérrez de Padilla employed black artisans in his workshop to make musical instruments.38 Black people undertook various jobs at Lima Cathedral, frequently being paid for their services in construction and other activities, as seen in the Libros de fábrica. Regarding music, whereas Indian people performed in many festivities as instrumentalists, black people usually worked blowing the organ bellows, an essential responsibility to ensure performances. In 1617, for example, a salary of 60 ‘pesos de a nueve reales’ a year was paid to an enslaved black person for blowing the organ bellows of the Cathedral every necessary day at Vespers and Mass; the money was received by his owner, the Cathedral priest (‘racionero’) Hernando del Castillo.39 In that context, some of the ten slaves at Muñoz’s home, apart from their domestic labours, would have participated in activities related to the copying of the plainchant books; the illumination of the initial capital letters; the preparation of parchment, ink and painting materials; or in binding. Cooperation in music book production seems more probable in the case of Juan Angola, previously owned by the copyist Páramo, but there is no definitive evidence. The payment for the books copied by Muñoz as a result of his 1617 contract became a complicated matter, since it was necessary to identify his specific contribution, especially in the volumes initiated by Páramo. An undated list of thirty-eight finished volumes,

34 35 36 37 38 39

Bowser, El esclavo, pp. 172–97; C. Aguirre, Breve historia de la esclavitud en el Perú. Una herida que no deja de sangrar (Lima, 2005), pp. 73–100. Jouve, Esclavos de la ciudad letrada, pp. 75–97. The contract, although signed for twenty years, was revoked in 1608; see Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [2], pp. 207–8. Toledo (Spain), Archivo Histórico Nacional de España, Sección Nobleza, Frías, Caja 1279, D. 1 and D. 2; a partial edition of these documents was published in Schwartz, ‘En busca de liberalidad’, pp. 634–6. Morales Abril, ‘El esclavo negro’, p. 9; R. Stevenson, ‘Puebla Chapelmasters and Organists: Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Part II’, Inter-American Music Review, 6 (1984), pp. 29–139, at p. 68. PE-Lcm, Libro de fábrica 2, fol. 286r. Other examples of black people paid for blowing the bellows are found in the Libros de fábrica and in Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], p. 135.

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preserved together with the 1617 contract, enumerates how many sheets and illuminations were made in each book by Páramo and how many by Muñoz.40 Those thirty-eight volumes (many of them also bound by Muñoz) seem to have been the main result of the contract, although he also received payments several years later for various tasks.41 According to Sas Orchassal, Muñoz continued his work as a music copyist for Lima Cathedral until his death (c.1659).42 Plainchant and Polyphonic Books at Lima Cathedral in Inventories (1604–1787) A global, diachronic perspective on the evolution of the library of liturgical and music books at Lima Cathedral can be obtained from extant inventories from 1604 onwards.43 Appendix 4.2 presents the main information about liturgical books extracted from seven inventories compiled between 1604 and 1630, including plainchant choirbooks, printed missals, breviaries and other volumes. The large parchment choirbooks and some other books for use in the choir and for singing were in the care of specific people, such as the priest Diego Jorge (1604); the custodian (‘celador’) who swept the church, Inocencio de Ciberio (1616, 1617); and the priest and ‘registrador de los libros’, Fernando de Castro (1630). The renewal of the plainchant choirbooks from 1613 onwards is only partially reflected in the inventories. The 1617 inventory refers to the six recently finished plainchant books without mentioning the copyist.44 The same inventory indicates that Francisco de Páramo possessed two missals of Lima Cathedral at the time of his death (December of 1616). The 1630 inventory, ordered by Archbishop Fernando Arias de Ugarte, is the most detailed of these, and mentions 115 liturgical books, a remarkable increase in comparison with the 47 books listed in 1617. Among the missals and other liturgical books used at Lima Cathedral in the early seventeenth century, there were volumes printed in Spanish cities such as Burgos, Madrid, Salamanca, Seville, Valencia and Toledo, as well as editions printed in Antwerp, Paris and Venice. Despite the evidence mentioned earlier of a music chapel documented at Lima Cathedral at least since the 1550s, I have not found any polyphonic book listed in the seventeenth-century inventories. There are three polyphonic volumes in the 1753 inventory: Un quaderno manu escrito de canto de órgano de missas y motetes y passiones echo aquí en Lima, forrado con tablillas y badana colorada.

40 41

42 43

44

PE-Lcm, Serie D. Papeles Varios 18, loose sheets with modern foliation in pencil (preserved together with the 1617 contract with Muñoz), fols. 5r–7r. There are payments to Muñoz until 1619 (as part of the contract) in the Libro de fábrica 2 and in PE-Lcm, Serie D. Papeles Varios 18, loose sheets, fol. 1r–v. A 1621 payment to him is annotated in ibid., fol. 8r. One of the extant plainchant books at Lima Cathedral was finished and signed by Muñoz (as ‘X[rist]ophorus Muñoz’) on 18 March 1625. Sas Orchassal, La música en la Catedral de Lima [1], p. 267. The first extant book of inventories (PE-Lcm, Serie 4. Inventarios 12) covers the period 1604–52; two inventories made before 1604 are mentioned on fol. 63r as copied in a now lost, older book of inventories. Complementary information on liturgical books is also available in the Libros de fábrica 1–3. Perhaps those six books were the six volumes (initiated by Páramo and finished by Muñoz) described in PE-Lcm, Serie D. Papeles Varios 18, loose sheets, fol. 9r, undated; the sheets and illuminations made by Páramo in each book were specified in order to pay Muñoz only for the sheets and illuminations he had made himself.

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Un libro de canto de órgano de vísperas, hymnos … con tablillas y baqueta colorada, impreso, pero no se conoce dónde porque le falta el principio y también el fin, con foxas …….. 149. Un quaderno manu escrito de canto de órgano con cubierta de pergamino, contiene vísperas de la Santíssima Virgen con foxas …….. 017. A manuscript polyphonic notebook with masses, motets and passions, copied here in Lima, with covers of wood and red sheepskin. A polyphonic book of vespers and hymns … with covers of wood and red leather, printed, but it is not known where because the beginning and the end are missing, with sheets ……... 149. A manuscript polyphonic notebook with covers of parchment, containing vespers of the Virgin, with sheets ……. 017.45

This 1753 description of the three cited music books is almost exactly the same in the 1787 inventory but, in the latter one, the notebook copied at Lima appears as containing plainchant and not polyphony.46 At present, there are only two extant polyphonic books at Lima Cathedral. The first one (PE-Lcm 1) is an undated eighteenth-century manuscript with some of the folios missing, containing part of an Aspersorium per annum and five masses by Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina; its notation and writing are similar to those of other polyphonic books copied for several Hispanic churches by Casiano López Navarro (c.1690–1749), who was succentor at the Royal Chapel in Madrid. The second book of polyphony (PE-Lcm 2 [RISM G4873]) can be identified as the printed volume mentioned in the eighteenth-century inventories at Lima; it is a copy of the Liber Vesperarum (Rome: Domenico Basa and Alessandro Gardano, 1584) by Francisco Guerrero, with 149 numbered folios, without the initial and final sheets of the edition (as described in Lima’s 1753 inventory), and with signs of a very intense use, including manuscript additions.47 We also know about lost books of polyphony at Lima Cathedral, such as those copied by Gutierre Fernández Hidalgo during his mastership there (c.1590–1),48 and the large books of polyphony rebound in 1646.49 Thus, the two extant polyphonic books are only a very pale reflection of the repertory that would have been performed at Lima Cathedral.

45 46 47

48 49

PE-Lcm, Serie 4. Inventarios 15, fol. 14 r, 1753; this inventory also has a detailed description of choirbooks and other liturgical volumes which cannot be analysed here. PE-Lcm, Serie 4. Inventarios 15, fol. 170r–v, 1787. This printed book is mentioned in R. Stevenson, The Music of Peru: Aboriginal and Viceroyal Epochs (Washington, 1959–60), pp. 97–8; and R. Stevenson, Renaissance and Baroque Musical Sources in the Americas (Washington, 1970), p. 110, where he states that the volume was then numbered ‘choirbook 16’ and that it had been rebound in 1864. The Guerrero printed book was sent to Lima from the Cathedral of Seville in 1601, according to A. Sánchez Málaga, ‘Música y músicos en la Catedral de Lima’, in La Basílica Catedral de Lima (Lima, 2004), pp. 171–203, at p. 178 (no source mentioned). About the two polyphonic books at Lima Cathedral, see also Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Música en la Catedral de Lima’, pp. 17–18, and the database ‘Books of Hispanic Polyphony’, https://hispanicpolyphony.eu, ed. E. Ros-Fábregas. Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Música en la Catedral de Lima’, pp. 19–20. On 31 March 1646, Manuel de Sequeira, chapelmaster of Lima Cathedral, received 16 ‘pesos de a ocho reales’ to pay ‘la enquadernación de unos libros grandes de canto de órgano que se mandaron renovar por estar maltratados’; PE-Lcm, Libro de fábrica 3, fol. 310r.

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Conclusion The renewal of the plainchant books at Lima Cathedral was a central matter for the institution during the second decade of the seventeenth century. This musical and liturgical project was promoted from 1613 onwards by the Archbishop of Lima, Bartolomé Lobo Guerrero, following the Council of Trent’s recommendations. Two main music copyists and illuminators directed the project: Cristóbal Muñoz ‘the young’, who initiated the new books in 1614–15; the prestigious Francisco de Páramo from August 1615 until his death in December 1616; and again Cristóbal Muñoz from 1617 onwards. At least thirty-eight volumes were finished as a direct result of the project, some of them including sections copied separately by Páramo and by Muñoz. Further research will be necessary to identify and analyse the precise contribution of each copyist in the extant plainchant books.50 Francisco de Páramo, active in peninsular Spain, Santa Fe de Bogotá (now Colombia) and Lima, is a good example of the transatlantic circulation of music copyists, probably as vibrant at the time as the migrations of other musicians and repertoires. The new plainchant manuscript books copied for Lima Cathedral followed the music model of the Cathedral of Toledo (a referent for liturgy), but other books reveal the international scope of Lima Cathedral library in the early seventeenth century, which included missals and other liturgical volumes printed not only in peninsular Spain (Burgos, Madrid, Salamanca, Seville, Toledo, Valencia), but also in Antwerp, Paris and Venice. This chapter underlines that enslaved black people had a visible presence in the workshops where music books were produced. The case of the copyists Francisco de Páramo and Cristóbal Muñoz suggests that enslaved people would have been essential not only as domestic labourers or as a guarantee to back up professional contracts, but probably also because some of them would have helped in the production of choirbooks. The evidence emerging from the studied documentation invites a revisiting of musical practices in various contexts of Hispanic society, particularly in cities such as viceregal Lima, where not only Spaniards, but also Indians and black people, contributed in an active way to daily musical activities. Music, as a tool for conversion within the complex colonial society, was tied to ambitious projects of producing plainchant books. The possible connection of those relevant musical sources with enslaved artisans opens up new vistas for further approaches. �

50

Sánchez Málaga, ‘Música y músicos en la Catedral de Lima’, p. 178, mentions forty large extant plainchant books. The collection includes volumes copied in the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. In 2012, I was able to examine briefly these choirbooks, still to be studied from the musicological point of view. A first approach was presented by David Andrés in his paper ‘Filiaciones y localismos en los libros corales de la Catedral de Lima’, for ‘En, desde y hacia las Américas. Migraciones musicales, comunidades transnacionales, historia oral y memoria cultural’, II Congreso Internacional MUSAM, Sociedad Española de Musicología, dir. V. Eli Rodríguez and J. Marín López, Universidad Complutense de Madrid, 24 and 25 October 2019.

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Extracts from the Contract between the Chapter of Lima Cathedral and the Music Copyist and Illuminator Cristóbal Muñoz, His Wife Tomasina Ortiz, and His Mother-in-Law Catalina Ortiz, to Continue the New Plainchant Books that Remained Unfinished after Francisco de Páramo’s Death.

Appendix 4.1

Lima, 7 August 1617 PE-Lcm, Serie D. Papeles Varios 18, 14 fols. Note: the copyist Cristóbal Muñoz and his wife, Tomasina Ortiz, are mentioned in the contract as the two ‘principales’ (main people responsible), whereas his mother-in-law, Catalina Ortiz, appears as ‘fiadora’ (guarantor). In the selected extracts, there are descriptions of forty-one chant books; I have numbered them in square brackets. The underlined text is given as it appears in the original document. [Books copied by Páramo and given to Muñoz after Páramo’s death], 4r–5v […] [In the left margin (fol. 4r): ‘Libros que se entregaron a Xristóval Muños’] De la qual dicha memoria y número de libros dejó escriptos el dicho Francisco de Páramo los siguientes que se entregaron al dicho Xristóval Muños por el liçençiado Joan Baptista Ramíres, albaçea del dicho Francisco de Páramo para enquaderno: [1–3] Tres cuerpos de libros yntitulados santoral de bísperas desde la fiesta de señor San Andrés a treynta de noviembre, que el primero cuerpo tiene çiento y diez foxas, el segundo çiento y dies y nueve, el terçero çiento y çinco, y acavan todos los dichos tres cuerpos en la fiesta de Nuestra Señora de las Nieves, que todos los dichos tres cuerpos tienen treçientas y treynta y quatro foxas escriptas todas de la dicha canturía y en la hoja del primero cuerpo tiene una yluminaçión grande. [4] Otro libro yntitulado común de santos de bísperas que tiene çiento y treynta y siete fojas escriptas. [5] Un quaderno yntitulado de bísperas que comiença desde las bísperas de la Epipfanía hasta las segundas bísperas del mismo día con la antífona de las bísperas del sávado ynfraotava de la dicha fiesta Remansit puer Jesus, que tiene veynte y siete fojas escriptas y más otras quinçe fojas de la bixilia de la Natividad de Nuestro Señor que están puestas en el libro del Adbiento que está enquadernado, que hiço el dicho Xristóval Muños, que este libro donde están estas quinçe hoxas, está en la ygleçia, que son por todas quarenta y dos foxas escriptas todas. [6–7] Otro libro de común de misas de santos en dos cuerpos que comiença desde la bijilia del común de los apóstoles Ego anctem [sic] hasta la fiesta de la dedicaçión de la ygleçia ynclusive, que están en los dichos dos cuerpos duçientas y treynta y siete hojas, en el uno çiento y beynte y tres, y el otro çiento y catorçe, todas escriptas. [8–9] Yten, dos cuerpos que se yntitulan dominicas de misas, que enpiessa desde la primera dominica de Adviento hasta la dominica de la Quinquagesima ynclusive, que el

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[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

un cuerpo tiene çiento y beynte y dos foxas y el otro çiento y quince foxas, que todas son duçientas y treynta y siete foxas, todas escriptas de canturía. Un libro dominical de misas desde el día de la fiesta de la Çeniça hasta el sávado de las ténporas de la Quaresma, en çiento y quinçe foxas, todas escriptas, que comiença Exsaudi nos Domine y acava Yntret oratio mea ynclusive. Otro libro santoral de bísperas1 desde la Transfiguraçión del Señor que comiença Asumsit Jesus hasta la fiesta de señor San Miguel ynclusive con segundas bísperas, en çiento e honçe hojas escritas. Otro libro que es el fin del santoral desde la fiesta de Todos los Santos hasta la fiesta de señor San Clemente, a beynte y tres de noviembre ynclusive, en sessenta y siete foxas escriptas. Las çinco missas botivas, una de la fiesta del Santísimo Sacramento, tres de Nuestra Señora y la missa de difuntos, en sesenta y tres foxas. [Books to be copied by Cristóbal Muñoz and conditions of the contract], 5v–10v

Por manera que, comforme al entrego sussodicho de lo que el dicho Françisco de Páramo dejó escrito, falta por escrebir los libros siguientes: [in the left margin (fol. 5v): ‘Lo que falta por escrevir’] [14–15] Del santoral de bísperas falta por escrebir desde las segundas bísperas de Nuestra Señora de las Nieves esclusive hasta el día de la fiesta de señor San Andrés esclusive, que serán dos cuerpos poco más o menos. [16–23] Yten, falta por escrebir todo el santoral de missas que bendrá a tener según en dicha memoria del dicho Páramo ocho cuerpos poco más o menos. [24–8] Del dominical de bísperas falta por escrebir desde las bísperas del sávado ynfraotava de la Epipfanía esclusive hasta las bísperas de la primera dominica de Adviento esclusive, que serán çinco cuerpos poco más o menos. [29–36] Yten, de dominicas de misas falta por haçer desde el día de Ceniça ynclusive hasta el primero domingo de Adviento esclusive, que serán ocho libros poco más o menos. [37–8] Yten, faltan por haçer dos cuerpos de libros que an de contener los quiries, glorias, credos, santus y agnus con horden de que se pongan los quiries de todos los ocho tonos y las glorias todas las del misal, que son siete, y los credos tres, dominical, romano y portugués, los santus quatro, solemne y menos solemne y ferial y de angeles y los agnus lo mismo. [39–41] Yten, falta por hacer el salterio divino que llevará tres cuerpos poco más o menos.

1

In the margin of items 11–13, a note appears: ‘en cassa’ (at home).

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[in the left margin: ‘Condición’] Yten, se adbierte lo mismo que en la memoria que se abía hecho para el dicho Páramo, que no se an de quitar puntos ningunos de la canturía de la ygleçia de Toledo, sino que toda se a de poner como está en los orixinales de ella. Yten, se adbierte que cada libro a de tener de çiento y dies a çiento y beynte hojas, de manera que el libro quede acavado con ofiçio entero. Toda la qual dicha obra de los dichos libros de canturía en la forma e manera que dicha es, todos los dichos prinçipales y fiadora se obligaron a hazer conforme a la dicha memoria […] y los dichos libros se an descrebir y dar escritos de quatro ringlones cada plana y del tamaño, muestra y letra hechas a punto y márjenes de la muestra que está firmada de los señores liçençiado don Pedro de Valençia, chantre que fue de la dicha santa ygleçia y señor dotor Andrés Días de Abreu, canónigo della y del dicho Francisco de Páramo y autoriçada e firmada de mí, el presente escrivano, en tres de junio del año passado de mil y seiscientos y quince, que comiença la dicha muestra y letra Beatus Laurensius y ahora le pide las dichas firmas, que da firmada del señor doctor don Joan Velas, ques arçediano de la dicha santa ygleçia y del dicho Xristóval Muños y firmada de mí, el presente escrivano, toda la qual dicha obra se obligaron2 todos los dichos prinçipales y fiador, a yr haçiendo desde oy, siete de agosto deste dicho año de mill y seiscientos y dies y siete en adelante, y proseguir en ella sin alçar mano della hasta la fenesçer y acavar, y al fin de3 cada quatro meses que corren y se quenten desde oy, dicho día, darán y entregarán a la dicha santa ygleçia seis cuerpos de libros cada uno del4 número de hoxas arriva referido y toda la dicha obra la darán fecha, fenesçida y acavada dentro de ano e medio que corren desde oy, dicho día, […] se le a de dar e pagar al dicho Xristóval Muños por cada una foxa de testo a beynte5 reales y, teniendo iluminaçión la foxa que fuere prinçipio de ofiçio al mismo presçio de los dichos beynte reales, y siendo la hoja de canturía, a dos patacones6 cada una. E para en quenta de lo que montare toda la dicha obra se le an dado y el dicho Xristóval Muños confessó aber resçevido […] un mill pesos de a ocho reales7 […]. Y otros un mil pessos de a ocho reales se le an de dar e pagar al dicho Xristóval Muños luego como aya acavado de [empesar?] la cantidad de libros y foxas que montaren los dichos un mill pessos de a ocho reales que a resçevido adelantados, y los dichos un mill pesos de a ocho reales que después se le entregaren, se le an de dar debaxo de la misma obligaçión y fiança que por esta escriptura haçen los dichos prinçipales e fiador, la qual desde luego para quando se le ayan entregado la buelvan a hazer y otorgar de nuevo […]

2 3 4 5 6 7

In the left margin (fol. 7 v): ‘Desde 7 de agosto de 17 se obligaron a comencarla’. In the left margin (fol. 7 v): ‘al fin de cada 4 meses desde 7 agosto 1617 a seis cuerpos de libros’. In the left margin (fol. 8r): ‘toda la obra acabada dentro de año y medio desde el dicho día 7 agosto 1617’. In the right margin (fol. 8r): ‘cada foja a 20 reales de testo’. In the right margin (fol. 8r): ‘cada foja de canturía a 2 patacones’. In the left margin (fol. 8r): ‘1000 pesos adelantado’.

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e por esta horden se le a de yr pagando toda la obra de la dicha librería, toda la qual dicha obra se obligaron a que el dicho Xristóval Muños la hará y la darán fecha y acavada dentro del dicho tiempo sigún e por la horden, forma e manera que queda referido, poniendo para ello8 el dicho Xristóval Muños y su muger y fiadora el pergamino, materiales, jornales, ofiçiales y todo lo demás neçesario hasta acavar la dicha obra, la qual darán fecha, perfeta y acavada en toda perfeçión para la poder enquadernar sin que por ella aya de llevar ni se le aya de pagar al dicho Xristóval Muños más presçio de lo que montare, a raçón de los dichos beynte reales por cada una foxa de testo y, teniendo luminaçión la hoja que fuere prinçipio de ofiçio, al mismo presçio de los dichos beynte reales, y siendo la hoja de canturía a dos patacones, y si la dicha obra no la dieren fecha y acavada, dan poder e facultad a su señoría, deán y cavildo y a su mayordomo en su nombre para que puedan dar a haçer la dicha obra a otras perssonas por los presçios que les pareçiere y lo que más les costare de los presçios contenidos en esta escriptura, se obligaron los dichos prinçipales e fiadora a lo pagar a la dicha santa ygleçia y al dicho su mayordomo en su nombre […] y más permitieron y dieron9 facultad a los dichos señores deán y cavildo y al dicho su mayordomo en su nonbre para que, si cunplidos los dichos quatro messes cunplidos no se diere y entregare a la dicha santa ygleçia acavados los seis libros que se le an de entregar conforme a esta obligaçión, se les pueda luego executar a los dichos prinçipales y fiadora por todo lo que restare e faltare por acavar y entregar de los dichos seis libros y la misma horden puedan tener e tengan en cada quatro meses de los que corrieren desde el día desta escriptura en adelante por la cantidad que no se diere acavada y entregada, y lo mismo por lo que faltare del dinero que se le a entregado al dicho Xristóval Muños con sola esta escriptura y el simple juramento del mayordomo de la dicha santa ygleçia se le pueda haçer la dicha execuçión por todo lo sussodicho sin que sea nescesario otra prueva ni recaudo alguno […]. [Mortgage of ten black slaves as a guarantee to fulfil the contract], 10v–12r E para la paga y cunplimiento de todo, todos tres los dichos prinçipales y fiadora juntos y debaxo de la dicha mancomunidad yn solidun obligaron sus personas y bienes abidos e por aver y […] para más seguridad de la dicha paga y cunplimiento desta escriptura, obligaron e ypotecaron por espeçial y espressa obligaçión, enpeño e ypoteca a Joan Angola, esclavo del dicho Xristóval Muños, de hedad de veynte años, que compró de Pedro de Santa Cruz, que antes hera del dicho Francisco de Páramo, que la benta del dicho negro passó ante Juan de Zamudio, escrivano público, y assí mismo otro negro, Joan Lovo, criollo de Chincha, de dies y seis años, y otra negra de tierra Anziel [Anzieo?] nonbrada Ysabel, de beynte y ocho años, y otra negra n[ombra]da María, criolla de Chincha, de catorçe años, que todos los dichos negros e negras, escepto el dicho Juan Angola, son de la dote de la dicha dona Tomasina Hortiz, y la dicha doña Catalina Hortiz obligó e ypotecó por la dicha

8 9

In the right margin (fol. 8r): ‘que ha de poner el pergamino y demás neces[ari]o’. In the right margin (fol. 10r): ‘Condiçión’.

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espeçial obligaçión, enpeño e ypoteca una negra, Catalina Conga, de treynta a[ños], con un negrito, su hijo, de año y medio, y otra negra nonbrada Felipa, criolla de Chincha de quinçe a[ños], y otra Ysabel, criolla de Chincha de doçe, y otro negrito nombrado Di[eg]o Moreno, criollo de Chincha, de ocho años, y otra negrita, Luçía, de trese a[ños], criolla de Chincha, para que todos los dichos negros e negras de susso declarados estén obligados a la paga y cunplimiento de todo para no lo poder bender ni en manera alguna enaxenar hasta que ayan cunplido e pagado todo lo que por esta escriptura están obligados e ypotecados, y la venta o enaxenaçión que de ellos o de qualquier dellos en otra manera se hiçiere sea en sí nin[gun]a y de ningún balor ni efeto y no pase der[ech]o a possehedor al[gun]o, e yo, el escrivano, doy fee que bide los dichos esclavos, los quales dixeron llamarse de los dichos nombres y castas y todos tres los dichos prinçipales e fiadora, cada uno por lo que le toca al cunplimiento desta escriptura, obligaron sus perssonas y bienes avidos, avidos [sic] e por aver […].

Plainchant Choirbooks and Other Liturgical Books at Lima Cathedral through Inventories (1604–1630)

Appendix 4.2

Source: PE-Lcm, Serie 4, Inventarios 12. Within each inventory and section, some items are grouped here in a different order from that of the original for the sake of clarification. Date 1604

Number / detail of books

Fols. 41r–42r

– 11 printed missals: 2 missals (Valencia, 1577) signed by fray Joan de Espinar and fray Martín de Alcázar, respectively. 1 missal (Venice, 1579) signed by fray Joan de Espinar. 1 missal (Venice, 1582) signed by fray Martín de Alcázar. 3 missals (Salamanca, 1589) signed by fray Joan de San Jerónimo. 2 missals (Madrid, 1599) signed by fray Joan de Benavente and fray Alonso de Critana [Criptana?], respectively. 2 Roman missals (Madrid, 1600) signed by fray Alonso de Critana. – 29 books used in the choir, in the care of the priest Diego Jorge: 21 parchment choirbooks bound with covers of wood and calf, usually in the choir for singing. 1 large printed breviary used in the choir (Antwerp: Plantin, 1575) with covers in wood and yellow leather, signed by fray Joan de Espinar. 1 small breviary used in the choir. 1 printed calendar book (Toledo, 1577) bound in parchment, signed by fray Joan de Espinar. 1 printed calendar book (Salamanca, 1584) used in the choir, bound with blue velvet covers embroidered in gold and with silver handles, signed by fray Martín de Alcázar, donated to the Cathedral by the priest Diego Jorge. 1 missal printed by Plantin, not signed, given as a present by the canon Molina. It could not be used until it had an authorised signature.

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56v–57v

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3 printed books of passions (Salamanca, 1582) with the office for Holy Week, signed by fray Joan de Espinar: the first one bound in wood and leather, the second one bound in parchment, and the third one with covers of gilded black leather. – 2 Sevillian printed manuals, deteriorated and not in use: 1 manual (Seville, 1530) with covers of black leather. 1 manual (Seville, 1544) with covers of white parchment. – 9 books (missing in 1604, but known then only through a now lost older book of inventories):

60v

65r–65v

1 missal printed in Burgos. 1 printed missal (Venice, 1577) signed by fray Joan de Espinar. 2 missals printed in 1588. 2 printed missals (Venice, 1594) signed by fray Alonso de ‘Uritana’ [Critana?]. 3 Sevillian books for processions which had been in the care of the priest Diego Jorge. – 1 small Mexican manual in possession of the priests; it was among several ornaments considered of no use.

69r

1610

In addition to the books detailed in 1604:

72r

1613–

– 20 missals:

– 2 books of epistles and gospels with red velvet covers. 14

105r–105v

1 printed missal (Venice, 1579) signed by fray Juan de Espinar. 3 printed missals (Salamanca, 1589) signed by fray Juan de San Jerónimo. 2 printed missals (Madrid, 1599) signed by fray Juan de Benavente and fray Alonso de Critana, respectively. 2 printed Roman missals (Madrid, 1600), signed by fray Alonso de Critana. 2 books of epistles and gospels with red velvet covers. 2 large printed missals (Madrid, 1609), arrived at Lima Cathedral in January of 1614. 8 small Roman printed missals (Madrid, 1611), arrived at Lima Cathedral in January of 1614.

1616

1617

– 20 missals (the same as in 1613–14; see details above).

135v

– 20 plainchant choirbooks in the care of Inocencio de Ciberio, the person who had to sweep the church (19 books at the Cathedral and one book at the ‘Colegio Seminario’). These are the same 21 parchment choirbooks as in 1604, but one is missing.

143v

– 22 missals:

175v

20 missals are the same as in 1613–14 and 1616 (see details above). 2 missals that Francisco de Páramo (deceased in December 1616) had for his work on the library of Lima Cathedral. – 25 plainchant choirbooks in the care of Inocencio de Ciberio:

188v

19 old plainchant choirbooks (one of them at the ‘Colegio Seminario’); 2 books are missing in comparison with the 1604 inventory. 6 new plainchant books recently finished. 1619

228v-229r

– 21 missals (12 of them deteriorated): 1 deteriorated missal (Venice, 1577) signed by fray Juan de Espinar. 1 Roman missal (Madrid, 1608) signed by fray Alonso S[an] Fu[l]gencio. 2 large printed missals (Madrid, 1609), arrived at Lima Cathedral in January of 1614.

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4 small printed missals (Madrid, 1611), arrived at Lima Cathedral in January of 1614 [in 1613–17, there were 8 exemplars of this book]. 2 deteriorated missals that Francisco de Páramo (deceased in December 1616) had for his work on the library of Lima Cathedral. 9 deteriorated missals. 2 books of epistles and gospels with red velvet covers.

1630

– 1 missing new missal of folio size printed in Antwerp. The book had been given to Lima Cathedral by Francisco de Estrada, will executor (‘albacea’) of the canon Antonio Núñez de Luna.

242v

– 45 liturgical books:

268r– 268v

5 books of epistles, gospels and others: 2 books for singing epistles and gospels in High Mass. 2 pontificals. 1 missing book of ceremonies. 40 missals: 1 small missal (Burgos, 1580) signed by fray Joan de Espinosa. 1 missal (1593) from Venice signed by fray Alonso de Critana. 2 missals (Venice, 1608?) signed by fray Joan de San Lorenzo. 1 large Roman missal (1609) with gilded and silver-plated black wooden covers. 1 large missal (Madrid, 1609) without the beginning and no signature. 1 printed medium-size missal (Madrid, 1610) signed by fray Alonso de Critana. 1 printed missal (Antwerp, 1616) bound in red and white cloth, signed by Feliciano de Vega. 4 large missals (Antwerp, 1616) signed by fray Francisco de la Carrera. 4 missals (1616) from Venice, three of them signed by fray Francisco de la Carrera and the fourth without signature. 1 missal (Venice, 1622) located on the altar of the tabernacle. 1 missal (Antwerp, 1623) with gilded red wooden covers, signed by fray Joan de San Lorenzo. 2 missals, one of them (1629) at the sacristy. 12 new missals from Madrid, bought from Fontanilla. 8 missals from Antwerp, bought from the priest Jerónimo.

– 70 books used in the choir, in the care of father Fernando de Castro, chaplain and 290r-292v ‘registrador de los libros’: 20 old choirbooks within the choir (previously in the care of Inocencio de Ciberio): 3 books for Sundays (‘dominicales’) covering from the first Sunday of Advent until the feast of Corpus Christi. 3 books of masses for saints (‘sanctoral propio’), covering from St Stephen to St Lucia. 1 book of ordinary masses (‘común de missas’). 9 antiphonaries for diverse feasts (one of them also with magnificats). 1 book of hymns and requiem vespers. 1 book with tenebrae and invitatories. 1 psalter for prima, tercia, sexta and nona. 1 book with kyries, glorias and credos.

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14 medium-size books kept within the lectern: 3 breviaries printed in Antwerp (1602), Paris (1625, a big and new exemplar) and Venice (1629). The 1625 book was given as a present by the ‘arcediano’ Joan de la Roca. 2 printed books of passions (Salamanca, 1582), different in size and covers. 3 printed calendar books, one of them a perpetual gilded calendar (Madrid, 1615). 5 books for processions, of red colour and of the same size. 1 parchment antiphonary used by the prebendaries to intone the antiphones in most solemn feasts. 10 large new choirbooks (‘de vara de largo’) at the church, within a locked bookcase: 9 books for Sundays, covering from the first Sunday of Advent until the last Sunday of Whitsun. 1 psalter for vespers, compline, Sundays and week days. 11 choirbooks of masses, covering from the first Sunday of Advent until the last Sunday after Whitsun. 6 choirbooks for vespers of saints, covering from the Vespers of St Andrew to the Vespers of St Clement Pope, including also vespers for apostles, martyrs, confessors, virgins and the dedication of a church. 9 choirbooks of masses for festivities of saints, covering from the Vespers of St Andrew to the Vespers of St Cosmas and St Damian, including also masses for vespers of apostles, confessors, popes, doctors of the church and the dedication of a church, as well as a psalter for prima, tercia, sexta and nona.

�

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5. Land and Conversion: New Frameworks for Colonial American Hymnody* Glenda Goodman �

[I]f one wishes to avoid the danger of confusing word with concept and concept with practice, it would be better to say that in studying conversion, one was dealing with the narratives by which people apprehended and described a radical change in the significance of their lives. (Talal Asad, ‘Comments on Conversion’1)

In a reversal of the typical direction of property transactions between Indians and settler colonists in New England, Elijah Wampey (Tunxis) bought a house from Solomon Hart (English) in 1763. The house was located on the western bank of the Farmington River, 3 miles from the main street where the Connecticut town of Farmington’s church and prominent houses were located, but close to Indian Neck, where most of the Native Americans in Farmington lived. The two-storey structure was built in the mid-1750s by Solomon Hart’s father, Deacon John Hart. The Hart family had helped to establish Farmington as a colonial town in the 1640s, and Wampey’s purchase of their family estate was meaningful both practically and symbolically. By reclaiming land through English legal mechanisms, and by subsequently residing in an English-style house, Wampey quite literally inhabited the hybrid space made by colonialism. Perhaps he found particular satisfaction in taking legal possession of the Hart house, reclaiming territory from a family that had been, for generations, instrumental in the gradual dispossession of Wampey and his kin.2 Yet, while Wampey’s landholding status demonstrates how Indians in Farmington adapted English colonists’ means to suit their own purposes, ultimately such repurchasing of land did not reverse the Anglicisation of the town. Just over a decade later, Wampey and another Tunxis man, Solomon Mossuck, wrote to the Connecticut General Assembly in May 1774 to ask for a copy of the colony’s laws. Noting that they and their kin had accommodated the English for decades, Wampey and Mossuck argued that many of their community had borne the expense of ‘furnishing ourselves with bibles and some other books in English for our further instruction’, suggesting that a copy of the laws would be both a just recompense and a helpful guide for their future (legal) conduct.3 After decades *

1 2 3

Thanks go to Nadine Zimmerli, Andrea Bohlman, Sarah Rivett, Julie Kim, Sophie G. Gee and the members of the Early Modern Seminar at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, for reading and offering feedback on this chapter. T. Asad, ‘Comments on Conversion’, in Peter van der Veer (ed.), Conversion to Modernities: The Globalization of Christianity (New York, 1995), pp. 263–73. Wampey actually purchased two-thirds of the house, with one-third bought by a ‘Cornelius Indianman’. The house location can be seen on the digital map: https://digitalfarmingtonmap.org. Memorial of the Tunxis with regard to Obtaining a Law Book, 25 May 1774 (1774.05.25.00), in P. Grant-Costa et al. (eds.), Yale Indian Papers Project, Yale University: http://jake.library.yale.edu:8080/neips/data/html/1774.05 .25.00/1774.05.25.00.html.

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of legal disputes with English settler colonists over land, they had need of such guidance. Soon after receiving a copy of the laws, most of the Indians in Farmington left the town – the very law book they requested aided in the conclusive sales of land to their English neighbours. Using the tools of colonialism – legal formulas, literacy, land titles – they sought release from colonial pressure. Land was just one arena for colonial encounter, albeit an extremely important one that left durable marks on the historical record. Other scenarios of encounter featured ephemeral practices that were consequential but harder to document. Hymnody was such a practice. The Indians in Farmington were Christians, having received sporadic missionary efforts beginning in the seventeenth century and intensifying in the 1720s and 1730s. Then, for two generations, natives and newcomers in Farmington lived and worshipped alongside each other. Religious practices, including singing, offer a counterpoint to the appropriation of Native lands. As sovereignty remains at the forefront of Indigenous issues, this chapter takes as its premise that an understanding of hymnody, presaged on religious conversion, must also take into consideration the importance of who lays claim to the land itself.4 The archival record for Native hymnody in Farmington is limited.5 Snippets of information are available: for instance, that Solomon Mossuck became a member of the First Church of Farmington in 1763, and his wife Eunice joined two years later. Furthermore, details about the built environment allow us to reconstruct scenarios of hymnody. The church’s building had designated seating for Native and African-descended congregants, in the gallery above the stairs on the north side of the building for the former and a bench along the wall below for the latter.6 Christian Native presence increased with the arrival of Joseph Johnson, a Mohegan-Christian teacher, in 1772. Johnson led bi-weekly singing meetings for both English and Native participants, and held a school to the west of town, about 3 miles from the First Church and 2 miles from the area where most of the Indians in Farmington lived. There he taught both white and Indian pupils to read, and exhorted Christian tenets. Farmington Christianity was not just English Christianity. Native Americans were a visible – and audible – part of the town’s religious life. This chapter works from the assumption that Native hymnody was present and noteworthy in colonial New England in ways that have not been fully understood, and aims to set up frameworks for future research. Thus, although hymnody is central to this work’s larger aims, it is not the main focus of this chapter. Farmington was a site of contention. The Tunxis had fought against English theft of land beginning in the mid seventeenth century; yet, when they sought to leave during the

4 5

6

E. Tuck and K. W. Yang, ‘Decolonization Is Not a Metaphor’, Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1 (2012), pp. 1–40. On the problem of the archive of Native American music in colonial New England, and of archival silences more broadly, see G. Goodman, ‘Joseph Johnson’s Gamuts: Objects of Exchange and Native American Hymnody in Early America’, in G. Solis and J. Bissett Perea (eds.), Indigeneity and Colonialism, special issue of Journal of the Society for American Music (Fall 2019), pp. 482–507. J. Gay, Farmington Papers (Hartford, CT, 1929), pp. 228–9, at p. 271.

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American Revolution, they were met with violence from the colonists who feared the loss of their Indian buffer (and incorrectly believed the Tunxis would join the British).7 The English were fractious amongst themselves, fighting for years over town matters.8 Christian fellowship did little to ease conflicts over power. When the Indians in Farmington left in the second half of the 1770s, they did so to form a Christian Indian settlement called Brothertown, away from the poor model set by colonists.9 The fact that the Indians in Farmington eventually migrated might be taken as a sign of voluntary disappearance. The ‘disappearing Indian’ is a common trope in US narratives, famously popularised by James Fenimore Cooper’s 1827 novel, The Last of the Mohicans. Depicted as tragic, doomed, and noble, the idea of the disappearing Indian blatantly served the goals of settler colonialism – what Patrick Wolfe calls the elimination of the Native, and what Jean M. O’Brien (White Earth Ojibwe) labels ‘lasting’.10 ‘Lasting’ Indians clears the way for settler colonists, for, by identifying a final individual, the ‘last’ of a given group, colonists can claim total possession of Indigenous territory – a process that happened in Farmington. Not all of the Tunxis Indians left in the eighteenth century: Solomon Mossuck and his family stayed, as did others. Yet nineteenth-century local histories habitually pointed to the ‘last’ Tunxis (a descendant of Solomon Mossuck) and even erected a memorial to the ‘extinct’ Indians.11 Sacred music history, built on the fiction of disappearance, has failed to take stock adequately of Native American participation in hymn singing. The material and spiritual histories of colonial New England are porous, but hymnody can be understood as a signal form of Native survivance. Conversion is at the heart of a Native-centred sacred music history of early America. As this case study of Farmington demonstrates, some Native Americans in southern New England adopted Christian practices and English habits in order to gain greater security amidst the intense geopolitical flux caused by colonial invasion.12 They hoped to maintain as much of their traditional lifeways as possible; the importance of staying in ancestral

7 8 9 10 11

12

David Fowler, letter to Colonel Guy Johnson, 8 April 1775. In L. J. Murray (ed.), To Do Good to My Indian Brethren: The Writings of Joseph Johnson 1751–1776 (Amherst, 1998), p. 260. C. P. Bickford, Farmington in Connecticut (Canaan, NH, 1982), pp. 17–38, 95–110. D. J. Silverman, Red Brethren: The Brothertown and Stockbridge Indians and the Problem of Race in Early America (Ithaca, 2010). P. Wolfe, ‘Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native’, Journal of Genocide Research, 8 (2006), pp. 387– 409; J. M. O’Brien, Firsting and Lasting: Writing Indians out of Existence in New England (Minneapolis, 2010). N. Porter, Jr, A Historical Discourse, Delivered by Request, Before the Citizens of Farmington, November 4, 1840, in Commemoration of the Original Settlement of the Ancient Town, in 1640 (Hartford, CT, 1841), p. 44. The Farmington Memorial, erected in 1840, commemorated the ‘ancient tenants of these grounds’, and eulogised the Tunxis with a poem by Lydia Sigourney that was etched into the monument’s side. On Farmington and representing Indians as extinct, see O’Brien, Firsting and Lasting, pp. 115–16. It is worth noting that the Brothertown Indian Nation spearheaded an event in Connecticut on 3 February 2018, where they participated in a shape-note singing sponsored by the Yale Institute of Sacred Music (with the involvement of the Yale Indian Papers Project). See S. Wenger, ‘Thomas Commuck’s Indian Melodies: Identity, Ritual, and the Colonized Mind’, unpublished paper, 2017. J. Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York and Oxford, 1985). An overview of the larger Algonquian group of which the Tunxis are a part can be found in B. G. Trigger, Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. XV: Northeast (Washington, DC, 1978).

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homelands cannot be overstated.13 And yet, even as members of groups such as the Tunxis converted, they saw their land taken over by English colonists. The documentation for who possessed legal title for land left a much fuller archival record than did changes in Native religious practices, particularly ephemeral sacred singing. The simultaneous transformations of land title and religious practice form the crux of this chapter, which examines how sacred music co-existed with and abetted the gradual seizure of Native land, as well as how Native participation in Christian musical practices resulted in changes to those practices. It proposes that attention to land titles and the transforming built environment provides an important contextualisation for intercultural religious soundscapes, and that, for early American hymnody in particular, such a framework is necessary to understand how the interplay of religion and settler colonialism shaped sacred musical life. Converting Territory: Tunxis Sepus and Farmington Settler colonial intrusion into Native land took place against a backdrop of demographic crisis. Across southern New England, Native peoples suffered horrendously from diseases brought by Europeans: epidemics in 1616–19 and 1633 cut down 90 per cent of the population in some areas. Indians exposed to illnesses for the first time fell sick en masse, and those who might have recovered if provided adequate care instead died for want of nursing, water and food.14 Although Connecticut was less affected than neighbouring Massachusetts and Rhode Island, the psychological toll of disease and warfare was steep. By the mid-1720s, the Tunxis population in Farmington consisted of a mere thirty people.15 Farmington’s white population, meanwhile, grew rapidly: 750 at the turn of the eighteenth century, over 3,700 by 1756, and more than 6,000 by 1774.16 The loss of Native lives was viewed by English colonists as providential: God seemed to be clearing the land, cruelly, to make space for pale Christians. The Great Migration from England brought some 18,000 migrants by 1640, setting up demographically a conflict over space.17 Settler colonialism’s core mandate is possession of territory, achieved through the dogged, often conniving, mobilisation of legal processes and the application of insistent, often violent, pressure on Indigenous inhabitants to remove themselves.18 Pushy through

13

14

15 16 17 18

On the strategic adoption of Christianity to maintain land, see D. J. Silverman, Faith and Boundaries: Colonists, Christianity, and Community among the Wampanoag Indians of Martha’s Vineyard, 1600–1871 (Cambridge, 2005). On the intersection of sovereignty, religion and colonialism more broadly, see J. M. O’Brien, Dispossession by Degrees: Indian Land and Identity in Natick, Massachusetts, 1650–1790 (Cambridge, 1997); A. Greer, Property and Dispossession: Natives, Empires and Land in Early Modern North America (Cambridge, 2017); A. Moreton-Robinson, The White Possessive: Property, Power, and Indigenous Sovereignty (Minneapolis and London, 2015). The earliest epidemics haven’t been conclusively identified, but could have been yellow fever, bubonic plague and/ or flu. The 1633 epidemic was smallpox: K. J. Bragdon, The Columbia Guide to American Indians of the Northeast (New York, 2001), p. 165. L. D. Fisher, The Indian Great Awakening: Religion and the Shaping of Native Cultures in Early America (New York, 2012), p. 31. Bickford, Farmington in Connecticut, p. 95. B. Bailyn, The Peopling of British North America: An Introduction (New York, 1986). P. Wolfe, Traces of History: Elementary Structures of Race (London and New York, 2016), p. 2.

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bureaucratic and bellicose means, the appropriation of Native land played out over decades, during which time Native and English concepts of territory reckoned with their mutual incompatibility. Native Americans conceived of space in terms of habits, homes, ancestral use; overlapping territory at the peripheries of groups was not contested, but instead was understood to be mutually life-promoting. The English model of absolute borders, fixed in law and by fences, was anathema.19 What is more, the concept of property possession literally made no sense. In the language the Tunxis thought, spoke, dreamed and sang in, there was no word to express transferable soil.20 Nevertheless, English colonists pressed Indians throughout southern New England to sign land deeds transferring territory.21 Farmington was no exception. ‘Encroach’ is the word the Tunxis of Farmington used to complain to the Connecticut General Assembly about their English neighbours. In petitions, they described the English invasion as breaking the signed agreements, as they ‘from time to time by little and little entered and encroached upon’ the area reserved for the Tunxis.22 Contentiousness is threaded through the legal record of Farmington land. English colonists arrived in Farmington in 1643, possessing a (now lost) treaty with Sequassen, a sachem (leader) who was not himself Tunxis, and who doubtless did not expect the transaction to have permanent consequences. A 1650 treaty, signed by sachems Ahamo and Pethus, confirmed that the territory was given over for English ‘improvement’.23 But, by 1672, the Tunxis filed a petition complaining that the English were taking more land than allocated in previous agreements.24 Showing little concern over the petition, that same year the English of Farmington organised themselves into a group of eighty-four proprietors, guaranteeing that only they and their descendants could own Farmington property.25 They were correct to have faith that their hunger for possession would go unchecked by the colony’s Assembly, for in 1673 the Assembly restated and ratified the 1650 deal, with the assurance that the Indians could have 300 acres.26 The English took for themselves 300 square miles.

19 20 21

22 23 24

25 26

B. Rudes, ‘Indian Land Deeds as Evidence for Indian History in Western Connecticut’, Northeast Anthropology, 70 (2005), pp. 19–48, esp. p. 43. B. Rudes, ‘Resurrecting Wampano (Quiripi) from the Dead: Phonological Preliminaries’, Anthropological Linguistics, 39 (Spring 1997), pp. 1–59. K. L. Feder, ‘“The Avaricious Humour of Designing Englishmen”: The Ethnohistory of Land Transactions in the Farmington Valley’, Bulletin of the Archaeological Society of Connecticut, 45 (1983), pp. 29–40; D. R. Mandell, Behind the Frontier: Indians in Eighteenth-Century Eastern Massachusetts (Lincoln, 2000). Petition of James Wawowos, 7 September 1767 (1767.09.07.00), in Grant-Costa et al. (eds.), Yale Indian Papers Project: http://jake.library.yale.edu:8080/neips/data/html/1767.09.07.00/1767.09.07.00.html. Deed to Tunxis Sepos, 9 April 1650 (1650.04.09.01), in Grant-Costa et al. (eds.), Yale Indian Papers Project: http:// jake.library.yale.edu:8080/neips/data/html/1650.04.09.01/1650.04.09.01.html. Petition of Tunxis Indians to Connecticut General Assembly, 13 May 1672 (1672.05.13.00), in Grant-Costa et al. (eds.), Yale Indian Papers Project: http://jake.library.yale.edu:8080/neips/data/html/1672.05.13.00/1672.05.13.0 0.html. S. Jensen Reik, ‘Genesis of a New England Town: The Growth of Farmington, Connecticut, 1645–1700, as Revealed in Its Town and Church Records’ (Master’s thesis, Columbia University, 1969), p. 19. Copy of Confirmation of Tunxis Indian Deed, 22 May 1673 (1673.05.22.01), in Grant-Costa et al. (eds.), Yale Indian Papers Project: http://jake.library.yale.edu:8080/neips/data/html/1673.05.22.01/1673.05.22.01.html.

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‘Wee desire wee may be heard’, stated the Tunxis’ 1672 petition, boilerplate language that also hints at frustration, for their petitions seemed to fall on deaf ears.27 By singling out a fraction of the town as Native, the Assembly implied that the rest of the area was English. Crucially, the 1673 decision forbid Tunxis residents from selling their land, a rule that the English commonly used to prevent transactions that were not authorised by the State.28 Local settler colonists disliked this rule, as it prevented them from expanding their holdings through private deals with individual Indians, and they undermined it by continuing to undertake such transactions illegally, resulting in greater Tunxis land loss over the decades. By 1767, in response to a Tunxis petition complaining of English encroachment, the Assembly admitted that illegal land sales had been executed. But, rather than repatriating land to the Indians, the governing body commissioned a new land survey that, unsurprisingly, confirmed unlawful English settlement on Native land, then forced Indians to re-sell their territory at a low price of 20 shillings per acre, despite Tunxis protests.29 There was little the Tunxis could do; indeed, the very people meant to help them – for example, the overseer designated to lobby on their behalf – engaged in duplicitous behaviour. Overseer William Wadsworth is named as one of the perpetrators of encroachment in an earlier petition, along with Deacon John Hart, whose property Wampey bought a generation later.30 Thus was the area protected for the Tunxis chipped away. Converting land from Indigenous use to English occupation had significant socio-political effects, most notably that of Native containment. The area designated for the Tunxis was a fertile nook in the bend of the Farmington River, called ‘Indian Neck’. It was across from Main Street where the earliest English inhabitants set up their occupation in the 1640s, and soon was engulfed by colonists on all sides (although protected on the east, south, and west by the river). As historian David Silverman notes, the naming of the areas to which Native Americans were relegated as ‘Indian’ in some way is a symptom of settler colonialism, and Indian Neck bears this out.31 Containment was a standard strategy; early missions in Massachusetts sought to bring together groups of Indians in what were called Praying Towns, where Native converts could live protected from the influence both of non-Christian Indians and of English colonists whose behaviour betrayed Christian morals (and, increasingly, of liquor).32 Farmington itself is in a valley, and the white occupation spread out north and south simultaneously with Native containment, with some colonists living as much as 10 miles from Main Street. In Farmington, the containing impulse was intended less to protect the Tunxis than to guarantee generous tracts of land for English farmers.

27 28 29

30 31 32

Petition, 13 May 1672. Feder, ‘Avaricious Humour’, p. 33. Connecticut General Assembly Resolve on the Petition of James Wawowos, May 1768, (1768.05.00.01), in GrantCosta et al. (eds.), Yale Indian Papers Project: http://jake.library.yale.edu:8080/neips/data/html/1768.05.00.01/1 768.05.00.01.html. Memorial and Summons concerning Tunxis Land, 10 May 1738 (1738.05.10.00), in Grant-Costa et al. (eds.), Yale Indian Papers Project: http://jake.library.yale.edu:8080/neips/data/html/1738.05.10.00/1738.05.10.00.html. Silverman, Red Brethren, p. 27. R. W. Cogley, John Eliot’s Mission to the Indians before King Philip’s War (Cambridge, MA, 1999).

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Farming was central to English colonisation.33 Colonists also pressured Indians to adopt English living habits: to be sedentary and stop seasonal migration, to live in Englishstyle frame houses rather than wigwams, to engage in plough agriculture, to cut their hair and wear European clothes, to conform to gender roles that fit English expectations, and to conceive of property as individually owned rather than communal. All of these practices intersected with existing lifeways: Indians already engaged in agriculture, for example, but women were the lead workers, they used hoes instead of ploughs, and agriculture was part of a larger pattern of sustenance that included fishing and hunting. Colonists saw these practices as primitive, disorderly and plain wrong, pressuring Indians to acculturate to English norms. The transformation of the landscape that came with colonial incursions pertained not only to sovereignty over the land, but deeply embedded cultural understandings of how to engage with that land as a society. This is evident in names: the area known as Farmington (Farmington) was first Tunxis Sepus, referring to the bend in the river where Indian Neck would come to be. The Tunxis of Farmington were not passive victims in the processes of colonisation; they acted strategically to mitigate the effects of the newcomers. In fact, there were reasons for them to welcome the English, at least initially. For one thing, the Tunxis were caught between more powerful Native groups, the Mohegan and Pequot, and the English represented a possible source of leverage for protection and resources. They received teachers, buildings and books (and eventually their understanding of the law led to their successful petition to the General Assembly permitting them to allot their land in severalty in 1777, so that it could be sold off to support migration to Brothertown).34 Wood-frame houses were better protection in the winter, and access to literacy helped with legal petitions.35 But these changes came with compromises: Wampey’s purchase of a house established his possession of the land, but also committed him to stay there (rather than go on seasonal hunting and fishing trips). As we shall see, adopting Christian ideas and practices also brought its rewards, as well as its drawbacks. Faith’s Bounty The very existence of Native Christians raises questions about the nature of religious conversion, particularly in the context of Congregationalism and the evangelical wave that rolled across the Atlantic in the mid eighteenth century. Both forms of Protestantism emphasised the importance of conversion or rebirth, which entailed the painful recognition of personal sin and the hard-earned certainty of salvation. When applied to Native Americans, the unalterable before-and-after teleology of this progressive narrative served to obliterate the possibility that traditional worldviews might continue. Some scholars eschew the word ‘conversion’ altogether, arguing that it reflects missionary ideals rath-

33 34 35

Another Farmington was established in Massachusetts in 1647. Fisher, Indian Great Awakening, p. 167. Ironically, the cost of building such a house meant that some Indians had to sell land to fund the completion of construction: ibid., p. 32.

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er than Indigenous experiences, and that it implies absolute transformation when in fact hybridised religious syncretism was more common.36 Syncretism is associated primarily with Catholic missionaries whose faith system emphasised the outer expression of faith; Protestants’ obsession with inward experience and endless concern about the authenticity and epistemology of religious belief meant syncretic practices developed in less fraught Christian material practices (such as hymnody in Native languages). Regardless, as modern scholars we have no access to the inner experiences of converts. Moreover, querying the sincerity, fidelity or authenticity of Native conversion is a path worth avoiding, for it mistakes internal belief as more significant than the external practices of faith.37 Practice, however, was essential: forms of worship were not just symbolic, but instead made tangible differences in Native life. As Michael McNally puts it, understood in terms of religious practice, Native conversion was as much about ‘making do’ as it was about ‘making meaning’ – Indians recognised the benefits of material and spiritual resources that could flow their way if they adopted the practices of Christian worship.38 Paralleling the transformation of land, Native conversion was more about material changes in their daily lives than it was about abstract realignment of belief. However, at the practical level, much is unknown about Native Christianity in Farmington. Although there are accounts of Native hymnody, it is not clear in what language they were singing. Native-language printed materials were generally scarce.39 Missionary Abraham Pierson wrote a catechism in Wampano (the Tunxis dialect), published in 1658, but the translation was quite poor.40 The only known English translation of psalmody into a Native language was in the Massachusett language, which, though not too remote, was not the language the Tunxis spoke.41 A book of hymn lyrics by Samson Occom, a famous Mohegan minister and Joseph Johnson’s father-in-law, is another exceptional source in the small handful of printed examples. Other scattered sources prove

36

37 38 39

40 41

N. Salisbury, ‘Embracing Ambiguity: Native Peoples and Christianity in Seventeenth-Century North America’, Ethnohistory, 50 (Spring 2003), pp. 247–59. On conversion more broadly, and theories of conversion, see J. and J. Comaroff, Of Revelation and Revolution, Vol. I: Christianity, Colonialism, and Consciousness in South Africa (Chicago, 1991); K. Gerbner, ‘Theorizing Conversion: Christianity, Colonization, and Consciousness in the Early Modern Atlantic World’, History Compass, 13 (2015), pp. 134–47. J Axtell, ‘Were Indian Conversions Bona Fide?’ in After Columbus: Essays in Ethnohistory of Colonial North America (Oxford, 1988), pp. 100–21. M. D. McNally, ‘The Practice of Native American Christianity’, Church History, 69 (2000), pp. 834–59, esp. p. 852. Early printing in the Algonquian dialects of the region began with the press at Harvard University in the 1640s: J. C. Pilling, Bibliography of the Algonquian Languages (Washington, DC, 1891). Also see P. H. Round, Removable Type: Histories of the Book in Indian Country, 1663–1880 (Chapel Hill, 2010). On Native literacies more broadly, see H. E. Wyss, Writing Indians: Literacy, Christianity, and Native Community in Early America (Amherst, 2000); G. Warkentin, ‘“In Search of the Word of the Other”: Aboriginal Sign Systems and the History of the Book in Canada’, Book History, 2 (1999), pp. 1–27. Translations of early writing in manuscript can be found in I. Goddard and K. J. Bragdon, Native Writings in Massachusett (Philadelphia, 1988). Rudes, ‘Resurrecting Wampano (Quiripi)’. A metrical psalter was included in the first Bible printed in the English colonies, translated by John Eliot and Job Nesutan, Mamusse wunneetupanatamwe Up-Biblum God naneeswe Nukkone Testament kah wonk Wusku Testament (Cambridge, MA, 1663).

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elusive today: in the mid eighteenth century, the white evangelical missionary Samuel Kirkland translated hymns into Oneida, and Joseph Johnson recounted copying ‘gamuts’ or music books for his pupils and hosts (none of which survive).42 No conclusive account of a Wampano-dialect hymnal exists. On the one hand, it is remarkable that written materials from Native Americans in the region exist at all; on the other, the documentary record is nearly too sparse to interpret.43 Traces of Native Christianity in the built environment are meaningful, if difficult to discern. Farmington built schools and churches that served both white and Native community members. Indians in Farmington built their own schoolhouse in 1737, decades before the town’s Ecclesiastical Society voted in 1756 to build two expanded schoolhouses, on the north and south ends of town, in order to educate the growing population.44 In 1772, Johnson’s school on the west side of town added to the number of educational establishments. However, details about these buildings – the comparative size and comforts of each – are unknown. Whether remaining or not, the presence of Native written materials and buildings was directly linked to missionary efforts. The New England Company, the organisation officially overseeing evangelism in southern New England, began to focus on Connecticut in the early eighteenth century. Recognising that the region’s centres of power rested in the Pequots and Mohegans, the New England Company sent ministers to preach in those communities. They met with little success. Revd James Fitch, a minister in Norwich, Connecticut, preached unsuccessfully to the Mohegan, an assignment that coincidentally pulled him away from work he initiated with the Tunxis in 1670. In 1713-14, Experience Mayhew, an accomplished missionary to the Wampanoag on Martha’s Vineyard, visited the Mohegans at the New England Company’s request. His Native hosts reminded him of Fitch’s failure, and complained the religious demands were too great to induce them to take up Christianity. Moreover, by that point they had had ample time to observe how English colonists’ actions belied Christian morality, a hypocrisy that Mohegans cited as a further disincentive to convert. Yet, eventually, even powerful Native groups recognised that the spiritual and the worldly resources they had resisted might be necessary to tackle problems with English colonists. The Mohegans invited Christian education in the 1720s.45 Smaller Native groups who had been stricken by disease and war, and who needed protection, food and community, were even more inclined to welcome proselytisers, particularly teachers who would come to their communities and establish schools.46 This was 42

43 44 45 46

Eleazer Wheelock, letter to the Trust in England, 8 October 1767: Eleazar Wheelock Papers, Rauner Library, Dartmouth College, DC Hist Mss 767558.1. Johnson described copying music in diary entries between 3 December 1772 and 27 January 1773. See Murray (ed.), To Do Good to My Indian Brethren, pp. 155–64. Although not explored in this chapter, the insufficiency of the written record argues for turning to musical practices and oral/aural knowledges instead. Q. Blakely, Farmington, One of the Mother Towns of Connecticut (New Haven, CT, 1935), p. 20; Fisher, Indian Great Awakening, p. 53; Gay, Farmington Papers, p. 54. W. Kellaway, The New England Company, 1649–1776: Missionary Society to the American Indians (Westport, CT, 1975), p. 251; Fisher, Indian Great Awakening, pp. 26, 44–5. Kellaway, New England Company, pp. 250–7.

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welcome news to both the New England Company and the Connecticut General Assembly, which was interested in seeing the missionary work advance (and offered additional monetary support). Whereas the New England Company saw education as a crucial first step on the path to conversion – ‘civilising’ Native Americans was deemed necessary before actual conversion was possible – for Native Americans, education meant investment in infrastructure in the form of a schoolhouse, and also conferred prestige, enhancing the standing of the community. Most importantly, however, a teacher represented a channel to men in power. A teacher might advocate on behalf of his pupils’ families when, inevitably, conflict arose between Indians and settler colonists. Although symbolically and politically important, the school activities themselves were quite humble. Finding a dedicated teacher was a challenge; in Farmington, Revd. Samuel Whitman took the initial responsibility, holding school sessions for the Tunxis during the winter months in the early 1730s. There, the students could learn to read English, advancing to writing and Latin if they attended consistently and showed promise. Whitman instructed the students in the rudiments of literacy, likely using a hornbook to help the children internalise the alphabet before learning to read by rote. The catechism and tenets of Christianity would certainly be threaded into his lessons as well. Perhaps he led the students in psalmody, lining out the words set to the plain tunes preferred in New England Congregational churches.47 In May 1734, Whitman reported he had ‘nine Indian lads that were kept at school last winter, 3 can read well in a testament, 3 currently in a psalter, and 3 are in their primers. Testaments & psalters have been provided for those that read in them, 3 of ye Indian lads are entered in writing and one begin to write a legible hand.’48 The classroom fostered intimacy. As Whitman’s report demonstrates, he was attentive to the progress of each pupil, nurturing those he thought had particular promise. For instance, the Tunxis youth John Mettawan displayed a special aptitude for Englishstyle learning, learning not only to read and write in English and Latin, but to do so with good penmanship.49 Seeing him as a potential protégé, Whitman took Mettawan under his own roof for four years. Such fostering was part of a larger programme pursued by the New England Company in an attempt to encourage greater English linguistic fluency and acculturation (and, in some cases, also to learn Indigenous languages).50 The specific circumstances of Whitman and Mettawan’s cohabitation are unclear in terms of whether it took Mettawan away from living family members, and whether the relationship was a use-

47

48 49 50

On singing practices, see N. Temperley, ‘The Old Way of Singing: Its Origins and Development’, Journal of the American Musicological Society, 34 (1981), pp. 511–44. On Native American influences on psalmody, see G. Goodman, ‘“But They Differ from Us in Sound”: Indian Psalmody and the Soundscape of Colonialism, 1651–75’, William and Mary Quarterly, 3rd ser., 69 (Fall 2012), pp. 793–822. Reverend Samuel Whitman, letter to Governor Joseph Talcott, 27 May 1734, in The Talcott Papers: Correspondence and Documents, Vol. IV (Hartford, 1892), pp. 298–9. Bickford, Farmington in Connecticut, p. 157. This practice was generally deemed a failure, as few families were willing to take in Indian children: Kellaway, New England Company, p. 230. Also see S. Rivett, Unscripted America: Indigenous Languages and the Origins of a Literary Nation (New York and Oxford, 2017).

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ful apprenticeship or a more pernicious indenture (which was increasingly common in the eighteenth century).51 What is clear is that Mettawan’s acumen as well as his pious temperament marked him for religious leadership. He took over as the schoolteacher for the Farmington school in 1737 and was successful. Twenty students were baptised by 1743.52 As the decades passed, the links between religious practice, education, social intimacy and hospitality strengthened. Joseph Johnson’s diary of his brief time in Farmington during the winter of 1772–3 offers vital insights into the mundane social dynamics of the town, revealing both a lively Native Christian community and considerable interplay between them and their English neighbours. For instance, Johnson helped to establish regular singing evenings, usually at the house of the prominent Tunxis resident Samuel Adams. Each Tuesday and Friday, they gathered for hours of singing, praying and exhorting. On at least one occasion, they were joined by English visitors. ‘This evening held a singing meeting at the house of Thomas Occurrum. Several indians convened together and Some white People. Held the meeting something late. After Prayers we seperated [sic]’, Johnson wrote on 4 December 1772.53 Johnson does not say who the white people were, but a few days later he noted, ‘I was over to the Town, & the white people had a Singing Meeting.’54 A leg injury curtailed his socialising, but these diary entries offer a glimpse of a nascent ad hoc habit of interracial sacred singing in informal domestic settings. This is not to say there was total interpenetration of English and Native religious life. In fact, despite examples like the Mossucks, who joined the English church, Native Americans increasingly separated from colonial Christianity. They sought instead greater spiritual autonomy following the Great Awakening, gathering away from the English churches. The result is a religious practice that was in some ways hidden, particularly from the English. The privacy of Native homes – the wood structures they were encouraged by colonists to build – meant their practices were largely unobserved by the English, and scarcely documented. Samson Occom, however, did note that he participated in Native worship in Farmington when he passed through on 6–7 September 1760. He found an intergroup gathering, with Indians from nearby Mohegan, Niantic and Groton. Occom joined them for services on Saturday and Sunday, adding his ‘Short discourse’. The worship took place at Solomon Adams’s house.55 Ameliorated by Native Christians’ mounting wish for autonomy, the reciprocity and trust suggested by Johnson’s diary is further countered by evidence from the built environment. Each New England town had a legacy of fear and violence between colonists and Native Americans. Visits to each other’s houses did not resolve historic tensions. In the mid seventeenth century, Indians in Farmington were accused of burning down a house

51 52 53 54 55

Silverman, Faith and Boundaries, esp. pp. 204, 209. Fisher, Indian Great Awakening, p. 82. Joseph Johnson Diary entry, 4 December 1772, in Murray (ed.), To Do Good to My Indian Brethren, p. 156. Johnson Diary entry, 9 December 1772, in Murray (ed.), To Do Good to My Indian Brethren, p. 157. S. Occom and J. Brooks, The Collected Writings of Samson Occom, Mohegan: Leadership and Literature in EighteenthCentury Native America (New York, 2006), p. 258.

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and killing a colonist, for which they paid restitution.56 The very houses that had been welcoming could become fortifications during times of conflict. The turn of the eighteenth century witnessed imperial wars and Indian raids, leading Farmington to vote to fortify seven houses. The presence of imposing structures and the ability to defend due to military preparedness were essential ingredients of colonial possession of territory.57 The houses Johnson visited were likely laid in with food, weapons and ammunition, and fitted with double doors and narrow windows in the event of strife.58 For their part, the Native inhabitants knew Englishmen were willing to use their deadly weapons to horrendous effect. Most notorious was the 1637 massacre at Fort Mystic, where hundreds of Pequot Indians were killed when their fortification was set on fire and those trying to escape were shot, setting a precedent that horrified and disgusted Native Americans.59 Farmington escaped the catastrophic violence that unfolded in nearby towns. Instead, a slower-moving destruction came in the form of Native land loss and removal. But this process unfolded simultaneously with resources flowing into the Tunxis community. Those resources – religious ideas and their musical expression, the tools of literacy, and physical structures – entailed further transformations, coming as they did with pressure to adapt to English lifeways. Traces of Conversion This chapter has taken as its premise that two non-homologous transformative processes – the appropriation of Native land, and the incorporation of Christianity into Native life – provide a crucial context that must be understood in order to discern fully the history of American sacred music. ‘The logic of elimination marks a return whereby the Native repressed continues to structure settler-colonial society’, argues Patrick Wolfe.60 I take his claim as a prompt for reconsidering hymnody – the removal of the Indians from Farmington has resulted in a whitewashed historiography. It is time to assess hymnody’s hybridisation in early America. By carefully documenting the unfolding of those processes, my hope has been to lay the groundwork for future research that assesses the meanings of and changes to musical practices in the midst of the dramatic geopolitical and cultural changes that roiled colonial New England. Sacred singing stands in contrast to the more conspicuously exploitative and destructive modes of intercultural exchange; at the same time, it is hard to imagine that interracial communal singing, even among Christians, was without moments of tension. To this day, many contemporary Native communities maintain lively hymnody practices that stemmed from colonial missionaries.61 It remains to be 56 57

58 59 60

Porter, Historical Discourse, p. 31. E. Mann, ‘To Build and to Fortify: Defensive Architecture in the Early Atlantic Colonies’, in D. Maudlin and B. L. Herman (eds.), Building the British Atlantic World: Spaces, Places, and Material Culture, 1600–1850 (Chapel Hill, 2016), pp. 31–52. Houses in Farmington were fortified in 1689 and 1704: Porter, Historical Discourse, p. 32; Gay, Farmington Papers, p. 275. J. Underhill, News from America; or, A new and experimentall discoverie of New England (London, 1638), pp. 42–4. Wolfe, Traces of History, p. 33.

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seen whether yet-to-be uncovered evidence can further elucidate the dynamics of colonial scenarios. Such evidence is bound to be elusive. The historical record, dominated by colonial sources, limits access to Native American perspectives. The shortage of primary sources is exacerbated by the tendencies of local histories, particularly the genealogically driven studies of the nineteenth century, generally to wash out any Native presence, banishing original residents to a colonial ether. Several books about Farmington display this trend, viewing the town’s past through a thick veil of nostalgia: hard-working and pious colonists replaced the romanticised Indians, seemingly without friction. In Farmington, Connecticut, the Village of Beautiful Homes (1906), Arthur Brandegee and Eddy Smith expound the area’s timeless charm as a place where little has changed ‘since the Indian lived in their fort’, which, they mention casually, is now where the golf links of the Country Club can be found.62 The possibility that such erasure was traumatic, or that Native Americans had agency in their prolonged encounters with colonists, simply was not conceivable to the authors of studies that embraced the fiction of Native disappearance. Yet, as anthropologist Kathleen Bragdon writes, ‘The story of Indians of southern New England as victims of land grabs and disease, as pawns in colonial wars and regional conflicts, is an old one. This familiar story is derived from “official” sources and standard histories…. But it is not the only story, and it does not explain Native life in the colonial period.’63 Native Christian hymnody is an important storyline for the colonial period, even if the traces of it are difficult to uncover. �

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M. D. McNally, Ojibwe Singers: Hymns, Grief, and a Native Culture in Motion (Oxford, 2000); A. Morrison Spinney, Passamaquoddy Ceremonial Songs: Aesthetics and Survival (Amherst, 2010); B. Diamond, Native American Music in Eastern North America: Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture (New York, 2008). A. L. Brandegee and E. N. Smith, Farmington, Connecticut, the Village of Beautiful Homes: Photographic Reproductions, Illustrating Every Home in the Town. Prominent People Past and Present, All of the School Children, Local Antiques, Etc. (Farmington, CT, 1906), p. 6. K. J. Bragdon, Native People of Southern New England, 1650–1775 (Norman, 2009), p. 21.

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6. Lutheranising through Music: Tracing the Confessional Soundscapes of Early Seventeenth-Century Wolfenbüttel and Braunschweig* Inga Mai Groote �

In her account of travelling through Germany in 1810, titled De l’Allemagne, the French woman of letters Germaine de Staël depicted the soundscape of Lutheran Saxony: The school boys walk through the streets, on Sunday, singing psalms in chorus. They say that Luther  often took part in these choruses early in his life. I was at Eisenach, a little  town  in Saxony, one winter day, when it was so cold that the very streets were blocked up with snow. I saw a long procession of young people in black cloaks, walking through the town, and celebrating the praises of God with loud voices. They were the only persons outside, for the severity of the frost had driven all the rest of the world to their firesides; and these voices, almost equally harmonious as those of the South, heard amidst all this rigour of the season, excited so much the livelier emotion.1

In this passage, she describes the practice of schoolboys singing in the streets and in front of houses (vicatim and ostiatim) while collecting alms and provisions (Lebensmittel). This custom, often called Kurrende, was established in the Middle Ages and helped poor pupils to secure their subsistence while attending school; it was continued by school choirs after the Reformation and was later – as can be seen with Madame de Staël – considered a typical feature of the German Lutheran world. This is especially true in acoustic terms; even though she does not specify the pieces, the term she uses – les psaumes2 – clearly refers to vernacular hymns.3 This draws our attention to the presence of music that was ‘accessible’ in public spaces of cities and towns. In what ways was this music, typical in German Lutheran environments, used to shape (if not literally to convert from other confessional practices) the ‘soundscape’ of a city or town? Hymns sung in the streets were a relatively simple musical genre, but it is also known that such choirs sometimes performed polyphony, such as motets, on similar occasions. In services, hymns and polyphony could both be present, and

*

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Research for this article has been carried out as part of the HERA project ‘Sound Memories: The Musical Past in Late-Medieval and Early-Modern Europe’. This project has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme under grant agreement no. 649307. A.-L.-G. de Stael, Germany, trans. O. W. Wright (New York, 1859), p. 36 (slightly modified). Cf. A.-L.-G. de Stael, De l’Allemagne, Vol. I (Paris, 1814), p. 21; rendered as ‘geistliche Lieder’ in contemporary German translations (de Stael, Deutschland, aus dem Französischen übersetzt, Vol. I.1 (Berlin, 1814), p. 17). The practice is still alive and part of current cultural memory: some choirs explicitly continue this tradition, and in nineteenth-century iconography, series of popularising images of Martin Luther’s life often also include Kurrende scenes in Eisenach (for example, Wilhelm von Löwenstern’s ‘Luther, als Curent-Schüler zu Eisenach. 1498’ (lithography: Gottfried Küstner), Stuttgart [c.1827]; for a reproduction, see http://tudigit.ulb.tu-darmstadt.de/ show/his-Port-L-0160-02).

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in other non-liturgical occasions, such as funerals or weddings, these kinds of repertoires served yet another role. Using a series of case studies, it will be argued here that Lutherans indeed used music to establish a tradition which contributed to the creation of a common Lutheran cultural memory, and that, in some cases, linkages with the past played a crucial stabilising role in the tumultuous Age of Confessions. Here, music can be seen as an essential element that expressed and formed Lutheran confessional culture.4 Firstly, I will endeavour to reconstruct the musical ‘horizon’ of the Marienkirche in Wolfenbüttel, an approach which will offer new material through which to explore the components of the soundscape of a Lutheran town in the early seventeenth century. More explicit tradition building – including the influence and value of tradition – in Wolfenbüttel, Braunschweig and Naumburg will then be discussed through an examination of sources of the polyphonic repertory and music for funeral rituals. Even in relatively uncontested contexts – that is, Lutheran locales lacking virulent antagonism with other confessions, as is the case in the regions of the north in the early seventeenth century5 – these phenomena can be clearly observed. Focusing on case studies is indispensable for discussing concretely the manifold possible perceptions and experiences of music in early modern historical lifeworlds, and music’s role in confessional cultures. Recently, the question of historical ‘soundscapes’ –comprehensive reconstructions of sonic environments – has attracted considerable scholarly attention. Historians, in particular, have posed afresh the question of ‘sound history’ and aural and sensory experience in the past. Motivated in some cases by the hope that people living today might come closer to experiencing the lifeworld of people in the past,6 and in other cases by the desire to use sound as a tool for drawing a more ‘complete’ im-

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On the concept of ‘confessional culture’ as a flexible framework, see Cultures of Lutheranism: Reformation Repertories in Early Modern Germany: Past & Present, 234, Supp. 12 (2017), esp. K. Hill, ‘Making Lutherans’; B. Emich and M. Pohlig, ‘Frühneuzeitliche Konfessionskultur(en): Stand und Zukunft eines Konzepts’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte – Archive for Reformation History, 109 (2018), pp. 373–4 (in the contributions to this issue, music is mentioned only in passing); or T. Kaufmann, ‘What is Lutheran Confessional Culture?’ in P. Ingesman (ed.), Religion as an Agent of Change: Crusades–Reformation–Pietism (Leiden and Boston, 2016), pp. 127–48. For some general aspects, see R. Kolb (ed.), Lutheran Ecclesiastical Culture, 1550–1675 (Leiden and Boston, 2008). Wolfenbüttel was occupied by imperial forces from 1627 to 1643, but this seems not to have had a strong impact on the civic musical life. For example, J.-F. Missfelder (‘Period Ear. Perspektiven einer Klanggeschichte der Neuzeit’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 38 (2012), pp. 21–47), who is inspired by Murray Schafer, but has to concede that only sources concerning historical ‘listening’ (not ‘sound’) are available, and proposes the interpretation of an iconogaphical source (Hogarth) as an example. In studies of this kind, however, musicological contributions that reflect much more critically the possibilities of reconstruction of perception (e.g. S. Burstyn, ‘In Quest of the Period Ear’, Early Music, 25 (1997), pp. 692–701) are mostly neglected, and, notwithstanding Schafer’s openness for any kind of sound, ‘music’ in the narrower sense risks not being considered by historians. For a critical reminder that sound history also relies on narratives and cannot ‘make history audible’, see D. Fulda, ‘Geschichte – erzeugt, nicht gegeben. Wie viel Historisierung können Klänge leisten?’ in A. Langebruch (ed.), Klang als Geschichtsmedium. Perspektiven für eine auditive Geschichtsschreibung (Bielefeld, 2018), pp. 21–40. Other recent studies focus on later epochs (where technical reproduction also becomes available and the problems of documentation are less flagrant) – see, for example, C. Thorau and H. Ziemer, The Oxford Handbook of Music Listening in the 19th and 20th Centuries (Oxford, 2019).

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age of the past, scholars have fixed their gaze not only on elite culture and exceptional events, but also on the daily life, experiences and mentalities of ‘normal’ and ‘everyday’ people. Given the difficulties of extracting information from the available source material (both overtly musical and non-musical), a full recreation of a historical soundscape remains impossible and results, at most, in a detailed evocative account.7 The sounding events discussed below are, therefore, no more than textual reconstructions based on source information which outlined the frequency, occasions and types of music selected and encountered. Nevertheless, alongside contemporary (and often normative) sources, this can be extremely useful for charting which music was both known and familiar in specific historical contexts, and the cultural meanings attached to music. And it is on this level that we might construct a platform on which to contemplate early modern reactions to music, and its role in building confessional identity. The larger background to these case studies is well known. Engagement with music was a socially accepted – indeed, an encouraged – activity in early modern Lutheran Germany. School children learned German hymns, Latin chant and polyphony. Groups of university students and townspeople formed musical societies in which to perform sacred and secular pieces, as well as instrumental music, and, in Kantorei-like choirs, adults who were engaged in non-music-related professions sang and cultivated sacred music, even in small towns.8 Music was part of general education in school curricula, congregational singing familiarised community members with a range of tunes and texts, and numerous types of historical source reveal that music was an honest pastime with ethical value and a powerful tool for catechetical instruction. Based on Luther’s and Melanchthon’s positions, not to mention general philosophical and educational ideas, this rhetoric helped to secure music’s place in society and encouraged authorities to provide the necessary financial and institutional support. Although one must be careful of the normative tendency of sources to reflect an idealised picture developed by authorities, the historical reality of the Lutheran locales under examination here was that they were home to diverse and fervent musical lives. Taken seriously, these elements contribute to the creation of environments in which music was widely present and expected to shape religious and cultural identities: by the common experience of specific repertoires, on one hand; and frequently even through practical action, on the other. The musical repertory in question was varied and could quickly integrate – as far as polyphony is concerned – new styles (as is the case with ‘modern’, Italianate music from the 1570s onwards9). On the other hand, there are also important layers and strata of repertory 7

8 9

A typical example of the enticing but slightly exaggerated use of the term is the subtitle of A. J. Fisher, Music, Piety, and Propaganda: The Soundscape of Counter-Reformation Bavaria (New York, 2014); in reality, the book achieves a comprehensive description of practices and musical materials which give hints at the occasions and contexts for different kinds of religious music and other audible practices like bell-ringing. For an overview, see R. Leaver, Luther’s Liturgical Music: Principles and Implications (Grand Rapids, 2007); K. Küster, Musik im Namen Luthers: Kulturtraditionen seit der Reformation (Kassel, 2016). See, e.g., S. L. Hammond, Editing Music in Early Modern Germany (Aldershot, 2007); S. Rose, ‘Patriotic Purification: Cleansing Italian Secular Vocal Music in Thuringia, 1575–1600’, Early Music History, 35 (2016), pp. 203–60. These studies refer mainly to middle and southern German lands.

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which continued to be used over a long period of time and which provided stability, referring back and providing linkages to pre-Reformation traditions and, thereby, anchoring Lutheran practices in the pre-Luther past. This can be seen in the continued use of Latin chant repertory (found in the instructions of church orders and in widely used cantionals, such as Lucas Lossius’s Psalmodia sacra10), in the establishment of a core repertory of German hymns (as circulating in hymn books), but also in the use of familiar polyphonic repertory from the earlier sixteenth century, well into the seventeenth century. Seemingly retrospective tendencies in the polyphonic repertory that was in use in early modern Lutheran regions have been discussed, especially regarding manuscript collections from ‘Mitteldeutschland’,11 as well as printed anthologies such as the widely used Florilegium Portense, edited by Eberhard Bodenschatz and reprinted in several editions from 1603 onwards.12 The presence of older repertory and references to ‘veteres’ in sources from the turn of the sixteenth century have been noted; yet the significance, construction and diffusion of this repertory merit further discussion. The legitimising function of ‘older’ repertory is attested to in church orders that privilege this category of music, the most famous being the Saxon order of 1580 and the Gotha school order of 1606, which emphatically recommend good compositions by ‘old’ composers.13 A considerable number of references in other sources, including music treatises and prefaces, add further evidence for the perception of a category of repertory classifiable as old or traditional.14 However, rather than as intention10 11

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W. Merten, ‘Die “Psalmodia” des Lucas Lossius’, Jahrbuch für Liturgik und Hymnologie, 19 (1975), pp. 1–18; and 20 (1976), pp. 63–90. Cf. W. Steude, Untersuchungen zur mitteldeutschen Musiküberlieferung und Musikpflege im 16. Jahrhundert (Leipzig, 1978); for other repertory studies, see W. H. Rubsamen, ‘The International “Catholic” Repertoire of a Lutheran Church in Nürnberg (1574–1597)’, Annales Musicologiques, 5 (1957), pp. 229–327; B. R. Butler, ‘Liturgical Music in 16th-Century Nuremberg: A Socio-musical Study’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Illinois, 1970). See Hammond, Editing Music in Early Modern Germany; A. Geffers, ‘Erfolgreicher Traditionalismus: Die Chormusik-Florilegien von Erhard Bodenschatz (†1636), Kantor in Schulpforte. Biografie – Quellenstudien – Wirkungsgeschichte’ (diss., Humboldt-Universität Berlin, 2005); for examples from northern Germany, see C. Roth, ‘Traditionsbindungen in der lutherischen Musikkultur des 16. Jahrhunderts: Studien zu Repertoire und Kontexten in Norddeutschland’ (diss., University of Zurich, 2019). Des Durchlauchtigsten … Herrn Augusten Hertzogen zu Sachsen … Ordnung, wie es in seiner kurf. G. Landen, bei den Kirchen, mit der Lehre und Zeremonien, … gehalten werden soll (Leipzig, 1580) (edn in R. Vormbaum (ed.), Evangelische Schulordnungen, Vol. I: Die evangelischen Schulordnungen des 16. Jahrhunderts (Gütersloh, 1860), p. 256): ‘der alten / und dieser kunst wolerfarnen und fürtreffentlichen Componisten / als Iosquini, Clementis non Papæ, Orlandi’; for Gotha, 1606, Leges und Ordnung des Gymnasiums zu Gotha, in Vormbaum (ed.), Evangelische Schulordnungen, Vol. II: Die evangelischen Schulordnungen des 17. Jahrhunderts (Gütersloh, 1863), p. 41): ‘a veteribus insigniter exellentibus Musicis, Orlando, Clemente Uttentalio, Gallo sive Handelio, Clemente non Papa, Palladio’. For example, an epigram in a polyphonic print by Johann Steurlein (Sieben und Zwentzigk Newe Geistliche Gesenge, 1588), which mentions Senfl as lauded by Luther, Gallus Dressler, Clemens non Papa and Orlando di Lasso (see I. M. Groote, ‘Musikalische Katechismen und kunstreiche Componisten für Schule und Haus – eine “Sozialisierung” von Musik in lutherischen Kontexten?’ in S. Menzel and C. Wiesenfeldt (eds.), Musik und Reformation – Politisierung, Medialisierung, Missionierung (Paderborn, 2020), pp. 201–20), or an elegy by Valentin Neander (see M. Meyer, ‘“Tempore Iosqvinus primus”: Musikgeschichte nach Valentin Neander 1583’, Die Musikforschung, 66 (2013), pp. 408–12), or David Chytraeus’s delineations of a history of sacred music influenced by contemporary historiography (see I. M. Groote, ‘Music in David Chytraeus’s “In Deuteronomium Mosis enarratio” (1575)’, in D. J. Burn, G. McDonald, J. Verheyden and P. DeMey (eds.), Music and Theology in the European Reformations (Turnhout, 2019), pp. 233–54).

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ally ‘retrospective’, these phenomena should be considered, first and foremost, as forms of tradition-building in which age functions as a stabilising factor. Again, the persistence of ‘older’ music is not a Protestant phenomenon per se. However, the relatively strong presence of this ‘older’ music, combined with certain musical-cultural practices, merged together to form a characteristic sonic profile of Lutheranism: this regards not only liturgy, but also extraliturgical contexts such as singing in the streets, as with the case of the aforementioned Kurrende groups, which made audible Latin introits, German hymns and sometimes polyphonic motets in urban spaces.15 In sixteenth-century Joachimsthal (a small mining town in the Ore mountains), for example, the urban circuit through which singers sang hymns in the streets for the welfare of the town and its mines is well documented, as well as the singing for funerals in the town, for the latter of which ‘old[!] Latin and German hymns from the prophet Job, the Psalter, and Prudentius’ could be heard by city residents of all social categories.16 For the contemporary listener, the music sung on such occasions contributed to the shaping of local musical memory through repertory strongly linked to their confessional culture, and it is especially this part of the repertory, more strongly linked with liturgical formulas and ceremonies, that tends to be overlooked when discussing the developments in the circulation and composition of polyphonic music. The Marienkirche in Wolfenbüttel The Marienkirche in Wolfenbüttel, Beatae Mariae Virginis (constructed in 1608–24 after a design by Paul Francke, replacing an earlier chapel) illustrates Lutheran practices in the context of the early seventeenth century in a ‘typical’ urban church. It functioned as parish church for the Heinrichstadt quarter of the town, and counts as one of the first newly built major Lutheran parish churches; moreover, it is still preserved without major architectural alterations.17 The construction project for the church was an initiative of the church wardens of the urban Heinrichstadt quarter, but it received at the same time important financial support from the reigning duke, Heinrich Julius of BraunschweigWolfenbüttel, because the ducal family had used St Marien as a burial place since 1533, and the duke was interested in investing in a representative building. The architect, Francke, was employed by the court and, since the 1570s, had been involved in developing the Heinrichstadt district. Nevertheless, the Marienkirche was not made into a court chapel (which existed inside the ducal residence), but remained a parish church with its typical

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The documents concerning this practice are usually of a regulatory nature; they regulate the frequency of singing and sometimes assign certain areas to specific choirs, but usually describe the repertory only in passing. Description by Johann Mathesius, quoted after C. B. Brown, Singing the Gospel: Lutheran Hymns and the Success of the Reformation, Harvard Historical Studies 148 (Cambridge, MA, 2005), p. 73; it also fits with the content of Luther’s Begräbnisgesänge (1542) – see below. The Torgau chapel, inaugurated in 1544, was part of a residency, as was the chapel of Neuburg; another example for a parish church in a residential city would be the Stadtkirche in Bückeburg (1611–13); on the building and decoration in Wolfenbüttel, see H.-H. Möller (ed.), Die Hauptkirche Beatea Mariae Virginis in Wolfenbüttel, Forschungen der Denkmalpflege in Niedersachsen 4 (Hanover, 1987) (esp. H. Thies, ‘Zu Bau und Entwurf der Hauptkirche Beatae Mariae Virginis’, pp. 31–8).

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functions for urban life, including a school.18 It became the see of the superintendent who oversaw the regional church organisation and the main church where the preachers were ordained.19 This combined function may explain why some aspects of its musical life tended towards magnificence and representation, while other elements remained within the realm of ‘typical’ urban practice. Furthermore, the situation in the duchy of BraunschweigWolfenbüttel (where the Reformation was fully introduced only in 1569) is a good example of Lutheran confessionalisation being coordinated via an interplay between a ruler, the estates and the ministry.20 Musical life at Beatae Mariae Virginis has hitherto received little attention,21 as existing research has thus far mostly focused on the musical activities of the court. The dukes of Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel had resided in Wolfenbüttel since the fifteenth century, and musical life at court flourished, especially in the late sixteenth century and the first decades of the seventeenth.22 Although some musicians were active in both the court and the urban institutions, the music at the Marienkirche was firmly in the hands of the cantor and the organist of the church, and the school choir of the associated school. Even if the Marienkirche was architecturally elaborate, including richly sculpted Renaissance decoration on the façades, an important carved altar, painted galleries and a large organ, it still conformed to Luther’s essentially pragmatic approach to church buildings and sacred space (see Figure 6.1). Churches were sites for celebrating worship, not sacralised space per se. The building was to create space for worship which – according to Luther’s ideas, as expressed in the inaugural sermon for the Torgau chapel – should take place in public, in the form of a ‘well-ordered community, an honest assembly (‘ordentliche gmeine, ehrlich versamlung’), which exercised their religion publicly. The architecture often integrated ‘Gothic’ elements, the lay-out was often that of a Hallenkirche (a hall church), which offered unobstructed sight and sound for the congregation, along with a polygonal choir and a tower. These features are not explicitly Protestant or Lutheran, but can be ob-

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F. Koldewey, Schulordnungen des Herzogtums Braunschweig (mit Ausschluß der Hauptstadt des Landes) vom Jahre 1248– 1826 (Berlin, 1890), pp. 106–8 (‘Lektionsplan der Schule zu Wolfenbüttel. Um 1575’), 116–23 (‘Lehrplan und Gesetze der Schule zu Wolfenbüttel, 1605’). H. Kuhr, ‘Die Entwicklung der Marienkapelle zur Hauptkirche Beatae Mariae Virginis’, in Möller (ed.), Die Hauptkirche, pp. 31–8. L. Schorn-Schütte, ‘Lutherische Konfessionalisierung? Das Beispiel Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel (1598–1613)’, in H.-C. Rublack (ed.), Die lutherische Konfessionalisierung in Deutschland, Schriften des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte 197 (Gütersloh, 1992), pp. 163–94. The only overview, but with focus on the organs and later periods, and without precise citations of archival documentation, is S. Vogelsänger, ‘Dokumente zur Musik in der Wolfenbütteler Hauptkirche’, in Rainer Schmitt, Jürgen Habelt and Christoph Helm (eds.), Ruhm und Ehre durch Musik. Beiträge zur Wolfenbütteler Hof- und Kirchenmusik während der Residenzzeit (Wolfenbüttel, 2013), pp. 255–69. See also SL, Art., ‘Wolfenbüttel, Städtische Musik’, in Laurenz Lütteken (ed.), MGG Online (Stuttgart and New York, 2016– ), article first published 1998, online 2016, www-1mgg-2online-1com-1jvd8i9pd0718.emedia1.bsb-muenchen.de/mgg/stable/51022. On music at court, Schmitt et al. (eds.), Ruhm und Ehre durch Musik; R. Emans, ‘Musiker in Wolfenbüttel/Braunschweig: ein prosopografischer Versuch’, Hamburger Jahrbuch für Musikwissenschaft, 31 (2016), pp. 9–53.

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Figure 6.1 Wolfenbüttel, Interior of the Beatae Mariae Virginis church (1646). From Martin Gosky, Arbustum vel Arboretum Augustæum (Wolfenbüttel, 1650). © HAB Wolfenbüttel: T 904.2° Helmst. (1).

served in German-speaking regions in general well into the seventeenth century.23 Studies of churches in early Lutheranism24 seldom discuss the role – and place – of music.25 Music as a part of liturgy literally ‘takes place’ primarily in two areas of the church, either in the front part of the nave, where the pupils stand close to the minister and the adults of the congregation (when hymns or parts of the liturgy are to be sung), or in the organ gallery (usually at the opposite end of the nave above the entry, or sometimes above the altar, as in Torgau). The choir and other musicians and instrumentalists would also gather on such a

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For a useful overwiew of church architecture in all German-speaking regions, see H. Hipp, Studien zur ‘Nachgotik’ des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts in Deutschland, Böhmen, Österreich und der Schweiz (Hanover, 1979). V. Isaiasz, ‘Lutherische Kirchweihen um 1600. Die Weihe des Raumes und die Grenze des Sakralen’, in S. Rau and G. Schwerhoff (eds.), Topographien des Sakralen. Religion und Raumordnung der Vormoderne (Munich and Hamburg, 2008), pp. 103–18; A. Spicer (ed.), Lutheran Churches in Early Modern Europe (Farnham, 2012); Bridget Heal, ‘Church Space and Religious Change in Reformation Germany’, in I. Katznelson and Miri Rubin (eds.), Religious Conversion: History, Experience and Meaning (Farnham, 2014), pp. 99–122. For an exception discussing a particular architectonic tradition with musicians’ galleries placed on existing rood screens, see M. Range, ‘The Material Presence of Music in the Church: The Hanseatic City of Lübeck’, in Spicer (ed.), Lutheran Churches, pp. 197–220.

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gallery for polyphony and concerted pieces (see Figure 6.2).26 These characteristics apply to the Marienkirche, which contains large galleries along the nave and the back beneath the organ; some sources mention the ‘pupil’s choir’ beneath the organ (see again Figure 6.1),27 which, for example, is where lecterns with iron candleholders were located for ‘singing chant’ during the morning services [Frühpredigt].28 Music in the Marienkirche, then, was in the first place linked to the community of the town; the pastors and teachers (including the cantor), as well as the organist, were all employees of the church and supervised by the church wardens (Kirchenväter). Archival documents29 from the church make it clear that the Hauptkirche cultivated typical musical practices that would be expected in such an urban context; the institutional structures existed well before the Francke building was inaugurated, and, after 1627, when Wolfenbüttel had been conquered and was occupied by imperial forces until the early 1640s, the court chapel was dissolved, meaning that only the civic institutions remained active. From the existing payment records, the series of holders of the posts of cantor and organist are known.30 In terms of the music and other sounds of services, the Braunschweig church orders paint a general picture. Even in the earliest church order from Braunschweig, which dates from 1528 and was written by Johannes Bugenhagen (whose orders were highly influential in northern Germany and Scandinavia31), one finds more detailed information on liturgical music than in contemporary orders from Saxony. Bugenhagen’s text prescribes sung as

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29 30

31

This is also visible in the model plans for a church building provided by the architect Joseph Furttenbach (the Younger): ‘KirchenGebäw’ (Augsburg, 1649), plate A – where we find benches for the pupils in the front, and an organ loft in the back. In an account from the early eighteenth century, this gallery is described as ‘organ gallery or pupils’ choir, under the bell tower’ (‘Orgel-Prieche, oder das sogenannte Schüler-Chor unter dem Glock-Thurm’), see R.-J. Grote and H. Kuhr (eds.), ‘Von dem Baue der Neuen Heinrichstädtischen Kirche Beatae Mariae Virginis seit Anno 1604 bis hieher (1725) überhaupt und von den Bau- und Besserungskosten insbesondere. Auszug aus dem Corpus Bonorum der Hauptkirche BMV Wolfenbüttel, verfaßt von Christoph Woltereck in den Jahren 1724–1725’, in Möller (ed.), Die Hauptkirche, pp. 255–309, at p. 275; see also Meier, Die Bau- und Kunstdenkmäler der Stadt Wolfenbüttel (Wolfenbüttel, 1904), p. 44. Niedersächisches Landesarchiv, Abteilung Wolfenbüttel (NLA) 720 II, fol. 44v: ‘vor 4 Eisern Leüchterß auff dem SchülerChor, die an den Pulten zum Corall singen stecken undt in den frühpredigen gebraucht’; some heating was provided, as coal is given for the organist and for the choir gallery (‘dem Organisten vor Kohlen auff der Orgell undt SchülerChor’: ibid.). The following is based on an examination of the documents relating to BMV in the NLA, and Landeskirchliches Archiv der evangelisch-lutherischen Landeskirche in Braunschweig, Wolfenbüttel. Cantors: Otto Siegfried Harnisch (1584–1600); Henning Schaper (1600–18); Heinrich Elsmann (1618–?26/27); Erich Sötefleisch (1627–9); Johann Vilther (1629–31); David Leibius (1631–62). Organists: Franz Algermann d.J. (1598–1603); Christopher Selle (1603–23); Melchior Schildt (1623–6); Ludolph Schildt (1626–30); Delfin Strungk (1630–2); Ludolph Schildt (1632–7). See NLA, Wolfenbüttel, 1 Kb, Nr 1297, fol. 403r, or R. A. Noltenius (ed.), Chronicon der Stadt und Vestung Wolfenbüttel, in sich haltend des seel. H. Ober-Amtmanns Christoph Woltersbeck Begräbniß-Buch der Kirchen B.M.V. zu Wolfenbüttel (Blankenburg and Helmstedt, 1747), pp. 710, 731. G. Müller, ‘Bugenhagen’, in Hans Dieter Betz, Don S. Browning, Bernd Janowski and Eberhard Jüngel (eds.), Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart 4 (Leiden, 2015–), http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy.uzh.ch/10.1163/2405-8262_rgg4_ SIM_02509.

148

149

Tractate über Baukunst (Augsburg, 1649). ETH-Bibliothek Zürich, Rar 6891, DOI: 10.3931/e-rara-11794

Figure 6.2 Model plans of a church building, on the right: ground plan with stalls; on the left : placement of the organ with organ loft . From Joseph Furttenbach the Younger,

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Theatres of Belief

well as spoken responses, and some Latin chant sung in alternation with German hymns. It also mentions the participation of the school choir in polyphonic pieces (no more than two or three at once, if there is also organ-playing) in certain parts.32 The polyphonic repertory would complement this liturgical framework, which is also substantiated in the renewed church order for Wolfenbüttel (1569). The services of Vespers, Frühpredigt, Mass on Sundays, as well as services on weekdays, should all include Latin chant sung by pupils, and German hymns ‘from Luther’s hymn book’. The order provides the names of hymns suitable for funerals (see below), and states that before the Sunday sermon the hymns sung by the congregation should vary according to the season – for instance, ‘Ein Kindelein so löbelich’ during Christmas time, and ‘Christ ist erstanden’ for Easter.33 Here we find the idea not only that, during catechism sessions on early Sunday afternoon, children and other persons should gradually learn the hymns by singing alongside the pupils, but also that there existed a clear conception of ‘de tempore’ hymns in both German and Latin.34 The 1605 Wolfenbüttel school order includes music in the programme for different classes in a way typical for Lutheran schools (that is, it is taught at midday). One paragraph gives specific information on singing in the streets when it restricts the music to be performed by pupils there, and permits only ‘sacred’ pieces when pupils are invited to attend feasts.35 Although other documents outlining performance more concretely are lacking, the polyphonic music available – and presumably performed – at the Marienkirche in the early seventeenth century is evident from the church’s collection of music books, which was inventoried whenever there was a change in the cantorate. In Table 6.1, for instance, the cantor, Erich Sötefleisch, confirms that he received the books named and promises to return them when resigning from office, while Table 6.2 lists the newly acquired items received by his successor, Johann Vilther.36 Information about the holdings exists from the 1610s onwards, a period contemporaneous with the completion of the building and the span of time when there was no court chapel. Here, large-scale works form an important part of the collection. These books remain on the list, alongside some new acquisitions, until the 1660s. In the year 1614/15, a positive organ was bought.37 In the library lists, we also find a tenor and a bass viol, which ensured that the instruments for continuo playing

32

33

34 35 36 37

Egon Sehling (ed.), Die evangelischen Kirchenordnungen des XVI. Jahrhunderts, Vol. VI.1.1 (Tübingen, 1955), pp. 369 (‘Von den cantoren in den scholen’), 399–404 (‘Vam singende unde lesende der scholekynderen in der kerken’), 438 (‘Van der missen’), 440 (‘Ordeninge der misse’ when celebrated in German). We find information that some introits (sung in Latin) can be replaced by German hymns; if the Creed is sung in German, ‘there should be no organ’; a selection of commonly used German hymns are mentioned by their titles. [Duke Julius of Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel], Kirchenordnung Unnser, vor Gottes Genaden, Julii Hertzogen zu Braunschweig und Lüneburg etc., Wie es mit Lehr und Ceremonien unsers Fürstenthumbs Braunschweig, Wulffenbütlischen Theils … gehalten werden sol (Wolfenbüttel, 1569), p. 17; Sehling (ed.), Kirchenordnungen, VI.1, pp. 141–4 (‘Ordnung der ceremonien in pfarkirchen der stedte und da schulen sein’), p. 144. Sehling (ed.), Kirchenordnungen, VI.1, p. 150. On the lessons, Koldewey, Schulordnungen, pp. 119–20; on the public appearances, ‘Qui vel ostiatim vel in conviviis musicam exercent, sacras tantum, pias et castas melodias decantanto’ (ibid., p. 123). NLA Wolfenbüttel, 100 N, Nr 237, Musikalische Kirchen- und Schulbücher (1627–1720), no. 3 and no. 8. NLA Wolfenbüttel, 100 N, Nr 715/I, fol. 149v.

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were close at hand. In 1611/12, four ‘Polish violins’ were bought by order of the church wardens for the cantor.38 Table 6.1 Specification, 12 April 1627

1. 2.

Zehn Bücher Francisci Algermanni in folio undt in weiß Pergament gebunden Achte Bücher Michalis Praetorij, Missodia Hymnodia, Eulogodia, Megalynodia in geschrieben Pergament gebunden 4.5.6.7.8. hinten an steket der dritte theil von den Cantionibus Melch. Vulpii. 3. Achte Bücher Michaelis Praetorij Deutsche Psalmen 1.2.3.4. theil 4. Sieben Bücher Michaelis Praetorij Teutsche Psalmen, 1.2.3.4. theil 5. Vier Bücher als 6.7.8.9. theil in 4to undt in geschrieben Pergament eingebunden. 3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.11.12. Chor 6. Achte Bücher Michaelis Praetorij Musarum Sioniarum motetae et Psalmi Latini in weiß schweinsledder gebunden, in 4to, 5.6.7.8.9.12. vocum 7. Fünffzehen Bücher Polyhymnia pane[g]yrica Michaelis Praetorij in fol. in geschrieben Pergament gebunden 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.11.12.13.14.15.16.17.18.19.20.21. vndt mehr dabey ist gebunden Opus melicum Friderici Weissensee in fol. 8. Neun Bücher Opus novum geistlicher Lateinischer undt deutsche concerten undt Psalmen Davidts Danielis Selichij Capellmeisters allhie in fol. 9. Ein Buch der Passion geschrieben von Herrn Paulo Musaeo in fol. in roth Pergament gehefftet [10, corr.: 12] Zwölf Bücher Vrania oder Vranochorodia Michaelis Praetorij zusamengenehet Item ein Tisch, Tenor, vnndt Baßgeigen, mehr ein repositorium, solches bezeuge ich mit meiner unterschriebenen eigenen handt Act. Wolffenb. am 12. Aprilis Anno 1627 10. Etliche Psalmen Davids 8. gesetzt mit einem Generali Basso von Henrico Schützen, Chur. S. Capellmeister 11. Melch. Vulpij Theile in Schwartz Kordiwahn gebunden Table 6.2 Additional Music Books Received from the Church Wardens, Received by Johann Vilther (1629)

1.

2. 3. 4.

Achte Bücher in 4to, worin Melchioris Vulpij Magnificat juxta vulgares modos, 4.5.6 et plurium vocum [1605]: darnach desselben pars prima & secunda Cantionum sacrarum, 6.7.8. & plurium vocum [1610], undt dan letzlich Joannis Leonis Hasleri Norimb. Sacri concentus, 5.6.7.8.9.10 & 12. voc.: sindt in schwartz Leder eingebunden Achte Stimme[n] Cantionum sacrarum Samuelis Scheids Hallensis, sind nur bloß eingeheftet ohn pergament. Hieronymi Praetorij Cantiones sacræ de praecipuis festibus totius anni 5.6.7.& 8. vocum. sindt auch nur schlecht zusamen geheftet ohne Pergament. Psalmen Davidts sampt etzlichen Moteten und Concerten 8 & plur. voc. Henri: Schutzen. 9 bücher. Durch Julium Antonium Weinrancken present[irt]

The repertory was relatively modern, with the printed items dating from the beginning of the seventeenth century onwards, including Weissensee’s Opus melicum of 1602, Vulpius’s 4 to 6-voice Magnificat settings of 1605, and Hieronymus Praetorius’s motet collection of 1607. The criteria here seem not to have been an explicit interest in strongly tradition-bound music, but rather – as the large-scale works dominate – in more recent but representative magnificent settings, often polychoral compositions, of motets and concertos. The works of Hieronymus Praetorius, who published his collections in Hamburg but also sent copies of them as gifts to other Hanseatic cities in the region where he antici-

38

This instrument name occurs in Martin Agricola (1545) and Michael Praetorius (1619) – the specific characteristics (according to Praetorius, a type of viola da braccio) are not known; cf. S. Paczkowski, Polish Style in the Music of Johann Sebastian Bach, trans. Piotr Szymczak (Lanham, Boulder, New York and London, 2017), pp. 80–2.

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pated interest in works of this kind,39 are good examples of this. Weissensee’s motets also show a strong ‘Venetian’ influence. However, on the back of the 1627 list, a note states that it would be desirable to acquire Bodenschatz’s Florilegium because these motets would be needed in church, although no copy of this anthology was ever catalogued in the following years.40 Of the composers to be found in the Marienkirche collection, the presence of Michael Praetorius, who was until 1620 the court organist and chapel master, is unsurprising, even if Praetorius spent lengthy periods away from the Wolfenbüttel after the death of Duke Heinrich Julius of Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel in 1613.41 Daniel Selichius was successor to Praetorius as court chapelmaster in Wolfenbüttel;42 significantly, the title page of his collection of concertos, Opus novum (1623/4) for up to twelve voices and continuo, bears an indication that it can be used not only in court chapels, but also in parish churches of the city (nicht allein in Fürstl. Capellen, sondern auch in andern wolbestalten StadtKirchen). The Marienkirche, where sufficient performing forces were easily available, represents the kind of well-appointed parish church Selichius had in mind. For such large-scale repertory, we may think also of places where a choir could be reinforced by town musicians, which we know was the case in Hamburg at this time. The church wardens also acquired the works of Heinrich Schütz and Johann Hermann Schein. The profile of the collections is similar to that of nearby Helmstedt and the church of St Stephani, where Praetorius’s Polyhymnia, Weissensee’s Opus melicum, Scheidt’s Geistliche Concerte, some printed books by Schütz, and the Musicalische Andachten by Andreas Hammerschmidt, were inventoried.43 Similar profiles would be found in a considerable number of music libraries used by both churches and schools.44 The archival sources reveal that several of the editions in the Marienkirche holdings were gifts from their composers to the church. Praetorius donated a set of partbooks to the church in 1608 (receiving a recompense of fl. 20.545) and another set of fifteen partbooks in 1620/1,46 while Selichius presented his Opus in 1624.47 A set of ten manuscript partbooks 39 40 41

42 43 44 45 46 47

H. Walter, Musikgeschichte der Stadt Lüneburg: vom Ende des 16. bis zum Anfang des 18. Jahrhunderts (Tutzing, 1967). NLA WO 100 N, Nr 237 (Musikalische Kirchen- und Schulbücher): ‘seind [i.e. the motets] auch sehr nothig in der Kirchen’. W. Blankenburg and C. Gottwald, ‘Praetorius [Schultheiss, Schultze], Michael’ [2001], in Grove Music Online, www.oxfordmusiconline.com/grovemusic/view/10.1093/gmo/9781561592630.001.0001/omo9781561592630-e-0000022253. A. L. Kirwan. ‘Selich [Selichius], Daniel’ [2001], in Grove Music Online, www.oxfordmusiconline.com/ ezproxy. uzh.ch/grovemusic/view/10.1093/gmo/9781561592630.001.0001/omo-9781561592630-e-0000025367. D. Garbe, Das Musikalienrepertoire von St. Stephani in Helmstedt. Ein Bestand an Drucken und Handschriften des 17. Jahrhunderts (Wiesbaden, 1998), I, pp. 9–11; the inventory dates from 1680. Garbe undertakes a cursory comparison of thirty-six documented collections, mostly from churches and schools, cf. ibid., pp. 188–205, and table, pp. 191–4. NLA WO 100 N, Nr 715/1, fol. 25r. NLA WO 100 N, Nr 716: ‘der kirchen verehret’; he receives 15 Mariengroschen. NLA WO 100 N, Nr 717 (Rechnungen über Einnahme und Ausgabe bei der Kirche BMV), 5 Rthl; probably a copy of Opus novum, published that year, and recorded as a gift in Leibius’s inventory list in 1631 (‘so den hr. kirchen und schul inspectoribus und Kirchvätern vom Authore dediciret’: NLA WO N, Nr 237 (David Leibius 1631).

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was given to the church by Franciscus Algermann (the Younger), the former organist. No further information is given other than that these contained ‘select pieces by outstanding composers’, but this raises the possibility of an institutional anthology like those known to have existed in other locales, such as Lübeck Ms 203A.48 There was also a manuscript collection of Masses for four to eight voices and another ‘old’ collection of motets which were in bad state and ‘not often used’. Perhaps not surprisingly, these two items disappear from the subsequent lists.49 Some editions were bought by the cantors themselves, for instance Schütz’s Geistliche Chormusik, which was acquired in 1648 (the year of its publication); because Leibius expected Schütz’s promised second part, he had these parts bound only in paper.50 Editions were bought from others. The Vulpius Magnificat was acquired from Johannes Herwech, pastor in Vimmelse and Drütte.51 Sacred concertos by Scheidt and Ambrosius Profe were bought from Valentin Weiß, a local woodblock cutter (Formschneider) and printer.52 In 1627, the Cantiones sacrae by Schein and H. Praetorius were bought from one Henricus Elsmannus, who describes himself as pastor in Immendorf, a village close to Wolfenbüttel. However, this may be the former local cantor, regarding whom there are no other notices after 1624 resp. 1626,53 who may have pursued the typical career path of exchanging the position of school teacher for that of pastor, or it could have simply been a relative of the same name.54 For Herwech, no musical position can be identified. He studied in Helmstedt and Wittenberg and worked as a secretary before becoming pastor, and later court chaplain and superintendent, in Blankenburg.55 The moment of giving up music books – when an ecclesiastical career was pursued – seems, nevertheless, to have been similar in both cases. Most payments for ‘paper’ are not specific enough to link them to musical material. In 1628, however, a receipt for Elias Holwein, the court printer, mentions eleven volumes of ‘lines’ in folio (‘eilf buch linien in folio’56) and eight pieces of parchment. This clearly means ruled paper for copying pieces. and material for binding. The paper was even sold for a better price of 3 instead of 4 groschen per book as it was destined for the church.57 48 49

50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

NLA WO 100 N, Nr. 715/1, fol. 63r: he received 12 Rthl for ‘geschrieben partes’ given to the church. The books are described as ‘Cantiones sacrae diversorum praestantissimorum autorum’ in 1631. See NLA Wolfenbüttel, Nr 237, no. 13 (Leibius 1631, ‘Geschriebene Missæ a 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 variorum authorum in maculatur gehefft’) and no. 15/2 (‘alte geschriebene colligirte Mutetæ variorum authorum 8. voces sehr abgenützt auch wenig gebrauchet’). NLA Wolfenbüttel, Nr 237, no. 16 (Leibius, 1648). Ibid., no. 10: Johannes Herwech, pastor in Vimmelse (today Fümmelse) receives 5 Rthl from Kirchenvorsteher Michael Wolfrom[b]. Ibid., no. 15. M. Ruhnke, ‘Elsmann, Heinrich’, in Grove Music Online (2001), https://doi.org/10.1093/gmo/9781561592630.article.08749. Henricus Elmannus receives 2 plus 1 Rthl; the year is deduced from the dates of the surrounding documents. Cf. the short biographical note in Braunschweigische Anzeigen, 10 Nov. 1759, 90, Stück: ‘Neue Fortsetzung von Leuckfelds Antiquitäten zu Michaelstein. Erste Abtheilung’, cols. 1487–8. NLA Wolfenbüttel, Nr 237, no. 11 and no. 12. Ibid., no. 11: ‘Weils die Kirche bezahlen muß, wirdt buch linien 3 gg. gerechnet, ein andern wirds sonst vnter 4.gg. nicht gegeben.’

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The size suggests that large-format partbooks were produced, which occur regularly in such institutional contexts58 and were explicitly intended to be used in the church. A note on the document specifies that, because of the changes of cantors, there was a lack of music (and music books) for use in church and the school, and that ‘good sacred pieces and motets’59 should be copied into books that should be kept in the church. If the eleven ‘books’ were intended as separate partbooks, this further suggests large-scale repertory comparable to the prints. We also find, with an edition of Eucharius Zinckeisen’s KirchenGesäng, a large-scale folio-format hymn book (possibly the Frankfurt edition of 1615), which could be used by the group of pupils as they sang, and another hymn book to be kept ‘on the choir’.60 In some cases, remarks indicate that a set of books was ‘old’: the Lossius cantional, for instance, had to be replaced in 1610 because it was too used.61 This accords with what we know from other places – namely, that music books were indeed expected to be used over a longer time. In Helmstedt in 1714, the cantor’s request for money to acquire music was denied on the basis of the belief that, in proper use, a book or music book should last a century, and that there was enough music at hand that he could continue to use.62 In the Marienkirche collection, the addition of books until the 1660s (including Hammerschmidt, Mazak, Capricornus and Briegel63) added more smaller-scale repertory, especially motets. Whether the older collections continued to be used in Wolfenbüttel is not known, but, taken together, the result of such collections could well be that the repertory remained unchanged over longer periods. At any rate, the polyphonic repertory constitutes only one part of the musical world of an early seventeenth-century Lutheran town, and the hymns and simpler melodies used on other occasions must be considered as well. They formed a more stable and less variable kind of repertory, which was also firmly in the minds of townspeople. Funeral Music between Tradition and Renewal Another significant function of school choirs was to participate in funerals. Funerals were events when – during the procession – singing was performed in public, and sound presented and reinforced the social order: the ringing of bells, as well as the type and number of pieces sung, reflected the social standing of the deceased and displayed their position.64 58 59

60

61 62 63 64

Lübeck Ms A. 203; from the sixteenth century: Königsberg Ms 1740 (1543); RostockU 49 (1566); Leipzig U 49/50 (1558); Dresden 1/E/24 (after 1560); Zwickau Ms 94.1 (after 1560). ‘Es ist dise Unrath befunden worden, das bei abwechselungen und Verendrungen des Cantorats es an Büchern und gueten Muteten bei den Kirchen und Schulen mangelt, derwegen für gut angesehen, das in dern Geheiß ezliche, feine, geistliche Gesange und Muteten, verblaiblich bei der Kirchen, zusammen geschrieben würden, und demnach die Hern Kirchleuten dies Zettel abzahlen … ’: NLA WO 100N, Nr 237, fol. 12. A non-specified ‘large‘ hymn book for all feast-days and Sundays is taken over from a certain court chaplain named Johannes (NLA 716 (1618/19) , fol. 407r), and in 1614/15 two copies of a hymn book were bought for the pulpit and for the choir (NLA 715/1, fol. 84 r) (‘eines in der prediger stuel, das ander auff dem Chor für dem Cantore’). NLA 715/1, fol. 63r. Garbe, Das Musikalienrepertoire, I, p. 8. NLA 237, no. G. S. Johnston, ‘“Unterm Geleut aller Glocken”: Die Klangwelt bei Leichenzügen und Begräbnissen der deutschen

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Rather than being created ex nihilo, Lutheran practices were established through a re-interpretation and adaption of existing customs into a form that could convey Lutheran theological positions,65 which understood the funeral, first and foremost, as a means of providing consolation for the bereaved. Typically, funeral rites included the ringing of bells, both when a person died and when the funeral itself was announced, as well as a procession which transported the body from the home to the church or the churchyard (during which the choir sang), and a service in which a funeral sermon was preached. The standard, largely monophonic repertory for use in funerals can be found in special sections in some hymn books and cantionals.66 Polyphony was also performed. Numerous occasional compositions have survived and were sometimes printed with the funeral sermons, especially in the seventeenth century;67 but compared to the music most frequently sung for funerals in Lutheran Germany, occasional compositions and polyphony remained the exception. It is, therefore, worthwhile to concentrate on the repertory used frequently for the largest number of individuals. The tradition of Protestant funeral music was quickly established, and grounded in past cultures.68 Luther himself explicitly referred to earlier music in his preface to the 1542 collection Christliche Geseng Lateinisch und Deudsch, zum Begrebnis (Wittenberg, 1542), in which he wrote that pre-Reformation traditions should be preserved with only the texts being purified: As a good example … we have chosen fine musical settings or songs which are used in the papacy at vigils, masses for the dead, and funerals … but we have substituted other texts to these settings in order to honor our article concerning the resurrection…. The songs and the notes are precious; it would be a shame and a loss were they to disappear.69

Here again, in customs and ceremonies, no hard break with the past was intended, but a conscious continuation of traditions deemed acceptable. Luther recommends also that

65

66

67 68

69

protestantischen Kirche des 17. Jahrhunderts’, in Ingeborg Stein (ed.), Diesseits- und Jenseitsvorstellungen im 17. Jahrhundert (Jena, 1996), pp. 47–52. Cf., as a seminal study, C. M. Koslofsky, The Reformation of the Dead: Death and Ritual in Early Modern Germany, c.1450–1700 (Basingstoke, 2000), esp. pp. 81–114 (‘The Formation of the Lutheran Funeral Ritual’); on funeral practices in our case studies, see below. Separate publications with funeral repertory existed in the seventeenth century as well – cf. W. Braun, ‘Das Eisenacher Begräbniskantional aus dem Jahre 1653’, Jahrbuch für Liturgik und Hymnologie, 4 (1958/9), pp. 122–8 (the first example which is still extant is Christoph Demantius, Threnodiae, das ist: Ausserlesene trostreiche Begräbnüß Gesänge ... beneben andern Christlichen meditationibus und Todesgedancken ... mit 4. 5. auch 6. Stimmen dergestalt contrapuncts weise gesetzet, daß sie beydes Choral und Figural, wie es jedes Orts und Zeits Gelegenheit giebet (Freiberg, 1620), explicitly usable in monophonic or polyphonic performance). Cf. N. Bolín, ‘Sterben ist mein Gewinn’ (Phil. 1,21). Ein Beitrag zur evangelischen Funeralkomposition in der deutschen Sepulkralkultur des Barock. 1550–1750 (Kassel, 1989), ss. 57–74. Cf. ibid., pp. 90–2; G. Kappner and J. Cox-Adolphs, ‘Lateinische Totenmesse und deutsche Begräbnismusik’, Jahrbuch für Liturgik und Hymnologie, 27 (1983), pp. 118–34; for some other examples of references to Luther’s burial hymns, cf. P. Schmitz, ‘Luthers Theologie des Todes im Spiegel der Funeralkomposition des 17. Jahrhunderts’, Schütz-Jahrbuch, 35 (2012), pp. 25–40, at pp. 39f. Martin Luther, [preface to] ‘Christian Songs Latin and German, for Use at Funerals’, in Works of Martin Luther, Vol. VI: Luther’s Liturgical Writings, trans. with intro. and notes by Paul Zeller Strodach (Philadelphia, 1942), p. 289.

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German and Latin hymns be sung when returning home after the funeral.70 While this core repertory remained the basis for funeral practices also in the seventeenth century, we nevertheless glimpse how innovation and tradition can at times act as clashing tendencies and forces. Heinrich Elsmann – the Wolfenbüttel cantor between 1618 and 1627 who had taught at the Braunschweig Gymnasium and was probably the aforementioned pastor in Immendorf71 – produced a music textbook for the local school, Compendium musices, which appeared in three editions;72 the second and third editions contain an appendix with various musical settings. The 1619 edition includes music for funerals and hymns and odes – typical school repertory to be sung before and after classes – by Joachim a Burck and others. The 1624 edition, however, retains only the section containing funeral pieces. Whereas the hymns and odes are settings for four voices, the funeral pieces are all monophonic with the text for all verses printed. Elsmann explicitly referenced the funeral order of the duchy of Braunschweig and recommended his book as ‘correctly’ rendering the necessary chants and hymns.73 The 1569 order states that in funeral processions the pupils and pastors (or the pastor and sexton [Küster]), in locations where pupils were lacking) shall go ahead of the corpse and sing ‘one or two spiritual songs’, followed by a list of seven titles.74 Corresponding texts are also included (without rubric, but as one block) in the Musica divina, a comperehensive hymn book with established hymns, some still unfamiliar melodies, responses and Mancinus’s Passion printed in Wolfenbüttel in 1620.75 However, Elsmann also offers other melodies than those specifically mentioned in the church order of 1615, which repeats the stipulations published earlier in 1569 (see Table 6.3), among them another responsory (‘Credo quod’), the Latin ‘Media vita’, Nikolaus Hermann’s ‘Wenn mein Stündlein vorhanden ist’ (first published in 1562), and the widely used Prudentian ‘Iam moesta quiesce querela’ (published in Martin Luther’s Christliche

70

71 72

73

74 75

Christliche Geseng Lateinisch und Deudsch, zum Begrebnis (Klug, 1542). Luther includes: ‘Mit Fried und Freud’; ‘Wir gleuben all’; ‘Nun bitten wir den heiligen’; ‘Nu lasst uns den Leib’; ‘Iam moesta quiesce’; ‘Si enim credimus’; ‘Corpora sanctorum’; and ‘In pace sumus’. Ruhnke, ‘Elsmann, Heinrich’. Heinrich Elsmann, Compendiolum artis musicae latino-germanicum pro pueris hanc artem incipientibus conscriptum (Wolfenbüttel, 1617) (at this time, Elsmann still worked in Braunschweig); Compendium musicae latino-germanicum, cum brevi tractatu de modis (Wolfenbüttel, 1619) (Elsmann designates himself as cantor in Wolfenbüttel; the book is dedicated to the councilmen of Goslar); Compendium musicae latino-germanicum pro tyronibus […] conscriptum & congestum (Wolfenbüttel, 1624) (addressed to the Wolfenbüttel pupils on the title page). ‘[apposui] etiam cantiones funebres, quæ usurpantur in toto ducato Brunsvicensi in deducendis funeribus, ut discipuli correcta habeant exemplaria’: Elsmann, Compendium musicae latino-germanicum, cum brevi tractatu de modis, fols. A2–A2v. Kirchenordnung Wolfenbüttel (see n. 32), cited after Sehling, Kirchenordnungen, Vol. VI/1, p. 175 (‘ein geistliches Lied oder zwei’). Musica divina, das ist die geistreichen Doctoris Martini Lutheri, und etzlicher anderer Christlichen Lehrer Teutsche fürnembste Gesänge, so in der christlichen Versamlung durchs gantze Jahr gesungen werden, sampt den Versibus für und mit den Collecten, Passion … Epistolis und Evangeliis … und dem kleinen Catechismo … (Wolfenbüttel, 1620), nos. LV–LIX (‘Mit Fried und Freud’; ‘Mitten wir im Leben’; ‘Wenn mein Stündlein’; ‘Herr Jesu Christ war Mensch und Gott’; ‘Nun last uns den Leib’). The book is partly a reprint of an edition by Mancinus.

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Geseng Lateinisch und Deutsch, zum Begrebnis, 1542). Incidentally, this choice of pieces corresponds to those cited in the aforementioned Joachimsthal account. Elsmann’s appendix illustrates what was considered the standard repertory sung at most seventeenth-century Lutheran funerals, in which the school choir sang monophonically, and we can therefore assume that these pieces formed the basis of shared popular knowledge and experience for most townspeople, which was firmly connected with such occasions. They are clearly related to the foundations of Lutheran funeral theology and a strikingly traditional set of texts and melodies. Table 6.3 Funeral Pieces According to the Church Order and Elsmann’s Compendium

Church Order 15691 and 16152

Elsmann, Compendium 1619/1624

Mitten wir im leben seind

Si bona suscepimus

Mit fried und freud

Credo quod redemptor meus vivit (Hiob 19)

Responsorium: Si bona suscepimus

Media via in morte sumus

Aus tieffer Noth

Mit fried und freud ich fahr

Erbarme dich mein, o Herre Gott

Aus tieffer Noth schrey ich

Wir gleuben

Mitten wir im Leben sind

Nun lasset uns den Leib begraben

Christe du Lamb Gottes Gott der Vater wohn uns bei Nun last uns den Leib begraben Herr Jesu Christ war Mensch und Gott Wenn mein Stündlein vorhanden ist Iam moesta quiesce querela Haben wir das gute entfangen [= Si bona, German] (Pueri soli post Concionem:) Ecce dominus veniet et omnes sancti eius (Lat./Ger.)

1 2

Kirchenordnung Wolfenbüttel (see n. 32), cited after Sehling, Kirchenordnungen, Vol. VI/1, p. 175. Ibid., p. 107; the same list is given in the 1619 order for the other part of the territory, Braunschweig-Lüneburg/ Grubenhagen, Des Hochwürdigen … Fürsten und Herrn / Herrn Christans / Erwöhlten Bischoffen der Stadt Minden / Hertzogen zu Braunschweig / und Lüneburgk / etc. Kirchenordnung … (Celle, 1619), pp. 68f.

Although Elsmann’s appendix forms part of a schoolbook, parallels are found in hymn books as well, themselves valuable sources for charting repertories which transmitted a core of well-established hymns (among them, Luther’s own hymns), familiar to larger portions of society. As is well known, vernacular hymns aided the inclusion of the congregation in liturgy;76 yet it must also be remembered that the typical Lutheran hymn book printed from the sixteenth century onwards was usually intended for use at home, in the Hauskirche, which included the private reading of the Bible, praying and singing led by the

76

Cf. R. Leaver, The Whole Church Sings: Congregational Singing in Luther’s Wittenberg (Grand Rapids, 2017).

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Hausvater. For this reason, hymn books frequently contained catechetical hymns, translations of psalms, and devotional songs for a variety of occasions.77 School hymn books, then, constitute a special variant and document the practices of schoolboys and their repertory, with their higher proportion of metrical ode and hymn settings for the school days as a separate category; they often also include sections of funeral pieces. A relatively basic funeral repertory is included in a book of this type, edited by Melchior Vulpius for Weimar in 1604.78 Many more polyphonic settings, but mostly of the same melodies and texts, can be found in another publication from Görlitz in 1613.79 Laurentius Stiphelius’s Ein Geistlich Gesangbuch für Christliche Kirchen und recht Lutherische Schulen80 is yet another school hymn book, albeit an exceptionally voluminous and elaborate one. It offers many four-voice settings of hymn melodies, in Latin as well as in German,81 and is structured in four sections according to the different performance contexts of hymns (church, funerals, school and “at home and on other occasions”). Here, the mnemonic functions of singing are also found operating in the school repertory: simple polyphonic settings imparted knowledge of the catechism via Luther’s early catechism songs, and settings for blessings and table prayers were meant to instil ‘Lutheran’ habits by referring to the core repertory of Lutheran hymn texts. Stiphelius’s section on music for burials contains familiar and widely used pieces, most of them monophonic: ‘Iam moesta quiesce querela’ (a 4, ‘Carmen Prudentii in exequiis’, melody in tenor) ‘Hört auff mit trawren’ (a 4, translation of ‘Iam moesta’, melody in discant)

77 78

79

80

81

See Brown, Singing the Gospel. Melchior Vulpius (ed.), KirchenGeseng und Geistliche Lieder D. Martini Lutheri und anderer frommen Christen … (Erfurt, 1604): ‘Wenn mein Stündlein’, two versions of ‘Mitten wir im Leben’, three of ‘Nun last uns’, two of ‘Iam moesta’ (plus two German translations). Harmoniae Sacrae Vario Carminum Latinorum & Germanicorum genere (Görlitz, 1613): ’Iam moesta’ (a 5 Lat./Ger.), ‘Herr Jesu Christ wa[h]r Mensch und Gott’ (a 4; Paulus Eber), ‘Wenn mein Stündlein vorhanden’ (a 4); ‘Herzlich lieb hab ich dich’ (a 4); ‘Christe deus tu nos ad vitae dona creasti’ [J. Major; on the same setting as fol. 38: ‘In coelis terraque’, ode, a 4]; ‘Mit fried und freud’ (Luther, text only); ‘Hie lieg ich armes Würmelein und schlaff in meim Ruhebettelein’ (a 4) [Frankfurt, 1607; s. Sterbe- und Ewigkeitslieder S 295]; ‘Ich hab mein Sach Gott heimgestellt’ (a 4); ‘Nu lasst uns den Leib begraben’ (a 4), ‘Mitten wir im Leben sind’ (a 4), ‘Ich weiß daß mein Erlöser lebt’ (a 4) (Strophen); ‘Allein nach dir Herr Jesu Christ’ (a 4); ‘O Welt ich muß dich lassen’ (a 4); ‘Wie nach einem Wasserquelle’ (a 4); ‘Zu dir von Hertzen grunde’ (a 4); ‘Geliebten Freund was thut ihr so verzagen’ (on the same setting as Mel: 176: ode: ‘Dicimus grates’, a 4]; ‘Herzlich tut mich verlangen’ (a 4); ‘Credo quod’ and ‘Si bona suscepimus’ (text only). Laurentius Stiphelius, Ein Geistlich Gesangbuch für Christliche Kirchen und recht Lutherische Schulen, welches ordentlich in sich helt I. Die Geistliche Lateinischen Odas … II. Die Gesänge welche man bey Christlichen Leichbegängnissen brauchet III. Etliche Gesänge die beydes in der Kirchen und Schulen … können gesungen werden. IV. Etliche Harmonien, nach den Odis, derer Q. Horatius … sich beflissen / gerichtet und gesetzet. V. Ein Handbüchlein / das ist / ein Register der deutschen Gesänge und Muteten / welche … durchs gantze Jahr können abgesungen werden (Jena, 1612). On Stiphelius’s biography, see A. Werner, ‘Die alte Musikbibliothek und die Instrumentensammlung an St. Wenzel in Naumburg a.d.S.’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, 8 (1926), pp. 394–5; and H. Holstein, ‘Beiträge zur Geschichte der ehemaligen Rathsschule in Naumburg a.d.S.’, Neue Mittheilungen aus dem Gebiet historisch-antiquarischer Forschungen, 14 (1875–8), pp. 291–312, at p. 294; on Passions, W. Braun, ‘Andreas Unger und die biblische Historie in Naumburg a.d. Saale’, Jahrbuch für Liturgik und Hymnologie, 7 (1962), pp. 172–9. One copy, now preserved in Göttingen, was used by a cantor, Johannes Lüdekind from Northeim, who added handwritten notes on several pages. Most of these notes concern additional melodies or references to chant melodies printed in Lossius’s Psalmodia: Göttingen, Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, 8 Cant. Geb. 15.

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‘Si bona suscepimus’ (chant) ‘Wenn mein Stündlein vorhanden ist’ (melody by Nicolaus Hermann) ‘Mitten wir im Leben sind’ (melody by Martin Luther) ‘Wir gläuben all’ (melody by Martin Luther) ‘Aus tieffer Noht’ (Ps. 130, melody by Martin Luther) ‘Mit Fried und Frewd’ (Martin Luther) ‘Nun lasst uns den Leib begraben’ (Michael Weiß)

Additionally, Stiphelius includes suggestions for polyphonic repertory, adding a list of polyphonic settings that could be sung at funerals:82 ‘Media vita’ by Jacobus de Kerle and Jacobus Handl, ‘Audi tellus’ (Handl), ‘Dilexi’ (Daser), ‘Also hat Gott die Welt’ (Melchior Bischoff), ‘Justorum animae’, ‘Absterget Deus’ and ‘Veniet tempus’ (Handl), ‘Fremuit spiritus’ (Clemens non Papa and Lasso), ‘Quare tristis’ (Lasso, Albert Fabritius, Jakob Meiland), ‘Si bona suscepimus’ (Lechner, Lasso and others), ‘Vivo ergo’, ‘Quicquid erit tandem’, ‘Haec est voluntas eius’ (Gallus Dressler), ‘Nunc dimittis’ (Bischoff and Jacob Regnart), ‘Domine Jesu’ (non Papa), ‘Amen dico’ (Dressler), ‘Ecce quomodo moritur’ (Handl), ‘Also hat Gott die Welt’ (Preschner), ‘Herr Jesu Christ’ and ‘Ich weiß dass mein Erlöser’ (Dressler), ‘Allein zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ’ (Calvisius), ‘Ich bin die Auferstehung’ (Dressler), ‘Wenn mein Stündlein vorhanden’ (Regnart), ‘O Menschen Kind’ (Lechner), ‘Lasset die Kindlein’ (Schröter), as well as further settings of some of the aforementioned texts without indication of authorship. This extensive list includes settings predominantly from the last third of the sixteenth century by composers such as Lasso, Handl, Dressler and Regnart, whose works circulated widely in similar contexts. Excursus: Stiphelius and Tradition-Building This list allows yet another perspective on the question of which music was contemporarily valued and considered worthy of being performed and transmitted, and therefore merits some remarks on Stiphelius’s stance on the question of tradition. The list of polyphonic funeral repertory complements yet another list Stiphelius included in his Gesangbuch under the rubric of ‘Manuale’ or ‘Handbüchlein’: namely, a list of the polyphonic motets to be sung in the course of the entire church year (Part V). This highly valuable source for tracing the polyphonic repertory was used and known in a specific place – above all, the Naumburg choir. We can further speculate that this repertory was familiar, to a certain extent, to the local lay community. Stiphelius’s choice of compositions can be interpreted as evidence for the layering of musical repertories. Extensive lists of this kind are rare, and they attest in unusual detail to how music by different generations of composers, themselves coming from a variety of confessional backgrounds, was in use around 1600. Another better-known example is the 1592 church order for the Franconian town of Hof, which substantiates this practice roughly two generations after the introduction of the

82

Stiphelius, Ein Geistlich Gesangbuch, [Hhiv]r–Ll1v.

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Reformation.83 In Stiphelius’s repertory, Orlando di Lasso and Jacobus Handl84 are represented with a particularly large number of pieces. The main corpus consists of repertory from the late sixteenth century, especially the work of Italian composers. The ‘middle’ generation active in German lands (Dressler, Meiland, Utendal, Le Maistre) is represented by only a few pieces. Older names are even rarer and appear only in one to three settings (such is the case with Daser, Phinot or Crecquillon), and there is just one occurrence of Josquin (‘Veni sancte spiritus’ for Pentecost). Compared to this, the list from Hof clearly has a larger proportion of older repertory: 68 pieces by composers born in the fifteenth century, including Isaac, Senfl, Josquin and Johann Walter, against 129 pieces by those born from 1520 onwards, with only 30 from a ‘middle generation’, with Clemens non Papa or Arcadelt. Nevertheless, Stiphelius’s list suggests a process of canonisation which privileged the same motet repertory which is also found in printed anthologies of that time. Here, many pieces for six to eight voices are also included – that is, pieces demanding performance forces such as those found in Naumburg, where the Gymnasium had securely established musical instruction. At the end of the first decade of the seventeenth century, the profile of this repertory appears more ‘mitteldeutsch’ than the Wolfenbüttel collection, which included (apart from the unknown contents of the manuscripts) more northern repertory, such as Hieronymus Praetorius, which evolved later on to include small-scale concertato music. Concerning funeral repertory, Stiphelius’s choice seems on average to have leaned towards slightly older music than the pieces recommended for feasts and Sundays, and to have comprised more German composers, although this could have been caused by the specific choice of texts. As the Naumburg church order specified neither pieces nor texts for funerals, continued interest in earlier compositions may have been largely motivated by their familiarity. Additional insight into Stiphelius’s uses of tradition can be gained from his textbook for music instruction, Compendium Musicum Latino-Germanicum (1614),85 a typical Latin school textbook which presents a concise introduction to the theoretical bases and necessary knowledge for performing music, including the signs and names of the notes, intervals and solmisation. It is based on Heinrich Faber’s widely used and often re-issued Compendiolum (first published in 1548), with some new or exchanged material.86 However, Stiphelius also added a considerable number of musical examples, so that nearly two-thirds 83

84 85 86

It is contained in a manuscript entitled ‘Ordo eorum, quae in omnibus sacris Actibus, ad S. Michaelis, quae Curiae Parochialis Ecclesiae est, diebus quam festis quam profestis, ad laudem Dei opt. max. et ad animos piorum in vero Dei cultu exuscitandos et retinendos, religiose observantur’; for a thorough survey, cf. H. Kätzel, Musikpflege und Musikerziehung im Reformationsjahrhundert dargestellt am Beispiel der Stadt Hof (Göttingen, 1957), esp. pp. 27–53; the music listings for some feasts are also given in C. T. Leitmeir, ‘Beyond the Denominational Paradigm: The Motet as Confessional(ising) Practice in the Later Sixteenth Century’, in E. Rodriguez García and D. V. Filippi (eds.), Mapping the Motet in the Post-Tridentine Era (London and New York, 2019), pp. 154–91, at pp. 172–6 (it is surprising that Leitmeir uses the term ‘Catholic repertory’ for the material in question). The presence of Handl in this source is highlighted by M. Motnik, Jacob Handl-Gallus. Werk – Überlieferung – Rezeption. Mit thematischem Katalog, Wiener Forum für ältere Musikgeschichte 5 (Tutzing, 2012), p. 53. Laurentius Stiphelius, Compendium Musicum Latino-Germanicum (Jena, 1614) (VD17 23:669970Y). Ibid., [title page verso].

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of his book consisted of exercises, some of them adding additional links to musical tradition. For the basic distinction between choral and mensural music, Stiphelius introduces the inicipit of the Trinitarian Latin hymn ‘O lux beata trinitas’, which had also been translated by Luther as ‘Der du bist drei in Einigkeit’.87 The section containing exercises includes settings of early Lutheran hymns such as ‘Ach Gott vom Himmel’, ‘Ein feste Burg’ or ‘Jesus Christus unser Heiland’, sometimes with only the text incipit underlaid,88 alongside canons and exercises with more difficult melodies (‘pro exercitatis’, mostly untexted). In the course of teaching, knowledge of these hymns and their texts was further reinforced, but crucially this happened outside the performance of the liturgy in real settings and technical exercises. Among them, Stiphelius included a five-voice canon on ‘Non moriar sed vivam’, accompanied by a German translation, ‘Sterben will ich nicht’,89 the same canon included in Michael Praetorius’s portrait woodcut.90 This text formed an important part of Lutheran collective memory: ‘Non moriar’ from Psalm 118 was a favourite of Luther’s91 and was set to music for him by Ludwig Senfl, as well as by Luther himself. In the following decades, several other motets on this text were produced. Lutheran schoolboys would likely have known that Luther held this psalm in high regard, and encountering a setting of it in a music schoolbook reinforced implicitly the links between Lutheran ideas, identity and Lutheranised cultures of music. Braunschweig: Tradition and Modernisation in Funeral Repertory If Elsmann’s funeral repertory broadly conforms to the normative texts and indicates merely a few other suitable hymn melodies, the possibility of altering tradition and singing ‘new’ or more elaborate hymns, apart from performing polyphonic settings, also became a means of representation and was a recurrent topic over the course of the seventeenth century. The Wolfenbüttel orders, discussed above, document stability over two to three generations, which may also be the product of a particular local context in which the organisation of church structures needed to be strengthened. In the 1640s, shifts in preferences are visible in the nearby city of Braunschweig. They suggest the desire, on the part of families who organised funerals, to add hymns which were much more recent or appealed to mentalities in a different way, in part on the basis of their more modern texts. Funerals were staged in ways that mirror the social status of the deceased, which could be expressed, among other ways, in the number of boys who sang for the funeral. For persons of a lower status, a smaller group of pupils would accompany the procession, whereas ‘the whole school’ would take part for the funerals of the highest-ranking individuals. In Braunschweig, which had obtained municipal liberties and expelled the

87 88 89 90 91

Ibid., fol. Aiijr. Ibid., fol. D4v/D5r, D5v –[D6r], E2r/v. Ibid., fol. [C8]v–Dr. Reproduced in M. Praetorius, Gesamtausgabe der musikalischen Werke, Vol. I, Musae Sioniae 1 (1905); ed. R. Gerber (Wolfenbüttel, 1928), n.p. Leaver, Luther’s Liturgical Music, pp. 52f.

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dukes in 1423, and continued to defend its privileges against the ruling dukes residing in Wolfenbüttel, conflict is documented in the second half of the 1640s, for which the trigger was likely the sumptuary order for marriages, baptisms and funerals published anew by the duke in 1646.92 In the same year, the Braunschweig authorities gathered information on the organisation and fees of funerals in the different churches of the city. Here, starting with the documents of St Martin, we find complaints about undue alterations to funeral rites which led the consistory to declare that no innovations should be tolerated without explicit permission given to the cantors and teachers, and also the time and effort for singing polyphony, visitations and invitations to the funeral feasting (Leichenschmaus) should be restricted.93 In order to respect the differences of status, it remained forbidden to sing certain texts and ‘more elaborate’ pieces at simple funerals. The examples cited, which included polyphonic versions of the ordinary hymns (like ‘Iam moesta quiesce querela’ or ‘Herr Jesu Christ wahr Mensch und Gott’) and ‘other, hitherto unusual figural pieces, like “Zion spricht”’,94 suggest that it had become almost common practice to use polyphonic settings as ‘upgraded’ versions. ‘Zion spricht’, in particular, appeared in different versions and reworkings, and became a staple of the early seventeenth-century funeral repertory. Derived from a contrafactum of an Italian villanella by Alessandro Romano (Madonna più che mai voi sete cruda)95 with the German text of Isaiah 49:14-15, numerous settings existed, including a five-voice version by Melchior Vulpius published as one of the “Begräbnisgesänge” in his Ein schön geistlich Gesangbuch (Jena, 1609), under the rubric ‘Vom Begräbnis der Verstorbenen’.96 Other settings were those of Sethus Calvisius (published in Bodenschatz, 1621), Johann Hermann Schein, Samuel Scheidt and his brother Gottfried Scheidt, copies of which survive in manuscript, as well as collections specially

92 93

94 95

96

Des … Herrn Augusti Herzogen zu Brunswieg / und Lünäburgk / Wiederholte / und von neuen übersehene Verlöbnis-Hochzeit-Kindtaufs-und Begräbnis-Ordnung (Wolfenbüttel, 1646). Stadtarchiv Braunschweig, B III 15: Bd 15, fols. 110r–111r: ‘daß hinfuro die Vorsteher der Kirchen daß geleute selber, wie auch die præceptores, vndt insonderheit die Cantores in den Schulen, wegen der cantionum funebrium oder Leichgesänge ohn fernere special verordnung vndt erlaubnüß, keine sonderlichen newerungen machen … fürters erhalten werden müge. bey den geringen Leichbegängnüßen daß figuriren der gewöhnlichen Gesänge, Iam moesta quiesce querela etc., Herr Jesu Christ wahr Mensch vndt Gott, vndt insonderheit anderer bißhero bey geringen standes personen nicht viel gebrauchter figuralischen Leichgesänge, alß Zion spricht, vndt dergleichen, nicht so gemein gemachet, wir auch sonsten andere vnerlaubte newerungen im figuriren vndt langen aufwartten für den Häusern, darauß die Leiche zubestatten, wir auch im bitten zu den begräbnüßen, etlichen stunden vorher, vndt sonsten, ohn sonderbahre fernere verordnung vndt concession, verbleiben sollen.’ Ibid. Cf. W. Braun, ‘Samuel Scheidts Bearbeitungen alter Motetten’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, 19/20 (1962/3), pp. 56–74, and S. Voss, ‘“Zion spricht” – Vorlage und Parodie. Zur motivischen Verarbeitungstechnik in Samuel Scheidts geistlichem Konzert SSWV 224’, in Händel-Haus Halle (ed.), Samuel Scheidt (1587–1654). Werk und Wirkung (Halle, 2006), pp. 343–60; see also Scheidt, Werke, ed. Gottlieb Harms, Vol. IV (Hamburg, 1933), pp. 171– 7 (‘Parodia in obitum parentis optimè de se meriti decnatata, à Godefredo Scheidt / authoris fratre’), and 158–64 (‘Lessum hunc in obitum Conradi Scheidt Pigarchae (vulgo fontium Magistri) in Salinis Saxonicis parentis optimi et desideratissimi, moestus author apposuit’). Braun, ‘Samuel Scheidts Bearbeitungen’, pp. 62f.

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designed for use at funerals.97 For the polyphonic ‘Zion spricht’, no composer’s name is specified in the Braunschweig document. It was probably the easily performable setting by Vulpius for five voices, or the setting of Heinrich Grimm, or even the setting for eight voices by Gottfried Scheidt, a piece certainly known in Brauschweig: in 1628, this setting had already been copied by Julius Pawell into a large polyphonic manuscript collection – the album amicorum of the members of the Braunschweig ministry (M 669) – in memory of the funeral of his wife.98 We can therefore assume that this indeed may have been a setting of which some contemporaries in Braunschweig were fond. The category of ‘neuwe Gesänge’ also appears in the description of the fees. The standard rates (full, half and quarter, depending on the number of boys involved) can be differentiated: ‘Iam moesta’ could be executed in unison or in polyphony; a ‘general’ funeral could include ‘Herr Jesu Christ’ and, after the collect, ‘Herzlich lieb’, or ‘Allein nach dir’ as the first form, or ‘Herr Jesu Christ’, and, after the collect, a ‘new’ chant as the second form; or, as the most expensive variant, ‘new’ chants before and after the collect. Hymns which qualified as ‘new’ were ‘Ich habe meine Sache’ by Johann Leon, first published in Psalmen, geistliche Lieder und Kirchengesäng (Nuremberg, 1589), ‘Herzlich tut mich verlangen’ and ‘Auf meinen lieben Gott’, based on Regnart’s ‘Venus du und dein Kind’. Information about the practices in other churches in Braunschweig completes the picture in greater detail, and is in agreement in principle.99 The report from St Martin’s stated that it was a recent change to sing all three strophes of ‘Herzlich lieb hab ich dich’; hitherto, only the first and last strophes, or only the very last verse, had been sung. Other hymns are explicitly designated as ‘long’ (‘die langen gesange’), namely ‘Herzlich thut mich verlangen’ and ‘Ich habe meine Sache’ (they comprise 11 resp. 18 strophes), which could be sung before or after the collect. Here, reports confirm that the effort of singing these ‘long’ hymns was compensated for by a higher recompense, while the documents also detail how these contributions were to be distributed between the teachers in the school. Four years later, the town council of Braunschweig published a new funeral or100 der in which the distinctions between different hymns and their costs that had come into practice were explicitly abolished. The ‘funus generale und figurale’ (a general funeral with polyphony) now included, before the collect, one or two of the ordinary German hymns, irrespective of whether they were ‘long’ or ‘short’ (longer or shorter hymns now were chosen according to the number of persons who had entered the church), and after

97 98

99 100

D-Dl, Mus.Sche.35 from Augustusburg, for a payment for ‘Leichen Partes’ (funeral music in separate parts) there in 1695/6; cf. Rautenstrauch p. 300. ‘In honorem Reverend: Collegii Brunsvicens: hanc cantilenam, quae in Exequiis dilectissimae Uxoris meae, piè et placidè in Christo defunctae, 29. Aprilis huius Anni 28. decantatae, adscribi feci et curavi / Julius Pawell 18. mens. May’ (entry in 2da vox), RISM OPAC. Stadtarchiv Braunschweig, B III 15: Bd 15, fols. 123r–143v, reports from the churches St Martini, S. Magni and St Catharina. Eines E. Rahts dero Stadt Braunschweig Begräbnüß-Ordnung (Braunschweig, 1650 (12.: ‘weil … allerhand unordnung verspüret worden / in dem / daß ein unterschied unter den gesängen gemachet / und auff jedweden gleichsamb eine sonderbare taxa gesetzet werden wollen …’).

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the collect only one of the ‘short’ hymns (such as ‘Auf meinen lieben Gott’) was to be sung, for which no more than 3 Taler should be paid to the school. The remaining forms included funerals with choral singing (‘funus generale und chorale’) and the ‘half’ and ‘quarter’ funerals. Through these regulations, as in many sumptuary ordinances, the authorities clearly wished to limit the extent to which status and wealth were displayed at funerals. Interestingly, as far as the musical contributions are concerned, the distinction that can be observed in the preceding years not only lay in the number of pupils singing (indicated through the categories of ‘quarter’ or ‘half’ funerals) or in the mere distinction between monophonic and polyphonic singing, but also in the ability to choose ‘new’ hymns and settings. Here, the traditional framework fixed by a church order could be supplemented by more recent repertory, which nevertheless was not absolutely ‘new’ (as would be the case with occasional songs and motets composed and perhaps published for specific persons101), but included recent hymn settings that were simply in vogue, as was the case with ‘Zion spricht’. The authorities’ attempt to maintain the established rites may partly have been motivated by financial and disciplinary concerns, but the desire for liturgy and ritual to remain in an unmodified state also provided stability which helped to establish and affirm a Lutheran confessional identity that was built through both melody and sung texts, as the examples discussed above illustrate. Taken together, the urban musical practices in church and school deployed music in the liturgy through, in our case, a high proportion of Latin chants, alongside a base repertory of Lutheran German hymns, as well as, in the case of funerals, the opportunity for the performance of polyphonic repertory (even if specific performances cannot be traced), combined with an extensive practice of monophonic singing and a relatively closed repertory of highly traditional melodies. Together, this material makes clear that the sounding environment in Wolfenbüttel and Braunschweig was not predominantly marked by representative, festive polyphony. Rather, the musical soundscape was also profoundly shaped by a simpler and more traditional repertory of hymns. Their presence in public spaces, especially on the publicly visible occasions of funerals, therefore provided the foundation of the acoustic profile of these cities that manifested Lutheran identity in audible terms, of which centuries later Madame de Staël experienced clear reverberations. �

101

On the occasional funeral pieces, cf. Bolín, ‘Sterben ist mein Gewinn’ and Johnston, ‘Unterm Geleut aller Glocken’, cited above.

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7. Sound Conversion? Music, Hearing and Sacred Space in the Long Reformation in Ulm, 1531–1629 Philip Hahn �

Introduction Oh, when someone sits there in the middle of our congregation and hears how many thousand Christian hearts are lifting their voice and giving honour, glory and praise with one mouth, one voice and one heart to God in psalms and hymns of praise, would his eyes not, as with Augustine, fill with tears? I must confess, and so must many of you, that again and again my heart fills with joy when I hear how our congregation, young and old, man and woman, performs its song in such a Christian manner and in one accord.1

These words come from a sermon entitled Gesang-Predigt (Sermon on Song), which Cunrad Dieterich, superintendent of Ulm, delivered at the local parish fair in 1622.2 He seems to have been proud of his parishioners, who could serve as a model of Lutheran congregational hymn singing. Yet, this was actually the only positive comment in a series of critical remarks about the current state of sacred music in Ulm, so it might well be the case that he intended to criticise them through hyperbolic praise.3 Recent studies have shown that, among early modern Lutherans, congregational hymn singing was generally much less of a simple success story than has traditionally been assumed. While the singing of hymns composed by Luther and other hymn writers might have contributed to the spread of the early Reformation in towns, the introduction of hymns into the liturgy was initially less successful, and in rural areas people remained reluctant to sing, for decades after the Reformation.4 Obviously, the early history of Protestant church music evolved less smoothly than Luther and other Reformers, who believed in the power of music, had envisaged. Cunrad

1 2

3 4

Quoted in J. Herl, Worship Wars in Early Lutheranism: Choir, Congregation, and Three Centuries of Conflict (Oxford, 2004), p. 165. Printed in C. Dieterich, Sonderbarer Predigten von vnterschiedenen Materien / Hiebevor zu Vlm im Münster gehalten [...] Erster Theil (Leipzig, 1632), pp. 208–36. The date of oral delivery is recorded by a marginal note of Ulm patrician Anton Schermar (1604–81) in his copy, today in the Stadtbibliothek Ulm, Sig. Smr 147.1, p. 208. Schermar highlighted this passage: ibid., pp. 227–9. Ibid., pp. 227–8. Herl, Worship Wars; S. Karant-Nunn, ‘“Sing unto the Lord”: An Anthropology of Singing and Not-Singing in the Reformation Era’, in H. Puff, U. Strasser and C. J. Wild (eds.), Cultures of Communication: Theologies of Media in Early Modern Europe and Beyond (Toronto, 2017), pp. 126–41. Cf. A. Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 40–54; R. Wagner Oettinger, Music as Propaganda in the German Reformation (Aldershot, 2001); I. Mager, ‘Geistliches Singen und Musizieren in lutherischen kirchen – nach ausgewählten norddeutschen Schul-, Kirchen- und Klosterordnungen vom 16. bis zum frühen 18. Jahrhundert’, in J. Arnold (ed.), Singen, beten, musizieren: Theologische Grundlagen der Kirchenmusik in Nord- und Mitteldeutschland zwischen Reformation und Pietismus (1530–1750) (Göttingen, 2014), pp. 109–24.

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Dieterich and other theologians of his generation shared their belief, despite the fact that, even a century after the Reformation, they still had to motivate their congregations to participate in the singing. It would be wrong, though, to conclude that people simply lagged behind in musical culture, although the evidence of visitations in the parishes seems to support such an interpretation. It has been suggested, for instance, that not singing could also be understood as a convenient and comparatively harmless means of popular protest against a Protestant elite seeking to discipline popular culture.5 Both interpretations are, however, based on an oversimplified model of a topdown development of Protestant church music in the early modern period, with Luther’s Wittenberg and Calvin’s Geneva at the centre and the rest of the Protestant world as peripheries under their diverging, but equally powerful, influence. This model has sidelined the multiplicity of approaches towards sacred music that were developed in the early decades of the Reformation in towns such as Basel and Strasbourg, to name only two examples which have recently attracted the attention of scholars. Both towns accommodated various theological and musical influences from outside, and themselves exerted considerable influence through the book market.6 Nor does this model help to explain what happened to the local practice of church music when, during the course of the sixteenth century, these alternative ways were gradually absorbed by Lutheran and Calvinist mainstreams.7 How did local members of the clergy communicate the musical implications of these ‘second Reformations’ to their parishioners and church musicians, and how did they react? If people were expected to convert from one Protestant musical culture to another, what effect did this have on the spiritual power that Protestant theologians ascribed to music? This chapter attempts to answer these questions by examining the development of theological teaching on music, and the practice of ecclesiastical music, in the free imperial city of Ulm in the first century following its Reformation in 1531. Already by 1524, the town council of Ulm had appointed Conrad Sam as evangelical preacher, and, by 1526, he had aligned himself with Huldrych Zwingli’s teaching on the Eucharist and had soon gathered many followers in town. In November 1530, Ulm’s male citizens decided by vote in the guilds to reject the Recess of the Diet of Augsburg. Instead of relying solely on the Zwinglian Sam, the town council invited three more moderate theologians from other towns to direct the introduction of reforms in Ulm – namely, Martin Bucer from Strasbourg, Johannes Oecolampadius from Basel, and Ambrosius Blarer from Constance.8 Unlike Zwingli, who had banned any sort of music from Zurich’s churches, these theolo-

5 6 7

8

Karant-Nunn, ‘Sing unto the Lord’, p. 136. K. H. Marcus, ‘Hymnody and Hymnals in Basel, 1526–1606’, The Sixteenth Century Journal, 32 (Autumn, 2001), pp. 723–41; D. Trocmé-Latter, The Singing of the Strasbourg Protestants, 1523–1541(Farnham, 2015). Marcus, ‘Hymnody’, pp. 733–41; Trocmé-Latter, Singing, pp. 252–3. Cf. also M. Laube, ‘“Hymnis Germanicis Davidis, Lutheri & aliorum piorum virorum”: Hymnbooks and Confessionalisation in Heidelberg, 1546–1620’, in M. Fischer, N. Haag and G. Haug-Moritz (eds.), Musik in neuzeitlichen Konfessionskulturen (16. bis 19. Jahrhundert). Räume – Medien – Funktionen (Sigmaringen, 2014), pp. 85–102. On the early Reformation in Ulm, see H. E. Specker and G. Weig (eds.), Die Einführung der Reformation in Ulm: Geschichte eines Bürgerentscheids (Ulm, 1981).

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gians made arrangements for the introduction of exclusively vocal church music in Ulm’s (at that time) only parish church, the Minster.9 Five years later, in 1536, Ulm signed the socalled Wittenberg Concord, a theological compromise between the towns in the German southwest influenced by Zwingli, on the one hand, and Lutherans in the north, on the other hand. In order to avoid a popular uprising, the town council published a declaration claiming that, regarding religious teaching, everything would remain the same.10 As far as church music was concerned, this was actually the case for several decades. Nonetheless, the town very gradually moved towards Lutheran confessional culture under its leading preacher Martin Frecht (1533–56), and especially under his successor, Superintendent Ludwig Rabus (1556–92), who in 1570 initiated the introduction of instrumental music and the building of a new organ in the Minster – forty years after the town’s Reformation.11 Meanwhile, many inhabitants remained faithful to Zwinglian teaching, and Protestant nonconformist theologians such as Caspar Schwenckfeld and Sebastian Franck attracted considerable numbers of followers within the town walls and in its territory, among both the political elite and the wider populace. There were, moreover, Catholic minorities in Ulm and Geislingen, one of the small towns in the territory.12 In the first half of the seventeenth century, Ulm then experienced another thrust towards the Lutheran mainstream under Superintendent Dieterich, who was quoted at the beginning of this chapter.13 This brief chronological outline indicates that Ulm’s long Reformation did not evolve smoothly: it began with a Zwinglian or upper German Reformation that was discontinued almost immediately after it had begun to take root. To make things worse, the following shift towards Lutheranism for political reasons was interrupted for four years due to the religious compromise imposed by Emperor Charles V (known as the Interim, 1548–52) and attempts to re-Catholicise the town. These were obviously anything but ideal circumstances for the development of a consistent confessional culture, and this had an impact on the practice and reception of sacred music in the town.14 At this point, a number of remarks on terminology are necessary. The modern sociological definition of conversion as an individual act based on the notion of an autonomous individual is not entirely applicable to the early modern period. It is therefore useful to distinguish analytically between the individual act of conversion and the formal change of confession. In the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, the term ‘conversion’ was

9 10 11

12 13 14

Marcus, ‘Hymnody’, pp. 729–30; Trocmé-Latter, Singing, pp. 36–42, 56–64. Specker and Weig (eds.), Einführung der Reformation, pp. 198–201. W.-U. Deetjen, ‘Licentiat Martin Frecht, Professor und Prädikant (1494–1556)’, in Specker and Weig (eds.), Einführung der Reformation, pp. 269–321; on Rabus, see S. Armer, Friedenswahrung, Krisenmanagement und Konfessionalisierung. Religion und Politik im Spannungsfeld von Rat, Geistlichen und Gemeinde in der Reichsstadt Ulm 1554–1629 (Ulm, 2015), pp. 95–101. For the concept of ‘confessional culture’, see T. Kaufmann, Konfession und Kultur: Lutherischer Protestantismus in der zweiten Hälfte des Reformationsjahrhunderts (Tübingen, 2006), pp. 14–16. Armer, Friedenswahrung, pp. 338–72. M. Hagenmaier, Predigt und Policey: Der gesellschaftspolitische Diskurs zwischen Kirche und Obrigkeit in Ulm 1614– 1639 (Baden-Baden, 1989). H. E. Specker, Ulm: Stadtgeschichte (Ulm, 1977), pp. 144–7.

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above all applied to conversions to Catholicism, as far as inner-Christian conversions were concerned. Protestant preachers consequently used ‘convert’ as a negative epithet, along with ‘apostate’ or ‘mamluk’. Besides that, there existed a more general understanding of ‘conversion’ that included transformations such as transubstantiation, the entering of monastic life, or the renunciation of an immoral way of life.15 Even if the evidence is unequally distributed, individual as well as collective acts of conversion can be found on all levels of society. Recent research has focused on conversion as social practice, asking how people communicated that they had converted, and analysing how people broke out of one milieu and were then integrated into another. Among the large variety of possible factors that motivated (or forced) people to convert, those aspects of religious life that could be perceived with one’s senses certainly played a considerable role, especially for the semi-literate or illiterate.16 Hence, singing hymns and listening to sacred music could both contribute on the path towards conversion and serve as a means of communicating the changes that had taken place.17 Can the term ‘conversion’ therefore be applied to the topic of this chapter? Ulm in the second half of the sixteenth century belonged to those areas of the Holy Roman Empire characterised by the co-existence of pluriform religious cultures, which also differed in their approaches to sacred music. Thus, people were confronted with religious alternatives, which could lead to indifference as well as conversions in various directions.18 A considerable number of Ulmers, for instance, were disappointed by the Reformation and joined Schwenckfeld’s conventicles. Schwenckfelders typically described their experience of conversion as the ‘living in’ or ‘writing in’ of Christ, but not as ‘conversion’.19 Nor was this term used in the context of Ulm’s preachers’ long-term campaign to Lutheranise the town and its surrounding territory from the 1550s. While the preachers differed in their perseverance and resorted to a variety of measures, ranging from repeated interviews to expulsions, the overall goal was to turn Zwinglians, Schwenckfelders, Anabaptists and Catholics into Lutherans. Preachers did not content themselves with enforced outward

15

16 17 18

19

U. Lotz-Heumann, J.-F. Missfelder and M. Pohlig, ‘Konversion und Konfession in der Frühen Neuzeit: Systematische Fragestellungen’, in Lotz-Heumann et al. (eds.), Konversion und Konfession in der Frühen Neuzeit (Gütersloh, 2007), pp. 11–32, here pp. 18, 21–2; A. Ryrie, Being Protestant in Reformation Britain (Oxford, 2013), pp. 436–41. Cf. also H. Bock, Konversionen in der frühneuzeitlichen Eidgenossenschaft: Zürich und Luzern im konfessionellen Vergleich (Epfendorf, 2009), pp. 11–26. Lotz-Heumann et al., ‘Konversion und Konfession’, pp. 24–6. Cf. Ryrie, Being Protestant, p. 88. Evidence from Ulm and its territory collected in J. Endriß, Die Ulmer Synoden und Visitationen der Jahre 1531–47 (Ulm, 1935); Endriß, Die Ulmer Kirchenvisitationen der Jahre 1557–1615 (Ulm, 1937). On the relationship between indifference and conversion, see N. Grochowina, ‘Bekehrungen und Indifferenz in Ostfriesland im 16. Jahrhundert’, in Lotz-Heumann et al. (eds.), Konversion und Konfession, pp. 243–70; cf. A. Schindling, ‘Konfessionalisierung und die Grenzen der Konfessionalisierbarkeit’, in Schindling and W. Ziegler (eds.), Die Territorien des Reichs im Zeitalter der Reformation und Konfessionalisierung. Land und Konfession 1500–1650, Vol. VII: Bilanz, Forschungsperspektiven, Register (Münster, 1997), pp. 9–45. C. Gritschke, ‘Via media’: Spiritualistische Lebenswelten und Konfessionalisierung: Das süddeutsche Schwenckfeldertum im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 2006), pp. 79–83.

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conversion, though. This is why, even as late as the 1590s, Ulm’s Superintendent Johannes Veesenbeck (in office 1590–1612) was convinced that ‘the faith does not suffer compulsion, for it would only make people become hypocrites’.20 What mattered most in the eyes of these theologians was the correct understanding of the Eucharist, but Cunrad Dieterich was not the only one who regarded sacred music as a means to experience and express religious belonging. Finally, this chapter will also consider how the sacred space of Ulm’s parish church, the Minster, was adapted (or converted, one might say) several times to different liturgical requirements, at first during the Reformation of 1531, then under Lutheran leadership. Consequently, ‘conversion’ may serve as an analytical term, albeit one not used by local contemporaries in these contexts. The argument of this chapter is divided into four parts. The first two parts are devoted to the early decades of the Reformation in Ulm, considering the Reformers’ initiatives and regulations concerning sacred music, and their impact – as far as it can be gauged from visitation records, the protocols of commissions, and contemporary eye-witness accounts, respectively. The gradual implementation of Lutheran musical culture in Ulm will be the subject of the two final parts. The First Acoustic Reformation in Ulm in 1531: Initiatives and Regulations In the late summer of 1529, Ulm’s town council requested an advisory opinion from the preachers of Strasbourg regarding ecclesiastical reform. As regards sacred music, the preachers reported that in Strasbourg it was prescribed to sing psalms, ‘as they are in print’, before and after the sermon, adding that several times in the year these psalms should be explained to the congregation, so that people would understand what they sang and could be diverted from licentious songs.21 Two years later, when the guilds of Ulm had voted against the Recess of the Diet of Augsburg and the Strasbourg preacher Martin Bucer was commissioned to write a church order for Ulm, he devoted an entire chapter to singing and prayer.22 Bucer began by stating that, even in Apostolic times, Christians were wont to sing psalms and spiritual songs (‘gaistliche lieder’) just as it had been practised in the Old Testament, in order to wake and stir up their souls towards God. This is why, in town and country, schoolmasters and parish priests ought to teach children to sing German psalms and hymns; over the course of time, the elders would learn them in this way, too. But, in order to avoid difficulties, no hymns should be allowed in church except those that were in accordance with Scripture, and had been or would be accepted by the board of examiners. In the chapter on holy communion, Bucer ordered the Creed to be sung explicitly by the

20

21 22

Armer, Friedenswahrung, pp. 347 (quotation; referring to Catholic recusants in Geislingen), 379–84. Armer, like Grochowina in ‘Bekehrungen und Indifferenz’ – but not as explicitly as she does – prefers the term ‘Bekehrung’, instead of ‘Konversion’. M. Bucer, Opera Omnia, Series I: Deutsche Schriften, Vol. IV, ed. R. Stupperich (Gütersloh, 1975), p. 369. For contemporary circumstances in Strasbourg, see Trocmé-Latter, Singing, pp. 43–114. For the following: E. Sehling, Die evangelischen Kirchenordnungn des XVI. Jahrhunderts, Vol. XVII: Baden-Württemberg IV, ed. S. Arend (Tübingen, 2009), p. 140.

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‘church’ (‘die kirch’, i.e. not the clergy alone), and when bread and wine were dispensed, the congregation was supposed to sing one or several psalms.23 A complementary order of worship, published later in 1531 by Conrad Sam, the preacher in the town council’s service, recommended the singing of either a psalm, the ‘Passion’ (probably Sebald Heyden’s hymn ‘O Mensch, bewein Dein Sünden groß’, first published in Nuremberg in 1525) or another hymn of praise. Sam’s order of communion ends with a reference to psalms of praise.24 When Bucer’s and Sam’s orders were published, Ulm did not yet have its own hymn book, which was printed shortly afterwards by the Ulm printer Hans Grüner. Unfortunately, the fragments of roughly half of the sheets which had survived into the second half of the nineteenth century now seem to be lost. Nevertheless, it is documented that almost half of the forty-three hymns (thirty-three of them were rhymed psalms) originated from the Strasbourg hymn writers Ludwig Öler, Wolfgang Dachstein, Heinrich Vogtherr and Matthäus Greiter. Probably, the most recent hymn book from Strasbourg, printed in 1530 by Wolfgang Capito, served as a model, since more than two-thirds of the hymns in Ulm’s first post-Reformation hymn book had already been printed in it.25 When a second hymn book of roughly double the length was printed in Ulm in the early 1540s, the predominant influence of Strasbourg was complemented by new input from Constance, as revealed by one hymn by Ambrosius Blarer, as well as the succession of hymns resembling the Constance Nüw gsangbüchle (1540), which are contained on a single sheet of printer’s waste recovered from a sixteenth-century book binding.26 Evidently, sacred music in Ulm in the first years after the Reformation in 1531 came under the influence of Strasbourg and Constance. Both hymn books were clearly designed for use in church because each hymn was provided with a note of when it was to be sung during the service (e.g., before or after the sermon on Sundays, or before prayer in weekday services).27 Bucer’s emphasis on the legitimacy and positive spiritual effect of hymn singing in church contrasted sharply with Zwingli’s teaching. Conrad Sam, Zwingli’s otherwise devout follower in Ulm, had to comply with Bucer’s regulations. Ulm’s acoustic Reformation differed clearly from Luther’s approach towards sacred music as well, although the hymn book of 1531 contained nine of his hymns.28 For, since the Reformation, instrumental music was no longer played in the Minster. Furthermore, bell ringing was reduced to an absolute minimum.29 The Reformers advised the town council to remove the two organs in the Minster, but no contemporary record is left of what exactly happened to them. Almost 100 years later, Cunrad Dieterich, in a sermon on

23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Ibid., p. 144. Ibid., p. 178. Cf. B. Breitenbruch, ‘Gesangbuch und geistliches Lied in Ulm bis zum Ende der Reichsstadtzeit’, Ulm und Oberschwaben, 59 (2015), pp. 110–56, at p. 112. Breitenbruch, ‘Gesangbuch und geistliches Lied’, p. 122. Ibid., pp. 122–6. Ibid., pp. 115–19, 124. Breitenbruch, ‘Gesangbuch und geistliches Lied’, p. 119. P. Hahn, ‘The Reformation of the Soundscape: Bell Ringing in Early Modern Lutheran Germany’, German History, 33/4 (2015), pp. 525–45, at p. 531.

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organ music, recounted a story of their removal which is so dramatic that it hardly seems credible if compared to the orderly way in which the fifty-two altarpieces were removed from the Minster at the same time. According to Dieterich, the greater organ was brought down by means of ropes and chains pulled by horses.30 In any case, Protestant parishioners in Ulm did not hear any organ or other instrumental music in their church for almost fifty years – except for a short interlude during the Interim. The removal of the altarpieces was, first of all, a precautionary measure against acts of idolatry, but it was also intended to redirect the parishioners’ attention towards the new, uniform liturgy, including its centrepiece, the sermon, which replaced the multiplicity of parallel Masses. The result was a shift of emphasis from visual to aural phenomena, as well as a transformation of the Minster’s sacred soundscape.31 How did parishioners in town and country react to all these changes? The Impact of the Reformation on the Practice of Sacred Music in Ulm, 1531–1552 For the first decades after the Reformation, there is greater evidence of people’s reactions to these new regulations for Ulm’s territory than for the town itself. From 1531 until 1544, six visitations and synods were held, at which the three town councillors in charge of parish affairs and the head of clergy, Martin Frecht, interviewed parish priests, schoolmasters, bailiffs and judges, as well as representatives of the parish community of each parish in the territory. The interviewees were either summoned to Ulm (to a synod), or were interrogated in their villages.32 Most of the visitation questionnaires – like elsewhere – contained the inquiry whether the schoolmaster taught his pupils to sing psalms, and whether the congregation also participated.33 In a small number of villages, the introduction of psalm singing in church seems to have been an instant success, as congregations were reported to be willing to sing corporately as early as 1531/2.34 In two villages, the local bailiff set a positive example: the bailiff of Ballendorf stood in the chancel during the service and led the psalm singing himself, and the children of the bailiff of Nellingen were the first who sang psalms.35 But parishes where congregations did not sing along in the 1530s were far more numerous. The visitors differentiated between those who did not sing eagerly and those who did not sing at all, and attempted to find out their reasons.36 In Langenau, there was a parish priest who still adhered to traditional rites in 1532 and refused to sing psalms, whereas the local preach30 31

32 33 34 35 36

G. Litz, Die reformatorische Bilderfrage in den schwäbischen Reichsstädten (Tübingen, 2007), pp. 119–20. Cf. R. W. Sterl, ‘Der Orgelbauer Kaspar Sturm in Ulm (1576–1599)’, Ulm und Oberschwaben, 38 (1967), pp. 109–31, at p. 111. P. Hahn, ‘Sensing Sacred Space: Ulm Minster, the Reformation, and Parishioners’ Sensory Perception, c.1470 to 1640’, Archive for Reformation History, 105 (2014), pp. 55–91; cf. C. Grosse, ‘Places of Sanctification: The Liturgical Sacrality of Genevan Reformed Churches, 1535–1566’, in W. Coster and A. Spicer (eds.), Sacred Space in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 60–80; M. Milner, The Senses and the English Reformation (Farnham, 2011), pp. 298–9. Summaries of the visitation protocols in Endriß, Synoden und Visitationen. Cf. Karant-Nunn, ‘Sing unto the Lord’, p. 127. Endriß, Synoden und Visitationen, pp. 51, 59, 74 (1531/2); 106 (1539). Ibid., pp. 62 (1532), 168–9 (1539). Ibid., pp. 93, 97, 104 (1535).

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er did sing them, but people showed more allegiance to the former. In Stubersheim, the preacher did not care about the psalms, and a schoolmaster who could have led the singing was absent in 1535.37 In several places, schoolmasters or sextons were reported to be bad at singing.38 In Langenau, the schoolmaster only knew two or three different psalms, which he sang throughout the year. In Geislingen, two witnesses complained in 1537 that the schoolmaster did not sing any psalms with his pupils, but only the hymn ‘Komm Heiliger Geist’. He, moreover, did not come to church at all with his pupils during the winter, whereas, before, they had at least come in order to sing a psalm and then returned back to the heated school. The schoolmaster of Nellingen was often too drunk to sing. The preacher of Scharenstetten said that his former sexton had been a good singer, but the one employed in 1539 was bad at singing, and in Hörvelsingen, people did not sing psalms any more in 1543/4, since the schoolmaster had left the village.39 Obviously, the practice of singing psalms could get lost very quickly if conditions were unfavourable. In some places, parents were unwilling to send their children to the schoolmaster. The preacher of Geislingen complained in 1543/4 that, in his town, many parents thought that psalm singing was heretical, while they regarded dance songs as praiseworthy and let their daughters sing them on church holidays. As a consequence, no psalm singing at all could be heard in the town. Five years earlier, however, it was reported that people sang hymns and licentious songs in confusion in the tavern.40 A remarkable incident is reported from the village of Nellingen in 1535, where an old man suddenly sang ‘Christ ist erstanden’ (Christ has risen) on his own during the Easter service, and then struck the preacher in the face with a crucifix. This shows that Protestants were not the only ones to use hymns as acoustic weapons during the early Reformation.41 In the face of this situation, the three members of the town council in charge of parish affairs, and Martin Frecht, decided after the visitation of 1543/4 to put more effort into the maintenance of schools, and that the youth had to be urged to sing the psalms even in the remotest village chapels. Yet, when, during the same visitation, the preacher, the bailiff and a representative of the parish community of Altenstadt requested that a schoolmaster be sent to their village, their wish was denied by the authorities – perhaps simply because there was no one to be sent there.42 It seems, therefore, that the slow implementation of congregational singing in the territory of Ulm was at least in part due to a lack of capable teachers and cantors. Organisational problems seem to have impeded the development of Protestant music practice within the town walls of Ulm, too. According to the minutes of the board of

37 38 39 40 41 42

Ibid., pp. 71–2, 92–3. Ibid., pp. 105–6, 151. Ibid., pp. 96, 124, 137–9, 163, 176. Ibid., pp. 55, 138, 147, 172, 185–7. Ibid., p. 96; cf. J.-F. Missfelder, ‘Akustische Reformation: Lübeck 1529’, Historische Anthropologie, 20 (2012), pp. 108–21. Endriß, Synoden und Visitationen, pp. 205, 208.

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religious affairs, some of the choirboys (whose job it was to lead the congregation in psalm singing) ran away in 1537 because their provision with food was bad and their clothing insufficient. Two years later, one entry records the plan to hire a ‘good, skilful cantor’, which at the very least shows that the authorities may have valued such an appointment.43 Despite these problems, the reform of sacred music seems to have left its mark in Ulm. When, in 1548, the liturgical compromise between Catholics and Protestants known as the Interim was imposed by Charles V, some people in Ulm protested against its introduction in the Minster by not singing.44 The shoemaker Sebastian Fischer, who was the nephew to the Zwinglian preacher Conrad Sam, witnessed the first Interim Mass in the Minster, which was celebrated by Antoine Perrenot de Granvelle, the bishop of Arras, in the presence of Charles V, on the feast day of the Ascension (15 August) in 1548. Fischer noticed that ‘all ceremonies were used such as organs, singing, candles, and the like’.45 Six weeks later, on St Michael’s Day (29 September), the pupils of the Latin school in Ulm were required to sing Mass for the first time. According to Fischer’s account, those pupils who received alms from the town council had to sing ‘whether they liked it or not’, but those who could afford to quit their service were allowed to do so. The Latin schoolmaster himself refused to sing Mass and Vespers and had to be replaced by someone else.46 In 1549, another High Mass was celebrated in the presence of Philip of Spain, with ‘singing and organ playing’. The fact that organ playing is mentioned twice indicates that, during the years of the Interim, a provisional organ (perhaps a portable one) had been installed, which was apparently played in alternation with the choir. Fischer disapproved of this kind of sacred music for theological reasons. His account of another Mass in the same year sheds some light on the views of those who were against the new Interim liturgy: ‘In the chancel the doctor [Adam Bartholome, the Interim parish priest] sang in Latin before the altar, and the Latin schoolmaster with his pupils sang in Latin, too (but quite a few Germans [teütschen] regarded this as ungraceful [nitt fein] because they wanted to know what was sung).’47 It is hard to gauge how representative Fischer’s critical stance was, but it seems improbable that he was the only one of his generation who had already embraced the position of Ulm’s reformers regarding sacred music. Fischer also mentioned that hardly anyone except the ‘papists’ appreciated the rumbling matins which Bartholome introduced in Holy Week of 1550, when, instead of music, the parishioners were invited to make noises in the dark church at the end of the service.48 It was probably not just the adherents of the Reformation who were shocked when, during the Interim years, the Imperial lansquenets were mustered several times in the Minster, whose vaults reverberated with the noise of 43 44 45

46 47 48

Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6872/1], fols. 34, 55. Cf. Karant-Nunn, ‘Sing unto the Lord’, p. 136. Sebastian Fischers Chronik besonders von Ulmischen Sachen, ed. Karl Gustav Veesenmeyer (Ulm, 1896), fol. 263v, cf. fols. 259v–60; translations are all mine. For a detailed analysis of Fischer’s chronicle, see P. Hahn, ‘The Emperor’s Boot, or: Perceiving Public Rituals in the Urban Reformation’, German History, 35 (2017), pp. 362–80. Fischers Chronik, fol. 276v. Fischers Chronik, fols. 336v, 344v. Fischers Chronik, fol. 345r. Cf. Hahn, ‘Sensing Sacred Space’, p. 75.

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their shootings.49 Obviously, the post-Reformation soundscape of the Minster was subject to acoustic irritations of various kinds. Meanwhile, another group had separated from the mainstream of the Protestant church in Ulm and presumably stayed away from most services in the Minster. The Silesian nonconformist Caspar von Schwenckfeld, who had visited Ulm for the first time in 1533, was a frequent guest in the household of the mayor Bernhard Besserer, from 1534 until his enforced departure in 1539. Schwenckfeld’s most important friends in Ulm were the six children of Helena Streicher, a merchant’s widow. The Streicher family – above all, the two daughters Katharina and Agatha – formed the centre of the local community of Schwenckfeld’s adherents and, after his departure, became an important node in the Schwenckfelders’ regional network of correspondence.50 The community in Ulm at first seems to have used the hymn book of the Bohemian Brethren, who were also Schwenckfeld’s followers, as it was printed three times in Ulm in 1538/9. From 1544 onwards, they preferred a manuscript collection of hymns which has been preserved in a copy from 1554. The text of at least one hymn in this collection has been written by Agatha Streicher, which begins with the lines, ‘Wake up, my soul, with psalms, praying and singing’.51 How much the Schwenckfelders, who met in private homes for their conventicles, actually sang is hard to evaluate. It has been suggested that they instead read the hymns silently, as, in their surviving correspondence, which also touched on their meetings, the singing of psalms or hymns is never mentioned. Some of the hymns in the manuscript collection even lacked indications regarding the corresponding melody.52 Maybe the Schwenckfelders did not sing in their homes because they feared they could be heard from the outside, and only sang along when they attended services in church in order to dissimulate their orthodoxy.53 When seven Schwenckfelders were summoned before the board of religious affairs in Ulm in 1544, Katharina Streicher responded courageously and reproached the local preachers for their emphasis on ceremonies and outward appearance ‘which she could neither believe in nor comply with’.54 It would be wrong, however, to conclude that Schwenckfelders like her did not believe in the power of music at all. Several years before, in 1539, Katharina Streicher had corresponded with the Silesian theologian Valentin Crautwald.55 Crautwald was the author of a brief guide to catechetical instruction which was edited by Schwenckfeld in 1534. In this tract, he recommended that pupils be taught to sing the psalms in German, as well as the hymns based on the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer, and encouraged parish priests to compose hymns on the fundamentals

49 50 51 52 53

54 55

Fischers Chronik, fol. 340v. Gritschke, ‘Via media’, pp. 39–42. Breitenbruch, ‘Gesangbuch und geistliches Lied’, pp. 126–30. Gritschke, ‘Via media’, pp. 121, 157 (footnote 33). Cf. the situation of Protestants in Augsburg during the Thirty Years’ War: A. Fisher, Music and Religious Identity in Counter-Reformation Augsburg, 1580–1630 (Aldershot, 2004), pp. 282–4. On Schwenckfelders’ strategies of dissimulation, see Gritschke, ‘Via media’, pp. 337, 341–2. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [8984/II], fol. 535r. Gritschke, ‘Via media’, pp. 84–7.

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of the Christian faith themselves. Crautwald emphasised that the sexton or schoolmaster ought to sing the psalms carefully and not just superficially. He moreover complained that the Magnificat, the Benedictus, the ‘Te Deum’, and other (in his eyes) laudable and useful hymns had been allowed to fall into oblivion among the people, even though the old and the young normally loved to sing. In order to make people sing Christian hymns again, Crautwald suggested that the preachers should go to weddings and church fairs and sing hymns to the peasants, and teach urban parishes the psalms one by one.56 In his surviving letters to Katharina Streicher, he did not write about this issue. Nonetheless, Crautwald’s advice shows that, like the Reformers of Ulm, Schwenckfelders thought that the singing of hymns could contribute to converting people to a Christian life – or, in Crautwald’s words, to foster ‘Christian discipline’ and ‘improvement’.57 In the two decades before the middle of the sixteenth century, therefore, a number of different processes took place in Ulm and its territory that could be interpreted as conversions. At least in some villages, psalm singing gained ground, but it was dependent above all on adequate provision with, and the quality of, schoolteachers, as the authorities soon realised. Conversion to Protestantism through psalm singing obviously did not happen spontaneously, and a considerable number of people did not sing along, preferring instead the traditional liturgy. In Ulm itself, the choir seems to have represented the main problem. By the late 1540s, however, the new liturgical practices, including the singing of vernacular psalms and hymns, had settled in enough to thwart the attempts of the Interim clergy to win people like shoemaker Fischer, the Latin schoolmaster, and the choirboys over to liturgical chant in Latin. At the same time, the Schwenckfelder community fell between the cracks, and continued to stand apart from the other groups until 1582, when they were finally expelled from the town. By mid-century, most inhabitants of Ulm and its territory had probably experienced some sort of group conversion (or several) which was associated with a particular form of sacred music practice. Even if it is difficult to gauge the extent to which music contributed to these conversions, it has become clear that, to Ulm’s urban residents and those in the surrounding countryside, setting oneself apart from another’s musical culture did matter, be it the new psalm singing, the reintroduced liturgical chant, or any form of prescribed formal worship.58 This, however, did not make the reforms of sacred music that were to come in the second half of the sixteenth century any easier. Lutheranising sacred music, phase I: choral experiments and organ building In the late summer of 1552, in the middle of the so-called Margrave War between the Protestant Estates and Emperor Charles V, the three members of the town council of Ulm 56 57 58

Letters and Treatises of Caspar Schwenckfeld von Ossig 1534 – January 1538, ed. C. D. Hartranft, Corpus Schwenckfeldianorum 5 (Leipzig, 1916), pp. 232–3. Ibid. Cf. also J. Pollmann, ‘“Hey Ho, Let the Cup Go Round!” Singing for Reformation in the Sixteenth Century’, in H. Schilling and I. G. Tóth (eds.), Cultural Exchange in Early Modern Europe, Vol. I: Religion and Cultural Exchange in Europe, 1400–1700 (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 294–316, at pp. 315–16.

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who were responsible for parish affairs were worried about the lack of discipline among the choristers in the Minster. On 9 August, one week after the Treaty of Passau had been signed, and while fighting was still going on in Ulm’s territory, the local schoolmaster was requested to make sure that his pupils behaved more modestly and piously during services in church, and that they sang in a more orderly fashion and stopped chatting.59 Compared to the political events which ultimately led to the legal recognition of Protestants in the Holy Roman Empire, the schoolmaster’s lack of control of his naughty choristers certainly may seem irrelevant. Yet minor problems like these continued to hamper the initiatives of the two Lutheran superintendents, Ludwig Rabus (from 1556) and his successor Johannes Veesenbeck (in office 1590–1612), to improve sacred music in Ulm and to align it with Lutheran musical culture – they were like a spanner in the works of musical confessionalisation. The superintendents were subject to the directives of the town council, which frequently intervened directly in musical issues. In 1554, Ulm introduced the liturgy prescribed by the Württemberg church order, which remained valid throughout the early modern period, thereby aligning itself liturgically with the neighbouring territory. Its unique characteristic was a weekly catechetical service before the main service on Sundays, which consisted of readings from the catechism and the singing of hymns. By the turn of the century, this pre-service still retained its simple musical character, while congregational hymn singing was almost superseded by other musical forms in the main service, as we will see.60 Immediately after taking over the superintendence, Rabus convened a general meeting of the town’s preachers. While they touched on music only in passing, they made it clear that congregational song was indeed supposed to have a spiritual effect, stating that the cantor and the choirboys ought to lead the congregation more slowly so that ‘the spirit, which is supposed to sing along, is roused more effectively’. One year later, after the first post-Interim visitation, Rabus suggested that, where congregational singing had fallen into oblivion, parish priests should move people to sing again, but without bothering them too much with it. The young deserved special attention, and the preachers and their households were supposed to set a good example. In 1558, the board of religious affairs then issued a restrictive (and probably realistic) regulation, limiting the singing to one hymn before the sermon and one after. Unknown hymns were to be avoided except when a new one had to be practised.61 Another convent of preachers in 1560 stated that the schoolmasters did not give the beat regularly, that the choirboys were too young, and that they ran out of church after the hymn preceding the sermon. Furthermore, the preachers criticised that the hymns were also being sung too slowly by then. Obviously, the practice of

59 60

61

Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6840], fol. 15; Specker, Ulm: Stadtgeschichte, pp. 138–9, 147–8. F. Fritz, ‘Ulmische Kirchengeschichte vom Interim bis zum Dreißigjährigen Krieg (1548–1612)’, parts 1–6, Blätter für Württembergische Kirchengeschichte N. F., 35, 36, 38 (1931, 1932, 1943): part 2, pp. 174–6; part 6, p. 82. For this process, see Herl, Worship Wars, pp. 107–29. Fritz, ‘Ulmische Kirchengeschichte’, part 2, pp. 186, 199.

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singing hymns still had not become established with any stability even thirty years after the Reformation in the town.62 This is why, from 1561 onwards, Rabus embarked on a long-term initiative to reform sacred music in the Minster. First of all, the schoolmaster of the German school was dismissed as choral director and replaced by a teacher from the Latin school. Thirty to forty pupils from the Latin school were to be selected as choristers for the Sunday services, while the pupils from the German school were assigned the task of singing in the weekday services. Apparently, the German schoolmaster protested against this change, which he might have regarded as degrading, as a few days later he was rebuked for his defiant response and inappropriate behaviour towards the councillor in charge.63 The pupils seem to have been required to sing from memory, since a lectern for the choir was commissioned as late as 1565.64 A number of entries in the minutes of the board of religious affairs from 1567 reveal that the musical provision was still far from ideal: in April, a good singer was being sought for the weekday services; in July, the Latin schoolmaster was told that the two boys he had selected as precentors were unsuitable as their voices were too small and they sang incomprehensibly; in August, the cantor was criticised for singing too long, and it was suggested that he should stand in a higher position so that everyone could see and hear him better.65 In Ulm’s territory, the regular visitations after 1557 document less concern about psalm singing than before the Interim, but the few remarks touching on music convey a mixed impression. In 1567, the village of Göttingen requested a great hymn book and a lectern so that psalms could be sung together with the congregation – just two years after one had been made for the Minster. In Geislingen, the schoolmaster was supplied with the music for the most important psalms in 1586, and received the order to sing from them. In the village of Langenau, the congregation was censured in 1602 for standing outside church chatting while the schoolmaster sang inside, and for rushing in noisily as soon as he began with the hymn ‘Komm, heiliger Geist’ just before the sermon.66 Up to this point, musical practice in Ulm had not yet departed from the upper German model: the singing of psalms and hymns in unison, supported by cantors and choristers, but without the accompaniment of any instruments. Despite the manifest difficulties with the choir’s performance, no one had called for an organ or other instruments to assist the choristers. One has to keep in mind, though, that organs had originally been played in alternation with the choir, while the accompaniment of hymns was just coming into fashion at that time.67 In February 1570, Superintendent Rabus then suddenly decided to jump on the bandwagon and suggested to the town council that they launch a new

62 63 64 65 66 67

Ibid., part 2, p. 206. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6874], fols. 66, 68. Ibid., fol. 124. Ibid., fols. 152, 159, 162. Endriß, Die Ulmer Kirchenvisitationen, pp. 45, 51, 59. Herl, Worship Wars, pp. 131–4.

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Figure 7.1a Miriam. Dorsal reliefs in the choirstalls of Ulm Minster. Carved in oak by Jörg Syrlin the Elder, 1469-1474. © Stadtarchiv Ulm.

instrumental music programme in his church. Writing in his own, idiosyncratic hand, he filled more than five folio pages with quotations from the Bible (all but one from the Old Testament), the church fathers, and the reformers Martin Luther, Philip Melanchthon and Martin Bucer, all supporting the legitimacy of music in divine service and emphasising its power to move people’s hearts towards devotion. He tacitly ignored that most of the quotations referred to vocal music alone. Among the few examples of instrumental music he could cite were King David as a harp player, and Miriam, the sister of Moses and Aaron, beating the drum. In the choirstalls of the Minster, by then 100 years old, both were represented as dorsal reliefs (see Figure 7.1).68 Rabus had to admit, moreover, that ‘dear musica

68

D. Gropp, Das Ulmer Chorgestühl und Jörg Syrlin der Ältere: Untersuchungen zu Architektur und Bildwerk (Berlin, 1999), p. 123.

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Figure 7.1b King David. Dorsal reliefs in the choirstalls of Ulm Minster. Carved in oak by

Jörg Syrlin the Elder, 1469-1474. © Stadtarchiv Ulm.

with song and all sorts of instruments’ had been abused in the past in order to ‘serve the pope’s atrocity and idolatry’. But, right at the beginning of evangelical teaching, music had been ‘purified and preserved’ and put into practice in the ‘right evangelical churches’; just now, it was being reintroduced in those churches where ‘stormy Zwinglianism had torn down all good order’.69 For Rabus, the reintroduction of instrumental music was therefore a clear expression of the break with the Zwinglian or upper German tradition of Ulm’s Reformation which he intended to push through, and must be seen in context with his wholesale campaign against religious dissenters.70

69 70

Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [1597], fols. 1–7. Cf. Armer, Friedenswahrung, pp. 352–72.

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The town council supported Rabus’s initiative to introduce such music in the Minster ‘as is practised in other towns’, as the minutes record.71 In 1571, plans were made to install a new organ in the Minster. For this purpose, the town council obtained bids from several organ builders, which were then evaluated by the superintendent of Stuttgart, Lucas Osiander (1543–1604), who was renowned in the region for his expertise in organ building.72 Due to rising prices and a shift of the council’s attention towards social welfare, the project was abandoned early in 1572.73 Instead, the board of religious affairs decided to let the five town pipers play trombones and cornets every Sunday in the main service and on holy days, for which each of them was to be paid 12 fl. annually. As the minutes of the board meetings reveal, this was regarded as a provisional solution, for several patrician members of the town council from the Schad and Schermar families, who were regarded as ‘versed in this art’, were asked to deliberate how to improve sacred music.74 They had good reason, for, even by December 1571, one of the town pipers had turned out to be unable to play the trombone, and the councillors hence asked the cantor whether three instead of four trombones would do just as well. The town pipers were admonished to follow the cantor’s instructions, behave well and not to make a fool of themselves, especially when foreign guests attended the service. One year later, the councillors complained that the town pipers were lazy and did not practise their music, either during the rehearsals or at home. The town pipers for their part criticised the cantor for beating time irregularly.75 These problems notwithstanding, they were the first to play instrumental music in the Minster church for forty years. As regards choral music in the Minster, a number of issues needed to be regulated, from the commissioning of new music for several voices down to the supervision of the choirboys. Exerting discipline over them seems to have been even more problematic than the town pipers, as was already mentioned above.76 For reasons of social tact, the board for religious affairs demanded that burghers’ (i.e., patricians’) sons were to be punished more leniently than the other boys.77 The schoolmaster in charge of them, Lienhart Widman (or Waidman), was expected to write some of the music himself, since he was paid explicitly for the ‘writing and performance of hymns’ (gsäng).78 In 1573, the councillors commissioned the composition of fifteen psalms and hymns from Ludwig Daser, who was then master of the music at the ducal court in Stuttgart. Another member of the court chapel, the tenor Nikolaus Grien, also sent his compositions to Ulm.79 Two years later, the local 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79

Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [3531], no. 15, fol. 445. Sterl, ‘Kaspar Sturm’, pp. 111–12. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6875], fols. 86 (15 Jan. 1572), 92 (21 Mar. 1572). For the background, see Armer, Friedenswahrung, pp. 52–89. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6875], fol. 93. On the town pipers of Ulm, see S. Schure, Die Geschichte des Stadtmusikantentums in Ulm (1388–1840) (Ulm, 2007). Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6875], fols. 81, 106 (8 Dec. 1572). Ibid., fol. 106. Ibid., fol. 58 (25 Mar. 1571). Ibid., fols. 80–1. Fritz, ‘Ulmische Kirchengeschichte’, part 6, p. 89.

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cantor was requested to ‘compose’ a setting of Psalm 128 and another four of the ‘most necessary’ psalms.80 In general, though, the choice of hymns for the Sunday services was left to the cantor and organist. In 1571, the councillors had voiced the idea that the Minster preachers ought to agree upon the choice of hymns for the entire year (as had been the case in the 1530s) in order to make sure that they corresponded to the biblical texts which were read, and also to give the choirboys and town pipers enough time to rehearse them. But the preachers were obviously unwilling to do so, for, as late as 1579, no plan had yet been drawn up. Instead, the organist and cantor were required to determine the choice of hymns for the Sunday services in good time.81 The quality of choral singing still did not please the councillors entirely. After an initial test phase in 1571, the cantor Lienhard Widman was employed on a permanent basis, but in 1575 he was told to employ only the ‘best boys’ for the music in church, while at the same time to make sure that the choir still had the same sonority as before. Those who were not good enough for the choral service, nonetheless, ought to be taught to sing at school.82 Later, in the 1580s, the schoolmaster was allowed to receive hymn books no longer used in church, for this purpose.83 Meanwhile, choral music in Ulm seems to have acquired a model status in the region, for in 1575 the mayor of Memmingen requested permission to let the hymn and psalm settings sung in Ulm be copied, because he ‘intended to launch a musica in their church’. The request was granted as soon as the consent of the composer, Ludwig Caspar from Stuttgart, had been obtained.84 Furthermore, the minutes of the boards of religious affairs and church building hint at experiments with the positioning of the choir. In December 1571, the councillors in charge pointed out that it might be better to position the entire choir on one side and not, as had been practised initially, divided into two choirs singing from either side of the chancel. In September 1572, the caretaker of the Minster building was ordered to inspect the choir platform (stand) and make suggestions about how it could be improved.85 Unfortunately, these sources are silent on the positioning of the town pipers. Nor do we know whether they played alternately, or colla parte, with the choir. In 1579, when the new organ had finally been built on the western end of the nave, the time of their playing regularly in church was over anyway, for the town council was keen on saving money. In order to save their total annual salary of 60 fl., it was decided to let them play only on high church holidays, for which they were paid 14 kreuzer per person and occasion. The councillors intended to cut down the costs of the choir, too, thinking that not all of the fifty choirboys were ‘needed to the organ’ anymore. This indicates that, by now at least, choir and instrumentalists – and especially the organ – were singing and playing together.86 80 81 82 83 84 85 86

Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6844], fols. 2 (Feb. 1575), 15 (Aug. 1575). Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6875], fols. 81 (Dec. 1571), 218–19 (1 Apr. and 1 July 1579). Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6844], fol. 2 (Feb. 1575). Ibid., fol. 200 (1582). Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6875], fol. 132. Ibid., fol. 81 (Dec. 1571); A [6873], fol. 54 (12 Sept. 1572). Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6875], fol. 219 (1 July 1579). Cf. Herl, Worship Wars, pp. 130–51.

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Figure 7.2 Interior of Ulm Minster, showing the organ of 1576–8 and 1595/9. Lithograph by Auguste Mathieu,

c.1845.

The new organ itself, built in 1576–8 by Caspar Sturm from Munich, was one of the first major instruments in southern Germany (see Figure 7.2). It had a total of twenty-three stops on three manuals and pedal, including two trombones and fashionable, mannerist

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special stops like birdsong and kettle drums.87 After an initial phase of enthusiasm had passed, the maintenance of the organ and its costs became a major bone of contention between organists, organ builders and the town council, which culminated in litigation before an imperial commission in 1597–9.88 Nor did the Minster parish have luck with its first organists. Wolff Widman, appointed in November 1578 with a salary of 300 fl. plus free housing and payments in kind, as well as exemption from taxation and defence duties, left Ulm again a year later.89 His successor, Christoph Rintzke from Braunau, stayed for sixteen years but proved to be a drunkard and troublemaker.90 Organ playing in the Minster was subject to certain limitations, though. It was not permitted during Lent, when the cantor was prescribed to sing the hymns with the choirboys a cappella. In April 1579, the board for church building also reminded the organist of the prohibition on letting anyone into the organ loft without official permission.91 Outside of regular services, moreover, playing the organ was strictly regulated: whoever wanted to hear it being played at his or her wedding, for instance, had to apply for permission from the board of church building, in advance. For the first couple of years, there are only two applications (and permissions) recorded, though, both from doctors. The new musical instrument at first seems to have appealed to university-educated burghers, before it became more popular in the seventeenth century, as we shall see.92 At the same time, the organist was told to choose pupils from the Latin school whom he regarded as talented, so they could learn to play the organ.93 The mid-1580s then saw a reform of music teaching at the Latin school. Since the schoolmasters had observed that a number of pupils had attended lessons for years without learning anything, they developed a system similar to the journeyman’s examination in the guilds, whereby those who passed it could ‘make themselves free’ from the obligation to attend the three weekly hours of music tuition. By this means, the teachers thought to motivate pupils to better learning. Furthermore, they issued a precise regulation for one-hour music lessons. Firstly, the teacher ought to begin with a quarter of an hour of theoretical instruction based on the Compendium musicae by Heinrich Faber, a widespread elementary music book first published in Leipzig in 1552. Secondly, for another quarter of an hour, a prescribed piece of choral music was to be explained and analysed, following Faber’s rules. Thirdly, the teacher was supposed to sing the lines to the pupils before, finally, the pupils sang the hymn together.94 This new system proved to be successful to

87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94

Sterl, ‘Kaspar Sturm’, pp. 114–19. The Stadtarchiv Ulm (A [1597] – A [1600]) preserves a wealth of source material on the organ-building process which can only be referred to here in passing. Sterl, ‘Kaspar Sturm’, pp. 120–31. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6875], fols. 214, 236. Sterl, ‘Kaspar Sturm’, p. 123. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6875], fols. 130, 133 (April 1579). Ibid., fols. 136 (for ‘Doctor Behem’, 12 May 1579), 154 (for ‘Doctor Jorgen Gingern’, 16 May 1580). See also below, ‘Conclusion’. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6844], fol. 135 (April 1579). Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [1521]. On Faber, cf. H. von Loesch, ‘Faber, Heinrich, Heinricus’, in L. Finscher (ed.), Die

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Theatres of Belief

some extent, for, six years later, in 1591, the Minster preachers were allowed to choose from more hymns than before.95 But in December 1594, the councillors admonished the Latin schoolmaster twice to practise the hymns more diligently with his pupils than before, especially for the Christmas services, in order to avoid further complaints.96 The year 1595, then, was a clear watershed in the history of sacred music in Ulm, seeing the appointment of Adam Steigleder from Schwäbisch Hall as the new organist and Martin Rößlin as cantor. The two men worked closely together and embarked on a number of new musical projects. Steigleder had studied with a Dutch organist at the court chapel in Stuttgart before going to Rome for at least three years of further study.97 The Minster thus employed an organist who was influenced by contemporary Italian musical culture, and he occupied this post for the next thirty years. In September, the town council decided that, from then on, the boys’ choir ought to sing polyphonic music ( figuriern) in the main services on Sundays and holy days; the Latin schoolmaster was given empty music books, presumably to write new settings of psalms. The choir was to be enlarged by twenty-four boys chosen from the sixty poor children fed in the town’s hospital, who were to receive an extra ration of bread in reward.98 As far as the organ was concerned, Steigleder immediately made plans to enlarge it considerably. Instead of Caspar Sturm, however, he preferred his friend, the blind organ maker Conrad Schott from Stuttgart. Schott only found the time to design the enlargement, which had to be accomplished by another organ builder, Andreas Schneider, from 1597 until 1599. Schott regarded the wind supply of Sturm’s original organ as insufficient, and these technical issues were the main bone of contention in the litigation between Sturm and the town council, mentioned above. At the turn of the century, the Minster organ was furnished with thirty-six stops; its disposition was characterised by a greater sound fundament, including two new 16-foot stops in the Great (Groß Principal and Fagot) and a much stronger pedal consisting of seven stops, including three reeds.99 In Michael Praetorius’s famous Syntagma musicum of 1619, this enlarged organ is mentioned, but without its disposition, which has been recorded by Superintendent Conrad Dieterich in his organ sermon of 1624.100 Yet these improvements had negative side-effects on congregational singing in the Minster. In the summer of 1598, the town council feared that the ‘common man’ might abandon singing because the hymns were no longer selected in accordance with the sermon. The councillors therefore requested the preachers to tell the cantor the topic of their

95 96 97 98 99 100

Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 2nd edition, Personenteil, Vol. VI (Kassel, 2001), cols. 617–19. Fritz, ‘Ulmische Kirchengeschichte’, part 6, p. 86 (decision of 10 Aug. 1591). Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6845], fols. 150–1 (the second reminder dating from 23 Dec.!). On Steigleder, see U. Siegele, ‘Steigleder’, in L. Finscher (ed.), Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 2nd edition, Personenteil, Vol. XV (Kassel, 2006), cols. 1382–4. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6845], fol. 181 (Sept. 1595); A [3530], vol. 45, fols. 65, 388, 517. Sterl, ‘Kaspar Sturm’, pp. 124–31. C. Dieterich, Ulmische OrgelPredigt ... Gehalten zu Vlm im Münster / an dessen Kirchweyhtag / den 1. Augusti dieses 1624. Jahrs (Ulm, 1624), pp. 25–6.

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sermons in advance, which they again refused to do.101 Three years later, in February 1601, the Minster clergy even protested openly against the town council’s plans to reform church music further. Superintendent Johannes Veesenbeck and eight other members of clergy handed in a report in which they defended the past local practice as ‘the best’ and in no need of further amendments. They argued, moreover, that many schoolboys were already overburdened with their lessons. Allegedly, neither the pupils nor their parents were keen on ‘figural music’ – they decidedly disliked it.102 In 1612, complaints from the ‘common man’ resulted in a short-lived attempt to reintroduce congregational psalm singing after the sermon and postpone the polyphonic choral music until after the Blessing, which seems to have been abolished again within a month’s time due to a majority vote in the town council.103 By 1616, congregational hymn singing was limited to two hymns in the pre-service, which was mainly attended by pupils, and only one hymn in the main service – namely, always the same ‘Komm heiliger Geist, Herre Gott’ at the beginning.104 Meanwhile, the local repertoire of choral and instrumental music had grown considerably, now incorporating works by recent composers such as Hans Leo Hassler, Orlando di Lasso, Adam Gumpelzhaimer, Melchior Franck, Adriano Banchieri, Giovanni Giacomo Gastoldi and others – some of which found their way into local patrician collections of printed and manuscript music, too. The four-year sojourn of Hassler himself in Ulm from 1604 until 1608 might have contributed to this trend, but the renowned composer, who married a daughter from an Ulm merchant family in the Minster in 1605, did not find a permanent job in the town.105 The musical ‘worship war’, to quote Joseph Herl, between choir and congregation had obviously been won by the choir.106 The next superintendent then tried to strike a balance, as the following section will explore. Lutheranising sacred music, phase II: Cunrad Dieterich’s superintendency In January 1615, cantor and schoolmaster Martin Rößlin submitted a report on the state of polyphonic music in the Minster to the board for church building.107 His remarks convey a mixed impression of sacred music in Ulm at that time. On the one hand, Rößlin complained that two of the town pipers had skipped most of the rehearsals in the preceding months. As a result, they played in the services in a way ‘that I rather wished to have heard the dogs howl, and often wished to be dead’. The town pipers seem to have been unwilling to endorse the new repertoire chosen by the cantor. Even if he preferred to do without them, the trombones were indispensable as the bassists of the choir were not strong enough. On the other hand, Rößlin proudly presented himself, his choir and the

101 102 103 104 105 106 107

Fritz, ‘Ulmische Kirchengeschichte’, part 6, p. 85. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [1525], fols. 360r–v. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [1521], fol. 356r. Fritz, ‘Ulmische Kirchengeschichte’, part 6, pp. 89–90. H. Mayer, ‘Hans Leo Hassler in Ulm (1604–1608)’, Ulm und Oberschwaben, 35 (1958), pp. 210–35. Herl, Worship Wars, pp. 107–29. For the following, see Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [1525], fols. 367r–370 r.

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organist as sufficiently flexible to react to the preachers’ musical wishes at short notice. Besides polyphonic music on every Sunday and on holy days, the choir and organist had provided the music for the annual church fair and oath-swearing day, as well as for the services on the occasion of a visit by the dukes of Württemberg, regional diets, and the inauguration of Superintendent Cunrad Dieterich. According to Rößlin, all of these had been accomplished to the contentment of both the town council and high foreign guests, some of whom had ‘aures delicatas’ (delicate ears). Rößlin’s report was well timed, for the inauguration of the new superintendent heralded the start of a new musical era in Ulm’s church. Cunrad Dieterich, who had previously been a professor at the University of Giessen, was not only a staunch Lutheran but also very interested in music. From 1614, he shaped church affairs in Ulm, until his death in 1639; his numerous sermons and theological works were read widely across Protestant Germany.108 Despite the continued efforts of his two predecessors in office, Dieterich found his new parish wanting in terms of Lutheran confessional culture in many ways. From the start, he paid special attention to the improvement of sacred music. Already in November, right after his inauguration, the choir acquired a new book of psalm settings which had just been published by the Strasbourg composer Christoph Thomas Walliser.109 Three years later, in 1617, a new hymn book was published – the first one since the 1540s. In the same year, moreover, the organ loft was enlarged in order to accommodate three or four choirs, just in time for the Reformation jubilee, which was celebrated in town on Sunday, 2 November.110 These celebrations included three services, in the morning, afternoon, and evening, which seem to have been the most spectacular musical events in the Minster to date. A month earlier, the board for church building had ordered the organist and the schoolmaster Johann Conrad Merckh to prepare ‘an exceptionally good music’ for the event. The polyphonic music during communion, a ‘Te Deum’, had to be ‘most sweet and solemn’.111 A contemporary diarist, the local jurisprudent Hans Georg Friess, recorded all the hymns and polyphonic music sung during the services, mentioning that, besides the organ, ‘pipes, violins, trombones, cornets, etc.’ were played.112 Perhaps the most significant acoustic innovation, however, was that, for the first time since the Reformation, parishioners were called to the service by the full peal of all the Minster bells. Beforehand, the councillors in charge were concerned how to coordinate bell ringing and music ‘so that the music could be heard’, but the full peal was apparently so impressive that, shortly afterwards, the town’s joint clergy applied

108 109 110 111 112

P. Hahn, ‘Lutheran Sensory Culture in Context’, in K. Hill (ed.), Cultures of Lutheranism: Reformation Repertoires in Early Modern Germany, Past & Present Supp. 12 (Oxford, 2017), pp. 90–113; Hagenmaier, Predigt und Policey. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6847], fol. 3. On Walliser, see G. Morche, ‘Walliser, Christoph Thomas’, in L. Finscher (ed.), Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 2nd edition, Personenteil, Vol. XVII (Kassel, 2007), cols. 415–17. Hahn, ‘Sensing Sacred Space’, p. 79. Plans to enlarge the loft had already been made in 1610, though: Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [1521], fol. 355. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6847], fol. 333 (8 Oct. 1617). Stadtarchiv Ulm, G 1 1617, fols. 586–8.

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for permission to use it on every Sunday and holy day from then on, which was granted by the town council.113 Dieterich sustained his efforts after the jubilee celebrations. In the early 1620s, he embraced the opportunity to reach a wider local audience at the annual church fair, preaching several times on acoustic and musical aspects of worship. He began in 1621 with the subject of bell ringing, then moved on in the following year to the singing of hymns; finally, he discussed the role of organ and instrumental music, in 1624. The latter sermon was printed in the same year and was very influential in the formation of the Lutheran genre of the organ sermon. Furthermore, some of his weekday sermons also dealt with issues of sense perception, especially sight and hearing.114 His Gesang-Predigt, which was quoted at the beginning, is perhaps the most revealing of these three sermons as far as contemporary attitudes in Ulm towards sacred music are concerned. Dieterich’s goal in this sermon was twofold: firstly, he defended the use of polyphony in church; and, secondly, he strove to motivate his congregation to sing the hymns. In a very brief overview of European music history since Guido of Arezzo, he charted the evolution of polyphony, highlighting the importance of John Dunstable, Josquin des Prez, Jacobus Clemens non Papa and Hieronymus Praetorius. He then praised the contemporary state of the art of music, which he regarded as unsurpassable.115 Discussing both the (in his eyes) defects of late medieval, Latin polyphony and the arguments of the opponents of sacred polyphony in general – such as Huldrych Zwingli, Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt and John Calvin – Dieterich steered a middle way, advocating the contemporary Lutheran cantional setting, which had the advantage ‘that the common hymn tune remains intact, so that everyone can sing along with it, while the other figural voices are elaborate and graceful [künstlich und anmutig]’.116 Although this sort of music was already practised in the Minster, ‘more than a few enemies of singing and music can be found among us’, as he had to acknowledge. Many people in Ulm did not like hearing polyphonic music at all, instead preferring psalm singing in unison. This, according to Dieterich, was only due to their crude ignorance. For, even if polyphony was not absolutely necessary in church, it embellished the service: ‘what would then be the difference between a great city and a village?’ It was, moreover, delightful, and had the power to move the heart even of the common man who did not understand anything of music. Lastly, he argued that, altogether, ordinary hymns were sung more often in the Minster than polyphonic settings; those who preferred the former ought, then, to go to the weekday services.117 This paragraph, like other passages of the sermon relat113 114

115 116 117

Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6847], fols. 333, 342, 404; Hahn, ‘Reformation of the Soundscape’, pp. 531–2. Hahn, ‘Sensing Sacred Space’, pp. 79–81; cf. R. Dittrich, ‘Die Ulmer Orgelpredigt von 1624 als musikhistorische Quelle’, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Bistums Regensburg, 39 (2005), pp. 601–11; on this genre in general, see L. Braun, ‘Die Orgelpredigt: Überlegungen zu einer Gattung zwischen Musik und Theologie’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, 71 (2014), pp. 247–81. Dieterich, Sonderbarer Predigten, pp. 217–18. Ibid., pp. 218–24 (quotation on p. 220). Ibid., p. 226.

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ing to local circumstances, were marked in the margin of the printed version of 1632 by the Ulm patrician Anton Schermar (1604–81), who also recorded the date of oral delivery of Dieterich’s sermons. Schermar himself had inherited a considerable collection of sheet music from his father, which he enlarged during his lifetime.118 Besides the steadfast adherents of the practice of psalmody going back to Ulm’s Reformation, there were others who did not sing at all and instead read a book while the others sang, chatted with their neighbours, or simply did not open their mouth because they regarded singing as inappropriate to their social standing or wealth. Everyone, Dieterich admonished his audience, ought to enjoy singing in church, regardless of his person, social standing or age.119 He then rebutted potential objections, point by point. Those who pretended not to be able to sing were wrong, since even unmusical humming and buzzing was pleasing to God. Those who did not know the psalms ought to buy one of the new hymn books available at the low price of 1–3 Batzen. Finally, those who were unable to read should come to the service more regularly and learn the hymns by hearing them.120 In light of Dieterich’s continued effort to teach his parishioners to cherish sacred music, it seems questionable how successful he actually was. Among the local patrician and merchant elite, he preached to the converted, as the example of Anton Schermar shows. Among artisans, his views might have been less popular – after all, there were still a considerable number of people in town, especially among the middling sort, who stayed away from communion for religious reasons and were hence unlikely to endorse Lutheran hymn singing either.121 In a poem commemorating the inauguration of the church of the Holy Trinity in Ulm as a second Protestant parish church besides the Minster in 1621, the author, who was the rector of the local Latin school, even claimed that peasants from surrounding villages were shocked by the instrumental music played during the service, because they were completely unaccustomed to it. Here again, as in Dieterich’s argument, the difference between town and country plays an important role.122 To make things worse, Dieterich could not even always count on the town’s ruling elite. To be sure, in 1626, Hans Conrad Merckh was appointed by the town council as inspector and director of music, receiving an additional annual salary of 20 fl. for his strenuous efforts to improve polyphonic music in the Minster.123 Then again, three years later, the town council decided to cut the financial support for sacred music considerably, accusing the cantor of employing too many choristers from elsewhere, who allegedly had a bad influence on the behaviour of the local youth. Dieterich argued vehemently against these accusations, insisting that, given the short time allocated for rehearsing, the cantor did 118 119 120 121 122 123

C. Gottwald, Katalog der Musikalien in der Schermar-Bibliothek Ulm (Wiesbaden, 1993). Dieterich, Sonderbarer Predigten, pp. 226, 229. Ibid., p. 230. O. Kaul, Undankbare Gäste: Abendmahlsverzicht und Abendmahlsausschluss in der Reichsstadt Ulm um 1600: Ein interkultureller Prozess (Mainz, 2003). U. Schlegelmilch, Descriptio templi: Architektur und Fest in der lateinischen Dichtung des konfessionellen Zeitalters (Regensburg, 2003), p. 505. Cf. another official description in Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [1625/3]. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [1525], fols. 371–3.

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not dare to perform four- or five-part music with local choirboys only, since their musical talent was unequally distributed. Furthermore, he defended it as an act of charity to support poor foreign choristers, most of whom were impeccable, and the few black sheep were rather seduced by local girls than the other way around. After three months, the town council yielded to his arguments and dropped the initiative.124 In his sermon on organ music of 1624, Dieterich defended the devotional benefit of instrumental music in church.125 That he saw the need to do so, more than fifty years after his predecessor Rabus’s initiative, is remarkable. Apart from that, organ music became increasingly popular in Ulm in the first decades of the seventeenth century, and the instrument came to be the subject of local pride. An anonymous contemporary chronicler describes the visit of Duke Magnus of Württemberg-Neuenbürg to Ulm in 1611. The duke was shown around the Minster church, and special mention is made of his visit to the organ loft, ‘where a splendid music was played’.126 Likewise, the applications for organ playing at weddings seem to have increased considerably in the 1620s. For the four years following Dieterich’s arrival in Ulm in 1614, only two applications are recorded in the minutes of the board for church building: one from a doctor (1615), the other from a member of a patrician family (1617). For the four-year period from 1623 until 1627, in contrast, a total of twenty-seven applications are documented, of which seven alone were submitted in the half-year immediately following Dieterich’s organ sermon of 1 August 1624. Among the applicants were patricians, an apothecary, a hatter and a brewer’s widow – all of them successful.127 In 1669, it was decided to deny all innkeepers and artisans, except those with a seat on the town council, the right to have organ music at their weddings, thus turning it into a privilege of the elite until 1782, when this restriction was abolished.128 Obviously, music in Ulm, especially at weddings, became more closely linked to practices of distinction in the course of the seventeenth century. Despite Dieterich’s repeated emphasis on the appeal of music to people from all estates, this only applied to the regular services on Sundays and weekdays. As far as occasional music in the Minster was concerned, in contrast, the local elite – whose members were among the earliest supporters of music in the modern, Italian style in the Minster – soon strove to prevent a trickle-down effect of musical culture. This fits in well with contemporary developments in other cities in the Holy Roman Empire, such as Leipzig.129 Then again, Dieterich acknowledged that he would not convince all of his parishioners: his recommendation to those who disliked

124 125

126 127 128 129

Ibid., fols. 374 r–7 v. See P. Hahn, '"[…] mit dem Sinn vnd mit dem Geist mit Musicieren": Conrad Dieterichs Orgelpredigt vor dem Hintergrund der Kirchenmusikpraxis in Ulm', in L. Braun and K. Schiltz (eds.), Orgelpredigten in Europa (1600– 1800). Musiktheoretische, theologische und historische Perspektiven (Regensburg, in print). Stadtarchiv Ulm, G 1 1617, fol. 4v. Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [6847], fols. 164, 333; A [6848], fols. 56, 72, 77, 81, 99, 112, 139, 157, 167, 174, 181, 213–16, 224, 237, 263, 293, 328, 350–3, 357, 367, 384, 388, 408, 416 (1623–7). Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [1516], fols. 52–3. S. Rose, ‘Schein’s Occasional Music and the Social Order in 1620s Leipzig’, Early Music History, 23 (2004), pp. 253– 84, esp. pp. 261–9.

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polyphony to attend rather the weekday than the Sunday services seems almost disrespectful at first glance. At the same time, his unwillingness to make a compromise regarding the style of sacred music on Sundays and holy days had the effect that, on these occasions at least, every member of the parish had the chance to listen to what he regarded as the latest state of the art of music. Conclusion According to an inventory of the Minster church from the 1660s, the following musical instruments were deposited in the organ loft: eight violins, two viols, four trombones, four cornets and two kettle drums, all stored safely in chests. Furthermore, there was one copy of the local hymn book, as well as a book of settings for the choir. The list also includes objects necessary for lighting – and even heating – the organ loft.130 Four generations after the Reformation in Ulm in 1531, which had abolished all instrumental and polyphonic music in church, these objects show that choir, organ and other instruments had again become a regular part of worship in the Minster. What they do not reveal, however, is that this situation was the result of a long process, which had been anything but straightforward. This chapter has reconstructed the development of sacred music in Ulm in some detail, in order to demonstrate that Protestant sacred music did not simply evolve, more or less quickly, everywhere once the great Reformers had fired the starting pistol, depending on how far one was situated from the shot. Protestant sacred music was made in practice over decades, framed by changing political circumstances and institutional arrangements, by individual preferences and projects, as well as by networks of people both within town and beyond. The various individuals and groups involved – town councils and urban elites, superintendents and preachers, organists, cantors and teachers, town pipers and choirboys, parishioners and those who did not want to belong to the parish community – all of them were moved by diverse motivations, ranging from religious conviction to social distinction, often involving a good deal of cost-oriented calculation. Of course, their scope of action varied: while some vied with each other over influence on sacred music practice – for example, the town councillors, preachers and cantors – those in the pew could at least decide whether to sing along or not. Some of the latter, like the shoemaker Sebastian Fischer and some of his fellow burghers, definitely had clear notions of what they regarded as appropriate sacred music, and these ‘ordinary’ people were central to the practice of Protestant sacred music, as preachers like Cunrad Dieterich acknowledged. It has become clear, though, that Protestant sacred music did not convert people by itself – through the power of music, as the Reformers had hoped – but, rather, that its implementation involved a good deal of controversy and persuasion. Of course, the history of sacred music in Ulm was not isolated from broader trends: just as the early initiatives stood under the influence of Zurich, Strasbourg and Constance, later developments from the mid sixteenth century were clearly related to the emerging

130

Stadtarchiv Ulm, A [5582/2].

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Lutheran mainstream. The same applies to the groups that stood apart: the Catholic minority was strengthened by the visits of Philip II and Granvelle, and the local Schwenckfelders were part of a dense network in the region and beyond. On the other hand, music practice in Ulm served as an example for Memmingen, and the writings of Cunrad Dieterich were widely read across Protestant Germany. Nonetheless, sacred music was, after all, always made locally under specific conditions, and this is why its history ought to be written by looking at how this was done, rather than mainly by looking for origins, influences and receptions. In this regard, some historians’ way of looking at the post-Reformation era as a ‘long Reformation’ could inspire musicologists to look beyond the initial reforms and interpret the musical Reformation as a long-term process rather than an event.131 Historians, for their part, still tend to disregard music, let alone recent research by music historians. The history of sacred music in post-Reformation Ulm reveals, however, that singing and music making were central to both the implementation and the perception of religious reform. Besides that, it obviously served as a marker of social distinction within urban society. Finally, urban authorities’ strenuous efforts to promote the reform of sacred music in the surrounding villages cannot belie their interest in setting apart urban musical culture from the country. Just as the full peal of Ulm Minster’s bells was again meant to drown out the village belfries after the Reformation jubilee of 1617, so the quality of sacred music was expected to mark the ‘difference between a great city and a village’. �

131

For this term, see N. Tyacke (ed.), England’s Long Reformation, 1500–1800 (London, 1998), and J. McCallum (ed.), Scotland’s Long Reformation: New Perspectives on Scottish Religion, c.1500– c.1660 (Leiden and Boston, 2016).

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8. The Musical Cultures of Dissent and Anti-Catholicism in CounterReformation Douai* Matthew Laube �

Counter-Reformation Douai reverberated night and day with the sounds of Catholic devotion. Like other collegiate foundations across the sixteenth-century Low Countries, the collegiate church of St Amé in Douai – founded by at least the eleventh century and home to a widely known cult dedicated to a miraculous bleeding host – maintained a rich musical culture, involving music for elaborate cycles of funeral Masses, the training of choristers, and the regular singing of motets, including those of François Gallet, St Amé’s maître de chant between 1582 and 1584.1 Throughout the sixteenth century, St Amé regularly acquired printed and manuscript music books, and during the confessional unrest of the 1570s sought to bring its music into alignment with the Council of Trent, above all its chant and the revised Roman Rite, through the introduction of the usus Romanus in 1576 ‘for the singing of hymns and psalms’.2 In addition to the indoor as well as open-air devotional exercises of Douai’s numerous confraternities and religious houses, the church of St Amé – together with the city’s other collegiate foundation, the church of St Pierre – organised countless participatory public processions, which, in addition to criss-crossing the city on a weekly and even daily basis, occasioned collective singing, the recitation of litanies and hymns, and the special ringing of bells.3 Throughout the later Middle Ages and early modern period, trumpets and drums were regularly used in general processions, as well as those for St Maurand, the patron saint of Douai, which blended the city’s devotional activities with the sounds of popular festivity, including the construction of giants which were paraded noisily through the streets of Douai in a carnivalesque atmosphere.4 Douai also echoed with the sounds of its Counter-Reformation university. One-off sonic and visual spectacles punctuated extraordinary occasions, such as the signing of the Perpetual Edict in 1577, which sought to remove Spanish soldiers from the Netherlands. Members of the English College noted on ‘March 4, amid such an outburst of joy on the part of the people, with ringing of bells, hymns, bonfires and dancing till midnight, that nothing like it had ever been seen before’.5 At the opening of the university in 1562, a

*

1 2 3 4

I would like to thank Marie-Alexis Colin, Iain Fenlon, Marianne Gillion and Elisabeth Giselbrecht for their comments on drafts of this chapter. I am especially grateful to Jean Vilbas at the Bibliothèque municipale de Douai for his generosity and assistance. This research was undertaken with funding from the Wiener-Anspach Foundation (Crossing Boundaries, Defining States Research Project, 2014-17) and the Leverhulme Trust (ECF-2018-237). I. Bossuyt, ‘The Counter-Reformation and Music in Douai’, Revista de Musicología, 16/5 (1993), pp. 2783–2800. Ibid., p. 2789. For payments made in 1586–7 to singers and bell ringers, see M. Quenson, Gayant ou le Géant de Douai (Douai, 1839), pp. 85–7. Ibid., p. 88.

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large procession moved through the streets of Douai, with clergy and the laity singing hymns and the ‘Te Deum’. A sermon was then delivered in the market square by the bishop of Arras, François Richardot, and a solemn Mass was sung in the collegiate church of St Amé.6 Singing also marked the regular patterns of university life. Mass was spoken and sung with regularity in university colleges. As Andrew Cichy has demonstrated, the English College in Douai engaged trained musicians such as Hugh Facy to supply liturgical music and general instruction in singing.7 That Douai’s university colleges could provide firm grounding not just for theological study but also for musical endeavours is illustrated by François Gallet, who studied at the Jesuit Collège d’Anchin before taking up the post of maître de chant at St Amé.8 The Irish College in Douai incorporated singing into its daily routines. Before lunch and dinner, students sang and recited litanies after the ringing of a bell.9 College statutes further instructed that all forms of singing and speech should be characterised by Christian charity, requiring that all members of the college ‘abstain from scurrilous words, oaths, and binding oaths, especially dishonourable and shameful songs and gossip’.10 Catholic devotional singing was not the exclusive reserve of the clergy but shaped the modus vivendi of lay religion. Monophonic hymns formed an important part of the Marian sodality in Douai, founded in 1572 by Frans Coster, who composed meditations on the ‘Salve Regina’ and ‘Ave Maris Stella’, Marian antiphons regularly sung in liturgical as well as private devotional contexts.11 Whether read or sung, the antiphons, combined with Coster’s accompanying meditations, elaborated the salvific and consolatory character of Mary, and deepened devotion to her qualities as redeemer, comforter and protector of the faithful. Instead of operating as an independent and hermetically sealed activity, singing intertwined with other forms of devotion involving sound, including devotional reading in the home. In the edition of Histoire de la vie, mort, passion et miracles des saints published in Douai in 1598, the Arras priest Guillaume Gazet instructed readers to sing hymns after completing each day’s devotional reading, using a rubric which appears to be unique to Douai.12 On Sundays, after reading about and meditating on the Virgin Mary, the reader was instructed to recite the ‘Pater noster’ and ‘Ave Maria’ or to sing the vernacular hymn ‘Dieu gard’ ô vierge signalée’. Likewise, on Mondays, readers were to complement their 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

T. F. Knox, The First and Second Diaries of the English College, Douay, and an Appendix of Unpublished Documents (London, 1878), p. lii. Bref. Recieul & recit de la solemnite Faicte a l’entrée et consecration de L’université faicte & erigée en la Ville de Douai (Douai, 1563). A. Cichy, ‘Lost and Found: Hugh Facy’, Early Music, 42/1 (2014), pp. 95–104. Bossuyt, ‘Counter-Reformation and Music in Douai’, p. 2795. J. Brady, ‘The Irish College at Douai and Antwerp’, Archivium Hibernicum, 13 (1947), p. 48. ‘abstineant omnes a verbis scurrilibus, iuramentis et iuramento proximis, maxime vero a cantilenis, et fabulis inhonestis’: ibid., p. 51. F. Coster, De Cantico Salve Regina Septem Meditationes (Antwerp, 1587); and F. Coster, In Hymnum Ave Maria Stella, Meditationes (Antwerp, 1589). Editions of Gazet’s Histoire de la vie, mort, passion et miracles des saints were also published in Paris and Lyon, but this rubric for singing is unique to the edition published in Douai.

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devotional reading about the holy angels by singing the hymn ‘Dieu garde ô esprits de lumiere’.13 The lack of musical notation, or indeed any indication of a tune whatsoever, makes it likely that lay readers knew the appropriate tune, or a suitable tune, from memory already. Above all, it is clear that the seven hymns mentioned in Gazet’s edition were designed to be accessible to lay Catholics and to create an acoustic continuity from one day to the next. The near-identical rhyme scheme of the seven texts not only creates predictable and easily navigable speech patterns for readers, but also makes it highly plausible that the same tune – as yet unidentified – was used to set all seven hymn texts. Lay Catholics coordinated their singing with prayers, the recitation of litanies, and devotional reading about the lives of the saints. Urban residents also synchronised their devotional exercises, even in the home, with the ambient sounds of the city. Readers of Le Manuel des Catholiques by Petrus Canisius, in Douai and across the Low Countries, were taught that civic and church bells which rang the hours of the day were to be more than mere sonic metrics for structuring the passing of time. Rather, hearing bells should prompt believers to contemplate the interconnected temporality of life and death, their present moment and their final hour, by pondering God’s mercy both then (in future time) and now (in earthly time).14 Moreover, the bells at St Amé encoded detailed acoustic messages for urban residents and communicated information about the liturgical character of each day. Throughout the year, the pitch used to ring Mass every day reflected the relative importance of the day in the liturgical calendar: the largest bell being rung on solemn days and duplex feasts, with smaller bells used on less important days throughout the year and for remaining days of the octave after major feasts.15 Such ringing resonated alongside the bells of Douai’s other churches and religious houses, and its medieval civic belfry, whose bells, all cast in 1471, announced danger, gathered the community together, and marked the working hours of the day (see Figure 8.1).16

Cityscape and belfries of Douai. Engraving by Martin Le Bourgeois, 1627. Courtesy of Archives communales de Douai. Belfries, from left to right: St Albin, Collège d’Anchin, St Jacques, St Pierre, civic belfry of the Maison de Ville, St Amé, St Nicolas

Figure 8.1

13 14 15 16

G. Gazet, Histoire de la vie, mort, passion et miracles des saints (Douai, 1598), p. tt. P. Canisius, Le Manuel des Catholiques contenant la vraye maniere de prier Dieu (Antwerp, 1592), p. 29. Archives départementales du Nord, Serie G (Douai, St Amé), Piece 177. A. Asselin, Monographie du Beffroi de Douai 1387–1870 (Douai, 1875).

195

Theatres of Belief

Moreover, lay Catholics across the southern borderlands of the Netherlands were regular consumers of anti-Protestant literature in Latin, French and English, available to purchase in the bookshops of Douai.17 They also used polemical songs which gave voice to their own musical cultures of anti-Protestantism. One example is the chanson de joye about Fery de Guyon (1507–67), a Catholic soldier and bailiff in the town of Pecquencourt, located roughly 10 kilometres outside of Douai.18 Reportedly written by a peasant and reproduced by Guyon’s grandson Pierre de Cambray when he published his grandfather’s memoirs in 1664, the song runs to twelve verses and describes how, in 1566, Guyon heroically defended the countryside around Douai from roving Calvinist iconoclasts from Tournai. The song recounts how Guyon ‘and many of his Hennuyers [residents of the Hainaut]’, upon receiving word that iconoclasts were moving ‘on the Sabbath’ to destroy the abbey at Marchiennes, ‘[went] to the church to give aid’ and ‘marched there valiantly to the Huguenots giving the alarm to fight’. Although Guyon and his men arrived too late to prevent the destruction of the abbey, they had, by lunchtime on Monday, slaughtered roughly eighty Huguenots on the road outside Marchiennes as the iconoclasts began their march to Bouvignies.19 This intervention, the song implies, prevented further destruction of not just the countryside around Douai, but perhaps also in Douai itself. The tune to which this anti-Protestant song text was probably set itself reinforced a feeling of Catholic victory over Protestantism. Although no tune is specified, the rhyme scheme of the song’s text matches that of the metrical Genevan setting of the ‘Decalogue’, a song widely known to have been sung by iconoclasts (including those at Marchiennes killed by Guyon and his men) during the destructions of the Wonder Year in 1566.20 Before destroying the interior of the abbey of Marchiennes on 25 and 26 August 1566, the iconoclasts loudly exclaimed their cri de cœur, ‘Vive les gueux’, before pausing to sing verses from Marot’s setting of the ‘Decalogue’, emphasising the third verse to highlight the commandment against creating idols and graven images (see Figure 8.2).21 Because of the identical rhyme schemes of the two songs, along with the fact widely known across the Low Countries that Calvinists sang the ‘Decalogue’ before and during their destructive activities, it is highly likely that the peasant author of the pro-Catholic song about Guyon – or later Catholic singers themselves – took the Genevan tune of the ‘Decalogue’ and redeployed it for their own use. Thereby, Catholics could invert contemporary associations of the Calvinist tune with notions of destruction: whereas Calvinists initially sang the

17 18

19 20 21

Numerous anti-Protestant publications are found in the bookshop inventory of Balthasar Bellère, Thesavrus bibliothecarivs, siue cornv-copiae librariae belleriance (Douai, 1603). F. de Guyon, Les memoires non encore veues du sieur Fery de Guyon, Escuyer, Bailly General d’Anchin, Pesquencour, &c (Tournai, 1664), p. 151. This song is transcribed and discussed in E. Kuijpers, ‘Between Storytelling and Patriotic Scripture. The Memory Brokers of the Dutch Revolt’, in E. Kuijpers, J. Pollmann, J. Müller and J. van der Steen (eds.), Memory Before Modernity: Practices of Memory in Early Modern Europe (Leiden, 2013), pp. 195–202. Kuijpers, ‘Between Storytelling and Patriotic Scripture’, p. 198. Both songs share a rhyme scheme of 9.8.9.8. D. Freedberg, ‘Art and Iconoclasm, 1525–1580: The Case of the Northern Netherlands’, in J. P. Filedt Kok, W. Halsema-Kubes and W. Th. Kloek (eds.), Kunst voor de Beeldenstorm, (Amsterdam, 1986), p. 73.

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tune before destroying Catholic buildings and relics, Catholic singers of the anti-Protestant song now sang the tune while describing the destruction of the Calvinists themselves.

Verse 1 of the ‘Decalogue’ with tune. Les Pseaumes mis en rime francoise, par Clement Marot et Theodore de Beze ([Geneva]: Thomas Courteau pour Antoine I. Vincent, 1566). Bibliothèque de Genève, Bb 668, htt ps://doi.org/10.3931/e-rara-5830 Figure 8.2

For lay Catholics in and around Douai – both in the immediate wake of the Wonder Year and nearly a century later in Cambray’s day – the song taught a central lesson: namely, that lay Catholics should engage themselves, just as Guyon and his men had done, in combatting Huguenottrie by all means necessary, even by force. In this task, they must invoke divine assistance by ‘pray[ing] the Holy Trinity will always be favourable to us’. And the reason for combatting heresy, according to the song, should be neither personal glory nor bloodthirstiness, but because Protestant heretics persecute and are ‘[putting] to death’ faithful Catholics in the Low Countries and across post-Reformation Europe. Combatting Protestant heresy locally, therefore, could serve to secure the supremacy of the Catholic faith more broadly and save the lives of faithful Catholic brethren. The immersive acoustical environment described thus far – integrating singing and bell ringing, and the confessionsalised sounds of prayers, recitation and reading – accords with the current scholarly picture of Douai as a bastion of the Catholic Counter-Reformation. As recent research has emphasised, Catholic students were attracted to Douai by its Counter-Reformation university, as were Catholic exiles from across Europe, particularly the British Isles.22 Douai served as a confessional centre for printing, producing books

22

L. Corens, Confessional Mobility and English Catholics in Counter-Reformation Europe (Oxford, 2019); G. Janssen, The Dutch Revolt and Catholic Exile in Reformation Europe (Cambridge, 2014); J. Pollmann, Religious Choice in the Dutch Republic: The Reformation of Arnoldus Buchelius (1565–1641) (Manchester, 1999), pp. 41–5; A. Loewe, ‘Richard Smyth and the Foundation of the University of Douai’, Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis, 79/2 (1999), pp. 142–69; H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘The Place of the University of Douai in the Peregrinatio Academica Britannica’, in

197

Theatres of Belief

for Catholic markets in Britain, France, and the southern and northern provinces of the Netherlands.23 For some, the intensity of Douai’s Catholicism was unfamiliar. As Judith Pollmann has written, Arnoldus Buchelius – a Dutch Catholic student from Utrecht – was impressed by the intellectual prowess of Catholics in Douai, especially the Jesuits, but found the extreme levels of social discipline exercised there foreign and even unappealing.24 Authorities in Douai issued edicts condemning freedom of conscience for religious views.25 Geert Janssen has written of how officials in Douai required all visitors to ‘show proof of their Habsburg allegiance, as well as “their catholicity”’, and how ‘the town council sought to further its public adherence to the king and church by organising processions that solemnly celebrated recent victories of Habsburg armies in the Netherlands’.26 Even with Douai’s brief anti-Spanish flirtations of 1578 – which, according to Michel Rouche, were spearheaded in part by ‘an active Calvinist minority’ – the resilience and intensity of Catholicism in Douai led Paul Boudot, bishop of Arras from 1626 to 1635, to dub Douai ‘the paradise of religion’, while Margaret of Parma declared it ‘une bonne ville’ following the events of 1566, because of the fervency of the city’s Catholicism, solidified in part by the zealous leadership of François Richardot, bishop of Arras 1561–74.27 But behind Catholic rhetoric and the ostensible univocality of the urban soundscape also exists evidence of dissent and heterogeneity little explored, and in some cases hitherto unknown, by scholars of Douai. As records from the Archives communales de Douai reveal, Counter-Reformation Douai was home to a small, loosely organised and acoustically active community of confessional dissidents who used sound to cultivate devotion and mark their identity and membership.28 In the roughly thirty years between the beginning of the Twelve Years’ Truce in 1609 and the end of the 1630s, city leaders prosecuted at least ten individuals for holding and sharing Protestant views (see Table 8.1). For a university city of roughly 10,000 inhabitants, the total number of prosecutions known to us is small, especially compared to the far larger number of confessional minorities in other cities of the Southern Netherlands.29 Moreover, because information about these in-

23 24 25 26 27 28

29

Lines of Contact: Proceedings of the Second Conference of Belgian, British, Irish and Dutch Historians of Universities held at St Anne’s College Oxford (Ghent, 1994), pp. 21–34. This historical research stands alongside recent musicological work, including Bossuyt, ‘Counter-Reformation and Music in Douai’, and A. Cichy, ‘“How Shall We Sing the Song of the Lord in a Strange Land?” English Catholic Music after the Reformation to 1700: A Study of Institutions in Continental Europe’ (D.Phil. diss., University of Oxford, 2013), pp. 28–78. A. Walsham, ‘“Domme Preachers”? Post-Reformation English Catholicism and the Culture of Print’, Past & Present, 168/1 (August 2000), pp. 72–123. Pollmann, Religious Choice in the Dutch Republic, pp. 41–5. Inventaire analytique des Archives Communales Antérieres a 1790 (Lille, 1876–8), BB, 3. Janssen, The Dutch Revolt and Catholic Exile, p. 68. M. Rouche (ed.), Histoire de Douai (Dunkirk, 1985), p. 109; Bossuyt, ‘Counter-Reformation and Music in Douai’, p. 2786. Archives communales de Douai (hereafter AcD), FF, 390, 391, 541. AcD, FF, 390 and 391 are transcribed in P. Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai dans la premiére moitié du XVIIe siècle’, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, 61/1 (1912), pp. 45–56. For minority Protestants in Antwerp, see G. Marnef, Antwerp in the Age of Reformation: Underground Protestantism in a Commercial Metropolis, 1550–1577 (Baltimore, MD, 1996). 198

199

1

1633

Billy-Grenay-Lens

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Douai

Bohain

Bookbinder

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Carpenter

Profession

This information is drawn from parish records from Douai at AcD, GG, 1, 265, 467.

1614

Jacques de Mantua

Philippe Hanache

Unknown

1613

1613

Luc Richart

1614

1613

Loys Fremault

Gregoire Pottau

1613

Hercules Craisme

Maximilian Joyel

Unknown

1613

Anthoine Mousset

Douai

1613

Joachim Hacquo

Douai

Native City

1609

Year Prosecuted

Matthias Lefebvre

Name

Table 8.1 List of Individuals Prosecuted as Protestants in Douai, 1609–1633

Further Information1

Tongue pierced, books burned, and banishment for an unknown amount of time

Unknown

Unknown

Abjuration and banishment, not to return

One child baptised at Notre Dame in 1607

Banishment from the city, not to return; One child baptised at parish church of St Richart abjured and was released on bail Albin, 10 June 1604

Abjuration, books burned, and banishment for five years and five days

Banishment for five years and five days; One child baptised at Collegiate church of Craisme abjured and the banishment was St Pierre, 4 December 1608 lifted

Banishment for ten years and ten days; One child baptised at parish church of Mousset abjured and the banishment was Notre Dame, 17 June 1606 lifted

Abjuration, books burned, and banishment for three years and three days

Tongue pierced and banishment for five Two children baptised at parish church of years and five days St Albin, 21 December 1598 and 26 May 1600

Punishment

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Theatres of Belief

dividuals comes from different types of source, more is known about some of the accused, and less about others.30 The evidence, as a result, provides only small and scattered glimpses of Douai’s dissenting community of Protestants. Despite this, valuable information can nevertheless be gleaned concerning the relationship of singing, society, dissent and conversion in early seventeenth-century urban environments. Some of the accused, it is clear, came from the lower social orders, resided in homes scattered across the different parishes of the city, and were citizens of Douai and other nearby towns and villages along the southern borderlands. The total number of those sympathetic to Protestantism in Douai likely exceeded the number of those formally accused. Much like Lollardy in fifteenth-century England, dissent in Douai ‘flowed along the lines of everyday social interactions’, in which ‘[p]otentially incriminating conversations took place in alehouses and gardens, at fairs, and even in churches’.31 Dissidents in Douai, in the same way, not only sang Genevan psalms and other songs with family members and fellow sympathisers, but also exchanged music books with acquaintances and members of their professional and trade networks. Even as they sought to escape notice, Protestants in Douai appear neither to have kept their views to themselves nor to have maintained a strict code of silence. The fact that confessional minorities and dissident singing should exist in and around Douai after 1600 is, to a certain extent, unsurprising. Pierre Beuzart has shown that Douai and nearby Arras had long histories of heresy stretching back to the High Middle Ages, and that, since the 1520s, Douai had been home to a small number of Protestants who were connected to like-minded communities in Tournai and Valenciennes, especially through the activities of Pierre Brully and Guy de Brès.32 Throughout northern Europe, authorities in mono-confessional – not just bi-confessional – cities such as Douai worried about dissent and disorder instigated by and involving music.33 In addition, the Twelve Years’ Truce (1609–21) enabled freer movement between the north and south of the Netherlands, a fact which consequently encouraged some dissidents in the south to make their views more public, not least because in 1609 the archduke changed the penalty for heresy from execution to exile. What is more, Catholic authorities during the Counter-Reformation recognised the difficulty of dislodging Protestantism from Douai and other cities across the southern borderlands of the Netherlands. In the dedication to his comprehensive history of Tournai, 30

31 32 33

Jacques de Mantua and Maximilian Joyel, for instance, are known about through a letter sent by the bishop of Arras to the Douai magistrates. We know about Matthias Lefebvre through extensive witness statements and a summary of Lefebvre’s confession, although direct testimony and questioning of Lefebvre does not survive. Knowledge of the remaining seven comes through brief summaries of charges and punishments, created after punishments were meted out. P. Marshall, Heretics and Believers: A History of the English Reformation (New Haven and London, 2017), p. 108. P. Beuzart, Les Hérésies pendant le Moyen Age et la Réforme jusqu’ à la mort de Philippe II, (1598), dans la région de Douai, d’Arras et au pays de l’Alleu (Paris, 1912). For Catholic Munich, for instance, see D. Crook, ‘A Sixteenth-Century Catalog of Prohibited Music’, Journal of the American Musicological Society, 62/1 (2009), pp. 1–78. In Geneva, Calvinist authorities were concerned with social, not just confessional, dissent during the sixteenth century: M. Latour, ‘Disciplining Song in Sixteenth-Century Geneva’, Journal of Musicology, 32/1 (2015), pp. 1–39.

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

published in Douai in 1619, Jean Cousin, a canon in Tournai, publicly acknowledged the continued presence of a Calvinist minority there, and expressed his desire for them to be converted to Catholicism.34 Calvinists across the Netherlands and France glorified the missionising potential of minority Calvinists living in the Catholic heartland of the south. The Calvinist instructional text Dialogues rustiques, written by the Arras native Jean de Moncy, depicts a fictionalised theological argument between a Calvinist shepherd from Arras and a Catholic priest (from which the Calvinist emerges victorious), and praises the shepherd’s success in converting Catholics around him to Protestantism.35 Furthermore, Hermann van Ortemberg, bishop of Arras between 1611 and 1626, openly lamented the presence of Protestants in Douai in the years following the announcement of the Twelve Years’ Truce. In a letter written to the échevins of Douai in 1614, the Bishop expressed concern that Protestantism continually entered Douai from ‘infected lands’, with individuals, he claimed, who came to the city ‘under the shadow of commerce’ (‘soubs ombre de commerce’).36 Drawing on a corpus of hitherto unknown and unexplored archival and printed material, combined with a consideration of manuscripts little studied since first identified and transcribed by Pierre Beuzart,37 I will trace how Protestant dissidents created their own ‘acoustic community’ of devotion and polemic in the midst of Catholic Douai.38 Despite potential penalties for holding Protestant beliefs openly, and the danger of sound arousing the suspicions of neighbours and authorities, I will explore how Protestants in Douai sang psalms with one another, catechised their children through singing, acquired and exchanged proscribed Protestant books disguised as Catholic ones, and used song to internalise Scripture and develop musical cultures of anti-Catholicism designed to underpin belief and challenge Catholic authority. Much of the work on vernacular psalms and anti-Catholic singing in the Southern Netherlands has, for good reasons, focused on public protest and open criticism. Around 1600, Protestants used verse to criticise the miracle cultures of Catholicism, including the Marian shrine at Scherpenheuvel, by calling the statue of Mary ‘a wooden doll cut from a tree’ and implying that funds gathered there were misspent by ‘the Reverend’ on ‘other blessed ladies’.39 During the Wonder Year of 1566, manifold bodily and mechanical sounds accompanied and intensified the destructive episodes of iconoclasts. In Tournai, Pasquier de la Barre witnessed the chanteries: mass marches through city streets by Calvinists and sympathisers – sometimes numbering in the thousands – who sang the psalms of Marot

34 35

36 37 38 39

Cited in Kuijpers, ‘Between Storytelling and Patriotic Scripture’, p. 196. Jean de Moncy, Dialogues rustiques: d’un prestre de village, d’un berger, le censier, & sa femme (Leiden, 1608?). Numerous editions of this text exist. For the background and uses of Dialogues rustiques, see Shira C. Weidenbaum, ‘Imagined Conversations: Strategies for Survival in the Dialogues rustiques’, in Topographies of Tolerance and Intolerance: Responses to Religious Pluralism in Reformation Europe (Leiden, 2018), pp. 133–54. AcD, uncatalogued papers. Transcribed in Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 54. Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, pp. 45–56. On acoustic communities, see B. Truax, Acoustic Communication, 2nd edition (Westport, CT, 2001), esp. Ch. 5. Cited in J. Pollmann, Catholic Identity and the Revolt of the Netherlands, 1520–1635 (Oxford, 2012), p. 186.

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Theatres of Belief

and beat rocks together to keep the marchers in step.40 As Andrew Spicer has written, the Reformed played the metrical psalms of Marot during the siege of Valenciennes from the carillon of St Nicholas’s church, including psalm 22, which gave voice to feelings of being forsaken by God in their own times of distress.41 In Antwerp, eyewitness Richard Clough observed that iconoclasts paused to sing before destroying the Church of Our Lady: yesterdaye about five of the cloke, the prystes … when they shullde have begon their serves, there was a company begon to sing sallmes, att the begynnyng beyng butt a company of knayfse, wereappon the Margrave and hoder the Lordes came to the chourche and rebukyd theme, but all in vayne, for that, as sone as they tournyd there bakes, they to hytt [i.e. began singing] agayne, and the company incresyd, beyng begon in Howre-Lady [Our Lady] chourche, so that, aboutt six of the cloke, they broke up the quere, and wentt and vysytyd all the bokes [books], wereof as hytt ys sayd, some they savyd, and the rest utterly dysstryyd and brake.42

As mentioned above, Protestants shouted ‘Vive les gueux’ and sang Marot’s setting of the ‘Decalogue’ before destroying the interior of the abbey of Marchiennes.43 Similarly, an anonymous nun in Den Bosch described her experience of the iconoclasts in vivid acoustic terms, relating in her diary how iconoclasts approached the convent ‘with great noise and cries … as wild men’ (‘met groten gedruis en geroep … als wilden menschen’), breaking the windows and shouting ‘Vive les gueux’.44 Whether the ringing of bells, singing, shouting, the beating of inanimate things, or the uncontrolled sounds of material objects breaking, the acoustics of iconoclasm actively shaped the emotions of physical conflict: fear, anger, relief, pleasure, joy and disdain.45 The anonymous nun in Den Bosch continued her account by stating that, as she and her sisters heard the iconoclasts approaching, sitting ‘there as defeated people; one wept, another called out to God … and some looked as if they were looking death in the eye’.46 Disembodied sound, this account suggests, could prompt a range of physiological and emotional responses, and could energise the imagination in different ways. At the same time, onlookers to the destruction in Antwerp experienced fear, distress and confusion due to the absence of expected sounds. As Richard Clough reported, iconoclasts destroyed images, windows, statues and relics not in a loud and raucous manner as the onlookers expected, but at times without talking and in silence and order, except for the sound of the breaking of objects. The ‘strange sight’ of the destruction, according to Clough, was its 40 41 42

43 44 45 46

G. Moreau (ed.), Le Journal d’un bourgeois de Tournai: Le second livre des chroniques de Pasquier de la Barre (1500–1565) (Brussels, 1975), p. 428. A. Spicer, ‘Bells, Confessional Conflict, and the Dutch Revolt, c. 1566–1585’, Chapter 10 in this volume, pp. 00-00. Relations politiques des Pays-Bas et de L’Angleterre sous le règne de Philippe II, Vol. IV, ed. J. M. B. C. Kervyn de Lettenhove (Brussels, 1885), p. 338. Cited also in M. Laube, ‘Singing and Devotion in the Sixteenth-Century Low Countries: Review-Article’, Early Music History, 38 (2019), pp. 305–16. Freedberg, ‘Art and Iconoclasm, 1525–1580’, p. 73. Kroniek eener kloosterzuster van het voormalig Bossche klooster ‘Marienburg’ over de troebelen te ‘s-Hertogenbosch in de jaren 1566–76, ed. H. van Alf (’s-Hertogenbosch, 1931), p. 2. On emotions in modern warfare, see Joanna Bourke, ‘The Emotions in War: Fear and the British and American Military, 1914–45’, Historical Research, 74/185 (2001), pp. 314–30. Kroniek eener kloosterzuster, p. 3.

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

unusual juxtaposition of coordinated silence and shouting, both inside and outside the church, and the unrestrained sound of objects being beaten and falling: Thys thynk [the destruction of the Church of Our Lady] was done so quyett and so styll, as yf there had bene moche ado in the chourches, all men staundyng before there dors in harnes lokyng appon thesse fellosse passyng from chourche to chourche, whome, as they passyd throo the strettes, requeryd all men to be quyett, and cryyd all: Vyve les Gewsse! So that after I sawe that all shuldde be quyett, I, with about x thousand more, went into the chourches to see what styrre was there, and commyng into Howre-Lady chourche, hytt lokyd lyke a hell, where were above 10000 tourches burnyng, and syche a nowsse as yf heven and yerth had god togede, with fallyng of images and betyng downe of costyly workes47

For both Clough and the anonymous nun alike, the violent tenor of Calvinist cultures of sound was deepened through the mixture of indiscriminate noise (such as the breaking of windows and statues) with the semantic messages of cries and insulting songs. In an anti-Catholic song from Tournai from the 1560s which has survived – and again was set to the Genevan tune of the ‘Decalogue’ – Protestants beseeched God ‘to shorten their [the Catholics’] days’ and to ‘repel all wicked hearts by virtue of your word, the double-edged sword’.48 Calvinists combined these allusions to bodily harm and figurative weaponry with a strong criticism of the materiality of Catholic devotion, claiming that Catholics ‘worship with stones and wood’, rather grounding their devotion and worship in the Word.49 Before and after the Wonder Year, placards were released across the Low Countries which forbade singing in public spaces. One placard, released by Philip II in 1562, mandated that ‘all copies of testaments, psalms, or other books of holy scripture must receive official approval’, and that none were permitted ‘to sing the Psalms of David on the streets in any manner whatsoever’.50 In 1570, the Genevan psalms were placed on the Index librorum prohibitorum, and prohibitions on books were repeatedly released through the early seventeenth century.51 Such prohibitions sometimes had unintended consequences for the sound of a city. In Tournai, in an effort to silence those who sang Marot’s psalms in public, authorities forbade singing of any kind in public spaces of the city, including the hymns of the Catholic Church.52 Besides being a medium for vocalising religious devotion and confessional antagonism, psalm singing was also big business. As dissent began to reach a fever pitch in the 1560s, Christophe Plantin, despite apparent risks, produced a version of Marot’s psalter in 1564 and distributed it in 1564–5 to booksellers across the Low Countries, France and

47 48 49 50 51 52

Relations politiques des Pays-Bas et de L’Angleterre, p. 338. The full song is transcribed in A. Hocquet, Tournai et le Tournaisis au XVIe siècle: au point de vue politique et social (Brussels, 1906), pp. 95–7. Ibid., p. 96. Moreau (ed.), Le Journal d’un bourgeois de Tournai, p. 409. Howard Slenk, ‘Christophe Plantin and the Genevan Psalter’, Tijdschrift van de Vereniging voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis, 20/4 (1967), p. 227; Pollmann, Catholic Identity, p. 201. Moreau (ed.), Le Journal d’un bourgeois de Tournai, p. 431.

203

Theatres of Belief

the northern provinces of the Netherlands.53 Street hawkers of songs and other objects earned money by selling French and Dutch psalters at hedge gatherings, the open-air assemblies at which faithful Calvinists and curious onlookers gathered outside city walls to pray, sing and hear sermons preached by Calvinist preachers. As one eyewitness reported in Antwerp, ‘on the following day (on Sunday) even more went with their Psalm books, and others with letters and mocking refrains, pictures, paintings against the Mass, Pope and Clergy, to sell them there’.54 In Ghent, Marcus van Vaernewijck noted that, at hedge gatherings in 1566, ‘each little flock had its teacher, and had small books in their hands and here and there sang psalms, and there [they] bought books of metrical psalms printed as songs, each for a twalevaert’.55 Not surprisingly, the fertility of the market, combined with prohibitions against psalm singing, fuelled the illicit production of psalters. During the Council of Troubles, the Antwerp printer Jan van Waesberghe was charged with having printed and distributed 1,500 psalters of Dathenus in secret during the 1560s.56 Peeter van Keerberghen, known for printing the pro-Catholic works of Anna Bijns, confessed to having printed psalmbooks ‘without privileges’ (‘zonder previlegien’) and selling ‘the psalms of the Martinisten (i.e. Lutherans) to the house wife [huysvrouwe] of a certain citizen of this city’.57 On one occasion, van Keerberghen travelled outside the city to help produce (specifically, to bind) books of psalms in Dutch: ‘on a journey’, van Keerberghen confessed, he ‘bound at the house of some bookbinder two hundred or more psalters of Dathenus’.58 On yet another occasion, van Keerberghen ‘bound around two or one hundred [sic] psalmbooks that were brought to him by some women’.59 The extent to which printers like van Waesberghe and van Keerberghen were driven by religious adherence to Protestantism, or opportunism and a desire for profit, is unknown. Regardless, we glimpse in these accounts not just the role of female labour to the production of songbooks, and women as a market for psalms, but also the importance of locating clandestine spaces and adapting them for musical performance and the creation of music books. Taken together, these examples illustrate how Protestant singing and dissident activity involved individuals from a range of social categories, especially in large, multi-confessional urban environments such as Antwerp and Tournai. Against this backdrop, material from Douai provides a fresh reminder that dissent and musical polemic also existed in cities that experienced less intense and sustained conflict between Protestants and Catholics, 53 54 55 56

57 58 59

On Plantin’s psalter, see Slenk, ‘Christophe Plantin and the Genevan Psalter’. Marnef, Antwerp in the Age of Reformation, p. 45. M. van Vaernewijck, Van die beroerlicke tijden in de Nederlanden en voornamelijk in Ghendt 1566–1568, ed. F. Vanderhaeghen (Ghent, 1872), I, p. 3. Archives générales du Royaume, Brussels, ‘Raad van Beroerten’, 29, fol. 63r. The presence of these documents is mentioned in passing in H. Vanhulst, 'Les éditions de musique polyphonique et les traités musicaux mentionnés dans les inventaires dressés en 1569 dans les Pays-Bas espagnols sur ordre du duc d'Albe', Revue belge de Musicologie, 31 (1977), p. 61. Ibid., fols. 33r and 34v. Ibid., fol. 34v. Ibid., fol. 35r.

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and that Protestant singing was prosecuted not in isolation, but alongside other proscribed behaviours. In 1613, for example, Douai city leaders sentenced Joachim Hacquo, a native of Douai, to banishment from Douai for three years and three days, for having: frequented and conversed with disreputable men suspected of heresy, to have been present and attending at various meetings where they have uttered many scandalous remarks against the sacraments and ceremonies of the church, found himself at the preaching of the heretics, bought and brought back into this city a forbidden, corrupt and heretical version of the Bible, and sang the psalms of Clément Marot and Théodore de Bèze, also forbidden and corrupt.60

Other suspects were also charged with a similar panoply of transgressive actions involving proscribed speech, singing and books. Loys Fremault confessed to having ‘frequented and conversed informally with disreputable men suspected of heresy, and retained in his house a book containing many condemned and heretical tracts, sustained with these persons singing the metrical psalms of Marot and de Bèze, and [was] vehemently suspected of making scandalous and heretical remarks against the Catholic Church, and its sacraments and ceremonies’.61 Similarly, accusations against Grégoire Pottau purported that he ‘frequented and conversed with disreputable people suspected of heresy, [was] suspected to have sung the psalms of Marot and de Bèze, and to have held many remarks against the saints, against the church, and its sacraments and ceremonies’.62 These descriptions come from somewhat formulaic summaries of charges and confessions, created after sentences were pronounced. No witness statements or interrogation documents exist for these suspects, and as a result we cannot be certain about the degree to which the inquisitorial discourse and the picture of dissent painted were constructed by the suspected heretics, or by the interrogating authorities themselves. Nevertheless, the belief that singing could act as a powerful social integrator, in addition to operating as a medium for communicating theological ideas, in part underpinned the city leaders’ twin concerns of singing and the gathering and communication of ‘disreputable’ people. For Protestant song could act as a potent tool for bringing ‘disreputable’ actors into greater coordination not just of pitch and rhythm, but of mission and action. Protestants in Douai engaged in singing despite the clear risk that their dissident and anti-Catholic sounds – including the semantic messages of songs – could be sensed by fellow urban residents across spatial boundaries of the city, through walls into neighbouring homes and streets. In 1609, city leaders pierced the tongue of Matthias Lefebvre and banished him and his family, not just because Matthias had uttered scandalous remarks against the Virgin and renounced mainstream beliefs about purgatory and transubstantiation, but also because he confessed ‘to have sung the psalms’ (‘davoir chanté des spalmes [sic]).63 These charges were initially brought on the basis of numerous ‘ear-witness’ testi-

60 61 62 63

AcD, FF, 390, fol. 163v. Original transcribed in Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 49. AcD, FF, 390, fol. 165v; Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 52. AcD, FF, 390, fol. 166v; Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’. AcD, FF, 541, bundle 42, unpaginated.

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monies, drawn primarily from lay informants connected to Lefebvre’s social circles, who attested to have heard the sound of his singing. A 30-year-old labourer testified that he had heard Matthias ‘sing the psalms of David in French’ (‘chanter les psalms de David en Francais’).64 Jean Pollart, a 40-year-old innkeeper, claimed ‘to have heard … Matthias having many times sung in his house’.65 Because city authorities recorded Pollart’s testimony in the third person, it is unclear whether Pollart meant that he heard Lefebvre singing within the confines of Lefebvre’s own home (en sa maison), with Pollart perhaps overhearing Lefebvre from the street or a neighbouring house, or more likely whether he heard Lefebvre singing in Pollart’s inn (en sa maison), possibly in a private rented bedroom. In either case, Lefebvre’s singing was audible to others, and, as suggested by the letter from the bishop of Arras mentioned above, both locations – private homes and inns – were known gathering points for Calvinists in Douai.66 The fact that city records state that three of the six men apprehended in 1613 confessed to singing the psalms of Marot makes it possible that psalm singing in Douai sometimes occurred in all-male gatherings in homes, inns and gardens.67 However, psalm singing also occurred in mixed-gender contexts, particularly in the home with spouses and children. In 1586, one year after Alexander Farnese’s defeat of Antwerp and restoration of Catholic rule in the Southern Netherlands, a textile worker named Charles Lefebvre, his wife and his family were banished from Douai for being members ‘of the rejected religion’. One of Charles’s sons was already living in England. Among other offences, they rejected the doctrine of purgatory and ‘sang the psalms in French’ together as a family.68 In 1609, Matthias, father of four girls, and possibly a relative of Charles,69 had also made scandalous remarks about purgatory and ‘taught some of his daughters to sing the psalms’.70 Encouraging children to cultivate devotion through song followed Calvinist teaching developed in Geneva and across the Low Countries.71 However, because lay domestic singing in Douai was not an exclusively Protestant practice, what was transgressive about Matthias Lefebvre and his family’s singing was not that it had occurred, but that they sang the psalms of Marot in French. As mentioned above, daily domestic singing of French hymns in Catholic homes was prescribed in connection to devotional readings on the

64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

AcD, FF, 541, bundle 40, unpaginated. Ibid. Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 54. The bishop also included gardens as known gathering places: ibid. AcD, FF, 390, fol. 41v. See also Beuzart, Les Hérésies, p. 532. Beuzart suggests this possibility in ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 46. AcD, FF, 541, bundle 39, unpaginated. Children participated in psalm singing in informal open-air Calvinist gatherings in the Low Countries. Marcus van Vaernewijck wrote that gatherings in Ghent included ‘men, women and young girls’: van Vaernewijck, Van die beroerlicke tijden in de Nederlanden, p. 3. Visual depictions of hedge preaching outside Antwerp and elsewhere in the Low Countries included children, and, as Barbara Kaminska has pointed out, the crowd depicted in Bruegel’s Preaching of St John the Baptist, which consisted of men, women and children from across the social spectrum, was probably accurate, and closely resembles official descriptions of the events themselves: Barbara Kaminska, Pieter Bruegel the Elder: Religious Art for the Urban Community (Leiden, 2019), pp. 140–1.

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lives of the saints.72 In addition, Douai bookseller Balthasar Bellère stocked dozens of music books, including books with polyphony of locally born composers Jacob Regnart and François Gallet, which were purchased and used not just in Douai’s churches – above all, the collegiate churches of St Amé and St Pierre – but also by lay Catholics for devotion and recreation in the home.73 As elsewhere throughout Catholic Europe, the singing of litanies and hymns by lay Catholics in Douai routinely took place around the household shrine or image of the Virgin, for which numerous books were produced locally by printers Jean Bogard and Balthasar Bellère.74 Domestic singing in Douai, even in the vernacular, shaped identity and devotion for lay Catholics as much as Protestants. To a certain extent, the tunes of the Genevan psalter, composed by Marot and others, were less problematic for Catholic authorities than the French psalm texts themselves. Catholic singers of the anti-Protestant song about Fery du Guyon likely used a Genevan tune to set the anti-Protestant text, as mentioned above. In addition, Bellère stocked copies of Matthias Reymann’s Cythara sacra (Cologne, 1613), a publication of instrumental settings of Genevan psalm tunes (without the French psalm texts) in lute tablature, for local Catholic markets.75 Records do not state how often suspected Calvinists met with one another, and the identical wording of some statements – including the phrase ‘pseaulmes mis en rimes par Marot et Bèze’ – probably indicates the formulaic wording of authorities’ questions put to witnesses and the accused. Nevertheless, singing likely occurred at gatherings dubbed by city authorities as ‘preachings’. One unnamed witness in Douai testified that Matthias Lefebvre attended a ‘grand presche’ in Mons, roughly 70 kilometres from Douai, at some point before 1609.76 In 1613, Joachim Hacquo similarly confessed to the charge of being ‘found at the preaching of the heretics’ (‘trouvé à la presche des héréticques’).77 The exact nature of these gatherings is uncertain. In the Southern Netherlands, Protestant presches could range from small domestic gatherings to large open-air assemblies in the countryside. In 1562, Tournai authorities apprehended an upholsterer and itinerant preacher named Jean de Lannoy who preached in secret conventicles in the city, including the home of a widow on the Rue des Corriers.78 However, it is possible that Hacquo – and also Lefebvre – attended open-air assemblies akin to those that took place before and during the Wonder Year of 1566. Here Hacquo and Lefebvre would probably have gathered with others who expressed faith (or held sympathies) with Protestantism, to sing psalms, pray, listen to sermons, and baptise adults and children. 72 73

74 75 76 77 78

Gazet, Histoire de la vie, mort, passion et miracles des saints. Thesavrus bibliothecarivs. For a transcription and discussion of music books (above all, polyphony) sold by Bellère, see H. Vanhulst, ‘Balthasar Bellère, marchand de musique à Douai (1603–1636)’, Revue de Musicologie, 84/2 (1998), pp. 175–98, and 85/2 (1999), pp. 227–63. For instance, Tabula Sacrorum Carminum, Piarumque Precum Enchiridion (Douai, 1579), and Litaniae Catholicae ad Deum Dominum Nostrum, ad Beatissimam Virginem Mariam, & ad Omnes Sanctos (Douai, 1595). Matthias Reymann, Cythara sacra (Cologne, 1613). See Vanhulst, ‘Balthasar Bellère, marchand de musique’, 85/2, p. 245. AcD, FF, 541, bundle 40, unpaginated. AcD, FF, 390, fol. 163v; Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 49. Moreau (ed.), Le Journal d’un bourgeois de Tournai, pp. 411–12.

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Protestant ‘preachings’, as mentioned above, were important occasions for distributing printed books, and it is here that Hacquo and Lefebvre may have acquired their copies of the Bible and the psalms, which were confiscated and burned by authorities in Douai. Hacquo was suspected in 1613 of having bought ‘and transported into this city a forbidden, corrupt and heretical version of the Bible’.79 Once in Douai, Protestant books appear to have circulated through existing social networks and informal interactions. In 1609, Matthias Lefebvre confessed to having taken a prohibited New Testament in French to an acquaintance, a ‘widow of the marshal’ (‘vefue du marissal’), at her home in Auby (‘au village d’oby’), roughly 5 kilometres outside of Douai.80 Lefebvre also swapped copies of the New Testament and other Protestant books with individuals in his professional trade network. Lefebvre confessed to exchanging a copy of a book written by Théodore de Bèze with a fellow carpenter in the town of Corbie, roughly 70 kilometres from Douai, to which Lefebvre said he travelled by foot (‘a pied’).81 On this basis, it is worth speculating that the individuals suspected of heresy in 1613 may also have exchanged their prohibited books with one another as they met together to discuss Scripture and religious ideas. Although psalters are not specifically mentioned, it is possible that editions of the Genevan psalter were bound with copies of the New Testament, which authorities may not have recorded. Not only did some Genevan editions of the Bible include editions of the metrical psalms, but a confessionally sympathetic local bookbinder, such as Philippe Hanache, could have clandestinely bound books for Protestants in Douai.82 In any event, the mobility of people and objects characterised the musical and material cultures of dissent in Douai. By travelling to nearby villages and farther afield, Lefebvre maintained – and possibly sought to grow through conversion – his network of confessional sympathisers drawn from personal and professional contacts. Calvinists in Douai acquired other books beyond copies of the New Testament. Loys Fremault confessed to possessing ‘in his house a book containing many condemned and heretical tracts’ (‘en sa maison ung livre contenant plusieurs traictés reprouvez et héréticques’).83 In 1633, Philippe Hanache, a bookbinder under the jurisdiction of the university rather than the city, was found in possession of Antithese des Faicts de Jesus Christ et Du Pape (Antitheses of the Deeds of Jesus Christ and the Pope), an anti-Catholic polemical work popular with Calvinists across Europe (see Figure 8.3).84 After the first printing of 79 80 81 82

83

84

AcD, FF, 390, fol. 163v; Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 49. AcD, FF, 541, bundle 38, unpaginated. Ibid. Protestants in Tournai specially bound together editions of the New Testament (such as Augustin Marlorat’s Le Nouveau Testament […] (Caen, 1565)) with editions of the psalms of Marot, which were confiscated and burned by the duke of Alba on 16 June 1569. See G. Moreau, ‘Catalogue des livres brûlés à Tournai par ordre du duc d’Albe (16 juin 1569)’, Torae Tornacenses; Recueil d’étude d’ histoire (Tournai, 1971), p. 202. While the records do not indicate which titles were owned, it is possible that Fremault owned works akin to John Calvin’s Petit traicté monstrant que doit faire un homme fidele congnoissant la verité de l’evangile or Traicté de la saincte cene de nostre seigneur Jesus Christ (n.p., 1562). It is possible that Fremault may have owned Theodore de Beze’s Traicte des vrayes essencielles et visibles marques de la vraye Eglise catholique, published in Geneva and La Rochelle in 1592. AcD, FF, 391, fol. 55r; Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, pp. 54–5.

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Antithese in French in 1560 in Geneva, six French-language editions flowed from Genevan presses between 1560 and 1600, in addition to German and Latin editions appearing elsewhere.85 Structured in a similar way to Luther’s Passional Christi und Antichristi, illustrated by Lucas Cranach the Elder,86 Antithese contains thirty-six woodcuts and other poetic texts juxtaposing the deeds of Christ with the deeds of the Pope.

Simon Du Rosier, Antithese des Faicts de Jesus Christ et du Pape: mise en vers françois. Ensemble les traditions et decrets du Pape, opposez aux commandemens de Dieu. ([Geneva]: [Eustache Vignon], 1584). Bibliothèque de Genève, Bc 2507, https://doi.org/10.3931/e-rara-6515

Figure 8.3

The majority of the eighteen rhymed verses that form the core of Antithese were most likely intended to be recited rather than sung. However, Hanache and fellow Calvinists who encountered copies of Antithese and who also knew the contents of the Genevan psalter would certainly have recognised that some of the anti-Catholic metrical verse in Antithese was taken directly from the Genevan psalter and therefore could also be sung. One example is the song ‘The Ten Commandments of God our Creator’ (i.e. the Genevan setting of the Decalogue), taken verbatim from the Genevan psalter and reproduced in Antithese accompanied by a woodcut of Moses receiving the Decalogue on Mount Sinai, amidst the thunderous sound of lightening and trumpets. Juxtaposing this text on the opposite page is an anti-Catholic polemical text, ‘The Commandments of the Pope’, possibly specially composed for Antithese, and again accompanied by a woodcut, this time showing the Pope kneeling before the Devil and receiving a canonical document or decretal of the Catholic Church (see Figure 8.4). Significantly, because these two metrical texts – the ‘Decalogue’ and the anti-Catholic verse – have the same rhyme structure, both can be sung – not just spoken – using the Genevan tune for the Decalogue, ‘The Ten Commandments of God our Creator’.

85 86

A. Pettegree, M. Walsby and A. Wilkinson (eds.), French Vernacular Books: Books Published in the French Language before 1601 (Leiden, 2007), Vol. I, p. 522. VD16 L 5586. Martin Luther, Passional Christi und Antichristi (Wittenberg, 1521).

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Figure 8.4 ‘The Commandments of God Our Creator’ and ‘The

Commandments of the Pope’. Simon Du Rosier, Antithese des Faicts de Jesus Christ et du Pape: mise en vers françois. Ensemble les traditions et decrets du Pape, opposez aux commandemens de Dieu. ([Geneva]: [Eustache Vignon], 1584), pp. 74–5. Bibliothèque de Genève, Bc 2507, https://doi.org/10.3931/e-rara-6515

For Hanache and other readers of Antithese, anti-Catholic messages were clearly evident in both the metrical verse and the image accompanying ‘The Commandments of the Pope’. In contrast to ‘The Ten Commandments of God our Creator’, which praises the Law of God and the Gospel and grace of Christ, ‘The Commandments of the Pope’ casts the Pope as hungry for power, asserting his authority and supremacy over all things, saying ‘I am, truly, your God on earth.’ The Pope, according to Protestant antagonisers, desires an unnatural loyalty that supersedes even the natural bonds of biological family, reversing the biblical command to honour father and mother: ‘Your father and mother renounce, in order to take my religion: It is the first point that I announce, To the monks of my legion.’ Further, in contrast to the command not to create graven images and idols, the anti-Catholic verse reinforced the Protestant belief that Catholics venerated icons, relics and miraculous hosts – like the one venerated at St Amé – not as a means of increasing devotion, but simply to please the Pope and follow his command to do so: ‘Let yourselves grow up with icons, for thus I want it and it pleases me. And if all do not venerate the icons, you will know that it displeases me.’ Songs and metrical verse such as these enabled minority Protestants in Douai – Philippe Hanache and others – to develop and express anti-Catholic, especially anti-papal, sentiments. Hercules Craisme may have been singing ‘The Commandments of the Pope’ when city leaders accused him of uttering ‘scandalous and heretical remarks against our Holy Father the Pope and the catholic religion and others in derisions of the churches and of those who frequent them’.87 Protestant insult songs also targeted the Virgin Mary. The 22-year-old Francois du Bacq testified that he heard Matthias Lefebvre ‘sing a song in de-

87

AcD, FF, 390, fol. 165r; Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 51.

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rision to the Holy Virgin’ (‘chanter une chanson en derision en la St Vierge’), ‘saying that such a song was approved’ (‘disant q[ue] telle chanson estoit une des bonnes’).88 Specially composed insult songs were not the only musical repertoires used to mock and cause offence. Calvinists in Douai and across the Southern Netherlands also used the unaltered psalms of Marot themselves to mock, deride and give voice to anti-Catholic ideas. While being led to the scaffold in December 1613, Hacquo reportedly resisted and: sang for derision with scandal to the people, some saying that he sang three psalms, then being at the scaffold, with strange composure, sometimes laughing, now getting angry … then instead of saying that it displeased him to have frequented disreputable people, has said they were people of good repute … furthermore [he] said that the country of Holland is a brave country and that he so wishes to return.89

For Hacquo, a native of Douai, praising the bravery of Holland could be a statement of confessional allegiance, or a type of public display of his admiration of Holland’s comparatively more tolerant approach to religious minorities. That he ‘so wishes to return’ further indicates the mobility of Hacquo and the possibility that he maintained links with Protestant relatives or other contacts who may have migrated north after the re-Catholicisation of the south in 1585, and that he may have intended to travel there upon being banished from Douai.90 Authorities did not state which psalms Hacquo sang on his way to the scaffold. One possibility is Psalm 54, a psalm known to have been sung by Calvinist martyrs, in which the psalmist prays for God’s deliverance and speaks of making a free sacrifice of oneself to God. Hacquo may also have sung Psalm 94, a psalm sung by captured and condemned Calvinists in the Southern Netherlands describing God’s vengeance against the wicked, as well as his consolation and joy to the soul, according to the psalmist, ‘when anxiety was great within me’.91 Although the document does not indicate which psalm Hacquo sang, what does appear in the account is the manner and attitude with which city leaders believed Hacquo had sung the psalms for Catholic onlookers, ‘for derision with scandal to the people’ (‘par dérision avecq scandal au poeuple’). What exactly is meant by this is unclear, but this impression may have been created by Hacquo’s selection of psalm texts telling of God’s wrath poured out on his enemies. Derision may also have been created through non-semantic means, such as the timbre and volume of the voice.92 Moreover, in Hacquo’s case, singing derisively might have been achieved, in part, through combining his singing with laughter, itself an ambiguous phenomenon underpinned by sound, emotion and physical gesture, designed to communicate manifold feelings of intimidation, joy or shame.

88 89 90 91 92

AcD, FF, 541, bundle 40, unpaginated. AcD, FF, 390, fol. 163v; Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 50. Beuzart also raises this possibility: ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 46. P. Arnade, Beggars, Iconoclasts, and Civic Patriots: The Political Culture of the Dutch Revolt (Ithaca, NY, 2008), p. 73. On timbre and the early modern voice, see B. Varwig, ‘Early Modern Voices’, in E. Dolan and A. Rehding (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Timbre: www.oxfordhandbooks.com/view/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780190637224.001.0001/ oxfordhb-9780190637224-e-32.

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Regardless, the record is clear that Hacquo sang psalms from memory on his way to the scaffold, not from a book or pamphlet. We are told that he had already thrown his confiscated books on the fire with his own hand to be burned (‘de jeter de sa propre main au feu’).93 Although committing songs to memory was hardly exclusive to Calvinism, John Calvin’s preface to the Genevan psalter asserted that internalising songs was a potent means through which properly to engage the emotions. Using the Socratic imagery of a stamp impressing the mind like wax, Calvin wrote that ‘[a]fter the intelligence must follow the heart and the affection which is impossible unless we have the hymn imprinted on our memory in order never to cease from singing’.94 Charles Garside rightly points out that Calvin viewed the memory integrating the internal and the external, in order ‘to make the two-fold movement from mind to mouth and heart to mouth as spontaneous and uncomplicated, in the exactest sense of the word, as possible, so that melody, intensifying the good words of the psalms, may be used that much more effectively in praying to God or praising Him’.95 The internalisation of Protestant spiritual songs in Douai had important consequences for engaging the emotions in religious devotion. Singing, especially during times of trial, according to Calvin, was a medium unparalleled ‘for praising God and lifting up our hearts to Him, to console’ Christians – in times of health and danger – ‘by meditating on His virtue, goodness, wisdom, and justice’.96 On a more practical level, imprinting songs on the memory minimised reliance on incriminating physical artefacts and helped dissidents to minimise or avoid detection by Catholic authorities, who frequently used books as gauges of confessional deviation. The concept of concealment also conditioned the material properties and appearance of books themselves. It is unknown which editions of the New Testament and psalter were owned by Matthias Lefebvre, Joachim Hacquo and possibly others. However, books confiscated by Catholic authorities elsewhere in the Southern Netherlands were frequently small in physical size and format.97 Antithese was also small in size, enabling it to be read as a lap book, easily hidden from sight.98 Beyond their small size, books owned by Douai’s Calvinists often provided no print location on the title page, which complicated for Catholic authorities the task of identifying where a book was printed. Numerous French-language editions of Antithese were printed in Geneva but circulated without an imprint, including the edition from 1584 illustrated above. Other books were designed to deceive confessional authorities through false imprints, thereby giving the impression that a book was confessionally compliant. At least one edition of Antithese circulated with a title page falsely stating it was printed in Rome as part of the Jubilee year declared by Pope Clement VIII in 1600 93 94 95 96 97 98

AcD, FF, 390, fol. 163v; Beuzart, ‘Le Protestantisme a Douai’, p. 50. M. Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, 2nd edition (Cambridge, 2008), p. 24. C. Garside, ‘The Origins of Calvin’s Theology of Music: 1536–1543’, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, 69 (1979), p. 27. Ibid., p. 32. Editions of Les Pseaumes de David by Marot known to have been confiscated and burned in Tournai in the 1560s included editions in 8o, 12o and 32o. See G. Moreau, ‘Catalogue des livres brûlés à Tournai’, pp. 194–213. Extant editions of Antithese from 1584 and 1600 cited in this chapter are in 8o format.

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(see Figure 8.5). We will probably never know which edition of Antithese Hanache actually owned. Nevertheless, strategies for concealment and survival illustrate the ways in which dissidents curated both mind and matter, and how books could delicately interweave Scripture and doctrinal truth with strategies for dissimulation and deception.

Figure 8.5 Simon Du Rosier, Antithese des Faicts de Jesus Christ et du Pape: mise en vers françois. (Rome [Geneva]: [Héritiers d’Eustache Vignon], 1600). Bibliothèque de Genève, Bc 3070, https://doi.org/10.3931/e-rara-6911

••• This chapter has sought to understand how and why one religious community engaged with music when forced to exist in clandestine and semi-clandestine contexts. It has explored how religious minorities used singing as a means of distinguishing themselves from mainstream confessional society and perpetuating their beliefs through teaching children and exchanging books. The example of Protestants in Douai should also force scholars once again to acknowledge the multi-vocality – not the univocality – of the early modern urban soundscape, even of an ostensibly homogeneous confessional centre. Rather than reinforcing the collective coherence of a soundscape, I have been concerned with transgression and proscribed sounds, as described in sources unexplored by musicologists, who have hitherto concentrated on source material typical for the writing of institutional histories of music in urban environments: acta capitulari of collegiate churches, publications of approved printed music (above all, polyphony), the biographies of professional musicians – to name just a few. In this way, source and soundscape must work symbiotically: the complexity and multi-vocality of the soundscape will only be revealed to the extent that scholars continue to cast wider nets in the archive. Minority confessional communities such as the one examined here have frequently fallen outside the scholarly mainstream, in history as well as musicology. As Benjamin Kaplan and Judith Pollmann have written, ‘the history of Catholics living in Protestant lands (as of Protestants living in Catholic ones) … does not fit neatly into the story of either the Protestant Reformation or the Counter-Reformation’, which emphasise the

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‘elimination, rather than the survival, of such groups … in histories that trace the gradual “confessionalisation” of European society in the wake of those two great upheavals’.99 Indeed, the minority cultures of Calvinism described here fit neither in the confessionalised narrative of Douai as a stronghold of the Counter-Reformation, nor in broader narratives of the history of Calvinism – not least for the ways in which Calvinists there remained participants in their local Catholic surroundings, including baptising their children and marrying in local Catholic churches.100 There is much we still do not know about this minority community of Protestants in Douai. Were these life-long Protestants raised by sympathising parents, or did they convert later as youth or adults? Were there itinerant Protestant ministers who supported this clandestine community, or did these lay believers themselves perform the duties typically given to clergy? Moreover, we do not know what Protestants in Douai called themselves (Calvinist, Reformed, Huguenots?), as the labels assigned to them in trial records are only the terms and categories imposed by Catholic authorities, rather than the labels adherents and sympathisers gave to themselves. It is also difficult to determine the degree to which dissidents in Douai formed a coherent community, as opposed to a scattering of loosely connected individuals. Coherence cannot be assumed. Such an assertion continues to lie at the heart of research on medieval and early modern heresy, which views membership and internal coherence of heretical movements as frequently being the creation of inquiring authorities and imposed from without.101 The fact that Catholic leaders did not suspect all accused Calvinists of singing Marot’s psalms and insult songs might indicate that dissent in Douai did not programme everyone the same way concerning singing. Plurality and difference within this community also characterises the responses to punishment imposed for heresy. In 1613, of the six tried together, three accepted the punishment of banishment, while three others abjured and re-entered the local Catholic fold.102 Nevertheless, bonds and connections do appear to have been formed through collective singing, especially on the level of the family, itself a reflection of Calvin’s desire to see psalm singing embedded in domestic spaces and routines. Perhaps more noteworthy, however, is the way lay Protestants in Douai appear to have sung not just in the face of danger, but also of their own accord. That Calvinists in Douai should sing the psalms of Marot was not historically inevitable, and yet lay dissidents in Douai sang in circumstances where safety and normal Calvinist infrastructures of pastors, consistories and visitors – who in Geneva and else-

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B. Kaplan and J. Pollmann, ‘Conclusion: Catholic Minorities in Protestant States, Britain and the Netherlands, c.1570–1720’, in B. Kaplan, B. Moore, H. van Nierop and J. Pollmann (eds.), Catholic Communities in Protestant States: Britain and the Netherlands c.1570–1720 (Manchester, 2009), p. 249. See Table 8.1. See, for instance, R. I. Moore, The Formation of a Persecuting Society: Power and Deviance in Western Europe, 950– 1250, 2nd edition (Oxford, 2006). Such a variety of responses should not be surprising. In one well-known case, when the entire Augustinian monastery in Antwerp was apprehended in 1523 for converting to Lutheranism, all except two recanted and, as a result, Hendrik Voes and Jan van Essen became the first martyrs of the Reformation. The two martyrs were famously commemorated in Luther’s song ‘Ein neues Lied wir heben an’, and was included in the Erfurt Enchiridion of 1524.

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where repeatedly and forcefully issued directives from above for lay singing in the home – were lacking. Part of the appeal of Marot’s metrical psalms may have been not simply the sound of the psalms or their recognisable connection to Geneva but their alterability and the ease with which lay people could set their own polemical texts to the psalm tunes. In any event, these questions, alongside the material introduced in this chapter, should continue to fuel research into the lives and agency of the early modern laity across confessional boundaries. �

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9. A Jesuit Ceremony of Spiritual Exercises with Music in the Seventeenth Century: Devotional Connections between Perpignan, Barcelona, Madrid, Granada and Archbishop Palafox* Emilio Ros-Fábregas �

The main library of the University of Granada holds a unique description in Spanish of spiritual exercises, Breve relación (Toulouse, 1661), unusually rich in its details about the ceremony and music that should be performed before and during these exercises.1 The title page indicates that they took place every Thursday at the church of San Lorenzo in the former Jesuit school of Perpignan (France); its author – the unknown priest Galderique Felipe of the church at Argelès2 – states, towards the end of this Breve relación, that he has written it down so that this feast and devotion can be introduced in other cities.3 The author also indicates that one of the pieces he mentions should be performed as it is usually done on Fridays at the church of Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona. Moreover, since this printed edition is part of the old holdings of the University of Granada’s Colección Montenegro – named after its former owner, the Jesuit Pedro de Montenegro (Madrid, 1619 – Granada, 1684), who had been rector of schools in Cádiz and Granada – it seems likely that circulation of this printed Breve relación would have contributed to the dissemination of this practice of spiritual exercises following its detailed specifications.4 *

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This publication is part of the results of the R&D project ‘Hispanic Polyphony and Music of Oral Tradition in the Age of Digital Humanities’ (HAR2016-75371-P, Spanish Ministry of Economy, Industry and Competitiveness, 2016–20), ascribed to the Institución Milá y Fontanals – CSIC; PIs: Emilio Ros-Fábregas and María Gembero-Ustárroz. The title page of this rare publication reads as follows: BREVE RELACION / DE LOS / EXERCICIOS / ESPIRITVALES, / Que se acostumbran hazer todos los jueues del año, / en la Iglesia del glorioso Martyr San Lorenço / del Colegio de la Compañia de IESVS, de la / fidelissima villa de Perpiñan. / Sacada à luz por el Reuerendo / GALDERIQVE FELIPE, / Presbitero, y Beneficiado de la Iglesia de Argeles. / IHS / EN TOLOSA, / Por Ivan Bvde, Impressor del Rey, y de las Cor- / tes de Languedoch. 1661. / CON LICENCIA. (Universidad de Granada, Biblioteca Hospital Real, BHR/Caja IMP-2070 (30) C-033-099 (30); 13 pages: title page + numbered pages 3 to 13 + colophon). The transcription of the complete text in Spanish appears in Appendix 9.1. For a digital reproduction of this Breve relación, see the following link: http://hdl.handle.net/10481/13543. There are two locations of similar name: Argelès-Gazost and Argelès-sur-Mer; most probably the latter one, not far from Perpignan, is Galderique Felipe’s town. Appendix 9.1, p. 235. In addition to the collection of the Jesuit Pedro de Montenegro, the University of Granada library has important holdings from the former Jesuit school of San Pablo; for a brief description, use the following link: http://biblioteca.ugr.es/pages/bibliotesoros/colecciones/grandes_colecciones. On the San Pablo Jesuit school in Granada, see, for instance, M. del Carmen Vílchez Lara, ‘El Colegio de San Pablo en Granada: de escuela jesuita a universidad’, Archivo Español de Arte, 90/360 (2017), pp. 347–64. The musical implications of the presence of this unique copy of the Breve relación in Granada, regarding the possible celebration of these spiritual exercises with extant music in the Granada archives, is beyond the scope of this chapter, but it would certainly merit further research. For musical activities related to the beatification of St Ignatius in Granada and the Iberian world, see A. Mazuela-Anguita, “La música en el ceremonial jesuita: Granada y las fiestas de beatificación de Ignacio de Loyola, 1610”, in

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My initial interest in the Breve relación was focused on the description of the ceremony itself in Perpignan, and the possible music repertory that could be identified to accompany this devotion to the Blessed Sacrament. As the research developed, though, other important aspects emerged from the Breve relación, such as the networks connecting it to other cities and devotional ceremonies, as well as the possible theological context that may help to read and sing its texts. Thus, this article has four sections: (1) ‘A Context for the Breve relación: Jesuits, Confraternities and Peregrinación espiritual (Barcelona, 1675)’; (2) ‘Ceremony and Music in the Breve relación: Description and Date of its Original Edition’; (3) ‘The Breve relación and Juan de Palafox: The “Escuela de Cristo” in Madrid and the Jansenist Conception of God’s Grace’; and (4) ‘Local Repertory for Spiritual Exercises’. Three Appendices present transcriptions of original texts to which I will refer; a fourth Appendix contains the music edition of a short work directly related to these ceremonies. A Context for the Breve relación: Jesuits, Confraternities and Peregrinación espiritual (Barcelona, 1675) The interest of the Breve relación should be put in the context of research about Jesuits and music, and in direct connection with devotional practices of confraternities. In recent years, there has been a renewed interest in research into Jesuits and music.5 Daniele Filippi has presented a thorough study of the role of music in Jesuit catechetical literature in the early modern period, and the significant contribution of Spain in the transmission of catechetical methodology to Italy and its adaptation in France during the early seventeenth century.6 As he pointed out: More generally, the non-conventional repertory associated with the teaching of Christian doctrine needs to be studied in the context of the early modern Catholic soundscape. The participation in (or at least the exposure to) these practices was one of the most characteristic sonic experiences available in the everyday life of Catholics, and it helped shape personal as well as collective beliefs and identities. Even though some of these sonic phenomena may seem almost pre-musical when compared to the highest products of early modern musical culture, they are nevertheless part of a spectrum.7

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M. J. de la Torre Molina and A. C. Marchant Rivera (eds.), Poder, identidades e imágenes de la ciudad: Música y libros de ceremonial religioso en España (siglos XVI-XIX), Síntesis Historia, 23 (Madrid, 2019), pp. 149-184. For a general overview of the extensive literature on Jesuits and music, and particularly of the recent trends in research about this subject, see T. F. Kennedy, ‘Music and Jesuits: Historiography, and a Global Perspective’, Journal of Jesuit Studies, 3 (2016), pp. 365–76; see also the other music-related contributions to the same issue of that journal. The following volumes reflect recent trends on the subject: J. W. O’Malley, G. A. Bailey, S. J. Harris and T. F. Kennedy (eds.), The Jesuits: Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts, 1540–1773 (Toronto, 1999); S. Nanni, La musica dei semplici: L’altra Controriforma (Rome, 2012); A. H. Celenza and A. R. DelDonna, Music as Cultural Mission: Exploration of Jesuit Practices in Italy and North America (Philadelphia, 2014); and D. Filippi and M. J. Noone (eds.), Listening to Early Modern Catholicism (Leiden, 2017). For a comprehensive bibliography, see The Boston College Jesuit Bibliography: New Sommervogel Online (NSO), ed. Robert A. Maryks: http://bibliographies.brillonline. com/browse/nso. D. Filippi, ‘A Sound Doctrine: Early Modern Jesuits and the Singing of the Catechism’, Early Music History, 34 (2015), pp. 1–43. See also A. de Vicente, ‘Música, propaganda y reforma religiosa en los siglos XVI y XVII: cánticos para la “gente del vulgo” (1520–1620)’, Studia Aurea. Revista de Literatura Española y Teoría Literaria del Renacimiento y Siglo de Oro, 1 (2007), accessible through the link: https://dialnet.unirioja.es/servlet/autor?codigo=38947.

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The contributions by Céline Drèze provide an insight into the music repertory for meditations during Lent preserved at the Jesuit archives in Antwerp, and the practices among Marian sodalities in French and Flemish geographical areas.8 Certainly even more closely related to the Breve relación are the devotional practices of confraternities in Italy, about which Noel O’Regan has published a formidable resumé of the state of research, with particular attention to his own research in Rome.9 As indicated by O’Regan, the activities of the confraternities in Rome included spiritual exercises, such as those described in detail in the Breve relación, which became a model: The relative proximity of the national French, German and Spanish churches in a cluster close to the Piazza Navona only served to heighten the sense of competition. Devotional confraternities had the most consistent use of music, particularly during penitential seasons and in their oratories. This came to a climax in Holy Week with the singing of the Tenebrae offices and a procession to S. Pietro and the Vatican palace on Holy Thursday/Good Friday. A number of these confraternities also mounted a series of devotional exercises on the Fridays of Lent, or on another day of the week. The role of music in these grew in importance in the last decades of the sixteenth century and into the seventeenth, culminating in the oratorio performances in Latin or Italian for which Rome became a model for the rest of Europe.10

As pointed out by O’Regan, the confraternities’ devotion to the Blessed Sacrament started in early-sixteenth-century parishes and, from the middle of the century on, its extension over three days (the Forty Hours devotion from Thursday to Saturday) started to have a prominent role in ‘public display and private devotion’.11 For seventeenth-century Spain, Pablo L. Rodríguez has documented, at least since 1639, royal devotion to the Blessed Sacrament exposed at the chapel of the Alcázar Real in Madrid, and, since 1644, in the form of a Forty Hours ceremonial in the presence of Philip IV; usually, Mass and other ceremonies took place in the mornings of the three days, and ‘siesta’ and adoration of the Blessed Sacrament in the afternoons of Thursday and Friday, ending the devotion on Saturday at noon.12 For

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Filippi, ‘A Sound Doctrine’, pp. 42–3. C. Drèze, ‘Un corpus inédit de méditations pour le carême, conservé dans le fonds d’archives jésuites à Anvers (XVII–XVIIIe siècles)’, Journal of the Alamire Foundation, 3 (2011), pp. 267–303; and Drèze, ‘Musical Practices among Marian Sodalities in the Gallo- and Flandro-Belgian Provinces from the Sixteenth to the Eighteenth Centuries’, Journal of Jesuit Studies, 3 (2016), pp. 398–414. On the characteristics and types of sodalities in connection with confraternities, see the Catholic Encyclopedia Online: www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=10924. N. O’Regan, ‘Music at Roman Confraternities to 1650: The Current State of Research’, Analecta Musicologica, 45 (2011), pp. 132–58. O’Regan is the author of the first book-length study of music at a Roman confraternity, Institutional Patronage in Post-Tridentine Rome: Music at Santissima Trinità dei Pellegrini, 1550–1650 (London, 1995), and he is preparing a book on Roman confraternities. O’Regan, ‘Music at Roman Confraternities to 1650’, p. 142. For a summary of Italian confraternity studies, see C. F. Black, ‘The Development of Confraternity Studies over the Past Thirty Years’, in N. Terpstra (ed.), The Politics of Ritual Kinship: Confraternities and Social Order in Early Modern Italy (Cambridge, 1999 and 2007), pp. 9–29; and, in the same volume, L. Lazar, ‘The First Jesuit Confraternity and Marginalized Groups in Sixteenth-Century Rome’, pp. 132–49. On the activity of confraternities and related music repertory in two other Italian cities, see R. L. Kendrick, The Sounds of Milan, 1585–1650 (Oxford, 2002); and J. Glixon, Honoring God and the City: Music at the Venetian Confraternities, 1260–1807 (Oxford, 2003). O’Regan, ‘Music at Roman Confraternities to 1650’, pp. 132 and 134. P. L. Rodríguez, ‘Música, devoción y esparcimiento en la capilla del Alcázar Real (s. XVII): Los villancicos y tonos 219

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the reconstruction of the Forty Hours ceremony at the Alcázar Real, Rodríguez used two descriptions from c.1668 and 1685 – very rich in details about the ceremonial but, as he points out, with only very general comments about the specific works to be performed;13 the ceremonial, though, provides an important context for the villancico repertory of the Hispanic world during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Galderique Felipe’s Breve relación has particular musical interest for several reasons.14 Even though its title does not mention music, the detailed description contains valuable information about the moments in which music was performed: from 3 to 4 in the afternoon before the ceremony itself started (as in the ‘siestas’ of the Forty Hours devotion) and, afterwards, during the one-hour ceremony of devotion to the Blessed Sacrament in Perpignan, indicating in this case the instruments and voices that intervened, as well as the complete texts to be sung.15 The Breve relación mentions another similar ceremony, on which the author based his publication, which has led me to find another unique publication: Peregrinación espiritual (Barcelona, 1675) by the Carmelite Magin Massò, describing the devotion to the crucified image of Jesus Christ (‘Santo Cristo’) at the Oratory of the church of Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona.16 It should be pointed out that, although the Breve relación by G.

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al Santísimo Sacramento para Cuarenta Horas’, Revista Portuguesa de Musicologia, 7 and 8 (1997–8), pp. 31–46; a detailed ceremonial structure of the Forty Hours from Thursday to Saturday appears on pp. 42–4. See also: A. de Santi, L’Orazione delle Quarant’Ore e i tempi di calamità e di guerra (Rome, 1919); M. S. Weil, ‘The Devotion of the Forty Hours and Roman Baroque Illusions’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 37 (1974), pp. 218–49; K. Noehles, ‘Scenografie per le Quarant’Ore e altari barochi’, in A. Schnapper (ed.), La scenografia barocca (Bologna, 1980), pp. 151–5; H. E. Smither, A History of the Oratorio, I – The Oratorio in the Baroque Era: Italy, Vienna, Paris (Chapel Hill, NC, 1977), pp. 41–3; F. Hammond, Music & Spectacle in Baroque Rome, Barberini Patronage under Urban VIII (New Haven, 1994); and O’Regan, Institutional Patronage in Post-Tridentine Rome, pp. 25–7. Rodríguez, ‘Música, devoción’, p. 35. The two sources are an anonymous Tratado de las Ceremonias, o, culto que se da a Dios en la Real Capilla de los Reyes Catholicos (c.1668) (London, British Library, Ms Egerton, 1822–3), and Mateo Fraso, Tratado de la Capilla Real de los Serenissimos Reyes Catholicos de España (1685); this latter source includes many passages taken from the first one. The second description was probably never printed; there are several extant manuscript copies – one of them is at Madrid, Real Academia de la Historia, 9/708, copied in 1696 by Joseph de la Fuente González. It may be surprising that a ceremony in Perpignan and its 1661 description published as a Breve relación in Toulouse (both locations now in France) would have been performed in Spanish, but it should be taken into account that Perpignan was part of the Spanish region of the Roussillon until the Treaty of the Pyrenees signed in 1659 to end the war between Spain and France; the latter gained Roussillon, Artois, part of Luxembourg, and part of Flanders, and afterwards the border with Spain was fixed at the Pyrenees. Roussillon, though, was a Catalan-speaking area; the 1661 publication in Spanish may reflect also the problems encountered by France during the process of incorporation of Roussillon, and the role played by the Jesuits. See D. Stewart, Assimilation and Acculturation in Seventeenth-Century Europe: Roussillon and France, 1659–1715 (Westport, CT, 1997). For a recent study about musical activity in the historical region of Rosselló/Roussillon/Rosellón, of which Perpignan was the capital, see A. Mazuela-Anguita, ‘Polifonía, redes musicales y ceremonias rurales en los Pirineos Orientales a través de las crónicas de Honorat Ciuró (1612–1674)’, Revista de Musicología, 39 (2016), pp. 411–54. The seemingly unique copy of Magin Massò’s Peregrinación espiritual is at the Biblioteca Pública Episcopal del Seminario de Barcelona (Sig. 248 Mas). In the following complete title, I have indicated in bold the section at the end of the volume containing the description of the ceremony at the ‘Oratorio’ of Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona that served as a model for the Breve relación: PEREGRINACION / ESPIRITVAL, Y DEVOTA, VTIL A / todas las personas, que desean vivir / espiritualmente. / COMPVESTA POR FR. MAGIN MASSO, / Doctor en Santa Teologia,

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Felipe was published in 1661, the description refers (as we will see below) to a ceremony in Perpignan that took place most likely in 1655, and since it was based on the Barcelona devotional ceremony of the Santo Cristo at the church of Santa Maria del Pi, G. Felipe obviously had to use an earlier version of Magin Massò’s description that would have predated, by at least twenty years, the one he published in Peregrinación espiritual (1675). The latter is not so detailed as the Breve relación, but it includes the same texts to be sung, with small variants, as well as other texts for singing; the description of the ceremony at Santa Maria del Pi appears at the end of the volume, providing a very rich devotional context for seventeenth-century Barcelona.17 The incorporation in the Breve relación of the texts to be sung during Figure 9.1 Title page of Galderique Felipe’s Breve relación (Touthe spiritual exercises also offers the louse, 1661) possibility of identifying the extant music related to these devotions, particularly at the Biblioteca de Catalunya and in the Archive of Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona.18 Figure 9.1 presents the title page of the Breve relación.

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Predicador Apostolico, / del Orden de nuestra Señora del Carmen. / Dividese en quatro Tratados. / PRIMERO / Se describe el Peregrino, y su perfeta peregrinacion. / SEGVNDO / Se enseñan quatro vias por do se va derecho a Dios, / y al Cielo. / TERCERO / Se afina vn Relox espiritual, que concierta las jornadas. / QVARTO / Se pone vn resumen de la forma que se observa en / los santos exercicios, que todos los Viernes se tienen / en el devotissimo Oratorio, y Capilla de la Santa / Espina, a la venerabilissima Imagen / del Santo Christo. / DIRIGIDA, Y DEDICADA A NVESTRO / Señor Iesu Christo crucificado, y a los muy Devotos, que / se ofrecen reverentes adornos, y cuydan de sus aliños / con brillantes luzes en su Altar, en la Iglesia Par- / roquial de nuestra Señora del Pino. / En Barcelona, en casa de Francisco Cormellas, por Vicente / Surià, Año 1675 (14 unnumbered pages + 312 pages + 8 unnumbered). For a digital reproduction, see https:// books.google.es/books?id=eILeQ0oOLToC&pg=PA22&lpg=PA22&dq=peregrinacion+espiritual+y+devota&source=bl&ots=VywMlrVrq-&sig=tcKr-5IQH1fu8ddD1KK1E_43BaM&hl=es&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiZ_ NHa_vbaAhXLIlAKHc0wDEUQ6AEINjAF#v=onepage&q=peregrinacion%20espiritual%20y%20devota&f=false. A discussion about other sections of this volume – most informative about many relevant aspects of devotion in Barcelona, particularly about the Santo Cristo at Santa Maria del Pi there – is beyond the scope of this chapter and will be the subject of another study. Appendix 9.2 presents sections of Magin Massò’s description in Peregrinación espiritual of the ‘santos exercicios’ at Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona to facilitate the comparison with the 1661 Breve relación. The rich archive at the Basílica de Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona is in the process of being catalogued; a typewritten preliminary list of musical works compiled by M. A. Ester Sala and J. M. Vilar Torrens, revised by L. Borau i

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Ceremony and Music in the Breve relación: Description and Date of its Original Edition19 The Breve relación starts with a detailed description of the San Lorenzo church’s altar in the Perpignan Jesuit school:20 Having opened the front door of the tabernacle, and the two doors on both sides, and having prepared the altar with flowers (natural, if it is the season for them, or artificial), other ornaments, and twelve lighted candles of half a pound each one, the Blessed Sacrament is discovered at three o’clock in the afternoon. The three curtains are open, two of gauze and one of red taffeta. Of those two, the thinnest and clearest is closest to the monstrance, and, when the latter has to be hidden, it is the first curtain to be closed. The curtain that follows afterwards is not so thin and clear as the first one, although, if closed, one still can see the Host, until the third veil covers everything. The three hang from silver rings and rods, the latter fixed in the heaven of the tabernacle, at a small distance between them so that they do not hinder drawing the curtains.21 From the said three hours until four, while people come in, three or four voices sing devotional texts accompanied by some instruments, sometimes they play alone in between, and there are usually so many people attending, even though it is a working day, that the church is full and seems larger than it really is.22 The bell rings first at quarter to four, with three strokes, and then at four o’clock, to announce to everyone that the preacher is going up into the pulpit. He, after ringing a small bell to stop the singers, gives his sermon, of some twenty minutes, to give three points for mental prayer [tres puntos para la Oración Mental]. The main purpose of this feast is to teach this kind

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Barbó, is available online – ‘Inventari provisional dels manuscrits musicals (i ordenació dels impressos) de l’Arxiu de l’Església del Pi’: www.apsmp.cat/wp-content/uploads/Inventari_Fons_Musical_Provisional.pdf. For bibliography about confraternities of the SS. Crocifisso and related music repertory, see O’Regan, ‘Orlando di Lasso and Rome: Personal Contacts and Musical Influences’, in P. Bergquist (ed.), Orlando di Lasso Studies (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 132–57; and J. Riepe, ‘Die Arciconfraternità del SS. Crocifisso und ihre Oratorienaufführungen in der ersten Hälftedes 17. Jahrhunderts’, Analecta Musicologica, 45 (2011), pp. 159–203. Since the musical aspects of these exercises are so closely intertwined with almost every moment of the ceremony, instead of selecting passages of musical interest out of context, I will follow strictly the description of this Breve relación, translating it, and adding comments when necessary. The English translation presented here of the Breve relación is by the present author; I will refer to the original text in Spanish transcribed in Appendix 9.1, indicating the original pagination in brackets. Passages mentioning the presence of music are marked in bold; sung texts, though, are not so marked, since they appear as poetic strophes easily distinguishable. I will refer also to the concordant passages, especially the sung texts, in Peregrinación espiritual. The Jesuit San Lorenzo school in Perpignan was opened in 1614. Precisely in 1661 (the publication year of the Breve relación), Louis XIV confirmed the Jesuits in their government of the school in order to favour French ideas after the incorporation of Roussillon into France. After the expulsion of the Jesuits from France in 1764, the school passed to the regular clergy until 1789; it was destroyed in 1794. See Enciclopedia catalana: www.enciclopedia.cat/ EC-GEC-0060174.xml. As we will see later on in the description, the three curtains play an important ceremonial role connected to the performance of music. Appendix 9.1, p. 236. The equivalent passage of the devotion to Santo Cristo in Barcelona, as described in Peregrinación espiritual, p. 290 – albeit taking place after Vespers – is very brief regarding the preparation of the altar, but it mentions the instruments accompanying the singers and includes the texts of four villancicos to be performed before the ceremony itself starts; a translation follows: ‘On Friday morning the chapel is prepared and the altar of the Santo Cristo is adorned appropriately; in the afternoon, after Vespers, the feast starts with the chapel of singers, with harp, guitar and bajoncillo; the following texts or others and coplas (strophes), according to the season of the year, are sung, and the ones that the chapelmaster thinks are most appropriate, as the ones presented here.’ See original text of this description and of the four villancicos that follow in Appendix 9.2, p. 246–52.

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of prayer, so that people can exercise with it, explaining the mystery (Misterio) appropriate to the week in which the feast takes place: the Passion of Christ during Lent; the glorious Resurrection at Easter time; the Virgin Mary, if during that week there is one of her festivities; and, during normal time, about the Gospel of that Sunday or about the ‘Postrimerías’ [death, final judgement, hell, and eternal glory]. He documents briefly, with the help of the Scriptures and the Fathers of the Church, the discussion of the subject to be meditated, divided into the three said points, with the benefits to be gained from them. At the end, he persuades the audience to prepare themselves for a true act of contrition.23 After the priest has finished the sermon, he goes to the altar and kneels in the middle of the first of the two steps before the altar’s platform, adding to his surplice the stole.24 And then a solo voice, very sweet, accompanied by harp, sings these verses containing the way to examine the conscience and the act of contrition.25 Para entrar en la Oración assi el sabio lo aconseja, postrate a los pies de Dios y examina tu conciencia.

To enter into Prayer so the wise man advises, prostrate yourself at the feet of God and examine your conscience.

Aqueste examen contiene, cinco puntos, alma atenta, por todos ellos discurre, si quedar limpia desseas.

This examination contains five points, attentive soul, think about all of them if you want to be cleansed.

A todos los beneficios agradecida te muestra mira lo mucho que debes que esto el primer punto encierra.

All the benefits you have gracefully received, He shows you.26 See how much you owe, for this is what the first point encompasses.

Here a brief pause takes place [in the singing], and also after each of the following strophes, so that the audience does what is said at each point (‘punto’) of meditation. En el segundo su luz pide a Dios para que veas las culpas que has cometido, las obras que hiziste buenas.

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In the second point, ask God for His light to see the faults you have committed, and the good works you did.

The Breve relación is, of course, inspired by the Exercitia spiritualia (1548) of Saint Ignatius of Loyola (1491–1556), with meditations, prayers and mental exercises to be practised during a period of a month. For a modern edition that presents the oldest text, ‘Texto autógrafo (A)’ with the incorporation of thirty-two autograph corrections, see Ignacio de Loyola, Ejercicios espirituales, introduction by Ignacio Iglesias (Madrid, 2011). The Biblioteca de Reserva at the University of Barcelona preserves a manuscript (Ms 1072) with sermons preached in Perpignan and other nearby locations in 1627; see F. X. Miquel Rosell, Inventario general de manuscritos de la Biblioteca Universitaria de Barcelona, 4 vols. (Madrid, 1958–1969), III (1961), pp. 118–19. I would like to thank Andrea Puentes-Blanco for this reference; her dissertation ‘Música y devoción en Barcelona (ca. 1550–1650): estudio de libros de polifonía, contextos y prácticas musicales’ (Universitat de Barcelona, 2018) provides a broad context for the present chapter. See Appendix 9.1, p. 236. At a first reading, the feminine word ‘agradecida’ (thankful) would suggest that the subject could refer to the soul (‘alma’) or the conscience (‘conciencia’), and thus it is possible to consider a literal translation ‘All the benefits / the (soul/conscience) shows you thankfully’. However, I suggest that ‘agradecida’ here would have instead the meaning of ‘agraciada’ (someone who has been awarded, or has received, something freely or gracefully), so that the one who shows (‘te muestra’) to your soul/conscience all the benefits you have ‘gracefully received’ is God. In the other strophes, it is more explicit that God is the interlocutor.

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Si has pensado, dicho, ò, hecho alguna cosa que sea contra el Divino preceto, dize el tercero que adviertas.

If you have thought, said or done anything that is against divine precept, the third point says you should recognise it.

En el quarto haz à Dios gracias por la obra, que hiziste buena, porque lo bueno es de Dios, lo malo de tu flaqueza.

In the fourth, give God thanks for the good work you did, because the good is of God, and the bad, of your weakness.

The following strophes are also sung, but without making a pause between them, as had been done with the previous ones. En el quinto con dolor por ser Dios bondad immensa, pide perdon de tus culpas toda en lagrimas desecha.

In the fifth point, with sorrow, and since God is immense goodness, ask for forgiveness of your faults, all your soul cast down in tears.

Dirasle: por ser quien sois de auer pecado me pesa, y por ser vos mi amor solo firme propongo la emienda.

You will say to Him: for being Who you are, I am sorry for having sinned and since Thou are my only love I firmly resolve to amend.

Y de confessar mis culpas cumpliendo la penitencia, que el confessor querrà darme por satisfazer por ellas.

And to confess my faults, fulfilling the penance that the confessor will give me to satisfy for them.

Para esso os pido la gracia que nada puedo sin ella, pero sí todo con vos por mas flaca, y vil que sea.27

Thus I ask You for the grace since I can do nothing without it, but with Thee I can do everything, no matter how weak or vile my soul might be.

The Breve relación states that the same can be sung sometimes as a dialogue ‘with two different voices accompanied by a harp’ in the form of questions (‘P’ stands for ‘Pregunta’) and answers (‘R’ stands for ‘Respuesta’). Thus, the first question would be ‘P. Para entrar en la oración, qué es lo que el sabio aconseja?’ (Q. To enter into prayer, what does the wise advise?) and the answer ‘R. Que a los pies de Dios te postres y examines tu conciencia’ (A. Prostrate yourself at the feet of God and examine your conscience). Nine more questions and answers follow to ask how many points of meditation there are, the purpose of each of the five points, how to obtain pardon, how to be constant, and what to do even if you have God’s grace.28

27 28

Appendix 9.1, p. 236–7. These same strophes to be sung in the Breve relación appear also in Peregrinación espiritual, pp. 299–301, but without the two brief descriptive interpolations; see Appendix 9.2, p. 252–4. See all these specific questions and answers in Appendix 9.1, p. 236–9. The question-and-answer structure follows the model used in catechism. In the Peregrinación espiritual, though, there is no reference to the alternative way of performing this text in dialogue.

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After the verses have been sung, the priest, still kneeling as he is, with loud voice repeats briefly the three points that he had explained more extensively in the pulpit. He makes the act of contrition, said by the people softly or inwardly with the heart, and he asks for light and grace to consider correctly and with benefit the mystery to be meditated. Once this petition or prelude is finished, the mental prayer starts for about a quarter and a half of an hour. During this time, without singing, the harp and bajón play devoted and solemn ‘tonos’ that move and help to elevate the spirit to God. They stop every half quarter and the priest makes a dialogue – with our Lord or with the Virgin – related to the purpose of the points meditated in that moment, raising his voice so that the rest can accompany him interiorly. And after the third dialogue, the end of the prayer, the priest gives thanks to the Lord on behalf of all who have attended and entrusts the audience to one Our Father and one Ave Maria to ask not to offend God mortally and for those who come to practise such exercises frequently to benefit from them and die in his grace.29 The priest rises up and, after having performed a genuflection to the divine Sacrament, standing on the Gospel side of the altar without turning his back to the Lord, so that he can be heard by the people, he speaks about benefit that will be obtained from the previous meditation, giving some brief instructions to be said and thought about many times until the following Thursday. And kneeling again in the same place that he was before, he asks the Lord for grace to put into effect that benefit and gives Him thanks for having admitted into His presence and treatment such vile creatures, and asking for pardon for the faults that could have been committed during the prayer, and for the favour to amend it and to say it with more attention and fervor. After what has been said, the litany follows, sung to the sacred name of Jesus, with melody of voices and instruments, as it is usually sung every Friday at the chapel of the Santa Espina in the church of Santa Maria del Pi in the city of Barcelona, where similar exercises are performed in front of the Holy Christ venerated in it, and from which the model and guide has been taken, except for a few things that have been added or removed. The litany is the following one, sung with four voices accompanied by harp, tenor, contralto and two sopranos (‘tiples’).30 Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison. IESU audi nos. IESU exaudi nos, Pater de coelis Deus, Miserere nobis, Fili Redemptor mundi Deus, Miserere nobis. Spiritus sancte Deus, Miserere nobis. Sancta Trinitas unus Deus, Miserere nobis. IESU Fili Dei vivi. Miserere nobis. IESU splendor Patris. Miserere nobis. [etc.] OREMUS Deus qui nobis sub sacramento ...31

29

30

The corresponding description in the Peregrinación espiritual, pp. 301–2, is very brief, and although it refers to instrumental music in alternation with the priest’s dialogue, the names of the instruments are not mentioned: ‘Luego se tañen los instrumentos musicos un rato, con mucha dolçura … ’ (Afterwards musical instruments play for a while with much sweetness … ). As pointed out earlier, this passage in the Breve relación, with a reference to the ceremony at Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona, led me to find its description in the Peregrinación espiritual. Perhaps the author of the Breve relación had attended the ceremony in Barcelona or, most likely – since he cited some of the texts to be sung, found in the Peregrinación espiritual – he had access to an earlier description of the ceremony at Santa Maria del Pi.

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This prayer and versicle are said because the Holy Sacrament is exposed, and that litany because it can be understood better than the one about the Sacrament, even by those who do not know Latin, and move more to devotion because it is understood, since the sweetest name of Jesus is mentioned each time, and because it is composed with an admirable music (‘solfa’), special and pious, which is the kind of music intended in these exercises. When the litany is said, another priest comes out wearing the vestments that the Church uses to close the Holy Sacrament, and the preacher moves to one side a bit below the place where he was kneeling and, when the Agnus Dei qui tollis etc. is sung, he rises up from the first step where he was kneeling in the centre, and takes the censer of the acolyte who came with it, incenses as usual, and says the prayer (OREMUS) written above, kneels again, and one single voice, accompanied by the harp sings the following strophe:32 Señor antes de ausentaros, dadnos vuestra Bendición, que en retorno el coraçon llega mi alma a presentaros.

Lord, before you leave give us your blessing, and in return, the heart my soul will present to you.

Another, different voice answers with the same melody singing the following: Alma ya Dios te perdona y si no le ofendes más, su Bendición llevarás, de gracia con que te abona.

Soul, God forgives you and if you do not offend Him anymore, His blessing will accompany you in the grace with which He fertilizes you.

Pero si pecas ingrata en la desgracia mayor das, y en la muerte peor pues que a ti misma te mata.33

But if you, ungrateful, sin, in the greatest disgrace you will fall, and in the worst death, since the soul itself kills you.

While these three strophes are being sung, the priest who gave the points of meditation prayer accommodates the curtains sustained by the two lateral doors of the tabernacle, so that the curtains do not prevent the congregation from seeing the monstrance that is in the tabernacle, which is completely open. Its heaven is only two small rods of gilded iron, like columns, no thicker than a thumb, with which can be discovered easily the images and stations of Christ’s Passion found inside, whose paintings being so exquisite, encourage more devotion, and together with the mouldings and exterior work are very colourful, beautiful and sober.

31

32

33

For the entire text of this litany and of the following prayer, ‘Oremus. Deus qui nobis sub sacramento mirabilia …’, see Appendix 9.1, p. 235. The Peregrinación espiritual, pp. 302–6, provides in this case more details than the Breve relación. Besides this litany, it presents another one to be sung at Santa Maria del Pi if the Friday of the ceremony falls on a feast of the Virgin or its octave; the Miserere is sung during Lent, p. 302: ‘Luego los Cantores empieçan vna Letania del Santissimo Christo, ú de nuestra Señora, segun el dia que es, si es en la Quaresma dizen el psalmo Miserere. Las Letanias son estas … ’ (Afterwards the singers start a litany of the Blessed Christ, or of Our Lady, according to the day, if it is Lent, the psalm Miserere. The litanies are the following ones … ); see in Appendix 9.2, p. 253–5, the texts of both litanies published in the Peregrinación espiritual. The following strophes to be sung while closing the curtains differ between the Breve relación and the Peregrinación espiritual, but they share the same first two lines: ‘Señor antes de ausentaros / dadnos vuestra Bendición’ (Lord, before you leave / give us your Blessing); see Appendix 9.1, p. 241, and Appendix 9.2, p. 255–6. As will be seen below, two extant polyphonic versions of ‘Señor antes de ausentaros’ follow the same text as in the Peregrinación espiritual; see the music edition of one of them in Appendix 9.4. Appendix 9.1, p. 241.

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Once the curtains are prepared and the priest has returned to the same place, they close the first curtain of gauze on the side of the Gospel, and, while it is being closed slowly, a single voice sings with the harp the following strophe: Ya corren el primer velo, a Dios, sin Dios no ay vivir, con Dios si quiero morir para seguirle hasta al Cielo.

They close already the first veil, to God, without God there is no life, with God I want to die to follow him to Heaven.

They also close from the side of the Epistle the second curtain of gauze and, like before, the following strophe is sung: A Dios el segundo velo intenta encubrir de mi lloro mi IESUS por ti, que eres todo mi consuelo.

The second veil tries to hide God from me, I cry Jesus for Thee, You who are all my consolation.

And finally the third, red veil is closed with the same calmness, which hides and closes everything. And the following, last strophe is sung accompanied by the harp: De mi Dios el tercer velo me priva: estoy suspirando hasta que le este gozando, de perderle sin rezelo.34

The third veil, of my God deprives me: I am sighing until I will enjoy losing Him without misgiving.

With this, the feast and holy exercise come to an end, which began on 11 February of this year, on a Thursday fifteen days before Fat Thursday and, even though it was Carnival, many people attended, and many could not, finding occupied all places of the church in the choir and galleries. People in the main tribune were particularly careful in providing a good example, Ladies and Gentlemen, avoiding, almost all of them, balls and entertainments to which the world surrenders in those days; and, if not, there are then those who pay and animate their profanities in compensation for them. The same pious nobility fosters during the entire year this beneficial devotion, giving alms needed to maintain it, costing no more than twenty reales for candles and singers, since the preacher does not receive them [alms], and he cannot accept them for the sermons or for other spiritual mysteries usually exercised by the Society of Jesus.35

After the description of the ceremony itself has concluded, the Breve relación continues for almost three pages (of which the previous quote is just the beginning), from which additional information can be extracted about the cost of the ceremony (20 reales for candles and singers) and the possible exact date this devotion was established.36 But most striking is to find in the final pages of this Jesuit-inspired Breve relación a reference to Juan de Palafox y Mendoza (1600–59), archbishop of Puebla de los Ángeles, viceroy of New Spain and, after 1653, bishop of Osma (in the present Spanish province of Soria), since it was precisely a conflict with the Jesuits that prompted Palafox’s return to Spain from Mexico in 1650.37 34 35 36

37

Appendix 9.1, p. 241–2. Appendix 9.1, p. 242. The Peregrinación espiritual, on the other hand, after the closing of the curtains at the end of the ceremony, finishes the description, and then presents a printed image of the ‘Santo Cristo’ and a prayer to Him, so that the faithful can recall these exercises during the week; see Appendix 9.2, p. 256–7. For an early biography of Palafox, see G. Argaiz [1598/1601–78], Vida de Don Juan de Palafox, introduction, tran-

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Firstly, I will examine the question of the original date when these spiritual exercises were established and, in the next section, will briefly expose the implications of the reference to Palafox. The Breve relación indicates that the described ceremony of spiritual exercises ‘began on 11 February of this year, on a Thursday fifteen days before Fat Thursday’, without indicating which year, and thus one could assume that the author refers to 1661, the year of publication. But 11 February 1661 fell on a Friday, not a Thursday, and thus it could not refer to 1661.38 According to the Gregorian calendar, adopted in Spain and France in 1582, between the founding of the Jesuit school in Perpignan in 1614 and the publication of the Breve relación in 1661 there were only seven possible years in which 11 February fell on a Thursday: 1616, 1621, 1627, 1638, 1644, 1649 and 1655. Since the author mentions Juan de Palafox as bishop of Osma, a position he held between 1653 and 1659, we could posit that most likely the specific spiritual exercises described in the Breve relación began to take place in Perpignan on Thursday, 11 February 1655, the only year during Palafox’s tenure as bishop of Osma in which 11 February fell on a Thursday. The Breve relación and Juan de Palafox: The ‘Escuela de Cristo’ in Madrid and the Jansenist Conception of God’s Grace Most interesting is the reference to a pastoral letter by Palafox when Galderique Felipe exhorts the faithful in Breve descripción about the benefits of spending just one hour on this devotion, much less time than the one afternoon Palafox had said God rightfully asks us to spend in ‘eternal matters’. Rightfully, God asks for one afternoon dedication to eternal matters – says the Illustrious Don Juan de Palafox y Mendoça, bishop of Osma, in his pastoral letter written for the Congregation of the School of Christ Our Lord in the city of Madrid – with more reason He [God] may ask for just one hour with which He will teach how to attain the eternal and the temporal.39

38

39

scription and notes by R. Fernández Gracia (Pamplona, 2000). Regarding the conflict between Palafox and the Jesuits, as well as the religious controversies surrounding Palafox’s writings during his life, and later on when his canonisation was proposed, see G. Bartolomé, Jaque mate al obispo virrey. Siglo y medio de sátiras y libelos contra don Juan de Palafox y Mendoza (Mexico, 1991). For a comprehensive volume on various aspects of Palafox’s life, works and cultural repercussions, see R. Fernández Gracia (ed.), Palafox: Iglesia, Cultura y Estado en el siglo XVII. Congreso Internacional IV Centenario del Nacimiento de Don Juan de Palafox y Mendoza (Pamplona, 2001); on Palafox’s music patronage, see, in the same volume: María Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘El mecenazgo musical de Juan de Palafox (1600–1659), obispo de Puebla de los Ángeles y virrey de Nueva España’, pp. 463–96; and José Ignacio Palacios Sanz, ‘La música en la catedral de El Burgo de Osma (Soria) durante el episcopado de D. Juan de Palafox y Mendoza (4-3-1654, †1-10-1659), pp. 497–513. See also M. Gembero-Ustárroz, ‘Muy amigo de música: el obispo Juan de Palafox (1600–1659) y su entorno musical en el Virreinato de Nueva España’, in G. Mauleón Rodríguez (ed.), Juan Gutiérrez de Padilla y la época palafoxiana (Puebla de los Ángeles, Mexico, 2010), pp. 55–130. The date of publication, 1661, appears on the title page and also in the publication’s colophon (9 May 1661); see Appendix 9.1, p. 243. If the first time the ceremony was performed was on 11 February 1661, by the time of publication, on 9 May, it would have had a very brief tradition of only four months, but the title page suggests that these spiritual exercises had been practised for at least more than a year: ‘Que se acostumbran hazer todos los jueves del año’ (that are usually practised every Thursday of the year). Appendix 9.1, p. 243.

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The interest of this reference to Palafox in the Breve relación goes beyond that of a mere quotation, since it provides yet another reference to a devotional congregation in a different city: the ‘Escuela de Cristo’ (School of Christ) in Madrid.40 Palafox’s pastoral letter (‘Carta pastoral’) addressed to this Escuela de Cristo in Madrid was dated in Soria (10 August 1654), and it was included later on in his Obras.41 Moreover, the Palafox quotation found in the Breve relación is not brief, as one would assume from the way in which it is mentioned. A close reading of Palafox’s pastoral letter reveals that the entire ending of Galderique Felipe’s Breve relación is taken directly from Palafox’s letter, with small variants; Appendix 9.3 includes the sections of Palafox’s pastoral letter with the textual concordance found at the end of the Breve relación.42 In the context of the theological controversy in which Palafox was involved at that time, being accused of Jansenism particularly by the Jesuits, it is most striking that a Jesuit publication would incorporate such a long quotation from Palafox to finish these spiritual exercises.43 Among the arguments used to accuse Palafox of Jansenism was his good relationship with Jansenists, such as Antoine Arnaud (1612–94), an opponent of the Jesuits, and, especially, a 1649 pastoral letter, addressed to priests in Puebla de los Ángeles (Mexico) just before Palafox’s return

40

41

42 43

Argaiz, Vida de don Juan de Palafox, pp. 173–4, mentions that Palafox had been active in the following Madrid congregations: Refugio, Escuela de Cristo, Magdalena, Caballero de Gracia, Avemaría and el Salvador. The Escuela de Cristo congregation in Madrid had been founded by the Sicilian priest Juan Bautista Ferruzo, on 26 February 1653, at the Hospital of the Italians; Ferruzo had been a priest at the Oratory of Saint Felip Neri, Santa Maria in Vallicella, in Rome. Palafox had been prefect of el Salvador in 1652, and of Escuela de Cristo, revising the ‘constituciones’ of the latter. Regarding the relationship between Palafox and the Escuelas de Cristo, see also F. J. Sánchez-Castañer, Don Juan de Palafox, virrey de Nueva España (Madrid, 1988), p. 141. Palafox, ‘Carta pastoral à la Santa Escuela de Christo, fundada en la Imperial Villa de Madrid’, in Tomo sexto de las obras del ilvstrissimo reverendissimo señor don Juan de Palafox y Mendoza, obispo de Osma, del Consejo del Rey nvestro señor (Madrid, 1667), pp. 206–19. The title appears in the index of the volume, while at the beginning of the text (p. 206) the heading reads: ‘A la Santa Escvela de Christo Nvestro Señor de la Imperial Villa de Madrid’, omitting ‘Carta pastoral’. Palafox also wrote the constitutions of the Escuela de Cristo in Soria; see ‘Constituciones de la Congregacion y Santa Escuela de Christo fundada en la ciudad de Soria’, Tomo sexto de las obras, pp. 396–413. Concordant passages are marked in bold, both in two sections of Palafox’s ‘Carta pastoral’, pp. 209–10, in Appendix 9.3, and at the end of the Breve relación, in Appendix 9.1, p. 242–3. The confrontation between Palafox and the Jesuits began in Mexico with a dispute over tithes (‘diezmos’), jurisdiction and various matters in which even the king had to intervene; the accusation of Jansenism emerged later on. Bartolomé, Jaque mate al obispo virrey, pp. 199–214, reviews the arguments used against Palafox, accusing him of Jansenism, and which eventually stopped the process of his canonisation in the eighteenth century. For a chronological summary of the many political and theological issues and events involved in the long confrontation between Palafox, his defenders and the Jesuits during his lifetime and afterwards, encompassing the period 1639 to 1852, see pp. 19–48. On Jansenism, see, for instance, Encyclopedia Britannica, www.britannica.com/topic/Jansenism: ‘Jansenism, in Roman Catholicism, a religious movement that appeared chiefly in France, the Low Countries and Italy in the 17th and 18th centuries. It arose out of the theological problem of reconciling divine grace and human freedom. In France it became connected with the struggle against the papacy by proponents of Gallicanism – a political theory advocating the restriction of papal power – and with opposition to the monarchical absolutism of Armand-Jean du Plessis Cardinal de Richelieu and Louis XIV… The work [Cornelius Jansenius’s Augustinus (1640), published posthumously] was accused, chiefly by the Jesuits, of divesting free will of all reality and of rejecting the universality of the redemption.’ 

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to Spain, about the power of God’s grace.44 For Jansenists, human cooperation for salvation was limited to the acceptance of being only instruments of divine grace. People who will be saved are predestined by God, thus confronting a determinist vision of creation against the defenders (such as the Jesuits) of the ability of free will to accept – or not – divine grace, without which nothing could be accomplished.45 This theological controversy invites us to read carefully the references to God’s grace as an important keyword in devotional texts such as the Breve relación, written in 1655 and published in 1661, a period in which Galderique Felipe, and the Jesuit Antonio Ignacio Descamps who approved the publication, would have been very much aware of the recent Jansenist condemnation (Bull ‘Cum occasione’, 1653)46 and of the controversial figure of Archbishop Palafox, a powerful opponent of the Jesuits who had just been asked to return to Spain in 1650.47 We should take into account, though, that the Breve relación, although in Spanish, was published in France, and that its theological contents and references would have been most likely influenced by the Gallicanism of the Church of France, which resisted the Pope’s authority in favour of local bishops and the king.48 Having in mind the key role that God’s grace played in theological discussions at the time of the Breve relación, one becomes more aware about the frequent reference to it in reading the description of the ceremony and the texts to be sung; the interpolation 44

45

46 47

48

Bartolomé, Jaque mate al obispo virrey, pp. 199–203. Palafox’s 1649 pastoral letter on grace had been wrongly condemned for having translated the prayer Prier à Dieu pour demander la grâce d’une veritable et parfaite conversion (1650) by the Jansenist Guillaume le Roy (1610–84), written at the request of his sister, a nun, to ask for God’s grace to attain a perfect conversion. See a detailed commentary and discussion in defence of Palafox (especially regarding this pastoral letter on God’s grace in comparison with the ideas of Guillaume le Roy) in Alethini Philaretae [pseudonym of Tomasso Maria Mamachi], Epistolarum de ven[erabilis] Johannis Palafoxii, Angelopolitani primum, tum Oxomensis episcopi orthodoxia, 3 vols. (Rome, 1772–3; Mantua, 1773–4), I, pp. 135ff., accessible online: https://books.google.es/books?id=WbUte6jnB6MC&printsec=frontcover&hl=es&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false. On the latter reference, see A. Rubial, ‘Las sutilezas de la gracia. El Palafox jansenista de la Europa ilustrada’, in A. Garritz (ed.), Un hombre entre Europa y América. Homenaje a Juan Antonio Ortega y Medina (Mexico, 1993), pp. 169–83, especially pp. 179–80. On God’s grace, see ‘Actual grace’, ‘Sanctifying grace’ and ‘Controversies on grace’, in Catholic Encyclopedia Online: www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=164; the first entry states the following: ‘Grace (gratia, Charis), in general, is a supernatural gift of God to intellectual creatures (men, angels) for their eternal salvation, whether the latter be furthered and attained through salutary acts or a state of holiness. Before the Council of Trent, the Schoolmen seldom distinguished actual grace  from sanctifying grace. But, in consequence of modern controversies regarding grace, it has become usual and necessary in theology to draw a sharper distinction between the transient help to act (actual grace) and the permanent state of grace (sanctifying grace). For this reason we adopt this distinction as our principle of division in our exposition of the Catholic doctrine.’ See ‘Jansenius and Jansenism’, in Catholic Encyclopedia Online: www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=6263. The Breve relación’s colophon contains the approval and licence by Buenaventura Cabaner, ‘Official y Vicario General Apostolico y Canonigo de la Santa Iglesia de Elna’, and by Antonio Ignacio Descamps, ‘Re[c]tor del Collegio de la Compañia de IESVS de Perpiñan y Le[c]tor de Theologia’. See ‘Gallicanism’ in Catholic Encyclopedia Online: www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=4962; and New Advent, www.newadvent.org/cathen/06351a.htm: ‘It was Gallicanism which allowed the Jansenists condemned by popes to elude their sentences on the plea that these had not received the assent of the whole episcopate. It was in the name of Gallicanism that the kings of France impeded the publication of the pope’s instructions, and forbade the bishops to hold provincial councils or to write against Jansenism – or at any rate, to publish charges without endorsement of the chancellor.’

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of God’s grace in the final paragraph copied from Palafox seems particularly significant. While, in his pastoral letter to the Escuela de Cristo in Madrid, Palafox states: ‘porque voy a buscar la limpieza de la doctrina de Christo’ (because I am going to search for the cleansing of the doctrine of Christ), the last paragraph in the Breve relación modifies the meaning of the sentence, so that the doctrine of Christ becomes a source of God’s grace: ‘voy a buscar la limpieza de la gracia, y de la doctrina de Christo fuente della’ (I am going to search for the cleansing of the grace and the doctrine of Christ, its source’].49 Perhaps this change has no theological implications in a 1661 Jesuit publication in southern France, and the extended reference to Palafox reflects only his devotional impact even in Jesuit circles. Be that as it may, such emphasis on the power of grace (‘I can do nothing without it’) appears also in sung texts, as in the last (tenth) strophe performed during the examination of conscience and the act of contrition described above: Para esso os pido la gracia que nada puedo sin ella, pero sí todo con vos por mas flaca, y vil que sea.

Thus I ask You for the grace since I can do nothing without it, but with Thee I can do everything, no matter how weak or vile my soul might be.

Moreover, it is most likely that the original strophes to be sung for the closing of the curtains (‘Señor antes de ausentaros’), as found in the description of the Peregrinación espiritual for the ceremony at Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona, were changed after the second verse in the Breve relación in order to introduce a stronger devotional message about the need of God’s grace for salvation. (Version in Breve relación) Señor antes de ausentaros, dadnos vuestra Bendición, que en retorno el coraçon llega mi alma a presentaros. etc.

(Version in Peregrinación spiritual) Señor antes de ausentaros dadnos vuestra Bendicion, que esse rescate os devieron los abraços de Iacob. etc.

(See above and Appendix 9.1, p. 241–2)

(See Appendix 9.2, p. 255–6)

Local Repertory for Spiritual Exercises The descriptions in the Breve relación and the Peregrinación espiritual transmit texts to be sung before and during spiritual exercises, which facilitates the identification of extant musical works appropriate for these occasions. This is particularly important in the case of repertory whose present location is not the original institution where it was performed, or if the ceremonial function is not known or has not been documented. Since the Jesuit church of San Lorenzo in Perpignan is not extant, further research would be needed to know whether the music performed there has survived in another French archive or library. Regarding Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona, the provisional title list of extant works

49

See the entire paragraph in Appendix 9.1, p. 243. The word ‘grace’ is mentioned in Breve relación on pages 5, 6, 7 (twice), 10 (once, but twice as ‘Blessing’), 12 and 13.

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in its archive does not provide an exact match for the works mentioned in the Peregrinación espiritual. However, the Biblioteca de Catalunya in Barcelona holds repertory directly related to the described devotional ceremonies. As an example of related repertory, Appendix 9.4 presents an edition of one of the two extant musical settings of ‘Señor antes de ausentaros’, preserved at the Biblioteca de Catalunya, to be sung at the time of closing the curtains; the two extant settings use the version of the text transmitted in Peregrinación espiritual (as performed at the church of Santa María del Pi in Barcelona), and not the text version in the Breve relación (as performed in Perpignan).50 This simple and effective work, by the Catalan composer Francesc Soler (Tarragona, c.1645 – Girona, 1688),51 is for two voices and accompaniment, the same number of voices mentioned in the Peregrinación espiritual;52 in the Breve relación, ‘Señor antes de ausentaros’ is sung by one voice accompanied by harp.53 The other musical setting of ‘Señor antes de ausentaros’ also preserved at the Biblioteca de Catalunya, but attributed to the Count of Savallà, is for three voices and accompaniment, which indicates that the same text would have been the subject of different musical settings according to the performers available to chapelmasters of any given institution.54 Another work, the ‘Litania a 4’ by the seventeenth-century Catalan organist Joan Prim, matches the litany text in the Breve relación.55 Interestingly, the voice parts of the two versions of ‘Señor antes de ausentaros’ and this ‘Litania’ have survived together under the generic title of ‘Llitanias de diferents mestras’ (Litanies of different masters) and share the same shelf mark at the Biblioteca de Catalunya, thus indicating their close ceremonial relationship; they were

50

51 52

53 54

55

Barcelona, Biblioteca de Catalunya, M.736/4 (alto), M.765/41 (tenor) and M.736/4 (accompaniment). It should be pointed out that, although the music of ‘Señor antes de ausentaros’ indicates ‘Para encerrar las cortinas’ (To close the curtains), and thus its ceremonial use could be inferred, the Breve relación and the Peregrinación espiritual place the piece in its exact context and location of performance. On this composer, see F. Bonastre, ‘Soler, Francesc’, in E. Casares Rodicio (ed.), Diccionario de la música española e hispanoamericana, 10 vols. (Madrid, 1999–2002), IX, pp. 1116–17. Peregrinación espiritual, p. 306: ‘And, to close the three curtains, the two priests are placed one on the right side of the altar and the other on the left side, and while the two singers sing the coplas that follow, the priests close the curtains of their respective sides and, after all have been closed and the Santo Christo is covered, all go. Coplas to be sung at the end to close the curtains: Señor antes de ausentaros … ’. See Appendix 9.2, p. 255. Breve relación, p. 10: ‘ … and one single voice accompanied by the harp sings the following: Señor antes de ausentaros … ’. See original text in Appendix 9.1, p. 241. Barcelona, Biblioteca de Catalunya, M.577 (tiple), M.736/4 (alto), M.765/41 (tenor), M.736/4 (accompaniment). The Count of Savallà composer is most likely Joan de Boixadors i Rocabertí, 5th Count of Savallà (seventeenth century). Four works are attributed to him: ‘Miserere’, ‘Oh admirabile Sacrament’, ‘Señor antes de ausentaros’ and ‘Las lágrimas del aurora’. His son, to whom these compositions have also been attributed, is Joan Antoni de Boixadors Pinós, 6th Count of Savallà (Badalona, 1672 – Genoa, 1745), poet, president of the Academia dels Desconfiats in Barcelona, who moved to Vienna in 1711 with Archduke Charles, and directed the imperial music chapel between 1717 and 1721; later, he was president of the supreme council of Flanders (1729–40), retiring to Italy afterwards. See J. Dolcet, ‘Músiques de la Barcelona barroca (1640–1711)’, in A. García Espuche, J. Borràs i Roca, J. Pellisa Pujades, J. Dolcet and C. Mas i García (eds.), Dansa i música Barcelona 1700 (Barcelona, 2009), pp. 165–225, particularly pp. 191–5. See also J. Dolcet, ‘El comte de Savallà: un aristócrata del Barroc i la seva música’, Boletín de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona, 45 (1995–6), pp. 131–89. Barcelona, Biblioteca de Catalunya, M.577 (tiple), M.736/4 (alto), M.765/41 (tenor) and M.736/4 (accompaniment).

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copied in 1686 by one Josep Torner, castrato singer at Girona Cathedral. Other isolated litanies and misereres, of which there are many settings at the Biblioteca de Catalunya and in Catalan archives by various composers, could be placed now, together with other related pieces, in similar devotional contexts to the ones described in the Breve relación and the Peregrinación espiritual.56 In all, the unique description of spiritual exercises devoted to the Blessed Sacrament found in the Jesuit publication Breve relación (with no mention of music in its title) contains very valuable information about the texts to be sung by a small performing ensemble during this ceremony in Perpignan; its original composition most likely dates from 1655. The reference in it to a similar ceremony that served as a model, devoted to the image of the Santo Cristo at the church of Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona, has led to the discovery of its detailed description in the Peregrinación espiritual; since the original text of the Breve relación probably dates from 1655, the Barcelona devotion on which it was based would certainly predate, by at least twenty years, the publication of its description in 1675. These two descriptions complement each other and facilitate the location in Catalan archives and libraries of appropriate music repertory to be performed in such ceremonies. The presence in the final pages of the Breve relación of an extended reference to Juan de Palafox and the Escuela de Cristo in Madrid is difficult to explain given the conflict between the Jesuits and Palafox at that time, since the conflict with Palafox, who had just returned from Mexico to Spain in 1650, would have been very much present in the minds of the author of the Breve relación, the priest Galderique Felipe, and of the Jesuit Antonio Ignacio Descamps, rector of the Jesuit school in Perpignan, who authorised the publication; perhaps the particularities of the Breve relación, even though it was published in Spanish, should be attributed to the idiosyncrasy of seventeenth-century Gallicanism in the French church. A close reading of the Breve relación suggests that its special emphasis on the important role of God’s grace, a key theological issue at the time, may be the reason behind some of the text variants, with respect to the sung texts of ‘Señor antes de ausentaros’ (compared to the version in Peregrinación espiritual) and also with respect to Palafox’s 1654 pastoral letter that was used to conclude the Breve relación. The description of a local devotional ceremony in Perpignan, published in Toulouse, with references to other congregations in Barcelona and Madrid, together with the presence in Granada of the unique exemplar of the Breve relación, confirms the important national and international networks of the Jesuits and of the various congregations responsible for the celebration of these ceremonies. Further connections of these spiritual exercises with other Iberian cities and congregations are likely to emerge in the future.

56

For an overview of music in seventeenth-century Catalonia, its composers and repertory, see Xosé Aviñoa (ed.), Història de la Música Catalana, Valenciana i Balear, 13 vols. (Barcelona, 1999–2004), Vol. II: Barroc i Classicisme, pp.  9–139. See also the online catalogue of the Biblioteca de Catalunya (http://cataleg.bnc.cat) and two other online resources that facilitate the location of Catalan music sources and repertory: Inventari dels Fons Musicals de Catalunya (IFMuC), https://ifmuc.uab.cat/?ln=es, ed. J. M. Gregori i Cifré; and Books of Hispanic Polyphony, https://hispanicpolyphony.eu/location/1558.

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The transmission of these practices and of their musical repertories, especially in local parishes, probably followed different paths from the repertory performed in cathedrals. Rare publications such as the Breve relación and the Peregrinación espiritual should be added to the abundant literature of particular musicological interest, to document the important role of music in seventeenth-century devotional practices in southern France and Spain. �

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Appendix 9.1

Transcription of the Breve relación de los exercicios espirituales by Galderique Felipe (Tolosa [Toulouse], 1661). Passages mentioning the presence of music are marked in bold and correspond to the English translations quoted in the main text. On pp. 11–13 (with no references to music), the textual concordances with a ‘Carta pastoral’ (1654) by Juan de Palafox, addressed to the Escuela de Cristo in Madrid, have been marked in bold; see Appendix 9.3, which gives the concordant relevant passages in Palafox. Original pagination appears in brackets. [Title page]

BREVE RELACION / DE LOS / EXERCICIOS / ESPIRITVALES, / Que se acostumbran hazer todos los jueues del año, / en la Iglesia del glorioso Martyr San Lorenço / del Colegio de la Compañía de IESVS, de la / fidelissima villa de Perpiñan. / Sacada à luz por el Reuerendo / GALDERIQVE FELIPE, / Presbitero, y Beneficiado de la Iglesia de Argeles. /

JHS /

EN TOLOSA, / Por Ivan Bvde, Impressor del Rey, y de las Cor- / tes de Languedoch. 1661 / CON LICENCIA [p. 3]

QVITADA la puerta delantera del Sagrario, y abiertas las que tiene este, en los dos lados; dispuesto el Altar maior con diuersas flores naturales, si es tiempo dellas, ò artificiales; y otros adornos, que hazen vn compuesto ermoso, y graue; y encendidos doze cirios de media libra cada vno, se descubre el sanctissimo Sacramento, à las tres horas de la tarde; corridas tres cortinas, las dos de glassa, y la otra de tafetan colorado; de aquellas la mas delgada, y clara esta mas immediata à la Custodia, y al encerrarse esta, es la primera que se corre; la que se sigue despues desta no lo es tanto, si bien aunque tirada, se vee, y diuisa el viril, hasta que todo lo encubre el otro velo, que todos tres estan prendidos, y pendientes de vnas anillas, y varillas de plata, fixas estas en el cielo del Sagrario, distantes algun poco entre si, para que no se impidan al correrse.

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De las tres horas dichas hasta à las quatro cantan tres ò quatro vozes algunas letrillas deuotas acompañadas de algunos instrumentos musicos; y à ratos se tañen estos solos interpoladamente entre tanto que la gente acude, que es tanta, que la Iglesia se llena ordinariamente, aunque sea dia de hazienda, y hechose mas capaz de lo que era. [p. 4]

A los tres quartos para las quatro se haze señal con la campana dando tres toques con la lengua, y parando vn poco antes de dar los otros, y tocando las quatro le dan nueue arreo, avisando al Pueblo que es la hora en que el Predicador sube al pulpito, y con vna campanilla à los que cantan en la Tribuna para que se den fin, haze vn Sermon, ò Platica, que dura vn quarto y medio; dà tres puntos para la Oracion Mental, que es el fin que se pretende en esta Fiesta enseñarla, y que se exercite el pueblo en ella, explicando el Misterio según el tiempo de la Passion de Christo Señor nuestro, en la Quaresma, y en la Pasqua, de la gloriosa Resurreccion, ò de la santissima Virgen si cae en aquella semana alguna de sus Festiuidades, entre año del Euangelio de la Dominica, ò de las Postrimerias, confirmando breuemente con la Sagrada Escritura, y Padres las ponderaciones de la materia, que a de meditarse, y se diuide en los tres puntos dichos, con el fruto que se ha de sacar dellos: à la fin persuade al Auditorio se prepare para hazer vn verdadero acto de Contricion. Hecha la platica, ò Sermon, baxa del pulpito el Padre que lo ha dicho, va al Altar, y se arrodilla en medio de la primera grada del, de dos que tiene para subir à la peaña; añadiendo à la Sobrepelliz, la Estola, y luego canta vna voz sola, y muy suaue, que la acompaña la Arpa, estos versos, que contienen el modo de examinar la conciencia, y el acto de Contricion. Para entrar en la Oracion assi el sabio lo aconseja, postrate a los pies de Dios, y examina tu conciencia. Aqueste examen contiene, cinco puntos, alma atenta, por todos ellos discurre, si quedar limpia desseas. [p. 5]

A todos los beneficios agradecida te muestra mira lo mucho que deves que esto el primer punto encierra. A qui se haze vn poco de pausa, y lo mismo en cada Redondilla, ò Quartete de los tres, que se siguen, para que el Auditorio haga lo que se dize en ellos.

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En el segundo su luz pide à Dios para que veas las culpas que has cometido, las obras que hiziste buenas. Si has pensado, dicho, ò, hecho alguna cosa que sea contra el Divino preceto, dize el tercero que aduiertas, En el quarto haz à Dios gracias por la obra, que hiziste buena, porque lo bueno es de Dios, lo malo de tu flaqueza. Los versos que se siguen, se cantan sin hazerse dicha pausa de la manera que se cantaron los tres primeros Quartetes. En el quinto con dolor por ser Dios bondad immensa, pide perdon de tus culpas toda en lagrimas desecha. Dirasle: por ser quien sois de auer pecado me pesa, y por ser vos mi amor solo firme propongo la emienda. Y de confessar mis culpas cumpliendo la penitencia, que el confessor querrà darme por satisfazer por ellas: Para esso os pido la gracia que nada puedo sin ella, pero si todo con vos por mas flaca, y vil que sea. Lo mismo se canta algunas vezes à modo de Dialogo con dos vozes diferentes, siguiendolas el arpa. Y se aduierta, que la letra P. quiere dezir pregunta, y la R. significa respuesta.

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P. Para entrar en la Oracion que es lo que el sabio aconseja? R. Que à los pies de Dios te postres y examines tu conciencia. [p. 6]

P. Este examen quantos puntos contiene? R. Cinco, alma atenta, por todos ellos discurre si quedar limpia desseas. P. El primer punto que dize? R. Que à sus beneficios seas agradecida, y lo mucho que le estas deviendo, adviertas. P. Que enseña el segundo? R. Pidas luz à Dios, para quee veas las culpas, que has cometido, las obras que hiziste buenas. P. El tercero que dispone? R. Que notes si alguna ofensa le hiziste en vez de servirle, ignorante, loca, ciega. P. Que harè en el quarto? R. Dar gracias de la obra que salio buena a Dios, que lo bueno es suio, lo malo de tu flaqueza. P. El quinto punto que pide? R. Que de tus culpas te duelas à Dios pidiendo perdon toda en lagrimas desecha. P. Como alcançare el perdon? R. Si por ser quien es te pesa, de aver pecado, y propones por ser tu amor Dios, la emienda.

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P. Como podre ser constante? R. Con su gracia, que sin esta nada puedes, con Dios todo por mas flaca, y vil que seas. P. Teniendo aquella, que hare? R. Desconfiar de ti mesma, y hazer frecuente Oracion, para que nunca la pierdas. Cantados estos versos, el Padre arrodillado como està, con voz alta repite brevemente los tres puntos, que mas dilatadamente esplicò en el Pulpito, haze el acto de Contricion, que lo dize el Pueblo con voz baxa, ò interiormente con solo el coraçon; y pide luz, y gracia para considerar bien, y con fruto, el Misterio que ha de meditarse. Acabada esta peticion, ò Preludio, se empieça, y tiene la Oracion Mental, por espacio de quarto, y medio; mientras dura sin cantarse, se tañen deuotos, y graves tonos con la Arpa, y Baxoncillo, que mueuen y ayudan à eleuar el espiritu à Dios; paran à cada medio quarto, y el Padre haze vn coloquio con nuestro Señor, ò con la santissima Virgen que venga à proposito de los puntos que en aquel [p. 7]

rato se meditan; leuantando la voz para que interiormente le acompañen los demás; y echo el tercer coloquio, que es al fin de la Oracion da gracias al Señor en nombre de todos los que an assistido à ella; y encomienda vn Padre nuestro, y vna Aue Maria para que no ofendan à Dios mortalmente, y mueran en su gracia los que frequentaren semejantes exercicios acudiendo à ellos para aprouecharse. Leuantase el Padre, y puesto en pie, auiendo echo genuflexion al Diuino Sacramento, a vn lado del Altar à la parte del Euangelio, con tal postura, que sin boluer las espaldas al Señor, pueda ser oido de la gente aduierte el fruto que se ha de sacar de aquella meditacion, y da alguna sentencia breue, iaculatoria, ò ponderacion, para que se diga y considere muchas vezes hasta el otro Jueues: y boluiendo à arrodillarse al mismo puesto, pide gracia al Señor, para que se ponga en obra aquel fruto, y le agradece, que se aia dignado de admitir à su presencia, y trato à tan viles criaturas, pidiendole perdon de las faltas que se auran echo en la Oracion, y fauor para emendarla, y tenerla mas atenta, y feruorosa. Siguele à lo dicho la Ledania [sic] que se canta del Santissimo nombre de IESVS, con la solfa, compas, y melodia de vozes, è instrumentos, que se suele cantar todos los Viernes en la Capilla de la santa Espina de la Iglesia de nuestra Señora del Pino de la Ciudad de Barcelona, donde se hazen semejantes exercicios delante el santo Christo, que en ella se venera, de donde se ha tomado el modelo, y guia, fuera algunas cosas, que se an añadido, ò quitado. La Ledania [sic] es la siguiente cantada a quatro vozes acompañadas de la Arpa, Tenor, Contralto, y dos Tiples.

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[p. 8]

Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison. IESV audi nos. IESV exaudi nos. Pater de coelis Deus, Miserere nobis. Fili Redemptor mundi Deus, Miserere nobis. Spiritus sancte Deus, Miserere nobis. Sancta trinitas vnus Deus, Miserere nobis. IESV Fili Dei viui. Miserere nobis. IESV Splendor Patris. Miserere nobis. IESV candor lucis aeternae. Miserere nobis. IESV Rex gloriae. Miserere nobis. IESV sol Iustitiae. Miserere nobis. IESV Fili Mariae Virginis. Miserere nobis. IESV admirabilis. Miserere nobis. IESV Deus fortis. Miserere nobis. IESV Pater futuri saeculi. Miserere nobis. IESV magni consilii Angele. Miserere nobis. IESV Potentissime. Miserere nobis. IESV Patientissime. Miserere nobis. IESV Obedientissime. Miserere nobis. IESV mitis & humilis corde. Miserere nobis. IESV amator Castitatis. Miserere nobis. IESV amator noster. Miserere nobis. IESV Deus pacis. Miserere nobis. IESV auctor vitae. Miserere nobis. IESV exemplar virtutum. Miserere nobis. IESV Zelator animarum. Miserere nobis. IESV Deus noster. Miserere nobis. IESV refugium nostrum. Miserere nobis. IESV Pater pauperum. [Miserere nobis.] [p. 9]

IESV thesaurus fidelium. Miserere nobis. IESV bone Pastor. Miserere nobis. IESV lux vera. Miserere nobis. IESV gaudium Angelorum. Miserere nobis. IESV corona Sanctorum omnium. Miserere nobis. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi. Parce nobis Domine. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi. Exaudi nos Domine. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi. Miserere nobis. V. Panem de Coelo praestitisti eis. R. Omne delectamentum in se habentem. OREMVS 240

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Deus qui nobis sub sacramento mirabili, Passionis tuae memoriam reliquisti, tribue quaesumus, ita nos Corporis, & sanguinis tui Sacra mysteria venerasti, vt Redemptionis tuae fructum in nobis iugiter sentiamus. Qui viuis & regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen. Dizese esta Oracion, y versiculo por estar descubierto el santissimo sacramento, y aquella Ledania por ser mas inteligible, aun de los que no saben latin, que la del sacramento, y mouer mas a deuocion, assi por entenderse, como por nombrarse cada vez el dulcissimo nombre de IESVS, y estar compuesta con vna solfa admirable, especial, y pia, que es la que se pretende en estos Exercicios. Al dezirse la Ledania sale otro Sacerdote reuestido con los ornamentos, que la Iglesia vsa para encerrar el santissimo Sacramento, y el Predicador se retira à vn lado poco mas abaxo dandolee el lugar donde estua arrodillado; y al cantarse Agnus Dei, qui tollis etc. se leuanta de la primera grada donde en medio della estuuo de rodillas, toma el incensario del Acolito, que salio con el, incien[p. 10]

sa como se acostumbra, y dize la Oracion arriba puesta, arrodillase otra vez, y vna voz sola, que la acompaña el Arpa canta esta quartilla. Señor antes de ausentaros, dadnos vuestra Bendicion, que en retorno el coraçon llega mi alma à presentaros. Responde otra diferente voz con el mismo tono cantando las siguientes. Alma ya Dios te perdona y si no le ofendes mas, su Bendicion lleuaras, de gracia con que te abona. Pero si pecas ingrata en la desgracia mayor das, y en la muerte peor pues que à ti misma te mata. Mientras se cantan estas tres quartillas, el Padre, que dio los puntos de la Oracion, acomoda las cortinas, cuyos cabos y remates sustentan las dos puertas, que estan à los lados del Sagrario, para que no impidan el verse de todas partes la Custodia, que està como se à dicho dentro del Sagrario, que del todo abierto, su Cielo solamente estriba en dos barrillas de hierro doradas, a guisa de colunas, no mas gruessas, que el pulgar, con facilmente se descubren juntamente las Imágenes, y passos de la Passion de Christo, que estan en lo interior

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del, cuia pintura por ser muy primorosa, alienta mas à la deuocion; y vnida à las molduras, y exteriores labores queda muy vistoso, hermoso y graue. Caidas las cortinas y buelto el Padre al mismo lugar corren la primera glassa de la parte del Euangelio, y entre tanto que se tira poco à poco, canta vna voz con la Arpa esta quartilla. Ya corren el primer velo, à Dios, sin Dios no ay viuir, con Dios si quiero morir para seguirle hasta al Cielo. Tiran assi mismo de la parte de la Epistola la sigunda [sic] [p. 11]

glassa, y se canta como antes la siguiente quartilla. A Dios el segundo velo intenta encubrir de mi lloro mi IESVS por ti, que eres todo mi conssuelo. Y finalmente se corre con la misma pausa el tercer velo colorado, que lo encubre todo, y cierra: Y se canta con el Arpa, que acompaña la misma voz esta vltima quartilla. De mi Dios el tercer velo me priua: estoy suspirando, hasta que le este gozando, de perderle sin rezelo. Con que se da fin a esta Fiesta, y exercicio santo, que se començo este año à los onze de Febrero, en Jueues quinze dias antes del Lardero, y con ser Carnestolendas, assistio tanta gente à el, que mucha se bolvia, hallando occupados todos los Lugares de la Iglesia, Coro, y Tribunas: esmerandose principalmeente la Principal en el exemplo, dexando casi toda, assi Caualleros, como Damas los Bailes, y entretenimientos, à que se entrega el mundo en aquellos dias, y sino falta, quien entonces pague, y anime sus profanidades en recompensa dellas, la misma Nobleza piadosa, alienta todo el año esta Deuocion tan prouechosa, dando la limosna, que es meenester para sustentarla, que no passa de veinte reales, siruiendo para las velas, y Cantores, que el Predicador ya se supone, que no la recibe ni puede admitirla por los Sermones, como ni por otros Ministerios espirituales que suele exercitar la Compañía de IESVS. Y para que en otras Ciudades se introduzga [sic] semejante Fiesta y Deuocion, y venga à su noticia se ha hecho esta narracion, y descripcion della dando fe à la Estampa, exortando à los que acudieren à ella, vengan con intencion de agradar à solo Dios, y aprouecharse à si mismo, poniendo su principal mira en esto, y veran

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[p. 12]

por esperiencia, con la luz, y gracia Diuina, el fruto espiritual y aumentos en sus almas, peerseuerando en assistir à essos Exercicios y Oracion à los quales nadie auia de faltar, si possible fuesse, ni lugar para ocuparse en ellos, sino es en caso que se juzgasse ofensa de Dios, el acudir. La ocupacion no es mucha: dos horas de vna tarde a la Semana, ò vna, si se dexan de oyr las Letrillas, que se cantan al principio, ò primera hora. La importancia es grandissima, recibir luz, y direcion para toda la Semana. De justicia pide Dios para lo Eterno vna tarde, dize el Ilustrissimo señor Don Juan de Palafox y Mendoça Obispo de Osma en su carta Pastoral escrita à la Congregacion de la Escuela de Christo Señor nuestro en la villa de Madrid, quanto mas pidira vna hora, con la qual puede ser, que enseñe, Dios à lograr lo Eterno y lo temporal, que aun para alcançar esso, haze al caso, y fauorece aquello. Primum quarite regnum Dei, & Iustitiam eius, & haec omnia adiicientur vobis: Y aunque el oficial, y el plebeio perdiesse el trabajo, ò ganancia temporal de vna hora cada Semana del año no vendria ser mas que quatro dias al cabo del: y tal vez perderà mas en carnestolendas para profanos gustos: y si para aquella perdida logra riquezas el espiritu, que cambio tan feliz! Bien le quadra, que aun es esta vida, centuplum accipiet por dexar lo que es tan poco por su Dios. Para animarse à dexar qualquiera ocupacion por esta, sacudir de si la floxedad, piense, y en lo interior diga lo siguiente: Que sé yo, si el faltar, voluntariamente vn dia me acortarà la luz para muchos? Que sè yo si por negar el tiempo à Dios, negarà à mi su inspiracion que me diera en aquel rato, y reduxera à mejor vida? Que sè yo, si por negarle el oydo, me negarà à mi la vista, y los [p. 13]

auxilios, y eficacia de su gracia? Que sè yo, si dirà: No me oiste, no te hablo, no me sirues, no te ayudo. Toda la Semana nos ocupamos en oyr a los hombres, y que nos oygan, no deberemos los oydos vna hora, o dos a la Semana à las vozes del Señor? Para oyr, y hablar tantas horas en el mundo, menester serà oyr alguna à Dios. Mal podrè aprender sino me enseñan, ni acertar, sino me guian. Todo lo hallarè en vna hora, y aun en menos. Ni el frio me ha de detener el yr: que mas frio se padece en Purgatorio. Ni el calor, porque se padece mas calor en el Infierno. Ni los lodos, porque voy a buscar la limpieza de la gracia, y de la doctrina de Christo fuente della. Ni otras descomodidades, pues las sufro, y passo por lo temporal; y tal vez perdiendo en ellas alma, y cuerpo: Y no ay comodidad, como la Eterna. Tanto mayor ha de ser el cuydado, quanto es mayor la dificultad. Corta fineza es ir desde mi casa, ò de la agena à la de Dios, auiendo primero venido el mismo Dios desde el Cielo à vn pesebre, por redimirse, y desde vn pobre pesebre hasta la Cruz, por saluarme. [p. 14]

APROBACION, Y LICENCIA. / Por orden, y comision del muy ILVSTRE señor Bue / nauentura Cabaner, Official, y Vicario General Apostolico / y Canonigo de la santa Iglesia de Elna, he leido esta relacion / y juzgo que es digna de imprimirse, assi para que imiten otras Ciu- /dades, y Villas, tan piadosos y santos Exercicios, que contiene, co- /mo tambien para que aprendan los ignorantes el modo de examinar / la conciencia todos los dias; y el Acto de Contricion, que tanta gen-

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/te ay, que no lo sabe, siendo tan necessario para nuestra saluacion; / y todos consideren lo que dizen los demas versos que se ponen, espe- /cialmente los que se oyen cada Iueues en nuestra Iglesia, à 9. de / Mayo de 1661. ANTONIO IGNACIO / DESCAMPS Retor del Col-/legio de la Compania de IESVS / de Perpiñan, y Letor de Theologia./ CABANER OFFIC. & V. G. Apostolicus.

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Appendix 9.2

Description of the spiritual exercises devoted to the image of the Santo Cristo at the church of Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona, according to the Peregrinación espiritual by the Carmelite Magin Massò; the description is found at the end of the volume, pp. 290–312. The ceremony served as a model for the one described in the Breve relación by Galderique Felipe, who obviously used an earlier version of Massò’s description. The English translation is by the present author and references to music are marked in bold; the original pagination has been indicated in brackets. Title page of the Peregrinación espiritual: PEREGRINACION / ESPIRITVAL, Y DEVOTA, VTIL A / todas las personas, que desean vivir / espiritualmente. / COMPVESTA POR FR. MAGIN MASSO, / Doctor en Santa Teologia, Predicador Apostolico, /del Orden de nuestra Señora del Carmen. / Dividese en quatro Tratados. / PRIMERO / Se describe el Peregrino, y su perfeta peregrinacion. / SEGVNDO / Se enseñan quatro vias por do se va derecho a Dios, / y al Cielo. / TERCERO / Se afina vn Relox espiritual, que concierta las jornadas. / QVARTO / Se pone vn resumen de la forma que se observa en / los santos exercicios, que todos los Viernes se tienen / en el devotissimo Oratorio, y Capilla de la Santa / Espina, a la venerabilissima Imagen / del Santo Christo. / DIRIGIDA, Y DEDICADA A NVESTRO / Señor Iesu Christo crucificado, y a los muy Devotos, que / le ofrecen reverentes adornos, y cuydan de sus aliños / con brillantes luzes en su Altar, en la Iglesia Par-/roquial de nuestra Señora del Pino. / En Barcelona, en casa de Francisco Cormellas, por Vicente / Surià, Año 1675. [Added by hand, in ink, “del Colº de la Compª de Jhp. de Barna”. This copy also has a modern, round seal in ink, “BIBLIOTECA EPISC. SEMINARIO BARCIN.”, of its present location at the Biblioteca Pública Episcopal del Seminari de Barcelona, Signatura: 248 Mas]. For a digital reproduction of the entire volume, see the following link: https://books.google.es/books?id=eILeQ0oOLToC&pg=PA22&lpg=PA22&dq=peregrinacion+espiritual. [p. 275]

TRATADO IIII. / DE LOS EXERCI- / CIOS ESPIRITVALES, / Y MVY DEVOTOS, QVE TODOS LOS / Viernes del año se tienen en la Capilla / de la Santa Espina, de la Iglesia / Parroquial de N. Señora / del Pino. / A la venerabilissima Imagen de Iesu-Christo / crucificado, en memoria de su santissima / vida, passion, y muerte. / Bien notorio es en toda la Ciudad de Barcelona, y todo el Principado de Cataluña, el santo exercicio, que se tiene los Viernes, a la veneracion, y reverente culto de Iesu-Christo nuestro Redentor crucificado en la Capilla de la Santa Espina, en aquel

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[p. 276]

devotissimo oratorio ay vna tribunilla, donde assisten los Cantores, que por espacio de dos horas hazen fiesta, con musicas, assi de vozes suaves, como de regalados instrumentos; las letras que se cantan todas endulcen los coraçones, y suspenden los espiritus, excitandoles a la contemplacion del Cielo, y de los jubilos que eternamente gozan alla los Bienaventurados, con la dichosa presencia, y vista bienaventurada de su Dios. [Treatise IIII of the spiritual and most devoted exercises that every Friday take place in the chapel of the Santa Espina (Holy Thorn) at the parish church of Nuestra Señora del Pino. To the most venerable image of Jesus Christ crucified, in memory of its most blessed life, passion and death. It is well known in the city of Barcelona and in the entire Principality of Catalonia the blessest exercise that takes place every Friday to the venerable and reverend cult of the crucified image of Jesus Christ our Redeemer in the chapel of the Santa Espina. In that most devoted oratorio there is a small balcony where singers assist in celebrating the feast day during two hours with music of sweet voices as with delightful instruments. All the sung texts sweeten the hearts and elevate the spirits, exciting them to the contemplation of Heaven and to the eternal joy there of the blessed with the joyful presence and blessed sight of God.] [pp. 277–90, Chapters 1 through Chapter 3] [p. 290]

CAP. VLTIMO De la forma con que se hazen a la Capilla de la S. Espina los devotos exercicios, en honor, y alabança de nuestro Señor Iesu-Christo crucificado. No quisiera multiplicar razonamientos de superfluidad, en la relacion de lo que se observa en nuestro santo exercicio; y assi digo con la brevedad possible lo que se haze que es lo siguiente. El Viernes por la mañana se prepara toda la Capilla, y el Altar del S. Christo se compone con el aseo muy decente; a la tarde despues Visperas se empieça la fiesta de la Capilla, de Cantores, con instrumentos de arpa, guitarra, y baxoncillo, se cantan estas, ù otras letras, y coblas, según el tiempo, y las que parecen al señor Maestro mas al proposito, y del intento, como aquí se ponen.

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[LAST CHAPTER

About the way in which the devout exercises in honour and praise of our Lord Jesus Christ crucified are celebrated in the chapel of Santa Espina. I would not want to be superfluous with multiple arguments in relation to the observance of our holy exercise; and thus I say with utmost brevity what is done, which is as follows. On Friday morning the chapel is prepared and the altar of the Santo Cristo is adorned appropriately; in the afternoon, after Vespers, the feast starts with the chapel of singers, with harp, guitar and bajoncillo; the following texts or others and coplas, according to the season of the year, are sung, and the ones that the chapelmaster thinks are most appropriate, as the ones presented here.] [p. 291]

COBLAS [1] Qviero cantar vn Romance a vn Dios tan enamorado, que en medio de su passion es compacion el mirarlo. Aunque el Dicipulo aleve le vendió con pecho ingrato, estuvo siempre vendido hasta llegar al Calvario. Para morir para el hombre este amante sacrosanto, hizo sus ojos goteras, y la Cruz cama, y campo. Tanto creciò su fineza, y llegó su amor a tanto, que quanto mas escupido es-Cupido soberano. Si en el mundo se introduxo la muerte por vn bocado, ya Christo le pone freno agonizando en vn palo. Imperfidos los Iudios, todos tiran a matarlo,

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[p. 292]

haziendo su passion ciega, la passion de Christo blanco. Como su rostro es vn Cielo, el ministro de enojado, que le diò la bofetada tomò el Cielo con las manos. Otro vibrando vna lança esfuerça atrevido el braço, que aun quiso despues de muerto tener dolor de costado. Como muere por dar vida; luego que le coronaron, diò mala espina a la culpa, y a la gracia buen despacho. Bien sè Señor, que mis culpas a morir os obligaron, y que mis hierros han sido la materia de essos clavos. Inunden los coraçones, amargos mares de llanto, pues nuestros pecados tienen a Christo en la Cruz clavado. ESTRIBILLO [1]. Ay que dolor que adolece la vida, [p. 293]

y muere de amor. Ay que dolor. Lloren los ojos, llore el coraçon. Que pendiente en vn leño agoniza Cardeno lilio el que es blanca flor. Ay que dolor. Enlute sus rayos, Y eclipsese el Sol:

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Pues que ya el de justicia se pone, herido a rigores de vn odio traydor. COBLAS [2] Dvlcissimo Iesus siempre que os considero tan cargado de penas, pendiente en esse leño. Causa de vuestros males a mis culpas advierto, pues por librarme dellas sufris tales tormentos. Essa cruel corona, que os taladra el cerebro [p. 294]

locos os clavaron mis desvanecimientos. Con cinco mil açotes se aflige vuestro cuerpo, y muchos mas pecados fueron los que os los dieron. Sediento por mi amor en essa Cruz os vemos, y yo en vuestras ofensas siempre me estoy sediento. El yerro de la lança que rompe vuestro pecho sin duda se forjó de mis enormes hierros. Pies, y manos os clavan, Mas quedame el consuelo de que en vuestro costado he de hallar refrigerio. Permitid Iesus mio, que yo me vea dentro,

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y que como el ladron merezca vuestro Reyno. ESTRIBILLO [2] Clavos, lança, y espinas a Iesus atormentan. [p. 295]

O dulce Iesus mio, quien os quitarà essas afrentas. Pero el amor obliga, y el amor os sujeta. COBLAS [3] En la dureza de vn marmol vn diamante se descubre, que entre la sangre, y el golpe divinos quilates luze. Barbara mano le labra, y aunque mas su saña aguje el toque de sus crueldades fondos amorosos pule. Quando el abrojo penetra, y entre los cordeles cruxe, atrevidos razgos borda con vno, y otro paspunte. Raudales de nacar corren los arroyos que se vnen en nevado mar de amor, porque la impiedad le surque. Cinco mil, y mas publican litigaços que sacude el Hebreo su crueldad, [p. 296]

y el querer de quien lo sufre. Equivocada la vista bien los ojetos confunde, que si el marmol sangre corre marmol lo mortal presume.

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Todos son rigores quanto torcido el cañamo escupe, braço cruel mira, que es de tus delitos junque. No las finezas mayores con tu ceguedad ofusques, mas no, que en tus iras mismas tus ofensas se confunden. ESTRIBILLO [3] La passion, el tormento, el golpe, el dolor son el llanto, la pena, Que lloro, que adoro, con el coraçon, el abrojo, la sangre que el dueño mio le desgarre, le corre, socorre mi desvario. Pues el rocio de fino coral mejora mi mal mi desdicha lava, sujetando a la aljava mortal lo inmortal. [p. 297]

COBLAS [4] Yo Iesu-Christo enclavado en lo duro de vn madero herido en cinco arpones consumo ya vn testamento. Mi alma mando a mi Padre, y en sus manos la encomiendo mi cuerpo dexo a la tierra pues a la tierra le devo. Y para que no se quexe el hombre que no le dexo le mando para que viva de mi despensa alimentos. Dexo por testamentario a mi Dicipulo Pedro, y todo quanto èl hiziere le darè yo por bien echo. 251

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A mi Dicipulo Iuan Secretario de mi pecho, mando que sirva a mi Madre, que es lo mas que darle puedo. A mi esposa, que es la Iglesia le mando para consuelo [p. 298]

vna llave con que abra donde mis tesoros tengo. Perdon a nadie le pido, porque es infalible, y cierto que hierros no he cometido, aunque voy cargado de ellos. En recompensa a los hombres de hazerles mis herederos pido que ingratos no sean, pues vèn que por ellos muero. Clavos, açotes, y espinas solo para mi reservo para ofrecer a mi Padre por cosa de mucho precio. Mi testamento concluyo, y por ser este mi intento, y voluntad le rubrico con la sangre de mi cuerpo. ESTRIBILLOS [4] Mortales accidentes tened compacion doleos de mi si por amor de Dios. [p. 299]

Que me aflige de muerte vn dolor, ay venid, y llegad, acreadores de amor, que estoy para dar quando el alma doy.

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A las quatro horas, según el tiempo, se haze señal con la campana mayor, y se toca vn quarto, para que los devotos entiendan, que se empieça el santo exercicio, y al quedar la campana, el Padre Predicador sube al pulpito, y haze vna platica muy espiritual, siguiendo el espiritu de la Iglesia en sus Evangelios, es breve, y consiste en dar dos puntos para excitar los espiritus a la contemplacion, aviendo acabado, encomienda vn Padre nuestro, y Ave Maria por quien haze la fiesta. Luego se baxa al pie del Altar, y estando arrodillado, y todo con sumo silencio; los Cantores están en la tribunilla, y vno de ellos el mas diestro, y de mayor voz, dize estas cinco coblas. [At four o’clock, depending on the season, a signal is made with the large bell, and it plays for a quarter of an hour so that the faithful understand that the holy exercise starts, and when the bell stops ringing, the preacher goes up to the pulpit and gives a very spiritual speech following the Church’s spirit in its Gospels; it is brief and consists of two points to excite the spirits to contemplation. Having finished, he dedicates one Our Father and Ave Maria to whom the feast is dedicated. Afterwards, he goes down to the foot of the altar and kneels, all with utmost silence. The singers are in the small balcony and one of them, the best one and with the most voice, says these five strophes.]1 Note: The strophes to be sung that follow (pp. 299–301) are the same as in the Breve relación; see main text with translations and Appendix 9.1, p. 236–8. Al punto que el Predicador oie ‘por mas flaca, y vil que sea’ [el último verso de las estrofas que se cantan], dize vna jaculatoria muy devota, y la acaba con vn acto de dolor muy fervoroso que mueva los coraçones. Luego [p. 302]

se tañen los instrumentos musicos vn rato, con mucha dolçura, y al dexarse, dize el Predicador segunda jaculatoria, buelven a tañer, y al quedar dize el Predicador, tercera jaculatoria, buelven a tañer, y el Padre Predicador dize la quarta jaculatoria, que es vn reconocimiento de los beneficios, y vna accion de gracias. Aviendo concluydo con las quatro jaculatorias, se levanta, y se assienta en vna silla junto al Altar, y todo el pueblo assentado le haze vna platica breve de quarto y medio muy fervorosa, y por concluyrla se levanta, y con exclamaciones al Santo Christo dà fin. Luego los Cantores empieçan vna Letania del Santissimo Christo, ù de nuestra Señora, según el dia que es, si es en la Quaresma dizen el psalmo Miserere. Las Letanias son estas, [When the preacher hears ‘por mas flaca y vil que sea’ (last verse of the last, sung strophe), he says a very devout prayer and finishes it with an act of affliction to move the 1

There are ten strophes of four verses each.

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hearts. Afterwards, musical instruments play for a while, with much sweetness, and when they stop, the preacher says a second prayer, they play again, and when they stop the preacher says a third prayer, they play again, the preacher says the fourth prayer, which is an acknowledgement of the benefits received and an act of thanksgiving. Having concluded the four prayers, he rises up and sits on a chair next to the altar and he gives to the seated audience a brief sermon of a quarter and a half of an hour, and he finishes with exclamations to the Blessed Christ. Afterwards, the singers begin a litany of the Blessed Christ or of Our Lady, according to the day in which it takes place, and if it is Lent they say the psalm Miserere. The litanies are these ones:] Note: The first litany, to the Blessed Christ, is the same as the one in Breve relación (see Appendix 9.1, p. 240; afterwards, there is a short verse, response and prayer (Respice quasemus). The second litany, of Our Lady, follows: [pp. 302–3]

Letania al Santo Christo etc. V. Dicite in nacionibus. R. Quia dominus regnavit á ligno. Oremus. Respice quaesumus. [p. 304]

Si el Viernes cae en fiesta de nuestra Señora, ò en su octava, se canta esta Letania como se sigue. [If Friday falls on a feast of Our Lady or on its octave, this litany is sung as follows.] Letania de nuestra Señora. Kyrie eleyson creator audinos adsit cum filio nobis paraclitus. Christe eleyson. Pater exaudi nos. Maria regibus, & ita patribus, & Luna pulcrior, & Sole clarior. Ora pro nobis, & Sole clarior. Virgo Deipara columba castior purior Gedeon vellere candido. Ora pro nobis vellere candido. Mater amabilis lilium convallium, & rosa mystica ad aquas platanus. Ora pro nobis ad aquas platanus. Electa ex millibus Deo habitaculum Solis iustitiae nubes, & radius. Ora pro nobis nubes, & radius. Vas honorabile imbutum balsamo sacris licoribus, & aromatibus.

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Ora pro nobis, & aromatibus. Mirrae faciculus gutta fragantior vngula, & casta storace, & galbano. Ora pro nobis storace, & galbano. [p. 305]

Turris Davidica tetris, & arcutus contra luciferum impropugnaculum. Ora pro nobis impropugnaculum. Ciprus in Sion sublimis admodum tedis in libano palmis, & alcior. Ora pro nobis palmis, & alcior. Oliva fertilis pacis signaculum aurora montium, & stella marium. Ora pro nobis, & stella marium. Templum Hierusalem, & portus naufrago rubus Moysi, & sponsi thalamus. Ora pro nobis, & sponsi thalamus. Et arcus foederis, & tronus Salomon ianua coeli ad Deum transitus. Ora pro nobis ad Deum transitus. Asilum miseris lumen errantibus aegris remedium mestis solatium. Ora pro nobis mestis solatium. Regina Virginum, Regina Martirum, Regina Omnium Sanctorum agminum. Ora pro nobis Sanctorum agminum. Regina libera, & è contagio soluta legibus vniversalibus. Ora pro nobis vniversalibus. Exorta filium vt tuos famulos [p. 306]

& tetro liberet mortis ergastulo. Ora pro nobis mortis ergastulo. Agnus Dei innocens in te sperantibus qui tollis omnibus peccata, salva nos. Concluyese con el versico que dizen los dos monocillos, y toda la capilla Amen, aviendo dicho el Padre Sacerdote la oracion Respice quaesumus domine super hanc familiam tuam, &c. con esto se dà fin al santo exercicio. Y para encerrar las tres cortinas se ponen los dos Sacerdotes, vno al lado derecho del Altar, y el otro al lado izquierdo, y assi como los dos Cantores cantan las coblas que aquí pongo cierran la cortina cada vno de su parte, y siendo tiradas, y cubierto el S. Christo todos se van. [The litany ends with the versicle said by two altarboys and all the chapel respond Amen. With the prayer Respice quaesumus domine super hanc familiam tuam, &c, said by the priest, the holy exercise concludes. And, to close the three curtains, the two priests are placed one on the right side of the altar and the other on the left side, and while the two singers sing the coplas that follow, the priests close the curtains of their respective sides and, after all have been closed and the Santo Christo is covered, all go.] 255

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Coblas que se cantan al fin para cerrar las cortinas. [Strophes to be sung at the end to close the curtains.] Note: The text to be sung of the following strophes is different from the one in the Breve relación. It coincides only in the first two verses; see main text and Appendix 9.1, [pp. 10– 11]. See also in Appendix 9.4 a musical setting by Francisco Soler (seventeenth century) which follows the present version of the text.] Señor antes de ausentaros dadnos vuestra bendicion, que esse rescate os devieron los abraços de Iacob.

Lord, before you leave give us your blessing, since that rescue owed in return Jacob’s embraces.

Saldrà desta amante lucha sin pies mi libre aficion, porque de assiento en los vuestros logre la parte mejor.

Of this fight of love will come out without feet my free affection because placed in your feet I will attain the best part.

En vano esse velo leve privarme intenta de vos, que si sus rayos oculta no aparta la nube del Sol.

In vain that thin veil tries to deprive me of You, but if His rays conceal it cannot separate the cloud from the sun.

El segundo me asegura mas que la ausencia el favor, pues viene a ser Dios velado lo mismo que esposo Dios.

The second veil assures me more than the absence the favour, since veiled God is just about the same as God as a spouse.

El tercer velo se corre, porque no alcança mi amor; corren los velos Dios mio, si buela el alma con vos.

The third veil is drawn because my love is not sufficient; the veils are drawn my God, if my soul flies with You.

[p. 307]

Despues que las tres cortinas estan tiradas, y el Santo Christo cubierto, todos se van, y con esto se dà fin al santo exercicio poco antes de anochecer. Y yo doy fin a este libro, encareciendo mucho a todos la devocion, y perseverancia destos muy devotos exercicios, rogandoles por reverencia de N. Señor Iesu-Christo crucificado, que asseguren la perseverancia con la fundacion perpetua, asse[p. 308]

gurandoles que serà vna obra de grande piedad, y muy servicio de Dios.

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Y por refresco de la memoria del santo exercicio de los Viernes, les pongo aquí la [i]magen del Santissimo Christo crucificado, y essa santa devocion, por toda la semana que la digan todos los dias, a la mañana, ó a la tarde antes de acostar. [After the three curtains are closed and the Blessed Christ has been covered, all leave, and with this the holy exercise comes to an end a little before dusk. And I finish this book commending to all this devotion very much, as well as perseverance in these most devoted exercises, requesting, in reverence to Our Lord Jesus Christ crucified, to assure perseverance with the perpetual founding [of the devotion] and ensuring them that it will be a great work of piety and of most service to God. And to refresh the memory of the blessed exercise on Fridays, I place here the image of the most Blessed Christ crucified, and a holy devotion [prayer], to be said during the entire week every day in the morning, or in the afternoon, or before retiring.]

Figure 9.2. Image of Christ in Peregrinación spiritual (Barcelona, 1675), p. 308, in front of which the following prayer should be said daily: Dvlcissimo Señor Iesu-Christo, inclina tu piadoso coraçon para oyr con clemencia las mayores muestras de tu amor, y los extremos que hiziste por la salvación de las almas, concedenos Señor, tu divina luz, y sentimientos de tu mano, para que estas alabanças sean agradables a tu Divina Magestad. Amen, Iesus, Maria, Ioseph. [Most sweet Lord Jesus Christ, incline your pious heart to listen with mercy the greatest samples of your love, and the extremes that you did for the salvation of souls; grant us, Lord, your divine light and sentiments from your hand, so that these praises may be pleasing to your Divine Magesty. Amen, Jesus, Mary, Joseph].

[pp. 308–12, diverse prayers follow, with the notice that the Barcelona bishop gave forty days of indulgence.]

El Maestro Fr. Magin Massò Carmelita Observante. FINIS

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Appendix 9.3

Sections of a pastoral letter [‘Carta Pastoral’] (1654) from Juan de Palafox y Mendoza (1600–59) addressed to the Escuela de Cristo in Madrid with textual concordances found at the end of the Breve relación. The concordant passages are marked in bold here and at the end of the Breve relación; see Appendix 9.1, p. 242–3. ‘Carta Pastoral à la Santa Escuela de Christo, fundada en la Imperial Villa de Madrid’, Tomo Sexto de las Obras del Ilustrissimo y Reverenddissimo señor Don Juan de Palafox y Mendoza Obispo de Osma, del Consejo del Rey nuestro Señor (Madrid: Melchor Alegre, 1667), pp. 206– 19. Even though this volume, containing many different works by Palafox, was published in 1667, the ‘Carta pastoral’ indicates at the end, p. 219: ‘Soria à 10 de Agosto de 1654. Juan Obispo de Osma’. [p. 206: title page]

A LA / SANTA ESCVELA / DE CHRISTO NVESTRO SEÑOR / DE LA IMPERIAL VILLA / DE MADRID. ... [p. 209]

Que purifiquen bien la intención [They should purify their intention very well] 12. Lo primero à que debe atender principalmente el discipulo de essa Santa Escuela, es à purificar su intencion; y que al entrar en ella, sea para agradar solo à Dios, y aprovecharse à si mismo, poniendo su principal mira en esto ... [12. The first thing a disciple of that Holy School should do is to purify his intention, and if he enters, it should be to please only God and to be of benefit to himself, placing his main purpose on this … ] [pp. 209–10]

Puntualidad, y constancia en acudir a la Escuela [de Christo] [Punctuality and perseverance in attending the School [of Christ]] 13. Lo segundo, yà que ha entrado con esta santa intención, y obra con ella, ha de acudir con puntualidad à ella, y tener perseverancia, y constancia en llevar el peso de esta santa ocupación; a la qual no es bien que falte, sino en caso que faltasse à su oficio en cosa tal, que fuesse ofensa de Dios. La ocupacion no es mucha, vna tarde à la semana. De justicia pide Dios para lo eterno vna tarde, con la qual puede ser, que enseñe Dios à lograr lo eterno, y lo temporal. Que sè yo si el faltar voluntariamente vn día, me acortarà la luz para muchos días? Que sè yo si por negarle el oìdo, me negarà à mi la vista, y los auxilios, y eficacia de su gracia? Que sè yo si dirà, no me oìste, no te hablo, no me amas,

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no te ayudo. Toda la semana nos ocupamos en oìr à los hombres, y que nos oygan; no darèmos los oìdos vna tarde à la semana à las vozes del Señor: para oìr, y hablar tantas horas en el mundo, menester serà oìr algunas à Dios. Mal podrè aprender sino me enseñan, ni acertar si no me guian. Ni el frio me ha de detener al ir, que se padece mas frio en el Purgatorio; ni el calor, porque se padece mas calor en el infierno. No me ha de espantar la obscuridad de la noche, que voy à buscar la luz. No los lodos y otras descomodidades, porque voy à buscar la limpieça de la doctrina de Christo. Tanto mayor ha de ser el cuidado, quanto es mayor la dificultad: corta fineza es ir desde mi casa à su Escuela, por quien vino desde el Cielo (siendo Dios) à vn pesebre por redimirme; y desde vn pobre pesebre padeciendo, hasta la Cruz por salvarme. [13. The second, since the disciple has entered with that holy intention and acts according to it, he has to attend the School with punctuality, have perseverance and steadfastness in carrying out this holy occupation, that he should not skip it and if he does, only in case that not missing it would be an offence to God. The occupation does not take that much time, one afternoon a week. Rightfully, God asks for one afternoon dedication to eternal matters with which God may teach us to attain the eternal and the temporal. What do I know if skipping voluntarily one day He may shorten the light for many more? What do I know if by denying the ear He will deny me the sight and the help and efficacy of His grace? What do I know if He will say, you did not listen to me, I do not speak to you; you don’t love me, I am not helping you. The entire week we are busy listening to men and being listened to; will we not give the ears one afternoon a week to the voices of the Lord? To listen to and speak so many hours in the world, it will be necessary to listen to God for some hours. I will not be able to learn well if I am not taught; I will not be right if I am not guided. Cold weather will not stop me from going there [to the Escuela de Cristo], since Purgatory is colder, nor heat, since in hell is hotter. Neither the darkness of night will frighten me, since I am in search of light, nor the mud or other inconveniences, since I am going to search for the cleansing of Christ’s doctrine. The greater the difficulty, the greater the care. It is a very short distance to go from my home to his School for the sake of the one (who being God) came from Heaven to a manger to redeem us, and from a poor manger, suffering, to the Cross to save me.]

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Appendix 9.4

Señor antes de ausentaros (‘Para encerrar las cortinas’) by Francesc Soler (Tarragona, c.1645–Girona, 1688) Barcelona, Biblioteca de Catalunya, M.736/4 (alto), M.765/41 (tenor) and M.736/4 (accompaniment). The text coincides with the coplas published in Peregrinación espiritual to be performed on Fridays at the church of Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona during the ‘holy exercises’ of devotion to the image of the Santo Cristo in the chapel of the Santa Espina. Music Example 9.1. Transcription of Señor antes de ausentaros (‘para encerrar las cortinas’/to close de curtains) by Francesc Soler (Tarragona, ca. 1645—Girona, 1688). Barcelona, Biblioteca de Catalunya, M.736/4 (alto), M.765/41 (tenor) and M.736/4 (accompaniment). The first two verses coincide with the ones in the Breve relación (1661), and the entire text with the one published in Peregrinación espiritual (1675), to be performed on Fridays at the church of Santa Maria del Pi in Barcelona during ‘holy exercises’ of devotion to the image of the Santo Cristo in the chapel of the Santa Espina.

Señor, antes de ausentaros (" Para encerrar las cortinas a duo" )

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

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10. Bells, Confessional Conflict and the Dutch Revolt, c.1566–1585* Andrew Spicer �

The Jesuit Martin del Rio composed a commentary on the two-year administration of Don Juan of Austria as governor-general of the Spanish Netherlands between 1576 and 1578. In recounting the troubles that afflicted the Low Countries, he observed that, in many parts of Brabant and Flanders, the prince of Orange had taken the bells from the Catholic churches, which were then broken up to be re-cast as cannons or the pieces were sold for cash. Orange’s actions, according to del Rio, were also intended to bring an end to the ceremonies and services of the Catholic religion, because without bells the faithful could not be summoned to the celebration of the Mass.1 Around the same time, a popular song in Artois and Flanders, preserved by a contemporary chronicler, called upon the king of Spain to relieve the sufferings of his people from ‘this false master William of Orange’ and ‘the hundred thousand evils’ perpetrated by the men from Ghent united in ‘the name of the country [Patrie]’.2 One verse described their assault upon the material culture of worship, including the removal of church bells: By this false prince of Orange Rebel of his majesty By a rage too strange The country is molested By these scoundrels Who gorge themselves On our most beautiful jewels Taking our bells mitres and crooks relics and vessels.3

* 1

2

3

I am grateful to Alastair Duke for his comments on a draft of this chapter, as well as for the feedback on the original paper from the participants at the Brussels workshop. Mémoires de Martin Antoine de Rio sur les troubles des Pays-Bas durant l’administration de Don Juan d’Autriche, 1576– 1578, 3 vols., ed. A. Delvigne (Brussels, 1869–71), III, pp. 111, 159; Y. Rodríguez Péréz, The Dutch Revolt through Spanish Eyes: Self and Other in Historical and Literary Texts in Golden Age Spain (c. 1548–1673) (Bern, 2008), p. 80 Mémoires de Pontus Payen, 2 vols., ed. Alex. Henne (Brussels, 1861), II, pp. 197–200; A. Dinaux, ‘Arras Orangiste’, Archives historiques et littéraires du Nord de la France et du Midi de la Belgique, n.s., 6 (1847), pp. 134–6; L. de Baecker (ed.), Chants historiques de la Flandre 400–1650 (Lille, 1855), pp. 315–18. Although the song is undated, internal evidence points to the song being composed between the late 1570s and early 1580s: Mémoires de Pontus Payen, II, p. 199. See also J. Pollmann, ‘“Hey Ho, Let the Cup Go Round!” Singing for Reformation in the Sixteenth Century’, in H. Schilling and I. G. Tóth (eds.), Cultural Exchange in Early Modern Europe, Vol. I: Religion and Cultural Exchange in Europe, 1400–1700 (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 294–316; S. M. Wood, ‘Anti-Inquisition Propaganda in Music at the Outbreak of the Dutch Revolt: Noé Faignent’s Chansons, madrigals et motetz’, in J. E. Morgan and G. N. Reish (eds.), Tyranny and Music (Lanham, MD, 2018), pp. 55–74. Mémoires de Pontus Payen, II, pp. 197–8.

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These two reflections on the destruction portrayed the looting of bells in confessional terms; it represented a threat to Catholic worship from the adherents of the nascent Reformed faith. It was also seen in the broader context of the Reformed destruction of religious images and the setting for the celebration of the Mass. Although the seizure of bells for their metal was an established aspect of early modern warfare, they have not generally been considered in the extensive literature on iconoclasm in the Southern Netherlands during the late sixteenth century.4 Nonetheless, it is clear that bells were silenced or seized during the ‘Iconoclastic Fury’ which swept through the Low Countries in the late summer and autumn of 1566, and again in the late 1570s at the time of the so-called Calvinist republics. This represented a confessionalisation of the urban soundscape as the Reformed faith sought to prevent the customary ringing of bells at Catholic places of worship. This assault on bells and the urban soundscape took place in the wider context of the revolt against Spanish rule in the Netherlands, and the challenge to the established Catholic Church posed by the Reformed faith from the 1560s. The confessional tensions prompted a wave of iconoclasm which spread from Flanders throughout the Habsburg Netherlands during the late summer and autumn of 1566. Reformed adherents attempted to seize churches and purge them of their religious imagery and associations with Catholic worship, particularly the celebration of the Mass. The subsequent efforts by the authorities to re-establish order and restore Catholicism were resisted by the Walloon towns of Tournai and Valenciennes. The events of 1566–7 were the opening salvoes of the Dutch Revolt. Although these rebellious towns were swiftly defeated, in the late 1570s Reformed regimes – the so-called Calvinist republics – opposed to the Spanish Crown were established in several towns in the Southern Netherlands. These radical governments were associated with further iconoclasm and the seizure of church property, including bells, which also extended beyond the towns into their rural hinterlands. Alienated by the radicalism of these regimes, the southern provinces acknowledged the authority of the Spanish Crown in the Union of Arras of 1579; the final bastions of resistance were defeated by the military forces of Alexander Farnese, duke of Parma, culminating in the fall of Antwerp in 1585. This chapter will examine the confessionalisation of the soundscape of the Southern Netherlands through the silencing and/or seizure of bells during these opening decades of the revolt. It will focus on Flanders as well as the ecclesiastical province of Cambrai, which encompassed the Walloon dioceses of Arras, Namur, Saint-Omer and Tournai. This province also included the archdiocese of Cambrai, which, although under Habsburg tutelage,

4

See A. Duke, ‘Calvinists and “Papist Idolatry”: The Mentality of the Image-breakers in 1566’, in A. Duke, Dissident Identities in the Early Modern Low Countries, ed. J. Pollmann and A. Spicer (Farnham, 2009), pp. 179–97; P. M. Crew, Calvinist Preaching and Iconoclasm in the Netherlands, 1544–1569 (Cambridge, 1978); S. Deyon and A. Lottin, Les casseurs de l’été 1566. L’iconoclasme dans le Nord (Westhoek, 1986); P. Arnade, Beggars, Iconoclasts and Civic Patriots: The Political Culture of the Dutch Revolt (Ithaca and London, 2008); A. Spicer, ‘Iconoclasm on the Frontier: Le Cateau-Cambrésis, 1566’, in K. Kolrud and M. Prusac (eds.), Iconoclasm from Antiquity to Modernity (Farnham, 2014), pp. 119–37; A. Spicer, ‘Iconoclasm’, Renaissance Quarterly, 70 (Fall 2017), pp. 1007–22; A.-L. van Bruaene, K. Jonckheere and R. Suykerbuyk (eds.), Beeldenstorm: Iconoclasm in the Low Countries, special issue of BMGN – Low Countries Historical Review, 131/1 (2016).

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was nominally an independent principality of the Holy Roman Empire. The chapter will principally examine the impact of the iconoclasm and rebellion of 1566–7, as well as the Calvinist republics, on bells, to illustrate how the soundscape of the region was altered and challenged amidst the confessional tensions and political upheavals of the Dutch Revolt. Bells were an important and established feature of the late medieval and early modern soundscape, being employed for both secular and religious purposes. They were important for marking the passage of time, with bells sounding the start and end of the working day as well as the curfew in many towns. Alongside these bells were those which were used to mark civic events or special occasions. The bancloche or bancloque was rung to convene council meetings, summon citizens to discuss their affairs, or was tolled as a formality marking the implementation of decrees once they had received a public reading. These bells could also be used to sound the alarm in times of danger or fire. The bancloche was usually a larger bell than that used to mark the working day, meaning that its sound carried farther.5 The citizens of Tournai had been granted permission to have a communal bell in 1188 but the first references to the bancloche, together with a secondary civic bell (wigeneron), appear in the thirteenth century. The cloche-des-ouvriers, which was rung to mark the working day, and another bell were subsequently added. These four bells were recast after being destroyed by fire in 1392.6 At Valenciennes, the civic bell or bancloche was rung for grand ceremonies as well as when executions took place, with another bell for the workers. Although both bells dated from 1358, the bancloche weighed 9,000 livres, whereas the daily work bell (curiande) was a little over a third of that, at 3,800 livres. The two bells would have made different and distinguishable contributions to the urban soundscape.7 The civic bells at Cambrai included la cloche du Roi or grosse cloche, which had been cast in October 1563, replacing an earlier bell which had cracked. It weighed 11,253 livres with a clapper of 244 livres. The bell bore the inscription ‘I have been founded and placed here to sound the alarm. And I was made by master Jean Serre within Cambrai and his sons Jacques Serre, Pierre Serre’. The Serres were well-established bell founders at Tournai. The significance of the bell meant that it also incorporated the arms of the city as well as the ruler of the principality, Maximilian de Berghes, and the legend: ‘The year 1563 at the time of the Reverend Lord Monsieur Maximilien de Berghes, first archbishop of this city of Cambrai,

5

6

7

D. Garrioch, ‘Sounds of the City: The Soundscape of Early Modern European Towns’, Urban History, 30 (2003), pp. 9–12; L. Rombouts, Singing Bronze: A History of Carillon Music (Leuven, 2014), pp. 39–43; G. Dohrn-van Rossum, A History of the Hour: Clocks and Modern Temporal Orders (Chicago, 1996), pp. 197–215, 294–305; M. S. Champion, The Fullness of Time: Temporalities of the Fifteenth-Century Low Countries (Chicago, 2017), pp. 31–2, 38–41. L. Leroux, Cloches et société médiévale. Les sonneries de Tournai au Moyen-Age (Louvain-la-Neuve, 2011), pp. 39–40. For the verse on the bancloche, see M. Battard, Beffrois, halles, hôtels de ville dans le Nord de la France et La Belgique (Arras, 1948), p. 31. H. d’Outreman, Histoire de la ville et comté de Valentiennes (Douai, 1639), pp. 242–3; A. Dinaux, ‘Beffroi de Valenciennes’, Archives historiques et littéraires du Nord de la France et du Midi de la Belgique, n.s., 4 (1842), pp. 254–5; C. Paillard, Histoire des troubles religieux de Valenciennes, 1560–1565, 4 vols. (Brussels, 1874–6), I, p. 198.

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at the expense of the prévost and échevins and quatre hommes of this said city’.8 The new work bell, installed in the belfry at Ghent in September 1573, was cast with the date and reference to Philip II’s reign, together with the names and arms of the magistrates.9 The civic bells sometimes hung in church towers but, from the mid thirteenth century, belfries were erected for this purpose across Flanders. In some towns, such as Bruges, the belfry was incorporated into the structure of the town hall or another administrative building.10 Work on the belfry at Ghent had begun in 1315 but was not completed for another two decades, while that at Tournai had been rebuilt at the end of the fourteenth century after the earlier structure had been destroyed by fire.11 These buildings and their bells became important manifestations of civic identity. The different civic functions that the bells fulfilled in late medieval Tournai have led to them being described as ‘the voice of the city’.12 However, this symbolism could also be used against urban communities.13 In crushing the rebellion at Ghent in 1540, Charles V erected a citadel, reduced the town’s privileges and public rituals, but also removed the clock mechanism and the civic bell, named ‘Roeland’, from the belfry. The sound of this work clock governed the working day but was also rung to assemble the townspeople in the market place. Although the town was later able to recover the bell, the restoration of Ghent’s urban privileges was a key demand of the so-called Calvinist republic in 1577.14 Besides the ringing and tolling of these official bells, playing tunes on bells became popular during the late fifteenth century, leading to the development of the carillon. The first references to this new way of sounding bells relate to Dunkirk and Antwerp, but carillons were soon established in other Flemish and Walloon towns.15 One of the earliest

8

9 10 11 12 13 14

15

A. Bruyelle, Les monuments religieux de Cambrai avant et depuis 1789 (Valenciennes, 1854), pp. 113–14; G. Dailliez, ‘Les cloches de Cambrai en 1914’, Mémoires de la Société d’Émulation de Cambrai, 70 (1922), pp. 183–4; M. Haine and N. Meèus, Dictionnaire des facteurs d’instruments de musique en Wallonie et à Bruxelles du 9e siècle à nos jours (Brussels, 1987), p. 376. P. De Kempenare, Vlaemsche kronijk of dagregister van al het gene gedenkweerdig voorgevallen is, binne de stad de Gent, sedert den 15 july tot 15 juny 1585, ed. J. P. van Male (Brussels, 1839), p. 121. Rombouts, Singing Bronze, pp. 39–40; Champion, The Fullness of Time, p. 38; Battard, Beffrois, halles, hôtels de ville, pp. 20–37, 53–5, 87–9. Battard, Beffrois, halles, hôtels de ville, pp. 42–3, 81–2. Leroux, Cloches et société médiévale, pp. 114–28. Ibid., pp. 135–7; J. van Leeuwen, ‘Klokgelui en stedelijke identiteit in het laatmiddeleeuwse Vlaanderen’, in M. Beyen, L. Rombouts and S. Vos (eds.), De beiaard. Een politieke geschiedenis (Leuven, 2009), pp. 30–4. P. Arnade, Realms of Ritual: Burgundian Ceremony and Civic Life in Late Medieval Ghent (Ithaca, 1996), pp. 205–6 and 263, note 89; P. Arnade, ‘Privileges and the Political Imagination in the Ghent Revolt of 1539’, in M. Boone and M. Demoor (eds.), Charles V in Context: The Making of a European Identity (Brussels, 2003), p. 122; L. Gachard (ed.), Relations des troubles de Gand sous Charles-Quint (Brussels, 1846), p. 132; A.-L. van Bruaene, ‘Culture politique et capital social pendant la république Calviniste de Gand’, in M. Weis (ed.), Des villes en révolte. Les ‘Républiques urbaines’ aux Pays-Bas et en France pendant la deuxième moitié du XVIe siècle, Studies in European Urban History 23 (Turnhout, 2010), pp. 36–9. Rombouts, Singing Bronze, pp. 59–75; A. Lehr, The Art of the Carillon in the Low Countries (Tielt, 1991), pp. 93–106; Mgr Voisin, ‘De l’orgue, des cloches et du carillon’, Bulletin de la Société historique et littéraire de Tournai, 13 (1869), pp. 14–16; L. Devillers, Essai sur l’histoire de la musique à Mons (Mons, 1868), pp. 13–16; E. Vanderstraeren, ‘Notes sur les carillons d’Audenarde’, Annales de la Société Royale des Beaux-Arts et de Littérature de Gand, 6 (1855–6), pp. 169–79.

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examples was the carillon at Alost, dating from 1487, but they were installed by towns across the Southern Netherlands, including Tournai and Valenciennes. There was a carillon at Mons by the late fifteenth century, which was replaced in 1553; several of the town’s parish churches had also installed carillons later in the sixteenth century. The carillon at Cambrai incorporated ten bells cast by Jean Serre in 1558, with a further five added in 1597.16 Using a mechanism for striking the bells, carillonneurs were employed by town councils to play popular songs and tunes. In 1547, the authorities in Bruges stipulated that the carillons were to be played for the entertainment of the townspeople, while, five years later, magistrates at Ghent argued that they were for the honour and adornment of the town.17 Bells were therefore no longer solely about official business: the carillons provided entertainment for the urban populace. Alongside these secular bells, there were also the ecclesiastical bells which hung in parish churches and cathedrals. At Tournai, for example, by the early sixteenth century, the cathedral and eleven parish churches all had bells, together with nine other religious establishments in the city.18 These bells performed a range of religious functions, marking liturgical time, the canonical hours, services or particular moments during them – such as the elevation of the blessed Sacrament – as well as commemorating more personal occasions such as weddings and funerals.19 The religious purpose of ringing was outlined by Guillaume Durandus in a chapter of his Rationale divinorum officiorum, a thirteenth-century compilation and explanation of ecclesiastical laws relating to the church fabric, furnishings and ceremonies. Durandus argued that it was through the sound of bells that ‘the people come to church to hear and the clergy announce the mercy of the Lord in the morning and His power at night’.20 The religious significance of bells meant that they were blessed – or, as it was more popularly called, ‘baptised’ – before being installed.21 Durandus explained: The church bell is rung and blessed so that through its effect and sound, the faithful are summoned, one after the other, to the eternal prize and the devotion to their faith increases in them; also that the crops, minds, and bodies of those same believers are preserved; that hostile armies and all wicked enemies be repelled away from us; that great clashes, wind storms, violent tempests, and lightning storms be restrained; that hostile thunderstorms and blazing winds be

16

17 18 19

20 21

C. Patart, Les cloches civiles de Namur, Fosses et Tournai au bas Moyen Age. Recherches sur l’histoire de l’information de masse en milieu urbain (Brussels, 1976), pp. 121–34; A. Bruyelle, ‘Bulletin archéologique de l’arrondissement de Cambrai’, Mémoires de la Société d’Émulation de Cambrai, 32 (1873), pp. 564–6; Dailliez, ‘Les cloches de Cambrai’, p. 179. A. Lehr, Van paardebel tot speelklok. De geschiedenis van de klokgietkunst in de Lage Landen (Zaltbommel, 1971), p. 178; Lehr, The Art of the Carillon, p. 110. Leroux, Cloches et société médiévale, pp. 26–39. Garrioch, ‘Sounds of the City’, p. 11; Leroux, Cloches et société médiévale, pp. 72–80, 86–9, 90–6; J. H. Arnold and C. Goodson, ‘Resounding Community: The History and Meaning of Medieval Church Bells’, Viator, 43 (2012), pp. 99–130. On the development of liturgical tunes, see M. Champion, ‘Erasmus’ Bells: Word, Voice, Presence’ (forthcoming). I am grateful to Dr Champion for sharing the paper, which was originally delivered at the Studio of the Centre for the Study of the Renaissance, University of Warwick, 25 April 2017. The Rationale divinorum officiorum of William Durand of Mende, ed. T. M. Thibodeau (New York, 2007), p. 49. Leroux, Cloches et société médiévale, pp. 103–4.

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checked; that the spirits of rage and the powers of the air be prostrated; and, that, those hearing the bell shall flee to the bosom of holy mother Church, falling before the standard of the holy cross, before which every knee will bend, etc. [Phil 2:10]; each of these reasons is given in the blessing of the bells.22

He noted that the bells were ‘vigorously rung’ and for longer on feast days, ‘so that those who are sleeping or are in a drunken state are aroused, lest they oversleep’.23 Durandus explained at length the symbolism of the bells and ringing for divine office, but he also referred to other occasions when a bell was to be rung. He noted that ‘when someone dies, the bells should be rung so that when the people hear this, they will pray for him’. He went on to comment: ‘all of the bells must be loudly rung so that the people know for whom they must pray; they must be loudly rung when the body is carried to the church and when it is carried from the church to the burial place’.24 Bells were also rung on special occasions: those at Ghent rang out in celebration of the ‘victory of the Christians over the Turks’ at the battle of Lepanto in 1571.25 Although the Rationale divinorum circulated widely in the Low Countries, there was nonetheless criticism of some of these aspects of late medieval piety. There was probably a degree of irony in the six epigrams for bells composed by Erasmus in 1508, including one which alluded to the popular belief in the power of bells to drive away demons and storms: ‘I put the evil demons to flight; I ward off lightning; with my song I adorn both funerals and feast days’.26 In his Colloquies, Erasmus disparaged the customary ringing of bells at funerals. He criticised the ‘rapacious men’ who, when dead, are ‘a nuisance to the living by reason of the tolling of bells, [and their] grandiose funerals’. Erasmus attributed ‘the bell’s din and clanging’ at funerals to ‘the parish priest’s eagerness for gain’.27 At the Reformation, superfluous ringing, particularly at funerals, as well as the popular beliefs associated with bells, were criticised by both Martin Luther and Jean Calvin.28 Later proponents of the Reformed faith in the Low Countries similarly dismissed the superstitious practices that surrounded Catholic devotions and worship. Amongst them was Guy de Brès, the author of the Belgic Confession of Faith (1561), who re-established

22 23 24 25 26 27 28

Rationale divinorum officiorum, p. 49. Ibid., p. 53. Ibid. Kempenare, Vlaemsche kronijk, p. 98. Collected Works of Erasmus 85–86: Poems, ed. H. Vredeveld (Toronto, 1993), pp. 63–4, 474–8. See also Champion, ‘Erasmus’ Bells: Word, Voice, Presence’. Collected Works of Erasmus 84: Controversies, ed. N. H. Minnich (Toronto, 2005), p. 232; Collected Works of Erasmus 39–40: Colloquies (Toronto, 1997), pp. 649, 777. J. Pelikan and H. T. Lehmann (eds.), Luther’s Works, 56 vols. (St Louis, 1955–86), XLI, pp. 311–12, 41, 168–9; Ioannis Calvini opera quae supersunt omnia, ed. G. Baum, E. Cunitz and E. Reuss, 59 vols. (Brunswick, 1863–1900), XI, col. 625, 707; XIV, col. 62. On the ringing of bells in Lutheran and Reformed territories, see P. Hahn, ‘The Reformation of the Soundscape: Bell-ringing in Early Modern Lutheran Germany’, German History, 33/4 (2015), pp. 525–45; H. van der Weel, ‘“Het ureslach was Gaudeamus omnes in Domino”. Haarlemse klokken en het beleg van Haarlem (1526–1573)’, Klok en klepel (December 1998), pp. 12–19; H. van der Weel, ‘Calvijn tot in de top. De invloed van het Calvinisme op het luidklokken- en klokkenspelgebruik’, Klok en klepel (March 2009), pp. 2–10.

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the Walloon congregations and took a prominent role in the events of 1566–7, for which he was subsequently executed.29 In his tract attacking the Anabaptists, La racine, source et fondement des Anabaptistes (1565), he dismissed the baptising of bells as it lacked scriptural foundation being a later invention, but also because it was impossible to assign the spiritual merits of baptism to inanimate objects.30 In spite of this antipathy towards the popular customs associated with bells, it was religious imagery and the liturgical items associated with the celebration of the Mass that were the particular focus of attention during the iconoclasm of 1566. Nonetheless, in some towns and villages, bells were targeted by iconoclasts, as well as during the subsequent attempts to re-establish Catholic worship. Responding to the second round of iconoclasm perpetrated by the ‘Calvinist republics’, Philip II clearly identified the destruction of bells as being part of the wider assault by Reformed adherents on the material culture of Catholic worship. In accepting the capitulation of Courtrai in February 1581, the king wrote about the ‘factious people, heretics and enemies of the service of God’, who had demolished ‘churches and monasteries and had also sold the bells, ornaments, jewels and other goods from the said churches and monasteries in the town and district’. They had ‘violated the sacraments and smashed the altars and images dedicated to the honour of God and his saints’.31 During the Reformed insurgency of 1566–7, there are periodic references to attempts to destroy or silence church bells within the towns of the Southern Netherlands. It represented part of the efforts to establish Reformed worship and to undermine the usual round of rituals and services performed by the Catholic Church. The changed urban soundscape therefore reflected the confessional tensions within these urban communities. According to Henri d’Outreman on 24 August 1566, the iconoclasts attacked the churches of Valenciennes, where ‘they broke and ruined not only the images, altars, baptismal fonts, chalices, ciborium, bells and organs; but also the copes, surplices, chests and reliquaries … in the said churches and monasteries without exception’.32 Church bells are not specifically mentioned in the accounts of the image breaking that took place at Tournai in late August 1566. However, in early September, when the count of Hornes attempted to re-establish order, the Reformed smashed the bells to disrupt Catholic worship. According to the Catholic diarist Nicolas Soldoyer, the heretics climbed the church towers to carry out their devilish plans to destroy the bells, although they were halted by a group of men at St Jacques’ church who resisted their efforts.33 Bands of sectaries roamed the country-

29 30 31

32 33

Académie royale des sciences, des lettres et des beaux-arts de Belgique, Biographie nationale, 44 vols. (Brussels, 1866–1986), III, cols. 1–8; L. A. van Langeraad, Guido de Bray. Zijn leven en werken (Zierikzee, 1884). G. de Brès, La racine, source et fondement des Anabaptistes ou Rebaptisez de nostre temps ([Rouen], 1565), pp. 725–6. ‘Lettres de pardon et rémission accordées par Philippe II aux corps et communautés des ville et châtellenie de Courtray … février 1581’, in L. P. Gachard, ‘Analectes historiques’, Académie Royale de Belgique. Compte rendu des séances de la Commission Royale d’Histoire, 3rd series, 13 (1872), p. 66. D’Outreman, Histoire de la ville et comté de Valentiennes, pp. 203–4. Mémoires de Pasquier de le Barre et de Nicolas Soldoyer pour servir à l’ histoire de Tournai, 1565–1570, ed. A. Pinchart, 2 vols. (Brussels, 1859, 1865), II, pp. 285, 287.

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side around Tournai and Valenciennes, pillaging churches and religious houses, destroying images and other items of church property. At Ramegnies, they sacked and destroyed the church and belfry. A local official and other Catholics at Templeneuve were burnt to death in the church tower as they attempted to prevent the destruction of the bells.34 In the small town of Laventie, a group of sectaries pillaged the church, breaking images, destroying the organs, tearing up the books, breaking ornaments of the church, smashing the windows, as well as removing the clappers from the bells and the lead from the roof, causing inestimable damage. One witness testified that, after sacking the building, five of them had gathered one night and climbed the tower. There they cut the bell ropes into pieces and removed the clappers from eight bells, which they threw into a drainage ditch. According to Michel le Josne, they had destroyed the ropes so that the bells could not be rung, as the church had been returned to the Catholics.35 Elsewhere in the Flandre Maritime, there were similar attempts to hinder the re-establishment of Catholicism through removing clappers from church bells. Another reason given for the actions of the rebels at Laventie was that removing the clappers prevented the Catholics from raising the alarm against them.36 According to a report sent to the regent, Margaret of Parma, the Reformed sounded horns to assemble their supporters but the Catholics were unable to ring their bells, presumably in warning, as in many villages in the Lys valley the rebels had taken the clappers.37 In the countryside near Valenciennes, however, a group of image-breakers were set upon by Catholic peasants who had ‘assembled from all parts at the sound of the bell’.38 Apart from being smashed or having their clappers removed, bells were also de facto silenced by those who cut the bell ropes. In several cases, these ropes were used for tearing down religious imagery within these places of worship. One Adrien Cortyl, for example, was accused of using a rope to pull down an altar. Elsewhere, Pierre du Bois suggested toppling a crucifix (perhaps from the rood screen) using the bell ropes.39 Near Tournai, one Gilles Blauwet was accused of using a bell hammer to smash the stone high altar at the village of Blandain. Having successfully completed his task, with others he sang psalms ‘according to the fashion of the sectaries’.40

34

35 36 37 38 39 40

Mémoires de Pasquier de le Barre et de Nicolas Soldoyer, II, pp. 215, 281, 290, 292, 308; A. Hocquet, Tournai et le Tournaisis au XVIe siècle au point de vue politique et social (Brussels, 1906), p. 157. A detachment of the royal army besieging Valenciennes was burnt to death in the church belfry of the village of Trith by a rebel sortie in 1567. Their use of the bell tower is more likely to have been motivated by military reasons, than by the defence of the bells: Mémoires de Pontus Payen, I, p. 362; d’Outreman, Histoire de la ville et comté de Valentiennes, p. 213. E. H. de Coussemaker, Troubles religieux du XVIe siècle dans la Flandre Maritime, 1560–1570: documents originaux, 4 vols. (Bruges, 1876), II, pp. 261, 274–5. Ibid., II, pp. 240, 377, 407. L. P. Gachard (ed.), La Bibliothèque Nationale, à Paris. Notices et extraits des manuscrits qui concernent l’ histoire de Belgique (Brussels, 1875), p. 391. I am grateful to Alastair Duke for this reference. Mémoires de Pontus Payen, I, p. 192. De Coussemaker, Troubles religieux du XVIe siècle dans la Flandre Maritime, II, pp. 99, 255. Mémoires de Pasquier de le Barre et de Nicolas Soldoyer, II, p. 290.

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The destruction of bells was not always confessionally motivated, as some individuals sought to profit from the situation. For example, Laurent le Febvre, a labourer, had been involved in the sacking of churches but he also carried away in a cart the debris from the bells, which he subsequently sold. He was later executed for his involvement in the iconoclasm.41 At the abbey of Saulchoir, the rebels broke up the bells so that they could sell the pieces to the merchants at Tournai.42 Following the ransacking of the abbey of Fontenelles near Valenciennes in January 1567, seventeen or eighteen carts were needed to carry away the looted grain and church property, including the bells and clock.43 Although the Reformed sought to disrupt Catholic worship, they also made use of church and civic bells for their own purposes. As the Reformed movement grew in strength in the Southern Netherlands and became more audacious, they used the ringing of the town bells to coordinate their activities. In March 1562, at Valenciennes, where a curfew had been imposed to maintain order, around 300 people, some of them armed, gathered in the streets after the bell had been rung. They wandered the town streets until the early hours, singing psalms from Scripture under the cover of darkness.44 In August 1566, according to Pasquier de le Barre, having taken possession of the parish churches of St Brice, St Jacques and St Nicaise in Tournai, the bells were tolled at ten o’clock in the morning to call the townspeople to their sermons.45 During the late autumn of 1566, the Reformed built a temple at Ghent where they could gather for worship. Although a contemporary description of the building did not refer to a bell, someone working on the structure suggested that they may have had a bell made of wood to call the faithful to services, which presumably would have generated a different sound from those cast in metal.46 Later, when the resistance to the government was crumbling, bells were employed again by the Reformed. Following the defeat of the rebel forces at Wattrelos and Lannoy on 29 December 1566, at Tournai, a soldier from the castle forced the gaoler, without permission, to ring the alarm bell, crying out loud: ‘Watch out, we are betrayed!’47 During the siege of Valenciennes, the Reformed had played the psalms from Clément Marot’s metrical psalter on the carillon and the clock chimes of St Nicholas’s church. When the siege drew to a close on 23 March, the carillon played a tune from the Reformed psalter: psalm 22 – ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me, and art so far from mine health; O my God, I cry by day, but thou hearest not’.48

41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Ibid., II, p. 286. Hocquet, Tournai et le Tournaisis, p. 159. P. J. Le Boucq, Histoire des troubles advenues à Valenciennes a cause des hérésies, 1562–1579, ed. A.-P.-L. de Roubaulx de Soumoy (Brussels, 1864), pp. 20–1. Paillard, Histoire des troubles religieux de Valenciennes, II, pp. 38, 158–9, 401. Mémoires de Pasquier de le Barre et de Nicolas Soldoyer, II, p. 244. M. van Vaernewijck, Troubles religieux en Flandre et dans les Pays-Bas au XVIe siècle, ed. H. van Duyse, 2 vols. (Ghent, 1905), I, p. 295. A. de la Grange, ‘Les notes de Jacques Frayère’, Bulletins de la Société Historique et Littéraire de Tournai, 20 (1884), p. 180. D’Outreman, Histoire de la ville et comté de Valentiennes, p. 215.

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With the restoration of royal authority, Catholic churches which had remained silent during the Reformed ascendancy began to ring their bells to herald the celebration of the Mass. At Ghent, Marcus van Vaernewijck noted that, on 30 August 1566, the Mass was celebrated at St Michael’s church, the service being announced by the ringing of a small bell. The church bells had been silent since 22 August; the only ringing that had been heard in the town were the bells in the municipal belfry and the work bell, which sounded the accustomed hours. According to van Vaernewijck, it was as if it had been the Wednesday in Holy Week (he probably meant Thursday, rather than Wednesday, as church bells traditionally remained silent in the three days before Easter).49 The following day, he reported that the bells of St Jean, St Bavo and the cathedral were heard. After remaining mute for nine days, on that Saturday, the bells were rung again as it was the eve of the feast of St Gilles.50 Pasquier de le Barre similarly remarked on the resumption of ringing at Tournai after the count of Hornes had re-established order with an ordinance on 19 September. That same day, the bells at St Quentin’s church were tolled for Mass ‘as they were accustomed to do before the sacking of the images’, to the joy of the Catholics.51 The importance of these bells was also emphasised in the instructions drawn up for the clergy of the archdiocese of Cambrai by François Richardot, bishop of Arras. In these instructions, published in 1567, he argued that the Catholic Church was defined as the congregation of the faithful convoked and called at the sound of the bell.52 Judicial punishments were also normally accompanied by the ringing of bells.53 At Tournai, Pasquier de le Barre reported on the submission of the Reformed to royal authority – in particular, the great noise and sound of bells that accompanied the rebaptism of Reformed infants, conducted by priests in the Catholic churches.54 Usually, at Valenciennes, the bancloche was tolled as an indication of exemplary justice. It had sounded in April 1562 prior to the abortive burning of two Reformed deacons – the Maubruslez – who were set free by the crowd.55 When the executions began following the fall of Valenciennes, it may have been the recollection of this earlier event that prompted the authorities not to sound the bell at the execution of those regarded as ‘delinquents and infected’ by heresy in March 1567.56 Executions of heretics were sometimes carried out at Antwerp and Middelberg ‘sans bruyt’ so as to avoid disturbances.57 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

56 57

Van Vaernewijck, Troubles religieux en Flandre, I, p. 188; Rationale divinorum officiorum, p. 53; Champion, The Fullness of Time, p. 46. Van Vaernewijck, Troubles religieux en Flandre, I, p. 189. Mémoires de Pasquier de le Barre et de Nicolas Soldoyer, I, p. 182. F. Richardot, Instruction par maniere de formulaire, pour les pasteurs et curez de la Province de Cambray, sur les matieres controversies entre les Catholiques & les Sectaires (Arras, 1567), p. 6. Leroux, Cloches et société médiévale, pp. 123–5. Mémoires de Pasquier de le Barre et de Nicolas Soldoyer, I, p. 217. Paillard, Histoire des troubles religieux de Valenciennes, I, pp. 69, 198; d’Outreman, Histoire de la ville et comté de Valentiennes, pp. 200–1. The enquiry into the events surrounding the Maubruslez incident, however, claimed that the bell had not been sounded: Paillard, Histoire des troubles religieux de Valenciennes, II, p. 370. C. Paillard, ‘Papiers d’état & documents inédits pour servir à l’histoire de Valenciennes pendant les années 1566 et 1567’, Mémoires historiques sur l’arrondissement de Valenciennes, 5 (1878), p. 161. A. Duke, Reformation and Revolt in the Low Countries (London, 1990), p. 77.

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The attacks on bells during the late summer of 1566 were therefore part of the wider Reformed assault on the celebration of the Mass and Catholic worship. There were, however, instances when the civic bells were employed for conveying a Reformed message. Nonetheless, there was a recognition of the value in using bells to summon people to the church, which meant that they were employed for this purpose by the Reformed just as they had been by the Catholics. The restoration of royal authority and Catholic worship was marked by the pealing of bells, and churches, which had earlier not sought to advertise their presence, once more contributed to the urban soundscape. While the destruction and silencing of bells had been limited during the early stages of the revolt, there was a more systematic and extensive assault on ringing during the late 1570s. In the wake of the Spanish Fury, the rebel northern provinces and the southern states, which had generally remained loyal to the Crown and had upheld the Catholic faith, formed an alliance – the Pacification of Ghent – in November 1576 to drive the marauding and mutinous Spanish mercenaries out of the Netherlands. The States General assumed interim control of the Netherlands but, in February 1577, agreed the Perpetual Edict with the king’s governor-general Don Juan of Austria, which allowed for the restoration of Catholicism and the removal of Spanish troops. Following Don Juan’s seizure of Namur in July, the States General appointed the Archduke Matthias as their new governor-general of the Netherlands.58 The heresy laws were suspended in the Pacification, but Catholic worship was upheld and protected outside the provinces of Holland and Zeeland, which had embraced the Reformed faith. However, in the subsequent months, Reformed exiles began to return to the southern provinces, in particular Brabant and Flanders, and began agitating to establish their own forms of worship. In October 1577, a Reformed coup at Ghent saw the magistrates replaced by the council of XVIII drawn from the city guilds, establishing the so-called Calvinist republic. This radical regime sought to restore Ghent’s ancient privileges, which had been rescinded by Charles V following the town’s rebellion in 1540 – but also to establish an urban society along similar lines to the Reformed city of Geneva. In the subsequent months, Catholic citizens and clergy were harassed and their places of worship were attacked. Although William of Orange attempted to establish religious co-existence in Ghent through his religievrede, it was relatively short-lived and Catholic worship was outlawed early in 1579.59 The radicals had extended their hegemony to other towns in Flanders during the course of 1578, particularly Bruges, Courtrai, Oudenaarde and Ypres. Although there was some resistance, the existing magistrates were replaced with new regimes based on the Ghent model, with pro-active Reformed adherents who sought

58 59

J. D. Tracy, The Founding of the Dutch Republic: War, Finance, and Politics in Holland, 1572–1588 (Oxford, 2008), pp. 135–8. Ibid., pp. 136, 138–40. See also J. Decavele, Het eind van een rebelse droom. Opstellen over het calvinistisch bewind te Gent (1577–1584) en de terugkeer van de stad onder de gehoorzaamheid van de koning van Spanje (17 september 1584) (Ghent, 1984); van Bruaene, ‘Culture politique et capital social pendant la république Calviniste de Gand’.

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to establish their own places of worship and challenged the Catholic faith.60 Reformed magistracies were also established at Arras and Douai, but, compared with the Flemish regimes, these were not as radical and proved to be relatively short-lived.61 Nonetheless, some of the Walloon provinces did see a resurgence in Reformed preaching as well as iconoclasm, particularly around Lille, during this period.62 The establishment of new regimes in Ghent and other Flemish towns was accompanied by further bouts of image-breaking and the systematic removal of church bells. On 26 February 1578, Maximilien Morillon, vicar general of the archdiocese of Mechelen, reported in a letter to the archbishop, Cardinal Granvelle, that the people of Ghent had ‘stripped the treasures and ornaments from St Bavo’s, St Peter’s and all the churches and monasteries; and in many other places inventories had been taken of all the reliquaries and treasures of the churches’. He commented that all the bells from the district were being sent to Holland to make artillery. However, at Bruges, Ypres and other towns in ‘BasseFlandres’, they were not permitted to touch these church treasures or the bells.63 Philip van Campene also noted how the bells and metal candelabras, as well as copper and ironwork, had been removed from the churches of Ghent earlier in the month.64 Following the States General’s reaffirmation of the terms of the Pacification, which prohibited Reformed worship outside Holland and Zeeland, there was a further outburst of iconoclasm in Ghent, between May and July 1578, with the support and encouragement of the magistrates. The Catholic clergy were driven out, ecclesiastical property confiscated and the churches appropriated for Reformed worship.65 The convent of the Friars Minor was converted into a munitions store; bells and other ironwork were brought there to be melted down and converted into ordnance.66 It was later claimed that bells weighing 322,066 livres had been seized from Ghent churches and those in the surrounding district.67 60

61 62

63

64 65

66 67

On the so-called Calvinist republics, see Weis (ed.), Des villes en révolte; T. Wittman, Les gueux dans les ‘Bonnes Villes’ de Flandre, 1577–1584 (Budapest, 1969). See also J. Decavele, ‘Het herstel van het Calvinisme in Vlaanderen in de eerste jaren na de pacificatie van Gent (1577–1578)’, in Brugge in de Geuzentijd. Bijdragen tot de Geschiedenis van de Hervorming te Brugge en het Brugse Vrije tijdens de 16de eeuw (Bruges, 1982), pp. 9–33. F. Duquenne, ‘Des “Républiques Calvinistes” avortées? La contestation des échevinages à Douai et Arras en 1577 et 1578’, in Weis (ed.), Des villes en révolte, pp. 53–63. A. C. de Schrevel (ed.), Recueil de documents relatifs aux troubles religieux en Flandre, 1577–1584 (Bruges, 1921– ), I, pp. 539–42; R. S. DuPlessis, Lille and the Dutch Revolt: Urban Stability in an Era of Revolution, 1500–1582 (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 276–8. See also J. Kaisin, ‘Les gueux et les cloches de Marchiennes-au-Pont. Episode de 1579’, Documents & rapports de la Société Paléontologique et Archéologique de l’arrondissement judiciaire de Charleroi, 8 (1876), pp. 551–4. Correspondance du Cardinal de Granvelle, 1565–1586, ed. C. Piot, 12 vols. (Brussels, 1877–96), VII, pp. 48–9. Four bells were removed from St Peter’s abbey in 1578–9, which dated from 1413 and had a combined weight of 28,000 lb: E. de Busscher, Notice sur l’abbaye de Saint Pierre à Gand (Ghent, 1847), p. 75. Kempenare, Vlaemsche kronijk, pp. 190–1. Tracy, The Founding of the Dutch Republic, pp. 139–40; A. Despretz, ‘De instauratie der Gentse Calvinistische Republiek (1577–1579)’, Handelingen der maatschappij voor geschiedenis en oudheidkunde te Gent, n.s., 17 (1963), pp. 171–7; J. Roegiers, ‘Saint-Bavon: abbaye, chapitre, cathédrale (1536–1657)’, in B. Bouckaert (ed.), La cathédrale Saint-Bavon de Gand (Ghent, 2000), p. 124. Despretz, ‘De instauratie der Gentse Calvinistische Republiek’, p. 172. ‘Mémoire justificatif de Corneille Breydel’, in K. de Volkaersbeke, Les églises de Gand (Ghent, 1857), pp. 256, 284–5.

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In late 1578, Orange attempted to restore Catholic worship through his religievrede, which aimed to establish religious co-existence in the town. The abbot and community of St Peter’s sought permission to return to their convent, which had been seriously damaged by the Reformed earlier in the year, negotiating with the new municipal authorities through Archduke Matthias and William of Orange. The humiliating terms for their return included supporting financially those who wished to leave their order, placing their property in the safe-keeping of the magistrates, as well as conducting services without ringing their bells at night or at other unwarranted times. Although an agreement was reached, the community considered it prudent not to return.68 Reformed agitation continued in the town; in February 1579, the tower of St James’s church was broken into during the night. The intruders removed the clappers from the bells and cut the ropes, presumably in an attempt to disrupt Catholic worship.69 The following month, Orange’s religievrede collapsed, which prompted another assault on Ghent’s ecclesiastical landscape.70 Despite this attack on the churches and religious houses of Ghent, bells continued to be part of the urban soundscape. Van Campene, commenting on life during the Reformed regime, periodically noted the ringing of the civic bells, such as the work bell.71 Bells were also used to announce the sermons of the minister Petrus Dathenus.72 In late September 1581, the town’s carillon was heard ‘as it was in Catholic times’.73 It may have been used to play the metrical psalms or other religious tunes, as appears to have happened at Antwerp, where Jacques Reulin was ordered by the Reformed magistrates in December 1580 not to play indecent music but only psalms, spiritual songs and hymns.74 In the purge of municipal employees following the restoration of Catholicism in 1584, the new magistrates dismissed the town’s clockmaker, carillon player and the belfry’s ringers.75 In spite of the Reformed antipathy towards the various forms of Catholic bell ringing, they were, nonetheless, prepared to use bells when it suited their own purposes. The combination of the Reformed assault on Catholic worship, as well as the demand for metal, led to the silencing or removal of bells in other towns that came under the influence of the so-called Calvinist republic. Following the alliance between the authorities at Courtrai and the Reformed regime at Ghent, measures were taken to improve the town’s 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75

A. van Lokeren, Chartes et documents de l’abbaye de Saint Pierre au Mont Blandain à Gand, 2 vols. (Ghent, 1868–71), II, pp. lxxiii–lxxiv. B. de Jonghe, Gendsche geschiedenissen ofte kronyke van de beroerten en ketterye binnen en ontrent de stad van Gend sedert het jaer 1566 tot het jaer 1585, 2 vols. (Ghent, 1781), II, p. 113. Tracy, The Founding of the Dutch Republic, p. 140; Despretz, ‘De instauratie der Gentse Calvinistische Republiek’, pp. 179–83. Kempenare, Vlaemsche kronijk, pp. 210, 220, 227, 229. During late January 1583, he noted that the work bell was not rung and the shops remained closed: ibid., p. 311. De Jonghe, Gendsche geschiedenissen, p. 52; Kempenare, Vlaemsche kronijk, p. 209. Kempenare, Vlaemsche kronijk, p. 288. Rombouts, Singing Bronze, p. 78. P. Frédéricq, ‘L’enseignement public des Calvinistes à Gand (1578–1584)’, in Frédéricq, Travaux du cours pratique d’ histoire nationale (Ghent, 1883–4), p. 98.

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fortifications. This included an agreement in March 1578 which authorised the churchwardens to sell or redeem church goods, even those of silver and gold.76 This step may have prompted the inventory of the liturgical items, vestments and furnishings belonging to the church of Notre Dame, which was compiled before the iconoclastic assault on the building later that year. Although the inventory recorded the range of ecclesiastical items, it concluded by noting some of the existing damage to the church fabric and the poor state of the windows, as well as the fact that several bells had ‘disappeared’: ‘the second bell Willibord, the fifth, which was the small bell for Primes, the seventh and the very smallest’.77 In August 1578, the Reformed tore down the altars and smashed the images in the church, while other items were removed from the building. There was further image-breaking and the building was stripped of the remaining iron- and metal-work as the building was appropriated and re-ordered for Reformed worship. The destruction extended to the other chapels and religious buildings within Courtrai, as well as into its rural hinterland. This included the seizure and destruction of bells, which were transported to the town.78 Outside Courtrai, the abbey of Groeninge was obliged to surrender to the urban authorities because of its proximity to the town walls, so that the town’s defences could be improved. On the orders of William of Orange, the abbess and her community were required to surrender the monastery’s bells and silverware. The abbey church was sacked and the buildings razed so that the material could be used in the construction of the fortifications.79 The bells and metal-work seized from the town churches and those of the surrounding area were to be sold to defray the military expenses of the rebel cause. In October 1578, Archduke Matthias granted permission for the magistrates to sell this material – firstly, for the maintenance of the 900 mounted troops under the command of John Casimir of the Palatinate; secondly, for the costs of the workers employed on the town defences; and, finally, for accommodating the soldiers engaged in fighting the enemy at Menin.80 In May 1578, the magistrates of Ypres had protested to the States General about a commission authorising one Jean de Corteville to seize gold and silver plate from religious houses and churches in Ypres and West Flanders. Two months later, they protested against the pillaging of places of worship and ordered that the stolen items be handed over to the authorities.81 The town was forced to open their gates and admit companies from Ghent

76

77 78 79 80 81

‘Relation des événements arrivés dans la ville de Courtrai depuis le mois d’octobre 1577 jusqu’au mois de février 1580’, Académie Royale de Belgique. Compte rendu des séances de la Commission Royale d’Histoire, 3rd series, 9 (1866), p. 314. ‘Inventaires du trésor de la collégiale de Notre-Dame à Courtrai, 1407–1578’, Annales de la Société d’Emulation pour l’Étude de l’Histoire et des Antiquités de la Flandre, 13 (1862–3), pp. 54–5. ‘Relation des événements’, pp. 319–21. Ibid., pp. 317–18, 321–2, 324; Speculum Beatae Mariae Virginis ou Chronique et cartulaire de l’abbaye de Groeninghe à Courtrai, ed. F. van de Putte (Bruges, 1872), p. XXXII. ‘Relation des événements’, p. 321; C. Mussely, Inventaire des archives de la ville de Courtrai, 2 vols. (Courtrai, 1854– 8), I, pp. 120–1. De Schrevel (ed.), Recueil de documents relatifs aux troubles religieux en Flandre, I, pp. 374–5, 531–3.

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into the town in July 1578. The authorities were obliged to make the church of St Nicolas available for Reformed worship, but they protested to the States General about the very great disorders that were committed, the pillaging and destruction in every church and convent, especially at the cathedral. Two inventories were also drawn up of all the metal-work within the church of St Nicolas. In September, two commissioners from Ghent were instructed to inventory and remove all the gold and silver objects, as well as all the bells in the surrounding district. The churchwardens of the churches of Notre Dame and St John appealed to the Archduke Matthias in February 1579 against the removal of their bells, as well as those from a number of other local communities. They argued that these rebels had no right to alienate these bells or other material from the churches and appealed for compensation. The archduke subsequently prohibited the removal of bells from the town without the approval of the magistrates.82 There were clear tensions at Ypres, provoked not only over the establishment of Reformed worship, but also over the removal of ecclesiastical property, particularly church bells. The situation at Bruges demonstrates how the alteration to the urban soundscape was actually achieved. As at Ypres, there was a certain antipathy towards the newly established Reformed regime set up in 1578 – it was almost defeated by a Catholic counter-coup during the summer of 1579.83 Although only a minority of the town’s population were adherents of the Reformed faith, the new magistracy issued an ordinance in November 1578 that established freedom of worship in Bruges. The mendicant orders had been expelled and their places of worship were assigned to the Reformed, while the Catholics were permitted the ‘ancient exercise of their religion’, opening their doors at what was described as ‘the moderate sound of their bells’ (‘au son mediocre des cloches’).84 This may have been a reference to a further measure that month directed by the magistrates to the churchwardens of the seven parish churches. This ordered the removal of all unused bells from the churches, arguing that summoning the faithful to Mass would not suffer from any diminution of the sound level of ringing. The bell metal would be used to finance the acquisition of ordnance, powder, saltpetre and other munitions for the defence of the town.85 A similar reduction in church bells had been ordered on 12 March 1578 by the council of Brabant in Antwerp. The burgher master of Brussels was instructed to remove all the metal-work from the parish churches and convents, leaving only ‘a medium-sized bell for announcing the offices and for sounding the alarm’.86 In Bruges, the chapter of

82

83

84 85 86

‘Les iconoclasts, l’église de Saint-Nicolas et les cloches des paroisses de la chatellenie d’Ypres’, in I. S. A. Diegerick (ed.), Analectes Yprois ou recueil de documents inédits concernant la ville d’Ypres (Bruges, 1850), pp. 65–78; de Schrevel (ed.), Recueil de documents relatifs aux troubles religieux en Flandre, I, pp. 533–8, III, pp. 488, 490. A. Duke, ‘Calvinist Loyalism: Jean Haren, Chimay and the Demise of the Calvinist Republic of Bruges’, in A. Duke, Dissident Identities in the Early Modern Low Countries, ed. J. Pollmann and A. Spicer (Farnham, 2009), pp. 253–6. B. de Noortvelde, Tableau fidèle des troubles et revolutions en Flandre et dans ses environs depuis 1500 jusqu’ à 1583, ed. O. Delepierre (Mons, 1845), pp. 30, 33–5. Ibid., pp. 40–1. See also G. Weydts, Chronique Flamande, 1571–1584, ed. E. Varenbergh (Ghent, 1869), p. 18. A. Wauters, Histoire des environs de Bruxelles, 2 vols. (Brussels, 1855), I, pp. 51–2.

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St Donatian opposed the removal of their bells and this may have prompted the special arrangements agreed for the cathedral. They were, exceptionally, to be allowed to retain the five bells ‘to be employed for specified uses’.87 A subsequent agreement with the chapter stated that the church was not to be left open all day but, once the bells had been rung, the building could be opened for services. There was also to be no ringing during the night.88 As in other towns, these restrictions on ringing and the confiscation or silencing of bells challenged the Catholic soundscape and, together with the image-breaking, were part of the Reformed efforts to undermine the faith. The seizure of bells, metal-work and other goods from places of worship extended beyond the principal towns into the smaller urban communities and villages that formed their rural hinterland.89 There was a systematic attempt during the late 1570s to realise the value of bells, liturgical plate and roof lead, as well as other metal in the possession of churches and religious houses, in order to finance Reformed resistance to the king. An anonymous chronicler recorded in February 1578 that an inventory was compiled of ‘the goods, reliquaries and bells serving the Roman Church, its churches and cloisters, firstly in Flanders and afterwards in Brabant’.90 The governor-general Don Juan of Austria had written to the king in April 1578 stating that ‘the prince of Orange and the heretics had played their part in Flanders, taking all the reliquaries from the churches and all the bells, except one per town’.91 François de Halewyn observed that over the summer the Ghent radicals had seized other towns in Flanders, pillaging and mistreating the churches and ecclesiastics, having started with the monasteries and then the parish churches in Ghent. He noted that they had appointed ‘120 commissioners to undertake and continue the said disorders, making an inventory of all the silver and metal from the churches and bringing them back with the bells’. De Halewyn argued that these goods were taken ‘on the pretext of making ordnance’, whereas the real intention was to bring ‘to halt all divine service which had been revered throughout time in the Catholic and Roman Church’ in favour of Reformed preaching.92 De Halewyn’s comments therefore echoed those made by del Rio concerning the confessional implications of the reduction and removal of church bells.93 An indication of the scale of the confiscations can be gleaned from the number of bells that had been stockpiled at Oudenaarde, where the Catholic magistrates had also been replaced by a Reformed regime. On 15 October 1578, the Archduke Matthias author-

87 88

89 90 91 92 93

De Schrevel (ed.), Recueil de documents relatifs aux troubles religieux en Flandre, II, pp. 405–9; de Noortvelde, Tableau fidèle des troubles et revolutions en Flandre, p. 41. De Noortvelde, Tableau fidèle des troubles et revolutions en Flandre, p. 45. An order given by the magistrates in May 1578 had forbidden clergy ringing bells before the ‘poorteklok’ had been heard: de Schrevel (ed.), Recueil de documents relatifs aux troubles religieux en Flandre, III, pp. 527–8. De Schrevel (ed.), Recueil de documents relatifs aux troubles religieux en Flandre, II, pp. 22–3, 473–5. Mémoires anonymes sur les troubles des Pays-Bas, 1565–1580, ed. J. B. Blaes, 5 vols. (Brussels, 1859–66), II, p. 185. Correspondance de Philippe II sur les affaires des Pays Bas, ed. J. Lefèvre, 4 vols. (Brussels, 1940–60), I, p. 254. F. de Halewyn, Mémoires sur les troubles de Gand, 1577–1579, ed. M. Kervyn de Volkaersbeke (Brussels, 1865), pp. 89–90. Mémoires … sur les troubles des Pays-Bas, III, p. 159.

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ised the sale of bells and other metal-work from Oudenaarde and the surrounding area, to finance fortification and other expenses.94 Some communities resisted the attempts to seize their ecclesiastical property. On the estates of the baron de Pamele, near Aalst, the villagers sent the bells and metal-work from their churches to the seigneur’s chateau for protection, rather than to Oudenaarde. Ultimately, the financial difficulties of the time led to a petition to the archduke, who authorised the sale of these bells and other material in April 1579.95 In the same year, five bells were removed from the collegiate church of St Walburga in Oudenaarde.96 Two inventories of confiscated bells were compiled by an Antwerp notary and a local clerk in June and August 1579, each one listing around forty bells taken from local churches. The entries usually included the names of the bells together with any inscriptions or dates, the churches they had been taken from, as well as their weight.97 One bell with ‘antique lettering’ apparently dated from 606, but the majority of them were from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Two bells were cast as recently as 1573, while one named ‘Maria’ from Nokere, weighing 1,436 pounds, was dated 1577 and bore an inscription recording the names of the local lord who had donated the bell, as well as its founder.98 The combined weight of the bells listed in the second inventory was calculated at 6,950 stones and 3 pounds.99 The attempts to recover ecclesiastical property also illustrate how widespread the seizure had been. In May 1581, the parish priest Jerome Caboodt was issued with letters patent by the king to recover church goods which had been ‘alienated, usurped or sold’ during the confessional upheavals. This included the restitution of bells, such as that from the village of Castre or the two taken from Octie. However, it was generally assumed that the bells taken to Oudenaarde had been sold, but Caboodt attempted to recover the amount for which they had been sold.100 For example, the grand bailli of Ypres, Charles Vuytenhove, was charged with the removal of 30 bells weighing some 4,000 pounds, for which he was ordered to pay 3,600 livres 10s.101 Elsewhere in the region, Caboodt identified quantities of bell metal from Ypres and Courtrai that had been sold to founders in Lille and Saint-Omer.102

94 95 96 97 98 99 100

101 102

‘Rekwest van de Hoogpointers der Kastelny van Audenaerde aen Aertshertog, ton einde de klokken en ander metael der kerken’, Audenaerdsche Mengelingen, 4 (1850), pp. 70–1. ‘Rekwest aen den Aertshertog tot het verkoopen van klokken’, Audenaerdsche Mengelingen, 4 (1850), pp. 84–5. Vanderstraeren, ‘Notes sur les carillons d’Audenarde’, pp. 171–2n. ‘Notes sur quelques cloches de la Flandre’, Annales de la Société d’Émulation pour l’Étude de l’Histoire et des Antiquités de la Flandre, 2nd series, 12 (1862–3), pp. 336–48. Ibid., pp. 338, 339–40, 347. See also Vanderstraeren, ‘Notes sur les carillons d’Audenarde’, pp. 169–71. ‘Notes sur quelques cloches de la Flandre’, p. 347. Archives du Nord, Lille (hereafter ADN), B7721, fols. 28v–30; ‘Overeenkomst rakende de verkochte klokken der kastelny van Audenaerde’, Audenaerdsche Mengelingen, 4 (1850), pp. 337–40. For a detailed analysis of Caboodt’s recovery of church goods, see A. Spicer, War, Revolt and Sacred Space: Cambrai and the Southern Netherlands, c.1566– 1621 (forthcoming). Archives Générales du Royaume, Brussels, Papiers d’Etat et Audience, 1807/2. ADN, B7721, fols. 1–4v.

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While some bells were sold locally, others left the Southern Netherlands. In February 1578, Morillon had told Granvelle that they were being sent to Holland.103 The Vlaamsche Kronyk recorded in 1579 that a number of church bells from the region were taken by boat from Bergues-Saint-Winoc to Zeeland, including one apparently bearing the date 1272.104 Caboodt confiscated the property of one man who had retired to Zeeland with a significant number of bells, lead and other material from the churches around Nieuwpoort.105 There was also a ready market for exported bells farther afield. In April 1580, the Antwerp merchant Adriaan Speelman wrote that he had sent a consignment of fourteen bells to Lisbon, but the ship carrying them had been damaged after leaving Zeeland. He went on to reflect that there had been a significant number of bells for sale in recent years and that the situation was likely to continue with the disposal of bells and destruction of churches in the northern provinces of Utrecht, Overijssel and Friesland.106 The scale and value of this trade had prompted the Council of Finance to issue an ordinance in September 1578 imposing a duty on the export of bell metal derived from churches.107 The removal and export of church bells on this scale clearly had a significant impact on the urban soundscape of the rebel-held parts of the Southern Netherlands. The seizure or silencing of church bells represented a further assault upon the material culture of Catholic worship. Unlike the smashing of religious imagery, the overturning of altars and despoiling of liturgical vessels, bells were not as easily accessible to those who sought to purge any trace of idolatry from places of worship. Although some of the associations and traditions that surrounded the ringing of church bells were regarded as superstitious, they do not seem to have attracted the ire of the Reformed to the same extent as religious imagery and the office of the Mass. Nonetheless, bells were silenced during the late summer and autumn of 1566 by those who wanted to disrupt the marking of liturgical time in the urban soundscape, while others saw an opportunity in taking the ropes to pull down images, or stealing the bells for their own financial reward. Catholic commentators in 1566 and again in the late 1570s saw this as an attack upon their faith – a determined attempt to eradicate the Mass by removing the means by which townspeople and villagers alike were called to worship. The systematic removal of ‘superfluous’ bells and other metal-work from urban places of worship and rural parish churches was opposed in many parts of Flanders. These were the actions of a radical Reformed minority that had assumed control of Ghent and asserted their authority over other towns within the region. The sei-

103 104 105 106

107

Correspondance du Cardinal de Granvelle, VII, pp. 48–9. C. Piot (ed.), Chroniques de Brabant et de Flandre (Brussels, 1879), pp. 579–80. ADN, B7721, fol. 36. J. Nanninga Uitterdijk, Een Kamper handelshuis te Lissabon, 1572–1594. Handelscorrespondentie, rekeningen en beschieden (Zwolle, 1904), pp. lii, 290–1; Lehr, The Art of the Carillon, p. 115; Lehr, Van paardebel tot speelklok, p. 337. See also H. van Nierop, Treason in the Northern Quarter: War, Terror and the Rule of Law in the Dutch Revolt (Princeton, 2009), p. 140. L. P. Gachard and A. Pinchart (eds.), Inventaire des archives des Chambres des Comptes, 6 vols. (Brussels, 1837–1931), IV, pp. x, xxvi, 47.

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zure of bells needs to be seen in the wider context of the appropriation of ecclesiastical property that took place in these so-called Calvinist republics, as well as in the northern provinces of Holland and Zeeland. While del Rio acknowledged that the bells were being sold to raise funds or were melted down for ordnance, de Halewyn regarded this as a ruse; the real intention was to bring a halt to Catholic worship. The civic bells continued to be rung to mark the daily rhythms of urban life during the ‘Calvinist republics’, and were also utilised by the Reformed, but church bells which had been such an important part of the urban soundscape in evoking liturgical time and the Catholic presence, were confiscated, diminished or silenced. �

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11. Music for an Endless Conversion: A Cycle of Offertories from Jesuit Paraguay Leonardo Waisman �

Prelude This chapter discusses some of the roles of music in conversion, centring on an eighteenth-century manuscript collection from the missions of Chiquitos in the Jesuit province of Paraguay. These were a handful of towns, with up to 2,000 inhabitants each, created by the missionaries on the frontier between Spain and Portugal, under the Spanish Crown’s twin policies of gathering the natives in more easily controlled settlements and occupying as much of the central forest plains as possible before its Iberian neighbour snatched them away. They occupied the area between the basin of the River Plate and that of the River Amazon, and managed to stay fairly isolated from both the Portuguese and Spanish settlers, equally inclined to the violent conscription of Indian labour. They survived the expulsion of the Jesuits in 1767 and the mixed religious–civil administration that followed, only to succumb in the middle of the nineteenth century to the economic expansion of the new national Bolivian republic and its liberal-capitalist ideology (Figure 11.1) The Jesuits, and in particular the Swiss Martin Schmid, instituted there a substantial musical practice based on European instruments and styles; a substantial portion of the repertory they used has been preserved by the local communities and is now housed in the Archivo Musical de Chiquitos. The set of partbooks called ‘Ofertorios’ is a part of that archive.1 Indian Conversion Conversion may be defined in many ways. It does, however, convey one central idea: the change of an individual from one state to another. It is a ‘before-and-after’ process. But when we talk about the conversion of Native Americans to Christianity in the early modern Hispanic colonial world, there is no clearly defined ‘after’. According to their missionaries, ‘before’ is the realm of savagery and subjection to the Devil, but ‘after’ is a state of a perpetually incomplete fluctuation: the Indians become neophytes, a term employed initially by canon law to indicate recent converts, but later extended to include all Indians, Western and Eastern. This status was the result of a series of papal decrees throughout the period. Animarum salute, proclaimed by Alexander VIII on 3 March 1690, specified: ‘all natives and naturals of the above mentioned lands, both in Orient and Occident, as well as Ethiopians, Angolans, and [those of] whatever transmarine region; even if they are the

1

For a general account of the musical practice in those missions, see G. Huseby, I. Ruiz and L. Waisman, ‘Un panorama de la música en Chiquitos’, in P. Querejazu (ed.), Las misiones de Chiquitos (La Paz, 1994), pp. 659–76. The music in the ‘Ofertorios’ collection is available in L. J. Waisman (ed.), Un ciclo musical para la misión jesuítica: Los cuadernos de ofertorios de San Rafael, Chiquitos, 2 vols. in 3 (Córdoba, 2015).

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children of Christians, or baptised in infancy; whether they are the scions of marriages among the natives or of couples mixed with Europeans, to all effect must be understood as neophytes’.2

Figure 11.1 The Chiquito Missions today

All the residents in Spanish3 parishes were considered ‘old Christians’, since the entry to the colonies was legally denied to non-Catholics as well as to marranos (Jews converted in 1492) and moriscos (Muslims converted in 1502). Indians, however, even generations after being Christianised, were still considered neophytes. This meant, among other things, that their faith was considered frail and provisional, ever in danger of reverting to pagan beliefs and customs. A neophyte is an incomplete Christian, and a perpetual neophyte is perpetually incomplete; thus, the legal provisions of the Church curiously anticipated recent post-colonial theorists,4 who picture the colonised as caught in a Tantalus-like trap that couples their burning desire to assume the colonisers’ identity with their underlying realisation that it is beyond their reach. This open-ended conception of the process contrasts with the more standard, finite image of syncretism in Indian religion: a process of blending of ancestral pagan beliefs and customs with Christian doctrine and morality. Whichever way we look at it, seventeenth- and eighteenth-century views understood Indian conversion as signally distinct from the sudden inner commotion egregiously ex-

2

3 4

F. J. Hernáez (ed.), Colección de bulas, breves y otros documentos relativos a la iglesia de América y Filipinas (Brussels, 1879), pp. 127–8; https://archive.org/stream/colecciondebulas01hern#page/n137/mode/2up. (Unless otherwise indicated, all translations of quotations into English are by the author.) I retain the nomenclature of the main ethnic groups in general use throughout the period: ‘Spanish’ or ‘Whites’ on the one hand, ‘Indian’ or ‘Naturals’ on the other. For example, F. Fanon’s Black Skin, White Masks (London, 1952).

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emplified by St Paul´s falling from his horse, struck by lightning. Indian conversion was an ongoing, never-ending process, and music that ‘enhanced devotion’ was an important tool to invigorate it and keep it alive. Not that music was thought incapable of such instantaneous effects: even a rough plain little Indian fife was enough to fill the wrongdoers of certain tribes suddenly with biting remorse, writes José de Acosta.5 But among Indians, it seemed to Europeans, the intensity of a commotion did not guarantee the permanence of the change, which was always provisional. Evangelisers were often surprised at the eagerness with which the doctrines they preached were swiftly accepted, only to be just as speedily discarded. The great Jesuit preacher Antonio Vieira compared the conversion of the Brazilian Indians (closely related to those of Paraguay) to making statues with myrtle shrubs. A marble statue, he says, is difficult to make because of the hardness of the material; once it is made, however, it needs no care. A statue made by pruning and bending myrtles is easier to shape because of the suppleness of the branches, but ‘if the gardener stops watching over it, in four days a branch will puncture its eyes, another one ruins the ears, two twigs make for a hand with seven fingers, and what was a man now is a green confusion of myrtles’. A similar difference occurs with regard to converting different nations: Some nations are naturally hard, stubborn and constant: these receive the faith with difficulty … they resist with weapons, they doubt with their intellect, they refuse with their will, close themselves, will not budge, will argue, retort and give [the missionary] a lot of work until they surrender. But once they do surrender, once they receive the faith, they stay at it, steadfast and firm, like a marble statue. Other nations – and these are those in Brazil – receive everything that is taught them with great docility and ease, without arguing, without talking back; no doubts, no resistance, but they are myrtle statues. As soon as the gardener lifts his hands and his shears, they lose the new shape and return to their old ancient ugliness, they become again the thickets they were. The master has to watch over them constantly.6

Thus, types of music making that were employed during short visits called ‘missions’ in Europe, intended to enhance devotion in baptised and confirmed Spanish Christians, were adapted as means to further and sustain conversion of Indians in America. Music in Religious Conversion: A Typology These are the official words of the Third Council of Lima (1583): Since it is widely known that the nation of Indians is exceedingly attracted and impelled to the knowledge of the supreme God by means of the external ceremonies and display, bishops and parish priests … should jealously watch that everything pertaining to the divine service is conducted with the most perfection and glitter possible. For this reason, they must work diligently

5 6

J. de Acosta, Historia natural y moral de las Indias, ed. F. Mateos (Madrid, 1894), II, p. 123. A. Vieira, Sermão do Espirito Santo [1657]: Literatura brasileira: Textos literários em meio eletrônico, www.dominiopublico.gov.br/download/texto/fs000019pdf.pdf.

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to insure the existence of a singers’ school and chapel, together with musical ensembles of flutes, shawms and other suitable instruments in [every] church.7

This early articulation of the utility of music for evangelisation might seem to come fairly close to today’s concept of ‘internal conversion’ because of its use of the formula ‘knowledge of God’. But it must be read in context. Spain’s endeavour to bring the Gospel to America’s Native population, as charged by Pope Alexander VI in return for his recognition of the Crown’s sovereign rights in the New World, was of a staggering magnitude. Although no agreement has been reached regarding the population of the newly found lands, it has to be counted in millions. The early missionaries merely recited a few articles of Christian dogma to the groups who accepted them, and proceeded to baptise several hundred or thousand individuals. Controversy ensued about the validity of those rough-and-ready conversions, and therefore later endeavours were a bit more thorough, a touch more cautious. Nevertheless, an Indian’s ‘knowledge of God’ was basically measured by his capacity to recite correctly the handful of dogmas included in the simplified catechisms written for their instruction in one of the dozens of native tongues. This did not change significantly as the colonial centuries ran their course, even though the contact between the priests and their flock came to be much less distant and infrequent. One might even think that the formula ‘bring the Gospel’ was interpreted at face value: inform the Indigenous peoples about the Christian story, and make sure they learn its nucleus. Not that the priest’s duties ended there: he was also required to oversee the behaviour of his charges and ensure that they did not relapse into their pagan customs, such as polygamy or revenge-induced homicide. But these and other deviations were not taken as symptoms of a failed or incomplete conversion – they were independent from it, the results of the shortcomings of an individual or the shared defects of his race. The priest had to be ever vigilant to avoid and repress them, but the Christianity of his village or parish was not in question. I will not discuss here the diffuse and all-embracing form of conversion that Frenchmen and Englishmen would later call ‘civilising’ the natives.8 Neither will I talk about work songs, dancing for celebration, nor about the prominent role of music in the construction of local, regional and institutional identities. The more direct applications for religious conversion may be understood through a rough and ready typology – music was employed: (1) as a mere bait used to lure and then entrap the ‘naïve’ natives; (2) as a neutral vehicle for the memorisation of the doctrine; or (3) as an ingredient in Christian ritual that enhances devotion.

7 8

‘Decretos del Tercer Concilio Limense (versión castellana)’, 5a acción, capítulo 5, in R. Vargas Ugarte, SJ, Concilios Limenses, 3 vols. (Lima, 1951), I, p. 374. There is some discussion of this aspect in L. Waisman, ‘La música de las misiones jesuíticas y su difusión actual’, Boletín Música – Casa de las Américas (La Habana) Nueva Época, 3 (2000), pp. 24–37, and in K. Dutcher Mann’s The Power of Song: Music and Dance in the Mission Communities of Northern New Spain, 1590–1810 (Stanford and Berkeley, 2010).

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Bait and Hook The most frequently cited function of music in conversion is that of the fisherman’s bait and hook. In the minds of many writers, the art of sounds was base and material, far from the sublime status later accorded to it by Romantic thinkers, but also quite removed from the Augustinian tradition that both loved music and feared its sensuous appeal. The paragraph already quoted links it to ‘external ceremonies and display’, making no mention of inner devotion. Perhaps the most explicit and succinct assignment of music to the worldly sphere, as antithetic to the spiritual, is given by one of the most reliable chroniclers of the Jesuit missions of Paraguay, Father José Cardiel: ‘When the first missionaries saw that these Indians were so material, they worked with special care on music in order to bring them [traerlos] to God.’9 The verbs ‘traer’ (bring), used here, and, more tellingly, its compound ‘atraer’ (attract) are used time and again in connection to music in the literature about missions and conversion, constituting a veritable trope worth further study. The very founders of the Paraguay Missions, fathers Cataldino and Masetta, relied at the beginning of the seventeenth century on ‘some childish things with which it is customary to caress and bring in [acariziar y traer] the Indians, such as combs, needles, pins, flutes and other toys’.10 With the Christianised towns already established, the superior of those missions, Antonio Ruiz de Montoya, extols the power of the European musical practices of the neophytes in the excursions they carried out among the unconverted ethnic groups: ‘the Masses performed with lavish music, in two and three choirs [with] dulcians, cornettoes, bassoons, harps, citterns, viols, violins, shawms and other instruments … are remarkably helpful in attracting [atraer] the Gentiles, and [instilling in them] the desire to bring us to their land for the cultivation and teaching of their children’.11 The ensemble of techniques used by the missionaries to draw the Natives towards their villages and practices is discussed by Francisco Xarque in a comprehensive account published in 1687. He also judges that these peoples were strongly ‘material’ – that is, inclined towards the physical, rather than the spiritual, realm. Thus, ‘they are usually moved more by what they see than by the most forcefully convincing reasons’, and their missionaries, therefore, endeavoured to provide them with ornate churches and elaborate services (p. 340); but (p. 341) ‘what most attracts these lowly men to the Church is music’, an element that the Jesuits have taken special care to introduce for the good of their souls.12

9

10

11 12

‘Como los Misioneros primitivos vieron que estos indios eran tan materiales, pusieron especial cuidado en la música, para traerlos a Dios’: J. Cardiel, ‘Breve relación de las Misiones del Paraguay’ [1770], in P. Hernández, Misiones del Paraguay – Organización social de las doctrinas guaraníes de la Compañía de Jesús (Barcelona, 1913), II, pp. 514–614, at p. 559. D. de Torres, ‘Segunda carta del P. Diego de Torres (6 de Junio de 1610)’, in Cartas anuas de la Provincia del Paraguay, Chile y Tucumán de la Compañía de Jesús, Documentos para la Historia Argentina 19 (Buenos Aires, 1927), pp. 41–83, at p. 43. A. Ruiz de Montoya, ‘Conquista espiritual hecha por los religiosos de la Compañía de Jesús, en las provincias del Paraguay, Paran, Uruguay y Tape’ (Madrid, 1639), fol. 64v. F. Xarque, Insignes Misioneros de la Compañía de Jesús en la Provincia del Paraguay (Pamplona, 1687), pp. 340–1.

287

Theatres of Belief

Several decades later, a German missionary, in a similar endeavour, employed the equivalent term in his native language – ‘locken’ (to lure, tempt or seduce): ‘In order to increase devotion and to lure the nearby peoples I had my musicians perform a pastoral or shepherds’ song in honour of the child Jesus with fifes [Pfeiffen] and flutes, which they did with great pleasure.’13 And, after the entire colonial enterprise was over, in the brand new Republic of Bolivia, the deserted mission of Santo Corazón was re-peopled by an administrator who endeavoured to attract the Indians from the forest where they had sought refuge by making them sing on their way to the village, sing while going to and coming from work, sing while they were labouring the forsaken fields (to be truthful, this was complemented by the availability of corn beer).14 The enthusiastic reports from the field by early Jesuits were elaborated by European writers into veritable legends. Lodovico Muratori wrote that: When [the missionaries] began to sing on the riversides in praise of Christian doctrine or other sacred songs, those barbarians came out of their dens and followed them, as in a daze and spellbound. When the missionary saw that a good number had gathered, he started to preach to them about the beauty and usefulness of the faith of Jesus Christ. Thus was the way opened for the establishment of a town.15

And, in the Romantic century, Chateaubriand reminisced: the missionaries went aboard their canoes with the new catechumens; they went upstream singing canticles. The neophytes repeated these airs like caged birds sing in order to attract wild birds to the bird-catcher’s nets. The Indians did not fail to come in search of the sweet bait. They descended from their mountain and rushed to the riversides to better hear those accents; many of them dived into the stream and followed, swimming, the little enchanted boat. Bow and arrow fell from the hand of the savage.16

Mnemonics The second function in my list provided one of the most pervasive sonic backgrounds to life in the mission towns. The missionaries found that short repetitive songs were tremendously effective for the memorisation of Christian doctrine, or at least of its central dogmas. Some of them, such as those used by children to recite the catechism every morning in front of the church,17 must have been mere formulas like the ones provided by the early Jesuit Father Diego de Ledesma, for teaching and inculcating doctrine to ‘youngsters, children, ignorant peasants, rude populace, women and other incapable people [the Italian word is idiota]’18 in the context of Counter-Reformation Europe (Example 11.1). As 13 14 15 16 17 18

A. Sepp, Continuation oder Forsetzung ... (Ingolstadt, 1710), p. 245. A. d’Orbigny, Viaje a la América Meridional ... realizado de 1826 a 1833, Spanish trans. A. Cepeda, 4 vols. (Buenos Aires, 1945), III, p. 1200. L. A. Muratori, Il Cristianesimo Felice nelle missioni della Compagnia di Gesu nel Paraguai (Venice, 1752), p. 96. F.-R. de Chateaubriand, Génie du christianisme (Paris, 1828), p. 450. This custom is described by many witnesses, such as J. Cardiel, ‘Breve relación’, p. 560. ‘... à giouanetti, à putti, & ignoranti, rustici, gente roza, à donne, & altre persone idiote ...’: D. de Ledesma, Modo per insegnar la dottrina christiana (Rome, 1573), p. 7.

288

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Ledesma suggests, these could be performed by the children alone as one- or two-voiced settings, or by the community, supported by the polyphonic choir, in the full four-voice arrangement. They were especially apt for non-metric prayers divided into versicles (‘Ave Maria’, Credo, etc.). Texts formatted as strophic metrical poetry were sung to ditties occasionally composed by the priest, but more often formed as contrafacta – that is, pre-existent melodies (sometimes from the missionary’s musical tradition, less often from Native repertories) fitted with new words.19 The language was normally – as befitted this functional poetry – the local tongue, or the regional lingua franca imposed by the Jesuits to facilitate communication. A few such songs were in Spanish, and those specially impressed visiting church dignitaries from the cities of European settlers. A small number of these songs have been preserved in writing,20 and an even more reduced number has survived through oral transmission. Example 11.1 Juan de Ledesma, ‘Ave María’

Cantus

° bC ˙ &

œ œ ˙ #w

A - ve Ma - ri -

Altus

Tenor

Bassus

&b C ˙ ‹ A & b C #˙ ‹ A ? C ˙ ¢ b

a

œ œ ˙

w

œ œ #˙

- ve Ma - ri -

- ve Ma - ri -

œ œ ˙

A - ve Ma - ri -

˙

œ œ ˙ #w

˙

œ œ ˙

w

w

#˙

œ œ #˙

w

a

gra - ti - a ple - na

a

w a

œ œ ˙

gra - ti - a ple - na

gra - ti - a ple - na

˙

œ œ ˙

˙

w

˙

œ œ œ œ w

Be - ne - di - cta

tu

in

mu - li - e - ri - bus

Be - ne - di - cta

œ œ ˙

˙

#œ œ ˙

tu

in

˙

w

#˙

œ œ nœ œ w

Be - ne - di - cta

tu

in

mu - li - e - ri - bus

in

mu - li - e - ri - bus

œ œ ˙

w

gra - ti - a ple - na

§

˙

Be - ne - di - cta

w

w tu

˙

˙

œ œ œ œ w

mu - li - e - ri - bus

œ œ œ œ w

Enhancing Devotion This last and most interesting category, music to enhance devotion, will occupy the remainder of this chapter. ‘Aumentar la devoción’, the Spanish equivalent, features both in texts referring to the Indian townships and in those referring to cities of white settlers; nevertheless, in light of what we have discussed, it needs to be understood as ‘reinforcing conversion’. This is frequently mentioned as a function of song in the reducciones; however, in keeping with the then current understanding of the neophytes’ nature, it is more often cited in the context of the repertory performed by the semi-professional chorus and orchestra than in reference to the singing of simpler songs by the community. The latter practice has often been considered, both by Reformed and Catholic churches, a direct path into the interiority of the individuals; its subordination, in the missions, to the more splen-

19 20

Both Native and European melodies are recommended already in 1590 by José de Acosta. See his Historia natural y moral, II, pp. 225–6. The most extensive collection comes from the missions among the Mapuche in Southern Chile. See V. Rondón, 19 canciones misionales en mapudúngún contenidas en el Chilidúgú (1777) del misionero jesuita en la Araucanía Bernardo de Havestadt (1714–1781) (Santiago, 1997).

289

Theatres of Belief

did and flamboyant motets and Masses in polyphony is consistent with the Europeans’ appraisal of the nature of the Natives’ religiosity. Since music, as we have seen, is not a spiritual discourse but a material ‘toy’, community singing is prized as a mnemonic tool or as innocent pleasure; on the other hand, the splendour of large ensemble performances could dazzle the neophytes and hold them in awe of the power and magnificence of their new God. Among dozens of passages remarking on the usefulness of such music to ‘enhance devotion’, I will single out a description of a polychoral performance written c. 1770 by José Cardiel, a Spanish missionary with a vast experience of widely different ethnic groups. Cardiel is describing the daily low Mass, within which a composition is sung by the full choir and orchestra: Since [these pieces] are by the best European masters, they are usually composed to agree with the sense of the words [they set], therefore causing noteworthy devotion. In the Laudate, the tenors begin with all the adult musicians, trumpets and shawms, urging the treble children: ‘Laudate pueri, pueri laudate, laudate nomen domini’, repeatedly urging them to praise our God. So the children begin: ‘Sit nomen Domini benedictum, etc.’ and after a few versicles, the adults urge them on again, with most devout clamour of instruments: ‘Pueri, laudate nomen Domini’. Do not wonder if the paper I’m writing on is soaked in tears. They do this four or five times, until the end of the Psalm. At the Gloria Patri, they all sing together: trebles, altos, tenors, trumpets, dulcians, shawms, violins, harps and organ. They sing with such harmony, majesty and devotion that they soften the hardest heart. And since they never sing with vanity or arrogance, but rather with all modesty, and the children are innocent (many of them possess voices that could shine in the best European cathedrals), they cause much devotion.21

The passage is remarkable in its insistence on the devotional effect (including the writer’s own tears) of the song; if the description, as seems likely, corresponds to a Laudate pueri for two choirs preserved in the Chiquitos Archive (SA 33),22 the effect of the adults inviting the children to join in the praises of God does not seem evident from the score, but may have been easily conveyed by appropriate movements or gestures from the singers (many of whom were also dancers). Cardiel’s highlighting of this performed metaphor speaks of another ruse, if we may so call it, used by the Jesuits in the context of musically aided conversion: the parents of the singers would have been delighted with their children’s dramatic show in the limelight – and it must be remarked that the choirboys were recruited mostly from the offspring of the caciques and noble families. Thus, the prominent members of Indian society had their interest in Catholic cult reinforced; lest we think that beaming with pride over one’s youngsters’ achievements is a Western petty

21 22

Cardiel, ‘Breve relación’, p. 559. The call numbers follow the unpublished catalogue of the Archive by Bernardo Illari and Leonardo Waisman, as well as Waisman’s edition in Un ciclo musical. The relationship with Cardiel’s description was suggested by Bernardo Illari in his ‘Un Laudate pueri como antiobra: acerca de la invención de la música jesuítica de Chiquitos’, in Bernardo Illari (ed.), Música barroca del Chiquitos jesuítico (Santa Cruz de la Sierra, 1998), pp. 11–41, at pp. 26–8. The composer of the piece was eventually identified as Chiara Margarita Cozzolani.

290

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

bourgeois habit, let’s read the testimony of Francisco Jarque, regarding the child musicians Father Giuseppe Cataldino had taught at the Guayrá missions: ‘[In hearing the boys’ polyphonic performances] their parents most joyous to see their children in such honest and serious activities, could never stop thanking God and their teachers … The Indians were enthralled and elated to see their offspring so different from what they had been in their coarse gentility.’23 Musical practice in the service of continuing conversion was carefully programmed. When Father Martin Schmid was sent to establish music among the Chiquitos, he (aided by other Central European Jesuits) spent a dozen years gathering scores, organising a musico-liturgical calendar, arranging compositions for the local choirs and orchestras, and composing the pieces he needed and could not find. Thanks to the continuity of the musical tradition until the 1950s, we are fortunate in having a substantial portion of the repertory and sufficient documentary evidence to reconstitute a good part of their liturgical assignments. The main musical occasion was the morning Mass. The ordinary was usually spoken, but the Chiquitos missions had a basic series of four different settings (three of them by Giovanni Bassano): two for feast days, and one each for Saturdays and Sundays, in addition to a Requiem. These were supplemented by another half-dozen accruals, including two by Domenico Zipoli and additional Bassano settings. But the orchestra and choir were not limited to these interventions: instrumental backgrounds to the liturgy were interspersed throughout the service and at least one paraliturgical piece in polyphony was sung at some point between the Gospel and the Consecration. Among the Guaraní, two cycles of five psalms each (surely, numbers 109–13) were used in weekly rotation. In Chiquitos, an elaborate yearly cycle was set up, which, according to a manuscript booklet that has been preserved, specified 58 pieces to be inserted in Masses for 138 different occasions (commons and propers) (see Figure 11.2).24 All but a handful of these compositions were copied into a set of partbooks which, together with partial copies and accretions, form a major branch of the music archive, referred to as ‘Offertories’. Most of the missing pieces can be found in the sets of Mass partbooks, for those manuscripts include as well the complete Marian Service for Saturdays. The offertory partbooks also incorporate later accretions (including music obtained after the expulsion of the Order), for a total of 87 compositions.

23 24

F. Jarque, Vida apostólica del Venerable Padre Iosef Cataldino ... (Zaragoza, 1664), pp. 80 and 89. The manuscript, perhaps written c. 1750, is preserved in the Archivo Musical de Chiquitos (R Tx1).

291

Theatres of Belief

Figure 11.2 A page from the ‘Index of Paraliturgical Music’

Musically, these embrace a wide gamut of settings and styles, from simple accompanied songs in the local vernacular to elaborate, multisectional psalms with soloists, choirs and instruments. They offer revealing clues as to the manner in which music aided conversion, in terms both of the kind of music employed and of the devotions selected for musical underscoring. Although music was present every single day of the year, the repertoire clusters around half a dozen poles of Catholic faith. Table 11.1 shows this distribution.

292

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Table 11.1 Distribution of Music by Feasts AdvocAtion or FeAst

number oF Pieces

Proper of the time Advent

2

Christmas (through Epiphany)

9

Passion and Paschal time

13

Ascension

2

Pentecost through Trinity

4

Corpus

17

Common and proper of saints Virgin Mary

11 (of which 3 for the Immaculate Conception)

Confessor (includes Jesuit saints)

11

Various saints and virgins

3

St Joseph

2

St John the Evangelist

2

St John the Baptist

1

Archangels

4

Jesus (including Sacred Heart); several pieces are post-Jesuit

7

Unknown assignment

2

Includes the 87 pieces in the Ofertorio partbooks. Some pieces, indicated for more than one Mass, are counted more than once.

This distribution partially agrees with what we know about the main feasts in these towns: those for the patron saint of each village – very often a Jesuit saint or an archangel – Corpus Christi and Holy Week. The devotion to the Virgin Mary was strongly emphasised too, and Juan de Escandón also specifies St Joseph as a major focus of celebration.25 In spite of the well-known championing of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception and the devotion of the Sacred Heart by the Society of Jesus, it may be surprising to see them as important concerns, since they both seem very European concepts, rather abstract and apparently extraneous to Indian sensibility. Christmas The one feast where the agreement between chronicles and musical sources breaks down is Christmas. The rich repertory found in the ‘Ofertorios’ partbooks corresponds perfectly well with the prescriptions of the booklet (Table 11.2), in contrast to the scant attention

25

J. de Escandón, ‘Carta al padre Andrés Marcos Burriel’, in G. Furlong, Juan de Escandón, S.J., y su Carta a Burriel (1760) (Buenos Aires, 1965), pp. 87–119, at p. 112.

293

Theatres of Belief

this festivity receives from chroniclers. The Christmas vigil on 24 December began with the seasonal Marian antiphon, ‘Alma redemptoris mater’. The midnight Mass had the fullest complement of paraliturgical music in the entire year: one unspecified ‘Gloria in excelsis’ and three Christmas songs, one in each of the ‘official’ languages of the mission: ‘Zoiyai Jesús’ (Our father Jesus) – a song in Chiquitano presumably composed by the missionary Martin Schmid; ‘Laeti Betlehem’ – a long Latin pastoral in several movements, presumably from Northern Italy or Austria; and ‘Tierno infante’ – a strophic duet in Spanish. The second Mass repeats the Chiquitano song, and for the third Mass the scribe specifies ‘Volate angeli’, a duet. For the two weeks between Christmas and Epiphany, our ‘Index’ specifies several repetitions of these pieces, interspersed with music for other celebrations, such as the magnificent ‘Gloria et honore’, by the Bohemian Johann Brentner, for St Stephen’s Day. It does indicate, however, a Spanish song for the vigil of Epiphany: ‘Amable deidad’. This turns out to be a rather clumsy Spanish texting, appropriate for the festivity, of the well-known dance ‘Aimable vanqueur’, in turn based on an air by André Campra from his opera Hésione.26 Only a few chroniclers of the Jesuit missions in Paraguay have reported about the Christmas season (Anton Sepp was one); apparently it was less impressive than Corpus or Holy Week. The subject of the Christ child is all but ignored in the sculpture, painting and carvings surviving from the enterprise; no tradition of fashioning mangers for worship seems to have survived. This relative neglect would seem reasonable, since a great part of the tender affections evoked by the European image of the Infant depend on the contrast between the humble circumstances of his birth and his greatness. How could men who had recently lived in mud huts, hunted and fished for their subsistence and never known any luxuries be impressed by the poverty of the manger? Nevertheless, the evidence of its musical importance is conclusive. Four of the nine compositions associated with Christmas-time can be unequivocally inscribed within the pastoral genre. All of them are in one of the keys most often associated with it: G major. ‘Laeti Betlehem’ is a classical pastoral, with its ternary time signature actually heard in groups of two measures (6/4), its gently lilting rhythms, its diatonic harmonies, its setting as vocal duet alternating with instrumental duet – both in parallel thirds – and its prominent pedal points (in the bass and in the higher voices) that evoke the shepherds’ proverbial bagpipe. Its cantata-like structure, with several movements punctuated by short recitatives, draws it near to the Italian pastorale or Austrian-Bohemian pastorella of the turn of the seventeenth century.27 Indeed, a probable concordance is found in a manuscript in Einsiedeln (anonymous, early eighteenth century).28 ‘Tierno infante’, although it 26 27 28

On the transformation suffered by this piece, see my ‘Transformaciones y re-semantización de la música europea en América: dos ejemplos’, DATA, Revista del Instituto de Estudios Andinos y Amazónicos, 7 (1997), pp. 197–218. See G. Chew, ‘The Christmas Pastorella in Austria, Bohemia, and Moravia, and its Antecedents’ (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Manchester, 1968). See C. Bacciagaluppi and L. Collarile, Carlo Donato Cossoni (1623–1700), catalogo tematico (Bern, 2009), pp. 228 and 270. The soprano incipit given (10 notes) coincides with our piece, transposed up a second.

294

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Table 11.2 Christmas Music in Chiquitos Christmas Music in the ‘Ofertorios’ Partbooks

55

CH 25

Zoiyai Jesus

List of Offertories in the ‘Index’

24/12: Alma redemptoris mater (AM 01) 25/12: 1st Mass: Gloria in excelsis Deo (?) - Zoiyai Jesus (CH 25)

56

RL 15

Tierno infante divino

57

VL 22

Laeti Betlehem

58

HI 18

Jesu dulcis memoria

59

VL 08

Cantate caeli Domino

60

SO 66

Pastoreta Ichepe flauta

61

VL 35

Volate angeli

67

CH 16

Caima iyai Jesus

- Laeti Betlehem (VL 21) - Tierno infante divino (RL 15)

2nd Mass: Zoiyai Jesus (CH 25)



3rd Mass: Volate angeli (VL 35)

26/12 (St Stephen): Gloria et honore (VL 17) 27/12 (St John): In hoc mundo (VL 20) 28/12 (Innocents): Laeti Betlehem (VL 21) 29/12 (St Thomas): Volate angeli (VL 35) Sunday Xmas 8ve: Tierno infante divino (RL 15) 31/12 (St Sylvester): Te Deum laudamus (HI 37) 1/1 (Circumcision): Jesu dulcis memoria (HI 18) St Stephen 8ve: Gloria et honore (VL 17) St John 8ve: In hoc mundo (VL 20)

81

RL 02

Amable deidad

Innocents 8ve: Laeti Betlehem (VL 21) 5/1 (Vigil Epiphany): Amable deidad (RL 02) 6/1 (Epiphany): Gaudens gaudebo (VL 16)

must be considered a villancico, is a strophic song for two voices in which the rustic style is mellowed by the tenderness of the melodies, varied by dialogic effects, and refined by literary resources such as esdrújulo verse (accents on the antepenultimate syllable of each line, introduced into pastoral poetry by Jacopo Sannazzaro). ‘Volate angeli’ sets a hunting song that circulated widely in Central Europe.29 The version from the ‘Ofertorios’, while changing virtually nothing of the folk song, melts away the rough manners of the hunters and the drinkers merely by substituting a gentle text about angels flying to watch over the baby’s crib (Example 11.2). Finally, the instrumental Pastoreta (not mentioned in the ‘Index’) is articulated into four movements according to the traditional da chiesa pattern. It is written for one flute (or perhaps two, since the part is headed ‘Flauta 1’), accompanied

29

In France, it was known as ‘Chanson de St Hubert’; it was incorporated by Johann Sebastian Bach into his Peasant Cantata, BWV 212, with the words ‘Es nehme zehntausend dukaten’.

295

Theatres of Belief

by two violins and continuo. The tonal structure could suggest an origin c.1700; the final movement points to the particular rustic style of Austria and Bohemia, rather than Italy. Example 11.2 ‘Volate angeli’, VL 35

° # œ œ œ œ œ œ™ ¢& œ

j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ™

8

Vn

œ

j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ™

Œ

œ

j œ

p

BC

? # Ϫ

Ϫ

° # & 11

S 1

S 2

Vn

BC

¢&

˙™

S 2

#

∑

? # ˙™

#

-

te, us mi a stit

-

∑

Ó™

Œ

an na ra sta li

-

œ œ J

ge - li, sci - tur cu - la bu - lum li - a

‰

œ œ™ J

œ œ J

œ œ J

œ

j œ œ œ œJ œ œ œ œ ™

vo - la - te in an - tro est nul - lus pa De - o hic nu - dus

Ó™

ci fri pa ra ja

to; get; ter, tur; cet;

-

BC

° # ¢& ?# œ

∑ œ œ J

œ œ J

Ϊ

œ

œ œ J

œ œ J

j œ œ œ J

œ ™ J œ

Œ

‰

j œ

Œ

œ j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

Œ

‰

Œ

‰

œ œ J

j œ

∑

-

te, us mi a stit

∑ j œ œ

Œ

1. Vo 2. Hic 3. En 4. Re 5. Qui

j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ™

1. Vo - la 2. Hic De 3. En quae 4. Re - gi 5. Qui ve

Vn

Ϊ

∑

Œ S œj T œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ

Ϫ

-

˙™

∑

° # & œ œ œ œ œ œ œ la De quae gi ve

˙™

∑

° # œ œ œ œ œ œ™ ¢& œ

¢&

˙™

∑

14

S 1

˙™

an na ra sta li

-

-

ge - li, sci - tur cu - la bu - lum li - a

vo in nul De hic

j œ œ

œ J

∑

Ϫ

Œ

‰

œ

œ œ J

œ œ J

We should ask ourselves, ‘what is pastoral music doing in an effort to reach and convert South American Natives?’ To start with, there were no sheep, and therefore no shepherds in the forests and savannas of Chiquitos; large herds of recently tamed cattle were more common among the Guaraní but, even there, the establishments where they were assembled (haciendas) were hardly appropriate to nurture an Arcadian fantasy. To continue, it

296

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

was essential for the European pastoral to have a non-pastoral audience: whether the purpose was to extol the virtues of innocent life in Nature or to ridicule the rustic manners of peasants, the receiver of this art (music, poetry, drama) had to be an urban dweller, a more sophisticated person than the shepherds portrayed. The missionaries seem to have forgotten this, and bet on the effectiveness of the musical pastoral figures (in a rhetorical sense) to move anyone’s affections. We have already witnessed Anton Sepp trying to lure the infidels via a pastoral with flutes and fifes. Although we cannot be certain as to the outcome of this bet, the little we do know suggests they lost. If the continuous tradition of re-copying that thrived in the Chiquitos archive can be taken as an indication of a continued performance tradition, none of these pieces were ever re-copied. We may have caught a blunder committed by the infallible Jesuits! Corpus Christi The largest corpus of compositions in the ‘Ofertorios’ partbooks corresponds to Corpus Christi – this is partly because it is not restricted to items to be inserted during Mass, but incorporates also music for matins and especially for the procession (see Table 11.3). The ‘Index’ lists four pieces, presumably for the Mass: ‘Sacris solemnis’ (HI 30), ‘Pange lingua’ (HI 25), ‘Venite exultemus’ (VL 34) and ‘Hic est panis’ (VL 18). Thus, it equals the first Christmas Mass in musical solemnity. Although none of the pieces matches the most demanding and dazzling in the repertory (those are reserved for Jesuit saints), they are festive, sonorous and extensive. ‘Sacris solemnis’ is attributable to Domenico Zipoli, whose music was specially prized by the Jesuits;30 Martin Schmid himself probably composed ‘Hic est panis’ and the solo aria of ‘Venite exultemus’. For the procession, the music was judiciously distributed. Two extremely simple two-voice settings of simple strophic melodies were to be sung while walking along the edges of the large squares which constituted the centre of mission towns (perhaps alternating with a third, slightly less plain). When the procession rested at each of the four small chapels erected in the corners of the plaza, the music became more elaborate. In a way similar to the Christmas Mass, three fairly ample motets or villancicos in Latin, Spanish and Chiquitano were sung to full orchestral accompaniment. All three are shaped as solo arias framed by ample choral sections that blend joy with solemnity. The relevance accorded to Corpus in all the Spanish domains presented problems for priests and musicians: how were they to turn an abstruse doctrine of transubstantiation into a popular celebration? A round white wafer surely seems a less attractive object of worship than an image of a suffering Christ, a conquering Santiago or a motherly Mary. Thus, many villancico texts read like theological doctrine in verse, in contrast to the popular and earthy Christmas poetry. This problem was only increased when the flock consisted in never-completely converted Indians. The organisers of the musical liturgy in 30

Appendix 3 in B. Illari, Domenico Zipoli: para una genealogía de la música clásica latinoamericana (Havana, 2011), transcribes ten laudatory passages taken from contemporary Jesuit writings. Illari (pp. 417–18) argues persuasively for the attribution of ‘Sacris solemniis’ to Zipoli.

297

Theatres of Belief

Table 11.3 Central Nucleus for Corpus Christi in ‘Ofertorios’ Partbooks

VE 14

Panem angelorum (versicle)

Matins

VL 19

Hic est panis

Mass

HI 28

Sacris solemnis (attr. Zipoli)

Mass

HI 22b

Pange lingua

Mass

HI 22a

Pange lingua

[later addition]

SE 01

Lauda Sion

Procession (while walking)

]Share music

HI 23

Pange Lingua

HI 30

Tantum ergo (Zipoli)

Procession (while walking)

VE 15

Panem de caelo (versicle)

VL 34

Venite exsultemus/Lauda Sion

Mass & Procession (1st chapel)

RL 11

Oh admirable sacramento/El cordero

Procession (2ⁿd and 3rd chapel)

CH 06

Anaustia Santísimo/Aquitanaqui

Procession (4th chapel)

Procession (while walking)? Benediction after procession

Later additions, elsewhere in the partbooks SE 03

Lauda Sion salvatorem

HI 29

Sacris solemnis

RE 02

Cibavit illos

HI 41

Verbum supernum prodiens

HI 24

Pange lingua

Chiquitos managed to circumvent the difficulty to some extent. The references to the host were enclosed in the metaphor of manna falling from heaven in the desert – a powerful, concrete image that could appeal to the individuals considered very ‘material’ (‘Panem de caelo’, ‘Hic est panis’). The traditional hymns and sequence prescribed by Roman liturgy were retained, but their strophic settings did not foster any associations with the rhetoric or affections of the text, and in the processions they must have functioned mostly as modulators of the march. ‘Venite, exsultemus’ does nothing but call the community to joy, to feast, to celebrations. This is true of its music and of its text: it is significant that the solo aria, surely composed by Father Schmid, consists of only the first two stanzas of the ‘Lauda Sion’ sequence, concerned only with singing praises, and stops short of the more doctrinal parts of the poem. Both ‘Oh admirable’ and ‘Anaustia Santísimo’ set texts closely related to the ‘Alabado’, sung countless times by these communities, sometimes in Spanish, at other times in Chiquitano. Going into church, coming out of it, going to work their fields and returning from them, retiring in the evening: all these were accompanied by the unison singing of this tune, often to the unwavering accompaniment of drums. But these same words were now dressed up for the feast: they appeared in expansive virtuoso melismas contrasted with and played against rhythmically pregnant choirs; they were embedded in the luscious sonorities of the orchestra, surely including trumpets and flutes and dulcians, as well as the specified string ensemble and the usual complement of organ and several harps (Example 11.3). The everyday appeared in fancy costume for the feast: the commonplace was raised to the sublime. By contrast, the solo aria of the Spanish piece ‘El

298

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Example 11.3 ‘Oh admirable’, RL 11

Soprano

° &b 3

∑

∑

∑

∑

∑

∑

∑

Alto

&b 3

∑

∑

∑

∑

∑

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∑

Ténor

Violons

Accompaniment

j j j œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œj œj œj œj œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J

¢& b 3 ˙ ‹ ¡ Oh

œœ ˙

° ˙™ & b 3 ˙™

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ad - mi - ra

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ble, oh ad - mi - ra

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ad - mi - ra - ble, ad - mi - ra - ble, ad - mi - ra

j j j j œ œj œ œ œ œ œ œ Œ J

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ble,

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299

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men

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oh

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men

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ad - mi - ra - ble, ad - mi - ra - ble, ad - mi - ra - ble,

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j j j œ œJ œ œj œ œj œ œ œ œj œ œ J

° ˙™ &b ˙™

14

-

ad - mi - ra - ble, ad - mi - ra - ble,

œ œ œœœœœœœ œ œ œ ¢& b œ œ œ ‹ men to! ¡ oh -

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to!

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-

œ

˙™

Theatres of Belief

cordero de los cielos’ adopts the inverse path: its text announces that, on this day, Christ is coming to visit the local village, and it actually mentions the ethnic name: ‘viene a ver a los Chiquitos’. In these ways, we may conclude, the Jesuit priests sought to ‘enhance devotion’ in a festivity whose liturgical content might have seemed unappealing to the neophytes.31 Holy Week The section for Holy Week differs from the rest of the ‘Ofertorios’ collection in that it includes pieces of chant that alternate with polyphonic music: in the terms of the period, it includes not only the chapel, but also the choir. Its placement at the very beginning of the partbooks raises the question of whether it was supposed to be singled out thus, or whether the intention was to fill the whole year with this format, a plan that was not then carried out. For the purpose of examining the place of music in conversion, it needs to be complemented not only by the ‘Index’, but also by another set of partbooks, called ‘Responsos’, containing the musical liturgy from Palm Sunday through Holy Saturday: antiphons, responsories and other genres for matins and processions, set in an austere style, a capella or with simple basso continuo accompaniment. The ‘Index’ adds two extremely simple hymn settings, for processions on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. Descriptions of the Guaraní mission towns during those days convey a climate commensurate with that gravity: Then the procession begins. This is so devout that cannot be explained without shedding tears.… when [the thirty-odd children] go singing in a very mournful tune, to the accompaniment of hoarse dulcians and shawms: ‘This is the rope with which our redeemer Jesus was captured, with which he let himself be tied for our sins. Ah, ah, Christ my Lord and my dearest!’ [Later, as they go round the square] the crying or wailing dies out and all that can be heard is the hoarse snare-drums, hoarse trumpets, the Miserere and a confused rumour of lashing, for no one speaks a word.32

Everything changes on Sunday at dawn: ‘All around the Square, everywhere is the waving and fluttering of a multitude of flags and pennants. The musicians knock themselves out singing and repeating “Regina caeli laetare”. The trumpets and shawms respond with such dexterity that it seems they make their instruments speak.’33 In Chiquitos, starting with the psalm ‘Cantemus Domino’ in the Paschal Vigil, with which the ‘Ofertorios’ set take over from the ‘Responsos’, the music becomes elaborate, sonorous and joyful (Table 11.4).

31

32 33

More on this piece and on the Corpus festivity in L. Waisman, ‘Urban Music in the Wilderness: Ideology and Power in the Jesuit Reducciones, 1609–1767’, in G. Baker and T. Knighton (eds.), The Resounding City: Music and Urban Society in Colonial Latin America (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 208–29. Cardiel, ‘Breve relación’, p. 567. Ibid.

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Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Table 11.4 Music for Easter Paschal Vigil

VL 09 Cantemus Domino ‘Zipoli’ ML 01 Alleluia (plainchant) SA 30 Laudate Dominum omnes gentes (attrib. Schmid) ML 15 Vespere autem sabbati (plainchant) MA 01 Magnificat (attrib. Schmid) ML 02 Benedicamus Domino/Ite missa est (plainchant) Vespere repeated Easter Sunday

AM 03 Regina caeli laetare (attrib. Schmid) VE 06 Gaude et laetare (plainchant) VL 07 Canite plaudite VL 31a Surrexit Dominus

‘Cantemus Domino’, misattributed to Domenico Zipoli, and ‘Surrexit Dominus’ are two of the very few examples of music for two choirs preserved in Chiquitos.34 In Spanish domains, polychorality maintained through the first part of the eighteenth century a privileged status: it was one of the main ingredients in ensuring what was called the ‘decency’ of religious services. Without the asceticism of the stile osservato, it had become a signal of a well-maintained religious establishment. It is not clear that this valuation was shared by the Jesuit missionaries, even in the final decades of the previous century; nevertheless, the Chiquitos towns apparently inherited these two slightly archaic pieces, set in the outmoded 3/2 measure, from the older establishments among the Guaraní. This may have motivated Martin Schmid to provide new, more modern compositions: three of the other four pieces (excluding chant) can be attributed to him on stylistic grounds with some confidence; for ‘Canite plaudite’, the remaining work, his authorship cannot be excluded. The doctrinal content of these pieces is slim: it can almost be reduced to the idea of joy and joyful praising of God. Only ‘Surrexit Dominus’ is specifically related to the event being commemorated, and a reference to it is made in ‘Regina caeli’, which is nevertheless primarily a Marian song, like the Magnificat. ‘Laudate Dominum’ and ‘Canite plaudite’ lack any references whatsoever to any occasion; ‘Cantemus Domine’ is actually associated with a different passage from sacred history: the crossing of the Red Sea. In considering the role of the repertory in the conversion process, this lack of references should be combined with the fact that they are all in Latin, a language no Indian understood (although singers could pronounce it correctly). Perhaps the essence of the Jesuit teaching lay in instilling into the Natives a Christian and European way of suffering, and a Christian and

34

Both are, in my opinion, late seventeenth-century pieces, surely in use in the Guaraní missions before their introduction to Chiquitos. Illari, however (Zipoli, pp. 400–10), ascribes them to Zipoli (the first with assurance, the second as a possibility).

301

Theatres of Belief

European way of experiencing joy – both of them quite removed from the rowdy mourning and borracheras (drunken feasts) the priests abhorred. The fate of this repertory was much happier than that for Corpus: there are many copies from Jesuit hands, and almost as many from Indian scribes re-copying these pieces as late as the middle of the nineteenth century. The ‘modern’ works fared better than the two polychoral motets, partly because of the several versions and the heavier scoring: several voices of ‘Cantemus’ and one of ‘Surrexit’ have been lost, in spite of the twenty-one parts preserved of the first, and twelve of the second. The Magnificat, with twenty-two surviving parts for a score ‘à 6’ (three voices, 2 violins and continuo), is the best-preserved. But a more impressive record is that of ‘Canite, plaudite’: a Spanish-texted monophonic version was performed in the 1970s by the choir and orchestra of the Trinidad cathedral in nearby Mojos. The local writer and musician Roger Becerra heard it, transcribed it and published it, without being aware of its origin in Jesuit tradition. Thus, we may see that the particular way in which the Holy Week repertory was used by the Jesuits in the continuing conversion of the chiquitano Indians was so effective that it outlasted them for more than 200 years. Confessor Finally, I cannot ignore the weighty repertory assigned to feasts of a Confessor, which includes the most sophisticated and elaborate compositions of the entire collection (Table 11.5). These are two psalms by Domenico Zipoli in several sections, with demanding solo passage-work, massive choirs (albeit the three-voice scoring is without bass, like most of the repertory) and an effective command of musical rhetoric.35 In addition, there are five antiphons for Vespers set as short solo arias in Zipoli’s style, and two motets in ABA disposition, where B is an aria with its own da capo structure. This music was used for several feasts connected with the Society of Jesus: St Ignatius, St Francis Xavier, St Stanislaus Kostka, St Louis Gonzaga. These were celebrated with solemnity in all the reducciones, and in several cases they coincided with that of the local patron saint, the most expansive of all festivities then and today. The importance of the music for Confessors, its solemnity and expressive power, surely were intended to transmit to the neophytes a sense of the greatness of the Jesuit order, their evangelisers and administrators, within the world of the Conquerors. Surely, this must be considered a significant nuance of the conversion process.

35

For a partial analysis of ‘Beatus vir’, see L Waisman, ‘Stylus theatralis y canciones devotas: diversas vías de la poética musical en las reducciones jesuíticas de Chiquitos’, in M. Plesch (ed.), Analizar, interpretar, hacer música: De las Cantigas de Santa María a la organología. Escritos in memoriam Gerardo V. Huseby (Buenos Aires, 2014), pp. 419–62.

302

Music and Conversion in the Early Modern City

Table 11.5 Music for Confessors

VL 15

Eia fideles animae (for St Ignatius)

AN 04a

Domine quinque talenta (attr. Zipoli)

AN 05a

Euge serve bone (attr. Zipoli)

AN 07a

Fidelis servus (attr. Zipoli)

AN 02a

Beatus ille servus (attr. Zipoli)

AN 10a

Serve bone (attr. Zipoli) SA 04a

Beatus vir (Zipoli)

SA 09

Confitebor tibi Domine (Zipoli)

RL 18

Venid mortales (for San Javier)

Colophon The three types of roles I have provisionally set up for music in conversion can also be taken roughly as three stages in the process: bait and hook to ‘catch them’, mnemonics to ‘instruct them’, and the enhancement of devotion as a way to support the ‘eternal instability’ of the neophyte. The cycle of the ‘Ofertorios’ partbooks captures some leading traits of this last phase, and thus offers us a privileged glimpse into indo-Jesuit religiosity and its long-term evolution. This view needs to be supplemented by other sources, of which perhaps the most important is the tradition of the sermons, maintained to this day by the Chiquitano elders.36 Space considerations do not permit that indispensable literary counterpart to the musical view offered in the preceding pages. In any case, the long and extraordinary survival of the musical tradition in Chiquitos (even more sustained in nearby Moxos) is evidence for the success of at least some aspects of the endeavours of the Society of Jesus, and of their lucid assessment of music as a powerful agent of conversion. �

36

See S. Falkinger, Anauxti Jesucristo Mariaboka: manual de sermones (Santa Cruz de la Sierra, 2010).

303

Index �

Aalst, 279 Aaron, biblical figure, 178 Abd al-Rahman I, 46, 54 Abd al-Rahman II, 46, 54 Abreu, Andrés Díaz de, 112 Acisclus, martyr, 67 Acosta, José de, 285, 289n19 Adams, Samuel, 137 Adams, Solomon, 137 Africa, 49, 113 Agricola, Martin, 151n38 Ahamo, 131 Aichinger, Gregor, 91–2 Al-Andalus, 45 Al-Hakam II, 46–47 Alba, Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, Duke of, 208n82 Albrecht V, Duke of Bavaria, 88 Alcázar, Martín de, 123 Alexander VI, Pope, 286 Alexander VIII, Pope, 283 Alfonso XI of Castile, 47 Algere, Melchor, 258 Algermann, Franz, the Younger, 148n30, 151, 153 Alhambra, 57 Almanzor, 46, 54 Alost, 267 Alps, 15, 93 Alpujarras, 64, 73–4 Altenstadt, 172 Álvarez, Diego, 107 Amazon, River, 283 Andalusia, 19, 49, 51, 58, 75 Andreades, Bartholomäus, 30 Angola, Juan, 114–15 Angulo, Martín Fernández de, Bishop, 64 Antico, Andrea, 83 Antwerp, 77, 83–6, 116, 118, 123, 125, 126, 202, 204, 206, 214n102, 219, 264, 266, 272, 275, 277, 279–80 Aragon, 53 Arcadelt, Jacques, 160 Arfe, Enrique de, 62–4 Armand, Jean du Plessis, Duke of Richelieu, 229n43 Arnaud, Antoine, 229 Arras, 173, 194, 198, 200–1, 206, 264, 272, 274 Artois, 263 Asad, Talal, 127 Asturias, 48

Atkinson, Niall, 96 Auby, 208 Auchsesheim, 94 Augsburg, 19, 26, 33, 38, 91–4, 99, 102–3, 149, 166, 169 Augustusburg, 163n97 Austria, 294, 296 Bach, Johann Sebastian, 295n29 Bacq, François du, 210 Badalona, 232n54 Ballendorf, 171 Bamberg, 89n9, 96, 99 Banchieri, Adriano, 185 Barcelona, 20, 59, 60n57, 217–18, 220–1, 225, 231–3, 239, 245–6, 257, 260 Barre, Pasquier de la, 201, 271–2 Bartholome, Adam, 173 Basa, Domenico, 83–5, 117 Basel, 166 Basilius, Theodor, 33 Bassano, Giovanni, 291 Bautzen, 28, 89 Bavaria, 19, 89, 92–3, 96, 99 Becerra, Roger, 302 Bellère, Balthasar, 196n17, 207 Benevente, Joan de, 123 Berghes, Maximilian de, Archbishop, 265 Bergues-Saint-Winoc, 280 Besserer, Bernhard, 174 Beuzart, Pierre, 200–1 Bèze, Théodore de, 197, 205, 207–8 Bijns, Anna, 204 Billy-Grenay-Lens, 199 Bischoff, Melchior, 159 Blankenburg, 153 Blarer, Ambrosius, 166, 170 Blauwet, Gilles, 270 Bobadilla, Miguel de, 107–8, 112, 115 Bodenschatz, Eberhard, 144, 152, 162 Boethius, 54 Bogard, Jean, 207 Bogotá, 109–10, 118 Bohain, 199 Bohemia, 39, 296 Bois, Pierre du, 270 Boixadors i Rocabertí, Joan de, 232n54 Boixadors Pinós, Joan Antoni, 232n54

305

Theatres of Belief

Bolivia, 283, 288 Borrow, George, 45 Boudot, Paul, Bishop, 198 Bouvignies, 196 Brabant, 263, 273, 277, 278 Bragdon, Kathleen, 139 Brandenburg-Kulmbach, Margraviate of, 100 Braunau, 183 Braunschweig, 20, 141–2, 148, 156, 161–4 Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel, Duchy of, 146 Brazil, 285 Brentner, Johann, 294 Brès, Guy de, 200, 268 Breslau, 27 Bruegel, Pieter, the Elder, 206n71 Briegel, Wolfgang Carl, 154 British Isles, 197 Brothertown, 129, 133 Bruçena, Diego, 81, 83 Bruges, 266–7, 273–4, 277 Brully, Pierre, 200 Brussels, 277 Bucer, Martin, 166, 169–70, 178 Buchelius, Arnoldus, 198 Bugenhagen, Johannes, 148 Burck, Joachim a, 156 Burgos, 116, 118, 124–5 Burke, Peter, 18 Butler, Bartlett, 102 Buttlar, Friedrich Eitel von, 95 Caboodt, Jerome, 279–80 Cádiz, 62, 217 Caen, 208n82 Calvin, John, 20, 26, 166, 187, 208n83, 212, 214, 268 Calvisius, Seth, 159, 162 Cambrai, 264–5, 267, 272 Cambray, Pierre de, 196–7 Campene, Philip van, 274–5 Campra, André, 294 Canisius, Petrus, 195 Cantabria, 72 Capito, Wolfgang, 170 Capricornus, Samuel, 154 Cardiel, José, 287, 290 Cardoso, Manuel, 82 Carrera, Francisco de la, 125 Casimir, John, 276 Caspar, Ludwig, 181 Castell, 95 Castile, 53, 67, 74, 115 Castillejo, Jeronimo Páez de, 67 Castillo, Hernando del, 115 Castre, 279 Castro, Fernando de, 116, 125 Cataldino, José, 287, 291 Catalonia, 233n56, 246

Ceballos (Cavallos), Rodrigo de, 56, 57n41, 81, 83 Ceuta, 49, 75 Chabes, Diego de, 115 Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, 54, 57, 59, 72–3, 80, 101–2, 167, 173, 175, 266, 273 Charles VI, Holy Roman Emperor, 232n54 Charteris, Roger, 92 Chateaubriand, F.-R. de, 288 Chemin, Nicolaus du, 83 Chile, 289n20 Chincha, 113–4 Chiquitos, 21, 283, 290–1, 295–8, 300–3 Chrysostomus, 33 Chytraeus, David, 144n14 Ciberio, Inocencio de, 116, 124–5 Clement VIII, Pope, 71n113, 212 Clough, Richard, 202 Coattino, Francesco, 83–4 Cologne, 62, 207 Colombia, 109, 118 Colón, Hernando, 52 Connecticut, 21, 127, 130–1, 135–6 Constance, 166, 170, 190 Cooper, James Fenimore, 129 Corbie, 208 Corbin, Alain, 22, 96 Córdoba, 20–1, 45–75, 77–86 Corpis, Duane, 87 Corteville, Jean de, 276 Cortyl, Adrien, 270 Coster, Frans, 194 Cotes, Ambrosio, 57n41 Courtrai, 269, 273, 275–6, 279 Cousin, Jean, 201 Cozzolani, Margarita, 290n22 Craesbeck, Peter, 84 Craisme, Hercules, 199, 210 Cranach, Lucas, the Elder, 209 Crautwald, Valentin, 174–5 Crecquillon, Thomas, 160 Critana, Alonso de, 123–5 Cuenca, 78 Cueva, Jerónimo Durán de la, 57, 62n72, 72, 81–4 Cuzco, 78 Dachstein, Wolfgang, 170 Damascus, 46 Danzig, 100 Daroca, 59 Daser, Ludwig, 159–60, 180 Dathenus (Datheen), Petrus, 204, 275 David, biblical figure, 32, 69, 178–9, 203, 206 Davis, Natalie Zemon, 18 Den Bosch, 202 Descamps, Antonio Ignacio, 230, 233 Diaz, Gabriel, 77, 80, 82 Dietrich, Cunrad, 165–7, 169–71, 184–91

306

Index

Dillherr, Johann Michael, 30 Donangeli, printing family, 83 Donauwörth, 94–5 Dorico, Valerio, 83 Douai, 19, 193–215, 274 Dressler, Gallus, 159–60 Drèze, Céline, 219 Drütte, 153 Dunkirk, 266 Dunstable, John, 187 Durandus, Guillaume, 99n50, 267–8 Edgerton, Samuel, 21 Egas, Enrique de, 56 Einsiedeln, 294 Eisenach, 141 Elisabeth of France, 72 Elizabeth I of England, 73 Elsmann, Heinrich, 148n30, 153, 157, 161 Emerich, Georg, merchant, 30 Emerich, Georg, the Elder, 30 England, 73, 130, 200, 206 Erasmus, Desiderius, 268 Erbach, Christian, 92 Erfurt, 158, 214 Erkelenz, 62 Escandón, Juan de, 293 Espinar, Joan de, 123–5 Essen, Jan van, 214n102 Evora, 70 Extremadura, 46, 72 Faber, Heinrich, 160, 183 Faber, Sebastian, 95 Fabri, Felix, 25 Fabritius, Albert, 159 Facy, Hugh, 194 Farmington, 21, 127–39 Farmington River, 127, 132 Farnese, Alexander, Duke of Parma, 206, 264 Faustus, martyr, 71 Febvre, Laurent le, 271 Felipe, Galderique, 217, 220–1, 228–30, 233, 235, 245 Ferdinand II, Holy Roman Emperor, 99 Ferdinand II of Aragon, 51, 59 Ferdinand III of Castile, 46, 47 Fernando IV of Castile, 47 Figueroa, Bernardino de, 57n41 Filippi, Daniele, 218 Fitch, James, 135 Flamenco, Juan, 78, 85–6 Flanders, 263–4, 266, 273, 276, 278, 280 Flandrum, Johannes (see Juan Flamenco) Florence, 96 Fonseca, Juan Rodríguez, 53 Ford, Richard, 45 Forst, 27 Fort Mystic, 138

France, 22, 49, 64, 201, 203, 228, 230–1, 234, 295n29 Franck, Melchior, 91, 185 Franck, Sebastian, 167 Francke, Paul, 145 Franconia, 159 Frankfurt (Main), 154 Frankfurt (Oder), 27 Frecht, Martin, 167, 171, 177 Freising, 91 Fremault, Loys, 199, 205, 208 Freystadt, 27 Friesland, 280 Friess, Hans Georg, 186 Fugger, family, 91 Fulda, 69n97 Furttenback, Joseph, the Younger, 148n26, 149 Gabrieli, Giovanni, 91–2 Galicia, 48 Gallet, François, 193–4, 207 Gardano, Alessandro, 78, 84, 86, 117 Gardano, Angelo, 78, 84, 86, 117 Garside, Charles, 212 Gastoldi, Giovanni Giacomo, 185 Gazet, Guillaume, 194–5 Geislingen, 167, 172, 177 Geneva, 166, 197, 206, 208n83, 209–10, 212, 214–5, 273 Genoa, 232n54 Germany, 87–103, 141–64, 165–91 Gerolzhofen, 95–6 Gerung, Christoph, 94 Ghent, 204, 206n71, 263, 266–8, 271–8, 280 Ghersem, Géry, 78 Gießen, 186 Girona, 232–3, 260 Görlitz, 29–30, 158 Göttingen, university city, 158n81 Göttingen, village, 177 Gotha, 144 Grafton, Anthony, 23 Granada, 49, 56–7, 68–9, 73–4, 217, 233 Granvelle, Antoine Perrerot de, Cardinal, 173, 191, 274, 280 Gregory XIII, Pope, 71n113, 79 Greiter, Matthäus, 170 Grien, Nikolaus, 180 Grimm, Heinrich, 163 Grub, 99 Grüner, Hans, 170 Guadalquivir Valley, 52 Guaraní, 291, 296, 300–1 Guerrero, Bertolomé Lobo, Archbishop, 107, 110, 118 Guerrero, Francisco, 57, 77, 79, 81–2, 85, 117 Guido of Arezzo, 187 Gumpelzhaimer, Adam, 92, 185 Guyon, Fery de, 196–7, 207

307

Theatres of Belief

Habsburg Netherlands (see also Netherlands), 264 Hacquo, Joachim, 199, 205, 207–8, 211–12 Halewyn, François de, 278, 281 Halle, 89 Hamburg, 151–2 Hammerschmidt, Andreas, 152, 154 Hanache, Philippe, 199, 208–10 Handl, Jacobus, 159–60 Harnisch, Otto Siegfried, 148n30 Hart, Deacon John, 127, 132 Hart, Solomon, 127 Hassler, Hans Leo, 91, 151, 185 Heinrich Julius, Duke of Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel, 145, 152 Helmstedt, 152–4 Herl, Joseph, 185 Hermann, Nikolaus, 156 Herold, Max, 96 Herwech, Johannes, 153 Heyden, Sebald, 170 Hidalgo, Gutierre Fernández, 107, 117 Hövelsingen, 172 Hof (Franconia), 159–60 Holland, 211, 273–4, 280–1 Holwein, Elias, 153 Holy Land, 20, 25 Holy Roman Empire, 16, 19, 168, 189, 265 Hungary, 64 Ibarreta, Diego de, 115 Iberian Peninsula, 45–6 Immendorf, 153, 156 Infantas, Fernando de las, 79–80, 82 Ingolstadt, 89n9, 288n13 Irwin, Joyce, 91 Isaac, Heinrich, 160 Isabella I of Castile, 51, 56, 59 Italy, 15, 49, 79, 218–9, 294, 296 Jansenius, Cornelius, 229n43 Janssen, Geert, 198 Januarius, martyr, 67, 71 Jena, 162 Jerez de la Frontera, 68 Jerusalem, 25, 30, 46 Joachimsthal, 145, 157 Johnson, Joseph, 128, 134–5, 137–8 Jorge, Diego, 116, 123–4 Josne, Michel le, 270 Josquin des Prez, 57, 77, 81, 160, 187 Joyel, Maximilian, 199, 200n30 Juan of Austria, Don, 74, 263, 273, 278 Junta, Tomás, 78 Kaplan, Benjamin, 213 Karlstadt, Andreas Bodenstein von, 187 Kaysersberg, Geiler von, 32

Keerberghen, Peeter van, 204 Kerle, Jacobus de, 159 Kirkland, Samuel, 135 Königsdorfer, Cölestin, 95 Krautheim, 95–6 La Rochelle, 208n83 Langenau, 171–2, 177 Lannoy, 271 Lannoy, Jean de, 207 Lara, Iñigo Manrique de, Bishop, 53 Las Casas, Bartolomé de, 22 Lasso, Orlando di, 77, 82, 84, 91–2, 159, 160, 185 Lauban, 27–8, 34, 38–9 Laventie, 270 Le Maistre, Mattheus, 160 Lechner, Leonhard, 159 Ledesma, Diego de, 288–9 Lefebvre, Charles, 206 Lefebvre, Matthias, 199, 200n30, 205–8, 210–12 Leibius, David, 148n30, 152n47, 153 Leipzig, 89, 183, 189 Leisentritt, Johannes, 89 Léon, 62 Leon, Johann, 163 Lepanto, Battle of, 73–4, 80, 268 Lille, 274, 279 Lima, 21, 105–18, 119–26, 285 Lindner, Friedrich, 92 Lisbon, 73, 81–2, 84, 280 Lithuania, 28 Lobo, Alonso, 79, 81, 85, 108 Lobo, Duarte, 77, 81, 83, 85–6 Lobo, Joan, 114 London, 45 Lossius, Lucas, 144 Low Countries (see also Netherlands), 193, 195–6, 203–4, 206, 263–4, 268 Lübeck, 27, 153 Luebke, David, 87 Lüdekind, Johannes, 158n81 Luna, Antonio Núñez de, 125 Luria, Keith, 87 Lusatia, Lower, 89 Lusatia, Upper, 27–8, 89 Luther, Martin, 19–20, 26–7, 33–5, 59, 68, 96, 101, 141, 143–4, 146, 150, 155–9, 161, 165–6, 170, 178, 209, 214n102, 268 Lyons, 79, 83–4, 194n12 Madrid, 64, 78, 83–6, 116–8, 123–6, 217–9, 228–9, 231, 233, 235, 258 Magnus, Duke of Württemberg-Neuenbürg, 189 Mainz, 89n9 Málaga, 65, 68 Malta, 80 Mamachi, Tomasso Maria, 230

308

Index

Mancinus, Thomas, 156 Manrique, Alonso, 64 Mantua, 64 Mantua, Jacques de, 199, 200n30 Mapuche, 289n20 Marchiennes, 196, 202 Marcial, martyr, 67, 71 Margaret of Parma, 198, 270 Maria of Austria, Holy Roman Empress, 78 Marieta, Juan de, 67 Mariscal, Martín Muñoz, 83 Marlorat, Augustin, 208n82 Marot, Clément, 196–7, 201, 203, 205–7, 211, 214–5, 271 Martha’s Vineyard, 135 Masetta, Simón, 287 Massachusetts, 130, 132, 134 Massò, Magin, 220–1, 245, 257 Matthias, Governor-General of the Netherlands, 273, 275–8 Maximilian I, Holy Roman Emperor, 89, 95 Mayhew, Experience, 135 Mazak, Alberich, 154 McNally, Michael, 134 Mechelen, 274 Medina Sidonia, Duke of, 73 Medrano, Luis de, 77 Meiland, Jakob, 159–60 Melanchthon, Philipp, 33, 143, 178 Memmingen, 181, 191 Menin, 276 Merckh, Hans Conrad, 186, 188 Mettawen, John, 136–7 Mexico, 227, 229, 233 Middelberg, 272 Milan, 81, 84 Mills, Kenneth, 23 Miriam, biblical figure, 178 Missfelder, Jan-Friedrich, 88 Moderne, Jacques, 78, 83–4 Mogrovejo, Toribio de, Archbishop, 106–7 Mohammed, 68 Mojos (see also Moxos), 302 Moncy, Jean de, 201 Mons, 207, 267 Monte, Philippe de, 92 Montenegro, Pedro de, 217 Montiel, Joan de, 81, 83 Montoya, Antonio Ruiz de, 287 Morales, Ambrosio de, 69 Morales, Cristóbal de, 56–7, 79, 81–2 Morillon, Maximilian, 274, 280 Moses, biblical figure, 178, 209 Mossuck, Eunice, 128, 137 Mossuck, Solomon, 127–9, 137 Mousset, Anthoine, 199 Moxos (see also Mojos), 303

Mühlberg, 101 Munich, 17, 87–90, 92–3, 103, 183 Muñoz, Cristóbal, 106–10, 112n26, 113–23 Muñoz, Susana, 83 Muratori, Lodovico, 288 Namur, 264, 273 Naples, 84 Naumburg, 20, 142, 159–60 Navarro, Casiano López, 117 Navarro, Juan, 79, 81–2 Nellingen, 171–2 Netherlands (see also Habsburg Netherlands, Low Countries, Southern Netherlands, Spanish Netherlands), 19, 193–216, 263–81 New England, 17, 127–31, 135–9 New Spain, 115, 227 New World, 110, 286 Nieuwpoort, 280 Nokere, 279 North Africa (see also Africa), 49 Nuremberg, 17, 92, 96–8, 101–3, 163, 170 O’Brien, Jean M., 129 O’Regan, Noel, 219 Occom, Samson, 134, 137 Occurrum, Thomas, 137 Octie, 279 Oecolampadius, Johannes, 166 Öler, Ludwig, 170 Ore, Mountains, 145 Ortemberg, Hermann van, Bishop, 201 Ortiz, Catalina, 113–4, 119 Ortiz, Tomasina, 113–4, 119 Osiander, Lucas, 180 Osma, 227–8, 258 Osorio, Juan Daza y, 53 Ottoman Empire, 73 Oudenaarde, 273, 278–9 d’Outreman, Henri, 269 Overijssel, 280 Padilla, Francisco de, 67 Padilla, Juan Gutiérrez de, 115 Palafox y Mendoza, Juan de, Archbishop, 217–8, 227– 31, 233, 235, 258 Palatinate, Lower, 276 Palatinate, Upper, 99–100 Palencia, 53, 78 Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi de, 57, 77, 79, 81–2, 84, 117 Papa, Clemens non, 159–60, 187 Paraguay, 21, 283–303 Páramo, Francisco, 106, 109–25 Paris, 83, 116, 118, 126, 194n12 Passau, 102, 176 Pastrana, 78

309

Theatres of Belief

Pawell, Julius, 163 Pecquencourt, 196 Perpignan, 20, 217–8, 220–8, 231–3, 244 Peru, 103, 113 Philip I of Castile, 53 Philip II of Spain, 58–9, 64–7, 69, 72–4, 78–80, 173, 191, 203, 266, 269 Philip III of Spain, 75, 78 Philip IV of Spain, 72n123, 219 Phinot, Dominique, 160 Pierson, Abraham, 134 Pino, Juan del, 67 Pius IV, Pope, 70 Pius V, Pope, 70 Pizarro, Francisco, 106 Plantin, Christophe, 77–8, 84–6, 123, 203 Plate, River, 283 Poland, 27–8 Pollart, Jean, 206 Pollmann, Judith, 198, 213 Portugal, 64, 70, 283 Pottau, Gregoire, 199, 205 Praetorius, Hieronymus, 151, 153, 160, 187 Praetorius, Michael, 91, 151–2, 161, 184 Preschner, Paul, 159 Prim, Joan, 232 Profe, Ambrosius, 153 Puebla de los Ángeles, 115, 227, 229 Rabus, Ludwig, 167, 176–9, 189 Ramegnies, 270 Regensburg, 89 Regnart, Jacob, 159, 163, 207 Reinhard, Wolfgang, 15 Reulin, Jacques, 275 Reval (Tallinn), 27 Reymann, Matthias, 207 Rhode Island, 130 Ribadeneira, Pedro de, 67 Richardot, François, 194, 198, 272 Richart, Luc, 199 Rintzke, Christoph, 183 Rio, Martin del, 263, 278, 281 Riscos, Joan de, 81 Roa, Martin de, 68 Roberts, David, 45 Roca, Joan de la, 126 Rodríguez, Pablo L., 219–20 Roelas, Andrés de, 67 Rößlin, Martin, 184–6 Rogier, Philippe, 78, 81–2, 86 Rojas y Sandoval, Cristóbal de, 56, 58 Romano, Alessandro, 162 Rome, 20, 25, 65, 69, 74, 78–9, 83–6, 117, 212–3, 219 Rosier, Simon Du, 209–10, 213 Rouche, Michel, 198 Roussillon, 220n14, 222n20

Roy, Guillaume le, 230 Ruiz, Hernan I, 51, 54, 66 Ruiz, Hernan II, 51, 66 Ruiz, Hernan III, 65, 67 Sachs, Hans, 98–9 Sahagún, 62 Saint-Omer, 264, 279 Salamanca, 61, 83–4, 116, 118, 123–4, 126 Sam, Conrad, 166, 170, 173 Santa Cruz, Pedro de, 114 Santiago de Chile, 105n1, 111n22 Santiago de Compostela, 25 San Cecilio, Bishop, 68 San Jerónimo de Valparaíso, 46 San Jerónimo, Joan de, 123–4 San Lorenzo, Joan de, 125 Sannazzaro, Jacopo, 295 Sas Orchassal, Andrés, 105, 116 Saulchoir, 271 Saxony, 101, 141, 144, 148 Scandinavia, 148 Schafer, R. Murray, 17–9, 24, 88 Schaper, Henning, 148n30 Scharenstetten, 172 Scheidt, Gottfried, 152–3, 162–3 Scheidt, Samuel, 151, 162 Schein, Johann Hermann, 152–3, 162 Schermer, Anton, 188 Scherpenheuvel, 201 Schildt, Ludolph, 148n30 Schildt, Melchior, 148n30 Schilling, Heinz, 15 Schmid, Martin, 283, 291, 294, 297–8, 301 Schneider, Andreas, 184 Schott, Conrad, 184 Schrall, Johann, 95 Schütz, Heinrich, 91, 151–3 Schwäbisch Hall, 184 Schwenkfeld, Caspar, 167–8, 174 Scotto, Girolamo, 80, 84 Selichius, Daniel, 151–2 Senfl, Ludwig, 160–1 Sepp, Anton, 294, 297 Sequassen, 131 Serlio, Sebastiano, 65 Serna, Estacio de, 107 Serre, Family of bell founders, 265, 267 Seville, 45, 49, 52, 65, 75, 108–9, 116, 117n47, 118, 124 Silesia, 20, 27–8, 174 Silverman, David, 132 Sixtus V, Pope, 70, 73 Smith, Jeffrey Chipps, 89 Sötefleisch, Erich, 148n30, 150 Soldoyer, Nicolas, 269 Soler, Francesc (Francisco), 232, 256, 260 Solier, Don Pedro de, 53, 64

310

Index

Sorau, 27 Soria, 227, 229 South America, 78, 105–26, 286, 283–303 Southern Netherlands (see also Netherlands), 19, 199, 201, 206–7, 211–2, 264, 267, 269, 271, 280 Spain, 45–6, 57–60, 65, 71–2, 74–5, 77–8, 109–10, 116, 118, 218–9, 227–8, 230, 233–4, 283, 286 Spanish Netherlands (see also Netherlands), 263 Speelman, Adriaan, 280 Speratus, Paul, 37 St Amé, 193–5, 2207, 210, St Andrew, 126 St Argimirus, 68 St Augustine of Hippo, 165, St Benno of Meißen, 26n11 St Cosmas, 126 St Damian, 126 St Dionysus the Areopagite, 68 St Francis Xavier, 302 St Hubert, 295n29 St Ignatius of Loyola, 89, 223n23, 302–3 St James, 72, 297 St John the Baptist, 293, 295 St John the Evangelist, 68, 293, 295 St Joseph, 293 St Louis Gonzaga, 302 St Maurand, 193 St Michael, 89–90, 173, 272 St Paul, 35, 285 St Peter, 193, 199, 207 St Stanislaus Kostka, 302 St Stephen, 68, 294–5 St Sylvester, 295 St Thomas, 295 St Vincent of Lérins, 46 Staël, Germaine de, 141, 164 Steigleder, Adam, 184 Stiphelius, Laurentius, 158–61 Strasbourg, 166, 169–70, 186, 190 Streicher family, Ulm, 174–5 Strungk, Delfin, 148n30 Stubersheim, 172 Sturm, Caspar, 182, 184 Stuttgart, 181–1, 184 Sucre, 78 Suevus, Sigismund, 27–35, 37–9, 41

Tondalo, Knight, 34–6 Torgau, 145n17, 146–7 Torner, Josep, 233 Torneri, Jacobo, 83–4 Toulouse, 217, 221, 233, 235 Tournai, 196, 200–1, 203–4, 207, 208n82, 212n97, 264–7 Trent, Council of, 58–60, 68, 71, 74, 78, 107–8, 118, 193, 230n45 Trith, 270n34 Truax, Barry, 18 Tunxis, 127–38

Taberniel, Artur, 84 Tallinn, 27 Tangier, 49, 75 Tarragona, 232, 260 Templeneuve, 270 Thorn, 27 Tini, Francesco, 84 Tini, Simone, 84 Titian, 80 Toledo, 56, 62, 78, 110, 112–3, 116, 118, 123

Wadsworth, William, 132 Waesberghe, Jan van, 204 Walliser, Christoph Thomas, 186 Walter, Johann, 33, 160 Wampey, Elijah, 127, 137 Wattrelos, 271 Weiditz, Christoph, 74 Weimar, 158 Weiß, Valentin, 153 Weissensee, Friedrich, 151–2

Ugarte, Fernando Arias de, Archbishop, 116 Ulm, 16, 165–91 Utendal, Alexander, 160 Utrecht, 198, 280 Vaernewijck, Marcus van, 204, 206n71, 272 Valencia, 82, 116, 118, 123 Valencia, Pedro de, 108, 112 Valenciennes, 22, 200, 202, 264–5, 267, 269–72 Valladolid, 53, 78 Vecchi, Orazio, 92 Veesenbeck, Johannes, 169, 176, 185 Vega, Feliciano de, 125 Vehe, Michael, 89 Velasco, Sebastián López de, 82, 84 Venice, 25–6, 64, 79, 83–4, 91, 116, 118, 123–6 Victoria, Tomás Luis de, 57, 62, 77–9, 81–4, 86 Vienna, 20, 232n54 Vieira, Antonio, 285 Vieras, Alonso de, 56 Vignon, Eustache, 209, 210, 213 Villafañe, Alonso de, 115 Villaviciosa, 52, 71–2 Villegas, Alonso de, 67 Vilther, Johann, 148n30, 150 Vimmelse, 153 Vincenti, Giacomo, 84 Voes, Hendrik, 214n102 Vogtherr, Heinrich, 170 Volcius, Melchior, 94 Volkach, 95 Vulpius, Melchior, 151, 153, 158, 162–3 Vuytenhove, Charles, 279

311

Theatres of Belief

Whitman, Samuel, 136 Widman (Waidman), Lienhart, 180–1 Widman, Wolff, 183 William of Orange (William the Silent), 263, 273, 275–6, 278 Wittenberg, 27, 30, 91, 98, 153, 155, 166, 167 Wolfe, Patrick, 129, 138 Wolfenbüttel, 20, 141–2, 145–55, 160–2, 164 Wreede, Johannes de, 62 Württemberg, 95, 176, 186 Würzburg, 89n9, 95, 98 Xarque, Francisco, 287

Ypres, 273–4, 276–7, 279 Yuste, 80 Zanetti, Francesco, 83, 85 Zaragoza, 78 Zeeden, Ernst Walter, 100 Zeeland, 273–4, 280–1 Zinckeisen, Eucharius, 154 Zipoli, Domenico, 291, 297–8, 301–3 Zoïlus, 67 Zurich, 166, 190 Zwingli, Huldrych, 16, 20, 26, 166–7, 170, 187

312