Tag: Manuscripts

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Noble Ambition: Requesting a New Confessor in the Late Middle Ages

ASV, Penitenzieria Aposotolica, Reg. 33 f. 270r

As the and papacy and its various offices grew in complexity throughout the Late Middle Ages, a plethora of new religious possibilities opened to non-elites across Western Europe. One such papal office, called the Apostolic Penitentiary, provided the opportunity for common parishioners to have the precious religious privileges that the medieval nobility had fought for two centuries to solidify and perpetuate. The Apostolic Penitentiary granted special dispensation for a variety of religious requests by parishioners across Western Europe, requests beyond the authority of their bishops to grant. Such requests could involve an approval of a marriage that was within four degrees of relationship through blood or marriage, approval for a portable altar so that the petitioner might be able to celebrate mass regardless of location, or an appeal by a supplicant for a new confessor outside of their parish priest. By the fifteenth century, a well-to-do townsperson in Ghent could enjoy many of the same personal religious privileges of the Duke of Burgundy in form, if not in grandeur.

Christians from every diocese in Western Europe could write to the Penitentiary via a special letter called a supplicatio, or a supplication. A supplication contained the name of the supplicant, perhaps some personal information about that person such as their profession or class, the diocese from which the request originated, and the date upon which the supplication was processed by the Penitentiary. Receipts of these supplications were collected by the Penitentiary and organized into yearly registers. One such example of a supplication for a new confessor can be seen below:

ASV, Penitenzieria Aposotolica, Reg. Mat. Div. 6, 28v

As with most supplications, the entry above is heavily abbreviated based on the sheer number of requests the Penitentiary received. It reads: Item Petro van der Ghert de Venrade et Helisabeth eius uxor laici et Gherardo Hermanni de Eyck et Helisabeth Montz eius uxor Leodiensis diocesis petunt litterae confessionalibus fiat de speciali. Datum 16 Maii 1456.

Translated: Peter van der Ghert of Venrade and his wife Elisabeth and Gerard Hermanni of Eyck and his wife Elisabeth Montz, laypeople of the diocese of Liege seek letters of confession (the right to choose a new confessor was called litterae confessionalibus). Granted under special papal mandate on the 16th of May 1456.

The most important part of this entry for our purposes here is the word laici, whereby the supplication indicates that the two couples from Venrade and Eyck were simple laypeople. They were not nobiles or clerici, nobles or clerics, two common appellations within the Penitentiary registers. All that was needed for a layperson to send a supplicatio from their diocese to the Apostolic Penitentiary was a fee. The exact cost of the fee varied, but it was certainly not prohibitively expensive, as many non-elites are represented in the records of the Penitentiary. Indeed, laici appear to have supplicated far more often to the Apostolic Penitentiary than to the similarly suited office, the Papal Chancery.

However, for many elites hoping to replicate their social superiors, they too had to go through the supplication process to the Penitentiary:

ASV, Penitenzieria Aposotolica, Reg. Mat. Div. 6, 16v

Transcription: Johannes Boyssel domicellus et perpetuus mareschallus ducatus Limburgen. Leodiensis diocesis.: petit litteras confessions de gratia speciali fiat de speciali D. s. t. 17 Julii 1456.

Translation: John Boyssel, young lord and ducal marshal in perpetuity of Limburg, in the diocese of Liege seeks a letter of confession…17th of July 1456.

Above we see John Boyssel, who is of a much higher social and political standing than the earlier entry in the supplications above. Boyssel is a perpetuus ducatus mareschallus, or a ducal marshal, and thus a lifetime appointee by either the Duke of Burgundy, or, more likely, the Duke of Limburg to this military position. Such a personage is a particularly striking inclusion in the registers of the Penitentiary. Boyssel’s appointment placed him among secular lords allowed to act in the stead of the dukes themselves. That Boyssel had to go through the same channels as commoners, possibly his own subjects, within the diocese of Liege, speaks to the social leveling effect of the Apostolic Penitentiary.

Sean Sapp, PhD Candidate
University of Notre Dame

Bibliography:

Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Penitenzieria Apostolica, Registrum 6, f. 16v, 28v.

Clarke, Peter D. “New evidence of noble and gentry piety in fifteenth-century England and Wales,” Journal of Medieval History 34 (2008): 23-35.

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Poetic form and the matter of the Virgin

This piece accompanies CJ Jones‘ sung recitations and translation of Ave virginalis forma. Jones‘ contribution to our Medieval Poetry Project marks another exciting expansion as she bring a number of firsts to the project: the first Latin poem, the first Middle-High German poem, and the first song. She does not disappoint. Jones not only translates the song into modern English, she sings Ave virginalis forma in all three languages (Latin, Middle High German and modern English).

“Ave virginalis forma” from Munich, Bavarian State Library, cgm 716

Translator’s preface:

“Ave virginalis forma” (Analecta Hymnica, vol. 54, p. 379ff.) was composed in the first half of the fourteenth century and is attributed to an otherwise unattested Jacob, priest of Mühldorf. It was a highly complex and difficult poetic endeavor, both with regard to its poetic form and its classicizing and Greek vocabulary. Nevertheless, in the latter half of the fourteenth century the prolific songster known as “Der Mönch von Salzburg” (the monk from Salzburg) undertook to translate it into a German verse that maintained the poetic structure of the original Latin and could be sung more or less to the same melody. In attempting the same with modern English, I discovered just how difficult that is.

The chant is a sequence, a liturgical genre that was sung before the Gospel reading at Mass. (As far as I know, there is no evidence that “Ave virginalis forma” was actually sung liturgically, but formally it belongs to this genre.) Early sequences have very loose or no poetic form, but as the genre evolved, composers began to prefer texts with strict metrical forms and rhyme schemes. The first few verses of “Ave virginalis forma” fit the most popular poetic structure of the “new sequence” that was popular by the thirteenth century. The most significant characteristic that differentiates the sequence from the hymn is that sequence verses are paired, but the melody is through-composed. This means that verses 1 and 2 are sung to the same melody, but 3 has a new melody, repeated in verse 4, before yet a new melody is heard in verses 5 and 6, and so on. Within this overarching rule, there is some flexibility to repeat smaller melodic units and phrases. Jacob was sensitive to the relationship between the melody and the poetic form: for example, the closing line of the R and S verses is repeated for the following T and V pair and, accordingly, Jacob used the same end rhyme for all four verses. (Der Mönch von Salzburg did not notice the recycled melodic material and used different end rhymes for the two pairs; I tried my hardest to maintain the same rhyme for all four).

Jacob imposed an extra poetic constraint on himself: Ave virginalis forma is an abecedarium. Each verse begins with a letter of the alphabet (Ave, Botrus, Chere, Dei…). Der Mönch von Salzburg did follow this poetic constraint but for difficult letters simply took over the first word of the Latin verse and then set in with the German translation (Karissima / liebst aller lieb; Quis / wer). I permitted myself the same liberty. I should also note that both Jacob and der Mönch von Salzburg used the chi rho spelling of “Christ” for verse X, and I followed suit. Jacob also accomplished some real feats of poetic structure, which I was not able to imitate. The first and third lines of verses J and K rhyme both the first and second word, which neither the German nor the English manage (see also P and Q). Lines 2 and 4 of the L and K verses all end with internal double rhyme; der Mönch von Salzburg did a better job rendering this than I did. I settled on using rhyming syllables at the beginning and end of those lines. Finally, the paired N and O verses each incorporate an extraordinary sequence of internal rhyme, which neither der Mönch von Salzburg nor I were able to reproduce in German or English, although each of us gave it the old college try.

For the melody, I used two manuscripts of related provenance, Munich, Bavarian State Library, cgm 715 and cgm 716. Both manuscripts were produced in Bavaria toward the end of the fifteenth century and both were owned by the monastery of Tegernsee, although it is unlikely that either was produced there. I had to supplement and extrapolate from another manuscript for the German version because, due to an extraordinary eye-skip (from “vrowe” to “vrowe”), the scribe of cgm 715 left out the entirety of verse Q. The melody of the German differs slightly from the Latin – as do the melodies in other manuscripts containing the Latin sequence. If I were being true to medieval practice, I would have been looser with the melody for my English translation, as well.

I do not think that I have done justice to the beauty and complexity of the Latin sequence, neither in my sung recording nor in my translation. Still, in the process, I learned an enormous amount about stress and melodic shape, poetic flexibility, and Old Testament allegories for Mary. I owe thanks to Richard Fahey for encouraging me to take on this project, to Sean Martin for helping me record it, and to Christopher Miller for helping me edit the audio files.

Claire Taylor Jones
Assistant Professor of German
University of Notre Dame

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Undergrad Wednesdays – Transcribing Medieval Art: A Collaboration

When my classmate Abbie Spica and I were told we would be transcribing two pages of a medieval manuscript for an assignment in our History of the Book class, the task seemed almost comical in its impossibility. When Professor Noonan brought in a full goatskin, bottles of oak gall ink, and goose feather quills to class, however, we knew she was serious.

Crowded around a table in the Rare Book Room of the Cushwa-Leighton Library at Saint Mary’s College, our class was presented with three medieval manuscripts. In turn, we stepped up to the relics so that we might briefly explore their pages. A quiver of anticipation ran through me as I leafed carefully through the quires of ancient skin. They felt rough and smelled vaguely of dust and decay; against my fingertips they were frighteningly delicate, yet durable. I marveled at the patterns, insensible to my untrained eye, written across the pages in handmade ink, pausing to wonder at the tiny holes, eaten through by bookworms (which I didn’t know actually existed before this class), and felt a sense of profound privilege to be handling something so old.

Abbie and I partnered up for this assignment. We chose St. Mary’s College MS 3, a Book of Hours created around Amiens, France between 1450- 1478. The Féron family of Haut Picardie owned it initially. Later, it ended up with the Grisel family, who owned it until 1586. A Book of Hours is something that would have been precious to a household or institution, and handled daily by laypeople. I was drawn to a beautifully illustrated and illuminated page, the beginning of a chapter, judging by the large initial, complete with rubrication and tiny, nearly microscopic detail. I looked up at Abbie, an expression of wide-eyed admiration still lingering, and murmured, “I want to be a crazy person and do this page.” Despite the intricacy of the folio, the blankness of its corresponding page, and the time commitment neither of us felt we had room for, Abbie agreed to the challenge.

A close up the verso and recto sides of the folios reproduced for this project. St. Mary’s College MS 3, fols. 70v-71r. Published with permissions from St. Mary’s College’s Cushwa-Leighton Library.

We split up the work according to our talents. Having some training in art, I took up the task of illustrating. Being analytical in mind and capable of producing impeccable handwriting, Abbie chose to line and rule the pages and work with the calligraphy. Abbie knew a small amount of Latin, but not enough to make sense of the words written down; I could not even decipher the handwriting, let alone the language. Devoid of meaning, the words were reduced to lines and strokes and flourishes. Abbie did not try to piece letters together into a sensible word; she just followed the information her eye gathered about the lines, and worked from there. It is difficult to say, in the end, whether the absence of meaning made her challenge more difficult or not.

The task of illustrating seemed enormously risky. I stared down at the blank piece of animal skin, shot through with blue veins (meaning the animal wasn’t bled properly, a phrase that makes me cringe) and felt my anxiety mounting. I didn’t want to waste this material; it felt too precious. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sheep,” I said as I dipped my goose feather in the ink, reflecting on how often scribes had to rely on the bodies of animals. I guess the best thing I can do is make something from your sacrifice, I thought. My vegetarian sentiments aside, I finally worked up the nerve to press the tip of my quill to the parchment. Once I made that first line, things became easier— therapeutic even, as I let myself sink into the work.

Reproduction of St. Mary’s College MS 3 completed by Dalanie Beach and Abbie Spica.

We made plenty of mistakes. Because I had, in my eagerness to begin the project, illustrated the background before Abbie added text, she was forced to work around the images in a way that limited her ability to correct errors. This caused some of our text to appear crowded. We also erred in making the first line of script black rather than rubricated, and thus had to go in later with red acrylic and paint over the letters. This was, Professor Noonan informed us, accurate to how a true scribe might have corrected such an error. Other mistakes occurred along the way, including smudged red ink, failed erasures using sandpaper, and slightly off-kilter illustrations. Minim confusion, Abbie confessed, was also something she struggled with. Nevertheless, we pulled through and found that, as a whole, the process was enjoyable for both of us.

When we had finished with the essential lettering and illustrations, we decided to add a few flourishes. Abbie re-created a hole on the blank left page using an X-acto knife and sandpaper, smoothing it down to make it as realistic as possible. I added color to the edges of the folios, to give our fresh parchment a more “aged” look, and imitated ink stains and blemishes on the surface of the original. These were added mostly for aesthetic purposes, rather than accuracy— so that our finished product was more of an adaptation of our chosen folios rather than a true reproduction.

We had created a work of art.

Written by Dalanie Beach
Edited by Abbie Spica
St. Mary’s College