Two Settings of David's Lamentation, Part II
Josquin des Prez/Pierre de la Rue's Setting
Last week, we glossed over historical context and the text for David’s lamentation of his son Absalom. Today, I focus on the early 16th-century setting of the piece, either by Josquin des Prez (1450–1521) or Pierre de la Rue (1452–1518). This motet for four voices has sparked much discussion on the question of authorship. My aim, however, is not to add my thoughts on that contentious matter. As promised last time, I wish to shed light on how the composer renders grief through music; not grief of David the human being, but that of any father mourning his progeny, comforted by faith. The crux of my argument is that in this setting, henceforth called Absalon, the composer constructs a strange transformation of pitch structure to create a climactic emphasis on grief, focusing not on David himself but on the death of a son.
The Josquin/La Rue setting:
Absalon, fili mi, fili mi, Absalon, quis det ut moriar pro te, fili mi Absalon. (2 Sam. 18:33) Non vivam ultra, (Job 7:16) sed descendam infernum plorans. (Genesis 37:35) Absalon, my son, my son, Absalon, would that I could die for you, my son, Absalon. Let me live no longer, but descend into hell, weeping.
First, a brief note on pitch and tone classification in this period. “Tonality” wasn’t a thing yet; pieces were not written in “A minor” or “F major” or any “key”. Individual melodies were more important and “harmonies” did not exist. Pieces would be classified based on melodies. Rules lumped melodies into different “modes”; this classification depended on the melody’s vocal range– the span between its highest and lowest notes– and its final note. These modal systems were paired with hexachordal systems– sets of six consecutive notes– to add further clarity. The “natural” hexachord began on C and went up to A. The “soft” hexachord ran from F to D with a B-flat, and the “hard” hexachord from G to E with a B-natural. Musical spaces dominated by natural and soft hexachords were cantus mollis while those dominated by natural and hard hexachords were cantus durus.
Singers and composers both would keep these systems in mind, using their discretion to add sharps and flats in different places. The systems would frame composition and guide improvisation, ensuring a natural order to the music. Apart from mere pedagogical tools, these systems also had affective (emotional) connotations; composers would mutate into cantus mollis for more plaintive melodies and cantus durus for harsher emotions. These connotations would, however, keep changing over time.
Therefore, knowing the systems and modes of pieces are essential to grasp any meaning hidden within. This is trickier than usual inAbsalon,given we have to tackle with three sources. While theseAbsalondiffer overtly, they functionally tell the same story. Two of the three, publications from 1540 and 1559, are essentially the same. The piece is shown in Lydian mode, centered at B-flat instead of its usual F. This transformation of mode leads to the mutation of the entire hexachord system too. The natural hexachord now runs from F to D with a B-flat (the previous soft hexachord), the hard hexachord now runs from C to A (the previous natural hexachord), and the soft hexachord now runs even lower, from B-flat to G with an E-flat. All throughout Absalon, the ranges and systems used also indicate natural and soft hexachords, indicating cantus mollis system paired with the Lydian mode.
Phew. That was confusing. If you, like me, are searching for a quick takeaway from this discussion, here you go: Absalon is set in the Lydian mode and uses the cantus mollis system, indicating sadness.
The first few lines, from 2 Samuel 18:33, follow this mode strictly. The motet proceeds in a polyphonic manner, with voices entering one after the other and imitating melodic patterns. So far, so good– the music is beautiful, and the text is highlighted well. But where is the spice? What makes Absalon special? Ironically, the emotional zest for this setting of David’s lamentation is added not to David’s own words, but to texts taken from other parts of the Bible. While the composer very elegantly follows conventions and boundaries in the first part, he departs strikingly for the lines Non vivam ultra, sed descendam in infernum plorans– texts from Job and Genesis. He exploits the nature of this hexachord system to its fullest, painting the descent to hell described in the text by a systematic descent in the music. This allows multiple chromatic notes– which are just half-steps away from each other– to come closer and *almost* overlap, adding color and splendor to the music.
This sets up an imitative musical climax. The boundaries of the hexachordal system are broken as we touch a foreign note– A-flat. This first serves as a hint of despair, a strange tone in a sea of gloom as the text suggests the speaker doesn’t wish to live. Then, in the actual descent, the voices pair off, descending one after the other identically. This descent takes them to uncharted territory, mutating way beyond the hexachordal boundaries shown in Figure 2. Because the composer wanted the descents to be identical, some voices had to adopt certain flats– such as A-flat– that do not fit into our neat hexachordal system. Since we have run out of “space” to describe this phenomenon, we must assume that a “new” hexachord takes shape here, one not even included in the theory. This foreign, low-sounding, and desperate mutation occurs on the word infernum– hell– highlighting the profound misery of the text. The descent therefore lures the listener in with imitative voices and locks down the “strangeness” felt in the new, fictitious hexachord. At the same time, it does not exceed the vocal range and modal characteristics of Lydian mode.
An earlier manuscript source, compiled between 1513–1525, shows Absalon at a different pitch level, nine tones below the other sources. If this were the original, which is likely, given that the manuscript would be as close to Josquin and La Rue’s lives as we can get, the low tones could signify mourning or grief: low spirits often meant lower vocal ranges. The lower pitch system warps the hexachordal ranges even further. It pushes the system lower and into “stranger” pitch territory, since this period rarely, if ever, crossed beyond a certain number of flats or sharps.
The recording below adheres to the lower notation:
How does this affect the overall meaning of the piece? The renaissance was not devoid of musical rhetoric. We saw, in the discussion above, how the composer manipulates the musical tools at his disposal, namely modal-hexachordal systems, to effectively paint the text in music and depict its sorrow. In focusing musical rhetoric on the latter texts, and repeating that climax twice, the composer places those texts, and therefore the emotions portrayed in them, at a higher pedestal. While the elegant, clear beginning of Absalon sets the stage, pointing towards David’s grief for his son, , the spice, dissonance, and peculiarity is reserved for the grief of two other fathers– Job and Jacob. The evocative choice of text itself indicates creative intentions on the composer’s part, an attempt to paint a generic Biblical picture of a father’s grief. In keeping with the original mode, Lydian, the composer maintains a strong link with David’s grief shown in the first part. But in breaking the hexachordal system through constant mutation, he changes the very foundation of that grief.
Both Josquin des Prez and Pierre de la Rue would have had opportunity to write a piece as sad as this, beyond wanting to experiment artistically. Josquin was employed in the Papal Choir in Rome in the 1480s and 1490s. When Juan Borgia, the son of Pope Alexander VI (yes, I know popes aren’t supposed to have children, but Alexander was… out there), died in 1497, his father was almost driven mad with grief; we could see him asking his best musician to compose a suitable lament using Biblical sources. La Rue, on the other hand, was engaged in the Grand Chapelle of Burgundy; he could have written Absalon when his patron, Duke Philip of Burgundy, died in 1506. Both composers were innovative and labored to express emotion in music. Whichever is responsible for giving us Absalon had the opportunity and means to produce a motet of this caliber, drawing from David’s grief to the other texts used to give a generic, albeit beautifully expressed, lament.
For those of you lost in the modes and hexachords, like I was not too long ago, here is a summary of my argument:
In the renaissance, composers organized music through modes and hexachordal systems. These were often tied to specific emotions.
Absalon is modally straightforward in the first half, where the text discusses David’s personal grief.
However, the composer employs a series of clever mutations to paint the “descent to hell” from the text, transforming the accepted hexachordal system and accommodating “foreign” notes to depict the intense emotions.
This leads to more contemplation on this unfurling climax, drawing away from David’s own grief to generalize that of a father mourning his son.
Historically, both Josquin and La Rue had opportunity and skill to compose this motet.
And, that’s a wrap. Next week: Schütz’s Fili mi, Absalon.
Music
References
Benthem, Jaap van. “Lazarus versus Absalon. About Fiction and Fact in the Netherlands Motet. For Willem Elders.” Tijdschrift van de Vereniging Voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis 39 (1989): 54–82.
Macey, Patrick, Jeremy Noble, Jeffrey Dean, and Gustave Reese. "Josquin (Lebloitte dit) des Prez." Grove Music Online. (2001).
Spilker, John D. “‘Oh My Son!’: The Musical Origins and Function of King David’s Lamentation.” College Music Symposium 49/50 (2009): 427–50.
Toft, Robert. “Pitch Content and Modal Procedure in Josquin’s ‘Absalon, Fili Mi.’” Tijdschrift van de Vereniging Voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis 33, no. 1/2 (1983): 3–27.