I. S. Laurie (essay date 1964)
SOURCE: Laurie, I. S. “Deschamps and the Lyric as Natural Music.” Modern Language Review 59 (1964): 561-70.
[In the essay below, Laurie investigates Deschamps's assertion in that poetry is an art form independent of music, finding the poet's views derived from his own poetry.]
In his exegesis of the passage in the Art de Dictier in which Deschamps describes poetry as ‘musique naturele’ and music as ‘musique artificiele’, Dragonetti points out that Deschamps' belief in poetry as an art form independent of music marks a break not only with the whole of French lyric tradition, in which the chanson is the synthesis of word and music, but also with that transcendental view of music which medieval theoreticians borrow most commonly from Boethius.1 Dragonetti's argument is based entirely on Deschamps' theoretical work and on the treatises of his predecessors. It is worth examining Deschamps' theory in order to determine whether it had any practical application to his own work and to that of his contemporaries.
Deschamps explains that he describes music as ‘artificiele’ because it consists of nothing more than rules which can be learnt by the most insensitive of men and distinguishes it from poetry, a ‘musique naturele’ with which the poet is endowed by nature and which cannot be learnt. A musical accompaniment, so far from being necessary to poetry, is a disadvantage whenever it is desired to read poetry in private and without the services of several performers. There is an even more fundamental difficulty: poets, according to Deschamps, ‘ne saichent pas communement la musique artificiele ne donner chant par art de notes a ce qu'ilz font …’ (vii, 271). The importance of this admission may be appreciated when it is remembered that Deschamps was in this position himself and that he belonged to the first generation of French lyric poets, Froissart, Wenceslas de Bohême, and Oton de Grandson, who finally abandoned music as a constitutive element in their work. It is at this point that Deschamps' intention becomes most clear: he is attempting to justify not only his own practice but that of his contemporaries. Poets like himself have lost nothing at all by their incapacity to read or write music and their poetry has a better claim to be called music than what usually goes by this name.
Yet music has a claim to a special position amongst the arts. Deschamps describes it as ‘la medecine des. VII. ars’, an aid to relaxation and a distraction from the other arts (vii, 269). Dragonetti argues that this place should have been assigned to poetry, described in the Art de Dictier as the pre-eminent category of music, and believes that there is an illogicality in this part of Deschamps' argument. It is possible that there is no illogicality, for the place assigned to music by Deschamps is relatively inglorious: the last of the arts and the servant of them all; an escape from more serious matters. Dragonetti points out that there is precedent for Deschamps' non-transcendental view of the pleasure afforded by music in Roger Bacon and in Jean de Crocheo but does not note that there is a closer parallel for it in Machaut's Prologue:
Et Musique est une science Qui vuet qu'on rie et chante et dence; Cure n'a de merencolie A chose qui ne puet valoir, Eins met telz gens en nonchaloir. Par tout, où elle est, joie y porte; Les desconfortez reconforte, Et nès seulement de l'oïr Fait elle les gens resjoïr.(2)
Machaut includes music amongst the free gifts of Nature and considers that one of its chief glories is its place in the services of the Church on earth and in the praise offered to God by the angels and saints in heaven, but he is as far from making music a transcendental philosophical principle as Deschamps and reduces music to the level of an entertainment or even a pick-me-up.
Yet Machaut and Deschamps are more articulate in their praise of the aesthetic pleasure to be derived from the sound of music than from the sound of poetry. If there is an illogicality in this part of the Art de Dictier it might be explained by Deschamps' dependence on Machaut for his conception of the aesthetic qualities of vocal and instrumental music and by his separation from his master over the question of whether this music was, like poetry, a free gift of Nature. It is, however, improbable that this passage reveals nothing more than an editorial oversight on Deschamps' part. It is often argued that medieval poets had little appreciation of the possibilities of the mere sound of words as a means of conveying emotion.3 The fact that Deschamps, like Machaut, was well aware of the pleasure to be derived from the sound of music can give the critic no guarantee that he had anything more than a rudimentary appreciation of this aspect of the musicality of verse. Poetry seems to have this quality principally when it is provided with a musical accompaniment: ‘Et semblablement les chançons natureles sont delectables et embellies par la melodie et les teneurs, trebles et contreteneurs du chant de la musique artificiele’ (vii, 271-2). The fact that Deschamps describes poetry as music at all might be explained without any reference to the musicality of his own verse: Deschamps was arrogating to poetry alone the position which had belonged to poetry and music in earlier theoreticians, for example, in Roger Bacon. According to this view, again expounded in the fourteenth century by Philippe de Vitry,4 rhetoric and poetry are branches of music and it is not surprising that Deschamps should have continued to describe poetry in these terms in his treatise.
Yet Deschamps does attempt to explain the theory of poetry as music. Poets have the right to call their work music ‘… pour ce que les diz et chançons par eulx faiz ou les livres metrifiez se lisent de bouche, et proferent par voix non pas chantable, tant que les douces paroles ainsis faictes et recordées par voix plaisent aux escoutans qui les oyent …’ (vii, 270-1). Poetry is: ‘une musique de bouche en proferant paroules metrifiées …’ (vii, 270). It ought to be read aloud: ‘… pour ce que neant plus que l'en pourroit proferer le chant de musique sanz la bouche ouvrir, neant plus pourroit l'en proferer ceste musique naturele sanz voix et sanz donner son et pause aux dictez qui faiz en sont’ (vii, 271). In these statements Deschamps returns to the same idea: poetry is music because it is read aloud and the human voice establishes its metre, rhythm, and stress. By ‘son et pause’ Deschamps may be referring to the stress on or pause after the syllables forming the caesura and rhyme. Music itself often played an auxiliary role in establishing the ‘pause’ on caesura and rhyme, sometimes by stressing both these points in the line with long notes. Deschamps may be referring to these advantages of music as a means of emphasizing metrical accents when he praises the accompanied lyric: ‘Et aussi ces deux musiques sont si consonans l'une avecques l'autre, que chascune puet bien estre appellée musique, pour la douceur tant du chant comme des paroles qui toutes sont prononcées et pointoyées par douçour de voix et ouverture de bouche …’ (vii, 271).
It is clear that the abandonment of music in the French lyric involved the loss of one of its most important auxiliary metrical elements. Deschamps' concept of the musicality of verse as residing in metre and competent elocution, and his insistence on the necessity of reading aloud, may indicate that he was aware that the lyric was in danger of becoming impoverished by the loss of a musical accompaniment on the one hand and the growth of silent reading on the other. If so, and if he had anything more than a superficial conception of the musicality of verse, it might have been expected that he would have interested himself in compensatory devices in order to avoid the dangers of an indeterminate metrical structure and ensure that his verse was not read like prose.
To judge by the Art de Dictier the chief device of this kind which appears to have interested Deschamps, apart from the regularization of the fixed lyric forms themselves, was the development of rhyme. He attempts to define grammatical rhyme, illustrates the meaning of the words equivoque, retrograde, leonine, and sonant, and recommends a mixture of masculine and feminine rhymes. He also explains the construction of the balade equivoque, retrograde et leonine and describes these poems as ‘les plus fors balades qui se puissent faire’ (vii, 277). This passage is the subject of an extraordinary piece of exegesis by Lote:
[Deschamps] donne la mesure de son esprit frivole. … Il mesure donc l'intérêt que présentent les poèmes à la difficulté de leur facture, ce qui apparaît de la manière la plus évidente au cours du développement qu'il consacre à la Ballade equivoque, retrograde et leonine. Il ne nous cache pas l'admiration qu'il ressent pour de pareils tours de force, où se manifeste l'habileté de l'ouvrier. … Ces raffinements le transportent et le ravissent. Son bonheur, quand il songe à d'aussi prodigieuses merveilles, ressemble à celui d'un poète parnassien qui aurait écrit un sonnet sur des rimes rarissimes, ou à celui d'un enfant qui aurait mis la main sur quelque jouet compliqué. …5
Hoepffner's comment upon the same passage is that Deschamps reveals a typical medieval outlook and that it led him to compose worthless poems which are frequently contorted and incomprehensible.6 None of Deschamps' critics have done him the elementary justice of pointing out that in the total number of his one thousand and fourteen7 ballades only “Ballades 461” and “477” are equivoques, retrogrades and leonines, and only “Ballades 9” and “18” are retrogrades. In “Ballade 999,” which is used by Deschamps as an example of grammatical rhyme (vii, 277-8) the technique is used consistently only in the first strophe. Even when “Rondeau 618,” which is equivoque and retrograde and “Rondeaux 930-1,” which are equivoques, are included, the total is astonishingly small for a form which Deschamps is supposed to have considered as the summit of his art. Elsewhere in the Art de Dictier, Deschamps does not hesitate to make express recommendations about the length of line and strophe, the position of the rhymes, the mixture of masculine and feminine rhymes, the structure of the envoi, the number of strophes in the virelai, etc. (vii, 274-81). Yet when describing the above word-games, he does not explicitly recommend their use but contents himself with describing them as extremely skilful. In this respect his own practice accords with his theory: acrostics and other word-games make no more than an occasional appearance (“Ballades 73,” “460,” “540,” “947,” “1312”; “Rondeaux 655,” “1326”; “Virelai 743”), the rime retrograde and grammaticale are rare curiosities and even the rime equivoque is seldom used in more than two lines of any rondeau, virelai or ballade. The sparing use made of grammatical rhyme is typical; Deschamps tends to use it, not as a frivolous ornament but to emphasize the subject of a poem in the first two lines:
Qui faire veult aucun fort edifice, Neuf choses fault a son ediffier
“Chanson Royale 391,” ll. 1-2 (cf. “Ballades 1458,” “1476,” “1485,” “1486,” “1491,” “1492”)
In these respects he is as restrained as the trouvères and as Guillaume de Machaut.8
Deschamps' account of rime leonine and rime sonnante and his recommendation of a mixture of masculine and feminine rhymes (vii, 274-6) have more relationship to his own practice. The rime leonine bears on two vowels and the rime sonnante on one (described by Deschamps as ‘entiere sillabe’ and ‘demie sillabe’ respectively). He does not follow the Leys d'Amors in distinguishing between perfect and imperfect rime leonine and rime sonnante, according to whether they are preceded or not by a supporting consonant. As he reckons the feminine ending in mute ‘e’ as an additional vowel in the line, but not as a sufficient rhyme without a supporting vowel, every feminine rhyme is also leonine: homme, Romme. Only masculine rhymes are sonnantes: clamer, oster; in order to become leonine the masculine rhyme, like the feminine rhyme, must bear on two vowels: defenir, maintenir.
Two of the three ballades given by Deschamps to illustrate these distinctions contain only leonine rhymes, and present an irregular mixture of masculine and feminine rhymes. The remaining example, which consists of a regular alternation of masculine and feminine rhymes, is described as ‘moitié leonime [sic] et moitié sonant’. A mixture of masculine and feminine rhymes is explicitly recommended in the paragraph immediately following: ‘Et se doit on tousjours garder en faisant balade, qui puet, que les vers ne soient pas de mesmes piez, mais doivent estre de .ix. ou de .x., de .vii. ou de .viii. ou de .ix., selon ce qu'il plaist au faiseur, sanz les faire touz egaulx, car la balade n'en est pas si plaisant ne de si bonne façon.’ Raynaud notes that Deschamps gives no indication as to the proportions in which masculine and feminine rhymes ought to be mixed,9 and Lote argues that these lines are merely a recommendation of ‘un mélange à peu près équilibré’ and must not be mistaken for the late fifteenth-century rule of regular alternation.10 According to Lote, alternation is never more than an exceptional and rare phenomenon in medieval French verse, but Reaney argues that ‘the alternation of masculine with feminine rhyme seems to have been almost an accepted thing in the fourteenth century, though it was not yet a rule’ and illustrates this from Machaut.11 In view of the subsequent importance of this rule it is worth while analysing Deschamps' ballades and chansons royales in order to discover how close he had come to it himself and what practical importance may be attached to his own recommendations in the Art de Dictier. Only one hundred and fifty-four of his one thousand and fourteen ballades and fifteen of the one hundred and thirty-eight chansons royales have only masculine rhymes; eleven...
(The entire section is 5991 words.)