Katelijne Schiltz - Music and Riddle Culture in The Renaissance-Cambridge University Press (2015)

Music and Riddle Culture in the Renaissance
Throughout the Renaissance, composers often expressed themselves

in a language of riddles and puzzles, which they embedded within the
music and lyrics of their compositions. This is the first book on the
theory, practice and cultural context of musical riddles during the
period. Katelijne Schiltz focuses on the compositional, notational,
practical, social and theoretical aspects of musical riddle culture
c. 1450–1620, from the works of Antoine Busnoys, Jacob Obrecht
and Josquin des Prez to Lodovico Zacconi’s manuscript collection of
Canoni musicali. Schiltz reveals how the riddle both invites and
resists interpretation, the ways in which riddles imply a process of
transformation, and the consequences of these aspects for the riddle’s
conception, performance and reception. Lavishly illustrated and
including a comprehensive catalogue by Bonnie J. Blackburn of
enigmatic inscriptions, this book will be of interest to scholars of
music, literature, art history, theology and the history of ideas.
katelijne schiltz is Associate Professor at the University of

Regensburg. She is the author of a book on the motets of Adrian
Willaert (2003), and her articles have appeared in a number of
journals, including Early Music, Early Music History, Rivista italiana
di musicologia, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft and the Tijdschrift van
de Koninklijke Vereniging voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis. She
is general editor (together with David J. Burn) of the Journal of the
Alamire Foundation and a member of the editorial board of Analysis
in Context. A Laureate of the Royal Flemish Academy of Belgium for
Science and the Arts, she has won prizes from the Society for Music
Theory and from the Lyrica Society for Word-Music Relations.
Music and Riddle Culture in
the Renaissance
katelijne schiltz
with a catalogue of enigmatic canonic inscriptions by Bonnie J. Blackburn
University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom
Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.
It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of

education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence.
www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107082298
© Katelijne Schiltz and Bonnie J. Blackburn 2015
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception

and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements,
no reproduction of any part may take place without the written
permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published 2015
Printed in the United Kingdom by TJ International Ltd. Padstow Cornwall
A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data

Schiltz, Katelijne, 1974- author.
Music and riddle culture in the Renaissance / Katelijne Schiltz ; with a catalogue of enigmatic
canonic inscriptions by Bonnie J. Blackburn.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-107-08229-8 (Hardback)
1. Music–15th century–History and criticism. 2. Music–16th century–History and criticism
3. Renaissance. 4. Riddles–History and criticism. I. Blackburn, Bonnie J., author. II. Title.
ML172.S245 2015
780.90 031–dc23 2014038630
ISBN 978-1-107-08229-8 Hardback
Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of

URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication,
and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.
For my parents
Doch glaube keiner, daß mit allem Sinnen
Das ganze Lied er je enträtseln werde!
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
Die Geheimnisse. Ein Fragment, ll. 9–10
Contents
List of plates [page ix]

List of figures [x]
List of music examples [xiv]
Acknowledgements [xv]
List of abbreviations [xix]
List of manuscript sigla [xxi]
List of printed music [xxviii]
Introduction [1]
1. The culture of the enigmatic from Classical Antiquity to the

Renaissance [22]
Classical Antiquity and the Middle Ages [24]
Riddles in the Renaissance [31]
The discourse on obscurity [40]
2. Devising musical riddles in the Renaissance [65]

The message of the notation [73]
Why obscurity? The musical riddle in context [83]
Techniques of transformation [93]
Enigmatic inscriptions [130]
Riddles and their resolutio [174]
3. The reception of the enigmatic in music theory [194]

Theorists in favour of riddles [198]
Critical voices [220]
4. Riddles visualised [273]

Introduction: visual poetry – visual music [273]
Geometrical figures: the circle [278]
Religious symbols: the cross [301]
Music and nature: the lunar cycle [326]
Rebus, cryptography and chronogram [342]
Conclusion [359]
vii
viii Contents
Appendix 1 A brief introduction to mensural notation [365]

Appendix 2 Catalogue of enigmatic canonic inscriptions – Bonnie
J. Blackburn [367]
Index to the catalogue of enigmatic canonic
inscriptions [460]
Bibliography [478]
Index of compositions [505]
General index [509]
Plates
The colour plates can be found between pages 226 and 227
2.1 Anon., Kain Adler in der Welt in Vienna 19237
4.1 Anon., En la maison Dedalus. Berkeley, University of California
Music Library, MS 744 (olim Phillipps 4450), 62
4.2 Anon., Salve radix in London Royal 11 E.xi. © British Library Board
4.3 Tielman Susato, Puisqu’en janvier in Vingt et six chansons
musicales (Antwerp: Susato, 1543), Tenor. With permission from the
Bibliothèque Royale Albert Ier/Koninklijke Bibliotheek
Albert I in Brussels
ix
Figures
1.1 The encoded voice of Josquin des Prez, Missa Fortuna

desperata, Agnus Dei I in Heinrich Glarean, Dodekachordon
(Basel, 1547), 389: (a) enigmatic notation, (b) resolution.
Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.th. 215 [page 23]
1.2 Title page of Athenaeus, Banquet of the Learned (Venice:
Aldus Manutius, 1514). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek,
2 A.gr.b. 422 [33]
1.3 Title page of Symphosius’ Aenigmata (Basel, 1563).
Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Res/Ph.sp. 116#Beibd.2 [34]
1.4 Giovanni Francesco Straparola, Piacevole notti (Venice, 1586),
fol. 52r (page with the riddle that is also cited in Pietro Cerone’s
El Melopeo y maestro). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek,
P.o.it. 970 [37]
2.1 Tenor of Jacob Obrecht, Missa Fortuna desperata, from
Misse Obreht (Venice: Petrucci, 1503), beginning of the Gloria,
fol. 25. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 4 Mus.pr.
160#Beibd.1 [67]
2.2 Jacob Obrecht, Missa Fortuna desperata in the Segovia codex,
beginning of the Gloria (with enigmatic Tenor and Tenor ad
longum). With permission from the Archivo Capitular de la
Catedral de Segovia [69]
2.3 Tenor of Jacob Obrecht, Missa Fortuna desperata in Concentus
harmonici (Basel: Mewes, 1507), beginning of the Gloria. Basel,
Universitätsbibliothek, kk III 23a [70]
2.4 Johannes Mittner, Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae; beginning of the
Osanna. Staatliche Bibliothek Regensburg, 2 Liturg. 18, fol. 24v [77]
2.5 Scipione Cerreto, two-voice riddle in Pietro Cerone,
El Melopeo y maestro (Naples, 1613), Enigma no. 11.
Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 34 [80]
2.6 Anon., Avant, avant in Canti B (Venice: Petrucci, 1502).
Reproduced from Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti B numero cinquanta,
Monuments of Music & Music Literature in Facsimile, Series
x I. Volume 23, by agreement with Broude Brothers Limited [96]
List of figures xi
2.7 Marbriano de Orto, D’ung aultre amer in Canti B (Venice:

Petrucci, 1502). Reproduced from Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti
B numero cinquanta, Monuments of Music & Music Literature in
Facsimile, Series I. Volume 23, by agreement with Broude
Brothers Limited [97]
2.8 Anon., Languir me fais in Hermann Finck, Practica musica
(Wittenberg, 1556), sig. Nniv–Nnijr. Regensburg, Bischöfliche
Zentralbibliothek, Th 120 [99]
2.9 Leonhard Paminger, Cantus firmus ‘Mirificavit Dominus’ from
XXIII. Psalmus, Ad te, Domine, levavi animam meam from
Quartus tomus ecclesiasticarum cantionum (Nuremberg, 1580),
Secundus Discantus. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek,
4 Mus.pr. 181 [104]
2.10 Anon., Dy kraebis schere in the Glogauer Liederbuch, Superius. With
permission from the Preußische Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin [109]
2.11 Matthaeus Le Maistre, Magnificat sexti toni in Schwerin 3382/2:
Sicut locutus, Altus primus. With permission from the
Landesbibliothek Mecklenburg-Vorpommern in Schwerin [110]
2.12 Matthaeus Pipelare, Missa Pour entretenir mes amours in Vienna
11883, fol. 325v: final Agnus Dei, Altus [114]
2.13 Josquin des Prez, Vive le roy in Canti C (Venice: Petrucci, 1504),
Tenor. Reproduced from Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti C numero cento
cinquanta, Monuments of Music & Music Literature in Facsimile,
Series I. Volume 25, by agreement with Broude Brothers
Limited [115]
2.14 Anon., Ave mundi spes Maria in Munich 3154, Quintus
(secunda pars), fol. 466v (olim 292) [116]
2.15 Written-out solution of the Quintus from Ave mundi spes
Maria, separate leaf added between fols. 466 and 467 [117]
2.16 Leonhard Paminger, Philippe qui videt me in Secundus tomus
ecclesiasticarum cantionum (Nuremberg, 1573), Tenor, fol. 100r.
Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 4 Mus.pr. 180#Beibd.1 [118]
2.17 Antoine Busnoys, Tenor of Maintes femmes in Canti C
(Venice: Petrucci, 1504), fols. 117v–118r. Reproduced from
Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti C numero cento cinquanta,
Monuments of Music & Music Literature in Facsimile, Series I.
Volume 25, by agreement with Broude Brothers Limited [124]
2.18 Grammatio Metallo, two-voice riddle in Pietro Cerone, El Melopeo y
maestro (Naples, 1613), 1109 (detail). Regensburg, Bischöfliche
xii List of figures
2.19 Antoine Busnoys, Maintes femmes in Canti C (Venice: Petrucci,

1504), secunda pars. Reproduced from Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti
C numero cento cinquanta, Monuments of Music & Music
Literature in Facsimile, Series I. Volume 25, by agreement with
Broude Brothers Limited [130]
2.20 Johannes Ockeghem (?), Ut heremita solus in Motetti C
(Venice: Petrucci, 1504) [131]
2.21 Anon., Missa O Österreich in Munich 3154, Agnus Dei II,
fol. 213r [135]
2.22 Anon. (Noel Bauldeweyn?), Missa Du bon du cueur in Munich 5,
Agnus Dei, [Tenor II], first two folios, fols. 162r and 163r [144]
2.23 Anon., Dy kraebis schere in the Glogauer Liederbuch, Tenor. With
permission from the Preußische Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin. [149]
2.24 Josquin Baston, Languir me fais in the Vingt et six chansons
musicales (Antwerp: Susato, 1543), Superius. With permission
from the Bibliothèque Royale Albert Ier/Koninklijke Bibliotheek
Albert I in Brussels. [158]
2.25 Jean Maillard, De fructu vitae, Quinta vox in Modulorum Ioannis
Maillardi (Paris: Le Roy & Ballard, 1565). Chicago, Newberry
Library, Case VM 2099/L1/K39 [159]
2.26 Gioseffo Zarlino, Nigra sum sed formosa in Musici quinque
vocum moduli (Venice: Gardano, 1555), Superius. Rome,
Biblioteca Casanatense, Mus. 682.2 [164]
2.27 Alexander Agricola, Salve regina in Brussels 9126, Benedictum
fructum, Tenor and Bassus, fol. 141v [166]
2.28 Pietro Cerone, Enigma del espejo in El Melopeo y maestro
(Naples, 1613), 1122 (detail). Regensburg, Bischöfliche
2.29 Jacob Obrecht, Missa Je ne demande in Misse Obreht
(Venice: Petrucci, 1503), Agnus Dei II, fols. 22v–23r [180]
2.30 Jacob Obrecht, Missa Je ne demande in Munich 3154,
Agnus Dei II, Altus and Tenor [181]
2.31 Anon., Magnificat sexti toni in Kassel 9, fol. 31ar, loose leaf
added to the Altus [187]
2.32 Sanctus (Tenor) from Josquin des Prez, Missa de beata virgine
in Liber quindecim missarum (Rome: Antico, 1516), fol. 123v,
copy in Baden, Stadtarchiv, Stift Nr. 21 [190]
2.33 Josquin des Prez, Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae in Milan 2267,
beginning of the Gloria, Tenor [191]
List of figures xiii
3.1 Hermann Finck, Practica musica (Wittenberg, 1556): opening page

from the Liber tertius. Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek,
Th 120 [206]
3.2 Pietro Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1075 (including the motto of
Book XXII and the first riddle – the Agnus Dei II of Josquin des
Prez’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales). Regensburg,
Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 34 [213]
4.1 Baude Cordier, Tout par compas in the Chantilly Codex [280]
4.2 Ulrich Brätel, Ecce quam bonum. Munich, Bayerische
Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.pr. 156#2 [287]
4.3 Anon., Miraris mundum in Prague DR I 21, p. 307 [293]
4.4 Thomas Morley, cross canon in A Plaine and Easie Introduction to
Practicall Musicke (London, 1597), 174. © British
Library Board [302]
4.5 Pieter Maessens, Per signum crucis. Munich, Bayerische
Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.pr. 156#1 [309]
4.6 Ghiselin Danckerts, Crucem sanctam subiit in Pietro Cerone,
El Melopeo y maestro, 1138–9. Regensburg, Bischöfliche
4.7 Adam Gumpelzhaimer, Crux Christi – Quatuor evangelistae.
Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.pr. 156#19 [320]
4.8 Hermann Finck, Practica musica, sig. Cc2r. Regensburg,
Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 120 [333]
4.9 Scottish Anonymous (London Add. 4911), Fourteenth Canon,
fol. 34r. © British Library Board [334]
4.10 Pietro Cerone, Enigma de la escala in El Melopeo y maestro,
1125. Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 34 [335]
4.11 Resolutio of the Tenor from Cerone’s Enigma de la escala,
1126. Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 34 [336]
4.12 Rebus in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, fonds
français 5658 [344]
4.13 Signature of Petrus Alamire. London, British Library, Cotton
MS Galba B IV, fol. 203v. © British Library Board [345]
4.14 Gustav Selenus, Cryptomenytices et cryptographiae libri IX
(Lüneburg, 162), 321–2. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek,
Res/2 Graph. 39 [349]
4.15 Martin Agricola, Festina lente in Suavissimae et iucundissimae
harmoniae (Nuremberg: Gerlach, 1567), sig. B2v. Munich,
Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.pr. 40 [351]
Music examples
2.1 Scipione Cerreto, two-voice riddle: resolutio [page 81]

2.2 Marbriano de Orto, D’ung aultre amer, bb. 1–20 [98]
2.3 Anon., Languir me fais [101]
2.4 Matthaeus Le Maistre, Magnificat sexti toni, beginning of the
Sicut locutus [111]
2.5 Anon., Kain Adler in der Welt [122]
2.6 Grammatio Metallo, two-voice riddle [126]
2.7 Anon., Missa Du bon du cueur, Agnus Dei, bb. 1–31 [145]
2.8 Anon., Dy kraebis schere [150]
4.1 Ulrich Brätel, Ecce quam bonum [288]
4.2 Anon., Miraris mundum [296]
4.3 Thomas Morley, cross canon [303]
4.4 Ghiselin Danckerts, Crucem sanctam subiit [314]
4.5 Adam Gumpelzhaimer, Quatuor evangelistae [322]
4.6 Adam Gumpelzhaimer, Crux Christi [324]
4.7 Biagio Pesciolini, Tu celi pandis abscondita [331]
4.8 Pietro Cerone, Enigma de la escala [337]
4.9 Tielman Susato, Puisqu’en janvier [354]
xiv
Acknowledgements
Although writing as such is a solitary business, a book never comes into

being without the help of friends, colleagues and institutions. It is my great
pleasure to acknowledge their help here and to express my gratitude. The
material conditions for my work were made possible through a generous
grant from the Ideenfonds of the LMUexcellent programme of the Ludwig-
Maximilians-Universität Munich. The project leader, Hartmut Schick,
supported my research in every possible way, for which I am most grateful.
The grant not only enabled the funding of a series of lectures I organised at
the Department of Musicology in the years 2008–9, but also made possible
the organisation of an international one-day conference on ‘Musik und
Rätselkultur in der Renaissance’, of which the proceedings have appeared
in the Journal of the Alamire Foundation. In 2012, I submitted an earlier
version of this study as Habilitationsschrift at the University of Munich,
and I am grateful to the members of the jury (Hartmut Schick, Dorit
Tanay, Lorenz Welker and Claudia Wiener) for their constructive
comments.
In Renaissance musicology I seem gradually to have gained a reputation
as a riddle aficionado. Several colleagues sent me material and challenged
my mind with fascinating brain-teasers in Renaissance manuscripts and
prints, some of which, alas, are still waiting for a satisfactory resolutio: my
sincere thanks to Andrea Ammendola, Jaap van Benthem, David Burn,
Antonio Chemotti, Denis Collins, Marc Desmet, Scott Edwards, David
Fallows, Wolfgang Fuhrmann, Stefan Gasch, Clemens Goldberg, Franz
Götz, Inga Mai Groote, Dieter Haberl, Martin Ham, Ulrike Hascher-
Burger, Lenka Hlávková (Mráčková), Moritz Kelber, Franz Körndle, Hel-
mut Lauterwasser, Christian Leitmeir, Andrea Lindmayr-Brandl, Mattias
Lundberg, Patrick Macey, Grantley McDonald, Klaus Wolfgang Niemöller,
Molly Ryan, Bernhold Schmid, Anne Smith, Cristina Urchueguía and Peter
Urquhart – I apologise to those who no longer come to memory. Many
thanks also to Michael Anderson, Denis Collins, Päivi Mehtonen, Zoe
Saunders and Anna Zayaruznaya for sending me their unpublished
material.
xv
xvi Acknowledgements
A special word of thanks goes to Bonnie J. Blackburn. Our common

interest in riddles and canons finds expression in the book Canons and
Canonic Techniques, 14th–16th Centuries that we co-edited in 2007, and
has continued in numerous discussions, via e-mail, lectures and confer-
ences. In the course of the years, I have learnt a lot from her, not only from
her vast knowledge, but also about cooperativeness and willingly sharing
knowledge with colleagues. There is no better way to illustrate this than
with the catalogue of enigmatic inscriptions, which is presented in Appen-
dix 2 of this book. Bonnie has been collecting such inscriptions for a long
time and she generously offered to publish them here as a ‘joint effort’.
Leofranc Holford-Strevens was helpful as always with translations, tracing
sources and much more. We hope that the catalogue will provide a
repertory to draw upon for other scholars as well.
This book has greatly benefited from many conversations, e-mails and
Skype sessions with friends, who have been accompanying me on my path
for years: Camilla Cavicchi, Anne Smith, Dorit Tanay, Giovanni Zanovello
and Vasco Zara. Our common musicological basis has grown into a
friendship that far exceeds the purely professional character of contacts.
Some of them read large portions of the manuscript and considerably
improved the final version with their comments. Markus Böggemann, Jesse
Rodin, Melanie Wald-Fuhrmann and Anna Zayaruznaya also provided
many astute observations, which have found their way into this book. The
final result has also greatly benefited from the comments of the anonymous
readers, for which I am most grateful.
In October 2013 I took up a position at the Musicology Department of
the University of Regensburg, where I have the privilege to work with
wonderful colleagues and students. I would especially like to mention
Wolfgang Horn: I not only share with him a deep interest in the work of
Adrian Willaert, but his humour, reliability and sincerity also make him a
marvellous person to collaborate with. David Hiley and his wife Anne also
did everything possible to make me feel welcome in Regensburg. Fabian
Weber kindly set the music examples.
I have also enjoyed the company and support of colleague-musicians in
my native Belgium and my adoptive country Germany, who wittingly or
unwittingly always reminded me of the practical side of musical riddles.
Anne Smith offered me the opportunity to approach the rich repertory of
Renaissance musical riddles from the performer’s perspective. Together
with the participants in a seminar at the Schola Cantorum in Basel, we
experienced at first hand what it means to sing a melody in retrograde
motion, what mental concentration is needed for a mirror canon, and how
Acknowledgements xvii
eagle-eyed one must be in order to comply with a verbal instruction such

as Jacob Obrecht’s ‘Digniora sunt priora’. This seminar considerably
enlarged my vision on Renaissance musical riddles in general and the level
of training that was demanded of performers in particular. The same goes
for a workshop on riddles I was able to conduct at Indiana University,
Jacobs School of Music in April 2013, to which I was invited by Giovanni
Zanovello. The enthusiasm and curiosity of both students and faculty
showed me once more how rich and rewarding it is to work on this topic,
to talk about it and to experiment with it.
Several of the most intriguing riddles, such as the anonymous ballade En
la maison Dedalus, Ghiselin Danckerts’s chessboard Ave maris stella and
Jacob Vaet’s Qui operatus est Petro, were performed by the Belgian ensem-
ble Zefiro Torna under the direction of Jurgen de Bruyn. In 2007, they
collaborated with Dance Company Zoo and turned the project ‘Puzzled’
into a fascinating multimedia performance, in which the visual and the
auditory received equal attention. This project has been an important
stimulus for my research.
Philippe Vendrix invited me to speak about my research at several
seminars and conferences at the Centre d’Études Supérieures de la Renais-
sance in Tours. The relaxed and highly stimulating atmosphere that
characterises the Centre is unique and unforgettable, and I am grateful to
Philippe and his team for making this possible. Apart from that, I was
fortunate to teach seminars on musical riddles at the Ludwig-Maximilians-
Universität Munich and the University of Utrecht, where I spent some
time as a visiting fellow. With a small but highly motivated group of
students we explored the musical riddle in its cultural context and had
long, fruitful discussions about obscuritas, enigmatic inscriptions, resolu-
tiones and much more. This book has benefited from these lively conver-
sations, and I want to thank the students most sincerely for their
commitment and inquisitiveness.
The Music Department of the Bavarian State Library, with its many
treasures from the time of the Renaissance and other periods, created an
ideal working atmosphere and has somewhat become my second home.
Special thanks are due to the staff and their director Reiner Nägele, who
has always done everything possible to put at my disposal the manuscripts
and prints I needed. Other libraries generously supplied copies of materials
for this book: the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, the British Library,
the Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek Regensburg, the University of California
Music Library at Berkeley, the Universitätsbibliothek Kassel, the Universi-
tätsbibliothek Basel and the Stadtarchiv Baden.
xviii Acknowledgements
The publication of this book has been made possible thanks to the
generous support of two institutions. I am most grateful to the Martin
Picker Endowment of the American Musicological Society, funded in part
by the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Andrew
W. Mellon Foundation, and to the University of Regensburg.
At Cambridge University Press, thanks are due to Vicki Cooper, Fleur
Jones, Emma Collison, Pat Harper and Christina Sarigiannidou for their
excellent assistance and prompt help with all kinds of questions.
A special word of thanks to my dear friends Anna Rankl and Isabelle
Deleu and their families, who have closely followed the genesis of the book
from its earliest stages to its completion. Thanks to them the long journey
was alleviated by many pleasant moments.
There is no easy way to describe the strong support I have been
privileged to receive from my husband Sven Lorenz. In addition to his
expert knowledge as a classical philologist, which has proved to be of
immense help during the project, he has always taken care to provide a
relaxed atmosphere, offer a listening ear and encourage me to go on
writing, even at difficult moments.
Despite the physical distance between us, my parents have always closely
followed my research with great interest. They raised their three children
with a good sense of openness towards the world and have done so with an
empathy that goes beyond words. This book is dedicated to them.
Abbreviations
2.p. second part / seconda pars

A Altus
AI Altus primus
AMMM Archivium Musices Metropolitanum Mediolanense
B Bassus
BL British Library
c.f. cantus firma
CMM Corpus Mensurabilis Musicae
CT Contratenor
EM Early Music
EMH Early Music History
JAF Journal of the Alamire Foundation
JAMS Journal of the American Musicological Society
JM Journal of Musicology
LU Liber Usualis
MD Musica Disciplina
MGG2 Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 2nd edn, ed.
L. Finscher, 29 vols. (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1994–2007)
ML Music & Letters
MQ Musical Quarterly
MRM Monuments of Renaissance Music
NG New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd edn, ed.
S. Sadie and J. Tyrrell, 29 vols. (London:
Macmillan, 2001)
NJE New Josquin Edition
OO Opera omnia
Q Quinta vox
RRMMAER Recent Researches in the Music of the Middle Ages and
Early Renaissance
RRMR Recent Researches in the Music of the Renaissance
RQ Renaissance Quarterly
S Superius
xix
xx List of abbreviations
Schmidt Proverbia sententiaeque Latinitatis medii ac recentioris aevi/

Lateinische Sprichwörter und Sentenzen des Mittelalters und
der frühen Neuzeit. Aus dem Nachlaß von Hans Walther
herausgegeben von P. G. Schmidt, 3 vols. (Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982–6)
SM Studi Musicali
T Tenor
TKVNM Tijdschrift van de Koninklijke Vereniging voor Nederlandse
Muziekgeschiedenis
Tosi R. Tosi, Dizionario delle sentenze latine e greche (Milan:
Rizzoli, 1991)
TVNM Tijdschrift van de Vereniging voor Nederlandse
Muziekgeschiedenis
V Quinta vox
Walther H. Walther, Proverbia sententiaeque Latinitatis medii aevi/
Lateinische Sprichwörter und Sentenzen des Mittelalters, 6
vols. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963–9)
Manuscript sigla
Barcelona 5 Barcelona, Biblioteca Orfeó Català, MS 5

Basel F.IX.25 Basel, Universitätsbibliothek, MS F. IX. 25
Berlin 40021 Berlin, Staatsbibliothek Preußischer Kulturbesitz,
MS Mus. 40021 (olim Z 21)
Berlin theor. 1175 Berlin, Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, MS Mus.
theor. 1175
Bologna B 57 Bologna, Museo Internazionale e Biblioteca della
Musica di Bologna, MS B 57 (treatise by Cimello)
Bologna B 140 Bologna, Museo Internazionale e Biblioteca della
Musica di Bologna, MS B 140
Bologna Q 16 Bologna, Museo Internazionale e Biblioteca della
Musica di Bologna, MS Q 16
Brussels 228 Brussels, Bibliothèque Royale Albert Ier/
Koninklijke Bibliotheek Albert I, MS 228
Cambrai 4 Cambrai, Médiathèque municipale, MS 4
Cambrai 18 Cambrai, Médiathèque municipale, MS 18
Cambridge Pepys Cambridge, Magdalene College, Pepys Library,
1760 MS 1760
Casale Monferrato M Casale Monferrato, Archivio Capitolare, MS M
Chantilly Codex Bibliothèque du Château de Chantilly, MS 564
Chigi Codex Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS
Chigi C VIII 234
Cividale del Friuli 59 Cividale del Friuli, Museo Archeologico
Nazionale, MS LIX
xxi
xxii List of manuscript sigla
Coimbra 12 Coimbra, Biblioteca Geral da Universidade, MS

M.12
Dijon Dijon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 517
(olim 295)
Escorial IV.a.24 Escorial, Palacio Real, Monasterio de S Lorenzo,
MS IV.a.24
Florence 178 Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, MS
Magl. XIX. 178
Florence 229 Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, MS
Banco Rari 229
Florence Cons. 2439 Florence, Biblioteca del Conservatorio di Musica
‘Luigi Cherubini’, MS Basevi 2439
Florence Duomo 7 Florence, Duomo, Archivio Musicale dell’Opera
di Santa Maria del Fiore, MS 7
Glogauer Liederbuch Berlin, Preußischer Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin,
MS 40098
’s-Hertogenbosch ’s-Hertogenbosch, Archief van de Illustre Lieve
72B Vrouwe Broederschap, MS 72B
’s-Hertogenbosch 73 ’s-Hertogenbosch, Archief van de Illustre Lieve
Vrouwe Broederschap, MS 73
’s-Hertogenbosch 75 ’s-Hertogenbosch, Archief van de Illustre Lieve
Vrouwe Broederschap, MS 75
Jena 2 Jena, Thüringer Universitäts-und
Landesbibliothek, MS 2
List of manuscript sigla xxiii
Kassel 9 Kassel, Universitätsbibliothek–Landesbibliothek

und Murhardsche Bibliothek der Stadt Kassel, 4
Mus. Ms. 9
Leipzig 51 Leipzig, Universitätsbibliothek, MS
Thomaskirche 51
London Add. 4911 London, British Library Additional MS 4911
London Add. 31922 London, British Library, Additional MS 31922
London Add. 35087 London, British Library, Additional MS 35087
London Royal 8 G.vii London, British Library, Royal MS 8 G.vii
London Royal 11 E.xi London, British Library, Royal MS 11 E.xi
Mechelen Mechelen, Archief en Stadsbibliotheek, MS s.s.
Medici Codex Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS
Acq. e Doni 666
Milan 2266 Milan, Archivio della Veneranda Fabbrica del
Duomo, Sezione Musicale, MS 2266 (Librone 4)
Milan 2267 Milan, Archivio della Veneranda Fabbrica del
Duomo, Sezione Musicale, MS 2267 (Librone 3)
Modena IX Modena, Duomo, Biblioteca e Archivio
Capitolare, MS Mus. IX
Modena α.M.1.2 Modena, Biblioteca Estense e Universitaria, MS
α.M.1.2
Montserrat 773 Montserrat, Biblioteca del Monestir, MS 773
Munich 5 Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Mus. Ms. 5
Munich 37 Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Mus.
Ms. 37
Ms. 260
Munich 274a Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Mus.
Ms. 274a
Munich 322–25 Munich, Universitätsbibliothek der Ludwig-
Maximilians-Universität, MS 8o 322–325 (olim
Cim. 44a)
Munich 1503b Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Mus.
Ms. 1503b
Ms. 3154 (Leopold codex)
xxiv List of manuscript sigla
Naples VI.E.40 Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emanuelle

III, MS VI.E.40
Occo Codex Brussels, Bibliothèque Royale Albert Ier/
Koninklijke Bibliotheek Albert I, MS IV.922
Padua A 17 Padua, Duomo, Biblioteca Capitolare, Curia
Vescovile, MS A 17
Prague DR I 21 Prague, Královská kanonie premonstrátů na
Strahově, DR I 21
Regensburg Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, MS
B 220–22 B 220–22
Regensburg C 100 Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, MS
C 100
Rome Casanatense Rome, Biblioteca Casanatense, MS 2856
2856
Rome Vallicelliana Rome, Biblioteca Vallicelliana, MD SI 35–40
(olim Inc. 107bis; S. Borromeo E.II.55–60)
Sankt Gallen 463 Sankt Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 463
Schedel Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Cgm 810
(olim Mus. ms. 3232; ‘Schedel Liederbuch’)
Schwerin 3382/2 Schwerin, Landesbibliothek Mecklenburg-
Vorpommern, Mus. 3382/2
Scottish Anonymous London, British Library, Additional MS 4911
Segovia Segovia, Archivo Capitular de la Catedral, MS s.s.
Seville 5–1–43 Sevilla, Biblioteca Capitular y Colombina, MS 5–1–43
Siena K.I.2 Siena, Biblioteca Comunale degli Intronati, MS
K.I.2
Toledo B. 17 Toledo, Biblioteca Capitular de la Catedral
Metropolitana, MS B. 17
Toledo B. 21 Toledo, Biblioteca Capitular de la Catedral
Metropolitana, MS B. 21
Toledo B. 33 Toledo, Archivio y Biblioteca Capitulares de la
Catedral Metropolitana, MS B. 33
Trent 105 Trento, Archivio di Stato, sez. tedesca, Misc. 105
Trent 283 Trento, Biblioteca Capitolare, MS 283
Trent 1375 (88) Trento, Museo Provinciale d’Arte, Castello del
Buonconsiglio, MS 1375 (olim 88)
List of manuscript sigla xxv

Turin I.27 Turin, Biblioteca Nazionale Universitaria, MS
Riserva musicale I.27
Vatican CG XII, 2 Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS
Cappella Giulia XII, 2
Vatican CG XIII, 27 Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS
Cappella Giulia XIII, 27
Vatican CS 14 Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS
Cappella Sistina 14
Cappella Sistina 15
Vatican CS 17 Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS
Cappella Sistina 17
Cappella Sistina 18
Cappella Sistina 19
Cappella Sistina 21
Cappella Sistina 24
Cappella Sistina 26
Cappella Sistina 35
Cappella Sistina 36
Cappella Sistina 38
Cappella Sistina, 39
Cappella Sistina 41
xxvi List of manuscript sigla

Cappella Sistina 42
Cappella Sistina 44
Cappella Sistina 45
Cappella Sistina 46
Cappella Sistina 49
Cappella Sistina 51
Cappella Sistina 55
Cappella Sistina 57
Cappella Sistina 64
Cappella Sistina 154
Cappella Sistina 154
Cappella Sistina197
Vatican SP B 80 Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS
S. Pietro B. 80
Verona 756 Verona, Biblioteca Capitolare, MS DCCLVI
Verona 757 Verona, Biblioteca Capitolare, MS DCCLVII
Verona 761 Verona, Biblioteca Capitolare, MS DCCLXI
Vienna 1783 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek,
Handschriftensammlung, Cod. 1783
Musiksammlung, MS Mus. 15497
List of manuscript sigla xxvii

Musiksammlung, MS Mus. 19237
Zwickau 119/1 Zwickau, Ratsschulbibliothek, Ms. 119/1
Printed music
Antico, Liber 15 Liber quindecim missarum electarum (Rome:

missarum A. Antico; RISM 15161)
Antico, Motetti novi Motetti novi e chanzoni franciose a quatro sopra
doi (Venice: A. Antico; RISM 15203)
Attaingnant, Liber III Liber tertius; viginti musicales quinque, sex, vel
octo vocum motetos (Paris: P. Attaingnant;
RISM 15345)
Attaingnant, Liber XI Liber undecimus XXVI. musicales habet modulos
quatuor et quinque vocibus (Paris:
P. Attaingnant; RISM 15353)
Dorico, Libro I de la Madrigali novi . . . Libro primo de la Serena
Serena (Rome: V. Dorico; RISM 15302 and 153415)
Dorico, Libro II de la Canzoni frottole et capitoli da diversi
croce eccellentissimi musici . . . Libro secondo de la
croce (Rome: V. Dorico; RISM 15314)
Gerlach, Suavissimae Suavissimae et iucundissimae harmoniae
(Nuremberg: T. Gerlach; RISM 15671)
Gombert, Motetta 5 Nicolai Gomberti . . . Pentaphthongos harmonia
v. (Venice: G. Scotto; RISM 15413)
Grapheus, Missae Missae tredecim quatuor vocum (Nuremberg:
tredecim H. Grapheus; RISM 15392)
Kriesstein, Selectissimae necnon familiarissimae cantiones
Selectissimae (Augsburg: M. Kriesstein; RISM 15407)
Le Roy & Ballard, Modulorum Ioannis Maillardi (Paris: Le Roy &
Modulorum Ioannis Ballard, 1565)
Maillardi
Moderne, Liber 10 Liber decem missarum (Lyon: J. Moderne; RISM
missarum [1532]8 and 15401)
Moderne, Tertius Tertius liber motettorum ad quinque et sex voces
liber (Lyons: Moderne, RISM 1538s)
Montanus & Neuber, Novum et insigne opus musicum (Nuremberg:
Novum et insigne J. Montanus & U. Neuber; RISM 15584)
xxviii
List of printed music xxix
Montanus & Neuber, Secunda pars magni operis musici (Nuremberg:

Secunda pars J. Montanus & U. Neuber; RISM 15591)
Montanus & Neuber, Thesauri musici tomus tertius (Nuremberg:
Thesauri T. III J. Montanus & U. Neuber; RISM 15643)
Neuber, Liber II Liber secundus suavissimarum et
iucundissimarum harmoniarum, RISM 15688)
Obrecht, Concentus Concentus harmonici quattuor missarum . . .
Jacobi Obrecht (Basel: G. Mewes, [c.1507])
Petrucci, Canti B Canti B. numero cinquanta B (Venice:
O. Petrucci; RISM 15022)
Petrucci, Canti C Canti C numero cento cinquanta (Venice:
Petrucci, Misse Misse Brumel (Venice: O. Petrucci, 1503)
Brumel
Petrucci, Misse De Misse De orto (Venice: O. Petrucci, 1505)
Orto
Petrucci, Misse Misse Gaspar (Venice: O. Petrucci, 1507)
Gaspar
Petrucci, Misse Misse Ghiselin (Venice: O. Petrucci, 1503)
Ghiselin
Petrucci, Misse Misse Josquin (Venice: O. Petrucci, 1502)
Josquin L. I
Petrucci, Misse Missarum Josquin Liber secundus (Venice:
Josquin L. II O. Petrucci, 1505)
Petrucci, Misse Missarum Josquin Liber tertius (Fossombrone:
Josquin L. III O. Petrucci, 1514)
Petrucci, Misse Misse Obreht (Venice: O. Petrucci, 1503)
Obreht
Petrucci, Motetti A Motetti A numero trentatre (Venice: O. Petrucci;
RISM 15021)
Petrucci, Motetti B Motetti B (Venice: O. Petrucci, 1503; RISM
15031)
Petrucci, Motetti C Motetti C (Venice: O. Petrucci, 1504; RISM
15041)
Petrucci, Odhecaton Harmonice musices Odhecaton A (Venice:
Phalèse, Liber IV Liber quartus cantionum sacrarum (Louvain:
P. Phalèse; RISM 155311)
xxx List of printed music
Susato, 26 chansons Vingt et six chansons musicales (Antwerp:

T. Susato; RISM [1543]15)
Susato, Liber Liber secundus sacrarum cantionum ex optimis
secundus huius aetatis musicis (Antwerp: T. Susato; RISM
15467)
Zarlino, Gioseffo Zarlino, Modulationes sex vocum
Modulationes (Venice: F. Rampazetto, 1566)

u Introduction
Every culture, every society knows and cultivates riddles. Nearly all the
leading figures in cultural history – Da Vinci, Cervantes, Shakespeare,
Goethe, Poe, to name just a few – wrote riddles. Their scope ranges from
the playful and diverting realm of an unburdened pastime to the sophisti-
cated atmosphere of conundrums on philosophical and religious matters.
In the case of Oedipus and the Sphinx – probably the most famous of all
riddles – it was indeed a deadly serious matter: the travellers who were not
able to solve the Sphinx’s deceptively simple question were devoured
by the monstrous hybrid creature. Oedipus found the solution and caused
the Sphinx to throw itself into the abyss out of pure despair, as it saw no
more reason to live once the riddle had been solved. In other instances as
well, riddles could be a matter of life and death. The so-called ‘neck riddles’
(German: ‘Halslösungsrätsel’) exist to the present in traditional cultures,
but have also found a place in fiction. A condemned person is offered
the chance to save his neck by propounding a riddle the judge is unable
to answer.
Not every riddle is life-threatening. However, not being able to solve a
conundrum can at least cause embarrassment and a feeling of humiliation.
Of course, losing face is not as dangerous as losing your neck. But
regardless of whether we struggle with brain-teasers on our own or in a
group, in case of failure we feel excluded from a real or imagined circle,
from those who are capable of understanding the author’s intention. Every
riddle situation could in fact be seen as a contest: between the inventor
and his public on the one hand and between the addressees among
themselves on the other. In each case, a trial of strength takes place. Even
if many riddles can be regarded sub specie ludi, they pose a problem that
needs to be solved. No matter how playful or serious their intention,
riddles are a subtle way to attain (or lose) power and to display (or forfeit)
superiority in competence and cleverness.
Because of their special form of presentation and communication,
riddles have attracted the attention of scholars from various disciplines,
who variously focus on their literary, psychological, philosophical,
sociological and anthropological facets. This seems to be at odds with the 1
2 Introduction
riddle’s appearance in today’s popular culture. Judging from the wealth of

books such as Jumbo Jokes and Riddles Book: Hours of Gut-busting Fun! or
Mein bunter Kinderrätselspaß – to name just two examples with especially
imaginative titles – nowadays riddles are often associated with the realm
of childhood learning and/or dismissed as a mere diversion, serving only
to give us a good laugh. Today riddles are indeed mainly found in close
proximity to crosswords and Sudokus, and one quickly forgets that they
have a long-standing tradition and – contrary to our present-day perspec-
tive – were often considered pinnacles of learning and wisdom. Conun-
drums frequently touched upon fundamental metaphysical and religious
issues. Above all, they can be found in many literary masterpieces in poetry
or prose and offer thought for extensive theoretical reflection.
A crucial question – or rather a series of questions – immediately comes
to mind when thinking about riddles: what is it that drives people to
express themselves in a dark and untransparent manner, in a way that is
not immediately understandable and needs to be unravelled first, like a
knot that must be untied?1 And why are so many people attracted to
riddles, and why do they want to take up the challenge and get involved
in the process of deciphering the riddle?
Whereas we usually associate riddles with literature, this book is about
riddles in the music of the Renaissance. For the non-musicological
reader this might come as a surprise. How can a riddle be expressed in
music? What is it we have to guess? As we will see, the key to a musical
riddle always resides in the notation. It is the written form that the
composer conceives as a conundrum that needs to be solved. The early
modern period was the heyday of musical riddle culture. Composers
revelled in wrapping their music in an enigmatic guise and leaving it
up to the performers to figure out how to interpret it. They deliberately
complicated their musical texts in order to engage the performer in
an insiders’ intellectual game, a process of obfuscation, discovery and
delight. The enigmatic element could be couched in a well-known verbal
inscription – taken from an astonishing variety of sources – which
suggested the technique the singer had to apply to the notation. The
encoding could also stem from an image, which often visualised the
essence of the riddle and added to the symbolic qualities of the compos-
ition as a whole.
1
See the title of a collection of essays edited by G. Hasan-Rokem and D. Shulman, Untying the
Knot: On Riddles and Other Enigmatic Modes (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1996).
Introduction 3
From about the middle of the fifteenth century onwards, leading

composers such as Antoine Busnoys, Jacob Obrecht and Josquin des Prez
came up with some extremely complicated riddles in their masses, motets
and chansons. They initiated the culture of the enigmatic in music, which
was to continue for many decades – in fact even centuries. This is not to say
that the Franco-Flemish polyphonists were the very first to conceive musical
riddles – one needs only to think of some highly sophisticated puzzles from
the Ars subtilior of the late fourteenth century or the anonymous ballade
En la maison Dedalus (fittingly depicted in the form of a labyrinth, hence
imbued with a high degree of self-referentiality) – but it seems fair to say that
these are rather isolated examples that do not represent the musical state of
affairs at their time. Around 1450, however, the cultivation of the enigmatic
starts to gain much larger dimensions and becomes an integral part of
musical thinking. These pieces provoked very diverging reactions – as most
riddles do – from composers, singers and theorists, and turn up in all
kinds of sources, including not only music prints, manuscripts and treatises,
but also paintings, intarsia and even linen cloths as well. Their widespread
transmission indicates that musical riddles inscribed themselves in the
general taste for the enigmatic in Renaissance culture.
Although there are significant differences between literary and musical
riddles in terms of conception, presentation and realisation, it was indispens-
able to approach musical riddles from an interdisciplinary perspective
(both on the methodological and on the practical levels) in order to provide
a comprehensive framework for the present study. Numerous theoretical
works about the nature and characteristics of riddles exist. Even if most
of them concentrate on the literary conundrum, they have proved to be
crucial for understanding the riddle in music as well. Indeed, although
riddles occur in various contexts, their very essence in terms of structure,
working and purpose brings to light striking similarities across disciplines.
In a seminal article, Dan Pagis offered a concise definition of a riddle:
‘A riddle is only that text which is intended to function as a riddle – a text
whose author . . . deliberately presents it to the reader as a challenge; and,
naturally, a riddle is a text able to function as a riddle, a text suited to being
a challenge, encoded through various devices, but still soluble through
the hints it contains.’2 Pagis’s definition is extremely useful, as it is at once
very specific and broad enough to include manifestations of the enigmatic
in other than literary contexts. In the following paragraphs, I wish to
2
D. Pagis, ‘Toward a Theory of the Literary Riddle’ in Hasan-Rokem and Shulman (eds.), Untying
the Knot, 81–108 at 81.
4 Introduction
develop further the points touched upon by Pagis and to highlight system-
atically the riddle’s constitutive elements. This dissection is needed in order
to arrive at what we could call an ‘ontology of the riddle’, which will
form a solid backdrop for the rest of this study. In what follows, I will be
using the words ‘text’, ‘author’ and ‘reader/recipient’ in the broadest sense.
By considering a ‘text’ as a set of symbols that transmits some kind of
informative message, an ‘author’ as the person who creates it and a ‘reader’
as the person who interprets the text, we can encompass literary, musical
and other art forms and their respective manifestations of the enigmatic.
When rereading Pagis’s definition, a series of terms immediately catches
the eye. Of central importance is the author’s intention: a riddle is a riddle
only when it is intended as such. This may appear to be a trivial criterion,
but its purpose is to exclude those texts that – for several possible reasons –
are puzzling to us, but were not so intended by the author.3 A riddle is
the result of the author’s deliberate encoding. It is a text that wants to be a
challenge for its recipients, but offers clues for its solution at the same time.
But what exactly does this challenge consist of and how is it communicated
to the reader? An essay by Don Handelman, published in the same volume
as Pagis’s article, offers several important cues.4 It will become clear that
riddles – from the easiest to the most elaborate ones – present a very complex
form of communication with a special motivational and cognitive structure.
To begin with, a riddle’s challenge stems from its being addressed
to a potential reader by way of a question: ‘The riddle image is always
conceptually a question, be it syntactically interrogative or not.’5 The
question can thus be posed either explicitly – see, for example, the wealth
of literary riddles that are written in the first person, which underlines their
seeking to communicate with a potential reader – or implicitly, as in the
case of musical riddles, but in both instances it is clear that they present
us with a task that needs to be solved.6 They demand something from
3
As J. M. Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity in the Latin Tradition’, Mediaevalia, 19 (1996),
101–70 at 102 points out, ‘a reader’s perception of literary obscurity does not necessarily result
from a conscious effort on the part of an author. Sometimes it results from our distance as
readers from the original text and contexts.’ Other reasons he mentions are vagaries in
transmission and the linguistic shortcomings of today’s readers.
4
D. Handelman, ‘Traps of Trans-Formation: Theoretical Convergences between Riddle and
Ritual’ in Hasan-Rokem and Shulman (eds.), Untying the Knot, 37–61.
5
E. K. Maranda, ‘Theory and Practice of Riddle Analysis’, Journal of American Folklore, 84
(1971), 51–61 at 54.
6
This is what C. Holdefer, ‘Reading the Enigma: The Play within the Play’ in S. Bikialo and J.
Dürrenmatt (eds.), L’énigme (Université de Poitiers, 2003), 41–50 at 42 has called the riddle’s
ritualisation and celebration of difficulty.
Introduction 5
the reader. With their interrogative structure, riddles seek to attract

the reader’s attention and to establish a contact with him. However,
compared with an ordinary dialogic situation, the questioning character
of a riddle is different.7 Shlomith Cohen aptly describes this difference as
follows: ‘In genuine questioning, the questioner seeks some information
of which he is ignorant, and which he believes is accessible to the
addressee. In the case of riddles, however, the riddler is in possession
of some information which he manipulates the addressee into seeking.’8
In other words, a riddle is a question which already contains the
answer.9 This recursive, autotelic aspect gives the riddle a high degree
of self-referentiality.10 Apart from that, it is the inverted way of relating
information that gives the author a special kind of power: he already
knows the answer and invites the recipient to find it.
In considering the riddle as an inverted question, one can in fact
distinguish a series of interrelated aspects, which help us to refine the
riddle’s special communicative status. First of all, through its interrogative
nature, a riddle is targeted: it is meant to engage the attention of the reader
in a particular way and – as Handelman puts it – ‘it is purposive in
its thrust toward the accomplishment and actualization of an answer’.11
The author invites the reader to join his world, to explore it and to figure
out how it works, but does so – deliberately – by way of a question. Once
the reader has agreed to play the game, he is ‘trapped’ into the requirement
of an answer.12 He knows there is a solution, but only after he has spent
enough time to unravel the riddle’s meaning will he be able to find it.13
7
On the working of questioning in general, see J. Bruin, Homo interrogans: Questioning and the
Intentional Structure of Cognition (University of Ottawa Press, 2001).
8
S. Cohen, ‘Connecting through Riddles, or the Riddle of Connecting’ in Hasan-Rokem and
Shulman (eds.), Untying the Knot, 294–315.
9
See E. K. Maranda, ‘The Logic of Riddles’ in P. Maranda and E. K. Maranda (eds.), Structural
Analysis of Oral Tradition (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1971), 189–232 at
192. Related to this is Handelman’s remark that ‘the answer to the riddle image both leads
elsewhere . . . and returns to the question in the image – in this regard, the structure of the
riddle is recursive, a structure that contains feedback’ (‘Traps of Trans-Formation’, 42).
10
See Handelman, ‘Traps of Trans-Formation’, 43: ‘The answer completes the question, and
totally, thereby closing off question/answer as a whole – a self-contained unit in its entirety.’
11
Ibid., 42.
12
According to Handelman, ibid., 51, the riddle’s intentionality is indeed similar to the principle
of game, as it also operates with a set of rules: ‘Like riddle, game is a purposive, causal structure
with well-defined goals, that generates a limited number of outcomes.’
13
See also Holdefer, ‘Reading the Enigma’, 49: ‘Behind its mystery lies the seductive implication
that despite the perplexities that confront us, a meaning does exist, present and available,
burning to get our attention.’
6 Introduction
This also implies that a riddle, besides being intentional, has a processual
structure. As soon as he has decided to get involved, the recipient commits
himself to a process of guessing and thinking, in the knowledge that
no direct solution, no ready-made answer is possible. One is forced to
unveil the coded message first. The way towards the answer is as important
as the answer itself – this idea lies at the very heart of puzzling. This
process of trial and error is what Charles Holdefer has called the ‘drama-
tization of the reading process’, which is caused by the fact that the text
does not allow immediate understanding and forces the reader to cope
with it: this dramatisation ‘encapsulates the task of making sense, and puts
special emphasis on a certain aspect of reading: namely, when the reader
struggles, and the text resists’.14 In other words: when a reader engages in a
riddling context, he consents to torment – no pain, no gain.15
Consequently, there is always a risk involved with the solving of
riddles. Depending on the specific context, different implications can be
at stake. In literature, we often read about the person who, unable to give
the right answer, loses money, land, the hand of a woman or – even worse –
his life.16 In Finland, there is an interesting tradition, which – its ludic
context notwithstanding – reveals a great deal about the riddle’s inherent
functioning. It is told that persons who fail to answer a riddle correctly are
banished to Hymylä – the imaginary land of Smiles, where all functions are
turned upside down. Although the context is that of a game, persons are
afraid of being sent there, as it means they have not penetrated ‘the interior
boundary of a riddle’.17 Even if the aforementioned examples are fictional,
they essentially point in the same direction: through failing to come up
with the right solution, one is ‘punished’, excluded in some way or another.
This exclusion can have concrete, material consequences (as we have just
seen) or be situated on a more subtle, psychological level. Indeed, through
14
Ibid., 42.
15
The riddle’s paradox of inviting and resisting is also expressed by C. F. Ménestrier’s La
philosophie des images énigmatiques (Lyons: Guerrier, 1694): ‘L’énigme est un jeu qui cherche à
donner du plaisir en donnant de la peine.’
16
The narrative and dramatic potential of these aspects seems to have attracted composers of
opera as well. Most famous are the riddle scenes in Puccini’s and Busoni’s Turandot, where they
occur in a marriage contest. In Carl Orff’s Die Kluge (after a fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm),
a clever peasant’s daughter is asked three riddles, after which the king wishes to marry her.
Harrison Birtwistle’s Gawain is based on the Middle English romance Sir Gawain and the
Green Knight, during the first act of which a fool presents a series of riddles at Christmas-time.
Another interesting case is Eberhard Schmidt’s Der Schuhu und die fliegende Prinzessin from
1976. The protagonist (the Schuhu) is a bird-man who can see by night, solve all riddles and
give advice, thus representing an all-knowing creature.
17
Quoted from Handelman, ‘Traps of Trans-Formation’, 45.
Introduction 7
his defeat a reader can get the embarrassing feeling that his intellectual
faculties are insufficient, that he is not among those who were clever
enough to find the answer.
This circumstance also points to the social pressure that goes with
solving riddles. They are a vehicle for confirming or denying someone’s
participation in a specific interpretative group. Through riddles an indi-
vidual or a group of individuals can establish intellectual identity and
authority. Riddles are an effective means to exert social power and to
exclude the uninitiated.18 In short, when trying to solve a riddle, one does
not want to look like a fool or – when several people are involved, as is
the case with solving musical riddles in performance – to be inferior to the
rest of the group. We even find evidence of this in the words of leading
Renaissance music theorists such as Gioseffo Zarlino, who in his Istitutioni
harmoniche explicitly states that a singer is forced to deal with all kinds
of complexities ‘lest he become known as a clumsy ignoramus’.19 And
when Franchino Gafurio attacked some of Giovanni Spataro’s enigmatic
works, the latter took revenge by accusing his colleague of a lack of
subtilitas.20 Even if Spataro’s condemnation is clearly motivated by stra-
tegical considerations, it nevertheless shows that nothing was worse than
passing for an idiot who cannot understand puzzles.21
Due to their interrogative structure, riddles are innately interactional.22
Like no other genre, the riddle explicitly seeks – indeed, cannot live
18
To quote C. T. Scott, ‘Some Approaches to the Study of the Riddle’ in E. B. Atwood and A. T.
Hill (eds.), Studies in Language, Literature, and Culture of the Middle Ages and Later
(Austin, TX: University of Texas, 1969), 111–27 at 112, engaging in a riddle also reveals ‘the
desire of individuals to gain admittance to “in-groups” of one kind or another’. It is not a
coincidence, then, that in the late Middle Ages people started to do business with secrets, by
putting their know-how at the disposal of those who wanted to pay for it. See especially D. Jütte,
Das Zeitalter des Geheimnisses: Juden, Christen und die Ökonomie des Geheimen (1400–1800)
(Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011).
19
G. Zarlino, Le istitutioni harmoniche (Venice, 1558), bk. 3, ch. 71: ‘se facesse altramente,
sarebbe riputato (dirò cosi) un goffo et uno ignorante’ (p. 278).
20
Letter from Giovanni Spataro to Giovanni Del Lago (1 September 1528), published in
A Correspondence of Renaissance Musicians, ed. B. J. Blackburn, E. E. Lowinsky and C. A. Miller
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 330–3 (Italian) and 333–4 (English translation).
21
One is also reminded here of the anecdote in Giovan Tomaso Cimello’s manuscript treatise
about a singer who – in the presence of the composer – was unable to understand a verbal
canon in Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales. The singer’s failure is said to
have caused Josquin to laugh – and probably to ridicule him in front of the others. See J. Haar,
‘Lessons in Theory from a Sixteenth-Century Composer’ in R. Charteris (ed.), Altro Polo: Essays
on Italian Music in the Cinquecento (Sydney: Frederick May Foundation for Italian Studies,
1990), 51–81.
22
Cohen, ‘Connecting through Riddles’.
8 Introduction
without – the active participation of the reader. Riddles thus require an

active recipient, who has to interpret the enigmatic formulation and to
decode the author’s intention. Without an assiduous reader, the riddle
will remain a riddle. It asks for the perseverance and flair of a detective,
who collects the evidence provided in situ and tries to makes sense of
it by being both intuitive and analytic.23 This characteristic also seems
to have inspired newer forms of literature. Indeed, Nick Montfort
considers riddles as a prototype of the interactive fiction that underlies
a whole range of today’s computer games.24 Without going into detail
about the technicalities of the riddle’s modern counterpart, it is indeed
striking that at the centre of both phenomena is a puzzle that needs to be
unlocked by the ‘user’. The ‘text adventure’ (as Montfort calls it) that one
witnesses in the process of solving puzzles is a remarkable feature of both
kinds of literature. It is a way to engage the reader, to attract his attention
and to have him play an active part in the creation of a work: ‘Solving
a riddle requires that the workings of the riddle’s world be explored and
understood and that its rules be discovered.’25 What is more, through
his active involvement, the reader or performer becomes a constitutive
element in the process of the actualisation and materialisation of the
text: the clarity that is achieved is the result of his reasoning. Indeed, it
is suggested that he becomes a second ‘inventor’. Even though the author
is still in control, he forcefully integrates the reader in the realisation
of his work.
However, the author should take care not to make his riddle too difficult.
Otherwise, the reader might get impatient and peek at the solution
right away – that is, if a solution is provided at all – or he might get bored
and stop searching for a solution. As Pagis puts it, in those two cases
‘the readers simply do not take part in the game, do not enter the riddling
situation, and, of course, miss out on the pleasure of deciphering’.26 We
will see that this is exactly what happens with some musical riddles
from the Renaissance: if a group of singers experienced a composition
as too enigmatic, they gave up trying and laid the piece aside. Although
such testimonies are not very frequent – they usually occur in letters and
treatises – they offer concrete evidence of some singers’ struggle with a
23
See also the terms ‘lecteur-chercheur’ and ‘lecteur-décrypteur’ in J. Céard and J.-C. Margolin,
Rébus de la Renaissance: Des images qui parlent, 2 vols. (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 1986),
vol. I, 112.
24
N. Montfort, Twisty Little Passages: An Approach to Interactive Fiction (Cambridge, MA and
London: MIT Press, 2003).
25
Ibid., 35. 26
Pagis, ‘Toward a Theory of the Literary Riddle’, 84.
Introduction 9
riddle and, not being able to come up with a satisfactory solution, their
subsequent decision to leave it unsung. Evidently, such sources also allow
us to assess the limits of knowledge and training within specific circles
of musicians.
Because the reader’s engagement is explicitly demanded, riddles are
an interesting field for reader-response theory. Here, major attention is
paid to the individual reader’s response to a text. Contrary to other theories
that focus primarily on the author or the work, the premise of this theory is
that the ‘implicit reader’ is actively involved in the text by reacting to
its indeterminacies, the expectations that are created, and the information
that is given. The potential role of the reader depends of course on many
factors, among them his preconception, his literacy and his general
ability to engage in a text on the one hand, but also on the nature of the
text. According to the advocates of the reader-response theory, literature
that limits one’s potential understanding to a single aspect – which is the
case for so-called ‘closed texts’ – is less rewarding than ‘open texts’, as these
leave more room for the reader’s hermeneutic activity and allow multiple
interpretations. In the case of riddles, the ambiguity and openness of the
text are the very essence of its being. They are part of the author’s strategy.
This also means that the author must conceive his riddle in such a
way that it contains both enigmatic and soluble elements. He must conceal
and reveal, hide and show, at the same time. The challenge should be
conquerable. As Dan Pagis puts it: ‘The author is obliged to pose a riddle
tantalizing in its opacity, yet fair in the clues it provides.’27 The injunction
is not new: in his letter Ad Simplicianum, the Church Father Augustine
expresses this subtle balance as follows: ‘An enigma . . . does not uncover
the most evident aspect nor does it absolutely hide the truth.’28 The same
goes, of course, for musical riddles: here as well, the music is encoded
and cannot be sung as such, but at the same time the composer offers
clues – by way of an inscription, an image and/or musical symbols – that
help the singer to unravel the composer’s intention and allow a correct
performance of the piece. As we shall see, in music treatises of the Renais-
sance, theorists were very well aware of this subtle balance. Writers such
as Pietro Aaron and Lodovico Zacconi, for instance, explicitly thematise
27
Ibid., 84.
28
Augustine, De diversis quaestionibus ad Simplicianum: ‘Aenigma vero . . . nec evidentissimam
detegit speciem nec prorsus obtegit veritatem.’ Translation quoted from N. P. Stork,
Through a Gloss Darkly: Aldhelm’s Riddles in the British Library MS Royal 12.C.xxiii, Studies
and Texts, 98 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1990), 61.
10 Introduction
the tension between revealing (‘patefacere’, ‘manifestare’, ‘revelare’) and

obscuring (‘occultare’, ‘nascondere’) in musical enigmas and encourage
composers to reach a reasonable equilibrium between them.29
To describe this combination of opacity and translucence, I will use the
term obscurity as a key concept. In theoretical reflections of the enigmatic
from Classical Antiquity onwards, riddles were invariably associated
with obscuritas. This tradition was passed on to the music theory of
the Renaissance, especially in the definitions of canonic inscriptions,
for which adjectives such as ‘obscurus’, ‘velatus’ or ‘secretus’ abound.
In recent times, several noteworthy studies have been dedicated to the
phenomenon of obscurity in literature.30 As we shall see, obscurity is a
concept with relative boundaries, as its interpretation depends on
the perspective of the recipient, his experience and education. What is
perceived as obscure by one person may be self-evident for another.
Essentially, obscurity does not mean total darkness, but rather a state in
between. Riddles play with exactly this twilight state: they are neither
clear (for then they would not be puzzling) nor impenetrable (for then
they would be a mystery or a secret) – their mixture has no predeter-
mined measure. The riddle’s obscurity makes it resistant to immediate
comprehension and consumption. A riddle wants to tell us something,
but does so in an indirect, i.e. encoded way. Because the riddle presents
itself to us as a challenge, it stimulates our curiosity, it whets the appetite
and creates certain expectations. We know there is a solution, but only
if we search long enough will we be able to find it.31 This period of
‘suspense’ is an interesting psychological element that underlies every
riddle, be it of a literary or a musical nature.32 A riddle occupies
one as long as the mission has not been accomplished. The tension that
springs from the act of searching is released in the joy of victory once
the solution has been found. As Päivi Mehtonen formulates it in her
29
See P. Aaron, Libri tres de institutione harmonica (Bologna, 1516) and L. Zacconi, Canoni
musicali (Pesaro, Bibioteca Oliveriana, MS 559; c. 1622–7). See also below, Ch. 3.
30
See especially Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity’ and P. Mehtonen, Obscure Language, Unclear
Literature: Theory and Practice from Quintilian to the Enlightenment, trans. R. MacGilleon,
Suomalaisen Tiedeakatemian Toimituksia, Humaniora, 320 (Helsinki: Academia Scientiarum
Fennica, 2003).
31
M. Long, ‘Singing through the Looking Glass: Child’s Play and Learning in Medieval Italy’,
JAMS, 61 (2008), 253–306 at 276 discusses the ‘pleasure that proceeds from the fun of
disorientation from which emerges triumph’.
32
In this respect, it is not for nothing that Freud considered the riddle as a prototype of
exploration and curiosity.
Introduction 11
study on obscurity: ‘The ordeal holds out the promise of ultimate

reward.’33 Related to this is the question of what happens when one is
not able to unravel the mystery. Several options can be conjectured: does
the failure result from one’s own ignorance, from textual problems or
from the author’s neglecting to formulate his intentions in a clear way?34
The very fact that these questions are not always easy to answer makes
the riddle a tricky object once one has decided to ‘play the game’.
Conundrums thus stimulate our fantasy and make us explore several
directions. Even if there (usually) is only one solution to a riddle, its cryptic
nature forces us to investigate a whole range of possible paths. In music as
well, the singer has to use both his cleverness and imagination to connect
the sensus allegoricus of the verbal inscription with the evidence of the
musical notation. The riddle can thus offer us a new way of seeing and
understanding the world in general and the objects or phenomena it
describes in particular. The author communicates his ideas and invites
the recipient to share his view. In this context, it should be noted that the
very etymology of the word ‘riddle’ is related to the Anglo-Saxon ‘raedan’
(German: ‘raten’), meaning to guess, to advise, to explain, to interpret. This
is also why riddles were often used as a teaching tool, fulfilling specific
didactic purposes, such as the inculcation of linguistic or religious rules.
But in a broader sense as well, a riddle throws new light on common
‘objects’, since it elicits their peculiar qualities. According to Montfort, ‘the
riddle is best at giving a new perspective on something already familiar in
certain ways, in reorganizing our perception or thinking’.35 Or, as the
anthropologist and riddle expert Elli Köngäs Maranda puts it: ‘Riddles
33
Mehtonen, Obscure Language, Unclear Literature, 85. In this context, the work of George
Steiner and Michael Riffaterre is relevant. Both literary critics deal with the difficulty one
encounters when reading texts and situate obscurity in a broader context. G. Steiner, ‘On
Difficulty’ in his On Difficulty and Other Essays (Oxford University Press, 1978), 18–47,
discusses the meaning of difficulty as a challenge for the interpreter. M. Riffaterre,
‘Undecidability as Hermeneutic Constraint’ in P. Collier and H. Geyer-Ryan (eds.), Literary
Theory Today (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990), 109–24 is equally convinced that
the eventual resolution of obscurity should be the cause of optimism instead of despair.
In the case of riddles, we know there is a solution, which assumes a positive attitude on the part
of the recipient. Obscurity should thus not be seen as an obstacle that needs to be removed,
but an inherent part of the riddle’s process.
34
See also J. M. Ziolkowski, ‘Introduction’, Mediaevalia, 19 (1996), 1–21.
35
Montfort, Twisty Little Passages, 60. Ibid., 50: ‘The way in which the riddlee arrives at the
riddle’s answer involves understanding the relationship of the parts of the riddle and grasping a
new ordering of things.’ A very similar thought is expressed in E. K. Maranda, ‘Riddles and
Riddling: An Introduction’, Journal of American Folklore, 89 (1976), 127–37 at 137, when she
writes that riddles ‘exercise the mind to understand the unknown, starting with the known
conditions’.
12 Introduction
make a point of playing with conceptual boundaries and crossing them

for the pleasure of showing that things are not quite as stable as they
appear.’36 By so doing, the riddle ‘leaves reality changed, restructured, its
basic categories restated, recognized, affirmed’.37
When applying this idea to musical enigmas, one can indeed say that
composers of riddles literally offered performers a new way of looking
at a notated melody. To take a well-known example: the simplicity of the
famous L’homme armé tune inspired several generations of composers to
incorporate it in their masses. In many cases, the singers had to perform
all kinds of procedures on it, ranging from inversion and retrograde
to augmentation and diminution, and to other even more complex tech-
niques, which are hinted at by way of verbal instructions. Although
the melody – with its clearly delineated phrases and easily memorable
structure – is always recognisable as such on the page, the aural result is
different and, in some cases, completely obliterated in performance.38
There is thus a fundamental tension between ‘reality’ and ‘appearance’:
the notated music is not what it will sound like, as the singer is requested
to do something with it. Musical riddles thus introduce a new element: the
transformation of sound.
This brings us to another central characteristic of riddles, namely their
transformative nature. In rhetorical handbooks from Classical Antiquity
onwards, a riddle is treated as a (subclass of) metaphor: it establishes
an analogy between two objects or ideas, which is conveyed by the use
of one word in place of another. The Greek μεταφορά indeed means ‘to
transfer’, ‘to carry over’: a word is transferred from one context into
another by virtue of association, comparison or resemblance.39 As we shall
see, rhetoricians usually consider enigma as an allegory that has become
(too) obscure (‘allegoria obscurior’). Fantasy and imagination, on the part
36
Maranda, ‘Riddles and Riddling’, 131.
37
See the introduction to Hasan-Rokem and Shulman (eds.), Untying the Knot, 3.
38
The ‘aesthetics of notational fixity’ are discussed in E. C. Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons and
Notational Complexity in Fifteenth-Century Music’, PhD thesis, University of
Pennsylvania (2012).
39
To take a well-known example: when the Sphinx proposes to Oedipus a riddle about an animal
that goes on a varying number of feet as the day goes by, each element of this sentence
stands for something else – the animal stands for man, who goes on hands and feet when a
baby, then goes on two feet and finally on three, needing support from a stick when growing
older; the phases of the day stand for the different phases of life. For a linguistic approach to
riddles, see J. M. Dienhart, ‘A Linguistic Look at Riddles’, in his The Language of Riddles,
Humor and Literature: Six Essays by John M. Dienhart, ed. N. Nørgaard (Odense: Syddansk
Universitetsforlag, 2010), 13–47.
Introduction 13
of both the inventor and the recipient, are needed to make or discover
the tertium comparationis.
In this respect, I was especially struck by a sentence in an article by
Northrop Frye on ‘Charms and Riddles’.40 According to the author, the
riddle ‘illustrates the association in the human mind between the visual
and the conceptual’. The solution of the riddle is indeed situated in the
reader’s mind, as he has to make a connection between what is written and
what is meant. The relation between those two levels always requires a
kind of transformation, as the image used by the author needs to be
deciphered by the reader. This in turn is intimately related to the riddle’s
inherent ambivalence and syntactic multivalence: what is said/written has
more than one meaning. Something is suggested by way of an image or
allegory, but it is the reader’s task to discover what is actually meant.
I find this idea of transformation very fruitful for discussing musical
riddles. Here as well, the relation between what is notated and how it has
to be sung always implies a transformation (in rhythmic and/or melodic
terms). This process takes place in the singer’s mind: he sees something,
but cannot sing it as it is written, as the notation has to be subjected
to alteration, which is hinted at through a verbal instruction and/or an
accompanying image. Like a literary riddle, which – as a consequence of its
metaphorical structure – plays with the ‘double sense’ of the words,
the ambivalence of the notation is central to the musical riddle too.
The notated melody is at the same time a point of reference and a flexible
entity that needs to be transformed in the performer’s mind. In other
words, the notation and the solution are intrinsically linked on a concep-
tual level, but drift apart in the performance. And the latter of course
brings its own difficulties. Indeed, in a musical context, there is another,
equally important aspect: once the conceptual element has been solved,
the singer still needs to realise the notation in real time. Dropping, adding
and rearranging notes, or singing a line in inversion or retrograde are
efforts that in some cases pose a further set of practical problems that may
be conceptually far removed from the initial difficulty involved in solving
the puzzle.
A fundamental question that needs to be raised has to do with the
riddler’s motivation: why did writers, painters and composers feel the need
to express themselves in a coded, enigmatic way? Why did some com-
posers accompany some of their works with verbal instructions and
40
N. Frye, ‘Charms and Riddles’, in his Spiritus mundi: Essays on Literature, Myth, and Society
(Bloomington and London: Indiana University Press, 1976), 123–47 at 124.
14 Introduction
images? What was the motivation behind the intentional obscurity?

And why could they not simply have presented their work as a ‘normal’,
plain text? Precisely because of their vital importance, these questions are
anything but easy to answer. Nevertheless, in this book I attempt to find
ways to explain the musicians’ taste for the enigmatic and to situate it in
a broader cultural context.
When studying the history of the literary riddle, one often sees that
they were used as ‘philological amusement among scholars’, to borrow
Jan Ziolkowski’s words.41 Indeed, the riddle often plays with the double
effect of ‘docere’ and ‘delectare’, of teaching and offering pleasure at the
same time. It is recreational material for an intellectual elite. A group of
congenial spirits could enjoy themselves by solving complex questions.
They could display learnedness under the pretext of a game.42 Riddles can
be considered a core element of the Renaissance maxim of the serio ludere,
which sought to wrap serious issues in a ludic cloak. This double attraction
is well described by the Jesuit priest Claude-François Ménestrier, writing
in the seventeenth century, who explains why enigmas appeal to us:
‘Because the riddle is an ingenious mystery, it has to give pleasure. This
can only be acquired by discovering what it means and by taking away
its veil. Especially in the case of riddles we taste this double pleasure: to
learn what we did not know and to admire the skill, spirit and artifice of
the inventor.’43
Ménestrier’s appreciation is remarkable and raises several interesting
points. What is most important is that both the inventor and the recipient
can ‘benefit’ from their occupation with riddles. The author can show his
talent in inventing sophisticated brain games, hence confirm his cleverness
through a playful medium – sometimes extremely complex ideas are
41
Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity’. However, this is not to say that riddles only circulated in
intellectual circles. As we shall see below, riddles in fact occured in all sections of the
population. From a contemporary point of view, it should be noted that the riddle practice of
tribes from different continents has been a main source for anthropologists for studying oral
riddles.
42
See also A. Redondo, ‘Le jeu de l’énigme dans l’Espagne du XVIe siècle et du début du XVIIe
siècle: Aspect ludique et subversion’ in P. Ariès and J.-C. Margolin (eds.), Les jeux à la
Renaissance (Paris: Vrin, 1982), 445–58 at 445: ‘L’énigme se situe ainsi dans une zone où la
gratuité et le plaisir ludiques rejoignent la gravité et l’importance de l’activité intellectuelle
réfléchie.’
43
Ménestrier, Philosophie des images énigmatiques, 108: ‘Puisque l’Enigme est un mistere
ingenieux il faut qu’elle puisse donner du plaisir, ce qui ne se fait qu’en découvrant ce qu’elle
signifie, & en dévelopant ses voiles . . . Or c’est particulierement dans les Enigmes que l’on
goûte ce double plaisir, celui d’aprendre ce que l’on ne savoit pas: celui d’admirer l’adresse,
l’esprit, & l’artifice de celui qui a fait l’Enigme.’
Introduction 15
hidden behind a deceptively simple riddle and vice versa. The recipient for
his part can enjoy his endeavour in uncovering what was concealed, take
pride in his perseverance, show his ability to crack the code and then
appreciate its solution. We are reminded here that the Hebrew word
for ‘riddle’, hîda, also means sharpness, which could be said to point both
to the inventor’s wit in encrypting a message in an imaginative way and
to the recipient’s capacity and acumen in untangling it.
Riddles thus play with the tension between the author’s and the reader’s
cleverness. However, although – as we have seen before – the recipient is
actively involved in the actualisation of the work, the moment of equilib-
rium is illusory. In the case of music, for example, the composer requires
the singer to take an active part in the disentanglement of his intentions
and the subsequent accomplishment of the composition, but it is he,
after all, who possesses the key to the work, who has conceived it and
wrapped it in an enigmatic veil. In defiance of the singer’s ability to untie
the knot, the composer still exerts full power over his target. As in a game
situation, no matter how much room for creativity and manoeuvre the
players seem to have, the inventor defines the rules and guides the players
towards the outcome. In his study on ‘Theories of Obscurity in the
Latin Tradition’, Jan Ziolkowski hypothesises that the incorporation of
enigmatic elements was used ‘to certify the credibility and authority of the
author’ and ‘to put his distinctive seal or signature’.44 In the case of music
as well, composers must have considered obscurity as a vehicle to empha-
sise their professional status and – as Rob Wegman puts it – ‘to elevate
composition to a point where the “tricks of the trade” became inaccessible
to outsiders, who needed to be spoon-fed with resolutiones instead’.45 The
‘voluntas compositoris’, which is how Johannes Tinctoris and Bartolomeus
Ramis de Pareia spoke about the use of enigmatic verbal canons, occupied
a central place in this scenario. Indeed, Ziolkowski also speculates that
forcing performers to cope with all kinds of difficulties was a subtle yet
powerful way ‘to guarantee that a composition would retain its integrity
once it entered the public domain’.46
Another question is what happens when the riddle has been solved.
Clearly, the recipient can experience the joy of decoding and the satisfac-
tion of his achievement on the one hand, and savour the triumph of his
44
Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity’, 146.
45
R. C. Wegman, ‘From Maker to Composer: Improvisation and Musical Authorship in the Low
Countries, 1450–1500’, JAMS, 49 (1996), 409–79 at 470.
46
16 Introduction
cleverness on the other. But equally important is the question of what

happens with the riddle itself. After its solution, the riddle is no longer a
riddle, as the veils have been removed and the tension has dissolved. What
remains is a text. Sometimes, once the answer has been found, this text
appears to be no more than a triviality; it self-destructs and the reader
quickly loses interest.47 Yet, in many cases, after the solution the reader
can still appreciate the text as such and admire both its construction and –
depending on the contents – the philosophical, religious or cosmological
message it tries to convey. To quote Pagis: ‘Many riddles . . . become
impressive poems when solved for the very reason that their metaphorical
texture is now revealed and can be appreciated in its own right, and no
longer as a system of encoding and deception.’48
In a fascinating monograph on the narratological structure of Apuleius’s
highly complex Golden Ass, John J. Winkler developed a theory about
first and second readings.49 Whereas a first reading of every kind of
text is ‘innocent’ and unprejudiced, a second reading includes the entire
text and the post factum reflections on it. In the case of Apuleius’s
novel, the informed reader is now fully alert to the narrative traps and
ambiguities the author has set. Upon rereading, it turns out that Apuleius
has played a ‘game of outwitting’ with his reader, which Winkler aptly
coins ‘hermeneutic entertainment’.50 When reading the Golden Ass as a
detective story – which Winkler in fact suggests – we can see how ‘the
solution at the end . . . reinterprets the earlier events’.51 The same could
be said of riddles. Once the reader knows the solution, he can ‘look back’,
view the text in a different light and discover (and/or analyse) the double
senses the author used to confuse him.
How could such a first and second reading work in the case of musical
riddles – or, to be more precise, in their actual performance? When
confronted with a riddle, the singers do not know the outcome. However,
47
R. Wilbur, ‘The Persistence of Riddles’, Yale Review, 78 (1989), 333–51 at 333 gives two
examples of meta-riddles which thematise this point: ‘When one doesn’t know what it is, then it
is something; / but when one knows what it is, then it is nothing’ and ‘When first I appear
I seem mysterious, / but when I’m explained I am nothing serious.’
48
Pagis, ‘Toward a Theory of the Literary Riddle’, 98. See also Montfort, Twisty Little Passages, 62:
‘When the explicit mysteries of an interactive fiction are solved, a work that becomes more
profoundly mysterious can be experienced again with interest even when the solution is
known.’ This can also be because the piece or poem was created first, and then mystified. In the
more obscure musical examples that was surely the case.
49
J. J. Winkler, Auctor and Actor: A Narratological Reading of Apuleius’s Golden Ass (Berkeley,
Los Angeles and London: University of California Press, 1985).
50 51
Ibid., esp. 10–11. Ibid., 58.
Introduction 17
once they have solved the riddle and know how to sing the piece, a ‘second
reading’ of the music is possible. The singers’ attitude will be different, as
they now can perform the piece without going through the difficulty
of having to decipher everything once more. Although the performers
are perfectly aware of the tricks and are prepared for the traps, they might
even make a show of pretending to solve it on the spot, that is, letting
the original obscure notation be shown while they perform something
that cannot be seen.52 A source can thus become an aide-memoire for
something that has long been solved and could be retrieved from memory.
When comparing literary and musical riddles, a crucial difference arises
in terms of their ‘afterlife’. The main difference resides in the act of
communication. Whereas in other art forms, broadly speaking, only two
parties are involved – the writer and the reader, the painter and the
spectator – whose interest converges in the medium, in music at least
three actors are involved: the composer, a group of singers – sometimes
including the composer – and the public. This basic scheme, of course,
is valid for all types of music making, but gains special significance in the
case of riddles. Indeed, whereas literary texts can be appreciated and
contemplated in silence by the reader, in the case of music the actual goal
is – or should be – performance by a group of singers. In other words,
music generally fulfils its proper function only when it is being sung
or played.
However, as soon as a riddle is sung, it is no longer a riddle. The
listener – however he is to be defined in the Renaissance – can only
hear the solved version, as it was decoded by the performers. The sung
version of a musical enigma is a paradox par excellence: it is and is not
(or no longer is) a riddle. Yet, it is not until its performance that the
true musical qualities of a riddle can be judged. Then it is interesting to
see ‘what is left’ and to evaluate the composition as a composition. Can the
piece be said to have gained extra value through its encryption, or does
it turn out that the aural result was of secondary importance? In other
words, was the enigmatic element more important than the musical value?
Was the idea prioritised above the actual realisation of the work? What
came first: the music or the riddle, i.e. did the composer first write the
music and then devise the complications or vice versa? Or do we not need
both the written and the aural version to appreciate the riddle properly?
These are vital questions that will be given major attention in the present
52
My thanks to Bonnie Blackburn for drawing my attention to this possibility.
18 Introduction
study. We shall see that these are topics that also occupied the discourse
on music theory in the Renaissance and they give us the opportunity to
analyse the reception of musical riddles in various circles. Like literary
riddles, they often provoke extreme reactions, ranging from pure enthusi-
asm to a critical scrutinising of the need for musical enigmas at all.
Whereas the literary riddle has received ample attention in scholarship,
the situation is drastically different for music in general and the Renais-
sance musical riddle in particular. To be sure, there exists a whole range
of case studies on individual riddles – of which many will be discussed in
the following pages – but a comprehensive study of the phenomenon itself
is missing. With this book, I hope to fill this remarkable gap. My primary
aim is not so much to present solutions of musical puzzles – although
this has inevitably been part of my research – but rather to investigate the
roots of and reasons for their existence as well as their reception.53
We shall see that music inscribed itself in a general tendency towards the
encrypted presentation of a message. I shall therefore discuss musical
riddles against a larger cultural background, which I hope will be relevant
for both musicologists and non-musicologists.
In Chapter 1, I contextualise the riddle in a historical and interdisciplin-
ary perspective, presenting an overview of some milestones in the history
of the literary riddle from Classical Antiquity onwards. After this literary
survey, a section is devoted to the use of obscurity, which – as we have seen
above – is central to riddles, as they are always intrinsically veiled by a
certain darkness. Obscurity was a highly controversial phenomenon, which
was not well received in every context, period and discipline. The concept
regularly turns up in rhetorical treatises, where it is generally rejected
because it is opposed to the ideal of clarity. In the Christian era, however,
the term was recuperated in the writings of theologians and writers,
where it received a positive interpretation in the service of religious and
literary ideals. In these writings, obscurity is no longer an obstacle that
needs to be removed, but becomes a vital element of the aesthetic agenda,
as it invites interpretation, challenges the reader, and sharpens his mind.
It is here that the roots of the positive evaluation of riddles in the Renais-
sance in general and music in particular should be situated.
Chapter 2 is devoted to the practice of devising musical riddles and the
composer’s motivation to do so. As the enigmatic element always resides
in the notation, this aspect is highlighted from different perspectives.
53
For a recent anthology of musical riddles, see K. Ruhland, Musikalische Rätsel (Passau:
Stutz, 2009).
Introduction 19
Notation can play on complexity in two directions. On the one hand, it

can present complex musical constructions in a deceptively simple way,
and on the other, it can make relatively easy inventions look complex. In
both cases, the notation is more than just notation, more than a mere
passage between the composer’s idea and the sounding result: it conveys a
special mode of thinking, which the composer shares with the performers.
It is thus necessary to investigate why composers chose to notate the music
in the way they did: why did they wrap their music in a certain obscurity?
Why was it not immediately ‘ready for consumption’ but needed to be
deciphered first? Furthermore, I discuss the techniques by which com-
posers manipulated the notation and the inscriptions they used to hint at
this. The range of transformations the singers were expected to perform
(from retrograde and inversion to mensuration games, to more ‘fanciful’
procedures such as substitution, rearrangement, extraction, omission and
addition) is enormous, as are the ways in which veiled inscriptions suggest
how this is to be done. I discuss the kind of sources (biblical, literary,
philosophical, etc.) from which these verbal canons are derived, the precise
nature of the ‘dark hints’ they contain, and the way they address the
performer. Finally, attention is devoted to the outcome of the riddle. As
we shall see, like literary riddles, not every source is so ‘user-friendly’ as to
present the written-out solution. Many manuscripts and prints indeed
expected their users to figure out the solution themselves. In other cases,
they must have reckoned that the difficulties singers would have to cope
with were insurmountable, especially in the context of public performance.
The performer’s efforts were then facilitated either by having the brain-
teaser accompanied with its non-enigmatic result or – more drastically –
by dropping the riddle altogether and presenting only the resolutio. In still
other cases, handwritten additions make it clear that visual clues were
needed to arrive at a correct rendering of the work.
Chapter 3 maps the highly diverse reception of musical riddles in
theoretical treatises of the Renaissance. The chronological scope ranges
from the chapter on enigmatic inscriptions in Bartolomeus Ramis de
Pareia’s Musica practica (Bologna, 1482) to the presentation and discus-
sion of musical enigmas in the last book of Pietro Cerone’s El Melopeo y
maestro (Naples, 1613) and Lodovico Zacconi’s manuscript collection
of Canoni musicali (c. 1622–7). The opinion of theorists vis-à-vis riddles
ranges from an ardent appraisal as the summit of musical knowledge to a
virulent condemnation for all kinds of reasons. The focus variably lies
in the critical evaluation of the composer’s intentions, the effort that is
demanded from the performers, and the aural result of musical riddles,
20 Introduction
i.e. their effect on the listeners. It is possible to trace different positions,

depending on the intellectual context in which the theorist worked, on his
theoretical intentions and on his broader aesthetic agenda.
In Chapter 4, I present a series of case studies, in which the visual
arrangement of the music is at the centre of attention. The first section of
this final chapter concentrates on the similarities between encrypting
techniques in the fields of music and literature. I focus on ways in which
both experiment with the order and layout of their constituent parts.
Special forms of constrained writing such as acrostics and palindromes
indeed find their way into the music of the Renaissance. A second focus
of the chapter is on riddles that integrate a visual element, of which
the scope ranges from geometrical to religious, political and cosmological
topics. I discuss these according to themes, establish a typology of
the visual material used, and sketch an evolution within the approach
of each type. Favourite devices include the circle, the cross and the moon.
The integration of pictorial elements and the explicit connection with
other arts was a major way to broaden the limits of music’s expressive-
ness. A final section of this chapter is devoted to the recuperation of
musical elements in phenomena such as the rebus, cryptography and
chronograms.
As mentioned above, my investigation of musical riddles begins around
1450, which is the time when purely technical instructions – informing
the singers about the interpretation of the notation in a straightforward
way – began to make room for enigmatic mottoes from sources such as the
Bible, Classical Antiquity, word games and proverbs. These mottoes do not
provide a direct clue for the solution of the notation and their metaphorical
nature needs to be deciphered. The geographical starting point is the music
of the Low Countries, i.e. the region of the Franco-Flemish polyphonists.
It is in their hands that the musical riddle culture first blossoms. Soon
thereafter, the vogue for the enigmatic spreads to France, England,
Germany, Italy and Spain. An important question addressed is whether
an evolution in the musical approach towards the enigmatic can be noticed
in the period under discussion. There are indeed remarkable differences
between musical riddles from c. 1450 and those at the beginning of
the seventeenth century in terms of their conception and realisation.
Moreover, there is a shift in genre: whereas in the earliest stages musical
riddles mainly occurred in masses and motets, composers gradually started
to incorporate them in other genres, such as chansons and madrigals; still
other riddles – especially in theoretical treatises – are transmitted without
a text, which points to their primarily abstract nature.
Introduction 21
In the end, each riddle is different in terms of its ideas, context,

techniques and solution. Whereas other musical principles, such as solmi-
sation, mensural notation and modality could quite easily be subsumed
in a system, i.e. a fixed set of rules, musical enigmas do not fall within
this category. More than one theorist claims that riddles evade clear
categorisation and theorisation. Sebald Heyden, in his treatise De arte
canendi (Nuremberg, 1540), was probably the first to note about enigmatic
inscriptions that ‘nulla regula dari potest’, ‘no rule can be given’. He
thereby not only stresses their special place in the musical system, but also
underlines the fact that each riddle has different exigencies and demands
different tools for decipherment. The variety and uniqueness of musical
riddles is one of the reasons why this book contains a great many examples.
I believe that this rich scope, alongside the more general considerations
of the historical context and reception, is crucial and indeed indispensable
in order to grasp the fascinating and multifaceted world of musical riddle
culture in the Renaissance.

1 The culture of the enigmatic from Classical
Antiquity to the Renaissance
Vanish, Follies, with your mother;

The riddle is resolved.
Sphinx must fly when Phoebus shines,
And to aid of Love inclines.
Ben Jonson, Love Freed from Ignorance and Folly, ll. 257–60
In these triumphant verses from the early seventeenth-century masque

Love Freed from Ignorance and Folly, the playwright Ben Jonson underlines
the liberating feeling that one experiences once a riddle has been solved. By
having the Sphinx capturing Cupid – instead of Oedipus – Jonson’s
masque is a playful variation on one of the most famous riddles of Classical
Antiquity.1 The moment the solution is found is compared to a light that
forces the Sphinx and the Follies to vanish. As we shall see below, the
metaphor of the transition from darkness to light (‘Then Night is lost, or
fled away; For where such Beauty shines, is ever day’, ll. 285–6) is often
used for the process that riddle solving involves.
One can imagine that singers in the Renaissance must have felt similar
gratification when they were able to come up with the right solution to a
musical riddle. But that might not always have been an easy task. For
example, what were performers to do when faced with the inscription
‘In gradus undenos descendant multiplicantes, Consimilique modo cres-
cant antipodes uno’ (‘They descend eleven steps multiplying, and in the
same manner they increase in the opposite direction’) that accompanies
the first Agnus Dei from Josquin des Prez’s Missa Fortuna desperata
(see Figure 1.1)?2 The performers must certainly have been baffled, and
1
Only when the God of Love can give the correct answer to the Sphinx’s riddles can he be liberated
from captivity. With the help of the Muses’ priests, he arrives at the solution (‘Britain’ and ‘King
James’). The piece was performed in February 1611 and published in 1616. Alfonso Ferrabosco the
Younger composed three solo songs for Jonson’s masque (Oh! What a fault, Senses by unjust force
banish’d and How near to good is what is fair!), which are contained in the library of Tenbury, St
Michael’s College, MS 1018: see the edition in Alfonso Ferrabosco II: Manuscript Songs, ed.
I. Spink, The English Lute-Songs, Second Series, 19 (London: Stainer and Bell, 1966), 20–5.
2
As we shall see below, not all sources have this inscription. In some manuscripts, the instruction
22 reads ‘Crescite et multiplicamini’ (Increase and multiply; cf. Genesis 1:28 and 9:1) or – in a
The culture of the enigmatic 23
Figure 1.1 The encoded voice of Josquin des Prez, Missa Fortuna desperata, Agnus Dei
I in Heinrich Glarean, Dodekachordon (Basel, 1547), 389: (a) enigmatic notation,
(b) resolution. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.th. 215
it would probably have taken some time for the Bass voice to realise that
he was expected to apply no fewer than three procedures to the written
melody of the song on which the mass is based: he had to transpose it
downwards an eleventh, sing the notes in inversion and multiply them
by four.3 The transposition, causing the encrypted voice to move ‘from top
to bottom’, the radical stretching of the note values and the inversion of the
intervals – what was up goes down and vice versa – could be said to evoke
the inescapable power of Fortune’s wheel and its capacity to completely
change someone’s fate.4 The melodic and rhythmic shapes of the famous
Italian song were thus drastically altered, as the resolutio makes clear.
slightly variant form and not without some irony – ‘Crescite et multiplicamini et replete terram
et inebriamini eam’. Such textual interventions raise an important question about authorship, as
it is not always clear which particular verbal canon goes back to the composer. On the
implications thereof, see below.
3
Note that for the transposition, the singer only needs to change the clef (from c1 to f4). However,
due to the inversion of the melody, the solmisation syllables change, which implies another
transformation.
4
For a fascinating discussion of these changes in the context of the discourse on Fortune, see A.
Zayaruznaya, ‘What Fortune Can Do to a Minim’, JAMS, 65 (2012), 313–81, who remarks that
‘the notes of the bassus – like characters of Fortune’s wheel – are subject to rotation and prone to
dangle upside down’ (p. 353). Edward Lowinsky was one of the first scholars to investigate the
analogy between the composer’s changes of the pre-existing song and the movements of the rota
24 The culture of the enigmatic
No wonder, then, that the Swiss theorist Heinrich Glarean, in his

Dodekachordon (Basel, 1547) explicitly compares this conundrum with
the age-old riddle of the Sphinx. He must have been vexed with the
inscription’s opacity, and he desperately asks: ‘Who but Oedipus alone
understands such riddles of the Sphinx?’5 As a humanist, Glarean was
well acquainted with the tradition of literary riddles, so it is no coincidence
that he draws on this well-known enigma to make his point and to
ventilate his irritation with Josquin’s brain-teaser. What is it that makes
this antique riddle so famous and explains its popularity up to the present
day? And above all, how can it be said to have initiated a vivid culture
of and fascination with the enigmatic for many centuries to follow? In this
chapter, I will first give an overview of the riddle tradition from Classical
Antiquity to the Renaissance and address the various contexts in which
riddles flourished and were practised. I will then focus on the concept
of obscuritas, which is intimately linked with riddles, as it leads us to the
heart of every encrypted presentation. Its controversial reception in discip-
lines such as rhetoric, theology and literature forms the backdrop against
which we can discuss and explain the cultivation of the enigmatic in the
music of the Renaissance.
Classical Antiquity and the Middle Ages
The riddle of Oedipus and the Sphinx can almost be considered a proto-
riddle. The mythological figure, who guarded the entrance to the Greek
city of Thebes, posed travellers the following riddle, the correct answer to
which would allow them passage: ‘Which creature in the morning goes on
four legs, at midday on two, and in the evening on three, and the more
legs it has, the weaker it be?’ If the travellers were unable to answer
correctly, they were eaten by the Sphinx. Only Oedipus was able to solve
fortunae: see his ‘The Goddess Fortuna in Music: With a Special Study of Josquin’s “Fortuna dun
gran tempo”’, MQ, 29 (1943), 45–77, where he quotes the following passage from Boethius’
Consolatio philosophiae: ‘Hunc continuum ludum ludimus: rotam volubili orbe versamus, infima
summis, summa infimis mutare gaudemus’ (‘This continuous play we are playing: we turn the
wheel in hasty circle and find pleasure in changing low to high and high to low’). For a further
discussion of this Agnus Dei, see Ch. 2 below.
5
H. Glarean, Dodekachordon (Basel: Henricus Petri, 1547), bk. 3, ch. 24. The words ‘CANON, id
est σφιγγός ἄινιγμα’ that accompany the verbal instruction suggest that Glarean equates this
piece with the riddle of the Sphinx. In bk. 3, ch. 8, Glarean had already compared the
unintelligibility of obcure verbal canons with the riddle of the Sphinx. For a discussion of this
statement, see Ch. 3.
Classical Antiquity and the Middle Ages 25
the question: ‘Man – who crawls on all fours as a baby, then walks on two
feet as an adult, and then walks with a cane in old age.’ Although the Sphinx
killed itself and the city of Thebes was freed, Oedipus could not escape his
fate and married his mother Jocasta, as it was prophesied by the Delphic
oracle.6 Modern psychological analyses of the Oedipus story aside, it has
often been said that the Sphinx’s act of killing itself is almost emblematic
of the riddle’s nature. Indeed, after a riddle has been solved, it ceases to
be a riddle and strictly speaking loses its basis of existence. Metaphorically
speaking, after Oedipus gave the right answer, the Sphinx saw no other
possibility than to end its life by throwing itself into the abyss.7
This is not the only riddle from Classical Antiquity that ended fatally.
It is told that the epic poet Homer committed suicide because he was unable
to solve the riddle of the fishermen of Ios: ‘What we caught we threw away;
what we did not catch, we kept’ – the answer being lice. The story is probably
fictitious, and the banality of the situation – not to mention the solution – is
almost disconcerting in the light of the dramatic qualities of Homer’s oeuvre.8
Both the riddle of the Sphinx and the one that is said to have caused Homer’s
death were immensely popular and have a rich reception history in the
Middle Ages and the Renaissance – also in music, as we will see in Chapter 2.9
6
Some scholars believe that the answer to the Sphinx’s question also refers to Oedipus’ multiple
existence, being at once a son, a husband and a father and thus uniting the three stages of man’s
evolution in himself. In this regard, it is of course highly ironic – not to say dramatic – that the
riddle-solver Oedipus could not disentangle the puzzle of his own origin and destination.
7
On this aspect, see especially F. Rokem, ‘One Voice and Many Legs: Oedipus and the Riddle of
the Sphinx’ in Hasan-Rokem and Shulman (eds.), Untying the Knot, 255–70 and P. Pucci,
Enigma, segreto, oracolo (Pisa and Rome: Istituti editoriali e poligrafici internazionali, 1996) at
30ff. E. Cook, Enigmas and Riddles in Literature (Cambridge University Press, 2006), 18 also
remarks that, just as the Sphinx is a hybrid creature, the riddle too is intrinsically ambivalent, as
it always says something differently from the way it is meant (see also below on riddle as a
subclass of metaphor).
8
Here again, there is a link with the oracle of Delphi. According to the legend, Homer himself did
not know where he was born. The oracle told him: ‘The isle of Ios is your mother’s country and
it shall receive you dead; but beware the riddles of young children.’ As soon as he heard the
riddle of the fishermen, he realised his time had come.
9
The Sphinx became the symbol of the enigmatic par excellence and even inspired the title of
many a riddle collection: see, for example, Antonio Malatesti’s La Sfinge, a collection of riddles in
three parts (published in 1640, 1643 and 1683 respectively). On the reception history of the
Homeric riddle, see K. Ohlert, Rätsel und Rätselspiele der alten Griechen (2nd edn, Berlin: Mayer
& Müller, 1912), 30–2. It survives in many forms and languages, with the original maritime
context sometimes being relocated in a silvan setting. Céard and Margolin, in Rébus de la
Renaissance, cite examples such as ‘Ad silvam vado venatum cum cane quino: / Quod capio
perdo, quod fugit hoc habeo’ and ‘A la forest m’en voys chasser / Avecques cinq chiens à trasser,
/ Ce que je prens je pers et tiens, / Ce qui s’enfuyt ay et retiens.’ A variation on Homer’s riddle
also occurs in the Agnus Dei II of the anonymous Missa O Österreich (see Ch. 2).
Other riddles from ancient times are connected with death as well.
In the Historia Apollonii regis Tyri, a Latin novel from the third century,
it is told that King Antiochus, who had an incestuous relationship with
his daughter, killed her suitors who were unable to solve the following
riddle: ‘I am carried away by crime. I feed on maternal flesh. I look for my
brother, the husband of my mother, the son of my wife and I find not’
(‘Scelere vehor, maternam carnem vescor, quaero fratrem meum, meae
matris virum, uxoris meae filium: non invenio’). Although Apollonius
was the only suitor to succeed, Antiochus tried to murder him anyway,
as the solution of the riddle was the criminal relation between the king and
his daughter. Such self-referential elements are not untypical of enigmas.10
Riddles need not always be a matter of life and death, however, but a
certain competitive element can often be detected. The third eclogue of
Vergil’s Bucolics, for example, includes a riddle contest between Menalcas
and Damoetas, with the winner gaining Phyllis’s hand. Solving riddles in
order to marry someone is a frequent topos in Western and non-Western
riddle traditions. A test of the bridegroom’s perspicacity must have been
a kind of initiation rite, to see whether the person in question would be
able to worthily assist his future wife by word and deed. In other contexts,
being unable to solve riddles could also imply a financial risk. The wisdom
of King Solomon was so famous that the Queen of Sheba decided to test
him with a series of riddles. As we can read in 1 Kings 10, after Solomon
solved all of them succesfully, she rewarded him with gold, spices and
precious stones.11
The Bible, with its verbal imagery and symbolism, is indeed a rich source
for all kinds of riddles. Apart from King Solomon, who was famous for
‘the wisdom God had put in his heart’ (1 Kings 10:24), many other
instances can be cited. In the first chapter of Proverbs, it is generally said
that proficiency in posing and solving riddles is a sign of wisdom: ‘Let the
wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance –
for understanding proverbs and parables, the sayings and riddles of the
wise. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise
wisdom and discipline’ (Proverbs 1:5–7). The prophet Daniel, for example,
10
It has been noted by several scholars that a whole series of riddles is about incest. Some even
consider this topic a metaphor of the riddle: both have the quality of merging what is meant to
remain separate or impossible to conjoin, in the literal and figurative senses of the word
respectively.
11
Solomon himself sent riddles to the court of Hiram, King of Tyre, asking for some in return. He
proposed that the one who could not solve them should pay a forfeit in money, which caused
Hiram to lose large sums.
was known for his ‘knowledge, and understanding, and interpretation of

dreams, and shewing of secrets, and resolving of difficult things’ (Daniel
5:12), which God had given him. In these passages, it is suggested that
knowledge as well as the capacity to solve riddles and other obscure sayings
is God-given. Ordinary people are not capable thereof.
In this connection, it also appears that God distinguishes between the
chosen few and other people when it comes to communicating knowledge:
‘With him [Moses] will I speak mouth to mouth, even apparently, and not
in dark speeches’ (Numbers 12:8). It is this insight that led medieval
exegetes to the conviction that the plain truth – as God expressed himself
towards the wise men – was too incandescent for common people, which is
why He talked to them in riddles and images. Obscurity was thus not
seen as an obstacle, but was thought to be a form of protection, a shield
against the dazzling light of the divine truth. Against this background,
it is no coincidence that the composers of the Renaissance often drew
upon passages from Holy Scripture for their verbal canons. The allegorical
language of many biblical books, such as the Song of Songs, the Book of
Psalms and the gospels, found its way into imaginative inscriptions, telling
singers in an encrypted way how to interpret the notation and to transform
it according to the composer’s intentions.
Apart from isolated examples, riddles were also gathered in collections,
which implies that they were perceived as a more or less autonomous genre.
Two anthologies from Classical Antiquity were to have a major impact on
the riddle culture of the Renaissance.12 One of them is the fourteenth book
of the Anthologia Graeca, which contains a range of enigmas, conundrums
(riddles whose answer involves a pun), charades (syllable games) and even
mathematical problems.13 Another milestone in the history of the riddle
is Athenaeus’ Δειπνοσοφισταί (or Banquet of the Learned). This extensive
dialogue in fifteen books (some of which disappeared long ago) takes the
form of a symposium and offers learned disquisitions on a wide range
of subjects. In the tenth book, riddles occupy a considerable place. The idea
is that table guests pass around questions, with prizes and penalties – such as
drinking wine mixed with salt water – for correct or wrong answers.
12
See also J. Kwapisz, D. Petrain and M. Szymański (eds.), The Muse at Play: Riddles and
Wordplay in Greek and Latin Poetry, Beiträge zur Altertumskunde, 305 (Berlin: De Gruyter,
2013).
13
For an overview, see E. S. Forster, ‘Riddles and Problems from the Greek Anthology’, Greece &
Rome, 14 (1945), 42–7. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, the anthology was
translated into Latin by the humanist Paulus Manutius, which contributed to its renown and
circulation.
Other collections from Classical Antiquity are unfortunately lost. From

Athenaeus we learn that the Greek philosopher Clearchus of Soli wrote a
book Περὶ γρίφων, in which riddles were classified into categories and
illustrated by a rich wealth of examples. Apuleius’ Liber ludicorum et
gryphorum has not survived either, but the book’s title clearly suggests
that riddles were situated in a playful context of diversion and entertain-
ment. The term ‘griphos’, which turns up in both titles, originally meant
‘fishnet’: metaphorically speaking, it refers to the riddle as a captious
question, in which the recipient gets entangled and from which he
needs to free himself.14 In the twelfth book of his Noctes Atticae, Aulus
Gellius even gives a Latin equivalent of the word: ‘The kind of composition
which the Greeks call “enigmas”, some of our early writers called “scirpi”,
or “rushes”.’15 The term, referring to the basketwork into which rushes
have been woven, is also used in Renaissance books of riddles, as we shall
see below.16
From the rich variety of riddles in Classical Antiquity, we can see that
they appear in a variety of contexts. In the case of some of them, managing
or failing to find their solution decides, as we have just seen, on life or
death, on winning or losing large sums of money, land, the hand of a lady,
etc. Others accompany an important social event, such as a wedding or a
funeral. Many of them, however, are situated in a much more ‘relaxing’
context and can be considered what we might call sophisticated table
amusement.17 An equally enjoyable setting for riddles was the Saturnalia.
14
This is in fact a nice image for the psychological dimension that characterises riddles
(see also the Introduction): once one decides to grapple with them, one is resolved to find the
answer, no matter how long it takes.
15
See Aulus Gellius, Noctes atticae, XII.6.1: ‘Quae Graeci dicunt “aenigmata”, hoc genus quidam
ex nostris veteribus “scirpos” appellaverunt.’ Gellius then quotes a riddle composed of three
iambic trimeters, the solution of which is ‘terminus’. However, the author does not present the
solution, ‘in order to excite the ingenuity of my readers in seeking for an answer’ (‘ut legentium
coniecturas in requirendo acueremus’).
16
On the reception of this term in the Middle Ages and the use of the expression ‘in scirpo nodum
quaerere’, see U. Kühne, ‘Nodus in scirpo – Enodatio quaestionis: Eine Denkfigur bei Johannes
von Salisbury und Alanus von Lille’, Antike und Abendland, 44 (1998), 163–76. Furthermore, it
seems likely that in the second book, §85 of his Libro del cortegiano (Venice, 1528), Castiglione
refers to this tradition when he discusses several types of burla (joke). One of them is achieved
‘when we spread a net, as it were, and put out a little bait so that our man actually tricks himself’
(‘quando si tende quasi una rete e mostra un poco d’esca, talché l’omo corre ad ingannarsi da se
stesso’).
17
For a sixteenth-century discussion of the practice of posing riddles during or after dinner, see J.
W. Stucki, Antiquitatum convivialium libri tres, In Quibus Hebraeorum, Graecorum,
Romanorum Aliarumque Nationum Antiqua Conviviorum Genera . . . explicantur (Zürich:
Christoph Froscher, 1582).
This carnivalesque Roman festival, held in honour of the god Saturn,

involved a series of convivial rituals. According to Suetonius’ De vita divi
Augusti, during Saturnalia objects were passed around which carried
enigmatic inscriptions. The idea was that one had to guess the contents
of the object.18 Gellius, in Book 18 of his Noctes Atticae, informs us about
the kinds of questions that were asked. Topics included obscure sayings,
historical facts, philosophical tenets, rare words, and even linguistic prob-
lems. If a riddle was solved, the guest received a book and a laurel crown.
Gellius explicitly states that the goal of these games consisted in ‘diverting
our minds a little and relieving them by the delights of pleasant and
improving conversation’.19
The carnivalesque atmosphere of the Saturnalia actually fits the essence
of riddles very well: just as carnival was a time during which norms,
rules and conventions were temporarily suspended and inverted, so the
riddle presents familiar objects and themes in another way and does so by
way of an inverted question.20 Because riddles stimulate one’s intellect
in a playful manner, intellectuals could test each other’s knowledge in an
informal way in the company of kindred spirits. The idea of solving riddles
in a restricted circle of insiders is something we shall also encounter when
contemplating the culture of the enigmatic in the musical riddles of the
Renaissance. Here as well, they were the perfect tool for musicians to
delight in testing each other’s wit and acumen and enhance the group’s
social and intellectual identity.
It is also the Saturnalia that form the setting for one of the most
famous collections of riddles that bridge the enigmatic tradition of Clas-
sical Antiquity and the Middle Ages: the Aenigmata Symphosii or riddles
of Symphosius.21 A collection of 100 riddles, each of them consisting
of three hexameter lines, the Aenigmata probably date from the fourth or
fifth century. In the preface, the author claims to have improvised the
enigmas at a delirious banquet during Saturnalia: ‘When the annual feast
days of Saturn return, I always play in the usual way, after the festive
dishes, after the sweet drinking-cups of the table, between foolish old ladies
18
About the guessing of objects, it is sometimes thought that Martial’s Xenia and Apophoreta had
a riddling intention.
19
‘demulcentes eum paulum atque laxantes iucundis honestisque sermonum inlectationibus’.
Translation quoted from The Attic Nights, trans. J. C. Rolfe, 3 vols., Loeb Classical Library, 195
(Cambridge, MA and London: Heinemann, 1927), vol. I, 299.
20
On the riddle as an inverted question, see also the Introduction.
21
Symphosius seems to be the name of the author, although this is still debated by scholars.
and talkative boys.’22 The book presents riddles on all kinds of topics, such
as animals, flowers, clothing, housewares and nature, that is, from everyday
objects to cosmological phenomena.23 The Aenigmata of Symphosius
had a profound influence on the riddle tradition in the Middle Ages and
the Renaissance, with translations circulating in different languages, ver-
sions and countries.
Seventh- and eighth-century England experienced a strong influence
from the oral riddle tradition of minstrel poetry and the classical tradition
of the Anglo-Latin schools. In his collection of riddles, bishop Aldhelm
of Malmesbury combines mythological with Christian elements; in the
preface to the book, an acrostic and telestic identify him as the author.24
From Tatwine, Archbishop of Canterbury, a collection of forty riddles has
come down to us, all of them written in hexameter and mostly concerning
religious subjects. Tatwine hinted at the solutions via a fanciful procedure:
in the introductory couplet, the first line gives away every first letter of
the answer to each riddle, whereas the second line contains the first letter
of the last word in retrograde order.25
Many riddles testify to their place in the literary and intellectual culture
of their time: by posing interpretative challenges and inviting careful
contemplation, they were clearly destined for a restricted social milieu.26
But during the Middle Ages there was also a tradition of riddles in the
vernacular, which contributed to its spreading among the common people.
The Exeter Book, for example, written around the end of the tenth century,
was immensely popular and continued to be known in the Renaissance
and beyond.27 The existence and circulation of riddles in all social classes
should indeed not surprise us. Ever since Donatus’ standard textbook
22
‘Annua Saturni dum tempora festa redirent / perpetuo semper nobis sollemnia ludo, / post
epulas laetas, post dulcia pocula mensae, / deliras inter vetulas puerosque loquaces.’
23
See also the discussions by Manuela Bergamin in Symphosius, Aenigmata Symposii: La
fondazione dell’enigmistica come genere poetico, ed. M. Bergamin (Florence: SISMEL Ed. del
Galluzzo, 2005) and by Timothy J. Leary in Symphosius, The Aenigmata: An Introduction, Text
and Commentary, ed. T. J. Leary (London: Bloomsbury, 2014).
24
Every line begins and ends with the same letter. The following text emerges: ‘Aldhelmus cecinit
millenis versibus odas.’ For a modern edition, see Stork, Through a Gloss Darkly. Like
Symphosius’ enigmata, Aldhelm’s collection consists of 100 riddles.
25
‘Sub deno quater haec diverse enigmata torques / Stamine metrorum exstructor consera retexit’
(‘Beneath – a necklace: forty different riddles the builder planted, meter-strung, disclosed’).
26
On the enigmatic tradition in late medieval England, see especially A. Galloway, ‘The Rhetoric
of Riddling in Late-Medieval England: The “Oxford” Riddles, the Secretum philosophorum, and
the Riddles in Piers Plowman’, Speculum, 70 (1995), 68–105.
27
See especially D. Bitterli, Say What I Am Called: The Old English Riddles of the Exeter Book and
the Anglo-Latin Riddle Tradition (University of Toronto Press, 2009).
Riddles in the Renaissance 31
Ars grammatica became part of the school curriculum, children had

learned riddles.28 From an early age onwards, they were made familiar
with riddles’ alluring characteristics and variety. In his Commentum artis
Donati, Pompeius underlines the role of the riddle in medieval pedagogical
methods: ‘A riddle is even what little children play among themselves,
when they propound little questions that nobody understands’ (‘Aenigma
est, quo ludunt etiam parvuli inter se, quando sibi proponunt quaestiun-
culas, quas nullus intellegit’).29 Their epigrammatic brevity must have
constituted an ideal means for medieval teaching techniques, with their
process of reading, analysing and memorising.30 Moreover, their question-
ing nature not only corresponded to an age-old process of problem solving
and gaining access to complex matters by way of quaestiones, but was also
considered a playful way to learn Latin grammar, vocabulary and metre,
as well as aspects of religion and moral education. This simple yet effective
strategy must have been the reason why the so-called altercationes or
books with short questions and answers were immensely popular in the
Middle Ages and beyond.31
Riddles in the Renaissance
After the heyday of the enigmatic in the Middle Ages, the Renaissance
continued to foster and cultivate literary riddles. The fascination for riddles
had both a practical and a theoretical nature: not only were they compiled
in collections, but in the early modern age scholars were increasingly
occupied with developing theoretical reflections on the nature, use and
social setting of riddles. Furthermore, the advent of print culture heralded
28
Bitterli, ibid., 4, mentions Alcuin’s Disputatio regalis et nobilissimi Pippini cum Albino
scholastico (a riddle-dialogue, written for Charlemagne’s son Pippin) and the Propositiones ad
acuendos iuvenes as reflections of the culture of the enigmatic among the younger nobility.
29
It is followed by a famous riddle from Classical Antiquity, which continued to be cited regularly
during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance: ‘Mater me genuit, eadem mox gignitur ex me’
(‘My mother bore me, then is born again from me’) – the answer being ice. Quoted after
Grammatici latini, ed. H. Keil (Leipzig: Teubner, 1868), vol. V, 311. For a musical application of
this in the song L’antefana (London, British Library, Additional MS 29987), see Long, ‘Singing
through the Looking Glass’.
30
On this topic, see F. H. Whitman, ‘Medieval Riddling: Factors Underlying Its Development’,
Neuphilologische Mitteilungen, 71 (1970), 177–85.
31
M. Hain, Rätsel (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1966), 7 mentions the example of the Altercatio Hadriani
Augusti, which contained a list of questions concerning the story of the Creation. Equally
famous were the Joca monachorum, whose catechistic dialogues between teacher and disciple
proposed questions that required both factual knowledge and cognitive activity.
the beginning of a wide geographical diffusion of riddles, both in Latin and

in the vernacular, for adults as well as children. Above all, the genre
enjoyed wide popularity in all social contexts: it was en vogue in a courtly
atmosphere, but also received attention from clergymen, academics and
townspeople.32
A major impetus for the diffusion of riddle culture in the Renaissance
was the active reception of the major collections from Classical Antiquity
and the Middle Ages. In 1514, for example, Aldus Manutius and his
associate Marcus Musurus issued the first printed edition of Athenaeus’
above-mentioned Banquet of the Learned (see Figure 1.2); about forty years
later, a Latin translation by Natale Conti appeared simultaneously in Paris,
Basel and Venice under the title Atheni Deipnosophistarum sive coenae
sapientum libri XV . . . nunc primum e graeca in latinum linguam vertente
(1556).33 Another milestone, Symphosius’ collection of 100 Aenigmata,
was first published in Paris in 1533, and an Italian print followed in 1581.34
In Basel a strikingly high number of retrospective riddle collections saw the
light of day: it is here that Aldhelm’s medieval riddles (1556) and Lilio
Gregorio Giraldi’s Aenigmatum ex antiquis (1551) were published, as well
as a selection of Symphosius’ Aenigmata, both in Latin (1563; see
Figure 1.3) and in a Greek translation by the German humanist Joachim
Camerarius as part of his Elementa rhetoricae (1541).35
Via translations, the heritage of Classical Antiquity also found its way
into the vernacular and caused the two formerly separated strands to
merge in a new era of enigmatography. Many of the leading figures
of the Renaissance – be it in the field of science or the arts – are known
to have invented riddles. Leonardo da Vinci and Leon Battista Alberti
produced riddles in different forms, some of which also included visual
elements.36 A number of well-known personalities even wrote what we
32
For an overview of different aspects of the enigmatic in the Renaissance, see D. Martin, P. Servet
and A. Tournon (eds.), L’énigmatique à la Renaissance: Formes, significations, esthétiques. Actes
du colloque organisé par l’association Renaissance, Humanisme, Réforme (Lyon, 7–10 septembre
2005) (Paris: Champion, 2008).
33
The philologist and Classical scholar Isaac Casaubon also published a revision of the
Deipnosophistae (with commentary) in 1612.
34
Symphosii veteris poetae elegantissimi erudita iuxta ac arguta et festiva Aenigmata (Paris:
Joachim Périon, 1533); Ænigmata Symposii. cum scholiis Iosephi Castalionis Anconitani (Rome:
Francesco Zannetto, 1581).
35
Pseudo-classical influences are suggested by the title of the collection The Riddles of Heraclitus
and Democritus (London: Arn. Hatfield, for Iohn Norton, 1598).
36
See, for example, C. Pedretti, ‘Three Leonardo Riddles’, RQ, 30 (1977), 153–9 and A. Grafton,
Leon Battista Alberti: Master Builder of the Italian Renaissance (New York: Hill and Wang,
2000).
Figure 1.2 Title page of Athenaeus, Banquet of the Learned (Venice: Aldus Manutius,
1514). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 A.gr.b. 422
Figure 1.3 Title page of Symphosius’ Aenigmata (Basel, 1563). Munich, Bayerische
Staatsbibliothek, Res/Ph.sp. 116#Beibd.2
could call a ‘meta riddle’, i.e. a riddle of which the solution is ‘a riddle’: for
example, Galileo Galilei’s sonnet that starts with the programmatic ‘Mostro
son io più strano, e più difforme’ – undoubtedly an allusion to the hybrid
form of the Sphinx.37 From Miguel de Cervantes we also have a ‘riddle
on a riddle’ (beginning with the words ‘Es muy oscura y es clara’), which
was published in his pastoral novel La Galatea (1585).
Apart from isolated examples, riddles were also grouped in books. Here
as well, the influence of Classical Antiquity shines through. Whereas
the thematically organised Straßburger Rätselbuch – one of the earliest
printed riddle collections – has a variation on a riddle in Vergil’s third
eclogue,38 Charles Fontaine’s Odes, énigmes et épigrammes (Lyons, 1557)
contains French translations of riddles from Symphosius’ Aenigmata.
Echoing this classical tradition, new kinds of riddles developed in different
countries and languages, leading to a pan-European connection. Thus the
collection Demandes joyeuses en manière de quodlibets (c. 1500) had a
direct influence on the English Demaundes Joyous (London, 1511), which
was a selective translation of its French predecessor.39 These booklets
were sold at markets and fairs, which contributed to the riddle’s dissemin-
ation among all segments of society. Generally speaking, most collections
offer solutions to the riddles, either immediately following the question
(or, alternatively, in the margin) or somewhere else (usually near the end
of the book).40 Alexandre Sylvain, in his Cinquante Aenigmes françoises,
avec les expositions d’icelles (Paris, 1582), goes a step further, by publishing
both the solution to and a commentary (‘exposition’) on each riddle.41
37
In Galilei’s sonnet, the metaphor of darkness (‘parte . . . nera’, ‘tenebre oscure’) and light
(‘parte . . . bianca’, ‘chiaro lume’) is omnipresent. For a translation, see M. Bryant, Dictionary of
Riddles (London and New York: Routledge, 1990), 167.
38
‘Dic, quibus in terris – et eris mihi magnus Apollo – tris pateat caeli spatium non amplius ulnas’
is translated as ‘In wölchem landt ist der hymmel nur drey eln langk’. Straßburger Rätselbuch
(Strasbourg, 1505), no. 243. On the Straßburger Rätselbuch and its reception, see H. Bismark,
Rätselbucher: Entstehung und Entwicklung eines frühneuzeitlichen Buchtyps im
deutschsprachigen Raum. Mit einer Bibliographie der Rätselbücher bis 1800, Frühe Neuzeit, 122
(Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2007).
39
As the titles of these books suggest, like the Straßburger Rätselbuch they are conceived in a
question-and-answer form: see the systematic alternation of ‘Ein Frag’ (alternatively called ‘Rot’
or ‘Rotend’) and ‘Antwort’, and of ‘Demaunde’ and ‘R[esponse]’ respectively.
40
Cook, Enigmas and Riddles, 117 notices that this tradition continues in later centuries. Gazettes
like Mercure de France, Gentleman’s Journal and Muses Mercury published brain-teasers, with
the solution in the next issue.
41
This kind of commented edition is not unlike Cerone’s approach in his Melopeo y maestro, in
which each musical riddle is followed by a ‘resolucion’ and an extensive ‘declaracion’
(see below).
Even more international fame was gained by Giovanni Francesco

Straparola’s mid sixteenth-century Piacevole notti (Venice, 1550–3). In this
novel, which was reprinted many times in the sixteenth century, a group of
noblemen and young ladies spend thirteen ‘facetious nights’ of the Carni-
val season on the island of Murano. The participants tell each other stories,
at the end of which an enigma must be solved by the company.42 The series
of colourful favole interspersed with riddles were translated into English,
French, German and Spanish and were to become a rich source for later
enigmatographers. One of Straparola’s riddles even turns up in the intro-
duction to the last book (on ‘enigmas musicales’) of Pietro Cerone’s
Melopeo y maestro (Naples, 1613), as can be seen in Figure 1.4).43
Judging from the images on the title pages and/or the (sub)titles of the
above-mentioned riddle collections, many of them were destined for social
gatherings and provided entertainment for a group of friends: in titles such
as Questions énigmatiques, récréatives et propres pour deviner et y passer les
temps aux veillées des longues nuicts (Lyons, 1583) or Giulio Cesare dalla
Croce’s Ducento enigmi piacevoli da indovinare, destinati in due sollazze-
voli notte (Venice, 1611), the nocturnal amusement that riddles invite is
foregrounded.44 The title of the enlarged version (1629) of the Merry Book
of Riddles is equally explicit about the book’s usefulness and target audi-
ence: together with proper Questions and witty Proverbs, to make pleasant
pastime. No lesse usefull then behoovefull for any young man or child, to
know if he be quickwitted, or no.45 Children and young people could use
them to test and improve their intellectual skills against an entertaining
background.
The riddle’s suitability for ‘docere’ and ‘delectare’ also resonates in
theoretical writings. As Eleanor Cook has convincingly demonstrated, in
his Elementa rhetoricae, which contains a chapter ‘De aenigmatis’, the
humanist Joachim Camerarius reintroduced aspects such as humour,
42
M. De Filippis, ‘Straparola’s Riddles’, Italica, 24 (1974), 134–46. 43
See below, Ch. 3.
44
Very suggestive in this respect is Thomas Campion’s Now winter nights enlarge the number of
their houres, in which solving ‘knotted riddles’, together with dancing, making music and
reciting poems, is seen as an enjoyable pastime during long winter nights.
45
The earliest traces of the Book of Merry Riddles go back to 1575. Its popularity and renown are
testified by their mention in the first act of Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor (Act I, Scene
1, line 209ff.). See A. Brandl, ‘Shakespeares “Book of Merry Riddles” und die anderen
Rätselbücher seiner Zeit’, Jahrbuch der deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft, 42 (1906), 1–64.
That Shakespeare was also familiar with riddles from Classical Antiquity can be seen in his
Pericles (Act I, Scene 1), in which the incest topic of the third-century Historia Apollonii regis
Tyri (see above) is revived.
Figure 1.4 Giovanni Francesco Straparola, Piacevole notti (Venice, 1586), fol. 52r (page
with the riddle that is also cited in Pietro Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro). Munich,
Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, P.o.it. 970
paradox, imagination and play in his presentation of the riddle.46 When

defining a riddle as ‘a certain brain-game that is rewoven into teachings’
(‘ludus quidam ingenii in doctrina retextus est’), the aspect of ludus is not
just a frivolous element, but serves as a didactic tool. The underlying idea
is, of course, that it is easier to communicate obscure matters if they are
presented in a playful way, a conviction that can already be found in
Aristotle’s Rhetorica.
Riddles could serve different didactic purposes. In sixteenth-century
Germany, for example, the question-and-answer format of riddles was
instrumentalised to convey fundamental religious principles. In 1533, the
Protestant preacher Johann Behem published Ein christlich Rathbüchlin
für die Kinder – both in Nuremberg and Wittenberg, two major bastions of
Protestantism. Strictly speaking, these are not real riddles, and the concept
of these books – the systematic treatment of doctrinal matters in the form
of question and answer, which made them easier to memorise – comes
close to catechisms from the same period as we know them from Martin
Luther (1529), John Calvin (1542) and Petrus Canisius (1555). It can be
assumed that their authors, attempting to make the contents attractive
and easily digestible, deliberately drew on a genre that was popular among
children and young people, and sought to familiarise them with questions
of faith in an interactive, quiz-like manner.47
Apart from these pedagogical projects, sixteenth-century Germany also
exhibited a strong tendency towards theorisation and categorisation of
the riddle, which went hand in hand with an intensive study of the
riddle in Classical Antiquity. A strikingly large number of treatises were
produced in the circles of Protestant school and university teachers, such as
Johannes Lorichius’s multi-volume Aenigmatum libri tres (Frankfurt,
1545) and Johannes Lauterbach’s Aenigmata (Frankfurt am Main, 1601).
The German riddle tradition culminated in the monumental Aenigmato-
graphia (Frankfurt am Main, 1599, 2nd edn 1602) of Nicolas Reusner, who
was rector at the University of Jena. Reusner had no less an ambition than
to offer an anthology of the riddle tradition – literally of ‘riddle writing’ –
from the earliest period onwards. The scope of his Aenigmatographia
ranges from biblical, ancient Roman and Greek sources to Symphosius
and Aldhelm, and to riddles from his own time. Reusner also reproduces
46
Cook, Enigmas and Riddles in Literature, 49–50.
47
On didactic methods in the Renaissance and the role of memorisation (especially by way of
music), see K. van Orden, ‘Children’s Voices: Singing and Literacy in Sixteenth-Century
France’, EMH, 25 (2006), 209–56 (especially ‘The Catechists and the Canons’, 232ff.).
complete editions of existing collections such as the above-mentioned

ones by Giraldi, Camerarius, Lorichius and Lauterbach. As I shall show
in Chapter 3, such encompassing projects must have influenced the music
theorist and university teacher Hermann Finck, who in the third book
of his Practica musica (Wittenberg, 1556) treats enigmatic inscriptions
as a special ‘genre’, defining and classifying them according to types and
providing exempla for many of them.
Finally, riddles were also considered appropriate for courtly diversion.
They were a form of recreation that fitted well into the nobility’s daily
occupations, which consisted not only of physical activities (such as
hunting and dancing), board games (such as gambling and chess) and
performances (of poetry and music), but also of conversations.48 In the
broad sense of the word, such conversations – as we can read in civility
books like Baldassare Castiglione’s Libro del cortegiano (Venice, 1528),
Giovanbattista Giraldi Cinzio’s L’uomo di corte (Ferrara, 1565) and
Stefano Guazzo’s Civil conversazione (Brescia, 1574) – also included philo-
sophical questions and riddles.49 A selected group of people thus engaged
in a rule-based game, which required intellectual effort and contributed in
a ludic way to the development of the courtier. With their intrinsically
interactive character, riddles were thus anchored in the daily social life
of the court.
As we learn from several treatises, Spanish rulers and their entourage
considered the posing and solving of riddles a favoured form of intellec-
tual entertainment. Luis Milan’s Libro intitulado El Cortesano (published
in 1561, but written some decades before) informs us that the tradition
of ‘preguntas’ and ‘respuestas’ was a popular pastime at the court of
Charles V.50 Pinheiro da Veiga’s Fastigiana o fastos geniales is especially
noteworthy because it recounts the culture of the enigmatic as it was
48
On courtly activities and the role of music, see S. Lorenzetti, Musica e identità nobiliare
nell’Italia del Rinascimento, ‘Historiae musicae cultores’ Biblioteca, 95 (Florence: Olschki,
2003).
49
On the role of the riddle in a conversational context, see K. R. Larson, ‘Conversational Games
and the Articulation of Desire in Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost and Mary Wroth’s Love’s
Victory’, English Literary Renaissance, 40 (2010), 165–90. She remarks that the participants
often created ‘an alternative society that temporarily suspends conventional hierarchies’
(p. 166).
50
A. Redondo, ‘Le jeu de l’énigme dans l’Espagne du XVIe siècle et du début du XVIIe siècle:
Aspect ludique et subversion’ in P. Ariès and J.-C. Margolin (eds.), Les jeux à la Renaissance
(Paris: Vrin, 1982), 445–58 at 445. Luis Milan is of course well known to musicologists for his
Libro de musica de vihuela de mano. Intitulado el maestro, which was published in 1536 and
dedicated to King John III of Portugal.
practised at the court of King Philip III, the dedicatee of Cerone’s El

Melopeo y maestro. As we shall see below, the latter’s book of ‘enigmas
musicales’, besides being the crowning achievement of the musico perfetto
he attempts to educate with his treatise, might thus also reflect the court’s
delight in reading, performing and discussing musical brain-teasers.
The discourse on obscurity
A central element of riddles is their deliberate use of obscurity. It is the

author’s intention to wrap a text in dark wordings, which first need to
be interpreted and decoded in order to be understood. Definitions of
riddles – whether literary or musical – almost always include the specifica-
tion ‘obscurus’ or a similar term such as ‘nodosus’ (‘knotty’), ‘velatus’
(‘veiled’, ‘hidden’), etc.51 Obscurity always implies a challenge to the recipi-
ent. An enigma needs a certain degree of darkness for the reader to struggle
with. But whereas in the case of riddles obscurity is celebrated and
even ritualised, in other genres and contexts it is not appreciated, and is
indeed condemned. Given the central meaning of obscurity for the history
of literature in general and the culture of the enigmatic in particular, it will
be important to elucidate both its function and its reception. In the
following paragraphs, I not only concentrate on the interpretation of
obscurity in a literary context, but also make the connection with musical
riddles in the Renaissance and refer to relevant compositions and/or
statements from music theory.
Obscuritas is a term with a long history and has been studied by many
literary historians. In her monograph on the topic, Päivi Mehtonen rightly
states that the concept often has negative connotations: ‘obscure’ is treated
as synonymous with unclear, unintelligible, and defined as lack of clarity,
absence of light.52 It is rarely analysed in neutral terms. However, there
now seems to be a consensus that obscurity is not equal to total darkness,
51
See especially J. Tinctoris (Terminorum musicae diffinitorium (Treviso, 1495)) and B.
Ramis de Pareia (Musica practica (Bologna, 1482)), who define canon as ‘a rule showing the
composer’s intention behind a certain obscurity’ (‘regula voluntatem compositoris sub
obscuritate quadam ostendens’) and ‘a rule suggesting the composer’s intention under the veil
of some ambiguity, obscurely, and in enigmatic form’ (‘quaedam regula voluntatem
componentis sub quadam ambiguitate obscure et in enigmate insinuans’) respectively. I will
discuss these statements in Ch. 3.
52
Mehtonen, Obscure Language, Unclear Literature.
The discourse on obscurity 41
but rather suggests an in-between, a chiaroscuro, so to speak.53 The very

etymology of the word supports this interpretation: ‘obscurus’ is used to
indicate something that is concealed, veiled, covered by a shadow.54 In
other words, obscuritas can be used to describe an object or a situation
that contains enough darkness to be difficult, but enough light to be
recognisable, albeit in only its contours. Obscuritas is thus not the complete
opposite of perspicuitas, but always presupposes a degree of clarity; both
are mutually dependent. Such being the case, Mehtonen makes a plea
for us to ‘cease considering obscurity and unintelligibility only as the
negations of other (apposite) qualities and, instead, recognise them as
technical terms on their own right’.55 Especially in the context of riddles,
this methodology proves to be extremely relevant. Indeed, it is the ambiva-
lent state of clair-obscur that determines the riddle’s essence. Precisely
because of this paradoxical status, the riddle’s obscuritas is a finite process,
as the veils can be taken away.
Obscurity in rhetoric
Manfred Fuhrmann has analysed the phenomenon of obscuritas (German:
‘Dunkelheit’) in Classical Antiquity as it appears in rhetorical and literary
writings.56 He shows that rhetoric and literature have a fundamentally
different view of obscurity, which is the consequence of their different
purposes. Generally speaking, the normal rhetorical situation is concerned
with unambiguous communication. In this context, it is said that the diffi-
cult, strange and obscure should be banished, as they hinder immediate
53
See also M. Fuhrmann, ‘Obscuritas: Das Problem der Dunkelheit in der rhetorischen und
literar-ästhetischen Theorie der Antike’ in W. Iser (ed.), Immanente Ästhetik – Ästhetische
Reflexion: Lyrik als Paradigma der Moderne, Poetik und Hermeneutik, 2 (Munich: Fink, 1966),
47–72 at 50: ‘Das Wort bezeichnete also eher dämmerig-fahle und trübe Schattierungen als die
“absolute”, schwarze Finsternis.’
54
See, for example, the list of meanings and contexts in Lateinisches etymologisches Wörterbuch,
ed. A. Walde (Heidelberg: Winter, 1954), vol. II, 196–7.
55
P. Mehtonen, ‘“When Is Obscurity Apposite?” George Campbell at the Crossroads of Rhetorical
Theory and Modern Epistemology’ in L. Lundsten, A. Siitonen and B. Österman (eds.),
Communication and Intelligibility, Acta philosophica Fennica, 69 (Helsinki: Philosophical
Society of Finland, 2001), 159–69 at 160.
56
Fuhrmann, ‘Obscuritas’. See also M. A. Schenkeveld-van der Dussen, Duistere luister: Aspecten
van obscuritas (Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht, 1988); the article on ‘Obscuritas’ in the Historisches
Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, vol. VI, cols. 358–83; and several contributions in G. Lachin and F.
Zambon (eds.), Obscuritas: Retorica e poetica dell’oscuro. Atti del XXVIII Convegno
Interuniversitario di Bressanone (12–15 luglio 2001) (Trent: Dipartimento di scienze filologiche
e storiche, 2004).
understanding. Poetry, on the other hand, is not bound by such a goal, and
has more room to play with words and styles. In poetry, obscuritas can thus
be used and analysed from an artistic point of view.57 Or, as the philosopher
and logician Jean Buridan (c. 1300–58) puts it in his Questiones in decem
libros Ethicorum Aristotelis ad Nicomachum: rhetoric ‘aims towards clear
knowledge’ (‘claram sententiam desiderat’), whereas poetry ‘obscures the
knowledge in a pleasing manner’ (‘scientiam delectabiliter obscurare niti-
tur’).58 ‘Clarus’ and ‘obscurus’ can be qualities in their own right according
to the context in which they appear. A vitium in rhetoric can thus be a virtus
in poetry and vice versa.
A major source for the study of obscurity in Classical Antiquity is
Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria. The second chapter of book 8 in particular
contains a detailed explanation of obscuritas and its conceptual counter-
part, perspicuitas or σαφήνεια. Whereas in book 4, in his discussion of
rhetorical narratio, Quintilian had stated that ‘obscurity must be avoided
throughout the pleading’ (‘per totam actionem vitanda est obscuritas’;
IV.2.35), in book 8 he takes a more differentiated approach.59 This is
clearly related to the purpose of his Institutio oratoria as a whole. Indeed,
contrary to other rhetorical handbooks, Quintilian’s treatise is not just a
set of prescriptions directed to an orator; the twelve books also contain a
wealth of literary and aesthetic considerations.60 From this point of view,
Quintilian is very much aware of the functional background of rhetoric
and the limited validity of its rules and norms in other contexts. In other
words, the difference between rhetoric and poetry in terms of their presen-
tation – oral versus written – and function – practical versus artistic – also
has far-reaching consequences for the evaluation of obscurity. In book 10,
Quintilian explicitly thematises this difference and its consequences for
the recipient. When listening to a speech, one has only one chance to
hear what is said, whereas in the case of poetry, a reader can spend as much
time with the text as he wants: ‘Reading is independent; it does not pass
over us with the speed of a performance, and you can go back over it again
57
In Classical Antiquity, writers were sometimes characterised by the degree of obscurity in
their works. Heraclitus, for example, serves as the prototype of literary obscurity, hence his
nickname ‘ὁ σκοτεινός’, the dark one. The Roman poet Persius, famous for his Satires, is often
called ‘poeta obscurus’.
58
Quoted in P. Mehtonen, ‘Obscurity as a Linguistic Device: Introductory and Historical Notes’,
in Danish Yearbook of Philosophy, 31 (1996), 157–68 at 158.
59
All translations are quoted from Quintilian, The Orator’s Education, ed. and trans. D. A.
Russell, 5 vols. (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2001).
60
This goes especially for the first chapter of bk. 10, which is a rich survey and critique on the
evolution of Greek and Roman literature, history, oratory and philosophy.
and again if you have any doubts or if you want to fix it firmly in your
memory.’61 In the case of written words, he urges the reader to return to
the text and think it over – a process of reading, rereading and contem-
plating for which the Middle Ages coined the expressive term ruminatio.62
To illustrate his point, Quintilian uses a metaphor – the act of reading is
compared with the digestion of food: ‘Let us go over the text again and
work on it. We chew our food and almost liquefy it before we swallow,
so as to digest it more easily; similarly, let our reading be made available
for memory and imitation, not in an undigested form, but, as it were,
softened and reduced to pap by frequent repetition.’63 We shall see that
this idea is especially relevant in the case of riddles. Here as well, the
recipient – whether a reader of a text or a performer of a musical
composition – needs to spend time with the written puzzle in order to
unravel the obscurity.64
Although the ideal of perspicuitas runs like a golden thread throughout
Quintilian’s discussion,65 he admits that a surplus of clarity can sometimes
give cause for fastidium. A certain amount of obscurity can be useful to
avoid the artless and the banal, in short to prevent the humilitas elocutionis
and to guarantee a sufficient level of gravitas. This idea goes back to the
theory of genera dicendi, according to which the stylistic level must be
adapted to the subject matter and the content, but also to the context, i.e.
the recipients. Too much clarity can be an insult to the public, who think
they are underestimated or not taken seriously by the orator.66 Moreover,
when a text – whether written or orally presented – lacks a certain
complexity, it risks being uninteresting. Attention is attracted by the
unusual. This conviction is actually very much in line with Aristotle’s idea
of avoiding banality, as he explains in his Rhetorica: ‘Such variation from
what is usual makes the language appear more stately . . . It is therefore
well to give to everyday speech an unfamiliar air: people like what strikes
61
Inst. orat. X.1.19: ‘Lectio libera est nec actionis impetu transcurrit, sed repetere saepius licet, sive
dubites sive memoriae penitus adfigere velis.’
62
63
Inst. orat. X.1.19: ‘Repetamus autem et tractemus et, ut cibos mansos ac prope liquefactos
demittimus, quo facilius digerantur, ita lectio non cruda, sed multa iteratione mollita et velut
confecta memoriae imitationique tradatur.’
64
This is not to say, however, that riddles exist uniquely on the page. Indeed, there are types
of riddles that can only be expressed orally (e.g. those playing with words that sound identically,
but have a different meaning – a famous example being the ambiguity in ‘What is black and
white and re[a]d all over?’ A newspaper).
65
Compare Inst. orat. VIII.2.22: ‘Nobis prima sit virtus perspicuitas.’
66
H. Lausberg, Elemente der literarischen Rhetorik (9th edn, Munich: Hueber, 1987), 51.
them, and are struck by what is out of the way.’67 Something that is alluded
to has more power than what is said in plain words.
Elsewhere in Aristotle’s Rhetorica, we can read that the unusual can
surprise the audience and shed a fresh light on their perception of things:
‘Liveliness is specially conveyed by metaphor, and by the further power
of surprising the hearer; because the hearer expected something different,
his acquisition of the new idea impresses him all the more. His mind seems
to say, “Yes, to be sure; I never thought of that”.’68 The pattern of surprise,
delay and recognition Aristotle here describes for metaphors also applies
to riddles (which after all, as we shall see below, are a subclass of meta-
phor).69 Here as well, upon reading or hearing a riddle for the first time, we
are confused and do not know what to think. We then try to make sense of
the various clues and, after having found the solution, end up being
impressed by the originality of the author’s invention.
Causes of obscurity
Yet obscuritas is not an absolute category; nothing is obscure in itself.
As Jan Ziolkowski puts it, the term obscurity merely ‘suggests . . . that
the listener or reader is unable, for one reason or another, to see the light in
a particular text’.70 The reason for this can be manifold: it can depend on
the (lack of) background of the audience, the difficulty of the topic, but
also on the speaker. Above all, obscuritas can be the result of the voluntas
of the speaker, who deliberately wraps his message in dark words. In short,
obscuritas can be an intended effect or an unintended byproduct.71
Obscurity can indeed be caused by a whole range of factors. It can
stem from the contents of the subject (res) or from the wording (verba).
Here again, Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria gives an elaborate overview.
He distinguishes obscurity caused by syntactic peculiarities – the use of
over-long sentences (‘transiectio’), parenthesis (‘interiectio’) or ambiguity72 –
and by stylistic elements. Each point is illustrated with one or more
67
Aristotle, Rhet. III.2.1404b. Translation quoted from Lee Honeycutt, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, online
via www.public.iastate.edu/~honeyl/Rhetoric/index.html.
68
Aristotle, Rhet. III.11.1412a. On metaphor as a cause of obscurity, see below.
69
On this pattern, see also Wilbur, ‘The Persistence of Riddles’.
70
71
Ibid., 103. Unintentional obscurity can be caused by historical changes in language and
style. It can also result from vagaries of transmission and from a reader’s distance from the
original text. For an investigation into the causes of obscurity, see also Steiner, ‘On Difficulty’ in
his On Difficulty and Other Essays, 18–47.
72
See Inst. orat. VIII.2.14–5.
examples. Under the category of vocabulary, Quintilian subsumes all

kinds of rare words, such as neologisms, archaisms and jargon, which in
his eyes lead to a corruption of style. As we read in VIII.3.57, a ‘corrupta
oratio’ can be revealed in ‘improper or redundant words, obscurity of
sentence structure, effeminate composition, and a childish hunt for similar
or ambiguous words’.73 Quintilian does not show any sympathy for orators
who are after effects that impede a clear understanding. He especially
condemns their conscious effort to express themselves as obscurely as
possible, thereby hoping to make a learned impression.74
Quintilian also faults orators who dig up archaic words in order to
show off their knowledge: ‘Obscurity results from words no longer in
use, for example, if a man were to hunt through . . . ancient treatises, and
obsolete authors, deliberately looking for unintelligibility in the extracts
he makes from them. Some seek a reputation for erudition from this; they
want to be thought to be the only people who know certain things.’75
By using an obsolete vocabulary, some orators want to make themselves
look clever and to exclude others from their knowledge. What is more,
some of them keep looking for such mots rares, instead of concentrating on
the meaning and style of their speech as a whole: ‘[And yet there are people
who], having found the best words, look for something more archaic,
remote, or unexpected.’76 However, Quintilian is not against verba remota
per se. In the first book of the Institutio oratoria, he concedes that their
use can sometimes have a positive effect, as they grant a speech more
dignity and even give way to fresh interpretations: ‘Words taken from past
ages not only have great men to urge their claims but also to give the style a
certain grandeur, not unmixed with charm; they have both the authority
of age and, because they have fallen into disuse, an attraction like that of
73
Inst. orat. VIII.3.57: ‘Corrupta oratio in verbis maxime impropriis, redundantibus,
comprehensione obscura, compositione fracta, vocum similium aut ambiguarum puerili
captatione consistit.’
74
In Inst orat. VIII.3.56, Quintilian subsumes these faults under the name ‘cacozelia’ (perverse
affectation), i.e. ‘whatever goes beyond the demands of good style’ (‘quidquid est ultra
virtutem’). According to him, it is the worst of all faults of eloquence, because it is deliberately
sought (‘petitur’).
75
Inst. orat. VIII.2.12: ‘At obscuritas fit verbis iam ab usu remotis, ut si . . . vetustissima foedera et
exoletos scrutatus auctores id ipsum petat ex iis quae inde contraxerit, quod non intelleguntur.
Hinc enim aliqui famam eruditionis adfectant, ut quaedam soli scire videantur.’
76
Inst. orat. VIII.Pr.31: ‘Cum optima sunt reperta, quaerunt aliquid quod sit magis antiquum,
remotum, inopinatum.’ As Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity’, 120 remarks, especially in late
Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ‘the tradition of glossae . . ., which assembled words of
obscure meaning and the interpretations thereof, fit well with the practice of obscurity through
the use of unusual words – the glossematic style of hermeticism’.
novelty.’77 The authority that stems from old words can delight the
audience. A similar standpoint is taken by Cicero, who in his De oratore
ascribes a certain dignity to vetustas: ‘This is not to say that we should
employ the words that are not employed in normal usage anymore, except
sparingly . . . But in the employment of words in common use you will be
able to use the choicest among them if you have thoroughly and devotedly
immersed yourself in the writings of the ancients.’78 Both writers seem to
agree that the orator should employ such words cautiously, as a profusion
would lead to annoyance: ‘But moderation is essential; they must not
be frequent or obvious (nothing is more tiresome than affectation).’79
The same goes for the use of termini technici, which are only accessible
to insiders and require substantial expertise: ‘Words more familiar in
certain districts or peculiar to certain professions are also misleading.’80
In that case, the orator must always clarify their meaning.
Quintilian’s point about the use of rare words is especially relevant for
the cultivation of the enigmatic in Renaissance music. As we shall see in
the next chapter, composers often delighted in obscure verbal inscriptions.
Some of them incorporate Greek and even pseudo-Greek letters or words;
others use jargon, when, for instance, substituting for pitch names their
Greek equivalent.81 Bartolomeus Ramis de Pareia lists several examples in
the chapter on enigmatic inscriptions (‘in quo canones et subscriptiones
subtiliter declarantur’) of his Musica practica (Bologna, 1482). Such
instructions were not understood by everybody, and some sources – the-
oretical treatises as well as letters – even thematise this problem. One of the
fundamental questions, of course, is why composers chose to use such
77
Inst. orat. I.6.39: ‘Verba a vetustate repetita non solum magnos adsertores habent, sed etiam
adferunt orationi maiestatem aliquam non sine delectatione: nam et auctoritatem antiquitatis
habent et, quia intermissa sunt, gratiam novitati similem parant.’
78
Cicero, De oratore, III.39: ‘Neque tamen erit utendum verbis eis, quibus iam consuetudo nostra
non utitur, nisi quando ornandi causa parce . . .; sed usitatis ita poterit uti, lectissimis ut
utatur, is, qui in veteribus erit scriptis studiose et multum volutatus.’ English translation quoted
from Cicero, On the Ideal Orator, trans. and introd. J. M. May and J. Wisse (Oxford University
Press, 2001), 235. See also G. Goetz, ‘Über Dunkel-und Geheimsprachen im späten und
mittelalterlichen Latein’, Berichte über die Verhandlungen der Königlich Sächsischen Gesellschaft
der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig – Philologisch-historische Classe, 48 (1896), 62–92.
79
Inst. orat. I.6.40: ‘Sed opus est modo, ut neque crebra sint haec neque manifesta, quia nihil est
odiosius adfectatione.’
80
Inst. orat. VIII.2.13: ‘Fallunt etiam verba vel regionibus quibusdam magis familiaria vel artium
propria.’
81
Numerous examples are cited and explained in B. J. Blackburn and L. Holford-Strevens, ‘Juno’s
Four Grievances: The Taste for the Antique in Canonic Inscriptions’ in U. Konrad, J. Heidrich
and H. J. Marx (eds.), Musikalische Quellen – Quellen zur Musikgeschichte: Festschrift für
Martin Staehelin zum 65. Geburtstag (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 159–74.
difficult instructions. As Quintilian suggests, these encoded expressions

might have been inserted by the composer as a way to display his learning,
hence to emphasise his social and professional status and to establish
himself as an authority.82 By cultivating exclusivity, he could reinforce
his position among his colleagues.
According to Quintilian, obscurity can also be due to brevitas.83 This
category turns up in Book IV of his Institutio oratoria, where it is used as
a central criterion for rhetoricians: they should say neither too much, as
this would lead the public to fastidium and taedium, nor too little, as that
would render the speech obscure: ‘Superfluity may be boring, but leaving
out essentials is dangerous.’84 The last point is revisited in book 8, where
Quintilian fulminates against orators who skip crucial information, no
matter whether their public understands what they mean: ‘Others, in their
zeal for brevity, cut out even essential words from their discourse: as
though it was enough that they should themselves know what they mean,
they regard people’s concern in the matter as of no importance.’85 In other
words, brevity without grace not only makes a dull impression, but is also
disrespectful towards the public, which can only guess what the speaker
means by trying to fill in the gaps in information. If, on the other hand,
brevity is presented in an elegant way, it can incite the audience. Quintilian
compares this with the relative perception of what is long and short
when making a journey: ‘Brevity must not be inelegant, or it would simply
show lack of education. For pleasure is in fact beguiling, and things that
delight us seem less long, just as a pleasant easy road, even if it is in fact
longer, tires us less than a short cut which is hard going and arid.’86
However, here again, Quintilian makes a distinction between the
spoken and the written word. In the case of the former, it is crucial that
the public immediately understands the speaker’s intention, so that clarity
becomes of utmost importance. In the case of poetry, one has the possibil-
ity to read again what is communicated and think it over. In poetry in
82
See also Wegman, ‘From Maker to Composer’, 469ff.
83
Inst. orat. IV.2.43: ‘We must be no less on our guard against the obscurity that comes from
compressing everything too much’ (‘sunt enim haec vitia non tantum brevitatis gratia
refugienda’).
84
Inst. orat. IV.2.44: ‘Nam supervacua cum taedio dicuntur, necessaria cum periculo
subtrahuntur.’
85
Inst. orat. VIII.2.19: ‘Alii brevitatem aemulati necessaria quoque orationi subtrahunt verba, et,
velut satis sit scire ipsos quid dicere velint, quantum ad alios pertineat nihili putant.’
86
Inst. orat. IV.2.46: ‘Non inornata debet esse brevitas, alioqui sit indocta; nam et fallit voluptas,
et minus longa quae delectant videntur, ut amoenum ac molle iter, etiamsi est spatii amplioris,
minus fatigat quam durum arridumque conpendium.’
general and in the epigram in particular, brevitas can be a virtus: ‘We must
therefore avoid . . . that abrupt sort of language which may perhaps not
mislead a leisured reader, but which passes over the head of the hearer
and does not wait to be called back.’87 In poetry as well, writers should find
a good balance. One is reminded here of a famous sentence in Horace’s
Ars poetica, where he stresses the dangers of excessive brevitas, even in
the case of written words: ‘I try to be brief, but I become obscure’ (‘Brevis
esse laboro, / obscurus fio’; ll. 25–6).
The category of brevitas is of utmost importance in the context of
musical riddles. As we shall see below, musical enigmas usually present a
shortened notation, which can be turned into a polyphonic piece by way of
musical signs, a verbal inscription and/or an image. Several voices can be
contained in one notated part; the process of multiplication – whether
involving melodic and rhythmic manipulation or not – takes place in the
singer’s mind. In some extreme cases, a few notes suffice to generate a
polyphonic composition. In book 3 of his Practica musica (Wittenberg,
1556), Hermann Finck explicitly mentions brevity as a reason for using
canonic inscriptions: ‘We use canons for the sake of subtlety, or brevity,
or to test wits’ (‘Utimur . . . Canonibus, aut subtilitatis, brevitatis, aut
tentationis gratia’).88 Because of their compactness, such pieces take up
little space. But apart from the practical implications on the page, the
riddle’s capacity for brevity obviously was an opportunity for the com-
poser. It must indeed have been a special challenge to reduce a piece to its
written conceptual essence and to present it in that form to the musicians.
‘Allegoria, quae est obscurior’: the riddle as trope

In book 8 of the Institutio oratoria, Quintilian makes a direct connection
between literary riddles and obscurity. The discussion takes place in
the chapter on tropes. A τρόπος is generally defined as ‘a shift of a word
or phrase from its proper meaning to another’.89 Quintilian goes on to
discuss various sorts of tropes, such as metaphor, epitheton and allegory.
Although he admits they can brighten a speech (‘inlustrat orationem’), they
87
Inst. orat. IV.2.45: ‘Quare vitandast . . . abruptum sermonis genus: quod otiosum fortasse
lectorem minus fallat, audientem transvolat, nec, dum repetatur, expectat.’
88
For a detailed analysis of this statement, see Ch. 3. It is actually a quotation from Andreas
Ornitoparchus’s Musicae activae micrologus (Leipzig, 1517), facsimile edn (Hildesheim and
New York: Olms, 1977).
89
Inst. orat. VIII.6.1: ‘τρόπος est verbi vel sermonis a propria significatione in aliam cum virtute
mutatio.’
should be used moderately.90 If they are used frequently, a speech can

become obscure and the audience may get bored.91 If they are used
continuously, Quintilian adds, it ends up in allegory and riddle (‘continuus
vero [usus] in allegoriam et aenigmata exit’; VIII.6.14).92 A few paragraphs
later, this topic is touched upon again. He praises the use of allegory
for its surprise: ‘It is novelty and change that we enjoy in language, and
what is unexpected gives the greater pleasure’ (‘est enim grata novitas
et emutatio, et magis inopinata delectant’; VIII.6.51). But one should not
exaggerate their effect. Indeed, ‘when an Allegory is too obscure, we call
it an Enigma’.93 As allegories are a figurative mode of representation
conveying meaning other than the literal, riddles are understood as a
subclass of allegory. They too establish a connection between things by
focusing on their ‘occulta similitudo’.94 Or, as Tertullian puts it aptly, in
the case of both allegory and riddle, words ‘are to be understood differently
from their literal sense’ (‘aliter intellegenda quam scripta sunt’).95 For
Quintilian, they are a vitium, as they go against the virtus of lucidity and
need to be interpreted in order to be understood (‘si quis interpretetur,
intellegas’).
Quintilian was neither the first nor the last to consider an enigma
as ‘allegoria obscurior’. In his Rhetoric, Aristotle already included enigma
in his discussion of metaphor. Like a good metaphor, a riddle can bring
pleasure and insight, provided it is not too far-fetched.96 Cicero’s De
90
See e.g. Inst. orat. VIII.6.14 (‘modicus . . . atque oportunus eius usus’) and VIII.3.73 (‘sed huius
quoque rei servetur mensura quaedam’).
91
Inst. orat. VIII.6.14: ‘frequens et obscurat et taedio complet’.
92
E. Cook, ‘The Figure of Enigma: Rhetoric, History, Poetry’, Rhetorica, 19 (2001), 349–78 at
356 remarks that Aristotle also includes enigma in his discussion of metaphor. He considers
αίνιγμα as a figure of speech. In his Rhetoric III.11.6, Aristotle states that ‘metaphor is a kind of
enigma’.
93
Inst. orat. VIII.6.52: ‘Sed allegoria, quae est obscurior, “aenigma” dicitur.’ Quintilian then
quotes a riddle from the third book of Vergil’s Eclogues (see above).
94
See, for example, Donatus’ definition of enigma: ‘Enigma is a statement that is obscure because
of some hidden resemblance of things’ (‘aenigma est obscura sententia per occultam
similitudinem rerum’). Translation quoted from Cook, ‘The Figure of Enigma’, 360 n. 36.
95
Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem, III.5.3. See also Jean-Claude Fredouille, ‘Réflexions de
Tertullien sur l’allégorie’ in G. Dahan and R. Goulet (eds.), Allégorie des poètes, allégorie des
philosophes: Études sur la poétique et l’herméneutique de l’allégorie de l’Antiquité à la Réforme,
Textes et traditions, 10 (Paris: Vrin, 2005), 133–48.
96
Aristotle, Rhetoric, III.2. In his Poetics 1459a, Aristotle states that ‘by far the greatest thing
is the use of metaphor. That alone cannot be learnt; it is the token of genius. For the right
use of metaphor means an eye for resemblances.’ Translation quoted from W. H. Fyfe, The
Poetics (London: Heinemann, 1927), online via The Perseus Digital Library Project, www.
perseus.tufts.edu.
oratore, which has an Aristotelian orientation, also connects enigma with

metaphor, and comments upon it as follows: ‘[A metaphor] is a valuable
stylistic ornament; but care must be taken to avoid obscurity – and in fact
it is usually the way in which what are called riddles are made.’97 The
concept is revisited in the Middle Ages. In his famous Etymologiae, Isidore
of Seville dedicates a long chapter to the discussion of tropes, illustrated
by numerous literary examples, mainly from Vergil’s Aeneid.98 Near the end
of the chapter, riddles are also mentioned. Isidore defines them as
follows: ‘An enigma is an obscure question that is difficult to solve unless
it is explained.’99 Like Quintilian in his Institutio oratoria, he distinguishes
allegory and riddle according to their degree of obscurity: ‘Between allegory
and the riddle there is this difference, that the force of allegory is twofold
and figuratively indicates one subject under the guise of other subjects, while
a riddle merely has an obscure meaning, and its solution is hinted at through
certain images.’100 The veiled aspect of riddles is also stressed by Matthew
of Vendôme in the third book of his Ars versificatoria (c. 1175). At the end
of his discourse on tropes in general and allegories in particular, the enigma
is defined as ‘an obscure meaning concealed in a wrapper of words’.101
Vendôme’s concise definition is striking for its intensification of obscurity
via the words ‘involucrum’ (‘wrapper’) and ‘occultare’ (‘to conceal’).
The idea of the riddle as a subclass of allegory survives in the sixteenth
century and beyond.102 The Renaissance grammarian Lorenzo Valla states
97
Cicero, De oratore, III.167: ‘Sumpta re simili verba illius rei propria deinceps in rem aliam, ut
dixi, transferuntur. Est hoc magnum ornamentum orationis, in quo obscuritas fugienda est;
etenim hoc fere genere fiunt ea, quae dicuntur aenigmata.’
98
Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae, I.37 (‘De tropis’).
99
Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae, I.37.26: ‘Aenigma est quaestio obscura quae difficile intellegitur,
nisi aperiatur.’ Translation quoted from The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, ed. S. A. Barney,
W. J. Lewis, J. A. Beach and O. Berghof (Cambridge University Press, 2006), 63.
100
Ibid.: ‘Inter allegoriam autem et aenigma hoc interest, quod allegoriae vis gemini est et sub res
alias aliud figuraliter indicat; aenigma vero sensus tantum obscurus est, et per quasdam
imagines adumbratus’.
101
‘Sententiarum obscuritas quodam verborum involucro occultata’. Matthew of Vendôme, Ars
versificatoria, ed. and trans. A. E. Gaylon (Ames: Iowa State University Press, 1980), 108. On
the element of ‘integumentum’, see especially H. Brinkmann, ‘Verhüllung (“Integumentum”)
als literarische Darstellungsform im Mittelalter’ in A. Zimmermann (ed.), Der Begriff der
Repraesentatio im Mittelalter: Stellvertretung, Symbol, Zeichen, Bild, Miscellanea Mediaevalia, 8
(Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1971), 314–39.
102
Symphosius, Aenigmata Symposii, ed. Bergamin, xxx–xxxi cites similar definitions from
Sacerdos (‘Aenigma vel griphus est dictio obscura, quaestio vulgaris, allegoria difficilis,
antequem fuerit intellecta, postea ridicula’), Donatus (see above) and Diomedes (‘aenigma est
obscura sententia per occultam similitudinem rerum, dictio obscuritate allegoriae non
intelligibilis’).
that ‘a riddle is darker than allegory, which requires guessing more than
interpreting’ (‘aenigma est allegoria obscurior, quam divinare magis quam
interpretari oporteat’). In this definition, special emphasis is put on the
recipient’s role of trying to make sense of the author’s intention, a search
operation that turns out to be more important than the answer itself.
It is this definition that Pietro Cerone uses in the introduction to his
‘enigmas musicales’, the last book of his El Melopeo y maestro (Naples,
1613). In so doing, Cerone makes a strong connection between the literary
and musical traditions of the enigmatic, a link that is also strengthened
by his quotation of Latin and Italian riddles from Classical Antiquity and
the sixteenth century respectively.
Deliberate obscurity
Quintilian offers his readers a balanced view of obscurity, but he vehe-
mently opposes the deliberate search for difficulty, as we have seen above.
If obscurity is used for its own sake, it finds no favour in the eyes of
Quintilian. According to him, the only goal of such vice is to show off
and outdo the audience. Moreover, Quintilian reports a passage in a text
(now lost) by Livy, in which it is said that a teacher encouraged his pupils
to obscure everything they wanted to say – an instruction for which he
used the expression ‘σκότισον’ (darken it).103 He ironically adds that in
those people’s eyes, the sentence ‘Excellent! I couldn’t understand it
myself’ (‘Tanto melior, ne ego quidem intellexi’) must have been meant
as a compliment. In some circles, this attitude even led to the belief that
only texts that demand interpretation are a sign of exquisiteness: ‘And the
conviction has now become widespread that nothing is elegant or refined
unless it needs interpreting.’104 As we can read further, it was even a sport
among certain orators to excel each other in finding expressions that
were only understood by themselves.
These remarks are especially interesting, as they draw attention to
the dynamics of the relationship between the speaker and his public.
Quintilian suggests that orators sometimes tend to neglect their public by
concentrating on the flaunting of their own talents. But what is more, he
also testifies to the fact that there is a type of listener that likes such
obscurities. Indeed, when they are able to decipher what the orator means,
103
Inst. orat. VIII.2.18.
104
Inst. orat. VIII.2.21: ‘Pervasitque iam multos ista persuasio, ut id demum eleganter atque
exquisite dictum putent quod interpretandum sit.’
it is also a sign of their own intellectual capacities: ‘Some audiences also

enjoy these things, because they delight in their own cleverness when they
understand them, and rejoice as if they had not so much heard them
as thought of them for themselves.’105 A similar reaction is reported in
book 9, where Quintilian equally focuses on the recipient’s reaction. Being
so self-satisfied with his own acuteness, he claims all the glory for himself, as
if he had invented what he has unravelled: ‘The hearer enjoys understanding
it, thinks well of his own cleverness, and praises himself for someone
else’s speech.’106 Evidently, in every form of communication, an interaction
between two parties takes place. But in the case of obscurity, this interaction
can become a subtle game between them, as it offers the possibility of
mutually showing off in terms of knowledge. Or, as Quintilian puts it:
‘We take it that the unique sign of genius is needing a genius to understand
us.’107 If someone is not able to understand the message, it must be a sign
of one’s own ignorance and one is excluded from the circle of the happy few.
Whereas critique of the display of virtuosity was usually limited to
the field of rhetoric, in the course of time poetry was also included. Several
writers warn against the author’s flaunting of knowledge at the cost of
the reader. A poet should not forget to take into account his recipients and
to adapt his mode of expression to them. A remarkable testimony of this
comes from the medieval writer Geoffrey of Vinsauf, who in his Poetria
nova echoes some of the concerns already put forward by Quintilian.108
He advises poets not to introduce strange or recondite words (‘peregrina
vel abdita verba’), as this would mean that they were not only displaying
their virtuosity, but also neglecting the rules of discourse. Vinsauf suggests
they should ‘set up barriers against obscure words’ (‘obscuris oppone
repagula verbis’). Even when the poet knows everything, his eloquence
should be moderate. Above all, not his own knowledge but the recipient’s
capacities should be his criterion (‘proprias igitur ne respice vires, / Immo
suas, cum quo loqueris’). Similar concerns about the deliberate search
for difficulty are uttered in a document from the ninth century, in which
Archbishop Hincmar of Reims criticises Bishop Hincmar of Laon.109
In particular, the latter’s use of Greek and abstruse words (‘verba . . . graeca
et obstrusa’) is considered a sign of intentional display, and the archbishop
105
Inst. orat. VIII.2.21: ‘Sed auditoribus etiam nonnullis grata sunt haec, quae cum intellexerunt
acumine suo delectantur, et gaudent non quasi audierint sed quasi invenerint.’
106
Inst. orat. IX.2.78: ‘auditor gaudet intellegere et favet ingenio suo et alio dicente se laudat’.
107
Inst. orat. VIII.Pr.25: ‘Tum demum ingeniosi scilicet, si ad intelligendos nos opus sit ingenio.’
108
Cited in Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity’, 105–6. 109
Cited in ibid., 120–4.
advises his addressee to curb his pride and ostentation, ward off vanity
and be humble instead.
The critique of the display of knowledge and the obscuritas that goes
with it, as we can read in Quintilian and many centuries after him, is of
course a central point for the discussion of riddles. Here as well, it is the
explicit intention of a writer to wrap his question in dark words. He already
knows the answer, gives his recipients some veiled clues, and expects
them to solve it only after a long process of thinking. Needless to say, a
musical riddle functions in the same way. Here too, the solution is hinted
at by enigmatic inscriptions and/or images, which show the composer’s
acquaintance with literary and iconographical sources. It is no wonder,
then, that in the music theory of the Renaissance we also come across
the argument about ostentation. Indeed, not everybody was happy with the
intentional search for obscurity and many had no sympathy whatsoever
for some composers’ blatant intellectuality. These and related issues are
expressed in Heinrich Glarean’s Dodekachordon; in the last book of his
treatise he overtly accuses specific compositions of some major Franco-
Flemish polyphonists of ostentatio ingenii. Scrutinising well-known
pieces such as the L’homme armé masses by Josquin and La Rue, Glarean
comes to the conclusion that in these works the composers were more
concerned with flaunting their talent than with the aural result.110 Like
Quintilian, Glarean makes a direct connection between the composer’s
‘self-glorification’ and his neglect of the audience, which in his eyes has
fatal consequences for the aural rendition of these works. One can easily
assume it was Quintilian, whose Institutio oratoria had entered the teach-
ing curriculum in the fifteenth century, that the humanist Glarean had
in mind when ventilating his grievance. But regardless of the precise origin
of Glarean’s objections, it is clear that the problem of ostentation was
a recurring topic in several disciplines in the course of the centuries.
Furthermore, Quintilian’s objection to orators deliberately searching for
expressions that only they can understand finds a remarkable echo in
book 2, chapter 15 of Pietro Aaron’s Libri tres de institutione harmonica
(Bologna, 1516). At a certain point, Aaron focuses on interpretative prob-
lems that arise from certain verbal instructions in the music of Josquin and
his contemporaries. Not only does he criticise the composers’ arbitrariness
in showing or hiding their intentions, but he also questions whether
composers themselves understood what they meant, and if so, he is
110
See Ch. 3 below.
convinced that they did not wish to be understood by others.111 Like

Quintilian, Aaron opposes the cultivation of insider knowledge and the
exclusion that automatically goes with it.
Docta obscuritas
Although obscurity is condemned in many circles and for many reasons,
it also has numerous adherents. We have already seen that writers such as
Aristotle and Quintilian allow a certain degree of obscuritas, mainly
to avoid the banal and to grant the speech a certain dignitas. Aristotle
even admits that obscurity can sometimes throw a fresh light on what we
know and can thus have a didactic value.112 Something that is not said in a
plain way can stimulate our thinking. These ideas are further developed
with the advent of Christianity, where obscurity gains a prominent place
in theological writings in general and biblical exegesis in particular. Indeed,
obscuritas becomes a religious category and gradually develops into a
central element of Christian thinking.
A major source for the study of obscurity in a Christian context is
the writings of Augustine. In his hands, the positive appraisal of the
phenomenon even evolves into the concept of ‘docta obscuritas’ or learned
obscurity. Influenced by a Neoplatonic mode of thought, Augustine states
that everything in this world is a dim reflection of the reality in heaven.113
What we see is opaque and ambiguous. At the same time, this opacity is
necessary in the light of the overwhelming divine truth. According to him,
the allegories and enigmas used in the Bible – we are reminded here
that Augustine also considers riddles as a subclass of allegory (see above) –
are not an obstacle to understanding. On the contrary, they protect us
against the bright light of the perfect truth and at the same time stimulate
us to uncover this truth. For the Church Father, an allegory is not only a
rhetorical figure, but also an interpretative method. As Päivi Mehtonen
puts it, Augustine proposes a reading of the Bible that is made ‘to foster
obscurity and to work unsparingly to unravel the enigmas and dark
passages of Scripture’.114 As we can read in De doctrina christiana, the
language of the Bible incites us to explore and discover what is hidden:
‘The very obscurity, too, of these divine and wholesome words was a
necessary element in eloquence of a kind that was designed to profit our
understandings, not only by the discovery of truth, but also by the exercise
111 112
See Ch. 3 below. See, for example, Aristotle, Rhet. I.11.
113
Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity’, 143. 114
Mehtonen, Obscure Language, 90.
of their powers.’115 Augustine’s belief that understanding is possible through

effort and perseverance is a clear sign of the optimistic foundations of
his epistemology. Augustine is following Paul’s famous ‘Videmus nunc per
speculum in aenigmate, tunc autem facie ad faciem’ (‘For now, we see through
a glass, darkly; but then face to face’; 1 Cor. 13:12) when he writes that the
enigmatic belongs to the essence of revelation. What is written in Scripture
presents itself to the exegete ‘in aenigmate nubium et per speculum caeli’
(‘in the dark image of the clouds and through the glass of heaven’).116 It is
the task of the exegete to make sense of the enigmatic and to find ways of
bringing to light its meaning. As we can read in De civitate Dei, the enigmatic
and the obscure thus enable a fruitful multiplicity of interpretations.117
The function of obscurity, moreover, is many-sided. In Augustine’s
theory, obscurity has an aesthetic, educational, moral and spiritual goal.118
Book 2, chapter 6 of De doctrina christiana, which carries the title ‘Use of
the Obscurities in Scripture which Arise from Its Figurative Language’,
illustrates Augustine’s reasoning. As we have just seen, it is his conviction
that the obscurity of God’s word poses a challenge for the exegete, as it
incites him to search for the truth and to solve the divine puzzle.
By developing a semiotic system that distinguishes between res (subject)
and signum (sign), Augustine created a hermeneutics which identifies
four levels of meaning (literal, allegorical, tropological and anagogical) in
Scripture.119 The obscurity of the biblical language encourages readers to
look for those multiple meanings. Obscurity thus contributes to the
broadening of intellectual skills, it sharpens the mind and is a test for the
reader. At the same time, however, obscurity shows us the relative limits of
human cognitive capacity and admonishes the intellectual to be humble.
Apart from that, obscurity is also a form of protection, as it excludes the
115
Augustine, De doctrina christiana, IV.6.9: ‘Ipsa quoque obscuritas divinorum salubriumque
dictorum tali eloquentiae miscenda fuerat, in qua proficere noster intellectus non solum
inventione, verum etiam exercitatione deberet.’ This and subsequent translations quoted from
Christian Classics Ethereal Library: www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf102.v.html (accessed 20
May 2010).
116
Augustine, Confessiones, XIII.15.18. Translation quoted from Confessions and Enchiridion,
trans. and ed. A. C. Outler (London: SCM Press, 1955), 572.
117
Augustine, De civitate Dei, XI.19: ‘The differing interpretations produce many truths and bring
them to the light of knowledge’ (‘quod plures sententias parit et in lucem notitiae producit’).
118
See especially W. Haug, ‘Geheimnis und dunkler Stil’ in A. and J. Assmann (eds.), Schleier
und Schwelle, 3 vols., Archäologie der literarischen Kommunikation, 5 (Munich: Fink, 1998),
vol. II (Geheimnis und Offenbarung), 205–20.
119
According to Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity’, 147, this interpretative system was originally
developed by Alexandrian exegetes such as Clement and Origen, but it was Augustine
through whom this method was best known in the Middle Ages.
impious from the mystery of revelation and protects the sublime from
being treated as mundane.120 In De doctrina christiana, these facets of
obscurity are summarised as follows:
But hasty and careless readers are led astray by many and manifold obscurities and
ambiguities, substituting one meaning for another; and in some places they cannot
hit upon even a fair interpretation. Some of the expressions are so obscure as to
shroud the meaning in the thickest darkness. And I do not doubt that all this was
divinely arranged for the purpose of subduing pride by toil, and of preventing a
feeling of satiety in the intellect, which generally holds in small esteem what is
discovered without difficulty.121
Only those who persevere, trying to cope with difficulty and to find
new meanings, can benefit from their efforts. The longer the search, the
more rewarding the result. In this light, the use of figurative instead of
plain language is crucial: ‘Nobody, however, has any doubt about the facts,
both that it is pleasanter in some cases to have knowledge communicated
through figures, and that what is attended with difficulty in the seeking
gives greater pleasure in the finding.’122 Or, as Päivi Mehtonen puts it,
there is a ‘mutual dependency between the reader’s perseverance and
the subsequent pleasure of understanding attained: the greater the pains,
the more precious the moment of insight.’123
Influences of Augustine
Augustine’s mode of thinking had a profound influence on medieval
theology and its approach of obscurity. But his principles also attracted
the attention of those who were reading and writing secular literature,
120
See also C. Harrison, Beauty and Revelation in the Thought of Saint Augustine (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1992), 89–90, according to whom obscurity and veiled language ‘guard
against cheap familiarity with, and a cheapening of its object. It protects the truth from the
unworthy and guards it for the worthy, exercising the minds of the righteous to lead them to it,
and blinding the unrighteous in order to punish them.’
121
Augustine, De doctrina christiana, II.6.7: ‘Sed multis et multiplicibus obscuritatibus et
ambiguitatibus decipiuntur qui temere legunt, aliud pro alio sentientes; quibusdam autem locis
quid vel falso suspicentur non inveniunt, ita obscure dicta quaedam densissimam caliginem
obducunt. Quod totum provisum esse divinitus non dubito, ad edomandam labore superbiam
et intellectum a fastidio renovandum, cui facile investigata plerumque vilescunt.’
122
Augustine, De doctrina christiana, II.6.8: ‘Nunc tamen nemo ambigit et per similitudines
libentius quaeque cognosci et cum aliqua difficultate quaesita multo gratius inveniri.’ See also
IV.7.15: ‘The more these things seem to be obscured by figurative words, the sweeter they
become when they are explained’ (‘Quae quanto magis translatis verbis videntur operiri, tanto
magis, cum fuerunt aperta, dulcescunt’).
123
Mehtonen, Obscure Language, 165.
which soon caused his ideas to be transferred to the field of poetry. As

Jan Ziolkowski remarks, during the Middle Ages many writers ‘put a
premium upon obscurity’ by cultivating an ‘aesthetic that favored diffi-
culty, ornament, artificiality, amplification, and periphrasis’.124 Although
many ideas about the advantages and benefits of obscurity arose from a
religious discourse, they were also applied to the profane sphere. A famous
example is the metaphor of the selva oscura at the beginning of Dante’s
Divina commedia. The wood of darkness was a powerful image throughout
the Middle Ages for literary and spiritual confusion. Even more telling
is Dante’s statement ‘Queste parole di colore oscuro’ (‘These words of
obscure colour’) at the beginning of Canto 3 in the Inferno, with which
he comments upon the inscription of the portal to hell, ‘Lasciate ogne
speranza, voi ch’intrate’ (‘Abandon every hope, you who enter’).125 The
inscription seems intended to intimidate those standing at the portal
and to protect the secrets behind it. Here again, ‘secrete cose’ are covered
by words whose meaning is difficult to fathom: ‘Master, their meaning
is hard for me’ (‘Maestro il lor senso m’è duro’), Dante confesses to his
guide Vergil when reading the inscription.
The link between the sacred and secular expressions of obscurity is
explicitly made by famous writers such as Petrarch and Boccaccio. In his
Invective contra medicum, Petrarch follows Augustine by stating that
obscuritas ought not to be considered an obstacle to interpretation, but
rather as a stimulus that incites a careful reading of and occupation
with the Bible and with poetry: ‘Such majesty and dignity are not intended
to hinder those who wish to understand, but rather propose a delightful
task, and are designed to enhance the reader’s pleasure and to support his
memory. What we acquire with difficulty and keep with care is always
dearer to us.’126 Boccaccio too was a fervent advocate of obscurity. Book
14 of his Genealogia deorum gentilium – a huge encyclopedic repository
of classical mythology – even contains a chapter with the admonishing
title ‘The obscurity of the poets is not just cause for condemnation’
(‘Damnanda non est obscuritas poetarum’). Like Augustine, he believes
that a certain obscurity is needed in order to protect a text – whether it be
124
125
Dante, Divina commedia, Inferno, Canto 3, ll. 9–10.
126
Petrarch, Invective contra medicum, III.415–18: ‘stili maiestas retinetur ac dignitas, nec capere
valentibus invidetur, sed, dulci labore proposito, delectationi simul memorieque consulitur.
Cariora sunt, enim, que cum difficultate quesivimus, accuratiusque servantur.’ Text quoted
from F. Petrarca, Invective contra medicum, ed. P. G. Ricci, Storia e letteratura. Raccolta di
studi e testi, 32 (Rome: Storia e Letteratura, 1978), 70.
the Bible or poetry – from unworthy interpreters, who would vulgarise its
meaning: ‘Where matters truly solemn and memorable are too much
exposed, it is his office by every effort to protect as well as he can and
remove them from the gaze of the irreverent, that they cheapen not by too
common familiarity.’127 Boccaccio also quotes the passage from Petrarch’s
Invective contra medicum. He then compares poetry’s obscurity with that
of Scripture and states that the more intense the reader’s efforts are, the
greater the pleasure he experiences. A sharpened mind is the compensation
for the reader’s struggle with the text. In the introduction to the ‘prima
giornata’ of the Decamerone, Boccaccio suggestively compares this quest
with climbing a mountain:
This horrid beginning will be to you even such as to wayfarers is a steep and rugged
mountain, beyond which stretches a plain most fair and delectable, which the
toil of the ascent and descent does but serve to render more agreeable to them; for,
as the last degree of joy brings with it sorrow, so misery has ever its sequel of
happiness.128
With this perspective in mind, he encourages the reader to keep searching

for new interpretations and to keep exploring ways to penetrate the text:
‘You must read, you must persevere, you must sit up nights, you must
inquire, and exert the utmost power of your mind. If one way does not lead
to the desired meaning, take another; if obstacles arise, then still another;
until, if your strength holds out, you will find that clear which at first
looked dark.’129 Interestingly, Boccaccio, like Petrarch, couples this process
of reading, questioning and rereading to the activity of memorising texts.
The more time the reader has spent with a text, the easier it will be to
remember it: ‘Anything gained with fatigue seems sweeter than what is
understood without effort. The plain truth, since it is understood easily,
127
Giovanni Boccaccio, Genealogia deorum gentilium, bk. 14, ch. 12: ‘Si in propatulo posita sint
memoratu et veneratione digna, ne vilescant familiaritate nimia, quanta possunt industria,
tegere et ab oculis torpentium auferre.’ This and subsequent translations from the Genealogy of
the Gentile Gods are quoted from C. B. Osgood, Boccaccio on Poetry (Princeton University
Press, 1930).
128
‘Questo orrido cominciamento vi fia non altramenti che a’ camminanti una montagna aspra e
erta, presso alla quale un bellissimo piano e dilettevole sia reposto, il quale tanto più viene lor
piacevole quanto maggiore è stata del salire e dello smontare la gravezza. E sì come la estremità
della allegrezza il dolore occupa, così le miserie da sopravegnente letizia sono terminate.’
129
Boccaccio, Genealogia deorum gentilium, XIV.12: ‘Legendum est, insistendum vigilandumque,
atque interrogandum, et omni modo premende cerebri vires! Et si non una via potest quis
pervenire, quo cupit, intret alteram, et, si obstent obices, arripiat aliam, donec, si valiture sint
vires, lucidum illi appareat, quod primo videbatur obscurum.’
delights us and passes from the mind. But, in order that it may be more
pleasing because acquired with labor, and therefore better valued, the
poets hide the truth beneath things appearing contrary to it.’130 In the
same chapter of the Genealogia deorum gentilium, Boccaccio also opposes
criticism of the author’s ostentation such as we can read in several discus-
sions of obscurity. In his eyes, obscurity is an appropriate tool against
the ‘easiness’ and transitoriness of a direct formulation, but should not
be abused for reasons of cultivating an image: ‘Surely no one can believe
that poets invidiously veil the truth with fiction, either to deprive the reader
of the hidden sense, or to appear the more clever; but rather to make
truths which would otherwise cheapen by exposure the object of strong
intellectual effort and various interpretation, that in ultimate discovery
they shall be more precious.’131
Positive resonances in the Renaissance

The idea that obscuritas serves as a necessary protection against the
profanation of learned matters and theological arcana found a strong
advocate in the writings and orations of Pico della Mirandola.132 Especially
in his famous manifesto De hominis dignitate (‘Oration on the Dignity
of Man’, 1486), Pico justified the importance of the human quest for
knowledge within a Neoplatonic framework. Near the end of his oration,
he comes to the conclusion that obscuritas is a prequisite for religious
and intellectual communities in order to guarantee the exclusivity of their
teachings. In that way, theology and the knowledge of the divine truth
are withheld from the eyes and ears of the profanum vulgus:
Openly to reveal to the people the hidden mysteries and the secret intentions of the
highest divinity, which lay concealed under the hard shell of the law and the rough
vesture of language, what else could this be but to throw holy things to dogs and to
strew gems among swine? The decision, consequently, to keep such things hidden
130
Boccaccio, Life of Dante. Translation quoted from Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity’, 148.
131
Boccaccio, Genealogia deorum gentilium, XIV.12: ‘Nec sit quis existimet a poetis veritates
fictionibus invidia conditas, aut ut velint omnino absconditorum sensum negare lectoribus, aut
ut artificiosiores appareant, sed ut, que apposita viluissent, labore ingeniorum quesita et
diversimode intellecta comperta tandem faciant cariora.’
132
See also Pico’s commentary on Benivieni’s Canzona d’amore, bk. 3, ch. 11, stanza 9, where he
had stated that ‘the divine subjects and the secret mysteries must not be rashly divulged . . .
Divine knowledge, if committed to writing at all, must be covered with enigmatic veils and
poetic dissimulation.’ Quoted in E. Wind, Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance (2nd edn,
Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1967), 17.
from the vulgar and to communicate them only to the initiate, among whom alone,
as Paul says, wisdom speaks, was not a counsel of human prudence but a divine
command.133
The safeguarding of the hidden mysteries causes the initiated to reveal their
knowledge only to a small circle of confidants, usually ‘from mind to mind,
without commitment to writing, through the medium of the spoken word
alone’ (‘ex animo in animum, sine litteris, medio intercedente verbo’). In a
true spirit of humanist syncretism that characterises his oration, Pico
then exemplifies his standpoint by referring to various traditions. As he
puts it, Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, Jesus Christ, Dionysius the Areopagite
and Cabala all have in common that they save their true knowledge for a
limited audience and must express themselves ‘per enigmata’. It is also in
this context that Pico explictly mentions the role of riddles. He particularly
highlights and explains the meaning of Sphinxes to this effect: ‘The
Sphinxes, which are carved on the temples of the Egyptians, warned that
the mystic doctrines must be kept inviolate from the profane multitude
by means of riddles.’134 The threatening, hybrid creature holds mysterious
wisdom.
A further source for the positive reception of obscurity in the Renais-
sance, which takes us from the sphere of intellectual reflection to the
multifacetedness of courtly life, is Baldassare Castiglione’s Libro del corte-
giano. Published for the first time in 1528, this handbook for the ‘perfect
courtier’ gained wide popularity, was reprinted numerous times and trans-
lated and adapted into several languages. In book 1, chapter 30, Castiglione
touches upon the topic of oscurità:
But this I say, if the words that are spoken have any darknes in them, that
communication pierceth not the minde of him that heareth: and passing without
being understood, waireth vaine and to no purpose; the which doth not happen
in writing, for if the words that the writer useth bring with them a litle (I will not
say difficultie) but covered subtiltie, and not so open, as such as be ordinarily
spoken, they give a certaine greater authoritie to writing, and make the reader
133
‘At mysteria secretiora et sub cortice legis rudique verborum pretestu latitantia, altissimae
divinitatis archana, plebi palam facere, quid erat aliud quam dare sanctum canibus et inter
porcos spargere margaritas? Ergo haec clam vulgo habere, perfectis communicanda, inter quos
tantum sapientiam loqui se ait Paulus, non humani consilii sed divini precepti fuit.’
Translation quoted from A. R. Caponigri (Chicago: Regnery, 1956).
134
‘Egiptiorum templis insculptae Sphinges, hoc admonebant ut mistica dogmata per enigmatum
nodos a prophana multitudine inviolata custodirentur.’ However, as Cook, Enigmas and
Riddles in Literature, 8 notes, the Egyptian Sphinx was not yet associated with riddles. This is
in fact a later Greek tradition.
more headfull to pause at it, and to ponder it better, that he taketh a delight in the
wittines and learning of him that writeth, and with a good iudgment, after some
paines taking, he tasteth the pleasure that consisteth in hard things.135
Like Quintilian, Castiglione makes a distinction between the oral and the
written medium. Whereas the fleeting character of the spoken word
prevents what is said from filtering down to the hearer, the written text
offers its reader the possibility to ruminate and to ponder its meaning.
This, in turn, not only causes him to appreciate the obscurity – which
Castiglione defines as ‘hidden ingenuity’ (‘acutezza recondita’) – and to
admire the author’s inventiveness, but also to savour the reward of the
effort that goes with the overcoming of difficulty.136 Furthermore, Casti-
glione pleads for a clear detection of the reasons for obscurity: ‘And if
the ignorance of him that readeth be such, that he cannot compasse that
difficultie, there is no blame in the writer, neither ought a man for all that
to thinke that tongue not to be faire.’137
135
‘Dico ben che, se le parole che si dicono hanno in sé qualche oscurità, quel ragionamento
non penetra nell’animo di chi ode e passando senza esser inteso, diventa vano; il che non
interviene nello scrivere, ché se le parole che usa il scrittore portan seco un poco, non dirò di
difficultà, ma d’acutezza recondita, e non cosí nota come quelle che si dicono parlando
ordinariamente, danno una certa maggior autorità alla scrittura e fanno che’l lettore va piú
ritenuto e sopra di sé, e meglio considera e si diletta dello ingegno e dottrina di chi scrive; e col
bon giudicio affaticandosi un poco, gusta quel piacere che s’ha nel conseguir le cose difficili.’
Translation quoted from The Courtier of Counte Baldessar Castilio, trans. T. Hobby (London:
Thomas Creede, 1603).
136
This radically goes against some poetic theories of this period, according to which obscurity is
incongruent with pleasure. See, for example, Torquato Tasso’s Lezione sopra un sonetto di
Monsignor Della Casa (c. 1565), written for the Accademia Ferrarese, in which he proclaims
‘diletto’ to be the ultimate goal of poetry. As obscurity does not lead to delight but rather
hinders it, it should be avoided: ‘[S]ince the poet must delight, either because pleasure is his
end, as I believe, or because it is a necessary means to bring about utility, as others judge, he is
not a good poet who does not delight, nor can he delight with those concepts which bring with
them difficulty and obscurity; for a man must weary his mind in order to understand them,
and since fatigue is contrary to human nature and to pleasure, wherever fatigue is present no
pleasure can in any way be found’ (‘dovendo il poeta dilettare, o perchè il diletto sia il suo fine,
come io credo, o perchè sia mezzo necessario ad indurre il giovamento, come altri giudica;
buon poeta non è colui che non diletta, nè dilettar si può con quei concetti che recano seco
difficoltà ed oscurità: perchè necessario è che l’uomo affatichi la mente intorno a l’intelligenza
di quelli; ed essendo la fatica contraria a la natura degli uomini ed al diletto, ove fatica si
trovi, ivi per alcun modo non può diletto ritrovarsi’). Text and translation quoted from
B. Weinberg, A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance (University of Chicago
Press, 1961), vol. I, 177.
137
‘E se la ignoranzia di chi legge è tanta, che non possa superar quelle difficultà, non è la colpa
dello scrittore, né per questo si dee stimar che quella lingua non sia bella.’ This echoes a remark
in Cicero’s De inventione, I.15, where he states that obscurity can be due to the subject or the
recipient; the speaker/writer is not mentioned.
The very idea of obscurity and – by extension – the cultivation of the

riddle fits very well into the overall plan of Castiglione’s Libro del corte-
giano. Indeed, with its subtle shifting between the playful and the erudite,
between the light-heartedness of a game and the seriousness of an intellec-
tual exercise, the riddle is a perfect test case for the courtier, who could
excel and gain a certain status without overt demonstration. It is hardly a
coincidence that shortly before his discussion on obscurity, Castiglione
had introduced the concept of sprezzatura, one of the cornerstones of
his treatise.138 This art of concealing one’s skills, of ‘veiling erudition’
or – in Castiglione’s own words – ‘quella esser vera arte che non pare esser
arte’ lies at the heart of courtly conduct and became an integral part of the
courtier’s self-fashioning. The interactive and diverting dimension of
the riddle almost perfectly suited this ideal and offered a platform to play
with the very notion of sprezzatura in a recreative context.139
Following the tradition of Classical Antiquity and the Middle Ages,
thinkers in the Renaissance continued to reflect upon the riddle in general
and the use of obscurity in particular. As in former times, this was
often done in the context of rhetoric, especially after the rediscovery of
Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria at the beginning of the fifteenth century.
Although, as we have seen above, the ideal of perspicuitas was of utmost
importance, a certain degree of obscurity was allowed. Many Renaissance
writers indeed underline the positive effect of obscurity. In book 1, chapter
17 of his De duplici copia (1512), for example, Desiderius Erasmus touches
upon the riddle in the context of his discussion of metaphor and allegory.
He combines Aristotle’s argument on obscurity as a didactic method
and Augustine’s conviction that obscurity is a way to train the mind. Via
obscurity, readers – both knowledgeable and less erudite ones – learn to
cope with difficulty and to overcome obstacles as they are forced to reflect
upon them: ‘In proverbs of this sort allegory often results in enigma. This is
no bad thing if you are writing for an educated audience, and not even
if you are writing for the general public, for one should not write so that
everyone can understand everything, but so that people should be com-
pelled to investigate and learn some things themselves.’140
138
Castiglione, Il libro del cortegiano (Florence, 1528), bk. 1, ch. 26.
139
On courtly diversions and the place of the (musical) riddle, see L. Stras, ‘“Al gioco si conosce il
galantuomo”: Artifice, Humour and Play in the Enigmi musicali of Don Lodovico Agostini’,
EMH, 24 (2005), 213–86 at 214f. (see also Ch. 2).
140
‘In huiusmodi paroemijs Allegoria nonnunque exit in Aenigma, neque id erit vitiosum si doctis
vel loquaris vel scribas. Imo ne tum quidem si vulgo. Neque enim ita scribendum, ut omnes
omnia intelligant. Sed ut quaedam etiam vestigare, ac discere cogantur.’
In his Garden of Eloquence, a treatise on rhetoric, Henry Peacham too

devotes attention to obscurity in general and the riddle in particular.141
Like many others, he not only makes a distinction between rhetoric
and poetry, i.e. between the oral and the written medium, when it comes
to the use of obscurity, but he also states that obscurity is not appropriate
for every kind of subject: ‘This figure is more convenient to Poets then to
Orators, and more agreeable to high and heavenly visions, then to the
form of familiar and proper speech.’ Peacham has recourse to a beautiful
double metaphor when describing the essence of obscurity: ‘For indeede
this figure is like a deepe mine, the obtaining of whose metall requireth
deepe digging, or to a darke night, whose stars be hid with thicke cloudes.’
In both cases, it becomes clear that obscurity requires active participation
from the recipient, and that its solution is like a hidden treasure. From this
it follows that when the diligent reader has succeeded in raising obscurity
to the surface, he experiences pleasure.142
The idea of a reward after laborious interpretative work continues
to be cherished in the Renaissance and beyond.143 Obscuritas was a
much-discussed category in various discplines, where it provoked a diver-
sity of opinions. Like the riddle, the field of obscurity par excellence,
some consider it an obstacle, an unnecessary burden for the recipient
and a sign of the author’s flaunting of his ingenium. Others, however, see
it as a hermeneutic challenge, a source of intellectual satisfaction and an
opportunity to enlarge their knowledge, often stressing the ‘surprising’
potential of obscurity. By making obscure but solvable connections
between words and their actual meaning, the author’s creative play with
language – of which allegories and riddles are a prominent example – can
shed new light on a subject and broaden the reader’s horizon.
One can easily imagine a similar effect in the case of musical riddles.
Here as well, by the interplay of music and inscription (and sometimes
even image), the composer is able to make subtle connections, not only
between various art forms, but also between the very aspects of his
141
H. Peacham, Garden of Eloquence (London, 1577; 2nd edn 1593), 27–9. Quoted from Cook,
Enigmas and Riddles in Literature, 56.
142
Ibid.: ‘Sometimes notwithstanding darknesse of speech causeth delectation, as that which is
wittily invented, and aptly applied, and so proportioned that it may be understood of prompt
wits and apt capacities, who are best able to find out the sense of a similitude and to uncover
the darke vaile of Aenigmatical speech.’
143
A good example of the ongoing reflection on riddles and obscurity in the Baroque period is
Baltasar Gracián’s Agudeza y arte de ingenio (Huesca, 1648; enlarged edn of Arte de ingenio:
Tratado de la agudeza from 1642), a rhetorical treatise on intellectual wit and ingenuity, which
also contains a chapter on ‘Agudeza enigmatica’ (Discurso XL).
creation, thus also telling us something about his associative capacities, his
mode of thinking. By presenting itself in this way, a riddle invites the
performer to unravel these links, to spend time with the composition and
to discover new interpretations of the work’s message. In the next chapters,
numerous examples will be discussed. Like literary riddles, which often use
a remarkable figurative language, the musical riddle can equally draw our
attention to unknown and ‘hidden’ connections between things and reveal
them in an unexpected, subtle and sometimes even humorous way.

2 Devising musical riddles in the Renaissance
By helpe of fiue, and sixe, and seuen

And lines and distances betweene
A scale is made that brings from heauen
A virgine sweete that nere was seene,
Nor any man euer see her shall,
Though heauen and earth together fall.
The Riddles of Heraclitus and Democritus (London, 1598)
The opening verse of this enigma from a famous, late-sixteenth-century

English riddle collection announces itself as a mathematical brain-teaser.
However, upon further reading, it turns out that the numerical series in
the first line hints at the basic ingredients of musical notation: with five
clefs, six solmisation syllables and seven note names, one can build a
musical scale.1 The double entendre of the latter word – here used to
denote the gamut instead of a physical ladder – allows the author to play
with the age-old conviction that music connects heaven and earth. The
inaudible music of the celestial bodies – the musica universalis – is reflected
in the proportions of the sounding music – the musica instrumentalis.
Above all, music and its impalpable character – it cannot be seen and its
sounds perish as soon as they have been produced – are here compared to
an immaculate virgin.
This is a riddle about music, which skilfully evokes the tension between
music as written and music as heard, between notation and performance.
It is this very tension that lies at the heart of the present study. This book is
not about literary riddles on music – the above-mentioned poem is in fact
one of the few from this period I know of – but about music that itself takes
the shape of a riddle. Indeed, musical notation could present itself as a
1
The solution, provided by the anonymous author, reads as follows: ‘The scale of musicke, is
made with lines and spaces. Fiue signed cliffes. Six voices, vt, re, my, fa, sol, la, and the seuen
diapasons, a. b. c. d. e. f. g.’ It should be noted that the collection appeared one year after
A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (London, 1597) by Thomas Morley, who
treats the basic elements of music at the very beginning of his treatise. 65
question that needs to be solved by the performers before they can properly
sing the piece. This might in itself sound quite enigmatic, and one wonders
what inspired composers to write music this way. But in order to under-
stand what is at stake here, let me illustrate the essential characteristics
of musical riddles with a concrete example. As we shall see below, the
Ghent-born Jacob Obrecht was one of the main propagators of musical
riddle culture in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century. In his
cantus-firmus masses above all he gives free rein to his bewildering
enigmatic inventiveness. It must have been an extraordinary challenge
for him to play with the structural possibilities of a pre-existing model,
which could penetrate the different sections of the mass in various guises.
Whether of sacred or secular origin, this melody was subjected to melodic
and/or rhythmic changes. But – and this is a key element in many
musical riddles of Obrecht’s day – instead of plainly showing the result
of these transformations, Obrecht and his contemporaries preferred to
keep the cantus firmus intact on the page, and let the singer (in the
majority of cases the Tenor, as he usually carried the cantus firmus) figure
out how that transformation had to be accomplished. How does this
work? Two movements from Obrecht’s Missa Fortuna desperata will
serve as an example.2
This mass is based on the eponymous Italian song, whose fame is
attested by the many arrangements of it.3 In the Gloria and Credo of his
mass, Obrecht attached an inscription to the Tenor, which he placed under
a long that is isolated by rests on both sides and marked with a fermata
(see Figure 2.1). At first glance, ‘In medio consistit virtus’ (‘Virtue consists
in the mean’) looks like an adage Obrecht may have wanted to add – a
paratext with a moralising touch, so to speak. The proverb was a basic
principle of Aristotelian ethics, but it is familiar from other contexts too.4
In one of his Odes, for example, the Roman poet Horace makes a well-
known plea for the ‘aurea mediocritas’, which he defines as a moderation
2
Modern edition: Jacob Obrecht: Collected Works, vol. IV: Missa De tous bien playne – Missa Fors
seulement – Missa Fortuna desperata, ed. Barton Hudson, New Obrecht Edition, 4 (Utrecht:
Vereniging voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis, 1986). The mass was probably composed
during Obrecht’s first sojourn in Ferrara (1487–8).
3
See, for example, Fortuna desperata: Thirty-Six Settings of an Italian Song, ed. Honey Meconi,
RRMMAER, 37 (Madison, WI: A-R Editions, 2001). This edition includes si placet versions,
replacement contratenor settings, liturgical works and pieces with Italian, French, German and
Latin texts.
4
Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 2.1106a26–1107a27.
Devising musical riddles in the Renaissance 67
Figure 2.1 Tenor of Jacob Obrecht, Missa Fortuna desperata, from Missa Obreht
(Venice: Petrucci, 1503), beginning of the Gloria, fol. 25. Munich, Bayerische
Staatsbibliothek, 4 Mus.pr. 160#Beibd.1
that is neither overjoyed by good fortune nor disheartened by bad.5 Note

that the theme of fortune, which dominates the model of Obrecht’s mass,
also resonates in the philosophical context of the enigmatic inscription:
it links both levels of the composition in an intimate way.
Upon closer inspection of Obrecht’s Tenor, however, this sentence is
not merely symbolic; it has a clear function: it tells the singer – albeit in
a cryptic way – that he has to transform the melody of Fortuna desperata
according to a specific plan – the other three voices, it should be stressed,
are not encoded. The singer has to understand that the clue to the riddle
is a pun on the word ‘medium’. Whereas in its original (ethic) context
it refers to the virtue of moderation and tells one to avoid excess, in
Obrecht’s mass the word takes on a different meaning. Here, ‘medium’
should be interpreted as a location, literally the middle or the centre. Thus,
the long under which the inscription is written is the point of departure
in both Gloria and Credo. Instead of starting from the beginning – as the
5
Horace, Odes, 2.10. See especially ll. 13–15: ‘sperat infestis, metuit secundis / alteram sortem
bene praeparatum / pectus’ (‘The well-prepared breast hopes for a reversal of fortune in
adversity and fears it in prosperity’).
Tenor would normally be inclined to do – he has to start with the middle

note, which is clearly marked as such. In the Gloria, the Tenor then
retrogrades to the beginning, returns to the middle note, and sings straight
to the end.6 The same procedure is repeated in the Qui tollis. In the
Credo, the reverse happens: after having sung the middle note, the Tenor
continues retrograde from the end, reaches the middle note, and then sings
the first half ut iacet, as it is written.7 The same order pertains for the
Et incarnatus est.8
What can we infer from this? Whereas the melody of Fortuna desperata
is clearly identifiable on the page, it falls apart in performance: the retro-
grade reading alters the melody beyond recognisability.9 The notation and
the aural result drift apart in a fundamental way. It is as if Obrecht wanted
to show and hide his intentions at the same time. On the one hand, he
forces the Tenor to extra mental effort, since the music as written cannot
be sung as such. On the other hand, by retaining the melody of the song
on the page, he shows the singers what his compositional point of depart-
ure is and what technical procedures he applied to it. Above all, through
the choice of a philosophical inscription and its recycling for musical goals,
Obrecht displays his scholarly erudition – the Missa Fortuna desperata
is not the only mass where he was to do so, as we shall see below – and
must have expected singers to be able to deal with it.
However, the manuscripts and prints in which this mass is transmitted
suggest that not every Tenor singer could cope with Obrecht’s riddle and
some needed visual help instead. Interestingly, the five extant sources deal
6
The backward reading of the first part of the cantus firmus is also hinted at by the instruction
‘Cancrisa’ / ‘Cancrizat’.
7
As R. L. Todd, ‘Retrograde, Inversion, Retrograde-Inversion, and Related Techniques in the
Masses of Jacobus Obrecht’, MQ, 64 (1978), 50–78 at 61–2 and others have shown, the result of
this tour de force is an enormous symmetrical structure consisting of several palindromes on
different levels. In performance, however, a problem arises for text setting, as there are not
enough notes to fit the text of the Gloria and Credo. In his introduction to the New Obrecht
Edition (see n. 2), Barton Hudson speculates that the Tenor might have been performed
instrumentally, e.g. with participation of an organ (p. xli).
8
As Zayaruznaya, ‘What Fortune Can Do to a Minim’, 337f. convincingly demonstrates, for
reasons of rotational symmetry a final longa f 0 should in fact conclude every movement. Two of
the sources in which Obrecht’s mass is transmitted do include a final long, but not on that pitch.
She furthermore shows that this note could be understood not only as a metaphor of God –
Aristotle’s unmoved mover – but also as the Boethian equivalent of the centre point that
transcends the necessity of Fate, as he relates it in the fourth book of his Consolatio.
9
To quote R. C. Wegman, Born for the Muses: The Life and Masses of Jacob Obrecht (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1994), 226: ‘On paper the rationality of layout is conspicuous, yet in sound this
rational element is firmly pushed backstage by the sheer wealth of Obrecht’s invention.’
Figure 2.2 Jacob Obrecht, Missa Fortuna desperata in the Segovia codex, beginning of
the Gloria (with enigmatic Tenor and Tenor ad longum)
with the Gloria and Credo in different ways.10 The Segovia codex – a
choirbook perhaps from the collection of Isabella of Castille – and Petruc-
ci’s edition in the Misse Obreht (Venice, 1503) seek a consensus by
providing both the canon and the resolution. In this way, their users can
decide which version they want to sing from: the cryptic or the plain one –
or, to put it differently, they are allowed to appreciate the enigmatic
invention and its outcome at the same time (see Figure 2.2).11
The other three sources do not offer this choice: whereas Modena
α.M.1.2, a Ferrarese choirbook for use at the ducal chapel of Ercole I, only
gives the written-out resolutio – i.e. the result of Obrecht’s manipulation of
the cantus firmus – both Berlin 40021 and Gregor Mewes’s Concentus
harmonici (Basel, 1507) prefer to keep the riddle as Obrecht conceived it.
What is striking about the latter print, however, is that it contains hand-
written additions that facilitate the decoding: using the letters a, b and c,
someone marked the order and the way in which the various parts of the
cantus firmus must be sung (see Figure 2.3). Thus, in the two sections of
10
For an overview of all the sources in which this mass appears (also separate mass items), see the
introduction to the modern edition by Barton Hudson, xxvi–xxix.
11
More precisely, the Segovia manuscript gives the riddle only for the Et in terra; in all the other
sections the solution ad longum is given. Facsimile edition of Gloria and Credo: Cancionero de
la Catedral de Segovia (Segovia: Caja de Ahorros y Monte de Piedad, 1977), fols. 39v–43r.
Figure 2.3 Tenor of Jacob Obrecht, Missa Fortuna desperata in Concentus harmonici
(Basel: Mewes, 1507), beginning of the Gloria. Basel, Universitätsbibliothek, kk III 23a
the Gloria, the letter a is put above (or beneath) the central long, b is placed
above the last note of the first half to indicate a retrograde reading and
c below the first note of the second half. In the two sections of the Credo,
due to a reversal of the procedure, the letters are positioned differently –
except of course for the a in the centre: this time, the letter b is placed at
the last note of each section, whereas c is written above the first note.12
Finally, as mentioned above, the philosophical sentence on moderation
neatly fits the model of Obrecht’s mass, which is about the unpredictability
of fortune. He was clearly well aware of the subtle connection between
both and chose his verbal canon carefully. The technical means by which
that model is manipulated also underlines these intentions. For by always
having a retrograde reading of the melody followed by the straightforward
version – in both the Gloria and the Credo – Obrecht’s musical transform-
ation of the Fortuna desperata melody announces itself as a symbol of hope,
with a period of setback followed by one of prosperity. Like the movement
of the age-old rota fortunae suggests, after misfortune come windfalls.13
12
As Barton Hudson, in the introduction to the New Obrecht Edition, xxxiii remarks, the
additions fail to indicate that the fermata in the middle must be repeated between the
segments.
13
See also L. Holford-Strevens, ‘The Latinity of Jacob Obrecht’, JAF, 2 (2010), 155–65 at 164: ‘It is
as if the tenor were a sentence expounding a narrative whose subject was the virtuous person
In addition, the Janus-faced resolutio to Obrecht’s riddle – with the first

section looking backwards, the second one forwards – also visualises with
musical means depictions of the goddess with two faces looking in opposite
directions, as is frequently found in manuscripts of that time.14 Obrecht’s
constructivist concept thus serves as a clear symbolic expression.
These two sections of Obrecht’s Missa Fortuna desperata demonstrate
in a nutshell the various aspects of devising musical riddles that will be
discussed more extensively in this chapter. More precisely, they provide
insight into (1) the central role of the notation and its complicated
relation with the sounding result, (2) the reasons behind the composer’s
enigmatic intentions, (3) the aspect of transformation that the singer has
to apply to the written music, (4) the veiled clues the composer provides
in the form of an inscription and (5) the way concordant sources cope
with riddles and how they facilitate (or not) its solution for a specific
group of users.
To be sure, Obrecht’s Fortuna desperata mass contains one of the more
ingenious riddles of the Renaissance, but we shall see that musical brain-
teasers existed in various degrees of complexity, ranging from the banal
to the most sophisticated inventions. In the music of the Renaissance,
the taste for the enigmatic began to develop around the middle of the
fifteenth century. From that period onwards, composers started to wrap
their intentions in cryptic sentences, which told the singer in a metaphor-
ical way how they had to treat the written music. Before this, instructions
had tended to be of a purely technical nature, informing the singers in a
straightforward manner about rhythmic and melodic procedures they
had to apply.15 In the last quarter of the fifteenth and the first decades
of the sixteenth century, musical riddles reached the height of complexity
in the masses, motets and chansons of Franco-Flemish composers such
as Busnoys, Obrecht and Josquin. After that period, the interest in musical
enigmas continues, and although their sheer quantity diminishes, the
signified by the initial long, and whose predicate concerned the effect of Fortune. As befits a
mass based on a text about ill fortune but as a Christian act of worship expressing not despair
but hope, the retrograde, signifying ill fortune, is succeeded by the normal version, symbolizing
good; Fortune’s wheel has cast down but will cast up.’
14
See also Zayaruznaya, ‘What Fortune Can Do to a Minim’, 341 for such a picture (from a
fifteenth-century manuscript with Jean de Meun’s translation of Boethius’ Consolatio).
15
This is not to say that these inscriptions are easily comprehensible, but merely that their
instructions are expressed in technical terms, which can be interpreted in their sensus litteralis.
For an excellent recent study of verbal instructions of this period, see Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons’.
She traces an evolution in the function of verbal canons between the middle of the thirteenth
and the beginning of the sixteenth century.
fascination with musical conundrums also spreads to composers of

German, French, English, Italian and Spanish origin, who start to integrate
enigmatic elements in other genres as well. A renewed interest in musical
riddles marks the later sixteenth and early seventeenth century; these
riddles – not unlike their literary counterpart – tend to be collected in
anthologies, whether of a practical or theoretical nature.16
Riddles flourished in all kinds of musical contexts: their inventors were
members of music chapels, in churches and at courts, but they also moved
in academic circles, where a tendency towards systematisation can be seen.
Riddles occur in manuscripts and prints, with or without a written-out
solution. The enigmatic conceit can affect only one voice – with the riddle
part being accompanied by free (i.e. non-enigmatic) voices, as in Obrecht’s
Missa Fortuna desperata. Or it can extend to the piece as a whole, so
that all performers participate equally in deciphering the composer’s
intentions in a spirit of Renaissance sociabilité. When decoding becomes
a collective activity, the practice of solving musical riddles comes close to
parlour games, where all participants are engaged in a task to the same
extent and with a common goal. Over the course of time, the recreative
aspect of riddling becomes increasingly important, which is in fact con-
comitant with an increase in books dedicated to games. Whereas in the
late fifteenth and early sixteenth century the majority of musical riddles are
found in a ‘functional’ context – being part of a mass, hence of a liturgical
enactment – in the later sixteenth and the first decades of the seventeenth
century they often tend to become a mixture of pastime and intellectual
exercise, made and played to sharpen the mind and to amuse at the same
time (see below).17
16
See, for example, Lodovico Agostini’s two books of Enigmi musicali (1571 and 1581) and the
Canones, et Echo sex vocibus (1572), in which he offers a kaleidoscope of riddles on secular and
religious texts (see below). Examples of riddle anthologies in a theoretical context are (the final
book of) Pietro Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro (Naples: J. B. Gargano and L. Nucci, 1613) and
Lodovico Zacconi’s Canoni musicali (c. 1622–7). Their reception of musical riddles will be the
subject of Chapter 3.
17
On the different aesthetic context that surrounds riddle culture from c. 1620 (in the hands of
Romano Micheli, Pier Francesco Valentini and others), but that is not the subject of this study,
see G. Gerbino, Canoni ed enigmi: Pier Francesco Valentini e l’artificio canonico nella prima
metà del Seicento (Rome: Edizione Torre d’Orfeo, 1995); M. Lamla, Kanonkünste im barocken
Italien, insbesondere in Rom, 3 vols. (Berlin: dissertation.de, 2003); S. Klotz, Kombinatorik
und die Verbindungskünste der Zeichen in der Musik zwischen 1630 und 1780 (Berlin:
Akademie-Verlag, 2006) (esp. ch. 1: ‘Römische Kanonkünste und Kirchers Musarithmik:
Zwischen alla mente-Improvisation und maschineller Inventarisierung’); and L. Wuidar,
Canons énigmes et hiéroglyphes musicaux dans l’Italie du 17e siècle, Études de musicologie, 1
(Brussels: Lang, 2008).
The message of the notation 73
The message of the notation
In his article on ‘Music as Visual Object: The Importance of Notational

Appearance’, James Haar makes a plea to ‘look longer and more sympa-
thetically at early music in the visual form in which it has come down to us,
waiting a bit before we transcribe and edit it for modern consumption’.18
Such an approach has consequences for our evaluation of modern
editions – failing as they often do to grasp the elegance of the original in
favour of a contrapuntally clear layout – but one of Haar’s main aims
also is to show how musicians sometimes composed ‘“out of the notes” in
addition to using notation after the fact of composition’.19 In other words,
notation can lie at the very centre of the composer’s attention. Instead
of being the mere written-down, post factum reflection of the composer’s
thoughts, the notation and its creative potential can sometimes become
the starting point for the genesis of a work.20 This is especially true for
Augenmusik, music for the eyes, in general and compositions that use
visual pictorialism in particular. In all these cases, the visual presentation
is an integral part of the work’s meaning.
Another type, also mentioned by Haar, where music ‘must have been
planned on paper before the actual compositional process began’, are
pieces with isorhythmic structures and notational puzzles.21 Here as well,
the notation expresses – paradoxically – more and less than a written-out
version does. In many musical riddles, a short melody – in some cases a
single note or even a voice that is not notated at all22 – has the potential
to generate a polyphonic piece. To use a particularly apt expression from
18
J. Haar, ‘Music as Visual Object: The Importance of Notational Appearance’ in R. Borghi and
P. Zappalà (eds.), L’edizione critica tra testo musicale e testo letterario. Atti del convegno
internazionale (Cremona 4–8 ottobre 1992), Studi e testi musicali. Nuova serie, 3 (Lucca:
Libreria Musicale Italiana, 1995), 97–128 at 98.
19
Haar, ‘Music as Visual Object’, 98.
20
See also E. E. Leach, Sung Birds: Music, Nature, and Poetry in the Later Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY
and London, 2007: Cornell University Press, 2007), 113: ‘writing – musical notation – can be
seen as the generating force behind a composition. Visual appearance becomes integral to its
meaning. Notation is thus not just a way to record performances but also a means to create
them – a tool of composition as well as transmission.’
21
Haar, ‘Music as Visual Object’, 98. For a recent critical evaluation of our use of the term
isorhythm, see M. Bent, ‘What Is Isorhythm?’ in D. B. Cannata, G. I. Currie, R. C. Mueller and J.
L. Nádas (eds.), Quomodo cantabimus canticum? Studies in Honor of Edward H. Roesner
(Middleton, WI: American Institute of Musicology, 2008), 121–43.
22
See, for example, the Enigma de la escala in Pietro Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro (bk. 22,
Riddle no. 41), in which the melody of the Tenor can be derived from a single note, which is
surrounded by images and inscriptions that offer clues for the correct interpretation. For an
analysis and contextualisation of this riddle, see Ch. 4 below.
an essay by George Steiner, the notation is thus characterised by a ‘compact

largesse’. Behind the seeming compactness, the music has the potential to
expand.23
This compactness is also one of the reasons why musical puzzles were
often used for canons.24 One could almost say that canons, by their very
nature, are ‘predestined’ for enigmatic games. As they are what Horst
Weber has aptly called ‘vervielfältigte Einstimmigkeit’ (‘multiplied mono-
phony’),25 their polyphony is in fact reducible – both conceptionally
and notationally – to one and the same prototype, whether this prototype
is copied literally or undergoes melodic and/or rhythmic changes.26
A plurality of voices can thus be ‘captured’ in one; hence a melody needs
to be notated only once. This notational compactness – or brevitas, to
borrow a term from Hermann Finck’s Practica musica (Wittenberg,
1556) – was not only practical from a typographical point of view (and
one of the reasons why canons are often used in paintings),27 but it must
also have inspired composers to suggest the secret of its multiplication
in an encrypted way and to hint at the solution by way of signs, verbal
inscriptions and/or images.
Notational compactness is also related to a basic feature of the mensural
system.28 It is inherent in the system that – unlike the modern system –
note values having the same shape have no predetermined and absolute
duration. Their length depends on a whole range of factors: apart from the
23
Steiner, ‘On Difficulty’, 22.
24
In the next paragraphs, I use the word ‘canon’ in the technical sense of voices imitating each
other, not in the sense of a rule or inscription that tells the singers how to transform the
written music.
25
H. Weber, ‘Kalkül und Sinnbild: Eine Kurzgeschichte des Kanons’, Die Musikforschung, 46
(1993), 355–70 at 355.
26
This idea is also one of the core concepts of Douglas Hofstadter’s pathbreaking study Gödel,
Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid (New York: Basic Books Publications, 1979). With an
astute perceptivity for the remarkable similarities between the ways of thinking of these
personalities and their disciplines, he is especially fascinated by their handling of form in
general, and the use of recursive structures and processes in particular. In his discussion of
some of the canons in Bach’s Musical Offering, Hofstadter is struck by the self-referentiality of
these pieces. Whether talking about simple canons or complex ones, which manipulate the
notated melody in terms of pitch or speed, he notices that ‘every type of “copy” preserves all the
information in the original theme, in the sense that the theme is fully recoverable from any of
the copies’ (p. 9). Hofstadter calls this procedure ‘isomorphism’.
27
The fact that canons do not take up much space might also explain why theorists use so many
fugae as exempla. This is, for instance, the case for Sebald Heyden’s Musica, id est artis canendi
libri duo (Nuremberg: J. Petreius, 1537 and 1540) and Martin Agricola’s Rudimenta musices
(Wittenberg: G. Rhau, 1539).
28
See also Haar, ‘Music as Visual Object’, 107 and the brief introduction to mensural notation in
Appendix 1.
value indicated by the mensuration sign, the form, position and colour
of the note itself as well as the context of the surrounding notes all determine
whether a maxima, a longa, a breve, etc. is divided into three or two units,
or, in musical terms, is perfect or imperfect. In other words, a single note can
have more than one meaning: it is a variable property. It is this flexibility
between the note’s visual appearance and its realisation in sound that must
have been a major factor for composers and that inspired many riddles.29
The consequences of the mensural system’s inherent ambiguity are
in fact twofold: the composer can play with it in two aspects. On the one
hand, complex matters can be presented in visually simple terms.
Mensuration canons are probably the best example: as all voices go back
to a single prototype that is to be sung at different speeds, it suffices to
notate this melody only once – the prefixed mensuration signs indicate
the exact interpretation of the note values in each case.30 The economical
notation that thus emerges, and which cannot be conceived in modern
notation,31 suggests a simplicity which is only prima facie, as the singers
know that behind the deceptively simple surface, a complex polyphonic
construction can be hidden, which demands careful mathematical calcula-
tion and rhythmical coordination on the part of the performers. Such
brain-teasers are indeed numerous.32 This principle is the Alpha and
Omega of Ockeghem’s four-voice Missa Prolationum, of which only two
voices are notated, with each part singing in a different mensuration.
Composers regularly tried to outdo each other with such clever mensural
combinations. Whereas the penultimate section (Agnus Dei II) of Josquin’s
Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales is a three-voice mensuration
29
Rob C. Wegman, in his ‘Petrus de Domarto’s Missa Spiritus almus and the Early History of
the Four-Voice Mass in the Fifteenth Century’, EMH, 10 (1991), 235–303 at 267, observes:
‘The aim of mensural notation was not primarily to describe, as accurately and efficiently as
possible, music as sound, but to represent it abstractly, according to what was perceived as its
true nature. Mensural notation offered the information necessary to realise music in space and
time, but a composition was seen as more than just its realisation: it had an independent
existence on paper. Here it was shaped according to a conceptual logic, a logic that no
performance (or modern transcription) could fully bring out. That logic was seen as essential to
the piece. And it is that logic which the mensural notation system embodied.’
30
For recent studies of the technical aspects of mensuration and proportion canons, see E. A.
Melson, ‘Compositional Strategies in Mensuration and Proportion Canons, ca. 1400 to
ca. 1600’, MA thesis, McGill University (2008) and I. Ott, Methoden der Kanonkomposition bei
Josquin Des Prez und seinen Zeitgenossen, Schriften der Musikhochschule Lübeck, 1
(Hildesheim: Olms, 2014).
31
On this singularity of mensural notation vis-à-vis modern notation, see M. Bent, ‘Editing Early
Music: The Dilemma of Translation’, EM, 22 (1994), 373–92 at 382.
32
An early example of puzzling complexity is of course Johannes Ciconia’s Le ray au soleil.
canon, Pierre de la Rue conceived the final Agnus Dei of his Missa
L’homme armé I as a 4-in-1 mensuration canon.33 Even more bewildering –
and to my knowledge unique – is the tour de force of the rather obscure
German composer Johannes Mittner, who in the first Osanna of his Missa
Hercules dux Ferrariae superimposes five mensuration signs: , , 3,
and (see Figure 2.4). The aural result is remarkable and creates a strange
sense of time, as one and the same substance moves at various speeds, the
highest voice being the slowest one.34
Whereas, in the case of mensuration canons, a written prototype is
multiplied at different speeds synchronically (i.e. simultaneously by two
or more voices), notational reduction is also possible when the multipli-
cation of a melody takes place in one voice only and has to be performed
diachronically. This tradition of mensural transformation goes back to the
music of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, where a single notated line
was subjected to various rhythmic manipulations, which were indicated by
verbal explanations from c. 1350 onwards.35 Successive reinterpretations of
a melodic sequence persist in the music of the late fifteenth and sixteenth
century.36 One of the works that carries the principle of homographism
to the extreme is Éloy d’Amerval’s five-voice Missa Dixerunt discipuli,
which uniquely survives in Vatican CS 14 and dates from about 1470.37
33
See also the remark in Glarean’s Dodekachordon, 444 about the Agnus Dei being intended as
‘aemulatio haud dubie Iusquini’.
34
On Mittner’s mass (Regensburg, Staatliche Bibliothek, 2 Liturg. 18), of which the soggetto
literally copies Josquin’s model, see A. P. Ammendola, ‘Zur Rezeption Josquin Desprez’ am
kurpfälzischen Hof Ottheinrichs: Johannes Mittners Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae’ in A. P.
Ammendola, D. Glowotz and J. Heidrich (eds.), Polyphone Messen im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert.
Funktion, Kontext, Symbol (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 233–50. The volume
also includes a disc with a recording of the Mass by the ensemble Weser Renaissance (dir.
Manfred Cordes).
35
On mensural techniques in motets, masses and chansons from this period, see especially V.
Newes, ‘Mensural Virtuosity in Non-Fugal Canons c. 1350 to 1450’ in K. Schiltz and B. J.
Blackburn (eds.), Canons and Canonic Techniques, 14th–16th Centuries: Theory, Practice, and
Reception History, Analysis in Context. Leuven Studies in Musicology, 1 (Leuven and Dudley,
MA: Peeters, 2007), 19–46. See also Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons’.
36
For example, diachronic transformation of a soggetto by way of mensural changes is one of the
basic ingredients of Obrecht’s Missa Je ne demande: segments of Busnoys’s chanson cantus
firmus are distributed over the different items of the mass and have to be repeated under
different mensurations, each time creating a rhythmically changing ostinato. See also
Marbriano de Orto’s dazzling Missa L’homme armé, as discussed by J. Rodin, ‘Unresolved’, ML,
90 (2009), 535–54.
37
For a modern edition, see Éloy d’Amerval, Missa Dixerunt discipuli, ed. A. Magro and P.
Vendrix, Collection Ricercar, 4 (Paris: Champion, 1997). The term homographism was
introducted by Bent, ‘What is Isorhythm?’ and is further explored in Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons’,
esp. ch. 2 (‘Homographism from Motet to Mass Cycle’).
Figure 2.4 Johannes Mittner, Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae; beginning of the Osanna.
Staatliche Bibliothek Regensburg, 2 Liturg. 18, fol. 24v
Based on the first seven notes of the eponymous antiphon from the
Office of Saint Martin of Tours, the cantus firmus takes on sixteen different
rhythmic shapes in the course of the mass.38 The duration of maxima,
long, breve, semibreve and minim thus constantly changes; no species
occurs twice. Regardless of whether this mass should be considered a
didactic or an experimental project, it illustrates how a deceptively
simple-looking sequence of notes never changes its visual appearance –
the inscription ‘Canon tenoris pro tota missa . . .’ indeed makes it clear that
one rule governs the whole mass – but demands utmost alertness from
the performer, as the length of the note values is different each time.39
If, on the one hand, the mensural system is capable of visually reducing
complex matters to their compositional essence, it can – by the same
token – also make simple phenomena look extremely complex. In such
cases the sounding result is much less problematic than the intricate
notation would suggest. It is like a knotty riddle in literature, of which
the solution turns out to be an everyday object. Numerous examples could
be mentioned here, as there are various ways to create complexity, such as
the addition of signs, proportions, colours and of course verbal canons.
At times such notational experiments were meant first and foremost to
explore theoretical issues. In a letter to Girolamo Cavazzoni (1 August
1517), for example, Giovanni Spataro explains the enigmatic inscription
and the proportion signs in the Qui sedes of his Missa Da pacem: ‘Alpha
of the proportions should be surrendered to omega, and you shall sing
five times in contrary motion without repeating the first rests.’40 The
resolution, however, is exceedingly simple – not to say boring – as it turns
out that the six statements of the notated melody are identical, although
they all look different on the page.41
Whereas Spataro’s Missa Da pacem – and many other compositions by
him and his colleagues – must have been test cases for discussions among
38
The species are indicated by prefixed rests and mensuration signs, as would later be codified in
Tinctoris’s Tractatus de regulari valore notarum (c. 1474–5), albeit in a different order.
39
Éloy d’Amerval’s mass was still a subject of debate in the first half of the sixteenth century. See
the letter by Giovanni da Legge (20 December 1523), in which he asks Giovanni Del Lago to
send him an explanation; and the letter from Del Lago to Aaron (27 August 1539). Both letters
are published in A Correspondence of Renaissance Musicians, ed. Blackburn, Lowinsky and
Miller, 791–2 and 712–14 respectively. As Bonnie J. Blackburn reminds me, the mass is in fact a
very attractive composition in performance.
40
‘Proportionum alpha in o dedatur et per contrarium motum quinquies sine pausis prioribus
repetendo concines.’
41
A Correspondence, letter no. 2, 203–11 (Italian) and 211–15 (translation). Spataro’s resolutio is
on pp. 211 and 215.
kindred spirits, in the later sixteenth century, when the knowledge of

complex mensuration and proportion signs was waning, composers some-
times incorporated them as a reference to the vestiges of an old tradition.
From that moment onwards, notational artifice acquires an archaising
touch and could be employed for reasons of emulation and homage or
simply to show one’s acquaintance with the arcana musica.42 Consider, for
example, the following riddle by the Neapolitan theorist and composer
Scipione Cerreto, which Pietro Cerone published in his collection of
‘enigmas musicales’ as part of his El Melopeo y maestro (Naples, 1613).43
Cerreto was the author of a manuscript treatise Dialogo armonico ove si
tratta . . . di tutte le regole del contrappunto et anco della compositione
de più voci, de’ canoni, delle proportioni, et d’altri (1631) and composer
of a (lost) collection of Canoni enigmatici. His interest in notational
problems is well documented and points to a rather conservative and
backward-looking mind.44 The two-voice riddle in El Melopeo y maestro,
printed without text as if to underline its abstract intentions, combines
inversion – indicated by the inscription ‘Se’l mio compagno vuol meco
cantare, / Per altra strata li convien’andare’ – with a whole battery of
proportion signs (see Figure 2.5). After the proportions are resolved and
the melody is rewritten under a common mensuration sign, the compos-
ition turns out to be very simple. Moreover, the complexity suggested
by the notation sits strangely at odds with the melody’s repetitive nature
and the austerity of the duo. Cerreto’s bicinium seems primarily intended
to teach the principles of proportion – paired with inversion – via an easily
remembered melody (see Example 2.1). In its enigmatic form the music
is largely distributed in a way that marks its main building blocks: the
descending lines are nicely separated from the (largely) ascending lines by
way of a new proportion sign, which facilitates the singer’s understanding
of the piece’s construction.
What both ways of notation – visually reducing compositional complex-
ity on the one hand, purposefully increasing it on the other – have in
42
With his two L’homme armé masses (for four and five voices respectively), Palestrina overtly
follows in the footsteps of Josquin and, perhaps even more important from his personal point of
view, sought to ally himself with the Cappella Sistina. The five-voice mass in particular is full of
notational complexities that have fascinated theorists from the late Renaissance onwards. See J.
Haar, ‘Palestrina as Historicist: The Two L’homme armé Masses’, Journal of the Royal Musical
Association, 121 (1996), 191–205.
43
Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1085–6 (no. 11).
44
For a discussion of the chapter on interval canons and ‘canoni enigmatici’ in Cerreto’s Della
prattica musica vocale, et strumentale (Naples: G. J. Carlino, 1601), see Ch. 3.
Figure 2.5 Scipione Cerreto, two-voice riddle in Pietro Cerone, El Melopeo y

maestro (Naples, 1613), Enigma no. 11. Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek,
Th 34
common is that they both put the singers ‘on the wrong track’. Nothing
is what it looks like; the sounding result turns out to be different from
what one would expect: behind a seemingly simple melody a complex
construction can be hidden; and vice versa, a complex notation can
yield a much simpler and uncomplicated solution. It is the discrepancy
or tension between the written appearance and the sounding reality
that leads us to the very essence of musical riddles. In all cases a
transformation takes place. The singer can never perform the music as
it is written: since it is notated in an encoded and abridged way, he
always has to perform a mental operation, whether he has to subject the
notation to rhythmic changes, invert it, read it backwards or follow
whatever procedure the composer prescribes – the range of transform-
ations is indeed vast, as we shall see below. As with literary riddles, what
Example 2.1 Scipione Cerreto, two-voice riddle: resolutio

you see is not what you get. Here as well, the reader knows that words are
used in a metaphorical sense, i.e. they mean something different from
what they suggest.
Paradoxically, the music as written is thus both a stable and a flexible
object: stable, because all transformations go back to the written prototype;
flexible, because in performance it always sounds different. As a conse-
quence, the notation does not have a mere intermediate position – it is
not a ‘ready to use’ prescription for performance.45 On the contrary, in
all cases, the transformation – implied or ‘hidden’ as it is in the notation –
is deliberately not written out by the composer. It is the singer who has
to accomplish this mentally. Indeed, the composer could have chosen
a plainer and more straightforward notation, one meant for ‘direct con-
sumption’, but decides against it in favour of a more compact – and indeed
encrypted – written-down version of his work.
In so doing, the composer communicates a special mode of think-
ing.46 Although he leaves it to the singer to decode his intentions, at the
same time he also gives him more information than a ‘normal’ notation
would do.47 By reducing the notation to its compositional essence,
the composer provides insight into the very construction – the ana-
lysis – of his music, which would otherwise not be visible as such. For
the performer, the notation thus also acquires hermeneutical value.
As this information is not audible but can only be gained from the
notation, singers must have felt great intellectual satisfaction when
dealing with such pieces. They were both part of the composer’s secret
and a constitutive element for the materialisation and substantiation of
the piece in performance. The removal of obscurity is the result of their
active engagement.
45
B. Bujic, ‘Notation and Realization: Musical Performance in Historical Perspective’ in M.
Krausz (ed.), The Interpretation of Music: Philosophical Essays (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993),
129–40.
46
For a reflection on how notation can guide compositional decisions, see W. Fuhrmann,
‘Notation als Denkform: Zu einer Mediengeschichte der musikalischen Schrift’ in K. Bicher, J.-
A. Kim and J. Toelle (eds.), Musiken: Festschrift für Christian Kaden (Berlin: Ries & Erler,
2011), 114–35.
47
As we have seen in the Introduction, the tension between showing and hiding is at the very
centre of the riddle’s intrinsic qualities. Interestingly, this aspect also receives attention in some
music treatises of the Renaissance (see Ch. 3). This tension is sometimes compared with the
effect of a veil – a well-known and frequent iconographical element in the visual arts – as it both
shows and hides: it suggests an object or a person by showing its contours, but hides its true
appearance at the same time. On the presence of this topic in music, see Ute Abele, Der
Schleier – Zu Bildern und Verfahren in der Musik des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts, Studien zur
Musikwissenschaft, 14 (Hamburg: Kovač, 2008).
Why obscurity? The musical riddle in context 83
Why obscurity? The musical riddle in context
Transformation always presupposes an identity: it is the ‘growth of an

entity out of another entity in which it is implicit’.48 Something that can
change also implies a substance vis-à-vis which it can perform this change.
To put it differently, to construct a riddle – whether a literary or a musical
one – is not only to discern the potential qualities of a word or a melody,
but also to play with the relatedness of phenomena and their capacity
to become connected in one way or another. Riddles, then, ultimately are
a way to produce, present and communicate knowledge.
It is the play with identity and change that is essential for riddles. And
I would surmise that it is also this deliberate duality which – in the late
fifteenth and early sixteenth century – made the mass in general and the
cantus-firmus mass in particular an attractive ‘format’ to experiment with.
If, as Andrew Kirkman remarks, ‘to build a Mass setting around a
borrowed melody is to unlock the potential of that melody for symbolic
and emblematic significance’, that very choice also opened interesting
technical possibilities.49 The items of the unvarying Ordinary must indeed
have offered the perfect opportunity for a composer to create variety in
unity and to show one and the same pre-existent melody in different
guises. The cantus firmus was the point of reference that could be subjected
to rhythmic and/or melodic changes throughout the large-scale form of
the cyclic mass.50 The identity – or ‘Grundgestalt’ – of the tune was
therefore usually retained on the page in all movements, so that it
remained recognisable as such for the performer.51 But due to various
transformations that were demanded of the singer, that tune often became
blurred in performance (i.e. for the ear) and could even be transformed
beyond recognisability.
The ‘re-composing’ and manipulation of one and the same melody
throughout a mass via various techniques must have presented a special
kind of attraction or tentatio (to quote Hermann Finck) for a composer.
48
C. W. Bynum, Metamorphosis and Identity (New York: Zone Books, 2005), 19.
49
A. Kirkman, The Cultural Life of the Early Polyphonic Mass: Medieval Context to Modern
Revival (Cambridge University Press, 2010), 53.
50
The major study of cantus-firmus technique in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries still is
E. H. Sparks, Cantus Firmus in Mass and Motet, 1420–1520 (Berkeley and Los Angeles:
University of California Press, 1963).
51
That it was the composer’s main aim always to retain the layout of the melody on the page also
explains why, in some cases, in performance one has to split longer note values into repeated
shorter ones for the sake of text underlay. See, for example, the resolutiones of Marbriano de
Orto’s Missa L’homme armé and the Credo of Josquin’s Missa Fortuna desperata.
It is indeed a huge challenge to manipulate the borrowed material without

disturbing its graphic identity. And for a singer too – especially a Tenor
voice, which was usually the ‘target’ of riddles – one can imagine it must
have been a welcome variation. Indeed, instead of repeating well-known
plainchant or secular melodies in their conventional form over and over,
he now had to be on his guard and was stimulated to figure out the
composer’s intention and to transform the notation according to specific
indications. Together with his colleagues – whose melodic lines, after all,
were mostly not encoded but written in conventional, straightforward
notation – he might then have marvelled at the ingenuity of the composer’s
handling of the pre-existing melody: a train of thought that would fit
in with Aristotle’s above-mentioned pattern of surprise, delay and excited
recognition, discussed in the preceding chapter.
In some particular cases, it even seems that the multisectional struc-
ture of the mass and the transformational potential of its model were
more important than the liturgical context of the genre. A case in point
is Spataro’s lost Missa de la tradictora, which he claimed to have written
during his years of study with his teacher Bartolomeus Ramis.
A performance of the mass might thus well have been of secondary
importance if not entirely irrelevant. If this is true, then with the Missa
de la tradictora we would have an interesting case of a mass that is
detached from its liturgical context and becomes an apprentice piece and
a vehicle to display learning and speculative matters instead.52
As Rob Wegman and others have shown, the idea of secrecy was of
course closely bound up with professional demarcation and protection.53
By incorporating complex signs, verbal instructions and other obscurities,
a composer could operate with tools that were incomprehensible not only
to people of other professions, but also to musicians with less training
and competence. Competence and craftsmanship are stressed by way of
what Jonathan Beck – in the case of poetry – has called ‘technical mastery,
verbal acrobatics [and] poetic pyrotechnics’.54 Riddles were a test case to
52
In the correspondence between Renaissance musicians, which will also be discussed further on,
we can find other examples of masses that were not primarily intended for performance, but
purely for intellectual engagement and mental training. See, for example, a letter from
Spataro (25 January 1529), in which he advises Del Lago to investigate the (lost) Missa Pourtant
se mon by Philippo de Primis, which according to him ‘is full of art and subtlety’ and could be
used ‘to sharpen your wits’ (‘plena de bone arte et subtilità’ and ‘aciò che [circa tale missa]
alquanto ve affaticati’). See A Correspondence, letter no. 18.
53
Wegman, ‘From Maker to Composer’, 470.
54
J. Beck, ‘Formalism and Virtuosity: Franco-Burgundian Poetry, Music, and Visual Art,
1470–1520’, Critical Inquiry, 10 (1984), 644–67 at 647.
exclude the uninitiated, to see whether one was ‘worthy’ to be part of the
trade or not. In fact, through riddles the composer and the singers tacitly
engaged in a subtle competition, a mutual game of self-confirmation.
The former could demonstrate his wit – ‘his mastery to manipulate musical
time and space’55 – via the cleverness of his creation, whereas the latter
could pride themselves on being capable of finding the solution.56 The taste
for the enigmatic coincides with the time in which – to quote Wegman –
‘composers became acutely conscious of the difference between those
who were initiated in the art and those who were not. They cordoned off
their professional sphere with a protective fence and created the idea of a
select brotherhood with its own history and genealogy, its own secrets
and loyalties, its own rites of admission and standards of accreditation.’57
Against this background of increasing specialisation, complexity in
general and riddles in particular indeed acquire a special function: they
can become a touchstone for the consolidation of professional seclusion,
an efficacious criterion for distinguishing insiders – those who possess
the required esoteric knowledge of the arcana artis, i.e. belong to the inner
circle – from outsiders. They allow a controlled exploration of group values
and can promote the unity and cohesion of that group.
However, as we can already read in Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria, this
argument could easily be turned to abuse for flaunting one’s knowledge.
In other words, there is a thin line between playful eagerness and arrogance
when it comes to the inclusion of enigmatic elements. We even possess
concrete evidence of this at the time. Consider, for example, a letter
Giovanni Spataro addressed to Giovanni Del Lago (1 September 1528).
Spataro was obviously hurt by the criticism Franchino Gafurio had voiced
about some of his compositions. He felt he was misunderstood and reacted
by accusing Gafurio of not being able to grasp the subtleties of his works.
This is what he writes to Del Lago:
55
Quoted from C. Turner, ‘Sub obscuritatem quadam ostendens: Latin Canon in the Early
Renaissance Motet’, EM, 30 (2002), 165–87 at 165.
56
See also Stras, ‘“Al gioco si conosce il galantuomo”’, 219: ‘Yet canons also served to demonstrate
the ingenuity of their creators and to flatter the intellect of those who were able to find the
solutions, feeding into what Harry Berger has called “a sprezzatura of elite enclosure[,] founded
on the complicity of a coded performance in which the actor and his peers reaffirm their
superiority to those incapable of deciphering the code”.’
57
Quoted from R. C. Wegman, The Crisis of Music in Early Modern Europe 1470–1530
(New York and London: Routledge, 2005), 168. How narrow the musical elite was is also
confirmed by J. Dean, ‘Listening to Sacred Polyphony c.1500’, EM, 25 (1997), 611–36, who
argues that ‘sacred polyphony was composed and performed to be listened to by the singers
themselves’ (p. 620).
I am greatly beholden to you for having deigned to examine and approve my

works, which have been stained and blackened by many, such as Franchino
(Gafurio), to whom I once sent my ‘Missa de sancta Maria Magdalena’. He wrote
to me that its tenor contained many inexcusable errors. Likewise, I sent him my
motet in honour of Pope Leo X, and he said something of the same nature. But
I took little notice of his words because he gave no reasons. Moreover, I knew well
that such subtleties were not food to his taste, for ‘the blind cannot judge colour’.58
It is striking that Spataro accuses a famous colleague, not just a pupil, of

a lack of learning and sophistication. Even – or should we say especially? –
among equals, such objections could be a powerful, if somewhat prob-
lematic, argument in self-defence: when the other cannot unravel the
composition’s secrets or judges them badly, one responds that the person
does not possess enough refinement and subtlety. A similar case, which
sheds light on the sensibilities of composers when it comes to the inter-
pretation of musical complexities, comes from two closely related letters
in A Correspondence. In March 1535, the Benedictine monk Lorenzo Gazio,
a disciple of Gafurio, wrote to his nephew Don Valeriano about an enigmatic
tenor which he claimed was ‘full of errors’ (he uses the word ‘falsissimo’) and
which he can only solve ‘relying more on guesswork than on its art’.59 Gazio
does not know the identity of the composer, but it turns out the tenor is from
a three-voice motet by Giovanni Del Lago with the programmatic title Multi
sunt vocati, pauci vero electi. When the latter hears about Gazio’s critique,
he writes him a furious letter, insisting that – contrary to Gazio’s opinion –
the motet is written ‘with great skill and replete with subtleties’.60 He suggests
that Gazio’s trial-and-error work was caused by his ignorance rather than
by alleged mistakes in the work: ‘You obviously misunderstood it and these
subtleties went over your head. It is your resolution, not my tenor, that is full
of errors, as I shall demonstrate with efficacious reasons and unexceptionable
58
A Correspondence, letter no. 16, condensed translation (p. 333). The original reads: ‘Ma
sumamente credo essere tenuto a V.R., perché ve seti degnato examinare et approbare le opere
mie, le quale da multi (per excusare la sua ignorantia) sono state tinte e denigrate, come da
Franchino, al quale già mandai quella mia “Missa de sancta Maria Magdalena”, et lui me scripse
che in li tenori erano multi inexcusabili errori. Similemente li mandai quello mio concento facto
per papa Leone, et lui disse el simile, de le quale sue parole feci poca et quasi nulla
existimatione, perché lui non assignava rasone alcuna, et etiam perché “cęcus non iudicat de
colore”, et perché io bene sapeva che tale subtilità non erano cibi per soi denti.’ (p. 330)
59
Ibid., letter no. 108: ‘più presto a indivinar et interpretar la mente del compositor che per l’arte
che sia in epso’.
60
Ibid., letter no. 86, 6 May 1535: ‘sta bene et è fatto con gran ragione et arte, bene intonato et
pieno di sottilità’.
authorities.’61 Here again, the accusation that a composition has inherent

mistakes is countered by the accusation that the person who criticises them
lacks subtlety.
In a way, we are also reminded here of the famous anecdote about
Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, as reported by the
Neapolitan music teacher Giovan Tomaso Cimello in the 1540s:
A pupil of Josquin whose name I remember, he was called Johannes L’Heritier, told
me that he gave this tenor to a maestro to sing, and the latter sang it well according
to the sign [of prolation]. And Josquin laughed because he did not observe the
words ‘L’homme armé’, that it was a canon, like crescat in duplum. [L’Heritier]
told me that after laughing a good deal Josquin told him how this Mass was written
and how it should be sung.62
As in the cases of Spataro versus Gafurio and Del Lago versus Gazio, the
target of Josquin’s ridicule is a figure of professional authority, a man licensed
to teach. Whether this story is true or not, one wonders whether anybody
would have thought of reading ‘L’homme armé’ as a verbal instruction, as
Cimello writes, since the song began with these words. Indeed, according to
Rob Wegman, ‘if the anecdote is to imply anything about Josquin’s character,
it can only be that he took a somewhat childish delight in making words
mean just what he chose them to mean, and that he somehow found it very
amusing when others failed to second-guess his meaning’.63
In his article ‘Theories of Obscurity in the Latin Tradition’, Jan Ziol-
kowski discusses another motivation behind an author’s use of obscurity.64
He mentions the possibility that obscurity could also serve ‘to guarantee
61
Ibid., condensed translation, p. 845. The original reads: ‘Ma apertamente si dimonstra che’l mio
tenore è stato da voi male inteso, et alla sua sottilità non siete potuto penetrare. Et però la vostra
resolutione in molti luoghi è falsissima, et non el mio tenore, come per essa vostra resolutione
scritta di vostro pugno appare et come seguitando vi dimostrarò con efficaci ragioni et autorità
improbabili’ (p. 828). The resolution is presented at the end of letter no. 86 (A Correspondence,
848–9).
62
‘Mi dissero anco tali discepoli di Giosquino che me recordo il nome d’uno chiamato Giovan
l’Heriter che dava a cantare quel tenore a qualche mastro, e colui il cantava bene secondo il
segno e Giosquino rideva ch’egli non notava le parole l’Homme Arme, ch’era Canone, come
crescat in duplum e si disse, che all’hora rideva alquanto, e poi gli diceva il come fu composta tal
messa e come dovea cantarsi.’ The manuscript is Bologna B 57. See J. Haar, ‘Lessons in Theory
from a Sixteenth-Century Composer’ in R. Charteris (ed.), Altro Polo: Essays on Italian Music in
the Cinquecento (Sydney: Frederick May Foundation for Italian Studies, 1990), 51–81. See also
R. C. Wegman, ‘“And Josquin Laughed . . .”: Josquin and the Composer’s Anecdote in the
Sixteenth Century’, JM, 17 (1999), 319–57 at 321ff.
63
Wegman, ‘“And Josquin Laughed . . .”’, 323. On Pietro Aaron’s critique (in the Libri tres de
institutione harmonica) of Josquin on exactly these grounds, see Ch. 3 below.
64
that a composition would retain its integrity once it entered the public
domain’. This idea seems particularly interesting when applied to music,
where the performative aspect is a central element of the composition’s
realisation. The cryptic encoding of a composition, which necessarily
entailed a transformation of the notated material on a mental level, plays
a crucial role in this process. Indeed, by adding an enigmatic aspect to the
notation, a composer would force the singers to unravel his intentions first
before they were able to sing the piece. Moreover, it seems that the mental
operation they had to perform on the notated music – whether it involved
retrograde, inversion or rhythmic changes – prevented them from starting
to improvise and add their own inventions.65
One can well imagine that composers were sensitive about the correct
rendition of their music. In many cases, this must have been difficult to
control, but we know at least one story of a composer complaining about
the singers taking liberties (i.e. adding embellishments) in his presence.
It concerns – once more – no less a figure than Josquin: ‘When Josquin
was living at Cambrai and someone wanted to apply ornaments in his
music which he had not composed, he walked into the choir and sharply
berated him in front of the others, saying: “You ass, why do you add
ornamentation? If it had pleased me, I would have inserted it myself. If you
wish to amend properly composed songs, make your own, but leave mine
unamended!”’66 We do not know whether the story, which was published
posthumously, is authentic or not, but it might tell us something about a
composer’s attitude towards the intactness of his work.67 The demand that
his creation should be respected by the singers is a clear sign of the growing
authorial status of composers. Musical riddles seem to have been an
interesting preventive measure against the addition of things not intended
by their maker, whether he was present among the singers or not. To quote
65
This also affects the activity of scribes. As Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons’, 16 notes, ‘canonic notation
is resistant to scribal intercession in a way that straightforward notation is not’.
66
‘Josquinus, vivens Cameraci, cum quidam vellet ei in suo cantu adhibere colores seu
coloraturas, quas ipse non composuerat, ingressus est chorum, et acriter increpavit illum,
omnibus audientibus, addens: Tu asine, quare addis coloraturam? Si mihi ea placuisset,
inseruissem ipse. Si tu velis corrigere cantilenas recte compositas, facias tibi proprium cantum,
sinas mihi meum incorrectum.’ This anecdote is found in Johannes Manlius’s Locorum
communium collectanea (Basel: Oporinus, 1562), 542. See also Wegman, ‘“And Josquin
Laughed . . .”’.
67
See Wegman, ‘From Maker to Composer’, 468: ‘The composer is seen to exercise authorial
control over his work – evidently a projection of the humanist ideals of textual integrity,
faithfulness to the original, and the related concern to remove nonauthorial “corruptions”.’ See
also D. Fallows, ‘Embellishment and Urtext in the Fifteenth-Century Song Repertories’, Basler
Jahrbuch für historische Musikpraxis, 14 (1990), 59–85.
Ziolkowski once more, obscurity could be an effective tool ‘to put his
distinctive seal or signature upon the poem but also to force bungling or
meddling performers to deliver it competently and to preclude impromptu,
ad hoc additions or alterations’. It is thus somewhat paradoxical to realise
that, even though in the case of riddles the singers never performed the
music as it was written on the page, the very necessity to transform the
notational appearance via a mental operation must have guaranteed the
rendering of a composition the way the composer wished it. Singers were
probably too busy sorting out the changes they had to apply to the notation
to think of making their own changes.
Unfortunately, notwithstanding the fascinating testimonies mentioned
above, we do not know very much about the specific setting in which
riddles were performed, and we should indeed like to know more about
how musicians – depending on their training and experience – coped with
them, especially when a longhand resolutio was not at hand: how did they
approach the task? How much pre-performative inspection of the piece
would be needed? How did they deal with the fact that the enigmatic
element often resides in one voice only? Did the singer of this part have to
figure it out for himself, or did he get assistance from his colleagues? What
would happen when the composer was present: would he quickly reveal
the solution or would he – in a fit of malicious pleasure – leave the part in
question in the dark until the singer found the answer? Did the musicians
talk about the meaning of an inscription and how to apply it to the music?
Was riddle solving considered a challenge or rather a nuisance? Above all,
how did singers present it to the public (however this is to be defined)?
Would the singers show them the encrypted notation, while at the same
time – almost by magic – performing something that ‘cannot be seen’,
i.e. that is not written as such?
From our twenty-first-century perspective, all we can do is to study the
sources. Apart from letters and treatises, in which we can catch a glimpse
of aspects of composing, performing, discussing and listening to riddles,
what is left are the music manuscripts and prints in which riddles appear.
By scrutinising factors such as their origin, their relation to other sources
in which the same piece occurs, traces of usage (if there are any) and the
presence (or not) of a written-out solution (or – alternatively – any other
visual aids), we can learn something about how a specific group dealt
with musical enigmas. The sources might not tell us about the amount of
preparation and the details of the riddling process as such, but they at
least inform us to some extent about the broader context in which riddling
took place.
Of the six categories of riddle occasions that Thomas A. Burns – an

expert on literary riddles – distinguishes, three are also applicable to
musical riddles.68 The first occasion springs from the riddle’s function as
educational device, i.e. its capacity to exercise and train the mind. Several
theoretical treatises, as we shall see in Chapter 3, incorporate a section on
musical riddles and/or enigmatic inscriptions for this reason. According to
their writers, because of their inherent obscurity they are made ‘to subtilise
and sharpen ingenious minds’, to quote Bartolomeus Ramis de Pareia’s
Musica practica (Bologna, 1482). A similar didactic undertone dominates
Finck’s Practica musica, Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro and Zacconi’s
Canoni musicali, and it should therefore not surprise us that they all
attempt to systematise riddles by ordering them into categories and estab-
lishing a typology, often according to an increasing degree of complexity.
However, a didactic concern does not only need to spring from
theoretical treatises; it can also be inferred from the context in which a
source originates. The manuscript London Add. 31922 is a case in point.
Also known as Henry VIII’s Songbook, it has a number of puzzle canons,
dispersed around the manuscript, by composers such as Dunstable and
Fayrfax.69 In most cases, one voice is encrypted, while the others are
written out in full. All of them use Latin inscriptions to indicate techniques
such as interval canons, ostinato, transposition, rhythmic diminution, and
inversion. A solution is not provided and the riddles require knowledge
of Greek note names and tetrachords. Moreover, most of the puzzles are
textless. As Dietrich Helms was able to show, this manuscript is a book
of examples for the musical education of a royal child; it was produced for
the formation of a king.70 Riddles, together with a wealth of other genres
and styles this manuscript displays (motets, chansons, German Lieder,
Italian laude, carols, etc.), thus become part of an encompassing educa-
tional programme, which aims at as complete a musical training as
possible.
This brings us to the second riddle occasion Burns mentions in his
study: riddles can also be embedded in other contexts and genres. Whereas
literary riddles are often surrounded by and coupled with a tale – a good
68
T. A. Burns, ‘Riddling: Occasion to Act’, Journal of American Folklore, 89 (1976), 139–65.
69
See especially J. E. Stevens, ‘Rounds and Canons from an Early Tudor Songbook’, ML, 32
(1951), 29–37.
70
See most recently D. Helms, ‘Henry VIII’s Book: Teaching Music to Royal Children’, MQ, 92
(2009), 118–35. See also his Heinrich VIII. und die Musik: Überlieferung, musikalische
Bildung des Adels und Kompositionstechniken eines Königs, Studien zur Musikwissenschaft aus
Münster, 11 (Eisenach: Verlag der Musikalienhandlung Wagner, 1998).
example from the sixteenth century is Straparola’s Piacevoli notti (see

Ch. 1) – in music as well, riddles can be part of a larger context. Such a
context can take different shapes. As discussed above, especially in the late
fifteenth and early sixteenth century musical riddles are frequently found
as part of a mass. Remarkably, only rarely is a mass enigmatic throughout –
Spataro’s above-mentioned Missa de la tradictora is a telling exception
in this regard – but cryptic elements mostly occur in (sections of) the
Gloria, Credo and Agnus Dei, and to a much lesser degree in the Kyrie and
Sanctus.71 A melodic and/or rhythmic transformation is one of several
possible ways to create variety in the handling of a cantus firmus. The pre-
existent melody, while forming the backbone of the mass cycle, can be
subjected to a whole range of changes, and in some cases the composer
hinted at them via a veiled inscription, letting the singers figure out how
to interpret his intention.
In most manuscripts and prints, musical riddles are surrounded by
works in conventional notation. Enigmas often constitute a small fraction
of a collection: they can be found at the beginning of a book (so as to
attract the attention and arouse the curiosity of its user), at the very end
(as the ultimate crowning) or simply spread throughout the source. Only
rarely are prints or manuscripts devoted exclusively to riddles in a way that
is comparable to literary projects such as the ones discussed in Chapter 1.
However, a series of prints by the Ferrarese cleric Lodovico Agostini
(1534–90) has some of the traits of a riddle anthology.72 As we can judge
from his output, Agostini experimented with riddles in both secular and
sacred genres. In his Canones et echo sex vocibus (Venice, 1572), dedicated
to the canons of the Cathedral of San Giorgio in Ferrara, Agostini com-
bines six riddles – all bearing upon ostinato technique – on religious
texts with other genres such as interval canons, dialogues and echo com-
positions. His two books of Enigmi musicali (Venice, 1571 and 1581)
allocate even more place to riddles and combine them with madrigals
and Italian dialogues. That is to say, in most cases only one voice is
encrypted, while the other parts are written in conventional notation –
and a risolutione is always provided. As Laurie Stras has shown, Agostini
71
It is tempting to speculate about why riddles occur much less often in the Kyrie and the
Sanctus (but see also the Catalogue of enigmatic canonic inscriptions in Appendix 2). Whereas
I find it difficult to come up with an explanation for the Sanctus, it seems reasonable to say that
in the first section of their masses, composers first wished to establish the material before
starting to experiment with it via all kinds of transformations.
72
Major work on Agostini has been done by Laurie Stras: see ‘“Al gioco si conosce il
galantuomo”’.
includes several types of puzzles, which usually feature techniques such

as transposition of a given soggetto and mensural transformation (see also
below).73
It is when scrutinising the broader context of Agostini’s enigmas that
we come to the third riddle occasion, which according to Burns is the best
known, especially from our present-day perspective: leisure-time riddling,
i.e. when riddles serve as entertainment and as a game.74 Especially near the
end of the sixteenth century, riddles were increasingly connected with an
aspect of games. As we can deduce from a whole range of civility books, they
became part of a diverting social interaction, engaged in by like-minded
people who enjoyed solving brain-teasers in a group. Agostini’s collections,
for example, dovetail with this purpose, as a great many of his riddles indeed
combine ingenuity and cerebral recreation – both on a musical and textual
level – with a humorous aspect: his enigmas are meant to divert, to offer
edification through play. Agostini’s riddles are a perfect expression of the
Renaissance ideal of serio ludere, i.e. to play seriously, to communicate serious
matters in a lighthearted fashion. They take place in a stylised play world,
where traditional symbolic roles are assigned to the riddler and the riddlee.75
Especially in the context of Ferrarese court culture, in which many of
Agostini’s enigmas have their origin, puzzles of all kinds – musical as well
as literary and visual ones – were very much fostered.76 Given their
inherent interactive dimension, riddles allowed courtiers – in a spirit of
true Castiglionian sprezzatura – to display their knowledge in a context
of social amusement; or, as Stras puts it, ‘to excel without winning, . . . to
be clever or witty without making unsolicited demonstrations’.77
Thanks to studies by scholars such as James Haar and Dinko Fabris, we
possess more information about the role of music in the context of games
in general and their importance for courtly, civic and academic culture
73
It should be added here that Agostini, in his second book of four-voice madrigals (1572),
includes a piece that is explicitly called an ‘enigma’. Interestingly, Nel bel terreno della madonna
mia contains neither a cryptogram nor a solution, but the enigmatic aspect refers to the fact that
the text is full of obscene doppi sensi (the description of a landscape being a metaphor for a
woman’s genitalia). On this piece, see Stras, ‘“Al gioco si conosce il galantuomo”’, 243–6. Here,
the use of the term enigma obviously refers to its definition as a subclass of metaphor, which as
we have seen in Ch. 1 goes back to Classical Antiquity.
74
The other three occasions Burns mentions in his study are (1) initiation and death, (2) courting
and (3) meeting someone (i.e. as a greeting formula).
75
Quoted from R. D. Abrahams, ‘The Complex Relations of Simple Forms’ in D. Ben-Amos (ed.),
Folklore Genres (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1976), 193–214 at 202.
76
See also Stras, ‘“Al gioco si conosce il galantuomo”’, esp. 266–71.
77
Ibid., 215. On Castiglione’s reception of obscurity, see also Ch. 1.
Techniques of transformation 93
in particular.78 When Girolamo Bargagli, in his Dialogo de’ giuochi che

nelle vegghie sanesi si usano di fare (Siena, 1572) defines a game as ‘a festive
activity . . ., in which, upon a playful or clever proposal made by one
person acting as author or guide of the game, the others all do or say
something . . .; and this is done for the purpose of pleasure and entertain-
ment’, he makes a distinction between giuochi that are ‘piacevole’ on the
one hand, and those that are ‘ingegnoso’ or ‘grave’ on the other.79 Whereas
the first category of games implies those that are played for fun, the latter
allows a display of learning and requires an intellectual effort from the
participants. It is here that the link with riddles becomes apparent. Ultim-
ately, all riddles are a kind of game. They too follow a pattern of propos-
ition, performance and satisfaction, three steps to be concretised according
to the kind of riddle. Here as well, a leader – or ‘guida’, to quote Bargagli’s
terminology – proposes his invention, challenges the participants and
expects them to ‘play the game’ until they (ideally) arrive at the correct
solution.80 Riddles too are a contest, in which the process is based on a set
of rules, whether these are predetermined by the type of game itself or
defined by their inventor in situ. In the case of music, performers tacitly
agree to follow the criteria set out by the composer. He is the one who
defines the rules according to which the piece is to be sung. It is he who
proposes a riddle, challenges the singers to find out the link between the
inscription – the κανών or rule – and the notation before they can come
to a satisfactory solution in the collaborative performative act of singing.
Techniques of transformation
Transformation, as we have seen above, is an essential characteristic of

musical riddles. The singers can never perform the music as written, but
78
J. Haar, ‘On Musical Games in the Sixteenth Century’, JAMS, 15 (1962), 22–34 and D. Fabris,
‘Giochi musicali e veglie “alla senese” nelle città non toscane dell’Italia rinascimentale’ in I. Alm,
A. McLamore and C. Reardon (eds.), Musica franca: Essays in Honor of Frank A. D’Accone,
Festschrift Series, 18 (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1996), 213–29.
79
Girolamo Bargagli, Dialogo de’ giuochi che nelle vegghie sanesi si usano di fare (Siena: L. Bonetti,
1572), 34: ‘Una festevola attione . . ., dove sopra una piacevole, od ingegnosa proposta fatta da
uno, come autore, & guida di tale attione, tutti gli altri facciano, o dicano alcuna cosa . . .; &
questo à fine di diletto, & d’intertenimento.’ Translation quoted from Haar, ‘On Musical
Games’, 22.
80
Haar, ‘On Musical Games’ also discusses Innocenzio Ringhieri’s collection of Cento giuocbi
liberali, et d’ingegno (Bologna: A. Giacarelli, 1551), which contains a series of dubbi on musical
themes. Since they do not imply solving musical riddles, I will not consider them here.
always have to subject it to rhythmic and/or melodic changes that are

hinted at by the composer in various ways. The cleverness indeed consists
in manipulating it solely through words and/or images. As Florentius puts
it concisely in book 2, chapter 17 of his Liber musices (c. 1486–92), there
are many ways in which notes can be ‘secretly fitted together’ (‘secrete
notulas aptatas’).81 Generally speaking, one could make a distinction
according to the way the transformation – and ultimately the sounding
result – is related to the original. That is, some techniques involve a
transformation behind which the melody as notated is largely still recog-
nisable.82 This is the case with procedures such as proportion and mensur-
ation canons, transposition and singing without rests.83 In all these
instances, the succession of the notes vis-à-vis the written material is
retained. Other techniques, however, alter the melody beyond recognition,
as they manipulate it in such a way that the linear direction is either
changed – whether from a horizontal (retrograde) or a vertical (inversion)
point of view – or interrupted and even dissipated.
In the following overview, I will categorise these transformational
procedures according to the way they affect the melodic or the rhythmic
quality of the notation. The first group of the typology comprises tech-
niques such as imitation and transposition, retrograde and inversion.
Rhythmic manipulation is obtained not only by proportional or mensural
changes, but can also stem from a systematic substitution of specific note
values. Yet other procedures can affect both the melodic and the rhythmic
properties of the written material: they can call upon the singer to inter-
change certain note values, pitches or intervals or to rearrange the order of
the notes according to well-defined criteria. Whereas in all these cases the
complete pool of written notes is being retained – no matter in which order
and shape – still other procedures prescribe that certain notes should be
picked out (for melodic and/or rhythmic reasons) or omitted in perform-
ance. In what follows, I am not primarily focusing on the way these
techniques are being hinted at via inscriptions – this will be the subject
81
Florentius de Faxolis, Book on Music, ed. and trans. B. J. Blackburn and L. Holford-Strevens
(Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2010), 152–3. See also below, Ch. 3.
82
Principally because it also depends on what the surrounding voices do: in some works the
melody comes through loud and clear, while in others it is barely detectable.
83
Admittedly, the last category is rather tricky. However, remarks about the ‘different harmony’
of music sung with and without rests (by theorists like Zacconi) notwithstanding, I do think
one can say that both versions will still sound similar. I also base this notion on a
comparison of the two Kyrie and Agnus Dei versions of Moulu’s Missa Alma redemptoris
mater, recorded by the Brabant Ensemble (dir. Stephen Rice) on their CD Pierre Moulu: Missa
Missus est Gabriel angelus – Missa Alma redemptoris mater (Hyperion, CDA67761, 2010).
of the next section – but rather on the sheer endless variety of transform-
ations that composers required from the singers and on how their inten-
tion is reflected in (details of) the notation. The overview makes no claim
to be exhaustive, but is intended to offer a representative cross-section of
compositions from the latter half of the fifteenth to the early seventeenth
century.84
Imitation and transposition

On the face of it, the most ‘unspectacular’ form of transformation occurs
when a melody is multiplied by itself via literal imitation after a certain
amount of time and at a certain interval. Strictly speaking, the notation
as such is not transformed, as the comes literally duplicates the dux,
but due to the time shift and the expansion that goes with it, an endogen-
ous change nevertheless takes place. In most cases, imitation is indicated by
a signum congruentiae and/or by an instruction that informs the singer
about the temporal and intervallic distance of the imitation. Some pieces,
however, have something special in petto. In the anonymous Avant,
avant of Petrucci’s Canti B (Venice, 1502), for example, the inscription
‘In subdiatessaron’ that is attached to the upper voice seems to suggest an
interval canon at the lower fourth between the written part and its follower
(see Figure 2.6). But the latter would soon find out that this does not work
contrapuntally, no matter at what temporal distance he starts the imitation.
The key to the correct interpretation is the incipit of the work: the comes,
instead of imitating the dux at the lower fourth, must enter a semibreve
before – the semibreve rest in the upper voice is a subtle indication. The
two switch their roles and the ‘unwritten’ voice is the precursor instead of
the follower.85
Petrucci’s collection Canti B contains another chanson with an enig-
matic trait, in which transposition takes a special form. In Marbriano de
Orto’s four-voice D’ung aultre amer, both Contra and Bassus are divided
into segments, which are marked by vertical strokes that look like bar
84
See also B. J. Blackburn, ‘The Corruption of One Is the Generation of the Other: Interpreting
Canonic Riddles’, JAF, 4 (2012), 182–203.
85
See also Bulkyn’s Or sus, or sus in Canti B. A similar principle was used in no fewer than four
L’homme armé masses – by Johannes Tinctoris (Et incarnatus), Guillaume Faugues, Bertrand
Vacqueras (Qui tollis and Qui propter nos sections) and Mathurin Forestier (Qui tollis) – and
in Josquin’s Guillaume se va chaufer. In the latter, this is combined – in the Tenor – with
singing without rests on a single note (see below).
Figure 2.6 Anon., Avant, avant in Canti B (Venice: Petrucci, 1502)
lines (see Figure 2.7).86 The inscription ‘Obelus quinis sedibus ipse volat’
(‘The obelus flies in five seats’) indicates that each segment is first per-
formed at pitch, then sung a fifth higher, as can be seen in the opening bars
(see Example 2.2).87 The performer thus has to alternate constantly – and
rapidly, as the segments are between three and six semibreves long –
between singing the music as written and transposing it in diapente.88 This
not only causes several larger, inconvenient leaps – such as a descending or
ascending ninth in the Contra (bb. 7–8, 14–15 and 16–17) and Bassus
86
In the few examples we possess, such vertical lines are always a sign of repetition. They also
occur twice in the last Mass Proper from Isaac’s Choralis Constantinus II. Here, the lines
indicate literal repetition. See my ‘“Aus einem Hauptgedanken alles Weitere entwickeln!”: Die
Kanons in Isaacs Choralis Constantinus II’ in U. Tadday (ed.), Heinrich Isaac, Musik-Konzepte,
148–9 (Munich: edition text+kritik, 2010), 120–34.
87
An obelus (or obelos) is the sign (a vertical or diagonal stroke is also possible), which could
have different meanings. It was originally used in ancient manuscripts to mark passages that
were suspected of being corrupted or spurious. In later times, it came to represent the
mathematical operation of division (first used by Johann Heinrich Rahn in his Teutsche Algebra
(Zürich, 1659), 8).
88
During the seminar ‘Was ist ein Rätselkanon?’ at the Schola Cantorum Basel (5–6 December
2009), organised by Anne Smith and myself, we experienced great difficulty in performing this
piece. The constant going back and forth between the non-transposed and transposed version
of each segment indeed required the utmost concentration. The easiest way to deal with this
problem was to change the clef, alternating between c4 and c2 (Contra) and between f4 and c4
(Bassus).
Figure 2.7 Marbriano de Orto, D’ung aultre amer in Canti B (Venice: Petrucci, 1502)
(bb. 6–8 and 12–13) – but also results in an unusually large ambitus,
especially in the Contra, which covers about two octaves. One wonders
to what extent de Orto’s choice of transformational technique was inspired
by the text of the chanson. In the first line of this love song, it is said that
‘By loving another my heart would demean [i.e. lower, debase] itself’
(D’ung aultre amer mon cueur s’abesseroit). It seems plausible that the
Example 2.2 Marbriano de Orto, D’ung aultre amer, bb. 1–20

Figure 2.8 Anon., Languir me fais in Hermann Finck, Practica musica (Wittenberg,
1556), sig. Nniv–Nnijr. Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 120
upward transposition of each segment and the subsequent lowering repre-

sent by musical means the lover’s feared debasement. The music in fact
counterbalances the narrative of the text, in which the speaker claims not to
be giving in estrangement or any change of heart (‘Il ne faut pas penser que je
l’estrange, / Ne que pour rien de ce propos me change’). In striking contrast
to the alleged stability of the chanson’s persona, de Orto has the melody of
Contra and Bassus going constantly back and forth. In a remarkable blend of
being faithful to the message of the text and subtly commenting upon it, de
Orto creates change in spite of identity and identity in spite of change.
In the third book of his Practica musica, Hermann Finck includes a
chanson in which transposition finds a particular implementation. The
anonymous Languir me fais (sig. Nniv–Nnijr) has the biblical inscription
‘Qui se humiliat exaltabitur’ (He who humbles himself shall be exalted)
attached to the Altus. This voice sings the melody of the well-known
chanson, as it was also set by Claudin de Sermisy and Clemens non Papa
(see Figure 2.8). But how can the saying from the Gospel of Luke be
applied to that voice? Finck explains that ‘out of the four written voices,
in addition a fifth emerges as well by artifice’.89 The result is a five-voice
89
H. Finck, Practica musica (Wittenberg: G. Rhaus Erben, 1556), sig. Ccijv: ‘ex quatuor positis
insuper quinta artificiose promanat’.
work that contains a canon between the Altus and (an unwritten) Quintus.
But the latter cannot duplicate the melody of the former without further
ado. As is to be expected, the clue resides in the verbal canon and its
image of ‘humbling’ and ‘exalting’. More precisely, the Quintus starts by
imitating the Altus after a breve at the lower fifth, but instead of keeping
that interval distance throughout the piece, after each rest the imitation
interval is raised by a second, illustrating with musical means the gradual
exaltation that awaits the humble soul. Thus after the first pause, the
Quintus repeats the Altus at the lower fourth, then at the lower third
and so on. In the course of the piece, the interval changes from the lower
fifth to the upper fifth via all intermediate intervals, including the unison
(see Example 2.3).90 Thus, at the end of the chanson, when the melody
of the first line is repeated, the circle closes and the same succession of
pitches comes back in the Quintus, with the imitation interval of the lower
fifth and fourth (starting on b and c0 respectively) now turned into an
upper fourth and fifth (b0 and c00 ). It must have demanded a careful singer
to keep track of the dux and imitate it at an ever-changing interval. Above
all, with an ambitus of almost two octaves (g–e0 ), the range of the Quintus
is much larger than that of the Altus (d0 –c00 ).
Apart from having a written melody transposed by another voice after
a certain amount of time – as in a canonic procedure – the singer could
sometimes be prompted to transpose the written melody itself, without
imitation being involved. One of the most famous examples of such
transposition is Josquin’s Nymphes des bois, as it survives in the Medici
Codex. The verbal canon ‘Pour eviter noyse et debas / Prenes ung demy
ton plus bas’ (To avoid noise and confusion, take a half-tone lower)
instructs the Tenor to transpose the Requiem melody a semitone lower
than notated, so that it starts an octave below the superius. Clearly,
with the transposition to the Phrygian mode, the Requiem melody
sounds quite different from the plainchant version, as the solmisation is
completely different. But Josquin had to adapt it to the surrounding
voices, who sing their déploration on the death of Johannes Ockeghem
in the plaintive third mode.
90
Many of Finck’s canons have been transcribed by E. Sohns, Hermann Finck: Canon (Buenos
Aires: Eduardo Sohns Libros de Musica, 2008). In the opening motet Ascendo ad patrem meum
of his Modulationes sex vocibus (Venice: F. Rampazetto, 1566), Zarlino uses a similar procedure.
The Sextus begins by following the Quintus at the unison, but after each rest has to raise the
imitation interval by a second – the text of the motet, which is taken from John 20:17, seems to
have inspired him to do so.
Example 2.3 Anon., Languir me fais

Example 2.3 (cont.)

Retrograde and inversion

When a singer is prompted to perform the written music backwards,
the conventional ordo legendi (from left to right) is abandoned. The clue
for cancrizan singing sometimes comes from an inscription (see below),
but can also be suggested by a special feature of the notation. An early,
well-known example is Guillaume de Machaut’s rondeau Ma fin est mon
commencement. In some sources, the text and the music of the Tenor are
written upside down; this voice read backwards furnishes the Cantus, while
the Contratenor must duplicate itself in retrograde in order to complete the
musical palindrome.91 Machaut’s self-referential piece and its graphic
peculiarity did not remain an isolated case. Aspects of his notational
experiment were followed in later centuries, when we find composers
and scribes alike having either the music, or the text or even the voice
label written upside down.92 Although these might seem obvious visual
aids to suggest retrograde reading, it should be added here that by turning
the page upside down, the result is not retrograde, but retrograde inver-
sion. Nevertheless, this notational feature remains en vogue in the Renais-
sance and beyond. Consider, for example, Leonhard Paminger’s five-voice
psalm motet Ad te, Domine, levavi animam meam, which was published
in his Quartus tomus ecclesiasticarum cantionum (Nuremberg, 1580).
91
On the symbolic and theological meaning of this piece, see especially M. Eisenberg, ‘The Mirror of
the Text: Reflections in Ma fin est mon commencement’ in Schiltz and Blackburn (eds.), Canons and
Canonic Techniques, 83–110. On the difficulties the scribes experienced with the notation of this
piece, see V. Newes, ‘Writing, Reading and Memorizing: The Transmission and Resolution of
Retrograde Canons from the 14th and Early 15th Centuries’, EM, 18 (1990), 218–34 at 226.
92
To give some examples of these categories: Johannes Parvus, the scribe of Vatican CS 154,
indicates backward singing by an upside-down notation of the music. He even does so twice, in
the Qui tollis and the Et incarnatus of Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales. The
scribe of Vatican CS 197, from which Vatican CS 154 was copied, indicates retrograde by
placing the words ‘Qui tollis’ at the end instead of at the beginning. The scribe of Vienna
1783 writes the text of the Et incarnatus from Isaac’s Missa Tmeiskin was jonck upside down at
the end of the section. See also the anonymous three-voice piece without text in Trent 1377
(90), fol. 357v, which has the word ‘tenor’ written upside down at the end of the Discantus line:
while the latter sings the music straightforward, the Tenor starts at the end and works his way
backwards. Edition in Canons in the Trent Codices, ed. R. Loyan, CMM, 38 (n.p.: American
Institute of Musicology, 1967), 67–8. The anonymous three-voice Avertissiez vostre doulx euil –
Averte oculos comes up with yet another graphic way to hint at retrograde performance. The
Contratenor of the chanson, which survives in the manuscripts Escorial IV.a.24 and Trent 1377
(90) is notated in such a way that the stems are on the wrong side. This, together with the
inscription ‘Ut cancer graditur in contra quem tenebis’ (‘Crawl like a crab when you hold onto
the contra’), indicates that this voice must be sung backwards. Edition in The Combinative
Chanson: An Anthology, ed. M. R. Maniates, RRMR, 77 (Madison, WI: A-R Editions, 1989),
28–9.
Figure 2.9 Leonhard Paminger, Cantus firmus ‘Mirificavit Dominus’ from XXIII.
Psalmus, Ad te, Domine, levavi animam meam from Quartus tomus ecclesiasticarum
cantionum (Nuremberg, 1580), Secundus Discantus. Munich, Bayerische
Staatsbibliothek, 4 Mus.pr. 181
The Secundus Discantus carries the cantus firmus on the words ‘Mirificavit
Dominus sanctum suum’ (‘The Lord hath made his holy one wonderful’;
Psalm 4:4), which is sung in long notes. In the first and third part of the
motet, the voice sings the music straightforward, with the soggetto starting
alternately on d0 , a0 and d0 and separated by 18 breves’ rest. In the second
part, however, the upside-down notation of the text suggests a retrograde
reading of the music. Paminger underlines his intention not only by adding
a Greek inscription from Revelation 22:13 (‘I am Alpha and Omega, the
first and the last, the beginning and the end’), but also by surrounding
the respective partes with the letters α and ω (see Figure 2.9). In addition,
at the bottom of the page we also find a straightforward explanation.
Unproblematic as the procedure may seem at first glance, retrograde
singing is not always a matter of simple back-to-front reading.93 Indeed,
93
Apart from mensural difficulties, retrograde reading is often problematic in terms of text
underlay as well. Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons’, 288ff. investigates the ways in which sources deal
with this and what this can tell us about performance practice. As the table on her pp. 293–4
shows, the majority of retrograde tenors notated canonically remain untexted.
major technical difficulties arise when the piece is written in ternary metre.
Here, alteration and imperfection apply to different notes if one would
sing them from left to right or from right to left, hence the note values
of the back-to-front version do not exactly mirror those of the forward
version.94 Here again, we see that the inherent ambiguity of mensural
notation offered composers the possibility to play with the boundaries
between the notation and its sounding result.95 In fact, one can distin-
guish three types of cancrizan singing:
1. A first category constitutes those pieces requiring that the written line
has to be sung starting with the final note. Here, no repetition or
duplication whatsoever is involved, merely the linear order in which
the notes are performed is changed.
2. In retrograde canons, two voices participate. One single melody is
performed in two different versions simultaneously, i.e. one voice sings
it straightforward, while the other starts at the end. An intensification
is double retrograde canon, where two pairs of crab canons result in a
four-voice piece.96
3. A third category comprises those works in which a combination of
forward and backward singing is achieved not synchronically but
diachronically in one voice. An early example is the above-mentioned
contratenor of Machaut’s Ma fin est mon commencement, which has
to duplicate itself in retrograde and thus wind back on itself.
In literature, palindromes and other forms that allow a retrograde

reading were sometimes associated with magic. The basic idea is that by
declaiming a text backwards one could break a spell; starting at the end and
going back to the beginning was a way to rescind what was said or done.97
Examples of such a practice can be found in the fourteenth book of Ovid’s
Metamorphoses, where Odysseus tries to undo the charm cast by Circe
94
See also Newes, ‘Writing, Reading and Memorizing’, 223.
95
A later example of the ‘traps’ of cancrizan singing in perfect mensuration is the Qui tollis from
Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales. As the resolutio in Petrucci’s first
volume of Josquin masses shows, the sung version is not a literal retrograde of the written one,
in the sense that imperfection and alternation are to be realised differently. In two places,
bb. 105–6 and 111–12 (according to Smijers’s edition), the singer must ignore the dot of
division between c0 and d0 that is necessary for the non-retrograde performance.
96
See, for example, Ludwig Senfl’s Crux fidelis and Adam Gumpelzhaimer’s Ecce lignum crucis,
which will be discussed in Ch. 4. An example of a quadruple retrograde canon is Benedictus
Appenzeller’s eight-voice Agnus Dei, in which each of the four voice parts is also to be sung
retrograde.
97
See especially W. Schwartz, ‘Der Zauber des “rückwärts” Singens und Spielens’, Zeitschrift für
Ethnologie, 15 (1883), 113–22.
upon his fellow sailors and to restore them to their human shapes by saying
the spoken words in reverse order: ‘We then were sprinkled with more
favored juice of harmless plants, and smitten on the head with the magic
wand reversed. And new charms were repeated, all conversely to the charms
which had degraded us. Our heads were stroked with the wand reversed,
and the words, she had said, were pronounced, with the words said back-
wards’ (‘percutimurque caput conversae verbere virgae, / verbaqua dicuntur
dictis contraria verbis’; ll. 299–301).98 In the first book of Valerius Flaccus’
epic poem Argonautica, which narrates the mythological quest for the Golden
Fleece, we also read that a prayer is said backward, causing a spell to be
erased and the spirits sent up to return to the underworld: ‘Then he [Aeson]
appeases the goddess of triple form, and with his last sacrifice offers a
prayer to the Stygian abodes, rehearsing backward a spell soon, soon to prove
persuasive’ (ll. 782–4).99 A similar process – reading or reciting a text
backwards in order to revoke a spell – survives in Renaissance and Baroque
poetry. It occurs, for example, in Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene (book 3,
canto 12) and John Milton’s masque Comus (ll. 814–19).100
In the music of the Renaissance, this thinking also resonates among
composers and finds particular expression in a range of works. In his study
of the presence of the maze in architecture, theology and music, Craig
Wright connects the idea of backward reading as a ‘round-trip journey’
with the presence of retrograde canons in settings of the Agnus Dei.101 In
the text of the last item of the Ordinary of the Mass, the lamb is venerated
as the Redeemer, who takes away the evil of mankind and brings salvation
by his sacrifice (‘qui tollis peccata mundi’). It is an expression of the
Christian belief that one can be freed from sin by the blood of Jesus, Lamb
of God. When composers of Agnus Dei settings instructed the performers
to sing the written notes backwards, they not only found a highly
98
Translation quoted from Ovid, Metamorphoses, trans. B. More (Boston: Cornhill
Publishing, 1922).
99
‘Hunc sibi praecipuum gentis de more nefandae / Thessalis in seros Ditis servaverat usus, /
tergeminam cum placat eram Stygiasque supremo / obsecrat igne domos, iamiam exorabile
retro carmen agens’. Translation quoted from Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica, ed. and trans. J.
H. Mozley, Loeb Classical Library, 286 (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University
Press, 1928).
100
In Milton’s Comus, it is the Spirit who says ‘O ye mistook, ye should have snatch’d his wand. /
And bound him fast; without his rod revers’d, / And backward mutters of dissevering
power, / We cannot free the Lady that sits here / In stony fetters fix’d, and motionless.’
101
C. Wright, The Maze and the Warrior: Symbols in Architecture, Theology, and Music
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 101–27 (‘The Warrior, the Lamb, and
Astrology’).
appropriate musical way to illustrate the sacrificial and healing act the text
is about, but also continued a tradition that has its roots in ancient
literature and magic. The backward reading of the notes is an effective
symbolic way to underline the obliterating and redemptive power of the
Lamb that is addressed in the text.102
Retrograde motion is prescribed several times in the case of mass
settings based on the famous L’homme armé tune. Various interpretations
have been given to the identity of the armed man – ranging from secular
rulers to mythological figures to saints.103 The inherent ambiguity of the
sacred and profane references notwithstanding, the protagonist was often
seen as Christ, who is both a saviour and an avenger of sins, descending
from heaven to expiate mortal wrongs. Backward reading figures promin-
ently in the set of six L’homme armé masses (Naples VI.E.40) collected at
the court of Duke Charles the Bold of Burgundy as a present to the king
of Naples. The composer indicates cancrizan singing by a range of terms –
such as ‘vice versa’, ‘cantando revertere’ and ‘reboat’ – in the erudite verbal
puzzles that accompany each mass. According to Wright, a connection can
be made between the Mystical Lamb from the Book of the Apocalypse,
which is at the same time a bellicose creature that conquers the Devil and
the dragon, and Christ as victorious warrior.104 It thus seems fitting to give
special attention to the Agnus Dei in a mass that celebrates the ‘armed
man’. In the last Agnus Dei from Du Fay’s Missa L’homme armé, the
inscription ‘Cancer eat plenus sed redeat medius’ indicates that the melody
is first to be sung retrograde and then straightforward in halved values
(‘redeat medius’). Wright conjectures that the ‘cancer’ mentioned in
the verbal directive not only refers to the sideways movement of the crab,
but also to the eponymous zodiacal sign. According to Guillaume de
Deguileville’s Pèlerinage de l’ame (1355), of which Du Fay had a copy in
his personal library, the crab could be seen as a christological symbol: like
Christ’s circular journey – coming down to earth from heaven and then
102
See, for example, the second Agnus Dei of Antoine Brumel’s Missa Ut re mi fa sol la. The
verbal canon ‘Scinde vestimenta tua redeundo’ (‘Divide your clothing in returning’; Vatican CS
45) prompts the Superius to go twice as fast, i.e. to halve the note values, when singing the
hexachordum molle in retrograde. The first Agnus of Cornelius Heyns’s Missa Pour quelque
paine combines retrograde and augmentation. In Obrecht’s Missa Grecorum, retrograde
movement in the last Agnus Dei is coupled with transposition to the lower octave.
103
See also the chapter ‘Sounding Armor: The Sacred Meaning of L’homme armé’ in Kirkman,
The Cultural Life.
104
As Kirkman, The Culture Life, 124 shows, in some cases the movement of the cantus firmus
mimics the actions of the celebrating priest during the Mass ritual.
returning to heaven – Cancer appears in the heavens at the moment the

sun moves backward in its annual journey.
Whereas Du Fay had opted for a successive handling of retrograde and
forward singing of the L’homme armé tune in one voice only, in the last,
six-voice Agnus Dei of Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé sexti toni the
composer combines both readings of the cantus firmus (B and A0 sections)
simultaneously and has it sung by Tenor and Bassus.105 That Josquin’s use
of retrograde motion for texts concerning the undoing of human wrongs
was more than mere compositional varietas is confirmed by the Gloria
of his Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales. At the point where
the Lord is called ‘Lamb of God, that takes away the sins of the world’, he
also prescribes a backward reading of the secular tune.
Singing a melody in inversion means that everything is turned ‘upside
down’ – with ascending intervals becoming descending and vice versa, or
arsis becoming thesis, to use the terminology from prosody – as if the
music were held against a horizontal mirror. As in the case of cancrizan
singing, the notation sometimes provides a hint for inversion. Two manu-
scripts containing Josquin’s Missa Fortuna desperata operate with similar
tools for the first Agnus Dei. Vatican CS 41, in addition to an inscription
(see below), has ‘dei agnus’ written upside down, whereas the scribe of
Barcelona 5 notated ‘Agnus dei’ upside down and backwards. Both graphic
peculiarities are of course intended to evoke Fortune’s power to radically
alter someone’s fate, as can also be found in iconography: in several
manuscripts from this time, the person at the bottom of the fickle goddess’s
wheel is often depicted hanging inverted. But other elements of musical
notation – even the smallest ones – could also be instrumentalised to hint
at inversion. Thus, the Superius of the anonymous Dy kraebis schere, which
survives in the Glogauer Liederbuch (no. 90), has both its clef and the
fermata sign written upside down to indicate that rising intervals should
be sung as falling and vice versa (see Figure 2.10).106
105
B. J. Blackburn, ‘Masses Based on Popular Songs and Solmization Syllables’ in R. Sherr (ed.),
The Josquin Companion (Oxford University Press, 2000), 64 remarks that this is one of the rare
examples of a retrograde canon on a cantus firmus. In the Agnus Dei III of Josquin’s mass, the
canon is combined with a double ‘fuga ad minimam’ between Superius I and II on the one
hand, Altus I and II on the other. In Smijers’s edition of the mass, the lower voices have been
wrongly transcribed: the Tenor sings the B section straight and then returns in retrograde
motion; the Bassus sings the A0 section in retrograde, then straight. It should be noted here
that the last Agnus Dei from Philippe Basiron’s Missa L’homme armé, which probably predates
Josquin’s mass, also contains a hidden retrograde canon. See Rodin, ‘Unresolved’, 541.
106
In the Contratenor, the clef is also written upside down, but here the voice has to sing in
retrograde inversion, which is indicated by the inscription ‘Postea praeque cedo verso cum
Figure 2.10 Anon., Dy kraebis schere in the Glogauer Liederbuch, Superius
Like retrograde, inversion can affect one voice only or two voices (with
one singing the melody as written, while the other mirrors the intervals107); it
can take place synchronically – in the case of inversion canons – or dia-
chronically. Needless to say, examples are numerous. As research by Larry
Todd and others has shown, Obrecht was particularly fond of manipulating
the intervallic motion and the order of the notes – or a combination of
both – in his masses. Because an overview of works operating with different
kinds of inversion would be rather long, let me briefly highlight one special
case. What kind of melody results when we sing a melody in inversion?
Matthaeus Le Maistre must have given special thought to that question when
he conceived his six-voice Magnificat sexti toni.108 In the penultimate poly-
phonic verse, Sicut locutus est, only five voices are notated. But an inscription
‘Sursum deorsum aguntur res mortalium’ (‘The things of the mortals are
turned upside down’) and the placement of a signum congruentiae in the
Altus primus together point to a canon by inversion at the upper fourth (see
Figure 2.11). The solution that emerges is the plainchant melody of the
Magnificat, which is pre-imitated in the other voices (see Example 2.4). Here
we have an interesting case of a riddle in which the solution does not lead to
a transformation of a pre-existent melody, but turns out to be that melody
itself in a hidden guise.
vertice talo’ (‘I go behind and afore turning my heel and my head’). For a transcription of the
piece, see below.
107
See, for example, the inversion canon in Mouton’s Salve mater salvatoris and Johannes de
Cleve’s six-voice Mirabilia testimonia tua. Benedictus Appenzeller’s Sancta Maria succurre
miseris and Ulrich Brätel’s six-part Verbum domini manet in eternum even integrate double
inversion canons (see below).
108
See S. Gasch, ‘“Sursum deorsum aguntur res mortalium”: Canons in Magnificat Settings of the
Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries and the Case of Mattheus Le Maistre’s Magnificat sexti toni’
in Schiltz and Blackburn (eds.), Canons and Canonic Techniques, 253–82. The Magnificat is to
be found – albeit incomplete – in Schwerin 3382/2.
Figure 2.11 Matthaeus Le Maistre, Magnificat sexti toni in Schwerin 3382/2: Sicut
locutus, Altus primus
Note values
From melodic transformations I turn to rhythmic procedures. The most
obvious and prevalent techniques were mensural and proportional
changes, which could take place either simultaneously (as in a mensuration
canon) or successively. Earlier we have seen that such transformations
were mainly possible because of the inherent notational ambiguity of the
mensural system itself, where the meaning of note values is not absolute,
but dependent on the surrounding context. A melody had to be written
only once in order to generate a simultaneous or successive duplication of
itself at different speeds. For composers, this must have been a most
attractive terrain to play with, as it offered them ample possibilities to
demonstrate their mastery of technical knowledge and mathematical
insight behind a seemingly simple surface. Such manipulations of a given
line can be indicated either by signs or by straightforward, non-enigmatic
inscriptions such as ‘[crescit] in duplo’. As we shall see in the next section,
however, composers sometimes came up with clever verbal canons to
indicate mensural changes on a synchronic or diachronic level.
Substitution
Whereas the above-mentioned techniques are well known and often used
by composers, the following manipulations of a written line are not only
Example 2.4 Matthaeus Le Maistre, Magnificat sexti toni, beginning of the Sicut locutus
more intricate to realise in performance, but because of their special nature

almost necessitate a verbal canon, whether this be formulated in a veiled
way or not. Above all, contrary to the above-mentioned categories, these
transformations can affect both the melodic and/or the rhythmic qual-
ities of a written line. By so doing, some of them alter the shape of
it beyond recognition. Substitution is one of those techniques. In his
Terminorum musicae diffinitorium (Treviso, 1495), Johannes Tinctoris
Example 2.4 (cont.)
includes a definition of substitution. ‘Suppositio’, he writes, is ‘the intro-

duction of some elements in place of notes to signify pitches’ (‘suppositio
est aliquorum corporum ut voces loco notarum significent introductio’).
This term can well be applied to some riddles, which are indeed con-
ceived in such a way that non-musical signs are used instead of notes
and need to be substituted according to a given rule. Composers came

up with various ideas.
Some riddles have numbers to indicate note values. The last Agnus Dei
of Matthaeus Pipelare’s Missa Pour entretenir mes amours, which survives
uniquely in Vienna 11883, has a special feature in the Altus. The voice
contains no notes (except for a final longa), but a series of numbers (9, 7, 5,
4, 3, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5), and rests are written in the a0 space on a stave instead.
The verbal canon ‘Ecce quam bonum et quam iocundum habitare frates in
unum’ (‘Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell
together in unity’; Psalm 132:1) is written on the right (see Figure 2.12).
Whereas the biblical quotation indicates that the Altus only has to sing the
note a0 , the numbers indicate the number of breves during which this pitch
is to be held.
A special category of substitution are those riddles in which one or two
voices are to be deduced either from a verbal text or from an image, i.e.
from non-musical indications. In most of these cases, no music is written
at all. As a consequence, in this category the transformation does not take
place from written to sounding music, but from text or image to music,
from one semiotic system (language or visual arts) to another (music).
Pieces based on a soggetto cavato – a term coined by Zarlino109 – clearly
belong to this type. According to this technique, notes are to be derived
from the vowels of a text. The clue resides in the correspondence between
their sound and that of the six solmisation syllables, with u = ut, e = re, i =
mi, a = fa or la and o = sol. Probably best known is Josquin’s Missa
Hercules dux Ferrariae, which is entirely built on the soggetto that is taken
from the vowels of ‘Hercules dux Ferrariae’: re ut re ut re fa mi re. This
motto permeates the entire mass, and in the course of the five sections,
Josquin transposes the ostinato and manipulates it in various rhythmic
(e.g. diminution) and melodic (retrograde) ways. The composer used a
similar technique in the chanson Vive le roy. While the other three voices
perform a 3-in-1 canon at the distance of a semibreve, the Tenor sings an
ostinato that is based on the vowels of the exclamation ‘Vive le roy’. The
resulting melody ut mi ut re re sol mi (with both v’s – or rather u’s – to be
read as ut and the final y as mi) is presented in three statements, beginning
on c0 , g and c0 , which are separated by six breve rests (see Figure 2.13).110
109
Zarlino, Le istitutioni harmoniche, bk. 3, ch. 66, p. 267.
110
It is interesting to notice that all existing inscriptions from Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae and
Vive le roy start with the ‘plastic’ imperative ‘Fingito [vocales]’, to indicate that the notes are
built from the vowels of the text. After Josquin, many other composers based masses and
Figure 2.12 Matthaeus Pipelare, Missa Pour entretenir mes amours in Vienna 11883,
fol. 325v: final Agnus Dei, Altus
A particularly imaginative variation on this technique can be found in

the secunda pars of the anonymous five-voice Ave mundi spes Maria,
which survives uniquely in the Leopold codex (fols. 464v–468r), where it
is the penultimate piece.111 The motet is dedicated to Matthaeus Lang,
bishop of Gurk. The Quintus has no music, but an inscription is
motets on solmisation syllables: see A. P. Ammendola, Polyphone Herrschermessen

(1500–1650): Kontext und Symbolizität (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013).
111
Modern edition in Der Kodex des Magister Nicolaus Leopold: Staatsbibliothek München Mus.
Ms. 3154, ed. T. Noblitt, Das Erbe deutscher Musik, 83 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1996), 289–300.
Figure 2.13 Josquin des Prez, Vive le roy in Canti C (Venice: Petrucci, 1504), Tenor
accompanied by the text ‘Matheo gurcensi episcopo dedicatum’ (see

Figure 2.14). The instruction is written in hexameter and informs the singer
about the voice’s ambitus, note values, rests and layout: the melody is to be
derived from this text by way of synecdoche.112 This figure of speech denotes
the use of a term for something else, such as a pars pro toto, which hints at
something by referring to a part of it. When applied to the Quintus of Ave
mundi spes Maria, it turns out that the melody is to be taken not only from
the vowels of the dedication text, but also from its consonants. More
specifically, the singer must take into account those consonants that also
appear in the six solmisation syllables (such as t occurring in ut, r in re, m in
mi, etc.). Thus, the word ‘Matheo’ is translated as mi fa ut re sol, with mi and
ut standing for m and th; the other three solmisation syllables fa, re and sol
are ‘cavati dalle vocali’ (a, e and o) in the usual manner.113 Needless to say,
112
Cf. the inscription ‘A parhypathemeson / in tritediezeugmenon // Sinecdoche cantat ter /
terque silencia ponit // Jn tribus hinc minimis resonabat figuris’. The melody is to be sung
three times in the hexachordum molle, in breves, semibreves and minimae respectively, with
the number of rests equalling the number of note values (i.e. after twenty-one breves follow
twenty-one breve rests and so on).
113
For an analysis of this piece, see W. Fuhrmann, ‘“Ave mundi spes Maria”: Symbolik,
Konstruktion und Ausdruck in einer Dedikationsmotette des frühen 16. Jahrhunderts’ in J.
Heidrich (ed.), Die Habsburger und die Niederlande: Musik und Politik um 1500, Jahrbuch für
Renaissancemusik, 8 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2010), 89–127.
Figure 2.14 Anon., Ave mundi spes Maria in Munich 3154, Quintus (secunda pars),
fol. 466v (olim 292)
by dissecting a text into its smallest units, the composer of Ave mundi spes
Maria offers a unique implementation and extension of the soggetto cavato
technique. The panegyric verse thus yields the melody presented in
Figure 2.15, as it is also shown in the resolutio:
Figure 2.15 Written-out solution of the Quintus from Ave mundi spes Maria, separate
leaf added between fols. 466 and 467
Matheo gurcensi episcopo dedicatum

mi fa ut re sol ut re re sol mi re mi sol sol sol re mi fa ut ut mi
Another riddle that uses words to indicate pitches is the six-voice motet
Philippe qui videt me by Leonhard Paminger. The work is dedicated to his
acquaintance Philippe Melanchthon and was published posthumously in
the composer’s Secundus tomus ecclesiasticarum cantionum (Nuremberg,
1573). Three voices – Altus, Tenor and Sextus – are conceived as a riddle,
whereas the other ones are written in normal notation (see Figure 2.16).114
The encrypted voices are accompanied by a verbal inscription in Greek and
preceded by a breve and a mensuration sign ( , and 2 respectively) to
indicate the note values of the melody. The text is completely split up in a
table-like format, with every syllable being accompanied by its Greek
counterpart (e.g. Φι for ‘Phi’, λιπ for ‘lip’ and πε for ‘pe’). The pitches on
which the syllables are to be sung are indicated by Greek note names. Thus,
the first seven notes – a succession of three times trite diezeugmenon,
mese, twice trite diezeugmenon and paranete diezeugmenon – yields the
pitches c0 c 0 c0 a c0 c 0 d0 on the words ‘Philippe qui videt me’. This turns out
to be the cantus firmus melody, which is sung in three-voice canon. As a
matter of fact, Paminger could easily have notated the cantus firmus as a
normal melody, preceded by three mensuration signs, but he prefered an
enigmatic notation instead. By substituting pitches by their Greek
note names, he expresses in words what could also be said in music.
The abundance of Greek elements – which pervade the inscription, the
114
See also the addition ‘quarum tres notulis ac pausis, Reliquae verò literis ac dictis consonantes
voces edunt’.
Figure 2.16 Leonhard Paminger, Philippe qui videt me in Secundus tomus

ecclesiasticarum cantionum (Nuremberg, 1573), Tenor, fol. 100r. Munich, Bayerische
Staatsbibliothek, 4 Mus.pr. 180#Beibd.1
pitches and the text underlay – is first and foremost a reference to the
dedicatee’s position as professor of Greek, but it also fits Paminger’s
inclination towards notational puzzles – also to be found elsewhere in his
oeuvre.115
Another type of substitution takes place when composers prescribe a
systematic interchange of specific note values, pitches or intervals. As a
consequence thereof, the shape of the written line can be radically altered
in performance. In several of his works, Giovanni Spataro shows a clear
preference for this technique. A remarkable case is his (lost) Missa de la
tradictora. As we have seen above, the pre-existing melody of this mass
constantly changes its shape due to various transformational procedures.
The Et in Spiritum is especially striking in this respect, and it fully
115
See, for example, a series of retrograde canons, the use of complex proportions, black notation
and ‘absque et cum pausis’, etc. The fact that he was a musical autodidact – as we read in
the dedication to the first volume of his works – may have a part in this, and it looks as if
Paminger more than once strove to give proof of his knowledge by way of complex musical
techniques, signs and terminology.
underlines the mass’s ‘treacherous’ intentions. As Spataro explains, the

accompanying Latin inscription expresses intervals by way of proportions.
More precisely, it means that in the first statement all ascending semitones
are to be sung as descending major thirds; in the second statement
the principle is inverted, with all downward semitones becoming upward
major thirds.116
Another work by Spataro, his motet Ubi opus est facto, almost carries
this principle to an extreme. Like the Missa de la tradictora, this work
is lost, but from a letter to Girolamo Cavazzoni, we learn that it must
have contained a plethora of enigmatic elements, which mainly concern
notational and proportional problems. On top of that, in this esoteric and
highly complex piece Spataro also prescribes a systematic interchange of
both melodic intervals and note values.117 Although it is not clear from
his explanation whether this procedure applies to one voice only or to all
written voices, we learn that not only were the ascending fourths and fifths
to be mutually exchanged, but the note values needed to be transformed
too under the equal breve theory: a written maxima becomes a sounding
minima, all longs are to be sung as semibreves, and vice versa. It is difficult
to tell whether this motet was conceived to be performed at all or whether
Spataro rather considered it a touchstone of his theoretical precepts.118
Should Ubi opus est facto indeed have been performed, it would probably
have been for a small circle of insiders, and one cannot but wonder how
much experience and rehearsing was required of the singers in order to
be able to materialise this work.119
116
A Correspondence, letter no. 3 (for example, ‘in primo signo anfractus intensi superparticularis
quartidicimi fiunt ex tertia eiusdem generis remissi’; p. 218). As we learn from the discussions
in A Correspondence (letters nos. 2 and 3), in the Gloria of his equally lost Missa Da pacem,
Spataro uses a similar tactic. Here, every ascending fifth must be converted to an ascending
whole tone and vice versa.
117
See the explanation in letter no. 2 (Spataro to Girolamo Cavazzoni, 1 August 1517). This
motet also exhibits another aspect of substitution. As Spataro writes, the voices did not have
clefs, but were given the name of a planet. See also the Catalogue of enigmatic canonic
inscriptions in Appendix 2.
118
This especially goes for the genera and the equal-breve theory. See A. M. Busse Berger,
Mensuration and Proportion Signs: Origins and Evolution (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993) for
further explanation of the breve vs. minim theory. Whereas Spataro and his teacher Ramis
held that the breve had an unchanging value, Tinctoris, Gafurio and others were proponents of
the equal-minim theory.
119
The idea of systematically interchanging note values, as we find it in Spataro’s motet, had
already been explored in works in the fifteenth century. The composer of the Missa L’ardant
desir, which is equally abundant in all kinds of melodic and rhythmic transformation, chose to
crown the last Agnus Dei with this procedure. As the resolutio suggests, the singer had to swap
opposite note values: a maxima for a minima, a long for a semibreve, and vice versa.
Rearrangement
In an article about the similarities between poetry, music and visual
arts in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century, Jonathan Beck
argues that poets (especially the rhétoriqueurs), composers and painters
often made use of formal procedures that include mathematical and
quasi-mathematical devices. These consist of alterations and recombin-
ations of a work’s constituent elements: motifs and phrases are built,
unbuilt and rebuilt according to well-defined rules; structural templates
of letters, words or notes are manipulated in order to generate a new
‘text’.120 For obvious reasons, through the use of techniques such
as permutation, transformation and multiplication, a work is imbued
with a high degree of coherence, unity and self-referentiality.121 The
written text has more than one meaning: letters, words and notes have
an ambiguous status, as they can be combined and recombined to form
a new entity. The result of this ambiguity is a multiplicity of meanings
and readings.
In the music of the Renaissance, techniques of permutation and
recombination abound. A linear reading of the music can make place for
a rearrangement, which causes the original order of the notes – often a
well-known religious or secular cantus firmus – to dissolve in performance.
Notes are thus treated as building blocks that can be put together in
different combinations. Like literary anagrams, the reordering generates a
new meaning and presents the melody in a completely new guise. Obrecht
might well be called the ‘inventor’ of the rearrangement technique. In some
of his masses, the cantus firmus as notated has to be mentally fragmented
and rebuilt by the performer. Rearrangement can take different forms.
At the beginning of this chapter, I discussed the Gloria and Credo of
Obrecht’s Missa Fortuna desperata. In the Credo of two of his masses –
Grecorum and De tous bien playne – Obrecht lets the Tenor treat the note
values of the cantus firmus in hierarchical order, starting with the longest
and gradually passing to the smallest one; the rests are treated similarly.122
Needless to say, this procedure must not only have kept the singers alert,
120
Beck, ‘Formalism and Virtuosity’, 658.
121
U. Ernst, ‘Permutation als Prinzip in der Lyrik’, Poetica, 24 (1992), 225–69, discusses different
types of permutation (‘carmen cancrinum’, ‘carmen anagrammaticum’, ‘carmen infinitum’
and ‘carmen quadratum’), each of which affects the number of reading possibilities.
122
In the Credo of his Missa De tous bien playne (Vienna 11883), Obrecht even uses the
procedure twice. From ‘Et incarnatus’ onwards, the notes have to be read from the end to the
beginning, according to the instruction ‘ut prior, sed dicitur retrograde’.
but it also causes the pre-existent melody to fall apart, to ‘decompose’ and
to become completely unrecognisable in performance.
The anonymous composer of the seven-voice Lied Kain Adler in der
Welt even used colour as a guiding criterion for reordering notes. The work
is uniquely preserved in Vienna 19237 (olim Suppl. 3889). The text of the
song, which refers to Emperor Maximilian II, was often used in connection
with the Imperial circle. The piece has notes and rests in seven different
colours. The inscription ‘Simile gaudet simili’ (‘Like rejoices in like’) tells the
singers that each voice should sing its own colour (see Plate 2.1). This causes a
complete dissipation of the German song, as each voice has to link blocks
of the same colour and skip the other ones in between.123 The quality of the
eventual piece and its sounding result are rather poor (Example 2.5): see,
for example, the tritone b –e0 and the dissonant seconds in bars 2–3. Above
all, although the complete text of the Lied is retained on the page, it is
impossible to provide a satisfying text underlay. Because of the rearrangement
of the notes, the text is ‘cut into pieces’, its meaning becoming completely
unimportant – and even nonsensical – in performance. Certainly, perform-
ance was not the primary intention of its composer. Rather, the colourful
broadside was made to be seen, and the recuperation of the famous song
must have had a special significance for Maximilian and his entourage.124
Extraction
Whereas rearrangement still implies that all the notes of a written melody
are sung – albeit in a different and scattered order – composers also made
use of techniques that implied a partial preservation of the music. Frag-
mentation of a written line was attained by having the singers either pick
out or drop specific pitches, note values and rests – I will use the terms
‘extraction’ or ‘excision’ and ‘omission’ or ‘elision’ respectively.125 In both
cases, the contents of the melody were not used in their entirety, and the
process of selection causes a serious manipulation of the written material.
Furthermore, both techniques can apply either to an existing written voice,
123
See also M. Ham, ‘“Ye are Gods”: Depicting the Royal Self’, Humanistica: An International
Journal of Early Renaissance Studies, 5 (2010), 49–57 (with a transcription on p. 54), who notes
that ‘the significance is in the nature of the words in relation to the artifice of the music, not in
their conjunction with the music in any conventional sense’. I am grateful to Martin Ham for
sending me his text prior to publication.
124
Ham, ‘“Ye are Gods”: Depicting the Royal Self’, 53 notes that the poem contains an acrostic
that refers to a lady Katrina von H., hence that the Lied alludes to a love affair of Maximilian.
125
I am grateful to Bonnie Blackburn and Leofranc Holford-Strevens for helping to establish this
terminology (private communication, 1 July 2010).
Example 2.5 Anon., Kain Adler in der Welt
or to a new, additional voice that is created out of the notes excised or

omitted from the notated part.
The term ‘extractio’ actually appears in Tinctoris’s Terminorum musicae
diffinitorium, where it is defined as ‘the construction of one part of the
composition out of some notes of another’ (‘extractio est unius partis cantus
ex aliquibus notis alterius confectio’). In other words, a new voice can be
generated by selecting parts of a written one. How could this be accom-
plished? A textless piece by Obrecht, preserved in the Ferrarese chansonnier
Rome Casanatense 2856 (fol. 72r), offers a good example of this proced-
ure.126 It is a four-voice piece, which is built around a 3-in-1 canon. The
fourth voice, an unwritten Tenor, is to be derived from this structure by
way of extraction, as Tinctoris describes it: the Tenor has to pick out all the
semibreves, multiply them by six, and transpose them down an octave.
The idea of selecting particular note values and subjecting them to
further transformations is one of the key puzzle elements in the prima
pars of Antoine Busnoys’s puzzling Maintes femmes.127 Whereas the
chansonnier Seville 5–1–43 (fols. 107v–109r) presents the piece in its
enigmatic form, in his collection Canti C (fols. 117v–118r) Petrucci add-
itionally provides the resolutio. Originally, only three of four voices were
notated; the Tenor had to be realised by following the encoded instruc-
tions. The canon for the prima pars reads as follows: ‘Odam si protham
teneas in remisso diapason cum paribus ter augeas’ (Sevilla: ‘ter tene has’),
which could be translated as ‘If you keep the first (or highest) song (i.e. the
melody of the Superius) at the lower octave, augment it thrice with its
peers’ (see Figure 2.17). In the tempus perfectum diminutum , in which
the chanson is written, only the semibreve can be augmented by three
without disturbing the metre. This is an indication for the singers to
construct the Tenor by picking out all the semibreves in the superius,
transposing them down an octave, and augmenting them by three.
Furthermore, the instruction tells the singer that each pitch must sound
twice (‘cum paribus’). As Petrucci’s resolutio shows, this means that the
perfect breve (i.e. the result of the triple augmentation) should be divided
into a breve and a semibreve.128
Although most cases of extraction concern the note values, the technique
can also be applied to melodic criteria. In the riddle book of his Melopeo
126
Facsimile edition: A Ferrarese Chansonnier: Roma, Biblioteca Casanatense 2856, “Canzoniere
di Isabella d’Este”, ed. L. Lockwood (Lucca: Libreria Musicale Italiana, 2002).
127
Helen Hewitt, ‘The Two Puzzle Canons in Busnois’ Maintes femmes’, JAMS, 10 (1957),
104–10. For a discussion of the secunda pars, which plays with other techniques of
transformation, see below.
128
As Hewitt, ‘The Two Puzzle Canons’, 106 notes, both white and black semibreves have to be
picked out. In some places, Busnoys notated a black semibreve followed by a black minim,
which is performed as a dotted minim followed by a semiminim. Even if the sounding result of
the blackened semibreve is different, these notes should also be taken into account by
the Tenor.
Figure 2.17 Antoine Busnoys, Tenor of Maintes femmes in Canti C (Venice: Petrucci,
1504), fols. 117v–118r
y maestro, Cerone includes a short duo by the Neapolitan composer

Grammatio Metallo, which also appears in Zacconi’s Canoni musicali.129
The riddle is written in the c3 clef. The inscription ‘Communis media est via’
(‘The middle way is shared’) indicates that both voices should take the c0 on
the third line of the stave as the common point of reference above or below
which they should not sing (see Figure 2.18). More precisely, one voice only
sings the notes situated on and above the third line, whereas the other should
sing the complementary part and pick out all the notes from c0 and lower.
In fact, such a work is not difficult to conceive: it would suffice to write a
duo, thereby avoiding part crossing. Then both parts can be mixed together
in one melody. Interestingly, the notated line does not make sense on its
own: it is never sung as such but only exists on the page (see Example 2.6).
Omission
Just as a composer can prescribe selection of certain notes, he can also ask
the singer to omit constituents – I deliberately use this general term – of a
written line for rhythmic or melodic reasons. In his Musica practica
(Bologna, 1482), Bartolomeus Ramis de Pareia offers the first theoretical
discussion of enigmatic canons and the techniques they hint at.130 Several
129
Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, bk. 22, no. 30 (Enigma de la division) and Zacconi, Canoni
musicali, fol. 63v (bk. 2, ch. 2).
130
For a detailed analysis of Ramis’s explanations, see Ch. 3.
Figure 2.18 Grammatio Metallo, two-voice riddle in Pietro Cerone, El Melopeo

y maestro (Naples, 1613), 1109 (detail). Regensburg, Bischöfliche
Zentralbibliothek, Th 34
of the inscriptions are taken from his own Requiem, which unfortunately
is lost. Judging from his clarifications, however, the work must have been
full of puns on solmisation syllables, and the verbal directions he quotes all
bear on omission. Indeed, phrases such as ‘Ut requiescant a laboribus suis’
Example 2.6 Grammatio Metallo, two-voice riddle
(‘That they may rest from their labours’; Rev. 14:13) and ‘Neque reminis-
caris’ (‘Do not remember’; Tobit 3:7) are a subtle way to indicate that ut–re
and re–mi are to be omitted and replaced with rests.
A very sophisticated way to indicate the omission of specific pitches can
be detected in two pieces in the Trent codices. Both works in question
are in all probability by the (presumably English) composer Standley.
His mass, preserved in Trent 1375 (88) is a three-voice cycle, of which
only two parts are notated.131 The lower voice carries the designations
‘Tenor’ and ‘Contratenor’ and a signum congruentiae. However, trial and
error would have told the singer that it is not a simple imitation canon,
because at a certain point intolerable dissonances arise. So what to do?
We have to turn to the anonymous motet Quae est ista in Trent 1376 (89)
to find the key to the solution, as this piece works according to the same
131
Standley, Missa ad fugam reservatam, ed. L. Feininger, Documenta Polyphoniae Liturgicae
S. Ecclesiae Romanae, Serie 1, n. 6 (Rome: Soc. Univ. S[anctae] Ceciliae, 1949).
principle. It turns out that the comes has to drop all the notes beneath b .
Richard Loyan, editor of a volume of canons from the Trent codices,
believed the words ‘electa ut sol’ could be seen as a hint at the pitch
exclusion, but his explanation is not quite satisfactory. In her edition of
Trent 1375 (88), Rebecca Gerber seems to have cracked the code.132
Like Loyan, she believes that a part of the liturgical text itself offers the
clue for correct performance. The antiphon is formulated as a question:
‘Quae est ista, quae ascendit sicut aurora consurgens, pulchra ut luna,
electa ut sol, terribilis ut castrorum ordinata’ (‘Who is she who cometh
forth like the morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as
an army set in array?’; Song of Songs 6:9). As Gerber writes, following a
suggestion by Bonnie Blackburn, it is the answer to this question – Mary,
the Queen of Heaven – that ultimately leads the comes to omit the pitches
below b . The interpretation is linked with the theory of the planetary
intervals, as expounded by Boethius. According to this theory, the planet-
ary scale goes from A (standing for the moon) to the a of the fixed stars. As
the Queen of Heaven exists above the stars, i.e. in musical terms above the
a, it follows that all the pitches from a downwards should be omitted by
the comes.133
Much more frequent are riddles that prescribe omission for rhythmic
reasons. In several of his compositions Josquin experimented with various
types of elision. Probably best known is the first Agnus Dei of his
Missa Malheur me bat, in which the Tenor has to ignore all the minimae
and smaller note values of the cantus firmus line. This of course asks for a
very alert performer, who constantly has to interrupt the ‘flow’ of the
written line, quickly discerning what to skip and what to retain. Omission
could also affect the colour of the notes, and some riddles urge the singers
not to sing the black notes. In the five-voice Sicut erat of his Magnificat
132
Sacred Music from the Cathedral at Trent: Trent, Museo Provinciale d’Arte, Codex 1375 (olim
88), ed. R. Gerber, MRM, 12 (University of Chicago Press, 2007), 104–5 (commentary) and
952–3 (edition).
133
The technique Standley uses in his mass and motet strongly recalls a procedure the theorist
Florentius discusses in bk. 2, ch. 17 of his Book on Music. As we have seen above, the chapter
discusses several ways in which notes are ‘secretly fitted together’. One of the possibilities
Florentius mentions goes as follows: ‘There are others who do not allow certain notes in one of
the places, that is the discant, tenor, or countertenor, to pass below or above the limit of a space
or line’ (‘Sunt autem qui quasdam notulas in aliquo locorum, id est vel discantus vel tenoris,
vel contratenoris sub aut supra spatii vel lineae terminum praeterire non permittunt’). Text
and translation quoted from Florentius de Faxolis, Book on Music, 154–5). Although it is
impossible to know whether Florentius had these pieces in mind, Standley’s pair of riddles
perfectly fits his description.
octavi toni (Vatican CS 21, fols. 50v–56), Costanzo Festa adds a further
twist to this procedure. The comes of the canon at the lower fifth has
to omit not only all the black notes, but the dots and rests as well.134
Furthermore, a whole range of riddles prompt the singer to omit the rests.
This transformation tops off the concluding Agnus Dei from Josquin’s
Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, where it is expressed by the
imperative ‘Clama ne cesses’ (Sing without ceasing; Isaiah 58:1).135
Omission could even be applied to stems. The composer of the Missa
L’ardant desir – possibly Antoine Busnoys, as Rob Wegman has argued –
manipulated a single notational archetype in many different ways, thereby
dissecting the pre-existing melody into its smallest details and subjecting
it to a kaleidoscope of changes, which affect the order of the notes, the
intervallic motion and of course the rhythm.136 A remarkable transform-
ation takes place in the Patrem. As the resolutio of this section from the
mass suggests, the singer was asked to drop all the stems. Through this
instruction, the rhythmic shape of the written melody changes drastically:
the instruction not only means that all minims are sung as semibreves and
all longs are turned into breves, but the operation also affects the ligatures,
the interpretation of which depends both on their upward or downward
melodic motion and the direction of the stems.137
Finally, some works are conceived in such a way that they can be sung
either with or without pauses. The most famous case is Pierre Moulu’s
Missa Alma redemptoris mater, also called Missa duarum facierum. Moulu
offers two versions of his mass: one in which the voices sing the music as
written, the other – shorter – one in which all the pauses, except the
semiminim rests, are to be ignored.138 As we know from Zacconi’s Canoni
musicali, Moulu also composed a four-voice motet Sancta Maria mater
134
The verbal canon in the Tenor is ‘Qui post me venit praecedet me, et non transibit per
tenebras’ (‘He who comes after me precedes me, and will not pass through darkness’).
135
As the resolutio in Petrucci’s Misse Josquin shows, the editor thought the inscription meant
that only the breve rests were to be omitted, as he left in the minim rests. After Josquin, many
composers were to adopt this motto for their riddles (see below).
136
The mass is based on so-called schematic cantus-firmus manipulation, a term that was coined
by R. C. Wegman, ‘Another Mass by Busnoys?’, ML, 71 (1990), 1–19 and ‘Petrus de Domarto’s
Missa Spiritus almus’.
137
Wegman, ‘Another Mass by Busnoys?’ See also the second Agnus Dei of this mass, in which
this technique is combined with inversion. More precisely, the singer is required not simply
to interchange ascending and descending intervals, but to read the notation literally upside
down and drop all the stems.
138
The inscription that accompanies this mass in Vatican CS 39 clarifies the composer’s
intentions: ‘Se vous voules avoir messe de cours chantes sans pauses en sospirs et decours’
(‘If you wish to have a short mass, sing without rests in sighs [semiminim rests] and rapidly’).
Dei, which works according to the same principle. In book 4, chapter

16 he presents the two solutions of the work.139
Addition
Whereas some riddles ask the singer to drop note values, pitches, dots
or rests, others explicitly prescribe the addition of something to the written
music. Here as well, additions can affect both the rhythmic and the
melodic shape of a piece. Facing the inscription ‘Canon. Et sic de singulis’,
as it is attached to the little L’homme armé attributed to Josquin in Canti B,
the singer has to study the rubric very carefully. Indeed, the dot is a crucial
part of the canon and tells the singers to add a dot to every note. In the
music as written, a dot is only attached to the first note of each voice.140
Two of the most complex musical riddles from the Renaissance operate
with addition and do so in the context of solmisation syllables. Busnoys’s
Maintes femmes, of which the prima pars was discussed above, attaches the
following rubric to the upper voice of the secunda pars: ‘Voces a mese
nonnullas usque licanosypato<n> recine singulas’ (‘Sing some pitches
from mese to lichanos hypaton and sing them all back’).141 The two pitches
mentioned in the verbal canon – mese (or a) and lichanos hypaton (or d) –
are the key points for the realisation of the Tenor. To each of them
the companion solmisation syllables or voces have to be added, i.e. they
have to sing all the pitches by which these syllables can be called in the
three hexachords. Thus, a can be sung as la, mi and re, g as sol, re, ut and so
on. As Petrucci’s resolutio shows, this series first has to be sung straight,
then in retrograde (see Figure 2.19). Ockeghem used a very similar idea
in his Ut heremita solus.142 As in Busnoys’s Maintes femmes, to each note
139
Edition in B. J. Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests of Canonic Antiquities: The Collections of
Hermann Finck and Lodovico Zacconi’ in Schiltz and Blackburn (eds.), Canons and Canonic
Techniques, 303–38, at 333–5 (with rests) and 336–8 (without rests). The motet may well
predate the mass, as Moulu might have experimented with the technique of singing with and
without rests on a smaller scale first. The inscription for Sancta Maria mater Dei reads ‘Pauses
tout, ou non’.
140
The attribution to Josquin is questionable, since the result is (almost) musical nonsense.
141
Sevilla 5–1–43 has ‘psallens recurre singulas’ instead.
142
A. Lindmayr-Brandl, ‘Ein Rätseltenor Ockeghems: Des Rätsels Lösung’, Acta musicologica, 60
(1988), 31–42 and ‘Ockeghem’s Motets: Style as an Indicator of Authorship. The Case of Ut
heremita solus Reconsidered’, in Philippe Vendrix (ed.), Johannes Ockeghem: Actes du XLe
Colloque international d’études humanistes. Tours, 3–8 février 1997 (Paris: Klincksiek, 1998),
499–520. Ockeghem’s authorship is called in question, however, by Lindmayr-Brandl and
other scholars.
Figure 2.19 Antoine Busnoys, Maintes femmes in Canti C (Venice: Petrucci, 1504),
secunda pars
on the stave its companion solmisation syllables must be added.143 Andrea

Lindmayr-Brandl discovered that the title of the motet itself provides the
clue to the order in which these solmisation syllables have to be sung. In
the words Ut heremita solus we can indeed discover the syllables ut, re and
sol, which – when applied to the pitch of G – would imply a backward
reading of its solmisation syllables (i.e. sol, re and ut). The Tenor thus has
to sing his companion syllables in reverse order, which is indeed what we
find in Petrucci’s resolutio (see Figure 2.20).
Enigmatic inscriptions
A major way to indicate musical riddles was by using enigmatic instruc-

tions. Mostly written above the voice(s) in question, they tell the singer
how and what kind of technique he has to apply to the notation in order to
transform it according to the composer’s intention. As we shall see in
Chapter 3, Hermann Finck succinctly defines an inscription as ‘a rule
cleverly revealing the secret of the composition’ (‘regula argutè revelans
secreta cantus’). As in cryptography, the verbal instruction is the key that
enables the singer to turn the encoded text into a plain text. In other words,
it tells him which technical procedure the composer applied to the written
music and how to restore that in performance.
While most inscriptions are to be found in music manuscripts and
prints, others occur in theoretical treatises, such as Ramis de Pareia’s
Musica practica (Bologna, 1482) and the third book of Finck’s Practica
143
The letters of the words that are written in the stave above the inscription have to be replaced
by two rests each.
Enigmatic inscriptions 131
Figure 2.20 Johannes Ockeghem (?), Ut heremita solus in Motetti C (Venice:

Petrucci, 1504)
musica (Wittenberg, 1556), where they are subjected to a systematic study

and arranged according to types. Whereas Ramis’s main criterion is the
textual origin of the canons (biblical, mythological, musical jargon, etc.),
Finck classifies the rubrics according to compositional techniques.144 Both
based their catalogues of enigmatic inscriptions on an existing repertoire,
but for some of the inscriptions no composition can be traced. This can
either mean that the music they are referring to is lost – as is the case with
Ramis’s Requiem (see above) – or that these inscriptions are fictitious, i.e.
based on the theorist’s imagination and without a concrete exemplum.
This would suggest that in some circles the invention of inscriptions had
become some kind of intellectual sport. Theorists like Finck might indeed
have found pleasure in the sheer devising of verbal canons – for themselves
or as teaching material for their students.145
144
Theorists probably collected these inscriptions and their exempla in notebooks. See, for
example, the testimony in Giovanni Battista Rossi’s Organo de cantori (Venice: B. Magno,
1618), where he mentions his book, ‘which contained my examples from older works’, was
stolen (‘perche havendo fatto quest’opera l’anno del 1585 mi fù rubato l’originale dove erano
molti essempi d’antichi per la commodità de’ libri visti in diversi lochi’; ch. 14, p. 13).
145
This is also suggested by Finck’s statement that ‘every day new ones [verbal canons] are being
devised’ (‘quotidie novi excogitantur’).
What exactly do these inscriptions tell us? What are the sources com-
posers draw upon? How do the inscriptions suggest the transformation
the singer is supposed to apply to the notation? And in what way do they
address the performer? In order to trace changes and constants in the
devising of musical riddles, I will discuss verbal canons from the second
half of the fifteenth century up to Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro and
Zacconi’s Canoni musicali. A major point of reference is the catalogue
at the end of this book, which was compiled by Bonnie J. Blackburn and
lists enigmatic inscriptions until 1556, the year in which Finck’s Practica
musica was published.
Sources, language and form

The inscriptions with which composers faced performers display not only
their acquaintance with a range of disciplines and extra-musical phenom-
ena, but also their ability to deal with them in an imaginative way.146 Apart
from Scripture and Classical Antiquity (especially mythology), verbal
canons – whether in the form of actual quotations, allusions or concocted
phrases – confront the singers with tenets from the fields of philosophy,
cosmology and geography, mathematics, law and medicine. The origin and
character of these inscriptions can tell us a great deal about the intellectual
background of a composer, and also about the milieu in which he moved:
it does not suffice to have the knowledge and to recuperate it for musical
purposes, but in most cases the composer must have expected his col-
leagues to share a similar horizon or at least the capacity to understand
his intentions and to apply the instruction to the musical notation.147
Canons based on biblical verses are by far the most numerous. For
various reasons, this should not surprise us. First of all, many composers
were in some way attached to a church or had at least received their
146
As I discuss below, inscriptions were also devised by scribes, not only by the composers
themselves. This becomes especially apparent when the same piece survives with different
verbal canons attached to it.
147
See also Klotz, Kombinatorik und die Verbindungskünste der Zeichen, 17, who states that
verbal inscriptions contribute to a ‘Schärfung des Verstandes anhand des Zusammenspiels von
Notiertem und Nicht-Notiertem’ (‘sharpening of the mind though the combination of
notated and unnotated [music]’). According to the author, ‘trägt die logisch-induktive
Kanonauflösung den Charakter eines Beweises, der die Transparenz der Struktur vorführt, ja
geradezu zelebriert und die künstlerische Umsetzung in Form der musikalischen
Aufführung gestattet’ (‘the logic-inductive solution functions like a proof, which shows and
even celebrates the transparency of the structure and allows the artistic rendering in the form
of a performance’).
training in an ecclesiastical context. They were brought up with these texts

and knew them, if not from singing (in plainchant or polyphonically),
from daily prayers at Mass and Office. In short, by having memorised
and internalised the biblical heritage, they had a huge repertoire to draw
on. Secondly, since the Middle Ages the language of the Bible had given
way to interpretations on a fourfold level. Starting with the Church
Fathers, exegetes made a distinction between four layers of meaning:
(a) the literal, historical meaning (or ‘sensus historicus’) of the words from
the Scripture, (b) the allegorical sense (‘sensus allegoricus’), explaining
their symbolic meaning, also in typological terms (i.e. events or persons
in the Old Testament are seen as prefiguring the coming of Christ in the
New Testament), (c) the moral application of the text to the individual
reader or hearer (‘sensus tropologicus’ or ‘sensus moralis’) and (d) the
implicit allusions it contains to secret metaphysical and eschatological
knowledge (‘sensus anagogicus’). This is not to say that in the Renaissance
everybody was familiar with the principles of biblical hermeneutics, but
one can at least assume that people were aware of and receptive to
the expressive potential, the metaphorical language and the multivalence
of scriptural texts. The creative potential of Scripture, as already described
by Augustine and many others after him, as well as the multiplicity
of interpretations it invited, seem to have stimulated composers to use
them in an equally imaginative way.
The vast majority of inscriptions derive from the Book of Psalms and
the Gospels (especially John and Matthew; Luke and Mark to a lesser
degree). It must have been the pre-eminent poetic quality, emotional
range and pictorial language of these books that inspired composers
to exploit these texts for musical purposes, as we shall see below.148 But
other books from both the Old and New Testaments were chosen as well.
Fragments from the Pentateuch (especially Genesis, but also Exodus
and Deuteronomy) and the lamenting words of Job take on new life as
inscriptions. The allegorical Song of Songs, the Proverbs of King Solomon
and the discourses of the prophets Isaiah, Ezekiel and Daniel – who were
famous for their wisdom and their gift of understanding dark sayings –
also figure as musical directions, albeit less frequently. As far as the New
Testament is concerned, in addition to the Gospels composers favoured
148
On the enigmatic language used in the Gospel of John, see especially T. Thatcher, The Riddles
of Jesus in John: A Study in Tradition and Folklore, The Society of Biblical Literature
Monograph Series, 53 (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000).
passages from the Pauline epistles, such as his letters to the Romans,
Corinthians, Philippians and Ephesians.
A second, prominent category of verbal canons comprises quotations
from Classical Antiquity. As Bonnie Blackburn and Leofranc Holford-
Strevens have shown, for Obrecht, Johannes Martini, Marbriano de Orto
and others inscriptions were a welcome vehicle to demonstrate their taste
for the antique.149 Their sources include Vergil’s Aeneid and Bucolics,
Ovid’s Metamorphoses as well as Horace’s Ars poetica and Epistles, but
also lesser-known ‘classics’ such as Lucan’s Bellum civile and Terence’s
comedy Andria. Among the inscriptions that bear on classical sources, one
is especially noteworthy, as it refers to one of the most famous literary
riddles of Antiquity: the riddle of Homer and the fishermen, which
I discussed at the beginning of Chapter 1. In the anonymous four-voice
Missa O Österreich, which uniquely survives in Munich 3154, the second
Agnus Dei has two notated voices, with the following inscription attached
to one of them (see Figure 2.21):
Canon: Teneris in silvis lustror terseptem camenis

Epitritum fugito duplando tempore bino
Quod capitur perdo quod non capitur mihi condo.
Rule: In tender woods I was illuminated by thrice seven Muses. Avoid the
[proportion of] four-thirds by doubling the double tempus. What is caught
I lose, what was not caught I keep for myself.150
The last line clearly alludes to Homer’s riddle, but from the preceding
verses we can see that its author has relocated the antique brain-teaser in a
silvan setting. What did the composer intend? His idea is that three voices
sing the same melody in imitation, the Bassus starting on A, the Cantus
four breves later on d0 and the Altus after another four breves on g. But the
149
Blackburn and Holford-Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four Grievances’.
150
L. K. J. Feininger, Die Frühgeschichte des Kanons bis Josquin des Prez (um 1500) (Emsdetten:
Verlags-Anstalt Heinr. & J. Lechte, 1937), 38 and 63 calls this an example of a ‘Reservatkanon’
and ascribed the mass to Isaac; the attribution was contested by M. Staehelin, Die Messen
Heinrich Isaacs, 3 vols. (Bern: Haupt, 1977), vol. III (‘Studien zu Werk-und Satztechnik in den
Messenkompositionen von Heinrich Isaac’), 182–3. For an edition of the mass, see Der Kodex
des Magister Nicolaus Leopold, ed. Noblitt, vol. II, 264–87 (Agnus Dei II at 286–7). In the
manuscript, the riddle is on fols. 212v–213r. See also T. Noblitt, ‘The Missa O Österreich:
Observations and Speculations’ in W. Salmen (ed.), Heinrich Isaac und Paul Hofhaimer im
Umfeld von Kaiser Maximilian I. Bericht über die vom 1. bis 5. Juli 1992 in Innsbruck
abgehaltene Fachtagung, Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Musikwissenschaft, 16 (Innsbruck:
Helbling, 1997), 203–16.
Figure 2.21 Anon., Missa O Österreich in Munich 3154, Agnus Dei II, fol. 213r
canon is not strict: during twenty-one breves – which explains the

‘terseptem’ in the inscription – they sing in imitation, after which each of
them jumps to another signum congruentiae: the Bassus to the last, the
Cantus to the second, and the Altus to the first signum (which is actually
the immediate continuation of the melody). It must have been the voices’
initial imitation and eventual separation that inspired the anonymous

composer to make the connection with Homer’s riddle, with its paradoxal
combination of catching on the one hand, and losing/keeping on the other.
Word games are another type of source that could be used for instruc-
tions. In book 3 of Finck’s Practica musica, we find a series of palindromes
that all bear upon retrograde canons. This literary form is indeed very
apposite to hint at cancrizan singing: two persons say or sing the same,
coming from different directions and meeting each other in the middle.151
Finck quotes two palindromes that – although originating from different
periods – are often to be found together, forming an elegiac couplet:
the hexameter ‘Signa te signa temere me tangis et angis’ dates from the
Middle Ages, the pentameter ‘Roma tibi subito motibus ibit amor’ goes
back to Antiquity. The latter palindrome, which was so famous that it was
often referred to by its first words only, evidently plays on the Amor-Roma
theme. This theme also underlies the phrase ‘Roma caput mundi, si
verteris, omnia vincit’ that is mentioned by Finck: Rome is the capital
of the world, and if you turn it (i.e. if you read the word backwards), the
result is ‘amor’, which – according to Vergil’s Bucolics 10.69 – conquers
all (‘omnia vincit Amor’).152
Interestingly, for none of these sentences can an existing musical
riddle be found. Why did Finck include them? The answer probably is
that he did so not only to display his learning and inventiveness, but also to
inspire the composers of his time, even if by the time of the book’s
publication the heyday of enigmatic inscriptions belonged to the past.
Most of the above-mentioned phrases in fact occur in riddle collections
of those days, and it seems plausible that these were Finck’s source. Indeed,
they appear in anthologies by German humanists such as Johannes
Lauterbach’s Aenigmata (Frankfurt am Main, 1601) and Nicolas Reusner’s
Aenigmatographia (Frankfurt am Main, 1599, 2nd edn 1602), mentioned
in Chapter 1. Given the retrospective character of both books, one can
assume that these palindromic phrases belonged to a common repertoire
151
There is of course a difference between the procedures. In the case of a palindrome, a phrase
(or word) reads the same way in either direction. A retrograde canon, on the other hand,
consists of two voices singing the same melody, but each starting from the opposite point.
152
The same principle occurs in another phrase: ‘Mitto tibi metulas, erige si dubitas.’ Here, the
author aims at the reversibility of ‘metulas’ (little posts), which becomes ‘salutem’ (greeting).
Finck lists this under the category of verbal canons that can be used for retrograde
(i.e. when a written melody should be sung starting from the end), not for a retrograde canon
(where one voice starts at the beginning, the other at the end), as in the other three cases.
On (simple) retrograde, he writes: ‘Indicatur, cantum simpliciter ab ultima nota incipiendo
retro cantari debere.’
of sayings and word games, from which Finck – who was professor at
the University of Wittenberg – could draw his inspiration.
As we have already seen at the beginning of this chapter, Jacob Obrecht
had a special preference for enigmatic inscriptions based on scholastic
philosophy.153 He is almost the only one to use them, and this might
be explained by his having taken a master’s degree by 1480. He even
has recourse twice to a philosophical principle to indicate a rhythmic
rearrangement – not to say a complete dissection – of the cantus firmus
in two of his masses: ‘Digniora sunt priora’ (The more worthy have
precedence) and ‘A maiori debet fieri denominatio’ (The name should be
taken from the greater part) accompany the Patrem of his Missa Grecorum
and the Credo of his Missa De tous bien playne respectively. Both canons
mean that the note values should be treated in hierarchical order, starting
with the longest one. The latter sentence is ultimately derived from
Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (9.1168b31–5), but was widely received in
medieval scholastics.154
The majority of inscriptions are in Latin, but verbal canons could also be
expressed in French, Italian, Spanish and even contain (pseudo-)Greek
words, as we shall see below. The primacy of Latin texts is striking, and
in many cases the composer’s intention must have been to display his
erudition. In other instances – especially in the case of masses – he might
have wanted not to stray from the language of sacred music. The choice
of a specific language could indeed depend on several considerations: it
could be dictated by that language’s possibility to bring to the fore a subtle
hint or verbal twist, but also be influenced by the main text of a piece.
Whereas most directions are short and compact sentences, some take
the form of a poem, whether or not with a rhyme scheme, in the form of
a sonnet, ottava rima or elegiac distichs: in this way, the inscription moves
153
For an analysis of the sources, see Holford-Strevens,‘The Latinity of Jacob Obrecht’.
154
In Aquinas’s Scriptum super Libros Sententiarum, for example, it appears as ‘denominatio
semper fit a principaliori’ (bk. 3, art. 4). Obrecht’s predilection for philosophical tenets must
have been so well known that Petrucci’s editor, Petrus Castellanus, quoted a phrase from
Porphyry when he got desperate about the solution of the second Agnus Dei from his Missa Je
ne demande. With ‘Accidens potest inesse et abesse preter subiecti corruptionem’ (‘An
accident may be present or absent without corrupting the subject’) he indicated that the Altus
is a si placet voice, i.e. that it can be sung but also left out. Is it irony – or on purpose – that he
used an inscription on corruption for a piece whose solution was itself corrupt? Obrecht would
certainly not have been pleased with Castellanus’s solution, but must have liked the verbal
canon all the more. On the different versions of this mass, see B. J. Blackburn, ‘Obrecht’s Missa
Je ne demande and Busnoys’s Chanson: An Essay in Reconstructing Lost Canons’, TVNM, 45
(1995), 18–32. She notes that the inscription is taken from Boethius’ translation of Porphyry’s
Isagoge, a fundamental textbook of logic in the Middle Ages (p. 26).
close to a literary riddle. In his manuscript collection of Canoni musicali,

Zacconi uses the word ‘enigma’ uniquely as a generic term: as we can read
in book 3, for him it ‘is nothing but a mysterious poem that, while
explaining in poetry and showing the concept, at the same time keeps it
mysteriously . . . under dark words’.155 Like a literary riddle, the poem
shows and hides at the same time.
The composer of the six L’homme armé masses (Naples VI.E.40) seems
to have been the first to attach poems to his riddles. Each mass is accom-
panied by an instruction of two to four lines. The last mass, starting with
the words ‘Arma virumque cano’, even refers to the famous opening
sentence of Vergil’s Aeneid, thereby connecting the musical theme of
the armed man with a venerable literary tradition.156 Thereafter, the taste
for poem-like inscriptions diminishes, only to turn up again near the
end of the sixteenth century. In most cases, these poems contain puns on
solmisation syllables and incorporate veiled allusions to the duration and
colour of the notes, the mensuration sign(s) one had to prefix and the
technique(s) of transformation one had to apply to the soggetto. In his two
collections of Enigmi musicali, for example, Lodovico Agostini has the
encoded voice (usually the Sesto) accompanied with a short cryptic poem
that contains clues for the melodic and rhythmic realisation of shorthand-
notated parts.157 Near the end of his book of forty-five ‘enigmas musicales’,
Cerone also has riddles preceded by poems in Latin, Italian and Spanish.
They contain hints for the interpretation of a voice part that was either
not notated at all (e.g. nos. 33 and 35–7) or presented in an abbreviated
form (e.g. nos. 38–9); the other voices usually are not enigmatic and are
written out.158 In the same year, Adriano Banchieri published his Canoni
musicali (Venice, 1613), of which each piece is accompanied by an ottava
rima – the musical notation is then followed by a short ‘Dichiaratione’.159
155
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, bk. 3, ch. 10, fol. 111r: ‘L’Enigma non è altro, che un certo misterioso
particolar poema, ch’esplicando in poesia, e manifestando tutto un integral concetto,
nell’istesso tempo che misteriosamente ne le tiene . . . sotto metaforiche parole.’ The third book
is about riddles accompanied by an image (he calls them ‘gieroglifico musicale’) on the one
hand, and veiled inscriptions on the other.
156
M. Long, ‘Arma virumque cano: Echoes of a Golden Age’ in Paula Higgins (ed.), Antoine
Busnoys: Method, Meaning, and Context in Late Medieval Music (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1999), 133–54. For full translations of these inscriptions, see Wright, The Maze and the
Warrior, 282–8.
157
See Stras, ‘“Al gioco si conosce il galantuomo”’, e.g. the discussion of Un mal è che mi rende
afflitto e meste, 224–7 (transcription on pp. 279–83).
158
The following riddles have instructions in the form of a poem: nos. 33, 35–9 and 44.
159
Facsimile edition in the series Bibliotheca musica Bononiensis, II.26 (Bologna: Forni, 1968).
Zacconi discusses some of them in his Canoni musicali. For a discussion of the afterword to
Dark hints
Apart from the vast knowledge that some inscriptions presuppose, it is
instructive to investigate how the composer (or in some cases, as we shall
see, the scribe) hints at the transformation that is required from the singer.
Indeed, these verbal canons are not straightforward technical instructions,
which can be read in their sensus litteralis, but rather they point to the
solution in a metaphorical way. They use a pictorial language to represent
a specific technique. A whole range of inscriptions integrates some kind of
visual element, which can be applied to the written music via association,
comparison or resemblance. As I shall show in the following paragraphs,
one can observe notable differences in the way composers allude to
transformations that affect the melodic shape of the notation on the one
hand and its rhythmic qualities on the other.
Generally speaking, to indicate melodic changes – both retrograde
and inversion – composers sometimes compare the written music with
a path or a route the singer has to take, thereby implying a certain direc-
tion or movement. Thus, in Adrian Petit Coclico’s Compendium musices
(Nuremberg, 1552), the biblical sentence ‘Per aliam viam reversi sunt in
regionem suam’ (‘They went back another way into their country’) is used
twice to indicate a retrograde canon.160 By calling to mind the story of the
three wise men (Matthew 2:12), who had been told in their sleep that they
should not return to Herod, but take another way instead, Coclico (if the
exempla are indeed his) skilfully evokes the essence of retrogade singing:
while one voice moves in one direction, the other takes the opposite
route.161 The same metaphor also occurs in two riddles of Cerone’s El
Melopeo y maestro. Here, however, the ‘otherness’ that is expressed in the
phrase ‘Contrarium tenet iter’ (no. 10) and in the Italian epigram ‘Se’l mio
compagno vuol meco cantare, / Per altra strata li convien’andare’ (no. 11)
signifies inversion.162 But here as well, singing is compared with a path that
Banchieri’s collection, see also Ch. 3 below. A later example is Giovanni Briccio’s collection of
Canoni enigmatici for two to four voices (Rome: Paolo Massoti, 1632), where each riddle is
accompanied by a four-line Italian poem. In contrast to Banchieri, Briccio does not give his
readers an explanation of how to unravel the relationship between the poem and the music.
160
Adrian Petit Coclico, Compendium musices (Nuremberg: Berg and Neuber, 1552), sigs. Fiv and
Piijv.
161
In bk. 2, ch. 4 of his Canoni musicali, Zacconi uses a similar image: a two-voice work carries
the inscription ‘Lo scontro de peregrini’ (the encounter of the pilgrims) to indicate that two
voices come from opposite directions, meet in the middle and then continue their path.
162
Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1083–6. In the first riddle, inversion is combined with a
mensuration canon, in the second with a series of proportional changes.
can be walked in two different directions – in this case not in the horizontal
sense (from left to right or vice versa), but in the vertical sense (ascending
or descending).
A further differentiation between retrograde and inversion can be
detected. To indicate that a written melody should not be sung straightfor-
ward but backwards, composers sometimes used inscriptions that imply
two extremes changing places. A good example is the direction ‘Ubi α ibi ω
et ubi ω finis esto’ (‘Where there is alpha, there is omega, and where there
is omega make an end’), which according to Ramis de Pareia was used as a
verbal canon by Busnoys.163 This inscription of course alludes to a famous
passage in the Book of Revelation 22:13, where Christ – by way of an
apocalyptic summation of divine identity – characterises himself with the
messianic titles alpha and omega, first and last, beginning and end (‘Ego
sum alpha et omega, primus et novissimus, principium et finis’).164 But the
pair of extremes could be expressed in even more imaginative terms. Both
Obrecht (in the last Agnus Dei of his Missa Grecorum) and Japart (in his
chanson J’ay pris amours) referred to the zodiac to hint at cancrizan
singing, thereby exhibiting their intimate knowledge of the celestial sphere:
by prescribing that Aries should be changed into Pisces, hence the first sign
of the zodiac becoming the last, they want to signal to the singer that he
should start from the end of the written line.165
Retrograde canons, where one voice sings a melody from beginning to
end, the other simultaneously working its way from the end to the start, are
often accompanied by inscriptions that suggest a movement in opposite
directions. A particularly pictorial example are two hemistichs from Psalm
85, which were chosen by several composers: ‘Misericordia et veritas obvia-
verunt sibi’ and its companion ‘Justitia et pax osculatae sunt’ each operate
with a pair of virtues – mercy and truth on the one hand, justice and peace on
the other – which gradually approach – or, to use the imagery of the Psalm
text, meet and kiss – each other. As in a retrograde canon, two voices come
from opposite ends, they meet in the middle and then continue their path.
163
However, no such piece by Busnoys survives.
164
Other riddles using alpha and omega to indicate backward reading are Leonhard Paminger’s
above-mentioned five-voice Ad te, Domine, levavi (with the cantus firmus ‘Mirificavit
Dominus’) and Lodovico Agostini’s Alma Dei genitrix, the opening piece of his collection
Canones, et Echo sex vocibus (Venice, 1572).
165
Both combine retrograde singing with transposition and do so by using the Greek pitch names:
‘In paripatheypaton aries vertatur in pisces’ (Obrecht) and ‘Fit aries piscis in licanosypathon’
(Japart) indicate a transposition of the written melody to the lower octave and twelfth
respectively.
Whereas cancrizan singing can be evoked by a movement in the hori-

zontal sense, inversion can aptly be expressed by turning upside down
well-known opposites in a vertical sense, i.e. what was below now becomes
above and vice versa. Particularly widespread was the paradoxical ‘Qui se
humiliat exaltabitur’ (‘He who humbles himself shall be exalted’) from the
Gospel of Luke to indicate that all ascending intervals should be replaced
by descending ones.166 But images from other, non-biblical contexts were
used as well. The idea of having two extremes change places also occurs
in the anonymous three-voice Dy kraebis schere, which survives uniquely
in the Glogauer Liederbuch. In this piece, every voice is accompanied
by another inscription, meaning that none of them can be sung the way
it is notated.167 The verbal canon attached to the Superius is ‘Celum
calcatur dum terra per astra levatur’ (‘The sky is trodden while the earth
is raised through the stars’). As the sky has acquired earth-like qualities
and the earth has moved to the starry heavens, in the upper voice of the
anonymous piece the movement of the intervals should be exchanged.168
By the same token, an upside-down image can also point to an inversion
canon, where one voice sings the melody as written, the other in inversion.
In his six-voice motet Verbum Domini manet in aeternum, for example,
Ulrich Brätel has the Contra accompanied by the instruction ‘Pluto Colet
Aethera. Jupiter in Tartara ibit’ (Pluto shall dwell in the aether, Jupiter
shall go to Tartarus). Brätel here alludes to a famous mythological story,
according to which Jupiter and his brothers Pluto and Neptune had agreed
166
For a different interpretation of this biblical maxim in the anonymous five-voice Languir me
fais (reproduced in Finck’s Practica musica), see above.
167
Modern edition in Das Glogauer Liederbuch. Erster Teil: Deutsche Lieder und Spielstücke, ed.
H. Ringmann and J. Klapper, Das Erbe deutscher Musik, 4 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1954), 98.
168
Another riddle that plays on the qualities of the earth was devised by Japart in his De tous biens
(printed in Petrucci, Canti C). By attaching the phrase ‘Hic dantur antipodes’ (Here the
antipodes are given) to the Tenor, he refers to a geographical phenomenon. The term
ἀντίποδες signifies two places on earth that are diametrically opposed to each other – this
notion of course presupposes that the earth is spherical. First coined by Plato and Aristotle to
explain the relativity of the terms ‘above’ and ‘below’, the Latin Antipodes came to denote
the people living on the opposite part of the earth. According to a widespread medieval belief,
they lived with their feet opposite to ours. See, for example, Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae,
IX.2.133 (‘ut quasi sub terris positi adversa pedibus nostris calcent vestigia, nulla ratione
credendum est’) and XI.3.24 (‘Antipodes in Libya plantas versas habent post crura et octonos
digitos in plantis’). This upside-down turning of the human body, as it is often depicted in
medieval illustrations, is a clever way to indicate inversion. See also the inscription
‘In gradus undenos descendant multiplicantes, Consimilique modo crescant antipodes uno’
(‘They descend eleven steps multiplying, and in the same manner they increase in the opposite
direction’) that some sources attach to the first Agnus Dei of Josquin’s Missa Fortuna
desperata.
to divide the dominion of heaven, the underworld, and the sea among
them. The inscription’s indication that Pluto’s and Jupiter’s territories are
being turned upside down – with Pluto reigning in heaven, Jupiter in
the underworld – nicely visualises musical inversion.169
The idea that musical inversion implies a systematic exchange of
contraries finds expression in an inscription that is related to medicine.
‘Contraria contrarijs curantur’ (Everything is cured by its contrary) is a
medical commonplace that lies at the basis of the so-called ‘law of contrar-
ies’ or ‘antipathic method’ to indicate that, say, heat should be treated with
cold.170 The theory goes back to the physician and surgeon Galen. This
phrase is quoted in several musical riddles, but Johannes Ghiselin seems
to have been the first to use it, in the Osanna of his Missa Narayge.171
In accordance with the medical prescription, every ascending note in
Robert Morton’s song is ‘cured’ by a descending note (its contrary).172
Whereas melodic transformations are usually hinted at by verbs or
nouns that imply a certain movement or direction, rhythmic changes of
the written music are expressed in different terms. These are often insinu-
ated by referring to colours or by using metaphors such as darkness and/or
light. These terms obviously allow composers to play on the colour of
the note values, which can then be transformed according to a given rule.
In the Qui tollis of his above-mentioned Missa Narayge, for example,
Ghiselin quotes a verse from Psalm 96 – ‘Nubes et caligo in circuitu eius’
(‘Clouds and darkness are round about him’) – to indicate that, from the
Cum Sancto Spiritu to the end of the Gloria, the cantus firmus should be
169
On this motet, see my ‘Verbum Domini manet in eternum: Text and Context of a Canonic
Motet by Ulrich Brätel (D-Mbs, Mus.ms. 1503b)’ in C. Ballman and V. Dufour (eds.), “La la
la . . . Maistre Henri”: Mélanges de musicologie offerts à Henri Vanhulst (Turnhout: Brepols
2009), 61–70.
170
It should be added here that in medicine, the opposite is the ‘law of similars’, which is captured
by the phase ‘Similia similibus curentur’. One of the main proponents of this theory, which
became the cornerstone of present-day homoeopathy, was Hippocrates. Although this phrase
could have been used to indicate, say, a canon at the unison, it is not found among the
inscriptions. However, we do find ‘Simile gaudet simili’ (Like rejoices in like) as the verbal
canon for an anonymous, seven-voice Kain Adler in der Welt (see above). This phrase,
however, was also known as a proverb – see, for example, Erasmus’s Adagia I.ii.21.
171
Misse Ghiselin (Venice: Petrucci, 1503). Modern edition in Johannes Ghiselin-Verbonnet,
Opera Omnia, ed. C. Gottwald, CMM, 23 (n.p.: American Institute of Musicology, 1964),
vol. II, 89–94 (Sanctus).
172
Other examples include Finck, Practica musica, sigs. Mm3v–Nn1r (with the Tenor of De tous
bien plaine) and Johannes de Cleve’s six-voice motet Mirabilia testimonia (with the Sextus
inverting the Tenor at the upper ninth). In his Canoni musicali, Zacconi also includes several
inversion canons that use this inscription.
repeated in coloration.173 White notes are to be sung as if they were

black and ‘surrounded by clouds’.
References to darkness are numerous and can have various meanings.
In a short chapter on enigmatic instructions that is part of the treatise
Prattica di musica (Venice, 1596), Lodovico Zacconi mentions a setting of
Per signum crucis by Heinrich Isaac, which is unfortunately lost.174 But
according to the theorist, the riddle was accompanied by the inscription
‘Qui sequitur me, non ambulet in tenebris’ (He who follows me shall not
walk in darkness). With this quotation from John 8:12, Isaac had wanted to
indicate that the comes – ‘qui sequitur me’ – should omit all the black
notes – ‘non ambulet in tenebris’, i.e. he shall not touch the black notes.175
A particularly imaginative application of the metaphor of darkness and
light is to be found in the Agnus Dei of the anonymous five-voice Missa Du
bon du cueur, as it survives in Munich 5.176 The verbal canon ‘Noctem
verterunt in diem. Et rursum post tenebras spero lucem’ (‘They [my
thoughts] have turned night into day, and after darkness I hope for light
again’) from Job 17:12 contains a parallel contrast: between night and
day, and between darkness and light.177 The music of the Quinta vox
presents an alternation of a series of black and white notes, which quote
the melody of the pre-existing song. Each group of black or white notes
corresponds to a chanson phrase (see Figure 2.22 for the beginning of the
mass). Apart from the first series of black notes, which has to be sung
in coloration (i.e. in triple time), the encrypted voice systematically has to
transform the written note values: black notes are to be sung as if they were
white (i.e. in duple time) – like the night that is turned into day – and the
white ones are to be performed in coloration (see Example 2.7).178 In other
173
Modern edition in Ghiselin-Verbonnet, Opera Omnia, ed. Gottwald, vol. II, 76–80 (Gloria).
174
Lodovico Zacconi, Prattica di musica (Venice, 1596), bk. 2, ch. 55 (fol. 130v).
175
For further examples, see also Cerone, Enigma adonde una voz canta solamente las notas
blancas (no. 27) and Zacconi, Canoni musicali, bk. 2, ch. 2, 15 and 17.
176
On this mass, see B. Nelson, ‘The Missa Du bon du cuer: An Unknown Mass by Noel
Bauldeweyn?’, TKVNM, 51 (2001), 103–30. The mass also survives in Munich 6 and Toledo
B. 33.
177
In Munich 6, the Agnus Dei does not carry an inscription; in the manuscript Toledo B. 33
(copied in Toledo in 1543) it has a quotation from Psalm 138:12: ‘Sicut tenebre eius, ita et
lumen eius’ (‘The darkness thereof, and the light thereof are alike to thee’).
178
It is not clear why the first series of black notes is not part of the systematic exchange. The only
explanation I can think of is that the voice begins with a series of black notes and ends with a
white long. Thus, on an encompassing level, night has indeed been turned into day, which
could signal that the beginning and the end of the Agnus should be sung the way they are
notated. It should be noted, however, that Toledo B. 33 notates the first phrase in white
notation, which probably is the better reading.
Figure 2.22 Anon. (Noel Bauldeweyn?), Missa Du bon du cueur in Munich 5, Agnus Dei, [Tenor II], first two folios, fols. 162r and 163r
Example 2.7 Anon., Missa Du bon du cueur, Agnus Dei, bb. 1–31
Example 2.7 (cont.)

Example 2.7 (cont.)

words, nothing is what it looks like: darkness becomes light, and light
becomes darkness.179 In the Missa Du bon du cueur, the hope for the
light in Job’s phrase thus acquires an ambiguous touch, an ambiguity
that results from the riddle’s inherent tension between the written music
and the aural result that is the outcome of the singer’s mental operation.
Indeed, after the darkness – which in the cantus firmus exists only on
the page, as the result of the transformation is whiteness – comes the light,
which in musical terms is treated as darkness. It should also be noted here
that the compositional technique and the verbal canon fit the text of the
Agnus Dei in a remarkable way. Indeed, the last section of the mass
is about Christ’s Resurrection, symbolically represented as the Lamb of
God that takes away the sins of the world. The choice of the quotation
from the Book of Job, with its emphasis on the contrast between darkness
and light, also finds a parallel in the Easter liturgy: after the ‘night’ – which
is the period of the Tenebrae, preceding Easter – comes the redemptive
light of Christ.180
Jean Mouton also has a riddle that hints at a specific type of omission
in relation to the biblical Book of Job. His five-voice Antequam comedam
suspiro survives in Attaingnant’s eleventh book of motets (Paris, 1535).
The cantus firmus is taken from Josquin’s chanson Je ry et si ay la larme a
l’oel. Whereas in the prima pars, the Tenor has to augment the note
values of the melody following the indication ‘crescit in duplo’, the inscrip-
tion for the secunda pars is not that straightforward. ‘Dissimulare loco
summa prudentia est’ (‘It is the greatest wisdom to turn a blind eye on
the right occasion’) refers to a verse from the Disticha Catonis – a collec-
tion of maxims that was immensely popular in the Middle Ages and the
Renaissance for teaching moral principles to students. It tells the singers –
albeit in a veiled way – to pretend ‘not to notice on the right occasion’.
In accordance with the text of the main voices, which is taken from the
Book of Job (3:24–6 and 6:13), the answer is that one is not supposed to
know the end of life. In musical terms, it turns out to mean that the Tenor
179
In this context, it should also be asked how a modern edition like the present one should cope
with this transformation. More precisely, should coloration be indicated, although it is strictly
speaking not notated as such (because black notes are sung as white, hence what in a modern
edition is marked as coloration is in fact in white notation in the original)?
180
Note also the opening of the Agnus Dei: starting with the Bassus’s quotation of the pre-existing
melody in a very low register (representing darkness), the work gradually evolves into a
five-part piece by working its way to up the highest voice (symbolising the light), which enters
last (b. 9). On this mass, see also Z. Saunders, ‘Anonymous Masses in the Alamire
Manuscripts: Toward a New Understanding of a Repertoire, an Atelier, and a Renaissance
Court’, PhD thesis, University of Maryland (2010), 146ff.
Figure 2.23 Anon., Dy kraebis schere in the Glogauer Liederbuch, Tenor
has to suppress the last note of each phrase of the cantus firmus – only then
will the contrapuntal fabric work.181 What is more, as ‘summa prudentia’
can also be translated as ‘final wisdom’, the phrase itself contains yet
another hint at the omission of the final note of each phrase.
To signal that specific note values should be replaced by other ones –
i.e. to suggest substitution – the composer of the anonymous Dy kraebis
schere chose a remarkable inscription for the Tenor, which almost sounds
like a magic formula: ‘Pigmeus hic crescat, gigas decrescere debet / In
cauda cerebrum, en est mirabile monstrum’ (Let the pygmy grow here, the
giant should decrease, / The brain is in the tail; behold the wondrous
monster). Note values are compared with subjects of contrasting size – a
pygmy and a giant: by having the former increase and the latter get smaller,
the composer indicates that the Tenor has to replace the written note values
with their opposites. Thus, all minims become semibreves, all semibreves are
to be sung as minims, and all breves as semiminims (see Figure 2.23). Apart
from that, this voice has to sing his line from the end – starting with the tail of
the ‘mirabile monstrum’. As it was said above, all three voices from the
textless Dy kraebis schere have to apply a transformation to the written
melody: inversion for the Cantus, retrograde inversion for the Contratenor
and the systematic exchange of note values combined with retrograde reading
in the Tenor. It is important to note here that the transformations are not
of a visually static, quoted melody. In other words, the riddle becomes
liberated from the aesthetic of visual fixity. The result is a short, twenty-breve
181
Disticha Catonis 2.18: ‘Insipiens esto, cum tempus postulat aut res; / Stultitiam simulare loco
prudentia summa est’ (‘Be foolish, when time and circumstance demand: it is the height of
wisdom to simulate folly at times’). Several solutions to Mouton’s riddle have been proposed,
most recently – and correctly – by Patrick Macey, ‘Mouton and Josquin, Motets for Five and
Six Voices: Canon, Modular Repetition, and Musical Borrowing’, JAF (in press). I am grateful
to Patrick Macey for sending me a draft of his article.
Example 2.8 Anon., Dy kraebis schere
composition, which in its transcribed form does not show the slightest trace
of the complicated techniques the performers have to apply to the notation
(see Example 2.8). Cantus and Tenor regularly engage in imitation, with
cadences (bb. 4–5, 7–8, 16–17 and 19–20) marking off shorter units.182
182
The piece contains some unfortunate moments: see, for example, the combination of a parallel
fifth and octave at the beginning of b. 16 or the parallel fifth in bb. 5–6.
For mensuration canons, it usually suffices to prefix two or more

mensuration signs to indicate the temporal changes. However, some of
them are – somewhat tautologically – accompanied by a verbal canon.
In many cases, such a phrase was added to underline a specific symbolic
dimension of the mensural transformation and/or to suggest an intimate
connection between the compositional technique and the main text. For
example, ‘Trinitas’ or ‘Trinitas in unitate’ is sometimes attached to three-
voice mensuration canons, indicating that – like the Holy Trinity – three
voices share one and the same substance.183 In other cases, mensural
changes can be expressed by verbs such as growing or diminishing.184
In Vatican CS 38, the biblical ‘Me oportet minui, illum autem crescere’
(‘I must decrease, but he must increase’) is attached to Jean Maillard’s six-
voice Fratres mei elongaverunt se a me.185 It is an almost literal quotation
from the third chapter of the Gospel of John, in which John the Baptist
announces himself as the precursor of Christ.186 Whereas ‘illum oportet
crescere me autem minui’ (John 3:30) describes the reciprocal relationship
between Christ and John the Baptist, in Maillard’s motet ‘crescere’ and
‘minuere’ bear upon the note values: the Tenor sings the written values in
augmentation, the Quinta pars in diminution, thus creating a relationship
of 1:4.187 Needless to say, the temporal contrast between the two voices
that thus emerges is closely related to the ‘elongaverunt’ of the motet’s
183
However, references to the Holy Trinity can also indicate a 3-in-1 interval canon. Consider, for
example, the motto ‘Trinitas in unitate’: whereas it hints at a three-voice mensuration canon in
(some sources for) the second Agnus Dei from Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces
musicales, in the last (six-voice) Agnus Dei of Bauldeweyn’s Missa Da pacem (Munich 7), it
stands for an interval canon (at the lower double octave and the lower octave respectively).
184
Although the phrase ‘Crescit in duplo’ (or variations hereof), which occurs in numerous
sources, reads like a straightforward instruction, it actually originated in Roman law. In the so-
called lex Aquilia, which arranges the recovery of damages, we read the following: ‘If the
vendor (defendant) disputed the claim and had to be sued, he was condemned to pay double
the amount involved’ (‘infitiando lis crescit in duplum’). It might well be that the canonic
inscription originated in this context, after which it took on a life of its own, independent of its
juristic origins.
185
Modern edition in Jean Maillard, Modulorum Iohannis Maillardi: The Five-, Six-, and Seven-
Part Motets. Part II, ed. R. H. Rosenstock, RRMR, 95–6 (Madison, WI: A-R Editions, 1993),
143–9.
186
See John 3:28: ‘Ego non sum Christus, sed quia missus sum ante illum’ (‘I am not Christ, but
that I am sent before him’). On Johannine allusions in other motets (texts as well as
inscriptions) from Vatican CS 38, see M. A. Anderson, ‘Symbols of Saints: Theology, Ritual,
and Kinship in Music for John the Baptist and St. Anne (1175–1563)’, PhD thesis, University
of Chicago (2008), esp. 272–84; Anderson, ‘The One Who Comes after Me: John the Baptist,
Christian Time, and Symbolic Musical Techniques’, JAMS, 66 (2013), 639–708.
187
In the Modulorum Iohannis Maillardi (Paris: Le Roy & Ballard, 1565), the written-out voices
are labelled ‘resolutio crescentis’ and ‘resolutio minuentis’ respectively.
main text, which is itself a paraphrase of Job 19:13–14. Here Job complains
that his friends have removed themselves from him and ‘left him like
strangers’ (quasi alieni recesserunt). In Maillard’s setting, this gradual
removal is translated by the Tenor only being able to sing one-fourth
of the melody from the Quinta pars.188
Other compositional techniques can also be hinted at by well-chosen
verbs. This goes especially for inscriptions that bear upon ostinatos.
The idea of repeating the same thing again and again – obstinately as it
were – gives way to a range of verbal canons, both of classical and biblical
origin. The motto ‘Itque reditque frequens’ (‘He goes there and back
frequently’) Cristóbal de Morales attached to his five-voice motet Tu es
Petrus – Quodcumque ligaveris (for the feast of the Apostles Peter and
Paul) is taken from a famous passage in the sixth book of Vergil’s Aeneid.
There it is told that Pollux has to travel back and forth between Elysium
and the underworld, where his equally immortal twin brother Castor lives.
In Morales’s motet, the transposition of the ostinato, i.e. its constant
changing between a higher and a lower range (with entrances on g0 and
d00 ), seems to allude to Pollux’s stay in Elysium and the underworld
respectively.189 Other verbs and expressions were equally deemed appro-
priate to indicate ostinato. In another motet by Morales, the six-voice
Veni Domine et noli tardare (Vatican CS 19), this technique is alluded
to by a passage from Paul’s letter to the Philippians (2:8): ‘Factus est
obediens usque ad mortem’ (‘He became obedient unto death’).190 Christ’s
obedience ‘until the end’ is a good metaphor for telling the singer he
should stick to the same melody until the end of the piece. The ‘usque ad
mortem’ might explain the ostinato’s descending entrances (from a0 to d0 )
in both parts.191 Morales – or Johannes Parvus, the scribe of Vatican CS
188
Cerone uses the same inscription, followed by another quotation from John (‘qui venit post
me, ante me factus est’, John 1:15 and 27) for an enigmatic duo in his collection of musical
riddles (Enigma que diminuye y aumenta el valor de las notas, no. 29, pp. 1108–9).
189
Cerone, who must have been familiar with Morales’s Tu es Petrus, offers a slight variation on
this inscription in the last book of his El Melopeo y maestro. In his Enigma, que va y viene,
ostinato is combined with retrograde. Following the instruction ‘Ibo redibo canens. Itque
reditque viam’ (‘I will go and go again singing. He goes his way back and forth’), the Cantus
has to repeat the ostinato in such a way that, once he has arrived at the end, he reads the
melody backwards and in diminution. See Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1090–1.
190
The full verse reads as follows: ‘Humiliavit semet ipsum factus oboediens usque ad mortem,
mortem autem crucis’ (‘He humbled himself, becoming obedient unto death, even to the death
of the cross’).
191
For the reception of Morales’s Veni Domine et noli tardare (and its use of ostinato) by other
Spanish composers, see O. Rees, ‘“Recalling Cristóbal de Morales to Mind”: Emulation in
Guerrero’s Sacrae cantiones of 1555’ in D. Crawford and G. G. Wagstaff (eds.), Encomium
19 – might have been inspired by a famous motet by one of his predeces-

sors, which also turns up in the choirbooks of the Cappella Sistina.
In Vatican CS 24, the Tenor of Josquin’s five-voice Salve regina carries
the inscription ‘Qui perseveraverit salvus erit’ (He who perseveres will be
saved). As we read in the Gospel of Matthew (10:22), these are the words
Jesus speaks when sending out his twelve disciples. He tells them not to
be deterred, even when others will hate and persecute them (Matthew
10:22–3). In Josquin’s motet, the ostinato forms the structural basis of
the work in that it ‘perseveringly’ sings the first four notes of the Salve
chant, starting alternately on g0 and d0 .
Interestingly, composers sometimes encrypted normal imitation canons
with verbal instructions as well. Whereas signa congruentiae and/or clefs
would have provided sufficient information about the distance and the
interval of the imitation, the duplication of a written melody is hinted at in
a veiled way instead, expressing in words what can also be shown by
musical signs. A good example is the anonymous Domine, quis habitabit
in tabernaculo suo, as it survives in Antico’s Motetti novi e chanzoni
franciose a quattro sopra doi (Venice, 1520).192 As the title of the collection
indicates, all pieces are conceived as a double canon, with four voices to be
derived from two written ones. In the three-part Domine, quis habitabit,
each voice is preceded by two clefs, which strictly speaking would
be enough for singers to know the starting pitch of each voice. But the
composer decided to add an inscription nevertheless: ‘Quilibet manebit
in sua vocatione’ (‘Each shall remain in his own vocation’), which is an
allusion to the words of Paul in 1 Corinthians 7:20. The verbal canon does
not contain concrete clues for the realisation of the piece, so why did
the composer add this phrase? The reason should probably be sought in
the unusual imitation interval of the canons: from the lower seventh
(between Cantus–Tenor and Altus–Bassus) in the prima pars to the lower
ninth (between Cantus–Tenor and Altus–Bassus) in the secunda pars to
the upper seventh (between Tenor–Cantus and Bassus–Altus) in the tertia
pars. Thus, by urging each singer to follow his personal vocation, the
biblically inspired inscription encourages the performers to remain steady
and to do what they should do: regardless of the uncommon interval at
musicae: Essays in Memory of Robert J. Snow, Festschrift Series, 17 (Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon
Press, 2002), 364–94.
192
See also J. van Benthem, ‘Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo tuo? A Neglected Psalm-setting
in Antico’s Motetti novi e chanzoni franciose’ in A. Clement and E. Jas (eds.), Josquin and the
Sublime: Proceedings of the International Josquin Symposium at Roosevelt Academy,
Middelburg, 12–15 July 2009 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 73–105.
which they have to imitate the comes, hence the completely different
solmisation syllables that result from it, they ought to stick to the clef.193
A particularly playful example of an inscription that was added to an
imitation canon occurs in Isaac’s Missa Tmeiskin was jonck. In Vatican
CS 49, which transmits the mass anonymously, the Sanctus carries a
remarkable instruction for the Altus: ‘Si cecus cecum ducat ambo in
foveam cadunt’ (‘If a blind man leads a blind man both fall into the pit’).
In musical terms, this proverbial phrase – an almost literal quotation from
Luke 6:39 and Matthew 15:14 – is a humorous way to express that two
voices have to follow each other blindly. In Isaac’s mass, it denotes a fuga
canon at the unison after three breves. In the Qui tollis of the same mass,
we find another veiled inscription with similar intentions: ‘Ait latro ad
latronem’ (‘One thief said to the other’) – the first words of an antiphon for
the Lauds of Good Friday – is about the two malefactors who were
crucified together with Christ. This clearly is a fitting inscription for a
Qui tollis, in which the ‘Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father’ is asked
to take away the sins of the world (‘qui tollis peccata mundi’). But the
phrase was also used as a proverb to express a heated quarrel between
two equally guilty men, with one chiding the other for a crime they have
both committed. In other words, both are responsible in equal measure
and share the same lot. When applied to the music of Isaac’s mass, it
suggests that two voices are to sing the same melody: the Tenor has to
duplicate the upper voice after three breves at the lower octave. So both
inscriptions of Isaac’s mass operate with a pair – two blind men and two
malefactors respectively – to hint at their interdependence, hence to the
common origin of their musical substance.
A textless piece on the last folio of Petrucci’s Motetti B funtions in a
similar, although slightly more enigmatic way. The work is accompanied
by the phrase ‘Sic unda impellitur unda’ (‘Thus wave is driven by wave’).
The signa congruentiae inform us about the solution: a three-in-one canon
at the unison at the distance of three breves. However, devoid of this visual
aid, the riddle would have been far more difficult to untangle, for the
inscription demands a profound knowledge of the context in which it
originally appears. The singers needed to know that the inscription was
193
A similar warning appears in Thomas Crecquillon’s chanson Dont vient cela, the opening piece
of Susato’s collection of Vingt et six chansons musicales (Antwerp, 1543) (RISM 154315).
Attached to the Superius is the inscription ‘Chanter vous fault Estrangement’ (‘You must sing
in a strange way’), which prepares the comes for a duplication of the melody at the lower
second (or upper seventh).
taken from the last book of Ovid’s Metamorphoses (15.181), where it is

part of Pythagoras’s explanations on the change of time. Like each wave
‘is both impelled by that behind and itself impels the wave in front’
(‘urgeturque prior veniente urgetque priorem’, l. 182), in the anonymous
piece the three voices follow each other in an undulating manner and
are logically related among each other.194
As can be seen from this and the foregoing examples, the inscriptions
for imitation canons usually do not give the singers concrete clues for
their realisation, such as the temporal distance and the imitation interval.
At the most, they tell the performers how many voices are involved.
But the composer’s intention could indeed be expressed by simpler, more
straightforward musical means, i.e. without recourse to a verbal canon.
In the above-mentioned cases, written instructions pursue a different
purpose. Often the result of a scribe’s intervention, they function primarily
as a kind of commentary: they shed light on a particular aspect of the
canon – such as an unusual imitation interval – or establish a subtle
contentual link with a work’s text, or they can be an imaginative way to
state that two (or more) voices go back to the same prototype and are
mutually dependent.
Sometimes an intimate knowledge of the context from which a verbal
canon originates is required to reach a satisfying resolutio. This especially
goes for the cryptic direction ‘Manet alta mente repostum’ that accom-
panies an exemplum in Finck’s Practica musica.195 Here as well, we are
fortunate to have the signa congruentiae, which tell us that the work is
conceived as a four-in-one canon. But how are we supposed to tell, if we
did not know that the quotation is from Vergil’s Aeneid 1.26? The context
in which this phrase occurs is the key to the answer. The text announces
a list of four grievances that impel the goddess Juno to strike against the
Trojans: the judgement of Paris (‘iudicium Paridis’), her spurned beauty
(‘spretae iniurae formae’), her hatred for the Trojans (‘genus invisum’)
and the honours bestowed on Ganymed (‘rapti Ganymedis honores’)
remain stored in the depths of her mind. In Finck’s example, the four
voices enter at the distance of two breves. The adjective ‘alta’ – here used in
194
Modern edition in Ottaviano Petrucci, Motetti de passione, de cruce, de sacramento, de Beata
Virgine et huiusmodi B, Venice, 1503, ed. W. Drake, MRM, 11 (University of Chicago Press,
2002). Zacconi attributes it to Pierre Moulu (see the Catalogue of enigmatic canonic
inscriptions).
195
Finck, Practica musica, sig. Gg1r. The example is also in Johannes Stomius, Prima ad musicen
instructio (Augsburg: P. Ulhard, 1537), fols. C2v–C3r, where it is attributed to Senfl and
entitled ‘Mimesis. IIII. uocum’.
the sense of ‘deep’ – suggests that each voice should enter at successive
lower fifths.196 The intended method of performance could easily have
been indicated by signa congruentiae alone. The elaborate intellectual
gymnastic is pragmatically superfluous and shows that the composers
of such puzzles took delight in the enigmatic for its own sake.
Many inscriptions play with the multiple meanings of a word or a
phrase, very much as literary riddles live on verbal ambiguities: words that
originate from a certain sphere or discipline acquire a specific meaning
when transposed to a musical context. The detection and understanding
of the ambiguity is the key to the solution. When Josquin, in the first
Agnus Dei of his Missa Malheur me bat, attaches the instruction ‘De
minimis non curat praetor’ to the Tenor, he clearly does not mean the
juristic trivia that the magistrate neglects, according to an anonymous
medieval saying. Instead, he expects the singer to understand the pun with
the word ‘minima’, which refers to the note value of a minim that needs
to be dropped – i.e. ‘not to be taken care of’ – in performance.197 This is
probably one of the better-known examples, but among the rich spectrum
of inscriptions we can find many other puns.
A number of inscriptions play on the double entendre of the adjective
‘brevis’. More exactly, since the breve was considered the basic unit of
time, verbal canons could hint at this note value through equivalence with
and use of the word ‘tempus’. For example, to indicate that only the breves
of a written melody should be picked out, Munich 7 attaches the instruc-
tion ‘Prenes le temps auissi [sic] quil vient’ (Take the time [i.e. the breve]
as soon as it comes) to the Tenor of the first Agnus Dei from Robert
de Févin’s Missa La sol mi fa re.198 In Jean Maillard’s six-voice Surrexit
Christus vere, the pun added to the Superius takes on a different mean-
ing.199 As the resolutio confirms, the proverb from Galatians 6:10
196
Another inscription that hints at the relative position of the imitation intervals is attached
to the cantus firmus ‘Pie Jhesu Domine’, which is part of the anonymous seven-voice Proch
dolor (Brussels 228). The spatial distribution that is suggested in ‘Celum terra mariaque
Succurrite pie’ indicates a three-voice canon, of which the two comites start at a lower pitch.
197
The philosophical ‘A maiori debet fieri denominatio’ that Obrecht uses twice in his Missa De
tous bien playne (see above) operates in a similar way. Here, the comparative degree ‘maior’
plays on the names of the note values, which are all adjectives that express a relative length
(from maxima and longa to brevis and semibrevis to minima). By giving priority to ‘the greater
part’, the singer should understand that he is to treat the note values of the cantus firmus in
hierarchical order, i.e. starting with the longest (‘greatest’) value and gradually working his way
to the smallest one.
198
As Blackburn, ‘The Corruption of One Is the Generation of the Other’ notes, what is unusual
about this Agnus Dei is that all the notes that are not breves are simply not sung.
199
Modern edition in Maillard, Modulorum Iohannis Maillardi, ed. Rosenstock, 167–72.
‘Dum tempus habemus operemur bonum’ (‘Whilst we have time, let us

work good’) that accompanies the cantus firmus suggests that it is sung
only in breves. Yet another play on the meaning of ‘temp(u)s’ occurs
in several sections of the Sanctus and Agnus Dei from Josquin’s Missa
de Beata Virgine. The motto ‘Vous jeuneres les Quatre temps’ – or
(alternatively) ‘Jeiunabis quatuor tempora’ (‘You will fast in the four
seasons’) – refers to the Ember days and signals that the comes has to
wait four breves before he can imitate the Tenor at the upper fifth.200
A work that makes a special effort to obscure the temporal distance
between the voices of an imitation canon by way of a pun on the word
‘temps’ is Josquin Baston’s Languir me fais. The chanson survives in
Susato’s collection of Vingt et six chansons musicales (Antwerp, 1543).
Four voices are notated, and a four-line rubric is added to the Superius
(see Figure 2.24):
Une longe’ espace de temps

Au commencer reposerez
Puis la moitie de quatre temps
En lieu de repos iunerez.
Rest a long space of time

Before starting,
Then fast during half of four times
Instead of rest.
Baston does not provide a signum congruentiae, but lets the comes figure
out where he has to enter and to drop out. Whereas the ‘long space of time’
refers to a long during which the comes must repose at the start, the second
part of the rubric concerns the end of the chanson: the follower has to stop
singing the line of the dux ‘half of four times’ (or two breves) before the
end, after which he has to hold the final note g. This is a quite longwinded
way to signal the starting and terminal point of the comes.201 In fact,
Baston’s riddle is reminiscent of the tradition of mathematical puzzles,
which frequently operate with techniques of addition, subtraction, multi-
plication and division.202 He might also have alluded to Josquin’s Missa de
200
The Embertides were also known as ‘jejunia quattuor temporum’ (fasts of the four seasons)
and go back to Zechariah 8:19.
201
What Baston does not tell us, however, is the imitation interval: the comes duplicates the
Superius at the upper third.
202
As we have seen in Ch. 1, the fourteenth book of the Anthologia Graeca already contains a
series of such riddles, but the fascination with mathematical brain-teasers continued in the
Figure 2.24 Josquin Baston, Languir me fais in the Vingt et six chansons musicales
(Antwerp: Susato, 1543), Superius
Beata Virgine. Here, as we have just seen, the instruction ‘Vous jeuneres les
Quatre temps’ occurs in several sections of the mass. In Baston’s chanson,
however, the fasting does not simply mean to rest (as in Josquin’s mass),
but rather that the comes must hold its note until the end – to ‘abstain’ and
sit through, as it were. This idea is also in agreement with the final line of
the chanson, in which we are told that ‘en amours, l’on travaille sans cesse’
(‘in matters of love, one works ceaselessly’).
Yet double entendres are not only applied to note values: they can also
affect other elements of the musical notation, even the smallest ones.
A nice example of this can be found in Jean Maillard’s five-voice motet
De fructu vitae.203 The Quinta vox sings the cantus firmus ‘Fiat Domine
Middle Ages, the Renaissance and well beyond. See Forster, ‘Riddles and Problems from the
Greek Anthology’, 45–7.
203
Modern edition in Maillard, Modulorum Iohannis Maillardi, ed. Rosenstock, 136–40. The
work is printed in two books with his motets, published by Le Roy & Ballard in 1555 (Iohannis
Maillard musici excellentissimi moteta) and 1565 (Modulorum Iohannis Maillardi . . . primum
volumen) respectively.
Figure 2.25 Jean Maillard, De fructu vitae, Quinta vox in Modulorum Ioannis
Maillardi (Paris: Le Roy & Ballard, 1565). Chicago, Newberry Library, Case VM
2099/L1/K39
cor meum’, which is accompanied by the inscription ‘Tout vient à poinct

qui scait attendre’ (‘Everything comes on time for him who can wait’)
(see Figure 2.25). As we learn from the written-out resolutio, the singer is
required to carry out a double operation on the notation. First of all, the
choice of a well-known proverb in French enabled Maillard to play on the
meaning of ‘à point’. In musical terms, it means the Quinta vox has to add
a dot to all notes – a procedure that immediately calls to mind Josquin’s
L’homme armé in Petrucci’s Canti B – so that the length of each note
increases by half. Secondly, ‘attendre’ is a hint that the singer should find
out where he has to place the rests, i.e. where he has to wait. In its
enigmatic form, longer blank spaces between the various segments of the
cantus firmus indicate where these rests should come. But as no regular
pattern in the number of rests can be found, the singer who did not have
the resolutio in front of him was probably supposed to figure this out by
trial and error, i.e. by checking his part against the polyphonic fabric of
the other voices.
A final example that illustrates the composer’s (or the scribe’s) delight in
verbal ambiguities is an inscription taken from Luke 18:12: ‘Decimas do
omnium qu(a)e possideo’ (I give tithes of all I possess). It is part of a

brief monologue by a Pharisee praising himself in front of Christ, saying
that – contrary to many people – he fasts twice in a week and gives tithes
of all that he possesses. The mentioning of ‘decimas’ of course allows a
play on the musical interval of a tenth. As it turns out, this biblical phrase
occurs twice – in the second Agnus Dei of Obrecht’s Missa Je ne demande
and in the final Agnus Dei of Isaac’s Missa Quant jay au cueur – to
indicate that the upper voice is to be duplicated in parallel tenths by
the Bassus.
Addressing the performer

How do inscriptions address the singers? How do they ‘speak’ with them?
Whereas many verbal canons take a ‘neutral’, third-person perspective,
others seek to communicate a message more directly. In terms of speech
act, such inscriptions try to establish a straightforward contact with the
performer and to convey different intentions. Two possibilities arise.
Musicians are sometimes approached by way of an imperative. In these
cases, it looks as if the music is appealing to the singer, who is invited to
take action and to apply the prescribed directions to the notation. The
inscription ‘Tu tenor cancrisa et per antiphrasim canta’ is a clear
example.204 Obrecht used it in no fewer than three of his masses to instruct
the Tenor that he cannot sing the cantus firmus as written, but that he
should sing it in retrograde inversion.205 In many other cases, such impera-
tives are taken from the Bible. The inscription ‘Pr[a]eibis parare viam
meam’ (‘Thou shalt go to prepare my way’) that accompanies Mouton’s
six-voice, double-texted motet Confitemini Domino in Vatican CS 38 is a
quotation from the prophecy of Zachary (Luke 1:76). Zachary speaks to his
son, John the Baptist, and announces that he ‘will be called prophet of the
Most High, for you will go before the face of the Lord to prepare his way’
(‘Tu puer propheta Altissimi vocaberis, praeibis enim ante faciem Domini
parare vias eius’). The image of John the Baptist being the precursor of
204
An antiphrasis is a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is used to mean the opposite of
its usual sense. The term also occurs in other inscriptions and was especially favoured by
Obrecht (see the catalogue in Appendix 2).
205
Cf. Missa Petrus Apostolus (Agnus Dei III), Missa L’homme armé (Agnus Dei I) and Missa
Grecorum (Et resurrexit). See also the Et in terra of Obrecht’s Missa Plurimorum carminum III
(Siena K.I.2), which carries the instruction ‘Dum replicas canta sine pausis tu tenorista’
(‘You, singer, when you repeat, sing without rests’).
Christ tells the singers of the canonic duo – on the words ‘Per singulos
dies’ – that the comes has to enter before the dux.206
In the same Vatican manuscript, we find another motet by Mouton – the
equally six-voice Benedicam Dominum in omni tempore – with an inscrip-
tion that addresses the singers directly. As the verbal canon is in Italian, it
seems clear that it was the choirbook’s scribe Johannes Parvus who devised
it, not Mouton himself.207 ‘Aspetta il tempo et sarai contento’ urges them
to wait for the [right] time in order to be happy. What looks like a
moralising adage on patience acquires a specific musical meaning. In order
for the canon to work – and for the musician to be ‘contento’ – the comes
should wait one breve (i.e. one tempo) before imitating the dux at the upper
second. Apart from being yet another inscription that contains a pun on
the word ‘tempus’ (see above), the choice of the verbal canon is also
connected with the motet’s main text – a combination of three verses from
Psalm 33 – where it is said that the Lord will be blessed ‘at all times’ (l. 2).
The imperative that goes with the final Agnus Dei of Pipelare’s Missa
L’homme armé is also thematically related to the famous monophonic tune
that served as the mass’s model: the opening verse from Psalm 34,
‘Apprende arma et scutum / Et e[x]urge in adiutorium michi’ (‘Take hold
of arms and shield: and rise up to help me’), shares its martial language
with the song of the armed man. In musical terms, David’s plea that God
may ‘rise up and assist him’ is put into the Bassus’s mouth, as it were. It
signals to the comes that the Bassus, which carries the cantus firmus, is to
be duplicated at the upper octave.
The short but expressive phrase ‘Clama ne cesses’ (‘Cry, cease not’) from
Isaiah 58:1 inspired more than one musical riddle. Whereas the words of
the prophet were meant to spur people to ‘lift up their voice like a trumpet’
(‘quasi tuba exalta vocem tuam’), for composers it was a fitting sentence to
tell the performers to sing without rests. Josquin seems have been the first
to do so (see above). He attached the phrase to the last Agnus Dei of his
Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, where the tune starts on
206
As we have seen above, Vatican CS 38 also contains another motet that has an inscription
playing on the same theme, i.e. Jean Maillard’s six-voice Fratres mei elongaverunt. Anderson,
‘Symbols of Saints’, 278 argues that the Johannine inscription for Mouton’s motet (which is
absent in the Vallicelliana manuscript, where the canon is resolved and the piece is
attributed to Josquin) might be the intellectual contribution of the scribe Johannes Parvus, who
after all shared his first name with the biblical figure, but also with Mouton and Maillard. See
also Anderson, ‘The One Who Comes after Me’.
207
Modern edition in Jean Mouton, Fünf Motetten zu 4 und 6 Stimmen, ed. P. Kast, Das
Chorwerk, 76 (Wolfenbüttel: Möseler, 1959), 9–14.
A. The inscription in itself might be seen as a double reference: to the

‘cry for mercy’ the faithful direct to the Lamb of God on the one hand,
and to the ‘On a fait partout crier’ of the L’homme armé song.208 Many
decades after Josquin, Lodovico Agostini used the same motto in one of the
motets in his Canones et Echo sex vocibus . . . eiusdem dialogi (Venice, 1572).
Eleva domine brachium tuum, which he conceived as a commemoration
for the victory at Lepanto in 1571,209 has a ten-note soggetto in the Sextus
that is to be sung five times without interruption under two different
mensuration signs ( and ). Agostini added an amusing afternote at the
end of the voice: ‘Raucae factae sunt fauces meae’ (‘My throat has been made
hoarse’). This quotation from Psalm 68:4 undoubtedly reflects the miserable
state of the poor singer after his non-stop performance.210
A final category of verbal canons in the second person that should be
mentioned here concerns those that tell the singers not to do something.
By this I do not mean tacet inscriptions, which simply command them to
be silent for a while, but rather instructions that warn the singers to avoid
doing something they would normally expect. A good example is the
advice ‘Pour eviter noyse et debas / Prenes ung demy ton plus bas’
(‘To avoid noise and confusion, take a half tone lower’) that in the Medici
Codex is attached to the Tenor of Josquin’s Nymphes des bois. Instead
of singing the Requiem melody (fittingly notated in black notes to symbol-
ise mourning211) in the Lydian mode – as one would normally do – the
Tenor is told to transpose it a semitone lower than notated. Only when
transposing the tune to the Phrygian mode will the Tenor start an octave
below the superius, and hence avoid intolerable dissonances.
The latter concern, i.e. to caution the singers against cacophony, also
dominates a series of inscriptions that all start with the prohibition
‘Ne sonites’ (‘Do not sound . . .’). Interestingly, these instructions have
two things in common: they all hint at the transposition of a written
208
See also Blackburn, ‘Masses Based on Popular Songs and Solmization Syllables’, 59.
209
Like Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Agostini uses this exclamation from
Isaiah in a ‘bellicose’ context. On Agostini’s motet, see also Laurie Stras, ‘“Sapienti pauca”:
The Canones et Echo sex vocibus . . . eiusdem dialogi (1572) of Don Lodovico Agostini’ in
Schiltz and Blackburn (eds.), Canons and Canonic Techniques, 357–80, at 363–4.
210
Other riddles that include this motto are the Agnus Dei of Bartolomé de Escobedo’s Missa
Philippus Rex Hispaniae (Vatican CS 39) and Adam Gumpelzhaimer’s Crux Christi
(see below).
211
The blackness does not have rhythmical implications, i.e. it should not be interpeted as
coloration. The same kind of Augenmusik occurs in Josquin’s Absolve quaesumus (Toledo
B. 21, fols. 120v–121) and in the anonymous (Josquin’s?) seven-voice Proch dolor in Brussels
228, written on the death of Emperor Maximilian I.
melody – whether or not in combination with other procedures – and they

all use Greek note names to indicate the exact starting pitch of the
transposition. Busnoys seems to have been the first to do so in the Patrem
of his Missa L’homme armé: the two rhyming lines ‘Ne sonites
cace<n>faton, sume lichanos hypaton’ (‘Do not sound a cacophony, take
lichanos hypaton’) make sure that ‘horrible sounds’ are avoided when
the Tenor begins his cantus firmus on d instead of on g – the starting
pitch of the famous tune as it is also notated in Busnoys’s mass. Obrecht
overtly refers to this model in his own L’homme armé mass, where he has
a similar inscription, also for the Patrem.212
A small number of inscriptions address the performer in the first person.
By so doing, it seems indeed as if the music is speaking to the singer:
the verbal canon serves as some kind of banderole, which says what the
music wants the performers to do. This very much resembles the style of
literary riddles, where it often happens that an object speaks to the reader
or the hearer in a veiled way and urges him to decipher it. Or, to quote
Richard Wilbur: ‘What speaks to us . . . is the voice of a common thing or
creature somehow empowered to express, in an encoded fashion, the
mystery of its being.’213 This becomes especially clear in one of the verbal
canons Finck mentions in the third chapter of his Practica musica. As he
explains, the famous phrase ‘Nigra sum, sed formosa’ (‘I am black but
beautiful’) from Song of Songs 1:4 tells the singers that black notes should
be sung as if they were white. Although he does not provide an example,
a similar instruction accompanies Gioseffo Zarlino’s five-voice Nigra
sum sed formosa (see Figure 2.26).214 The motet is completely written in
black notation, but to indicate that this does not have any rhythmical
consequences – i.e. that the blackness is purely for symbolic reasons, in
accordance with the beginning of the text – Zarlino adds the inscription
‘Nolite me considerare quod fusca sim quia decoloravit me sol’ (‘Do not
look upon me, because I am dark, because the sun has tanned me’), which
is in fact also part of the motet text itself. It is as if the black notes take on
212
See Vienna 11883: ‘Ne sonites lycanosypaton, Sume in proslambanamenon [sic]’ (‘Do not sing
lichanos hypaton; start on proslambanomenos’), i.e. do not start on d, but transpose a fourth
below to A. For a thoughtful comparison between Busnoys’s and Obrecht’s versions, see
Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons’, ch. 4. Other examples are the first Agnus Dei of Pipelare’s Missa
Pour entretenir mes amours and Japart’s J’ay pris amours in Florence 229, where transposition
is to be combined with retrograde.
213
Wilbur, ‘The Persistence of Riddles’, 338.
214
Modern edition in Gioseffo Zarlino, Motets from 1549. Part 1: Motets Based on the Song of
Songs, ed. C. C. Judd, RRMR, 145 (Middleton, WI: A-R Editions, 2006,) 11–19.
Figure 2.26 Gioseffo Zarlino, Nigra sum sed formosa in Musici quinque vocum moduli
(Venice: Gardano, 1555), Superius. Rome, Biblioteca Casanatense, Mus. 682.2
anthropomorphic qualities and speak to the performers, telling them to

neglect the way they are notated and to treat them as if they were void.
Most inscriptions written from the first-person perspective are quota-
tions from the New Testament. Not surprisingly, very often we hear Christ
speaking. For example, in his Secundus tomus ecclesiasticarum cantionum
(Nuremberg, 1573), Leonhard Paminger connected two of his motets by
way of the same canon: ‘Eum qui venit ad me non eijciam foras’ (Him that
cometh to me, I will not cast out) from John 6:37 are the words Jesus
addresses to the multitude after the miracle of the multiplication of the
five loaves and two fishes. The statement ‘he that cometh to me shall not
hunger: and he that believeth in me shall never thirst’ (John 6:35) meta-
phorically expresses his encompassing love and presence. Paminger has
both Tua cruce triumphamus and Vexilla regis – two motets for Passion-
tide – accompanied with this phrase. As they are both depicted in the form
of a cross, this pair of works will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 4,
but suffice it to say that the image of two people approaching each other
is a clever way to indicate a retrograde canon (see above).215 Another
215
Vatican CS 197 also attaches a quotation from the Gospel of John to the Agnus Dei II of
Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales. Whereas other sources have different
inscriptions to indicate the three-voice mensuration canon, the Vatican manuscript has
remarkable case is an eight-voice Agnus Dei by Benedictus Appenzeller.

Although it was originally conceived as the final section of his Missa
Ick had een boelken uutvercoren (’s-Hertogenbosch 75), the underlying
contrapuntal tour de force no doubt fascinated his contemporaries to such
an extent that it was included as a separate piece in various collections.216
To indicate that eight voices can be derived from four written ones
by way of a retrograde canon, Appenzeller provided each voice with a
different inscription. Both Contratenor and Tenor carry instructions
of biblical origin and capture two famous moments when Christ is
revealing himself: ‘Ego principium et finis, qui loquor vobis’ (Revelation
1:8) and ‘Qui non est mecum, contra me est’ (Matthew 12:30).217 The two
outer voices carry non-biblical phrases to hint at cancrizan singing: ‘Ego
loquor veritatem, et veritatis [recte veritas] refellit me’ (‘I speak the truth,
and the truth refutes me’)218 on the one hand, ‘Licet bene operor, est qui
contrariatur’ (‘Although I work well, there is one who is against me’)
on the other.
Some inscriptions are interesting not only in terms of speech act,
but also because they address the singers directly by providing specific
indications about the way they should stand in order to perform the riddle
correctly. An example of such a performance instruction can be found
in the Benedictum fructum of Alexander Agricola’s Salve regina (I).219
In the choirbook Brussels 9126 (fol. 141v), the Tenor is accompanied by
the inscription ‘Facie ad faciem’ (see Figure 2.27). This phrase occurs
several times in the Old Testament, but it probably refers to a famous
passage in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians: ‘Videmus nunc per
speculum in enigmate tunc autem facie ad faciem’ (‘We see now through
a glass in a dark manner; but then face to face’ – 1 Cor. 13:12).220
‘Noli me tangere’ (‘Do not touch me’; John 20:17), probably to suggest that the substance
of the three-voice canon remains untouched, the rhythmical differences between the voices
notwithstanding.
216
See E. Jas, ‘Another Mass by Benedictus Appenzeller’, TVNM, 44 (1994), 99–114. Jas also
discovered that the mass’s model was a Dutch love song. The Agnus was also included in
Kriesstein’s Selectissimae necnon familiarissimae cantiones (Augsburg, 1540).
217
‘Qui non est mecum, contra me est’ can also be used to indicate inversion. See, for example,
Benedictus Appenzeller’s Sancte Iesu Christe (to be discussed below).
218
The phrase ‘Ego loquor veritatem’ occurs among others in the Carmina burana (no. 193
[‘De conflictu vini et aque’], strophe 20, line 1).
219
Modern edition in A. Agricola, Opera Omnia. vol. IV: Motetta – Contrafacta, ed. E. R. Lerner,
CMM, 22 (n.p.: American Institute of Musicology, 1966), 10–19 at 15–16 (Benedictum
fructum).
220
For a discussion of this passage, see Ch. 1.
Figure 2.27 Alexander Agricola, Salve regina in Brussels 9126, Benedictum fructum,
Tenor and Bassus, fol. 141v
The canon suggests that two singers, in order to reach a correct result, are
to stand opposite each other, with the music between them, each reading
it upside down from the other’s point of view. Strictly speaking, this
would lead to a retrograde inversion of the Tenor’s melody, but Agricola
in fact means that the Bass has to mirror the intervals of the Tenor at the
lower second.
As in the case of Agricola, most performance indications urge the
singers to stand opposite each other. This also goes for an enigmatic
duo in Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro. The title indicates how the
performers should stand if they want to sing it: Enigma, que para
conoscerle, se han de poner los Cantores enfrente.221 This time, the
accompanying inscription is a quotation from the Song of Songs 2:14:
‘Respice in me: Ostende mihi faciem tuam’ (‘Look at me: show me your
face’). As with Agricola’s Salve regina, we quickly learn that the intended
outcome is not retrograde inversion, but simply inversion. As a matter of
fact, the idea that inversion results when the same melody is being sung
by two singers who stand in front of each other was quite widespread.
In his Canoni musicali, for example, Lodovico Zacconi also compares the
technique of ‘canoni musicali fatti per contrarij movimenti’ (bk. 1, ch. 17)
with the effect of two singers ‘who both stand face to face, the one against
the other, with a duo in the middle’.222
221
Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1082 (no. 9).
222
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, fol. 9v: ‘che stando due faccia a faccia, uno contra l’altro con un duo
in mezzo’. In book 4, ch. 1 Zacconi also mentions a work by Costanzo Porta that can be
sung in two different ways, i.e. the way it is notated, and with the singers turning the book
Cerone was even more precise with instructions in another riddle. In his
Enigma del espejo (no. 39), two pairs of voices are suggested by way of a
riddle. The pair of upper voices is preceded by a poem which addresses the
two upper voices as follows:
Tu primo canterai, come quì vedi:
Và tu secondo, (e sia con presti piedi,)
Al fido specchio ch’ei ti vuol mostrare,
Dove, quando, e’n che modo hai à cantare.
...
You will sing first as you see here:

go you second (and let it be with quick feet)
to the trusty mirror, for it wishes to show you
where, when and in what way you have to sing.
...
Whereas the Canto primo can sing the music as written, the Canto
secondo is told to hold the melody in front of a mirror (which is depicted
on the following page – see Figure 2.28). As the resolutio makes clear, the
result is a line-per-line retrograde version of the written music.223 This
riddle clearly has a ludic undertone: the reflection of the music in the
mirror tells the singer what he has to do. Instead of subjecting the
notation to a mental transformation, the singer obtains the correct result
by a simple but effective physical action, i.e. by projecting the music
in the mirror and reading what he sees there. The mirror is the tool that
produces the intended transformation. Lodovico Agostini has a similar
brain-teaser in the second book of his Enigmi musicali. The Sesto of Una
si chiara luce, consisting of a short ostinato on the word ‘luce’, is
accompanied by a cryptogram (printed both normally and upside down)
that tells the voice to hold up a mirror (‘poi splende una luce’) in order to
obtain the correct solution of the riddle.224
upside down (‘coi libri alla riversa’, fol. 143r). The result of the second version is that all the
voices sing their melody in retrograde, with the lowest voice becoming the top voice and vice
versa. This technique would later be called ‘table canon’ (Tafelkanon), of which J. S. Bach’s
Musikalisches Opfer (BWV 1097) contains a famous example.
223
See K. Schiltz, ‘Through the Looking-Glass: Pietro Cerone’s Enigma del espejo’ in M. J. Bloxam,
G. Filocamo and L. Holford-Strevens (eds.), Uno gentile et subtile ingenio: Studies in
Renaissance Music in Honour of Bonnie J. Blackburn (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009), 627–35 (with
a transcription on p. 635). For a brief discussion of the other pair, see below.
224
Stras, ‘“Al gioco si conosce il galantuomo”’, 239 (241 for an illustration).
Figure 2.28 Pietro Cerone, Enigma del espejo in El Melopeo y maestro (Naples, 1613),
1122 (detail). Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 34
As I have already suggested at various places above, it was not always the
composer who was responsible for cryptically encoding a work. Even
though it is not always easy to determine if a verbal canon was created
by the composer or added by another person, it seems fair to say that in
some cases, scribes also came up with a musical pun: it was their way to
put their stamp on a work and to test the singer’s talent for decoding.225
A clear sign of this intervention is the transmission of different inscriptions
for one and the same composition.226 A few examples may serve as
illustration. Incidentally or not, they all come from Josquin’s oeuvre.
In most sources, the Agnus Dei I of the composer’s Missa Malheur me
bat carries the verbal canon ‘De minimis non curat praetor’ to indicate that
all the minims should be ignored (see above). However, in the peripheral
source Leipzig 51, the inscription reads ‘Multi sunt vocati, pauci vero
electi’ (‘Many are called, but few are chosen’), taken from the Gospel of
Matthew (20:16 and 22:14).227 A juristic saying has thus been substituted
by a biblical text and both lead the singer to the same solution. In the
Leipzig source, the pun with the double entendre of ‘minima’ is evidently
missing and has been replaced by a more general juxtaposition of quan-
tities. Perhaps the Gospel text was deemed more suitable for the students
of the Thomasschule, for whom this manuscript was compiled around
the middle of the sixteenth century?
In the case of the famous three-part mensuration canon in the Agnus
Dei II from Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, the
range of inscriptions is even wider. Most of them allude to the Trinity,
thus comparing the intimate interrelatedness of the voices among each
other and their going back to the same origin: see, for example, ‘Sancta
trinitas, salva me’ (Basel F.IX.25) or ‘Tres in unum’ (Pietro Cerone, El
Melopeo y maestro, bk. 22). But other sources have verbal canons such
as ‘Noli me tangere’ (Vatican CS 197) and ‘Redde unicuique secundum
opera sua’ (Bologna B 57). It is clear that somebody else must have been
responsible for these changes and allowed himself a subtle wink at the
original. Moreover, as we have seen above, a mensuration canon does
not need a verbal instruction: strictly speaking, it suffices to prefix two or
more mensuration signs to the written melody in order to make clear the
different speeds at which the prototype is to be sung. When accompanying
a mensuration canon with inscriptions such as the ones alluding to the
225
In the case of editors and printers, the reverse seems to be true. They were more concerned
about reaching a wider market and tended to offer resolutions instead. See, for example, B. J.
Blackburn, ‘Petrucci’s Venetian Editor: Petrus Castellanus and His Musical Garden’, MD, 49
(1995), 15–45; ‘Canonic Conundrums: The Singer’s Petrucci’, Basler Jahrbuch für historische
Musikpraxis, 25 (2001), 53–69 and below.
226
See also my ‘Variation – Entwicklung – Medientransfer im musikalischen Rätsel der Frühen
Neuzeit’, Die Tonkunst, 8 (2014), 162–9.
227
On this manuscript, see also T. Noblitt, ‘A Reconstruction of MS Thomaskirche 51 of the
Universitätsbibliothek Leipzig (olim III.A.α.22–23)’, TVNM, 31 (1981), 16–72.
Trinity, a composer or scribe instead adds an interpretative-symbolic layer

to a work and conveys a clue to its construction, without that text having
a specific musical goal.228
A particularly playful example of various inscriptions for one and
the same work is the first Agnus from Josquin’s Missa Fortuna desperata.
As we saw at the beginning of Chapter 1, the key to the riddle is that the
Bassus sings the Superius’s melody in inversion, transposed down an
eleventh and multiplied by four. Whereas Barcelona 5 indicates this inten-
tion by having the words ‘Agnus dei’ written upside down and backwards
together with the inscription ‘Crescite et multiplicamini’, Modena α.M.1.2
gives the verse from Genesis 1:28 a humorous twist. Instead of ‘Crescite et
multiplicamini et replete terram et subicite eam’ (‘Increase and multiply,
and fill the earth, and subdue it’), the final imperative has been replaced
by ‘et inebriamini eam’ (‘and make her drunk’).229 This fits well with the
‘hazardous’ idea of the top voice becoming the lowest and being sung in
inversion, which is itself an expression of Fortune’s wheel going up and
down unpredictably. Here as well, the scribe obviously allowed himself
some freedom in testing the singers’ wit by way of an adapted biblical
quotation. It should be added that in both manuscripts, the Bassus is
written out ad longum, which – some rhythmical differences between the
two versions notwithstanding – would guarantee a correct performance.
These differing inscriptions not only show that it is sometimes difficult
to know which verbal canon the composer had in mind, but also point
to another, more fundamental fact. Indeed, when inscriptions appear to be
interchangeable – evidently to a certain extent – one could ask what this
can tell us about the composer’s conception of the musical riddle.
A fundamental question that should indeed be raised here is when the
enigmatic element comes into the play. In other words, what comes first:
the composition or the riddle? Does the composer first write the music and
228
The same variation exists in the wide range of tacet remarks. Here, the enigmatic aspect is in
fact pushed ad absurdum. Indeed, one provides an encoded inscription – often with a
humorous undertone – to tell the singer that he must not sing. On this topic, see especially B. J.
Blackburn, ‘The Eloquence of Silence: Tacet Inscriptions in the Alamire Manuscripts’ in
S. Clark and E. E. Leach (eds.), Citation and Authority in Medieval and Renaissance Musical
Culture: Learning from the Learned, Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Music, 4
(Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2005), 206–24. For a list of additional examples, see also
T. Schmidt-Beste, ‘A Dying Art: Canonic Inscriptions and Canonic Techniques in the
Sixteenth-Century Papal Chapel Repertory’ in Schiltz and Blackburn (eds.), Canons and
Canonic Techniques, 339–55 (esp. Appendix B on p. 355).
229
The imperative ‘inebriamini’ occurs several times in the Old Testament: see e.g. Song of Songs
5:1, Isaiah 29:9 and Jeremiah 25:27.
then devise the complications or vice versa? Was the obscurity an after-
thought or was it the very basis for a composition? These questions are
anything but easy to answer. In some cases, there is a very close link
between the inscription – its source, meaning and symbolic connotations –
the music and in some cases the image that goes with it. When Obrecht
attached the inscription ‘In medio consistit virtus’ to the Gloria and
Credo of his Missa Fortuna desperata, he not only found an apt way to
hint at the rearrangement of the cantus firmus. The concept of the virtue of
moderation also strikes a chord with the theme of fortune that dominates
the mass by the choice of its pre-existing model. Here, it seems safe to
conclude that the verbal canon and the musical transformation of the
cantus firmus were conceived together. The inscription adds a specific
and unique interpretative dimension to the composition and its text.
In other words, the composition as a whole would lose an interpretative
layer were the inscription absent.
In many other cases, however, it seems that the composer’s main aim
was to find a fanciful and imaginative inscription which could be taken
from a rich stock of sources and fitted well the procedure the singer had to
apply mentally, but which strictly speaking could just as well have been
exchanged for another instruction with a similar meaning. This is not
to say that those verbal canons are not well chosen. On the contrary,
one cannot but wonder about the composer’s imaginativeness in coming
up with such passages and linking them metaphorically to the music; after
all, they provide an apt and necessary key to unravel the notation. But it
cannot be denied that the fact that a composer might as well have chosen
another text, which could also be applied to the intended compositional
procedure without losing an interpretative layer of the work, tells us
something about the way the piece must have been conceived. And it
certainly tells us that the composer first and foremost wished to avoid
the use of a purely technical instruction, and preferred to tease the singers
with a more enigmatic one instead.
If, on the one hand, compositions survive with different inscriptions, it
can also happen by the same token that a verbal instruction may have been
‘recycled’ for another work by a different composer.230 Such reutilisation of
a canonic inscription can uncover interesting intertextual relationships
between compositions, as they express the composer’s wish to connect
himself to an existing musical tradition and to make his own contribution
230
A short overview is given in Lamla, Kanonkünste im barocken Italien, vol. I, 100.
to it. Many instances could be cited here, but I will limit myself to
two examples with a particularly long history. The double inscription
‘Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt sibi’ / ‘Justitia et pax osculatae sunt’
(‘Mercy and truth have met each other’ / ‘Justice and peace have kissed’ –
see also above) first turns up as a heading in the opening work of Petrucci’s
Motetti A (Venice, 1502). In this anonymous and textless work, the
quotation from Psalm 85:11 points to a double retrograde canon. The
same inscription inspired Ludwig Senfl and even did so twice: like the
piece in Petrucci’s print, his four-voice motets Crux fidelis and O crux ave
are conceived as a double retrograde canon. Both pieces seem to have
been planned as a musical diptych: not only do they often appear in the
same sources, but they are also depicted on a broadside, accompanied
by an image of Christ on the cross.231 In the later sixteenth century the
psalm verse was used by Philippe de Monte in his eight-voice Ad te,
Domine, levavi animam meam and by Adam Gumpelzhaimer in the six-
voice Crux Christi. Both composers add a new twist to the interpretation
of the biblical inscription. Monte integrates other compositional tech-
niques, combining a single notated line’s reading ut iacet with retrograde,
inversion and retrograde inversion. Each of the four virtues that is
mentioned in the Psalm verse thus stands for a different transformation
of the cantus firmus. Gumpelzhaimer in turn not only adds further
passages from Psalm 85 as enigmatic inscriptions, but like Senfl, he has
the music depicted in the form of a cross and accompanied by a rich array
of iconographical elements.232
Another example of a verbal canon that inspired more than one com-
poser is ‘De minimis non curat praetor’. It was used for the first time
by Josquin in the Agnus Dei I of his Missa Malheur me bat to suggest that
all minims and smaller note values must be omitted in order to arrive at a
correct interpretation of the Tenor (see above). The inscription turns up
again in the seventeenth century, i.e. about a hundred years later, as part of
the Enigma del espejo in the last book of Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro.233
Here, the motto actually affects two voices, as we can also conclude
from the accompanying Italian poem: the Tenor voice has to pick out
231
The broadsides are preserved in the Bavarian State Library (shelfmark 2 Mus.pr. 156#4) and
the Austrian National Library (shelfmark SA.87.D.8. Mus 32) respectively.
232
See below as well as my ‘La storia di un’iscrizione canonica tra Cinquecento e inizio Seicento: Il
caso di Ad te, Domine, levavi animam meam di Philippus de Monte (1574)’, Rivista italiana di
musicologia, 38 (2003), 227–56.
233
For a discussion of this riddle, see my ‘Through the Looking-Glass’.
the breves and semibreves, leaving aside the smaller note values, which
have to be sung by the Alto.234 As Cerone explains, he consciously
intended to emulate Josquin, by adding a second voice, thus making his
invention ‘more ingenious and more acceptable’ (‘mas ingeniosa, y mas
acepta’). Some decades after the publication of El Melopeo y maestro,
Giovanni Battista Vitali presents yet another variation on the ‘De minimis
non curat praetor’ theme in his Artifici musicali, ne quali se contengono
canoni in diverse maniere, contrapunti dopii, inventioni curiose, capritii, e
sonate (Modena, 1689).235 Vitali’s work is a short three-part canon, of
which the resolutiones have to ignore only the minims but to sing all the
other (larger and smaller) note values. Here again, an inscription is used by
different composers, with each new piece referring to the older ones and
giving a new, slightly variant interpretation of the verbal canon. Such
cases are not only interesting in terms of intertextuality, but they can
also inform us about the evolution of riddle culture in general. Especially
in the latter case, one can note a remarkable change in the riddle
situation. Josquin embedded his enigma in the overarching context of a
cyclic mass, thereby striving to create variation in the processing of the
cantus firmus and possibly even to establish a link between the message
of the song and the prescribed technique of transformation.236 In
both Cerone’s and Vitali’s riddles, such a larger context with symbolic
significance is missing. Their inventions seem in the first place to be
made to function as a riddle, i.e. as a notational game without any
additional meaning apart from their being enigmatic. These pieces are
234
‘Mà tu che sei dal ricco dispregiato, / Statene lieto con quei del tuo stato: / E quel ch’avanza à
lui, e lascia à dietro, / Raccogli tu con le tue man di vetro.’ (‘But you who are looked
down on by the rich man, / Remain happy with persons of your status; / and what he does not
need and leaves behind him / Pick up with your hands of glass’). The somewhat puzzling
mentioning of the ‘man di vetro’ (hands of glass) is probably meant as a reference to the mirror
that accompanies the other pair of voices (see above). In addition, the image of the glass
could also be a symbol for the compositional technique that underlies the two voices: by
having the Tenor sing the long notes, leaving the shorter ones for the Altus, the melody is
completely ‘cut into pieces’ and falls apart like a broken mirror.
235
See Giovanni Battista Vitali, Artifici musicali. Opus XIII, ed. L. Rood and G. P. Smith, Smith
College Music Archives, 14 (Northhampton, MA: Smith College, 1959), 11.
236
Not a single source in which the song Malheur me bat is transmitted gives a text apart from the
incipit by which it is now known. It being a song about misfortune, I would not be
surprised if the text contained an allusion to, say, the poor state of the lover and/or the fact that
due to his failings his joys have been minimised. See, for example, the following verse in a
chanson with a similar incipit and also set by Josquin (although clearly in a different metre),
Douleur me bat: ‘Jouyr ne puis d’ung grant bien qu’on me veult’ (I cannot relish the great joy
that is wished on me; italics mine).
more or less abstract touchstones – none of them has a text – that were
primarily designed to form part of the training of a musico perfetto and a
catalogue of ‘musical artifices’ respectively. In other words, in Cerone’s
and Vitali’s hands, the enigmatic has become an intellectual exercise,
art for art’s sake. A symbolic connotation and expressiveness that would,
as in the case of Josquin’s Agnus Dei, point to a meaning beyond the
riddle would be sought in vain.237
Riddles and their resolutio
Although one would expect that inscriptions give some insight – albeit in a
metaphorical way – into the secret of the works’ construction, some of
them had the opposite effect and increased the singers’ perplexity instead.
But the sheer intricacies of mensural notation also often caused problems.
Proportion and mensuration signs especially, whether to be dealt with
synchronically (i.e. by several voices) or diachronically (by one voice only),
were a thorn in the singer’s flesh.238 Performers had not only to under-
stand the composer’s intentions, but also to mentally transform and to
materialise them correctly. The singers’ capacity to come up with the right
solution depended on a whole range of factors, such as their training and
experience – a professional group of musicians undoubtedly needed less
guidance than students or people from other professions. Another aspect
that should be taken into account is whether the composer was present – in
which case he could explain and discuss his ideas with his colleagues – or
not. Generally speaking, one can assume that the greater the chronological
and geographical distance between the riddle’s origin and its performance,
the larger the potential interpretative problems were. A group of perform-
ers that was not familiar with a composer’s enigmatic language might have
experienced more problems than singers from that composer’s immediate
circle. This also points to the relative obscurity of all riddles: what might
have been rather easy to deal with for one person or group, might become
problematic for others in later times. This is especially true when it comes
to problems of mensural complexity. As I also note below, it becomes clear
237
Here, one might draw a parallel with the L’homme armé tradition: in the later years of the
tradition, notational tricks become ‘purely’ musical and intertextual games, whereas in earlier
examples they may have had symbolic significance. I am grateful to the anonymous reviewer
for alerting me to this.
238
On this aspect, see also Turner, ‘Sub obscuritatem quadam ostendens: Latin Canon’.
Riddles and their resolutio 175
from the sources that musicians in the sixteenth century were more likely
to need help with this than their colleagues from a century before.
As we shall see in Chapter 3, Sebald Heyden is one of the few theorists
who explicitly discuss resolutiones. With his De arte canendi (Nuremberg,
1540), he had a clear goal in mind. He wanted to teach students to
understand older notation on the basis of his (dogmatic and oversimpli-
fied) interpretation of it. That is to say, Heyden does not find fault
with the older notation; on the contrary, he criticises contemporaries
for using multiple varieties of tactus to express what earlier musicians
showed more correctly with different signs. As not everybody is able to
understand the notational complexities, a written-out solution becomes
crucial. Heyden defines ‘resolutio’ as ‘a transcription of more abstruse
note values into a more common form’ (‘abstrusioris Notularum valoris,
in vulgatiorem aliquam formam, transcriptio’). But just what does
‘abstrusior’ mean? Heyden’s discussion and the notational reform that
went with it undoubtedly reflect a changing attitude in theory and
performance practice, one that was increasingly desperate when having
to deal with the more intricate examples of mensural notation and in
need of clear, unambiguous rules. It is partly because such universal rules
are lacking for ‘Canones aenigmatici’ (i.e. those accompanied by a verbal
inscription) that, according to Heyden, a resolution becomes a conditio
sine qua non.
But if a visual aid was lacking, different problems could arise. It could
happen that singers were so puzzled that they were not able to come up
with a solution at all. In other cases, they arrived at the wrong solution.
And in yet other instances, different solutions for one and the same riddle
can be found. Needless to say, sources testifying to these problems are
extremely valuable, as we can gain tangible insights into the kinds of
difficulties musicians had to face and how they coped with them. Not
surprisingly, a great many of these witnesses come from a theoretical
context. It is in letters and treatises that we find musicians reflecting upon
such issues and sharing their thoughts with a real or imagined recipient.
‘Non lo poterno mai cantare’: in search of a resolutio

Not only the less trained people, but even professional musicians were
sometimes baffled by enigmatic works. A famous example is Adrian
Willaert’s Quid non ebrietas, a piece that provoked controversial reactions
both during the composer’s life and in our own time. This work deliber-
ately plays with the discrepancy between notational appearance and
sounding reality. It is an ‘inganno del occhio’, as Lowinsky called it.239

Visually, the Tenor ends on a dissonance (d–e), and the crux of the riddle
is that he has to traverse a downward route through the cycle of fifths,
so that the written e – in accordance with the Aristoxenian tenet of equal
temperament – is in fact e or d. From a letter by Giovanni Spataro, we
learn that Quid non ebrietas posed unsurmountable problems to the
singers of Pope Leo X’s musica secreta, to whom Willaert had sent a copy
of the piece. Spataro, not without malicious joy, proudly announced to
his colleague Pietro Aaron that his Bolognese musicians had succeeded
in cracking the code, whereupon the piece was ‘praised as a very subtle
and learned work’.240 Spataro then sent it to Aaron, so that he and the
other Venetian musicians ‘may examine the work . . ., the like of which
may never have been seen in our times’.241
In the case of Willaert’s Quid non ebrietas, the problem of coming
up with the right solution may be ascribed to a hiatus in the theoretical
background of the singers in the papal musica secreta, to which Spataro
and his Bolognese colleagues did have access. But sometimes there are
other reasons why musicians failed to find a solution: it could happen that
crucial information was simply missing. In book 2, chapter 15 of his Libri
tres de institutione harmonica, Aaron complains about enigmatic inscrip-
tions that are so obscure and vague that nobody but the composer can
understand how to connect them to the written music. About a century
later, Giovanni Battista Rossi, in his Organo de cantori (Venice, 1618),
criticises a (lost) riddle by a certain Vulpius Napolitano, one of whose
voices was depicted in the form of a cross. That voice did not have any
music, but via inscriptions the singer was expected to reconstruct the
melody, which proved to be an impossible task. Here as well, the indica-
tions of the verbal canons were anything but helpful in bringing the music
to the surface.
It seems evident that the process of trial and error was the normal way
of handling riddles. Indeed, singers knew that there was a solution; they
only had to search for it long enough – the famous ‘quaerite et invenietis’
(‘seek, and you shall find’; Matthew 7:7), with its plea for perseverance,
239
E. E. Lowinsky, ‘Echoes of Adrian Willaert’s “Duo” in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century
Compositions’ in H. Powers (ed.), Studies in Music History: Essays for Oliver Strunk (Princeton
University Press, 1968), 183–238. Reprinted in Lowinsky, Music in the Culture of the
Renaissance and Other Essays, ed. B. J. Blackburn, 2 vols. (University of Chicago Press, 1989),
vol. II, 699–729.
240
A Correspondence, letter no. 12, 23 May 1524: ‘laudato per opera subtilissima et docta’.
241
Ibid.: ‘examina tale concento et ordine non forsa mai più a li nostri tempi veduto’.
must have been a stimulant – or an annoyance. However, there are natural

limits to the singer’s musical and intellectual capacities. Not being able to
solve musical riddles could be due not only to the obscure nature of the
inscriptions, but also to the way a musical riddle was presented as such.
Here as well, we possess an interesting testimony from an expert in the
field. On 30 October 1533, Spataro wrote a letter to Aaron in which he
mentions a problem that arose after Giovanni Del Lago had sent him two
enigmatic Tenors by ‘composers of long ago’ (‘authori assai antichi’): the
cantus firmus ‘Requiem aeternam’ of Johannes de Sarto’s motet
Romanorum rex – written for the death of King Albrecht II in 1439 –
and the Tenor ‘Hoc iocundum dulce melos’ from a (lost) work by Johannes
Brassart.242 When asking Spataro and his Bolognese musicians to find
the solution of the tenors, Del Lago had conceded that such exercises
presuppose a lot of experience on the part of the singers, as they need
to be knowledgeable about practice and theory.243 However, in his letter to
Aaron Spataro complains that Del Lago’s intention had not been quite fair.
On the contrary, Spataro accused him of resorting to ‘malice and cunning’
(‘malitia et vana astutia’) and gives the following reason: ‘Our musicians
were inclined to ignore them [i.e. the enigmatic tenors] since it is unheard
of to ask for a resolution without sending the other parts; no canon is
so clear that resolution is certain without examining the counterpoint, for
the language is usually enigmatic’ (italics mine).244 As we can gather from
242
A Correspondence, letter no. 60. The letter from Del Lago to Spataro dates from 15 August
1533 (ibid., letter no. 57). See also V. Panagl, Lateinische Huldigungsmotetten für Angehörige
des Hauses Habsburg, vertonte Gelegenheitsdichtung im Rahmen neulateinischer
Herrscherpanegyrik, Europäische Hochschulschriften, XV.92 (Frankfurt am Main: Lang,
2004), 35–9 for a textual analysis.
243
A Correspondence, letter no. 57: ‘perché so che cotesti vostri musici non solamente in pratica
sono dottissimi et esercitatissimi, ma etiamdio in theorica’.
244
Condensed translation, A Correspondence, 704. Original: ‘Li predicti nostri musici sono stati
per lassarlo senza alcuna resposta cerca tali tenori, perché non fu mai più audito né usitato
che tra musici se recercasse la resolutione de un tenore o altra sola particola de un concento
senza mandare tutte le parti del concento, perché non se dà tanto chiara descriptione o vero
canone che primamente mediante lo esamine del contrapunto el musico o ver cantore non se
ne voglia chiarire, perché rare volte tale soscrittione et canone se danno senza qualche enigma
et oscura sententia’ (p. 694). That Spataro was right in assuming his colleague’s malicious
intentions becomes clear from a postscript in Del Lago’s letter of 15 August 1533. It is a later
addition to the letter, in which he confirms that he sent the two Tenors to test Spataro: ‘Io
mandai a richieder in questa mia risposta la resolutione dei duoi soprascritti tenori a maestro
Gioanne di Spatari per tentarlo’ (italics mine). As Spataro writes to Aaron, he believed Del
Lago was trying to trap the Bolognese musicians ‘to justify his own errors’ (‘per meglio potersi
scusarsi delli errori suoi’).
his letter, in order to be able to find the resolution of a written Tenor

and to make sure the result was correct, singers always needed the
other voices of the composition as well. If a composer wanted to test
the singers’ wit, then he should at least provide the whole composition.
This obviously allowed them to check the position of the Tenor against
the polyphonic fabric and to examine the resulting contrapuntal texture.
In other words, with only one voice – i.e. the one that contains the
obscurities – a riddle remains an abstract theoretical construction
without any link to the sounding reality.245 After all, solving musical
riddles and the intricacies of the enigmatic notation is a communal,
collaborative act.
Wrong solutions
We also learn that musicians sometimes arrived at the wrong solution
of a riddle. Above, I have already mentioned a letter from Giovanni
Spataro to Giovanni Del Lago (1 September 1528), in which we read that
no less a figure than Gafurio is said to have wrongly interpreted the
enigmatic tenor of Spataro’s lost Missa de Sancta Maria Magdalena and
his motet for Leo X (Cardinei cętus – Partibus intulerat), which makes
use of the chromatic and enharmonic genera. Gafurio, who must have
felt swamped, reacted by criticising his colleague’s works. Equally telling
is Cimello’s anecdote about a singer who had misunderstood a verbal
canon in Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales. It is not
always easy to discern – especially in the case of Cimello’s story – who is
to blame for the misunderstanding: did the composer try to be as obscure
as possible and to play with the vagueness of his indications, or did
the recipient lack the necessary training and knowledge to decode the
composer’s intentions?
Thus it was not only the musically lesser educated people who hit the
wall, but even experienced musicians could make mistakes or be unsure
about the correctness of their solution. The latter is the case near the end
of the last book of Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro, where the theorist
245
The practice of providing the other voices together with the encoded one is confirmed
not only in practical sources, but in theoretical writings as well. As we have seen above, several
riddles in Pietro Cerone’s collection of ‘enigmas musicales’ bear witness to this: although in
many cases he does not present the complete composition, he always prints at least one
other voice.
presents and discusses Ghiselin Danckerts’s Ave maris stella in the

form of a chessboard. Although Cerone confirms that there must be
more than one solution to the riddle – in his handwritten treatise,
Danckerts had stated there are more than twenty – he has to admit that
he is not sure about their exact interpretation (‘Para dezir verdad, hasta
agora no se yo del cierto, como se haya de cantar’), a problem he also
ascribes to the fact that the piece was already more than eighty years
old.246 What Cerone does know is that all voices have to sing in the
same clef (‘todas cantan por una mesma Clave’), move according to
the rules of chess (‘las quatro partes . . . vayan procedendo segun el juego
del axedrez’) and have to make the same moves, so that they sing the
same word at the same time (‘todas las quatro partes sean conformes
en hazer el mesmo movimiento’). Contrary to his usual procedure, he
then only gives the beginning of one resolutio and leaves the remaining
task to the reader. Such confessions are fairly rare, since in general one
is more inclined to blame the inventor than to admit one’s own
shortcomings.
Sometimes, musicians must have come up with a solution without
knowing that it was wrong – or at least how to solve it differently.
Bonnie Blackburn has discussed the interesting case of the resolutio of
the second Agnus Dei from Obrecht’s Missa Je ne demande, as it sur-
vives in Petrucci’s Misse Obreht (Venice, 1503) and in Munich 3154
(see Figures 2.29 and 2.30).247 She came to the conclusion that both
solutions were defective and misunderstood Obrecht’s original inten-
tions. Petrucci’s editor Petrus Castellanus (see also below) must have
received a correct version of Obrecht’s second Agnus Dei but in an
enigmatic form that he resolved incorrectly. Blackburn was able to
reconstruct Obrecht’s Tenor by a comparison of both versions. She
discovered that the clue to the Tenor’s reading can be found in the text
of Busnoys’s chanson Je ne demande autre de gré – in the last line of the
refrain (‘En lyeu samblable du degré’), to be precise. This would be an
interesting case of a musical riddle whose clue resides in the interpret-
ation of the text of the pre-existing melody, hence requires an intimate
knowledge of the mass’s model. The cantus firmus is thus not only a
point of reference from a melodic point of view, but its text (not provided
246
See P. J. de Bruyn, ‘Ghiselinus Danckerts, zanger van de pauselijke Cappella van 1538 tot 1565:
Zijn leven, werken en onuitgegeven tractaat’, TVNM, 17 (1955), 128–57 at 130.
247
Blackburn, ‘Obrecht’s Missa Je ne demande and Busnoys’s Chanson’.
Figure 2.29 Jacob Obrecht, Missa Je ne demande in Misse Obreht (Venice: Petrucci,
1503), Agnus Dei II (fols. 22v-23r)
in the mass) is also called upon to refer to a musical technique in a veiled

metaphorical way.248
Multiple solutions
Some pieces have come down to us with two or more solutions. This
possibility not only points to the ambiguity of the hints the riddle provides,
but also to the flexibility of the musical structure as such. Consider, for
example, the last Agnus Dei from Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé sexti toni.
In his Misse Josquin (Venice, 1502), Petrucci only gives the solution, not
the original. He lets the Tenor sing the B section of the armed-man
melody first straight and then retrograde (i.e. B ! + B ); the Bassus,
on the other hand, presents the A0 section first backwards, then straight-
forward (i.e. A0 + A0 !).249 The manuscript Casale Monferrato M,
248
Examples are quite rare. See, however, Standley’s Quae est ista, discussed above, where the
interpretation of the comes is also related to the text of the piece itself. The anonymous Avant,
avant in Petrucci’s Canti B, also discussed above, is another example.
249
It is this version that lies at the basis of Smijers’s edition of the mass. As Jesse Rodin remarks,
Petrucci might well have preferred this solution in order to avoid putting the Tenor in a
Figure 2.30 Jacob Obrecht, Missa Je ne demande in Munich 3154, Agnus Dei II, Altus
and Tenor
however, hints at a different resolutio. Guided by the verbal canon ‘ante et

retro’ (before and behind), which is lacking in the source Vatican CS 41,
Bassus range. The Tenor would indeed have to descend to F. My thanks to Professor Rodin for
mentioning this possibility to me.
the Tenor sings the B- and A0 -section rectus (B ! + A0 !), whereas

the Bassus is supposed to give A0 –B in retrograde (A0 + B ).250
In other words, the solution in Casale Monferrato M ‘recombines’ Pet-
rucci’s solution by coupling the first part of its Tenor and the last part of
its Bassus on the one hand, and the first part of the Bassus and the last
part of the Tenor on the other.
One wonders whether composers were conscious of the fact that some of
their music allowed multiple interpretations.251 In his manuscript treatise
Canoni musicali, Zacconi suggests that this was not always the case.
Indeed, he tells us that singers sometimes performed a work in a way that
not was not planned by the composer. In book 1, chapter 11, Zacconi even
mentions a concrete situation, which goes back to his time as a singer at the
Munich court chapel under the direction of Orlando di Lasso. He tells us
about a two-part Benedictus of an unspecified mass by Lasso. After two
singers had inspected the duo, they decided to sing it in inversion. There-
upon, Lasso replied that he liked the result, even if he had not intended it
to be sung in that way.
Interestingly, the idea of singing pieces in inversion without them being
marked as such echoes a statement in book 1, chapter 57 of Zacconi’s
Prattica di musica.252 There, the theorist discusses ‘in quanti modi una
composition sola si possi cantare’ (‘in how many ways one single piece can
be sung’). Starting from the premise that all things hidden and secret
compel marvel, admiration and amazement (‘meraviglia, admiratione, &
stupore’), Zacconi is especially fascinated by those secrets that can be
elicited from music even if these are not indicated (‘segreti sono quelli
che nella Musica senza veruno inditio si trovano’). He thereby distin-
guishes two kinds of secrets: those intended by the composer and those
250
It is worth noting that in the manuscripts Casale Monferrato M, CS 41 and Vienna 11778, the
last note is a dotted breve instead of a long. This might in fact suffice as clue, which
could mean that the verbal canon ‘ante et retro’ in Casale Monferrato M is a later addition.
I am grateful to Jesse Rodin for bringing this to my attention. For a discussion of this Agnus
Dei, see also J. Rodin, Josquin’s Rome: Hearing and Composing in the Sistine Chapel
(Oxford University Press, 2012), ch. 6.
251
Some canonic pieces from the Renaissance indeed continued to cause controversies until
well into the eighteenth century. See, for example, the debate between Padre Martini and
Tommaso Redi on the solution of a canon that was long thought to be by Animuccia, but was
probably composed by Lasso: see D. Collins, ‘The Martini-Redi Polemic on the Solution
of a Canon by Giovanni Animuccia’, Indiana Theory Review, 16 (1995), 61–81, and L. C.
Gentile, ‘Orlando di Lasso pellegrino a Loreto: Vicende di un ex voto musicale’, Recercare,
19 (2007), 221–9.
252
Zacconi, Prattica di musica, fols. 47r–50v.
that result from the perception of ‘some astute and speculative singer’
(‘qual si voglia acuto et speculativo cantore’). By the first category, he
means compositions in which one or more voices are hidden in a soggetto
in such a way that one of them sings the music as written, while the other
one performs it backwards, without rests, etc. Whereas these kinds of
‘secrets’ are well known, the second category is much more surprising.
For Zacconi tells us that ‘all those who enjoy singing’ (‘tutti quelli che si
dilettano di cantare’) will discover that one can change a piece by singing
it in inversion, i.e. as if one would hold the music upside down and
then read everything backwards.253 In that way, with little effort one
can present the listeners with a different composition and change its
harmony (‘cosi con questa poca cosa i cantori possano far sentire a gli
ascoltanti un’altro canto, & variarli l’harmonia’). Zacconi calls this tech-
nique ‘revolutione’, which is derived from the upside-down turning
of the music.254
Zacconi focuses on ways of performing a composition that are not
planned by their maker but the result of the singers’ wit. However, multiple
solutions like the ones discussed were sometimes part of the composer’s
concept.255 Remarkably, in many cases the multiplicity of readings is
indeed connected with the technique of inversion.256 For example, a special
253
Ibid., fol. 47r: ‘non altrimente che s’egli rivoltasse il libro ove egli canta, & facesse che chi tiene
il libro in mano da cantare, lo tenghi rivolto alla riversa’.
254
The chapter from Zacconi’s Prattica di musica is almost literally copied in bk. 7, ch. 18 of
Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro (‘Una misma composicion de quantas maneras se pueda
cantar’). As an example of ‘rebolvimiento’, Cerone gives the four-voice Kyrie of Palestrina’s
Missa de Feria (p. 533). The technique is also mentioned in Lusitano’s handwritten treatise
(Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Esp. 219), where he discusses the possibility of ‘volver
el libro al reves’ (turning the book upside down). See also P. Canguilhem, ‘Singing upon the
Book according to Vicente Lusitano’, EMH, 30 (2011), 55–103.
255
By this I do not mean the polymorphous canons that were especially in vogue in the
seventeenth century, such as Valentini’s Canone . . . sopra le parole del Salve regina, which
yields over two thousand solutions. This type of work clearly has a different aesthetic agenda
and should rather be situated against the background of Baroque ars combinatoria. For a study
of this tradition, see especially Lamla, Kanonkünste im barocken Italien and Wuidar, Canons
énigmes et hiéroglyphes musicaux dans l’Italie du 17e siècle.
256
A piece that plays with yet another possibility of mirror canons is the six-part canonic
madrigal O voi che sospirate by Romano Micheli, which was published in Rome in 1621. It is a
six-in-one canon that gets chromatic: flat in one version, sharp in the other, but it can also be
sung ‘per i suoi riversi’. Micheli’s canon thus uniquely combines a twofold modulation through
the circle of fifths with inversion. As Lowinsky, ‘Echoes of Adrian Willaert’s “Duo”’, 704
remarks, due to the inversion that observes the precise intervals, ‘the modulations now move
contrariwise, first ascending to the sharp region, returning to the natural, and then descending
to the flat’.
feature of a good deal of inversion canons is that dux and comes can change
places, thereby creating completely different harmonies.257
Written-out solutions
No wonder then, that a great many manuscripts and prints offer their
performers written-out solutions of what Jesse Rodin has called ‘notational
pyrotechnics’.258 Usually marked with ‘resolutio’ or ‘ad longum’, such
resolved versions of a cryptically notated voice could be offered by the
composer himself, by a theorist, a scribe, a printer or his editor.259 Sources
deal with the matter in various ways. The decision to provide a resolutio –
whether accompanied by the enigmatic version or not – was certainly
determined not only by musical, but also by contextual factors, such as
the intended consumers. With the advent of print, for example, a larger
audience could be reached, and music that had hitherto been circulating
in manuscripts for limited circles became accessible to a wider market.
The commercial aspect of print culture must have dictated the usability for
less trained musicians and possibly even amateurs, who lacked the ability
and training to deal with notational brain-teasers.
This driving force becomes apparent soon after the birth of print culture
in general and the establishment of Petrucci’s printing firm in particular.
The idea of offering long-hand resolutiones, however, did not occur to
Petrucci immediately. Indeed, the first three volumes, Odhecaton, Canti B
and Motetti A, which have a range of enigmatic canons, do not contain a
single resolutio. However, starting with the first volume of Josquin’s
masses – the first to use partbooks instead of the oblong choirbook format,
hence more practicable for a small group of singers – Petrucci amply made
up for this. From then on, he decided – in many if not all cases – to give
either the resolution together with the original or only the resolution (not
always marked as such) of enigmatic canons.260 As research by Bonnie
257
The technique of dux and comes switching positions is also explained in bk. 3, ch. 56 of
Zarlino’s Istitutioni harmoniche. For a further discussion and various examples, see also A.
Bornstein, Two-Part Italian Didactic Music: Printed Collections of the Renaissance and Baroque
(1521–1744) (Bologna: Ut Orpheus Edizione, 2004), vol. I, 131–4.
258
Rodin, ‘Unresolved’, 535.
259
Basic work on the practice of providing resolutiones has been done by J. M. Allsen, ‘Tenors ad
longum and Rhythmic Cues in the Early Fifteenth-Century Motet’, Plainsong and Medieval
Music, 12 (2003), 43–69 and A. M. Vacchelli, ‘Teoria e pratica della resolutio fra Quattrocento
e Cinquecento’, SM, 30 (2001), 33–57.
260
In many cases, this also had consequences for the text underlay, as the cantus firmus melody
often has too few notes to accommodate the mass text. However, as Rodin, ‘Unresolved’,
Blackburn has convincingly shown, for this task Petrucci received help
from his editor Petrus Castellanus.261 In addition to providing composer
attributions, adding si placet parts and revising text, Castellanus was
responsible for resolving enigmatic canons where they were missing. His
expertise was especially needed in the volume of Obrecht’s masses, which is
full of notational puzzles and enigmatic inscriptions, hinting at mensural
changes, inversion, retrograde, retrograde inversion or a rearrangement of
the notes.262 Buyers of Petrucci’s books must have been grateful to Cas-
tellanus for saving them the trouble of working out the solutions them-
selves, and many printers were to follow suit.
Generally speaking, the need for written-out resolutions – or at least for
some direct clues – seems to increase in the course of the sixteenth century,
especially when it comes to the performance of older repertoire. This
was even true for the Papal Chapel, a musical institution that boasted its
special status and musical erudition. An investigation of papal choirbooks
from the late fifteenth and the first half of the sixteenth century has
shown that the singers only rarely needed resolutiones and must have been
able to master the most intricate notational demands.263 Rare exceptions
are the first Agnus of Josquin’s Missa Fortuna desperata in Vatican CS 41
(see above) and the Confiteor of his Missa L’homme armé super voces
musicales (where the Tenor has and against in the other voices) in
Vatican CS 197. A special case is Marbriano de Orto’s dazzling Missa
L’homme armé, which survives in Vatican CS 64. Here, almost every
section is accompanied by a resolutio, which, however, strikingly reinter-
prets the rhythms of the cantus firmus.264 Given the notational and
technical complexity of many other works in the papal choirbooks, the
paucity of written-out solutions is nothing short of astonishing. However,
the picture changes dramatically from the second half of the sixteenth
century onwards.265 The work of scribes such as Johannes Parvus and Luca
Orfei da Fano clearly demonstrates that the singers needed notational
546 has noted, Petrucci was not always consistent with such re-notations. He has remarked
that they often appear in those instances where the superius carries the cantus firmus.
261
See Blackburn, ‘Petrucci’s Venetian Editor’, and her ‘Canonic Conundrums’.
262
On Castellanus’s defective resolution of the Agnus II from Obrecht’s Missa Je ne demande,
see above.
263
See the overview in Table 1 of Rodin, ‘Unresolved’, 537–8, which also includes the manuscripts
Vatican CS 14, 35 and 51, which were copied outside Rome.
264
In his ‘Unresolved’, Rodin offers a thorough discussion of the scribe’s rewritings and possible
consequences of such reinterpretations for a modern edition.
265
Schmidt-Beste, ‘A Dying Art’, gives an overview of this evolution until the beginning of the
seventeenth century.
simplification not only for mensuration canons, retrograde and inversion,

but even for imitative fugae. Competence in dealing with complex matters
of notation must have become increasingly rare, hence resolutions were
in great demand. We even have concrete evidence of the seriousness
of the situation. Research by Richard Sherr has shown that some singers
of the Papal Chapel, even though their vocal qualities were judged to be
insufficient, were nevertheless retained because they were expert readers of
musical notation.266 Clearly, the Papal Chapel’s supremacy over all other
musical institutions was at stake and it did everything to keep its status
of leading musical authority.
When even the singers of the Papal Chapel experienced problems
when coping with the notational intricacies of the older repertoire, we
can only wonder about the reaction of singers from other institutions. One
would wish to know how performers proceeded when confronted with a
musical riddle, how they made their way through the web of clues, how
they connected the inscription with the notated music, and how they
combined it with the other voices. But even if a written-out resolution
in a source is missing, this does not necessarily need to imply that the
singers were able to perform the riddle on the spot. Indeed, they might well
have made transcriptions in conventional notation for themselves, so that
in actual use, the manuscript served merely as an aide-mémoire at the
appropriate points.
Tangible – and indeed fascinating – evidence of this are those resolu-
tiones that were added on a separate leaf. We are lucky to have some
examples in which a loose paper was attached to a manuscript, offering
the solution to a musical riddle. In Jena 32, for instance, the ‘Et incarnatus’
of Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales is accompanied
by an additional leaf that presents the solution of the retrograde section
of the cantus firmus, which is indicated by the imperative ‘Verte cito’
(Turn quickly).267 The same is true for an anonymous Magnificat sexti
toni, as it survives in Kassel 9. The Altus of the Fecit potentiam carries the
instruction ‘Semper contrarius ego’ to hint at an inversion of the notated
Magnificat melody. But Johannes Heugel, the scribe of the manuscript
and probably the composer of the octo toni cycle of which this Magnificat
266
R. Sherr, ‘Competence and Incompetence in the Papal Choir in the Age of Palestrina’, EM, 22
(1994), 606–29.
267
See the reproduction in Facsimiles from Sources of Compositions Attributed to Josquin, ed. W.
Elders, NJE, 2 (Utrecht: Koninklijke Vereniging voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis, 2007),
20–1.
Figure 2.31 Anon., Magnificat sexti toni in Kassel 9, fol. 31ar, loose leaf added to
the Altus
is part, must have thought that his singers would not be able to arrive at
the correct solution without visual support. He thus added a loose leaf
before the encrypted voice, facilitating the work of the Altus to a consider-
able extent (see Figure 2.31).268
Another, more complicated, case is the anonymous, five-voice Ave
mundi spes Maria from Munich 3154, discussed above. Its enigmatic
Quintus shows no music, but its layout is suggested by two cryptic poems
in hexameter: the prima pars consists of a stepwise ascending octave
(from f to f 0 ) that is first to be sung in maximas, then in longs, breves,
semibreves and finally minims.269 The secunda pars, as we have seen above,
268
As it turns out, the main problem – as with many mirror canons – is the ligatures. Already at
the start of the Magnificat, the two-note ligature is transformed rhythmically: what is two
breves ascending becomes two longs descending.
269
The inscription for the prima pars is as follows: ‘Grande pedes octo / (grandenti voce) leonum
// quot caeli zone / tocies cane totque figuris // A parhipathemeson / in tritehyperboleon’. The
first line specifies the span of an octave, the second the note values (with the ‘caeli zone’
referring to the five celestial zones, as they are described in bk. 3 of Isidore of Seville’s
Etymologiae and other places) and the third the starting and final pitch of the ascending series.
See also Fuhrmann, ‘“Ave mundi spes Maria”: Symbolik, Konstruktion und Ausdruck’.
is conceived as a soggetto that is to be derived not only from the vowels of a

panegyric text in honour of Bishop Matthaeus Lang, but also from its
consonants. Given the rather complicated construction of the Quintus, it is
not surprising that somebody solved in music what was merely described
in words. In the manuscript, small slips of paper (numbered as fols. 464 bis
and 466 bis) were added for the solution of both parts. In both cases, the
paper slips were attached in such a way that the solution directly faces the
cryptic poem (see above, Figure 2.15).
Nevertheless, it seems fair to say that the considerable increase in
resolutiones points to a waning knowledge of the rules of mensural nota-
tion, hence to an increasing difficulty in dealing with entangling enigmatic
inscriptions and/or a wish to simplify notational matters with regard to a
specific public. A source that seems to combine these concerns is Regens-
burg C 100, dating from 1560.270 Its scribe, Johannes Buchmayr, served as
a cantor at the Gymnasium poeticum of Regensburg between 1556 and
1566. He dedicated the manuscript to the councillors of Regensburg
and compiled it in order to show ‘omnem [suam] mentem et Studium’
(‘his whole mind and study’). Apart from Buchmayr’s own compositions,
the choirbook contains masses by composers from an older generation.
In the case of five masses – Moulu’s Missa duarum facierum, Isaac’s
Missa O praeclara and Josquin’s masses La sol fa re mi, Pange lingua
and L’homme armé super voces musicales – he offered what he calls himself
a resolutio (cf. ‘resoluta per Joannem Buechmayerum’).271 But these are not
straightforward transcriptions of the composer’s intentions. Buchmayr not
only added notes – many of them for the sake of a fuller sonority –he also
altered the music. His basic contribution was the simplification of complex
mensuration signs – in nearly all cases he rewrote them in . Buchmayr’s
adaptations show that he and his singers were no longer familiar with
270
For a description of the manuscript, see G. Haberkamp (ed.), Thematischer Katalog der
Musikhandschriften, vol. I: Sammlung Proske, Manuskripte des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts aus
den Signaturen A.R, B, C, AN, Kataloge bayerischer Musiksammlungen, 14 (Munich: Henle,
1989), 302–3. See also F. Brusniak, ‘Der Kodex A. R. 773 (C 100) von Johann Buchmayer in der
Proske-Bibliothek zu Regensburg: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Vokalpolyphonie in
Deutschland um 1560’ in C.-H. Mahling and S. Wiesmann (eds.), Bericht über den
internationalen musikwissenschaftlichen Kongress Bayreuth 1981 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1984),
288–94 and J. Haar, ‘Josquin as Interpreted by a Mid-Sixteenth-Century German Musician’ in
his The Science and Art of Renaissance Music, ed. P. Corneilson (Princeton University Press,
1998), 176–97.
271
As Haar, ‘Josquin as Interpreted’, 177 shows, Buchmayr’s sources for these masses are
Petreius’s Liber quindecim missarum and Formschneider’s Missae tredecim (both
Nuremberg, 1539).
the more abstruse signs of former times and preferred a more practicable
system instead.
Another case where the need for a visual support becomes apparent is a
copy of Antico’s Liber quindecim missarum (Rome, 1516), currently in the
Stadtbibliothek of the Swiss town of Baden (shelfmark Stift Nr. 21). What
makes this copy highly interesting is that it is connected with Heinrich
Glarean and his teachings.272 Although the print shows almost no traces of
usage, Josquin’s Missa de Beata Virgine is an exception. A comment that
was added on the first page of the mass even allows a precise context for its
performance: ‘M. D. LXI, in natali virginis matris, hanc Missam Friburgi in
summo templo in D. Glareani gratiam dexterrime demodularj sumus’. In
other words, the piece was sung on 8 September 1561 in Freiburg in
honour of Glarean. Here again, as in the case of Buchmayr’s codex, we
have direct proof that music composed about fifty years earlier was still
part of the singer’s repertoire.
The handwritten annotations, however, show that this repertoire was
not always easy to cope with from a technical point of view. Numbers are
frequently added above ligatures, to indicate the duration of the note
values.273 But the verbal canons also needed clarification. The inscription
‘Vous jeuneres les Quatre temps’ (‘You will fast in the four seasons’), as it
occurs in the Sanctus of Josquin’s mass, is not only translated into Latin
(‘Vos ieiunate quatuor tempora’), but the details are explained in the
margin: ‘Nach XII schlegen fahrt V uox an ein quint über dem Tenor’
(see Figure 2.32).274 Apart from that, a signum congruentiae is added to
mark the point where the comes ends. Given that this copy of the Liber
quindecim missarum is directly linked with Glarean’s circle, such additions
throw an interesting light on the theorist’s teachings of mensural music, as
we find them in the Dodekachordon and later, in German, in Auß Glareani
Musick ein ußzug (Basel, 1559).275
272
On this subject, see especially M. Kirnbauer, ‘“sind alle lang” – Glareans Erläuterungen zur
Mensuralnotation und musikalische Praxis’ in Nicole Schwindt (ed.), Heinrich Glarean oder:
Die Rettung der Musik aus dem Geist der Antike?, Trossinger Jahrbuch für Renaissancemusik, 5
(Kassel: Bärenreiter: 2005), 77–92.
273
This practice is not exceptional and can be found in a number of sources; see also Kirnbauer,
‘“sind alle lang”’, 84 n. 11.
274
In his Dodekachordon, Glarean writes about the mass that ‘there is no part . . . which does not
have very much that one may admire’ (‘nulla eius pars est, quae non habeat, quod plurimum
mireris’). Translation quoted from C. A. Miller in the series Musicological Studies and
Documents, 6 (n.p.: American Institute of Musicology, 1965), vol. II, 268.
275
On Glarean’s critical reception of enigmatic canonic inscriptions, see also Ch. 3.
Figure 2.32 Sanctus (Tenor) from Josquin des Prez, Missa de beata virgine in Liber
quindecim missarum (Rome: Antico, 1516), fol. 123v, copy in Baden, Stadtarchiv,
Stift Nr. 21
In search of the riddle

If the practice of providing resolutions became more and more usual in the
course of the sixteenth century, some works have only come down to us in
Figure 2.33 Josquin des Prez, Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae in Milan 2267, beginning
of the Gloria, Tenor
their resolved status. As we have seen above, in his prints Petrucci some-
times only provided the solution, which is usually labelled as such. If we are
lucky, the original enigmatic notation – or part of it – can be recovered
from other sources. This is the case, for example, with Josquin’s Missa
Hercules dux Ferrariae. The Tenor in Petrucci’s Missarum Josquin Liber
secundus offers a fully written-out version of the music that is derived from
an eight-note soggetto cavato, which appears alternately on d, a and d0 .
Bonnie Blackburn has suggested that the original might have been notated
without any music – it would indeed suffice to write the text and indicate
that the melody is to be taken from its vowels. Such an inscription occurs
at the beginning of the Gloria in Milan 2267: ‘Fingito vocales: sequentibus
signis’ (‘conceive the vowels by the following signs’). A resolutio – here
called ‘Dilucidatio enigmatis’ – follows (see Figure 2.33).276
However, if such concordances are lacking, we can only guess what the
enigmatic notation must have looked like. In this case, it is up to music-
ologists to reconstruct the notational archetype and to recapture an earlier
state of transmission. Needless to say, this is an odd situation: we possess
the solution, but not the enigmatic notation as such. It is like having the
answer to a literary riddle, but not the question. So instead of going
through the trial-and-error process of finding the outcome, we now have
to start from the resolution and reverse the process to find out how it
might have been encrypted by the composer. Such investigations have been
276
The manuscript Basel F.IX.25 offers a slightly variant version, but adds an instruction about
the pitch levels. In both cases, however, the mensuration signs are missing.
made in several cases. Above, I mentioned the problematic resolution of

the Agnus Dei II from Jacob Obrecht’s Missa Je ne demande and Bonnie
Blackburn’s ingenious reconstruction of the original notation. Another
example is Fayrfax’s Missa O quam glorifica, which the composer submit-
ted in 1511 to obtain the degree of Doctor of Music at Oxford University.
Unfortunately, Fayrfax’s archetype, which included a whole range of daz-
zling puzzles and notational complexities – even operating with various
colours such as red, blue and green – is lost. Instead, the mass survives only
in copies that simplify matters for ‘everyday use’, i.e. that were comprehen-
sible to any competent musician. Here as well, musicologists have to
imagine what Fayrfax’s original version might have looked like and –
paradoxically – must work their way back from plain to enigmatic
notation.277
Finally, a special case are masses based on so-called schematic cantus-
firmus manipulation – such as Busnoys’s (?) Missa L’ardant desir and
Obrecht’s Missa Petrus apostolus, to name just two.278 They are a particular
exemplification of what could be called – in analogy with its literary
counterpart – ‘constrained composing’. Their notation conforms to what
Emily Zazulia has called the aesthetics of notational fixity. The basic idea of
this technique is that a cantus firmus does not change its visual appearance
throughout the mass, but due to various transformations that are indicated
by signs and/or written instructions, the aural result can be radically
different.279 The borrowed material always looks the same, but it does
not sound the same. This can be achieved in various ways: apart from
inversion, retrograde and changes of mensuration, rhythmic tranformation
was created by systematically exchanging note values (a minima becoming
a maxima, a semibreve a longa, etc.) and – even more remarkably – by
letting the singers remove all the stems (both of individual notes and of
ligatures). As Wegman notes, ‘composers who employed schematic
manipulation regarded a cantus firmus as mere construction material, to
be rearranged or transformed in every possible schematic way, rather than
as a source of musical inspiration, generating musical ideas in the voices
277
Robert Fayrfax, Masses Tecum principium and O quam glorifica, ed. R. Bray, Early English
Church Music, 45 (London: Stainer and Bell, 2004).
278
For a reconstruction of the original from Obrecht’s mass, see the New Obrecht Edition, vol.
VIII, xxix–xxxi. Busnoys also used the technique in his masses O crux lignum triumphale and
L’homme armé, and earlier examples include Domarto’s Missa Spiritus almus and Du Fay’s
Missa Se la face ay pale.
279
See also Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons’, esp. ch. 3 (‘The Same but Different: On Notational
Consistency’).
that surround it’.280 In other words, pitches, intervals and note values are
treated as individual cells that can be manipulated in various ways.
It must have been an extraordinary challenge for composers to create a
melody whose notational shape never changes, but carries the possibility of
multiple realisations. The ambition to create variety and technical sophis-
tication within the limits of these formal, self-imposed restrictions must
have exercised a strong attraction on a composer, as it was not only a way
to reach or confirm his musical authority, but a means of social demar-
cation as well. These masses play with the divergence between written and
sounding music in a masterly way. By retaining the cantus firmus
unchanged on the page, they contain the pinnacle of contrapuntal com-
plexity behind a surface of visual simplicitas. Strictly speaking, the musical
archetype – derived from an anonymous chanson and a plainchant melody
in the case of Missa L’ardant desir and Missa Petrus apostolus respectively –
needed to be notated only once, as all transformations could be derived
from it. But as some of the melodic and rhythmic manipulations in these
masses were so sophisticated, a written-out solution must have been
deemed necessary.281 In the case of the Missa L’ardant desir, which
uniquely survives in Vatican CS 51, the scribe apparently did not bother
to copy that notational archetype as well. Obrecht’s Missa Petrus apostolus,
which survives as an unicum in Grapheus’s Missae tredecim (Nuremberg,
1539) must go back to an older source that contained the original notation,
but such a source is unfortunately lost. One wonders what takes more time:
for us to seek the ‘common denominator’ – i.e. to reconstruct the prototype
from the multitude of transformations – or for scribes to provide the
singers with a written-out resolution of something they were expected to
do through mental effort.
280
Wegman, ‘Another Mass by Busnoys?’, 5.
281
A more practical reason for this is given in Blackburn, ‘Canonic Conundrums’, 61.
Resolutiones were also necessary in choirbooks when page turns occur. One has to be able to
sing from a melody that is present on the page. When this is not the case, a written-out
solution is necessary.

3 The reception of the enigmatic in music theory
As we have seen in the foregoing chapters, riddles provoke very divergent

reactions. Either you take up the intellectual challenge and immerse your-
self in the process of searching, or you dislike such brain-teasers and
simply reject them. There does not really seem to be an in-between. Such
extreme positions are trans-epochal and transdisciplinary phenomena, and
it is not difficult to understand why: precisely because of their encoded
character, riddles – whether of a literary, iconographical or musical
nature – distract our attention from the object and make the medium itself
visible.1 In riddles the medium is at stake. Any discussion about riddles
could thus be said to tackle fundamental thoughts about the art form in
question, whether it be a text, a painting or a composition. In other words,
riddles can offer a fascinating window through which – then and now –
one can reflect upon the various conceptions of art, its ontological status
and its goal.
In musical circles of the Renaissance as well, composers’ taste for the
enigmatic was judged in different ways. The rich corpus of treatises from
the late fifteenth to the early seventeenth century offers many insights into
theorists’ attitudes towards puzzles. At the same time, when situating
music in the riddle culture of its time, one quickly comes to the conclusion
that – compared to other disciplines – music is a special case. The main
difference resides in the act of communication. Whereas in other art forms
only two parties are involved – the author and the reader, the painter and
the spectator – whose common interests converge in the medium, the text
or the painting, in music three actors are always involved: the composer,
the singer and the listener. This scheme of course goes for all types of
music making, but in the case of riddles, this constellation acquires a
special meaning. At the heart of the matter lies the fact that musical riddles
always require a transformation of the notated message. Indeed, riddles
exist first and foremost on the page: audibly one cannot recognise a riddle
as such, as the aural rendition is already the outcome of the riddle, i.e. the
194 1
This idea is drawn from Mehtonen, ‘“When Is Obscurity Apposite?”’
The reception of the enigmatic in music theory 195
riddle in its resolved status. With this in mind, one could say that singers
are not only the medium, but also the main target public of riddles. It is
they for whom the special notation, the inscriptions and the images are
visible and make sense; they are the ones who have to unveil the secrets of
the written text before being able to perform the music at all. The listener
only hears the result of the singer’s act of decoding. This inevitably raises a
whole range of questions, many of which were also tackled in the Renais-
sance writings. As we shall see, the theorists variably focus their attention
on the aspects of composing, singing and listening to riddles.2 Further-
more, they write about the intricacies of notation, ventilate their enthusi-
asm for or annoyance with obscurities, and reflect upon music’s general
mode of existence.
In this chapter, I analyse and scrutinise the different positions: what is
the theorist’s attitude towards encrypted music, what are his concerns, how
does he formulate his critique, and what can it tell us about his underlying
aesthetic agenda, his conception of music and music making? But also:
what do we learn about the performer? How did the performer react to
musical riddles and how did he try to master them? How did he work his
way through the interplay of text – in some cases also images – and music?
Their solution presupposes a mastery of all kinds of search strategies,
which need to be played through until the inscription can be understood
and the music can be transformed accordingly.3 Like the composer, who in
his riddles displays his knowledge of musical and extra-musical phenom-
ena, the performer is expected to have a similar intellectual horizon in
order to decipher the secret.4 Indeed, some solutions require intimate
familiarity not only with music history, but also with mythology, philoso-
phy and other disciplines as well.5 What can contemporaneous theoretical
treatises tell us about these questions?
2
I do realize that the distinction between composer, performer and listener is somewhat artificial.
After all, bearing in mind the concept of the Renaissance musicus, there is a close intertwining
between those who wrote, those who sang and those who heard music – in many cases, the
composer was among the performers. Above all, especially in courtly circles, the listener was
usually well informed and on close terms with his musicians.
3
This idea is inspired by Klotz, Kombinatorik und die Verbindungskünste, 16: ‘Die Kanonkünste
verfügen über eine experimentelle und interaktive Dimension, denn die Auflösung der
Kanonvorschrift setzt die Beherrschung verschiedener Suchtechniken voraus, die durchgespielt
werden müssen, bis die Vorschrift aufgelöst werden kann.’
4
Or, as Stras, ‘“Al gioco si conosce il galantuomo”’, 219 puts it: ‘[C]anons also served to
demonstrate the ingenuity of their creators and to flatter the intellect of those who were able to
find the solutions.’
5
See also Turner, ‘Sub obscuritatem quadam ostendens’.
Certain approaches develop in the course of time: some statements and

ideas are repeated (either literally or slightly rephrased), whereas others
undergo drastic changes, which can be in consequence of historical cir-
cumstances or of individual preferences. If relevant, attention is also paid
to contextual factors, such as the general concept of the treatise, the
position of its author, and his role in ongoing theoretical discussions.
Indeed, all these external elements can to some degree influence the tone
of the theorist’s statement and the message as such.
Roughly speaking, one can distinguish between those who praise riddles
as the summit of complexity and those who condemn them for reasons
that concern both the intention of the composer and the consequences for
the singer and the listener. This distinction will dominate the structure of
this chapter. As we shall see, most theorists are against the use of enigmatic
elements. Their arguments vary according to their historical, geographical
and aesthetic position. Not surprisingly, the writers who are in favour of
puzzles all underline their appraisal with a large number of examples
followed by an explanation of the riddle and an appreciation of its intel-
lectual esprit. The idea of collecting riddles – hence treating them as a genre
in its own right – might have been inspired by treatises on literary riddles
such as those I discussed in Chapter 1. Here as well, riddles are often
grouped in thematic clusters and classified according to topics. The same
principle rules the respective chapters in Bartolomeus Ramis de Pareia’s
Musica practica (Bologna, 1482), Hermann Finck’s Practica musica
(Wittenberg, 1556), Pietro Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro (Naples, 1613)
and Lodovico Zacconi’s Canoni musicali (c. 1622–7). Needless to say, the
large chronological distance between the treatises sheds light on the appeal
of the enigmatic over a long time.
Only in a few cases do we find neutral statements about the nature and
characteristics of inscriptions and their resolutions. The Berkeley manu-
script, compiled around 1375, offers one of the earliest testimonies to the
use of inscriptions.6 In the Tractatus tertius, which is basically an updated
version of the Libellus practice cantus mensurabilis secundum Johannem de
Muris, Goscalchus Parisiensis lists canones as one among four possible
notational tools to distinguish the binary or ternary division of modus,
tempus and prolatio: ‘I say that the perfect can be distinguished from the
6
Modern edition, translation and commentary in The Berkeley Manuscript, ed. Ellsworth.
Interestingly, at the end of the manuscript the anonymous three-part ballade En la maison
Dedalus appears; see also Crocker, ‘A New Source for Medieval Music Theory’. As Ellsworth
remarks (p. 13 n. 26), this composition is not related to the theoretical part of the manuscript.
The reception of the enigmatic in music theory 197
imperfect by colors, written directions (or canons), rests, and signs.’7 He

then systematically expounds each category. About subscriptio – a term
he uses interchangeably with canon – he writes: ‘Whatever is given in the
written directions must be so sung, even if it be against art. Canons are
commonly placed when it is not possible to proceed properly in some
manner – according to art – in the song; or if it is possible, when the course
is obscure.’8 It is interesting to note the theorist’s use of the expression
‘contra artem’, i.e. against the rules. Contrary to what one might be inclined
to think, it does not have a negative connotation. Quite the opposite: to sing
‘contra artem’ actually means to go beyond the rules, and this was admired
rather than condemned. From these remarks it appears that in some cases it
was necessary to describe in words what could not be shown in musical
notation, i.e. by purely musical signs. The necessity of written instructions
implies that composers were distinctly aware that the mensural system was
not adequate for expressing everything they wanted to do.
The Tertius tractus of Nicolaus Burtius’s Musices opusculum (Bologna,
1487) carries the significant title ‘in quo cantus figurati radices atque
proportionum enigmata enodantur’ (‘in which the roots of cantus figuratus
and the enigmas of the proportions are untied’). Like the author of the
Berkeley manuscript, Burtius mentions the possibility of using ‘subscrip-
ciones seu canones’ to distinguish the binary or ternary division of modus,
tempus and prolatio. Burtius repeats Goscalchus’s argument when he
writes that ‘according to some, signs are recognised by inscriptions, for
whatever is found in a canon subscription must be sung accordingly, even
if it is against the art. For they commonly say that canons or subscriptions
7
‘Dico . . . quod coloribus, subscripcionibus seu canonibus, pausis, et signis perfectum discernitur
ab imperfecto’ (translation quoted from The Berkeley Manuscript, ed. Ellsworth, 171). Compare
with Johannes de Muris’s Libellus: ‘Item coloribus subscriptis, pausis et signis perfectam
distinguitur ab imperfecto, et etiam cognoscitur.’ See also Ugolino of Orvieto, who writes in
bk. 3, ch. 6, §7 of his Declaratio musicae disciplinae (c. 1430) that ‘coloribus, subscriptionibus,
pausis et signis perfectum distinguitur ab imperfecto et etiam cognoscitur’. He then specifies:
‘Per subscriptiones intelliguntur quaedam figurae sive signa subscripta cantibus quibus
mensurarum perfectionis et imperfectionis habetur notitia.’ See Ugolino of Orvieto, Declaratio
disciplinae musicae, ed. A. Seay, Corpus Scriptorum de musica, 7.2 (Rome: American Institute of
Musicology, 1960). It is known that Ugolino’s writings had an influence on Gafurio. In bk. 2,
ch. 14 (‘De Diminutione’) of his Practica musicae (Milan, 1496), Gafurio thus writes that
‘Canonice consyderatur diminutio quum figurarum quantitates declinant et variantur in
mensura secundum canonis ac regulae inscriptam sententiam’.
8
‘Subscripcionibus: unde qualitercumque in subscripcionibus habetur, ita est cantandum, eciam
si fuerit contra artem. Nam communiter canones ponunt quando commode taliter secundum
artem non posset in cantu procedi, etsi posset tamen hoc latet.’ Text and translation quoted from
The Berkeley Manuscript, ed. Ellsworth, 170–3.
are used when otherwise a song cannot be sung according to art.’9 Both
writers stress the mutual dependence of the musical notation and the
inscription: as the instruction contains the key to unlock – i.e. to transform –
the written melody, neither element functions without the other. Devoid of
its verbal counterpart, the music is incomplete and deficient, hence cannot
be solved. The instruction in turn is not an ornamental attribute but a
necessary constituent, without which ‘non potest in cantu procedi’.
By the time Burtius published his treatise, more than a century after the
Berkeley manuscript, an important change had taken place. Canonic
inscriptions were no longer purely technical indications to distinguish
the perfect from the imperfect division: they could also appear in the form
of enigmatic sentences. The composer could now demonstrate his mastery
of complex proportions and mensurations not only via clear-cut instruc-
tions, whose meaning was straightforward and to be taken literally. He now
also delighted in manipulating musical time and space via enigmatic clues,
which could be taken from a wide variety of sources, as we have seen in the
preceding chapter. Through them the composer could demonstrate his
wide-ranging knowledge of literary, philosophical and theological texts,
his verbal aptitude in verse, alliteration, pun or oxymoron, and above all
his intellectual esprit to correlate the verbal inscription with the music in a
metaphorical way. From the moment inscriptions began to play with the
ambiguity of the message’s meaning, giving way to equivocal interpret-
ations, opinions begin to divide into two camps.10
Theorists in favour of riddles
‘Ad ingenia subtilianda et acuenda’: Bartolomeus Ramis de Pareia

The Spaniard Bartolomeus Ramis de Pareia is the first theorist to offer a
lengthy discussion and appreciation of canonic inscriptions. His Musica
9
‘Subscriptionibus agnoscitur secundum quosdam: quia qualitercunque habetur in canone seu
subscriptione: ita cantandum est etiam si fuerit contra artem. Nam communiter ut aiunt
canones vel subscriptiones habentur: quando aliter secundum artem non potest in cantu
procedi.’(sig. fiijr).
10
This is not to say, however, that ‘neutral’ evaluations of inscriptions do not exist. Many
pedagogical treatises from the German-speaking area present objective definitions of verbal
instructions: see, for example, Gregor Faber, Musices practicae erotemata (Basel, 1553), 211 in
his discussion of ways to indicate diminutio: ‘Prima significatur per Canonis adscriptionem, per
quem Notarum valor dimidia parte diminuitur.’ The same goes for augmentatio (p. 209). It
seems, however, that Faber is only referring to technical prescriptions, not to enigmatic
inscriptions.
Theorists in favour of riddles 199
practica (Bologna, 1482) includes a chapter headed ‘in which canons and
subscriptions are accurately treated’ (‘in quo canones et subscriptiones
subtiliter declarantur’).11 It is the concluding section of the Tractatus
primus from the Tertia pars, which is about the principles of mensuration,
its terminology and signs. Like Burtius, Ramis explains that composers
sometimes chose to indicate mensural changes not by way of signs, but via
written instructions. Whereas these can indeed be used as an alternative to
mensuration signs, other compositional techniques cannot be indicated by
mere musical signs, but only with the help of verbal indications: ‘I believe
it should not be passed over in silence if some composer may wish to
write something under a song by which perfection, imperfection, or
diminution can be discovered without any sign, or also on the other hand
to explain the opposite if it may have been designated by a canon or
subscription.’12
Ramis then makes an interesting distinction between the terms ‘sub-
scriptio’ and ‘canon’, which he considers two sides of the same coin: ‘For a
subscription receives its name because it is always written under the tenor’
(‘dicitur enim subscriptio, quia semper sub tenore scribitur’). When he
defines canon, the enigmatic element comes into play: ‘But a canon
[receives its name] because it is a certain rule that implies obscurely and
enigmatically the meaning of a composition in accordance with some
ambiguity’ (‘canon vero, quia est quaedam regula voluntatem componentis
sub quadam ambiguitate obscure et in enigmate insinuans’). Although
both terms are usually interchangeable, the first of them bears upon the
material aspect of the notation (‘sub-scribere’), whereas the second informs
us about the nature of the instruction.
11
Ramis de Pareia, Musica practica (Bologna, 1482). Modern edition by J. Wolf, Publikationen
der Internationalen Musikgesellschaft, 2 (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1901). The discussion is
to be found in Tertia pars, tractatus primus, capitulum 4. Ramis’s definition clearly resembles
the one given by Tinctoris in his Terminorum musicae diffinitorium (Treviso, 1495), which was
compiled before 1475. According to Tinctoris, a canon is ‘a rule showing the composer’s
intention behind a certain obscurity’ (‘regula voluntatem compositoris sub obscuritate quadam
ostendens’). Tinctoris himself was fond of complex notational puzzles, as he demonstrates in
his pedagogical motet Difficiles alios delectat pangere cantus. This motet is discussed at greater
length in several letters of A Correspondence of Renaissance Musicians, ed. Blackburn, Lowinsky
and Miller. See also the study by B. J. Blackburn, ‘A Lost Guide to Tinctoris’s Teachings
Recovered’, EMH, 1 (1981), 29–116.
12
‘Tacite praetermittendum esse non arbitror, si quis auctor velit sub cantu, per quod perfectum
aut imperfectum vel diminutum possit sine aliquo signo dignosci, aliquid subscribere vel etiam,
si aliter signatum fuerit per canonem aut subscriptionem, contrarium ediscere.’ Translation
quoted from Bartolomeus Ramis de Pareia, Musica Practica, trans. C. A. Miller, Musicological
Studies and Documents, 44 (Neuhausen and Stuttgart: Hänssler, 1993), 153.
Then a list of twenty inscriptions with an explanation of the intended

technique follows. Some of them make use of musical terminology with
Greek or pseudo-Greek nomenclature (e.g. ‘Antiphrasis thenorizat ipos
dum epitonzizat’ [inversion] or ‘Ne sones cacefaton, sume lichanos hypa-
ton’ [transposition], both taken from Busnoys) and biblical quotations (e.g.
‘Descendat in profundum quasi lapis’ [transposition] from Exodus 15:5);
others are clever word games (e.g. ‘Ne recorderis’, which means that every
re should not be sung and be replaced by a rest).13 Before embarking on the
biblical inscriptions (‘Alii vero sacrae scripturae appropriant’), Ramis
claims that his predecessors wrote canons ‘in order to show their know-
ledge and understanding’ (‘Hoc enim maiores nostri consueverunt facere,
ut suam doctrinam et intelligentiam demonstrarent’). This statement con-
firms not only the intellectual challenge composers experienced, but also
their desire for self-display when they wrote such works. This might
explain why – according to Ramis – such kinds of inscriptions were also
imitated by lesser spirits, a fact he sharply criticises: ‘The unlearned who
wish to imitate them write canons stuffed with their own fancy [fantasia];14
I will not present any of them here since I do not make use of what is not
based on knowledge.’15
It is instructive to take a closer look at the verbs or phrases Ramis uses
when he explains the meaning of the verbal inscriptions and the compos-
itional technique they refer to. Their scope ranges from suggesting the
sense of the ‘clandestina verba’ (‘concealed words’) in an indirect way
(‘insinuare’, ‘intimare’) to showing how the music should be sung (‘docet
cantare’, ‘volumus ostendere’), to an unequivocal understanding of the
directive (‘clare ostenditur’, ‘clare monstramus’, ‘intelligimus’). One can
distinguish instructions that have a high degree of obscuritas and those that
are more transparent and are characterised by a greater amount of
13
See the explanation in Ch. 2, ‘Techiques of Transformation’.
14
For Ramis, ‘fantasia’ seems to have a rather negative connotation, as it is associated with
uncontrolled imagination. See also Secunda pars, tractatus primus, capitulum secundum: ‘But
our singers give little thought to that beyond what pleases their imagination or fancy’ (‘Verum
nostri cantores haec minime considerant, sed illud tantum, quod imaginationi seu fantasiae
suae placet’) and Spataro’s letter to Aaron (6 May 1523): ‘the right method consisted in letting
the student begin with what is easy, clear, and well known. The firmness of the rules will
prevent the beginner from going astray by following his own fancy’ (‘perché li primi rudimenti
debono essere intra loro de tale immutabilità et firmeza che el rudo ediscente non vada
dubitando con la sua fantasia’). Adam von Fulda’s evalution of ‘fantasia’ (Musica, Part II, ch. 9)
will be discussed below.
15
‘Quos indocti imitari volentes canones ponunt sua fantasia fulcitos, quorum nullum hic ponam,
ut memoria careat, quod non est imbutum doctrina’ (p. 91).
perspicuitas. Interestingly and rather surprisingly, the first category is used

mainly at the beginning of the chapter. This implies that Ramis considered
the Greek musical terminology to be the most enigmatic and ambiguous of
all. This in fact strongly reminds us of the discussion in book 8 of Quinti-
lian’s Institutio oratoria, where it is said that obscurity can be caused by the
use of ‘verba remota’ (‘obsolete [often Greek] words’) and ‘[verba] artium
propria’ (jargon).16 As soon as Ramis talks about biblical quotations and
word games, the term ‘clarus’ turns up more often, suggesting that
according to him these inscriptions give the performer a clearer indication
of how they should be interpreted.
In this context, it is also worth paying attention to the way Ramis
describes the relationship between the musical notation and its eventual
transformation. At one point, he explicitly states that a verbal inscription
‘changes the way of proceeding’ (‘mutatur etiam canone modus proce-
dendi’). The melody needs to be sung differently from how it is written,
whether one has to sing it backwards, in inversion, augmentation, dimin-
ution, etc. Regardless of the precise technique that is implied, Ramis uses
pictorial verbs such as ‘emanare’ and ‘insurgere’ to indicate that the
unwritten part ‘springs up’ from the notated one.17 It is the inscription
that contains the key to make the connection between the written music
and its aural result.18 One could say that these remarks show Ramis’s
awareness of the paradoxical status of the written music. Indeed, just as a
riddle in general is a question that already contains its answer, the solution
to a musical enigma is already contained in the notation, but it still needs
to be materialised in the eventual realisation. I will come back to this aspect
of notation when discussing the viewpoint of other theorists.
Ramis’s chapter is a core text for the discussion of musical puzzles in the
Renaissance. It is the first more or less systematic treatment of enigmatic
inscriptions, with examples taken from slightly older composers such as
16
See Ch. 1, under the heading ‘The discourse on obscurity’.
17
At a certain point, Ramis even uses the metaphor of a river. When explaining the inscription
‘Medietas harmonica fiat et quaelibet vox suum numerum salvet’ he used for the mass he
composed at Salamanca, he writes: ‘And in this way, four rivers flowed from one source’ (‘et sic
quatuor flumina ex uno fonte emanabant’). The verb ‘emanare’ stems from the Platonic
tradition, according to which ideas emanate from the world of sensory perception. According to
the principle of emanationism, all things are derived from the first reality by steps of
degradation. My thanks to Melanie Wald-Fuhrmann for sharing her thoughts on this concept
with me.
18
In this respect, the inscription can be compared with the function of a clavis in cryptography.
Here as well, a key is needed for converting (i.e. transforming) an encrypted message into
plain text.
Du Fay and Busnoys as well as from Ramis’s own oeuvre.19 As we learn at

the end of the chapter, the list of inscriptions could have been much longer:
‘We have seen a great many other canons of other composers, and we have
written others, as many as most. However, since knowledge of their details
cannot be included, or if some very small confused part is always pre-
sented, let these words about canons suffice to clarify and sharpen ingeni-
ous minds [ad ingenia subtilianda et acuenda].’20 His discussion of canonic
inscriptions is clearly meant as an appraisal of the enigmatic, since he
considers them a vehicle for refining one’s ingenuity. Here, Ramis’s aca-
demic background shines through, and his discussions of the compositions
mentioned could well have been the subject of his private teachings and his
lectures at the University of Salamanca. Ramis’s exposition gave rise to
very divergent reactions. On the one hand, it provoked a range of negative
criticisms. On the other hand, until well into the seventeenth century,
theorists from different countries and backgrounds continued to share
Ramis’s enthusiasm for the enigmatic. These two strands of opinion will
be discussed in the following pages.
‘Regula argutè revelans secreta cantus’: Hermann Finck

Almost seventy-five years after the publication of Ramis’s treatise, the
German theorist Hermann Finck followed in the footsteps of his Spanish
colleague. The third book of his Musica practica (Wittenberg, 1556) is
completely devoted to verbal canons.21 Finck starts with a definition of the
term ‘canon’ that is an almost literal quotation from Andreas Ornitho-
parchus’s Musicae activae micrologus (Leipzig, 1517).22 Canon is defined as
19
Ramis mentions a Magnificat, a mass composed in Salamanca, a Requiem and the motet Tu
lumen tu splendor patris (to be sung in three genera: ‘In perfectione minimorum per tria genera
canitur melorum’). Unfortunately, all of these works are lost, except for the motet, which
survives partially because it was the object of an argument between Gafurio and Ramis’s pupil
Spataro (see the Apologia adversum Ioannem Spatarium (Turin, 1520), fol. viiiv and Spataro’s
Errori di Franchino Gafurio da Lodi (Bologna, 1521) respectively). Portions of the motet are
also discussed in A Correspondence, letters nos. 41–5, 49 and 86.
20
‘Alios aliorum canones vidimus permultos, alios et nos posuimus quam plurimos. Verum quia de
particularibus scientia non poterit haberi, aut si aliqua minima pars confusa semper extat, de
canonibus ad ingenia subtilianda et acuenda dicta sufficiant’ (p. 92). Miller’s translation of the
gerund ‘subtilianda’ as ‘to clarify’ is not quite adequate. Especially in the context of the discourse
on obscuritas, I would rather suggest use of the term ‘subtilise’, i.e. make the mind more refined.
21
For a study of Finck’s treatise, see P. Matzdorf, ‘Die “Practica musica” Hermann Fincks’, PhD
thesis, Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität Frankfurt am Main (1957).
22
Like Finck, Ornithoparchus had been attached to the University of Wittenberg.
Ornithoparchus’s definition (sig. Fivv) is part of a discussion on augmentation in the Liber
‘an imaginary precept bringing to light from the parts that have been set
down a part of the song that has not been set down’ (‘imaginaria prae-
ceptio, ex positis non positam cantilenae partem eliciens’). Finck then
reformulates this idea: it is ‘a rule cleverly revealing the secret of the
composition’ (‘regula argutè revelans secreta cantus’). The definitions thus
draw attention to four fundamental characteristics of canonic writing. First
of all, following the etymology of the Greek κανών, a canon is to be
considered as a rule (‘praeceptio’ – ‘regula’), a guiding principle without
which the music cannot be performed. It contains the key to the interpret-
ation of the written melody. Secondly, the motto reflects the subtle relation
between what is notated and not, between what can be seen and what is
there but cannot be not seen, as it is hidden by the notation (‘ex positis non
positam cantilenae partem’). The verbal rubric thus helps us to understand
the secret of the song (‘secreta cantus’). Thirdly, as a direct consequence of
this, the inscription plays with a tension between showing and hiding: on
the one hand, the instruction contains the key to unlock the solution, but
on the other it does so in a veiled way (‘elicere’ – ‘relevans’). I will come
back to this tension later, as it is given closer attention by other theorists as
well. Finally, Finck expresses his admiration for the fact that the inscription
always reveals the meaning of the composition in a sharp-witted way
(‘imaginaria’ – ‘argutè’).
The theorist’s fascination with the ingenuity of canons runs like a golden
thread throughout the Liber tertius. It is explicitly repeated some pages
later, when Finck compares some of them with ‘iucundae fantasiae’, erudite
and very well thought out (‘eruditè & dextrè excogitatae’). As with Ramis,
Finck’s occupation with riddles and their capacity to challenge and
brighten somebody’s wits reflects his academic interests: two years before
the publication of his Practica musica, Finck had started teaching at the
University of Wittenberg. Together with the other four books – containing
elucidations on plainchant, measured polyphony, modality and perform-
ing practice – his treatment of canons covers the rudiments of music for
his students.
secundus. It was translated by John Dowland under the title Andreas Ornithoparcus His
Micrologus, or Introduction: Containing the Art of Singing (London, 1609). His translation reads
as follows: ‘A Canon therefore is an imaginarie rule, drawing that part of the Song which is not
set downe out of that part, which is set downe. Or it is a Rule, which doth wittily discover the
secrets of a Song. Now we use Canons, either to shew Art, or to make shorter worke, or to try
others cunning.’ Ornithoparchus’s definition was also copied by Heinrich Faber, Ad musicam
practicam introductio (Nuremberg, 1550) in ch. 4, ‘De canonibus’.
Still drawing on Ornithoparchus’s treatise from about forty years earlier,

Finck then lists three reasons for writing canons: ‘We use canons for the
sake of subtlety, or brevity, or to test wits’ (‘Utimur . . . Canonibus, aut
subtilitatis, brevitatis, aut tentationis gratia’). Here, we can distinguish
three interrelated criteria. Subtilitas refers to an aesthetic impetus, as the
canon can serve to demonstrate a composer’s craftmanship and knowledge
both of musical techniques and literary and iconographical sources. Bre-
vitas confirms a practical advantage of canons: they are interesting from a
typographical point of view, as they do not take up much space.23 Given
the fact that many voices can be contained in one notated part – Horst
Weber uses the apt expression ‘vervielfältigte Einstimmigkeit’24 – these
pieces thus allow for concise notation.25 To be sure, in the case of enig-
matic works, this brevitas is rather ambivalent. Indeed, the visual reduction
of the contrapuntal fabric conceals the complexity of the construction. At
the same time, however, this seeming simplicitas subtly stresses the learned
character and elaborate plan of the composer’s invention, as it becomes
clear that the notated melody has more than one meaning.26 This leads us
to Finck’s last point, tentatio, a term that suggests a psychological dimen-
sion. Indeed, for a composer it must have been an interesting challenge not
only to be confronted with with the sheer variety of possible melodic and
rhythmic transformations, but also to opt for a deliberate limitation of his
compositional freedom, a self-imposed observance of a given rule or set of
rules.27 The inscription could thus be said to have a double function: on the
one hand, it offers the singer a verbal key allowing him to realise the
notated melody. On the other hand, the composer offers us a clue about
the genesis and the analysis of his work, which implies that the notation
also has a hermeneutic value.
23
For a discussion of brevity through an interpretation of the phrase ‘Quod brevius fit, melius fit’
in Tinctoris’s Proportionale musices, see Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons’, 193ff. The author argues that
brevity might have been an aesthetic goal for many composers, which is particularly expressed
in mass sections based on the repetition of a very short section of music.
24
Weber, ‘Kalkül und Sinnbild’, 355.
25
Good examples of this are Sebald Heyden’s De arte canendi (Nuremberg, 1537) and Martin
Agricola’s Rudimenta musices (Wittenberg, 1539), which was written specifically for boys. As
regards Agricola’s treatise, all the examples presented in mensural notation are canonic.
26
It seems to me that it is this ambiguity Ramis refers to in his definition of canon, being a ‘certain
rule that implies obscurely and enigmatically the meaning of a composition in accordance with
some ambiguity’ (‘quaedam regula voluntatem componentis sub quadam ambiguitate obscure
et in enigmate insinuans’).
27
See also R. Lorenz, ‘Canon as a Pedagogical Tool: Applications from Sixteenth-Century
Wittenberg’, Indiana Theory Review, 16 (1995), 83–104 at 85.
I shall not present a detailed overview of all verbal instructions in Finck’s

treatise and their meaning, as this work has been convincingly done by
other scholars and many of these mottoes have been discussed in Chapter 2
of this book.28 Suffice it to say that Finck orders the inscriptions according
to the compositional technique they relate to and provides a brief explan-
ation for each of them (see Figure 3.1). His verbal instructions are taken
from various sources, and the techniques include singing without rests,
retrograde motion, singing black notes as white, 3-in-1 canons, ostinato,
tacet remarks, etc.
One has the impression that for Finck the invention of new inscriptions
had become a kind of sport, an intellectual diversion per se: already at the
beginning of his Liber tertius, he confirms that their number is infinite,
because ‘every day new ones are being devised’ (‘quotidie novi excogitan-
tur’). Perhaps some of them were even invented to inspire his students
and composers.29 It is indeed striking that Finck does not offer examples
for all inscriptions mentioned. For in accordance with the treatise’s
subtitle – Practica musica . . . exempla variorum signorum, proportionum
et canonum – the inscriptions are followed by a long series of works by the
most outstanding old and recent composers (‘praestantissimorum
veterum & recentiorum Musicorum’). Although the pieces lack composer
attributions (and text underlay), Finck mainly drew on the repertoire of
what he himself called the antiqui, i.e. Josquin, Senfl, Obrecht and their
contemporaries.30 By characterising their compositions as ‘artful and not
unharmonious speculative works’ (‘artificiosas nec insuaves specula-
tiones’), he stresses both the aural and the intellectual satisfaction they
bring. With this statement Finck seeks to combine the theoretical and the
practical attractiveness of riddles: in his eyes, they satisfy both the mind
and the ear.
Later in the same book, Finck reveals that he has plans for a larger
project in which these works will be presented and contextualised in
28
For a thorough discussion of Finck’s enigmatic inscriptions, see Blackburn and Holford-
Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four Grievances’ and Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests of Canonic
Antiquities’.
29
Blackburn and Holford-Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four Grievances’, 161ff., list a series of inscriptions for
which no composition can be traced.
30
On the presence of the antiqui in Finck’s treatise, see Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests of
Canonic Antiquities’. She has compared the lack of composer attributions to entering a
museum in which none of the paintings is labelled, the goal of which might have been a test of
the reader’s ingenuity and knowledge. This also stems from the fact that only in a few cases does
Finck offer a written-out resolutio. Many of these pieces have been transcribed by E. Sohns in
Hermann Finck: Canon (Buenos Aires: Eduardo Sohns Libros de Musica, 2008).
Figure 3.1 Hermann Finck, Practica musica (Wittenberg, 1556): opening page from
the Liber tertius. Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 120
order to discuss their diversity: ‘All the composers of all times, and their
lives, works, and collected canons I shall publish in a separate book in
order that the difference and variety in their talents and teachings may
be recognised. For if those of their canons that I possess had to be
gathered together in this book, the work would increase beyond all
measure.’31 Finck never realised this ambitious project: he died in
1558, shortly after the publication of his treatise, at the age of 31. As
Bonnie Blackburn has observed, Finck’s plan sounds like the musical
equivalent of Giorgio Vasari’s Le Vite delle più eccellenti pittori, scultori,
ed architettori (Florence, 1550).32 We do not know whether the theorist
was familiar with Vasari’s book, which was first published six years
before the Practica musica. It is tempting to imagine that Finck was
preparing a ‘music history of the Renaissance’, in which canons and
riddles were to play a central role. Indeed, judging from the brief
explanation in his Practica musica, he considered canons to be a major
criterion for distinguishing each composer’s personality.
‘Para sutillizar el ingenio de los estudiosos’: Pietro Cerone

Riddles are often to be found at the end of a treatise. In this way, theorists
no doubt wanted to stress their special significance and unique position in
the musical system. Pietro Cerone’s monumental El Melopeo y maestro is a
good case in point.33 By placing his anthology of ‘enigmas musicales’ at the
very end of his treatise, he makes it clear that he considers them to be the
ultimate crowning achievement and summit of theoretical complexity.
They are the final step in a long series of theoretical and practical infor-
mation that ‘he who wishes to become a perfect musician should necessar-
ily know’ (‘lo que uno per hazerse perfecto Musico ha da menestrer saber’),
as is indicated by the treatise’s subtitle.34 According to him, this book can
satisfy man’s natural and burning curiosity to know the primary and most
secret things (‘naturaleza . . . muy sidiente de saber las cosas primas, y mas
31
‘Omnes omnium temporum artifices, eorumque vitae curriculum, monumenta, & canones
collectos (ut discrimen & varietas ingeniorum & praeceptionum cognoscatur) in lucem
peculiari libro edam. Nam si Canones illi, quos habeo, omnes in hunc librum congerendi essent,
opus cresceret in immensum’ (sig. Cciijr). Translation quoted from Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure
Chests of Canonic Antiquities’, 312.
32 33
Ibid. Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro (Naples, 1613).
34
Judging from the contents of the treatise, which contains more than 1100 pages, Cerone must
have wished to cover all possible aspects of music and music making. This is also confirmed by
the rather pompous motto ‘Quid ultra quaeris?’ (‘What else are you looking for?’) – a quotation
from Juvenal’s fifth Satire – on the title page of his ‘handbook for the perfect musician’. The
ideal of the perfect musician was in vogue among music theorists of the late sixteenth and early
seventeenth centuries: Zarlino and Kircher, for example, had similar ambitions about an all-
embracing musicianship, which also included philosophical and theological training. Music was
thus both art and speculative science. In such a concept, the riddle evidently played an
important role.
secretas’).35 Moreover, in book 14 Cerone had already whetted his readers’

appetites by comparing the ‘enigmas musicales’ with brain food: ‘The last
treatise will be of great pleasure and satisfaction for the learned composers.
There, I promise to provide many gracious, pleasurable, and extraordinary
canons, a nutriment for those lofty, talented and clever people inclined
towards speculative matters.’36 And in the introduction to this last treatise,
book 22, which is dedicated to the ‘friends of subtleties and secrets’
(‘amigos de sutillezas y secretos’), he once again underlines its particular
status by having recourse to a metaphor. Cerone compares his explan-
ations in books 1–21 with a long boat trip. After having taken in the sail to
enter the harbour, the sailors are carried off course by a strong wind, which
causes them to make a detour and to extend their journey. In a similar way
Cerone, who had originally wanted to finish his treatise with book 21,
decided to end his Melopeo in a different way and to conclude it with a
chapter on musical enigmas instead.37 The reason for this is twofold:
Cerone wants to have an obscure section, which is difficult to understand
(‘por tener alguna parte oscura, y muy difficil de entender’) and he wants
scholars to refine their minds (‘para sutillizar el ingenio de los estudiosos’)
and equip them for their work.38
It is in this context that Cerone stresses the book’s special status, as it
contains ‘compositions, which are completely different from those that are
normally used’ (‘Cantos . . ., que en todo apartados son de los, que se usan
de ordinario’). In order to make his point, he compares his musical riddles
with their literary counterpart (‘enigmas gramaticales’). Cerone is in fact
one of the very few theorists to make an explicit connection between
musical and literary riddles, thus situating the topic in a broader historical
and cultural context. He approaches the connection from both a theoretical
and a practical point of view. He starts with three definitions of a riddle, all
of which stress the cryptic element and the need for decoding that goes
35
Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1073.
36
‘El ultimo tractado, serà de gran gusto y de mucha satisfacion; donde prometo à los
Composidores professos, muchos Canones muy graciosos y deplazer, no ordinarios si no
secretos y enigmaticos; como pasto para ingenios elevados, sutiles, y especulativos’ (bk. 14,
ch. 52, p. 812). The English translation is quoted from F. Garcia, ‘Pietro Cerone’s El Melopeo y
maestro: A Synthesis of Sixteenth-Century Musical Theory’, PhD thesis, Northwestern
University (1978), 242.
37
In bk. 20, Cerone had offered a systematic discussion and resolution of Palestrina’s Missa
L’homme armé, thereby concentrating on its notational problems in general and the
mensuration signs in particular.
38
Needless to say, this is strongly reminiscent of Ramis’s ambition ‘ad ingenia subtilianda et
acuenda’, with which he closes the above-mentioned chapter of his Musica practica.
with it: ‘A riddle is that with which somebody gives you a hint, but which
needs to be explained to many’ (‘Aenigma est quod innuit quidam, quod
pluribus explicandum est’). The use of the verb ‘innuere’ not only alludes
to the riddle’s above-mentioned inherent tension between showing and
hiding, but it also reminds us of Ramis’s definition of a canon, as discussed
above. Cerone’s second definition stresses the fact that the person who
invents a riddle deliberately seeks obscurity and poses a question in an
intricate way: ‘A riddle is a knotty and veiled speech’ (‘Aenigma est sermo
nodosus, & involutus’). As we learn from an annotation in the margin,
Cerone’s final definition is taken from the famous fifteenth-century gram-
marian Lorenzo Valla: ‘A riddle is darker than allegory, which one must
guess rather than interpret’ (‘Aenigma est allegoria obscurior, quam divi-
nare magis quam interpretari oporteat’).39 For Valla, the main attraction of
riddles clearly lies in the process of trial and error which they invite, an
opinion Cerone enthusiastically shares.
The theorist continues his argumentation with examples of literary
riddles. Cerone quotes the two most famous enigmas of Classical
Antiquity: the riddle of the Sphinx and the riddle of Homer and the
fishermen were well known from various anthologies of the Renaissance.40
Two other examples are taken from sixteenth-century Italian literature. As
Cerone indicates in the margin, the first of these (‘Un vivo con due morti
un vivo fece . . .’), as we have seen in Chapter 1, is quoted from Giovanni
Francesco Straparola’s Le piacevoli notti (Venice, 1550–3).41 The riddle
Cerone mentions, posed by Fiordiana at the end of the second story during
the second night, found its way into many a sixteenth-century riddle
collection.42 With the insertion of literary riddles, Cerone seems intent
on preparing his readers for the interdisciplinary approach that character-
ises his ‘enigmas musicales’. Indeed, many of them combine music, text
and image, which all contribute to the interpretation and eventual solution
of the riddle.43 It is the large body of literary and iconographical material
39 40
I have not been able to trace the source of Valla’s quotation. See Chapter 1.
41
The second Italian riddle in Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro is a variation on Straparola’s
example.
42
See G. Straparola, Le piacevoli notti, ed. D. Pirovano, I novellieri italiani, 29 (Rome: Salerno,
2000), vol. I, 125. According to Pirovano, this riddle became very popular in the sixteenth
century and can be found also in Girolamo Musici’s Rime diverse ingegnose, con la gionta di
molto artifitio (Padua, 1570) and Alexandre Sylvain’s Cinquante Aenigmes françoises (Paris,
1582; an abridged Spanish translation appeared in the same year under the title Quarenta
Aenigmas en Lengua Espannola).
43
The variety of images is rich: animals (e.g. snakes [no. 17] or an elephant [no. 28]), objects (e.g.
a balance [no. 22] or a scale [no. 41]), religious symbols (e.g. a cross [nos. 20, 43 and 45], a key
that unquestionably makes the last book of El Melopeo y maestro unique in

the history of music theory.
As Cerone puts it, like literary riddles, each musical puzzle is based on a
different obscure invention, which means that there is no overall rule for
reading these works (‘a esta manera de Cantos no se le puede dar regla’).44
It is thus important to proceed from the clear and easier riddles to the
greater ones (‘enigmas mas claros y mas ligeros, para los mayores), and not
vice versa, because that would confuse and darken the minds of the readers
instead of illuminating and teaching them. Beginners are like children, who
first need to be fed with light food before they can change to sustaining
food (‘porque los nuevos incipientes son como niños, que se han de
mantener con cosas ligeras y faciles de digestion, y despues con otros
mantenimientos mas solidos’, p. 1047). The forty-five enigmas that follow
are indeed characterised by an increasing degree of complexity: containing
riddles by Franco-Flemish, Italian (among them Cerone himself) and
Spanish composers, the book offers a fascinating retrospective of more
than a century of polyphonic virtuosity. Cerone begins with mensuration
canons such as the Agnus Dei II from Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super
voces musicales and Diego Mensa’s motet Tua est potentia. He gradually
turns towards puzzles in which specific technical aspects (e.g. proportion,
solmisation, text underlay, retrograde and inversion) play a central role,
finally arriving at highly complex, often polymorphous brain-teasers such
as Ghiselin Danckerts’s famous chessboard canon (Enigma del tablero de
axedrez, no. 42) and the Enigma del Chaos (no. 44). In many cases, Cerone
orders riddles according to types: he subsumes compositions that are
constructed in a similar way or using the same technique, which recalls
Finck’s discussion of canonic inscriptions.
The pedagogical orientation of Cerone’s project is also confirmed in the
general setup of the last book: every riddle is followed by a lengthy
declaracion and a written-out resolucion.45 By printing the solution on
and a sword [no. 25]), playthings (e.g. dice [no. 40] or a chessboard [no. 42]) and natural
phenomena (e.g. the sun [no. 14], the moon [no. 41] or the four elements [no. 44]). Some of
these will be discussed in Ch. 4.
44
This statement clearly echoes Sebald Heyden’s claim that for riddles ‘nulla regula dari potest’, as
it appears in his De arte canendi (Nuremberg, 1540) and to which I shall come back later on in
this chapter.
45
At the end of the Enigma de los dos Compases variados (no. 13), he explains the reason for this
as follows: ‘In order to understand the artifice well, let me collate the resolution with the
enigma; in this way one can come to know the secret’ (‘Y para entender bien el artificio, haga la
pratica de cotejar la Resolucion con el Enigma; que desta manera venra à conocer el secreto’;
p. 1087). Cerone sometimes claims to provide a declaracion in order to satisfy the vulgar people
the same page as the riddle, he enables the reader to enjoy the ingenuity of
the puzzle’s construction without having to spend much time working it
out. The written-out version of the enigma facilitates the mental work of
the singer/student to a considerable extent. He could brood over the
problem, and the solution would either confirm or reject his thoughts. It
is tempting to compare Cerone’s procedure with the tradition of ‘pregun-
tas’ and ‘respuestas’ that dominated Spanish riddle culture in general and
the taste for the enigmatic at the royal court in particular. As we have seen
above, King Philip III – the dedicatee of El Melopeo y maestro – and his
court took a special delight in brain-teasers, of which Pinheiro da Veiga
gives account in his Fastiginia o fastos geniales (Valladolid, 1605). As
Cerone had been serving in the Royal Chapel from 1610 onwards, the last
chapter of El Melopeo y maestro might well have been his musical contri-
bution to this age-old tradition.46
It should be noted here that Cerone does not always present compos-
itions in their entirety, especially when works for five or more voices are
concerned. In some cases, apart from the enigmatic voice, he provides only
one other part – mostly the Bassus.47 For this, he gives various reasons:
sometimes we simply read ‘as an accompaniment’ or ‘so that the disbe-
liever can assure himself of the truth’, meaning that the additional voice(s)
enable(s) the reader to verify that the riddle works.48 Furthermore, remarks
such as ‘I do not wish to give all five voices in order not to overload the
book with too many examples’ or ‘the other voices are not presented in
order not to have too big a volume’ indicate that practical reasons caused
him to present just a part of the composition.49 After all, the treatise has
(‘para satisfazer à la gente moca’). Similar statements occur on pp. 1116 (no. 36) and 1131
(no. 44), where he talks about the incapable (‘los incapaces’) and the simple-minded people (‘la
gente moca’ or ‘los grosseros de ingenio’).
46
Before serving in the Spanish Royal Chapel, Cerone had worked as a singer and priest at the
Santissima Annunziata in Naples. His didactic purpose not only shines through the
encyclopedic character of El Melopeo y maestro, but also informs his treatise on plainchant Le
regole più necessarie per l’introduttione del canto fermo (Naples, 1609), which reflects his
teachings in Naples.
47
Incomplete pieces include nos. 2 (a motet by Diega Mensa for five voices), 3 (a five-voice Sicut
erat from Rocco Rodio’s Magnificat sexti toni), 5 (an Agnus Dei for six voices from the Missa
Alma Susanna by a certain ‘Ivan Rovello’), 25 (Jacobus Vaet’s six-voice Qui operatus est Petro),
33 (an anonymous [Cerone’s?] Veni sponsa Christi for four voices) and 34 (an anonymous six-
voice Salve Beate Pater Francisce).
48
El Melopeo y maestro, 1128 (‘para acompañamiento’) and 1076 (‘à fin que el incredul se
certifique de el verdad’) respectively.
49
Ibid., 1076 (‘no quiero poner todas cinco partes, por no henchir el libro de tantos exemplos’)
and 1077 (‘las demas partes no se ponen por no hazer mas volume’) respectively. We are also
reminded here of Finck’s project to publish his collection of canons in a separate book.
about 1160 pages. But Cerone assures readers who want to see the whole
composition that they should consult his third book of motets.50 It is all the
more unfortunate that this book, which must have been a real treasure
chest of musical riddles, is lost. It was probably conceived as a practical
handbook to complement the contents of the last book of El Melopeo y
maestro.
Be that as it may, the aural rendition of the ‘enigmas musicales’ from El
Melopeo y maestro does not seem to have been Cerone’s primary concern
anyway. Several facts speak in favour of this. The incomplete transmission
of the riddles certainly is one argument, but there are other indications as
well. Like the majority of exempla in the rest of the treatise, most riddles
lack a text or a clear text underlay, which points to their use as study
material with an abstract illustrative goal in the first place. Furthermore,
even when a piece is shown in its entirety, Cerone always prints the parts
one below the other, often causing those voices to continue at a page turn,
hence to be spread over different pages.51 From this one can safely
conclude that it would be impossible to sing from one book.52
But the clearest sign is the dictum that Cerone puts as a general, unifying
motto above his collection of musical riddles. Right after the introduction
and before the example from Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces
musicales, we find the following phrase (see Figure 3.2): ‘Voce parùm aures
plus oblecto aenigmate mentem’ (‘I please the ear too little with my voice,
but I please the mind more with my riddle’).53 It is as if the personified
riddle is addressing itself to the reader and thematising its strengths and
weaknesses. Clearly, for Cerone the intellectual challenge and acumen
riddles demand of the recipient are of primary importance. Their main
attraction consists in teasing the brain, not in their aural realisation.
50
So after discussing the structure – ‘so graceful and artful’ (‘tan gracioso y tan artificioso’) – of
Ingegneri’s eight-voice Noe noe, psallite noe, Cerone adds (p. 1087): ‘Those who wish to see the
entire composition can satisfy their desire in the third book of my motets’ (‘Desseando verle
todo entero, podran satisfar al desseo acudiendo al tercero libro de mis Motetes’). Similar
comments are made in other places as well.
51
This occurs in the following places: pp. 1075–6, 1077–8, 1083–4, 1085–6, 1089–90, 1099–100,
1101–2, 1103–4, 1109–10, 1111–12, 1115–16, 1117–18, 1123–4 and 1127–8. The same goes for
the third book of Finck’s Practica musica.
52
This is very much unlike Glarean’s Dodekachordon, which is designed in such a way that it is
perfectly possible to sing from it. The treatise is printed in choirbook format, with coordinated
page turns when a piece extends beyond more than one page.
53
Josquin’s Agnus Dei also serves to illustrate Cerone’s statement. About the first piece of his
riddle anthology, he remarks that ‘this piece is easier to understand than to sing’ (‘Este Canto, es
mucho mas facil de entender, que de cantar’).
Figure 3.2 Pietro Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1075 (including the motto of Book
XXII and the first riddle – the Agnus Dei II of Josquin des Prez’s Missa L’homme armé
super voces musicales). Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 34
Musical riddles are made to satisfy the mind; the ear only perceives the
result of the thinking process.
Not surprisingly, references to singing and hearing occur only rarely in
book 22. Instead, Cerone continues to express his fascination with the
ingenuity of musical riddles: terms such as ‘graceful and artful’ (‘gracioso y
artificioso’; no. 12), ‘gallant’ (‘galan’; no. 30), ‘curious’ (‘curioso’; no. 34),
‘obscure’ (‘oscuro’; no. 37), ‘secret and not ordinary’ (‘secreto y no ordi-
nario’; no. 40) run like a golden thread through his commented anthology
and underline the extraordinary place these riddles occupy in Cerone’s
aesthetic agenda. Given the purpose of his treatise – to create a musico
perfetto with encyclopedic knowledge – Cerone must have felt that an
‘archaeology of the riddle’ similar to Nicolas Reusner’s Aenigmatographia
and other projects from around the same period was the appropriate
apotheosis of his Melopeo, as here music is regarded both as art and as
speculative science. At the time of the treatise’s publication, some riddles
were more than a century old and must have had an almost ‘antique’ air.
Even though Cerone could not – unlike his literary colleagues – trace the
origins of musical riddle culture back to Classical Antiquity, he embeds his
compendium in a larger tradition, attempting to preserve this knowledge
for posterity.
‘Diventar . . . più segnalato, perfetto, e singolare’: Lodovico Zacconi

About a decade after the publication of Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro,
another theorist finished a treatise with equally encompassing ambitions.
Lodovico Zacconi’s Canoni musicali survive as a manuscript that is cur-
rently preserved in the Biblioteca Oliveriana of Pesaro (MS 559). The work
must have been compiled between 1622 – i.e. after the publication of the
second volume of the Prattica di musica – and Zacconi’s death in 1627.54
But as Zacconi explains in his autobiography, he had been collecting
canons over the course of many years. A number of people had presented
him with pieces and asked for the resolutio.55 The anthology offers an
54
On this manuscript, see F. Vatielli, I ‘Canoni musicali’ di Ludovico Zacconi (Pesaro: A. Nobili,
1905); F. Cerfeda, ‘Il ms. Canoni musicali proprij e di diversi autori di Lodovico Zacconi’, 2
vols., MA thesis, Università degli Studi di Pavia, Scuola di Paleografia e Filologia musicale di
Cremona 1989–90; Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests of Canonic Antiquities’.
55
‘I sudetti canoni musicali furono raccolti da me, con occasione et oggetto, che in diversi tempi
essendomene rappresentati molti, et adimandandonemene le ressolutioni . . .’. Quoted from F.
Vatielli, Di Ludovico Zacconi notizie su la vita e le opere (Pesaro: G. Federici, 1912), 35. In the
Canoni musicali, Zacconi sometimes indicates from which city (e.g. Ferrara, Ravenna, Verona)
and/or person he got the composition he is about to analyse.
extended commentary on and annotated edition of canons from various

generations of composers, divided into four books.56 Like Cerone, Zacconi
frequently has recourse to the music of the antichi – especially Josquin and
his generation (Brumel, Févin, Layolle, Moulu, etc.) – and combines it with
more recent repertoire from late sixteenth-century composers.57 These
include Costanzo Porta (whom Zacconi calls ‘il padre, il fonte, e tutto il
nervo principale’ of the ‘secreti musicali’ of his day),58 Giovanni Pierluigi
da Palestrina and Philippe de Monte as well as contemporaries such as
Romano Micheli and Adriano Banchieri.
In the introductory chapters of the Canoni musicali, Zacconi thematises
various aspects of musical riddles. He links the invention of canons with
his admiration for the human mind, which according to him ‘surpasses
and advances every thought and imagination’.59 The fact that ‘learned and
gifted people’ (‘huomini saputi e di bell’ingegno’) work on ‘clever and
profound inventions that can arise out of various counterpoints and
compositions’ (‘dotte e profonde inventioni che possano nascere da varij
e diversi contrapunti e compositioni’) ensures that every day such ingeni-
ous and mysterious canons keep being invented. In the second chapter of
his Canoni musicali, Zacconi even claims that the study of musical riddles
not only renders a man’s mind acute and ready for all other musical
matters, but also makes that person more aware, perfect and unique – an
opinion that clearly conforms with the ideal of the musico perfetto, as
expounded by Zarlino and Cerone.60 Riddles occupy a special place in this
aspiration, as they give the singer the possibility to spend time with the
most secret aspects of the music. Notational tools such as keys,
56
As Cerfeda, ‘Il ms. Canoni musicali proprij e di diversi autori di Lodovico Zacconi’, 25 notes,
Zacconi treats ‘canoni semplici di tempo contra tempo’, ‘canoni di proporzione, cifre, et opposti
numeri’, ‘geroglifici et enigme’ and ‘canoni inserti et contessuti dentro ad altri canti’
respectively.
57
On Zacconi’s focus on the antichi, see Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests of Canonic
Antiquities’. For a discussion of sources mentioned in the Canoni musicali, see Cerfeda, ‘Il ms.
Canoni musicali proprij e di diversi autori di Lodovico Zacconi’, 31–8 and Blackburn, ‘Two
Treasure Chests of Canonic Antiquities’, 314 n. 38. Some chapter titles announce the
importance of the antichi for Zacconi’s work: see, for example, bk. 2, ch. 44 (‘D’alcune maniere
c’haverano gl’antichi di componer messe tutte in canoni musicali’) or bk. 4, ch. 5 (‘Dell’uso de
canoni musicali secondo gl’antichi inserti nelle loro compositioni e musiche’).
58
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, fol. 106 (bk. 3, ch. 6). This and the following quotations are based on
Cerfeda, ‘Il ms. Canoni musicali proprij e di diversi autori di Lodovico Zacconi’.
59
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, fol. 1r: ‘Supera et avanza ogni pensiero et imaginatione.’
60
‘l’huomo con lo studiar le sudette cose, diventar non solo acuto e pronto in ogni altra cosa
musicale, ma anco più segnalato, perfetto, e singolare’ (fols. 1v–2r). See also fol. 86v, where he
writes that canons can help musicians ‘che vogliono acquistar, et ascendere al singolar grado di
perfettione’.
mensuration and other signs and verbal inscriptions thus gain a hermen-
eutic value, we read in chapter 9. On the one hand, while shrouding the
music in mystery, they show the essence of the composition; on the other
hand, they offer the singers an occasion to speculate about how to sing
such songs: ‘perché, ponendole sopra alcune misteriose, si manifesta in
tanto l’essential del canone, e si dà occasione a cantanti di specularvi sopra,
in che modo detti canti si hanno da cantare’ (ch. 9).
However, despite Zacconi’s fascination with musical riddles, he also
expresses certain reservations. More precisely, he repeatedly targets the
intention of the composer when it comes to the use of obscurity. Already in
his Prattica di musica (Venice, 1596), which predates the Canoni musicali
by about thirty years, Zacconi had expressed a certain scepticism. In book
2, chapter 55 of that treatise – the only chapter about enigmatic canons –
Zacconi makes a paradoxical distinction between secrets that are clear
(‘palesi’) and those that are hidden (‘nascosti’).61 The second category
consists of those pieces that lack any indication or explanation by the
composer, which means that they can only be understood by their maker
(‘nisciuno altro che lui stesso che gli ha fatti li sà’). The clear puzzles, on the
other hand, do have an inscription and could thus theoretically be decoded
by anybody (‘possano da tutti esser intesi’). But even here he warns against
using inscriptions that cannot easily be understood, for
difficulty does not demonstrate the composer’s profound knowledge; that will be
recognised from the melody that can be heard in his compositions. Such clever
caprices are praiseworthy as long as they are made with such facility that the
singers know how to sing them; but when they are such that after considerable
thought one cannot discover how they go, they are worthy of being put out of
mind and even of blaming those who wrote them, since they could have done them
with greater clarity, if they had been of a mind to make them comprehensible to
anyone besides themselves. Otherwise in order to understand them one would
have to ask for the resolution.62
61
The chapter is entitled ‘Se nelle cantilene di Musica figurata si trovano altri segreti che sieno di
momento & consideratione’.
62
‘La difficultà non dimostra il profondo saper del Compositore; ma il se conosce della melodia
che si sente uscire delle sue compositioni, per questo i presenti capricciosi pensieri, sono
lodevoli, quando però che sono fatti con facilità tale, che i Cantori li sappiano cantare; ma
quando che i sono di una certa sorte, che dopo l’havervi ben pensato sopra non si sa come
vanno; sono degni di esser posti in un cantone, et di biasmar anco chi li compose, potendoli fare
con maggior chiarezza, s’habbia voluto occupare in farli ch’altro che lui gl’habbia da intendere;
o che per intenderli ogni uno gli ne habbia a dimandar la resolutione.’ See the facsimile, based
on the 1596 edition (Hildesheim and New York: Olms, 1982), fol. 130v. Translation quoted
from Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests of Canonic Antiquities’, 315.
Difficulty per se, obscurity for its own sake, is condemned and should
always be accompanied by a degree of clarity. After all, as Zacconi puts it,
singers cannot simply guess the intentions of the inventor. This should not
hinder complexity as such, but encourage composers to find a balance
between transparency and obscurity. In the Canoni musicali, Zacconi
continues this line of thought, while at the same time taking a more
nuanced view of the topic. In chapter 8, he appeals to the composer’s
common sense: if a musician wishes to start composing canons, it is
important that his judgement and the acuteness of his mind serve him as
a guide: ‘Il giudicio, e l’acutezza del suo ingegno gl’ha da servir da regola.’
Chapters 27 and 28 enlarge upon this, and the subtle equilibrium between
clarity and obscurity – between hiding and showing musical information –
is once more at the centre of Zacconi’s attention. At the beginning of
chapter 27, he formulates his point as follows:
The artful songs, which are constructed in several very artful ways, should be
assigned by the creators and composers and presented to the singer . . . with such
instructions that they partly hide the art, but also provide sufficient indication of
how they should be sung, because no one is obliged to enter into the mind and the
thoughts of those who composed them.63
No singer can guess the thoughts of a composer. The same goes for canonic
inscriptions: their makers ‘have to place significant and intelligible mottoes
in such a way that while they conceal the mystery of the device, they also
show – behind an enigmatic signification – the door to enter and how it
can be sung’.64 The opaqueness notwithstanding, the composer should
hand the singer the key to interpreting and performing the music. Zacconi
is very determined about this requirement. Remarks such as ‘in my opinion
he has not shown everything that is essential as he should have done;
neither has he paved the way for how the singers have to sing it’ occur
more than once.65 In these instances, his verdict is radical. If an instruction
63
‘Gl’artificiosi canti, che sono contessuti con diverse artificiosissime maniere, debbano esser da
gl’artefici e compositori assegnati, e presentati a cantore . . . con inditij tali, che nascondendo in
parte l’arte, diano anco inditio come vadino cantati, per non esser niuno obligato a subentrare
nelle mente, e ne pensieri di quei tali che ne gl’hanno composti.’
64
‘V’hanno anco da metter motti tanto significativi, e intelligibili, che tenendo in tanto e quanto
occultare il misterio dell’artificio, mostrino anco sotto enigmosa significatione la porta
d’entrarvi, e di poterli cantare.’
65
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, fol. 18r: ‘al mio giuditio non ha dimostrato tutto il suo essentiale
come doveva mostrare; ne tan poco ha apperto bene la strada come i cantori l’habbino a
cantare’. See also the discussion on fol. 17r: in his opinion, an inscription like ‘Tres in unum, et
quattuor si placet’ does not contain enough essential information. In the case of the music
example that is shown, Zacconi suggests that an instruction such as ‘De minimis non curat
is too unclear for the singers, the corollary is that the piece simply cannot
be performed: ‘When in such a case the song cannot be sung because of the
dark invention, the maker is to blame, as he wanted to hide his cunning
and thoughts in ways too obscure.’66 Elsewhere we read that composers,
even if they say that they sometimes have to hide their intention – for if
they showed the work in plain notation, it would not be a riddle – should
not becloud their work in too much darkness; otherwise their inventions
risk being passed over by singers, who will never examine nor sing them.67
One would like to be able to follow the thoughts of Renaissance per-
formers upon receiving a musical enigma and learn how they worked their
way through the piece.68 In his Canoni musicali, Zacconi lets us take a peek
at some interesting effects of the trial-and-error process the singers were
confronted with. A first case concerns a situation that I briefly discussed in
Chapter 2. As Zacconi tells us, it can happen that singers reach another
solution than the one intended by the composer, but which is also music-
ally correct. This is what he writes in chapter 11: ‘It happens many times
that beyond his intention a composer will have made a song and composed
it with a design and a goal, and when it is sung by others in a different way,
they show something the author himself never thought of and did not
make with that intention.’69 According to Zacconi, this once happened
with a two-part Benedictus of a mass – unfortunately, he does not give any
prior [sic], et ego non voco de maioribus’ – an allusion to a medieval saying, which Josquin
attached to the first Agnus Dei of his Missa Malheur me bat – would have been more
appropriate, ‘even if such a motto would not completely have given all the formal and complete
information’ (‘se bene anco un motto tale totalmente non haverebbe data tutta la formale et
integrale informatione’).
66
Ibid.: ‘Se in tal caso per l’occulto artificio il canto resta senza esser cantato, colpa l’ha l’artificio,
et il padrone che con troppe vie oscure voler occultar l’artificio, e suo pensiero.’ In this respect,
one can suppose that the twenty-fourth canon in bk. 3 of the Canoni musicali has an ironic
undertone. It is a canon ad infinitum without a composer attribution. The text of the work is as
follows: ‘Quaere et invenies. Si non inveneris, da culpam tibi non aut mihi’ (‘Seek and you will
find. If you have not found out, blame yourself and not me’).
67
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, fol. 137r (bk. 3, ch. 15): ‘Si scusano però gl’autori in questo, con dire;
che nascondendo loro l’arte sotto si fatte inventioni, se loro ne li manifestano a pieno, non
sarebbono più quei misteriosi canoni che loro intendano di mostrare: ma quantunque a questo
si potrebbe dire, che però nascondendo loro così l’arte comme fanno i loro canti e canoni, si
trapassano da cantori senza esser ne più oltre essaminati, ne cantati.’
68
As I show in Ch. 2, this obviously depends on many factors, such as the notation, the location,
the institution, the degree of training of the singers, etc. Consequently, there were probably as
many ways of experiencing these riddles then as there are now.
69
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, fol. 6r: ‘Molte volte occorre, che fuori di sua intenzione un
compositore haverà ordinati un canto, e compostolo con un disegno et a un fine, che
cantandolo altri in altra maniera, ne fanno vedere quello che il proprio autore non ci pensa mai,
e non lo fecero a questo fine.’
details – by Orlando di Lasso, under whose direction Zacconi had sung in

the Munich court chapel. Two singers, after having studied the piece,
decided to sing it in inversion. Lasso replied that he liked the result, even
if he had not intended it that way (‘buono, mi piace, se bene [respingendo]
io non lo feci a questo fine’).70
In the second case, Zacconi discusses the moment singers have to amend
their initial conceptions, after they discover that their first trial has not
produced the right result. This problem is illustrated in chapter 45 with a
composition by Giacomo Finetti. A four-voice canon ad infinitum is
presented in a rather cryptic way, as it shows only two lines, Guidonian
syllables and rests. After the singer finds out that his first solution ends in
harmonies that are ‘tutte discrepanti e dissonanti’, he realises that the
melody should be sung in another way than it appears at first sight (‘farà
concetto che vadi cantato in un altra maniera di quello ch’egli in prima
vista mostra e appare’). Zacconi’s examples are like eyewitnesses of per-
formance situations,71 and we certainly wish we could have more such
accounts, which – taken as they are from the real life of everyday singing –
present concrete evidence of how performers coped with musical enigmas:
some were creative in finding different ways to solve the task, others
realised that they needed to correct their initial attempt and adjust it to
the demands of the music.
With his collection of Canoni musicali, Zacconi offers many interesting
observations on what it means to compose and perform musical riddles.
His manuscript not only presents many curiosities – some of which are
only known from this source72 – but especially his commentaries allow us
to grasp his attitude towards riddles. In his eyes, it is the task of the
composer to combine an enigmatic mode of expression with a sufficient
amount of clarity – and this needs to be evaluated from case to case.73
70
On riddles that can produce more than one solution and involving inversion, see Ch. 2. In bk. 2
of the Canoni musicali, from ch. 4 onwards, Zacconi discusses other canons that yield multiple
solutions by way of inversion.
71
As Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests of Canonic Antiquities’, 312–13 puts it, ‘one has the
impression that he is speaking in person. This means, of course, that he is rather long-winded;
he feels compelled to explain every detail and demonstrate it with numerous music examples.’
72
See, for example, Pierre Moulu’s four-voice Sancta Maria mater Dei, which can be sung with
and without rests. Bonnie Blackburn offers a transcription of both versions in ‘Two Treasure
Chests of Canonic Antiquities’, 333–8.
73
That this balance was not reached in all the works of the Canoni musicali is demonstrated by a
four-part motet, O altitudo divitiarum, by Giacomo Finetti, the melody of which is notated in
such a way that the intervals are indicated with proportions. When explaining the riddle’s
resolution in ch. 43, Zacconi complains that the work is shrouded (too) heavily in mystery
(‘contessuto con si nascosto mistero’).
Furthermore, Zacconi states that composers sometimes write learned

musical canons (‘dotti canoni musicali’) for the wrong reasons. One of
the inducements, as we read in chapter 43 of book 1, is ‘to show his great
mind and to hide the way to sing it’ (‘per mostrar il suo bell’ingegno et
occultar l’arte di cantarli),74 the other ‘to test a single singer’ (‘per
esperimentar qualche singolar cantore’) – two motivations that do not
meet with his approval. Indeed, some riddles are said to be ‘puri capricci
di persone’, i.e. the result of the composer’s whim.75 Moreover, in book
1, chapter 60, Zacconi even claims that some composers write enigmas
neither ‘to enrich and broaden the science and the art (of music)’ nor for
reasons of text expression, but solely ‘to abase this and that singer for the
fact that he cannot understand, find or sing [the piece], and then boast
that they have created a composition that not a single musician was able
to find, solve or sing’.76 So with their deliberately impenetrable obscur-
ities some simply want to confirm their superiority over the singers –
and in the end, they are even proud that no one can crack the code of
their invention. Several of the critical points Zacconi raises in his Canoni
musicali echo topics that had already been raised by other theorists in
earlier decades and centuries. As I will show on the following pages,
Zacconi’s nuanced evaluation of the composer’s motivation to write
riddles, but also the consequences thereof for the singer and the listener,
receives a great deal of attention in various treatises from the
Renaissance.
Critical voices
On obscurity, errors and youthful indiscretion

The whole debate between the advocates and the opponents of musical
riddles evolves from the question of whether these pieces are thought of as
being either artful or artificial. For some, as we have just seen, they are the
summit of musical refinement and the essence of music tout court, for
74
A similar remark already occurs in bk. 1, ch. 19, where he condemns a mensuration canon with
inversion – accompanied by the vague inscription ‘Cerca ben quanto tu sai, che pur al fine mi
trovarai’ – with the argument that the composer had wanted to show his noble and cunning
talent (‘per mostrare il suo nobile e furbito ingegno’; fol. 10v).
75
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, fol. 53v (bk. 1, ch. 60).
76
Ibid.: ‘per ridurre questo e quel cantore . . . di non saperli trovare, ne cantare per poi andar
altiero d’haver portato in campo una compositione, che niun musico, l’ha saputa trovare,
risolvere, ne cantare’.
Critical voices 221
others they are highly problematic for a variety of reasons.77 Around the
end of the fifteenth century, the German composer and theorist Adam von
Fulda is one of the first to devote attention to the disadvantages of
obscurity. In his Musica, written around 1490, he takes an unequivocal
stand on the topic. Part II, chapter 9 targets the practice of enigmatic
inscriptions as follows:
Therefore, since it has become a very frequent practice among composers to
concoct canonic songs, in which some consider the entire art to be done up as if
in a knot, and fools trust fools, of whom most, wishing to put others in the shade,
bring so much darkness on themselves that even at midday they have hardly one
eye to see with: for they use other people’s vowels and non-musical terms, and
waste a long time on a thing of small benefit, or expound a tiny conceit in many
(metrical) verses instead of a canon.78
Fulda criticises composers who waste their time trying to come up with a
fancy inscription that catches the essence of the piece in a veiled way. Not
only does he confirm that this practice was considered a vehicle to excel
and outclass their colleagues – ‘obscurare’ is used here in the sense of
overshadowing – but he also makes it clear that the obfuscation of music is
a useless, unfruitful occupation that does more harm than good, not least
to its inventor. Adam tackles the unnecessary complexity that surrounds
musical riddles. In his eyes, the small benefit of the result is incommensur-
ate with the time the composer has invested in conceiving and working out
his idea. As we shall see below, this ‘much ado about nothing’ argument
runs like a golden thread through many complaints about musical intrica-
cies in general and riddles in particular, where it not only affects the
composer but also the performer and the listener.79 A few chapters later,
77
O. Wiener, ‘On the Discrepant Role of Canonic Techniques as Reflected in Enlightened
Writings about Music’ in Schiltz and Blackburn (eds.), Canons and Canonic Techniques,
421–43 convincingly shows that this debate even continues throughout the eighteenth century.
78
Adam von Fulda, Musica, Part II, ch. 9: ‘Cum itaque inter componistas in usum maximum
devenerit, canonicas conficere cantilenas, in quibus nonnulli totam artem quasi in nodo
restrictam esse putant, et fatui fatuis credunt, quorum plurimi, cum alios obscurare volunt, se
ipsos ita obumbrant, ut vix meridie lusci videant ipsi: nam alienis utuntur vocalibus [or rather
‘vocabulis’?] ac terminis non musicalibus, et in re non magni fructus longum conterunt tempus,
aut parvissimam phantasiam multis exponunt metris, canonis loco.’ Translation quoted from
B. J. Blackburn, ‘“Notes secretly fitted together”: Theorists on Enigmatic Canons – and on
Josquin’s Hercules Mass?’ in S. Boorman and A. Zayaruznaya (eds.) “Qui musicam in se habet”:
Essays in Honor of Alejandro E. Planchart (forthcoming). The manuscript of Fulda’s treatise
was burnt in 1870, but the text had already been printed in Martin Gerbert’s Scriptores
ecclesiastici de musica sacra in 1784.
79
On a more general note, it should be added here that especially towards the end of the fifteenth
century, there was a tendency to underline the difficulty of polyphony as an argument to
Adam continues ventilating his criticism of enigmatic modes of expression.

In Part II, chapter 12 of his Musica, he writes the following:
But if the composer should labour over canonic songs, let him seek understanding
more than obscurity, and let him not cease to sing the things that subtlety has
achieved with mighty mind; for it makes no difference whether a canon be in verse
or prose, since it is a rule; for many, in their love of obscurity, are objects of
mockery to the experts, since obscurity without error is rare.80
Here again, Adam advises composers to express themselves as intelligibly

as possible in their verbal canons. In his opinion, a deliberate search for
obscuritas should not only give rise to ridicule, but it often camouflages a
composer’s lack of knowledge. For Adam, obscurity is a sign of ignorance,
not of ingenuity; it is to be condemned rather than admired. As far as
I know, the argument of obscurity as a source of error cannot be found in
any other music treatise of the Renaissance; nor does Adam give concrete
examples. However, a similar idea resonates in a letter the Bolognese
musician Giovanni Spataro wrote to Marc’Antonio Cavazzoni on
10 November 1524.81 The object of Spataro’s critique is no less a piece
than Willaert’s famous and much-discussed Quid non ebrietas, of which
the text is based on Horace’s Epistulae, I.5.82 As is well known, the work
is an important witness to the development of equal temperament, as it
makes accessible all major and minor chords in the circle of fifths.83
eliminate it from the school curriculum. See, for example, the critique in the Epistolae longiores
(1494) of the humanist schoolmaster Paulus Niavis (Paul Schneevogel), discussed in Wegman,
The Crisis of Music in Early Modern Europe, 10–13: ‘Certainly I do not deny that I care little for
this polyphony; for it involves much labor, but [yields] little or no profit. What the usefulness of
this business may be, you will equally recognize’ (‘Neque certe inficior appetitus ad concentum
hunc parvus mihi est; nam multum laboris habet, lucri vero parum aut nihil. Que autem eius rei
utilitas sit, pariter cognosces’; text and translation quoted on p. 11).
80
‘Si vero componens canonicis laborat cantilenis, plus intellectum quam obscuritatem quaerat,
neve subtilitatis grandi ingenio parta cantare desinat; nil enim differt, si canon metricus sive
prosaicus sit, quia regula est; multi enim dum obscuritatem amant, peritis derisui sunt, quia
rara obscuritas sine errore.’
81
A Correspondence, letter no. 14, 318–20 (Italian) and 321–2 (translation).
82
See also Ch. 2 above.
83
See J. S. Levitan, ‘Adrian Willaert’s Famous Duo Quidnam ebrietas’, TVNM, 15 (1938–9), 166–
233; E. E. Lowinsky, ‘Adrian Willaert’s Chromatic “Duo” Reexamined’, Tijdschrift voor
Muziekwetenschap, 18 (1956–9), 1–36. Reprinted in Lowinsky, Music in the Culture of the
Renaissance and Other Essays, ed. B. J. Blackburn, 2 vols. (University of Chicago Press, 1989),
vol. II, 681–98; M. Bent, ‘Diatonic Ficta’, EMH, 4 (1984), 1–48 at 16–20; P. Urquhart, ‘Canon,
Partial Signatures, and Musica ficta in Works by Josquin DesPrez and his Contemporaries’,
PhD thesis, Harvard University (1988), 125ff.; R. Wibberley, ‘Quid non ebrietas dissignat?
Willaert’s Didactic Demonstration of Syntonic Tuning’, Music Theory Online, 10 (2004): http://
mto.societymusictheory.org/issues/mto.04.10.1/mto.04.10.1.wibberley1.html.
Critical voices 223
Whereas Cavazzoni praises the composition as being most ingenious,

Spataro has a different opinion. He thinks Willaert was too brave and bold
(‘tropo animoso et audace’) and gives the following explanation: ‘I don’t
think it praiseworthy to seek obscure ways to achieve something that
doesn’t even come out perfect, when an easy way exists that leads to
perfection.’84 More precisely, Spataro’s objection concerns Willaert’s use
of accidentals, which according to him causes the piece to overstep the
perfect octave at the end by one comma, thus producing a dissonant
interval, which is ‘clearly noticable as such’ (clara al senso de lo audito).85
Here again, a theorist takes the view that the more obscurity a composer
integrates in his work, the greater the chance that problems and mistakes
will arise.86
After Quid non ebrietas, it seems as if Willaert lost interest in daring
harmonic experiments.87 He made that enigmatic and highly controversial
piece when he was young. He must have considered it a springboard to
establish himself as a composer who was well informed about the recent
musical developments of his time.88 Interestingly, in his Musica Adam von
Fulda concedes that he himself is guilty of having written obscurities at a
young age, even though he was to condemn them later: ‘But, to tell the
84
Condensed translation, A Correspondence, 321. The original reads: ‘A me pare che Adriano sia
stato tropo animoso et audace, et etiam dico che a me non pare che uno artefice merita laude
quando el pò conducere una opera a la sua perfectione et integrità per vie facile et cognite, et
che va cercando vie et modi obscuri per li quali l’opera non pò pervenire al perfecto fine de la
sua integrità, sì che bisogna che resti superflua o diminuta’ (p. 318).
85
Ibid., 318–19: ‘Messer Adriano . . . ha pervertito la mera integrità, clara, cognita et apparente,
cadente in la dupla sonorità constituta tra lychanos hypaton et nete synemenon, scilicet tra
D grave et D acuto.’
86
However, Spataro recognised that Willaert was using the Aristoxenian temperament in practice,
whereas he was speaking in Pythagorean terms.
87
If we accept Willaert’s authorship of Qui boyt et ne reboyt, a canon in Titian’s Bacchanal of the
Andrians, painted for the studiolo of Alfonso d’Este, this would be a slightly later piece with an
experimental touch.
88
See also T. Shephard, ‘Finding Fame: Fashioning Adrian Willaert c. 1518’, JAF, 4 (2012), 12–35.
Zarlino is probably referring to this piece when in bk. 4, ch. 17 he mentions the possibility of
presenting music as a joke: ‘Sometimes musicians, not simply out of necessity but rather as a
joke and a caprice, or perhaps they want, so to speak, to entangle the brain of singers, transpose
the modes further up or down by a whole tone or another interval, using not only chromatic
but also enharmonic notes in order to be able, when necessary, to transpose conveniently the
whole tones and semitones to the places indicated by the proper form of the mode’ (‘Ma perche
alle volte li Musici, non gia per necessità: ma più presto per burla, & per capriccio; o forse per
volere intricare il cervello (dirò cosi) alli Cantanti, sogliono trasportare li Modi più verso
l’acuto, overo verso il grave per un Tuono, o per altro intervallo; adoperando non solamente le
chorde Chromatiche: ma anco le Enarmoniche’). Translation quoted from G. Zarlino, On the
Modes: Part Four of Le Istitutioni harmoniche, 1558, trans. V. Cohen, ed. C. V. Palisca (New
Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983), 53.
truth, I myself have used it, revealing more my ignorance than teaching
anything of the art; however, it is a sign of a wretched intellect to use things
found and not those yet to be found.’89 We do not know which of his
composition(s) he refers to, but in any case it sounds as if he believes that
youth should excuse his ‘mistake’. With this statement, which goes radic-
ally against Priscian’s well-known dictum ‘quanto iuniores, tanto perspi-
caciores’, Adam expresses his conviction that obscurity is an indication of a
poor mind, the attempt of a neophyte rather than a sign of excellence.
Interestingly, we can find similar apologies for ‘youthful indiscretion’ by
musicians in various treatises and letters from the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries. Giovanni Spataro, for instance, claims to have written two larger
enigmatic works when he was young: the Missa de la tradictora and the
Missa de la pera.90 Both masses are lost, but from the discussion in several
letters, it appears that both were full of proportional and notational
complexities. In the case of the Missa de la tradictora, Spataro tells Del
Lago he is no longer able to explain all the details of the canons, since ‘they
were written so long ago, when I was almost a youth, that I can hardly
understand them myself’.91 We are made to believe that he simply forgot
the exact meaning of some of the inscriptions. However, this alleged
forgetfulness does not hinder him from sending his colleague the
written-out resolutions of the enigmatic tenors. Spataro’s comment on
the Missa de la pera, composed for his then patron Hermes Bentivoglio
(who bore a pear in his coat of arms), is even more interesting. Despite
repeated requests from Del Lago and Aaron, Spataro is reluctant to send
them the mass not only because of its extreme length (‘prolixità et long-
itudine’), but also ‘because it didn’t seem worthy of being shown to learned
men (having been composed in my youth, when the brain is sometimes far
from the head, and rather as a caprice than to conform to any order)’.92
Even if Spataro’s hesitation to make his work known may be deemed a case
89
‘Sed et ego ipse hac usus sum, ut verum loquar, plus ignorantiam meam indicans, quam artis
quid informans; miserrimi tamen ingenii esse praedicatur, qui utitur inventis, et non
inveniendis.’
90
A Correspondence, letters nos. 3 (Spataro to Del Lago, 20 July 1520) and 18 (Spataro to Del
Lago, 25 January 1529).
91
Ibid., letter no. 3, 217: ‘d[a] me sino al tempo de la mia quasi adoles[c]entia facte, le quale a me
al presente son più inc[o]gnite et laboriose circa la sua inteligentia che non erano in quello
tempo’.
92
Ibid., letter no. 20, 350: ‘perché in tale missa non me pare essere cosa digna da pervenire a lo
examino de alcuno homo docto, per la sua quasi inordinata progressione, et perché da me fu
composita nel tempo de la mia età giovenile, ne la quale età el cervello de l’homo tale volta è
lontano dal capo, et più presto per una bizaria che per sequitare et tenire ordine’.
Critical voices 225
of false modesty, it is nevertheless interesting to see that he ascribes the

work’s obscurities and ‘bizaria’ to the extravagance of his youthful ambi-
tion. It also suggests he no longer needed such capriciously complex
inventions, by way of which he could show off his wit, when he got older,
i.e. after he was appointed a singer (and later maestro de canto) at San
Petronio of his native town Bologna.
Even Thomas Morley, at the end of the sixteenth century, uses his
‘tender age’ as an exculpation for having composed a puzzling four-part
canon in the form of a cross that is depicted in his Plaine and Easie
Introduction to Practicall Musicke.93 Quoting the end of Vergil’s Georgics
(4.565), in which the poet looks back on his work, Morley – or an
unknown music master – claims to have been ‘audax iuventa’ (‘bold in
his youth’) when he made this composition by way of personal training:
‘Many other Canons there bee with aenigmaticall wordes set by them,
which not onlie strangers have used, but also many Englishmen, and I
my selfe (being as your Maro saieth audax iuventa) for exercises did make
this crosse without any cliffes’.94 The cross is accompanied by the following
instruction: ‘Within this crosse here may you find, Foure parts in two be
sure of this: But first seeke out to know my mind, Or els this Cannon you
may misse.’ To be sure, Morley reveals that the work is for four voices that
are to be deduced from two notated parts, but apart from that, the reader is
left in the dark. Morley is clearly aware of this shortcoming and advises his
recipients to keep trying; otherwise they will not arrive at the correct
solution. But then he confesses that the inscription ‘is indeed so obscure
that no man without the Resolution wil find out how it may be sung’,
which is why he prints the four voices on the next page.95
In the light of this opaqueness, it is worth noting that in the second part
of his treatise, Morley had vehemently complained about compositions
that lack clear indications. He especially deplores the disproportion
between the singer’s efforts and the aural result of a canon: these compos-
itions cause ‘divers good Musicians sitte a whole daie, to find out the
following part of a Canon: which being founde (it might bee) was scant
worth the hearing’. Morley highlights those works that are ‘[here in
England] for the most part without anie signal at al, where and when to
93
Thomas Morley, A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (London, 1597), 174
(Part III). However, in their forthcoming new edition of Morley’s treatise, John Milsom and
Jessie Ann Owens discuss whether this canon was composed by Morley himself or by an
unknown ‘Master’, i.e. music teacher (private communication with John Milsom, 3 May 2014).
94 95
Ibid. For the solution of this riddle, see Ch. 4.
begin the following part’.96 This piece in the form of a cross clearly is no
exception, as it equally fails to give the necessary information. But Morley –
if he is indeed the composer – explains he made it primarily for himself,
probably as a test case to try out different kinds of transformations, such as
transposition, retrograde inversion and rhythmic manipulation of a writ-
ten line via techniques of substitution.
‘Prout ipse voluerit’: Pietro Aaron on the randomness of

obscurity and clarity
Morley’s confession that the cross riddle was meant as a personal exercise
and that the hints provided are so obscure that nobody can work out the
solution, leads us to the question of the composer’s intention. Pietro Aaron
put the topic firmly on the agenda. Contrary to the majority of riddle
advocates, Aaron was not at all convinced about the composers’ ‘honour-
able intentions’ when presenting their enigmas. Were these enigmas
merely meant to ‘sharpen the intellect’ (to paraphrase Ramis’s Musica
practica) or is there more at stake? Should composers only win praise for
their clever inventions or should their motivation be weighed more critic-
ally? A pivotal testimony is book 2, chapter 15 of Aaron’s Libri tres de
institutione harmonica (Bologna, 1516). It is important to take into
account the context of his statements on enigmatic inscriptions: they are
embedded in a lengthy discussion on modus, tempus and prolatio. As we
shall see below, Aaron was neither the first nor the last to talk about riddles
in this context. In the preceding centuries Goscalchus, Burtius and Ramis
had already introduced their discussion of canones in a discourse on the
complexities of mensural notation, and many theorists were to follow suit.
More precisely, verbal rules are considered an extension and application of
the mensural system. They not only can indicate mensural changes – i.e.
replace and be used as an alternative for musical signs – but via them the
composer can also hint at other kinds of transformations that cannot be
expressed in musical notation, only in words.
In chapter 15, Aaron picks up the idea about the composer’s intention –
the ‘voluntas compositoris’ – as it was already expressed in Tinctoris’s and
Ramis’s definitions of canon, but he subjects it to a critical test. More
96
Morley, A Plaine and Easie Introduction, 104. See also p. 172 in the context of canons, where he
adds that composers like to add ‘some darke words by them, signifiyng obscurely how they are
to be found out’. His remark is followed by the example of the first Agnus Dei from Josquin’s
Missa Fortuna desperata.
Critical voices 227
precisely, he believes that the composer sometimes acts arbitrarily when it

comes to choosing inscriptions. Not only does the theorist complain about
their overwhelming proliferation, but he also questions the composer’s
purposes. Indeed, according to Aaron, various problems can occur. First
of all, the composer can reveal or hide his intention at will, by expressing
himself sometimes in a clear, sometimes in a complex way (‘Suam inten-
tionem patefaciat, et cum velit occultet, utque aliquando se facilem ali-
quando etiam difficilem praebeat’). Apart from this randomness, Aaron
doubts whether a composer is always aware of his intention. He illustrates
his point with two examples Josquin apparently liked to use: ‘Omnia
probate, quod bonum est tenete’ (‘Prove all things; hold fast that which
is good’; 1 Thessalonians 5:21) and ‘Qui quaerit, invenit’ (‘He that seeketh,
findeth’; Luke 11:10).97 Given Aaron’s admiration for Josquin, this state-
ment is rather unusual. Since both mottoes are indeed very general and do
not contain any clear indications whatsoever, Aaron feels obliged to
conclude that the vagueness must have been introduced on purpose: ‘From
these canons one can gather how abstruse and shrouded in deep obscurity
he wanted his idea to be.’98 Finally, Aaron wonders whether Josquin
understood himself; if so, he surely did not wish that others could be able
to understand him.99 It seems that in these cases obscuritas was carried to
the extreme, which must have caused the theorist’s vehement reaction.
Aaron’s objections to deliberate secretiveness remind us of a statement
by Giovanni Antonio Flaminio, his translator, found near the end of the
97
The motto ‘Qui quaerit, invenit’ cannot be found in the surviving compositions by Josquin.
His Recordans de my segnora (an early setting of a monophonic song) survives in Vatican CG
XIII, 27 and – as a textless piece – in Florence 178 with the inscription ‘Omnia autem probate,
quod bonum est tenete’.
98
Aaron, Libri tres, fol. 25v: ‘Ex his canonibus colligi potest, quam abstursum [abstrusum], atque
altis immersum tenebris consilium suum esse voluerit.’ This also reminds one of the anecdote
in Giovan Tomaso Cimello’s manuscript treatise about a singer who did not understand an
inscription in Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales (see above, Ch. 2).
99
Ibid.: ‘In quibus quidem Cantilenis nescio, an seipsum Iosquinus intellexerit . . . si se ipse
intellexerit, nolluisse illum se ab aliis intelligi.’ This accusation sounds very much like what
Julius Caesar Scaliger, in his Poetices libri septem (Lyon, 1561), was to write about the Roman
poet and satirist Persius: ‘Although he wanted the things he wrote to be read, he did not want
what was read to be understood’ (‘Qui quum legi vellet quae scripsisset, intelligi noluit quae
legerentur’; p. 323). Furthermore, Scaliger labels him as ‘a boaster of frantic erudition’
(‘ostentator febriculosae eruditionis’; Ibid.). On Glarean’s critique of ostentatio ingenii, see
below. Aaron’s remark also reminds us of Quintilian’s evaluation of rhetoricians using
obscurity ‘as though it was enough that they should themselves know what they mean, they
regard people’s concern in the matter as of no importance’ (‘Alii brevitatem aemulati
necessaria quoque orationi subtrahunt verba, et, velut satis sit scire ipsos quid dicere velint,
quantum ad alios pertineat nihili putant’; Institutio oratoria, VIII.2.19).
preface to the first book of the Libri tres de institutione harmonica. There,
Flaminio reports that it was one of Aaron’s main intentions to reveal ‘many
secret chambers of the art’ (‘plurima ex intimis artis penetralibus’), whereas
the musicians of his time were accustomed to keeping these back and
hiding the secrets of the art in darkness (‘solere nostri temporis musicos
talia supprimere, et . . . artis arcana in occulto latere’).100 Aaron thus not
only confirms that many composers cloaked their work in obscurity
because they wanted to protect this knowledge from the uninitiated, but
he also must have considered himself the decipherer of their enigmas for
the benefit of his readers.
Aaron does not dwell on problematic verbal canons, but decides to go
on with inscriptions that are more easily intelligible.101 He mentions both
purely technical (e.g. ‘per Diatessaron’) and encrypted inscriptions. In the
case of technical instructions, whose sense should be taken literally, he
appreciates that the composer made his intention clear without any ambi-
guity (‘compositor ipse sublata omni ambiguitate suam intentionem aper-
tam fecerit’), as he indicates unequivocally how he wants the music to be
sung, i.e. how the unwritten voice should be derived from the notated one.
Then follow some mottoes that ‘because of the words of the language may
seem strange and rather obscure to most people’ (‘propter vocabula linguae
plerisque ignotae obscuriores videntur’). However, as Aaron tries to con-
vince us, they are not so difficult to understand. For example, an instruc-
tion can tell us that a voice should first sing the melody as it is written, and
then sing everything backwards.102 He also brings in biblical quotations
such as ‘Dum lucem habetis credite in lucem’ (‘Whilst you have the light,
believe in the light’; John 12:36) to indicate that the black notes should be
sung as white,103 and ‘Clama ne cesses’ (‘Cry, cease not’; Isaiah 58:1) for
singing without rests. With terms like ‘rectus ordo’ and ‘conversus ordo’,
Aaron draws attention to the riddle’s inherent tension – or should we say
conscious discrepancy? – between what is written and how it should
eventually be sung. Indeed, because the riddle presents the music in an
encoded form, it cannot be performed the way it is written and calls for the
100
My sincere thanks to Bonnie Blackburn for pointing out the importance of this passage in
Flaminio’s preface for the interpretation of Aaron’s statements in bk. 2, ch. 15.
101
Aaron, Libri tres, fol. 25v: ‘Multi contra inveniuntur, qui se faciles praebeant, et compositoris
intentionem tractabilem habeant.’
102
Ibid., fol. 26r: ‘aliqua pars Cantilenae recto ordine, sicut se ostendit, canatur, sed postmodum,
ut per easdem notas converso ordine gradiatur’. He does not give a concrete example.
103
Ibid.: ‘Hic etiam non difficulter deprehendetur, compositorem voluisse nigras explodi, et albas
tantum cani.’
Critical voices 229
active participation of the performer. The singer first needs to interpret the
relationship between the verbal instruction and the melody before he can
transform it melodically and/or rhythmically according to the composer’s
intention.104
It is interesting to take a closer look at Aaron’s terminology for distin-
guishing inscriptions whose meaning is either obscure or obvious. He
contrasts ‘difficilis’ and ‘nodosus’ (knotty) with words such as ‘apertus’,
‘expositus’, ‘tractabilis’ and ‘sublata omni ambiguitate’, which all suggest an
unequivocal understanding of the motto. It must be said, however, that it is
not entirely clear what Aaron’s criteria are for placing inscriptions in either
of those categories.105 Evidently, the line between obscurity and clarity is
not only thin, but also relative, as the distinction is closely linked with the
background, experience and talent of the individual recipient. In fact, as we
have seen above, the delicate tension between perspicuitas and obscuritas is
quintessential for riddles in general: they should have enough darkness in
order to be attractive, but contain sufficient information to be understood.
Although Aaron’s line of reasoning leaves no doubt that he condemns
composers playing arbitrarily with obscuring or revealing their intention,
at the end of chapter 15 he reaches a milder conclusion and advises the
reader as follows: ‘If you, however, should encounter difficult and knotty
canons, bear it with serenity. For the composer has the right to use an easy
or a difficult, an ordinary or an unusual manner . . . as he pleases.’106
104
In his Musica practica, Ramis de Pareia had already commented upon the relationship between
the verbal rubric and the compositional technique it refers to. As he puts it, the verbal
inscription changes the way of proceeding (‘Mutatur etiam canone modus procedendi’), i.e. it
indicates which musical operation the singer has to perform. He illustrates this with the tenor
of Busnoys’s J’ay pris amours, which is accompanied by a motto that indicates inversion:
‘Antiphrasis tenorizat ipos dum epitonzizat.’ For an explanation, see Blackburn and Holford-
Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four Grievances’, 170. Furthermore, we read that an inscription can change
the locus (i.e. indicate transposition) and the reading direction in the case of retrograde (per
contrarium).
105
In ch. 19, Aaron comes back once more to canonic inscriptions. Apart from explaining the
etymology of canon (‘Nam graece canon regula dicitur’), he limits himself to mottoes that
indicate diminution and augmentation. Here again, he stresses that a composer can add an
inscription to indicate his intention, e.g. when the note values of the written melody should be
diminished or augmented (‘Hac de causa opus quidem est, ut canonem apponat ipse
compositor, per quem id quod intendit, indicet. Igitur per canonem ipsum monebit, ut
antedictae notae minuantur idest ut maxima in longam traseat. Longa in brevem. Brevis in
semibrevem. Semibrevis in minimam. Contrario etiam ordine volet, ut ex minimis facias
semibreves. De semibrevibus breves. De brevibus longas. De longis maximas’).
106
Ibid., fol. 26r: ‘Quod si quando in Canones difficiles incideris, atque nodosos aequo animo ferre
debebis, quia componenti permissum est modo facili, atque difficili, ordinario, et non
ordinario . . . prout ipse voluerit, uti.’ Translation quoted from Lowinsky, ‘The Goddess
Fortuna in Music’, 63.
Sebald Heyden and the search for clarity

Another theorist who was very much concerned with the ideal of clarity
was Sebald Heyden. As with Aaron, in his De arte canendi (Nuremberg,
1540) Heyden frames his thoughts in a discussion of the complexities of
the mensural system.107 His project should not only be situated against the
didactic needs of his position as rector at the famous Nuremberg school of
St Sebald; it also reflects the waning knowledge of mensural imbroglios that
increasingly dominates the sixteenth century.108 In the preface to the Liber
secundus, the theorist complains about the proliferation of signs and
canons in his own day and makes a plea for the uniform tactus theory –
the ‘unica Tactuum aequabilitas’ (p. 110) – instead. Indeed, as he writes in
the preface, his aim is to reform the way his contemporaries wrote signs in
their compositions. In the interest of comprehensibility and teachability,
Heyden was concerned with the simplicity of music’s visual appearance
and wanted to avoid fussy-looking notation.109 He has recourse to a
famous image of Classical mythology in order to make his point: the signs
and canons resemble an impenetrable and monstrous labyrinth (‘monstro-
sos signorum ac Canonum Labyrinthos’) that leads to confusion (‘vertigo’)
among the componistae. Heyden thus advocates the establishment of clear
rules – which he also happens to designate ‘canon’ – and demonstrates
these with works of Josquin, Brumel, Obrecht, Isaac and others.
Heyden revisits this proposal at the beginning of chapter 7, which is
dedicated to various signs and their resolution (‘variorum Signorum reso-
lutio’). Here again, the need for ‘very definite rules’ (‘certissimae regulae’) –
comparable with the ‘surest threads of Medea’ (‘fidissima Medeae fila’) – is
announced, as they can guide the musician through the clutter of signs.110
The largest part of this chapter consists of a resolution of works by Josquin,
107
Sebald Heyden, De arte canendi (Nuremberg, 1540), trans. and transcribed C. A. Miller,
Musicological Studies and Documents, 26 (n.p.: American Institute of Musicology, 1972).
108
See also Ch. 2.
109
It is also in this context that we should understand Ruth DeFord’s suggestive hypothesis that it
was Heyden himself who had introduced some of the notational complexities in Isaac’s three-
volume Choralis Constantinus (Nuremberg: Formschneider, 1550–5). In her article ‘Who
Devised the Proportional Notation in Isaac’s Choralis Constantinus?’ in D. Burn and S. Gasch
(eds.), Heinrich Isaac and Polyphony for the Proper of the Mass in the Late Middle Ages and
Renaissance (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 166–213, she surmises that Heyden himself renotated
some of Isaac’s works, thereby incorporating unusual signs, for didactic purposes.
110
‘Quibus velut ducibus, quantumlibet variantium inter se signorum labyrinthos expedite
perambulent’ (p. 110). It is interesting to note that Heyden uses the metaphor of the Labyrinth
twice in a similar context. Why he mentions Medea instead of Ariadne is not clear to me and
might merely be an oversight.
Critical voices 231
La Rue, Ghiselin, Ockeghem and de Orto.111 It is here that Heyden

provides his famous definition of a resolutio as ‘a transcription of more
abstruse note values into a more common form’ (‘abstrusioris Notularum
valoris, in vulgatiorem aliquam formam, transcriptio’), i.e. a resolved
version of a complex voice, which is basically a renotation of a part that
is conceptually and/or notationally intractable.112 The resolutio not only
offers a visual pendant, but is also the actual proof of the singer’s mental
process. It ‘translates’ the encrypted notation into conventional notation.
In this chapter of Heyden’s treatise everything is about rules and ways to
simplify notational complexities and make them more transparent. Shortly
before the end of the chapter and almost by way of conclusion, he reminds
us that ‘no art can exist which is not bound by its own clearly established
rules’.113 Against this background, the short paragraph on ‘Canones aenig-
matici’ is more than an innocent addition. Indeed, it reads more like a
warning postscript, which is worth quoting in full: ‘No definite rule can be
given about enigmatic canons which are frequently added to songs, except
to observe the relative significance of the inscriptions, for they generally
assume a subject’s nature, usage, similitude or contrariety of meaning.’114
Heyden not only stresses the canon’s indispensable role in unlocking the
key of the puzzle, but he also lists the possible relationships between the
meaning of the inscription, the technique it refers to, the notation, and its
consequences for the realisation. He then illustrates his point with some
examples: ‘Thus cancrisare means to move in retrograde motion. Noctem
in diem vertere means to sing as white the notes that are written black, and
misericordia et veritas sibi obviasse means that a melody should be sung
normally in one voice part while its retrograde version is sung in
another.’115
111
Heyden calls these ‘very difficult examples of songs’ (‘difficillima exempla Cantilenarum’).
Most of these pieces are taken from masses. On Heyden’s use of exempla, see C. C. Judd,
Reading Renaissance Music Theory: Hearing with the Eyes, Cambridge Studies in Music Theory
and Analysis, 14 (Cambridge University Press, 2000), esp. 82–114.
112
On this topic, see also Haar, ‘Josquin as Interpreted by a Mid-Sixteenth-Century German
Musician’.
113
Heyden, De arte canendi, 135: ‘Artem dici nullam posse, quae non suis certis ac generalibus
regulis contineatur.’
114
Ibid.: ‘De Canonibus aenigmaticis, qui plaerunque cantibus adscribi solent, nulla certa regula
dari potest: praeterquam ut sententiarum adscriptarum formulae observentur, quod fere a
rerum natura, usu, simili, contrario, et caetera usurpantur.’
115
Ibid.: ‘Ita cancrisare, retrogradi est. Noctem in diem vertere, est albas notulas canere, quae
nigrae scribuntur. Misericordiam et veritatem sibi obviasse, est eundem cantum ab hoc recte,
ab altero retrogrado ordine concini debere et caetera.’
In the aftermath of Heyden: ‘na certan rewill may be gevin’, or

the uniqueness of riddles and the invention of inscriptions
Heyden’s De arte canendi had a tremendous influence on music theory in
Germany and beyond. Traces of his thoughts can be found in several
writings from the second half of the sixteenth century. His didactic con-
cerns when it comes to the simplification of mensural notation in general
and the use of mensuration and proportion signs in particular are echoed
in Adrian Petit Coclico’s Compendium musices (Nuremberg, 1552) among
other places. At the beginning of a chapter on the use of prolation, the
Flemish theorist and composer tackles the puzzling effect of these signs on
students:
I have wanted something here planned for adolescents so that they will not stick to
the books of musician-mathematicians, who have contrived an infinite number of
other signs and have turned away the souls of adolescents from the true use of
music, making something clear in itself obscure, as when they write so many things
about proportions of minor inequality . . .116
The proliferation of signs distracts the student’s attention from the music
itself, as they obfuscate matters instead of clarifying them. Coclico’s peda-
gogical methods and the need for transparency that goes with it also find
expression in the first chapter of his treatise, in which he complains about
the generation of ‘Mathematici’, composers who cloud their music with a
multitude of signs that needlessly complicate music:
Even if they understand the force of this art and also compose, they do not honor
the smoothness and sweetness of song. What is worse, when they hope to spread
their invented art widely and make it more outstanding, they rather defile and
obscure it. In teaching precepts and speculation they have specialised excessively
and, in accumulating a multitude of symbols and other things, they have intro-
duced many difficulties.117
116
Coclico, Compendium, sig. Gijr: ‘Hic consultum duxi admonere adolescentes, ne diu
inhaereant libris Mathematicorum Musicorum, qui alia infinita signa excogitarunt, et animos
adolescentum à uero Musices usu abalienarunt, rem per se quidem claram obscuram
reddentes, ut cum multa scribunt de proportionibus minoris inaequalitatis.’ Translation
quoted from Adrian Petit Coclico, Musical Compendium (Compendium musices), trans.
A. Seay, Colorado College Music Press Translations, 5 (Colorado Springs, CO, 1973), 18.
117
Coclico, Compendium, sig. Biiijr: ‘Nam etsi huius artis vim intelligunt, et etiam componunt,
non tamen ornant suavitatem, et dulcedinem cantus, et quod peius est, cum vellent artem
inventam latius propagare, et illustriorem reddere, denigrarunt eam potius, et obscurarunt. In
docendis enim praeceptis et speculatione nimis diu manent, et multitudine signorum, et alijs
rebus accumulandis, multas difficultates afferunt, et diu atque multum disceptantes, nunquam
ad veram canendi rationem perveniunt.’ According to Coclico, ‘Iohannes Geyslin, Iohannes
Critical voices 233
In Coclico’s opinion, composers such as Busnoys, Du Fay and Caron were

concerned not so much about the aural result – the ‘suavitas’ and ‘dul-
cedo’ – of their music, but rather about its mathematical foundations. For
him, difficulty and delight are diametrically opposed. Instead of bringing
clarity, these works only complicate matters – note Coclico’s use of the
terms ‘nigrare’ and ‘obscurare’. Moreover, instead of propagating the art of
music and making it more accessible and renowned (‘illustrior’), these
composers instead encourage specialisation and secrecy, restricting their
music only to insiders. I shall come back to similar arguments about the
alleged incompatibility of complexity and accessibility in other treatises
below. In any case, for Coclico, only composers of later generations – he
calls them ‘Musici praestantissimi’ and ‘Poëtici’ respectively – were able to
reconcile theory and practice and to produce music that is pleasant to the
ears (‘auribus grata’).118
It is only at the very end of his treatise that Coclico briefly touches upon
enigmatic inscriptions, without, however, passing a clear verdict on them.
He concludes his Compendium musices with a presentation of music for
four and more voices, warning the pueri – to whom the treatise is
addressed – first to study the rest of the book, because if they do not
master music for a smaller number of voices, they will never overcome
larger pieces.119 Most of the concluding exempla are fuga canons, with the
entrance of the comites indicated by signa congruentiae. The very last piece
(sig. Piijv–Piiijr), for eight voices, is slightly more complicated. The inscrip-
tion ‘Per aliam viam reversi sunt in regionem suam’ suggests that four
written voices – each of them marked with a signum congruentiae under
the first and last note – can be turned into eight by way of a retrograde
canon, i.e. with the comes ‘taking the opposite way’.120 The text of the piece
is equally programmatic: ‘Omnis consummationis vidi finem, latum man-
datum tuum nimis. Omnis qui perseveraverit usque in finem, hic salvus
erit’ combines quotations from Psalm 118:96 and Matthew 10:22. By
putting these words into the mouth of the adolescentes, he tells them there
Tinctoris, Franchinus, Dufay, Busnoe, Buchoi, Caronte, et conplures alij’ belong to the
category of the Mathematici.
118
See Coclico’s distinction of the four ‘Musicorum genera’ on sigs. Biijv–Cir of his Compendium
musices.
119
Coclico, Compendium, sig. Oiv: ‘Hoc tamen sciat puer, dum cantus quatuor uocibus
compositus non pausat, et bene compositus est secundum fugas, et species debitas, eum
nonnunquam superare cantilenas 5. 6. 7. octo vocum.’
120
Coclico used the same inscription on sig. Fiv for a retrograde canon at the unison and a
free voice.
is an end to all labour and that those who persevere until the very end will
make progress.
Whereas Coclico picks up the thread of Heyden’s search for clarity when
it comes to the instruction and performance of mensural music, other
theorists brood on the latter’s complaint about the lack of clear rules with
regard to inscriptions. As a matter of fact, many theorists stress the sheer
quantity and variety of verbal canons, whether they are in favour of them
or not.121 Heinrich Faber, in his Ad musicam practicam introductio
(Nuremberg, 1550), starts his chapter ‘De canonibus’ with the same defin-
ition as Ornithoparchus, which as we have seen was also repeated in
Finck’s Practica musica a few years later: ‘Canon est imaginaria praeceptio,
vel ex positis non positam cantilenae partem eliciens, vel argutè cantus
secreta indicans.’122 After a brief presentation of purely technical instruc-
tions comes a paragraph on ‘other canons, which they place near songs in
an enigmatic way’.123 Faber’s examples (‘cancrisat’, ‘Nigra sum sed for-
mosa’ and ‘Misericordia & veritas obviaverunt sibi’) are clearly indebted to
Heyden’s De arte canendi,124 and are then followed by compositions by
Josquin (Et in spiritum from the Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae), Moulu (Et
in terra from the Missa duarum facierum) and Senfl (Crux fidelis).125
Although the list of inscriptions is short, Faber adds that the number of
such canons is infinite and that composers keep making new ones daily, a
claim that is confirmed by other theorists.126
121
A very early testimony to the sheer variety of verbal canons is Guillermus de Podio’s Ars
musicorum (Valencia, 1495), bk. 8, ch. 17 (‘De canone’), where he states that they can be varied
endlessly: ‘Hic est igitur modus recte instituendi canones qui secundum hanc formas terminis
artis semper observatis in infinitum variari potest’ (italics mine). Podio then concludes with a
laconic ‘Atque hic est’.
122
Heinrich Faber, Ad musicam practicam introductio (Nuremberg, 1550), sig. R3r. A facsimile of
the treatise was published in the series Editiones latinae, 139 (Vienna, 2005).
123
Ibid., sig. Sr: ‘alios canones, quos aenigmaticè cantionibus apponunt’.
124
Heyden has ‘Noctem in diem vertere’ instead of ‘Nigra sum sed formosa’, but both inscriptions
indicate the same technique.
125
For the Et in spiritum from Josquin’s mass, Faber explains the Tenor’s transformation of the
soggetto cavato as follows: ‘in quo canon significat Tenorem incipere à tergo, atque postea recto
ordine, omissis pausis pro brevibus semibreves cantari debere’, i.e. the tenor is sung retrograde,
then straightforward twice as fast without rests. The Et in terra of Moulu’s Missa duarum
facierum/Missa Alma redemptoris mater carries the inscription ‘Tolle moras placido maneant
suspiria cantu’, which tells the performer to ignore all the rests larger than a minim. On this
verbal canon, which is based on Lucan 1.281 and also survived in the Middle Ages, see also
Blackburn and Holford-Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four Grievances’, 164.
126
Faber, Ad musicam practicam introductio, sig. R4v: ‘Sunt antem isti canones infiniti, neque
possunt omnes hoc loco numerari, cum Musicorum arbitro relictum sit, quotidie novos
effingere.’ See also Finck’s remark that ‘their number is infinite’, because ‘every day new ones
are being devised’ (see above).
Critical voices 235
In the final chapter of his Erotemata musices practicae (Nuremberg,

1563), entitled ‘De Resolutione’, Ambrosius Wilfflingseder also shows an
awareness of the particular rank of the subject.127 The German theorist,
who had become deacon of the Nuremberg school of St Sebald a year
before the publication of his treatise, starts his chapter with a literal
repetition of Heyden’s above-mentioned definition of resolutio, which is
followed by a systematic discussion of mensuration and proportion signs
and a list of ten rules on how to solve these signs.128 As an afterthought to
these remarks, Wilfflingseder adds four compositions by antiqui with
enigmatic inscriptions that hint at ostinato, inversion, retrograde and
singing without rests.129 These works are preceded by an interesting
remark: ‘Now by way of conclusion I will also insert some canonic
examples. Because they exceed the abilities of the children as such and
do not fall within a certain rule, resolutions have been added.’130 Here
again, as with Aaron, Heyden, Faber and many others thereafter, a discus-
sion of enigmatic inscriptions is preceded by an elaboration of the prin-
ciples of mensural notation. Whereas note values, signs and principles such
as augmentation and diminution – no matter how complex they are – are
subject to rules, the uniqueness of each riddle not only prevents them from
being summarised in a clear and comprehensible system, but also makes
them unsuitable for teaching children. It is not least the didactic motiv-
ation of Wilfflingseder’s and Heyden’s books that requires them to stress
the special position of enigmas in their theoretical writings and to offer
them in their resolved status.
The impact of German music theory also shines through – at first glance
unexpectedly – in the treatise of the so-called Scottish Anonymous, which
was compiled around 1580.131 Probably intended as a textbook in one of
127
Ambrosius Wilfflingseder, Erotemata musices practicae (Nuremberg, 1563), ch. 15, p. 349. The
chapter is wrongly headed ‘Caput decimum quartum’ (p. 321), but the mistake is corrected in
the index.
128
Heyden had become rector of the school of St Sebald in 1525 (a position he held until his death
in 1561), where Wilfflingseder served as schoolmaster and cantor from 1550 to 1562.
129
These include portions from Brumel’s Missa Dringhs (like Glarean, Wilffingseder writes Δρίνξ)
and Mouton’s Missa De Beata Virgine, Senfl’s O crux ave and an anonymous work. The
inscriptions indicate ostinato (‘Non fatigabitur transgrediens usque in finem’), inversion (‘Duo
adversi adverse in unum’), retrograde (‘Misericordia & Veritas obviaverunt sibi, Justicia & Pax
osculatae sunt’) and singing without rests (‘Clama ne cesses’) respectively.
130
Wilfflingseder, Erotemata, 349: ‘Nunc pro conclusione adscribam etiam quaedam Exempla
Canonica, quae, cùm per se excedant captum puerorum, neque sub certam aliquam regulam
cadant, resolutiones additae sunt.’
131
Scottish Anonymous (London, British Library, Add. MS 4911). See J. D. Maynard, ‘An
Anonymous Scottish Treatise on Music from the Sixteenth Century, British Museum,
the post-Reformation Sang Schools in Scotland, a large part of the treatise

reproduces statements from writings of (mainly) German origin such as
Ornithoparchus’s Musicae activae micrologus, Heyden’s De arte canendi
and Finck’s Practica musica.132 However, with book 1, chapter 15, entitled
‘Quhat is ane canone?’, the theorist offers a most interesting and original
contribution to the phenomenon of puzzle canons in the second half of the
sixteenth century. Not surprisingly, given Scottish Anonymous’s sources, it
is the concluding chapter of an exposition of the principles of mensural
music. More precisely, the chapter consists of twenty-five brief riddles,
many of which were probably composed by the author himself. Each piece
carries an enigmatic inscription in Latin and is followed by a resolucio.
Techniques include mensuration games, backward reading (retrograde as
well as retrograde canons), inversion, singing without rests, etc. The
exempla are preceded by a brief discussion of the various ways in which
composers can indicate a puzzle (with signs and/or with words):
[A canon] is ane institutione of noittis or wordis direckit be the arbitar of the
compositor schawand be diverss signis the augmentation and diminucion of figuris
and be exemplis of resolutione opynnand the enigmateis of abscuir tenoris and
sangis, quhilkis be diapenthe, diatessaron, and diapason sangis or tenoris up or
down for thair propir placis harmonicall dois deduce and remov. Of the quhilkis
canones na certan rewill may be gevin bot that the formes of the sentence institut
and observit’ (italics mine).133
Like Heyden and Wilfflingseder, the author of the Scottish treatise stresses
the special character of verbal canons, as they fail to fall under a clear rule.
Rather, he writes, each canon has its own legitimacy – every riddle urges
one to observe the meaning of the inscription and the structure of the
music, as both need to be brought together. In his opinion, the large
number of inscriptions circulating can be explained not only by the variety
of compositional techniques and notational possibilities, but also by the
imagination of the composers.134 Because these riddles require knowledge
that exceeds the strictly musical – including as they do literary,
Additional Manuscript 4911, Edition and Commentary’, 2 vols., PhD thesis, Indiana
University (1961).
132
See also J. D. Maynard, ‘Heir Beginnis Countering’, JAMS, 20 (1967), 182–96.
133
Scottish Anonymous, fol. 30r.
134
At the end of the sixteenth century, the range and types of musical puzzles must have become
rather confusing. For example, in his Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke,
Thomas Morley states it would be impossible to list all of them: ‘The Authors use the Canons
in such diversitie that it were folly to thinke to set down al the formes of them, because they be
infinet, and also dailie more and more augmented by divers’ (p. 172).
Critical voices 237
philosophical, cosmological and other themes – such pieces are most useful
for ‘studentis of music desyrand to exers[ise] thair ingyne in speculation of
that art’.135 Near the end of book 1 and after the presentation of twenty-
five enigmatic canons, the theorist thus writes by way of conclusion:
Mony ma[ir] canonis out of numbre be dyveris imaginationis and conceittis of
men men [sic] may be fenzeit be quantateis of nottis, variation of mesuris, rewlis of
canonis and sentence gevin inscriptis, be augmentation and diminucion of figuris
with ane contrarie of understanding wontit and usit to be exercit, quhilkis to the
arbitry and dispocition of musicians with previleig is committit.136
Inscriptions may hint at various rhythmic and melodic transformations of

a written line, which the musician must realise according to his skill and
capacity. In his manuscript treatise, which has a clear didactic undertone,
the Scottish Anonymous also takes up Heyden’s definition of resolutio and
expands on it. In the concluding chapter of book 1, the question ‘Quhat is
resolutione?’ is answered as follows: ‘It is ane opnyng and furth schawin of
obscuir cantionis be canonis institut, quhilkis be way of resolution ar
planlye resolvit or it is ane t[r]anscription of noittis in ane moir v[u]lgar
forme, in the quhilk rycht wyslye it is to be constitut.’ The resolution
deciphers the enigmatic arrangement of a song and transcribes it in a more
conventional form, i.e. in the way it should be performed.
Ostentatio ingenii: Heinrich Glarean on the ‘flaunting of genius’

The question of the composer’s intention, already touched upon in Aaron’s
Libri tres, receives greater attention in the course of the sixteenth century.
What was the composer’s incentive for writing musical riddles at all? Why
did he choose to present the music in an encrypted form? Why did he
decide against a straight, conventional notation? Some theorists had very
clear ideas about this complicated problem. One of them is the Swiss
humanist Heinrich Glarean. In the last chapter of his Dodekachordon
(Basel, 1547), which is about ‘De ingenio Symphonetarum’ (i.e. on the
ingeniousness of the composers of polyphonic music), Glarean offers a
critical reading of the music of his time.
When it comes to mensuration games and/or works with enigmatic
inscriptions, Glarean believes that composers are often guilty of so-called
ostentatio ingenii. This expression, which can be translated as ‘flaunting of
genius’, goes back to rhetorical treatises by Quintilian and Cicero and was
135
Scottish Anonymous, fol. 41r. 136
Ibid., fol. 40v.
also used by humanists such as Erasmus, whom Glarean knew personally

from their time in Basel.137 As we have seen in Chapter 1, the argument of
ostentation turns up frequently in the discourse on obscuritas, and Glarean
must have been familiar with this tradition. According to him, when a
composer is first and foremost intent on showing off his knowledge and
technical skills, he does not care about the listener. Glarean’s critique is
aimed at famous works such as the Agnus Dei II of Josquin’s Missa
L’homme armé super voces musicales and the Agnus Dei from La Rue’s
mass on the same tune – both of them mensuration canons – and many
more compositions.138 He condemns them as follows: ‘Certainly in com-
positions of this kind, to say frankly what I believe, there is more display of
skill than there is enjoyment which truly refreshes the hearing.’139 Instead
of bringing aural pleasure, the composer was more concerned with self-
aggrandisement and flaunting himself. Elsewhere Glarean uses the same
terminology when he complains about the rich variety of complex propor-
tions: ‘They seem to have been invented more for the ostentation of the
talented than for the noble practise of music.’140
Such an attitude is deemed to be deficient, especially in the light of the
persistent focus on text expression that characterises Glarean’s analyses of
individual pieces. In his eyes, the composer’s showing off not only hinders
the comprehensibility of the music, but is arrogant towards the singers
and the public. Glarean is the first theorist to articulate not only the
position of the composer, but also the consequences for the performer
and the effect on the listener when it comes to the critical analysis of
137
Wegman, The Crisis of Music, 178 also traces the question of ostention to an ‘unmistakable
Erasmian sensibility’.
138
This is not to say that Glarean condemns canons tout court. On the contrary, he quotes many
two-part canons – which he calls ‘monads’ – to support his theory of the twelve modes. See
also W. Werbeck, ‘Glareans Vorstellung von modaler Stimmigkeit – Die für das
Dodekachordon bestellten Kompositionen’ in N. Schwindt (ed.), Heinrich Glarean oder: Die
Rettung der Musik aus dem Geist der Antike? Trossinger Jahrbuch für Renaissancemusik, 5
(Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2006), 177–97.
139
Glarean, Dodekachordon, 444: ‘In huiuscemodi sane Symphonijs, ut libere dicam quae sentio,
magis est ingenij ostentatio quam auditum reficiens adeo iucunditas.’ This and following
translations are quoted from Heinrich Glarean, Dodecachordon, trans., transc. and comm.
C. A. Miller, Musicological Studies and Documents, 6, 2 vols. (Dallas, TX: American Institute
of Musicology, 1965), vol. II, at p. 274. The example of Josquin’s Agnus Dei is followed by a
three-part mensuration canon by Ludwig Senfl, which carries the inscription ‘Omne trinum
perfectum’. Glarean remarks mockingly that his fellow countryman could also have chosen a
quotation from the fifth book of the Odyssey, which Vergil had translated as ‘O terque
quaterque beati’ (Aeneid, 1.94).
140
Glarean, Dodekachordon, 227: ‘Magis haec ad ostendanda ingenia, quam ad magnum musices
usum inventa, videantur’ (bk. 3, ch. 12).
Critical voices 239
riddles. As we shall see below, this encompassing approach sets the tone for
later theoretical considerations of the topic.
In book 3, chapter 11 of his Dodekachordon, Glarean deplores the
simultaneous combination of mensuration signs and focuses on the efforts
of the singers attempting to find the solution: ‘Some mix all these together
and annoy the singers with puzzles, so that the problem can be understood
only by trained singers and only through the harmony.’141 He deplores the
fact that such impediments force the singers to constantly watch out for
such traps. At the same time, as he bemoans in book 3, chapter 24 in
connection with the first Agnus Dei of Josquin’s Missa Fortuna desperata,
if singers want to be taken seriously, they have to be able to cope with such
problems: ‘But he has humored singers generally, according to this adage:
Ἀλωπεκιζειν πρòς ἑτέραν ἀλώπεκα, namely, “Be sly as a fox when with a
fox”, as D. Erasmus has learnedly translated it. The unlearned say: “Howl
like the wolves you want to be with”.’142 If a singer does not want to look
like a fool, he has to try to be as clever as the inventor of those intricacies.
As we have seen at the beginning of Chapter 1, it is this very Agnus Dei
from Josquin’s mass that causes Glarean to compare the unpleasant
obscurity of some polyphonic pieces to the most famous riddle of Classical
Antiquity. When discussing the inscription ‘In gradus undenos descendant
multiplicantes, Consimilique modo crescant antipodes uno’ (‘They des-
cend eleven steps multiplying, and in the same manner they increase in the
opposite direction’), he asks the rhetorical question ‘Who but Oedipus
alone understands such riddles of the Sphinx?’143 In book 3, chapter 8,
Glarean had already rejected the use of verbal instructions to indicate
mensural transformations in similar words: ‘Moreover, augmentation
and diminution can occur also in a canon with an inscription or rule,
which musicians of these times use immoderately, often also with inept
141
Ibid., 215: ‘Quidam omnia haec [the mensuration signs] haec miscent, et Cantores Aenigmatis
vexant, ut non nisi ex unica Harmonia, nec nisi ab exercitatis negocium intelligi queat’ (bk. 3,
ch. 11). A little further on he complains about the sheer endless variety of mensuration signs as
follows: ‘But if only we would finally see the end of this diversity!’ (‘Sed utinam videamus
aliquando huius diversitatis finem’).
142
Ibid., 365: ‘Sed morem gessit vulgo cantoribus secundum illud Ἀλωπεκιζειν πρòς ἑτέραν
ἀλώπεκα, id est, Cum Vulpe vulpinare tu quoque invicem, ut erudite vertit D. Erasmus. Quod
vulgus ineruditum inquit Ulula cum lupis, quibus cum esse cupis.’
143
Ibid.: ‘Quis enim intelligat huiusmodi Sphingos Aenigma praeter ipsum Oedippum?’ In his
Practica musica, Finck explains this motto as follows: ‘Hoc est, numera ab illa nota, quae in
Discanto posita est in Ffaut, usque ad undecimum gradum, qui erit Cfaut, in illa claue notam
primam colloca, atque eas notas, quae in Canone descendunt, in resolutione ascendere facias:
Postea quoque notabis unamquamlibet notam multiplicandam esse per quatuor’ (sig. Cciv). As
we have seen in Ch. 2, this Agnus Dei survives with several inscriptions.
and obscure riddles of the Sphinx, which no one except Oedipus under-
stands.’144 As a counter-example, Glarean praises the oeuvre of Jacob
Obrecht, who he claims to have been the music teacher of Erasmus.145
Glarean appreciates Obrecht’s moderation and unpretentiousness, which
he explicitly contrasts with Josquin’s bragging and search for eccentricity:
‘All the monuments of this man [Obrecht] have a certain wonderful
majesty and an innate quality of moderation. He certainly was not such
a lover of the unusual as was Josquin. Indeed, he did display his skill, but
without ostentation, as he may have preferred to await the judgment of the
listener rather then to exalt himself.’146
Although such critique is perfectly in line with Glarean’s ideas about the
ear as ultimate authority, these remarks also come as a surprise. First of all,
as we have seen repeatedly in Chapter 2, Obrecht was especially fond of
complex mensuration games and dark inscriptions. Some sections of his
masses – especially Grecorum, Je ne demande, Fortuna desperata and De
tous bien playne – contain the most bewildering brain-teasers. For Glarean,
Obrecht might have occupied a special position as teacher of Erasmus, but
this credit notwithstanding, more investigation would be needed to know
what part of Obrecht’s oeuvre Glarean was referring to when making this
statement.147 Secondly, whereas in book 3, chapter 24, Glarean had stated
that Josquin – whom he even compares with Vergil – ‘has never brought
forth anything which was not pleasant to the ears’ (‘nihil unquam edidit,
quod non iucundum auribus esset’), he now claims that the princeps
musicorum wrote pieces in which this is not the case. The same goes for
compositions of other luminaries such as Ockeghem, Isaac, La Rue and
Senfl.
Glarean’s nuanced evaluation of all kinds of polyphonic tours de force
should be read against the backdrop of his aesthetic agenda. For contrary
to other theorists, who according to a teleological conception believe that
the music of their own time has been freed from all ballast and has finally
144
Ibid., 207: ‘Porro augmentatio diminutioque etiam canone praescripto fieri possunt, quo
immodice musici huius aetatis utuntur, saepe etiam ineptis atque obscuris Sphingos
aenigmatis, quae praeter oedipum intelliget nemo.’
145
‘D. Erasmo Roterodamo Praeceptor fuit’ (p. 456).
146
Glarean, Dodekachordon, 456: ‘Omnia huius viri monumenta miram quandam habent
maiestatem et mediocritatis venam. Ipse hercules non tam amans raritatis, atque Iodocus fuit.
Ingenij quidem ostentator sed absque fuco, quasi qui auditoris iudicium expectare maluerit
quam se ipse efferre.’
147
Wegman, Born for the Muses, 284 thinks that ‘it may not be too far-fetched to suggest that
Glareanus is describing here the paradoxical combination of simple means and effective results
that characterizes Obrecht’s mature style’.
Critical voices 241
reached a state of perfection, Glarean takes a critical stance towards

contemporary music, which goes hand in hand with an unusual praise of
old music. A core passage is book 3, chapter 13, in which polyphonic music
is divided into three age groups or ‘aetates’.148 These stages are actually
characterised by an increasing degree of immoderateness, or – to put it
differently – by increasing divergence from the simplicity of plainchant.149
The first stage, the ‘infantia’, covers music that is about seventy years
old.150 Glarean comments on it as follows:
Sometimes I am wonderfully delighted by the simplicity of this song (to say frankly
what lies in my heart), when I meditate upon the integrity of former times and
consider the extravagance of our music. For there is mingled in them, with
wonderful seriousness, a majesty which allures the ears of judicious men more
than the chattering of many ineptitudes and the din of extravagances.151
The integritas of that music is thus diametrically opposed to the intemper-

antia he detects in the works of his own time. The innate gravitas and
maiestas of former times have made room for lasciviousness.152 The
compositions from the second stage (the ‘pubertas’ or ‘adolescentia’),
148
On Renaissance theorists writing about the past, see J. A. Owens, ‘Music Historiography and
the Definition of “Renaissance”’, Notes, 47 (1990), 305–30.
149
That plainchant was Glarean’s ideal clearly can be seen in bk. 2, ch. 17, when he writes: ‘Now it
is worthwile to observe . . . with how much simplicity, also with how much seriousness the
songs of the first church musicians were undertaken, with all ostentation completely removed,
with all shallowness excluded, in a word, with such grace that everyone must approve them
unless he does not possess any hearing’ (‘Atqui . . . precium est videre, quanta simplicitate,
quanta item gravitate primi ecclesiastici cantus sint orsi, seposita omni prorsus pompa, exclusa
omni levitate, Tanta denique gratia ut nemo non probare possit, nisi qui non habeat aureis. Ut
merito nos pudere debeat, tantum ab ea degenerasse’). Glarean’s reappraisal of Gregorian
chant was part of an ideological programme, in which literary, philosophical and confessional
matters play an important role.
150
According to Glarean, 240, this is when polyphonic music was invented: he calls it the period
of ‘primi huius artis inventores’ and believes that this art is not much older (‘Neque enim
[quantum nobis constat] haec ars est multo uetustior’). The earliest composer he mentions is
Ockeghem. As Owens, ‘Music Historiography’, 317 remarks, Heyden had a similar view.
According to him, Obrecht and Ghiselin were among the first componistae.
151
Glarean, Dodekachordon, 240–1: ‘Eius cantus simplicitate (ut ingenue, quod cordi sedet,
dicam) mire nonnunquam oblector, cum mecum Antiquitatis integritatem contemplor, ac
nostrae in temperantiam Musices animo perpendo. Est enim in eis mixta cum mira gravitate
maiestas, quae non minus cordati hominis aureis demulcet, quam multi inepti garritus ac
lascivientium strepitus.’
152
In his critical evaluation of polyphonic music, Erasmus had used similar terms such as ‘vocum
strepitus’ and ‘varius vocum garritus’: see J.-C. Margolin, Érasme et la musique (Paris: Vrin,
1965), passim and V. Zara, ‘Un cas d’ “inesthésie” musicale: Érasme de Rotterdam’ in
A. Cœurdevey and P. Vendrix (eds.), Musique, théologie et sacré, d’Oresme à Érasme
(Ambronay Éditions, 2008), 293–321.
which date back around forty years, are briefly described as ‘very pleasing
to me, since they truly delight the spirit by their moderation’.153 The final
stage, which concerns music that is no more than twenty-five years old, is
received ambivalently. On the one hand, Glarean does not refrain from
terming it ‘ars perfecta’, because ‘nothing can be added to it’ (‘cui ut nihil
addi potest’), but on the other, he states that this era has given rise to all
kinds of extravagances.154 As we can read at various places in the treatise,
in their constant and ‘immoderate love of novelty and an excessive zeal to
snatch a little glory by being unusual’,155 these ‘Symphonetae’ were too
much concerned with the search for raritates, thereby wilfully neglecting
the music of former times. Glarean is quick to add that this is a vitium that
affects not only music, but is ‘a failing with which the more talented
professors of disciplines are almost always afflicted’.156 According to him,
the gist of the matter comes down to a quest for glory: ‘Nonetheless, one
still finds songs of this sort among composers who sink to such absurdities
in their immoderate thirst for fame. I believe the reason for this error is
that to those who despise the ancients only new things are pleasing and
thus we search for glory in ways we should not.’157 Moreover, when
composers start to use their ingenium in a bragging and unbridled way,
this not only leads to excesses, but also has nefarious consequences for the
aural result.
Glarean is one of the first writers to question from the perspective of the
listener the composer’s deliberate search for complexities. According to
him, when a composer is too much concerned with displaying his skills, he
neglects the position of the listener. The consequence of the composer’s
‘selfishness’ is an unsatisfactory and sometimes even poor aural result. In
his eyes, ostentatio ingenii and ‘aurium voluptas’ are difficult – if not
impossible – to reconcile. Indeed, in the Dodekachordon as a whole,
153
Glarean, Dodekachordon, 241: ‘Ea perplacent, quippe quae sedata, animum vere oblectant.’
154
It is indeed important to note here that Glarean does not condemn the music of his own time
per se. After all, he asked several composers (such as Sixt Dietrich and Gregor Meyer) to
provide compositions in modes for which he could not find sufficient exempla in the existing
musical literature.
155
Glarean, Dodekachordon, 364: ‘novitatis . . . amore, et nimio gloriolae captandae ob raritatem
studio’.
156
Ibid.: ‘quo vitio ferme ingeniosiores disciplinarum professores usque laborant’.
157
Ibid., 113 (bk. 2, ch. 18): ‘Reperias nihilominus tamen apud symphonetas huiusmodi cantus,
qui immodica famae siti ad taleis ineptias delabuntur. Cuius erroris causam puto, quod
veteribus contemptis, sola nova placent, atque ita nunc gloriam quaerimus, non eo hercle
modo quo debemus.’ It should of course be added here that these ‘absurdities’ also include
deviations from modal theory, which is one of the main concerns of Glarean’s treatise.
Critical voices 243
Glarean devotes special attention to hearing.158 No other sixteenth-century

treatise prioritises the aural experience in such a strong way.159 In book 2,
chapter 11, he had already declared that ‘of all our senses the most sensitive
is certainly the hearing, which will become wearied if it is not soothed by a
pleasing change’.160 Moreover, in several chapters of the Dodekachordon,
he invites his readers to listen to the works he discusses, thus actively
involving them in his discourse. Phrasings such as ‘audiamus nunc, quas
diximus, cantiones’ show that in his eyes the validity of his analyses could
only be proved via the performance of the music. As Cristle Collins Judd
puts it, such statements show that apart from a silent reading, Glarean also
favoured a communal reading of his exempla.161 This hypothesis receives
additional support from the layout of the treatise: not only does it have the
size of a choirbook, but the music is set in such a way that all the voices
need to turn the page at the same moment.162 The ‘aurium iudicium’ thus
becomes one of the cornerstones of Glarean’s theory.
The Italian stance: Vicentino, Zarlino, Galilei and Tigrini

In Glarean’s focus on the ear as ultimate authority, we can detect a gradual
shift of emphasis in musical aesthetics: it is a change that leads away from
music’s quadrivial foundations and is oriented towards its audible qualities.
With this mindset, he was to set the tone for future generations of music
theorists. A few years after the publication of the Dodekachordon, this
paradigm change was to be articulated further in Italian music theory from
the second half of the sixteenth century, from Nicola Vicentino’s L’antica
musica ridotta alla moderna prattica (Rome, 1555) and Gioseffo Zarlino’s
Istitutioni harmoniche (Venice, 1558) to Vincenzo Galilei’s Dialogo della
158
See K. Schiltz, ‘“Magis est ingenij ostentatio quam auditum reficiens adeo iucunditas”:
Glareans Umgang mit Rätselkanons’ in N. Schwindt (ed.), Heinrich Glarean oder: Die Rettung
der Musik aus dem Geist der Antike?, Trossinger Jahrbuch für Renaissancemusik, 5 (Kassel:
Bärenreiter, 2006), 213–33.
159
As regards the fifteenth century, Tinctoris is of course an important advocate for the aural
judgement of music. See especially the followings essays by R. C. Wegman: ‘Sense and
Sensibility in Late-Medieval Music: Thoughts on Aesthetics and “Authenticity”’, EM, 23
(1995), 298–312; ‘Johannes Tinctoris and the “New Art”’, ML, 84 (2003), 171–88.
160
Glarean, Dodekachordon, 93: ‘est sane auditus ex omnibus sensibus maxime morosus, qui nisi
variatione iucunda mulceatur, illico taedium concipit’.
161
C. C. Judd, ‘Musical Commonplace Books, Writing Theory, and “Silent Listening”: The
Polyphonic Examples of the Dodecachordon’, MQ, 82 (1998), 482–516.
162
Ibid., 507: ‘The Dodekachordon, by virtue of its physical size (which marks it as a “prestige”
publication), also lends itself to performance of the works it contains by four singers gathered
around the book.’
musica antica, et della moderna (Florence, 1581) and Orazio Tigrini’s

Compendio della musica nel quale si tratta dell’arte del contrapunto
(Venice, 1588). Although these writers expand on questions of obscurity
at varying lengths, their respective standpoints show a similar line of
thought, which is why I shall consider them together here. Whereas Galilei
and Tigrini address their remarks in a compact way – occupying no more
than a paragraph or a brief chapter – both Vicentino and Zarlino devote
considerable attention to the topic in the course of their treatises. We shall
see that their critical evaluation of enigmatic modes of expression starts
from a basic reflection on the double existence of music: music as written
(i.e. on the page) and music as heard (i.e. in performance). This observa-
tion leads not only to a fundamental discussion of the senses and their
hierarchy, but also to a condemnation of all sorts of musical intricacies
from the perspective of singing and hearing. As we have just seen, Glarean
paved the way for this ‘holistic’ approach – taking into account as it does
the positions of the composer, the performer and the listener – but his
arguments receive a substantial consolidation in the second half of the
sixteenth century.
Once more: mensural intricacies

Like Aaron, Heyden, Glarean, Coclico and others before them, Vicentino
and Zarlino embed their views in a sharp criticism of the proliferation of
mensuration and proportion signs. Similar to their predecessors, both
theorists thus seek the very roots of opacity in the mensural system. This
topic then serves as a springboard to amplify their ideas on musical
puzzles. Let us start with Zarlino’s Istitutioni harmoniche. Although the
main discussion takes place in book 3, chapter 71, the course of his
arguments is set in the four preceding chapters. Here, the theorist discusses
the details of mensural theory, from modus, tempus and prolatio (ch. 67)
to perfection and imperfection (chs. 68–9) to ‘the dot, its species, and its
effects’ (ch. 70).163 After having distinguished and explained the principles
of the dot of perfection, augmentation, division and alteration, at the very
end of chapter 70 Zarlino makes a crucial point about the use of musical
signs in former times: ‘The ancients had many other signs and ciphers in
their compositions, but because they are now little used and not necessary
163
‘Del Punto, delle sue specie, et delli suoi effetti’. This and following translations are taken from
Zarlino, The Art of Counterpoint, Gioseffo Zarlino. Part Three of Le istitutioni harmoniche,
1558, trans. G. A. Marco, ed. C. V. Palisca, Music Theory Translation Series, 2 (New Haven
and London: Yale University Press, 1968).
Critical voices 245
to good sonorous harmony, I shall leave the discussion of them to those

who have the leisure for it and who take greater delight in such things than
we do.’164
Although Zarlino announces that he will leave it at that, in the next
chapter in fact he continues his argument. The two points he briefly raises
about signs – that their sheer quantity has diminished in his own time and
that they do not improve the harmony – are now approached from a larger
perspective. Zarlino once more looks back at the past and berates preced-
ing generations of music theorists. In short, he states that the complexity of
the notation transcends the needs of the music itself and that this aberra-
tion is also reflected in theoretical writings:
Music theory had by then descended to the point of contemplating the devices
described rather than considering sounds and tones . . . Evidence of this is found in
many books by various authors who deal only with circles and semicircles, with
and without dots, whole or cut – not only once but twice – books in which one sees
so many dots, rests, colors, ciphers, signs, ratios, and other strange things that they
appear to be the books kept by an intricate business house.165
In Zarlino’s eyes, some theoretical treatises look more like account books
than a discourse on music. His targets include Stefano Vanneo’s
Recanetum de musica aurea (Rome, 1533), Pietro Aaron’s Toscanello in
musica (Venice, 1529) and Giovanni Maria Lanfranco’s Scintille di musica
(Brescia, 1533). About these treatises he writes: ‘In addition there are on
such matters a diversity of opinions and lengthy disputations without end.
There are also many tracts and apologies, written by certain musicians
against others, which, were one to read them a thousand times, the reading,
rereading, and study would reveal nothing but vulgarities and slander and
little of good, and they would leave one appalled.’166 Zarlino not only
164
Zarlino, Le istitutioni harmoniche, 277: ‘Haveano oltra di questi gli Antichi nelle loro
compositioni molti altri accidenti, & Cifere di più maniere: ma perche poco più si usano, &
non sono di utile alcuno alle buone, & sonore harmonie; però lassaremo il ragionar più in
lungo di simil cose, a coloro, che sono otiosi, & che si dilettano di simili Cifere più di quello,
che facemo noi.’
165
Ibid., 279: ‘Essendo che allora la cosa era gia ridutta a tal fine, che la parte Speculativa della
scienza, consisteva più tosto nella speculatione de simili accidenti, che nella consideratione
delli Suoni, & delle Voci . . . Et di ciò fanno fede molti Libri composti da diversi autori, che non
trattano se non di Circoli, et Semicircoli; puntati, et non puntati; interi, et tagliati non solo una
volta, ma anco due; ne i quali si veggono tanti Punti, tante Pause, tanti Colori, tanti Cifere,
tanti Segni, tanti Numeri contra numeri, et tante altre cose strane; che paiono alle volte Libri di
uno intricato mercatante.’
166
Ibid.: ‘Et di più si trovano anco sopra tali materie varie opinioni, et disputationi longhissime,
da non venire mai al fine. Si trovano etiandio molti Trattati, et molte Apologie di alcuni
ridicules the heated debates among these theorists, but he also states that
such books are beside the point, as they completely disregard the true goal
of music: ‘One does not find in these books anything that might lead to an
understanding of anything relating to the sense of hearing, such as the
tones or sounds from which harmony and melody are born.’167 In the same
breath, Zarlino does not even refrain from including composers in his
evaluation. Here again, he adds an interesting historical dimension to his
arguments, by bringing in the music of earlier generations. On the one
hand, he is keenly aware of their authorial status – after all, many of their
works serve as exempla in his Istitutioni harmoniche – but on the other he
questions the methods of the ‘dotti, et celebratissimi Musici antichi’ when
it comes to introducing complexity into their works. More specifically, he
is convinced that such brain-teasers were sometimes used as competitive
amusement among themselves:
Now perhaps someone may reprove and accuse me, since many learned and
celebrated ancient musicians whose names still live among us used to write in this
very way. I would reply to such a critic that if he will consider the matter he will
find no greater value in compositions elaborated than if they were bare and simple.
He will realize he is in great error and deserving of the censure due anyone
opposed to truth. Though the ancients followed this method, they knew perfectly
well that such devices brought no increase or diminution of harmony. They only
practiced such things to show that they were not ignorant of the theories promul-
gated by certain idle spectators of the day.168
Zarlino thus states that composers of earlier generations incorporated all

kinds of difficulties even though they knew that it would not produce
better music. In his eyes, their only goal was to show their knowledge and
Musici, scritti contra alcuni altri, ne i quali (se bene si leggessero mille fiate) dopo letti, riletti, et
essaminati, non si ritrova altro, che infinite villanie, et maledicentie, et poco di buono; di
maniera che è un stupore.’
167
Ibid.: ‘Ne altro si legge in cotesti loro libri, che possa condur l’huomo alla intelligenza di alcuna
cosa, che caschi sotto’l giuditio del senso dell’Udito; come sono le Voci, o li Suoni, da i quali
nascono le Harmonie, et le Melodie, che le cose nominate.’
168
Ibid.: ‘Vorrà forse alcuno qui riprendermi, et biasimarmi; atteso che molti dotti, et
celebratissimi Musici antichi, de i quali il nome loro ancora vive appresso di noi, habbiano
dato opera ad un tal modo di comporre. Dico a questo, che se tali biasimatori consideraranno
la cosa, non ritrouaranno maggiore utile nelle lor compositioni inviluppate in tai legami, di
quello, che ritrovarebbeno se fussero nude, et pure senza alcuna difficultà; Et vedranno, che si
dolgono a gran torto, et comprenderanno, loro esser degni di riprensione, come quelli, che si
oppongono al vero: Percioche se bene gli Antichi seguitarono un tal modo; conoscevano molto
bene, che tali accidenti non potevano apportare alcuno accrescimento, o diminutione di
harmonia: ma davano opera a simili cose, per mostrare di non essere ignoranti di quella
Theorica, che da alcuni otiosi Speculativi de quei tempi era stato posta in uso.’
Critical voices 247
to demonstrate their technical erudition, not least vis-à-vis speculative

theorists. Here Zarlino not only revisits Glarean’s above-mentioned reser-
vations about ostentatio ingenii, but his remarks also echo the general
discussion about obscurity, as it was already led in Classical Antiquity.
Interestingly, his reservations towards the older composers notwith-
standing, Zarlino concedes that they were able to produce good harmonies
nevertheless.169 In the end, it all seems to depend on the talent of the
composer. As an afterthought to his reflections in chapter 71, he writes that
it is not the complexities that made these composers famous, but the
intrinsic quality of their music: ‘Although we still honour the names of
some of these musicians, it is not for such chimeras that they are reputed
but for the good harmonies and harmonious thoughts heard in their
compositions.’170 He then ventures an interesting interpretation of how
they managed nevertheless to produce good music. For Zarlino believes
that they could rely on their judgement and common sense: ‘Despite their
dabbling in these intricacies, they were able – through instinct rather than
theory – to bring their harmonies to an ultimate perfection, even though
their method was badly understood and abused by many others, to which
the many errors committed by other composers in their works bear
witness.’171
With this striking comment Zarlino tries to discredit these composers’
use of ‘unnecessary complexities’, while at the same time saving their music
169
Judging from the exempla in his treatise, he must have been referring to the music of Josquin
and his contemporaries. As Judd, Reading Renaissance Music Theory, ch. 8 (‘“On the Modes”:
The Citations of Le istitutioni harmoniche, Part IV’) at 232ff. has shown, one print in particular
shaped Zarlino’s image of the antichi: Grimm and Wyrsung’s Liber selectarum cantionum
(Augsburg, 1520), containing music of Josquin, Isaac and La Rue.
170
Zarlino, Le istitutioni harmoniche, 279: ‘Et se bene vive ancora honorevolmente il nome di
alcuni Musici appresso di noi; non si hanno però acquistato riputatione alcuna con tali
chimere: ma con le buone harmonie, et harmoniosi concenti, i quali si odeno nelle loro
compositioni.’
171
Ibid.: ‘Et quantunque mescolassero in quelli tali intrichi, si sforzarono anco, se non con la
speculatione, almeno aiutati dal loro giuditio, di ridurre le loro Harmonie a quella ultima
perfettione, che dare le potevano; ancora che da molti altre fusse male intesa, et malamente
usata; dilche ne fanno fede molti errori commessi da i Prattici compositori nelle loro
compositioni.’ Zarlino’s statement seems to echo bk. 1, ch. 34 of Boethius’ De institutione
musica, in which he distinguishes between three types of those who are engaged in the musical
art: ‘The second class of those practicing music is that of the poets, a class led to song not so
much by thought and reason as by a certain natural instinct’ (‘Secundum vero musicam
agentium genus poetarum est, quod non potius speculatione ac ratione, quam naturali quodam
instinctu fertur ad carmen’). Translation quoted from Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius,
Fundamentals of Music, trans. C. M. Bower, ed. C. V. Palisca (New Haven and London: Yale
University Press, 1989), 51.
via the argument of their ‘natural talent’ or ingenium. He links this idea
with a strong teleological notion, according to which music in his own time
was liberated from these intricacies and had achieved ultimate perfection.
In Zarlino’s opinion, the dark times are over and both composition and
theory have progressed considerably; they are no longer focused on nota-
tional matters, but are concerned about music’s ‘core business’, i.e. the
aural result: ‘Therefore we ought always to praise and thank God that little
by little – I know not how – all this has passed, and we have come to an age
in which the only concern is the multiplication of good harmonies and
melodies.’172 In Zarlino’s own time, so he suggests, the paradigm shift from
mathematical intricacies to music’s aural effect has been accomplished.
Three years before the publication of the Istitutioni harmoniche, Nicola
Vicentino had already touched upon these topics in similar terms. Book 4,
chapter 3 of his Antica musica ridotta alla moderna prattica is about the
signs for indicating modus (major and minor, perfect and imperfect).173
Like Zarlino, Vicentino complains about the multitude of signs and con-
demns this practice for two reasons. First of all, he states that they
unnecessarily complicate music. Put another way, why make music diffi-
cult if it can be notated in a simpler way? Vicentino’s less-is-more idea
ultimately goes back to Aristotle’s Physics, but his direct source probably
was Franchino Gafurio’s Practica musicae (Milan, 1496), where it appears
twice.174 In book 1, chapter 3 (about ‘clef signs and the manner of singing
notes’) and in book 2, chapter 8 (about tempus), Gafurio had stressed that
‘the aforementioned signs of temporal value should be rejected, since the
philosopher [Aristotle] states it is useless to accomplish with greater means
what can be done with fewer’.175 Apart from that, Vicentino considers
172
Zarlino, Le istitutioni harmoniche, 279: ‘La onde dovemo di continovo lodare, et ringratiare
Dio, che a poco a poco (non sò in che maniera) tal cosa sia spenta; et che ne habbia fatto venire
ad una età, nella quale non si attende ad altro, che alla moltiplicatione delli buoni concenti, et
delle buone Melodie.’
173
All translations are quoted from Nicola Vicentino: Ancient Music Adapted to Modern Practice,
trans. M. R. Maniates (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996).
174
Franchino Gafurio, Practica musicae, trans. and transcr. C. A. Miller, Musicological Studies
and Documents, 20 (n.p.: American Institute of Musicology, 1968).
175
Gafurio, Practica musicae, bk. 2, ch. 8: ‘Nos autem haec predictarum quantitatum signa
duximus reprobanda. Cum apud Philosophum Frustra fiat per plura quod fieri potest per
pauciora.’ The phrase ‘Frustra fit per plura quod fieri potest per pauciora’ was also a scholastic
axiom and is the basic idea of William of Ockham’s razor, which is typically phrased ‘entities
are not to be multiplied beyond necessity’ (‘entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter
necessitatem’). See also Bernhold Schmid, ‘“Frustra fit per plura quod fieri potest per
pauciora”: Wilhelm von Ockhams ‘razor’ in der Musiktheorie’ in International
Musicological Study Group Cantus Planus: Papers Read at the 6th Meeting, Eger 1993, 2 vols.
Critical voices 249
these signs to be dispensable ‘because these circles and semicircles do not

make any harmony whatever’ (‘tanti circuli & semicirculi, perche non
fanno armonia alcuna’). Although Vicentino is convinced that in his
treatise he should rather ‘concentrate on new inventions in composing
musical steps and leaps that create gentle or harsh harmony’ (‘trovare
nuove inventioni di comporre i gradi & salti musicali, che sono quelli
che fanno l’armonia soave, & aspra’), he feels obliged to talk briefly about
the topic, especially because such signs often occur in canons.176 It
becomes clear that he would prefer to pass over the discussion of mensur-
ation signs as they do not contribute to the aural effect of music in any way,
but for practical reasons – and for the sake of completeness – he decides to
touch upon them anyway.
In a similar way, Orazio Tigrini, whose Compendio della musica nel
quale si tratta dell’arte del contrapunto is heavily modelled on Vicentino’s
treatise, feels that complex proportions and signs are unsatisfying and lead
to a maze and to confusion in the minds of the poor singers.177 In the
penultimate chapter of the last book (on counterpoint), which is about the
‘Modo di comporre la Musica sotto varij segni’, he states that the multitude
of mensuration and proportion signs is not only frustrating for the singers,
but in his eyes often causes a ‘great scandal for the listeners’ (‘molto
scandolo de gli Uditori’). For Tigrini and many other theorists, the objec-
tion against all kinds of complexities is thus twofold: not only do they lead
to unnecessary puzzlement, but once they are deciphered, it turns out that
there is no aesthetic bonus whatsoever. In sum, they are ‘fruitless and
useless’ (‘senza frutto, ò utilità alcuna’).178
But let us return to Vicentino. By way of conclusion to book 4, chapter 3,
Vicentino makes an interesting comparison between the composer’s
(Budapest: Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Institute for Musicology, 1995), vol. II, 665–82.
The expression is also used a couple of times in A Correspondence: see, for example, letters
no. 65 (Del Lago to Aaron, 12 May 1540) and 68 (Del Lago to Da Legge, 6 January 1520).
176
Vicentino, L’antica musica, fol. 74r: ‘Whenever a composer wishes to make a canon of some
sort, he avails himself of these juxtaposed signs’ (‘quando il Compositore vorrà fare qualche
canon, allhora si servirà di questi segni opposti’).
177
Orazio Tigrini, Il compendio della musica nel quale brevemente si tratta dell’arte del
contrapunto (Venice, 1588), 132: ‘Uno intricamento, & una confusione nella mente dei poveri
Cantori’.
178
Tigrini’s explanations are also heavily indebted to the theories of Zarlino (especially the third
and fourth books of Le istitutioni harmoniche), to whom he dedicated his Compendio and
whom he calls ‘father and beginning of our age of music’ (‘Padre, & capo, all’età nostra della
Musica’). The heritage of Zarlino also is evident from the marginal citations, where his works
are constantly referred to.
dealing with mensural notation in former times and in his own time, which
was to be echoed in Zarlino’s Istitutioni harmoniche. More specifically, he
focuses on the way the composer handles complexity and his reasons for
doing so: ‘Today he takes care to make difficult things simple rather than to
behave as was customary before – namely, in making simple things
excessively difficult without any harmonic enrichment.’179 As regards the
composers of former times, Vicentino – like Zarlino – does not name
names, but he sheds remarkable light on his evaluation of the progress of
music. In his treatise, the ‘harmonic enrichment’ evidently comes down to
the introduction of the chromatic and enharmonic genera, for which the
book makes a fervent plea.
A few chapters later, Vicentino approaches the topic of needless diffi-
culty from another perspective. Book 4, chapter 37 formulates rules for
composing a retrograde canon in circular fashion.180 Vicentino sees a
direct connection between the contrapuntal restrictions that go with this
technique and the piece’s aural result. More specifically, he states that the
composer’s self-imposed set of technical limitations has negative conse-
quences for the harmony: ‘But since the obligation of the fugue is an
impediment, such fugues cannot contain much harmony and elegant
singing. In truth, such fugues and canons please less because of their
harmony than for their clever fugal niceties.’181 In his eyes, such pieces
cause admiration for the composer’s ingenuity rather than aural delight.
To put it in another way, the delectation is a cerebral, not a sensory one.
However, the purpose of composing should be the production of good
harmonies; music should not be reduced to an intellectual exercise.
According to Vicentino, only rarely can both sides be reconciled: ‘If such
fugues or canons also turn out to have harmonic fullness and a refined
manner of proceeding, they are good to hear; however, never or rarely do
179
Vicentino, L’antica musica, fol. 74r: ‘Per hora si attende à facilitar le cose difficili, e non si
comporrà come si soleva, che le cose facili erano difficultate da i Compositori fuore d’ogni
proposito, & senza guadagno d’armonia.’
180
Vicentino, L’antica musica, fol. 91v: ‘Rule for writing a composition with one part that starts at
the end and the other at the beginning at the same time, which can be sung in circular fashion
and ended at the pleasure of singers’ (‘Regola di comporre una compositione che una parte
incomenci nel fine & l’altra nel principio, in un medesimo tempo, et si potrà cantare circolare
et finire à beneplacito de i cantanti’). See also the discussion in D. Collins, ‘Fugue, Canon and
Double Counterpoint in Nicola Vicentino’s L’antica musica (1555)’, Irish Musical Studies, 2
(1993), 267–301.
181
Vicentino, L’antica musica, fol. 92r: ‘Queste tali fughe non possone essere piene di Armonia, &
di bel cantare, perche l’obligo della fuga impedisce, & veramente queste tali fughe & Canoni
non dilettano tanto per la loro Armonia quanto per la inventione d’esse fughe.’
Critical voices 251
they achieve this balance.’182 To compensate for this, Vicentino advises

these voices to be accompanied by other, free voices, as they allow more
harmonic and melodic possibilities:
Such fugues or canons could be pleasant to the ear if they were accompanied by
well-coordinated parts that are not obligated to present the same notes. It must
therefore be concluded that a composition made up of canons or fugues accom-
panied by free parts is considerably better than one made merely from canons. Not
only is there variety in the parts, but also the advantage of there being no loss of
harmony in the composition, which remains rich – not to mention no loss of
stylishness in the behavior of the parts.183
In chapter 37, Vicentino thus thematises what Hermann Finck called

tentatio: when deciding to conceive a musical riddle, composers were on
the one hand confronted with a rich variety of possible techniques and
inscriptions, but at the same time they also opted for a deliberate limitation
of their compositional freedom, as the conception of one voice automatic-
ally had consequences for the layout of the piece as a whole. But whereas
for Finck tentatio had positive connotations – being an intellectual chal-
lenge the composer had to cope with – Vicentino judged it in a negative
way. The contrapuntal obligations of these techniques impede the ‘free’
movement of the voices – both in the vertical (harmonic) and the horizon-
tal (melodic) sense – and thus such pieces are neither elegant to sing nor
elegant to hear.
Towards a philosophical foundation: the hierarchy of the senses

The bottom line of both Vicentino’s and Zarlino’s argument is clear:
complexity is a superfluous obstacle, it needlessly causes disturbance and
impedes clarity and comprehensibility. But there is more at stake here.
Both Vicentino and Zarlino stress that notational complexities do not
bring any audible advantage; on the contrary, they often hinder the
production of good music. From this basic tenet, Zarlino develops an
182
Ibid., fol. 92r: ‘Quando queste tali fughe ò Canoni verranno con bella maniera di procedere, et
piene di Armonia faranno buono udire: ma di rado, ò nissuna verrà con tal commodità.’
183
Ibid.: ‘& se tali fughe ò Canoni saranno accompagnati da altre parti, che non siano obligate, à
dir le medesime note, & che quelle siano ben accompagnate saranno molto grate à gl’orecchi;
adunque la conclusione di tutti i Canoni et fughe, che saranno accompagnati da altre parti,
quella copositione [sic] sarà assai megliore, che quella con i Canoni semplici, sì per la varietà
delle parti, che hanno in sè, come anchor per la commodità di non mancare à detta
compositione dell’Armonia, che non resti povera, & anchor della maniera del proceder, con
le parti.’
extensive theory, which is to be considered the crux of chapter 71. He takes

an interesting point of departure, which also shows his ideas to be firmly
rooted in the intellectual culture of the sixteenth century. First of all, he
makes a direct connection with the foregoing chapter by questioning ‘the
value of these devices [i.e. proportion and mensuration signs] to good
harmony’ (‘Dell’ Utile che apportano li mostrati Accidenti nelle buone
harmonie’). In order to do so, he starts with a discussion of the senses and
how they are linked with a sense organ, thereby drawing on Aristotle’s
theory of perception: ‘It must be understood that the true object of sensa-
tion is the physical body that excites sensation through a sense organ.’184
Each sense organ has its own properties, and to each of them certain
powers of sensation can be attributed.185 For example, objects that can
be seen, such as colours, are called visible and can only be perceived by the
eyes. Objects that can be heard, such as voices and sounds, are called
audible. On the basis of this, Zarlino makes a distinction between objects
that affect only one sense – he calls them ‘sensible particulars’ (‘Propij
sensibili’) – and those that can be perceived by several senses (e.g. move-
ment, quiet, number, shape, and size, which ‘may obviously be seen, heard,
and touched’).186
At this point Zarlino introduces the main argument of his reasoning: if
those sensible particulars can only be perceived and judged by the sense
proper to them, i.e. if sound can only be perceived by the sense of hearing,
what impels composers to make their music so difficult with all kinds of
visual complexities: ‘Why then do some persons work so hard to introduce
so many intricacies into their compositions? Let them tell me what pleas-
ure or value can be found in such things, and how they make their
compositions better.’187 The crux of the matter is that these difficulties
are only of a visible nature and thus affect a sense organ that strictly
speaking is not proper to music. This kind of music thus exceeds the
boundaries of its own goals and as a consequence it cannot lead to good
results. Because these devices appeal to the ‘wrong’ sense, they have no
184
Zarlino, Le istitutioni harmoniche, 277: ‘È dibisogno sapere; che essendo il vero Oggetto del
Sentimento il Corpo, che lo muove mediante l’ organo’. On the discussion of the senses in
Renaissance writings, see also D. Summers, The Judgment of Sense: Renaissance Naturalism
and the Rise of Aesthetics (Cambridge University Press, 1987).
185
Zarlino, Le istitutioni harmoniche, 278: ‘In quanto tal Corpo è considerato secondo diverse
ragioni di movimenti, viene a porre necessariamente nel Sentimento diverse possanze.’
186
Ibid.: ‘Il Movimento, la Quiete, il Numero, la Figura, et ogni Grandezza, che si possono vedere,
udire, et toccare: come è manifesto’.
187
Ibid.: ‘Dicami hora, di gratia, quelli, che tanto si affaticano, et pongono cura di porre nelle loro
cantilene tanti intrichi; quale, et quanto diletto, et utile possino porgere al sentimento.’
Critical voices 253
value, as by definition they do not in any way enhance the quality of the
music. Here too, it becomes clear that Zarlino feels that music exceeds the
spectrum of its normal tasks. He encapsulates this idea as follows:
We may conclude from what has been said that such a method of composing is
worse than useless; it is harmful. It results in a waste of time, which is more
precious than anything else. The points, lines, circles, and semicircles, and similar
things drawn on paper, are subject to the sense of sight rather than to the sense of
hearing.188
For a listener, it would not make any difference whether a composition is

notated with complex signs and images or whether it would be ‘bare and
simple’ (‘se fussero nude, et pure senza alcuna difficultà’). In fact, what
Zarlino is trying to say is that if one cannot hear these obscurities, what is
the sense of using them at all? Not only is difficulty needlessly multiplied,
but also signs and images do not in any way contribute to the production
of ‘good and sweet harmonies’ (‘buone, et soavi harmonie’) hence to
delectation, which is the true purpose of music: ‘Since music was really
discovered for the purpose of pleasing and edifying, nothing beyond this
end is important.’189
Riddles and images

The question of notational intricacies is especially relevant when it comes
to puzzles that bring into play iconographical material. As we shall also see
in Chapter 4, this phenomenon gains in importance in the course of the
sixteenth century, and it is probably no accident that this interest – which
is also reflected in music theory – coincides with the growing fascination
for emblems. However, early references to images go back to treatises of
the later fifteenth century, and it is relevant to include these in the present
discussion. A short, neutral description of the practice of using a multitude
of signs occurs in the Liber musices of a certain Florentius Musicus, which
was written some time between 1486 and 1492 and dedicated to Cardinal
Ascanio Sforza. The chapter on canons is by far the largest of the four types
of composition (fauxbourdon, fuga, canons and imitation) he discusses
188
Ibid., 279: ‘Concluderemo adunque da quello, che si è detto; che’l modo di comporre in tal
maniera non solamente non sia utile: ma anco dannoso, per la perdita del tempo, che è più
pretioso d’ogn’altra cosa; et che li Punti, le Linee, i Circoli, i Semicircoli, et altre cose simili, che
si dipingono in carte, sono sottoposte al sentimento del Vedere, et non a quello dell’ Udito.’
189
Ibid., 278–9: ‘Conciosia che essendo stato veramente ritrovata la Musica non ad altro fine, che
per dilettare, et per giovare; niun altra cosa ha possanza.’
near the end of book 2.190 In chapter 17, Florentius writes about a great
variety of techniques such as retrograde, inversion, augmentation and
diminution, ostinato, etc. Unfortunately he gives neither titles nor com-
posers, and he provides no examples. But as it is clear that he describes
specific works, it is all the more tempting to speculate about the piece(s)
the theorist had in mind when discussing the following type near the end
of the chapter: ‘There are also canons that compare notes to images of
some thing. And this may be observed in many instances, that the notes
grow larger or smaller over the lines and spaces, rising or descending as the
shape of the image of the thing itself increases or decreases.’191 Florentius
thus describes pieces in which the notes imitate the contour of an object. Is
he referring to the tenor of Isaac’s Palle palle, in which the curve of the
notes imitates the shape of the lilies and balls on the Medici coat of
arms?192 After all, Florentius could have known the textless piece, since
its inclusion in the Medici chansonnier Cappella Giulia XIII.27 implies it
was composed before 1492.
Whereas Florentius gives a neutral, detached view of puzzles involving
images, the English Carmelite monk John Hothby clearly has a different
opinion. His Dialogus in arte musica, which was meant as a rebuttal of the
theories of Ramis, ends with a sharp reprobation of enigmatic inscriptions
and the presence of pictorial elements in musical riddles.193 In the
190
Florentius de Faxolis, Book on Music, ed. and trans. Blackburn and Holford-Strevens.
191
‘Sunt item qui notas alicuius rei imaginibus comparant. Hoc que multis eventis scrutari potest,
ut per lineas et spatia notulae crescant vel descrescant ascendendo vel descendendo
quemadmodum crescit vel decrescit imaginis forma ipsius rei’ (fol. 65v). Translation quoted
from Florentius, Book on Music, 155.
192
A. Atlas, ‘Heinrich Isaac’s Palle, palle: A New Interpretation’ in Studien zur italienisch-
deutschen Musikgeschichte IX, Analecta musicologica, 14 (Cologne: Böhlau, 1974), 17–25.
M. Staehelin, ‘Heinrich Isaacs “Palle”-Satz und die Tradition der Wappenmotette’ in
W. Salmen (ed.), Heinrich Isaac und Paul Hofhaimer im Umfeld von Kaiser Maximilian
I. Bericht über die vom 1. bis 5. Juli 1992 in Innsbruck abgehaltene Fachtagung, Innsbrucker
Beiträge zur Musikwissenschaft, 16 (Innsbruck: Helbling, 1997), 217–26 traces the tradition of
motets using coats of arms. ‘Wappenmotetten’ became fairly popular in the sixteenth century.
See also Costanzo Porta’s Missa ducalis, discussed in I. Fenlon, ‘Music, Piety and Politics under
Cosimo I: The Case of Costanzo Porta’ in Firenze e la Toscana dei Medici nell’Europa del’500,
Biblioteca di storia toscana moderna e contemporanea. Studi e documenti, 26 (Florence, 1983),
vol. II (Musica e spettacolo. Scienze dell’uomo e della natura), 457–68.
193
Together with the Excitatio quaedem musicae artis per refutationem and the Epistola, the
Dialogus Johannis Ottobi anglici in arte musica is meant as a defence against Ramis’s attacks on
the theories of Hothby. The treatise probably dates from c. 1473 and is preserved as part of
Florence, Magliabecchiana XIX, 36 (fols. 81v–83v). It was edited by A. Seay in Johannis Octobi
Tres tractatuli contra Bartholomeum Ramum (Rome: American Institute of Musicology, 1964),
61–76. See also A. Seay, ‘The Dialogus Johannis Ottobi Anglici in arte musica’, JAMS, 8 (1955),
86–100.
Critical voices 255
penultimate section of the dialogue, Hothby concedes that it is perfectly

legitimate to invent things that do not exist in nature (‘cui fingenda non
sint eaque naturaliter fieri non possent’), but argues that there ought to be
limits to the composer’s notational experiments. Inscriptions should help
the singers, not hinder them. It is absolutely preposterous to notate
something in a way that is different from how it is intended to be sung
and to indicate this with puzzling canons. Hothby demonstrates his point
with an example – unfortunately lost – by Bernard Ycart, a singer at the
Aragonese court of Naples: ‘Does not your Ycart, whom you attempt to
defend in any way you can, write some tenors whose notes he means to be
understood the opposite way? What can be sillier or more absurd than
that? For although they are black, he means them to be taken as white; the
subscription is Ethyops albos dentes [The black man has white teeth].’194
Hothby’s objection concerns the complex relationship – inherent in every
musical riddle – between the notation and its sung realisation: the music as
written can never be performed the way it is notated, but is subject to
transformation; in the example mentioned, black notes are to be performed
as if they were white. Hothby thus opposes the detour the singer is forced
to take when faced with a riddle. He seems to ask: why can a composer not
simply notate the music the way he wants it to be sung? Why all the fuss of
puzzling inscriptions when the final result is different anyway?
Hothby then brings up two curious compositions, which carry the
enigmatic to the extreme, as the music is accompanied by an image. ‘Have
you also seen the song whose tenor consists of blowing bellows aimed at a
fiery tree trunk whose subscription is Sufflet [‘Let him/her/it blow’]?
Francesco, the Venetian priest,195 composed a tenor with painted hammers
194
‘Tuus igitur Ycart, quem quoquomodo defendere conaris, nonne aliquos tenores facit quorum
figuras per contrarium vult intelligi; quo magis ineptum aut magis absurdum esse quid potest?
Cum enim nigrae sint, albas accipi vult, quorum subscriptio est Ethyops albos dentes.’
Translation quoted from Blackburn, ‘“Notes secretly fitted together”: Theorists on Enigmatic
Canons’. As it turns out, the image of the Ethiopian with white teeth was a commonplace in
fifteenth-century treatises on memory. See, for example, Matteo da Verona’s Ars memorativa
(c. 1420), who illustrates the category ‘imagines inperfecta ex parte rei’ as follows: ‘Exemplum
ut si ponatur in loco tuo Ethyops qui habet dentes albos pro recordacione albi.’ The topic is
also touched upon in Aquinas, Quaestio disputata de unione Verbi incarnati, art. 3. As
S. Heimann-Seelbach shows in ‘Ars und scientia: Wissenschaftssystematische Implikationen in
ars memorativa-Traktaten des 15. Jahrhunderts’ in J.-J. Berns and W. Neuber (eds.),
Seelenmaschinen: Gattungstraditionen, Funktionen und Leistungsgrenzen der Mnemotechniken
vom späten Mittelalter bis zum Beginn der Moderne (Vienna: Böhlau, 2000), 187–97 at 192–3,
this example ultimately goes back to ch. 5 of Porphyry’s Isagoge.
195
Whereas Seay, in his edition of the treatise, believes Hothby is possibly referring to Francesco
Ana, who was active as a composer and as second organist of St Mark’s in Venice (74 n. 40),
that show none of the same proportions.’196 Unfortunately, both compos-

itions are lost, but they offer us tantalising evidence of the use of images in
the fifteenth century. One would wish to know how they were done and
what these pieces looked like. But from the context of Hothby’s remarks, it
is clear that he considered such compositions to be ridiculous and repellent
inventions. He also suggests that the use of images had become some kind
of a trend, which many composers followed without careful consideration:
‘And many others, almost too many to number, do the same at the whim
of their minds, yet none of these things smacks of any art.’197 In Hothby’s
eyes, such pieces are caprices without any artistic value.198
After Florentius and Hothby, this topic disappears from the theoretical
discourse for some decades, only to turn up again in the treatises of
Vicentino, Zarlino and Galilei. With their sharp censure of the use of
images, they touch upon fundamental aspects of music making in general
and the essence of music in particular. A major source for the condemna-
tion of iconographical material in relation to music is the above-mentioned
book 4, chapter 40 of Vicentino’s L’antica musica. As we have seen, Vicen-
tino advises composers not only to make their compositions as clear as
J. Haar and J. Nádas, ‘Johannes de Anglia (John Hothby): Notes on His Career in Italy’, Acta
musicologica, 79 (2007), 291–358 at 336 n. 124, are inclined to identify this person as Giovanni
Francesco de’ Preottoni, a student of Hothby from Pavia.
196
‘Numquid etiam vidisti carmen cuius tenor trunci ignei follibus spirantibus habetur norma
cuius est Sufflet? Venetus etiam Franciscus sacerdos tenorem condidit per maleos [Seay:
inalteros] pictos qui nullam earundem proportionem [proportionum] ostendunt.’ At the very
beginning of the dialogue, Hothby’s pupil mentions an opusculum (unfortunately lost) of his
master ‘filled with pictures and images both of Pythagoras but also of the smiths plying their
hammers, which when I saw the front page I of course understood easily’ (‘In manus incidit
nostras opusculum tuum picturis imaginibusque refertum cum Pythagore tamen etiam
fabrorum malleis agentium, quod cum prima fronte perspicerem intellexi profecto facile’). See
Johannis Octobi Tres tractatuli contra Bartholomeum Ramum, ed. Seay, 61. Hothby claims to
have composed the work twenty-four years earlier as part of his musical training. The reason
he used the image was to obey his teacher, who stressed that by such an exercise he would
easily keep the proportions of the hammers in his memory. Evidently, by referring to
Pythagoras – the discoverer of the basic ratios – as authority who was then followed by
Boethius and Guido, Hothby is attacking Ramis de Pareia. In his Musica practica, Ramis had
not only disregarded Pythagoras, but also described Hothby in negative terms as a ‘sequax
Guidonis’. Haar and Nádas, ‘Johannes de Anglia’, 336 remark that from the notes of Hothby’s
students, it can be deduced that he frequently used tables, figures and drawings, some with
accompanying verses.
197
‘Multi alii pene innumerabiles idem faciunt ad libitum animi sui quae tamen omnia nullam
artem redolent.’ The verb ‘redolere’ (to emit a scent) may allude to the experience of
synaesthesia, since it implies both auditory and visual aspects of the riddle in question. See also
Wegman, ‘Johannes Tinctoris and the “New Art”’, 173 n. 12 on Tinctoris’s use of the verb.
198
However, Hothby too composed an enigmatic piece when he was young. See Blackburn,
‘“Notes secretly fitted together”: Theorists on Enigmatic Canons’.
Critical voices 257
possible, but also to make sure the aural result is agreeable. In his eyes, the
use of images goes against both conditions:
A composer of such fancies must try to make canons and fugues that are pleasant
and full of sweetness and harmony. He should not make a canon in the shape of a
tower, a mountain, a river, a chessboard, or other objects, for these compositions
create a loud noise in many voices, with little harmonic sweetness. To tell the truth,
a listener is more likely to be induced to vexation than to delight by these
disproportioned fancies, which are devoid of pleasant harmony and contrary to
the goal of the imitation of the nature of the words.199
In short, instead of facilitating the sensuous delight, the intellectual and

visual extravagance of such pieces stands in the way of a such enjoyment. It
is not entirely clear to what extent Vicentino’s examples are based on
existing compositions. However, at least one of them has come down to
us: Ghiselin Danckerts’s puzzle in the form of a chessboard on the words
Ave maris stella.200 The men knew each other personally, for Danckerts
played an important role in the debate between Vicentino and the Portu-
guese theorist Vicente Lusitano about the genera, which took place in
Rome in 1551 and which is mentioned in Vicentino’s treatise a few
chapters later (ch. 43).201 Lusitano, with the help of Danckerts and Barto-
lomé de Escobedo – the two judges of the dispute – won the debate, and
this defeat might have caused the sharp tone of Vicentino’s critique:
199
Vicentino, L’antica musica, fol. 93v: ‘Il Compositore di tal fantasie, dè cercare di fare Canoni, &
altre fughe, che siano gratiate, & piene di dolcezza, et d’armonia, et quello non dè far un Canon
sopra una Torre, ò sopra un Monte, ò sopra un fiume, ò sopra i scacchi da giocare, ò sopra altre
cose, & che quelle compositioni faccino un gran rumore, à molte voci, con poca dolcezza
d’armonia, che per dir il vero queste tal fantasie sproportionate, & senza proposito de imitar la
natura delle parole, & senza grata Armonia, induce l’oditore più presto à fastidio che à diletto.’
200
See also Ch. 2. The original is lost, but there exist some broadsides and the chessboard is
reproduced in Pietro Cerone’s El Melopeo y maestro, 1129 (‘Enigma del tablero de axedrez’).
Cerone, however, admits not being sure how to solve this piece: ‘Para dezir verdad, hasta agora
no se yo del cierto, como se haya de cantar’ (p. 1128). See also A. Morelli, ‘Una nuova fonte per
la musica di Ghiselino Danckerts “musico e cantore cappellano della cappella del papa”’,
Recercare, 21 (2009), 75–110.
201
In his unpublished treatise, Danckerts replies to Vicentino’s critique. Not only does he say that
Vicentino’s reaction is just another of ‘his unrefined and nonsensical ideas’ (suoi pareri goffi et
vani), but he also states that Vicentino was unable ‘to understand the art of these inventions’
and ‘to find out with his rules one of the twenty possible manners of singing them; because he
has been unable to find them, he disapproves of them’ (‘non solamente esso non ha saputo
intendere l’inventione nemmeno il canto ma ni ancho ha saputo forse trovare per via delle sue
regole una delle vinti maniere de poter la far cantare, et non havendo potuto li è restato
nemico’). Quoted from Bruyn, ‘Ghisilinus Danckerts, kapelaan-zanger van de Pauselijke kapel’
(1949), 130.
According to the Philosopher [Aristotle], all those who act do so for a reason. The
purpose of music is to satisfy the ear, and this will not be accomplished by means
of colors, chess, or other fancies more enticing to the eye. On the contrary, only
those fancies that are well accompanied by harmony and the words for the purpose
of aural satisfaction are worth a hearing.202
Vicentino’s distinction between the eye and the ear and their respective
functions leads to the inevitable conclusion that music that is primarily
focused on visual aspects cannot satisfy the ear. To put it differently: the
purpose of music should be music, not an intellectual exercise. What is
more, as these compositions are too much concerned with optical matters
rather than concentrating on the true essence of music, they also tend to
disregard the imitation of the words. Against this background, it should
not surprise us that the remaining part of Vicentino’s treatise revolves
around the intimate link between music and language. In chapter 42 (‘Rule
for coordinating the singing of any sort of composition’), he approaches
this topic from the standpoint of the singer, who should always ‘consider
the intention of the musical poet’ and ‘express the melodic lines, matching
the words to their passions’.203 Chapter 43, which reports the famous
disagreement between Vicentino and Lusitano about the genera, is then
the logical bridge to the last book, in which the theorist expounds the
details of the archicembalo, the instrument that was created to perform the
chromatic and enharmonic genera and to ensure a maximal adaptation of
the music to the words.
As we have seen above, in book 3, chapter 71 of Le istitutioni harmo-
niche, Zarlino also focuses on the hierarchy of the senses and embeds it in a
bulkier philosophical discussion, of which the roots go back to Aristotle.
He too stresses that compositions should in the first place produce good
harmony instead of being focused on visual aspects. These include not only
complex mensuration and proportion signs, but also – and even more
markedly – images. Indeed, he concedes that they can be beautiful objects
to admire with the eyes, but if they do not enhance the quality of the
202
Vicentino, L’antica musica, fol. 93v: ‘Secondo il Filosofo, tutti quelli che fanno; fanno per il
fine. adunque il fine della Musica è di satisfare à gl’orecchi, & non con i colori, ò scachi, ò
d’altre fantasie che paiono più belle à gl’occhi, che à gl’orecchi; ma quelle che in tal proposito
saranno bene accompagnate dall’armonia insieme con le parole; quelle saranno degne d’esser
udite, ma poche ci saranno di tal maniera fatte, perche i gradi & i salti non possono servire, ne
à tal suggetto, ne alle parole.’
203
Ibid., fol. 94r–v: ‘[Il cantante] dè considerare la mente del Poeta Musico’ and ‘[dè] colla voce
esprimere, quelle intontationi accompagnate dalle parole, con quelle passione’ (bk. 4, ch. 42).
Critical voices 259
composition, why should they be introduced at all? His ideas are so

outspoken that it is worth quoting the paragraph in full:
Someone might inquire: but is it not a fine thing to see a tenor neatly ordered
under the modus, tempus, and prolation signs in the manner of the ancient
musicians, who were concerned with almost nothing else? Yes, it is truly a beautiful
thing, especially when it is written by an excellent scribe and painted by an
excellent miniaturist, using the best inks and finest colors, and all beautifully
proportioned, and even more so when, as I have seen, a coat of arms, bishop’s
headdress or hat, or other thing of beauty is added. But what does it all matter, if
such a composition is not better or worse than when the tenor is written simply,
without any complexities?204
It is interesting to note that Zarlino also deals with the material presentation
of the music by stressing the task of a scribe. The visual attractiveness of
certain manuscripts in general and the sheer notation of the music in
particular were clearly valued for their own sake by his contemporaries. As
regards the use of images and the contribution of miniaturists, Zarlino does
not give any specific information, although it is clear that he must be
referring to existing compositions. Evidently, pieces including coats of arms
or other attributes of dignitaries in general and so-called ‘Wappenmotetten’
in particular occur frequently in the Renaissance.205 But in Zarlino’s eyes,
these devices make things complex without added musical value or positive
impact: ‘Thus it may be truthfully said that this method of composing results
only in needlessly multiplying difficulties without increasing harmonious-
ness.’206 Music should only deal with sounds and tones and be concerned
with sonority – everything else is superfluous: ‘Therefore it seems to me that
all musical speculations not directed toward this end are vain and useless.’207
204
Zarlino, Le istitutioni harmoniche, 278: ‘Dirà forse alcuno, non è bella cosa vedere un Tenore
ordinato sotto li segni del Modo, del Tempo, et della Prolatione, come facevano quelli antichi
Musici, i quali ad altro quasi non attendevano? Si veramente, che è cosa bellissima;
massimamente quando è scritto, o dipinto, et miniato anche per le mani di uno eccellente
scrittore, et miniatore, con ottimi ingiostri, colori fini, et con misure proportionate; et li sarà
aggiunto alcuno Scudo (come hò gia veduto) con una Mitra, o Capello, con qualch’altra bella
cosa appresso: Ma che rileva questo? se tanto sarà sonora, o senza alcuna gratia quella
cantilena, che haverà un Tenore scritto semplicemente, et senza alcuno intrico, ridutto ad un
modo facile; quanto se fusse pieno di queste cose.’
205
On ‘Wappenmotetten’, see also the literature cited above for Isaac’s Palle, palle.
206
Zarlino, Istitutioni harmoniche, 278: ‘Adunque si può veramente dire, che un tal modo di
comporre non sia altro, che un moltiplicare difficultà, senza necessità alcuna, et non un
moltiplicar l’ harmonia; et che tal cosa si fà senza utile alcuno, poi che vanamente si
moltiplicano le cose senza alcuna necessità.’
207
Ibid.: ‘La onde parmi che tutto quello, che nella Musica si và speculando, et non si indriccia a
tal fine, sia vano, et inutile.’
In his Dialogo della musica antica, et della moderna, Vincenzo Galilei

picks up the above-mentioned arguments and even goes a step further.
His critique is part of a paragraph on ‘other abuses of the modern
composers’ (‘Altri abusi de’ moderni prattici compositori’), as is indi-
cated in the margin.208 His main concern is directed against all kinds
of visual and notational puzzles. As he puts it, composers sometimes
want
one or more parts of their works to be sung against an impresa or coat of arms of
those to whom they want to make a gift; or [these compositions should be sung] in
front of a mirror; or with the fingers of the hand. It also happens that one of them
sings from the beginning, at the same time the other one starts from the end or the
middle of the same voice. At other times they need to be silent on the notes and
sing rests instead. Not satisfied with this, they want others to sing sometimes
without lines, on words signifying the meaning of the name of the notes with their
vowels [i.e. taken from the vowels of the words]. [They mark them with] some
extravagant Chaldean209 or Egyptian numbers. Still others paint on the paper the
most beautiful and diverse flowers and branches.210
Contrary to Vicentino, for all of Galilei’s categories examples can be found:

we do know about pieces that are accompanied by or written in the form of
a coat of arms, a mirror, the Guidonian hand, flowers, etc. Apart from that,
compositions using retrograde, soggetto cavato, complicated proportions,
techniques of rearrangement and substitution as well as tacet remarks are
of course numerous, as we have seen in Chapter 2. In Galilei’s eyes, these
compositions are not only ‘ridicole vanità’, but they are also out of place in
the context of ordinary music making. Like Vicentino’s and Zarlino’s, his
argument comes down to a discussion about the senses. Galilei too juxta-
poses sight (vista) and hearing (udito) when it comes to the evaluation of
musical obscurities: ‘The delight that is given by them is completely for the
sight; however, the intention of the musicians was primarily for the
208
Vincenzo Galilei, Dialogo della musica antica, et della moderna (Florence, 1581), 88. Facsimile
edition by F. Fano (Rome: Reale Accademia d’Italia, 1934).
209
The term ‘Chaldean’ probably refers to Babylonian mathematics. Greek and Hellenistic
mathematicians were greatly influenced by the Babylonians.
210
Galilei, Dialogo, 88: ‘come di far cantare una, ò piu parti delle compositioni loro intorno
all’impresa, ò arme di quel tale à chi ne voglion far dono; overo in uno specchio; ò per le dita
delle mani; overo canterà una di esse il principio, nell’istesso tempo che l’altra canta il fine, ò il
mezzo della medesima parte; & altra volta faranno tacere le note, & cantare le pose. Non
contenti di questo, vogliono altri che si canti alcuna volta senza linee, su le parole significando
il nome delle note con le vocali; & il valore di esse con alcune stravaganti, & bizzarre cifere
Caldee, ò Egittie; overo in vece di queste & quelle, dipingono per le carti fiori & frondi
bellissime & diverse.’
Critical voices 261
satisfaction of the hearing.’211 Like his predecessors, Galilei comes to the

conclusion that riddles appeal to the sense that is not proper to music. As a
direct consequence of this, such pieces cannot produce good music.
Galilei reaches a radical verdict, by stating that such puzzles rather
belong to the burlesque: ‘In my opinion, the true place and time for pieces
made in such a way should be carnival as a joke or farce.’212 Wittingly or
unwittingly, he thus situates these pieces in a recreational context that is
not at all untypical of literary riddles from Classical Antiquity onwards, as
we have seen in Chapter 1. Suffice it to recall Athenaeus’ above-mentioned
Deipnosophistae, where riddles and γρίφοι are part of dinner-table amuse-
ment; or the Aenigmata Symphosii, in which riddles are connected with the
festival of the Saturnalia and considered a crucial element of postprandial
diversion. A famous example from the Renaissance, as we have seen, is
Giovanni Francesco Straparola’s novel Piacevoli notti, situated near Venice
during the Carnival season. It is not clear whether Galilei was familiar with
this tradition, but it is not impossible that his condemnation of the
enigmatic is to be understood as more than an empty phrase.
Finally, it is interesting to note that Galilei’s discussion of ‘musical
abuses’ is followed by an explanation of the ‘imitatione de concetti che si
trae dalle parole’. This is in itself a rather abrupt change of subject, but his
step is in line with Vicentino’s reasoning, when he writes that visual
puzzles are ‘contrary to the goal of the imitation of the nature of the
words’ (senza proposito de imitar la natura delle parole). It thus seems
that Galilei, after having tackled some fundamental problems of modern
compositions, is now ready to handle ‘the real thing’.
The performer
From the above-mentioned arguments, it is clear that according to
Vicentino, Zarlino and Galilei, notational and technical difficulties in
general and riddles in particular go against the essence of music. Mensural
211
Ibid.: ‘& il diletto che da essi si trae, è tutto della vista; quantunque l’intentione degli artefici . . .
fu principalmente per sadisfattione dell’udito.’
212
Ibid.: ‘Il vero luogo e tempo di questi lor concetti si fatti sarebbe, per mio avviso alle veglie del
carnovale per burla e scherzo.’ Galilei’s critique of the presence of images in music is similar to
the reception of visual lyrics in certain circles. They too were sometimes censured as artificial
and ‘foreign to the species’: see, for example, Gabriel Harvey, who in his manuscript Letter-
Book (1573–80) condemns ‘this odd riminge with many other triflinge and childishe toyes to
make verses, that shoulde in proportion represente the form and figure of an egg, an ape, a
winge and sutche ridiculous and madd gugawes and crockchettes, and of late foolishely
reuiuid.’
complexities and riddles address the ‘occhi’ instead of the ‘orecchie’.

Consequently, because the composer prioritises the visual effect of his
work over the aural one, these works do not produce pleasant harmony.
They annoy the listener instead of bringing delight. But according to these
theorists, the listener is not the only dupe. They also care about those who
have to perform these pieces. Already in Glarean’s Dodekachordon, we
could read that complexities vex the singer, as he constantly needs to be on
his guard. In the second half of the sixteenth century, his Italian colleagues
were to reinforce his views.
In book 4, chapter 33 of L’antica musica, Vicentino expands on the topic
of claritas from the position of the singer. In this chapter, which is about
‘Rules for making fugues in various ways’ (‘Regole di comporre varij
Canoni sopra canti fermi & figurati’), inscriptions come into play. The
text contains a clear incentive for composers to give singers as many
indications as possible, because verbal rubrics are made ‘to give him
direction and information as to how he should proceed’.213 According to
Vicentino, information should include the beginning and the ending of the
voices, the temporal distance and the imitation interval, as well as the
compositional technique (retrograde, inversion, etc.). In book 4, chapter
40, Vicentino then makes a direct connection between the intention of the
composer and the reaction of the performer. He especially warns com-
posers not to use ‘certain signs and other impediments that impede the
student’s understanding. Such things are sooner censured than praised.’214
He advises the composer to make his canons as easy as possible and always
to elucidate and facilitate complex matters (‘lucidare & facilitare tutte le
cose difficili’), because difficulty leads only to annoyance.215
Nevertheless, his reservations against complicated canons notwithstand-
ing, Vicentino also encourages singers not to give up too early when faced
with enigmatic pieces. Indeed, he advises them to take their time and find
the solution by means of a systematic examination of the contrapuntal
213
Vicentino, L’antica musica, fol. 89v: ‘fatte per dare indrizzio & intelligenza al Cantante come
havrà da procedere’.
214
Ibid., fol. 93r: ‘Quelle con segni, ò altri impedimenti, che offuscano l’intelligenza allo studente,
& tal cose sono piu presto degne di biasimo che di laude.’
215
Ibid.: ‘perche dalla difficultà non si cava, si non fastidio’. His remark that it is ‘useless to
accomplish with more what can be done with less’ (‘È vano quello che si puo far con il poco,
farlo con l’assai’) of course echoes the less-is-more idea that we have discussed above. It also
resonates with ongoing debates on obscurity in Ferrarese literary circles. See, for example,
Torquato Tasso’s Lezione sopra un sonetto di Monsignor Della Casa (c. 1565), according to
which obscurity is diametrically opposed to ‘diletto’, which is the ultimate goal of poetry (see
also Ch. 1).
Critical voices 263
fabric: ‘If a student wishes to discover unwritten canons and other sorts of
devices, he should take them and test the parts according to the canonic
systems: that is, at the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, octave,
and ninth.’216 Although Vicentino is aware of the rather time-consuming
character of this undertaking, he adds that this is simply part of the job – it
is a matter of professional honour if one wants to be a respected musician:
‘Though this is an annoying and tiresome task, man is not excused from
hard work where honor is at stake.’217 No pain, no gain. There are also
compositional procedures that are much more complicated to crack, such
as retrograde and inversion: ‘At times, the fugue or canon cannot be
discovered through the systems mentioned above, either because of the
impediment of rests, or because one part is going up while another is going
down, or because one part starts at the beginning and the other at the
end.’218 Here too, patience is part of the learning curve. Vicentino even
gives a detailed overview of the various options and the remedies: ‘In such
cases the student can begin at the end and work back to the beginning in
order to find where and in which voice he should begin the canons. The
same can be done if the composition is faulty in the middle or near the
end.’219 According to Vicentino, his guidelines should facilitate the stu-
dent’s task. However, if no satisfying answer can be found, there is only
one solution: ‘I have offered these remarks to make this task easier. In the
same vein, a student must examine cautiously all the parts and consider the
opinion of whoever made the device or canon so that everything will be
easily discovered.’220
Zarlino is not as indulgent as Vicentino. His reasoning is straightfor-
ward: since complexities bring no aural advantage whatsoever, why should
singers lose precious time in studying these things? Hence Zarlino’s
216
Vicentino, L’antica musica, fol. 93v: ‘Se il Discepolo vorrà ritrovare i Canoni non scritti, & altre
sorti di Compositioni, piglierà quelle, & le rincontrerà con le parti, con gl’ordini che si fanno li
Canoni, cioè, alla seconda, alla Terza, alla Quarta, alla Quinta, & alla sesta, alla settima,
all’Ottava, & alla Nona.’
217
Ibid.: ‘Avenga che sarà cosa fastidiosa, & faticosa, nondimeno l’huomo non perdonerà alla
fatica, over concorre l’honore.’
218
Ibid.: ‘Quando per impedimento di pause, non si ritrovasse la fuga, overo il Canon in questi tali
ordini sopradetti, ò per cagione che una parte ascendesse, et l’altra discendesse, ò che una parte
incominciasse nel principio, & l’altra nel fine.’
219
Ibid.: ‘Lo studente potrà incominciare dal fine, & venire verso il principio, per rincontrare il
luogo, ove havrà da principiare detti Canoni, & in qual voce si ritroverà. Il simile si potrà far
quando una compositione fusse fallata, nel mezzo, ò verso il fine.’
220
Ibid.: ‘Questi ricordi hò dato per più facilità, & lo studente circa ciò, dè essere molto
circonspetto, & considerare tutte le parti, & esaminare, l’oppenione di colui che hà fatto detta
compositione, o Canon, che con facilità ritrovi ogni cosa.’
rhetorical question, ‘since they do not contribute to better harmony and

cannot be perceived by the senses, why burden the singer with such things
needlessly?’221 As we read in book 3, chapter 71 of Le istitutioni harmo-
niche, this is a complete waste of time:
Since such things are not in any way beneficial – and truly they are not – it seems
to me very foolhardy to force a person with talent to arrest his studies and take
time out to labor over similar irrelevancies. My advice is to ignore such ciphers and
to concentrate on those matters that lead to the production of good sweet
harmonies.222
Moreover, such pieces only confuse and antagonise the singers. Indeed,
instead of being presented with good music, singers have to be attentive to
all kinds of complicated signs: ‘While he should be intent upon singing
agreeably whatever part is presented to him, he is forced to watch out for
chimeras.’223 Zarlino then gives an interesting insight into the mentality of
the singers and the expectations they had to deal with. Singers apparently
felt the obligation to deal with these ‘chimeras’ if they did not want to pass
for illiterate: ‘Yet he [the singer] may not let anything pass without close
consideration, lest he become known as a clumsy ignoramus.’224 So he
confirms that performers felt a kind of ‘social pressure’ to solve all kinds of
musical complexities: being able to decipher the intentions of the com-
posers gave them authority. In Zarlino’s eyes, this fact is already absurd
per se, but it is even worse that singers need to invest time in such matters
at all.
In the above-mentioned passage from his Dialogo, Vincenzo Galilei
connects the position of the composer, the performer and the listener
and comes to a radical conclusion: ‘Such inventions are like those
musical instruments in whose making the artisan puts the utmost effort,
assiduity and industry. But when they are played, even by the most gifted
and excellent hand, they produce brutish and disordered sounds and
221
Zarlino, Le istitutioni harmoniche, 278: ‘Se adunque non sono di alcuno utile per l’acquisto
delle buone harmonie, ne apportano utile alcuno al sentimento, a che effetto aggiungere obligo,
et accrescer fastidio al Cantore con simili cose, senza proposito?’
222
Ibid.: ‘Et se non danno utile alcuno (come veramente non danno) parmi veramente gran
pazzia, che alcuno di elevato ingegno habbia da fermare il suo studio, et spendere il tempo, et
affaticarsi intorno a simili cose impertinenti: Onde consiglierei ciascuno, che mandasse da un
canto queste cifere, et attendesse a quelle cose, col mezo delle quali si puo acquistare le buone,
et soavi harmonie.’
223
Ibid.: ‘Perche quando doverebbe essere intento a cantare allegramente quelle cantilene, che li
sono proposte, gli è dibisogno, che stia attento a considerare simili chimere.’
224
Ibid.: ‘Et che non lassi passar cosa, che sia dipinta, che non ne habbia grande consideratione:
essendo che se facesse altramente, sarebbe riputato (dirò cosi) un goffo et uno ignorante.’
Critical voices 265
voices.’225 It is as if he wants to say that in the end, no one is really

happy with riddles: the composer has put too much time into his inven-
tion, the singer needs too much time to figure out what is meant, and
even if the code is cracked and the work is sung by the best ensemble,
the result for the listener is still poor.
Second-guessing: on prophets, astrologists and chimeras

In the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century, theorists increasingly
take into account the position of the performer when it comes to the
solution of riddles. But composers of riddles equally address the topic. In
his short collection of Canoni musicali (Venice, 1613), for instance,
Adriano Banchieri presents eight canons that are accompanied by enig-
matic poems.226 As the subtitle ‘Entro gli quali (oltre la curiosità) si
comprendono molte utilità, che s’appartengono al Canto Figurato, Contra-
punto, & Canto Fermo’ indicates, his riddles satisfy two needs. Apart from
their inherent curiosity, they can also teach aspects of polyphony, counter-
point and plainchant. This idea is repeated at the end, where Banchieri
offers his readers a ‘Breve Narrativo in materia di Canoni Musicali’. In this
brief afterword, Banchieri underlines the historical dimension and univer-
sality of his undertaking: ‘infiniti Compositori antichi & moderni’ have
written canons. However, he notices that they were more often written for
reasons of curiosity than for practical needs (‘piu per curiosita, che per
utilità’). It is to this dilemma between personal inquisitiveness and didactic
intentions that he will come back at the end of his text. Banchieri then
makes a distinction between ‘Canoni terminati’ and ‘interminati’ (i.e.
‘quelli, che sotto note Musicali obligano piu parte resumendo da capo in
infinito’), he mentions some of his illustrious predecessors (Josquin, Asola,
Porta, Palestrina and Fulgentio Valesi)227 and remarks that such pieces can
be based on serious and spiritual texts on the one hand, ‘[parole] Vezzose,
& Baccanali’ on the other.228
225
Galilei, Dialogo, 88: ‘si fatte inventioni sono simili à quelli istrumenti musici nella fattura de
quali si scorge grandissima fatica, diligenza, & industria degli artefici di essi, ma sonati dipoi
benche da dotta, & eccellente mano, rendono i suoni, & le voci rozze, & incomposte.’
226
Facsimile edition in the series Bibliotheca musica Bononiensis, II.26 (Bologna, 1968).
227
Valesi is the author of a collection with Canoni di più sorti fatti sopra doi canti fermi del primo
tuono for three to six voices, op. 2 (Milan, 1611). Banchieri included one of Valesi’s canons in
his Cartella musicale of 1614.
228
As regards the last category, it is rather unfortunate that Banchieri does not reveal which
compositions he has in mind. Could he have known Willaert’s Quid non ebrietas – the text of
which extols the miracles of drunkenness – or does he refer to more recent works, e.g. via
At the end of his afterword, apart from stressing the wide variety of
secrets and brain-teasers (‘mille & mille varietà, secreti & lambicamenti di
cervello’), Banchieri distinguishes two kinds of composers: those who want
the singers to brood on the riddles, and those who provide a resolution to
the singers. He clearly favours the second option for two reasons. First of
all, not all people understand obscure inscriptions – not every singer could
meet the high standards that are expected of someone who wants to find
the solution; but when inscriptions are explained, everyone can enjoy them
(‘gli oscuri non tutti gli capiscono, & gli dichiarati ognuno ne gode’).
Secondly, when a resolution is given, the singer does not risk losing time,
which Banchieri – drawing on an Italian proverb – compares with search-
ing the sea in Ravenna (‘cercare il Mare per Ravenna’), i.e. does not go
down a dead-end track.229 In short, Banchieri is not against the use of
puzzles as such, but he does not approve when composers refrain from
presenting a resolutio, as this automatically limits the number of parties
involved. This is an interesting remark, which seems to be emblematic for
the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century. As we have seen for the
riddle culture in earlier times, composers often wished to make their
riddles inaccessible to outsiders. Complexity was not only a proof of a
composer’s musical abilities, but also a social statement, a confirmation
and expression of his professional status.230 Easy access and understanding
would seem to undermine his image as a learned person. Banchieri,
however, does not share this elite thinking and is careful to have all his
enigmas followed by a ‘Dichiaratione’, which contains a step-by-step
explanation of the poem and its translation in musical terms.
Giovanni Battista Rossi, whose Organo de cantori (Venice, 1618) con-
tains an invective against enigmatic canons, also warns composers to make
their riddles as clear as possible. He starts chapter 14 by stating that since
canon means rule (‘regola’), it should give the singers a clear instruction
how the music should be sung. He gives a special reason, which appeals to
the imagination: ‘I thus recommend the composer to make his compos-
itions with rules and inscriptions that are clear, because the singers are no
necromancers, fortune tellers or prophets, who can guess the thoughts of
Giovanni Maria Artusi’s Delle imperfettioni della moderna musica ragionamenti dui (Venice:
G. Vincenti, 1600)?
229
This proverb is also mentioned in B. Varchi, L’Hercolano: Dialogo di Messer Benedetto Varchi,
nel quale si ragiona generalmente delle lingue, & in particolare della Toscana e della Fiorentina
(Venice, 1570). Modern edition in the series Classici Italiani 94 (Milan: Società Tipografica de’
Classici Italiani, 1804) (here at p. 148).
230
See in this context also Wegman, ‘From Maker to Composer’, 469ff.
Critical voices 267
another person, or rather his ill-founded caprice.’231 Further on, Rossi

draws attention to the fact that composing is not a self-sufficient cerebral
activity, but is first and foremost an act of communication, which is related
to the recipients who should be taken into account. When this basic aspect
of music making is not respected, even the perfect musician will lose his
way, because he is not obliged to know the thought or heart of another
(‘non è obligato di sapere il pensiero ò cuore d’un altro’).232
So what happens if the singer’s process of searching leads nowhere? If
the riddle is too difficult and/or the singers do not have the necessary
knowledge to solve it, the riddle loses its attraction.233 As in literature, an
enigma means nothing without the reader. Rossi is not afraid of drawing
the fatal conclusion from this problem. He makes his point with a concrete
example: a certain Vulpius Napolitano had composed a motet for seven
voices, one of which was depicted in the form of a cross.234 This voice
contained no notes, but the image was accompanied by all kinds of
inscriptions, such as the rather laconic ‘Vaglia l’intelletto dell’huomo’.
Rossi remarks that every intellectual would have been able to invent ‘simili
capricci’ without any knowledge of music. Above all, when showing this
voice to a whole battery of people – ranging from ‘esperti & bellissimi
ingegni’ to ‘huomini vecchi già stati suoi amici’ – no one was able to crack
the code. As a consequence, the motet simply was never sung. When a
riddle is too obscure, the composer must face the risk of being punished by
his public.
One year after the publication of Rossi’s treatise, we can read a similar
verdict in a letter by Romano Micheli of 16 November 1619, addressed to
231
G. B. Rossi, Organo de cantori (Venice, 1618), 12–13: ‘Avvertisca dunque il compositore à fare
le sue compositioni con le regole e con li motti anco che siano chiari, perche li cantori ne sono
negromanti, ne indovini, ne meno profeti, per indovinare il pensiero d’un’altro, ò per dir
meglio il suo non fondato capriccio.’
232
Rossi then gives examples of enigmatic inscriptions by Josquin (Missa De Beata Maria Virgine,
Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Missa Malheur me bat), Mouton, Ockeghem
(Missa Cuiusvis toni), Moulu (Missa sine pausis), so that the reader gets an idea of their nature
(‘onde per intelligenza, metterò alcuni motti, & alcuni essempi, acciò l’huomo ne venga in
cognitione tanto di questi come di simili’). From p. 14 onwards, his explanation is followed by
a series of music examples. Rossi’s choice is thus clearly retrospective.
233
As Klotz, Kombinatorik und die Verbindungskünste der Zeichen, 18 rightly observes, the work
has fulfilled its purpose when the interplay of verbal instruction and music reaches its
denouement (‘erst im Prozeß seiner Auflösung, in der Überführung der Vorschrift in das
eigentliche Werk [findet das Werk] seine Bestimmung’).
234
Unfortunately, neither the composer nor the piece is known. It should be mentioned here that,
despite its date of publication, a significant part of the treatise had been completed by 1585
(Rossi claims that his original manuscript was stolen).
Francesco Soriano, Girolamo Frescobaldi ‘et à tutti li altri Signori Eccel-

lentissimi Musici Romani’.235 In this letter, Micheli, who belonged to a
group of Roman canon adherents – see especially his collection Musica
vaga et artificiosa (Venice, 1615) – attacks an enigmatic work by Giovanni
Paolo Cima.236 He criticises the inadequate relation between the contents
of the poem that accompanies Cima’s composition – the words of which
allude to the voice designations by way of the four elements – and the
music, and he proposes several changes in his revision of the work. Micheli
also uses this opportunity to ventilate a more general complaint against
musical riddles. Like Rossi, he ponders the possibility that singers will not
be able to find the solution of a riddle:
And when a musician cannot find the way to sing these songs, what should one
have to say about him? That he was scarcely attentive? Certainly I have another
opinion, because musicians do not practise astrology; I also say that such songs are
made by musicians with little practice in such matters. With such chimeras they
believe that they can demonstrate their erudition, but when one looks at the score,
one sees evidence of little skill.237
Like Rossi, he advises composers to provide a minimum of clarity in their

riddles. If singers fail to decode the music, in Micheli’s eyes it is rather a
sign of the composer’s lack of practical experience than a mistake on the
part of the performers. More precisely, he believes the main aim of such
works is for the composer to boast his intelligence, a critique which of
course reminds us of Glarean’s ostentatio ingenii. In Micheli’s eyes, the
intentional search for obscurity instead unveils the composer’s deficiency:
on further inspection, such works often turn out to be wrongheaded and of
poor quality. Furthermore, Micheli explicitly states that singers cannot
divine the composer’s intentions, since they are not astrologists. One
should also note Micheli’s use of the term ‘chimera’, a word Zarlino, in
235
The letter is kept in Rome, Conservatorio di Musica S. Cecilia, G.CS.2.C.11.3. Quoted by
Lamla, Kanonkünste im barocken Italien, vol. I, 99.
236
On this group of composers, see especially Lamla, Kanonkünste and Wuidar, Canons énigmes
et hiéroglyphes musicaux. Cima’s work, a double canon, is on the title page of his Partito de
Ricercari et Canzoni alla Francese (Milan, 1606). For a modern edition, see Giovanni Paolo
Cima: Partito de ricercari & canzoni alla francese (1606), ed. C. A. Rayner, Corpus of Early
Keyboard Music, 20 (Rome: American Institute of Musicology, 1969), 84.
237
Quoted in Lamla, Kanonkünste, 99: ‘Et quando un musico non ritrovasse il modo di far cantare
dette cantilene, che se haverebbe à dir di lui? Che fusse poco accorto? Io per certo non sono di
questo parere, perchè li musici non professano l’astrologia; anzi dico, che quelle cantilene sono
fatte da musici di poco pratica in questi studij, poiche con quelle loro chimere credono
mostrarsi di ciò intelligenti, ma quando poi si viene alla partitura di esse, si vedono
componimenti di poco peritia.’
Critical voices 269
book 3, chapter 71 of his Istitutioni harmoniche, had used twice in the

same context. This mythological creature obviously stands for the mon-
strous and disproportionate aspect of such riddles on the one hand, and
their artificial and quasi ‘unreal’ nature on the other. Both Zarlino and
Micheli feel that these inventions look unnecessarily complicated and are
of little value on closer inspection.
It is instructive to compare these critiques with the more or less con-
temporaneous statement of the Neapolitan theorist and composer Scipione
Cerreto, as he is equally aware of the fact that singers cannot enter the
composer’s mind, but he approaches this from a much more positive point
of view. Cerreto’s taste for the enigmatic can already be deduced from the
title page of Della prattica musica vocale, et strumentale (Naples, 1601),
which shows a four-part work without clefs in the form of a rectangle. The
voices are labelled with the four elements (Ignis – Aer – Terra – Aqua) and
sing the text Omnes per ostium intrant.238 In the middle is an inscription
‘Elementa sunt, & lumen in tenebris fulget’.239 The third book of Cerreto’s
treatise contains a Chapter ‘De i Canoni’, which is about both fugae and
enigmatic canons. The chapter is preceded by a poem, in which the kind
reader (‘Lettor gentile’) is invited to ‘discover the lofty thoughts of experi-
enced musicians and the charming style of canons’ (‘scovrir gli alti pensieri
/ De Musici periti, e’l vago stile / De Canoni’).240 For this, as Cerreto puts
it, it is necessary that the mind is subtle and that it achieves the full effects
with the Idea’ (‘bisogna quì l’ingegno esser sottile / E con l’Idea oprar gli
effetti interi’). The part on ‘Canoni enigmatici’ focuses on eight Latin and
Italian inscriptions, each of which is illustrated with a short example.241 In
contrast to Rossi, Cerreto thus lays emphasis on the thrilling aspect of the
challenge singers can experience when trying to understand the composer’s
intention.242
238
Zacconi discusses this piece in his Canoni musicali, bk. 3, ch. 5 (fols. 105v–106r). The
comparison between the voices and the four elements can also be found in bk. 3, ch. 58 of
Zarlino’s Istitutioni harmoniche: earth (bassus), water (tenor), air (altus) and fire (cantus). In
Cerreto’s case, the four elements correspond to four clefs as follows: Aer = g2, Aqua = c1, Ignis
= f3, Terra = c3. A resolution of the piece is offered in Ruhland, Musikalische Rätsel, 95.
239
In addition to that, the back page of the treatise shows a short, double retrograde canon on the
words ‘Omnis perfecta laus in fine canitur’. The words of the Contralto and the Basso are
written upside down.
240
Scipione Cerreto, Della prattica musica vocale, et strumentale (Naples, 1601), 219.
241
Ibid., 224–5.
242
In the prefatory ‘Discorso’ of his Canoni enigmatici musicali (Rome, 1632), Giovanni Briccio
alludes to Lorenzo Valla’s above-mentioned definition of a riddle and stresses that it is
indispensable for the singer to take pains in finding the solution: ‘The enigmatic canon should
not have another explanation but the riddle, which is an obscure allegory or a veiled sentence,
Conclusions
In the case of musical riddles, the notation can never be sung ‘sicut se
ostendit’, as Aaron would say. Or, to quote Hothby, who – as we have
seen – was less favourably inclined towards riddles, with their inventions
composers sometimes even ‘want the melody to be understood the oppos-
ite way’ to how it is notated (‘per contrarium vult intelligi’).243
In this ramified discussion, obscurity – or indeed complexity – is a
double-edged sword. Whereas proponents such as Ramis, Finck, Cerone
and Zacconi cherish riddles as the summit of technical skill, the antagon-
ists – who clearly outnumber them – repudiate enigmas as a useless waste
of time. For the former, riddles are an intellectual challenge and a way to
train the mind; for the latter, they needlessly complicate the music without
improving the aural result. Like the reception of obscuritas in rhetoric,
literature, theology and philosophy that I sketched in Chapter 1, in music
theory as well the enigmatic is variously considered a virtus or a vitium. For
the advocates riddles are the highest expression of ars; the adversaries
consider them artificial.
When scrutinising the arguments against the enigmatic expression of
music, different agendas and motivations can be traced, which ultimately
tell us a great deal about the individual theorist’s attitude towards music
per se, and towards aspects of composing, performing and listening in
particular. Whereas Aaron criticises the composer’s deliberate clouding of
his intentions – deciding at will whether he expresses himself in a clear or
obscure way – Fulda bluntly states that under the pretext of obscurity a
composer often hides his ignorance and even errors. Glarean overtly
deplores the ostentatio ingenii that goes with complicated inscriptions
and intricate mensuration games, thereby pleading for a compositional
process that takes into account not so much the intellectual challenge and
technical sophistry as the aural result. In the last chapter of his
which is not easily understood by everybody, but only by those who use the subtlety of their
mind’ ([I]l Canone Enigmatico non deve havere altra dechiaratione che il solo Enigma il quale
altro non è che una Alegoria oscura, overo una sentenza velata qual non si possa cosi
facilmente intendere da ognuno ma solo da chi si servira della sotiliezza del ingegno).
However, like Banchieri and Rossi, he warns that the hint should not be too obscure: ‘[il
Canone] non deve essere tanto oscuro che faccia mestiere la Sibilla per sciorlo’.
243
This is in fact a critique that continues until the twentieth century. See, for example,
H. Riemann, Handbuch der Musikgeschichte. Zweiter Band, Erster Teil: Das Zeitalter der
Renaissance bis 1600 (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1907), who despite his appraisal of the
musical brain-teasers of Franco-Flemish composers states that ‘die Niederländer die
Kanonischen Künste bis an die Grenze frevelhaften Spiels mit den Mitteln der Notierung
gesteigert haben’ (p. 83).
Critical voices 271
Dodekachordon, in which he discusses the talent of individual symphone-

tae, this becomes one of the main criteria by which he judges a composer
and specific parts of his output.
With his attention to the ‘aurium voluptas’, Glarean champions an
aesthetics that is increasingly concerned with music as a sounding reality.
As we have seen above, soon thereafter theorists such as Vicentino, Zarlino
and Galilei embark upon a discussion of the senses, which serves as a
backdrop for criticising the unsatisfactory result of many musical riddles:
as they put it, music is made for the ears, not for the eyes, and since
notational intricacies are first and foremost made to be seen, these pieces
contravene music’s primary goal. This problem is bound to affect both the
listener and the singer, who has to spend time deciphering things that are
not beneficial and that sometimes even lack enough information to ensure
an unequivocal interpretation. Many theorists indeed detect a detrimental
imbalance between the composer’s and the singer’s intellectual effort and
the final aural result. According to them, the time invested by the maker
and the performer is not proportional to how the music eventually sounds.
For the proponents of musical riddles, the challenge as well as the
process of trial and error are of primary importance. Their fascination
mainly relates to the subtlety of the invention and to the rich variety of
verbal rubrics and the compositional techniques riddles hint at. The
category of subtilitas indeed runs like a golden thread through the apprais-
als of Ramis, Finck, Cerone and Zacconi.244 The puzzle advocates are
convinced that brain-teasers help to sharpen the mind. Riddles can reveal
the composer’s ingenium and his sense of intellectual refinement, and at
the same time they can give intellectual satisfaction to the person who
engages in solving them. That for them the accent is in the first place on
the cerebral, not on the aural level, also stems from the fact that most of
these theorists do not explicitly include the aspect of hearing in their
discussion. Their estimation of such pieces is contingent on the repertoire
on which they base their findings. Ramis focuses on the clever devices in
compositions by himself and his slightly older colleagues Du Fay and
Busnoys. Finck, in the Liber tertius of his Practica musica, has recourse
to compositions of Josquin, Obrecht, Senfl and others, who by that time
clearly belonged to the so-called antiqui. Both Cerone and Zacconi are,
almost by definition, even more retrospective in their choice of enigmas.
244
Cf. Ramis’s ‘ad ingenia subtilianda et acuenda’, Finck’s mention of subtilitas as one of three
reasons for using canons, and Cerone, who dedicates bk. 22, which is intended ‘para sutillizar
el ingenio de los estudiosos’, to the ‘amigos de sutillezas y secretos’.
In fact, the majority of theorists mentioned in this chapter tacitly agree

that around 1500 the culture of the enigmatic was at its zenith, whether they
were in favour of it or not. But whereas the riddle afficionados of the
sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries keep looking back at the past
under the banner of marvel and admiration, the adversaries target this
period precisely because of its production of complexities; at the same time,
in a true progress-oriented way of thinking, they praise the evolution
towards clarity and transparency in their own time. In the end, the positions
almost seem to be irreconcilable. But we are also reminded of the comprom-
ise Zarlino reached in book 3, chapter 71 of Le istitutioni harmoniche. While
being aware of the lasting auctoritas of these composers, he tried to coun-
terbalance their search for difficulty with the argument from common
sense. After all, he writes, it was their giuditio and natural talent that guided
them to create pleasant harmonies nevertheless – and that is what made
them composers of great renown.

4 Riddles visualised
Introduction: visual poetry – visual music
As we have seen in Chapter 1, obscurity can stem from a multiplicity of

factors. In Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria we find discussions of dark
vocabulary, but the rhetorician also devotes attention to obscurity in syntax
(the arrangement of words), style (e.g. brevitas) and content (e.g. figures of
speech). Furthermore, we learn that obscurity can be caused by specific
types of formal organisation, which imply self-imposed restrictions that
sometimes preclude the lucid expression of thought. Technical virtuosity
goes hand in hand with a series of demands, which could be of a visual,
verbal or numerological nature.1 For example, in word games the author
deliberately plays with the order and layout of letters and words, dissecting
them into the smallest possible units and rearranging them according to
specific rules. Such forms gained popularity in Classical Antiquity, and
were further developed in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Examples
of ‘constrained writing’ include well-known techniques such as anagrams
(when the reordering of a word or phrase forms another word or phrase),
pantograms (texts in which every word starts with the same letter),2
chronograms (phrases in which specific letters can be read as numerals,
of which the sum indicates a date) and rhopalic verses (a line in which the
number of syllables per word increases systematically).
Writers also experimented with the ordo legendi of a text. Instead of
the usual direction – horizontally from left to right – the reader is
sometimes instructed to read the lines backwards (as in the ‘versus
retrogradus’ or ‘versus cancrinus’3) or vertically (from top to bottom or
1
See also Ziolkowski, ‘Theories of Obscurity’, 134.
2
See, for example, the monumental alliteration in Hucbald of Saint-Amand’s Eloga de calvis, in
which every word of the 146 hexameters starts with the letter c. The sixteenth-century collection
Acrostichia (Basel, 1552) contains long poems in which every word starts with c, p and f
respectively.
3
To give just one example, G. Febel, Poesia ambigua oder Vom Alphabet zum Gedicht: Aspekte der
Entwicklung der modernen französischen Lyrik bei den Grands Rhétoriqueurs, Analecta
romanica, 62 (Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann, 2001), 320 mentions Baudet Herenc’s poem Le 273
vice versa).4 Acrostics, mesostics and telestics are poems in which the
first, middle and last letter of each line respectively form a message. As we can
read in Cicero’s De divinatione, they were seen as a major cause of obscurity.5
Above all, they must be seen in order to be perceived. Acrostics were mostly
used for revealing someone’s name – whether that of the author himself or a
dedicatee – and were often highlighted by way of the font size and/or a
different colour.6 This kind of identification denotes the author’s growing
establishment as an authority and his wish to mark a work as his own.
For Renaissance composers, acrostics were equally popular text forms.
In his Illibata Dei virgo nutrix, a singers’ prayer to the Virgin Mary – whose
Latin name is suggested by way of a repetitive la-mi-la soggetto – Josquin
spelled out his name by way of an acrostic.7 The texts of two of Busnoys’s
chansons – A vous sans autre and Je ne puis vivre ainsi – are designed in
such a way as to spell out the name of his acquaintance Jacqueline d’Hac-
queville via an acrostic.8 Du Fay also composed a number of songs which
reveal their dedicatee in this way. The first letter of each line of Craindre
vous vueil discloses the name ‘Cateline Dufai’, whereas Mon cuer me fait
even uncovers two names (‘Maria’ and ‘Andreas’).9 This formal way of
organisation was thus first and foremost made to be seen, as these names
cannot be heard in performance, but are present in an encoded way.10
doctrinal de la seconde rhétorique, which in one source carries the heading ‘Ainsi que l’ecrevice
va’ (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, f. fr. 2206, fol. 103).
4
U. Ernst, ‘Lesen als Rezeptionsakt: Textpräsentation und Textverständnis in der manieristischen
Barocklyrik’, Zeitschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Linguistik, 57–8 (1985), 67–94 uses the
following terms for reading directions: ‘progredient’ (from left to right), ‘regredient’ (from right to
left), ‘deszendierend’ (from top to bottom) and ‘aszendierend’ (from bottom to top).
5
Cicero, De divinatione, II.11, defines an acrostic as ‘cum deinceps ex primis versus litteris
aliquid conectitur’.
6
As we have seen in Ch. 1, the medieval bishop Aldhelm of Malmesbury identified himself as the
author of a collection of one hundred riddles by way of an acrostic and a telestic.
7
See also K. Pietschmann, ‘Repräsentationsformen in der frankoflämischen Musikkultur des 15.
und 16. Jahrhunderts: Transfer, Austausch, Akkulturation’, Musiktheorie, 25 (2010), 99–115, who
situates the piece’s peculiarity on a twofold level. First of all, it is said that the encoding by way of
an acrostic circumvents ‘die emphatische unmittelbare Namensnennung [of Josquin]’ (this of
course goes for all acrostics); secondly, through this special treatment of the ordo legendi it
becomes clear that the piece also addresses a public with a profound literary background (p. 107).
8
The first line of two other chanson texts (A que ville est abhominable and Ja que lui ne si
actende) make a pun on the woman’s name.
9
See especially D. Fallows, Dufay (London: Dent, 1982), 29–31, 43, 53–4, 60–1.
10
They were not only used for individual pieces, but could also serve to highlight the overall plan
of a collection: see, for example, the list of contents in the Medici Codex, spelling out ‘Vivat
semper Inclitus Laurentius Medices Dux Urbini’, the first eight pieces of Florence, Biblioteca
nazionale centrale, Magl. XIX.121 (‘Marietta’) and the first thirteen pieces of Wolfenbüttel,
Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 287 extrav. (‘à Estiene Petit’).
Introduction: visual poetry – visual music 275
In some cases, however, these messages were designed to be heard as well,

albeit in a subtle way. In his motet Anthoni usque limina in praise of
Saint Anthony, uniquely preserved in Brussels 5557, Busnoys incorporated
his first and last name at the beginning (‘Anthoni usque ad limina’, fol. 49r)
and end (‘fiat in omnibus noys’, fol. 50r) of the Latin text respectively.11 His
conceit is not only visually highlighted with red-ink letters, but hinted at
by way of an inscription, which tells the singers how to detect the name of the
composer: ‘Alpha et o cephasque deutheri / cum pos decet penulti[mum]
queri / actoris qui nomen vult habere’ (‘My alpha and omega, with the head
of my second and the tail of my second-last, will tell the seeker the name
of my author’).12 With Anthoni usque limina Busnoys thus created a remark-
able effect: his motet in praise of Saint Anthony, which takes the form of a
collective prayer when being said by the chorus of singers, is at the same time
a prayer for him and one on which he put his distinctive signature.13
Apart from special typographical effects, more figurative elements were
possible as well, and writers were as imaginative as composers. Fertile soil
for experimentation were the carmina figurata. In these works, the text
takes the shape of a graphic figure that is mimetically linked to the contents
of the poem. In other words, the message of the text is visualised by its
spatial layout.14 This tradition goes back to Classical Antiquity in general
and the oeuvre of Greek poets such as Simias of Rhodes, Dosiadas of Crete
and Theokritos in particular.15 Their creations – in the shape of an altar, an
axe, a syrinx, etc. – together with the pattern poems of the Anthologia
11
Modern edition: Antoine Busnoys: Collected Works, Part 2: The Latin-Texted Works, ed. R. Taruskin,
Masters and Monuments of the Renaissance, 5 (New York: Broude Bros., 1990), 138–48.
12
The play on Busnoys’s name recurs in a letter by Jean Molinet to the composer, in which each
line ends with either ‘bus’ or ‘noys’.
13
See also R. C. Wegman, ‘Busnoys’ “Anthoni usque limina” and the Order of Saint-Antoine-en-
Barbefosse in Hainaut’, SM, 17 (1988), 15–31; Wegman, ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls: Reading and
Hearing Busnoys’s Anthoni usque limina’ in D. Pesce (ed.), Hearing the Motet: Essays on the
Motet of the Middle Ages and Renaissance (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1997), 122–41 (with a suggestion for a different interpretation of the tenor at 139 n. 29) and A.
Lindmayr-Brandl, ‘Die Autorität der Namen: Fremd-und Eigensignaturen in musikalischen
Werken der Renaissance’ in L. Lütteken and N. Schwindt (eds.), Autorität und Autoritäten in
musikalischer Theorie, Komposition und Aufführung, Trossinger Jahrbuch für
Renaissancemusik, 3 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2004), 21–40 at 34–40. Lindmayr-Brandl suggests
that the penultimate line of the poem, ‘ut per verbi misterium’, could be seen as a reference to
the encoding of the composer’s name.
14
Among the numerous studies of visual lyrics, see especially G. Pozzi, La parola dipinta (Milan:
Adelphi, 1981) and D. Higgins, Pattern Poetry: Guide to an Unknown Literature (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 1987).
15
See the collection of pattern poems in The Greek Bucolic Poets, ed. and trans. J. M. Edmonds,
Loeb Classical Library, 28 (London and New York: Heinemann, 1919), 485–511.
Graeca, became well known through fifteenth- and sixteenth-century

editions and exerted an enormous influence on the poetry of that
time.16 In the fourth century, the Latin poet Publilius Optatianus Porphyr-
ius addressed a series of panegyric carmina figurata to Emperor Constan-
tine, most of which had special formal and visual peculiarities. During the
Carolingian period, writers developed so-called spatial line-poems, which
were designed in the form of a cross, a rectangle, a triangle or a circle; in
some cases, an accompanying declaratio explains how to read the text.17
The cross, as Christian symbol par excellence, gained special prominence
in the poems of Venantius Fortunatus, its popularity culminating in
Rhabanus Maurus’ well-known cycle of 28 poems De laudibus sanctae
crucis (c. 810). Printed versions (from 1503 onwards) of the latter contrib-
uted to a renewed interest in carmina figurata and stimulated imitations
and developments thereof during the Renaissance.18
In the early modern period, shape poems were especially cultivated in
Italy, England and Germany. Among the numerous advocates and their
collections should be mentioned Piero Valeriano’s Poemata (Basel, 1538),
Girolamo Musici’s Rime diversi (Padua, 1570), Richard Willes’s Poematum
liber (London, 1573) and Baldassarre Bonifacio’s Musarum libri XXV
(Venice, 1628), which show texts in such fanciful forms as an altar, a
pyramid, an egg, a pear, a sword, a wine flagon and wings. Many of them
were Latin or Greek scholars, hence familiar with the long-standing
tradition of the genre. But the carmen figuratum also flourished among
well-known writers such as Jean Marot, Jean-Antoine de Baïf and François
Rabelais. A theoretical approach to the genre is offered in the chapter
‘Of proportion in figure’ of George Puttenham’s The Art of English Poesy
(1598), in which various forms of ‘ocular representation’ are discussed and
illustrated by way of examples.19
16
M. Church, ‘The First English Pattern Poems’, Publications of the Modern Language
Association, 61 (1946), 636–50.
17
U. Ernst, ‘Zahl und Maß in den Figurengedichten der Antike und des Frühmittelalters.
Beobachtungen zur Entwicklung tektonischer Bauformen’ in Ernst, Intermedialität im
europäischen Kulturzusammenhang: Beiträge zur Theorie und Geschichte der visuellen Lyrik,
Allgemeine Literaturwissenschaft – Wuppertaler Schriften, 4 (Berlin: Schmidt, 2002),
23–43 at 40ff.
18
N. M. Mosher, Le texte visualisé: Le calligramme de l’époque alexandrine à l’époque cubiste,
American University Studies, II.119 (New York: Lang, 1990) and U. Ernst, Carmen figuratum:
Geschichte des Figurengedichts von den antiken Ursprüngen bis zum Ausgang des Mittelalters,
Pictura et poesis, 1 (Cologne, Weimar and Vienna: Böhlau, 1991).
19
G. Puttenham, The Art of English Poesy, ed. F. Whigham and Rebhorn (Ithaca, NY and London:
Cornell University Press, 2007), bk. 2, ch. 8.
Introduction: visual poetry – visual music 277
Visual pictorialism gradually penetrated musical thinking, and riddles

turn out to be a particularly fruitful domain. The scope of pictorial themes
ranged from geometrical forms to religious, cosmological and political
symbols, to more playful motifs. Because of their visual attractiveness,
such pieces circulated in a wide range of sources and in various media:
they not only survive in music manuscripts and prints, but also appear on
broadsides, paintings, lithographs, copper engravings, intarsia, linen cloths,
playing cards, alba amicorum, etc. Apart from that, they often occupy a
prominent place in theoretical treatises: musical calligrams occur on title
pages or in the liminary matter, or at the very end of the treatise, by way of
a final résumé and symbolic conclusion. Their writers must indeed have
considered them an epitome of their learning, a condensed way of express-
ing the essence of their ideas.
Literary and musical experiments with formal elements have in common
their visual orientation, their ‘materiality on the page’ and their judicious
use of spatiality. They only work in a written form and are not primarily
made for oral transmission, but are designed to be read instead. In the case
of music, too, these peculiarities cannot be heard – they pass unnoticed
in performance – but are made and conceived to be seen. They are ‘eye
music’ in the broad sense of the word. In these instances the notation is not
merely a medium, a prescription for performance, but acquires a central
function and is the focus of the composer’s attention. Without the notation
the maker’s intention cannot be fully communicated. Rather, the mise-en-
page is the very essence of and the key to the understanding of the text/
music. The music or the text as written becomes the very subject of
the writer’s intention and, as a consequence of this, is mainly accessible
and visible to insiders.
Reading these texts – whether silently or collectively – always implies
a kinetic dimension: the reader has to convert the page into well-defined
directions according to specific instructions and patterns, which in some
cases have a mimetic function themselves.20 The author literally directs the
reader through the composition and channels the reading direction. In so
doing, he deliberately plays with and confuses the reader’s expectations,
leading him to explore the written text in manifold and unexpected ways.
20
Ernst, ‘Lesen als Rezeptionsakt’, 175 cites the example of a poem in the form of a wheel of
Fortune. The reader’s exploration of the text could be said to mirror the turning of the wheel
itself. A comparable example in music would be Baude Cordier’s Tout par compas. Here as well,
the very act of reading/singing implies a movement of the page that is analogous to a traveller’s
effort to orientate himself by way of a compass (see below).
It is this balance between showing and hiding and the appeal to the reader
to make sense of the written text that bring these creations close to the field
of the riddle. Because of his active role in the realisation of the text, the
reader in a certain sense becomes a second ‘inventor’.21 Above all, by the
author’s compelling of the reader to go down a specific path, the traditional
ordo legendi is abandoned in favour of new, hitherto unexplored ways
of reading. This also implies what Ulrich Ernst has called a ‘Entautomati-
sierung’ and ‘Retardierung’ of the act of reading itself.22 Reading is no
longer a self-evident, automatic activity, but the deceleration that goes
with these new ways of ‘scanning the page’ makes it become a cognitive,
hermeneutic activity, which offers the possibility for reflection. In the next
pages, I explore how these principles can work in music by way of three
sets of examples: riddles in the form of or accompanied by the image of a
circle, a cross or the lunar cycle.
Geometrical figures: the circle
How swift the circle stir above,

His center point doth never move;
All things that ever were or be,
Are closed in his concavity.
...
And beyond his wide compass,
There is nobody nor no place,
Nor any wit that comprehends,
Where it begins, or where it ends.
And therefore all men do agree,
That it purports eternity.
George Puttenham, The Art of English Poesy (1598), book 2, chapter 12
The geometrical form and age-old symbol of the circle invites a whole
range of interpretations. It can express concepts such as cyclical renewal,
infinity – without beginning and end – and perfection. But a circle can also
imitate the form of objects such as the wheel of Fortune, itself an allegory
of the human condition. In his book on the history of visual lyrics, Ulrich
Ernst discusses a carmen figuratum by Abelard in the form of two
21
See also Febel, Poesia ambigua oder Vom Alphabet zum Gedicht, 404: ‘Daneben wird die
Bedeutung des Lesers, der als zweiter “faiseur” ebenso zur Realisierung der Texte beiträgt, zum
ersten Mal explizit betont und so eine spiegelbildliche Relation von Leser und Autor gedacht.’
22
Ernst, ‘Lesen als Rezeptionsakt’.
Geometrical figures: the circle 279
concentric circles, from which a number of rays depart. The circular form
allows a multiplicity of interpretations that are all present in the text of the
poem, of which each line, moreover, starts with the letter O: it variously
stands for the sun, a wheel, a host, the four winds, the cosmos, and infinity.23
In music as well, we encounter a range of compositions in the form of a
circle. As early as the fourteenth century, composers began to play with the
mimetic associations of the circle. In the anonymous ballade En la maison
Dedalus from about 1375, two concentric circles depict a labyrinth, the
‘house of Daedalus’, in which the persona of the text claims to be enclosed
(see Plate 4.1).24 The ballade is also a love song, and the labyrinth an image
for the lover’s restless quest for his lady. In addition, the two-part canon in
the lower voices could be seen as a musical reflection of the lover’s miserable
situation, faithfully chasing his beloved, but doomed never to reach her
(‘ma dame vers qui ne puis aller’ / ‘je ne say comment a li venir’).25
Attached to the famous Chantilly Codex is the rondeau Tout par compas
suy composé by Baude Cordier, written in so-called Ars subtilior notation.26
Here again, we see two concentric circles in the centre of the page, which
are surrounded by four other circles. Three of them (framed in a square)
contain texts by and about Cordier himself, whereas the upper left circle
not only reproduces the text of the rondeau on a five-line stave, but also
contains the instruction that the upper voices sing in canon, with the comes
entering after three breves at the unison (see Figure 4.1).27 The circle thus
stands for a compass – ‘I am composed in the form of compass’, the
persona tells us – but also suggests the virtual infinity of what is conceived
23
U. Ernst, ‘Ein unbeachtetes “Carmen figuratum” des Petrus Abaelardus: Textüberlieferung –
Verfasserproblematik – Gattungsstruktur’ in Ernst, Intermedialität im europäischen
Kulturzusammenhang, 65–90.
24
Crocker, ‘A New Source for Medieval Music Theory’.
25
The canonic inscription reads ‘Tenor faciens contratenorem alter alterum fugando’ (‘The Tenor
making the Contratenor, with the one hunting the other’). See also O. Huck, ‘The Early Canon
as Imitatio naturae’ in Schiltz and Blackburn (eds.), Canons and Canonic Techniques, 7–18.
26
J. Bergsagel, ‘Cordier’s Circular Canon’, Musical Times, 113 (1972), 1175–7; É. Anheim, ‘Les
calligrammes musicaux de Baude Cordier’ in M. Clouzot and C. Laloue (eds.), Les
représentations de la musique au Moyen Âge. Actes du colloque des 2 et 3 avril 2004 (Paris:
Musée de la Musique, Cité de la Musique, 2005), 46–55; Y. Plumley and A. Stone, ‘Cordier’s
Picture-Songs and the Relationship between the Song Repertories of the Chantilly Codex and
Oxford 213’ in Y. Plumley and A. Stone (eds.), A Late Medieval Songbook and Its Context: New
Perspectives on the Chantilly Codex (Bibliothèque du Château de Chantilly, Ms. 564) (Turnhout:
Brepols, 2009), 303–28. See also the facsimile edition: Codex Chantilly: Bibliothèque du Chateau
de Chantilly, Ms. 564, ed. Y. Plumley and A. Stone (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008).
27
For a discussion of works whose text provides instructions for performance, see U. Günther,
‘Fourteenth-Century Music with Texts Revealing Performance Practice’ in S. Boorman (ed.),
Studies in the Performance of Late Mediaeval Music (Cambridge University Press, 1983), 253–70.
Figure 4.1 Baude Cordier, Tout par compas in the Chantilly Codex
as a perpetual canon. To sing the music, one is forced gradually to turn the
page around. This kinetic dimension also implies a mimetic aspect: the
singer is like a traveller trying to orientate himself by way of a compass.
There is indeed a high degree of self-referentiality between music, text and
image. They are all closely linked and add to the multilayered interpret-
ation of the work as a whole.
En la maison Dedalus and Tout par compas are early examples of

works that combine visual pictorialism with an enigmatic notation or
compositional technique. This tradition gains popularity in the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries and continues beyond. In this section, I shall take a
closer look at two lesser-known works that survive in circular notation. But
before doing so, a brief overview of Renaissance pieces in circular notation
is in order, as they form the background against which we should consider
this tradition. We shall see that in all these cases, the circle can serve
different semantic purposes: it can have a mimetic function or express
more abstract ideas such as infinity and/or togetherness. What all pieces
have in common is that they are canons or at least contain two or more
canonic voices. In the majority of cases, the canon is perpetual, but
sometimes the circle gives rise to a canon per tonos or a retrograde canon.
The first example, dating from the late fifteenth century, is one of the
most lavish pieces in circular notation. The multicoloured illumination
that survives in the chansonnier Florence 229 shows a circle of music –
lettered in gold – in the centre, which is surrounded by four winds against
a blue background.28 The music of the frontispiece is traditionally attrib-
uted to Bartolomeus Ramis de Pareia, whose name appears in the centre
of the circle as part of the motto: ‘Mundus et musica et totus concentus.
Bartholomeus Rami’. As we have seen in Chapter 3, this musician was
indeed fond of enigmatic inscriptions. However, this motto does not
necessarily have to credit Ramis with composition of the music. Rather,
as Howard Mayer Brown has shown in his edition of the chansonnier, the
motto, with its allusion to the construction of macrocosm and microcosm
along the same harmonic proportions, is a quotation – albeit in compact
form – from Ramis’s Practica musica (prima pars, tractatus primus).
The idea that music reflects the laws of the world goes back to Classical
Antiquity, but was revived at the end of the fifteenth century by Neopla-
tonists such as Marsilio Ficino. Against this background, the circle can thus
be said to be an image of the world. This interpretation is reinforced by the
28
A Florentine Chansonnier from the Time of Lorenzo the Magnificent: Florence, Biblioteca
Nazionale Centrale MS Banco Rari 229, ed. H. M. Brown, 2 vols., MRM, 7 (University of
Chicago Press, 1983). For a more recent intepretation of the frontispiece, see K. Pietschmann,
‘Zirkelkanon im Niemandsland: Ikonographie und Symbolik im Chansonnier Florenz,
Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Banco Rari 229’ in M. J. Bloxam, G. Filocamo and L. Holford-
Strevens (eds.), “Uno gentile et subtile ingenio”: Studies in Renaissance Music in Honour of
Bonnie Blackburn (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009), 605–15. Pietschmann presents convincing
evidence that the illumination was not originally intended to be included in the manuscript. If
we accept this hypothesis, it is telling that this complex piece was added to a chansonnier and
not to, say, a collection of masses or motets.
four winds (named Oriens, Occidens, Septentrion and Meridion) that blow
from four directions.29 Apart from strengthening the circle’s mimetic
function as a depiction of the globe, they also have a more practical
function: they mark the entrance points of the canonic voices. The inter-
pretation of the four-voice canon is further specified in the inscription in
the middle, which is full of Greek terms. As Brown shows, several solu-
tions/readings of the riddle are possible, two of which involve an ever-
progressing transposition along the circle of fifths.30 If this is indeed the
case, then this puzzle would indeed be a perfect expression of the unity
of world and music. To quote Brown: ‘It covers the entire universe in two
dimensions: vertically, in traversing the entire gamut of notes from top
to bottom; and horizontally, in modulating throughout the entire circle of
fifths.’31 This composition thus has a distinctive experimental touch, and
the combination of visual and musical imagery offers its viewer a complex
and fascinating puzzle to reflect upon.
There is a clear concentration of pieces in circular notation in the first
decades of the sixteenth century. They occur in different media and are
all embedded in a specific iconographic programme. The anonymous
Salve radix survives uniquely in London Royal 11 E.xi, a choirbook for
the English king Henry VIII.32 The opening piece of the manuscript is a
double canon, beautifully notated in the form of two circles, each contain-
ing a red rose in the centre (see Plate 4.2, showing one of them). The flower
is not just a pictorial ornament; it has clear heraldic connotations: it is
the Tudor rose and thus symbolises the king himself. In this motet, the
circle allows for multiple, yet interrelated interpretations. First of all, it
epitomises the reunion of Henry VIII and his sisters Mary and Margaret,
29
In his Canoni musicali, fol. 104v, Zacconi also has a four-voice work in circular notation, with
four winds blowing from different directions. As he explains, the winds refer to a passage in
Ezekiel 37:9, in which the prophet describes a valley full of bones. God resuscitates the bones
and covers them with flesh with the following words: ‘quattuor ventis veni spiritus et insufla
super interfectos istos et revivescant’ (‘Come, spirit, from the four winds, and blow upon these
slain, and let them live again’). The result is a double retrograde canon (between the voices on
the upper and lower part of the circle respectively). See also L. Wuidar, ‘Les Geroglifici Musicali
du Padre Lodovico Zacconi’, Revue belge de musicologie, 61 (2007), 61–87.
30
Pietschmann, ‘Zirkelkanon im Niemandsland’, reinforces this interpretation by referring to
passages in Bonaventura da Brescia’s Brevis collectio artis musicae (1489) and Giorgio Anselmi’s
De musica (1434). More precisely, both theorists mention the four winds and associate them
with the modes and the genera respectively.
31
A Florentine Chansonnier, ed. Brown, 22.
32
For a thorough analysis and contextualisation of this piece, see T. Dumitrescu, ‘Constructing a
Canonic Pitch Spiral: The Case of Salve radix’ in Schiltz and Blackburn (eds.), Canons and
Canonic Techniques, 141–70.
which took place in 1516.33 Apart from that, the circle can be said to
continue the topos of the closed garden that is shown on the preceding
folio of the manuscript. The hortus conclusus is itself an allusion to
England as a walled island, which – as the text of Salve radix tells us –
‘closes outside the dissonant hearts of the aged’ (‘claudunturque foras
dissona corda senum’).
As Theodor Dumitrescu has shown, Salve radix is also most interesting
from a compositional point of view. His analysis of the piece’s constructive
properties – especially its palindromic features – led him to the conclusion
that the work can be performed as a canonic pitch spiral, which involves
the successive addition of flats through the sequence of fifths.34 The result
is a work that – like the four-voice riddle in Florence 229 – enables
multiple interpretations. While one version is ‘straightforward’ in that
the double canon is sung as it is notated, a second version radically alters
the aural result by gradually traversing the complete pitch space. Evidently,
this requires a considerable effort on the part of the singers, and it must
have entailed careful preparation before they could realise the unusual
pitch spiral. Like the image on the first page of the choirbook, showing a
single root (i.e. the Tudor family) with various branches (i.e. Henry VIII
and his sisters), the rose composition on the following page also allows
various readings that all go back to the same notational archetype. Above
all, in this work the circle can be said to have both abstract and mimetic
meaning: it is a powerful symbol for the unity of members of the (royal)
family, but its closed nature also mimics the insular position of the country
for which the manuscript was destined. Finally, the circular notation might
even symbolise the work’s experimental character as an ever-descending
spiral along the circle of fifths.35
About a decade after Salve radix’s inclusion in a royal choirbook, a
Continental manuscript also links the cyclic aspect of canons with the
33
See also the image on the opening page of the choirbook, which shows a rose in the centre,
flanked by a marigold and a marguerite (representing Mary and Margaret respectively).
34
For a recording of this work, which follows Dumitrescu’s transcription, see Henry’s Music –
Motets from a Royal Choirbook, with Alamire Ensemble, Quintessence, Andrew Lawrence-King
and David Skinner (Obsidian, 2009).
35
O. Ander and M. Lundberg, ‘Principer, frågor och problem i musikvetenskapligt
editionsarbete – med exempel från pågående inventerings-, editions-och utgivningsprojekt’,
Svensk tidskrift för musikforskning, 91 (2009), 49–76 at 62–4 discuss a piece in circular notation
from around 1600 that might also have been conceived as a pitch spiral: Pfaffen son was part of
the collection from the German congregation of St Gertrude in Stockholm and is currently
preserved at the Music and Theatre Library of Stockholm (Tyska Kyrka XXXVI). My thanks to
Mattias Lundberg for sharing this information with me.
circle. Each partbook of the madrigal collection Bologna Q 21 has a

different canon in circular notation on its opening page.36 In all cases, a
circle surrounds a coat of arms in the form of a feather in a shield, to which
bands on both sides have been added. Concordances with earlier sources
make clear that these works were originally not intended to be depicted in
the form of a circle, but their canonic structure may well have inspired
the scribe of Bologna Q 21 to present them in this form to catch the
attention of the manuscript’s owner. Both Mouton’s 4-in-1 canon En
venant de lyon (Cantus) and Willaert’s three-voice canon Se ie naj mon
amie (Altus) are clefless compositions that turn out to be a katholikon, with
each pitch level containing a modally differentiated version of the same
melody.37 The remaining two pieces are double canons: Mon petit cor
(Tenor) is another work by Willaert, which had originally appeared in
Antico’s Motetti novi e chanzoni franciose a quattro sopra doi (Venice,
1520); Josquin’s Bayses moy appears in the Bassus partbook.38
The visual attractiveness of circular notation made it an interesting
element for music prints, manuscripts and treatises, and even paintings.39
In his famous Allegory of Music, probably dating from the 1520s, the
Ferrarese painter Dosso Dossi includes two examples of visual music,
which he presents on stone tablets: apart from the triangular presentation
of the three-voice mensuration canon in the second Agnus Dei from
Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Dossi includes a
circle that contains a four-voice perpetual canon at the unison.40 The
question of the authorship of this work being put aside, the format of
both canons clearly has a symbolic meaning. Each in its own way visualises
musical perfection and thus underlines the painting’s allegorical intentions.
36
Un canzoniere musicale italiano del Cinquecento (Bologna, Conservatorio di Musica “G.
B. Martini” Ms. Q 21), ed. C. Gallico, ‘Historiae musicae cultores’ Biblioteca, 13 (Florence:
Olschki, 1961).
37
Major research on katholika has been done by P. Urquhart, ‘Calculated to Please the Ear:
Ockeghem’s Canonic Legacy’, TVNM, 47 (1997), 72–98.
38
In Antico’s collection, Willaert’s chanson carries the inscription ‘Alterius [recte Alternis]
dicetis, amant alterna Camoenae’ (‘You will speak in alternation, the muses love alternation’),
which is a quotation from the third book of Vergil’s Bucolics, ll. 58–9.
39
One year after Salve radix, circular notation seems to have been used as a merely decorative
element on the title page of Antico’s Canzoni Sonetti strambotti et frottole libro quarto
(Rome, 1517). Antico reproduces the four-voice canon at the unison on the words ‘Vivat Leo
Decimus Pontifex’ that had figured on the title page of the Liber quindecim missarum of
1516. The canon is now depicted without text in the form of a circle, showing the profile of a
man in a cameo-like manner. For a transcription, see Ruhland, Musikalische Rätsel, 67.
40
A major study of the music in this painting is H. C. Slim, ‘Dosso Dossi’s Allegory at Florence
about Music’, JAMS, 43 (1990), 43–99.
The triangle invites both pagan and Christian interpretations: it refers

to the importance of the number three in Aristotelian theory, but also
stands for the Holy Trinity as one of the main doctrines of Christian
faith – see also the motto ‘Trinitas in unum’ that Dossi attached to
Josquin’s mensuration canon. The circle not only suggests the virtual
infinity of the canon, but also the perfection of the unison or the octave,
the imitation interval of the canon. We can assume that both works on
Dossi’s painting were originally not conceived with this special visual
format in mind, but it is clear that the circle and the triangle not only fit
the subject of the painting, but also bring to the fore a special feature of
both canons.41
A further piece in the form of a circle leads back to England. In
the 1540s, an eight-voice canon by a certain Morel was attached to
the manuscript London Royal 8 G.vii.42 The inscription ‘Morel viro prae-
clarissimo domino comiti de Arundell’ on top of the circle allows the
identification of the dedicatee as either William Fitzalan, 18th earl of
Arundel (†1544) or Henry Fitzalan, 19th earl of Arundel (1512–80).43
Both were members of the Order of the Garter, and it is the emblem of
this famous order of chivalry that inspired the form of the work. The order
was dedicated to the image and arms of Saint George (the patron saint
of England) and its arms show a garter with the motto ‘Honi soit quy mal
y pense’ (‘Shame be to him who thinks evil of it’). All these elements
are present on the folio with Morel’s composition: the order’s motto serves
as the text of the work, the circle (containing a five-voice canon) mimics
the form of a garter, and in the centre is Saint George on a horse slaying
a dragon with a lance, on which a three-voice canon is written – the
oak leaves shown in and beneath the circle were part of the coat of arms
of the Fitzalans.44
41
The manuscript Trattato del contrapunto (Bologna B 140), written by Tomaso Graziani
(probably as a result of his studies with Costanzo Porta), has a riddle in the form of two
triangles and a circle. As the texts of the respective forms – ‘Tres sunt qui testimonia dant in
coelo’ (‘There are three that give testimony in heaven’) and ‘Demum omnia sine fine’ (‘finally all
without end’) – make clear, the triangle symbolises the Trinity, the circle infinity. This work is
discussed in book 3 of Zacconi’s Canoni musicali, fol. 106. See also Wuidar, ‘Les Geroglifici
Musicali du Padre Lodovico Zacconi’.
42
A facsimile of the manuscript was published in the series Renaissance Music in Facsimile, 9, ed.
H. Kellman (New York: Garland, 1987).
43
1544 was the year of Henry’s induction, which might well have been the incentive for Morel’s
composition.
44
Since the folio is deficient (a piece is torn out), a transcription of the music is problematic. The
garter and the motto reappear on fol. 2v as part of a heraldic illumination for Mouton’s Celeste
beneficium.
A few exceptions notwithstanding, most of the above-mentioned canons

lack a canonic inscription. One or more signa congruentiae usually suffice
to mark the entrance of the com(it)es, especially when it is a fuga canon.
Two sixteenth-century works in circular notation, however, are accompan-
ied by an enigmatic inscription. In both cases, the use of musical signs
would not suffice to establish which transformation has to be applied to
the notation. The enigmatic aspect of both works thus resides not only in
the correct interpretation of the verbal canon, but also in deciphering the
intimate connection between music, image and text.
The German composer Ulrich Brätel wrote an eight-voice motet Ecce quam
bonum, which survives on a broadside printed by Philipp Ulhart in Augsburg
in 1548.45 Three concentric circles are surrounded by hunting scenes, which
are placed in the corners of the rectangle that frames the circles: an armed
hunter, tooting his horn and in the company of his dogs, goes after a stag
and hares (see Figure 4.2). The editor, Sigmund Salminger, dedicated the work
to the five sons of Raymund Fugger the Elder, and he is probably responsible
for the panegyric poem ‘Fuggeri patriae magnum decus . . .’, which is printed
at the bottom of the page. The lengthy verbal inscription in the middle
instructs the performers how to sing the music:
CANON. Fuga. Octo vocum. Medium circulus fugam habet, cum qua duae
exterioris & duae interioris circuli voces incipiunt, ita tamen, ut ex medij circuli
voce, tres adhuc voces in unisono singulae post tria tempora sese subsequantur,
Exterioris & interioris circuli voces, in medij circuli fugam cadunt, ubi morantur, et
sic in medio consistit virtus, ac primi sunt novissimi, & novissimi primi.
Rule. Fugue for eight voices. The middle circle has the fugue, with which the two
voices of the outer and inner circle begin, in such a way that from the voice
(written) in the middle circle three further voices enter one after another at the
unison, after three breves. [After which] the voices from the outer and inner circle
join in the fugue of the middle circle, where they stay. And thus virtue consists
in the mean (middle), and the first shall be last, and the last shall be first.
The central circle contains a four-in-one canon, with four voices entering
at the unison at the distance of three breves, as the signa congruentiae
indicate. The inner and outer circle each contain two free voices. After they
have finished their line, they gradually join the four-voice canon and
develop into an eight-in-one canon at the unison that can be repeated
ad infinitum (see Example 4.1). The aural result is rather static, as due to
45
Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.pr. 156#2. The broadside was published
posthumously, three or four years after Brätel’s death.
Figure 4.2 Ulrich Brätel, Ecce quam bonum. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek,
2 Mus.pr. 156#2
the canonic structure there is not much room for harmonic variation:
especially when all voices start participating in the canon, the sonorities
constantly oscillate between G, C and D. In Brätel’s Ecce quam bonum, the
circle becomes a powerful symbol for peace, harmony and unity between
the members of a rich patrician family. This intention is underlined by the text
of the motet, which starts with the well-known first verse of Psalm 132: ‘See
Example 4.1 Ulrich Brätel, Ecce quam bonum

Example 4.1 (cont.)

Example 4.1 (cont.)

Example 4.1 (cont.)

how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity’ (‘Ecce
quam bonum et quam iucundum habitare fratres in unum’). But instead
of continuing the biblical quotation, the poem takes a different direction:
Ecce quam bonum et quam iucundum
habitare fratres in unum,
unus amor quorum pia tam bene pectora iungit.
Urbs eadem iungat et una domus.
See how good and how pleasant it is

for brethren to dwell together in unity,
whose pious hearts are joined so well by one love.
May one and the same city and one house connect them.
Brotherly love, as it is extolled in the Bible, becomes a vehicle to praise
the solidarity between the city of Augsburg and the famous patrician Fugger
family. But there is more. As Thomas Röder has shown, Salminger published
this broadside at a precarious, but highly symbolic moment.46 Indeed, in
1547–8, Emperor Charles V was in Augsburg, where he presided over the
Imperial Diet. The spread of the Protestant religion continued to be a thorn in
Charles’s flesh, especially since the city of Augsburg – except for some rich
Catholic families such as the Fugger and Welser families, who temporarily
left their native town – had stood up for the Lutheran Reformation during
the Schmalkaldic War. However, during the Danube campaign of 1546,
many Protestant rulers had to capitulate, and thanks to the efforts of the
Fuggers, Augsburg submitted to Charles. Against this turbulent historical
background, Brätel’s Ecce quam bonum reads as a political and religious
manifesto: a plea for the peaceful cohabitation of Imperialism and urban
autonomy on the one hand, and of religious convictions on the other. The
three circles could be said to visualise the gradual reconciliation between
the Emperor (the outer circle?), the city (the inner circle?) and the Fuggers.
The family’s ‘stability’ – symbolised by the canon technique, which stands
for the ‘all in one’ principle – not only steers the middle course (in the
literal and figurative sense of the word), but is also the point at which the
other voices converge in the end. In the canonic inscription, this circle is
tellingly labelled ‘virtue’: ‘et sic in medio consistit virtus’.47
46
T. Röder, ‘Verborgene Botschaften? Augsburger Kanons von 1548’ in Schiltz and Blackburn
(eds.), Canons and Canonic Techniques, 235–51.
47
As we have seen in Ch. 2, Obrecht used this inscription in the Gloria and Credo of his Missa
Fortuna desperata. Here, the word ‘medium’ refers to the middle note, which is the starting
point of the Tenor’s melody in each section of both mass items. In another source Brätel’s fuga
also survives independently, i.e. without the four additional voices (Munich, Bayerische
Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.pr. 156#18).
Figure 4.3 Anon., Miraris mundum in Prague DR I 21, p. 307
The Strahov monastery library in Prague holds a lavish broadside by an

anonymous composer, which was printed in Prague by Georgius Nigrinus
in 1589 (see Figure 4.3).48 As I shall show, this six-voice work a voci pari
48
Prague DR I 21, fol. 92r. My thanks to Scott Edwards for drawing my attention to this
broadside. The manuscript is also available online at manuscriptorium.com. See also M.
Bohatcová and J. Hejnic, ‘Knihtiskař Jiřík Nigrin a jednolistové “proroctví” Jindřicha
Demetriana’, Sborník Národního Muzea Praze, 35 (1981), 73–135.
not only offers its recipient a rich musical, visual and textual programme to
decipher and reflect upon, but it also seeks to integrate music in a wider
emblematic context.49 How does this work? Framed by a decorative
border, which Nigrinus used for other broadsides as well, are four voices
laid out in table format, with two pairs facing each other.50 They sing the
following, somewhat enigmatic text, about which more below: ‘Miraris
mundum dorso consistere cancri? Desine, sic hodie vertitur orbis iter’
(‘Are you surprised to see the world on the crab’s back? Refrain! This is
the way of the world nowadays’).
The distich reappears in the centre of the broadside, where it is notated
on a banderole. This central part consists of several interrelated elements.
The banderole is accompanied by the image of a crab that carries a globe
on its back – the vista includes a landscape with a man in a boat, a town’s
silhouette and a starry sky with a waning moon. In the body of the animal
is a short five-note palindromic pattern g–a–b–a–g, under which the words
‘Cancer cancrisat’ (‘The crab goes backwards’) are printed reversed.
The layout of the music is symmetrically organised, with a c4 clef and
three breves’ rest on either side. The notes form a brief soggetto ostinato
of 2.5 breves. This ensemble is surrounded by a circle that contains music
and is underlaid with a text that is likewise written backwards. In a
macaronic mixture, Czech verses alternate with Latin ones:
Svět se točí rovně jako kolo,

Protož přítele hleď míť dobrého,
Multa vadunt cum feria sexta,
Neb mnohé věci jdou v světě zpátkem,
retro cedunt in deteriora & non meliora.
The world is turning straight like a wheel;

Therefore make sure to have a good friend.
Many things go on Friday.
Because many things in the world go backwards,
They go backwards for the worse and not for the better.51
49
I am preparing an article (provisional title: ‘The Globe on a Crab’s Back: Music, Emblem and
Worldview on a Broadside from Renaissance Prague’) on this broadside.
50
On other broadsides by Nigrinus, see M. Bohatcová, ‘Farbige Figuralacrostichen aus der Offizin des
Prager Druckers Georgius Nigrinus (1574/1581)’, Gutenberg-Jahrbuch, 57 (1982), 246–62.
51
My sincere thanks to Lenka Hlávková (Mráčková) for helping me with the translation of the
Czech verses. Leofranc Holford-Strevens informed me that the text contains a pun: ‘zpátkem’
(l. 4) means ‘backwards’; but it could also be read as ‘z pátkem’, ‘with Friday’, thus repeating the
‘cum feria sexta’ in l. 3 (private communication, 15 April 2012).
Together with the text underlay, the backward notation of the mensuration
sign also indicates that the music is to be sung retrograde. The music turns
out to produce a second, two-breve ostinato, which starts alternately on d0
and g0 and with statements separated by 3.5 breves’ rest.52 The result is a
six-voice work for four free voices and two ostinati with three texts
superimposed (see Example 4.2).53
It turns out that the distich ‘Miraris mundum . . .’ was well known in the
context of emblem books. Only a few years before the publication of the
broadside from Prague, the humanist Joachim Camerarius introduced
these verses in his manuscript treatise Symbola et emblemata from
1587.54 Here, the phrase serves as the subscriptio for an emblem, of which
the pictura shows a crab with the globe on his back; the motto reads ‘Sic
vertitur orbis iter’. Camerarius explains that the backward movement of
the crab symbolises a regressive world, a world that is desperate and losing
sight of its goal. In order to illustrate this, he quotes a verse from Vergil’s
Georgics, 1.200, where it is said that all things tend ‘in peius ruere ac retro
sublapsa referri’ (‘to speed to the worse, and backwards borne glide from
us’). According to Camerarius, the image and the distich were invented by
Laurentius Truchsess von Pommersfelden (1473–1543), who was a canon
of Würzburg.55 In the multi-volume printed version of Camerarius’s
treatise, this emblem is part of the fourth book, entitled Symbolorum et
emblematum ex aquatilibus et reptilibus desumptorum centuria quarta
(Nuremberg, 1604).56 In this version Camerarius considerably expanded
his commentary and adds further (mainly antique) sources to support the
pessimistic image of the retrogressive movement of the world.
52
Most of the Czech verses have one syllable more than the Latin ones, but the composer solved
this by splitting the second minim into two semiminims for the Czech text.
53
Both editions by Jitka Snížková are unfortunately defective: see Výběr vícehlasých děl českého
původu z XVI. a XVII. století (Prague: SNKLHU, 1958), 73–77 and Carmina carissima: Cantica
selecta bohemica saeculi XVI. Coro a cappella, Musica antiqua bohemica, II.11 (Prague:
Supraphon, 1984), 21–33. For unknown reasons, she transcribes the piece for eight voices,
thereby spreading the ostinato and the retrograde music in the circle over two voices each.
Clearly, the broadside does not give any indication to do so.
54
In Camerarius’s treatise, the wording of the first line is slightly different: ‘Miraris cancri dorso
consurgere mundum?’ For an edition and commentary on this manuscript, which is kept at the
Stadtbibliothek Mainz (shelfmark Hs. II.366), see Joachim Camerarius the Younger, Symbola et
emblemata tam moralia quam sacra: die handschriftlichen Embleme von 1587, ed. W. Harms
and G. Heß (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2009). The emblem and Camerarius’s explanation are on
pp. 193–4 of the manuscript (see Harms and Heß, 196–7 [no. 98] and their commentary on
pp. 514–15). It is also printed in A. Henkel and A. Schöne, Emblemata: Handbuch zur
Sinnbildkunst des XVI. und XVII. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1996), col. 727.
55
I have not been able to find this emblem in Truchsess’s writings.
56
Emblem no. 54, fols. 54v–55r.
Example 4.2 Anon., Miraris mundum

Example 4.2 (cont.)

Example 4.2 (cont.)

In the Renaissance, the image of the crab as an expression – to quote

Camerarius – ‘de Mundi perversitate querela’ was revisited by several
authors. Camerarius refers to book 38 (the section on ‘De cancro’) of
Piero Valeriano’s Hieroglyphica (Basel, 1556), but the topic is also touched
upon in Erasmus’s Adagia.57 In their edition and commentary of Camera-
rius’s handwritten Symbola et emblemata, Wolfgang Harms and Gerhard
Heß mention further sources in which the image of the crab carrying the
globe and the connotation that goes with it show up. Especially from the
early seventeenth century onwards, the emblem and/or its motto occur in
various contexts and in different media, such as a medal from the Altdorf
Academy, a broadside from Augsburg, and as part of the emblematic
ensemble in the Golden Hall of the Nuremberg town hall.58 Especially
interesting, however, is a mid sixteenth-century source, the album ami-
corum of the Augsburg organist Abel Prasch (Munich, Bayerisches Natio-
nalmuseum, MS 245). On fol. 130r, we find an entry from 1560 by a certain
Jacob von Haunsperg zu Vachenlueg. As Harms and Heß surmise, the
similarity between his fine-grained drawing of the crab and the images in
Camerarius’s Emblemata and our Czech broadside is so striking that they
all seem to go back to the same, as yet unknown, prototype.
What could have inspired the anonymous composer to set this text?
I believe a central figure might have been the person who is mentioned at
the bottom of the broadside, below the name of the printer: we learn the
page was made ‘Impensis Joannis Grilli Senioris à Gryllovva’, i.e. at the
expense of Johannes Gryll a Gryllova. This Johann Cvrček – ‘Cvrček’ being
the Czech word for cricket (German: ‘Grille’) – lived from 1525 to 1597
and was a legal counsel and writer from Rakonitz (Rakovník). He is known
for his poems in the Greek language and for having translated several
biblical books into Bohemian.59 In 1571 Emperor Rudolph II made him a
‘vladyka’, a member of the lower nobility. In 1588, a year before the
publication of the broadside, Gryll not only became mayor of his native
town, but on 27 July Rudolph II also proclaimed Rakonitz a royal city. It
may well have been the connection of these events that stimulated Gryll to
57
See Erasmus, Adagia, III.7.98 (‘Cancrum ingredi doces’).
58
J. F. Stopp, The Emblems of the Altdorf Academy: Medals and Orations 1577–1626 (London:
Modern Humanities Research Association, 1974), 168–9. The Nuremberg town hall was
bombed during the Second World War, but a reconstruction of the emblems in the Golden Hall
was partly possible thanks to the drawings in P. Isselburg, Emblemata politica (n.p., 1617).
59
See the list of publications in A. Truhlář, K. Hrdina, J. Hejnica and J. Martínek (eds.), Rukovět
humanistichého básnictví v Čechách a na Moravě, 6 vols. (Prague: Academia, 1966), vol. II: Č–J,
236–7.
have the broadside printed in nearby Prague. Moreover, since 1482 Rako-
nitz had carried a crayfish in its coat of arms – the central place of the
animal in the city’s heraldry has an etymological reason: the Czech word
for crab is ‘Rak’. If we accept the hypothesis of Gryll’s designation as
the main impetus for the broadside, the festive occasion is strangely at
odds with the inherently pessimistic tone of the text and the negative
connotation of the crab carrying the world.
The uncertainty about the piece’s origin notwithstanding, it is undeni-
able that the 1589 page exhibits a high degree of self-referentiality. Music,
text and image are strongly interdependent, and each element intensifies
the effect of the other. Above all, the underlying idea of the regressive
world is expressed by all possible means. Apart from the text ‘Miraris
mundum’, which serves as the verbal commentary on the image of the
crab with the world on its back, several visual details – musical, textual
and iconographical – reinforce the central message of the broadside.
Most notable is the retrograde notation of the words ‘Cancer cancrisat’
for the short ostinato, which is itself conceived as a palindrome; as
we have seen above, the Greek word for this technique is ‘καρκινιήοι’.
Furthermore, as the notation of the Czech and Latin verses as well as
the position of the clef indicate, the music in the circle has to be sung
anti-clockwise. Finally, it could even be said that the layout of the four
free voices serves the purpose of the work’s essence. The table format not
only mimics a performance situation with two pairs of voices facing each
other,60 but as they see each other’s parts upside down, this could also
be a reference to a ‘mundus inversus’, which is conceptually related to the
idea of the retrogressive world.
The Prague broadside can be considered a moralising emblem. To the
emblem’s traditional combination of text and image, music has been added
as a third medium that underlines the moral message with its own means.
We could even say that the tripartite structure of the emblem – the
inscriptio ‘Cancer cancrisat’, the pictura of the crab with the globe on its
back, and the subscriptio in the form of a Latin distich – receives a further
consolidation via the music in the circular notation. The music in the
circle, which literally encapsulates the emblem, is a compressed form of the
60
Contrary to many other broadsides that are discussed in this chapter, there is no problem in
performing the music from this page: with two singers on the left and two on the right side,
the remaining two parts in the centre can be sung by two further voices, standing at the
small side of the rectangle. The five-note ostinato, which is interspersed with three breves’ rest,
can easily be sung from memory.
Religious symbols: the cross 301
emblem’s tripartite arrangement. It summarises and illustrates the three

aspects in a condensed way: the circle revisits the image of the world – it is
an abstract reproduction of the globe on the back of the crab; the text, with
its mixture of Czech and Latin verses, reformulates the contents of the
subscriptio about the world developing in a negative sense. Finally, the
retrograde reading of the music visualises the backward movement of the
world that is criticised in the emblem.61 As a whole, like a riddle this
broadside both conceals and reveals its intention: it demands an active
recipient, offering him interpretative clues, while forcing him to decipher
the notation and the meaning of the work at the same time.
Religious symbols: the cross
Within this crosse here may you find,

Foure parts in two be sure of this:
But first seeke out to know my mind,
Or els this Cannon you may misse.
Thomas Morley, A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke
(London, 1597), 174
These lines accompany a cross-shaped composition, as it appears in

Thomas Morley’s Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (see
Figure 4.4).62 As we have seen in Chapter 3, Morley was not an enthusiast
of enigmatic music – let alone opaque inscriptions – but this piece is a
striking exception. Morley confesses that even the four-line instruction is
too obscure to arrive at the correct solution. We are only told that four
voices can be deduced from two written ones, i.e. from the music notated
on the two beams of the cross. The crossbar contains a canon between
Bassus and Tenor: while the Bassus has to sing the written melody in
retrograde inversion, the Tenor has to transpose this melody up a twelfth,
while singing all the notes as dotted minims. The staff of the cross
produces another pair of voices: the Cantus sings the notes from top to
61
It should be noted here that this interpretation of retrograde reading does not jibe with Craig
Wright’s theories in his The Maze and the Warrior. As was also discussed in Ch. 2, according to
Wright this compositional technique is an image of ‘Christ’s journey into Hell and return’ and an
expression of ‘the eternal prophecy of Revelation: our beginning will be our end’. I am currently
embarking on a study on the symbolism of retrograde reading; in the course of my research, it has
become clear that the technique has different meanings according to the context in which it
appears, hence should be studied in a more nuanced way.
62
As I noted in Ch. 3, according to the latest research by John Milsom and Jessie Ann Owens, it is
not certain whether it was Morley who created this piece or rather an unknown master.
Figure 4.4 Thomas Morley, cross canon in A Plaine and Easie Introduction to
Practicall Musicke (London, 1597), 174
bottom, while the Altus duplicates the melody at the lower twelfth, thereby
treating every note as a semibreve.63 This cross piece thus belongs to a
63
‘Therefore you must note that the Transuersarie or armes of the crosse containe a Canon in the
twelfth aboue, which singeth euerie note of the base a prickt minime till you come to this
sign [signum] where it endeth. The Radius or staffe of the crosse containeth like wise two partes
Example 4.3 Thomas Morley, cross canon
subtype of canons in which the comes proceeds in one rhythmic value

only.64 Owing to the combination of these techniques, the aural result of
the riddle is rather peculiar (see Example 4.3). The two outer voices are
rhythmically varied, but Altus and Tenor move in one note value each, the
former in semibreves, the latter in dotted minims, which causes a constant
instability of the rhythmic structure. What is remarkable, though, is the
fact that for Morley the image of the cross does not have any noticeable
religious connotations – or at least he does not indicate a theological
reason for depicting the music with a cross-shaped layout. It rather seems
as if the mere form of the cross, with its sober but effective construction of
in one, in the twelfth vnder the treble, singing euerie note of it a semibriefe till it come to this
signe as before [signum]: likewise you must note that all the parts begin together without any
resting, as this Resolution you may see.’ I quote from the forthcoming edition by John
Milsom and Jessie Ann Owens, p. 174. The written-out solution follows on p. 175. See also
D. Collins, ‘Morley on Canon’ in J. A. Owens and J. Milsom (eds.), Thomas Morley: A Plaine
and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (in press). I am grateful to Denis Collins for
sending me his article prior to publication.
64
As Collins, ‘Morley on Canon’, points out, other examples of this procedure may be found in
canon collections by Bevin, Bull and Waterhouse.
two arms, offered the young musician an interesting occasion to experi-

ment with 4-in-2 canons in an attractive visual design.
Morley was neither the first nor the last to present music in the form of a
cross. He could draw on a tradition that had started in the first decades of
the sixteenth century and was to continue well beyond. Being a universal
emblem of salvation and one of the central symbols of Christianity, the
cross is firmly embedded in a religious context. It was an important
element in medieval passion theology, which not only developed a con-
templatio crucis, but also supported a compassio crucis, a ‘suffering with’
the crucified Christ. This concept was encouraged by depictions of Christ
on the cross, which almost literally ‘impressed’ the image on the supplicant
and stimulated a mystical re-enactment of Christ’s Passion. The idea of
visual intensification was advanced in the Renaissance.65 In 1492, for
example, the Dominican friar Michele da Carcano wrote a sermon about
the use of images in general and devotional objects in particular. In his
opinion, they have both a mnemonic function and an emotional impact:
images, more than texts, help to retain a message in one’s memory; they
arouse devotion and excite the viewer’s imagination. The Dominican friar
and reformer Girolamo Savonarola, who wrote a treatise on the triumph of
the cross, even created an image that devout people could carry with them
as a tool for contemplation while praying.66 With the advent of the
Reformation, the cross continued to have a privileged place. But there
was a considerable shift of emphasis in its theological significance and
epistemology. The cross even became a cornerstone in Lutheranism:
according to Luther’s theologia crucis, which he defended during the so-
called Heidelberg Disputation in April 1518 but touched upon in earlier
and later texts as well, Christ’s Passion and crucifixion are the only way to
salvation. It is only from God’s self-revelation through the cross that
people can learn about him.67 An important aspect of Luther’s hermeneut-
ics is the tropological interpretation of the crux Christi as the suffering of
65
R. Viladesau, The Triumph of the Cross: The Passion of Christ in Theology and the Arts, from the
Renaissance to the Counter-Reformation (Oxford University Press, 2008).
66
In his Libro . . . della verita della Fede Christiana sopra el Glorioso Triompho della Croce di
Christo, Savonarola considers Christ’s Passion and crucifixion as the first cause of grace and
salvation.
67
See Y. J. Kim, Crux sola est nostra theologia: Das Kreuz Christi als Schlüsselbegriff der Theologia
crucis Luthers (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 2008). The theologia crucis was opposed to the
scholastic theologia gloriae, which according to Luther speculates about God’s being without
any connection to real life. It is also said that the scholastic view focuses too much on the
reconciliation between God and mankind. Kim shows that Luther’s ideas were strongly
connected with the theological movement at the University of Wittenberg.
Christians. The cross is neither a way to union with God nor an example
for the imitation of his sanctity, but God’s only cure and present to the
faithful.
It is no surprise, then, that Renaissance artists from both Catholic and
Protestant circles produced works related to Christ’s death on the cross –
including the carrying of the cross, the raising of the cross, his descent
from the cross and the entombment – in such overwhelming quantities.
Apart from crucifixes and paintings, crosses were often integrated in visual
poetry for an epicedium or carmen funerale,68 or more generally for
texts about the Passion. From the early decades of the sixteenth cen-
tury onwards, composers were to follow suit. Their cross-shaped pieces
circulated in various media and were eye-catchers in both practical and
theoretical sources. Composers must have been inspired not only by the
visual attractiveness of the cross and its capacity to convey a religious
message, but also by the performative challenges it enabled. For as in
literature, the cruciform layout was particularly suitable for experimenting
with different reading directions in the horizontal and vertical sense:
forward and backward on the one hand, descending and ascending on
the other. It is no coincidence, then, that the majority of musical crosses
are conceived as a double retrograde canon, with the voices starting from
opposite ends of the cross’s arms. For composers, the cross thus was not
only a vehicle for expressing their religious worldview, but also an original
way to visualise the essence of an established compositional technique.
Most cross pieces are accompanied by imaginative enigmatic inscrip-
tions, which are – not surprisingly – mostly quotations from the Bible.
Before scrutinising two cruciform riddles, by Ghiselin Danckerts and
Adam Gumpelzhaimer, I shall first give a general overview of compositions
in the form of a cross and highlight the intertextual relations between some
of them.69
Ludwig Senfl seems to have started the tradition and even did
so in several compositions. In the manuscript choirbook Munich 37
68
Cf. the chapter ‘Die neuzeitliche Rezeption des mittelalterlichen Figurengedichtes in
Kreuzform: Präliminarien zur Geschichte eines textgraphischen Modells’ in U. Ernst,
Intermedialität im europäischen Kulturzusammenhang, 181–224. See also the poem in the form
of a cross by Antoine de Baïf in Mosher, Le texte visualisé, 112.
69
For an overview of cross-shaped pieces from the second half of the sixteenth century onwards,
see W. Braun, ‘Visuelle Elemente in der Musik der frühen Neuzeit: Rastralkreuze’ in G. F.
Strasser and M. R. Wade (eds.), Die Domänen des Emblems: Außerliterarische Anwendungen
der Emblematik, Wolfenbütteler Arbeiten zur Barockforschung, 39 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz,
2004), 135–55.
(fols. 10v–11), Istum crucis socium et regni credimus – the sixth strophe of a
sequence for the feast of Saint Andrew – is depicted in the form of a
diagonal cross.70 This layout was evidently inspired by the so-called crux
decussata on which the apostle Andrew is said to have been martyred and
which is also mentioned in the text. The result is a short double retrograde
canon ad voces aequales between Contratenor and Tenor on the one hand,
Vagans and Bassus on the other – the voice labels are positioned at each
end of the cross so as to illustrate the composer’s intention. This short
piece does not have an enigmatic inscription; the main challenge for the
singers is to understand the experiment with the ordo legendi and the
connection between the strophe’s layout and its contents.
Two other cross-shaped motets by Senfl have an identical verbal canon.
Both Crux fidelis and O crux ave appear on a broadside: a miniature image
of the crucified Christ on the left is flanked by a biblical inscription on the
right.71 As we have seen in Chapter 2, the psalm verse ‘Misericordia et
Veritas obviaverunt sibi, Iustitia et Pax osculatae sunt’, with its twofold
meeting of virtues, is an elegant way to hint at a retrograde canon. But
there is also a theological explanation for Senfl’s choice of this psalm for
two pieces related to the cross.72 As I have shown elsewhere, from the
commentaries of the Church Fathers onwards, Psalm 85 was interpreted in
typological terms as an allegory of the Passion.73 More precisely, this is a
psalm about a nation in exile: God is asked to restore the harmony between
Mercy and Truth, between Justice and Peace. Only then will the nation be
rescued. In the various commentaries on the Book of Psalms, we read that
it is exactly this hope for deliverance that was realised when God sent his
Son Jesus Christ to the earth and when Christ died on the cross to do
penance for the sins of mankind. At that moment Mercy and Truth come
together, Justice (which is granted by God) and Peace (which is to be
realised by mankind) kiss each other.
70
See Ludwig Senfl, Sämtliche Werke. Band X. Motetten. Vierter Teil: Kompositionen des
Proprium Missae III, ed. W. Gerstenberg (Wolfenbüttel and Zürich: Möseler, 1972), VI
(facsimile) and 75 (transcription).
71
Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.pr. 156#4 and Vienna, Österreichische
Nationalbibliothek, SA.87.D.8. Mus 32. For a transcription of Crux fidelis and O crux ave, see
J. C. Griesheimer, ‘The Antiphon-, Responsory-, and Psalm Motets of Ludwig Senfl’, PhD
thesis, Indiana University (1990), vol. II, 605–7 and 608–10 respectively.
72
Crux fidelis is a procession hymn for the Veneration of the Cross on Holy Friday; O crux ave
spes unica is the sixth strophe of Vexilla regis, a hymn for Passiontide.
73
See Schiltz, ‘La storia di un’iscrizione canonica’. See also H. Hattenhauer, Pax et iustitia,
Berichte aus den Sitzungen der Joachim Jungius-Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, 3 (Hamburg,
1983).
Their identical layout and common inscription suggest that Crux fidelis
and O crux ave were conceived as a pair. The broadsides do not contain
any information on the place, the date or the printer. However, another
source for both works makes clear that Senfl even had a motet in three
partes in mind. Indeed, the manuscript partbooks Munich 322–25, dating
from around 1527 and containing music that was owned by Heinrich
Glarean, present Crux fidelis, Ecce lignum crucis and O crux ave as a
triptych that uses the same canonic inscription throughout. It is difficult
to say whether Senfl composed his motet with or without the cross-shaped
form in mind. But it is clear that music, text and image of the broadside
form a coherent unity and bear witness to the composer’s acquaintance
with particular theological traditions.74 The cross-shaped layout of the
strophe from the Andrew sequence in the Munich choirbook, in which
the composer played a major role as a scribe, shows that Senfl was not
unfamiliar with the semantic possibilities of visual music. In the case of
Crux fidelis and O crux ave, he might well have instigated the production
of the two (or maybe even three?) broadsides. They serve almost as a
devotional image along the lines of Michele da Carcano’s above-mentioned
description: they invite the viewer to contemplate the crucifixion, to reflect
on the text of the piece and connect it with the compositional technique
that is suggested by the psalm verse.
Senfl’s cross pieces not only seem to have initiated a real vogue for
cruciform riddles, but also had a direct influence on two composers: apart
from Adam Gumpelzhaimer, about whom more below, Leonhard Pamin-
ger too must have known the broadsides and referred to them. In other
works from his considerable output as well, he shows his acquaintance
with Senfl’s oeuvre, and two motets from his Secundus tomus ecclesiasti-
carum cantionum (Nuremberg, 1573) bear witness to this. In the section
of works ‘De Passione Domini’ – Paminger’s motet books are organised
according to the church calendar – are two works on a fold-out page.
74
Senfl’s Crux fidelis and O crux ave were also used, albeit without the cross layout, as exempla in
theoretical treatises and were reprinted many years after Senfl’s death. In his Erotemata musices
practicae (Nuremberg, 1563), Ambrosius Wilfflingseder reprints O crux ave spes unica and
visualises the idea of the two voices meeting/kissing each other by printing the names of the
virtues at the beginning and end of the music respectively. On the next page, he labels the
resolutiones as ‘Vox Veritatis’ and ‘Vox Pacis’. Crux fidelis appears both in Heinrich Faber’s Ad
musicam practicam introductio (Nuremberg, 1550) and in the famous third book ‘De
Canonibus’ of Hermann Finck’s Practica musica (Wittenberg, 1556). In the Suavissimae et
iucundissimae harmoniae (Nuremberg, 1567), the printer added the following hint to the Altus:
‘more Hebræorum canit’ (‘[the Altus] sings in the manner of the Hebrews’), thus referring to
the writing direction from right to left; for the Tenor it simply says ‘Cancrizat’.
On each side is a cross-shaped composition: the antiphon Tua cruce

triumphamus and the hymn Vexilla regis.75 Like Senfl’s pair, the diptych
shares the same inscription, which is taken from John 6:37: ‘(Eum) qui
venit ad me non eijciam foras’ (‘Him that cometh to me, I will not cast
out’). A double retrograde canon is hinted at not only via the verbal canon,
but also by further notational features. In addition to placing the words
‘Vox cancrizans’ on the opposite side of both arms of the cross, the first
word(s) of the text are printed backwards (‘ecurc auT’ and ‘allixeV’
respectively).76 Paminger, although working in the Catholic diocese of
Passau, had many friends in Protestant circles and was considerably influ-
enced by Reformation ideas. It is not unthinkable, then, that he considered
the cross-shaped pieces, with their emphasis on the redemptive power
of Christ’s Passion, a fitting musical exemplification of Luther’s above-
mentioned theologia crucis.77
With the next composer we turn to a decidedly Catholic context. Among
Pieter Maessens’s puzzle canons is a nine-voice Per signum crucis, which
is also preserved on a broadside.78 The work is dedicated to Ferdinand
I’s wife Anne, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, and their son Charles.
Although the page does not mention a date and place of publication, Laura
Youens proposes 1543 as terminus post quem, since in that year Maessens
moved to Vienna to become a member (and in 1546 chapel master) of
Ferdinand’s chapel.79 Anna died in January 1547, which leaves us with
a fairly narrow time frame of about three years for the composition of
Per signum crucis. Attached to the cross are additional staves going in
different directions; it is the singer’s task to find out the path he has to take.
The words ‘In nomine Patris, Filii et Spiritus Sancti’, written on both arms
of the cross, mimic the sign of the cross Catholics usually make via a ritual
hand motion (see Figure 4.5). These words return at the bottom of the
page, where they are flanked by a skull, out of which writhes a serpent, and
75
See also Meyer, ‘Vexilla regis prodeunt’, who for unclear reasons only discusses Vexilla regis.
76
It should also be noted here that the pieces have complementary clefs: c3 and f4 for Tua cruce,
c1 and c4 for Vexilla regis. They are not in the same mode, though.
77
This hypothesis was also advanced by Grantley McDonald in his paper ‘Ludwig Senfl, Leonhard
Päminger and Martin Luther’s Theology of the Cross’ (Barcelona, Medieval and Renaissance
Music Conference, 5–8 July 2011).
78
It is part of the same collection of broadsides from the Bavarian State Library that also contains
Senfl’s Crux fidelis and Gumpelzhaimer’s Crux Christi (see below). Shelfmark 2 Mus.pr. 156#1.
79
L. Youens, ‘Forgotten Puzzles: Canons by Pieter Maessens’, Revue belge de musicologie, 46
(1992), 81–144. Comparing the printing method with other broadsides from that period, she
hypotheses that Philipp Ulhart from Augsburg might have been the printer.
Figure 4.5 Pieter Maessens, Per signum crucis. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek,
2 Mus.pr. 156#1
bones. The text of the piece, ‘Per signum crucis de inimicis nostris libera
nos, Deus noster’, is related to the feasts of Inventio crucis (3 May) and
Exaltatio crucis (14 September). Each of the four main points of the cross is
identified by a direction (Oriens, Septentrion, Occidens and Meridies), a
position (Supereminens, Sinistra, Profundum and Dextera) and a virtue
(Charitas, Patientia, Humilitas and Obedientia).80 These virtues are the

subject of the almost twenty biblical quotations that surround the multi-
branched cross. As Youens shows, the equation of the four points of the
cross with these four virtues can be traced back to Augustine, who explains
the symbolism of the cross in his 140th letter.81
The biblical verses that accompany Maessens’s piece do not contain any
clues about the music – such as the clefs and the route of the voices; the
recipients have to figure that out themselves – and should thus not be
considered as enigmatic inscriptions.82 Rather, with this broadside Maes-
sens offers his patrons a condensed view of the theological meaning and
context of Christ’s Passion, thus testifying to his broader religious know-
ledge and his capacity to incorporate it in a sophisticated musical pro-
gramme. He invites the viewer to spend time with the work and to explore
the rich array of sources quoted. He guides the eye of the recipient in
various directions and places music, text and image under the sign of the
cross. When we search for a possible historical context for this broadside,
Ferdinand I’s presidency of the Imperial Diet at Nuremberg in 1543 comes
to mind. During both meetings, the Turkish threat and the growing influ-
ence of the Protestants were at the top of the agenda. Could Maessens’s
broadside be considered a religious pamphlet to support his patrons, in
which he makes a plea to ‘free us from the enemies by the sign of cross’?
Furthermore, it should be mentioned that Ferdinand’s wife Anna, the
actual dedicatee of the page, was known as a pious and learned woman.
She wrote a prayer book, entitled Clypeus pietatis, which was reprinted
numerous times until well into the seventeenth century. One of the prayers
is to be said when the priest, during the liturgy, makes the sign of the cross
when holding the host over the chalice. In Maessens’s motet, the sign of the
cross is explicitly seen as salvation and as a protection against enemies (‘ein
Heyl und Beschirmung wider alle heimliche Arglist meiner Feind’).83
80
All texts are reproduced in Youens, ‘Forgotten Puzzles’, 91–2 n. 30.
81
It should also be mentioned here that Maessens had a profound interest in theology and
symbolism, which speaks among others from his book of prayers, the Novem piae et breves
orationis dominicae declarationes (Augsburg, 1555).
82
For a transcription, see Pieter Maessins, um 1505–1562. Sämtliche Werke, ed. O. Wessely and
M. Eybl, Denkmäler der Tonkunst in Österreich, 149 (Graz: Akademische Druck und
Verlagsanstalt, 1995), 84. For a different version (with other clefs and registers of the individual
voices), see Youens, ‘Forgotten Puzzles’, 139–44.
83
Quoted from the 1642 edition by J. G. Schönwetter: Clypeus Pietatis, Das ist, Schildt der
Andacht: In welchem Alte und Newe, jedoch Andächtige, zu der Gottseligkeit und Liebe
Gottesdienstliche, auch schöne Gebet . . . begriffen seynd; Weyland von der . . . Frawen Anna,
Whether there is a direct connection between this passage in Anna’s

manual of devotion and Maessens’s Per signum crucis or not, with this
work he clearly touched upon a topic that for various reasons had a special
importance for his employers.
In addition to Morley’s cross canon, discussed at the beginning of
this section, cruciform riddles appear regularly in a theoretical context.84
In the last book of his El Melopeo y maestro (Naples, 1613), Pietro
Cerone includes no fewer than four riddles in cross-shaped form. His
predilection for religious themes runs like a golden thread throughout
his treatise. Cerone, who was a priest in Naples from 1603 onwards, is
very much concerned with the propagation of the Catholic faith. It is
worthwhile noticing that El Melopeo y maestro has a double dedication:
in addition to addressing the Spanish king Philip III, he puts his
work under the protection of the child Jesus and his mother Mary,
‘emperatriz de los Cielos . . ., amparo seguro, y efficacissima advocata
de los pecadores’. In this paratext, Cerone even explicitly refers to the
crucified Christ speaking to his mother (‘Mulier ecce Filius tuus’) and
to John (‘Ecce Mater tua’), and he ends the dedication with the sign
of the cross (‘con el Padre, y el Hijo, y el Espiritu sancto. Amen’).85
In this context, the multiple presence of the cross theme (nos. 20, 34,
43 and 45) in a book with forty-five enigmas musicales does not come as
a surprise.
Cerone even concludes his collection with a cross riddle. The final piece,
entitled Enigma doblado en otra differente forma de Cruz (no. 45) is by
Ghiselin Danckerts. Its position at the very end of the book – and indeed
of the treatise in general – marks once more Cerone’s deeply entrenched
Catholic belief. He must have got to know Danckerts’s music in Naples,
where the Dutch composer was in the service of Pierluigi Caraffa before
joining the papal choir in 1538; after his appointment in Rome, Danckerts
visited Naples on several occasions. In his manuscript treatise, Danckerts
writes that the piece had been published in print: ‘il motetto del Crucem
Santam [sic] subiit, a due parti fatti a modo d’una croce, pubblicato anche
esso per la stampa’.86 However, the original (probably broadside) is now
Römische Keyserin . . . für Ihrer Majestät selbst eigne Andacht zusammen verfasset (Frankfurt
am Main: J. G. Schönwetter, 1642), 86.
84
In this context, I should also mention the cruciform piece by Costanzo Porta in Bologna B. 140,
added between fols. 11 and 12.
85
See also the ‘Oraciones para antes de estudiar’ Cerone prints in the introduction, between the
two dedications. These prayers are also introduced by the sign of the cross.
86
Bruyn, ‘Ghisilinus Danckerts, zanger van de pauselijke Cappella’ (1949), 131.
Figure 4.6 Ghiselin Danckerts, Crucem sanctam subiit in Pietro Cerone, El Melopeo
y maestro, 1138–9. Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 34
missing. In his El Melopeo y maestro, Cerone prints the work on a double

page and dates it 1549 (see Figure 4.6).
The cross is accompanied by the following inscription: ‘Hoc signo vincent
si calcem a vertice vertent. Ortus et occasus, septentrio meridiesque’ (‘They
will win with this sign if they turn the end on its head. East and West, North
and South’), thereby referring to the vision of Constantine in order to
underline the power of the cross.87 As we have seen above, with Optatianus
Porphyrius’ cross poems for the Emperor a tradition of cruciform poetry
started that must have influenced composers as well.
The title of the riddle (Enigma doblado . . .) already reveals that Danck-
erts’s riddle allows a double solution. How is this to be interpreted? Each
arm of the cross contains a pair of voices: Cantus (c1 clef) and Bassus
(f4 clef) on the one hand, Altus (c3 clef) and Tenor (c4 clef) on the other.
The positioning of the clefs, the mensuration sign ( ) and the text underlay
87
The four cardinal directions, mentioned in the verbal canon, are called by the ancient time
indications, with ortus standing for sunrise, meridies for midday and occasus for sunset. In
ancient Rome, septentrio was an alternative name for the constellation of the Great Bear, and
became a synonym for the northern wind.
at each point of the cross hint at Danckerts’s intention: whereas the Cantus
sings its music straightforward, the Bassus literally turns the melody upside
down, which results in retrograde inversion. As the inscription says, the
voices have to turn the music ‘from tip to toe’. The same procedure goes for
Altus and Tenor. The latter voice in fact quotes the plainchant melody of
Crucem sanctam subiit, which was sung on various feasts related to the
commemoration of the cross.88 To the left and right, Cerone adds two voices
(Cantus secundus and Tenor secundus), which do not participate in the
canon and can be added ad libitum (see Example 4.4).
A second version of the riddle results from another ‘turning of the end
on its head’. This time, the Cantus (and the Altus) sing their melody
backwards, whereas the Bassus (and the Tenor) once more turn that music
upside down, which results again in retrograde inversion. Here as well, two
optional voices – printed on the lower part of the page – can be added to
enrich the harmony. Owing to these various techniques, which pose
serious restrictions on the freedom of the voices (such as the avoidance
of dotted notes and dissonances), the aural result of Danckerts’s work is
rather static, which also seems to be the reason why he proposes to add
further voices.
In his discussion of the riddle, Cerone mentions twice that the words
Crucem sanctam are not so much to be sung as to serve as decoration: ‘no
sirve tanto para cantar, como par ornamento’.89 This is strange, not only
because Danckerts himself calls the piece by this title in his manuscript
treatise, but also because he has the Altus quote the melody of the antiphon
Crucem sanctam subiit, with which Cerone surely was familiar himself.90
But it seems that he had difficulties with the text underlay of the other
voices – especially in the case of the retrograde reading – which is why
he may have thought the words to be of secondary importance.91
88
See the edition in Ghiselin Danckerts: The Vocal Works, ed. E. Jas, Exempla Musica Zelandica,
5 (Middelburg: Koninklijk Zeeuwsch Genootschap der Wetenschappen, 2001), 6–11.
89
Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1137. See also 1139, where he writes under the image of the
cross: ‘Nota que las palabras Crucem sanctam sirven solo de adornamiento.’
90
The text of the antiphon is as follows: ‘Crucem sanctam subiit qui infernum confregit: accintus
est potentia, surrexit die tertia, alleluia’ (‘He submitted to the Holy Cross who broke Hell; he
was girded with power, he rose on the third day, alleluia’). Translation quoted from Jas’s
edition, xv. For the melody of the antiphon, see Liber Usualis, 1461.
91
Text underlay is often problematic with retrograde canons. Even when a written-out resolutio of
the retrograde version of a melody is given, scribes or printers often fail to underlay the text. See
also Zazulia, ‘Verbal Canons’, 291ff. This said, it is indeed somewhat difficult to provide a good
coordination of words and music in Danckerts’s riddle tout court – see also the edition by
Eric Jas.
Example 4.4 Ghiselin Danckerts, Crucem sanctam subiit

Example 4.4 (cont.)

Example 4.4 (cont.)

However, another source that also transmits Danckerts’s cruciform

riddle points in the same direction. It has until now gone unnoticed that
Zacconi also discusses the piece in his Canoni musicali.92 In book 3, which
is about music accompanied by an image (Zacconi calls them gieroglifici)
or a poem, he analyses the cross piece in chapter 9, without, however,
naming the composer.93 But a couple of things are different, which makes
one wonder about the respective sources Cerone and Zacconi used. To
begin with, the text is different: in Zacconi’s version, the four voices sing
the text ‘Per signum crucis de inimicis nostris’, i.e. the same text Maessens
used for his above-mentioned broadside. However, Zacconi puts these
words at the beginning of each arm of the cross as a kind of marker,
but he is not concerned with a precise text underlay. Neither does he seem
to have recognised the plainchant melody of Crucem sanctam subiit in
the Altus. Aside from that, the verbal canon is slightly different from
Danckerts’s riddle: ‘Hoc signo vinces, si calcem a vertice vertes’. Not only
has the third person plural changed into a second person singular, but
the cardinal directions are also absent, which has consequences for the
interpretation of the riddle. Indeed, what is especially remarkable is that
Zacconi does not mention the possibility of a second version. He presents
his readers with only one resolutio, and even that one only partially.
The reader has to find out for himself about the double retrograde
inversion canon that underlies the four voices and is not told about
the alternative upside-down reading of the voices; neither does Zacconi
provide a second pair of si placet parts. He seems to have understood
the turning upside down of the page in one sense only.94 For Zacconi, who
is normally not at a loss for words, this paucity of information is striking,
to say the least. Furthermore, even the music itself shows differences com-
pared with Cerone’s version: in nearly all parts, the first four bars have
92
The piece is not discussed in Wuidar, ‘Les Geroglifici Musicali du Padre Lodovico Zacconi’.
93
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, fol. 110. See the reproduction in Cerfeda, ‘Il ms. Canoni musicali
proprij e di diversi autori di Lodovico Zacconi’, vol. II, 204 (transcription on p. 90). Chapter 9
carries the heading ‘D’un altro sorte di canoni con croce che sono d’altra più singolar
consideratione’. The ‘other cross piece’ Zacconi refers to concerns a short anonymous piece that
is discussed in the preceding chapter. It is a double retrograde canon without text, but with the
following text from Matthew 16:24 written diagonally between the four arms of the cross: ‘Qui
vult venire post me / abneget semetipsum / et tollat crucem suam / et sequatur me’ (‘If any man
will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me’). See the
reproduction in Cerfeda, vol. II, 203 (transcription on p. 89).
94
This is also surprising because, as we have seen in Chapter 2, both in his Prattica di musica and
the Canoni musicali Zacconi discusses the possibility of multiple solutions (often involving
inversion) that can be found without the composer marking this as such. He even explicitly
mentions the technique of ‘revolutione’, a term derived from turning the music upside down.
different note values and harmonies, after which both sources coincide again;
however, smaller rhythmic and melodic variants keep occurring. This is
especially the case with the si placet voices, which have livelier rhythms
vis-à-vis the canonic voices anyway. Apart from a different clef for the
Tenor secundus (c4 in Cerone, f3 in Zacconi), there are numerous smaller
differences. It is difficult to find a reason for these variants, not only because
we do not have Danckerts’s original, but especially since the compositional
restrictions imposed by retrograde inversion canons are considerable and
do not leave very much room for changes. Cerone and Zacconi must have
copied the music from different sources. A final difference between both
versions needs to be mentioned. Zacconi writes that the cross was accom-
panied by further pictorial elements. As we read in his commentary:
oltre il porvi parole di più singolari ed intime significationi, v’hanno anco fatto due
parti musicali appresso, situate di l’un lato, e l’altro, e ve l’hanno poste a libito, e
beneplacito di cantanti, con apprendernele appresso (come ho detto) in foggia di
spaliera, attaccata in asta; che l’una si vegghi attaccata alla lancia, e l’altra alla canna
con la sponga.
Besides the fact that they have used particular words full of secret meaning, they
also have made two voices together with it, which are situated on one and the other
side [of the cross], and they made them ad libitum for the pleasure of the singers,
putting them [the melodies] in the form of an espalier attached to a staff, of which
one can be seen attached to a lance, the other to the reed with the sponge.
In Zacconi’s drawing on fol. 110v, the si placet voices do indeed seem to

serve as an espalier that flanks the cross. Two objects from the arma Christi
are attached to it: a lance on the left side and a sponge set on a reed to the
right. Zacconi was not good at drawing, but the intention nevertheless is
clear. Cerone does not include these instruments of the Passion in his
version. Either it might have been too difficult to realise these iconograph-
ical details in print, or the absence of these objects could be yet another
indication that both theorists drew their example from different sources.
Another cruciform riddle that is mentioned in El Melopeo y maestro is
from the late sixteenth century. The Enigma con otra differente Cruz (no. 43),
which in Cerone’s treatise is without attribution to a composer, turns out to be
Adam Gumpelzhaimer’s Crux Christi.95 This piece survives in several sources,
95
Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1131 only says the work is by ‘un Compositor moderno’. In his
short declaracion, he writes that the piece ‘no ay cosa difficultosa ni secreta’. At the end, he also
mentions a cruciform piece by Giovanni Maria Nanino, which, however, is lost.
in different media and in various forms.96 The best-known version of the

work – and probably also Cerone’s source – is in Gumpelzhaimer’s
Compendium musicae, an introduction to the principles of musica practica,
illustrated with numerous examples. The treatise first appeared in 1591 and
was reprinted more than a dozen times until the end of the seventeenth
century. From the second edition (Augsburg, 1595) onwards, the lavishly
designed page was added shortly after the dedication. The piece also survives
as a large broadside (Munich, Bavarian State Library, 2 Mus.pr. 156#19;
see Figure 4.7).97 Scenes from Christ’s Passion – the Mount of Olives in
Gethsemane, the sleeping apostles, Judas and the soldiers, Calvary, the crown
of thorns, nails, etc. – build the background for a cross and four circles,
all of which contain music. As the explanation at the bottom of the page
makes clear, they yield two compositions: the Crux Christi is for six voices,
the Quatuor evangelistae for eight. How does this work?
Let us start with the Quatuor evangelistae. In the centre of each circle is
the symbol of an evangelist: an angel (Matthew), a winged lion (Mark), a
winged bull (Luke) and an eagle (John).98 The text recalls the last words
of one of the malefactors who were crucified beside Christ: ‘Domine,
memento mei cum veneris in regnum tuum’ (‘Lord, remember me when
thou shalt come into thy kingdom’; Luke 23:42). By having the circles
surround the cross in the centre of the page, it is as if the malefactor –
while representing the penitent community – is addressing himself to
Christ on the cross, begging for mercy and forgiveness. The same intention
is expressed in the two-line epigram at the bottom of the page, which reads
like the subscriptio of an emblem: ‘Quem prece sollicito, seu Sol, seu Luna
coruscet, / CHRISTE fer auxilium, Cruce qui peccata luisti’ (‘Christ, whom
I beg, whether the sun or the moon is shining, help me, you who at the
cross has taken away the burden of sin’).
96
W. Dekker, ‘Ein Karfreitagsrätselkanon aus Adam Gumpelzhaimers Compendium musicae
(1632)’, Die Musikforschung, 27 (1974), 323–32. See also Schiltz, ‘La storia di un’iscrizione
canonica’.
97
However, not all copies of the 1595 edition contain this page. In Augsburg, Staats- und
Stadtbibliothek, Tonk. 831, for example, the Crux Christi appears as a copper engraving by
Dominicus Custos; the copy of the Bavarian State Library does not have this engraving. In the
following editions, we have either a woodcut by Alexander Mair or a copper engraving by
Wolfgang Kilian.
98
It can be noted that the four circles are arranged as in a choirbook: Cantus and Altus on top, Tenor
and Bassus at the bottom. The transcription of the Quatuor evangelistae in Adam Gumpelzhaimer,
Ausgewählte Werke, ed. O. Mayr, Denkmäler der Tonkunst in Bayern, X.2 (Leipzig: Breitkopf &
Härtel, 1909), 5–6 mistakenly interprets the clef of the two upper voices as c1. As the edition shows,
this produces many dissonances. The clef should be read as g1, as in my transcription.
Figure 4.7 Adam Gumpelzhaimer, Crux Christi – Quatuor evangelistae. Munich,

Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.pr. 156#19
In order to know how eight voices can be deduced from four circles, one
has to take into account the verbal canon that is added between the circles.
The text is familiar: Gumpelzhaimer takes the same Psalm verse that
Ludwig Senfl had already chosen for his cruciform riddles, ‘Misericordia
et Veritas obviaverunt sibi’.99 Here as well, the meeting of Mercy and Truth
gives way to a retrograde canon.
The music of every circle must thus be read clockwise and anti-
clockwise at the same time, which produces an eight-in-four canon (see
Example 4.5). With the music going in two directions, the linear sense of
time is suspended: Christ’s identity as Alpha and Omega, beginning and
end, is being represented. In other words, a constructivist musical principle
becomes a medium of symbolic expression.
As such, the symbolism suggested by the circle perfectly complements the
moment of Christ’s Passion that is expressed by the cross. The text is a
prayer for Good Friday: ‘Ecce lignum Crucis in quo Salus mundi pependit.
Venite adoremus’ (‘Behold the wood of the cross on which hung the Saviour
of the world. Come let us worship’). The opening imperative ‘ecce’ explicitly
invites the recipient to look at and contemplate the suffering of Christ via
the interplay of image, text and music. At the same time, the sacred wood
is made alive through sound. Several inscriptions hint at the interpretation of
the music on the two arms of the cross. Gumpelzhaimer attaches the
remaining hemistich from Psalm 85 – ‘Iusticia et Pax osculatae sunt’ – to
the music of the cross-bar. At the same time, he emulates Senfl’s example by
adding two more passages from the same Psalm: with the words ‘Veritas
de terra orta est’ (‘Truth is sprung out of the earth’) written from bottom to
top and ‘Iusticia de Caelo prospexit’ (‘Justice hath looked down from
heaven’) from top to bottom, he visualises the reconciliation of heaven and
earth that takes place through Christ’s death on the cross. At the same time,
it is an image of what is happening in musical terms: two voices start on the
opposite side of the staff and produce another retrograde canon.
The two remaining voices of the Crux Christi must be sought at the top
of the page. Two angels flank the titulus of the cross, which carries the
words ‘Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum’ written twice on the staff. Above it
is an enigmatic inscription – note that the word ‘Canon’ is written as
if coming out of a light and in the place where God is usually depicted. The
instruction ‘Clama ne cesses’ (‘Cry, cease not’) is a quotation from Isaiah
58:1 and instructs that the text should be declaimed without interruption,
with two voices singing on e an octave apart (see Example 4.6). As in the
99
Gumpelzhaimer also knew Philippe de Monte’s eight-voice Ad te, Domine, levavi animam meam,
which contains a four-voice canon with the same psalm verse as enigmatic inscription: he
transcribed the music in the so-called Gumpelzhaimer Codex E (Kraków, Biblioteka Jagiellońska,
Mus. ms. 40027). On this manuscript, see M. Steinhardt, ‘New Works by Philippe de Monte in a
Recovered Codex’, Revue belge de musicologie, 42 (1988), 135–47 and R. Charteris, Adam
Gumpelzhaimer’s Little-Known Score-Books in Berlin and Kraków, Musicological Studies and
Documents, 48 (Neuhausen: American Institute of Musicology, 1996).
Example 4.5 Adam Gumpelzhaimer, Quatuor evangelistae

Example 4.5 (cont.)

Example 4.6 Adam Gumpelzhaimer, Crux Christi

case of the psalm verses, with this biblical quotation Gumpelzhaimer

also seems to refer to the music of a famous predecessor: as we have
seen in Chapter 2, ‘Clama ne cesses’ accompanies the third Agnus Dei
of Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales. As Bonnie
Blackburn proposes, in Josquin’s mass the use of the verse from Isaiah
has a double function: it ‘relates not only to the cry for mercy to “the
Lamb of God that takest away the sins of the world” but to “On a fait
partout crier” and the trumpet motif of the L’homme armé song: “Cry,
cease not, lift up thy voice like a trumpet, and shew my people their
wicked doings, and the house of Jacob their sins”’.100 In Gumpelzhai-
mer’s Crux Christi, the inscription is used for Christ, the Lamb of God
who by his death on the cross took away the sins of the world. The verbal
canon can also be said to invoke the verdict of the Jews, chief priests
and officers who – as we read in John 19 – cry out before Pilate to crucify
Jesus, the ‘King of the Jews’.
The Crux Christi – Quatuor evangelistae must have had a special
significance for Adam Gumpelzhaimer. Apart from its presence in the
Compendium musicae and as a large broadside, it also survives in various
alba amicorum. One of those is especially noteworthy. The Stammbuch
of Paul Jenisch (Württembergische Landesbibliothek Stuttgart, Cod.
hist. qt. 299) contains two versions of the Crux Christi.101 The entry
on fol. 106r contains a striking textual difference. Instead of ending Ecce
lignum crucis with the imperative ‘Venite adoremus’, we now read ‘Iesus
Christus noster’. Interestingly, these words were used in a Protestant
context, which was both Gumpelzhaimer’s and Jenisch’s religion. As we
have seen above, in Luther’s theologia crucis, the cross was not so much
an object of devotion that should be venerated (‘Venite adoremus’);
rather, Luther interprets Christ’s Passion in tropological terms as the
suffering of the faithful. Via the cross, Christians identify themselves
with ‘Iesus Christus noster’. It is certainly telling that in all printed
sources of the Crux Christi, Gumpelzhaimer opts for the traditional
Catholic variant of the Ecce lignum crucis text, whereas in a ‘private’
entry for an album amicorum he confesses unequivocally to his Protest-
ant belief.
100
Blackburn, ‘Masses Based on Popular Songs and Solmization Syllables’, 59.
101
On the album amicorum of Paul Jenisch, see C. Gottwald, ‘Humanisten-Stammbücher als
musikalische Quellen’ in W. Stauder, U. Aarburg and P. Cahn (eds.), Helmuth Osthoff zu
seinem siebzigsten Geburtstag (Tutzing: Schneider, 1969), 89–103.
Music and nature: the lunar cycle
I with borrowed silver shine,

What you see is none of mine.
First I show you but a quarter,
Like the bow that guards the Tartar;
Then the half, and then the whole,
Ever dancing round the pole;
And true it is, I chiefly owe
My beauty to the shades below.
Jonathan Swift, On the Moon
The moon has always held a strong fascination for scientists, philosophers,
authors and mankind in general. Long before the first landing on the
moon, the Greek satirist Lucian wrote of a trip to the moon. In a most
amusing tone, Lucian describes the inhabitants – whom he calls ‘Selenites’
after the Greek goddess Selene – what they look like, what they eat and
drink, what happens when they grow old, etc. In his De Vita Caesarum,
Suetonius describes the ‘lunatic’ Roman emperor Caligula as a rather
remarkable person, who talked to the full moon and even wanted to
embrace her. In Ariosto’s Orlando furioso, the knight Astolfo flies to the
moon in Elijah’s flaming chariot, where he hopes to find a cure for
Orlando’s madness. On the moon, everything lost on earth is to be found,
including Orlando’s wits. Astolfo brings them back in a bottle and makes
Orlando sniff them, thus restoring him to sanity.
The fascination with the moon found a particular expression in Renais-
sance musical riddles.102 More precisely, musicians were struck by the
resemblance of the various phases of the moon to the mensuration
signs. The similarities between both are indeed striking: from the waxing
crescent moon over the first quarter ( ) to the full moon ( ) and then
back to the third quarter and the waning crescent moon ( ), all forms have
a parallel in the stock of mensuration signs. By playing with this ana-
logy, composers were able to intimately connect the universal order of the
macrocosm with the notational subtleties of the Renaissance musical
microcosm. The laws of the heavens are reflected in the fundamentals
of musical organisation. Apart from their visual analogy, the mensuration
signs and the lunar cycle are indeed linked on a more abstract level.
102
See also my ‘A Space Odyssey: The Mensuration Signs and the Lunar Cycle’ in S.
Rommeveaux, P. Vendrix and V. Zara (eds.), Proportions: Science – Musique – Peinture &
Architecture (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 217–29.
Music and nature: the lunar cycle 327
Both are ways of measuring time: musical time (‘musica mensurabilis’)

with its changing subdivisions on the one hand, cosmic time on the
other.103 Not surprisingly, the etymology of the word moon refers to its
relation to the computation of time: the Germanic term Mond, which
is related to the Latin mensis, is ultimately derived from the Proto-Indo-
European root me-, also represented in measure. Words derived from
it – like Monday and month – indicate the moon’s importance for meas-
uring time: a week corresponds to the seven-day phases of the moon, one
month is the time it takes for the moon to circle the earth. In fact, the
majority of all calendar systems are based on the movement of the moon,
whence they are called lunar calendars.
Several music treatises of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, such
as the Quatuor principalia musicae and the seventh book of Jacques de
Liège’s Speculum musicae, draw a parallel between the tempus divisions in
music and the division of time in general.104 The expanded version of
Prosdocimus’s Tractatus cantus mensurabilis (Lucca, Biblioteca Statale,
MS 359) even compares the circle of tempus perfectum to the zodiac sign,
which stands for one solar year and is divided into twelve parts or months.
In the music of the Renaissance, this abstract analogy is developed in more
tangible terms, as the similarities between both are extended to the visual
level. A handful of riddles offer a fascinating testimony of the way this field
is explored in inscriptions, images and their musical realisation. Most
of these pieces appear in theoretical treatises, a fact that clearly points to
their speculative character and intention. I shall discuss the riddles in order
of increasing complexity.
Early traces of the tradition can be found in the five-voice motet Saule
quid me persequeris – Sancte Paule apostole by Jean Le Brung, of which the
text is about the conversion of St Paul (Acts 9).105 The Tenor primus takes
103
See also E. Schroeder, ‘“Mensura” according to Tinctoris in the Context of Musical Writings of
the Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Centuries’, PhD thesis, Stanford University (1985).
104
A. M. Busse Berger, Mensuration and Proportion Signs: Origins and Evolution (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1993), 46.
105
A facsimile edition of the piece in Vatican CS 46 (fol. 85v–88r) appeared in the series
Renaissance Music in Facsimile, 21 (New York and London: Garland, 1986). According to
Jeffrey Dean, the motet was copied by Claudius Bouchet and belongs to the manuscript’s latest
layer of music (p. vi). This motet also survives in Fior de motetti e Canzoni novi composti da
diversi eccellentissimi musici (Rome: Giunta, 1526; RISM 15265) and Liber octavus XX.
musicales motetos quatuor, quinque vel sex vocum modulos habet (Paris: Attaingnant, 1534;
RISM 153410), as well as in several manuscripts (Padua A 17). In Casale Monferrato, Archivio
Capitolare, MS D(F), the work is attributed to Pierre Moulu. Modern edition by A. Tillman
Merritt, Treize livres de motets parus chez Pierre Attaingnant en 1534 et 1535 (Monaco:
L’Oiseau Lyre, 1962), vol. VIII, 53–61.
the form of an ostinato on the words ‘Sancte Paule ora pro nobis’ (with
the melody quoting the litany of the Saints), which is accompanied by the
inscription ‘Canon: Luna te docet’ (‘Rule: The moon teaches you’) on the
one hand, and a followed by three superimposed signs on the other.
The latter not only indicate the soggetto’s entrance on g’, d and
g respectively, but they also tell the Tenor to observe the mensuration
signs when he repeats the ostinato: in each case, the note values have to be
augmented.
In book 3, chapter 14 (fol. 125r) of his Canoni musicali, Lodovico
Zacconi presents a canon by Biagio Pesciolini (1535–1611),106 which
was apparently composed for the baptism of the future Grand Duke of
Tuscany, Cosimo II de’ Medici (1590–1621).107 In Zacconi’s book, this
piece is part of a section on ‘canoni musicali fatti in enigma’, i.e. music in
the form of a ‘mysterious poem’ (‘un certo misterioso particolar poema’),
of which the text itself contains indications for deciphering the composer’s
intentions. At the end of the section, images add to the complexity of the
riddle. The result is a series of musical enigmas, in which text and image
offer complementary clues and lead to the solution.
Pesciolini’s work is a four-voice motet in honour of the Virgin Mary,
based on a passage from a Marian sequence. The text is notated as follows:
‘TU[c] celi pandis abscondita tu regi[t]na Domina cunCTO[a]RUM
PORta in celesTI[b] sede’. As Zacconi explains, the vowels of the text
produce a soggetto cavato dalle vocali, i.e. starting with ut–re–mi–fa–mi,
etc. Furthermore, the syllables are written in three different formats,
indicating three different note values: ‘maiuscula’ (semibreve), ‘ordinaria’
(minim) and ‘picciola’ (semiminim). The letters added between square
brackets mark the points where the voices enter, one after the other,
each time at a distance of two breves: first Cantus, then Tenor, Altus and
finally Bassus.
In order to allow a correct interpretation of his riddle, Pesciolini added
a pictorial element. Indeed, Zacconi writes that the composer’s work
was accompanied by an image of ‘Una Madonna con la luna sotto i piedi’,
i.e. the Virgin Mary with the moon under her feet. Unfortunately, Zacconi,
not a good painter himself, did not include the image, but it is a familiar
topic in Renaissance iconography, where it turns up in paintings, statues,
106
On this composition, see also Wuidar, ‘Les Geroglifici Musicali du Padre Lodovico Zacconi’.
107
Zacconi, Canoni musicali, fol. 125r: ‘nel battesimo del serenissimo gran prencipe di
Toscana . . . facendovi (com’egli dice nella sua lettera stampata)’. Quoted after Cerfeda, ‘Il ms.
Canoni musicali proprij e di diversi autori di Lodovico Zacconi’, 378.
and on frescoes and altarpieces. It refers to the description of the Apoca-

lyptic Woman in the book of Revelation, who was later identified as the
Virgin Mary: ‘And a great sign appeared in heaven: A woman clothed
with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of
twelve stars.’108 Zacconi’s readers must have known what the image was
supposed to look like. He goes on, explaining that every element of the
drawing has a musical meaning: the Virgin Mary, the ‘most sublime
creature’, stands for the G-clef (i.e. the highest clef).109 The ‘sweet’ child
Jesus provides the key to establish the system (b molle): Cantus and Tenor
thus sing the resulting melody in the hexachordum molle (starting on f 0
and f respectively), whereas Altus and Bassus imitate it a fourth below, in
the hexachordum naturale. Finally, the shape of the moon indicates the
mensuration sign of Pesciolini’s composition, i.e. tempus imperfectum:
‘Con quella luna semicircolare, forsi dico che haverà voluto mostrare il
tempo del semicircolo semplice.’110 Here as well, it is the visual analogy
between the half moon and the sign of that is played with as part of
the riddle’s resolutio.
Zacconi writes that the text of the work contains several additional
indications for the singers. The soggetto cavato is not only the key to the
melody; he also explains that the words ‘pandis abscondita’ refer to
the canonic technique. Like the Virgin Mary, who uncovers things hidden,
the work gradually develops into a polyphonic construction and discloses
the musical potential of a single line. The final phrase, ‘regina domina,
cunctorum porta in celesti sede’, refers back to the image of the Madonna
with the moon under her feet, as this is the clue to the interpretation of
the canon – the image ‘apre la via à cantori come detto canone si habbia
à cantare’.
Judging from the written-out resolutio, Zacconi seems to have missed
an important point of Pesciolini’s canon. In his solution, the canon can be
108
Revelation 12:1. Translation quoted from the Douay–Rheims 1899 American Edition. See also
B. J. Blackburn, ‘The Virgin in the Sun: Music and Image for a Prayer Attributed to Sixtus IV’,
Journal of the Royal Musical Association, 24 (1999), 157–95 at 185–9.
109
‘Col disegno della Madonna, haverà forsi voluto mostrar la chiave di G sol re ut acuto, e questo
perché: si come fra tutte le chiavi musicali non v’è la più sublime che la sudetta, cosi anco fra
tutte le creature humane, non v’è altra, ne la più sublime che la B. Vergine’ (fol. 126r).
110
It should be added here that Zacconi had a great interest in astrology, resulting in, among
others, L’astrologiche richezze di natura and Pronostici perpetui. See also L. Wuidar, ‘Les
œuvres astrologiques de Padre Lodovico Zacconi (1555–1627) face à la censure ecclésiastique’,
Bulletin de l’Institut Historique Belge de Rome, 75 (2005), 5–26 and Wuidar, Musique et
astrologie après le Concile de Trente, Études d’histoire de l’art, 10 (Brussels and Rome: Belgisch
Historisch Instituut te Rome, 2008), esp. 126–46.
repeated ad infinitum: after three semibreve rests, the voices start again –
he only shows the first notes of the Cantus’s second statement.111 But this
would produce intolerable dissonances with the other voices. Pesciolini’s
intention, however, was a different one, and again the text may be said to
contain a clue to the correct interpretation. By depicting the Virgin Mary
as the ‘porta paradisi’, the ‘gate to all people’s celestial dwelling’, he seems
to suggest a gradual ascension towards this goal. And this is indeed the key
to Pesciolini’s canon: it is a canon per tonos, of which the starting pitch
ascends a second upon each repetition. Thus, the second statement of the
Cantus starts on g0 , the third one on a0 , etc., with the other voices changing
accordingly (see Example 4.7). In all repetitions, the solmisation remains
the same.112 The deceptively simple tune thus hides – this being yet
another interpretative layer of ‘abscondita’ – a far more intricate canonic
construction, a musical visualisation of the ‘scala paradisi’, so to speak.113
The third book of Hermann Finck’s Practica musica includes an enig-
matic instruction that also alludes to the similarity of cosmic elements and
the mensuration signs. ‘Da mihi dimidiam lunam, solem, & canis iram’
(‘Give me the half moon, the sun and the dog’s anger’) is what we could
call an audio-visual riddle (see Figure 4.8). Finck explains that this verse
can be used when a composer decides not to show the mensuration signs,
but to hint at them in a cryptic way instead: ‘The moon stands for this sign
C, the sun for O and the r for the dog’s anger, which used to be written as
2’ (sig. Cc2r).114
It turns out that Finck resurrects a well-known literary riddle, whose
origins seem to go back to the Middle Ages.115 Martin Luther used it in one
of his famous Tischreden116 and the phrase also turns up in two famous
111
See also his explanation about the rests at the end of the canon on fol. 125v: ‘non denotano
altro che tre pause da doversi aspettare prima che si rincomminci da capo’. This solution is not
discussed in Wuidar, Canons énigmes et hiéroglyphes musicaux either.
112
This would add another work to the bulk of pieces discussed in E. E. Lowinsky, ‘Music in
Titian’s Bacchanal of the Andrians: Origin and History of the Canon per tonos’, in Lowinsky,
Music in the Culture of the Renaissance and Other Essays, ed. B. J. Blackburn, 2 vols.
(University of Chicago Press, 1989), vol. I, 289–312.
113
Due to the ever-changing starting pitch, the solmisation also changes and the soggetto cavato is
not applicable to all statements of the melody.
114
What looks like a 2 is a round r ( ). The letter r clearly refers to the noise a dog produces when
it is angry (Engl.: ‘snarling’; German: ‘knurren’).
115
See Galloway, ‘The Rhetoric of Riddling in Late Medieval England’, 87ff., who discusses its
appearance in English riddle books.
116
Here the phrase is ‘Redde Deo mediam lunam, solem, canis iram’, which is explained as
follows: ‘Das hertz will Gott, kein heuchlerey, darumb sich, dass dirs ein ernst sey.’
Example 4.7 Biagio Pesciolini, Tu celi pandis abscondita
German riddle collections.117 It is in fact a word game: a combination of

the letters C (i.e. the half moon), O (the sun) and R (the sound of an angry
dog) results in the Latin word ‘cor’ (‘heart’). The sentence ‘Da mihi
117
Johannes Lorichius’s Aenigmatum libri tres (Frankfurt, 1545), fol. 77r and Johannes
Lauterbach’s collection of Aenigmata (Frankfurt, 1601), 156.
Example 4.7 (cont.)
dimidiam lunam, solem, & canis iram’ should thus be understood as ‘Give
me your heart’, which is why it was a favourite epigram for an album
amicorum. Another possibility to encode the same word is the following
sentence, also quoted by Hermann Finck: ‘Dimidium spherae, spheram,
cum principe romae / Postulat a nobis totius conditor orbis’ (‘The
founder of the whole world asks from us the half of the orb, the orb
and the ruler of Rome’). The riddle is a literary pun, but Finck gives it
a musical twist by reading the letters as mensuration signs: ‘You thus
have for tempus imperfectum, for tempus perfectum and 2 for
modus minor perfectus.’ He did not include a musical example for this
inscription; he probably invented it himself without drawing on an
existing composition.
In the three riddles discussed so far, the moon plays a partial role in a
larger compositional concept: it is embedded in a religious context, accom-
panied by further enigmatic literary and visual clues, and combined
Figure 4.8 Hermann Finck, Practica musica, sig. Cc2r. Regensburg, Bischöfliche
Zentralbibliothek, Th 120
with other cosmic elements. The next two riddles are different in this
respect: here, the moon is at the very centre of the riddle’s concept. Above
all, both works have abstract intentions, seeking pleasure in exploring the
theoretical possibilities of the similarities between the lunar cycle and the
mensuration signs. The first piece appears in the treatise by the Scottish
Anonymous (London Add. 4911).118 As we have seen in Chapter 3, the
book dates from around 1580 and was probably intended for didactic
purposes. Book 1, chapter 15 contains a series of riddle canons, each of
which focuses on a specific technical aspect. It is the fourteenth canon
(fol. 34r) that is relevant here. The short monophonic piece consists of
five notes C–D–E–D–C accompanied by the instruction ‘Sit velluti luna
crescit decrescit et oda’ (‘Just as the moon waxes and wanes, so let the
hymn do also’) (see Figure 4.9). The prefixed mensuration signs ( ,
and ) indicate the augmentation (‘waxing’) and diminution (‘waning’)
of the motto: ‘Off this present tenor the perfyt signe dois triplicat,
the imperfect dois duplicat, of diminucion dois menorat. All nottis to
the canon subdewit Be this precept.’
As with all his riddles, the Scottish Anonymous provides a resolutio. The
small melodic unit, which is in itself conceived as a palindrome, appears
five times. The melody is transposed upwards and downwards, starting on
c, g, c0 and again g and c respectively; the pitches are indicated by the
position of the mensuration signs on the system. The value of the notes
changes according to the mensuration signs under which they are sung.
The course of the lunar cycle is thus imitated in three ways: the shape of
the melody, the starting pitch of each statement, and the rhythmic pace of
118
For a study of this treatise, see Maynard, ‘An Anonymous Scottish Treatise on Music’.
Figure 4.9 Scottish Anonymous (London Add. 4911), Fourteenth Canon, fol. 34r
the five statements all follow a pattern of rising/growing towards a climax

(full moon) and descending/decreasing again.119
The last example to be mentioned here is in many ways similar to the
riddle of the Scottish Anonymous, but takes it a step further. Cerone’s
Enigma de la escala (no. 41) is for four voices, but only the Tenor voice is
conceived as a riddle; the other three voices are written out.120 The Tenor’s
enigma takes the form of an image that is accompanied by a series of verbal
instructions (see Figure 4.10). On top of a ladder with six steps is a
banderole ‘Aretini scala dominatur’, which evidently refers to the Guido-
nian scale and the six solmisation syllables ut re mi fa sol la.121 The verbs
‘Ascendunt’ and ‘Descendunt’ on the left and the right side of the ladder
indicate that the solmisation syllables should first be sung upwards, then
downwards. Under the ladder is a breve rest followed by a breve, on top
of the ladder another breve rest is written. As Cerone explains in his
declaracion, the length of the breve and the breve rest does not remain
constant throughout the piece, but is subject to change (‘cuyos valores
seran differentes y variados’). Here, we are referred to the picture of the
119
On fol. 27v is another riddle that refers to celestial bodies. With the inscription ‘Saturnus
tardior est Mercurio’ (‘Saturn is slower than Mercury’), he alludes to the different velocities of
both planets, which depends on their distance from the sun. As Mercury is closer to the sun, it
has to move faster. Thus, in the musical riddle, while the slower Saturnus sings the melody
under 2, Mercury sings it twice as fast under .
120
Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1125–8.
121
For recent research on the Guidonian scale, see M. Giani, ‘“Scala musica”: Vicende di una
metafora’ in F. Nicolodi and P. Trovato (eds.), Le parole della musica III: Studi di lessicologia
musicale (Florence: Olschki, 2000), 31–48.
Figure 4.10 Pietro Cerone, Enigma de la escala in El Melopeo y maestro, 1125.

Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 34
moon, which is accompanied by five mensuration signs ( , , , 1/2 and

respectively) and the indication ‘ut luna’. The idea, of course, is that the
succession of the signs corresponds to the phases of the lunar cycle.122
Finally, the number of mensuration signs suggests that the series of
solmisation syllables has to be sung five times. In order to know which
hexachord the solmisation syllables have to be sung in, Cerone has added
the banderole ‘Canunt per omnes C-F-G’, referring to the hexachordum
naturale (starting on C), molle (starting on F) and durum (starting on G).
For the written-out solution of his riddle, Cerone has used the ‘comun
Tiempo’ of tempus imperfectum or (see Figure 4.11 and Example 4.8).123
In the first and last statement, the solmisation syllables are sung in
semibreves in the hexachordum naturale (starting on C). In the second
and fourth statement, the solmisation syllables are sung in breves in the
122
Cerone actually put the phases of the lunar cycle in the wrong order. If the moon is moving
towards full moon, the left side is dark. The first quarter moon thus takes the form of reversed
C (and not C, as Cerone suggests). If the moon is moving towards the new moon, the right side
is dark. The third quarter moon thus looks like C (and not reversed C).
123
The same is done by the Scottish Anonymous.
Figure 4.11 Resolutio of the Tenor from Cerone’s Enigma de la escala, 1126.
Regensburg, Bischöfliche Zentralbibliothek, Th 34
hexachordum molle (with b ) starting on F. For the central statement, the

solmisation starts on G of the hexachordum durum. In the tempus perfec-
tum the breve now has the length of three semibreves.
In accordance with the prescription ‘ut luna’, every parameter of the
construction is a musical reflection of the lunar cycle. The melodic line of
the soggetto, the succession of hexachords and note values, the form of the
mensuration signs: all are organised around a central axis, and like the
lunar phases culminate in the full moon.124 One can even add another
element to this list of analogies. If we count the number of breves and rests
for each statement, it turns out that they are all multiples of seven.
Likewise, every major phase of the lunar cycle takes seven days (or one
week): seven days from new moon to first quarter moon, another seven
days from first quarter moon to full moon and so on. After approximately
28–9 days (i.e. one month), the whole cycle starts again.125
Do these musical riddles in any way relate to the scientific developments
of their time? After all, some Renaissance music theorists had a profound
knowledge of astrology and some even wrote elaborate texts about the
topic. Like music, astronomy was part of the curriculum of the artes
liberales; and theorists such as Nicolaus Burtius, Bartolomeus Ramis de
124
Wuidar, Musique et astrologie, 46 n. 107 mentions a manuscript with music by Antonio
Caldara, Il quinto libro di canoni all’Unisono à 3 voci. Comp. in tempo che battea la luna
(1730). This manuscript, together with Caldara’s Divertimenti musicali, per campagna . . .
Comp. in tempo, che battea la luna (1729) is now kept in the Sächsische Landesbibliothek –
Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Dresden (shelfmark Mus. 2170-H-1 and Mus. 2170-H-2
respectively). I have not yet been able to examine these manuscripts.
125
In his Passacaglia BuxWV161, Dietrich Buxtehude seems to have played with this temporal
aspect of the lunar cycle. For an analysis of this work and its musical translation of the
numerus perfectus 28 and its constituents, see especially P. Kee, ‘Getal en symboliek in
Passacaglia en Ciacona’, Het Orgel, 82 (1986), 205–14 at 208–9 and G. Webber, ‘Modes and
Tones in Buxtehude’s Organ Works’, EM, 35 (2007), 355–69.
Example 4.8 Pietro Cerone, Enigma de la escala

Example 4.8 (cont.)

Example 4.8 (cont.)

Example 4.8 (cont.)

Pareia, Girolamo Cardano, Pontus de Tyard and Zacconi were skilled in

astrology and published on it.126 Cerone’s enigma was published at a time
when the traditional view of the moon was undergoing drastic changes.127
Traditionally, the heavens, starting at the moon, were the realm of perfec-
tion; the sublunary region was the realm of change and corruption.
Aristotle suggested that the moon perhaps partook of some contamination
from the realm of corruption. Medieval followers of Aristotle, trying
to make sense of the lunar spots, entertained various possibilities. The
explanation that finally became standard was that there were variations of
‘density’ in the moon that caused this otherwise perfectly spherical body to
appear the way it does. The ideal of the perfection of the moon, and
therefore the heavens, was thus preserved.
The telescope, however, delivered the coup de grâce to attempts to explain
away the moon’s spots and to the perfection of the heavens in general.
It was one of the central instruments of the Scientific Revolution of the
seventeenth century. Already in sixteenth-century literature one can find
several references to devices that would allow one to see things from a great
distance, but it was Galileo Galilei who made the instrument famous. His
telescope revealed hitherto unsuspected phenomena in the heavens, which
were to have a profound influence on the controversy between the followers
of the traditional geocentric astronomy and those who favoured the helio-
centric system of Copernicus.128 Galilei constructed his first telescope in
June or July 1609, and in March 1610 he published his Sidereus Nuncius,
with a dedication to Cosimo II de’ Medici. Coincidentally, Biagio Pesciolini’s
moon riddle was composed for the baptism of the Grand Duke twenty years
earlier. It is tempting to speculate whether a theorist like Pietro Cerone
knew about Galilei’s discoveries, which became famous soon after their
publication. After all, Cerone was keen to stress his wide-ranging knowledge
of and his acquaintance with all possible disciplines, as becomes clear in the
course of his El Melopeo y maestro. Like the other examples I have discussed,
Cerone’s riddle reflects the widespread desire of the sciences and the arts
to get close to and understand the nature of the moon.
126
On the connection of music and astrology (mainly from the second half of the sixteenth
century and beyond), see Wuidar, Musique et astrologie.
127
The following paragraphs are mainly based on information from ‘The Galileo Project’ (Albert
van der Helden and Elizabeth Burr): http://galileo.rice.edu/sci/observations/moon.html.
128
With his telescope, Galileo saw that the lunar surface has mountains and valleys, much like the
surface of the Earth. The moon was thus not spherical and hardly perfect. See R. Ariew,
‘Galileo’s Lunar Observations in the Context of Medieval Lunar Theory’, Studies in History
and Philosophy of Science, 15 (1984), 213–26.
Rebus, cryptography and chronogram
A field where music, text and image enter into a special connection is the
rebus, where pictures are used in place of letters or words. As a genre, the
rebus is related to the riddle, as it too poses a special challenge to
the recipient and presents itself as a question that needs to be solved.
It is an encoded message that must be deciphered. A rebus is intended to
be puzzling and decelerates the reading pace. Apart from that, like a riddle
a rebus is a form of constrained writing that uses strict rules, but due
to its openness and ambiguity leaves considerable room for fantasy and
imagination. The recipient has to make sense of the – seemingly
incoherent – building blocks and bring them together in order to discover
the rebus’s meaning.129 Above all, by presenting a message in an indirect
way, the solution of a rebus often yields unexpected and humoristic
aspects, thus introducing an element of play and entertainment that is
also to be found in many riddles.
The rebus was immensely popular in the Renaissance, and had
become an increasingly attractive playground ever since the period of the
rhétoriqueurs: in their works, they had explored the creative potential of
homophones – words that are pronounced the same but differ in meaning –
which is central to the working of a rebus.130 Its combination of playful
and cryptic elements charmed famous people such as the polymath
Leonardo da Vinci and the calligrapher Giovanni Battista Palatino.131
Throughout Europe, we find examples in Latin, French, Dutch, Spanish,
Italian, English and German. Rebuses also found their way into theoretical
writings.132 In the third chapter of his Bigarrures du Seigneur des Accords
129
A major study of the phenomenon in general and during the Renaissance in particular is Céard
and Margolin, Rébus de la Renaissance. They stress the fact that ‘ces “écrits en image” ne sont
pas des images “illustrant” un texte, mais des images qui sont à lire comme un texte, qui sont
un substitut du texte, avec sa dynamique et son mode de communication propres’ (p. 53). For
a discussion in the context of riddle images, see also E.-M. Schenck, Das Bilderrätsel
(Hildesheim: Olms, 1973).
130
On this aspect, see also Céard and Margolin, Rébus de la Renaissance, 17ff. They show that the
play with homophony was not limited to poetry, but also extended to personal mottoes, coats
of arms, standards, coins, tombstones, etc.
131
See e.g. A. Marinoni, I rebus di Leonardo da Vinci, raccolti e interpretati. Con un saggio su
“Una virtù spirituale” (Florence: Olschki, 1954). Palatino included a chapter on ‘Cifre quadrata
et sonetto figurato’ in his Libro . . . nel qual s’insegna à scrivere ogni sorte lettera, antica, et
moderna (Rome, 1545), in which a complete sonnet is depicted in the form of a rebus.
132
See, for example, Giordano Bruno’s De imaginum, signorum et idearum compositione
(Frankfurt am Main, 1591); English translation (On the Composition of Images, Signs & Ideas)
by Charles Doria, ed. D. Higgins (New York: Willis, Locker & Owens, 1991).
Rebus, cryptography and chronogram 343
(Paris, 1582), for example, Estienne Tabourot des Accords discusses vari-
ous ways of making a rebus ‘par lettres, chiffres, notes’. Tabourot’s treatise,
which was reprinted many times and gained wide popularity, is concer-
ned with all kinds of word games, such as acrostics, retrograde verses,
anagrams, palindromes, echoes, etc., thus offering its reader a fascinating
overview of verbal creativity in the Renaissance.133
As is clear from Tabourot’s treatise, music was also instrumentalised for
this kind of word puzzle. Basic musical constituents such as solmisation
syllables and note values were used as pictures that represented words,
parts of words or sometimes even small sentences. Among the manuscript
sketches of Leonardo da Vinci, written in a Milanese context around the
turn of the century, a whole range of rebuses include musical elements as
well. Some of them consist almost exclusively of solmisation syllables,
leading to phrases such as ‘L’amore mi fa sollazzare’ or ‘Amore là sol mi
remirare, sol là mi fa sollecita’.134 In his collection ΓΡΙΦΟΛΟΓΙΑ sive
Sylvula logogriphorum (Frankfurt am Main, 1602), Nicolas Reusner
also includes a series of musical ‘griphoi’, in which both solmisation
syllables and note values are treated in a rebus-like manner.135 Or consider
the rebus in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, f. fr. 5658, which
dates from the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century (see Figure 4.12).136
Notes occur three times and together with the other pictures help to
form the moralistic phrase ‘La paix solennelle nous maintient en soulas’
(‘the solemn peace keeps us relieved’). Or, as Céard and Margolin explain
in their two-volume book on rebuses in the Renaissance: ‘La – paix – sol en
aile [sol in a wing] – nœuds main tient en sol [a hand carries a knot in
sol] – A(s)’.137
Composers too – or in some cases their scribes – such as Guillaume Du
Fay, Arnold de Lantins, Pierre de la Rue, Alexander Agricola and
Matthaeus Pipelare incorporated rebus-like elements in their signature by
133
For a good overview, see H. H. Glidden, ‘Babil/Babel: Language Games in the Bigarrures of
Estienne Tabourot’, Studies in Philology, 79 (1982), 242–55.
134
E.g. Marinoni, I rebus di Leonardo da Vinci, 195 (no. 88) and 233. Most of Leonardo’s rebuses
survive on seven folios currently in the library of Windsor Castle.
135
Reusner’s collection was added to Johannes Lauterbach’s Aenigmata (Frankfurt am Main,
1601). The musical griphoi appear on pp. 157–8. On the etymology and meaning of ‘griphos’,
see Ch. 1.
136
See the reproduction in Céard and Margolin, Rébus de la Renaissance, vol. II, 78 and 269–70
(explanation of the rebus).
137
The three solmisation syllables – once la and twice sol – are here to be read in the
hexachordum durum.
Figure 4.12 Rebus in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, fonds français 5658
substituting parts of it with solmisation syllables.138 Pipelare’s surname was

sometimes even fully depicted as a rebus, by having the solmisation
syllables la and re preceded by the image of a pipe.139 And the scribe
Petrus Alamire, whose scriptorium produced the manuscripts in which one
finds the rebus-like attributions to La Rue and Pipelare, sometimes used
138
One wonders whether Du Fay’s choice of his signature (to be found in music manuscripts,
letters and even on his tombstone) might be explained by the closeness of Cambrai to Picardy,
which was known for its cultivation of rebuses (see, for example, the collection Rébus de
Picardie illuminés from the late fifteenth century, now in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de
France, f. fr. 5658 and 1600). More generally speaking, rebuses were popular in heraldry in the
tradition of so-called canting arms, where the bearer’s name is expressed by a visual pun
or rebus.
139
See the illustration (from London, British Library, Cotton MS Galba B IV, fol. 203v) in H.
Kellman (ed.), The Treasury of Petrus Alamire: Music and Art in Flemish Court Manuscripts
1500–1535 (Ghent and Amsterdam: Ludion, 1999), 21.
Figure 4.13 Signature of Petrus Alamire. London, British Library, Cotton MS Galba
B IV, fol. 203v
a rebus himself (with the solmisation syllables la, mi and re on a three-

line stave) as a signature – indeed, the very choice of Petrus Imhoff’s
pseudonym makes us almost expect this visual wordplay (see Figure 4.13).140
An extremely complex musical piece that makes use of rebus-like
elements is Ockeghem’s Ut heremita solus. This enigmatic motet, whose
solution has been discussed at length by Andrea Lindmayr-Brandl,
combines several cryptic principles.141 One of these is hidden in the first
stave of Petrucci’s edition of the Motetti C (Venice, 1504). As can easily
be seen, the line is almost completely composed of words that can be
expressed by solmisation syllables – where this is not possible, normal
letters are used (see Figure 2.20 above). The resulting text reads as
follows: ‘O vere sol, labes fa[l]laces solut ut remit[t]ere soles, ergo lapso-
que reo miserere’ (‘O veritable sun, the deceitful stains have been
cleansed, as thou art wont to forgive; therefore have mercy on one who
has fallen and is guilty’).142
In a sense, the origin of Josquin’s Missa La sol fa re mi – at least if we are
to believe the anecdote from the last chapter of Glarean’s Dodekachordon –
can also be said to go back to a rebus-like idea. This is what Glarean tells
us: ‘Again, when Josquin sought a favor from some important personage
and when that man, a procrastinator, said over and over in the mutilated
French language, Laise faire moy, that is “leave it to me”, then without
delay Josquin composed, to these same words, a complete and elegant
140
For Agricola, see for example the chansonnier of Hieronymus Lauweryn van Watervliet
(London Add. 35087), fols. 37v (C’est mal sarchie) and 39v (Da pacem Domine).
141
Lindmayr-Brandl, ‘Ein Rätseltenor Ockeghems’.
142
Translation (by Leofranc Holford-Strevens) quoted from J. van Benthem, ‘Text, Tone, and
Symbol: Regarding Busnoys’s Conception of In hydraulis and Its Presumed Relationship to
Ockeghem’s Ut heremita solus’ in P. Higgins (ed.), Antoine Busnoys: Method, Meaning, and
Context in Late Medieval Music (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999), 215–53 at 234. Edition in
Johannes Ockeghem: Collected Works. Third Volume: Motets and Chansons, ed. R. Wexler with
D. Plamenac (New York: Galaxy Music Corporation, 1992), 18–24.
Missa la sol fa re mi.’143 The verisimilitude of the anecdote is underlined by

a detail that accompanies Josquin’s mass in the manuscript Vatican CS 41,
which was prepared shortly after the composer left Rome. The initial shows
a man with a turban holding a banderole with the text ‘Lesse faire a mi’,
thus offering the clue to the interpretation of the soggetto, i.e. the solution
of the rebus.144 When hearing the dismissive phrase, Josquin must have
been struck by the fact that it could be quite easily translated – by virtue
of its phonetic similarity or ‘by the same words’, as Glarean writes – into
solmisation syllables. He treats the five-note soggetto as a ‘code’ with an
extra-musical meaning and has it dominate the texture of the whole mass.
Like a rebus, the solmisation syllables are used as a ‘picture’ (in the broad
sense of the word), whose combination produces a verbal text. Strictly
speaking, the only difference from a rebus as we usually know it is the fact
that in this case only one type of picture is used, whereas a rebus is
normally composed of a plethora of pictures.145
Apart from their use in a playful yet intellectual context, elements
of music were sometimes even used as real ciphers. Although the use of
codes as such is an age-old phenomenon, cryptography flourished in the
Renaissance. Machiavelli underlined the importance of codes for the
transmission of arcana imperii, and Leon Battista Alberti and Johannes
143
Heinrich Glarean, Dodekachordon (Basel, 1547), bk. 3, ch. 26: ‘Idem Iodocus, cum ab nescio
quo Magnate beneficium ambiret, ac ille procrastinator identidem diceret mutila illa
Francorum lingua, Laise faire moy, hoc est, sine me facere, haud cunctanter ad eadem verba
totam composuit Missam oppido elegantem La sol fa re mi.’ English translation quoted from
Dodecachordon, trans. Miller, vol. II, 272.
144
For an evaluation of the mass, its possible relation with the popular barzelletta Lassa far a mi
and a list of vocal and instrumental works after Josquin based on the same soggetto, see J. Haar,
‘Some Remarks on the “Missa La sol fa re mi”’ in E. E. Lowinsky and B. J. Blackburn (eds.),
Josquin des Prez: Proceedings of the International Josquin Festival-Conference held at the
Juilliard School at Lincoln Center in New York City, 21–25 June 1971 (London, New York and
Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1976), 564–88.
145
As Bonnie Blackburn remarks (private communication, 28 January 2011), Serafino’s sonnet La
vita ormai resolvi – which is full of solmisation syllables – could be considered as a reverse
rebus, as it turns out that the syllables can be deciphered as musical notes: when read in
vertical order (from top to bottom), they form a melody that quotes parts of the plainchant
Salve regina. In one source, the poem carries the inscription ‘Sonecto XCIX artificioso sopra la
musica dove piu uolte e inserito. Vt: Re: Mi: Fa: Sol: La. Alla nostra donna’. For a discussion of
the piece, see E. E. Lowinsky, ‘Ascanio Sforza’s Life: A Key to Josquin’s Biography and an Aid
to the Chronology of His Works’ in E. E. Lowinsky and B. J. Blackburn (eds.), Josquin des Prez:
Proceedings of the International Josquin Festival-Conference held at the Juilliard School at
Lincoln Center in New York City, 21–25 June 1971 (London, New York and Toronto: Oxford
University Press, 1976), 31–75 at 57–9. In the above-mentioned compositions, music in
general and the solmisation syllables in particular can be read as language. Serafino’s poem
does the opposite, because here, as Lowinsky puts it, ‘language reveals music’ (p. 60).
Trithemius designed complicated methods of encryption.146 In a period

that continued to expand methods for transmitting messages by means of
codes and signals, music played a significant role.147 A basic rule in all
these systems is that notes acquire a verbal, i.e. non-musical, meaning
and by so doing allow the composition of a secret message. Most of these
techniques use a rather simple substitution cipher, in which letters are
assigned to individual notes. Marco Antonio Colonna, who had been
appointed head of the Spanish army by the Duke of Alba in 1564,
developed a cipher that uses letters to indicate geographical names and
dignitaries on the one hand, and pitches in four different note values to
denote letters on the other.148 Matteo Argenti, who was the official papal
cipher secretary in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century,
designed a musical code system that was part of his manual on cryptanaly-
sis.149 In 1596, he developed a system through which nine pitches could be
varied in eight different ways, thus enabling seventy-two possible symbols.
Around the same period, Blaise de Vigenère states in his Traicté des chiffres,
ou secrètes manières d’escrire (Paris, 1586), that ‘even music can disguise
itself as a code; by making use of the lines and the distance between the
letters, with breves, semibreves and black notes, depending on where they
are located; with them one can make several alphabets as one wishes’
(p. 278).150 The enlarged 1606 edition of Giovanni Battista Porta’s De
occultis literarum notis also contains a chapter with the suggestive title
‘Musicis notulis quomodo sine suspicione uti possimus’ (‘How we can use
musical notes without suspicion’).151 Here, the author discusses and exem-
plifies various ways in which pitches and durations can be used for
146
See also Jütte, Das Zeitalter des Geheimnisses, esp. 87–92 with further literature.
147
For an overview of this topic, see especially E. Sams, ‘Cryptography, musical’, in NG, vol. VI,
753–8 and Gerhard F. Strasser, ‘Musik und Kryptographie’, in MGG2, Sachteil, vol. VI, cols.
783–90.
148
Jérôme P. Devos, Les chiffres de Philippe II (1555–1598) et du despacho universal durant le
XVIIe siècle (Brussels: Palais des Académies, 1950), 215–19.
149
See the edition of Argenti’s manual in Aloys Meister, Die Geheimschrift im Dienste der
päpstlichen Kurie von ihren Anfängen bis zum Ende des XVI. Jahrhunderts (Paderborn:
Schöningh, 1906, 148–62. The title of papal cipher secretary was created in 1555.
150
‘La musique meme se peut déguiser en forme de chiffre; faisant servir les lignes et leurs
entr’espaces de lettres, avec les notes brièves, semi-brièves et noires, selon qu’elles y seront
situées; dont se peuvent former plusieurs alphabets à la discretion de chacun’. See J.-R. Fanlo,
‘Le traicté des chiffres et secretes manieres d’escrire de Blaise de Vigenère’ in D. Martin, P. Servet
and A. Tournon (eds.), L’énigmatique à la Renaissance: Formes, significations, esthétiques.
Actes du colloque organisé par l’association Renaissance, Humanisme, Réforme (Lyon, 7–10
septembre 2005) (Paris: Champion, 2008), 27–39.
151
Giovanni Battista Porta, De occultis literarum notis (Strasbourg, 1606), bk. 5, ch. 14, pp. 335–7.
Originally published in 1563 under the title De furtivis literarum notis.
cryptographical purposes. One way is to substitute every letter of the alpha-

bet by a note with a specific pitch and duration: a scala with semibreves from
e to a0 and minims from a0 back to e covers the whole alphabet and enables
one to make a secret message look like an innocent composition.152
In the further course of the seventeenth century, other writers continued
to develop similar methods.153 In the enlarged version of his Steganologia
et steganographia: Geheime Magische Natürliche Red und Schreibkunst
(Nuremberg, c. 1620), Daniel Schwenter uses what is only a minor vari-
ation of Porta’s table.154 A far more sophisticated cipher was designed
shortly afterwards by Gustav Selenus, a pseudonym of Duke August II
of Brunswick (the founder of the famous Herzog August Bibliothek in
Wolfenbüttel), in book 6 of his Cryptomenytices et cryptographiae libri
IX.155 In chapter 13, which is dedicated to the use of circles, dots and
notes as codes, he refers to Schwenter’s work and the substitution cipher
as we know it from Porta and others. A few pages later, however, Selenus
discusses different systems ‘De Transformatione Obliquâ Notarum
Musicalium’ (see Figure 4.14) and how they can be used ‘extrà omnem
suspicionem’. They are characterised by an increasing degree of complex-
ity, in which several cipher keys are combined and the hexachord plays
a major role. Selenus even incorporates the possibility of a retrograde
reading of the music. He then illustrates his theory with several examples,
both monophonic and polyphonic.156
152
Near the beginning of his treatise (bk. 1, ch. 5), Porta discusses all kinds of obscurities in
language, riddles being one of them. It should also be mentioned here that Porta, in his Magiae
naturalis sive de miraculis rerum naturalium libri IV (Naples, 1558), includes a chapter on the
magical effect of music in general and the lyra in particular (bk. 2, ch. 25): see C. Pennuto,
‘Giovambattista della Porta e l’efficacia terapeutica della musica’ in L. Wuidar (ed.), Music and
Esotericism, Aries Book Series, 9 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2010), 109–27.
153
See H. N. Davies, ‘The History of a Cipher, 1602–1772’, ML, 48 (1967), 325–9. In the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Porta’s system was sometimes depicted in the form of a
cipher wheel. In this alternative method, notes and letters were written on two concentric
circles, of which one was fixed, the other movable. See for example E.-G. Guyot, Nouvelles
récréations physiques et mathématiques (Paris, 1769), 188.
154
D. Schwenter, Steganologia et steganographia (Nuremberg, c. 1620), 303–4 (end of bk. 5).
155
G. Selenus, Cryptomenytices et cryptographiae libri IX (n.p., 1624), 311 and 321–6.
156
The solution of the monophonic melody (pp. 324–5) is especially worth mentioning. When
one applies Selenus’s code to the music, the following phrase appears: ‘Hiet dich for deinen
Diener Hansen: Dan er sol dich bey Nacht erwirgen’ (‘Watch out for your servant Hansen,
because he is going to strangle you by night’)! H. Blumenberg, ‘Ein musikalisches Bildrätsel’,
Die Musikforschung, 45 (1992), 163–5 discusses a riddle whose notes produce the name
‘Wolf Preisegger bvrgerschreiber zv Nirnberg’. The enigma works with an interesting
substitution system: each solmisation syllable can stand for four possible letters (ut: a, g,
n and t; re: b, h, o and v, etc.).
Figure 4.14 Gustav Selenus, Cryptomenytices et cryptographiae libri IX (Lüneburg, 162), 321–2. Munich,
Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Res/2 Graph. 39
A final category that should be mentioned in this context leads back to

the sixteenth century. A small number of compositions are conceived as
chronograms, in the sense that the music hides a date or a year that needs
to be untangled by the singers/readers. In her monograph on literary
chronograms, Veronika Marschall makes a distinction between two layers
of text in this type of ‘poesis artificiosa’.157 Apart from the linear basic
text, which presents itself directly to the recipient – whether in the form
of a verse or of a longer poem – there is a second semantic level that is
integrated in the basic text and produces its own meaning. Usually sig-
nalled by capitals and/or a different colour, highlighted letters are treated
as numerals that must be added together (with I = 1, V = 5, X = 10, etc.)
in order to produce a year.158 Such numerical cryptograms are mostly
written for specific occasions and offer their readers the possibility to
discover and decipher a text within a text. The tradition of writing chrono-
grams goes back to ancient times, but the ‘carmen numerale’ was especially
popular in the Renaissance, and it seems that composers were inspired
by this procedure and applied it to music.
In some cases, singers simply had to count the number of notes and
rests, the sum of which produces a year that is related to a person or an
event.159 This procedure occurs, for example, in the collection Suavissimae
et iucundissimae harmoniae (Nuremberg, 1567). The editor Clemens
Stephani, whose function is mentioned on the title page, selected the pieces
and ordered them according to a careful plan.160 Various works are
dedicated to Bohemian personalities, and one of these works contains a
date. Martin Agricola’s four-voice Festina lente, the second piece of the
collection, is announced as ‘symbolum’ of Václav Albín from Helfenburk
(see Figure 4.15). Albín (c. 1500–77) was chancellor of the Rosenberg
157
V. Marschall, Das Chronogramm: Eine Studie zu Formen und Funktionen einer literarischen
Kunstform, Helicon. Beiträge zur deutschen Literatur, 22 (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1997).
158
For an introduction to the various uses of letters as numbers, see G. Quang, ‘Buchstaben als
Zahlen’, Symbolon. Jahrbuch für Symbolforschung, 10 (1991), 43–50.
159
This technique is of course not to be confused with gematria, which has been applied by some
scholars to compositions from the Renaissance. Here, every letter of the alphabet is associated
with a number (a = 1, b = 2, c = 3, etc.). By counting the total number of notes of a work and/or
a voice, some scholars claim to detect a composer’s signature that is hidden in the music (e.g.
Du Fay = 4+20+6+1+23 = 54). This technique is problematic from a methodological point of
view, however.
160
See my ‘Rosen, Lilien und Kanons: Die Anthologie Suavissimae et iucundissimae harmoniae
(Nürnberg, 1567)’ in P. Gancarczyk and A. Leszczynska (eds.) The Musical Heritage of the
Jagiellonian Era (Warsaw: Instytut Sztuki PAN, 2012), 107–22.
Figure 4.15 Martin Agricola, Festina lente in Suavissimae et iucundissimae

harmoniae (Nuremberg: Gerlach, 1567), sig. B2v. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek,
2 Mus.pr. 40
family in their castle at Český Krumlov, hence a confidant of the book’s

dedicatee, Wilhelm von Rosenberg. The paratext printed above the motet
reveals that the piece contains a chronogram: ‘Symbolum . . . numerum
anni continens’. Agricola’s Festina lente, which is conceived as a double
canon, in each canon pair has a total of sixty-five notes and rests. Given
the fact that the collection was printed in 1567, this might imply that we
can pinpoint Albín’s year of birth as 1502. It is clear that the composer
himself, who had already died in 1556, cannot possibly have intended such
a reading of his motet. The integration of a ‘time riddle’ in Festina lente
should rather be considered the result of Stephani’s invention.
A far more sophisticated example of a musical chronogram can be found
in the final piece, Puisqu’en janvier, of Susato’s collection of Vingt et six
chansons musicales (Antwerp, 1543).161 Its Tenor is printed in red and
161
A colour facsimile was published in the series Corpus of Early Music (Brussels: Culture et
Civilisation, 1970), vol. I.
black (by double impression); an enigmatic poem is attached, which tells

us a specific date is hidden in the piece (see Plate 4.3):162
CANON. Par les notes l’an icy trouverez

Et des pauses le jour du moys scaurez
Quand L’empereur de Thunes retour feit
Dans Bruxelles
Et si ce ne souffist
En telle heure qu’estoit apres midi
L’aultre’en tel temps dira ce que j’ay dict.
RULE. By (counting) the notes here you will find the year
And by the rests you will know the day of the month
In which the Emperor returned from Tunis to Brussels;
And if this is not enough,
On which hour it was in the afternoon.
The other will tell in which month (took place) what I have said.
The rubric tells us that the piece is related to Charles V’s conquest of the
Ottoman Empire in Africa. Susato claims to have hidden the year, the day
and the hour of the emperor’s triumphal entry into the city of Brussels – an
event Susato might even have witnessed himself. The month is already
revealed in the chanson’s main text:
Puis qu’en janvier on peult appercevoir

Vostre venue, aussy que vous puis veoir
En ce pays ou vous ay attendu,
Si vostre zele’est sur moy estendu
Depuis cest an tout heur pourray avoir.
Because in January we can witness
Your arrival, so you may see
In this country where I waited for you.
If your zeal reaches towards me
Since this year I could have each hour.
But how are we to find the other elements? Fortunately, a near-
contemporary source offers help. Die nieuwe Chronycke van Brabant
(Antwerp, 1565) informs us about the year, the date and the hour: ‘Ende
162
On this chanson, see also K. K. Forney, ‘New Documents on the Life of Tielman Susato,
Sixteenth-Century Music Printer and Musician’, Revue belge de musicologie, 36–8 (1982–4),
18–52 at 35–6.
van daer tooch die Keyser met zyn suster ende met alle die heeren te
Brussel. Doer hy quam opten xxix dach van Januario, Anno xl omtrent vier
oren na noene’ (‘And from there the Emperor went with his sister and all
the lords to Brussels. There he arrived on the twenty-ninth day of January
of the year 1540 at four o’clock in the afternoon’).163 As the rubric tells us,
we have to count the notes in order to know the year. If we add up all
the (black and red) notes, the total is thirty-nine breves and a minim.
As Kristine Forney explains, as the year did not change until Easter by
Antwerp style, this is the correct date. In order to know the day of the
month, it turns out we have to count only the red rests, which add up to
twenty-nine semibreves. For the time of day, the rubric instructs us to look
at ‘the other’. With this, the comes is meant. Although a signum congruen-
tiae is lacking, by trial and error we discover that a fifth voice can enter
after three breves either at the fifth above or a fourth below the Tenor.164
Both options are plausible, and if we decide on the latter, we can see
that the imitation interval of the fourth indicates the hour of Charles’s
entry, i.e. four o’clock (see Example 4.9).165
Contrary to most of the examples we have discussed in this and the
foregoing chapters, in Susato’s composition the enigmatic element does
not reside primarily in the transformation of a written melody – that is,
apart from the canonic imitation that has to be derived from the Tenor.
The enigmatic rubric does not prompt the singer to apply a special
technique to the music according to a given rule. The music as written
can in fact be sung the way it is notated – the only real challenge is for the
comes to find the correct imitation interval and distance. Rather, the main
goal of the poem is to tell the singer that the music is the key to a historical
(i.e. extra-musical) event Susato wished to celebrate. Music is treated as a
set of signs that all contribute to the solution of the chronogram: the
number of notes and rests as well as the use of two colours. Like the
musical riddles we have discussed in this book, the recipient thus has
to become active: he knows that a message is hidden in the notation,
for which the accompanying instruction offers the necessary clues. But
163
Cited in ibid., 36 n. 109. The description is on p. 27 of Die nieuwe Chronycke.
164
This solution was discovered by Antoine Auda, as is mentioned in B. Huys, Verzameling
kostbare werken: Ontstaan en ontwikkeling van een afdeling van de Koninklijke Bibliotheek
(Brussels: Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 1961), 95–9.
165
Huys, Verzameling kostbare werken, 97 writes that the upper fifth is the only possible solution,
which would result in a second Superius, but this is not correct. An imitation of the Tenor
(written in c3, whereas the Altus is written in c4) at the lower fourth would produce a
second Tenor.
Example 4.9 Tielman Susato, Puisqu’en janvier

Example 4.9 (cont.)

Example 4.9 (cont.)

Example 4.9 (cont.)

contrary to most of the above-mentioned examples, this activity does not

have any concrete musical consequences, as the voices can sing their lines
without further ado. As a matter of fact, this ‘time riddle’ could have been
expressed in a different medium. Music is one possible semiotic system
to produce the required result, but strictly speaking language (by way of
capitals, colours, etc.) could have done the trick as well. What remains is
a composition, an occasional chanson for Charles V. If one could not see
the elaborate layout and did not know the piece’s conception as a musical
chronogram, a sounding panegyric for the emperor could still be enjoyed.
***
In this chapter, I have discussed riddles in which images play a central role
in the interpretation of the piece. Their presence not only turns these
compositions into real works of art, but through the intimate nexus of
music, text and image, these brain-teasers also offer their recipients a
multisensory experience to reflect upon – regardless of whether they were
meant for performance or rather for private meditation and silent reading.
It is here that the musical riddle’s connection with the culture of the
enigmatic in general becomes especially traceable, as it seeks to broaden
the cryptic embedding of music in other media. The resulting self-
referential synergy often adds a further symbolic layer to the composition.
Above all, because of their special arrangement and mise-en-page these
riddles challenge the reader’s usual reading pattern and force him to
explore the page in various directions.
The list of topics I have mentioned here is far from complete. To give
just a few examples: we also have riddles accompanied by or depicted in
the form of the zodiac or the four elements, which – very much like the
lunar cycle – seek to connect music with the cosmos and the eternal laws of
the musica universalis. Playful elements such as a chessboard, dice, animals
or a mirror were equally favoured fields to experiment with and often hide
profound concepts behind the seemingly ludic surface.166 Some riddles
operate with colours and yet others integrate political symbols (such as
a coat of arms and/or a dignitary’s motto), thus instrumentalising the
music’s potential for the self-display of a ruler while underlining his taste
for the coded and the secret. Such a vast topic, embracing such diverse
areas and disciplines, deserves a separate study. Indeed, much still waits to
be ‘uncovered’.
166
See for example M. Long, ‘Symbol and Ritual in Josquin’s Missa Di Dadi’, JAMS, 42 (1989), 1–22.

u Conclusion
In the third volume of his Geschichte der Musik (Leipzig, 1868), the music
historian August Wilhelm Ambros dedicates a long chapter to the ‘Künste
der Niederländer’. He begins by summarising the withering criticism it
invited in later centuries, in the aftermath of descriptions by Padre Martini,
Charles Burney and Johann Nikolaus Forkel.1 Indeed, in his day the
canons and fanciful enigmatic inscriptions by composers such as Busnoys,
Josquin and Obrecht were often considered the ‘summit of bad taste’
(‘Gipfel alles Ungeschmackes’), ‘unworthy plaything’ (‘unwürdige Spie-
lerei’), in short ‘non-music’ (‘Nicht-musik’). With their compositions fallen
into disrepute, Ambros provocatively asks: ‘Who would risk going into
the dark haunted forest of these “canons”?’2 Under such bad auspices, the
undertaking seemed to be doomed to fail. But Ambros decides to enter
the selva oscura nonetheless and offers some astute observations about
the contrapuntal and notational subtleties of Franco-Flemish composers,
which he rightly characterises as typical expressions of the music of that
period.
The scepticism vis-à-vis polyphonic complexity in general and musical
riddles in particular that Ambros here briefly touches upon is of course not
just a post factum observation, ventilated some centuries after the emer-
gence of these works. On the contrary, in the music theory of their time,
enigmas attract criticism for various reasons. They are said to be a sign of a
composer’s intellectual bragging, needlessly vexing the singer and the
listener alike. The riddle’s champions, on the other hand, consider them
first and foremost a mental challenge that can teach them hitherto
unknown things, hence bring intellectual satisfaction. Neither in literature,
music or any other art form do riddles leave their recipients cold. Either
one feels attracted by the (implicit or explicit) question they pose, or one is
annoyed by their veiling and the process of unravelling they require. The
radicality of both positions seems to go back to a basic characteristic of
1
A. W. Ambros, Geschichte der Musik, 3 vols. (Leipzig: Leuckart, 1868), vol. III (Geschichte der
Musik im Zeitalter der Renaissance bis zu Palestrina), 61–80.
2
Ibid., 62: ‘Wer mag sich in den finsteren Zauberwald dieser “Canons” hineinwagen?’ 359
360 Conclusion
riddles, i.e. their inherent ambiguity and the obscurity that springs from it:
they are not a straightforward form of communication, but leave room for
interpretation. A riddle does not want to – indeed cannot – be unambigu-
ous; otherwise it simply would not be a riddle. When taking up the
challenge of decoding, it is very much like entering the dark and unpredict-
able forest Ambros mentions in his history. But the search can be
rewarding, indeed sometimes even amusing. Or, as Aristotle wrote, riddles
initiate a pattern of surprise, delay and excited recognition.
The riddle’s inherent ambiguity and the subtle deception that goes with
it lead us to the very heart of the musical culture – or rather cultivation – of
the enigmatic in the Renaissance. Especially during this period, which was
steeped in the conviction of the multiple meanings of and cognitive
accesses to all things, musical riddles fell on fertile ground. They play with
inganno in the broadest sense of the word: they suggest something, but
mean something else. Moreover, musical inganno has many faces. It not
only means that riddles, by virtue of the concept of mensural notation per
se, can make easy things look extremely complex and vice versa present
sophisticated ideas in a deceptively simple way (such as a mensuration
canon).3 It also more generally means that nothing is what it looks like.
Transformation, as I have shown, is the cornerstone of musical riddles. The
fact that the music in its notated form cannot be sung as such, but first
needs to be interpreted in accordance with a verbal instruction or through
symbols, must have perplexed many a singer. Depending both on the
riddle’s inherent degree of obscurity and the performer’s experience and
knowledge, we can assume that the resolution was found either relatively
quickly or after a long process of thinking and trying out. For the range of
techniques and the inscriptions that were chosen to accompany them is
enormous. My discussion of the techniques of transformation has shown
that all aspects of notation – pitches, note values, rests, mensuration signs,
clefs, colours and even dots and stems – could be the object of the
composer’s attention, while the survey of verbal canons has focused not
only on the variety of sources, but also on the vocabulary used to hint at
the solution and the strategies used to address the performer. All these
3
This fact, it should be added, has serious consequences for editorial practice. Bent, ‘Editing Early
Music: The Dilemma of Translation’, has repeatedly called attention to this problem. She rightly
states that many aspects of mensural notation cannot be adequately translated into a modern
edition, as this would mean to lose the subtleties of the original. She urges us to become ‘native
speakers of its language, rather than giving in, before we start, to the distorting filter of modern
transcription’ (p. 392).
Conclusion 361
elements bear witness to the composer’s extraordinary creativity in

manipulating the material on hand in musical and verbal terms.
But why did composers want performers to go through this effort?
Why did they, to quote John Hothby’s Dialogus in arte musica, write a
melody whose notes they mean to be understood the opposite way (‘per
contrarium vult intelligi’)? As with every riddle, they must have felt a
private pleasure both in inventing such brain-teasers and in provoking
the singers. At the same time, riddles are also a social statement: not
everyone could come up with obscure techniques of encoding, nor could
every performer disentangle the complexities and find out the composer’s
intention, sometimes resulting in a corrupt solution or even a frustrated
capitulation. In short, riddles are an effective way to confirm knowledge
and to exclude outsiders, hence to promote the unity and cohesion of a
group. In his recent book Secret Language, Barry J. Blake brings the two
strands together when contemplating the reasons why ‘people choose to
be oblique in their use of language as a system of communication’.4 Two
of the factors he mentions can be said to be applicable to musical riddles
as well: a desire to tease or amuse on the one hand and to maintain an
identity on the other.
Riddles thus pursue different intentions, and this flexibility also stems
from their capacity to be an intellectual challenge and an entertainment
at the same time. The French term jeu d’esprit perfectly encapsulates this
intertwining: riddles are a game that addresses the mind; they have the
innate capability to inform and amuse at the same time. This also
explains the riddle’s attractiveness in all cultures and eras to this day.
They testify to the propensity of the human race – of adults as well as of
children – towards the playful, and to mankind’s curiosity to uncover
what somebody else has wrapped in darkness. In the final book of his El
Melopeo y maestro (Naples, 1613), Pietro Cerone sums up this enduring
fascination when he remarks that ‘enigmas musicales’ too comply with
an ‘inborn and natural desire to know the primary and most secret
things’.5
Cerone’s retrospective anthology also allows us to assess the develop-
ment of musical riddle culture from the late fifteenth to the early seven-
teenth century. In the initial stage, enigmas tended to be largely restricted
4
B. J. Blake, Secret Language: Codes, Tricks, Spies, Thieves, and Symbols (Oxford University Press,
2010), 291.
5
Cerone, El Melopeo y maestro, 1073: ‘naturaleza . . . muy sidiente de saber las cosas primas, y
mas secretas’.
362 Conclusion
to sacred genres and were often embedded in a complex theological and

symbolic programme. In the hands of Busnoys, Obrecht, Josquin and their
contemporaries, riddles frequently establish a close link between the type
of transformation, the text to which the technique is applied, the context
of the verbal instruction, and the interpretative connotations of the pre-
existing model (often of secular origin) upon which many of their riddles
are based. The resulting multiplicity not only provides insight into the
exegetical and associative proficiencies of their makers, but also under-
lines the riddle’s participation in an expressive strategy; they are not
simply the result of the composer’s whimsy. The Gloria and Credo of
Obrecht’s Missa Fortuna desperata and the retrograde reading in the
Agnus Dei of several L’homme armé masses are but two examples of the
rich symbolism with which composers envelop their inventions. In the
course of the sixteenth century, the taste for the enigmatic diminishes,
but it continues to be treasured in a theoretical context, only to reappear
on the compositional agenda in the later sixteenth and early seventeenth
century. Here, riddles either move in the atmosphere of sophisticated
recreation (such as the books with Enigmi musicali by Lodovico Agostini,
which have riddles accompanied by cryptic poems) or tend to take the
form of ‘catalogues’ that anatomise and rationalise the laws that govern
canonic composition.
But there is also the performative side of musical riddles. After all, a
composer wants his music to be sung. This is what sets musical riddles
apart from their literary companions. For after singers have cracked the
code – i.e. after they have understood the connection between the verbal
canon and the intended transformation – they also need to achieve a
correct performance. A mental operation is to be followed by a practical
task. And herein lies a truly paradoxical aspect of musical riddles,
because as soon as a riddle is sung, it is no longer a riddle. To put it
differently, one cannot hear if a piece is conceived in an enigmatic way
or not. We may be able to hear canonic imitation and the complicated
proportional relationship between the voices of a mensuration canon.
But we cannot – by definition – hear a retrograde canon or techniques
such as the substitution of notes by words, numbers etc. Perhaps a well-
trained hearer could tell if the cantus firmus of a mass had been altered
by the omission, excision or addition of particular notes. But even then
he could not know whether these transformations were written out or
hinted at by way of a veiled inscription. It is indeed impossible to tell
whether a composer obscured the interpretation of one or more voices of
his work or whether he notated them in a straightforward manner: the
Conclusion 363
result for the listener is the same. Moreover, Renaissance musical riddles
cannot exist without their written form. It is the music in its notated
form that invites composers to display the inherent ambiguities of the
mensural system and to explore their enigmatic potential. These manipu-
lations and a fortiori the verbal canons that accompany them are first
and foremost visible, not audible. Riddles fundamentally are a game
played by the composer and the performers, the ‘target group’ of the
riddle. The listener, for whom the music sounds, is largely excluded from
the workings of this game.
The Renaissance performer had the demanding task of shining light on
darkness. He had to trawl through different search strategies and untie the
knot of the notation in which he found himself enmeshed. The private,
social and musical satisfaction of his effort was surely of crucial import-
ance. For as Augustine had already remarked in his Doctrina christiana,
‘what is sought with difficulty is discovered with more pleasure’, so the
reward at the end is all the more enjoyable.
In the later seventeenth century, when mensural notation and the
enigmatic possibilities of its inherent ambiguity are no longer the pre-
dominant system, musical riddles do not cease to exist. In Seicento
Roman circles the cryptic and the hermetic received new impetus – often
in connection with religious themes – in the hands of Romano Micheli,
Pier Francesco Valentini and others.6 The spirit of nascent scientism was
to clear the way for the tradition of the ars combinatoria, which started
to develop in musical circles slightly thereafter. But in other contexts,
too, riddles continued to appeal. Frescobaldi, especially in his instrumen-
tal compositions, worked with ingenious techniques of inganno, by
having one voice stating a theme, and then the other picking it up
without using the same intervals, but retaining the names of the hexa-
chord syllables.7 In the eighteenth century, Bach explored various types
of canonic writing in his Musical Offering. From fuga canons to retro-
grade and inversion to polymorphous canons he covers the whole
range of arcane techniques as he inherited them from the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries. One of his canons carries the inscription ‘Quaerendo
invenietis’ (‘He who seeks will find’). More than two centuries earlier,
the theorist Pietro Aaron had condemned the use of a similar
6
See especially Gerbino, Canoni ed enigmi; Lamla, Kanonkünste im barocken Italien; Wuidar,
Canons énigmes et hiéroglyphes musicaux dans l’Italie du 17e siècle.
7
S. Durante, ‘On Artificioso Compositions at the Time of Frescobaldi’ in A. Silbiger (ed.),
Frescobaldi Studies (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1987), 195–217.
364 Conclusion
inscription – ‘Qui quaerit, invenit’ (‘He that seeketh, findeth’; Luke

11:10) – in his Libri tres de institutione harmonica. For him, this verbal
canon was too obscure and vague. But Bach’s choice could also be seen
as an optimistic and encouraging motto for all those wanting to pene-
trate the dark woods of riddling. Indeed, composers enjoyed the enig-
matic as much as those wanting to unravel it.

Appendix 1 A brief introduction to mensural
notation
Mensural notation is the system used for the notation of polyphonic music
from the late thirteenth century to c. 1600. Whereas in the first centuries,
the notes were written in black notation, from the middle of the fifteenth
century scribes began to use hollow note shapes. This was probably
motivated by the use of paper (instead of parchment) as the most common
writing material, because paper was less suited to holding large dots of ink.
In this era of so-called white mensural notation, the period this book is
about, black shapes are only used for the smallest note values (semiminima
, fusa and semifusa ).
In mensural notation, unlike in modern notation, notes do not have a
fixed, predetermined value: the mensural system is a context-dependent
system. Except for the smallest values (see above), notes can be read as
either ternary (‘perfect’ in the terminology of the time) or binary (‘imper-
fect’). Thus, a breve ( ) can contain either two or three semibreves ( ), and
the semibreve too can be divided into two or three minims ( ). The relation
between breve and semibreve is called ‘tempus’, the one between semibreve
and minim ‘prolatio’. A similar operation is possible for the division of the
largest note value in the system, of the maxima ( ), into longs ( ) and of the
long into breves; these divisions are called ‘modus maior’ and ‘modus
minor’ respectively. The result is a complex hierarchical system, with
well-defined numerical relations between these levels, each of which can
be either ternary or binary.
Whether a note value is divided into two or three units depends on a
range of factors. On the macro level, the main way to indicate the type of
hierarchical relation between note values is by a mensuration sign, the
equivalent of the modern time signature. Especially in the fifteenth cen-
tury, we come across a wide range of mensuration signs – some of them
accompanied by a number or a proportion sign – but for the sake of clarity,
I shall limit myself here to the most important ones.
There are four possible ways to indicate the relationship between breve and
semibreve on the one hand, and between semibreve and minim on the other.
and are the signs for perfect and imperfect tempus, i.e. they indicate that
the breve contains three or two semibreves respectively – note the equation of 365
366 Appendix 1
the circle with perfection, the half-circle with imperfection. In order to differ-
entiate the relationship between semibreve and minim, a dot could be added to
either of those tempus signs: the presence of a dot indicates major prolation,
the absence thereof minor prolation. To summarise this:
: tempus imperfectum, prolatio minor ! = =

: tempus imperfectum, prolatio maior ! = =
: tempus perfectum, prolatio minor ! = =
: tempus perfectum, prolatio maior ! = =
In addition, a numeral or pair of numerals could be added to a mensuration
sign. They could indicate the relationship between the maxima, long and
breve (in which case they were called ‘modus-cum-tempore’ signs) or mean
that the speed of a part should be proportionally changed. To give just a few
examples: a 3 or the fraction 3/2 (often also appearing without a mensuration
sign) reduced a note by one-third of its value, i.e. three notes are sung in the
time of two; by analogy, 2 reduces the notes by half. In the sixteenth century,
became the standard sign, indicating some type of speeding up.1
On the micro level, different factors had to be taken into account in
order to determine whether a note was perfect or imperfect: the notes
immediately preceding and following as well as the form and colour of the
notes. An elaborate set of rules was devised to indicate the relationship
between notes. These are largely irrelevant for musical riddles and are not
discussed here. Even dots do not have an unequivocal meaning and their
interpretation depends on the context in which they appear. Sometimes
they are dots of addition, i.e. they increase the length of a note by half; but
other times they are dots of division, meant to divide or separate groups of
notes, with consequences for the value of the notes between them.
The main conclusion that can be drawn from this is that a single note
can have more than one meaning: it is a variable property and therefore
ambiguous. Its form alone does not suffice in order to determine its
duration. It is this very ambiguity that makes the mensural system so fitted
for brain-teasers, given the fact that riddles in general – as we have seen –
live on ambiguity and are never straightforward. In other words, the
mensural system per se already has an enigmatic element and offered
composers ample opportunities to play with it at various levels.
1
As Busse Berger, Mensuration and Proportion Signs shows, there was no consensus among the
theorists on how exactly this speeding up was to be interpreted.

Appendix 2 Catalogue of enigmatic canonic
inscriptions
bonnie j. bl ackburn
The following catalogue originated in my dismay upon discovering that

Petrucci’s editor, Petrus Castellanus, maestro di cappella at the Dominican
church of SS Giovanni e Paolo in Venice, completely misunderstood how
to resolve the canon in the Agnus Dei II of Obrecht’s Missa Je ne demande,
published by Petrucci in the Misse Obreht of 1503. How could such a
perspicacious musician and editor have made such a mistake? After inves-
tigation in conjunction with the version in Munich 3154, where the canon
is resolved in a different way, I concluded that Petrus either had an
exemplar without a canonic inscription, or else he misunderstood the
inscription. (See Blackburn, ‘Obrecht’s Missa Je ne demande’.) Over the
twenty years since my initial investigation I have sporadically added to my
file of canonic inscriptions, concentrating only on the enigmatic ones and
ignoring simple instructions, such as ‘In diatessaron’ and ‘Crescit in duplo’.
Enigmatic inscriptions begin to appear in the mid fifteenth century,
becoming especially popular in the last two decades of that century, above
all in the works of Josquin and Obrecht and their northern contemporar-
ies. After that, compositions with enigmatic canons gradually tail off in
number, only to undergo a resurgence in the early seventeenth century.
If musicians eventually grew tired of stuffing their compositions with
riddles, the theorists tell quite a different story. Many of them composed
at least one canon when they were young, to test their mettle, but these
have not survived (see Blackburn, ‘“Notes secretly fitted together”’).
Some rapidly lost interest in the genre, and even disparaged it in later
life, but theorists throughout the sixteenth century continued to reproduce
examples of earlier canons in their treatises. It is in this spirit that I present
this appendix: that the ingenuity of the past should not be forgotten. The
catalogue cannot pretend to completeness; more examples will undoubt-
edly turn up. The decision was made to choose as closing date the
publication of Hermann Finck’s Musica practica of 1556. Finck devoted
Book 3 entirely to canons, beginning with a list of inscriptions and their
meanings, some of which seem to be his own suggestions, and continuing
with a long series of complete compositions, all presented without naming
367
368 Appendix 2
the composer, though many date back fifty years or so (see Blackburn, ‘Two
Treasure Chests’). Some compositions later than this date are included if
they make use of enigmatic inscriptions known from earlier compositions.
Many of the compositions are available in modern editions, the latest or
most standard of which is listed here. I have given at least one source with
the inscription where differences are to be found, but have not attempted a
complete collation. In a few cases the same piece may have more than one
inscription; an outstanding example is the three-voice mensuration canon
of the Agnus II of Josquin’s Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales:
‘Noli me tangere’; ‘Redde unicuique secundum opera sua’; ‘Sancta Trinitas,
salva me’; ‘Trinitas’; ‘Trinitas et unitas’; ‘Trinitas in unitate’; and ‘Trinitas
noli me tangere’. Classical or pseudo-classical inscriptions are not infre-
quent (see Blackburn and Holford-Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four Grievances’), and
biblical tags were often found to be appropriate. While I have attempted
to discover what the inscription means and how it is to be interpreted
musically, some cases have utterly defeated me, and others we cannot
understand because the music has not been preserved. Some canons
exist only in resolved form; this is particularly true of Petrucci’s publica-
tions (see Blackburn, ‘Canonic Conundrums’). For a typography of
enigmatic inscriptions of the late fifteenth century, see Blackburn,
‘“Notes secretly fitted together”’. The literature cited in the catalogue is
confined to explanations of the canons, not to discussion of the compos-
itions themselves.
Thanks are due to many persons, stretching over a long period of time,
but in the first place to Katelijne Schiltz, whose research leading to the
present book has spurred me to return to the catalogue and make it into a
usable tool. For their contributions I wish to thank Michael Anderson,
David Burn, Jeffrey Dean, Wolfgang Fuhrmann, Adam Knight Gilbert,
Martin Ham, Susan Jackson, Agnese Pavanello, Paul Ranzini, Stephen
Rice, Jesse Rodin, Thomas Schmidt, and Rob C. Wegman; there are surely
others who do not come to mind at present, and I apologise for not naming
them. As always, my warmest thanks go to my colleague in all my scholarly
endeavours, Leofranc Holford-Strevens, especially for his invaluable help
in tracking down classical sources and deciphering and translating enigmas
after enigmas.
A maiori debet fieri denominatio (‘The name should be taken from the
greater part’)
TYPE OF CANON: rearrangement; retrograde
Catalogue of enigmatic canonic inscriptions 369
EXPLANATION: sing the c.f. in descending order of rhythmic values:

first longs, then breves, etc.; the rests are treated similarly
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: The principle is distilled from
Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 9.1168b31–5, 10.1178a2–3. In the
Auctoritates Aristotelis, 12.186 ‘omnis denominatio debet fieri
a principaliori’, 12.214 ‘demonstratio fit a principaliori’ (ed.
Hamesse, i. 45)
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa De tous biens playne, Patrem (straightfor-
ward) and Et incarnatus (retrograde: ‘Ut prius, sed dicitur retrograde’)
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, iv. 8–13
LITERATURE: Blackburn and Holford-Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four
Grievances’, 166
Absque mora primum / ruit in dyatessaron ymum (‘Without delay, the

first rushes down to the lower fourth’)
TYPE OF CANON: precursor
EXPLANATION: canonic follower enters one semibreve before the
notated voice at the lower fourth (based on the L’homme armé
melody)
EXAMPLE: Tinctoris, Missa L’homme armé, Et incarnatus (Vatican
CS 35)
MODERN EDITION: Tinctoris OO, 96
Accidens potest inesse et abesse preter subiecti corruptionem

(‘An accident may be present or absent without corrupting the subject’)
TYPE OF CANON: si placet voice
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Porphyry, Isagoge, trans. Boethius (Aris-
toteles Latinus I/6–7, p. 20): ‘Accidens vero est quod adest et abest
praeter subiecti corruptionem’
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa Je ne demande, Agnus II, A (Petrucci, Misse
Obreht)
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, v. 82–4
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Obrecht’s Missa Je ne demande’
Ad medium referas, pausas relinquendo priores (‘Repeat at the half,

leaving behind the first rests’)
TYPE OF CANON: diminution
EXPLANATION: repeat, halving the values and ignoring the initial rests
EXAMPLE: Du Fay, Missa L’homme armé, Kyrie II (Vatican CS 14;
Vatican CS 49: liquendo [sic])
MODERN EDITION: Du Fay OO, iii. 35–6
370 Appendix 2
Ait latro ad latronem (‘One thief said to the other’)

TYPE OF CANON: interval
EXPLANATION: T in canon with superius after three breves at lower
octave
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: antiphon, LU 715
EXAMPLE: Isaac, Missa Tmeiskin, Qui tollis, T (Vatican CS 49, where
anon.; Jena 31, anon.)
MODERN EDITION: Isaac OO, vii. 91–4
Alter post alterum per dyatessaron intensum sequatur (‘Let the one
follow after another at the upper fourth’). See also Quatuor quaternionibus
Alternis dicetis, amant alterna Camoenae (‘You will speak in alternation,
the muses love alternation’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval (Willaert); interval, exchanged in the 2.p.
(Zarlino)
EXPLANATION: double canon (Willaert); dux becomes comes in the
secunda pars (Zarlino)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Vergil, Bucolics 3, ll. 58–9:
Incipe Damoeta, tu deinde sequere, Menalca;
alternis dicetis: amant alterna Camenae.
EXAMPLES: (1) Adrian [Willaert], Mon petit cueur n’est pas a moy
(Antico, Motetti novi) (two settings) (‘Alterius . . .’)
(2) Zarlino, In principio Deus antequam terram faceret (Modulationes,
1566) (canon on the c.f. ‘Omnis sapientia a Domino’ between
Q and A at the upper fifth [prima pars] and between A and Q at
the lower fifth [secunda pars])
Ambulat hic armatus homo, verso quoque vultu
arma rapit: dexteram sequitur, sicut vice versa
ad levam scandat. Vultus sumendo priores
ipse retrograditur: respondent ultima primis.
(‘Here the armed man walks, and with his face turned too. He seizes arms,
and pursues a rightward course in such a way that when the times are
changed he may climb to the left. Taking on his previous countenance he
retreats: the end corresponds to the beginning’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde; inversion; retrograde inversion
EXPLANATION: the segment is sung (1) straight, (2) in retrograde
inversion; (3) inversion of 1; (4) retrograde of 1; (5) as 1
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa L’homme armé [II] (Naples VI.E.40, with
resolution)
MODERN EDITION: Six Anonymous L’Homme armé Masses, 46–95
Ante et retro (‘Before and behind’) (see also Crescens retrograde)

TYPE OF CANON: retrograde (mirror)
EXPLANATION: T sung simultaneously forward and retrograde
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Exod. 39:18: ‘Haec et ante et retro ita
conveniebant sibi’ (‘These both before and behind so answered one
another’) or Rev. 4:6: ‘quattuor animalia plena oculis ante et retro’
(‘four living creatures, full of eyes before and behind’)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé sexti toni, Agnus III,
T (Casale Monferrato M)
MODERN EDITION: NJE 6.2, pp. 31–5
Antiphrasim facies qui vis bene promere cantor (‘You will perform an
antiphrasis, singer who wish to deliver well’)
TYPE OF CANON: pseudo antique; inversion
EXPLANATION: invert; the sign indicates fourfold augmentation;
there is also a resolution in labelled ‘Vos nondum adulti cantores
promite ut hic est’)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Una musque, Credo (Berlin 40021)
Antiphrasis βαρυτονατ (‘The opposite baritonizes’)

TYPE OF CANON: pseudo antique; retrograde
EXPLANATION: sing retrograde and transpose down (a 12th)
EXAMPLE: Japart, J’ay pris amours a ma devise (Florence 178, fol. 4v)
MODERN EDITION: Florentine Chansonnier, music vol., no. 152,
pp. 325–7
Antiphrasis shenorizat [sic] ipos dum epiptonzizat (‘The opposite is in

the tenor while that which is underneath sounds on top’) (Ramis, 91); recte:
Antiphrasis tenorizat ipos dum epipthongizat’
TYPE OF CANON: inversion
EXPLANATION: read descending intervals ascending, ascending inter-
vals descending. ‘Mutatur etiam canone modus procedendi, ut tan-
tum, quantum vox debebat elevari, deprimatur, ut fecit Busnois:
Antiphrasis tenorizat . . ., cuius sententia est: fiat subtus, quod supra
erat fiendum et e contra’ (Ramis, 91)
EXAMPLE: Busnoys, J’ay pris amours tout au rebours (Petrucci, Odhe-
caton, fol. 44v, but here the canonic inscription is given as part of the
text, though only in the S: ‘Jay pris amours tout au rebours’)
= Johannes Martini, Jay prijs amours, Segovia, fol. 110v, with canonic
inscription: ‘Antifrasis tenorizat / yposdum epitonpluzat’
372 Appendix 2
MODERN EDITION: Harmonice Musices Odhecaton A, ed. Hewitt,

305–6; Martini, Secular Pieces, ed. Evans, 38–40
Apprende arma et scutum

Et e[x]urge in adiutorium michi
(‘Take hold of arms and shield: and rise up to help me’)
EXPLANATION: the B (which carries the c.f.) is duplicated in canon at
the upper octave after two breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ps. 34:2: ‘Apprehende arma et scutum et
exsurge in adiutorium mihi’
EXAMPLE: Pipelare, Missa L’homme armé, Agnus III, B (Vatican CS
41; Antico, Liber 15 missarum; Jena 22); cited by Rossi, 13, but
crediting the unnamed mass to Gio. Mouton; he says that he omits
the name because the notebook in which he had all these examples
was stolen in 1585
MODERN EDITION: Pipelare OO, iii. 47–50
Arma virumque cano, vincorque per arma virumque

Alterni gradimur: hic ubi signum tacet
Sub lychanos hypaton oritur, sic undique pergit
Visceribus, propriis conditur ille meis.
(‘Arms and the man I sing, and am overcome by arms and the man.
We [the armed man, i.e. the canonic voice, and I, the tenor] march in
alternation; here where I sign [at the signa congruentiae], he is silent.
He rises below lichanos hypaton, and thus does he proceed all over
[literally ‘from all sides’]; he is formed from my very entrails’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the fifth below after two breves
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa L’homme armé [VI] (Naples VI.E.40, with
resolution)
MODERN EDITION: Six Anonymous L’Homme armé Masses,
224–85
Aspetta il tempo / et sarai contento (‘Wait for the [right] time and you
will be happy’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the upper second after one breve
EXAMPLE: Mouton, Benedicam Dominum in omne tempore a 6 (Vatican
CS 38)
MODERN EDITION: Mouton, Fünf Motetten, 9–14
Avant avant (‘Ahead! Ahead!’)

EXPLANATION: canon at the lower fourth, with the comes entering
first (the text incipit is in fact the canonic inscription)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Avant avant (Petrucci, Canti B, fol. 35 [= 41])
MODERN EDITION: Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti B, ed. Hewitt,
199–200
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Canonic Conundrums’, 56–7
Baton In tribolon lycanosipatonizasco secundo occentantem cum

secundo sed in mese condo
TYPE OF CANON: pseudo antique; 3 in 1
EXPLANATION: The initial phrase appears to mean ‘[I turn] the
bramble, βάτος [Exod. 3:2–4], into thistle, τρίβολος, but if we accent
the first word βατόν, and allow our composer an even better knowledge
of Greek, we shall have ‘I turn a passable road into thistle.’ In any case
he is aware that τρίβολος is literally ‘three-thruster’, for this is a three-
in-one canon, the superius beginning on d0 , the bass on d after a breve,
and the alto on a after two breves. That would appear to be the sense
of the remaining words: ‘I sing lichanos hypaton in my second, but
ground the voice that sings against me with the second on mese.’
Although this instruction alone is needed for the canon, in the space
of the altus is written Accedet homo ad cor altum et exaltabitur deus;
in that of the bassus Similis ero altissimo. Ysaye 14o. Isa. 14:14 runs:
‘ascendam super altitudinem nubium, similis ero Altissimo’, but the
opening words did not suit the composer’s purpose.
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTIONS: Job 31:40 ἀντὶ πυροῦ ἄρα ἐξέλθοι μοι κνίδη,
ἀντὶ δὲ κριθῆς βάτος ‘pro frumento oriatur ibi tribulus et pro hordeo
spina’ (‘Let thistles grow up to me instead of wheat, and thorns instead
of barley’); Ps. 63:7–8: ‘accedet homo et cor altum et exaltabitur Deus’
(‘Man shall come to a deep heart: and God shall be exalted’); cf.
Isa. 14:14: ‘ascendam super altitudinem nubium, ero similis Altissimo’
(‘I will ascend above the height of the clouds, I will be like the most High’)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa L’ardant desir, Benedictus (Vatican CS 51,
fols. 100v–101)
MODERN EDITION: Liber Missarum, ed. Eakins, iii. 140–44
Bis binis vicibus canitur; sed prima quaterne
sit similis, recte dissimiles relique
que per diapason discurrunt et dyapente
ducte prudenter ordine retrogrado
374 Appendix 2
(‘In two ways by twofold alterations is this voice sung: while the first
is like the fourth, the rest are different from the right order, for they
proceed at the octave and the fifth, skilfully inverting the original
order’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde; retrograde inversion; substitution (of
note values by numbers)
EXPLANATION: first and fourth statement of the tenor are identical;
second statement retrograde inversion at the octave; third statement
inversion at the fifth. Numbers 1, 2, and 4 instead of note heads on the
stave (1 = semibreve, 2 = breve, 4 = long)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Avertissiez – Averte oculos, T (Escorial IV.a.24, fols.
93v–94; textless in Trent 1377 (90), fol. 292r, with solution on
fols. 290v–291r)
MODERN EDITION: Combinative Chanson, ed. Maniates, 28–9
Bis silens me presenti [sic for presente]. J. [i.e. i = ‘go’] in yspodia penthe
[sic] (‘Twice silent while I am present at the lower fifth’)
EXPLANATION: canon after two breves at lower fifth
EXAMPLE: Compère, Sola caret monstris, T (Vatican CS 42, fol. 78v)
MODERN EDITION: Compère OO, iii. 15–19
Bis vicibus binis gradatim vir in ordine scandit

Ut prius incessit, ipse retrograditur
(‘Twice by turns the man climbs regularly stepwise; as previously he
marched, he retreats’)
TYPE OF CANON: transposition (ostinato); retrograde
EXPLANATION: segment (‘L’homme l’homme’) is transposed by step,
then sung retrograde, under various mensurations.
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa L’homme armé [I] (Naples, VI.E.40, with
resolution)
Breves dies hominis sunt (‘The days of man are short’)

TYPE OF CANON: augmentation
EXPLANATION: first part of chanson melody is sung in breves
and longs
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Job 14:5
EXAMPLE: Morales, Missa Mille regretz, Agnus I, S (Vatican CS
17 version)
MODERN EDITION: Morales OO, vii. 128–30
Brevis sit maxima. vel: crescat in quadruplo (‘Let the breve be a maxima,
or: let it grow by four’)
EXPLANATION: augment fourfold
EXAMPLE: Anon. example in Berlin theor. 1175, fol. 38v
Britones cantant anglici sileant (‘The Welsh [or Bretons] are singing, let
the English be silent’)
EXPLANATION: every other note is to be performed as if it were black
(which is the notation in the other sources, or rather half-black breves)
EXAMPLE: Brumel, Missa Bon temps, Patrem and Et resurrexit, T (Jena 31)
MODERN EDITION: Brumel OO, ii. 9–12, 13–15
Buccina clangorem, voces vertendo reflectit

Subque gradu reboat, iterum clamando quaterno
(‘The trumpet retorts its sound, turning the pitches round; it echoes, crying
again four degrees down’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde; transposition
EXPLANATION: segment ‘On a fait partout crier Que chascun se
viegne armer’ is sung (1) straight; (2) retrograde; (3) straight, a fourth
lower; (4) retrograde of 3
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa L’homme armé [IV] (Naples, VI.E.40, with
resolution)
Caligo et Nubes / Incurante eos. See Nubes et caligo
Cancer eat plenus sed redeat medius (‘Let the crab go full but return
in half’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde; diminution
EXPLANATION: sing retrograde, then straightforward in halved values
EXAMPLE: Du Fay, Missa L’homme armé, Agnus III, T (Vatican CS 49)
Cancrizat (‘He goes crabwise’)

TYPE OF CANON: retrograde or retrograde canon
EXPLANATION: retrograde (Finck, sig. Cc1r: ‘Indicatur, cantum
simpliciter ab ultima nota incipiendo retro cantari debere’); sing voice
retrograde (Obrecht, Gascongne, Josquin; Ghiselin); sing voice retrograde
and transpose up (not indicated how far; Anon., Magnificat sexti toni)
376 Appendix 2
EXAMPLES: (1) Obrecht, Missa Fortuna desperata, Gloria, T (‘Cancriza’)

(2) Ghiselin, Missa Gratieuse, Patrem, T, written under two signs, 2
and 2 (‘Imperfectum cancrizat’; straightforward, then retrograde
in imperfect tempus)
(3) Gascongne, Missa Mon mary ma diffamee, Agnus I (‘cancriza’)
(Vatican CS 26)
(4) Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Qui tollis; Et
incarnatus (music also written upside down) (Vatican CS 154).
Resolution in Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. I
(5) Anon., Magnificat sexti toni, Sicut locutus est, T: ‘Disca[ntus]
Cancrisat’; S: ‘Ex Ten: In retrogradu’ (Kassel 9, no. 21)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Obrecht, Collected Works, iv. 55–63;
(2) Ghiselin OO, iii. 13–19; (4) Josquin OO, i/1, 9–12, 17–19; NJE 6.2,
pp. 46–9, 53–6
Cancrizat in dyapason (‘He goes crabwise at the octave’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde, transposition
EXPLANATION: sing voice retrograde and at the octave
EXAMPLE: Festa, Magnificat septimi toni, Sicut erat (Vatican CS 18,
fols. 167v–179, with resolution)
MODERN EDITION: Festa OO, ii. 80–81
Cancrizet et supra dicta notet (‘Let him go backwards and note what is
said above’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde
EXPLANATION: retrograde
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Qui
tollis (Vatican Vatican CG XII, 2; ex. in Finck, sig. Ee i)
MODERN EDITION: Josquin OO, i/1, 9–12; NJE 6.2, pp. 46–9
Canon in unisono in eodem tono per SOL
EXPLANATION: canon at the unison entering on g after four breves
EXAMPLE: Forestier, Missa L’homme armé, Et resurrexit, T
MODERN EDITION: Forestier OO, 128–34
Canones super voces musicales et primo in subdyapenthe per UT . . .
EXPLANATION: T 2 follows T at lower fifth on C after a breve (Et in
terra: after two breves at lower fourth beginning on D; Qui tollis:
before three breves at lower minor third beginning on E; Patrem one
tone lower after two breves on F; Et resurrexit at unison after four
breves, on G; Sanctus one tone higher after one breve on A; Agnus

I canons at lower fifth after a breve and lower fourth after two breves
plus three free voices; Agnus II 3 in 1 plus two three voices; Agnus III
canon 7 in 1)
EXAMPLE: Forestier, Missa L’homme armé, Kyrie (Gloria . . . per Re,
etc.)
Cantus duarum facierum (‘A song of two faces’)

TYPE OF CANON: omission of rests
EXPLANATION: can be sung with and without rests (larger than minim).
Finck, sig. Cc1r: ‘Id est, qui potest cum & sine pausis cantari, attamen ut
suspiria tantum maneant quae tactus incolumitati inserviunt, iuxta
versum: Tolle moras placido maneant suspiria cantu’
EXAMPLE: Moulu, Missa Alma redemptoris mater/A deux visages, Kyrie
(ex. in Finck)
Celsa canens imis commuta quadruplicando (‘Singing the high notes,

exchange them with the lowest, multiplying by four’)
TYPE OF CANON: inversion, transposition, augmentation
EXPLANATION: sing in inversion, transposed down [an 11th] and multi-
plied by four. Finck, sig. Cc1v: ‘Hoc es, numera ab illa nota, quae
in Discanto posita est in Ffaut, usque ad undecimum gradum, qui
erit Cfaut, in illa clave notam primam colloca, atque eas notas, quae
in Canone descendunt, in resolutione ascendere facias: Postea quo-
que notabis unamquamlibet notam multiplicandam esse per quatuor’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Fortuna desperata, Agnus I (Grapheus,
Missae tredecim)
Celum calcatur dum terra per astra levatur (‘The sky is trodden while the
earth is raised through the stars’). See also Pigmeus hic crescat and Postea
praeque cedo
EXPLANATION: sing the voice in inversion (the clef is upside down)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Dy kraebis schaere, S (Glogauer Liederbuch, Discant
sig. d xii, no. 90)
MODERN EDITION: Glogauer Liederbuch, i. 98
Celum terra mariaque, succurrite pio (‘Heaven, earth and seas, help the
pious man’)
378 Appendix 2
EXPLANATION: canon (on ‘Pie Jhesu Domine’) at lower fourth after

two breves and lower octave after six breves
EXAMPLE: Anon., Proch dolor (Brussels 228, fols. 33v–35)
MODERN EDITION: Picker, Chanson Albums, no. 31, pp. 304–15
(facs. pl. 8)
Cenatim usque ad quintam (‘? [lit. dinnerwise] up to the fifth’)
TYPE OF CANON: ostinato, transposition
EXPLANATION: cantus firmus (Q) is sung starting on e0 , c0 , a, c0 , and e0 ,
each time separated by four breves rest
EXAMPLE: Tugdual, O vos omnes qui transitis, c.f. Non est dolor a 5
(Munich 274a, no. 9)
Chanter vous fault Estrangement (‘You must sing in a strange way’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the lower second (or upper seventh, as
resolved in BL copy)
EXAMPLE: Crecquillon, Dont vient cela (Susato, 26 chansons, fol. 2)
MODERN EDITION: Crecquillon OO, xix. 38–41
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests’, 311
Clama ne cesses (‘Cry, cease not’)
EXPLANATION: sing without rests (Finck, sig. Bb4v; Aaron, Libri tres,
fol. 26: ‘Missa est Iosquini, in qua quidem in parte illa, quę est Agnus
dei, Canon talis est: Clama, ne cesses, ubi vult in parte illa, quae in
cantu est pausata pausis trium temporum singulis, ut pausae illae
numerabiles non sint, sed ut solam moneant longarum quantitatem
perfectarum: quae singulae quidem sex semibreves completantur.
Ex quo etiam brevium sequitur alteratio, quemadmodum supra in
capite Modi minoris diximus.’)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Isa. 58:1: ‘Cry, cease not’
EXAMPLES: (1) Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales,
Agnus III (ex. in Finck, sig. Cciijv; London Add. 4911, fol. 32v)
(2) Josquin, Guillaume se va chaufer, T (ex. in Wilfflingseder;
T consists of a single note)
(3) Escobedo, Missa Philippus Rex Hispaniae, Agnus, T II (Vatican
CS 39)
(4) Agostini, Eleva domine brachium tuum (Sextus)
(5) Gumpelzhaimer, Crux Christi (Titulus)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Josquin OO, i/1, 30–36; NJE 6.2, pp. 66–71;
(2) NJE 28.17, pp. 46–7; (5) Gumpelzhaimer AW, 4–6
Conscendit in diapente (‘It climbs up to the fifth’)

TYPE OF CANON: transposition
EXPLANATION: the A sung a fifth higher than written; it is identical
with the A of the Osanna, where the inscription is ‘Decrescit con-
scendens in diapente’)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Fortuna desperata, Sanctus, A (Petrucci,
Misse Josquin L. I and other sources)
Contraria contrarijs curantur (‘Everything is cured by its contrary’)

TYPE OF CANON: inversion or inversion canon
EXPLANATION: sing voice in inversion (Ghiselin; Finck, sig. Cc2v: ‘Hoc
est, quam ascendit nota, tantum descendere illam imagineris, & econ-
trà’); canon with the comes inverted, entering after two breves (Cleve);
canon with the comes inverted, entering after two breves (Palestrina)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: see Tosi no. 751 (no exact source, possibly
of Galenic origin; the principle corresponds to homoeopathy; cf. also
the opposite, ‘Similia similibus curentur’); Walter 33737, 35738b, 35738c
EXAMPLES: (1) Anon., [De tous biens] a 4, T (ex. in Finck, sig. Mm iijv)
(2) Ghiselin, Missa Narayge, Osanna, T (Verona 756 and Petrucci,
Misse Ghiselin)
(3) Johannes de Cleve, Mirabilia testimonia (Montanus & Neuber,
RISM 15584, no. 47)
(4) Palestrina, Magnificat sexti toni a 6, Sicut erat a 7
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Finck, Canon, 110–12; (2) Ghiselin OO, ii.
91–2; (4) Palestrina, Opere complete, xvi. 272–5
Contrariant[ur] ut abbedo [sic for albedo], et nigredo (‘They are oppos-

ites, as whiteness and blackness’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval; inversion
EXPLANATION: B and S in canon, with S in inversion
EXAMPLE: Moulu, Ave virgo gloriosa (ex. in Zacconi, Pesaro 559,
fol. 176; he says was printed in Rome in 1535)
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests’, 321–3
Corrupcio unius est generacio alterius (‘The corruption of one is the

generation of the other’)
TYPE OF CANON: augmentation; transposition
EXPLANATION: T with two signs, and ; first section sung a fourth
below in augmentation, then whole part at pitch in the mensuration
of the section, )
380 Appendix 2
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: A frequent tag: see e.g. Aquinas ST I. q.22

a. 2. ad 2; also In quartum sententiarum D. 17 q. 1 art. 4 ad 1, besides
several places in which the thought is expressed as generatio unius est
corruptio alterius, for which see Auctoritates Aristotelis, ed. Hamesse,
118, 1. 45, cf. 167, 4. 7. Ultimately Aristotle, Metaphysics α (= 2).
994b5–6 ἡ γὰρ θατέρου φθορὰ θατέρου ἐστὶ γένεσις and various other
passages, especially in De generatione et corruptione.
EXAMPLE: Pipelare, Missa Sine nomine [= Pour entretenir mes
amours], Qui tollis, T (Vienna 11883)
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Corruption of One’, 197–8
Crescens retrograde (‘Increasing in retrograde’)

TYPE OF CANON: retrograde; augmentation
EXPLANATION: T sung retrograde and augmented
EXAMPLE: Heyns, Missa Pour quelque paine (Brussels 5557) or Missa
Pour quoy Vatican (CS 51; with underneath in different hand: Ante et
retro), Agnus I, T
MODERN EDITION: Liber Missarum, ed. Eakins, i. 182–5
Crescite et multiplicamini (‘Increase and multiply’). See also next

inscription
TYPE OF CANON: mensuration
EXPLANATION: mensuration canon at the lower octave between
T and V
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Gen. 1:28, 9:7
EXAMPLE: Buus, Domus et divitiae (2.p. of Qui invenit mulierem
bonam), c.f. Propter hoc relinquet homo (Montanus & Neuber, The-
sauri T. III, no. 39). (Part of the cantus firmus text of the 1.p. serves as
inscription for the 2.p. and vice versa. Thus, in the 1.p., the cantus
firmus ‘Haec dicit . . .’ contains the words ‘crescite et multiplicamini’,
which is the verbal canon of the 2.p. And the cantus firmus of the 2.p.,
‘Propter hoc . . .’, has the words ‘erunt duo in carne una’, which we
find as an inscription for the 1.p.)
Crescite et multiplicamini et replete terram et inebriamini eam

(‘Increase and multiply and fill the earth and be inebriated’ [eam makes
no sense, but is in Modena and Munich])
TYPE OF CANON: augmentation, inversion, transposition
EXPLANATION: sing in inversion, transposed down an 11th and
multiplied by four
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: a combination of Gen. 1:28: ‘Crescite et

multiplicamini et replete terram et subicite eam’ (‘Increase and multi-
ply, and fill the earth, and subdue it’) and Gen. 9:7: ‘Crescite et
multiplicamini et ingredimini super terram, et implete eam’ (‘Increase
and multiply, and go upon the earth and fill it’)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Fortuna desperata, Agnus I (Modena
α.M.1.2, Munich 3154; other sources: ‘Crescite et multiplicamini’; in
Barcelona 5 and Vatican CS 41, also with ‘dei agnus’ written upside
down and backwards, with resolution)
Da mihi dimidiam lunam, solem, & canis iram (‘Give me half a moon,
the sun, and the anger of a dog’)
TYPE OF CANON: signs
EXPLANATION: sing in mensurations , , and 2. Finck, sig. Cc2r:
‘Hoc versiculo utimur, quando cantui nullum est praefixum signum,
cum tamen minime carere signis queat. Itaque per lunam intellige hoc
signum C, per solem O, & per canis iram, literam .r. quam veteres sic
pinxerunt . Habes igitur C tempus imperfectum, & O tempus perfec-
tum, & O modum minorem perfectum &c.’
De la sol re tibi dabit / An(te) canendo [recte: anticanendo?] tenorem (‘D

la sol re will give you the tenor, singing the opposite’, i.e. D la sol re
indicates the starting note of the tenor, to be read in inversion)
EXPLANATION: sing the T in inversion, beginning on d0 (a fifth
higher)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa L’homme armé a 3, Credo, Et incarnatus,
T (Bologna Q 16, fol. 81/105)
MODERN EDITION: Anon., Missa L’homme armé, ed. Feininger, 9–10
De minimis non curat praetor (‘The magistrate is not concerned with

trifles’)
TYPE OF CANON: omission of notes
EXPLANATION: all notes smaller than a semibreve are ignored
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Tosi no. 1137: anonymous medieval legal
saying, supposedly from Roman law, but no source has been traced
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Malheur me bat, Agnus I (Petrucci, Misse
Josquin L. II and Vienna 11883; Jena 3: ‘Prator non curat de minimis’)
(cited by Rossi, 13)
382 Appendix 2
De ponte non cadit, qui cum sapientia vadit (‘He will not fall from the
bridge who goes wisely’)
TYPE OF CANON: 3 in 1, 4 in one, or more
EXPLANATION: canon in 3, 4, or more. Finck, sig. Cc1v: ‘Significat
artificiosè cantilenam factam esse, ita ut ex una voce duae vel tres
aliae, aut etiam plures cantari possint’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Walther 17454. Medieval Latin proverb,
quoted in Albertanus Brixiensis (c. 1190–post-1250), Liber consolatio-
nis et consilii, ‘Non de ponte cadit, qui cum sapientia vadit’
Decimas do omnium qu(a)e possideo (‘I give tithes of all I possess’). See
also In decimis and Qui me barritonizare cupit, In decimis me intonabit
TYPE OF CANON: parallel tenths
EXPLANATION: S duplicated in parallel tenths in B
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Luke 18:12
EXAMPLES: (1) Obrecht, Missa Je ne demande, Agnus II, S (Petrucci,
Misse Obreht)
(2) Isaac, Missa Quant jay, Agnus III (Vatican CS 35)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Obrecht, Collected Works, v. 82–4; (2) Isaac
OO, vii. 81–3
Decrescit conscendens in diapente (‘It decreases climbing up to the fifth’)
TYPE OF CANON: diminution; transposition
EXPLANATION: A sung a fifth higher than written, diminished by half;
the written form is identical with the A of the Sanctus, where the
inscription is ‘Conscendit in diapente’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Fortuna desperata, Osanna, A (Petrucci,
Misse Josquin L. I and other sources)
Decrescit in duplo, triplo, etc. (‘It decreases twofold, threefold, etc.’)

EXPLANATION: diminish. Finck, sig. Cc1v
Deorsum (‘Downwards’)
EXPLANATION: transpose downwards
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Fortuna desperata, Agnus III, B (Vatican CS 41;
Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. I: ‘Deorsum in diapason’ (Downwards at the
octave); Modena α.M.1.2: ‘Descende deorsum’ (Descend downwards)
Descendat in profundum. See Descenderunt in profundum quasi lapis
Descendant in profundum quasi lapis (‘They should sink to the bottom

like a stone’). See also Descenderunt in profundum quasi lapis
EXPLANATION: sing an octave lower (Ramis, 91)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Exod. 15:5: ‘descenderunt in profundum
quasi lapis’ (‘they are sunk to the bottom like a stone’)
Descende deorsum. See Deorsum
Descende gradatim (‘Descend stepwise’)

TYPE OF CANON: ostinato
EXPLANATION: pes descendens. Finck, sig. Cc1v: ‘Quando aliqua clau-
sula, in cantilena quae plurium vocum est, in una tantum voce saepius
ponitur, tunc ea singulis vicibus per secundam deprimenda est’
EXAMPLE: La Rue, Missa Cum iocunditate, Sanctus (ex. in Finck, sig.
Hh ijv; London Add. 4911, fol. 33v (T, bb. 1–25))
MODERN EDITION: La Rue OO, ii. 73–4
Descendendo in diates[sa]ron (‘Descending a fourth’)

EXPLANATION: sing a fourth lower
EXAMPLE: Pipelare, Missa Sine nomine [= Pour entretenir mes
amours], Et in terra, T (Vienna 11883)
Descenderunt in profundum quasi lapis (‘They descended to the depths

like a stone’). See also Descendant in profundum quasi lapis
TYPE OF CANON: augmentation; transposition
EXPLANATION: the c.f. under is augmented and transposed down
an octave
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Exod. 15:5
EXAMPLE: Gaspar van Weerbeke, Missa O Venus bant, Agnus III
(Vatican CS 51; Petrucci, Misse Gaspar: ‘Descendat in profundum’,
with resolution)
MODERN EDITION: Liber Missarum, ed. Eakins, iv. 155–8
Desiderium crescit cum spe. See Le desir croist
Deux testes et ung capron (‘Two heads and a hood’, i.e. ‘chaperon’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the lower fifth at the interval of a semibreve
384 Appendix 2
EXAMPLE: Clemens non Papa, Magnificat sexti toni (ii) a 4, Sicut erat a 5
MODERN EDITION: Clemens OO, iv. 94–5
Diaphonia (‘Sounding apart’)

EXPLANATION: canon at the unison after two breves
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Gaudeamus, Agnus II (Petrucci, Misse Jos-
quin L. I) (Basel F.IX.25: ‘Diaphonia in unisono ex duo tempora’;
Cambrai 18: ‘Duophona’)
Dictis temporibus post me crepitare duobus (‘After two tempora [breves]
have been sung, clatter after me’)
EXPLANATION: canon at unison after 2 breves
EXAMPLE: Philippe (Basiron), Missa L’homme armé, Kyrie II (Vatican
CS 35)
Digniora sunt priora (‘The more worthy have precedence’)

TYPE OF CANON: rearrangement
EXPLANATION: sing largest notes and rests first, in descending order.
Finck, sig. Cc1v: ‘Id est, notae quae maiorem habent valorem, primum
cantandae sunt, deinde illae quae minus valent: ut longa brevem
superat valore, brevis semibrevem, semibrevis minima, &c. simili
modo de pausis iudicandum est’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: philosophical allusion to the ways one
thing may be prior to another (e.g. Aquinas, Contra errores Grae-
corum; cf. Holford-Strevens, ‘The Latinity of Jacob Obrecht’, 163)
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa Grecorum, Patrem (ex. in Finck, sig. Gg iiij,
with resolution)
Dij faciant sine me non moriatur ego (‘May the gods bring it about that
“I” does not die without me’)
EXPLANATION: sing without rests. Finck, sig. Bb4v, after a list of
inscriptions: ‘Hic observabis: cantum, qui aliquem istorum canonum
habet, cantari debere omissis pausis, etiamsi pausae adscriptae fuerint’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION:
Non ego solus ego sed ego sumus unus et alter:
dii faciant sine me ne moriatur ego
Grondeux and Rosier-Catach, La Sophistria de Robertus Anglicus, 170
(work dated 1260–70): ‘Sol ad 1. Solutio. Dicimus quod predicta
oratio est incongrua simpliciter in communi sermone, et tamen in

sermone sapientis est aliquo modo congrua, et excusatur propter
maiorem significationem. Ille enim qui proferebat hanc orationem
volebat significare unitatem sui et amice sue, et quod erant unum
in amore. Hoc autem non poterat significare per hanc orationem,
“dii faciant sine me ne moriatur amica mea”. Propter hoc, ad
designandum unitatem <eorum>, oportuit loco nominis “amice”
hoc pronomen “ego” poni, quod significat suum prolatorem. Et sic
predicta oratio est congrua quo, simpliciter tamen incongrua est.’
Quoted in Aquinas, In I Sententiarum Dis.4 Qu.2 Art.2: ‘Deus pater
alterum se genuit. Hoc dupliciter solvit Magister. Quia ly se potest
esse ablativi casus, et tunc simpliciter vera est: et est sensus: genuit
alterum se, idest alterum a se. Vel potest esse accusativi casus; et tunc
vel facit simplicem relationem; et sic iterum vera est, refert enim
identitatem naturae; tamen erit impropria: vel faciet relationem
personalem et sic est falsa, quia refert idem suppositum. Potest tamen
dici, quod etiam si referat idem suppositum, quodammodo erit
vera, sed erit emphatica locutio, ut sit sensus: genuit alterum se,
idest similem sibi; sicut dicit poeta: “dii faciant sine me ne moriatur
ego”.’
Dimidiam spherae, spheram, cum principe omae, / Postulat à nobis

totius conditor orbis (‘Half a sphere, a sphere, with the beginning
of Rome asserts for us the Creator of the whole world’, i.e. Cor)
TYPE OF CANON: signs
EXPLANATION: mensurations , , 2. Finck, sig. Cc2r: see above
under ‘Da mihi dimidiam lunam’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: listed in Don Marcos Marquez de Medina,
El Arte explicado, y gramatico perfecto, 8th impression, nuevamente
corregida (Madrid: En la Imprenta de la Viuda de Ibarra, 1789), 666,
no. 8 under ‘Algunos versos dificultosos y curiosos, explicados’ (quoted
exactly as Finck), with explanation: ‘Media esfera es la C, una esfera la
O, y con la primera letra de Roma se compone Cor.’ According to G. De
Angelis, Commentario storico critico su l’origine della Città e della Chiesa
Cattedrale di Montefiascone (Montefiascone, 1841), 41, this inscription
was once on the edicola of the Visitation of the Church of San Flaviano
at Montefiascone (now destroyed by humidity)
LITERATURE: Schiltz, ‘A Space Odyssey’
Dinumerabo nomen tuum in eternum (‘I will recount your name for ever’)
EXPLANATION: ostinato (six statements of a descending octave)
386 Appendix 2
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Ps. 85:12: ‘glorificabo nomen tuum in

sempiternum’ (‘I will glorify thy name for ever’)
EXAMPLE: De Silva, Missa Adieu mes amours, Osanna, B (Vatican
CS 45)
MODERN EDITION: De Silva OO, iii. 81–2
Dissimulare loco summa prudentia est (‘It is the greatest wisdom to turn
a blind eye on the right occasion’)
TYPE OF CANON: omission
EXPLANATION: omit the last note of each phrase of the c.f.
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Disticha Catonis 2.18: ‘Insipiens esto,
cum tempus postulat aut res; / Stultitiam simulare loco prudentia
summa est’
EXAMPLE: Mouton, 2.p. of Antequam comedam suspiro (et tamquam
inundentes aquae, sic rugitus meus: quia timor quem timebam, evenit
mihi; et quod verebar, accidit: nonne dissimulavi? nonne silui? nonne
quievi? Et venit super me indignatio. 2.p. Ecce non est auxilium mihi
in me, et necessarii quoque mei recesserunt a me), T Je ry et si ay la
larme a l’oel (Attaingnant, Liber XI)
MODERN EDITION: Treize livres, xi. 150–1
Divide vel jungas theses cum temate cantus (‘Divide or join the theses
with the theme of the song’)
TYPE OF CANON: canon 2 in 1 or with two additional voices
EXPLANATION: sing the canon between T and B (at the fifth after 2
breves) alone or add two free voices
EXAMPLE: Moulu, Missa Stephane gloriose, Agnus II (Vatican CS 55;
Vatican CG XII, 2) (Moderne, Liber 10 missarum has in place of the
T: Secundus Agnus tacet vel non; the B says ‘Canon in diapente’)
Dormivi et soporatus sum (‘I have slept and taken my rest’)

EXPLANATION: one voice, towards the end, is added. Finck, sig. Cc2r:
‘Id est, quando cantus plurium est partium, & postea in postrema
parte aliquid notabile incidit, ibi cum antea praecedentes partes tan-
tum quatuor aut quinque vocum fuerint, tunc adhuc alia vox additur:
aut per signum convenientiae, in aliqua voce significatur, aliquam
aliam ex illa sequi debere: Sic Iosquinus composuit Psalmum, in quo
iste textus ponitur [Ps. 3:6].’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ps. 3:6
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Domine quid multiplicati sunt (? lost)
Dum lucem habetis credite in lucem (‘Whilst you have light, believe in
the light’)
TYPE OF CANON: coloration; omission of notes
EXPLANATION: do not sing black notes; Aaron, Libri tres, fol. 26
(‘Invenies etiam aliquando Cantilenam, in qua sint notę albę, ac nigrę,
& albae quidem notae tantummodo canendae erunt, in qua Canon
erit huiusmodi, Dum lucem habetis credite in lucem. Hic etiam non
difficulter deprehendetur, compositorem uoluisse nigras explodi &
albas tantum cani’)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: John 12:36
Dum replicas canta sine pausis tu tenorista (‘You, singer, when you
repeat, sing without rests’)
EXPLANATION: repeat without rests
EXAMPLE: [Obrecht, Missa Plurimorum carminum III], Et in terra,
Siena K.I.2, fol. 150v
Dum replicas tantum [sic] sine pausis tu tenorisa (‘You sing only without
rests when you repeat the song’)
EXPLANATION: repeat without rests
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa de Sancto Martino, Patrem, T (Obrecht,
Concentus)
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, iii. 47–51
Dum tempus habemus operemur bonum (‘Whilst we have time, let us

work good’)
TYPE OF CANON: sing in breves
EXPLANATION: cantus firmus (Superius) sung in breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Gal. 6:10
EXAMPLE: Jean Maillard, Surrexit Dominus vere
MODERN EDITION: Maillard, Modulorum Ioannis Maillardi,
ii. 167–72
Duo
TYPE OF CANON: mensuration, with two signs
EXPLANATION: one voice in , the other in , at the unison
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, In
nomine, S
MODERN EDITION: Josquin, OO, i/1, 27; NJE 6.2, p. 63
388 Appendix 2
Duo adversi adverse in unum (‘The two adversaries come to one oppos-
itely’). See also Qui se exaltat humiliabitur
TYPE OF CANON: inversion canon
EXPLANATION: canon with comes inverted at upper octave after two
breves plus two free voices; Glarean, 465; Wilfflingseder, 352
EXAMPLE: Mouton, Salve mater salvatoris (ex. in Glarean, 464–5,
Wilfflingseder, 352)
MODERN EDITION: Motet Books of Andrea Antico, ed. Picker, 214–15
Duo discantus in corpore uno (‘Two discants in one body’)

EXPLANATION: impossible to tell because no music is given in the
unique source
EXAMPLE: Pierre de la Rue, Missa Sancta Dei genitrix, Agnus II
(Jena 21)
MODERN EDITION: La Rue OO, vi (lacking Agnus II)
Duo in carne una (‘Two in one flesh’). See also Erunt duo in carne una
EXPLANATION: canon at the unison after one breve (Anon. (1) and
Josquin); after one and a half breves (Anon. (2))
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Gen. 2:24 (‘two in one flesh’), Matt. 19:5,
Mark 10:8, 1 Cor. 6:16; Eph. 5:31
EXAMPLES: (1) Anon., Ut queant laxis a 4 (Turin I.27, fol. 69r)
(2) Anon. textless a 2 (Munich 260, fols. 7v–8r)
(3) Josquin, Credo De tous biens plaine, Et in spiritum (Vatican
CS 41)
MODERN EDITION: (2) Sixteenth-Century Bicinia, 8–9; (3) NJE 13.2,
p. 18
Duo in unum (‘Two in one’)
TYPE OF CANON: mensuration, with two signs
EXPLANATION: one voice in , the other in , at the unison
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Bene-
dictus, B; Qui venit, A
MODERN EDITION: Josquin, OO, i/1, 26; NJE 6.2, pp. 62–3
Duo luminaria, minus et maius (‘Two lights, lesser and greater’)

EXPLANATION: canon at lower octave after a breve
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Gen. 1:16: ‘fecitque Deus duo magna
luminaria luminare maius ut praeesset diei et luminare minus ut
praeesset nocti et stellas’ (‘And God made two great lights: a greater
light to rule the day; and a lesser light to rule the night: and the stars’)
EXAMPLE: Festa, Magnificat octavi toni, Sicut erat a 10 comprising
canons 2 in 1, 3 in 1, and 4 in 1, plus a si placet voice (Vatican CS 18,
fols. 179v–193, with resolution)
Duo seraphim clamabant alter ad alterum (‘Two seraphim cried out one
to another’)
EXPLANATION: canon at unison after 2 breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Isa. 6:3: ‘et clamabant alter ad alterum’
(‘and they cried one to another’)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé sexti toni, Sanctus (Vatican
CS 41, Vienna 11778; Segovia ‘Canon duo seraphin clamabant
alterum’; written out in Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. I)
MODERN EDITION: Josquin, Werken, Missen, 5, p. 123; NJE 6.2,
p. 24
Duo vel non (‘Two or not’)

EXPLANATION: sing the T and B in canon at the upper fifth after two
breves, or add two free voices
EXAMPLE: Moulu, Missa Stephane gloriose, Agnus II (Vatican CG XII,
2, over S; ‘Secundus agnus tacet vel non’ over T and B)
Duplicatam vestem fecit sibi (‘He made himself a double set of

clothing’)
EXPLANATION: second half of chanson melody augmented
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Prov. 31:22: ‘Stragulatam vestem fecit
sibi’ (‘She hath made for herself clothing of tapestry’)
EXAMPLE: Morales, Missa Mille regretz, Osanna, S (Vatican CS 17 version)
Duplicite<r> consonat auribus (‘It sounds consonant to the ears
twofold’)
EXPLANATION: augment 2: 1
EXAMPLE: Isaac, Missa Tmeiskin, Patrem, T (anon. Vatican CS 49);
Jena 31 (anon., no title)
390 Appendix 2
Ecce nunc tempus acceptabile (‘Behold, now is the acceptable time’)

EXPLANATION: signals change in time interval of canon, from semi-
breve to breve
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: 2 Cor. 6:2
EXAMPLE: Jossequin des Prez, Patrem de villaige [Credo quarti toni],
Et vitam venturi (Cambrai 18, fols. 221v–224)
Ecce quam bonum et quam iocundum habitare fratres in unum
(‘Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together
in unity’)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution (numbers for duration of note)
EXPLANATION: numbers and rests in the a0 space on a stave; the
note a0 is held for the number of breves indicated by the numbers
EXAMPLE: Pipelare, Missa sine nomine [= Pour entretenir mes amours],
Agnus III, A (Vienna 11883)
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Corruption of One’, 199
Ego et pater unum sumus (‘I and the Father are one’)
EXPLANATION: the fifth voice is a second bass, entering at the unison
after 3 breves
EXAMPLE: Amanus Faber, Missa Depuis qu’ne josne fille, Agnus III,
B (Vienna 11883)
Ego loquor veritatem, et veritatis [recte veritas] refellit me (‘I speak the
truth, and the truth refutes me’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde canon 4 ex 1 (= 8)
EXPLANATION: each of the four voice parts is also to be sung retrograde
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ego loquor veritatem is in Carmina Bur-
ana, no. 193, st. 20, l. 1.
EXAMPLE: Benedictus [Appenzeller], Agnus Dei a 8, T (Kriesstein,
Selectissimae)
LITERATURE: Jas, ‘Another Mass’
Ego principium et finis, qui loquor vobis (‘I am the beginning and the
end, who speak to you’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde canon 4 ex 1 (= 8)
EXPLANATION: each of the four voice parts is also to be sung

retrograde
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Rev. 1:8: ‘ego sum et principium et
finis dicit Dominus Deus’ (‘I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning
and the end, saith the Lord God’)
EXAMPLE: Benedictus [Appenzeller], Agnus Dei a 8, S (Kriesstein,
Selectissimae)
LITERATURE: Jas, ‘Another Mass’
Egrediens per dyatessaron calcem duplando

Regrediatur ocius sinceput repetendo
(‘Setting out by doubling the pattern at the fourth, let it return immediately
by seeking again the beginning’ [Smijers claimed ‘sinceput’ was
‘onleesbaar’])
TYPE OF CANON: duplication; retrograde
EXPLANATION: CT duplicates T at the upper fourth throughout; the
voices go retrograde at b. 11, then repeat the first 10 bars = A,
A retrograde, A)
EXAMPLE: Jo. de Pratis, Missa Allez regretz, Agnus I (Jena 21)
MODERN EDITION: Josquin, Werken, Missen, XX, pp. 79–80
En tenor in me latet advertat qui dicere velit. Ter denas breves qua-
tuorque protrahe moras, ut plante demonstrant; ab ymis duc odam in
altum, post longam brevem post brevem longam ubique. Tres ore tene
breves, bis trinasque que pausa. Per caudam descende, tenent ut linee
spaciaque (‘Lo, the tenor is hidden from me; let him take care who wishes
to sing. Draw out thrice ten breves and four rests, as the paws demonstrate;
from the lowest note lead the song upwards, after a long a breve, after
a breve a long, throughout. Hold three breves in your mouth, and pause
for twice three; decend by the tail, as the lines and spaces hold’). 2.p. Pausa
longarum [or longas?] quinque psallens super barricanore. Sed leo
a clave oculum avertere vetat. Quot radii caude tot canta, quot pedes
tot pausa. Denuo reitera ubique longas esse cara [sic for cura] (‘A rest
of five longs singing over the bassus. But the lion forbids you to turn
your eye from the clef. Sing as many rays as there are in the tail, rest as
many as there are feet. Repeat once more, and see there are longs
everywhere’)
TYPE OF CANON: visual
EXPLANATION: no notes; a lion on a shield whose four paws and tail
intersect with four lines, which are to be read as a stave
392 Appendix 2
EXAMPLE: Anon., textless, Mensuralkodex des Nikolaus Apel, ii. 163–7

MODERN EDITION: Schiltz, ‘Visual Pictorialism’, 213 (with facs.)
Eodem modo preit altera vox in lycanosypathon (‘In the same manner
the other voice precedes in lichanos hypaton’)
EXPLANATION: canonic voice enters one breve earlier, at lower fourth
EXAMPLE: Vacqueras, Missa L’homme armé, Et in terra (Vatican CS 49)
MODERN EDITION: Vacqueras OO, 6–11
Epithoniza bina tempora pausando vel econverso (‘At the upper second,
resting two breves or the opposite’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval (12 ex 1)
EXPLANATION: canon at the upper second after two breves (or in
inversion, beginning two octaves higher)
EXAMPLE: M. Gascongne, Ista est speciosa (Cambridge Pepys 1760),
fol. 1v; M. Cascong: Epitoniza, bina tempora pausando /. vsque ad
12 voces (Regensburg B 220–2, fol. 87v, with text ‘Verbum domini’,
1 Peter 1: 25)
Erunt duo in carne una (‘They shall be two in one flesh’). See also Duo in
carne una
TYPE OF CANON: interval (La Rue); mensuration (Buus)
EXPLANATION: canon at upper fourth after two breves (La Rue);
mensuration canon between T and V at the unison (cf. ‘Canon in
diaphonia’) (Buus)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Gen. 2:24; Matt. 19:5; Mark 10:8;
1 Cor. 6:16; Eph. 5:31
EXAMPLE: (1) La Rue, Missa Incessament, In nomine
(’s-Hertogenbosch 72B)
(2) Buus, Qui invenit mulierem bonum, c.f. Haec dicit Dominus
(Montanus & Neuber, Thesauri T. III, no. 39)
MODERN EDITION: (1) La Rue OO, iv. 32
. Et sic de singulis (‘. and thus for each one’)

EXPLANATION: whatever applies to first note applies to the rest; in this
case all notes are dotted. Finck, sig. C1v: ‘Id est, quod initiali notae
accidit, reliquis identidem accidat: exempli gratia, si primae notae
punctum additum fuerit, tunc singulis sequentibus, cuiuscunque
speciei sint, puncta addenda esse censeas’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, L’homme armé (Canti B, RISM 15022; ex. in Finck,

sig. Hh iiijv)
MODERN EDITION: NJE 28.23, p. 60
Et sicut mercenarii dies eius (‘And his days are like the days of a
hireling’)
TYPE OF CANON: ? (has not survived)
EXPLANATION: ‘id, quod inconcinnum remansit in prima, in para-
neten synemmenon resumatur in secunda’ (Ramis, 92)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Job 7:1: ‘et sicut dies mercennarii, dies
eius’ (‘and his days are like the days of a hireling’) or 14:6: ‘donc
optata veniat, sicut mercennarii, dies eius’ (‘until his wished for day
come, as that of the hireling’)
Et tua est nox (‘Thine is the night’)

TYPE OF CANON: coloration
EXPLANATION: T and A written on same stave, with T in black notes;
not canonic
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ps. 73:16: ‘tua est dies et tua est nox; tu
ordinasti luminaria et solem’ (from Hebrew); ‘tuus est dies et tua est
nox; tu fabricatus es auroram et solem’ (from Greek)
EXAMPLE: Jossequin des Prez, Patrem de villaige [Credo quarti toni],
Et incarnatus, T (Cambrai 18, fols. 221v–224)
Ethyops albos dentes (‘The black man has white teeth’)

EXPLANATION: sing black notes as if void. Hothby, 74: ‘Tuus igitur
Ycart, quem quoquomodo defendere conaris, nonne aliquos tenores
facit quorum figuras per contrarium vult intelligi; quo magis ineptum
aut magis absurdum esse quid potest? Cum enim nigrae sint, albas
accipi vult, quorum subscriptio est Ethyops albos dentes.’ Cf. Finck’s
‘Nigra sum sed formosa’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: See e.g. Aquinas, Quaestio disputata de
unione Verbi incarnati, art. 3: ‘Unde si aliquid natum sit convenire
alicui secundum totum et partem, si conveniat ei solum secundum
partem, dicitur convenire ei secundum quid, et non simpliciter. Sicut
si dicatur Aethiops albus qui habet albos dentes. Secus autem est de
eo quod non est natum inesse nisi secundum partem; sicut aliquis
dicitur simpliciter Crispus, si habeat capillos crispos.’
EXAMPLE: Ycart, unnamed composition
394 Appendix 2
Ex ipso capite contra fluit a veniente (‘From the head itself it flows to
meet us from the one who comes’)
EXPLANATION: CT follows T at unison after two breves
EXAMPLE: Anon., Je mercie d’amours (Escorial IV.a.24, fols. 68v–69)
MODERN EDITION: Anonymous Pieces in the MS Escorial IV.
a.24, 14
Exaltata est magnificentia tua super celos (‘Thy magnificence is elevated

above the heavens’)
EXPLANATION: The c.f., written in the bass clef, is to be transposed up
an octave
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ps. 8:2 (‘Elevata est . . .’)
EXAMPLE: Verdelot, In te Domine speravi a 5, T (‘Divitias et pauper-
tates’) (Newberry; Moderne, Tertius liber, has 1.p. ‘Qui se humiliat
exaltabitur’ and 2.p. ‘Pulsate et aperietur’)
MODERN EDITION: Slim, A Gift, ii. 140–51
Exsurge in adiutorium mihi. See Apprende arma
Facie ad faciem (‘Face to face’)

EXPLANATION: Anon.: the T reverses at midpoint and the CT does the
same retrograde; Agricola: B in inversion at lower second after 1½ breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Gen. 32:30; Exod. 33:11; Deut. 5:4;
Deut. 34:10; Judges 6:22; Ezek. 20:35; 1 Cor. 13:12 (probably this last
because of ‘per speculum in aenigmate’: ‘we see now through a glass in
a dark manner; but then face to face’)
EXAMPLE: (1) Anon., Magnificat, Et misericordia (‘Tenor et Contra de
facie ad faciem recte cantando ac retrograde ad punctum’; Schedel,
fols. 74v–75)
(2) Agricola, Salve regina (I), Benedictum fructum, T (Brussels 9126)
MODERN EDITION: (2) Agricola OO, iv. 15–16
Factus est obediens usque ad mortem (‘He became obedient unto

death’)
EXPLANATION: descending ostinato from a0 to d0 in both parts on
‘Veni, Domine, et noli tardare’; ‘cantor tamen descendat gradatim in
utraque parte’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Phil. 2:8: ‘Humiliavit semetipsum factus

oboediens usque ad mortem’ (He humbled himself, becoming obedi-
ent unto death)
EXAMPLE: Morales, Veni Domine et noli tardare, A II (Vatican CS 19,
Vatican CG XII, 4)
MODERN EDITION: Morales OO, v. 146–52
Fiat habitacio eorum deserta (‘Let their habitation be made desolate’).

See also Interroga patrem tuum
TYPE OF CANON: omission, transposition, augmentation
EXPLANATION: T sings the semibreves of the bassus part, augmented
by three and transposed up a fourth
EXAMPLE: Pipelare, Missa Dicit dominus, Pleni, over B (Vienna
11883)
MODERN EDITION: Pipelare OO, ii. 42 (incorrectly resolved)
Fingito vocales (‘Mould the vowels’) See also Hercules dux ferarie
TYPE OF CANON: substitution
EXPLANATION: T is a soggetto cavato on the vowels of ‘Bernardus
Clesius episcopus Tridentinus dignus est’
EXAMPLE: Erasmus Lapicida, Sacerdos et pontifex et virtutum opifex,
1.p., T (Trent 105 and 283, with resolution)
MODERN EDITION: Vettori, ‘L’ambiente’, 672–7
LITERATURE: Vettori, ‘L’ambiente’
Fingito vocales modulis apte, Primo in d sol Secundo in a la sequentibus

signis | Tertio in d la | Et in spiritum sanctum dominum vertit et
revertit sursus sine mora ultima lunga [sic] (‘Mould the vowels aptly to
the melody, first in D sol, second in A la in the following signs, thirdly in
D la. Et in spiritum sanctum dominum turns and returns above without
delay in the last long’)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution (notes for vowels of words);
retrograde
EXPLANATION: the T is sung retrograde, then straightforward twice as
fast without rests; hold the last long
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae, Kyrie, T (Basel
F.IX.25 (1))
396 Appendix 2
Fingito vocales modulis apteque subinde

Vocibus his vulgi nascitur unde tenor.
Non vario pergit cursu tantumque secundum
Subvehit ad primum per tetracorda modum
(‘Aptly mould the vowels to the melodies and aptly mould them repeatedly
to those words of the common people, whence the tenor is born. It
continues on its unvaried course and only raises the second statement to
the first through the tetrachords’; Leofranc Holford-Strevens in NJE 28,
Critical Commentary, 439)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution
EXPLANATION: T based on the vowels of ‘Vive le roy’ with three
statements, beginning on c0 , g, and c0 ; S, A, and B form a triple canon
at the semibreve
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Vive le roy (Petrucci, Canti C)
Finis coronat <opus> (‘The end crowns [the work]’)

EXPLANATION: canon at upper seventh after a breve
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Tosi 828; Walther 9536
EXAMPLE: Mouton, Peccata mea, Domine (Vatican CS 26)
MODERN EDITION: Medici Codex, ed. Lowinsky, Transcription, 241–5
Fit aries piscis in licanosypathon (‘Aries is made Piscis in lichanos

hypaton’)
EXPLANATION: sing retrograde and transpose down a 12th
EXAMPLE: Japart, J’ay pris amours a ma devise (Petrucci, Canti B)
MODERN EDITION: Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti B, ed. Hewitt, 174–6;
Florentine Chansonnier, music vol., no. 152, pp. 325–7
Frangenti fidem fides frangatur eidem (‘To him who breaks faith, let faith
be broken’)
EXPLANATION: sing retrograde. Finck, sig. Bb4v
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Walther 9915
Fuga duorum unisona numero salvato perfecto (‘A fuga of two in unison,
preserving the perfect number’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the unison after six rests (Ramis, 91)
EXAMPLE: Ramis, Magnificat (lost)
Gaude cum gaudentibus (‘Rejoice with them that rejoice’)

TYPE OF CANON: sign
EXPLANATION: in one voice = proportio tripla in others. Finck, sig.
Cc1r: ‘Hic canon reperitur, quando uni voci aliquod signum, (&
praesertim signum prolationis maioris) additur: reliquae vero voces
in proportione tripla ponuntur, quae tamen iuxta utriusque signi
exigentiam cantari possunt’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Romans 12:15: ‘Gaudere cum gaudentibus’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales,
Osanna (ex. in Finck, sig. Dd iijv; London Add. 4911, fol. 33) (cited
by Rossi, 13)
Gemelli (‘Twins’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval (2 in 1)
EXPLANATION: canon at lower third after two breves
EXAMPLE: Mouton, Missa Loseraige dire, Pleni (Jena 2)
MODERN EDITION: Mouton OO, iii. 29–30
Gradatim descende (‘Descend stepwise’)
EXPLANATION: five-note motif is sung in successive diminution
beginning on e0 , d0 , c0 , and b
EXAMPLE: De Orto, Missa Mi mi, Agnus III, T (Petrucci, Misse De
Orto, as ‘Petita Camuseta’; Vienna 1783)
MODERN EDITION: De Orto, Latin Compositions, vi. 34–5
Gradatim me sequere, trina bina non pausali ptontisans in dyapason.

In fine sume supremum (‘Follow me stepwise, sounding three pairs
without rests to the octave. At the end, take the top’)
EXPLANATION: descending ostinato at space of three breves until
touches octave below first note; then repeat initial note
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’ami Baudichon, Et resurrexit (Verona 761)
Gradatim scande (‘Ascend stepwise’)

EXPLANATION: motto sung four times, on g, a, b, and c0
EXAMPLE: Gascongne, Missa Mon mary ma diffamee, Osanna (Vatican
CS 26)
398 Appendix 2
Gradatim scandens, hec replico mese querens (‘Ascending stepwise,

I repeat this seeking mese’)
EXPLANATION: ostinato is repeated by step from e up to a
EXAMPLE: Compère, Missa L’homme armé, Pleni, T (Chigi Codex,
Jena 32)
MODERN EDITION: Compère OO, i. 18
Gradatim tertiam scandes ad loca pristina pariter redeas (‘You shall
ascend the third by degrees; return equally to the original territory’)
EXPLANATION: ascending and descending ostinato
EXAMPLE: Anon., Magnificat sexti toni, Quia fecit (Kassel 9, no. 6)
Grande pedes octo / (grandenti voce) leonum
quot caeli zone / tocies cane totque figuris
A parhipathemeson / in tritehyperboleon.
[2.p.] A parhypathemeson / in tritediezeugmenon

Sinecdoche cantat ter / terque silencia ponit
In tribus hinc minimis resonabat figuris.
TYPE OF CANON: ostinato; diminution; soggetto cavato

EXPLANATION: 1.p.: the eight notes of the octave from f to f 0 are sung
in successive diminution, from longa to minim. 2.p.: a soggetto
derived from consonants as well as vowels on the text ‘Matheo
Gurcensi episcopo dedicatum’ is sung in breves, semibreves, and
minims, interspersed with 21-bar rests
EXAMPLE: Anon., Ave mundi spes Maria (Munich 3154, fols. 464v–
468r), dedicated to Matthäus Lang, bishop of Gurk
MODERN EDITION: Kodex des Magister Nicolaus Leopold, iv. 289–300
LITERATURE: Fuhrmann, ‘“Ave mundi spes Maria’” (facs. p. 91)
Hercules dux ferarie. Fingito vocales: sequentibus signis (‘Ercole, duke
of Ferrara. Mould the vowels according to the following signs’)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution (of notes for vowels of syllables)
EXPLANATION: the syllables are derived from the title of the mass and
sung under different signs [NB this description fits the Kyrie, not
present in Milan]
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae, Et in terra (Milan
2267, fol. 141v, with resolution, labelled ‘Dilucido enigmatis’)
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Masses Based on Popular Songs’, 83–4, and
‘Canonic Conundrums’, 54–5
Hic dantur antipodes (‘Here the antipodes are given’)

EXPLANATION: transpose up a fifth and invert
EXAMPLE: Japart, De tous biens a 4, T (Petrucci, Canti C, fols. 79v–80r)
MODERN EDITION: De tous biens plaine, ed. Cyrus, no. 27
Hoc in hypate meson precipue cantabis; in tertia minoris multiplicis

canendo reverteris; per maius in mesen per sinemenon reiterabis (‘This
you shall at first sing in hypate meson [e]; you shall return by singing in the
third species of the minor multiplex genus; you shall repeat on a, using b ,
with the larger [time values]’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde, augmentation, transposition
EXPLANATION: sing three times, first beginning on low E la mi, then
retrograde in subquadrupla, i.e. multiplied by four, then again begin-
ning on A la mi re with B in regular note values) (Spataro, letter to
Del Lago, 20 July 1520; Correspondence, no. 3, para. 3)
EXAMPLE: Spataro, Missa La tradictora, Cum sancto spiritu, T (lost)
I prae, sequar: inquit cancer (‘“Go ahead, I’ll follow”, said the crab’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval, retrograde
EXPLANATION: canon a 2, both voices beginning at the end (Finck,
sig. Cc iir: ‘Id est, quando ex postrema cantilenae parte duae voces se
post aliquot pausas sequuntur’)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: see below, I pre sequar
I pre sequar (‘Go ahead, I’ll follow’)

EXPLANATION: canon at lower fifth, indicated by placement of signum
congruentiae, at varying time intervals; instruction applies to the whole
mass, though written only once (De Orto); canon at minim (Martini)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Roman comedy (Terence, Andria 171;
cf. Eunuchus 908, Plautus, Cistellaria 773)
EXAMPLES: (1) Marbriano de Orto, Missa ad fugam (Vatican CS 35,
fols. 104v–110)
(2) Johannes Martini, J’ay pris amours a ma devise (Florence 229,
fol. 189v)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) De Orto, Latin Compositions, i; (2) Floren-
tine Chansonnier, music vol., no. 179, pp. 408–10. Commentary, text
vol., pp. 91, 282. Florence 229 is the unique source. Martini borrows
the S and T of the original anonymous rondeau and adds a contra-
tenor in canon at the minim. Brown transcribes the canonic instruc-
tion as ‘Canon. 1. pre sequar’. (The inscription is written vertically in
400 Appendix 2
the inside margin. The ‘I’ looks like a long I with a head serif or a long
1 and is followed by a small dot, centrally placed above the writing
line, which explains why both Evans and Brown read it as a 1. There is
no signum congruentiae.) Also Martini, Secular Pieces, ed. Evans,
35–7, where the inscription is transcribed as ‘Canon I. pre-sequar’.
LITERATURE: Blackburn and Holford-Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four Griev-
ances’, 167–8
I recte sursum quartam superad<d>e colori

Post color aufertur remeando per diapente
Ut prius hinc iterans cum pausis tolle colores
(‘Go straight up, add a fourth to the colour; after that, the colour is taken
away as you return through a fifth; repeating as before, take away the
colours with the rests’)
TYPE OF CANON: coloration; addition of notes; retrograde and inver-
sion; omission of notes and rests
EXPLANATION: 1: straightforward, adding a note a fourth higher after
each coloured note; 2: retrograde and inversion at the higher fifth,
deleting the coloured notes; 3: ut iacet, minus rests and coloured notes
EXAMPLE: Caron, Missa Jesus autem transiens, Gloria (Vatican CS 51)
MODERN EDITION: Caron, Œuvres complètes, i. 71–9
Illud quod est divisio aggregatio sit et e converso, et anfractus super-

particularis primi intensi sint eiusdem generis secundi et e contra (‘That
which is division should be aggregation and vice versa, and the ascending
leaps of the first superparticular genus should be of the second in the same
genus, and vice versa’)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution of note values and intervals
EXPLANATION: maxima = minim, long = semibreve and vice versa;
ascending fifths sung as fourths, ascending fourths sung as fifths)
(Spataro, letter to Cavazzoni, 1 Aug. 1517; Correspondence, no. 2,
paras. 10–12)
EXAMPLE: Spataro, Ubi opus est facto (lost) (not clear if only one
voice part)
In decimis (‘In tenths’). See also Decimas do omnium qu(a)e possideo

and Qui me barritonizare cupit, In decimis me intonabit
EXAMPLES: (1) Isaac, Missa Quant jay, Agnus III (Lerner does not
say which sources have the inscription)
(2) Erasmus Lapicida, Sacerdos et pontifex et virtutum opifex, 3.p.,

B (Trent 105 and 283)
MODERN EDITION: (1) Isaac OO, vii. 81–3; (2) Vettori, ‘L’ambiente’,
686–7
In diapente per antiphrasim canta (‘Sing at the fifth by the opposite’)

TYPE OF CANON: transposition; inversion
EXPLANATION: transpose a fifth upwards and invert
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa Petrus apostolus, Qui tollis, Osanna
(Grapheus, Missae tredecim)
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, viii. 52–7, 75–7
In dyapenthe divide vel iungas thesis cum themate cantus

(‘At the fifth divide or join the theses with the theme of the song’)
EXPLANATION: sing the T and B at the upper fifth after two breves, or
add two free voices
EXAMPLE: Moulu, Missa Stephane gloriose, Agnus II (’s-Hertogen-
bosch 72B)
In gradus undenos descendant multiplicantes

Consimilique modo crescant antipodes uno
(‘They descend eleven steps multiplying, and in the same manner they
increase in the opposite direction’)
TYPE OF CANON: transposition; inversion; augmentation
EXPLANATION: transpose downwards an 11th, sing in inversion multi-
plied by four. Finck, sig. Cc1v: ‘Hoc es, numera ab illa nota, quae in
Discanto posita est in Ffaut, usque ad undecimum gradum, qui erit Cfaut,
in illa clave notam primam colloca, atque eas notas, quae in Canone
descendunt, in resolutione ascendere facias: Postea quoque notabis
unamquamlibet notam multiplicandam esse per quatuor’ (examples
in Wilphlingseder, 246; Glarean, 389, original and resolution)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Fortuna desperata, Agnus I (Petrucci,
Misse Josquin L. I; ex. in Finck, sig. Hh iijv; Glarean, 389; and
Wilfflingseder, 246)
In medio consistit virtus (‘Virtue consists in the mean’)

TYPE OF CANON: rearrangement of notes; retrograde
EXPLANATION: Gloria: in each section of the Gloria sing the middle
note first, then retrograde to the beginning, return to the middle note,
402 Appendix 2
and sing straight to the end. Credo: in each section of the Credo sing
the middle note first, then retrograde from the end, sing the middle
note, and then the first part from the beginning
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: This commonplace expresses the basic
principle of Aristotelian ethics, set out at length in Nicomachean
Ethics 2.1106a26–1107a27, and sometimes used, as by Horace in Odes
2.10, to commend a moderation neither elated by good fortune nor
cast down by bad.
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa Fortuna desperata, Gloria, Credo. Of the five
sources of the complete mass, Berlin 40021 and the Mewes print of
Obrecht’s masses (c. 1507) give the canon only; Petrucci, Misse Obreht
gives the canon and the resolution for each section; Segovia gives the
canon only for the Gloria, and a resolution of both sections; Modena
α.M.1.2 gives only a resolution. The canon is explained on pp. xxxii–
xxxiii of the Collected Works. The order is clarified by handwritten
notes in the Mewes copy, labelling the sections ‘a’, ‘b’, and ‘c’ to
indicate the order. ‘Cancrisa’ under the first section of the Gloria
warns the tenor not to sing this part straightforward; the same word is
mistakenly placed in the same place in the Credo in Berlin 40021 and
Mewes. Obrecht has added a three-bar rest to the second half of
the chanson melody in order to make the two sections equally long.
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, iv. 55–63, 63–71
ances’, 167; Holford-Strevens, ‘The Latinity of Jacob Obrecht’,
164–5; Zayaruznaya, ‘What Fortune Can Do’, 334–52
In nomine sancte trinitatis in diapenthe (‘In the name of the Holy Trinity
at the fifth’)
EXPLANATION: canon 3 in 1 at the successive upper fifth after three
breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: [Obrecht?], Missa N’aray-je jamais,
Benedictus
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, xiv. 53–4
In paripatheypaton aries vertatur in pisces (‘Aries is changed into Pisces

in parhypate hypaton’)
TYPE OF CANON: transposition; retrograde
EXPLANATION: retrograde at lower octave
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa Grecorum, Agnus III (Petrucci, Misse
Obreht, with resolution)
In perfectione minimorum per tria genera canitur melorum (‘In perfec-

tion of minims it is sung through the three genera’)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution (of notes for vowels of text);
augmentation
EXPLANATION: each syllable of the text (‘Tu lumen, tu splendor
patris’) equals a breve, augmented sixfold as if under the sign ,
and sung in the three genera (Ramis, 91; see also Gaffurio’s explan-
ation and criticism in his Apologia, in Ramis, 110–12)
EXAMPLE: Ramis, Tu lumen (lost)
In primo signo anfractus intensi superparticularis quartidecimi fiunt

ex tertia eiusdem generis remissi. In secundo et e converso et quarta
superpartientis secundum ordinem numerorum in illam redeundo.
Tertio et quarto ut iacent in libro (‘Under the first sign the ascending
intervals of the fourteenth species of the superparticular genus are
transformed into descending intervals of the third species of the same
genus. Under the second [sign] the reverse, and the fourth species
of the superpartient genus, according to the order of the numbers,
going back into the former. Under the third and fourth [signs] as given
in the book’)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution of intervals
EXPLANATION: under the first sign replace ascending semitones with
descending major thirds; under the second do the opposite, i.e. sing
descending semitones as ascending major thirds, and change minor
sixths into semitones (Spataro, letter to Del Lago, 20 July 1520;
Correspondence, no. 3, paras. 4–5)
EXAMPLE: Spataro, Missa La tradictora, Et in spiritum (lost)
In Stephanum iactus lapis ut descendit ab alto

Sic gradibus sensim canon ad yma ruit
(‘As the stone thrown at Stephen comes down from on high, so the canon
descends to the bottom gradually through degrees’)
TYPE OF CANON: ostinato in canon
EXPLANATION: T sings the ostinato descending by step, from g to d, in
different rhythm, while the canonic follower, entering at the unison
after three breves, remains on the same pitch
EXAMPLE: Moulu, Missa Stephane gloriose, Agnus III a 6 (Vatican
CG XII, 2 (‘Hic’ changed to ‘Sic’, ‘sensum’ to ‘sensim’); Vatican
CS 55 (Hic . . . sensum); ’s-Hertogenbosch 72B Hic; Cambrai
4 Hic) (Moderne, Liber decem missarum has ‘Tertius Agnus super
primum’)
404 Appendix 2
In tempore opportuno (‘In a seasonable time’)

EXPLANATION: canon at fifth below after breve
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ps. 31:6 (‘in a seasonable time’), 144:15
(‘in due season’)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé sexti toni, Osanna (Vatican
CS 41, Segovia; written out in Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. I)
MODERN EDITION: NJE 6.2, p. 124; NJE 6.2, p. 26
In voce quae dicitur contra, contra sic canitur (‘In the voice called
“contra” it is sung in the opposite way’)
EXPLANATION: the CT is sung retrograde (Ramis, 90)
EXAMPLE: Ramis, carmen (lost)
Incipe a retro et reverte ad finem (‘Begin from the end, go back to the
end’). See also Vade retro Sathane
EXPLANATION: T sings retrograde till halfway through, then straight-
forward to the end
EXAMPLE: La Rue, Missa Alleluia, Qui tollis, T (Mechelen)
MODERN EDITION: La Rue OO, i. 10–15
Infimo jubilat (‘He rejoices in the lowest part’)

EXPLANATION: the A enters one breve ahead of the B, a fifth higher
EXAMPLE: Brumel (?), Magnificat octavi toni, Fecit potentiam,
A (anon., Kassel 9, no. 15); see ‘Praecedam vos in Galileam’ for other
sources
MODERN EDITION: Brumel OO, vi. 54–6
Interroga patrem tuum et annunciabit tibi (‘Ask thy father, and he will
declare to thee’). See also Fiat habitatio eorum deserta
TYPE OF CANON: omission, augmentation, transposition
EXPLANATION: T sings the semibreves of the B, augmented by three
and transposed up a fourth
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Deut. 32:7: ‘interroga patrem tuum et
adnuntiabit tibi’
EXAMPLE: Pipelare, Missa Dicit dominus: Nihil tuleritis in via, Pleni,
under CT (Vienna 11883)
MODERN EDITION: Pipelare OO, ii. 42–4 (incorrectly resolved)
Itque reditque frequens (‘He goes there and back frequently’)

EXPLANATION: The S II (I in Finck) sings the 6-note motto, derived
from the chant, as an ostinato alternating between entries on ǵ and d00 .
The ostinato is identical in the secunda pars. (Susato gives the
resolved version only, of both parts.). Finck, sig. Cc1r: ‘Significat,
cantilenam, absoluta serie notarum, iterum atque iterum ab initio
repetendam, donec reliquae voces etiam cessent’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Aeneid 6.122 (‘itque reditque viam
totiens’): Pollux traverses the road from Elysium to the underworld
and back so many times because, though son of Zeus, he shares his
immortality with his twin brother Castor, son of Tyndareus.
EXAMPLE: Morales, Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram, S (ex. in Finck,
sigs. Ee iiiv–Ff iiir). The inscription is found in Susato, Liber secundus:
CANON. Itque. reditque frequens; 2.p.: Eodem Canone as well as in
Finck. Anglés was aware of only three sources (Susato; Gombert,
Motetta 5 v., and Toledo B. 17); there are a number of others where
it is anonymous or ascribed to Simon Moreau (e.g. Phalèse, Liber IV);
for a complete list of sources see Blackburn, Music for Treviso Cath-
edral, 75. Since all Moreau’s works appear in the 1550s and this motet
was published as early as 1541, it seems more likely that Morales is
the author.
MODERN EDITION: Morales OO, ii. 149–56
Grievances’, 164
Iusticia et pax se osculatae sunt (‘Justice and peace have kissed each other’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde canon
EXPLANATION: one voice is sung simultaneously backwards and
forwards. Finck, sig. Bb ivv: ‘Hos Canones addunt, quando volunt
significare ex una voce duas cantandas esse, quarum altera, incipiendo
ab initiali nota, iusto ordine usque ad finem progreditur: altera vero a
finali incipiens, procedit contrario modo, donec ad initialiem
perveniat.’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ps. 84:11: ‘Iustitia et pax osculatae sunt’
EXAMPLES: (1) anon., textless at beginning of Petrucci, Motetti A
(double retrograde canon)
(2) Senfl, Crux fidelis, D and A (ex. in Finck, sig. Dd iij; Munich 322–25,
no. 19; Faber, sig. S3v; broadsheet (n.p., n.d.; copy in Munich, Bayer-
ische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Mus.pr. 156#4; Gerlach, Suavissimae, no. 9))
406 Appendix 2
(3) Senfl, O crux ave spes unica (Munich 322–25, no. 19; Wilfflingse-
der, 357–61; Neuber, Liber II)
(4) Gumpelzhaimer, Ecce lignum crucis (Crux Christi)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Selections from Motetti A, 1–4; (3) Grieshei-
mer, ‘Antiphon-, Responsory-, and Psalm Motets of Ludwig Senfl’, ii.
608–10; (4) Gumpelzhaimer AW, 4–6
LITERATURE: Schiltz, ‘La storia di un’iscrizione canonica’; ‘Rosen,
Lilien und Kanons’, 118–20
Jejunabis quatuor tempora. See Vous jeuneres les Quatre temps
J’en ay mon sol (‘I have my shilling [sol, 1/20 livre] out of it’); see also
Solus cum sola
TYPE OF CANON: substitution (of solmization syllables from enig-
matic inscriptions)
EXPLANATION: two voices are to be derived from two written voices. It is
possible to sing sol (g0 ) every other bar in the second voice, and an ostinato
sol ut sol la in the lowest voice beginning in bar 3, up to bar 18, but thereafter
only sol ut. This solution is thin and does not take account of the suggestive
words in the text ‘d’aller et de venir’ and ‘tout au rebours’. Alternatively, it
would be possible to regard ‘tout au rebours’ as ‘la sol ut sol’, beginning in
b. 20 (suggested by Peter Urquhart in a private communication), or as ‘sol la
sol ut’, beginning in b. 19; in either case it would require an emendation of
the top voice in b. 28, after which ‘ut sol’ returns until the end.
EXAMPLE: Anon. Tout a par moy pensant (Antico, Motetti novi),
upper voice
LITERATURE: Andrea Antico: Motetti novi e chanzoni franciose a
quatro sopra doi (1520), ed. B. Thomas, London Pro Musica, RM 9
(London, 2006); Frank Dobbins ‘Chansons et Motetz en Canon à
quatre parties’, lmhs.oicrm.org/chansons-et-motetz/en/modern-edi-
tions/cm_home.php. Neither solution is satisfactory.
Jovis parentis equalitas (‘The equality of the parent of Jove’)

TYPE OF CANON: substitution (of clef)
EXPLANATION: the clef and starting note are on G sol re ut; Jove’s
father is Saturn (i.e. g); cf. Saturnus) (Spataro, letter to Cavazzoni of 1
Aug. 1517; Correspondence, no. 2, para. 9)
EXAMPLE: Spataro, Ubi opus est facto, A (lost)
Lamache marche en tous temps el [sic] en vault quatre (‘“Lamache” walks

in all times (or weather) and is worth four of them’)
TYPE OF CANON: extraction; transposition; augmentation

EXPLANATION: breves marked with a signum in tenor are transposed
up a fifth and quadrupled (Lamache = Lamachus? (an Athenian
general of the 5th c. bc)), making a fifth voice
EXAMPLE: Anon., Beata es virgo Maria a 5 (Padua A 17, fol. 75v)
Laudate et superexaltate eum in secula (‘Praise and exalt him above all
for ever’)
TYPE OF CANON: ?
EXPLANATION: CT I sings chanson melody (not canonic)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Dan. 3:57
EXAMPLE: De Silva, Missa Adieu mes amours, Agnus III a 6, CT I (the
chanson melody, with its text) (Vatican CS 45, fols. 100v–117)
MODERN EDITION: De Silva OO, iii. 90–4
Le derain [Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. III; otherwise ‘devant’] va derriere
(‘The one in front goes in back’) (see also Le devant va derriere). (Derain
is an old form of dernier, cf. darrein presentment at English law.)
TYPE OF CANON: (reversal of) precursor
EXPLANATION: canon at the upper fifth, reversing the order of the
Patrem, so the comes enters first
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa de Beata Virgine, Et in spiritum, T (cited by
Rossi, 13)
Le desir croist quant et quant lesperance / Desiderium crescit cum spe

(‘Desire increases with hope’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval; augmentation
EXPLANATION: The canonic voice begins at the lower 11th after two
breves; when it reaches the words ‘le desir croist’ the notes are aug-
mented to the end. Finck, sig. Cc3r: ‘Haec itidem cantilena quatuor
vocibus composita est. Sed insuper ex illa, cui Canon appositus est,
quinta propagatur, & quidem cum textu profertur, estque haec senten-
tia: desiderium crescit cum spe: prima inchoans, cantum ordine per-
texit: altera emergens, quatuor pausat: & undecimam infra hanc orditur,
quam deinceps tantisper sequitur, donec textum hunc assequatur, le
desir croist quant & quant lesperance: ibi vox illa, quae sequitur, omnes
notas tractim & duplo maiori cum mora canit, donec progrediatur eò
ubi simul desinant.’ (‘This song likewise has been composed for four
voices. But in addition a fifth is produced from the one to which the
canon has been appended, and indeed is performed with text, and the
408 Appendix 2
sentence is this: desiderium crescit cum spe: the first begins, and begins
the whole song in order; the second emerges, rests four, and begins the
eleventh below it, which it then follows again for as long as it takes to
catch up with this text, Le desir croist quant & quant l’esperance. There
the voice that follows sings all the notes slowly and dwells on them twice
as long, until it reaches the point where they cease together.’)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Amour perfaict madonne [i.e. m’a donné] hardiesse
(ex. in Finck, sig. Nn ijv)
MODERN EDITION: Finck, Canon, 116–21
Le devant va derriere (‘The one in front goes in back’) (see also Le derain).
EXPLANATION: canon at the lower fifth after three breves (the comes
has the normal pitch) (the inscription is not necessary because the
signum indicates the interval and pitch; the entering voice, the comes,
is written out, however) (Eustachius); canon at lower fifth before two
breve rests (Josquin)
EXAMPLE: (1) Eustachius de Monte Regali, Regina celi a 5, 2.p. (Vatican
CS 46, fols. 148v–151r)
(2) Josquin, Missa de Beata Virgine, Et in spiritum, T (Vatican CG XII, 2)
MODERN EDITION: (2) NJE 3.3, pp. 60–5
Le premier va devant (‘The first goes in front’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the lower fifth, with the comes written out;
the dux enters after two breves (‘first’ indicates the normal pitch of the
chant) (Josquin); canon at the upper fifth after three breves, indicated
by signum, which doesn’t quite fit the pitch to be indicated (the chant
enters at normal pitch) (the inscription is not needed because signum
sufficient) (Eustachius)
EXAMPLE: (1) Josquin, Missa de Beata Virgine, Patrem (cited by Rossi,
13)
(2) Eustachius de Monte Regali, Regina celi a 5, 1.p. (Vatican CS 46)
Lento passu gradere (‘Walk with slow steps’)

EXPLANATION: T has chanson melody in , requiring doubling
of note values; other voices in
EXAMPLE: De Orto, Credo Le serviteur, Et in spiritum (Vienna 1783)
MODERN EDITION: De Orto, Latin Compositions, vii. 9–14
Les trois estas sont assembles / Pour le soulas des trespasses (‘The three
estates are assembled to give comfort to the dead’)
EXPLANATION: T at lower octave after two breves, A at lower fourth
after four breves (both parts are written out, with ‘Ad longum’ in the
initial)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, De profundis a 5 (Vatican CS 38)
Licet bene operor, est qui contrariatur (‘Although I work well, there is
one who is against me’)
TYPE OF CANON: quadruple retrograde canon (= 8) (Agnus Dei);
quadruple inversion canon (Sancta Maria)
EXPLANATION: each of the four voice parts is also to be sung retro-
grade (Agnus Dei); each of the four voice parts is also to be sung in
inversion, either with dux leading or dux following (Sancta Maria)
EXAMPLES: (1) Benedictus [Appenzeller], Agnus Dei a 8, B (Kriesstein,
Selectissimae)
(2) Benedictus [Appenzeller], Sancta Maria succurre miseris (broad-
side: Augsburg: [Salminger], 1548)
LITERATURE: Röder, ‘Verborgene Botschaften?’, 248–9; Jas, ‘Another
Mass’; Schiltz, ‘Rosen, Lilien und Kanons’, 115–17
Luna te docet (‘The moon teaches you’)

TYPE OF CANON: augmentation, transposition
EXPLANATION: observe mensuration sign , i.e. augment; transpos-
ition according to placement on stave
EXAMPLE: Jean Le Brung, Saule quid me persequeris (Vatican CS 46,
fol. 85v)
LITERATURE: Schiltz, ‘A Space Odyssey’
Manet alta mente repostum (‘There remain stored in the depths of her
mind’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval (3 or more ex 1)
EXPLANATION: canon in 3, 4, or more voices. Finck, sig. Cc1r-v:
‘Significat artificiosè cantilenam factam esse, ita ut ex una voce duae
vel tres aliae, aut etiam plures cantari possint.’ Senfl: 4 ex 1: Signa
congruentiae indicate the entrance of three other voices at the
interval of two breves. The pitches are not specified, but turn out
to be at successive lower fifths, perhaps hinted at by ‘the depths of
her mind’.
410 Appendix 2
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Aeneid 1.26–8. Juno’s four grievances:

manet alta mente repostum
iudicium Paridis spretaeque iniuria formae
et genus invisum et rapti Ganymedis honores
‘There remain, stored in the depths of her mind, the judgement of
Paris and the insult of her beauty spurned, and her hatred of the
[Trojan] race, and the honours bestowed [by Jupiter] on Ganymede
[whom he had] carried off’: NB singular verb with multiple subject. The
first two grievances are essentially the same, which perhaps justified the
canon in 3 instead of 4.
EXAMPLE: Senfl, textless, in Stomius, Prima ad Musicen instructio;

textless (ex. in Finck, sig. Gg i).
MODERN EDITION: Gerstenberg, ‘Senfliana’; Finck, Canon, 64–5
LITERATURE: Gerstenberg, ‘Senfliana’; Blackburn and Holford-
Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four Grievances’, 159–60
Maxima sit brevis (‘Let the maxima be a breve’)

TYPE OF CANON: substitution of note values
EXPLANATION: sing the maximas as breves
EXAMPLE: Anon. textless ex. in Berlin theor. 1175, fol. 22
Me oportet minui, illum autem crescere (‘I must decrease, but he must
increase’)
TYPE OF CANON: mensuration
EXPLANATION: one canonic voice sings in diminution, the other in
augmentation (1: 4)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: John 3:30: ‘Illum opportet crescere, me
autem minui’ (‘He must increase, but I must decrease’)
EXAMPLE: [Jean Maillard], Fratres mei elongaverunt se a me (Vatican
CS 38; Le Roy & Ballard, Modulorum Ioannis Maillardi, with
resolution)
MODERN EDITION: Maillard, Modulorum Ioannis Maillardi, ii. 143–9
LITERATURE: Anderson, ‘John the Baptist’, 678–83
Medietas harmonica fiat et quaelibet vox suum numerum salvet

(‘Let there be a harmonic mean and each voice preserve its own number’)
EXPLANATION: second voice enters at unison after eight rests, third
voice after six rests at the lower fourth, fourth voice after four rests at
the fifth beneath that (Ramis, 91)
EXAMPLE: Ramis, mass written in Salamanca (lost)
Mese prebet ortum: celebrat diatessaron arsis

Species. et tesis. tempus appone quietis
(‘Mese provides the sunrise; the arsis celebrates the fourth; thesis, serve up
the species and the time of rest’)
TYPE OF CANON: ostinato; retrograde
EXPLANATION: ascending hexachords on a, b, and c, followed by
retrograde version, separated by breve rests (resolution labelled
‘Depositio canonis’)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Magnificat tertii toni, Et misericordia, T (Milan
2267, fol. 174v)
MODERN EDITION: Anonimi Magnificat, 32–3
Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt sibi (‘Mercy and truth have met

each other’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde canon; inversion; retrograde inversion
EXPLANATION: double retrograde canon (Anon., Senfl, Gumpelzhai-
mer); quadruple canon: resolved in inversion, retrograde, and
retrograde inversion (de Monte). Finck, sig. Bb4v: ‘Hos Canones
addunt, quando volunt significare ex una voce duas cantandas esse,
quarum altera, incipiendo ab initiali nota, iusto ordine usque ad
finem progreditur: altera vero à finali incipiens, procedit contrario
modo, donec ad initialem perveniat.’ Heyden, 135: ‘Misericordiam &
veritatem sibi obviasse, est eundem cantum ab hoc rectè, ab altero
retrogrado ordine concini debere &c.’ (inscription only, not con-
nected with any piece)
EXAMPLES: (1) Anon., textless at beginning of Motetti A (double
retrograde canon; see Iustitia et pax se osculatae sunt)
(2) Senfl, Crux fidelis, 3.p. (B and T) (ex. in Finck, sig. Ddiij;
Wilfflingseder, 357); see under Iustitia
(3) De Monte, Ad te Domine levavi a 8
(4) Gumpelzhaimer, Ecce lignum crucis (Crux Christi). Gumpelzhai-
mer also adds the next verse from Ps. 84: ‘Veritas de terra orta est,
Iustitia de caelo prospexit’
MODERN EDITIONS:
(1) Selections from Motetti A, 1–4
(2) Finck, Canon, 37–9; Griesheimer, ‘Antiphon-, Responsory-, and
Psalm Motets of Ludwig Senfl’, ii. 605–7
(3) De Monte OO, Ser. A Motets, iii. 115–20
(4) Gumpelzhaimer AW, 4–6
412 Appendix 2
LITERATURE: Dekker, ‘Ein Karfreitagsrätselkanon’; Schiltz, ‘La

storia di un’iscrizione’; Schiltz, ‘Visual Pictorialism’, 210–11 (with
facs.)
Mitto tibi metulas, erige si dubitas (‘I send [or ‘give’] you metulas, stand
them up if you are in doubt’)
EXPLANATION: sing retrograde. Finck, fol. Cc1r: ‘Indicatur, cantum
simpliciter ab ultima nota incipiendo retro cantari debere.’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. ‘Mitto tibi metulas, si vis cognoscere
vertas’ (i.e. reverse ‘metulas’ and it gives you ‘salutem’); Medina
(1789), 667, no. 19: ‘Mitto tibi metulas, cancrum imitare legendo’;
‘metulas, leido al reves, dice: salutem’.
Monostempus silens [bell with tau crutch] Modi sine me non

Sit tot anthipsilens Nethesinemenon
(beyond translation but with a pun on sine me non (‘not without me’) and
sinemenon). Leofranc Holford-Strevens: If, as Sir Roger Mynors used to
say, the Queen of England commanded me to make a translation, I could
offer ‘Silent for a single tempus of the mode without me not, Let every
answering voice be in nete synemmenon’.
TYPE OF CANON: rebus (no music)
EXPLANATION: alternating with a perfect modus rest under hypothet-
ical signature (= augmentation) the bell sounds a perfect long on d0
three times (Warmington/Taruskin solution)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Anthipsilens is a corruption based on
ἀντιφάλλειν, ‘to play/sing in answer’, used by Aristophanes (Birds
218) and St Basil (Epistles 207.3)
EXAMPLE: Busnoys, Anthoni usque limina
MODERN EDITION: Busnoys, Collected Works, pt. 2, pp. 138–48
Grievances’, 173
Multi sunt vocati, pauci vero electi (‘Many are called but few are
chosen’)
EXPLANATION: ignore all notes smaller than semibreve
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Matt. 20:16 (‘multi enim sunt vocati,
pauci vero electi’), 22:14 (‘multi enim sunt vocati, pauci vero electi’)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Malheur me bat, Agnus I (Leipzig 51)
Multiplicatis intercessoribus (‘Intercessors having been multiplied’)

EXPLANATION: canon based on first half of chanson melody in
augmentation at the distance of four breves
EXAMPLE: Morales, Missa Mille regretz, Sanctus, S (Vatican CS 17
version)
Ne recorderis (‘Mention not’)

EXPLANATION: syllable re is replaced with a rest (Ramis, 92)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Amos 6:11: ‘et non recorderis nominis
Domini’ (‘mention not the name of the Lord’)
EXAMPLE: Ramis, Requiem aeternam (lost)
Ne sonites a mese – Lycanosipaton summite (above S) Antiphrasis

baritonat (in margin) (‘Do not sound from mese, but take lichanos
hypaton’; ‘The opposite sings the bassus’)
EXPLANATION: S retrograde, transposed down a 12th. The S, which
begins on a0 (not mese but nete hyperbolaion, an octave above), is sung
retrograde and transposed down a 12th to become the B. Every source of
this composition has a different inscription. In Canti B it is ‘Fit aries piscis
in licanos hypaton’ (Aries being the first sign of the zodiac and Pisces the
last), indicating retrograde but also perhaps the level of transposition.
In Florence 178, fol. 4v it is ‘Antiphrasis βαρυτονατ’. Vatican CG XIII,
27 (fols. 59v–60r) has ‘Vade retro Sathanas’ (cf. Mark 8:33), indicating
retrograde but not the precise degree of transposition, apart from the
underworld. Verona 757 (fols. 48v–49r) lacks the inscription (and is
therefore unperformable except by those in the know; parallel fifths
in the first two bars will alert the singers that something is wrong).
EXAMPLE: Japart, J’ay pris amours a ma devise (Florence 229, fol. 158v)
MODERN EDITIONS: Florentine Chansonnier, music vol., no. 152,
pp. 325–7; Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti B, ed. Hewitt, 174–6
Grievances’, 172
Ne sonites cace<n>faton, sume lichanos hypaton (‘Do not sound a

cacophony, take lichanos hypaton’)
EXPLANATION: sing beginning on lichanos hypaton, d (Ramis, 90)
414 Appendix 2
EXAMPLE: Busnoys, Missa L’homme armé, Credo

MODERN EDITION: Busnoys, Collected Works, pt. 2, pp. 18–29
ances’, 171–2
Ne sonites lycanosypaton, Sume in proslambanamenon [sic] (‘Do not
sing lichanos hypaton; start on proslambanomenos’)
EXPLANATION: transpose down a fourth, to start on A
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa L’homme armé, Credo (Vienna 11883)
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, vi. 12–20
Grievances’, 172
Ne sonites netesnemenon [sic] sume in me se [sic] (‘Do not sound nete

synemmenon, start on mese’)
EXPLANATION: begin a fourth lower, on a
EXAMPLE: Pipelare, Missa sine nomine [= Pour entretenir mes amours],
Agnus I, T (Vienna 11883)
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Corruption of One’, 198
Nemo Ascendit nisi qui descendit (‘No one has ascended unless he has
descended’). See also Pluto Colet Aethera. Jupiter in Tartara ibit
EXPLANATION: Sexta vox follows the T in inversion at the lower fifth
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: John 3:13: ‘Et nemo ascendit in caelum,
nisi, qui descendit de caelo, Filius hominis, qui es in caelo’ (And no
man hath ascended into heaven, but that he descended from heaven,
the Son of man who is in heaven)
EXAMPLE: Ulrich Brätel, Verbum domini manet in eternum a 6,
T (Munich 1503b, no. 12, fol. 11r, end of T)
MODERN EDITION: Schiltz, ‘Verbum Domini manet in eternum’,
68–72
LITERATURE: Schiltz, ‘Verbum Domini manet in eternum’ (facs. on p. 63)
Nemo me condemnat over S, Nec te condemno over B (‘No one has

condemned me; Nor do I condemn you’)
TYPE OF CANON: (no canon involved)
EXPLANATION: Bologna B 57, fol. 11v; cited and iden. by Haar, Science
and Art, 157
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: John 8:10–11: ‘nemo te condemnavit?’

. . .‘nec ego te condemnabo’ (‘Hath no man condemned thee? . . .
Neither will I condemn thee’)
EXAMPLE: Ockeghem, Missa Cuiusvis toni, Kyrie I (not identified by
Cimello)
MODERN EDITION: Ockeghem, Collected Works, i. 44
Neque reminiscaris (‘Neither remember’)
EXPLANATION: re and mi are replaced with rests (Ramis, 92)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Tobias 3:3: ‘Et nunc, Domine, memor esto
mei et ne vindictam sumas de peccatis meis neque reminiscaris delicta
mea vel parentum meorum’ (‘And now, O Lord, think of me, and take not
revenge of my sins, neither remember my offences, nor those of my parents’)
Nescit vox missa reverti? (‘Does the voice once uttered not know how to
return?’)
EXPLANATION: canon in two parts, one of which is sung from end to
beginning. Finck (sig. Bb iiiiv–C ir) describes this category as: ‘Hos
Canones addunt, quando volunt significare ex una voce duas cantan-
das esse, quarum altera, incipiendo ab initiali nota, iusto ordine usque
ad finem progreditur: altera vero à finali incipens, procedit contrario
modo, donec ad initialem perveniat.’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Horace, Ars poetica 388–90:
nonumque prematur in annum,
membranis intus positis; delere licebit
quod non edideris; nescit vox missa reverti.
ances’, 161–2
Nigra sum, sed formosa (‘I am black but beautiful’)

TYPE OF CANON: coloration; augmentation
EXPLANATION: coloured notes sung as if white. Finck, sig. Cc1r:
‘Plaerunque significat, notas coloratas seu nigras, pro albis canendas
esse’; cf. Ethyops albos dentes
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Song of Songs 1:4
Noctem in diem vertere (‘To turn night into day’)
TYPE OF CANON: coloration; augmentation
EXPLANATION: coloured notes sung as if white. Heyden, 135: ‘est
albas notulas canere, quae nigrae scribuntur’
416 Appendix 2
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Job 17:12: ‘Noctem verterunt in diem,

et rursum post tenebras spero lucem’
Noctem verterunt in diem et rursum post tenebras spero lucem

(‘They have turned night into day, and after darkness I hope for light
again’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde (Anon. Berlin); coloration (Anon.
Munich 5 and 6)
EXPLANATION: the tenor is read in retrograde, then straightforward
(under changing proportions); the black notation of the first segment
would seem to indicate that the notes should be read as white, but the
reverse is true (Anon. Berlin); the first series of black notes is sung in
coloration, then all the black notes are sung as if they were white and
vice versa
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Job 17:12: ‘Noctem verterunt in diem, et
rursum post tenebras spero lucem’
EXAMPLES: (1) Anon., Mi la sol fa re ut a 4 (Berlin 40021, fols. 184v–185)
(2) (Bauldeweyn?), Missa Du bon du cuer, Agnus (Munich 6, fols.
80v–82 [without inscription] and Munich 5, fols. 161v–164r); see
also Sicut tenebre eius, ita et lumen eius
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Kodex Berlin 40021, ed. Just, ii. 287–9
(no. 95)
LITERATURE: Nelson, ‘The Missa Du bon du cuer’
Noli me tangere (‘Do not touch me’)

TYPE OF CANON: mensuration canon 3 in 1
EXPLANATION: voice sung under three different mensuration signs;
the inscription, however, is written in the space of the tenor voice,
which is silent, so must meant ‘tacet’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Agnus
II (Vatican CS 197)
MODERN EDITION: Josquin OO, i/1, 30; NJE 6.2, pp. 65–6
Non faciens pausas sed <pro> signis capiens has,

tempora prima tria prime semper bene pausa:
sexdecies currens, cunctaque signa videns
(‘Not observing rests but treating them as signs, always rest well
for the first three tempora; running sixteen times, and seeing all
the signs’)
TYPE OF CANON: mensuration; signs
EXPLANATION: reading rests before the clef as mensuration signs, but

observing those after the mensuration sign, sing in 16 different
mensurations
EXAMPLE: Eloy, Missa Dixerunt discipuli (Vatican CS 14)
MODERN EDITION: Eloy, Missa Dixerunt discipuli, ed. Magro and
Vendrix
Non fatigabitur transgrediens usque in finem (‘He will not be weary of
sinning/going across unto the end’)
EXPLANATION: melody written once, repeated three times
(Wilfflingseder, 350)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Ecclus. 23:24: ‘Homini fornicario
omnis panis dulcis: Non fatigabitur transgrediens usque ad finem’
(‘To a man that is a fornicator all bread is sweet, he will not be weary
of sinning unto the end’)
EXAMPLE: Brumel, Missa Dringhs, Agnus Dei II a 2, S (Wilfflingseder
only)
MODERN EDITION: Brumel OO, iv. 51
Non qui inceperit, sed qui perseveraverit (‘Not he who shall have begun
[or ‘begins’], but he who shall have persevered [or ‘perseveres’]’). See also
Qui perseveraverit
EXPLANATION: Finck, sig. Cc1r: ‘Significat, cantilenam, absoluta serie
notarum, iterum atque iterum ab initio repetendam, donec reliquae
voces etiam cessent’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: as ‘Denique non qui coeperit sed qui
perseveraverit usque in finem, hic salvus erit’, Bernard, ep. 129. 2
(S. Bernardi opera, vii. 323, ll. 1516). Cf. Walther 38991 f. 6: ‘non sat
incepisse, palma perseveranti datur’; cf. also Matt. 10:22: ‘Qui autem
perseveraverit usque in finem hic salvus erit’
EXAMPLE: Andreas de Silva, Nigra sum (ex. in Finck, sig. Mm ij)
MODERN EDITION: De Silva OO, ii. 23–5
Nubes et caligo in circuitu eius (‘Clouds and darkness are round about
him’)
EXPLANATION: on repeat, in coloration
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ps. 96:2: ‘Nubes et caligo in circuitu eius,
iustitia et iudicium correctio sedis eius’ (Clouds and darkness are round
about him: justice and judgment are the establishment of his throne)
418 Appendix 2
EXAMPLES: (1) Ghiselin, Missa Narayge, Qui tollis at Cum sancto

spiritu, T (Petrucci, Misse Ghiselin) (in Verona 756: ‘Caligo et nubes /
Incurante eos’)
(2) Erasmus Lapicida, Sacerdos et pontifex et virtutum opifex, 2.p., T
(c.f. on soggetto cavato; see also Fingito vocales; Tenor in
supremo; Unitas in trinitate) (Trent 105 and 283, with resolution)
MODERN EDITION: (1) Ghiselin OO, ii. 79–80; (2) Vettori, ‘L’am-
biente’, 677–85
LITERATURE: (2) Vettori, ‘L’ambiente’
Nulla dies sine linea maximum in punctis (‘No day without a line,
especially in points’)
TYPE OF CANON: mensuration canon
EXPLANATION: sing under four different signs (Bologna B 57, fol. 11;
cited Haar, Science and Art, 157, who notes that the meaning is unclear)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: ‘Nulla dies sine linea’: Tosi 909, Walther 18899
EXAMPLE: written beneath the previous canon = La Rue, Missa
L’homme armé, Agnus II
MODERN EDITION: La Rue OO, iv. 123–4
O terque quaterque beati. See Τρὶς μάκαρες Δαναοὶ καὶ τετράκις
O vos felices qui tot et tanta perfruimini in pace (‘O you happy ones who
enjoy so many great things in peace’)
TYPE OF CANON: ? (Bologna B 57, cited Haar, Science and Art, 157)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Cf. Jerome, Commentarii in Ieremiam 5.
18 [on Jer. 25:11–13]: ‘vos qui nunc in transmigratione securo otio
perfruimini, donec promissio Domini compleatur’
Obelus quinis sedibus ipse volat (‘The obelus flies in five seats’)
EXPLANATION: segments are performed at pitch, then transposed
up a fifth
EXAMPLE: De Orto, D’ung aultre amer (Petrucci, Canti B)
MODERN EDITION: Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti B, ed. Hewitt, 159–61
Occinet per tropum Minuta quoque [read queque] vitando (‘Let it sing
through the melody in contrary motion, avoiding all small values’
TYPE OF CANON: inversion; omission of notes
EXPLANATION: CT begins on same pitch as the B, but in inversion,
omitting all minims and smaller note values
EXAMPLE: Jo. de Pratis, Missa Allez regretz, Agnus II, B (Jena 21;
Roediger and Smijers read ‘Munita’)
MODERN EDITION: Josquin, Werken, Missen, XX, pp. 80–2
Ocia dant vitia (‘Idleness begets vice’)

EXPLANATION: sing without rests. Finck, sig. Bb4v, after list: ‘Hic
observabis: cantum, qui aliquem istorum canonum habet, cantari
debere omissis pausis, etiamsi pausae adscriptae fuerint’)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: medieval proverb; Walther, nos. 20490,
39352
Ocia securis insidiosa nocent (‘Treacherous ease hurts the careless’)

EXPLANATION: sing without rests; Finck, sig. Bb4v (see previous)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Philippi Melanthonis Epigrammatum
liber primus (Wittenberg: haeredes Iohannis Cratonis, 1579), ch. 17
Odam si protham teneas in remisso diapason cum paribus ter augeas

(Seville: ter tene has) (‘If you keep the first song [i.e. melody, superius] at
the lower octave, augment it thrice with its peers’)
TYPE OF CANON: extraction, transposition, augmentation
EXPLANATION: pick out all semibreves in the superius, transpose
down an octave, and augment by 3, dividing the perfect breve into a
breve and semibreve
EXAMPLE: Busnoys, Maintes femmes, 1.p., T (Petrucci, Canti C)
MODERN EDITION: Hewitt, ‘Two Puzzle Canons’
LITERATURE: Hewitt, ‘Two Puzzle Canons’
Omne trinum perfectum (‘Every triad is perfect’)

TYPE OF CANON: mensuration canon (3 in 1)
EXPLANATION: three voices are derived from one. Finck, sig. Cc1r,
following a list: ‘Hi Canones usurpantur ad significandum, tres voces
ex una cantandas esse’; Glarean, 444
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: medieval maxim: Tosi 1503: ‘Omne
trinum est perfectum’ (cf. Walther 198806)
EXAMPLE: Senfl (ex. in Finck, sig. Ff iijv–ivr; Glarean, 444)
MODERN EDITION: Glarean, Dodecachordon, ed. Miller, 523–4;
Finck, Canon, 56–7
Omnia probate, quod bonum est tenete (‘Prove all things; hold fast that
which is good’)
TYPE OF CANON: double canon
EXPLANATION: Aaron, Libri tres, fol. 25v: obscure (‘Hoc adeo quidem
liberum fit atque permittitur ut aliquando appareat Compositorem pro-
prię intentionis non esse conscium, quemadmodum, ut huius rei
420 Appendix 2
exemplum ponam, duobus Iosquini Canonibus constat, quorum alter

est, Omnia probate, quod bonum est tenete. Alter vero qui quęrit invenit.
Ex his canonibus colligi potest, quam abstursum [sic] aque altis immer-
sum tenebris consilium suum esse voluerit. In quibus quidem Cantilenis
nescio an se ipsum Iosquinus intellexerit. Illud quidem scio, quod si se
ipse intellexerit, nolluisse illum se ab alii intelligi.’). On the various
solutions of the canon see Fallows in NJE 28, Critical Commentary, 391.
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: 1 Thess. 5:21: ‘omnia autem probate,
quod bonum est tenete’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, [Se congié prens] (‘Recordans de my segnora’ in
Vatican CG XIII, 27, textless in Florence 178: Omnia autem probate . . .)
Omnia si perdas famam servare memento, / Qua semel amissa, postea

nullus eris (‘If you lose everything, remember to keep your good name;
once you have lost that, you will after that be no one’)
debere omissis pausis, etiamsi pausae adscriptae fuerint’
Omnia tempus habent: et suis spatijs transeunt universa sub sole

(‘All things have their season, and in their times all thing pass under the sun’)
TYPE OF CANON: augmentation; diminution
EXPLANATION: semibreves increase eightfold, minims sevenfold; then
repeated at half
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Eccles. 3:1: ‘Omnia tempus habent, et suis
spatiis transeunt universa sub caelo’ (‘All things have their season,
and in their times all things pass under heaven’)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa Salve regina, Credo (Coimbra 12, first piece)
Omnis tetrachordorum ordo per tria genera melorum canitur effin-

gens in duobus secundis dumtaxat unum anfractum suorum tamen
duorum primorum intervalorum et synemmenon utique devitans
(‘Each order of the tetrachords is sung in the three melodic genera,
making only one interval out of the first two intervals in the second
and third [genera], and omitting the synemmenon tetrachord’)
TYPE OF CANON: transposition, omission of notes
EXPLANATION: there are no written notes but a and a breve rest; the
five tetrachords are sung, beginning on Γ, c, f, b , and e, but omitting
one note in the chromatic and enharmonic tetrachords, and omitting

the synemmenon tetrachord (Spataro to Cavazzoni, 1 Aug. 1517;
Correspondence, no. 2, paras. 6–8)
EXAMPLE: Spataro, Ubi opus est facto, T (lost)
Or sus, or sus, bovier (‘Get up, get up, cowherd!’)

EXPLANATION: the comes enters before the dux (the text incipit is in
fact a canonic instruction)
EXAMPLE: Bulkyn, Or sus, or sus, bovier (Petrucci, Canti B, fol. 40r)
MODERN EDITION: Ottaviano Petrucci, Canti B, ed. Hewitt, 193–4
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Canonic Conundrums’, 56–7
Panges laxando trinum in subdyapenthe (‘You shall compose slackening

the threefold to the fifth below’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval canon
EXPLANATION: canon at breve (three semibreves) at fifth below
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa ad fugam, Kyrie (Vatican CS 49)
Pater, Filius et Spiritus Sanctus, cum basso salvabis (‘Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit, with the bass you [singular] shall save’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval canon (3 in 1)
EXPLANATION: three voices derived from one, at upper fourth after
5½ breves, and at lower fifth after 7½ breves
EXAMPLE: Festa, O lux beata Trinitas, verse Deo Patri sit gloria, 6 v. (Vatican
CS 21, fols. 16v–19, with resolution; Vatican CS 18, fols. 49v–52)
MODERN EDITION: Festa, Hymni, 88–91
Pausa longarum [or longas?] quinque psallens super barricanore. Sed leo
a clave oculum avertere vetat. Quot radii caude tot canta, quot pedes tot
pausa. Denuo reitera ubique longas esse cara [sic for cura]. See En tenor
in me latet
Pausas longarum scindes medium notularum (lit. ‘Split the rests of

the longa notes down the middle’; cf. the inscription to the Et incarnatus
of Du Fay, Missa L’homme armé, Scindite pausas longarum, cetera per
medium, which correctly indicates the same process)
EXPLANATION: repeat in diminution, omitting all the longa rests
EXAMPLE: Anon., Antonio turma fratrum, 2.p., T (Vatican CS 15,
fols. 176v–178)
422 Appendix 2
Pauses tout, ou non (‘Rest completely, or not’, i.e. observe or ignore

the rests)
EXPLANATION: the work may be sung with the rests larger than a
minim or without them
EXAMPLE: Moulu, Sancta Maria mater Dei (Libro primo de la fortuna,
fol. 2; Zacconi, Pesaro 559, fols. 161v–162v)
MODERN EDITION: Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests’, 333–8
LITERATURE: Blackburn, ‘Two Treasure Chests’, 323–6
Per aliam viam reversi sunt in regionem suam (‘They went back another
way into their country’)
EXPLANATION: T is a retrograde canon at unison with a free voice (1);
retrograde canon 8 ex 4 (2)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Matt. 2:12
EXAMPLE: (1) Anon. textless example a 3 in Coclico, sig. F1v
(2) Anon., Omnis consummationis vidi finem a 8 in Coclico, sig. P3v
Per antiphrasim (Pleni ex tenore per antiphrasim) (‘By the opposite’)

EXPLANATION: T missing, but probably inversion canon
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa Scaramella, Pleni a 4, T (Berlin 40634)
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, xi. 78
Per dyapente sonat subter remeando lorica

Post ubi finierit gressum renovando resumit
Tuque gradu sursum contando revertere quinto
Principio finem da qui modularis eundem
(‘The breastplate sounds, returning a fifth below; then, where he has
stopped, he resumes his step once again [‘by renewing’]. And do you, in
singing, return in the fifth degree up; You who perform, give an end
identical with the beginning’)
EXPLANATION: segment ‘d’un haubregon de fer’ is sung (1) straight;
(2) retrograde a fifth lower; (3) retrograde of 2, or original a fifth lower
(4) retrograde of 1; (5) as 1
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa L’homme armé [V] (Naples VI.E.40, with
resolution)
MODERN EDITION: Six Anonymous L’Homme armé Masses,
186–223
Petrus et Joannes currunt in puncto (‘Peter and John run on a point’)

TYPE OF CANON: interval (at minim)
EXPLANATION: canon at minim under S and A of Hayne’s song
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: John 20:3–4: ‘Exiit ergo Petrus et ille alius
discipulus [John], et venerunt ad monumentum. Currebant autem
duo simul, et ille alius discipulus praecucurrit citius Petro et venit
primus ad monumentum.’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, De tous biens playne a 4 (Petrucci, Odhecaton)
Petrus sequebatur a longe (‘Peter followed him afar off’)

EXPLANATION: canon at the lower fifth after a long (T: Canon
Sequere me in subdyapenthe)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Matt. 26:58: ‘Petrus autem sequebatur
eum a longe’; Luke 22:54: ‘Petrus vero sequebatur a longe’ (But Peter
followed afar off)
EXAMPLE: Mouton, Magnificat primi toni, Sicut locutus, S (Jena 20)
MODERN EDITION: Mouton OO, v (forthcoming)
Pigmeus hic crescat, gigas decrescere debet / In cauda cerebrum, en est

mirabile monstrum (‘Let the pygmy grow here, the giant should decrease /
The brain is in the tail; behold the wondrous monster’). See also Celum
calcatur dum terra per astra levatur and Postea praeque cedo
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde; substitution (of note values)
EXPLANATION: sing the voice from the end, replacing minims with
semibreves and vice versa and breves with semiminims
EXAMPLE: Anon., Dy kraebis schaere, T (Glogauer Liederbuch, no. 90)
Plaustrum pervertat qui me bene ducere certat

In. d. coniunctum medij. g. versio fiat
(‘Let him overturn the cart who strives to lead me well / Let the turning
of middle g [g = lichanos meson] take place on conjunct d [d0 = nete
synemmenon]’)
TYPE OF CANON: transposition; inversion
EXPLANATION: transpose up a fifth and invert (g becomes d0 and d0
becomes g)
EXAMPLE: Heyns, Missa Pour quelque paine, Sanctus, T (Brussels 5557;
Vatican CS 51: ‘dicere’)
424 Appendix 2
Pluto Colet Aethera. Jupiter in Tartara ibit (‘Pluto shall dwell in

the aether, Jupiter shall go to Tartarus’). See also Nemo Ascendit nisi
qui descendit
EXPLANATION: Q imitates CT in inversion at the lower fourth
EXAMPLE: Ulrich Brätel, Verbum domini manet in eternum a 6, CT
(Munich 1503b, no. 12, fol. 11r, beginning of CT)
MODERN EDITION: Schiltz, ‘Verbum Domini manet in eternum’,
68–70
LITERATURE: Schiltz, ‘Verbum Domini manet in eternum’ (facs. on
p. 63)
Plutonica subijt regna (‘He went down into the Plutonic realm’)
EXPLANATION: sing all ascending notes descending and vice versa, i.e.
inversion. Finck, sig. Cc2v: ‘Hoc est, quam ascendit nota, tantum
descendere illam imagineris, & econtrà’
Post iotam pentha fugat hec presenti camena (‘After a jot, this song is in
imitation, the fifth being present’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the fifth after one semibreve
EXAMPLE: Anon., Et in terra pax a 3 (London Add. 4911, fol. 38v)
Postea praeque cedo verso cum vertice talo (‘I go behind and afore
turning my heel and my head’). See also Celum calcatur dum terra per
astra levatur and Pigmeus hic crescat
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde inversion
EXPLANATION: sing the voice from the end, inverting the intervals
(clef is written upside down)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Dy kraebis schaere, CT (Glogauer Liederbuch,
no. 90)
Pour eviter noyse et debas / Prenes ung demy ton plus bas (‘To avoid
noise and confusion, take a half tone lower’)
EXPLANATION: sing the T a semitone lower
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Nymphes des bois (Medici Codex)
MODERN EDITION: Medici Codex, transcription, ed. Lowinsky,
338–46; NJE 29.18 (in preparation)
Pr[a]ecedam in sub semidytono per mi (‘I shall precede at the lower

minor third on mi’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the lower third after three breves
EXAMPLE: Forestier, Missa L’homme armé, Qui tollis, T (Vatican
CS 160)
Pr[a]ecedam vos in Galileam (‘I shall go before you into Galilee’). See also
Infimo jubilat
EXPLANATION: canon at upper fifth, entering a breve earlier (Brumel
(?)); canon at the lower fourth, entering a breve or two breves earlier
(Josquin)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Matt. 26:32; Mark 14:28
EXAMPLES: (1) Brumel(?), Magnificat octavi toni, Fecit potentiam, B, at
chant pitch (Vatican CS 44, anon.; attr. in pencil in Modena IX, fos.
42v–43; Kassel 9, no. 15, anon.; Cividale del Friuli 59, fols. 29v–32,
anon.)
(2) Josquin, Missa Sine nomine, Patrem, A (‘Altus supra cantum pre-
cedam vos in galileam. In dyatessaron’; Antico, Liber 15 missarum)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Brumel OO, vi. 54–6; (2) NJE 12.2, pp. 47–50
Praecedat Dominus meus, & ego paulatim sequar vestigia eius

(‘May it please my lord to go before his servant: and I will follow softly
after him’)
EXPLANATION: comes precedes dux by two and a half breves, at
unison (Wilfflingseder, 362)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Gen. 33:14: ‘Praecedat Dominus meus
ante servum suum, et ego sequar paulatim vestigia eius’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Guillaume se va chaufer, S 1 (ex. in Wilfflingseder,
without text)
Pr[a]ecedat mea me semper odda proles (‘Let my offspring Odda always

precede me’)
EXPLANATION: canonic follower enters a semibreve earlier at the
lower fourth (dux has chant melody at pitch)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Vexilla regis prodeunt (Vatican SP B 80, fol. 1r)
426 Appendix 2
Pr[a]eibis parare viam meam (‘Thou shalt go to prepare my way’)

TYPE OF CANON: probably precursor canon in original notation;
the signum is written slightly to the right of eleven breve rests
EXPLANATION: canon at the lower fourth, after one breve on the
words ‘Per singulos dies’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Luke 1:76: ‘praeibis enim ante faciem
Domini parare vias eius’ (‘thou shalt go before the face of the Lord
to prepare his ways’)
EXAMPLE: Mouton, Confitemini Domino quoniam bonus (Vatican CS
38; no inscription in Rome Vallicelliana, where it is resolved and
attributed to Josquin)
Praetor non curat de minimis. See De minimis non curat praetor
Prenes le temps / auissi [sic] quil vient (‘Take the time as soon as it
comes’)
TYPE OF CANON: extraction
EXPLANATION: tenor part is written out, but only the breves are to be sung
EXAMPLE: R. de Févin, Missa La sol mi fa re, Agnus I, T (Munich 7)
MODERN EDITION: Févin, R. de, Collected Works, 70–72 (facs. on p. ix)
LITERATURE: Josephson, ‘Agnus Dei I’, 77 (a solution Clinkscale dis-
agrees with, though he is wrong); Blackburn, ‘Corruption of One’, 196
Proportionum alpha in o dedatur et per contrarium motum quinquies

sine pausis prioribus repetendo concines (‘Alpha of the proportions
should be surrendered to omega, and you shall sing five times in contrary
motion without repeating the first rests’)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution of proportion signs; inversion; ostinato
EXPLANATION: the order of the first and last proportions and the
middle two proportions is reversed; the notes are repeated five times
in retrograde without the initial rests (Spataro, letter to Cavazzoni,
1 Aug. 1517; Correspondence, no. 2, para. 14)
EXAMPLE: Spataro, Missa Da pacem, Qui sedes (lost)
Pulsate et aperietur (‘Knock, and it shall be opened to you’). See Exaltata

est magnificentia tua super celos
Qu[a]e sursum sunt qu[a]erite (‘Seek the things that are above’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the fifth above
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Col. 3:1

EXAMPLE: [Vinders], Missa Myns liefkens a 5, Agnus III, CT I (’s-
Hertogenbosch 75) (ascribed to Vinders with the text ‘Mijns liefkens
bruyn ooghen’ in Kriesstein, Selectissimae, no. 61)
MODERN EDITION: Lenaerts, Nederlands polifonies lied, Muziekbij-
lage, 30–4
LITERATURE: Jas, ‘A Rediscovered Mass’
Qu[a]eque semibrevis sex equivalet Sed per dyapason (‘Each semibreve is

equivalent to six but at the octave’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval canon (3 in 1); extraction; augmentation;
transposition
EXPLANATION: canon 3 in 1 plus a tenor derived from all the semi-
breves, multiplied by six and transposed down an octave
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, textless (Rome Casanatense 2856, fol. 72r)
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, xvii. 100–102
Qu[a]erite et invenietis (‘Seek, and you shall find’)

TYPE OF CANON: interval, with omission of notes and dots smaller
than a semibreve
EXPLANATION: canon at the lower octave after two breves; owing
to omission of notes and rests eventually it becomes a precursor
canon
EXAMPLE: Maillard, Missa Pro vivis, Agnus, Quinta vox
MODERN EDITION: Maillard, The Masses, 175–9 (not resolved)
Qualis pater talis filius talis spiritus sanctus (‘Such as the Father is, such
is the Son, and such is the Holy Spirit’)
EXPLANATION: canon 3 in 1 at unison after two breves and four
breves plus two free voices
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Athanasian Creed, clause 7
EXAMPLE: Isaac, Missa [Comment peult avoir joye], Agnus III a 5
(Milan 2267, fol. 97v)
MODERN EDITION: Isaac OO, vi. 101–104
Quamlibet inspicias notulam qua clave locetur, / Tunc denique

socios in eadem concine tentos: / Sed vere prolationes non petunt
pausationes, / sed sunt signa generis (‘Look at every note to see
428 Appendix 2
under what clef it is placed; only then sing the comrades held under the
same (clef); but truly the prolations do not look for rests, but are signs of
the genus’)
TYPE OF CANON: addition; substitution (of rests for letters);
transposition
EXPLANATION: letters of words in stave = 2 rests each; to each note
on the stave add its companion solmization syllables; some transpo-
sition is necessary. Finck, sig. Cc2r–v: ‘Hoc est, inspice dictionem intra
linearum spacia, aut etiam in ipsis lineis contentam, & quoties tibi litera
aliqua occurret, toties duo tempora pro ea pausabis: literae enim pausas
denotant. Deinde inspice quamlibet notam, & cuilibet reliquas voces,
quae illi tribuuntur in scala, adde. Verùm hoc loco illud observare
necesse est, illas claves, quae ex scala petendae sunt, non eodem ubique
ordine sumi debere, sed in aliquibus media vox: aliquando etiam ultima
primò ponitur. Ideo hanc regulam probè teneto: In qua clave nota
collocata fuerit, illa clavis vocem cantandam nequaquam suppeditat,
si clavis duarum, triúmve notarum fuerit: si nota primae voci com-
petit, reliquas inclusas, ea serie, qua in clavi positae sunt, concines:
si nota mediam attingit, hanc primò, deinde primam, tandem ulti-
mam: si nota ultimam attingit, omnes in illa clave sine negotio canes’
(That is, look at the word contained within the spaces of the lines,
or even on the lines themselves, and as often as a letter occurs, rest
for two breves for it; for the letters denote rests. Then look at each
note, and add to each the remaining pitches that are assigned to it in
the scale. But at this point we must observe the following, that those
clefs that are to be sought from the scale must not be taken in the
same order everywhere, but in some the middle pitch, sometimes
too the last is placed first. Therefore, keep firmly hold of this rule: the
clef under which the note is placed does not supply the pitch to be
sung, if the clef is of two or three notes; if the note applies to the first
pitch, you will sing the others included in the order they are placed
on the clef: if a note touches the middle one, sing this first, then the
first, finally the last: if the note touches the last, you will sing them
all under that clef without trouble’)
EXAMPLE: Ockeghem, Ut heremita solus (ex. in Finck, sig. Kk iv, but
instead of 3rd–4th lines has ‘Pro qualibet litera duo tu tempora pausa’,
with resolution) (Petrucci, Canti C)
MODERN EDITION: Ockeghem, Collected Works, iii. 18–24
LITERATURE: Lindmayr-Brandl, ‘Ein Rätseltenor Ockeghems’ and
‘Ockeghem’s Motets’
Quanta est temporibus relatio tanta modis (‘The relation in size [scalar
distance] between the tempora is the same for the modi’)
TYPE OF CANON: mensural transformation
EXPLANATION: tenor, a rising hexachord on the note values
minim, semibreve, breve, and three longs, is sung under four
mensuration signs with repeat signs, separated by six breve rests;
the mensuration signs and note values are different in the Et
iterum
EXAMPLE: Brumel, Missa Ut re mi fa sol la, Patrem and Et iterum, T
MODERN EDITION: Brumel OO, i. 49–52, 54–6
Quare fremuerunt gentes (‘Why have the Gentiles raged’)

EXPLANATION: canon at fifth below after three breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ps. 2:1; Acts 4:25
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa ad fugam, Qui tollis, T (Vatican CS 49)
Quattuor enim sunt facies uni (‘For there are four faces to one’). See also
Duo luminaria minus et maius
EXPLANATION: four voices derived from one, at upper fourth, fifth,
and octave at interval of a semibreve
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Ezek. 1:6: ‘et quattuor facies uni et
quattuor pinnae uni’
EXAMPLE: Festa, Magnificat octavi toni, Sicut erat a 10 (plus two other
canons 2 in 1 and 3 in 2 (Vatican CS 18, fols. 179v–193, with
resolution)
Quatuor in partes opus hoc distinguere debes (‘You must separate this
piece into four parts’)
EXPLANATION: four voices ex 1 at varying intervals and distances in
all the movements (La Rue); four voices ex 1 at successive ascending
fifths at interval of breve (Verdelot)
EXAMPLES: (1) La Rue, Missa O salutaris hostia (Montserrat 773)
(2) Verdelot, Dignare me laudare te, virgo sacrata (Attaingnant,
Liber III)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) La Rue OO, v. 29–57; (2) Treize livres,
iii. 39–40
430 Appendix 2
Quatuor quaternionibus. Alter post alterum per dyatessaron intensum

sequatur (‘In four foursomes. One should follow after the other at the
higher fourth’)
EXPLANATION: four voices at interval of a perfect breve, entering on
A, d, g, c0 (plus a fifth free voice)
EXAMPLE: Forestier, Missa L’homme armé, Benedictus 5, B (Occo
Codex, fol. 114r; Jena 3 [ascr. Mouton]; Vatican CS 160: ‘Alter post
alterum per dyatessaron intensum sequatur’)
Qui autem sunt in carne deo placere non possunt (‘They who are in the
flesh cannot please God’)
EXPLANATION: Bologna B 57, fol. 7: ‘I che le note negre piene non si
cantino ma ci son per far il numero perfetto della prolatione perfetta’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Rom. 8:8
EXAMPLE: single line in alto clef with flat (given in Haar, Science and
Art, 157, who notes that the meaning is obscure)
Qui cum illis canit, cancrizat, vel canit more Hebraeorum (‘He who
sings with them goes backward, or sings in the Hebrew manner’)
EXPLANATION: second voice is be read retrograde
EXAMPLE: Senfl, Crux fidelis, 3.p., D and A (ex. in Finck, sig. Dd iij).
See above under Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt sibi
Qui me barritonizare cupit, In decimis me intonabit (‘Whoever wants to

baritonize with me, shall sing me in tenths’). See also Decimas do omnium
qu(a)e possideo and In decimis
EXAMPLE: Isaac, Missa Quant j’ay au cor, Agnus III (Segovia)
Qui me sequitur ante me factus est (‘He who follows me was made
before me’)
EXPLANATION: Although this would seem to be a precursor canon, it is
not possible to fit a canonic voice either before or after the tenor (which
begins after a semibreve rest), and the three voices make good sense by
themselves; the meaning must be that the tenor is does not have the
true song melody, which appears in the superius instead. The canon
was perhaps suggested by the text, ‘Where is he now?’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. John 1:15: ‘qui post me venturus est
ante me factus est quia prior me erat’; John 1:27: ‘qui post me
venturus est qui ante me factus est’ (see below for these)
EXAMPLE: Laurentius d. a., Waer is hij nu (London Add. 35087,
fols. 41v–42)
LITERATURE: Bonda, De meerstemmige Nederlandse liederen, 176, 248
Qui mecum resonat: in decimis barritonisat (‘He who sounds with me

baritonizes in tenths’)
EXPLANATION: duplicate S in parallel tenths
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa Je ne demande, Agnus II, S (Munich 3154)
Qui non est mecum, contra me est (‘He who is not with me is against me’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde canon 4 ex 1 (= 8) (1); inversion canon (2)
EXPLANATION: each of the four voice parts is also to be sung retro-
grade (1); each of the four voice parts is also to be sung in inversion (2)
EXAMPLES: (1) Benedictus [Appenzeller], Agnus Dei a 8, CT (Kriesstein,
Selectissimae)
(2) Benedictus Appenzeller, Sancte Jesu Christe (Gerlach, Suavissi-
mae) (= his Sancta Maria succurre miseris)
LITERATURE: see Licet bene operor est qui contrariatur
Qui non mecum est contra me est. in decimis (‘He who is not with me is
against me in tenths’)
EXAMPLE: Isaac, Missa [Comment peult avoir joye], Christe (Milan
2267, fol. 88)
MODERN EDITION: Isaac OO, vi. 79
Qui perseveraverit salvus erit (‘He who perseveres will be saved’). See also
Non qui inceperit
EXPLANATION: four-note ostinato, beginning after three breves,
appears alternating on g0 and d0 , interspersed with three-breve rests
432 Appendix 2
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Matt. 10:22: ‘Qui autem perseveraverit

usque in finem, hic salvus erit’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Salve regina a 5 (Vatican CS 24)
Qui post me venit ante me factus est (‘He who comes after me was made
before me’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the lower fifth (Anon.); canon at the upper
fourth after a semibreve: based on plainchant (Festa)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. John 1:15: ‘qui post me venturus est
ante me factus est, quia prior me erat’ (He that shall come after me is
preferred before me: because he was before me); John 1:27: ‘ipse est
qui post me venturus est qui ante me factus est’ (The same is he that
shall come after me, who is preferred before me); John 1:30: ‘Post
me venit vir, qui ante me factus est, quia prior me erat’ (After me
there cometh a man, who is preferred before me: because he was
before me)
EXAMPLE: (1) Anon., O panem vere sacrum a 6, 2.p., c.f. Hoc est corpus
meum, T (Vatican CS 38, fols. 113v–117)
(2) Festa, Magnificat tertii toni, Sicut erat, S (Vatican SMM 32, fols.
1–4: ‘Qui venit post me . . .’; Vatican CS 64, fols. 14v–21; Vatican
CS 21, fols. 37v–44, without inscription)
MODERN EDITION: (2) Festa OO, ii. 112–13
LITERATURE: Anderson, ‘John the Baptist’, 666–7 (on Festa); 676–8
(on Anon.)
Qui post me venit praecedet me, et non transibit per tenebras

(‘He who comes after me precedes me, and will not pass through
darkness’)
TYPE OF CANON: coloration; omission of notes and rests (not a
precursor in the sense of the comes entering first, but this voice has
the chant melody)
EXPLANATION: canon at lower fifth, based on plainchant, omitting
black notes, dots, and rests
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. John 8:12: ‘qui sequitur me non ambu-
labit in tenebris’ (see below)
EXAMPLE: Festa, Magnificat octavi toni, Sicut erat a 5, T (Vatican CS
21, fols. 50v–56, with resolution)
Qui qu[a]erit invenit (‘He who seeks finds’)

TYPE OF CANON: unknown
EXPLANATION: not known (Aaron, Libri tres, fol. 25v, attributing to
Josquin, noting that the inscription is obscure; see above under
‘Omnia probate’)
EXAMPLE: Josquin; mentioned also by Rossi, 15
Qui se exaltat humiliabitur (‘He who exalts himself shall be humbled’).

See also Duo adversi adverse in unum
EXPLANATION: canon in inversion at the higher octave after two
semibreves. Finck, sig. Cc2v: ‘Hoc est, quam ascendit nota, tantum
descendere illam imagineris, & econtrà’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Luke 14:11 and 18:14: ‘Quia omnis qui se
exaltat humiliabitur, et qui se humiliat exaltabitur’
EXAMPLE: Anon. [= Mouton], Salve mater salvatoris a 4 (London Add.
30587, fol. 73v)
MODERN EDITION: Motet Books of Andrea Antico, ed. Picker, 214–15
Qui se exaltat humiliabitur et qui se humiliat exaltabitur (‘He who

exalts himself shall be humbled, and he who humbles himself shall be
exalted’)
TYPE OF CANON: inversion (also augmentation because in )
EXPLANATION: sing all ascending notes descending and descending
notes ascending
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Luke 14:11 and 18:14: ‘Quia omnis qui se
exaltat humiliabitur, et qui se humiliat exaltabitur’
EXAMPLES: Obrecht, Missa Grecorum, Agnus I, T (which becomes
lowest voice)
Qui se humiliat exaltabitur (‘He who humbles himself shall be

exalted’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval (changing after each rest) (Anon.); trans-
position (Verdelot)
EXPLANATION: a fifth voice can be derived from the Altus. The canon
starts at the lower fifth, but after each rest, the imitation interval is
raised (from lower fifth to unison to upper fifth). Finck, sig. Cc2v:
‘Quamvis hunc canonem in Gallica cantilena, Languir me fais, paulò
aliter deprehendo, in qua investigavi, quod non solum descendentes
434 Appendix 2
notae voce sublata cani debent, sed ipsa quoque cantio etsi tantum
quatuor vocum apparet, ex illarumque numero est, quibus supra
scriptus est canon, Qui se humiliat exaltabitur: Tamen ex quatuor
positis insuper quinta artificiose promanat, hoc modo: quatuor voces
ordiuntur cantum, singulae quidem eo sono, quem clavis signata
postulat. quinta vero vox pausat duos vulgares tactus, & quinto
intervallo infra illam vocem, ex qua derivatur, orditur. Exempli gratia:
praecedens vox orditur in Ffaut: altera vero quae duas pausas habet in
bfa mi, quinta infra illam canitur, deinde etiam quoties occurrit pausa,
sequens non eundem retinet sonum, sed post observatam pausam
illam, attollitur in sono semper per secundam, idque observat ad
finem usque.’ (Although I find this canon in a slightly different form
in the French chanson Languir me fais, in which I have established
that not only should three descending notes be sung at high pitch,
but the chanson itself, although it appears to be for only four voices,
and is one of those over which is written the canon Qui se humiliat
exaltabitur, yet out of the four written voices a fifth emerges as well by
artifice, as follows: the four voices begin the song, each at that pitch
which the signed clef requires; the fifth voice rests for two ordinary
tactus, and begins at the interval of a fifth below that voice from which
it is derived. For example: the preceding voice begins on Ffaut:
the other that has two rests is sung on bfa mi, a fifth below it; then
too whenever a rest occurs, the following voice does not keep up the
same sound, but after observing the rest is always raised in sound by a
second, and observes that rule right to the end.)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Luke 14:11 and 18:14
EXAMPLES: (1) Anon., Languir me fais (ex. in Finck, sig. Nn iv)
(2) Verdelot, In te Domine speravi a 5 (see above under Exaltata est
magnificentia tua super celos)
MODERN EDITION: (1) Finck, Canon, 113–15; (2) Slim, A Gift,
140–51
Qui se humiliat exaltabitur et qui se exaltat humiliabitur (‘He who humbles

himself shall be exalted, and he who exalts himself shall be humiliated’)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Luke 14:11 and 18:14
EXAMPLE: (1) Josquin, Missa L’ami Baudichon, Patrem (Verona 761;
Vienna 11778 ‘Qui se humiliat exaltabitur; Zwickau 119/1 ‘Qui se
exaltat’)
(2) Anon., Magnificat sexti toni, Sicut erat (’s-Hertogenbosch 73)
Qui sequebatur pr[a]eit (‘He who was following goes before’)

EXPLANATION: comes precedes dux, reversing previous order
EXAMPLE: Vacqueras, Missa L’homme armé, Qui tollis; Qui propter nos
MODERN EDITION: Vacqueras OO, 12–15; 25–9
Qui sequitur me, non ambulet in tenebris (‘He who follows me shall not
walk in darkness’)
EXPLANATION: canonic voice ignores black notes (Zacconi, Prattica,
fol. 130v)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: John 8:12: ‘qui sequitur me non ambulat
in tenebris’
EXAMPLE: Isaac, Per signum crucis (unknown; mentioned by Zacconi)
Qui venit post me ante me factus est (‘He who comes after me was made
before me’). See Qui post me venit ante me factus est
Qui vult venire post me abneget semetipsum (‘He who wishes to come
after me let him deny himself’)
EXPLANATION: canon at lower seventh after one semibreve
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Matt. 16:24: ‘Si quis vult post me venire,
abneget semetipsum’ (If any man will come after me, let him deny himself)
EXAMPLE: [Jo. Martini], Salve regina a 4 (Vatican CS 15, fol. 212v)
Quicumque vult salvus esse de Trinitate sentiat (‘He who wishes to be

saved must think [thus] of the Trinity’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the upper octave after a breve and a half, and
at the upper fourth after two breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Athanasian Creed, clause 1: ‘Quicum-
que vult salvus esse’; clause 25: ‘Qui vult ergo salvus esse, ita de
Trinitate sentiat’
EXAMPLE: Festa, O lux beata trinitas, verse Te mane laudem carmine a
5 (Vatican CS 21, fols. 16v–19; Vatican CS 18, fols. 49v–52)
MODERN EDITION: Festa, Hymni, 86–8
Quiescit qui super me volat / Venit post me qui in puncto clamat (‘He
who flies above me is silent; He who sings on the dot comes after me’)
(Seville 5–1–43: ‘in punctu’)
EXPLANATION: canon at upper fourth after a semibreve
436 Appendix 2
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Una musque de Buscgaya (Canti C; Vatican CG

XIII, 27: lacks ‘venit post me’; Florence 229: ‘. . . Post me venit . . .’;
Florence 178: ‘Postvenit qui ante me factus est’)
Quilibet manebit in sua vocatione (‘Each shall remain in his own voca-
tion’). See also Unusquisque manebit
TYPE OF CANON: interval canon (4 ex 2)
EXPLANATION: double canon: 1.p.: second and fourth voices at
the 7th below after five breves. 2.p.: second and fourth voices at the
5th above after a semibreve. 3.p.: second and fourth voices at the 5th
above after a breve and a half
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. 1 Cor. 7:20: ‘unusquisque in qua
vocatione vocatus est in ea permaneat’ (‘Let every man abide in the
same calling in which he was called’)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Domine quis habitabit in tabernaculo (Antico,
Motetti novi)
MODERN EDITION: Bicinia gallica, ii, nos. 120–22 (pp. 310–20)
Quod appositum est et apponetur,

per verbum Dei benedicetur
and Sapienti pauca
(‘What is and will be placed next to each other, will be blessed by God’;
‘A word to the wise’)
TYPE OF CANON: visual (chessboard)
EXPLANATION: Danckerts mentions that there are more than 20 reso-
lutions in his handwritten treatise (Rome, Biblioteca Vallicelliana,
MS R.65)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Juan Luis Vives, Triclinium: ‘Quod
appositum est et apponetur, Christus benedicere dignetur.’
EXAMPLE: Ghiselin Danckerts, Ave maris stella, broadside published by
Kriesstein in 1549 (Herzog August Bibliothek of Wolfenbuttel (shelf-
mark 186 Musica div. 2o [1]))
MODERN EDITION: Danckerts, Vocal Works, 1–5 (two solutions)
LITERATURE: Westgeest, ‘Ghiselin Danckerts’; Schiltz, ‘Visual Pictori-
alism’, 214–16 (with facs.)
Redde unicuique secundum opera sua (‘Render to every man according

to his works’)
TYPE OF CANON: mensuration (3 in 1)
EXPLANATION: mensuration canon under three different signs (Bol-
ogna B 57, fol. 11v; cited and iden. by Haar, Science and Music, 157)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: 2 Chron. 6:30 (‘redde unicuique secun-

dum vias suas’); Ps. 61:13 (‘tu reddes unicuique iuxta opera sua’);
Prov. 24:29 (‘reddam unicuique secundum opus suum’); Ecclus. 11:28
(‘retribuere unicuique secundum vias suas’); 16:15 (‘unicuique secun-
dum meritum operum suorum’); Jer. 32:19 (‘reddas unicuique secun-
dum bias suas’); Matt. 16:27 (‘reddet unicuique secundum opus eius’);
Rom. 2:6 (‘qui reddet unicuique secundum opera eius’); Rev. 2:23
(‘dabo unicuique vestrum secundum opera sua’), 22:12 (‘reddere
unicuique secundum opera sua’).
II (iden. by Haar)
Requiescant in pace (‘May they rest in peace’)
EXPLANATION: re is omitted and not replaced with rest (Ramis, 92)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ps. 49
Retrograditur (‘It goes backwards’)
EXPLANATION: sing the voice backwards (Finck, sig. Cc1r, after list:
‘Indicatur, cantum simpliciter ab ultima nota incipiendo retro cantari
debere’)
Reverte citius (‘Go back faster’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde of retrograde (of Et incarnatus); diminution
EXPLANATION: retrograde of the previous section but faster = the first
section diminished 2:1
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Con-
fiteor (Vatican CS 197, with resolution)
Revertere (‘Go back’)
EXPLANATION: straightforward to b. 27, then retrograde
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa Scaramella, Sanctus, B (Berlin 40634)
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, xi. 75–7
Roma caput mundi, si verteris, omnia vincit [i.e. amor] (‘Rome the head
of the world; if you turn it, conquers all’)
EXPLANATION: one voice is sung forwards and backwards simultan-
eously. Finck, sig. Bb iiiiv, after list: ‘Hos Canones addunt, quando volunt
438 Appendix 2
significare ex una voce duas cantandas esse, quarum altera, incipiendo

ab initiali nota, iusto orgine usque ad finem progreditur: altera vero a
finali incipiens, procedit contrario modo, donec ad initialem perveniat.’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: ‘Roma caput mundi’ is proverbial
(Walther, Proverbia, nos. 26920–3), being derived from Lucan
2. 655–6: ‘Ipsa, caput mundi, bellorum maxima merces, | Roma capi
facilis’ (Rome herself, the head of the world, the chief prize of war,
is easily captured). But read Roma backwards and you have Amor,
which conquers all’ (Verg. Buc. 10.69: ‘omnia uincit Amor’)
LITERATURE: Blackburn and Holford-Strevens, ‘Juno’s Four Grievances’, 162
Roma tibi subito motibus ibit amor. See Signa te signa temere me tangis
et angis
Sancta Trinitas, salva me (‘Holy Trinity, save me’)

EXPLANATION: voice sung in three different mensurations
II (Basel F.IX.25)
Sapienti sat. See Quod appositum est
Saturnus (‘Saturn’)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution of clef
EXPLANATION: the clef and starting note are on G sol re ut because
Saturn is the seventh planet (Spataro, letter to Cavazzoni, 1 Aug. 1517;
Correspondence, no. 2, para. 5)
EXAMPLE: Spataro, Ubi opus est facto, S (lost)
Saturnus iustitiam petit (‘Saturn asks for justice’)
TYPE OF CANON: substitution of clef (transposition)
EXPLANATION: transpose by an octave; octave = justice (Spataro to
Cavazzoni, 1 Aug. 1517; Correspondence, no. 2, para. 10)
EXAMPLE: Spataro, Ubi opus est facto, B (lost)
Saturnus tardior est Mercurio (‘Saturn is slower than Mercury’)
EXPLANATION: one voice in , the other in 2
EXAMPLE: anon. textless example in London Add. 4911, fol. 27v
Scinde vestimenta sua (‘Rend his garments’)

EXPLANATION: halve the values
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. 2 Kgs. 3:31 (2 Sam. AV): ‘scindite

vestamenta vestra’ (‘rend your garments’) (and many other references
with some form of ‘scindere’)
EXAMPLE: [Compère], Missa De tous biens, Confiteor (Milan 2267,
fol. 75v; attr. to Compère in Berlin 40634 and to Johannes Noten in
Vienna 11883, both without inscription)
MODERN EDITION: Anonimi Messe, 124–5
Scinde vestimenta tua redeundo (‘Rend your garments in returning’)

TYPE OF CANON: diminution; retrograde
EXPLANATION: halve values upon returning retrograde
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: see previous
EXAMPLE: Brumel, Missa Ut re mi fa sol la, Agnus II, S (Vatican CS 45)
MODERN EDITION: Brumel OO, i. 62–3
Scindite pausas longarum, cetera per medium (‘Rend the pauses of longs;
the rest by half’)
TYPE OF CANON: omission of rests; diminution
EXPLANATION: omit the longa rests and halve the values of the
remaining notes
EXAMPLE: Du Fay, Missa L’homme armé, Et incarnatus
Se vous voules avoir messe de cours chantes sans pauses en sospirs et
decours (‘If you wish to have a court [pun on ‘short’] mass, sing without
rests in sighs [semiminim rests] and rapidly’)
EXPLANATION: omit all except semiminim rests
EXAMPLE: Moulu, Missa Alma redemptoris (Vatican CS 39;
’s-Hertogenbosch 72B: ‘Se vous voulles avoer messe de cort Chantes
sans pauses en suspirant de court’) (cited by Rossi, 13 as Missa sine
pausis, without inscription)
Semper contrarius ego (‘I am always contrary’)
EXPLANATION: voice is inverted, beginning at the third above (with
resolution)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Magnificat sexti toni, Fecit potentiam, A (Kassel 9,
no. 21)
Semper contrarius esto (‘Always be contrary’)
EXPLANATION: voice is read forwards and backwards simultan-
eously; Finck, sig. Bb4v, after list: ‘Hos Canones addunt, quando
440 Appendix 2
volunt significare ex una voce duas cantandas esse, quarum altera,

incipiendo ab initiali nota, iusto ordine usque ad finem progreditur:
altera vero a finali incipiens, procedit contrario modo, donec ad
initialem perveniat’
Semper pacem habebunt (‘They shall always have peace’)
EXPLANATION: Bologna B 57, fol. 11; cited and iden. by Haar, Science
and Art, 157); after example ‘O vos felices qui tot et tanta
perfruimini pace’
EXAMPLE: La Rue, Missa O salutaris hostia, Kyrie (iden. Haar)
MODERN EDITION: La Rue OO, v. 29–47
Septenarius ut sum / omnes post me venite / sequens alter alterum /

tempus unum sumite (‘As I am sevenfold, come all of you after me, one
following the other, take one tempus’) (Vatican CS 160: ‘Septenarius vt
sum Omnes post me venite. Sequens alter alterum. Tempus unum sumite’)
EXPLANATION: seven voices derived from one on Γ, on c, f, g, c0 , f 0 , g0
EXAMPLE: Forestier, Missa L’homme armé, Agnus III a 7 (Vatican CS
160; Jena 3 [ascr. Mouton])
MODERN EDITION: Forestier, OO, 151–3
Sequere me (‘Follow me’). See also Tu me sequere me

EXPLANATION: canon at the upper fifth (Anon. (1)); canon at unison
(Anon. (2)); canon ad minimam at the upper second (Mouton)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Matt. 8:22: ‘Iesus autem ait illi: Sequere me
et dimitte mortuos sepelire mortuos suos’ (and many other references)
EXAMPLES: (1) Anon., O panem vere sacrum a 5, 1.p., c.f. Hoc est
corpus quod pro vobis tradetur dicit dominus (Vatican CS 38, fol. 110)
(2) Anon., Regina celi (Vatican CS 42, fols. 115v–116)
(3) Mouton, Missa Loseraige dire, Agnus II (Jena 2 and Jena 4)
MODERN EDITIONS: (2) Selections from Motetti libro quarto, 262–7;
(3) Mouton OO, iii. 36
Sequor Famam quocumque fecit (corrupt; lit. ‘I follow Fame whitherso-

ever she has made’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval?
EXPLANATION: not known; only S, A, and B survive
EXAMPLE: Anon., Se laura porge a l’ombra a 6, B (Dorico, Libro I de la
Serena)
Si cantas, numerum numera minuendo quaternum (‘If you sing, count

the number four diminishing’)
TYPE OF CANON: ostinato; diminution
EXPLANATION: four statements of a four-note ostinato in progressive
diminution (the voice is not optional)
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Magnificat quarti toni, v. 10, Sicut locutus est
(reused as a contrafactum for v. 5, Et misericordia (Vatican CS 44, B)
Si cecus cecum ducat ambo in foveam cadunt (‘If a blind man leads a
blind man both fall into the pit’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the unison after three breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Luke 6:39: ‘numquam potest caecus
caecum ducere nonne ambo in foveam cadent’ (‘Can the blind lead
the blind? do they not both fall into the ditch?’); Matt. 15:14: ‘caecus
autem si caeco ducatum praestet ambo in foveam cadunt’ (‘And if the
blind lead the blind, both fall into the pit’)
EXAMPLE: Isaac, Missa Tmeiskin, Sanctus, A (Vatican CS 49)
Si cum basso concordaveris habebis pacem (‘If you concord with the
bassus you will have peace’)
EXPLANATION: canon with the bass at the fourth above after a breve
EXAMPLE: [Festa], Da pacem Domine a 4 (Vatican CS 18,
fols. 196v–197)
MODERN EDITION: Festa OO, v. 16–17
Si tenes cum domino, Agamenon, de capite nullos amittes capillos in

paranete neteque synemmenon; illorum scilicet opera secuntur illos
(‘If you stick with the Lord, Agamemnon, you will lose no hairs from your
head on paranete and nete synemmenon; but their works follow them’)
TYPE OF CANON: omission of notes (here restored)
EXPLANATION: the c0 and d0 omitted in the previous canon (Ut
requiescant a laboribus suis, reinterpreted as ut re quiescant, i.e. ut
and re are not to be sung) are to be restored. Agamemnon’s presence,
in the prehumanistic form Agamenon, is obviously required by the
rhyme with sinemenon (Ramis, 92)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Luke 21:18: ‘et capillus de capite vestro
non peribit’; Acts 27:34: ‘quia nullius vestrum capillus de capite
442 Appendix 2
peribit’; Rev. 14:13: ‘et audivi vocem de caelo dicentem: scribe, Beati
mortui qui in Domino moriuntur. Amodo iam dicit Spiritus ut
requiescant a laboribus suis, opera enim illorum sequuntur illos.’
ances’, 173
Sic mea res agitur (‘That is how my business is done’), with inverted orb
or chalice (or a bell?) with a cross underneath
EXPLANATION: the first half of the chanson melody is inverted
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Horace, ‘tua res agitur’, Epistles 1.18.84.
EXAMPLE: [Obrecht?], Missa N’aray-je jamais, Agnus I, T
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, xiv. 56–8 (facs. on
p. xxxv)
Sic metuendus eat, gressum repedendo [recte repedando] ne pausat

demum scandendo per ydatessaron it;
Ast ubi conscendit vice mox versa remeabit
descensus finem per dyapente facit.
(‘Thus let the fearsome one go [or ‘let him go fearsomely’: either way, he
imparts terror], retracing his step. He pauses! Then, ascending, he passes
through a fourth. But when he has climbed up, he will next return, the case;
a descent through a fifth makes the end’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde; inversion, transposition, retrograde
inversion
EXPLANATION: segment ‘doibt on doubter doibt on doubter’ is sung
(1) straight; (2) retrograde; (3) in inversion at the upper fourth; (4)
retrograde of 3; (5) straight, a tone lower than (1)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa L’homme armé [III] (Naples, VI.E.40, with
resolution)
Sic unda impellitur unda (‘Thus wave is driven by wave’)
EXPLANATION: three voices derived from one at the unison after three
and six breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ovid, Met. 15.179–183, in which Pythag-
oras expounds the succession of time:
ipsa quoque adsiduo labuntur tempora motu,

non secus ac flumen. neque enim consistere flumen
nec levis hora potest, sed ut unda impellitur unda

urgeturque eadem veniens urgetque priorem,
tempora sic fugiunt pariter pariter sequuntur . . .
The tyme itself continually is fleeting like a brooke.

For neyther brooke nor lyghtsomme tyme can tarrye still. But looke
As every wave dryves other foorth, and that that commes behynd
Bothe thrusteth and is thrust itself: even so the tymes by kynd
Do fly and follow bothe at once, and evermore renew.
(Ovid’s Metamorphoses: The Arthur Golding Translation (1567), ed.
John Frederick Nim (New York, 1967), 382–3)
EXAMPLE: Anon., triple canon Motetti B, last piece; Glarean, 258–9

(without inscription); Sankt Gallen 463, no. 4 (inscription in index
but partbook with music is missing); Heyden, 35 (music, no inscrip-
tion). Zacconi, Prattica, fol. 45r, attributes it to Pierre Moulu, with the
inscription ‘Trinitas in unitate, & unitas in Trinitate’.
MODERN EDITION: Ottaviano Petrucci, Motetti . . . B, ed. Drake,
296–7
Grievances’, 168
Sicut erat in principio (‘As it was in the beginning’)

EXPLANATION: canon between A and T resumes after non-canonic
Et incarnatus
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Doxology
EXAMPLE: Jossequin des Prez, Credo [Quarti toni], Crucifixus
(Cambrai 18)
Sicut tenebre eius, ita et lumen eius (‘The darkness thereof, and the light
thereof are alike to thee’)
EXPLANATION: the first series of black notes is sung in coloration,
then all the black notes are sung as if they were white and vice versa
EXAMPLE: (Bauldewyn?), Missa Du bon du cueur (Toledo B. 33); see also
Noctem verterunt in diem et rursum post tenebras spero lucem
LITERATURE: Nelson, ‘The Missa Du bon du cueur’, 123
444 Appendix 2
Signa te signa temere me tangis et angis,

Roma tibi subito motibus ibit amor
(‘Cross, cross yourself, you are rash to touch and vex me, For by my
labours Rome shall suddenly come to you, the object of your wishes’)
EXPLANATION: one voice is sung forwards and backwards simultan-
eously. Finck, sig. Bb iiiv; see Roma caput mundi
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: 2nd line: Sidonius Apollinaris, Ep. 9.14.4
(palindrome); Walther 18191; cf. 29616 [a later addition, also
palindromic, with a legend of Saint Martin riding the Devil (who
had mocked him for not riding a donkey and promptly been
turned into one)]
Simile gaudet simili (‘Like rejoices in like’)
TYPE OF CANON: rearrangement
EXPLANATION: the notes and rests are in seven different colours; each
voice sings only its colour
EXAMPLE: Anon., Kain Adler in der Welt a 7 (Vienna 19237)
Sine ipso factum est nichil (‘Without him nothing was made’)
EXPLANATION: canon at lower fifth after a breve
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: John 1:3: ‘Omnia, per ipsum facta sunt;
et sine ipse factum est nihil, quod factum est’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa ad fugam, Et in terra, T (Vatican CS 49)
Sit trium series una (‘Let there be one sequence of three’)

EXPLANATION: three voices derived from one, shown by three differ-
ent clefs: at successive lower fifth after a breve and two breves. Finck,
sig. Cc1r, after list: ‘Hi Canones usurpantur ad significandum, tres
voces ex una cantandas esse’
EXAMPLE: Anon., textless (ex. in Finck, sig. Ff ivr)
MODERN EDITION: Finck, Canon, 58
Solus cum sola (‘Alone (masculine) with alone (feminine)’, or ‘A man and
a woman alone’)
TYPE OF CANON: double canon
EXPLANATION: applies to the lower canon. See under J’en ay
mon sol
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. ‘Solus cum sola in lecto non presu-

muntur orare Pater noster’ (Walther 29987a) and ‘Solus cum sola non
dicunt Ave Maria’ (Schmidt 42913a)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Tout a par moy pensant (Antico, Motetti novi)
Sperare et praestolari multos facit μωrari (‘Hoping and waiting makes

many become fools’ [play on morari ‘tarry’ and μωρός ‘fool’)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Tosi 872
Sufflet (‘Let him/her/it blow’)

TYPE OF CANON: visual
EXPLANATION: ‘carmen cuius tenor trunci ignei follibus spirantibus
habentur [sic]’ (‘A song whose tenor consists of blowing bellows at a
fiery tree trunk’; ? the Latin does not make much sense) (Hothby, 74)
LITERATURE: Schiltz, ‘Visual Pictorialism’, 217
Supremum precedit Contratenor (‘The superius precedes the contratenor’)

EXPLANATION: CT enters one breve before S at lower fourth
EXAMPLE: Anon. Credo, Et in Spiritum (Vatican CS 51, fols. 2v–5)
Sursum deorsum aguntur res mortalium (‘Human affairs are led up and
down’ (or ‘upside down’))
EXPLANATION: the A I is inverted, beginning at the upper fourth
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Cf. Erasmus, Querela pacis: ‘res humanae
sursum deorsum miscentur’ (see Gasch, ‘“Sursum deorsum”’, 259
n. 32) and his Adagia, no. 285: ‘Sursum ac deorsum’ (see Erasmus,
Les Adages, ed. Saladin, i. 264–6)
EXAMPLE: Mattheus Le Maistre, Magnificat sexti toni, Sicut locutus est
MODERN EDITION: Gasch, ‘“Sursum deorsum”’, 279–82
LITERATURE: Gasch, ‘“Sursum deorsum”’ (facs., p. 260)
Suspendimus organa nostra (‘We hung up our instruments’)

TYPE OF CANON: transposition (Ramis)
EXPLANATION: transpose up an octave
EXAMPLE: Ramis, 91 (no composition mentioned)
446 Appendix 2
Symphonizabis (‘You will sound together’)

EXPLANATION: canon at unison
EXAMPLES: (1) Festa, Christe Redemptor omnium, Gloria Patri (Vati-
can CS 21, fols. 25v–29, with resolution)
(2) Festa, Veni creator spiritus (Vatican CS 21, fols. 12v–16, with
resolution)
(3) Palestrina, Magnificat sexti toni a 4, Sicut erat (Vatican CG XII, 2,
fols. 214v–220r)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Festa, Hymni, 134–6; (2) Festa, Hymni, 82–4;
(3) Palestrina, Opere complete, xvi. 320–2
Tarda solet magnis rebus inesse fides (‘Great things are usually slow to be
believed’)
EXPLANATION: sing without rests. Finck, sig. Bb ivv, after list: ‘Hic
observabis: cantum qui aliquem istorum canonum habet, cantari
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Ovid, Heroides 17.130, where Helen asks
Paris not to be angry if she has been slow to heed his suit.
ances’, 163
Tempora bina pausa. post has uni postonisa (‘Rest for two breves; after
these sing one note lower’)
EXPLANATION: canon after 2 breves at lower second
EXAMPLE: Compère, Missa L’homme armé, Sanctus, T (Chigi Codex;
Vatican CS 35)
MODERN EDITION: Compère OO, i. 16–17
Teneris in silvis lustror ter septem camenis

Epitritum fugito duplando tempore bino
Quod capitur perdo quod non capitur mihi condo
(‘In the tender woods I roam [with] thrice seven muses / Shun [being in
canon at?] the fourth, doubling in twofold tempora. What is caught I lose;
what is not taken I store away for myself’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval (3 in 1, but not strict) (Feininger:
Reservatkanon)
EXPLANATION: Two clefless voices, one with three signa congruentiae.
The bassus should be read in f4, the cantus (after four breves) in c1,
and the altus (after another four breves) in c3. The three voices sing
the same melody during 21 breves (which explains the ‘terseptem’ in
the inscription), after which each of them jumps to another signum
congruentiae: the bassus jumps to the last, the cantus to the second
signum, and the altus to the first (which is actually the immediate
continuation of the melody). After starting in imitation, after
21 breves each voice goes its own way.
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: (last part) riddle not solved by Homer; see
Staehelin, Die Messen Heinrich Isaacs, iii. 183 n. 26. From Pseudo-
Herodotus, Life of Homer 35; original is plural: ἅσσ’ ἕλομεν λιπόμεσθα·
ἃ δ’ οὐχ ἕλομεν φερόμεσθα ‘all we caught we left behind, what we did
not catch we take with us’. This was said by fisherboys who, having
caught no fish, had sat down to delouse themselves; any lice they
caught they left behind, those they did not were still on them. This is
clear in the prose version of the riddle, but in the verse rendition,
where both verbs are put in the middle voice for metrical reason,
λιπόμεσθα could be misinterpreted as ‘went without’.
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa O Österreich (Munich 3154; ascr. to Isaac by
Feininger), Agnus II
MODERN EDITION: Kodex des Magister Nicolaus Leopold, ii. 286–7
LITERATURE: Feininger, Die Frühgeschichte des Kanons, 38: ‘Bei Isaac
(Agnus II O Österreich) ist die betreffende Stimme ohne Schlüssel
geschrieben mit drei Zeichen, und wesentlich länger als die einzige
freie Begleitstimme. Die erste Stimme wird im Baßschlüssel gelesen
und springt, bei dem ersten Zeichen angelangt, zum letzten, und geht
bis zum Schluß. Die zweite beginnt 4 Takte später und wird im
Sopranschlüssel gelesen (also in der Quart + Octav). Sie springt
vom ersten Zeichen zum zweiten, und endigt beim letzten. Die dritte
Stimme schließlich, welche wieder 4 Takte später beginnt, wird im
Altschlüssel gelesen (also in der doppelten Quart) und geht glatt
durch bis zum zweiten Zeichen. Es ist im Grunde nichts weiter als
die geistvolle Notierung dreier nicht streng bis zu Ende imitierender
Stimmen. Aber was ist schließlich der Tenorkanon anderes? Rein
lineare Tenor-Reservatkanons finden wir häufiger. Sie sind ebenfalls
ein Überbleibsel aus der Spätgotik.’
Tenor in supremo canon in puncto quiescit tenor nec minimis faciatur

(‘Tenor in the highest voice; canon: the tenor rests in the point, nor let it be
made with minims’
TYPE OF CANON: extraction
448 Appendix 2
EXPLANATION: the T sings only the breves in the superius, omitting

the dot after the first note and all values smaller than a breve
EXAMPLE: Erasmus Lapicida, Sacerdos et pontifex et virtutum opifex,
3.p., T (Trent 105 and 283)
Tolle moras placido maneant suspiria cantu (‘Away with delays; let your
breaths remain in calm song’)
EXPLANATION: ignore all rests larger than a minim. Finck, sig. Cc1r
(explaining ‘Cantus duarum facierum’): ‘Id est, qui potest cum & sine
pausis cantari, attamen ut suspiria tantum maneant quae tactus
incolumitati inserviunt, iuxta versum: Tolle moras placido maneant
suspiria cantu’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Lucan 1.281: ‘Tolle moras: semper
nocuit differe paratis’ (‘Out with delay! Putting things off was ever
harmful to those ready for action’)
EXAMPLE: Moulu, Missa Alma redemptoris mater/A deux visages, Kyrie
(ex. in Finck, sig. Ii iijv)
ances’, 164
Tolle moras semper differre paratis (‘Away with delays, putting things off
[was ever harmful] to those ready for action’)
EXPLANATION: ignore all rests larger than a minim
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Lucan 1.281 (see above)
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa Ma bouche rit, Agnus I, T (Vienna 11883)
Tout vient à poinct qui scait attendre (‘Everything comes on time for him
who can wait’)
TYPE OF CANON: addition
EXPLANATION: Quinta vox has to add a dot to all notes and to find
out where he has to place the rests
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: French proverb
EXAMPLE: Jean Maillard, De fructu vitae, 5.p. (Fiat cor meum & corpus
meum immaculatum ut non confundar) (Le Roy & Ballard, Modu-
lorum Ioannis Maillardi, with resolution)
MODERN EDITION: Maillard, Modulorum Ioannis Maillardi,
i. 136–40
Tres in carne una (‘Three in one flesh’)

EXPLANATION: three voices derived from one, at upper seventh after
two breves and upper third after three breves, plus two free voices
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. Gen. 2:24: ‘et erunt duo in carne una’;
1 John 5:7–8 (interpol.): ‘et hi tres unum sunt’
EXAMPLES: (1) Forestier, Missa L’homme armé, Agnus II a 5 (Vatican
CS 160) (‘Tres in carne una. Tertia secundam, secundaque primam
sequetur’)
(2) Anon., St. Gall 462, no. 29 (no text; heading ‘Tres sunt in carne una’)
MODERN EDITION: (1) Forestier OO, 148–50
Tres sunt qui testimonium dant in celo et hi tres unum sunt (‘There are
three that give testimony in heaven, and these three are one’)
EXPLANATION: three voices derived from one: at the lower fifth and
lower octave
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: 1 John 5:7: ‘tres sunt qui testimonium
dant in caelo: Pater, Verbum et Spiritus Sanctus, et hi tres unum sunt’
EXAMPLE: Anon., Aeterna mundi serie a 7, c.f. Pater Filius et Spiritus
Sanctus in 1.p., Tres sunt in trono glorie in 2.p. (Vatican CS 57)
Trinitas (‘Trinity’)
EXPLANATION: voice read under three different clefs
II (3 MSS)
Trinitas et unitas (‘Trinity and Unity’)

EXPLANATION: voice read under three different mensurations. Finck,
sig. Cc1r, after list: ‘Hi Canones usurpantur ad significandum, tres
voces ex una cantandas esse’
II (ex. in Finck, sig. Ff iiiv)
Trinitas in unitate (‘Trinity in Unity’)
TYPE OF CANON: mensuration canon (3 ex 1) (Josquin); interval canon
(3 ex 1) (Busnoys, Bauldeweyn, Carpentras, Villiers); interval canon
in two voices, retrograde in third (Anon., Missa super Salve regina)
450 Appendix 2
EXPLANATION: voice read under three different mensurations (Jos-

quin); resolved at lower double octave after two breves, at lower
octave after four breves (Bauldeweyn); resolved at lower octave after
three breves and lower fourth after five breves (Carpentras); at unison
after two and four breves (Busnoys); at lower octave after two breves
and lower fourth after four breves (apparently; no signa) (Anon.,
Quam pulchra es); canon at unison after four breves plus retrograde
in third voice (Anon., Missa super Salve regina); canon at the lower
octave and lower fourth, at varying intervals throughout the mass
(Villiers)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Athanasian Creed, clause 24: ‘et Trinitas
in unitate veneranda sit’
EXAMPLES: (1) Busnoys, Ha que ville est habominable (Florence 229)
(2) Anon., Missa super Salve regina, Agnus III, S (Vienna 4810)
(3) Bauldewyn, Missa Da pacem, Agnus III a 6 (Munich 7)
(4) Carpentras, Magnificat quinti toni, Sicut erat cum sex vocibus si
placet (Vatican CG XII, 5; Florence Duomo 7)
(5) Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Agnus II
(Vatican CG XII, 2; Zanger, sig. T1r–v)
(6) Anon., Quam pulchra es amica mea, Dorico, Libro II de la croce,
last piece
(7) Petrus de Villiers, Missa de Beata Virgine (Moderne, Liber 10
missarum, 1540; Zacconi, Pesaro 559, fols. 97–8, with ‘Incipe parve
puer cantus proferre suaves / Ad duplam Bassus, Quartam Tenor
esto sequentes’
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Florentine Chansonnier, music vol., 459–60;
(4) Carpentras OO, iv. 85–7; (5) Josquin OO, i/1, 30; NJE 6.2; (7)
Dobbins, Music in Renaissance Lyons, 335–75
Trinitas in unitate, & unitas in Trinitate (‘Trinity in Unity and Unity in

Trinity’)
EXPLANATION: three voices derived from one
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Athanasian Creed, clause 24
EXAMPLE: Pierre Moulu (example in Zacconi, Prattica, fol. 45r: ‘Scri-
vendoli sotto queste parole Trinitas in unitate, & unitas in Trinitate,
non per altro effeto, & causa, che per dimostrare sotto la prima parola
Trinitas, la quantità delle voci che possano cantar questo canto; & con
quell’altra in unitate la distanza, overo la convenienza della voce in
che si ha da principiare: ma perche esso canto è fatto con tal misterio,
& arte che venendosi al fine non si può passar piu oltre, come si passa
ne gli altri, che se ne fa quella corona che l’huomo vuole; per questo
immediatamente vi pose, & unitas in Trinitate; volendo che per simil
parole s’intendi queste tre voci conformemente in una unità finale
unirsi insieme.’). See Sic unda impellitur unda
Trinitas in unitate veneranda (‘Trinity in Unity is to be venerated’)

EXPLANATION: three voices derived from one, entering at upper
octave after two breves and upper fourth after four breves
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Athanasian Creed, clause 24: ‘unitas in
Trinitate, et Trinitas in unitate veneranda sit’
EXAMPLE: Mat[thaeus] Eckel, Te Deum patrem ingenitum (Rhau,
Bicinia gallica, i, no. 83; anon., Zanger, sig. E2v)
MODERN EDITION: Bicinia gallica, 113–14
Trinitas in unum (‘Trinity in one’)

EXPLANATION: voice read in three different mensurations
II (Dossi Dossi, Allegory of Music)
LITERATURE: Slim, ‘Dosso Dossi’s Allegory’
Trinitas noli me tangere (‘Trinity do not touch me’)
EXPLANATION: voice read in three different mensurations
II (Jena 32)
Trinitatem in unitate veneremur (‘That we worship the Trinity in Unity’)
EXPLANATION: three voices derived from one, at successively lower
fifths after three breves and six breves. Finck, sig. Cc1r, after list: ‘Hi
Canones usurpantur ad significandum, tres voces ex una
cantandas esse’
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Athanasian Creed, clause 3: ‘Fides autem
catholica haec est: ut unum Deum in Trinitate, et Trinitatem in
unitate veneremur’
EXAMPLE: Anon., textless (ex. in Finck, sig. Ff iiijv)
452 Appendix 2
Trinumque mentis uni presentemus (‘And let us present the threefold to

him that is one of mind’). See also Duo luminaria, minus et maius
EXPLANATION: triple canon at the upper fourth after a semibreve and
upper fifth after a breve
EXAMPLE: Festa, Magnificat octavi toni, Sicut erat a 10 (also has 2 in 1
and 4 in 1 canons) (Vatican CS 18, fols. 179v–193, with resolution)
Trinus et unus (‘three and one’)

EXPLANATION: three voices derived from one: at successively lower
fifths after a breve and two breves (Finck); at upper fourth after one
breve, at upper seventh after two breves (La Rue)
EXAMPLES: (1) Anon., textless (ex. in Finck, sig. Ff4v)
(2) Pierre de la Rue, Missa Sancta Dei genitrix, Pleni
MODERN EDITION: (1) Finck, Canon, 62–3; (2) La Rue OO, vi. 16–17
Trinus in unitate (‘Three in unity’)

EXPLANATION: canon at the unison after two and four breves
EXAMPLE: Busnoys, A que ville est abhominable (Dijon)
MODERN EDITION: Florentine Chansonnier, music vol., 457–8 and
459–60
Τρὶς μάκαρες Δαναοὶ καὶ τετράκις. Quod in Æneide Virgilius ita vertit:
O terque quaterque beati (‘Thrice blessed the Danaoi [= Greeks] and four
times’)
TYPE OF CANON: interval (3 in 1 or 4 in 1)
EXPLANATION: Glarean, 444, suggested as an alternative inscription
for Senfl’s 3-in-1 canon headed ‘Omne trinum perfectum’. Odysseus,
in danger of drowning, declares thrice and four times blessed those
Greeks who perished in the Trojan War, because they received hon-
ourable burial.
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: respectively Odyssey 5.306 and Aeneid
1.94
ances’, 161
Trois testes en ung chapperon (‘Three heads in a hood)

TYPE OF CANON: interval (3-in-1)
EXPLANATION: canon at the unison after one and two semibreves
EXAMPLE: [Willaert], Se je nay mon amie (Bologna Q 21, alto part-

book, facing first page of music) (= Se je ne voy mon amie)
MODERN EDITION: French Chansons, ed. Adams, pt. 2, pp. 77–8
(after later sources without the inscription)
Tu me sequere me (‘Follow thou me’). See also Sequere me
EXPLANATION: canon at unison after three breves (signum also shows
starting pitch)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. John 21:22: ‘tu me sequere’
EXAMPLE: Anon., Ascendo ad patrem a 6 (Vatican CS 46, fols. 76v–78r)
Tu pr[a]eibis in dyatessaron
EXPLANATION: the comes enters first, a fourth below
EXAMPLE: Anon., Ad caenam Agni providi (CG XII, 6, fols. 108v–112r)
Tu quater hoc teneas varioque sub ordine ponas (‘Hold this four times
and and place it on various orders’)
EXPLANATION: repeat first phrase (middle section of melody) at lower
fourth, lower fifth, and lower octave, then second phrase (end of
middle section) similarly
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa L’homme armé a 3, Agnus III (Bologna Q 16,
fol. 95v, original numbering)
MODERN EDITION: Anon., Missa L’homme armé, ed. Feininger,
13–14
Tu quicunque canis pausas depone revertens (‘You who sing, drop the
rests when returning’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde; omission of rests
EXPLANATION: repeat retrograde, omitting rests at end
EXAMPLE: Anon., Missa De tous biens, Agnus I (Siena K.I.2, fol. 180v)
Tu tenor cancrisa et per antiphrasim canta (‘You tenor go backwards and

sing by the opposite’)
TYPE OF CANON: retrograde inversion
EXPLANATION: sing the voice backward and in inversion
EXAMPLES: (1) Obrecht, Missa Petrus apostolus, Agnus Dei III,
B (Grapheus, Missae tredecim)
(2) Obrecht, Missa L’homme armé, Agnus Dei I, T (Vienna 11883;
‘aonyfrasim’)
454 Appendix 2
(3) Obrecht, Missa Grecorum, Et resurrexit, T (‘Tu tenor cancriza et

per antifrasim cum fureis [sic] in capite antifrasizando repete’)
(Petrucci, Misse Obreht)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Obrecht, Collected Works, viii. 82–94; (2)
Obrecht, Collected Works, vi. 28–30; (3) Obrecht, Collected Works,
v. 17–21
Tu tenorista per antifrazim canta (‘You tenor sing by the opposite’)

EXPLANATION: invert the intervals
EXAMPLE: Obrecht, Missa Libenter gloriabor, Et in terra, T (Segovia,
with resolution)
MODERN EDITION: Obrecht, Collected Works, vi. 4–7
Ubi α ibi ω et ubi ω finis esto (‘Where there is alpha, there is omega, and
where there is omega make an end’)
EXPLANATION: ‘Quandoque etiam canon docet cantare per contra-
rium; incipientes a fine in principio finiunt, ut fecit Busnois: Ubi . . .’
(Ramis, 90; original has ‘alpha’ and ‘o’)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: cf. ‘Ego sum alpha et omega, principium
et finis’ (Rev. 1:8, 21:6 (. . . omega, initium et finis), 22:13 (. . . omega,
primus et novissimus, principium et finis))
Ubi thesis assint sceptra, ibi arsis et e contra (‘Where there are sceptres
[vertical lines?] by the theses, there should be the arsis and vice versa’)
EXPLANATION: ‘Mutatur etiam canone modus procedendi, ut tantum,
quantum vox debebat elevari, deprimatur, ut fecit Busnois: Antiphra-
sis tenorizat . . ., cuius sententia est: fiat subtus, quod supra erat
fiendum et e contra. Similiter: Ibi [sic] thesis assint ceptra, ubi arsis
et e contra’ (Ramis, 91)
EXAMPLE: Busnoys, Missa L’homme armé, Agnus I and III
MODERN EDITION: Busnoys, Collected Works, pt. 2, pp. 86–8, 89–93
Undecies canito pausas linquendo priores (‘Sing eleven times omitting
the first rests’)
EXPLANATION: sing eleven times, omitting the initial rests. Finck,
sig. Cc2r: ‘Versus per se planus est, ideo explicatione non indiget’
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Gaudeamus, Et in terra (ex. in Finck,
sig. Ii iv)
Une longe’ espace de temps

Au commencer reposerez
Puis la moitie de quatre temps
En lieu de repos iunerez.
(‘You will rest a long space of time before starting, then will fast during half
of four times instead of resting.’)
EXPLANATION: the comes enters after two breves (at higher third, not
specified)
EXAMPLE: Josquin Baston, Languir me fais (Susato, 26 chansons, fol. 14)
Ung et deulx sont troys et le quart pour les galoys. La primiere va devant
(‘One and two make three and the fourth for the French. The first goes
in front’)
EXPLANATION: triple canon at the lower seventh) and upper fifth after
a breve, plus three free voices (the ‘first’ is the c.f. melody on G)
EXAMPLE: Forestier, Missa L’homme armé, Osanna a 6, T2 (Vatican CS
160; Jena 3 [ascr. Mouton])
MODERN EDITION: Forestier, OO, pp. 138–41
Ung ton plus bas / descendens unum tonum (‘One tone lower / descend-
ing one tone’)
EXPLANATION: T enters one tone lower after a breve (Josquin); after
two breves, on F (Forestier)
EXAMPLES: (1) Josquin, Missa Sine nomine, Agnus II a 2, T (Jena 3,
Antico, Liber 15 missarum, only ‘Ung ton plus bas’)
(2) Forestier, Missa L’homme armé, Patrem, T (Vatican CS 160)
(‘Ung ton plus bas per FA’)
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) NJE 12.2, pp. 63–4; (2) Forestier OO, 122–5
Ung ton plus hault per La (‘One tone higher’)

EXPLANATION: T enters one tone higher after a breve
EXAMPLE: Forestier, Missa L’homme armé, Sanctus, T (Vatican CS 160)
Unitas in trinitate (‘Unity in trinity’) (see also In decimis and Tenor in
supremo)
TYPE OF CANON: extraction and parallel tenths
EXPLANATION: two voices are derived from the S: the T by extracting
all the breves, the B by duplicating the S a tenth lower
456 Appendix 2
EXAMPLE: Erasmus Lapicida, Sacerdos et pontifex, 3.p. (Trent 105

and 283)
LITERATURE: Vettori, ‘L’ambiente’
Unusquisque manebit in sua vocatione (‘Each shall remain in his voca-
tion’). See also Quilibet manebit
TYPE OF CANON: mensuration canon (a 4), if Agnus II is meant
EXPLANATION: (Bologna B 57, fol. 11; cited Haar, Science and
Art, 157)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: 1 Cor. 7:20: ‘unusquisque in qua voca-
tione vocatus est in ea permaneat’
EXAMPLE: La Rue, Missa L’homme armé, Agnus II (iden. by Haar)
MODERN EDITION: La Rue OO, iv. 123–4
Ut cancer graditur in contra quem tenebis (‘It crawls like a crab when
you hold on to the contra’)
EXPLANATION: CT is written in reverse with all the stems on the
opposite side
EXAMPLE: Avertissiez – Averte oculos, CT (Escorial IV.a.24, fols. 93v–94r,
and textless in Trent 1377 (90), fol. 292r, with solution on fols. 290v–291r)
MODERN EDITION: Combinative Chanson, ed. Maniates, 28–9
Ut iacet primo cante per duplum post retroverte
EXPLANATION: T is sung straightforward and then retrograde in
doubled values
EXAMPLE: Brumel, Missa Berzerette savoyenne, Agnus I, T (Petrucci,
Misse Brumel)
Ut quiescat, donec optata veniat (‘That he may rest, until his wished-for
day come’)
EXPLANATION: ut not sung (Ramis, 92)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Job 14: 6: ‘Recede paululum ab eo ut
quiescat, donec optata veniat’
Ut requiescant a laboribus suis (‘That they may rest from their labours’)
EXPLANATION: ut and re not sung but replaced with rests (Ramis, 92)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Rev. 14:13 ‘et audivi vocem de caelo

dicentem: scribe, Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur. Amodo
iam dicit Spiritus ut requiescant a laboribus suis, opera enim illorum
sequuntur illos’ (I heard a voice from heaven, saying to me: Write:
Blessed are the dead, who die in the Lord. From henceforth now,
saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; for their works
follow them)
Vade et revertere (‘Go and come back’)

EXPLANATION: sing straightforward, then retrograde
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: 3 Kgs. (1 Kgs. AV) 19:15: ‘Et ait Dominus
ad eum: Vade et revertere in viam tuam per desertum’ (‘And the Lord
said to him: Go, and return on thy way through the desert’); 1 Kgs. (3
Kgs. AV) 19:20: ‘Dixitque ei: Vade et revertere’ (‘And he said to him:
Go, and return back’); Prov. 3:28: ‘ne dicas amico tuo: Vade et
revertere, cras dabo tibi’ (‘Say not to thy friend: Go, and come again:
and to morrow I will give to thee’)
EXAMPLE: Brumel, James que la ne peult, T (c.f., first phrase of Je ne vis
oncques la pareille, transposed up a fifth; the clef for the original pitch
is given, as well as the one that applies to the transposition) (Florence
Cons. 2439, fols. 28v–29r)
MODERN EDITION: Brumel OO, vi. 80–2
Vade retro Sathane (or Satanas or Satana) (‘Go behind, Satan’). See also
Incipe a retro et reverte ad finem
EXPLANATION: T is sung retrograde (Clemens: T of 2.p. is retrograde
of T of 1.p.); T is sung retrograde, then straightforward (La Rue)
SOURCE OF INSCRIPTION: Mark 8:33: ‘Vade retro me, Satana’ (‘Get
thee behind me, Satan’)
EXAMPLES: (1) Isaac, Missa Tmeiskin was jonck, Et incarnatus,
T (Vienna 1783; text written upside down at end of section; Vatican
CS 49, anon., no title, Et resurrexit; Jena 31, anon., no title)
(2) La Rue, Missa Alleluia, Qui tollis, T (Vatican CS 36)
(3) Japart, J’ay pris amours (Vatican CG XIII, 27, fol. 66v)
(4) Clemens non Papa, Tota pulchra es amica mea a 5, T (c.f. in 1.p.
Sancta Margaretha ora pro nobis, in 2.p. Sancta Margareta gaudet
in coelis) (Montanus & Neuber, Secunda pars, no. 63) (‘Vade retro
Satanas’)
458 Appendix 2
MODERN EDITIONS: (1) Isaac OO, vii. 100–104; (2) La Rue OO, i.
10–15; (3) Florentine Chansonnier, music vol., no. 152, pp. 325–7; (4)
Clemens OO, xvi. 122–4
Vado et venio sine pausis (‘I go and I come without rests’)
EXPLANATION: sing straight through once, then repeat without
rests
EXAMPLE: Anon., textless piece in Siena K.I.2, fol. 103v = Brumel,
Agnus III of Missa Ut re mi fa sol la, S (also in Bologna Q 18,
fol. 85v, anon.; Verona 757, fol. 21v textless and anon., both without
inscription) (these sources not noted in the modern edition)
Vado
venio
redeo (‘I go, I come, I go back’)

EXPLANATION: ‘Benedictus’: S with two mensuration signs, and ;
placement of indicates the pitch and mensuration of the canonic
voice, a fifth below; two statements in S (‘Qui venit’: A and B duo, not
canonic; ‘In nomine Domini’: S, A, B trio, not canonic)
EXAMPLE: A. de Févin, Missa O quam glorifica, Benedictus,
S (Vienna 15497)
MODERN EDITION: Févin, A. de, Œuvres complètes, i. 122–3
Vae tibi ridenti, nam mox post gaudia flebis (‘Woe to you who laugh, for
soon after your joys you shall weep’)
TYPE OF CANON: multi-mode
EXPLANATION: the eight parts of oration indicate that it can be sung in
any of the eight modes. Finck, sig. Cc1v–Cc2r: ‘In hoc versiculo con-
tinentur omnes octo partes orationis, indéque significare volunt, cantum
notatum hoc Canone, ad quemlibet octo tonorum accommodari posse.’
EXAMPLE: Cf. Brumel’s (?) Magnificat octavi toni, Sicut erat a 8, each
voice in a different mode (OO, vi. 62–4)
Varias diatessaron figuras ęquis morulis disiunctas tempora perficiunt.
Retrogrado incedunt ordine semibreves sine mora ad finem usque
(‘The tempora perfect the various figures of the fourth separated by equal
intervals. The semibreves proceed in retrograde order without delay right
to the end’)
TYPE OF CANON: ostinato; retrograde

EXPLANATION: sing rising tetrachords in breves on C, D, and E,
interspersed with four breve rests; then retrograde in semibreves
EXAMPLE: Gaffurio, Missa La bassadanza, Benedictus, B (Milan 2266,
fol. 37, with resolution)
Verte cito (‘Turn quickly’)
EXPLANATION: sing in reverse order
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales, Et
incarnatus, T
Vertit et revertit cicius sine mora ultima longa (‘It turns and turns back
quickly without the last longa rest’)
EXPLANATION: sing backwards, omitting last long
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae, Et in spiritum (Basel
F.IX.25)
Vidi tres viri qui erant laesi homonem [sic] (‘I saw – three men who had
been injured – a wight’)
EXPLANATION: Finck, sig. Cc1r, after list: ‘Hi canones usurpantur ad
significandum, tres voces ex una cantandas esse’
Vocem post iotam pentha subacta fugat (‘The lower fifth sets the voice in
fuga after the jot’)
EXPLANATION: canon at the lower fifth after a semibreve
EXAMPLE: Anon., Patrem omnipotentem a 3 (London Add. 4911,
fol. 39v)
Voces a mese nonnullas usque licanosypato<n> recine singulas (‘Sing

some pitches from mese to lichanos hypaton and sing them all back’)
(Seville: ‘psallens recurre singulas’)
TYPE OF CANON: addition (companion solmization syllables added);
transposition; retrograde
EXPLANATION: sing the note with its companion solmization syllable
from a to d; repeat retrograde
EXAMPLE: Busnoys, Maintes femmes, 2.p., T (Canti C)
460 Appendix 2
MODERN EDITION: Hewitt, ‘Two Puzzle Pieces’

LITERATURE: Hewitt, ‘Two Puzzle Pieces’
Vous jeuneres les Quatre temps or Jeiunabis quatuor tempora (‘You will
fast in the four seasons’)
TYPE OF CANON: addition of rests
EXPLANATION: insert four breves rest before tenor
EXAMPLE: Josquin, Missa de Beata Virgine, Sanctus, Agnus I, Agnus III
(Vatican CS 160) (cited by Rossi, 13)
MODERN EDITION: NJE 3.3, pp. 66–78, 80–3
Index to the catalogue of enigmatic canonic inscriptions
Anonymous
textless ex. in Berlin theor. 1175: Brevis sit maxima. vel: crescat in
quadruplo
textless ex. in Berlin theor. 1175: Maxima sit brevis
textless ex. a 3 in Coclico: Per aliam viam reversi sunt in regionem
suam
textless ex. in Finck: Sit trium series una
textless ex. in Finck: Trinitatem in unitate veneremur
textless ex. in London Add. 4911: Saturnus tardior est Mercurio
textless in Munich 260: Duo in carne una
textless in St. Gall 462: Tres sunt in carne una
textless double retrograde canon: Iusticia et pax se osculatae sunt and
Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt sibi
Ad caenam Agni providi: Tu pr[a]eibis in dyatessaron
Aeterna mundi serie a 7: Tres sunt qui testimonium dant in celo et hi
tres unum sunt
Amour perfaict madonne [i.e. m’a donné] hardiesse: Le desir croist
quant et quant lesperance / Desiderium crescit cum spe
Antonio turma fratrum, 2.p., T: Pausas longarum scindes medium
notularum
Avant, avant: Avant avant
Ascendo ad patrem: Tu me sequere me
Ave mundi spes Maria: Grande pedes octo . . .
Avertissiez – Averte oculos:
T: Bis binis vicibus canitur . . .
CT: Ut cancer graditur in contra quem tenebis
Beata es virgo Maria: Lamache marche en tous temps el [sic] en vault

quatre
Credo, Et in Spiritum (Vatican CS 51): Supremum precedit
Contratenor
[De tous biens] a 4, T: Contraria contrarijs curantur
Domine quis habitabit in tabernaculo: Quilibet manebit in sua
vocatione
Dy kraebis schaere, S: Celum calcatur dum terra per astra levatur
CT: Postea praeque cedo verso cum vertice talo
T: Pigmeus hic crescat, gigas decrescere debet . . .
Et in terra pax a 3 (London Add. 4911): Post iotam pentha fugat hec
presenti camena
Je mercie d’amours: Ex ipso capite contra fluit a veniente
Kain Adler in der Welt a 7: Simile gaudet simili
Languir me fais: Qui se humiliat exaltabitur
Magnificat tertii toni (Milan 2267), Et misericordia, T: Mese prebet
ortum: celebrat diatessaron arsis / Species. et tesis. tempus appone
quietis
Magnificat sexti toni, Quia fecit (Kassel 9): Gradatim tertiam scandes
ad loca pristina pariter redeas
Magnificat sexti toni (Kassel 9):
Fecit potentiam, A: Semper contrarius ego
Sicut locutus est, T: Disca[ntus] Cancrisat
Magnificat sexti toni (’s-Hertogenbosch 73), Sicut erat: Qui se humiliat
exaltabitur et qui se exaltat humiliabitur
Mi la sol fa re ut: Noctem verterunt in diem et rursum post tenebras
spero lucem
Missa De tous biens, Agnus I (Siena K.I.2): Tu quicunque canis pausas
depone revertens
Missa L’ardant desir, Benedictus: Baton In tribolon . . .
Missa L’homme armé a 3:
Credo, ‘Et exspecto’, T: De la sol re tibi dabit / Ante canendo
tenorem
Agnus III: Tu quater hoc teneas varioque sub ordine ponas
Missa L’homme armé [I]: Bis vicibus binis gradatim vir in ordine
scandit . . .
Missa L’homme armé [II]: Ambulat hic armatus homo, verso quoque
vultu . . .
Missa L’homme armé [III]: Sic metuendus eat, gressum repedendo . . .
Missa L’homme armé [IV]: Buccina clangorem . . .
462 Appendix 2
Missa L’homme armé [V]: Per dyapente sonat subter remeando

lorica . . .
Missa L’homme armé [VI]: Arma virumque cano, vincorque per arma
virumque . . .
Missa Ma bouche rit, Agnus I, T: Tolle moras semper differre
paratis
Missa O Österreich, Agnus II: Teneris in silvis lustror ter septem
camenis . . .
Missa Salve regina, Credo: Omnia tempus habent: et suis spatijs
transeunt universa sub sole
Missa super Salve regina, Agnus III, S: Trinitas in unitate
O panem vere sacrum a 6:
1.p., T: Sequere me
2.p., T: Qui post me venit ante me factus est
Omnis consummationis vidi finem: Per aliam viam reversi sunt in
regionem suam
Patrem omnipotentem a 3 (London Add. 4911): Vocem post iotam
pentha subacta fugat
Proch dolor: Celum terra mariaque, succurrite pio
Quam pulchra es amica mea: Trinitas in unitate
Regina celi (Vatican CS 42): Sequere me
Se laura porge a l’ombra a 6, B: Sequor Famam quocumque fecit
Tout a par moy pensant: J’en ay mon sol and Solus cum sola
Ut queant laxis a 4: Duo in carne una
Vexilla regis prodeunt: Pr[a]ecedat mea me semper odda proles
Aaron, Pietro (unidentified composition)

Dum lucem habetis credite in lucem
Agostini, Lodovico
Eleva dominum brachium tuum: Clama ne cesses
Agricola, Alexander
Salve regina (I), Benedictum fructum, T: Facie ad faciem
Appenzeller, Benedictus
Agnus Dei a 8:
S: Ego principium et finis, qui loquor vobis
CT: Qui non est mecum, contra me est
T: Ego loquor veritatem, et veritatis [recte veritas] refellit me
B: Licet bene operor, est qui contrariatur
Sancta Maria succurre miseris/Sancte Jesu Christe: Licet bene operor, est
qui contrariatur; Qui non est mecum, contra me est
Basiron, Philippe
Missa L’homme armé, Kyrie II: Dictis temporibus post me crepitare
duobus
Baston, Josquin
Languir me fais: Une longe’ espace de temps . . .
Bauldewyn, Noel
Missa Da pacem, Agnus III: Trinitas in unitate
(attr.) Missa Du bon du cuer, Agnus: Noctem verterunt in diem et rursum
post tenebras spero lucem; Sicut tenebre eius, ita et lumen eius
Brätel, Ulrich
Verbum domini manet in eternum:
T: Nemo Ascendit nisi qui descendit
CT: Pluto Colet Aethera. Jupiter in Tartara ibit
Brumel, Antoine
James que la ne peult, T: Vade et revertere
Magnificat octavi toni, Fecit potentiam:
A: Infimo jubilat (Kassel 9)
B: Pr[a]ecedam vos in Galileam
Missa Berzerette savoyenne, Agnus I, T: Ut iacet primo cante per
duplum post retroverte
Missa Bon temps, Patrem and Et resurrexit, T: Britones cantant anglici
sileant
Missa Dringhs, Agnus Dei II a 2, S: Non fatigabitur transgrediens
usque in finem
Missa Ut re mi fa sol la:
Patrem and Et iterum, T: Quanta est temporibus relatio tanta modis
Agnus II, S: Scinde vestimenta tua redeundo
Agnus III: Vado et venio sine pausis
Bulkyn
Or sus, or sus, bovier: Or sus, or sus, bovier
Busnoys, Antoine
Anthoni usque limina: Monostempus silens Modi sine me non / Sit tot
anthipsilens Nethesinemenon
464 Appendix 2
Ha que ville est habominable: Trinitas in unitate (Florence 229); Trinus

in unitate (Dijon)
Maintes femmes:
1.p., T: Odam si protham teneas in remisso diapason cum paribus
ter augeas
2.p., T: Voces a mese nonnullas usque licanosypato<n> recine singulas
Missa L’homme armé:
Credo: Ne sonites cace<n>faton, sume lichanos hypaton
Agnus I and III: Ubi thesis assint sceptra, ibi arsis et e contra (Ramos)
unnamed composition specified by Ramos: Ubi α ibi ω et ubi ω
finis esto
Busnoys, Antoine/Martini, Johannes

J’ay pris amours tout au rebours: Antiphrasis shenorizat [sic] ipos dum
epiptonzizat (Ramos); ‘Jay pris amours tout au rebours’ (as part
of text) (Petrucci, Odhecaton); Antifrasis tenorizat yposdum epiton-
pluzat (Segovia)
Buus, Jacques
Domus et divitiae (2.p. of Qui invenit mulierem bonam): Crescite et
multiplicamini
Qui invenit mulierem bonum: Erunt duo in carne una
Caron, Philippe or Firmin

Missa Jesus autem transiens, Gloria: I recte sursum quartam super-
ad<d>e colori . . .
Carpentras (Elzear Genet)

Magnificat quinti toni, Sicut erat: Trinitas in unitate
Cimello, Giovan Tomaso (Bologna B 57) (unidentified compositions cited)

O vos felices qui tot et tanta perfruimini in pace
Qui autem sunt in carne deo placere non possunt
Clemens non Papa, Jacobus

Magnificat sexti toni (ii) a 4, Sicut erat a 5: Deux testes et ung capron
Tota pulchra es amica mea a 5, T: Vade retro Sathane
Compère, Loyset
Missa De tous biens, Confiteor: Scinde vestimenta sua
Sanctus, T: Tempora bina pausa. post has uni postonisa
Pleni, T: Gradatim scandens. hec replico mese querens
Sola caret monstris, T: Bis silens me presenti .J. in yspodia penthe
Crecquillon, Thomas
Dont vient cela: Chanter vous fault Estrangement
Danckerts, Ghiselin
Ave maris stella: Quod appositum est et apponetur, per verbum Dei
benedicetur and Sapienti sat
De Monte, Philippe
Ad te Domine levavi a 8: Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt sibi
De Orto, Marbriano
Credo Le serviteur, Et in spiritum: Lento passu gradere
D’ung aultre amer: Obelus quinis sedibus ipse volat
Missa ad fugam: I pre sequar
Missa Mi mi [Petita camuseta], Agnus III, T: Gradatim descende
De Silva, Andreas
Missa Adieu mes amours:
Osanna, B: Dinumerabo nomen tuum in eternum
Agnus III, CT I: Laudate et superexaltate eum in secula
Nigra sum: Non qui inceperit, sed qui perseveraverit
Du Fay, Guillaume
Kyrie II: Ad medium referas, pausas relinquendo priores (Vatican
CS 14; Vatican CS 49: liquendo [sic])
Et incarnatus: Scindite pausas longarum, cetera per medium
Agnus III, T: Cancer eat plenus sed redeat medius (Vatican CS 49)
Eckel, Matthaeus
Te Deum patrem ingenitum: Trinitas in unitate veneranda
Eloy d’Amerval
Missa Dixerunt discipuli: Non faciens pausas sed <pro> signis capiens
has . . .
Escobedo, Bartolomé de
Missa Philippus Rex Hispaniae, Agnus, T II: Clama ne cesses (Vatican
CS 39)
Eustachius de Monte Regali
Regina celi a 5:
1.p.: Le premier va devant
2.p.: Le devant va derriere
466 Appendix 2
Faber, Amanus
Missa Depuis qu’ne josne fille, Agnus III, B: Ego et pater unum
sumus
Festa, Costanzo
Christe Redemptor omnium, Gloria Patri: Symphonizabis
Da pacem Domine: Si cum basso concordaveris habebis pacem
Magnificat tertii toni, Sicut erat, S: Qui post me venit ante me
factus est
Magnificat septimi toni, Sicut erat: Cancrizat in dyapason
Magnificat octavi toni, Sicut erat a 10: Duo luminaria, minus et maius
and Quattuor enim sunt facies uni and Trinumque mentis uni
presentemus
Magnificat octavi toni, Sicut erat a 5, T: Qui post me venit praecedet
me, et non transibit per tenebras
O lux beata Trinitas:
verse Deo Patri sit gloria: Pater, Filius et Spiritus Sanctus, cum basso
salvabis
verse Te mane laudem carmine: Quicumque vult salvus esse de
Trinitate sentiat
Veni creator spiritus: Symphonizabis
Févin, A. de
Missa O quam glorifica, Benedictus, S: Vado venio redio
Févin, R. de
Missa La sol mi fa re, Agnus I, T: Prenes le temps / auissi [sic] quil vient
Finck, Hermann (unidentified compositions, inscriptions only)

Da mihi dimidiam lunam, solem, & canis iram
De ponte non cadit, qui cum sapientia vadit
Decrescit in duplo, triplo, etc.
Dij faciant sine me non moriatur ego
Dimidiam spherae, spheram, cum principe romae [round r], / Postulat
à nobis totius conditor orbis
Frangenti fidem fides frangatur eidem
I prae, sequar: inquit cancer
Mitto tibi metulas, erige si dubitas
Nescit vox missa reverti?
Nigra sum, sed formosa
Ocia dant vitia
Ocia securis insidiosa nocent
Omnia si perdas famam servare memento, / Qua semel amissa, postea

nullus eris
Plutonica subijt regna
Retrograditur
Roma caput mundi, si verteris, omnia vincit
Semper contrarius esto
Signa te signa temere me tangis et angis, / Roma tibi subito motibus
ibit amor
Sperare et praestolari multos facit μωrari
Tarda solet magnis rebus inesse fides
Vae tibi ridenti, nam mox post gaudia flebis
Vidi tres viri qui erant laesi homonem [sic]
Forestier, Mathurin
Kyrie (etc.): Canones super voces musicales et primo in subdya-
penthe per UT . . .
Qui tollis:
T: Pr[a]ecedam in sub semidytono per mi
Patrem, T: Ung ton plus bas per FA
Et resurrexit, T: Canon in unisono in eodem tono per SOL
Sanctus, T: Ung ton plus hault per LA
Osanna, T2: Ung et deulx sont troys et le quart pour les galoys. La
primiere va devant
Benedictus, B: Quatuor quaternionibus. Alter post alterum per
dyatessaron intensum sequatur (Occo Codex, Jena 2); Alter post
alterum per dyatessaron intensum sequatur (Vatican CS 160)
Agnus II: Tres in carne una
Agnus III a 7: Septenarius ut sum / omnes post me venite / sequens
alter alterum / tempus unum sumite
Gaffurio, Franchino
Missa La bassadanza, Benedictus, B: Varias diatessaron figuras . . .
Gascongne, Mathieu
Ista est speciosa: Epithoniza bina tempora pausando vel econverso
(Cambridge Pepys 1760); Epitoniza, bina tempora pausando /.
vsque ad 12 voces (Regensburg B 220–22)
Missa Mon mary ma diffamee:
Osanna: Gradatim scande
Agnus I: Cancriza
468 Appendix 2
Ghiselin, Johannes (Verbonnet)

Missa Gratieuse, Patrem, T: Imperfectum cancrizat
Missa Narayge:
Qui tollis at Cum sancto spiritu, T: Nubes et caligo in circuitu eius
(Petrucci, Misse Ghiselin); Caligo et nubes / Incurante eos
(Verona 756)
Osanna, T: Contraria contrarijs curantur (Verona 756 and Petrucci,
Misse Ghiselin)
Gumpelzhaimer, Adam
Ecce lignum crucis (Crux Christi):
Iusticia et pax se osculatae sunt and Misericordia et veritas obvia-
verunt sibi
Titulus: Clama ne cesses
Heyden, Sebald (unidentified composition cited)

Noctem in diem vertere
Heyns, Cornelius
Missa Pour quelque paine (Brussels 5557) or Missa Pour quoy
(Vatican 51):
Sanctus, T: In .d. coniunctum medij .g. versio fiat (Brussels 5557;
Vatican CS 51: ‘dicere’)
Agnus I, T: Crescens retrograde (CS 51 also: Ante et retro)
Hothby, John (unidentified composition cited)

Sufflet
Isaac, Henricus
Missa [Comment peult avoir joye]:
Christe: Qui non mecum est contra me est. in decimis
Agnus III: Qualis pater talis filius talis spiritus sanctus
Missa Quant jay:
Agnus III: In decimis
Agnus III: Decimas do omnium qu(a)e possideo (Vatican CS 35)
Agnus III: Qui me barritonizare cupit, In decimis me intonabit
(Segovia)
Missa Tmeiskin:
Qui tollis: Ait latro ad latronem (Vatican CS 49, where anon.; Jena
31, anon.)
Patrem, T: Duplicite<r> consonat auribus
Et incarnatus, T: Vade retro Sathane (upside down and backwards)

Sanctus, A: Si cecus cecum ducat ambo in foveam cadunt
Per signum crucis: Qui sequitur me, non ambulet in tenebris
Japart, Jean (Johannes)

De tous biens a 4, T: Hic dantur antipodes
J’ay pris amours a ma devise: Antiphrasis βαρυτονατ (Florence 178); Fit
aries piscis in licanosypathon (Petrucci, Canti B); Ne sonites a mese-
Lycanosipaton summite and Antiphrasis baritonat (Florence 229);
Vade retro Sathane (Vatican CG XIII, 27)
Johannes de Cleve
Mirabilia testimonia: Contraria contrarijs curantur
Josquin des Prez

Credo De tous biens plaine, Et in spiritum: Duo in carne una (Vatican CS 41)
Credo quarti toni:
Et incarnatus, T: Et tua est nox
Crucifixus: Sicut erat in principio
Et vitam venturi: Ecce nunc tempus acceptabile
De profundis a 5: Les trois estas sont assembles / Pour le soulas des
trespasses
De tous biens playne a 4: Petrus et Joannes currunt in puncto
Domine quid multiplicati sunt (? lost): Dormivi et soporatus sum
Guillaume se va chaufer:
T: Clama ne cesses (Wilfflingseder)
S 1: Praecedat Dominus meus, & ego paulatim sequar vestigia eius
(Wilfflingseder)
L’homme armé: . Et sic de singulis
Magnificat quarti toni, v. 10, Sicut locutus est: Si cantas, numerum
numera minuendo quaternum
Missa ad fugam:
Kyrie: Panges laxando trinum in subdyapenthe
Et in terra, T: Sine ipso factum est nichil
Qui tollis, T: Quare fremuerunt gentes
Missa de Beata Virgine:
Patrem: Le premier va devant
Et in spiritum, T: Le derain va derriere (Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. III;
Rossi); Le devant va derriere (Vatican CG XII, 2)
Sanctus, Agnus I, Agnus III: Vous jeuneres les Quatre temps or
Jeiunabis quatuor tempora (Vatican CS 160)
470 Appendix 2
Missa Fortuna desperata:

Sanctus, A: Conscendit in diapente (Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. I and
other sources)
Osanna, A: Decrescit conscendens in diapente
Agnus I: Celsa canens imis commuta quadruplicando (Grapheus,
Missae tredecim); Crescite et multiplicamini et replete terram et
inebriamini eam (Modena α.M.1.2, Munich 3154; Crescite et
multiplicamini (Barcelona 5, Vatican CS 41); In gradus undenos
descendant multiplicantes . . . (Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. I)
Agnus III, B: Deorsum (Vatican CS 41); Deorsum in diapason (Pet-
rucci, Misse Josquin L. I); Descende deorsum (Modena α.M.1.2)
Missa Gaudeamus:
Et in terra: Undecies canito pausas linquendo priores
Agnus II: Diaphonia (Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. I); Diaphonia in
unisono ex duo tempora (Basel F.IX.25); Duophona (Cambrai 18)
Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae:
Kyrie, T: Fingito vocales modulis apte . . . (Basel F.IX.25)
Et in terra: Hercules dux ferarie. Fingito vocales: sequentibus signis
(Milan 2267)
Et in spiritum: Vertit et revertit cicius sine mora ultima longa
(Basel F.IX.25)
Missa L’ami Baudichon:
Patrem: Qui se humiliat exaltabitur et qui se exaltat humiliabitur
(Verona 761); Qui se humiliat exaltabitur (Vienna 11778); Qui se
exaltat (Zwickau 119/1)
Et resurrexit: Gradatim me sequere . . .
Missa L’homme armé sexti toni:
Sanctus: Duo seraphim clamabant alter ad alterum (Vatican CS 41,
Vienna 11778); Canon duo seraphin clamabant alterum (Segovia)
Osanna: In tempore opportuno (Vatican CS 41, Segovia)
Agnus III, T: Ante et retro (Casale Monferrato M)
Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales:
Qui tollis; Et incarnatus (music also written upside down): Cancrizat
(Vatican CS 154); Cancrizet et supra dicta notet (Vatican CG XII,
2; ex. in Finck, sig. Ee i)
Et incarnatus: Verte cito
Qui tollis; Et incarnatus (music also written upside down): Cancrizat
(Vatican CS 154); Cancrizet et supra dicta notet (Vatican CG XII,
2; ex. in Finck, sig. Ee i)
Confiteor: Reverte citius
Osanna: Gaude cum gaudentibus

Benedictus, B; Qui venit, A: Duo in unum
In nomine, S: Duo
Agnus II: Noli me tangere (Vatican CS 197); Sancta Trinitas, salva me
(Basel F.IX.25); Redde unicuique secundum opera sua (Bologna
B 57); Trinitas (3 MSS); Trinitas et unitas (Finck); Trinitas in unitate
(Vatican CG XII, 2; Zanger); Trinitas noli me tangere (Jena 32)
Agnus III: Clama ne cesses (ex. in Finck, sig. Cciijv; London
Add. 4911, fol. 32v)
Missa Malheur me bat:
Agnus I: De minimis non curat praetor (Petrucci, Misse Josquin L. II
and Vienna 11883); Prator non curat de minimis (Jena 3); Multi
sunt vocati, pauci vero electi (Leipzig 51)
Missa Sine nomine:
Patrem, A: Pr[a]ecedam vos in Galileam
Agnus II a 2,T: Ung ton plus bas / descendens unum tonum
Missa Una musque, Credo: Antiphrasim facies qui vis bene promere
cantor (Berlin 40021)
Nymphes des bois: Pour eviter noyse et debas / Prenes ung demy ton
plus bas
Salve regina a 5: Qui perseveraverit salvus erit
Se congié prens: Omnia probate, quod bonum est tenete
Una musque de Buscgaya: Quiescit qui super me volat / Venit post me
qui in puncto clamat
Vive le roy: Fingito vocales modulis apteque subinde . . .
unidentified example mentioned by Aaron: Qui qu[a]erit invenit
La Rue, Pierre de
Missa Alleluia, Qui tollis, T: Incipe a retro et reverte ad finem (Meche-
len); Vade retro Sathane (Vatican CS 36)
Missa Cum iocunditate, Sanctus: Descende gradatim
Missa Incessament, In nomine: Erunt duo in carne una (’s-
Hertogenbosch 72B)
Missa L’homme armé, Agnus II: Nulla dies sine linea maximum in
punctis and Unusquisque manebit in sua vocatione
Missa O salutaris hostia: Quatuor in partes opus hoc distinguere debes
Kyrie: Semper pacem habebunt (Bologna B 57)
Missa Sancta Dei genitrix:
Pleni: Trinus et unus
Agnus II: Duo discantus in corpore uno (Jena 21)
472 Appendix 2
Lapicida, Erasmus
Sacerdos et pontifex et virtutum opifex: Fingito vocales; In decimis; Nubes
et caligo in circuitu eius; Tenor in supremo; Unitas in trinitate
Laurentius d. a.
Waer is hij nu: Qui me sequitur ante me factus est
Le Maistre, Mattheus
Magnificat sexti toni, Sicut locutus est: Sursum deorsum aguntur res
mortalium
Le Brung, Jean
Saule quid me persequeris: Luna te docet
Maillard, Jean
De fructu vitae: Tout vient à poinct qui scait attendre
Fratres mei elongaverunt se a me: Me oportet minui, illum autem
crescere
Missa Pro vivis, Agnus: Quaerite et invenietis
Surrexit Christus vere: Dum tempus habemus operemur bonum
Martini, Johannes
J’ay pris amours a ma devise: I pre sequar
Salve regina: Qui vult venire post me abneget semetipsum
Morales, Cristóbal de
Missa Mille regretz:
Sanctus, S: Multiplicatis intercessoribus
Osanna, S: Duplicatam vestem fecit sibi
Agnus I, S: Breves dies hominis sunt
Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram, S: Itque reditque frequens
Veni Domine et noli tardare, A II: Factus est obediens usque ad
mortem
Moulu, Pierre
Ave virgo gloriosa: Contrariant[ur] ut abbedo [sic for ‘albedo’], et
nigredo
Missa Alma redemptoris mater/A deux visages: Se vous voules avoir
messe de cours chantes sans pauses en sospirs et decours (Vatican
CS 39); Se vous voulles avoer messe de cort Chantes sans pauses en
suspirant de court (’s-Hertogenbosch 72B)
Kyrie: Cantus duarum facierum (Finck) and Tolle moras placido
maneant suspiria cantu (Finck)
Missa Stephane gloriose:

Agnus II: Divide vel jungas theses cum temate cantus (Vatican CS
55; Vatican CG XII, 2); Secundus Agnus tacet vel non; B Canon in
diapente (Moderne, Liber 10 missarum, Vatican CG XII, 2); S:
Duo vel non; B: Canon in diapente (Vatican CG XII, 2);
In dyapenthe divide vel iungas thesis cum themate cantus
(’s-Hertogenbosch 72B)
Agnus III: In Stephanum iactus lapis ut descendit ab alto . . . (Hic
Stephanum in some sources)
Sancta Maria mater Dei: Pauses tout, ou non
[Moulu, Pierre?]
canon a 3: Sic unda impellitur unda (Petrucci, Motetti B); Trinitas in
unitate, & unitas in Trinitate (Zacconi)
Mouton, Jean
Antequam comedam suspiro, 2.p.: Dissimulare loco summa
prudentia est
Benedicam Dominum in omne tempore: Aspetta il tempo / et sarai
contento
Confitemini Domino quoniam bonus: Pr[a]eibis parare viam meam
Magnificat primi toni, Sicut locutus, S: Petrus sequebatur a longe
Missa Loseraige dire:
Pleni: Gemelli
Agnus II: Sequere me
Peccata mea, Domine: Finis coronat <opus>
Salve mater salvatoris: Duo adversi adverse in unum (Glarean, Wilf-
flingseder); Qui se exaltat humiliabitur (London Add. 30587)
Obrecht, Jacob
textless (Rome Casanatense 2856): Qu[a]eque semibrevis sex equivalet
Sed per dyapason
Missa de Sancto Martino, Patrem, T: Dum replicas tantum [sic] sine
pausis tu tenorisa
Missa De tous biens playne:
Patrem: A maiori debet fieri denominatio
Et incarnatus: A maiori debet fieri denominatio (retrograde: ‘Ut
prius, sed dicitur retrograde’)
Missa Fortuna desperata:
Gloria, T: Cancriza
Gloria, Credo: In medio consistit virtus
474 Appendix 2
Missa Grecorum:
Patrem: Digniora sunt priora
Et resurrexit, T: Tu tenor cancriza et per antifrasim cum fureis [sic]
in capite antifrasizando repete
Agnus I, T: Qui se exaltat humiliabitur et qui se humiliat exaltabitur
Agnus III: In paripatheypaton aries vertatur in pisces
Missa Je ne demande:
Agnus II:
S: Decimas do omnium qu(a)e possideo (Petrucci, Misse Obreht);
Qui mecum resonat: in decimis barritonisat (Munich 3154)
A: Accidens potest inesse et abesse preter subiecti corruptionem
(Petrucci, Misse Obreht)
Credo: Ne sonites lycanosypaton, Sume in proslambanamenon [sic]
Agnus Dei I, T: Tu tenor cancrisa et per antiphrasim canta
Missa Libenter gloriabor, Et in terra, T: Tu tenorista per antifrazim
canta
Missa Petrus apostolus:
Qui tollis, Osanna: In diapente per antiphrasim canta
Agnus Dei III, B: Tu tenor cancrisa et per antiphrasim canta
[Missa Plurimorum carminum III], Et in terra: Dum replicas canta sine
pausis tu tenorista
Missa Scaramella:
Sanctus, B: Revertere
Pleni, T: Per antiphrasim
[Obrecht, Jacob?]
Missa N’aray-je jamais:
Benedictus: In nomine sancte trinitatis in diapenthe
Agnus I, T: Sic mea res agitur
Ockeghem, Johannes
Missa Cuiusvis toni, Kyrie I, S: Nemo me condemnat; B: Nec te condemno
Ut heremita solus: Quamlibet inspicias notulam qua clave locetur . . .
Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da

Magnificat sexti toni a 4, Sicut erat a 5: Symphonizabis
Magnificat sexti toni a 6, Sicut erat a 7: Contraria contrarijs curantur
Pipelare, Matthaeus
Missa Dicit dominus, Pleni:
over B: Fiat habitacio eorum deserta

under CT: Interroga patrem tuum et annunciabit tibi
Missa L’homme armé, Agnus III, B: Apprende arma et scutum Et
e[x]urge in adiutorium michi (Vatican CS 41; Antico, Liber 15
missarum; Jena 22)
Missa Sine nomine [= Pour entretenir mes amours]:
Et in terra, T: Descendendo in diates[sa]ron
Qui tollis, T: Corrupcio unius est generacio alterius
Agnus I, T: Ne sonites netesnemenon [sic] sume in me se [sic]
Agnus III, A: Ecce quam bonum et quam iocundum habitare frates
in unum
Pratis, Jo. de
Missa Allez regretz:
Agnus I: Egrediens per dyatessaron calcem duplando / Regrediatur
ocius sinceput repetendo
Agnus II, B: Occinet per tropum Minuta quoque [read queque]
vitando
Ramis de Pareia, Bartolomeus

carmen: In voce quae dicitur contra, contra sic canitur
Magnificat: Fuga duorum unisona numero salvato perfecto
mass: Medietas harmonica fiat et quaelibet vox suum numerum salvet
Requiem: Ne recorderis; Neque reminiscaris; Requiescant in pace; Si
tenes cum domino, Agamenon . . .; Ut quiescat, donec optata
veniat; Ut requiescant a laboribus suis
Tu lumen: In perfectione minimorum per tria genera canitur melorum
Ramis de Pareia (unidentified compositions cited by)

Descendant in profundum quasi lapis
Et sicut mercenarii dies eius
Suspendimus organa nostra
Senfl, Ludwig
Crux fidelis, D and A: Iusticia et pax se osculatae sunt; 3.p., B and T:
Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt sibi; 3.p., D and A: Qui cum illis
canit, cancrizat, vel canit more Hebraeorum
O crux ave spes unica: Iusticia et pax se osculatae sunt
textless canon: Manet alta mente repostum
textless canon: Omne trinum perfectum (Glarean’s alternative sugges-
tion: Τρὶς μάκαρες Δαναοὶ καὶ τετράκις or O terque quaterque beati)
476 Appendix 2
Spataro, Giovanni
Missa Da pacem, Qui sedes: Proportionum alpha in o dedatur . . .
Missa La tradictora:
Cum sancto spiritu, T: Hoc in hypate meson precipue cantabis . . .
Et in spiritum: In primo signo anfractus . . .
Ubi opus est facto:
Illud quod est divisio aggregatio sit et e converso . . .
S: Saturnus
A: Jovis parentis equalitas
T: Omnis tetrachordorum ordo per tria genera melorum
canitur . . .
B: Saturnus iustitiam petit
Tinctoris, Johannes
Missa L’homme armé, Et incarnatus: Absque mora primum / ruit in
dyatessaron ymum (CS 35)
Tugdual (Menon)
O vos omnes qui transitis: Cenatim usque ad quintam
Vacqueras, Bertrand
Et in terra: Eodem modo preit altera vox in lycanosypathon
Qui tollis; Qui propter nos: Qui sequebatur preit
Verdelot, Philippe
Dignare me laudare te, virgo sacrata: Quatuor in partes opus hoc
distinguere debes
In te Domine speravi a 6: Exaltata est magnificentia tua super celos;
Pulsate et aperietur
Villiers, Petrus de
Missa de Beata Virgine: Trinitas in unitate
[Vinders, Jheronimus]
Missa Myns liefkens, Agnus III: Qu[a]e sursum sunt querite
Weerbeke, Gaspar van

Missa O Venus bant:
Agnus III: Descenderunt in profundum quasi lapis (Vatican
CS 51)
Agnus III: Descendat in profundum (Petrucci, Misse Gaspar)
Willaert, Adrian
Mon petit cueur n’est pas a moy (2 settings): Alternis dicetis, amant
alterna Camoenae (Antico, Motetti novi) (two settings) (‘Alterius . . .’)
Se je nay mon amie (= Se je ne voy mon amie): Trois testes en ung
chapperon
Ycart, Bernard
unnamed composition cited by Hothby: Ethyops albos dentes
Zarlino, Gioseffo
In principio Deus antequam terram faceret: Alternis dicetis, amant
alterna Camoenae
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Index of compositions
see also Index to the catalogue of enigmatic canonic inscriptions, p. 460

Agostini, Lodovico see also Appendix 2 textless in Petrucci’s Motetti A 172
Alma Dei genitrix 140 textless in Petrucci’s Motetti B 154
Canones et echo sex vocibus 91 Veni sponsa Christi 211
Eleva domine brachium tuum 162 Appenzeller, Benedictus see also Appendix 2
Enigmi musicali 91, 362 Agnus Dei 105, 165
Nel bel terreno della madonna mia 92 Missa Ick had een boelken uutvercoren 165
Una si chiara luce 167 Sancta Maria succurre miseris 109
Agricola, Alexander see also Appendix 2 Sancte Iesu Christe 165
Salve regina I 165
Agricola, Martin Bach, Johann Sebastian
Festina lente 346 Musical Offering 363
Amerval, Eloy de see also Appendix 2 Banchieri, Adriano
Missa Dixerunt discipuli 76 Canoni musicali 138
Anonymous see also Appendix 2 Basiron, Philippe see also Appendix 2
Avant, avant 95, 180 Missa L’homme armé 108
Ave mundi spes Maria 117, 187 Baston, Josquin see also Appendix 2
Avertissiez vostre doulx euil 103 Languir me fais 157
Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo suo Bauldeweyn, Noel see also Appendix 2
154 (attr.) Missa du bon du cueur 148
Dy kraebis schere 108, 141, 150 Missa Da pacem 151
En la maison Dedalus 3, 279 Brätel, Ulrich see also Appendix 2
Fortuna desperata 66 Ecce quam bonum 286–92
Kain Adler in der Welt 121 Verbum Domini manet in aeternum 109,
L’homme armé 12, 107 141
L’homme armé-masses in Naples VI.E.40 Briccio, Giovanni
107, 138 Canoni enigmatici musicali 139, 269
Languir me fais 99–100, 141 Brumel, Antoine see also Appendix 2
Magnificat sexti toni in Kassel 9 186 Missa Dringhs 235
Malheur me bat 173 Missa Ut re mi fa sol la 107
Miraris mundum 293–301 Bulkyn see also Appendix 2
Missa L’ardant desir 119, 192 Or sus, or sus 95
Patrem 128 Busnoys, Antoine see also Appendix 2
Missa O Österreich 134 A que ville est abhominable 274
perpetual canon on Dosso Dossi’s Allegory of A vous sans autre 274
Music 284 Anthoni usque limina 275
Proch dolor 156, 162 J’ay pris amours 229
Quae est ista 127 Ja que lui ne si actende 274
riddle in Graziani’s Trattato del contrapunto Je ne demande autre de gré 179
285 Je ne puis vivre ainsi 274
Salve Beate Pater Francisce 211 Maintes femmes 123, 129
Salve radix 282–3 Missa L’homme armé 163, 192
textless in Finck’s Practica musica 155 Missa O crux lignum triumphale 192 505
506 Index of compositions
Buxtehude, Dietrich Ghiselin, Johannes see also Appendix 2

Passacaglia BuxWV161 336 Missa Narayge 142
Gumpelzhaimer, Adam see also Appendix 2
Cerone, Pietro Crux Christi 162, 172, 318–25
Enigma de la escala 73
Enigma no. 9 166 Heyns, Cornelius see also Appendix 2
Enigma no. 29 152 Missa Pour quelque paine 107
Enigma no. 39 167, 172
Enigma no. 41 334–6 Ingegneri, Marcantonio
Enigma no. 44 210 Noe noe, psallite noe 212
Cerreto, Scipione Isaac, Heinrich see also Appendix 2
Omnes per ostium intrant 269 Choralis Constantinus 230
two-voice riddle in Cerone’s Missa O praeclara 188
Melopeo 79 Missa Quant jay au cueur 160
Ciconia, Johannes Missa Tmeiskin was jonck 154
Le ray au soleil 75 Et incarnatus 103
Cordier, Baude Palle palle 254
Tout par compas 277, 279 Per signum crucis 143
Crecquillon, Thomas
Dont vient cela 154 Japart, Jean (Johannes) see also
Appendix 2
Danckerts, Ghiselin see also Appendix 2 De tous biens 141
Ave maris stella 179, 210, 257 J’ay pris amours 140, 163
Crucem sanctam 311–17 Johannes de Cleve see also Appendix 2
De Orto, Marbriano Mirabilia testimonia 109, 142
D’ung aultre amer 95–9 Josquin des Prez see also Appendix 2
Missa L’homme armé 83, 185 Absolve quaesumus 162
Del Lago, Giovanni Bayses moy 284
Multi sunt vocati 86 Douleur me bat 173
Domarto, Petrus de Guillaume se va chaufer 95
Missa Spiritus almus 192 Illibata Dei virgo nutrix 274
Du Fay, Guillaume see also Appendix 2 Je ry et si ay la larme a l’oel 148
Craindre vous vueil 274 L’homme armé 129, 159
Missa L’homme armé 107 Missa de Beata Virgine 157, 189
Missa Se la face ay pale 192 Missa De Beata Virgine 267
Mon cuer me fait 274 Missa Fortuna desperata 170, 185,
226, 239
Escobedo, Bartolomé de see also Appendix 2 Agnus Dei I 22, 108
Missa Philippus Rex Hispaniae 162 Credo 83
Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae 113, 191,
Faugues, Guillaume 234
Missa L’homme armé 95 Missa L’homme armé sexti toni 108, 180
Fayrfax, Robert Missa L’homme armé super voces musicales
Missa O quam glorifica 192 87, 103, 161, 164, 178, 185–6, 188, 212,
Festa, Costanzo see also Appendix 2 227, 267
Magnificat octavi toni 128 Agnus Dei II 75, 151, 169, 210,
Févin, Robert de see also Appendix 2 238, 284
Missa La sol mi fa re 156 final Agnus Dei 128, 325
Finck, Hermann see also Appendix 2 Gloria 108
Finetti, Giacomo Qui tollis 105
O altitudo divitiarum 219 Missa La sol fa re mi 188, 345
Forestier, Mathurin see also Appendix 2 Missa Malheur me bat 127, 156, 169, 172,
Missa L’homme armé 95 218, 267
Index of compositions 507
Missa Pange lingua 188 Missa sine pausis, see Missa Alma
Nymphes des bois 100, 162 redemptoris mater
Recordans de my segnora 227 Sancta Maria mater Dei 129, 219
Salve regina (5v.) 153 Mouton, Jean see also Appendix 2
Vive le roy 113 Antequam comedam suspiro 148–9
Benedicam Dominum in omni
La Rue, Pierre de see also tempore 161
Appendix 2 Celeste beneficium 285
Missa L’homme armé 238 Confitemini Domino 160
Missa L’homme armé I 76 En venant de lyon 284
Lasso, Orlando di Missa De Beata Virgine 235
Benedictus 182, 219 Salve mater salvatoris 109
Le Brung, Jean see also Appendix 2
Saule quid me persequeris 327 Obrecht, Jacob see also Appendix 2
Le Maistre, Matthaeus see also Missa De tous bien playne 120, 137,
Appendix 2 142, 240
Magnificat sexti toni 109 Missa Fortuna desperata 66–72, 120, 170,
240, 292, 362
Machaut, Guillaume de Missa Grecorum 107, 120, 137, 140,
Ma fin est mon commencement 103 160, 240
Maessens, Pieter Missa Je ne demande 76, 137, 160, 179,
Per signum crucis 308–11 185, 192, 240
Maillard, Jean see also Appendix 2 Missa L’homme armé 160, 163
De fructu vitae 158 Missa Petrus apostolus 192
Fratres mei elongaverunt 161 Missa Petrus Apostolus 160
Fratres mei elongaverunt se a me 151 Missa Plurimorum carminum III 160
Surrexit Christus vere 156 textless in Rome Casanatense 2856 123
Mensa, Diego Ockeghem, Johannes see also Appendix 2
Tua est potentia 210 Missa Cuiusvis toni 267
Metallo, Grammatio Missa Prolationum 75
textless duo in Cerone’s Melopeo 124 Ut heremita solus 129, 345
Micheli, Romano
Musica vaga et artificiosa 268 Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da see also
O voi che sospirate 183 Appendix 2
Mittner, Johannes Missa de Feria 183
Missa Hercules dux Ferrariae 76 Missae L’homme armé 79
Monte, Philippe de see also Appendix 2 Paminger, Leonhard
Ad te, Domine, levavi animam meam 172, Ad te, Domine, levavi animam meam 103,
321 140
Morales, Cristóbal de see also Appendix 2 Philippe qui videt me 118
Tu es Petrus 152 Tua cruce triumphamus 164, 308
Veni Domine et noli tardare 152 Vexilla regis 164, 308
Morel Pesciolini, Biagio
canon in London Royal 8 G.vii 285 Tu celi pandis abscondita 328–30
Morley, Thomas Pipelare, Matthaeus see also Appendix 2
cross canon in A Plaine and Easie Missa L’homme armé 161
Introduction to Practicall Musicke Missa Pour entretenir mes amours
225, 301–4 113, 163
Moulu, Pierre see also Appendix 2 Porta, Costanzo
Missa Alma redemptoris mater 94, 128, 188, cruciform riddle in Bologna B. 140 311
234, 267 Missa ducalis 254
Missa duarum facierum see Missa Alma Primis, Philippo de
redemptoris mater Missa Pourtant se mon 84
508 Index of compositions
Ramis de Pareia, Bartolomeus Standley (?)

Magnificat 202 mass in Trent 1375 (88) 126
Requiem 125, 131, 202 Susato, Tielman
Tu lumen tu splendor patris 202 Puisqu’en janvier 351–8
Rodio, Rocco
Magnificat sexti toni 211 Tinctoris, Johannes see also Appendix 2
Rovello, Ivan Missa L’homme armé 95
Missa Alma Susanna 211
Vacqueras, Bertrand see also Appendix 2
Sarto, Johannes de Missa L’homme armé 95
Romanorum rex 177 Vaet, Jacobus
Scottish Anonymous Qui operatus est Petro 211
riddle in London Add. 4911 333 Valentini, Pier Francesco
Senfl, Ludwig see also Appendix 2 Canone . . . sopra le parole del Salve regina
Crux fidelis 105, 172, 234, 306–7 183
Istum crucis socium et regni Vulpius Napolitano
credimus, 306 cruciform riddle 176, 267
O crux ave 172, 235, 306–7
three-voice mensuration canon 238 Willaert, Adrian see also Appendix 2
Spataro, Giovanni see also Appendix 2 Mon petit cor 284
Cardinei cętus 178 Qui boyt et ne reboyt 223
Missa Da pacem 78, 119 Quid non ebrietas 176, 222, 265
Missa de la pera 224 Se ie naj mon amie 284
Missa de la tradictora 84, 91, 118, 224
Missa de Sancta Maria Magdalena Zarlino, Gioseffo see also Appendix 2
86, 178 Ascendo ad patrem meum 100
Ubi opus est facto 119 Nigra sum sed formosa 163
General index
Aaron, Pietro 9, 270 Boethius 247

Libri tres de institutione harmonica 53, 176, Bonifacio, Baldassarre 276
226–9, 237, 364 brevitas 204, 273
Toscanello in musica 245 as a cause for obscuritas 47
Abelard 278 as virtus 48
acrostic 20, 274 in musical notation 74
Adam von Fulda 223, 270 Brown, Howard Mayer 281
on canonic inscriptions 221–2 Brumel, Antoine 247
Agostini, Lodovico 72, 92, 138 Buchmayr, Johannes 188
Agricola, Alexander 343 Buridan, Jean 42
Agricola, Martin 74, 204 Burney, Charles 359
Alberti, Leon Battista 32, 346 Burns, Thomas A. 90
Albín from Helfenburk, Václav 350 Burtius, Nicolaus 197, 226, 336
Aldhelm of Malmesbury 30, 32, 274 Busnoys, Antoine 3, 71, 140, 226, 233, 271,
Ambros, August Wilhelm 359 359, 362
Anthologia Graeca 27, 157, 275
antipodes 141 Camerarius, Joachim 32, 36, 39, 295
Apuleius 16, 28 canon
Argenti, Matteo 347 as a rule see canonic inscriptions
Ariosto, Lodovico 326 as compositional technique see
Aristotle 84, 258, 341, 360 compositional techniques
Nicomachean Ethics 66, 137 canonic inscriptions 12, 15, 130–74, see also
Physics 248 Appendix 2
Rhetoric 38, 43, 49 addressing the performer 160–70
Artusi, Giovanni Maria 266 double entendre 156–60
Asola, Giovanni Matteo 265 interpretation 139–60
Athenaeus 27, 32, 261 language 137–8
augmentation 12, 23 palindromes 136
Augustine scribal intervention 168–71
De doctrina christiana 54–6 sources 19–20, 132–7
Doctrina christiana 363 word games 136, 200
cantus firmus 83
Bach, Johann Sebastian, Musical Offering 74 schematic manipulation 192–3
Baïf, Jean-Antoine de 276 Cardano, Girolamo 341
Banchieri, Adriano 215 carmina figurata 275–6, 278
Canoni musicali 265–6 Caron, Firminus 233
Bargagli, Girolamo 93 Castellanus, Petrus 137, 179, 185
Beck, Jonathan 84, 120 Castiglione, Baldassare 39
Behem, Johann 38 on obscurity 60–1
Blackburn, Bonnie 127, 132, 134, 179, 184, on sprezzatura 62, 92
192, 207 Cavazzoni, Girolamo 78
Boccaccio Cerone, Pietro 19, 35–6, 40, 270–1
Decamerone 58 El Melopeo y maestro 51, 72, 90, 196, 208,
Genealogia deorum gentilium 57 214–71, 311–13, 361 509
510 General index
Cerone, Pietro (cont.) Dosiadas of Crete 275

Le regole più necessarie per l’introduttione del Dossi, Dosso 284
canto fermo 211 Du Fay, Guillaume 202, 233, 271, 343
Cerreto, Scipione Dunstable, John 90
Della prattica musica vocale 79, 269
Dialogo armonico 79 emblem 253, 295
Cervantes, Miguel de 35 Erasmus, Desiderius 62, 238, 240–1, 299
Charles V 39, 292, 352 Ernst, Ulrich 278
chronogram 20, 273, 350–8 Escobedo, Bartolomé de 257
Cicero 237 Exeter Book 30
De divinatione 274
De inventione 61 Faber, Gregor 198
De oratore 46, 49 Faber, Heinrich 203, 234, 307
Cima, Giovanni Paolo 268 Fabris, Dinko 92
Cimello, Giovan Tomaso 7, 87, 178 Fayrfax, Robert 90
Clemens non Papa, J. 99 Févin, Antoine de 215
Coclico, Adrian Petit Ficino, Marsilio 281
Compendium musices 139, 232–4 Finck, Hermann 39, 251, 270–1, 307
Cohen, Shlomith 5 Practica musica 48, 90, 196, 202–7,
Colonna, Marco Antonio 347 236, 330
compositional techniques see also retrograde; on brevitas 74, 204
inversion; augmentation; diminution on subtilitas 204
addition 13, 19, 129–30 on tentatio 83, 204
canon 74, 282 Finetti, Giacomo 219
canon per tonos 281 Flaminio, Giovanni Antonio 227
cantus firmus 91 Florentius de Faxolis
extraction 19, 121–4 Liber musices 94, 127, 253
imitation 95–103 Fontaine, Charles 35
interval canon 90–1, 286 Forkel, Johann Nikolaus 359
canonic inscriptions 153–6 Forney, Kristine 353
mensuration canon 75, 139, 151, 360 Frescobaldi, Girolamo 268, 363
omission 13, 19, 124–9, 143, 148, 156 Fuhrmann, Manfred 41
ostinato 90–1, 235, 294
canonic inscriptions 152–3 Gafurio, Franchino 7, 85, 248
rearrangement 13, 19, 120–1 Galilei, Galileo 35, 341
of colours, 121 Galilei, Vincenzo 271
of note values 120 Dialogo della musica antica, et della
soggetto cavato 113–17, 328 moderna 260–1, 264
substitution 19, 110–19, 149 Gazio, Lorenzo
transposition 23, 90, 95–103 letter to Don Valeriano (March 1535) 86
Cook, Eleanor 36 Gellius, Aulus 28
cryptography 20, 346–8 Geoffrey of Vinsauf 52
Cvrček, Johann see Gryll a Gryllova, Gerber, Rebecca 127
Johannes Ghiselin, Johannes 231
Giraldi, Lilio Gregorio 32, 39
Danckerts, Ghiselin 305 Giraldi Cinzio, Giovanbattista 39
Dante Alighieri, Divina commedia 57 Glarean, Heinrich 24, 189, 268, 270, 307
De Orto, Marbriano 231 Auß Glareani Musick ein ußzug 189
Del Lago, Giovanni 177 Dodekachordon 189, 237–43, 262, 345
Dietrich, Sixt 242 choirbook format 212
diminution 12, 90 on ostentatio ingenii 53, 237
Disticha Catonis 148 on the listener 242
Donatus 30 Goscalchus Parisiensis 196, 226
General index 511
Gracián, Baltasar 63 Machiavelli, Niccolò 346

Graziani, Tomaso 285 Maranda, E. K. 11
Gryll a Gryllova, Johannes 299 Marot, Jean 276
Guazzo, Stefano 39 Marschall, Veronika 350
Gumpelzhaimer, Adam 305 Martini, Giovanni Battista 359
Compendium musicae 319 Matthew of Vendôme 50
Mehtonen, Päivi 10, 40, 54, 56
Haar, James 73, 92 Melanchthon, Philippe 117
Handelman, Don 4 Ménestrier, Claude-François 14
Heugel, Johannes 186 mensural notation 74
Heyden, Sebald 21 mensuration signs 79, 162
De arte canendi 74, 204, 230–1, 236 Merry Book of Riddles 36
on resolutio 175, 230 Mewes, Gregor 69
Historia Apollonii 26 Meyer, Gregor 242
Holford-Strevens, Leofranc 134 Michele da Carcano 304
Homer 25, 134, 209 Micheli, Romano 72, 215, 267, 363
Horace 66, 134 Milan, Luis 39
Ars poetica 48, 134 Milton, John 106
Hothby, John 270 mirror 167
Dialogus in arte musica 254–6, 361 Molinet, Jean 275
Hucbald of Saint-Amand 273 Monte, Philippe de 215
Montfort, Nick 8
inversion 12, 19, 23, 90, 108–9, Morley, Thomas
235–6, 262 Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall
canonic inscriptions 142 Musicke 65, 225, 236
notation 108 Moulu, Pierre 215
Isaac, Heinrich 240, 247 Muris, Johannes de 197
Isidore of Seville 50 musical riddles
and the lunar cycle 326–41
Jacques de Liège 327 as game 92–3
Jenisch, Paul 325 as professional demarcation 84–7
Jonson, Ben 22 in the form of a circle 278–301
Josquin des Prez 3, 71, 205, 215, 230, 247, 265, in the form of a cross 301–25
271, 359, 362 notation 19, 73–83
Judd, Cristle Collins 243 obscuritas see obscuritas
performance 19
Kirkman, Andrew 83 resolutio see resolutio
techniques of transformation 93–130
La Rue, Pierre de 231, 240, 247, 343 theoretical reception 19–20, 194–272
Lanfranco, Giovanni Maria visual presentation 20
Scintille di musica 245 with images
Lantins, Arnold de 343 theoretical reception 261
Lauterbach, Johannes 38, 136, 331, 343 Musici, Girolamo 209, 276
Layolle, Francesco 215
Leo X 176 notation 13
Leonardo da Vinci 32, 342–3 as transformation 82
Lindmayr-Brandl, Andrea 345
Lorichius, Johannes 38, 331 Obrecht, Jacob 205, 271, 359, 362
Loyan, Richard 127 obscuritas 10, 18, 270, 273, see also brevitas
Lucan 134 and intactness 87–9
Lucian 326 as display of knowledge 53
Lusitano, Vicente 257 causes 44–8
Luther, Martin 304, 325, 330 deliberate use of 51–4
512 General index
obscuritas (cont.) written-out solutions 186

docta obscuritas 54–6 wrong solutions 178–80
in musical riddles 83–93 retrograde 12, 19, 103–8, 231, 235–6,
in rhetoric 41–4 262, 295
in the writings of Augustine 54–6 canon 106, 139–40, 233, 236, 250, 281,
reception 40–64 306, 321
Ockeghem, Johannes 231, 240–1 canonic inscriptions 139–41
Oedipus 1, 12, 22, 25 double retrograde canon 306
Orfei da Fano, Luca 185 in L’homme armé masses 108
Ornithoparchus, Andreas 202, 236 in Obrecht’s Missa Fortuna desperata 68
Orvieto, Ugolino of 197 notation 103–4
Ovid 105, 134, 155 symbolism 105–8
types of cancrizan singing 104–5
Pagis, Dan 3 retrograde inversion 160
Palatino, Giovanni Battista 342 Reusner, Nicolas 38, 136, 214, 343
Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da 215, 265 Rhabanus Maurus 276
palindrome 20 riddles see also musical riddles
Parvus, Johannes 152, 161, 185 ambivalence 13
Peacham, Henry 63 as allegory 48–51
perspicuitas 41–2 as educational device 90
Pesciolini, Biagio 341 as game 31, 92
Petrarch 57 as metaphor 12
Petrucci, Ottaviano 179, 184 as recreation 39
Pico della Mirandola 59 as risk 6
Pinheiro da Veiga 39, 211 Classical Antiquity and the Middle Ages
Pipelare, Matthaeus 343 24–31
Podio, Guillermus de 234 double entendre 65
Pompeius 31 etymology 11
Porphyrius, Publilius Optatianus 276 in opera 6
Porta, Costanzo 215, 265, 285 intellectual identity 7
Porta, Giovanni Battista 347 intention 4
Prasch, Abel 299 interactional nature 7–8
proportion signs 79 interrogative structure 4–5
Prosdocimus de Beldemandis 327 motivation 13–15
Puttenham, George 276 processual structure 6
psychological structure 11
Quintilian, Institutio oratoria 42–54, 85, 201, reader-response theory 9
227, 237, 273 Renaissance 31–40
difference between rhetoric and poetry 42 solution 16
on archaic words 45–6 tension between revealing and obscuring
on deliberate obscurity 52 9–10, 229
on perspicuitas 43 transformative nature 13
on riddles as tropes 48–51 Ringhieri, Innocenzio 93
Röder, Thomas 292
Rabelais, François 276 Rodin, Jesse 184
Ramis de Pareia, Bartolomeus 15, 19, 40, 84, Rosenberg, Wilhelm von 351
140, 226, 270–1, 281, 336 Rossi, Giovanni Battista
discussion of canonic inscriptions 198–202 Organo de cantori 131, 176, 267
Musica practica 46, 90, 196
rebus 20, 342–6 Salminger, Sigmund 286
resolutio 19, 70, 174–93 Saturnalia 28–30, 261
multiple solutions 180–4 Savonarola, Girolamo 304
on additional leaf 186–8 Scaliger, Julius Caesar 227
General index 513
Schwenter, Daniel 348 Trithemius, Johannes 346

Scottish Anonymous 235–7 Tyard, Pontus de 341
Selenus, Gustav 348
Senfl, Ludwig 205, 240, 271 Ulhart, Philipp 286
Sermisy, Claudin de 99
shape poems see carmina figurata Valentini, Pier Francesco 72, 363
Sherr, Richard 186 Valeriano, Piero 276, 299
Simias of Rhodes 275 Valerius Flaccus 106
Solomon 26 Valesi, Fulgentio 265
Soriano, Francesco 268 Valla, Lorenzo 50, 209, 269
Spataro, Giovanni 7 Vanneo, Stefano 245
letter to Cavazzoni (1 August 1517) 78 Vasari, Giorgio 207
letter to Giovanni Del Lago (1 September Venantius Fortunatus 276
1528) 85, 178 verbal instructions see canonic inscriptions
letter to Marc’Antonio Cavazzoni (10 Vergil 35, 240
November 1524) 222 Aeneid 50, 134, 138, 152, 155
letter to Pietro Aaron (23 May 1524) 176 Bucolics 26, 134, 136
letter to Pietro Aaron (30 October 1533) 177 Georgics 225
Spenser, Edmund 106 Vicentino, Nicola 271
Sphinx 1, 12, 22, 25, 35, 60, 209 on mensural intricacies 248–9
Stephani, Clemens 350 on musical riddles using images 256–8
Stomius, Johannes 155 on needless difficulty 249–51
Straparola, Giovanni Francesco 36, 91, 209, 261 on the performer 262–3
Stras, Laurie 91 Vigenère, Blaise de 347
Straßburger Rätselbuch 35 Vitali, Giovanni Battista 173
subtilitas 7, 87, 204, 271
Suetonius 29 Wegman, Rob 15, 84, 87, 128, 192
Sylvain, Alexandre 35, 209 Wilfflingseder, Ambrosius 235, 307
Symphosius 32, 35 Willes, Richard 276
Aenigmata Symphosii 29 Wright, Craig 106
Tabourot des Accords, Estienne 343 Ycart, Bernard 255

Tasso, Torquato 61, 262
Tatwine of Canterbury 30 Zacconi, Lodovico 9, 19, 270–1, 341
tentatio 204 Canoni musicali 72, 90, 124, 138, 182, 196,
Terence 134 214–20, 269, 282, 317, 328
Theokritos 275 Prattica di musica 143, 182, 214, 216
Tigrini, Orazio 249 Zarlino, Gioseffo 7, 184, 268–9, 271–2
Tinctoris, Johannes 15, 40, 226, 243 on mensural intricacies 244–8
Terminorum musicae diffinitorium on musical riddles using images 258–9
on canon 199 on the performer 263–4
on extractio 122 on the senses 251–3
on suppositio 111 Zazulia, Emily 192
Tractatus de regulari valore notarum 78 Ziolkowski, Jan 14–15, 44, 57, 87

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Music and Riddle Culture in the Renaissance

Throughout the Renaissance, composers often expressed themselves

katelijne schiltz is Associate Professor at the University of

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of

© Katelijne Schiltz and Bonnie J. Blackburn 2015

This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception

First published 2015

Printed in the United Kingdom by TJ International Ltd. Padstow Cornwall

Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data

ISBN 978-1-107-08229-8 Hardback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of

List of plates [page ix]

1. The culture of the enigmatic from Classical Antiquity to the

2. Devising musical riddles in the Renaissance [65]

3. The reception of the enigmatic in music theory [194]

4. Riddles visualised [273]

Appendix 1 A brief introduction to mensural notation [365]

1.1 The encoded voice of Josquin des Prez, Missa Fortuna

2.7 Marbriano de Orto, D’ung aultre amer in Canti B (Venice:

2.19 Antoine Busnoys, Maintes femmes in Canti C (Venice: Petrucci,

3.1 Hermann Finck, Practica musica (Wittenberg, 1556): opening page

2.1 Scipione Cerreto, two-voice riddle: resolutio [page 81]

Although writing as such is a solitary business, a book never comes into

A special word of thanks goes to Bonnie J. Blackburn. Our common

eagle-eyed one must be in order to comply with a verbal instruction such

2.p. second part / seconda pars

Schmidt Proverbia sententiaeque Latinitatis medii ac recentioris aevi/

Barcelona 5 Barcelona, Biblioteca Orfeó Català, MS 5

Coimbra 12 Coimbra, Biblioteca Geral da Universidade, MS

Kassel 9 Kassel, Universitätsbibliothek–Landesbibliothek

Naples VI.E.40 Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emanuelle

Trent 1377 (90) Trento, Museo Provinciale d’Arte, Castello del

Vatican CS 42 Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS

Vienna 19237 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek,

Antico, Liber 15 Liber quindecim missarum electarum (Rome:

Montanus & Neuber, Secunda pars magni operis musici (Nuremberg:

Susato, 26 chansons Vingt et six chansons musicales (Antwerp:

riddle’s appearance in today’s popular culture. Judging from the wealth of

From about the middle of the ﬁfteenth century onwards, leading

the reader. With their interrogative structure, riddles seek to attract

without – the active participation of the reader. Riddles thus require an

the tension between revealing (‘patefacere’, ‘manifestare’, ‘revelare’) and

study on obscurity: ‘The ordeal holds out the promise of ultimate

make a point of playing with conceptual boundaries and crossing them

images? What was the motivation behind the intentional obscurity?

cleverness on the other. But equally important is the question of what

Notation can play on complexity in two directions. On the one hand, it

i.e. their effect on the listeners. It is possible to trace different positions,

In the end, each riddle is different in terms of its ideas, context,

Vanish, Follies, with your mother;

In these triumphant verses from the early seventeenth-century masque

No wonder, then, that the Swiss theorist Heinrich Glarean, in his

Classical Antiquity and the Middle Ages

was known for his ‘knowledge, and understanding, and interpretation of

Other collections from Classical Antiquity are unfortunately lost. From

This carnivalesque Roman festival, held in honour of the god Saturn,

Ars grammatica became part of the school curriculum, children had

Riddles in the Renaissance

the beginning of a wide geographical diffusion of riddles, both in Latin and

Even more international fame was gained by Giovanni Francesco

paradox, imagination and play in his presentation of the riddle.46 When

complete editions of existing collections such as the above-mentioned