The Faenza Codex

The library of the small town of Faenza, near Ravenna, possesses an early 15th century manuscript, classified under the number 117, which contains the oldest collection of keyboard music in existence. These are essentially pieces based on the late 14th century French and Italian vocal works. There are arrangements of compositions by such well-known composers as Guillaume de Machaut, Jacopo da Bologna, Francesco Landini, as well as of several anonymous musicians. In some cases the original vocal waor has been lost and all that remains is the title and the keyboard version in the Faenza Codex.

The manuscript is arranged in two parts. The first, consisting mainly of pieces of French origin, begins with a Kyrie and ends with a Benedicamus Domino, while the second part is comprised exclusively of Italian works, but also has two Kyries, a Gloria, and also ends with a Benedicamus Domino. Most of the pieces are of secular origin, but the Codex also has arrangements for organ of the Mass Cunctipotens genitor Deus. These are the oldest existing examples of the organ mass in which each verse of the Ordinary was intended to be followed by the choir. This usage, called alternatim, probably goes back to the 11th century and was observed until the 19th century.

In spite of the eminent importance of this manuscript, it is very little known to keyboard performers, because the performance of this music calls for an appropriate instrument. The religious pieces should be played on a 15th century organ, unforyunately an extremely rare instrument. […]

The compositional method is invariably the same: the tenor, i.e. the lower part of the vocal original, is played by the left hand, while the right hand paraphrases the upper voice. This technique, related to the improvisation of vocal organum, survived in France, with certain modifications in style, until the end of the 18th century in the practice known as “le chant sur le livre”, and even until the late 19th century in Spain in the “contrapunto al mente”.

In certain cases the keyboard version is very close to the vocal original, in others it deviates from it. Although the tenor remains unchangeable, the very different treatment of the upper voices creates the impression of a new composition. […]

The Faenza Codex is extremely valuable as an indication of the techniques of ornamentation employed at the period. A large number of documents testify to the custom of precentors of transforming the written text in order to present it in their own manner. This refinement of the art of chanting, essentially oral and intimately linked to the personality of the performer, has disappeared, but thanks to this manuscript, we are able to obtain some idea of what it was like. In a good number of cases the borderline between the vocal and the instrumental does not really exist and it would be in vain to attempt to define its contours with any precision. […]

At the beginning of the 15th century the principle of a collection of instrumental compositions was something quite new. Here and there a few instrumental pieces are found in 14th century manuscripts, but no actual corpus has come down to us from this period. We may wonder why this should be the case.

The first homogeneous musical compilations appeared at the end of the 9th century to hand down vocal liturgical music to prosperity. We have to wait until the 13th century before collections of secular works were compiled, and the beginning of the 15th century for collections of instrumental pieces. There was, therefore, an evolution symptomatic of a transformation of the function of music, its conservation, transmission and creation. Instrumental music was the last to be notated, and the Faenza Codex might tell us why.

We have said that the instrument was used to paraphrase the vocal original, but we should come to a proper understanding of the term, original.

If an instrumentalist wihed to perform a vocal work, the basis of his elaboration was probably much more acoustic than literal, since the actual, physical appearance of vocal scores made it impossible for a single person to read them, because the difference parts were not set out face to face, and the only means of obtaining an idea of what the work sounded like was to sing it.

All that exists is what was written down, but we know that the written model was not always faithfully reproduced in performance. Therefore, the acoustic reality of a vocal work lies somewhere between the written musical text and the paraphrased versions of the Faenza Codex, and in certain cases it is, perhaps, closer to the latter. The notation of vocal music was of a very special nature, rather than different from the modern concept of scoring. What it did was to establish a model which was intended to be interpretated, a term which can be understood in the widest sense of an actual re-creation, or even, according to the musical talent of the performer and his awareness of the composer’s intentions, of a “co-creation”. The abstract architecture of the written work became and audible reality, a synthesis of the composer’s creative thought and the performer’s musical savoir-faire. It appears that there was no attempt to notate this savoir-faire, because, in order for it to be endowed with its full relevancy, it probably had to spring spontaneously from the particular moment and enrapture the listeners by its inestimable character of something ephemeral and, therefore, eminently human.

In this context we are in a better position to assess the extraordinary tour de force represented by the Faenza Codex. The paraphrase was notated, the “digital” savoir-faire fixed, thanks to a system of notation which superimposes the bass and the treble parts in the same visual field. To do this it was necessary to conceptualize an oral practice, to crystallize a demanour. This masterstroke – we are tempted to say, this masterpiece – marked a major stage in the history of music, because we have here the example of a musical notation which succeeds, as it had never done before, in fixing the most elucidative aspect of the art of music: the performer’s paraphrase.

Marcel Pérès
Tradução: James O. Wootton