Cristle Collins Judd_music in Dialogue_ok

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Journal of Music Theory 52:1, Spring 2008

DOI 10.1215/00222909-2009-010 © 2009 by Yale University

Music in DialogueConversational, Literary, and Didactic Discourse

about Music in the Renaissance

Cristle Collins Judd

Abstract This article takes Thomas Morley’s A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (1597) as a point of departure for exploring a group of sixteenth-century texts that place music, especially as repre-sented by musical notation, within the form of a dialogue. Music and musical writings have barely figured in the study of the Renaissance dialogue, yet these works offer specific insights about the nature of the genre. In addition to Morley’s treatise, works discussed in detail include Anton Francesco Doni’s Dialogo della musica (1544), Gioseffo Zarlino’s Dimostrationi harmoniche (1571), and Ercole Bottrigari’s Il desiderio overo de’ con-certi (1594). The article focuses on the uniquely hybrid nature of each of these texts and the ways in which various generic constraints and demands of format interact. Musical treatises in dialogue format offer a special means of understanding the broader history of the dialogue and the role of spatiality and temporality in creating verisimilitude. While Doni’s Dialogo may be seen as an attempt at interpolating “real music” into the conversational and literary genre of the dialogue, Morley’s didactic treatise represents the culmination of that interpolation: the means for taking part in the original conversation, namely the ability to sing.

when a musical treatise is presented in the form of a dialogue, the significance of its format often appears to be taken for granted by later read-ers. If commented on at all, the format may merit a simple sentence or two of explanation. Edmund Fellowes’s introduction to the facsimile edition of Thomas Morley’s A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke may be seen as typical in this regard. As Fellowes observes: “In accordance with the classical taste of the day, A Plaine and Easie Introduction is set in the form of a dialogue” (Morley 1937, vi). The casual tone of Fellowes’s observation—the

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This article is dedicated with great affection and admiration to Sarah Fuller on the occasion of her seventieth birthday. Although I was neither Sally’s student nor colleague, she has treated me as both, serving as a gracious mentor, adviser, and friend for many years. Sally’s work has been deeply influential on my own, despite the existence of only a single direct chronologic overlap in our interest (in the examples of Glareaus’s Dodecachordon ). The distance of centuries notwith-standing, I hope the present article, to some small degree, reflects the penetrating spirit with which she has demon-strated the deep insights possible through a close and contextual reading of historical theorists held in balance with the sound and context of the music about which they wrote.

I am grateful to former graduate students in seminars at the University of Pennsylvania and Princeton University who shared my initial exploration of the topic of music in dialogue. I would especially like to acknowledge the work of Olivia Bloechl in shaping my own preliminary thinking.

42 J O U r n A l o f M U S I c T h E O r Y

unremarkability and dispensability it seems to convey—potentially glosses over underlying questions of genre that may usefully inform our understand-ing of such texts.

My work on these questions grew out of an earlier study in which I focused on the nature of musical examples in theoretical writings of the six-teenth century ( Judd 2000). chronologically, I ended the earlier argument at mid-century with Gioseffo Zarlino’s Le istitutioni harmoniche of 1558, touch-ing the 1570s briefly with references to the revisions of that work. In passing, I also alluded to two dialogues: Zarlino’s Dimostrationi harmoniche from 1571, and Morley’s Plaine and Easie Introduction, first published in 1597. I took as my point of departure the perspective of the materiality of the text—that is, I focused on music theoretical writings first and foremost as books that par-take of a host of conventions that are far from merely formulaic, but easily overlooked when we focus on the “immaterial” theory of their content or the authorial intentions. But Zarlino’s Dimonstrationi and Morley’s Plaine and Easie Introduction were not just chronologically beyond that study; their status as dialogues pointed to specific questions particular to these works: What does it mean that an author writing about music has chosen a dialogue rather than some other form of expression? how might the dialogue as mode of writing advance (or hinder) the argument it conveys in the specific realm of musical knowledge? And, more broadly and reflexively, do dialogues that engage music offer special insights about the nature of the renaissance dialogue as a written genre?

In this article, I use Morley’s treatise, Fellowes’s casual observance not-withstanding, as a case study through which to explore these questions, along with a number of other texts from the sixteenth century that place music, especially as represented by musical notation, within a dialogue.1 Dialogue has, of course, been the focus of much recent scholarly activity. critical work over the last two decades, especially that stemming from the writings of Mikhail Bakhtin, has focused on philosophical and theoretical considerations of dialogue and dialogism as cultural practice.2 Yet work in this tradition has been, to a large extent, silent on the genre of dialogue, undeniably one of the most prevalent forms of writing in the renaissance, and easily the most theorized at the time. Indeed, it may be that the very ubiquity of the genre has

1 An interesting corollary discussion concerns the range of musical settings that may be described as dialogues. These have been the focus of greater attention in the musi-cological literature. See Schick 1997 for an overview. As Schick observes (following Harrán 1970), the term dialogo in explicit reference to music had two general senses in the sixteenth century: vocal music that presented a con-versational exchange between two or more characters, or a composition making use of alternating choirs, and other such devices, reminiscent of the exchanges of spoken dia-logue, resulting in the application of the term to a number

of diverse musical forms. Among earlier studies, see Har-rán 1970 and Nutter 1978. Studies on specific national tra-ditions or the work of individual composers include Gay-lard 1987, Freedman 1994, Chater 1999, and Brooks 2001 and 2003.

2 For a cogent overview of these scholarly trends, see Macovski 1997, 3–26. A wide-ranging view of the intersec-tion of dialogic thinking with musical discourse is articu-lated in Feldman 1995, 48–51 and passim.

43Cristle Collins Judd Music in Dialogue

overshadowed a consideration of its format: dialogues engaged almost every aspect imaginable of literary life, from the transformation of dialogues by the ancients (e.g., cicero) to topics ranging among rhetoric, ethics, society, his-tory, and pedagogy. however, from Peter Burke’s (1989) useful classification of renaissance dialogues within a continuum encompassed by four rubrics—catechism, drama, disputation, and conversation—a group of scholars has charted the history of the genre, primarily from the perspective of national tradition (cox 1992; Snyder 1989; Winn 1993; Wilson 1985).

nonetheless, music and musical writings have barely figured in the study of dialogue writ large, and there has been little attempt to gauge the extent and nature of musical encounter with dialogue (and of dialogue with music) in the renaissance. In this examination of musical dialogues, I have focused primarily on the question of how these texts grapple with the nature of musical and spoken utterance, of spatial and temporal organization, of textuality and orality.

Table 1 offers a checklist of selected sixteenth-century writings about music in dialogue format. This is not intended as a comprehensive list, but merely a reasonable overview of representative works in the genre. Two general exclusions deserve note: I have included in Table 1 only those

Table 1. Selected Sixteenth-Century Writings about Music in Dialogue Format

Date Author Title Interlocutors

1544 Anton Francesco Doni Dialogo della musica Bargo [Bartolomeo Gottifredi], Michele [Michele novarese?], hoste [Bartolomeo Torresano], Grullone, Girolamo Parabosco, claudio Veggio, lodovico Domenichi, count Ottavio landi, Perissone cambio, Selvaggia [Isabetta Guasca]1552 luigi Dentice Duo dialoghi Paolo Soardo, Giovanni Antonio Serone1558 Bartolomeo lieto Dialogo quarto di musica lieto, rosso1568 Vincenzo Galilei Fronimo: dialogo Fronimo (master), Eumatius (pupil)1571 Gioseffo Zarlino Dimostrationi harmoniche Zarlino, Willaert, Merulo, Francesco dalla Viola, Desiderio1581 Vincenzo Galilei Dialogo della musica Strozzi, Bardi antica e della moderna1588 Pietro Pontio Ragionamento di musica Don Paolo, Don hettore1593 Girolamo Diruta Il transilvano Diruta, Il Transilvano [Sigismund Báthori], cavalieri [Melchior Michele]1594 Ercole Bottrigari Il desiderio overo de’ concerti Gratiosus Desiderio [Bottrigari], Alemanno Benelli [Annibale Melone]1595 Pietro Pontio Dialogo . . . ove si tratta Three Veronese counts: Giordano Sarego, della theorica Marco Veritá, and Alessandro Bevilacqua1597 Thomas Morley A Plaine and Easie Master [Morley], Philomathes, Polymathes Introduction1600 Giovanni Artusi L’Artusi, ovvero, Delle Signor luca, Signor Vario imperfezioni della moderna musica


treatises with named characters. Thus, I have made a distinction that excludes didactic texts in simple question and answer format (those texts, ranging from the medieval Scolica Enchiriadis to northern humanist latin school books that begin: “What is music? Music is . . .” and proceed in that format but without dramatic characterizations).3 Second, I have somewhat arbitrarily taken the year 1600 as an end point because of my focus on Morley, thus omit-ting such authors as Banchieri, cerreto, and a host of others from throughout the seventeenth century whose works would clearly be at home on this list.

A number of the earlier books cited in Table 1—for example, lieto’s Dialogo and Galilei’s Fronimo—are notable for their emphasis on lute playing; similar later treatises such as Girolamo Diruta’s Il transilvano and a number of seventeenth-century works focus on keyboard music and performance. consisting exclusively of Italian treatises apart from Morley’s, these works often involve real nobles and carefully placed historical fictions, as may be ascertained from the list of interlocutors. These emphases on historicity, court culture, and the lute all stem from a neo-ciceronian tradition of dia-logue that traced its roots to Baldassare castiglione’s Il libro del cortegiano.4 Indeed, this “situationality” of a dialogue counts as a crucial aspect of the genre: the work creates a physical space through its setting, as well as a situa-tion within which the dialogue occurs.5

As I suggested above, writing about music is almost invisible in the larger studies of the genre. The most comprehensive study mentions only a single work focused on music, Ercole Bottrigari’s Il desiderio (cox 1992, 105), and the work is adduced there only as a kind of counterexample: near the end of the narrative Virginia cox argues that diagrams and examples—such as those contained in Bottrigari’s work—bring to the fore the book as fixed typographical object rather than utterance. She further suggests that such books may be seen as a symptom of a cultural change that desiccated the oral element of the dialogue.6 cox goes on to argue, following Walter Ong, that by sundering literary discourse from its roots in spoken utterance, print destroyed the fragile parallelism between the dialogue’s fictional

3 While Cox (1992, 1) adopts the most open possible defi-nition of dialogue as “an exchange between two voices,” Burke’s continuum from catechism to drama mediated by disputation and conversation offers a helpful matrix for the texts in which I am interested (1989, 3).

4 While most Renaissance dialogues fall broadly into the category of Platonic dialogues, as Cox (1992) has shown, the emphasis on the status of speakers (including their historical authenticity) and the fidelity to documented his-torical situations, along with a concern with decorum, marks the works specifically in the Ciceronian influence.

The scope of Table 1 could easily be broadened here to encompass French works such as Pontus de Tyard’s

Solitaire premier (see van Orden 1998 and Vendrix 1994), but doing so would begin to raise a discrete set of contex-tual concerns.

5 For a discussion of the importance of “situationality” and “characterological embodiment” in the Renaissance dialogue, see Buranello 2004.

6 “Because of the nature of their argument, the Desiderio and the Ercolano [Benedetto Varchi, L’Hercolano, Venice 1570] need the resources of typography in a way that the Cortegiano does not. . . . The intrusions of diagrams and tables into dialogues on technical subjects is only the most obvious manifestation of a deeper cultural change” (Cox 1992, 105).


conversation and its real “conversation” with the reader.7 Ironically, perhaps, I want to suggest that the very sort of treatise that cox adduces as undermin-ing dialogue might actually reopen the question of aurality and reader par-ticipation. That is, I suspect that cox may have misconstrued musical nota-tion as merely iconic in Bottrigari’s Il desiderio, without recognizing the ways in which the technical demands of the book’s subject and the multiplicity of possibilities for realizing musical notation that occurs within a printed text create a special set of conditions. To advance an argument that counters cox’s conclusion, I briefly explore a series of sixteenth-century dialogic encounters with music.

My point of departure is Anton Francesco Doni’s hybrid print, the Dia-logo della musica (1544). The Dialogo offers a unique perspective from which to consider the nature of music in dialogue and the nature of slippage between dialogues and other formats associated with writing about music. I consider such “slippage” further through discussion of Zarlino’s Istitutioni harmoniche (1558) and Dimostrationi harmoniche (1571), along with Bottrigari’s response to those texts in Il desiderio overo de’ concerti (1594). returning to the dialogue with which I opened the article, I then consider questions of visual-ity, spatiality, and orality in Morley’s Plaine and Easie Introduction (1597).

Anton Francesco Doni, Dialogo della musica (1544)

The first book in Table 1, Doni’s Dialogo della musica (1544), is a unique pub-lication by all accounts. The title page of the canto partbook is reproduced in Figure 1.8 The text of the conversational dialogue appears only in the canto partbook, with a series of madrigals interspersed, as illustrated by the opening reproduced in Figure 2. The alto, tenor, and bassus partbooks, like the canto, are in upright rather than oblong format, but contain only music and are structured in every other way as ordinary partbooks, even though each is directed to a different dedicatee. This is the first instance of a book that tries overtly to link the dialogue as literary genre directly with musical notation.9 In this publication, the dialogue (i.e., the literary genre) and part-books (the musical genre) are directly mapped one on to the other. The generic struggle is reflected in the physical production of the volume. It melds the upright quarto format associated with literary editions with the partbook format associated with music books. The individual reader/user of

7 While this thesis resurfaces in a number of Ong’s writ-ings, it is most directly stated in Ong 1982. Although a number of responses have been posed, Ong’s basic pre m-ise has shown remarkable resistance to challenge.

8 The copy of the Dialogo della musica referenced for this article is that of the Biblioteca dell’Accademia filarmonica, Verona. See Bernstein 1998, 175–78, for details on the print and the unusual format of the book, as well as full bibliographic details.

9 There have been a number of studies of this work, focused primarily on the question of how accurately it reflects social practice or presents historical reality of musical life in mid-sixteenth-century Piacenza and Venice. See Einstein 1934, Haar 1966, Feldman 1995, Genesi 1990, and Migiani 1993.


the Dialogo faces an interesting challenge. Taken together, all four books offer the possibility of a collective reenactment of the dialogue they contain. The canto gives the impression of a self-sufficient narrative. At the moment when the conversation might otherwise have described the singing of a mad-rigal, the madrigal itself (and the passage of time its performance would occupy) appears, so to speak, but only a single part, the canto of the madri-gal. To have included the entire polyphony would have required choirbook or score format, yet this would pose great typographical obstacles in produc-ing the book: choirbook implies a folio format reserved for sacred music that is generically incompatible with the madrigals contained in this volume. Fur-ther, the conversational dialogue would have to be manipulated so that each ended at the close of a recto page, leaving a full opening for the choirbook notation. not only would this have been impractical from the standpoint of the printer, but it goes against the illusion of conversation flowing into and out of music that Doni is striving to create here, as well as the individuation of the singers established by the partbooks.10

conversely, taken on their own, the other books of the set suggest an ordinary anthology in partbooks if in an anomalous upright, rather than oblong, quarto format. But to actually sing as though from an anthology, the canto must not only disregard the interpolated dialogue, but also search in a fairly cumbersome manner to locate the individual madrigals.

The hybrid nature of the volume is apparent at every turn. It is as though, as haar (1966, 198) observed, what Doni has attempted is an inter-polation in dialogues like the Decameron or Il Cortegiano in which the music the company was said to perform has actually been provided. Indeed, not only is it provided, but it is available for performance in a way that recreates the dialogue in a group reading of the work. Yet, physically, it appears that the different realms of words and music are incommensurable and ultimately incompatible. The constraints of the conventions in which the two are pub-lished are constantly at odds in this singular volume, even as Doni’s solution of uniting a dialogue with its music seems all too obvious from the conversa-tional and representational understanding of the genre. how, after all, was one supposed to have a dialogue about music without the music?

The two sections of the book depict two musical events, the first in Piacenza and the second in Venice. The musical items are clearly numbered, and the repertory, outlined in Table 2, is carefully chosen in support of the fictionalized account. The interlocutors are a mix of historically identifiable and stock characters. nearly all of the names mentioned in the first part are associated with the Accademia Ortolana, and as haar (1966, 209) described and subsequent scholars have elaborated, most of the madrigals have connec-tions with Piacenza through either their composer or their text. In the

10 Of course, this is precisely the problem created in the modern edition, when the four original partbooks are

conflated in a single volume in which a modern score replaces the individual parts.


Figure 1. Doni, Dialogo della musica (1544)


Venetian half, the sources of music are not always so obvious, but the Vene-tian connections are nevertheless clear.

Most discussions of the Dialogo have focused on its potential as a descrip-tion of social interaction and the information it offers on the role of music in private gatherings. haar described the musical anthology contained within it as “curious” and “uneven,” with the sense that in the second part, Doni was

Figure 2. Doni, Dialogo della musica (1544), Canto, fols. 5v–6r


grabbing at anything that was available. And, if viewed merely as a music anthology, one is hard-pressed to dispute this evaluation, given the variability of both the composers and the repertory. Yet, this is not a music anthology, or at least not solely a music anthology; the music carefully supports the fic-tion of the dialogue. When the narrative moves from Piacenza to Venice, the

Figure 2 (continued)


number of interlocutors is doubled, and the repertory shifts. To have meaning in the context of the dialogue, the musical items can only be evalu-ated in the order in which they occur, something that seems to go against the very grain of anthologies published in Venice around mid-century. The user of the partbooks, of course, is free to forgo Doni’s order, but the order has been predetermined, as it were, by the chronologic unfolding of the dia-logue. Similarly, even as the Dialogo describes a semifictive social interaction, it struggles toward uniting textual and musical discourse.

The Dialogo seems to fight its material realization at every turn. For example, Grullone and Michele are described as handing out individual manuscript parts from a pouch for each piece, in marked contrast to the printed partbooks by which the dialogue is presented. Perhaps the most strik-ing moment of such tensions comes with the fifth musical work in a frequently cited passage from the Dialogo. The opening is reproduced as Figure 3. The fifth work is Arcadelt’s well-known Il bianco e dolce cigno, or so it would appear from the music of the canto.

Table 2. Musical contents of Doni’s Dialogo della musica

Prima parte

I Veggio Donna per acquetar vostro desireII ruffo Ma di chi debbo lamentarmi hai lasso furiosoIII riccio Lassatemi morireIV Arcadelt S’amante fu giamai di sperar privoV Arcadelt Il bianco e dolce cignoVI [Doni] Noi v’abbaian donne mille nuov’a direVII [Doni] O conservi d’amor che cosi spessoVIII Parabosco Pur converra ch’i miei martiri amoreVIIII Parabosco Giunto m’ha amor fra belle e crude bracciaX Palazzo Maledetto sia amore e quel che disseXI Bargonio Alma mia fiamma e donnaXII Doni Di tre rare eccellenzeXIII Veggio Madonna il mio dolor è tant’e tale

Seconda parte

XIIII nollet S’io potessi mirar quell’occhi belliXV Doni Chiaro leggiadro lume che dal cieloXVI Perissone Deh perchè com’è il vostro al nome mioXVII Parabosco Nessun visse giamai più di me lietocanzona Berchem Canzona Alla dolc’ombraXVIII — Ingenium ornavit Pallas, ornavit potentemXVIIII Parabosco Cantai mentre ch’io arsi del mio focoXX [Perissone?] Ave virgo gratiosoXXI Willaert Beatus Bernardus quasi vas auri solidumXXII Perissone Giunto m’ha amor fra belle a crude bracciaXXIII rore Quis tuos presul valeat mitenti pileoXXIIII Veggio Madonna il mio dolor è tant’e taleXXV Arcadelt Amorosette fioreXXVI Buus À tout jamais d’ung vouloir immuableXXVII Veggio Madonna hor che direte


The conversation that follows, on the recto of the opening, makes it clear that the canto quinto is not what it may appear at first glance:

Bargo: I don’t wonder that you don’t say who has written this other one, that comes to blows with “Il bianco e dolce cigno.”

hoste: I like that sort of whimsy [bizzaria].

Bargo: I don’t.

hoste: So much the worse for you; it was done for those who would enjoy it. If it isn’t to your taste, forget it; I think it is a pretty, a pleasing invention.

Grullone: You see that one can do with music whatever one wants; I’ll show you that if a person decides against doing things the right way, he can simply pro-duce a hodge-podge. here you have one piece with the soprano completely at odds with the other words below. here is another in which the words once belonged to a different piece, and this piece had different words—and you see, the pieces now go better than they did before.

Bargo: Who is their author?

Grullone: The maestro who has wounded them so that they cry out for help.

Bargo: Very satisfying; I knew that much before.11

The beginning of this rather extraordinary centone, a polytextual conflation, appears in Example 1.12 The conundrum is this: for the dialogue that surrounds it to make sense, all parts must be present and sounded together, yet only the canto has the dialogue, and taken alone the part it contains (recognizably Arcadelt’s Il bianco e dolce cigno) seems to make a nonsense of the same text.

While throughout the dialogue a certain musical expertise is expected of the interlocuters—who both perform and express judgments about compositions—Doni deliberately grounds the dialogue in a social sphere as when he has Grullone exclaim after a particularly pedantic monologue by Bargo that such discussions are best meant for schools and that the purpose of the present gathering is seeking enjoyment: “We mean to take our ease, not to teach.” This deliberate distancing from the didactic is not surprising; along with the fidelity to historical locations and people, it places Doni’s Dialogo squarely in the literary and conversational sphere of the neo-ciceronian dia-logue that had rapidly established itself as a primary means of expression.

From dialogue to treatise to dialogue . . .

The slippage from conversational dialogue to didactic treatise—the slippage Doni’s interlocutors seem so emphatically to want to avoid—and the ques-tions of veracity entailed by format can be conveniently illustrated by a

11 The translation follows Haar 1966, 215–16.

12 Haar 1966, 215–16, discusses in detail the new voices added to Arcadelt’s soprano.


Figure 3. Doni, Dialogo della musica (1544), Canto, fols. 10v–11r


Example 1. Doni, Dialogo della musica, Canto Quinto, Arcadelt (?), Il bianco e dolce cigno (ed.

Malipiero, 1964)


Zarlino, Istitutioni harmoniche, IV: 346

Et per dare qualche essempio accommo-dato di questo, mi ricordo, che leggendo vna fiata nel Secondo libro del corti-giano del conte Baldessara castiglione, ritrouai, che essendo appresentati nella corte della S. Duchessa di Vrbino alcuni versi sotto’l nome del Sannazaro, tutti li giudicarono per molto eccellenti, & li lodarono sommamente; dipoi saputo per cosa certa, che erano stati composti da vn’altro, subito persero la riputatione & furono giudicati meno che mediocri. Simigliantemente ritrouai, che cantan-dosi in presentia della nominata Signora vn motetto, non piacque, ne fù riputato nel numero de i buoni, fino a tanto, che non si seppe, che la composi-tione era di Iosquino.

Ma per mostrare anco quanto possa alcune volte la malignità, & la ignoranza insieme de gli huomini, mi souiene hora alla memoria quello, che molte fiate hò vdito dire dall’Eccellentissimo Adriano Vuillaerte, che cantandosi in roma nella capella del Pontefice quasi ogni festa di nostra Donna quel motetto a sei voci, Verbum bonum, & suaue, sott’il nome di Iosquino; era tenuto per vna delle belle compositioni, che a quei tempi si cantasse: essendo lui venuto di Fiandra in Italia al tempo di leone De- cimo, et ritrouandosi in luogo, oue si cantaua cotal motetto, vidde che era intitolato a Iosquino; & dicendo lui, che era il suo, come era veramente; tanto valse la malignità, ouero (dirò più mo- destamente) la ignoranza di coloro, che mai più lo volsero cantare.

Di costoro, che sono senza alcun giudi-tio soggiunge in quello istesso luogo il

Castiglione, Il libro del cortegiano, II: 35

E che sia ‘l vero, non è ancor molto tempo, che essendo appresentati qui alcuni versi sotto ‘l nome del Sanazaro, a tutti parvero molto eccellenti e furono laudati con le maraviglie ed esclamazio- ni; poi, sapendosi per certo che erano d’un altro, persero súbito la reputazione e parvero men che mediocri. E cantan-dosi pur in presenzia della signora Duchessa un mottetto, non piacque mai né fu estimato per bono, fin che non si seppe che quella era composizion di Josquin de Pris.

Ma che piú chiaro segno volete voi della forza della opinione? non vi ricordate

passage from the very end of Zarlino’s Le istitutioni harmoniche (1558). In the passage, quoted below, Zarlino adduces the quintessential dialogue— castiglione’s Il Cortegiano—as the framing context for an anecdote that he relates about Adriano Willaert, then maestro di capella at San Marco and the revered composer on whose teachings the Istitutioni rested. The passage from castiglione is shown in parallel, with shared text between the two indicated by underlining.


For example, I remember that while reading once in the second book of Il Cortegiano of count Baldassare castigli-one, I discovered that when some verses presented at the court of the Duchess of Urbino went under the name of San-nazaro, everyone judged them to be most excellent, and praised them highly. Then it became known for certain that they had been composed by someone else, and suddenly they lost their reputa-tion and were judged to be less than mediocre. Similarly, I discovered that a motet which was sung in the presence of the aforementioned lady did not please, nor was it ranked among the good com-positions, until it became known that the composition was written by Josquin, for then it was immediately ranked in accordance with the lofty reputation which Josquin had at that time.

In order to show what the malignity and ignorance of men can sometimes do, I shall now relate what I have heard said many times about the most excellent Adrian Willaert, namely, that a motet for six voices, Verbum bonum et suave, sung under the name of Josquin in the Papal chapel in rome almost every feast of Our lady, was considered one of the most beautiful compositions sung in those days. When Willaert came from Flanders to Italy at the time of leo X and found himself at the place where this motet was being sung, he saw that it was ascribed to Josquin. When he said that it was his own, as it really was, so great was the malignity or (to put it more mildly) the ignorance of the singers, that they never wanted to sing it again.

. . . if the truth were told, you yourself and all of us frequently, and at this very moment, rely more on the opinions of others than on our own. And to prove this, consider that not so long ago, when certain verses were presented here as being by Sannazaro, everyone thought they were extremely fine and praised them to the skies; then when it was established that they were by someone else their reputation sank immediately and they seemed quite mediocre. Then again, when a motet was sung in the presence of the Duchess, it pleased no one and was considered worthless, until it became known that it had been com-posed by Josquin des Pres.

conte Baldessara vn’altro essempio di vno, che beuendo di vno istesso vino, diceua tallora, che era perfettissimo, & tallora insipidissimo: percioche gli era persuaso, che erano di due sorti di vino.

che, bevendo voi stesso d’un medesimo vino, dicevate talor che era perfettis-simo, talor insipidissimo? e questo per-ché a voi era persuaso che eran dui vini, l’un di rivera di Genoa e l’altro di questo paese; e poi ancor che fu sco-perto l’errore, per modo alcuno non volevate crederlo, tanto fermamente era confermata nell’animo vostro quella falsa opinione, la qual però dalle altrui parole nasceva.


The reference to Book II of Il cortegiano is overt and specific. Even as Zarlino is turning castiglione’s judgments on style to his own purposes, he is faithful to the well-known dialogue. castiglione’s fictionalized account is reported here as a truth that substantiates, as it is substantiated by, the anecdote about Willaert and Verbum bonum et suave.13

here, an excerpt from a dialogue is reported in a practical treatise as a means of verifying, contextualizing, and explaining the contemporary events related by the treatise. While dialogue enters the Istitutioni thus—as gesture toward a semifictive account that relates greater truths—it betokens Zarlino’s use of dialogue for his next treatise. This sense of continuity is all the more palpable when reading these treatises in the complete works edition of 1588–89. From the invocation of castiglione that closes the Istitutioni, we move directly to a treatise in dialogue. One suspects that it was not mere fashion that prompted Zarlino to adopt this format for the Dimostrationi harmoniche. And in fact, the treatise attempts the difficult feat of superimposing the format of a dialogue on a set of demonstrations.

The Dimostrationi carefully sets its scene in April 1562, nine years before its publication. The date is crucial because it puts all the major characters in place: it is shortly before Willaert’s death, and it coincides with the presence of the composer Francesco dalla Viola in Venice. (he was there as part of the Este retinue.) Zarlino tells us that after he and dalla Viola attended vespers at San Marco, they joined up with claudio Merulo (who was by that time employed as organist at San Marco). All three go to visit Willaert, who was ill.

In the book mentioned above, count Baldassare adds another example of those who are without any judgment, and tells of a man who, drinking of one and the same wine, at one time said that it was most perfect, and at another, that it was most insipid, for he was convinced that he had been drinking two sorts of wine.

Gioseffo Zarlino, On the Modes: Part IV of Le istitutioni harmoniche (trans. cohen, 1983)

What clearer proof do you want of the force of opinion? Do you not remember that once when drinking a certain wine one moment you were saying that it was absolutely perfect and the next that it was really insipid? And this was because you were persuaded that you were drink-ing two different kinds of wine, one from the riviera of Genoa and the other from this locality. And even when the mistake was discovered you simply refused to believe it, so firmly entrenched in your mind was the false opinion which, of course, arose from what others had said.

Baldassare castiglione, Il libro del corteg-iano, II: 35 (trans. Bull, 1967, 144–45)

13 Modern scholars had long been prone to discount the Willaert episode as apocryphal, a fanciful and anecdotal dressing up of Castiglione on Zarlino’s part. Yet, as David Kidger (2003) has determined, the confusion of authorship by the Papal Chapel singers is indeed plausible, may well

have been connected with a visit by Willaert to Rome, and quite probably surrounded the motet Verbum bonum et suave. I am grateful to Professor Kidger for sharing this unpublished work with me.


At that point, a certain Desiderio, a learned nobleman from Pavia, turns up and begins to question Zarlino, and off we go with the first of Desiderio’s many leading questions. The various emphases on historicity, court culture, and so forth all stem from the neo-ciceronian tradition of dialogue tracing its roots to castiglione’s Il cortegiano.

The dialogue provides the authority for the treatise in the form of the interlocutors, but also provides a convenient framework that allows Zarlino to expand upon his own earlier book. Thus, Desiderio’s naive questions prompt Zarlino not only to quote his own earlier book approvingly, but also to create a context within which he can respond to his critics as well as elaborate on the earlier volume. It even allows Zarlino to put criticisms of his foes in the mouth of the aged and venerable Willaert. Just as Doni’s Dialogo della musica was a hybrid, forcing music and dialogue between the covers of a single volume, so Zarlino’s book coerces dialogue and demonstration into a single volume. That the demonstrations have priority is indicated by the very title of the book. It is, after all, titled Dimostrationi harmoniche, not Dialogo della harmonia or some such. Indeed, the title page makes no allusion to the dialogue.

cox could have as easily singled out Zarlino’s Dimostrationi as Bottigari’s dialogue (which is, in its turn, a response to Zarlino) for her criticism that the reader’s faith in the conversation is undermined as the book becomes a phys-ical object fixed by typography rather than an utterance in which readers participate. The opening given in Figure 4 would seem to confirm this, as visual diagrams interrupt, even mid-syllable, the discourse. This book is, with-out doubt, a “monologue,” in the traditional form of demonstrations, onto which a dialogue has been grafted. The dialogue conveniently provides the premise and authorization for the text. It is not the diagrams, however, which are primarily responsible for any presumed loss of utterance in this book. rather, the nature of the book, a Dimostrationi, sets up a parallel process, much as did Doni’s Dialogo. The definitions, demands, propositions, and corollaries, all set apart in large roman type with headings, are a single unified book, into which a self-contained, but overlapping, explanatory dialogue in italic type has been interpolated. Thus, on a much larger scale, just as a moment from castiglione’s Il Cortegiano contextualized the claims at the end of the Istitu-tioni, the newly created dialogue here gives life to a text. That the text itself is newly written does not change the essentially hybrid nature of the book as two books—a dialogue and demonstration—within a single cover. It is worth highlighting that the Dimostrationi harmoniche contains no musical notation. That its illustrations are entirely tables and diagrams is perhaps a reflection not only of its subject matter but also of the genre of demonstration.

Bottrigari’s Il desiderio offered an overt response to Zarlino’s Dimostra-tioni: the character Desiderio from Zarlino’s dialogue is transformed into one whose desire has now been satisfied—Gratioso Desiderio. But unlike the Dimostrationi, Il desiderio is solely a dialogue, a feature called out on its title page.


IlDESIDErIO

OVErODe’ concerti di varij Strumenti Musicali.

DIAlOGODEl M. Ill. SIG. cAVAlIErE

hercole Bottrigaro:nel quale anco si ragiona della Participatione di essi

Strumenti, & di molte altre cose pertinenti alla Musica.

It is also a dialogue in which musical notation figures, albeit in a limited fashion. Figure 5 reproduces the opening on pages 20–21 with the most nota-tion of the treatise. Unlike the diagrams of the Dimostrationi, in fact these examples are carefully introduced. The last line of page 19 introduces the top of page 20 (the beginning of Figure 5) with the words “here is the exam-ple.” captions for the examples appear as marginalia, and each example is directly introduced and carefully placed spatially. So the question now arises: is this musical notation mere visual diagram? Bottrigari might seem to sug-gest so, as when he says, “I want to show it to you also with pen on this paper” (con la penna sù questa carta) (see Figure 6), or, as with his continuous physical injunctions, which seem to present notation: “here you are . . . here is the demonstration so you may see. . . . I can write them out; just a moment and you will see. . . . now examine it. look at this keyboard I will draw for you” (Figure 7).

It was in fact the keyboard “prop” that seemed to strain all credulity for cox. While the visual may be the most obvious, it is important to realize that the musical notation Bottrigari introduces in his response to Zarlino’s dia-logue has the potential—hardly realized in this dialogue, to be sure, but the potential nevertheless—to move the printed words to the realm of articu-lated sound commensurate with the representation of musical sound. To appreciate the realization of that potential, I now turn to an overtly didactic dialogue, one with which I began my exploration of musical dialogues, Morley’s Plaine and Easie Introduction.

Thomas Morley, A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (1597)

On the surface, Morley’s Plaine and Easie Introduction shares only the superfi-cial commonalities of its dialogue format with the books I have discussed thus far. The interlocutors, like those in Vincenzo Galilei’s Fronimo, or the Desiderio of Zarlino’s and Bottrigari’s dialogues, are symbolically named. Morley’s characters’ names—the master, Philomathes (lover of learning), and Polymathes (widely learned)—tell us of the roles they will play. Morley’s treatise sits firmly within a genre of music treatise in dialogue format, yet it seems not to have originated in direct response to the Italian dialogic


Figure 4. Zarlino, Dimostrationi harmoniche (1571), 168–69


tradition. That is, unlike Bottrigari’s work, it is not a particularized response. nor does it seem to have English predecessors that deal with the subject of music, although didactic dialogues in general were as common in England as on the continent. nevertheless, I believe that it can offer hints for under-standing the interplay of aural, visual, and spatial in earlier dialogues.

Figure 5. Bottrigari, Il desiderio (1594), 20–21


What Morley’s treatise tells us about music has usually precluded any consideration of how he does it. But as I have argued above, the how insepara-bly informs the what.14 Music (by means of music notation) possesses the


14 I touched on these issues briefly in Judd 2000, 8–9.


ability to disrupt a discourse, to halt or redirect its progression, to interrupt the rhythm of words and the order of a page. For Doni, it was precisely such interruptions and the associated sound of such interruptions that were the implication of notation. As I show in detail below, in a didactic work like Mor-ley’s there are times when notation serves a purely iconic function—when we are meant to see notation, but not hear it. At other times, the notation serves as a generalized reminder of music as a sounding phenomenon, and at still other times, the notation is meant to be “read” and heard, although the read-ing and hearing may take many forms.

Figure 6. Bottrigari, Il desiderio (1594), 26


As readers of Morley’s dialogue, we take control of the sounds repre-sented, whether they are imagined or actualized in or out of real time, com-pletely or partially. What is implicit in a dialogue and especially notable in Morley’s treatise is the degree to which a mask of verisimilitude attempts to disguise the rupture of words and notation. This is accomplished both through the mode of exposition and through the physical placement of words and music. not surprisingly, Morley does not completely succeed, but A Plaine and Easie Introduction reveals an overarching self-consciousness that places it squarely in the communicative sphere of the dialogue. At the heart

Figure 7. Bottrigari, Il desiderio (1594), 37


of A Plaine and Easie Introduction is the juxtaposition of a written treatise on practical music with the form of an oral dialogue that is constrained by its physical presentation and the music notation it contains.

Even the most formulaic dialogue presents a body of information or opinion at the same time that it also represents the process by which that infor-mation is transmitted to a particular audience. Morley’s dialogue presents us with characters in the form of a teacher and students who encounter musical inscriptions in the form of notation. The depiction itself is interesting for the information it can provide us about musical pedagogy (albeit stylized and fictionalized), but it also creates a pedagogical exchange between the reader and text that is mirrored in the dialogue as the exchange among Polymathes, Philomathes, and the master. Parallel exchanges of text/reader and master/student exist in a kind of symbiotic relationship. readers are explicitly aware of the parallel status of the two exchanges (the narrative of the dialogue on the one hand and the pedagogical function on the other). Thus, Morley’s readers not only observe a fictional exchange between a master and student, but are also invited to participate in it.

Morley’s text signals different modes of reading throughout the dia-logue, by means of the characters Philomathes and Polymathes. not surpris-ingly, at the moments when the verisimilitude of the dialogue is most threat-ened, the narrative voice emerges most clearly, such as when Polymathes utters: “In truth, if I had not looked upon the example, I had not understood your wordes, but now I perceave the meaning of them.” It is a sentiment uttered repeatedly by Polymathes, as a self-conscious insistence on the abso-lute necessity of comprehending the musical examples so carefully placed in the work.

The means of mediating the notated music of A Plaine and Easie Intro-duction are both subtle and diverse. Although Philomathes and Polymathes are constantly interrupting their master in Morley’s dialogue, they frequently apologize for their interruption, implying a norm of didactic discourse as an uninterrupted presentation of information, not a dialectical one. For exam-ple, Philomathes says to the master, “now seeing you have aboundantlie satis-fied my desire in shewing us such profitable tables and close, I pray you go forwarde with that discourse of yours which I interrupted” (142). The char-acter seems to speak for the director of the dialogue, however, in authorizing the interruption, the results of which were “profitable tables.” That such “interruption” is authorized so enthusiastically, whether it takes the form of an interjection by a character, an inset table, or notated music, provides fur-ther evidence of a self-consciousness about the mode of presentation, both of verbal concepts and of musical notation and tables. Equally carefully, Morley never exceeds a page without some interaction of character, however formu-laic, to remind us that this is not a monologue.

Most notable are the ways in which Morley situates the musical examples through language and spatial organization. It is here, where text and music


meet, that Morley seems to exert the greatest effort toward maintaining an impression of verisimilitude within the dialogue, while at the same time man-aging the presentation of information to an actual reader. Musical examples are set into the text so that their visual apprehension occurs simultaneously with the events represented in the text. Marginalia function as visual cues, assuming the role of subject headings and captions in an expository treatise, but standing physically apart from, indeed outside, the dialogue that contains the music.15 The musical examples are usually framed as exercises in singing or composition traded between the master and the two students. The format of the examples varies, depending on the intended purpose as well as where they occur within the treatise: most common are separate parts, choirbook, score, and quasi-score formats. regardless of format, the examples are pre-sented by one of the characters to another. characters are instructed to “sing,” “peruse,” “see,” “hear,” and “mark” examples given to them. The active verbs along with the spatial organization of the music on the page tell the reader how to approach the material. The first of my series of examples from Morley (Figure 8) comes early in the dialogue. This particular example is useful for understanding how Morley manipulates notation and the printed page. The master says: “here is one, sing it.” We are intended to see, but not yet hear the example that follows on from the master’s words as he presents the notation to the student Philomathes, who is to realize it. Morley then attaches solmiza-tion syllables to the excerpt when it is repeated, so we know that Philomathes has sung it. not only do we know that he has sung it, but the dialogue tells us that he has sung it well! By extension, the conventions of dialogue suggest that we, the readers, know to sing it because we recognize Morley as both the direc-tor who simultaneously stands outside the dialogue and the teacher who is embodied within as the “master.” Similarly, we are outside the dialogue but participate vicariously through the voice of the students. Through aural and active reference—to sing, peruse, see, hear—Morley’s language frames his examples, even as the treatise remains a visual object manipulated by its reader. Its careful spatial organization supports the illusion of simultaneity between the dialogue and its material representation.

Polyphonic examples are more problematic in the context of a dialogue, especially those moments when Morley appears to put the polyphony in the mouth of an individual, a situation to which I will come in a moment. Fre-quently, format becomes a clue for understanding how the example is to be read. We know without doubt from the layout and placement at the end of the treatise that the madrigals in choirbook format are to be performed by a group of singers around a table, not imagined by an individual. Indeed, the goal of Philomathes’ studies with Morley has been to learn to sing his part in

15 Similarly, we recognize that parts of the text are marked as being “outside” the dialogue, both by their physical placement, and by the role they play as navigational tools,

for example, the peroratio and the expository annotations, which serve as subheadings to annotate and comment on the dialogue proper.


such works, to overcome the embarrassment he describes on the first page of the treatise at his woeful ignorance of music. As the dialogue proceeds, he wins his place back in a society that valued the ability to sing a part at sight. The cluster of examples at the end of Morley’s treatise might supply the music for just such an evening’s singing. So in effect, we arrive at the end of this treatise in the social setting in which Doni’s Dialogo began.

Figure 8. Morley, Plaine and Easie Introduction (1597), 6


Examples notated in parts occur in the section of part I dealing with modus and prolation. here the notation may also be understood as demon-stration, in which the student, or reader, works through individual parts. That is, this is not polyphony in the mouth of an individual, but a written example to be studied in written form, for which the notation is a clue. Other examples appear in score or quasi score, another format associated with music for study. Indeed, this is Morley’s preferred format for the examples of parts II and III of the treatise, which focus on singing a part against a plain-song and creating counterpoints. he is frank about his manipulation of for-mat, explaining his use of score as an aid to perception: “And to the ende that you may the more easelie understand the contryving of the parts and their proportion one to another, I have set it downe in partition” (34). Or, “here it is set down in partition, because you should the more easilie perceive the conveiance of the parts” (97).

Through examples in this format, we see the way Morley manipulates notation to create verisimilitude in the master’s correction of the student. So in Figure 9, Philomathes triumphantly presents his example to the master. It is notated polyphony, to be sure, but only the upper part is claimed to be by Philomathes. But the master’s response illustrates that even that is not truly Philomathes’. Morley shows through black notation that only four notes dif-fer from the master’s own earlier example, while Philomathes’ conclusion (marked by the bracket) is merely that of the master, displaced by an octave.

Philomathes: You use me as those who ride the great horses: for having first ridden them in a small compasse of ground, they bring them out and ride them abroad at pleasures. But loe here is an example upon the same notes.

Master: This is well enough, although if I peruse mine own first lesson of Fuge, I shall find you a robber. For behold here bee all your owne notes in blacke pricking, the rest which be white be mine: for though you close my eight below, yet is the descant all one.



This is precisely the sort of demonstration of relationships that takes advan-tage of the dialogue format; such a presentation would appear tedious, if not superfluous, in the context of an expository treatise. Far from removing us from the fiction of the dialogue, the notation reinforces it, for this is notation that would be written in the course of the music lesson. What the printed format of the dialogue requires is that Morley produce the example twice to create the illusion of successive events (just as in Figure 8). he has no means of annotating the original, although we are clearly meant to imagine that example would not be written out twice in a real lesson, but that Morley’s annotations would simply be imposed upon the original.

But we also learn from Morley’s examples that apparent polyphony notated in the mouth of an individual requires two performers, which stretches the fiction of the dialogue to its limits. Figure 10 appears early in the third part of the Plaine and Easie Introduction. Polymathes has now joined his brother in studies with Morley. Philomathes, we soon learn, has surpassed his brother in musical erudition. In a dialogue within the dialogue, Polymathes reports to Morley on his studies of discant with a certain Master Boulde.

The master says, “I have heard much talk of that man, and because I would know the tree by the fruit, I pray you let me heare you sing a lesson of discant.” Polymathes replies, “I will if it please you to give me a plainsong,” to which the master answers: “here is one, sing upon it.” (notice the gesture of physical transaction.) Whereupon follows polyphony, with the discant attrib-uted to Polymathes. After, we presume, a performance, Philomathes responds with the undisguised glee of sibling rivalry: “Brother if your discanting be no better than that, you will gaine but small credit by it.”



Although we are to imagine Polymathes singing his discant, it is then dissected by Philomathes notationally for its errors, not unlike the process that Philomathes has endured at the master’s hands for the previous two parts of the treatise. Subtly, Morley shifts his language from “singing” to “set-ting down” these discants. And in the process, we learn that Master Boulde sang the chant as his student discanted and that the master of this dialogue requests of his student to sing the plainchant as he (the master) responds to a request to sing the discant.

Through these examples I have attempted to demonstrate the degree of vari-ability in the functions of the music example in Morley’s dialogue. The printed example is used to represent several different kinds of actions: physi-cal gestures, musical memory, vocal performance, visual apprehension. Inev-itably, the mode of presentation within the printed dialogue must be visual, and the students are more than once instructed to “peruse” an example. But just as often, Morley’s references call upon an aural understanding that is at the very least metaphorical, as when he instructs the student to sing.

The choice of verbs is but one of the ways in which the musical examples are situated within the text. I have also attempted to give some sense of the ways in which musical examples are embedded spatially within the printed dialogue. In other words, the examples create chronologic “time.” The twice-printed examples require dual presentation to separate the master’s initial (visual) presentation of the notation to the student from the student’s vocal realization of it. likewise, the examples of music embedded within a single statement rely on spatial location in relation to the verbal reference of the text. In other words, the examples must appear at the moment of utterance, which places numerous constraints on the production of the book.16 Music also marks the passage of time between parts I and II, to create the passage between events.17 For all its aural references however, Morley’s treatise is first and foremost a visual object manipulated by a reader, and the care with which it is organized spatially reflects the necessity of supporting the illusion of simultaneity between the dialogue and its visual representation. Maintaining an illusion of verisimilitude would appear to be an overriding concern. One of the chief difficulties faced by late-sixteenth-century writers of dialogues (especially didactic dialogues) was the inherent tension between what was essentially a unified organization of information and the dialectical mode of its presentation. In Morley’s treatise, this seems to translate into a need to

16 The typography of this book is complicated enough to perhaps suggest that the dialogue may have been adjusted as the forms were being set for the production of the book, rather than the compositor being presented with a fixed and unaltered text.

17 Diruta accomplishes a similar function in his Il Transil-vano by having pieces that are to be practiced appearing between sections.


reinforce the mode of presentation whenever possible. Thus, at the opening of each part, a past conversation is reported as the reason for the student’s current desire to learn, so that we encounter dialogues within dialogues that function to authorize the mode of presentation.

The presence of music examples within the text requires mediation, not least on account of the disparity between the two symbolic systems. The drive toward verisimilitude functions here as well, because of the necessity to create a seamless presentation of the music example while doing so in a man-ner that is comprehensible to the reader. If Morley is to maintain the illusion of simultaneity between the musical examples and the characters, on the one hand, and the musical examples and a reader, on the other, he must mediate the two interactions carefully, couching the examples in language that sig-nals a simultaneous physical gesture on the part of a reader, locating the examples spatially within the dialogue, and, most of all, referring frequently to the necessity of the examples for understanding the material. Each of these gestures reinforces the stability of the musical examples within the text which in turn reinforces the stability of the dialogic illusion.

And this observation, I would like to suggest, brings us full circle. If Doni’s Dialogo is to be understood as an attempt at interpolating “real music” into the conversational and literary genre of the dialogue, then Morley’s didactic trea-tise represents a further stage in that interpolation: a wedge or opening that provides the means for taking part in the original conversation, namely, the ability to sing.

It is a commonplace to observe that the dialogue evermore reflects a monologic tendency as the sixteenth century progresses and as the early humanists’ preferred form of debate was increasingly used simply as a means of offering factual information. This newly didactic—indeed, monologic—conception of the genre finds resonance with much of the dialogue theory that began to emerge in the second half of the sixteenth century. In tandem with this view, Walter Ong has offered the argument that while printing ini-tially fostered the dissemination of the dialogue, it ultimately undermined it as it spatialized the word. Thus, the history of the renaissance dialogue reductively becomes that of voice to vision, of dialogue to monologue. resist-ing those mappings, I would suggest, music in dialogue insists on utterance and opens the possibility that the spatial becomes temporal, the visible audi-ble, that the didactic becomes conversational, and the conversational, in turn, musical.


Works Cited

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Cristle Collins Judd is dean for academic affairs and professor of music at Bowdoin College. She is

the editor of Tonal Structures in Early Music (1998) and author of Reading Renaissance Music Theory:

Hearing with the Eyes (2000), for which she received the Wallace Berry Award from the Society for

Music Theory. Her two-volume edition of the motets by Gioseffo Zarlino appeared in the Recent

Researches in Music of the Renaissance series (2006 and 2007) and has been recorded by Ensemble

Plus Ultra (directed by Michael Noone) on the Glossa label.

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