[Translation] "Shakespeare and Music" (1896)

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) was a contemporary of figures such as John Dowland (1563-1626) and William Byrd (1540-1623), and any lover of Renaissance music can enjoy the musical background woven into Shakespeare's plays.

This book, which explains the musical elements appearing in Shakespeare's works and the musical circumstances of the time, is a 19th-century publication, but it should by no means be underestimated. The author, Edward W. Naylor (1867-1934), was an English organist and composer who also authored a work on Elizabethan virginal music (An Elizabethan virginal book, 1905). The descriptions related to "early music" in this book are also authentic, and most of them remain valid today (though one certainly feels the age of the work when the "Fitzwilliam Virginal Book" is referred to as "Queen Elizabeth's Virginal Book," or when the recorder is treated as a rare "early instrument" on par with the viola da gamba).

However, as there appears to be no Japanese translation, I have translated it and created an e-book.

Although it is quite lengthy, I believe it will be an interesting read for early music fans who are not familiar with Shakespeare, as well as for Shakespeareans who are not well-versed in music. And, of course, for those who are immersed up to their shoulders in the Elizabethan era.

I have posted the introduction and the first chapter below for a trial read. The complete book contains up to seven chapters, with an appendix of musical scores.

In translating this book, since there are no available Japanese translations of Shakespeare's works that properly consider the musical context, I had no choice but to translate the quotations from scratch (daringly so), resulting in a rather unrefined translation that is bare of musical terminology. Please forgive me, considering the purpose of this book.

Note that while the English pronunciation of "viol" is "vai-ol," it is not common in Japanese, so I have used "viol" (ヴィオル). Also, "proportion" is "proportion" (プロポーション), but I have used "proportio" (プロポルツィオ), which is common as a musical term. Similarly, "burden" is "bourdon" (ブルドン) rather than "burden" (バーデン), and "diapason" is "diapason" (ディアパソン) rather than "diapason" (ダイアペイソン), and so on. The readings of personal names also follow convention.

Introduction

One of the main characteristics of the works of a great writer is that each person finds in them what they seek for themselves, and feels as if it were written in accordance with their own views.

One reader may seek merely dramatic interest, another natural philosophy, and yet another morality, but each is greatly satisfied with the treatment of the subject in which they are interested.

Therefore, it is not very surprising that a student of music should seek music in Shakespeare's works and find it treated completely and accurately from various points of view.

This is all the more satisfying when one considers the fact that there is hardly any subject in literature that has been treated with such disregard for accuracy and such a lack of essential interest as music.

As one of the few exceptions, Mr. Shorthouse, the author of "John Inglesant," whether or not he "crammed" his knowledge of music, shows in his book a vivid and extremely accurate depiction of the musical art practiced in the era of Charles I.

There is no need here to list the names of many prominent writers who spoke of music as if they were boasting of their ignorance, disregarding the facts. It is clear that if they had done the same in other fields, they would have received justified contempt from any critic.

A student of music in Shakespeare's works will necessarily view this subject from two different perspectives. The first is purely historical, and the second is (so to speak) psychological.

Regarding the first perspective, even just comparing Shakespeare's plays with records of the practice and social status of musical art in the Elizabethan era shows that he is a reliable guide in every respect in this field.

On the other hand, regarding the second perspective, there are many extremely interesting descriptions that treat music from an emotional point of view, which clearly show that Shakespeare had a deep understanding of the higher and spiritual qualities of music.

In "Hamlet," players are described as the abstract and brief chronicles of the time. We often believe this without fully understanding it, but the purpose of playing, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.

Studying this aspect of the "age and body" of Shakespeare's time, and grasping the astonishing accuracy of the "abstract and brief chronicles" found in his works, will make the idea that Shakespeare brilliantly captured every aspect of thought and action more certain.

"If he is reliable in this field, he is reliable in every field" goes without saying. For an expert, the fact that an "amateur" writer manages to write a simple passage about a specialized field without committing any serious errors is a great tribute to that writer.

After all, considering that Schmidt's excellent dictionary contains a misleading description stating that "the virginal is a type of small pianoforte," and that a very prominent Shakespearean scholar published a book in which he wrote that "the viol is a six-stringed guitar," it cannot be denied that students of Shakespeare require some degree of general assistance.

Of Shakespeare's 37 works, at least 32 contain interesting references to music or musical matters in the text. Furthermore, there are over 300 stage directions of a musical nature, which appear in 36 of the 37 works.

References to music in the text are mainly found in comedies and are generally used as an opportunity or means to demonstrate wordplay and wit. On the other hand, musical stage directions belong mainly to tragedies, and many of them are of a military nature.

For those studying Shakespeare and music, it is essential to have a clear understanding of the social status and influence of music in Shakespeare's time. Therefore, I will briefly outline the history below. I would like the reader to be prepared to verify the details within Shakespeare's works.

Music in Society (16th to 17th Century)

Morley, 'A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke' (1597), pp. 1-2. Here, a dinner party is described. The conversation there was entirely about music, and as a post-dinner custom, the hostess distributed "part-books" to everyone. Philomathes made excuses several times about his lack of singing ability, but in the end, he had to confess that he could not sing at all. The other attendees were "surprised" to hear this, and some whispered to their neighbors, "How was he raised?"

Philomathes, feeling ashamed, heads to the music teacher Gnolimus. The teacher was surprised to see him, because Philomathes had previously vehemently criticized music, saying it "disturbs manners and invites vice." However, his experience at the dinner party changed his thinking significantly, and he wished to change from a "Stoic" to a "Pythagorean" as soon as possible. So, the teacher began to teach him the basics of music, as if teaching a child.

After that, a long lesson continues, and it concludes with Philomathes saying the following farewell words to the teacher.

Then, in Part 3 (p. 136), Polymathes, the brother of Philomathes, visits Gnolimus with Philomathes to take a lesson in descant, a technique of improvising a part to an existing plainsong. [*1]

This brother had previously taken lessons from a teacher who carried a plainsong score in his pocket, and he had been told to do the same.

Polymathes also says that his teacher had a friend who sang descant and often visited, but "they always argued when they were with the teacher."

[These terms 'sesquialtera,' 'sesquiblinda,' and 'sesquiharken-after' are jokes, playing on 'proportio' like the sesquialtera (matching three equal notes to two notes) that was actually used in the 16th century.]

On page 208, we learn that both Philomathes and Polymathes are young university students who are expected to be "entrusted with matters of state" in the future.

Their lessons conclude with them asking the master to "teach us some songs that can serve as a guide for composition and as a diversion after serious study."

From this, we can see that in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, it was the "custom" for lady guests to sing a cappella from "part-books" after dinner. And those who could not take a "part" in the chorus could be criticized by other attendees, and it was even enough to cast doubt on their education.

We also learn that a music teacher would keep his gentleman students "by his side" at all times, ensuring they practiced singing "while walking in the fields."

And part-singing using scores, or improvising a second part (descant) to a written plainsong, was the entertainment of these young university students and was considered a suitable relaxation after their studies.

In the 16th century, music was considered an essential element in the education of the clergy.

In a letter written in 1592 by Sir John Harington to Prince Henry, the elder brother of Charles I, regarding Dr. John Still, who was then Bishop of Bath and Wells, it is stated as follows:

'He could not be ordained as a clergyman unless he could perform what they called "bene le bene con bene can," that is, "read well," "interpret well," and "sing well." And regarding this last point, "singing well," he possessed excellent judgment.'

Furthermore, according to Hawkins' 'History of Music' (p. 367), the statutes of Trinity College, Cambridge, founded by Henry VIII, required 'Quid in Cantando possint' (what they can do in singing) as part of the examination for fellowship candidates. Indeed, 'all members were required to have the ability to sing parts in the choir service.' [*2] (Long before this, in 1463, Thomas Saintwix, Doctor of Music, was elected Provost of King's College, Cambridge.)

In other words, it is clear that Henry VIII, who was destined for the church as a second son and ultimately aimed for the seat of Archbishop of Canterbury, was also an excellent practical musician. Erasmus states that Henry VIII composed liturgical music for the church. The anthem 'O Lord, the maker of all things' is attributed to Henry VIII, and Hawkins introduces the three-part motet 'Quam pulchra es' as a composition by the King.

Chappell's 'Popular Music of the Olden Time' quotes a passage from a letter by the special ambassador Pasqualigo around 1515, which notes that Henry VIII 'plays the lute and virginal skillfully, and can sing at sight from musical scores.' Also, in Volume 1, two part-songs composed by Henry VIII, 'Pastyme with good companye' and 'Wherto shuld I expresse,' are included.

Regarding Henry VIII's somewhat irreverent amusements, there is an account by Sir John Harington (from the reign of James I). There was an old monk's poem titled 'Black Sanctus, or a Monk's Hymn to Saint Satan,' and Harington's father (who married an illegitimate daughter of Henry VIII) arranged it into a three-part canon. King Henry 'was accustomed to sing this when in a cheerful mood.' For this piece and its lyrics, see Hawkins' work (pp. 921-922).

Anne Boleyn was an avid music lover, and according to Hawkins, 'she was obsessed with the music of Josquin and Mouton, and had the scores collected for herself and her ladies-in-waiting.'

According to the diary of Edward VI, it can be inferred that he also enjoyed music. On July 19, 1551, when he demonstrated his various talents before the French ambassador, he recorded in his diary that he played the lute as one of them.

There is also a letter from Queen Catherine (Catherine of Aragon), the mother of Mary I, in which she advises Princess Mary, 'If you have them, play the virginal and the lute.'

Regarding Queen Elizabeth, there is abundant evidence that she was an excellent virginal player.

The most famous manuscript of virginal music (housed at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge) has been known as 'Queen Elizabeth's Virginal Book.' And Hawkins quotes the following interesting anecdote from Melville's memoirs, published in London in 1752:

[Queen Elizabeth's virginal is housed at the South Kensington Museum.]

Let us continue the story about the royal musicians. (They are interesting in that they likely set the trends of the time through their behavior.) It is known that during the reign of James I, Prince Charles learned the viola da gamba from Coperario (John Cooper).

Also, Playford (from the reign of Charles II) states regarding Charles I that 'the King often decided the content of the services and the anthems himself,' and also notes that 'he played the bass viol (viola da gamba) beautifully.'

George Herbert, a born courtier, considered music his 'most important pastime,' and 'composed many hymns and anthems himself, singing them to the accompaniment of the lute or viol... His love for music was so deep that he went to Salisbury Cathedral twice every week, and upon returning home, he would say that the time spent in prayer and church music elevated his soul and was truly a heaven on earth.'

However, this poet and clergyman Herbert was not merely a church music enthusiast. According to Walton's 'Lives,' 'Before returning to Bemerton, he would invariably participate in private musical gatherings, where he would sing and play.' This was 14 years after Shakespeare's death.

Anthony Wood, who was at Oxford University in 1651, left a very interesting record regarding the custom of performing chamber music with viols (and violins, which had replaced the quieter viols by the time of Charles II) in Oxford.

Wood attended the weekly music meetings held in Oxford. Among those he names as "participating in the performance" are four fellows of New College, a fellow of All Souls College who was considered an "excellent lutenist," Mr. Ralph Sheldon, a Catholic living in Haliwell (near Oxford) who was "praised for his smooth and masterful playing of the viol," and a Master of Arts from Magdalen College who held weekly music meetings at his own college. In addition to amateurs, eight or nine professional musicians also participated in these gatherings.

This was in 1656, and by 1658, Wood names more than 16 additional individuals. They were all fellows of colleges, Masters of Arts, or at the very least members of the university, and Wood performed and sang with them. Among them was "Thomas Ken, a young student at New College" (later Bishop Ken, one of the seven bishops dismissed during the Revolution), who "could sing his part." Others played the viol, violin, organ, virginal, or harpsichord, or were "singers." "They frequently attended the weekly meetings and, by mingling with the city musicians, improved greatly."

These gatherings seem to have had little purpose other than pure enjoyment. Of the 32 individuals, only two had unfavorable characteristics. Namely, Mr. Low, the organist at Christ Church, was an "arrogant man" who "could not stand the common musicians coming to the meetings." The other was "Mr. Nathan Crew, a fellow of Lincoln College and a violinist and violist," who "was always out of tune." This Mr. Crew later became the Bishop of Durham.

Thus, we can see that in the 16th and 17th centuries, practical knowledge of music was common as part of the education of monarchs, high-ranking gentlemen, and the upper middle class.

Henry VIII composed church music and enjoyed singing three-part canons composed by his noble friends. In the same era, it was taken for granted that a fellow of Trinity College would "sing his part" during services. Edward VI, Mary, and Elizabeth were all proficient in playing the lute and virginal. For a bishop in the Elizabethan era, being a good singer was a minimum qualification. Furthermore, well-bred young university students did not think it unusual to learn the techniques of prick-song (written parts) and descant (improvised counterpoint), and it was normal to soothe their fatigue by singing "part-songs." Shortly after Shakespeare's time, the courtiers of James I and the ill-fated Prince Charles himself were enthusiastic about both church music and chamber music. And finally, two years after the regicide, Oxford University became the center of musical education. Those who later became bishops, archdeacons, and canons, along with 16 college fellows and many gentlemen of noble families, were not ashamed to practice chamber music and choral singing, engaging in it with an enthusiasm unparalleled in modern times.

Also, although the evidence is more indirect, there is much to show that the lower classes were as enthusiastic about music as the upper classes.

Contemporary writings clearly state that the singing of part-songs (especially "catches") was a common pastime among blacksmiths, coal miners, weavers, shoemakers, tinkers, night watchmen, rural clergy, and soldiers.

In "Damon and Pithias" (1565), Grim the collier sings a "rumbling bass," and his friends Jack and Will "quiddel" over it, meaning they sing the melody and lyrics.

In Peele's "The Old Wives Tale" (1595), it says, "This smith leads a life as merry as a king. Come, Frolic, you must have a song too? Surely Crunch (the smith) can sing his part." In Beaumont and Fletcher's "The Coxcomb," there is the following passage.

Similarly, in Beaumont and Fletcher's "The Honest Man's Fortune," it says:

In the comedy "The Wits" by Sir William Davenant (active around 1635), the character Snore says:

Samuel Harsnett, in "A Declaration of Egregious Popish Impostures" (1603), mentions the "merry catch" *God be with old Simeon* (see Rimbault's "Rounds, Canons, and Catches of England"), stating that this song was sung by tinkers "sitting by the fire, with a jug of good ale between their legs."

Also, in "The Merry Devil of Edmonton" (1631), there is a humorous story where Smug the miller sings a catch with a merry parson at an alehouse, and while repeating the lyrics "I'll tie my horse to your land" over and over, Smug forgets he is singing a catch and begins to argue with the parson. Smug had become convinced that the parson was actually going to tie his horse to his land (as the song said).

Finally, "Pammelia" (1609), a collection of "rounds and catches of three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten parts" compiled by Thomas Ravenscroft, has an interesting preface. It states that "catches are very widely loved... because they suit ordinary musical ability, and are truly welcome to those whose love for music exceeds their technical skill." Furthermore, the preface asserts that this book was "published solely to please good fellows."

Continuing with the topic of instrumental music among the lower classes in the Elizabethan and Shakespearean eras, the quote from Morley (1597) above mentions the custom of playing instruments while waiting for one's turn to be shaved at a barbershop. This also appears in Ben Jonson's "The Alchemist" and "Epicœne, or The Silent Woman."

In the latter play, the barber Cutbeard recommends a wife to Morose. Morose had expected a silent companion but was married to a woman with a "sharp tongue," and he cries out, "That cursed barber! I have married his cittern that everyone plays!" This implies that just as the barber's cittern was always being played, his wife was always talking.

There is a poem from the 18th century that speaks of the old days.

Whether this was true or not, it is certain that in the 16th and 17th centuries, it was customary to hear musical instruments in barbershops. Usually, a cittern—an instrument with four strings and frets like a guitar—was used, which was considered a lowly instrument. [Note 4]

Another role of instrumental music was to entertain tavern patrons. The pamphlet "The Actor's Remonstrance," published in 1643, describes the decline of music in taverns following the closing of theaters in 1642 as follows:

"Our music, which was once [i.e., in Shakespeare's time] considered very attractive and valuable, and which would have scorned to come to a tavern for less than 20 shillings for two hours, now [1643] hides its instruments (if it has any) under its cloak, goes from house to house, and calls out at every room, 'Gentlemen, would you like some music?'"

Finally, Gosson's "Short Apology of the School of Abuse" (1587) writes, "London is full of useless pipers and fiddlers, and if someone enters a tavern, two or three of these fellows immediately follow them and perform dances until they leave." They also sang ballads and catches. They also played during dinner. Lyly says, "To call a fiddler to a feast is like calling a beggar to a festival."

As a legitimate conclusion from the above, if any country deserved to be called "musical," it was England in the 16th and 17th centuries.

Kings and courtiers, farmers and plowmen, each could "take their part," and music was a part of everyone's daily life. Not knowing the difference between a minim and a crotchet was considered shameful for a gentleman.

At least in this respect, the "good old days" were certainly better than the era we see now. In the Elizabethan era, even tavern songs were three-part canons, the kind that today would require a top-tier professional singer to master at first sight.

Chapter 1: Technical Terms and Instruments

Now, let us examine the representative passages related to music in Shakespeare's works.

These are generally divided into six areas:
(1) Technical terms and instruments
(2) Music education
(3) Songs and singing
(4) Serenades and other domestic "music"
(5) Dance
(6) Others, including Shakespeare's remarks on the more spiritual aspects of music

Let us begin with the first area. There are many very interesting passages sprinkled with technical terms, but readers tend to understand them only in a general sense, and as a result, they sometimes miss the point completely or partially. By providing appropriate explanations and urging caution not to underestimate words or phrases that seem obscure, these passages will be understood with a deeper understanding.

The examples quoted below are not from plays, but they are full of musical metaphors, so they would be good to take up first.

"The Rape of Lucrece," line 1124

Here, Lucrece tells the birds to stop their cheerful sounds, calls on the nightingale to sing the song of Tereus, and supports it with the "burden" (drone) of her groans.

The first line contains a play on words between "rests" and "restless."

"Nimble notes" was used in Shakespeare's time to mean "florid music."

Lucrece was not in the mood to enjoy trills or fast passages, but rather wanted a "dump" where she could slowly keep time with tears. A dump (derived from the Swedish dialect "dumpa," meaning to dance awkwardly) was a slow and sad dance. [See Appendix]

In line 1131, there is a play on words with "strain." A strain was a term in the Elizabethan era for a formal musical phrase in a musical composition.

For example, regarding the pavane, Morley (A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke, 1597) states that a "strain" should consist of 8, 12, or 16 semibreves (which we would call "bars" today). "But I have never seen a pavane of less than eight."

"Diapason" means the interval of an octave. Here, Lucrece says she will "support the diapason" with a deep groan, that is, hum a "bourdon" or drone an octave lower than the nightingale's "descant."

The oldest known "bourdon" is found in the old 13th-century round "Sumer is icumen in." In this song, four voices sing the following lyrics as a canon.

Meanwhile, two other lower voices sing a monotonous refrain of "Sing cuccu nu, Sing cuccu," repeating it endlessly until the four singing the round are exhausted.

This refrain is called a "pes" (or "foot"), and it is something like this that Lucrece refers to when she says "bourdon." The word "hum" can also be considered a musical term. See the reference to "humming bass" in the preface. The song "Light o' love" [see appendix], as can be seen from Much Ado About Nothing, Act 3, Scene 4, line 41, was often sung without a bourdon, and was therefore considered a "light" song. See The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 1, Scene 2, line 80.

The "descant" in line 1134 requires explanation. "Descant" meant singing or playing a second "part" improvised against a written melody. The important point is that it is improvised. If it were written down, it was not a true descant, but was called "pricksong."

A rough example is the bass or alto part that is still sometimes sung improvisationally in church. [*5]

A more precise example of a descant is as follows: A sings a hymn, for example, "Old Hundredth," and B improvises another melody within the harmonic range against A. The Elizabethan technique of descant was close to what is called "strict counterpoint" (contrapunctus, that is, "pricksong" or "written" descant) today.

The modern equivalent of "bear a part" in line 1135 is "sing a part." [See also Sonnet VIII]

At that time, anyone with a decent education could "bear a part." That is, they could sing at sight the soprano, alto, tenor, or bass "part" of a work provided by the host for the entertainment of guests. [See preface]

Line 1140. "Frets of instruments" are what we still see today on mandolins, guitars, and banjos. In Shakespeare's time, viols, lutes, and citterns all had frets on the fingerboard, but at that time they were simply strings tied at appropriate positions and fixed with glue. Their usage is mentioned in the next line, which is to "tune" the strings, that is, to accurately "stop" the strings at each semitone.

Regarding lines 1135-6, the description of the nightingale "singing against a thorn to keep awake" is also found in the lyrics of Henry VIII's favorite part-song, "By a bank as I lay." The poem contains the following lines about the nightingale:

Closely related to this is the conversation between Julia and her maid Lucetta in The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 1, Scene 2, lines 76-93, regarding a letter from Proteus.

It is probably sufficient to point out that many of the words italicized above are still commonly used by musicians today. For example, "giving the note" to "set" the pitch of a song, "keeping in tune," "singing out," or one voice being "drowned" by another. For example, as the "mean" (alto) is drowned by the "bass."

Here again, there is wordplay using musical terms. Lucetta says that the "tune," that is, Julia's irritation at Proteus's letter, is "too sharp," and also that her attitude in scolding her is "too flat." This means that both are out of "concord" with the spirit of a love letter. Lucetta suggests the middle path, that is, the "mean" (alto part, between treble and bass), and proposes to "fill the song," that is, to complete the harmony. Lucetta's final pun makes a somewhat prophetic reference to Proteus's "base" behavior, that is, abandoning Julia to run to Silvia. It should also be noted that "set" is used with a double meaning in lines 78 and 79.

In Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 5, line 25, in the dawn parting of Romeo and Juliet, the lark's song in Juliet's lines provides a musical metaphor.

Juliet clearly sides with Portia, believing that "anything lacking in consideration is not good." Because the lark heralds the dawn, Romeo must leave her, and thus the lark sings "out of tune," and its song is filled with "discords" and "sharps."

The last two lines contain an interesting allusion, playing on the word "division" as it relates to "she divideth us." Simply put, a division is a brilliant passage of short notes based on a simple passage of long notes. The term "note-splitting," used to refer to archaic variations (like "The Harmonious Blacksmith"), is a description of this itself, as well as of the older division.

A clear example of a division can be seen in "Rejoice greatly" from "Messiah." The long run on the second syllable of "Rejoice" (consisting of several groups of four sixteenth notes) is precisely a "division" or "note-splitting" of the first note of each group.

However, this word has another usage, which is playing "divisions" on the viola da gamba. This was a skill favored by gentlemen in the 16th and 17th centuries. Sir Andrew Aguecheek counts this among his own skills (see "Twelfth Night," Act 1, Scene 3, line 24).

Also, readers of "John Inglesant" will recall the scene where "Mr. Inglesant, upon request, played a descant over a ground bass in the Italian style." Playing a descant over a ground bass meant improvising a "division" or variation. In doing so, the harpsichordist would repeat the "ground bass" melody (along with appropriate chords) over and over, and the performance would continue until the viol player could no longer create any more "breaking" of the harmony.

In 1665, a manual on this technique was published. It was "Chelys Minuritionum," or "The Turtle of Diminutions" (as Chelys means a lyre made from a turtle shell), but it was also called the "Division Viol." This book is by Christopher Simpson, a Royalist soldier and renowned viola da gamba player. The book is in three parts, and the third part is dedicated to the method of playing divisions over a ground.

To quote his own words, "Diminution or division to a ground is the breaking of the bass, or any higher part that may be fitted to it. The way to play this is as follows..."

"Ground, subject, or bass, call it what you will, it is written on two separate staves. One is for the person playing the ground on an organ, harpsichord, or other instrument suitable for this purpose. The other is for the person playing the viol. He places the ground before him as a theme or subject, and according to his skill and immediate ingenuity, he plays various descants and divisions that harmonize with it."
[See the example by Simpson in the appendix]

Furthermore, he distinguishes between "breaking the ground notes" and "descant upon a ground." This expression of "breaking notes" can be interpreted as a partial explanation of "broken music," which is mentioned in several places in Shakespeare.

However, a more appropriate explanation for this term likely lies in the inherent imperfection of the lute. The lute is a plucked instrument (that is, an instrument played by plucking the strings with the fingers rather than with a bow) and could only represent harmony in a "broken" form. It would play the bass note first, and then perhaps only two or so notes higher up the scale simultaneously. The performer had to rely on the listener to fill in the chords.

A completely different explanation is provided by Mr. Chappell (in Aldis Wright's Clarendon Press edition of "Henry V"). That is, if a consort (ensemble) of viols was incomplete—that is, if one of the players was missing—and a different type of instrument, such as a flute, was used instead, the music was said to be "broken."
[Reference: Matthew Locke, "Consort of Four Parts for Broken and Whole Consorts" (1672)]

[Mr. Aldis Wright kindly taught me to refer to Bacon's "Sylva Sylvarum," Century III, page 278, and "Of Masques and Triumphs." These documents show that "Broken Music" was understood to refer generally to combinations of different types of instruments. In "Sylva Sylvarum," Bacon discusses several "consorts of instruments" that harmonize well. For example, "The Irish harp and the bass viol harmonize well," "Recorders and string instruments harmonize well," and "Organ and voice harmonize well." However, he also states that "Virginals and lute... do not harmonize so well." All of these, and similar combinations, seem to have been called "Broken Music."]

Regarding this point, see "Henry V," Act 5, Scene 2, line 248. Here, Henry is courting Katherine.

Also, see "Troilus and Cressida," Act 3, Scene 1, line 52 and following (discussed later).

As a completely different usage of "break," there is the expression "broken time." This has the simple and clear meaning that notes are not played according to their original length or ratio. In connection with this, I will take up a passage from King Richard's soliloquy in the prison of Pomfret Castle. In this scene, he hears music coming from outside, played by those who are well-disposed toward him.

"Richard II," Act 5, Scene 5, line 41. King Richard in prison.

The metaphor here is perfect, and the wordplay regarding "time broke" is brilliant. In line 45, Richard reflects on the sad contrast between his own keen "ear" for hearing "broken time" in music and his own dullness in not being able to hear the "breaking" of himself and his era. The "disorder'd string" is himself, and he was playing his own part "out of time."
("disorder'd" simply means "out of its proper place," which in modern terms would be like saying "I missed a bar.")
As a result, he has broken the "concord," that is, the harmony of the elements that make up the state.

A little explanation regarding 'Proportion' is necessary. In the Elizabethan era, this term was used in much the same sense as 'Time' is today. In modern music, 'Time' is essentially organized into two types: Duple (two beats to a bar) and Triple (three beats to a bar). However, the classification tables for 'Proportion' in the Elizabethan era were extremely complex. Of course, many of these 'Proportions' were rarely used in practice, but even after organizing them all, many mysteries remained.

Morley, in his 'Introduction' (1597), lists the five 'most commonly used' types of proportion: Dupla, Tripla, Quadrupla, Sesquialtera, and Sesquitertia.

The first three correspond to the duple, triple, and quadruple time used today—that is, two, three, and four beats to a bar. Although the concept of 'bars' was not common until the end of the 16th century, the principle was the same. The bar lines themselves are merely for convenience.

Sesquialtera is more complex, meaning 'to sing three notes against two of the same kind.' And Sesquitertia refers to 'singing four notes against three of the same kind.'

'But,' Morley adds, 'if one who wishes to learn the art of singing tries to master all the proportions that Franchinus Gaffurius recorded in his book 'De Proportionibus Musicis' [1496], they will find it not just difficult, but almost impossible.'

Ornithoparchus, in his book 'Micrologus' (1535), shows how this subject of proportion was treated by more 'learned' writers. According to him:
(1) Music considers only unequal proportions.
(2) There are two types of this: greater inequality and lesser inequality.
(3) Greater inequality includes five proportions: 'multiplex', 'superparticular', 'superpartiens', 'multiplex superparticular', and 'multiplex superpartiens'.

This is more ridiculous than it is helpful for understanding.

The last three lines of this passage refer to various anecdotes, whether fact or fiction, regarding the treatment of illness using specific musical pieces.

One of the best-known of such illnesses is 'tarantism,' a state of frenzy caused in Italy by the bite of a tarantula. Athanasius Kircher (1601–1680), a learned Jesuit, recounts in his book 'Musurgia Universalis' that this madness could be cured by specific melodies. The patient would dance violently to the melody, and the resulting perspiration would provide a therapeutic effect. Furthermore, in his 'Phonurgia Nova' (1673), Kircher includes the score of a piece of music that supposedly cured an actual case. In this context, Kircher also touches upon the madness of King Saul, which was said to be soothed by David's harp playing. Shakespeare may have had this in mind. [See George Herbert's poem 'The Judgment', second stanza.]

The modern 'tarantella' owes its name and characteristic fast tempo to the former 'tarantula'.

King Lear, Act 1, Scene 2, line 137. Edmund pretends not to notice Edgar's entrance.

Songs like 'Tom o' Bedlam,' known as 'mad songs,' were very widely sung in 17th-century England. The melody and lyrics of the original 'Tom o' Bedlam' are included in Chappell's 'Popular Music of the Olden Time,' Vol. 1, p. 175. It is considered to have been composed before 1626 [Note 6], and the first stanza begins with 'From the hagg and hungrie Goblin,' and is filled with the cries of 'Poor Tom,' as in Act 3 of 'King Lear'.

The last sentence contains a clever play on words that utilizes the double meaning of the word 'divisions.' In the few lines immediately following this, Edmund explains the 'divisions' that are supposed to occur after an eclipse, such as 'the bond cracked 'twixt son and father,' 'dissolution of ancient amities,' and 'divisions in state.' However, in the quoted section, the musical meaning of 'division' also crosses his mind. Thus, he immediately continues to pretend he does not notice Edgar's presence by humming, 'Fa, sol, la, mi.'

[Burney, in 'A General History of Music,' Vol. 3, p. 344, expresses an interesting view on this passage: that Edgar [Translator's note: sic] uses this musical phrase to refer to the unnatural divisions between parent and child. This phrase contains a tritone, or 'mi contra fa,' which old music theorists called 'diabolus est' (the devil in music).]

Guido of Arezzo (or Aretinus), in his 'Micrologus' (c. 1024), gave the names 'Ut, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La' to the six notes of the hexachord (e.g., C, D, E, F, G, A). These were taken from the opening syllables of each stanza of the Hymn to St. John, the lyrics and melody of which are recorded in Hawkins' work (p. 163).

The general meaning is as follows:
'So that your servants may sing your great deeds with full voices, O Saint John, absolve us from the guilt of our stained lips.'

The notes assigned to the syllables indicated in capital letters in the old melody of this poem were, in order, C, D, E, F, G, A. And these same syllables were used for singing even in the 16th century. However, it was recognized that the scale could be more easily expressed with fewer names, and therefore, Christopher Simpson, in his 'Compendium' (1667), states that 'Ut and Re are unnecessary, and are therefore discarded by many modern teachers.' In his book, the eight notes of the diatonic scale are named 'Fa, Sol, La, Fa, Sol, La, Mi, Fa'.

However, practitioners of the modern Tonic Sol-fa method would understand this system quite differently. 'C, D, E' are called 'Do (Ut), Re, Mi' respectively, and the following 'F, G, A' are 'Fa, Sol, La.' And the 'leading note' (the one just below the highest note) is called 'Ti' instead of 'Si.' And it begins again with 'Do' from the C an octave higher.

The reader will remember that the interval relationship of "C, D, E" is exactly the same as that of the next three notes, "F, G, A." That is, from C to D is a whole tone, and from D to E is also a whole tone, just as from F to G and G to A. Therefore, these two sets of three notes, separated by a semitone, can be called by the same names, which are "Fa, Sol, La." In this way, the first six notes of the scale become "Fa, Sol, La, Fa, Sol, La." And the last remaining note, the leading tone B, is called Mi in Simpson's system. Therefore, the most important thing in the solmization of that time was to "find Mi," which in modern terms meant "identifying the key." For example, in the key of C, Mi is on B; in the key of G, Mi is on F♯; and in the key of F, Mi is on E, and so on. The remaining six notes are named "Fa, Sol, La, Fa, Sol, La" as mentioned above. Therefore, Edmund's "Fa, Sol, La, Mi" corresponds to "F, G, A, B," but it also corresponds to "C, D, E, F♯" or "B♭, C, D, E." In other words, it depends on which pitch the singer uses as a reference.

In this connection, see the following passage.

The Taming of the Shrew, Act 1, Scene 2, line 16.

Here, a pun is used between "wring" and "ring." Also, "sol-fa" is used as a synonym for "singing."

Even more important is "Hortensio's Gamut" (The Taming of the Shrew, Act 3, Scene 1, line 72). "Gam-ut" is the name of the lowest "Ut," corresponding to the low G on the bottom line of the modern bass clef. This note was specially written with the Greek letter Γ (gamma), which is why it came to be called "Gam-ut." This term eventually became a synonym for "scale." The note names appearing in this passage are the same as those found in every textbook from the 16th and 17th centuries.

Here, Hortensio weaves a love poem disguised as the "gamut" (scale) taught by a music teacher. These lines can be interpreted as both fantastical annotations for each syllable and as having a hidden meaning directed at Bianca. For example, the gamut, the lowest note of the scale at the time, is called the "ground of all accord." "A-re" likely represents a lover's sigh, "pleading Hortensio's passion." "B-mi," considering the meaning of the rest of the line, could be interpreted as "Be mine." Meanwhile, "D sol, re, one cliff, two notes have I" clearly refers to Hortensio's disguise. A "cliff" is what we now call a "clef" or "key." In other words, its position on the musical staff is the "key" that determines the placement of semitones and whole tones. The six notes mentioned here are "G, A, B, C, D, E" in the bass clef. They were written (as they are now) with only one clef, the F-clef. The expression "two notes" is used regarding the D note, meaning that in the key of G, D is called "sol," and in the key of C, it is called "re." Just as Hortensio is Hortensio while simultaneously posing as a singing teacher.

I have already mentioned that the technique of improvising counterpoint to a written melody was called "descant." The written melody itself was called "plain-song." Therefore, the entire performance combining plain-song and descant also came to be called "plain-song."
In contrast, performing by adding a written descant to a plain-song was called "prick-song."

Morley clearly shows that improvised descant often resulted in unsatisfactory performances, especially when one tried to add multiple improvised parts to a plain-song at once.

"Even if everyone were the most excellent musician... it is impossible to keep them exactly together."

The following passage will make this point clearer.

Henry V, Act 3, Scene 2, line 3. The Battle of Harfleur.

Falstaff's brave guards are tired from the heavy blows in battle. Nym compares their recent activities to a somewhat flashy "plain-song" (improvised descant, as mentioned above). Pistol says it is a "just" plain-song. A "just" plain-song means that the singer successfully managed the improvised descant "without singing wrong chords or forbidden descants." Similarly, there is little doubt that both the veteran and the corporal participated in the skirmish and managed to avoid serious injury as much as possible.

From the boy's words in line 41, it is hard to say that Bardolph joined the ranks of music lovers. In any case, he stole a lute case, seemed to like it very much, carried it for 36 miles, and then his worse nature finally prevailed, and he sold it for 1.5 pence.

The next quote concerns Jack Falstaff and his companions, who (if history is strictly followed) all seem to have been practical musicians. This time, they are talking about prick-song, not descant. The most important virtue in prick-song (according to Falstaff and Nym, who presumably understood both sacred and secular polyphonic music) is to "keep time," and to count rests piously. "One, two, three, and put the third in your chest," and once you start singing, you must keep "time, pitch, and proportio." As Mercutio said to Tybalt about swordsmanship (see Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 4, line 20).

The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act 1, Scene 3, line 25.

This metaphor concerns, for example, a four-part anthem or madrigal. Let us assume the hostess of the "Garter Inn" is singing the cantus, the waiter the altus, the master the tenor, and Nym the bass. The first three (hostess, waiter, master) are busy with their respective "parts." One is in the kitchen, another in the tavern, and the third is chatting familiarly at the entrance. However, Nym has a "minim's rest," and during that short break, taking advantage of the fact that the other three "singers" are preoccupied, he tries to steal anything portable within reach. A "minim's rest" is a short time, but that is the point. Any musician knows what can be done during a short "rest." For example, applying rosin to a bow, turning the corner of the next few pages of sheet music, lighting a gas lamp, or appearing in another book.

Let us now move on to the next example.

Pericles, Act 1, Scene 1, line 81. Pericles addresses the daughter of King Antiochus.

Pericles likens legitimate love for a wife to the performance of a skilled viol player. The appropriate qualities required for such a performance are being "in tune" and "in time."

In the comparison at line 84, the daughter's illicit passion is likened to the "out of tune" performance of a bad viol player. That player, so to speak, gets "out of sync" and plays "before the time," completely ruining the music, turning it into a dance for demons rather than angels.

In the Elizabethan era, the viol was certainly the most important bowed string instrument. There were three different sizes of viols. The reader can gain a sufficiently accurate understanding of the sizes and uses of viols: the treble viol is close to the modern violin, the tenor viol corresponds to the modern viola (also called alto, tenor, or braccio), and the bass viol or viola da gamba (a name derived from playing it between the knees) corresponds to the modern cello.

The main difference from modern string instruments is that all viols had six strings, whereas today there are no "fiddles" with more than four strings.

As a second difference, all instruments of the viol family were equipped with frets on the fingerboard to indicate the position of notes, whereas the fingerboards of modern instruments are all smooth, and the player must determine finger positions without such aids [Note 7].

John Playford explains the viol in "An Introduction to the Skill of Music" (1683). Thomas Mace, a chorister at Trinity, Cambridge, gives detailed instructions on how necessary viols and instruments of that kind are in "Musick's Monument" (1676).
From these books, we can see that viols were always kept in sets of six, with a set of two trebles, two tenors, and two basses being called a "chest."

Mace also states that the strings of the treble viol were half the length of those of the bass viol, and the tenor was of a size midway between them.

He adds that if one were to add two violins (considered somewhat common and noisy instruments at the time) for cheerful scenes, and two "mighty, full-sized theorbos [Note 8]," one would be "prepared to entertain the greatest princes in the world."

The tuning of the six strings of the bass viol was arranged on the bass staff as follows:

The first string (treble) is D on the staff.
The second string (small mean) is A on the top line.
The third string (great mean) is E in the third space.
The fourth string (counter tenor) is C in the second space.
The fifth string (tenor or gamut) is G on the first line.
The sixth string (bass) is low D below the staff.

The most complete viols were equipped with seven frets arranged chromatically, so the range of the bass viol or viola da gamba extended about two and a half octaves, from D below the bass staff to A in the second space of the treble staff.
[The South Kensington Museum houses a viola da gamba that still retains 12 frets. Its range would reach nearly three octaves.]

The top string of the tenor viol was tuned to G on the second line of the treble staff, and the remaining five strings were at the same pitch as the top five strings of the bass viol.

The treble viol was (as mentioned above) tuned exactly one octave above the bass viol.

The tone of the viol is very similar to modern string instruments, but the main difference is that the sound is somewhat weaker and gentler. The reason is that vigorous bowing is dangerous on a viol. Because the six strings are arranged on the curvature of the bridge, there is a higher possibility of accidentally playing two or even three strings at once compared to a violin with only four strings, requiring more caution.

Music lovers kept a "chest" of six viols at home, and when musical friends visited, they usually played a "fancy" (or "fantasia"). See "Henry IV, Part 2," Act 3, Scene 2, line 323. These pieces were played in parts ranging from two to six voices, depending on the number of participants.

Among those who composed this type of music, there are many composers, but notable ones include John Jenkins, Christopher Simpson, William Lawes, Coperario (John Cooper), and the Italian Monteverdi [Translator's note: ?]. In these pieces, it was common for an organ or other keyboard instrument to play along with the viols to supplement the chords of the ensemble, which was called a "consort."

Even today, one instrument of the viol family remains in the orchestra. The double bass (or violone) is a direct descendant of the "chest of viols." Its features are particularly prominent in the shape of the shoulders, but it also possesses other characteristics, including the gentle curves of the body, the contour of the back, and even the shape of the bow.

Playing improvisational variations on the viola da gamba was, as already mentioned, one of the elegant accomplishments of a gentleman of the time. Therefore, the following two quotations should not require any special supplementary explanation.

Twelfth Night, Act 1, Scene 3, line 24

Richard II, Act 1, Scene 3, line 159, The Banishment of Norfolk.

Until 1650, instruments of the violin family held an unstable position among musicians. However, after that, the viol rapidly lost popularity, and it is clear that by 1700 it had completely died out, as Dr. Tudway of Cambridge detailed in a letter to his son regarding a "chest of viols."

As the viol faded away, the violin took its place and has maintained that position ever since. Instruments of the violin family became widely popular and fashionable under the patronage of the court of Louis XIV. Therefore, the English people, faithful to their old habit of "buying doublets in Italy, round hose in France, bonnets in Germany, and learning behavior from everywhere," adopted the "French fiddle" and abandoned their own national tradition, the "chest of viols."

This inclination toward French style, which extended even to music, is also mentioned in the following passage.

Henry VIII, Act 1, Scene 3, line 41. The popularity of French tastes in England.

The only word that still lacks explanation is "current music," but I believe this simply means that the old art mentioned by Lord Sands is still considered "up-to-date" and fits the fashion.

Another instrument widely used in the home was the recorder. This is a type of "beak flute" similar to the flageolet. According to Lord Bacon, this instrument had a conical tube and six finger holes. Therefore, it had roughly the same shape as the modern oboe, but was played with a "whistle" mouthpiece instead of a reed.

These six holes can still be seen today on the penny whistle or the brass flageolets found in music stores.

The recorder was known for its sweet tone. Poets used the word "record" to mean the chirping of birds, especially the song of the nightingale.

Hawkins identifies the "Fistula Dulcis, seu Anglica (Sweet Flute, or English Flute)" with this, and provides two illustrations that are helpful in explaining the text quoted next.

The South Kensington Museum houses a recorder [Note 9] made of black wood, which is essentially nothing more than a large flageolet. This recorder is 2 feet 2 inches long, and its bore is conical, like that of a modern flageolet or an old flute, with the wider end structured to be near the player's mouth.

Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2, line 346. Players enter with recorders.

The holes of a flute have always been called "ventages," because when the fingers are removed, the "wind" passes through them. They were "governed" by the "finger and thumb." One of the plates in Mersenne (born 1588) shows a conical flute with four holes in front and two at the back. The latter hole is naturally operated by the thumb, while the other holes are covered by the fingers of both hands (the modern flageolet also retains a thumb hole at the back). In the same period, there were higher-grade types of beak flutes that were equipped with several keys in addition to the holes.

The "stops" mentioned by Hamlet are simply "ventages." The act of covering the holes with fingers or thumbs was called "stopping." Furthermore, one example of the "Fistula Dulcis" shown by Mersenne had one hole each on the left and right for the lowest note, allowing it to be played by either right-handed or left-handed players. Of these two holes, one was temporarily plugged with wax. [One should not overlook the pun on "fret" in the last line.]

In the following quotation, Hippolyta applies the meaning of "stop" to the recorder, continuing the metaphor Lysander used for training a horse.

A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 5, Scene 1, line 108. The Prologue speaker ignores punctuation entirely.

In other words, the Prologue speaker places all punctuation in the wrong positions. Like a young colt that does not know how to stop, and like a child who cannot properly cover the holes of a recorder.

It is strange that the virginal, which was the most popular of the keyboard instruments, does not appear directly in Shakespeare's works. However, in the following quotation, the movement of fingers on its keyboard is mentioned.

The Winter's Tale, Act 1, Scene 2, line 125. Regarding Hermione, Queen of Leontes, King of Sicily, and Polixenes, King of Bohemia.

The virginal (generally called "a pair of virginals") was an instrument used mainly by women for private enjoyment, which is thought to be the origin of its name. Queen Elizabeth loved to play it, but since this instrument was popular even before her time, there is no need to link its name to the "Virgin Queen" (the virginal owned by Queen Elizabeth is housed in the South Kensington Museum [Note 10]). Its keyboard had four octaves, and the case was rectangular, much like a very old pianoforte. The strings of the virginal were plucked by quills [Note 11]. The quills were attached to parts called "jacks," which were moved by the keys (see Sonnet 128). The strings were made of metal wire.

The "St. Leger's Round," known as the oldest country dance dating back to the time of Henry VIII, was arranged as a "lesson" for the virginal by William Byrd and is found in "Lady Nevell's Book." Another famous collection of virginal music is "Queen Elizabeth's Virginal Book," housed in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, which is currently being published by Breitkopf & Härtel.

The first printed music for the virginal was "Parthenia," published in London in 1611. This collection mainly contains pavanes and galliards by Byrd, Bull, and Gibbons. The title "Parthenia, or the Maydenhead of the firste musicke" and the illustration of a young woman playing the virginal seem to support our explanation regarding the origin of the instrument's name.

The string instrument that was popular next to the viol was the lute [Note 12].

The lute was used as a solo instrument to play light "Ayres," as an accompaniment for vocal music, or in a "consort" with other instruments. Naturally, the lute often appeared in "serenades," especially when singing love songs outside a lady's window. The overall shape of the lute is similar to a mandolin, but it is about four times larger. Like the mandolin, the lute has a flat soundboard and a back that is large and bowl-shaped. However, in other respects, it is completely different. The lute was played like a guitar, and its strings (made of gut) were plucked with the fingers.

According to the book by Adrian Le Roy published in Paris around 1570, the tuning of the lute's six strings is as follows: The first string (minikin) is C on the third space of the treble staff. The second string (small mean) is G on the second line. The third string (great mean) is D below the staff. The fourth string (counter-tenor) is B♭ above the bass staff. The fifth string (tenor) is F on the fourth line. The sixth string (bass) is C on the second space.

However, Scipione Cerreto (1601, Naples) gives a completely different description of the eight-string Italian lute, whose tuning seems to have extended the range down to C below the bass staff.

Thomas Mace ("Musick's Monument," 1676) lists several criticisms of the lute, of which three points were particularly notable: first, it is expensive to maintain and repair; second, it is outdated; and third, it distorts the bodies of young people. Mace refutes these slanders, stating that the last point in particular must have spread due to the very unique shape of the lute's back and its size.

Hawkins ("A General History of the Science and Practice of Music," pp. 730–731) includes two lute pieces by Mace. However, the same piece is actually included twice, first for solo lute and then arranged for a duo. [See Appendix].

The five bass courses of the lute were "double-strung," meaning that two strings were stretched for each note. This played a role in supporting the resonance of chords through "sympathy." Therefore, there were actually eleven strings, but only six types of pitch. There were eight frets on the fingerboard. As variants of the lute, there were the archlute [Note 13] and the theorbo-lute, both of which featured very long double necks and numerous strings. One of the archlutes housed in the South Kensington Museum has as many as 24 strings, with 11 courses being double-strung.

1 Henry VI, Act IV, line 92

1 Henry IV, Act III, Scene 1, line 206, Mortimer to Lady Mortimer

Regarding 'ravishing division', see the explanation in Juliet's lines about the lark's song.

Guided by the lute, we move from musical instruments and terminology to Chapter 2.

Original Notes

*1: See Appendix

*2: This statement by Hawkins seems somewhat exaggerated. According to Mr. Aldis Wright, the rules for fellowship candidates included a singing test, and in cases of equal performance, this skill worked to the candidate's advantage. While not required of all candidates, this subject was considered on the fourth day of the examination, along with essay writing and poetry.

*3: Drayton (in the Jacobean era) wrote in 'The Battle of Agincourt', line 1199, regarding the French army before the battle: 'The soldiers sing a freeman's catch' ('freemen' is a corruption of 'threemen').

*4: The cittern kept in barber shops had four pairs of double strings (metal strings), and its tuning was as follows: 1st string: E on the fourth space of the treble staff, 2nd string: D, a whole tone lower, 3rd string: G on the second line, 4th string: B on the third line. The instrument featured a carved head. In 'Love's Labour's Lost', Act V, Scene 2, lines 600–603, there is a description of Holofernes' head. Also, in the frontispiece, carved heads can be seen on both the treble viol and the viola da gamba, each depicting a different human face. These instruments were often decorated with fantastical heads such as dragons or gargoyles.

*5: Appendix, Example 1.

*6: According to the preface contributed by Rimbault to the Musical Antiquarian Society's reprint of Purcell's opera 'Bonduca', 'Mad Tom' was written in 1612 by Coperario for a masque by Beaumont for the Inner Temple and Gray's Inn. It was titled 'From my sad and dark chamber'.

*7: See frontispiece

*8: The theorbo is a type of lute with a double neck. Its name is derived from 'tiorba', a mortar for grinding spices, referring to the bowl-shaped back of the lute.

*9: See frontispiece

*10: See frontispiece

*11: Not only quill shafts but also leather plectrums were used.

*12: See frontispiece

*13: See frontispiece