(Saturday, March 4th, 1600)

It's my birthday! I've already celebrated my birthday this year in my native time, so am tempted to have a second birthday back here. However, Will Kemp keeps up a cracking pace; even Tom Slye has admitted that sometimes he has trouble keeping up, and he's been a taberer these past fifteen years, five of them with Will.

Since Will has been staying with the Colts family, I have touched base with Master Slye, and am ready for once, when Will sets out before dawn, in the frosty March air. Master Colts' fool is accompanying Will in his dance as a good-sized crowd, some of whom must have been up as early as five a.m. trot along after.

It seems quite a detour to me, but Will Kemp has chosen to make his way through the village of Clare making a visit to the widow Everet.

Since I am not invited to visit I take the time to talk to some of the village folk who know Mistress Everet and their accounts are uniformly full of praise: a woman full of charity and virtue, quiet, devout, modest and well-spoken. I learn from them, that in his time, her husband was a Yeoman, a farmer who owned and worked his own land, which explains her comparative wealth.

By the time we reach the outskirts of St.Edmundsbury the lowering sky has started to snow lightly: tiny tingling flakes that catch in my eyelashes and hair. And my fingers are numbly grasping the reins, scarcely feeling inside my gloves. And the crowds here are busier than anywhere we have visited so far. I learn later, that Sir John Popham, the Lord Chief Justice of the realm was entering the town at the same time, by another route and as the crowds cleared a path for the honorable gentleman, most of them made haste to gawp as Will Kemp danced and frolicked his way into the town, being forced to pause seven times before he could reach the Angel Inn opposite the abandoned abbey.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

Having arrived late in Chelmsford, I caught up the day's events over breakfast with Will Kemp the next morning (Saturday). To summarise:

Sir Thomas Mildmay met him at the gates of his estate, where he graciously received a pair of garters from Master Kemp.

When Will finally made it through the crush to the Saracen's Head he was too weary to dance further, so tossed a few gags from the window for the crowds gathered below.

After breakfast, Will set out, but only made three miles of the road toward Braintree before turning back. I think he had overestimated his stamina and needed more time to recover.

During the stopover in Chelmsford a young lady of fourteen obtained permission from her parents to dance a Morris (or three). The innkeeper was good enough to clear a large dining room, and the pair danced for almost an hour, with bells jingling, and handkerchiefs waving merrily.

(Monday, February 28th, 1600)

When I got up this morning I found that Master Kemp had already accepted a ride with a gentleman setting out in the moonlight a little after 6am, shortcutting the distance he had danced previously.

The road between Chelmsford and Braintree left a lot to be desired: on either side of the road thick brambles and other undergrowth sealed the edges of the forest and the road itself was a well-trodden mire. Ruts, potholes, puddles and mud all the way. At times I was obliged to dismount my horse for fear of losing her footing, and by the time we caught up with Tom Slye and Will Kemp, we were all thoroughly muddy.

Before we caught up though, I saw a couple of equally damp and muddy lads making their way down the Great Waltham road. I found out later that these two game fellows had essayed to keep Master Kemp company in his dance, thinking it a small thing to dance a few miles from one town to the other, but they soon found the mud too much for them. After one of them fell into a huge puddle that Will managed to jump almost completely, he compared them to a couple of frogs, each trying to pull the other out of the mud!

X:87
T:Glorisher (Leapfrog)
M:6/8
C:
S:Bacon (MDT)
N:
A:Field Town (Finstock)
O:English
R:Jig
%P:A.(AB)$^2$.(AC)$^2$
P:A.(AB)2.(AC)2
K:G
Q:C3=100
P:A
d/2c/2 | BAG GFG  | ABA  D2 (3E/2F/2G/2    | ABA  Adc  | BcA  GAB |
     cde de=f | def  g2 (3g/4a/4g/4f/2 | edc  BcA  | G>AG G2  ||
P:B
z      | e2 d dAB | cdc  cAB               | cde  edc  | GAG  FED |
     G2 g gfg | G2 g g2 g/2f/2         | edc  B>cA | G>AG G2  ||
P:C
z      | e3   d3  | d A2 B3                | c2 d c3   | c A2 B3  | c2 d e3 |
(2ed(2cB | (2AB G3 | (2FE D3 | G3   g3 | (2gf g3 |
     G3   g3  | g3-  g2 (3g/4a/4g/4f/2 | edc  B>cA | G>AG G2  ||
%abc

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

(Friday, February 25th, 1600)

I would be the first to admit that I'm not a terribly good horse rider, and about a mile after leaving Ingatestone, I finally realized that my horse was favoring her right hind leg. Dismounting, I found that she had thrown a shoe, and while it wouldn't be a big problem on these dirt roads, in the long term it could lead to painful damage to her hoof, and the livery stable would certainly demand compensation from me when I change horses.

That was how I came to detour to Margaretting, the nearest village with a smithy. When I got there, three old men were sitting on logs in the shade of the barn end of the smithy while a "simple" lad busied himself chasing birds from the field beside the smithy. I asked the old fellows if the smith was also a farrier, and they laughed at me:

"No farrier, he. But a smith's no use in a village like this without he knows shoeing."

When the smith steps out of the workshop he calls to the lad chasing the birds and I watch in fascination as the boy gentles the horse almost as if they spoke the same language, while the smith sizes up the hoof that needs shoeing.

This is a fascinating process: first the surface of the hoof is pared with a sharp knife, and some dirt picked from the frog. I continue to watch patiently as the smith presses a hot metal shoe against the hoof making clouds of foul-smelling smoke, but my horse stands as calmly and patiently with her minder as if she were in her home stable. It takes a couple of returns to the ringing anvil inside the workshop to adjust the fit of the shoe and finally the smith twists off the protruding ends of the nails, rasping them flush to the wall of the hoof. The whole process has taken a little over an hour, not including time spent waiting.

When I get to the Saracen's Head at Chelmsford, it's late, it's cold, and I'm tired. But for once, I have a chance to talk to Will Kemp himself.

I ask Will Kemp what kind of jokes he uses, when he's not clowning. Of course, as he points out, most of the jokes he speaks on stage are written for him by the playwright, but

"I asked a painter of likenesses once 'how is it that your paintings are so fair, yet your children are so ugly?' 'Master Kemp' quoth he, 'I paint by day, but beget by night!'",

"John Nokes was driving his cart not far from here, and about noon, stopped to rest awhile. While he slept, thieves took his team, so that when he woke he exclaimed 'either I have lost my horses, or I have found a cart!'",

"What is't that a noble gentleman values so, that he wraps it in a silk kerchief, and keeps about him, yet a common beggar tosses away?"

When I admit to being stymied, he informs me "it is but the snot of their noses!"

Something about the way he tells it has me chuckling, and before I can regain my composure, he asks me if I would lend him my kerchief?

I pass it to him (it is clean, by the way) and he proceeds to stuff it into one nostril, then to my surprise (and mild disgust) draws it out of the other.

Before I can ask him to return it, he inserts it into the other nostril, sneezes a great sneeze, crosses his eyes, and proceeds to draw my kerchief from his right ear!

When Tom Slye his taberer joins us with a round of drinks, Will's eye catches a couple of wooden buckets standing in a corner, where the potboy left them after cleaning. Feigning drunk, he staggers across and trips on an imaginary uneven flagstone, landing with each foot in a bucket. Then quickwitted Tom (who presumably has had plenty of experience of Will's humor) strikes up yet another morris, and Will clumps the buckets to the tune of Bean Setting, a scene which puts me in mind of Gene Kelly's impeccable choreography in the 1949 musical, On The Town.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

References

Humor in Kemp's Day
To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

(Thursday, February 24th, 1600)
When I spoke with Master Kemp at the inn in Burntwood he told me, though if it were me, I would certainly have made more of a complaint of it, that he had strained his hip as he left Romford. But he decided it would not be worth the trouble of consulting a surgeon.
Having pulled my own shoulder slightly (I should have accepted help with my saddlebags) I feel the same way: the most likely treatment would be either leeching or bleeding and a rub with something that smells like horse liniment and probably contains most of the same ingredients.
I do feel, though, that if anyone has cause to complain, it is poor Will. The market crowds combined with sightseers both from London, and North Essex were so thick when he reached Burntwood (these days the name has slipped to Brentwood) that he had difficulty making his way to an inn.
I managed to find a 21st century picture of the Bell where we stopped in Ingerstone (Ingatestone), which is a comfortable stopping-place, if not very large. I'm just thankful we managed to get a room to ourselves. Most of the travellers are sleeping two or three to a bed tonight. I sometimes think the horses are more comfortable down in the stables than we are, crammed in like peas in a pod.
While I was talking to Will, he told me that the town sheriff arrested a pair of cutpurses who followed us all the way from London. Right now, they are as he put it, "enjoying the hospitality of the town", and I wouldn't care to bet on a rosy future for them unless, and this is very unlikely, they can claim "benefit of clergy". The penalty for misdemeanors is commonly corporal punishment, and most felonies are capital offences.
In Kemp's own words, he foresees them dancing a lively Trenchmore in the Burntwood pillory to the rhythm of the cat-o'-nine tails. From his description, I think they might be the types of villains commonly known as dummerers: when first captured, they pretended to be dumb and deaf, and might have succeeded, but the sheriff knows a few tricks himself.
The events of the day have brought home to me in a horribly real way what a brutal age this can be: although I had put it out of my mind, on our way out of London we passed the Bear Pit where the yelping and growling that accompanied the cheering told the story of a bear baiting in progress.
I thought that Master Kemp would remain in Burntwood, resting his injured hip, which is why I recommended we make the most of the daylight, riding for Ingatestone, but to my surprise, even though it is now dark outside, bitterly cold and snowing half-heartedly the commotion outside heralds the arrival of Will Kemp, purveyor of the best bel-shangles and tril-lilles between Sion and Mount Surrey, together with the hardy folk determined to follow him on his jig.
Having made something of a friend in Tom Slye, I pay for a hot supper for himself and Will Kemp, and ask Tom's help in transcribing another morris which helps to take my mind off the sorry thoughts that have occupied my mind for most of the day.


To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

References

Justice in Kemp's Time
Crime in the Tudor era

(Monday, February 21st, 1600)
"Over here! I've settled with the innkeeper so we're good for a couple of days, which should be long enough. Now, let me introduce you to Master Tom Slye; this is the fellow who is playing the pipe and tabor for Master Kemp on his journey."
It's nice to be back in the warmth of an inn. Before you got here, Tom was telling me how within a quarter-mile of the town, a gentleman on horseback offered Will to ride the little distance remaining while Tom had to make his own way on foot, in the frosty moonlight. At least Master Kemp was kind enough to stand him a hot pie when he arrived at the Red Lion (later renamed the Golden Lion ).
Nobody seems to know where Master Kemp is right now. My guess is he's probably flaked out on a lumpy bed somewhere in the inn, and I think he deserves his rest: according to Tom, most of the Londoners who followed him as far as Mile End expected him to give up his jig before he ever reached Mile End, or at least stop there for cakes and cream (which is what most of the spectators did after braving the cold).
Before you got here Tom was explaining to me the peculiar fingerings for his pipe which is played with only three fingers, the pinkie supporting it, yet it can play through more than an octave. His other hand is free to beat the small tabor which hangs from his pipe arm when he plays.
The pipe is surprisingly long, longer than a tenor recorder, but not particularly demanding of breath, which makes it an ideal instrument for someone walking and playing.
Since supper time is still a little while off, and I have a penny in my purse, I think it not unreasonable to ask Master Slye if he would entertain us with a jig, and for my pennyworth we have the Fox and Geese: a traditional Morris tune, and one that he has already played several times on the journey.

X:123
T:Fox and Geese
M:6/8
L:1/8
R:jig
Z:Brian Martin Winterbourn Downs Morris (rcvd Jan 2003)
K:G
G2d dcB | A2B c3 | BAG GAB | A2G FED | G2d dcB | A2B c3 | BAG c2B | AGF G3 ::
F2G AFD | F2G ABc | d2B d2B | dBG dBG | F2G AFD | F2G ABc | dBG c2B | AGF G3 :|

Of course, like most musicians, one tune leads to another, and by the time our host comes to ask what fare we might choose for supper, Tom has played more than a handful of dances and other tunes to the delight of the guests who have danced merrily. In the opinion of the innkeeper, Tom has earned his supper, and chooses from the meals offered by the kitchen tonight a coney with a pudding boiled in his belly, a little better than his usual fare, I think.
To boyle a Cony with a Pudding in his Belly.
Take your Cony and fley him, & leave on the eares and wash it faire, and take grated Bread, sweete Suet minced fiine, corance and some fine hearbs, Peneriall; winter savery; percely, Spinage or beets, sweet margeram, and chop your hearbs fine, and season it with Cloves, Mace and Sugar, a little creame and salt and yolks of Egs, and Dates minst fine.  Then mingle all your stuf togither, and put it in your Rabets belly and sowe it up with a thred, for the broth take mutton broth when it is boyled a little, and put it in a pot wheras your Rabet may lye long waies in it, and let your broth boile or ever you put it in, then put in Gooceberies or els Grapes, corance and sweet Butter, Vergious, Salt, grated bread and Sugar a little, and when it is boyled, lay it in a dish with Sops.  And so serve it in.

References

Pipe and Tabor
A book of Cookrye

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

Thank goodness you've arrived! It's a bit of a climb, but I think it's worth it for the view across the valley.

This naughty old shepherd tells me his name is written in the Book of Life: Guglielmo Bondone. But young Giovanna there tells me everyone in the nearby town of Cortona calls him Poppa Glug on account of his drinking habit. I was flirting with him a little, but he seems more intent on something serious! (And he's sixty-seven years old, for Pete's sakes!) He excuses himself saying that "Tomorrow we may be dead of the plague, but today, how about a little smooching in the sunshine? I can give you a fine, strong baby. Does that not appeal?"

He also told me that he has been suffering with a toothache, but doesn't think it is bad enough to pull the tooth. He has been chewing on cloves to keep the pain under control. I came up here with his granddaughter Giovanna, to bring him this leather scrip with his lunch - bread made with herbs, and a chunk of sheepsmilk cheese, and a pitcher of wine. He tells me he came up here a little before the bell sounded for lauds down in the priory (about 6.00 am), with a breakfast of small honey-cakes which made the toothache worse for a bit, and will be up here until after compline (about 7.00 pm).

I'm staggered by the size of the flock of sheep Poppa Glug is watching. (I can't help thinking of him as Poppa Glug, especially after watching him drink) He tells me the flock is one hundred and twenty sheep at present (not all his own), although it varies with lambing and slaughter. The sheep are used for milk (which surprises me), wool, and eventually meat. But there isn't much need for rams, so they just get fattened for meat.

We are both invited to join Poppa Glug when his grandson takes over watching the sheep to go into the town itself; there is a dance in the piazza this evening and there will be plenty of meat and drink on offer. Who knows, we might even find some handsome young man? (He really is the most incorrigible rogue, but quite fun to be with in a non-committal way).

In the town, apart from the crowds, the first thing that strikes me is that the Italians must have been among the first people to develop high-rise buildings. Part of their Roman heritage, perhaps? and the pavements, none of them are the same, different types of stone, different textures. I'm sure I could navigate blindfold if I knew the town better, just by the feel of the pavement under my feet.

X:35
T:Saltarello 3
M:6/8
L:1/8
Z:Andy Hornby
%%ID:00000da6
F: http://www.leeds.ac.uk/music/Info/RRTuneBk/gettune/00000da6.abc
K:C
cBA GAB|cdB c2 G|ABc ABG|cBc d2e|
cgf e2d|cgf e2d|cBc A2e|Aee A3:|
|:edc B2A|c2d e2d|cBc A2B|GAB c2G|ABc ABG|
cBc d2e|cgf e2d|cgf e2d|cBc A2e|Aee A3:|
|:ede g2c|ggc g3|ede g2e|fed e2d|
cBc A2B|GAB c2G|ABc ABG|cBc d2e|
cgf e2d|cgf e2d|cBc A2e|Aee A3:|

For anyone who wants to know, the band comprised three shawms (S, T, T), one of the shawm players doubled on Alto recorder solo for a couple of slow dances, a sacbut, and Nakers.

That saltarello is the one tune I could remember when I got back! If you can visualize a square full of whirling bodies, and leaping young men; this is a jumping dance, and very energetic. And although I had to sit this one out, even Poppa Glug was in the mix, throwing himself into it with gusto. I got the impression that a lot of the young men were competing to see who could make the highest jumps.

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

When I was a little girl, one of the preschool activities I enjoyed most was what we used to call "Music and Movement".
I hope things haven't changed so much that people (particularly children) no longer dance, and I hope at some point to introduce my own grandchildren to the delights of freeform dance.

Track listing

From Pictures at an Exhibition, Mussorgsky

1. Gnome


2. Promenade


3. Bydlo (a Polish ox-cart)

(from Carnival of the Animals, Saint Saens

1. Royal March of the Lion


2. Elephant


3. Aquarium


4. Fossils


5. Swan

Morris dancing is the English national dance form. Or a good way to make a prat of yourself, depending on which pub the Morris Men are dancing outside. Watch these two clowns put their own unique spin on the Morris, and sing a couple of songs with lyrics that, well, let's just say they could have been adapted a little better.

Today (March 7th) is the feast of Saint Felicitas, patron saint of expectant mothers and here, in Langres, whose patron Saint Mammes is the saint of newborn babies, a special mass is being said for expectant mothers. Throughout the day there are various events including dancing (I am hoping several pavanes ¹ will be included for ladies in the more gravid condition).

 

Not being terribly familiar with sixteenth century dance (somebody once said I seemed to have eight left feet!), I thought it might be a good idea to look up any information I could find before leaving, and the best-known dance manual of the period which the library recommended was a French book, Orchésographie , by Thoinot Arbeau.

Let me quote below, the opening of his book, which takes the form of a conversation between a teacher and a visiting ex-pupil;

Capriol
I come to pay you my respects, Monsieur Arbeau. You do not remember me, for it is six or seven years since I left this town of Langres to go to Paris and thence to Orleans. I am an old pupil of yours, to whom you taught computation.

Arbeau
Indeed at first glance I failed to recognize you because you have grown up since then, and I feel sure that you have also broadened your mind by manliness and learning. What do you think of the study of law? I pursued it in bygone days myself.

Capriol
I find it a noble art and necessary in the conduct of affairs, but I regret that while in Orleans I neglected to learn fine manners, an art with which many scholars enriched themselves as an adjunct to their studies. For, on my return I have found myself in society, where, to put it briefly, I was tongue-tied and awkward, and regarded as little more than a block of wood.

Arbeau
You took consolation in the fact that the learned professors excused this shortcoming in recognition of the learning you had acquired.

Capriol
That is so, but I should like to have acquired skill in dancing during the hours between my serious studies, an accomplishment which would have rendered my company welcome to all.

Arbeau
This will be an easy thing by reading French books in order to sharpen your wit and by learning fencing, dancing and tennis that you may be an agreeable companion alike to ladies and gentlemen.

Capriol
I much enjoyed fencing and tennis and this placed me upon friendly terms with young men. But, without a knowledge of dancing, I could not please the damsels, upon whom, it seems to me, the entire reputation of an eligible young man depends.

Arbeau
You are quite right, as naturally the male and female seek one another and nothing does more to stimulate a man to acts of courtesy, honour and generosity than love. And if you desire to marry you must realize that a mistress is won by the good temper and grace displayed while dancing, because ladies do not like to be present at fencing or tennis, lest a splintered sword or a blow from a tennis ball should cause them injury. You remember Virgil's lines that tell of Turnus and his mistress, the beautiful Lavinia, daughter of King Latinus.

Illum turbat amor, figitque in virgine vultus:
Ardet in arma magis etc.

And there is more to it than this, for dancing is practised to reveal whether lovers are in good health and sound of limb, after which they are permitted to kiss their mistresses in order that they may touch and savour one another, thus to ascertain if they are shapely or emit an unpleasant odour as of bad meat. Therefore, from this standpoint, quite apart from the many other advantages to be derived from dancing, it becomes an essential in a well ordered society.

There's a recording of the Washerwomen's Bransle here, which gives a feel for the kind of music being played.

X:7
T:The Washerwomen's Bransle  % title
C:Thoinot Arbeau             % composer
O:Orchésographie              % origin.
N:Thoinot Arbeau was the nom-de-plume of Maitre Jehan Tabourot
N:Cleric, of Langres
M:4/4                        % meter
L:1/4                        % length of shortest note
Q:180                        % tempo
K:F                          % key
V:1                          % voice 1
|: "C7" G G G G | "F" F F B2 | "C7"c B A G | "F" G F G2 :|
|:"C7" G d "G" B d | "C7"c B A "F" G :|
|:"C7" G G F2 | "F"G2 A2 | "F"A A A B | "C7"c B A G |
"C7"G G F2 | "F" G2 A2 | "C7"c B A G | "F" G F "C7" G2 :|]
X:4                          % number
T:Belle qui tients ma vie    % title
C:Thoinot Arbeau             % composer
N:Thoinot Arbeau was an anagram of Jehan de Tabourot
N:A professor of mathematics
O:Orchésographie             % origin.
S:Transcribed from an arrangement by Karl Aloritias.
M:C|                         % meter
L:1/4                        % length of shortest note
Q:                           % tempo
K:F                          % key
V:1 name=Soprano sname=sop.  % voice 1
V:2 name=Alto sname=alt.
V:3 name=Tenor sname=ten.
V:4 name=Bass sname=bass clef=bass
[V:1]|: G2 G ^F | G A B2 | B d c B | B A B2 :|
w:1.Bel-le qui tiens ma vi-e Cap-ti-ve dans tes yeulx,
w:2.Pour-quo fuis tu, mi-gnar-de, Si je suis pres de toi?
w:3.Tes beau-tes et ta gra-ces Et tes di-vins pro-pos
w:4.Mon am-e vou-lait e-tre Li-bre de pas-si-on
w:5.Ap-pro-che donc ma bell-e, Ap-pro-che toi mon bien,
w:6.Je meurs, mon An-ge-let-te, Je meurs en te bais-ant
w:7.Plu-tot on ver-ra l'on-de Con-tre-mont re-cul-er,
[V:2]|: D2 D D  | D F F2 | F F E F | G F F2 :|
[V:3]|: B2 B A  | B c d2 | d B G d | c c d2 :|
[V:4]|: G,2 G, D, | G, F, B,,2 | B,, B,, C, D, | _E, F, B,,2 :|
%
[V:1]B2 A A | G G F2 | D2 E/F/ G | G ^F G2 |
w:1.Qui m'as l'ame ra-vi-e D'un sour--ris gra-ci-eux,
w:2.Quand tes yeux je re-garde Je me_ perds de-dans moi,
w:3.Ont echauf-fé la gla-ce Qui me_ ge-lait les os,
w:4.Mais l'a-mour s'est fait maitre De mes_ af-fec-ti-ons
w:5.Ne me sois plus re-belle Puis-que mon co-eur est tien,
w:6.Ta bou-che tant dou-cette Va mon_ bien rav-is-sant
w:7.Et plu-tot l'oeil du monde Ce-s-se-ra de bru-ler,
[V:2]F2 F F | D _E D2| D2 C D    | D D [D2=B,2]|
[V:3]d2 c d | B c A2 | B2 G B    | A A [=B2G2]|
[V:4]B,2 F, D, | G, C, D,2 | B,2 C, G,, | D, D, G,,2|
%
[V:1]B2 A A | G G ^F2 | D2 =E/^F/ G | G ^F G2 |]
w:1.Viens tot me se-cou-rir Ou me_ fau-dra mou-rir.
w:2.Car tes per-fec-ti-on Chan-gent_ mes ac-ti-ons
w:3.Et ont rem-pli mon coeur D'une a--mou-reuse ar-deur.
w:4.Et a mis sous sa loi Et mon_ coeur et ma foi.
w:5.Pour mon mal ap-pais-er Don-ne_ moi un bai-ser.
w:6.A ce coup mes es-prits Sont tous_ d'a-mour e-pris.
w:7.Que l'a-mour qui m'e-point De-crois--se d'un seul point.
[V:2]_B,2 F F | D _E D2 | F2 E D | D D D2 |]
[V:3]d2 c d   | B c A2  | B2 G B | A A [=B2G2]|]
[V:4]G,2 F, D, | G, C, D,2 | B,,2 C, G,, | D, D, G,,2 |]

I thought it might be interesting to pay a visit to Monsieur Arbeau, but none of the contemporary people with whom I talked had heard of him, which puzzled me particularly, since his dance manual seems to be almost unique; nothing as comprehensive has survived. It wasn't until I returned to my own time that the mystery was solved. When I talked to the librarian about the difficulty of locating Monsieur Arbeau I learned that his name was an anagram of Jehan Tabourot, a canon and teacher of mathematics and law at the Cathedral in Langres. Perhaps because he felt that a manual on dance would be an undignified publication to be associated with a professor, or perhaps simply to maintain the integrity of his reputation as a teacher, he adopted this innocent subterfuge. And once again, I find that wherever I go in history, it seems as if there is no escaping the clerics!

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

---

Notes

1. Also known as the Cinque Pas, or "Sink-a Pace", for its five steps.