Cadence, [In]Appropriate Laughter in Sir Orfeo

The role of music is benign, its ability to present an abridgment between different races, different worlds is anything but; i.e. music actively seeks out in rather outrageous forms no less, an order and a structure. If music is the medium, then perhaps its best genre is poetry; specifically, the re-written myth of Orpheus in the Middle English Breton Lai, Sir Orfeo. Indeed, the monstrous presents itself in the abduction of a queen figure named Dame Herodis, and at the playing of music by a skilled interpreter of such a force, a re-capturing, or a series of “taken moments” take place. That is, Dame Herodis as both female property and female submission is taken from king Orfeo, and taken to become the property of the King of the Faeries; then, through weeping, wilderness exile and bold music playing, she is taken by, and returned to, her original master, Orfeo. As lays often end in a happy-go-lucky sensibility, this poem falls in line, but at what costs; i.e. what atrocities are laid bare between the worlds, the middles of Orfeo’s realm and Faerie-land.

The fourteenth century Middle English Breton Lai known as Sir Orfeo presents such ideas and events, which are surrounded by music and its (un)willing players. In this short analysis paper, I hope to suggest that music underscores much of the events and acts as a catalyst to the poem’s narrative technique; further, and as an aside, the role of misplaced laughter presents the differences of faerie-land and this world (wild-erness vs. seigniorial civilization and standard), thereby suggesting a necessary medium to bridge the two. Moreover, M/music does this, and Orfeo’s famed harp-playing reaffirms this: no matter the circumstance or unrest, music brings about a re-ordering, a need for established normativities (whatever these may be). What follows then are some selections from the text taken from the South-east poem (around the London area) with warranted commentary throughout. Because of the nature of the text itself, poetic selections are lengthy, but are not gratuitously-used; i.e. all selections are necessary, though non-exhaustive.

To begin, the poem opens with introductory matter concerning music and the lays that are composed from them. We read its learned genesis in the first ten lines as:

We redeth oft and findeth y-write,
And this clerkes wele it wite,
Layes that ben in harping
Ben y-founde of ferli thing:
Sum bethe of wer and sum of wo,
And sum of joie and mirthe also,
And sum of trecherie and of gile,
Of old aventours that fel while;
And sum of bourdes and ribaudy,
And mani ther beth of fairy.

These lines tell of themes and the impact such lays may have had on the listener, the participant at large; still, they offer more than this when music as a medium of “civil” negotiations is layered within. And of such binary themes as: “wer and … wo,” “of joie and mirthe,” and even “of trecherie and … of gile” music seamlessly intermingles, interferes and brings about a resolution, a civil decree when love is in[ter]jected. Take lines 11 and 12, respectively. It follows that: “Of al thinges that men seth, / Mest o love, forsothe, they beth,” and again of this we cry, indeed! That Orfeo is a king and a skilled harpist, we are made aware rather quickly. As the narrative continues, he exchanges his kingly estate for a time and goes into exile. Yet, how does this come about exactly? We pick up the selection here, with following commentary:

Bifel so in the comessing of May
When miri and hot is the day,
And oway beth winter schours,
And everi feld is ful of flours,
And blosme breme on everi bough
Over al wexeth miri anought,
This ich quen, Dame Heurodis
Tok to maidens of priis,
And went in an undrentide
To play bi an orchardside,
To se the floures sprede and spring
And to here the foules sing.
Thai sett hem doun al thre
Under a fair ympe-tre,
And wel sone this fair quene
Fel on slepe opon the grene. (lines 57-72)

The poet sets up a rather pleasant scene with seemingly innocent motives “To play bi an orchardside,” and again, “To se the floures sprede and spring,” and once more, “to here the foules sing” (66-8). A trinitarian motif can be recognized here, in conjunction with, the pleasure(s) the natural senses afford; i.e. Dame Herodis is seeking an experience that comes with the “comessing of May”; and, to “play,” to “se,” and to “here” she feels this can be brought about. Of interest, is though her rhetoric embodies an active resolve, her body seeks, or rather turns to idleness. She sleeps, never fulfilling her desires (at least not on this side of the world, the English realm side). The “orchardside” is still within the borderlines of English rule, and moreover under her king’s command. Yet, with her “to maidens of priis,” Dame Herodis, “this ich quen,” looks for rest to fulfill her idle wishes. The narrative suggests: “Thai sett hem doun al thre / Under a fair ympe-tre” (70). Now, before we ask what exactly is an “ympe-tre,” a better inquiry might be what exactly is a “fair ympe-tre”? Is it possible that the manuscript suggested that it was a “fairy ympe-tree”? I am not sure, but I find it rather interesting that even J. R. R. Tolkien’s translation of “ympe-tre” as “grafted tree,” is not a sufficient substitute. Recall, this point of sleep under some sort of tree presents the king of England with his exilic terms and specific forest wanderings, which lasted ten years. How can the “quen” be innocent as she sometimes is held? She who sat down to listen to a natural chorus, the “foules sing” a melody pleasing to her desires and her senses, is to blame for her own abduction because of her idle tendency. Arguably, there is more to it than this, but this present project does not take up such arms. Instead, let us shift into what happened to the “quen” when she awoke. The implications of falling asleep in this world and wandering in the other, only to arise with a strong malady of madness is provocative and sets up an aggressive need for restoration, for order. This is a restoration that only music can accomplish, and more so—one that its greatest wielder can only perform.

The rhetoric of the “comessing May / When miri and hot is the day” quickly turns into an idleness that offers a “quen” who: So sche slepe til after none, / That undertide was al y-done” (75-6). As Herodis comes to, she awakens only to offer her readers, her interpreters no means to decipher her plight. She now offers anxiety to a world that has no way to interact with her, and this anxiety, this (dis)ease will spread and metastasize to include the entire kingdom once Sir Orfeo departs. We follow the malignant text of Herdois’s nightmare here:

Ac, as sone as sche gan awake,
Sche crid, and lothli bere gan make;
Sche froted hir honden and hir fete,
And crached hir visage - it bled wete -
Hir riche robe hye al to-rett
And was reveyd out of hir wit. (77-82)

Dame Herodis in a panicked state cannot function within normal parameters in the English realm. Why? She has visited another world and cannot articulate, or rather translate such an experience into her awakened state. She in part, has become a member of the other realm, the other world, and as such proceeds to disfigure her frame with a shredded face and equally torn clothes. Simply, she is unfit for this world and has become monstrous. Put another way, to be “out of hir wit,” suggests that she is fitted elsewhere, and the conventions of this (England) realm, she can no longer follow. The news of her malady travels to Sir Orfeo who is told by Herodis of her inevitable “taking,” or capture. Orfeo, thinking like one who does “fit” within his realm proceeds to defend his property, his “quen” from any and all abductions. The harpist-king then replies as follows:

"O we!" quath he, "Allas, allas!
Lever me were to lete mi liif
Than thus to lese the quen, mi wiif!"
He asked conseyl at ich man,
Ac no man him help no can.
Amorwe the undertide is come
And Orfeo hath his armes y-nome,
And wele ten hundred knightes with him,
Ich y-armed, stout and grim;
And with the quen wenten he
Right unto that ympe-tre.
Thai made scheltrom in ich a side
And sayd thai wold there abide
And dye ther everichon,
Er the quen schuld fram hem gon. (176-90)

As we know it is to no avail, and as the “quen” is taken from their fortified midst, it is accomplished via unconventional means to the English realm; namely, it is done “With fairi forth y-nome” (l. 193). Yes, magique of the faeries is used, and like music is tangible to no one, it too slips through from one world to the next. This event precipitates the mimicked loss of mind and masculine stature privy to king Orfeo; i.e. he loses his identity because the woman, who was not only “quen,” also made him king; moreover, her absence creates a loss that Orfeo cannot take or interpret. The poem presents the following narrative:

The king into his chaumber is go,
And oft swoned opon the ston,
And made swiche diol and swiche mon
That neighe his liif was y-spent -
Ther was non amendement. (196-200)

Exile is the only choice left to Orfeo, and the wilderness becomes his space for harp-playing, for music practice. I will not take the time here to describe some provocative themes associated with this exile per se; i.e. the hierarchy that exists within the English realm and the Faerie-way are not so different even though their geo-political space is altered, different and middled into distinctions of high and low. Still, of interest is how the faerie-men who go hunting with their King Fearie, do so—but do not kill. In some capacity, it is nothing more than a mock-hunt. Orfeo, now living in the forest for some time and playing his harp (when the weather suits him), observes the faerie king’s hunting behavior. The narrative does not privilege an emotional response from the exilic monarch until he looks onto the faerie-women who go “a-hawkin” and actually kill. The poem offers, and I quote it here at length:

Lord! who may telle the sore
This king sufferd ten yere and more?
His here of his berd, blac and rowe,
To his girdel-stede was growe.
His harp, whereon was al his gle,
He hidde in an holwe tre;
And when the weder was clere and bright,
He toke his harp to him wel right
And harped at his owhen wille.
Into alle the wode the soun gan schille,
That alle the wilde bestes that ther beth
For joie abouten him thai teth,
And alle the foules that ther were
Come and sete on ich a brere
To here his harping a-fine -
So miche melody was therin;
And when he his harping lete wold,
No best bi him abide nold. (263-80)

And on a day he seighe him biside
Sexti levedis on hors ride,
Gentil and jolif as brid on ris;
Nought o man amonges hem ther nis;
And ich a faucoun on hond bere,
And riden on haukin bi o rivere.
Of game thai founde wel gode haunt -
Maulardes, hayroun, and cormeraunt;
The foules of the water ariseth,
The faucouns hem wele deviseth;
Ich faucoun his pray slough -
That seigh Orfeo, and lough:
"Parfay!" quath he, "ther is fair game; (303-15)

Combined, the selections privileged above, examine the role of a suffering king, exile as an answer to such suffering and in an other world—women, who behave like men and follow through with their hunt. Orfeo does not understand this, and recall—he has been in this exilic estate, in this wilderness through hardship after hardship; loss after loss; and even reflects, a disfigured self. Arguably, it is not until he appears as monstrous, disfigured that he then “sees” the “playing” of the faeries and “hears” the minstrelsy, the music. What is his response to all of this: “That seigh Orfeo, and lough: / "Parfay!" quath he, "ther is fair game” (314-15). The role of laughter is anything but funny and humorous here. What exactly is the position of laughter here? Why laugh exactly? If laughter, like music is a type of force, expelled from the self and brought to public awareness, what then does it reveal about its wielder, and how can laughter explain such a scene? Admittedly, the inquiries I raise here act as a congeries on the emotional appeal offered by the text, but also by a modern interpreter of such a text. Yet, and more importantly, women who hunt and kill and men who hunt, but do not kill presents a level of anxiety where roles are in reverse—if not entirely backward. Is this a place then where magic can be used? Yes. Orfeo’s laughter makes sense to him only; it does not make sense to the reader, the interpreter of the text. Still, he has caught site of this “weird” event and follows the female retinue to the land of the faeries, the flat-lands equipped with bright and shiny things: gold, red gold, et cetera. Orfeo makes a crucial and bold observation: in a land where Faerie magic and its inhabitants differ from the English realm, music is common to both. Orfeo notices:

And otherwile he seighe other thing:
Knightes and levedis com daunceing
In queynt atire, gisely,
Queynt pas and softly;
Tabours and trunpes yede hem bi,
And al maner menstraci. (297-303)

This is still, in many respects, a place, a space—where he may indeed still fit. His approach into the castle where King Faerie abides produces one of the more intriguing dialogues of “keeping one’s word,” or oath-telling as well as the ultimate privilege and power of music, and of its wielder. Music as a force to rival difference(s) of race (English and Faerie), of opinion, of custom, and to some extent of control can be seen here. This will be our final commentary, but it is our strongest claim: music is not benign, and its wielder—a force, to be reckoned with on matters of order, of re-capture and of re-ordering. The text offers:

When he was in the roche y-go,
Wele thre mile other mo,
He com into a fair cuntray
As bright so sonne on somers day,
Smothe and plain and al grene -
Hille no dale nas ther non y-sene.
Amidde the lond a castel he sighe,
Riche and real and wonder heighe. (349-356)

And when he hadde bihold this mervails alle,
He went into the kinges halle.
Than seighe he ther a semly sight,
A tabernacle blisseful and bright,
Therin her maister king sete
And her quen, fair and swete.
Her crounes, her clothes schine so bright
That unnethe bihold he him might.
When he hadde biholden al that thing,
He kneled adoun bifor the king:
"O lord," he seyd, "yif it thi wille were,
Mi menstraci thou schust y-here."
The king answered, "What man artow,
That art hider y-comen now?
Ich, no non that is with me,
No sent never after the.
Sethen that ich here regni gan,
Y no fond never so folehardi man
That hider to ous durst wende
Bot that ic him wald ofsende."
"Lord," quath he, "trowe ful wel,
Y nam bot a pover menstrel;
And, sir, it is the maner of ous
To seche mani a lordes hous -
Thei we nought welcom no be,
Yete we mot proferi forth our gle."
Bifor the king he sat adoun
And tok his harp so miri of soun,
And tempreth his harp, as he wele can,
And blisseful notes he ther gan,
That al that in the palays were
Com to him forto here,
And liggeth adoun to his fete -
Hem thenketh his melody so swete.
The king herkneth and sitt ful stille;
To here his gle he hath gode wille.
Gode bourde he hadde of his gle;
The riche quen also hadde he.
When he hadde stint his harping,
Than seyd to him the king,
"Menstrel, me liketh wel thi gle.
Now aske of me what it be,
Largelich ichil the pay; (409-51)

With such a position of favor, Orfeo in playing his harp soothes not only beasts of the field and animals, but even the King Faerie himself, and gets to choose a gift to boot! This can only happen because of music and the skilled music player. The re-ordering taking place here suggests that Herodis is both prize and fault. That is, she is to blame for her idleness and the king’s exilic wandering(s), but she is also part of the solution. What then is lost, is now found and taken back. The Faerie King reluctantly gives her up, and the story is to end in a happier state with all things returned. This presents an argument for music-playing and music-listening (i.e. those who appreciate and know good music when they hear it) as an instrument for expressed normativity. Yet, even this is ordered through the medium of harp-playing, of music wielded by a master. It is Orfeo who sets about to prove he is indeed just that—Orfeo, the harp-king:

And Orfeo sat stille in the halle
And herkneth; when thai ben al stille,
He toke his harp and tempred schille;
The blissefulest notes he harped there
That ever ani man y-herd with ere -
Ich man liked wele his gle.
The steward biheld and gan y-se,
And knewe the harp als blive. (524-531)

Tho all tho that therin sete
That it was King Orfeo underyete,
And the steward him wele knewe -
Over and over the bord he threwe,
And fel adoun to his fet;
So dede everich lord that ther sete,
And all thai seyd at o criing:
"Ye beth our lord, sir, and our king!"
Glad thai were of his live; (575-83)

Now King Orfeo newe coround is,
And his quen, Dame Heurodis,
And lived long afterward,
And sethen was king the steward.
Harpours in Bretaine after than
Herd hou this mervaile bigan,
And made herof a lay of gode likeing,
And nempned it after the king.
That lay "Orfeo" is y-hote;
Gode is the lay, swete is the note.
Thus com Sir Orfeo out of his care:
God graunt ous alle wele to fare! Amen! (593-604)

And as Breton Lais are short and sweet, the poem Sir Orfeo conforms to this appellation quite well. Sir Orfeo as conductor of symphonic ordering uses music to bring about the structure and the fitting of an English realm, troubled by the difference faeries present. In the end, however, such an ordering does not only take place, it showcases the very privilege of music as common structure and scaffold building to otherwise, disruptive and perhaps competing realms. Music truly offers the playing, the seeing and the hearing, and now the re-ordering of disparate tastes and sensibilities where theft and transgression of boundaries are no longer necessary. Exile, that agent of space displacement, and laughter, that agent of (in)appropriate response, when middled with music offers provocative and aggressive readings as I have argued in a non-exhaustive manner here. Sir Orfeo, at best then, offers as exemplum the critic such interpretive activities.