Elizabeth Mac Donald: A Matter of Interpretation

 A Matter of Interpretation 

by Elizabeth Mac Donald

A Musical Review

Thankfully, the myth which wants us to believe that the medieval period was simply a “dark age” of ignorance and superstition is no longer taken seriously – at least by objective historians.  The 12^th and 13^th centuries, in particular, were a fecund time in the quest for knowledge, as Christian philosophers rediscovered Aristotle via the writings of Arabic commentators such as Averroes and Avicenna and, through interaction with Jewish and Muslim thinkers, strove to build a corpus of knowledge on these “classical”  foundations.  

This is not to say, of course, that medieval scholars had it easy.  Whilst universities, operating under the auspices of the Catholic Church, were recognised centres of research and knowledge, the same Church also saw itself as an enforcer of orthodoxy.  And the boundary the orthodox and the heretical was hardly set in stone – suffice it to say that Thomas Aquinas, now considered the Catholic theologian par excellence was, for a time, regarded with suspicion, as being too “Aristotelian” in approach.  This was also a politically fraught time – the Holy Roman Emperor was often at loggerheads with the Papacy (whose “temporal” powers were on a par with those of any other secular leader); alliances were notoriously fluid, and the coexistence of different cultures and religions was, at best, uneasy and, at worst, could lead to bloodshed. 

Michael Scot, as portrayed in a medieval manuscript

Elizabeth Mac Donald’s engrossing debut novel “A Matter of Interpretation”, just published by Fairlight Books, brings the Middle Ages vividly to life through a “fictional biography” of historical figure Michael Scot (1175 – c. 1232).  Born in the Scottish Borders, Canon Scot acquired early fame as a scholar in the University of Paris.  MacDonald’s novel traces the trajectory of his career – from his Paris days, to his appointment as tutor to the young Emperor Frederick II, his subsequent sojourns in Spain and Sicily, and his late work at the behest of the Emperor.  Scot was a well-known figure in intellectual circles and, in his own lifetime, had already acquired notoriety as an astrologer and wizard.  Boccaccio portrays Scot as a necromancer and, in the Divine Comedy, Dante consigns him, with other ‘false prophets’ to the Eighth Circle of Hell.  Dark legends about Scot have him feasting with friends on food brought by magic from the royal courts of France and Spain.  The truth, however, is likely more prosaic.  Many scientists up to the early modern period explored areas of knowledge which we would now consider dubious and superstitious, such as alchemy and astrology.  As Mac Donald’s novel makes clear, Scot was no exception, and several of his manuscripts dealt with esoteric subjects.  However, Scot was also rightly celebrated as a translator of Aristotelian texts such as Historia Animalium and De Coelo and of Averroean commentaries on the Greek philosopher.  Scot was also a pioneer in the study of mathematics and physiognomy. 

Mac Donald has evidently researched her subject in depth.  A wealth of historical detail lends authenticity to her novel and, even when the author’s imagination takes over, the narrative remains within the parameters of the possible. The Michael Scot we meet in the book’s pages is neither a two-dimensional bygone figure, nor the fantastical wizard of legend.  He comes across as a credible, flesh-and-blood character, a complex man who is continually struggling to reconcile faith and reason, and to balance his monastic obligations and the call of (sometimes forbidden) knowledge.   This is expressed in the movingly poetic Confessio of the final pages, in which MacDonald gives voice to Scot himself:

Life is a gossamer web of paradox. For as long as my eyes are fixed on God, knowledge helps to give this intricate whole meaning; as soon as knowledge becomes an end in itself, it is as if the thread holding me had separated from the whole. And I must then cling to it all the more desperately, at any moment fearing to fall.  It is not God’s wish that we hide from knowledge. He gave us the parable of the talents.  If we hide from knowledge, we hide also from truth.  We should also be mindful of the ultimate purpose of knowledge. I was not, and it shrivelled me.

Through Scot’s eyes and his friendships we also learn about his world, one as paradoxical as the man itself.

Emperor Frederick II, nicknamed "Stupor Mundi" for his
intellectual prowess

Many historical novelists try to achieve authenticity through deliberately old-fashioned language which, more often than not, has absolutely nothing to do what would have really been spoken by the protagonists.  Mac Donald avoids this and opts instead for a contemporary idiom.  This approach works, giving her narrative an immediacy and directness that is far more effective than a distracting cod-archaic style.  Like Scot, she translates the knowledge and experiences of a bygone age into a story which can resonate with contemporary readers.

Frederick II being excommunicated by the Pope

Hardcover, 400 pages

Published September 5th 2019 by Fairlight Books

Michael Scot’s journey commences in Paris, whose University was, together with that of Oxford, considered the major place of learning in Europe.  At that time in the same city, major developments in music were taking place, thanks to the work of the so-called “Notre-Dame school of polyphony”, a group of composers active between roughly 1160 and 1250.  Of these, we only know by name the formidable duo of Léonin and Pérotin, described by an anonymous contemporary English student as “the best composers of organum”.  Organum was a type of early polyphony, in which different voices sang different parts – marking a departure from the “monody” (single voice) of chant.  From a pioneering recording by David Munrow, at the helm the Early Music Consort of London, here’s Léonin’s Locus Iste.

The early 13^th Century saw the birth of the mendicant orders – the Franciscans and the Dominicans – both of which are referenced in MacDonald’s novel.  These orders attempted to renovate a Church which had become too tied to its riches and temporal powers.  Saint Francis of Assisi preached a message of poverty, humility and closeness to nature which still feels contemporary today.  The simplicity symbolised by this well-loved saint is reflected in the lauda of Franciscan tradition – which were probably influenced by the music of the troubadours and were close to the folk music sung by the common people.  The Laudario di Cortona, a codex dating from the second part of the 13^th century, comprises several of these vernacular sacred songs with a strong Franciscan link:

These simple, yet moving melodies, have aged surprisingly well and still provide inspiration to contemporary musicians and composers.  “Crossover” projects can be a hit-and-miss affair, but I really love the recently issued album “Altissima Luce” a reinterpretation of Franciscan lauda by Italian jazz greats Paolo Fresu and Daniele di Bonaventura.

In the novel, Michael Scot, on whose head hung the cloud of heresy, is portrayed as having little sympathy for the Dominicans, enforcers of orthodoxy through the Inquisition. Yet, the Dominicans provided some of the greatest and most innovative thinkers of the medieval (and later) periods, chief amongst whom was Thomas Aquinas (briefly mentioned in the novel) whose philosophy has a strong Aristotelian and Averroean basis.  In 1256, the General Chapter of the Dominicans adopted its own liturgy, which remained the only valid form for Dominicans until the Second Vatican Council.  A recording of these chants was issued in 2016 to mark the 800^th anniversary of the founding of the Order.

If Emperor Frederick II, Michael Scot’s protector, is a major figure in European history, he is even more central to the history of Sicily, where he kept court in the city of Palermo.  In 1994, for the 800^th anniversary of the emperor’s birth, multi-talented Sicilian artist Franco Battiato was commissioned to write an opera about Frederick II.  Battiato is perhaps best-known as a leading pop/rock artist with a career which spans from the 1970s to date. However, he has (in addition to directing movies and painting icons) also written concert works, often with a mystical bent.  Il Cavaliere dell’Intelletto was first performed at Palermo’s cathedral in 1994.    

Incidentally, Frederick II had also made a cameo appearance in Battiato’s earlier opera Gilgamesh.  Battiato’s own libretto features a typically convoluted plot in which Gilgamesh is, at one point, reincarnated as a Sufi mystic visiting the Emperor’s Court in Palermo.  

Another Italian composer to tackle the life of Federico II is Marco Tutino (b. 1954).  The Emperor is the protagonist of Tutino’s neo-Romantic opera in a prologue and two acts: Federico II.

Michael Scot ends his life’s journey by retracing his steps, first back to Paris then to his native Scotland.  I will also end this brief musical journey with a return to Notre-Dame, albeit with a contemporary twist. Here’s a version of Perotin’s masterpiece Sederunt Principes, in a version by New York Polyphony featuring violin improvisations by Lizzie Ball.  The lyrics of this motet fit the often-maligned Michael Scot well: The Princes sat, and spoke against me: They have persecuted me unjustly.  Do thou help me, Lord my God. Save me for thy mercy’s sake.