Time Will Tell (14 page)

They were the last to leave the pub, and Emma was incapable of getting herself home. Allie and Ollie agreed that they should get her a taxi, and then Allie suggested that Ollie should accompany her and put her to bed. Embarrassed that by now Emma had attached herself to him, and concerned for her safety, Ollie flagged down a black cab.

On the way back to Emma's flat in Balham, she tried to kiss him several times. Flattered as he was, a relationship with Emma hadn't really occurred to him before – and not just because, she being his employer, it represented a rather risky career move. He behaved like the perfect gentleman. In the kitchen he insisted that she drink water to prevent a hangover. She hit him, before sulkily obeying his advice. Then she threw up. She made it to the bathroom in time and was sober enough by then to want her privacy, but, later, after vomiting again, she'd asked Ollie to put her to bed. He took off her dress and put her under her duvet.

He woke quite early the next morning after about four hours' sleep during which the image of Emma in her underwear had flickered through his dreams. He had no hangover, possibly because he was still drunk, and he sat drinking tea until Emma staggered out of bed two hours later. Something rolled beneath his sternum as he heard her stepping uncertainly towards the kitchen. She was dressed in an oversize towelling gown, her hair uncombed, her skin horribly pale, her eyes dark. For all of her unkempt state, or perhaps because of it, she looked gorgeous.

Over coffee they pieced together the previous night's events, small details of which made her groan. When Ollie told her about her advances towards him she didn't so much blush as simply become less pale. They looked across the table at each other. Something had changed. Whatever their relationship had been, today it was different. Though they hadn't as yet even kissed, they now shared a new wordless intimacy.

They spent the rest of the day together. A trip to the supermarket to buy milk turned into a walk in the park, which turned into a fry-up at a café to help the hangover. In the afternoon they dozed together on the sofa and then, without saying anything, moved to the bedroom. They fell asleep after they made love and woke to find the day darkening. Over dinner in a small Portuguese restaurant, Emma determinedly drank mineral water.

Later, in bed, drifting off to sleep, Ollie kissed the back of her neck, and a buried sense of the person she reminded him of surfaced.

‘You look like Audrey Hepurn.'

‘Who's she?' asked Emma.

The Memoirs of Geoffroy Chiron: Livre III
ed. Francis Porter

Frevier 22, 1524

As a young man I wanted to compose music but, sadly, I was not blessed with such gifts; in the city where France's greatest composer lived, I contented myself with a life as a singer and an administrator. What training in the musical arts I received was taken at the feet of the great Johannes Ockeghem and not at the university. I am a
maître
, but a
maître
in civil law, which befits my role as
chambrier
and 
procurator 
and, although I received payment throughout my life as a
chapelain
and understand fully the teachings of Boethius and Guido, I am not a
musicus
even though Jehan kindly introduced me as such to visiting dignitaries.

Jehan believed strongly in the congregation of musicians. Unlike the silversmiths and other artisans, they had no guild through which they could serve an apprenticeship and receive training at the feet of other
musici
. There were limited opportunities for the great composers to discuss their art. Jehan himself was indebted to the composer Binchois whom he commemorated in his fine motet
[Mort tu as navré de ton dart]
and it was a debt he intended to repay by offering advice and guidance to anyone who sought it. Composers, he said, were like seeds that were blown by the winds across borders. Communication between them was thus often more by musical than verbal means, scattered as they were across many lands. When one composer used another's chanson as the basis for a new composition, it was like a conversation they could not otherwise conduct given the distance that separated them.

And thus, despite his dislike of travel, Jehan would often visit other towns and cities when singers and composers were gathered together in one place as part of the retinue of dukes and kings, or when a particular choirmaster or composer organised a celebration or commemoration. Many stories were told of these gatherings, most of them, according to Jehan, with only some basis in fact, exaggerated by the course of time and countless re-telling. He attended such meetings not only to offer his services to the younger composers, but also to make the acquaintance of the talent that our country nurtured, so that France's chapels might be filled with the finest musicians. And when he couldn't
–
as was the case when he was detained by a dispute with the widow, Jourdain, and prevented from travelling to Cambrai for the convention of the French Court Chapel, the choir of Cambrai Cathedral, and the Burgundian court chapel [1468], he was greatly sad. He was not the only one: drunk at one of the several parties, Guillaume Dufay, the composer who had done more for Cambrai's musical reputation than any other, announced that they should repeat the exercise, ‘but this time with my friend Ockeghem'.

When Dufay wanted something done, there were plenty of people willing to realise his wishes. Jean Hémart, the newly-appointed master of the choirboys at Cambrai Cathedral (an ambitious young man) organised the event himself and so, two years later, the finest singers and composers in Christendom, including Jehan, gathered in Cambrai. Many had brought new chansons, some had simply brought local wine, and, over three days, old friendships were renewed and new acquaintances were made. The singing was of the highest standard and it afforded them all the opportunity for many serious (and not-so-serious) discussions about music.

The main event of this later gathering was the first performance of Compère's motet written in honour of the Virgin, the patron saint of singers
[Omnium bonorum plena
– 1470
]
. Its text featured the names of those who formed the choir. Top of the list was, of course, Dufay and, standing by his side, was Jehan, his good colleague, whom Dufay respected deeply and to whom he owed a debt of thanks (and not just for putting him to bed once). Then followed Antoine Busnois, the former master of the choirboys at St Martin, renowned in France and Burgundy, another of Jehan's loyal friends. Also present were Jehan du Sart, Firminus Caron, Georget de Brelles, Johannes Tinctoris, Josquin Desprez, Jean Courbet, Guillaume Faugues, Jean Molinet, and Hémart himself.

The rehearsal time was, as ever, too short and, though they all could read the manuscript and give a convincing version of it at sight, Jehan was of the opinion that the piece would have sounded much better had not so many of them been drunk the night before. A festive dinner followed the commemorative service and passed in suitably sober fashion, but afterwards it was to Dufay's own house that everyone retired for the party, which eclipsed all others before and since. Dufay, as Jehan put it, owed a deb
t to Orpheus but paid it to Bacchus, and thus, as at any celebration at the 
maître's
 
house, the wine flowed freely. There are many stories about Dufay and, though I cannot swear to the veracity of them, it is surely no coincidence that all of them feature wine in one way or another. (Jehan once pointed me towards the lines of a beautiful chanson by the Cambrai composer,
Adieu ces bons vins de Lannoys
, which spoke of his regret at leaving behind the wine, women and people of his country. ‘Take note of the order,' said Jehan with a smile, ‘and remember that in a rondeau the refrain is sung thrice.')

Compère's motet had been warmly received by all present, praised by Dufay and Jehan, enjoyed by the singers and composers named therein. And, of course, it was the talk of the party. Dufay insisted that they sing it again and he sent Hémart to get the copy. Jehan, however, who knew Dufay better than Dufay knew himself, was convinced that the idea would soon be forgotten and told Hémart not to bother: walk a little way and then return, he told him. Jehan believed that sacred music should properly only be sung in church and not at a drunken party. More than this, he understood that the solemnity of the music would disturb the mood of celebration. Indeed, the party was noisy enough already. The neighbours complained about the shouting and singing, and some singers played
haut
instruments so loudly that someone commented that the noise would be heard as far away as Metz.

Johannes Tinctoris, usually a rather staid man given more to criticism than encouragement, had, it was reported, been particularly drunk. Afterwards it was rumoured that a high-ranking cleric (which everyone took to mean Dufay himself) had assured the young man that the strong taste of the local beer was the effect not of alcohol, but of medicinal herbs that were ‘good for the digestion'. Whether born of inspiration or inebriation, Tinctoris locked all the doors and demonstrated a theory of mensural proportion by dancing, his right foot hitting the ground nine times whilst his left foot struck eight times.

The party was significant in one other respect: it was the first meeting between Jehan and Desprez. I say the first meeting between them for I am aware, nearly thirty years after Jehan's death, that a modern chronicler, wishing to add further to Desprez's reputation, might prefer to suggest that this was the first time that Ockeghem met Josquin (as the latter is familiarly called today). I consider that it was the day on which Desprez was fortunate enough first to make the acquaintance of the
maître
of Tours: Johannes Ockeghem. Time is the ultimate judge and I hope that in another thirty years the importance of Ockeghem to his pupils will be fully appreciated. What is certain is that this was the first time the two spoke to each other and not, as Desprez would have it, the earlier meeting in Cambrai when Jehan was absent. (I suspect that Desprez preferred his version, for it in no way referenced Compère and his motet.)

Jehan told me that throughout the rehearsals and the party he was aware of a young man whose piercing eyes did not leave Jehan himself, Dufay or Busnois. Those three
maîtres
were, of course, the very men who could ensure the progress of a young composer. And Desprez was a man for whom advancement meant everything. The proper course of action would have been to wait for an introduction, though it seemed to Jehan, from the way that the other singers ignored him, that Desprez was not a popular man and thus could not rely on such a courtesy. The obvious person to make such an introduction was Compère, and, of course, therein lay the problem: Desprez could not allow the man that he saw as his rival to become a person to whom he was beholden. At the time Jehan had no knowledge of that context, and what he observed, aside from Desprez's dark glare, was that this was a man who did not enjoy life; in Jehan's eyes, that was a snub to the Creator. Whereas the others were quaffing wine and wrapping their arms around each other, playing instruments badly or singing raucously, Desprez sat in a corner on his own, wrapped in his cloak.

Eventually he walked over to Jehan and introduced himself. Whatever the propriety of the situation, Jehan was not a haughty man and, by way of putting the young man at his ease, he asked him what he thought of the motet that they had just sung. The angry criticism that followed surprised Jehan: Desprez pronounced it old-fashioned, immature, backward-looking, unadventurous and fatuous. He said that he had written a far better motet, one which, like Compère's, referenced singers praising the Virgin, and that he would be prepared to dedicate it to Jehan. That put Jehan in a difficult position; to accept the dedication would be to endorse Desprez's composition and confer upon it a recognition that only years of service would normally merit. Yet, given the young man's clear self-confidence, Jehan knew that declining the dedication would condemn him to a long and probably tiresome argument. Jehan said that he would be happy to see the motet and then quietly left the party.

The next morning Jehan left Cambrai for Tours and he never saw Desprez's
Illibata Dei virgo nutrix
, the text of which announced the ambitions of its young composer in an acrostic of his name. Ockeghem's doubts about Desprez concerned his behaviour as a man and, though he had yet to produce the fine music that he did in later years, perhaps if he had seen that example of his work he might have been prepared to recommend him to other patrons. What was clear to Jehan was that Desprez was a young man with much to learn.

Shortly after that, Jehan was approached, as he often was, by a rich patron for advice on the appointment of a new singer. The request came from the Duke of Milan, Galeazzo Maria Sforza and Jehan had no hesitation in advancing Compère's cause; he immediately sent the Duke a copy of
Omnium bonorum plena
together with a warm recommendation [1472]. By then Jehan and Compère had become good friends. They shared many common interests, amongst them a fascination with puzzles and mazes that were often displayed in their music. Where Jehan would challenge himself to create music that could be sung in any of the four modes or to address mensural issues, Compère would set himself different musical puzzles and then solve them. Compère's letters, Jehan told me, were fascinating and demanding, perfumed with puns and anagrams, acrostics and macaronic texts, the meaning of which would leave even Jehan baffled.

In truth, I could not quite discern the qualities in Compère's music of which Jehan spoke though, as a mere
cantor
, I deferred to the judgement of a
musicus
. The confusion manifest in Compère's wordplay and the way that some of his compositions, beautiful as they were, eluded my understanding were also evident in my relationship with him. He was a good man, that was clear to all, possessed of no guile or bad faith, yet he lacked the graces which marked out a man like Jehan. There would never be a career for Compère as a representative of France, nor as a Treasurer. He was short in stature, wore a rough beard at most times, and his clothing always looked as if it belonged to somebody else, his cloak often hanging to one side. His hands were always busy with an intention difficult to divine – now touching his ear, now his eye, now his stomach. And his eyes likewise seemed to have their own life, never meeting anyone's gaze, instead roving across the ground from his feet then suddenly lifting into the sky as if he had heard something there. In conversation he would say something and become distracted by it, his speech suddenly halting and a look of fascination passing over his features. The undeniable correctness of his compositions bore no relation to the shifting deportment of the composer himself.

Although Compère lacked fluency in discourse with other people, Jehan was confident that the younger man would stay at the court in Milan for a long time and that he would take his service to the Duke – and to Jehan as well – seriously and diligently. He also had no doubt that Compère would benefit from the experience and expand his understanding of music through familiarity with the Italian style, and that he would honour his patron by providing him with compositions. And indeed, in his time of service at the court in Milan until the time that the Duke was murdered [1476], Compère wrote several mass settings, many motets and some wonderful chansons.