The result is what is given in the transcription. It is the sort of thing Machaut would have called a
resolutio: an explicitly written-out (therefore “unsubtle”) solution to a puzzle he expected adept musici
ans to solve directly from his incomplete notation and the textual hints. The joy of the piece consists not
only in the enjoyment of its pretty sounds but in the triumph over unnecessary but delightful obstacles. One
enjoys the puzzle-solving process as well as the result. Without the process the result would not be as
enjoyable, just as without the hurdles an obstacle race would not be as exciting. And there we see the
relationship between art and sport, something else that can be done (when not done “professionally”)
entirely for its own sake, and which, since it requires skill, is most thrilling to doer and spectator alike
when it is most difficult. That principle of creative virtuosity is the root principle of trobar clus.
CANON
Another word for a rubric like the “text” in this eccentric “rondeau”—especially one that, as here,
enables the reader to deduce a concealed (because unnotated) voicepart—is canon. It is a Latinized
Greek word that originally meant a stiff straight rod, and by extension came to mean, in the first place, a
measuring rod, then anything that sets a standard or imposes a rule.
We know the word “canon” best, of course, in a different connection: to us it means a composition in
which at least two parts are related by strict melodic imitation. But that modern, familiar musical meaning
is actually a direct extension of the earlier meaning, since when two parts are in strict imitation, only one
of them need be written down. The other can be “deduced” with the aid of a rubric or some other sign that
directs one performer to sing the same part as another but enter later; or enter later and a fifth higher; or
enter later, a fifth higher, and twice as slowly; or enter later, a fifth higher and twice as slowly, beginning
with the last note and proceeding to the first with all the intervals inverted. To realize the unnotated part
you have to follow the directions given by the “canon.” A piece with parts in strict imitation was thus “a
piece with a canon,” and eventually just “a canon.”
There is of course a large unwritten repertory of simple imitative pieces sung for amusement. Anyone
reading this book probably has known at least a few since childhood: “Row, row, row your boat,” or
“Frère Jacques,” or “Hi ho, nobody home.” They are the simplest of all polyphonic pieces for a group of
children to learn, because you only have to learn one melody to sing all the parts. And while they have a
definite beginning, they have no end—or rather, no composed ending. (They usually end in giggles or