could be called “structural” (as opposed to “pervading”) imitation. We have already observed it in
Gaspar’s substitution motet, Mater, Patris filia (Ex. 13-7). It became a standard practice in motets
(especially Milanese motets) as well as chansons, and typifies the convergence of them iddle and low
genres—a convergence that, depending on the context, can be construed as the lowering of the middle or
the raising of the low.
In the case of the bergerette, it is clearly a case of raising the low, for raising can be observed in other
ways as well. We have already noted the textual enlargement. No less significant is the casting of the
music in two absolutely self-contained sections, with the second (here, the residuum, “the rest”) actually
labeled as such. That amounts to mimicry of the musical structure of the motet, or even of the two-part
motet’s model, the individual cyclic Mass “movement.” In later bergerettes, including those of Busnoys,
the residuum is often set off from the refrain by the use of a contrasting mensuration, again mimicking the
motet or Mass section.
From the “tonal” point of view, too, Ockeghem’s Ma bouche rit is novel and exceptionally “high.” It
is one of the earliest polyphonic compositions to incorporate a final “Phrygian” cadence, by way of a
sighing tenor half step down to E, as an emblem of special melancholy or seriousness. At least as
reflected in the surviving sources, on which alone we can base our knowledge of the past, Phrygian
polyphony seems to have been a special predilection of Ockeghem, who bequeathed it as a standard
resource to succeeding generations (and even Du Fay, possibly, who wrote a handful of Phrygian pieces at
the very end of his career, probably after Ockeghem had already set the standard.) The earliest Phrygian
Masses and motets, as well as the earliest Phrygian chansons (all bergerettes), were Ockeghem’s.
Josquin des Prez, who was reputed to be (or, at least, who cast himself as being) Ockeghem’s star
pupil, made a great production of emulating Ockeghem’s Phrygian music, among many other emblematic
things, in his Missa L’Homme Armé super voces musicales, already familiar to us as an Ockeghem tribute
(see Ex. 12-17). The ground plan of that Mass required pitching the final of the cantus-firmus melody on
each of the six notes of the natural hexachord in turn. E’s turn came in the Credo, and Josquin announces
the arrival of the Phrygian mode by positively screaming out the Phrygian half-step progression at the
outset (Ex. 13-11).
To acquire the versatility required to compose polyphony in any mode, one must study models.
Josquin slyly tells us what model he studied for the Phrygian in the Agnus Dei II, a famous tour de force
that, owing to the fascination it exerted on theorists in Josquin’s day and on textbook writers since, has
become the most famous part of the Mass. Outwardly an emulation of the Missa Prolationum, this mind-
boggling little piece exponentially outstrips Ockeghem’s example by “answering” the older master’s two-
part mensuration canon (Ex. 12-7b) with one in three parts, immeasurably more difficult to devise. And
the tempo relationship of the three simultaneous parts—1:2:3—has been a famous challenge to performers
since the sixteenth century. Josquin’s single notated line is reproduced in Fig. 13-3 directly from
Petrucci’s volume of Josquin Masses, while Ex. 13-12 gives a transcription.
Where have we seen the beginning of Fig. 13-3 before? Look again at Ma bouche rit (Ex. 13-10), this
time paying attention to the part to which no attention was paid the first time around. The contratenor, the
“nonessential” voice that keeps out of the “structural imitation” that monopolized our gaze, is the source
(the cantus firmus, if you will) for Josquin’s amazing melodic line that reproduces itself in counterpoint at
three different speeds and at two different pitch levels. It was probably a special joke to appropriate a
lowly contratenor, a joke underscored for those who got it by the “laugh” embodied in the name of the
parent song, springing unexpectedly to mind in the midst of Mass.
Josquin, trickster supreme, had a special fondness for contratenors, where one is least likely to look
for anything special. The altus voice in his motet Christe, Fili Dei (“Christ, O Son of God”), a loco
Agnus Dei substitute that comes at the end of a cycle of Milanese-styled motetti missales, carries a