El Cant de la Sibil.la & Draumkvedet

El cant de la Sibil.la & Draumkvedet

Mystical chants between the invisible and the visible

This is a program where the Hirundo Maris ensemble delves into two mystical chants that oscillate between the visible and the invisible and are rooted in the Middle Ages. Thanks to their beauty and magic, they have been sung throughout the centuries, keeping this ancient tradition alive to our times. Hirundo Maris reconnects the north with the south through this musical journey filled with mystery. Both the song of the Sibyl and Draumkvedet have ancient origins, but it is in the medieval and Renaissance periods that they gain strength and are sung in the vernacular language, in this case Catalan and Norwegian. Both el cant de la Sibil.la and Draumkvedet are sung on Christmas night and carry an apocalyptic, prophetic message: they are divine visions-revelations transmitted to humanity, the end of a world, and the birth of a new world. A mystical journey to the end of time.

The Song of the Sibyl comes from antiquity, but the first musical traces can be found in the 13th century. It is the song of the Apocalypse, of the final judgment, but also the coming of a new world. It is the wise voice of a feminine figure who, with her heartrending beauty of a song, conveys hope through forgiveness. In classical Greece, the Sibyl is the archetype of the prophetess, a woman of wisdom and the vehicle of divine revelations, a medium that conveys the oracle. This legendary figure of the pagan seer will be assimilated and reworked by Judeo-Christian monotheism, assuming a transcendental role in Christianity as the transmitter of the word of God.

In this program, we have chosen the first Sibyl, which will be sung in Catalan, of a more syllabic nature, found in the Cathedral of Barcelona, written down in 1415. The other Sibyl we have chosen is from Girona, written down in 1550, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t sung much earlier! The Sibyl of the Cathedral of Girona is one of the most melismatic. But both Sibyls begin with an ascending fifth interval, indicating a bright, cosmic, and sacred song. In the 16th century, it became customary to sing the refrains of the Sibyl in several voices, and here we have chosen some polyphonic choruses of great beauty, some anonymous, others by Bartolomé Cárceres and Alonso. In 2010, El cant de la Sibil.la became part of the world heritage.

Hirundo Maris is proud to present their unique rendition of Draumkvedet, an enthralling Norwegian medieval ballad, in their latest album. This adaptation not only preserves the essence of the original but also enhances it with fresh musical perspectives.

Draumkvedet, or “The Dream Poem,” is an enigmatic and mesmerizing piece of Norwegian folklore, often regarded as one of the country’s most valuable cultural treasures. Its haunting verses tell a dream-journey to the afterlife, symbolizing themes of life, death, and redemption that resonate deeply with human experience.

In this new recording, Hirundo Maris has meticulously selected 52 verses from the ballad and brought them to life using four traditional folk melodies. These melodies have often been employed in singing this rich text, and the group has embraced them to create a connective thread with the past.

The new choral and instrumental music in this rendition has been exclusively composed by Petter Udland Johansen, a leading member of the group. His compositions inject freshness into the timeless ballad, intertwining old with new and tradition with innovation. His other musical arrangements in the album seamlessly blend various musical elements to create a holistic auditory experience.

This unique version of “Draumkvedet” by Hirundo Maris stands as a homage to the medieval Norwegian culture and a testament to the limitless possibilities of music. It invites listeners to a mystical journey that transcends time, guided by the age-old melodies and fresh musical landscapes.
With heartfelt gratitude, we extend our sincere thanks to L’ensemble vocal de Saint-Maurice and their esteemed conductor, Charles Barbier. Your masterful collaboration and passionate performance during the premiere of El Cant de la Sibil·la and Draumkvedet on March 18th, 2023, at the Basilique Abbaye St-Maurice, brought our musical vision to life. Your artistry has imbued our work with a depth and grace that we will forever cherish.

We are also very grateful for the valuable and generous help of the great musicologist Maricarmen Gómez Muntané, a specialist in the Song of the Sibyl, with whom we have been able to work in depth and who has helped us better understand this fascinating world of the Sibyl.

This program, centered on the two mystical chants, has been carefully arranged by Hirundo Maris to take us on a journey related to winter, where the line between the invisible and the visible will be very subtle and full of mysteries.

Arianna Savall and Petter Udland Johansen, 17 august 2023, Maisprach

The Song of the Sibyl

The origins of the Song of the Sibyl date back to a 10th century sermon entitled De symbolo, which enumerated the prophecies concerning the Messiah. The last was the Erythraean Sibyl, whose oracles enjoyed great prestige in pagan Antiquity. Some written versions were preserved in the Roman Capitol, where they were used to provide answers to important questions of state. The process involved taking a random line from the Sibylline texts, which was then converted into an acrostic consisting of some verses that provided an answer to a previously formulated question. Its inspiration was accordingly attributed to the prophetic voice of the Sibyl.

Spurious Sibylline prophecies began to appear with the aim of spreading first the Jewish and then the Christian faith. Perhaps the most striking is the one in verse with an acrostic reproduced by St Augustine in De civitate Dei, which, translated from the Greek, reads: “Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour, Cross”. On this occasion, the Sibyl prophesies no less than the cosmic disasters which, according to the Gospels, will announce Christ’s Second Coming before the Final Judgment and the End of the World: Iudicii signum.

After the death of Charlemagne, Western Europe was plunged into chaos ensuing from constant wars, attacks by Norman pirates and the spread of Islam. It is hardly surprising, then, that people were gripped by a profound pessimism, which was exacerbated by the proximity of the year 1000. According to the Book of Revelation, this was to be the date of the Final Judgment, which prompted the Church to revive the old De symbolo sermon and its prophecy made popular by St Augustine. It was incorporated as one of the lessons at Matins on Christmas Day, thereby celebrating the Messiah’s first coming at the same time as issuing a reminder of his (hypothetically) imminent return.

It is not known when and where the apocalyptic verses of the Sibyl were first sung instead of being read aloud. However, by the 11th century they had already been set to music and structured in an unusual composition consisting of thirteen stanzas with a refrain, a unique case in the Gregorian repertory. It was usually performed by one or two soloists and a choir.

No less exceptional was the fact that four centuries later, on the Iberian Peninsula, the Sibylline verses were translated into Catalan and Spanish from an Occitan model. This involved a reworking of the melody that for centuries had accompanied it, allowing it to be adapted to a rhymed verse form instead of hexameters. The stanzas continued to be sung in the context of the sermon to which they belonged, but the solo voice was now that of a young boy –or girl in some female convents– in the part of the Sibyl.

Thus, for example, at the cathedral of Barcelona, the oldest version of what in a dramatized form came to be known as the Song of the Sibyl dates from the beginning of the 15th century (Manuscript 184b of the Chapter Archive). It also existed in many other places until the Council of Trent (1563) removed the De symbolo sermon from the liturgy, thereby interrupting an age-old tradition.

This did not happen everywhere, however, because thanks to the weight of tradition in some places, such as Majorca, it has continued to be performed up to the present day as an introduction to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. Nevertheless, it underwent a slow but radical transformation. The melody, which had remained practically unchanged for almost six centuries, gradually became embellished with elaborate melismas that were more at home in the traditional music of the Mediterranean Basin than in Gregorian chant. This process must have begun even before the suppression of the sermon, a fine testimony of which is found in one of the last “official” versions of the Song of the Sibyl, the Ordinarium sacramentorum from the diocese of Girona (Barcelona, 1550).

After having lain silent for centuries, the Girona Song of the Sibyl and that of Barcelona, which preceded it by more than two hundred years, is brought to life by the exquisite voice of Arianna Savall in the hope that their apocalyptic warnings never come true. Like Orpheus, whose lyre succeeded in subduing the infernal Furies, Arianna plucks angelic sounds from the strings of her harp, seeking to neutralize the trumpets that herald the Day of Judgment, as foretold in the Erythraean Sibyl.

Maricarmen Gómez Muntané

Draumkvedet

„If you will listen, I can sing for you -“
Far back in time, late autumn
and the age of Draumkvedet (The Dream Poem)

A stooping beggar woman with a begging bag and staff made her way along the forest path between two outlying farms. Wind, rain showers, and snow in the heights. She felt twigs and heather snagging in her tattered skirt. It tugged and pulled as if someone invisible wanted to talk to her. She went past Svaringsberget and crouched there as she usually did. A sound in her rusty voice. She knew the hollows in Langurd and all the turns in Tårekleiv.

Time and time again the old woman stopped and rested on her staff. Her breath burned in her chest. She dreaded Kloppmyr the most. There were slippery logs and it was wet. All the time she was muttering verses from „The old poem.“ The forest whisper confused her memory. The old woman disliked it and looked at them with pale eyes. Her face appeared gray and grimy. Like a shadow, she entered the yard. It was not a „vardyvle“ or plague that came to the farm; it was Draumkvedet.

A beggar woman was not welcomed warmly. Her rags fluttered, her begging bag lay empty on the floor, stench and lice followed her. Wet and clammy, she sat by the fireplace. The old woman sang. The verses and tone were aged and mournful. The people listened. They offered warm porridge and good milk. Hope grew: perhaps she could sleep inside if she sang more. She sat up, sat there with the bowl of porridge in her lap, and sang from Draumkvedet. Many verses with strange words and a serious refrain.

„Blessed is the one in the birth home, given food to the poor; he does not care in the other world, either for hate or scorn.“
The tongue speaks and truth answers on Judgment Day.

Words and tunes quivered in the living room. The old woman thanked for the porridge and brought a promise of reward at life‘s end. There was both prayer and message in the song. The people listened, but the maid had to accompany the singer to the sheep barn for nighttime rest. The girl did her best, found straw and even a horse blanket in the stable corridor. It could help against the nighttime cold. It was a dark evening.

The next morning the maid found the singer dead in the sheep barn. The event was talked about for generations. Was this the way of life of the singers of Draumkvedet? Several statements say so. Draumkvedet was seen as a wealth. Those who knew many verses took good care of them. Often, it was the poor, disabled, and lonely who protected these invisible values such as fairy tales, legends, tunes, and folk songs. Draumkvedet stood out. Many knew a little, but no one knew everything. The poem has a mysterious power. The verses deal with the everyday and mundane but tie it together with visions from other worlds under the turf and above the clouds. The poem was probably used at fixed times and in certain contexts, but there are few traditions that explain how it was used. It might have been performed at Christmastime. Then cottagers, the poor, and the lonely were to be „brought into the warmth.“ Then it was fitting to take out the „invisible silverware,“ Draumkvedet. Christmas Eve and the thirteenth day are the time markers in the poem. I remember people who cooked „thirteenth-day porridge on the old Christmas day,“ as they said. Between these two days, it is conceivable that Draumkvedet belonged. Probably they were also used in connection with significant life events such as weddings and funerals. Statements indicate that the poem was performed after the funeral people had come home from the churchyard, and often the singers were fetched from crofters and among the lonely. Such customs lasted longest in the outlying areas.

The visions in Draumkvedet have many images from the Bible, but little suggests that it was used in churches. The popular Christian thought is expressed in the poem. The clergy did not like it. This contributed to the poor and uneducated taking care of the texts of Draumkvedet more often than the rich and book-learned. Both text and refrain had wisdom and vision. The dream followed the tunes. The singer did not need to own land or forest, have a noble lineage or high education. Tenant farmers and the lonely often lived in attic rooms or small chambers on the farms. They were called „indster.“ I remember such people and have heard stories about others. They lived in the innermost corners of the house. These old and „peculiar“ ones blinked at memories, dreaded the night and the next day. Twilight hours and winter nights were long. Then they had time to recite texts and count verses. The tunes were hummed while the invisible listened in the corners. Many had their own pattern of life and their own daily rhythm. The evening song was part of it. I have fallen asleep many an evening to hymn tunes from the chamber. The song found its way through the window and glass, an old door, and a splintered wooden wall. In my half-sleep, I felt where the tones made it peaceful and safe. The old one with us knew parts of Draumkvedet. The old people, who had rooms on the farms, tried to be useful. It was part of the deal. They split and carried in firewood. They raked and swept in the yard and barn aisle, made sticks for lime or twisted hay in tight bowls. Others were so frail that they could do no more than keep the fire going under the pots on the hearth. The singers had remedies for many things; the memory had to be cleared, and the voice purified. Then they boiled tar, birch bark, and various herbs. The scent crept out from the room like incense from a crypt. There was something mysterious about these people and their rooms. They belonged to another time where they sang and told of strange events. Many of them got along well with children and did part-time work like that. The children accompanied them on berry and herb gathering. Then there were both songs and fairy tales. They told about plants and animals, names of mountains, hills, and rocks. Then names from Draumkvedet could be mentioned. So they went there between low houses or sat and stared in cold chambers. They remembered bad weather days where the judgment verses from Draumkvedet fitted. Meetings with cattle on pasture, dogs that barked, snakes that hissed, and bulls that butted. The verses had images from daily life and the close nature. It was easy to imagine the sinning souls who trembled like aspen leaves in the wind as they appeared before Saint Michael, that sin was punished with a burden of glowing earth and a cloak of lead. The visible was tied to the invisible and stood there as a riddle and a mystery. At the back of consciousness, behind text and tone, morality rumbled, but there was also a glimmer of hope for grace.

The disabled had harsh conditions in ancient times. Some went begging and developed the art of storytelling, chanting, and musicianship. They would also bring news with them between the villages. I know of a cottager‘s son who became blind. He couldn‘t do much work himself, but he was good at chanting and telling stories. He sang both old and new songs, was humorous, and skilled in expressing himself. He was well received as he walked between the farms, tapping with his staff. I don‘t know if he sang ‚Draumkvedet‘ (The Dream Poem), but perhaps here we encounter a tradition pattern from West Telemark.

Sigurd Telnes
Translated by: Petter Udland Johansen

Recorded may 14–17, 2023

Location: Christkatholische Kirche St. Martin, Magden (Switzerland)
Balance engineer & recording producer: Jonas Niederstadt
Cover photography: Martin Grossmann
Booklet photography: Valentin Tournet (p.3), Antoine Le Moal (p.6), Miki Satoh (p.10,14,19,23,37)

Produced by Jonas Niederstadt

© 2023 Carpe Diem Records

revue musicale suisse

"The Song of the Sibyl is a medieval liturgical tradition with deep roots in the Christian cultures of the Mediterranean, particularly in Catalonia, the Balearic Islands, and Sardinia. During the early centuries of Christianity, certain Sibylline prophecies were incorporated into Christian tradition, often interpreted as predictions of the coming of Christ and the Last Judgment. The prophetic texts were adapted and Christianized, giving rise to a Gregorian-style liturgical tradition characterized by monodic singing, often solemn and moving, sung in the vernacular or in Latin. In the 20th century, there was a renewed interest in this tradition, with efforts to restore and promote the Song of the Sibyl in other regions. In 2010, UNESCO inscribed the Song of the Sibyl of Mallorca on the list of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

In conclusion, the Song of the Sibyl is a fascinating example of how elements of prophecy, apocalypse, and liturgy can intertwine to create a rich and enduring cultural tradition, reflecting the eschatological concerns and spiritual hopes of humanity throughout the ages.

This exceptional recording allows us to fully experience this tradition, thanks to the Hirundo Maris ensemble and its director Arianna Savall, a singer and harpist specializing in historical harp, with the participation of Petter Udland Johansen and the Ensemble Vocal de Saint-Maurice, conducted by Charles Barbier. The incredible variety of sounds and instruments that this repertoire allows us to rediscover takes us on a musical journey between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, from Catalonia to Norway.

Arianna Savall's soprano voice lifts us up with its magnificent crystalline timbre, while tenor Petter Udland Johansen takes the listener by the hand and leads them through Nordic landscapes that he describes beautifully. The Ensemble Vocal de Saint-Maurice, meanwhile, hits the mark with the purity of its intonation and the perfect vocal harmony it creates. Pure joy!"

Thierry Dagon, revue musicale suisse