martyrdom & fear of plague in Guillaume Du Fay’s O sancte Sebastiane

About 1423, an outbreak of plague in Bologna prompted intense fear along the Adriatic coast of Italy. Guillaume Du Fay, now generally regarded as the greatest European composer of the fifteenth century, wrote an isorhythmic motet praying for divine help against this plague. For his motet’s text, Du Fay combined two pre-existing Latin prayers to Saint Sebastian. Du Fay’s motet shows fear of plague playing against Christian embrace of martyrdom.

The life of Saint Sebastian is more directly associated with martyrdom than with preventing plague. According to the Passion of Saint Sebastian {Passio Sancti Sebastiani}, Sebastian was a clandestine Christian and a high-ranking officer under the Roman Emperor Diocletian, who reigned from 284 to 305 GC. Sebastian healed the sick and urged conversion to Christianity. For these offenses, Diocletian ordered archers to shoot Sebastian. Under the care of the compassionate woman Irene, Sebastian survived his arrow wounds. Then he was arrested again. This time the imperial guards clubbed him to death. To prevent Christians from honoring Sebastian’s dead body, the imperial guards threw it into a sewer.

Christians managed to recover Sebastian’s body from the sewer. They buried his body alongside the bodies of the apostles Peter and Paul in the catacomb on Rome’s Appian Way. By 354 GC, Sebastian’s tomb was already attracting Christian pilgrims. A basilica, called the Church of the Apostles {Ecclesia Apostolorum}, was built above the catacomb late in the fourth century. In both Passio Sancti Sebastiani and the cult of the saint, Sebastian was honored as a heroic Christian martyr without any reference to plague.[1]

The prayers that Du Fay used for his motet emphasize Sebastian’s status as a martyr. Du Fay’s motet begins with one voice (the triplum / cantus 1), then another slightly offset (the resolutio), singing:

O Saint Sebastian,
always, evening and morning,
at all hours and minutes,
while I am of sound mind

{ O sancte Sebastiane,
Semper, vespere et mane,
Horis cunctis et momentis
Dum adhuc sum sanae mentis } [2]

The above verses are a preface that sets the context of earnest devotion. The first voice then continues:

protect and preserve me,
and, O martyr, untie me from the cords
of harmful weakness
called the epidemic.

From this kind of plague
defend and guard me,
along with all my friends.
We confess ourselves sinners
to God and to Holy Mary
and to you, O faithful martyr.

{ Me protege et conserva
Et a me, martyr, enerva
Infirmitatem noxiam
Vocatem epidemiam.

Tu de peste hujusmodi
Me defende et custodi
Et omnes amicos meos,
Qui nos confitemur reos
Deo et sanctae Mariae
Et tibi, o martyr pie. }

This prayer apparently draws upon upon a prayer attributed to Ambrose in the life of Saint Sebastian in Jacobus de Voragine’s The Golden Legend {Legenda aurea}:

The blessed martyr Sebastian for the confession of your name, worthy Lord, in shedding his blood shows at the same time your marvels: you confer strength in weakness, you give success to our efforts, and in response to prayer you supply help to the weak.

{ beati martiris Sebatiani pro confessione nominis tui, domine venerabilis, sanguis effusus simul et tua mirabilia manifestat, quod perficis in infirmitate virtutem, et vestris studiis das profectum et infirmis a prece praestas auxilium. } [3]

Weakness in Ambrose’s prayer means fear of martyrdom. Success means becoming a blessed martyr. In the leading vocal line of Du Fay’s motet, the reference to binding cords of harmful weakness, described as an epidemic, a kind of plague, seems to refer subtly to popular resistance to martyrdom. The epidemic that Du Fay’s motet addresses is both the plague and the fear of dying as a faithful Christian suffering plague. That latter fear is associated with fear of martyrdom.

The leading vocal line of Du Fay’s motet continues with more specific balancing of stopping the plague and the blessing of martyrdom. Saint Sebastian, citizen of Milan, has the power to stop the plague:

You, citizen of Milan,
you can make cease
this pestilence, if you so wish,
and from God accomplish this,
for among many it is known
that you have from Him this benefit.

Zoe the mute you healed
and restored healthful
to Nicostratus her husband,
and you did this miraculously.
In their suffering you consoled
the martyrs and promised
to them eternal life
and all that’s owed to martyrs.

{ Tu Mediolanus civis
Hanc pestilentiam, si vis
Potes facere cessare
Et ad Deum impetrare
Quia a multis est scitum,
Quod de hoc habes meritum.

Zoe mutam tu sanasti
Et sanatam restaurasti
Nicostrato ejus viro,
Hoc faciens modo miro.
In agone consolabas
Martyres et promittebas
Eis sempiternam vitam
Et martyribus debitam. } [4]

If this pestilence were to make faithful Christians into martyrs, would Saint Sebastian have wished to stop it?

The motetus (cantus 2) clearly expresses desire for protection from plague. Yet in addition it contains a semantic counterpoint. Consider:

O martyr Sebastian,
you with us always, remain with us!
And through your merits
we, who are in this life —

guard, heal, and rule us,
and from the plague protect us,
presenting us to the Trinity
and the holy virgin mother.

And may we so finish life,
that we have mercy
and the company of martyrs
and the vision of holy God.

{ O martyr Sebastiane,
Tu semper nobiscum mane
Atque per tua merita
Nos, qui sumus in hac vita,

Custodi, sana et rege
Et a peste nos protege
Praesentans nos trinitati
Et virgini sanctae matri.

Et sic vitam finiamus,
Quod mercedem habeamus
Et martyrum consortium
Et Deum videre pium. }

The opening address isn’t to “O savior Sebastian” or “O merciful Sebastian,” but to “O martyr Sebastian.” We are in this earthly life, but the martyr Sebastian is in blessed, eternal life. The phrase “you with us always {tu semper nobiscum}” suggests a declarative, but resolves in an imperative “remain with us {mane}.” The implicit declarative seems to be an implicit hope. How is one to finish earthly life so as to receive God’s mercy, have the company of martyrs, and experience the beatific vision of God? One answer is martyrdom, even martyrdom by the plague.

The contratenor similarly has a semantic counterpoint celebrating martyrdom. Sebastian again has the epithet martyr, accompanied with words celebrating that status:

O how he shined with wondrous grace,
Sebastian, famous martyr,
who bearing a soldier’s insignia,
but caring for his brothers’ victory,
comforted their weakening hearts
with words brought from heaven.

{ O quam mira refulsit gratia
Sebastianus, martyr inclytus,
Qui militis portans insignia,
Sed de fratum palma sollicitus
Confortavit corda pallencia
Verba sibi collato caelitus. }

In Jacobus de Voragine’s life of Saint Sebastian, Sebastian exhorted Marcellian and Marcus, two brothers from high nobility, not to yield to their parents’ tears and forego Christian martyrdom:

O you strong soldiers of Christ, do not let these tearful blandishments cause you to forsake the everlasting crown!

{ O fortissimi milites Christi, nolite per misera blandimenta coronam deponere sempiternam. } [5]

To Marcellian and Marcus’s parents, Sebastian declared:

Do not fear, they will not be separated from you, but will go to heaven and prepare starry dwellings for you. Since the world began, this life has betrayed those who placed their hopes in it. Life has deceived their expectations and fooled those who took its goods for granted, and thus it has left nothing certain and so proved itself false to all. … Therefore, let us stir up our desire, our love for martyrdom!

{ Nolite timere, non separabuntur a vobis, sed vadunt in caelum vobis parare sidereas mansiones. Nam ab initio mundi haec vita in se sperantes fefellit, se exspectantes decepit, de se praesumentes irrisit et ita nullum omnino certum reddidit, ut omnibus probetur esse mentita. … In amore ergo martyrii nostros iam suscitemus affectus. }

In the context of Sebastian’s life, caring for his brothers’ victory and comforting their weakening hearts mean urging them to accept Christian martyrdom.

Welcoming death has long been regarded as madness. Christians’ fearlessness in facing death under Roman persecutions was regarded at least in part as Christian foolishness. Willing to embrace the male gaze, as Bishop Nonnus did with respect to the dancer Pelagia, a non-Christian poem from about two millennia ago described a sexy Syrian dancing girl with sinuous thighs. This poem, known as the Copa, celebrates sensuous beauty, counsels against fear of even an enormous penis, and concludes:

If you have sense, you’ll recline and drink deeply from the summer pint-glass,
or perhaps you might prefer to hold a chalice of new crystal.
Come here, rest your weary self under the vines’ shade
and fasten to your heavy head a breast-band of roses.
Pulling on the soft lips of a lovely young woman —
ah, go rot in your grave, you old-fashioned eye-brow raisers!
Why save fine-smelling garlands for ungrateful ashes?
Asssshole, do you want your bones to be covered with a crowned gravestone?
Set out the undiluted wine and dice. Let rot one who cares about tomorrow.
Death is yanking on the ear. “Live,” he says, “I’m coming.”

{ si sapis, aestivo recubans te prolue vitro,
seu vis crystalli ferre novos calices.
hic age pampinea fessus requiesce sub umbra
et gravidum roseo necte caput strophio,
formosa et tenerae decerpens ora puellae —
a pereat cui sunt prisca supercilia!
quid cineri ingrato servas bene olentia serta?
anne coronato vis lapide ossa tegi?
pone merum et talos; pereat qui crastina curat:
Mors aurem vellens “vivite” ait, “venio.” } [6]

In this poem, the coming of death means the end of pleasurable life. Despite its disappointments, uncertainties, and deceptions, life is good. If you have set before you the Copa’s vision of life and death, choose life. Life is the better choice.

For Christians, life and death are dynamically linked. About 400 GC on the occasion of a burial, the learned Roman Christian Prudentius wrote:

God, fiery soul-source,
you brought together two elements,
one living, one subject to death.
Father, you created humans.

Yours are both elements, yours, master,
for you they are linked,
for you they cling together while enlivened,
spirit and flesh serve you.

But detached from each other,
they are called back to their origins.
The hot breath seeks for the atmosphere,
the dry earth receives the body.

{ Deus ignee fons animarum,
duo qui socians elementa,
vivum simul ac moribundum,
hominem, pater, effigiasti,

tua sunt, tua, rector, utraque,
tibi copula iungitur horum,
tibi dum vegetata cohaerent
et spiritus et caro servit.

resoluta sed ista seorsum
proprios revocantur in ortus:
petit halitus aëra fervens,
humus excipit arida corpus. } [7]

Separation of spirit and body at death isn’t the end of the living body in Prudentius’s understanding:

Now receive him, earth, to cherish,
take him to your soft breast.
I hand over to you parts of a human,
fragments of noble origin I entrust.

This was once the home of a soul
created from its maker’s mouth.
In these remains the fire
of wisdom lived with Christ as leader.

You earth, cover the deposited body.
He will not forget his handiwork,
he will ask for it back, maker and creator
using the stamp of his own face.

Let the merited time come
when God fulfills all hope.
You will be opened, you must give back
the image as I impart it to you.

No! Though withered age
reduce the bones to powder,
the dry and scanty ashes
to the least of a tiny handful —

No! Though changing winds and breezes
fly through the empty void and
carry away his strength, his dust,
he will not be permitted to perish.

{ nunc suscipe, terra, fovendum,
gremioque hunc concipe molli:
hominis tibi membra sequestro,
generosa et fragmina credo.

animae fuit haec domus olim
factoris ab ore creatae;
fervens habitavit in istis
Sapientia principe Christo.

tu depositum tege corpus;
non inmemor ille requiret
sua munera fictor et auctor
propriique enigmata vultus.

veniant modo tempora iusta,
cum spem deus inpleat omnem,
reddas patefacta necesse est
qualem tibi trado figuram.

non, si cariosa vetustas
dissolverit ossa favillis,
fueritque cinisculus arens
minimi mensura pugilli,

nec, si vaga flamina et aurae
vacuum per inane volantes
tulerint cum pulvere nervos,
hominem periisse licebit. }

Prudentius concludes his poem with the promise of the body’s resurrection, a prayer, and a promise of care:

Behold! For believers lies open
a bright road to the great garden.
They can enter the pasture
that the serpent stole from humans.

I pray, best of leaders,
command that this spirit, your servant,
be consecrated there at its birthplace,
which it left, an exile and wanderer.

We will care for the buried bones
with violets and branches dense with leaves.
The epitaph and cold stones
we will drench with liquid perfume.

{ patet ecce fidelibus ampli
via lucida iam paradisi,
licet et nemus illud adire,
homini quod ademerat anguis.

illic, precor, optime ductor,
famulam tibi praecipe mentem
genitali in sede sacrari,
quam liquerat exul et errans.

nos tecta fovebimus ossa
violis et fronde frequenti
titulumque et frigida saxa
liquido spargemus odore. }

All Christians, if they actually believe in Christ, must believe about death what Prudentius believed. With sixteen hundred years of Christian witness since the learned Roman Prudentius wrote, Christians should be able to believe what Prudentius believed.

Death by plague doesn’t seem like heroic martyrdom. Yet Guillaume Du Fay’s fifteenth-century motet alludes extensively to martyrdom on calling upon Saint Sebastian to save the people from plague. From a Christian perspective, being a hero counts for nothing relative to dying with faith in Christ’s promise of resurrection. Facing the fear of plague with faith in Christ makes one like Saint Sebastian in the way that matters most.

Martyrdom is a painful point that should be appreciated in hearing Guillaume Du Fay’s poignant motet on the plague.

*  *  *  *  *

Read more:

Notes:

[1] Neither Passio Sancti Sebastian nor surviving evidence about the early cult of Saint Sebastian refers to plague. For reviews of the life of Sebastian, Gecser (2017), Hedquist (2017), and Barker (2007).

The earliest written account of Sebastian is from Ambrose of Milan late in the fourth century. Ambrose in his Commentary on Psalm 118 {Expositio psalmi CXVIII} tells of “Sebastian the Martyr {Sebastianus martyr}” whose birthday is being celebrated on January 20. According to Ambrose, Sebastian was a citizen of Milan and was martyred in Rome. See Expositio psalmi CXVIII, Ch. 20.43-51. Here’s an excerpt in English translation of Ambrose’s commentary concerning Sebastian (shorter excerpt here). The Latin text is available in Petschenig & Zelzer (1999) pp. 466-70.

The Passio Sancti Sebastian was written about 430 GC. Once attributed to Ambrose of Milan, the Passio Sancti Sebastian more recently and more plausibly has been attributed to Arnobius the Younger. Gecser (2017) p. 2, n. 3. Patrologiae Latinae (PL) 17 (published 1879) cols. 1111-1148 provides Acts of Saint Sebastian {Acta S. Sebastiani}. Gecser (2017) p. 2, n. 3, cites PL 17 col. 1021-1058 for the Passio Sancti Sebastiani, but that references isn’t correct for the 1879 volume of PL 17. For more recent references, see id.

[2] Guillaume Du Fay, O Saint Sebastian — O martyr Sebastian — O how wonderful {O sancte Sebastiane – O martyr Sebastiane – O quam mira}, Latin text from Planchart (2011), my English translation, benefiting from those of id. and David Wyatt (2012). Subsequent quotes from Du Fay’s O Saint Sebastian are similarly sourced.

For the musical score for O Saint Sebastian, along with Latin text, English translation, and commentary, Planchart (2011). The LiederNet Archive suggests a date of c. 1437 for this motet. Planchart reasonable suggests instead 1423 or 1424. Planchart (2011) p. 14. At that date, Du Fay was only about 27 years old. He was then apparently serving the House of Malatesta in Rimini, Italy.

Steffen at My Albion offers a poetic response to the martyr Sebastian’s life.

[3] Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend {Legenda aurea} Ch. 23 (Saint Sebastian), Latin text from Grässe (1850) p. 113, my English translation benefiting from that of Ryan (1993) v. 1, p. 101. The Latin Library’s text of Jacobus on Sebastian is truncated. It’s missing the text above.

Jacobus first distributed his Legenda aurea about 1260. William Caxton translated Legenda aurea into English and so printed it in 1483. Here’s Caxton’s translation in modernized English. In the fifteenth century, the Legenda aurea was a medieval bestseller. It fell sharply out of favor in the sixteenth century. On the reception of the Legenda aurea, Reames (1985).

In the eighth century, Paul the Deacon recorded in his Historia Langobardorum that Sebastian’s relics saved the Lombard capital Pavia from the plague about 680. In his study of Paul’s work, Jacobus de Voragine came across that account and included it disconnectedly in his life of Sebastian:

In the Annals of the Lombards we read that during the reign of King Gumbert {King Cunipert} all Italy was stricken by a plague so virulent that there was hardly anyone left to bury the dead. This plague raged most of all in Rome and Pavia. At this time there appeared to some a good angel followed by a bad angel carrying a spear. When the good angel gave the command, the bad one struck and killed. When he struck a house, all the people in it were carried out dead. Then it was divinely revealed that the plague would never cease until an altar was raised in Pavia in honor of Saint Sebastian. An altar was built in the church of Saint Peter in Chains. At once the pestilence ceased. Relics of Saint Sebastian were brought from Rome to Pavia.

{ Legitur quoque in gestis Longobardorum, quod tempore Gumberti regis Italia tota tanta peste percussa est, ut vix unus alterum sufficeret sepelire, et haec pestis maxime Romae ac Papiae grassabatur. Tunc visibiliter bonus angelus multis apparuit malo angelo sequente et venabulum ferenti praecipiens, ut percuteret ac caedem faceret. Quotiens autem aliquam domum percutiebat, tot inde mortui efferebantur. Tunc cuidam divinitus revelatum est, quod nequaquam haec pestis cessaret, donec sancto Sebastiano altare Papiae construeretur. Quod quidem constructum est in ecclesia sancti Petri, qui dicitur ad vincula; quo facto statim cessavit illa quassatio. Et illus a Roma reliquiae sancti Sebastiani delatae. }

Legenda aurea, Latin text from Grässe (1850) p. 113, English translation (modified slightly) from Ryan (1993) v. 1, p. 101. Prior to the Great Plague in the mid-fourteenth century, only in Pavia was Saint Sebastian venerated as protector against the plague. Gecser (2017) pp. 3-5, Barker (2007) pp. 91-2.

[4] The Legenda aurea tells the story of Zoe. She was the wife of Nicostratus. Marcellian and Marcus were being held in Zoe and Nicostratus’s house. Zoe had lost the ability to speak, apparently for some wrong she had done to the two young brothers. Gesturing and nodding, she knelt at Saint Sebastian’s feet and begged forgiveness. Sebastian prayed that her ability to speak be restored. So it was. Zoe then declared Sebastian blessed and explained that she had seen an angel holding a book in front of him.

[5] Legenda aurea Ch. 23 (Saint Sebastian), Latin text from Grässe (1850) pp. 109-10, my English translation benefiting from that of Ryan (1993) v. 1, p. 98. The subsequently quote is similarly sourced.

[6] Pseudo-Virgil (Appendix Vergiliana), Darling Syrian Woman Tavern-Keeper {Copa Syrisca} vv. 29-38 (of 38), Latin text from Fairclough (1918) p. 440, my English translation benefiting from that of id. p. 441, Waddell (1948) p. 5, and Mooney (1916). Here’s an online Latin text and a very loose English translation.

Fairclough describes the Copa as “a pure pearl: it reflect the language of Virgil and the meter of Propertius.” He dates it to the Neronian period (37 to 68 GC). Fairclough (1918) p. 375. Morgan favors dating Copa to the Flavian (69 to 96 GC) or Antonine ( 96 to 192 GC) periods. Morgan (2017) p. 85. In accordance with now-dominant ideology, Morgan provides an anti-meninist interpretation of Copa:

We imagine the undulating figure of the dancer as though present before our very eyes — the sense of immediacy heightened by the iteration of present-tense verbs (sunt . . . est . . . est . . . sunt) — and we hear her music ringing through our ears. Yet, try as we might to ‘own’ our ‘little Syrian’—to objectify and fetishize her like Martial’s Telethusa or Juvenal’s pin-up girls, mere ‘playthings’ for the well-to-do to enjoy as they please (nugas, Juv. Sat. 11.171; cf. Mart. Ep. 6.71.5-6) — we encounter constant reminders of the scene’s artificiality, reminders of the fact that this is all an elaborate mytho-literary façade constructed by and for the titillation and gratification of elite Roman male readers.

Id. p. 100. Within the unreality of contemporary academia, academic literary critics can hardly be expected to recognize reality.

The Copa itself rejects historically entrenched anti-meninist representations and affirms the goodness of men’s genitals, no matter how large. A poetic voice, perhaps the knowing dancing girl herself, declares:

The protector of the cottage is armed with a willow sickle,
yet despite his gigantic genitals, he isn’t terrifying.
Come as his tenant. Your weary donkey has been sweating for awhile;
spare him. Vesta’s darling is the donkey.

{ est tuguri custos armatus falce saligna,
sed non et vasto est inguine terribilis.
huc calybita veni lassus iam sudat asellus;
parce illi Vestae delicium est asinus. }

Copa, vv. 23-7, sourced as previously. As the Priapeia subtly assert, representations of gigantic masculine genitals have been used to brutalize masculine sexuality. Men’s genitals, no matter how large, should be understood as instruments of love. The goddess Vesta experienced one mythic attempted sexuxal assault. On that unjustly stereotyped incident, Ovid, Fasti 6.311ff. Vesta herself is associated with keeping the fire burning and a penis rising up out of flames. The Copa sympathetically describes the donkey, renowned for its large penis, as Vesta’s darling.

[7] Prudentius, Book of the Daily Round {Liber Cathemerinon} 10, “Hymn at the Burial of a Dead Person {Hymnus circa exequias defuncti},”  vv. 1-12, Latin text and English translation (modified according to my poetic sense) from O’Daly (2012) pp. 292-3. The subsequent two quotes above are similarly sourced from “Hymnus circa exequias defuncti” vv. 125-48 (Now receive him…) and 161-72 (Behold! …).

[image] Recording of Guillaume Du Fay’s motet O sancte Sebastiane – O martyr Sebastiane – O quam mira, with cover photo-still of Saint Sebastian dying as a martyr. Recording by Huelgas-Ensemble / Paul Van Nevel from the album O gemma lux (released 2011 by Harmonia Mundi). Here are recordings by La Reverdie (Arcana,  2009), the Hilliard Ensemble (Paul Hillier, conductor; Parlophone Records, 1987), and Francesca Cassinari and Cantica Symphonia (Glossa, 2008).

References:

Barker, Sheila. 2007. “The Making of a Plague Saint: Saint Sebastian’s imagery and cult before the Counter-Reformation.” Ch.4 (pp. 90-131) in Franco Mormando and Thomas Worcester, eds. Piety and Plague from Byzantium to the Baroque. Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press.

Fairclough, H. Rushton, revised by G. P. Goold. 1918. Virgil. Aeneid: Books 7-12. Appendix Vergiliana. Loeb Classical Library 64. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press..

Gecser, Ottó. 2017. “Intercession and Specialization: St Sebastian and St Roche as Plague Saints and their Cult in Medieval Hungary.” Pp. 77-108 in Marie-Madeleine de Cevins and Olivier Marin, eds. Les Saints et leur Culte en Europe Centrale au Moyen Âge. Turnhout: Brepols. (page references above are to the online edition)

Grässe, Johann Georg Theodor, ed. 1850. Jacobus a Voragine. Legenda Aurea: Vulgo Historia Lombardica Dicta. Lipsiae: Impensis librariae Arnoldianae.

Hedquist, Valerie. 2017. “Ter Brugghen’s Saint Sebastian Tended by Irene.” Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art. 9:2. DOI: 10.5092/jhna.2017.9.2.3

Mooney, Joseph J., trans. 1916. The Minor Poems of Vergil, comprising the Culex, Dirae, Lydia, Moretum, Copa, Priapeia, and Catalepton, metrically translated into English. Cornish Bros: Birmingham.

Morgan, Harry. 2017. “Music, Sexuality and Stagecraft in the Pseudo-Vergilian Copa.” Greek and Roman Musical Studies. 5 (1): 82-103.

O’Daly, Gerard J. P. 2012. Days Linked by Song: Prudentius’ Cathemerinon. Oxford: Oxford University Press. (review by Catherine Conybeare)

Petschenig, Michael and Michaela Zelzer, eds. 1999. Ambrosius. Expositio Psalmi CXVIII. Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (CSEL) 62. Vindobonae: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenshaften.

Planchart, Alejandro Enrique, ed. 2011. Guillaume Du Fay. Opera Omnia 02/03. O sancte Sebastiane. Santa Barbara, CA: Marisol Press.

Reames, Sherry L. 1985. The Legenda aurea: a reexamination of its paradoxical history. Madison: The Univ. of Wisconsin Press.

Ryan, William Granger, trans. 1993. Jacobus de Voragine. The Golden Legend: readings on the saints. Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press.

Waddell, Helen. 1948. Mediaeval Latin Lyrics. New York: Henry Holt.

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