We Three Kings (Three Dead Kings Version)

CREATIVE PROJECT BY TOH HONG JIN (’23)

We Three Kings (Three Dead Kings Version)
Performing Art (Choral Piece)
An Interpretation of Three Dead Kings
Death, Mourning and Memory in Medieval Literature (YHU3345)
2021


Lyrics

DEAD KING I

We Three Kings, thy fathers we were;
Lo, behold, our children of earth.
Sorrowing, sighing,
Seeming like fiends,
Honoured not, nor of worth.

CHORUS

O, Lord, our saviour, Lord on high!
Lord of everlasting light!
Purge our sorrow, lift our spirits,
Save us from our damning plight!

DEAD KING II

Black as night, and barren as dust;
Mark! These bones of glory long past.
Gold, I had halls,
Wives, I had more!
Astray I was from just.

CHORUS

O, Lord, our saviour, Lord on high!
Lord of everlasting light!
Free our slavery, light our crossing,
Save us from our damning plight!

DEAD KING III

All but fools would bow to me not;
Make me your mirror to what ought.
Crowned I was, and
Yet pride I wore,
All my mirth turned to naught.

CHORUS

O, Lord, our saviour, Lord on high!
Lord of everlasting light!
Purge our terror, light our crossing,
Save us from our damning plight!

THREE DEAD KINGS

We Three Kings, remember us forth,
Live your worth and right all your wrongs,
Heed our words, please,
We beseech thee,
Judgment shall come anon.

CHORUS

O, Lord, our saviour, Lord on high!
Lord of everlasting light!
Guide our journey, kind, and mercy,
Save us from our damning plight!


Sheet Music

Artist’s Remarks

My creative adaptation retells Audelay’s Three Dead Kings in the form of a four-verse, three-part choral piece sung a capella, without instrumental accompaniment and in the style of the chapel. The piece borrows its title and melody from John Henry Hopkins Jr.’s popular Christmas carol, “We Three Kings”, whereas the arrangement and lyrics are original. Although the nineteenth century carol is considered a modern work, it is able to retell an old story through a music style reminiscent of the medieval period. Likewise, my creative adaptation aims to remain faithful in spirit to the original text. Primarily, it is concerned with the danse macabre of Three Dead Kings and seeks to explore and enhance it in a meaningful manner.

Choral pieces are often split into four parts. However, this adaptation is sung by a trio to emphasise the number “three” and to make it seem as though it were the three dead kings (and the three living kings) themselves singing. Correspondingly, the first three verses each represent one of the titular dead kings’ voice and perspective. Although restrictive, I have chosen to keep mostly to the structure of the original carol, with each verse containing five lines observing an AABBA rhyme scheme and an “eight-eight-four-four-six” syllable allocation. This is done in hope that the resulting piece remains as memorable instead of being convoluted and forgettable, so that the memento mori effect of Three Dead Kings can be maximised for the listener. The form of a choral piece also requires a closing segment, which is the reason for an additional fourth verse on top of the three dead kings’ individual “airtime”. This final section serves to tie the individual kings’ messages together for a stronger, single collective message to be communicated. A refrain runs after every verse that represents the living kings’ perspective in the text and to provide a temporary relief of tension from the more serious nature of the dead kings’ words. The individual dead kings are fleshed out effectively in the choral piece through different lyrics, messages, tone of language, mood, and for music, different rhythms, harmonies, and dynamics. In the original text, the most apparent distinction between the kings could be seen from their physique and emotion, reinforced by their living counterparts’ similar reactions if we understand them as the “merour” of each other, as suggested by the third dead king (Line 120).

The first verse’s lyrics focus mainly on bringing out the first dead king’s declaration of their identity—this very act reinforces the lack of remembrance for them (“Honoured not”) and the lack of even the time and “worth” for their living descendants to do so. This sadness of this reality is emphasised through the sibilance in “sorrowing, sighing, seeming”, and the message of the first verse thus hinges on the call for their descendants to notice them (“Lo, behold”) after witnessing them, and remember them thereafter (implied from the dead king’s sorrow at being “[h]onoured not”). This call for the dead kings to be looked upon also directly evokes the memento mori agenda of the text and my adaptation. As the opening and declaration of the bizarre encounter, the music is set to mezzo forte to sound sufficiently solemn for an impression to be made, and yet not overly harsh, so that the weight of the words of grief, “sorrowing, sighing, seeming”, can more effectively convey the extent of the sorrow felt by the first dead king. In terms of technical details, the piece’s triple metre (Time Signature of 3/8) helps to set a waltz-like rhythm that immediately sets the tone for the danse macabre literally, while the minor key, the genre of choral music, and reverberating vocals (enhanced by a concert hall effect) all help to establish the encounter as something both divine and ghastly. Following the first verse, the refrain is written in the style of the classic mass hymns’ chorus part, expressing feelings of reverence. This is done to portray the perspective of the three living kings, who as per the text, “oche…apon Crist cryde, / With crossyng and karpyng o Crede” (Line 51-52), perhaps out of both fear and awe. The third line alone will be changed for the subsequent refrains to reflect the corresponding living king’s reaction and emotion upon the encounter. Unlike the original text, the corresponding living and dead king’s words are place adjacent to each other in the adaptation to further enhance the mirror effect of this danse macabre and memento mori. For the music of the refrain, the original melody at “our damning plight” is rewritten to introduce a minor chord and chord resolution, primarily to reduce monotony, but it also generates a sense of unease and caution to signal that the encounter with the dead king is real, unavoidable, and ongoing, even with their prayers to Christ.

The second verse focus on the next dead king’s lament of all material things’ eventual ruin by drawing attention to his pitiful and hollow state in death (“Black as night, and barren as dust”), juxtaposed with the material success that he had in life, which was a mistaken obsession (“Astray…from [the] just [way of living]”), and in death seemed only ludicrous (“Gold, I had halls / Wives, I had more!”). As the second dead king was described as “a ful brym bere” (Line 105), almost obnoxious, the music here is set to forte, with the bass vocals lowered in terms of pitch. For rhythm, there is now an accent on the first note of every bar and parts of the verse initially scored as beamed-quavers are changed to long-short dotted notes. The rhythm for this verse thus has a slight swing and comes off as somewhat stately, which further fleshes out the dominant character of the second dead king. The second refrain maintains at forte, with the third line written to sound more like words of rally, mirroring the second living king’s similar strength. The third line is also an allegory to the biblical Exodus to depict more vividly the living kings’ predicament of being trapped in this encounter. Furthermore, the word “slavery” is a double entendre, where aside from referring to their entrapment, also points to the second dead king’s enslavement to material desires, which could possibly—ironically—apply to the second living king as well.

The third verse captures the third dead king’s contempt for others while alive and his retribution in death (“pride I wore” against “[a]ll but fools would bow to me not”). It also contains his haunting message of “Makis your merour be me”, a quintessential quote from the text since it confirms the significance of this danse macabre as a memento mori for the living kings, bidding them to reflect and repent on their actions (“to what [they] ought [to be]”). As the third king is described as frail, “[w]ith eyther leg as a leke” (Line 119), and his living counterpart experienced terror with “[b]ot soche a carful knyl, to his hert coldis” (Line 81), the volume of the music here is set to mezzo piano to express the third dead king’s fearful nature and his demolished pride while in death. The arrangement of the bass vocals and the rhythm returns to that of the first verse, primarily to distinguish from the second verse (and the second dead king), but it also builds onto the waltz-like tempo of the first verse. Along with the lighter vocals, this verse becomes slightly more hypnotic, and its repetition from the first verse creates an ambience that resembles being on a revolving carousel, implicitly evoking the carnivalesque nature of the encounter between the living and dead in the text. The third refrain’s third line is almost identical to parts of the previous refrains—on one hand, it depicts the third king’s desire to flee from this fearful event; while on the other, the establishment of repetition in words and the melody by this point helps to reinforce the text’s danse macabre, suggesting life and death as something circular like a carousel, and something that applies to all.

The final verse, as the closing segment and final reminder of the text’s memento mori, is much more didactic, signified by the direct address and commanding tone of the lyrics, the return of the second verse’ music and rhythm arrangement, and the dynamic of fortissimo. However, it is also a plea for remembrance, seen from the third line’s words “please” and “beseech”, the ritardando, the switch from long-short dotted notes back to regular beamed-quavers, the decrescendo, and the fermata at the word “thee”. The verse ends with accents on the word “Judgment” to close the danse macabre, by warning the living kings to live properly should they desire to avoid punishment in afterlife. The decrescendo and drop in volume from fortissimo to forte then indicate the dead kings’ imminent departure. Unlike the first three verses where the note at the word “O” contains a fermata, the music of the final refrain is not detached from that of the verse to avoid fragmenting the final attempt at sending the text’s overall message across. This union of the verse and refrain in music also symbolises the living kings adopting a “hendyr hert” henceforth (Line 136), with them being on the same page as the dead’s warnings. The change in how they live is further showcased from the humbler and gentler tone of the lyrics in “Guide our journey, kind, and mercy”, which is less sorrowful, less prideful, and less fearful. The original carol’s major chords supposedly sung for the part, “our damning plight”, is then restored for the final refrain to demonstrate an optimistic resolution of the tale, as per the way it ended in the original text of Three Dead Kings.

IMAGE CREDITS

[Featured Image] https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/471883

The Distant Utopia

CREATIVE PROJECT BY TOH HONG JIN (’23)

The Distant Utopia
Literary Art (Short Story)
An Interpretation of Le Morte D’Arthur
Medieval Romance: Magic and the Supernatural (YHU2309)
2020

“Bedivere, take my sword,” said King Arthur in between heavy breaths, “and cast it into the waters…”

“My lord, your commandment shall be done,” said Sir Bedivere, head lowered. Slowly, he reached for the sacred sword, its golden hilt ever gleaming in the afternoon light, and tugged it under his belt. “I shall not be long.”

And he turned, mounted onto his horse and rode off, the image of the king laid against an ancient willow tree burned into his mind. Once or twice he glanced behind to ensure he could still see his king, that as though his glance could will the king to continue breathing. He had to make haste, for his king still needed him. The others were not around.

The lake, crystal clear, was a short path away from the willow tree. Sir Bedivere quickly dismounted and pulled the sacred sword. Lifting it high in the air, he halted.

This was Excalibur, said to have been forged by the fairies and imbued with miraculous powers. For the longest time it had been the symbol of his king, the symbol that held Britain together. He had witnessed its might and prowess in victories which secured the well-being of all under the sun. This was a gift, a bestowment of divine providence. The sword of promised victory. Sir Mordred might had fallen, but what of the enemies beyond who were plotting to cannibalise Britain once they heard word of his king’s defeat?

But this was King Arthur’s to wield, and his only. There could be no one else that was eligible. Perhaps the king’s decision was to ensure that the sacred sword would never be used for harm. His death shall seal the miracle away forever.

When Sir Bedivere returned to the king shortly, he reported the fulfillment of the order. King Arthur, seemingly in a trance, asked what was seen there.

“My lord, I saw a beautiful lake with rippling waves pushed by a gentle breeze.”

The king closed his eyes and opened them after a moment and smiled. “O foolish Bedivere, you did not do as I say… make your way back and carry out my commandment. Spare it not, and throw it in.”

“My apologies,” Sir Bedivere stood up at once. “I shall be on my way.”

Returning to the lake, Sir Bedivere retrieved the sacred sword from beneath a towering cypress. As he raised it up, he halted once again.

The others were gone. Sir Lancelot was still away in exile, but many of the rest were not as fortunate. Sir Lucan, his brother, was dead as well. Although nowhere near the prominence of Sir Gawain and Sir Tristan, Sir Lucan was a loyal knight. For years he had been a mentor, friend, and confidant to Bedivere. He could still see the time when the round table was whole, when he and Lucan were both there, enjoying the festivities at Christmas, engaging in swordplay together, eyeing each other as they made a toast to the fellowship, their king, and their kingdom. Bedivere stared blankly at the water. The flickering light had begun to turn gold.

When Sir Bedivere dismounted and knelt before his king to report the fulfillment of the order, the latter asked once more what was seen there.

“My lord, I saw nothing but the moving waters and shifting waves.”

The king heaved a long sigh. “O Bedivere, you must enjoy teasing your king. It had been two long naps… Go, Bedivere, you have never yet questioned my orders… go forth and set my mind at ease, so that I may rest…”

Sir Bedivere’s head hung low. “My apologies, it will be done this time.”

After fetching the sacred sword from a beech’s hollow, he walked towards the water’s edge for the first time.

He could still hear Lucan’s laughter as they watched the court jesters. He could still see Lucan’s guts spilling out, tainting his polished armour, and the foam that gushed from his mouth. He could still see the last light leave Lucan’s eyes, and the thud sound that echoed within even Bedivere himself as his brother fell to the ground, never thence moving…

Bedivere’s grasp onto the handle tightened.

The image of his king’s better days flooded him. His courage, his uplifting speeches, his inspiring spirit, his battle prowess, his undying care for the people, and his kind smile… it was a smile that he had not seen in a very long time. It was all reduced to a worn-out figure by the willow, a tired man who desired peace and closure. He had to hurry, for he must not keep his king waiting.

With all his strength, Sir Bedivere hurled the sword far into the water. Just then  there came an arm and hand above the water that caught the sword, much to his surprise. It lingered for but a brief second before vanishing into the depths of the lake, the sword along with it. Thereafter Sir Bedivere returned to his king and reported what he had seen this time.

“Thank you, Bedivere,” replied Arthur.

“Did you have a good nap, my lord?”

Arthur smiled. The sunlight was dying away with every passing minute. The shadows of the woods were growing, reaching out towards the spot where they were, beckoning. The wind was benevolent. Its whispers reverberated across the grounds, the leaves circling and falling.

“Take me to the water,” he said, raising his arm, which Bedivere caught. Pulling the king onto his back, Bedivere straightened himself and began to trudge upon the path, a trail of blood trickling behind.

“Why do you not set me on the horse?” asked Arthur quietly, after a while.

“My apologies if I am transgressing,” said Bedivere between breaths and steps. “But I would like to take you there on my own.”

There was a chuckle amidst the deep coughing.

“Why are you always apologising?”

Bedivere felt his eyes grow hot. Was it the strain from carrying the king? Bedivere was not the strongest amongst the round table knights, in fact strength had never been his forte. He had a slimmer physique than most, and this walk towards the lake was certainly taking a much longer time than before. It was a shame that it should be so. Surely it would have been effortless for the likes of Gawain and Lancelot.

“I’m sorry sire,” his face looking away from the golden light. “I am not strong enough. I do not deserve to serve you.”

Arthur laughed again. The king had not been this at ease in a long time. “I am glad that you are here, Bedivere… therefore apologise no more. You do not owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life, sire,” said Bedivere. “Both Sir Lucan and myself. We have yet to repay you. And… all those times in court, I could have spoken up against Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred. I could have spoken more with Sir Lancelot and helped to stop him before it was too late…”

There was a pause. Their armour clunked as Bedivere pressed on.

“My lord?”

His heart skipped a beat.

“… Mmm,” muttered Arthur. “I was just thinking about the dream I had…”

“What kind of a dream was it?”

“There was a pair of kingfishers, a parent and child. They were flying… the little one was new to it, and it gave its all…”

The path was widening as they approached the water. A rose-coloured hue had been painted across the horizons. There was a little barge by the shore, with four hooded figures by its side. Somehow, Bedivere knew that was where they were bound. He could feel his legs becoming lighter.

“…but it could not catch up with its parent and fell behind…”

“We’re almost there, my lord,” said Bedivere, his voice shaking somewhat. There seemed to be a thin, white veil descending upon his vision.

“…by then it had savoured the feeling of flight that it kept going… until it was too tired and dropped, injuring itself…”

Bedivere’s steps came to a stop. The hooded figures were tall, fair maidens who were smiling serenely.

“Ah,” said Arthur finally. “I see my ride is here.”

With the help from the four maidens, Bedivere laid the king carefully into the little barge brimming with flowers. Although there were only the few of them there, a hymning was echoing round the lake, as though the woods themselves had begun to sing. Or was it the maidens? With each harmony, the surrounding air seemed to cool.

“I think I’m quite ready,” muttered Arthur.

Bedivere held onto Arthur’s hand.

“My lord, can’t – can’t I go with you?”

Arthur chuckled. Now that Bedivere looked at him again, it was as though Arthur had become younger, the beauty and vitality of his earlier days restored. The blood had vanished, and though Bedivere was unsure when it happened, Arthur was now clothed in robes, his armour nowhere to be seen. If anything, he seemed radiant even, and something about him now felt soothing; every breath he drew coaxed the air round them. The wind had been reduced to a faint breeze, and the waters were still.

“It is not yet your time, my friend,” said Arthur, his voice as steady as Bedivere remembered before Camlann. “I’m afraid this time my slumber shall last for a very long time… perhaps I will be dreaming the dream that I had my whole life.”

“But… there’s no one left. And what shall become of me, and of us all?”

The ethereal voices in the wind crooned on. Arthur reached out his hand and gave a pat on Bedivere’s shoulder.

“When the dream ends, the sleeper has to awaken,” said Arthur. “From here on it is your journey. You are worthy, remember that.”

The maidens stepped onto the little barge and looked towards the sunset. So did Arthur, who was now humming softly to the emanating harmony. They seemed to be waiting for something. It was then, from beyond the lake, came a faint strum of a harp.

“Live on,” said Arthur, as Bedivere gradually let go of his hands. The little barge began to drift as the waves returned, moving ahead without oars. “This is my final order to you, as a king. And my last request, as a friend.”

“This is farewell, at least for now.”

Arthur smiled. Once it left the bay, the little barge continued to glide silently across the lake towards the sundown.

Bedivere stood there and watched until it reached the very end of the golden horizon, where suddenly the skies became the waters that it was sailing on. At which point, he could see the silhouette of an island rising from the distant skies towards the earth. The lake waters remained relatively still and turned deep azure, as thousands of fireflies emerged, their twinkling in consonance with the fading song. The amber glow reminiscent of the days that were, as though nature itself was celebrating the union of the once and future king and his promised utopia. The good knight lingered for a great deal, enchanted by what he beheld with his eyes, until the heavens darkened. The mirage departed, he turned his back against the lake and looked behind no more.

Author’s Remarks

This short story expands on the sparsely outlined episode of King Arthur’s final moments in “The Death of Arthur” chapter. Bedivere and Arthur are given more characterisation, and the mood of the story is enhanced by playing with the setting and the inclusion of popular medieval motifs such as the prophetic dream and the harp (a nod to the Arthurian legend’s distant Celtic origins). The back-and-forth motions of Bedivere trying to carry out his king’s order and holding back are conflated with memories of the Round Table, which captures the nostalgia for the once-golden age and the bittersweetness towards its end and immortalisation.

IMAGE CREDITS

[Featured Image] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bedivere

Dreaming of Pearl

CREATIVE PROJECT BY TOH HONG JIN (’23)

Dreaming of Pearl
Visual Art (Sketch)
An Interpretation of Pearl
Death, Mourning and Memory in Medieval Literature (YHU3345)
2021

Artist’s Remarks

This rough sketch is completed on paper in ink. It depicts the Pearl speaker’s dream manifesting, where from his state of grief and mourning he is led by his dead, angelic-like daughter to glimpse the unreachable heavenly city. This dreamscape is sketched within the confines of a pearl—grasped and held onto in the palms of the speaker in his state of dreaming, which symbolises the impossibility of reclaiming the dead (in reality) and at the same time, the speaker’s reluctance to let his daughter go.