MUSIC AND MEDICINE.
Music is capable of exercising a favourable influence upon health, but it may also prove injurious. In order to know how to employ it with good result in certain illnesses, an exact acquaintance with its various effects is requisite. First of all, it ought to be borne in mind that music may serve as a remedy either by directly affecting the mind, or by acting primarily upon the body. In the former case its influence may be called psychical; and in the latter, physical.
Considering how much in the cure of certain illnesses depends upon the spirits of the patient, it will easily be understood that the affecting power of music deserves special attention. There are illnesses in which the attainment of a calm state of mind may be a most important condition for the recovery of the patient,—nay, instances are conceivable in which with this attainment the illness is already in a great measure removed. Some persons are much more susceptible of music than others; but there are few in whose heart it finds not some response, however slight. Indeed, the beneficial influence of music is almost universally felt, and is evidenced by examples the authenticity of which is indisputable. No other art is so capable of easily moving man to tears of grief, of exciting him in a moment to cheerfulness, of inspiring him with courage, and of making him forget his real or imaginary troubles and anxieties. Hence, with almost every nation we find the employment of music resorted to on occasions of sadness and mourning, at solemn celebrations and joyful festivities, in warlike exploits, in religious worship,—in fact, wherever a definite direction of a certain feeling is especially requisite.
Also the popular stories, of which a selection is given in the present work, testify to the universally-felt power of music. In many of the stories miraculous effects are ascribed to music. What stronger proof can be cited of its intense impression upon the human heart than the popularity of such conceptions traditionally preserved through centuries!
But also the direct influence which the cultivation of music may exercise upon the body is not insignificant, considered medically. Thus, for instance, singing, if judiciously practised, is conducive to health, inasmuch as it benefits the lungs and the chest; and the playing on certain musical instruments is salutary, while on others it is injurious. Moreover, in combination with dancing, music is likely to prove in some complaints an efficacious remedy. Of course, everything depends upon its judicious employment, if it is to serve medically. In order exactly to ascertain its efficacy it is advisable to examine its employment as we find it in different nations. Even the most uncivilized tribes ought not to be ignored in this enquiry, because the dictates of instinct are often not less suggestive than the speculations of reason.
Nations, or tribes, in a low state of civilization, as there are many still existing at the present day, have generally so-called "mystery-men," or "medicine-men," who combine in one person the avocation of the priest, physician, and musician, and who are also usually prophets, sorcerers, rain-makers, shrewd advisers,—in short, men who by their comparatively superior knowledge and skill obtain considerable influence over their ignorant and superstitious fellow-men.
The most ancient nations historically known were far more advanced in civilization than these our contemporaries. However, we find with them traces of the original existence of "mystery-men." With the Greeks, music, or the art of the Muses, originally comprised, besides the tone-art, several other arts and sciences; from which it may be conjectured that the earliest Greek musicians practised also the healing art like the mystery-men of our time. The ancient Egyptians, at an early period, had attained a considerably higher stage of development in the cultivation of music than many nations of the present day have achieved. This assertion will not appear exaggerated to any musician who has carefully examined the ancient representations of the variously-constructed instruments which were in use with the Egyptians, centuries before our Christian era. Equally suggestive is a statement of Herodotus, indicating the progress which the Egyptians had made in the healing art, nearly 500 years before our era. He remarks (Euterpe 84): "The art of medicine is thus divided amongst them: each physician applies himself to one disease only, and not more. All places abound in physicians; some physicians are for the eyes, others for the head, others for the teeth, others for the parts about the belly, and others for internal disorders." Such a high degree of cultivation of an art or science, in which each professor occupies himself especially with a particular branch in order to achieve the utmost possible perfection in it, is known at the present day only among the most civilized nations.
If, therefore, we desire to obtain an accurate idea of the primitive treatment of diseases by means of music, a reference to the usages of some rude tribes in uncivilized lands will be the proper step for acquiring the information.
Considering that the mystery-men alluded to are, as a rule, mentally the most gifted and the most crafty personages of the tribe to which they belong, and that they are especially familiar with the views, inclinations, customs, and weaknesses of their people, a detailed account of the social position and doings of these extraordinary individuals in different parts of the world might be very interesting. It would, however, be out of place here to describe them further than as they appear in their medical and musical capacities.
The mystery-men of the North American Indians, or the "medicine-men," as they are more usually called, are acquainted with the medicinal virtues of a great many different kinds of roots and herbs, of which they make use in their prescriptions, and for which they are paid. Some of them enjoy a high reputation on account of their skill; and in general the medicine-man takes a high position among the people. Only when the common remedies of roots and herbs have proved unsuccessful does he resort to "medicine" or mystery. He arrays himself in a most grotesque dress, and provides himself with a rattle, commonly made of a gourd, which is hollowed and partly filled with pebbles. Thus equipped, he approaches his dying patient to cure him by a charm. He dances about him, singing songs of incantation, and producing a frightful noise by shaking his rattle. Catlin records a scene of an attempted cure of this description which he himself witnessed, as follows: "Several hundred spectators, including Indians and traders, were assembled round the dying man, when it was announced that the medicine-man was coming. We were required to form a ring, leaving a space of some thirty or forty feet in diameter around the dying man, in which the doctor would perform his wonderful operations; and a space was also opened to allow him free room to pass through the crowd without touching any one.... He approached the ring with his body in a crouching position, with a slow and tilting step. His body and head were entirely covered with the skin of a yellow bear, the head of which—his own head being inside of it—served as a mask; the huge claws of which also were dangling on his wrists and ankles. In one hand he shook a frightful rattle, and in the other he brandished his medicine-spear, or magic wand; to the rattling din and discord of all of which he added the wild and startling jumps and yelps of the Indian, and the horrid and appalling grunts, snarls, and growls of the grizzly bear, in ejaculatory and gutteral incantations to the Good and Bad Spirits, in behalf of his patient, who was rolling and groaning in the agonies of death, whilst he was dancing around him, jumping over him, and pawing him about, and rolling him in every direction. In this wise the strange operation proceeded for half an hour to the surprise of a numerous and death-like silent audience, until the man died; and the medicine-man danced off to his quarters, and packed up, tied and secured from the sight of the world his mystery dress and equipments."[43] Should the exhausted patient unaccountably recover after such a ceremony, the lucky medicine-man will be seen for several days after the event on the top of a wigwam, extending his right arm, waving it to the gaping multitude, and boasting of his skill.
With the Indian tribes in Columbia and Vancouver Island the medicine-man, although he may become of great importance if he is clever, is liable to be put to death if he fails to cure his patient; it being presumed that he possesses the power, but not the wish, to cure. A strange procedure of one of these fellows in trying to cure a female who lay dangerously ill, was witnessed by an Englishman, who has given a circumstantial description of it, from which the following extract will suffice:—
"Towards night the doctor came, bringing with him his own and another family to assist in the ceremony. After they had eaten supper, the centre of the lodge was cleared and fresh sand strewed upon it. A bright fire of dry wood was then kindled, and a brilliant light kept up by occasionally throwing oil upon it. I considered this a species of incense offered, as the same light would have been produced, if desired, by a quantity of pitch-knots which were lying in the corner. The patient, well wrapped in blankets, was laid on her back, with her head a little elevated, and her hands crossed on her breast. The doctor knelt at her feet, and commenced singing a song, the subject of which was an address to the dead, asking them why they had come to take his friend and mother, and begged them to go away and leave her. The rest of the people then sung the chorus in a low, mournful chant, keeping time by knocking on the roof with long wands they held.... As the performance proceeded, the doctor became more and more excited, singing loudly and violently, with great gesticulation, and occasionally making passes with his hand over the face and person of the patient, similar to those made by mesmeric manipulators."[44]
Likewise, in a cure effected in the case of a sick lad of the Wallawalla Indians, Columbia river, which Mr. Drayton witnessed, there appears to have been a kind of mesmerism used in combination with music. This case is also noteworthy inasmuch as it shows that the Indians have female physicians. The lad was lying on his back in a lodge and appeared to be in a dying state. Over him stood an old haggard-looking squaw, who was singing in great excitement, while about a dozen men and boys were accompanying her with their voices in a sort of chorus, the rhythmical effect of which they increased by striking sticks together at regular intervals. The music thus produced sounded unearthly to the foreign bystander. The squaw was all the time very busy about the lad, now bending over him and making all kinds of grimaces, and now baring his chest and pretending by her actions to be scooping out his disease, and now again falling on her knees before him and striving to draw out the evil spirit with both her hands. She blew into her hands and then moved them over the patient in a peculiar manner as if she were tossing the noxious spirit away into the air. Then again she would blow with her mouth on his neck downwards, making a quick sputtering noise; and at last she began to suck his neck and chest in different parts. Whatever may be thought of this operation, the boy certainly soon got better. Moreover, our informant concludes his account of the occurrence with the statement: "One singular custom prevailing here (with the Indians of Wallawalla) is that all the convalescents are directed to sing for several hours during the day."[45]
The Indian tribes in Guiana have mystery-men, called Piatzas, or Piaies, who constitute a powerful priesthood. In their incantations they use rattles, and also drums and bells. When a person suffering from a protracted illness finds the commonly-used medicines of no avail, his refuge is to the Piatza, to induce him to drive out the evil spirit that must be the cause of the mischief. The Piatza carries the patient into the nearest forest, and having fastened his hammock to some tree across a pass, he commences the incantations, which he accompanies with the noise of his rattle. The rattle consists of a calabash partly filled with small pebbles. During his incantations no one is permitted to witness what he is doing, even the patient being enjoined to close his eyes and to keep them shut until the end of the ceremony. The Piatza draws a circle round the sick person and addresses the evil spirit.[46]
Again, the Manchi, or medicine-man of the Peguenches and other Indian tribes in the Argentine Provinces, is skilled in the use of herbs. If remedies of this kind prove ineffectual, mysterious ceremonies are resorted to. A sheep and a colt are killed, and are placed with vessels of a fermented liquor, called chichala, under trees close to a hut; the patient is carried out of the hut and laid on the sunny side of the trees. The Manchi and the women now dance in a circle round the trees, the animals, and the sick person. When the dancers are exhausted the Manchi fumigates the animals and the sick person three times, and then sucks the diseased part of the man with such force as to draw blood. After this, he sucks the heart of the colt and anoints the sick person with the blood of the animal. At the conclusion of these disgusting ceremonies, in the performance of which the Manchi affects to be in a trance, dancing is recommenced, and the patient is forced to join in it, supported by his friends. A general feast, in which the people consume the animals, concludes the ceremony.[47] The Manchi generally uses a kind of drum in his incantations.
The mystery-men of the Araucanian Indians are called Gligua, or Dugol, and some of them are distinguished by the epithets Guenguenu, Genpugni, and Genpuri (i. e. "Master of the heavens, of epidemic diseases, of worms and insects,") and are supposed to have the power of curing every disease, of producing rain, and of preventing the ravages of worms and insects. The real medicine-men are called Machi,[48] and their method of curing is similar to that of the Manchi of the Argentine Provinces just described. The ceremony is, however, always performed in the night. The hut in which the patient lies is lighted with a great number of torches. In a corner of the room is placed, among branches of laurel, a large bough of cinnamon, to which is suspended the magic drum; and near to it is a sheep which is to be killed for sacrifice. A number of women sing aloud and beat upon little drums, while the Machi proceeds, with frightful gesticulations and horrible contortions of his body, to exorcise the evil spirit which is supposed to be the cause of the malady.[49] Sometimes he will suddenly exhibit in triumph a spider, a toad, or some other obnoxious animal, which he pretends to have extracted from the body of the sufferer.[50] A more detailed account of these impostors is unnecessary, especially as the works are mentioned which contain full descriptions of them.
The largest Indian tribes in Patagonia, the Moluches and the Puelches, have male and female sorcerers. Boys who suffer from epileptic fits, or from the St. Vitus's dance, are selected for this office, and are brought up in it. They have to adopt female apparel, which they continue to wear when grown up. These men, dressed like women, are supposed to have been destined for their profession by the demons themselves. They, likewise, assume the power of curing disease by means of incantations accompanied with the noise of rattles and drums.[51]
The close resemblance of certain practices of the medicine-men among uncivilized nations in different parts of the globe, is especially suggestive. Nor are the differences without interest.
Turning to Africa, we have musical-medical practitioners with the Negroes and Kafirs, whose art must have originated quite independently of that of the American medicine-men. The Negroes in Jamaica have sorcerers and physicians, called Obeah-men, whose ceremonies are probably of African origin, although they are in many respects similar to those of the Indian medicine-men. The Obeah-men, being well acquainted with the peculiar effects of the different poisonous plants, it is said, often make bad use of their knowledge.[52] When attending a sick person, the Obeah-man generally commences his cure with a dance, and he administers a powder, or a liquor, to his victim.[53]
The Negroes in Western Africa have professional musicians or minstrels, called in Senegambia, Griots; singing men, or bards, called Jillikea; Fetish priests who drum and dance as if they themselves were possessed of evil spirits; Priestesses of the Serpent worship, which has its principal temples in Whydah; Rain-makers; Wizards, called Greegree-men; and other "wise men," who are also physicians and musicians. The Ganga, in Loango, South Western Africa, are, according to the Abbé Proyard, priests as well as physicians: "When they come to a patient, they ask him where his ailment lies. They blow on the part affected: after that, they make fomentations, and tie up his limbs in different places with bandages. These are the preliminaries used in all diseases. They know nothing either of phlebotomy, or of medicine.... They know a very salutary remedy, in their opinion, for all diseases; but this they only employ in favour of those who can afford the expense. When they are called in to a rich man, they take with them all the performers on musical instruments they can find in the country. They all enter in silence; but, at the first signal which they give, the musical troop begin their performance. Some are furnished with stringed instruments, others beat on the trunks of hollow trees covered with skin,—a sort of tabor. All of them uniting their voices with the sound of the instruments round the patient's bed, make a terrible uproar and din, which is often continued for several days and nights in succession."[54]
The mystery-man in Benguela is called Kimbanda. He performs his ceremonies in the forest, in the presence of the people. Before him stands a calabash with a wide opening, in which are figures rudely carved, of wood or bone, which represent different kinds of wild animals. A rattle, which he holds in his hand, consists of a hollow calabash containing pebbles. He shakes his rattle and addresses the figures in a recitation, interspersed with questions concerning the ailments of his patient. An assistant, who is hidden in the neighbourhood of the figures, answers the questions in a hollow tone of voice, as if it came from the figures. However, for the accomplishment of the cure a sacrifice of a cow is generally demanded by those greedy figures; or even more, according to the means of the patient. The answers given by the figures are generally so indistinct that no one but the Kimbanda can understand them; and he communicates them to the people.[55]
The Somali, in Eastern Africa, have similar mystery-men, called Tawuli; and the natives of Zanzibar have the Mganga, who professes to heal the patient by expelling the demon by means of his singing and the shaking of his rattle. The mystery-man of the Kafirs of Natal likewise accompanies his recitations with a rattle. He is an extraordinarily dangerous and objectionable personage; for, when the cattle fall sick, or some other mischief happens, he is apt to declare that it has been caused by some evil-doer whom he can find out. He sings and dances towards several individuals in succession, and affects to examine them by his olfactory sense. Suddenly he touches one with the gnu's tail which he carries in his hand. He leaps over the head of the unhappy man, and points him out as the offender.[56] Also the Bechuana, in fact every Kafir tribe, has one or more of such personages, who are physicians and musicians, as well as priests, prophets, and rain-makers.
Considering the very low state of civilization of those natives of Australia who have not come into contact with the European settlers, it is especially interesting to learn their notions on the employment of music in the cure of disease. These aborigines are divided into numerous tribes, who have no chief, or leader properly speaking, except the Crodgy, or "wise man," who, besides being a quack, is also the conductor of their ceremonies. They not unfrequently suffer from rheumatic pains in their limbs, which they believe to be caused by some demon. To protect themselves against the demons, they carry about them charms consisting of bits of rock crystal, called "mundy-stones," which they value highly. They endeavour to drive away the demons by whirling round their head an oval-shaped board, called moor-y-umkarr, which is curiously ornamented, and is suspended to a string. It produces an unearthly, humming sound, sometimes soft, sometimes loud and roaring, according to the force with which it is whirled. The doctor, in curing a sick person, proceeds much in the same manner as the medicine-man of the North American Indians. He, however, uses no rattle; a bunch of green reeds held in the hand and shaken serves the same purpose. The small-pox is so greatly feared by the natives that they possess a special song, called nguitkurra, by the singing of which the disease is believed to be prevented, or checked in its progress.[57] A native from the vicinity of Port Jackson, whose wife was complaining of a pain in the stomach, was observed by a European traveller to cure her in the following manner: "After blowing on his hand, he warmed it at a fire, and then applied it to the part affected, beginning at the same time a song which was probably calculated for the occasion. A piece of flannel being warmed and applied by a bystander, rendered the warming his hand unnecessary; but he continued his song, always keeping his mouth very near to the part affected, and frequently stopping to blow on it, making a noise after blowing, in imitation of the barking of a dog. But, though he blew several times, he only made that noise once at every pause, and then continued his song. The woman always made short responses whenever he ceased to blow and bark."[58]
An English missionary in Tanna Island, New Hebrides, relates that when a native of that Island is taken ill, his friends believe that his illness is occasioned by some one burning his nakah (i.e. "rubbish"). They have "disease-makers" who are believed to have in their hands the power of life and death, and who are consequently much feared. Every kind of nakah is carefully buried or thrown into the sea, lest the disease-maker should pick it up, wrap it in a leaf, and burn it. When a native is taken ill, his friends blow on a conch trumpet, which signifies a supplication to the disease-maker to discontinue burning the rubbish. If the sick man recovers, the disease-man receives a present for having left off burning. The rubbish generally consists of some refuse of food.[59] The New Zealanders had formerly similar disease-makers, who were supposed to require a lock of hair, or some nail-parings, of the person whom they intended to afflict with disease.
Let us now turn to some tribes in cold regions of the North, to compare their musical ceremonies in the cure of illness with those in tropical countries.
The natives of Kamtschatka have persons called Shamans, who profess to be able to communicate with the spirits by arraying themselves in a grotesque garment, chanting, beating a drum, dancing, and working themselves up to a state of trance. They, on these occasions, drink an infusion of a species of fungus, which has an intoxicating power, and which sometimes makes them sleep afterwards for three or four days without interruption. Its effect must therefore be similar to that of opium. The Shamans of the Ostiaks, and of the Samoiedes, in Siberia, suspend to their dress metal representations of strange birds, fishes, and quadrupeds, with bones, teeth, and other frightful-looking things. In their incantations they shake the dress so that the metallic appendages produce clanging and tinkling sounds, the effect of which is increased by the Shaman's beating a drum, of the tambourine kind. Also the Laplanders, about a century ago, had such sorcerers, who used a drum called rune-bomme, or gobodes, the parchment of which was marked with mystic signs. The sorcerer was called Noaaid, or Spagubbe. Besides his magic drum he had a magic chain, about twelve inches in length, of tin and copper, which, when shaken, produced a shrill, tinkling noise. No journey, no business transaction was undertaken by the Lapp without his having previously consulted the Noaaid, who by means of a ring placed on the parchment of his drum, predicted the success of the undertaking. When he beat the drum, the vibration caused the ring to move to one or other of the mysterious signs marked upon the parchment; and from the position of the ring, he pretended to be able to divine the future. Moreover, he cured diseases by beating his drum to incantations and wild dancing. The Lapps believed that the defunct relations of the sick person attempted to draw him over to them; it, therefore, naturally suggested itself to his friends to engage the interference of the Noaaid, who professed to have intercourse with the spirits of the dead. The pagan Finns had the same notion, which is not surprising, considering that they and the Lapps are of one race. The sorcerers of the Finns recited songs, called lugut, when they attempted to exorcise the evil spirit of the patient, or to remove the witchcraft occasioning the mischief. These superstitions the Finnish races probably brought with them originally from Asia, where we still meet with them at the present day. It is remarkable that in time of remote antiquity, the priests of certain Eastern nations used tinkling instruments for the purpose of frightening away the demons. The ancient Egyptians shook the Sistrum; and the priests of the Copts and of the Abyssinian Christians observe still this very ancient custom. The Hebrew priests, at the time of Moses, had little bells attached to their robes for protection against evil influences; at any rate, it is recorded that the sound of Aaron's bell was to be heard "that he die not." (Exod. chap. xxviii., v. 35.)
A curious account of the employment of music in the cure of diseases in Chinese Tartary is given by M. Huc. He says: "When illness attacks any one his friends run to the nearest monastery for a Lama, whose first proceeding upon visiting the patient is to run his fingers over the pulse of both wrists simultaneously, as the fingers of a musician run over the strings of an instrument.... After due deliberation the Lama pronounces his opinion as to the particular nature of the malady. According to the religious belief of the Tartars all illness is owing to the visitation of a Tchutgour, or demon, but the expulsion of the demon is first a matter of medicine. The Lama physician next proceeds, as Lama apothecary, to give the specific befitting the case. The Tartar pharmacopœia rejecting all mineral chemistry, the Lama remedies consist entirely of vegetables pulverized, and either infused in water or made up into pills. If the Lama doctor happens not to have any medicine with him he is by no means disconcerted; he writes the names of the remedies upon little scraps of paper, moistens the paper with saliva, and rolls them into pills, which the patient tosses down with the same perfect confidence as though they were genuine medicaments." When the invalid is a person of property, the Lamas make extraordinary preparations for expelling the Tchutgour, for which the invalid has to give them dresses and other presents. The aunt of Tokoura, chief of an encampment, visited by M. Huc, was seized one evening with an intermittent fever. "I would invite the attendance of the Lama doctor," said Tokoura, "but if he finds that there is a very big Tchutgour present, the expense will ruin me." He waited for some days; but, as the aunt grew worse and worse, he at last sent for a Lama. "His anticipations," M. Huc relates, "were confirmed. The Lama pronounced that a demon of considerable rank was present, and that no time must be lost in expelling him. Eight other Lamas were forthwith called in, who at once set about the construction, in dried herbs, of a great puppet, which they entitled The Demon of Intermittent Fevers, and which, when completed, they placed on its legs by means of a stick in the patient's tent. The ceremony began at eleven o'clock at night. The Lamas ranged themselves in a semi-circle round the upper portion of the tent, with cymbals, conch-trumpets, bells, tambourines, and other instruments of the noisy Tartar music. The remainder of the circle was completed by the members of the family squatting on the ground close to one another, the patient kneeling, or rather crouched on her knees, opposite the 'Demon of intermittent fevers.' The Lama doctor-in-chief had before him a large copper basin filled with millet, and some little images made of paste. The dung-fuel (argols) threw, amid much smoke, a fantastic and quivering light over the strange scene.[60] Upon a given signal, the clerical orchestra executed an introductory piece harsh enough to frighten Satan himself, the lay congregation beating time with their hands to the charivari of clanging instruments and ear-splitting voices. The diabolic concert over, the Grand Lama opened the Book of Exorcisms, which he rested on his knees. As he chanted one of the forms, he took from the basin, from time to time, a handful of millet, which he threw east, west, north and south, according to the Rubric. The tones of his voice, as he prayed, were sometimes mournful and suppressed, sometimes vehemently loud and energetic. All of a sudden he would quit the regular cadence of prayer, and have an outburst of apparently indomitable rage, abusing the herb puppet with fierce invectives and furious gestures. The exorcism terminated, he gave a signal by stretching out his arms, right and left, and the other Lamas struck up a tremendously noisy chorus, in hurried, dashing tones; all the instruments were set to work, and meantime the lay congregation, having started up with one accord, ran out of the tent, one after the other, and, tearing round it like mad people, beat it at their hardest with sticks, yelling all the while at the pitch of their voices, in a manner to make ordinary hair stand on end."
Then they returned to the tent, and repeated the same scene. After they had done this three times, they covered their faces with their hands, and the Grand Lama set fire to the herb figure. "As soon as the flames rose, he uttered a loud cry, which was repeated with interest by the whole company.... After this strange treatment, the malady did not return. The probability is that the Lamas, having ascertained the precise moment at which the fever-fit would recur, met it at the exact point of time by this tremendous counter-excitement, and overcame it."[61]
The Burmese, especially those of the mountain region of south and east Burmah, have priests and sorcerers, called Wees and Bookhoos, who "pretend to cure diseases, to know men's thoughts, and to converse with the spirits. Their performances are fraught with awe and terror to a superstitious people. They begin with solemn and mysterious movements; at length every muscle is agitated, while with frantic looks and foaming mouth they utter oracles, or speak to a man's spirit and declare its responses."[62] In cases of severe illness which have resisted the skill of native medical art, the physician gravely tells the patient and relatives that it is useless to have recourse any longer to medicine. An evil Natch ("spirit") is the author of the complaint, and requires to be expelled. This is accomplished by means of music and dancing, while the physician gives to the patient some medicine, pointed out to him as an infallible remedy by an accomplice in a kind of trance during the ceremony.[63]
That in certain complaints it may be beneficial to the invalid to dance to the sound of music, is owing to the exhilarating influence of the music as well as to the bodily exercise of the dancing.
The treatment of the Tarantism, or the derangement of the system caused by the bite of the Tarantula, a venomous spider in Apulia, Italy, has been so often described by medical and musical men, that a detailed account of it is hardly required here. Suffice it to notice the opinions entertained by some careful medical inquirers, respecting the efficacy of music and dancing in the cure of this illness. Nicolo Peroti, an Italian Archbishop, who lived in the fifteenth century, is supposed to have been the first who in his writings has drawn attention to the symptoms attributed to the bite of the Tarantula. Achille Vergari, a physician, in his treatise, entitled, 'Tarantismo, o malattia prodotta dalle Tarantole velenose,' Naples, 1839, says that not all these spiders are alike poisonous, but that some are so to a degree that a person bitten by them is sure to die almost immediately, notwithstanding all antidotes administered to him. According to Vergari, the Tarantula is found not only in South Italy, but also in Sardinia, the Caucasus, Persia, Abyssinia, Madagascar, the West Indies, and in several other hot regions. The poison consists in a fluid secreted in glands, which, when the spider bites, is pressed into the wound, and thus diffused throughout the body. The poison is most virulent during the dog-days, and during the period of breeding, especially if the spider is irritated, and if the person bitten is particularly susceptible for the action of the poison; under other circumstances it causes but little injury, or none at all. The only specific cure for the bite is believed to be music and dancing. The animating sound of the tune known as the Tarantella subdues the depressing effect of the poison; the invalid feels invigorated by the music; he raises himself and begins to move his hands and feet to the time of it; and, be he old or young, though he may never before in his life have danced, he is irresistibly forced to dance until exhaustion compels him to desist. The dancing sometimes lasts three hours without cessation, and is repeated for three or four successive days. The most salutary time for it is the early morning, at sunrise, when the patient usually perspires, sighs, complains, and behaves like an intoxicated person. Occasionally, while dancing, he takes in his hands green branches, or ribbons of some particular colour; or he wants to be dressed in showy garments. The black colour he hates, and the sight of a person dressed in black irritates him greatly. The room in which the dancing takes place is ornamented with different bright colours, green branches, and looking-glasses. Some insist upon carrying weapons in their hands while dancing; others desire to be beaten; or they beat themselves; and so on. The musical instruments formerly used in playing the Tarantella are the violin, violoncello, guitar, flute, organ, lute, cither, shalm, and tambourine. Some of these instruments have now become obsolete; nor are the others always used in combination, but more frequently singly.
These statements were collected by Vergari from the observations of the most intelligent physicians and surgeons in Apulia, and other districts of the former kingdom of Naples.
De Renzi, a distinguished physician of Naples, sent, in the year 1841, to the 'Raccoglitore Medico,' published in Fano, the following account of a Tarantism witnessed by Doctor Samuele Costa. Giuseppe Mastria, a peasant from a small village in the southern district of the province Terra d'Otranto, twenty years of age, of robust bodily constitution, while mowing grass, in June, 1840, felt a sudden pain on his right arm, near the insertion of the Deltoid muscle, and saw that he was bitten by a speckled spider, the Aranea Tarantula. The wound having become livid, enlarged and spread the pain over the arm and the back of the neck. He was seized with anxiety and with pressure on the Præcordia, inclination to vomit, faintness, cold skin, and weak pulse. After some time, the warmth of the body increased, and the pulse became stronger. The patient experienced great thirst, heavy breathing, restlessness, and the impossibility of standing on his legs. When, however, the Tarantella was played to him, he suddenly became convulsive, jumped out of the bed, and danced briskly for nearly two hours. Tired and profusely perspiring, he consequently slept quietly and uninterruptedly. After several repetitions of the music in the course of three days, he entirely recovered.[64]
Dr. Martinus Kähler, a Swedish physician, who visited Apulia in the year 1756, for the express purpose of investigating the Tarantism thoroughly, came to the conclusion that it is not caused by the Tarantula, but that it is a peculiar hypochondria with hysteria, to which the inhabitants of the island of Taranto are especially subject on account of their mode of living, and from their food consisting principally of green vegetables, oysters, and periwinkles. Be this as it may, the complaint is, according to medical opinion, curable by means of music and dancing.
Thomas Shaw, who visited the Barbary States about the year 1730, mentions the Boola-kaz, a venomous spider in the desert of Sahara, the bite of which is cured thus: "The patient lies sometimes buried all over, excepting his head, in the hot sands, or else in a pit dug and heated for the purpose, in order, no doubt, to obtain the like copious perspiration that is excited by dancing in those who are bitten by the Tarantula."[65]
The Tigretiya of Abyssinia is in some respects similar to the Tarantism; it is, however, not caused by the bite, or sting, of any animal. The Tigretiya has its name from occurring principally in the Abyssinian district called Tigré. It is a kind of melancholy, the first symptoms of which usually are a gradual wasting away of the attacked person. Music and dancing are used as the most effective remedies for healing the sufferer.
A strange illness of the natives of Madagascar is described by the Missionary W. Ellis as "an intermittent disorder, with periods of delirium, a species of hysteria readily infectious." The sufferers perambulate in groups, singing, dancing, and running, accompanied by their friends, who carry bottles of water for them, as they generally complain of thirst,—which is not surprising, considering the state of excitement to which they work themselves up. Their whims being encouraged by the people, must rather impede the beneficial result which they might derive from singing and dancing, as far as concerns the restoration to a sound state of health. Their morbid affection of the nervous system is, however, especially interesting if compared with a similar derangement in European countries during the Middle Ages, of which some account shall presently be given.
The exercise of dancing to the sound of cheerful music is universally known to be, under certain circumstances conducive to the preservation of health. Thus, the traveller, H. Salt, relates that the Negro slaves in Mozambique "assembled in the evening to dance, according to the usual practice, for keeping them in health."[66] The same means were formerly resorted to by slave-owners in America. Likewise, during a voyage to the Arctic Sea, it has been found useful to order the sailors occasionally to dance on deck to the music of a barrel-organ, to keep them in health and good spirits.
On the other hand, there are instances on record of music and dancing having nourished morbid feelings and extravagant notions. At all events, certain Terpsichorean performances of religious fanatics can only be thus regarded. The most extraordinary exhibitions of this kind among Christian sects occurred on the Continent during the Middle Ages, and are described in an interesting little book, by J. F. C. Hecker, entitled 'Die Tanzwuth, eine Volkskrankheit im Mittelalter; nach den Quellen für Aerzte und gebildete Nichtärzte bearbeitet,' (The Dancing Mania, an epidemic in the Middle Ages; compiled from original sources, for medical men and intelligent non-medical men. Berlin, 1832.) The author, a Doctor of Medicine, in Berlin, treats especially of the St. John's Dance and the St. Vitus's Dance, which, during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, were performed in Germany by perambulating fanatics who, in some respects, resembled certain Revivalists of our days. He carefully traces the origin of these morbid conceptions, the extravagant practices to which they led, and their gradual discontinuance during the seventeenth century. The persons afflicted with this nervous malady, men and women, wandered in troops from town to town and danced to the sound of musical instruments in the churches and streets. The authorities of some of the towns were of opinion that music and dancing alone could effectively cure this strange affection. They, therefore, hired musicians in order to bring on the dancing-fits the more rapidly; and they ordered strong, healthy men, to mix with the dancers with the object of compelling them to continue their violent exertions until they were quite exhausted,—a condition which was supposed to be a preliminary step to their restoration to health. Of the magistrates of Basle, for instance, it is recorded that in the sixteenth century they engaged some strong men to dance with a girl afflicted with the dancing mania, until she was recovered. One man substituted another, and this strange cure they continued about four weeks with scarcely any interruption, until the patient was exhausted and unable to stand on her legs. She was then carried to an hospital, where she completely regained her health.
The following miraculous occurrence, which is recorded in William of Malmesbury's 'Chronicle of the Kings of England' as having taken place in the year 1012, illustrates the fanaticism alluded to. The statement is by one of the poor sufferers:—
"I, Ethelbert, a sinner, even were I desirous of concealing the divine judgment which overtook me, yet the tremor of my limbs would betray me; wherefore I shall relate circumstantially how this happened, that all may know the heavy punishment due to disobedience. We were on the eve of our Lord's nativity, in a certain town of Saxony, in which was the church of Magnus the Martyr, and a priest named Robert had begun the first mass. I was in the church-yard with eighteen companions,—fifteen men and three women,—dancing and singing profane songs to such a degree that I interrupted the priest, and our voices resounded amid the sacred solemnity of the mass. Wherefore, having commanded us to be silent and not being attended to, he cursed us in the following words:—'May it please God and St. Magnus that you may remain singing in the same manner for a whole year!'—His words had their effect. The son of John the Priest seized his sister, who was singing with us, by the arm, and immediately tore it from the body; but not a drop of blood flowed out. She also remained a whole year with us dancing and singing. The rain fell not upon us; nor did cold, nor heat, nor hunger, nor thirst, nor fatigue assail us: we neither wore our clothes nor shoes, but we kept on singing as though we had been insane. First we sunk into the ground up to our knees; next to our thighs. A covering was at length, by the permission of God, built over us, to keep off the rain. When a year had elapsed, Herbert, bishop of the city of Cologne, released us from the tie wherewith our hands were bound, and reconciled us before the altar of St. Magnus. The daughter of the priest, with the other two women, died immediately; the rest of us slept three whole days and nights. Some died afterwards, and were famed for miracles; the remainder betray their punishment by the trembling of their limbs.
"This narrative was given to us by the Lord Peregrine, the successor of Herbert, in the year of our Lord 1013."
In our time, exhibitions of a morbid religious enthusiasm, called forth, or promoted by music, are less common with Christians than with Mohammedans. In the sacred dance of the Dervishes, the music, which is soft and plaintive, represents the music of the spheres; while the Dervishes turning in a circle round their superior, who sits quietly in the centre, represent the planetary system in its relation to the sun. So far, the procedures of these fanatics are intelligible enough; but the words of their songs are so mystic that probably the Dervishes themselves are unable to attach a reasonable meaning to them. Still more extraordinary is the behaviour of the Aïssaoua, a kind of Mohammedan fraternity in the Barbary States, who by means of music and dancing work themselves up to a state of ecstasy, in which they fancy themselves to be camels,—or, at any rate, in which they convey to others the impression that they are brutes rather than reasonable beings. As regards Christian sects, certain sacred evolutions of the Shakers, in the United States of North America, are not less extravagant than those of the Dervishes in Egypt or Turkey. Here too, music appears to have an injurious effect upon the people, inasmuch as it excites their morbid emotions.
Turning now to our literature on the medical employment of music, we find a number of treatises, the most important of which shall be briefly noticed by their titles. Of such only as are not easily attainable, some account of their contents shall be added.
'Medica Musica: or, a Mechanical Essay on the effects of Singing, Musick, and Dancing, on Human Bodies; Revis'd and corrected. To which is annex'd a New Essay on the nature and cure of the Spleen and Vapours. By Richard Browne, Apothecary, in Oakham, in the County of Rutland; London, 1729.'—This is the second edition, enlarged. The first edition was published without the name of the author.
'Die Verbindung der Musik mit der Arzneygelahrtheit, von Ernst Anton Nicolai.' (The Association of Music with the Science of Medicine, by E. A. Nicolai; Halle, 1745.)—Nicolai was Professor of Medicine at the University of Jena, in Germany.
'Reflections on Antient and Modern Musick, with the application to the Cure of Diseases; to which is subjoined an essay to solve the question wherein consisted the difference of ancient musick from that of modern time;' London, 1749.—The author, Richard Brocklesby, was a physician in London.—A circumstantial account of the contents of this treatise is given in 'Historisch-Kritische Beyträge zur Aufnahme der Musik, von F. W. Marpurg;' Vol. II., Berlin, 1756; p. 16-37.
'Traité des Effets de la Musique sur le corps humain, traduit du Latin et augmenté des notes, par Etienne Sainte-Marie;' Paris, 1803.—This is an annotated translation of a dissertation written in Latin by Joseph Ludovicus Roger, and published at Avignon in 1758.
Desbout (Luigi): 'Ragionamento fisico-chirurgico sopra l'effetto della Musica nelle malattie nervose;' Livorno, 1780.—A French translation appeared in the year 1784, in St. Petersburg, entitled: 'Sur l'Effet de la Musique dans les Maladies nerveuses.'
Buc'hoz (Pierre Joseph): 'L'Art de connaître et de désigner le pouls par les notes de la Musique, de guérir par son moyen la mélancolie, et le Tarentisme qui est une espèce de mélancolie; accompagné de 198 observations, tirées tant de l'histoire que des annales de la médicine qui constatent l'éfficacité de la musique, non seulement sur le corps mais sur l'âme, dans l'état de santé, ainsi que dans celui de maladie. Ouvrage curieux, utile et intéressant; propre à inspirer le goût de cet art, qui est pour nous un vrai présent des cieux;' Paris, 1806.—A treatise with a similar title, by F. N. Marquet, appeared at Nancy in the year 1747.
Lichtenthal (Peter): 'Der musikalische Arzt; oder, Abhandlung von dem Einflusse der Musik auf den menschlichen Körper, und von ihrer Anwendung in gewissen Krankheiten,' (The Musical Physician; or, a Treatise on the influence of music upon the human body, and on its application in certain illnesses. Vienna, 1807.)—An Italian translation of this work appeared in Milan in the year 1811.
Schneider (Peter Joseph): 'System einer medizinischen Musik; ein unentbehrliches Handbuch für Medizin-Beflissene, Vorsteher der Irren-Heilanstalten, praktische Aerzte, und unmusikalische Lehrer verschiedener Disciplinen,' (A System of Medical Music; an indispensable guide for Students of Medicine, Principals of Lunatic Asylums, Practical Physicians, and unmusical teachers of different methods. Bonn, 1835.) This comprehensive work, in two volumes, contains much information on the subject in question, interspersed with many remarks and citations which have little or no bearing on music considered medically. The last seventy-two pages of the second volume contain a sort of autobiography of the author.
To musicians, the most useful books among this class of literature are those which give good advice concerning the preservation of health.
F. W. Hunnius, a Doctor of Medicine in Weimar, wrote a book entitled 'Der Arzt für Schauspieler und Sänger' (The Physician for Actors and Singers. Weimar, 1798,) which, no doubt, has been useful to many. Another German publication of the kind, in which especial attention is given to the practice of musical instruments in so far as it affects the health, bears the title 'Aerztlicher Rathgeber für Musiktreibende' (Medical Adviser for those who cultivate Music) by Karl Sundelin, Berlin, 1832. The author, a Doctor of Medicine in Berlin, wrote his book with the assistance of his brother, who was a professional musician in the orchestra of the King of Prussia. This treatise is so noteworthy that the following account of it will, it is hoped, be of interest to the reflecting musician. Its table of contents is:—
"I. Of Singing. On the means of facilitating the practice of singing. Dietary and general rules for male singers, and for female singers. Of the different human voices.
II. Of the Clavier-Instruments, or Keyed-Instruments. The Pianoforte. The Organ. The Harmonica with a key-board.
III. Of the Stringed Instruments. The Violin and the Viola (or Tenor). The Violoncello. The Double Bass. The Guitar. The Harp.
IV. Of the Wind Instruments. Means for facilitating the practice and dietary rules for players on wind instruments. The Flageolet and the Czakan. The Flute. The Oboe and the English Horn. The Clarionet and the Basset Horn. The Bassoon and the Contra-Fagotto. The Horn. The Trumpet. The Trombone. The Serpent. General dietary and medical rules for those who cultivate music. Of the disturbances and injuries to the nervous system through disadvantageous influences by the practice of music. Care and treatment of particular diseased parts and structures. Of the chest and the lungs. The especial attention and care required by the organs of the voice. Of the diseases to which the mouth is subjected. The Teeth. The Lips. Of the Fingers. The Eyes and the Face. Prescriptions for some of the medicaments alluded to in the preceding dissertation."
The author is of opinion that the practice of music may be in many ways injurious to bodily health. However, he remarks, that since music is capable of expressing emotions which cannot be expressed by words or pictures, it relieves the heart of anything which is oppressive and distressing, and thus through the mind generally acts beneficially upon the body. He asserts that music has healed many a sufferer whose life was embittered by the fetters of melancholia, or the tortures of hypochondria. To persons suffering from indigestion and its harassing effects, he recommends a daily practice on some instrument which requires a rather fatiguing exertion of the body; such as the organ, on which hands and feet are occupied. His remarks on singing are judicious; but many of them would naturally suggest themselves to any thinking musician. No doubt, moderation in eating and drinking is recommendable, and the singer has to take care not to catch a cold; but it may be useful to him to be told by a medical man what kind of food is most conducive to the preservation of his voice, and how he can best protect himself against the injurious effects of sudden changes from heat and cold, to which professional singers are often exposed.
Pianoforte playing our medical adviser considers rather hurtful to health. The exertion of the hands and arms, while the position of the body remains nearly immovable, causes a stronger flow of blood to the chest than is natural. The pressure of the points of the fingers, where the nerves are especially sensitive, is apt to be injurious to the nervous system. This is still more the case in practising on instruments on which the strings are pressed down with the points of the fingers, as for instance on the violin; and also, though in a less degree, on instruments the strings of which are twanged with the fingers, as they are on the harp. The practice, however, causes the skin at the finger-ends to harden, and the touch becomes consequently less sensitive. Decidedly hurtful to the nerves is the sensation produced by the friction of the moistened fingers in playing the glass-harmonica and similar instruments. Among the wind instruments blown by being placed to the mouth, those which require a sudden and prolonged retardation of the breath, or a forcible compression of the air in the lungs, are especially liable, by constant practice, to prove injurious to health. The author has much to say on this subject, and he particularly warns against too continuous playing on the oboe, trumpet, horn, trombone, and serpent. As regards the clarionet, its practice, he says, is likely to be injurious on account of the quantity of air which it requires. The player is often compelled to take a deeper inspiration than is natural, and constantly to pay regard to being provided with a supply of air compressed in his lungs. Furthermore, considering that musical performances very frequently take place in artificial light, the eyesight of the musician is apt to be disadvantageously affected. In this respect also the playing on some instruments is more injurious than on others. The Double Bass player, for instance, is compelled, from the size of his instrument, to have the musical notation placed at a greater distance before him than is naturally convenient for his sight, which renders it necessary for him to exert his eyes in an extraordinary degree. Thus much from Sundelin's 'Medical Adviser,' to which the following remarks may be added.
The musical instruments used by our forefathers, two or three centuries ago, were softer and more soothing in quality of sound than our present ones; at any rate, this was the case with the stringed instruments, and the wind instruments of the flute kind. Certain wind instruments of the trumpet kind had a very harsh sound; but these were intended especially to be played in the open air. Of the stringed instruments principally favoured in family circles—such as the lute, cither, clavichord, virginal, harpsichord, etc.,—almost all possessed a less exciting quality of sound than our present substitutes for them. The same was the case with the music composed for the instruments; it did not possess the passionate modulations which characterize much of our music of the present day. It was, therefore, evidently more conducive to social comfort, and consequently to health, than is our modern music, notwithstanding the progress which has been made in the cultivation of the art. Martin Luther said to an old hypochondriac schoolmaster who complained to him of his miserable feelings: "Take to the Clavichord!" Everyone acquainted with the character of the clavichord will probably admit that Luther's advice was judicious. The soft and unpretending sound of the clavichord is so expressive that the instrument may be said to respond to the sufferer as a sympathizing friend; while its successor, the loud and brilliant pianoforte, is apt to convey the impression of being cold and heartless, unless it is touched by a master-hand. Thus also the "trembling lute," and some other antiquated instruments appear to be remarkably suitable for consoling and calming the anxious heart.
The glass-harmonica is evidently hurtful to the health of the performer. We have seen that Sundelin attributes its injurious effect to the friction of the fingers upon the bowls, which revolve on a spindle. But it is a well-ascertained fact that the fascinating sound of this instrument exercises a distressing influence also upon persons who do not play it, but who often listen to it. Likewise, certain wind instruments of a so-called reedy quality of sound, as, for instance, the harmonium, are probably injurious rather than beneficial to the health of the players. Sounds of this nature are generally very pleasant when heard for a short time, but soon become harassing. They might be compared with confectionery, a little of which may be very palatable and innocuous, but which if made a meal of would probably produce sickness.
The effect of music upon animals is a subject for investigation so closely connected with an inquiry into the influence of music upon the human body, that some notice of it must not be omitted here. The investigation requires far more discernment than would appear at a first glance. Many of the anecdotes recorded respecting the effect of music upon animals are not properly authenticated; or rather, they are misrepresentations of facts not clearly understood by the observers. Nor is it surprising that this should be the case, considering how difficult it is to appreciate rightly the mental capacities even of our domestic animals, which we have constant opportunity of watching. Nothing is more common, even with intelligent observers, than to attribute to a dog certain motives for certain actions, which may possibly be the real motives, but which may also only appear to be the real ones. Acute and thoroughly unbiassed investigators, such as was for instance Gilbert White of Selborne, about a hundred years ago, are rare. At all events, many of the anecdotes given in works on Natural History, as illustrating the power of music upon animals, have evidently been copied by one author from another without any one of them having taken the trouble to ascertain by careful observation whether they are well founded. With quadrupeds it is probably generally more the rhythmical effect of the music than the tones which pleases them; while birds appear to be pleased by the tones rather than by the rhythm. All this requires more exact investigation than it has hitherto received; and surely it deserves the consideration of a Darwin.
In conclusion, attention may be drawn to a curious fact which is perhaps more interesting to musical antiquarians than to medical men. It is well known that the barbers in England, about three centuries ago, generally had some musical instruments in their shops for the amusement of their customers. In Germany it is still not unusual to meet with a musical barber. In former times the barbers were also surgeons and physicians to some extent. It would be interesting to trace the origin of their habit of cultivating the art of music. It is probably of high antiquity. May it not date from a remote period in which the physicians of European nations resorted to music and incantations like the medicine-men of uncivilized tribes of whom an account has been given in the beginning of this essay?
