Curiosities of Music: A Collection of Facts not generally known, regarding the Music of Ancient and Savage Nations

by Louis Charles Elson

GENERAL SYNOPSIS OF EARLY CHRISTIAN MUSIC.

That the art of music was esteemed among the more educated of the early Christians is very strongly shown by a fresco in the cemetery of Domitilla (in Rome). This painting which seems to be of the first or second century of our era, represents Christ as Orpheus, charming all nature by his music.[246] It is probably only an allegorical figure, representing his divine gifts, but the figure must be a shock to all who are accustomed to see the face of Jesus, as drawn by the Leonardo da Vinci. Instead of the meek and beautiful form, we see here a lank loosely-built young man, sitting in a very uncomfortable attitude, on a rock, and twanging away at a four-stringed lyre.

Regarding the origin of the present pictures of Christ (although not strictly belonging to our subject) we are tempted to make the following remarks.

It is believed by some scholars that the head of Christ was first copied from the statue of Jupiter (or the Greek Zeus), which was, in the early centuries regarded as the most perfect model of manly beauty. It is scarcely to be doubted that the general model of the Pagan sculptures was followed in the early representations of the Saviour. But the style of portraits was altered in consonance with the description handed down by good authorities.

A brass medal with a head of Christ on one side, was discovered in 1702, in some Druidical ruins, at Aberfraw, Wales, which although of a later era than that assigned to it, is of great antiquity, and coincides with the pictures of to-day.

There exists a letter ascribed to Publius Lentulus and directed to the emperor Tiberius, which describes Jesus. Although it is apocryphal, yet it was certainly written in the days of the primitive Christians. It is translated as follows,—[247]

“There hath appeared in these, our days, a man of great virtue, named Jesus Christ, who is yet living among us, and of the Gentiles, is accepted as a prophet, but his disciples call him the Son of God. He raiseth the dead, and cures all manner of diseases; a man of stature somewhat tall and comely, with very reverend countenance, such as the beholders both love and fear; his hair the color of chestnut, full ripe, plain to his ears, whence downward it is more orient, curling and waving about his shoulders.”

“In the midst of his head is a seam or partition of the hair, after the manner of the Nazarites; his forehead plain and very delicate; his face without a spot or wrinkle, beautified with the most lovely red; his nose and mouth so formed that nothing can be reprehended; his beard thickish, in color like his hair, not very long but forked; his look innocent and mature, his eyes gray, clear, and quick. In reproving he is terrible; in admonishing, courteous and fair spoken; pleasant in conversation mixed with gravity.”

“It cannot be remarked that any one saw him laugh, but many have seen him weep. In proportion of body, most excellent; his hands and arms most delicate to behold. In speaking, very temperate, moderate and wise. A man for his singular beauty, surpassing the children of men.”

From this letter of the predecessor of Pontius Pilate (?) the two earliest known portraits of Christ (in the Calixtine and Pontine catacombs at Rome) were probably sketched and the model has been followed up to our day.

But there is another description, by St. John of Damascus, which is much more in keeping with the Jewish type, of which he supposes the Saviour probably may have had some trait.

According to him, Christ had beautiful eyes, but the eyebrows meeting; a regular nose, flowing locks, a black beard, and a straw colored complexion, like his mother.

CHAPTER XXI.
THE AMBROSIAN AND GREGORIAN CHANT.

St Ambrose, the first real reformer in the music of the Christian Church, was born A. D. 333, probably at Treves, where his father who was prefect of Gaul, often resided. He is said to have received an auspicious omen even in his cradle; a swarm of bees alighted upon him during his slumber, and the astonished nurse saw that they did not sting him, but clustered around his lips; his father, remembering a similar wonder related of Plato, predicted a high destiny for his son. He was therefore, thoroughly educated in his youth, and soon was sent with Satyrus, his brother, to Milan to study law.

He soon became so eminent in this profession, that he was appointed (A. D. 369) prefect of upper Italy and Milan. In A. D. 374 he was unanimously, and against his will, chosen bishop of Milan.

Once in the chair, however, he ruled with vigor and great sagacity, making numerous and necessary reforms in church regulations and discipline.[248]

We shall only follow his musical career. Unfortunately, although there are some remains in the Milanese church-chant of to-day, we have but little proof of the nature of his reforms. That it was deeply impressive we have the testimony of St. Augustine who eulogises, without accurately describing it,[249] but it is certain that his reforms were founded in part upon the Greek music, and that in the Gregorian and Ambrosian chants of the church, we have a legitimate descendant of the ancient Greek music. The reader must remove one impression from his mind; the music of the early Christians, though certainly crude, was by no means simple; on the contrary, it contained many flourishes and rapid embellishments, most of which were of oriental origin. The reform was in the nature of simplicity, and added dignity to a service, which already, in its words, possessed beauty and poetry.

He cast aside much of the cumbrous nomenclature of the Greek modes, and retained of them only what was beautiful and easily comprehended. He did not aim at any sweeping reform, as is evident from his letter to his sister St. Marcellina, wherein he says that he is endeavoring to regulate the mode of singing the hymns, canticles and anthems in his own church,[250] and St. Augustine[251] says that it was done after the manner of the churches of the Orient.

The modes which he chose for his compositions were the following:—

First mode:—	D,	E, F,	G,	A,	B, C,	D,
	re	mi fa	sol	la	si do	re
Second do.	E, F,	G,	A,	B, C,	D,	E,
	mi fa	sol	la	si do	re	mi
Third do.	F,	G,	A,	B, C,	D,	E, F,
	fa	sol	la	si do	re	mi fa
Fourth do.	G,	A,	B, C,	D,	E, F,	G,
	sol	la	si do	re	mi fa	sol

It will be seen that the semi-tones are immovable, and therefore occur in different positions in each mode, by the change of the key-note; being respectively,—

First mode, semitones	2-3,	6-7
Second ” ”	1-2,	5-6
Third ” ”	4-5,	7-8
Fourth ” ”	3-4,	6-7

It was this distinction which gave to each mode its peculiar character.

Not only did St. Ambrose reinstate these modes, but he composed many beautiful compositions in them. Many of the so-called Ambrosian chants and hymns, were not written by him, but after his manner; but some ten of the ancient hymns, including “Veni Redemptor Gentium,” “Eterna Christi munera,” etc., are from his own pen.

The Cathedral of Milan still uses Aeterne rerum conditor; Deus Creator omnium; Veni Redemptor omnium; Splendor Paternæ gloriæ; Consors paterni luminis; and O Lux Beata Trinitas.[252]

Some of these are of rare beauty, and remain as monuments of the cultivated taste of this pioneer in church music. The composition of the “Te Deum Laudamus,” has been ascribed to St. Ambrose, and St. Augustine; but it was composed nearly a century after their death. Among other persons to whom this beautiful production has been assigned, may be mentioned St. Hilary, St. Abundius, St. Sisebut, and St. Nicat; but it may be safely affirmed that its real author has never been discovered.

The greatest boon bestowed on the church by St. Ambrose was the rhythmical hymn, mentioned above, all of which, and many others he wrote for the Cathedral which he built at Milan.

“The entire accent, and style of chanting as regulated by him, was undoubtedly an artistic and cultivated improvement on that of preceding church services, such as would naturally result from the rare combination of piety, zeal, intellect, and poetical and musical power by which he was distinguished.” The Ambrosian chant was eventually merged, but certainly not lost in that vast repertory of plain song, (whether then ancient or modern,) which we now call Gregorian, from the name of the next great reformer of church music, St. Gregory the Great.[253] St. Ambrose died A. D. 397; it was but a short time afterwards that the great invasion of the northern barbarians took place. The history of the vicissitudes of the ecclesiastical music, during the general disruption of Europe and the western civilization, which followed, can only be imagined; but scarcely had a calm been re-established, when, at a period when the reforms and inventions of St. Ambrose had not been vitiated or lost, the great reformer of church music arose, and re-instated the art upon a firmer pedestal than ever.

Gregory, the Great, born about A. D. 540, and pope from September 3, 590, to March 12, 604, was of an illustrious Roman family. His father Gordianus, was a senator, and Felix III., one of the early pontiffs, was among his ancestors. He was one of the most remarkable, zealous, and intelligent of the fathers of the church.

We have here only to follow his musical work, but in every branch of work connected with his church, he was most eminent. He founded six monasteries in Sicily alone. He voluntarily resigned an honorable office, to leave the world, and seek retirement in the monastery of St. Andrew, which he himself had founded at Rome. On this occasion he gave to the poor all his wealth, and declining the abbacy of his own convent, began with the ordinary monastic life, about 575.

He wished to attempt the conversion of the Britains, (moved thereto by the well known incident of seeing some beautiful Anglo-Saxon youths exposed for sale in the Roman market place), but was prevented by the clamor of the populace who refused to lose him. Like St. Ambrose, he was called to office entirely against his will, and, on being made pontiff, he seems to have excelled in every department of his administration; thus much, to show that music was but one of the fields in which this wonderful man exercised his talents.

He collected the available church music, he added to it by composing new hymns and anthems, he arranged them for the various special days of the year, he invented or amplified the system of ecclesiastical composition, and took care that the reforms should be permanent, by having most things relative to his musical labors, written out in a lasting manner.[254]

These reforms he began about A. D. 599. He did not discard the four modes of St. Ambrose, but rather extended them; and yet (through the great personal popularity of St. Ambrose), the Milan Cathedral kept the Ambrosian chant unadulterated, for centuries after the establishment of the Gregorian.

As late as the latter half of the fifteenth century, Franchinus Gafor speaks of the Gregorians and Ambrosians as partizans. Of course, in order to secure uniformity, the rulers of Europe, sought to dwarf the workings of the Ambrosian system, and Charlemagne even ordered the Ambrosian books to be burnt. Although, as above stated, there was nothing antagonistic in the two systems, yet their musical results seem to have had a material difference, for Radulf of Tongern an unimpeachable witness of the fourteenth century, who heard both methods in their purity, says that he found the Ambrosian chanting, widely different from the Roman (Gregorian); the former being strong and majestic, while the latter was sweet-toned, and well arranged.[255] This distinction is utterly meaningless to us, for the Gregorian chant is certainly majestic and strong, at least to our ears.

Gregory also founded a singing school in Rome, which was large enough to occupy two good-sized edifices. In this he probably taught personally.

There have been shown as relics of his instruction, the couch on which he sat while teaching, and the rod with which the boys were corrected, or awed into giving proper attention to their studies.

The amplification which he made in the Ambrosian scale was the addition of four tones or plagal modes, and also that he totally abolished the difficult Greek nomenclature, such as para-mese and proslambanomenos, and gave the names of the first seven letters of the Roman alphabet, to the seven notes, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, in the same manner as used to-day. There is no question but that the scale founded by Gregory, had a diatonic character, but as to the number of systems of tones employed, authorities differ, and even the books of music of Gregory’s own compilation (one of which was chained to the altar at St. Peters, to fix the standard of tone for ever and ever) do not clear up the difficulty, for the number differs.

But the system gradually settled itself, and eight tones only (our ordinary diatonic scale tones) were found practicable for composition and singing.

Gregory’s system was founded on the division of the octave into two intervals; a perfect fifth and perfect fourth. The fifth was, next to the octave, the most important interval.

The added modes (called plagal, signifying “oblique, sideways”), were so called to distinguish them from the authentic tones or keys (D, E, F, G, A), a synopsis of the entire set of tones would be as follows,—

A,	B,	C,	D,	E,	F,	G,	A,	B,	C,	D,
plagal 4,
			authentic 5,
							plagal 4.

There were four authentic modes, viz.,—D, E, F and G, and four plagal, as follows,—A, B, C and D.

To give a description that would be at all adequate, of the system of Gregory, would require much space, and many plates and engravings. We shall therefore touch but lightly on the tone systems and notations of the early and middle ages. The founding of the scale from a fifth and fourth, led to one grave mistake; these intervals were supposed to be of prime importance, and more perfect than others, and finally were employed in harmonies which were decidedly harsh. But to such an extent did the evil spread that no composition (in the dark ages) was thought to be pure or classic, without containing a series of fourths, fifths, and octaves, and an invariable close upon an empty fifth. Thirds were rejected as totally impure. But these faults are not of Gregory’s origination, and he must ever stand as the man who made the connecting link between the old Greek music and our own.

CHAPTER XXII.
MUSIC IN EUROPE FROM THE FIFTH CENTURY.

In proceeding to briefly sketch the curious facts of musical history in the dark ages, we shall necessarily confine ourselves to pointing out only what is chiefly remarkable, and shall not enter into the field of dispute regarding systems and notations, for this period of Musical History is a very hazy one. It is but natural to suppose, that when general barbarism spread over Europe, music was not likely to be either much practised or written about. The last writer on the previous systems was Boethius (the last of old Roman writers), who lived at about the same epoch as Gregory (he was put to death by Theodoric, the Goth, A. D. 525).

In his work, he uses the letters of the alphabet, to designate musical notes, but does not repeat the letters at the octave; his nomenclature therefore does not end at G, but continues on, to N, O, and P.[256]

Musical progress was at a stand still from the time of Gregory, until the reign of the Carlovingian kings. Charlemagne at the end of the eighth, and beginning of the ninth centuries, took all art and music under his powerful protection. He loved to compare himself with King David, and had in many respects, good reason to, for he possessed both the virtues and the failings of that ancient monarch.

He gathered about him a number of musical and literary friends, and we can judge of the pleasant manner of their intercourse by the names of antiquity which each one was known by. Alcuin, was dubbed Flaccus Albinus; Riculf, Archbishop of Mayence,—Damoetas; Arno,—Aquila; Angilbert,—Homerus, etc.[257]

In addition to the literary and musical schools founded throughout his empire, in his own palace was one devoted to the education of the children of his servants. Books were read, and music sung to his courtiers, during the hours of dining or other leisure.

The singing at his court, he often conducted himself, and every one was obliged to participate. If a stranger arrived, he was also obliged to stand with the chorus, and even if he could not sing, at least to make the semblance of doing so.

In the conservation of ancient legendary songs Charlemagne was very active, and many which have come down to our day, owe their existence to his wise and thoughtful care.[258]

In church music he was, most of all, interested, and remarked with much concern, the variations between the Gregorian and French singing. To put an end to the matter, he sent to Stephen IV., the reigning pope, for ecclesiastical singers; the latter responded by sending, (in imitation of the twelve apostles,) twelve clerical singers to teach his empire.

But these twelve apostles, turned out to be all Judases, for jealous of the rising civilization of France, they agreed among themselves, not to aid in its rise. When therefore, they had been received at the French court with every honor, and were sent to their various fields of labor, it is said, they began to sing in a most wretched manner, and not content with that, they taught this abomination to their pupils. But when Charlemagne celebrated Christmas at Tours that year, and in Paris the succeeding year, he heard other Roman vocalists sing in a manner totally different, and lost no time in making complaint to the pope, who, calling back the untrustworthy teachers, punished them, some with banishment, and some with perpetual imprisonment; and in order that a similar deceit might not again be practised, he persuaded Charlemagne to send two French Ecclesiastics to Rome, where under Papal supervision they learned the true Gregorian style of song.[259]

There also exists another anecdote of the ruling of Charlemagne in church singing, which will show how high partizan feeling ran in musical matters at this era. It is as follows,—

“The most pious King Charles having returned to celebrate Easter at Rome with the apostolic Lord, a great quarrel ensued during the festival, between the Roman and Gallic singers. The French pretended to sing better and more agreeable than the Italians; the Italians, on the contrary, regarding themselves as more learned in Ecclesiastical music, in which they had been instructed by St. Gregory, accused their competitors of corrupting, disfiguring, and spoiling the new chant. The dispute being brought before our sovereign lord the king, the French, thinking themselves sure of his countenance and support, insulted the Roman singers; who, on their part, emboldened by superior knowledge, and comparing the musical abilities of their great master, St. Gregory, with the ignorance and rusticity of their rivals, treated them as fools and barbarians.”

“As their altercation was not likely to come to a speedy issue, the most pious King Charles asked his chanters which they thought to be the purest and best water, that which was drawn from the source at the fountain-head, or that which after being mixed with turbid and muddy rivulets, was found at a great distance from the original spring?”

“They exclaimed unanimously, that all water must be most pure at its source; upon which our lord the King, said, ‘mount ye then up to the pure fountain of St. Gregory, whose chant ye have manifestly corrupted.’ After this our lord the king, applied to Pope Adrian (the first) for singing masters to convert the Gallican chant; and the pope appointed for that purpose Theodore and Benedict, two chanters of great learning and abilities, who had been instructed by St. Gregory himself; he likewise granted to him Antiphonaria, or choral-books of that saint, which he had himself written in Roman notes.”

“Our lord the King, on his return to France, sent one of the two singers granted him by the Pope, to Metz, and the other to Soissons; commanding all the singing masters of his kingdom to correct their antiphonaria, and to conform in all respects to the Roman manner of performing the church service.”

“Thus were the French antiphonaria corrected, which had before been vitiated, interpolated, and abridged at the pleasure of every choir man, and all the chanters of France learned from the Romans that chant which they now call the French chant, which is entirely as the Roman except that the French do not execute the tremulus and vinnulas, the bound and staccato notes (collisibiles vel secabiles voces), with facility, and give a rather rude and throaty manner of singing. The best style of singing remained in Metz, and as superior as Rome is to Metz, so superior is Metz to the rest of France, in its school of singing.”[260]

Both the above anecdotes, although quoted very frequently, must be taken cum grano salis, for as Ambros and Fetis well observe, the two singers, if they had received instruction from Gregory, and also taught in the era of Charlemagne, must have been about two hundred years of age, which is certainly too old for active service. Another historian gives the names of the envoys as Petrus and Romanus, and it is certain that one of these did go to Metz, and that a famous school of singing was founded at Soissons about the same time. Both the teachers, also must have instructed the French, in the musical characters then used in notation, and known by the name of Neumes.

The Neumes which were in use for musical writing from the eighth to the twelfth century were short lines, twirls, and hooks, which were written above the words of a song to denote the melody.

The origin of these marks, is buried in oblivion, for they seem to have been developed, not at one time, but gradually, and from the simplest beginnings. Although we have not space to describe the theories concerning them, a short explanation of them is necessary, for from these Neumes gradually came our modern system of notation. At first these marks were only meant as guides to memory; to aid the singer to sing an air which he had previously learned. Thus the first bar of “Home Sweet Home,” would be represented by a Scandicus signifying three upward moving tones, the first two short, the last one long.

The exclamation and interrogation point, are in language, what Neumes were at first in music, they roughly sketched out the inflection of the voice. The connection between them, and our modern notation is very evident; in our musical notation the requirements of the eye, have been well attended to; not entirely perhaps, as regards the length of notes, but certainly in the matter of ascending and descending passages, etc.;[261] the old Greek notation, with its upturned and fragmentary letters, meant nothing to the untutored eye; but the Neumes of the middle ages, were the first attempt to express a meaning by their arrangement. Thus the tripunctum (

) would denote three notes ascending, though not which ones; it might mean

C,	D,	E,	or	E,	F,	G,	or	F,	G,	A,
do,	re,	mi,		mi,	fa,	sol,		fa,	sol,	la,

etc., the bipunctum (

) two ascending, or (

) descending notes; the plica ascendens (

) an upward spring of a third, etc.

It being a system which was evolved by slow degrees, it is not astonishing that there are various signs, about which opinions differ. The system though seemingly barbarous, was in reality an improvement; although not developed so extensively as the Greek notation which preceded it, it bore the germ of a more natural style of musical characters.

But the constant change of, and addition to the Neumes, bore evidence, that it was but a pathway to a more complete system. The next great reformer in music gave his attention to abolishing the uncertainty which clung around the pneumata.

Hucbald, Monk of St. Amand, in Flanders, (born about 840, died 932,) made the first practical effort to fix notes permanently. To him is due the germ of the idea which afterwards culminated in the modern clefs and staff.

He took (unfortunately) the Greek system for his starting point, and this led him into many errors, and much lessened the permanent value of his work. He took the tetrachord (or succession of four notes) as the foundation of music, but he applied it in a most strange manner; his scale was as follows:[262]

G, A, B flat,

C, D, E, F,

G, A, B natural,

C, D, E, F sharp,

G, A, B, C sharp,

it will be readily seen that the above scale contains some incongruities, which are precisely similar to those noticed in the music of the Hindoos; that is the octave comes out a semi-tone sharp; B natural being octave to B flat, F sharp to F, etc.

Naturally, in singing it is not to be conceived that the singers took any such outlandish system as to substitute this for an octave, but it must have allowed great license to the singers, and the whole must have given rise to much ambiguity.

His improvement in the method of notation consisted (a perfect anticipation of clef and staff) in placing the letters of the notes employed, before each line of the words, and then writing each syllable of the song, opposite to (and level with) the note to which it belonged. As he adopted the clumsy Greek method of lettering (using only four letters, and placing them upright, reversed, backwards, and sideways) we will give an example with English letters.[263]

A			a-
G		da-		te			num
F	Lau-					mi-		de-
E					do-				e
D										cœlis

The words being “Laudate Dominum de cœlis.”

The harmony of Hucbald was as peculiar and barbaric as his scale system.

He followed the principle of the ancients in treating intervals of thirds and sixths as dissonances, and therefore did not allow them to appear in his works. In common with some of his predecessors, he held that the only pure intervals were fifths and fourths. To us this succession of discords appears most appalling, but it is probable that in the practical use of music it was ameliorated somewhat. At this time when the organ was in such a primitive state that the organist struck the keys heavily with his fist in playing, the left fist was sometimes allowed to hold a tone (in the manner of an organ point), while the right played a succession of tones with the singers. The constant rejection of sixths and thirds as impure intervals, must ever remain a mystery to us; yet the effect of even this harsh and uncouth singing was deep on those who heard it. History tells us that King Canute was deeply impressed on hearing the monks chant, while being rowed in his boat, near a monastery, and a lady upon hearing the music of the first organ erected in France, went raving mad, from excess of emotion.

We will leave the rude harmonies of Hucbald, with a final example showing the succession of fourths used in his organum (or art of composing).

The letters T, and S, signify tone and semitone.

Do-

T

mini

T

Sit

oria

in

cula

bitur

S

glo-

Do-

sae-

ta

T

mini

lae-

} etc.

T

Sit

oria

in

cula

bitur

S

glo-

sae-

ta

T

lae-

Sometimes four voices were thus written on a staff of fifteen lines. Although this system was so cumbrous, yet the right path had been attained, and the progress was continual; little inventions followed one upon the other, and many of the modern usages in music date their rise to this obscure age of Musical History.

The next great name, in the art, is that of Guido Aretino, or of Arezzo, a monk of the Benedictine order, born at Arezzo. He flourished about A. D. 1030 though the date of his birth and death, is not accurately known. His work has had more influence in shaping modern music, than that of any one before him. Yet much of his life and work belongs to the hazy realm of legend. He attained such celebrity that every invention to which his successors could not find a father, was attributed to him.

Guido’s great success lay in the fact that he was a specialist. He did not undertake, like Gregory and Ambros, to shine in all art, science, and enterprise; his position precluded that; he says “The ways of Philosophers are not mine, I only occupy myself with what can be of use to the church, and bring our little ones (the scholars) forward.”

There was need of such a man; for though music teachers were sought in every country at this time, and those from Italy, Greece, France and even Germany, were highly prized, yet there were many who presumed on this state of affairs, and the consequence was that incompetent teachers were the rule. To remedy this great evil was the aim of Guido’s life.

He says some of these would-be teachers, “If they sang in their aimless manner, every day, for a hundred years, they would not invent even the slightest new Antiphon, and he who cannot easily and correctly sing a new song, by what right can he call himself a musician or singer?

“At the service of God, it too often sounds, not as if we were praising Him, but as if we were quarrelling, and scolding among ourselves.”

He devoted himself greatly, to the teaching of a most important branch of singing, i. e., sight reading, and soon brought his cloister class to such perfection in this that they astonished all beholders. He was not however, as mild-mannered a reformer as his predecessor in art, Hucbald. His bitter sarcasms on his brother monks, soon brought a result, and he found himself though not actually chased from his convent, yet ostracized in it.

But he was well able to sustain such a strife, and continued his work with zeal unabated. His style of teaching sight reading was far in advance of his competitors, for he taught his scholars to sing intervals, not by referring to the monochord, but instead of it to think of some similar interval in any hymn well known to them, thus combining thought, memory and musical ear, in a practical manner.

He was struck with the regularly ascending intervals of the first syllables of each line of the hymn in honor of St. John, and with the inspiration of genius attached the syllables ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la, to the notes, and caused his scholars to memorize each interval, thus forming a new and easily comprehended system of Solfeggio. The hymn which inspired this wonderful stride in music runs,

Ut—queant laxis.

Re—sonare fibris.

Mi—ra gestorum.

Fa—muli tuorum.

Sol—ve polluti.

La—bia reati.

Sancte Johannes.

The fame of his wonderful results in choir-training, soon reached Rome, and the Pope, John XIX.,[264] sent an invitation to the still ostracized monk, to come to Rome.

Guido is credited with having made many changes in the notation and harmony of his day. The hexachord system is attributed (justly or unjustly) to him. He also is said to have introduced lines of different colors into the staff, for the purpose of aiding the singer to recognize certain notes with more facility. He says in his Micrologus[265] “In order that sounds may be discerned with certainty, we mark some lines with various colors, so that the eye may immediately distinguish a note, in whatever place it may be. For the third of the scale [C] a bright saffron line. The sixth [F] adjacent to C is of bright vermilion, and the proximity of others to these colors, will be an index to the whole. If there were neither letter, nor colored lines to the Neumes, it would be like having a well without a rope—the water plentiful, but of no use to those who see it.”

While Guido does not lay claim to having invented the colored lines, it is probable that he brought them, by his influence into much more general use.

He certainly invented a modification of the line system of Hucbald. Instead of the inverted letters, and fragments of letters which the latter used, he employed the vowels only, to designate the pitch, thus,—

tu-

u

so-

os

o

F

ri-

ri

lis

u-

i

ve-

ter

ber-

e

Ma-

a

Ma-

a

a

“Maria, veri solis mater, ubera tuos.”

Guido, altered Hucbald’s Organum in so far, that he rejected consecutive fifths, as being too harsh, and substituted a series of consecutive fourths as being milder.

It may not be out of place to remark here, that the present scrupulous avoidance of all consecutive fifths, in modern composition of strict school, is simply a reaction from the rude taste of past centuries, which employed them ad nauseum; there is no valid reason for their complete ostracism, any more than there was cause for the banishing of all sixths and thirds from the harmony of our ancestors. To Guido is also attributed the invention of the method of the harmonical hand (Guidonian hand, as it has been named after its supposed originator). This consisted of marking certain notes and musical signs on the tips of the fingers, and by this means more readily committing them to memory. As before stated, many of the inventions credited to Guido, are only adaptations. The Sol-faing system was almost an accidental occurrence; yet only genius can derive full profit from accidents. The hymn which gave rise to it (quoted above), is a most prosaic invocation to St. John to save the throats of the singers from hoarseness, in order that they may fittingly sing his praise. A very diplomatic way of requesting it.

Musical history in the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries is at its darkest; hence little is positively known of the life of Guido. It is certain that he was in great favor at Rome, and that other countries applied to him for his musical services to reorganize their ecclesiastical chanting, and also that his health failing, he returned to his monastery, forgetting and forgiving the ill treatment he had received there, and in its cloisters peacefully ended his days.

The date of his decease is not known.

Other names appear in this misty epoch in musical history. Franco of Cologne, Walter Odington, an English Monk, Heeronymus von Maehren, etc., wrote works upon the theory of music, while Adam de la Hale (of Arras, France) wrote music in four-part harmony, about the year 1280. But in the midst of this darkness there came a glorious sunburst in the shape of chivalric bands who elevated music to a broader sphere by adding to the ecclesiastical chanting a secular school of composition, both warlike and lyrical.

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE ANCIENT BARDS.

While Rome and Milan were devoting themselves almost entirely to ecclesiastical music, there had sprung up among the barbarian nations a school of music more consonant to their habits, being warlike in its style, and having for its object the celebration of the heroes of each country, and the inciting of their descendants to similar deeds of glory. From earliest days Wales has possessed a guild of such singers, who were, in fact, the historians of the country, at a time when written books would have been nearly useless. The songs of the Welsh bards have been preserved traditionally by that people; while the songs of the druids who preceded them have been allowed to pass into utter oblivion, the latter having, evidently, not taken deep root in Welsh soil.

At the commencement of the sixth century, the bards of Wales exerted all their energies of exhortation to animate their countrymen in the strife with the Saxon invaders, and when Wales was conquered by Edward I., (1284) he dreaded their influence so much that he is said to have persecuted them and put them to death. The bards in Wales had an organization similar to that which we shall presently find among the troubadours and minne-singers. They were divided into two classes,—poets, and musicians. Each of these classes were subdivided into three divisions. The first class of poet-bards was composed of those who understood history, and dabbled somewhat in sorcery, thus being held in awe as prophets and diviners. The second class consisted of bards attached to private families, whose duties were to chant the praises of the heroes of their particular house. The third class were the heraldic bards, who wrote the national annals and prescribed the laws of etiquette and precedence. These must have exerted a powerful influence on a nation which clung so strictly to ceremony and the privileges of lineage.

The musicians were also divided into three classes, of which the first were harpers, and possessed the title of Doctors of Music; the second class were the players upon the crouth or chrotta, a smaller stringed instrument; the third class consisted of the singers. Many laws and regulations were made to define the privileges of each class, and the classification of new bards took place at an assemblage called the Eisteddfod, which met triennially, and conferred degrees. The highest degree could only be obtained after nine years faithful study. From the thirteenth century Wales also possessed a class of wandering musicians entitled, “Clery dom.” The harps used were various, though the three-stringed one was the national instrument. One variety was made of leather, strung with wire, and is said to have been peculiarly harsh; another called isgywer was so small that it could be played on horseback; another was strung with hair. The order of the bards was hereditary to some extent. King Howel Dha issued edicts regarding them (fixing their rank) about 940 A. D., and in 1078 the whole order was reformed and full regulations made by Gryffith ap Conan. In spite of the persecutions to which they were subjected, the order was sustained for centuries, and Eisteddfods were held under royal commission down to the reign of Queen Elizabeth.

In Ireland minstrelsy has had a foothold in all times. There is a legend that about the year 365 B. C., there occurred in Ireland the first triumph of poetry and music. A young prince, driven from his throne by a usurper, was so moved by a song which his betrothed wrote and caused Craftine, a celebrated bard, to sing to him, that he resolved on hazarding a supreme effort to regain his crown, and succeeded in driving the usurper from his kingdom.

The Irish claim that they were the originators of the Welsh system of bards, but this statement seems to be founded rather on national pride than upon fact, for it is probable that the borrowing was upon the other side. But it is certain that the Irish have ever possessed musical taste and skill.

Gyraldus Cambriensis (who wrote in the twelfth century) says of them: “The aptitude of this people for performing upon musical instruments is worthy of attention.”

“They have in this respect, much more ability than any nation I have ever seen. The modulations are not with them slow and sad, like those of the instruments of Britain, to which we are accustomed, but the sounds, though rapid and precipitate, are yet sweet and soothing.”[266] The harp was, as in Wales, the national instrument. The bards were a hereditary class, and their guild, as in Wales, had three divisions; the Filedha, who sang both about religious and martial subjects, and were also heralds to the nobility; Braitheamhain, who chanted the laws; and the Seanachaidehe, who were the musical and poetical chroniclers and historians. Their influence and privileges were fully as great as those of their Welsh brethren, and they had many valuable possessions of land. Their skill was universally acknowledged up to their conquest by Henry II., but from that epoch the profession began to decline, although noble families still made it a point of honor to keep private bards to sing to them of the deeds of the ancestors of their house.

The influence which these songs exerted in fomenting rebellion was such, that severe laws were promulgated against them in England, and under Elizabeth all the Irish bards who were captured, were hanged.

The last Irish hard existed as late as the eighteenth century.

Turlogh O’Carolan was born 1670, and died 1737; worthily closing the long reign of the fiery minstrel guild of Ireland.

Scotland’s bardism, was similar to that of Wales and Ireland, but the ranks and privileges are less known. The bag-pipe was played as much as the harp, and there was much analogy in the ancient music of Ireland and Scotland. The scale on which the Scotch pieces were founded, bears much resemblance to the Chinese, and to some of the Hindoo modes.

In England there were also bards, but there was not an order, as in the preceding countries, and at a time when these heraldic singers were so highly honored in Wales, the singers and musicians of England were held in very slight social estimation. The irruptions of the Danes, and Norsemen generally, upon England in the ninth, tenth and eleventh centuries, brought a taste of the forcible Northern sagas along with them, and when King Canute held the throne, bards and “gleemen,” were protected and favored, for King Canute was very fond of song. He, himself, wrote a song which was for a long time the favorite ballad of England.

The circumstances which prompted it were as follows:—

He was being rowed near the Monastery of Ely, in the evening, when the sound of the monks singing their vesper chants, came across the water; he was greatly moved by the beauty of the song, which, with the accessories of the tranquil evening, the rippling water, and the measured stroke of the oars, caused him to improvise upon the spot, a song which soon spread among the peasantry as well as the higher classes.

Only one stanza has been preserved of this interesting effusion,—

“Merie sungen the muneches binnen Ely,

Tha Cnute Ching, reu ther by

Rowe cnihtes, næw the land,

And here we thes muneches sæng,”

which may be rendered in English thus:—

“Sweetly sang the Monks of Ely,

As King Canute rowed there by,

Row men, nearer to the shore

And hear we these Monks’ song.”

The minstrels of England from the first, took a more peaceful and religious turn than those of Wales and Ireland. The most of the really authentic pieces of their era, take the shape of Christmas carols.

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE TROUBADOURS AND MINNE-SINGERS.

We now come to an era in music, where the most cultivated minds gave their attention to the art; and where it is no longer confined to the narrow channels of ecclesiastical, and even heraldic and martial use, but finds a broader outlet in the subjects of Love, and Nature. The troubadours were gentlemen (often knights), who held themselves totally distinct from those musicians who wrote for pay. The rise of chivalry in the middle ages, elevated woman from an unjustly low position, to an absurdly high one. She was held to be the arbiter of Fate; the Queen to whom all service was due; and was almost religiously worshipped. From this exaggerated devotion arose the school of troubadour and minne-singer composition. When knights racked their brains, as to what new offering they could bring to their lady, it was but natural that they should find, in the combination of poetry and song, a series of never-ending tributes with which they could pay homage to their chosen one.

It is easy to imagine that once launched into this fertile field, they would not wholly confine themselves to Love, but that an occasional poem on Nature, or War, would attest their versatility so that even the puerile “Courts of Love,” of the chivalric age, brought a general onward impulse to art; it was not to be expected that the knights could step at once from a condition of rudeness, to a state of culture, and it is not surprising to see a vast exaggeration of politeness, where little had been before.

In the beautiful country of Provence (South France), this branch of art took its rise. The lyrical songs of the troubadours were written in the Provencal tongue, which soon became, for all South France the court language for amatory poetry. It was called also the Langue d’oc (from the affirmative “Oc,” or “yes”), to distinguish it from the Lingua di Si (Italian) and the Langue d’öil (North France); the name afterwards was attached to another province of France. The Trouvères, were the poets and minstrels of North France, and wrote in the langue d’öil. They wrote chiefly epic poetry, (fables, tales and romances), while the lyrical school was left to their southern competitors.

The troubadours composed and sang their own songs, but did not play their own accompaniments; that branch of music was turned over to hired musicians, called jongleurs.

Celebrated troubadours had often several jongleurs in their employ. Those who made music a means of gaining a livelihood, were classed much lower. All in fact who did not invent (“Trobar,” to find, or invent, whence comes the word trobador) their own songs, but sang or accompanied others, were called jongleurs, which was about as ordinary a trade as that of our perambulating “jugglers;” whose name is only a corruption of the more ancient calling.

The troubadours had a position which was even better than that of the bards of Wales or Ireland. They also made a livelihood of music, but in a far more genteel way than their humbler assistants, who were proscribed for so doing. The first thing the troubadour did, on practising his art was to seek out some person on whom to bestow his heart. This person was almost invariably a married lady. To her, he would then dedicate all his lays; he would (bestowing upon her, an assumed name), sing of her beauties, and entreat her favors; he would sneer at the charms of other dames, and sometimes satirize them.

The feelings of the husband during all this can “better be imagined than described.”

Yet often the dame, may have been totally indifferent to his ardor. We feel sure that at times this was the case, for husbands are known to have begged their wives to accept the troubadour’s flattery, and keep him on, with slight encouragement.

Meanwhile the singers went on from Court to Court, received as equals, by the highest; flattered and sought for by the most brilliant circles, and fairest ladies. Often they attached themselves to some particular prince, and gained his favor and enriched themselves by singing sirventes (songs of service) in his honor, and in derision of his enemies.

The nobles and kings of that era, also took up the Troubadour’s lyre, at times. Richard I., Alfonso X., William IX. Count of Poitiers and others were famous for their efforts in this line, and they richly patronized such troubadours as sought them.

The gifts with which a successful song was rewarded, were of course influenced by the liberality of the giver. Horses, richly caparisoned, elegant vestments, and money, are mentioned in this connection.[267] Meanwhile the troubadours occasionally display the utmost contempt for their assistants, the before mentioned jongleurs, and reproach nobles, in some verses, with receiving such persons (who play at village fairs, dance on the tight rope, and exhibit performing monkeys), into their castles. Yet not all of the poets shared in this feeling, for Boccaccio tells us that Dante loved to associate with the musicians who set his canzone to music. In the thirteenth century, Guirant Riquier (called the “last of the troubadours”) complains to the king of Castile, Alfonso X., of the decadence of the troubadour’s art, and attributes it to the indiscriminate mixing of troubadours and jongleurs, in popular estimation. He says—“You know that all men live in classes differing and distinguished from each other. Therefore it seems to me that such a distinction of names ought also to be made amongst the joglars; for it is unjust that the best of them should not be distinguished by name as well as they are by deed. It is unfair that an ignorant man of small learning, who knows a little how to play some instrument, and strums it in public places, for whatever people will give him, or one who sings low ditties to low people about the streets and taverns, and takes alms without shame from the first comer,—that all these should indiscriminately go by the name of joglars ... for joglaria was invented by wise men to give joy to good people by their skill in playing on instruments.... After that came the troubadours to record valiant deeds, and to praise the good, and encourage them in their noble endeavor.... But in our days, and for some time past, a set of people without sense and wisdom have undertaken to sing and compose stanzas and play on instruments,”[268] etc.

The poor troubadour desired the king to classify them, and to title the best. The king’s answer is extant, wherein he endeavored to do so, but as the real essence and life had departed from the whole institution, it was unavailing.

The troubadours often had poetical combats, when they would indulge in a verse-battle about some “Law of Love,” and the judges were selected from the fairest and wittiest of the noble dames. These were called the “Courts of Love.”

The muse of some of them seems to have taken a most curious turn, for there are still in existence some “Essenhamens,” or books of etiquette for young ladies, which emanated from these lyrical pens, which are of the quaintest description. We reproduce a quotation from one, written by “Amanieus des Escas, called God of Love.”[269]

In this treatise we are supplied with a minute account of the accomplishments expected from a well educated young lady, and of the bad habits most prejudicial to her character. The poet is supposed to be addressing a noble damsel living at the court of some great baron, as a sort of ‘lady help’ to his wife; this being a not unusual, and undoubtedly a most efficient method of polite education in Provence. The young lady has accosted Amanieus on a lonely walk, asking for his advice in matters fashionable. This the poet at first refuses to tender, alleging that “you (the damsel) have ten times as much sense as I, and that is the truth!” But after his modest scruples are once overcome, he launches forth into a flood of good counsel. He systematically begins with enforcing the good old doctrine of ‘early to rise,’ touches delicately on the mysteries of the toilet, such as lacing, washing of arms, hands, and head, which, he sententiously adds, ought to go before the first mentioned process, and, after briefly referring to the especial care required by teeth and nails, he leaves the dressing room for the church, where a quiet undemonstrative attitude is recommended; the illicit use of the eyes and tongue being mentioned amongst the temptations peculiarly to be avoided.

Directions of similar minuteness assist the young lady at the dinner table; the cases in which it would be good taste, and those in which it would be the reverse, to invite persons to a share of the dishes within her reach are specified; and the rules as to carving, washing one’s hands before and after dinner, and similar matters, leave nothing to be desired. ‘Always temper your wine with water, so that it cannot do you harm,’ is another maxim of undeniable wisdom.

After dinner follows the time of polite conversation in the sala (drawing room), the arbour, or on the battlements of the castle; and now the teachings of Amanieus become more and more animated, and are enlivened occasionally by practical illustrations of great interest. “And if at this season,” he says “a gentleman takes you aside, and wishes to talk of courtship to you, do not show a strange or sullen behavior, but defend yourself with pleasant repartees. And if his talk annoys you; and makes you uneasy, I advise you to ask him questions, for instance:—‘Which ladies do you think are more handsome, those of Gascony or of England, and which are more courteous, and faithful, and good? And if he says those of Gascony, answer without hesitation; Sir, by your leave, English ladies are more courteous than those of any other country. But if he prefers those of England, tell him Gascon ladies are much better behaved, and thus carry on the discussion, and call your companions to you to decide the questions.’”

We also give two extracts from the poems of that famous troubadour, Bertrand De Born. He was a poet far more given to martial songs, than to the lyrical muse. His enemies dreaded his pen as much as his sword. He describes his belligerent qualities without any exaggeration, for he was literally never contented except when at war with some of his neighbors. One of his poems (addressed to a lady) begins smoothly enough, but before he is half done, he breaks into an abrupt praise of fighting.

In the following, he warns Williams of Gordon, against Richard of Poitou, and hurls invective at the latter.

“I love you well,” Bertrand says, “but my enemies want to make a fool and a dupe of you, and the time seems long to them before they see you in their ranks.” “To Perigeux, close to the wall, so that I can throw my battle axe over it, I will come well armed, and riding on my horse, Bayard; and if I find the glutton of Poitou[270] he shall know the cut of my sword. A mixture of brain and splinters of iron he shall wear on his brow.”

Here follows a frank avowal of his delight in war.

“All day long,” he says, “I fight, and am at work, to make a thrust at them and defend myself, for they are laying waste my land, and burning my crops; they pull up my trees by the roots, and mix my corn with the straw. Cowards and brave men are my enemies. I constantly disunite and sow hatred among the barons, and then remould and join them together again, and try to give them brave hearts and strong; but I am a fool for my trouble, for they are made of base metal.”

We cannot better take leave of the troubadours than by giving two additional specimens of the writing of Bertrand de Born.

The first is an ingenious poem. He has quarreled with his lady, and as a means of reconciliation he borrows from all the famous beauties of his time, their special charm, and gives them all to his love. The second song will explain itself.[271]

Domna, puois de mi no us cal,

E partit m’aretz de vos, &c.

Lady, since thou hast driven me forth,

Since thou, unkind, hast banished me,

(Though cause of such neglect be none,)

Where shall I turn from thee?

Ne’er can I see

Such joy as I have seen before,

If, as I fear, I find no more

Another fair, from thee removed,

I’ll sigh to think I e’er was loved.

And since my eager search were vain,

One lovely as thyself to find;

A heart so matchlessly endow’d,

Or manner so refined,

So gay, so kind,

So courteous, gentle, debonair,—

I’ll rove, and catch from every fair

Some winning grace and form a whole,

So glad (till thou return) my soul.

The roses of thy glowing cheek,

Fair Sembelis, I’ll steal from thee;

That lovely smiling look I’ll take,

Yet rich thou shalt be,

In whom we see

All that can deck a lady bright,

And your enchanting converse, light,

Fair Ellis, will I borrow too,

That she in wit may shine like you.

And from the noble Chales, I

Will beg that neck of ivory white,

And her fair hands of loveliest form

I’ll take; and speeding, light,

My onward flight

Earnest at Roca Choart’s gate,

Fair Agnes I will supplicate

To grant her locks, more bright than those

Which Tristan loved on Iseult’s brows.

And Audiartz, though on me thou frown,

All that thou hast of courtesy

I’ll have,—thy look, thy gentle mien,

And all the unchanged constancy

That dwells with thee.

And Miels de Ben, on thee I’ll wait

For thy light shape so delicate,

That in thy fairy form of grace

My lady’s image I may trace

The beauty of those snow-white teeth

From thee, famed Faidit, I’ll extort,

The welcome, affable and kind,

To all the numbers that resort

Unto her court.

And Bels Miraills shall crown the whole,

With all her sparkling flow of soul;

Those mental charms that round her play,

For ever wise, yet ever gay.

---

Be in play lo douz temps de paseor

Que fais fuelhas e flors venir;

E play mi quant aug la baudor

Dels auzels que fan retentir

Lor chan per lo boscatge;

E plai me quan rey sus els pratz

Tendas e parallos fermetz;

Quan rey per campanhas rengatz

Cavalliers ab carals armatz.

The beautiful spring delights me well,

When flowers and leaves are growing;

And it pleases my heart to hear the swell

Of the birds’ sweet choruses flowing

In the echoing wood

And I love to see, all scatter’d around,

Pavillions, tents, on martial ground;

And my spirit finds it good

To see, on the level plains beyond,

Gay knights and steeds comparison’d.

It pleases me, when the lances bold

Set men and armies flying;

And it pleases me, too, to hear around

The voice of the soldiers crying;

And joy is mine

When the castles strong, totter and crack;

And I see the foemen join,

On the moated floor all compass’d round

With the palisade and guarded mound.

Lances and swords, and stained helms,

And shields dismantled and broken,

On the verge of the bloody battle scene,

The field of wrath betoken;

And the vassals are there,

And there fly the steeds of the dying and dead;

And where the mingled strife is spread,

The noblest warriors care

Is to cleave the foeman’s limbs and head,—

The conqueror less of the living than dead.

I tell you that nothing my soul can cheer,

Or banqueting or reposing,

Like the onset cry of “charge them” rung

From each side as in battle closing,

Where the horses neigh,

And the call to “aid” is echoing loud;

And there on the earth the lowly and proud

In the foes together lie;

And yonder is piled the mangled heap

Of the brave that scaled the trench’s steep.

Barons! your castles in safety place,

Your cities and villages too,

Before ye haste to the battle scene,

And, Papiol! quickly go,

And tell the lord of “Oc and No,”

That peace already too long hath been.

The Trouvères, were, as before intimated, the poet-musicians of North France. They wrote in a much more matter-of-fact manner than the troubadours, and wrote in the Langue d’öil, while the latter wrote in the Langue d’oc; two tongues as dissimilar as French and Italian, or English and Dutch.

There existed lady troubadours and trouvères; the works of some of them are extant, and do not in any way compare unfavorably with those of the other sex. Of course there are several solitary cases where the Norman poet would write a love song, and the Provencal a fable, but the general tendency was as above indicated.

Contemporary with the troubadours and trouvères, there arose in Germany, a similar order of singers, whose productions have been preserved, even more copiously than those of the southrons.

The minne-singers began their career in Germany, under the glorious reign of Barbarossa, (Frederic I.) in the last half of the twelfth century. The first name which we meet with is Henry of Veldig, yet it is a singular fact that he, the first of a new order of singers, begins by complaining of the decadence of the true minne-lied (love-song.) The word minne-singer means simply love-singer, i. e.—singer of love-songs. We give here, a verse of this early love-song, and have endeavored to give a translation, preserving the original metre (as nearly literal as possible) below it.

“Do man der rehten minne pflag

Da pflag man ouch der ehren;

Nu mag man naht und tag

Die bösen sitte leren:

Swer dis nu siht, und jens do sach,

O we! was der nu clagen mag

Tugende wend sich nu verkehren.”

“When true love had its proper sway,

Then honour too, was nourished

But now by night and day

All evil ways are cherished,

Who knows the past and present way,

Oh Woe! how well complain he may

Since every virtue now has perished.”

Almost all the lays of the minne-singers were written in the Swabian dialect which was then the court language of Germany. As a rule, their grace and elegance of diction was superior to that of the troubadours. They did not, like the latter, hire accompanists, or jongleurs, but played their own accompaniments on a viol. As in the South, emperors, princes, and knights, were proud to be known as minne-singers.

There exists a little epigram (ascribed to Frederic II.,) which we are tempted to reproduce, as it gives an insight to the qualities which were esteemed at that time.

“I like a cavalier Frances,[272]

And a Catalonian dame;

The courtesy of the Genoese

And Castilian dignity

The Provence songs,[273] my ears to please,

And the dance of the Trevisan;

The graceful form of the Arragoneze

And the pearl of the Julian;[274]

An English face and hands to see,

And a page of Tuscany.”[275]

The love songs of the Germans were not so fiery as those of Provence; while the adoration of the troubadour for his love went all lengths, the German knight rendered to his own a much quieter, (and chaster) species of homage. There were not such criminal passions (often ending in murder at the hands of the outraged husband) as in France. In epic poems this school was very successful, and that stateliest of German poems, “The Nibelungen-lied,” dates from about this time, although its author is not known.

The preservation of many of the songs of the Minne-singers is due to Rudiger of Manesse, a senator of Zurich (fourteenth century). To those who are desirous of seeing the main part of his collection we cannot do better than to recommend the excellent work of F. von der Hagen, (“Minne-sänger,” Manessische Sammlung), in which all the gems of this early growth of mediæval poetry are given. One peculiar species of their songs were called “Wacht-lieder” (Watch-songs), and represent the pleading of the knight, with the watchman of the castle, for admittance to his love; or the warning of the watchman to the lover in the castle, to avoid discovery by leaving while it was yet dark. We present the reader with a specimen (author unknown).

Vor tags ich hort, in liebes port, wohl diese wort,

Von wächters mund erklingen;

Ist jeman ji, vorborgen hie, derachte wie,

Er mog hindannen sprengen, &c.

I heard before the dawn of day

The watchman loud proclaim;—

“If any knightly lover stay

In secret with his dame,

Take heed the sun will soon appear;

Then fly, ye knights, your ladies dear,

Fly ere the day-light dawn.

“Brightly gleams the firmament,

In silvery splendor gay,

Rejoicing that the night is spent,

The lark salutes the day:

Then fly, ye lovers, and begone!

Take leave before the night is done,

And jealous eyes appear.”

That watchman’s call did wound my heart,

And banished my delight;

“Alas, the envious sun will part

Our loves, my lady bright.”

On me she looked with downcast eye,

Despairing at my mournful cry,

“We tarry here too long.”

Straight to the wicket did she speed;

“Good watchman spare thy joke!

Warn not my love, till o’er the mead

The morning sun has broke:

Too short, alas! the time, since here

I tarried with my leman dear,

In love and converse sweet.”

“Lady, be warn’d! on roof and mead

The dew-drops glitter gay,

Then quickly bid thy leman speed,

Nor linger till the day;

For by the twilight did I mark

Wolves hyeing to their covert dark,

And stags to covert fly.”

Now by the rising sun I view’d

In tears my lady’s face;

She gave me many a token good,

And many a soft embrace,

Our parting bitterly we mourn’d;

The hearts which erst with rapture burn’d,

Were cold with woe and care.

A ring, with glittering ruby red,

Gave me that lady sheen,

And with me from the castle sped

Along the meadow green;

And whilst I saw my leman bright,

She waved on high her ’kerchief white;

“Courage! To arms!” she cried.

In the raging fight each pennon white

Reminds me of her love;

In the field of blood, with mournful mood

I see her ’kerchief move;

Through foes I hew where’er I view

Her ruby ring, and blithely sing,

“Lady, I fight for thee.”

But the glory of the minne-singers was but short; the emperors of the house of Swabia, had fostered the art, by allowing an unheard-of liberty of speech and thought; with the downfall of that house (1256 A. D.) the church regained a continually-increasing ascendancy, and this liberty was again fettered. Song and poetry, especially of an amatory or frivolous (?) character were condemned, and the place of the pleasant school of minne-singer poetry was usurped by paraphrases of the Scriptures, hymns or legends, written either in very weak German or bad Latin; the school of German poetry took a very long retrograde step. Before leaving the minne-singers, a word must be said of their fables and tales; in these we find many modern ideas in a quaint and ancient dress, proverbs abound, and many tales of Roman History. “Don’t set the wolf to guard the Sheep,” “Never borrow trouble,”

“The king must die,

And so must I,”

and many other sage thoughts.

The tales are sometimes very prettily told. We have thought it worth while to translate one, which we believe, has not yet been seen in an English dress.

As far as possible we have adhered to the abruptness and quaintness of the original.

“At one time there was a king, who had but one son, who was very dear to him; the son demanded leave of absence from his father, and said that he wished to see the world, and wished to make friends. Then the king spoke ‘that pleases me well; but see that you do not have your labor in vain.’ The son was made ready for his journey, and remained seven years away; after that he returned to his home and his father, which pleased the father very much, and he said,—‘Dear son: how many friends hast thou earned in these three years? Then the son answered ‘only three; the first I love better than myself; the second as much as myself; and the third, not as well as myself.’ The father said ‘It is well to have friends, and it is well to try them; I counsel you to kill a hog, and put it in a sack, and go in the night to your friends and say, you met an old enemy on the street and killed him, and are afraid that if the dead body should be found on you, it would cost you your life, and beg him that he should, in such extremity, help you, and that he will allow you to bury the body in his house, that it may not be found on you; so you shall find out if you have good friends.’

This advice pleased the son well, so he went back again to the city where he knew he should find his friends; and killed one night, a hog, and did as his father had advised him to, and came to the friend whom he loved better than himself. When this one had heard his story, he said:—‘you killed him yourself, so suffer for it yourself; if it were found by me it would cost me my life; but because we are good friends and comrades, when you are caught, and when they are about to bill you, I will go to you, and will console you, and will buy many ells of cloth for you, wherein they may wind you and bury you; because you loved me more than yourself.’ When he heard this, he answered nothing but went to the other friend whom he loved as much as himself, and knocked at his door with the same tale as he had told to the first; this one said:—‘Dear one! do you suppose I am such a simpleton that I want to die for you? If it is found here then I must die; but if they kill you, then I will comfort you, because that we are friends, and will do it the best I can, since we must all die.’ When he heard this, he parted from him, and came to the third friend whom he did not love as well as himself. This one asked what was in the sack, which he came with. He said:—‘I can not say well, but I need help in this day; yet know that it has been my fate to kill a man, and I carry his body on my back, and if it is caught by me, then I must die, therefore I call on you for counsel; This one spoke;—‘Give me here the body, and let me carry it myself, for I will even die for you,’ and when he opened the sack he found that only a dead hog lay therein. After that the son went home and told the whole story to his father.”[276]

The end is of rather startling abruptness; we should have liked to have heard of the rewards and punishment, a la modern novel.

One song took its rise at this time which is even to-day a popular one, the world over. We refer to the music of the song now known as, “We won’t go Home till morning,” or “For he’s a jolly good fellow;” and known in France as “Malbrook s’en va-t-en Guerre.” This was a favorite air at the time of the crusades, and the crusaders often made it resound before Jerusalem.

The Arabs first knew the melody and have retained it to this day. The Arab fellahs will listen apathetically to the whole repertoire of a European orchestra; but the moment that the above tune is played, the whole aspect changes, and instead of a lifeless audience, the performers have the most enthusiastic of listeners.[277] In the course of descent from the Crusaders and ancient musicians, the tune has become a little quicker but is not changed in any material respect.

Some time after the decline of Minne-singing, an attempt was made to revive its glories, by musical competitions, somewhat similar in style; but the essence of the real “Minne” was gone; it was no longer the knight singing to his love, or telling in unaffected verse, the beauties of Nature. Instead of this, there was a competition of burgers and tradespeople, affecting a passion foreign to their nature, and caring far more for a stilted style of verse, than for the subject of it. Such were the Meister-singers;[278] Nuremburg was their chief seat, and like all the tradesmen of that age, they made their Guild a very close one. No one could be admitted as a Master, unless he invented a new style of rhyme. Almost all the members came from the lower classes, and the result of such tyros endeavoring to strike out paths which would have been difficult even to genius, can be imagined.

Hans Sachs (a Nuremberg shoe-maker) and a couple of others, were probably all that sang with real poetic feeling.

Their songs were also accompanied with music. There was a severe set of rules regulating the poetical and musical contests; and the Guild spread over all Germany; the last vestige of it did not disappear until as recently as 1839.

But while this stultified mode of music was going on in Nuremberg, a truer musical plant was growing beside it: at this time the Volks-lied (folk song) took its rise in Germany.

The first form of the volks-lied was religious, and it was of a simplicity which adapted it to the wants of the people. The pedantry of the Meister-singers had an excellent effect upon this class of composition, for it added counterpoint and harmony (even if driven to excess) to a class of music which was able to bear it.

Another order of music was that connected with the miracle plays, where scriptural events were represented upon the stage, with music. Much of this music was taken bodily from the ecclesiastical chants of the period.

With the commencement of the reformation, the music of Germany was lifted to a very elevated sphere, in being applied to the stately chorals which came into general use, through the efforts of Luther, who himself composed some of them. Luther had a most musical nature, which left its imprint upon his whole epoch.

It is related of him, that he spent the largest part of the night before he appeared to define his doctrines before the Diet of Worms, playing on his lute, in order to give composure and firmness to his thoughts.

He ranked music next to theology, and said:—“I am not ashamed to acknowledge, that next to divinity there is no study which I prize so highly as that of music.”

With the reformation, the epoch of modern music may be said to begin. Of course there was both crudity and pedantry in the art, but the Meister-singers, although they yet existed centuries later, had ceased to exert an influence.

There are but few curious facts, which are not generally known, from that age, to our own. Yet we think a brief sketch of the growth of some branches of our music, will not be uninteresting to the general reader, even if the facts have lost the relish of novelty.

CHAPTER XXV.
CURIOSITIES OF THE OPERA.
MODERN COMPOSERS, AND CONCLUSION.

Our series of sketches now draws towards its close. The rise of the many-voiced harmony in Italy, France, Germany, England, and the Netherlands, the contrapuntal works of Palestrina, Dufay, De Lattre, etc., come rather under the head of the history and science of music, than within the scope of a work which only endeavors to collect the curiosities of the art, and things not generally known. But in the rise and progress of the opera, we find some interesting facts which belong to our subject, and which bring our chain of sketches down to the music of our own times.

The opera was the legitimate offspring of the Miracle plays of the Middle ages, which were only sacred operas or oratorios, wherein some events in the life of a holy personage were represented with songs and acting. The first opera (being exactly like a “mystery play,” except that the subject was a secular one) was “Orpheus,” by Angelo Poliziano, and was performed in Rome in 1480. The libretto was by Cardinal Riario (nephew of Pope Sixtus IV.)

Pope Clement IX., wrote seven librettos for operas. All was not sung in these: they were rather tragedies with choruses.[279]

In 1500 the popes possessed a theatre, with decorations and machinery. The paintings in this edifice were by Balthazar Peruzzi, who may be said to be the father of scene painting. His scenery is said to have been very realistic.

Julian de Medicis, brother of Leon X., on being proclaimed a citizen of Rome gave public plays, and had a comedy of Plautus presented for two days, the music of which was much admired.

In 1574, Claudio Merulo, organist at St. Mark’s, composed music to a drama, which was performed in the presence of Henry III., of France.

Vincent Galileo, father of the astronomer, and Giovanni Bardi invented the recitative at about the same time.

Peri and Caccini, two of the best musicians of Florence were engaged by two rich noblemen to write for them a complete opera; Dafne, produced in Florence (1597,) was the result, and was the first complete opera in modern form; these composers were therefore the originators of the opera.

An opera by the same writers was given at the wedding of Henry IV., and Marie de Medici. Rinucci, the author of the libretti of both the above was silly enough to imagine that Marie de Medici loved him, and followed her into France the ridicule which he received for his conceit soon sent him back to Italy.

The score of “Orpheus,” by Monteverde, 1608, allows us to see the construction of his orchestra.

There were,—

2 Clavichords,

2 Lyres, or Grand Viols (13 strings),

10 Violas,

3 Bass Viols,

2 Double Bass,

1 Double Harp (2 rows of strings),

2 Small French Violins,

2 Great Guitars,

2 Organs (wood),

4 Trombones,

1 Pair of Regals (small organ),

2 Cornets,

1 Small Flute,

1 Clarion,

3 Sourdines (muted trumpets).

These instruments gave to each chorus and character a different effect, thus the double basses accompanied Orpheus; the viols, Euridice; the trombones, Pluto; the regals, Apollo. The shepherd’s choruses were accompanied by flute, cornets, sourdines and clarion, and most singular of all, Charon sang to the light tones of the guitar.[280]

In Italy, from this time forth, opera followed opera.

In France it was not known till much later plays “with songs” were known however, and one of these, “in the Italian style,” was performed in Paris, before the King and Royal family, on the occasion of the victory of the Duke of Guise at Calais, 1558.

The chief representations for years after, lay rather in the direction of ballets, than of operas. Religious plays also still were given at Paris, but after the ordinance, of 1548, that no Catholic ceremony should be represented on the stage, they disappeared.[281]

The theatres, that is those which were public, were at this time very poorly appointed, but through the constant festivities of the court, many inventions came into use.

The Court of France had always a penchant for music, the drama, and dancing. Henry IV., was very fond of the latter.

Louis XIII., cultivated music with much success, he composed many airs, and several motets which he had performed in his Chapel. Music was his ordinary recreation when he could not go hunting. At the siege of La Rochelle, there being no musicians or singers with the army, he himself wrote out the vespers for Pentecost, that they might be ready in time. Three weeks before his death, and after he had received the extreme unction, feeling himself somewhat better, he begged Nyert, his first valet de garderobe to sing a paraphrase of David, which he had set to music, to give thanks to God.

Saint-Martin and Campeforte who were present, each sang a part, and thus made a concerted piece which they sang around the bed, the king from time to time joining in with his own voice.

He also wrote a “de Profundis,” which was sung over him after his death.[282] The words still exist which were written by him for his now well-known “Amaryllis;” they were written for Madame de Hauteforte, and one of the verses runs:—

Tu crois, o beau soleil!

Q’ua ton eclat rien n’est pareil;

Mais quoi! tu palis

Auprès d’Amaryllis.[283]

Tallement speaks of a concert given once where one of his songs was sung four times, the king beating the measure. To these gatherings he would admit none who were not musical, and no women whatever, “for” said he, “they cannot keep silent."[284]

Under Louis XIV., the opera became well known in France, nor was it any longer a borrowed spectacle, for Lulli in 1664 associated himself with Moliere in writing; the latter furnishing the libretti, which were in themselves of the best order. In 1672 he built a permanent opera house, (Academie Royale de Musique) and thus gave to France, what it had never before possessed,—a national opera.

There were, to be sure, a few French operas, before his enterprise; one given at Paris, by Cardinal Mazarin, in 1645; one entitled “Akébar, King of Mogul,” by the Abbeé Mailly and “La Pastorale en musique,” by Cambert,[285] but these do not deprive Lulli of the claim of being the “founder of French opera.”

La Fontaine tried to write some libretti for Lulli, which were total failures, and declined by the musician.

The King (Louis XIV.), was passionately fond of Lulli’s music, and would hear scarcely any other.

About this time, the idea of whistling and hissing to show disapproval, was invented. It is said that Corneille’s “Baron de Fondrieres” has the questionable honor of being the first play that ever was hissed.

The hiss, spread rapidly, but on some one having injudiciously hissed the opera of Orpheus, by the sons of Lully, the hiss was interdicted by law in 1690.[286]

The repression was not very effectual, and innumerable epigrams (some of which still exist),[287] showed the derision of the public.

The singers of Lulli’s operas had all the faults of their later brethren. Dumenil, the tenor, used to steal the jewelry of the prime donne, and get intoxicated with the baritone. He is said to have drank six bottles of champagne every night, and only the sixth deteriorated his performance.

Marthe Le Rochois, another of the troupe, on being accused of too much intimacy with the bassoon of the orchestra, exhibited a promise of marriage from the fond performer, written on the back of an ace of spades.

Mlle. de Maupin was the wildest scapegrace the stage ever saw: her adventures read like the most improbable sensational novel, and would take as much space to reproduce.

England’s first opera was performed in 1656. It was entitled the “Siege of Rhodes,” and was composed by five persons in collaboration. Musicians and players were at this time held in low esteem, and were liable to arrest as vagabonds at almost any moment.

England possessed in Henry Purcell (1658-1695) a musician of whom any country might be proud. This composer soon turned his pen to the writing of operas; the music to “The Tempest” was excellent, while his “King Arthur” contains music which is still loved by Englishmen everywhere.

Now that opera was established firmly, the rivalries of the singers at once began.

In 1726 a bitter rivalry sprang up in London between Cuzzoni and Faustina Bordoni, in which the whole town took part. It lasted over two years, and was throughout causeless, as the styles of the two were entirely dissimilar, Bordoni being unapproachable in the lightness and rapidity of her runs and embellishments, and Cuzzoni excelling in the pathetic quality, and breadth of her tones.[288]

But to follow the absurdities which constantly arose in the rivalries of the various composers, singers and performers, would require, not one, but very many volumes by itself; we need only allude to the disputes and rivalries between Gluck and Piccini (in the composition of operas,) the singers Mara and Todi, in France, and Billington and Mara in London.

The names of those who have established a reputation as wonderful operatic singers, also make a formidable list. Among the very greatest may however be mentioned Farinelli (male soprano) Catalani, and Lablache, and among the most successful of operatic writers, Gluck, Mozart, Meyerbeer, Rossini, Verdi, Gounod. Of course many names could be added, but these may stand as representatives.

It is not singular that the great masters, Händel, Beethoven and Mendelssohn failed in this branch of composition. None of them had the ability to stoop to the musical finesses, and coups de theatre, which were necessary to make a successful opera. They might have succeeded, if the pure style of Gluck, with libretti taken from the Greek tragedies, had continued, for these were in their vein. But the public demanded a more spicy operatic diet which they were not able or desirous to finish.

It is well that it was so, for to this fact we owe our grandest oratorios.

Händel had trouble enough with opera, before he finally left it. He had a temper which was simply frightful (and an appetite which was the same), and when he came in contact with the conceited and irascible singers of his day, an explosion was sure to follow.

Cuzzoni (who had the sweetest of voices, and the harshest of tempers), was the hardest of all for him to get along with.

One day she refused absolutely to sing a part which he had assigned to her; his patience, small at the best, gave out totally, and he was going to throw her out of the window, when she hurriedly gave her consent to sing.

Händel’s losses and trials as operatic manager, temporarily drove him crazy.

Rossini also had his troubles in the operatic field. Once a manager, whose libretti he was bound by contract to set to music, took offence at some action of the composer, and sought to revenge himself by writing a wretched opera for him. The result nearly brought both to ruin, for Rossini retorted by writing a terribly poor score to the words; in the overture, during an allegro movement, the violins were arranged so as to stop at every bar, and tap the tin shades of their lamps with their bows. The audience nearly demolished the theatre. The “Barber of Seville” was a failure at its first performance.

There is a note to be made here, of a passage in one of his operas, which is of interest to conductors.

The overture to “William Tell” had been played from its first representation, August 3, 1829, for more than thirty years, with a major trill in the violincello at the cadence of the first part; (the andante at the beginning of the work), but on the 16th of November, 1861, the piece was played before the composer, who stigmatized as “a great fault,” the major trill in the third measure of the cadence.[289] “It should be minor” he said. And since that date it has been played so. But it is very uncertain whether the abrupt remark was not a mere whim of the composer. The trill is more satisfactory with G sharp, than with G natural; the earlier editions have none of them any mention of a minor trill and it is scarcely possible that “a great fault” like this, should have escaped notice so long.

Meyerbeer, was in all respects, a person well calculated to popularize opera. He knew how to work up dramatic effects, in which he was well seconded by his French librettists, and he did not hesitate at any innovation to ask if it were classical, or belonged to pure art; and he succeeded far better than the martinets who condemned him.

At the first representation of his “Robert le Diable,” an accident occurred which nearly resulted in disaster. In the last act, Bertram, the tempter, has to descend to the infernal regions, alone; Levasseur (who performed the character) leaped down the trap, and Robert (represented by the tenor Nourrit), who should have remained on earth, saved by the prayers of Alice,—after a moment of indecision (not remembering the denouèment) leaped after him.

There was general consternation on the stage, for all thought that Nourrit was injured. In the audience they must have thought that the opera had a rather immoral ending, since Bertram, the tempter, had triumphed over the prayers of Alice.

Fortunately the mattresses had not been removed; and Bertram was vastly astonished to find that he had bagged his victim after all; he asked Nourrit in amazement.—“Has the plot been changed?” but Nourrit recollecting his mistake, hastened back to the stage, where the audience were astonished to see him reappear, but soon grasping the situation burst into loud applause.

The curiosities of the opera of to-day are even greater than those of twenty years since, for the world has found an iconoclastic composer who is endeavoring to reform all that went before him, by pulling it to pieces. Yet he has done opera precisely the service which it at present needed, in showing composers the importance of bestowing a greater attention upon the libretto, and elevating the orchestra as well as the scene painter to their proper places; his idea that an opera should be a “perfect chrysolite,” a complete picture in all its accessories, is the true one, though his mode of effecting it may not be.

His zeal has allowed him to commit a ludicrous “curiosity of music” in attacking almost all that the Jews have ever done in music, and endeavoring to depreciate the most prominent talent of that race; a talent which has been acknowledged ever since the days of the Babylonian captivity.

Yet a still greater curiosity (and the most recent of all) has been written by one of his defenders. Of course his attacks upon all who differed from him, provoked retorts innumerable; these have been collected and published in a compact form, and the work is entitled “A Dictionary of Impoliteness.”

With this “curiosity” our catalogue appropriately ends. We have not mentioned some of the great names in music (Haydn, Cherubini, Palestrina, Schumann, Schubert, etc.), and have touched but lightly upon others. They did not seem to come within our scope.

The incidents in the lives of the musical giants have all been sought out by persons possessing facilities which no American writer can have, and are generally so well known that they can no longer be called curious. We have endeavored to show that music is a very uncertain and fickle art, and continually changing, and that there never can be absolute laws laid down in this free art, as if it were a fixed science. If we have done this and amused our readers at the same time, we consider our work brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

THE END.