Music.
The ancients have the whole merit of having laid down the first exact principles of music; and the writings of the Pythagoreans, of Aristoxenes, Euclid, Aristides, Nichomachus, Plutarch, and many others, even such of them as still remain, contain in them every known theory of the science. They, as well as we, had the art of noting their tunes, which they performed by means of letters either contracted, or reversed, placed upon a line parallel to the words, and serving for the direction, the one of the voice, the other of the instrument. The scale itself, of which Guy Aretin is the supposed inventor, is no other than the ancient one of the Greeks a little enlarged, and what Guy may have taken from a Greek manuscript, written above eight hundred years ago, which Kircher says he saw at Messina in the library of the Jesuists, wherein he found the hymns noted just as in the manner of Aretin. The ancient lyre was certainly a very harmonious instrument, and was so constructed, and so full of variety in Plato’s time, that he regarded it as dangerous, and too apt to relax the mind. In Anacreon’s time, it had already obtained forty strings. Ptolemy and Porphyry describe instruments resembling the lute and theorb, having a handle with keys belonging to it, and the strings extended from the handle over a concave body of wood. There is to be seen at Rome an ancient statue of Orpheus, with a musical bow in his right hand, and a kind of violin in his left. In the commentaries of Philostrates by Vigenere, is a medal of Nero with a violin upon it. The flute was carried to so high a degree of perfection by the ancients, that there were various kinds of them, and so different in sound, as to be wonderfully adapted to express all manner of subjects.
Tertullian mentions an organ invented by Archimedes. “Behold,” says Tertullian, “that astonishing and admirable hydraulic organ of Archimedes, composed of such a number of pieces, consisting each of so many different parts, connected together by such a quantity of joints, and containing such a variety of pipes for the imitation of voices, conveyed in such a multitude of sounds, modulated into such a diversity of tones, breathed from so immense a combination of flutes; and yet all taken together, constitute but one single instrument.”
That the ancients knew and practised harmony is evident from Plato, Macrobius, and other early writers. Aristotle, speaking of the revolutions of the several planets, as perfectly harmonizing with one another, they being all of them conducted by the same principle, draws a comparison from music to illustrate his sentiments. “Just as in a chorus,” says he, “of men and women, where all the variety of voices, through all the different tones, from the bass to the higher notes, being under the guidance and direction of a musician, perfectly correspond with one another, and form a full harmony.” Aurelius Cassiodorus defines symphony to be “the art of so adjusting the base to the higher notes, and them to it, through all the voices and instruments, whether they be wind or stringed instruments, that thence an agreeable harmony may result.” Horace speaks expressly of the bass and higher tones, and the harmony resulting from their concurrence. It is true, however, that the ancients did not much use harmony in concert. One fine voice alone, accompanied with one instrument, regulated entirely by it, pleased them better than mere music without voices, and made a more lively impression on their feeling minds; and this is what even we ourselves every day experience.
The effects ascribed to the music of the ancients are surprising. Plutarch reports of Antigenidas, that by playing on the flute, he so roused the spirit of Alexander, that he started from the table, and flew to his arms. Timotheus when touching his lyre so inflamed him with rage, that drawing his sabre he suddenly slew one of his guests; which Timotheus no sooner perceived, than altering the air from the Phrygian to a softer measure, he calmed his passions, and infused into him the tenderest feelings of grief and compunction for what he had done. Jamblichus relates like extraordinary effects of the lyres of Pythagoras and Empedocles. Plutarch informs us of a sedition quelled at Lacedemon by the lyre of Terpander; and Boetius tells of rioters having been dispersed by the musician Damon.
The delicacy of the ancient airs much surpassed ours; and it is in this respect, principally, that we may be said to have lost their music. Of their three kinds of music, the diatonic, chromatic, and the enharmonic, there exists now only the first, which teaches the dividing the notes into semi-notes: whereas the chromatic divided each note into three, and the enharmonic into four parts. The difficulty there was to find voices and hands proper to execute the chromatic kind, brought it first into neglect, and then into oblivion; and for the same reason the enharmonic, which was still more difficult, has not come down to us. All which now remains of the ancient music, is that which knows of no other refinement than the demi-note, instead of those finer kinds, which carried on the division of a note into threes and fours. The variety of manner in which the ancient music was performed, placed it in a rank of dignity superior to ours. Our modes are but of two kinds, the flat and sharp; whereas the ancients modified theirs into five, the principal of which were the Ionic, the Lydian, the Phrygian, the Doric, and the Æolic; each adapted to express and excite different passions: and by that means, especially, to produce such effects as have been just noticed, and which are incontestable from the authentic manner in which they have been recorded.
Note—Here, if it were not necessary to close this series of papers, they would be extended somewhat further for the purpose of relating the long-reaching views of the ancients on other topics; but nothing can conveniently be added save a passage from the author whose volume has supplied the preceding materials. “Having received from our ancestors the product of all their meditations and researches, we ought daily to add what we can to it, and by that means contribute all in our power to the increase and perfection of knowledge.”
Seneca, speaking eighteen centuries ago, of “the inventions of the wise,” claims them as an inheritance.—“To me,” he says, “they have been transmitted; for me they have been found out. But let us in this case act like good managers, let us improve what we have received; and convey this heritage to our descendants in better condition than it came to us. Much remains for us to do, much will remain for those who come after us. A thousand years hence, there will still be occasion, and still opportunity to add something to the common stock. But had even every thing been found out by the ancients, there would still this remain to be done anew—to put their inventions into use, and make their knowledge ours.”
[515] In the Every-Day Book there is an account of the means by which this performance can be effected.