III. Whether these modes of the antients, corresponded with the different tones used by the moderns, is not clearly ascertained. Some authors affirm they do, others doubt it. I myself, am inclined to think they do not, because the diversity of our tones, have not that influence to vary the passions, which was experienced in the different modes of the antients.
SECT. II.
IV. Thus music, in those remote ages, was divided between the temple and the theatre, and was applied promiscuously, to worship at the altar, and to the corruption of manners. But although this was a lamentable falling-off, it was not the greatest abuse which has been practised on this noble art, the accomplishment of its perversion being reserved for our times. When the alteration in the application of music, which was employed heretofore only in divine worship, took place, the Greeks made a very judicious division and distribution of it; reserving to the temple, that which was proper for the temple; and giving to the theatre, that which was suitable to the theatre; but what has been done in these latter times? Not content with keeping theatrical music for the use of the theatre, they have translated it to the church.
V. The church chants of these times, with respect to their form and manner, sound like the songs of a jovial company sitting round a table. They are all composed of minuets, recitatives, light airs, and allegros; at the end of which, they substitute something which is called grave; but this is done very sparingly, lest it should seem tiresome and disgusting. What can this mean? Should not all the music in a church be grave? Ought not the whole composition to be calculated to impress gravity, devotion, and decency? The instrumental music is the same; but what effect can these Canary-birds airs, so predominant in the taste of the moderns, produce in the soul? This music, so replete with jigs, that you can scarce find a piece without one, can raise no other emotions in the imagination, than those of frolic and levity. He who hears on the organ, the same minuet which he heard at the ball, what effect will it have on him? No other, than reminding him of the lady with whom he danced the preceding night. Thus the music, which ought to translate the spirit of him who listens to it, from the terrestrial to the celestial temple, conveys it from the church to the banquet; and the ideas raised in the imagination of the person who hears this, if either from constitution, or vicious habits, he is ill disposed, will not forsake him at the church door.
VI. O good God! is this the sort of music, which expressed from the breast of the great Austin, while he was still wavering between God and the world, sighs of compunction, and tears of piety? Oh how I wept, said the saint, addressing himself to God in his confessions, moved and excited, by the salutary hymns and canticles of thy church! Those words and sounds, made a lively impression on my ears, and through them, thy truths penetrated my mind. My heart burned with affection, and my eyes melted in tears. This was the effect of the church music of those times; which, like the lyre of David, expelled the evil spirit, that had not quite forsaken the possession of St. Austin, and invoked the good one; the music of these times expels the good one, if such resides, and invites the evil one. The ecclesiastical chant of those days, was like the sound of the trumpets of Joshua, which threw down the walls of Jericho, that is, the passions which fortify the strong town of Vice. The chant of the present times, resembles the songs of the Syrens, which lead navigators on rocks and shoals.
SECT. III.
VII. How much better was the church with the plain chant, the only one known in it for many ages, and which, for the most part, was composed by the monks of St. Benedict, who were the greatest masters in the world at that time, among whom, should be first reckoned Gregory the Great, and the celebrated Guido Aretinus; after them came John Murs, a doctor of the Sorbonne, who invented the notes, which mark the various duration of the points; and truly, the simplicity of that chant, was not deficient in melodies, capable of moving the passions, and sweetly suspending the hearers. The compositions of Guido Aretinus were reckoned so pathetic, that cardinal Baronius tells us, that, in the year 1022, pope Gregory VIII. sent for him from his convent of Arezzo, and would not let him depart his presence, till he had taught him to sing a short verse of his Antiphonario. This was the person who invented the modern system of music, or artificial progression, which is now used, and called the scale of Guido Aretinus. He also contrived the harmonious combination of voices, in different tones; which art, was in all probability known to the antients, but all traces of it were then lost.
VIII. The plain chant, executed with proper pauses, has a peculiar excellence for the use of churches, which is, that being incapable of exciting such affections as are raised by theatrical music, it necessarily follows, that it must be the best adapted to induce such as are proper for the church. Who, by the sonorous majesty of the hymn Vexilla Regis, by the festive gravity of the Pange Lingua, by the mournful tenderness of the Invitatorio de Difuntos, would not feel himself excited to veneration, devotion, and contrition? We hear these chants every day, notwithstanding which, they always seem pleasing; when at the same time, after half a dozen repetitions, modern compositions grow tiresome and unsavoury to us.
IX. I would not however, on this account, quarrel with the figured, or, as it is commonly called, the organ chant; as I am sensible, it has great advantages over the plain; because it preserves and marks the accents on the words, which in the plain chant is impossible; and because the different duration of the points, produce to the ear that agreeable effect, which is caused to the sight, by a well-proportioned inequality of colours. It is only the abuse that has been introduced in the organ chant, which makes me prefer the plain one; and am in this respect, like a man who anxiously covets plain food, and avoids the more delicate, when he knows it is corrupted.