“No songs could be more happily constructed for singing during labour than those of the Highlanders, every person being able to join in them, sufficient intervals being allowed for breathing time. In a certain part of the song, the leader stops to take breath, when all the others strike in and complete the air with a chorus of words and syllables, generally without signification, but admirably adapted to give effect to the time.” The description proceeds to give a picture of a social meeting in the Highlands where this style of singing is practised, and refers to the effect with which such a composition as “Fhir à bhàta,” or the Boatman, may be thus sung.
Poetical compositions associated with music are of various kinds. First of all is the Laoidh, or lay, originally signifying a stately solemn composition, by one of the great bards of antiquity. Thus we have “Laoidh Dhiarmaid,” The lay of Diarmad; “Laoidh Oscair,” The lay of Oscar; “Laoidh nan Ceann,” The lay of the heads; and many others. The word is now made use of to describe a religious hymn; a fact which proves the dignity with which this composition was invested in the popular sentiment. Then there was the “Marbhrann,” or elegy. Few men of any mark but had their elegy composed by some bard of note. Chiefs and chieftains were sung of after their deaths in words and music the most mournful which the Celt, with so deep a vein of pathos in his soul, could devise. There is an elegy on one of the lairds of Macleod by a famous poetess “Mairi nighean Alasdair Ruaidh,” or Mary M’Leod, which is exquisitely touching. Many similar compositions exist. In modern times these elegies are mainly confined to the religious field, and ministers and other men of mark in that field are often sung of and sung sweetly by such bards as still remain. Then there are compositions called “Iorrams” usually confined to sea songs; “Luinneags,” or ordinary lyrics, and such like. These are all “wedded” to music, which is the reason for noticing them here, and the music must be known in order to have the full relish of the poetry.
There are several collections of Highland music which are well worthy of being better known to the musical world than they are. The oldest is that by the Rev. Peter Macdonald of Kilmore, who was a famous musician in his day. More recently Captain Simon Fraser, of Inverness, published an admirable collection; and collections of pipe music have been made by Macdonald, Mackay, and, more recently, Ross, the two latter pipers to her Majesty, all of which are reported of as good.
The secular music of the Highlands, as existing now, may be divided into that usually called by the Highlanders “An Ceol mòr,” the great music, and in English pibrochs. This music is entirely composed for the Highland bagpipe, and does not suit any other instrument well. It is composed of a slow movement, with which it begins, the movement proceeding more rapidly through several variations, until it attains a speed and an energy which gives room for the exercise of the most delicate and accurate fingering. Some of these pieces are of great antiquity, such as “Mackintosh’s Lament” and “Cogadh na Sith,” Peace or War, and are altogether remarkable compositions. Mendelssohn, on his visit to the Highlands, was impressed by them, and introduced a portion of a pibroch into one of his finest compositions. Few musicians take the trouble of examining into the structure of these pieces, and they are condemned often with little real discrimination. Next to these we have the military music of the Highlands, also for the most part composed for the pipe, and now in general employed by the pipers of Highland regiments. This kind of music is eminently characteristic, having features altogether distinctive of itself, and is much relished by Scotsmen from all parts of the country. Recently a large amount of music of this class has been adapted to the bagpipe which is utterly unfit for it, and the effect is the opposite of favourable to the good name either of the instrument or the music. This practice is in a large measure confined to regimental pipe music. Such tunes as “I’m wearying awa’, Jean,” or “Miss Forbes’ Farewell to Banff,” have no earthly power of adaptation to the notes of the bagpipe, and the performance of such music on that instrument is a violation of good taste and all musical propriety. One cannot help being struck with the peculiar good taste that pervades all the compositions of the M’Crimmons, the famous pipers of the Macleods, and how wonderfully the music and the instrument are adapted to each other throughout. This cannot be said of all pibroch music, and the violation of the principle in military music is frequently most offensive to an accurate ear. This has, no doubt, led to the unpopularity of the bagpipe and its music among a large class of the English-speaking community, who speak of its discordant notes, a reflection to which it is not in the least liable in the case of compositions adapted to its scale.
Next to these two kinds follows the song-music of the Gael, to which reference has been made already. It abounds in all parts of the Highlands, and is partly secular, partly sacred. There are beautiful, simple, touching airs, to which the common songs of the country are sung, and there are airs of a similar class, but distinct, which are used with the religious hymns of Buchanan, Matheson, Grant, and other writers of hymns, of whom there are many. The dance music of the Highlands is also distinct from that of any other country, and broadly marked by its own peculiar features. There is the strathspey confined to Scotland, a moderately rapid movement well known to every Scotchman; there is the jig in 6/8th time, common to Scotland with Ireland; and there is the reel, pretty much of the same class with the Strathspey, but marked by greater rapidity of motion.
There is one thing which strikes the hearer in this music, that there is a vein of pathos runs through the whole of it. The Celtic mind is largely tinged with pathos. If a musical symbol might be employed to represent them, the mind of the Saxon may be said to be cast in the mould of the major mode, and the mind of the Celt in the minor. The majority of the ordinary airs in the Highlands are in the minor mode, and in the most rapid kinds of music, the jig and the reel, an acute ear will detect the vein of pathos running through the whole.
In sacred music there is not much that is distinctive of the Celt. In forming their metrical version of the Gaelic Psalms, the Synod of Argyll say that one of the greatest difficulties they had to contend with was in adapting their poetry to the forms of the English psalm tunes. There were no psalm tunes which belonged to the Highlands, and it was necessary after the Reformation to borrow such as had been introduced among other Protestants, whether at home or abroad. More lately a peculiar form of psalm tune has developed itself in the North Highlands, which is deserving of notice. It is not a class of new tunes that has appeared, but a peculiar method of singing the old ones. The tunes in use are only six, all taken from the old Psalter of Scotland. They are—French, Dundee, Elgin, York, Martyrs, and Old London. The principal notes of the original tunes are retained, but they are attended with such a number of variations, that the tune in its new dress can hardly be at all recognised. These tunes may not be musically accurate, and artists may make light of them, but sung by a large body of people, they are eminently impressive and admirably adapted to purposes of worship. Sung on a Communion Sabbath by a crowd of worshippers in the open air, on the green sward of a Highland valley, old Dundee is incomparable, and exercises over the Highland mind a powerful influence. And truly, effect cannot be left out of view as an element in judging of the character of any music. The pity is that this music is fast going out of use even in the Highlands. It has always been confined to the counties of Caithness, Sutherland, Ross, and part of Inverness. Some say that this music took its complexion from the old chants of the mediæval Church. One thing is true of this and all Gaelic psalmody, that the practice of chanting the line is rigidly adhered to, although from the more advanced state of general education in the Highlands the necessity that once existed for it is now passed away.
Connected with the Gaelic music, the musical instruments of the Celts remain to be noticed; but we shall confine our observations to the harp and to the bagpipe, the latter of which has long since superseded the former in the Highlands. The harp is the most noted instrument of antiquity, and was in use among many nations. It was, in particular, the favourite instrument of the Celts. The Irish were great proficients in harp music, and they are said to have made great improvements on the instrument itself. So honourable was the occupation of a harper among the Irish, that none but freemen were permitted to play on the harp, and it was reckoned a disgrace for a gentleman not to have a harp, and be able to play on it. The royal household always included a harper, who bore a distinguished rank. Even kings did not disdain to relieve the cares of royalty by touching the strings of the harp; and we are told by Major that James I., who died in 1437, excelled the best harpers among the Irish and the Scotch Highlanders. But harpers were not confined to the houses of kings, for every chief had his harper as well as his bard.
“The precise period when the harp was superseded by the bagpipe, it is not easy to ascertain. Roderick Morrison, usually called Ruaraidh Dall, or Blind Roderick, was one of the last native harpers; he was harper to the Laird of M’Leod. On the death of his master, Morrison led an itinerant life, and in 1650 he paid a visit to Robertson of Lude, on which occasion he composed a Port or air, called Suipeir Thighearna Leoid or The Laird of Lude’s Supper, which, with other pieces, is still preserved. M’Intosh, the compiler of the Gaelic Proverbs, relates the following anecdote of Mr Robertson, who, it appears, was a harp-player himself of some eminence:—‘One night my father, James M’Intosh, said to Lude that he would be happy to hear him play on the harp, which at that time began to give place to the violin. After supper Lude and he retired to another room, in which there was a couple of harps, one of which belonged to Queen Mary. James, says Lude, here are two harps; the largest one is the loudest, but the small one is the sweetest, which do you wish to hear played? James answered the small one, which Lude took up and played upon till daylight.’
“The last harper, as is commonly supposed, was Murdoch M’Donald, harper to M’Lean of Coll. He received instructions in playing from Rory Dall in Skye, and afterwards in Ireland; and from accounts of payments made to him by M’Lean, still extant, Murdoch seems to have continued in his family till the year 1734, when he appears to have gone to Quinish, in Mull, where he died.”