The Harmonicon. Part the First

by Various

Now we know that two passions cannot coexist in the mind, except at the expense of their respective continuity, depth, and intensity. It follows, of course, that their corresponding signs cannot coexist in the ear without breaking and enfeebling their expression.

But melody consists of a succession of simple sounds, and harmony of coexistant and related or concordant sounds. It is obvious, therefore, that melody is alone adapted to the expression of passion—that is, to musical expression.

A moment’s reflection, indeed, will show that, in language, it would not be more absurd to endeavour to express or excite passion by means of the related terms, emotion, sentiment, &c., or to express and excite any one passion, as that of love, by means of the related terms, friendship, affection, &c., than it would, in music, be to endeavour to excite any passion, in all its purity, simplicity, continuity, depth, and intensity, by means of impure, compound, broken, and feeble notes.

Which, accordingly, are the nations that have excelled in melody?—The Italians, the Scots, the Irish, in whom the passions are intense and powerful; while the Sclavonic and Gothic tribes, in whom the passions are feeble, have practised that play upon related notes which indicates the weakness or absence of passion, and which constitutes harmony. There can, I think, be no more striking illustration than this at once of the intimate nature and of the relative value of melody and harmony.

To the superior value of melody, however, similar homage is paid, whether reluctantly or not, in the highest productions of scientific music. Whenever, in the opera, sentiment, affection, or passion has to be expressed, the simple melody of the airs is indispensable. If anything were wanting to corroborate the preceding train of reasoning, this surely is sufficient.

Let us now, however, from principles which regard the intimate nature of melody and harmony, as well as their precise relation to the great end of all music, descend to the mere practical observance of the relative effects of melody and harmony.

Here one thing will, at the first, strike those who are in the habit of paying any attention to the operation of their own minds, and of endeavouring to analyse it. It is this, that, while there is no end to the variety which the simplest melodies produce, there is but one sentiment excited by harmony.

However varied the melody may be, whatever the succession of emotion and passion which it calls up, it will be found that, with each of these, and always at its expense, the harmony, quoad harmony, associates another, and that always one and the same, feeling. This, if observed, will be found to be a feeling of surprise, and certainly of pleasure, at the display of knowledge in the instant association of related notes; surprise and pleasure at the art and skill, not at the feeling and taste, of the composer[65].

The compositions of Handel, Bach, and others, are admirable in their kinds and perfectly descriptive; but they touch not the most exquisite feelings; they sink not into the heart; they rouse not the passions. They excite, as already said, surprise and pleasure at the art and skill, not at the feeling and taste, of the composer. Let them be compared in this respect with Sarti, Cimarosa, &c., and all doubt on this point will cease.

It is evident, then, that the admiration, however delightful, produced by the instant and unexpected association of related notes, must, precisely in proportion to its degree, weaken and diminish the effect of the melody—must, in fact, destroy its purity, simplicity, continuity, depth, and intensity.