The changes which the forms of æsthetic expression undergo within the field of formative art, are paralleled, on the whole, by those of the musical arts. By this term, as above remarked, we wish to designate all those arts which depend from the outset upon the external factors of tone and rhythm ultimately employed most freely in music (cf. p. 262). In the preceding age, only one of these arts, the dance, really reached any considerable development. Of the two elements of the musical arts, rhythm was as yet predominant. The dance received but little melodic support from the voice; noise instruments had the ascendancy over musical instruments. The further development of these arts leads to continued progress, particularly with respect to the melodic forms of expression. These begin with the language of speech, and gradually pass on to the pure clang formations produced solely by manufactured instruments. Corresponding with this external change is an inner change of motives, influenced, of course, by the varying materials which enter into the creations of the musical arts. From the very beginning, the character of this material is involved in constant change, as is also language, which is the basis of all these arts, and whose rhythmical-melodic forms cannot be arrested at any moment of its living development. The attempt to render permanent some of the movements of this flowing process, by means of literary records or definite symbols, is but an inadequate substitute for the enduring power with which the mute creations of sculpture and of architecture withstand the destructive influences of time. Just because of this plasticity of their working material, however, the musical arts are enabled all the more faithfully to portray the thoughts and feelings that move the artist and his age. Particularly where these thoughts and feelings are directly reproduced in language, the work, even though coming down from a long-departed past, has an incomparably greater power to transport us to its world than is ever possible to plastic art. How much more vividly do we not experience the life of the Homeric heroes while reading the Iliad than when viewing the Mycenian art of that period!
Of all the products of the verbal arts, it is the epic that most faithfully mirrors the character of the heroic age as a whole. The human hero here stands in the forefront of action. His battles and fortunes and a laudatory description of his qualities constitute the main themes of the poem. In the background, appears the world of gods. It receives no attention apart from its relation to the action. The gods, it is true, take a hand in the destinies of the heroes—they quarrel about them, or, when the need is greatest, descend to the earth and, though unrecognized, assist them in battles. As for the rest, however, their life lies outside the sphere of the epic narrative; it appears to be an even and undisturbed course of existence into which change enters only in so far as there is a participation in the affairs of the terrestrial world. Such is the epic at the zenith of its development and as it receives expression in the Homeric poems. Though such poetry be traced back to its beginnings, the gods will not be found to play any greater rôle, as we should be led to expect were the theory of many mythologists true that the hero saga developed out of the deity saga and, correspondingly, the heroic epic out of the deity epic. In confirmation of our assertion, we might point to the Russian and Servian romances, and also to the songs of the Kara-Kirghiz and to the Finnish Kalewala, though the Kalewala has not come down to us in quite its original form. The Norse Edda, which has been at the basis of certain misconceptions regarding this question, should not here be drawn into consideration, though, were it examined, it would substantiate, if anything, the opposite of what is supposed. It dates from a later period, which no longer believed, as we may assume that the Homeric rhapsodists did, in the gods and heroes of which it sang. The Norse skalds dealt, in their songs, with a departed world, whose memory they endeavoured to renew; they drew their material from märchen-myths and from folk-sagas. If, now, we turn to that poetry of the Slavic and Turkish tribes which is really preparatory to epic poetry, we find certain radical differences. Here also, of course, there are imaginary beings who either take a hand in the battles and destinies of the heroes or, through the magic over which the human hero as yet still frequently disposes, come to identify themselves with heroes. These beings, however, are not gods, but demons. They possess no personal traits whatsoever. Such traits are lacking also to the hero in proportion as he makes use of magical powers rather than of an enhanced measure of human ability. Thus, it is the world of demons, not that of gods, which forms the background of the early epic. As regards the hero himself, it is apparent from his characteristics that he is on the border-line between the hero of märchen and the epic hero. This development of the epic again mirrors the development of the hero saga described above. But, since epic poetry gives permanence to the unstable characters of the folk-saga, and thus, in turn, reacts upon the saga itself, its development is all the more capable of presenting a clear picture of that fusion of demon with human hero which gave rise to the god. It is by virtue of his human characteristics that the hero of the early epic is distinguished from the demons whose world as yet always forms his scene of action. These human characteristics are then more and more transferred to the demons. Throughout all these changes of environment, the hero remains the central figure of epic poetry, and continues to develop purely human characteristics. Hence it is that, at a later period, the gods again completely disappear from the action, and the destinies of human heroes come to be the exclusive concern of the epic. At this stage, it is no longer external factors that determine the destiny of the hero, as they did when demons and, later, gods were supreme; inner motives, whose source lies within the hero himself, are of paramount importance. When this occurs, however, epic poetry, has already passed beyond the boundaries of the heroic age.
At one time it was held that the Homeric epic, so far from marking the climax of a development in which the world of heroes was brought into relation with that of the gods, really inaugurated epic poetry. During this period, the rhythmic-melodic form of Homer was regarded as the beginning of all narrative. Indeed, at times it has been thought to represent the beginning of language. Following the view of Jacob Grimm, it was maintained that poetry was the earliest form of speech, and that prose came through a process of deterioration analogous to that by which prehistoric deity and hero sagas passed into the märchen. This theory, of course, is just as untenable for the history of language and poetry as it is for that of the saga. The original narrative is the märchen-myth that passes artlessly from mouth to mouth. The transition to a form which is at first loosely constructed and then more strictly metrical, is clearly bound up with the transition from the hero of the märchen to the hero of the saga. Coincident with this, gods also gradually gain a place in epic poetry. This development is accompanied by two important external changes. The first of these involves the transformation of the everyday prose, in which the märchen-myth had been expressed, into rhythmic-melodic forms. These are reinforced by a simple musical accompaniment that gives to the diction itself the character of a recitative melody. The second change consists in the fact that separate narratives are joined into a series, the basis of connection being, in part, the heroes who participate in the action and, in part, the content of the action itself. Thus, a romance-cycle arises, which, when supplemented by connecting narratives, finally develops into a great epic. As might be supposed, it is primarily the first and the last stage of this development that are accessible to direct observation—the romances of the early epic, preserved in folk-poetry, and the perfected poems, such as the Homeric epics and the Niebelungenlied. As regards the formation of these epics out of their separate elements, we can do no more than to frame hypotheses on the basis of somewhat uncertain inferences relating to differences in style and composition. There can be no doubt, however, that the more important step as regards the form of the epic, namely, the development of rhythmic-melodic expression, was directly bound up with its very first stage, namely, with the appearance of the earliest form of the heroic narrative—a form resembling the romance.
But how may we account for this origin? Does the narrative of itself rise to song because of the more exalted character of its content? Or, is the rhythmic-melodic form imposed upon it from other previously existing types of poetry? Such poetry exists. The simple songs of primitive man we have already come to know; besides these, there are the cult-song, whose conjurations and petitions were addressed to demons prior to the advent of gods and heroes, and, finally, the work-song. This at once indicates that we must postulate a transference from the lyric type of song, taken in its broadest sense, to the narrative. Nevertheless, the first of the above-mentioned factors must not be disregarded. The heroic hero, of course, arouses far greater admiration and enthusiasm than did the märchen-hero. Here, as in the case of the song, the intensification of mental excitement causes its verbal expression to assume rhythmic forms, precisely as the dominance of festive and joyous emotion in the dance transforms the external movements of the body into rhythmical pantomime. Doubtless, therefore, it was primarily from the cult-song, and under the influence of a related poetic ecstasy, that a sustained rhythmical form was carried over to the portrayal of the hero personality and his deeds. And so, as is clearly shown by the romance-like beginnings of epic composition, the metrical form of the epic first follows current song-forms, and then gradually adapts these to the specific needs of the narrative. Now, the earliest characteristic of the song, and that which at a primitive stage constitutes almost its only difference from ordinary speech, is the refrain. In the epic, the rhythm becomes smoother. The refrain disappears entirely, or occurs at most in the case of regularly recurring connective phrases or of stereotyped expressions relating to the attributes of the gods and heroes. These aid the rhapsodist in maintaining an uninterrupted, rhythmic flow of speech, and also continue to be used as means for intensifying the rhythmic impression.
Epic poetry thus develops out of the earlier forms of lyric composition, through a process by which the exalted mood of the song is transferred to the portrayal of the hero personality. Finally, however, the epic itself reacts upon the lyric. Here again the cult-song occupies the foreground. When it reaches the stage of the hymn, its most effective content is found in narratives that centre about divine deeds which far transcend human capacities, or about the beneficent activity of the deity toward man. The tendency to incorporate such narratives is particularly marked in the song of praise and thanksgiving, which comes to occupy the dominant place in religious cult for the very reason that the mood which it expresses is at the basis of the common cult. At this point, cult acquires a further feature, the preconditions of which, however, date back to the age of demon cults. Even in the case of demons, aid was sought not merely by means of conjurations but also by means of actions that imitated, in dances and solemn mask processions, the activities of demons. In the great vegetation festivals of New Mexico and Arizona, which are intermediate between demon and deity cults, there were imitative magical rites connected with the subterranean demons of the sprouting grain, with the rain-giving cloud demons above the earth, and also with the bright celestial gods who dwell beyond the clouds. After having originated in this sequence, these elements became united into a cult dance whose combination of motives resulted in the mimetic play, the imitative and pantomimic representation of a series of actions. Thus, the mime itself is the original form of the drama, which now takes its place beside the epic as a new form of poetry. What the epic portrays, the drama sets forth in living action. This accounts for the fact that, even in its later independent development, dramatic literature draws its material principally from the epic, or from the saga which circulates in folk-tradition as an epic narrative. Moreover, as may be noticed particularly in the history of the Greek drama, the transition was made but slowly from the individual rhapsodist, who sufficed for the rendering of the epic song, to the additional players necessary for setting forth the narrative in action.
How essentially uniform this transition is, in spite of widely divergent conditions, is illustrated by the origin of the religious plays which grew out of the Christian cult. In reading the gospel, the priest assigned certain passages, originally spoken by participants in the particular event, to sacristans or priests associated in the ceremony, and the chorus of worshippers represented the people present at the event. In spite of, or, we might better say, because of their more recent origin, these Easter, Passion, and Christmas plays represent an early stage of development. In them, we can still follow, step by step, the growth of dramatic art out of church liturgy, and the resultant secularization of the religious play. Heightened emotion results in an impulse to translate the inner experience into action, and thus dramatic expression is given to certain incidents of the sacred narrative that are particularly suited for it. This tendency grows, and finally the entire scene is acted out, the congregational responses of the liturgy passing over into the chorus of the drama. Common to the responses of the congregation and the chorus of the dramatic play, is the fact of an active participation in that which is transpiring. Though this participation is inner and subjective, in the one case, and objective, in the other, the response of the congregation to the priest in the liturgy is nevertheless preparatory to the chorus of the drama. It is inevitable, however, that this change should gradually lead to a break with liturgy. The portrayal of the sacred action is transferred from the church to the street; the clergy are supplanted by secular players from among the people. Even within the sacred walls folk-humour had inserted burlesque episodes—such, for example, as the mimic portrayal of Peter's violence to the servant Malchus, or the running of the Apostles to the grave of Christ. These now gained the upper hand, and finally formed independent mimetic comedies. The serious plays, on their part, also drew material, even at this time, from sources other than sacred history. The newly awakened dramatic impulse received further stimulus from various directions. The old travelling comedy, wandering from market to market with its exhibitions, now of gruesomely serious, now of keenly humorous, action, was a factor in the creation of the modern drama, no less than were the amusing performances of the accompanying puppet-show. Added to these, as a new factor, was the short novel, a prose narrative cultivated with partiality particularly since the Renaissance; there was also its elder sister, the imaginary märchen, as well as the epic of chivalry in its popular prose versions, and, finally, that which more clearly approximates to the religious starting-point, the saint legend—all of these united in giving impetus to the modern drama.
Now, the similarity of this development to that of the ancient drama is so marked that, even where details are lacking, we may regard the nature of the transitions as identical so far as their general features are concerned. Indeed, we should doubtless be justified in assuming that in whatever other localities a dramatic art was perfected, as, for example, in India, the course of development was essentially the same as that which has been described. True, the development cannot proceed to its termination apart from an advance in cult and poetry such as was attained but rarely. Its sources, however, are always to be found in universal human characteristics which were operative in the very beginnings of art and cult. The two factors upon which the later drama depends may be detected even in the corroboree of the Australians. The corroboree is a cult dance whose central feature is a regulated imitation of the actions of totem animals, accompanied by song and noisy music. This imitation of animals also leads to the insertion of humorous episodes. Indeed, even in the corroboree, these episodes are frequently so numerous as to crowd out completely the cult purpose—an early anticipation of the secularization which everywhere took place in the art that originated in cult. In numerous other details as well, the continuity of development is apparent. Suggestions of the animal dance occur in the satyric plays of the Greeks. This same satyric drama took over the phallus-bearing choral dancers from the vegetation festival. In striking correspondence, as K. Th. Preusz has pointed out, and indicative of analogous customs, are the phallephoric representations found in ancient Mexican cult pictures. The puppet-show, which was perhaps not the least among the factors leading to the secularization of the drama, was not only universally to be found during the Middle Ages, but in India it made its appearance at an early period. It occurs even among peoples of nature, as, for example, among the Esquimos. Among these peoples, the doll and its movements always represent an imitation of man himself and of his pantomimes. But, though the tendencies to dramatic representation and, in part, even the beginnings of the drama, reach back to the early stages of art, the developed drama was the product of a later period, and was dependent for its rise upon almost all the other verbal and mimetic arts. The drama, however, may always be traced back to deity cult. The religious hymn which extols the deeds of the gods is a direct incentive to the translation of these deeds into personal action. The motives for the dramatic elaboration of liturgy were present particularly in those deity cults which combined soul cults with ideas of a beyond, and which centred about the life, the sufferings, and the final salvation of the gods, and the transference of these experiences to the human soul. The development of the mediæval Easter and Passion plays may be traced, step by step, from their origin. It is this development, particularly, that throws clear light upon early Greek and Indian drama, whose beginnings in the mystery cults are rendered obscure by the secrecy of the cults. These latter dramas, in turn, clearly indicate that the original source of dramatic representations is to be found in the very ancient vegetation ceremonies, which, in part, were transmitted to the heroic age from a period as early as that of demon cults. After the dramatic performance has been transferred from the temple to the market-place and the drama has become secularized, the further course of development naturally differs both with the conditions of the age and with the character of the culture. Nevertheless, however, the epic narrative, the mimetic representation, and the older forms of the song may have co-operated in the development of the drama, the latter, like the epic, steadily descends from the lofty realms of the heroes and gods, down to the dwellings of men. In the portrayal of human strivings and sufferings, moreover, the centre of interest shifts from the mysterious course of external events to the secrets of the human soul. But herewith again the drama transcends the boundaries of the heroic age. Its beginnings grow out of early deity cult. In its final stages, dramatic art, with its insight into human life as it is directly lived, becomes the vehicle of the idea of humanity in the entire scope of its meaning, comprehending both the heights and the depths of human life.
Closely bound up with the psychological motives underlying the development of the drama is the last of the musical arts—namely, music. We may refer to it as the last of these arts for the reason that it attained to independence later than any of the others. As a dependent art, however, accompanying the dance, the song, or the epic recital, it dates back to the age of primitive man. Musical art, also, received its first noteworthy stimulus from cult, as an accompaniment of the cult dance and the cult song. The strong emotions aroused by the cult activity caused a constantly increasing emphasis to be placed on the musical part of the ceremony, leading particularly to the development of melody. The polyphonic song of the many-voiced chorus of the cult members, and the music of the accompanying instruments which gradually assumed the same character, eventually developed into harmonic modulation. This introduced musical effects of a novel sort, such as were not possible for the accompaniment of the reciting rhapsodist and were attained only imperfectly by the common song. Thus, dramatic and musical art both sprang from the same religious root, the liturgic ceremonial, thence to pursue different directions of development. Later they again united in the case of certain particularly emotional parts of the dramatic action, first of all in the choral song, which is thus reminiscent of their common origin in liturgy. With this exception, however, the emancipation of dramatic and of musical art from their common cult origin was succeeded by a long period in which they remained distinct. Hence it is certainly not without significance that the creator of the modern art-synthesis, the music drama, himself felt his achievement to be religious in character. Whether or not this may be affirmed as regards the content of the music drama, it is true so far as the fact of combining the two arts is concerned. But it is no less noteworthy that in this case also the separation of itself engenders the motives for the reunion. When the drama was transferred from the temple to the public market-place and then descended from the sphere of gods and heroes to the reality of everyday life, it lost, first its musical-melodic form, and then its elevated rhythm, thus giving way to prose. The liturgic song that survived in the cult, however, entered into reciprocal relations with the secular forms of the song, and a copious interchange of melodic motives ensued. With the same justification, perhaps, as in the case of the origin of the dramatic play in general, we may interpret the older developments by reference to the interchange between sacred and secular songs that took place in Christendom during the Middle Ages. The endeavour to combine dramatic with lyric and musical enjoyment gave rise to hybrid forms of art, to the musical play and the opera. This prepared the way for the further attempt to transcend these composite forms of art by creating a new unity of drama and music. Thus, the aim was to restore the original synthesis on a higher plane, not limited to particular religious cults but taking into account universal human emotions. Yet the entire development of this later art, as well as that of its component elements, the drama and the song, again carries us far beyond the limits of the heroic age. It extends over into a period in which, on the one hand, man supplants the hero and, on the other, the religious advance to a superpersonal god displaces those deities who suffer from the defects which they have inherited from their human prototypes and their demon ancestors—namely, the personal gods.
Along with the above-mentioned development of musical art there is also a second change, which appears on the surface to be antithetical to the former, but which in reality supplements it. This change consists in the separation of musical expression from the various elements with which it was originally connected, and in its entrance upon a free and independent development. In the recitative of the rhapsodist, in the liturgy of the temple service, in dance and song, the rhythmic-melodic elements are, to a certain extent, limited by the rhythmic-melodic possibilities of language. In part, it is true, they have freed themselves from this limitation—namely, in the instrumental accompaniment—and yet they fail to attain to independence so long as they are but means for intensifying the expression which emotion receives in language and mimicry. From this double bondage to the rhythmic-melodic powers of human expressive movements and to the thought content of language, musical art finally frees itself. While the musical instrument was at first a means designed to assist man in his endeavour to give direct expression to his emotions, man's activity in the case of 'absolute music' becomes limited to the mastery of the instrument itself. This renders available a wealth of new tonal possibilities, and adds an inexhaustible supply of new motifs for the expression of feelings and emotions. Musical art thus becomes purely a language of emotions. Free from connection with specific ideas, it in no wise restricts the experiences which the hearer may enjoy. It affects these experiences only in so far as the musical production is itself a portrayal of pure emotions. Inasmuch as music is not bound by concepts or ideas, its effect upon the hearer will be the purer and the more intense according as he is the more receptive to the particular emotions in question. In the form of the instrumental composition, therefore, music is the most subjective of the musical arts, as are landscape-painting and its related forms, though not in so pronounced a degree, of the plastic arts. Like these arts, and even more so, music is the expression of purely subjective feelings. Hence, it, as well as they, far transcends the boundaries of the heroic age, whose fundamental characteristic is attachment to the objective world. In the heroic age, the individual may indeed transfuse the outer world with his emotions, but he is never able to isolate his emotions from objects. Consequently, though art places its media at his disposal, he is unable to utilize them in giving expression, in its independence, to the inner life of personality.