"Thespis, the first professor of our art,
At country wakes sang ballads from a cart."
Dryden.
|
MUSIC is as old as the world itself. In some form or other, it has
always existed. Ere man learned to give vent to his emotions in
tuneful voice, Nature, animate and inanimate, under the hand of the
Great Master, sang his praises. Of this we learn in the sacred
writings; while all about us, in the songs of birds, the musical
sighing of the winds, the fall of waters, and the many forms of the
music of Nature, we have palpable evidence of its present existence,
and assurances of its most remote antiquity.
It would seem that not long after "God breathed into the nostrils of
man the breath of life, and he became a living soul," he learned to
express the joys and yearnings of his soul in song first, and then
with some sort of musical instrument. And to man it was given,
commencing with the early ages, to develop the simple ejaculations or
melodies of a praise-giving soul into a beautiful, a noble art,
replete at times with harmonic intricacies, and again with melodies
grand in their very simplicity; into a beneficent science, divine from
its inception, which has ever had as votaries many of earth's
greatest minds, and has become a fountain of delight to all mankind.
The history of the music of antiquity—that is, in an art-form—is
nearly, if indeed not quite, enveloped in mystery; and it were futile
to profess to give an historical presentation of an art from its
birth, when documentary evidence of the same is lost.
We may, however, very reasonably suppose of music generally, that it
must have been gradually developed, having had its infancy, childhood,
and youth; and that it grew slowly into present scientific form with
the advance of the centuries.
From all we can gather in regard to the early history of music as a
system, it would appear that it had its infancy in ancient Greece;
although it is supposed by some that the Grecian method was founded
upon that of the still more ancient one of the Egyptians. Dr. Burgh, a
learned musical writer states that, of "the time before Christ, music
was most cultivated and was most progressive in Greece." The verses of
the Greek poet Homer, who was himself a musician, abound in beautiful
allusions to and descriptions of this charming science; while in
mythology are recounted the wonderful musical achievements of the god
Orpheus, who is said to have been so skilled in music that the very
rocks and trees followed in his wake of harmony.
The first artificial music of which the Bible speaks was that which
was sung or played in praise of the Creator,—sacred music. In fact,
this noble quality of the soul was very rarely called into exercise,
save in the worship of the Deity, until many centuries had passed. Of
music before the Christian era, both vocal and instrumental, the books
of the Old Testament often speak. As to its exact character, we are
left to conjecture, being, as before intimated, without materials from
which to form a judgment; but, in some form or other, there was,
during that period, abundance of what was called music.
The first mention of music, either vocal or instrumental, in the
Scriptures, is made in Gen. iv. 21: "Jubal was the father of all such
as handle the harp and organ." Jubal was only seventh in descent from
Adam; and from this passage it is thought by some that he was the
inventor of instrumental music. In the year B.C. 1739, in Gen. xxxi.
27, Laban says to Jacob, "Wherefore didst thou flee away from me, and
didst not tell me, that I might have sent thee away with mirth and
with songs, with tabret and with harp?" This is the first mention in
the Bible of vocal music. King David, who has been called "the sweet
singer of Israel," is said to have been a skilful performer on the
harp. By his magical touch upon its strings at a certain time, he
produced sounds so sweetly soothing as to drive away the "evil spirit"
from Saul.
The poet Byron pays an elevated, glowing tribute to this "monarch
minstrel" in the following lines:—
"The harp the monarch minstrel swept,
The king of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallowed while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,—
Redoubled be her tears; its chords are riven.
It softened men of iron mould;
It gave them virtues not their own:
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fired not, to the tone;
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne.
It told the triumphs of our King;
It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladdened valleys ring,
The cedars bow, the mountains nod:
Its sound aspired to heaven, and there abode.
Since then, though heard on earth no more,
Devotion, and her daughter Love,
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above,
In dreams that day's broad light cannot remove."
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And here I append from the First of Chronicles, xiii. 8, a description
of the music of the "house of Israel:" "And David and all Israel
played before God with all their might, and with singing, and with
harps, and with psalteries, and with timbrels, and with cymbals, and
with trumpets."
Josephus, the learned Jewish historian, states that the Egyptians had
two hundred thousand musicians playing at the dedication of the Temple
of Solomon. This structure was of most wonderfully immense dimensions:
and it may have been that this enormous body of performers played in
detachments about the building; otherwise the statement would seem
apocryphal.
The Egyptian musical instruments, it appears, were mostly of very rude
construction: performance upon them would not now, probably, be
tolerated even in circles of the least musical culture.
Of these ancient instruments the Boston "Folio" thus speaks:—
"The Egyptian flute was only a cow's-horn, with three or
four holes in it; and their harp, or lyre, had only three
strings. The Grecian lyre had only seven strings, and was
very small, being held in one hand. The Jewish trumpets that
made the walls of Jericho fall down were only rams'-horns:
their flute was the same as the Egyptian. They had no other
instrumental music but by percussion, of which the greatest
boast was made of the psaltery,—a small triangular harp, or
lyre, with wire strings, and struck with an iron needle or
stick. Their sackbut was something like a bagpipe; the
timbrel was a tambourine; and the dulcimer, a horizontal
harp with wire strings, and struck with a stick like the
psaltery."
The following interesting and able summary of the history of ancient
Roman music is taken from a recent number of "The Vox Humana:"—
"Art love was not a distinguished characteristic of the
ancient Romans; and we are not astonished, therefore, to
find them borrowing music from Etruria, Greece, and Egypt;
originating nothing, and (although the study was pursued by
the emperors) never finding any thing higher in its practice
than a sensuous gratification.
"In the earliest days of Rome, the inhabitants were
exclusively farmers or warriors; and their first temples
were raised to Ceres or to Mars.
"The priests of Ceres came originally from Asia Minor, and
were called the Arval Brotherhood. Flute-playing was a
prominent feature in their rites, and they were all
proficient upon that instrument. Their number was limited to
twelve.
"The worship of Mars was conducted by the Salian priests,
whom Numa summoned to Rome from Etruria. These also used the
flute as an accessory to their sacrificial rites. In these
primitive days of Rome, much was borrowed from the Etruscans
in style and instruments of music.
"The earliest songs of Rome were in praise of Romulus, and
told the story of the twin-brothers and the divine origin of
the city. They were sung by choruses of boys. Similar songs
were sung during meals by the elders, with an accompaniment
of flutes; these latter songs being especially directed to
the young men, and inciting them to be worthy of the deeds
of their ancestors.
"Under the rule of the emperors, all these worthy
compositions went to decay, and were replaced by a much more
degrading school of music. At no time, however, was music
considered a necessary part of the education of Roman youth.
"There existed in the latter days of ancient Rome some
music-schools; but the study was far less universally
pursued than in Greece at the same epoch. The musical course
has been given by Quintilian as follows:—
"Theoretical: first, arithmetic, physics; second, harmony,
rhythm, metrics.
"Practical: composition, rhythm, melody, poetry.
"Execution: playing instruments, singing, dramatic action;
which makes a rather formidable array, even to modern eyes.
"Among the Roman musical instruments, the flute was the most
popular, and essentially national. We have already stated
that it was used in the worship of their two chief deities:
it was in secular use to a yet greater extent.
"This flute (tibia) was hooped with brass bands, and had
an immense resonance. It was used by both sexes; but, on
public and on most religious occasions, was played by men.
"The frequency with which it was used made the art of
playing it a most remunerative one; and the flute-players
soon formed themselves into a guild, or protective society.
This guild had many privileges accorded to it, and existed
for a period of some centuries. The 'Guild of Dionysian
Artists' was a society of later date, and was a musical
conservatory, academy, and agency, all in one. It flourished
greatly under the patronage of various Roman emperors, and
for a long time supplied singers and actors to the Roman
world.
"Valerius Maximus has given an anecdote which shows how
powerful and exacting the guild of flute-players could
afford to be.
"They were one day excluded from the Temple of Jupiter,
where they had been allowed, by ancient custom, to take
their meals; upon which the entire guild left Rome, and went
to the village of Tibur near by. This caused great
embarrassment: no religious services could be held, and
scarce any state ceremony properly conducted. The senate
thereupon sent an embassy to induce them to return,—in
vain: the angry musicians were inflexible. The wily
ambassadors then called the inhabitants of Tibur to their
aid, and these pretended to give a great feast to welcome
the flute-players. At this feast the musicians were all made
very drunk; and, while asleep from the effects of their
liquor, they were bundled into chariots, and driven back to
Rome, where all their old privileges were restored, and
newer and greater ones added.
"They received the right to give public representations and
spectacles in Rome; but at these they were all masked, the
reason being their shame at the manner of their inglorious
return to the city.
"Flutes were used at funerals; and it appears, at one time,
the luxury and pomp of Roman obsequies grew so excessive,
that a law was passed limiting the number of flute-players
on such occasions to ten.
"Only at one time did the flute disappear from any public
worship, and that was when the worship of Bacchus was
introduced into Rome. To this rite the kithara was used; but
this worship, which was somewhat refined, though jovial,
among the Greeks, became among the Romans so debauched and
uxorious, that it was soon prohibited by law.
"The flute was used in combination with other instruments at
times. Apuleius speaks of a concert of flutes, kitharas, and
chorus, and mentions its deliciously sweet effect. It was
also used as a pitch-pipe, to give orators a guide in
modulating their voices when addressing an assembly: thus
Caius Gracchus always on such occasions had a slave behind
him, whose duty it was to aid him to commence his orations
in a proper pitch, and when his voice sank too low, or
became too shrill, to call him to a better intonation by the
sounds of the flute.
"Although the flute was the favorite Roman instrument, it
was by no means the only one. Trumpets were used to a great
extent. A one-toned trumpet, of very loud voice, was used
for battle-signals. These were of very large size, usually
of brass; and their sound is described as 'terrible.' There
was also a smaller (shepherd's) trumpet of mellower tone.
"Another much-used instrument, of different character, was
the sumphonium, which did not differ materially from the
modern bagpipe.
"Instruments of percussion were few, and not indigenous to
the Romans: such as were used came from the East, and were
chiefly used in the worship of Eastern deities at Rome. When
the worship of Bacchus was prohibited, they passed away with
that licentious rite. The most complicated instrument of
the ancient world appeared in Rome during the first century
of our era. It was an organ, not, as in the scriptural
days, a mere syrinx, or Pan's pipes, but an undoubted organ,
somewhat similar in effect to our modern instrument.
"The instrument is said to have been invented by Ctesbius of
Alexandria in Egypt, who lived about 250 B.C. It did not
appear extensively in Rome, however, until nearly three
hundred years later. This organ has given rise to much
fruitless discussion. In the field of musical history
especially, 'a little' knowledge has proved 'a dangerous
thing;' for, where slight descriptions exist of instruments
of music, latitude is left for every writer to form his own
theory, to fight for it, and denunciate those who differ
from it.
"We have seen what a battle was fought over the three little
manuscripts of Greek music; what a host of differing
opinions were held about the scriptural word 'Selah:' and
now, about this hydraulic organ, each writer mounts his
hobby-horse, and careers over the field of conjecture.
Vitruvius has given a full description of the instrument
from personal inspection; but as his technical terms have
lost all significance to modern readers, and have been
translated in various ways, and as his work contained no
diagrams or illustrations of the various parts, it is
useless.
"Some writers imagine the organ to have had seven or eight
stops,—that is, so many different kinds of tones,—which
would place them nearly on a par with our own. Others think
that they possessed seven or eight keys; that is, so many
tones only. It has been a point of dispute as to what
function the water performed in working it. Vitruvius is
rather hazy on this point, saying only that it is
'suspended' in the instrument. The water, when the organ was
played, was in a state of agitation, as if boiling.
"There are medals still in existence which were awarded to
victors in organ contests, on which this instrument is
represented with two boys blowing or pumping; but the
representation is too small to clear up any doubtful
points."
But, without devoting further space to the music that was in vogue
prior to the Christian era, I proceed to notice that our first
reliable account of it, as a system, commences with the fourth
century; at which time St. Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, arranged the
sacred chants that bear his name, and which were to be sung in the
cathedrals.
In the year 600 St. Gregory improved upon these chants, inventing the
scale of eight notes. His system is the basis of our modern music.
From the close of the eleventh to the commencement of the fourteenth
century, minstrels, jongleurs, or troubadours, were the principal
devotees of music. They seem to have been its custodians, so to speak;
and to their guild many of the knights belonged. Some of the kings and
nobles of the time were also, in a sense, troubadours; such as, for
instance, Thibault of Navarre, and William the Ninth of Poitou.
These roving musicians, who generally united the qualities of the
poet, the musical composer, and performer, were treated with much
favor by princes and all the nobility, and were everywhere warmly
welcomed for a long period. It is, however, far from pleasant to have
to say that this for a long time noble class of musicians, to whom we
owe so much for the preservation unbroken for three hundred years of
the chain of musical life, as well indeed, also, as that of general
literature, spoiled perhaps by the excessive praises and indulgences
accorded them, became at last quite dissolute, and fell from their
high position. All royal favors were finally withdrawn from them, and
orders for their restriction were issued from the throne.
Mr. B.W. Ball (in that faithful exponent of art, "The Boston
Commonwealth") thus expressively sings the story of the ancient
troubadour, styling him—
"THE POET OF OLD."
Once the poet wandered,
With his lyre in hand,—
Wandered, singing, harping,
On from land to land.
Like a bird he hovered;
And, where'er he came,
Kindled he each bosom
With his song to flame.
Careless of the morrow,
Journeyed he along;
Opened every portal
To the sound of song.
Suâ sponte heart's-ease
In his bosom grew:
Happiness as birthright,
Like the gods, he knew.
All life's haps and changes
On his chords he rung:
Every thought, emotion,
In him found a tongue.
Voiced he for the lover
Passion of his breast;
Feigned he, death to lighten,
Islands of the Blest.
Up in ether throned he
Gods, the world to sway,—
Gods to bend and listen
While their votaries pray.
Soul and sense, enchanted,
Drank his accents in:
E'en to marble bosoms
He his way could win.
From her casement Beauty
Leaned his song to hear:
E'en the haughty conqueror
Bent a willing ear;
For without the poet
And his epic lay
Passed his vast existence,
Whirlwind-like, away,—
Trace nor vestige leaving
Where his legions trod,
Which the year effaced not
From the vernal sod.
Thus the poet wandered
In a nobler time,—
Wandered, singing, harping,
Free of every clime.
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During the fourteenth century, music was most cultivated by the people
of the Netherlands, who carried the art towards much perfection,
producing several fine composers, and furnishing the leading musical
instructors for the other parts of Europe. Among some of the ablest
musicians of the Netherlands may be mentioned Dufay, Jan of Okenheim,
and Josquin Desprès, the latter being the most celebrated of
contrapuntists. The Netherland musical supremacy lasted until 1563.
In the year 1400 the claims of music received the recognition of the
crown in England, a charter being granted to a regularly formed
musical society.
Commencing with the invention of movable type in 1502 (which invention
so vastly facilitated the publication and spreading of the thoughts of
the composer), and with the Reformation in the sixteenth century, the
noble art of music began a new, unimpeded, and brilliant career among
the civilized nations of the world. Dating from thence, the steps in
the progress of this delightful science can be plainly traced. Unvexed
and unfettered by the obscurities that attach to its antique history,
we can contemplate with pleasure and profit the wonderful creations
and achievements of its devotees.
This I need not attempt here, save in the briefest form; my purpose in
preparing this chapter being only to give, as indicated in the title,
a glance at the history of music.
To Palestrina, a learned Italian of the sixteenth century, and whose
musical genius and industry were most remarkable, is due the greatest
homage and gratitude of a music-loving world. Of him an eminent
musical writer says, "It is difficult to over-estimate his talent and
influence over the art of music in his day. He was regarded as the
great reformer of church music. His knowledge of counterpoint, and the
elevation and nobility of his style, made his masses and other
compositions, of which he wrote a great number, examples for all time
of what music should be."
In this century lived many notable composers, nearly all of whom
distinguished themselves in the production of madrigal music. To the
latter the English people were much devoted. Reading at sight was at
that day, even more than now, a common accomplishment among the
educated. The English queen Elizabeth was quite fond of music, and was
somewhat accomplished in the art, performing upon the lute, virginals,
and viol. She often charmed the attachés of and visitors to her
court by her skilful performances. During her reign, and by her
encouragement, the cultivation of this noble art received a new and
strong impulse in England, and several composers and performers of
high merit lived.
In the year 1540 oratorio was first composed, followed by opera in
1594. During this period, instrumental music began to be used in the
churches; and the violin was brought by the celebrated Amati family to
a beauty of form, and sweetness of tone, not since excelled.
During the seventeenth century such great composers as Stradella,
Scarlatti, Caldara, and Claudio lived; and the different forms of
opera were developed in England, France, and Italy.
During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the art of music, in
its new, rich, and deep developments, as shown in the masterly,
wonderful creations of several of the great composers of those
periods, and in the scientific performances of many fine
instrumentalists, attained a height of surpassing grandeur. Many men
of brilliant musical genius and of remarkable industry and
perseverance were born; and, with new conceptions of the scope and
capabilities of the divine art, they penetrated its innermost depths,
and brought to the ears of the music-loving world new and enrapturing
forms of harmony. Among these great masters, leaving out those already
mentioned, were Handel, Henry Purcell, Bach, Gluck, Haydn, Mozart,
Beethoven, and Spontini.
But, before proceeding farther, the writer considers it proper to
remark, that to give a extended description of the progress of music
during the three last centuries, mentioning in detail the many
creations and achievements of those who have become great, nay, in
some instances he might say almost immortal, in its sacred domain,
would require a volume far beyond the pretensions and intended limits
of this one.
Besides, the author confesses that he pauses with feelings of
reverence while contemplating the mighty genius and divinely
approximating achievements of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Spohr, and
Mendelssohn, fearing that his unskilful pen might fail in an attempt
at description. Nor does he feel much less embarrassed when he
contemplates the accomplishments of those wonderful interpreters of
the works of the noble masters, who have, either through the
enchanting modulations of their voices or with skilful touch upon
instruments, evolved their magic strains. Let an abler pen than mine
portray the sublime triumphs of Hasse, Mario, Wachtel, Santley,
Whitney; of Albani, Malibran, Lind, Parepa Rosa, Nilsson; of Haupt,
Paganini, Vieuxtemps, Ole Bull, Rubinstein, Liszt, and Von Bulow.[4]
The eighteenth century was a most remarkable period for achievements
in the composition of orchestral, oratorio, and operatic music,—the
same being finely interpreted by vocal and instrumental artists of
most wonderful skill.
In referring to some among that galaxy of bright stars, I use, in
regard to Mozart, the clear and beautiful language of another:[5] "The
great musical composer Mozart was a wonderful instance of precocity,
as well as of surpassing genius. He died at the early age of
thirty-five, after a career of unrivalled splendor, and the
production of a succession of works which have left him almost, if not
entirely, without an equal among either his predecessors or those who
have come after him. Mozart's devotion to his art, and the
indefatigable industry with which, notwithstanding his extraordinary
powers, he gave himself to its cultivation, may read an instructive
lesson, even to far inferior minds, in illustration of the true and
only method for the attainment of excellence. From his childhood to
the last moment of his life, Mozart was wholly a musician. Even in his
earliest years, no pastime had any interest for him in which music was
not introduced. His voluminous productions, to enumerate even the
titles of which would occupy no little space, are the best attestation
of the unceasing diligence of his maturer years. He used, indeed, to
compose with surprising rapidity: but he had none of the carelessness
of a rapid composer; for so delicate was his sense of the beautiful,
that he was never satisfied with any one of his productions until it
had received all the perfection he could give it by the most minute
and elaborate correction. Ever striving after higher and higher
degrees of excellence, and existing only for his art, he scarcely
suffered even the visible approach of death to withdraw him for a
moment from his beloved studies. During the last moments of his life,
though weak in body, he was 'full of the god;' and his application,
though indefatigable, could not keep pace with his invention. 'Il
Flauta Magico,' 'La Clemenza di Tito,'
and a 'Requiem' which he had hardly time to finish, were among his
last efforts. The composition of the 'Requiem,' in the decline of his
bodily powers, and under great mental excitement, hastened his
dissolution. He was seized with repeated fainting-fits, brought on by
his extreme assiduity in writing, in one of which he expired. A few
hours before his death took place, he is reported to have said, 'Now I
begin to see what might be done in music.'"
Mozart's compositions number over six hundred, and two hundred of them
had not until quite recently been printed. He composed fifty-three
works for the church, a hundred and eighteen for orchestra, twenty-six
operas and cantatas, a hundred and fifty-four songs, forty-nine
concertos, sixty-two piano-forte pieces, and seventeen pieces for the
organ.
Of Beethoven, Professor F.L. Ritter, in one of his excellent lectures
on music, says, "Beethoven's compositions appeal to the whole being of
the listener. They captivate the whole soul, and, for the time being,
subdue it to an intense, powerful, poetical influence, impressing it
with melancholy, sorrow, and sadness, elevating it heavenwards in
hopeful joy and inspired happiness."
The following description[6] of Beethoven's last hours on earth, as he
was nearing the time
"When all of genius which can perish dies,"
although replete with sadness, is yet a tribute so touchingly
beautiful and eloquent as to make it well worthy of insertion here.
"THE LAST MOMENTS OF BEETHOVEN.
"He had but one happy moment in his life, and that moment
killed him.
"He lived in poverty, driven into solitude by the contempt
of the world, and by the natural bent of a disposition
rendered harsh, almost savage, by the injustice of his
contemporaries. But he wrote the sublimest music that ever
man or angel dreamed. He spoke to mankind in his divine
language, and they disdained to listen to him. He spoke to
them as Nature speaks in the celestial harmony of the winds,
the waves, the singing of the birds amid the woods.
Beethoven was a prophet, and his utterance was from God.
"And yet was his talent so disregarded, that he was destined
more than once to suffer the bitterest agony of the poet,
the artist, the musician. He doubted his own genius.
"Haydn himself could find for him no better praise than in
saying, 'He was a clever pianist.'
"Thus was it said of Géricault, 'He blends his colors well;'
and thus of Goethe, 'He has a tolerable style, and he
commits no faults in orthography.'
"Beethoven had but one friend, and that friend was Hummel.
But poverty and injustice had irritated him, and he was
sometimes unjust himself. He quarrelled with Hummel, and for
a long time they ceased to meet. To crown his misfortunes,
he became completely deaf.
"Then Beethoven retired to Baden, where he lived, isolated
and sad, in a small house that scarcely sufficed for his
necessities. There his only pleasure was in wandering amid
the green alleys of a beautiful forest in the neighborhood
of the town. Alone with the birds and the wild flowers, he
would then suffer himself to give scope to his genius, to
compose his marvellous symphonies, to approach the gates of
heaven with melodious accents, and to speak aloud to angels
that language which was too beautiful for human ears, and
which human ears had failed to comprehend.
"But in the midst of his solitary dreaming a letter arrived,
which brought him back, despite himself, to the affairs of
the world, where new griefs awaited him.
"A nephew whom he had brought up, and to whom he was
attached by the good offices which he had himself performed
for the youth, wrote to implore his uncle's presence at
Vienna. He had become implicated in some disastrous
business, from which his elder relative alone could release
him.
"Beethoven set off upon his journey, and, compelled by the
necessity of economy, accomplished part of the distance on
foot. One evening he stopped before the gate of a small,
mean-looking house, and solicited shelter. He had already
several leagues to traverse before reaching Vienna, and his
strength would not enable him to continue any longer on the
road.
"They received him with hospitality: he partook of their
supper, and then was installed in the master's chair by the
fireside.
"When the table was cleared, the father of the family arose,
and opened an old clavecin. The three sons took each a
violin, and the mother and daughter occupied themselves in
some domestic work.
"The father gave the key-note, and all four began playing
with that unity and precision, that innate genius, which is
peculiar only to the people of Germany. It seemed that they
were deeply interested in what they played; for their whole
souls were in the instruments. The two women desisted from
their occupation to listen, and their gentle countenances
expressed the emotions of their hearts.
"To observe all this was the only share that Beethoven could
take in what was passing; for he did not hear a single note.
He could only judge of their performance from the movements
of the executants, and the fire that animated their
features.
"When they had finished they shook each other's hands
warmly, as if to congratulate themselves on a community of
happiness; and the young girl threw herself weeping into her
mother's arms. Then they appeared to consult together: they
resumed their instruments; they commenced again. This time
their enthusiasm reached its height; their eyes were filled
with tears, and the color mounted to their cheeks.
"'My friends,' said Beethoven, 'I am very unhappy that I can
take no part in the delight which you experience; for I also
love music: but, as you see, I am so deaf that I cannot hear
any sound. Let me read this music which produces in you such
sweet and lively emotions.'
"He took the paper in his hand: his eyes grew dim, his
breath came short and fast; then he dropped the music, and
burst into tears.
"These peasants had been playing the allegretto of
Beethoven's Symphony in A.
"The whole family surrounded him with signs of curiosity and
surprise.
"For some moments his convulsive sobs impeded his utterance;
then he raised his head, and said, 'I am Beethoven.'
"And they uncovered their heads, and bent before him in
respectful silence. Beethoven extended his hands to them,
and they pressed them, kissed, wept over them; for they knew
that they had amongst them a man who was greater than a
king.
"Beethoven held out his arms, and embraced them all,—the
father, the mother, the young girl, and her three brothers.
"All at once he rose up, and, sitting down to the clavecin,
signed to the young men to take up their violins, and
himself performed the piano part of his chef-d'œuvre.
The performers were alike inspired: never was music more
divine or better executed. Half the night passed away thus,
and the peasants listened. Those were the last accents of
the swan.
"The father compelled him to accept his own bed; but, during
the night, Beethoven was restless and fevered. He rose: he
needed air: he went forth with naked feet into the country.
All nature was exhaling a majestic harmony; the winds
sighing through the branches of the trees, and moaning along
the avenues and glades of the wood. He remained some hours
wandering thus amid the cool dews of the early morning; but,
when he returned to the house, he was seized with an icy
chill. They sent to Vienna for a physician. Dropsy on the
chest was found to have declared itself; and in two days,
despite every care and skill, the doctor said Beethoven must
die.
"And, in truth, life was every instant ebbing fast from him.
"As he lay upon his bed, pale and suffering, a man entered.
It was Hummel,—Hummel, his old and only friend. He had
heard of the illness of Beethoven, and he came to him with
succor and money. But it was too late: Beethoven was
speechless; and a grateful smile was all that he had to
bestow upon his friend.
"Hummel bent towards him, and, by the air of an acoustic
instrument, enabled Beethoven to hear a few words of his
compassion and regret.
"Beethoven seemed re-animated; his eyes shone: he struggled
for utterance, and gasped, 'Is it not true, Hummel, that I
have some talent, after all?'
"These were his last words. His eyes grew fixed, his mouth
fell open, and his spirit passed away.
"They buried him in the little cemetery of Dobling."
Among the most eminent composers of the present century may be
mentioned Auber, Schubert, Rossini, Meyerbeer, Mendelssohn, Weber,
Verdi, and Wagner.
In "The Contemporary Review" there lately appeared the following
beautifully worded tribute to the noble qualities of Mendelssohn:—
"Mendelssohn reigns forever in a sweet wayside temple of his
own, full of bright dreams and visions, incense, and ringing
songs, and partly is he so sweet, because, unburthened with
any sense of a message to utter, a mission to develop, he
sings like a child in the valleys of asphodel, weaving
bright chaplets of spring flowers for the whole world,
looking upon the mystery of grief and pain with wide eyes of
sympathy, and at last succumbing to it himself, but not
understanding it, with a song of tender surprise upon his
lips."
Since the times of the great writers of the eighteenth century, and of
the first half of the present one, no new developments or advancements
have been made in musical creations.[7] Indeed, it would seem that the
time has not yet come for attempts to be made to improve upon the
works of those great musical luminaries; for they have left too much
that is deep, classical, charmingly beautiful, and soul-satisfying.
The musical world has paused, not caring to go farther, to
conscientiously study their noble creations, so fruitful in the
delights, the soul-elevating influences, which they afford.
But, although no great genius has of late years appeared with newer
and greater creations to claim our attention from those of the past,
it is gratifying to know that great advancement is being made in a
more general musical culture among the people; while the number of
really great instrumentalists and vocalists is quite large, and is
constantly increasing. In these latter respects the present far
exceeds the past.[8] In fact, the study of the art of music has begun
to be considered a necessity; and ability in its comprehension and
performance is now far from being considered as merely an ornamental
accomplishment. All this springs from the very nature of this divine
art, the mission, so to speak, of which is, to constantly open new
fountains of pleasure in the human heart; to cheer, to soothe, and to
bless mankind throughout all time.
But, after all, we know not how soon another great musical genius may
startle us from our complacent studies of the masters of the past; for
we are even now somewhat threatened in this respect by Richard Wagner,
the eminent composer of Germany. He is not satisfied with the music of
the past nor the present, and points to his own present and
prospective creations as samples of what the "music of the future"
will be. Just now, musical critics, while generally conceding to him
much power as a composer, are divided in opinion as to whether his
ideas are to be accepted in their entirety.
Still, who can now tell what the "music of the future" may be?
Before closing this chapter on the history of music, I think it highly
proper, as a matter of record and of appropriate interest, to refer
briefly to the almost wonderful achievements of that brilliant
impressario, P.S. Gilmore of Boston, who in the year 1869 conceived
the idea of having a grand musical festival, the noble objects of
which were to celebrate the restoration of peace in the United States,
and to quicken and increase the interest felt in music throughout this
country, and also the world, by bringing together in a single
performance a larger body of most skilful musicians than was ever
before attempted. An immense building called "The Coliseum" was
constructed for the purposes of the festival, which was to continue
five days. On the 15th of June, in the city of Boston, "The National
Jubilee and Great Musical Festival" was begun. The number of
instruments and performers composing the great orchestra was 1,011;
and an organ of immense proportions and power, built expressly for the
occasion, was employed. The grand chorus and solo vocalists numbered
1,040. Besides, one hundred anvils (used in the rendering of Verdi's
"Anvil Chorus") were played upon by a hundred of the city's firemen in
full uniform; while to all this was added a group of cannon, the same
being used in the performance of the "Star-spangled Banner." The vast
chorus, the orchestra, and all the leading performers (among the
latter were Ole Bull, Parepa, and Carl Rosa), were selected from the
finest musical people of the country, being accepted only after strict
testing by skilful judges. At this great gathering many of the works
of the great composers were performed, and only works of real merit
had a place on the programme. These were all performed by this vast
ensemble with a precision and an excellence that were really grand
and wonderful. This achievement of Gilmore was considered the most
brilliant entertainment of modern times. Of it, it has been truly
said,—
"This great event, by the sublimity of its music, held the
nation spell-bound. The great volume of song swept through
the land like a flood of melody, filling every Christian
heart with 'glad tidings of great joy.' It came like a
sunburst upon a musical world, shedding light where had been
darkness before, and revealing a new sphere of harmony, a
fairy-land of promise, and triumphantly realizing greater
achievements in the divine art than were hitherto thought
possible. It will ever be a memorable epoch in the history
of music, a glorious event; and thousands upon thousands are
happier for that week of glorious music. The boom of the
cannon, the stroke of the bells,[9] the clang of the anvils,
the peal of the organ, the harmony of the thousand
instruments, the melody of the thousands of voices, the
inspiring works of the great masters, the song of the
'Star-spangled Banner,' the cheers of the multitude, the
splendor of the spectacle,—the memory of all this is the
rich possession of many, and will be ever recalled as the
happiest experiences of a lifetime."
The success of the "National Peace Jubilee" was so perfect, and had
produced a musical enthusiasm and revival so great, that, in the year
1872, Gilmore, still prolific in startling musical conceptions,
projected and carried into execution another festival of the same
general character as the first, only that it was far vaster and more
daring in its proportions. This one he styled "The World's Peace
Jubilee and International Festival." Several times during the week
that this great musical festival was held, not less than fifty
thousand people were present in the immense Coliseum building. This
time the orchestra consisted of two thousand instruments, and the
chorus numbered over seventeen hundred voices; while a mighty organ
and cannon and anvils were used as before. The great soloists engaged
were Mme. Leutner, Johann Strauss, Franz Abt, and Bendel. Foreign
governments being invited to send representatives from among their
best musicians, England sent the Band of the Grenadier Guards;
Germany, its great Prussian Band; France, the brilliant French
Republic Band. King William of Prussia sent also, as a special
compliment, his classical Court Cornet Quartet; and Ireland sent its
best band. To this galaxy of star military bands, perhaps the greatest
ever assembled, the United States added its own favorite Marine Band
of Washington. At this second great and vast assemblage of artists the
almost marvellous achievements of the first "Jubilee" were repeated to
the utmost delight of many thousands of people, and Gilmore became at
once the most brilliant and daring impressario genius of the world.
As before intimated, Wagner is not at all satisfied with pausing where
Mozart, Beethoven, and other great composers, left off. He believes
that their music can be improved upon. According to his theory, the
music of the opera, in the most highly-developed form of the latter,
is but an incidental element, the dramatic part being principal. He
lately composed a triology—three operas connected as one—with a
prologue, the subjects of the dramas being taken from mythology, and
forming beautiful fairy tales. To carry to the greatest perfection his
views and firmly-held ideas as to what music should be, and as to what
he stoutly avers it will be in the future, he selected from far and
near only the best artists for the performance of his opera (these
were subjected to long and careful rehearsals under his own
conductorship), and erected at Bayreuth, in Bavaria, a large and
beautiful theatre, which, in its minutest details even, was built
under his own supervision, and after his own peculiar ideas. It being
calculated to show to the highest advantage his conception, that, in
the expression of sentiment, music is only secondary, his orchestra of
one hundred and ten performers was placed out of sight of the audience
during the acting of the opera.
The great "Musical Festival," as it was called, continued three days,
the performance of each part of the triology occupying—exclusive of a
wait of one hour after each act—from four to five hours.
At these performances the nobility of Germany and other countries,
together with the Abbé Liszt, and many others in the higher walks of
music, were present. The audiences were immense, brilliant, and
exceedingly demonstrative in applause. At the close of the opera,
Wagner was called before the curtain, receiving quite an ovation: and
in his speech he said, "Now we see what can be done: at last we have a
German art."
It is perhaps too early, as yet, to decide that Richard Wagner's ideal
will be adopted by the musical world; nor should we be in too much
haste to conclude that it will not be. Certainly he has succeeded, at
least, in dividing the highest critics of the glorious art; and the
history of music shows, as does also that of all art, that what is
rejected to-day may be warmly and even rapturously accepted to-morrow.
Of the festival at Bayreuth, Mr. Hazard, musical critic of "The
New-York Tribune," writes, "The effect of the music was magnificent
beyond all description. It far surpassed all expectation; and the
general verdict is that it is a triumph of the new school of music,
final and complete."
Of the impression created by one of the parts of the opera,
"Rheingold" (Mr. F.A. Schwabe), of "The New-York Times," says,
"Musically considered, it is not significant. It is hopeless,
therefore, to look for popularity for the work; at present, at least."
"The agony is over; and the grandest of all operatic conceptions, the
musical drama over which Richard Wagner toiled and dreamed for twenty
years, has been given to the world in its complete form."[10]
Very recently, Mr. Moncure D. Conway thus expresses his high
admiration for the work of Wagner:—
"I am satisfied that the English-speaking world is little
aware at present of the immensity and importance of the work
Wagner has done for art. Plato declared that the true
musician must have poetry and music harmonized in himself;
and the world has waited twenty-five hundred years for that
combination to appear. Having carefully read the poems all
written by himself which Wagner has set to music, or rather
which incarnated themselves in music, and costumed
themselves in scenery as he wrote them, I venture to affirm
that none can so read them without the conviction that their
author is a true poet. In the first place, the general
conception of his chief operas, taken together, is in the
largest sense poetic, and I might even say Homeric. This man
has transmitted an entire religion to poetry, and then set
it to music. And it is one of the greatest of
religions,—what Nature engraved on the heart of our own
Teutonic ancestors. It is all there,—its thousand
phantasmal years, from the first cowering cry of the Norse
savage before the chariot of his storm-god to the last
gentle hymn that rose to Freya under her new name of
Mary,—all. It is interpreted as a purely human expression;
and, I repeat, no man has done so vast and worthy an
artistic work in our time."
While America has perhaps produced as yet no great composers, it has
several of very high merit, such as J.K. Paine, Dudley Buck, and
others. In the United States there are many remarkable vocal and
instrumental artists, a large number of classical musical clubs and
societies; while several of its great vocalists, male and female,
accept and decline engagements in Europe. Perhaps no finer orchestra
exists anywhere than that of Theodore Thomas of New York; while nearly
as high praise may be given to the Mendelssohn and Beethoven Quintette
Clubs of Boston, and to others in different parts of the country.
Music is quite generally cultivated in this country; and there are
many excellent critics, musical writers, and periodicals devoted to
this beautiful and elevating science.
A very startling late American musical invention is the "telephone," a
description of the working of which is given below:—
"MUSIC BY TELEGRAPH.
"A most interesting field for the musical student is the
progress that is being made in telegraphing musical
sounds.
"This is done by means of the telephone, which transmits
simultaneously several different tones through one wire by
means of steel forks made to vibrate at one end of the line,
the pulsations passing through the wire independently of
each other, and reappearing at the distant station on
vibrating reeds.
"Some very interesting tests were made in the Centennial
Main Building a few days ago in the presence of about fifty
invited guests, among whom were noticed the Emperor and
Empress of Brazil, Sir William Thompson, and quite a number
of eminent electricians.
"The experiments were of a very interesting and successful
character.
"The inventor, Mr. Gray of Chicago, asked his assistant, Mr.
Goodridge, to transmit musical sounds, which were received
very distinctly amid hearty applause from those present.
"It was the first time that many present had heard 'Home,
Sweet Home,' 'My Country, 'tis of Thee,' or 'Old Hundred,'
rendered so beautifully by telegraph; and they evidently
enjoyed the treat."
By this invention, music played upon a piano-forte or melodeon is
reproduced upon a violin attached to the receiving end of the wire at
a distance of twenty-four hundred miles.
Another important musical invention (English) is that of the "voice
harmonium." Of this Mr. Theo. T. Seward writes,—
"To all such the invention of which I speak is a matter of
deep interest, because in it is practically solved the
problem of perfect intonation. It is called the 'voice
harmonium,' because the securing of perfect intonation
brings the tones much nearer to the quality of the human
voice. The instrument has been invented and patented by Mr.
Colin Brown of Glasgow, Ewing lecturer on music. By the use
of additional reeds and a most ingenious keyboard, he has
succeeded in giving each key in perfect tune. The 'wolf'
is banished altogether, without the privilege of a single
growl. I do not need to say that the effect upon the ear is
rich, and extremely satisfactory. After listening to it a
little while, the tones of a tempered organ sound coarse and
harsh. I wish very much that some of our ingenious American
instrument-makers could have the opportunity of examining
it. It has been publicly exhibited at the South-Kensington
Exhibition, before the recent meeting of the British
Association, and elsewhere. The highest scientific
authorities have pronounced most thoroughly in favor of its
'perfectness, beauty, and simplicity.' Whether the greater
complication of the keyboard will interfere seriously with
its popular use, remains to be seen."
Mr. Theodore Thomas recently gave an excellent performance of the
works of American composers. Among those rendered were compositions by
Dudley Buck, A.H. Pease, and William Mason. One of the gems of the
evening was a symphonic poem by William H. Foy, entitled "A Day in the
Country."
Mr. Thomas's orchestra, noted for placing upon its programmes only
works of the highest merit, has recently also presented with much
success a new symphony by the talented composer of oratorios, &c.,
J.K. Paine.
In alluding to the progress of music in the United States, "The Music
Trade Review" says, "If the centennial year could disclose all its
triumphs, music would shine among its garlands. A hundred years ago
was a voiceless void for us compared with the native voices and native
workers who now know a sonnet from a saraband."
