Henry sent settlers there, and caused European fruits of every kind to
be carried there; and amongst other productions, saw-mills and other
machinery to cut the valuable timber found there into portable pieces,
which were afterwards transported to Portugal. In 1724, the city of
Breslau had a saw-mill which produced the yearly rent of three marks.
In 1490, the magistrates of Erfurt purchased a forest, and built a mill
of this description. In Norway, a country covered with wood, there
was one built in 1530. This mode of manufacture was called the new
art; and because the exportation of deals was by that means increased,
a royal impost was introduced by Christian III. in 1545, called the
deal-tythe. Soon after Henry Ranzau caused the first mill to be erected
at Holstein. In the year 1555, the Bishop of Ely, being ambassador from
the Princess Mary of England to the court of Rome, saw a saw-mill in
the neighbourhood of Lyons: the writer of his travels thought it worthy
of particular description:--“The saw-mill is driven by an upright
wheel; and the water that makes it go is gathered whole into a narrow
trough, which delivereth the same water to the wheels. This wheel
hath a piece of timber put to the axle-tree end, like the handle of a
brooch, and fastened to the end of the saw, which being turned with the
force of the water, hoisteth up and down the saw, that it continually
eateth in, and the handle of the same is kept in a rigall of wood from
swerving. Also the timber lieth as it were upon a ladder, which is
brought by little and little to the saw with another vice.” In the
sixteenth century, there was a grand improvement made in this machine
by having several saws affixed to one beam, by which timber could be
cut into several planks or boards, and of any thickness, at the same
time. There was one of these at Ratisbon, upon the Danube, in 1575.
In England saw-mills were at first received with as little
encouragement as printing met with in Turkey, and from the same motive.
When the attempt was made to introduce them it was said the sawyers
would be deprived of bread. For this reason it was found necessary
to abandon a saw-mill erected by a Dutchman, near London, in 1663.
However, in the year 1700, a gentleman of the name of Houghton laid
before the nation the advantages to be derived from them; but he
expressed his apprehension that it might cause a commotion among the
people. What he feared, actually came to pass; for, on the erection
of one by a wealthy timber merchant, by the desire of the society
for the promotion of arts, in 1767, to be propelled by the wind,
under the direction of James Stansfield, who had learnt the method
of constructing them in Holland and Norway, a foolish mob assembled
and pulled it to pieces. Many years previous to this there had been
a similar mill erected in Scotland. There is now hardly a town of
any importance in the kingdom but what has one or more saw-mills in
operation.
FORKS.
The fork is an article of every-day use amongst us, and on that account
little thought of; still the short space we intend to occupy with this
subject may, perhaps, convey a little information to many of our
readers unknown to them before, or, at least, unthought of.
There is not the least room to suppose the ancients were at all
acquainted with this little table utensil, now so necessary to our own
comfort and convenience, to say nothing of our ideas of cleanliness.
Pliny, who enumerated most things natural, physical, philosophical, and
economical, makes no mention of them; nor does it occur in any other
writer of antiquity; neither does Pollux speak of it in the very full
catalogue which he has given of things necessary for a table.
Neither the Greeks or Romans had any name in the least applicable to
its use, either direct or by inference, where it can be asserted that
such an instrument was intended. The ancients had, it is true, in
Greece, their _creagra_. In Rome, their _furca_, _fuscina_, _furcilla_,
&c.: the Grecian instrument somewhat resembled a rake of an ordinary
construction, and calculated for the purpose of taking meat out of a
boiling pot, constructed in the shape of a hook, or rather the bent
fingers of the hand.
With reference to the Roman names, the first two were undoubtedly
applied to instruments which approached nearer to our furnace and hay
forks.--The trident of Neptune is also called _fuscina_. The furcilla
was large enough to be employed as a weapon of defence. The present
Latin name for a fork, _fusinula_, is not to be found in any of the old
Latin writers.
It is the opinion, we understand, of a learned Italian writer, that
the ancient Romans used the instruments they called _ligulæ_, instead
of forks. Now those instruments had some distant resemblance to our
teaspoons. Hence we must conclude that they and our ancestors used no
forks, because, had they had anything answering the purpose, even in
effect, it must undoubtedly have had a name.
In the East, we understand it was, and still is, customary to dress
their victuals until they become so tender as to be easily pulled in
pieces. We are told by modern travellers, that if an animal be dressed
before it has lost its natural warmth, it becomes tender and very
savoury. This is the Oriental custom, and has been so from the most
remote antiquity.
Fortunately, all articles of food were cut up in small pieces before
they were served up at table; the necessity for which practice will
appear, when we remember they usually took their meals in a recumbent
posture upon beds. Originally, persons of rank kept an officer for the
purpose of cutting the meat, who used a knife, the only one placed
at table, which, in opulent families, had an ivory handle, and was
ornamented with silver.
The bread was never cut at table; it needed it not, being usually baked
thin, somewhat resembling the Passover cake of the Jews; this is not
understood, however, to have been universal.
The Chinese use no forks; however, to supply them, they have small
sticks of ivory, often of very fine workmanship, inlaid with silver and
gold, which each guest employs to pick up the bits of meat, it being
previously cut small. The invention of forks was not known till about
two centuries ago in Europe, where people eat the same as they do now
in Turkey.
In the New Testament we read of putting hands into the dish. Homer, as
well as Ovid, mention the same custom.
In the quotation from the sacred writings, we observe that the guests
had, it is presumed, no instrument to help themselves out of the common
dish which contained the repast; for, upon the question being put of
who was to betray the Saviour, the answer was given in the following
quotation, “It is one of the twelve that dippeth with me in the dish.”
In the passage cited from Homer, the phrase, according to the Latin
translation, implies the same sense. And had the Romans been apprised
of the utility of this instrument, or in fact of any substitute, there
could have been no occasion for the master of the amorous art to have
given his instructions to his pupils in nearly similar terms which we
now use to children.
Although Count Caylus and Grignon both assert that ancient forks have
been found, we still want further testimony. The former says, one
with two prongs was found among some rubbish in the Appian Way, which
he alleges to be of beautiful workmanship, terminating in the handle
with a carved stag’s foot. Notwithstanding the high reputation of that
author, this assertion is not credited. The latter says, he found some
in the ruins of a Roman town in Champagne; but he does not describe
them, otherwise than to observe that one was of copper or brass, and
the others of iron: and speaking of the latter, says, they appear to be
table-forks, but are very coarsely made.
The truth seems to be that table-forks were first used in Italy, as
appears from the book of Galeotus Martius, an Italian in the service
of Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, who reigned from 1458 to 1490.
Martius relates that at that period forks were not used at table in
Hungary as in Italy; but that at meals each person laid hold of the
meat with his fingers, and on that account they were much stained with
saffron, usually put into sauces and soups. He praises the king for
eating without a fork, conversing at the same time, and never dirtying
his clothes.
In France, at the end of the sixteenth century, forks were quite
unknown even at the court of the monarch. Neither at that period were
they known in Sweden.
From the history of the travels of our countryman, Coryate, entitled
“Crudities,” first published in 1611, and afterwards in 1776, the
author says he first saw them in Italy, and he was also the first
person who used them in England. As his account of them is curious, we
may be excused giving an extract, slightly altering the orthography.
“Here I will mention a thing that might have been spoken of before in
discourse of the first Italian town. I observed a custom in all those
Italian cities and towns through which I passed, that is not used in
any other country I saw in my travels; neither do I think that any
other nation in Christendom doth use it, but only Italy. The Italian,
and also most strangers that are commorant in Italy, do always at
their meals, use a little fork when they cut their meat. For while
with their knife, which they hold in one hand, they cut the meat out
of the dish, they fasten the fork, which they hold in their other
hand, upon the same dish; so that whatsoever he be that, sitting in
the company of any others at meals, should unadvisedly touch the dish
of meat with his fingers, from which all at the table do cut, he will
give occasion of offence unto the company, as having transgressed
the laws of good manners, insomuch that for his error he shall be at
least brow-beaten if not reprehended in words. This form of feeding I
understand is generally used in all places of Italy; their fork being
for the most part made of iron or steel, and some of silver, but those
are used only by gentlemen. The reason of this their curiosity is,
because the Italian cannot by any means endure to have his dish touched
with fingers--seeing all men’s fingers are not alike clean. Hereupon
I myself thought good to imitate the Italian fashion by this forked
cutting of meat, not only while I was in Italy, but also in Germany,
and oftentime in England, since I came home, being once equipped for
that frequent using of my fork by a certain learned gentleman, a
familiar friend of mine, one Mr. Lawrence Whitaker, who in his merry
humour doubted not to call one at table _farsifer_, only for using a
fork at feeding, but for no other cause.”
In many parts of Spain, we understand that, _at present_,
drinking-glasses, spoons, and forks are rarities. It is also said,
that even in taverns in many countries, particularly in France, knives
are not placed on the table, because it is expected that each person
should have one of his own. This custom the modern French appear to
have derived from their ancestors the ancient Gauls. But, as no person
will eat any longer without forks, the landlords are obliged to furnish
these, together with plates and spoons.
Among the Highlanders in Scotland, Dr. Johnson asserts, that knives
have been introduced at table since the Revolution only. Before that
period the men were accustomed to cut their meat with a knife they
carry as a companion to their dirk. The men cut the meat into small
morsels for the women, who used their fingers to put it into their
mouths.
The use of forks at table was first considered as a superfluous luxury,
and as such forbidden in convents, as appears from the records of the
congregation of St. Maur.
MUSIC.
The science of music, or rather of harmony, is extremely
ancient--insomuch that, with respect to the latter, it is said to be
coeval with Nature herself. But as it has relation to the science
now in use, this, like most other arts, whose origin is very remote,
is involved in obscurity; and in proportion to the astonishment and
wonder excited by its uncommon powers, in a commensurate ratio does
mystery, fable, and obscurity envelope its original. However, always
remembering that it was from harmony,--
--“from heavenly harmony, this universal frame began.”
Proceeding step by step, it had eventually attained in Greece a very
early perfection. Collins, who is justly entitled to the distinguished
station held by all pupils of nature and of the muses, who is
peculiarly eminent for a just poetical spirit, thus speaks of the
heavenly science in his Ode on the Passions--
“Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime;--
Thy wonders in that god-like age
Fill thy recording sisters’ page.--
’Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage
Than all that charms this laggard age,
Even all at once together found
Cecilia’s mingled world of sound.”
It will be remembered, however, that the poet calculated as much upon
the infant simplicity of nature as upon the uncommon powers of harmony;
this consideration will certainly reconcile the apparent extravagance
of the thought.
So great were the early powers of verse and harmony, that at one period
the votaries of the muses were regarded as persons divinely inspired;
they were the priests of man, his legislators, and his prophets.
Insomuch was the possessor of the art, and the art itself reverenced,
that the responses of the most eminent oracles were received in
measured verse. Witness the response of the Delphian oracle received by
the Athenian deputation, when Greece inquired for her wisest men, as
given by Xenophon:--
“Wise is Sophocles, more wise Euripides,
But the wisest of all men is Socrates.”
Music eventually claimed the most unlimited control over the affections
of mankind, as could be proved by an infinity of instances; we shall
mention one only from a well authenticated fact, and finely illustrated
in that of Timotheus from “Alexander’s Feast,” by Dryden. We omit the
hyperbolic representation of the raising of the walls of Thebes by the
power of Amphion’s lute, and the apparently incredible relations of
the harmony of the harp of Orpheus, which are all personifications of
natural effects, and which we have neither room, time, nor opportunity
to explain in this place.
If its origin was as previously suggested by Collins, there is occasion
to believe the shepherd’s simple life afforded it first existence; in
the native and wild notes of the pastoral reed, may be discovered the
germ of a science as various as its effects are beautiful. We shall for
the present presume the simple Pandean pipe was the first effort of
the construction of musical instruments; its soft tone being analogous
to the dulcet harmony of the voice. We are led to suppose this from
the evidence of ancient statuary, where those pipes are frequently
discovered; and this will, perhaps, deduce its origin from the
invention of the shepherd god, or oldest Pan. Nevertheless, the lyre,
or harp, is alleged from records the most ancient, having at first but
three strings, analogous to the three seasons of the primeval year; the
treble typical of spring, the tenor resembling summer, and the bass
representing winter.
The invention of that instrument, and of music altogether, is claimed
in the pagan world by Amphion, a successor of Cadmus, the first king
of Thebes, in Bœtia, who is reported, by the music of his harp or lyre
to have built the walls of the city; Cadmus having erected the citadel
only.
Flutes were first invented by Hyognis, the Phrygian, about the year
1506 before Christ, and first played on the flute the harmony, called
Phrygian, and other tunes of the mother of the gods, of Dionysius, of
Pan, and of the divinities of the country and the heroes. Terpander
also, who was the son of Derdineus, the Lesbian, directed the flute
players to reform the tunes of the ancients, and changed the old music,
about the year 645 before Christ, as we are informed by the Parian
Chronicle. The same Terpander, likewise, added three more strings to
the lyre.
When Timotheus, the Spartan musician, was banished his native country
for having increased his strings to the number of ten, he sought refuge
at the court of Macedon, and accompanied his patron, Alexander, into
Persia, when that prince conquered Darius.
From the sacred records of Judea, we may also infer the invention of
musical instruments at a date long prior to either of the periods above
mentioned, when they inform us in Genesis iv. 21, that Adah, one of the
wives of Lamech, had two sons, the name of one of whom was Jubal, who
is said to have been “the father of all such who handle the harp and
organ.” This infers the anterior invention of that instrument.
Music consists of effects produced by the operation of certain sounds
proceeding from the dulcet voice, or musical instruments, regulated by
certain time, and a succession of harmonious notes, natural, grave, or
flat, _i. e._, half a note below its proper tone; and acute or sharp,
_i. e._, half a note above its proper key; and of such modulation
of various tones, and of different value, and also of manifold
denominations: the natural tones consisting of eight notes, with the
addition of octaves, in various keys, with flats and sharps introduced
to afford variety from the skill of the master, at different periods,
to produce the most agreeable diversity in his composition; and
sometimes according to the subject or words to which his music is
adapted. Those musical notes, though proceeding from so small a number
of radicals, are analogous to the incalculable, the endless forms,
which orthography and rhetoric can afford to a well-informed orator, or
elegant author, to embellish any subject. Thus from the definite number
of twenty-four notes, varied in different degrees, by sharps, flats,
semi-tones, &c., are produced all that is so magical, enthusiastic,
and transporting in the empire of omnipotent music. Like as the
alphabetic characters may be varied into myriads of forms suitable
to every multifarious species of conversation or composition; in a
word, a few musical notes in the hands of a master may be made by his
skill to produce, from agreeable interchanges of time, harmony, &c.,
every variety of musical sentiment which can affect the human soul. A
stronger proof cannot be adduced than will be found in the before-cited
ode of “Alexander’s Feast,” by the truly poetic Dryden. In all which
harmony and melody form conspicuous characteristics.
And of harmony, according to the learned Mr. Mason. The sense in
which the ancient Greeks viewed harmony is as follows:--“They by that
term understood the succession of simple sounds according to their
scale, with respect to acuteness or gravity.” Whilst it appears that
by harmony, the moderns understand--“The succession of simple sounds,
according to the laws of counterpoints.” From the same authority--“By
melody, the ancients understood the succession of simple sounds,
according to the laws of rhythm and metre, or in other words, according
to time, measure, or cadence. Whereas, the moderns understand by the
same term what the ancients meant by harmony, rhythm and metre being
excluded.” “And the modern air is what the ancients understood by
melody.” Hence, from the preceding definitions, it appears that what
is now called harmony was unknown to the ancients; and they viewed
that term as we now see simple melody, when we speak of it as a thing
distinguished from simple modulated air, and that their term, melody,
was applied to what we now call air or song.
Should this be true, the long-contested difficulty, and that train of
endless disputes, which has existed among the learned and scientific
world so long, will instantly vanish. Should we suppose an ancient
flute-player used an improper tone or semi-tone, or had he transgressed
the mode or key in which he was playing, he committed an error in
harmony; yet his melody might have been perfect, with respect to the
laws of rhythm or metre; we should say of a modern musician, under
similar circumstances, that he played wrong notes, or was out of tune,
yet kept his _time_. Whoever made such a distinction would be allowed
to possess a good ear for music, though the moderns would be inclined
to call it an ear for melody or intonation. By the rules of musical
conversation, we should be justified when we call an instrument out of
tune inharmonious, although the intervals were nearly right.
By _harmonica_, the Greeks implied nothing more than that proportion of
sound to sound, which mathematicians call _ratio_, or which would be
understood in general musical conversation, by an agreeable succession
of musical notes;--as ancient harmony consisted of the succession of
simple sounds, so does modern harmony consist of the succession of
chords.
Whether the _diatonic_ scale be the effect of nature, or produced
by art, has occasioned disputation between many; but without losing
time or space, we are, we think, authorised, from general opinion, to
observe, that compositions formed on it, and on the plan recommended
by a lute organist, would produce sensations odiously disgusting to any
musical ear.
The diatonic is the most simple genera in music, consisting of tones
and major semi-tones; in the scale of which genus the smallest interval
is a conjoint degree, which changes its name and place, that is,
passing from one to another; a prominent air in this species of modern
music is “God save the Queen,” entirely diatonic, without modulation,
by the intervention of a single flat or sharp.
It may not be unacceptable to our readers to add a few particulars
of one of the greatest composers that ever existed; we allude to the
eminently illustrious GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL, a name dear to science,
and entitled to the grateful veneration of every amateur in this divine
art. He was born at Halle, in Upper Saxony, on the 24th of February
1684. Scarcely was he able to speak, before he articulated musical
sounds. His father was a professor of the healing art as a surgeon and
physician, then upwards of sixty, who intended his son for the study of
the law. Grieved at the child’s predeliction, he banished all musical
instruments from his house. But the spark which nature had kindled in
his bosom was not to be extinguished by the mistaken views of a blind
parent. The child by some means or other contrived to get a little
claverchord into a garret, where, applying himself after the family
had retired to rest, he discovered means to produce both melody and
harmony. Before he was seven years of age, the Duke of Weissenfells by
accident discovered his genius, and prevailed on his father to cherish
his inclination. He was accordingly placed with Zachan, organist of
the cathedral of Halle; when, from nine to twelve years of age, he
composed a church service every week. Losing his father whilst he was
in that city, he thought he could best support his mother by repairing
to Hamburgh, where he soon attracted general notice. This wonder of
the age was then only fourteen, when he composed “Almeria,” his
first opera. Having quitted Hamburgh, he travelled for six years in
Italy, where, at both Florence and Rome, he excited much attention:
at both which places he produced new operatic performances. In that
clime of the harmonious muse, he was introduced to, and cultivated
the friendship of, Dominico, Scarlatti, Gaspurini, and Zotti, with
other eminent scientific characters. He was particularly caressed and
patronised by Cardinal Ottoboni, in whose circle he became acquainted
with the elegant and natural Corelli. It was here he composed the
sonata “Il trionfo del tempo,” the original score of which is now in
the Royal Collection. After which he went to Naples, where he set
“Acis et Galatea,” in Italian, to music. Returning to Germany, he was
patronised by the Elector of Hanover, subsequently George the First. In
1710 he visited London, by permission of his patron, who had settled a
pension of £200 per annum on him. In London he produced the opera of
“Rinaldo,” universally admired--equal with all his other productions
that had preceded. He was compelled to leave, however reluctantly,
the British shore, consistent with his engagement to his patron the
Elector. He departed, not without exciting general regret, two years
after his first arrival in this country. He soon appeared here again,
however, and his return was welcomed like the rising of the genial
orb of day before the wrapt Ignicolist! But now seduced by the favour
which awaited him, he forgot to return. On the death of Queen Anne,
who had also settled an annual pension of £200 upon him--equal to what
he received from the Elector, his former patron--when that prince
ascended the throne, Handel was afraid to appear before his majesty,
till, by an ingenious contrivance of Baron Kilmarfyge, he was restored
to favour, Queen Anne’s bounty being doubled by the king; and the chief
nobility accepted an academy of music under Handel’s direction, which
flourished for ten years, till an unfortunate quarrel occurred between
him and Senesino, which dissolved the institution, and brought on a
contest ruinous to the fortune and the health of our musician.
He was particularly patronised by the Earl of Burlington, the Duke of
Chandos, and most of the distinguished nobility of Great Britain.
Having restored his health at the baths of Aix-la-Chapelle, he for the
future chose sacred subjects, which were performed at his theatre in
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Covent Garden, and Westminster Abbey. He died in
April, 1759, aged seventy-five, and was buried in Westminster Abbey,
where he was honoured with a public funeral, six peers supporting the
pall; the very reverend and truly learned translator of “Longimus,” Dr.
Pearce, the Dean, and then Bishop of Rochester, performed the funeral
service with a full choir.