In the Land of Greece.
FROM ETRURIA TO ATHENS.
What a merry lot those _Subulones_ were, piping to song and dance and
good cheer. I have been laughing over an Etruscan picture of one of
these jovial fellows laying down on the grass upon his back, all the
time lustily playing his pipes, and kicking his legs in the air, in
sheer exuberance of merriment. And I have wondered what could that
music be which so evidently was a never failing source of enjoyment to
him, and to his race.
The old adage says “simple things please simple folk.” Simple the music
must have been, because of the very limited compass of such instruments
as we see delineated; and I have thought that, maybe, the old folk
songs of eastern Europe preserve to us fragments of that ancient music.
Simple, indeed, but to hearers and players in those days representing
the fulness of art. The suitability of such music to such instruments
is clear enough, for the tunes need but a range of a few notes, and
come easily into the compass of rustic voices. Century after century
these old melodies have been cherished, and seem to have perpetual
life. They antedate all histories, and none can trace them to their
earliest springs. How that one haunted Beethoven which he put into his
Ninth Symphony, and made his chief theme,—a simple phrase of a few
notes that seems as if it would go on for ever. For thirteen years
it crops up here and there in his works, until at last he found full
deliverance for it in the crowning effort of his genius.
In the last chapter, I showed you by illustrations the three distinct
usages of the double pipes as improved by the Etruscans, and I sought
to demonstrate that their new invention comprised, first, a concealed
reed in a hollow bulb; secondly, such a disposition of the reed that
one, or two, or three bulbs were allotted to each pipe, and that the
purpose of such an arrangement was to obtain an adaptability in the
reed, that it might be placed at pleasure in either bulb. I judged
that the invention had three stages, first when there was one bulb,
next when two were used, and finally three. My reasoning is confirmed
by a _Kylix_ in the 2nd Vase Room of the British Museum, it is of the
early or archaic period (B.C. 480-440) and the pipes are with one bulb
only. The player, a female player, has the left-hand pipe longest, thus
evidently indicating a transition period in pipes linked to Egyptian
custom.
These conditions imply corresponding advances in musical art, for by
the new methods it becomes possible to play in three different modes or
scales; since if we suppose the reed to be placed in the bulb nearest
the pipe, the player would produce, as the lowest note, A; if placed
in the bulb above, he could produce G; and if in the highest bulb,
reach as low as F. Although his fingering would remain the same, the
pitch would include a different range in each case, and, as we should
say, he would thus be able to play in different keys. I reckon by the
relation of the length of the bulb, which is equal to the distance
between two holes, that each change would make a difference of a whole
tone. The art of the player would greatly alter intervals, especially
by partial covering of the holes flattening pitch to required degrees
for the particular mode.
When we read of the various Greek modes—of the Dorian scale, the
Phrygian, Lydian, Mixo-Lydian, Hypo-Dorian, and others—we should not
forget that one was added to the other in order of time, and the full
system only gradually evolved. And in this Etruscan period, the music
was probably limited to the single tetrachord on three modes, and so
remained for a long time. We, in some instances, see on the vases
that the pipes are marked with three holes each, sometimes with four;
although it is rarely that the holes are indicated at all.
The Egyptian flutes had three holes to one pipe and four to the other,
which only extended the scale one note higher than the three holed.
In these Etruscan flutes, however, it is by no means clear that the
second flute extended the compass, for the holes seemed to occupy in
each the same position as to distance. It is open to consideration
that a difference in the pitch of the reed itself of one of the pipes,
would possess the power of influencing that pipe to the extent of a
semi-tone, if such entered into the design of the instrument, and so
we find a reason for the second pipe. On my models, I sometimes make
a difference of a whole tone in each note of the scale produced. In
default of any true knowledge of Greek practice, I think that we may
fairly attribute to the artist some such design in the construction of
the pipes.
It is a natural conclusion that the first invention of man in the
way of flutes would be a single pipe for the production of one, two
or three notes; then with a sense of a scale the four notes. From
the single pipe the double pipe would arise, with a view to some
_variation_ of such a scale, to which the ear was predisposed, and so
the method of double pipes would be fixed by custom.
We may be quite sure that when double pipes were first adopted there
was a meaning in the method. The assumption that one pipe preceded the
two does not seem to hold in the case of these bulbed flutes with the
four holes, they seem to start as _di-aulos_.
The Etrurian vases give no instance of single flutes. In truth,
another invention was necessary, and it came in course of aftertime
from the Greek mind. Like most useful inventions, it was marvellously
simple—nothing other than the giving of _six holes to one pipe_,
and fingering the one pipe with fingers of both hands, and with one
thumb added; even that thumb hole may rank as a distinct invention
of intrinsic importance to art. A similar delay we know occurred in
association with key-board instruments, and it was only in Bach’s usage
that the thumb was raised to the rank of efficiency and placed on an
equality with the fingers.
It is remarkable that in the progress of civilization the later way
of development should have been from the double flute to the single
flute, through perception of the better aid to execution and display
that was afforded by the single flute, and evidently when this change
came, the idea of different modes had gained acceptance, the two pipes
no longer constituting a pair, but each pipe intended to be taken up in
obedience to the choice or change of mode.
This is a very significant advance. Let us now study the nature of
THE SWEET MONAULOS.
The mon-aulos, “the sweet monaulos,” not seen on the vases or
wall-paintings, but known to have been, and still having a real
existence in two solitary specimens now in the British Museum, and
accompanied by that evidence, which is unique as it is precious, of the
actual hollow bulb that tipped the pipe. The allusions I have made to
these flutes in earlier chapters will be remembered, and now comes the
fitting moment to enter into details. The illustrations fairly give
the proportion as to distances, on a scale of one fourth, sufficiently
clear to enable you to judge how the holes are arranged. The pipes are
very nearly cylindrical, departing from the true figure only in being
of a little larger bore at the upper end than at the lower; which may
have been done by design, or the nature of the drilling means then in
use may have caused the variation of bore. If you go, to look at these
relics of the Greek age, you will not see them as here represented, but
curiously contorted. They were found in a tomb on the road to Eleusis,
near Athens, and the damp of many centuries has twisted and warped
them; and one has been broken, snapped asunder at the middle. They are
made of sycamore, and are very plain simple instruments. What value
they had we cannot in any degree estimate; but I should imagine them to
be of the ordinary kind familiar to every household in which music was
cherished; for the Greeks also, like the Etrurians, followed the old
world custom of burying with the dead the things they had most prized
in life, even as the Egyptians did.
And these flutes lay beside the youth when they left him there
sorrowing, and thinking how his cherished flutes would comfort him
in his loneliness. Now, not even his dust left; gone, we know not
whither,—to the underworld or to the heights of Mount Olympus. We of
a foreign race think of this nameless youth, because here they have
brought his flutes, and these speak to us of kinship. Not without
strange feelings did I handle them and place my fingers covering the
holes, that all plainly showed how they had been smoothed and warm by
his—_his_ fingers—playing soft Lydian airs: worn fingers that one day
became pale, then cold as marble, and now unsubstantial and vanished
utterly; as soon, indeed, mine will be. And yet we,—shadows, both—clasp
hands over this great gap of time, whilst handling things that were
loved.
How I hang over that case of treasures every time that I visit the
Museum; foolishly fascinated perhaps, yet irresistibly so, looking and
pondering. The fragment of a bulb that is left—for a fragment it is,
only about three fourths of a whole—is, by the enthusiast’s valuation,
beyond price. In one of the pipes, there is a piece of another bulb
left sticking on the top; and, if you look closely, you will see the
scored lines inside the pipe, and outside and inside the bulb, that
were made so as to ensure close fitting when the bulb was pressed in.
And look again, closely, and you will see at the top of each pipe,
there is a little rim edge, and then a shallow groove about half an
inch broad; and this, no doubt, was bound round with fibre or ivory or
metal to prevent the splitting at the top, where the bulb was pressed
in and made to fit securely, being, perhaps, slightly moistened by the
lips, just as we do now when putting instruments together; and the
operation was frequent, since the reeds, as I have said, were taken out
after playing, and placed safely away in a little box called a tongue
box.
The pipes are three eights of an inch in bore, and the finger holes are
oval and large, in their smaller diameter quite as large as the bore. I
measured the distance between every hole, and so obtained the correct
length of the instruments as in their original straight condition.
By the kindness of Mr. A. S. Murray, then the esteemed chief of the
department, I was able to take every particular I wished, and to
calliper the bore of each pipe. The length of the longest pipe is
thirteen and a half inches, and the shorter pipe is twelve inches and
a quarter, just one and a quarter inches difference, which corresponds
to the distance between each hole, showing that in depth of sound the
pitch of the pipes differs by one whole tone.
The details of measurement are of the greatest interest in the
scientific analysis of these ancient musical instruments, and afford
much valuable insight into the system upon which they were constructed
in conformity with the music for which they were designed, and very
evidently they tell us that the music played by the people was of a
simple character and very limited in compass.
[Illustration: _The Greek Mon-aulos Set in Two Modes._
_Fig. 19._]
As there are five finger holes and one thumb hole to each, it is clear,
on consideration, that these cannot have been di-aulos, but that they
were used as single pipes requiring two hands to play either; for the
six holes would be unmanageable, and the holding altogether insecure
under one hand. In my view, these are distinctly specimens of the
mon-aulos, “the sweet mon-aulos,” praised by the poets; and there can
be little question that the reeds used were soft and fine, and that the
Greeks had acquired a skill in making them. Probably, they differed
as much from the common _arghool_ as the reeds used by Lazarus in
his clarionet differed from those of the street player on the yellow
clarionet of past days. I have given the names of the notes against the
holes. The thumb holes out of line will be understood as showing what
otherwise is out of sight; but it makes the series of holes clearer. In
the one pipe it is the G hole, in the other it is the A.
You will notice that there is a curious interval of a minor third,
which doubtless had some special importance in Greek measures. The
pitch is, as we say, double pitch in respect of length of pipe, so that
the low B♭ is truly the four foot note; but we speak, in general terms,
of the scale given by the pipes as a two foot scale. It is a pity that,
as at present disposed in the case, the pipes are unsuitably placed,
being head to tail,—as annoying to look at in an instrumental regard,
as to an archæologist it would be to see a statue exhibited standing on
its head. But perhaps I may get this anomalous relation altered, for
the observer misses the proper relation of the flutes to each other.
The nature of the beating reed greatly affects the scale. That which I
have recorded is given by the particular reed I have used; another reed
might make one or two tones difference. Again, there is the question
whether these pipes had one, or two, or three bulbs, although only one
was found. I am inclined to believe that the originals had but one
bulb, because the two pipes evidently indicate that one flute was used
for one mode, and the other flute for the other mode, with only the
difference of a tone between them.
On the whole, I think it may be inferred that tenor A was naturally
fixed upon as the starting point of the scale, which had its vocal
foundation in every nation. As regards intonation, the notes specified
are not exact to our tempered scale, but only as near as the actual
pitch heard can be stated in our terms. In the ancient diatonic, all
the tones are major tones. In the soft diatonic, an interval equal to
a tone and a quarter was used, being greater than a major tone but
less than a minor third. In one diatonic genus, the interval of three
fourths of a tone was substituted for the second semitone in ascending.
Authorities tell us that they are not aware that the Greek writers
ever mention the concord of more than two sounds; any concord less
than a fourth was considered dissonant, and so was the sixth. The true
consonant major third was either not discovered, or not admitted to be
consonant, till a very late period; Ptolemy being the earliest author
who speaks of a minor third. There was a double tone nearly equal to
the modern major third, and a tone and a half nearly the same as the
minor third. In the later Greek periods, the system of music became
intricate, and the diatonic, chromatic and enharmonic systems were in
vogue, and discoursed upon to their lips’ content by the scholiasts and
their disciples, much the same as in modern days, beclouding knowledge.
The instruments that we have been interested in were, I should imagine,
those of ordinary use in the social life of the people, associated
with their ceremonies and entertainments; but the steps by which I
have taken you show change in usage and aspiration in the artists.
There was even a striving after fuller command in execution, and after
adaptability to the increasing range of musical theory; and evidently
the stringed instruments, with their power over many modes, excited
rivalry in the flutes. There is a very important and significant
passage, already referred to, by an author—Athenæus, if I remember
aright—that about the 440 B.C. (or earlier), Pronomus the Theban
invented adjustments by which the same set of pipes might be fitted to
all the modes. History upon many matters we know is very elastic, and I
am not quite disposed to think that the flutes depicted on our Etruscan
vases answer to this description. There is yet one other possibility,
beyond that Greco-Etruscan invention, in a later invention of most
ingenious design, aiming at this same power of control, only that
this is a single pipe, and is a development beyond those we have been
considering. Very pleasant it is to trace these workings of genius
Striving, because its nature is to strive.
The next chapter affords illustrations and particulars of the
new discovery; for to the Greeks it was new, and we may be sure
interesting. Perhaps to some of them quite as engrossing as a new
statue or the latest scandal!