THE AGE OF PLAIN-SONG
Music in the Roman empire--Sources of early Christian music; the
hymns of St. Ambrose--Hebrew traditions--Psalmody, responses,
antiphons; the liturgy; the Gregorian tradition; the antiphonary
and the gradual; sequences and tropes--Ecclesiastical modes; early
notation.
I
From the point of view of the musical historian the dominant note of
civilization at the opening of the Christian era was the all-pervading
influence of Hellenistic culture. It is well to remember, however,
that this influence was more in form than in content. Greek art was
no longer the pure, bright flame that lighted the world so gloriously
in the age of Pericles. Its blaze had become dull and lifeless;
elements foreign to the fuel that had fed it in the classic age had
been brought to it by the softly sensuous fingers of the Orient and
the rough, unsympathetic hands of Rome. Hellenic art at the opening
of the Christian era resembled that of Periclean Athens as little as
the pseudo-classic architecture of the Italian Renaissance resembled
the crowning glories of the Acropolis. The serene, clear, intellectual
æstheticism of Greece had degenerated into the coarse sensuality of
the pagan Latins and the sterile dilettantism of the theistic peoples
of the Orient. Neither Latins nor Orientals were at all capable of
understanding or assimilating it. Its joyous, essentially Aryan
paganism was as foreign to the Semitic temperament as its lucid
intellectuality was impossible to the turgid Roman mind.
We have then at the beginning of the Christian era a veneer of Greek
culture covering a gross materialism in the West and a decadent, mystic
symbolism in the East. Into this situation was born the new cult with
its utter negation of everything the ancient world, pagan or theistic,
held precious. Christianity from the beginning was at war with its
environment--Greek, Roman, and Hebraic. Though its roots lay in Jewish
philosophy, its pessimistic attitude toward the world, its view of life
as an evil, poisoned condition, was directly opposed to the spirit
of a people with whom, as Renan says, 'the evils of life were never
chronic complaints’ ('_pour qui les maux de la vie ne deviennent pas
des maladies chroniques_’). Its opposition to all the teachings and
practices of paganism was, of course, absolute and uncompromising.
Nevertheless, Christianity absorbed from its environment the material
of its ritual as inevitably as the tree draws nurture from the soil
and atmosphere that underlies and surrounds it. That it absorbed those
elements unconsciously, even unwillingly, goes a long way to explain
our ignorance of the manner in which the liturgical music of the
Church developed. It seems practically certain that among the most
devout early Christians music was looked upon with suspicion, and its
use, especially in connection with the worship of God, was probably
discouraged as far as possible. Even as late as the fourth century we
find a Syrian monk warning one of his brethren that we should approach
God with sighs and tears, with reverence and humility, and not with
song. When, through the inevitable pressure of environment, music had
become an integral part of the Christian ritual, the Church fathers,
with characteristic _naïveté_, completely ignored the source from which
it was drawn, and, in what is obviously simple faith, attributed to
it a divine origin. 'Our singing,’ says St. John Chrysostom, 'is only
an echo, an imitation of that of the angels. Music was invented in
heaven. Around and above us sing the angels. If man is musical it is by
a revelation of the Holy Ghost; the singer is inspired from on high.’
St. Athanasius, St. Ambrose, Justin Martyr, St. Basil, St. Benedict,
and other early fathers talk in the same strain. John de Muris, more
historical and less mystical, can find no more definite origin for
liturgical music than a vague tradition.[43]
With those who were practically eye-witnesses to the growth of early
Church music so serenely blind to the influences that determined its
course, the task of the modern historian in reconstructing those
influences becomes practically impossible. If, however, we understand
clearly the conditions under which liturgical music took shape we can
formulate a theoretical sketch of its history, which is probably not
far from the truth. In this connection it will help us considerably if
we remember that during the early centuries of the Christian era the
Roman church was far from being the dominant and unifying factor which
it later became, and that the great institution to which we are wont
to refer simply as 'the church’ resulted from the confluence of many
independent streams, and not from the expansion of any single one.
These streams were divided, so to speak, between two main watersheds,
one of which was Asia Minor and the other Italy. In Asia Minor the
church was surrounded by a Semitic civilization shot through with
Hellenic elements; in Italy it grew up in an environment of Græco-Roman
culture.
It might be well to take a glance here at the state of music in
Rome at the beginning of the Christian era. Roman music previous
to the conquest of Greece (146 B. C.) had borrowed its forms from
the Etruscans and the Greeks. Etruscan influences were probably
predominant in the early centuries of the Republic.[44] The nature of
these influences is not known to us. It would seem that the Etruscans
were originally a Greek race, and the fountain-head of their musical
art was consequently Hellenic. But they were, as their vases show, a
race dowered with artistic ideals and genuine creative impulses, and
they must have modelled their musical inheritance into something new,
characteristic, and beautiful. But, if we are to believe Dionysius,
Strabo, and other Roman writers who have touched on the subject,
we must conclude that the Romans merely imitated such music of the
Etruscans as was useful for religious and military purposes, choosing,
presumably, the cruder forms of the art. We may accept this conclusion
all the more readily since we know that the Romans, even down to
Imperial times, remained obtuse and obtrusive Philistines.
It does not seem that the Romans borrowed much directly from Greece
until after Greece became a Roman province. They were not, in fact,
interested at all in art. But, after repeated conquests had made them
rich and luxurious, they began to cultivate--or rather patronize--art
as a sort of fashionable and expensive luxury. The result was a gradual
growth, among the leisure classes in Rome, of a very real literary
and æsthetic taste. By the time of Augustus Rome was able to produce
such excellent imitators of Greek models as Virgil, Horace, Ovid,
and Catullus. In music, however, the imperial people never rose so
high. Hellenic music had already degenerated when Rome fell under
its influence. 'Besides pantomime with chorus,’ says Gevaert, 'Greek
musicians brought to Rome only the instrumental solo and the song with
kithara or lyre accompaniment.’[45] This branch of the art flourished
apace in Rome, where, however, like Italian opera in later centuries,
it became distorted into a craze for meaningless virtuosity. We know
less about the music itself than we know about the famous kithara
players who were the favorites of emperors and were accorded the honors
and dignity of princes. History speaks to us about Tigellius, the
friend of Augustus, and Mesomedes, of Crete, the intimate of Hadrian.
Nero gained a humorous immortality by his pretensions as a singer
and kithara player. The story of his journey through Greece, where
he won the kithara prize at the Olympic games and defeated in public
competition the most famous performers in every city he visited, is
surely one of the most ludicrous narratives in all history.
Until the third century A. D. the kitharœdic chant was purely Hellenic,
as we might surmise from the names of its most famous exponents, such
as Terpnos, Menecrates, Diodorus, Chrysogones, Pollion, Echion, and
Glaphyros. In the second century Ptolemy, writing his 'Harmonics,’
founded his system of tones and modes on the practice of the kithara
and lyre players.[46] Practically all of the pieces which have come
down to us from the Græco-Roman period, and which we have noted in the
last chapter, belong to the literature of the kithara. The kitharœdic
chants were narratives in the style of Timotheus, or lyrics, chiefly
hymns to some divinity. These compositions were not in strophic form.
The melody was divided into sections of unequal length (_commata_)
and varied more or less from one end of the poem to the other. Until
the beginning of the fourth century the texts were usually in Greek.
The Latin kitharœdic songs, such as those of Horace and Catullus,
were scarcely heard except at banquets and private reunions. Greek
was, indeed, the prevailing musical language, as we may learn from
Vitruvius, who prefaces to the chapter on music in his work on
Architecture a warning that musical theory is practically a sealed book
to those who do not know Greek.[47] After the removal of the seat of
empire to Byzantium in 330 A. D., the use of Greek disappeared, and
with it the use of musical notation by means of Greek letters. The
transmission of music then became oral and the art of the kithara song
and its accompaniments gradually vanished.[48]
II
Now the founders of Christianity were Jews, and Oriental influences
were never absent from the church, even in Rome. Furthermore the
apostles of Christianity in Rome were humble, untutored men, and
the majority of their converts were drawn from the same class--the
class which in all ages has naturally taken refuge in any creed which
contradicts the views and practices of its masters and oppressors.
Christ’s message of hope to the humble in spirit came home first to
the humble in material possessions. '_Deposuit potentes de sede et
exaltavit humiles._’ For three centuries the Christians in Italy
were subjected to constant oppression and often to fiercely violent
persecution. Their rites were performed in dark and secret places
and, presumably, without any noise that could be avoided. Under the
circumstances one is tempted to conclude that music was severely
ignored by the first Christians in Rome. They had every reason to
avoid it. It was likely to attract undesirable attention; it was
associated primarily in their minds with the sensual orgies of their
pagan oppressors, and, finally, the first Christians themselves were
not of the class likely to possess much musical culture. Nevertheless,
it is practically certain that they intoned some of their services
in a simple, discreet way. They must have chanted their psalms, at
least, probably as the Hebrews did. This chant, it would perhaps be
safe to assume, was responsorial and consisted of a low, more or less
monotonous, recitative.
By the time the Edict of Milan (313 A. D.) struck off the fetters
that bound Christianity the Church had already gathered to her bosom
many of the most influential and cultured Roman citizens. Their
advent must have changed gradually the whole complexion of the Roman
church. With their cultivated taste for art they probably furnished
the prime impulse toward the æstheticism which gradually came to be
a distinguishing feature of the church ritual. After the Edict of
Milan the church jumped almost at a bound to a position of social and
political influence which soon became one of social and political
predominance. The most influential of its members no longer came
from the lowly and oppressed, but from the rich and powerful. Every
reason that had operated against the use of music in the primitive
church had disappeared, and with it had disappeared for a time the
Oriental tendencies which the founders of the church had consciously or
unconsciously incorporated with it. There is little doubt that during
the third and fourth centuries Græco-Roman culture penetrated to the
innermost shrine of Western Christianity and remained an active agent
in the formulation of liturgical music long after the Orient had again
become a predominant influence through the removal of the seat of
empire to Byzantium.
It is unfortunately not within our power to indicate the point at
which the Græco-Roman kitharœdic chant began to influence Christian
religious music, nor do the relative proportions of a general history
permit us to study the question here. However, it is sufficient for
us to know that the kitharœdic chant was the direct ancestor of the
Christian hymnody in the West. 'Among various kinds of pieces of which
the Roman antiphonary is composed,’ says Gevaert, 'none is known by
literary documents to be so old as the strophic hymnody; from the
musical point of view it marks the transition from the vocal melopæia
of antiquity to the liturgical chant properly so called.’ We find this
transition fully accomplished in the hymns of St. Ambrose (d. 397), who
is unquestionably the most striking and influential figure in early
liturgical music. Gevaert aptly calls him the 'Terpander of Western
Christianity.’ His works are full of reference to music, many of which
are naïvely charming. For example, he writes: 'The angels praise the
Lord, the powers of heaven sing psalms unto him, and even before the
very beginning of the world the cherubim and seraphim sang with sweet
voice Holy, Holy, Holy!’ He mentions the music of the spheres and
recalls that it has been said the axle of heaven itself turned with a
perpetual sweet sound that might be heard in the uttermost parts of
the earth where there are certain secrets of Nature; that the wild
beasts and birds might be soothed with the delight of voices blending.
Even more practical, he points out that those things we wish well to
remember we are accustomed to sing, for that which is sung stays the
better in our memories. His hymns produced a great effect upon St.
Augustine, who wrote of them in his 'Confessions’ in terms almost
extravagant; and a whole century later Cassiodorus constantly cites St.
Ambrose and bears witness to the wide and everlasting nature of his
influence on Christian hymnody.
Six hymns which have come down to us are attributed with certainty to
this gifted saint. They are the _Deus creator omnium_, _Jam surgit
hora tertia_, _Æterne rerum conditor_, _Veni redemptor gentium_,
_Illuxit orbi_ _jam dies_, and _Bis ternas horas explicans_. Probably
also he was the author of _O lux beata Trinitas_, _Hic est dies verus
Dei_, _Splendor paternæ gloriæ_, and _Æterna Christi munera_. The
melodic forms of these hymns are borrowed directly from the Greeks and
Romans. Stripped of their melismas their primitive contours are easily
recognizable, and their structure is thoroughly in accord with the
modal theory of the classic Greeks. All of these hymns which seem to be
the most ancient belong to one of the principal kitharœdic modes--the
Dorian, Iastian, or Æolian. The Ambrosian hymns in the Dorian mode have
the same melodic texture as the hymn to Helios and the main part of the
song to the Muse (see pp. 126-127 above). Hymns after the manner of
Ambrose in the Iastian and Æolian modes are frequent in the Catholic
hymnody.[49]
The Græco-Roman complexion of the Ambrosian hymns is still further
evident in their metrical form. 'The old ecclesiastical hymns composed
in iambic dimeters and ascribed to Bishop Ambrose,’ says Riemann,
'are still firmly founded upon the antique art, as they respect
absolutely the quantity of the syllables and introduce long syllables
and short ones only where it is in accordance with the laws of classic
poetry.’[50] The eight syllable iambi of the Ambrosian verse became
extremely popular in ecclesiastical hymnody, and the Breviary, as
it is to-day, contains many hymns in that measure. But this was not
the only metrical form of classic Rome that became incorporated in
the liturgy of the Church. Vanantius Fortunatus in the sixth century
introduced the trochaic tetrameter, which was a favorite popular verse
among the ancient Romans, and still survives in the rhythm of the Roman
_saltarello_ and the Neapolitan _tarantella_. The elegant Sapphic
strophe, so dear to Latin lyricists, made its appearance subsequent
to the Carlovingian epoch. As long as Latin prosody remained dominant
the ecclesiastical hymns were more or less metrical, but as literary
Latin passed into desuetude these chants lost their isochronous rhythm.
At the beginning of the eighth century the vogue of metrical verse had
already passed. With it passed, too, the classic melopæia which had
gradually become enriched by accessory inflexions.[51]
There was quite a large school of hymn writers in the Ambrosian style,
among whom may be mentioned especially St. Augustine (350-430), St.
Paulinus of Nola (_ca._ 431), the Spanish poet Prudentius (fourth
century),[52] Sedulius (fifth century), Ennodius and Venantius
Fortunatus (sixth century). The style spread rapidly from Milan into
the different western provinces of the Roman empire. A text of the
time of Sidonius Apollinaris (second half of the fifth century) tells
us that at the feast of Christmas all the churches of Gaul and Italy
resounded to the hymn _Veni creator gentium_, and Rhabanus Maurus,
bishop of Mayence in the middle of the ninth century, tells us that the
Ambrosian hymns were then in use in all the churches of the West.[53]
Further proof of their wide prevalence is furnished by the rules of
St. Benedict and Aurelian of Arles (first half of sixth century). For
many centuries, however, they were frowned upon by Rome. The Council
of Braga (563) expressly excluded from the divine office all chants
in verse and all texts not taken from the sacred scriptures. Three
centuries later the deacon Amalarius, charged by Louis the Pious
with regulating the chants of the office for all the churches of the
Frankish empire, leaves hymns completely aside in conformity with the
usage of Rome at that time. In fact, the local rite of Rome had not yet
welcomed hymns as late as the beginning of the twelfth century.
III
Priority is given to the Ambrosian hymns in this discussion, not
because they are the most ancient forms of liturgical chant, but
because they form the most easily demarcable point of transition
from Græco-Roman music to Christian ecclesiastical music. The most
ancient forms of the liturgy undoubtedly had their genesis in the
Orient. There, of course, the influence of Greek music was also
active, though to what extent it affected the Hebrew traditions we
cannot even surmise. We find, too, the vogue of the kitharœdic chant
even greater among the Roman citizens of the Orient than among the
inhabitants of Italy. The former carried their passion for this form
of expression to the extent of engraving the songs with their melodies
on funeral monuments. It may again be remarked, however, that the
first Christians were not of the class likely to be influenced easily
by extraneous culture. Acquainted with foreign music they undoubtedly
were. The apostles, for instance, speak of the Greek 'zither’ as a
familiar instrument.[54] But this acquaintance was in all probability
superficial. Humble and uneducated for the most part, those pioneers of
a new cult were of the sort with whom custom and tradition die hard.
They were reared in the atmosphere of the synagogue; and it must be
remembered that they were not iconoclasts of the Hebrew faith, but
rather professed reformers and purifiers of it. The Temple of Solomon,
the Ark of the Covenant, the patriarchs and prophets were subjects
as sacred to them as they were to older generations of the children
of Israel. Their quarrel was not with the Jews, but with such Jews
as refused to recognize their new king. While, therefore, they had
every reason for avoiding the music of the Pagan Greeks and Romans,
they had no reason whatever for abandoning that which had been handed
down to them from David. They certainly took over the texts of the Old
Testament psalmody, and it is a natural assumption that with them they
adopted the music to which these texts were sung. We may conjecture
with some plausibility that the psalmodic solo, responsorial chant, and
antiphonal chant--all ancient Hebrew liturgical forms--passed directly
from the Temple and Synagogue into the first Christian communities,
with such minor changes as may have been necessitated by the new ritual
and attendant upon the transference of its conduct from trained cantors
to untrained laymen.
The psalmodic solo has no special significance in the development of
the Christian liturgy. Of more importance is the responsorial chant,
which consists of a solo interrupted periodically by the voice of the
people.[55] It is very probable that this form of psalmody was in use
among the first Christians, though we have no direct evidence on the
point. We learn, however, from church historians that psalms were sung
in this fashion at Alexandria in the time of Bishop Athanasius in the
early part of the fourth century. The antiphonal chant, which is the
most interesting and important of liturgical forms, is of extreme
antiquity. David, we know, divided the singers of the Temple into two
choirs. Whether this form passed directly and without interruption
from the Temple and Synagogue into the religious services of the first
Christians we have no means of knowing. It was, however, adopted at
a very early date by Christian communities in the Orient. Eusebius,
bishop of Cesarea (third century) reproduces a text of Philo in which
occurs the following description: 'Suddenly all rose on both sides ...
and formed two choirs, men and women. Each choir chose its coryphee
and soloist ... then they sang to God hymns of different melodies
and metres, sometimes together and sometimes answering each other in
suitable manner.’ As showing the early expansion of this style of
singing throughout the Christian world we may quote from a letter of
St. Basil (fourth century) to the inhabitants of Nova Cesarea. 'The
people rise in the night,’ he writes, 'and go to the house of prayer;
when they have prayed they pass to the psalms. Sometimes they divide
into two alternate parts, sometimes a soloist sings and all answer;
and having thus passed the night in divers psalms they intone all
together, as one voice and one heart, the penitential psalm.... If
it is for this reason [the organization of the psalmody] you wish to
separate from me you must also separate from the Egyptians and Lybians,
from the inhabitants of Thebes, Palestine, Arabia, Phœnicia, Syria,
and the banks of the Euphrates--in a word, from all those who hold
in honor vigils and psalms performed in common.’ It may be remarked
that the antiphon originally was merely the alternate singing of two
choirs. Later it came to mean the solo refrain intoned by the high
priest before the biblical psalm or canticle and repeated by the choir
when the psalm or canticle is finished. According to the rules of St.
Benedict this solo refrain was intended to give (_imponere_) the melody
to the singers. Musically, says Gevaert, it forms the introduction
and finale of the psalmodic chant to which it is bound by a community
of mode. It probably took the place of an earlier instrumental
introduction and finale, as, for some reason or reasons upon which it
is idle to speculate, instruments were excluded from the services of
the primitive church.
It was in the monasteries of the East, of Syria and Egypt, that the
forms of the liturgy first began to take shape, and in Antioch and
Alexandria there developed schools of singing which were to the Greek
churches of the East what the _schola cantorum_ was to the Latin
churches of the seventh and eighth centuries. In the fourth century,
as we may gather from the canons of the council of Laodicea, they had
already trained singers in the churches of Syria, and St. Augustine
speaks of the singing of St. Athanasius as if the latter must have had
a careful schooling in the art. Silvia, the Gallic pilgrim, mentions
the singing of antiphons and psalms in the church at Alexandria
(385-88). In the fifth century, as we learn from a letter of Sidonius
Apollinaris, Syrian cantors were used in Italian churches.
The prejudice against Pagan music, which must have excluded all Greek
or Græco-Roman influences from the Christian services of apostolic
times, proved hard to kill. We find it cropping out even in Clement of
Alexandria, who admits only 'modest and decent harmonies’ and excludes
harmonies that are 'chromatic and light, such as are used in the
lascivious orgies of courtesans.’ By that time, however, the prejudice
apparently had become discriminating. The extraordinary popularity of
the kitharœdic songs was bound to have its influence. The heresiarchs
were not slow to recognize the hold of profane melodies on the people,
and composed dogmatic chants to the melodies of popular songs, much
in the manner of the Salvation Army of our day. Arius, for instance,
the great heresiarch who was condemned by the council of Nicea (325),
reproduced in his _Thalia_ the lascivious musical forms of the Ionian
Sotades--to the great scandal of Athanasius. St. Ephraem (320-79),
adopting the same idea, turned the Syrians from the songs of Harmonius
by writing hymns in the Syrian language on the same melodies, and
Gregory of Nazianza (328-89) composed canticles to take the place of
the heterodox psalms of the Apollinarists.
While probably there was never any break in the communication between
the churches of the East and those of the West, it is likely that they
developed their liturgical forms more or less independently until about
the middle of the fourth century. Then the floodgates of Oriental
influence seem to have been opened by St. Hilarius and St. Ambrose. The
former, who was bishop of Poitiers, is said to have introduced into
his church the antiphonal and other forms of psalmody then practised
in the churches of Asia, where he had lived in exile for four years
(356-60). He is supposed to have introduced the Syrian hymnody into
the Western Church. '_Hymnorum carmine floruit primus_,’ Isidor of
Seville said of him. He is credited with having been the pioneer of the
metrical style of hymn known as Ambrosian, though the three hymns from
his pen which have been preserved hardly bear out this contention. They
are crude in rhythm and not likely to have served as models for the
cultured Ambrose. From all available evidence one is impelled to award
to St. Ambrose the honor of having first introduced antiphonal psalmody
to the West.[56] Indeed there is little doubt that he was the real
founder of the Latin chant in general. Ecclesiastical songs, as we have
already seen, had already developed, both in the East and in the West,
to something like a formal art; but Ambrose seems to have been the
first to gather together the various elements composing it and lay the
foundations of a strictly ordered liturgy. From Milan the antiphonal
psalmody spread through all the churches of the West. Even Rome,
which until the twelfth century excluded the Ambrosian hymns, adopted
antiphonal psalmody in the time of Pope Celestine I (422-32).[57]
It is to Rome that one must look for the subsequent development
of liturgical song; though until the time of the great schism the
formative influences were more Byzantine than Latin. St. Leo the Great
(440-61) established in the immediate vicinity of the Basilica of St.
Peter a monastic community especially entrusted with the service of the
canonical hours, under the patronage of Saints John and Paul, and this
was followed in the second half of the seventh century by the community
of St. Martin and, under Gregory III (731-41), by that of St. Stephen.
IV
The complete collection of liturgical chants upon which Rome finally
set her approval has been called for ages the _Antiphonarium Romanum_;
and this, as Rome became the head of the organization of the church,
was adopted by all other branches in Western Europe as the Bible, so to
speak, of ecclesiastical song. It was compiled from four collections
of which the Ambrosian was one, the others being the Gregorian, the
Gallican, and the Mozarabian or Spanish. The principal manuscripts in
these collections have been reproduced in facsimile by the Benedictine
monks of Solesmes in their invaluable _Paléographie musicale_ (1889
_et seq._). To quote from the introduction to this magnificent series:
'The Gregorian, Ambrosian, Mozarabian, and the little which remains
to us of the Gallican _dialects_, seem in fact to have one common
source, to have been derived from the same musical language: the chant
of the Latin church in its cradle. That is at least the opinion to
which we have been brought by the examination of the manuscripts in
the libraries of our own monasteries and of those which we have been
able to consult elsewhere. Concerning the similarities we can say
modes and rhythms are the same in the four varieties of chant. The
melodic forms present the same general character.... Moreover, in these
diverse musical dialects certain melodic types or airs constantly recur
which are always perfectly recognizable, in spite of the differences
resulting from the peculiarities of style or character proper to each
of them. Among the Ambrosian and Gregorian these mutual borrowings,
these common heritages are especially frequent.’
The history of these collections is extremely obscure. No manuscripts
are extant of earlier date than the twelfth century. As to who actually
compiled the _Antiphonarium Romanum_, a long-standing and generally
accepted tradition ascribed it to St. Gregory the Great (d. 604),
but the validity of the tradition has been attacked by a number of
reputable and authoritative modern historians, conspicuous among
whom is Gevaert. Without entering into the merits of the controversy
we shall briefly indicate the earliest sources of information on
liturgical collections, following Gevaert on the Gregorian tradition,
not in _parti pris_, but because the tradition has been so long and
so strongly intrenched that it is more in need of examination than of
support.
The first mention of a collection of chants occurs about the year 760
when Pope Paul I sent to King Pepin an Antiphonal and a Responsal.[58]
In the time of Charlemagne there existed a missal and breviary called
Gregorian, as we gather from a letter addressed to the emperor by
Pope Hadrian. This is the earliest mention we find of the Gregorian
tradition, and it is not very enlightening. The first writer to give
us much information about the liturgy is Amalarius, who was deacon of
Metz under Louis the Pious. Aurelian of Réomé (_ca._ 859) classes the
melodies according to the order of the eight ecclesiastical modes,
and Regino, Abbé of Prum, toward the end of the same century gives
us in his _Tonarius_ an extended catalogue of anthems and responses,
accompanied by a neumatic notation. We find again a hazy reference to
Gregory by Walafrid Strabo under Louis the Debonair, and it is only
when we come to the life of St. Gregory, written by John the Deacon
about 882, that we find an explicit and unequivocal ascription of the
existing collection of liturgical chants to that pope.[59]
The scarcity of references to the Gregorian tradition among writers
prior to John the Deacon is curious. Isidor of Seville and the
Venerable Bede, both of whom occupied themselves much with the liturgy,
are silent on the point; so is the _Liber Pontificalis_. Gregory’s
own writings are singularly lacking in references to music. His only
utterance on the subject that has been preserved to us is the decree
of the Synod of 595 in which he condemns the tendency of the priests
to be more preoccupied with the effect of their voices than with the
import of what they sing, and orders that they confine themselves
thenceforth by reciting the Gospel in the celebration of the mass and
leave the singing to sub-deacons and clerics of inferior grade. This
would not of itself imply any great devotion on Gregory’s part to
liturgical music, though the necessity of training clerics of inferior
grade to sing the services might have suggested the founding of the
_Schola Cantorum_ which is traditionally ascribed to him. It is pointed
out by Gevaert that the _Antiphonarius Gregorianus_ does not fit the
ecclesiastical calendar of the time of St. Gregory, but belongs to
the liturgical usage of Rome about the year 750.[60] Duchesne credits
the editing of the Gregorian missal to Pope Hadrian during the first
years of Charlemagne’s reign. The name Gregorian may have reference
to Gregory II (715-31) or, more probably, to Gregory III. It is a
fact that until the end of the seventh or the beginning of the eighth
century the churches did not open on Friday, and it was not allowed to
celebrate mass on that day, because it coincided with the Pagan feast
of Jupiter (_Jovis Dies_). Even as late as the end of the sixth century
the celebration of this festival was so common that it was solemnly
condemned by the Council of Narbonne (589). By the eighth century,
however, the last remains of Paganism had so completely disappeared
that the prohibition of Friday services was removed by Pope Gregory
II, who ordained the celebration of the sacred rites on the Fridays of
Lent. Now the Gregorian Antiphonary contains a mass for each Friday
in Lent, while there is none in the Gelasian Missal of the seventh
century. If the mass is not a later interpolation, then the Gregorian
Antiphonary certainly could not have been compiled before the time of
Gregory II.
Many historical considerations lead Gevaert to credit the completion
and final formulation of liturgical chant to the Hellenic popes of the
seventh and eighth centuries. Following the end of the Gothic kingdom
and with the dominance of the Byzantine emperors begins the second
period of church music in the West, a period which shows every sign
of the Oriental influence so powerful at Rome under the rule of the
exarchs of Ravenna. This influence is apparent not only in the more
ornate form of the music, but in the frequent use of the Greek language
and in the importation of feasts foreign to the Roman rite. In the
seventh century four of the most ancient feasts of the Virgin--the
Purification, Annunciation, Assumption, and Nativity--were brought
from the Orient, and from the same epoch dates the adoption at Rome
of the feast called the Exaltation of the Cross, which originated in
the Oriental church. 'By the seventh century,’ says Gevaert, 'we are
in the presence of an advanced art, conscious of its principles, with
rules and formulas for each class of composition.’ Skilled interpreters
had been developed by the _Schola Cantorum_, and these, together with
the Syrian monks who fled to Italy after the Mussulman conquest, were
the real authors of the responses of the nocturnal office and the true
chants of the mass. The popes of the seventh century, most of whom
were themselves versed in the _cantilena romana_, were particularly
solicitous about the beauty and order of the liturgy. To the eleven
popes of Hellenic origin who held the chair of St. Peter between
678 and 752 is probably due the final development and perfection of
liturgical forms. Chief among them was Agathon (678-681), who seems
to have regulated or fixed definitely the texts of what in the eighth
century was called the Responsal, or actual Antiphonary, containing
the complete repertory of the office of the hours for the entire year.
The Venerable Bede says that Agathon sent the leader of the Basilica
singers to England to organize that part of the ecclesiastical service
according to the usage of Rome. Leo II, we learn from the papal
chronicles, was very learned in the sacred chant, as was also Sergius
II. The latter, our authority thinks, inspired the last work on the
Roman Gradual, and was the first to initiate the Roman singers in the
doctrine of the four double ecclesiastical modes, which later writers,
following the lead of Boethius, identified with the eight tonal steps
of Aristoxenus, falsely attributed to Ptolemy. The editing of that
part of the _Liber Antiphonarius_ which has become our Gradual was
probably due to the Syrian pope, Gregory III, who was very active in
the promotion of liturgical music.
The _Antiphonarium Romanum_, or complete collection of liturgical
chants of the church--consisting of several hundred pieces--is
divided into two distinct parts--the _Antiphonarium_ proper and the
_Gradual_. The former contains the offices of the canonical hours
(_cursus ecclesiasticus_), consisting of the responses, anthems, and
hymns reiterated day and night by religious communities. The custom
of reciting the office began among the monastic orders of the Orient
about the fourth century. Apparently it had its genesis in Antioch,
about 350, and soon spread to the other Greek churches. The pilgrim in
Silvia speaks of hearing the Vigils and other hours in the church of
Jerusalem (386), and Bishop Cassian of Autun found the hour of Prime
introduced at Bethlehem in 390. From Alexandria and Constantinople
the office passed to Milan and Rome. In the sixth century it was
organized somewhat as it is to-day. Cassiodorus (_ca._ 540) names seven
_synaxes_, or daily reunions, and a similar number is mentioned in the
rules of St. Benedict about the same time.
The _Gradual_ consists of the services of the mass, and contains the
anthems, responses, and hymns proper to these services. There are a few
fixed pieces, such as the _Kyrie_, _Gloria_, _Sanctus_, _Agnus Dei_,
and _Credo_, constituting what is known as the Ordinary of the mass,
and besides these there are a large number which vary according to the
day and the name of the saint whose feast is celebrated. The chants
belonging to the Introit and Communion are antiphonal, while those
of the Gradual, Alleluja, Tractus, and Offertory are responsorial.
The _Gloria in excelsis_ is a sort of hymn. Besides the hymns of the
Ambrosian cycle, already spoken of, the Latin church adopted many
Oriental hymns of the seventh and eighth centuries. Fourteen hymns of
great age are still included in the Gradual, among them the _Pange
lingua_, attributed to Fortunatus, the _Vexilla regis_, and the _Veni
creator spiritus_, attributed to Charlemagne.
The hymns, anthems, and responses in the general repertory of church
songs appear under two distinct forms--simple melodies and ornate
melodies. The former, which are more or less syllabic, are used for all
the anthems in the _cursus ecclesiasticus_ and the responses belonging
to that part of it which forms the office of the day. The ornate style
is used for the anthems and responses of the mass and for the office
of the night. The responses of the Gradual, Tractus, and Alleluja are
musically the most interesting of the liturgical chants. They are not
so much an integral part of the sacrifice of the mass as they are a
sort of vocal intermezzo for solo and chorus, allowing the display of
considerable art, both in technique and expression.
A peculiar form of composition which first appears in the liturgy
after the ninth century is the _sequence_ or _prosa_. Apparently this
originated in the East and grew out of the custom of writing words as
mnemonics under the syllables of the word Alleluja.[61] Gradually it
became of such importance that it was detached from the Alleluja and
made an independent form. The first examples of the sequence which
appear in the Latin church are furnished by Notker Balbulus (830-912),
who was responsible for developing it to the proportions of an
independent form. Indeed he has been called its inventor. An ancient
Irish authority, quoted in the Book of Lismore, says, 'Notker, Abbot
of St. Gall’s, invented sequences, and Alleluja after them in the form
in which they are.’[62] Among the most famous followers of Notker in
the composition of sequences may be mentioned Tutilo or Tuathal (d.
915), an Irish monk of St. Gall’s, Wipo, and Adam de Saint-Victor. The
council of Trent suppressed all sequences except five, which are still
used by the church. These are the _Victimæ pascali laudes_ of Wipo; the
_Lauda Sion Salvatorem_ of St. Thomas Aquinas; the _Dies Iræ_ of Thomas
de Celano; the _Stabat Mater_ of Jacques de Benedictis, and the _Veni
Sancte Spiritus_.
Another peculiar form, practically the antithesis of the sequence in
its origin, is the trope, which consists of the dilation of the musical
or the literary text by the interjection of complementary phrases.
This--at least at first--was probably done to avoid monotony. For
instance, instead of singing _Kyrie eleison_ nine times in succession,
it was sung as follows:
'_Kyrie_ cuncti potens genitor Deus, omni creator _eleison_--fons
et origo boni pie luxque perennis, _eleison_.
_Kyrie_ salvicet pietas tua nos, bone rector, _eleison_,’ etc.
(Tutilo, _Cod. S. Gall_, 484.)
All parts of the mass, from the Introit to the Communion, have been
decorated with tropes. There has been compiled a list of seventy-eight
tropes for the _Kyrie_ alone. Like the sequence the trope developed
from an accessory function to an independent form which at one time was
practised with much assiduity.
V
Whether the musical theory of the ecclesiastical chants prior to the
fifth century--apart from the Ambrosian hymns--was influenced more by
Roman or Oriental traditions is a moot point. The question, however,
is not vital, as the real founder of the church system of modes, the
Pythagorean philosopher Boethius (fifth century), was professedly an
imitator of the Greek theorists. Boethius speaks of the ancients with
something like veneration, and takes pride in writing like a Greek,
after the fashion of Plato, Aristotle, Aristoxenus, Nichomachus,
Philolaus, and Ptolemy. He is a mathematician rather than a musician.
He congratulates Ptolemy on having ignored the testimony of the ear and
condemns the practice of music as interfering with the just and logical
consideration of theory. Cassiodorus and Isidore of Seville speak in
somewhat the same fashion. Boethius is the authority for a long line of
church musicians, including Hucbald, Guido, Englebert, Jean de Muris,
Adam de Fulda, and Alcuin. The mathematical view of music fathered
by him gained such prevalence that in the curriculum of mediæval
universities music was placed among the mathematical sciences.
We cannot do more here than briefly indicate the tone system used in
the church after the liturgy had been definitely formulated, without
going into the question of its earlier evolution. The system of modes
was professedly founded on the tetrachordal species of the Greeks (see
Chap. IV, p. 112), but with an obvious misunderstanding of the Greek
system. At first only four forms were recognized, namely, the so-called
authentic (from [Greek: ], to govern) modes of St. Ambrose. According
to tradition St. Gregory added to these four 'plagal’ (from [Greek:
plagios], oblique). At any rate before the eleventh century there were
eight accepted church modes, four 'authentic’ modes, and four 'plagal’
or derived modes. Later theorists taught the existence of fourteen
different scales. Two of these were rejected as 'impure’; the other
twelve remained in use for centuries, and were known by the names of
their Greek prototypes, but these names, too, were misapplied, as will
be seen from the following table, where the octave D-d corresponding to
the Phrygian species of the Greeks is named Dorian, and vice versa the
octave F-f (Greek mixolydian) has become the Lydian, and so forth. The
difference between authentic and plagal modes was chiefly one of range
and emphasis. For example, in every mode two tones were considered,
and were, as a matter of fact, of predominant importance; the _final_
or note on which the piece ended, somewhat analogous to our tonic or
key-note, and the _dominant_, the note most frequently touched in the
course of the melody, the centre of gravity, so to speak, about which
the melody moved. In the authentic modes the melody never sank below
the final except in cadence, where it might take the note immediately
below the final and rise by one step to the close; and the dominant
was, like our dominant, in the middle of the scale. In the plagal
modes, on the other hand, the melody wandered freely as low as a fourth
below the final, which thus was near the middle of the melodic range;
and the dominant was a third below the dominant of the corresponding
authentic mode. Whenever the dominant fell on B, C was substituted
(indicated by _N.B._ in the table) and in the rejected Locrian G was
substituted for F.
Each authentic mode had its related plagal. The final of the
ecclesiastical Dorian mode was D.[63] The range of a melody written
in this mode was limited to notes which may be represented on the
pianoforte by the white keys between D and d, including the two D’s
and, for the cadence, the C below the lower. The melody would centre
about A and come to end on D. The related plagal mode, called the
Hypodorian, had the same final, D, but the range of a melody in this
mode was from the A below to the A above the final, centering about the
dominant, F. The so-called relaxed modes which are frequently met with
varied likewise from the authentic modes in range which in such modes
might be extended to a third below the final. The dominant remained
the same and the slight extension of range hardly altered the _ethos_
or character of the authentic mode from which it thus technically
varied.
[Illustration: AUTHENTIC MODES.]
[Illustration: PLAGAL MODES.]
The modes were in as far as possible strictly adhered to, but the
occurrence of certain intervals difficult to sing and not wholly
pleasant to the ear (notably the augmented fourth, or tritone,[64]
from F to B), led to modifications or, as we should say, chromatic
alterations. B-flat, for instance, was substituted for B whenever the
interval from F to B occurred; and later, in the development of part
singing, many other alterations were found necessary. Marks indicating
such alterations were seldom written in the score, and singers were
specially trained to alter intervals at sight, according to the
elaborate rules of the practice called _musica ficta_, or 'false music.’
We have already adverted to the gradual decline in the use of the Greek
language at Rome and the incidental passing from the minds and the
memories of men of the alphabetical system of notation which had been
inherited from the Greeks. It is not quite clear, however, how the
Oriental church, which used Greek until a comparatively late period and
even introduced that language into the liturgy of the Latin church,
could have absolutely ignored the Greek system of notation. Yet such
appears to be the case. As far as we can discover, the early chants
of the church, both in the East and in the West, were handed down
_viva voce_, and not until about the eighth century do we find traces
of any attempt to devise a system of graphic aids to musical memory.
This system, as we first find it, was of a most elementary sort and
consisted merely of a few strokes and dashes placed above the text
of the song and serving apparently no other purpose than to indicate
in a general way the rising and falling inflections of the melody.
These signs are known as _neumes_, and from them gradually developed
our modern system of notation. The origin of the _neumes_ is quite
obscure. It would appear that at first they consisted merely of the
acute and grave accents borrowed from the Byzantine grammarians and
designed to indicate the occurrence of a rising and falling inflection
respectively. To them were gradually added dashes, strokes, curves, and
hooks in various combinations which in time became a fairly complete
and precise system of musical writing. Their evolution into the square
and diamond-shaped Gothic notation of the middle ages can be followed
with sufficient clearness.
[Illustration: SPECIMEN OF NOTATION IN NEUMES,
TENTH AND ELEVENTH CENTURY.]
These signs, though representing definite turns and embellishments
in the melody, gave no exact indication of pitch. The first sign of
anything approaching a staff occurs in the tenth century, when one or
two lines were drawn across the page to mark the place of certain tones
or pitches. The first line was used for the tone F and the second for
the tone C. Other lines were later added for the other tones, and each
line was marked with the letter of the tone to which it was assigned.
Though all the letters of the scale were used in this fashion, F,
C, and G were the ones most commonly employed and from the Gothic
characters for these were developed our modern clef signs, as may be
seen from the following illustration:
[Illustration: GENESIS OF CLEFS FROM GOTHIC LETTERS.]
A system of letter notation seems to have grown up contemporaneously
with the neumatic system. Its invention has been ascribed to Gregory
the Great and to Boethius, without much authority in either case. The
first instances of its practical use are found in the writings of
Notker Balbulus and Hucbald. Originally fifteen letters were used to
designate the tones of two octaves; this number was afterward reduced
to seven, repeated in successive octaves. The letters ran from A to
G, but none of them had a definite tone meaning, as they have with
us. A was merely the tone taken as a starting point and the series
was always counted upward from it. In the system as it was finally
completed the lowest G was added and called _gamma_ to distinguish it
from the G in the regular series. It is of interest to note here that
the introduction of B flat necessitated the use of two differently
shaped B’s. The B _durum_ was angular [music sign] and the B _molle_
was rounded [music sign]. From the former was derived our natural
sign (♮) and from the latter our flat sign (♭). Our sharp is merely a
variation of the natural. The system of letter notation was originally
devised chiefly for instruments, particularly the organ, though its use
gradually became universal. It belongs, however, more properly to a
period later than the one we have been discussing.
One other item may justly find a place in this chapter, namely, the
early history of the organ. The instrument has virtually since the
beginning of our era been associated with the church, and was already a
factor in the service during the plain-song period. We shall presently
see how one of the earliest forms of polyphony--of music that was not
merely plain chant--received its name from the instrument. The organ is
of ancient origin; according to Riemann, its ancestors are the bagpipe
and the Pan’s pipe. Already in the second century B. C. there existed
a true organ, in which air pressure was generated by pumps (bellows)
and compressed by means of water pressure and the manipulation of
a keyboard. The invention of this so-called water-organ (_organum
hydraulicum_, hydraulic organ) was ascribed to Ktesibios (170 B. C.)
by his pupil Heron of Alexandria, whose writings have come down to us.
Water was, it seems, not a necessary accessory to this instrument and
organs were soon after constructed without the hydraulic principle, in
Greece and Italy.
[Illustration: The Organ in the Middle Ages.]
1. Pneumatic organ, 4th century.
2. The famous Winchester organ, 951, A. D.
3. German organ, 11th century.
The instrument was known in the occident long before King Pepin
received one as a present from Emperor Constantine Copronymos in 757
A. D. A Greek description of an organ belonging to Julian the Apostate
(fourth century) and others mentioned by Cassiodorus and St. Augustine
furnish valuable details. These instruments usually consisted of from
eight to fifteen pipes (one to two octaves of the diatonic scale) which
were constructed in the same manner as the flue pipes of modern organs.
Throughout the ninth century organs were assiduously manufactured by
monks, especially in France and Germany, and their compass was made to
coincide with the middle range of the human voice (c to c´) so as to be
used in connection with vocal instruction. The names of the tones were
inscribed on the 'keys,’ which were small wooden plates in _vertical_
position. The player was obliged to pull this shutter away to allow the
wind to enter the pipes, which would sound continuously till shut. By
980 there existed organs of considerable size, such as the famous one
at Winchester, consisting of 400 pipes and two keyboards, requiring two
players. A special form of notation, known as tablature, grew up for
organ playing which coincides in general with our modern staff notation.
* * * * *
The above will, we believe, suffice to give a clear account of the
musical activities of the period which we have called the Age of
Plain-song. Among music-loving people in general there is a lack of
interest in plain-song, due partly to religious reasons, but chiefly
born of a tendency to regard it as a dry and spiritless formula, an
insipid sort of recitative designed to lend solemnity to devotional
exercises. Complete lack of sympathy and imagination could alone
excuse such an impression in the minds of those who have ever had the
opportunity of hearing it sung in a sincere and reverent spirit. Unlike
the pedantic, mathematical art that music came to be in the middle
ages, plain-song was preëminently a form of emotional expression.
Further, it was the expression of emotions most poignant and profound.
It came from the hearts of men who were conscious actors in a gigantic
drama. The inexpressible tortures of eternal fire, the ecstatic wonders
of a golden heaven, the ineffable mystery of the Godhead, the awful
panoply of the Judgment, the wrath and agony of a wronged and insulted
Deity who yet offered Himself as a bloody holocaust for the sins of
men--all the esoteric spiritual symbols of Christianity had for these
early believers a real and literal significance. To them was vouchsafed
the simple faith, the naïve wonder of childhood. Their souls were
possessed with a great awe, with an intense longing, with profound
humility and passionate remorse, with fiery zeal and ardent love, with
the joyous ecstasy of anticipated salvation and the nameless horror of
ever-threatening damnation. All this wealth of deep and keen emotion
is conveyed to us in the songs of the early church with the direct
simplicity of Greek drama. No one, listening to the mournful strains of
the _Dies Iræ_, could escape the vague awe, the blood-congealing sense
of that tremendous drama set for 'the day of wrath, that awful day when
heaven and earth shall pass away’; nor could any one hear the serene
melody of the _Veni sancte spiritus_ without feeling some suggestion of
the ineffable peace that follows the descent of the Spirit Paraclete.
Understanding and sympathy--difficult perhaps for a scientific and
rationalistic age--are essential to the appreciation of these poets
of the ecstatic vision; but for any one who can bring imagination and
sensibility to the study of plain-song the results of the task will
prove well worth the labor.
W. D. D.
FOOTNOTES:
[43] 'Auctoritatem ... in Ecclesia cantandi causa devotionis
traxit a canta religiosorum antiquorum tam in novo quam in vetere
testamento.’--John de Muris, _Sum. Mas._
[44] Cf. Strabo, _De Bello Punico_, Livy, Bk. xxxix.
[45] Fr. Aug. Gevaert: _La Mélopée antique dans le chant de l’église
latine_.
[46] See Bellermann and Vincent: _Anonymi scriptio de musica_, Berlin,
1841.
[47] Book v, Chap. 4.
[48] For a fuller discussion of Græco-Roman music see Fr. Aug. Gevaert,
_La mélopée antique dans le chant de l’église latine_ (Ghent, 1895);
Combarieu, _Histoire de la musique_, Vol. I, Chap. XIII (Paris, 1913);
Charles Burney, 'History of Music,’ Vol. I.
[49] _See_ Gevaert: _Op. cit._
[50] Hugo Riemann: _Handbuch der Musikgeschichte_, I².
[51] For a detailed discussion of the metrical forms of ecclesiastical
hymnody see Riemann: _Handbuch der Musikgeschichte_, I².
[52] Prudentius was the author of two collections of hymns, the
_Kathemerinon_ and the _Peristephanon_, which were first adopted by the
Spanish church and later introduced to Rome.
[53] _De init. cler._, in Migne, _Patr. Lat._, cvii, 362.
[54] See Paul I; Cor. xiv. 7; John Apocal., v. 8, xiv. 2, xv. 2.
[55] A typical example is the recurrence of the phrase 'Quoniam in
æternum misericordia ejus’ in the 135th psalm.
[56] Gerbert says of him: 'Illud sacrorum hymnorum in Ecclesia genus,
quod antiquissimus in Ecclesiæ temporibus in usu fuit, in Oriente
præsertim a S. Ephrem, inter Latinos a S. Ambrosio excultum, unde
et Ambrosiani dicti sunt hymni ... non cantum alternum, vel populi
concentum primu(s) indux(it) in ecclesiam Mediolanensem S. Ambrosinus,
sed cantum modulatum antea insuetum in ecclesia occidentali.’--_De
Cantu et Musica Sacra_, I, p. 199. The writings of the Fathers are
full of fugitive, grateful references to the musical achievements of
Ambrose. Nor is his fame based on tradition, as in the case of St.
Gregory. Some of his most devoted admirers are near contemporaries.
The references to his work are not usually inspired by a clear
understanding of just what he did for church music, but all together
they create a vivid impression that St. Ambrose is the biggest single
figure in the history of liturgical song.
[57] According to some musical historians, Celestine introduced the
antiphonal psalmody from Poitiers.
[58] _Regesta Pontificum Romanorum_, Jeffe, 2d ed., Leipzig, 1881.
[59] _Vita S. Gregorii Magni_, in Mabillon, _Acta sanctorum ordinis
benedicti_, Paris, 1668.
[60] _Les origines du chant liturgique de l’église latine._
[61] The _Alleluja_ is not really a word but a sort of shrilling effect
of great antiquity among the Hebrews and other people of the Orient. It
was produced by choruses of women in triumphal processions and other
joyous celebrations, and seems to have been about half way between a
song and a cheer. The early Christians used it in songs of joy and
praise, and perhaps sang it to take the place of the instrumental
prelude of the psalms. 'Laudes, hoc est alleluia canere, canticum est
Hebræorum,’ says Isidore of Seville. (_De off._, I, 13.)
[62] See 'History of Irish Music,’ W. H. Grattan Flood, Dublin, 1906.
Notker was the author of the famous _Antiphona de Morte_, beginning
_Media vita in morte sumus_ (In the midst of life we are in death),
which was quickly adopted as a funeral anthem throughout Europe.
Miraculous effects were attributed to it, and its use was so much
abused that the council of Cologne (1316) forbade anybody to sing it
who was not specially authorized by a bishop.
[63] Here should be noted one of the ways in which the Christian
theorists misapplied the system of the Greeks. In Chapter IV we have
seen that the Greeks did not consider pitch as in any way related to
the character or ethos of the modes. This _ethos_ was determined solely
by the arrangement of the steps in the scale. The Christian theorists,
on the other hand, though they still recognized the variety of
character obtained by varying the distribution of steps in the scale,
evidently allotted to the different modes a different final or pitch,
and thus pitch came to influence the character of the modes. The modes
might, however, still be transposed and sung at any pitch.
[64] This dreaded interval was called by churchmen _diabolus in
musica_, and as such studiously avoided.