The powerful influence of music on our intellectual faculties, and
consequently on our health, has long been ascertained, either in raising
the energies of the mind, or producing despondency and melancholy
associations of ideas. Impressed with its sublime nature, the ancients
gave it a divine origin. Diodorus tells us that it was a boon bestowed on
mankind after the deluge, and owed its discovery to the sound produced by
the wind when whistling through the reeds that grew on the banks of the
Nile. This science became the early study of philosophers and physicians.
Herophilus explained the alterations of the pulse by the various modes and
rhythms of music. In the sacred writings we have many instances of its
influence in producing an aptitude for divine consolation. The derangement
of Saul yielded to the harp of David, and the hand of the Lord came upon
Elisha as the minstrel played. In Egypt certain songs were legally
ordained in the education of youth, to promote virtue and morality.
Polybius assures us that music was required to soften the manners of the
Arcadians, whose climate was heavy and impure; while the inhabitants of
Cynaethe, who neglected this science, were the most barbarous in Greece.
The medical power of harmonious sounds was also fully admitted. We find
Pythagoras directing certain mental disorders to be treated by music.
Thales, called from Crete to Sparta, cured a disastrous pestilence by its
means. Martinus Capella affirms that fevers were thus removed. Xenocrates
cured maniacs by melodious sounds, and Asclepiades conquered deafness with
a trumpet. In modern times it has been related of a deaf lady that she
could only hear while a drum was beating, and a drummer was kept in the
house for the purpose of enabling her to converse. Aulus Gellius tells us
that a case of sciatica was cured by gentle modulations, and Theophrastus
maintains that the bites of serpents and other venomous reptiles can be
relieved by similar means. Ancient physicians, who attributed many
diseases to the influence of evil spirits, fancied that harmonious sounds
drove them away, more especially when accompanied by incantations; and we
find in Luther, "that music is one of the most beautiful and glorious
gifts of God, to which Satan is a bitter enemy."
In more modern times we have several instances of the medical powers of
music, and the effect produced by Farinelli on Philip of Spain is well
known. This monarch was in such a deplorable state of despondency from ill
health, that he refused to be shaved or to appear in public. On the
arrival of Farinelli, the Queen was resolved to try the power of music,
and a concert was ordered in a room adjoining the King's chamber:
Farinelli sang two of his best airs,[9] which so overcame Philip that he
desired he might be brought into his presence, when he promised to grant
him any reasonable request he might make. The performer, in the most
respectful manner, then begged of the King to allow himself to be shaved
and attended by his domestics, to which Philip consented. Farinelli
continued to sing to him daily until a perfect cure was effected.--The
story of Tartini is rather curious: in a moment of musical enthusiasm he
fell asleep, when the devil appeared to him playing on the violin, bidding
him with a horrible grin to play as well as he did; struck with the
vision, the musician awoke, ran to his harpsichord, and produced the
splendid sonata which he entitled "_the Devil's_." Brueckmann, and Hufeland
relate cases of St. Vitus's dance, cured by music, which, according to
Desessarts, also relieved Catalepsy. Schneider and Becker have ascertained
its influence in hysteric and hypochondriac affections.
The following curious case is recorded by Paret:--"Une jeune fille
d'environ 11 ans, fort prematuree relativement aux facultes, ayant le
genre nerveux tres sensible et tres irritable, fut attaquee, il y a
environ deux ans, de douleurs violentes dans tout le corps, avec insomnie,
tension excessive et fort douleureuse des muscles de l'abdomen,
accompagnee de fievre. Deux ans apres, des convulsions se declarerent,
avec une violence qui surpassa tout ce que je craignais; les bonds, les
elans, furent, pendant quatre or cinq jours et autant de nuits, si forts,
qu'il fallait deux hommes pour retenir dans le lit la jeune personne,
d'ailleurs faible et delicate. Enfin, je proposai d'employer la musique.
On fit, en consequence, entrer deux menestriers, disposes a donner leur
premier coup d'archet; a l'instant de leur apparition les convulsions
cesserent d'abord et-reparurent peu de tems apres: on changea d'air, et
les convulsions cesserent encore pour reparaitre, aussi au troisieme air,
qui sans doute se trouva plus au gout de la malade, elle demanda un
violon, qu'on lui donna, et quoiqu'elle n'eut jamais fait d'autre essai,
son oeil fixe sur les joueurs, son attention fut si grande, et ses
mouvemens si rapides, qu'elle suivait ceux des menetriers sans causer
aucune discordance. Des connaisseurs ne pouvaient s'empecher de convenir
de la justesse et de la precision qu'elle observait. Son oreille etait
meme si delicate, qu'elle faisait des reproches aux menetriers, qui,
obliges de jouer une grande partie de la nuit, se trouvaient eux-memes
dans le cas de manquer de mesure.
La petite malade continua de jouer pendant plus de 30 heures de suite,
sans autre interruption que celle qu'il fallait pour prendre ses
bouillons, et dans ce court intervalle on voyait les contractions des
tendons se renouveller, quoique moins fortes. Les musiciens fatigues, elle
se contenta de la voix, qu'elle accompagna de son instrument. Au bout de
ce terme, un sommeil de six ou sept heures, qui vint tres naturellement,
produisit une augmentation de calme. Au reveil, on varia les exercices, et
ainsi se termina la scene qui avait dure 48 heures, apres laquelle les
convulsions cesserent totalement. Trois jours apres, la malade se trouva
parfaitement bien; et ne restait que des convulsions tres faibles, et la
maladie se termina apres trois mois de duree."
A still more singular effect of music is related by Roger in the case of a
poor wretch broken upon the wheel. In his agonies he blasphemed in the
most fearful manner, and cordially damned the spiritual comforter who
sought to reconcile him to his sufferings. Some itinerant musicians
chanced to pass by, they were stopped by the priest and requested to play
to the patient, when to the surprise of all around, he seemed relieved,
and became so tranquil, that he attended with calm resignation to their
exhortations, confessed his manifold offences, and died like a good
Christian.
Rousseau, who entertained a sovereign contempt for French music, observes,
that the _Cantates_ of Bernier cured the fever of a French musician, while
they most probably would have given a fever to a musician of any other
country.
This remark of Rousseau reminds me of the French philosophical traveller
(I believe it was Diderot), who on his journey to London from Dover, while
horses were changing, had the curiosity to see a sick ostler with a raging
fever attended by a country practitioner, who, despairing most probably of
his patient, said, that he might be allowed to eat any thing he wished
for. The man asked for a red-herring, which was forthwith given to him.
Our tourist, generalizing like most of his brethren, immediately noted in
his diary--_English Physicians allow red-herrings to fever patients_.
Some months after he changed horses at the same inn, and asked how long
the unfortunate creature had survived his herring, when, to his utter
surprise, he was informed that the hale, hearty fellow who was bringing
out the relays, was the very man. He of course pulled out his journal and
entered--_red-herrings cure the fever of Englishmen_.
Our traveller crossed over, and having accidentally seen in a French inn a
poor devil whose case appeared to him similar to the sturdy ostler, he
ventured to prescribe a similar remedy, which the patient only survived an
hour or two; when his death was announced, he philosophically shrugged up
his shoulders, and wrote in his book--_Though red-herrings cure fevers in
England, they most decidedly kill in France_.
Mad musicians seem to be more mad than others; for Fodere gives us the
following strange account of some of them. "Les plus grands musiciens ne
reconnaissent souvent plus leurs instruments: l'un prenant son violon, que
je lui avais mis dans les mains, pour un vase de nuit, et un autre prenant
sa flute pour un sabre, et voulait m'en frapper."
We, however, frequently meet with lunatics who, although they have no
remembrance of the past circumstances of their life, recollect and perform
airs which they had formerly played.
Various well-authenticated cases lead us to suppose, that a sensibility to
music long latent may be called into action by accidental circumstances. A
case is on record of a countrywoman, twenty-eight years of age, who had
never left her village, but was, by mere chance, present at a _fete_ where
a concert was performed, and dancing to a full band afterwards followed.
She was delighted with the novelty of the scene; but, the _fete_
concluded, she could not dismiss from her mind the impression the music
had produced. Whether she was at her meals, her devotions, her daily
occupation, or in her bed,--still, or moving about,--the airs she had
heard, and in the succession in which they had been performed, were ever
present to her recollection. To sleep she became a stranger,--every
function became gradually deranged, and six short months terminated her
existence, not having for one moment lost this strange sensation; and
during this sad period, when any false note on the violin was purposely
drawn, she would hold her head with both hands, and exclaim, "Oh! what a
horrible note! it tears my brain!"
Sir Henry Halford relates the case of a man in Yorkshire, who after severe
misfortunes lost his senses, and was placed in a lunatic asylum. There, in
a short time, the use of the violin gradually restored him to his
intellects; so promptly, indeed, that six weeks after the experiment, on
hearing the inmates of the establishment passing by, he said, "Good
morning, gentlemen; I am quite well, and shall be most happy to accompany
you."
Curious anecdotes are related of the effect of music upon animals.
Marville has given the following amusing account of his experiments.
"While a man was playing on a trump-marine, I made my observations on a
cat, a dog, a horse, an ass, a hind, some cows, small birds, and a cock
and hens, who were in a yard under the window: the cat was not the least
affected; the horse stopped short from time to time, raising his head up
now and then as he was feeding on the grass; the dog continued for above
an hour seated on his hind-legs, looking steadfastly at the player; the
ass did not discover the least indication of his being touched, eating his
thistles peaceably; the hind lifted up her large wide ears, and seemed
very attentive; the cows slept a little, and, after gazing at us, went
forward; some little birds that were in an aviary, and others on trees and
bushes, almost tore their little throats with singing; but the cock, who
minded only his hens, and the hens, who were solely employed in scraping
a neighbouring dunghill, did not show in any manner that the trump-marine
afforded them pleasure." That dogs have an ear for music cannot be
doubted: Steibelt had one which evidently knew one piece of music from the
other: and a modern composer, my friend, Mr. Nathan, had a pug-dog that
frisked merrily about the room when a lively piece was played, but when a
slow melody was performed, particularly Dussek's Opera 15, he would seat
himself down by the piano, and prick up his ears with intense attention
until the player came to the forty-eighth bar; as the discord was struck,
he would yell most piteously, and with drooping tail seek refuge from the
unpleasant sound under the chairs or tables.[10]
Eastcot relates that a hare left her retreat to listen to some choristers
who were singing on the banks of the Mersey, retiring whenever they ceased
singing, and reappearing as they recommenced their strains. Bossuet
asserts, that an officer confined in the Bastille drew forth mice and
spiders to beguile his solitude with his flute; and a mountebank in Paris
had taught rats to dance on the rope in perfect time. Chateaubriand states
as a positive fact, that he has seen the rattlesnakes in Upper Canada
appeased by a musician; and the concert given in Paris to two elephants in
the Jardin des Plantes leaves no doubt in regard to the effect of harmony
on the brute creation. Every instrument seemed to operate distinctly as
the several modes of pieces were slow or lively, until the excitement of
these intelligent creatures had been carried to such an extent that
further experiments were deemed dangerous.
The associations produced by national airs, and illustrated by the effect
of the _Rans des Vaches_ upon the Swiss, are too well known to be related;
and the _mal de pays_, or _nostalgia_, is an affection aggravated by the
fond airs of infancy and youth during the sad hours of emigration, when
the aching heart lingers after home and early ties of friendship and of
love. It is somewhat singular, but this disease is frequent among soldiers
in countries where they are forcibly made to march: but is seldom, if
ever, observed in the fair sex, who most probably seek for admiration in
every clime, and are reconciled by flattery to any region.
The whims of musical composers have often been most singular; Gluck
composed in a garden, quaffing champaign; Sarti, in a dark room;
Paesiello, in his bed; Sacchini, with a favourite cat perched upon each
shoulder. The extraordinary fancies of Kutswara, composer of the "Battle
of Prague," are too well known, and led to his melancholy, but unpitied
end.
Great as the repute of the most popular musical performers, whether vocal
or instrumental, in the present day may be, and enormous as their
remuneration may seem, the ancients were more profuse in their generosity
to musicians and the factors of musical instruments. Plutarch, in his life
of Isocrates, tells us that he was the son of Theodorus, a flute-maker,
who had realized so large a fortune by his business, that he was able to
vie with the richest Athenian citizens in keeping up the chorus for his
tribe at festivals and religious ceremonies. Ismenias, the celebrated
musician of Thebes, gave three talents, or 581_l._ 5_s._ for a flute. The
extravagance of this performer was so great, that Pliny informs us he was
indignant at one of his agents for having purchased a valuable emerald for
him at Cyprus at too low a price, adding, that by his penurious conduct he
had disgraced the gem. The vanity of artists in those days appears to have
been similar to the present impudent pretensions of many public
favourites. Plutarch relates of this same Ismenias, that being sent for to
play at a sacrifice, and having performed for some time without the
appearance of any favourable omen in the victim, his employer snatched the
instrument out of his hand, and began to play himself most execrably.
However, the happy omen appeared, when the delighted bungler exclaimed
that the gods preferred his execution and taste. Ismenias cast upon him a
smile of contempt, and replied, "While _I_ played, the gods were so
enchanted that they deferred the omen to hear me the longer; but they were
glad to get rid of _you_ upon any terms." This was nearly as absurd as the
boast of Vestris, the Parisian dancer, who, on being complimented on his
powers of remaining long in the air, replied, "that he could figure in the
air for half an hour, did he not fear to create jealousy among his
comrades."
Amoebaeus the harper, according to Athenaeus, used to receive an Attic
talent of 193_l._ 15_s._ for each performance. The beautiful Lamia, the
most celebrated female flute-player, had a temple dedicated to her under
the name of Venus Lamia. The _Tibicinae_, or female flute-players, who
formed collegiate bodies, were as celebrated for their talent and their
charms, as for their licentiousness and extravagance. Their performances
were forbidden by the Theodosian code, but with little success; since
Procopius informs us that, in the time of Justinian the sister of the
Empress Theodora, who was a renowned amateur _tibicina_, appeared on the
stage without any other dress than a slight and transparent scarf.
In the early ages of Christianity, the power of music in adding to
religious solemnity was fully appreciated, and many of the fathers and
most distinguished prelates cultivated the auxiliary science. St. Gregory
expressly sent over Augustine the monk, with some singers, who entered the
city of Canterbury singing a litany in the Gregorian chant, which extended
the number of the four tones of St. Ambrose to eight. A school for church
music was established at Canterbury; and it was also taught in the diocese
of Durham and Weremouth. St. Dunstan was a celebrated musician, and was
accused of having invented a most wonderful magic harp; it was, perhaps,
to prove that the accusation was false, that he took the devil by the nose
with a pair of tongs. This ingenious saint is said to be the inventor of
organs, one of which he bestowed on the abbey of Malmesbury. It appears,
however, that instruments resembling the organ were known as early as 364,
and were described in a Greek epigram attributed to Julian the Apostate,
in which he says, "I beheld reeds of a new species, the growth of each
other, and a brazen soil; such as are not agitated by winds, but by a
blast that rushes from a leathern cavern beneath their roots; while a
robust mortal, running with swift fingers over the concordant keys, makes
them, as they smoothly dance, emit melodious sounds."
The influence of music on the fair sex has long been acknowledged, and
this advantage has proved fatal to some artists who had recourse to its
fascinating powers; Mark Smeaton was involved in the misfortunes of Anne
Boleyn; Thomas Abel, who taught harmony to Catherine, met with a similar
fate, and David Rizzio was not more fortunate. They were, perhaps, too
much impressed with the ideas of Cloten: "I am advis'd to give her music
o' mornings; they say it will penetrate."
It is worthy of remark, that no woman was ever known to excel in musical
composition, however brilliant her instrumental execution might have been.
The same observation has been made in regard to logical disquisitions. To
what are we to attribute this exception?--are we to consider these
delightful tormentors as essentially unharmonious and illogical? We leave
this important question to phrenologists.