MUSIC IN THE PLANT WORLD
“_Many voices there are in Nature’s choir, and none but were good to
hear Had we mastered the laws of their music well, and could read their
meaning clear; But we who can feel at Nature’s touch, cannot think as
yet with her thought; And I only know that the sough of the pines with
a spell of its own is fraught._”
Music is a language--a species of soft, dreamy speech which makes up
for its lack of definiteness and precision by a beauty and harmony
which can best be described as divine. Indeed, the ancient Greeks
made music an all-inclusive term for the higher conceptions of life.
Dancing, poetry, and even science were supposed to be under its sway,
while the revolution of the heavenly bodies created that “music of the
spheres” which entertained the gods.
It would be better for mankind if this sentiment were more popular
today. It is a narrow notion which confines the idea of musical
harmony to the sounds produced by certain man-made instruments.
Art which is restricted to workings in oil may be very pleasing but
it is also very much limited. Music which is only interpreted on a
violin or a piano falls far short of its grandest possibilities. To
certain minds, the sighing of the wind through a Pine forest is more
exquisitely expressive than a hundred breath-blown symphonies. When men
cannot agree as to what is music among the sounds produced by their
self-created instruments, dare they lightly ignore the many pleasing
sounds which accompany the operations of Nature?
To an American ear, Chinese singing sounds like squealing and a Fiji
concert like a vociferous boiler factory. Yet a Chinaman or a Fiji
Islander will leave our grandest operatic efforts in disgust, though
he may be pleased with the preceding orchestral tunings. Where are we
to set the standard? Is it not safest to fall back on Nature for our
truest conceptions?
The real sublimity of Nature lies in her vocalism. A soundless world
would be greatly lacking in charm. The endearing noises of the woods
and the fields often become so familiar that we fail to notice
their individual merits. Yet they are there. Their sudden cessation
would leave a terrible and unbearable gap. The woods are filled with
gaily costumed feathered minstrels. The meadows are great emerald
stages of song and fancy. The very grass roots are filled with little
insect-fiddlers who chirp cheerfulness. Wind, water and rain all
furnish a grand and beautiful accompaniment.
Nature sings in the inharmonic scale, that is, a scale which takes in
all intervals. Between the piano notes “C” and “D” lies a great space.
They only represent halting points in the ascent of sound. Just as in
the spectrum there are a hundred variations of shade between blue and
green, so the cultivated human voice can hint at a hundred intervals
between “C” and “D”. Nature uses all the tiny shades of sound there
are, and certain humans have followed suit. To the Arabians, water
“lisps in a murmuring scale.”
Occasionally, Nature uses the diatonic scale familiar to our western
civilization. When the wind unites its vibrations into the long shrill
note we call the whistle, it is playing according to our musical rules.
Water, when falling perpendicularly from a great height also gives
forth a long, steady note. Even the rhythmical quality so essential to
good music is not lacking in such phenomena as rain pattering on dry
leaves. This sound has proved unusually appealing to many people. The
Mexicans sometimes attempt to imitate it by means of clay rattles.
Not only does the countryside continually sing a great symphony,
but each region has its own acoustic properties. While large cities
maintain a discordant and incessant roar, the country is filled with
soft and pleasing voices. Birds, animals, water and wind give forth
quaint musings of the most soothing nature. Once in a while the woods
go on a musical jag and every instrument becomes discordant. Under
the influence of the bright moonlight, the inhabitants of the South
American jungles sometimes seem to go mad. The hoarse roars of the
Tiger mingle with the piercing shrieks of Parrots and the shrill
wailings of Monkeys, while the croaking of Bull Frogs and the dismal
hoot of Owls is deafening. Jaguars scream as they chase Monkeys through
the tree-tops.
The various members of the plant kingdom are the principal instruments
upon which the wind plays. Without the obstruction offered by plants,
trees, rocks, and houses, we should not hear the wind at all. The
trees, because of their size and exposed positions, are most noted as
plant-musicians, but the grasses and herbs are also very susceptible to
the caressings of the wind.
Who has not heard and gloried in the music of the Pines? The sharp
needles of these big conifers seem unusually fitted for esthetic
expression. They are the Aeolian harps of the woods. During a storm,
they sing in a mighty chorus of acclaim. At such a time, the breaking
of many small branches sounds like the snapping of overstrained violin
strings.
Almost any tree located on a cliff or on the edge of a mountain,
becomes a musician of the first order. It is apt to take on the
sorrowful tendencies of solitude. The weepings, wailings, murmurings,
groanings, sighs and whispers of the universe vibrate through its
branches. It would seem as if such a tree were trying to express many
mysterious wonders of which man has little knowledge.
The trees are not altogether dependent upon their leaves for their
music. The barren branches of fall and winter sing in a most attractive
way. Their dry and discarded leaves litter the ground and carry on
crackly songs of their own, or sing as they play tag in whirls of wind.
The Elm is a pleasing autumn singer and the Willows, when covered with
ice, rattle their twigs like a minstrel’s bones. As the winter wind
hums around the Cottonwood Trees, it rocks the seed balls in their
natural cradles with a sighing, crooning sound. This is the way the
Tree sings to her babies! When the wind soughs through a hollow tree,
it produces a ghostly sound suggestive of a mourning or dying person.
A current of air rubbing two boughs together causes a scrunching sound
which sends the shivers up one’s back.
It is reasonable to believe that every tree and plant has its own
individual voice as set in motion by the wind. A Nature-lover does not
have much difficulty in distinguishing a great many. The desert Sage
whistles in the wind; the Cedar laughs in the storm; the air rustles
through a Wheat field; an agitated Sugar Cane or Corn field gives forth
a sound like tinkling glass. The noise produced by a high wind in the
Southern Smilax has been likened to a harp struck at random.
The bursting pods of the Witch Hazel pop gently and the seeds fall
among the dead leaves like so many buck shot; the Oxalis sends forth
its seed-babies with the crack of a pistol shot. Members of the Bean
family moan in the breeze like plaintive violins. The Squirting
Cucumber gurgles not unlike certain frogs. The Sunflower is a
professional drummer who rattles his seeds about in his pods. The
Rattlesnake Iris holds its seed-capsule in such a way that it gives an
excellent imitation of the warning noise of the reptile for which it
is named. Catalpa pods snap like horse-whips, but Cat-Tails sigh like
small reed instruments.
Early man gained more inspiration and pleasure from the music of the
plants than his wiser but more worldly successors. It is said that the
idea for the first flute was obtained by listening to the wind sigh
through the Reeds on the shore of a lake. The first stringed instrument
was probably a fibre accidentally stretched across a hollow shell. The
classic Aeolian harp consisted of a wooden frame containing a thin
sounding-board over which were stretched a number of strips of cat-gut.
If placed before a half-open window so that an air current strikes it
sideways, it gives forth a great volume of harmonious notes in several
octaves. This is a clear case of catching the music of the wind. In a
cruder, less harmonious way, the Japanese glass tinklers of our day do
the same thing. The humming of telegraph wires and the strange chirping
of a wireless instrument are also a kind of singing.
All the plants are not expert musicians, which explains why they often
seek to make up for their own deficiencies by hiring numerous birds and
insects to make melody for them. These musicians are employed in the
truest sense of the word and receive their pay in food, shelter and
protection. In the air and on the ground, by day and by night, they
sing and fiddle for their hosts. The broad leaves of the Water Lily
(_Victoria Regia_) are veritable music schools of Frog practice. Every
voice from croaking bass to youthful tenor is heard! Every tree has its
Frogs and Birds--every bush and shrub innumerable insect warblers.
The birds are the plants’ vocalists. Their songs and delightful
twitterings are among the most familiar things in Nature. The music of
the large body of insect-instrumentalists is carried on in such obscure
places, and often so far down among the very roots of the plants, that
a considerable investigation of their methods may not be amiss. They
are especially active after sundown.
The common Grasshoppers form a great corps of violinists. A large vein
on the inside of their thighs makes an ideal bow. It is roughened not
with resin but by a hundred minute spines. When this vein is rubbed
to and fro on the serrated veins of the insect’s wing-cover, a shrill
tone is produced. Sitting on its haunches, the Grasshopper saws away
with both hind legs at a great rate. The interesting discovery has been
made that the velocity of the strokes increases with the temperature.
Grasshoppers in large swarms emit a low roar.
The Locust is a near relative of the Grasshopper. His music is produced
by scraping one wing across the other. The Cricket uses the same
method. When he is a house species, he fiddles in a higher tone. The
gold-green Muskback Beetle is an exquisite violinist. His instrumental
methods are most peculiar. His sharp breast acts as a bow which he
draws across a small group of veins on his wing covers. The resulting
music is so faint as to be almost inaudible.
To Bees, Wasps, Hornets, Flies and Mosquitoes we may ascribe reed
instruments. They depend upon the rapid vibration of their tiny wings
to get their effects. The respiration openings distributed over the
body of a Bee, by giving resonance to the tone, aid in the process and
turn the whole insect’s body into a small clarionet. The drowsy buzz
of the honey-gatherer is only attained by swinging its wings at the
rate of four hundred vibrations a minute. People who have good ears for
music have observed that the ordinary Bee drones his song out on G
sharp. The House-Fly is credited with singing at F with a preliminary
grace note on E. Everyone is familiar with the high thin plaint of the
Mosquito.
There are many drummers in the insect orchestra. The Cicada operates
a small kettle drum. On the front of its body, a tough membrane is
stretched over a small cavity. When set in motion by a special muscle,
it gives out a surprisingly agreeable sound. The Greeks enjoyed this
music so well that they often caged the Cicada much as they would a
bird. In the hatching time of the seventeen-year variety, the energetic
drumming of thousands of the insects rises into a scream which is far
from melodious. Under such conditions, the noise can be heard for half
a mile. Travelers tell of a giant South American species which produces
a drumming which is as loud as a locomotive whistle. An uncanny drummer
is the “Death Watch Beetle.” It uses its head for drumsticks and when
in the wood of furniture often plays a tattoo with considerable skill.
Superstitious people, for no apparent good reason, sometimes insist
this is a warning of impending death. Even the pretty little Butterfly
on occasion is a drummer. With hooks on its wings, it makes a sharp
crackle, not unlike one of the weird noises sometimes used by human
“traps.” Beetles play the bones.
The Bamboo Tree is sometimes the possessor of a whole corps of
intelligent and efficient drummers. They attach themselves to the
under side of the leaves, from which vantage-point they strike them
with their heads whenever their services are required. An Ant of the
_Sumatran_ species keeps wonderful time. Though spread out over a
number of square yards of leaf space, a group of these tiny creatures
will start and stop tapping at the same instant.
Perhaps in some far-distant age, mankind will begin remotely to
understand the significance of the music of the plant world and its
allies. We have no right to say that the plants are not true musicians.
While we may only understand their system of harmony in part, we can
realize it contains hidden beauties just as the presence of microscopic
organisms in the world is indicated by their effects rather than by
actual perception.