CHAPTER IX

Combination of Musical Sounds—The smaller the Two Numbers which express the Ratio of their Rates of Vibration, the more perfect is the Harmony of Two Sounds—Notions of the Pythagoreans regarding Musical Consonance—Euler’s Theory of Consonance—Theory of Helmholtz—Dissonance due to Beats—Interference of Primary Tones and of Over-tones—Mechanism of Hearing—Schultze’s Bristles—The Otoliths—Corti’s Fibres—Graphic Representation of Consonance and Dissonance—Musical Chords—The Diatonic Scale—Optical Illustration of Musical Intervals—Lissajous’s Figures—Sympathetic Vibrations—Various Modes of illustrating the Composition of Vibrations

§ 1. _The Facts of Musical Consonance_

The subject of this day’s lecture has two sides, a physical and an æsthetical. We have to-day to study the question of musical consonance—to examine musical sounds in definite combination with each other, and to unfold the reason why some combinations are pleasant and others unpleasant to the ear.

Pythagoras made the first step toward the physical explanation of the musical intervals. This great philosopher stretched a string, and then divided it into three equal parts. At one of its points of division he fixed it firmly, thus converting it into two, one of which was twice the length of the other. He sounded the two sections of the string simultaneously, and found the note emitted by the short section to be the higher octave of that emitted by the long one. He then divided his string into two parts, bearing to each other the proportion of 2:3, and found that the notes were separated by an interval of a fifth. Thus, dividing his string at different points, Pythagoras found the so-called consonant intervals in music to correspond with certain lengths of his string; and he made the extremely important discovery that _the simpler the ratio of the two parts into which the string was divided, the more perfect was the harmony of the two sounds_. Pythagoras went no further than this, and it remained for the investigators of a subsequent age to show that the strings act in this way in virtue of the relation of their lengths to the number of their vibrations. Why simplicity should give pleasure remained long an enigma, the only pretence of a solution being that of Euler, which, briefly expressed, is, that the human soul takes a constitutional delight in simple calculations.

The double siren (Fig. 163) enables us to obtain a great variety of combinations of musical sounds. And this instrument possesses over all others the advantage that, by simply counting the number of orifices corresponding respectively to any two notes, we obtain immediately the ratio of their rates of vibration. Before proceeding to these combinations I will enter a little more fully into the action of the double siren than has been hitherto deemed necessary or desirable.

The instrument, as already stated, consists of two of Dove’s sirens, C′ and C, connected by a common axis, the upper one being turned upside down. Each siren is provided with four series of apertures, numbering as follows:

Upper siren Lower siren Number of apertures Number of apertures

1st Series 16 18 2d Series 15 12 3d Series 12 10 4th Series 9 8

The number 12, it will be observed, is common to both sirens. I open the two series of 12 orifices each, and urge air through the instrument; both sounds flow together in perfect unison; the unison being maintained, however the pitch may be exalted. We have, however, already learned (Chapter II.) that by turning the handle of the upper siren the orifices in its wind-chest C′ are caused either to meet those of its rotating disk, or to retreat from them, the pitch of the upper siren being thereby raised or lowered. This change of pitch instantly announces itself by beats. The more rapidly the handle is turned, the more is the tone of the upper siren raised above or depressed below that of the lower one, and, as a consequence, the more rapid are the beats.

Now the rotation of the handle is so related to the rotation of the wind-chest C′ that when the handle turns through half a right angle the wind-chest turns through one-sixth of a right angle, or through the one-twenty-fourth of its whole circumference. But in the case now before us, where the circle is perforated by 12 orifices, the rotation through one-twenty-fourth of its circumference causes the apertures of the upper wind-chest to be closed at the precise moments when those of the lower one are opened, and _vice versa_. It is plain, therefore, that the intervals between the puffs of the lower siren, which correspond to the rarefactions of its sonorous waves, are here filled by the puffs, or condensations, of the upper siren. In fact, the condensations of the one coincide with the rarefactions of the other, and the absolute extinction of the sounds of both sirens is the consequence.

I may seem to you to have exceeded the truth here; for when the handle is placed in the position which corresponds to absolute extinction, you still hear a distinct sound. And, when the handle is turned continuously, though alternate swellings and sinkings of the tone occur, the sinkings by no means amount to absolute silence. The reason is this: The sound of the siren is a highly composite one. By the suddenness and violence of its shocks, not only does it produce waves corresponding to the number of its orifices, but the aërial disturbance breaks up into secondary waves, which associate themselves with the primary waves of the instrument, exactly as the harmonics of a string, or of an open organ-pipe, mix with their fundamental tone. When the siren sounds, therefore, it emits, besides the fundamental tone, its octave, its twelfth, its double octave, and so on. That is to say, it breaks the air up into vibrations which have twice, three times, four times, etc., the rapidity of the fundamental one. Now, by turning the upper siren through one-twenty-fourth of its circumference, we extinguish utterly the fundamental tone. But we do not extinguish its octave.[75] Hence, when the handle is in the position which corresponds to the extinction of the fundamental tone, instead of silence we have the full first harmonic of the instrument.

Helmholtz has surrounded both his upper and his lower siren with circular brass boxes, B, B′, each composed of two halves, which can be readily separated (one-half of each box is removed in the figure). These boxes exalt by their resonance the fundamental tone of the instrument, and enable us to follow its variations much more easily than if it were not thus reinforced. It requires a certain rapidity of rotation to reach the maximum resonance of the brass boxes; but when this speed is attained, the fundamental tone swells out with greatly augmented force, and, if the handle be then turned, the beats succeed each other with extraordinary power.

Still, as already stated, the pauses between the beats of the fundamental tone are not intervals of absolute silence, but are filled by the higher octave; and this renders caution necessary when the instrument is employed to determine rates of vibration. It is not without reason that I say so. Wishing to determine the rate of vibration of a small singing-flame, I once placed a siren at some distance from it, sounded the instrument, and after a little time observed the flame dancing in synchronism with audible beats. I took it for granted that unison was nearly attained, and, under this assumption, determined the rate of vibration. The number obtained was surprisingly low—indeed not more than half what it ought to be. What was the reason? Simply this: I was dealing, not with the fundamental tone of the siren, but with its higher octave. This octave and the flame produced beats by their coalescence; and hence the counter of the instrument, which recorded the rate, not of the octave, but of the fundamental, gave a number which was only half the true one. The fundamental tone was afterward raised to unison with the flame. On approaching unison beats were again heard, and the jumping of the flame proceeded with an energy greater than that observed in the case of the octave. The counter of the instrument then recorded the accurate rate of the flame’s vibration.

The tones first heard in the case of the siren are always overtones. These attain sonorous continuity sooner than the fundamental, flowing as smooth musical sounds while the fundamental tone is still in a state of intermittence. The siren is, however, so delicately constructed that a rate of rotation which raises the fundamental tone above its fellows is almost immediately attained. And if we seek, by making the blast feeble, to keep the speed of rotation low, it is at the expense of intensity. Hence the desirability, if we wish to examine the overtones, of devising some means by which a strong blast and slow rotation shall be possible.

Helmholtz caused a spring to press as a light brake against the disk of the siren. Thus raising by slow degrees the speed of rotation, he was able deliberately to notice the predominance of the overtones at the commencement, and the final triumph of the fundamental tone. He did not trust to the direct observation of pitch, but determined the tone by the number of beats corresponding to one revolution of the handle of the upper siren. Supposing 12 orifices to be opened above and 12 below, the motion of the handle through 45° produces interference, and extinguishes the fundamental tone. The coincidences of that tone occur at the end of every rotation of 90°. Hence, for the fundamental tone, there must be _four_ beats for every complete rotation of the handle. Now Helmholtz, when he made the arrangement just described, found that the first beats numbered, not 4, but 12, for every revolution. They were, in fact, the beats, not of the fundamental tone, not even of the first overtone, but of the second overtone, whose rate of vibration is three times that of the fundamental. These beats continued as long as the number of air-shocks did not exceed 30 or 40 per second. When the shocks were between 40 and 80 per second, the beats fell from 12 to 8 for every revolution of the handle. Within this interval the first overtone, or the octave of the fundamental tone, was the most powerful, and made the beats its own. Not until the impulses exceeded 80 per second did the beats sink to 4 per revolution. In other words, not until the speed of rotation had passed this limit was the fundamental tone able to assert its superiority over its companions.

This premised, we will combine the tones in definite order, while the cultivated ears here present shall judge of their musical relationship. The flow of perfect unison when the two series of 12 orifices each are opened has been already heard. I now open a series of 8 holes in the upper and of 16 in the lower siren. The interval you judge at once to be an octave. If a series of 9 holes in the upper and of 18 holes in the lower siren be opened, the interval is still an octave. This proves that the interval is not disturbed by altering the absolute rates of vibration, so long as the _ratio_ of the two rates remains the same. The same truth is more strikingly illustrated by commencing with a low speed of rotation, and urging the siren to its highest pitch; as long as the orifices are in the ratio of 1:2, we retain the constant interval of an octave. Opening a series of 10 holes in the upper and of 15 in the lower siren, the ratio is as 2:3, and every musician present knows that this is the interval of a fifth. Opening 12 holes in the upper and 18 in the lower siren does not change the interval. Opening two series of 9 and 12, or of 12 and 16, we obtain an interval of a fourth; the ratio in both these cases being as 3:4. In like manner two series of 8 and 10, or of 12 and 15, give us the interval of a major third; the ratio in this case being as 4:5. Finally, two series of 10 and 12, or of 15 and 18, yield the interval of a minor third, which corresponds to the ratio 5:6.

These experiments amply illustrate two things: First, that a musical interval is determined, not by the absolute number of vibrations of the two combining notes, but by the ratio of their vibrations. Secondly, and this is of the utmost significance, that the smaller the two numbers which express the ratio of the two rates of vibration, the more perfect is the consonance of the two sounds. The most perfect consonance is the unison 1:1; next comes the octave 1:2; after that the fifth 2:3; then the fourth 3:4; then the major third 4:5; and finally the minor third 5:6. We can also open two series numbering, respectively, 8 and 9 orifices: this interval corresponds to _a tone_ in music. It is a dissonant combination. Two series which number respectively 15 and 16 orifices make the interval of a _semi-tone_: it is a very sharp and grating dissonance.

§ 2. _The Theory of Musical Consonance. Pythagoras and Euler_

Whence, then, does this arise? Why should the smaller ratio express the more perfect consonance? The ancients attempted to solve this question. The Pythagoreans found intellectual repose in the answer “All is number and harmony.” The numerical relations of the seven notes of the musical scale were also thought by them to express the distances of the planets from their central fire; hence the choral dance of the worlds, the “music of the spheres,” which, according to his followers, Pythagoras alone was privileged to hear. And might we not in passing contrast this glorious superstition with the grovelling delusion which has taken hold of the fantasy of our day? Were the character which superstition assumes in different ages an indication of man’s advance or retrogression, assuredly the nineteenth century would have no reason to plume itself, in comparison with the sixth B.C. A more earnest attempt to account for the more perfect consonance of the smaller ratios was made by the celebrated mathematician, Euler, and his explanation, if such it could be called, long silenced, if it did not satisfy, inquirers. Euler analyzes the cause of pleasure. We take delight in _order_; it is pleasant to us to observe means “co-operant to an end.” But then, the effort to discern order must not be so great as to weary us. If the relations to be disentangled are too complicated, though we may see the order, we cannot enjoy it. The simpler the terms in which the order expresses itself, the greater is our delight. Hence the superiority of the simpler ratios in music over the more complex ones. Consonance, then, according to Euler, was the satisfaction derived from the perception of order without weariness of mind.

But in this theory it was overlooked that Pythagoras himself, who first experimented on the musical intervals, knew nothing about rates of vibration. It was forgotten that the vast majority of those who take delight in music, and who have the sharpest ears for the detection of a dissonance, are in the condition of Pythagoras, knowing nothing whatever about rates or ratios. And it may also be added that the scientific man, who is fully informed upon these points, has his pleasure in no way enhanced by his knowledge. Euler’s explanation, therefore, does not satisfy the mind, and it was reserved for an eminent German investigator of our own day, after a profound analysis of the entire question, to assign the physical cause of consonance and dissonance—a cause which, when once clearly stated, is so simple and satisfactory as to excite surprise that it remained so long without a discoverer.

Various expressions employed in our previous lectures have already, in part, forestalled Helmholtz’s explanation of consonance and dissonance. Let me here repeat an experiment which will, almost of itself, force this explanation upon your attention. Before you are two jets of burning gas, which can be converted into singing-flames by inclosing them within two tubes (represented in Fig. 118). The tubes are of the same length, and the flames are now singing in unison. By means of a telescopic slider I lengthen slightly one of the tubes; you hear deliberate beats, which succeed each other so slowly that they can readily be counted. I augment still further the length of the tube. The beats are now more rapid than before: they can barely be counted. It is perfectly manifest that the shocks of which you are now sensible differ only in point of rapidity from the slow beats which you heard a moment ago. There is no breach of continuity here. We begin slowly, we gradually increase the rapidity, until finally the succession of the beats is so rapid as to produce that particular grating effect which every musician that hears it would call _dissonance_. Let us now reverse the process, and pass from these quick beats to slow ones. The same continuity of the phenomenon is noticed. By degrees the beats separate from each other more and more, until finally they are slow enough to be counted. Thus these singing-flames enable us to follow the beats with certainty, until they cease to be beats and are converted into dissonance.

This experiment proves conclusively that dissonance _may_ be produced by a rapid succession of beats; and I imagine this cause of dissonance would have been pointed out earlier, had not men’s minds been thrown off the proper track by the theory of “resultant tones” enunciated by Thomas Young. Young imagined that, when they were quick enough, the beats ran together to form a resultant tone. He imagined the linking together of the beats to be precisely analogous to the linking together of simple musical impulses; and he was strengthened in this notion by the fact already adverted to, that the first difference-tone, that is to say, the loudest resultant tone, corresponded, as the beats do, to a rate of vibration equal to the difference of the rates of the two primaries. The fact, however, is that the effect of beats upon the ear is altogether different from that of the successive impulses of an ordinary musical tone.

§ 3. _Sympathetic Vibrations_

But to grasp, in all its fulness, the new theory of musical consonance some preliminary studies will be necessary. And here I would ask you to call to mind the experiments (in Chapter III.) by which the division of a string into its harmonic segments was illustrated. This was done by means of little paper riders, which were unhorsed, or not, according as they occupied a ventral segment or a node upon the string. Before you at present is the sonometer, employed in the experiments just referred to. Along it, instead of one, are stretched two strings, about three inches asunder. By means of a key these strings are brought into unison. And now I place a little paper rider upon the middle of one of them, and agitate the other. What occurs? The vibrations of the sounding string are communicated to the bridges on which it rests, and through the bridges to the other string. The individual impulses are very feeble, but, because the two strings are in unison, the impulses can so accumulate as finally to toss the rider off the untouched string.

Every experiment executed with the riders and a single string may be repeated with these two unisonant strings. Damping, for instance, one of the strings, at a point one-fourth of its length from one of its ends, and placing the red and blue riders formerly employed, not on the nodes and ventral segments of the damped string, but at points upon the second string exactly opposite to those nodes and segments, when the bow is passed across the shorter segment of the damped string, the five red riders on the adjacent string are unhorsed, while the four blue ones remain tranquilly in their places. By relaxing one of the strings, it is thrown out of unison with the other, and then all efforts to unhorse the riders are unavailing. That accumulation of impulses, which unison alone renders possible, cannot here take place, and the consequence is that, however great the agitation of the one string may be, it fails to produce any sensible effect upon the other.

The influence of synchronism may be illustrated in a still more striking manner, by means of two tuning-forks which sound the same note. Two such forks mounted on their resonant supports are placed upon the table. I draw the bow vigorously across one of them, permitting the other fork to remain untouched. On stopping the agitated fork, the sound is enfeebled, but by no means quenched. Through the air and through the wood the vibrations have been conveyed from fork to fork, and the untouched fork is the one you now hear. When, by means of a morsel of wax, a small coin is attached to one of the forks, its power of influencing the other ceases; the change in the rate of vibration, if not very small, so destroys the sympathy between the two forks as to render a response impossible. On removing the coin the untouched fork responds as before.

This communication of vibrations through wood and air may be obtained when the forks, mounted on their cases, stand several feet apart. But the vibrations may also be communicated through the air alone. Holding the resonant case of a vigorously vibrating fork in my hand, I bring one of its prongs near an unvibrating one, placing the prongs back to back, but allowing a space of air to exist between them. Light as is the vehicle, the accumulation of impulses, secured by the perfect unison of the two forks, enables the one to set the other in vibration. Extinguishing the sound of the agitated fork, that which a moment ago was silent continues sounding, having taken up the vibrations of its neighbor. Removing one of the forks from its resonant case, and striking it against a pad, it is thrown into strong vibration. Held free in the air, its sound is audible. But, on bringing it close to the silent mounted fork, out of the silence rises a full mellow sound, which is due, not to the fork originally agitated, but to its sympathetic neighbor.

Various other examples of the influence of synchronism, already brought forward, will occur to you here; and cases of the kind might be indefinitely multiplied. If two clocks, for example, with pendulums of the same period of vibration, be placed against the same wall, and if one of the clocks is set going and the other not, the ticks of the moving clock, transmitted through the wall, will act upon its neighbor. The quiescent pendulum, moved by a single tick, swings through an extremely minute arc; but it returns to the limit of its swing just in time to receive another impulse. By the continuance of this process, the impulses so add themselves together as finally to set the clock a-going. It is by this timing of impulses that a properly-pitched voice can cause a glass to ring, and that the sound of an organ can break a particular window-pane.

§ 4. _Sympathetic Vibration in Relation to the Human Ear_

If I dwell so fully upon this object, it is for the purpose of rendering intelligible the manner in which sonorous motion is communicated to the auditory nerve. In the organ of hearing, in man, we have first of all the external orifice of the ear, closed at the bottom by the circular tympanic membrane. Behind that membrane is the drum of the ear, this cavity being separated from the space between it and the brain by a bony partition, in which there are two orifices, the one round and the other oval. These orifices are also closed by fine membranes. Across the drum stretches a series of four little bones. The first, called the _hammer_, is attached to the tympanic membrane; the second, called the _anvil_, is connected by a joint with the hammer; a third little round bone connects the anvil with the _stirrup-bone_, the base of which is planted against the membrane of the oval orifice just referred to. This oval membrane is almost covered by the stirrup-bone, a narrow rim only of the membrane surrounding the bone being left uncovered. Behind the bony partition, and between it and the brain, we have the extraordinary organ called the _labyrinth_, filled with water, over the lining membrane of which are distributed the terminal fibres of the auditory nerve. When the tympanic membrane receives a shock, it is transmitted through the series of bones above referred to, being concentrated on the membrane against which the base of the stirrup-bone is fixed. The membrane transfers the shock to the water of the labyrinth, which, in its turn, transfers it to the nerves.

The transmission, however, is not direct. At a certain place within the labyrinth exceedingly fine elastic bristles, terminating in sharp points, grow up between the terminal nerve-fibres. These bristles, discovered by Max Schultze, are eminently calculated to sympathize with such vibrations of the water as correspond to their proper periods. Thrown thus into vibration, the bristles stir the nerve-fibres which lie between their roots. At another place in the labyrinth we have little crystalline particles called _otolites_—the Hörsteine of the Germans—imbedded among the nervous filaments, which, when they vibrate, exert an intermittent pressure upon the adjacent nerve-fibres. The otolites probably serve a different purpose from that of the bristles of Schultze. They are fitted, by their weight, to accept and prolong the vibrations of evanescent sounds, which might otherwise escape attention, while the bristles of Schultze, because of their extreme lightness, would instantly yield up an evanescent motion. They are, on the other hand, eminently fitted for the transmission of continuous vibrations.

Finally, there is in the labyrinth an organ, discovered by the Marchese Corti, which is to all appearance a musical instrument, with its chords so stretched as to accept vibrations of different periods, and transmit them to the nerve-filaments which traverse the organ. Within the ears of men, and without their knowledge or contrivance, this lute of 3,000 strings[76] has existed for ages, accepting the music of the outer world and rendering it fit for reception by the brain. Each musical tremor which falls upon this organ selects from the stretched fibres the one appropriate to its own pitch, and throws it into unisonant vibration. And thus, no matter how complicated the motion of the external air may be, these microscopic strings can analyze it and reveal the constituents of which it is composed. Surely, inability to feel the stupendous wonder of what is here revealed would imply incompleteness of mind; and surely those who practically ignore, or fear them, must be ignorant of the ennobling influence which such discoveries may be made to exercise upon both the emotions and the understanding of man.

§ 5. _Consonant Intervals in Relation to the Human Ear_

This view of the use of Corti’s fibres is theoretical; but it comes to us commended by every appearance of truth. It will enable us to tie together many things, whose relations it would be otherwise difficult to discern. When a musical note is sounded its corresponding Corti’s fibre resounds, being moved, as a string is moved by a second unisonant string. And when two sounds coalesce to produce beats, the intermittent motion is transferred to the proper fibre within the ear. But here it is to be noted that, for the same fibre to be affected simultaneously by two different sounds, it must not be far removed in pitch from either of them. Call to mind our repetition of Melde’s experiments (in