Part 156
The ancients have the whole merit of having laid down the first exact principles of music; and the writings of the Pythagoreans, of Aristoxenes, Euclid, Aristides, Nichomachus, Plutarch, and many others, even such of them as still remain, contain in them every known theory of the science. They, as well as we, had the art of noting their tunes, which they performed by means of letters either contracted, or reversed, placed upon a line parallel to the words, and serving for the direction, the one of the voice, the other of the instrument. The scale itself, of which Guy Aretin is the supposed inventor, is no other than the ancient one of the Greeks a little enlarged, and what Guy may have taken from a Greek manuscript, written above eight hundred years ago, which Kircher says he saw at Messina in the library of the Jesuists, wherein he found the hymns noted just as in the manner of Aretin. The ancient lyre was certainly a very harmonious instrument, and was so constructed, and so full of variety in Plato’s time, that he regarded it as dangerous, and too apt to relax the mind. In Anacreon’s time, it had already obtained forty strings. Ptolemy and Porphyry describe instruments resembling the lute and theorb, having a handle with keys belonging to it, and the strings extended from the handle over a concave body of wood. There is to be seen at Rome an ancient statue of Orpheus, with a musical bow in his right hand, and a kind of violin in his left. In the commentaries of Philostrates by Vigenere, is a medal of Nero with a violin upon it. The flute was carried to so high a degree of perfection by the ancients, that there were various kinds of them, and so different in sound, as to be wonderfully adapted to express all manner of subjects.
Tertullian mentions an organ invented by Archimedes. “Behold,” says Tertullian, “that astonishing and admirable hydraulic organ of Archimedes, composed of such a number of pieces, consisting each of so many different parts, connected together by such a quantity of joints, and containing such a variety of pipes for the imitation of voices, conveyed in such a multitude of sounds, modulated into such a diversity of tones, breathed from so immense a combination of flutes; and yet all taken together, constitute but one single instrument.”
That the ancients knew and practised harmony is evident from Plato, Macrobius, and other early writers. Aristotle, speaking of the revolutions of the several planets, as perfectly harmonizing with one another, they being all of them conducted by the same principle, draws a comparison from music to illustrate his sentiments. “Just as in a chorus,” says he, “of men and women, where all the variety of voices, through all the different tones, from the bass to the higher notes, being under the guidance and direction of a musician, perfectly correspond with one another, and form a full harmony.” Aurelius Cassiodorus defines symphony to be “the art of so adjusting the base to the higher notes, and them to it, through all the voices and instruments, whether they be wind or stringed instruments, that thence an agreeable harmony may result.” Horace speaks expressly of the bass and higher tones, and the harmony resulting from their concurrence. It is true, however, that the ancients did not much use harmony in concert. One fine voice alone, accompanied with one instrument, regulated entirely by it, pleased them better than mere music without voices, and made a more lively impression on their feeling minds; and this is what even we ourselves every day experience.
The effects ascribed to the music of the ancients are surprising. Plutarch reports of Antigenidas, that by playing on the flute, he so roused the spirit of Alexander, that he started from the table, and flew to his arms. Timotheus when touching his lyre so inflamed him with rage, that drawing his sabre he suddenly slew one of his guests; which Timotheus no sooner perceived, than altering the air from the Phrygian to a softer measure, he calmed his passions, and infused into him the tenderest feelings of grief and compunction for what he had done. Jamblichus relates like extraordinary effects of the lyres of Pythagoras and Empedocles. Plutarch informs us of a sedition quelled at Lacedemon by the lyre of Terpander; and Boetius tells of rioters having been dispersed by the musician Damon.
The delicacy of the ancient airs much surpassed ours; and it is in this respect, principally, that we may be said to have lost their music. Of their three kinds of music, the diatonic, chromatic, and the enharmonic, there exists now only the first, which teaches the dividing the notes into semi-notes: whereas the chromatic divided each note into three, and the enharmonic into four parts. The difficulty there was to find voices and hands proper to execute the chromatic kind, brought it first into neglect, and then into oblivion; and for the same reason the enharmonic, which was still more difficult, has not come down to us. All which now remains of the ancient music, is that which knows of no other refinement than the demi-note, instead of those finer kinds, which carried on the division of a note into threes and fours. The variety of manner in which the ancient music was performed, placed it in a rank of dignity superior to ours. Our modes are but of two kinds, the flat and sharp; whereas the ancients modified theirs into five, the principal of which were the Ionic, the Lydian, the Phrygian, the Doric, and the Æolic; each adapted to express and excite different passions: and by that means, especially, to produce such effects as have been just noticed, and which are incontestable from the authentic manner in which they have been recorded.
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NOTE--Here, if it were not necessary to close this series of papers, they would be extended somewhat further for the purpose of relating the long-reaching views of the ancients on other topics; but nothing can conveniently be added save a passage from the author whose volume has supplied the preceding materials. “Having received from our ancestors the product of all their meditations and researches, we ought daily to add what we can to it, and by that means contribute all in our power to the increase and perfection of knowledge.”
Seneca, speaking eighteen centuries ago, of “the inventions of the wise,” claims them as an inheritance.--“To me,” he says, “they have been transmitted; for me they have been found out. But let us in this case act like good managers, let us improve what we have received; and convey this heritage to our descendants in better condition than it came to us. Much remains for us to do, much will remain for those who come after us. A thousand years hence, there will still be occasion, and still opportunity to add something to the common stock. But had even every thing been found out by the ancients, there would still this remain to be done anew--to put their inventions into use, and make their knowledge ours.”
[515] In the _Every-Day Book_ there is an account of the means by which this performance can be effected.
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MANNERS IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
_To the Editor._
Sir,--If the following extracts should suit the _Table Book_, they are at your service.
J. S.
_Morley, November, 1827._
1637. The bishop of Chester, writing to the archbishop of York, touching the entertainment given by the Chester men to Mr. Prynne, when on his road to Caernarvon castle, has occasion to mention the reception given to Prynne by the wife of Thomas Aldersey, the alderman, relates, “That, on her examination, she swears, that Peter and Robert Ince brought Prynne home to her house, where she was sitting with other gossips, and neither expected nor invited Prynne; neither did _she send for a drop_ of wine for him, or bestowed any other gift upon him, but the offer of a taste of a _pint of wine, which she and her gossips were then a drinking_.”
_New Discovery of the Prelate’s Tyranny_, p. 224.
1637. There came in my tyme to the college, Oxford, one Nathaniel Conopios, out of Greece; _he was the first I ever saw drink coffee_, which custom came not into England till _thirty years after_.
1640. Found my father at Bathe extraordinary weake; I returned home with him in _his litter_.
1652. Having been robbed by two cutthroats near Bromley, I rode on to London, and got 500 tickets printed.
The robber refusing to plead, was _pressed to death_.
1654. May. _Spring Garden_ till now had been the usual rendezvous for the ladys and gallants at this season. I now observed how the _women began to paint themselves_, formerly a most ignominious thing, and only used by prostitutes.
_Evelyn._
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1660. Jan. 16. I staid up till the _bellman_ came by with his bell just under my window, and cried “Past one of the clock, and a cold frosty window morning.”
When friends parted, they said, “_God be with you_.”
My dining-room was finished with green serge _hanging_ and gilt leather.
Jan. 2. I had been early this morning to Whitehall, at the Jewel office, to choose a piece of gilt plate for my lord, in return of his offering to the king, (which it seems is usual at this time of year, and an earl gives 20 pieces in gold in a purse to the king,) I choose a gilt tankard, weighing 31 ounces and a half, and he is allowed 30 ounces, so I paid 12_s._ for the ounce and half over what he is to have: _but strange it was for me to see what a company of_ SMALL FEES I was called upon by a _great many to pay there, which I perceive is the_ manner that _courtiers do get their estates_.
September. I did send for a cup of _tea_ (a China drink,) of which I had never drank before.
November. To sir W. Batten’s to dinner, he having a couple of _servants married_ to-day; and so there was a great number of merchants and others of good quality, on purpose after dinner to make an offering, which, when dinner was done, we did; and I gave 10_s._ and no more, though most of them did give more, and did believe that I did also.
1661. Feb. Sir W. Batten sent my wife half a dozen pair of gloves and a pair of silk stockings and garters for her _valentines_.
May. We went to Mrs. Browne’s, where sir W. Pen and I were godfathers, and Mrs. Jordan and Shipman godmothers. And there before and after the _christening_ we were with the woman above in her chamber. I did give the midwife 10_s._ and the nurse 5_s._ and the maid 2_s._ But forasmuch I expected to give the name to the child but did not, I forbore then to give my plate, which I had in my pocket, namely, six spoons and a porringer of silver.
July. A messenger brought me word that my uncle was dead. I rode over and found my uncle’s corps in a coffin, standing upon joynt-stools _in the chimney_ in the hall, but it began to smell, and so I caused it to be set forth in the yard all night, and _watched by my aunt_. In the morning my father and I read the _will_; _after that_ done we went about getting things, as ribands and gloves, ready for the burial, which in the afternoon was done; we served the people with wine and other things.
November. To church, and heard a simple fellow upon the praise of church musique, and exclaiming _against men’s wearing their hats on in church_.
Civet cats, parrots, and apes, sent as _presents to ladies_; and gentlemen lighted home by _link-boys_.
_Pepys._
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The faire and famous comedian, Roxalana, was taken to be the earle of Oxford’s _misse_, as at this time they began to call lewd women.
Dined at Chaffinch’s _house warming_.
_Evelyn._
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1663. October. _To Guildhall_; we went up and down to see the tables. By and by the lord mayor came into the hall _to dinner_, with the other great lords, bishops, &c. I set near Creed. We had plenty of good wine, but it was very unpleasing that we had no napkins, or knives, nor change of trenchers, and drunk out of earthern pitchers and wooden dishes.
1664. Home to bed, having got a strange cold in my head, by _flinging off my hat at dinner_.
To my lord chancellor’s (sir Orlando Bridgman, lord keeper,) in the garden, where we conversed above an hour, walking up and down, and _he would have me walk with my hat on_.
1665. At this time I have two tierces of _claret_, two quarter casks of _canary_, and a smaller vessel of _sack_; a vessel of _tent_, another of _Malaga_, and another of _white wine_, all in my own cellar.
1666. February. This morning came up to my wife’s bedside little Will Mercer to be her _valentine_; and brought her name writ upon blue paper in gold letters, done by himself very prettily. But I am also this year my wife’s valentine, and it will cost me 5_l._ I find that Mrs. Pierce’s little girl is my valentine, she having drawn me. But here I do first observe the fashion of _drawing of mottos_, as well as names: my wife’s motto was “Most courteous, most fair;” mine I have forgot. One wonder I observed to-day, that there was _no musique in the morning to call up our new married people, which was very mean methinks_.
1667. June. Find my wife making _tea_, a drink which her potticary tells her is good for her cold and defluxions.
A flaggon of _ale and apples_ drunk out of a wood cup as a _Christmas draught_.
1669. May. My wife got up by 4 o’c. to go to gather _May Dew_, which Mrs. Turner hath taught her is the only thing in the world to wash her face with.
_Pepys._
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1671. To lord Arlington’s, where we found _M’lle Querouaille_; it was universally reported, that the fair lady was bedded one of these nights to the king, who was often here; and the _stocking flung_ after the manner of a married bride; however, ’twas with confidence believed she was first made a _misse_, as they call these unhappy creatures, with solemnity at this time.
1683. I went with others into the _duchess of Portsmouth’s_ dressing-roome within her bedchamber, where she was in her morning loose garment, her maids combing her, newly out of her bed, his majesty and gallants standing about her.
1685. January 25, Sunday. Dr. Dove preached before the king. I saw this evening such a scene of _profuse gaming_, and the king in the midst of his three concubines, as I had never seen before, luxurious dallying and prophaneness.
February 6. _The king died._ I can never forget the inexpressible luxury and prophaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God, (it being Sunday evening,) which this day se’nnight I was witnesse of. The king sitting and toying with his concubines Portsmouth, Cleavland, and Mazarine, &c. and a French boy singing love songs; whilst about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at basset round a large table, a bank of at least 2000 in gold before them.
_Evelyn._
Vol. II.--54.
Accompanying the portrait and papers of George Bloomfield, copied and referred to in the preceding sheet of the _Table Book_, was a drawing, taken in October last, of Robert Bloomfield’s birth-place. An engraving of it is here presented, in order to introduce the following memorandum drawn up by George Bloomfield, and now lying before me in his hand-writing, _viz._
“THE POETICAL FREEHOLD.
“_February 4, 1822_, was sold at Honington Fox, the old cottage, the natal place of Robert Bloomfield, the _Farmer’s Boy_.
“My father, a lively little man, precisely five feet high, was a tailor, constantly employed in _snapping the cat_, that is, he worked for the farmers at their own houses, at a shilling per day and his board. He was a gay knight of the thimble, and as he wore a fashionable coat with a very narrow back, the villagers called him George Narrowback. My mother they called Mrs. Prim. She was a spruce, neat body, and was the village school-dame. Her father found the money, and my father bought the cottage in the year 1754. He died in the year 1766, and, like many other landed men, died intestate. My mother married again. When I came of age she showed me the title-deeds, told me I was heir-at-law, and hoped she should finish her days there. I promised her she should; but time rolled, and at length my wife, after two years of affliction with the dropsy, died, and left me with five infant children, head and ears in debt. To secure the cottage to my mother, I persuaded my brother Robert to buy the title, and give all my brothers and sisters their shares and me mine, and this money paid my debts. The _Farmer’s Boy_ was now the proprietor; but it was a poor freehold, for he did all the repairs, and my mother paid no rent. After my mother’s death, Isaac lived in it upon the same terms,--too poor to pay rent or be turned out. Isaac died, and left nine children. Bob kept the widow in the place, did all the repairs, and she, also, paid nothing. At length the bankruptcies and delays of the London booksellers forced Bob to _sell!_----
“----The late noble duke of Grafton gave my mother a gravestone. This is all that remains to mark the village as the birth-place of _Giles_, and all that now remains in it belonging to the Bloomfields.”
G. B.
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With a sentence or two, by way of continuation to the appeal already made in behalf of George Bloomfield, it was purposed to conclude the present article; but just as the sheet was ready for the press a packet of his manuscript papers arrived, and extracts from these will exemplify his character and his necessities. The following address to one of his old friends is a fair specimen of his talent for versifying:--
TO MR. THOMAS WISSET, OF SAPISTON, PSALM SINGER, PARISH CLERK, AND SEXTON, &C. &C.
Respectfully I would impart, In language most befitting, The sorrows of an aching heart, With care and trouble smitten.
I’ve lost the best of wives, d’ye see, That e’er to man was given; Alas! she was too good for me, So she’s remov’d to heaven.
But while her happiness I trace, Fell poverty pursuing, Unless another takes her place, ’Twill be my utter ruin.
My children’s clothes to rags are worn, Nor have we wit to mend ’em; Their tatters flying all forlorn-- Kind Providence, defend ’em.
Dear Tom, thou art St. Andrew’s clerk, And glad I am to know it; Thou art a witty rhyming spark, The merry village poet.
Make some fond woman to me fly. No matter what her form be; If she has lost a leg or eye, She still with love may charm me.
If she loves _work_, Oh! what delight, What joy it will afford her, To darn our clothes from morn to night, And keep us all in order.
Would some kind dame but hear my plaint, And would thou to me give her, St. Andrew!--he shall be my saint, And thou his clerk for ever.
Dear Tom, may all thy joys increase, And to thee be it given, When singing here on earth shall cease, To pitch the key in Heaven.
GEORGE BLOOMFIELD.
_Nov. 3, 1803._
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Prefixed to some MS. verses, written by George Bloomfield in 1808, is the subjoined account of the occasion that awakened his muse.
“THE APRIL FOOL.
“When on the wrong side of fifty I married a second time! My best friends declared it was madness to risk a second family, &c. &c. We married 7th of February, 1807. Early in 1808 it was discovered I should have an increase, and Charles Blomfield, Esq. asked me when it would happen. I answered, in _April_. ‘Sure,’ says he, ‘it won’t happen on the _First_!’--I felt the force of the remark--the probability of my being an _April Fool_--and wrote the following lines, and sent them to Mr. B., from whom I received a note enclosing another, value one pound. The note said, ‘My daughters are foolish enough to be pleased with your _April Fool_, and I am so pleased to see them pleased, I send the enclosed, &c.’”
Trifles like these are only of importance as traits of the individual. The next is abstracted from a letter to an overseer, with whom George Bloomfield necessarily corresponded, as may be surmised from the contents.
To Mr. HAYWARD, _Thetford_.
_Bury St. Edmund’s_, Nov. 23, 1819.
Sir,--When a perfect stranger to you, you treated me with great condescension and kindness, I therefore enclose some lines I wrote and addressed to the guardians of the poor in this town. They have assessed all such persons as are not _legally_ settled here to the poor and church rates, and they have assessed me full double what I ought to pay. What renders it more distressing, our magistrates say that by the local act they are restrained from interfering, otherwise I should have been exempt, on account of my age and poverty. So I sent my rhymes, and Mr. Gall, one of the guardians, sent for me, and gave me a piece of beef, &c. I had sold the only coat I had that was worth a shilling, and was prepared to pay the first seven shillings and sixpence, but the guardians seem to think, (as I do,) that I can never go on paying--they are confident the gentlemen of St. Peter’s parish will pay it for me--bade me wait a fortnight, &c. The pressure of the times is so great that the poor blame the rich, and the rich blame the poor.
----There is a figure in use called the _hyperbole_; thus we sometimes say of an old man, “he is one foot in the grave, and t’other out.” I might say I am one foot in Thetford workhouse, and t’other out.--The scripture tells me, that the providence of God rules over all and in all places, consequently to me a workhouse is, _on my own account_, no such very dreadful thing; but I have two little girls whom I dread to imprison there. I trust in Providence, and hope both rich and poor will see better days.
Your humble servant,
GEORGE BLOOMFIELD.
Among George Bloomfield’s papers is the following kind letter to him, from his brother Robert. The feeble, tremulous handwriting of the original corroborates its expressions of illness, and is a sad memorial of the shattered health of the author of the _Farmer’s Boy_, three years before his death.
“_Shefford_, July 18, 1820.
“Dear brother George,
“No quarrel exists--be at ease. I have this morning seen your excellent letters to your son, and your poem on the Thetford Waters, and am with my son and daughter delighted to find that your spark seems to brighten as you advance in years. You think that I have been weak enough to be offended--there has been no such thing! I have been extremely unwell, and am still a poor creature, but I now _force_ myself to write these few words to thank you for the pleasure you have just given me.
“My son, or my daughter, shall write for me soon.
“Yours unalterably,
“Brother, and Brother Bard,
“ROB. BLOOMFIELD.”
It may be remembered that _Giles_, the “Farmer’s Boy,” was Robert Bloomfield himself, and that his master, the “Farmer,” was Mr. W. Austin of Sapiston. In reference to his home at the farm Robert wrote, of himself,
“the ploughman smiles. And oft the joke runs hard on sheepish _Giles_, Who sits joint-tenant of the corner stool, The converse sharing, though in Duty’s school.”
_Farmer’s Boy._
The son of the benevolent protector of Robert in his childhood sunk under misfortune, and George records the fact by the following lines, written in 1820:--
THE UNFORTUNATE FARMER.