I stated at the outset that melody in music is brought about only by habituation or arbitrary laws. So far I have spoken of melodies determined by habituation, which are melodies because those successions of tones fit with what the ear has become accustomed to hear. Melodies determined by arbitrary laws are those which the people and the inexpert do not enjoy, save in the specific way mentioned above, without being able to know or tell that they are melodies, that is, that those tones, in thus succeeding and interweaving and alternating with each other, combine to make harmony, that is, that they fit with one another; those which are not melodies as far as the people and the unknowledgeable are concerned, but only the knowledgeable; those which only the knowledgeable enjoy by virtue of their judgment, like an infinite number of other human delights (see Montesquieu, Essai sur le goût, “De la sensibilité,” p. 392),2 especially in the arts; those that are only [3215] such because, and insofar as, they correspond to rules regarding the successive combination of tones, rules delivered in the form of a science or art not dictated by nature, but by mathematics, which is universal and universally acknowledged in Europe, as are all other arts and sciences in this part of the world, linked as it is by commerce and the same civilization which it fashioned itself and transmitted from nation to nation but which is not recognized outside Europe, either by uncivilized nations or those that have a civilization of their own, one that they fashioned themselves or which came from elsewhere. The most eminent example in this respect is the Chinese nation, which has its own form of musical science that differs from ours in every respect. I have said that our musical science and art was dictated by mathematics. I should have said, constructed. This science was not born of nature, nor does it have its foundations in nature, as do most of the others. Rather, it had its origins and foundation in that which resembles nature and replaces it and is virtually equivalent to it, in what is rightly referred to as second nature, but which also is referred to erroneously when it is [3216] easily and frequently confused with and mistaken for nature itself, as in our case, when we are conditioned to do so. The ancient habits of the Greeks (without going even further back in time, which would add nothing in this instance) were the origin and foundation of musical science as it was established and fashioned by the Greeks, and handed down to us through books and usage, from which Greek science through common agreement and confession comes our European science, which is no more than a continuation, development, and perfecting of theirs, as are so many of the other sciences and arts (indeed, virtually all of our own) which modern Europe received from ancient Greece, and perfected, and in so many cases gradually changed the face of entirely. Popular Greek music, the causes of which, like those of any form of popular music, were to be found nowhere else than in habituation, was the origin, the foundation, the soul and spine, so to speak, of scientific Greek music, and hence also our own, which derives from it. But just as happens to all the arts, that as they develop, are perfected and become more refined they gradually depart from whatever was their origin, foundation, primitive subject, and cause, whether this is nature or [3217] habituation or something else, sometimes to the point even of losing sight of it completely and becoming their own foundation and justification, which has happened in large part to poetics, so too did it happen to musical art.a This is why what is so often deemed by the knowledgeable to be good or excellent, and pleases them immensely, and for them is melody, is judged by the people and the unknowledgeable to be mediocre or poor, or something that produces little or no effect in them, or pleases them little or not at all, or is absolutely not melody as far as they are concerned. This is despite the fact that they often praise and admire such compositions of tones either because of their qualities, irrespective of the harmoniousness of their successive arrangement, as I said earlier, or because they are influenced by the fame of the composer, the voice of the experts, or the favor, the pleasure previously experienced from other compositions by the same person, or by an awareness of their own ignorance, or by the wonder they experience at the difficulty and strangeness that they note in such compositions or by their novelty, despite the fact that musically they might not like them at all, and lastly, by a hundred other extrinsic and accidental causes, which are different from, or independent of, the pleasure that is born of the sense of melody, that is, of the mutual propriety of tones in their succeeding [3218] one another. On the other hand, it is very often the case that those successions of tones which constitute the most exquisite, precious, beautiful, remarkable, and delightful melodies as far as the people are concerned, while I would not go so far as to say that they are displeasing to the ears of the knowledgeable, do nonetheless offend their judgment and are censured by them, with the result that on occasion even what to the ears of everyone and even their own is a most distinct, evident, notable, and attractive melody, for them are not even melodies. This may be seen, indeed, in the judgment by the knowledgeable regarding Rossini’s composing, and regarding the method of modern composition more generally, which is held by all to be much more melodious than the ancient and classical melodies, but by those in the know is adjudged to be deficient in point of grammar, and highly incorrect and irregular.1 All this for no other reason than the fact that the knowledgeable make judgments, and as they judge they listen (that is, with the artificial but real perception of intellect and memory) according to the principles and norms of their science, while the unknowledgeable listen and in doing so make judgments according to their habits in this respect. And these habits are followed or suggested [3219] or resembled by the modern method of composing much more than by the ancient method, thus ignoring or neglecting to a greater or lesser degree the canons of the art of which the ancients were most skilled and religious observers.
From considerations such as these, it will be easy to understand why it is said that it is most difficult and exceptional to find novelty in melody, that is to say, that only with extreme difficulty and on rare occasions is it possible for a Musician to discover new melodies. Which confirms my observations wonderfully. For in truth, it is not at all hard to arrange a reciprocal succession of tones in a new order according to the rules of musical art, for the different possible combinations of both tones and chords (i.e., of notes generally) which give rise to these rules are infinite. But the ways in which our ears are habituated are more limited and fewer in number, and no more than just a handful in absolute terms. Hence, there are very few successive combinations of tones (I mean, very few when compared with the absolute number of possible combinations, which is vast) that could sound to all like they were melodies, or at least to an entire nation or age, and to produce in everyone that delight which is born of the sense of melody. Indeed, new melodies [3220] which qualify as such as far as the knowledgeable are concerned and with regard to the art of music, are not at all rare or hard to invent, and the greater part of any musical work is made up of them, not just ancient and classical works but also works of modern Italian music. Although, as I have said, modern Italian works of music have more popular melody than ancient and foreign music does, that is, they follow the habits of our ears more closely, and a greater number of their melodies copy or imitate, wholly or in part, or resemble in their motif, the succession of tones and notes to which the listeners have generally become accustomed. And in truth, if it were not for memory, which sometimes involuntarily and inadvertently comes in to take part in composition, it would perhaps be harder for a composer to chance to find nonpopular melodies already discovered by others, than to find new ones that conform to the rules of music.
It is certain that the main, indeed true, art of the inventors of music, and the true, properly musical and great effect of their inventions, is only made manifest and takes place when their melodies are such that the people and generally all listeners are struck and amazed by them, as though they were hearing [3221] a new melody for the first time, and at the same time, because in fact they have become habituated to this particular succession of tones, they are able to iden
tify it immediately as melody. Such an effect, which is typical, indeed only typical of absolutely true music, and the only great, the only living, the only universal effect of this kind, is not obtained otherwise than by adorning, embellishing, changing judiciously and to the appropriate degree, ennobling, in a manner of speaking, combining and arranging the various parts differently, and presenting in a new light those melodies which are absolutely and formally popular and have been taken from the people, and the various, scattered forms of successions of notes which the ear generally recognizes and to which it has become accustomed. It is the same as the poet, whose art does not consist chiefly of inventing things that are entirely unknown or strange and unheard of by anyone, nor in selecting things that are less well known. Indeed, in so doing he rather errs and loses and takes away from the effect of his poetry than adding to it. His art is to choose the most beautiful things from among those which are known, arranging [3222] those things that are already well known and suited to the abilities of the majority differently and harmoniously and fittingly in relation to each other, to dress, adorn, and embellish them in new ways with the harmony of verse and with metaphors and every other splendor of style, to give luster and nobility to things that are obscure and ignoble, to make the commonplace original, to alter the appearance of whatever comes into his hands, as though by placing it under a spell, to take for example characters from nature and make them speak naturally—with the result, no less, that the reader, in recognizing that language as the one that he is accustomed to hear from similar people in similar circumstances, at the same time finds it new and incomparably more beautiful than the ordinary, because of its poetic adornments and new style, in short the new form and body with which it is clothed. Such is the role of the poet, and such, no more and no less, is that of the Musician. But just as poetry very often, leaving nature behind, out of a desire for originality and to show off the imagination and creative faculty, turned to its own extravagant and unheard of inventions, and aimed more at the rules and principles that had been allocated to it, than at what was its foundation and soul, namely [3223] nature; indeed, having left behind entirely what was supposed to be its only model, it then recognized and employed no other model than its own rules, and on this model built a thousand absurd and monstrous or miserable or wretched constructions; thus, having abandoned its duty as described above, it entirely lost and distorted, either in one direction or the other, that effect which was proper and essentially fitting for it to accomplish and achieve; in the same way did the art of music behave, which was created with a view to embellishing, innovating decorously, varying and in this way multiplying; ordering, regulating, rendering symmetrical or proportionate, adorning, ennobling, in short perfecting, popular melodies and melodies that were known generally and to all domestic ears; since it had so many rules and principles, and became excessively enamored of novelty and ambitious creation and invention, from this time forth it looked only to itself, and in neglecting to find popular melodies to exercise itself upon, and make of them its subject, as it should have done by virtue of its own code, it turned to its rules, and on this model, and no other, built compositions [3224] that truly were new and strange. Hence it came to lose that effect which was essentially proper to it, which it was supposed to put forward as its objective, and which it originally achieved, that is, when it sought it out, or when it obtained it using due and appropriate means.1
Since I have no doubt that the marvelous effects that we read of as having been produced by Greek music and melodies both among the people, or in entire audiences, and in armies, like that of Tyrtaeus, and among private individuals, such as Alexander,2 effects which are so far superior not only to what modern music produces, but also seems, in absolute terms, to be capable of ever producing, effects which required the magistrates, governments and legislators to take measures and issue regulations, both orders and prohibitions, on the subject of music, as though this were a matter for the state (see Viaggio d’Anacarsi, Ch. 27, second conversation);3 (here I am speaking of the effects of Greek music that we read of in the histories and which occurred among civilized Greeks, not those of the legends which took place in savage times)—I have no [3225] doubt, I repeat, that those effects, and the superiority of Greek music over modern music generally (which itself comes from Greek music in respect of its principles and rules)1 derive from the fact that among the Greeks musical art, despite being mature, was still limited, and did not yet offer the composer sufficient material to improvise or invent out of nothing new melodies that had no reason to be considered novel apart from when they were judged solely against the rules of this art, or to build on these rules alone, or on the forms and musical melodies invented from nothing by others, of which there could not have been as many as there are among the moderns. Moreover, although musical art began to be corrupted and decline from its principles even among the Greeks, and to lose sight of its objectives or purposes or structures, and indeed became most advanced in its corruption (see Viaggio d’Anacarsi, loc. cit.),2 nonetheless it did not reach the stage as it has done among us of departing so far, or so decisively and consistently, from its first origins, from its first foundation and reasons for its rules, from the raw materials of its compositions, that is, popular melodies, or of forgetting, [3226] so shamelessly and entirely, as is the case today, its first and proper purpose, which was to delight and move all listeners and the people. Nor, still less, did it reach the point of almost entirely and formally renouncing this purpose, and exchanging it openly for that of delighting or astonishing or compelling just the one, always extremely limited category of persons, that is, the knowledgeable, to praise and applaud what they heard—which, in truth, is the real objective that German music sets itself, being useless to all apart from the knowledgeable, not even the superficially informed but only those with a deep knowledge. Greek Music was not like this. And in modern music’s return to the popular, so censured by the knowledgeable and which is possibly a bad thing as far as the way it has happened is concerned, but insofar as it is a return to the popular it is not just a good thing but a necessary one too, and the first requirement of modern music—in this return, I repeat, we can see how much the effect of music has gained both in scope, that is, universality, and in vividness, that is, in heightened pleasure, and also sometimes in moving the soul more. [3227] For while in no part, and least of all in this latter respect, are the effects of modern music at all comparable to those of Greek music that we read of, it should be also remembered that man today is not disposed to let himself be moved strongly in any direction; that in line with this general disposition, not even absolutely popular melodies today are such, or of such a nature, as to easily be able to be given a form by the composer that would produce more than a limited effect in any one soul; and that finally, composers do not choose those popular melodies, or any part of them, that would be best suited to force and depth of effect, nor, in those that they do select, do they use those means that are required to produce a similar effect, nor do they work them or arrange them in such a way as would be best for such a purpose. And they do not do so because they neither want to nor know how to.1 They do not know how to, for they themselves are bereft of truly sublime and divine inspiration, and of strong and profound sentiments in composing any type of music, and are unable to choose or to use what they have chosen in such a way as to [3228] produce in their listeners the sensations they themselves have never experienced nor ever will. They do not want to, for precisely because they are unaware of such sensations, they esteem them to be worth nothing or at most very little, and do not set themselves any other purpose than superficial delight and titillation of the ears, which they hold to be significantly preferable to the great, noble and strong emotions they themselves have never experienced. But what wonder is this, when the ancient musicians were the poets, the same who, by reason of the sublimity of their conceits, and the elegance and grandeur of their spirit, shine forth from the pages that still remain, or where these have
been lost, from the rhythms that they invented and are still applied, whose names live on immortalized in the memory of men, and this sometimes also as a result of their egregious and magnanimous deeds? And when modern musicians, conversely, given the circumstances of their lives and modern usages in their regard, are in terms of corruption, decadence, softness, and baseness of mind, the worst of the worst age that has ever been known, the dregs of the dregs of all generations? From life, opinions, and customs which are so vile, adulatory, dissolute, [3229] effeminate, craven, how can lofty, noble, generous, profound, virile, energetic concepts be born? But this argument would take us too far, and would necessarily lead to a parallel between music and musicians with the other arts and their teachers, between modern and ancient music, and between modern and ancient usages in this respect, and finally to dealing with the disastrous separation of music from poetry, and of the figure of the musician from that of the poet, figures which in ancient times, and according to the primitive nature of these arts, were undivided and indeed indivisible (see Viaggio d’Anacarsi, loc. cit., especially the final note to ch. 27).1 This subject has been dealt with by many, and for our purposes would be no more than a digression. Hence I shall not deal with it here.
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