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Page 21
We are aware that the drum is the most primitive instrument
known to man. If all our knowledge of the Chinese were included
in a simple list of their orchestral instruments, we should
recognize at once that the possession of the gourd, mouth-organ,
and lute indicates a nation which has reached a high state of
civilization; on the other hand, the great preponderance of
bells, gongs, drums, etc., points unmistakably to the fact
that veneration of the laws and traditions of the past (a
past of savage barbarism), and a blind acquiescence in them,
must constitute the principal factor in that civilization. The
writings of Chinese philosophers are full of wise sayings
about music, but in practice the music itself becomes almost
unbearable. For instance, in the Confucian _Analects_ we read,
"The Master (Confucius)[02] said: 'How to play music may be
known. At the commencement of the piece, all the parts should
sound together. As it proceeds, they should be in harmony,
severally distinct, and flowing without a break, and thus on
to the conclusion.'" The definition is certainly remarkable
when one considers that it was given about five hundred
years before our era. In practice, however, the Chinese do
not distinguish between musical _combinations_ of sound and
_noise_; therefore the above definition must be taken in a very
different sense from that which ordinarily would be the case. By
harmony, Confucius evidently means similarity of noises, and by
"melody flowing without a break" he means absolute monotony of
rhythm. We know this from the hymns to the ancestors which,
with the hymns to the Deity, are the sacred songs of China,
songs which have come down from time immemorial.
According to Amiot one of the great court functions is the
singing of the "Hymn to the Ancestors," which is conducted
by the Emperor. Outside the hall where this ceremony takes
place are stationed a number of bell and gong players who
may not enter, but who, from time to time, according to fixed
laws, join in the music played and sung inside. In the hall
the orchestra is arranged in the order prescribed by law:
the _ou_, or wooden tiger, which ends every piece, is placed
at the northwest end of the orchestra, and the _tschou_, or
wooden box-drum, which begins the music, at the northeast;
in the middle are placed the singers who accompany the hymn
by posturing as well as by chanting. At the back of the hall
are pictures of the ancestors, or merely tablets inscribed
with their names, before which is a kind of altar, bearing
flowers and offerings. The first verse of the hymn consists of
eight lines in praise of the godlike virtues of the ancestors,
whose spirits are supposed to descend from Heaven and enter
the hall during the singing of this verse by the chorus. Then
the Emperor prostrates himself three times before the altar,
touching his head to the earth each time. As he offers the
libations and burns the perfumes on the altar, the chorus
sings the second verse of eight lines, in which the spirits
are thanked for answering the prayer and entreated to accept
the offerings. The Emperor then prostrates himself nine times,
after which he resumes his position before the altar, while
the last verse of eight lines, eulogistic of the ancestors,
is being chanted; during this the spirits are supposed to
ascend again to Heaven. The hymn ends with the scraping of
the tiger's back and striking it on the head.
We can imagine the partial gloom of this species of chapel,
lighted by many burning, smoky joss-sticks, with its glint
of many-coloured silks, and gold embroidery; the whining,
nasal, half-spoken, monotonous drone of the singers with their
writhing figures bespangled with gold and vivid colour; the
incessant stream of shrill tones from the wind instruments;
the wavering, light clatter of the musical stones broken
by the steady crash of gongs and the deep booming of large
drums; while from outside, the most monstrous bell-like noises
vaguely penetrate the smoke-laden atmosphere. The ceremony
must be barbarously impressive; the strange magnificence of it
all, together with the belief in the actual presence of the
spirits, which the vague white wreaths of joss-stick smoke
help to suggest, seem to lend it dignity. From the point of
view of what we call music, the hymn is childish enough; but
we must keep in mind the definition of Confucius. According
to the Chinese, music includes that phase of sound which we
call mere noise, and the harmonizing of this noise is Chinese
art. We must admit, therefore, that from this point of view
their orchestra is well balanced, for what will rhyme better
with noise than more noise? The gong is best answered by the
drum, and the tomtom by the great bell.
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