sweeping change can be made in the art by the mere musician. He can not compose music worthy the attention of the world, under the direction of any theorist, interested only in some one principle of truth; nor can he greatly alter the character of his productions.
The composer is the child of his time and nation, and can not free himself from the conditions under which he works. Yet he obeys a blind necessity no more than other men, equally powerless to turn back the tide of modern civilization. It proceeds by virtue of a force which is incontrollable, and at most can only be slightly diverted. Music is one of its art-products. It broke in upon the darkness of mediæval ages, and was a factor in the general illumination that dispelled the gloom, when the Western world arose refreshed as from a deep sleep. It appealed to the sense of hearing—the last to sink to rest, always the first to awaken.
Counterpoint and the science of harmony aided in the formation of this new art, which has earned the distinction of being recognized as the only classic art of the nineteenth century. It is a glorious fabric, and will endure, although scientific purists wish it to be destroyed and another one erected in its stead on the principles of abstract truth. They propound a destructive theory, and yet give no practicable mode of procedure. They do not even remove difficulties to be overcome at the very outset. The musician is invited to attempt the impossible, namely, to make equal things that are unequal—to make the melodic scale agree with the harmonic scale, their proportions being dissimilar. He is compelled to make compromises, either acknowledged and defined, as in the systems of tuning piano-fortes, or unacknowledged and undefined, as in performances on violins. In no other manner can he proceed.
It would be easy for him to employ a few simple chords with the most perfect proportions, but he is required to produce a long-extended and complicated web of harmony—some thousands of combinations in a symphony or other similar work of art. It would be still easier for him to present chords singly as isolated columns, that they may be contemplated "as they stand"—each resting on a fundamental base or bass; but he must exhibit them connectedly—"as they move." Only by passing on and on, from chord to chord in ever-changing forms, from sweetest consonance to most brilliant dissonance, from exciting successions and combinations to calming ones, is harmonic texture provided for musical compositions. Sometimes, also, the melody remains unchanged when the harmonies are greatly altered, so that its expression may be varied, as the features of the same countenance may express varied emotions, and yet be always recognized.
Similarly, architectural purists, previous to the year 1837, made perfectly cylindrical columns, straight lines, and plane surfaces, and, proceeding to build on these principles of truth, made imitations of Greek art that are regarded with indifference in London, Paris, and Ber-
