The Church of Rome, though admitting no women to a share in performing its services, has yet made a woman the patron saint of music. The religions of antiquity have paid even more homage to the weaker sex in the matter, as the multitude of musical nymphs and fostering goddesses will show.

Of Saint Cecilia herself little is known accurately. The very apocryphal legend states that about the year 230 a noble Roman lady of that name, who had been converted to Christianity, was forced into an unwilling marriage with a certain Valerian, a pagan. She succeeded in converting her husband and his brother, but all were martyred because of their faith. This it is stated, took place under the Prefect Almacus, but history gives no such name. It is unfortunate, also, that the earliest writer mentioning her, Fortunatus, Bishop of Poitiers, speaks of her as having died in Sicily between the years 176 and 180. It is doubtful whether she would have been known at all, in connection with the art, but for a passing phrase in her story, which relates that she often united instrumental music to that of her voice in sounding the praises of the Lord. Because of these few words, she is famed throughout musical Christendom, half the musical societies in Europe are named after her, and Raphael’s picture, Dryden’s ode, Stefano Maderno’s statue, and a hundred other great art works have come into existence.

The earliest inferences of woman’s influence in music are to be drawn from the Hindoo mythology. According to the tabular schedule of all knowledge, found in the ancient Brahmin records, music as an art belongs in the second chief division of lesser sciences, but on its mathematical and philosophical side it is accorded a much higher position, and is treated of in the oldest and most sacred Hindoo work, the Veda. This authority tells us that when Brahma had lain in the original egg some thousand billion years, he split it by the force of his thought, and made heaven and earth from the two fragments. After this, Manu brought into being ten great forces, whence came all the gods, goddesses, good and evil spirits. Among the lesser deities were the genii of music (Gandharbas) and those of the dance (Apsarasas), who furnished entertainment for the gods before man possessed the art.

About this time the female element began to assert itself. At Brahma’s command, his consort, Sarisvati, goddess of speech and oratory, brought music to man, incidentally giving the Hindoos their finest musical instrument, the vina. The demigod Nared became the protector of the art, but Maheda Chrishna performed a more material service by allowing five keys, or modes, to spring from his head, in the shape of nymphs, while his wife, Parbuti, produced one more. Then Brahma helped the cause along by adding thirty lesser keys, or modes, all of them in the form of nymphs also.

These modes varied in character, some of them being too fiery to be attempted by mortals. It is related that Akbar, the emperor, once ordered the famous singer, Naik Gobaul, to sing the Raagni, or improvisation, of the mode of fire. The poor singer entreated for a less dangerous task, but in vain. Then he plunged up to his neck in the waters of the river Jumna, and began. Before he had finished half of the song, the water around him began to boil. He paused, but, finding the emperor’s curiosity relentless, continued the strain, until at the close his body burst into flames and was consumed. Another melody caused the formation of clouds and the fall of rain, and a female singer is said once to have saved Bengal from drought and famine by means of this lay. Many other refrains had a similar power over the forces of nature; one could make the sun disappear and bring on night at midday, while others could change winter to spring, or rain to sunshine.

In all Indian legends, the charm of music is described as of immense potency. All animate and inanimate nature is represented as listening with ecstasy to the singing of Chrishna and Parbuti. When Chrishna was on earth, in the form of a shepherd, there were sixteen thousand pastoral nymphs, or shepherdesses, who fell in love with him. They all tried to win his heart by the power of music, and each one sang to him in a different manner. Hence arose the sixteen thousand different keys which were said to have existed at one time in India.

The Hindoo musical system of to-day is likewise ascribed largely to female sources. The scale consists of seven chief tones, which are represented by as many heavenly sisters. The names of the tones (sa, ri, ga, ma, pa, dha, ni, corresponding to our do, re, mi, etc.) are merely abbreviations of the names of the nymphs who preside over them. The tones of the scale are divided into quarters, and the number of quarters in the diatonic scale intervals is four, three, two, four, four, three, and two. Thus the number of possible modes is vastly greater than in our own scale, which has only semitones. There are six chief modes, represented by six genii, while each one is married to five of the thirty nymphs who typify the lesser modes. Each one of the genii has eight sons, and these are wedded to a nymph apiece, making forty-eight in all. Every member of this prolific musical family presides over something, if it is only one of the quarter tones that form the scale.

To illustrate the method of naming, the four quarters of the fifth scale tone (pa, or Panchama) belong to the nymphs Malina, Chapala, Lola, and Serveretna. The next full tone (dha) is owned by Santa and her sisters. If the higher tone, dha, should be flatted, giving it the same pitch as the upper quarter of the lower tone, pa, the Hindoo musician would not speak of dha as being flat, but would say instead, “Serveretna has been introduced to the family of Santa and her sisters.”

The Hindoo music of to-day is not as potent as in mythical times. The people themselves acknowledge the decline of their art, and admit that even in the last century or two it has deteriorated. As for the miracle-working Ragas, or improvised songs, the people in Bengal will say that they can probably be heard in Cashmere, while the inhabitants of Cashmere will send the inquirer back to Bengal. Woman, too, has a less important position than of old. “When the ancient sages made our musical system,” says an eminent Brahmin in an interview at San Francisco, “there were many women among them; but now not one can accomplish anything in the art.”

In the traditions of ancient Egypt, music is entirely under the patronage of male gods. Thoth, the Egyptian Hermes, invented the lyre by striking the tendons of a dead tortoise, which had dried and stretched in the shell. Osiris, too, the chief of the Egyptian gods, protected the art, although Strabo says music was not allowed in his temple at Abydos. While travelling in Ethiopia, the story runs, Osiris met a troupe of revelling satyrs, and, being fond of singing, he admitted them to his train of musicians. In their midst were nine young maidens, skilled in music and various sciences, evidently the prototype of the Grecian Muses. Horus, the son of Osiris (equivalent to the Greek Apollo) was considered the god of Harmony.

An important mythical character was Maneros, son of the earliest Egyptian king. He seems to hold the same position as Linus, son of Apollo, among the Greeks. The first song of Egyptian music was a dirge for his untimely end, and a lament for the swift passing away of youth, spring, joy, and so on. Gradually the song itself, instead of the king’s son, began to be called Maneros, and became the well-known banquet song of the social feasts, calling upon the guests to enjoy life while they might. In time the song became a symbol of gaiety and merriment instead of grief.

In most of the ancient civilizations, the songs appear to have been accompanied by clapping of hands, to mark the rhythm. There were many actual dances, also, in ancient Egypt, as is fully proven by a number of the old paintings. Some were like our jigs, break-downs, or clog-dances, while others consisted of regular figures, such as forward and back, swing, and so on, the latter kind being restricted to the lower orders. In all of these, women must have taken a large part, and doubtless they were responsible for some of the music. They were not allowed to play the flute, but could indulge in the tabor and other instruments. Some of the scenes depicted closely resemble the modern stage, and it is more than probable that, when the audiences of to-day applaud our own ballet scenes, they are enjoying themselves in the old Egyptian manner.

There can be no doubt that woman played an important part in music, possibly even in composition, in many civilizations which apparently allowed her only a restricted field of action. The Empress of Germany recently defined woman’s sphere as consisting of four subjects, children, clothes, cooking, and church; yet the German women have far more influence than this official utterance would indicate. It is not surprising, then, to find in the folios of Lepsius a reproduction of something analogous to our conservatories of music. It represents a course of musical instruction in the school of singers and players of King Amenhotep IV., of the eighteenth dynasty. There are several large and small rooms, connected with each other, and containing furniture and musical instruments. In some are the musicians practising and teaching. One teacher sits listening to the singing of a young girl, while another pupil is playing the accompaniment on a harp. Still another girl stands attentively listening to the teacher’s instructions, as in a modern class. In another place are two girls practising a dance with harp music. In one room is a young lady having her hair dressed, while in another a young girl has placed aside her harp and is sitting down to lunch with a companion. All this goes to show that different civilizations often resemble one another more than would appear at first sight, and very probably woman’s part in ancient Egyptian music was much like that which she plays in our own to-day.

The earliest Hebrew music was undoubtedly modelled after that of Egypt. In later Biblical times, however, there were many national instruments, and the style of the music must have been characteristic. The Old Testament, even in its earlier books, contains many examples of the songs of the people. Their ancient folk-music showed three principal styles, the joyous bridal song, the cheerful harvest or vintage song, and the wailing funeral song; and there are many examples of each in the Scriptures. As there was no definite notation among the ancient Hebrews, the actual tunes that were sung with these songs will never be known. But it may be possible that the melodies have been preserved by rote, for it is certain that these three schools of singing exist to-day in Arabia and Syria. Whole villages are known to unite in a seven-day festival of rejoicing, not unlike the one at the wedding of Samson, as described in the fourteenth chapter of Judges.

The Song of Solomon presents an entire set of bridal songs in the popular vein. A good example of the mourning song is found in the opening chapter of the second book of Samuel, where David laments the death of Saul and Jonathan. It is somewhat exceptional because of its being rendered by a man, for in Eastern countries the professional mourners were always women, hired for the occasion. The men might join in the chorus of woe if they wished, but the main part of the song was always given by the women, who were not unlike the “Keeners,” heard in Ireland on similar occasions, even down to recent times. The book of Lamentations presents a series of funeral songs, written in imitation of the professional lays of grief, and containing many allusions to the mourning women. In the fifth chapter of Amos, in Habakkuk, and many other books, are further illustrations of such folk-songs. The fifth chapter of Isaiah begins with the cheerful style of the vintage song, and then suddenly changes to a song of grief, forming an artistic contrast that must have been highly effective.

In the Hebrew songs, as in the Egyptian, there must have been much dramatic action united with the vocal work. When the word “dancing” occurs, it generally means only gesture and pantomime. Its use is made evident in the song of Moses, in Exodus XV. It requires little imagination to picture Miriam using a folk-song with which her hearers were familiar, improvising words to suit the occasion, and illustrating the whole with successive gestures of pride, contempt, sarcasm, and triumph, while the assembled multitude joined in the chorus at every opportunity.

Still more evident does this union of voice and action become in the song of Deborah and Barak, in Judges V. A possible description of the performance of this musical comedy is given by Herder, who suggests that “Probably verses 1-11 were interrupted by the shouts of the populace; verses 12-27 were a picture of the battle, with a naming of the leaders with praise or blame, and mimicking each one as named; verses 28-30 were mockery of the triumph of Sisera, and the last verse was given as a chorus by the whole people.” According to this, the tune must certainly have been a familiar one. The whole scene, with its extemporized words, its clapping of hands to mark the rhythm, and its alternation of solo and chorus, was probably not unlike the singing at some of the negro camp-meetings on the Southern plantations.

Foremost among the patrons of the art in Grecian mythology are the Muses. These were not always nine in number. Originally, at Mount Helicon, in B[oe]otia, three were worshipped, Melete (meditation), Mneme (memory), and Aoide (song). Three Muses were also recognized at Delphi and Sicyon. Four are mentioned as daughters of Jupiter and Plusia, while some accounts speak of seven Muses, daughters of Pierus. Eight was the number known in Athens, until finally the Thracian worship of nine spread over the whole of Greece. The parentage of these divinities is given with as many variations as their number. Most commonly they were considered daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (memory), born in Pieria at the foot of Mount Olympus. Some call them daughters of Uranus and Gaea, others of Pierus and Antiope, still others of Apollo or of Jupiter and Minerva. The analogy between the Muses and the nine maidens in the Egyptian troupe of Osiris has already been noted.

In Homer’s poems, the Muses have already attained their well-known abode on Olympus, where they sing the festive songs at the banquets of the immortals. They were supposed to inspire the mind of the bards, and in early times the poets were perfectly sincere in invoking them and believing in their inspiration. The Muses, in presiding over the various branches of Grecian art, appeared unable to brook any rivalry. Thamyris, an ancient Thracian bard, boldly challenged them to a trial of skill, and, on being overcome by them in the contest, was deprived by them of his sight and of the power of singing. He is represented in art as holding a broken lyre. The nine daughters of King Pierus of Macedonia fared no better, and after an unsuccessful contest were changed into birds. The Muses were closely connected with Apollo, who was looked upon as their leader. Many mountains, as well as grottos, wells, and springs in various parts of Greece, were sacred to them.

The Sirens were another personification of the marvellous power of music among primitive peoples. Their parentage also is variously given, though they are usually mentioned as daughters of the river god, Achelous. They are generally represented as maidens, with a more or less extensive equipment of wings and other plumage. These wings were obtained at their request when Proserpine was carried off, that they might be better able to hunt for her. But another account says that they refused their sympathy to Ceres, and were given their feathery coating by her in punishment. Some writers say it was due to Aphrodite, who was angered at their virginity. The Sirens, as well as other ambitious performers, were rash enough to attempt a contest with the Muses, and met with the customary defeat. The victorious nine then pounced upon the unfortunate trio, and tore off wings and feathers.

The Sirens’ chief occupation consisted in sitting on the rocks by the sea and singing to passing mariners. According to Homer, their island lay between AEaea and the rock of Scylla, or near the southwestern coast of Italy; but the Roman poets place them on the Campanian coast. Their magic power to charm all hearers was to last only until some one proved himself able to resist their spell; and here again accounts differ. Homer gives the credit to Ulysses, who stuffed his mariners’ ears with wax, and had them bind him to the mast. Apollonius Rhodius, however, in the Argonautica, claims the credit for Orpheus, who saved the expedition of the Argonauts by singing the Sirens into silence, after which the musical damsels fell from their heights and were themselves changed into rocks. If some of our modern musicians were put to the same test, and condemned to death if they failed to charm their auditors, the results would be beneficial both to art and to the cemeteries. The power of the Sirens lasted after their death, and, like their cousins in Egyptian and Indian lore, they used their music to charm the souls of the blessed dead.

Leaving the realms of the supernatural, the only great name that the student will find among the musical women of Greece is that of Sappho. The story of her life is known only in its general outlines, and even these have been the subject of many learned disputes. She was born near the close of the seventh century B.C., either at Mytilene or at Eresos in the island of Lesbos. She grew to maturity at the former place, and became one of the two great leaders of the AEolian school of lyric poetry. From the fragments of her poetry, and those of her great rival, Alcaeus, it is evident that the two were not envious of each other’s fame, but lived in the most friendly intercourse. Of the events of her life, we have only two. One, referred to in the Parian marble and by Ovid, is her flight from Mytilene to Sicily, between 604 and 592, to escape from some unknown danger. The other is the well-known story that, being in love with Phaon, and finding her love unrequited, she cast herself from the Leucadian rock. This rock is a promontory on the island of Leucas, upon which was a temple to Apollo. At the annual festival of the god, it was the custom to cast down a criminal from this rock into the sea. To break his fall, birds of all kinds were attached to him, and, if he reached the sea uninjured, boats were ready to pick him up. This apparently was a rite of expiation, and as such gave rise to the well-known story that unfortunate lovers leaped from this rock to seek relief from their distress. The story of Sappho and Phaon is one of these, but it has been claimed that its authenticity vanishes at the first breath of criticism.

It is fair to class Sappho as a musician, for in ancient Greece poetry and music were inseparable. Of her poems, which filled nine books, only a few fragments remain, of which the most important is a splendid ode to Aphrodite. At Mytilene she appears to have gathered about her a large and elegant circle of young women, who were her pupils in poetry, music, and personal cultivation. Her influence must have been widespread, for the list of her disciples includes names from all parts of Greece. Her work of teaching, in the midst of her fair followers, has been compared with that of Socrates surrounded by the flower of the Athenian youth. The power of her poetry is shown by the story of its effect on the rugged character of Solon, the lawmaker. Hearing for the first time one of her pieces, sung to him by his nephew, he expressed in the most impassioned terms the wish that he might not die before having learned such a beautiful song.

The career of Sappho is made more wonderful by the fact that woman’s work in ancient Greece was supposed to consist only of family duties. She taught her sons in childhood until they were sent to their regular masters, and she guided her daughters and set them an example in doing household duties. According to Pericles, that woman was most to be prized of whom no one spoke, either in praise or blame. Because of Sappho’s prominence and social activity, but more especially because of the ardent character of some of her poems, her good name has been assailed by many modern critics. The majority, however, consider the accusations as groundless.

Alcman, the great lyric poet of Sparta (Lydian by birth), brought the so-called Lydian measure to its highest perfection. He was always ready to praise women in his verses, and wrote some choruses especially for the

“Honey-voiced, lovely singing maidens,”

which were sung by female voices only. B[oe]otia could boast of two great poétesses. Myrtis, a native of Anthedon, is reported to have been the instructress of Pindar, and is said to have contended with him for the palm of superiority. She was famous through the whole of Greece, and many places possessed statues in honour of her. The second poetess was Corinna, of Tanagra, sometimes called the Theban because of her long residence at Thebes. She flourished about 490 B.C., and was a contemporary of Pindar. Like Myrtis, she is said to have instructed him, and is credited with having gained a victory over him in the public games at Thebes. Only a few fragments of her work have been preserved to us. But Pausanias, who states that she defeated Pindar no less than five times, thinks that her personal charms may have had something to do with the matter.

While teaching Pindar, Corinna once offered to beautify his earlier efforts with mythological allusions. The pupil, nettled by this criticism, soon brought to his instructress a new poem, of which the first six stanzas touched upon every part of Theban mythology; whereupon she cooled his enthusiasm by remarking with a smile: “One must sow seed by the handful, not by the bagful.”

Whether the character of these earlier poétesses was above reproach or not, it is certain that in the later days of Grecian civilization music was handed over to the most degraded classes. In Egypt the caste of professional musicians was not held in any respect, and the art was often merely an added accomplishment to enhance the value of slaves. So, too, in Greece, the practice of music was given over to the Hetaerae, or courtesans. That these women were at times able to win a high position is amply proven by the case of Aspasia. A native of Miletus, she came to live in Athens, and there gained the affections of the great leader Pericles, not more by her beauty than by her high mental accomplishments. The story of her life, and of the literary and philosophical circle which she drew around her, is too well known to need repetition. Another famous courtesan, though less well endowed mentally, and evidently on a much lower plane of character, was the famous flute-player Lamia. It was her beauty rather than her intellect that won the great honours which she attained; and a temple dedicated to her as Venus Lamia, as well as a signet upon which her portrait has been preserved, bear witness to this fact.

The character of Greek music can only be conjectured. At first simple, it was regulated on a mathematical basis by Pythagoras, who understood the laws of vibration. Later on it developed into something more rich and varied, and, while still devoted to unison, or melodic, effects, it was undoubtedly full of beauty, as is the old Scotch music. Its great development, as well as the use of many small instruments (kithara, flute, etc.), go far to prove that music must have formed a larger part of woman’s domestic life than the actual records show.

Roman civilization borrowed much from Greece, especially in the matter of art. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that the musical status of Rome, especially in her later days, was a mere replica of that of Greece. In the instrumental field, we find the lyre of less importance, but the flute (a term that included reed instruments also) was constantly used in ceremonial and sacrificial music. Trumpets were in use at all triumphal processions, while in the days of the empire the well-known but problematical water-organ became popular. Although the Roman domestic conditions admitted of more freedom than those of Greece, it is doubtful if the women took any important part in performance or composition of music. There are no great poétesses on the Roman roll of honour, while there are many on that of Greece.

Rome differed from Greece in having its poetry and music written by different authors, while in Greece both words and notes emanated from the same brain. But even among men the Romans possessed no important composers. The names of those who wrote music to the plays of Terence and Plautus (the plays themselves being imitations of the Greek) are known to history, but the composers possessed no position of consequence. If the men received no great homage, there must have been little incentive for women to strive in the musical field.

As in Greece, female slaves played a large part in the world of art, with this difference, that in Rome the masters were usually on a lower plane of cultivation than their own slaves. Dancing was an adjunct to music, though often practised as a separate branch of entertainment, and brought to a high state of perfection in its pantomimic form.

The position of woman in the far East was inferior even to her station in Greece and Rome. In China, for example, everything feminine was held in contempt. This had its influence on the musical system of the Chinese, according to one of their legends. After the invention of music, the formation of various instruments, and the composition of many songs, all due to more or less mythical emperors, Hoang-Ti, who reigned about the year 2600 B. C., decided to have the art scientifically investigated and its rules formulated. In his day music was practised, but not understood in its natural elements. The emperor therefore ordered Ling-Lun to look into the matter.

This dignitary, about whose work many anecdotes exist, travelled to Northwestern China, and took up his abode on a high mountain, near a bamboo grove. On cutting a stalk and excavating the pith between two of the joints, he found that the tube gave the exact pitch of the normal human voice, and also the sound given by the waters of the Hoang-Ho, which had its source near the scene. Thus was discovered the fundamental tone of the scale.

Meanwhile, the Foang-Hoang, or sacred bird of Chinese mythology, appeared with its mate and perched upon a neighbouring tree. The male bird sang a scale of several tones, while the female sang another composed of different tones. The first note of the male bird coincided in pitch with Ling-Lun’s bamboo tube, and by cutting other tubes the erudite investigator proceeded to reproduce all the tones of both. By combining these, he was able to form a complete chromatic scale. But, owing to the prejudice against the weaker sex, the tones of the female (called feminine tones even to-day) were discarded in favour of those of the male bird. The latter, the basis of Chinese music, correspond to the black keys of our piano, while the former were equivalent to the white, or diatonic, notes of our scale.

That Chinese music, based on this pentatonic scale, need not be at all displeasing, is proved by many of the old Scotch tunes, which are built on the same system. An excellent illustration of its rhythmic structure, frequent iterations, and melodic character may be found in our own familiar tune, “There is a happy land, far, far away.” The harsh quality that Europeans often find in Chinese performances is undoubtedly not a necessary adjunct, as the same criticism may be made upon many of our own street singers or brass bands.

The Chinese, like many other ancient nations, have a great contempt for the caste of musicians and actors, although enjoying the drama keenly. Parents have almost unlimited power over their children, and may sell them as slaves, or even in some cases kill them; but they are not allowed to sell them to the troupes of strolling comedians or to magicians. Any one convicted of doing this, or aiding in the transaction, is punished by one hundred blows of the bamboo. Any person of free parentage marrying an actor or actress receives the same punishment. Yet, while musicians connected with the stage are held under the ban, those who devote themselves to the religious rites receive the highest esteem. These, however, cannot be women.

The music of Japan, though built on the chromatic scale, was much the same as that of China. Actors and musicians command hardly more respect in the island than on the Continent. Women play a negative part in both countries, if we except the Geishas, who entertain in the tea-houses. But Japan has made such rapid strides in civilization recently that it may not be impossible for woman to develop the activity that she has already shown in Western lands.