6

With reference to Archilochus, it has been established by critical research that he introduced the folk-song into literature, and, on account thereof, deserved, according to the general estimate of the Greeks, his unique position alongside of Homer. But what is this popular folk-song in contrast to the wholly Apollonian epos? What else but the perpetuum vestigium of a union of the Apollonian and the Dionysian? Its enormous diffusion among all peoples, still further enhanced by ever new births, testifies to the power of this artistic double impulse of nature: which leaves its vestiges in the popular song in like manner as the orgiastic movements of a people perpetuate themselves in its music. Indeed, one might also furnish historical proofs, that every period which is highly productive in popular songs has been most violently stirred by Dionysian currents, which we must always regard as the substratum and prerequisite of the popular song.

Critical research has established that Archilochus introduced the folk-song into literature. For this reason, the Greeks generally believed he deserved his unique place alongside Homer. But what is the folk-song, compared with the wholly Apollonian epic? What else is it but the perpetuum vestigium of a union of the Apollonian and the Dionysian? Folk-song is enormously widespread among all peoples, and new songs continually add to its reach. This testifies to the power of nature’s dual artistic impulse. That impulse leaves its traces in folk-song, just as a people’s orgiastic movements live on in its music. Indeed, one could also offer historical proof that every period highly productive in folk-songs has been violently stirred by Dionysian currents. We must always regard these currents as the foundation and prerequisite of folk-song.

First of all, however, we regard the popular song as the musical mirror of the world, as the Original melody, which now seeks for itself a parallel dream-phenomenon and expresses it in poetry. Melody is therefore primary and universal, and as such may admit of several objectivations, in several texts. Likewise, in the naïve estimation of the people, it is regarded as by far the more important and necessary. Melody generates the poem out of itself by an ever-recurring process. The strophic form of the popular song points to the same phenomenon, which I always beheld with astonishment, till at last I found this explanation. Any one who in accordance with this theory examines a collection of popular songs, such as "Des Knaben Wunderhorn," will find innumerable instances of the perpetually productive melody scattering picture sparks all around: which in their variegation, their abrupt change, their mad precipitance, manifest a power quite unknown to the epic appearance and its steady flow. From the point of view of the epos, this unequal and irregular pictorial world of lyric poetry must be simply condemned: and the solemn epic rhapsodists of the Apollonian festivals in the age of Terpander have certainly done so.

First, however, we regard the popular song as a musical mirror of the world. It is the original melody, which seeks a parallel dream image and expresses it in poetry. Melody is therefore primary and universal, and as such it may take several concrete forms in different texts. Likewise, the people, in their naive judgment, regard melody as by far the more important and necessary element. Melody generates the poem from itself in an endlessly recurring process. The strophic form of the popular song points to the same phenomenon. This form always amazed me, until I finally found this explanation. Anyone who examines a collection of popular songs in light of this theory will find countless examples. A collection like "Des Knaben Wunderhorn" shows how the endlessly productive melody scatters sparks of imagery all around. These images vary, change abruptly, and rush forward wildly. They reveal a power quite unknown to the world of epic poetry and its steady flow. From the epic point of view, this uneven and irregular world of lyric imagery must simply be condemned. The solemn epic reciters at the Apollonian festivals in the age of Terpander certainly condemned it.

Accordingly, we observe that in the poetising of the popular song, language is strained to its utmost to imitate music; and hence a new world of poetry begins with Archilochus, which is fundamentally opposed to the Homeric. And in saying this we have pointed out the only possible relation between poetry and music, between word and tone: the word, the picture, the concept here seeks an expression analogous to music and now experiences in itself the power of music. In this sense we may discriminate between two main currents in the history of the language of the Greek people, according as their language imitated either the world of phenomena and of pictures, or the world of music. One has only to reflect seriously on the linguistic difference with regard to colour, syntactical structure, and vocabulary in Homer and Pindar, in order to comprehend the significance of this contrast; indeed, it becomes palpably clear to us that in the period between Homer and Pindar the orgiastic flute tones of Olympus must have sounded forth, which, in an age as late as Aristotle's, when music was infinitely more developed, transported people to drunken enthusiasm, and which, when their influence was first felt, undoubtedly incited all the poetic means of expression of contemporaneous man to imitation. I here call attention to a familiar phenomenon of our own times, against which our æsthetics raises many objections. We again and again have occasion to observe how a symphony of Beethoven compels the individual hearers to use figurative speech, though the appearance presented by a collocation of the different pictorial world generated by a piece of music may be never so fantastically diversified and even contradictory. To practise its small wit on such compositions, and to overlook a phenomenon which is certainly worth explaining, is quite in keeping with this æsthetics. Indeed, even if the tone-poet has spoken in pictures concerning a composition, when for instance he designates a certain symphony as the "pastoral" symphony, or a passage therein as "the scene by the brook," or another as the "merry gathering of rustics," these are likewise only symbolical representations born out of music—and not perhaps the imitated objects of music—representations which can give us no information whatever concerning the Dionysian content of music, and which in fact have no distinctive value of their own alongside of other pictorical expressions. This process of a discharge of music in pictures we have now to transfer to some youthful, linguistically productive people, to get a notion as to how the strophic popular song originates, and how the entire faculty of speech is stimulated by this new principle of imitation of music.

We can see, then, that the poetry of popular song strains language to its utmost to imitate music. With Archilochus, a new world of poetry begins, one fundamentally opposed to Homer’s. This points to the only possible relationship between poetry and music, between word and tone. Here, words, images, and concepts seek an expression like music and experience its power within themselves. In this sense, we can distinguish two main currents in the history of the Greek people’s language. In one, language imitated the world of appearances and images. In the other, it imitated the world of music. To understand the importance of this contrast, we need only reflect seriously on the differences between Homer’s and Pindar’s language. They differ in color, sentence structure, and vocabulary. Indeed, it becomes unmistakably clear that the orgiastic flute tones of Olympus must have sounded between Homer’s time and Pindar’s. Even as late as Aristotle’s time, when music was infinitely more developed, these tones carried people into drunken enthusiasm. When their influence was first felt, they undoubtedly stirred people to imitate them through every poetic means of expression available. I draw attention here to a familiar phenomenon of our own time, one to which our aesthetics raises many objections. We often see how a Beethoven symphony compels individual listeners to use figurative language. This happens even though the different worlds of images produced by a piece of music may look wildly diverse and even contradictory when brought together. It is just like this aesthetics to make petty jokes about such descriptions and overlook a phenomenon surely worth explaining. Even the composer may describe a composition in images. For instance, he may call a symphony the "pastoral" symphony, or a passage in it "the scene by the brook," or another "the merry gathering of rustics." But these too are only symbolic images born from music, not objects that music imitates. They can tell us nothing at all about the Dionysian content of music. Nor do they have any special value of their own compared with other pictorial expressions. We must now imagine this process, in which music gives rise to images, at work among some young people whose language is still developing. We can then gain an idea of how the strophic popular song originates, and how this new way of imitating music stimulates the whole capacity for speech.

If, therefore, we may regard lyric poetry as the effulguration of music in pictures and concepts, we can now ask: "how does music appear in the mirror of symbolism and conception?" It appears as will, taking the word in the Schopenhauerian sense, i.e., as the antithesis of the æsthetic, purely contemplative, and passive frame of mind. Here, however, we must discriminate as sharply as possible between the concept of essentiality and the concept of phenominality; for music, according to its essence, cannot be will, because as such it would have to be wholly banished from the domain of art—for the will is the unæsthetic-in-itself;—yet it appears as will. For in order to express the phenomenon of music in pictures, the lyrist requires all the stirrings of passion, from the whispering of infant desire to the roaring of madness. Under the impulse to speak of music in Apollonian symbols, he conceives of all nature, and himself therein, only as the eternally willing, desiring, longing existence. But in so far as he interprets music by means of pictures, he himself rests in the quiet calm of Apollonian contemplation, however much all around him which he beholds through the medium of music is in a state of confused and violent motion. Indeed, when he beholds himself through this same medium, his own image appears to him in a state of unsatisfied feeling: his own willing, longing, moaning and rejoicing are to him symbols by which he interprets music. Such is the phenomenon of the lyrist: as Apollonian genius he interprets music through the image of the will, while he himself, completely released from the avidity of the will, is the pure, undimmed eye of day.

If, then, we can regard lyric poetry as music shining out in images and concepts, we can ask: "How does music appear in the mirror of symbols and concepts?" It appears as will, in the Schopenhauerian sense. That is, it appears as the opposite of an aesthetic state of mind, which is purely contemplative and passive. Here, however, we must distinguish as sharply as possible between essence and appearance. Music cannot be will in its essence. If it were, it would have to be completely excluded from art, since will is in itself unaesthetic. Yet music appears as will. To express music as it appears, the lyric poet needs images of every stirring of passion, from the whisper of a child's desire to the roar of madness. Driven to speak of music through Apollonian symbols, the poet sees all nature, including himself, as existence eternally willing, desiring, and longing. But as he interprets music through images, he remains in the quiet calm of Apollonian contemplation. This is true however confused and violent the motion of everything he sees around him through music. Indeed, when he sees himself through music, his own image appears to him filled with unsatisfied feeling. His own willing, longing, moaning, and rejoicing are symbols through which he interprets music. Such is the lyric poet as he appears: as an Apollonian genius, he interprets music through the image of will. Yet he himself is completely free from the cravings of the will, the pure, undimmed eye of day.

Our whole disquisition insists on this, that lyric poetry is dependent on the spirit of music just as music itself in its absolute sovereignty does not require the picture and the concept, but only endures them as accompaniments. The poems of the lyrist can express nothing which has not already been contained in the vast universality and absoluteness of the music which compelled him to use figurative speech. By no means is it possible for language adequately to render the cosmic symbolism of music, for the very reason that music stands in symbolic relation to the primordial contradiction and primordial pain in the heart of the Primordial Unity, and therefore symbolises a sphere which is above all appearance and before all phenomena. Rather should we say that all phenomena, compared with it, are but symbols: hence language, as the organ and symbol of phenomena, cannot at all disclose the innermost essence, of music; language can only be in superficial contact with music when it attempts to imitate music; while the profoundest significance of the latter cannot be brought one step nearer to us by all the eloquence of lyric poetry.

Our whole argument insists that lyric poetry depends on the spirit of music. Music itself, in its absolute sovereignty, does not require images or concepts. It only tolerates them as accompaniments. The lyric poet’s words can express nothing that was not already contained in the vast universality and absoluteness of the music. That music compelled the poet to use figurative language. Language can never adequately express the cosmic symbolism of music. For music symbolically reflects the primordial contradiction and primordial pain at the heart of the Primordial Unity. It therefore symbolizes a sphere beyond all appearance and prior to all phenomena. Rather, we should say that all phenomena are merely symbols compared with music. Therefore, language, as the instrument and symbol of phenomena, cannot reveal the innermost essence of music at all. When language tries to imitate music, it can only touch its surface. Even all the eloquence of lyric poetry cannot bring us one step closer to music’s deepest meaning.