ヴォーン・ウィリアムズ「National Music」(1934) 第9章(最終回)教会音楽に与えた民謡の影響

National Music 


Date of first publication: 1934 

Author: Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958) 










This chapter is really rather outside my main subject which intends to deal with folk-song, only as one element of nationalism, but I have been specially asked to say a little about the influence of folk-song on the music of the church. "Surely," you may say, "you have got the order wrong, you mean the influence of the church on the folk-song. Church music which has been committed to writing and reduced to rule and measure must be the firm rock and that which is merely spoken or sung as the shifting sand." 




Here is another instance of the unfortunate tendency among scholars to believe that the written words must be authoritative and oral tradition unreliable. The opposite is more often than not the case. Writing is a much more frequent cause of corruption than tradition. We can all read and write now and it is difficult for us to imagine the tenacity of memory which those possess who absolutely depend on it. 




Cecil Sharp writes as follows: "To those unacquainted with the mental qualities of the folk, the process of oral transmission would be accounted a very inaccurate one, the Schoolman for example, accustomed to handle and put his trust in manuscript and printed documents would look with the deepest suspicion upon evidence that rested upon evidence of unlettered persons. In this, however, he would be mistaken as all collectors of folk-products know well enough." 




You may be surprised at my suggesting that the elaborate, unmetrical, aloof plain-song of the church could have ever grown out of the joyful rhythmical song of the people. Nowadays we think of the church with its music and its ritual as something at the latter end of a long tradition, but each church had to begin somewhere and had to start with a popular appeal. In the 18th century John Wesley declared that he did not want the devil to have all the pretty tunes, and in the 19th century General Booth adapted all the popular melodies of the day to the service of what Huxley called corybantic Christianity. Is it not possible that the plain-song of the church originated in the same way? Frere in the "Oxford History of Music" admits the possibility. 




There can be no doubt that popular music of some kind existed long before the Christian church organized the music of its ritual. The question is, how much did the church owe to popular song? At first it was naturally bitterly opposed to popular art which the churchmen labelled as "infamous, nefarious, immodest and obscene," and Christians were forbidden to attend pagan ceremonies. But we must remember that the parish church probably stood in what would now be the public square which would be the great meeting place for the people. These pagan ceremonies with their accompanying music would be going on at the very church door making the struggle for existence between the two visible and audible to all. Now, as we know, the churchmen found it impossible to oust the pagan ceremonies. But they did the next best thing; they adapted them to their own use: if you can't defeat your enemy the only course is to take him to your bosom and hope to tame him by kindness. Thus the pagan ceremony of Yule became Christmas, the old Spring Festival became Easter, the worship of ancestors became the commemoration of saints, and so on. Surely it is impossible to believe that with these ceremonies some of the popular music connected with them did not creep in also. 




We have direct evidence of the effect of folk-song on the plain-song or music of the church in the history of French song. The evidence comes from a most interesting account of Charlemagne's visit to Rome in 785. About two centuries before that date Pope Gregory had made an attempt to regularize the music of the church and had made a collection of what he considered to be pure and proper church music, in what is now known as the Gregorian chant, and this was the music in use at Rome at the time of Charlemagne's visit. But in other places local tradition was too strong and there were extant several local "uses" besides the Roman or Gregorian, the chief being the Milanese or Ambrosian, the Spanish or Mozarabic, and most important for our present purpose the French or Gallican "use," each with its peculiar music. 




Now when Charlemagne went to Rome he took with him his French singers who performed the church services according to the Gallican use with their own melodies. Charlemagne was a great nationalist, convinced of the superiority of French art and was very sarcastic at the expense of the Roman singers. To his surprise the Romans in their turn despised the French singers and called them "ignorant fools and rustics." Note the word "rustic." The French music was to the Romans not harsh or unmelodious or too severe, but "rustic." In other words the Roman experts saw traces of that influence which is the bugbear to the academic mind--the folk-song. 




As regards the poor French singers the story ends there. They were sent home by Charlemagne with their tails between their legs and two Roman teachers to show them the supposed pure style. But for us the romance unfolds itself like a detective story. According to Frere in the "Oxford History of Music" there appeared later in the Roman use "a good many items which must have originated elsewhere than in the Roman rite and have come into the Roman collection from outside." We may suppose that the Romans adapted something even from the despised Gallican use; it is not unknown for superior-minded people to make secret use of that which they affect to despise. 




Of this again we have evidence. Among the melodies to which, in the Roman rite, the psalms are chanted is one very different in character from the rest, more "tuney" if I can so describe it, more popular in character. Moreover it came to be known as the "Foreign Tune," "Tonus Peregrinus," and it is almost certain that this melody was taken by the Romans from the Gallican use. Now was this not one of the "rustic" melodies, one of those adaptations from folk-song which the Romans in Charlemagne's time so strongly disapproved of? If such a folk-song exists where should we look for it? Should we not expect to find it connected with some primitive ceremony which might be among those which the French church had adapted for their own use? Tiersot gives us the proof we need in the "Chant des Livrées," a song connected with the marriage ceremony, the melody of which suggests in its outline this very "Tonus Peregrinus." 

このことからも分かることがある。ローマ人達の儀式に置いて、詩篇が吟じられたメロディの数々は、他と性格がかなり違っていて、私に言わせれば、もっと「メロディ感があり」、性格も人々に愛されそうなものを帯びている。更には、それは「よその地域からの歌」だとか「巡礼調」として知られるようになったことだ。ローマ人達によって、フランスでの使い方から、このメロディが取り入れられたことは、ほぼ間違いない。これは、カール大帝時代のローマ人達が強く否定した、民謡からの採用の一例としての、「田舎臭いメロディ」の一つと言えまいか?こういった民謡が実際に存在すると言うなら、どこを探せば良いのだろうか?フランスの教会が、かつて自分達で使うために取り入れた、大昔の名残を残す色々な催し物の一部と、つながりを見いだせると、期待してはいけないのか?私達が求める証拠は、ティエルソが与えてくれる。その名もズバリ「歌集(Chant des Livrees)」の中に、結婚に際しての催し物と関連する歌がある。このメロディの基本的な骨組みは、「巡礼調」を感じさせるものだ。 



Let me recapitulate the steps of the argument. First, here is a French folk-song. Secondly, it is connected with an ancient custom. Thirdly, French ecclesiastical music is accused of being rustic. Fourthly, it is likely, therefore, that this music should be based on folk-song, especially on ceremonial folk-song, and lastly, the family likeness between "Le Chant des Livrées" and the "Tonus Peregrinus." 

ここで改めて、この結婚の歌についての議論の持ってゆき方を整理したい。1つ目、フランスの民謡である。2つ目、これが大昔の名残を残す地域の風習と結びついている。3つ目、フランスの教会音楽が「田舎臭い」とやっつけられた。4つ目、それゆえに、どうやら、この結婚の音楽は民謡がベースとなっている。特に、儀式に際しての民謡だ。そして最後、5つ目、「歌集」(Chant des Livrees)と「巡礼調」には、同じ系統にあるものが持つ類似点がある。 



You may think that there seems to be very little connection between the slow, solemn, long drawn out, unmetrical music of the church and the brisk, strongly accented songs of the French people, but we must remember that in plain-song as we have it now, we see the muse of the people, not as she was when she first stepped blithely out of the sunlight into the dim incense-laden atmosphere of the church, but as she is now after she has for years exchanged her parti-coloured jupe for the sad robe of the religieuse, her gay garland of flowers for the nun's coif and the quick country dance for the slow-moving processional. We shall then realize that the same features might be scarcely recognizable in such different circumstances. 




Such transformations are not unknown in later times. Thomas Oliver reshaped the sprightly tune, "Where's the mortal can resist me," so as to make the solemn melody "Helmsley" for Wesley's Advent hymn, "Lo, he comes." And the English dance-tune, "Sellenger's Round," lost its lilt in crossing the Channel and reappears in Germany as a stately Chorale, "Valet will Ich dir Geben," which we know so well in Bach's great setting from the "Passion According to St. John."  




Some of the French folk-songs were proof against the church influence even though they were used in the church services. The famous "Prose de l'Ane" is a good example, though this was a definite invasion of the church from the secular world outside on a special occasion. Secular melodies naturally tended to keep their definite outline when they were set to metrical words. One of the most famous French ecclesiastical metrical melodies is the Easter Sequence "O Filii et Filiae." Now Easter suggests at once the Spring Festival. Is there any folk-song connected with that Festival to which this tune can be referred? Again Tiersot gives us the proof in two French May-day folk-songs which have a distinct likeness to the melody "O Filii." ("Trimouset" and "Voici venir le joli mois.") 

フランスの民謡の一部は、教会での儀式に使用されたものの、その影響から耐え抜いた。有名な「ロバの詩篇」が、良い例である。もっともこれは、明らかに、ある特別な機会に、俗世界から、教会へと侵入したケースだ。教会の外で歌われるメロディは、韻律がハッキリ伝わる歌詞が付けられた場合は、自ずとハッキリとした特徴を保つ傾向がある。フランスの教会音楽で、リズムがハッキリ伝わるメロディを持つものはいくつもあるが、中でも有名なものの1つが、イースター連歌「子らよ、褒め祀れ」である。イースターといえば、春に行われていた祝祭行事だ。この連歌が関係するイースターという祝祭行事、これと結びつく民謡は、他にあるだろうか?先述のティエルソが、その証拠を見せてくれる。2つのフランスのメーデーの民謡(TrimousetとVoici venir le joli mois)だ。「子らよ、褒め祀れ」のメロディとハッキリ似ている点がある。 



These two songs are both called "Chansons de Quête" and were sung, at all events till quite lately, by young men and women going out to get their "étrennes" for the 1st of May. The very word "Trimouset" is of obscure Celtic origin and points to some very primitive ceremony.  




You will notice that it is in the beginnings and endings of the tunes that we find most likeness to the church melody. This is just what we should expect. The church was trying to attract people to its new religion. If you want to give people something new, start with what they are accustomed to, then having startled them with your new notions let them down gently at the end with the idea that what you had said is not so very new after all. 




Having now established the possibility of folk-song affecting church music let us see how other churches were influenced.  




Luther and his followers borrowed largely; partly from the melodies of the Roman church, but chiefly from secular tunes. It became the fashion to make what was known as a "spiritual parody" of the words of a secular song and to sing these words to the same tune as the original. Böhme in his "Altdeutsches Liederbuch" gives a list of over 250 of these word transpositions; thus "Susanna will'st du mit" became "Du Sündrin willst du mit." "Wach auf mein Herzens Schöne, zart allerliebste mein" became "Wach auf mein Herz und Schöne, du christenliebe Schaar." 




The two most famous of these spiritual parodies have come down to us in the form of the well known hymn tunes, "The Passion Choral" and "Innsbruck." The "Passion Choral" was a secular love song "Mein G'müth ist mir verwirret." Böhme is of the opinion that this was not a folk-song, but was composed by Hans Leo Hasler in 1601. But to my mind Hasler's version has all the appearance of a folk-song and it is quite possible that Hasler only arranged it. Such things were quite usual in those days before the modern craze for personality set in. This tune had, by Bach's time, been adapted to Gerhardt's Passion hymn, "O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden," or as Robert Bridges has it, "O Sacred Head sore wounded." Bach uses this tune over and over again, but you will have noticed he uses a simplified form of the melody. The original was a solo song. The version Bach uses was for massed, or as we should now say, for community singing; hence the simplifications. Thus a Choral can evolve like a folk-song, adapting itself to new uses and new circumstances, surviving in that version which is the fittest for its purpose.  




The tune which we know as "Innsbruck" is now, I believe, sung in Germany to the words "Nun ruhen alle Wälder"; in the Bridges version "The duteous day now closeth." This tune is undoubtedly adapted from a secular folk-song, "Innsbruck Ich muss dich lassen," one of the numerous class of "farewell" songs popular in medieval Germany when the apprentice or workman might be leaving his native city for ever. We first know of it, with its secular words, in a version harmonized by Heinrich Izaak. The words were later paraphrased for church use as "Ach Welt Ich muss dich lassen" and later still adapted to yet other words. In the later version of the tune we find the simplifying process again at work. For "community" purposes the long melisma at the end of the tune which is such a common feature in German folk-song had to disappear and give place to a plain ending. This was the version that Bach knew, and he in his turn ornamented this plain cadence. 





Both Bach and Mozart are reported to have said that they would have rather invented this tune than any of their own compositions. 




If we turn to the Genevan Psalter of Calvin, we find the same story. When Clément Marot translated some of the psalms into French verse his versions caught the fancy of the young exquisites at the court of François I and they sang them to well-known ballad-tunes. Each had his favourite, The Dauphin had his, Catharine de' Medici had hers and even Diane de Poitiers is said to have sung the "De Profundis" to the melody of "Baisez moi donc beau Sire." 




The Genevan Psalter as you doubtless know originated in these metrical versions of Marot. The origin of the tunes is unknown. We still find many of them attributed to Goudimel but all he did was to harmonize them. Another supposed author is Greiter, but he, it has been proved, was no more than a collector and adapter. We can find the solution I think in a sentence from Sir Richard Terry's pamphlet on the Strasburg Psalter of 1539. He writes, "The bulk of the tunes in this Psalter have not been traced to any known source. [This] is not surprising if we remember that in the 16th Century the sharp line of demarcation between sacred and secular music did not exist.... Just as the courtiers of François I sang Marot's psalms to any popular air that took their fancy, so the Huguenots adapted to their vernacular psalms and canticles tunes that were already familiar.... In the task of collecting tunes for the early metrical psalters all was fish that came to the compiler's net.... Just as the Lutheran Choral has preserved for us secular tunes of the moment which have long since died out at their original source, so has this book preserved for us a number of noble tunes which must have been popular in their day, but which now survive only as settings to Calvin's psalms." 




The Genevan Psalter contains many beautiful tunes; the best known to us probably are the following two; that which is known in England and America as "The Old Hundredth" still, I am sorry to say, occasionally attributed to Goudimel, and a psalm-tune which is known to us as "The Old 113th." The "Old Hundredth" comes from the Genevan Psalter of 1551 and was there set, not to the 100th but to the 134th psalm. This tune is undoubtedly derived from a folk-tune, or rather is likely to be a synthesis of more than one. The opening phrase occurs in other Lutheran Chorals and at least one other English psalm-tune. There are several secular folk-tunes in which phrases very like the "Old Hundredth" occur. Douen, I think, quotes a French love-song in this connection and Böhme has a Netherlandish Volkslied ("Altdeutsches Liederbuch" (103)) which is extraordinarily similar. This tune was printed in the  “Souterliedekensin 1540. As we saw in the case of "Innsbruck" the melismatic cadences especially at the ends of the first and last lines have been simplified in the psalm-tune for the purposes of massed singing.  




The "Old 113th" appears as a psalm-tune in the Strasburg Psalter of 1539. We have no external proof that it is derived from a folk-song, but the internal evidence is very strong, the nature of the tune itself and the fact that several of its phrases appear in other tunes. The well-known Easter hymn, "Lasst uns erfreuen," which we first know of in the Cologne Hymn Book of 1623 can hardly be anything else than an adaptation to different words of some source common to the two tunes. 




Whether this tune was popular in origin or not, it has all the history of a folk-song, adapting itself to different words and different moods, showing slight variants in detail, and, finally, receiving illumination at the hands of J. S. Bach. In the Strasburg Psalter it was set to Psalm 36, "My heart showeth me the wickedness of the ungodly," but later it was used to Psalm 68, "Let God arise," or in the French metrical version, "Que Dieu se montre seulement." 




In this guise it became known as the "Battle-hymn of the Huguenots" and was to them what "Ein' feste Burg" was to the Lutherans. The tune also became known in Germany, but changed its character from the martial to the penitential, being set to the words of Sebaldus Heyden's hymn, "O Mensch bewein," and in this version forms a basis of the great chorus at the end of the first part of Bach's "St. Matthew Passion" and also of one of his most beautiful choral Preludes. The tune also came to England where it was set in rather a distorted form to fit a new metre to the 113th psalm. It is said to have been John Wesley's favourite tune.  




It will be seen from these examples that even written music can, within limitations, evolve like the folk-song. Those who pin their faith on the written word call these changes deteriorations. There are some people who are always after the earliest version of a tune and call every later change "corruption." But the earliest version is by no means always the best; the voice of the people is often on the side of the angels and we can often trace a steady evolution until the tune reaches its climax illumined by the genius of a Bach. The best example I know is the "Ein' feste Burg" which, if the earliest version is really what Martin Luther played on his flute to his friend Walther, is not much to be proud of. It is not until it has passed through generations of German congregations and has been glorified by Bach's harmony, that we realize its magnificence. 




I sometimes wonder if we could trace this process of evolution through all music; if there is for composers a fixed stock of root ideas which each can make his own and use for his own purposes, good, bad and indifferent. We could, for instance, perhaps imagine a melodic germ originating in the Sing-spielen of J. A. Hiller or one of his contemporaries, passing on through the early 19th century ballad writers, lit up by the genius of Weber, finding its climax in Wagner, gradually deteriorating in the minds of Richard Strauss and his followers, until it finally finds an unhonoured grave in the compositions of some 20th century conservatoire student.  




In England and Scotland in Elizabethan times we find "Ghostly parodies," as they were called, of such popular ballads as "Go from my window" and "John, come kiss me now." So we may suppose that the church in England was not averse to adapting secular music for her use. In the English psalters the names of composers of the tunes are not given, but only of those who harmonized them; but several of the tunes have local names, the "Winchester" tune, the "Windsor" tune, the "Glastonbury" tune and so on. Why were these names given? May they not have been adaptations of folk-songs sung in those districts? This is, of course, merely a suggestion, but as far as I know, no other explanation has yet been given of these names. 

エリザベス朝時代のイングランドスコットランドにはいわゆるボヤケたパロディ」と称するものがある。ジョン・ダウランドの「Go from my window」やウィリアム・バードの「John, come kiss me now」のような、人々に人気のあるバラードのパロディである。こうなると想像できるのは、イギリスの教会は、民間口承の音楽を採り入れることに、反対してはいなかったということだ。イギリスの詩篇には、メロディを作った者達の名前が記されていない。和声を付けた者だけ、名前が記される。だがこうした数あるメロディのうち、いくつかには地域の名前を冠したものがある。ウィンチェスター、ウィンザーグラストンベリーなどと言ったものだ。なぜこう言った名前が付けられるのか?こう言ったものは、当該地域で歌われた民謡を採用したものでは無いかもしれないのか?これは単なる提案でしかないが、私の知る限り、これらの名前については、先程記したもの以上のものは、未だ存在しないのだ。 



I need not trace the secular influence any further; but in the 19th Century it seems to have died out in the face of clerical disapproval. The tune "Helmsley" was divorced from "Lo, He comes" in the early editions of "Hymns Ancient and Modern," and in one quite modern hymnal, the Editor tells us with conscious pride that there are no folk-songs in his collection. Perhaps we can find an explanation of this attitude from the following from Dyson's "Progress of Music." Commenting on the modern relation of church and people he writes, "Our churches are lovingly cared for, they are far cleaner and quieter and more decorous than our ancestors would have deemed possible, or even desirable.... We preserve with meticulous care everything of historic or local significance, everything that is, except the supreme historic fact, that the church was once the unchallenged centre and meeting place of the whole local community.... Our consecrated gardens may now be trim because the present world passes them by.... A church can be very peaceful when it is empty."