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Ancient Greek Music Theory in the

Context of Historiography Filling a


Lacuna in the Study of the Greek
Systema Teleion The Music of Ancient
Greece An Encyclopaedia 1978 by
Solon Michaelides 1st Edition Wlater
Kurt Kreyszig
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Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of
Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek
Systema Teleion — The Music of Ancient Greece: An
Encyclopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides1

Walter Kurt Kreyszig


University of Saskatchewan
walter.kreyszig@usask.ca

Ancient Greek Music in the Context of Its Revival During the Era of
Humanism
During the era of humanism, spanning the period from approximately 1400 to 1600, people of
various paths of life and disciplines displayed a keen interest in the discovery of the ancient
fascination with learning, an endeavour which took those interested in this inquiry back in time to
the centuries prior to the common era (B.C.E.), and as such to the Greek, Byzantine, Judaic, and
Arabic traditions.2 This fascination and preoccupation with various disciplines, such as the
quadrivium, comprising arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music, and the trivium, comprising
grammar, dialectics, and rhetoric, with the disciplines of the quadrivium and trivium also known as
the artes liberales,3 key to the curriculum of the facultas artium, furthermore the artes mechanicae,4 and
finally those disciplines located outside the realm of these two categories of classifications, such as
theology, medicine, and law, all situated within the university curriculum,5 in turn rendered
invaluable insights into the theory and practice of each discipline identified during the Greek and
Byzantine eras and also during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.6 With regard to the discipline
of musica, the three strands of contemplation, that is, musica theorica, in reference to the abstract
theory explored largely through Pythagorean arithmetic, musica practica, in reference to the art of
composition and performance, and musica poetica were generally treated as separate entities in the

1 A shorter version of this paper was presented at the International Conference “Solon Michaelides: Life, Work and
Legacy” at the UNESCO Amphitheater, University of Nicosia, Cyprus, on Saturday, May 14, 2016 as part of
Session 3, chaired by Professor Dr. Kenneth Owen Smith (University of Nicosia). The author wishes to thank
Professor Dr. Vasilis Kallis (University of Nicosia) for his reading of the paper at this event.
2 Claude V. Palisca, Humanism in Italian Renaissance Musical Thought (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1985); Ann
E. Moyer, Musica Scientia: Musical Scholarship in the Italian Renaissance (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1992); see
also Paul Oskar Kristeller, “The Renaissance and Byzantine Learning,” in Renaissance Concepts of Man and Other Essays,
ed. Paul Oskar Kristeller (New York: Harper and Row, 1972), 64-109.
3 Josef Koch, Artes liberales: Von der antiken Bildung zur Wissenschaft des Mittelalters (Leiden: Brill, 1959); David L. Wagner,
ed., The Seven Liberal Arts in the Middle Ages (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983; repr., 1986); Joseph Dyer,
“The Place of Music in the Medieval Classifications of Knowledge,” The Journal of Musicology 24 (2007): 3-71.
4 George Orvitt, Jr., “The Status of the Mechanical Arts in Medieval Classifications of Learning,” Viator 14 (1983):
89-105.
5 Nancy van Deusen, Theology and Music at the Early University: The Case of Robert Grosseteste and Anonymous IV (Leiden:
Brill, 1995); Werner Friedrich Kümmel, Musik und Medizin: Ihre Wechselbeziehungen in Theorie und Praxis von 800 bis
1800 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Alber, 1977); Heinz Grieser, Nomos: Ein Beitrag zur griechischen Musikgeschichte
(Heidelberg: Im Selbstverlag von F. Bilabel, 1937).
6 Thomas J. Mathiesen, “Hermes or Clio?: The Transmission of Ancient Greek Music Theory,” in Musical Humanism
and Its Legacy: Essays in Honor of Claude V. Palisca, ed. Barbaro Russano Hanning and Nancy Kovaleff Baker
(Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992), 3-35.
Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

written discourse, transmitted in manuscripts.7 Even after 1480, the year of the publication of
Franchino Gaffurio’s Theoricum opus musice discipline in Naples, the first published volume devoted
to musica speculativa, as an alternative designation of musica theorica, to appear in print, theorists
retained the strict separation of the two avenues of investigation, as is readily seen in the trilogy of
Gaffurio (1451-1522), issued in Milan between 1492 and 1518: the revised version of the
aforementioned Theoricum opus musice discipline (1480), the Theorica musice (Milan, 1492), the De
harmonia musicorum instrumentorum opus (Milan, 1518) devoted to the examination of the tonoi of the
Greek systema teleion8 and the Latin modes of Guido of Arezzo (991/92-after 1033),9 and the Practica
musicae (Milan, 1496) concentrated on the art of composition with recourse to the mensural
notation of Philippe de Vitry (1291-1361) disclosed in the path-breaking Ars nova (ca. 1320)10 and
applied in compositions of members of the Burgundian Court, among them Guillaume Dufay
(1397-1474), Gilles Binchois (ca. 1400-1460) Antoine Busnoys (ca. 1430-1492), and Pierre de la
Rue (ca. 1452-1518), and the Netherlands School of Composition, among them Josquin Desprez
(born ca. 1450-1455; died 1521), Johannes Ockeghem (ca. 1410-1497) and Jacob Obrecht
(1457/58-1505).
Notwithstanding the interest in musica practica by theorists and practitioners of the art of
music, including composers and performers, throughout the period of musical humanism, a new
interest, spurred by the true revival of an Italian Renaissance in music, awoke across a broader
constituency of the population. Such interest was perpetuated by the collecting of written accounts
on music preserved in manuscripts and through the ardent efforts of manuscript hunters placed
into libraries of higher learning, such as monasteries and universities.11 These precious documents,
which provided for interesting discussions in learned circles, such as the Florentine Camerata,
offered important insights into the origin of music, key to the revival of the ancient traditions,
including the Roman, Greek and Byzantine traditions, and that not as separate entities but rather
as a continuum in the broader unfolding of culture, as a function of historiography. 12 So pronounced
was the fascination with past eras that both the Greek and Byzantine traditions were kept alive
during the period of humanism and beyond.13

The Scholarship of Solon Michaelides in the Context of Music and Music


Theory of Ancient Greece: The Rekindling of Interest in the 1970s
The unprecedented interest in the music of ancient Greece during the 1970s, based on the ready
availability of the reliable editions of Greek writings, a venture spearheaded in particular by B. G.
Teubner, resulted in the publication of a number of monographs and bibliographies of primary
and secondary sources.14 After the appearance of these volumes, with each publication focussed

7 Charles André Barbera, “The Persistence of Pythagorean Mathematics in Ancient Musical Thought” (PhD diss.,
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1980); Peter A. Evans, Musica Theoretica and Musica Practica: A Persistent
Dichotomy—University of Southampton Inaugural Lecture Delivered at the University on May 9, 1963 (Southampton:
University of Southampton, 1963); Heinrich F. Plett, Rhetoric and Renaissance Culture (Boston: de Gruyter, 2004).
8 Thomas J. Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre: Greek Music and Music Theory in Antiquity and Middle Ages (Lincoln: University of
Nebraska Press, 1999).
9 Joseph Smits van Waesberghe, ed., Guidonis Aretini: Micrologus (Rome: American Institute of Musicology, 1955).
10 John Douglas Gray, “The Ars Nova Treatises Attributed to Philippe de Vitry: Translations and Commentary”
(PhD diss., University of Colorado at Boulder, 1996).
11 Palisca, Humanism, 23-50.
12 Claude V. Palisca, The Florentine Camerata: Documentary Studies and Translations (New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press, 1989).
13 Claude V. Palisca, Music and Ideas in the Sixteenth and Seenteenth Centuries (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2006).
14 Reinhold Merkelbach, “Die Altertumswissenschaft bei Teubner,” in Wechselwirkungen: Der wissenschaftliche Verlag als
Mittler: 175 Jahre B. G. Teubner, 1811-1986, ed. B. G. Teubner (Stuttgart: B. G. Teubner, 1986), 13-26; Egert
Pöhlmann, Denkmäler altgriechischer Musik (Nuremberg: H. Carl, 1970); Thomas J. Mathiesen, Ancient Greek Music

30
Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

on a number of carefully selected aspects of ancient Greek music, Jacques Chailley (1910-1999)
suggested the idea of a musical lexicon on Greek music of Antiquity in a scholarly paper,15 with
the notion of a lexicon on Greek music first realized in 1835,16 an endeavour which in turn signalled
a renewed interest in Greek music of Antiquity beyond the end of the nineteenth century. 17
Eventually, Solon Michaelides (1905-1979) engaged in a broader and thus a more comprehensive
coverage of the main topic in his The Music of Ancient Greek: An Encyclopaedia,18 a publication for
which the author received a major prize by the Academy of Athens on December 29, 1977, a year
prior to the release of this volume.19 His diverse training, as a student of Nadia Boulanger (1887-
1979) in harmony, counterpoint, and fugue, of P. Marie and Alfred Cortot (1877-1962) in piano at
the École normale in Paris, of Richard Thiberger in music pedagogy and piano at the Institute de
pédagogie musicale in Paris, of Guy de Lioncourt (1885-1961) in composition at the Schola cantorum in
Paris, and of Marcel Labey (1875-1968) in conducting, also at the Schola Cantorum, is fully borne
out in his compositions, often reflecting his ethnomusicological interests and his interest in ancient
Greek music and music theory, in particular the ancient Greek modes, the foundation of the systema
teleion,20 with numerous orchestral and stage works as well as cantatas, other choral works, chamber
music, and solo instrumental works to his credit.21 As author of books on Cypriot music, neo-
Hellenic folk music, modern Greek music, the music of England and Finland, and on the harmony
of modern music as well as articles on folk music,22 the literary activities of Michaelides culminated
in his preparation of the encyclopedia on ancient Greek music, the first full-scale publication of
such a broad scope in the English language. With his immense interest in and commitment to
pedagogy, reflected in his teaching of guitar and choral pedagogy at the Cypriot Conservatory in
Limassol, which he founded in 1934, and his teaching of composition, conducting, counterpoint,

Theory: A Catalogue Raisonné of Manuscripts. Répertoire Internationale des Sources Musicales, ser. B, vol. 9 (Munich:
Henle, 1988).
15 Jacques Chailley, “Contribution à une lexicographie musicale de la Grèce antique,” Revue de philologie, de littérature et
d’histoire ancienne 51 (1977): 188-201.
16 Friedrich von Drieberg, Wörterbuch der griechischen Musik in ausführlichen Artikeln über Harmonik, Rhythmik, Metrik,
Kanonik, Melopoie, Rhythmopoie, Theater, u.s.w.: Nach den Quellen neu bearbeitet (Berlin: Schlesinger, 1835).
17 For a survey of the secondary literature, including Greek music theory, beginning with the 1890s and extending to
the scholarship of Hugo Riemann (1849-1919) and Hermann Abert (1871-1927), see Ernst Graf, “Über den Stand
der altgriechischen Musikforschung,” in Bericht über den Zweiten Kongress der Internationalen Musikgesellschaft, Basel 1906,
ed. Oskar von Hase et al. (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1907), 154-60.
18 Solon Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece: An Encyclopaedia (London: Faber and Faber, 1978); also in Greek
version as Solon Michaelides, Ενκυκλοπαίδεια της αρχαίας Ελληνικής μουσικής (Athens: National Bank Cultural
Foundation, 1982; repr. 1989, 2003).
19 This information is provided on a typed note on a blue sheet of paper as a loose insert in the volume.
20 Henri Potiron, Les modes grecs antiques (Paris: Desclée, 1950).
21 Individual compositions written by Solon Michaelides are identified on the website of the Solon Michaelides
Cultural Foundation. For a discussion of Solon Michaelides’s cantata Ύμνος και Θρήνος για την Κύπρο [Hymn and
Lament for Cyprus] for baritone or mezzo-soprano, mixed chorus and orchestra or piano, based on lyrics by
Yiannis Ritsos (1975), see Georgia Petroudi, “The 1974 Morning: Hymn and Lament for Cyprus,” in Between Nostalgia,
Utopia, and Realities: The Tenth International Conference of the Department of Musicology, Faculty of Music, University of Arts in
Belgrade, 14-17 April 2010, ed. Tatjana Markovic (Belgrade: University of Arts, 2012), 252-62.
22 Solon Michaelides, Cypriot Folk Music (Nicosia: self-pub., 1944); Solon Michaelides, The Neo-Hellenic Folk Music
(Nicosia: self-pub., 1948); Solon Michaelides, “Greek Folk Music: Its Preservation and Traditional Practice,” Journal
of the International Folk Music Council 1 (1949): 21-24; Solon Michaelides, “Regional Committees for the Comparative
Study of Folk Music,” Journal of the International Folk Music Council 2 (1950): 28-32; Solon Michaelides, “Greek Song-
Dance,” Journal of the International Folk Music Council 8 (1956): 37-39; Solon Michaeldides, “The Neohellenic Folk
Music: An Introduction to Its Character,” in Volksmusik Südeuropas: Beiträge zur Volkskunde und Musikwissenschaft
anläßlich der 1. Balkanologentagung in Graz 1964–Rudolf Vogel zum 60. Geburtstad, ed. Walther Wünsch (Munich:
Trofenik, 1966), 153-64; Solon Michaelides, Modern Greek Music (Nicosia: self-pub., 1952); Solon Michaelides,
Modern English Music (Nicosia: self-pub., 1939); Solon Michaelides, Finnish Music (Nicosia: self-pub., 1940); Solon
Michaelides, Αρμονία της Σύγχρονης Μουσικής [Harmony of Contemporary Music]. 2 vols. Limassol: self-pub., 1945).

31
Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

fugue and harmony at the State Conservatory of Thessalonica, whose directorship he assumed in
1956 at the invitation of the Greek Ministry of Education, Michaelides was exceptionally well
poised to realize the enormous undertaking of the encyclopedia on Greek music. In fact, in his
preoccupation with pedagogy, Michaelides followed the venerable path of Plato (ca. 429 B.C.E. –
347 B.C.E.) and Aristotle (384-322 B.C.E.), both of whom extolled the discipline of music as an
ideal springboard for explorations in pedagogy, thereby tracing both the continuity and the change
within the unfolding of the Greek musical tradition.23 As conductor and general director of the
Symphony Orchestra of Northern Greece (1959-1970), which from 1969 onward was known as the
Thessalonica State Orchestra, he gained a profound insight into a broad range of repertory. His practical
experience as composer and conductor, as pedagogue and author, informed his presentations as
both guest lecturer at a number of American universities, including Yale University (New Haven,
Connecticut) and guest presenter at international music conferences across Europe and North
America, including Canada (Québec) and the United States of America (New York)24 — scholarly
activities which informed his writing in general and the completion of his encyclopedia on ancient
Greek music.

The Greek systema teleion: The Focus in Solon Michaelides’s The Music of
Ancient Greece: An Encyclopaedia
In the preface to The Music of Ancient Greece: An Encyclopaedia, Michaelides outlines the primary as
well as the secondary objectives when he states that “this encyclopaedia is principally addressed to
students of ancient Greek music; it is hoped however that it may be useful as a book of reference
to those incidentally interested in the matter.”25 In his foreword to Michaelides’s encyclopedia,
Reginald P. Winnington-Ingram (1904-1993), an experienced writer on Greek music,26 remarks
that “there are few who will not find the exploration of this encyclopaedia a fascinating and
rewarding pursuit.”27 As a scholar deeply committed to the discipline of musicology, the history of
music theory and music pedagogy, Michaelides has prepared a volume which is exemplary in its
broad coverage of multiple topics, including musical terminology,28 music theory,29 musical

23 Anton Friedrich Walter, “Die ethisch-pädagogische Würdigung der Musik durch Plato und Aristoteles,”
Vierteljahrsschrift für Musikwissenschaft 6 (1890): 388-415; Roderick Beaton, “Modes and Roads: Factors of Change
and Continuity in Greek Musical Tradition,” Annual of the British School at Athens 75 (1980): 1-11.
24 For further details see the website of the Solon Michaelides Cultural Foundation.
25 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, vii.
26 See, for example, Reginald P. Winnington-Ingram, Mode in Ancient Greek Music (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1936; repr. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1968); see also Reginald P. Winnington-Ingram, “Ancient Greek Music: A
Bibliography, 1932-1957,” Lustrum 3 (1958): 5-57.
27 Reginald P. Winnington Ingram, Introduction to Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, v.
28 For example, on the discussion of arsis-thesis, see Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 35. Michaelides’s
thorough approach to terminology is emulated in later studies; see, for example, Otto Steinmayer, “A Glossary of
Terms Referring to Music in Greek Literature Before 400 B.C.” (PhD diss., Yale University, 1986). For a
consideration of music terminology prior to Michaelides, see Ingemar Düring, “Studies in Musical Terminology in
5th-Century Literature,” Eranos 43 (1945): 176-97.
29 For example, on the diesis, a term with multiple meanings, see Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 81-82: “diesis
according to the school of Aristoxenus is the quarter-tone, while the Pythagoreans called diesis the semitone, 1/2
of a tone.”

32
Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

instruments,30 and components thereof, 31 dance,32 metrics,33 poetry, 34 types of song,35 as well as
theorists,36 composers,37 poets,38 performers,39 and philosophers40 intimately connected to this
discipline, in addition to an identification of extant melodies of ancient Greek music, transmitted
primarily as fragments in both original sources and modern transcriptions––under the entry
“Remains of Greek Music.”41 The subtitle of this volume clarifies the undertaking at hand and as
such sets this publication in bold relief to the publications of the pre-1980s.42 Michaelides steers
clear of a volume on ancient Greek music anchored in the continuous narrative of historiography,
by presenting an encyclopedia of over 1100 entries focussed on technical terms and proper names,
all with recourse to a consistent format. For each entry Michaelides, with recourse to the Roman
alphabet, provides an English transliteration of the Greek term, followed by the Greek characters,
and for the majority of entries the modern Greek pronunciation in an English phonetic version⎯in
essence underscoring the genuinely bilingual nature of the publication, a decision which is
commensurate with the principal audience of the book.
One of the most complex topics in the contemplation of the music of ancient Greece is
the systema teleion, often referred to by a number of related terms, such as the Greater Perfect System,
the Immutable System, and the Double Octave System, all with the same meaning, or simply by
the term “systema,” the latter by which Michaelides provides access to this broad topic in his
encyclopedia.43 In fact, of particular interest for the reflection upon ancient Greek music theory
and the significance of this area of study in the broader quest concerning the origin of music,
focussed on the retrieval of ancient knowledge, is the Greek systema teleion, with its complex
terminology and the mapping of this system onto Pythagorean arithmetic. 44 The latter facet of the
Greek systema teleion is readily seen in a number of terms with multiple meanings, such as the
harmoniai (embracing the concept of diapason, genos, intervallum, melodia, musica, systema teleion, tropos),45

30 For example, on the aulos, see ibid., 42-46.


31 For example, on the bombyx, see ibid., 52-53: “(a) the whole pipe, the principal body of the aulos; (b) in plural
Bombykes were called ‘collars’ (or wide rings) that had corresponding holes and could be turned to cover or
uncover the pipe holes.”
32 For example, on eklaktisma, see ibid., 92: “a kind of feminine dance in which the woman dancers had to kick the
feet high up and over the shoulder”; see also Lillian B. Lawler, The Dance in Ancient Greece (London: Adam & Charles
Black, 1964).
33 For example, on the metrike, see Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 207; see also metron (measure), 207-208.
34 For example, on the poeesis, see ibid., 262-63: “the word had a wide scope of significations in the ancient Greek
language. It was used to mean, especially in old times, the creation of construction of almost everything […] all
works made under the guidance of arts are creations (poeeseis) and their creators are poeetai.”
35 For example, on the dithyrambos, see ibid., 85-86: “a lyric song of an enthusiastic character sung in honour of
Dionysius.”
36 For example on Aristoxenos, see ibid., 33-35.
37 For example, on Argas, see ibid., 28-29: “4th century B.C. Athenian poet and kitharode of the time of Philip and
Alexander the Great.”
38 For example, on Stratonicus, see ibid., 305.
39 For example, on Olympus, see ibid., 225-26: “(1) Mythico-historical musician from Phryia, pupil of Marysas […];
(2) second Olymus, the younger, from Mysia in Asia Minor […]”
40 For example, on the Pythagorean philosopher Archytas, see ibid., 27-28.
41 Ibid., 285-90.
42 For an overview of the pre-1980 publications, see Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre, 669-783.
43 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 316-20.
44 Charles M. Atkinson, The Critical Nexus: Tone-System, Mode, and Notation in Early Medieval Music (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2009).
45 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 127-29 (on harmonia), 129-30 (on harmonia of the spheres); see also Thomas
J. Mathiesen, “Problems of Terminology in Ancient Greek Theory: APMONIA,” in Festival Essays for Pauline

33
Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

all of which Michaelides sets distinctly apart from one another, with each definition fully supported
by the identification of loci paralleli within the elementa musicae, functioning as the basis for the music-
theoretical discourse of the Middle Ages.46 On occasion, a number of related terms are juxtaposed
within a single entry, such as paraphonia, meaning concord “when two dissimilar sounds played [at
once] present no difference between themselves,”47 paraphonoi, meaning “those [sounds] between
concord and discord; when struck they give the impression of being concordant, as in the case of
three tones from parhypate meson (f) to paramese (b) and in the case of two tones from lichanos (diatonos)
meson (g) to paramese (b)48 and the use of the term paraphonoi in Longinus in the sense of ‘sweetening
the kyrios (principal) phtongos.’”49 Perhaps inspired by Michaelides, though he is not specifically
mentioned, this particular constellation of terminology has received attention in more recent
scholarship. With regard to the notion of the paraphonia, Rudolf Flotzinger (born 1939) draws
attention to the conflicting use of this term. Gaudentius (third or fourth century C.E.) resorts to
this term with reference to the interval of the ditonus and tritonus placed between consonance and
dissonance, whereas Theon of Smyrna (flourished 115-140 C.E.) and Michael Psellus (1018- ca.
1078) use this term to denote the consonances of the diapente and diatessaron.50
The term systema teleion, embracing the double octave and the various subdivisions of the
gamut into tetrachord (tetrachordon),51 pentachord (pentachordon),52 hexachord (hexachordon),53
heptachord (heptachordos),54 octachord (octachordon),55 and endecachord (hendekakroumatos),56 is not
accorded any entry in Michaelides’s encyclopedia. Rather Michaelides distributes the information
pertinent to the broad and in-depth understanding across several entries, such as the “systema,”
“harmoniai” and “tonos”57 as well as the nomenclature of the individual notes within the double
octave,58 and that in order to allow the reader multiple access points. While Michaelides for the
majority of the entries favours brevity over long-winded prose, a number of entries receive a more

Alderman: A Musicological Tribute, ed. Burton L. Karson et al. (Provo, UT: Brigham Young University Press, 1976),
3-17; Thomas J. Mathiesen, “Harmonia and Ethos in Ancient Greek Music,” The Journal of Musicology 3 (1984): 264-
79; Andrew Barker, The Science of Harmonics in Classical Greece (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007).
46 Klaus-Jürgen Sachs, “Musikalische Elementarlehre im Mittelalter,” in Rezeption des antiken Fachs im Mittelalter, ed.
Frieder Zaminer (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1990), 106-61.
47 Bacchius, Isagogue artis musicae, Paragraph 61; see Carl von Jan, Musici scriptores graeci (Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1895),
305; as cited in Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 238; see also Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Franchino Gaffurio
und seine Übersetzer der griechischen Musiktheorie in der Theorica musice (1492): Ermolao Barbaro, Giovanni
Francesco Burana und Marsilio Ficino,” in Musik als Text: Bericht über den Internationalen Kongreß der Gesellschaft für
Musikforschung, Freiburg im Breisgau 1993, 2 vols., ed. Hermann Danuser and Tobias Plebuch (Kassel: Bärenreiter,
1998), 1: 164-71, especially 168.
48 Bacchius, Isagogue 8; see Carl von Jan, [Musici scriptores graeci (Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1895)], 338; as cited in
Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 238.
49 Longinus 28.1; as cited in Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 238.
50 Rudolf Flotzinger, “Die Paraphonista oder: Klangprinzip und Organum,” in Max Lütolf zum 60. Geburtstag:
Festschrift, ed. Bernhard Hangartner and Urs Fischer (Basel: Wiese, 1994), 99-111, especially 101.
51 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 328-29; Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre, 244; Charles André Barbera, “Arithmetic
and Geometric Divisions of the Tetrachord,” Journal of Music Theory 21 (1977): 294-323.
52 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 245; Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre, 357.
53 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 138; Jacques Chailley, “L’Hexatonique grec d’après Nicomaque,” Revue des
études grecques 69 (1956): 73-100.
54 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 133-34; Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre, 244-46.
55 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 223; Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre, 245-46, 398-99, 402.
56 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 134; Charles André Barbera, “The Consonant Eleventh and the Expansion
of the Musical Tetractys: A Study of Ancient Pythagoreanism,” Journal of Music Theory 28 (1984): 191-223.
57 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 316-20, 127-29, 335-40, respectively.
58 On the onomasia or onomatothesia within the systema teleion, see ibid., 226-28. For example, on the discussion of the
mese, see ibid., 203-4.

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Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

detailed coverage, as for example the entries on the “mousike,”59 “aulos”60 and “ethos,”61 with the
latter two entries attesting to Michaelides’s own background as instrumentalist and pedagogue. The
entry on “ethos” illustrates Michaelides’s meticulous preparation of the text, as he begins with a
generic definition, that is, “in a general sense, principally the moral character of a person,” prior to
the application of this same term to a number of other specific contexts, such as “ethos of notes
and pitch,” “ethos of melos” (i.e. of melopoeia), “ethos of harmoniai” (i.e. of the tonoi), “ethos of
genera,” that is tetrachordal genera, such as diatonic, chromatic, enharmonic; and “ethos of
rhythms,” that is, in the context of the thesis or arsis as the basis for the coordination of the rhythm.62
For each category mentioned, Michaelides relies on the Greek authors, here foremost on the De
musica of Aristides Quintilianus (flourished late third – mid-fourth centuries C.E.),63 and to a lesser
degree on the Isagogue or Introduction to Harmonics of Cleonides (second or third century C.E.),64 on
the De musica of Plutarch of Chaeronea (flourished ca. 50- ca. 120 C.E.)65 and on the Bellermann
Anonymi.66 In the preparation of the entry on “mousike,” Michaelides is guided by the chronology
of the sources, from which he adopts the definition, beginning with the Poem Olympian I of Pindar
(522-518 B.C.E. – 442-436 B.C.E.), the Hymn of Pindar67, the Historiae of Herodotus (485-425
B.C.E.), and the Historiae of Thucydides (ca. 460 – ca. 400 B.C.E.),68 and then turning to the
branches of music education,69 here relying on the De musica of Aristides Quintilianus, the
Bellermann Anonymi, the De musica of Plutarch, and the Harmonica of Aristoxenos of Tarent
(375/360 B.C.E.- after 320 B.C.E.). For each of the lengthier entries Michaelides provides a detailed
bibliography of secondary sources.
Hitherto, Michaelides is the first and only scholar to offer a truly encyclopedic coverage of
ancient Greek music––a coverage which on the one hand elegantly paves the way for a number of
scholarly endeavours beginning in the 1980s, including the two-volume compilation by Andrew
Barker, and the individual contributions of Martin L. West, Warren D. Anderson, Thomas J.
Mathiesen, Andrew Barker and Stefan Hagel70––and on the other hand provides the solid basis for

59 Ibid., 213-16.
60 Ibid.
61 Ibid., 110-13; see also Warren DeWitt Anderson, “Paideia and Ethos in Hellenic Music, with Special Reference to
Literary Evidence Regarding the Modes” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1954).
62 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 110-13; see also Martin Vogel, Die Enharmonik der Griechen, 2 vols.
(Düsseldorf: Verlag der Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Systematischen Musikwissenschaft, 1963); Thrasybulos
Georgiades, Musik und Rhythmus bei den Griechen: Zum Urpsrung der abendländichen Musik (Reinbek bei Hamburg:
Rowohlt, 1958).
63 Giovanni Francesco Burana, trans., Aristides Quintilianus: Musica e graeco in latinum conversa, 15 April 1494, Verona,
Biblioteca Capitolare, MS CCXL (201), 1r–25v.
64 Giorgio Valla, trans., Cleonides: Harmonicum introductorium (Venice: Simon Papiens dictus Bevilaqua, 1497).
65 “Musica,” in Plutarchi Caeronei, philosophi, historicique clarissimi opuscula (quae quidem extant) omnia (Basel: In Officina
and. Cratandri, Mense Septembri, 1530), 25v–32v; see also Angelo Meriani, Sulla musica greca antica: Studi e ricerche
(Naples: Alfredo Guida, 2003), especially 49-82.
66 Dietmar Najock, Drei anonyme griechische Traktate über die Musik: Eine kommentierte Neuausgabe des Bellermannschen
Anonymous (Göttingen: Hubert & Company, 1972).
67 Ian Rutherford, Pindar’s Paens: A Reading of the Fragments with a Survey of the Genre (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2001).
68 Lorenzo Valla, trans., Thucydides: Historia belli Peloponnesiaci (Treviso: Johannes Rubeus Vercellensis, 1483).
69 Warren DeWitt Anderson, Ethos and Education in Greek Music: The Evidence of Poetry and Philosophy (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1966).
70 Andrew Barker, ed., Greek Musical Writings, 2 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984-1998); Martin L.
West, Ancient Greek Music (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992); Warren DeWitt Anderson, Music and Musicians in Ancient
Greece (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994); Thomas J. Mathiesen, “Greek Music Theory,” in The Cambridge
History of Western Music Theory, ed. Thomas Christensen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 109-135;

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Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

the examination and dissemination of the systema teleion during the era of musical humanism, 1400-
1600, and beyond.

Review and Reception of Solon Michaelides’s The Music of Ancient Greece:


An Encyclopaedia
Within a few months of its publication, the Encyclopaedia of Ancient Greek Music by Michaelides
received considerable attention in reviews, all of which appeared in a wide range of journals
between 1978 and 1980.71 While a detailed analysis of these reviews lies outside the scope of the
present contribution, three issues raised in these reviews warrant comment, as they clearly speak to
the misunderstood objective of this scholarly undertaking. Douglas D. Feaver bemoans the absence
of “general articles on such topics as ‘music in drama,’ ‘music in poetry,’ ‘melody and word accent,’
and ‘history of music in Greece’”––topics that obviously would drastically change the current
emphasis from the encyclopedia to a volume more intrinsically focussed on a history of ancient
Greek music with a continuous narrative, broken into individual chapters, each with one of the
topics suggested in this review. M. Owen Lee levies his criticism of Michaelides’s contribution at
an overly narrow approach, with regard to the unwarranted exclusions of major figures in Greek
music, including “Homer, Hesiod, Hippasus [of Metapont], Democritus, Philodemus, Theocritus,
Anonymus Bellermanni, Sextus Empiricus, Pausanias, Vitruvius, Martianus Capella, Saint
Augustine, Priscian, Boethius and Cassiodorus”––a compilation of Greek and Latin authors. In
this single-volume encyclopedia, Michaelides was obviously faced with some difficult decisions
regarding single entries on some of the principal forces behind ancient Greek music. While all of
the Greek contributors identified above undoubtedly play important roles in the shaping of ancient
Greek music and in the related secondary literature, their names generally do not surface in the
discussion of ancient Greek music introductory music history texts, and thus the English-speaking
student would in all likelihood not come into contact with the aforementioned Greek authors. With
regard to the Latin treatises, beginning with the De architectura of Marcus Vitruvius (1st century
B.C.E.)72 and ending with the Variae and the Institutiones humanarum litterarum, both of Flavius
Magnus Aurelius Cassiodorus (ca. 485-580), the exclusion of their contributions from the
encyclopedia in single articles is even more obvious, as Michaelides limits his individual entries
exclusively to important ideas that have been developed on Greek soil by Greek scholars, with the
inclusion of some Byzantine scholarship, especially when such endeavours prove significant in the
promotion of ancient Greek music. Any contribution to ancient Greek music by Latin scholars,
including the principal reviewer of the Greek tradition, Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius (ca.
480 – ca. 524),73 who is generally acknowledged as the “auctoritas,” as the most reliable
spokesperson on the reception of ancient Greek music and music theory, does not surface in this
encyclopedia, so that the student of ancient Greek music is required to consult other reference
works that embrace more directly and more fully the Latin tradition, such as Pauly’s Realenzyklopädie
der Klassischen Altertumswissenschaften, a multi-volume encyclopedia more broadly focussed on culture

Andrew Barker, Scientific Method in Ptolemy’s Harmonics, 2nd. ed. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006);
Stefan Hagel, Ancient Greek Music: A New Technical History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010).
71 Solon Michaelides’s The Music of Ancient Greece has been subject of reviews by Geoffrey Chew in Early Music 6
(1978): 595-97; Anthony Baines in Galpin Society Journal 32 (1979): 145-46; John G. Landels in The Classical Review,
New Series 29 (1979): 131-32; M. Owen Lee in Phoenix 33 (1979): 362-67; Douglas D. Feaver in The American
Journal of Philology 101 (1980): 231-34; P.M. Megas and P. Marie in Social Science 55 (1980): 60; Jon Solomon in The
Classical Journal 75 (1989): 356-57; and David Wulstan in Music and Letters 61 (1980): 88-89.
72 Frank Granger, ed. and trans., Vitruvius: On Architecture, 2 vols. (London: W. Heinemann; New York: Putnam,
1931–1934).
73 On Boethius’s seminal position as an auctoritas on both Greek and Latin systems of music, see Claude V. Palisca,
“Boethius in the Renaissance,” in Music Theory and Its Sources: Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. Charles André Barbera
(Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990), 259-80; also in Claude V. Palisca, Studies in the History of
Italian Music and Music Theory (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 168–88.

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Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

from the Greek, Byzantine, and Latin orbits.74 Finally, Geoffrey Chew remark that “Michaelides’s
book is hardly aimed at the readership of Early Music,” suggests a less than sympathetic view on
the encyclopedia, as the reviewer has failed to acknowledge the true merits of Michaelides’s heroic
undertaking.
The latter criticism leads us to a reconsideration of the principal audience of the volume,
the students of ancient Greek music, though without identifying their level of experience with the
subject matter or with music as a whole. Judging from the aforementioned aim of this volume, as
articulated by Michaelides himself, the author in his assemblage of the pertinent materials and the
completion of the draft of the encyclopedia, was likely thinking of university students, either at the
undergraduate level or the graduate level, unfamiliar with the topic of ancient Greek music, so that
this volume would serve as a complement to the instructional materials used in the delivery of
classes, specifically textbooks as well as other readings from the vast secondary literature, such as
scholarly papers and monographs, with an overview provided in Mathiesen’s Apollo’s Lyre75. Here
significant differences exist in the academic instruction in music offered in European and North
American institutions, which arise already from the student’s general preparedness in foreign
languages. While European students may rely on languages other than their mother tongue, many
North American students do not read outside their native language — a factor that was at the
forefront of Michaelides’s thoughts in the preparation of the encyclopedia. And in the inquiry into
the field of ancient Greek music, where foreign languages, especially Latin, French, German, and
Italian, play a decisive role in the disclosing of information, as readily gathered from the secondary
literature, the general preparedness of students, including their language skills, plays a most decisive
role in the development of the curriculum and the tailoring thereof to their needs, so as to assure
a successful delivery of the course content, let alone of the segment on ancient Greek music.
In North America, the textbook market is saturated with a wide array of volumes, all of
which include one or several chapters on ancient Greek music. The volumes range from texts
especially suited for introductory music history surveys 76 to period surveys of the Antiquity and
the Middle Ages suited for use in more advanced music history surveys,77 and finally a number of
highly specialized volumes,78 an in-depth examination of music in a broad social context, a survey
of the discipline of music during the period of musical humanism, based on the study of largely
manuscript sources and early printed volumes, with a more integrated approach to the study of the

74 Konrat Ziegler, ed., Pauly’s Realenzyklopädie der Klassischen Altertumswissenschaft, 68 vols., 15 supplements and 1 register
(Stuttgart: Metzler, 1894-1980; Munich: Druckenmüller, 1956-1991).
75 Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre; see also Mathiesen,”Greek Music Theory.”
76 Charlotte Roederer, “Medieval Music: The Historical Background and Cutural Sources,” in Schirmer History of Music,
ed. Leonie Rosenstiel (New York: Schirmer; London: Macmillan, 1982), 6-13; Barbaro Russano Hanning, Concise
History of Western Music (New York: W.W. Norton, 1998), 1-12; K. Marie Stolba, The Development of Western Music
(Boston: McGraw Hill, 1998), 8-17; Mark Evan Bonds, History of Music in Western Culture (Upper Saddle River, NJ:
Prentice Hall, 2006), 4-11; Douglas Seaton, Ideas and Styles in the Western Musical Tradition (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2010), 1-8; Craig Wright and Bryan Simms, Music in Western Civilization (Boston: Cengage, 2010), 4-14;
Richard Taruskin and Christopher H. Gibbs, The Oxford History of Western Music, college ed. (New York: Oxford
University Press, 2013), 1-6; L. Peter Burkholder, Donald Jay Grout, and Claude V. Palisca, A History of Western
Music, 9th ed. (New York; W.W. Norton, 2014), 4-19.
77 Curt Sachs, The Rise of Music in the Ancient World, East and West (New York: W.W. Norton, 1941), 198-311; Gustav
Reese, Music in the Middle Ages, with an Introduction on Music of Ancient Times (New York: W.W. Norton, 1963), 11-53;
Isobel Henderson and David Wulstan, “Introduction: Ancient Greece,” in Music from the Middle Ages to the
Renaissance, ed. Frederick W. Sternfeld (New York: Praeger, 1971), 1-58; Albert Seay, Music in the Medieval World
(Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1973), 15-22; Jeremy Yudkin, Music in Medieval Europe (Englewood Cliffs, NJ:
Prentice Hall, 1989), 19-27; Andrew Barker, “Public Music as ‘Fine Art’ in Archaic Greece,” in Antiquity and the
Middle Ages: From Ancient Greece to the 15th Century, ed. James McKinnon (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1990),
45-67.
78 Paul Henry Lang, Music in Western Civilization (Nw York: W.W.Norton, 1941), 1–20.

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Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

history of music theory from the Greek, Byzantine and Latin orbits,79 a similar approach geared
towards the students enrolled in the field of Classical, Medieval and Renaissance studies, with less
experience with the field of music,80 and finally a volume with a focus on a series of primary
documents serving as the basis for historiography. 81 For each of these volumes, Michaelides’s
encyclopedia of ancient Greek music may indeed serve the students as an additional source of
reference in familiarizing themselves with a challenging and complex topic. An illustration
concerning the manner in which this suggestion may be put into practice is provided in the closer
examination of the three-page introduction to “Greek Music Theory,” focused on the
comprehensive disclosure of the systema teleion, with the systems of melodic modes and of rhythms
accounted.82 The excerpt from this textbook has been enlarged by a number of references to
Michaelides’s encyclopedia, with entries that may serve as convenient points of access into the
encyclopedia, thus allowing the students to clarify issues of terminology as a means of deepening
their overall understanding of the lectures and relevant readings.

No writings by Pythagoras survive,83 and those of his followers exist only in


fragments quoted by later authors. The earliest theoretical works we have are
Harmonic Elements and Rhythmic Elements (ca. 330 B.C.E.) by Aristoxenus,84 pupil
of Aristotle.85 Important later writers include Cleonides (ca. second or third
century C.E.),86 Ptolemy,87 and Aristides Quintilianus.88 These theorists
defined concepts still used today, as well as ones specific to ancient Greek
music. Their writings show how much the Greeks valued abstract thought,
logic, and systematic definition and classification, an approach that has
influenced all later writing on music […].
In Harmonic Elements, Aristoxenus distinguishes between continuous movement
of the voice, gliding up and down as in speech, and diastematic (or intervallic)
movement,89 in which the voice moves between sustained pitches separated by
discrete intervals.90 A melody consists of a series of notes, each on a single
pitch;91an interval is formed between two notes of different pitch; 92 and a

79 Palisca, Humanism [with references to Greek Music and Music Theory throughout this volume].
80 Gloria K. Fiero, The Humanistic Tradition: The First Civilizations and the Classical Legacy (Boston: McGraw Hill, 2006),
76–112.
81 Pierro Weiss and Richard Taruskin, eds., Music in the Western World: A History in Documents (Belmont, CA: Thomson;
New York: Schirmer, 2008), 1–12.
82 Burkholder, Palisca, and Grout, History of Western Music, 15-17. Here, only the passages in reference to the Greek
melodic modes are reproduced. The text in bold and italics is presented as in the original. The examples
accompanying the text are not reproduced.
83 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Pythagoras,” in Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 282-83.
84 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Aristoxenus,” in ibid., 33-35.
85 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Aristotle,” in ibid., 31-33.
86 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Cleonides,” in ibid., 67-68.
87 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Ptolemaeus,” in ibid., 278-79.
88 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Aristides Quintilianus,” in ibid., 29-30.
89 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Aristoxenus,” in ibid., 33-34.
90 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “diastema,” in ibid., 77-78; see also Albrecht Riethmüller, “Logos und Diastema
in der griechischen Musiktheorie,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 42 (1985): 18-36.
91 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “tonos,” in Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 335-40.
92 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Ibid.

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scale is a series of three or more different pitches in ascending or descending


order. […]93
Unique to the Greek system were the concepts of tetrachord94 and genus (pl.
genera).95 A tetrachord (literally, “four strings”) comprised four notes spanning
a perfect fourth. There were three genera (classes) of tetrachord, shown in
Example 1.1: diatonic,96 chromatic,97 and enharmonic.98 The outer notes
of the tetrachord were considered stationary in pitch, while the inner two notes
could move to form different intervals within the tetrachord and create the
different genera. Normally the smallest intervals were at the bottom, the largest
at the top. The diatonic tetrachord included two whole tones and a semitone.
In the chromatic, the top interval was a tone and a half (equal to a minor third)
and the others semitones. In the enharmonic, the top interval was the size of
two tones (equal to a major third) and the lower ones approximately quarter
tones.99 All these intervals could vary slightly in size, giving rise to “shades”
within each genus. […]
Since most melodies exceeded a fourth, theorists combined tetrachords to
cover a larger range. Two successive tetrachords were conjunct if they shared
a note, as do the first two tetrachords […] or disjunct if they were separated
by a whole tone, as are the second and third tetrachords. The system shown in
the example, with four tetrachords plus an added lowest note to complete a
two-octave span, was called the Greater Perfect System.100 The outer, fixed
tones of each tetrachord are shown in open notes, the movable inner tomes in
black notes.
Each note and tetrachord had a name to indicate its pale in the system. […] the
middle note was called “mese” (middle)101 […]
Cleonides noted that in the diatonic genus the three main consonances of
perfect fourth, fifth, and octave were subdivided into tones (T) and semitones
(S) in only a limited number of ways, which he called species.102
Since most melodies exceeded a fourth, theorists combined tetrachords to
cover a larger range. Two successive tetrachords were conjunct if they shared
a note, as do the first two tetrachords […] or disjunct if they were separated
by a whole tone, as are the second and third tetrachords. The system shown in
the example, with four tetrachords plus an added lowest note to complete a
two-octave span, was called the Greater Perfect System. The outer, fixed

93 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Ibid.


94 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “tetrachordon,” in ibid., 328.
95 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “genus, genos,” in ibid., 121-22.
96 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Diatonon genos,” in ibid., 79.
97 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Chromatikon genos,” in ibid., 65-67.
98 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “Enharmonion genos,” in ibid., 100-101; see also Vogel, Die Enharmonik der
Griechen.
99 [Kreyszig’s footnote]. Further on this topic, see Lotte Kallenbach-Greller, “Die historischen Grundlagen der
Vierteltöne,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 8 (1926): 473-85.
100 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “systema,” in Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 316-20; see also John
Curtis, “Reconstruction of the Greater Perfect System,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 44 (1924): 10-23.
101 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “mese,” in Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 203-204.
102 [Kreyszig’s footnote]: Michaelides, “harmoniai,” in ibid., 127-29.

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Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

tones of each tetrachord are shown in open notes, the movable inner tomes in
black notes.
Each note and tetrachord had a name to indicate its place in the system. […]
the middle note was called “mese” (middle) […]
Cleonides noted that in the diatonic genus the three main consonances of
perfect fourth, fifth, and octave were subdivided into tones (T) and semitones
(S) in only a limited number of ways, which he called species.

The coordination of the chosen passage from the textbook with specific points of entry
into Michaelides’s encyclopedia is perhaps not as self-evident, as it might appear on the surface,
especially with regard to issues of terminology. For Michaelides uses English transliterations of his
terminology as a point of entry into the encyclopedia, whereas in the textbook there is an exclusive
reliance on English terminology. This unavoidable discrepancy between the encyclopedia and the
textbook has already been voiced by Douglas D. Feaver, one of the reviewers of Michaelides’s
encyclopedia. The issue of compatibility between the two secondary sources will be enhanced as a
result of the involvement of the instructor familiar with both the textbook and the encyclopedia.
The intervention of the instructor as the mediating voice between the textbook and the
encyclopedia assures the appropriate applicability of the latter source of reference — a fact which
substantiates the noble endeavour of Michaelides and in the end enhance the suitability of his
publication.

The systema teleion vis-à-vis the Guidonian System


The examination of the Greek systema teleion is a rather complex topic, as seen from the discussion
of this central facet of Greek music theory and its reception through the ages Already in the era of
pre-humanism, such a discussion has on occasion given rise to considerable confusion of the Greek
system of the tonoi and the Latin system of the Western modi, the latter also known as the Guidonian
modes, with both of these scalar systems associated with the same nomenclature of the respective
eight modes, that is, Dorian, Hypodorian, Phrygian, Hypophrygian, Lydian, Hypolydian, Mixolydian, and
Hypomixolydian, yet with considerable differences in total interval content of each mode in the
respective system, as is readily gathered from even a most cursory inspection of the succession of
half and whole steps within the Greek and Latin systems.103
Already Vitruvius (in his De architectura 5.3) had remarked that “harmonics [i.e. the systema
teleion] is an obscure and difficult subject to read and write about, particularly for those who do not
know Greek letters.” The aforementioned Gaffurio, one of the principal humanists,104 reflected
on Vitruvius’s comment, though without giving credit to Vitruvius’s De architectura, in his own
Theorica musice (1492), where he states that “it is true that prior to this arrangement of the letters
[i.e. in reference to the Guidonian modes], scribes indicated the steps by certain very difficult

103 For a schematic illustration of the eight tonoi of the Greek systema teleion, see Claude V. Palisca, “Theory, theorists,”
in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (London: Macmillan,
2001), 25: 359-76, especially 362. For a schematic illustration of the Guidonian system of eight modes, see Richard
H. Hoppin, Medieval Music (New York: W.W. Norton, 1978), 65; Charles M. Atkinson, “Fifteen Modes Versus
Eight: On the Background of a Medieval and Renaissance Theoretical Conflict,” in Musik des Mittelalters und der
Renaissance: Festschrift Klaus-Jürgen Sachs zum 80. Geburtstag, ed. Rainer Kleinertz et al. (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 2010),
1-14.
104 Palisca, Humanism, 191-225. Incidentally, Gaffurio is the only humanist to whom Palisca devotes an entire chapter;
see also Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Franchino Gaffurio als Vermittler der Musiklehre des Altertums und des
Mittelalters: Zur Identifizierung griechischer und lateinischer Quellen in der Theorica musice (1492),” Acta
Musicologica 65 (1993): 134-50; see also Davide Daolmi, ed., Rittrato di Gaffurio (Lucca: Libreria Musicale Italiana,
2017).

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Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

cyphers [i.e. in reference to the Greek notational symbols].”105 However, the same nomenclature
applied to two different scalar systems, at least for Gaffurio, provided ample enough reason to
explain the Latin system of the modi as a derivative of the Greek system of the tonoi, obviously
without realizing that these two systems shared nothing in common beyond the scale as the most
fundamental idea behind the respective systems.106 Even Gaffurio’s consultations of two other
treatises in Latin translations, both by Nicolo Leoniceno (1428-1524), namely, the De musica of
Aristides Quintilianus and the De harmonia of the Byzantine Manuel Bryennius (flourished ca.
1300)107––treatises in which the respective authors include a detailed analysis of the systema teleion
with a careful distinction between the tonoi108 and the octave species109—did not provide the
necessary clarification of the Greek scalar system for Gaffurio’s completion of his De harmonia
musicorum instrumentorum opus (1518), a volume in which Gaffurio had made considerable progress
in the clarification of the systema teleion, with the individual steps of the two-octave scale assigned
specific numbers, though without explaining the details of the Pythagorean arithmentic. 110 Yet, we
still witness some of the same confusion of the Greek and Latin scalar system, already reported
more than two decades earlier in the Theorica musice (1492)––with the misread Greek text and its
subsequent transmission during the era of humanism serving as an example of the so-called
“submerged literature,” coined by Luigi Enrico Rossi.111 The vexing issue surrounding the
comparison of Greek and Latin scalar systems was laid to rest by Vincenzo Galilei (ca.1520-1591)
in his Dialogo della musica antica et della moderna (Florence, 1581),112 with his acknowledging of the
Greek and Latin systems as independent of one another rather than the examination of the Latin
modes providing profound insights into the emergence of the Greek tonoi.

The Longevity of the Systema Teleion: Music-Theoretical Terminology


During the Renaissance and Beyond

Hitherto, little attention has been devoted to the examination of the impact of Greek music
on the music of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.113 In the early years of the eighteenth
century, Pierre Jean Burette (1665-1747)––since 1705 professor of medicine of the Académie
Royale, founded by Louis XIV (1638-1715) in 1663––during his tenure gradually shifted his interest

105 Gaffurio, Theorica musice 5.6 [11]; see also Walter Kurt Kreyszig, trans., Franchino Gaffurio: The Theory of Music (New
Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993), 172.
106 Even during the latter part of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the connection between the Greek
and Latin melodic systems is explored in the secondary literature; see, for example, Miljenko M. Dabo-Peranić, The
Greek Harmoniai Identical With the Church Modi (East Northport, NY: Sunrise Press, 1988).
107 G. H. Jonker, ed. and trans., The Harmonics of Manuel Bryennius (Groningen: Walters-Noordhoff, 1970).
108 Jon Solomon, “Towards a History of Tonoi,” The Journal of Musicology 3 (1984): 242-51.
109 Charles André Barbera, “Octave Species,” The Journal of Musicology 3 (1984): 229-41.
110 Herbert Kreyszig and Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “The Transmission of the Pythagorean Arithmetic in the Context of
the Ancient Musical Tradition from the Greek to the Latin Orbits During the Renaissance: A Computational
Approach of Identifying and Analyzing the Formation of Scales in the De harmonia musicorum instrumentorum opus
(Milan, 1518) of Franchino Gaffurio (1451-1522),” in Mathematics and Computation in Music: First International
Conference, MCM 2007, Berlin, Germany, May 2007—Revised Selected Papers, ed. Timour Klouche and Thomas Noll
(Berlin: Springer, 2009), 389-402.
111 Luigi Enrico Rossi, “L’autore e il controllo del testo nel mondo antico,” Seminari romani di cultura greca 3 (2000):
165-181; see also Angelo Meriani, “The Submerged Musicology of Ancient Greece,” in Submerged Literature in
Ancient Greek Culture: Case Studies, 2 vols., ed. Giulio Colesanti and Laura Lulli (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016), 1: 325-38.
112 Claude V. Palisca, trans., Vincenzo Galilei: Dialogue on Ancient and Modern Music (New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press, 2003).
113 Ingemar Düring, “Impact of Greek Music on Western Civilization,” in Acta Cluniane Aongressus Madvigiani: Hafniae
1954—Proceedings of the Second International Congress of Classical Studies 1954, 5 vols., ed. Fédération internationale des
associations d’études classiques (Copenhagen: E. Munksgaard, 1957-1958), 1: 169-84.

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to the study of ancient music, research that was initially recognized by a number of his
contemporaries, among them Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg (1718-1795), Jean-Benjamin de la Borde
(1734-1794) and Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778), but during the nineteenth century fell into
oblivion. 114 The interest in Greek musical sources was revived in the twentieth century, with a
focus on some of the few surviving fragments. 115 On the other hand, far less attention was generally
accorded to the reception history of Greek music theory, with special attention to the reception of
the systema teleion addressed below.
Notwithstanding the erroneous connections between the systema teleion and the Guidonian
system, which emerged in the music-theoretical discourse of the Renaissance, with Gaffurio as one
of the principal theorists in pursuit of this problematic connection, facets of the systema teleion
surfaced in both practical sources and the music-theoretical discourse. In his De institutione musica,
Boethius included a detailed description of the eight Greek tonoi116––a topic which was taken up
by a number of Renaissance theorists, among them the aforementioned Gaffurio in his Theorica
musice, as well as Pietro Aaron (ca. 1480 - 1545) in his Toscanello de la musica (Venice, 1523) and
Heinrich Glarean (1488-1563) in his Dodecachordon (Basel, 1547), in their in-depth examinations of
the ethos associated with each mode, based on the particular theorist’s personal interpretation,
which in turn accounts for the discrepancies in description. 117 For example, in the case of Dorian
mode, Gaffurio associates this mode with a feeling of modesty and constancy (De harmonia 4.2).
Glarean, on the other hand, attributes a majestic and grave feeling to the same mode (Dodecachordon
2.21).
While the composers of the Burgundian School of Composition on the whole resorted to
the French mensural system as disclosed by Philippe de Vitry, the representatives of the
Netherlands School of Composition, benefiting from the Ars nova notation, were frequently
preoccupied with a more enigmatic manner of composition, as readily revealed in the fusion of
traditional notation and canonic inscriptions,118 thereby often embracing terminology of Greek
Antiquity.119 In the Kyrie of his Missa sine nomine, Josquin des Prez fuses the traditional notation of
the Ars nova for the superius, altus and bassus with a canonic inscription “tenor in dyatessaron
sequentibus signis,” which calls upon the musician to derive the non-cantus firmus carrying tenor

114 Frieder Zaminer, “Pierre Jean Burette (1665-1747) und die Erforschung der antiken Musik im Rahmen der Pariser
Inschriften-Akademie,” in Akademie und Musik—Erscheinungsweisen und Wirkungen des Akademiegedankens in Kultur-
und Musikgeschichte: Institutionen, Veranstaltungen, Schriften—Festschrift für Werner Braun zum 65. Geburstag, zugleich Bericht
über das Symposium “Der Akademiegedanke in der Geschichte der Musik und angrenzender Fächer,” Saarbrücken 1991, ed. Wolf
Frobenius et al. (Saarbrücken: Saarbrücker Druckerei und Verlag, 1993), 289-99.
115 Thomas J. Mathiesen, “New Fragments of Ancient Greek Music,” Acta Musicologica 53 (1981): 14-32.
116 Calvin M. Bower, “Boethius and Nicomachus: An Essay Concerning the Sources of De institutione musica,” Vivarium
16 (1978): 1-45; see also John Caldwell, “The De Institutione Arithmetica and the De Institutione Musica,” in Boethius:
His Life, Thought and Influence, ed. Margaret Gibson (Oxford: Blackwell, 1981), 134-54; Flora Rose Levin, Nicomachus:
The Manual of Harmonics: Translation and Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Phanes, 1994). For more on Nicomachus
as the precursor to Boethius, see Flora R. Levin, The Harmonics of Nicomachus and the Pythagorean Tradition (University
Park, PA: The American Philological Association, 1975); Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 110-13.
117 For an overview of this topic, see Claude V. Palisca, “Mode Ethos in the Renaissance,” in Essays in Musicology: A
Tribute to Alvin Johnson, ed. Lewis Lockwood and Edward Roesner ([Philadelphia]: American Musicological Society,
1990), 126-39.
118 On this shift in notation, see Katelijne Schiltz, Music and Riddle Culture in the Renaissance (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2015).
119 Bonnie J. Blackburn and Leofranc Holford Strevens, “Juno’s Four Grievances: The Taste for the Antique in
Canonic Inscriptions,” in Musikalische Quellen––Quellen zur Musikgeschichte: Festschrift für Martin Staehelin zum 65.
Geburtstag, ed, Ulrich Konrad (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 159-74.

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voice from the superius at a distance of eight tactus,120 as indicated by the signum congruentiae supplied
in both the Manuscript Jena, Thüringer Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek MS 3 (folio 105 verso – 115
recto) and the 1514 print by Ottaviano Petrucci (1466-1539) of the Missarum Josquin liber tertius, and
at an interval of the perfect fourth, here with reference to the Greek terminology of the tetrachord
as a constituent element of both Greek and Latin modes, though with a different internal interval
configuration in the Greek and Latin traditions.121
Within Gioseffo Zarlino’s motet cycle based on the Songs of Songs, his setting of “Ecce
tu pulchra es,” which concludes the first chapter of text, stands distinctly apart from the remaining
polyphonic settings in this collection, as Zarlino (1517-1590) resorts to a contrapuntal canon
between the superius and the tenor, with the canon highlighted by the regula (canonic inscription)
“Canon fuga trium tempore in diapason” placed above measure 1 of the tenor and its resolution
entering in the superius beginning in measure 9.122 Here Zarlino, as a mediator between the systema
teleion and the Guidonian system, as readily gathered from his Le istitutioni harmoniche (Venice, 1558)
and his Dimostrationi harmoniche (Venice, 1571), changes from the largely Latin canonic inscription
to the Latin transliteration of the Greek diapason, with this change obviously borrowed from the
music-theoretical discourse, where the Greek nomenclature for indicating intervals is standard
practice, and that without the distinction between two distinctly different methods of describing
intervals, namely, the one based on the reason (logos) of Pythagoras and the other based on the
sensory perception (aisthesis) of Aristotle.123 In fact, with regard to the identification of intervals
with recourse to the systema teleion, this practice also found application in polyphonic repertories
north of the Alps. For his “Creator omnium, Deus,” the sole motet in the Antwerp Motet Book
embracing a canon, Orlando di Lasso (1532-1594) resorts to a canonic inscription “Fuga in
diapente” above the altus I with the resolution of the regula occurring in tenor II in measure 10,
with the respective voices following one another at a distance of one tactus.124 However, Lasso is
not consistent in the wording of his regula, as is readily seen, for example, in his motet “Verbum
caro factum est,” preserved in his Thesaurus musicus (Nuremberg, 1564) where the canon at the
interval of the sixth is signalled in a completely Latin regula, that is, “Canon ad sextum,” placed
above cantus II, with the resolution occurring in altus II in measure 11.125
The canonic procedures, a hallmark of the Netherlands School of Composition, find their
continuation on German soil, particularly at the Court of Emperor Maximilan II in Munich, in the
œuvre of Orlando di Lasso. In his “De profundi clamavi,” of his Psalmus Sextus penitentialis [Psalm
129 (130)] from the set of seven Pentitential Psalms,126 Lasso invokes the systema teleion in a more
concentrated manner when he embraces the intervals of the subdiapente and the diatessaron,
respectively, in two consecutive verses, that is, in Verse 2 to the text “Fiant aures tuae audientibus”
in the regula “Fuga in subdiapente” above the altus with a resolution of the canonic inscription in

120 Theodor Dumitrescu and Peter Urquhart, Josquin des Prez: Canonic Masses, Josquin des Prez: New Edition of the
Collected Works 12 (Utrecht: Koninklijke Vereniging voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis, 2012), 35-66,
especially 36-38.
121 Annie Bélis, “Les terms grecs et latins désignant des spécialités musicales,” Revue de philologie, de littérature et d’histoire
anciennes 62 (1988): 227-50.
122 Cristle Collins Judd, ed., Gioseffo Zarlino: Motets From 1549, Part 1: Motets Based on the Songs of Songs, Recent Researches
in the Music of the Renaissance 145 (Madison, WI: A-R Editions, 2006), 29-34, especially 29.
123 Hermann Walter, “Logos und Aisthesis: Zum Methodenstreit der antiken Musiktheorie,” International Journal of
Musicology 3 (1994): 43-55.
124 James Erb, ed., Orlando di Lasso: Il primo libro de mottetti a cinque et a sei voci (Antwerp, 1556), Recent Researches in the
Music of the Renaissance 114 (Madison, WI: A-R Editions, 1998), 103-108, especially 103.
125 Peter Berquist, ed., Orlando di Lasso: Motets for Four to Eight Voices from Thesaurus musicus (Nuremberg, 1564) Recent
Researches in the Music of the Renaissance 132 (Madison, WI: A-R Editions, 2002), 81-88, especially 81.
126 Peter Berquist, ed., Orlando di Lasso: The Seven Penitential Psalms and Laudate Dominum de Caelis, Recent Researches
in the Music of the Renaissance 86 (Madison, WI: A-R Editions, 1990), 146-56, especially 148.

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the tenor at the interval of a perfect fifth and a distance of one tactus and in Verse 3 to the text “Si
inequalitates observaveris” in the regula “Fuga contraria in diatessaron,” that is, the inversion of the
altus with its declamatory style (recitatio) occurring in the tenor at the interval of a perfect fourth
and a distance of one tactus. In both verses, Lasso, in his resorting to a regula, places special emphasis
on his tribute to the ancient psalm tone,127 with two facets, namely, the recitation tone and the
cadence of the once-transposed Hypolydian mode, underscored in two inner voices (altus and
tenor). It is perhaps no surprise that with the regula for Verses 2 and 3 of Psalm 129, Lasso is
pondering the seemingly close correlation between text and music, perhaps as a conscious
reflection upon the musica reservata,128 with the admonishment of the listener contained in the text
“Let thy ears be attentive,” poignantly underscored by the words of this regula for Verses 2 and 3,
embracing the central message of the psalm. That Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) was familiar
with the Greek modal system, is readily apparent from his Fuga canonica in Epidiapente included in
the Musikalische Opfer, BWV 1079.129
In spite of the gradual waning of interest in the examination of this subject matter, on
occasion, however, even musicians who were steeped in the review of musical practices in their
treatises and/or correspondence combine their reflections on older compositional traditions with
a keen interest in historiography, the latter path of inquiry which naturally leads to an examination
of archaic systems, specifically aspects of the systema teleion and the Guidonian system. In his Das
beschützte Orchestre (Hamburg, 1717), Johann Mattheson (1681-1764), interested in music of
Antiquity,130 who was indebted to Boethius for the transmission of the systema teleion in his De
institutione musica and to Guido of Arezzo for the exposition of the solmization in the Micrologus (ca.
1026), places these venerable systems of earlier periods in bold relief to the traditional eighteenth-
century music-theoretical discourse––with the resultant coverage of the material responsible for a
brief correspondence between Mattheson and George Frederick Handel (1685-1759), with
Mattheson’s initial letter, dated February 21, 1719, also indicative of Mattheson’s more profound
interest in Handel as a composer of opera and as biographer of Handel. 131 For Handel, in response
to Mattheson’s letter, in which Mattheson alludes to his juxtaposition of ancient music theory and
contemporary reflections on past and current musical practices, questions the validity of
Mattheson’s pedagogy in exposing the student of music, and presumably the reader of his treatise
at large, to the Greek tonoi (“les modes grecs”) — a topic to which Handel attributes little relevance
in the context of a deeper understanding of “modern music.” Indeed, Handel’s letter to Mattheson,
dated 24 February 1719132, on the one hand, juxtaposes the age-old dichotomy of musica theorica, a
term which embraces the notion of musica speculativa or abstract music theoretical thought, and
musica practica, a term which encompasses the totality of compositional practices and related
performance practices of instrumental and vocal repertoires, with this dichotomy constituting the
disciplina musicae of the consummate fully-trained musicus, as opposed to the cantor (also known as

127 Mattias Lundberg, Tonus Peregrinus: The History of a Psalm Tone and Its Use in Polyphonic Music (Farnham: Ashgate,
2011).
128 Maria Rika Maniates, Mannerism in Italian Music and Culture, 1530-1630 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina
Press, 1979).
129 For a resolution of this canon, see Christoph Wolff, ed., Johann Sebastian Bach; Kanons [and] Musikalisches Opfer,
Johann Sebastian Bach: Neue Ausgabe sämtlicher Werke, ser. 8, vol. 1 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1974), 75-77.
130 Hans Nehrling, “Die antiken Versfüße, ihre Problematik und Überlieferung bei Johann Mattheson,” in Musik als
Text: Bericht über den Internationalen Musikwissenschaftlichen Kongreß, Freiburg im Breisgau, 28. September – 1. Oktober 1993,
2 vols., ed. Hermann Danuser und Tobias Plebuch (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1994), 2: 34-37.
131 J. Merrill Knapp, “Mattheson and Handel: Their Musical Relations in Hamburg,” in New Mattheson Studies, ed.
George J. Buelow and Hans Joachim Marx (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 307-26; Alfred Mann,
“Mattheson as Biographer of Handel,” in ibid., 345-52.
132 John Mainwaring, G. F. Händel: Nach Johann Matthesons deutscher Ausgabe von 1761 mit anderen Dokumenten, ed.
Bernhard Paumgartner, 2nd ed. (Zurich: Atlantis, 1987), 166-69.

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the phonascus) whose knowledge is restricted solely to the practice of music without recourse to the
theory underlying the practice.133 On the other hand, this letter draws into question the retention
of this dichotomy in the era of the baroque.
As late as the mid-eighteenth century, the preoccupation with the music systems of
Antiquity, the Middle Ages and the Renaissance informs the contemporary music-theoretical
discourse focussed on organology and performance practices––a fact which is readily gathered
from the Gründliche Violinschule (Augsburg, 1789) of Leopold Mozart (1719-1787) and, admittedly
to a lesser extent, from the Versuch die Flöte traversiere zu spielen (Berlin, 1752) of Johann Joachim
Quantz (1697-1773).
In his “A Short History of Music” (“Versuch einer kurzen Geschichte der Musik”), which
forms part of the introduction to the Gründliche Violinschule, Leopold Mozart, in a characteristic
humanist vein,134 with which he was thoroughly acquainted as a result of his familiarity with a
broad range of written documentation, including compendia, commentaries, treatises, speeches,
letters, and translations, discloses a lengthy list of major contributors to the unfolding of
historiography—an enumeration of names that at first glance seems to carry little intrinsic meaning
within the overall treatise focussed on contemporary violin pedagogy, directly related to violin
organology and performance practice. However, in his letter of November 6, 1755, which forms
an integral part of the copious correspondence, comprising some twenty-seven letters, written
between April 1755 and April 1756, with the editor and publisher of his Gründliche Volinschule,
Johann Jakob Lotter (1726-1804), Leopold Mozart focuses on the text of his treatise in the galley
proof stage, showing utmost sensitivity with regard to the order in which the individual music
theorists are identified, with a request for emendations of the comprehensive listing,135 so as to
document a coherent unfolding of the music-theoretical discourse. Incidentally, the approach of
L. Mozart to musical humanism, in which the Greek systema teleion forms an integral part in the
overall deliberations, in the cryptic listing of important contributors to musical historiography,
shows a rather close affinity to Gaffurio, with the density of the presentation in the opening chapter
of the Theorica musice stemming from the disclosing of names, and that without reference to the
individual contribution(s) of the writers mentioned or the contextualization of their scholarship. In
fact, the importance of Gaffurio and the dissemination of his music-theoretical thought to
subsequent generations of musicians, is readily apparent in the Proportiones practicabiles secundum
Gaffurium of John Dygon (flourished 1497-1538).136 Beyond that volume, the reception of
Gaffurio’s theoretical discourse is fully borne out by the fact that within L. Mozart’s Gründliche
Violinschule, Gaffurio is the only theorist to receive two distinct references in the chapters framing
“A Short History of Music” of the Gründliche Violinschule, namely, to the Theorica musice137 and Practica

133 Dagmar Hoffmann-Axthelm, ‘“Musicus und Cantor’: Kontinuität und Wandel eines Topos durch (mehr als) ein
Jahrtausend,” Basler Jahrbuch für Historische Musikpraxis 32 (2008): 13-29.
134 For more on this facet of scholarship during the humanist era, see Gaffurio, Theorica musice 1.1; see also Kreyszig,
trans., Franchino Gaffurio: The Theory of Music, 7-29.
135 Wilhelm A. Bauer and Otto Erich Deutsch, eds., Mozart: Briefe und Aufzeichnungen — Gesamtausgabe, 7 vols. (Kassel:
Bärenreiter, 1962-1975), 1: 1-48, especially p. 19; see also Albi Rosenthal, “Leopold Mozart’s Violinschule Annotated
by the Author,” in Mozart Studies, ed. Cliff Eisen (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 83-99.
136 Theodor Dumitrescu, ed. and trans., John Dygon’s Proportiones practicabiles secundum Gaffurium (Urbana: University of
Illinois Press, 2006).
137 Leopold Mozart, “Der Einleitng zweyter Abschnitt: Von dem Ursprunge der Musik, und der [sic!, den]
musikalischen Instrumenten,” in Gründliche Violinschule, 1789, facsimile repr. with a preface by David Oistrach
(Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1983), 11. For the English translation, see Editha Knocker, trans., “Introduction–
Second Section: Of the Origins of Music, and Musical Instruments,” A Treatise on the Fundamental Principles of Violin
Playing by Leopold Mozart, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1951; repr. 1985), 17.

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musicae,138 respectively—a facet which points beyond a mere coincidence. While the majority of
music theorists mentioned in the “Short History of Music” contribute to the system of the Latin
modes and/or tonality, a number of writers identified also make reference to the systema teleion as a
hierarchical scale system139 central to the development of musica as a scientia speculativa and scientia
practica.140 The union of musica theorica (that is, musica speculativa) and musica practica (that is, compositio)
is central to the music-theoretical discourse and the all-encompassing aesthetics of Zarlino, who,
in his two treatises, that is, the Le istitutioni harmoniche and Dimostrationi harmoniche,141 underscores
the perfection of musica, and that in the consideration of both subdisciplines as a perfect union
between rational faculty (facultas rationalis) and sensory perception (perceptio sensuum).142 With the
mentioning of Zarlino, L. Mozart touches on a theorist, known for his all-encompassing aesthetics,
which arises out of his vast discourse on musica theorica, arithmetica, cosmologia, historia, philosophia, and
theologia.143 In his Le istitutioni harmoniche, Zarlino expands the tetraktys (represented by the integers
1, 2, 3, 4),144 by which several of his predecessors, such as Bartolomeus Ramos de Pareja (ca. 1440-
after 1490) in his Musica practica (Bologna, 1482), Giovanni Spataro (1458-1541) in his Tractato di
musica (Venice, 1531), Lodovico Fogliano (ca. 1475-1542) in his Musica theorica (Venice, 1529)145
and Gaffurio were able to derive the consonances of the genus multiplex (with the diapason
represented in the ratio 2:1) and the genus superparticularis (with the diapente as 3:2; diatessaron as 4:3;
and diapason-plus-diapente as 3:1; and the bisdiapason as 4:1), to the senario (represented by the integers
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6), that is, the division of the string into 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 equal segments (passus), in order
to extend the consonances to encompass the major third (5:4), minor third (6:5), major sixth (5:3),
and minor sixth (8:5),146 the latter owing to its position outside the senario, which had to be
accounted for through the process of adding the intervals of a perfect fourth and a minor third
(4/3 x 6/5), with the expanded scheme of consonances justified in the context of the syntonic

138 Mozart, “Des ersten Haupstücks erster Abschnitt: Von den alten und neuen musikalischen Buchstaben und
Noten, wie auch von den itzt gewöhnlichen Linien, und Musikschlüsseln,” in Gründliche Violinschule, 21; Knocker,
trans., “Chapter 1: Of the Old and New Musical Letters and Notes, together with the Lines and Clefs Now in
Use,” in A Treatise, 25.
139 See, for example, Reginald P. Winnington-Ingram, “The Spondeion Scale,” The Classical Quarterly 22 (1928): 83-
91.
140 Even through the era of Viennese classicism, the art of composition was perceived as a Kompositionswissenschaft; at
least in the eyes of Haydn, who resorted to this term in summarizing and praising Mozart’s skill and achievement
as a composer; as reported by Leopold Mozart in a letter to his daughter Maria Anna, dated Vienna, 16 February
1785, printed in Bauer and Deutsch, eds., Mozart: Briefe und Aufzeichnungen, 3: 373.
141 For a continuation of Zarlino’s thoughts as expressed in his L’istitutione harmoniche (1558) and Dimostrationi
harmoniche (1571), see John Emil Kelleher, “Zarlino’s ‘Dimostrationi Harmoniche’ and Demonstrative
Methodologies in the Sixteenth Century” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1993).
142 Wolfgang Horn, “Est modus in rebus …”: Gioseffo Zarlinos Musiktheorie und Kompositionslehre und das Tonarten-Problem
in der Musikwissenschaft, 2 vols. (Hannover: [no publisher], 2000).
143 Raffaelo Monterosso, “L’estetetica di Gioseffo Zarlino,” Chigiana 24 (1967): 13-28. Zarlino’s deliberations are
focused on the quadrivium as well as on the concept of the musica mundana; see, Paolo Sanvito, “Le sperimentazioni
nelle scienze quadriviali in alcuni epistolari Zarliniani inediti,” Studi musicali 19 (1990): 305-18; Brigitte van
Wymeersch, “La musique comme reflet de l’harmonie du monde: L’exemple de Platon et de Zarlino,” Revue
philosophique de Louvain 97 (1999): 289-311.
144 Benito R. Rivera, “Theory Ruled by Practice: Zarlino’s Reversal of the Classical System of Proportions,” Indiana
Theory Review 16 (1995): 145-70. For a discussion of the tetraktys, see Palisca, Humanism, 244-50.
145 Claude V. Palisca, “The Science of Sound and Musical Practice,” in Science and the Arts in the Renaissance, ed. John
William Shirley and F. David Hoeniger (Washington, D.C.: Folger Shakespeare Library; London: Associated
University Presses, 1985), 59-73; Claude V. Palisca, “Humanism and Music,” in Humanism and the Disciplines, ed.
Albert Rabil Jr. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1988), 450-85.
146 William Roy Bowen, “Music and Number: An Introduction to Renaissance Harmonic Science” (PhD diss.,
University of Toronto, 1984); see also Kurt von Fritz, “The Discovery of Incommensurability by Hippasus of
Metapontum,” Annals of Mathematics 46 (1954): 242-64.

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Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

diatonic tuning, already advocated by Claudius Ptolemy (flourished 127-148 C.E.) in his Harmonics
and subsequently adopted by Gaffurio (in his De harmonia 2.18ff.), yet eventually subject to criticism
by Galilei in his Dialogo147—a fact which presumably accounts for Leopold Mozart’s inclusion of
his name in the list of theorists.
Galilei opposed the views of his teacher Zarlino, who had set forth musical rules based on
rational principles of arithmetic. In his Dialogo, Galileli replaced the syntonic-diatonic tuning of
Zarlino with a tuning of vocal music, considered a compromise between the Pythagorean system
with its pure fifth and Ptolemy’s syntonic diatonic with its consonant third. This flexibility allowed
for both consonant chords and the infusion of chromaticism, in substituting the modern modes
for the tonoi of the systema teleion. It was the tonoi, which Galilei, on the one hand, considered as most
inappropriate for the time, while, on the other hand, he advocated the continued imitation of the
ancient Greek tradition, specifically in the firm adherence to the monodic style with its single line
characterized by the narrow vocal range and the rhythmic inflections of poetry and speech. Indeed,
Galilei’s more antiquarian perspective is readily seen in his overview of organology in his Fronimo
(Venice, 1568) and notational systems, the latter which include the reproducing of the Alypian
tables as a key to unlocking the Greek notation. 148
In his widely disseminated twelve-volume Margarita philosophica (Freiburg im Breisgau,
1503), the first encyclopedia of philosophy to appear in Germany, and one of the principal
monuments of medieval meterology, Gregor Reisch (ca. 1467-1525), the cleric from the Diocese
of Konstanz and recipient of a magister atrium (1489) from the University of Freiburg im Breisgau,
who subsequently held a number of diverse professional portfolios as instructor at the Universität
Ingolstadt and Universität Freiburg, and as scholarly and spiritual councellor of Emperor Maximilian I
(reigned 1508-1519), in Book 5 of his treatise touches on the pillars of the music theoretical and
music philosophical discourse, including the Guidonian system of the modes and solmization as
well as the divisiones monochordi149 and the systema teleion, the latter with reference to a number of
Greek and Latin authorities, including Asclepiades de Bithynia (ca. 130 – ca. 40 B.C.E.), Jubal,
Plato, Pythagoras, Boethius and Saint Augustine of Hippo (354-430 C.E.)150, with the latter author
signalling the end of Antiquity.
Among the list of prominent writers supplied in the aforementioned “A Short History of
Music,” Leopold Mozart’s inclusion of Giovanni Battista Doni (1595-1647) is indicative of a
considerable widening of the scope of inquiry beyond the overall listing of predominantly

147 Claude V. Palisca, “Scientific Empiricism in Musical Thought,” in Seventeenth-Century Science and the Arts, ed. Hedley
H. Rhys (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961), 91-137.
148 For a reproduction of the Alypian tables, see Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre, 599; James Murray Barbour, “The Principles
of Greek Notation,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 13 (1960): 1-17.
149 Robert Ritter von Srbik, Die Margarita philosophica des G. Reisch (+1525): Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der
Naturwissenschaften in Deutschland (Vienna: Hölder-Pichler-Tempsky and Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1941);
Robert [Ritter von] Srbik, “Maximilian I. und Gregor Reisch,” Archiv für Österreichische Geschichte 122 (1961): 235-
340; also published as Maximilian I. und Gregor Reisch, ed. Alphons Lhotsky (Vienna: H. Böhlaus Nachf.,
Kommissionsverlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien, 1961); Andrew Barker,
“Aristoxenos’ Theorems and the Foundations of Harmonic Science,” Ancient Philosophy 4 (1984), 23-64; Malcolm
Litchfield, “Aristoxenus and Empiricism: A Reevaluation Based on His Theories,” Journal of Music Theory 32 (1988):
51-73; see also Gaston G. Allaire, The Theory of Hexachords, Solmisation and the Modal System: A Practical Application,
(Rome: American Institute of Musicology, 1972); David E. Creese, The Monochord in Ancient Greek Harmonic Science
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010).
150 J. T. Vallance, The Lost Theory of Asclepiades of Bithynia (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990); Judith Cohen, “Jubal in
the Middle Ages,” Yuval 3 (1974): 83-99; Marsilio Ficino, trans., Plato: Opera (Basel: Heinrich Petri, 1576); Andrew
Hicks, Composing the World: Harmony in the Medieval Platonic Cosmos (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017);
Christiane L. Joost-Gaugier, Measuring Heaven: Pythagoras and His Influence on Art in Antiquity and the Middle Ages
(Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006); William Roy Bowen, “St. Augustine in Medieval and Renaissance
Musical Science,” in Augustine on Music: An Interdisciplinary Collection of Essays, ed. Richard R. La Croix (Lewiston,
NY: Edwin Mellen, 1988), 29-51.

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Walter Kurt Kreyszig, “Ancient Greek Music Theory in the Context of Historiography: Filling a Lacuna in the Study of the Greek Systema Teleion –
The Music of Ancient Greece: an Encycolopaedia (1978) by Solon Michaelides”
Mousikos Logos – Issue 3 (2016–18) – ISSN: 1108-6963

contributors to music theory. In the case of Doni, fluent in both Greek and Latin, with his training
in the disciplines of languages, geography and mathematics, Mozart turns his attention to a classicist
and philologist, less interested in the prevailing contemporary historiography, bur rather committed
to a revitalization of the old traditions for contemporary practice, with his intent clearly witnessed
in his Compendio dell trattato de’ generi e de’ modi della musica (Rome, 1635). In this treatise, Doni offers
a contemporary interpretation of the systema teleion in its application to modern composition. In his
later De praestantia musicae veteri (Florence, 1647), Doni continues his preoccupation with the systema
teleion in the clarification of the concept of the genus (chromatic and enharmonic)—a facet of the
Greek melodic system which Nicola Vicentino (1511-ca.1576) had failed to address in his L’antica
musica (Rome, 1557), where he vehemently voiced his objection to the Pythagorean tradition in
favour of Aristotle and Aristoxenos.151 Doni, in his contribution to the already much debated
classification of the tetrachords according to Aristoxenos, Archytas of Tarent (435-410 B.C.E. –
355-350 B.C.E.), Didymus Chalcenterus (63 B.C.E. – 10 C.E.), and Ptolemy152, and the more
contemporary interpretation of this topic in the Musica theorica (Venice, 1529) of Fogliano, 153 the
Discorso sopra la musica antica e moderna (Venice, 1602) and the De modis musicis antiquorum ad Petrum
Victorium libri IIII, preserved in Manuscript Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS. Lat. 5323, both
of Girolamo Mei (1519-1594),154 in the De musica libri septem (Salamanca, 1577; 2nd ed. 1592) of
Francesco de Salinas (1513-1590), in the Theoria musice (1.1 ff.) of Gaffurio, in the Dialogo della musica
and in the Discorso intorno (Florence, 1589), both of Galilei and in the Le istitutioni harmoniche of
Zarlino (the latter three authors who receive mention in L. Mozart’s brief account on the history
of music), extended the interpretation of the seven octave species by Ptolemy in his Harmonics to
the even modi, with each modus encompassing seven tones with the characteristic interval content
(two whole tones followed by a half tone, followed by three whole tones, followed by a half
tone),155 in essence according the feature of transposition for the Dorian mode by Ptolemy 156 to
the remaining octave species of the systema teleion.157 A staunch supporter of the Pythagorean tuning,
Doni favored the diatonon of Didymus with the interval relations 9:8, 10:9 and 16:15, and that in
contrast to the diatonic syntonic of Ptolemy with the ratios 10:9, 9:8 and 16:15.158 In view of
Leopold Mozart’s own training as a violinist, he was perhaps most attracted to Doni’s Lyra barberina
(1632-1635), a detailed account of the history with inconographic representations of Greek string
instruments––a volume which undoubtedly provided for L. Mozart a means of retracing his own
instrument historically to Antiquity and the early Middle Ages, and that through a number of
instruments developed by Doni himself, such as the lyra barberina, the violone panarmonico and the

151 Pietro d’Abano, Expositio problematum Aristotelis (cum text latine) (Mantua: Paulus Johannis de Puzpach, 1475); see
also F. Alberto Gallo, “Greek Text and Latin Translations of the Aristotelian Musical Problems: A Preliminary
Account of the Sources,” in Music Theory and Its Sources: Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. Charles André Barbera
(Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990), 190-96; Barker, “Aristoxenos’ Theorems,” 23-64;
Litchfield, “Aristoxenus and Empiricism,” 51-73.
152 Carl A. Huffman, Archytas of Tarentum: Pythagorean, Philosopher and Mathematician King (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2005); see also Alan C. Bowen, “The Foundations of Early Pythagorean Harmonic Science:
Archytas, Fragment 1,” Ancient Philosophy 2 (1982): 79-104; R. C. Phillips, “Mean Tones, Equal-Tempered Tones,
and the Harmonic Tetrachords of Claudius Ptolemy,” Memoirs and Proceedings of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical
Society 48 (1904): 1-8.
153 Palisca, Humanism, 235-44.
154 Eisuke Tsugami, ed. Girolamo Mei: De modis (Tokyo: Keiso Shobo, 1991).
155 Martin Vogel, “Die Zahl Sieben in der spekulativen Musiktheorie” (PhD. diss. University of Bonn, 1954).
156 Hugo Riemann, “Die dorische Tonart als Grundskala der griechischen Notenschrift,” Sammelbände der
Internationalen Musikgesellschaft 4 (1902-1903): 558-69.
157 Claude V. Palisca, “Giovanni Battista Doni’s Interpretation of the Greek Modal System,” Journal of Musicology 15
(1997): 3-18.
158 James Murray Barbour, Tuning and Temperament: A Historical Survey, 2nd ed. (East Lansing: Michigan State College
Press, 1953).

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violino diarmonico.159 In the case of Doni, the considerable broadening of the examination to the
systema teleion, that is, lifting the systema teleion out of its tradition of Antiquity and tracing the
significance of the Greek scale in a decisively contemporary practice, with recourse to the discipline
of organology—an approach to which L. Mozart presumably took considerable liking in his
Gründliche Violinschule—finds a continuation in the scholarship of Solon Michaelides, who in his
encyclopedia juxtaposes the systema teleion of Antiquity with an application of this venerable scalar
system to the musical instruments, with a detailed consideration of the lyra, what he calls “the pre-
eminent national instrument of ancient Greece”160—an instrument with a lengthy history
extending into the era of the Renaissance and beyond, with this lineage familiar to Leopold Mozart.
With the mentioning of Johann Joachim Quantz (1697-1773), the eminent flutist,
organologist, author of the Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte traversière zu spielen (Berlin, 1752), and
teacher, foremost of Frederick the Great (1712-1786), under whom he was employed at the Court
of Sansoucci in Potsdam, L. Mozart returns to a true musicus, one familiar with both branches of
the disciplina, namely, musica theorica and musica practica, as readily illustrated in his Versuch. In his
discussion of the range of the flute in Chapter 3 entitled “Of the Fingering or Application, and the
Gamut or Scale of the Flute” of his Versuch, Quantz, in his defence of the untempered tuning,
includes a number of poignant references to the diesis (smaller semitone, defined by the ratio
256:243) and apotome (larger semitone, defined by the ratio 2187:2048),161 with reference to the
“kleine Halbton” (small semitone) and “große Halbton” (large semitone), as well as to the Greek
terminology of the diesis, however, not of the apotome. On the whole, the overall discussion of the
untempered scale is congruent with the tenor of Mozart’s presentation of the chromatic scale in
his Gründliche Violinschule, with the designation of the pitches within the chromatic scale, particularly
with recourse to the flat and the sharp, and the effect of the notation on the bowing, addressed in
a letter of Leopold Mozart to Lotter in Augsburg, dated Salzburg, December 22, 1755, preserved
in the British Library unter the siglum Add. MS 19437,162 with this document implicitly drawing on
the smaller and larger semitones.

159 Claude V. Palisca, G. B. Doni’s Lyra Barberina: Commentary and Iconographical Study––Facsimile Edition with Critical Notes
(Bologna: A.M.I.S., 1981). That Doni’s interests in organology extended far beyond the string instruments is amply
documented in the secondary literature; see, Patrizio Barbieri, “Gli strumenti poliarmonici di G. B. Doni e il
ripristino dell’antica musica greca (ca. 1630-1650),” Analecta musicologica: Veröffentlichungen der Musikgeschichtlichen
Abteilung des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom 30 (1998): 79-114.
160 Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 189-93, especially 189; see also Martha Maas and Jane McIntosh Snyder,
Stringed Insruments of Ancient Greece (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1989), 36; Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre, 237-
70.
161 Johann Joachim Quantz, “Das III. Hauptstück: Von der Fingerordnung oder Application, und der Tonleiter oder
Scala der Flöte,” in Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte traversière zu spielen, 1752, repr. with a forward by Hans-Peter
Schmitz (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1983), paragraphs 3 (for diesis) and 8 (for apotome); trans. by Edward R. Reilly as
“Chapter 3: Of the Fingering or Application, and the Gamut or Scale of the Flute,” in Johann Joachim Quantz: On
Playing the Flute, 2nd ed. (New York: Schirmer, 1985; repr. Boston: Northeaster University Press, 2001).
The diesis is derived as follows:
diapason (2/1) – diapente (3/2 = fourth (4:3)
diatessaron (4:3) – two tonos = 4:3 – (9:8) x 2 = 256:243
In his treatise, Quantz mentions neither the arithmetic ratio nor the derivation thereof
The apotome is derived as follows:
Tonus – diesis = 9/8 – 256:243 = 2187:2048
In his treatise, Quantz mentions neither the arithmetic ratio nor the derivation thereof.
162 Anja Morgenstern, “Ein unbekannter Brief von Leopold Mozart an Johann Jakob Lotter aus dem Jahre 1755 zur
Violinschule,” Mozart-Jahrbuch (2014): 307-13.

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Undoubtedly, Mozart, in his preoccupation with the musical humanist tradition163, must
have left an undeniable impact upon his son164, for Wolfgang Amadeus (1756-1791), with his
interest in ancient languages (Greek and Latin)165, resorted to certain facets of the Greek systema
teleion in his own teaching, as becomes readily apparent from the notebook of his most advanced
student, Thomas Attwood (1765-1838).166 In the Harmonieübungen, W. A. Mozart, in his notation
of the two-octave chromatic scale, consciously steers away from the interpretation of pitches, such
as cis und des, as enharmonic spellings of one another, and that by introducing an alternate
nomenclature, that is, c diesis for cis (English c-sharp) and D b moll for des (English d-flat). At that very
moment, W. A. Mozart, like Quantz, is obviously thinking not of the equal temperament but rather
of the older Pythagorean tuning, where the c diesis or cis is not equal distant between the c and the
d but rather spatically closer to the c than to the d. Likewise, the D b moll is spatially closer to the d
and to the c. In order to communicate this message without a lengthy written explanation, W.A.
Mozart introduces Attwood to the concept of the diesis, which, according to the School of
Aristoxenos, as reported by Theon of Smyrna, “is the quarter-tone.”167 On the other hand,
Aristides Quintilianus himself defines the diesis as “the smallest interval of the voice”168—a
definition which in turn is congruent with Aristoxenos’s own observation, namely, that “the voice
cannot differentiate, nor can the ear discriminate, any interval smaller than the smallest diesis.”169
Later in the Harmonieübungen, Attwood makes reference to the “greater half tone,” denoting the
interval between c and D b moll, in reference to W.A. Mozart’s earlier terminology170 and ‘the lesser
half tone’, obviously in reference to the Greek apotome171 and the diesis, respectively.172 Curiously
enough, W.A. Mozart does not make explicit mention of the ‘greater half tone’ or the Greek
equivalent, that is, the apotome, but such discussion between teacher and student must have taken
place orally, presumably in connection with the examination of the tetrachordal genera. Even at the
beginning of the nineteenth century, aspects of the Greek systema teleion continue to surface at least
in dictionaries, as is readily seen in detailed discussion of the intervals by Heinrich Christoph Koch

163 Walter Kurt Kreyszig, ‘“Leopold Mozart … a man of much … sagacity’: The Revival of Humanist Scholarship
in his Gründliche Violinschule (Augsburg, 1789),” in Music’s Intellectual History: First Conference of the Répertoire International
de Littérature Musicale, The City University of New York Graduate Center, 17-19 March 2005, ed. Zdravko Blažekovič and
Barbara Dobbs Mackenzie (New York: Répertoire International de Littérature Musicale, 2009), 43-156.
164 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s interest in the humanist tradition is readily seen from the holdings in his own library,
such as, Heinrich Braun, Einleitung in die Götterlehre der alten Griechen und Römer: Zum Gebrauch der Schulen (Augsburg:
Elias Tobias Lotter, 1776); see Manuel Lichtwitz, “Brauns Götterlehre. Augsb. 776,” in “Allzeit ein buch”: Die
Bibliothek Wolfgang Amadeus Mozarts — Ausstellung im Malerbuchkabinett der Bibliotheca Augusta vom 5. Dezember 1991 bis
zum 15. März 1992, ed. Ulrich Konrad and Martin Staehelin (Weinheim an der Bergstrasse: VCH Acta Humaniora,
1991), 72-73.
165 Ulrich Konrad, “On Ancient Languages: The Historical Idiom in the Music of Wolfgang Amadé Mozart,” trans.
Thomas Irvine, in The Century of Bach and Mozart: Perspectives on Historiography, Composition, Theory and Performance, ed.
Sean Gallagher and Thomas Forrest Kelly (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, 2008), 253-78.
166 Erich Hertzmann, Cecil B. Oldman, Daniel Heartz, and Alfred Mann, eds., Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Neue
Ausgabe sämtlicher Werke, ser. 10, Werkgruppe 30, vol. 1 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1965), 8.
167 Theon of Smyrna; as cited in Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 81; see also Eduard Hiller, ed., Theonis
Smyrnaei philosophi Platonici: Expositio rerum mathematicarum ad legendum Platonem utilium (Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1878;
reprint New York: Garland, 1987).
168 Aristides Quintilianus, De musica; as cited in Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 81; see also Charles W. L.
Johnson, “The Motion of the Voice in the Theory of Ancient Music,” Transactions of the American Philological
Association 30 (1899): 42-55
169 As cited in Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 81.
170 Hertzmann and Oldman, Thomas Attwoods Theorie- und Kompositionsstudien, 8
171 For an overview of the apotome, see Michaelides, The Music of Ancient Greece, 26.
172 Hertzmann and Oldman, Thomas Attwoods Theorie- und Kompositionsstudien, 27.

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(1749-1816), with the reference to the diesis (ratio 128:125) capturing a facet of the Pythagorean
tradition.173

Conclusion
In our continued study of the Greek systema teleion, we, too, need to cast aside an exceedingly
stringent preoccupation with issues of origin wrapped into a broader consideration of
historiography and instead focus on a more in-depth examination of the Greek systema teleion per se,
in order to engage more fully in the (re)discovery of the Greek tonoi, with their subtle intricacies,
unforeseen complexities, and hidden aural beauties, with the notion of kalos (beauty), understood
here in a perceptional context, 174 specifically as an experience of pleasure or satisfaction, firmly
anchored in Greek culture and aesthetics,175 reaching back to the pre-socratic era of Pythagoras
and its association with Orpheus,176 and continuing in the writings of Plato177 as well as occupying
a place of prominence in the music-philosophical reflections of Johann Gottfried von Herder
(1744-1803).178
In the endeavour mentioned above, our examination will be greatly enhanced by the
multifaceted explorations of the Greek systema teleion not only in scholarly papers, monographs, and
bibliographic studies but also in the encyclopedic literature. Among the latter contributions we pay
special tribute to the seminal contribution made by Solon Michaelides with his Music in Ancient
Greece: An Encyclopaedia—a volume, which by the very nature of its cogent organization and
transparency in content, even nearly forty years after its publication, offers a much needed
introduction to our ongoing pre-occupation with the Greek systema teleion, both in the narrow sense
as the musical space of circumscribing and defining the eight melodic modes of the Greeks and in
the broad sense of associating this musical system with other important facets of Greek culture,
including dance, paideia, and religion. Here, Michaelides’s Music in Ancient Greece: An Encyclopaedia
has undoubtedly provided an invaluable document in understanding the systema teleion, central to
the study of music theoretical sources in the Medieval university,179 as a framework for forming
melodies,180 and that as a genuine and unique system independent of its younger Latin modal

173 See entry “Groß,” in Heinrich Christoph Koch, Musikalisches Lexikon, facsimile repr. with an introduction by
Nicole Schwindt (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2001), 625-98, especially 698.
174 Francis Ames-Lewis and Mary Rogers, eds., Concepts of Beauty in Renaissance Art (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998). The
idea of beauty associated with the Greek tonoi is still alive in nineteenth-century discourse; see Georg Joseph Vogler,
Abt. Vogler’s Choral-System: Zwölf griechische Tonarten […] (Copenhagen and Stockholm: Kongl. Privilegierade Not-
Tryckeriet, 1800); see also Georg Joseph Vogler, “Jede Quelle der Schönheit von ihrer Entstehung an, bis auf den
letzten Augenblick aufdecken,” in Wolfgang Gratzer, Komponistenkommentare: Beiträge zu einer Geschichte der
Eigeninterpretation (Vienna: Böhlau, 2003), 93-114.
175 Thomas J. Mathiesen, “Music, Aesthetics, and Cosmology in Early Neo-Platonism,” in Paradigms in Medieval
Thought Applications in Medieval Disciplines: A Symposium, ed. Nancy van Deusen and Alvin E. Ford (Queenston, ON:
Edwin Mellen, 1990), 57-60.
176 Rudolf Heinz, “Klang-Kallistik: Notizen zu Orpheus und der Schönheit der Musik,” in Rudolf Heinz,
Psychopathologie, Logik, Sinne: Affekte, Musik, bildende Kunst (Essen: Die blaue Eule, 1987), 172-87; also in Der Schein
des Schönen, ed. Dietmar Kamper and Christoph Wulf (Göttingen: Steidl Gerhard, 1989), 411-24.
177 [Anonymous], The Idea of Beauty According to the Doctrine of Plato (Edinburgh: [no publisher], 1756); see also Andrew
Barker, “Mathematical Beauty Made Audible: Musical Aesthetics in Ptolemy’s Harmonics,” Classical Philology 105
(2010): 403-25.
178 Wilhelm Dobbek, “Johann Gottfried Herder: Kallichoe, der Quell der Schönheit,” in Festschrift für Walter Wiora
zum 30. Dezember 1966, ed. Ludwig Finscher and Christoph-Hellmut Mahling (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1967), 105-11.
179 For more on this topic, see Michel Huglo, “The Study of Ancient Sources of Music Theory in the Medieval
Universities,” in Music Theory and Its Sources: Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. Charles André Barbera (Notre Dame,
IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990), 150-72.
180 Andrew Barker, “Theophrastus on Pitch and Melody,” in Theophrastus of Eresius: On His Life and Work, ed. William
Wall Fortenbaugh et al. (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 1985), 289-324.

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system, with which it erroneously had been associated throughout much of the era of musical
humanism.

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Allaire, Gaston G. The Theory of Hexachords, Solmisation and the Modal System: A Practical Application,
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Ames-Lewis, Francis and Mary Rogers, eds., Concepts of Beauty in Renaissance Art. Aldershot: Ashgate,
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Anderson, Warren DeWitt. “Paideia and Ethos in Hellenic Music, with Special Reference to
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Barbera, Charles André. “Arithmetic and Geometric Divisions of the Tetrachord.” Journal of Music
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luego pasó a Aranjuez y a Quintanar de la Orden para entenderse con
ciertos militares que a estas horas están también a la sombra; regresó
después acá, concertando con Bringas, Olózaga, Miyar y compañeros
mártires un plan de revolución que si les llega a cuajar, ¡ay mi Dios!, se
deja atrás a la de Francia... Nuestro buen amiguito se pinta solo para
estas cosas, y andaba por ahí llamándose don No sé cuántos
Escoriaza.
—¿Y está usted seguro de que es él?
—Seguro, seguro, no. Ahora será fácil saberlo, porque el Escoriaza
está en la cárcel de Villa, y en la causa ha de salir su verdadero
nombre... Sigo mi cuento. Un hombre dignísimo, tan enemigo de
revoluciones como amante de la paz del reino, se enteró de la trama y
avisó a Su Excelencia. Yo he visto las cartas del denunciante, que se
firma El de las diez de la noche, y si he decir verdad, su ortografía y su
estilo no están a la altura de su realismo. Calomarde recompensó a
desconocido dándole fondos para que pudiera seguir la pista a
Escoriaza y los suyos, y con esto y un habilidoso examen de todas las
cartas del correo, se hizo el hallazgo completo de los nenes, y anoche
se les puso donde siempre debieran estar para escarmiento de bobos
Anoche no nos acostamos en Gracia y Justicia hasta no saber que los
señores Alcaldes habían salido de su paso. ¡Ah!, esos señores Cavia y
Cutanda valen en oro más de lo que pesan. No sé cuál de los dos fue
a casa de Olózaga; pero un alguacil me ha contado que en el porta
encontraron a Pepe, y mandándole subir, entraron con él en la casa y
dieron al pobre don Celestino un susto más que mediano. Hicieron
registro escrupuloso, encontrando, en vez de papeles de conspiración
muchas cartas de novias y queridas. Excuso decir que las leyeron
todas, porque así cuadraba al buen servicio de Su Majestad, y cuando
estaban en esta ocupación dulcísima, ved aquí que entra Salustiano
muy sereno, con arrogancia, ya sabedor de que andaba por allí la
nariz de los señores Alcaldes. El padre gimió, desmayose la hermana
siguió el registro, dando por resultado el hallazgo de un sable, y a la
media noche se llevaron a Salustiano a la Villa, y aquí se acabó m
cuento, arre borriquito para el convento... ¡Pobre Salustiano, tan joven
tan guapo, tan listo, tan simpático! ¡Desgraciado él mil veces, y
desgraciado también ese amigo nuestro que ahora se esconde debajo
del nombre de Escoriaza! Esta vez no escapará del peligro como
tantas otras en que su misma temeridad le ha dado alas milagrosas
para salir libre y triunfante... ¡Infelices amigos!
Micaelita, afectada por la tristeza del relato, volvió a cerrar los ojos y
a rezar para sí el padrenuestro que tenía dispuesto para cuando lo
melancólico de las circunstancias lo hiciera menester. Jenara seguía
imprimiendo a su abanico los movimientos de cierra y abre, cuyo ruido
semejaba ya, por lo estrepitoso, más que al instrumento de Semana
Santa, al rasgar de una tela.
Durante un buen rato callaron los tres. Había entrado el coche en e
paseo de Atocha, cuando vieron que por este venía a pie don Tadeo
Calomarde, en compañía de su inseparable sombra el Colector de
Expolios. Paseaba grave y reposadamente, con casaca de galones
tricornio en facha, bastón de porra de oro, y una comitiva de sucios
chiquillos, que admirados de tanto relumbrón le seguían. El célebre
ministro, a quien Fernando VII tiraba de las orejas, era todo vanidad y
finchazón en la calle. Si en Palacio adquirió gran poder fomentando los
apetitos y doblegándose a las pasiones del rey, frente a frente de los
pobres españoles parecía un ídolo asiático en cuyo pedestal debían
cortarse las cabezas humanas como si fuesen berenjenas. A su lado
iba la carroza ministerial, un armatoste del cual se puede formar idea
considerando un catafalco de funeral tirado por mulas.
—No le salude usted; ocúltese en el fondo del coche —dijo Pipaón
con mucho apuro—. No conviene que la vea a usted.
Mas ella, sacando fuera su linda cabeza y el brazo, saludó con
mucha gracia y amabilidad al poderoso ídolo asiático.
—En estos tiempos —dijo la dama al retirarse de la portezuela—
conviene estar bien con todos los pillos.
—Señora, que los coches oyen.
—Que oigan.
Seria, cejijunta, descolorida, Jenara murmuró algunas palabras para
expresar el desprecio que le merecía el abigarrado tiranuelo a quien
poco antes saludara con tanta zalamería. En seguida dio orden a
cochero de marchar a casa.
Pasaban por el Prado, cuando Pipaón dijo con cierta timidez
precedida de su especial modo de sonreír:
—Señora, ¿se permite la verdad?
—Se permite.
—¿Por amarga que sea?
—Aunque sea el mismo acíbar.
—Pues debo decir a usted que no puede ir a su casa.
—¡Que no puedo ir a mi casa!
—No, señora mía apreciabilísima, porque en su casa encontrará a
Alcalde de Casa y Corte y a los alguaciles, que desde las dos de la
tarde tienen la orden de prender a una de las damas más hermosas de
Madrid.
—¡A mí! —exclamó la ofendida, disparando rayos de sus ojos.
—A usted... Triste es decirlo..., pero si yo no lo dijera, sacrificando a
la amistad el servicio del rey, la señora tendría un disgustillo. Ya está
explicado este buen acuerdo mío de entretener a usted toda la tarde
impidiéndole ir a su casa, y facilitándole, como le facilitaré, un luga
donde se oculte.
—¡Presa yo!... No siento ira, sino asco, asco, señor de Pipaón —
exclamó la dama demostrando más bien lo primero que lo segundo—
¿Por qué me persiguen?
—No sé si será por alguna denuncia malévola, o a causa de los
papeles hallados en casa de Olózaga...
—Alto ahí, señor desconsiderado. En casa de Salustiano no se han
encontrado papeles de mi letra porque no los hay.
—Perdones mil, señora; no tuve intención...
—¡Presa yo!... Será preciso que me oculte hasta ver... ¡Y yo
saludaba a la serpiente!...
La rabia más que el dolor sacó dos ardorosas lágrimas a sus ojos
pero se las limpió prontamente con el pañuelo, cual si tuviera
vergüenza de llorar. Después rompió en dos el abanico. Al ver estas
lamentables muestras de consternación, Micaelita se conmovió, y sin
pensarlo, se le vino a la boca el padrenuestro que de repuesto llevaba
A la mitad lo interrumpió para decir a su amiga:
—Puedes venir a casa.
—Me parece muy bien. Nadie sospechará que el señor Carnicero
oculta a los perseguidos de la justicia calomardina... Cochero, a casa
de Micaelita.
XVII

Hacia el promedio de la calle del Duque de Alba vivía el señor don


Felicísimo Carnicero, del cual es bien que se hable en esta ocasión, no
solo porque se prestó a dar asilo a la afligida dama, sino porque dicho
señor merece un párrafo entero y hasta un capítulo. Era de edad muy
avanzada, pero inapreciable, porque sus facciones habían tomado
desde muy atrás un acartonamiento o petrificación que le ponía, sin
que él lo sospechara, en los dominios de la paleontología. Su cara
donde la piel había tomado cierta consistencia y solidez calcárea, y
donde las arrugas semejaban los hoyos y los cuarteados durísimos de
un guijarro, era de esas caras que no admiten la suposición de habe
sido menos viejas en otra época. Fuera de esta apariencia de hombre
fósil, lo que más sorprendía en la cara de don Felicísimo era lo chato
de su nariz, la cual no avanzaba fuera de la tabla del rostro más que lo
necesario para que él pudiera sonarse. Y la chateza (pase el vocablo
del señor Carnicero era tal, que no se circunscribía al reino de la nariz
sino que daba motivo a que el espectador de su merced hiciera las
suposiciones que vamos a apuntar. Todo el que por primera vez
contemplaba al señor don Felicísimo suponía que su rostro había sido
hecho de barro o pasta muy blanda, y que en el momento en que e
artista le daba la última mano, la máscara se deslizó al suelo, cayendo
de golpe boca abajo, con lo que, aplastada la nariz y la región
propiamente facial, resultó una superficie plana desde la raíz de
cabello hasta la barba. El espectador suponía también que el artista
viendo cómo había quedado su obra, la encontró graciosa, y
echándose a reír, la dejó en tal manera.
Ahora pongamos el santo en su nicho. A esta máscara chata, de
color de tierra, rugosa y dura, añadamos primero por la parte superio
un gorro negro que hasta el campo de las orejas se encaja y tiene su
coronamiento en una borlita que ora se inclina al lado derecho, ora a
izquierdo. Añadámosle por debajo un corbatín negro, a quien sería
mejor llamar corbatón, tan alto, que por ciertas partes se junta con e
gorro, dejando escapar algunos cabellos rucios, que a hurtadillas salen
a estirarse al aire y a la luz, recordando aún, con tristeza suma, las
grasas olientes que han tenido en el pasado siglo. Desde los dominios
de la corbata, en cuyas paredes metálicas parece hallar eco la voz de
don Felicísimo, pongamos un revuelto oleaje de pliegues negros, e
cual, o no es cosa ninguna, o debe llamarse levitón, más que por la
forma, por el ligero matiz de ala de mosca que en las partes más
usadas se advierte; derivemos de este levitón dos cabos o brazos que
a la mitad se enfundan en manguitos verdes con rayas negras como
los mandiles de los maragatos, y hagamos que de las bocas de esos
manguitos salgan, como vomitadas, unas manos, de las cuales no se
ven sino diez taponcillos de corcho que parecen dedos. El resto de la
persona no puede verse porque lo ponemos detrás de la mesa, la cua
está cubierta de negro hule, que en ciertos sitios pasaría por playa, a
causa de la arenilla que en ella se extiende. Es mesa de camilla, y una
faldamenta verde la tapa toda honestamente, la cual enagua no se
mueve sino cuando el gato entra para enroscarse en la banqueta junto
a los pies de don Felicísimo. Encima de la mesa se ve un Cristo
pequeño atado a la columna, con la espalda en pura llaga y la soga a
cuello, obra de un realismo espantoso y aterrador que se atribuye a
célebre Zarcillo. La escultura está a la derecha y vuelve su rostro
dolorido y acardenalado al don Felicísimo, cual si le pidiera informes y
cuentas, más que de los azotes que le han dado los judíos, de los
motivos porque está en aquella mesa y entre tal balumba de legajos
como allí se ven. Son papeles atados con cintas rojas, paquetes de
cartas y algunos libros de cuentas, cuyas sebosas tapas indican los
años que llevan de servicio. La escribanía es de cobre, pues aunque
don Felicísimo posee algunas de plata, no las usa, y en la que all
está, los dos cántaros amarillos tienen tinta y arena para seis meses
Las plumas, de puro mosqueadas, no tienen color, y hay un
pisapapeles que es la pezuña de un cabrón imitada en bronce, y está
tan al vivo que no le falta más que correr.
En aquella mesa escribe casi todo el día el señor Carnicero, a quien
el peso de los años no estorba para seguir trabajando; allí toma su
chocolate macho con bollo maimón; allí come su cocidito con más de
vaca que de carnero, algo de oreja cerdosa y algunas hilachas de
jamón que el tenedor busca entre los garbanzos azafranados; all
duerme la siesta, echando la cabeza sobre las orejeras del sillón; all
se le sirve la cena, que empieza invariablemente en migas esponjosas
y acaba en guisado de ternera, todo muy especioso y aromático; all
cuenta el dinero, que es, según dicen, el más constante de sus
visitadores, y se desliza sin hacer ruido por entre sus dedos
alcornoqueños, cual si por virtud rara también el oro se sometiese a
tomar las apariencias del corcho o del pergamino en aquel imperio de
silencio; allí recibe a los que van a ocuparle, y son por lo genera
clérigos o frailes, y allí está cuando entran Jenara, Pipaón y Micaelita.
Era ya de noche. Un gran candil de cuatro mecheros, de los cuales
solo dos estaban encendidos, echaba luz no muy copiosa, que la
pantalla dirigía sobre el pupitre. Al sentir gente, don Felicísimo alzó la
pantalla de cobre, y entonces la claridad le hirió de frente en su cara
plana, que parecía un bajorrelieve gótico roído por los siglos. Pero esto
duró poco tiempo, porque abatiendo la pantalla, volvió la luz a cae
forzosamente sobre los papeles como un estudiante desaplicado a
quien se obliga a no apartar la vista de los libros.
—¡Oh!..., gratias tibi Domine... Bendito Pipaón, ¿usted por aquí? —
dijo don Felicísimo con agrado—. ¡Oh! ¿Es Jenarita? La misma que
viste y calza. Sea muy bien venida a esta humilde morada. ¡Cuánto
bueno por aquí!
Y alzando la voz, que era chillona y desapacible, prosiguió:
—Sagrario, Sagrario, ven, mira quién está aquí. Micaelita, di a tu tía
que venga, y de paso da una voz en la cocina para que me traigan la
cena.
Mientras viene doña María del Sagrario, hija del señor don
Felicísimo, demos acerca de este señor las noticias que son
necesarias. Llevaba más de cuarenta años en la profesión de agente
de negocios eclesiásticos, y le había sido tan favorable la fortuna que
según el dicho del público, estaba podrido de dinero. Por los rótulos de
los legajos y papeles que sobre su mesa estaban, podía venirse en
conocimiento de la multiplicidad de asuntos que bajo el dominio de sus
talentos agenciales caían. Contemplaba él con no disimulado
embeleso los dichos rótulos, asemejándose, aunque esté mal la
comparación, a un borracho que antes de beber se deleita leyendo las
etiquetas de las botellas. Por un lado se leía Subcolecturía de
Expolios, Vacantes, Medias Annatas y Fondo pío beneficial de
obispado de León; por otro, Santa Iglesia Metropolitana de Granada
más allá, Juzgado ordinario de Capellanías, Patronatos, Visita
Eclesiástica, etcétera; junto a esto, Tribunal de Cruzada, y al lado
Racioneros medios patrimoniales de Tarazona, Arcedianato de
Murviedro o Señores Pabordres de Valencia; al opuesto extremo
Agustinos Descalzos; más lejos, Reyes Nuevos de Toledo, o bien
Nuestra Señora del Favor de Padres Teatinos.
Preciso es decir que don Felicísimo se había distinguido siempre
por su celo y actividad en despachar los mil y mil asuntos que se le
confiaban. Tomábales cariño, mirándolos como cosa propia, y ponía en
ellos sus cinco sentidos y su alma toda en tal manera que llegó a
identificarse con ellos y a asimilárselos, trayéndolos como a forma
parte de su propia sustancia. Así no había en su larga vida suceso n
accidente que no se confundiera con cualquier negocio de su lucrativa
profesión, y así jamás contaba cosa alguna sin empezar de este o
parecido modo: Cuando el señor Vicario Foráneo de Paterna venía a
esta casa, o bien así: Cuando me convidó a comer el padre prepósito
de Portaceli...
Otra afición también muy vehemente, aunque secundaria, reinaba
en el espíritu de nuestro insigne Carnicero: era la afición a los toros
fiesta que, si no existieran los negocios eclesiásticos, sería para é
cosa punto menos que sagrada. Como ya era tan viejo y no salía ya de
casa, contentábase con hablar de los toros pretéritos, poniéndolo cien
codos más altos que los presentes, y en estas conversaciones también
era común oírle decir: Cierto día en que Sentimientos y el señor Rector
del Hospital de Convalecencia de Unciones vinieron a buscarme para
ir a ver el encierro... u otra frase por el estilo.
La cantidad de dinero que don Felicísimo había ganado en tantos
años de actividad, celo y honradez, no era calculable. Hacíanla subi
algunos a un número grande de talegas, otros reducían un poco la
cifra; pero el vulgo y los vecinos juraban que siempre que se daba un
golpe en los tabiques de la casa de Carnicero o en el lienzo de los
cuadros viejos que allí tenía, sonaba un cierto tintineo como de
monedas anacoretas que en todos los huecos y escondrijos habitaban
huyendo del mundo y sus pompas vanas. Él gastaba poco, tan poco
que se había llegado a hacer la ilusión de que era pobre siendo rico
Contaban que para ilusionar a los demás en esta materia se negaba
con tenacidad heroica a dar dinero, y ya podían irle con lamentos los
menesterosos, que así les hacía caso como si fueran predicadores
moros. Únicamente se desprendía de alguna cantidad siempre que
mediaran garantías y un módico interés, así como de diez por ciento a
mes u otra friolera semejante.
La casa en que vivía era de su propiedad y estaba toda
blanqueada, sin papeles ni pinturas, con las vigas del techo apanzadas
cual toldo de lienzo. Era de un solo piso alto, antiquísima, y en invierno
tenía condiciones inmejorables para que cuantos entraban en ella se
hicieran cargo de cómo es la Siberia. Había sido edificada en los
tiempos en que la calle del Duque de Alba se llamaba de la
Emperatriz, y ya, con tan largos servicios, no podía disimular las ganas
que tenía de reposarse en el suelo, soltando el peso del techo
estirándose de tabiques y paredes para sepultar su cornisa en e
sótano y rascarse con las tejas de su cabeza los entumecidos pies de
sus cimientos. Pero don Felicísimo, que no consentía que su casa
viviera menos que él, la apuntaló toda, y así, desde el portal se
encontraban fuertes vigas que daban el quién vive. La escalera, que
partía de menguados arcos de yeso, también tenía dos o tres muletas
y los escalones se echaban de un lado como si quisieran dormir la
siesta. Arriba los pisos eran tales, que una naranja tirada en ellos
hubiera estado rodando una hora antes de encontrar sitio en que
pararse, y por los pasillos era necesario ir con tiento, so pena de
tropezar con algún poste que estaba de centinela como un suizo, con
orden de no permitir que el techo se cayera mientras él estuviese allí.
Don Felicísimo era toledano, no se sabe a punto fijo si de
Tembleque o de Turleque, o de Manzaneque, que los biógrafos no
están acordes todavía. Estuvo casado con doña María del Sagrario
Tablajero, de la que nacieron Mariquita del Sagrario y Leocadia. De
esta, que casó pronto y mal con un tratante en ganado de cerda, nació
Micaelita, que se quedó huérfana de padre y madre a los seis años
Esta Micaelita era, pues, heredera universal del señor don Felicísimo
circunstancia que, a pesar de su escasa belleza, debía hacer de ella
un partido apetitoso. Sin embargo, habiendo tenido en sus quince años
ciertos devaneos precoces con un muchacho de la vecindad, quedó
muy mal parada su honra. El mancebo se fue a las Américas; don
Felicísimo enfermó del disgusto; doña María del Sagrario, tía de la
joven, enfermó también; divulgose el caso, salió mal que bien de su
paso Micaelita, y ya no hubo galán que la pretendiera. Cuentan los
cronistas toledanos que desde entonces se arraigó en Micaelita la
piadosa costumbre de reservar un padrenuestro para todas las
ocasiones apuradas en que se encontrase.
Pasados algunos años, la situación de la joven había cambiado: su
carácter, agriándose en extremo, hacíala menos simpática aún de lo
que realmente era. Su abuelo, que entrañablemente la amaba
permitíale frecuentar la sociedad y gastar algo en tocados y ropas de
moda. Ella quería borrar su mancha; pero no lo podía conseguir
careciendo de aquellas prendas que fácilmente inspiran el perdón o e
olvido. Lo singular es que a su mal genio unía un cierto orgullito
sobremanera repulsivo, y que sin duda nacía de su seguridad de
enriquecer considerablemente al fallecimiento del abuelo.
Todas las noches del año, en el de 1831, luego que don Felicísimo
con un mediano vaso de vino, echaba la rúbrica a su cena (frase de
don Felicísimo), se levantaba de aquella especie de trono, y tomando
con su propia mano el candil de cuatro mecheros, dirigíase a la sala
donde ya doña María del Sagrario había encendido una lámpara de las
llamadas de Monsieur Quinquet, y allí se encontraba a varios amigos
que se reunían en amena tertulia. La estancia era como una gran sala
de capítulo conventual; pero estaba blanqueada, sin más adorno que
un gran cuadro del Purgatorio, donde ardían hasta diez docenas de
ánimas. Dos cortinas de sarga, cuya amarillez declaraba haber sido
verde, cubrían los balcones, y por las cuatro paredes se enfilaban en
batería tres docenas de sillas de caoba con el respaldo tieso y e
asiento durísimo. Cuatro sillones de claveteado cuero, contemporáneo
del cuadro de las Ánimas del Purgatorio, si no del Purgatorio mismo
servían para la comodidad relativa; una urna con imagen vestida
servía para la devoción, y una mesa que parecía pila bautismal, para
que dieran golpes sobre ella los de la tertulia. Don Felicísimo entraba
diciendo: Pax vobis, y después saludaba sucesivamente a sus amigos
—Buenas noches, Elías, ¿cómo te va?... Señor conde de Negri
buenas noches... Buenas noches, señor don Rafael Maroto.
XVIII

Veamos ahora lo que pasó aquella noche. Jenara tomó asiento en


el despacho del señor don Felicísimo, y Pipaón, acercándose a este, le
habló un poco al oído para contarle lo que a la dama le pasaba. A
cada dos palabras que oía, don Felicísimo articulaba una especie de
chillido, un ji, ji, que más tenía de suspiro que de interjección, y que a
mismo tiempo expresaba hipo y burla.
—Bueno, bueno —murmuró el anciano moviendo la cabeza en
ademán de conciliación—. En mi casa no será molestada; yo le
respondo de que no será molestada, ji, ji.
—Gracias —dijo la dama secamente tratando de darse aire con los
restos de su abanico.
—El señor don Miguel de Baraona y yo fuimos muy amigos —
añadió Carnicero, volviendo a Jenara su faz plana, fría, sin expresión
de sentimiento alguno—, pero muy amigos. Cuando aquellas
cuestiones de la Santa Iglesia Colegial de Vitoria con los Canónigos
quartos de frutos de Calahorra, vino aquí don José Marqués, canónigo
entero; don Vicente Morales, racionero medio, y don Andrés de
Baraona, canónigo quarto de optación, hermano de su abuelo de
usted, que también vino. Yo le conseguí el arcedianato de Berberiega
para su primo. ¡Cuántas tardes pasamos juntos en este despacho
hablando de sermones y toros! Era en los tiempos de Pedro Romero, y
dicho se está que había materia para dos buenos aficionados como
nosotros. Si el señor de Baraona viviera, se acordaría de cuando
vimos la cogida de Pepe-Hillo y la célebre cornada de José Cándido
motivada por haberse escupido el toro, con lo que se atolondró José y
quiso matarlo fuera de jurisdicción, recibiendo un encontronazo...
Estas últimas frases no las dirigía don Felicísimo a Jenara, sino a
cierto personaje, desconocido para nosotros, que a su lado estaba, y
había entrado poco antes que nuestros amigos. Era un joven de
aspecto más bien ordinario que fino, de rostro tan salpicado de
viruelas, que parecía criba, de complexión sanguínea y algo gigántea
de ajustada chaqueta vestido, con el pelo corto y la frente más corta
acaso. Su facha, su traje y cierta expresión inequívoca que impresa en
su rostro estaba como un letrero, decían que aquel hombre era de
gremio de tablajeros, cortadores o tratantes en carnes. Los tres oficios
había tenido, mas con tan poco aprovechamiento, que los cambió po
una plaza de demandadero en la cárcel de Villa. Era hijo de una
antigua sirviente de don Felicísimo, y este le había criado en su casa y
le tenía bastante cariño. Pedro López, por otro nombre Tablas (que as
le bautizaron en el Matadero), respetaba mucho a su protector. Iba a
verle diariamente al anochecer, se sentaba a su lado, le hablaba un
poco de la cárcel, de becerros si era invierno y de toros si era verano
después le servía la cena, y, por último, le acompañaba a rezar e
rosario, devoción a que no faltó don Felicísimo ni en un solo día de su
vida.
Doña María del Sagrario no tardó en venir. Era una señora que
aparentaba más edad de la que realmente tenía, por causa de una
lamentable emigración de todos los dientes de su boca, no quedando
en aquellos reinos más que algunas muelas, que temblando habían
pedido también sus pasaportes. Ella no tenía pretensiones de belleza
ni aun de buen parecer, y así su elegancia era la sencillez, su
perfumería la limpieza y su peinado simplicísimo. Consistía en recoge
en una sola trenza los cabellos fieles que le quedaban y hacer con
esta un moño chiquito, el cual, atravesado de una horquilla o flecha
como corazón simbólico, parecía una limosna de cabellos enviada po
el cielo sobre su cráneo, que iba igualando a las encías en sus
condiciones de país desierto. Por lo demás, doña María del Sagrario
era bondadosa, de excelente corazón y de mucho palique; pero tanto
desentonaba su voz, por causa de estar su boca tan solitaria como
casa de mostrencos, que las palabras parecían salir y entrar po
aquellas cavidades jugando y haciendo cabriolas. Cuando reía
creeríase que lloraba, y cuando regañaba a la criada parecía manda
un batallón, y el rezar era en ella como un soplamiento de fuelles
rotos.
—Mucho nos honra usted, Jenarita —le dijo besándola—, con
aceptar nuestra hospitalidad. Eso no será nada. Algún mal entendido
¡Es tan fácil ahora que los buenos se confundan con los pícaros! Aye
mismo ¿no apalearon en esta misma calle al sacristán de la Venerable
Orden Tercera por confundirlo con un pícaro zapatero que fue
condenado a horca y luego indultado en el llamado tiempo
constitucional, que ni fue tal tiempo ni cosa que lo valga?
—Sagrario, mucha conversación es esa, ji, ji —dijo a este punto don
Felicísimo—. Jenarita no es persona con quien debemos gasta
cumplidos ni etiquetas; por tanto, tráeme mi cena, que la gusana me
dice que es hora.
Poco después, el señor Carnicero tenía delante la servilleta en luga
del papel, y la cuchara en vez de la pluma. Tras los primeros bocados
habló así:
—No es extraño, Jenarita, que con la marcha que lleva este
gobierno por el camino de la francmasonería, sean perseguidos los
buenos españoles. Ese pobre rey se ha entregado en manos de la
herejía y del democratismo; la reina nos quiere embobar con músicas
pero no le valdrán sus mañas para hacernos tragar la sucesión de su
hija Isabelita, que así será reina de España como yo emperador de la
China, ji, ji. Ellos ven venir el nublado y se preparan; pero nosotros nos
preparamos también... y es flojita cosa la que defendemos... así como
quien no dice nada... la religión sacratísima, el trono español y
nuestras costumbres tradicionales, puras, nobles y sencillas. ¡Ah!
perdóneme usted, Jenarita, me olvidé de decirle si gustaba cenar. Pero
aquí no andamos con etiquetas, y en mi casa todo es llaneza y
confianza.
—Gracias —repuso Jenara que, solicitada de otros pensamientos
no oyó ni una sola palabra del discurso del señor Carnicero.
Pipaón y Micaelita cuchicheaban en la sala inmediata, y doña María
del Sagrario había ido a preparar la cena para todos, lo que requería
no poca habilidad por haber aumentado las bocas y no los manjares
Tablas servía la cena al señor don Felicísimo, el cual le hablaba de
este modo:
—Pues volviendo a lo que te decía cuando entraron estos señores
el toreo está ahora tan por los suelos que no se puede hablar de él sin
que se le caiga a uno la cara de vergüenza. Y no me digan que se ha
fundado un Conservatorio de Tauromaquia. Tonto de capirote es el que
lo inventó. Yo admiro a don Pedro Romero, yo le tengo por un Cid de
los tiempos modernos; por eso no quisiera verle hecho un catedrático
de brega. Mira tú, los toreros de hoy dan asco... Si el Seño
Omnipotente te hubiera querido hacer el favor de criarte en aque
tiempo en que todo era mejor que ahora, todo; en que era más
honrada la gente, más rico el país, más barata la comida, más guapas
las mujeres, más religiosos los hombres, más valientes los militares
más benigno el frío, más alegre el cielo, más honestas las costumbres
más bravos los toros, y más, mucho más hábiles los toreros..., ji, ji..
¿Por qué te ríes?
El hipo de don Felicísimo arreció de tal modo, que hubo de pararse
un rato para tomar aire. Después prosiguió así:
—Si hubieras vivido en aquel feliz tiempo, te habrías desbaratado
de gusto viendo en medio del redondel a Joaquín Rodríguez, por otro
nombre Costillares, o a José Delgado, mi amigo queridísimo, por otro
nombre Pepe-Hillo. Me parece que le estoy mirando cuando el toro se
ceñía. Entonces tenía que ver su serenidad y destreza, ji. Él lo llamaba
de frente, tomando la rectitud de su terreno conforme las piernas que
le advertía la fiera, y luego que le partía, ji, le empezaba a cargar y
tender la suerte, ¿entiendes? Con este quiebro, el toro se iba
desviando del terreno del diestro, y cuando llegaba a jurisdicción, le
daba el remate seguro, ji, ji, ji.
Con las cabezadas que daba don Felicísimo brillaban sus ojos en e
semblante plano como los agujeros de una palmeta. Al mismo tiempo
su mano, armada de tenedor, tomaba las actitudes toreriles
amenazando el vaso de vino, puesto en el lugar del tintero.
—Señora, usted se aburrirá con esta conversación mía —dijo e
anciano contemplando a Jenara, que permanecía con los ojos bajos—
Como aquí no hay cumplimientos, que es palabra compuesta de
cumplo y miento, ni las pamemas que llaman etiqueta, yo hablo de lo
que más me gusta, ji. Este buen Tablas es un chiquilicuatro que por no
tener alma no ha emprendido el oficio de mirar cara a cara a la cuerna
y está de demandadero en la cárcel de Villa. Si no tuviera el defecto de
coger sus monas los lunes y aun los martes, sería un cumplido
muchacho, siempre que se corrigiera del vicio de sobar las cuarenta.
Tablas se ruborizó al oír su panegírico.
—Jenara, venga usted a cenar —dijo Sagrario entrando—. Deme
usted su mantilla.
Don Felicísimo había concluido.
—Hija, ¿ha venido esta tarde el padre Alelí? —preguntó.
—No ha parecido su reverencia.
—¿No se sabe nada de la pupila de Benigno Cordero, que está con
pulmonía?
—Iba mejor, pero ha recaído. ¡Cristo, qué desgracia! —exclamó
Sagrario en un desentono tan singular que parecía enjuagarse la boca
con las palabras—. Cruz fue esta tarde a la iglesia y me dijo que e
pobre Benigno está como alma en pena. Va a la botica por las
medicinas y se deja el sombrero sobre el mostrador, habla solo, y
cuando vende no cobra, y cuando cobra no da la vuelta, y cuando la
da, da oro por cobre.
—Es un alma de cántaro, ji... Tablas, ve después a preguntar por la
enferma. Benigno es loco, pero es paisano y le aprecio... Jenarita
¿por qué tiene usted ese aire de tristeza y abatimiento? Aquí no hay
nada que temer. Estamos en sagrado, es decir, en una casa pura y
absolutamente, ji, ji..., apostólica.
Jenara no cenó. Había perdido el apetito, y la especial manera de
guisar que en aquella casa había no era la más a propósito para
despertarlo. A esta feliz circunstancia de la desgana de un convidado
debió Pipaón que le tocara algo, aunque no fue mucho, según consta
en las crónicas que de aquellos acontecimientos quedaron escritas.
Levantose Jenara de la mesa antes que los demás para decir una
cosa importante al señor don Felicísimo, que aún no había salido de
su guarida, y al llegar a la puerta de esta, oyó la voz del anciano muy
desentonada y colérica. Decía así:
—Ladrón, verdugo, borracho, no te daré un maravedí aunque te me
pongas de rodillas delante y me enciendas velas. Yo no soy bueno, yo
no soy santo; no pienses que me embobarás con tus lisonjas. ¿Tengo
yo alguna mina, ji? ¿Acuño moneda, ji? Quítateme, ji, de delante y
púdrete si quieres. No hay un cuarto; hoy no se fía aquí. Toca a otra
puerta, muérete, revienta, pégate un tiro, y si no basta, ji, ji..., te pegas
dos o media docena.
Con voz humilde y ahogada por la pena, Tablas habló después para
pintar con frases amañadas la enormidad de su apuro, y Carnicero
redobló sus negativas, sus bufidos, sus hipos, todo en defensa de su
bolsa. Jenara no necesitó oír más, y al punto renunció a decir a don
Felicísimo lo que había pensado. Mujer de recursos intelectuales
improvisaba planes con la celeridad propia de todo grande y fecundo
ingenio.
La campanilla sonó, y Tablas fue a abrir la puerta. Llegaron tres
señores que se dirigieron a la sala, donde Sagrario acababa de pone
luz. Entrando otra vez en el comedor, la dama vio que Pipaón y
Micaelita no parecían disgustados de hallarse juntos. Sagrario andaba
por la cocina riñendo con la criada, en lenguaje discorde e inarmónico
semejando un órgano que tuviera todos los tubos agujereados. Jenara
volvió al pasillo, que era largo, complicado, anguloso, y a causa de
blanqueo daba más cuerpo a las sombras que sobre él caían. Allí vio
la atlética figura de Tablas que salía del cuarto del señor, y
dirigiéndose a un ángulo obscuro donde estaban algunos muebles
viejos como en destierro, dejábase caer sobre una silla y apoyaba la
cabezota en ambas manos mirando al cielo. Jenara se llegó a él. Era
el ángel del consuelo.
XIX

—¿Cómo te va, Elías? Señor conde de Negri, buenas noches


Buenas noches, señor don Rafael Maroto.
Así saludó don Felicísimo a sus amigos, entrando en la sala
candilón en mano. Como aún no le hemos visto andar, no hemos
podido decir que andaba a pasitos cortos, muy cortos, y así tardó una
buena pieza en llegar al centro de la estancia. Viose entonces la
longitud de su levitón negro, el cual le llegaba hasta los pies, de modo
que no parecía que andaba, sino que estaba fijo sobre una tablilla con
ruedas, de la cual tirara con lentitud una invisible mano. Puso e
candilón sobre la mesa, y como la vecindad de la lámpara hacía que
aquel palideciera de envidia, lo apagó.
—Usted siempre tan fuerte —dijo uno de los amigos dando un
palmetazo en la rodilla de Carnicero.
Era este amigo un señor pequeño, o por mejor decir, archipequeño
adamado y no muy viejo.
—Defendiéndonos admirablemente —repuso Carnicero, cogiéndose
una pierna con las manos y levantándola para ponerla sobre la otra.
—Un cigarrito —dijo aquel de los amigos que llamaban Maroto, y
era el más joven de los tres, de buena presencia, bigotudo y con
señalado aspecto marcial.
El conde de Negri, con el cigarrito en la boca, sacó eslabón y piedra
y empezó a echar chispas. Durilla era la faena, y la mecha no quería
encenderse.
—¡Maldito pedernal! —murmuró el señor conde.
Y las chispas iban en todas direcciones menos en la que se quería
Una fue a estrellarse en la cara plana de don Felicísimo como proyecti
ardiente en la muralla de un bastión formidable; otra parecía que se le
quería meter por los ojos al propio señor conde, y chispa hubo que
llegó hasta el cuadro de Ánimas, dando instantáneamente un
resplandor verdadero a aquel purgatorio figurado. Al fin prendió la
mecha.
—¡Gracias a Dios que tenemos fuego! —dijo don Felicísimo entre
dos hipos—. Con estos tubos de vidrio que han inventado ahora para
encerrar las luces, no se puede encender en las lámparas.
En tanto, el tercero de los amigos, que era bastante anciano y se
distinguía por la curvatura exagerada de su nariz, había puesto unos
papeles sobre la mesa, y los miraba y revolvía atentamente. De
repente dijo así:
—No hay que contar con Zumalacárregui.
—¡Todo sea por Dios! —exclamó Carnicero—. ¿Ha escrito? Pues a
mi carta no se dignó contestar. ¿Sigue en el Ferrol?
—Pues nos pasaremos sin él —indicó el conde de Negri—. La
causa revienta de partidarios, quiero decir que los tiene de sobra en
todas las clases de la sociedad, y así no es bien que solicite coroneles
como es uso y costumbre entre liberalejos.
—Ya sabemos —dijo con tono de autoridad el llamado Elías
alzando los ojos del papel— que la causa que defendemos es
legalmente una batalla ganada. Habiendo sucesor varón no puede
suceder una hembra. Moralmente también es cosa fuera de duda. E
clero en masa apoya al partido de la religión, y con el clero la mayoría
del reino y la aristocracia.
—Y el ejército —declaró el conde pequeñito, plegando mucho los
párpados porque le ofendía la luz.
—Eso está por ver —replicó Elías Orejón—. Desde la guerra de la
Independencia, el ejército, lo mismo que la marina, están carcomidos
por la masonería. La revolución del 23 obra fue de los masones
militares; las intentonas de estos años también son cosa suya, y en
estos momentos, señores, se está formando una sociedad llamada la
Confederación Isabelina, en la que andan muchos pajarracos de alto
vuelo, y que por el rotulillo ya da a entender a dónde va
Necesitamos...
—¡Claro, clarísimo, indubitable! —exclamó Carnicero, que deseaba
meter baza, por no hallarse conforme con su amigo en aquel tema.
—Necesitamos —prosiguió el otro alzando la voz en señal de enojo
por verse interrumpido—, necesitamos, aunque el escrupuloso seño
infante no lo crea así, asegurar y comprometer aquellas cabezas
militares más potentes. Ya se puede decir que son de acá los
siguientes señores: el conde de España, capitán general de
Principado; el señor González Moreno, gobernador militar de Málaga...
—Buenos, buenos, bonísimos —dijo Carnicero, que no podía
contener sus ganas de interrumpir a cada instante.
Orejón citó otros nombres, añadiendo luego:
—En el ramo de hombres civiles o eclesiásticos de gran nota
andamos a la conquista del señor Abarca, obispo de León, y de don
Juan Bautista Erro, consejero de Estado, a los cuales solo les falta e
canto de un duro para caer también de la parte acá.
—Bueno es que los clérigos y hombres civiles vengan —dijo Maroto
—, pero por santa y gloriosa que sea la causa de Su Alteza, y yo doy
de barato que es la causa de Dios, no se hará nada sin tropa.
—¿Y los voluntarios realistas?
—Son buenos como auxilio, pero nada más. Denme generales
aguerridos, jefes de valor y prestigio, y el día en que don Fernando
acabe, que no tardará, al decir de los médicos, don Carlos será rey po
encima de todas las cosas.
—Eso, eso —afirmó Elías sentando la palma de la mano sobre los
papeles—, generales aguerridos, jefes militares de valor y prestigio; a
grano, al grano.
—Todo vendrá —indicó Carnicero— cuando el caso llegue. Cuando
se cuenta, como ahora, ji, con el santo clero en masa, capaz de alza
en masa al reino todo, como en la guerra de la Independencia, lo
demás vendrá por sus pasos contados. En cartas y po
manifestaciones verbales, me han demostrado su conformidad las
siguientes órdenes y religiones: los Agustinos Calzados, de Madrid; la
Congregación benedictina Tarraconense Cesaraugustana, de la
Corona de Aragón y de Navarra; los Menores de San Francisco, los
Agustinos Recoletos o Calzados, los Canónigos seglares del Orden
Premonstratense.
—Espadas, espadas —dijo bruscamente Maroto—, y con espadas
no solo no estarán de más las correas o rosarios, sino que servirán de
mucho.
—Y yo —indicó el conde de Negri dirigiéndose al balcón a punto
que sonaba en la calle el estrepitoso rodar de un coche— me atrevo a
proponer que todas las conquistas se pospongan a la conquista de
vecino.

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