Mecha Origin 4 First Gear 1st Edition

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Copyright © 2019, Eve Langlais

Cover Art Dreams2Media © 2019

Produced in Canada

Published by Eve Langlais ~ www.EveLanglais.com

eBook ISBN: 978 177 384 095 6

Print ISBN: 978 177 384 096 3

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the
story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely
coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means,
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 INTRODUCTION

W hen an intrepid explorer finds a lost temple , what ’ s inside will change the course of

history .

The planet is dying, and yet Jool is convinced there’s a way to save
its people. The answer lies in a deadly mountain range that no one
dares explore, but he doesn’t have a choice. The voice in his head
proves insistent.
With nothing to lose and everything to gain, Jool sets out to find
the truth—and almost dies on his journey.
When he stumbles upon a hidden temple, he won’t just find
salvation and a cure for his wife, he’ll becomes the first prophet to
serve the Mecha Gods.
A re you ready for the story of the first gear ?
 PROLOGUE

S tanding at the apex of the mountain , the first prophet , the voice of
the Mecha Gods, creator of their bible, lifted his face—that of a man
in his prime despite the generations he’d outlasted—into the cool,
clean breeze blowing past his cheeks. His eyes closed, and he
basked in the warm sunlight. Something the entire world could now
appreciate again.
Because he’d done it.
Saved his planet.
Kept his people from dying out.
With the help of the Mecha Gods, they’d been gifted a second
chance, and he’d made the most of it.
And now, as his gears began to finally slow, Jool Ius’verrn
couldn’t help but remember how it used to be. How close they’d
come to extinction.
One wild decision changed history because Jool found salvation
and went on to establish a religion that would keep his people safe.
 1

“Y ou need to send an expedition into the mountains .” N o need to

name the impassable cluster that jutted from the ground in jagged
spines and covered more a third of the planet. It remained largely
unexplored due to the danger and the lack of interest, but they
might provide the only chance to survive.
The bureaucrat sitting behind a desk made of hammered metal,
its surface pockmarked, leaned back in his seat, which uttered an
ominous groan. The man sighed as he tucked his hands over a belly
still round. He didn’t yet have the gaunt appearance the rest of the
populace sported. Those working for the machine of government
received perks—and bribes—that no one else enjoyed.
“Not this again, Jool. We already talked about your plan to send
an expedition. The answer was, and still is, no.”
“You need to re-evaluate.”
Geoff, a man Jool had come to know by name he visited him so
often, sighed. “No, I don’t. There’s nothing there. Those mountains
are incapable of sustaining life.”
“Not true. There are creatures that live in them. I’ve seen
firsthand accounts.”
 “Perhaps there was a time that was true, but the world has
changed.”
And not for the better.
Industrialization brought so many wonderful innovations.
Machines that could power them along at high speeds, making travel
and trade manageable. However, it came at a price. Waste multiplied
a hundredfold, despoiling the land, the waterways. There was an
acknowledgement and yet, at the same time, an apathy. There was
no clear answer on how to stop it. This was life now. Soon it would
lead to death. A fact that kept playing over and over in his head with
ominous music.
Giving in wasn’t something Jool wanted to do. “We need to be
sure. Send someone to the mountains. A soldier, a scientist.”
“Why don’t you go?”
The very idea. Jool sputtered. “I’m a historian, not an explorer.”
“I don’t know what you expect from me, Jool. We can spare no
one, not with the discontent brewing.”
The populace grumbled as food became scarce and hope faded.
“What if there is something in the mountains that can save us?”
“Don’t you think we’d know if there existed a solution? Don’t you
think we’ve been looking?”
Jool almost said something snarky, like only if it was right in front
of him, but he held his tongue. For the past year, he’d been trying to
get someone to take him seriously, yet whenever he mentioned the
mountains, a strange stubbornness emerged. An unwillingness to
explore every option.
If he were a man to believe in magic, he’d think there was a
curse forcing people to ignore the one place they’d not sought an
answer.
“We have to do something,” Jool insisted.
 “There is something you can do.” Geoff leaned forward. “Leave
the city and don’t look back. You didn’t hear this from me, but
there’s little time left.”
“But the news reports—”
“Have been lying. The smog is covering over ninety percent of
the planet. The sickness pervading the land itself, poisoning
everything, is spreading.”
“Sickness?” he scoffed. “It’s a result of the pollution we failed to
rein in.”
Geoff shrugged. “Call it what you want. It’s done. Best estimates
give us a year before the surface is completely uninhabitable. A few
months at worst.”
Months?
The news deflated him. He’d run out of time.
Slouching, Jool emerged from the government building, hands in
his pockets. He was immediately hit by the thick smog filling the
busy street that played host to a steady stream of vehicles belching
smoke.
So many wonders invented in the last two centuries, but progress
brought pollution. It tightened the lungs and tainted the breath of
just about everyone on the planet. It led to lower birth rates and
decimated their senior population. Yet that was only the beginning of
their problems. The smoke from their combustion machines filled the
air, reducing the amount of sunlight the crops received, tainting the
rain that fell from the sky. Which, in turn, ruined their lakes and
rivers.
The fish died. The vegetation wilted. Animals became sickly and
died en masse on the farms. Those left in the wild, of which there
were few places, disappeared.
 That, in turn, affected the food supply chain, a vicious cycle that
they only took note of too late. The day of reckoning had arrived,
and it judged them harshly.
Rather than add to the problem by hailing a cab, he chose to
walk. A tall man in his early thirties, a professor of history, forced to
beg for funds since he’d already spent all of his grant researching a
way out of this mess. Not being a scientist, he didn’t know how to
fix the toxicity in the soil or how to reduce emissions. But he did
know the mountains were the one place untouched by civilization.
Their rocky barrier may be providing a filter to the pollution. Could
there still be animal life capable of providing meat amongst its
peaks?
No one seemed to know. No one seemed to care.
The airships always swung a wide berth around them, claiming
treacherous wind currents. As for explorers, none appeared willing to
brave the dangers, not with the stories of monsters and people not
returning once they trekked into them.
As he walked, hands tucked in his pockets, Jool couldn’t help but
recall Geoff’s recommendation to leave the city, to enjoy what little
time was left. Would the air by the mountains, far from
industrialization, be any better? Or would it just delay the inevitable?
The people on the street paid him no mind, busy going along
with whatever made them rush. Too many people for a planet
already strained.
The newspapers piled in the boxes he passed still pretended their
world wasn’t in dire straits. They didn’t tell the truth, didn’t mention
the people dying from hunger, the suicides caused by despair, the
unrest as the population wailed at the government to fix it.
His world was dying, and yet no one seemed ready to do
anything about it. Then again, what could they do?
 Even if all the machines were to stop belching tomorrow, that
wouldn’t create food or un-poison the soil. Wouldn’t cure the
illnesses plaguing more than half the population.
No one wanted to hear the truth. Just like no one wanted to
abandon their precious commodities.
Perhaps they deserved annihilation for not taking better care of
their world.
The university where he taught took up an entire city block,
towering higher almost than Parliament. It was said that the very
top floors actually peeked above the layer of smog and enjoyed
sunlight. He didn’t know for sure. A professor of history was
relegated belowground with the books people had forgotten. A past
that they claimed had no bearing on the future.
A good point in a sense. After all, how could the stone age of his
people help them? His ancestors had never taken more than the
land could handle.
A loud horn startled, and he glanced to the side to see the racing
vehicle of an enforcer fleeing by, belching smoke and flashing lights.
There were more of them around these days, doing their best to
maintain a fragile peace.
It wouldn’t take much to explode the populace. Hungry bellies
and aching lungs tended to make a person grouchy. As if to remind
him, he barely managed to bring a cloth to his mouth before he
coughed, a hard hack that hurt his chest. But no blood yet. He knew
once that sign appeared, the countdown to death started.
The front doors to the university were made of solid metal, some
kind of malleable bronze that in his youth used to shine in the sun.
The grime coating them turned the surface a dark gray. Kind of like
the sun, which appeared as a diffused lighter spot in the smog
overhead.
 Apparently, outside the city you could still see it at times
depending on which way the wind blew. He wouldn’t mind seeing it
one last time. Leaving wouldn’t pose much of a problem. It wasn’t
as if he had any students left. At times he was fairly sure the
university forgot he existed. He doubted they’d notice if he suddenly
stopped showing up for work or even emptied the library and took it
with him.
As he stepped inside the building, the noise outside faded, and
he uttered a sigh. He’d not yet caught on to the habit of putting
plugs in his ears.
He wiped his feet on a carpet that probably didn’t make much of
a difference and looked around the vast lobby.
It held only a few people, some students already in class. Many
more had dropped out. Why bother? Most had started to realize
they’d never make it to old age. Why spend what time they had
studying?
Such a depressing place.
Jool moved quickly across the tiled floor, the intricate pattern
losing out to the ever-present grime layering everything. As he
headed for the bland door leading to the lower levels, he heard more
than one cough. Some of them quite deep.
How many of them would be dead before the start of the next
semester? He might be among them.
I need to leave the city. An idea to terrify. He’d never gone
farther than a bus or tram could take him. But the idea took root. He
should depart, and bring along Onaria. He’d noticed her looking
much too wan of late, a gray pallor to her skin. If the end of the
world truly marched toward them, then he could think of no one
better to spend it with.
 The plain door, without even a sign announcing the library it
accessed, gave at a slight push. He headed down the stairs. Two
flights brought him into the old section of the university, comprised
of solid stone and considered to be a dungeon due to its age. His
colleagues often teased him.
Find any skeletons?”
“Watch out for ghosts.”
Let them disparage it. Jool appreciated the quiet and the slightly
better quality of air. If one ignored the musty scent of old books.
There were no gaslights down here. For a long time now, he’d
resorted to using only the barest illumination to preserve his space.
A small drop in the grand scheme of the flood of pollution, but it
made him feel better.
Having memorized the space, he knew his way to the table and
the modified seat in front of it.
Despite his tired lungs, his feet found the pedals on the bike, and
he began to churn, spinning the wheel that turned the belt, a
machine that managed to produce a feeble light from the bulb
attached to the end of it.
As it shone on the old map spread out over the table, he felt only
weary resignation that the government had refused him. Then again,
he kind of expected it. They were wilfully blind to so many things.
He’d go himself if he had any kind of survival skills, but raised in
the city, Jool understood his limitations. Mountain climbing and living
off the land were things done in books.
“A copper penny for your thoughts.” The whisper in his ear
caused him to cease peddling, plunging the space into darkness. But
he didn’t need to see to recognize the woman.
“Onaria! What are you doing here? I thought you had a shift at
the hospital.”
 “I did, but I left early right after the announcement.”
“What announcement?”
“They’re done, Jool.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “The
hospital just announced today that they could do nothing for the
coughs. Nor the tumors. The only thing they’ll work on is stitchable
injuries. If they can convince anyone to keep coming to work.”
“Not treat the cough? They can’t do that,” he huffed, quite
horrified. “They’re sentencing people to die.”
“They’re dying anyway, Jool. Isn’t it better to let them go quick
before it gets worse?”
He grabbed her by the arms and clutched them tight. “Don’t talk
like that. I’m sure there’s a solution, a way to save us still.”
“There is no magic cure.” She rolled her shoulders, defeated.
“You can’t give up.”
“Not so much giving up as realizing we’re going to die. Some of
us sooner than others.” She heaved in a breath and blurted out,
“Which is why I’m leaving the city.”
“What? When?” Her statement threw him off balance.
“Soon. Tomorrow if I can.”
“I see.” He couldn’t help the dejection. He’d waited too long to
do anything.
“Why the glum face?” She hugged him. “You’re coming with me.”
“Says who?”
“Me.” Said with a big grin. “You didn’t really think I’d leave my
best friend behind.”
Ah yes, friend. Good friends, but somehow he’d slipped into the
wrong spot. And he didn’t quite know how to get out.
Despite his earlier thoughts, he still offered a token protest. “But
the university—”
“Won’t even notice.”
 “Where would we go? Where would we stay?” How would they
survive even? What food remained was about to get picked clean.
His own cupboard had barely enough for him to last a few days, let
alone longer.
“My aunt’s house. She’s as far as you can go toward the
mountains.”
“In the country.”
“Where the air isn’t quite as bad yet. At least according to my
aunt.”
For a moment his mind swirled with excuses, none of them good
enough to say no. And why would he? What was left for him here? A
class with no students. A dwindling cupboard. And no Onaria. Who
considered him her best friend.
But the world was about to end, and she wanted to spend it with
him. “Why wait until tomorrow? Let’s go tonight.”
“Really?” Spoken with a lilt in her voice.
“Yes, really. Let’s grab only the bare necessities and meet at the
train station.”
“You’ll really come with me?”
“Without a doubt.” He’d follow her to the ends of the world if she
asked him.
“Oh my goodness. I can’t believe we’re doing this. It’s so
exciting.” She kissed his cheek, a warm imprint to reinforce his
decision. “Walk me to the bus stop.” She clutched his hand. She did
that often. Torture really.
Yet, he couldn’t help the thrill each time she touched him.
He walked her out of the building, guiding her with a hand in the
middle of her back. As a courtly gesture. She did it to him all the
time, too. Light touches that never failed to ignite.
 He’d almost kissed her once. But he’d gotten shy at the last
moment.
The bus trundled to a stop before they’d even stopped walking.
He held her hand as others embarked. When she moved to board,
he released her hand.
She cast him a glance. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Not yet. I need to take care of a few things here before I hit my
place.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to lock up?” She rolled her eyes. “I
doubt we’ll be back.”
He doubted it as well, but if things got bad, and they did
disappear, he liked to think someday someone might find this place,
a historian and more of an explorer than he ever managed to be.
They would read about what happened and hopefully not repeat
their mistakes.
“There’s a few books I want to grab.”
“You and your dusty stories,” she teased. “Don’t take too long. I
checked the schedule. There’s only one more train leaving the city
tonight.”
Twice a day. No longer the dozen belching trips. People were
traveling less these days.
“I’ll be there.” He watched her swing onto the massive vehicle. It
trundled off, a noisy beast. Part of the problem.
Returning to the basement, he eschewed the peddling light and
found the stash of candles he kept. He lit a taper, the small flame
fluttering weakly. It proved enough to help him navigate. With his
heart racing at his upcoming departure, and his hands shaking, the
last thing he needed was to walk into a bookcase and give himself a
concussion.
 I’m leaving. Everything he knew. Going into the unknown. With
the world ending. But he wouldn’t be alone.
Onaria wanted him with her.
Surely that made them more than just friends.
He wouldn’t know until he met her for the trip. He’d better move
lest distraction make him late for the train.
By the light of the candle, he made his way to a table strewn
with his research in a far corner. He didn’t bother keeping it in a
locked room. No one ever came down here.
A few tomes littered the surface, only one of them open, the
writing on it obscure. He’d only dared once call it alien when
showing it to another professor. The laughter kept him from sharing
it with anyone else.
But what else was he to think when it was written in a language
no one recognized? With images that made no sense. Yet he kept
returning to study its pages, poring over them in the hopes of
figuring it out.
As he often did when flipping through the pages, he drew out the
chain around his neck strung with the broken half of a cog. Junk he
was told when he bought it for a penny at a market. Yet the strange
metal, soft and almost warm to the touch, called to him. Not literally,
but by tickling the curiosity of a young man. Over time, that turned
into an obsession as he sought to discover the origin of the artifact,
because it certainly wasn’t modern. Testing showed it to be over a
thousand world revolutions old—which put it existing before his
people even knew about machines. Some historians claimed they’d
not even invented the wheel at that point.
Yet, the tests didn’t lie. He’d found an ancient cog of an unknown
metal, and he was convinced there were more. It saddened him to
realize he’d never fulfill the dream of finding them. Of discovering
some ancient, forgotten ruin.
He slammed the book shut, suddenly angry.
It was unfair. So unfair. All the knowledge he had, the potential to
discover more, snuffed short. At this point it was a matter of would
the cough or starvation kill him first?
So why did he care about this place? In the end, all the written
words in the world couldn’t help. Maybe it was best to not let
anyone know of their folly.
Ignoring the books, and for once not leaving with one tucked
under his arm, he set the candle on the shelf right before the stairs,
close enough it already singed the cover on some government
treatise that no one had opened since he’d begun using the library.
Then, before he could change his mind, he stepped out of the
room and shut the door one final time.
 “No.” He’d barely ever left the city at all. “Farthest I ever went
was that fair we checked out last semester.” An overnight trip with
Onaria and he’d lost his nerve to give her a kiss.
So many wasted moments.
“You never saw them and yet your mission in life was to have an
expedition sent?”
“Because it was the only place left. And I knew they were large,
but this…” He waved at them.
Standing at the foot of a drive, seeing the backdrop of the
mountains behind a small house, he couldn’t help but feel miniscule
in comparison. No wonder Geoff didn’t recommend exploring them.
Their sheer height made it more than a daunting task. The stone
appeared unmarked by vegetation of any sort.
And yet, the wind off the peaks brought a hint of freshness, of
air not yet completely tainted.
As they neared the house, Onaria frowned. “That’s odd.”
“What’s wrong?”
She pointed to a mound of dirt recently dug up. The right size for
a grave.
“It’s probably nothing,” he stated, but the ball of dread in his
stomach said otherwise.
Onaria flew to the door of the house, the once-white paint a
peeling gray. She gave it a solid thump and didn’t wait for a reply
before shoving inside. By the time he’d followed, she’d run through
the house yelling her aunt’s name.
He found her standing in the kitchen, the cupboards clearly
ransacked.
“She’s dead.” A statement spoken dully.
All he could do was hug her as she sobbed, her grief soaking his
shoulder. As he stroked her hair, his mind furiously worked,
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 The Clavichord

In the clavichord, each key drove a metal tangent against a string

and was held there as was the bridge of the monochord. The tone was
dependent on the place where the tangent struck. The string vibrated
on one side of the tangent, but the other part of the string was
deadened by a strip of cloth. The strings were about the same length
and often two or three keys operated the same string so that it was
possible to make a very small instrument. In the 16th century, it
usually had twenty keys; in the 18th century, four octaves or fifty
keys, but of course there were less than fifty strings! Later, every key
had its own string and these were called bundfrei or unfretted
clavichords, while the others were called gebunden or fretted. The
clavichord was usually small enough to carry under the arm,
although sometimes it was made with legs. Should you be in New
York you must see the collection of beautifully ornamented
clavichords and harpsichords at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in
the Crosby Brown Collection.
Bach liked the clavichord better than the harpsichord and the early
pianos that blossomed in his day. Because of the pressure of the
tangent, it was possible to get a delicately graded tone when the key
was pressed, a wavy, rocking, pulsating effect, which made each
player’s performance very individual, but to us, now, it sounds thin
and metallic. The word “clavichord” comes from clavis—a key, and
chord—a string. Clavichords and also virginals were often played in
pairs, no doubt for richer effect and for volume.
Large instruments developed slowly because before the 11th
century, wire-drawing (making) was not known, so all keyed string
instruments were strung with gut.
 Harpsichord

128TH SONNET
SHAKESPEARE AND THE HARPSICHORD

How oft when thou, my music, music play’st

Upon that blessed wood, whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway’st
The wiry concord that my ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand:
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood’s boldness, by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gate,
Making dead wood more blessed than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

The harpsichord, we like to call the “Jack and Quill” instrument—

for it is played by keys, jacks and quills which pluck its strings,
instead of pressing or hammering. This is like a keyboarded zither,
and is shaped something like our grand piano.
Each key has a string. Pressing the key pushes a jack, from whose
side projects a small quill or spine which twangs the string. When the
key is released, the quill slips back into the first position and a
damper falls upon the string. The strings vary in length according to
the pitch for the harpsichord has no tangent to divide off the string
as had the clavichord and monochord. Thus the harpsichord on
account of its long and short strings is not square like the clavichord
but is shaped more like the harp and the grand piano.
Some one said that the harpsichord tone was “a scratch with a note
at the end of it.” And yet, when we hear Wanda Landowska play the
harpsichord today, it sounds very beautiful indeed. Smaller varieties
are called virginals and spinets. Perhaps the spinet is named for its
inventor Spinetti, or perhaps the word comes from “spinet” meaning
spine, a thorn or point. The virginal comes from the word virgo—
meaning maiden and was the popular instrument for the “ladies” of
the day. There were larger harpsichords, too, with two and three
keyboards and very many varieties, both small and large. The
clavichord and the harpsichord were known from the 15th century
and were associated with the organ until the 17th century, when the
Ruckers family developed harpsichord making into a fine art. The
first mention of the harpsichord, is in the “Rules of the
Minnesingers” (1404).
 The First Pianofortes

Early in the 18th century, music ceased to be just pretty sounds,

and musicians wanted instruments on which they could express
deeper feelings and began to look around for some way to make the
harpsichord meet this need.
It came about in this way. Pantaleone Hebenstreit, a fiddler at the
Saxon court played a dulcimer which he enlarged by adding to it a
second system of strings. He tuned it in equal temperament, as Bach
had the clavichord, and used hammers on it which produced very
beautiful and loud tones. Louis XIV saw this, and liking it, called it
the Pantaleone. But, shortly after this, Gottlieb Schroeter heard it
and said, “only through hammers can the harpsichord become
expressive.”
So in 1721 Schroeter submitted to the King of Saxony his idea of a
harpsichord which could play soft and loud or in Italian piano and
forte (the fortepiano or loud-soft instrument). But as he had none
made he did not get credit for the invention until after much
argument, based on accounts in his diary. As always, when a thing is
needed someone will invent it.
The man who actually made the first pianoforte was an Italian,
Bartolomeo Cristofori (1653–1731) of Padua; and the Frenchman
Marius, and the German, Christoph Gottlieb Schroeter, followed suit.
In 1709, Cristofori exhibited harpsichords (gravicembali) with
hammer action capable of producing piano and forte effects. He
advertised it in the paper as a gravicembali col piano e forte. By
1711, the fame of his invention had spread into Germany. In
February, 1716, Marius in France tried to improve the harpsichord
with hammers which he called the clavecin à mallets, and made two
types.
Schroeter about this time made the two kinds also. The piano had
little standing, however, until Gottfried Silbermann took advantage
of Bach’s criticism of his pianos and made a grand type.
The next experimenters in pianos were, Frederici of Gera (died in
1779), who made the square. Spaeth, who made grands and George
Andreas Stein in Augsburg, who was trained by Silbermann,
invented the Viennese action on which a light touch was possible and
for this reason Mozart used it.
Burkhardt Tschudi, a piano maker in London, had a Scotch
assistant, James Broadwood, who became his partner (1770). Later
the firm became John Broadwood and Sons, which it has remained.
It was the first to use the damper and the soft pedals. For some time
they used Zumpe’s style of square piano but later made their own.
This house used the Cristofori action which made a more solid and
heavier tone than the Viennese action, and was known as the English
action, excellent for large rooms and concerts. These actions suited
the different methods of piano playing.
Stein’s daughter Nanette Streicher, a marvelous player and a
cultivated woman, upon inheriting her father’s piano business moved
to Vienna and for forty years was considered an expert in the piano
world. Thayer, in his life of Beethoven says: “In May, Beethoven, on
the advice of medical men, went to Baden, whither he was followed
by his friend Mrs. Streicher ... who took charge of his lodgings and
his clothes, which appear to have been in a deplorable state.” Thayer
says that Beethoven always preferred the piano of Stein to any
others. Beethoven wrote to Nanette: “Perhaps you do not know,
though I have not always had one of your pianos, that since 1809 I
have invariably preferred yours.”
So, you see a woman could keep house and be a manufacturer as
well, even in the early 19th century!
Then came Sebastien Erard (1752–1831) who made the first
French piano in 1777. Erard invented many new things for the piano
and formed a company in England. This firm was advertised on the
hand bill announcing Liszt’s concert in Paris when he was twelve
years old.
Added to these names is Ignaz Josef Pleyel (1757–1831), who also
made a piano with a very sympathetic tone which Chopin made
famous from 1831. The Pleyel and the Erard are still the leading
pianos of France.
For some years the pianoforte went through many changes. As you
are not learning to make a piano, you will have to take it for granted
that there were many many steps taken from this time on to make
the modern piano. However, the thing that held it back was the all-
wood frame which could not stand the strain of the tightly drawn
strings and it was a long time before the makers gave up the beautiful
wood for the sturdier metal. About the time of Beethoven, playing
the piano became a more complicated thing than it had been, and a
grown up instrument was needed, so musical instrument makers had
to “step lively” to keep pace with the music. At every concert, and
often in the middle of a piece, the player would have to stop to retune
the instrument on which he was playing. Therefore, all energy was
bent to making the frame of the piano rigid, the strings more elastic
and the pins firmer, and the metal frame was used.
All these special things were accomplished in later years. Some of
the inventors were John Isaac Hawkins, an Englishman, who
patented the upright pianoforte in 1800 in the United States,
William Allen, a Scotchman, who introduced metal braces in 1820
and Alpheus Babcock, who patented the iron frame in a single cast,
in Boston, in 1825. It was an American, Jonas Chickering, of Boston,
who invented the complete iron frame for the concert grand, and at
present, after many years, the instrument which seventy-five years
ago bent under the pull of the strings, can now stand the strain of
thirty tons! Chickering made pianos as early as 1823.
After this there was much experimentation in pianos, culminating
here, in the pianos made by Steinway and Sons the ancestor of which
was the firm of Heinrich Englehard Steinweg, of Brunswick,
Germany, starting as organ makers. In 1848 Heinrich’s sons went to
New York City and changed their name to Steinway, where
Theodore, the eldest, continued the firm as Steinway and Sons.
Of course, the methods of stringing and tuning a piano have taken
years to develop—all of which we cannot go into in this book. Now,
instead of twenty strings, as we saw them in the clavichord, we have
243 strings to produce 88 tones.
So now we have the harpsichord with hammers “grown up” into
the pianoforte, with its myriad parts, no longer made by hand, but
carefully manufactured by machinery and the finest of them are
American.
 Piano Buying Created a Holiday in the 18th Century

“When the pianoforte was completed and ready to be delivered at

the house of the impatient purchaser (in Germany) a festival took
place; the maker, was the hero of the hour, and accompanied the
piano followed by his craftsman and apprentices, if he had any. (In
those days the pianos took months and months to make, for they
were made by hand and the makers received cash in part payment
and the rest was made up in corn, wheat, potatoes, poultry and
firewood!)
“The wagon which conveyed the precious burden was gaily
decorated with wreaths and flowers, the horses magnificently decked
out, a band of music headed the procession, and after the wagon
followed the proud maker, borne on the shoulders of his assistants;
musicians, organists, schoolmasters and dignitaries marching in the
rear. At the place of destination the procession was received with
greetings of welcome and shouts of joy. The pastor of the place said a
prayer and blessed the new instrument and its maker. Then the
mayor or the burgomaster of the place delivered an address,—
dwelling at great length upon the importance of the event to the
whole community, and stating, perhaps, that the coming of such a
new musical instrument would raise their place in the eyes of the
surrounding country. Then followed speeches by the schoolmaster,
doctor, druggist, and other dignitaries, and songs by the Männerchor
(men’s chorus) of the place. Amidst the strains of the band, the
pianoforte was moved to its new home. A banquet and a dance closed
the happy occasion.” (From Reminiscences of Morris Steinert by
Jane Marlin.)
 “The Piano and Pneumatics”

It is very difficult to know just when this important instrument

first was invented. It seems to have started with a mechanical organ
and many were the experimenters among whom was John
McTammany, a soldier in the Civil War who while disabled turned
his mind to mechanics and became one of the great pneumatic (air
power) experts. And so, just as we arrive at the beautiful instrument,
the piano, comes another instrument far more complicated, whose
possibilities are still in its infancy. At present the automatic piano is
operated by bellows and pneumatic tubes (which look together like a
bunch of gray spaghetti) and through which the air is exhausted and
acts in such a way that the piano hammers fall against the piano
strings. Into these instruments are placed perforated music rolls
which travel over a tracker bar full of holes, each one having its
rubber spaghetti tube. When the bellows work and the perforation of
the roll passes over a perforation of the tracker bar, the air is released
and its exhaustion causes the hammer to fall on the strings. This
sounds simple,—but it is not!
There are three kinds of automatic players,—one, the piano
player, which is now practically extinct in this country, a cabinet
which moves up to the piano, and with a series of keys corresponding
to the keys on the piano which, when in action presses down the
piano keys and the tune starts.
Then we have the player piano. In this, whether it be an upright or
a grand piano, the machinery is inside the piano itself (instead of
being in the outside cabinet), so that one can hardly tell at first
glance whether it is an automatic instrument or not. The perforated
roll is put on inside the piano.
All these piano player bellows work either by electricity or by the
feet. So in the latter, one cannot help playing with “sole”!
The reproducing piano is the third type of player. This is magical,
for it reproduces the player’s performance as he plays it himself.
Therefore we can entice Paderewski, Bauer, Rachmaninoff and all
the other great players into our own drawing rooms and hear them
with their superb skill. These are usually operated by electricity, yet
the Æolian Company and probably others, have a reproducing piano
which is propelled by the pedals as were the old ones before the
invention of the electric player. Furthermore, some of the
reproducing pianos have a mechanism with which you yourself can
interpret any piece you desire. This gives the music lover who has
been denied the study of music a chance to enjoy interpreting great
music.
It is an impossibility to overestimate the value of the player piano
to the young student, to increase his auditory repertoire, for the
music of the world is his for the turning of a lever!
 Their Contribution to Art

For a long time, the mechanical player has been looked on as a

step-child, to be made fun of and scorned. Today, the great critics
and best musicians recognize its value which is not as a substitute for
a piano but as an instrument in itself. Sir Henry J. Wood of England
says: “I realize the value ... of the pianola ... for a good many of the
people in our audiences ... are acquiring by its means a closer
acquaintance with the great musical masterpieces.”
He says in another place, “It’s a foolish and a shortsighted policy to
despise any means by which we may add to the sum total of musical
appreciation.”
And Edwin Evans, English critic and writer, says: “The player
piano relieves the musician of the technical difficulties of the
keyboard.... It does not relieve him from the duty of thinking
musicianly, on the contrary, ... it makes it a point of honor with him
to give ... fuller employment to his brain and sensibility.... There are
dozens of scores nowadays which it is an impossibility to read at the
piano and very trying to read on paper. Here the player piano is a
boon and a blessing for it unravels every mystery and solves every
problem.”
Besides this, it can be played so skilfully by some that even
musicians can be fooled as to whether human or mechanical fingers
are playing. Gustave Kobbé said, in his Pianolist, something like this:
“There are only about five professionals who can play the piano
better than an accomplished pianolist.”
To prove its artistic worth further, Percy Grainger, Alfredo Casella
and Igor Stravinsky and other great moderns are writing music
especially for the player piano because they can use the whole eighty-
eight notes with full orchestral effects, without stopping to think of
the meagre ten fingers of man! So we see in the future the possibility
of this becoming one of the creative instruments.
 Other “Canned” Music

Then we have the phonographs and radio. These cannot be

considered instruments in the same way as the player piano and
reproducing piano, but are invaluable means of musical education
and are doing, with the player piano, a marvelous work in
introducing people to the great music of the world. Of course, it
depends upon the way all these music carriers are used, for if you
have poor music on them, it will mean nothing to you, but if you hear
the “wear evers” on them, you will have a touch of heaven in your
life, forever.
 Pianists Come to View

As an outcome of the work of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart, the

piano appeared because of the need of a more powerful instrument
than the harpsichord and clavichord. At this time there were two
particular schools of piano playing,—the Viennese, light and delicate
in tone, and the English school, producing a more solid and more
brilliant tone.
The principal pianists of the Viennese school were Johann
Hummel, who, as a boy of seven, was a pupil of Mozart, Franz
Duschek, Mozart and Pleyel. Later Beethoven himself appeared, the
profound pianist in this group, but also an advocate of Clementi’s
methods.
The Clementi School is named from Muzio Clementi (1752–1832),
the “Father of the Pianoforte.” He was a composer of piano pieces,
especially of sonatas which are still of musical value. Who of us has
not studied Clementi’s sonatinas? Besides being a great player, a
teacher and a composer, Clementi published a work called Gradus
ad Parnassum, piano studies, a form which sprang up because of the
need to develop a technic for the new instruments when the piano
was young.
Clementi, at fourteen, went to England, where he lived all his life
and became interested in the making of pianos. He was associated
with the firm of Clementi and Company, later Collard and Collard,
and it is said that he gave the Broadwoods much advice in the
making of their “grand” piano. So we see Clementi as a founder of
piano technic, and an instrument maker! He lived eighty years,
during the last years of Handel and Scarlatti, and he survived
Beethoven, Schubert and Weber. It is said that Mozart took a theme
from a Clementi sonata for one of his operas. His pupils were quite
famous: John B. Cramer, the composer of many important piano
studies still in use; Johann L. Dussek, one of the first to invent and
write down finger exercises, and there were many others.
There were two schools with Clementi at the head of one, and
Mozart, of the other. With Hummel, a pupil of Mozart, the Classic
School closed, and then Clementi’s ideas came to the fore in the new
Romantic School.
 The New Romantic School

One of the earliest of these new Romanticists was John Field, who
was born in Ireland, visited London, had quite a career in Russia and
foreshadowed Chopin in his playing. Then there was Ferdinand Ries,
son of Beethoven’s early friend and teacher, Franz Ries; but the most
famous of this period were Ignaz Moscheles and Frederick
Kalkbrenner, a fluent composer and writer of studies. He was the
first pianist to teach Clementi’s Gradus ad Parnassum.
Ignaz Moscheles (1794–1870) was a Bohemian and from about
1815, the most brilliant pianist in Germany, France, Holland and
England. He was Mendelssohn’s teacher. Chopin wrote three études
(studies) on an order from Moscheles. He is a very important figure
in the growing up of piano music.
Carl Czerny (1791–1857) was another very important pianist and
one of the few pupils of Beethoven. He was a follower of Hummel
and Clementi and won great fame as a teacher in Vienna, where he
lived. He wrote a great many pieces, about a thousand in all, making
many arrangements of orchestral works and many piano studies,
which we still use today. Beethoven encouraged him to make a piano
version of his Fidelio. Czerny was the teacher of many able
musicians.
Frederick Chopin, you will find out later (Chapter 24) changed
piano music from the bravura to a poetic and deeper style. His touch
and tone were so enchanting that he created a completely new
fashion in piano playing which has not been lost. (See page 322.)
Clara Schumann (1819–1896), the wife of Robert Schumann, was
the leading woman pianist of the day, in fact, of many days.
In the times of Mozart and of Liszt, improvising (before audiences
and at parlor entertainments), was very popular and a part of a
musical education; around 1795, after the Paris Conservatory was
founded, it seemed to die out. However, organists today often
improvise while waiting for the church service to begin. Dupré, one
of the famous French organists, who has played in the United States,
improvises whole sonatas on given themes.
 After Chopin, Schumann and Schubert there was a great love of
the short piano piece and as the piano was being developed more and
more, it was natural that pianists should become numerous. So piano
playing was heard in the concert hall and in the parlor where it was,
to be sure, often light and frivolous and yet quite often,—serious and
delightful. The light and decorated pieces were usually called salon
music and today many are written which are classed as salon pieces.
Cécile Chaminade, as delightful and clever as her pieces are, is a
typical salon composer, Rubinstein, also, with such pieces as Melody
in F, is a writer of salon pieces, and there are countless others.
Among the people who were prominent as pianists and composers
in that day, especially in Poland, where Chopin was born, were Alois
Tausig, a pupil of Thalberg and Josef Wieniawski, who was the
teacher of the “Lion of Pianists,” Ignace Jan Paderewski.
Around Paris gathered many pianists among whom were Ignace
Leybach an organist and composer at Toulouse, Henry Charles
Litolff the famous publisher, Louis Moreau Gottschalk, American
pianist and the author of The Last Hope, and Eugene Ketterer. The
following, with many others, centered around Vienna: Joseph Löw,
Theodore Kullak, Louis Köhler, Gustav Lange and Louis Brassin.
 Dashing Playing

A little later, due to the improvements of the piano, another school

grew up called by some, the Bravura Pianists, because the pieces for
these pianists were written to show off brilliant technic. Most of the
people were flashy pianists, yet there were some very marvelous
performers, for among them, Liszt himself figures and Thalberg, a
Swiss, who was Liszt’s rival for piano honors.
Another set of pianists and composers was Henry Herz, Alexander
Dreyschock, Emil Prudent and Adolph Henselt, a Bavarian, who was
an amazingly poetic and beautiful player.
Practically all these pianists were prominent composers in their
day.
About this time we see women coming into great prominence as
professional pianists. The first one to interest us is Marie Felicité
Denise (Moke) Pleyel, who was Miss Moke, the beloved of Berlioz
and the lady whom he intended to kill but changed his mind! She
was an inspiring teacher, a pupil of Herz, Moscheles and
Kalkbrenner and was admired by Mendelssohn and Liszt.
 The Growth of Violin Music

The same things seem to have happened to violin playing and

violin music at this time as happened to the piano. There was always
the competition between writing fine, deep music and showy,
spectacular music, which, when played, would please an audience.
But the violin was the same then as it had been for years,—the only
advance it had made was the perfecting of the bow by François
Tourte, assisted by Giovanni Battista Viotti, Pugnani’s greatest pupil.
We use his bow today. It has about one hundred white horsehairs,
the tension of which is controlled by a screw at the nut in the finger
grip. But the thing that did affect violinists and violin playing was the
fact of the rise in the 19th century of the orchestra and chamber
music. From the time that madrigals were first accompanied by
instruments, we have heard about Chamber Music, but the string
quartet in sonata form as we know it today, had as its father, Haydn,
and Luigi Boccherini (1743–1805) as a godfather. The link between
the Corelli School of violinists and this school was Viotti who was one
of the first men to write a violin concerto in sonata form.
The violinists of this period were also given to bravura playing as
were the pianists. This was a safe thing for great violinists like
Paganini to do, but for the less gifted, it often developed into, not
music at all, but musical calisthenics. Here is the group which
appeared in the early 19th century: Rudolph Kreutzer, to whom
Beethoven dedicated his famous Kreutzer Sonata; Andreas Romberg
(1767–1821) who knew Haydn and Beethoven at Vienna and took
Spohr’s place as concert master at Gotha. He wrote music somewhat
in the style of Mozart. Then comes the “Wizard of the Bow,” Nicolo
Paganini, standing alone and belonging to no school.
He was born in Genoa and began to play in public in 1795, when he
was thirteen years old. A very pretty story is told of Paganini and the
spider:
When Nicolo was a very poor and lonely student, he had a pet
spider that used to listen to him practise. Every time Nicolo would
touch the bow to the strings, out came Mr. Spider to listen
attentively. Now there was a little girl, the daughter of a shop-keeper
near by; she adored the great, tall, slender youth who spent most of
the day and most of the night playing on his violin. She fell ill and
died, and by a curious coincidence, the spider was killed. Paganini
was so overcome by the loss of his admiring comrades that he left
home at once and wandered from place to place, playing the guitar
when he could not get work with his violin.
Later he played all over Europe and had the crowd with him for his
matchless brilliancy in rapid work, his deep pathos and exceptional
beauty of tone. He has probably never been surpassed in double
stopping, chromatics and his pizzicati (plucking the strings). Isn’t it
too bad the greatest violinist in the world lived before the
gramophone was invented, so we have no records of his playing as
we have of Mischa Elman, Fritz Kreisler, Jascha Heifetz, Albert
Spalding and Maud Powell!
In this period, Ludwig Spohr was of great importance. He was a
friend of Mendelssohn and, curious enough, was an admirer (one of
the early ones) of Wagner. He had been an intimate of Weber and
played with Paganini at Rome and knew Rossini. His rank as a
violinist was acknowledged. He did not stand for “fire works” but
demanded fine music. He was always a classical musician, for his
early love was Mozart. You will meet him again in the next chapter.
He traveled all over Europe and met many great men and his
autobiography is a rich store of anecdotes and interesting facts.
At this time too, there were many great violinists in France,
Austria, Germany and Italy. We would like to write a whole volume
on the brilliant pianists of the late 19th and 20th centuries such as
Paderewski, De Pachman, Godowsky, Busoni, Rosenthal, Harold
Bauer, Gabrilowitsch, Hofmann, Rachmaninov, Teresa Carreño,
Myra Hess, Guiomar Novaes, Katherine Bacon, John Powell, Percy
Grainger, Levitski and innumerable others!
 More about Radio

1927 witnessed the broadcasting of enchanting concerts by the

Boston Symphony under Serge Koussevitzky, The New York
Philharmonic Orchestra under Willem Mengelberg, The New York
Symphony under Walter Damrosch, Children’s Concerts under
Ernest Schelling and many other organizations. The important
broadcasting companies maintain superb musical organizations and
there is growing up a valuable radio musical field for pleasure as well
as for education. Mr. Damrosch’s musical lectures on the Ring have
elicited nearly one million letters, from all parts of the world!
1929 sees the capitulation of Leopold Stokowski and the
Philadelphia Orchestra to the value of radio in a series of broadcasts.
On many programs are heard the world’s greatest artists.