These musicians began with a symphony on the full band--mandolins
leading, drums doing bass, and the whole lot of ugly fellows screeching
forth what might have been esteemed air or accompaniment, as the case
might be. That a sorry musical effect was produced will surprise no one
who considers the build of the most musical of their instruments. The
mandolin is by way of being a guitar, or banjo--only in a very small way
indeed. Nothing has been added to the idea since first Mercury stumbled
on the original _testudo_--indeed, I should guess that the dried sinews
of a tortoise would give out a far purer sound than the jingling wires
with which the mandolin is mounted. I have sometimes stood at the door
of a _cafe_, or, to give it the real name [Greek: kapheneion], and
listened in wonder to the strains of some minstrel holding forth within.
The wonder was, not that the man should play egregiously ill, but that
the effect of good music should be produced by his evil playing. The
people were evidently excited to sorrow when the attempt was at a
mournful strain, and to ardour when the lilt took a loftier flight. To
me who stood by, the difference of intention on the part of the
performer was hardly discernible; indeed to be recognised only by the
occasional catching of some familiar word in the burden of the song. The
same observation may apply to the current Greek poetry. There can be no
mistake in the conclusion, that it produces the effect of real poetry on
the people, urging them in the direction whither works the imagination
of the poet. But men of taste have come to, and can come to, but one
decision on the judgment of Romaic poetasters. The spirit of poetry has
died out of, and is become extinct from the genius of their tongue. It
is but the enthusiasm of by-gone days, the inkling of Attic glory, that
lingers about the circumstances of their modern productions, and cheats
men with the mere similarity of idiom. Poetry is of universal
application, and were the pretensions of the modern Greek genuine, his
productions would touch the hearts of the poetic of other lands.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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